Archive for 9. August 2008

THE CONFEDERATE PRIMER.

At Nashville’s fall
We sinned all.

At Number Ten
We sinned again.

Thy purse to mend,
Old Floyd attend.

Abe Lincoln bold
Our ports doth hold.

Jeff Davis tells a lie,
And so must you and I.

Isham did mourn
His case forlorn.

Brave Pillow’s flight
Is out of sight.

Buell doth play
And after slay.

You oak will be the gallows-tree
Of Richmond’s fallen majesty.

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