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A Little More Grape.

AIR — Rosin the Bow.

The Captain was working away at his gun,
His aim was full steady and true;
And where the bright lancers reflected the sun
His death shot unerrignly flew!

While the enemy's ball whistled close to his ear
He felt there was work to be done;
So undaunted by numbers — a stranger to fear
He calmly re-loaded his gun!

He wiped the huge sweat-drops that stood on his face
And, waking the thunder again!
Beheld the proud foeman spring high from his place,
And fall on the battle-scarred plain!

And as the loud echoes came thundering back,
From many a far frowning crag,
He smiled as he heard the low voice of Old Zack,
"A little more Grape, Capt. Bragg."

"A little more Grape" — again spoke the gun,
And the shot did its errand so well,
That the mighty rejoicings of victory won
Went up as the enemy fell!

Then here's to the chieftain who urged on the fight,
When hundreds pressed on with his flag;
And said, as he marked the glorious sight,
"A little more Grape, Captain Bragg."