Civil War-era Americans observed Valentine’s Day—and took advantage of the quickly growing Valentine’s Day card industry to send family and loved ones tokens of their affections. As evidenced by the following examples—all from the collections of the Library Company of Philadelphia—these Civil War valentines could at times be more comic, satirical, and biting than loving. The captions below contain the verses that were printed at the bottom of each valentine.
“A pretty Valentine you look, upon that horse of thine, / But know, my sweet-faced Brigadier, you never can be mine; / Better men than you can ever be, are waiting for your seat, / So throw up your commission, you regular ‘dead beat.’ / You never can be popular, for this one simple reason, / The best friends you have got, suspect you’re tainted sore with treason.”
“Zu-Zu [Zouave], you made a splendid run, / From Bull-Run fight, to Washington. / By Bully Runners e’er so fleet; / Your feats of legs such wonders raised, / That every one has stood amazed. / So, Coward Recreant, Renegade, / Your Valentine I’ll not be made.”
“When duty calls, I hope you’ll be / Not hid behind some friendly tree / But leading on the gallant line / To win the fight and a Valentine.”
“Mr. Rifleman, but I would be a flat, / If you think that with you I would wed: / Cheeks put out your eyes — nose turn’d to the skies— / Like a turnip, my dear, is your head. / One like you is enough for a bed, / So with you I’ll never wed.”
“Of all things whom honorable men despise, / The meanest is the copperhead and traitor, / Whose presence is a libel on our liberties, / And his thoughts a libel on his Creator. / Anathema Marantha! Let him be accursed: / Let him drink of the poison he distills: / Let him be marked of enemies the worst, / That has brought on the Republic all its ills. / The woman would be branded with ever living shame, / Who, for a Valentine, breathed a copperhead’s name.”
“You are a gallant soldier, / With a splendid figure for parade; / The country is safe in your keeping, / So long as you fight in the shade. / I fancy myself your beloved! / Wouldn’t you have a jolly good time? / I’d make you stand guard over a cradle, / And do double duty to Valentine.”
“‘When this cruel war is over,’ And our noble Volunteers / home return to live in clover / Shan’t we have good times, my dears? Honor to the heroes, who by / Their brave deeds us captivate, / Thank of all the kisses ruby / That upon their coming wait!”
“Folks do say, my little drummer, / That once you were a perfect bummer; / Made your living gathering junk, / And spent your money getting drunk. / If this be so, young friend of mine, / You’ll never make a Valentine.”
“You don’t look handsome in your regimentals, / Although you’re doubtless think you’re very fine. / You’ll ne’er belong unto the sentimentals, / And ne’er can hope to be my valentine.”
“Oh gunner bold and gunner wise, / With reddish nose and glassy eyes, / Although you can adjust your gun, / You can as well turn around and run. / I would as leave on bullets dine, / As have you for my Valentine.”
“Gaunt and slim and bony baby, / You will be promoted — maybe; / Than your comrades two foot higher, / For what more can you aspire?”
“You fat old cuss, give us our grub, / You have our cash to feed us, / You’re paid to keep us in good trim, / And not to sponge and bleed us.”
“Come up to the bar, old boy— / Come up to the bar and drink: / Did you leave your leg and arms / On Chickahominy’s brink? / There’s lots of your sort around— / Young heroes in a war grown old— / And out on the niggardly hound / Who’d leave them ‘out in the cold.'”
“His eye-balls glare— / Oh! what a stare / Is on that human face divine; / He runs! he’s running back to me— / Oh! Hurry up! my Valentine.”
“Dead drunk, and sleeping on the ground, / Thus, Zoo-Zoo, daily you are found; / You would your country sell or buy, / For just one horn of strong old rye. / Go hang yourself upon yon tree, / You’re not the Valentine for me.”
“Ha, ha! don’t you think you’re brave? / No officer e’er looked bolder / But, all who march with you, / Think the asses head should be upon your shoulder.”
“As you pace your lone rounds in the wilds of ‘Secessia’ / My dear little heart forever will bless you / And when the war’s over if you so incline / You may take me and make me your own Valentine.”
“My valiant gory son of Mars, / The way I love is a sin; / If you want me, the Stripes and Stars / Defend, and then go in and win.”
“Hero! how my fond heart doats / On your trowser petticoats; / On your leggins, tight and trim; / On your cap without a brim; / On your lip of hair prolific, — / Arab-Yankee— you’re terrific! / There’s a wild light in your eye—/ Is it valor? Is it rye? / O! beware of whisky-skin, / Brains go out as that goes in. / Sober keep, and by the Nine! / You shall be my Valentine.”
“Gentility, neatness and courage / In a warrior I hold to be dear / But uniform don’t make the soldier / Nor a coward get courage from Beer.”
