He six foot one way an’ two foot todder, An’ he weigh six hundred poun’; His coat so big he couldn’t pay de tailor, An’ it won’t reach half way roun’; He drill so much dey calls him cap’n, An he git so mighty tanned, I spec he’ll try to fool dem Yankees, For to tink he contraband. De massa run, ha, ha! De darkey stay, ho, ho! It mus’ be now de kingdum comin’, An’ de yar ob jubilo.
De darkeys got so lonesome libb’n In de log hut on de lawn, Dey moved dere tings into massa’s parlor For to keep it while he gone. Dar’s wine an’ cider in de kitchin, An’ de darkeys dey hab some, I spec it will be all fiscated, When de Lincum sojers come. De massa run, ha, ha! De darkey stay, ho, ho! It mus’ be now de kingdum comin’, An’ de yar ob jubilo.
De oberseer he makes us trubble, An’ he dribe us roun’ a spell, We lock him up in de smoke-house cellar, Wid de key flung in de well. De whip am lost, de han’-cuff broke, But de massy hab his pay; He big an’ ole enough for to know better Dan to went an’ run away. De massa run, ha, ha! De darkey stay, ho, ho! It mus’ be now de kingdum comin’, An’ de yar ob jubilo.
THE CONQUERED BANNER.
By Abram J. Ryan.
[This poem appeared very soon after the surrender of the Confederate armies, and was probably the first, as it is the finest, poetical expression of reverent regret for the Lost Cause, without any touch of bitterness in its loss. The author was a Catholic priest, who wrote a number of poems of merit, though none that appealed so strongly as this one does to the generous sympathy of the victor with the sorrow of the vanquished. The author was born in Norfolk, Va., August 15, 1839, and died in Louisville, Ky., April 22, 1886.—Editor.]