The fight just done, I snatched my notes,
While Jack, my gelding, ate his oats,
And ran my chance without a guard,
And for Pamunkey I rode hard;
What made me want to leave the camps,
And beat the mail with what I penned?
It was not glory and not " stamps "
It was my girl at the other end.

I wound the oaks and pines among
And felt so buoyant and so young,
You would not think I had a list
Of dead and wounded in my fist;
What said those sweet birds in the brush?
Why made that squirrel seem my friend?
What made my nag so gaily push?
It was my girl at the other end.

Last night our flanks the rebels turned;
I see the sutlers' wagons burned,
The sunken sloops at Putneys see —
It was J EB . Stuart's cavalry!
What makes me out alone so far?
(I may to Libby prison wend!)
You bet your life it is not war!
It is my girl at the other end.

And now I reach the morning boat,
The large lump passes from my throat,
The crooked river glides so flat,
While I am writing on my hat;
And when I sign my name below
I hope to kiss it one will tend?
Is it the Public? Buncombe! No;
It is that girl at the other end.

I change my boat; I vault ashore
The second morn at Baltimore,
And make such steps, 'twould shame a stork,
To catch the first train for New York;
Why do I toil and amplify,
And style and matter so much mend?
'Tis for the pride in her black eye —
The one dear girl at the other end!

The " Office " makes for me a stir,
Up to the managing editor;
They say it was a real " beat, "
And I must rest and clothe and eat;
Though grateful all these praises be,
Why do I want one gentle friend
To put the crown of love on me? —
That one dear girl, at the other end!