He drafted! Great God! Can it be that our President knows what he asks?
II.
He never could wrestle, this boy, though in spirit as brave as the best.
Narrow-chested, a little, you notice, like him who has long been at rest.
Too slender for over-much study; why his teacher has made him to-day
Go out with his ball, on the common; and you’ve drafted a child at his play!
III.
“Not a patriot?” Fie! Did I whimper when Robert stood up with his gun
And the hero-blood chafed in his forehead, the evening we heard of Bull Run?
Pointing his finger at Harry, but turning his face to the wall,