"Again we joined our regiment and marched;
Over the hills and dales of Maryland
Along the famous river wound our way.
On picket-duty at the frequent fords
For weary, laggard months were we employed
Guarding the broad Potomac, while our foes,
Stealthily watching for their human game,
Lurked like Apaches on the wooded shores.
Bands of enemy's cavalry by night
Along the line of river prowled, and sought
To dash across and raid in Maryland.
Three regiments guarded miles of river-bank,
And drilled alternately, and one was ours.
Off picket duty, alike in fair or foul,
With knapsacks on and bearing forty rounds,
From morn till night we drilled--battalion-drill--
Often at double-quick for weary hours--
Bearing our burdens in the blazing sun,
Till strong men staggered from the ranks and fell.
Aye, many a hardy man in those hard days
Was drilled and disciplined into his grave. Arose
Murmurs of discontent, and loud complaints
Fell on dull ears till patience was worn out
And mutiny was hinted. As for Paul
I never heard a murmur from his lips;
Nor did he ask a reason for the things
Unreasonable and hard required of him,
But straightway did his duty just as if
The nation's fate hung on it.
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