Jefferson Davis’ Lament

With features weary and worn,
With eye-lids heavy and red,
Jeff. Davis sat in his chair
Holding his aching head;
Sad news, sorrow and gloom,
And remorse like a frightful elf,
Were racking is fevered brain,
As thus he talked to himeslf

O, God! That I might once more
But feel as I used to feel,
Before vile treason stained my soul,
And made my brain to reel,
O, but for one short day,
A respite however brief:
But, ah, there’s none for me,
My time is fill’d with grief.

I once stood high as a man;
With prospects bright as the sun,
Respected at home and abroad,
But, Alas! I now am undone.
Must infamy cover may name?
Or, blur it on history’s page?
To be read with loathing and scorn,
Glass’d with traitors of every age?

I see the future all dark,
No star cheers the hideous night,
Vicksburg and Hudson are gone,
Our armies siezed with affright.
Rebellion’s a terrible thing,
This treason I see will not do,
I hoped it might make me a king,
But a scaffold I now have in view.

Besides to hear the sad wail
Of widows’ and orpahns’ cry.
And sorrow’s dark piteous tale,
And want’s deep moning sigh.
Is enough I do declare
To make the stoutest weep;
Alas! That bread should be so dear,
And flesh and blood so cheap.

‘Twere better to be a slave
To some hard barbarous Turk,
Or better to be in my garve,
Than to to lead in this terrible work:
My constituents young and old,
Find fault, and gruble, and swear,
And Curse me for every loss,
O, it’s more than I can bear.

Demoralization and want,
On Ever side I meet,
Desertions are thinning our ranks,
There’s nothing ahead but defeat;
The North with an iron will
Responds to Lincoln’s call;
The pressure we never can stand,
Before it rebellion must fall.

Our finance is sinking apace,
Our means are near at an end;
Our credit, alas, we have none,
And nothing on which to depend;
Alas, we’re in a sad state,
King Cotton bows to the blockade,
We’re gone as certain as fate,
If France doesn’t come to our aid.

Defeat, and ruin, and want,
Show tacit teeth with a horrid grin,
The Devil’s rebellion did not
Involve a more devilish sin;
I’m troubled far worse than was Cain,
Things have come to a terrible pass,
And I fear, to seak candid and plain,
Abe Lincoln will hang me at last.

[Western Methodist Protestant]

- Published in The Union Sentinel, Osceola, Iowa, December 5, 1863