Words of Sympathy.BY ROBERT M. HART.Air—Katy Darling.Oh, they told us you were dead, poor Jeff. Davis,That your form was lying stiff and coldIn the catacombs of Eastern Virginia,Where thy virtues were greatly extolled;But, oh, ’twas a cruel hoax, Jeff. Davis,You’re alive and kicking, we see,And there’s many now would hang you, poor Jeff. Davis,On the branch of the first sycamore tree.Your pockets they are empty, poor Jeff. Davis,And of gold you are very much in need,While starvation mounts the throne close beside you,And secession has just gone to seed;And, oh, what a sad mistake, Jeff. Davis,To think with cotton all aloneYou could frighten Uncle Sam, poor Jeff. Davis,And then rob him of half of his home.Oh, there’s trouble in the South, poor Jeff. Davis,And your prestige is going to decay;You had better get your duds ready shortly,And push forward, an exile, this way,We’llfeedyou andlodgeyou, Jeff. Davis—Our kindness you ne’er will forget—We’ll take you out a sailing, poor Jeff. Davis,And then land you at Fort Lafayette.
BY ROBERT M. HART.
Air—Katy Darling.
Oh, they told us you were dead, poor Jeff. Davis,That your form was lying stiff and coldIn the catacombs of Eastern Virginia,Where thy virtues were greatly extolled;But, oh, ’twas a cruel hoax, Jeff. Davis,You’re alive and kicking, we see,And there’s many now would hang you, poor Jeff. Davis,On the branch of the first sycamore tree.Your pockets they are empty, poor Jeff. Davis,And of gold you are very much in need,While starvation mounts the throne close beside you,And secession has just gone to seed;And, oh, what a sad mistake, Jeff. Davis,To think with cotton all aloneYou could frighten Uncle Sam, poor Jeff. Davis,And then rob him of half of his home.Oh, there’s trouble in the South, poor Jeff. Davis,And your prestige is going to decay;You had better get your duds ready shortly,And push forward, an exile, this way,We’llfeedyou andlodgeyou, Jeff. Davis—Our kindness you ne’er will forget—We’ll take you out a sailing, poor Jeff. Davis,And then land you at Fort Lafayette.
Oh, they told us you were dead, poor Jeff. Davis,That your form was lying stiff and coldIn the catacombs of Eastern Virginia,Where thy virtues were greatly extolled;But, oh, ’twas a cruel hoax, Jeff. Davis,You’re alive and kicking, we see,And there’s many now would hang you, poor Jeff. Davis,On the branch of the first sycamore tree.Your pockets they are empty, poor Jeff. Davis,And of gold you are very much in need,While starvation mounts the throne close beside you,And secession has just gone to seed;And, oh, what a sad mistake, Jeff. Davis,To think with cotton all aloneYou could frighten Uncle Sam, poor Jeff. Davis,And then rob him of half of his home.Oh, there’s trouble in the South, poor Jeff. Davis,And your prestige is going to decay;You had better get your duds ready shortly,And push forward, an exile, this way,We’llfeedyou andlodgeyou, Jeff. Davis—Our kindness you ne’er will forget—We’ll take you out a sailing, poor Jeff. Davis,And then land you at Fort Lafayette.
Oh, they told us you were dead, poor Jeff. Davis,That your form was lying stiff and coldIn the catacombs of Eastern Virginia,Where thy virtues were greatly extolled;But, oh, ’twas a cruel hoax, Jeff. Davis,You’re alive and kicking, we see,And there’s many now would hang you, poor Jeff. Davis,On the branch of the first sycamore tree.
Oh, they told us you were dead, poor Jeff. Davis,
That your form was lying stiff and cold
In the catacombs of Eastern Virginia,
Where thy virtues were greatly extolled;
But, oh, ’twas a cruel hoax, Jeff. Davis,
You’re alive and kicking, we see,
And there’s many now would hang you, poor Jeff. Davis,
On the branch of the first sycamore tree.
Your pockets they are empty, poor Jeff. Davis,And of gold you are very much in need,While starvation mounts the throne close beside you,And secession has just gone to seed;And, oh, what a sad mistake, Jeff. Davis,To think with cotton all aloneYou could frighten Uncle Sam, poor Jeff. Davis,And then rob him of half of his home.
Your pockets they are empty, poor Jeff. Davis,
And of gold you are very much in need,
While starvation mounts the throne close beside you,
And secession has just gone to seed;
And, oh, what a sad mistake, Jeff. Davis,
To think with cotton all alone
You could frighten Uncle Sam, poor Jeff. Davis,
And then rob him of half of his home.
Oh, there’s trouble in the South, poor Jeff. Davis,And your prestige is going to decay;You had better get your duds ready shortly,And push forward, an exile, this way,We’llfeedyou andlodgeyou, Jeff. Davis—Our kindness you ne’er will forget—We’ll take you out a sailing, poor Jeff. Davis,And then land you at Fort Lafayette.
Oh, there’s trouble in the South, poor Jeff. Davis,
And your prestige is going to decay;
You had better get your duds ready shortly,
And push forward, an exile, this way,
We’llfeedyou andlodgeyou, Jeff. Davis—
Our kindness you ne’er will forget—
We’ll take you out a sailing, poor Jeff. Davis,
And then land you at Fort Lafayette.