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Skedaddle The shades of night were falling fast, As through a Southern village passed A youth, who bore, not over nice, A banner with the gay device, Skedaddle! His hair was red, his toes beneath Peeped, like an acorn from its sheath, While with a frightened voice he sung A burden strange to Yankee tongue, Skedaddle! He saw no household fire, where he Might warm his tod or hominy; Beyond the Cordilleras shone, And from his lips escaped a groan, Skedaddle! "Oh! stay," a cullered pusson said, "An' on dis bosom res' your hed!" The octoroon she winked her eye, But still he answered, with a sigh, Skedaddle! "Beware McClellan, Buell, and Banks, Beware of Halleck's deadly ranks!" This was the planter's last Good Night; The chap replied, far out of sight, Skedaddle! At the break of day, as several boys From Maine, New-York and Illinois Were moving Southward, in the air They heard these accents of despair, Skedaddle! A chap was found, and at his side A bottle, showing how he died, Still grasping in his hand of ice That banner with the strange device, Skedaddle! There in the twilight, thick and grey, Considerably played out he lay; And through the vapor, grey and thick, A voice fell, like a rocket-stick, Skedaddle! Vanity Fair ...


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