The Southern Men


The Southern Men

You can never win them back––
Though they perish on the track
Of your endeavour––
Though their corses strew the earth
That smiled upon their birth,
And blood pollutes each hearth-
Stone forever.

They have risen, to a man,
Stern and fearless!
Of your curses and jour ban
They are careless!
Every hand is on its knife,
Every gun is primed for strife,
Every palm contains a life
High and peerless!

You have no such blood as theirs
For the shedding,
In the veins of cavaliers
Was its heading,
You have no such stately men
In your Abolition den—
To march thro’ foe and fen,
Nothing dreading.

They may fall before the fire
Of your legions,
Paid in gold for murder’d hire,
(Bought allegiance!)
But, for every drop you shed
You shall have a mound of dead!
And the vultures shall be fed
In our regions.

But the battle to the strong
Is not given,
When the Judge of right and wrong
Sits in heaven!
And the God of David still
Guides the pebbles with his will—
There are giants yet to kill—
Wrongs unshriven!

Item Information help

  • Item ID
  • Genre
  • Illustrated
  • DCMI Type
    Still Image
  • Extent
    20.5 cm x 7 cm
  • Title
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