Monday, March 27, 2006



Go look upon the battle-field,

Where shot and shell fly fast—

Where Freedom's stirring battle-cry

Is heard upon the blast:

Go where the lifted sabres flash

And fall on traitor crests,

Where Southern bayonets are dim

With blood from Northern breasts:

Go search amid the loyal ranks

Among the glorious dead—

Among them all you will not find

A single Copperhead.

Go search the gun-boat's bloody deck
When the dread conflict's done;

The traitor's banner in the dust,

And silenced every gun;

While o'er the hard-won rampart floats

Our flag, yet oh! what pain,

'Neath that dear flag since morning light How many have been slain!

Among the heroes of the fight,
The living and the dead—

Go search among them—there is not

A single Copperhead.

Go search the crowded hospital,

Where ghastly wounds are seen,

Which tell through what a struggle fierce Those noble men have been;

But look upon their faces, lo!

They smile through all their pain;

The scars they bear were nobly won—

Their honor has no stain.

Soft hands are minist'ring—kind words

Are heard around each bed;

Some soothe, some suffer, all are true—

There is no Copperhead.

Go where the look can scarce conceal

The treason of the heart,

And where the tongue would willingly Defend the traitor's part;

Where Seymour, Wood, and Voorhees are Deemed patriotic men:

Go where they wish Vallandigham Were safely back again:

Go where desertion is no crime—

Where loyalty is dead

Where sad disaster gives no pain; There is the Copperhead.

Go where foul scorn is heaped upon

Our noble boys, who go

To stand a wall of fire between

Us and our traitor foe:

Go where bold Grant's revilers are—

Where Burnside is defamed;

Where Banks and Butler—noble names!—

In scorn alone are named:

Go where true patriotic pride,

Honor, and Truth are dead—

Where our success brings but despair; There is the Copperhead.


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