NEW VOICES FROM THE CROWD
I.
NATIONAL SONGS.
Rewritten for the South and English Southerners,
by Charles Mackay.
I.
RULE BRITANNIA!
When Davis first, at hell’s commands,
Dug, for a million, bloody graves,
This was the charter of his land,
And women-whippers sung the staves;
Rule, son-sellers,
Whoever at you raves,
Southerners ever, ever will have slaves.
The nations not so blest as we,
Must sell their daughters not at all,
Breeders of selling babes to be
To any brutes to whom they fall;
Rule, girl-sellers,
Whoever at you raves,
Southerners ever, ever will whip slaves.
Still more atrocious will we rise,
The more all justice we defy,
The more black souls we brutalize,
And call all right and God a lie;
Rule, Jeff Davis,
Whoever at you raves,
Southerners ever, ever will burn slaves.
Us,God nor man shall ever shame;
All their attempts to put chains down.
Shall make us think man hunting, fame,
And hold wife-lashing, our renown;
Rule, wife-whippers,
Whoever at you raves,
Southerners ever, ever will whip slaves.
To us belong the right to burn
The man who dares a man to be.
The man who dares our chains to spurn,
And be, as God would have him, free;
Rule, girl-whippers,
Whoever at you raves,
Southerners ever, ever will lash slaves.
All vices still with slavery found,
Shall to our cursed homes repair;
Lust – cruelty shall thre abound;
Torture and murder shall be there;
Rule, child-sellers,
Whoever at you raves,
Southerners ever, ever will breed slaves.
And while both heaven and earth abhor
Our new-born rule that shames the day,
We’ll boast of all they hate the more,
And women’s backs their taunts shall play;
Rule, girl-whippers,
Whoever at you raves,
Southerners ever, ever will have slaves.
II.
SCOTS WHA HA’E.
DAVIS’S ADDRESS.
Men who have your daughters sold,
Men whose sons have brought you gold,
For your trade in flesh be bold!
On for chains and slavery!
Now’s the day and now’s the hour,
See the front of battle [lour?]
See, approach cursed freedom’s power;
Down with all but slavery!
Who’d not be a Southern knave,
Who’d not fill a traitor’s grave,
Who’d not own and lash a slave,
Yankee, let him turn and flee.
Who for hell, our rights and law,
Slavery’s sword will strongly draw,
Woman-whipper, stand of fa’
Brother, let him on with me!
By oppression’s woes and pains,
By our sons in servile chains,
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shan’t – they shan’t be free!
Lay the vile men-freers low:
Freemen fall in every foe,
Slavery’s in every blow,
Forward! let us do or die!
Roebuck hugs us to his heart!
Tories long to take our part!
Well their Clarkson’s ghost may start!
Wilberforce must howl on high!
All the thrice-cursed crew who rant,
Freedom’s friends, no longer cant;
Cotton – cotton’s all they want;
That, and up with slavery!
Oh! that millions yet may groan!
Build your state on wrong alone:
Slavery’s its corner stone;
On! “Our Chains!” our battle-cry.