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A Little More Grape.

By William J. Lemon.

The old hero stands on the brow of the hill,
With his heart in the thick of the fray,
Where his squadrons beneath him are battling still,
On the eve of that terrible day.

His quick eye has numbered the mustering bands,
And he points to the enemy's flag,
While the battery answers the old man's commands,
"A little more grape, Captain Bragg."

The foemen charge home with a thundering shock,
And a touch of Castilian pride —
They dash on our lines like a wave on the rock,
When a storm is abroad on the tide.

The wave falleth back, but the rock standeth still,
There is heart in that bristling crag —
And the old man stands yet on the brow of the hill —
"A little more grape, Captain Bragg."

Then spoke the loud cannon — it thundered again, —
Like spirits they scream on the air —
And the fallen are lying in swaths on the plain,
Death's busiest reapers are there! —

But now is the song of those death-reapers still,
Yet let not our battle-song lag —
Hurrah!! to the old man who stood on the hill,
And "A little more grape, Captain Bragg."