By “Georgia.”

Whoop! the Doodles have broken loose,
Roaring round like the very deuce;
Lice of Egypt, a hungry pack,—
After ’em, boys, and drive ’em back.

Bull dog, terrier, cur, and fice,
Back to the beggarly land of ice,
Worry ’em, bite ’em, scratch and tear
Everybody and everywhere.

Old Kentucky is caved from under,
Tennessee is split asunder,
Alabama awaits attack,
And Georgia bristles up her back.

Old John Brown is dead and gone!
Still his spirit is marching on,—
Lantern-jawed, and legs, my boys,
Long as an ape’s from Illinois.

Want a weapon? Gather a brick,
Club or cudgel, or stone or stick;
Anything with a blade or butt,
Anything that can cleave or cut.

Anything heavy, or hard, or keen!
Any sort of a slaying machine!
Anything with a willing mind,
And the steady arm of a man behind.

Want a weapon? Why, capture one!
Every Doodle has got a gun,
Belt, and bayonet, bright and new;
Kill a Doodle, and capture two!

Shoulder to shoulder, son and sire!
All, call! all to the feast of fire!
Mother and maiden, and child and slave,
A common triumph or a single grave.

Rockingham (Va.) Register.