If you travel in the South,
You will find a rosy mouth,
  And a black eye, O so black! 
And some strands of raven hair
Will purloin your heart just there,
  And you’ll never get the poor thing back. 
    Oho!  My Boy!  Oho!  Etc.

If you travel in the East,
Your dear soul will have a feast
  On a sweet eye, O so sweet! 
And a most seductive curl
Will there give your heart a twirl
  That will fling you at two queenly feet. 
    Oho!  My Boy!  Oho!  Etc.

If you travel in the West,
One shy glance will pierce your breast
  From a bright eye, O so bright! 
And an auburn heaven of hair
Will so glorify the air,
  You’ll surrender all your soul at sight. 
    Oho!  My Boy!  Oho! 
Always for your weal and never for your woe,
Your little heart will gallop on the go,
  And it will not give you rest
  Within your manly breast,
Till you land yourself in toto at her toe. 
    Oho!  My Boy!  Oho!

Thus, the land we love
Is a land of pretty girls,
  In grand variety;
With their many colored eyes
And their multi-colored curls,
  They’ll steal thy heart from thee.

THE UNION OATH.

By the Revolution’s dead,
By their Blood in battle shed,
By the Earth that drank their gore,
By the Heaven in which they soar,
By the Union Stripe and Star,
By the God of Righteous War,
  Swear to conquer, or to die! 
      Swear to conquer,
      Swear to conquer,
  Swear to conquer now, or die!

By the Revolution’s dead,
By their Blood in battle shed,
By the Earth that drank their gore,
By the Heaven in which they soar,
By the Union Stripe and Star,
By the God of Righteous War,
  We will conquer now, or die! 
      We will conquer! 
      We will conquer! 
  We will conquer now, or die!

BETSIE BROWN.

I have loved you all my days,
        Betsie Brown,
And I’ll never cease to praise
        Betsie Brown;
Still must I break love’s tie,
  To act a patriot part,
But I’ll yield thee, as I die,
  The last throb of my heart,
        Betsie Brown!

For my country let me die,
        Betsie Brown,
And never grieve nor cry,
        Betsie Brown,
But lay me down to sleep
  Where my country’s tempests rave,
Where its mountain moss can creep
  O’er an humble patriot’s grave,
        Betsie Brown!

And should my boy, with thee,
        Betsie Brown,
By my grave once bend the knee,
        Betsie Brown,
Teach him to bleed or die
  For his country or his God,
Like him whose ashes lie
  Beneath the loving sod,
        Betsie Brown!

SWORD OF JEHOVAH.