Lanky Crank From Maine

Six months in front of Richmond's walls, we fettered and we fumed

And vainly in our grevious growls the surly cannon boomed

We traced no paths of glory through the slimy, oozing swamp

But misery and discontent were monarchs of our camp

There was snarling and complaining all along the Union line

And our brigade was loudest in the universal whine

But the surliest and the churliest, the sourest of the train

Was a cross and crusty rude and rusty Lanky Crank from Maine

Death lurked in half a dozen shapes among the vapors foul

The grumbling choir each morning had the same familiar howl

To fill the vacant places, new arrivals were impressed

Whose tempers in a week or so grew viler than the rest

One day with such a batch there came a boy with sunny hair

Who's laugh it took the breath away from every veteran there

Who said to us in accents like a streamlets rippling flow

"I'm very glad to meet you, Tom O'Mally from Mayo!"

How the youngster danced and sang and laughed his cheerful way

To hearts sealed up with selfishness from many a gloomy day

He gave us song and story and a t'ousand merry wiles

And routed regiments of blues with fusillades of smiles

The Lanky Crank fought solemnly with dismal brow at first

Fought like a northern thunder cloud while inwardly he cursed

But his wintery soul grew warmer in the genial Irish glow

For the frost of Maine is melted by the sunshine from Mayo

Six months in front of Richmond's walls, we fettered and we fumed

And vainly in our grevious growls the surly cannon boomed

We traced no paths of glory through the slimy, oozing swamp

But misery and discontent were monarchs of our camp

There was snarling and complaining all along the Union line

And our brigade was loudest in the universal whine

But the surliest and churliest, the sourest of the train

Was a cross and crusty, rude and rusty Lanky Crank from Maine

And when on quiet evenings, from our camp arose

The sound of mirth and merriment, that puzzled lurking foes

When 'The Wind that Shakes the Barley' shook the leafless southern pines

And the 'Rocky Road to Dublin' seen then winding through our lines

A pair of feet went treading through the dance's tangled maze

With a firm, determined step aquired in lumber hauling days

'Who Fears to Speak of Ninety-Eight' was sometimes the refrain

And we'll all join in the chorus said the Lanky Crank from Maine

Our corps is but the corporal's guard beneath Virginia clay

Our heroes wait the bugle blast on god's reviewing day

But the twins, as once we called them, the Celt and Yank remain

Though one's at home in Connacht, and the other's back in Maine

Outside the Mayo cabin green, the starry flags proclaim

That Ireland's in the Union now, in everything but name

While in the state of Maine, a grim veteran wants to know

"How soon will Ireland need recruits to battle for Mayo?"

Six months in front of Richmond's walls, we fettered and we fumed

And vainly in our grevious growls the surly cannon boomed

We traced no paths of glory through the slimy, oozing swamp

But misery and discontent were monarchs of our camp

There was snarling and complaining all along the Union line

And our brigade was loudest in the universal whine

But the surliest and churliest, the sourest of the train

Was a cross and crusty, rude and rusty Lanky Crank from Maine