EZEKIEL BIGLOW. by James Russell Lowell

Editor's note

Ezekiel starts off by poking fun at the recruiting drummer who’s attempting to entice men to join the army. The "kittle-drums" (kettledrums) and the fifer are traditional symbols of military display, but he’s not swayed at all. His line, "'Taint a knowin' kind o' cattle / Thet is ketched with mouldy corn," implies that only a foolish animal would bite at spoiled bait — and he doesn’t consider himself foolish. This entire stanza conveys a strong sense of dismissal.

Editor's note

He looks at the recruiter's worn flag and the bulky military uniform. The joke about filling a soldier's chest with "salt hay" instead of cotton is a farmer's jab at the ridiculousness of military attire. Beneath the humor lies a genuine concern: farmers are taxed to fund this war and its uniforms, but they see no return for their contributions.

Editor's note

Here, Biglow identifies the political force fueling the war: Southern slaveholders who constantly rely on the North to "blow the bellows" when they want something. The term "Nigger-drivin' States" reflects the harsh and offensive language of the time, employed here to criticize those states instead of their enslaved individuals. Biglow's frustration with Northern politicians who acquiesce to Southern demands begins to intensify.

Editor's note

"Cut a thunderin' swarth" (swathe) paints a vivid picture of clearing everything in your way. Biglow criticizes Southern slave-traders, supported by Northern traitors ("Yankee renegaders"), for corrupting the moral integrity of the North. The potato boiling on its end serves as a humorous metaphor for a people so accustomed to being pushed around that they no longer respond.

Editor's note

This is the poem's moral core. Biglow doesn't sugarcoat it: war is murder, and the Bible confirms it. He doubts anyone who believes they can outsmart God on this issue. The straightforward, unembellished statement is intentional—Lowell aims for the reader to grasp the weight of this simple truth, expressed unapologetically.

Editor's note

Epaulettes and feathers are military decorations, but Biglow argues they don’t alter the moral equation at all. Simply following your commanding officer — like “bell-wethers,” the leading sheep in a flock — isn’t a valid excuse before God. If you stab someone with a sword, the government won’t be held accountable — you will. You can't pass off personal moral responsibility by blaming your rank or orders.

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Biglow criticizes the hypocrisy of soldiers who attend church. Attending services every Sunday doesn’t hold much weight if you’re spending the week killing fellow humans like they’re just crops in a field. While "bobtail coats" (short military jackets) may look sharp, he refers to the entire situation as a "curus Christian dooty" — a sarcastic jab at the contradiction of Christians who take lives.

Editor's note

"Freedom's airy" refers to talk about freedom that's just empty rhetoric. Biglow argues that the true aim of the Mexican-American War is to seize California and transform it into new slave states. The use of "cemetery" to describe the graveyard of American rights is powerful: this talk of freedom represents a burial ground, not something vibrant. The South seeks new territory to exploit, belittle, and take advantage of Northerners.

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"Cute" here refers to a sarcastic kind of cleverness. Biglow presents his most straightforward political argument: those who enslave Black people will ultimately turn on white working people as well. "Clear as one and one make two" — it's basic math. Assisting slaveholders in creating chains for others is also aiding in creating chains for yourself.

Editor's note

"Ciphering" refers to doing the math, and Biglow claims that the calculation is straightforward enough for anyone to grasp. Working men and women, regardless of their race, possess the same dignity and face the same vulnerabilities. Any injustice inflicted on one group of laborers affects all laborers. This represents one of the poem's most radical moments — a 19th-century New England farmer advocating for solidarity across class and race.

Editor's note

Biglow directly warns white workers that looking down on Black people due to their own oppression by white elites is a trap, not a solution. Slavery doesn't discriminate by color; it simply seeks to fill its purse. This stanza challenges the racial resentment that recruiters used to persuade poor white men to fight a war benefiting slaveholders.

Editor's note

Biglow goes back to the recruiter and declines once more, this time with a hint of dark humor. "When cold lead puts daylight through ye" refers to getting shot, and that's when you'll start calculating the odds. He ridicules the notion that dying to take down "half-Spanish drones" (a derogatory term for Mexicans at the time) is in any way glorious.

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Nancy is Biglow's wife, and her practical common sense serves as the final say. She needs him home for the hay harvest and would consider him foolish to enlist. The domestic detail ties the poem's politics to real life: this isn't just abstract philosophy; it's about a family's livelihood. The recruiters have "a darned long row to hoe" if they're trying to find men with any sense.

Editor's note

Newspaper editors who sound the alarm about war are likened to a young rooster that crows loudly but doesn’t take any action. They write boldly in their papers, yet none are signing up to fight. Biglow uses the image of a peach infested with "the yellers" (a plant disease) to suggest that their moral decay is on the verge of becoming obvious.

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A harsh conclusion about what the war really achieves: more land for slavery, more disrespect towards Northern values, and further oppression of the vulnerable by the powerful. Biglow points out the contradictions — you're supporting men who label your own people as "whitewashed slaves and peddling crew" — to highlight the ridiculousness of enlisting in a way that feels real.

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Biglow turns from the recruiter to his home state with heartfelt sorrow. Massachusetts, which ought to be shining a light of freedom to the world from its "grand old eagle-nest," is instead bowing down next to the slave states. This beacon imagery serves as both a lighthouse metaphor and a nod to Massachusetts' abolitionist roots. The sense of disappointment is palpable and intense.

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These lines point to specific complaints: Southern states were detaining free Black sailors from Massachusetts whenever their ships arrived in Southern ports, and the official representatives from Massachusetts who went to protest were chased away. Biglow highlights these tangible injustices to challenge: what will it truly take for you to behave like free individuals? His answer is the spirit of 1776.

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The poem transitions into what feels like a moral call to action rather than a military one. Ring the bells, denounce the traitors, and let Massachusetts raise its voice to the South. Biglow’s intended message comes in the next stanza: I’ll respond to wrong with kindness, but I won’t aid the Devil in making humanity a burden to itself.

Editor's note

This is Massachusetts' imagined speech to the South, and it strikes a balance between generosity and firmness. The state expresses its goodwill while making it clear that it will not assist in the enslavement of people. "Call me coward, call me traitor" — Biglow expects these accusations and brushes them aside. He believes that standing as "a tyrant hater and the friend of God and Peace" is the only morally sound stance.

Editor's note

The poem concludes with Biglow proposing the idea of separation—allowing the slave states to choose their own path. It's a powerful ending: not war, not compromise, but divorce. "Man hed ough' to put asunder / Them thet God has noways jined" turns the marriage vow on its head. He believes that thousands feel the same way. Lowell penned this in 1846, fifteen years before the Civil War made the issue of separation painfully tangible.