Forrest Has come from the country down
    A-raiding the streets of Memphis town;
He comes post-haste, a-whiz and a-whir,
    With clank of saber and clink of spur.

Swooping he speeds with his fearless boys
    In a colud of dust, in a storm of noise,
with their slouching hats and their coats of gray,
    Through the half-wake town at the peep o'day.

Ahead of them all the leader comes
    With hurry of hoofs and din of drums,
Gallant and grand on his nimble mare,
    With his coalblack beard and his iron-gray hair.

Startled from sleep is the Yankee host,
    And every man seeks his appointed post;
The town is a-whirl in its vague alarm,
    There's a shout to wake and a call to arms.

"Forrest is here!" is the sentry's cry,
    As the gray troopers go like a hurricane by;
"Forrest is here!" men shout on the street,
    As they see his mare with her flying feet.

"Forrest is here!" all the newsboys call,
    "Forrest is here!" all the bootblacks bawl,
"Forrest is here!" cries the red cock, "hark!"
    "Forrest is here!" all the watch-dogs bark.

Washburn, aroused from his soft, snug bed,
    Sans trousers, sans boots, sans waistcoat, has fled;
Like a flag of truce, with the winds a-flirt,
    There flaunts in his rear the tail of his shirt.

Forrest rides straight through the hotel door,
    And in Centaur style he paces the floor;
Dismounting, he orders a drink and cigar,
    As in bygone days at the hotel bar.

"Come, give us a drink—some mint if you please,
    My boys, too, are here; give a drink to these;
Though their pockets aren't puffed with dollars and dimes,
    You'll give us a nip for the sake of old times.

"No sugar, no water, stop! there is enough!
    Your health, my old fellow: Don't be in a huff;
And now for a smoke; we must go, you see,
    So Now, Mike, my friend, charge it all to me."

Forrest remounts on his restless steed,
    And soon with his boys has started a-speed;
The kettle drums rattle, the base drums beat,
    The street are a-din with the tramp of feet.

No matter! he leaves as quick as he came,
    And with hot-haste hoofs the flints are a-flame;
Though the bluecoats rush, they have come too late,
    And Forrest glides safe through the city gate.

And the bluecoat boys they follow him fast,
    But they lose the trace, and return at last;
Too swift and too sly! So none of his foes
    Will follow the path where Forrest goes.