War Poetry of the South

by Unknown

VII.

With face of Fox--with glee that grins,
And apish arms, with fingers claw'd,
To snatch at all his brother wins,
And straight secrete, with stealth and fraud;--
Lo! Mammon, kindred Demon, comes,
And lurks, as dreading ill, in rear;
He blows the trumpet, beats the drums,
Inflames the torch, and sharps the spear!