An' ma wife Elmire w'en she see de tear,
She cry leetle bit herse'f—
Put her han' on ma neck, an' say, "Ma dear,
I 'm sorry we never lef';
But money 's good t'ing, an' dere 's nice folk too,
Leevin' upon Vermont—
Got plaintee o' work for me an' you—
Is dere anyt'ing more we want?
Dere 's w'at dey 're callin' de war beez-nesse—
It 's troublesome t'ing, of course,
But no gettin' off—mus' strike wit' de res',
No matter—it might be worse—
We 're savin' along—never lose a day,
An' ready w'en bugle blow—"
But dat was de very las' word she say,
For dere it commence to go,
Blowin' away on de mountain dere,
W'ere snow very seldom melts,
Down by de reever an' ev'ryw'ere,
We could n't hear not'ing else—
Nobody stop to fin' out de place,
Too busy for dat to-day—
But we never forget de law in de case
W'en feller he spik dis way—
"Strike for your home an' your own contree!
Strike for your native lan'!
Kip workin' away wit' de spade an' hoe,
Den jump w'en you hear de bugle blow,
For danger 's aroun', above, below,
But de bugle will tell if it 's tam to go."
An' de chil'ren yell, an' de checker-boar'
Don't do her no good at all—
An' nobody never jump before
Lak de crowd w'en dey hear de call,
Dat was de familee,—bet your life
I 'm prouder, bâ Gosh! to-day
Mese'f, de leetle wan, an' de wife,
Dan anyt'ing I can say—
'Cos nobody strike on de way we do—
For home an' deir own contree—
Wit' fedder bed, stove, de cradle too,
An' ev'ryt'ing else we see—
Pilin' de wagon up ten foot high
Goin' along de road—
An' de Yankee say as we 're passin' by
Dey never see such a load—
So dat 's how we 're comin' to Yamachiche—
An' dat 's w'y we 're stayin' here—
Jus' to be quiet an' hunt an' feesh,
Not'ing at all to fear—
An' if ever you lissen de Yankee folk
Brag an' kick up de fuss—
An' say we 're lak cattle upon de yoke,
An' away dey can trot from us—
