These ‘craven Southerners’ hold out;
Ay, ay, they’ll give you many a bout”
“We’ll beat in the end, sir”
Firmly said one in staid rebuke,
A solid merchant, square and stout.
“And do you think it? that way tend, sir”
Asked the lean Cooperhead, with a look
Of splenetic pity. “Yes, I do”
His yellow death’s head the croaker shook:
“The country’s ruined, that I know”