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War Songs of the South:
Electronic Edition.

Ed. by William G. Shepperson

Funding from the Institute of Museum and Library Services
supported the electronic publication of this title.

Text scanned (OCR) by Allen Vaughn
Images scanned by Allen Vaughn and Elizabeth S. Wright
Text encoded by Elizabeth S. Wright and Jill Kuhn
First edition, 2000
ca. 325 K
Academic Affairs Library, UNC-CH
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill,
2000.

        © This work is the property of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. It may be used freely by individuals for research, teaching and personal use as long as this statement of availability is included in the text.

Source Description:
 (title page) War Songs of the South
Edited by "Bohemian," Correspondent Richmond Dispatch.
216 p.
Richmond:
West & Johnston, 145 Main Street.
1862.
3154 Conf. (Rare Book Collection, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill)

        The electronic edition is a part of the UNC-CH digitization project, Documenting the American South.
        All footnotes are moved to the end of the poem in which the reference occurs.
        Any hyphens occurring in line breaks have been removed, and the trailing part of a word has been joined to the preceding line.
        All quotation marks, em dashes and ampersand have been transcribed as entity references.
        All double right and left quotation marks are encoded as " and " respectively.
        All single right and left quotation marks are encoded as ' and ' respectively.
        All em dashes are encoded as --
        Indentation in lines has not been preserved.
        Running titles have not been preserved.
        Spell-check and verification made against printed text using Author/Editor (SoftQuad) and Microsoft Word spell check programs.

Library of Congress Subject Headings, 21st edition, 1998

Languages Used:

LC Subject Headings:

Revision History:

        

        

        

War Songs Of The South.

EDITED BY

"BOHEMIAN,"
CORRESPONDENT RICHMOND DISPATCH.

"I said, I knew a very wise man so much of Sir CHR--'s sentiment,
that he believed 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 Works, p. 372.

RICHMOND:
WEST & JOHNSTON, 145 MAIN STREET.
1862.

Title Page Verso

Entered according to the 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. SCHAFFTER, Printer.

Page 2

Preface.

        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 the fact that many admireable 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?

Page 4

        We are in the midst of a revolution in which the instinct of Southern women has anticipated the logic of our statesmen and the ardor of our soldiers. The heart of GERTRUDE, in SCHILLER'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 FLETCHER 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 some event of the war, some of battle, or individual act of heroism. Written cotemporaneously with the achievements which they celebrate, they possess all the vitality in force of the testimony of eyewitnesses to a glorious combat, 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

Page 5

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 Lacedæmonians seek a general at Athens; for the songs of lame TYRTÆUS, the schoolmaster, whom the Athenians contemptuously sent to them, reänimated 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, these newspaper waifs have played no unimportant part in the actual drama which surrounds us. Convinced that their wealth of patriotic sentiment is too precious to be lost, I have gleaned through the fields of newspaper literature, and have bound up this volume as one binds up a sheaf of golden. 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"

Page 6

has consoled and cheered me in camp, on the battle-field, 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. THOMPSON, Esq., former Editor of the Southern Literary Messenger, for having placed at my disposal a collection previously made by them, and for which, as well as for the present collection, corrected copies of most of the songs have been kindly furnished by the writers themselves.

        A single volume of ordinary size cannot contain a tithe of the songs which have already appeared and are daily appearing. This, however, offers enough to show that, during the present eventful period, what was said of the early Spaniard 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 recollections 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.

Page 7

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Page 11

LIST OF AUTHORS,
WHOSE POEMS ARE INSERTED IN THIS VOLUME.

Page 13

WAR SONGS OF THE SOUTH

HARP OF THE SOUTH AWAKE!

Respectfully dedicated to Captain BRADLEY T. JOHNSTON, of the "Frederick Volunteers," now in service in Virginia, by his friend

J. M. KILGOUR


Harp of the South awake!
From every golden wire,
Let the voice of thy power go forth,
Like the rush of a prairie fire;
With the rush and the rhythm of a power,
That dares a free man's grave,
Rather than live to wear
The chains of a truckling slave.

Heart of the South awake!
Thy sons are aroused at last,
And their 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,
For mountain, and hill, and plain,
And field, and town, they come.
Page 14


Harp of the South awake!
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 throb of the spirit-flame,
Which will kindle their battle fires
In freedom's holy name.

Harp of the South awake!
But not to sting of love,
In shady forest-bower,
Or fragrant orange grove;
Oh, no, but thy song must be
The wrath of the battle crash,
Inscribed on the cloud of war,
With the pen and of its lightning flash.

Harp of the South awake!
And strike the strains once more,
Which nerved thy heroes' hearts
In the glorious days of yore;
Which gave a giant's strength
To the arm of MARION--
Of SUMTER--MORGAN--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.
Page 15


Harp of the South awake!
The proud--the full-soul'd South--
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 summer sky,
Or frowns like a summer storm!

Harp of the South awake!
Though the soldier's beaming tear
May fall on thy trembling strings,
As he breathes his farewell prayer;
Yet, tell him how to die
On the bloody battle-field,
Rather than to her foes
The gallant South should yeild.

OH, THE SWEET SOUTH!

BY W. GILMORE SIMMS.

I.


Oh, the Sweet South! the sunny, sunny South!
Land 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 toil;
Heard 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--
Page 16


Oh! by her myriad flowers that bloom and fade--
By all the 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:
Will sooner part
With life, hope, heart--
Will die--before I fly!

II.


Oh! loves is her's--such love as ever glows
In souls where leaps affection'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 when the danger's nigh,
But, the fight over, and the victory won,
How, with strange fondness, turns her loving eye
In tearful welcome on each gallant son!
Oh! 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
All precious things--all placed upon her shrine--
Will freely part
With life, hope, heart--
Will die--do aught but fly!

Page 17

(From the Mississippian.)

SOUTHRONS, HEAR YOUR COUNTRY CALL YOU!

BY ALBERT PIKE, of Arkansas.

(To the tune of Dixie.)


Southrons, hear your country call you
Up! lest worse than death befall you
To arms! to arms! to arms! in Dixie!
Lo! all the beacon fires are lighted,
Lo! all the hearts now be united!
To arms! to arms! to arms! in Dixie!

Chorus.


Advance the flag of Dixie!
Hurrah! hurrah!
For Dixie's land we'll take our stand,
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 saber!
To arms! etc.
Page 18


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!
To arms! etc.
For faith betrayed and pledges broken,
Wrongs inflicted, insults spoken;
To arms! etc.
Advance the flag of Dixie, etc.

Strong as lions, swift as eagles,
Back to their kennels hunt the beagles!
To arms, etc.
Cut the unequal bonds asunder!
Let them 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,
Page 19


Hear your children tell the story!
To arms! etc.
Advance the flag of Dixie, etc.


If the loved ones weep in sadness,
Victory soon shall bring them gladness
To arms! etc.
Exultant pride soon banish sorrow,
Smiles chase tears away to-morrow!
To arms! etc.
Advance the flag of Dixie, etc.

(From the Richmond Whig.)

A POEM FOR THE TIMES.

BY JOHN R. THOMPSON.


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 sky,
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 forsooth
Should have for a crisis no other recourse,
Beneath the fair day-spring of Light and of Truth,
Than the old brutem fulmen of Tyranny--Force.
Page 20


From holes 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 you 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 with blood?

Could you brand us as villeins and serfs, know ye not
What fierce, sullen hatred lurks under the scar?
How loyal 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 leonum, and suckles a 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 vengeance sublime.

Once, men of the North, we were brothers, and still,
Though brothers no more, we would gladly be friends;
Nor join in a conflict accurst did that must fill
With ruin the country on which it descends.

But, if smitten with blindness and mad with rage
The gods give to all whom they wish to destroy,
You would act as a new ILLIAD to darken age
With horrors beyond what is told us of Troy--
Page 21


If, deaf 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 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 can be sounded afar;
We greet you, as greeted the Swiss CHARLES THE BOLD
With a farewell 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.

Page 22

[(]From Norfolk Day Book.)

A POEM WHICH NEEDS NO DEDICATION.

BY JAMES BARRON HOPE.

I.


What! you hold yourselves as freemen
Tyrants love just such as ye
Go! abate your lofty manner!
Write upon the old State's banner
"A furore Normanorum,
Libera nos, O Domine!"

II.


Sink before the federal altars,
Each one low on bended knee;
Pray with lips that sob and falter,
This prayer from a cowards Psalter:
"A furore Normanorum,
Libera nos, O 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, O Domine!"

IV.


He repented him; the Bishop
Gave him absolution free--
Poured upon sacred chrism
Page 23


In the pomp of his baptism.
"A furore Normanorum,
Libera nos, O Domine!"

V.


He repented; then, he sickened,
Was he pining for the sea?
In extremis he was shriven.
The Viaticum was given.
"A furore Normanorum,
Libera nos, O Domine!"

VI.


Then the old cathedral's choir
Took the plaintive minor key,
With the host upraised before him,
Down the marble aisle they bore him;
"A furore Normanorum,
Libera nos, O Domine!"

VII.


And the Bishop, and the Abbot,
And the Monks of high degree,
Chanting praise to the Madonna,
Came to do him Christian honor;
"A furore Normanorum,
Libera nos, O Domine!"

VIII.


Now the Miserere's cadence
Takes the voices of the sea;
As the music billows quiver,
See the dead Freebooter shiver!
"A furore Normanorum,
Libera nos, O Domine!"
Page 24

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, O 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, O Domine!"

XI.


Hasting lives! He was but a feigning!
What! Repentant! Never he!
Down he smites the priests and friars,
And the city lights with fires!
"A furore Normanorum,
Libera nos, O Domine!"

XII.


Ah! the children and the maidens,
'Tis in vain they tried to flee!
Where the white-haired priests lie bleeding,
Is no place for tearful pleading;
"A furore Normanorum,
Libera nos, O Domine!"

XIII.


Louder swells the frightful tumult;
Pallid death hold reverie;
Dies the organ's mighty clamor,
By the Norsemen's mighty hammer;
Page 25


"A furore Normanorum,
Libera nos, O Domine!"

XIV.


And they thought that he repented!
Had they nailed him to a tree,
He had not deserved their pity,
And--they had not lost their city:
"A furore Normanorum,
Libera nos, O Domine!"

XV.


There's a moral in this story,
Which is as plain as truth can be;
If we trust the North's relenting,
We shall shriek, too late, repenting:
"A furore Normanorum,
Libera nos, O Domine!"

*The incident with which I 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's Latin Christianity, vol. iii. p133.

A BALLAD FOR THE YOUNG SOUTH.

BY JOSEPH BRENAN.


Men of the South! our foes are up
In fierce and grim array;
Ther sable banner laps the air--
An insult to the day!
The Saints of CROMWELL rise again
In sanctimonious hordes,
Hiding behind the garb of peace
A million ruthless swords.
From North, from East, and West, they seek
The same disastrous goal,
Page 26


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 Ermpire 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
With 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 and scorn 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?

A preacher to the pulpit comes,
And calls upon the crowd,
For Southern creeds and Southern hopes,
To weave a bloody shroud.
Beside the prayer 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 fondly told,
For every priestly surplice drags
Too heavily with gold:
Page 27


The blessed Cross of Calvary
Becomes a sign of Bael,
Like that which 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 their gore!
Forget the legends of our race--
Efface each wise decree--
Americans must kneel as slaves,
'Til Africans are free!
Out on the mere Caucasian blood
Of Teuton, Celt or Gaul--
The stream which springs from Niger's source
Must triumph over all!"
So speaks a solemn Senator
Within those halls to-day,
Which echoed erst the thunderburst
Of WEBSTER and of CLAY.

Hark to the howling demagogues--
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 joined the chase
With genuine beagle chime,
And SUMNER, snarling poodle pet
Of virgins past their prime;
And even the sluts of Women's Rights--
TRAY, BLANCHE, and SWEETHEART, all--
Page 28


Are yelping shrill against us still,
And hunger for our fall!


Look North, look East, looked 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 brethrens' life-blood flowing free
To stain the Kansas soil,
And shed in vain, while pious thieves
Are fattening on our toil;
Look North, look West--the ominous sky
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 helpful springs,
Which bear the seed of JAQUES BONHOMME
With that of Bourbon kings.
The Danish pluck and sailor-craft,
The Huguenotic sky will,
The Norman grace and chivalry,
The German steady skill;
The fiery Celt's impassioned thought
Inspire the Southern heart;
Who have no room for bigot-gloom,
Or pious plunder's art!
Page 29


Sons of the brave! the time has come
To bow the haughty crest,
Or stand alone, despite the threats
Of North, or East, or West!
The hour has come for manly deeds,
And not for puling words--
The hour has passed for platform prate--
It is the time for swords!
And by the fame of JOHN CALHOUN,
To honest truth be true,
And by 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 symbol high
Of triumph, or a shroud!

Men of the South! look up--behold
The deep sullen gloom,
Which darkens o'er your sunny land
With 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 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?

Page 30

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"
--BURGER'S LEONORA.

The legion is armed for battle,
The charger is hot for the fray,
The thunders of musketry 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 on 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,
And trample them out of the world!

ATTILA, fearful destroyer,
Merciless GENGHIS KHAN,
Veiled like the sage of a Korassan,
Utter the truculent ban!
Bright as ST. GEORGE in his armour
And the blood-red cross unfurled,
Trample the insolent dragon,
Trample it out of the world!
Page 31


Weak in the clouds like ANTÆUS,
Strong upon touching the earth,
Stormy as CASTOR and POLLUX--
Twins of Olympian birth--
Blazing with eyes like the lightnings
JOVE at PROMETHEUS hurled;
Put the foot down, Mr. LINCOLN,
And trample them out of the world!

What though the land is in sack-cloth,
What though each minstrel is dumb,
And though to sweet Wyoming's valleys,
Echoes the roll of the drum;
What though from city and hamlet,
Tears and entreaties are poured:--
Put the foot down 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 cyprus is shaking 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 paroled:
So put the foot down, Mr. LINCOLN,
And trample them out of the world
Page 32


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 glory 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 weeping,
Though RAMAH'S sad voices are stilled;
For the earliest violets are peeping
Where their lovers' hearts blood shall be spilled.
Her yeomen all of 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?
Then plant this foot firm, Mr. LINCOLN,
And trample them out of the world!

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-foul,
With bleeding pinion furled,
Thy glory is soon to be smitten,
And trampled out of the world!
Page 33


Beautiful Louisiana,
Queen of the river and plain,
Blooming with verdent 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 thy sons ardent devotion,
Born to be dauntless and free;
Thy fame is as bright as thy coastland
With diamond-shell impearled:
But--put the foot down, Mr. LINCOLN,
And trample them out of the world!

From thy glad, fertile realm, Mississippi,
Where cotton is picked by the slave,
The pæan 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,
Shouting--we will be slaves nevermore!

"Virginia, Virginia, where art thou?"
She wakes like him of old,
And bursts the green writhes 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 MINERVA--now!
Page 34


The day is at hand, MR. LINCOLN,
Which profits long to see,
When the prison doors shall open
And let the oppressed go free:
When from thy trembling fingers,
The scepter shall be hurled,
And thy foot-prints, vandal sovereign,
Shall be trampled out of the world!

TEAR DOWN THAT FLAG!

BY THEO. H. 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 of baleful light
Burst like a beacon on the gloom of the 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 spotless embers burn,
Its Eagle skulks the light!
A vulture now, he wings his sluggish flight
To nestle with the noisome birds of night!
Page 35


Tear down that flag! It flouts the breeze,
A flagrant--flaunting insult to the sky:
Disgraced at home--dishonoured on the seas,
Its coward colors fly,
With stars eclipsed and stripes all rudely riven!

THE SOUTHERN CROSS.

BY ST. GEORGE TUCKER.


Oh, say can you see, through the 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.
How 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 this to Freedom and Glory again.

How peaceful and blest was America's soil,
'Till betrayed by 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 shall forever remain
To light us to freedom and glory again.

'Tis the emblem of peace, 'tis the day-star of hope;
Like the sacred Labarum, which guided the Roman,
From the shores of the Gulf to the Delaware's slope,
'Tis the trust of the free and the terror of from foemen--
Page 36


Fling its folds to the air, while we boldly 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.

I.


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-- shrilly blow!
We must meet the foe--the hateful foe!
Blow, then, for battle, fiery battle, blow,
Thou mountain bugle, blow!
Blow! blow!
Page 37

II.


See, as blows our bugle, how they gather!
Bugle blow--shrilly blow!
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!
Let the bugle blow--shrilly blow!
Though we perish, we must meet the foe!
Blow for battle, mountain bugle, blow!
Let each mountain echo feel thee blow--
Blow!, 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 the foe!
Give them joyful welcome, bugle, blow!
Welcome for the champion--and the foe!
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!
Shrilly blow, thou mountain bugle, blow!
Blow! blow!

Page 38

(From the Richmond Dispatch.)

A BUGLE NOTE.

BY A. LANSING BURROWS.


Tramp! tramp! tramp! steadily on to the foe;
With banners afloat in the stirring breeze,
As briskly 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,
Steadily onto the foe!

Tramp tramp! tramp! on to the field of strife;
Leaving mothers and sisters behind,
Close to fathers and brothers kind,
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 sulfurous 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! 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!
Page 39


Shout! shout! shout! o'er the victory now!
Aye, in dismay th' invader flies,
And the murderous war of the tempest dies.
Shout! 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 victory won!

WHAT THE BUGLES SAY.

Inscribed to Capt. BEN. LANE POSEY for his gallantry and efficiency in battle at Pensacola.

BY A. B. MEEK.


Hark! the bugles on the 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!"

Hark! again the bugles sound!
Tarala! Tarala!
How their echoes scream around!
Tarala! Tarala!
Page 40


"Lo! the grim and impious foe,
Comes to lay your altars low--
Comes to blast, with sword and brand,
Vandal-like, your happy land!
Led by rapine--fired by lust--
Heedless of the right and just--
Fetters brings he, chains and gyves,
Dark dishoner for your wives!"


Hark! then hark! the bugles' call!
Tarala! 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!"

(From the Charleston Courier.)

THE MARSEILLES HYMN.

Translated 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.
Page 41


Rise, Southern men! from villages and farms,
Cry vengeance! Oh! shall worse than pirate slaves,
Strangle your children in their mothers arms,
And spit on dust that fills your father's graves!
To arms! sons of the South! come, like a mountain flood,
March on! let every vale o'erflow with th' invaders' blood.


What would these men, whose lives black treachery stains?
Conspirators to plunder long endeared?
For whom these vile, these ignominious chains?
These fetters for our brother's hands prepared?
Sons 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 mountain flood,
March on! let every vale o'erflow with th' invaders' blood.

What! shall this grovelling race, who cringe for gold,
Make laws for Southern 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 hands,
Ne'er shall our necks beneath their yokes be led!
Of despots such as these, shall Southern bands,
Ne'er own the mastery, 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 every 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'erpowered in the field,
Long as the race endures, each child, for aye,
Page 42


Shall from his cradle strike the sounding shield!
To arms! sons of the South! come, like a mountain 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 bred,
Who dig for blood, deep in their mother'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 yield!
Under our glorious flag, let victory
Respond to freedom's call! Wipe off the stain
Of th' invaders' feet! Dying, they will see
Thy triumph, 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. (MCCORD) VERNON.


Rise Southmen! the day of your glory,
The hour of your destiny's near--
The fame of your chivalrous story
Page 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 from the spoiler your bowers.

Come Texas! send forth your bold Rangers,
The heroes of battles untold--
Accustomed to trials 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 sons 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-Shooters of Arkansas, come!

O! where are your hunters, Kentucky,
Who filled the whole world with their fame?
The fates, in an hour so unlucky,
Page 44


Have bidden your valor in shame.
Now, by the brave 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;
O rise! from your desolate mourning,
And follow the foe in his path--
Nor mountains, nor 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 heard by the Southman with pride--
It rose in the morn of your glory,
And down on the future shall set:--
The fame of your chivalrous story,
The Southman can never forget.

The SOLDIER who led forth your legions,
And answered his country's first call,
Away in those far Southern regions,
Page 45


Now stands at the head of us all--
Above, his high valor outshining,
The glory of bloody old Mars,
The praise of a nation is twining
Our flag with its girdles and stars.


O Maryland! deep we deplore thee,
And weep at thy prison and chains;
But eye of the brave watches o'er thee,
While a spark of thy freedom remains.
Thou may'st bend as the storm rushes o'er thee,
And rock with the tyrant's dread shake;
O Maryland! deep we deplore thee!
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,
From the soil where the green sod is pressing
The dust of my fathers laid low--

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.
My country, I may not implore thee!
The brave have not fallen in vain;
Thy sons heard the warning before me,
And hasten to glory again.

Florida! thou region of flowers;
Rich land of the laurel and bay,
Though cradled in warn sunny bowers,
Page 46


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!
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 thunderings 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 sons of a valiant old land!

Send forth, Arizona, thy trappers,
Though youngest and weakest of all;
Thy yeomen, thy miners, and choppers,
Page 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 great mother of States,
Thy name yields 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! whose ashes
Repose in thy sanctified dust,
Above them the infidel dashes,
Invading thine own hallowed trust.
O spirits of heroes immortal!--
Look down on the whole Southern host,
And see from the heaven-high portal
That Southmen 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 in snow;
Yet the God of your fathers' old battles
Now urges their children to go.

Page 48

THE GATHERING OF THE SOUTHERN VOLUNTEERS.

AIR--"La Marseillaise."


Sons of the South! behold, the morning
God-like ascends his golden 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--
Kentucky chose us from her sons--
We rose from Georgia's fair Savannah--
We come from volleying 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, O friends, to-morrow,
If in your ranks I fall to-day.
With good report console their sorrow
At home the dear ones far away.
At home the dear ones far away.
Page 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 folds under.
To arms, men of the South, your country shall be free!
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 I my bride--we could not speak.
And I my bride--we could not speak.
And I left nothing: if I 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!
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 court 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 chose our shore for her dominion,
And sought the home of WASHINGTON.
And sought the home of WASHINGTON.
Page 50


Sons of the South! the dome of heaven
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 the storm!

(From the Charleston Mercury.)

VOLUNTEERED.


I know the sun shines, and the lilacs are blowing,
And the summer sends kisses by beautiful May--
Oh! to see the rich treasures the Spring is bestowing,
And think--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 ROBBY, the four year old, watched for the coming
Of 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 ROBBY'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,
Page 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, say if I must!"

I smiled on the boy, though my heart it seemed breaking;
My eyes filled with tears so I turned them away,
And answered him, "WILLIE, 'tis well you are waking--
Go act as your father would bid you to-day!"

I sit in the window, and 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 where 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 lace of my darling to come.

And if he should fall, his young life he has given
For Freedom's sweet sake--and for me, I will pray
Once more with my HARRY and ROBBY in Heaven
To meet the dear boy that enlisted to-day.

Page 52

GONE TO THE BATTLE FIELD.

BY JOHN ANTROBUR.


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 about the mill,
Wave, wave their heroes on!

The grain is full and ripe,
And the harvest moon is nigh,
But the farmer'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 many 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,
Page 53


The fairest daughters of the land,
Brave-hearted cheered us on,
With tender smiles that banish tears,
And words to thrill 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!
And children whose voices haunt us still,
Gathered on every knoll and hill,
Cheering us on our way!

Yonder, with feeble limbs,
A matron with silver hair,
Knelt trembling down a soldier'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,
And strike while Mercy dies!

Page 54

(From the Macon Telegraph.)

ARE YOU READY.


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?

From the stern, relentless North,
Comes the peal of thunder forth;
We will meet them--nothing loth--
Are you ready?

They were brothers in the past,
But their friendship could not last--
Fling our banner to the blast!
Are you ready?

When the cannon's martial roar
Shakes our sunny Southern shore;
Will you death upon them pour?
Are you ready?

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?
Page 55


From a thousand hills and plains,
Where the soul of freedom reigns
Come the loud and hearty strains,
WE ARE READY!

(From the Spartansburg Express.)

PRO ARIS ET FOCIS.

Song of the Spartan Rifelmen.


Our banner--the gift of the gentle and fair--
How proudly it flouts in the morning air;
From the spot where we plant it no Spartan will fly--
"Pro aris et focis"--we'll conquer or die!

If the threads of coercion we hear from afar,
Shall swell in the breeze to the tempest of war,
The Rifles of Sparta will wave it on high,
"Pro aril et focis"--we'll conquer or die!

"Pro aris 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--
"Pro aris et focis"--we'll conquer or die!

The race to the swift does not always belong,
Nor victory perch on the side of the strong;
But the battle is theirs who faithfully cry,
"Pro aris et focis"--we'll conquer or die!

Page 56

(From the Sunday Delta.)

"OLD BETSY."

BY JOHN KILLUM.


Come with the rifle so long in 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 ye 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 his month.

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.

Page 57

(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!
As far, if not as fine a sight,
As long ago, we drew!

And pick we out a trusty flint!
A real white and blue,
Perhaps 'twill win the other tint,
Before the hunt is through!

Give boys your brass percussion caps!
Old "shut-pan" suits us well!
There's something in the sparks; perhaps
There's something in the smell!

We've seen the red-coat Briton bleed!
The red-skin Indian, too!
We never thought to draw a bead
On Yankee-doodle-doo!

But, Bessie! bless your dear old heart!
Those days are mostly done;
And now we must revive the art
Of shooting on the run!
Page 58


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! old tool,
And take him half and half;
We'll aim to hit lrim, if a fool,
And miss him if a calf!

We'll teach these shot-gun boys the tricks,
By which a war is won;
Especially how seventy-six
Took tories on the run!

(From the Columbus Times.)

THE SPIRIT OF '60.


Sons of the South arise,
Your insulted country cries,
To arms! to arms!
Ho! round her standard rally,
From mountain steep to valley
Sound war's alarms.
Page 59


Up, men of metal brave,
Thy heroines will weave
Banners for thee.
Beneath them take thy stand,
Brothers of a mighty band,
For liberty!

Let Southern hearts unite,
In common cause make fight,
'Gainst Southern foes!
In your councils patriots meet
The old spirit of '76,
That mid thee glows.

(From the Southern Monthly.)

OUR FAITH IN '61.

BY A. J. REQUIER.

That governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed; that whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it, and to institute a new government, laying its foundation on such principles, and organizing its powers in such form as TO THEM SHALL SEEM most likely to effect their safety and happiness.
--Declaration of Independence, July 4, '76.

Not yet one hundred years have flown
Since, on this very spot,
The subjects of a Sovereign throne--
Liege-masters of their lot,
This high decree sped o'er the sea,
From council-board and tent,
"No earthly power can rule the free
But by their own consent!"
Page 60


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 name,
Until the starry cross they bore
Set all the skies aflame!

And States 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!"

Oh, sordid age! oh, ruthless rage!
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 war rant is the grasping hand
Of creeds without a Christ!

States that have 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
Page 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 impotently 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;
Round Freedom's lair, with weapons bare,
We greet the light divine,
Of those who throned the goddess there,
And yet inspire the shrine!

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!"

Page 62

(From the Georgia Crusader.)

SEVENTY-SIX AND SIXTY-ONE,

BY JOHN W. OVERALL.


Ye spirits of the glorious dead!
Ye watchers in the sky!
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,
Page 63


With sabres pointing to the sky
And sanctified of God--
The smoke shall rise from every pile,
Till freedom's fight is done,
And every mouth throughout the South,
Shall shout for sixty-one.

(From the Charleston Courier.)

ETHNOGENESIS.

Ode on Occasion of the Meeting of the Southern Congress.

BY HENRY TIMROD.

I.


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 with 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 golden grain!
Page 64


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 endless sheets unfold
THE SNOW OF SOUTHERN SUMMERS! Let the earth
Rejoice! beneath those fleeces soft and warm
Our happy land shall sleep
In a repose as deep,
As if we lay intrenched behind
Whole leagues of Russian ice and Arctic storm!

II.


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 limits 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 by 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
Page 65


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!
On one side, pledges broken, creeds that lie,
Religion sunk in vague philosophy,
Empty professions, pharisaic leaven,
Souls that would sell 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!
Then, honor without flaws,
Truth, Bible reverence, charitable wealth,
And for the poor and humble, laws which give,
Not the mean right 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, O brothers, we shall find at need
A Moses with his rod!

IV.


But let our fears--if fears we have--he still,
And turn us to the future! Could we climb
Some Alp, in thought, and view the coming time,
We should indeed behold a sight to fill
Our eyes with happy tears!
Not for the glories which a hundred years
Shall bring us; not for lands from sea to sea,
And wealth, and power, and peace, though these shall be;
Page 66


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! The hour is not yet ripe
When all shall 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-off Arctic shores
May sometimes catch upon the softened breeze
Strange tropic warmth and hints of summer seas!

INDEPENDENCE HYMN.

BY A. J. REQUIER.


True sons of the South, from whose militant sires
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 did, 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.
Page 67


Our ramparts are souls which instinctively turn
To their homes as the sensitive steel to the star;
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 their 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 strong to repel as the rush of the gale,
And firm to resist as the oak-rooted tree:
Waft the soul-stirring strains, &c.

(From the Charleston Mercury.)

ARISE.

BY C. G. POYNAS.


Carolinians! who inherit
Blood which flowed in patriot veins?
Rouse ye from lethargic slumber!
Rouse and fling away your chains!
Page 68


From the mountain to the seaboard,
Let the cry be--Up! 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! 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!
On the lighting'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 submission is disgrace,
Southern women call for action--
Ready would the danger face!

Yes, in many a matron's bosom
Burns the Spartan spirit now;
From the maiden's eye its flashes,
Glows upon her snowy brow:
Page 69


E'en our infants in their prattle,
Urge us on to risk our all--
"Would we leave them, as a blessing,
The oppressor's hateful thrall!"


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 lordly mansion
To the humblest negro cot.
God of Battles! hear our cry--
Give us nerve to do or die!

(From the Charleston Courier.)

SOUTH CAROLINA.

BY WILLIE LIGHTHEART.


My land, my 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 Italia's are!

Oh, land of flowers! thy golden years,
So winterless and fair,
Page 70


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 hope!
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!
Page 71


God hath not for another land
So much of heaven to give!
But, oh! the hearts--thy daughters' hearts!
How beautiful are they!
Where Virtue makes her dwelling place,
And there asserts her sway.


Thy sons--proud Carolina shout!
And glory in thy might!
Thousands of hearts, as true as steel,
Are eager for the fight.
They'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! O Southern breeze!
To the deep measure of true patriot songs,
And bid our sunny land and surging seas
Swell the war chorus of a people's wrongs.

Kiss it, O Southern sun!
With the life-kiss which thrilled the desert stone,
And let prophetic murmurs from it won,
Nerve brave, high souls to stern, heroic tone.
Page 72


Guard it, O Southern heart!
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 we rise;
No need to ask the watch man of the night,
The lurid gleam within yon 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.

O 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!

And blest by woman's prayers,
And by men's vows, and children's hopeful love,
Float forth, O banner, till our mother wears
The cloudless radiance of her sky above!

Page 73

(From the New Orleans Delta.)

FORT SUMTER.

BY H.


Ask the Fort--let peace prevail,
Claim the Fort--but yet forbear:
But if words of kindness fail,
Then cry rescue! 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 your own;
Be thou still, chivalric town!
Let the seeds of wrong be sown;
People! strike but not till when
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! take the Fort.
Page 74


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! then hide thee, shrunk and pale--
Hide in corridor or court;
Then, at last, let blood prevail--
Carolina! take the Fort.

(From the Charleston Courier.)

OLD MOULTRIE.

Dedicated to Col. Ripley.

BY C. G. POYNAS.


The splendor falls on bannered walls
Of ancient Moultrie, great in story;
And flushes now his scar-seamed brow
With rays 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, by His power,
Through the fierce battle hour.
Page 75


The splendor fell--his banners swell
Majestic forth to catch the shower
Our own loved blue 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--
O! fort, beloved and hoary!
Rest there--and tell that faith
Shall never suffer scath;
Rest there--and glow afar,
Hope's ever burning star!

        NOTE.--All lovers of poetry will know in whose liquid gold I have dipped my brush to illumine the picture.

Page 76

FORTS MORRIS AND MOULTRIE.


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 down there, along the strand,
Active work--and keen-eyed 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 sea!

Soon Old Moultrie caught the signal--
Fort beloved of Southern heart!
And tho' Sumter frowned defiant,
With loud war-note took her part;
And those brave men ne'er 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!
Page 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.

O, 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 I know the cause is holy,
Not a doubt is in my soul;
And a hero is each soldier
On our Sacred Muster Roll!
Page 78

(From the Charleston Courier.)

A CHRONICLE OF FORT SUMTER.


Night lingered over quiet shore and bay
In grim repose where fort and battery lay;
All silent yet, though many an anxious ear
Of wife or mother's love is strained to hear;
All darkness yet, but on the Eastern sky
The first gray dawn is watched by many an eye:
It comes, and with 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 fragments 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 peals with shot on shot and shell on shell.

Where 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 RUFFIN, bold Virginia's son, desires
His hand should wake the battery's slumbering fires.
Courteous as gallant the Palmettos yield
The brave old man 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 shot replies;
Mortar and ponderous cannon hurl afar,
Page 79


With steadfast aim, the thunderbolts of war.
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 chief's, the soldier's part;
Restrains the rash, to ardor fires the slow,
Stript to the work directs each deadly blow,
And drives his red-hot tempest on the foe.


Midway the fires between, across the tide,
No answering gun is heard on Sumter's side;
In stern repose the silent fortress lies,
And seems to scorn assailing enemies.
At last the fierce volcanic fires 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 April 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!"
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 sulphurous columns to the sky,
While lighter jets of vapor tell
Increasing showers 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 flame and reeking smoke,
His foes a kindred courage recognize,
And cheer each adverse bullet as it flies.
Page 80


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 skiff across the tide,
With YOUNG, 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.

Page 81

(From the Charleston Courier.)

SUMTER--A BALLAD OF 1861.

BY E. O. 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 sullen 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.
Page 82


Then shot and shell flew thick and fast,
The war-dogs howling spoke,
And thundering came their angry roar,
Through wreathing clouds of smoke.

Again to fight for liberty,
Our gallant sons had come,
They smiled when came the bugle call,
And laughed when tapped the drum.

From cotton and from corn-field,
From desk and forum, too,
From work-bench and from anvil, came
Our gallant boys and true!

A hireling band had come to awe,
Our chains to rivet fast;
Yon lofty pile scowls on our homes,
Seaward 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 shone
Like love-lights on her shores.

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--
Page 83


"Father," she spoke, and Heavenward look'd,
"Father, thy will be done."


See yonder group of maidens,
No joyous laughter now,
For cares lie heavy on each heart,
And cloud 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 due thought of fear,
Prompt at their country's call,
They yielded forth their dearest hopes,
And gave to honor all!

Now comes a message from below--
Oh! quick the tidings tell--
"At Moultrie and Fort Johnson, too,
And Morris', all are well!"

Then mark the joyous brightning;
See how each bosom swells;
That friends and loved ones all are safe,
Each to the other tells.

All day the shot flew thick and fast;
All night the cannon roared,
While wreathed in smoke stern Sumter stood,
And vengeful answer poured.

Again the sun rose, bright and clear,
Twas on the thirteenth day,
While, lo! at prudent distance moored,
Five hostile vessels lay.
Page 84


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 report 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 return.

Go back, go back, ye cravens;
Go back the way ye came;
Ye gallant, would-be, men-of-war,
Go! to your country's shame.

'Mid fiery storm of shot and shell,
'Mid smoke and roaring flame,
See how Kentucky's gallant son
Does honor to her name!

See how be answers gun for gun--
Hurrah! his flag is down!
Page 85


The white! the white! Oh see it wave!
Is echoed all around.


Now ring the bells a joyous peal,
And rend withj-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 take up the cry,
"Our soil's redeemed from hateful yoke,
We'll keep it pure or die."

(From the N. O. Catholic Standard.)

THE LADY CAROLINE'S TEA PARTY.

        "The fair young daughter of the proud old Huguenots," who was so badly treated by her long-faced Northern lord, has at last been compelled, with the approval of Mother Church, to separate herself and her faithful retainers from him and his sordid vassals; and now, in the first flush and freedom of her liberty, she has asked to her board her lovely sisters. Florida, Mississippi, and Alabama have already accepted the invitation, and their examples will soon be followed by Georgia and Louisiana. The queenly Virginia will also be present, and Texas, Arkansas, Tennessee and Kentucky. What a goodly company! In the meantime, the Lady Caroline's chivalric story has been sung by one of the sweetest of the bards who have drawn their inspiration from the Southern Cross. This charming lay, by the gifted HERMINE, should be heard in ringing melody throughout "the broad rich lands" of the Lady Caroline--through "her mountains and her valleys, and by her borders on the sea." So be it

Page 86

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 bowed 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 part!
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--
Page 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 sanctify the 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 Charleston Courier.)

CAROLINA.

BY HENRY TIMROD.

I.


The despot treads thy sacred sands,
Thy pines give shelter to his bands,
Thy sons stand by with idle hands,
Carolina!
Page 88


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!

II.


Call on thy children of the hill,
Wake swamp and river, coast and rill;
Rouse all thy strength and all thy skill,
Carolina!

Cite wealth and science, trade and art,
Touch with thy fire the cautious mart,
And pour thee thro' the people's heart,
Carolina!

Till 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 breast defied;
How RUTLEDGE ruled and LAURENS died,
Carolina!
Page 89


Cry till thy summons, heard at last,
Shall fall, like MARION'S bugle blast,
Reechoed from the haunted Past,
Carolina!

IV.


I hear a murmur as of waves
That grope their way thro' sunless eaves,
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!

Shout! let it reach the startled Huns!
And roar with all thy festal guns!
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!

No! 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!
Page 90

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 ruffians trod,
No helpless child shall look to God;
All shall be safe beneath thy sod,
Carolina!

VII.


Girt with such wills to do and bear,
Assured! in right, and mailed in prayer,
Thou wilt not bow thee to despair,
Carolina!

Throw thy bold banner to the breeze,
Front with thy ranks the threatening seas!
Like thine own proud armorial trees,
Carolina!

Fling down the gauntlet to the Huns,
And roar the challenge from thy guns,
Then leave the future to thy sons,
Carolina!

Page 91

SAVANNAH.


Thou hast not drooped thy stately head,
Thy woes a wondrous beauty shed!
Not like a lamb to slaughter led,
But with the lion's monarch tread,
Thou comest to thy battle-bed,
Savannah! oh, Savannah!

Thine arm of flesh is girded strong;
The blue veins swell beneath thy wrong;
To thee, the triple cords belong,
Of woe, and death, and shameless wrong;
And spirit vaunted long, too long!
Savannah! 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!

Thy clean, white hand is opened wide
For weal or woe, thou Freedom Bride
The sword-sheath sparkles at thy side,
Thy plighted troth, whate'er betide,
Thou hast but Freedom for thy guide,
Savannah! 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, love, and flowers
Are smiling o'er this land of ours,
My sunny home, Savannah!
Page 92


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 carest thou for woe or night?
My rebel home, Savannah!

Come--for the crown is on thy head!
Thy woes a wond'rous beauty shed,
Not like a lamb to slaughter led,
But with the lion's monarch tread,
Oh! come unto thy battle-bed,
Savannah! oh, Savannah!

(From the Nashville Patriot.)

THE SOUTHERN PLEIADES.

BY LAURA LORRIMER.


When first our Southern flag arose,
Beside the heaving sea,
It bore upon its silken 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 out amid the mist and gloom,
To light our country'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!

Page 93

THE LONE STAR FLAG.

On the Secession of Texas.

BY H. 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.

Page 94

SIC SEMPER TYRANNIS.

BY WM. H. HOLCOMBE, M. D.


When the bloody and perjured usurper called forth
His minions and tools--to the shame of the North!
And they swarmed to our borders with insolent tread,
Oppressing the living, insulting the dead;
Virginia awoke from her dr