Till the Ruffians killed one son, in the blessed light of heaven—
In cold blood the fellows slew him, as he journeyed all unarmed;
Then Old Brown,
Osawatomie Brown,
Shed not a tear, but shut his teeth, and frowned a terrible frown.
Then they seized another brave boy—not amid the heat of battle,
But in peace, behind his plough-share—and they loaded him with chains,
And with pikes, before their horses, even as they goad their cattle,
Drove him, cruelly, for their sport, and at last blew out his brains;
Then Old Brown,
Osawatomie Brown,
Raised his right hand up to Heaven, calling Heaven's vengeance down.
And he swore a fearful oath, by the name of the Almighty,
He would hunt this ravening evil, that had scathed and torn him so—
He would seize it by the vitals; he would crush it day and night: he
Would so pursue its footsteps—so return it blow for blow—
That Old Brown,
Osawatomie Brown,
Should be a name to swear by, in backwoods or in town!
Then his beard became more grizzled, and his wild blue eye grew wilder,
And more sharply curved his hawk's nose, snuffing battle from afar;
And he and the two boys left, though the Kansas strife waxed milder,
Grew more sullen till was over the bloody Border War,
And Old Brown,
Osawatomie Brown,
Had grown crazy, as they reckoned, by his fearful glare and frown.
