344 THE FEENCH BLOOD m AMERICA 



Now stir the fire, and lie at ease ; 



The scouts are gone, and on the brush 

 I see the colonel bend his knees, 



To take his slumbers too — but hush ! 

 He's praying, comrades : 'tis not strange ; 



The man that's fighting day by day 

 May well when night comes, take a change, 



And down upon his knees to pray. 



Now pile the brush and roll the log : 



Hard pillow, but a soldier's head, 

 That's half the time in brake and bog, 



Must never think of softer bed. 

 The owl is hooting to the night. 



The cooter crawling o'er the bank. 

 And in that pond the plashing light 



Tells where the alligator sank. 



What — 'tis the signal ! start so soon. 



And through the Santee swamp so deep, 

 "Without the aid of friendly moon. 



And we, heaven help us, half asleep ! 

 But courage, comrades ! Marion leads, 



The Swamp Fox takes us out to-night; 

 So clear your swords and spur your steeds. 



There's goodly chance, I think, of fight. 



