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Rh With scraps of a slangy repertoire:

How are you, White Hat!" "Put her through!"

Your head's level," and "Bully for you!"

Called him "Daddy"—begged he'd disclose

The name of the tailor who made his clothes,

And what was the value he set on those;

While Burns, unmindful of jeer and scoff,

Stood there picking the rebels off—

With his long brown rifle, and bell-crown hat,

And the swallow-tails they were laughing at.

'Twas but a moment, for that respect

Which clothes all courage their voices checked;

And something the wildest could understand

Spake in the old man's strong right hand;

And his corded throat, and the lurking frown

Of his eyebrows under his old bell-crown;

Until as they gazed, there crept an awe

Through the ranks in whispers, and some men saw,

In the antique vestments and long white hair,

The Past of the Nation in battle there;

And some of the soldiers since declare