War Lyrics: and Songs of the South
By Kentucky (pseudo.) 1866
Epistle to the Ladies.
By W.E.M., of Gen. Lee’s Army.
Ye Southern maids and ladies fair,
Of whatsoe’r degree,
A moment stop – a moment spare –
And listen unto me.
The summer’s gone, the frosts have come,
The winter draweth near,
And still they march to fife and drum –
Our armies ! do you hear ?
Give heed then to the yarn I spin,
Who says that it is coarse ?
At your fair feet I lay the sin,
The thread of my discourse
To speak of shoes, it boots not here;
Our Q.M’s, wise and good,
Give cotton calf-skins twice a year
With soles of cottonwood.
Shoeless we meet the well-shod foe,
And bootless him despise;
Sockless we watch, with bleeding toe,
And him sockdologies !
Perchance our powder giveth out,
We fight them, then, with rocks;
With hungry craws we craw-fish not,
But, then, we miss the socks.
Few are the miseries that we lack,
And comforts seldom come;
What have I in my haversack ?
And what have you at home ?
Fair ladies, then, if nothing loth,
Bring forth your spinning wheels;
Knit not your brow – but knit to clothe
In bliss our blistered heels.
Do not you take amiss, dear miss,
The burden of my yarn;
Alas ! I know there’s many a lass
That doesn’t care a darn.
But you can aid us if you will,
And heaven will surely bless,
And Foote will vote to foot a bill
For succouring our distress.
For all the socks the maids have made,
My thanks, for all the brave;
And honoured be your pious trade,
The soldier’s sole to save.
I'm always on the hunt for knitting songs or poems from 1861-1865.