War Poetry of the South

by Unknown

V.

But the son of the South, if such there be,
Who will shrink from the contest now,
From a love of ease, or the lust of gain,
Or through fear of the Yankee foe;
May his neighbors shrink from his proffered hand,
As though it was soiled for aye,
And may every woman turn her cheek
From his craven lips away;
May his country's curse be on his head,
And may no man ever see,
A gentle bride by the traitor's side,
Or children about his knee.