Scarce bent the grass beneath their feet’s light stroke.
And yet, more oft, mocked was ambition’s toil,
Modest outers, and “mags,” scarce less obscure,
Rewarding hope with a disdainful smile!
Provoking language the reverse of pure.
They freedom asked for, from vexatious strife.
Their well-aimed bullets never learned to stray,
And never yet endangered limb or life,
While to the butts they sped their noiseless way.
Full many a budding shot, with vision keen,