I can not listen to your words, the land is long and wide;
Go seek some happy Northern girl to be your loving bride;
My brothers they were soldiers--the youngest of the three
Was slain while fighting by the side of gallant FITZHUGH LEE!
They left his body on the field (your side the day had won),
A soldier spurn'd him with his foot--_you_ might have been the one;
My lover was a soldier--he belonged to GORDON'S band;
A saber pierced his gallant heart--_yours_ might have been the hand.
He reel'd and fell, but was not dead, a horseman spurred his steed,
And trampled on the dying brain--_you_ may have done the deed:
I hold no hatred in my heart, no cold, unrighteous pride,
For many a gallant soldier fought upon the other side:
But still I can not kiss the hand that smote my country sore,
Nor love the foes who trampled down the colors that she bore;
Between my heart and yours there rolls a deep and crimson tide--
My brother's and my lover's blood forbid me be your bride.
The girls who loved the boys in gray--the girls to country true--
May ne'er in wedlock give their hands to those who wore the blue.