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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 mild

er,

Grew more sullen, till was over the bloody Border War, And Old Brown, Osawatomie Brown, Had gone crazy, as they reckoned by his fearful glare and frown.

So he left the plains of Kansas and their bitter woes behind him, Slipt off into Virginia, where the statesmen all are born, Hired a farm by Harper's Ferry, and no one knew where to find him,

Or whether he'd turned parson, or was jacketed and shorn; For Old Brown, Osawatomie Brown, Mad as he was, knew texts enough to wear a parson's gown.

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