George Washington Flowers 
 Memorial Collection 
 
 DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 ESTABLISHED BY THE 
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liar ^ongs of l|e ^0utl]. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 CORUESPOXDEXT KICHMOXD DISPATCH. 
 
 '■ I said, I knew a very wise man so much of Sir Chr — 's seutiiueut, 
 that he believeil if a man were permitted to make all the ballads, he need 
 not care who should make the laws of a nation." 
 
 — Fletcher's Political Worls, p. 372. 
 
 XilCHMEOND : 
 
 WEST & JOHNSTON, 145 MAIN STREET. 
 
 1802. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, by 
 
 WEST & JOHNSTON, . 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for Eastern^District of Virginia. 
 
 LYNCHBURG, VIRGINIA : 
 
 VIRGINIAN POWER-PRESSES PRINT. 
 
 C. A. ScRAFFTEE, Printer. 
 
ur- »^..^ 
 
 
 ■ ' ' • 1 4-^ f V'/ 
 
 Wt$iRU 
 
 Southern Independence has struck the lyre as 
 well as unsheathed the sword. 
 
 That it has inspired many a song no less truly 
 poetical than intensely patriotic, our newspapers 
 amply testify. But the newspaper can give only 
 an ephemeral life to " thoughts that breathe and 
 words that burn." The book embalms if it does 
 not immortalize. 
 
 A few years ago, when an attempt was made to 
 collect the ballads and songs of the Revolution 
 of '76, much regret was occasioned by tlie fact 
 that many admirable ones had been but partially 
 preserved by tradition, and that others, perhaps, 
 of equal merit, had been entirely lost. Shall we 
 not try to insure against so deplorable a fate the 
 songs of our own revolution ? 
 
 52.4-3"^ 
 
 
4 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 We are in the midst of a revolution in which 
 the instinct of Southern Avomen has anticipated 
 the logic of our statesmen and the ardor of our 
 soldiers. The heart of Gertrude, in Schil- 
 ler's " Wilhelm Tell," beats in the bosom of 
 every Southern wife. And more than one fair 
 daughter of the South, adopting the aphorism of 
 old Fj.etcher of Saltown, have contributed to 
 this collection of War Songs. 
 
 Many of the songs have been composed by 
 soldiers in camp, and nearly all have particular 
 reference to^ome event of the war, some battle, 
 or individual act of heroism. Written cotempo- 
 raucously with the achievements which they cel- 
 ebrate, they possess all the vitality and force of 
 the testimony of eye-witnesses to a glorious com- 
 bat, or even of actors in it. The spontaneous 
 outburst of popular feeling, they give the lie to 
 the assertion of our enemy that this revolution is 
 the work of politicians and party leaders alone. 
 
 Through the Poet's Corner in the newspaper, 
 they have sped their flight from and to the heart 
 and mind of the people. They showed which 
 "way the wind was blowing, when war arose " a 
 
PREFACE. 6 
 
 little cloud like a man's hand," and, black as the 
 heaven may now appear, they bravely sing above 
 the storm, soaring so high that their wings are 
 brightened by the sun beyond the clouds. 
 
 They cannot fail to challenge the attention of 
 the philosophic historian by their. origin and their 
 influence. It was no false oracle at Delphi which 
 bade the alarmed Lacedemonians seek a general 
 at Athens ; for the songs of lame Tyrt^eus, the 
 schoolmaster, whom the Athenians contemptu- 
 ously sent to them, reanimated their courage, and 
 led them on to victory over the Messinians. In 
 every age, martial songs have wrought wonders 
 in struggles for national independence. 
 
 And surely, tht?se newspaper waifs liave played 
 no unimportant part in the actual drama which 
 surrounds us. Convinced th<at their wealth of 
 patriotic sentiment is too precious to be lost, I 
 have gleaned through the fieMs of newspaper 
 literature, and have bound up this volume as one 
 binds up a sheaf of" gokjen grain. I need not 
 disguise the pleasure with which I bring such a 
 gift to the thousands of unknown friends whose 
 flattering reception of the letters of " Bohemian" 
 
 s^f^'^o 
 
6 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 has consoled and cheered me in camj), on the bat- 
 tle-JBeld, on the bed of sickness, and as a prisoner 
 of war. 
 
 •I must also express my thanks to Prof. W. S. 
 Chase, of Richmond College, and J. R. Thomp- 
 son, Esq., former Editor of the Southern Lite- 
 rary Messenger, for having placed at my disposal 
 a collection previously made by them, and for 
 ■which, as well as for the present collection, cor- 
 ]'ected copies of most of the songs have been 
 kindly furnished by the writers themselves. 
 
 A single volume of ordinary size cannot con- 
 tain a tithe of the songs which have already ap- 
 peared and are daily appearing. This, however, 
 offers enough to show that, during the present 
 eventful period, what was said of the early Span- 
 iard is true of the Southron : — " He has been 
 unconsciously surrounding history with the light 
 of imagination — linking great names with great 
 deeds — concentrating those universal recollec- 
 tions in which every one feels he has a part, and 
 silently building up the fabric of national poetry 
 on the basis of national enthusiasm." 
 
 BOHEMIAN. 
 
Harp of the South Awake 13 
 
 Oh, the Sweet South 15 
 
 Southrons, hear j'^our Country call you 17 
 
 A Poem for the Times 19 
 
 A Poem which needs no Dedication 22 • 
 
 A Ballad for the Young South 25 
 
 Lines to the Tyrant 30 
 
 Tear down that Flag 34 
 
 The Southern Cross 35 
 
 Let the Bugle Blow 36 
 
 A Bugle Note 38 
 
 What the Bugles say 39 
 
 The Marseilles Hymn . 40 
 
 The Battle Call 42 
 
 The Gathering of the Southern Volunteers 48 
 
 Volunteered 50 
 
 Gone to the Battle Field 52 
 
 Are You Ready? 54 
 
 Pro Aris et Focis ; 55 
 
 "Old Betsy" ^ 56 
 
 The Spirit of '76— The Old Rifleman 57 
 
8 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 The Spirit of '60 58 
 
 Our Faith in '61 59 
 
 Seventy-Six and Sixty-One 62 
 
 Ethnogenesis 63 
 
 Independence Hymn , 66 
 
 Arise 67 
 
 South Carolina 69 
 
 The Pelican Flag 71 
 
 Fort Sumter 73 
 
 Old Moultrie 74 
 
 Forts Morris and Moultrie 76 
 
 A Chronicle of Fort Sumter 78 
 
 Sumter— A Ballad, of 1861 81 
 
 *rhe Lady Caroline's Tea Party 85 
 
 Carolina 87 
 
 Savannah 91 
 
 The Southern Pleiades 92 
 
 The Lone Star Flag... 93 
 
 Sic Semper Tyrannis 94 
 
 Virginia's Rallj'ing Call 95 
 
 Prosopopoeia 96 
 
 Virginia to the Rescue 98 
 
 Virginia — Late but Sure 99 
 
 Jackson, the Alexandria Martyr 100 
 
 The Martyr of Alexandria .' 100 
 
 The Virginians of the Valley 102 
 
 Uprise ye Braves 103 
 
 The Stars find Bars .^. 104 
 
 • The Battle at Bethel 106 
 
lABLE OF CONTENTS. 9 
 
 Ricb Mouutiiin 107 
 
 Southern Border Song 108 
 
 On to Richmond 109 
 
 Yankee Doodle's Ride to Richmond 113 
 
 For Punch 120 
 
 The Brigand Brigade 120 
 
 The Battle of Manassas 123 
 
 The Battle of Manassas 126 
 
 Battle Hymn — Columns Steady 132 
 
 The Battle Eve 135 
 
 Waiting 136 
 
 Beauregard — A Song 137 
 
 My Maryland '. 138 
 
 "There's Life in the Old Land yet" 141 
 
 Maryland, Our Mother 142 
 
 Encore ct Toujours — ''Maryland" 144 
 
 To Maryland — Friends are Nigh 145 
 
 Kentucky retiuired to yield her Arms 146 
 
 Fast and Pray 148 
 
 Sons of Freedom 149 
 
 War Soug 150 
 
 War Song 152 
 
 Cannon Song 153 
 
 To the Front 155 
 
 Song 156 
 
 The Dying Soldier 158 
 
 In Death United , 159 
 
 The Sentinel 161 
 
 Song of the Sentinel 162 
 
 The Soldier's Dream 163 
 
 A^ 
 
 I* 
 
10 WAR SONGS OF THE Sfl|>JTH. 
 
 Homespun 166 
 
 The Boy Soldier 167 
 
 My only Boy 169 
 
 Thinking of the Soldiers 170 
 
 The Midnight Ride 172 
 
 Coast Guard Cogitations 172 
 
 The Brave at Home 174 
 
 A Southern Woman's Song 175 
 
 Knitting for the Soldiers 177 
 
 The Eight above the Wrong 178 
 
 A Soiitliern Scene from Life/ 180 
 
 Tncle Jerry 183 
 
 The Cotton Boll ; 184 
 
 Christmas Day, A. D. 1861 189 
 
 Requienrfor 1861 191 
 
 God bless our Land 193 
 
 Clouds in the West ; 195 
 
 Zollicoflfer i97 
 
 Lines 197 
 
 The Blockaders 198 
 
 The Merrimac 200 
 
 The Turtle •.... 202 
 
 Song of the South 203 
 
 The Battle Cry of the South 205 
 
 Beauregard's Appeal 207 
 
 Shiloh 209 
 
 A Cry to Arms 211 
 
 Virginia — a Battle Song _ 213 
 
 Gather ! Gather -. 216 
 

 pist 0f J^MtlWfS, 
 
 WHOSE POEMS ARE INSERTED IN THIS VOLUME. 
 
 Henuy C. Alexandeu. 
 
 JouN Antrobur. 
 
 H. C. B. 
 
 Rev. E. p. Birch. 
 
 Joseph Brenan. 
 
 A. Lansino Burrows. 
 
 Constance Carey. 
 
 Carlos. 
 
 Mrs. Clark. 
 
 LorisB Elemjay. 
 
 H. L. Flash. 
 
 Caroline Howard Glover. 
 
 Nanny Gray. 
 
 H. 
 
 M. J. H. 
 
 Pail H. IIavne. 
 
 Hermine. 
 
 Theo. H. Hill. 
 
 Wm. H. Holcombe, M. D. 
 
 Jas. Barron Hope. 
 
 Mrs. C. J. M. Joroan, 
 
 Robert Joselyn. 
 
 J. M. KiLOOUR. 
 
 John Killum. 
 Willie Liqhtheart. 
 Laura Lorrimer. 
 G. A. M. 
 
 G. H. M. 
 
 Rev. J. Collins M'Cabe, D. D. 
 
 Hon. Alex. B. Meek. 
 
 Ellen A. .Moriarty 
 
 E. 0. Mcrden. 
 
 John W. Overall. 
 
 Albert Pike. 
 
 Hon. B. F. Porter. 
 
 C. G. POYNAS. 
 
 Jas. R. Randall. 
 
 A. J. Requier. 
 
 Lady of Savannah. 
 
 Wm. Shepabdson. 
 
 J. Wright Simmons. 
 
 Wm. Gilmore Simms. 
 
 Margaret Stilling. 
 
 Susan Archer Talley. 
 
 John R. Thompson. 
 
 Dr. Ticknor. 
 
 Frank Ticknor.. 
 
 Henry Timrod. 
 
 St. George TuCker. 
 
 Mary J. Upshur. 
 
 V. E. W. (McCord) Vernon. 
 
 Virginia. 
 
 E. Young. 
 
HARP OF THE SOUTH AWAKE;! 
 
 Respectfully dedicated to Capt. Bradley T. Johnston, o/ </ic ''FredcrklJ 
 Volunteers." ?)"»»• in service in Virginia, by his _friend 
 J. M. KILGOUR. 
 
 Harp of the South awnku ! 
 
 From every golden wire, 
 I Let the voice of thy power go forth. 
 
 Like the rush of .a prairie fire; 
 With the rush and the rhythm of ii power. 
 
 That dares a freeman's grave, 
 Rather than live to wear 
 
 The chains of a truclding slave. 
 
 Harp of tlic South awake ! 
 
 Thy sons are aroused at last, 
 And tlieir legions are gathering now. 
 
 To the sound of the trumpet-blast : 
 To the scream of the piercing fife, 
 
 And the beat of the rolling drum, 
 From mountain, and hill, and plain. 
 
 And field, and town; they come. 
 B 
 
14 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Harp of the South awfike ! 
 
 Their banners are on the breeze — 
 Tell the world how vain the thought 
 
 To subdue such men as these, 
 With hero hearts that beat, 
 
 To the throbs of the siiirit-flame, 
 Which will kindle their battle fires 
 
 In freedom's holy name. 
 
 Harp of the South awake ! 
 
 But not to sing of love. 
 In shad}' foresi-bower, 
 
 Or fragrant orange grove : 
 Oh, no, but thy song must be 
 
 The wrath of the battle crash, 
 Inscribed on the cloud of war, 
 
 Witli the jien of its lightning flash. 
 
 Harp of the South awake ! 
 
 And strike the strains once more, 
 Which nerved thy heroes' hearts 
 
 Id the glorious days of yore ; 
 Which gave a giant's strength 
 
 To the arm of Makion — 
 Of SrMTKU — MonGAN — Lee, 
 
 And your own great Washington. 
 
 Harp of the South awake ! 
 
 Your freedom's Angel calls, 
 In the laugh of the rippling rills. 
 
 And the roar of the waterfalls. 
 See how she bends to hear, 
 
 As she walks the valleys through 
 And along the mountain-tops. 
 
 In robes of gold and blue. 
 
■ on, THE SWEET SOI Til. 15 
 
 Harp of the South awake ! 
 . The proml — the full-sourd Soiifh-;^ 
 With the dusk of her flashing eyes. 
 And the lure of her rosy mouth — 
 With love, or pride, or wrath, 
 
 Thrilling her noble form, 
 As she smiles like a sum'mer sky, 
 
 Or frowns like a summer storm ! 
 
 Harp of the South awake ! 
 
 Though the soldier's heaming tear 
 May fall on thy trembling strings. 
 
 As he breathes his farewell jjrayer; 
 Yet, tell him how to die 
 
 On the bloody battle-field. 
 Rather than to her foes 
 
 The gallant South shouM yiefd. 
 
 OH, THE SWEET SOUTH! 
 
 BY W. GILMORK SIMMS. 
 
 1. 
 Oh, the sweet South ! the sunny, sunny South ! 
 
 Laud of true feeling, land forever mine ! 
 I drink the kisses of her rosy mouth, 
 
 And my heart swells as with a draught of wine; 
 She brings me blessings of maternal love ; 
 
 I have her smile, which hallows all my toilj 
 Her voice persuades, her generous smiles approve, 
 
 She sings me from the sky and from the soil! 
 Oh ! by her lonely pines, that wave and sigh — 
 
16 WAR soxGS or THE souxii. 
 
 Oh [.by her myriad flowers that bloom and fade — 
 fiy all tfee thousand beauties of her sky, 
 And the sweet solace of her forest shade. 
 
 She's mine— she's ever mine — 
 
 Nor will I aught resign 
 Of what she gives me, mortal or divine: 
 
 Win sooner pnrt 
 
 With life, hope, heart — 
 Will die — before I fly ! 
 
 ' II. 
 Oh ! love is her's — such love as ever glows 
 
 In souls where leaps atfection's living tide ; 
 She is all fondness to her friends : to foes 
 
 She glows a thing of passion, strength, and pride ; 
 She feels no tremors wJien the danger's nigh. 
 
 But, the fight over, and the victory won, 
 How, with strange fondness, turns her loving eye 
 
 In tearful welcome §n each gallant son ! 
 Oh 1 by her virtues of the cherished past — 
 
 By all her hopes of what the future brings — 
 I glory that my lot with her is cast. 
 
 And my soul flushes, and exulting sings : 
 She's mine — she's ever mine — 
 For her will I resign 
 Alljprecious things — all placed upon her shrine- 
 Will freely part 
 With life, hope, heart — 
 Will die— do aught but flv ! 
 
SOUTHRONS, JlKAlt YuUK COUNTRY CALL YOU. 17 
 (From the Mississippian.) 
 
 SOUTHEONS, HEAK'YOUR COUNTRY 
 CALL YOU ! 
 
 BY ALDEUT I'IKK, of Arkiiusa.s 
 
 (To the tunc nf Dixie.) 
 
 Southrons, bear your country call you 
 Up ! lest worse than death befall you 
 
 To arms ! to arms ! to arras ! in Dixie 1 
 Lo ! all the beacon fires are lighted, 
 Lo ! all hearts be now united ! 
 
 To arms! to arms! to arms! in Dixie! 
 
 Chofus. 
 • Advance the flag of Dixie! 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 For Dixie's land well take our stan|^ 
 And live or die for Dixie ! 
 
 To arms ! to arms ! 
 And conquer peace for Dixie ! 
 
 To arms ! to arms ! 
 And conquer peace for Dixie ! 
 
 Hear the Northern thunders mutter ! 
 'Northern flags in South winds flutter! 
 
 To arms ! etc. . 
 Send them back your fierce defiance ! 
 Stamp upon the accurs'd alliance ! 
 
 To arms ! etc. 
 Advance the flag of Dixie, etc. 
 
 Fear no danger! shun no lAbor! 
 Lift up rifle, pike and sabre ! 
 To arms ! etc. 
 
 Jl 
 
18 WAR SONQS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Shoulder pressing close to shoulder, 
 Let the odds make each heart bolder ! 
 To arms ! etc. 
 Advance the flag of Dixie, etc. 
 
 How the South's great heart rejoices 
 At yon cannon's ringing voices ! 
 
 1*0 arms ! etc. 
 For faith betr.ij-ed and pledges broken. 
 Wrongs inflicted, insults spoken ; 
 
 To arms ! etc. V 
 
 .\dvance the flag of Dixie, etc. 
 
 Strong as lions, swift fis eagles, 
 
 Back to their kennels hunt the beagles ! 
 
 To arms ! etc. 
 Cut the unequal bonds asunder ! 
 Let ihem each other plunder ! 
 
 To arms ! etc. 
 Advance the flag of Dixie, etc. 
 
 Swear upon your Country's altar. 
 Never to submit or falter, 
 
 To arms ! etc: 
 'Til the spoilers are defeated, 
 'Til the Lord's work is completed ! 
 
 To arms ! etc. 
 
 Advance the flag of Dixie, etc. 
 
 Halt not, till our Federation 
 
 Secures 'mong earth's powers its station ! 
 
 To arms ! etc. 
 Then at peace and crowned with glory. 
 
A POEM FOR THE TIMES. 19 
 
 Hear your children tell the story ! 
 To arms ! etc. 
 Advance the fing of Dixie, etc. 
 
 If the loved ones weep in sadness, 
 Victory soon shall bring them gladness ! 
 
 To arras ! etc. 
 Exultant pride soon banish sorro«% 
 Smiles chase tears away to-morrow ! 
 
 To arms ! etc. 
 Advance the flao- of Dixie, etc. 
 
 (From tlie Iviohuioinl Wliig.) 
 
 A POEM FOR THE TIMES. 
 
 BY JOHX K. TIIOMPSON. 
 
 Who talks of Coercion ? Who dares to deny 
 
 A resolute people their right to be free ? 
 Let him blot out forever one star from the skj-, 
 
 Or curb with his fetter one wave of the sea. 
 
 Who prates of Coercion ? Can love be restor'd 
 To bosoms where only resentment may dwell — 
 
 Can peace upon earth be proclaimed by the sword, 
 Or good will among men be established by shell? 
 
 Shame ! shame that the statesman, the trickster forsoot^j 
 Should have for a crisis no other recourse, 
 
 Beneath the fair day-spring of Light and of Truth, 
 Than the old brutcm fulmcn of Tvrannv — Force. 
 
20 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 From the holi'-; where Fraud, Falsehood and Hate slink 
 away" — 
 
 From the crypt in -which Error lies buried in chains — 
 This foul apparition stalks forth to the day, 
 
 And would ravage the land which his presence profanes . 
 
 Could you conquer us, Men of the North,..could j'ou bring 
 Desolation and death on our homes as a flood — 
 
 Can you hope the pure lily, Affection, will spring 
 From ashes all reeking and sodden w'ith blood? 
 
 Could you brand us a? villeins and serfs, know ye not 
 What fierce, sulleri hatred lurks under the scar? 
 
 How loj'al to Hapsburg is Venice, I wot, 
 
 How dearly the Pole loves his Father, the Czar '.' 
 
 But 'twere well to remember this land of the sun 
 
 Is a nutrix leoniim, and suckles & race 
 Strong-armed, lion-hearted and banded as one 
 
 Who brook not oppression and know not disgrace. 
 
 And well may the schemers in office beware 
 The swift retribution that waits upon crime, 
 
 When the lion, Resistance, shall leap from his lair 
 With a fury that renders his vengeaioce sublime. 
 
 Once, men of the Xortii, we were brothers, and still, 
 Though brothers no more, we would gladly be friends; 
 
 Xor join in a conflict accurst that must fill 
 With ruin the country on which it descends. 
 
 But, if smitten with blindness and mad with the rage 
 The gods give to all whom they wish to destroy, 
 
 You would act as a new Illiad to darken the age 
 With horrors beyond what is told us of Troy — 
 
A PGEM FOR THE TIMES. 21 
 
 If, deaf as the adder itself to the cries, 
 
 When Wisdom, Humanity, Justice, implore, 
 
 You would haA'e our proud eagle to feed on the eyes 
 Of those who have taught him tio grandly to soar — 
 
 If there be to your malice no limit imposed. 
 And your reckless design is to rule with the rod 
 
 The men, upon whom you have already closed 
 Our goodly domain and the temples of God — 
 
 To the breeze then your banner dishonoured unfold. 
 And at once let the tocsin be sounded afar ; 
 
 We greet you, as greeted the Swiss Charles the Bold 
 With a forewell to peace and a welcome to war ! 
 
 For the courage that clings to our soil, ever bright, 
 Shall catch inspiration from turf and from tide; 
 
 Our sons unappalled shall go forth to the fight. 
 
 With the smile of the fair, the pure kiss of the bride; 
 
 And the bugle its echoes shall send through the past. 
 In the trenches of Yorktown to waken the slain ; 
 
 While the sods of King's Mountain shall heave at the blast, 
 And give up its heroes to glory again. 
 
22 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 From the >J()ilolk Day Book.) 
 
 A POEM WHICH NEEDS NO DEDICATION. 
 
 1!Y .lAMKS UAKKON IIOPK. 
 
 I. 
 What ! you hold 3-oiirselves as froemeri 
 
 Tyrants love just such as ye 
 Go ! abate your lofty manner ! 
 Write upon the old State's banner ^ 
 
 ••A furore Normanorum, 
 
 Libera nos, O Doniine !'' 
 
 II. 
 fcsink liefore the Federal altars, 
 
 Kaci) one low on bended knee ; 
 Pray with lips that sob and falter, 
 This prayer from a coward's Psalter; 
 
 •A furore Xormanornm, . 
 
 Libera nos, Domine !" 
 
 III. 
 
 But you hold that quick repentance 
 
 In the Northern mind will be. 
 This repentance comes no sooner • 
 
 Than the robbers did at Luna.* 
 
 ■A furore Normanorum, 
 
 Libera nos, Domine !" 
 
 IV. 
 
 He repented him ; the Bishop 
 
 Gave him absolution free — 
 Poured upon sacred chrism 
 
 * The incident with which 1 have illustrated my opinion of the policy of 
 those who would have us wait for a '• reaction at the North," may be found 
 in Milman"^ Latin Christianity, vol. iii. p. 133. 
 
A I'OEM WIIICII NEEDS NU DEDICATION. 23 
 
 111 the pomp of his baptism. 
 
 ''A furore Normanoruni, 
 Libera nos. O Domine !' 
 
 He repented; then, he sickened, 
 Was he pining for the sea? 
 
 Tn extremis he was shriven. 
 
 The Viaticum was given. 
 
 '•A furore Normanoruni, 
 Libera nos, Domiiu- !' 
 
 Then, the old Cathedrars choir 
 
 Took the plaintive minor key, 
 With the Host upraised before him, 
 Down the marble aisle thej' bore him ; 
 ■■A furore Normanoruni, 
 liibera nos. (> Domine!"' 
 
 And tile Ijishop. and the Abbot, 
 
 And t'^e Monks of high degree, 
 Chanting ])raise to the Madonna, 
 Came to do him Christian honor; 
 "A furore Normanorum, 
 Libera iifts. Domine!" 
 
 Vlll. 
 Now the Miserere's cadence 
 
 Takes the voices of the sea ; 
 As the music billows quiver, 
 See the dead Freebooter shiver ! 
 
 "A furore Normanoruni. 
 
 Libera nos, Domine! ' 
 
24 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 IX. 
 
 • Is it that those intonations 
 
 Thrill him thus from head to knee? 
 See his cerements burst asunder ! 
 Tis a sight of fear and wonder ! 
 
 "A furore Normanorum, 
 
 Libera nos, Domine !" 
 
 X. 
 
 Fierce he stands before the Bishop — 
 Dark as shape of Destinie ! 
 
 Hark ! a shriek ascends, appalling ! 
 
 Down the prelate goes, dead — falling ! 
 "A furore Normanorum, 
 Libera nos, Domine 1" 
 
 XI. 
 Hasting lives ! He was but feigning I 
 
 What ! Repentant 1 Never he ! 
 Down he smites the priests and friars, 
 And the city lights with fires ! 
 
 "A furore Normanorum, 
 
 Libera nos, Domine !" 
 
 XII. 
 
 Ah ! the children and the maidens, 
 'Tis in vain they try to flee! 
 Where the white-haired pries^ lie bleeding, 
 Is no place for tearful pleading ; 
 "A furore Normanorum, 
 Libera nos, Domine ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Louder swells the frightful tumult; 
 
 Pallid death hold reverie; 
 Dies the organ's mighty clamor. 
 By the Norseman'? iron hammer ; 
 
 f^HMji^ 
 
A i'OEM FOR THE 'TIMES. 
 
 21 
 
 If, deai'as the adder itself to the cries, 
 
 When Wisdom, Humanity, Justice, implore, 
 
 You would have our proud eagle to feed on the eyes 
 Of those who have taught him so grandly to soar — 
 
 If there be to your malice no limit imposed, 
 And j'our reckless design is to rule with the rod 
 
 The men. upon whom yo^ have alreadj- closed 
 Our goodly domain and the temples of 6od — 
 
 To the breeze then your, banner dishonoured unfold, 
 And at once let the tocsin be sounded afar ; 
 
 We greet you, as greeted the Swiss Chaules the Bold 
 With a farewell to peace and a welcome to war! 
 
 For the courage that clings to oi^r soil, ever bright, 
 Shall catch inspiration from turf and from tide ; 
 
 Our sons unappalled shall go forth to tlTc fight, 
 
 With the sniih^ of the fair, the pure kiss of the bride; 
 
 And the bugle its echoes shall send through the past, 
 In the trenches of Yorktown to waken the slain ; 
 
 While the sods of King's Mountain shall heave at the blast, 
 And giye up its heroes to glory again. 
 
26 WAR SONGS, or THE SOUTH. 
 
 With Christ upon the lying lip, 
 
 And Satan in the soul ; 
 Mocking, with ancient Shibboleth, 
 
 All wise and "just restraints — 
 " To the Saints of Heaven was Empire given, 
 
 And we alone, are Saints !" 
 
 Men of the South ! look up — behold 
 
 The deep and sullen gloom 
 Which darkens o'er your sunny land 
 
 Wi£h thunder in its womb ! 
 Are ye so blind ye cannot see 
 
 The omens in the sky? 
 Are ye so deaf "ye cannot hear 
 
 The tramp of foemen nigh ? 
 Are ye so dull;ye will endure 
 
 The whips atid scorn of men. 
 Who. hide the heart of Titcs Gates? 
 
 Bebeath the words of Penn? 
 Are ye so base that, foot to foot, 
 
 Y« will not gladly stand 
 
 For^and and lJfe,*for child and w;fe, 
 
 With naked-steel in hand? 
 T 
 
 A preacher to* the pulpit comes, 
 
 And calls upon the crowd, 
 For Southern ^creeds and Southern hopes. 
 
 To weave a bloody shroud. 
 Beside the pr^er book on his desk 
 
 The bullet mould is seen. 
 And near the Bible's golden clasp 
 
 The dagger's stately sheen : 
 The simple tale of Bethlehem 
 
 No more is fondl}' told, 
 For every priestly surplice drags 
 
 Too heavilv with gold : 
 
 ^ 
 
A BALLAD FOR THE YOUNG SOUTH. 27 
 
 The blessed Cross of Calvary 
 
 Becomes a sign of Bael, 
 Like that -n-hicli played when Chieftains raised 
 
 The clansmen of the Gael ! 
 
 " Down with the laws our fathers made ! 
 
 They bind our hearts no more ; 
 Down with the stately edifice 
 
 Cemented with iheiy gore ! 
 Forget the legends of our race — 
 
 Efface each wise decree — ^ 
 
 Americans must kneel as slaves, 
 
 'Til Africans are free I 
 Out. ou the mere Caucasian blood 
 
 Of Teuton, Celt or Gaul— 
 The stream which springs from Niger's source 
 
 Must triumph over all I" 
 So speaks a solemn Senator 
 
 Within those halls to-day. 
 Which echoed erst the thunderburst 
 
 Of Wehster and of Clay. 
 
 Hark to the howling dcmngogucs — 
 
 A fierce and ravenous pack — 
 With nostrils prone, and bark and bay. 
 
 Which run upon our track ! 
 The waddling bull-pup. Hale — the cur 
 
 Of Massachusetts' breed — 
 The moping mongrel, sparsely crossed 
 
 With Puritanic seed — 
 The Boston bards who join the chase 
 
 With genuine beagle chime, 
 And Si'MSER, snarling poodle pet 
 
 Of virgins past their prime ; 
 And even the sluts of Women's Rights — 
 
 Tray, Blanchk, and Sweetheart, all — 
 
 A 
 
28 AVAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Are yelping shrill against us still, 
 And hunger for our fall! 
 
 Look North, look East, look West — the. scene 
 
 Is blackening all around — 
 The Negro Cordon, year by year, 
 
 Is fast and faster bound ; 
 The black line crossed — the sable flag 
 
 Surrounded by a host — 
 Our out-post forced, our sentinels 
 
 Asleep upon their posts ; 
 Our brethren s' life-blood, flowing free 
 
 To stain the Kansas soil, 
 And sfeed in vain, while pious thieves 
 
 Are fattening on our toil j 
 Look North, look West — the ominous skj' 
 
 Is moonless, starless, black,. 
 And from the East comes hurrying up 
 
 A sweeping thunder-rack ! 
 
 Men of the South ! ye have no kin 
 
 With fanatics^or fools ; 
 You are not bound by breed or birth 
 
 To Massachusetts rules. 
 A hundred nations gave their blood 
 
 To feed these healthful springs, 
 Which bear the seed of Jacques Bonhomme 
 
 With that of Bourbon kings. 
 The Danish pluck and sailor-craft, 
 
 The ^uguenotic will. 
 The Norman grace and chivalry, 
 
 The German steadj^ skill ; 
 The fiery Celt's impassioned thought 
 
 Inspire the Southern heart ; 
 Who, have no room for bigot-gloom, 
 
 Or pious plunder's art ! 
 
A BALLAD FOR THE YOUNG SOUTH. 29 
 
 Sons of the brave ! the time has come 
 
 To bow the haughtj' crest, 
 Or stand alone, despite the threats 
 
 Of North, or East, or West 1 
 The hour has come for manly deeds, 
 
 And not for puliug words — 
 The hour has passed for platform prate — 
 
 It is the time for swords ! 
 And bj"- the fame of John Calhoun, 
 
 To honest truth be true. 
 And bj' old Jackson's iron "will, 
 
 Now do what ye can do ! 
 By all ye love, by all ye hope, 
 
 Be resolute and proud. 
 And make your flag a S3'mbol high 
 
 Of triumph, or'a shroud ! 
 
 Men of the South ! look up — behold 
 
 The deep and sullen gloom. 
 Which darkens o'er 30ur sunnj' land 
 
 With thunder in its womb ! 
 Are ye so blind j-e cannot see 
 
 The omens in the skj-? 
 Are ye so deaf ye cannot hear 
 
 The tramp of foemen nigh ? 
 Are ye so dull ye will endure 
 
 The whips and scorns of men. 
 Who hide the heart of Titus Oates 
 
 Beneath the words of Penn ? 
 Are ye so base that, foot to foot, 
 
 Ye will not gladly stand 
 For land and life, for child and wife. 
 
 With naked steel in hand ? 
 
30 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 LINES TO THE TYRANT. 
 
 BY HENRY C. ALEXANDER. 
 
 '•' It may be necessary to put the foot down firmly." 
 
 —Mr. Lincoln's Message. 
 
 " Tramp — tramp — tramp." 
 ''^^ — Bueger's Leonor.\. 
 
 The legion is armed for the battle, 
 
 The charger is hot for^the fray, 
 The thunders ef musjcetry rattle ; 
 
 Yon eagles shall feast on the prey : 
 The corslets like diamonds are gleaming. 
 
 The standard of blood is unfurled : — 
 Yes, put the foot down, Mr. Lincoln, 
 
 And trample them out of the world! 
 
 The hosts of the West are in motion. 
 
 The North sends a ravenous pack": 
 Like waves oai a pitiless ocean — 
 
 When the heavens above them are black. 
 They surge over mountain and prairie, 
 
 Wild billows the tempest has curled : 
 Yes, put the foot down, Mr. Lincoln, 
 
 Aud trample them out of the world ! 
 
 Attila, fearful destroyer. 
 
 Merciless Genghis Khan, 
 Veiled like the sage of Korassan, 
 
 Utter the truculent ban ! 
 Bright as St. George in his armour 
 
 And blood-red cross unfurled. 
 Trample the insolent dragon. 
 
 Trample it out of the world ! 
 
LINES TO THE TYRANT. 31 
 
 Weak iu the clouds like Anta;us, 
 
 Sti'ong upon touching the earth, 
 Stormy as Castor and Pollux — 
 
 Twins of Olympian birth — 
 Blazing -n-ith eyes like the lightnings 
 
 Jove at Prometheus hurled ; 
 Put the foot down, Mr. Lincoln, 
 
 And trample them out of the world ! 
 
 What though (iie land is in sack-cloth, 
 
 What though ei\ch minstrel is dunib, 
 And through sweet Wyoming's valleys, 
 
 Echoes the roll of the drum ; 
 What though from city and hamlet, 
 
 Tears and entreaties arc poured: — 
 Put the foot dowu Mr. Lincoln, 
 
 Slaughter the dove with the sword ! 
 
 The stars in their courses are silent. 
 
 The willows in agony weep. 
 The wind o'er the wave murmurs sadly. 
 
 Where the ashes of Washington sleep : 
 The cypress is shaken with horror, 
 
 The glory-of-morning is furled ; 
 But — put the foot down, Mr. Lincoln, 
 
 And trample them out of the world. 
 
 In the chambers once vocal with music. 
 
 And drunk with the eloquent word. 
 The clarion now screams for the conflict, 
 
 And the terrible tocsin is heard. 
 A torrent is chafing its channel. 
 
 Where only a rivulet purled: 
 So put the foot down, .Mr. Lincoln, 
 
 And trample them out.of the world. 
 
32 
 
 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 On the rice-fields of fair Carolina, 
 
 The head of the matron is bowed : 
 The sire takes down the old flint-lock, 
 
 And back the old memories crowd. 
 He thinks of the glorj^ of Sumter, 
 
 The valour of Marion's men. 
 And his heart leaps the gulf in an instant, 
 
 That yawns 'tween the now and the then. 
 
 The daughters of Georgia are •'eeping, 
 
 Thougli Ramah's sad voices are stilled ; 
 For the earliest violets are peeping 
 
 Where their lovers' hearts blood shall be spilled. 
 Her yeomen all chant the bold stanzas 
 
 Of tyrants to infamy hurled: 
 But— put the foot down, Mr. Lincoln, 
 
 And trample them out of the world. 
 
 The rangers of Texas are mounting, 
 
 And will presently scour the plain ; 
 And brave for their homes and their kindred. 
 
 Will cover the earth with the slain. 
 Marked you the dark-flashing eye-ball, 
 
 The scorn in the lip that was curled? 
 Theu plant ths foot firm, Mr. Lincoln, 
 
 And tr.ample them out of the world I 
 
 Soft is thy name Alabama, 
 
 And soft is thy flower-laden gale. 
 As it breathes over rustling woodlands. 
 
 And whitens the prospered sail. 
 Like yonder stricken wild-fowl, 
 
 With bleeding pinion furled, 
 Thy glory is soon to be smitten, 
 
 And trampled out of the world ! 
 
LINES TO THE TYRANT. 33 
 
 Beautiful Louisiana, 
 
 Queen of the I'iver a4P||iain, 
 Blooming with vcrdiint savannah, 
 
 Rich with the tropical cane ; 
 Over thee floats the proud emblem, 
 
 •Now on the breezes unfurled, 
 That dares the unfeeling oppressor 
 
 To trample thee out of the world ! 
 
 Florida, gem of the ocean. 
 
 Bride of the wondering sea, 
 Through thj' sons ardent devotion. 
 
 Born to be dauntless and tree : 
 Thy fame is as bright as thy coastland 
 
 With diamond-shell impearled : 
 But — put the foot down, Mr. LixccfLN, 
 
 And trample them out of the world ! 
 
 From thy glad, fertile realm, Mississippi, 
 
 Where cotton is picjied by the slave, 
 The pa^an ascendeth to heaven. 
 
 Of liberty won by the brave : 
 As a sound of tumultuous waters. 
 
 Comes the din of the camp and the roar 
 Of voices that rise on the tempest, 
 
 Sliouting— wf will be slaves nevermore ! 
 t 
 
 " Virginia, Virginia, where art thou?" 
 
 Slie wakes like him of old, 
 And bursts the green withes that would bind her, 
 
 As she shakes her locks of gold : 
 Glorious in her raiment, 
 
 The sunshine on her brow, 
 Diana, in her slumbers, 
 
 The mailed MiNKiivA — now! 
 C* 
 
34 
 
 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 The day isat baud, Mr. Lincoln, 
 
 Which prophets l^udted to see, 
 When the j3rison-do6rs shall open 
 
 And let the oppressed go free: 
 When from thy trembling fingers. 
 
 The sceptre shall be hurled. 
 And thy foot-prints, vandal sovereign, 
 
 Shall be trampled out of the world ! 
 
 TEAR DOWN THAT FLAG! 
 
 BY TIIEO. II. HILL. 
 
 Tear down the flag of constellated stars ! 
 
 Blot out its field of blue ! 
 And suffer only " the red planet Mars" 
 
 To shed its ghastly hue — 
 Let only now his beams df baleful light 
 
 Burst like a beacon on the gloom of night ! 
 
 Trail in the dust the Tyrant's standard sheet! 
 
 "Twas erst the flag of Tyrant's fiercest foes ; 
 It now shall be the symbol of defeat — 
 
 Shall droop prophetic of impending woes 
 To those who stand where hero-martyrs stood, 
 
 And CAiN-like, clamor for their brother's blood ! 
 
 Tear down that flag ! Its skies to sable turn ; 
 
 Fast fades each " stripe of pure celestial white," 
 Its bickering stars to sparkless embers burn, 
 
 Its Eagle skulks the light ! 
 A vulture now, he wings his sluggish flight 
 
 To nestle with the noisome birds of night! 
 
THE SOUTHERN CROSS. 35 
 
 Tear down that flag I It flouts the breeze, 
 A flagrant — flaunting insult to the sky ; 
 
 Disgraced at home — dishonored on the seas, 
 Its coward colors fly, 
 
 From field to field ingloriously driven, 
 
 With stars eclipsed and stripes all rudely rivem! 
 
 THE SOUTHEKN CROSS. 
 
 BY ST. GUOKGE TUCKER. 
 
 Oh, say can you see, tlirough tiie gloom and the storm, 
 More bright for the darkness, that pure'constellation? 
 Like the symbol of love and redemption its form. 
 As it points to the haven of hope for the nation. 
 IIow radiant each star! as they beacon afar, 
 Giving promise of peace, or assurance in war.; 
 'Tis the Cross of the South, which shall ever remain 
 To light us to Freedom and Glory again. 
 
 How peaceful and blest was America's soil, 
 'Til betrayed bj- the guile of the Puritan demon, 
 Which lurks under Virtue, and springs from its coil. 
 To fasten its fangs in the life-blood of freemen. 
 Then loudly Appeal to each heart that can feel, 
 And crush the foul viper 'neath Liberty's heel; 
 And the Cross of the South t!:;," forever remaiu 
 To.ligljt us to Freedom and Glory agaiu. 
 
 'Tis the emblem of peace, 'tis the day-star of hope ; 
 Like the sacred Labarum, which guided the Roman, 
 Fi-om the shores of the Gulf to the Delaware's slope, 
 'Tis the trust of the free and the terror of focmen — 
 
36 
 
 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Fling its folds to the air, while we baldly declare 
 The rights we demand, or the deeds that we dare ; 
 And the Cross of the South shall forever remain 
 To light us to Freedom and Glory again. 
 
 But, if peace should be hopeless and justice denied, 
 And war's bloody vulture should flap his black pinions, 
 Then, gladly to arms ! while we hurl in our pride, 
 Defiance to Tyrants, and death to their minions, 
 With our front to the field, swearing never to yield. 
 Or return like the Spartan in death on our shield ; 
 And the Cross of the South shall triumphantly wave 
 As the flag of the free or the pall of the brave. 
 
 LET THE BUGLE BLOW! 
 
 BY WM. GILMORE SIMMS. 
 
 Let the bugle blow along the mountain ! 
 
 Shrilly blow ! shrilly blow ! 
 We must leave each pleasant grove and fountain 
 
 We must go to battle — we must go ! 
 For the storm is raging on the highlands ; 
 
 It has swept the valleys all below ; 
 And, from fertile plains and sunny islands, 
 
 Pours the foe — the bloody, insolent foe ! 
 Let the bugle blow— shrill}' bloAV ! 
 . We must meet the foe — the hateful foe ! 
 Blow, then, for battle, fierj' battle, blow, 
 
 Thou mountain bugle, blow ! 
 Blow ! blow ! 
 
LET THE BUULE BLOW. 37 
 
 II. 
 
 See, as blows our bugle, how they gather ! 
 
 Bugle blow — shrilly blow I 
 There rides up the old and grisly father, 
 
 And the son is spurring from below ! 
 We must dye in purple this green heather, 
 
 We must free the country from the foe, 
 Though we ride abroad in fearful weather, 
 
 .And o'er mountains clad in snow I 
 Let the bugle blow — shrilly blow ! 
 
 Thougli we perish, we must meet the foe I 
 Blow for battle, mountain bugle, blow I 
 
 Let each mountain echo feci thee blow — 
 Blow.l blow! 
 
 III. 
 Let the bugle blow, from wild Autauga, 
 
 Bugles blow — shrilly blow ! 
 See the hunters come, of Lanasauga, 
 
 Rifles ready shotted for the foe : 
 From far vales of Cumberland they gather, 
 . And from slopes of green Saluda, lo ! 
 Fiery son of speed, and fearless father. 
 
 Eager for the grapple with thje foe ! 
 Give them joyful welcome, bugle, blow ! 
 
 Welcome for the champion — and the foe I 
 Blow for the coming battle, bugle, blow, 
 
 A peal of vengeance on the hateful foe! 
 We must meet and crush him at a blow. 
 
 Blow for the fight and triumph, bugle, blow I 
 Shrilly blow, thou mountain bugle, blow! 
 • Blow ! blow ! 
 
b WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 (From the Richmond Dispatch.) 
 
 A BUGLE NOTE. 
 
 BY A LANSING BURROWS. 1 
 
 Tramp ! tramp ! tramp ! steadily on to the foe ; i 
 
 With banners afloat in the stirring breeze, J 
 
 As brisklj they wind through the forest trees ; - ; 
 
 Tramp ! tramp ! tramp ! how cheerful their spirits flow! ' 
 
 With bayonets bright in the dazzling sun, \ 
 
 And swords that already bright vict'ries have won, j 
 
 Steadily on to the foe ! j 
 
 Tramp ! tramp ! tramp ! on to the field of strife; 
 
 Leaving mothers and sisters behind, ' 
 
 Close to fathers and brothei'S kind, j 
 
 Tramp ! tramp ! tramp ! oh, how hopeful of life ! 
 
 Naught is heard but the measured pace. 
 
 As each one goes with determined face. 
 
 On to the field of strife ! ; 
 
 Boom ! boom ! boom ! rises the cannon's roar ! ■ 
 
 Thick and fast comes the rattling hail! \ 
 
 Shells burst quick in the sulphurous vale ! | 
 
 Boom ! boom ! boom ! earth is slippery with gore, 
 Drowning the notes of the clarion clear, 
 Nerving each breast from craven fear, 
 Rises the cannon's roar ! 
 
 On ! on ! on ! striking the final blow ! 
 
 Steadily closing the shattered ranks, 
 
 Slowly they move in firm phalanx, 
 On ! on ! on ! laying the enemy low ! 
 
 Ah ! but many a valiant breast 
 
 Crimsons, obeying the Fates' behest. 
 Striking the final blow ! 
 
M-IIAT THE BUGLES. SAY. 39 
 
 S^ S 
 
 Shout! shout! shout! o'er the A'ictory now ! 
 Aye, in dismay th' invader flies, 
 And the murderous war of the tempest dies. 
 
 Shout I shout! shout! bravely the deed's been done ! 
 Aye ! but alas, in how many a vale 
 Shall there arise a heart-stricken wail 
 Over the victorj- won I 
 
 WHAT TUE BUGLES SAY. 
 
 Inscribed to Capt. Bkn. I,\nk V.o>k\- fur his ffalhuitry and rfficiency 
 in battle at Pcnsacfila. 
 
 ItY A. IJ. MIOKK. 
 
 Hark! the bugles on tlie hill! 
 
 Tarala .' Tarala .' 
 All the vale their echoes fill ! 
 
 Tarala! Tarala! 
 " Gather, gather, stalwart men, 
 • From the forest, field and glen ; 
 Leave the hammer, axe and plow, 
 Warrior deeds demand ye now! 
 Hasten to the crimson field. 
 There the glittering bayonets wield ! 
 There confront the cannon's mouth, 
 Fearless champions of the South 1" 
 
 Hark ! again the bugles sound ! 
 
 Tarala! Tarala! 
 How their echoes scream around ! 
 
 Tarala ! Tarala ! 
 
40 "WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 " Lo ! the grim and impious foe, 
 Comes to lay your altars low — 
 Comes to blast, with sword and brand, 
 Vandal-like, your happy land f 
 Led by rapine — fired by lust — 
 Heedless of the right and just — 
 Fetters brings he, chains and gyves, 
 Dark dishoner for your wives !" 
 
 Hark ! 4hen hark ! the bugles' call ! 
 
 T.arala! Tarala! 
 Angel-toned they cry to all ! 
 
 Tarala ! Tarala ! 
 " By the God who rules above ! 
 By the beings whom ye love, 
 By the rights your fathers won, 
 By the manes of WAShiNGTON, 
 Rouse and meet the invading band, 
 Sweep them, chaff-like, from the land ! 
 Daring ev'n the cannon's mouth, 
 Fearless champions of the South 1" 
 
 (From the Charleston Courier.) 
 
 THE MAESEILLES HYMN. 
 
 Trail slated and adapted as an Ode. 
 
 BY HON. B. F. PORTER, of Alabama. 
 
 Sons of the South, arise! awake ! be free 
 Behold! the day of Southern glory comes! 
 
 See! where the blood-stained flag of tyranny, 
 
 Pollutes the air, that breathes around your homes. 
 
 ^ 
 
THE 'MARSEILLES HYMN. 41 
 
 Rise, ^uthern men ! fi'om villages and farms, 
 
 Cry vengeance ! Oh [ sball worse than pirate slaves, 
 
 Strangle your children in. their mothers arms, 
 And spit on dust that fills your father s graves ! 
 
 To arms ! sous of the South ! come, like a mountain. flood, 
 
 March on ! let every vale o'erflow with th' invaders' blood. 
 
 What would these men, whoso lives black treachery stains? 
 
 Conspirators to plunder long endeared? 
 For whom these vile, these ignominious chains? 
 
 These fetters for our brother's hands prepared? 
 Sous of the South ! for us ! oh ! bitter thought ! 
 
 What transports should our burning souls inspire? 
 "Shall Southern men, by mercenaries bought. 
 
 Be sold to vassalage, from son to sire? 
 To arms ! sons of the South ! come, like a mouutaiu flood, 
 March on! let every vale o'erflow with th' invaders' blood. 
 
 What! shall this grovelling race, who cringe for gold, 
 
 Make laws for 8outheru men, on Southern soil ? 
 Shall these degenerate hordes, to avarice sold. 
 
 Crush freedom's sons, and freedom's altars spoil ? 
 Great God ! oh ! by these iron shackled iands, 
 
 Ne'er shall our necks beneath their yjokes be led ! 
 Of despots such as these, shall Southern bands, 
 
 Ne'er own. the mastei-y, till every heart is dead ! 
 To arms ! sons of the South ! come, like a mountain flood. 
 March on ! let every vale o'erflow with the invaders' blood. 
 
 Tremble, oh tyrants ! and you, perfidious tools ! 
 
 Of evei-y race and party, long the scorn ! 
 Tremble, ye base, ye parricidal fools. 
 
 The doom of treachery is already born ! 
 All Southern men are heroes in the fray ! 
 
 If fall they must, o'erpoAvered in the field, 
 Long as the race endures, each child, fur aye. 
 
 A 
 
42 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Shall from his cradle strike the souuding shield 1 
 To arms! sens of the South! come, like a mountairi flood, 
 March on ! let every vale o'erflow with th' invaders' blood. 
 
 Sons of the South ! magnanimous in war, 
 
 Strike, or withhold, as honor bids, your blows ! 
 Spare, if you will, these victims from afar. 
 
 Who, ignorant of liberty, become your foes. 
 But, for these bastards of a free born bed, 
 
 These parasites, in freedom's arms caressed, 
 These beasts, by sin and spoil, and rapine bi'ed. 
 
 Who dig for blood, deep in their toother's breast. 
 To arms ! sons of the South ! come, like a mountain flood, 
 March on! let every vale o'erflow with th' invaders' blood. 
 
 Oh ! sacred love of country ! for the South ! 
 
 Come brave avengers ! rush to every field ! 
 Let cries of "Liberty!" from every mouth,- 
 
 Sound th' alarm, till the base traitors yielJ I 
 Under our glorious flag, let victory 
 
 Respond to freedom's call ! Wipe off the stain 
 Of th' invaders' feet ! Dying, thej"^ will see 
 
 Thy triumpl^, and the land redeemed again ! 
 To arms! sons of the South! come, like the mountain flood, 
 March on ! let every vale o'erflow with th' invaders' blood. 
 
 THE BATTLE CALL. 
 
 BY V. E. W. (MoCORD) VERNON. 
 
 Rise Southmen ! the day of your glory, 
 
 The hour of j-our'destiny's near — 
 The fame of your .chivalrous story - 
 
THE BATTLE CALL. 43 
 
 'All nations are eager to hear. 
 Cold, cold, though the freezing hail rattles, 
 
 O'er corses enshrouded in snow ; 
 Yet the God of your fathers' old battles 
 • Now urges their children to go. 
 
 Come sons of the fair Louisiana ! 
 
 Forsake the warm glow of your sky — 
 Unfurl to the free wind your banner, 
 
 The day of your destiny's nigh ; 
 .The breath of the South wind is laden 
 
 With perfume of tropical flowers ; 
 Come forth ! for that beautiful Eden, 
 
 And shield fium the spoiler yourTaowers. 
 
 Come* Texas! send forth your bold Rangers, 
 
 The heroes of battles untold — 
 Accustomed to,tnals and dangers. 
 
 Come ! stand by your rights as of old ; 
 The deeds of your chivalrous daring 
 
 Are writ on the Alamo's wall, 
 A record which ruin is sparing — 
 
 Come forth ! to your country's loud call. 
 
 Arkansas ! send forth your true Rifles, 
 
 Your song all the bravest and best; 
 The time has now past for the trifles 
 
 Of hunting and game in the West — 
 'Tis the voice of your country that calls you 
 
 Away from your wild forest home ; 
 And now whatsoever befalls you, 
 
 Sharp-Sliootcrs of Arkansas, come ! 
 
 ! where are your hunters, Kentucky, 
 
 Who filled the whole world with their fame? 
 The fates, in an hour so unlucky, 
 
44 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Have bidden your valor in shame. 
 Now, by the brcave souls of your fathers, 
 
 That look from the portals of Heaven, 
 With blessings from lips of your mothers. 
 
 Come forth ! and your chains shall be riven. 
 
 Hurrah ! for the spirit of glory. 
 
 The sons of the "Volunteer State;" 
 There is many a battle field gory, 
 
 That tells of their chivalrous fate 
 Like spray on the tempest-stirred ocean, 
 
 They scatter'd. the foe in his might ; 
 Old Tennessee's soul is in motion. 
 
 Her banners are first in the fight. 
 
 Missouri lies fettered and groaning, 
 
 And crush'd by oppression and wrath; 
 ■ rise 1 from your desolate mourning. 
 
 And follow the foe in his path — 
 Nor mountains, ndr rivers, impeding, 
 
 Oppression hath rolled its dark flood : — 
 The cry of your children unheeding — 
 
 The price of your freedom is blood ! 
 
 Come brave Mississippi, to battle ! 
 
 The point of your steel has been tried. 
 The sound of your musketry's rattle 
 
 Is hear(J*by the Southman with pride — 
 It rose in the Aorn of j'our glory. 
 
 And down on the future shall set : — 
 The fame of your chivalrous- story. 
 
 The Southman can never forget. 
 
 The SOLDIER who led forth 3'our legions, 
 And answered his country's first call. 
 Away in those far Southern regions, 
 
THE BATTLE CALL. 45 1 
 
 Now stands at the head of us all — ; 
 
 Above, bis- high valor outshining, 'i 
 
 The glory of bloody old Mars, 
 The praise of a nation is twining 
 
 Our flag with its girdles and stars. 
 
 Maryland ! deep we deplore thte, % 
 
 And weep at thy prison and chains ; \ 
 But eye of the brave watches o'er thee, 
 
 While a spark of thy freedom remains. i 
 
 Thou may'st bend as the storm rushes o'er thee, 1 
 
 And rock with the tyrant's dread shake ; i^w'^mJ 
 
 Maryland ! deep we deplore thee ! ^W" <^ 
 
 Oppression may bend, but not break. - • "' 
 
 Fair land where my forefathers slumber, 
 
 A region of sanctified earth — 
 The deeds of the brave without number, 
 
 Illumine the land of my birth. ( 
 
 Proud Georgia! a sigh and a blessing. 
 
 Ere calling thy loved ones to go, I 
 
 From the soil where the green sod is pressing 
 
 TiPe dust of mv fathers laid low — 
 
 1 
 And foremost thy banners were streaming; '■ 
 
 And first, on Manassa's red plain, 
 The sword of old Georgia, there gleaming, - 
 
 Hath cleft the invader in twain. j 
 
 My countr}', I may not impfore thee! -J 
 
 The brave have not fallen in vain ; i 
 
 Thy sons heard the warnina before me, i 
 
 And hasten to glory again. j 
 
 Florida! thou region of flowers; 
 
 Rich land of the laurel and baj'. 
 Though cradled in warn sunny bowers, 
 
 D* ! 
 
46 WAR SONGS OF THS SOUTH. 
 
 Now hurry thy brave ones away. 
 Go, twine for thy struggling nation 
 
 A garland to wreath its scarr'd brow ; 
 The south .wind — a sweet inspiration, 
 
 To cheer thy young soldiers on now. 
 
 Rise up, in thy strength, Alabama ! 
 
 An argosy sweeps o'er the sea ; 
 Rush on to the battle's loud clamor, 
 
 Thy children were born to be free I 
 The fleet of the tyrant is mooring 
 
 Along on thy white sandy shore ; 
 No longer their insults* enduring, 
 
 Go forth to the conflict once more. 
 
 A luminous halo is shining 
 
 Around the old " Palmetto State;" 
 The bones of our Prophet enshrining — 
 
 Her brave ones are never too late. 
 There first from the bonds of oppression' 
 
 The Southman unloos'd the stronghold ; — 
 There, first heard a nation's confession 
 
 In Sumter's loud Ihunderings told-* 
 
 And thou too. Old North State, art ready ! 
 ,. And watching with sentinel eye; 
 
 The range of thy rifles is,steady, 
 
 At sight of the foe to let fly. 
 Now come, with the courage of olden ! 
 
 And firm by thy principles stand ; 
 The cause, shall thy spirits embolden, 
 
 Though son% of a valiant old land ! 
 
 Send forth, Arizona, thy trappers. 
 
 Though j-oungest and weakest of all; 
 Thy yeomen, thy miners, and choppers, 
 
THE BATTLE CALL. 47 
 
 Must come to the battle's loud call. 
 Or, wherefore thy rich hidden treasure, 
 
 If tyrants must crush out the ore? 
 Forego now thy infantile pleasure, 
 
 And baptize thy birthright in gore! 
 
 Thou rigid old nurse of the nation, • 
 
 Virginia! gi^at niotlicr of States, 
 Thy name jnelds a high inspiration ! 
 
 To that which the fearless creates. 
 Twas here in the grand Old Dominion 
 
 That Liberty fledged her young plume ; 
 And waving aloft on its pinion, 
 
 The death-seal of tyranny's doom. 
 
 Old home of the heroes ! wliose ashes 
 
 Repose in thy sanctified dust, 
 Above them the infidel daslies, 
 
 Invading thine own liallowed trust. 
 spirits of heroes immortal ! — 
 
 Look down on the whole Southern host, 
 And see from the heaven-high portal 
 
 That Southmcn stand true to their post. 
 
 Rise Southmen ! the day of your glory, 
 
 The hour of your destiny's near — 
 The fame of your chivalrous story 
 
 All nations are eager to hear. 
 Cold, cold, though the freezing hail rattles. 
 
 O'er corses enshrouded mi snow; 
 Yet the God of your fatheio ol ' battles 
 
 Now urges their tliildren to go. 
 
48 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 THE GATHERIN-G OF THE SOUTHERN 
 VOLUNTEERS. 
 
 Air — " La Marseillaise." 
 
 S(?ns of the South ! behold, the morning 
 
 God-like ascends his goldcif car, 
 And Freedom now, with trumpet warning. 
 
 Proclaims the approaching hour of war. 
 
 Proclaims the approaching hour of war. 
 Can you not hear the crash and rattle? 
 
 Can you not hear the roll of drums ? 
 
 Brothers, he comes, the foeman comes, 
 The wild breeze brings the sound of battle. 
 To arms, and gather fast : your firm battalions form ! 
 March on, march on, to meet yon hosts as whirlwinds meet- 
 the storm ! ' 
 
 We gather from Louisiana — 
 
 Keniucky chose us from her sons — 
 We rose from (Georgia's fair Savannah — 
 
 We come from voUeying Moultrie's guns. 
 
 We come from volleying Moultrie's guns. 
 Brothers, all hail! we are Virginians, • 
 
 Good men and brave ; we hold you dear. 
 
 Sons of the South, you're welcome here. 
 From all your Sovereign Dominions. 
 To arms, men of the South, your country shall be free ! 
 March on, march on, each heart resolved for death or liberty. 
 
 Remember me, frie.nds, to-morrow. 
 
 If in your ranks I fall to-day. 
 W^ith good report console- their sorrow 
 
 At home the dear ones far away. 
 
 At home the dear ones far away. 
 
GATHERING OF SOUTHERN VOLUNTEERS. 49 
 
 But now no more ; — the cannon's thunder, 
 And send their sulphur clouds on high, 
 Our flag flaps gaily in the sky, 
 Our hearts beat true its bright folda under. 
 To arms, men of the South, your country shall be free I 
 March on, march on, each, heart resolved for death or liberty. 
 
 I left behind a father weeping — 
 
 And a mother poor and weak — 
 And I two babes, both sweetly sleeping — 
 
 And 1 ray bride^-we could not speak. 
 
 And I my bride — we could not speak. 
 And I left nothing : if 1 perish 
 
 Brothers, to-day, none will deplore. 
 
 Your hands. Of this we'll think no more 
 But of our country that we cherish. 
 To arms, men of the South, your country shall be free I 
 March on, march on, each heart resolved for death or liberty. 
 
 Our country guards our children's slumbers, 
 
 And every peaceful household shields. 
 We pause not then to count the numbers 
 
 We may meet on embattled fields. 
 
 We may meet on embattled fields. * 
 
 Superior even in gentle kindness. 
 
 Strike down the armed warrior low, 
 
 But spare the weak and fallen foe ; 
 Or youth deceived in generous blindness. 
 To arms, men of the South, your country shall be free ! 
 March on, march on, each heart resolved for death or liberty. 
 
 When Freedom plumed her radiant pinion. 
 And soared to meet the western sun, , 
 
 She chpse our shore for her dominion, 
 And sought the home of Wasiiin'oton. 
 And sought the home of W.vshixoton. 
 E 
 
OU WAR SONGS OF THE. SOUTH. 
 
 Sons of the South ! the dome of heaven 1 
 
 Shelters no land so fair as ours : ] 
 
 Against a world's assembled powers 
 
 We will defend what God hath given. >; 
 
 To arms," men of the South ! your firm battalions form. ^ 
 
 March on, march on, to meet yon .hosts as whirlwinds meet j 
 
 the storm ! ^ 
 
 (Fioin the Charleston Mercury.) 
 
 VOLUNTEEEED. 
 
 I know the sun shines, and the lilacs are blowing, 
 Aud the summer sends kisses by beautiful May— 
 
 Oh ! to see the rich treasures the Spring is bestowing. 
 And thi^k — my boy Willie enlisted to-day. 
 
 It seems but a day since at twilight, low humming, 
 I rocked him to sleep with his cheek upon mine. 
 While EoBBY, the four year old, watched for the coming 
 ,0f father, adown the street's indistinct line. 
 
 It is many a year since my Harry departed, 
 
 To come back no more in the twilight or dawn; 
 
 And RoBBY grew weary of watching, and started 
 Alone on the journey his father had gone. 
 
 It is many a year — and this afternoon sitting 
 At Rojbby's old window, I heard the band play, 
 
 And suddenly ceased dreaming over my knitting, 
 To recollect Willie is twenty to-day. 
 
 And that, standing beside him this soft May-day morning, 
 The sun making gold of his wreathed segar smoke, 
 
VOLUNTEERED. 51 
 
 I saw in his sweet eye and lips a faint warning, 
 
 And choked down the tears when he eagerly spoke. 
 
 "Dear mother, you know how those Northmen are crowing, 
 They would trample the rights of the South in the dust ; 
 
 The boys are all fire : and they wish I were going" — 
 He stopped, but his eyes said, " Oh, s.aj^ if I must 1" 
 
 I smiled on the boy, though my heart it seemed breaking; 
 
 My eyes filled with tears so I turned them away, 
 And answered him, " Willik, 'tis well you are waking — 
 
 Go act as your fiither would bid you to-day !" 
 
 I sit in the window, aud see the flags flying. 
 And dreamily list to the roll of the drum, 
 
 And smother the pain in my heart that is lying, 
 And bid all the fears in my bosom be dumb. 
 
 I shall sit in the window wlicu summer is lying 
 Out over the fields, and the honey-bee's hum 
 
 Lulls the rose at the porch from her tremulous sighing, 
 And watch for the face of my darling to come. 
 
 And if he should fall, his young life he has given 
 For Freedom's sweet sake — and for me, 1 will pray 
 
 Once more with my Harry and Robuy in Heaven 
 To meet the dear hoy that enlisted»to-day. 
 
32 . WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 GONE TO THE BATTLE FIELD. 
 
 P,Y JOHN ANTKOBUR. 
 
 The reaper has left the field, 
 
 The mower has. left the plain, 
 And the reaper's hook, and the mower's scythe 
 
 Are changed to the sword again ; 
 For the voice of a hundred years ago. 
 When Freedom struck her mightiest blow, 
 
 Thrills every heart and brain ! 
 
 The wayside mill is still. 
 
 And the wheel drips all alone. 
 For the miller's brother and son and sire, 
 
 And the miller's self have gone ; 
 And their wives and daughters tarrying still, 
 With smiles and tears abcfut the mill. 
 
 Wave, wave their heroes on ! 
 
 The grain is full and ripe. 
 
 And the harvest moon isjiigh. 
 But the farmei;_'s son is among the slain 
 
 And the father heard the cry. 
 And his ancient eyes flashed fires of old, 
 His hoary head rose strong and bold, 
 
 As wild he hurried by ! 
 
 The corn is yet afield. 
 
 But manj' a stalk is red, 
 Yet not with the autumn-tassel stained, 
 
 But the blood of heroes shed. 
 And their blood cries out from heaps of slain, 
 Oh ! brothers leave the sheaves of grain. 
 
 On to the fields of the dead ! 
 
 By every quiet farm, 
 
 Whence father and son has gone. 
 
GONE TO THE BATTLE FIELD. 53 
 
 The fairest daughters 'of the land, 
 
 Brave-hearted cheered us on, 
 With tender-smiles that banish tears, 
 And words to tlirill a soldier's cheers, 
 
 When bloody fields are won. 
 
 Scarcely the form of a man, 
 - Was seen on the long highway, 
 But patriot age whose withered hands 
 
 Stretched feebly up to pray I 
 An-d children whose voices haunt us still, 
 Gathered on every knoll and hill, 
 
 Cheering us on our way ! 
 
 Yonder, with f6i'ble limbs, 
 
 A matron with silver hair, 
 Knelt trembling down a soldiei-'s path, 
 
 And breathed to heaven a prayer. 
 With quivering lips, with streaming eyes. 
 Oh, God ! preserve these gallant boys, 
 
 In battle be Thou there ! 
 
 Oh, soldiers ! such as these, 
 
 Like household memories come, 
 For a thousand prayers ascend to-day 
 
 From those we left at home. ^ 
 For the red, red field to-night may be 
 Our couch, our grave — while victory 
 
 Shall shout above our tomb. 
 
 In battle's bloody hour, 
 
 These pictures shall arise 
 Of mothers, sisters, wives, and homes. 
 
 And red and streaming eyes ; 
 And every arm shall stronger be, 
 For Home, for God, for Liberty, 
 
 A^d strike while Mercy dies ! 
 
54 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 (From the Macon Telegraph.) 
 
 AEE YOU EEADY. 
 
 Sons and brothers — near and far, 
 Have you heard the tones of war? 
 Seen the Southern rising star? 
 Are you ready ? 
 
 Are you arming for the fight? 
 Are your shields and bucklers bright? 
 Will you brave them in your might? 
 Are you ready f 
 
 From the stern, relentless North, 
 Comes the peal of thunder forth ; 
 We will meet them — nothing loth — 
 Are yon ready ? 
 
 They were brothers in the past, 
 But their friendship could not last — 
 Fling our banner to the blast I 
 Are you ready ? 
 
 When the cannon's martial roar 
 Shakes our sunny Southern shore; 
 Will you death upon them pour? 
 Are you teady ? 
 
 Nerve the stout and steady hand. 
 Let no daring Northern band 
 Come to desolate our land ! 
 Are you ready ? 
 
 To the " Border States " and all. 
 Southern freemen sternly call, 
 will you still be held in thrall ? 
 
 Are you ready ? * 
 
PRO ARIS ET FOCIS. 55 
 
 From a thousand hill? and plains, 
 Where the soul of freedom reigns 
 Come the loud and hearty strains, 
 Wk auk ready ! 
 
 (From the Spartansburg Expiess.) 
 
 PRO ARIS ET FOOIS. 
 
 So7)g of the Spartan Riflemen. 
 
 m 
 
 Our bannei' — the gift of the gentle and fair — 
 
 How proudly it floats in the morning air ; ; 
 
 From the spot where we plant it no Spartan will fly — ' 
 
 "Pro aris et focia" — we'll conquer or die I ' 
 
 ■i 
 If tlfe threads of coercion we hear from afar, 
 Shall swell in the breeze to the tempest of war. 
 The Rifles of Sparta will wate it on high, 
 '^Pro aris et focis" — we'll conquer or die I 
 
 ^'Pro ai'is et focis'' our watchword shall be ; ' 
 
 Our country — the home of the brave and the free — ^ 
 
 Our God — the sole sovereign of earth and of sky — j 
 
 "Pro aris et focis" — we'll conquer or die I • , 
 
 The race to the swift does not always belong, ' 
 
 Nor victory perch on the side of the strong ; 
 
 But the battle is theirs who faithfullj' cry, | 
 
 "Pro aris et focis'' — we'll conquer or die! 
 
56 ■ WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 (From the -Sunday Delta.) 
 
 "OLD BETSY." 
 
 BY JOHN KILLUM. 
 
 Come with the rifle so long iu your keeping 
 Clean the old gun up and hurry it forth ; 
 
 Better to die while "Old Betsy" is speaking, 
 
 Than live with arms folded the slave of the North. 
 
 Hear j^e the yelp of the North-wolf resounding, 
 
 Scenting the blood of the warm-hearted South ; * 
 
 Quick ! or his villainous feet will be bounding " 
 
 Where the gore of our maidens may drip from hi 
 
 mouth. _ ": 
 
 Oft in the wild wood " Old Bess" has relieved you, ' 
 When the fierce bear was cut down in his track — ; 
 
 If at that moment she never deceived you. 
 Trust her to-day with this ravenous pack. * 
 
 Then come with the rifle so long in your keeping, . 
 
 Clean the old girl up and hurry her forth ; 
 Better to die while "Old Betsy" is speaking. 
 
 Than live with arms folded the slave of the North. \ 
 
 
THE SPIRIT OF '76. 67 
 
 (From the Richmond Dispatch.) 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF 76-THE OLD RIFLEMAN. 
 
 BY FRANK TICKNOR. 
 
 Now bring me out my buckskin suit ! 
 
 My pouch and powder too ! 
 We'll see if seventy-six can shoot 
 
 As sixteen used to do. 
 
 Old Bess ! we've kept our barrels bright ! 
 
 Our trigger quick and true I 
 As far, if not as fine a sight, 
 
 As long ago, wc drew ! 
 
 And pick we out a trusty flint! 
 
 A real white and blue. 
 Perhaps 'twill win the other tint, 
 
 Before the hunt is through I ^ 
 
 Give boys jour brass percussion caps ! 
 
 Old " shut-pan" suits us well 1 
 There's something in the sparks ; perhaps 
 
 There's something in the smell! 
 
 We've seen the red-coat Briton bleed I 
 
 The red-skin Indian, too I 
 We never thought to draw a bead 
 
 On Yankee-doodle-doo! 
 
 But, Bessie ! bless your dear odd heart ! 
 
 Those daj's are mostly done ; 
 And now ^e must revive the art 
 
 Of shooting on tlic run ! 
 E* 
 
 1 
 
 A 
 
58 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. • 
 
 If Doodle must be meddling, why, 
 
 There's only this to do; 
 Select the black spot in his eye 
 
 And let the day-light through ! 
 
 And if he doesn't like the way 
 
 That Bess presents the view, 
 He'll maybe, change his mind and stay 
 
 Where the good Doodles do ! 
 
 Where Lincoln lives. The man, you know, 
 
 Who kissed the Testament ; 
 To keep the Constitution ? No ! 
 
 To keep the Government. ! 
 
 We'll hunt for Lincoln, Bess 1 old tool, 
 And take him half and half; 
 
 We'll aim to hit bim, if a fool, 
 And miss him if a calf! 
 
 We'll teach these shot-gun boys the tricks, 
 
 B}' which a war i? won : 
 Especially how seventy-six 
 
 Took torie? on the run ! 
 
 (Froiii Uio Colunibut* 'J'ioios.) 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF '60. 
 
 Sons of the South arise, 
 Youi- insulted country cries. 
 
 - To arms ! to arms ! 
 Ho ! round her standard rally. 
 From mountain steep to valley 
 Sound war's alarms. 
 
OUR FAITH IN '61. 59 
 
 Up, men of metal brave, 
 Thy beroiues will -weave 
 
 Banners for thee. 
 Deneath them take thy stand, 
 Brothers of a mighty band, . 
 
 For liberty ! 
 
 Let Southern hearts unite, 
 Tn common cause make fight, 
 
 'Gainst Southern foes! 
 In your councils patriots meet 
 The old spirit of '76, 
 
 That mid tliee grlows. 
 
 il-'rniii tliu Hnntlioiii M.iuthly.) 
 
 OUR'FAITH IN '61. 
 
 BY A. J. KEQtIKR. 
 
 Tliat goverument.s are instituted among men, deriving tfioir .just powers 
 from tht consent of tlie gnvcrnfd ; that whenever any form of i/overnnwit 
 becomes destructive of these ends, it is the ri;)IU of the panple to altet'- or 
 nboUsJi it, and to institute a new (/overnment, laying its foundation on sucTi 
 priiKtiiUs, and organizing its powers in such form as TO titfm shaxl SEEH 
 most likely to effect their safety and happiness. — Declaration of hfJ-'iKV- 
 ' 'fence, Jnly 4, .'76. 
 
 Not yet one hundreil year? have tlown 
 
 Since, on this very spot. 
 Tlie subjects of a Sovereign throve - 
 
 Liege-masters of their lot. 
 This high decree sped o'er the Sea, 
 
 From council-board and tent, 
 • N'o earthly power can rule the free 
 
 l^it bv their own consent !" 
 
60 WAE SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 For this they fought as Saxons fight,- 
 
 On bloody fields and long — 
 Themselves the champions of the right, 
 
 And judges of the wrong; 
 For this their stainless knighthood wore 
 
 The branded rebel's narrie, 
 Until the starry cross thej^ bore 
 
 Set all the skies aflame ! 
 
 And Sttites co-equal and distinct ■ 
 
 Outshone the Western sun, 
 But One great charter interlinked — ' 
 
 Not blended into one ; 
 Whose graven key that high decree 
 
 The grand inscription lent, 
 » "No earthly power can rule the free 
 
 But by their own consent 1" 
 
 Oh, sordid age ! oh, ruthless rtige I 
 
 Oh, sacrilegious wrong ! 
 ^ A deed to blast the record-page. 
 
 And snap the strings of song : 
 In that great charter's name, a band 
 
 By grovelling greed enticed. 
 Whose warrant is the grasping hand 
 
 Of creeds without a Christ ! 
 
 States that liave trampled every pledge 
 
 Its crystal code contains, 
 Now give their swords a keener edge 
 
 To harness it with chains — 
 To make a bond of brotherhood 
 
 The sanction and the seal. 
 By which to arm a rabble brood 
 
 With fratricidal steel 
 
OUR faith' in '61. 61 
 
 Who, conscious that their cause is black, 
 
 In puling prose and rhyme, 
 Talk hatefully of love and tack 
 
 Hypocrisy to crime : 
 Who smile and sneak, then " heave the gorge" 
 
 Or inipotently frown ; 
 And call us "rebels" with King George 
 
 As if they wore his crown ! 
 
 Most venal of a venal race. 
 
 Who think you cheat the sky 
 With every pharisaic face 
 
 And simulated lie ; 
 Kound Freedom's lair, with weapons bare, 
 
 We greet the light divine 
 Of those who throned the goddess there, 
 
 And yet inspire the shrine I 
 
 Our loved ones' graves are at our feet, 
 
 Their homesteads at our back — 
 No belted Southron can retreat 
 
 With women on his track : 
 Peal, bannered host, the proud decree 
 
 Which from your fathers went, 
 "No earthly power can rule the free 
 
 But by their own consent!" 
 
62 WAR SONGS OF. THE SOUTH. 
 
 (From the Georgia Crusader.) 
 
 SEVENTY-SIX AND SIXTY-ONE. 
 
 BY JOHN W. OVERALL. 
 
 Ye spirits of the glorious dead ! 
 
 Ye watchers in the siij' ! 
 "Who sought the patriot's crimson bed 
 
 With holy trust and high — 
 Come lend your inspiration now, 
 
 Come fire each Southern son, 
 Who nobly fights, for freemen's rights, • 
 
 And shouts for sixty-one. 
 
 Come teach them how on hill, in glade. 
 
 Quick leaping from your side. 
 The lightning flash of sabres made 
 
 A red and flowing tide ; 
 How well ye fought, how bravely fell, 
 
 Beneath our burning sun, 
 And let the lyre, in strains of fire, 
 
 So speak of sixty-one. 
 
 There's many a grave in all the land. 
 
 And many a crucifix. 
 Which tell how that heroic band 
 
 Stood firm in seventy-six — 
 Ye heroes of the deathless past, 
 
 Your glorious race is run, . 
 But from your dust, springs freemen's trust, 
 
 And blows for sixty-one. 
 
 We build our altars where you lie 
 On many a verdant sod. 
 
 k. 
 
ETHNOGENESIS. 
 
 63 
 
 With sabres pointing to the sky 
 
 And sanctified of God — 
 The smoke shall rise from everypile, 
 
 Till freedom's fight is done, 
 And every mouth throughout the South, 
 
 Shall shout for sixtj'-one. 
 
 (From tlie Chiirleston Courier.) 
 
 ETHNOGENESIS. 
 
 Ode on Occasion of lite Meeting of the Southei'ti Congress. 
 
 HY TIKXKY TIMKOD. 
 
 !.• 
 Hath not the morning dawned with added light? 
 And will not evening call another star 
 Out of the infinite regions of the night, 
 To mark this day in heaven ? At last, we are 
 A nation among nations ; and the world 
 Shall soon behold in many a distant part 
 
 Another flag unfurled ! 
 Now, come what may, whose favor need we court? 
 And, under God, whose thunder need we fear? 
 
 Thank Him who placed us here 
 Beneath so kind a sky — the very sun 
 Takes part wkth us ; and on our errands run 
 All breezes of the ocean ; dew and -rain 
 Do noiseless battle for us ; and the year. 
 And all the gentle daughters in her train, 
 March in our ranks, and in our service wield 
 . Long spears of gol.<^"" <Tvnin ! 
 
 A 
 
64 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 A yellow blossom as her fairy shield 
 June flings our azure banner to the wind, 
 
 While in the order of their birth 
 Her sisters pass, and many an ample field 
 Grows white beneath their steps, till now, behold 
 
 Its eTidless sheets unfold 
 The Sxow of Sottiikrv Summers 1 Let the earth 
 Rejoice I — beneath those fleeces soft and warm 
 
 Our happy land sl^all sleep 
 
 In a repose as deep. 
 
 As if we lay intrenched behind 
 Whole leagues of Russian ice and Arctic storm 1 
 
 n. 
 
 And what, if mad with wrongs themselves have wrought, 
 
 In their own treachery caught, 
 
 By their own fears made bold, 
 
 And leagued with him of old. 
 Who long since in the liiSits of the North 
 Set up his evil throne, and warred with God — 
 What if, both mad and blinded in their rage, 
 Our foes should fling us down their mortal gage. 
 And with a hostile step profane our sod ! 
 We shall not shrink, my brothers, but go forth 
 To meet them, marshalled by the Lord of Hosts, 
 And overshadowed b^' the mighty ghosts 
 Of Moultrie and of Eutaw — who shall foil 
 Auxiliars such as these? Nor these alone, 
 
 But every stock and stone 
 Shall help us; but the very soil. 
 And all the generous wealth it gives to toil, 
 And all for which we love our noble land. 
 Shall fight beside, and through us, sea and strand, 
 
 The heart of woman, and her hand, 
 Tree, fruit, and flower, and every influence. 
 
 Gentle or grave or grand. 
 
 The winds in our defence 
 
ETHNOGENESIS. 
 
 66 
 
 Shall seem to blow : to us the hills shall lend 
 Their firmness and their calm ; 
 
 And in our stiffened sinews we shall blend 
 The strength of pine and palm ! 
 
 III. 
 Look where we will, we cannot find a ground 
 
 For any mournful song : 
 Call up the clashing elements around, 
 
 And test the right and wrong ! 
 0ft6tie side, pledges broken, creeds that lie, 
 Religion sunk in vague philosophy, 
 Empty professions, pharisaic leaven, 
 Souls that would i^ell their birthright in the sky 
 Philanthropists who pass the beggar by, 
 And laws which controvert the laws of Heaven 
 And, on the other — first, a righteous cause I 
 
 Then, honor without flaws. 
 Truth, Bible reverence, charitable wealth, 
 And for the poor and humble, laws which give, 
 Not the mean rigiit to buy the right to live. 
 
 But life, and home, and health. 
 To doubt the issue were distrust in God ! 
 If in his Providence he hath decreed 
 That to the peace for which we pray. 
 Through the Red Sea of War must lie our way, 
 Doubt not, brothers, we shall find at need 
 
 A Moses with his rodl 
 
 But let our fears— if fgars we have — be still. 
 And turn us to the future! Could we climb 
 Some Alp inthought, and view the coming time, 
 We should indeed behold a sight to fill 
 
 Our eyes with happj'^ tears 1 
 Not for the glories which a hundred years 
 Shall bring us : not for lauds from sea to sea, 
 And wealth, and power, and peace, though these shall bej 
 
66 WAR SONGS OP THE SOUTH. 
 
 But for the distant peoples we shall bless, 
 And the hushed murmurs of a world's distress : 
 For, to give food and clothing to the poor. 
 
 The whole sad planet o'er, 
 And save from crime its humblest human door, 
 Our mission is i The hour is not j^et ripe 
 When all shaU see it, but behold the type 
 Of what we are and shall be to the world. 
 In our own grand and genial Gulf Stream furled, 
 Which through the vast and colder ocean pours '" 
 Its waters, so that far-oflf Arctic shores 
 May sometimes catch upon the softened breeze " 
 Strange tropic warmth and hints of summer seas I 
 
 INDEPENDENCE HYMN. 
 
 15V A. J. REQUIKR. 
 
 True sons of the South, from whose militant sire8 
 
 The steel-crested charter of Liberty sprung, 
 In whose bosoms are fed the heroical fires 
 That burst when the tocsin of Tyranny rung. 
 Chorus : 
 Waft the soul-stirring strains, over mountains and plains, 
 
 Till the four winds shall carry your foes this reply: 
 That you dare, as your fathers dic^ trample their chains. 
 And like freemen to live, or like freemen to die ! 
 
 Forty years of exaction have whetted the blade. 
 At length, from the long-rusted scabbard of yore. 
 
 Unsheathed above cohorts compactly arrayed. 
 
 From the brow of the hills to the surf-beaten shore. 
 Waft the soul-stirring strains, &c. 
 
ARISE. 67 
 
 Our ramparts are souls wliich instinctively turn 
 To their bomes as the sensitive steel to the staf ; 
 
 Where the yearnings of country consumingly burn — 
 A pillar of flame to protect it in war ! 
 
 Waft the- soul-stirring strains, &c. 
 
 They have called us tlieir brothers — and stabbed as they 
 spoke ; 
 They have pillaged our people and commerce and toil ; 
 And, with claspings fraternal, would rivet a yoke 
 More galling than death on our dear, native soil : 
 Waft the soul-stirring strains, &c. 
 
 The cockades we wear and the colors we wave, 
 
 Are the work of our mothers, our daughters, and wives ; 
 
 We will rally, with both, to the brink of the grave, 
 And give up" their rights when we give up our lives: 
 Waft the soul-stirring strains, &c. 
 
 Then gather, men, gather! from hill-side and vale — 
 From the green-rolling prairie-lands down to the sea ; 
 
 As strongto repel as the rush of the gale. 
 And firm to resist as the oak-rooted tree : 
 
 Waft the soul-stirring strains, Ac. 
 
 (From the Charleston Mercury.) 
 
 ARISE. 
 
 BY 0. Q. POYNAS. 
 
 Carolinians! who inherit 
 
 Blood which flowed in patriot veins ? 
 Rouse ye from lethargic slumber I 
 
 Rouse and fling away your chains ! 
 
68 WAR SONGS OF TUE SOUTH. 
 
 From the mountain to the seaboard, 
 Let the cry be— Up 1 Arise ! — 
 
 Throw our pure Palmetto banner 
 Proudly upward to the skies. 
 
 Fling it out ! its Lone Star beaming 
 
 Brightly to the Nation's gaze — 
 Lo I another star arises ! — 
 
 Quickly — proudly it emblaze ! — 
 Yet another ! Bid it welcome 
 
 With a hearty "three times three;" 
 Send it forth, on boom of cannon, 
 
 Southern men will dare be free. 
 
 Faster than the cross of battle 
 
 Summoned rude Clan Alpine's host, 
 Flash the news from sea to mountain — 
 
 Back from mountain to the coast I 
 On the lightning's wing it fleeth — 
 
 Scares the Eagle in his flight, 
 As his keen eye sees arising 
 
 Glory, yet shall daze his sight! 
 
 Cease the triumph — days of darkness 
 
 Loom upon us from afar ; 
 Can a woman's voice for battle 
 
 Ring the fatal note of war ? 
 Yes — when we have borne aggression 
 
 Till submissiou is disgrace, 
 Southern women call for action — 
 
 Ready would the danger face 1 
 
 Yes, in many »■ matron's^bosom 
 Burns the Spartan spirit now ; 
 
 From the maiden's eye its flashes, 
 Glows upon her snowy brow : 
 
 ?*^ 
 
SOUTH CAROLINA. 
 
 E'en our iufants in their prattle, 
 Urge us on to risk our all — 
 
 "Would we leave them, as a blessing, 
 The oppressor's hateful thrall I" 
 
 No ! — Then up, true-hearted Southrons, 
 Like bold "giants nerved by wine;" 
 
 Never fear ! The cause is holy- 
 It is sacred — yea, Divine ! 
 
 For the Lord of Hosts is with us — 
 It is He has cast our lot ; 
 
 Blest our homes — from lordl}' mansion 
 To the humblest negro cot. 
 
 God of Battles ! hear our cry — 
 Give us nerve to do or die! 
 
 69 
 
 (From tlip Charleston Cnnrier.) 
 
 SOUTH CAROLINA. 
 
 BY WILLIE LIGHTHRART. 
 
 My land, m^^ Carolina, dear! 
 
 My warm, bright sunny home ! 
 The brightest star of all the rest, 
 
 That on our banner shone ; 
 The sunshine soonest gilds thy shores, 
 
 And lingers longest there ; 
 The heavens are bluer o'er thy hills, 
 
 Than fair Italias are ! 
 
 Oh, land of flowers ! thy golden 3'ears, 
 So winterless and fair. 
 
70 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Are full of verdure, light and song, 
 
 Beauty and balmy air ! 
 There forest trees their branches lift 
 
 Rejoicingly to heav'n, 
 And catch the earliest breath of Spring, 
 
 That God to earth hath given. 
 
 ' My land, my beautiful, my home ! 
 
 Whithersoe'r I look, 
 Poetic beauties bubble up . ' 
 
 From every stream and brook ; 
 And wheresoe'er the feet may tread, 
 
 In highland or in plain. 
 We find a zone of flow'ry vine 
 
 Woven 'round thy name. 
 
 In shady groves and avenues, 
 
 Where rev'rend oaks look down, 
 With pensive eyes, through mossy veils, 
 
 Upon the guests to frown : 
 E'en there fair Flora strews her gems 
 
 With lavish, generous hand. 
 And all the children of the sun 
 
 Come forth at her command. 
 
 Fair land ! above the flower and song. 
 
 The music and the light. 
 Which thou hast whisper'd to our ears 
 
 And given to our sight — 
 Are thy fair, honored daughters, far — 
 
 As beautiful as love, 
 And pure as winter's snows afar, 
 
 Where trav'lers never rove. 
 
 There are no faces half so fair, 
 No forms so faultless live ! 
 
THE PELICAN FLAG. 71 
 
 God hath not for another land 
 
 So much of heaven to give I 
 But, oh ! the hearts — thy daughters' hearts I 
 
 How beautiful arc they I 
 Where Virtue makes her. dwelling place, 
 
 And there asserts her sway. 
 
 Thy sons — proud Carolina shout 1 
 
 And glory in thy might ! 
 Thousands of hearts, as true as steel, 
 
 Are eager for the fight. 
 Thej-'ll stand around thy beauteous form, 
 
 And build their bulwarks there, 
 And win a laurel for thy brow, 
 
 Or die upon thy bier ! 
 
 (From the New Orleans Sunday Delta.) 
 
 THE PELICAN FLAG. 
 
 Fling to the Southern wind 
 
 The banner with its type of motherhood ; 
 Home, hearth, and friends within its folds we bind 
 
 In one strong, mighty cord of brotherhood. 
 
 Waft it ! Southern breeze ! 
 
 To the deep measure of true patriot songs, 
 And bid our sunny land and suiting seas 
 
 Swell the war chorus of a people's wrou^^s. 
 
 Kiss it, Southern sun ! 
 
 With the life-kiss wliich thrilled the desert stone. 
 And let prophetic murmurs from it won, 
 
 Nerve brave, high souls to stern, heroic tone. 
 
 
72 
 
 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Guard it, Southern heart I 
 
 As the dear love-light of each home and hearth ; 
 A mystic strength the ruby drops impart 
 
 To him who battles for his natal earth. 
 
 From deepest trance Ave rise ; 
 
 No need to ask the watchman of the night, 
 The lurid gleam within j'on eastern skies 
 
 Is no true harbinger of morning light ! 
 
 Yet bright enough to mark 
 
 Records of broken trust, and traitorous deed, 
 To watch the dragon's teeth, sown thro' the dark — 
 
 To meet the sprouting of the cursed seed. 
 
 And with no craven fears, 
 
 But in the calm, proud majesty of right — 
 No dastard brood the Southern mother rears — 
 
 To quail before the Hydra in its might. 
 
 Fling the loved banner forth 
 
 To the bright baptism of the sun and sky ; 
 Waft in its folds the deep and solemn oath 
 
 To guard our hearths, or for their warm light die. 
 
 God of battles, hear ! 
 
 In this enforced, most unrighteous strife. 
 Raise up some leader who, with deeds of cheer. 
 
 Shall win our "Pelican's prouder life — 
 
 Win it 'midst war's alarms, 
 
 Where the rich heart-tide pours like summer rain, 
 High o'er the dying sighs — the clang of arms — 
 
 Those' patriot sighs shall breathe one deep amen i 
 
 And blest by woman's prayers, 
 
 And by men's vows, and children's hopeful love, 
 Float forth, banner, till our mother wears 
 
 The cloudless radiance of her sky above I 
 
FORT SUMTER. 73 
 
 (Fioin tho New Orloaus Delta.) 
 
 FORT SUMTER. 
 
 Ask the Fort — let peace prevail, 
 
 Claim the Fort — but j^ct forbear 
 But if words of Ivindness fail, 
 
 Then cry rescue 1 and — prepare 
 Feel no anger — give the hand ; 
 
 Fling no menace — no retort : 
 If the foe relentless stand, 
 
 Carolina ! take the Fort ! 
 
 Sumter — name of old renown : 
 
 Sumter ! spirit ! guard j'our own 
 Be thou still, chivalric town I 
 
 Let the seeds of wrong be sown ; 
 People I strike — but not till whm 
 
 Right lies in that sole resort — 
 Be ye armed — but only then. 
 
 Carolina ! take the Fort. 
 
 Take the Fort — but yet beware; 
 
 Strike not at an idiot's call, 
 'Tis not who the most shall dare ; 
 
 But 'tis who shall dare at all : 
 If all kindness, spurned, shall fail : 
 
 If all argument fall short ; 
 Then, though Heaven itself grow pale, 
 
 Carolina I take the Fort. 
 G 
 
 ^ 
 
74 WAR son(tS of the south. 
 
 Take the Fort -but not till they, 
 Baser than even kings or slaves — 
 
 Men in place and men in pay, 
 Dare be idiots or be knaves ; 
 
 Peace 1 then hide thee, shrunk and pale- 
 Hide in corridor or court ; 
 
 Then, at last, let blood prevail — 
 Carolina ! iakc the Fort. 
 
 'Kioiii tip- rliark-stoii Courier.) 
 
 OLD MOULTRIE. 
 
 Dedicated to Col. Riplev.. 
 UY 0. G. POYNAS. 
 
 Tlie splendor falls on bannered walls 
 
 Of ancient Moultrie, great in story ; 
 And flushes^ now his scar-saamed brow 
 With raj'S of golden glory! 
 Great in his old renown : 
 Great in the honor thrown 
 Around him by the foe, 
 Had sworn.to lay him low ! 
 
 The glory falls — historic walls 
 
 Too weak to cover foes insulting, 
 Became a tower — a sheltering bower — 
 A theme of joy exulting. 
 
 God, merciful and great. 
 Preserved the high estate 
 Of Moultrie, bj' His power. 
 Through the fierce battle hour. 
 
ULD MOULTRIE. 75 
 
 The splendor fell — his banners swell 
 Majestic forth to catch the shower 
 Our own loved hhir, receives anew 
 A rich immortal dower ! 
 Adown the triple bars 
 Of its companion, spars 
 Of golden glory stream 
 On seven-rayed circlet beam. 
 
 The glory falls — but not on walls 
 
 Of Sumter, deemed the pOst of duty ; 
 A brilliant sphere, it circles clear 
 The harbor in its beauty ; 
 Holding in its embrace 
 The city's queenly grace ; 
 Stern battery and tower 
 Of manly strength and power. 
 
 But brightest falls on Moultrie's walls, 
 
 Forever there to rest in glory, 
 A hallowed light on buttress height — 
 ! fort, beloved and hoary ! 
 
 Ilest there — and tell that faith 
 Shall ?j_f(.v;* suffer seath ; ^ 
 
 Rest there — and glow afar, 
 Hope's ever burning star ! 
 
 Note.— All lovers of poi-tr.v will know in wlic..s,> liquid gold I havo dip- 
 ped.my brush to illnniino Hk' jiictuie. 
 
76 
 
 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 FOETS MOEEIS AND MOULTEIE. 
 
 Hark, the wind-storm how it rushes ! 
 
 List ! methinks I hear the strain 
 Of wild music it awak'neth, 
 
 As it sweeps along the main ! 
 Rustling in the old Palmettos — 
 
 Stirs it not each patriot breast, 
 In the Camp of proud Fort Morris, 
 
 On this day of holy rest? 
 
 Day of Rest in the good City, — 
 
 But doivn there, along the strand, 
 Active work — and keen-ey6d watching 
 
 For the brave, heroic band. 
 To whom God has given honor. 
 
 In permitting them to be 
 First to send the shot for Freedom 
 
 Booming o'er the foaming £e»! 
 
 * Soon Old Moultrie caught the signal — 
 
 Fort beloved of Southern heart! 
 And tho' Sumter frowned defiant, 
 
 With loud war-note took her part ; 
 And (hose brave men 7ie'e.r faltered, 
 
 Tho' the false and craven foe 
 Late had sworn " if once they opened, 
 
 He would lay the Fortress low !" 
 
 'Tis a tale to tell our children. 
 How we eager stood to hear 
 
 The first gun of Freedom sounding 
 Grandly, proudly on the ear ! 
 
FORTS MORRIS AND MOULTRIE. 77 
 
 When again our batteries open 
 
 Seaward on the approaching foe, 
 Their returning shot may bring us 
 
 Desolation, anguish, woe. 
 
 Let your loved ones — wives and mothers, 
 
 Daughters, sisters, sweethearts stand 
 Ready to cheer on to glory 
 
 Our devoted, patriot band — 
 Not a heart with fear is quailing ; 
 
 Not an eye but glows with pride — 
 Only those are sad whose kindred 
 
 Still at home are forced to bide. 
 
 0, true-hearted, noble brother, 
 
 Now, for thee and all the brave, 
 Will I kneel in suppliance lowly, 
 
 To the One who died to save : 
 May His angels camp around ye, 
 
 May His shield be o'er ye thrown, 
 And the glory of his presence 
 
 All encircle as a zone. 
 
 Should ye fall, a band of martyrs, 
 
 In the mighty cause of truth, 
 May the seal of the Redemption 
 
 Stamp ye for eternal youth ! 
 For / know the cause is holy, 
 
 Not a doubt is in my soul ; 
 And a hero is each soldier 
 
 On our Sacrrd Muster Roll.' 
 
78 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 (From tlie Cliail'^ston Coiivipr.) 
 
 A CHEONIGLE OF FOET SUMTEE. 
 
 NJ'ght lingered over quiet shore and bay 
 In grim repose whore fort and battery lay ; 
 All silent yet, though many an anxious ear 
 Of Avife or mother's love is strained to hear ; 
 All darkness yet, but on the Eastern sky 
 The first gray dawn is watched by many au eye : 
 It comes, and wltli it come from Johnson's shore 
 The signal flash, the mortar's sullen roar. 
 Through waning shadows of departing night, 
 The shell describes its graceful curve of light — 
 A shooting star, and bursting ere it falls 
 Shivers in fi*agments over Sumter's walls : 
 Then roars the battle's voice, on every hand, 
 Fort calls to fort, and patriot band to band. 
 From side to side redoubling thunders swell 
 Their penis with shot on .shot and shell on shell. 
 
 ■\Vhere genius, toil, and practised art allied, 
 
 Their iron rampart built on Morris' side,. 
 
 First at the signal flash its watchful batt'ries pour 
 
 Their rolling echoes over sea and shore : 
 
 Of heart where more than youthful ardor glows, 
 
 With long locks whitened by December's snows, 
 
 There Kukfin, bold Virginia's son, desires 
 
 His hand should wake the battery's slumbering fires. 
 
 Courteous as gallant the Palmettos yield 
 
 The brave old iniin these honors of the field ; 
 
 And through the conflicts deafening peal on peal 
 
 Toils the stern veteran with unflinching zeal. 
 
 Across the bay Continuous flashes rise, 
 
 To booming shell the hissing shol replies ; 
 
 Mortar and ponderous cannon hurl afar, 
 
A CHKOJNICLE OF FORT SUMTER. 
 
 79 
 
 With steadfast aim, the thunderbolts of wai:. 
 First in the circle, faithful to his fame, 
 Old Moultrie adds new lustre to his name ; 
 There Ripley, trained in every warlike art, 
 Enacts at once the cjiief's, the soldier's part; 
 Restrains the rash, to ardor fires the slow, 
 Slript to the work directs each deadly blow, 
 And drives !iis red-hot tempest ou"the foe. 
 
 Midway the fires between, across the tide, 
 No answering gun is heaili on Sumter's side ; 
 In stern repose the silent fortress lies^,. 
 And seems to scorn assailing enemies. 
 At last the fierce volcanic lires disclose 
 Their waking wrath, and burst upon his foes : 
 To left, to right, the curling smoke is seen, 
 ■White clouds of smoke, with lightning flame between. 
 Hour after hour, a lingering 4pril,day, 
 Unweariedly his deep-toned batteries play , 
 Another April sun the conflict sees, 
 Still floats the banner on the Western breeze ; 
 But ere the dewy hours of morn expire, 
 Rings out the city's cry — " the fort's on fire 1" 
 O'er the tall rampart, dark'ning-, flashing, came 
 Black clouds of smoke and tongues of pointed flame, 
 In heaps the heated shells explode, on high 
 Leap up huge sulphurou^s columns to the sky. 
 While lighter jets of vapoi tell 
 Increasing t-howers rain on of shot and shell. 
 
 Yet, dauntlessly, the fortress renewed 
 His hopeless toil, with spirit unsubdued, 
 Through rolling clouds his voice of battle spoke, 
 Unsilenced still in flaiiie and reeking smoke, 
 His foes a kindred courage recognize. 
 And cheer each adverse bullet as it flies. 
 
80 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 At last it sinks ! The flag that day by day 
 Had waved its proud defiance o'er the bay, 
 Before old Moultrie's. scathing lightning falls, 
 And the white flag is shown on Sumter's walls. 
 
 But ere 'twas seen, thro' smouldering fire and smoke, 
 "While the hot tempest yet on Sumter broke, 
 With pity moved for brave and suffering foes. 
 To offer succor generous Wigfall goes 
 In frail and leaky skifl" across the tide, 
 "With YocNO, he dares away to Sumter's side; 
 In vain around the storm of battle roared, 
 His flag, a handkerchief, the staff, his sword. 
 He gains the rocky Fortress, climbs the gate. 
 And saves its inmates from impending fate ; 
 The lightnings cease, the thunder stills its roar, 
 And the long agony of war is o'er. 
 
 Then where the city myriads stood, a cry 
 Broke forth, a people s shout of ecstacy ; 
 Where mothers prayed for every precious life. 
 Where wives with fear, yet firmly, watched the strife, 
 Where sterner spirits gazed with- patriots pride, 
 And longed to hasten to the soldier's side, 
 Rose murmured thanks for every mercy given. 
 And throbbed a people's grateful heart to Heaven. 
 
SUMTER — A BALLAD OF 1861. 81 
 
 (From the Charleston Courier.) 
 
 SUMTEK--A BALLAD OF 186L 
 
 BY E. 0. MURDEN. 
 
 'Twas on the twelfth of April, 
 
 Before the break of day, 
 -We heard the guns of Moultrie 
 
 Give signal for the fray.' 
 
 Anon across the waters 
 
 There boomed the answering gun, 
 From North and South came flash on flash, 
 
 The battle had begun. 
 
 The mortars belched their deadly food 
 And spiteful whiz'd the balls, 
 
 A fearful storm of iron hailed 
 On Sumter's doomed walls. 
 
 We watched the meteor flight of shell, 
 And saw the lightning flash — 
 
 Saw where each fiery missile fell, 
 And heard the Kullen crash. 
 
 The morn was dark and cloudy. 
 
 Yet 'till the sun arose, 
 No answer to our gallant boys 
 
 Came booming from our foes. 
 
 Then through the dark and murky clouds 
 
 The morning sunlight came, 
 And forth from Sumter's frowning walls 
 
 Burst sudden sheets of flame. 
 G* 
 
 .J 
 
82 WAR soNi:.s or the south. 
 
 Then shot and shell flew thick and fast, 
 The war-dogs howling spoke, 
 
 And thundering cftnie their raigry roar, 
 Tliiough wreathing clouds of smoke. 
 
 Again to fight for liliertj, 
 Our gallant fons had come, 
 
 They smiled when cime the bugle call, 
 And laughed when tapped the-drum. 
 
 From cotton and from corn-field, 
 From desk and foj-um, too, 
 
 From work-bench and from anvil, came 
 Our gallant boys and true 1 
 
 A liircling band had come to awe, 
 
 Our chairs to rivet fast; 
 \' :i lofty pile scowls on .our liomes. 
 
 S-^pward the hostile mast. 
 
 But gallant freemen man our guns — 
 
 No mercenary host 
 Who barter for their honor's price. 
 
 And of their baseness boast. 
 
 Now came our stately matrons. 
 And maidens, too," by scores; 
 
 Oh ! Carolina's beauty slioac 
 Like love-lights on her sliores. 
 
 See yonder, anxious gazing, 
 
 Alone a matron stands, 
 The tear drop glistening on each lid, 
 
 And tightly clasped her hands. 
 
 For there, exposed to deadly fire, 
 Her husband and her son — 
 
SUMTER — a'^BALLAD OF 1861. 83 
 
 ''Father," she si)oke, and Heavenward look'd, 
 "Father, thy -vvill be done." 
 
 See j'onder groii]) of maidens, 
 
 No joyous hinghter now, 
 For cares lie heavy on each heart, 
 ■ And clond each anxious brow : 
 
 For brothers dear and lovers fond, 
 
 Are there amid the strife ; 
 Tearful the sister's anxious gaze — 
 
 Pallid the promised wife. 
 
 Yet breathed no heart one thought of fear, 
 
 Prompt at their country's call, 
 They yielded forth their dearest hoiVes, 
 
 And gave to honor all ! 
 
 Now comes a message from below — 
 
 Oh I quick the tidings tell — 
 ■'At Moultrie and Fort Johnson, too, 
 
 And .Morris', all are well !' 
 
 TIkm mark the joyuns l)rightning ; 
 
 See how each bosom .•swells ; 
 That friends and loved one?^ all are safe, 
 
 Each to the other tells. 
 
 All day the shot flew thic;k and fast. 
 
 All night the cannon roared, 
 While wreathed in smol:" stern J^nmter stood, 
 
 And vengeful answer poured. 
 
 Again the sun rose, bright and clear, 
 
 Twas on the thirteenth day, 
 While, lo 1 at prudent d;=t\nce moored. 
 Five hostile vessels lay. 
 
84 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 With choicest Abolition crews — 
 The bravest of their brave — 
 
 They'd come to pull our Crescent down 
 And dig Secession's grave. 
 
 " See, see, how Sumter's banner trails, 
 
 They're signaling for aid. 
 See you no boats of armed men? 
 
 Is yet no movement made?" ■ 
 
 Now densest smoke and lurid flames 
 
 Burst out o'er Sumter's walls_; 
 " The Fort's on fire," is the cry, 
 • Again for aid he calls. 
 
 See you no boats or vessels yet? 
 
 Dare they not risk one shot 
 To make rejiort grandiloquent 
 
 Of aid they rendered not? 
 
 Nor boat, nor vessel, leaves the fleet, 
 
 " Let the old Major burn," 
 We'll boast of what we would have done, 
 
 If but — on our retui-n. 
 
 Go back, go back, ye cravens ; 
 
 Go back the way ye came ; 
 Ye gallant, ivould-be, men-of-war, 
 
 Go ! to your country's shame. 
 
 'Mid fiery stoi-m of shot and shell, 
 'Mid smoke and roaring flame, 
 
 See how Kentucky's gallant son 
 Does honor to her name ! 
 
 See how he answers gun for gun- 
 Hurrah 1 his flag is down ! 
 
THE LADY CAROLINE. 
 
 85 
 
 The white I the white I Oh see it wave ! 
 Is echoed all around. 
 
 Now ring the bells a joyous peal, 
 And rend with shouts the air, 
 
 We've torn the hated banner down, 
 And placed the Crescent there. 
 
 All honor to our gallant boys, 
 Bring forth the roll of fame. 
 
 And there in glowing lines inscribe 
 Each patriot hero's name. 
 
 Spread, spread, the tidings far and wide. 
 
 Ye winds t;ike up the cry, 
 "Our soil's redeemed from hateful yoke, 
 
 We'll keep it pure or die.'" 
 
 (From tho N. 0. Ciitholic Standanl.) 
 
 THE LADY CAROLINE'S TEA PARTY. 
 
 "Tlie fair young danshter of the proud old Hiigiiennts'' who was so badly 
 treated by her long-ficed Northern lord, has at last been compellod, with 
 the approval of Mother Church, to separate herself and her faithful retain- 
 ers from him and his sordid vassals: and now, in the first flush and free- 
 dom of her liberty, she has askeil to ht-r boiinl liei- lovely sisters. Florida, 
 Mississippi, and Alabama have already accepted the invitation, and their 
 •zamplcs will soon be followed by Georgia and Louisiana. The queenly 
 Tirginia will also be present, and Texas, Arkansas. Tennessee and Ken- 
 tucky. What a goodly company! In tho meantime, the Lady (larolino'8 
 chivalric story has been sung by one of tho sweetest of the bards who have 
 drawn their inspiration from tho Southern Cro3.s. This charming lay, by 
 the gifted IIkrmine, .should be heard in ringing melody throughout "tho 
 broad rich lauds " of the Lady Caroline — through " hor mouutains and her 
 ralleys, and by her borders on the sea." So be it 
 
 H 
 
 M 
 
86 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 THE LADY CAROLINE. 
 
 BY HERMINE. 
 
 Long years ago he wooed her — she was shy of being won — 
 Sure upon haughtier maiden ne'er shone the golden sun ; 
 She was a fair young daughter of the proud old Huguenots, 
 Who never left their friends in need, and never spared their 
 
 foes ! 
 But at last she yielded proud consent to be his bride, 
 And with her true allegiance, all her broad, rich land beside ; 
 ^Her mountains and her valleys, her borders on the sea, 
 Her heart's devoted homage and her young life's liberty. " 
 Then bow.ed the neck, though haughtily, that never bowed 
 
 before. 
 Willing to wear, in honor, love's yoke for evermore. 
 Royally he crowned her, with a crown of shining stars, 
 Robed her in a vesture, crimson, crossed with silver bars, 
 Endowed her with his riches, wrote her name upon his heart, 
 His throughout all ages, whom death alone might parti 
 Soon she became the mother of the noblest sons and 
 
 daughters 
 That ever raised their father's name high up on Honor's 
 
 altars : 
 They bore their mother's banner in glory on the field. 
 And never yet did son of hers to any conqueror yield. 
 Save Death, who cut them down as reapers cut the flowers, 
 To bear them proudly in his arms to brighter realms than 
 
 ours. 
 For years the Lady Caroline has proved a faithful wife 
 And yielded all unto her lord, save honor and her life. 
 This last is his whenever he may claim the sacrifice, 
 But her honor is her own — above all guerdon and all price ! 
 And now her lord, imperious, claims more than she may 
 
 give; 
 'Tis better far to die, than, dishonored, thus to live — 
 
 L 
 
CAROLINA. 87 
 
 For now he dares to threaten, where once he bent his knee ; 
 
 Is this the lady's recompense for years of loyalty ! 
 
 Well may the haughty matron, while she lifts her heart in 
 
 prayer, 
 A glittering dagger clasp.^and bid her lord beware! 
 She may reclaim her dower, take back her lands and gold, 
 And be once more the queenly daughter of these sires of old. 
 Her children will not see her — as the years are coming on — 
 Shorn of her glory, for disgrace to light upon, 
 And should her loved voice bid them, will point each winged 
 
 dart. 
 Although in bitterest agony, against their father's heart ! 
 She may be widowed in the struggle — made poor and 
 
 desolate, • , 
 
 But her children's love will linger, whatever be her fate, 
 And though she lose her beauty, and her lord ne'er smile 
 
 again, 
 The glory of her suffering will sanctif}- th#pain. 
 And in her robes of morning will she shine as proudly fair 
 As 'neath the azure mantle, with the stars upon her hair. 
 
 (From the Clmilostou Courier,) 
 
 CAROLINA. 
 
 BY IIKNKY TIM ROD. 
 
 I. 
 
 The despot treads thy sacred sands, 
 Thy pines give shelter to his bands, 
 Thy sons stand b}' with idle hands, 
 Carolina ! 
 
 J 
 
88 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 He breathes at ease thy airs of balm, 
 He scorns the lances of thy palm ; 
 Oh ! who shall break thy craven calm ? 
 Carolina! 
 
 Thy ancient fame is growing dim, 
 A spot is on thy garment's rim ; < 
 
 Give to the winds thy battle-hymn, 
 Carolina ! 
 
 n. 
 Gall on thy children of the hill. 
 Wake swamp and river, coast and rill ; 
 Rouse all thy stj:9ngth affd all thy skill, 
 Carolina I 
 
 Cite wealth and scyence, trade and art. 
 Touch with thy fire the cautious mart, 
 And pour thee thro' the people's heart, 
 Carolina 1 
 
 TiU'even the coward spurns his fears, 
 And all thy fields, and fens, and meres 
 Shall bristle, like thy palm, with spears. 
 Carolina ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Hold up the glories of thy dead; 
 
 Say how thy elder children bled, 
 
 And point to Eutaw's battle-bed, 
 
 Carolina! 
 
 Tell how the patriot's soul was tried. 
 And what his dauntless Vjreast defied ; 
 How RcTLKDGE ruled and Laurens died, 
 Carolina I 
 
CAROLINA. 89 
 
 Cry till thy summons, heard at last, 
 Shall fall, like Marion's bugle blast, 
 Reechoed from the haunted Past, 
 Carolina I 
 
 IV. 
 I hear a murmur as of waves 
 That grope their jvay thro' sunless caves, 
 Like bodies struggling in their graves, 
 Carolina ! 
 
 And now it deepens ! slow and grand 
 It swells, as rolling to the land, 
 An ocean broke upon the strand, 
 Carolina 1 
 
 Shont ! let it reach the startled Huns I 
 And roar with all thy festal guns 1 
 It is the answer of thy sons, 
 
 Carolina ! 
 
 V. 
 They will not wait to hear thee call ; 
 From Sachem's head to Sumter's wall, , 
 
 Resounds the voice of hut and hall, 
 Carolina I 
 
 No 1 thou hast not a stain, they say; 
 Or none save what the battle-day 
 Shall wash in seas of blood away, 
 Carolina! 
 
 Thy skirts, indeed, the foe may part. 
 Thy robe be pierced with sword and dart; 
 They shall not touch thy noble heart, 
 Carolina ! 
 
90 "WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Ere thou shalt own the tyrant's thrall, 
 Ten times ten thousand men must fall ; 
 Thy corpse may hearken to his call, 
 Carolina ! 
 
 When by thy bier in mournful throngs. 
 The women chant thy mortal wrongs, 
 'Twill be their own funereal songs, 
 Carolina ! 
 
 From thy dead breast by rufiians trod. 
 No helpless child shall look to God; 
 All shall be safe beneath thy sod, 
 Carolina 1 
 
 VII. 
 
 ' Girt with such wills to do and bear. 
 Assured in right, and mailed in prayer, 
 Thou wilt not bow thee to despair, 
 Carolina I 
 
 Throw thy bold banner to the breeze. 
 Front with thy ranks the threatening seas ! 
 Like thine own proud armorial trees, 
 Carolina 1 
 
 Fling down the gauntlet to the Huns, 
 And roftr the challenge from thy guns : 
 Then leave the future to thy sons, 
 Carolina! 
 
SAVANNAH. 91 
 
 SAVANNAH. 
 
 Thou hast not drooped thy stately head, 
 Thy woes a wondrous beauty shed ! . 
 Not like a lamb to shiughter led, 
 But with the lion's monarch tread, 
 Thou comest to thy battle-bed, 
 
 Savannah! oh. Savannah I 
 
 Thine arm of flesh is girded strong j. 
 The blue veins swell beneath thy wrong ; 
 To thee, the triple cords belon;];. 
 Of woe, and death, and shameless wrong ; 
 And spirit vaunted long, too long! 
 
 Savannah I oh, Savannah ! 
 
 No blood-stains spot thy forehead fair, 
 Only the martyr's blood is there ; 
 It gleams upon thy bosom bier. 
 It moves thy deep, deep soul to prayer, 
 And tunes a dirge for thy sad ear. 
 
 Savannah ! oh, Savannah I 
 
 Thy clean, white hand is opci;ed wide 
 For weal or woe, thou Freedom Bride I 
 The sword-sheath sparkles at tiiy side, 
 Thy plighted troth, whate'er betide, 
 Thou hast but Freedom for thy gu,dj, 
 Savannah 1 oh, Savannah ! 
 
 What tho' the heavy storm cloud lowers — 
 Still at thy feet the old oak towers ; 
 Still fragrant are thy jessamine bowers, 
 And things of beauty, lov€, and flowers 
 Are smiling o'er this land of ours. 
 
 My sunny home. Savannah I 
 
92 WAR SONGS OF. THE SOIITH. 
 
 There is no film before thy sight — 
 Thou seest woe, and death, and night — 
 And blood upon thy banner bright ; 
 But in thy full wrath's kindled might, 
 What csLresVihou for woe or night? 
 
 Uy rebel home. Savannah ! 
 
 Come — for the crown is on thj' head ! 
 Thy woes a woud'rous beauty shed, 
 Not like a lamb to slaughter led, 
 But with the lion's monarch tread, 
 Oh 1 come unto thy battle-bed, ' 
 
 Savannah I oh, Savannah ! 
 
 (From the Nashville Patriot.) 
 
 THE SOUTHERN PLEIADES. 
 
 BY LAUKA LORKIMEIl. 
 When first our Southern flag arose, 
 
 Beside the heaving sea, • 
 It bore upon its silkea folds 
 
 A green Palmetto tree. 
 All honor to that banner brave, 
 
 It roused the blood of yore. 
 And nerved the arm of Southern men 
 
 For valiant deeds once more. 
 
 When storm clouds darkened o'er our sky. 
 
 That star, the first of seven, 
 Shone put amid the mist and gloom, 
 
 To light our countrj-'s Heaven. 
 The glorious seven ! long may their flag 
 
 Wave proudly on the breeze; 
 Long may they burn on fame's broad sky — 
 
 The Southern Pleiades ! 
 
THE LONE STAR FLAG. 93 
 
 THE LONE STAR FLAG. 
 
 ' On the Secession of Texas. 
 BY 11. L. FLASH. 
 
 Up with the Lone Star banner ! 
 
 Its hues are still as bright 
 As when its glories braved the breeze 
 
 At San Jacinto's fight 
 Its fluttering folds in triumph waved 
 
 O'er many a gory brow : 
 The freedom that was conquered then, 
 
 Will not be yielded now. 
 
 The honor of that Lone Star flag 
 
 That floats the blue above, 
 Is held as dear by Texan hearts 
 
 As that of her they love ; 
 And not a stain shall dim its hues, 
 
 While yet a man remains 
 To save this flower-girdled land 
 
 From ignominious chains. 
 
 That banner, with the single star, 
 
 Is Freedom's favored sign. 
 Beneath its unpolluted folds 
 • Her purest glories shine ; 
 And in the whirlwind and the storm, 
 
 Amid the crash and jar, 
 Her brightest hope still rests upon 
 
 That solitary star. 
 
94 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 SIC SEMPER TYEANNIS. > 
 
 BY WM. H. HOLCOMBE, M. D. 
 
 When the bloody and perjured usurper called forth 
 His miaions and tools— to the shame of the North I 
 And they swarmed to our borders with insolent tread, 
 Oppressing the living, insulting the dead ; 
 Virginia awoke from her dream of repose 
 And rallied her children to grapple her foes ; 
 United they sprang every man to his gun, 
 And her glorious motto blazed out like a sun, 
 
 Sic Semper Tyrannis ! 
 
 When the soil of Virginia was drenched with her blood, 
 And her brave sisters 'round her all dauntlessly stood, 
 When her children fell fast and her cannon's loud boom 
 Was awfully echoed from Washington's tomb ; 
 No hand in the battle was redder than hers, 
 For a spirit ancestral came down from the spheres, 
 And true to her glory and true to her fame, 
 Her proud banner towered through smoke and through flamp, 
 Sic Semper Tyrannis \ 
 
 Ah ! tremble, ye Northmen 1 in terror and doubt! 
 Break, break, ye curs'd Vandals ! in panic and rout I 
 Fly, fly from Virginia or sink on her sod. 
 Confounded by conscience and stricken by God, 
 Appease her stern wrath with libations of blood, 
 Then rust from the field like a turbulent flood. 
 The swords, of Virginia shine fiercely behind, 
 And her flag like a cannon's flash gleams in the wind, 
 Sic Semper Tyrannis 1 
 
VIRGINIA'S RALLYING CALL. 96 
 
 Away to the homes ye were madmen to leave ! 
 To invade, to insult,, to subdue, to bereave ! 
 And should ye incline to pursue your bad cause, 
 To impose upon us your religion afid laws, 
 Remember Manassas and shun the red path ! 
 Remember Virginia and rouse not her wrath ! 
 She will write in your blood on the next battle-field, 
 That stern threat to tyrants which burns on her shield. 
 Sic Semper Tyrannis ! 
 
 VIRGINIA'S RALLYING CALL. 
 
 IIV LOUISE ELKMJAY. 
 
 Come to my side, my gallant children, come. 
 Heard ye that edict of yon caitiff scum : 
 " Gird ye for exile now, or cringing slaves ?'" 
 I rear no villein serfs on heroes' graves. 
 
 Arm ! arm ! who falters now must fall or fly. 
 Light with your blazing wealth the midnight sky; 
 This is no hour to pause and count the cost — 
 This is no tilt whore-knightly blades are crossed. 
 
 Earth's seething dregs and outcast demon bands 
 Their felon chains are clanking for your hands; 
 The recking filth of Northerii r-«^r!ovr 'lives, 
 With hellish grasp are closing on youi \, ives. 
 
 Strike as no soldier's arm e'er struck before, 
 Come with your torch from blackened sea-girt shore — 
 Come with your knife from oiitr>cred inland home — 
 Come, in Gods name, my dauntless Sisteus, come I 
 
96 WAR SOKGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Strike for your mother-name, and children's right- 
 Strike while you have a land for which to fight — 
 Strike the loved tomb of Washington to save — 
 Strike for a freeman's home, or freeman's grave ! 
 
 War to the knife, ring out your battle cry — 
 War to the hilt, your tocsin wild and high ; 
 From ev'rj'- rill and dell, and mountain height, 
 And GoDj the Christian's God, defend the rioHtI 
 
 (From the Soutlieiii Literary Messenger.) 
 
 PEOSOPOPCEIA. 
 
 "Cease to consult, the time for action calls, 
 War, horrid war, approaches to your walls." 
 
 — Pope's Iuad, ii. 
 
 Come from your mountain regions, 
 
 Come from your plains afar ; 
 Virgioians, come by legions; 
 
 Come panoplied for war. 
 From every height and valley — 
 
 From cities and from farms — 
 From every village, rally — 
 
 Rise up ; prepare ; to arms ! 
 
 Who calls us from our borders ? 
 
 Who bids us leave our toil ? 
 What are these martial orders 
 
 Of battle and of broil ? 
 Why should we rise by legions ? 
 
 Whence are these loud alarms? 
 Who calls on our allegiance ? 
 
 Who summons us to arms ? 
 
PROSOPOPCEIA. 97 
 
 'Tis I, my sons, no other ; 
 
 'Tis I, my sons, no other : 
 I am your common mother, 
 
 For I have borne you all. 
 That mother, look upon her : 
 
 Will you desert her now. 
 And suffer foul dislionor 
 
 To brand her sacred brow ? 
 
 • 
 Can you forget my glory, 
 
 My valiant sons of old, 
 Names chronicled in story, 
 
 Deeds blazoned in bright gold ? 
 My enemies assemble 
 
 To scorn me and disgrace : 
 Go make the invaders tremble : 
 
 Go scourge the treacherous race ! 
 
 I gave them broad dominions ; 
 
 I gave them liberty ; 
 And now the ungrateful minions 
 
 Have turned to fetter me. 
 Long years have T been pleading 
 
 That they should grant me peace ; 
 But they, my voice unheeding, 
 
 Vow war shall never cease. 
 
 Leave, then j^our peaceful labors ; 
 
 Unfurl your banners high ; 
 Bring your rifles and your sabres. 
 
 And go prepared to die. 
 To die for me is glorious ; 
 
 So died your sires of yore : 
 My sons, come back victorious. 
 
 Or never come back more I 
 I 
 
98 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 (From the Richmond Dispatch.) 
 
 VIEGINIA TO THE EESCUE. 
 
 BY VIRGINIA. 
 
 "Virginia to the rescaie !" 'tis liel" cbildreiis' battle-cry ; 
 Whose name is it they join witli hers and what eclioes fill 
 
 the sky ? * 
 
 "Virginia to the rescue !" how it peals from sea to sea, 
 As they swear to follow to the death the son of Harry Lee ! 
 
 " Virginia to the rescue !" A.s the sound went thro' the land, 
 How it raised each drooping heart and nerved each failing 
 
 hand. 
 When they knew to lead the rescue a hero they should see — 
 The son of " Light-Horse Harry," of gallant Harry Lee. 
 
 "Virginia to the rescue !" How true the hearts and bold 
 Who answer to the battle-cry their fathers heard of old : 
 Before this band of heroes let tyrants turn and flee. 
 They cannot fail, who fight for right, with the son of Harry 
 Lee ! 
 
 Who said that brave Virginia had lost her ancient crown, 
 When souls like these have rallied to give her fresh renown ? 
 For now she leads the rescue, ten thousands vow to be 
 As true in peace, as bold in war, as this son of Harry Lee I 
 
VIRGINIA — LATE BUT SURE. 99 
 
 (From tho Riclimoiul Dispatch.) 
 
 VIRGINIA-LATE BUT SURE ! 
 
 HY WM. U. IIOLCOMDte, of Louisiana. 
 
 The foe has hemmed us round : we stand at bay, 
 Here will we perish, or be free to-day 1 
 To drum and bugle sternly sounding, 
 The Southern soldier's heart is bounding — 
 fint stay — oh, stay ! — Virginia is not here ! 
 Ilush your strains of marlial cheer, 
 bugle, peace 1 
 war-drum, cease ! 
 Virginia is not here ! 
 Suspend, Chief! your word of fight ! 
 She will be soon in sight! 
 
 Ilcr children never called in vain ! 
 
 She comes not — conies not: the disgrace 
 Were bitterer than the tyrant's chain ! 
 
 death ! we dare thee face to face ! 
 
 A gun ! tho foe's defiant shot — be still 1 
 Hurrah! an answering gun behind the hill. 
 Aud o'er its summit wildly streaming 
 The squadrons qf Virginia gleaming ! 
 Hurrah ! hurrah 1 the Old Domiuion comes ! 
 Blow your bugles ! beat j'our drums I 
 doubt accurst I 
 The last is first. 
 The Old Dominion come ! ' 
 
 She grasps her thunderbolts of war ; 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 
 Now loose, Chief! your battle storm! 
 
 We hang impatient on your breath ; 
 Here in the flashing front we form ! 
 Virginia ! — Victory or Death ! 
 
 J 
 
100 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 (yrom the Southern Literary Messenger.) 
 
 JACKSON. THE ALEXANDEIA MAETYR, 
 
 BY WM. H. HOLCOMBE. M. D. 
 
 'Twas not the private iusult galled him most, 
 
 But public outrage of his country's flag, 
 
 To which his patriotic heart had pledged 
 
 Its faith as to a bride. The bold, proud chief, 
 
 Th' avenging host, and the swift-coming death ^ 
 
 Appalled him not. Nor life with all its charms, 
 
 Nor home, nor wife, nor children could weigh down 
 
 The fierce, heroic instincts to destroy 
 
 The insolent invader ; Ellsworth fell 
 
 And Jackson perished 'mid the pack of wolves, 
 
 Befriended only by his own great heart 
 
 And God approving. More than Roman soul ! 
 
 type of our impetuous chivalrj-^ ! 
 
 May this young nation ever boast her sons, 
 
 A vast, inconceivable multitude, 
 
 Standing like thee in her extremest van. 
 
 Self-poised and ready, in defence of rights 
 
 Or in revenge of wrongs, to dare and die ! 
 
 iFrom the N. 0. Crescent.) 
 
 THE MAETYR OF ALEXANDEIA. 
 
 BY J. WRIGHT SIMMONS. 
 
 I. 
 Reveal'd, as in a lightning flash, 
 
 A hero stood ! 
 Th" invading foe, the trumpet's crash, 
 
 Lit up his blood ! 
 
THE MARTYR OF ALEXANDRIA. 101 
 
 II. 
 High o'er the sacred pile that bends 
 
 Those forms above I 
 Thy star, Freedom ! brightlj' blends 
 
 Its rays with love ! 
 
 in. 
 
 The banner of n mighty race 
 
 Serenely there 
 Unfurls — the genius of the place, 
 
 And haunted air 1 
 
 IV. 
 
 A vow is register'd in Heaven, 
 
 Patriot I 'twas thine— 
 To guard those matchless colors, given 
 
 By hand Divine ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Jackson 1 thy spirit may not hear 
 
 The wail ascend, 
 A nation bends above thy bier, 
 
 And mourns its friend I 
 
 VI. 
 
 Th' example is thy monument! 
 
 In organ tones 
 Thy name resounds, with glory blent, 
 
 Prouder than thrones ! 
 
 ■ 
 VII. 
 
 And they whose loss hath been our gain, 
 
 A people's care 
 Shall win their tender hearts from pain, 
 
 And wipe the tear 1 
 
 i 
 
102 
 
 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 When time shall set the captives free, 
 Now scath'd by wrath ! 
 
 Heirs of his immortality, 
 
 Bright be their path I 
 
 THE VIRaiNIANS OF THE VALLEY. 
 
 BY DR. TICKNOR. 
 Sic Jurat. 
 The km'ghtliest of the knightly race 
 
 Who, since the days of old. 
 Have kept the lamp of chivalry 
 
 Alight in hearts of gold — 
 The kindliest of the kindly band 
 
 Who rarely hated ease ; 
 Who rode with Smith around the land, 
 
 And Ralkicii 'round the seas — 
 
 Who climbed the blue Virginia hills 
 
 Amid embattled foes, 
 And planted there in valleys foir. 
 
 The lily and the rose; 
 Whose fragrance lives in many lands. 
 
 Whose beauty stars the earth. 
 And lights the hearths of many homes 
 
 With loveliness and worth ! 
 
 We thought they slept ! the sons who kept 
 
 The names of noble sires, 
 And slumbered while the darkness crept 
 
 Around their vigil fires! 
 But still the Golden Horse-shoe Knights, 
 
 Their Old Dominion keep, 
 Whose foe^ have found enchanted ground. 
 
 But not a knight asleep. 
 
UPRISE YE BRAVES. 103 
 
 (From the Richmond Dispatch.) 
 
 UPKISEYE BEAVES! 
 
 BY Ci. II. M.. Washington Artillery. 
 
 Uprise ye braves of Southern birth — 
 
 Uplift j-our fliig on high, 
 And bear it throagh the battle's breeze, 
 
 To conquer or to die ! 
 Let every scabbard be forsworn, 
 
 And every sword flash out, 
 Till every foot of Southern soil 
 
 Resounds to Freedom's shout ! 
 
 The spirits of that sainted band 
 
 Whose bones are not yet dust, 
 Call to ye, from the better land. 
 
 To vindicate their trust — 
 The proud domain of their bequest, 
 
 To border with your steel, 
 ■"And drive the bastard bigot back, 
 
 That scorned your peace appeal. 
 
 The noble dames that gave you birth, 
 
 Gave you the bloo'd of braves; 
 Dishonored shame would brand their brows, 
 
 Bore ye the yoke of slaves. 
 Uprise ye, then, in Freedom's might, 
 
 Resistless as the waves ! 
 Vanquish the foes of Southern rights, 
 
 Or sleep in Southern graves ! 
 
104: - WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 (From the Suiulay Delta.) 
 
 THE STAKS AND BAES. 
 
 BY A. J. tlEQUIER. 
 
 Fling wide the dauntless banner 
 
 To every Southern breeze, 
 Baptized in flame, with Sumter's name— 
 A patriot and a hero's fame — 
 
 From Moultrie to the seas 1 
 That it may cleave the morning sun 
 
 And, streaming, sweep the night. 
 The emblem of a battle won 
 
 The Yankee ships in sight. 
 
 Come, hucksters, from your markets, 
 
 Come, bandits, from your caves, 
 Come, venal spies, with brazen lies 
 Bewildering your deluded eyes, 
 
 That we may dig your graves ; 
 Come, creatures of a sordid clown 
 
 And drivelling traitoi's breath, 
 A single blast shall blow you down 
 
 Upon the fields of Death. 
 
 The very flag you carry 
 
 Caught its reflected grace, 
 In fierce alarms, from Southern arms, 
 When /oemen threatened all your farms 
 
 And never saw your face : 
 Ho I braggarts of New England's shore 
 
 Back to your hills and delve 
 The soil whose craven sons forswore 
 
 That flag in eighteen-twelve ! 
 
 1^ 
 
THE STARS AND BARS. 105 
 
 We wreathed around the roses 
 
 It «vears before the world, 
 And made it bright with storied light, 
 In ever}' scene of bloodj fight 
 
 Where it has been unfurled ; 
 And think ye, now, the dastard- hands 
 
 That never yet could hold 
 Its staff, shall wave it o'er our lands 
 
 To glut the greed of gold? 
 
 No ! by the truth of Heaven 
 
 And its eternal Sun, 
 By every sire whose altar-fire 
 Burns on to beckon and inspire 
 
 It never shall be done ; 
 Before that day the kites shall whed 
 
 Hail-thick on Northern heights, 
 And there, our bared, aggressive steel* 
 
 Shall counter-sign our rights 1 
 
 Then, spread the flaming banner 
 
 O'er mountain, lake, and plain, 
 Before its bars, degraded Mars 
 Has kissed the dnst with all his stars, 
 
 And will be struck again ; 
 . For could his triumph now be stayed 
 
 By hell's prevailing gates, 
 A sceptered Union would be made 
 
 The grave of sovereign States. 
 
 i 
 
106 AVAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 (From the Richmond Whig.) 
 
 THE BATTLE AT BETHEL 
 
 Air — " Dixie." 
 
 I. 
 Send out the news to West and South, and spread it through 
 the land, 
 Our noble boys have beat the foe at Bethel ! 
 We'll praise and bless, with all our hearts, the gallant, gal- 
 lant band 
 Who met the foe, and beat them back at Bethel ! 
 With three to one assailing — 
 At Bethel ! Bethel ! 
 •Thej^ felt their courage failing, 
 
 AVhen they came nigh to Bethel ! 
 'Hurrah I hurrah ! for Monday's fight at Bethfl I 
 And glory to the noble boys wlio beat the foe at Bethel I 
 
 n. 
 
 Magrudek led twelve hTmdred men, and did not wish for 
 
 more, 
 
 To meet four thousand Lincolnitcs at Bethel ! 
 
 Old Butler sent them out and said (some people said he 
 
 swore) 
 
 By dinner time, he'd get our men at Bethel ! 
 
 - But all his valiant troops got 
 
 At Bethel ! Bethel ! 
 ft 
 Was a hasty plate of soup — hot — 
 
 That burnt their mouths at Bethel I 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Bctleb's feast at Bethel I 
 
 The grape set a!l his teeth on edge the day he dined at Bethel ! 
 
THE BATTLE AT BETHEL. 107 
 
 ni. 
 
 The old North State was wide awake, for there was Col. Hill, 
 
 With all her sons who fought that day at Bethel ! 
 The Yankee Zoflaves disliked their looks, they couldn't stand 
 the drill, 
 When bayonets flashed along their line at Bethel ! 
 The Avord was '• Right about," sir, 
 
 At Bethel I Hethel ! 
 And the Zouaves they nW put out, sir, 
 In "double-quick" at Bethel I 
 Hurrah I hurrah ! what time they made at Bethel I 
 " Two-forty, on a plank, is sloic, to what they did at Bethel ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Brave Major Randoi.ph's Howitzers sent out their 7neat, in 
 shells, 
 Which Yankee stomachs didn't like at Bethel ! 
 The Richmond and Henrico lads rang out a peal of bells, 
 Twas micsic Yankees could not fiice at Bethel ! 
 The jig went on so fast, sir, 
 At Bethel ! Bethel ! 
 That back-step came at last, sir, 
 
 And they danced awaj' from Bethel I 
 Hurrah ! hurrah I for the Yankee jig at Bethel ! 
 If they want anotlier lesson, let them call again at Bethel I 
 
 RICH MOUInTATN. 
 
 HY WM. U. HOLCOMBE, M. D. 
 
 The clash of arms, the tread of hurrying feet, 
 Shoutings and groans and victory and defeat, 
 Music and madness and a miglity grave. 
 On the wild mountain summit ! Few and brave 
 
 I 
 
108 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 • 
 
 The proud Virginians met the invading host, 
 O'erwhelmed by numbers, all but honor lost, 
 Cannon to cannon mocking with delight 
 The native thunders of that stormy hftght. 
 Whilst the green vallies, echoing from afar, 
 Mourned and re-mourned the fratricidal war ! 
 How calmly, sweetly can the brave man die 
 On the great mountains, looking toward the sky I 
 Just as the soldier's feet are fiercely set, 
 And his bared bosom braves the bayonet, 
 He hears a voice loud as the- .surging sea. 
 The Genius of Eternal Liberty, / 
 
 Which brooks in reason none but God's control, 
 Speaks to him, flashing grandly on his soul 
 Enkindled and empowered as if he were 
 Himself the indignant South in rqiniature ; 
 Speaks sternly, sweetly thus : " Fall at thy gun 
 Wounded or dead, but quit it not, my son !" 
 
 SOUTHERN BORDER SONG. 
 
 Aiu — " Bhie Bonnets over the Border." 
 March — march 1 Southerners fearlessly march I 
 Have ye not heard of the ruthless marauder ? 
 Lo I his dark flag stripes the heaven's blue arch, 
 Staining with red blood the Maryland Border, 
 Standards are streaming now. 
 Gaily above your brow ; 
 Bear them to victory, and bear them in order- 
 Sons of the Cavaliers, 
 Sea-board and mountaineers, 
 Strike for your iomes and the beautiful Border. 
 
ON TO RICHMOND. 109 
 
 Leave the green hills where your cattle are grazing; 
 
 Leave the lone haunts of the eagle and deer ; 
 Come to the banks where Potomac is blazing, 
 Come with the rifle, the sword, and the spear. 
 Bugles blow^loudly, 
 Coursers champ proudly ; 
 Stand to your arms and face the marauder. 
 Yankees shall ne'er forget, 
 Welcomes of bayonet, 
 When their base hirelings came over the Border. 
 
 (From the Richmoml Whig.) 
 
 ON TO RICHMOND. 
 
 After SouUiey-g "Marc/i to Moscow." 
 
 BY JOHN B. THOMPSON. EsQR. 
 
 Major-General Scott 
 An order had got 
 
 To push on the column to Richmond, 
 For loudly T^ent forth, 
 From all parts of the North, 
 The cry that an end of the war must be made 
 In time for the regular yearly Fall Trade ; 
 Mr. Grkelev spoke freely about the delay, 
 The Yankees "to hum" were all hot for the fray; 
 The chivalrous Gitow 
 Declared they were slow, 
 And therefore the order 
 To march from the border 
 
 And make an excursion to Richmond. 
 
110 AVAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Major-General Scott 
 
 Most likely was not 
 
 Very loth to obey this instruction, I wot; 
 
 In his private opinion 
 
 The Ancient Dominion 
 
 Deserved to be pillaged, her sons to be shot, 
 
 And the reason is easily noted ; 
 Though this part of the earth 
 Had given him birth, 
 And medals and swords, 
 Inscribed with fine words. 
 
 It never for Winfield had voted. 
 Besides you must know that our first of Commanders, 
 Had sworn, quite as hard as the army in Flanders, 
 With his finest of armies and proudest of navies. 
 To wreak his old grudge against Jefferson Davis. 
 Then " forward the column," he said to McDowell, 
 
 And the Zouaves, with a shout, 
 
 Most fiercely cried out, 
 '•To Richmond or h — 11" (I omit here the vowel) ; 
 And Winfield, he ordered his carriage and four, 
 A dashing turn-out, to be brought to the door, 
 
 For a pleasant excursion to Richmond. 
 
 Major-General Scott 
 
 Had there on the spot 
 
 A splendid array 
 
 To plunder and slay ; 
 
 In the camp he might boast 
 
 Such a numerous host, 
 
 As he never had yet 
 
 In the battle-field set ; 
 
 Everj' class and condition of Northern society 
 
 Were in for the trip, a most varied variety ; 
 
 In the camp he might hear every lingo in vogue, 
 
 " The sweet German accent, the rich Irish brogue." 
 
ON TO RICHMOND. Ill 
 
 The beautiful boj' 
 
 From the banks of the Shannon 
 Was there to employ 
 
 His excellent cannon, 
 And besides the long files of dragoons and artillery, 
 
 The Zouaves and Hussars, 
 
 All the children of Mars, 
 
 There were barbers and cooks 
 
 And writers of l)ooks — 
 The chief de cumne with his French bills of fare, 
 And the artist to dress the young officers' hair, 
 And the scribblers all ready once to prepare 
 
 An eloquent story 
 
 Of conquest and glory ; 
 •And servants with numberless baskets of Sillery, 
 Though Wilson the Senator followed the train. 
 At a distance quite safe, to " conduct the chavipagne:" 
 While the fields were so green, and the sky was so blue, 
 There was certainly nothing moi'e pleasant to do 
 
 On this pleasant excursion to Richmond. 
 
 Ill Congress the talk, as I said, was of action. 
 
 To crush out instanter the traitorous faction. 
 
 In the press and the mess, 
 
 They woyld hear nothing less « 
 
 Than to make the advance, spite of rhyme or of reason, 
 
 And at once put an end to the insolent treason. 
 
 There was Greelky, , 
 
 And Ely, 
 
 The blood-thirsty Grow, 
 
 And Hickman (tlie rowdy, not Hiokmax the beau), 
 
 And that terrible Baker 
 
 Who would seize 'on the South, every acre, 
 
 And Wkbh. who would drive us all into the Gulf or 
 
 Some nameless locality smelling of sulphur ; 
 
 And with all this bold crew 
 
112 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Nothing would do 
 
 While the fields were so green and the sky ■was so blue, 
 But to march on directly to Richmond. 
 
 Then the gallant McDowell 
 Drove madly the rowel 
 
 Of spur that had never been " won" by him, 
 In the flank of his steed, 
 To accomplish a deed, 
 
 Such as never before had been done by him ; 
 And the battery called Sherman's 
 
 Was wheeled into line, 
 While the beer-drinking Germans, 
 
 From Neckar and Rhine, 
 With Minnie and Yager, 
 Come on with a swagger, 
 Full of fury and lager, 
 
 (The day and the pageant were equally fine) 
 Oh ! the fields were so green, and the sky was SO blue, 
 Indeed 'twas a spectacle pleasant to view, 
 
 As the column pushed on to Richmond. 
 
 E re the march was begun. 
 
 In a spirit of fun, 
 ■ Gener^ Scott in a speech - . 
 
 Said his army should teach 
 
 The Southrons the lesson the laws to obey, 
 
 Aad just before dusk of the third or fourth day, 
 Should joyfully march into Richmond. 
 
 He spoke of their drill 
 
 And their courage and skill, 
 • And declared that the ladies of Richmond would rave 
 
 O'er such matchless perfection, and gracefully wave 
 . In rapture their delicate 'kerchiefs in air 
 
 At their morning parades on the Capitol Square, 
 
 But alack ! and alas 1 
 
YANKEE HIDE TO RICHMOND. 113 
 
 Mark what soon came to pass, 
 
 When this army, in spite of his flatteries, 
 
 Amid war's loudest thunder 
 
 Must stupidly blunder 
 
 Upon those accursed " masked batteries." 
 Theti Beauregard came, 
 Like a tempest of flame, 
 To consume them in wrath 
 On their perilous path ; 
 And Johnston bore down in a whirlwind to sweep 
 
 Their ranks from the ticld 
 
 Where their doom had been sealed, 
 As the storm rushed over the face of the deep ; 
 While swift on the centre our President press'd, 
 
 And the foe might descry 
 
 In the glance of his eye 
 The light that once blazed upon Dlomed's crest. 
 McDowell ! McDowell I weep, weep for the day 
 When the Southrons you met in their battle array; 
 To your confident hosts with its bullets and steel 
 'Twas worse than Culloden to luckless Lochiel I 
 Oh, the Generals were green, and old Scott is now 
 
 blue, 
 And a terrible business, McDowell, to you 
 
 Was that pleasant excursion to Richmond. 
 
 YANKEE DOODLE'S RIDE TO RICHMOND. 
 
 BY REV. E. P. niRCU, of La Grange, Ga. 
 
 [ sing of Yankee Doodles ride to famous Richmond town, 
 A gallant Knight in truth was he, of valor and renown ; 
 His fathers were a worthy race, erst called the "pilgrim band," 
 Who once did burn the witches all, in ancient Yankee land. 
 
114 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 In Yankee land he still abode, where slept his fathei'S brave — 
 His towns were built upon the shore, his ships were on the 
 
 wave ; 
 The pumpkins in his fields did grow, his rivers flowed with 
 
 rum — 
 A goodly land, right well I know, was Yankee Doodledom. 
 
 Up rose this valiant Knight one morn, and to his spouse he 
 
 said, 
 " I've got an ' idee' in mj' mind — a ' notion' in mj- head — 
 To thrash out all the Southern men, and set the 'niggers' 
 
 free, 
 And give their houses and their lands to those who fight for 
 
 me. ■ 
 
 "I'll add new laurels to my fame, new riches to my store, 
 And fill,my coffers up with gold, till they can hold no more; 
 I'll make those haughty Southern lords my vassals and my 
 
 slaves, 
 Or slay them all with sword and flame, and fill their land 
 
 with graves. 
 
 " Theu through the world, with trump and press, my glory 
 
 I'll proclaim, 
 'Till all the nations of the earth shall tremble at my name ; 
 I'll conquer all this confinent, with ' stars and stripes' 
 
 unfurled. 
 And Europ?, too, shall own my sway— the monarch of the 
 
 world." 
 
 Then forth he went, with bold intent, to gather up his 
 
 legions — 
 A crew of dirty vagabonds, from Tophet's nether regions— 
 Of thieving Yankees, filthy Dutch, and Irish from the Bogs, 
 And vagrant Hoosiers from the West — a herd of drunken 
 
 hogs. 
 
YANKEE RIDE TO RICHMOND. 115 
 
 Forth from the country and the town, and from the city's 
 
 hum, 
 His armies marched with measured tramp, to the music of 
 
 the drum ; 
 He called his strong men from afar, his chieftains to his side, 
 And started on to Richmond town, to take a merry ride. 
 
 In the early morning sunlight, I saw his white tents gleaming, 
 I saw the glitter of his arms — his banners gailj- streaming ; 
 I saw their martial hosts spread out, along Potomac's shore — 
 A fairer sight than this, 1 ween, was never seen before. 
 
 Oh ! 'twas a splendid thing to see those war-like men that 
 
 day, 
 As thro' the streets with serried ranks, they marched in fine 
 
 array ; 
 
 The dogs did bark, the children screamed, and tender maid- 
 ens sighed, 
 
 The rabble shouted in the streets, the old men wept with 
 pride. 
 
 " Three cheers for Yankee Doodle bold ! Hurrah for gallant 
 
 Scott ! 
 The hero of a hundred fights, who fails nor falters not ; 
 On, on, to famous Richmond town — to Dixie's land we hie ; 
 Wo ! to the Southern ' rebels' there ; we'll conquer them or 
 
 die. 
 
 "In Dixie's Land are lovely dames, and maidens sweet and 
 fair, 
 
 Whose tender charms and innocence it boots us not to spare ; 
 
 We'll kill the men and seize their homes, and plunder every 
 spot — 
 
 Three cheers for Yankee Doodledom ! Three cheers for gal- 
 lant Scott !" 
 
116 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH, 
 
 Thus Yankee Doodle cheered his men — this valiant Knight 
 
 and true, 
 And marched them onward to the tune of Yankee-doodle- 
 
 doo — 
 Alack-a-day ! that gallant host, so confident and vain, 
 From Dixie's Land, a living band, may ne'er come back 
 
 again. 
 
 Still on he rode along the road ; sometimes he ran at full- 
 run, 
 
 Until he reached a running stream, which Southern men call 
 Bull-run ; 
 
 'Twas here he met with Beauregard, a chieftain fierce and 
 brave, 
 
 Whose motto on the battle-field was, " victory or the grave." 
 
 Around him there, in stern array, his dauntless legions 
 
 stood. 
 Who came to save their country's soil, or stain it with their 
 
 blood ; 
 All calm and silent as the clouds, when tempests hold their 
 
 breath. 
 They wait to hurl upon the foe a hurricane of death. 
 
 Said Yankee Doodle to his men, " We'll drive them from the 
 
 plain — 
 We'll chase them down to Richmond town, and pile the 
 
 ground with slain ; 
 We'll march the prisoners on before, with hand-cuffs on 
 
 their hands ; 
 We'll hang their leaders, seize their goods, and confiscate 
 
 their lands. 
 
 " Then on to Richmond — on, to-day; the spoils await you • 
 
 now, 
 The ' beauty and the booty,' too, will soon be yours, I vow ; 
 
YANKEE RIDE TO RICHMOND. 117 
 
 Strike for the 'Union' and the 'Flag,' and for the homes 
 
 you love ; 
 A glorious victory awaits you now. McDowell ! forward 
 
 move !" 
 
 » 
 
 With shouts and screams, and rolling drums, and trumpets 
 
 blowing loud, 
 They eager rush into the fight — a Avild and reckless crowd — 
 Ah I little knew that vagrant crew, as on they pressed to 
 
 battle, 
 How soon those fiery Southern men would drive them back 
 
 like cattle. 
 
 A moment more, tlie battle's roar was heard along the plain, 
 And full five hundred Yankee men laj cold among the slain ; 
 Still on their wavering, bleeding ranks is hurled the daunt- 
 less foe — 
 Said Yankee Doodle to bis men, " I guess we'd better go." 
 
 So back thej- went to camp and tent, to rest a little " spell," 
 
 'Till Scott should .-icnd them forth again to thrash the "reb- 
 els" well. 
 
 The Sabbath morn was sweet and fair, the summer sun rose 
 bright. 
 
 When Doodle roused his men once more, and led them to 
 the fight. 
 
 I heard the battle-cry again, the cannons thundered loud, 
 
 The smoke and dust rolled from the plain — a dense and 
 
 murky cloud ; 
 
 McDowell urged his legions on : " We'll Min or die," said 
 Scott — . 
 
 Quoth Yankee Doodle, in a fright, " 1 guess I'd rather not." 
 
 Those Southern hearts are true and brave ; they fear no 
 
 mortal foe ; 
 On. on, they press with giant tread, and death at every blow; 
 K* 
 
118 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 " Fight for your homes,'" said Beauuegard, and " never dare 
 
 to yield, 
 And ye shall proudly stand this day, the victors of the 
 
 field." 
 
 « 
 
 I saw the gallant Georgians there, who fought so brave and 
 
 well — 
 I saw them stand begirt with fire, where noble Bartow fell ; 
 • I saw their martyred chief in death, with face serenely 
 
 bright, 
 And heard him say, "They've killed me boys, but don't give 
 
 up the fight." 
 
 I saw the Alabama Fourth, and Hampton's legion, too. 
 And Zouave-Tigers from the South, with reckless souls and 
 
 true. 
 And old Virginias horsemen brave, and Kirbv Smith's 
 
 brigade, 
 As on the flying foe they rushed, when the battle-tide was 
 
 stayed. 
 
 I saw the gallant Johnston there, and heard his voice of 
 
 thunder. 
 As on the yielding foe he fell, and drove their ranks asunder ; 
 I saw the Yankees turn to flee — I saw their chieftains run, 
 And heard the shout of Southern men, when the proud field 
 
 was won. 
 
 I saw them as they rushed away, old Scott was in the van, 
 And Yankee Doodle cursed and raved against his rented 
 
 clan- 
 Then came McDowell flushed with rage, forth from the din 
 
 and roar — 
 " Your men, Sir Knight, have run the foe^ but they have run 
 
 befort." 
 
 h 
 
YANKEE RIDE TO RICHMOND. 119 
 
 Said Yankee Doodle in a rage, " I guess I'll follow, too, 
 
 And if the devil gets us all, he'll only get his due." 
 
 So off he goes from friends and foes, and leaves tliora all 
 
 behind — 
 'Twas said by some who saw him run, he did outstrip ihe wind 
 
 Away he went with might and main — the chase is up in- 
 deed — 
 
 Says he, ■' If I can't whip the foe, I'll beat them all in xpeed; 
 
 Tho' Bull Run is a runnmff stream, (excuse me for the pun- 
 ning). 
 
 If need be, I must run at all, I'll outrun Bull Run, running.^* 
 
 On, on, he rushed with mad career, nor tarried in the flight 
 Until he came to Washington, all in the dreary night — 
 Quoth he, " I've acted like a fool, or like a silly clown ; 
 I've talked ugaxnsi the Southern men, but they have run me 
 down." 
 
 Three cheers for Yankee Doodle, then, and for his Avild-goose 
 
 chase — 
 His merry ride to Richmond town, his gallant Bull Run race ; 
 Three cheers I for all the Southern men, who drove him 
 
 from the plain. 
 And when he next doth come to light, we'll run him back 
 
 a sain. 
 
120 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 (From tho Southern Literary Messenger.) 
 
 FOR PUNCH. 
 
 For fifty years the world has rung 
 With nothing strange or new, sir, 
 
 Unless the chant, on every tongue. 
 Was " Yankee Doodle do," sir. 
 
 But this Fast Era, every day, 
 
 Proves nothing fixed can last, sir. 
 
 And present participles may 
 Soon change into the past, sir. 
 
 So, since the fatal afternoon, 
 When routed at Bull Run, sir, 
 
 The world wHl have to change its tune 
 To "Yankee Doodle's done, sir." 
 
 ii 
 
 THE BEI&AND BRIGADE. 
 
 When Abe called the Council together, 
 
 Secession at large to discuss — 
 Says he, " this is very fine weather. 
 
 But we've kinder got into a muss" — 
 " Yes, the matter the more that we think on," 
 
 Replied that sweet party of six — 
 '.' The more we're convinced, Mr. Lixcoln, 
 
 That we are in a deuce of a fix." 
 
THE BRIGAND BRIGADE. 121 
 
 "Well, I've made up my mind, and it's reason," 
 
 Says bold Mr. Lincoln, says he, 
 " That the way to squelch out the darned treason 
 
 Is to rob the darned traitors, you see ; 
 We'll steal all their goods and their chattels^ 
 
 I mean," and Aue giggled, "their slaves, 
 And we'd want for this work and its battles, 
 
 Some seventy-five thousand good knaves." 
 
 " The knaves you shall have, and that freely," 
 
 Said his Cabinet, trusty and true, 
 "This is just what our friend, Mr. Greeley, 
 
 Declares he would have you to do ; 
 The North gives its full approbation. 
 
 Let's rob the rebellion — agreed !" 
 Thereupon came the first Proclamation, 
 
 'Twas a plan that was sure to succeed. 
 
 So each rascally tatterdemalion 
 
 Acts out, for his pittance of gold, 
 The law of the wilj' Italian,* 
 
 First ruin the province you'd hold ; 
 To all their recruits was this order 
 
 From Lincoln and Seward conveyed, 
 Which accounts for the rush on the border. 
 
 Of the bloody, bold Brigand Brigade. 
 
 But they come to protect and defend us. 
 To guard both our homes and Our rights, 
 
 Such protection, indeed, they may^end us, 
 ^ As the dove might receive from the kites ; 
 
 Sweet phrase, how like honey it trickles I 
 They guard us ! yes, " over the left," 
 
 ♦Maclilavelli — The Prince. 
 L 
 
'122 "SVAR SONGS or THE SOUTH. 
 
 And like reapers descend ■with their Sickles, 
 To gather the harvest of — tUeft. 
 
 0, notable band of cut-purses, 
 
 Excelling all others in crime, 
 • Whose acts ever ripen to curses. 
 
 Whose infamy's something sublime — 
 We kno-\v your political masters 
 
 Are wicked, and subtle, and strong. 
 That our trials, and wrongs, and disasters 
 
 May be heavy, and weary, and long : 
 
 While yet not the flag, but the flagon. 
 
 The can, not the cannon you wield ; 
 We know that the foul German dragon * 
 
 Is allied with " St. George" in the field — 
 We know that your tyrant has stifled 
 
 The voice of thanksgiving and prayer — 
 That your guns and our homes have been rifled, 
 
 {Telle est la forUme de la guerre:) 
 
 We know you have poisoned your bullets 
 
 To kill, where you hit, without fail — 
 . That you ride after porkers and pullets, 
 
 In new patent waistcoats of mail — 
 Yet leave for a time, we entreat you, 
 
 .Your search after liquors and spoons. 
 And give us the chance once to meet you. 
 
 Horse, jackasses, foot, and dragoons : 
 
 ♦ The dragon in the old Teutonic mythos, is represented as coming from 
 the Tery region whence came the hordes of German hirelings that fill the 
 armies of Siegel, and Rosicrans and Heintzelman. I submit, thereforei 
 that the Image is appropriate. As Gen. McClellak has often been called 
 St. George by the Yankee papers, I give him the benefit of th« appellatioit) 
 though he would seem to be fighting on the wTong side. 
 
THE BATTLE OF MANASSAS. 123 
 
 Let us bring, 'spite your handcuflFs and halters, 
 
 Against your four regiments, one — 
 Men who fought for their hearths and their altars, 
 
 At Bethel, Ball's Bluff, or Bull Run I— 
 Let the bugles be blown, and the onset 
 
 Once fairly in earnest be made, 
 And that day shall behold, ere the sunset,,. 
 
 The end of the Brigand Brigade." 
 
 (From the Kichmoml Enquirer.) 
 
 THE BATTLE OF MANASSAS. 
 
 Dedicated to Goii. Bkaurkoaud, C. S. A. 
 BY MRS. CL.\KK. 
 
 Now glory to the "Lord of Hosts !" oh, bless and praise His 
 
 name, 
 For He hath battled iruour cause, and brought our foes to 
 
 shame ; 
 And honor to our Beavregaud, who conquered in His might, 
 And for our children's children won Manassas' bloody fight. 
 Oh, let our thankful prayers ascend, our joyous praise 
 
 resound, 
 For God — the God of victory, our untried flag hath crowned ! 
 
 They brought a mighty army, to crush us with a blow, 
 And in their pride thej' laughed to scorn the men they did 
 
 not know ; 
 Fair women came to triumph, with the heroes of the day, 
 When the "boasting Southern rebels" should be scattered 
 
 in -dismay. 
 
 # 
 
124 WAR SONGS, OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 And for their conquering Generals a lordl}- feast they 
 
 spread ; 
 But the wine in which we pledged them was all of ruby red ! 
 
 The feast was like Belshazzar's — in terror and dismay, 
 
 Before our conquering heroes their Generals ran away. 
 
 God had weighed them in the balance; and His hand upon 
 the wall, 
 
 At the taking of Fort Sumter, had fore-doomed them to 
 their fall. 
 
 But they would not heed the warning, and scoffed in unbe- 
 lief, 
 
 'Till their scorn was changed to wailing, and their laughter 
 into grief! 
 
 All day the fight was raging, and amid the cannon's peal 
 Rang the cracking of our rifles, and tho clashing of our 
 
 steel ; 
 But above the din of battle, our shout of triumph rose, 
 As we charged upon their batteries, and turned them on 
 
 our foes. 
 We staid not for our fallen, and we thought not of our dead, 
 Until the day was ours, and the routed foe had fled. 
 
 But once our spirits faltered — Bee and Bartow both were 
 
 slain. 
 And our gallant Colonel Hampton lay wounded on the plain ; 
 But Beauregakd, God bless him ! led the legion in his stead, 
 And^JoHNSTON seized the colors, and waved them o'er his 
 
 head ! 
 E'en a coward inust have followed, when such heroes led 
 
 the way ; 
 And no dastard blood was flowing in Southern veins that 
 
 day! 
 
THE BATTLE OF MANASSAS. 125 
 
 But every arm was strengthened, and everj- heart was 
 
 stirred, 
 As shouts of " Davis ! Davis !" along our line were heard ; 
 As he rode into the battle, the joyous news flew fast, 
 And the dying raised their voices, and cheered him as he 
 
 passed. 
 Oh ! with such glorious leaders, in Cabinet and field. 
 The gallant Southern chivalry will die, but never j'ield I 
 
 But from the wings of Victory the shafts of death were sped, 
 And our pride is dash'd with sorrow when we count our 
 
 noble dead ; 
 Though in our hearts they're living — and to our sons we'll 
 
 tell 
 How gloriously our Fisher and our gallant Johnson fell ; 
 And the name of each we'll cherish as an honor to his State, 
 And teach our boys to envy, and, if need be, meet their fate. 
 
 Then "glory to the Lord of Hosts!" oh, bless and praise 
 His name. 
 
 For He hath battled in. our cause, and brought our foes to 
 shame. 
 
 And honor to our Beaitregard, Avho conquered iu His might. 
 
 And f(jr our children's children, won Manassas' bloody fight. 
 
 Oh ! let our grateful prayers ascend, our joyous praise re- 
 sound, 
 
 For God, the God of victory, our untried fla'g hath crowned. 
 
126 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 BATTLE OF MANASSAS. 
 
 BY SUSAN ARCHER TALLBY. 
 
 Now proudly lift, oh sunny South, 
 
 Your glad, triumphal strains. 
 From fair Virginia's verdant hills 
 
 To Texas' sandy plains. 
 Now glory to our Southern bands 
 
 That crushed the.Northern foe, 
 That swept away their gathered hosts, 
 
 And laid their banners low. 
 « Long wave our glorious standard 
 
 O'er men that never yield, — 
 As those who won the victory 
 
 On proud Manassas' field. 
 
 The Summer sun rose fair and bright, 
 
 That peaceful Sabbath morn, 
 O'er wooded hill, and smiling vale, 
 
 And fields of waving corn. 
 No solemn bell was tolling out 
 
 A welcome to the day, < 
 
 But there, upon the tented plain, 
 
 Our quiet army lay. 
 When sudden pealed the bugle's blast, 
 
 And rolled the stormy drum. 
 And swiftly ran from man to man, 
 
 " The foe ! they come ! they come .'" 
 
 Oh, there were quick and stern commands, 
 And hurried mounting then ! 
 
 Uprose our'gallant oflficers, 
 Upsprang our eager men ! 
 
 Each heart, alike, of young and old, 
 
BATTLE or MANASSAS. 127 
 
 Beat high with martial zeal, 
 As we caught upon the distant hills 
 
 The gleam of Yankee steel ! 
 And silently and slowly 
 
 Our serried ranks fell back — 
 While onward, marching to their doom, 
 
 They followed in our track. 
 
 At length, out destined point is won — 
 
 The order we obey. 
 And silently our ranks'defile, 
 
 •And form in war-arraj-. 
 •There stands the hoarj--headed sire, 
 
 Beside his stalwart son,* 
 And here the j'outh, elate as though 
 
 The victory were won ; 
 While on each manly yisage, 
 
 iti every earnest eye. 
 Is writ the firm and proud resolve 
 
 To conquer or to "die ! 
 
 It was a great and glorious sight, 
 
 That dazzling summer day, 
 As face to face those armies stood 
 
 In all their proud array I 
 There stretched their files of infantry 
 
 In ranks of bristling steel. 
 And thundering o'er the echoing plain 
 
 Our fiery troopers wheel ; 
 While on each crowded eminence, 
 
 We marked with eager eyes, 
 Defending front, and flank, and rear, 
 
 Their boasted batteries. 
 
 Now came a brief, expectant pause — 
 A hush of solemn awe ; 
 
128 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 When sudden from their cannon pealed 
 
 The thunder-notes of war ! ' 
 
 We stood as stony statues stand, 
 
 And scarcely drew a breath, 
 While thick amid our columns flew 
 
 The messengers of death ; 
 We gripped our sheathen sabres, 
 
 We reined our chargers hard, — 
 And looked to whei-e brave Johnston stood, 
 
 And gallant Beauregard. 
 
 Now quick-defiling, right and left. 
 
 Their infantry come on ; — 
 When suddeu, on our distant flank, 
 
 Outpealed the signal gun ! 
 And as from out the brooding cloud 
 
 The tempests wrath is poured, 
 So all along our smoking lines 
 
 Our cannon flamed and roared. 
 Rank after rank is swept away, 
 
 Yet still their numbers swell, — 
 A thousand rushing in the breach 
 
 Where but a hundred fell. 
 
 As pour the angry ocean-waves 
 
 On Nova-Scotia's banks, 
 So downward rushed that Northern horde 
 
 Upon our serried ranks. 
 As stands against the tempest's might, 
 
 GibraltYii-'s living rock, 
 So stood our gallant Southerners 
 
 To meet the mighty shock. 
 The earth beneath us trembled — 
 
 And clouds obscured the sun ; 
 He seemed to pause, and gaze aghast, 
 
 As once at Ajalon ! 
 
BATTLE OF MANASSAS. 129 
 
 Now fast as falling hail-stones 
 
 Their shot aroundais pour, 
 With din of clashing bayonets, . 
 
 And cannon's thundering roar. 
 And thrice their bristling lines advance, 
 
 And thrice before us yield, 
 Till foot to foot, and hand to hand, 
 
 We grapple on the field. 
 They slowly gather 'round us — 
 
 They wrap us in their coil, — 
 And Southern blood is poured like rain 
 
 Upon Virginia soil I 
 
 Down come their fierce artillerj', 
 
 Down come their fiery Zouaves ; 
 Yet two to three, each Southern arm, 
 
 A path before him carves. 
 But hark ! the signal of retreat I 
 
 And stubbornly and slow 
 Our gallant remnant backward falls, 
 
 Still fighting as they go. 
 Still fighting — some with mangled hands 
 
 And some with glazing ej-es ; 
 Not one of all the dying yields. 
 
 Or of the living flies ! 
 
 " Ho ! Courage, noble comrades I 
 
 Not yet the day is lost, — 
 For see, upon the dusty hills. 
 
 Yon downward-rushing host. 
 Three weary leagues, that summer day, 
 
 To the quickly-timing drum, 
 Through chokiftg dust and burning heat, 
 
 Unweariedly they come I ■ 
 Now " Elzey to the rescuer^ 
 
 No pause or rest they know, — 
 L* 
 
130 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 But charge with levelled bayonets 
 Upon the shrinking foe. 
 
 Again in deadly conflict 
 
 Ouu scattered numbers close, — 
 When high above the battle's din 
 
 A mighty shout arose ! 
 Now grappled foes unloose their hold, 
 
 And strain with eager eye : 
 Whose was that signal of defeat, 
 nd whose the victory ? 
 rra ! Hurra /" that mighty shout 
 e very skies might &tun : 
 arge '. Cavalry .' the day is ours 1 
 "^ Their batteries are won !" 
 
 With sabres flashing overhead. 
 
 With wildly-flowing rein • 
 A thousand gallant horsemen 
 
 Are thundering o'er the plain I 
 Woe, woe ! unto the Northern hordes 
 
 In that terrific hour, — 
 They fly, as flee the autumn leaves 
 
 Before the tempest's power ; 
 Their foot are swept before us, 
 
 And horse and rider reel, • 
 As right and left, in Southern hands, 
 
 Flashes the Southern steel ! 
 
 On, on, ye gallant victors. 
 
 And press your chargers hard. 
 
 For yonder !eads our President, 
 And noble 'Beauregard ! 
 
 " Hurra .' for gallant Davis I" 
 The dj-ing strive to rise, 
 
BATTLE OF MANASSAS. 131 
 
 • 
 And feebly join the eager shout 
 
 That rends the very skies. 
 " Hurra!" the foe is vanquished ! 
 
 Their scattered numbers yield, — » 
 
 And proudly floats our Southern flag 
 
 Above Manassas' field I 
 
 •■ 
 
 Oh, God ! — it was an awful sight, — 
 
 That gory battle-plain ; 
 Where horse and rider mingled lay, 
 
 The dying and the slain. 
 There foemen, clasped in fTerce embrace, 
 
 Were lying side by side ; 
 And some had crossed their s'hattered arms. 
 
 And calmiy-smiling, died ! 
 And hoary heads, all steeped in gore, 
 
 Gasi)ed out their latest breath ; 
 And there were feir and j'outhful brows, 
 
 Still beautiful in death ! 
 
 Wail, wail! ye Western matrons, 
 
 Weep, maidens of the North, 
 Who in the foul opi)ressor's cause. 
 
 Have sent your kindred forth ! 
 And weep, ye Southern' women. 
 
 And strain your eyes in vain. 
 For the manly form and the youthful brow 
 
 That shall not come again. 
 Yet, mourn we not disconsolate — 
 
 Their names be ever Vjrighl 
 Who perished in the sacred cause 
 
 Of liberty and right. 
 
 Yes — glory to our noble uond, 
 As to our living brave, — 
 
132 AVAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 And o'er them may our Southern flag 
 - Forever proudly wave. 
 Long live our gallant Davis, 
 
 And honored ever be 
 Our Johnston and our Jackson, 
 
 Our Beacregard and Lee ! 
 And glory to the Lord of Hosts, 
 
 Who was our strength and shield, 
 And crushed the tyrant's boasted might 
 
 On stern Manassas' field ! 
 
 BATTLE HYMN.-COLUMNS STEADY! 
 
 BY WM. GILMORB SIMMS. 
 
 Columns, steady ! make ye ready — with the steel and rifle 
 
 ready ! 
 Wait the signal ! wait the moment — soul and steel and 
 
 weapon steady 1 
 Hark the bugle ! Music ! march ! we are on the foe already I 
 Quick-step, columns ! slow, though solemn, 
 
 Let them feel ye ! bravel}' steel ye. 
 And the field shall soon be won ! 
 Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah I 
 Bravely steel ye ! make them feel ye I . 
 Every man and mother's son ! 
 Hurrah 1 
 
 They are looking from the house-tops, they are listening 
 
 from the wood. 
 Mothers, wives, and sweethearts, and the children of your 
 
 blood ! 
 
A BATTLE HYMN. 133 
 
 And they ask of all the wounded, as we bear them to the 
 
 rear, " > 
 
 ' What of him' whom my soul loveth? Doth h^ turn away 
 
 in fear 1 
 Is he coward ? is he recreant ? let me take his place and 
 spear I'' 
 
 Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Hurrah 1 
 Charge ! ye gallant legions, bravely as one soul and body, 
 
 charge I 
 Ye have souls of strength among ye, though your number 
 be not large ! 
 
 Bravely steel ye ! 
 Let them feel ye I 
 On 'em ! over 'em ! — Hurnih ! 
 On ! — ever}- mother's son. 
 And the field is won ! * 
 
 Hurrah ! - < 
 
 'Tis not blood, thirsting madlj-, that we crave ! 
 
 No wild passion for the strife ; 
 
 But our honor, and our glory, more than life, 
 We would pluck from blood}- grave — bloody grave ! 
 
 'Tis for this we have thrown aside the plow I 
 In earth's sterile furrows let it rust — 
 'Tis our manhood, we must lift up from the dust ! 
 
 And to fields of strife and slaughter hurry now — 
 Our only fields of freedom and of fame ! 
 
 To work in others now, 
 
 With the brand upon our brow, 
 Would be shame — the worst of sorrows — would be shame ! 
 
 Columns, rally ! make you ready for the final charge and 
 
 sally ! 
 Skirmishers in front ! and cover, with your rifles, height 
 
 and valley ! 
 M 
 
184 "WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Let^ach pass be sighted deadly — range with eve, of fate 
 ^- each alley ! 
 
 Wings, be swift ! and c-entre, steady ! » 
 Firm and steady, make ye ready 
 For the grapple now at hand ! 
 Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! 
 Make them feel ye ! bravely steel ye ! 
 Bullets down and bared the brand! 
 Hurrah ! 
 
 Waiting, watching, trembling, weeping, they are crouching 
 
 in the wood, . 
 
 Wives and sweethearts, mothers, sister.?, and the children 
 
 of your blood ! 
 As they bind the wounds of comrades, cowering, sheltered 
 
 in the rear, 
 How they toil in silent terror ! how they weep in silent 
 
 prayer ! 
 " Husbands, brothers, do not fail us ! doomd to bondage 
 and despair ! 
 
 Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! 
 Charge, ye legions ! bravely, sternly : as one soul and body, 
 
 charge 1 
 Ye are sons and brothers — men — though your number be 
 . not large ! 
 
 Let them feel ye ! 
 Bravely steel ye ! 
 On 'em 1 over 'em ! — Hurrah ! 
 Be the work well done, 
 And the field is won ! 
 Hurrah ! 
 
 And if joy should be ours, when the storm of battle rolls. 
 
 'Tis because that we have burst 
 
 From the sleep of shame and sorrow that accurst, 
 And feel the fresh air of freedom in our souls ! — 
 
 See the dawning, in its glory, of the light 
 
i 
 THE BATTl.'te EVE. 135 
 
 Which shall bring us to the da}' — 
 
 Though it be through all the horrors of the fraj-, 
 
 Though our sun shall forever set in night! — 
 Yet welcome be the trial storm and strife ! 
 
 Aye, welcome, Fate and Fight, 
 
 Though our day shall set in night, 
 Since in pcri.^liing for freedom, we prove worthy of its life. 
 
 THE BATTLE EVE. 
 
 BY SUSAN ARCIIKI! TALLEY. 
 
 1 sec the broad, red, setting sun 
 
 Sink slowly, down the sky ; 
 I see, amid the cloud-built tents. 
 
 His blood-red standard tiy : 
 And mournfully the pallid moon 
 
 Looks from her place on high. 
 
 Oh, setting sun, awhile delay ! 
 
 Linger on sea and shore ; • 
 
 For thousand eyes now gaze on thee, 
 
 That shall not see thee more : 
 A thousand hearts beat proudly now, 
 
 Whose race, like thine, is o'er ! 
 
 Oh, ghastly moon ! thy pallid ray 
 
 On paler brows shall lie ', 
 On many a torn and bleeding breast. 
 
 On many a glazing eye ; 
 And l)reaking hearts shall live to mourn. 
 
 For whom 'twere bliss to die ! 
 
136 WAR SONGS'.'OF THE SOUTH, 
 
 « 
 
 WAITING. 
 
 BY WM. SIIEPARDSON. 
 
 All day long beside the window, 
 Gazing through the mist and raiu, 
 
 Up and down the street she watches — 
 Watches closely — but in vain ; 
 
 And with hnlf a Sigh she murmnrs/ 
 " Will he never come again ?" 
 
 All day long beside the window, 
 In both hope and fear she sate, 
 
 And the hopes and fears commingled, 
 Make her whole frame palpitate — 
 
 Fill her beating heart with wonder, 
 Why it is he comes so late. 
 
 And the light grows dim and dimmer, 
 Night advances on the day, 
 
 One by one the street lamps glimmer 
 Through the darkness, far away — 
 
 Then, she says, "I wait no.longer," 
 
 And she slowly turns away. 
 
 • 
 
 Once again beside the window — 
 Only dark and rain she sees — 
 
 Then she turns from weary waiting, 
 Softly strikes the ivory keys. 
 
 Pouring out her wealth of sadness 
 In bewailing threnodies. 
 
 Gloomy hours of expectation ! 
 
 By the gas-light's steady glare 
 Moves she to the parlor mirror, 
 
 Folds her dress and smooths her hair. 
 
BEAUREGARD — A SONG. 
 
 Tlnuking when he stands before her, 
 If he, too, will call Jier fair. 
 
 But he comes not. In her chamber, 
 Still depressed by foolish fears, 
 
 Sinking down upon the pillow 
 She relieves her grief in tears. 
 
 Sadly weeping, until' slumber, 
 Like an angel, soft appears. 
 
 Night, with all its dreams, is over, 
 And the morning comes again. 
 
 Bringing news of a fierce battle, 
 Fought upon Manassas plain ; 
 
 Ancfshe reads, with deepest anguish. 
 His dear name among the slain. 
 
 137 
 
 ?S^^ 
 
 (^Froni the Clutrloston Mercury.) 
 
 BEAUREGAED--A SONG. 
 
 BY WM. (ULMORE SIMMS. 
 I. 
 Oh ! the North was evil-starr"d. 
 When it met thee, Beauregard, 
 And in battle, hot and hard, 
 Fled in panic from thy stroke and thy shot, Beaurkgard ; 
 When his wretched legions flying. 
 And his scattered thousands dying 
 In their tracks all bloody lying, 
 'Howl'd in horror at thy vengeance swift and hot, BeaurkqabdI j 
 Beau-fusil, Beaiukoard ! 
 Beau-canon^ Beairerard ! 
 Beau-sabreur. et beau-soldat, Beairerard! Beauregard I ] 
 
138 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 II. 
 
 Thou sbalt be our guide aud guard, 
 
 And our champion, Beauregard, 
 
 And the South with meet reward. 
 Will bring thee tribute, honor — raise to fame, Beauregard ! 
 
 She will shrine thee in her story. 
 
 And proclaim to ages hoary, 
 
 How thou 'st led h«r on to ^ory, 
 And find her cry of battle in thy name, BEAUREOAift) ! 
 
 Beau-fusjl,. Beauregaru ! 
 
 Beau-canon, Beauregard ! 
 Beau-sabreur, et beau-soldat, Beauregard ! -Beauregabd ! 
 
 MY MARYLAND. 
 
 BY JAMKS R. RANDALL. 
 
 The despots heel is on thy shore, 
 
 Maryland ! 
 His torch is at thy temple door, 
 
 Maryland ! 
 Avenge the patriotic gore 
 That wept oer gallant Baltimore, 
 And be the battle-queen of yore, 
 
 Maryland ! Afy Maryland ! 
 
 Hark ! to a wand'ring son's appeal, 
 Maryland ! 
 My Mother-State, to thee I kneel, 
 
 Maryland ! 
 For life and death, for woe and weal, 
 Thy peerless chivalry reveal, , 
 
 Aud gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, 
 Maryland ! .My Maryland ! 
 
MY MARYLAND. 139 
 
 Thou wilt not cower in the dust, 
 
 Maryland ! • 
 
 Thy beaming sword shall never rust, * 
 
 Marj'land ! 
 Remember CAimotL's sacred trust, 
 Remember Howard's war-like thrust, 
 And all thy slumbercrs with the Just, 
 Maryland! My Maryland! 
 
 Come ! 'tis the red dawo^o'f the'^ay. 
 
 Maryland! • 
 
 Come with thy panojdied array, 
 
 Maryland ! 
 
 With Ringgold's spirit for the fra)-. 
 
 With Watson's blood at Monterey, 
 
 With fearless Lowe and dashing May, 
 
 Maryland ! My Maryland ! 
 
 Dear Mother, burst the tj-rants chain. 
 
 * Maryland I 
 
 Virginia should not call in vain, 
 
 Maryland ! 
 She meets her sisters on the plain ; 
 "(Sfc Semper,'^ "tis the proud refrain 
 That baffles minions back again, 
 
 Maryland ! 
 Arise in majesty again, , 
 
 Maryland ! My Maryland ! 
 
 Come ! for thy shield is bright and strong, 
 
 Maryland I 
 Gome ! for thy dalliance does thee wrong, 
 
 Maryland I 
 Come to thine own heroic throng. 
 That stalks with liberty along. 
 And give a new Key to thy song, 
 Maryland ! My Maryland ! 
 
140 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 I see the blush ujion thy cheek, 
 • Maryland ! 
 
 But^hou wast ever bravely meek, 
 
 Maryland ! 
 But lo ! there surges forth a shriek 
 From hill to hill, from creek to creek — 
 Potomac calls to Chesapeake, 
 
 Maryland I My Maryland ! 
 
 Thoii wilt not iyield 'tK.fe Vandal toll. 
 
 • Maryland ! 
 
 Thou wilt not crook to his control, 
 
 ' Maryland ! 
 
 * Better the fire upon thee roll, 
 
 Better the shot, the blade, the bowl, 
 Than crucifixion of the soul, 
 
 Maryland ! My Maryland ! " 
 
 I hear the distant thunder-hum, 
 
 Maryland ! 
 The Old Line's bugle, fife and drUm, 
 
 Maryland ! ' 
 
 She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb, 
 Huzza ! she spurns the Northern scum ! 
 She bi-eathes — she burns ! she'll coifle! she'll come I 
 Maryland ! My Maryland ! 
 
LIFE IN THE OLD LAND YET. 141 
 
 " THERE'S LIFE IN THE OLD LAND YET!" 
 
 BY JAMES R. RANDALL. 
 
 By blue Patapsco's billowy dash, 
 
 The tyi'ant's war-shout comes, 
 Along with the cymbal's fitful clash, 
 
 And the growl of his sullen drums ; 
 We hear it — we heed it, with vengeful thrills, 
 
 And we shall not forgive or forget — 
 There's faith in the streams, there's hope in the hills, 
 
 There's life in the Old Land yet ! 
 
 Minions ! we sleep but we are not dead, 
 
 We are crushed, we are scourge^l, we are scarred — 
 We crouch — 'tis to welcome the triumph-tread 
 
 Of the peerless Beavregard ;• 
 Then woe to your vile, polluting horde. 
 
 When the Solithorn braves are met, 
 There's faith in the victor's stainless sword. 
 
 There's life in the Old Land yet ! 
 
 Bigots! ye quell not the valiant mind 
 
 With the-clank of an iron chain — 
 • The spirit of freedom slugs in the wind 
 
 O'er Mkrryman, Thomas and Kane j 
 And we, though we smile not, are not thralls — 
 
 We are piling a gory debt. 
 While down by McHenry's dungeon walls 
 
 There's life in the Old Land yet ! 
 
 Our women have hung their harps away. 
 
 And the}' scowl on your brutal bands. 
 While the ninibVe poniard dares the day 
 
 In their dear, defiant hands ; 
 They will strip their tresses to string our bows, 
 
 Kre the Northern Sun is set. 
 M* 
 
142 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 There's faith in their unrelenting woes — 
 There's life in the Old Land yet ! 
 
 There's life, though it throbbeth in silent vein?. 
 
 'Tis vocal without noise ; 
 It gushed o'er Manassas' solemn plains 
 
 From the blood of the Maryland boys. 
 That blood shall cry aloud, and rise 
 
 With an everlasting threat — 
 By the death of the brave, by the God in the skies, 
 
 There'^ lifo in the Old Land yet ! 
 
 MAEYLAND. OUR MOTHER! 
 
 ( Wriltcn at the rcjuest of Many Exiled MarylamUrs.) 
 BY REV. JOUX COLLINS M'CABE, D. D. 
 
 O Maryland, dear Maryland, our hearts still turn to thee I 
 Wc often, weeping, ask, and say, "when, when wilt thou be 
 
 free ? 
 Whfen, when shalt thou look up again, from agony and toil? 
 When, the invading hordes no more disgrace thy sacred soil?" 
 0, Maryland, our mother dear ! we often meet, and speak 
 Of that glad day when thou shalt on th}- foes deep ven- 
 geance wreak ; ^ 
 When every grain of dust within thy fair and broad domain, 
 Baptized in blood, regenerate, shall beauteous be again. 
 
 0, Maryland, dear Maryland, sweet mother! tho' the foe 
 Holds his damning saturnalia in this hour of thy woe, 
 Tho' the Edomite holds revel within thy homes and halls ; 
 We hear, we heed, we answer back thy loud and earnest calls. 
 
MARYLAND, OUR MOTHER. 143 
 
 Our hearts respond, dear mother, and each honest, earnest 
 
 hand 
 Shall buckle on the armor, and shall wield the flashing 
 
 brand,. 
 *We'll watch the signs in heaven, we will wakeful mc>\ c along, 
 And, ""Dear Maryland and Freedom'" shall be our battle-song ! 
 
 We'll meet the vile invader, we v'iH lioist the flag of death, 
 We will give to thee, our Mother, our swords, our blood, 
 
 our breath ! 
 We will dig red graves for traitors, and on our fields shall 
 
 grow 
 The teeming crops of Summer from their corpses laid below. 
 
 Weep but awhile, O, Mother dear! thy children Liar thy 
 
 crv— i- 
 And we swear we will redeem you,— or else.— we can but die. 
 The trenches of old Maryland, .shall be one huge, deep gra-fe, 
 To bury thy invaders, or inurn thy children brave. 
 The nations shall not taunt, and say, "Ye dared not to be 
 
 free ; " 
 U, Maryland, our .Mother dear, they shall not slander lluc. 
 Back to thy bosom we will come. to win for thee thy rest, ' 
 Or, loving. Mthful children, sleep^ in death upon thy breast. 
 
 0, Maryland, sweet Mother ! all our hearts still keenly yearn 
 Back to thy hills and valleys green, and sun-lit streams to 
 
 turn, 
 To tread once more the soil so dear, for which eur fathers 
 
 bled. 
 To stand .again amid the graves of oai-l^ loved dead — 
 To purify our native air from traitors' poisonous breath ; 
 To scatter mid the hateful foe, the ^iiissiles stern of death, 
 And we swear, Jlother dear, we swear to be true to thee, 
 To make thy smiters bite the dust, and thou, Mother free 1 
 
144: WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 ENOOEE ET TOUJOUKS "MARYLAND l" 
 
 BY CONSTANCE CARY. 
 
 A plea for Maryland ! 
 Outraged old Maryland ! 
 Though a weak woman's hand, 
 
 Mine shall her cause uphold, 
 
 Mine shall her wrongs unfold, 
 
 Strong in the right, and bold, 
 I plead for Maryland ! 
 
 ' A call for Maryland ! 
 Down-trodden Maryland ! 
 Shall we ne^er make a stand, 
 
 Dane not Virginia's men 
 
 On to the tyrant's den ? 
 
 Oh ! shall she call in vain ? 
 Never ! old Maryland ! 
 
 A tear for Maryland ! 
 
 Dear sister Maryland ! 
 
 Think of that finguished band 
 Watching and waiting, 
 Hearts throbbing and beating, 
 Daily entreating 
 
 Aid for their Maryland ! 
 
 A prayer for Maryland ! 
 Unhappy Maryland ! 
 Saviour, we humbly bend, 
 
 Kneeling where all may kneel, 
 
 Thou dost our sorrows feel, 
 
 Oh ! deign to set thy seal 
 '' Redeemed" on Maryland ! 
 
TO MARYLAND — FRIENDS ARE NIGH. 145 
 
 A song for Maryland ! 
 All hail to Maryland ! 
 Though on her ancient sand, 
 
 Traitors and slaves now reign, 
 
 Glorious and great her name, 
 
 Untarnished her fair fame, 
 Magnificent Maryland ! 
 
 A shout for Maryland T 
 
 On, boys, to Maryland ! 
 
 Quick, let the flame be fanned. 
 Though there be but a few. 
 Charge ! for the good and true, • 
 On ! prove that you will do 
 Or die, for Maryland ! 
 
 TO MAEYLAND-FRIENDS ARE NIGH. 
 
 BY WM. GILMORE SIMMS. 
 
 Friends are nigh ; despair not, 
 
 Though fast in the despot's chain ! 
 True, they may fly, but fear not, 
 
 They'll surely return again ! 
 Never more true the season, 
 
 Bringing its fruits and flowers, v 
 Than, through fortune's freezing. 
 
 Come these friends of ours ! 
 
 Virtue can patiently languish. 
 
 Though under the scourge of pain. 
 
 When 'round its bed of anguish 
 Glides a ministering train ! 
 
 N 
 
146 WAR SON(JS OF THE SOUTH, 
 
 True, they are all hid from us. 
 
 Though waiting around they stand : 
 But they bring us an angel-promise 
 
 Of happiest help at hand ! 
 
 Though in chains and prison 
 
 Virtue and valor sigh^ 
 Yet a generous host arisen 
 
 Are working in secret nigh ! 
 Here's Courage and Faith, who lead 'em, 
 
 And they'll gnaw thro' the wall and chain, 
 Aye, die! but they'll bring to freedom, 
 
 The comrade thej- love, again. 
 
 (From the liicliiiKnitl Dispatcli.) 
 
 KENTUCKY REQUIRED TO YIELD HER 
 ARMS. 
 
 Ho ! will the despot trifle 
 
 In dwellings of the free ; 
 " Eentuckians yield the rifle, 
 
 Kentuckians bend the knee : 
 With dastard fear of danger. 
 
 And trembling at the strife. 
 Kentucky, to the stranger, 
 
 Yield liberty for life ? 
 Up ! up ! each gallant ranger, 
 
 With rifle and with knife ! 
 
 The dastard and the traitor. 
 The wolf-cub and the snake. 
 
KY. REQUIRED TO YIELD HER ARMS. 147 
 
 The robber, swindler, haier, 
 
 Are in your homes — awake ! 
 Nor let the cunning foeman 
 
 DesiJoil ^-our liberty ! 
 Yield weapon up to no man, 
 
 While you can strike and see. 
 Awake, each gallant yeoman. 
 
 If still ye would be free ! 
 
 Aye, to sight the rifle. 
 
 And smite with spear and knife, ' 
 Let no base cunning stifle 
 
 Each lesson of your life ; 
 How won your gallant sires 
 
 The country which 3'c keep ? 
 B}- soul, which still inspires 
 
 The soil on which ye weep I 
 Leap up ! their spirit fire, 
 
 And rouse ye from your sleep ! 
 
 What I cry the sires so famous. 
 
 In Oi'leans' ancient field, 
 Will ye, our children, shame us, 
 
 And to the despot yield ? 
 What! each brave lesson stifle, 
 
 AVe left to give you life ? 
 Let apish despots trifle 
 
 With home, and child, and wife ? 
 And yield, shame ! the rifle, 
 
 And sheath, O shame ! the knife ? 
 
148. WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 FAST AND PEAY. 
 
 "I appoint Friday, November IStli, a clay of general fasting and prayer." 
 
 —Jefferson Davis. 
 
 Soldier, on the whitened field, 
 Resting on thy burnished shield, 
 Starting at each leaflet's breath, 
 Lest it sound th' approach of death. 
 Watch and pray. 
 
 'Mid the din and strife of battle. 
 Where death's missiles thickly rattle, 
 Comrades fall on gory beds, 
 Cold earth pillows bravest tieads, 
 
 Lift the heart and pray. 
 
 Father, by the vacant hearth. 
 Where parental joys had birth. 
 As you cherish absent ones. 
 By the love you bear your sons, 
 Fast and pray. 
 
 Noble mothers, patriot's pride, 
 Vainly striving tears to hide. 
 By the anguish long concealed. 
 By the love not half revealed. 
 
 Fast and pray. 
 
 Sister, though thy gentle pleading 
 Seemed to fall on hearts unheeding. 
 Duty triumphed ; be love's token 
 Prayer and abstinence unbroken. 
 Fast and pray. 
 
SONS OF FREEDOM. 149 
 
 Lonely wife, tuy vigils Icecpiug, 
 While thy tender babes are sleeping, 
 Midnight's taper dimly gleaming, 
 "Till the dawn the East is streaming. 
 Fast and pra3% 
 
 Southern offspring, patriots all. 
 Prostrate at your chieftain's call, 
 Stricken nation's mingled cries 
 Like one vast petition rise, 
 
 Fast and pray. 
 
 Humbly, Lord, we come to thee. 
 Contrite bend the suppliant knee ; 
 Ruthless foes our land invade. 
 Feeble efforts deign to aid ; 
 
 For this we fast and pray. 
 
 (From tlie Riclniionil Whig.) 
 
 SONS OF FREEDOM. 
 
 BY NANNY GRAY. 
 
 Sons of Freedom, on to glory. 
 
 Go, where brave men do or die, 
 Let your names, in future story. 
 
 Gladden every patriot's eye ; 
 'Tis your country calls you, hasten I 
 
 Backward hurl the invading foe ; 
 Freemen never think of danger, — 
 
 To the glorious battle go ! 
 
150 AVAR SONaS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Oh! remember, gallant Jackson, 
 
 Single-handed in the fight, 
 Death-lJlo^YS dealt the fierce marauder, 
 
 For his liberty and right ; 
 The' he fell beneath their thousands, 
 
 Who that covets not his fame ? 
 Grand and glorious, brave and noble, 
 
 Henceforth shall be Jackson's name. 
 
 Sons of freedom ! can you linger 
 
 When you hear the battle's roar, 
 Fondly dallying with your pleasures, 
 
 When the foe is at your door ? 
 Never ! no ! we fear no idlers, 
 
 " Death or Freedom's" now the cry, 
 'Till the stars and bars triumphant, 
 
 Spread their folds to every eye. 
 
 (From the Kichmoud Dispatch.) 
 
 WAR SONa. 
 
 BY HON. ALEX. B. MEEK. 
 
 Would'st thou have me love thee, dearest. 
 
 With a woman's proudest heart. 
 Which shall ever hold thee nearest. 
 
 Shrined in its inmost heart ? 
 Listen, then ! My country's calling 
 
 On her sons to meet the foe ! 
 Leave these groves of love and. myrtle ; 
 
 Drop th}' dreamy ha.rp of love ! 
 Like young Korner — scorn the turtle. 
 
 When the eagle screams above 1 
 
WAR SONG. 151 
 
 Dost thou pan I. I,('t dotards dally — 
 
 Do thou for. thy country fi^ht ! 
 'Neath her noble emblem rally — 
 
 " God, our country, and her right !" 
 Listen, now her trumpet's calling 
 
 On her sons to meet the foe ! 
 Woman's heart is soft and tender. 
 
 But 'tis proud am? faithful too ; 
 Shall she be her land's defender? 
 
 Lover ! soldier ! up and do ! 
 
 Slizc thy father's ancient falchion, 
 
 V/hich once flashed as freedom's star I 
 'Till sweet peace — the bow and halcyon — 
 
 Stilled the stormy strife of war. 
 Listen ! now thy country's calling 
 
 On her sons to meet the foe ! 
 S«rcet is love in moon-light bowers ! 
 
 Sweet is the altar and the flame I 
 Sweet is spring-time, with her flowers ! 
 
 Sweeter far the patriot's name I 
 
 Should the God that smiles above thee. 
 
 Doom thee to a soldier's grave. 
 Hearts will break, but fame will love thee, 
 
 Canonized among the brave ! 
 Listen, then ! thy country's calling 
 
 On her sons to meet the foe ! 
 Rather would I view thee lying ♦ 
 
 On the l:>st red field of strife, 
 'Mid thy country's heroes dying, 
 
 Than to be a dastard's wife. 
 
152 WAK SONGS. OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 (From the Charleston Mercury.) 
 
 WAK SONG. 
 
 Esperance! 
 
 On ! advance ! 
 Southrons, with the ball and lance ! 
 
 Now's the hour, « 
 
 To assert j'our pride, in power, ,■ 
 
 Make the insolent foeman cower ! 
 
 Ye have suffered long. 
 The viper's tooth — the wrong. 
 Been soothed to base submission by a song I 
 
 Let the song that now- 
 Ye sing, be coupled with a vow 
 Of vengeance, deadly vengeance, on the foe Y 
 
 Go forth ! Be strong ! 
 Go, seek the battle with the soul that brave» 
 The invader followed by his horde of slaves. 
 
 Dig ye their graves ! 
 Strike for the glorious earth 
 
 That gave ye birth — 
 The blessed household hearth 
 That saw your childhood in its innocent mirth I 
 
 Stiike for the soil beneath, 
 The skies above ; 
 
 Strike, though it be in death,. 
 For those you love. 
 « 
 
 Esperance I 
 
 On ! advance ! 
 God will give us deliverance ! 
 
 Though your foes . 
 
 Swarm in myriads, yet oppose 
 To them myriad-handed blows ! 
 
 Oh 1 by years of wrong. 
 
CANNON SONG. 153 
 
 By fraud, oppression's thong, 
 
 Be strong, nor more deluded by a song ! 
 
 Be the song yc sing, 
 One, now, that soars upon the eagle-wing 
 Of battle, closing ever with a sting I 
 
 Be strong ! De strong ! 
 Believe that God is ever with the brave, 
 Who march, in arms, their native land to save I 
 
 Your banners wave ! 
 Strike for the child — the wife. 
 
 Your more than life ! 
 The homes that are now threatened with the strife. 
 Bare to the hilt the hearth-avenging knife ! 
 
 Strike for your father's graves, 
 Your children's fame ; 
 
 Strike, lest the}- sink to slaves, 
 And ye to shame ! 
 
 CANNON SONG. 
 
 Ahal a Songf- for the trumpet's tongue! 
 
 For the bugle to sing before us. 
 When our gleaming gufts, like clarions, 
 
 Shall thunder in battle chorus I 
 Chonts : 
 
 With the cannon's flash and the cannon's crash, 
 With the cannon's roar and rattle ; 
 
 Let Freedom's sons, with their shouting guna, 
 Go down to their country's battle. 
 
 Where the rifles ring ; where the bullets sing; 
 Where the black bombs whistle o'er us, 
 N* 
 
154 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 With rolling wheel and rattling peal 
 We'll thunder in battle chorus ! 
 
 With the cannon's flash, etc. 
 
 Your brassj' throats shall learn the notes 
 
 Which make old tyrants quiver, 
 'Till the war is won or each Tkrrell gnn 
 
 Grows cold with our hearts forever I 
 With the cannon's flash, etc. 
 
 Where the laurel waves o'er our brothers' graves, 
 Who have gone to their rest before us ; 
 
 Here's a requiem shall sound for them 
 And thunder in battle chorus. 
 
 With the cannon's flash, etc. 
 
 Bj' the light that lies in our Southern skies ; 
 
 By the spirits that watch above us, 
 By the gentle hands in our summer lands, 
 
 And the gentle hearts that love us ! 
 With the cannon's flash, etc. 
 
 Our fathers' faith let us keep till death ; 
 
 Their fame in its cloudless splendor, 
 As men who, stand for their mother land 
 
 And die, but never surrender ! 
 
 With the cannon's flash and the cannon's crash, 
 With the cannon's roar and rattle ; 
 
 Let Freedom's sons, with their gleaming guns, 
 Go down to their country's battle! 
 
'to the front. 155 
 
 TO THE FRONT. 
 
 BY JAMES BARRON HOPE. 
 
 Hark ! now I hear the distant fire, 
 Our pickets on the line retire — 
 They fall back slowly, stern and brave. 
 Like us, they'll win, or fill a grave — 
 
 Tliis day we'll do or die. 
 
 Call me not weak fol- these few tears : 
 I think upon mj^ happier years, 
 I pray but for my child and wife — 
 Now, in (heir name I seek the strife, 
 For them I do or die. 
 
 From right to loft the long-roll runs-^ 
 I bear them limber up the guns — 
 They go to boar the battle's brunt. 
 And those wlio hurry to the front, 
 
 Go there to do or die. 
 
 Hear how tlio brazen trumpets ring! 
 The troopers to the saddle spring — 
 Hark, comrades ! how their scabbards clash 
 As to the front the squadrons dash — 
 This day to do or die. 
 
 Now, in the sun our colors shine, 
 Our Regiment forms the battle-line, 
 There spurs the General and his Staff, 
 
 Now victory or an epitaph, 
 
 This day \\ c ^'i >;■ die. 
 
 Hark to the shots — the cannon peals! 
 Hark to. the charging horses' heels ! 
 And now each heart swells high and large, 
 The order comes for us to chnrge I 
 We go to do or die. 
 
156 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Wntien for the " Gilmer Mms " of Lexingloii, Ge 
 
 BY ¥.. YOUNG. 
 
 Air — " Dixie's Land." 
 
 I. ■ 
 Comrades, come and join the chorus, 
 Sing for the land whose flag waves o'er us. 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! Dixie's Land. 
 Bright as the sun that shines upon her 
 Is th' escutcheon of her honor. 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! Dixie's Land. 
 God bless the Land of Dixie ! 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 By Dixie's hind we take our stand 
 To live and die for Dixie. 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 We'll live and die for Dixie. 
 
 II. 
 Land of heroes ! Land of sages ! 
 Brightest land on history's pages ! 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! liurrah I Dixie's Land. 
 Land of freedom ! Land of beauty ! 
 To love her is our highest duty. 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! Dixie's Land% 
 God bless the Land of Dixie ! 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 By Dixie's Land we take our stand 
 To live and die for Dixie. 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 We'll live and die for Dixie. 
 
SONG. 157 
 
 III. 
 With fire, and sword, and gleaming armor, 
 The Northern horde come down to harm her, 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! Dixie's L*and. 
 But foot to foot we rush to meet them, 
 And to bloody graves we'll greet them, 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah I hurrah I Dixie's Land. 
 Our swords are out for Dixie, 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 No hostile foot shall long pollute 
 The sacred soil of Dixie, 
 
 Hurrah! hurrah! 
 We'll drive the dogs from Dixict 
 
 IV. 
 
 From every hill and every valley. 
 To her flag her children rally. 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! Dixie's Land. 
 Arm'd in the cause of right and freedom, 
 The God of hosts himself shall lead them. 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! Dixie's Land. 
 Who will not fight for Dixie? 
 • Away ! away ! 
 His traitor heart shall have no part 
 In the sacred soil of Dixie, 
 
 Away ! away I 
 He shall not sleep in Dixie. 
 
158. WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. * 
 
 (From the Southern Fiehl aud Firesifle.) 
 
 THE DYING SOLDIER. 
 
 Lay him down gently, where shadows lie still 
 And cool, by the side of the bright mountain rill, 
 Where spreads the soft grass it's velvety sheen, 
 A welcoming couch for repose so serene ; 
 Where opening flowers their aroma breathe 
 From clustering tendrils that lovingly wreathe, 
 And quivering leaves their murmurous song 
 la whispers are chanting the bright summer long — 
 There lay the young hero. See, from hie side 
 FloM's swiftly the current whose dark, pulsing tide 
 Is bearing away the bright sands of life, 
 And closing forever this wild dream of strife. 
 Feebly uncloses the fast dimming eye. 
 Once bright as the jewels that light up the sky ; 
 A moment he looks on the bough-spreading dome. 
 Then whispers, in anguish, "Oh; take — take me home!' 
 But no ! far away o'er mountain and fen. 
 Lies the home that I ne'er shall enter again : 
 Whose loving ones wait to welcome in joy, • 
 Back to its sun-light, their own soldier-boy. 
 » Father, when proudly you gave up your child, 
 And brushed back the tears while your lips sadly smiled, 
 How vague was the thought "that we never more 
 Should meet 'till we stood on eternity's shore. 
 And, mother, again I feel thy hot tears 
 Rain on my cheek. Not the mildew of years, 
 Nor shadows of death can tarnish the bliss,. 
 The blessing j'ou gave in that last, holy kiss. 
 Oh ! darkly shall gather clouds o'er the hearth 
 That echoed once gaily with music and mirth ; 
 Oh, God! may Thy Spirit be there to sustain, 
 When record shall mingle my name with the slain. 
 
IN DEATH UNITED. 
 
 159 
 
 And one, too, whose fiiir check whiter still jflknr 
 
 As I pressed on her lip my last sad adieu ! 
 
 Will she soon forget?" Then; raising his hand, 
 
 He lovingly gazed on the small golden band 
 
 That 'circled his finger — while over his face. 
 
 The grey shadows of death seemed stealing apace. 
 
 '•'Dear comrades, farewell — ifly battles are o'er, 
 
 Together in conflict we'll rally no more ; 
 
 'Tis bitter to die ere my country is free, 
 
 But painted in glory her future 1 see. 
 
 FarewelW life is o'er, earth fades from my sight, 
 
 Around me is closing death's long, dreamless night.'" 
 
 Thus, softly as star-light melts into day. 
 
 On pinions of angels, his soul passed away. 
 
 Those strong men are bowed — in anguish they weep 
 
 O'er the dead still so fair, in death's quiet sleep. 
 
 Then, parting the flowers, they laid him to rest, 
 
 And heaped the green sod o'er the young martyr's breast. 
 
 Weep, heart of the South — weep maiden and sire, 
 
 Wreathe darkly with cypress love's bright mystic lyre — 
 
 Weep for the Heroes, so brave and so free. 
 
 Who nobly have vielded their life-blood for thee ! 
 
 IN DEATH UNITED. 
 
 UY (J. A. M. 
 
 .Surely in life's tiiial moments, 
 Ere the spirit takes its flight, 
 
 Gleams of Heaven are vouchsafed us,' 
 Hid "til tlieu from morta^ sight. 
 
160 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 A Jjidier, on his lonely pallet 
 
 braking to eternal rest, 
 To the patient nurse beside him, 
 
 Thus his dying wish exprest: 
 
 "Do not leave me — while life lingers, 
 Give me woman's tender oare ; 
 
 Wife and mother, far, far distant, 
 Let me dream that thej^ are near !" 
 
 So the nurse consenting, seated. 
 Wiped the death-damps from his brow 
 
 And in every weak pulsation, 
 W^atch'd his life's receding flow. 
 
 Suddenly, a beam of gladness 
 Sparkled in his glazing eye ; 
 
 His arms were twined as if embracing 
 Some viewless form in ecstacy ; 
 
 While he spake in joyful accents; 
 
 " Have we met again at last !" 
 And in the expiring effort. 
 
 Tranquilly his spirit pass'd. 
 
 Ere his form to earth was rendered, 
 Tidings came that on the day 
 
 And in the hour he thus departed. 
 His faithful wife had passed away I 
 
 Let us hope, tho' far asunder, 
 Now they lie beneath the sod, 
 
 Joyfully their souls commingle 
 In the bosom of their God ! 
 
 Ah! surely in life's final moment. 
 Ere the spirit takes its flight, 
 
 Gleams of Heaven are vouchsafed us, 
 Hid 'til then from mortal sight. 
 
THE SENTINEL. 161 
 
 THE SENTINEL. 
 
 When the curtains are drawn and the candles are lit, 
 And cozy and warm by the fire-side I sit, 
 My thoughts wander off from the themes I love most, 
 To the cold, lonel}' sentinel on his dark post. 
 
 When bleak blows the M'intry wind over the plain, 
 And cheerlessly driveth the pitiless rain, 
 I turn on my pillow and start at the sound, 
 As I think of the sentinel walking his round. 
 
 For faithful he stands, in the morning's grey light. 
 Or alone with the tempest when darkest the night. 
 All unsheltered from wind, or from rain, or from snow. 
 In silence and solitude, watching the foe. 
 
 And though marshalled strong in embattled array, 
 Our foes wait the moment to spring on their prey ; 
 Yet our array and nation may sleep without fear, 
 For his signal sh.all warn when their cohorts appear. 
 
 Ere again into slumber my eyelids are driven, 
 My heart and my lips frame petitions to Heaven, 
 That the angels of God may the sentinel keep 
 Who painfully watches while we sweetlj' sleep. 
 
 " Thou, whom the winds and the waters obey," 
 I pray, "lull the storm, drive the dark clouds away, 
 And to brighten his watch, and his lone hours beguile, 
 Send the stars with their light and the moon with her smile. 
 
 " And his bosom to warm and his si)irit to cheer, 
 
 Give him sweet thou^'hts of home and of those he holds dear. 
 
 And let Hope paint the future in colors so bright, 
 
 As to lighten around liim tlie darkness of night." 
 
162 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 (From the RichDiond Dispatch.) 
 
 SONG OF THE SENTINEL. 
 
 Sleep, comrade ! sleep in slumbers deep I 
 No foe aci'oss our line shall- creep ; 
 No birelirig horde, with sudden screams, 
 Shall break of home your peaceful dreams. 
 
 In calm repose till morn unclose 
 Its brightness o'er the earth that glows 
 With beauty in the midnight lost, 
 I'll faithful wait and watch my post. 
 
 The chilling' blast, the snow-Hake fast, 
 From the dim, darkling clouds that's cast — 
 Nor biting frost, nor raining spell. 
 Shall faithless find tlic sentinel. 
 
 But, gently as the morning staj's, 
 To loved ones left fond memory strays ; 
 And thoughts of home keep bright the eye 
 That watches for a foeman nigh. 
 
 Dear hearts at home ! no harm shall come, 
 
 No danger near your peaceful dome, 
 
 If faithful sentinel can keep 
 
 The dangers from your dwelling. Sleep I 
 
 For ah ! even sleeping, well 1 know. 
 As night e'er finds the stars aglow, 
 Aflection keeps his image bright 
 That watches in the "stilly night!" 
 
 And in their prayers, and in their tears. 
 The tri'.unph of our cause iippears ; 
 
THE soldier's dream. 163 
 
 And strength is given of heart and hand 
 To drive the spoiler from our land. 
 
 Sleep, conH'ades ! sleep in slumbers deep ! 
 No foe across our line shall creep ; 
 No hireling horde, with sudden screams, 
 Shall break of home your peaceful dreams. 
 
 (Krom tin' ChaiI'Vton Meivnry.) 
 
 THE SOLDIEK'S DREAM--" IN HIS BLAN- 
 KET ON T.HE GROUND." 
 
 BY CAKOLINK HOWARD GLOVER. 
 
 Weary, weary, lies the soldier 
 
 In his blanket on the ground, 
 With no sweet " Good night" to cheer him, 
 
 And no tender voice's sound 
 Making music in the darkness, 
 
 Making light his toilsome houi^s. 
 Like a sun-beam in the forest, 
 
 Or a tomb wreathed o'er with flowers. 
 
 Thoughtful, hushed he lies, and tearful. 
 
 As his memories sadly roam 
 ' To the "cozy little parlor" 
 
 And the loved ones of his home, — 
 And his waking and his dreaming 
 • Softly blend themselves in one. 
 As the twilight is the mingling 
 
 Of the starlight and the sun. 
 
164 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 And when sleep descends upon him, 
 
 Still his thought within his dream 
 Is of home, and friends, and loved ones, 
 
 And his busy fancies seem 
 To be real as they wander 
 
 To a mother's cherished form, 
 As she gently said in parting, 
 
 "Thine in sunshine and in storm. 
 Thine in helpless childhood's morning. 
 
 And in boyhood's joyous time, 
 Thou must leave me now — God watch thee 
 
 In thy manhood's ripened prime." 
 
 Or, mayhap, amid the phantoms 
 
 Teeming through his brain, 
 His dear f^ither's locks 6'er-silvered 
 
 Come to greet his view again, — 
 And he hears his trembling accents, 
 
 Like a clarion singing high, 
 " Since not mine are youth and strength, boy,. 
 
 Thou must victor prove, or die.'" 
 
 Or. perchance, he hears a whisper 
 
 Of the faintest, faintest sigh. 
 Something deeper than word spoken, 
 
 Something breathing of a tie 
 Near his sonl as bounding heart-blood. 
 
 It is hers, that patient wife,^ 
 And again that parting seemeth 
 
 Like a taking leave of life : 
 And her last kiss he remembers. 
 
 And the agonizing thrill, 
 And the '• Must you go f" and answer 
 
 " I but know Ml/ Country's will." 
 
THE SOLDIEK'S DREAM. 165 
 
 Or the little children gather, 
 
 Half in wonder, round his knees, 
 And the faithful dog, mute, watchful, 
 
 In the mystic glass he sees ; 
 And the voice of song;s, and pictures, 
 
 And the simplest homestead flowers, 
 Unforgotten crowd before hiip 
 
 In the solemn, midnight hours. 
 
 Then his thoughts in dreamland wander 
 
 To a sister's sweet caress^f 
 And he feels her dear lips qiliver 
 
 As his own they /jondly p»ess ; 
 And he hears her proudly s^-ing, 
 
 (Though sad tears are in her ej'cs), 
 " Brave men fall, but live in Glory, 
 
 For the Jlcro ticver dies ."' 
 
 Or perhaps his brown check flushes 
 
 And his heart beats quicker now. 
 As he thinks of one who gave him — 
 
 Him, the loved one, love's sweet vow ; 
 And, ah, fondly he remembers 
 
 He is still her dearest cace, — 
 E'en in his star-watched slbmber 
 
 That she pleads for him in prayer. 
 
 Oh', the soldier will be dreaming. 
 
 Dreaming often of us all, 
 (When the damp earth is his pillow, 
 
 And the snow and cold sleet fall). 
 Of the dear familiar faces> 
 
 Of the cozy, curtained room, 
 Of 'the flitting of the shadows 
 
 In the twilight's pensive., gloom. 
 0* i 
 
166 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Or when summer suns burn o'er him, 
 
 Bringing drought and dread disease, 
 And the throes of wasting fever 
 
 Come his weary frame to seize, — 
 In the restless sleep of sickness 
 
 Doomed, perchance, to martyr-death, 
 Hear him whisper " Home^' — sweet cadence, 
 
 With his quickened, labored breath. 
 
 Then God bless him, bless the soldier. 
 
 And God nerve him for the fight. 
 May he lend his arm new prowess 
 
 To do battle for the right : 
 Let him feel that while he's dreaming 
 
 In his fitful slumber bound, 
 That we're praying — God watch o'er him 
 
 In his blanket on the tjround. 
 
 HOMESPUN. 
 
 The air is balmy with the breath 
 
 t)f the early coming Spring, 
 And yet the sweet South breeze to me 
 Xo other thought can bring, 
 Than of the arms that clasped me fondlj- to his breast, 
 Ab through my tears I saw him, clad in his homespun drees. 
 
 1 saw him in the winding ranks ; 
 
 The sun it glittering played. 
 Like a halo of glor}' round his head 
 And upon his trusty blade. 
 I envied the steed that bore him, and the comrade at his side, 
 And prayed that Ood would guard him, whatever might 
 betide. 
 
THE BOY SOLDIER. 167 
 
 Oh ! sun, and dew, and storm, and rain, 
 
 I prithee"genfly fall. 
 And may the guardian angel's wing 
 Avert the deadly ball : 
 That glory won, 
 And duty done, 
 I once again may press 
 The hand of him T dearly love, clad in his homespun dresa. 
 
 I Kiuin tlu'.Ricliniond Dispatch.) 
 
 THE BOY SOLDIEE. 
 
 BY A LADY OF fJAVANNAH. 
 
 He is acting o"er the battles, 
 
 With his cap and feather gay, 
 Hinging out his soldier prattle, 
 
 In a mocking nianl}- way — 
 With the boldest, bravest footstep, 
 
 Treading firmly up and down, 
 And his banner waving softly, 
 
 O'er his bo3'ish locks o£ brown. 
 And I sit beside him sewing. 
 
 With a busy heart ;-"d bnnd, 
 For the gallant soldiers goii>^ 
 
 To the far-ofl' battle land — 
 And I gaze upon my jewel, 
 
 In bis baby spirit bold. 
 My little blue-eyed soldier. 
 
 Just a second summer old. 
 
168 AVAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Still deep, deep well of feeling 
 
 In mj' mother's heart is stirred, 
 And the tears come softly stealing 
 
 At each imitative word ! 
 There's a struggle in my bosom, 
 
 For 1 love my darling boy — 
 I^e's the gladness of my spirit, 
 
 He's the sunlight of my joyl 
 Yet I think upon my country, 
 
 And my spirit groweth bold — 
 
 ! I wish my blue-eyed soldier 
 Were bu.t twenty summers old! 
 
 '^ I would speed him to the battle — 
 
 I would arm him for the fight; 
 
 1 would give him to his country. 
 For his country's wrong and right I 
 
 I would nerve his hand with blessing 
 ■ From the " God of Battles " won— 
 With Ilis helmet, and His armor, 
 I would cover o'er my son ! 
 
 O ! I know there'd be a struggle. 
 
 For I love my darling boy ; 
 He's the gladness of my spirit, 
 
 He's the sunlight of my joy! 
 Yet, in thinking on my country, 
 
 ! m*y spirit groweth bold ! 
 And I wish my blue-cyed soldier 
 
 Were but twenty summers old. 
 
MY ONLY BOY. 169 
 
 MY ONLY BOY. 
 
 BY ELLEN A. MORIARTY. 
 
 0, let me weep ! Who would not weep ? 
 
 He was my only boy ; 
 The last of all his father's race, 
 He proudly held that father's i^ace. 
 Ah I oft his cherished sire I'd trace 
 
 In him, my only boy*. 
 
 We heard the rushing M^aves of war — 
 
 \ly boy's darlc eye flashed bright. 
 I watched him with an anxious heart, 
 O, how rebellious tears would start! — 
 A fearful, fearful thing to part 
 
 From him. my only boy. 
 
 Ho came and knelt beside mj- knee — 
 
 " 0, mother, let me go ! 
 The haughty foe advanceth nigh, 
 I hear my country's battle-cry. 
 'Twere sweet for her dear cause to die" — ^ 
 
 , Thus spake my only boy. " 
 
 I buckled on his grand-sire's sword, 
 
 I saw ray child depart. 
 " Elate with glorious victory. 
 Or never, come I back to thee.« 
 Dear mother, shed no tears for me.'" * 
 
 Thus said my only boy. 
 
 My child ! my child ! my only child ! 
 
 I am no mother now. 
 Thy bright, young beauty 'mid the slain 
 They found on Belmont's bloody plain — 
 P 
 
170 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Mj country, give me back again 
 My child, my only boy ! 
 
 No — Rest thee sweet, my patriot boy, 
 I'll hush my wild complaint. 
 
 Why should I weep thy loss, my son ? 
 
 Thy glorious part in life was done, 
 
 Thou sleepest, thy great victory won, 
 My childly my only boy ! 
 
 (From the Richmond Dispatcli.) 
 
 THINKING OF THE SOLDIERS. 
 
 We were sitting around the table 
 
 Just a night or two ago. 
 In the little cozy parlor, 
 
 With the lamp-light burning low — 
 And the window-blinds half opened 
 
 For the summer air to come, 
 And the painted curtain moving 
 
 Like a busy pendulum. 
 ! the cushions on the sofa, 
 
 And the pictures on the wall. 
 And the gathering of comforts 
 
 In the old, familiar hall — 
 ^ And the wagging of the pointer, 
 
 Lounging idly by the door, 
 And the flitting of the shadows 
 
 From the ceiling to the floor — 
 ! they 'wakened in my spirit, 
 
 Like the beautiful in Art, 
 Such a busy, busy thinking — 
 
THINKING OF THE SOLDIERS. 171 
 
 Such a dreaminess of heart ; 
 That I sat among the shadows 
 
 With my spirit all astray, 
 Thinking only — thinking only — 
 
 Of the soldiers far away ! 
 Of the tent beneath the moon-light, 
 
 Of the tattoo's stirring sound, 
 Of the soldier in his blanket, 
 
 In his blanket on the ground ! 
 Of the icy winter coming. 
 
 Of the bleak, bleak winds that blow, 
 And the soldier in his blanket. 
 
 In his blanket on the snowl 
 Of the blight upon the heather, 
 
 And the frost upon the hill, 
 And the whistling, whistling ever, 
 
 And the never, never still, 
 Of the little leaflets falling, 
 
 With the sweetest, saddest sound — 
 And the soldier, oh ! the soldier 
 
 In his blanket on the ground. 
 Thus I lingered in my dreaming. 
 
 In my dreaming far away, 
 'Till the spirit's picture-painting 
 
 Seemed as vivid as the day ; 
 And the moon-light faded slowly 
 
 From the window opened wide, 
 And the faithful, faithful pointer 
 
 Nestled closer by my side; 
 And I know beneath the. star-light, 
 
 Tho' the chilly frosts may fall. 
 That the soldier will be dreaming, 
 
 Dreaming often of us all. 
 So I give my spirit's painting- 
 Just the heathing of a sound. 
 For the dreaming, dreaming soldier, 
 
 Ih his slumber on the ground ! 
 
 
172 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 THE MIDNIGHT RIDE 
 
 BY WILLIAM SUEl'ARDSON. 
 
 I ride the cold and dark night through, 
 No moon or stars to point the way — 
 The bleak winds whistle wildly, too. 
 How oft this lonely road I've made, 
 When golde'n sunshine 'round it played, 
 And sported with the zephyr gay. 
 
 I leave the garden far behind ; 
 
 O'er dead and fallen leaves I ride, , 
 While thro' the branches howls the wind. 
 
 How oft this spot, when decked with flowers, 
 And love held court within its bowers, , 
 Has seen a fair maid by ni}' side. 
 
 Gone, now, is Pha^bus' golden light, 
 
 Low lie the roses on the ground, 
 And one loved sovil has taken flight. 
 Here I ride through the land again, 
 Thro' winter-storm, and dark, and rain. 
 And scout the country well around. 
 
 (Fnmj t)K' lUclniiiinil Dispntcli.) 
 
 COAST GUARD COGITATIONS. 
 
 BY CAKLOS. 
 
 I. 
 
 On the cold, white sand 
 
 Of a wave-washed strand, 
 A weary soldier was dreaming, 
 
 While pearly light 
 
 Of moonbeams bright 
 Was over the soldier beaming. 
 
COAST GUARD COGITATIONS. 173 
 
 II- 
 
 The diamond spray 
 
 Of moonlit bay, 
 Dashed wildly at his feet ; 
 
 His thoughts were far 
 
 From scenes of war, 
 Where voices of loved ones meet. 
 
 III. 
 
 The joyous thrill I 
 
 The words that fill 
 The heart of the soldier dreaming ; 
 
 The soft, white arm — 
 
 The love-kiss warm — 
 Are all too real for seeming. 
 
 IV. 
 
 In dreams of joy 
 
 The soldier boy 
 Cares noqght for the coming morrow ; ^ 
 
 Yet the booming gun pP 
 
 Of the morning sua 
 May usher a day of sorr6w. ■ ,• 
 
 V. 
 
 ■ On the cool white sand 
 
 Of a wave-washed strand 
 A soldier then may be sleeping ; 
 
 While around the bed 
 
 Of the soldier — dead — 
 No sorrowing friends be weeping 
 
 VI. 
 
 Yet angel eyes, 
 
 From azure skies, • 
 Far over the moonlit wave, 
 
 Their tears of dew 
 
 Will softly strew 
 On the sleeping soldier's grave. 
 
174 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 THE BRAVE AT HOME. 
 
 The maid who binds her warrior's sash, 
 
 And, smiling, all her pain dissembles, 
 The while beneath her drooping lash 
 
 One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles- 
 Though Heaven alone recoWs the tear. 
 
 And fame shall nevier know her story, 
 Her heart has shed a drop as dear 
 
 As ever dewed the field of glorj'. 
 
 The wife who girds her. husband's sword, 
 
 'Mid little ones who weep and wonder, 
 And bravely si)eaks the cheering word. 
 
 What tho' lier heart be rent asunder — 
 Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear 
 
 The bolts of war around him rattle, 
 Has shed as sacred blood as e'er 
 
 Was poured upon the plain of battle ! 
 
 The mother who conceals her grief. 
 
 While to her breast her son she presses, 
 Then breathes a few brave words and brief, 
 
 Kissing the patriot's brow she blesses, 
 With no one but her secret God 
 
 To know the pain that weighs upon her, 
 Sheds holy blood as e'er the sod 
 
 Received on Freedom's field of honor ! 
 
A SOUTHERN WOMAN S SONG. 
 
 175 
 
 (From tbe N. 0. Picaviinp.) 
 
 A SOUTHEEN WOMAN'S SONG. 
 
 Stitch, stitch, stitch, 
 Little needle swiftly fly, 
 
 Brightly glittering as you go ; 
 Every time that you pass by 
 
 Warm's my heart with pity's glow. 
 Dreams of comfort that will cheer, 
 Through winter's cold the volunteer, 
 Dreams of courage you will bring, 
 Smile on me like flowers iu spring. 
 
 Stitch, stitch, stitch, 
 Swiftly little needle fly, 
 
 Through this flannel soft and warm; 
 Though with cold the soldier sigh, 
 
 This will sure keep out the storm. 
 Set the buttons close and tight, 
 
 Out to shut the winter's damp ; 
 There'll be none to fix them right 
 
 In the soldier's tented camp. 
 
 Stitch, stitch, stitch ; 
 Ah ! needle, do not linger ; 
 
 Close the thread, make firm the knot; 
 There'll be no dainty finger 
 
 To arrange a seam forgot. 
 Though small and tiny you may be, 
 
 Do all you are able ; 
 A lion once a mouse set free, 
 
 As ?ays the pretty fable. 
 
 Stitch, stitch, stitch, 
 Swiftly little needle glide, 
 Thine's a pleasant labor ; 
 
176 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 To clothe tlie soldier be thy pride, 
 While he wields the sabre. 
 
 Ours are tireless hearts and hands ; 
 To Southern wives and mothers, 
 
 All who join our warlike bands 
 Are our friends and brothers. 
 
 Stitch, stitch, stitch. 
 Little needle swiftly fl}'. 
 
 From the morning until eve, 
 As the moments pass thee by. 
 
 These substantial comforts weave. 
 Bu?y thoughts are at our hearts — 
 
 Thoughts of hopeful cheer. 
 As we toil till daj- departs 
 
 For the noble volunteer. 
 
 Quick, quick, quick. 
 Swifter little needle go ; 
 
 From our home's most pleasant fires 
 Let a loving greeting flow 
 
 To our brothers and our sires. 
 We have tears for those who fall, 
 
 Smiles for those who laugh at fear — 
 Hope and sympathy for all. 
 
 Every noble volunteer. 
 
KNITTING FOR THE SOLDIERS. 177 
 
 KNITTING FOR THE SOLDIERS. 
 
 BY MAIVY J. Ul'SHUR. 
 
 Knitting for the soldiers I 
 
 How the needles fly 1 
 Now with sound of merriment, 
 
 Now with many a sigh. 
 
 Knitting for the soldiers I 
 
 Panoply for feet — 
 Onward bound to victory, 
 
 Rushing on retreat. 
 
 Knitting for the soldiers I , 
 
 Wrinkled, aged crone 
 Plying flying needles 
 
 By the ember stone. 
 
 ■ Crooning ancient ballads, 
 
 Rocking to and fro ; 
 In your sage divining ■ 
 Say where these shall go. 
 
 Jaunty set of stockings, 
 ' Neat from tip to toe, 
 March they with the victor, 
 Lie with vanquished low. 
 
 Knitting for the soldiers! 
 
 Matron — merry maid, 
 Many and many a blessing. 
 
 Many a prayer, is said, 
 
 While the glittering needles 
 
 Fly "around — around," 
 p* 
 
178 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Like to Macbeth's witches 
 On enchanted ground. 
 
 Knitting for the soldiers 
 
 Still another pair ! 
 And the feet that wear them 
 
 Speed they onward — where ? 
 
 To the silent city 
 
 On their trackless way ? 
 
 Homeward — bearing garlands ? 
 Who of us shall say ? 
 
 Knitting for the soldiers ! 
 
 Heaven bless them all ! 
 Those who win the battle — 
 
 Those who fighting fall.. 
 
 Might our Vjenedictions 
 
 Speedily win reply, 
 Early would they crown ye 
 
 All with victory 1 
 
 THE EIGHT ABOVE THE WRONG. 
 
 BV JOHN W. OVERALL. 
 
 In Other days our father's love was loyal, full, and free, 
 For those they left behind them on the Island of the Sea ; 
 They fought the battles of King George, and toasted him ia 
 
 song, 
 For then the Right kept proudly down the tyranny of Wrong. 
 
THE RIGHT ABOVE THE WRONG. 179 
 
 But when the King's weak, willing slaves laid tax upoa the 
 
 tea, 
 The Western men rose up and braved the Island of the Sea ; 
 And swore a mighty oath to God, those men of iron might, 
 That in the end the Wrong should die, and up should go 
 
 the Right. 
 
 • 
 The King sent over hireling hordes, Briton, Hessian, Scot, 
 ^And swore in turn those Western men, when caught, should 
 
 all be shot ; 
 While Chatham spoke with fiery tongue against the hire- 
 ling throng, 
 And mournfully saw the Right go down and place give to 
 
 the Wrong. 
 
 « 
 
 And when again in other days from out the Northern Sea, 
 
 The eager foe came gaily o'er to subjugate the free ; 
 
 All undismayed those Western men seized rifles ke'en and 
 
 long, 
 And swore a fearful oath the Right should subjugate the 
 . Wrong. 
 
 The world looked on in mute surprise — the fight uncertain 
 
 grew, 
 But suddenly our stars rose up amid a field of blue ; 
 , For JajCKSo.x fought on red Chalmette and won the glorious 
 
 fight. 
 
 And in the end, hurrah ! the Wrong was beaten by the Right I 
 
 * 
 
 The time has come again, when nil -vlio love the beauteous 
 
 South 
 Must needs defend the angel Right, though at the cannon's 
 
 mouth j 
 For foes accursed of God and man, with lying speed and 
 
 song. 
 Would bind, imprison, hang the Right, and deify the Wrong. 
 
180 "WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 But gleaming steel, and canting knave, or sanctimonious 
 
 fool, 
 Will never win this Southern land to cripple, bind, and rule ; 
 We'll muster on each bloody plain thick as the stars of night, 
 And, by the help of God, the Wrong shall perish by the 
 
 Right ! 
 
 A SOUTHERN SCENE FROM LIFE. 
 
 " 0, Mammy, have you heard the news ?" 
 
 Thus spoke a Southern child, 
 As iu her nurse's aged face 
 
 She upward glanced and smiled. 
 " What news you mean, my little one ? 
 
 It mus' be mighty fine, 
 To make my darlin's cheek so red, 
 
 Her merry blue eyes shine." 
 
 Why, AnitAM Lincoln — he, you know. 
 
 The Yankee President, 
 Whose ugly picture once we saw, 
 
 When up to town we WQUt ; 
 Well, he is going to free you all, 
 
 And make you rich and grand. 
 And ybu'll be dressed in silks and gold. 
 
 Like the proudest in the land. 
 
 " A gilded coach shall carry you 
 
 Whene'er you wish to ride, 
 And, Mammy, all your work shall be 
 
 Forever laid aside." 
 The eager speaker paused for breath— 
 
A SOUTHERN SCENE FROM LIFE. 181 
 
 And then the old nurse said, 
 While closer to her swarthy cheek 
 She pressed the golden head — 
 
 " My little Missis stop an' rest, 
 
 You's talkia' mighty fas', 
 Jist look up dar and tell me what 
 
 You sees in yonder glass ? 
 You sees old Mammy's wrinklj' face 
 
 As black as any coal. 
 An' underneath lier hankcrcher, 
 
 Whole heaps of knotty wool. 
 
 •' My baby's face is white an' red. 
 
 Her skin is soft an' fine, 
 An' on her pretty little head 
 
 The yaller ringlets shine ; 
 My chile, who makes dis diff 'rence 
 
 'Twixt Mammy and 'twixt you? 
 You reads de dear Lord's blessed Book, 
 
 An' you kin tell me true. 
 
 " De good God says it mus' be so, 
 
 An' honcT, 1, for one, 
 Wid tankful heart will always B^ 
 
 His holy will he done I 
 I tanks Mass' Linkin all de same. 
 
 But when I wants for free, 
 I'll ask de Lord of Glory, 
 
 Not poor biickera like he. 
 
 " An' as for gilded carriages, 
 
 Dey 's nothin' 'tall to see, 
 My Marster's coach dat carries him 
 
 Is good enough for me ; 
 
182 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 An' honey, wben } cur Mammy Tvauts 
 To change her homespun dress, 
 
 She'll pray, like dear,- ole Missis, 
 To be ' clothed wid. righteousness.' 
 
 My work 's been done dis many a day. 
 
 An' now I takes my ease, 
 A-waitin' for de Marster's call, 
 
 Jest when ole Marster please; 
 An' when, &t last, de time's done come, 
 
 An' (poor ole Mammj' dies, 
 Your own dear Mother's soft, white hand 
 
 Shall close dese tired eyes. 
 
 " De dear Lord Jesus soon will call 
 
 Old Mammy home to him, 
 An' he kin wash her guilty soul 
 
 From every spot of sin ; ' 
 An' at His feet I shitl sit down. 
 
 Who died an' rose. for me, 
 An' den, an' not 'till den, my chile,^ 
 
 Your Mammy will be free. 
 
 " My chile, dey say when monkeys clime, 
 
 Dey always shows dere tails. 
 And dis ole nlbnkey better hud 
 
 Staid splittin' of his rails. 
 Come, little Missis, say your prayers, 
 
 Let ole Marse Lin kin 'lone, 
 De Debbil knows who b'longs to him, 
 
 An' he'll take care his own 1" 
 
UNCLE JERRY. 183 
 
 UNCLE JEREY. 
 
 BY WM. II. HOLCOMBR, ^l. D. 
 
 Why, Jerry ! what means all this sadness and fear ? 
 
 Here's your bitters, man ! why do you cry? 
 Who told you I'd sell you ? the trader-that's here ? 
 
 By zounds, sir ! he told you a,lie ! 
 When I sell the gold ring from my dead mother's hand, 
 
 Or the sword which my grandfather bore, 
 When at Guilford his troopers made such a bold stand, 
 
 I will sell you — and not before ! 
 
 Why, don't you remember my f\ice as a boy's, 
 
 When often I sat on your knee. 
 Whilst j'ou sang, in your rugged, monotonous voice, 
 
 Your foolish old ballads to me ? 
 I wept at your sad ones, and laughed at your gay, 
 
 And made you repeat them all o'er ; 
 Ah I when I forget niy life's happiest day, 
 
 I will seU you — and not before 1 
 
 You made the boat which I launched on the tide, 
 
 And my traps for the birds in the snow ; 
 You led my bay ponj-, and taught me to ride, 
 
 And half the good things which I know. 
 You wept like a child when they sent me to school. 
 
 To be absent for six months or ijiBre ; 
 When you are a villain, or I am a fool, 
 
 I will sell jou — and not before ! 
 
 If poverty's cup I am sentenced to drain, 
 
 I wMl part with you — last of them all ; 
 Your kindness, old Jerry ! would double my pain, 
 
 And your sorrows embitter my fall. 
 If fate or misfortune should cause us to part. 
 
 There's a God will unite us once more ! 
 So drink my good health, and console your old heart, 
 
 And love me and serve, as before. • 
 
184 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 (From the CharleBton Mercury.) 
 
 THE COTTON BOLL. 
 
 BV HENRY TIMROD. 
 
 Here, stretched at ease beneath 
 
 This immemorial pine, 
 
 Small sphere; 
 
 (By dusky fingers brought this morning here, 
 
 And shown with boastful smiles,) 
 
 I turn thy cloven sheath, 
 
 Through which the soft white fibres peer, 
 
 That, with their gossamer bands. 
 
 Unite, like love, the sea-divided lands ; — 
 
 And slowly, thread by thread, 
 
 Draw forth the folded strands. 
 
 Than which the trembling line, 
 
 By whose frail help yon startled spider fled 
 
 Down the tall spear-grass from his swinging bed, 
 
 Is scarce more fine ; 
 
 And as the tangled skein 
 
 Unravels in my hands, 
 
 Betwixt me and the noon-day light, 
 
 A veil seems lifted, and for miles and miles 
 
 The landscape broadens on my sight. 
 
 As, in the little boll, there lurked a spell 
 
 Like that which, in the ocean shell. 
 
 With mystic sound. 
 
 Breaks down the narrow walls that hem us round, ' 
 
 And turns some city lane 
 
 Into the restless maiu. 
 
 With all his capes and isles ! 
 
 Yonder bird 
 
 In thos# blue tract? above the thunder, where 
 
THE COTTON BOLL. 185 
 
 No vapor3 cloud the stainless air, 
 
 And never sound is heard, 
 
 Unless at such rare time 
 
 When, from the City of the Blest, 
 
 Rings down some golden chime. 
 
 Sees not from his high place, ' 
 
 So va&t a cirque of summer space, 
 
 As widens 'round me in one mighty field 
 
 Which, rimmed by seas and sands, 
 
 Doth hail its earliest da^'-light in the beams 
 
 Of gray Atlantic dawns ; 
 
 And, broad as realms made up of many lands. 
 
 Is lost afar 
 
 Behind the crimson hills and purple lawns 
 
 Of sunset, among plains which roll their streams 
 
 Against the Evening Star ! 
 
 And, lo ! to the remotest point of sight. 
 
 Although 1 gaze upon no waste of snows, 
 
 The endless field is white ; 
 
 And the whole landscape glows. 
 
 For many a shining league away, 
 
 With such accumulated light 
 
 As Polar sands would flash beneath a tropic day ! 
 
 Nor lack there (for the vision grows. 
 
 And the small charm within my hands. 
 
 More potent even than the fabled one. 
 
 Which oped whatever golden mystery 
 
 Lay hid in fairy wood or magic vale, — 
 
 The curious ointment of the Arabian tale, — 
 
 Beyond all mortal sense 
 
 Doth stretch my sight's horizon, and I see 
 
 Beneath its simple influence. 
 
 As if, with Uriel's crown, 
 
 I stood in some great temple of the Sun, 
 
 And looked, as Uriel, down !) 
 
 Nor lack there pastures rich and fields all green 
 
186 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 With- all the common gifts of God, 
 
 For temperate airs and torrid sheen 
 
 Weave Edens of the sod ; — 
 
 Through lands which look one sea of billowy gold, .. 
 
 Broad rivers wind their devious ways ; 
 
 A hundred isles in their embraces fold 
 
 A hundred luminous bays ; 
 
 And through yon purple haze 
 
 Vast mountains lift their plumed pealis, cloud-crowned ; 
 
 And, save where up tlieir sides the plowman creeps, 
 
 Great trackless forests gird them grandly round, 
 
 In whose dark shades a future navy sleeps I 
 
 Ye Stars, which, though unseen, yet with me gaze 
 
 Upon this loveliest fragment of the earth ! 
 
 Thou Sun, that kindlest all thy gentle rays 
 
 Above it, as to light a favorite hearth ! 
 
 Ye Clouds, that in your temples in the West 
 
 See nothing brighter than its humblest flowers ! 
 
 And you, ye Winds, that on the ocean breast; 
 
 Are kissed to coolness ere ye reach its bowers ! 
 
 Bear witness with me in my song of praise, 
 
 And tell the world that, since the world began, 
 
 No fairer land hath fired a poet's lays, 
 
 Or given a home to man ! 
 
 But these are charms already widely blown ! 
 
 His be the meed whose pencil's trace 
 
 Hath touched our ver}' swamps with grace. 
 
 And round whose tuneful way 
 
 All Southern laurels bloom ; 
 
 The Poet of " The Woodlands," unto whom 
 
 Alike are known 
 
 The flute's low breathing and the trumpet's tone, 
 
 And the soft west wind's sighs ! 
 
 But who shall utter all the debt 
 
 0, Land, wherein all jiowers are met 
 
THE COTTON BOLL. 187 
 
 That bind a people's heart ! 
 
 The world doth owe thee at this day, 
 
 And which it never can repay, 
 
 Yet scarcely deigns to own ! 
 
 Where sleeps the poet who shall fitly sing 
 
 The source wherefrom doth spring 
 
 That mighty commerce which, confined 
 
 To the mean channels of no selfish mart, 
 
 Goes out to every shore 
 
 Of this broad earth, and throngs the sea with ships, 
 
 That bear no thunders ; hushes hungry lips 
 
 In alien lands ; 
 
 Joins with a delicate web remotest strands ; 
 
 And, gladdening rich and poor, ' 
 
 Doth gild Parisian domes. 
 
 Or feed the cottage-smoke of English homes, 
 
 And only bounds its blessings by mankind ! 
 
 In offices like these, thy missionlies, 
 
 My Country, and it shall not end 
 
 As long as rain sliall fall, and Heaven bend 
 
 In blue above thee ; though thy foes be hard 
 
 And cruel as their weapons, it shall guard 
 
 Thy hearth -stones as a bulwark ; make thee great 
 
 In white and bloodless'state ; 
 
 And haply, as the years increase, — 
 
 Still working through its humbler reach 
 
 With that large Wisdom which the Ages teach, — 
 
 Revive the half-dead dream of universal peace. 
 
 As men'who labor in a mine 
 
 Beneath the deep Atlantic bed — 
 
 What time a storm is rolling overhead, — 
 
 Hear the dull booming of the world of brine 
 
 Above them, and a mighty muflfled roar 
 
 Of winds and waters, yet toil calmly on, 
 
 And split the rock, and pile the massive ore, 
 
188 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Or carve a niche, or shape the arched roof ; 
 So I, as calmly weave my woof 
 Of song, chanting the days to come, , 
 Unsilenced, though the quiet summer air 
 Stirs with the bruit of battles ; and each dawn 
 Wakes from its starry silence to the hum 
 Of many gathering armies. Still, 
 In that we sometimes hear 
 Upon the Northern winds the voice of woe 
 Not wlioUy drowned in triumph, though I know 
 The end must crown us, and a few brief years 
 Dry all our tears. 
 
 I may not si^g too gladly. To Thy will 
 Resigned, Lord ! we cannot all forget 
 That there is much even Victory must regret. 
 And, therefore, not too long 
 From the great burthen of our country's wrong 
 Delay our just release ! 
 
 And, if it may be, save . ' 
 
 These sacred fields of peace 
 From stain of patriot or of hostile blood ! 
 Oh I help us, Lord ! to roll the crimson flood 
 ■ Back on its course, and, while oi^r banners wing 
 Northward, strike with us ! till the Goth shall cling 
 To his own blasted altar-stones, and crave 
 Mercy ! and we shall grant it, and dictate 
 The lenient future of his fate 
 
 There, where some rotting ships and crumbling quays 
 Shall one day mark the Port which ruled th^ Western 
 Seas 1 
 
CHRISTMAS BAY, A. D. 1861. 189 
 
 CHRISTMAS DAY, A. D. 1861. 
 
 BY M. J. H. 
 
 The year's bigh festival is come, 
 
 The time of careless mirth, 
 Of glad reiinions in each home, 
 
 Glad gatherings round each hearth, 
 The harvest-time of song and glee, 
 And hospitable revelry. 
 
 In other lands, more blessed climes. 
 
 Glad hearts a welcome beat, 
 And pealing bells with merry chimes 
 
 The festal season greet : 
 Green boughs are gathered for the walls, 
 And banquets spread ia festive halls. 
 
 But unto us it brings but tears, 
 
 And painful memories — 
 Of the bright scenes of happier years, 
 
 Sadly compared with these: 
 Regrets for blissful moments fled, 
 Anticipations fraught with dread. 
 
 No festive garlands now we twine 
 
 For walls all echoless : 
 No viands rare and costly wine 
 
 Our vacant boards oppress ; 
 The empty chairs of every hearth 
 With sad suggestions banish mirth. 
 
 Each household mourns some loved one gOQV) 
 
 The buiband. eon, or sire; 
 Now met to talk of friends and home, 
 
 Aroupd the red camp-fire : 
 
190 WAR SONGS Ol' THE SOUTH. 
 
 God knows if e'er their presence cheer 
 The hearts of those they hold most dear. 
 
 For some, who the last Christmas time 
 
 Were with us blithe and gay ; 
 Whose step and voice made pleasant chime — 
 
 Whose smile illumined the day, 
 Now pale and silent with the dead 
 Sleep in the warrior's gory bed. 
 
 And many a home whose happy light, 
 And hearth whose cheerful glow, 
 
 Then shone o'er scenes of pure delight 
 As mortals ever know, 
 
 ^ow shows a ruined, blackened heap, 
 
 Where screaming owls their night-watch keep. 
 
 Or sacked by thievish, Vandal hands, 
 
 Empty and desolate, 
 A silent monument it stands. 
 
 Of cruel wrong and hate ; 
 Or else its walls, the owners fled, 
 Now echo to the foeman's tread. 
 
 God of Hosts ! whose arm of might 
 
 Did Israel's foes o'erthrow, 
 Shall not Thy justice aid the right 
 
 Against this ruthless foe? 
 Wilt Thou not stay the robber horde 
 Who waste our land with fire and sword? 
 
 Christ, our Saviour, at whose birth 
 
 The angels sang of peace, 
 To mark whose coming upon earth 
 
 Carnage and strife did cease — 
 
REQUIEM FOR 1861. ^ 191' 
 
 Thou " Prince of Peace," restore its reign, 
 And make us taste its joys again^ 
 
 Grant when another year shall bring 
 
 The anniversary day 
 Of thine Advent, our hearts may sing 
 
 A holy, jo)-ous lay 
 Of thankfulness and praise to Thee, 
 Whose arm liath brought us victory. 
 
 (Frnrn tlie Sontborn Fii-ld niid Fireside.) 
 
 KEQUIEM FOR 1861. 
 
 1?Y H. C. B. 
 
 Year of terror, 3'ear of strife, 
 Year with evil passiens rife. 
 Pass, with seething angry flood, 
 Pass, with garments dipped in blood. 
 
 Born mid hopes, but raised in fears. 
 With thy dew-drops changed to tears. 
 With thy spring-time turned to blight, 
 And with darkness quenching light. 
 
 Can no mighty Lethean wave 
 Hide thee in a watery grave ? 
 Can no tide thy track ell-vi ' 
 From the heart thy scroll erase '( 
 
 War's fierce tread upon our land. 
 Severing once a kindred band; 
 Child and father ranged for strife, 
 Brother seeking brother's hfe ! 
 
192 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Sad thy record ! shadows loom 
 O'er a stricken nation's doom ; 
 Yet we hope for dawning light, 
 Freedom's morning, from thy night. 
 
 Hide our griefs beneath thy bier 
 Blood and death, in ghostly tier; 
 Weary sickness wasting life. 
 Surer than the foeman's strife. 
 
 Households broken — little feet 
 Standing by the empty seat ; 
 "Wives turned weeping from the door 
 Where the husband comes no more. 
 
 Can we mourn thee, fearful year ? 
 No! the bark of time we steer 
 From the maelstrom of thy wrath, 
 From the fire along thy path. 
 
 Leave thy ashes with the past : 
 Let not darkness from thee cast 
 Shadows o'er the coming day, 
 Blood-drops on the New Year's way. 
 
 Thou who dost unsheathe the sword 
 
 By the power of Thy word, 
 
 And can by Thy mighty will 
 
 To the waves say " peace, be still." 
 
 Gather up this storm once more, 
 Where "Thy judgments are in store," 
 Send Thy holy dove of peace, 
 And our fettered land release. 
 
GOD BLESS OUR LAND. 193 
 
 m 
 
 (Fiom tlio Field and Fireside.) 
 
 GOD BLESS OUR LAND I 
 
 ArUltem of Uie Confederate States. 
 BY E. YOUNG, Lexington, Oa. 
 
 I. 
 
 Oh God I ouf only King — 
 To Thee our bearts we bring ; 
 Now hear us whilst we sing, 
 
 • God bless our land I 
 
 Grant her prosperity, 
 
 Crown her with Liberty — 
 
 From mountain to the sea, 
 
 God bless our land ! 
 
 u. 
 
 With all Thy bounty yields, 
 Crown Thou her harvest fields ; 
 And when the sword she wields, 
 
 Strengthen her hand : 
 O'er every ene.my 
 Give her the victory; .,.# 
 
 Thou mad'st her, keep her — free; 
 
 God bless our laud ! 
 
 in. 
 In Arts and Letters still 
 May she increase, until 
 Time shall his course fulfill ; 
 
 God bless our land 1 
 Her coifers fill with wealth ; 
 Her children bless with health ; 
 God bless our commonwealth — 
 
 God bless our land I 
 E 
 
194 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 IV. 
 
 May Justice, Truth and Love 
 So all her counsels move, 
 That in all good she prove 
 
 First of all lands : 
 Pattern of excellence, 
 Bulwark of innocence — 
 Freedom's secure defence. 
 
 God bless our land ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Chiefly, oh I God, we pray 
 Grant that her children may 
 Always Thy will obey. 
 
 God bless our land ! 
 Daily may songs of praise 
 From grateful hearts upraise, 
 Blessing Thy name always, 
 
 God bless our land I 
 
 VI. 
 
 Thou, in whose sight we stand, 
 ess now our nati\-e land ; 
 'nd from each hostile hand 
 Guard all her coasts ! 
 Jn this her darkest hour, 
 When perils round her lower. 
 Make manifest Thy power. 
 Oh Lord of Hosts f 
 
 VII. 
 
 Thou, in the days of old, 
 Our fathers did'st uphold, 
 When they, for Right made bold, 
 ynsheathed the sword. 
 
CLOUDS IN THB WEST. 195 
 
 We for the liberty 
 
 "Which they received from Thee, 
 
 Now meet the enemy : 
 
 Help us, oh Lord 1 
 
 VIII. 
 Thou art the God of Might — 
 God of the Truth and Right : 
 'Tis in their cause we fight — 
 
 Be Thou our aid I 
 Strike with us 'gainst the/oe ; 
 Cause his swift overthrow, 
 That all the earth may know 
 
 Thou art our aid 1 
 
 CLOUDS IN THE WEST. 
 
 BY A. J. REQUIER. 
 
 Hark I on the wind that whistles from the West, 
 A manly shout for instant succor comes , 
 
 From men who fight, outnumbered, breast to breftSt, 
 With rage-indented drums ! 
 
 Who dare for child, wife, country — stream and Btramd, 
 Tho' but a fraction to the swarming foe, 
 There — at the flooded gateways of the land, 
 To stem a torrent's«flow. 
 
 To arms ! brave sons of each embattled State 
 Whose queenly standard is a Southern star: 
 Who would be free, must ride the lists of Fate 
 On Freedom's victor-car I 
 
196 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Forsake the field, the shop, the mart, the hum - ^-frm 
 Of craven traffic for the mustering clan ; 
 •<The dead themselves are pledged that you shall COnle 
 And prove yourself — a man. 
 
 That sacred turf where first a thrilling grief 
 Was felt which taught you Heaven alone disposes— 
 God I can you live to see a foreign thief 
 Contaminate its roses ? 
 
 Blow, summoning trumpets, a compulsive stave * 
 Thro' all the bounds, from Beersheba to Dan : 
 Come out I come out 1 Avho scorns to be a slave, 
 Or claims to be a man !" 
 
 .Hark ! on the breezes whistling from the West, 
 A manly shout for instant succor comes 
 From men Avho fight, outnumbered, breast to breast, 
 With rage-indented drums I 
 
 Who charge and cheer amid the murderous din 
 Where still your battle-flags, unbended wave, 
 Dying for what your fathers died to win, 
 And you must fight to save. 
 
 Hoi shrilly fifes that stir the vales from sleep, 
 Ho I brazen thunders from the mountains hoar; 
 The very waves are marshalling on the deep 
 While tempests tread the shore ! 
 
 Arise and swear, your palm-engirdled land 
 Shall burial only yield a bandit-foe ; 
 Then, spring upon the caitiffs, steel in hand, 
 And strike the fated blow. 
 
ZOLLICOFFER. 197 
 
 ZOLLldOFt'EE. 
 
 BY II. L. FLASH. 
 
 First in the fight, and first in the arms 
 
 Of the ■white-'winged angels of glory, 
 With the heart of the South at the feet of God, 
 
 And his wounds to tell the story. 
 
 And the blood that flowed from his hero heart, 
 On the spot where he nobly perished, 
 
 Was drunk by the earth as a sacrament 
 In the holy cause he cherished. 
 
 In Heaven a home with the brave and blessed, 
 
 And for his soul's sustaining, 
 The apocalyptic eyes of Christ — 
 
 And nothing on earth remaining, 
 
 But a handful of dust in the land of his choice, 
 
 A name in song and story. 
 And Fame to shout with her brazen voice, 
 
 "Died ox the field op gloky." 
 
 (From the Ghnrloston Morcnry.) 
 
 LINES. 
 
 BY PAUL H. IIAYNE. 
 
 We have suflPered defeat, as the bravest may suffer ; 
 
 Shall we leave unavenged our dead comrade's gore? 
 01 rather, my brothers, rise up in your manhood. 
 
 And strive as no nation e'er battled before. 
 
198 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Come ! rush from the mountains, the lowlands, the valleys** 
 Eush on like the avalanche freed from its spell, 
 
 And lash the base cohorts that throng to enslave us, 
 With stripes that shall give them a foretaste of hell; 
 
 Our women to hearth-stone and altar appealing, 
 
 Say — " Shield us from ruin, or die where you stand ; 
 
 Our children, Oh God ? can we fondle and bless them, 
 While aiiarchy threatens, while despots command?" 
 
 No 1 rise in the strength ^ind the glow of our valor, 
 
 And strike a great blow that shall ring thro' the WOrld- 
 
 A blow that shall shatter your fetters forever. 
 And leave your proud "banner forever unfurled. 
 
 (From tho Charleston Mercury.) 
 
 THE BLOOKADERS. 
 
 Dedicated to A. Lincoln. 
 BY PAUL 11. HAYNE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Across this threatening ocean tide, 
 I see the despot's vessels ride. 
 And o'er them, like a frown of doom, 
 The blood-red vapors sternly loom. 
 
 II. 
 Both God's and Nature's kind decree 
 Ordained, " the ocean waves are free !" 
 But tyrant hate, and tyrant will. 
 Would baffle God, and Nature still. 
 
THE BLOCKADBRS. 199 
 
 III. 
 
 Oh I Minions of yon brainless fool, 
 Who apes the wiser patriot's rule — 
 Ye may our ports, our trade control — 
 Who can blockade a Nation's soul? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Where'er the thoughts and hopes of men 
 Ascend beyond thy vulgar ken, 
 Where'er pure Liberty upholds 
 Her banner with its star-bright folds. 
 
 V. 
 Thou would'st destroy the patriot's trust. 
 And turn his noblest deeds to dust, 
 Would'st wring his heart, pollute his abrine, 
 And lower the hero's faith to thine ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Vain ! vaia ! Thy ships may rule the tvave, 
 Thou can'st not awe the true, the brave — 
 And patriot Passion's curbless sea 
 Shall yet o'erwhelm all knaves like thee I 
 
200 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 (From tho Charleston Courier.) 
 
 THE MEREIMAC* 
 
 BY PAUL H. UAYXE. 
 
 I; 
 We listened to the thunder 
 
 Of her mighty guns for hours, 
 'Till the air seemed rent asunder 
 
 By their detonating powers ; 
 Yet, we did not dread disaster, 
 Whomsoe'er she might attack — 
 For there floated not thy Master, 
 
 Thou gallant Merrimac I 
 Thou iron-clad Invincible! 
 
 Though storm, or battle-wrack, 
 May gird thee with the fires of Hell, 
 
 Imperial Merrimac 1 
 
 11. 
 Across the shuddering water 
 
 'Till niu'litfall, we could hear 
 The booming sounds of slaughter 
 
 Rise tcrritjle, and clear ; 
 But a su'i nn roar of gladness 
 
 Rang out o'er shore and wood, 
 That made our joy a madness. 
 
 When the cause was understood ; 
 For twice three hundred Hessian slaves 
 
 Before thy tingle track, 
 Had perished in the burning waves 
 
 That bore Thee 1 Merrimac ! 
 
 * I have retained the TeBsel's old name for purely rbytbmicai|ead8. 
 
THE MERRIMAC. 20l 
 
 m. 
 
 And long, long after sun-set 
 
 Thy steady thunders rolled, 
 And the fury of thy onset 
 
 May ne'er in words be told — 
 So, when with billows gory 
 
 The tide of strife went down, 
 We knew what awful glory 
 
 Had crowned our young Renown ; 
 And we trusted that the Future days 
 
 Might call her prowess back, 
 Embalming in immortal lays 
 
 Our noble Merrimac I 
 
 IV. 
 
 Wfe listened to the thunder 
 
 Of her mighty guns for hours, 
 'Till the air seemed rent asunder 
 
 By their detonating powers; 
 Yet, we did not dread disaster, 
 
 Whomsoe'er she might attack — 
 For there floateth not thy Master, 
 
 Thou gallant Merrimac I 
 Thou iron-clad Invincible ! 
 
 Though storm, or battle-wrack, 
 May gird thee with the fires of Hell, 
 
 Imperial Merrimac ! 
 
 R* 
 
202 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 THE TURTLE. 
 
 C^SAR, afloat with his fortunes ! 
 
 And all the world agog 
 Straining its eyes 
 At a thing that lies 
 
 In the water, like a log ! 
 It's a weasel 1 a whale I 
 I see it's tail ! 
 
 It's a porpoise ! a pollywog I 
 
 Tarnation I it's a, turtle! 
 
 And blast my bones and skin, 
 My hearties, sink her. 
 Or else you'll think her 
 
 A regular terror — pin! 
 
 The frigate poured a broadside I 
 The bombs, they whistled well, 
 
 But— hit old Nick 
 
 With a sugar stick ! 
 
 It didn't phase her shell ! 
 
 Piff, from the creature's larboard. 
 And dipping along the water 
 
 A bullet hissed 
 
 From a wreath of mist 
 Into the Doodle's quarter ! 
 
 Faff, from the creature's starboard— 
 Sip, fronj his ugly snorter, 
 
 And the Congress and 
 
 The Cumberland 
 Sunk, and nothing — shorter. 
 
SONG OF THE SOUTH. 203 
 
 Now, here's to you, Virginia, 
 
 And you are bound to win I 
 By your rate of bobbing round 
 
 And your way of pitching in — 
 For you are a cross 
 Of the'old sea-horse 
 
 And a regular terror — pin. 
 
 (From the N. 0. Sunday Dcltn.) 
 
 SONG OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 The Genius of the Western World 
 
 Stood silent by the Sea ; 
 A bloodj' spear was in her hand, 
 
 A Nation would be free. 
 Around her feet the gath'ring hosts 
 
 Came panoplied for war ; 
 From orange groves and vine-clad hills 
 
 Their shouts are heard afar. 
 In brotherhood they once had dwelt, 
 
 Beneath the fig tree's shade, 
 Together at God's shrine they knett, 
 
 And at His altars prayed. 
 For spurious fame, an insane youth 
 
 Burned the Ephesean dome. 
 But thou, with more relentless hand, 
 
 Fired thy country's home ; 
 And when dark Sumter's sea-girt sides 
 
 Sent forth its iron rain, 
 The Temple built by Patriots' hands. 
 
 By thee was rent in twain. 
 One cry was heard throughout the land, 
 
204 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 By every wind 'twas lost, 
 The " liberty our father's won 
 
 Shall not by us be lost." 
 To arms 1 To arms 1 Arise I Arise I 
 
 Escape from every moflth, 
 List ye, the North's fanatic shout 
 
 To subjugate the South. 
 
 Back from Virginia's sacred hills. 
 
 Polluted by his slaves. 
 Back from Kentucky's mountain rills, 
 
 Or give them bloody graves ; 
 Back from Missouri's purling streams, 
 
 Whose. waters wed the sea: 
 From the savannas of the South, 
 
 Back from the Tennessee. 
 Strike as the brave Maguuder struck 
 
 Upon Great Bethel's plains, 
 Where Mecklenburg renewed the blood 
 
 Imbibed from patriot veins. 
 Remember how bold Beauregard 
 
 Imperishably won 
 A warrior's name on history's page, 
 
 Beneath that July sun. 
 Remembt r the devoted blood 
 
 By venal Hessians shed, 
 How Bartow, Burt, and Bee were laid 
 
 Among tlie gallant dead ; 
 Remember Leesburg's bloody banks, 
 
 Your firesides and altars, 
 And beat them back to watery graves 
 
 Beneath Atlantic's waters. 
 Remember Springfield's giddy heights, 
 
 Remember Lexington ; 
 Strike as your brothers struck before, 
 
 For the land of Washineton. 
 
\ 
 
 THE BATTLE-CRY OF THE SOUTH. 205 
 
 (From tbe N. 0. Sunday DelU.)_ 
 
 THE BATTLE-OKY OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 BY JAMES R. RANDALL. 
 
 Arm youMelves and bo valiant men, and boo that ye be in readiness 
 against the morning, that ye may flght with these nations that are asiem* 
 bled against ub, to destroy us and our sanctuary. 
 
 For it is better for us to die in battle than to behold the calamities of our 
 people and our sanctuary. 
 
 —Maccabees I. 
 
 Brothers ! the thunder-cloud is black, 
 
 And the wail of the South wings forth ; 
 Will ye cringe to the hot tornado's rack, 
 
 And the Vampires of the North ? 
 Strike ! ye can win a martyr's goal, 
 
 Strike I with a ruthless hand — 
 Strike ! with the vengeance of the soul 
 For your.bright, beleaguered land I 
 
 To arms I to arms ! for the South needs help, 
 
 And a craven is he who flees, 
 For ye have the sword of the Lion's Whelp,* 
 And the God of the Maccabees ! 
 
 Arise I though the stars have a rugged glaire, 
 
 And the moon hath a wrath-blurred crown — 
 Brothers! a blessing is ambushed there 
 
 In the cliffs of the Father's frown : 
 Arise 1 j-e are worthy the wond'rous light 
 
 Which the Sum of Justice gives — 
 In the caves and sepulchres of night, 
 
 Jehovah, the Lord King, lives ! 
 
 * The surname of the great MaccabeoS. 
 S 
 
206 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 To arms ! to arms ! for the South needs help, 
 And a craven is he who flees — 
 
 For ye have the sword of the Lion's Whelp, 
 And the God of the Maccabees! 
 
 Think of the dead by the Tt nm -ir. 
 
 In their frozen shrouds of gore — 
 
 Think of the mothers wlio shall see 
 
 Those darlinji e3es no more ! 
 But better arc they in a hero's-grave. 
 Than the serfs of time and breath, 
 For they are the Cliildrcn of the Brave. 
 And the Cherubim of Death ! 
 
 To aims ! to arms I for the South ^needs help, 
 
 A(nd a craven is he who flees — 
 For ye have the sword of the Lion's Whelp, 
 And the God of the Maccabees I 
 
 Better the chamels of the West, 
 
 •And a hecatomb of lives. 
 Than the foul invader as a guest, 
 
 'Mid your sisters! and your wives — 
 But a spirit lurketh in every m^id. 
 
 Though, liiutheri, ye should quail. 
 To sharpen a Judith's lurid blade. 
 And the livid spike of Jael ! 
 
 To arms ! to arms ! for the South needs help, 
 
 And a craven is he who flees — 
 For ye have the sword of the Lion's Whelp, 
 And the God of the Maccabees ! 
 
 Brothers ! I .=ee ymi tramping by,* 
 
 With the gladiatur anzc, 
 And your shout is the Macedonian cry 
 
 Of the old, heroic days ! 
 March on ! with trumpet and with drum, 
 
 ( 
 
Beauregard's appeal. 207 
 
 With rifle, pike, and dart. 
 And die — if even death must come — 
 Upon your country's heart ! 
 To arms ! to arms ! for the South needs help,. 
 
 And a craven is he who flees — 
 For ye have the sword of the Lion's Whelp, 
 Ami the (Jod of the Maccabees! 
 
 Brothers ! the thunder cloud i;- black, 
 
 And the wail of the South rings forth ; 
 Will j'e cringe to the hot tornado's rack, 
 
 And the Vampires of the North ? 
 Strike ! ye can win a martyr's goal, 
 
 Strike ! with a ruthless hand ; 
 Strike ! with the vengeance of the soul, 
 For your bright, beleaguered land I • 
 
 To armv^! to arms ! for the South ik( ds help, 
 
 And a craven is he who flees — 
 For ye have the sword of the Lion's Whelp, 
 • And the God of the Maccabees ! . 
 
 (From tho Cliarlostoii Coiarior.) 
 
 BEAUEEGARD'S APPEAL. 
 
 ^ BY p. II. IIAYNE. 
 
 I. 
 Yea ! tho' the need is bitter, 
 
 Take down those sacrod Bells ! 
 Whose music speaks of vour hallowed joys, 
 
 And passionate farcAvells ! 
 
 i 
 
208 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 n. 
 
 But ere ye fall, dismantled, 
 
 ^ing out deep Bells ! once more, 
 And pour on tbe waves of the passing wind 
 The symphonies of yore I 
 
 TTT. 
 Let the latest born be wekomed 
 
 By pealings glad and long, 
 Let the latest dead in tbe church-yard bed 
 
 Be laid with solemn song; 
 
 IV. 
 
 And the bells above them throbbing, 
 
 Should sound in mournful tone, 
 As if in tlie grief for a human death, 
 
 They prophecied their own : — 
 
 V. 
 
 Who sa.\ s, 'tis a desecration 
 
 To strip the Temple Towers, 
 And invent *' 1 of peaceful notes 
 
 With dr Iling powers ? 
 
 ^^ VI. 
 
 A truce to cant and folly ! 
 
 With faith itself at stake, 
 Can we heed the cry of the shallow fool, 
 
 Or, pause for the Bigot's sake? 
 
 VII. 
 Then crush the struggling sorrow ! 
 
 Feed high your funia. i fires. 
 That shall change into deep-mouthed guns of bronze, 
 
 The bells from a hundred spires. 
 
 I 
 
SHILOH. ■ 209 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Methinks, no common vengeance, 
 
 No transient war-eclipse 
 Will follow the awful thunder burst 
 
 From their "adamantine lips." 
 
 IX. 
 
 A cause, like ours, is holy. 
 
 And useth holy things, 
 And over the storm of a righteous strife, 
 
 May shine the Angel's wings. 
 
 X. 
 
 Where'er our Duty leads us, 
 
 The grace of God is there, 
 And the lurid Shrine of War may hold 
 
 The Eucharist of prayer. 
 
 (From tbo Riclimond Einuirer.) 
 
 SHILOH. 
 
 BY MARGARET SXHiLINQ. 
 
 Golden lights on the purple hills, 
 
 A rosj- blush on the valleys fair. 
 Touching with sparkles the glancing rills, 
 
 Like diamonds dropped from tlie scented air; 
 So morning came, light tripping and gay, 
 Showering sweets for the waiting day. 
 
 Lazily under the morning sun. 
 
 The banners fluttered in sportive play, 
 
 Idlj' unfurling, one by one . 
 Showed to the winds tfceir colore gay; 
 
210 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 While the bustling ciimp, since early light, 
 Had glistened and gleamed with armor bright. 
 
 But long ere the sun that proudly rose 
 Sank 'mid the red of the evening sky, 
 
 The battle-cry of hurrying foe?. 
 Resolved to conquer or Virn^ ly die, 
 
 Rose wildly above the bugle s tall. 
 
 Like the voice of grief o'er a funeral pall. 
 
 High () I ; ilie field n billowy cloud, 
 
 The 1 iitle-gmoke rose darkly streaming ; 
 
 And sun-liright arms in the struggling crowd, 
 Like lamps of fire were wildly gleaming. 
 
 While th< liot and shell, with a fearful sound, 
 
 Deep fuiiiws bore in the blood-stajned ground. 
 
 Oh, for ihf j^aze of a spirit then. 
 
 The glcrious visions so near to brace, 
 
 That all lu'uessed by mortal ken 
 Hovcrei ihove each dying face ; 
 
 Bright angi in their hqmes of light, 
 
 Like pure st uing the darkness of night. 
 
 Some holding aloft bright crowns of fame, 
 Green wreaths of laurel for *ach brave soul, 
 Gems of glory to 'circle the name 
 
 Of those who reached tli£ hero's goal ; 
 While others fearlessly standing by death, 
 O'er the dying bent 'till the last faint breath. 
 
 But the proudest brow and bravest heart 
 
 That fought that dav Heath the darkened sky, 
 
 Fell by the spoiler's fatal dart, 
 Ere he heard bis host's, victorious cry, 
 
A CRY TO ARMS. 211 
 
 And the emerald leaves of the chaplet fair 
 Were damp with the death-dews in his hair. 
 
 Alas ! that victorj's shout of joy 
 
 Should ever be hushed by death's sad wail, 
 
 That in all earth's pleasure some alloy 
 
 Will fall on the heart like a mourner's vail I 
 
 But 'tis ever thus', and llio hending skies 
 
 Hear less of J03''s than of sorrow's cries. 
 
 I 
 
 A CRY TO ARMS! 
 
 BY HENRY TIMROD. 
 
 Ho I woodsmen of the mountain side I 
 
 Ho ! dwellers in the vales ! 
 Ho ! ye who by the chafing tide, 
 
 Have roughened in the gale? ! 
 Leave barn and byre, leave kin and cot, 
 
 Lay by the bloodless spade, 
 Let desk, and case, and counter rot, 
 
 And burn your books of trade 1 
 
 The despot roves your fairest lands, 
 
 And till he flies or fears. 
 Your fields must grow but armed hands, 
 
 Your sheaves be sheaves of spears I 
 Give up to mildew and ,to rust 
 
 The useless tools of gain ; 
 And feed your country's sacred dust 
 
 With floods of crimson rain I 
 
212 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 Come with the weapons at your call, 
 
 With musket, pike, or knife ; 
 He wields the deadliest blade of all 
 
 Who lightest holds his life. 
 The arm that drives its unbought blowa 
 
 With all a patriot's scorn, 
 Might brain a tj'rant with a rose, 
 
 Or stab him with n thoiu ! 
 
 Does any faltoi ? let him turn 
 
 To some brave maiden's eyes, 
 And catch the holy fires that burn 
 
 In those sublunar skies. 
 Oh I could you like your women feel, 
 
 And in their spirit march, 
 A day might see your lines of steel 
 
 Beneath the victor's arch ! 
 
 What hope, God ! would not grow warm 
 
 When thoughts like these give cheer ? 
 The lily calmly braves the storm, 
 
 And shall the palm tree fear ? 
 No I rather let ' hes court 
 
 The rack i!i. ihe plain; 
 
 And from the lily s regal port 
 
 Learn how to breast the strain. 
 
 Ho ! woodsmen of the mountain's side I 
 
 Ho ! dwellers in the vales 1 
 Hoi ye, who by the roaring tide 
 
 Have roughened in the gales ! 
 Come ! flocking gaily to the fight, 
 
 From forest, hill, and lake ! 
 We battle for our country's right. 
 
 And for the lily's sake ! 
 
VIRGINIA — A BATTLE SONG. 213 
 
 VIKGINIA !--A BATTLE SONG ! 
 
 Dedicated to tli£ Virginia Volunteers. 
 BY MRS. C. J. M. JORDAN. 
 
 The cloud is dark, — the storm is nigh, 
 
 The foemari's step advances, 
 Unsheath thy sword, — uplift tlilnp nrm, 
 
 And dare his glittering lances. 
 What though his numbers Legion be, 
 
 His banners proud and gaj-. — 
 God will defend the right, and who 
 His mighty arm may stay. 
 C/ionis. 
 Up noble Queen, the brave, the free, 
 Thou'lt bow thee to none other,— 
 God will thj' shield and buckler be, 
 Virginia, — oh, my mother. 
 
 Thy heart is bowed, thy cheek is pale, 
 
 Thy tears thon canst not smother; 
 I know the dart that jiierced thy heart. 
 
 My own, my gentle moth&r. 
 Those whom thou trusted, did betray. 
 
 And mocked thy censure mild, — 
 " How sharper than a Serpejit's footh, 
 
 To have a thankless child." 
 Up noble Queen, &c. 
 
 There are, whose life derived from thee, 
 
 The brave, the fondly cherished, — 
 Who for thy welfare and thy weal 
 
 Have dared to do, — and perished. 
 There are, whom thou hast nurtured long, 
 S* 
 
214 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 From whom thou'rt loth to part, 
 Whose hands now turn to aim the blow, 
 The death-blow at thy heart. 
 Up noble Queen, &c. i 
 
 And shall we see thy glory fade. 
 
 Thy splendor soon departed, — 
 Shall tj'rants piiiitf and vassals rule 
 
 Thy children, broken-hearted ? 
 No, no, we'll seize the burnished blade 
 
 That seeks thy royal life, — 
 We'll up and arm us for the fray, 
 
 We'll conquer in the strife. 
 Up iiolijc Queen, &c. 
 
 Yes, yes. iby faithful sons will still 
 
 Thy truth and honor chcrisTi, — 
 We'll guard the soil that gave us birth, 
 
 Drivi liack the foe, or perish. 
 True to the sacred trust we hold 
 
 Our Fn' ' 
 Come wi cir dcat! 
 
 We will lie true tu I^ 
 I'll noble Queen, it( . 
 
 nriD, 
 
 lionio oi my heart, — may Heaven withhold 
 
 The hand that for another 
 Would darkly seek to lay thee low, 
 
 My mother, oh ! my mother; 
 Here on thj soil — thy hallowed soil, 
 
 My earliest steps were led, — 
 Here passed my childliMoil and my youth, 
 
 .\nd here repose my dead. 
 Up noble Qaeen, &c. 
 
VIRaiNIA — A BATTLE SONG. 215 
 
 Deign, righteous Heaven, to bless for aye 
 
 The homage that I render, — 
 Uphold her now, for whom my prayers, 
 
 My life, my all, I tender. ♦ 
 Oil, save from spoil" her homes and hearths, 
 
 11(1 ii\ ! 1- :i!i<l her rills, — 
 Her mountains old, her valleys fair, 
 
 Jler forests and her liill?. 
 
 Up noble Queen, &c. 
 
 Home of my heart, dear native State, 
 
 Thy Star, how brightly burning ! 
 Still homeward lures the wandering steps 
 
 Of wayward feet returning. 
 I would that every alien ej'e 
 
 Might j'et invoke its beams, 
 Till penitential tears would swell 
 
 Our meadows and our streams. 
 V[) noble Queen, &c. 
 
 1 would that all who bear thy name 
 
 Might faithful be forever. 
 Nor time, nor place, nor circumstance. 
 
 Thy common household sever. 
 That one united, all might stand. 
 
 Nor tyrants dare to part : 
 Brothers in fealt}- and in name, 
 
 Aye, doubly so in heart. 
 Up noble Queen, &c. 
 
 Hark, hark, -o'er mountain, vale and glen, 
 
 The distant thunders rattle, — 
 The foe, the foe is at our door. 
 
 Up brothers, to the battle. 
 
216 WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 He comes, — above our unlive bills, 
 His flauuting bauners wave, — 
 
 Up brothers, to a Victor's palm, 
 Or to a Freeman's grave. 
 Up noble Queen, &c. 
 
 GATHER! GATHER I 
 
 IIV KOBERT JOSELYN. 
 
 Gather n ind your country's flag, 
 
 Men oi the South ! the hour has come- 
 None may falter and none may lag ; 
 
 March to tlic sound of the fife and drum — 
 Who but a cripple would stay at home? 
 
 Meet tlif foe on the border land, 
 
 E\ti . li of soil dispute; 
 Strike v^ ' ^'"" '"■! heavy hau J ; 
 ■ Dow r ; dovg^ with the brute : 
 
 Now i.- i:;. iMivf.-i aii.l ri]'r- !s the fruit. 
 
 Come from the mountain, valley, plain, 
 
 Come to the rescue, one and all ; 
 Shout till the welkin ring again ; 
 
 Sharpen the dagger and mould the ball ; 
 
 Better a gravi- than the Yankee's thraU. 
 
 Fight like men who have all to lose — 
 
 Wives and daughters, and homes and lands ; 
 
 None but a craven n\ uuld refuse; — 
 
 Fight, fight with your hearts and hands, 
 Honor requires it, and <.ud commands. 
 
 i 
 
^ y 
 
-i&' 
 
 m 
 
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