84. “Laura, Laura, don't secede.”
Kiss me, Laura, ere I go,Arm'd and drill'd, to meet the foe;
Gun in hand, and on my back
A sixteen-pounder — haversack.
I go; my country calls — adieu!
To both, my darling girl, be true;
And come success, come scathe and need,
Laura, Laura, don't secede.
When on the tented field, perhaps,
With rations short, and shorter naps,
We wheel, present, advance, retreat,
Thou'lt have — O heavens!--at thy feet
Some one persuadingly present
Himself and an establishment;
Laura, no such trifler heed ;
Though he glitter, don't secede.
Cling unto thy mother, dear;
Let no “Home Guards” come anear,
Dancing gewgaws ‘fore thy eyes,
Making light of household ties,
Prating of thy woman's rights,
Gallanting thee about oa nights,
Lest the rose should prove a weed
Basely crimsoned — don't secede.
Good-bye, Laura!
No regrets
If from balls and bayonets,
From “broils and battles” --(boils, I mean
For deadlier is the soup tureen,
When badly seasoned, than the bore
Of the loudest cannon that can roar)--
Safe delivered, swiftly!
Back to ease and thee will fly;
United then, in word and deed,
Laura, dear, we'll both secede.
