This view may be reckoned a trifle narrow, But it had the driving force of an arrow, And it helped Mary Lou to stand up straight, For she was gentle, but she could hate And she hated the North with the hate of Jael When the dry hot hands went seeking the nail, The terrible hate of women’s ire, The smoky, the long-consuming fire. The Yankees were devils, and she could pray, For devils, no doubt, upon Judgment Day, But now in the world, she would hate them still And send the gentlemen out to kill.

The gentlemen killed and the gentlemen died, But she was the South’s incarnate pride That mended the broken gentlemen And sent them out to the war again, That kept the house with the men away And baked the bricks where there was no clay, Made courage from terror and bread from bran And propped the South on a swansdown fan Through four long years of ruin and stress, The pride⁠—and the deadly bitterness.