Reply to the Volunteer Zouave by A Baltimore Lady (1862)

We've seen the complaint of the red legged Zou-Zou,
Understand his sad case and pity him, too!
He's shunned in the hall--he's cut in the street
And scorned by each lady he happens to meet.
What meaneth this change--it was not so of yore,
When he visited friends in sweet Baltimore.
The change is in us and the change is in you,
And the change is in all things since that time, Zou-Zou;
You came then as friends, 'twas a pleasure to greet,
You come now as foes, it is maddening to meet;
And our brain it will burn, and our blood it will boil,
'Till you take your rude foot from our Maryland soil.
We don't think it useless, nor foolish, nor wrong,
To do all (?) the things that you tell in your song:
For women are quick and not given to musing,
They've no thanks for "Protection," (?)that's not of their choosing:
When they need armed attentions they'll ask you to come,
But now none are wanted, so you'd better run "hum."

Just think of the ladies in the city of "Tea,"
Though not quite so warm and impulsive as we--
Would they walk with, or talk with, or smilingly glance
On a Southerner armed with his musket and lance.
Who took up quarters, as though 'twas his right,
And staid there as long as seemed good in his sight;
Dispensing to fathers and brothers and friends.
Such justice as suited to further his ends;
Do you think they would greet, with a cordial face,
The men you are striving your best to displace:
Would you challenge their favor, would you wish them to smile
On the men who were planting their cannon meanwhile,
To destroy that fair city, to ruin each home,
While the loved ones in danger and loneliness roam?
We need not your answer, deny it who may,
How her feelings would prompt her each woman can say.

Go back where you came from, stay there for a time,
Learn to look on secession as less of a crime;
Let the South make the trial to live by herself--
The North has enough both of prudence and pelf;
It needs not the aid of us miserable sinners--
So let us alone to earn our own dinners;
And Helen and Phoebe, and all the bright train
Of ladies whose names you have brought in your strain,
Would be cheerful and joyous and happy again,
Not seeming as now to be haters of men.
So go back to your city, put on your own clothes,
When you come here again we won't meet as foes:
If you take us as friends, we'll be faithful and true,
But don't come again as a Yankee Zou-Zou!

(Poem courtesy of the Library of Congress)