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Their country in the ears of all mankind
“Barbarians” were their countrymen, who claimed
The rights the Constitution had defined.
Resistance to the statutes was proclaimed
The pious duty of a people so refined!
And all this madness, tending or intended,
To rend the Union--as we've seen it rended.
But — Davis, Yancey, Keitt, and Beauregard,
Slidell and Mason, Toombs and Benjamin,
Et id genus omne!--what reward
Were match to your immeasurable sin
Against your God and country? 'Twere as hard
To measure your offences, as it's been
To estimate the wretchedness abounding,
Since Mars his brazen trumpet has been sounding.
What demon could possess you to abandon
The Union--and your rights as Union men?
The Constitution was enough to stand on;
And on it were arrayed a host of men,
Prepared to lay a strong, suppressing hand on
The mad fanatics, who assailed you then.
But you in frenzy gave us battle's thunder--
A monstrous crime, and worse — a monstrous blunder!
'Twas Talleyrand, French Secretary, said
A blunder's worse than crime;--but never
Hath any one in earthly annals read
Of blunder like your efforts to dissever
Our glorious country! Lucifer once made
A similar but unprovoked endeavor!
But different his fate — perchance you know--
When he “seceded,” they just let him go.
I know that Milton undertakes to prove,
(But probabilities a good deal straining,)
That Lucifer, on falling from above,
Enlisted armies, and had soldiers training,
And then in mad, rebellious fury drove
Against angelic hosts, in rude campaigning!
So says the poet; and to human level,
He thus brings down the conduct of the devil.
But sacred chronicle has nothing said
Of Lucifer behaving in this way.
Some shabby tricks it seems that he had played,
And so in Heaven could no longer stay.
But war, I'm satisfied, he never made,
As Milton tells us. There was no display
Of spears and shields and other like “material,”
And loud explosions from the guns ethereal.
No! Milton's epic's very far from true--
(A stately story, but a sorry quiz,)
So, let the devil ever have his due,
And do not paint him blacker than he is.
For he to “set a squadron” never knew,
Nor ever heard a single bullet whiz.
No, he had failed to rule as he desired,
And (may be with compulsion) he retired.
It was in fact secession, and no less,
All quietly and peaceably out-acted.
The devil, jealous, was in some distress,
Because his plottings had been counteracted;
The rule of others only would oppress,
He said; and so to rule, himself, exacted;
But failing, took his leave, and sundry minions--
Dropping headlong into his own dominions.
And this was all. So Milton's solemn song
Belies the devil, (in angelic verse,)
For Lucifer is guiltless of the wrong
Of armed rebellion! This is something worse
Than even he enacted, when on pinions strong
The gulf to Erebus he did traverse.
No, no — he's bad enough; but men defame him,
When for the crime of rebel war they blame him!
But 'twas a losing business; and the devil
Often, doubtless, doth bemoan it well.
He gave up heaven; that wildly he might revel
In all the dread magnificence of hell;
Where he's sole ruler, rising to the level
Of “recognized” confederacy, as they tell.
But would it not have been more wise and winning
For him, if he had kept from any sinning?
And so with you and yours. Oh! had you stood
For right and justice — but not separation!
Then had you seen how every neighborhood
Had echoed your demand for reparation.
Or had you made the sacrifice you should,
By bringing your supplies from some far nation,
And not from mad New-England, you'd have made
Her bigotry surrender to the laws of trade.
She would have given up her abolition
For trade and profit. We have seen her scout
The Southern statesmen's wisest proposition
To bring in territories round about;
But since she's profited by this condition
In larger markets — they shall not go out!
So even abolition she'd have scouted,
On finding it to be a loss undoubted.
Some fifty years ago, New-England thought
The war with Britain was a grievous wrong.
It touched her pocket; and she said, “twas fraught
With evil only.” Then in protest strong,
She threatened to secede, unless 'twere brought
To prompt conclusions! She could get along,
An independent, pious, moral nation,
Just by herself, and work her own salvation.
She boasts, New-England does, of her capacity
For making money; and we grant the claim.
She grasps the profits with a rare sagacity,
That puts poor Western hoosiers all to shame.
(And some do even use the term rapacity,
In close connection, when they speak her name,)
For even War her pockets now is filling,
While Western men heroic blood are spilling.
She makes the guns, the powder, clothing, shoes,
And other articles an army needs:
She makes professions wondrously profuse
Of patriotism, though she rarely bleeds.
She knoweth well her vaunted skill to use
In arms — preparing them for others' deeds.
And so, while honest Western men are fighting,
She's in the contract part of war delighting.
She loveth war, while to her mill is brought
The profitable grist! Her pockets lined--
For blood and misery she careth not,
So they to other people are confined.
Let others suffer as they will, 'tis naught
To her and hers. And so the public mind
She poisons and embitters with infusion
Of negro madness, to prolong confusion.
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