A Book of Americans by Rosemary and Stephen Vincent Benét, 1933

James Buchanan

1791-1868

Poor James Buchanan!
He didn't know what to do.
For the South was getting its dander up
And the North was angry, too.
“You're villains and knaves for holding slaves!”
The Abolitionists groan,
But the Southerners swear it's their affair
And the North must leave it alone—

Poor James Buchanan:
He fiddled and fussed and blew.
While the argument went from bad to worse
As arguments often do.
“We'd rather be done with the Union
Than let you Yankees boss us!”
“You Southerners crow you're the whole blame show,
But just you try to cross us!”

It was “Shan't!” and “Won't!” and “Can't!” and “Don't!”
And “Liar!” and “You're another!”
Till the whole wide land was split in two
And brother set against brother,
Till, at last, with a “There!” and a haughty stare—
In martial precipitation,
The Southern States left the Union's gates
To set up a separate nation.

Poor James Buchanan!
He twiddled his four years through,
And left the mess for somebody else
As weak men always do.
For when times are dark and the outlook stark.
The government needs a man on
Its chair of State, not an addlepate
Like weary old James Buchanan.

James Buchanan 1791-1868, A Book of Americans, by Rosemary Benét and Stephen Vincent Benét, Illustrations by Charles Child, 1933, Pages 176-177.