“Some skilful move, when the fearful game
    Of battle and life was played
On yon grimy field, whose broken squares
    In scarlet and black are laid.”

“Ah, stranger, here at my gun all day,
    I fought till my final round
Was spent, and I had but powder left,
    And never a shot to be found;”

So I trained my gun on a rebel piece:
    So true was my range and aim,
A shot from his cannon entered mine
    And finished the load of the same!”

“Enough! Oh, Sergeant of Battery B,
    Oh, hero of Sugar Pine!
Alas! I fear that thy cannon’s throat
    Can swallow much more than mine!”