If ever I consent to be married,
And who would refuse a good mate?
The man whom I give my hand to,
Must believe in the rights of the State.
To a husband who quietly submits
To negro-equality sway,
The true Southern girl will not barter
Her heart and affections away.
The heart I may choose to preside o’er,
True, warm, and devoted must be,
And have true love for a Union
Under the Southern Liberty Tree.
Should Lincoln attempt to coerce him
To share with the negro his right,
Then, smiling, I’d gird on his armor,
And bid him God-speed in the fight.
And if he should fall in the conflict,
His memory with tears I will grace;
Better weep o’er a patriot fallen,
Than blush in a Tory embrace.
We girls are all for a Union,
Where a marked distinction is laid
Between the rights of the mistress
And those of the kinky-haired maid. |