But isn't it odd to think, whenever
We all go through that terrible River——
Whose sluggish tide alone can sever
(The Archbishop says) the Church decree,
By floating one in to Eternity
And leaving the other alive as ever——
As each wades through that ghastly stream,
The satins that rustle and gems that gleam,
Will grow pale and heavy, and sink away
To the noisome River's bottom-clay!
Then the costly bride and her maidens six
Will shiver upon the bank of the Styx,
Quite as helpless as they were born——
Naked souls, and very forlorn;
The Princess, then, must shift for herself,
And lay her royalty on the shelf;
She, and the beautiful Empress, yonder,
Whose robes are now the wide world's wonder,
And even ourselves, and our dear little wives,
Who calico wear each morn of their lives,
And the sewing-girls, and les chiffonniers,
In rags and hunger—a gaunt array——
And all the grooms of the caravan——
Ay, even the great Don Rataplan
Santa Claus de la Muscovado
Señor Grandissimo Bastinado——
That gold-encrusted, fortunate man——
All will land in naked equality:
The lord of a ribboned principality
Will mourn the loss of his cordon;
Nothing to eat and nothing to wear
Will certainly be the fashion there!>
Ten to one, and I'll go it alone;
Those most used to a rag and bone,
Though here on earth they labor and groan,>
Will stand it best, as they wade abreast
To the other side of Jordan.
When Grant's army crossed the Rappahannock Lee's veterans felt sure of sending it back as "tattered and torn" as ever it had been under the new general's numerous predecessors. After the crossing, the first prisoners caught by Mosby were asked many questions by curious Confederates.
"What has become of your pontoon train?" said one such inquirer.
"We haven't got any," answered the prisoner.
"How do you expect to get over the river when you go back?"
"Oh," said the Yankee, "we are not going back. Grant says that all the men he sends back can cross on a log."