Some sat in nature's uniform patching their suits of gray, And some stood squinting across their guns in a darkly suggestive way. The battalion was off on the Staunton pike as soon as the sun had risen, And we turned and cheered for the Institute, but yesterday a prison. At Staunton the soldiers chaffed us, and the girls of the city schools Giggled and flirted around the corps till we felt like a lot of fools; They threw us kisses and tiny drums and a volley of baby rattles, 'Til we thought that the fire of ridicule was worse than the fire of battles. We made our escape in the early dawn, and, camping the second night, Were well on our way to the seat of war, with Harrisonburg in sight; And the troopers who met us, riding fast from the thick of the army hives, Said: "Sigel has come with an awful force, and ye'll have to fight fer yer lives." But we wanted to fight, and the peril of war never weakened our young desires, And the third day out we camped at dusk in sight of the picket fires; Our thoughts, wing-weary with homeward flight, went astray in the gloomy skies, And our hearts were beating a reveille whenever we closed our eyes. "Hark! what's that? The sentry call?" (A galloping horseman comes.) "Hey, boys! Get up! There's something wrong! Don't ye hear 'em a-thumpin' the drums?" Said the captain, who sat in the light of the fire tying his muddy shoes: "We must toe the line of the Yankees soon, an' we haven't much time to lose. "Hats off!" And we all stood silent while the captain raised his hand And prayed, imploring the God of war to favor his little band. His voice went out in a whisper at last, and then without further remark He bade the battalion form in fours, and led us away in the dark. We lamed our legs on the heavy road and a long rain cooled our blood And every time we raised a foot we could hear the suck of the mud. At noon we came--a weary lot--to the top of a big clay hill, And below were miles of infantry--the whole bunch standing still. The league-long hills are striped with blue, the valley is lined with gray, And between the armies of North and South are blossoming fields of May. There's a mighty cheer in the Southern host as, led by the fife and drum, To the front of the lines with a fearless tread our baby cadets have come. "Forward!" The air is quaking now; a shrill- voiced, angry yell Answers the roar of the musketry and the scream of the rifled shell. The gray ranks rushing, horse and foot, at the flaming wall of blue Break a hole in its centre, and some one shouts: "See the little cadets go through!"