A Southern Gentleman Bemoans His Loss

“We call them stolen property,
    Each woman, man, and child
Formerly safe in slavery,
    In ‘freedom’ now beguiled,

“Stolen by Yankee bayonets,
    The hand of government
Wrenching our purchase, theft which whets
    Malice but rapes consent.

“Deprived of our protective care
    Extinction is their lot,”
Thus spoke a man with savoir faire,
    His voice with anger shot.

“So each and every one of us
    Regard your thieving souls,
As to a banquet sumptuous
    Bring excrement in bowls,

“Leaving behind the stench and smell
    Of refuse, crass and mean,
These ‘freedmen’ you condemn to hell
    And malice whetted keen.”