Uncoffined, unidentified.
The voice of duty led me where
The strains of Dixie filled the air,
Where curling smoke in graceful rings
Rose on the evening's silent wings,
And hovering o'er the mist and damp,
Betrayed the presence of the camp.
I pass the story of the war,—
The cause we lost, but struggled for
Through four long years, in southern fens,—