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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Southern War Songs, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Southern War Songs
+       Camp-Fire, Patriotic and Sentimental
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: September 26, 2011 [EBook #37538]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUTHERN WAR SONGS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
+generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
+Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+SOUTHERN WAR SONGS
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: THE SOUTHERN CROSS BATTLE FLAG DESIGNED BY GEN. JOSEPH E.
+JOHNSTON.
+
+THE STARS AND BARS.
+
+FLAG ADOPTED BY THE CONFEDERATE CONGRESS IN 1863.
+
+BATTLE FLAG ADOPTED BY THE CONFEDERATE CONGRESS IN 1863.]
+
+
+
+
+  SOUTHERN WAR SONGS.
+
+  Camp-Fire, PATRIOTIC and Sentimental.
+
+
+  COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY W. L. FAGAN
+
+
+  _ILLUSTRATED._
+
+
+  New York
+  M. T. RICHARDSON & CO.
+  1890.
+
+
+
+
+  COPYRIGHTED BY
+  M. T. RICHARDSON.
+  1889.
+
+
+
+
+_PREFACE._
+
+
+_The war songs of the South are a part of the history of the Lost Cause.
+They are necessary to the impartial historian in forming a correct
+estimate of the animus of the Southern people._
+
+_Emotional literature is always a correct exponent of public sentiment,
+and these songs index the passionate sincerity of the South at the time
+they were written._
+
+_Poetic merit is not claimed for all of them; still each one embodies
+either a fact or a principle. Written in an era of war, when the public
+mind was thoroughly aroused, some may now appear harsh and vindictive.
+Eight millions of people read and sang them. This fact alone warrants
+their collection and preservation._
+
+_A greater number of the songs have been gathered from Southern
+newspapers. The task has been laborious, but still a labor of love, as no
+work of this kind has before been offered to the public._
+
+_Thanks are due Mr. Henri Wehrman, of New Orleans, for permission to use
+valuable copyrights, also to the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston; A. E.
+Blackmar, New Orleans; and J. C. Schreiner, Savannah, Ga. Mr. G. N.
+Galloway, Philadelphia, has given material assistance._
+
+_The work is not complete, still the compiler claims for it the largest
+and only collection of Confederate songs published._
+
+_W. L. FAGAN._
+
+_Havana, Ala., December 1, 1889._
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF ENGRAVINGS.
+
+
+                                                                  _Page_
+
+  "_A flash from the edge of a hostile trench_,"                     351
+
+  "_And his life-blood is ebbing and splashing_,"                     64
+
+  "_Arise to thy lattice, the moon is asleep_,"                      173
+
+  "_Come back to me, my darling son, and light my life again_,"      257
+
+  _Confederate note_,                                                371
+
+  "_Farewell to earth and all its beauteous bloom_,"                 161
+
+  "_For I know there is no other e'er can be so dear to me_,"        297
+
+  _General J. E. B. Stuart_,                                         331
+
+  _General Lee_,                                                      97
+
+  "_He faintly smiled and waved his hand_,"                          235
+
+  "_He's in the saddle now_,"                                        201
+
+  "_* * * How mellow the light showers down on that brow_,"          117
+
+  "_I am thinking of the soldier as the evening shadows fall_,"      183
+
+  "_I'm a good old rebel_,"                                          361
+
+  "_I marched up midout fear_,"                                       11
+
+  "_Jack Morgan_,"                                                   282
+
+  "_Knitting for the soldiers! matron--merry maid_,"                  54
+
+  "_Knitting for the soldiers! wrinkled--aged crone_,"                53
+
+  "_Lady, I go to fight for thee_,"                                  151
+
+  "_Lying in the shadow, underneath the trees_,"                      75
+
+  "_Massa_,"                                                         216
+
+  "_Massa run, aha_,"                                                217
+
+  "_My right arm bared for fiercer play_,"                           139
+
+  "_No matter should it rain or snow, That bugler is bound
+  to blow_,"                                                          23
+
+  "_Only a list of the wounded and dead_,"                            87
+
+  "_So we'll bury 'old Logan' to-night_,"                            127
+
+  "_The Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star_,"                  32
+
+  "_The hero boy lay dying_,"                                        107
+
+  "_Then gallop by ravine and rocks_,"                               316
+
+  "_There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread_,"              63
+
+  "_Though fifteen summers scarce have shed their blossoms on
+  thy brow_,"                                                        256
+
+  "_Three acres I_,"                                                  43
+
+  "_Thy steed is impatient his mistress to bear_,"                   172
+
+  "_We'll one day meet again_,"                                       44
+
+  "_When the stars are softly smiling * * * Then I think of
+  thee and Heaven_,"                                                 299
+
+
+
+
+SOUTHERN WAR SONGS.
+
+
+
+
+GOD SAVE THE SOUTH.[1]
+
+_National Hymn._
+
+Words by GEORGE H. MILES; Music by C. W. A. ELLERBROCK; Permission of A.
+E. BLACKMAR.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass, owner of the copyright.]
+
+
+  God save the South,
+  God save the South,
+    Her altars and firesides,
+  God save the South,
+  Now that the war is nigh,
+  Chanting our battle-cry
+    Freedom or death.
+
+  CHORUS--Now that the war is nigh,
+          Now that we arm to die,
+          Chanting the battle cry,
+            Freedom or death.
+
+  God be our shield,
+  At home or afield,
+  Stretch thine arm over us,
+    Strengthen and save.
+  What tho' they're three to one,
+  Forward each sire and son,
+  Strike till the war is won,
+    Strike to the grave.
+                              CHORUS.
+
+  God made the right,
+  Stronger than _might_,
+  Millions would trample us
+    Down in their pride.
+  Lay _Thou_ their legions low,
+  Roll back the ruthless foe,
+  Let the proud spoiler know
+    God's on our side.
+                              CHORUS.
+
+  Hark honor's call,
+  Summoning all,
+  Summoning all of us
+    Unto the strife.
+  Sons of the South awake!
+  Strike till the brand shall break,
+  Strike for dear Honor's sake,
+    Freedom and Life.
+                              CHORUS.
+
+  _Rebels_ before,
+  Our fathers of yore,
+  _Rebels_ the righteous name
+    _Washington_ bore.
+  Why, then be our's the same,
+  The name that he snatch'd from shame,
+  Making it first in fame,
+    Foremost in war.
+                              CHORUS.
+
+  War to the hilt,
+  Their's be the guilt,
+  Who fetter the freeman,
+    To ransom the slave.
+  Up, then, and undismayed,
+  Sheathe not the battle blade
+  Till the last foe is laid
+    Low in the grave!
+                              CHORUS.
+
+  God save the South,
+  God save the South,
+  Dry the dim eyes that now
+    Follow our path.
+  Still let the light feet rove
+  Safe through the orange grove;
+  Still keep the land we love
+    Safe from _Thy_ wrath.
+                              CHORUS.
+
+  God save the South,
+  God save the South,
+  Her altars and firesides,
+  God save the South!
+    For the great war is nigh,
+  And we will win or die,
+  Chanting our battle cry,
+    Freedom or death.
+                              CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+"ALLONS ENFANS."
+
+_The Southern Marseillaise._
+
+By A. E. BLACKMAR, New Orleans, 1861.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  Sons of the South awake to glory,
+    A thousand voices bid you rise,
+  Your children, wives and grandsires hoary,
+    Gaze on you now with trusting eyes,
+    Gaze on you now with trusting eyes;
+  Your country ev'ry strong arm calling,
+    To meet the hireling Northern band
+    That comes to desolate the land
+  With fire and blood and scenes appalling,
+    To arms, to arms, ye brave;
+    Th' avenging sword unsheath!
+
+  March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death.
+  March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death.
+
+  Now, now, the dang'rous storm is rolling,
+    Which treacherous brothers madly raise,
+  The dogs of war let loose, are howling
+    And soon our peaceful towns may blaze,
+    And soon our peaceful towns may blaze.
+  Shall fiends who basely plot our ruin,
+    Unchecked, advance with guilty stride
+    To spread destruction far and wide,
+  With Southrons' blood their hands embruing?
+    To arms, to arms, ye brave!
+    Th' avenging sword unsheath!
+
+  March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death,
+  March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death.
+
+  With needy, starving mobs surrounded,
+    The jealous, blind fanatics dare
+  To offer, in their zeal unbounded,
+    Our happy slaves their tender care,
+    Our happy slaves their tender care.
+  The South, though deepest wrongs bewailing,
+    Long yielded all to Union name;
+    But _Independence_ now we claim,
+  And all their threats are unavailing.
+    To arms, to arms, ye brave!
+    Th' avenging sword unsheath!
+
+  March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death,
+  March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death.
+
+This may be called the rallying song of the Confederacy. Composed early in
+1861, it was sung throughout the South while the soldiers were hurried to
+Virginia with this, the grandest of martial airs, as a benediction.
+
+
+
+
+"THE SOUTHERN CROSS."
+
+By ST. GEO. TUCKER, of Virginia.
+
+Published in 1860, a few months before the author's death.
+
+
+  Oh! say can you see, through the gloom and the storms,
+    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 the beacon afar,
+  Giving promise of peace, or assurance in war!
+
+  CHORUS--'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 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 boldly appeal to each heart that can feel,
+  And crush the foul viper 'neath Liberty's heel!
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  'Tis the emblem of peace, 'tis the day-star of hope,
+    Like the sacred _Labarum_ that guided the Roman;
+  From the shores of the Gulf to the Delaware's slope,
+    'Tis the trust of the free and the terror of foeman.
+  Fling its folds to the air, while we boldly declare
+  The rights we demand or the deeds that we dare!
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  And if peace should be hopeless and justice denied,
+    And war's bloody vulture should flap its 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!
+
+  CHORUS--And the Cross of the South shall triumphantly wave
+          As the flag of the free or the pall of the brave.
+
+
+
+
+THE STAR OF THE WEST.
+
+_Charleston Mercury._
+
+"_Dixie._"
+
+
+  I wish I was in de land o' cotton,
+  Old times dair ain't not forgotten--
+          Look away, etc.
+  In Dixie land whar I was born in,
+  Early on one frosty mornin'--
+          Look away, etc.
+
+  CHORUS--Den I wish I was in Dixie.
+
+  In Dixie land dat frosty mornin',
+  Jis 'bout de time de day was dawnin'--
+          Look away, etc.
+  De signal fire from de East bin roarin',
+  Rouse up, Dixie, no more snorin'--
+          Look away, etc.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Dat rocket high a-blazing in de sky,
+  'Tis de sign dat de snobbies am comin' up nigh--
+          Look away, etc.
+  Dey bin braggin' long, if we dare to shoot a shot,
+  Dey comin' up strong and dey'll send us all to pot,
+    Fire away, fire away, lads in gray.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTHRON'S CHANT OF DEFIANCE.
+
+By C. A. WARFIELD, Kentucky.
+
+Music by A. E. BLACKMAR.
+
+
+  You can never win us back
+      Never! never!
+  Though we perish on the track
+      Of your endeavor;
+  Though our corses strew the earth,
+  That smiled upon their birth,
+  And blood pollutes each hearth
+      Stone forever!
+
+  We have risen to a man,
+      Stern and fearless;
+  Of your curses and your ban
+      We are careless.
+  Every hand is on its knife,
+  Every gun is pruned for strife,
+  Every _palm_ contains a life,
+      High and peerless!
+
+  You have no such blood as ours
+      For the shedding:
+  In the veins of cavaliers
+      Was its heading!
+  You have no such stately men
+  In your "abolition den,"
+  To march through foe and fen,
+      Nothing dreading!
+
+  We may fall before the fire
+      Of your legions,
+  Paid with gold for murderous hire--
+      Bought allegiance;
+  But for every drop you shed,
+  You shall have a mound of dead,
+  And the vultures shall be fed
+      In your regions.
+
+  But the battle to the strong
+      Is not given,
+  While the judge of right and wrong
+      Sits in Heaven!
+  And the God of David still
+  Guides the pebble with his will.
+  There are giants yet to kill--
+      Wrongs unshriven.
+
+
+
+
+THE DUTCH VOLUNTEER.
+
+As sung by HARRY MACARTHY in his Personation Concerts, 1862.
+
+
+  It vas in Ni Orleans city,
+    I first heard der drums und fife,
+  Und I vas so full mit lager,
+    Dot I care nix for my life.
+
+  Mit a schicken tail stuck in mine hat,
+    I marched up midout fear,
+  Und joined der Southern Army,
+    Like a Dutche--a volunteer.
+
+  Ven ve vent apoard der steampote,
+    Ve told um all good-by,
+  Ter vimins wafed der handkerchief,
+    Und I pegun to gry.
+
+  Vhen we got to vere de var vas,
+    Dey stood us in a row,
+  Und learned us ven dey hollered out,
+    Vich vay ve have to go.
+
+  Dey loads our guns mit noding,
+    Und learn to shoot um right,
+  Und charge upon der Yankee,
+    Ven no Yankee vas in sight.
+
+  My name is Yacob Schneider,
+    Und I yust come here to-night
+  From Hood's Army up in Georgia,
+    Ver all de times dey fight.
+
+[Illustration: "I marched up midout fear."]
+
+  But, ven I see der Yankee coming,
+    _So mad it makes me feel_,
+  Dot I jumped apoard der steamer cars,
+    Und come down to Mopeel.
+
+  Now, all young folks vot goes out dere,
+    To fight your country's foes,
+  Take my adfice, brepare yourself
+    Pefore out dere you goes.
+
+  Take a couble parrels of sauer-kraut,
+    Und lots of schweitzer kase,
+  Also, some perloona sausage,
+    Und everyting else you please.
+
+  Und ven der pattle commence,
+    Kill all der Yankees you can,
+  Und schump perhind some pig oak-tree,
+    For dot ish der officer's blan.
+
+  Ven der pattle gits vide open,
+    Und dem palls dey comes so tick,
+  Oh! you tink you must go somewhere,
+    _Pecause you vas so sick_.
+
+  Yust lower your knapsack down yer back,
+    Und cover up your rear,
+  Den you von't get vounded,
+    Like dis Dutcher Volunteer.
+
+
+
+
+SOUTHERN SONG OF FREEDOM.
+
+_Air--"The Minstrel's Return."_
+
+
+  A nation has sprung into life
+    Beneath the bright Cross of the South;
+  And now a loud call to the strife
+    Rings out from the shrill bugle's mouth.
+  They gather from morass and mountain,
+    They gather from prairie and mart,
+  To drink, at young Liberty's fountain,
+    The Nectar that kindles the heart.
+
+  CHORUS--Then, hail to the land of the pine!
+            The home of the noble and free;
+          A palmetto wreath we'll entwine
+            Round the altar of young Liberty!
+
+  Our flag, with its cluster of stars,
+    Firm fixed in a field of pure blue,
+  All shining through red and white bars,
+    Now gallantly flutters in view.
+  The stalwart and brave round it rally,
+    They press to their lips every fold,
+  While the hymn swells from hill and from valley,
+    "Be God with our Volunteers bold."
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  Th' invaders rush down from the North,
+    Our borders are black with their hordes;
+  Like wolves for their victims they flock,
+    While whetting their knives and their swords.
+  Their watchword is "Booty and Beauty,"
+    Their aim is to steal as they go;
+  But, Southrons, act up to your duty,
+    And lay the foul miscreants low.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  The God of our fathers looks down
+    And blesses the cause of the just;
+  His smile will the patriot crown
+    Who tramples his chains in the dust.
+  March, March, Southrons! Shoulder to shoulder,
+    One heart-throb, one shout for the cause;
+  Remember--the world's a beholder,
+    And your bayonets are fixed at your doors!
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+J. J. H.
+
+
+
+
+"CALL ALL! CALL ALL!"
+
+By "GEORGIA."
+
+
+  Whoop! the Doodles have broken loose,
+  Roaring round like the very deuce;
+  Lice of Egypt, a hungry pack,--
+  After 'em, boys, and drive 'em back.
+
+  Bull dog, terrier, cur, and fice,
+  Back to the beggarly land of ice,
+  Worry 'em, bite 'em, scratch and tear
+  Everybody and everywhere.
+
+  Old Kentucky is caved from under,
+  Tennessee is split asunder,
+  Alabama awaits attack,
+  And Georgia bristles up her back.
+
+  Old John Brown is dead and gone!
+  Still his spirit is marching on,--
+  Lantern-jawed, and legs, my boys,
+  Long as an ape's from Illinois.
+
+  Want a weapon? Gather a brick,
+  Club or cudgel, or stone or stick;
+  Anything with a blade or butt,
+  Anything that can cleave or cut.
+
+  Anything heavy, or hard, or keen!
+  Any sort of a slaying machine!
+  Anything with a willing mind,
+  And the steady arm of a man behind.
+
+  Want a weapon? Why, capture one!
+  Every Doodle has got a gun,
+  Belt, and bayonet, bright and new;
+  Kill a Doodle, and capture _two_!
+
+  Shoulder to shoulder, son and sire!
+  All, call! all to the feast of fire!
+  Mother and maiden, and child and slave,
+  A common triumph or a single grave.
+
+_Rockingham (Va.) Register._
+
+
+
+
+ANOTHER YANKEE DOODLE.
+
+
+  Yankee Doodle had a mind
+    To whip the Southern traitors,
+  Because they didn't choose to live
+    On codfish and potatoes,
+      Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
+      Yankee Doodle dandy,
+        And to keep his courage up
+      He took a drink of brandy.
+
+  Yankee Doodle said he found
+    By all the census figures,
+  That he could starve the rebels out,
+    If he could steal their niggers.
+      Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
+      Yankee Doodle dandy,
+        And then he took another drink
+      Of gunpowder and brandy.
+
+  Yankee Doodle made a speech;
+    'Twas very full of feeling;
+  "I fear," says he, "I cannot fight,
+    But I am good at stealing."
+      Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
+      Yankee Doodle dandy,
+        Hurrah for Lincoln, he's the boy
+      To take a drop of brandy.
+
+  Yankee Doodle drew his sword,
+    And practised all the passes;
+  Come, boys, we'll take another drink
+    When we get to Manassas.
+      Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
+      Yankee Doodle dandy,
+        They never reached Manassas plain,
+      And never got the brandy.
+
+  Yankee Doodle soon found out
+    That Bull Run was no trifle;
+  For if the North knew how to steal,
+    The South knew how to rifle.
+      Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
+      Yankee Doodle dandy,
+        'Tis very clear I took too much
+      Of that infernal brandy.
+
+  Yankee Doodle wheeled about,
+    And scampered off at full run,
+  And such a race was never seen
+    As that he made at Bull Run.
+      Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
+      Yankee Doodle dandy,
+        I haven't time to stop just now,
+      To take a drop of brandy.
+
+  Yankee Doodle, oh! for shame,
+    You're always intermeddling;
+  Let guns alone, they're dangerous things;
+    You'd better stick to peddling.
+      Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
+      Yankee Doodle dandy.
+        When next I go to Bully Run
+      I'll throw away the brandy.
+
+
+
+
+"YE MEN OF ALABAMA!"
+
+By JOHN D. PHELAN, of Montgomery, Ala.
+
+_Air--"Ye Mariners of England."_
+
+
+  Ye men of Alabama,
+    Awake, arise, awake
+  And rend the coils asunder
+    Of this abolition snake.
+  If another fold he fastens--
+    If this final coil he plies--
+  In the cold clasp of hate and power,
+    Fair Alabama dies.
+
+  Though round your lower limbs and waist
+    His deadly coils I see,
+  Yet, yet, thank heaven! your head and arms,
+    And good right hand, are free;
+  And in that hand there glistens--
+    O, God! what joy to feel!
+  A polished blade, full sharp and keen,
+    Of tempered State rights' steel.
+
+  Now, by the free-born sires
+    From whose brave loins ye sprung,
+  And by the noble mothers
+    At whose fond breasts ye hung!
+  And by your wives and daughters,
+    And by the ills they dread
+  Drive deep that good secession steel
+    Right through the monster's head.
+
+  This serpent abolition
+    Has been coiling on for years.
+  We have reasoned, we have threatened,
+    We have begged almost with tears;
+  Now, away, away with union,
+    Since on our Southern soil
+  The only _union_ left us
+    Is an anaconda's coil.
+
+  Brave little South Carolina
+    Will strike the self-same blow,
+  And Florida, and Georgia,
+    And Mississippi, too,
+  And Arkansas, and Texas;
+    And at the death, I ween,
+  The head will fall beneath the blows
+    Of all the brave fifteen.
+
+  In this, our day of trial,
+    Let feuds and factions cease,
+  Until above this howling storm
+    We see the sign of peace.
+  Let Southern men, like brothers,
+    In solid phalanx stand,
+  And poise their spears, and lock their shields
+    To guard their native land.
+
+  The love that for the Union
+    Once in our bosoms beat,
+  From insult and from injury
+    Has turned to scorn and hate;
+  And the banner of secession,
+    To-day we lift on high,
+  Resolved, beneath that sacred flag,
+    To conquer, _or to die_!
+
+_Montgomery Advertiser_, October, 1860.
+
+
+
+
+1776-1861.
+
+_Air--"Bruce's Address."_
+
+
+  Sons of the South! from hill and dale,
+  From mountain-top, and lowly vale,
+  Arouse ye now! 'tis Freedom's wail--
+      "To arms! to arms!" she cries.
+  Strike! for freedom in the dust;
+  Strike! to crush proud Mammon's lust;
+  Strike! remembering _God is just_!
+      Thus a freeman dies.
+
+  Southrons! who with Beauregard,
+  Day and night, keep watch and ward--
+  Southrons! whom the angels guard,
+      Strike for Liberty!
+  Smite the motley hireling throng;
+  Smite! as Heaven smites the wrong;
+  Smite! they fly before the strong,
+      In God and Liberty!
+
+  By your hearth-stones, by your dead,
+  By all the fields where patriots bled,
+  A freeman's home or gory bed
+      Let the alternate be.
+  Weeping wives and mothers here,
+  Sisters, daughters, dear ones near--
+  Seas of blood for every tear,
+      God and Liberty!
+
+  Louder swells the battle-cry,
+  Flaming sword and flashing eye
+  Light the field when freemen die!
+      Death or Liberty!
+  Backward roll your poisonous waves,
+  Infidel and ruffian slaves!
+  'Tis Heaven's own wrath your blindness braves--
+      God and Liberty!
+
+C.
+
+WASHINGTON, D. C.
+
+
+
+
+WOULD'ST THOU HAVE ME LOVE THEE?
+
+By ALEX. B. MEEK, Mobile, Ala.
+
+
+  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 rose and myrtle;
+    Drop thy dreamy harp of love!
+  Like young Korner--scorn the turtle,
+    When the eagle screams above!
+
+  Dost thou pause? Let dastards dally,
+    Do thou for thy country fight!
+  'Neath her noble emblem rally--
+    "God, our country, and our right!"
+  Listen! now her trumpets calling
+    On her sons to meet the foe!
+  Woman's heart is soft and tender,
+    But 'tis proud and faithful too:
+  Shall she be her land's defender?
+    Lover! Soldier! up and do!
+
+  Seize thy father's ancient falchion,
+    Which once flashed as freedom's star!
+  'Til 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!
+  Sweet is love in moonlight bowers!
+    Sweet the altar and the flame!
+  Sweet the Spring-time with her flowers!
+    Sweeter far the patriot's name!
+
+  Should the God who 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 last red field of strife,
+  'Mid thy country's heroes dying,
+    Than become a dastard's wife!
+
+
+
+
+THAT BUGLER;
+
+OR, THE UPIDEE SONG.
+
+Words by A. G. KNIGHT.
+
+Music by ARMAND.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  The shades of night were falling fast,
+      Tra-la-la, tra-la-la,
+  The bugler blows that well-known blast
+      Tra-la-la, tra-la-la,
+  No matter should it rain or snow,
+  That bugler he is bound to blow.
+
+  CHORUS--Up--i--de--i--de--i--di,
+          U--pi--de, u--pi--de,
+          U--pi--de--i--de--i--di,
+          Up--i--de--i--di,
+          U--pi--de--i--de--i--di,
+          U--pi--de--u--pi--di,
+          U--pi--de--i--de--i--di.
+
+  He saw, as in their bunks they lay,
+      Tra-la-la, tra-la-la,
+  How soldiers spent the dawning day,
+      Tra-la-la, tra-la-la,
+  "There's too much comfort there," said he,
+  "And so I'll blow the 'Reveille.'"
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  In nice log huts he saw the light,
+  Of cabin fires, warm and bright,
+  The sight afforded him no heat,
+  And so he sounded the "Retreat."
+
+  Upon the fire he saw a pot,
+  Of sav'ry viands smoking hot,
+  Said he, "they shan't enjoy that stew,"
+  Then "Boots and saddles" loudly blew.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+  "No matter should it rain or snow,
+  That bugler he is bound to blow."]
+
+  They scarce their half cooked meal begin,
+  Ere orderly cries out "Fall in,"
+  Then off they march thro' mud and rain,
+  P'raps only to march back again.
+
+  But soldiers, you were made to fight,
+  To starve all day, and watch all night,
+  And should you chance get bread and meat,
+  That bugler will not let you eat.
+
+  Oh hasten then, that glorious day,
+  When buglers shall no longer play,
+  When we through peace shall be set free,
+  From "Tattoo," "Taps," and "Reveille."
+
+
+
+
+ADDRESS OF THE WOMEN TO THE SOUTHERN TROOPS.
+
+By MRS. J. T. H. CROSS.
+
+_Air--"Bruce's Address."_
+
+
+  Southern men, unsheathe the sword,
+  Inland and along the board;
+  Backward drive the Northern horde--
+        Rush to victory!
+
+  Let your banners kiss the sky,
+  Be "The right" your battle cry!
+  Be the God of battles nigh--
+        Crown you in the fight!
+
+  Pressing back the tears that start,
+  We behold your hosts depart:
+  Saying, with heroic heart,
+        Clothe your arms with might!
+
+  Lower the proud oppressor's crest!
+  Or, if he should prove the best,
+  Dead, not dishonored, rest
+        On the field of blood!
+
+  We--may God so give us grace!--
+  Sons will rear, to take your place;
+  Strong the foeman's steel to face--
+        Strong in heart and hand!
+
+  Death your serried ranks may sweep,
+  Proud shall be the tears we weep,
+  Sacredly our hearts shall keep
+        Memory of your deeds!
+
+  Though our land be left forlorn,
+  Spirit of the Southern-born,
+  Northern rage shall laugh to scorn--
+        Northern hosts defy.
+
+  He that last is doomed to die
+  Shall, with his expiring sigh,
+  Send aloft the battle-cry,
+        "God defend the right!"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+RALLYING SONG OF THE VIRGINIANS.
+
+By SUSAN A. TALLY.
+
+_Air--"Scots, Wha hae wi' Wallace bled."_
+
+
+  Now rouse ye, gallant comrades all,
+    And ready stand, in war's array,--
+  Virginia sounds her battle call,
+    And gladly we obey.
+  Our hands upon our trusty swords,
+    Our hearts with courage beating high--
+  We'll fight as once our fathers fought,
+    To conquer or to die!
+
+  Adieu, awhile, to loving eyes,
+    And lips that breathe our names in prayer;
+  To them our holiest thoughts be given,
+    For them our swords we bare!
+  Yet linger not when honor calls,
+    Nor breathe one sad, regretful sigh,--
+  Defying fate, for love we'll live,
+    Or for our country die!
+
+  No tyrant hand shall ever dare
+    Our sacred Southern homes despoil,
+  No tyrant foot shall e'er invade
+    Our free Virginia soil.
+  Lo! from her lofty mountain peaks,
+    To plains that skirt the Southern seas,
+  We fling her banner to the winds,
+    Her motto on the breeze!
+
+  We hear the roll of stormy drums,
+    We hear the trumpet's call afar!
+  Now forward, gallant comrades all,
+    To swell the ranks of war;
+  Uplift on high our battle cry,
+    When fiercest rolls the bloody fight,
+  "Virginia! for the Southern cause,
+    And God defend the right!"
+
+
+
+
+POP GOES THE WEASEL.
+
+From "JACK MORGAN SONGSTER."
+
+
+  King Abraham is very sick,
+  Old Scott has got the measles,
+  Manassas we have now at last--
+        Pop goes the weasel!
+
+  All around the cobbler's house
+  The monkey chased the people,
+  And after them in double haste,
+        Pop goes the weasel!
+
+  When the night walks in, as black as a sheep,
+  And the hen on her eggs was fast asleep,
+  When into her nest with a serpent's creep,
+        Pop goes the weasel!
+
+  Of all the dance that ever was planned,
+  To galvanize the heel and the hand,
+  There's none that moves so gay and grand,
+        As--pop goes the weasel.
+
+
+
+
+THE MOTHER'S FAREWELL.
+
+_Air--"Jeannette and Jeannot."_
+
+From "JACK MORGAN SONGSTER."
+
+
+  You are going to leave me, darling,
+    Your country's foes to fight,
+  And though I grieve, I murmur not,
+    I know we're in the right.
+  Here's your father's sword and rifle,
+    Emulate him in the fight;
+  Let no coward stain be on your name,
+    That always has shone bright.
+
+  Then farewell, my loved one,
+    May a widow'd mother's prayer,
+  Still shield thy head in battle,
+    And God keep thee in His care;
+  Then use your sword and rifle well,
+    Ne'er falter in the strife--
+  You fight for home and freedom,
+    For honor and for life.
+
+  And when the "Stars and Bars"
+    Float in triumph o'er each band
+  That has driven the invaders back,
+    Who dared pollute our land,
+  Then come back to me with honor,
+    And a mother's hand shall place
+  The laurel wreath your country gives
+    Each victor's brow to grace.
+
+
+
+
+WE SWEAR.
+
+_Louisville Courier._
+
+
+  Kneel, ye Southrons, kneel and swear,
+    On your bleeding country's altar,
+  All the tyrants' rage to dare,
+    E'en the cursed tyrants' halter,
+          We swear, we swear, we swear!
+
+  Swear by all the shining stars,
+    Swear in blunt old Anglo-Saxon,
+  To defend the stars and bars
+    Hallowed by the blood of Jackson,
+          We swear, etc.
+
+  Swear by all the noble deeds,
+    By heroic valor prompted;
+  Swear that while our country bleeds,
+    Gleaming blades shall not be wanted,
+          We swear, etc.
+
+  Swear our country shall be free;
+    Submit to subjugation? Never!
+  Swear the stars and bars shall be
+    Our insignia forever,
+          We swear, etc.
+
+
+
+
+FREEDOM'S NEW BANNER.
+
+By DAN. E. TOWNSEND, _Richmond Dispatch_, June 30, 1862.
+
+
+  When clouds of oppression o'ershaded
+    The banner that liberty bore,
+  Bright stars from the galaxy faded,
+    The day of its splendor was o'er;
+  Those stars, in a fresh constellation,
+    A sky in the South now adorn;
+  And blazon throughout all creation
+    That freedom's new banner is born.
+
+  For the land that's richest in beauty,
+    The homestead of justice and right,
+  Whose sons are the foremost in duty,
+    Whose daughters are peerless and bright:
+  For brave hearts in battle defending
+    The honor and truth of our cause;
+  For our trust in victorious ending,
+    The welkin rings out its huzzas.
+
+  Our lives and our fortunes enlisted,
+    Our honor, our hopes, and our prayers,
+  Upholding the act that resisted
+    The wrong of a series of years.
+  May the Father in Heaven approve us,
+    In this the most sacred of wars;
+  May his hand, to protect, be above us
+    While cheering the Stars and the Bars.
+
+
+
+
+THE BONNIE BLUE FLAG.
+
+By HARRY MACARTHY.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  We are a band of brothers, and native to the soil,
+  Fighting for our liberty, with treasure, blood and toil;
+  And when our rights were threatened, the cry rose near and far,
+  Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag, that bears a Single Star!
+
+  CHORUS.--Hurrah! Hurrah! for Southern Rights, Hurrah!
+           Hurrah! for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star!
+
+  As long as the Union was faithful to her trust,
+  Like friends and like brethren kind were we and just;
+  But now when Northern treachery attempts our rights to mar,
+  We hoist on high the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star.
+                                              CHORUS.
+
+  First, gallant South Carolina nobly made the stand;
+  Then came Alabama, who took her by the hand;
+  Next, quickly Mississippi, Georgia and Florida,
+  All raised on high the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star.
+                                              CHORUS.
+
+  Ye men of valor, gather round the banner of the right,
+  Texas and fair Louisiana, join us in the fight;
+  Davis, our loved President, and Stephens, statesman rare,
+  Now rally round the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star.
+                                              CHORUS.
+
+[Illustration: "The Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star."]
+
+  And here's to brave Virginia! the Old Dominion State,
+  With the young Confederacy at length has link'd her fate;
+  Impelled by her example, now other States prepare,
+  To hoist on high the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star.
+                                              CHORUS.
+
+  Then cheer, boys, raise the joyous shout,
+  For Arkansas and North Carolina now have both gone out;
+  And let another rousing cheer for Tennessee be given,
+  The Single Star of the Bonnie Blue Flag has grown to be Eleven.
+                                              CHORUS.
+
+  Then here's to our Confederacy, strong we are and brave,
+  Like patriots of old, we'll fight our heritage to save;
+  And rather than submit to shame, to die we would prefer,
+  So cheer for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star.
+
+  CHORUS.--Hurrah! Hurrah! for Southern Rights, Hurrah!
+           Hurrah! for the Bonnie Blue Flag has gained the Eleventh Star!
+
+
+
+
+"OH, HE'S NOTHING BUT A SOLDIER."
+
+
+  Oh, he's nothing but a soldier; he's coming here to-night,
+  For I saw him pass this morning, with his uniform so bright;
+  He was coming in from picket, whilst he sang a sweet refrain,
+  And he kissed his hand at some one, peeping through the window pane.
+
+  Ah! he rode no dashing charger, with black and flowing mane,
+  But his bayonet glistened brightly, as the sun lit up the plain;
+  No waving plume or feather flashed its crimson in the light,
+  He belongs to the light infantry, and came to the war to fight.
+
+  Oh, he's nothing but a soldier, his trust is in his sword,
+  To carve his way to glory through the servile Yankee horde;
+  No pompous pageant heralds him, no sycophants attend;
+  In his belt you see his body guard, his tried and trusty friend.
+
+  Oh, he's nothing but a soldier, yet his eyes are very fine,
+  And I sometimes think, when passing, they're peeping into mine;
+  Though he's nothing but a soldier--come, let me be discreet--
+  Yet really for a soldier, his toilet's very neat.
+
+  He has been again to see us, the gentleman in gray,
+  He's called to see us often, our house is on his way;
+  Ofttimes he sadly seeks the shade of yonder grove of trees,
+  I watched him once--this soldier--I saw him on his knees.
+
+  Oh, he's nothing but a soldier, but this I know full well.
+  He has a heart of softness, where tender virtues dwell;
+  For once when we were talking, and no one else was near,
+  I saw him very plainly try to hide a starting tear.
+
+  Ah! he's nothing but a soldier; but then its very queer.
+  Whenever he is absent I'd much rather have him near;
+  He's gone to meet the foeman, to stay his bloody track,
+  O Heaven! shield the soldier; O God! let him come back.
+
+
+
+
+SOUTHERN WAR-CRY.
+
+_Air--"Scots, wha hae."_
+
+
+  Countrymen of Washington!
+  Countrymen of Jefferson!
+  By old Hick'ry oft led on
+        To death or victory!
+
+  Sons of men who fought and bled,
+  Whose blood for you was freely shed,
+  Where Marion charged and Sumpter led,
+        For freeman's rights!
+
+  From the Cowpens' glorious way,
+  Southron valor led the fray
+  To Yorktown's eventful day,
+        First we were free!
+
+  At New Orleans we met the foe;
+  Oppressors fell at every blow;
+  There we laid the usurper low,
+        For maids and wives!
+
+  Who on Palo Alto's day,
+  'Mid fire and hail at Monterey,
+  At Buena Vista, led the way?
+        "Rough-and-Ready."
+
+  Southrons all; at Freedom's call,
+  For our homes united all,
+  Freemen live, or freemen fall!
+        Death or liberty!
+
+
+
+
+DIXIE'S LAND.
+
+_As sung by the Confederate Soldier._
+
+
+  Away down South in de fields of cotton,
+  Cinnamon seed and sandy bottom;
+        Look away, look away,
+        Look away, look away.
+  Den 'way down South in de fields of cotton,
+  Vinegar shoes and paper stockings;
+        Look away, look away,
+        Look away, look away.
+  Den I wish I was in Dixie's Land,
+        Oh--oh! Oh--oh!
+  In Dixie's land I'll take my stand,
+  And live and die in Dixie's Land,
+        Away, away, away,
+        Away down South in Dixie.
+
+  Pork and cabbage in de pot,
+  It goes in cold and comes out hot;
+        Look away, look away,
+        Look away, look away.
+  Vinegar put right on red beet,
+  It makes them always fit to eat;
+        Look away, look away,
+        Look away, look away.
+  Den I wish I was in Dixie's Land,
+        Oh--oh! Oh--oh!
+  In Dixie's land I'll take my stand,
+  And live and die in Dixie's Land,
+        Away, away, away,
+        Away down South in Dixie.
+
+
+
+
+ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF LIEUT.-COL. CH. B. DREUX.
+
+By JAMES R. RANDALL.
+
+Permission of HENRI WEHRMAN, _New Orleans, La._
+
+
+  Weep, Louisiana, weep! thy gallant dead
+  Weave the green laurel o'er the undaunted head!
+  Fling thy bright banner o'er the breast which bled
+              Defending thee!
+  Weep, weep, Imperial City, deep and wild!
+  Weep for thy martyred and heroic child,
+  The young, the brave, the free, the undefiled,
+              Ah, weep for him.
+  Lo! lo! the wail surgeth from embatteled bands,
+  By Yorktown's plains and Pensacola's sands,
+  Re-echoing to the golden sugar lands,
+              Adieu! Adieu!
+
+  The death of honor was the death he craved,
+  To die where weapons clashed and pennons waved,
+  To welcome Freedom o'er the opening impetuous grave,
+              And live for aye!
+  His blood had too much lightning to be still,
+  His spirit was the torrent, not the rill,
+  The gods have loved him, and the Eternal Hill
+              Is his at last!
+  He died while yet his chainless eye could roll,
+  Flashing the conflagrations of his soul,
+  The rose and mirror of the bold Creole,
+              He sleepeth well.
+
+  Lament, lone mother, for his early fate,
+  But, bear thy burden with a hope elate,
+  For thou hast shrined thy jewels in the state,
+              A priceless boon!
+  And thou, sad wife, thy sacred tears belong
+  To the untarnished and immortal throng,
+  For he shall fire the poet's heart and song,
+              In thrilling strains.
+  And the fair virgins of our sunny clime,
+  Shall wed their music to the minstrel's rhyme,
+  Making his fame melodious for all time;
+              It cannot die.
+
+
+
+
+BULL RUN.
+
+A PARODY.
+
+
+  At Bull Run, when the sun was low,
+  Each Southern face grew pale as snow,
+  While loud as jackdaws rose the crow
+    Of Yankees boasting terribly!
+
+  But Bull Run saw another sight,
+  When, at the deepening shades of night,
+  Toward Fairfax Court House rose the flight
+    Of Yankees running rapidly.
+
+  Then broke each corps with terror riven,
+  Then rushed the steeds from battle driven,
+  For men of battery Number Seven
+    Forsook their Red Artillery!
+
+  Still on McDowell's farthest left,
+  The roar of cannon strikes one deaf,
+  Where furious Abe and fiery Jeff
+    Contend for death or victory.
+
+  The panic thickens--off, ye brave!
+  Throw down your arms! your bacon save!
+  Waive Washington, all scruples waive,
+    And fly, with all your chivalry!
+
+
+
+
+HURRAH!
+
+By a MISSISSIPPIAN.--_Mobile Register._
+
+
+  Hurrah! for the Southern Confederate State,
+    With her banner of white, red, and blue;
+  Hurrah! for her daughters, the fairest on earth,
+    And her sons, ever loyal and true!
+  Hurrah! and hurrah! for her brave volunteers,
+    Enlisted for freedom or death;
+  Hurrah! for Jeff. Davis, commander-in-chief,
+    And three cheers for the Palmetto wreath!
+  Hurrah! for each heart that is right in the cause;
+    That cause we'll protect with our lives;
+  Hurrah! for the first one who dies on the field,
+    And hurrah! for each one who survives!
+  Hurrah! for the South--shout hurrah! and hurrah!
+    O'er her soil shall no tyrant have sway,
+  In peace or in war we will ever be found
+    "Invincible," now and for aye.
+
+
+
+
+GATHERING SONG.
+
+_Air--"Bonnie Blue Flag."_
+
+By ANNIE C. KETCHUM.
+
+
+  Come, brothers! rally for the right!
+    The bravest of the brave
+  Sends forth her ringing battle-cry
+    Beside the Atlantic wave!
+  She leads the way in honor's path!
+    Come, brothers, near and far,
+  Come rally 'round the Bonnie Blue Flag
+    That bears a single star!
+
+  We've borne the Yankee trickery,
+    The Yankee gibe and sneer,
+  Till Yankee insolence and pride
+    Know neither shame nor fear;
+  But ready now, with shot and steel,
+    Their brazen front to mar,
+  We hoist aloft the Bonnie Blue Flag
+    That bears a single star!
+
+  Now Georgia marches to the front,
+    And close beside her come
+  Her sisters by the Mexique Sea,
+    With pealing trump and drum!
+  Till, answering back from hill and glen,
+    The rallying cry afar,
+  A NATION hoists the Bonnie Blue Flag
+    That bears a single star!
+
+  By every stone in Charleston Bay,
+    By each beleaguered town,
+  We swear to rest not, night nor day,
+    But hunt the tyrants down!
+  Till, bathed in valor's holy blood,
+    The gazing world afar,
+  Shall greet with shouts the Bonnie Blue Flag,
+    That bears the cross and star!
+
+
+
+
+A SOUTHERN SONG.
+
+By MISS MARIA GRASON.
+
+
+  While crimson drops our hearthstones stain,
+  And Northern despots forge our chain,
+  O God! shall freemen strike in vain?
+
+  Shall tyrants desecrate the sod
+  Our fathers hallowed with their blood,
+  Or cowards tread where heroes trod?
+
+  The lowering tempest darkens round;
+  And at the bugle's silvery sound
+  The fiery war-horse spurns the ground.
+
+  The thunder of his iron tread
+  Sweeps o'er the dying and the dead;
+  The trembling earth is blushing red.
+
+  'Mid wreathing smoke, and flashing steel,
+  And blazing cannons' deafening peal
+  Our brave battalions charge and wheel.
+
+  The maiden sees her lover there!
+  Far in the battle's lurid glare
+  He stands, his only shield her prayer.
+
+  Oh, may that warrior in his pride
+  Return with honor to her side,
+  Or die as old Dentatus died!
+
+QUEEN ANNE CO., MD.
+
+
+
+
+A CONFEDERATE OFFICER TO HIS LADY LOVE.
+
+MAJ. MCKNIGHT ("Asa Hartz"), A. A. G., General Loring's staff, while a
+prisoner of war, at Johnston's Island, wrote the following:
+
+
+  My love reposes on a rosewood frame--
+          A bunk have I;
+  A couch of feathery down fills up the same--
+          Mine's straw, but dry;
+  She sinks to sleep at night with scarce a sigh--
+  With waking eyes I watch the hours creep by.
+
+  My love her daily dinner takes in state--
+          And so do I(?);
+  The richest viands flank her silver plate--
+          Coarse grub have I?
+  Pure wines she sips at ease, her thirst to slake--
+  I pump my drink from Erie's limpid lake!
+
+[Illustration: "Three Acres I."]
+
+  My love has all the world at will to roam--
+          Three acres I;
+  She goes abroad or quiet sits at home--
+          So cannot I;
+  Bright angels watch around her couch at night--
+  A Yank, with loaded gun, keeps me in sight.
+
+  A thousand weary miles do stretch between
+          My love and I;
+  To her, this wintry night, cold, calm, serene,
+          I waft a sigh;
+  And hope, with all my earnestness of soul,
+  To-morrow's mail may bring me my parole!
+
+[Illustration: "We'll one day meet again."]
+
+  There's hope ahead! We'll one day meet again,
+          My love and I;
+  We'll wipe away all tears of sorrow then--
+          Her love-lit eye,
+  Will all my many troubles then beguile,
+  And keep this wayward reb. from Johnston's Isle.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTHERN MARSEILLAISE.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  Ye men of Southern hearts and feeling,
+    Arm! arm! your struggling country calls!
+  Hear ye the guns now loudly pealing,
+    From Sumpter's high embattled walls!
+  Shall a fanatic horde in power
+    Send forth a base and hireling band
+  To desolate our happy land
+    And make our Southern freemen cower?
+
+  CHORUS--To arms, to arms! each one,
+          Th' sword unsheathe, and raise the gun,
+          Then on, rush on, ye brave and free,
+          To death and victory.
+
+  Now clouds of war begin to gather,
+    And black and murky is our sky--
+  Shall we submit--no, never, never!
+    Let death or freedom be our cry--
+  In Heaven's justice firm relying,
+    We'll nobly struggle to be free,
+  And bravely gain our liberty,
+    Or die our Northern foes defying.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  The peaceful homes of Texas burning,
+    And Harper's Ferry's blood-stained soil,
+  Proclaim how strong their hearts are yearning,
+    For murder, pillage, crime and spoil.
+  Shall we our feelings longer smother,
+    And bear with patience yet our wrongs,
+  Their jeers, their crimes, their taunts and thongs
+    And greet them still as friend and brother?
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  Their tyranny we'll bear no longer,
+    But burst asunder every tie,
+  Although in number they are stronger,
+    We will be free, or we will die!
+  Too long the South has wept, bewailing,
+    That falsehood's dagger Yankees wield,
+  But freedom is our sword and shield,
+    And all their arts are unavailing.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+A SOUTHERN GATHERING SONG.
+
+By L. VIRGINIA FRENCH.
+
+_Air--"Hail Columbia."_
+
+
+  Sons of the South, beware the foe!
+  Hark to the murmur, deep and low,
+  Rolling up like the coming storm,
+  Swelling up like the sounding storm,
+  Hoarse as the hurricanes that brood
+  In space's far infinitude!
+  Minute guns of omen boom
+  Through the future's folded gloom;
+  Sounds prophetic fill the air,
+  Heed the warning--and prepare!
+        Watch! be wary--every hour
+        Mark the foeman's gathering power--
+        Keep watch and ward upon his track
+        And crush the rash invaders back!
+
+  Sons of the brave!--a barrier staunch
+  Breasting the alien avalanche--
+  Manning the battlements of RIGHT;
+  Up, for your _Country_, "_God and right_!"
+  Form your battalions steadily,
+  And strike for death or victory!
+  Surging onward sweeps the wave,
+  Serried columns of the brave,
+  Banded 'neath the benison of
+  Freedom's godlike Washington!
+        Stand! but should the invading foe
+        Aspire to lay your altars low,
+        Charge on the tyrant ere he gain
+        Your iron-arteried domain!
+
+  Sons of the brave! when tumult trod
+  The tide of revolution--God
+  Looked from His throne on "the things of time,"
+  And two new stars in the reign of time,
+  He bade to burn in the azure dome--
+  The freeman's LOVE and the freeman's HOME!
+  Holy of Holies! guard them well,
+  Baffle the despot's secret spell,
+  And let the chords of life be riven,
+  Ere you yield those gifts of heaven!
+        _Io paean!_ trumpet notes,
+        Shake the air where our banner floats;
+        _Io triumphe!_ still we see
+        _The land of the South is the home of the free!_
+
+
+
+
+CONFEDERATE LAND.
+
+By H. H. STRAWBRIDGE.
+
+
+  States of the South! Confederate Land!
+    Our foe has come--the hour is nigh;
+  His bale-fires rise on every hand--
+    Rise as one man, to do or die!
+  From mountain, vale, and prairie wide,
+    From forest vast, and field, and glen,
+  And crowded city, pour thy tide,
+    Oh fervid South! Oh patriot men!
+
+  CHORUS--Up! old and young; the weak, be strong!
+            Rise for the right,--hurl back the wrong,
+          And foot to foot, and hand to hand,
+            Strike for our own Confederate Land!
+
+  Make every house, and rock, and tree,
+    And hill, your forts; and fen and flood
+  Yield not! our soil shall rather be
+    One waste of flame, one sea of blood!
+  On! though perennial be the strife,
+    For honor dear, for hearthstone fires;
+  Give blow for blow! take life for life!
+    "Strike! 'till the last armed foe expires!"
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+WE'LL BE FREE IN MARYLAND.
+
+By R. E. HOLTZ.
+
+_Air--"Gideon's Band."_
+
+
+  The boys down South in Dixie's land,
+  The boys down South in Dixie's land,
+  The boys down South in Dixie's land
+    Will come and rescue Maryland.
+
+  CHORUS.--If you will join the Dixie band,
+           Here's my heart and here's my hand,
+           If you will join the Dixie band;
+           We're fighting for a home.
+
+  The Northern foes have trod us down,
+  The Northern foes have trod us down,
+  The Northern foes have trod us down,
+    But we will rise with true renown.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  The tyrants they must leave our door,
+  The tyrants they must leave our door,
+  The tyrants they must leave our door,
+    Then we'll be free in Baltimore.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  These hirelings they'll never stand,
+  These hirelings they'll never stand,
+  These hirelings they'll never stand,
+    Whenever they see the Southern band.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Old Abe has got into a trap,
+  Old Abe has got into a trap,
+  Old Abe has got into a trap,
+    And he can't get out with his Scotch cap.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Nobody's hurt is easy spun,
+  Nobody's hurt is easy spun,
+  Nobody's hurt is easy spun,
+    But the Yankees caught it at Bull Run.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  We'll rally to Jeff Davis true,
+  Beauregard and Johnston, too,
+  Magruder, Price, and General Bragg,
+    And give three cheers for the Southern Flag.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  We'll drink this toast to one and all,
+  Keep cocked and primed for the Southern call;
+  The day will come, we'll make a stand,
+    Then we'll be free in Maryland.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+JANUARY 30, 1862.
+
+[Illustration: Artillery Button.]
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTHRON'S WAR-SONG.
+
+By J. A. WAGINER. _Charleston Courier._
+
+
+  Arise! arise! with main and might,
+    Sons of the sunny clime!
+  Gird on the sword; the sacred fight
+    The holy hour doth chime.
+  Arise, the craven host draws nigh,
+    In thundering array;
+  Arise! ye braves! let cowards fly--
+    The hero bides the fray.
+
+  Strike hard, strike hard, thou noble band;
+    Strike hard with arm of fire!
+  Strike hard, for God and fatherland,
+    For mother, wife, and sire!
+  Let thunders roar, the lightning flash
+    Bold Southrons never fear
+  The bay'net's point, the sabre's crash--
+    True Southrons, do and dare!
+
+  Bright flow'rs spring from the hero's grave;
+    The craven knows no rest!
+  Thrice curs'd the traitor and the knave!
+    The hero thrice is bless'd.
+  Then let each noble Southron stand,
+    With bold and manly eye:
+  We'll do for God and fatherland;
+    We'll do, we'll do, or die!
+
+
+
+
+KNITTING FOR THE SOLDIERS.
+
+By MARY J. UPSHUR.
+
+
+  Knitting for the soldiers.
+    How the needles fly!
+  Now with sounds of merriment--
+    Now with many a sigh!
+
+  Knitting for the soldiers!
+    Panoply for feet--
+  Onward, bound to victory!
+    Rushing in retreat!
+
+  Knitting for the soldiers!
+    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 top 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!"
+  Like to Macbeth's witches
+    On enchanted ground.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+  "Knitting for the soldiers
+  Wrinkled--aged crone."]
+
+  Knitting for the soldiers
+    Still another pair!
+  And the feet that wear them
+    Speed thee onward--where?
+
+  To the silent city,
+    On their trackless way?
+  Homeward--bearing garlands?
+    Who of us shall say?
+
+[Illustration:
+
+  "Knitting for the soldiers!
+  Matron--merry maid."]
+
+  Knitting for the soldiers!
+    Heaven bless them all!
+  Those who win the battle,
+    Those who fighting fall.
+
+  Might our benedictions
+    Speedily win reply,
+  Early would they crown ye
+    All with victory.
+
+NORFOLK, VA., October 8, 1861.
+
+
+
+
+PATRIOTIC SONG.
+
+By DR. JOHN W. PAINE, Lexington, Va., June 30, 1862.
+
+_Air--"Gathering of the Clans."_
+
+
+  Rise, rise, mountain and valley men,
+    Bald sire and beardless son, each come in order,
+  True loyal patriots, muster and rally, men;
+    Drive the invader clear over the border;
+  Down from the mountain steep, up from the valley deep,
+    Come from the city, the town, and the village,
+  Let every loyal heart in the strife take a part,
+    Rescue our country from rapine and pillage.
+              Rise, rise, etc.
+
+  Men of the valley, descendants of heroes--
+    Heroes whom Washington honored and trusted--
+  Heirs of the fame and the hills of your fathers,
+    Men who have never been daunted or worsted;
+  Long, like all true men, we cherished the Union,
+    Long did we strive for our country's salvation;
+  Now when our very existence is threatened,
+    Rush to the rescue without hesitation.
+              Rise, rise, etc.
+
+  Say, shall we suffer the ruthless invader
+    O'er our fair valley to marshal his legions?
+  Loud calls Virginia, let every man aid her--
+    Aid her, and thus show his truth and allegiance.
+  Hark to the battle-cry, rush on to victory!
+    Banished forever be party and faction;
+  Let every loyal man rush to be in the van,
+    Led by the dauntless, the conqueror, Jackson.
+              Rise, rise, etc.
+
+--_Richmond Dispatch._
+
+
+
+
+OUR BRAVES IN VIRGINIA.
+
+_Air--"Dixie Land."_
+
+
+  We have ridden from the brave Southwest,
+  On fiery steeds, with throbbing breast;
+        Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
+  With sabre flash and rifle true,--
+        Hurrah! hurrah!--
+  The Northern ranks we will cut through,
+  And charge for old Virginia, boys;
+        Hurrah! hurrah!
+
+  We have come from the cloud-capp'd mountains,
+  From the land of purest fountains;
+        Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
+  Our sweethearts and wives conjure us,--
+        Hurrah! hurrah!
+  Not to leave a foe before us,
+  And strike for old Virginia, boys;
+        Hurrah! hurrah!
+
+  Then we'll rally to the bugle call;
+  For Southern rights we'll fight and fall;
+        Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
+  Our grey-haired sires sternly say,--
+        Hurrah! hurrah!
+  That we must die or win the day,
+  Three cheers for old Virginia, boys,
+        Hurrah! hurrah!
+
+  Then our silken banner wave on high;
+  For Southern homes we'll fight and die;
+        Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
+  Our cause is right, our quarrel just,--
+        Hurrah! hurrah!
+  We'll in the God of battles trust,
+  And conquer for Virginia, boys,
+        Hurrah! hurrah!
+
+
+
+
+BATTLE SONG OF THE INVADED.
+
+
+  The foe! the foe! They come! they come!
+    Light up the beacon pyre;
+  Light every hill and mountain home,
+    Give back the signal fire;
+  And wave the red cross on the night,
+    The blood-red cross of war--
+  What though we perish in the fight!
+    Our fathers died before!
+
+  Hark! lo their shouts upon the breeze,
+    Their banners in the sun,
+  And like the thunder of the seas
+    Their deep tread thunders on.
+  We'll meet them here on each bold height,
+    In every glen make head--
+  And give the battle to the right;
+    We will be free or dead.
+
+  We stand on sacred, holy ground,
+    Where thousand memories meet;
+  Our fathers' homes are all around,
+    Their graves beneath our feet;
+  Our roofs are mouldering far and wide,
+    That late smiled in the sun;
+  Our brides are weeping at our sides;
+    Gods! let them then come on!
+
+  Hurrah! hurrah! he gleams in sight;
+    It fires the brain to see
+  How the proud spoiler flashes bright
+    In war's gay panoply;
+  We'll show him that our fathers' brands
+    Nor rust nor time can stay;
+  With tramp and shouts, bold hearts and hands,
+    Up, freemen, and away!
+
+  The work is done, the strife is o'er,
+    The whirlwinds thundered by,--
+  There's not from hill to ocean shore
+    A foeman left to die.
+  Our brides are thronging every height,
+    They wave us weeping home;
+  God gives the battle to the right--
+    Back to our hearth-stones, come!
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG OF THE SNOW.
+
+By MRS. M. J. PRESTON, Lexington, Va.
+
+
+  Halt! the march is over;
+    Day is almost done;
+  Loose the cumbrous knapsack,
+    Drop the heavy gun.
+  Chilled, and worn, and weary,
+    Wander to and fro,
+  Seeking wood to kindle
+    Fires amidst the snow.
+
+  Round the camp-blaze gather,
+    Heed not sleep nor cold;
+  Ye are Spartan soldiers,
+    Strong, and brave, and bold.
+  Never Xerxian army
+    Yet subdued a foe,
+  Who but asked a blanket
+    On a bed of snow!
+
+  Shivering 'midst the darkness,
+    Christian men are found
+  There devoutly kneeling
+    On the frozen ground;
+  Pleading for their country
+    In its hour of woe,
+  For its soldiers marching
+    Shoeless through the snow!
+
+  Lost in heavy slumbers,
+    Free from toil and strife,
+  Dreaming of their dear ones--
+    Home, and child, and wife;
+  Tentless they are lying,
+    While the fires burn low--
+  Lying in their blankets,
+    'Midst December's snow.
+
+
+
+
+A NEW RED, WHITE AND BLUE.
+
+Written for a Lady, by JEFF. THOMPSON.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  Missouri is the pride of the Nation,
+    The hope of the brave and the free;
+  The Confederacy will furnish the rations,
+    But the fighting is trusted to thee;
+  For, brave boys, your soil has been noted,
+    And your flag has been trusted to you;
+  For freedom you have not yet voted,
+    But you fight for the Red, White and Blue.
+
+  CHORUS.--Three cheers, etc.
+
+  The Stars shall shine bright in the heaven,
+    But the Stripes should be trailed in the dust,
+  For they are no longer the sign of the haven
+    Of the brave, of the free, or the just;
+  The Bars now in triumph shall wave
+    O'er the land of the faithful and true;
+  O'er the home of the Southern brave,
+    Shall float the new Red, White and Blue.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+WAR SONG.
+
+
+  Come! come! come!
+  Come, brothers you are called;
+  Come, each one unappalled;
+  Come and defend your home!
+
+  Come! come! come!
+  The cannon's belching roar,
+  The musket's deadly pour--
+  Cry, men, defend your home!
+
+  Come! come! come!
+  Let the invitation sound,
+  Through town and country round,
+  Come, men, defend your home!
+
+  Come! come! come!
+  With a prayer to Him on high;
+  God grant us victory,
+  While fighting for our home.
+
+  Come! come! come!
+  Wait not, lest you live to see
+  Your loved ones crushed by tyranny,
+  And desolate your home!
+
+
+
+
+ALL QUIET ALONG THE POTOMAC TO-NIGHT.
+
+By LAMAR FONTAINE.
+
+Music by J. H. HEWETT.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  "All quiet along the Potomac to-night!"
+    Except here and there a stray picket
+  Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro,
+    By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
+
+  'Tis nothing! a private or two now and then
+    Will not count in the news of a battle;
+  Not an officer lost! only one of the men
+    Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle.
+
+  "All quiet along the Potomac to-night!"
+    Where soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;
+  And their tents in the rays of the clear Autumn moon,
+    And the light of their camp-fires are gleaming.
+
+  A tremulous sigh, as a gentle night wind
+    Through the forest leaves slowly is creeping;
+  While the stars up above, with their glittering eyes,
+    Keep guard o'er the army while sleeping.
+
+  There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread,
+    As he tramps from rock to the fountain,
+  And thinks of the two on the low trundle bed,
+    Far away, in the cot on the mountain.
+
+  His musket falls slack, his face, dark and grim,
+    Grows gentle with memories tender.
+  As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep,
+    And their mother--"may heaven defend her!"
+
+[Illustration: "There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread."]
+
+  The moon seems to shine forth as brightly as then--
+    That night, when the love, yet unspoken,
+  Leaped up to his lips, and when low-murmured vows
+    Were pledged to be ever unbroken.
+
+  Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,
+    He dashes off tears that are welling;
+  And gathers his gun closer up to his breast,
+    As if to keep down the heart's swelling.
+
+[Illustration: "And his life-blood is ebbing and splashing."]
+
+  He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree,
+    And his footstep is lagging and weary;
+  Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,
+    Towards the shades of the forest so dreary.
+
+  Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves?
+    Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing?
+  It looked like a rifle: "Ha, Mary, good-by!"
+    And his life-blood is ebbing and splashing.
+
+  "All quiet along the Potomac to-night!"
+    No sound save the rush of the river;
+  While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead,
+    And the picket's off duty forever!
+
+
+
+
+"INDEPENDENCE DAY."
+
+
+  Oh, Freedom is a blessed thing!
+    And men have marched in stricken fields,
+  And fought, and bled, to nobly grasp
+    The glorious fruit that freedom yields.
+  Then let the banner float the air,
+    The fairest ones of freedom's types--
+  The stars are fading one by one--
+    What matter? We have still the stripes!
+  Oh! happy men of Maryland,
+    Remember! we have still the stripes!
+
+  Why heed the cannon in your streets,
+    The bayonets that block your way?
+  Rejoice, for you were free men once,
+    And this is, "Independence Day."
+  Then let the banner float the air,
+    The fairest one of freedom's types--
+  The stars are fading one by one--
+    What matter? we have still the stripes!
+  Oh! happy men of Maryland,
+    Remember! we have still the stripes!
+
+
+
+
+FLIGHT OF DOODLES.
+
+
+  I come from old Manassas, with a pocket full of fun--
+  I killed forty Yankees with a single-barrelled gun;
+  It don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,
+  Big Yankee, little Yankee, all run or die.
+
+  I saw all the Yankees at Bull Run,
+  They fought like the devil when the battle first begun,
+  But it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you or I
+  They took to their heels, boys, and you ought to see 'em fly.
+
+  I saw old Fuss-and-Feathers Scott, twenty miles away,
+  His horses stuck up their ears, and you ought to hear 'em neigh;
+  But it don't make niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,
+  Old Scott fled like the devil, boys; root, hog, or die.
+
+  I then saw a "Tiger," from the old Crescent City,
+  He cut down the Yankees without any pity:
+  Oh! it don't make a diff-a-bitterence to neither you nor I,
+  We whipped the Yankee boys, and made the boobies cry.
+
+  I saw South Carolina, the first in the cause,
+  Shake the dirty Yankees till she broke all their jaws;
+  Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,
+  South Carolina give 'em--boys; root, hog, or die.
+
+  I saw old Virginia, standing firm and true,
+  She fought mighty hard to whip the dirty crew;
+  Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,
+  Old Virginia's blood and thunder, boys; root, hog, or die.
+
+  I saw old Georgia, the next in the van,
+  She cut down the Yankees almost to a man;
+  Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,
+  Georgia's some in a fight, boys; root, hog, or die.
+
+  I saw Alabama in the midst of the storm,
+  She stood like a giant in the contest so warm;
+  Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,
+  Alabama fought the Yankees, boys, till the last one did fly.
+
+  I saw Texas go in with a smile,
+  But I tell you what it is, she made the Yankees bile;
+  Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,
+  Texas is the devil, boys; root, hog, or die.
+
+  I saw North Carolina in the deepest of the battle,
+  She knocked down the Yankees and made their bones rattle;
+  Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,
+  North Carolina's got the grit, boys; root, hog, or die.
+
+  Old Florida came in with a terrible shout,
+  She frightened all the Yankees till their eyes stuck out;
+  Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,
+  Florida's death on Yankees; root, hog, or die.
+
+
+
+
+LAND OF KING COTTON.
+
+By JO. AUGUSTINE SIGNAIGO.
+
+_Air--"Red, White and Blue."_
+
+(This was a favorite song of the Tennessee troops, but especially of the
+13th and 154th Regiments. Memphis _Appeal_, Dec. 9, 1861.)
+
+
+  Oh! Dixie, the land of King Cotton,
+    "The home of the brave and the free,"
+  A nation by freedom begotten,
+    The terror of despots to be;
+  Wherever thy banner is streaming,
+    Base tyranny quails at thy feet,
+  And liberty's sunlight is beaming,
+    In splendor of majesty sweet.
+
+  CHORUS--Three cheers for our army so true,
+            Three cheers for Price, Johnson, and Lee:
+          Beauregard, and our Davis forever,
+            The pride of the brave and the free!
+
+  When Liberty sounds her war-rattle,
+    Demanding her right and her due,
+  The first land that rallies to battle
+    Is Dixie, the shrine of the true:
+  Thick as leaves of the forest in Summer,
+    Her brave sons will rise on each plain,
+  And then strike, until each vandal comer
+    Lies dead on the soil he would stain.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  May the names of the dead that we cherish,
+    Fill memory's cup to the brim;
+  May the laurels they've won never perish,
+    "Nor star of their glory grow dim;"
+  May the States of the South never sever,
+    But the champions of freedom e'er be;
+  May they flourish Confed'rate forever,
+    The boast of the brave and the free.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTHERN SOLDIER BOY.
+
+As sung by MISS SALLIE PARTINGTON, in the "Virginia Cavalier," Richmond,
+Va., 1863. Composed by Captain G. W. ALEXANDER.
+
+_Air--"The Boy with the Auburn Hair."_
+
+The sentiments of this song pleased the Confederate Soldiers, and for more
+than a year, the New Richmond Theatre was nightly filled by "Blockade
+Rebels," who greeted with wild hurrahs, "Miss Sallie," the prima donna of
+the Confederacy.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  Bob Roebuck is my sweetheart's name,
+    He's off to the wars and gone,
+  He's fighting for his Nannie dear,
+    His sword is buckled on;
+  He's fighting for his own true love,
+    His foes he does defy;
+  He is the darling of my heart,
+    My Southern soldier boy.
+
+  CHORUS.--Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!
+             He is my only joy,
+           He is the darling of my heart,
+             My Southern soldier boy.
+
+  When Bob comes home from war's alarms,
+    We start anew in life,
+  I'll give myself right up to him,
+    A dutiful, loving wife.
+  I'll try my best to please my dear
+    For he is my only joy;
+  He is the darling of my heart
+    My Southern soldier boy.
+
+  CHORUS.--Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!
+             He is my only joy,
+           He is the darling of my heart,
+             My Southern soldier boy.
+
+  Oh! if in battle he was slain,
+    I am sure that I should die,
+  But I am sure he'll come again
+    And cheer my weeping eye;
+  But should he fall in this our glorious cause,
+    He still would be my joy
+  For many a sweetheart mourns the loss,
+    Of a Southern soldier boy.
+
+  CHORUS.--Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!
+             I'd grieve to lose my joy,
+           But many a sweetheart mourns the loss
+             Of a Southern soldier boy.
+
+  I hope for the best, and so do all
+    Whose hopes are in the field;
+  I know that we shall win the day,
+    For Southrons never yield,
+  And when we think of those that are away,
+    We'll look above for joy,
+  And I'm mighty glad that my Bobby is
+    A Southern soldier boy.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+REBEL IS A SACRED NAME.
+
+Written by an inmate of the old Capitol Prison, Washington City.
+
+
+  Rebel is a sacred name;
+    Traitor, too, is glorious;
+  By such names our father's fought--
+    By them were victorious.
+
+  CHORUS--Gaily floats our rebel flag
+            Over hill and valley--
+          Broad its bars, and bright its stars,
+            Calling us to rally.
+
+  Washington a rebel was,
+    Jefferson a traitor,--
+  But their treason won success,
+    And made their glory greater.
+                                CHORUS.
+
+  O'er our southern sunny strand
+    Vandal feet are treading;
+  And the Hessians on our land
+    Devastation spreading.
+                                CHORUS.
+
+  Can you then inactive be?
+    Maidens fair are saying;
+  And their bright eyes shame us out
+    With this long delaying.
+                                CHORUS.
+
+  Rouse ye, children of the free,
+    Rally to our streamer;
+  The vandal flag floats o'er our land,--
+    Awaken, Southern dreamer!
+                                CHORUS.
+
+  Rebel arms shall win the fight,
+    Rebel prayers defend us;
+  Rebel maidens greet us home,
+    When tyrants no more rend us.
+                                CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
+
+Words and Music by JOHN M. HEWETT.
+
+
+  Our flag is unfurl'd and our arms flash bright,
+    As the sun rides up the sky;
+  But ere I join the doubting fight,
+    Lovely maid, I would say, "Good by."
+  I'm a young volunteer, and my heart is true
+    To the flag that woos the wind;
+  Then, three cheers for that flag and our country, too,
+    And the girls we leave behind.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then adieu! then adieu! 'tis the last bugle's strain
+             That is falling on the ear;
+           Should it so be decreed that we ne'er meet again,
+             Oh! remember the young volunteer.
+
+  When over the desert, thro' burning rays,
+    With a heavy heart I tread;
+  Or when I breast the cannon's blaze,
+    And bemoan my comrades dead,
+  Then, then, I will think of my home and you,
+    And our flag shall kiss the wind;
+  With huzza for our cause and our country, too,
+    And the girls we leave behind.
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+GOOBER PEAS.
+
+Words by A. PENDER.
+
+Music by P. NUTT.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+One of the most widely known Confederate Songs. The melody suited a
+soldier, and in his gayest mood he rolled out: "Peas! Peas! Peas!" with a
+gusto that was charming.
+
+
+  Sitting by the roadside on a summer day,
+  Chatting with my messmates, passing time away,
+  Lying in the shadow underneath the trees,
+  Goodness, how delicious, eating goober peas!
+
+  CHORUS.--Peas! Peas! Peas! Peas! eating goober peas!
+           Goodness, how delicious, eating goober peas!
+
+  When a horseman passes, the soldiers have a rule,
+  To cry out at their loudest, "Mister, here's your mule,"
+  But another pleasure enchantinger than these,
+  Is wearing out your grinders, eating goober peas!
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  Just before the battle the General hears a row,
+  He says "The Yanks are coming, I hear their rifles now,"
+  He turns around in wonder, and what do you think he sees?
+  The Georgia militia eating goober peas!
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+[Illustration: "Lying in the shadow underneath the trees."]
+
+  I think my song has lasted almost long enough,
+  The subject's interesting, but the rhymes are mighty rough,
+  I wish this war was over, when free from rags and fleas,
+  We'd kiss our wives and sweethearts and gobble goober peas!
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+OUR COUNTRY'S CALL.
+
+By H. WALTHER.
+
+[Permission of Henri Wehrmann.]
+
+
+  To arms! Oh! men in all our Southern clime,
+    Do you not scent the battle from afar,
+  And hear the ringing clash of armor chime,
+    Where men have met all panoplied for war?
+  To arms! Let not your country call in vain
+    For willing hearts to shield her from the foe,
+  But let the ardor of a patriot's fame
+    Brightly within each manly bosom glow.
+
+  CHORUS.--But let the ardor of a patriot's fame
+           Brightly within each manly bosom glow.
+
+  To arms! in this, your country's hour of need!
+    Behold her beautiful and broad domain,
+  And say, if patriot hearts shall freely bleed
+    To keep it sacred from invasion's stain?
+  To arms! and don the panoply of war,
+    Stay not like cowards from the battle-field;
+  But with your armor on, march where the roar
+    Of cannon tells you that your brothers bleed!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  The trumpet and the clarion sound to arms,
+  The noisy drum in solemn echo beats,
+  And martial music, robed in all her charms,
+  The magic words, To arms! To arms! repeats.
+  To arms! The mortal combat has begun,
+  Rush on and fight amidst the deadly fray,
+  Nor pause until the work is nobly done,
+  And honor crowns us with her wreath of bay!
+
+
+
+
+CANNON SONG.
+
+
+  Aha! a song for the trumpet's tongue!
+  For the bugle to sing before us,
+  When our gleaming guns, like clarions,
+  Shall thunder in battle chorus!
+  Where the rifles ring, where the bullets sing,
+  Where the black bombs whistle o'er us,
+  With rolling wheel and rattling peal
+  They'll thunder in battle chorus!
+
+  CHORUS.--With the cannon's flash, and the cannon's crash,
+           With the cannon's roar and rattle,
+           Let Freedom's sons, with their shouting guns,
+           Go down to their country's battle!
+
+  Their brassy throats shall learn the notes
+  That make old tyrants quiver;
+  Till the war is done, or each TYRRELL gun
+  Grows cold with our hearts forever!
+
+  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!
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  By 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!
+  Our father's 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!
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+CHIVALROUS C. S. A.
+
+_Air--"Vive la Compagnie."_
+
+
+  I'll sing you a song of the South's sunny clime,
+                Chivalrous C. S. A.!
+  Which went to housekeeping once on a time;
+                Bully for C. S. A.!
+  Like heroes and princes they lived for a while,
+                Chivalrous C. S. A.!
+  And routed the Hessians in most gallant style;
+                Bully for C. S. A.!
+
+  CHORUS.--Chivalrous, chivalrous people are they!
+           Chivalrous, chivalrous people are they!
+           In C. S. A.! In C. S. A.!
+           Aye, in chivalrous C. S. A.!
+
+  They have a bold leader--Jeff. Davis his name--
+                Chivalrous C. S. A.!
+  Good generals and soldiers, all anxious for fame;
+                Bully for C. S. A.!
+  At Manassas they met the North in its pride,
+                Chivalrous C. S. A.!
+  But they easily put McDowell aside;
+                Bully for C. S. A.!
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Ministers to England and France, it appears,
+                Have gone from the C. S. A.!
+  Who've given the North many fleas in its ears,
+                Bully for C. S. A.!
+  Reminders are being to Washington sent,
+                By the chivalrous C. S. A.!
+  That'll force Uncle Abe full soon to repent,
+                Bully for C. S. A.!
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Oh, they have the finest of musical ears,
+                Chivalrous C. S. A.!
+  Yankee Doodle's too vulgar for them, it appears;
+                Bully for C. S. A.!
+  The North may sing it and whistle it still,
+                Miserable U. S. A.!
+  Three cheers for the South!--now, boys, with a will!
+                And groans for the U. S. A.!
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+NORTH CAROLINA'S WAR SONG.
+
+_Air--"Annie Laurie."_
+
+
+  We leave our pleasant homesteads,
+  We leave our smiling farms,
+  At the first call of duty
+  We rush at once to arms;
+  We rush at once to arms,
+  To guard our coasts we fly,
+  For the land our mothers lived, on
+  Bravely to bleed or die.
+
+  Up, boys, and quit your pleasure,
+  Up, men, and quit your toil!
+  The invader's foot must never
+  Be pressed upon our soil;
+  Be pressed upon our soil,
+  In which our fathers sleep;
+  Their blessed graves our care, boys,
+  Most sacredly must keep.
+
+  'Twas in our brave old State, men,
+  That first of all was sung,
+  The thrilling song of freedom
+  That through the land hath rung;
+  That through the land hath rung,
+  And we'll sound its notes once more,
+  Till our men and children shout
+  From the mountain to the shore.
+
+  Sweet eyes are filled with tears, men,
+  Sweet tears of love and pride,
+  As our wives and sweethearts bid us
+  Go meet whate'er betide,
+  Go meet whate'er betide,
+  And God our guide shall be,
+  As we drive the foe before us,
+  And rush to victory.
+
+
+
+
+THE HOMESPUN DRESS.
+
+By CARRIE BELL SINCLAIR.
+
+_Air--"Bonnie Blue Flag."_
+
+
+  Oh, yes, I am a Southern girl,
+    And glory in the name,
+  And boast it with far greater pride
+    Than glittering wealth or fame.
+  We envy not the Northern girl,
+    Her robes of beauty rare,
+  Though diamonds grace her snowy neck,
+    And pearls bedeck her hair.
+
+  CHORUS.--Hurrah! Hurrah!
+           For the sunny South so dear,
+           Three cheers for the homespun dress
+           The Southern ladies wear!
+
+  The homespun dress is plain, I know,
+    My hat's palmetto, too;
+  But then it shows what Southern girls
+    For Southern rights will do.
+  We send the bravest of our land,
+    To battle with the foe,
+  And we will lend a helping hand--
+    We love the South, you know.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Now Northern goods are out of date;
+    And since old Abe's blockade,
+  We Southern girls can be content
+    With goods that's Southern made.
+  We send our sweethearts to the war;
+    But, dear girls; never mind--
+  Your soldier-love will ne'er forget
+    The girl he left behind.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  The soldier is the lad for me--
+    A brave heart I adore;
+  And when the sunny South is free,
+    And when fighting is no more,
+  I'll choose me then a lover brave,
+    From out that gallant band.
+  The soldier lad I love the best
+    Shall have my heart and hand.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  The Southern land's a glorious land,
+    And has a glorious cause;
+  Then cheer, three cheers for Southern rights,
+    And for the Southern boys!
+  We scorn to wear a bit of silk,
+    A bit of Northern lace,
+  But make our homespun dresses up,
+    And wear them with a grace.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  And now, young man, a word to you:
+    If you would win the fair,
+  Go to the field where honor calls,
+    And win your lady there.
+  Remember that our brightest smiles
+    Are for the true and brave,
+  And that our tears are all for those
+    Who fill a soldier's grave.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE BANNER SONG.
+
+By JAMES B. MARSHALL.
+
+
+  Up, up with the banner, the foe is before us,
+    His bayonets bristle, his sword is unsheathed,
+  Charge, charge on his line with harmonious chorus,
+    For the prayers go with us that beauty has breathed.
+
+  He fights for the power of despot and plunder,
+    While we are defending our altars and homes;
+  He has riven the firmly knit Union asunder,
+    And to bind it with tyranny's fetters he comes,
+  Like the prophet Mokanna, whose veil so resplendent,
+    His monstrous deformity closely concealed;
+  Duplicity marks Lincoln's course, and dependent
+    On falsehood is every fair promise revealed.
+
+  When that veil shall be raised, Freedom's last feast be taken,
+    A banquet to which all his followers will crowd;
+  Oh, horror of horrors! who can view it unshaken?
+    Without sense they will sit all in suppliance bowed!
+  We do not forget that they once were our brothers,
+    That we sat in our boyhood around the same board,
+  That our heart's best idolatry blest the same mothers,
+    And to the same fathers libations we poured.
+
+  We rallied around the same star-spangled standard,
+    When called to the field by the tocsin of war,
+  But they from our side have unfeelingly wandered,
+    And we strip from our flag every recusant star.
+  They have forced us to stand by our own constitution,
+    To defend our lov'd homesteads, our altars and fires,
+  While they tamely submit to a tyrant's pollution,
+    Beneath whose foul tread their own freedom expires.
+
+  Then up with the banner, its broad stripes wide flowing,
+    'Tis the emblem of Liberty--flag of the free;
+  Let it wave us to triumph, and every heart glowing,
+    Nerve each arm's bravest blows for its lov'd Tennessee.
+
+
+
+
+THE VOLUNTEER.
+
+Permission of H. WEHRMAN.
+
+Arranged by J. C. VIERECK.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  The hour was sad, I left the maid,
+    A lingering farewell taking;
+  Her sighs and tears my steps delayed,
+    I thought her heart was breaking.
+  In hurried words her name I blessed,
+    I breathed the vows that bind me,
+  And to my heart in anguish pressed
+    The girl I left behind me.
+
+  Then to the East we bore away
+    To win a name in story,
+  And, there, where dawns the sun of day,
+    There dawned our sun of glory.
+  Both blazed in noon on Manassas' plain,
+    Where, in the post assigned me,
+  I shared the glory of that fight--
+    Sweet girl I left behind me!
+
+  Full many a name our banners bore
+    Of former deeds of daring--
+  But they were of the days of yore,
+    In which we had no sharing;
+  But now, our laurels freshly won,
+    With the old ones shall entwin'd be,
+  Still worthy of our sires, each son,
+    Sweet girl I left behind me!
+
+  The hope of final victory
+    Within my bosom burning,
+  Is mingling with sweet thoughts of thee,
+    And of my fond returning.
+  But should I ne'er return again,
+    Still worth thy love thou'lt find me,
+  Dishonor's breath shall never stain
+    The name I leave behind me.
+
+
+
+
+READING THE LIST.
+
+
+  "Is there any news of the war?" she said;
+  "Only a list of the wounded and dead,"
+      Was the man's reply,
+      Without lifting his eye
+  To the face of the woman standing by.
+  "'Tis the very thing I want," she said;
+  "Read me a list of the wounded and dead."
+
+  He read the list--'twas a sad array
+  Of the wounded and killed in the fatal fray;
+  In the very midst was a pause, to tell
+  That his comrades asked, "Who is he, pray?"
+  "The only son of the widow Gray,"
+      Was the proud reply
+      Of his Captain nigh.
+  What ails the woman standing near?
+  Her face has the ashen hue of fear!
+
+  "Well, well, read on; is he wounded? quick!
+  Oh, God! but my heart is sorrow sick!
+  Is he wounded?" "No! he fell," they say,
+  "Killed outright on that fatal day!"
+  But see, the woman has swooned away!
+
+[Illustration: "Only a list of the wounded and dead."]
+
+  Sadly she opened her eyes to the light,
+  Slowly recalled the events of the fight;
+  Faintly she murmured, "Killed outright!
+  It has cost me the life of my only son,
+  But the battle is fought and the victory won;
+  The will of the Lord, let it be done!"
+
+  God pity the cheerless widow Gray,
+  And send from the halls of Eternal Day
+  The light of His peace to illume her way!
+
+
+
+
+THE BARS AND STARS.
+
+By W. A. HAYNES.
+
+_Air--"Star Spangled Banner."_
+
+
+  Oh, the tocsin of war still resounds o'er the land,
+   And legions of braves are now rushing to battle,
+  Our lint-stocks are lighted, our guns are all manned,
+   Loud thunders the cannon, and musketry rattle,
+                Our hosts there are led
+                By the blue, white and red,
+  While the battle fiend flaps his pale wing o'er the dead.
+
+  CHORUS.--Let the bars and stars of our banner ever wave
+           O'er the land of the South, the home of the brave.
+
+  O, say, can you see through the mist and the gloom,
+   Through the clouds of the battle our stars brightly shining,
+  'Tis a beacon of hope, 'tis a signal of doom
+   To the hordes of the vandals our borders now lining;
+                  Proud defiance we hurl
+                  And our flag we unfurl,
+      Let it float, proudly float, in the gaze of the world.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+  For thirty years or more, we have waited and prayed
+   That the chains of oppression and wrongs might be sundered,
+  But the black fiends of the North, with their plans foully laid,
+   Have raised up a whirlwind and the old ship's now foundered.
+                  We shouted the alarm,
+                  We spoke of our wrongs,
+      Now the argument's exhausted, we'll stand by our arms.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+  Oh! Manassas has been fought, and the field has been won,
+    And the brag guns of Sherman our brave boys have taken;
+  Our foes have retreated back to old Washington,
+    But the ranks of our Dixie still remain there unshaken;
+                  And over the graves
+                  Of the New York Zouaves
+      The bars and the stars now triumphantly waves.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+WAR SONG.
+
+_Charleston Mercury._
+
+Respectfully inscribed to the companies mentioned.
+
+_Air--"March, march, Ettrick and Toviotdale."_
+
+
+  March, march on, brave "Palmetto" boys,
+    "Sumpter" and "Lafayettes" forward in order;
+  March, march "Calhoun" and "Rifle" boys,
+    All the base Yankees are crossing the border,
+        Banners are round ye spread,
+        Floating above your head,
+    Soon shall the Lone Star be famous in story,
+        On, on, my gallant men,
+        Vict'ry be thine again;
+    Fight for your rights till the green sod is gory.
+
+  Young wives and sisters have buckled your armor on;
+    Maidens ye love bid ye go to the battle-field;
+  Strong arms and stout hearts have many a vict'ry won,
+    Courage shall strengthen the weapons ye wield;
+        Wild passions are storming,
+        Dark schemes are forming,
+    Deep snares are laid, but they shall not enthrall ye;
+        Justice your cause shall greet,
+        Laurels lay at your feet,
+    If each brave band be but watchful and wary.
+
+  Let fear and unmanliness vanish before ye;
+   Trust in the Rock who will shelter the righteous;
+  Plant firmly each step on the soil of the free,--
+   A heritage left by the sires who bled for us,
+       May each heart be bounding,
+       When trumpets are sounding,
+   And the dark traitors shall strive to surround ye;
+       The great God of battle
+       Can still the war-rattle,
+   And brighten the land with a sunset of glory.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTHERN FLAG.
+
+_Tune_--"_A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea._"
+
+
+  Three cheers for the Southern flag,
+   That floats upon the gale,
+  Once more fling out its flapping folds,
+   And make its foeman quail.
+  And make each foeman quail, my boys,
+   While, like an earthquake roar,
+  Goes forth our war cry through the land,
+   For liberty once more.
+
+  CHORUS.--Three cheers for the Southern flag,
+             That floats above the gale,
+           Once more fling out its flapping folds,
+             And make its foeman quail.
+
+  Oh, for an Abolition crowd,
+   I hear old Abe cry out,
+  Affrighted by the march of foes,
+   The freeman's mighty shout.
+  That shouting welcomes to our heart,
+   The freeman's chosen man--
+  Jeff Davis--who now heads our hosts,
+   And leads the glorious van.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Full brightly waves our flag in air,
+   O'er Sumpter's fort just won.
+  And soon o'er Pickens' towering heights
+   It will glitter in the sun.
+  It will glitter in the sun, my boys,
+   And fan the battle cloud,
+  The struggling freeman's sigh of hope,
+   The fallen heroes' shroud.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  And now three cheers for the glorious flag,
+   That victory has won,
+  And may it soon be towering o'er
+   The Dome at Washington.
+  The Dome at Washington, my boys,
+   While Abolition hosts
+  Shall quail and shake before the flag--
+   The freeman's glorious boast.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE STARS AND THE BARS.
+
+
+  O, the South is the queen of all nations,
+    The home of the brave and the true--
+  She makes no vain demonstration;
+    But shows what her brave sons can do;
+  Her freedom and advancement they cherish--
+    "Our rights, our liberties," they cry,
+  "To the rescue, we'll win the fight or perish,
+    For the Southern boys never fear to die."
+
+  CHORUS.--Then hurrah for the "Stars and Bars,"
+             No stain on its folds ever be--
+           Its glory dishonor never mars,
+             And 'twill yet grace the land of the free.
+
+  Bring forward the tankard and fill it,
+    Ye sons that are loyal and brave,
+  Our blood--O, how freely we'll spill it,
+    We are fighting for freedom or the grave;
+  Our armies may be scattered and disbanded,
+    Yet the wild-woods we still will infest--
+  Yet shall fear the brave foe tho' single-handed,
+    When the death rattle burst from his breast.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Though black clouds sometimes may darken,
+    And shadow the bright sunny sky;
+  To the rumbling of cannon we'll hearken,
+    Which tells of the foe as they fly.
+  Tho' thousands may fall stark and gory,
+    Their requiem from gun and cannon mouth,
+  They'll win fame, freedom and glory;
+    And all for the loved "Sunny South."
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+CONFEDERATE SONG.
+
+_Air--"Bruce's Address."_
+
+Written for and dedicated to the Kirk's Ferry Rangers, by their Captain,
+E. LLOYD WAILES. Sung by the Glee Club on 4th July, 1861, at the Kirk's
+Ferry Barbecue (Catahoula, La.), after the presentation of a flag, by the
+ladies, to the Kirk's Ferry Rangers.
+
+
+  Rally round our country's flag!
+  Rally, boys, nor do not lag;
+  Come from every vale and crag,
+      Sons of Liberty!
+  Northern Vandals tread our soil,
+  Forth they come for blood and spoil,
+  To the homes we've gained with toil,
+      Shouting, "Slavery."
+
+  Traitorous Lincoln's bloody band
+  Now invades the freeman's land,
+  Arm'd with sword and firebrand,
+      'Gainst the brave and free.
+  Arm ye, then, for fray and fight,
+  March ye forth both day and night,
+  Stop not till the foe's in sight,
+      Sons of chivalry.
+
+  In your veins the blood still flows
+  Of brave men who once arose--
+  Burst the shackles of their foes;
+      Honest men and free
+  Rise, then, in your power and might,
+  Seek the spoiler, brave the fight;
+  Strike for God, for Truth, for Right:
+      Strike for Liberty!
+
+
+
+
+LEE AT THE WILDERNESS.
+
+By MISS MOLLIE E. MOORE.
+
+
+  'Twas a terrible moment!
+    The blood and the rout!
+  His great bosom shook
+    With an awful doubt.
+  Confusion in front,
+    And a pause in the cries:
+  And a darkness like night
+    Passed over our skies:
+    There were tears in the eyes
+        Of General Lee.
+
+  As the blue-clad lines
+    Swept fearfully near,
+  There was wavering yonder,
+    And a break in the cheer
+  Of our columns unsteady:
+    But "WE ARE HERE! _We_ are ready
+  With rifle and blade!"
+    Cried the Texas Brigade
+        To General Lee.
+
+  He smiled--it meant death,
+    That wonderful smile;
+  It leaped like a flame
+    Down each close set file;
+  And we stormed to the front
+    With a long, loud cry--
+  We had long ago learned
+    How to charge and to die:
+    There was faith in the eye
+        Of General Lee.
+
+  But a sudden pause came,
+    As we dashed on the foe,
+  And our scathing columns
+    Swayed to and fro;
+  Cold grew our blood,
+    Glowing like wine,
+  And a quick, sharp whisper
+    Shot over our line,
+  As our ranks opened wide--
+  _And there by our side
+        Rode General Lee._
+
+  How grandly he rode!
+    With his eyes on fire,
+  And his great bosom shook
+    With an awful desire!
+  But, "Back to the rear!
+    'Till you ride to the rear
+  We will not do battle
+    With gun or with blade!"
+    Cried the Texas Brigade
+        To General Lee.
+
+[Illustration: Gen. Robert E. Lee.]
+
+  And so he rode back;
+    And our terrible yell
+  Stormed up to the front;
+    And the fierce, wild swell,
+  And the roar and the rattle,
+  Swept into the battle
+        From General Lee.
+
+  I felt my foot slip
+    In the gathering fray--
+  I looked, and my brother
+    Lay dead in my way.
+  I paused but one moment
+    To draw him aside;
+  Ah! the gash in his bosom
+    Was bloody and wide!
+    But he smiled, for he died
+        For General Lee.
+
+  Christ! 'twas maddening work;
+    But the work was done,
+  And a few came back
+    When the hour was won.
+  Let it glow in the peerless
+    Records of the fearless--
+  The charge that was made
+  By the Texas Brigade
+        For General Lee.
+
+
+
+
+A SOUTHERN SONG.
+
+By "L. M.," in _Louisville Courier_.
+
+
+  If ever I consent to be married,
+    And who would refuse a good mate?
+  The man whom I give my hand to,
+    Must believe in the rights of the State.
+
+  To a husband who quietly submits
+    To negro-equality sway,
+  The true Southern girl will not barter
+    Her heart and affections away.
+
+  The heart I may choose to preside o'er,
+    True, warm, and devoted must be,
+  And have true love for a Union
+    Under the Southern Liberty Tree.
+
+  Should Lincoln attempt to coerce him
+    To share with the negro his right,
+  Then, smiling, I'd gird on his armor,
+    And bid him God-speed in the fight.
+
+  And if he should fall in the conflict,
+    His memory with tears I will grace;
+  Better weep o'er a patriot fallen,
+    Than blush in a Tory embrace.
+
+  We girls are all for a Union,
+    Where a marked distinction is laid
+  Between the rights of the mistress
+    And those of the kinky-haired maid.
+
+
+
+
+THE TEXAN MARSEILLAISE.
+
+By JAMES HAINES, of Texas.
+
+
+  Sons of the South, arouse to battle!
+    Gird on your armor for the fight!
+  The Northern Thugs, with dread "war's rattle,"
+    Pour on each vale, and glen, and height;
+  Meet them as ocean meets in madness
+    The frail bark on the rocky shore,
+    When crested billows roam and roar,
+  And the wrecked crew go down in sadness:
+
+  CHORUS.--Arm! Arm! ye Southern braves!
+             Scatter yon vandal hordes!
+           Despots and bandits, fitting food
+             For vultures and your swords.
+
+  Shall dastard tyrants march their legions
+    To crush the land of Jackson--Lee?
+  Shall freedom fly to other regions,
+    And sons of Yorktown bend the knee?
+  Or shall their "footprints' base pollution"
+    Of Southern soil in blood be purged,
+    And every flying slave be scourged
+  Back to his snows in wild confusion.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Vile despots, with their minions knavish,
+    Would drag us back to their embrace;
+  Will freemen brook a chain so slavish?
+    Will brave men take so low a place?
+  O, Heaven! for words--the loathing, scorning
+    We feel for such a Union's bands:
+    To paint with more than mortal hands,
+  And sound our loudest notes of warning.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  What! Union with a race ignoring
+    The charter of our Nation's birth?
+  Union with bastard slaves adoring
+    The fiend that chains them to the earth?
+  No! we reply in tones of thunder,
+    No! our staunch hills fling back the sound--
+    No! our hoarse cannon echo round--
+  No! evermore remain asunder!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+[Illustration: Stonewall Jackson's Cadet Button.]
+
+
+
+
+THE BATTLE OF THE MISSISSIPPI.
+
+
+  The tyrant's broad pennant is floating
+    In the South, o'er our waters so blue:
+  On our homes now his foul eye is gloating;
+    The homes of the brave and the true.
+
+  CHORUS.--But our flag at the "head of the Passes,"
+           Is borne by men brave and true;
+           We will teach them to fear our "Manassas;"[2]
+           Three cheers for _our_ Red, White, and Blue.
+
+  We will give his proud fleet such a greeting
+    As the storm-cloud's shaft to the tree;
+  As the rock to the wave in their meeting--
+    Is the stroke of the brave and the free.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Though his minions may come as the locust,
+    And outnumber the sands of the sea,
+  Their numbers will serve to provoke us,
+    To dare, to die, or live free.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Every breeze from the "Crescent" is laden
+    With defiance to the despot on our shore;
+  Strong men, the child, and each maiden,
+    Join in chorus with the cannon's loud roar.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+SONG FOR THE SOUTH.
+
+
+  Of all the mighty nations, in the East or in the West,
+  Our glorious Southern nation is the greatest and the best;
+  We have room for all true Southrons, with our Stars and Bars unfurled,
+  And a general invitation to the people of the world.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then, to arms, boys! to arms, boys! make no delay,
+           Come from every Southern State, come from every way,
+           Our army isn't large enough, Jeff Davis calls for more,
+           To hurl the vile invader from off our Southern shore.
+
+  Ohio is our northern line, far as her waters flow,
+  And on the south is the Rio Grande and the Gulf of Mexico;
+  While between the Atlantic Ocean, where the sun begins to rise,
+  Westward to Arizona, the land of promise lies.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+  While the Gulf States raise the cotton, the others grain and pork,
+  North and South Carolina's factories will do the finer work;
+  For the deep and flowing waterfalls that course along our hills,
+  Are "just the things" for washing sheep and driving cotton mills.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+  Our Southern boys are brave and true, and joining heart and hand
+  And are flocking to the "Stars and Bars" as they are floating o'er the
+      land.
+  And all are standing ready, with their rifles in their hands,
+  And invite the North to open graves down South in Dixie's land.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+SONG OF THE SOUTHERN SOLDIER.
+
+By "P. E. C.," in _Richmond Examiner_.
+
+_Tune_--"_Barclay and Perkins' Drayman._"
+
+These lines were written Jan. 8, 1861, for a friend, who expected to sing
+them in the theatre, but thought at the time to be too much in the
+secession spirit.
+
+
+  I'm a soldier, you see, that oppression has made!
+    I don't fight for pay or for booty;
+  But I wear in my hat a blue cockade,
+    Placed there by the fingers of Beauty.
+  The South is my home, where a black man is black,
+    And a white man there is a white man;
+  Now I am tired of listening to Northern clack,--
+    Let us see what they will do in a fight, man.
+
+  The Yankees are cute; they have managed, somehow,
+    Their business and ours to settle;
+  They make all we want, from a pin to a plough,
+    Now we'll show them some Southern mettle.
+  We have had just enough of their Northern law,
+    That robbed us so long of our right, man,
+  And too much of their cursed abolition jaw,--
+    Now we'll see what they'll do in a fight, man!
+
+  Their parsons will open their sanctified jaws,
+    And cant of our slave-growing sin, sir;
+  They pocket the _profits_, while preaching the laws,
+    And manage our cotton to spin, sir.
+  Their incomes are nice, on our sugar and rice,
+    Though against it the hypocrites write, sir;
+  Now our dander is up, and they'll soon smell a mice,
+    If we once get them into a fight, sir.
+
+  Our cotton bales once made a good barricade,
+    And can still do the State a good service;
+  With them and the boys of the blue cockade,
+    There is power enough to preserve us.
+  So shoulder your rifles, my boys, for defense,
+    In the cause of our freedom and right, man;
+  If there's no other way for to learn them sense,
+    We may teach them a lesson in fight, man.
+
+  The stars that are growing so fast on our flags,
+    We treasure as Liberty's pearls,
+  And stainless we'll bear them, though shot into rags;
+    They were fixed by the hands of our girls,
+  And fixed stars they shall be in our national sky,
+    To guide through the future aright, man,
+  And your Cousin Sam, with their gleam in his eye,
+    May dare the whole world to fight, man.
+
+
+
+
+THE DYING SOLDIER BOY.
+
+By A. B. CUNNINGHAM, of Louisiana.
+
+_Air--"Maid of Monterey."_
+
+
+  Upon Manassas' bloody plain a soldier boy lay dying!
+  The gentle winds above his form in softest tones were sighing;
+  The god of day had slowly sank beneath the verge of day,
+  And the silver moon was gliding above the milky way.
+
+  The stars were shining brightly, and the sky was calm and blue,
+  Oh, what a beautiful scene was this for human eyes to view!
+  The river roll'd in splendor, and the wavelets danc'd around,
+  But the banks were strew'd with dead men, and gory was the ground.
+
+  But the hero-boy lay dying, and his thoughts were very deep,
+  For the death-wound in his young side was wafting him to sleep;
+  The thought of home and kindred away on a distant shore,
+  All of whom he must relinquish, and never see them more.
+
+  And as the night-breeze passed by, in whispers o'er the dead,
+  Sweet memories of olden days came rushing to his head;
+  But his mind was weak and deaden'd, so he turned from where he lay,
+  As the Death-angel flitted by, and call'd his soul away!
+
+[Illustration: "The hero-boy lay dying."]
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTHERN BANNER.
+
+By COL. W. S. HAWKINS, C. S. A., Camp Chase, Ohio.
+
+
+  Sing-ho! for the Southerner's meteor flag
+    As 'tis flung in its pride to the breeze,
+  From the happy glen and the beetling crag,
+    'Tis the pride of the land and the seas.
+
+  Hurrah! for the scintillant Cross of Red,
+    As it waves and glances in light,
+  Beneath it our brothers grandly tread,
+    To battle for God and right.
+
+  The flag for which Southrons had gladly died
+    Is the badge of the tyrant now,
+  And for it no blush of joy or pride
+    Suffuseth the cheek or brow.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Sing ho! for the Southerner's flag for aye,
+    And ho! for its beautiful Cross;
+  It shall be the signal of bold array
+    Where the windy surges toss.
+
+  On a traitor's heart be the curses of night,
+    And palsied the craven hand
+  That fails in the hazard of furious fight
+    For God and our Native Land.
+
+  Hurrah! as over the hills it waves,
+    Or is borne on the ocean's breast,
+  Hurrah! as it leads our valorous braves,
+    Or is drooped o'er the hero's rest.
+
+  Whether it greets the uprising sun
+    Or is bathed in the western light,
+  Beneath it shall all our hopes be won
+    For "God will defend the right."
+
+
+
+
+O, JOHNNY BULL, MY JO JOHN.
+
+_Air--"John Anderson, my Jo."_
+
+In December, 1861, eighty-seven British ships-of-war were lying in the
+waters of the West Indies. This fact gave rise to the following imitation
+of an old song.
+
+
+  O, Johnny Bull, my Jo John! I wonder what you mean,
+  By sending all these frigates out, commissioned by the Queen;
+  You'll frighten off the Yankees, John, and why should you do so?
+  But catch and sink, or burn them all, O, Johnny Bull, my Jo!
+
+  O, Johnny Bull, my Jo John! when Yankee hands profane,
+  Were laid in wanton insult upon the lion's mane,
+  He roared so loud and long, John, they quickly let him go,
+  And sank upon their trembling knees, O, Johnny Bull, my Jo!
+
+  O, Johnny Bull, my Jo John! when Lincoln first began
+  To try his hand at war, John, you were a peaceful man;
+  But now your blood is up, John, and well the Yankees know,
+  You play the ---- when you start, O, Johnny Bull, my Jo!
+
+  O, Johnny Bull, my Jo John! let's take the field together,
+  And hunt the Yankee Doodles home, in spite of wind and weather,
+  And ere a twelve-month roll around, to Boston we will go,
+  And eat our Christmas dinner there, O, Johnny Bull, my Jo!
+
+
+
+
+MORGAN'S WAR-SONG.
+
+By GEN. BASIL DUKE, of Kentucky.
+
+_Air--A combination of the "Marseillaise" and the "Old Granite State."_
+
+
+  Ye sons of the South, take your weapons in hand,
+  For the foot of the foe hath insulted your land:
+          Sound! sound the loud alarm!
+          Arise! arise and arm!
+  Let the hand of each foeman grasp the sword to maintain
+  Those rights which, once lost, he can never regain.
+
+  CHORUS.--Gather fast 'neath our flag,
+             For 'tis God's own decree,
+           That its folds shall still float
+             O'er a land that is free!
+
+  See ye not those dark clouds which now threaten the sky?
+  Hear ye not that stern thunder now bursting so nigh?
+          Shout! shout your battle-cry!
+          Win! win this fight or die!
+  What our fathers achieved our own valor can keep,
+  And we'll save our fair land or we'll sleep our last sleep!
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+  On our hearts and our arms and our God we rely,
+  And a nation shall rise, or a people shall die.
+          Form! form the serried line!
+          Advance! advance our proud ensign:
+  To your country devote every life that she gave,
+  Let the land they invade give their army its grave.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+  Though their plunder-paid hordes come to ravage our land,
+  Give our fields to the spoiler, our homes to the brand,
+          Our souls are all aglow,
+          To face the hireling foe.
+  Give the robbers to know that we _never_ will yield,
+  While the arm of one Southron a weapon can wield.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+  From our far Southern shore now arises a prayer,
+  While the cry of our women fills with anguish the air.
+          O! list that pleading voice,
+          Each youth now make his choice;
+  Now tamely submit like a coward or slave,
+  Or rise and resist like the free and the brave.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+  Kentucky! Kentucky! can you suffer the sight
+  Of your sisters insulted, your friends in the fight?
+          Awake! be free again!
+          O! break the tyrant's chain:
+  Let each hand seize the sword it drew for the right,
+  From the homes of your fathers drive the dastard in flight.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+KNOXVILLE, TENN., July 4, 1862.
+
+
+
+
+FOR BALES.
+
+_Air--"Johnny, fill up the bowl."_
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  We all went down to New Orleans,
+    For Bales, for Bales;
+  We all went down to New Orleans,
+    For Bales, says I;
+  We all went down to New Orleans
+  To get a peep behind the scenes,
+      "And we'll all drink stone blind,
+      Johnny, fill up the bowl."
+
+  We thought when we got in the "ring,"
+    For Bales, for Bales;
+  We thought when we got in the "ring,"
+    For Bales, says I;
+  We thought when we got in the "ring,"
+  Greenbacks would be a dead sure thing,
+      "And we'll all drink stone blind,
+      Johnny, fill up the bowl."
+
+  The "ring" went up with bagging and rope,
+    For Bales, for Bales;
+  Upon the "Black Hawk" with bagging and rope,
+    For Bales, says I;
+  Went up "Red River" with bagging and rope,
+  Expecting to make a pile of "soap,"
+      "And we'll all drink stone blind,
+      Johnny, fill up the bowl."
+
+  But Taylor and Smith, with ragged ranks,
+    For Bales, for Bales;
+  But Taylor and Smith, with ragged ranks,
+    For Bales, says I;
+  But Taylor and Smith, with ragged ranks,
+  Burned up the cotton and whipped old Banks,
+      "And we'll all drink stone blind,
+      Johnny, fill up the bowl."
+
+  Our "ring" came back and cursed and swore,
+    For Bales, for Bales;
+  Our "ring" came back and cursed and swore,
+    For Bales, says I;
+  Our "ring" came back and cursed and swore,
+  For we got no cotton at Grand Ecore,
+      "And we'll all drink stone blind,
+      Johnny, fill up the bowl."
+
+  Now let us all give praise and thanks,
+    For Bales, for Bales;
+  Now let us all give praise and thanks,
+    For Bales, says I;
+  Now let us all give praise and thanks
+  For the victory (?) gained by General Banks,
+      "And we'll all drink stone blind,
+      Johnny, fill up the bowl."
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG OF THE SOUTH.
+
+
+  Hurrah for the South, the glorious South! the land of song and story--
+  Her name shall ring, and the world shall sing her honor, fame, and glory;
+  For the skies above, which smiled in love, are dark with hearth-fires
+      burning;
+  She rises in might to defend the right, on her treacherous brethren
+      turning.
+
+  CHORUS.--Sons of the South, arise! arise!
+             For never shall fall upon her--
+           The land we love all the earth above,
+             One stain of dark dishonor.
+
+  Hurrah for the South, the gallant South, with her great heart proudly
+      beating;
+  She takes her stand at Freedom's hand, and dreams not of retreating;
+  Oh! Southern boys, for fireside joys, with their hearts so brave and
+      tender,
+  Will relentlessly fight, and to death's dark night alone will they
+      surrender.
+                                                      CHORUS.
+
+  No Northern band shall rule this land--to the breeze give Freedom's
+      banner,
+  As its glowing folds o'er our land unroll, from mountain and savannah;
+  O'er river and lake the sound shall break, and swell with thundering
+      glory;
+  Hurrah for the South! the noble South! the land of war and story!
+                                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+LAND OF THE SOUTH.
+
+By A. F. LEONARD.
+
+_Air--"Friend of My Soul."_
+
+
+  Land of the South! the fairest land
+    Beneath Columbia's sky!
+  Proudly her hills of freedom stand,
+    Her plains in beauty lie.
+  Her dotted fields, her traversed streams
+    Their annual wealth renew;
+  Land of the South! in brightest dreams
+    No dearer spot we view.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Flag of the South! aye, fling its folds
+    Upon the kindred breeze;
+  Emblem of dread to tyrant holds--
+    Of freedom on the seas,
+  Forever may its stars and stripes
+    In cloudless glory wave;
+  Red, white, and blue--eternal types
+    Of nations free and brave!
+
+  States of the South! the patriot's boast!
+    Here equal laws have sway;
+  Nor tyrant lord, nor despot host,
+    Upon the weak may prey.
+  Then let them rule from sea to sea,
+    And crown the queenly isle--
+  Union of love and liberty,
+    'Neath heaven's approving smile.
+
+
+
+
+LADIES, TO THE HOSPITAL!
+
+By "PERSONNE," Correspondent of the _Charleston Courier_.
+
+
+  Fold away all your bright-tinted dresses,
+    Turn the key on your jewels to-day,
+  And the wreath of your tendril-like tresses,
+    Braid back in a serious way:
+  No more delicate gloves, no more laces;
+    No more trifling in boudoir or bower;
+  But come with your souls in your faces,
+    To meet the stern wants of the hour.
+
+  Look around! By the torch-light unsteady,
+    The dead and the dying seem one;
+  What? trembling and paling already,
+    Before your mission's begun?
+  These wounds are more precious than ghastly;
+    Time presses her lips to each scar,
+  While she chants of that glory which vastly
+    Transcends all the horrors of war.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+  "... How mellow
+  The light showers down on that brow."]
+
+  Pause here by this bedside. How mellow
+    The light showers down on that brow;
+  Such a brave, brawny visage! Poor fellow!
+    Some homestead is missing him now;
+  Some wife shaded her eyes in the clearing;
+    Some mother sits moaning, distressed;
+  While the lov'd one lies faint but unfearing,
+    With the enemy's ball in his breast.
+
+  Here's another; a lad--a mere stripling--
+    Picked up on the fields almost dead,
+  With the blood through the sunny hair rippling,
+    From a horrible gash in the head!
+  They say he was first in the action,
+    Gay-hearted, quick-handed and witty;
+  He fought till he dropped with exhaustion,
+    In front of our fair Southern city.
+
+  Fought and fell 'neath the guns of that city,
+    With a spirit transcending his years;
+  Lift him up in your large-hearted pity,
+    And wet his pale lips with your tears:
+  Touch him gently; most sacred that duty
+    Of dressing that poor shatter'd hand;
+  God spare him to rise in his beauty,
+    And battle once more for his land!
+
+  Who groan'd? What a passionate murmur:
+    "In Thy mercy, oh God! let me die!
+  Ha! surgeon, your hand must be firmer,"
+    That musket ball's entered his thigh:
+  Turn the light on those poor furrow'd features,
+    Gray-haired and unknown, bless thee, brother!
+  Oh Heaven! that one of Thy creatures
+    Should e'er work such woe on another.
+
+  Wipe the sweat from his brow with your 'kerchief
+    Let the tatter'd old collar go wide!
+  See! he stretches out blindly to see if
+    The surgeon still stands by his side:
+  "My son's over yonder--he's wounded--
+    O this ball has entered my thigh!"
+  And again he burst out all a tremble,
+    "In Thy mercy, O God, let me die!"
+
+  Pass on: It is useless to linger
+    While other are claiming your care;
+  There is need for your delicate finger,
+    For your womanly sympathy there:
+  There are sick ones athirst for caressing;
+    There are dying ones raving of home
+  There are wounds to be bound with a blessing
+    And shrouds to make ready for some.
+
+  They have gathered about you the harvest
+    Of death in its ghastliest view;
+  The nearest as well as the farthest
+    Is here with the traitor and true;
+  And crown'd with your beautiful patience,
+    Made sunny with love at the heart;
+  You must balsam the wounds of a nation,
+    Nor falter nor shrink from your part.
+
+  Up and down through the wards where the fever
+    Stalks noisome and gaunt and impure,
+  You must go with your steadfast endeavor
+    To comfort, to counsel, to cure!
+  I grant you the task is superhuman,
+    But strength will be given to you
+  To do for those lov'd ones, what woman
+    Alone in her pity can do.
+
+  And the lips of the mothers will bless you,
+    As angels sweet visaged and pale;
+  And the little ones run to caress you,
+    And the wives and the sisters cry Hail!
+  But e'en if you drop down unheeded,
+    What matter? God's ways are the best!
+  You have pour'd out your life where 'twas needed,
+    And He will take care of the rest.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE DAVIS GUARD.
+
+By LIEUT. W. P. CUNNINGHAM.
+
+
+  Soldiers! raise your banner proudly,
+    Let it pierce our Texan sky--
+  Hurrah! it was shouted loudly--
+    "We will do it or we'll die!"
+
+  Thus spoke the heroic Dowling!
+    To his Irish gallant band:
+  "Let us send the foes a howling,
+    From our lovely Texas land!"
+
+  Nobly answer'd those brave men all,
+    To his soul-stirring appeal;
+  "Aye, we'll drive them away or fall;
+    We'll fight them with lead and steel."
+
+  The Irishmen desert never
+    The people that treat them well;
+  Their friends they love forever;
+    Their foes may "go to ----!"
+
+  "Steady, steady, keep cool, my boys,
+    Now they are near--ready--fire!"
+  Thus their noble chieftain cries,
+    And they fire and never tire.
+
+  Hear the heavy, thundering sound,
+    The men of war they cry;
+  The dull earth itself resounds
+    As the foemen fight and die.
+
+  But hurrah! the white flag's flying--
+    See, they spare the fallen foe!
+  They attend the wounded--dying--
+    The brave will have it so.
+
+  O, Davis Guards! ye men of war,
+    You've made a glorious name!
+  Thus always guard our Texas Star,
+    And preserve, for aye, your fame.
+
+  And when around the social glass
+    In years to come, you meet,
+  O ne'er forget the Sabine Pass!
+    But its mem'ries fondly greet.
+
+
+
+
+WAR SONG.
+
+By J. H. WOODCOCK.
+
+_Tune_--"_Bonnie Blue Flag._"
+
+
+  Huzza! huzza! let's raise the battle cry,
+    And whip the Yankees from our land,
+  Or with them fall and die;
+    Rush on our Southern columns,
+  And make the brigands feel
+    That all the booty they will get,
+  Will be our Southern steel.
+
+  CHORUS.--Huzza! huzza! let's raise our banner high,
+           And nobly drive the Yankees out,
+           Or with them fall and die.
+
+  We are fighting for our mothers, our sisters and our wives;
+    For these, and our country's rights,
+  We'll sacrifice our lives.
+    Then trusting still to Heaven,
+  We'll charge th' invading host,
+    Till liberty and independence
+  Shall be the Nation's boast.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  Then on with our columns--slay the vandal foe--
+    Beat them from our sunny soil,
+  And lay their colors low.
+    To the great God of Nations
+  Our sacred cause confide,
+    For we are fighting for our liberty
+  And He is on our side.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTH FOR ME.
+
+
+  The South for me! The sunny clime,
+    Where earth is clothed in beauty's hue,
+  And Nature vies in scenes sublime,
+    With all the old world ever knew;
+  I love thy soil where'er I roam,
+    Sweet land! and when afar from thee,
+  My fond heart throbs with thoughts of home,
+    And echoes back "The South for me."
+
+  CHORUS.--The South for me, the South for me,
+             The golden clime, the heart's desires,
+           The only land where men are free,
+             And worthy of their free-born sires.
+
+  The South for me! the patriot's heart
+    Beats ever to that slogan cry;
+  And heroes, armed and ready, start
+    For their loved land to do or die;
+  But leave the Southron's valor free,
+    Let Southern heroes meet the foe,
+  And when rings out "the South for me,"
+    Their strong right arms will deal the blow.
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  The South for me! its bright-eyed maids,
+    Its clime, its stars, its silvery skies,
+  Its streamlets, with their lovely naiads,
+    Its vales, where varying beauties rise,
+  Its cotton fields, where dusky slaves,
+    Are happy in protection kind,
+  The stranger's home, though Yankee knaves
+    May never there a welcome find.
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+CAROLINA.
+
+By MRS. C. A. B.
+
+Music by A. E. B.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  'Mid her ruins proudly stands,
+              Our Carolina!
+  Fetters are upon her hands,
+              Dear Carolina!
+  Yet she feels no sense of shame,
+  For upon the scroll of Fame,
+  She hath writ a deathless name,
+              Brave Carolina!
+
+  She was first our wrongs to feel,
+              Our Carolina!
+  First to draw the glittering steel,
+              Dear Carolina!
+  Ready first to strike the blow,
+  At th' oppressor and the foe,
+  And to lay their standard low,
+              Brave Carolina!
+
+  Nobly now she bears her wrongs,
+              Our Carolina!
+  In her might she still hath songs,
+              Dear Carolina!
+  In the dust her sons lie low,
+  Yet though stricken by the foe,
+  Pride is mingled with her woe--
+              Brave Carolina!
+
+  On her brow there is no stain,
+              Our Carolina!
+  She hath poured out blood like rain,
+              Dear Carolina!
+  Vain her sufferings and her pains,
+  On her limbs are clanking chains,
+  But her glory yet remains,
+              Brave Carolina!
+
+  Bitterly we mourn her fate,
+              Our Carolina!
+  Cherished old Palmetto State;
+              Dear Carolina!
+  Yet while man's brave soul is free,
+  Honored proudly she shall be,
+  Mother of true chivalry!
+              Brave Carolina!
+
+
+
+
+VICKSBURG SONG.[3]
+
+By CAPT. J. W. A. WRIGHT.
+
+_Air--"A Life on the Ocean Wave."_
+
+
+  A life on the Vicksburg bluff,
+    A home in the trenches deep,
+  Where we dodge "Yank" shells enough--
+    And our old "pea-bread" won't keep.
+  On "Old Logan's" beef I pine,
+    For there's fat on his bones no more;
+  Oh! give me some pork in brine,
+    And "truck" from a sutler's store.
+
+  CHORUS.--A life on the Vicksburg bluff,
+             A home in the trenches deep,
+           Where we dodge "Yank" shells enough--
+             And our old "pea-bread" won't keep,
+           Pea-bread, pea-bread, pea-bread;
+             Our old pea-bread won't keep.
+
+[Illustration: "So we'll bury 'Old Logan' to-night."]
+
+  Old Grant is starving us out,
+    Our grub is fast wasting away,
+  Pemb don't know what he's about,
+    And he hasn't for many a day.
+  So we'll bury "Old Logan" to-night,
+    From tough beef we'll be set free;
+  We'll put him far out of sight--
+    No more of his meat for me.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Texas "steers" are no longer in view,
+    Mule steaks are now "done up brown,"
+  While "pea-bread," mule roast, and mule stew,
+    Are our fare in old Vicksburg town.
+  And the song of our hearts shall be,
+    While the "Yanks" and their gunboats rave,
+  A life in "bomb-proofs" for me,
+    And a tear o'er "Old Logan's" grave.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+DO THEY MISS ME IN THE TRENCHES?
+
+A VICKSBURG SONG.
+
+_Air--"Do They Miss Me At Home?"_
+
+
+  Do they miss me in the trenches, do they miss me,
+    When the shells fly so thickly around?
+  Do they know that I've run down the hillside
+    To hunt for my hole in the ground?
+  The shell exploded so near me,
+    It seemed best for me to run;
+  And altho' some laugh'd as I crawfished,
+    I could not discover the fun.
+
+  I often get up in the trenches,
+    When some Yank is near out of sight,
+  And fire a round or two at him,
+    To make the boys think I will fight;
+  But when the Feds commence shelling,
+    I run to my hole down the hill--
+  I'll swear my legs never would stay there,
+    Altho' all may stay there that will.
+
+  I'll save myself thro' the dread struggle,
+    And when the great battle is o'er,
+  I'll claim my full rations of laurels,
+    As always I've done heretofore.
+  I'll swear that I fought them as bravely
+    As the best of my comrades who fell--
+  And swear to all others around me,
+    That I never had fears of a shell.
+
+
+
+
+BOYS! KEEP YOUR POWDER DRY.
+
+
+  Can'st tell who lose the battle, oft in the council-field?
+  Not they who struggle bravely, not they who never yield.
+
+  CHORUS.--Not they who are determined to conquer or to die,
+           And hearken to this caution: Boys, keep your powder dry!
+
+  The foe awaits you yonder! he may await you here,
+  Have brave hearts, stand with courage; be strangers all to fear!
+  And when the charge is given, be ready at the cry:
+  Look well each to his priming--Boys, keep your powder dry!
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  Does a lov'd one home await you, who wept to see you go,
+  When with a kiss imprinted, you left with sacred vow--
+  You'd come again when warfare and arms are all laid by,
+  To take her to your bosom?--Boys, keep your powder dry!
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  Does a father home await you? a sister whom you love?
+  A mother who has reared you, and pray'd to Him above--
+  "Protect my boy, preserve him, and when the battle's done,
+  Send to his weeping mother, bereft, her darling son!"
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  The name of Freedom calls you, the names of martyr'd sires,
+  And Liberty's imploring, from all her hallow'd fires!
+  Can you withstand their calling? You cannot pass them by--
+  You cannot! now charge fiercely!--Boys, keep your powder dry.
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+BAYOU CITY GUARDS' SONG.
+
+IN THE CHICKAHOMINY SWAMP.
+
+
+  Fighting for our rights now, feasting when they're won,
+  By that Cross and Stars, boys, fluttering in the sun--
+  The girls at home will hear, boys, of our banquet of hard corn,
+  And they'll think and pray for us, boys, at night and dewy morn,
+  Then hand around the corn, boys, and pass the full canteen;
+  Corn and water, and a fight, boys, are enough for us, I ween.
+
+  Sleeping in the swamps now, without shelter or a bed;
+  The heaven's green sky above us, green turf beneath our head;
+  But at home when we arrive, boys, tender arms shall us enfold;
+  Our pillows shall be the hearts, boys, that now our image hold.
+
+  Shells are flying over us, the bullets 'round us fly;
+  But we'll lie upon the grass, boys, and munch our corn away!
+  We're driven to their gunboats the base, invading foe;
+  In quick time, such as Texans can, we'll make the Federals go.
+
+  Our mothers are praying for us, our darling sisters too;
+  Our sweethearts--ah! God bless them! what can't we dare or do?
+  With our country's rights and darling ones emblazon'd on our shields,
+  We'll fight with God's protection, till each base invader yields.
+
+  In thinking of our cause, boys, and all we love at home,
+  These hard grains to heavenly manna have miraculously turn'd;
+  And from this battered old canteen I've drained a nectar sweet;
+  'Tis the heart that makes the banquet, and not what we have to eat.
+
+  Soon will we hail brave "Stonewall!" in Maryland set free!
+  And our "Old Line" Chief[4] with his Texas boys shall shout for his
+      victory.
+  With the Cross and Stars then wreathed in flowers, we'll turn our steps
+      again,
+  To the hearts and homes that sigh for us, on our proud prairie plain;
+  Then with gentle hands to tend us, and the chalice for canteen,
+  With our rights all won, we'll rest us, boys, in peace and joy serene.
+
+
+
+
+THE COUNTERSIGN.
+
+
+  Alas! the rolling hours pass slow--
+    The night is very dark and still--
+  And in the marshes, far below,
+    Is heard the lonely whippoorwill:
+  I scarce can see a foot ahead--
+    My ears are strained to catch each sound--
+  I feel the leaves beneath me spread--
+    And the springs bubbling thro' the ground.
+
+  Along the beaten path I pace,
+    Where white rays mark my sentry's track;
+  In formless things I seem to trace
+    The foeman's form, with bended back--
+  I think I see him crouching low!
+    I stop and list--I stop and peer--
+  Until the neighb'ring hillocks grow
+    To groups of soldiers, far and near.
+
+  With ready piece I wait, and watch,
+    Until my eyes--familiar grown--
+  Detect each harmless earthern notch,
+    And turn "Guerrillas" into stone;
+  And then amid the lonely gloom,
+    Beneath the tall magnolia trees,
+  My silent marches I resume,
+    And think of other times than these.
+
+  "Halt! who goes there?" my challenge cry--
+    It rings along the watchful line--
+  "Relief!" I hear a voice reply--
+    "Advance and give the countersign!"
+  With bayonet at the charge, I wait--
+    The corporal gives the mystic word--
+  With "arms aport" I change my mate,
+    Then onward pass, and all is well!
+
+  But in my tent, that night, awake,
+    I ask, "If in the fray I fall,
+  Can I the mystic answer make,
+    When the angelic sentries call?"
+  And pray that Heaven so ordain,
+    Where'er I go, what fate be mine,
+  Whether in pleasure or in pain
+    I still may have the "Countersign!"
+
+
+
+
+THE DARLINGS AT HOME.
+
+By COL. C. G. FORSHEY.
+
+
+  The sentinel treads his martial round,
+    Afar from his humble home--
+  The soldier he tramps till his thoughts are found
+  On missions of love and tenderness bound,
+    Away among his darlings to roam.
+
+  What tender emotions now over him rush!
+    And the tears down his bearded cheeks steal,
+  As he sees his darlings from their sportings rush,
+  And bound to meet him with a joyful gush,
+    "Papa's come!" from their happy lips peal.
+
+  Bright Mary! as fleet as a bounding gazelle,
+    Is into his arms with a spring;
+  And Cabie, with voice clear as a bell,
+  "There's papa, dear papa!" his joyous notes swell
+    Yet choking with tears as they ring.
+
+  And next, little Nubbie comes toddling along,
+    Bright curls streaming out to the wind--
+  With hands reaching up, and infantile tongue--
+  He's lifted the welcoming group among--
+    As tears the stern sentinel blind.
+
+  And then, with the darling bright babe, mamma comes,
+    To welcome him home to their cot--
+  What sobs and caresses,
+  That happy group blesses;
+    Is the sentinel dreaming or not?
+
+  The stern sergeant of guard, calls out from his tent,
+    "Number Four has deserted his post!"
+  The sentinel nearest saw whither he went,
+  And found him, o'er musket, in reverie bent,
+    At home--with his little ones--lost!
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+  The sentinel treads his lonely round--
+    As dawn in the East is breaking
+  A cannon's deep thundering shakes the ground!
+  Another! an army springs up at the sound--
+    To thousands Death's _reveille_ waking!
+
+  What a thrilling pang traverses his soul!
+    And a tear down his cheek is stealing,
+  For a thought of home, with the drum's deep roll,
+  Spite a soldier's manliness, over him stole,
+    As the trumpet of battle was pealing.
+
+  A moment he saw his darlings and wife;
+    To Heaven he breath'd a short prayer!
+  To his country then consecrated his life,
+  Rush'd in where the clamor of battle was rife--
+    When a tempest of ball filled the air.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+  A wounded soldier, who fell by the Run,
+    Lies panting for breath and for water--
+  His hand still grasping his trusty gun--
+  Expires 'mid the glad notes of "victory won!"
+    On Manassas' red field of slaughter.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+  In a far away cabin, a wailing is heard,
+    When the lists of the fallen have come;
+  A mother, long sicken'd by hope deferr'd,
+  A widow with orphans is made at a word,
+    And she weeps o'er the "darlings at home."
+
+
+
+
+AT FORT PILLOW.
+
+
+  You shudder as you think upon th' carnage of the grim report,
+  The desolation when we won the inner trenches of the fort;
+  But there are deeds ye may not know, that scourge the pulses into strife;
+  Dark memories of deathless woe pointing the bayonet and knife.
+
+  The house is ashes where I dwelt, beyond the mighty inland sea,
+  The tombstones shattered where I knelt by that old church at Pointe
+      Coupee;
+  The Yankee fiends that came with fire, camped on the consecrated sod,
+  And trampled in the dust and mire the holy Eucharist of God!
+
+  The spot where darling mother sleeps, beneath the glimpse of yon sad
+      moon,
+  Is crushed with splintered marble heaps, to stall the horse of some
+      dragoon;
+  God! when I ponder that black day it makes my frantic spirit wince;
+  I marched--with Longstreet--far away, but have beheld the ravage since.
+
+  The tears are hot upon my face, when thinking what black fate befell
+  The only sister of our race--a thing too horrible to tell!
+  They say that ere her senses fled, she rescue of her brothers cried;
+  Then freely bowed her stricken head, too poor to live thus--so she died.
+
+  Two of those brothers heard no plea; with their proud hearts forever
+      still--
+  John shrouded by the Tennessee, and Arthur there at Malvern Hill;
+  But I have heard it everywhere, vibrating like a passing knell;
+  'Tis as perpetual as the air, and solemn as a funeral bell.
+
+  By scorched lagoon and murky swamp, my wrath was never in the lurch;
+  I've killed the picket in his camp, and many a pilot on his perch;
+  With steady rifle, sharpen'd brand, a week ago upon my steed,
+  With Forrest and his warrior band, I made the hell-hounds writhe and
+      bleed.
+
+  You should have seen our leader go upon the battle's burning marge,
+  Sweeping like falcon on the foe, heading the Gray line's iron charge!
+  All outcasts from our ruined marts, we heard th' undying serpent hiss,
+  And in the desert of our hearts the fatal spell of Nemesis.
+
+[Illustration: "My right arm bared for fiercer play."]
+
+  The Southern yell rang loud and high the moment that we thundered in,
+  Smiting the demons hip and thigh, cleaving them to the very chin;
+  My right arm bared for fiercer play, the left one held the rein in slack;
+  In all the fury of the fray I sought the white man, not the black.
+
+  The dabbled clots of brain and gore across the swirling sabres ran;
+  To me each brutal visage bore the front of one accurs'd man!
+  Throbbing along the frenzied vein, my blood seem'd kindled into song--
+  The death-dirge of the sacred slain, the slogan of immortal wrong.
+
+  It glared athwart the dripping glaves, it blazed in each avenging eye--
+  The thought of desecrated graves and some lone sister's desperate cry.
+
+[Illustration: Virginia Sword-Belt Clasp.]
+
+
+
+
+DUTY AND DEFIANCE.
+
+By COLONEL HAMILTON WASHINGTON.
+
+
+  Raise the thrilling cry, to arms!
+    Texas needs us all, Texans!
+  Home and love and pleasure's charms,
+    Yield to duty's call, Texans!
+  Now the stream of battle lowers--
+  Who before the tempest cowers?
+  Who could hide in woman's bowers?
+    Show him to the field, Texans!
+  Twice our sires for freedom fought--
+  Twice with blood the treasure bought--
+  By the lessons they have taught
+    We'll die, but never yield, Texans!
+
+  Long we've heard the storm afar;
+    Now 'tis coming near, Texans!
+  Onward rolls the din of war,
+    Let us meet it here, Texans!
+  All we have and love's in danger,
+  Forward, then, each Texan Ranger!
+  Let us meet the daring stranger,
+    That brings us war at home, Texans!--
+  Never shall our happy land
+  Be ravaged by a robber band--
+  We will meet them hand to hand,
+    And fight each step they come, Texans.
+
+
+
+
+THE CONFEDERATE OATH.[5]
+
+_Air--"My Maryland."_
+
+
+  By the Cross upon our banner--glory of our Southern sky--
+  Swear we now, a band of brothers, free to live, or free to die!
+  Northrons! by the rights denied, listen to our solemn vow--
+  Here we swear, as freemen, never to your galling yoke to bow!
+
+  By our brave ones lost in battle, best and noblest of our land,
+  Fighting with your Northern hirelings, face to face and hand to hand;
+  By a sacrifice so priceless, by the spirits of the slain--
+  Swear we now, our Southern heroes shall not thus have died in vain.
+
+  Wide and deep the breach between us--rent by hatred's poisoned darts,
+  And ye cannot now cement it with the blood of Southern hearts!
+  Streams of gore that gulf shall widen, running strong and deep and red,
+  Severing you from us forever, while there is a drop to shed.
+
+  Think you we will brook the insults of your fierce and ruffian chief,
+  Heaped upon our dark-eyed daughters stricken down and pale with grief!
+  Think you while astounded nations curse your malice, we will bear
+  Foulest wrong? with God to call on--arms to do--and hearts to dare!
+
+  When we prayed in peace to leave you, answering came a battle cry;
+  Then we swore that oath which freemen never swear who fear to die!
+  Northrons, come! and you shall find us heart to heart and hand to hand,
+  Shouting to the God of Battles, Freedom and our native land!
+
+
+
+
+BAYOU CITY GUARDS' DIXIE.
+
+By the Company's Own Poet.
+
+
+  From Houston city and Brazos bottom,
+  From selling goods and making cotton,
+    Away, away, away, away!
+  We go to meet our country's foes,
+  To win or die in freedom's cause;
+    Away, away, away, away!
+
+  CHORUS.--We're going to old Virginia, hooray, hooray!
+           To join the fight for Southern rights--
+           We'll live or die for Davis, hooray, hooray!
+           We'll live or die for Davis.
+
+  You've heard of Abe, the gay deceiver,
+  Who sent to Sumter to relieve her;
+    Away, away, away, away!
+  But Beauregard said "save your bacon!
+  Sumter's ours and must be taken!"
+    Away, away, away, away!
+
+  With a floating battery and a few hot shot,
+  He sent them back to General Scott--
+  Old Abe he swore and cuss'd like fun
+  When he found the rebels wouldn't run.
+
+  Scott with his army started South!
+  You've heard how our armies cleaned them out--
+  On Manassas' plains for miles around,
+  Their dead and wounded fill'd the ground.
+
+  Senator Wilson, the ugly sinner,
+  Went over to Centreville to eat a big dinner--
+  The M. C.'s and ministers of State,
+  Left their champagne behind and dinners on the plate.
+
+  They had to leave on an empty stomach,
+  And "git up and git" on t'other side of the Potomac--
+  But some of the invaders are with us still--
+  We'll send them back again if the Lord will.
+
+  Our country calls for volunteers,
+  And Texas boys reply with cheers--
+  The Henderson Guards and Leon Hunters,
+  Friends in peace--in war like panthers.
+
+  The Tom Green Rifles and Lone Star Guards,
+  In a cause that is just, nothing retards;
+  The Echo Company, and the brave Five Shooters,
+  Will deal out death to all freebooters.
+
+  The Northern vandals will learn to their sorrow,
+  Of the Porter Guards, and Rifles of Navarro--
+  The Mustang Greys, O, they never fight for bounty,
+  Nor do the other Greys--those from Navarro county.
+
+  The Liberty Invincibles and Hardeman Texans
+  Can wallop ten to one, whether Yanks or Mexicans;
+  From the Waverly Confederates and the Dixie Blues,
+  And the Bayou City Guards you may expect good news.
+
+
+
+
+DE COTTON DOWN IN DIXIE.
+
+These capital verses were found [written?] on board of the English barque
+_Premier_, in January, 1863, bound from Liverpool to Havana, sixty miles
+west of Madeira, by _Lone Star_, of Galveston, Texas.
+
+
+  I'm gwine back to de land of cotton,
+  Wid de "English Flag" in an "English bottom,"
+    Far away, far away, far away;
+  Kase dere I'm safe from Uncle Sam,
+  And he can't make me contraban',
+    In de land, in de land, in de land,
+    Away down South in Dixie.
+
+  CHORUS.--O, in Dixie land I'll take my stand,
+           And live and die in Dixie land;
+           Hoe away, hoe away, hoe away,
+           De cotton down in Dixie.
+
+  Nor confiscate me for his use,
+  To black and clean his sojers' shoes,
+    Far away, etc.,
+  To "dig his trenches" and save his health,
+  For a picayune a day and find myself,
+    Far away, far away, far away,
+    From de cotton land of Dixie.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  O, I'm gwine back to de old plantations,
+  To tell de boys ob my observations,
+    Far away, etc.,
+  Made by myself in de British nation--
+  I'll tell de trufe widout "sensation,"
+    Far away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  I've been across de Atlantic Ocean,
+  Where dey all do make so great commotion,
+    Far away, etc.,
+  About de war and cotton "famine,"
+  Dey talk a heap of "twaddle and gammon,"
+    Far away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  For in dis English land I've bin in,
+  Dey've got no cotton for de spinnin',
+    Hard times, etc.,
+  For de warehousemen of Manchester,
+  De spinners, too, of Lancashire,
+    Far away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Some say, "Make muslin widout cotton,"
+  Others, "O no, 'twill be too rotten;"
+    Talk away, etc.,
+  Some say, "From India we'll get plenty,
+  From Egypt, Greenland and Ashantee,"
+    Far away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Dey'se holdin' meetin's night and day,
+  To find out soon some oder way,
+    Some way, etc.,
+  To git dere cotton widout you,
+  But dat's a fac' dey'll nebber do,
+    Far away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  For it will take six million bales
+  For de mills ob England, Scotland, Wales,
+    Spin away, etc.,
+  To feed de spinnin' mules and jennies,
+  Dere boys and gals and pickaninnies,
+    Far away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Now dis will take a time so long,
+  'Twill be like de horse in de ole man's song',
+    Sing away, etc.,
+  Dat he learned to lib widout corn or hay,
+  But he _went dead_ dat berry same day,
+    Right away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  O gemmen ob de "Supply Association,"[6]
+  I'll tell you ob de "New-born Nation,"
+    Far away, etc.,
+  De Confederate States of America,
+  Where cotton grows both night and day,
+    Far away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  For we can grow de cotton-wool,
+  For John Crapeau and Johnny Bull,
+    "Parley voo," etc.,
+  An' dey will feed and keep de workies,
+  "White weaver folk," and "hoe in darkies,"
+    Quite right, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  O I'se gwine back to de land ob cotton,
+  Sea Island seed and sandy bottom,
+    Far away, etc.,
+  To de bressed land whar I was born,
+  De land of sugar, cotton and corn,
+    Far away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOLDIER'S MISSION.
+
+By A. W. MORSE.
+
+
+  Haste thee, falter not, noble patriot band,
+  Bravely meet thy lot, firm maintain thy stand,
+  God, the God of War, who defends the just,
+  Give thine arm the power to defend thy trust.
+
+  Thy country called thine aid, prompt thine answer came:
+  "We'll draw our battle blade, and shield our country's name,
+  'Till our firm demand shall have been proclaimed,
+  Justice through the land--equal rights maintained."
+
+  Welcome, welcome, then, to thy happy home,
+  Warm hearts wait thee, when thou mayst thus return
+  But shouldst thou fall in defense of right
+  With grateful hearts we'll all cherish thy memory bright.
+
+[Illustration: Infantry Button.]
+
+
+
+
+SOLDIER, I STAY TO PRAY FOR THEE.[7]
+
+Words by J. S. THOVINGTON.
+
+Music by J. W. GROSCHEL.
+
+_Vocal Duett._
+
+
+  SOLDIER.
+
+  Lady, I go to fight for thee,
+    Where gory banners wave,
+  To fight for thee, and, oh, perchance
+    To find a soldier's grave.
+
+  LADY.
+
+  Soldier, I stay to pray for thee,
+    A harder task is mine;
+  To which, and long in lonely grief,
+    That victory may be thine.
+
+  SOLDIER.
+
+  Lady, I go and fight for thee.
+
+  LADY.
+
+  Soldier, I stay and pray for thee.
+
+  BOTH.
+
+  And strength and faith combined,
+    Still form the magic sword,
+  Wherewith the Southrons victory find,
+    The Southrons victory find.
+
+[Illustration: "Lady, I go to fight for thee!"]
+
+  SOLDIER.
+
+  Fare thee well!
+
+  LADY.
+
+  Fare thee well!
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTH OUR COUNTRY.
+
+Words by E. M. THOMPSON.
+
+Music by J. A. BUTTERFIELD.
+
+
+  Our country, our country, oh, where may we find,
+    Amid all the proud relics of legend or story,
+  A holier charm for the patriot mind
+    Than that soul-stirring topic--our native land's glory.
+    That land on whose standard the eagle's proud pinions
+    Flutter lordly defiance to tyranny's minions,
+    And whose soil all untarnished by sceptre or throne,
+    Is a home for the brave, and the free heart alone.
+
+  And we care not to honor the bleak shores of Maine,
+    With her ship-peopled strand in proud grandeur careering,
+  Nor the West, with her wide prairies waving in grain,
+    The gainers of plenty by name so endearing.
+    But the South is our home the land of bright flowers,
+    Where the softest of suns, and the gentlest of showers
+    Distill a sweet balm from the blossoming earth,
+    And make life a bright vision of pleasure and mirth.
+
+  Though dreams of the past cling around the heart still,
+    And a thousand proud memories will ever be cherished
+  Of Princeton and Monmouth and brave Bunker Hill
+    The spots where our country's defenders have perished;
+    The union they bled for is now rudely severed,
+    The idols are broken we once fondly revered,
+    And discord has scattered its pestilent bane
+    From Florida's reefs to the snow peaks of Maine.
+
+  But union still gladdens our own sunny home,
+    Whose bright blades and brave hearts will ever defend her,
+  And though wreck and disaster and ruin may come,
+    While the bright sun shines o'er them they never will surrender.
+    Let the foeman come on in his daring effrontery,
+    Let him trample the loved soil we call our dear country,
+    And for every fair flower that fades in his path,
+    A proud heart shall bleed 'neath the sword of our wrath.
+
+
+
+
+I WISH I WAS IN DIXIE'S LAND.
+
+By DAN D. EMMETT.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  I wish I was in de land ob cotton,
+  Old times dar am not forgotten,
+    Look away, look away, look away, Dixie Land!
+  In Dixie land whar I was born in,
+  Early on one frosty mornin',
+    Look away, look away, look away, Dixie land!
+
+  CHORUS.--Den I wish I was in Dixie--
+                Hooray, hooray!
+           In Dixie land I'll took my stan'!
+           To lib an' die in Dixie
+                Away, away,
+           Away down south in Dixie
+                Away, away,
+           Away down south in Dixie.
+
+  Ole Missus marry "Will-de-Weaber,"
+  William was gay deceber
+    Look away, etc.
+  But when he put his arm around 'er
+  He smiled as fierce as a forty-pounder
+    Look away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  His face was sharp as a butcher's cleaber,
+  But dat did not seem to grieb 'er,
+    Look away, etc.
+  Ole Missus acted de foolish part,
+  An' died for a man dat broke her heart,
+    Look away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Now, here's a health to de next ole Missus,
+  Ah! all de gals dat want to kiss us,
+    Look away, etc.
+  But if you want to drive 'way sorrow,
+  Come an' hear dis song to-morrow,
+    Look away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Dar's buckwheat cakes an' Injun batter,
+  Makes you fat, or a little fatter,
+    Look away, etc.
+  Den hoe it down and scratch your grabble,
+  To Dixie's Land I'm bound to trabble,
+    Look away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+CAMPAIGN BALLAD.
+
+By REV. J. E. CARNES.
+
+
+  Young Florida sends forth her clan--the old Dominion's brave,
+  With sons of Texas, lead the van to glory or the grave;
+  Now, by the fame of Yorktown's name, and by the Alamo,
+  The sons will not the fathers shame, though mightier be the foe.
+
+  From desecrated Maryland come out a faithful few,
+  And old Kentucky sends a band to God and Freedom true;
+  There comes a thrill from Sharpsburg's rill--and from the "bloody
+      ground,"
+  Heap'd with the mounds of Perryville, the spectral slogans sound!
+
+  And Alabama's well-tried host into the Grey line wheels,
+  From wasted farms, beleaguered coast, from Florence to Mobile;
+  The torch-lit home, whence kindred roam, has lent its wings their fire;
+  And wrongs, tear-writ in mem'ry's tome, to deeds of blood inspire.
+
+  Ho, Louisiana! vengeance fraught by rapine's hellish scenes,
+  Comes vanward with the blended thought of Mansfield--New Orleans;
+  By spicy groves, where beauty roves, and where the Yankees swarm,
+  With vandal feet, in hireling droves, she swears her vengeance warm.
+
+  Arkansas strikes Missouri's hand--they cross the bayonet,
+  Each thinking of a glorious band with blood of kindred met;
+  They bless the Post, whose little host fought all but treason well;
+  And Elkhorn's grief and Springfield's boast their patriot bosoms swell.
+
+  From where the cypress droppeth down tear-dews on Jackson's tomb;
+  From where the darkest mountains frown, and brightest valleys bloom,
+  All broad of breast, with lance in rest, and in their swift-streams free,
+  Pour down the bravest and the best of sinewy Tennessee.
+
+  With Vicksburg boiling in their veins, the Mississippians cheer,
+  With wildest joy, the trumpet-strains that speak the battle near;
+  O hear! O hark! the name of Stark is passed along the line--
+  A thousand eyes more keenly mark where gathering foes combine.
+
+  From Chickamauga to the flames that o'er Savannah glare,
+  Inspired by Bee and Barton's names the Georgians, too are there;
+  By the sad path of Sherman's wrath all thro' their staid old state,
+  They swear themselves to deeds of scath, and righteous love of hate!
+
+  The Carolinas seek the fray--the scarr'd of every fight,
+  From far Manassas' glorious day to Fisher's bloody night;
+  Grand deeds of old their hearts unfold, and later memories clasp,
+  While rifle stock and hilt of gold are griped with fiercer grasp.
+
+  Now make one more immortal plain, ye men of battle skill,
+  Ye of the comprehensive brain and the undaunted will;
+  Now, Robert Lee! there comes to thee the all-decisive hour!
+  God make thy flashing blade to be the lightning of his power!
+
+  Now, Beauregard and Johnston, now as in your other fight,
+  With mutual heart and answering brow inspire the hosts of right!
+  Now, Bragg and Hood, who oft withstood, and oft have charged the foe,
+  Come with a hand and will as good to lay the vandal low.
+
+  Rise, Longstreet, with a face that shines as bright as battle's flash,
+  Where'er along the closing lines the burnish'd bayonets crash;
+  Now, Forrest, aid with such a blade as made Fort Pillow quail;
+  Now, Hill and Hardee, undismay'd, direct the iron hail.
+
+  Ho! Smith, Magruder, Taylor, Price and Walker in your spheres,
+  Warm with your zeal the hearts of ice, and charm the coward's fears!
+  For by the tree of Liberty God planted on this shore,
+  This fight should be a victory or ye should breathe no more.
+
+  Now, Davis! on the mount of State, discern the Lord's command,
+  While faith and courage on thee wait, and lift each cheering hand,
+  To beckon all, from farm and street, and make the laggard feel
+  A wish to meet the first that greets the carnival of steel!
+
+  Let Honor beat the rataplan and Duty quick obey--
+  Make "yea" an instant Tagerman, and "no" at once a Ney!
+  Upon the blood our best have spilled, pledge me with common breaths
+  War to the hilt with Yankee guilty, for "Liberty or Death!"
+
+[Illustration: Louisiana.]
+
+
+
+
+OUR GLORIOUS FLAG.
+
+A VICKSBURG SONG.
+
+_Air--"Her Bright Smile Haunts Me Still."_
+
+
+  There is freedom on each fold, and each star is freedom's throne,
+  And the free, the brave, the bold, guard thine honor as their own;
+  Ev'ry danger hast thou known that the battle's storm can fill,
+  Thy glory hath not flown--we proudly wave thee still.
+                      Ev'ry danger, etc.
+
+  Floating in the morning light, Freedom's sun! thou shinest far,
+  Floating thro' the murky night, all shall see thee, Freedom's star!
+  For _sic semper_ thy refrain, and thy motto e'er shall be,
+  Let tyrants wear the chain--I am--I will be free!
+
+  O'er the land or the sea where the hurling waves are torn,
+  In the calm, the storm, the breeze, be thy standard proudly borne;
+  For there's freedom on each fold, and each star's freedom's throne--
+  The free, the brave, the bold, thy glory is their own.
+
+
+
+
+THE HOUR BEFORE EXECUTION.
+
+By MISS MARIA E. JONES.
+
+
+  Hark! the clock strikes! All, all that now remains,
+    Is one short hour of this fast fleeting life,
+    And then farewell the terrors and the strife,
+      The heavenly joys, the sorrows of long years,
+  It's holy rapture, the corroding pains--
+      That fill the heart with rapture or with tears.
+
+  Farewell, old world! I never knew 'till now
+    How well I lov'd thee; and my wayward heart
+    Still fondly clings to thee--but we must part!
+      Let not my proud heart in that parting fail!
+  How can I weep to leave thee? I whose brow
+      Hath oft been bared to battle's iron hail!
+
+  My heart beats proudly, yet the coward tears
+    Steal from my eyes and bathe my pallid cheek;
+    God! what womanly weakness do they speak
+      And would half say, that the brave Southern spy
+  Who had scorned death and mock'd his idle fears,
+      Had, at last, forgotten how to die.
+
+  O beauteous earth! each well remember'd place--
+    All that I lov'd comes up before my mind--
+    The lov'd and cherished I must leave behind--
+      Stand out before me! every verdant spot
+  In my life's desert I can clearly trace,
+      E'en to those pictures I had deemed forgot.
+
+  I see my mother standing in the door
+    Of my lov'd home, as in the evening breeze
+    The curtains wave, and the gigantic trees,
+      Stretching their arms to welcome me again,
+  Cast dark'ning shadows on the bare bright floor--
+      Mother, dear mother! you will watch in vain.
+
+[Illustration: "Farewell to earth and all its beauteous bloom."]
+
+  Watch for the coming of my eager feet,
+    My warm embraces and tender, loving kisses--
+    They will not come! dear mother, you will miss
+      Your boy's lov'd presence, and in vain will seek,
+  The well known form that you were wont to greet
+      With tender kisses upon brow and cheek.
+
+  The tall, green trees will cast their lengthen'd shade
+    Across the prairie, and the shadows pale
+    Will fill your home, and the wild winds will wail
+      With frantic madness, as they swiftly sweep
+  Thro' the dark forests where your children play'd--
+      Where all save one in death's embraces sleep.
+
+  And he will fill an unhonor'd far-off grave,
+    Unmark'd and lone! The hated foeman's scorn,
+    Will soon be o'er. This glorious, golden morn
+      I leave my life, my honor and my fame,
+  To nobly die as fits a soldier brave--
+      Who asks of Southrons but an honor'd name?
+
+  The hour is gone! and I must meet my doom,
+    And die, as should a soldier always die,
+    With unblanch'd cheek, and proudly scornful eye,
+      While stern defiance doth my bosom swell--
+  Farewell to earth and all its beauteous bloom--
+      My country! mother! one long, last farewell!
+
+
+
+
+THE BLACK FLAG.
+
+By PAUL H. HAYNE.
+
+
+  Like the roar of the wintry surges on a wild tempestuous strand,
+  The voice of the madden'd millions comes up from an outraged land;
+  For the cup of our woe runs over, and the day of our grace is past,
+  And Mercy has fled to the Angels, and Hatred is King at last!
+
+  CHORUS.--Then up with the Sable Banner!
+             Let it thrill to the War God's breath,
+           For we march to the watchword--Vengeance!
+             And we follow the Captain--Death!
+
+  In the gloom of the gory breaches, on the ramparts wrapt in flame,
+  'Mid the ruin'd homesteads, blacken'd by a hundred deeds of shame;
+  Wheresoever the vandals rally, and the bands of the alien meet,
+  We will crush the heads of the hydra with the stamp of our armed feet.
+
+  They have taught us a fearful lesson! 'tis burn'd on our hearts in fire,
+  And the souls of a host of heroes leap with a fierce desire;
+  And we swear by all that is sacred, and we swear by all that is pure,
+  That the crafty and cruel dastards shall ravage our homes no more.
+
+  We will roll the billows of battle back, back on the braggart foe,
+  'Till his leaguer'd and stricken cities shall quake with a coward's
+      throe;
+  They shall compass the awful meaning of the conflict their lust begun,
+  When the Northland rings with wailing, and the grand old cause hath
+      won.[8]
+
+
+
+
+BANKS' SKEDADDLE.
+
+
+  You know the Federal General Banks,
+  Who came through Louisiana with his forty thousand Yanks;
+  His object was to execute the Abolition law,
+  With as mongrel a horde of soldiers as creation ever saw;
+  There were Irish and English, and Spanish and Dutch,
+  And negroes and Yankees, and many more such,
+  All dress'd out in blue coats and fine filagree--
+  But such a skedaddle you never did see!
+
+  CHORUS.--Doodle, doodle, Yankee doodle, doodle, dee,
+             O such a skedaddle you never did see!
+
+  They came prepared to shear our sheep and gather in our crops,
+  And thus destroy the government by knocking down its props;
+  They'd rob us of our wheat and wool, our poultry and such things,
+  And steal the ladies' jewelry, their dresses and their rings;
+  They had scythe-blades and whiskey, and sheep shears and hams,
+  And threshes and jack-knives, and jellies and jams,
+  O glorious their object--a nation to free!
+  But such a skedaddle you never did see!
+
+  The veterans of Vicksburg, who never had been whipped,
+  All swore that not a leaflet of their laurels should be clipped;
+  They wanted to see Texas, and the famous Texas boys,
+  Who thro' the whole Confederacy were making such a noise;
+  They had banners and mottoes, and trumpets and drums,
+  And small arms and cannon, and round shot and bombs,
+  Their most famous column, the "Feds" did agree--
+  But such a skedaddle you never did see!
+
+  How first they saw the Texans and heard the Texan yell--
+  But whether men or devils they declare they could not tell,
+  They faced about, at "double quick," and run with all their might,
+  For they had seen the "elephant," and did not like the sight;
+  They left baggage and Enfields, and knapsacks and shoes,
+  And pickles and blankets, and negroes and stews,
+  And broke for the river as fast as might be--
+  But such a skedaddle you never did see!
+
+  Helter, skelter, neck or nothing, driven by their fears,
+  From ev'ry side the Texan yell was ringing in their ears!
+  Still on they rush'd, like quarter-horses, shouting as they ran,
+  "The Rebels take the hindmost--now save himself who can!"
+  They had gunboats and transports, and all sorts of crafts,
+  They were all clad in iron, with guns fore and aft,
+  In these they expected in safety to flee--
+  But such a skedaddle you never did see!
+
+
+
+
+AWAKE! TO ARMS IN TEXAS!
+
+_Air--"Dixie."_
+
+
+  Hear ye not the sound of battle,
+  Sabre clash and musket rattle?
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+  Hostile footsteps on your border;
+  Hostile columns tread in order;
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+
+  CHORUS.--O, fly to arms in Texas! to arms! to arms!
+           From Texas land we'll rout the band
+           That comes to conquer Texas--
+           Awake, awake, and rout the foe from Texas.
+
+  See the red smoke hanging o'er us;
+  Hear the cannon's booming chorus;
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+  See our steady columns forming;
+  Hear the shouting--hear the storming,
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  All the Northmen's forces coming;
+  Hark! the distant rapid drumming:
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+  Prouder ranks than theirs were driven,
+  When our Mexic ties were riven;
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Gird your loins, with sword and sabre;
+  Give your lives to freedom's labor;
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+  What though ev'ry heart be sadden'd--
+  What though all the land be redden'd--
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Shall this boasting, mad invader,
+  Trample Texas and degrade her?
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+  By our fathers' proud example,
+  Texas soil they shall not trample;
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Texans! meet them on the border;
+  Charge them into wild disorder;
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+  Hew the vandals down before you,
+  Till the last inch they restore you;
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Through the echoing hills resounding,
+  Hear the Texan bugles sounding;
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+  Arouse from ev'ry hill and valley;
+  List the bugle! Rally! rally!
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE CAPTURE OF SEVENTEEN OF COMPANY H, FOURTH TEXAS CAVALRY.
+
+_Air--"Wake Snakes and Bite a Biskit."_
+
+
+  'Twas early in the morning of eighteen sixty-three,
+  We started out on picket, not knowing what we'd see;
+  The bridge we knew was floating. If the Yankees should pursue,
+  We knew we should be captured if running we'd not do.
+
+  To stop and give them battle, we never tho't of it--
+  The shot at us did rattle, so we tho't we'd better "git,"
+  The captain tried to rally us, and so did brave young Linn;
+  And Rader, too, with pistol drawn--Fenly next "put in."
+
+  Rainbolt, too, with angry words attempts to stop our flight,
+  They tell us yet to stop with them, and give the Yankees fight:
+  They saw they could not stop us--to try it would be vain--
+  So their only chance of safety was to give their steeds the rein.
+
+  Now this portion of my story will cause your hearts to bleed,
+  It tells of those who halted while going at full speed.
+  First came Billy Eddins, with musket shot in thigh,
+  He was told by the Yankees, "surrender now or die!"
+
+  Then came poor Johnny Burns, with sabre cut in head,
+  And near by him, and wounded, stood the still unconquer'd Red;
+  Then Oscar, and June Harris stood near in sore affright--
+  Then came the young De Marcus, in none the better plight.
+
+  Yarborough, too, with chalky cheek, was walking down the road--
+  The Yankees had to some extent relieved him of his load;
+  His overcoat he had pulled off, and in his shirt he stood,
+  In woeful plight, he was a sight,--his face contain'd no blood.
+
+  Then came the lively Lilly, with teeth hard set in wrath,
+  To think that some had pass'd him by, but pick'd him up at last!
+  Then Burnes came, and Maynard, then Graham and Jim Baugh--
+  The gallant Bone was found alone, and bro't back from afar.
+
+  But of the handsome Parton I must not fail to tell;
+  His graceful way of riding you all remember well;
+  But to-day the fates concluded to stop his wild career,
+  So from his horse was jolted by a musket from the rear.
+
+  The gallant Hill, and dashing Dees, were spurring for dear life,
+  When a Yankee rode with perfect ease upon them with a knife;
+  "Surrender, now, my pretty pair; and do it quickly too,
+  Stop at once and turn your mare, or I will run you through."
+
+  They stopp'd at once, and faced about and to the rear did start;
+  And back they came, with legs quite lame, with faint and sinking heart:
+  And there they saw a crowd who were gobbled up that day--
+  They were the twain that made seventeen, and we were marched away.
+
+
+
+
+ALABAMA.
+
+Words by LAURA LORRIMER.
+
+Music by J. W. GROSCHEL.
+
+
+  Over vale and over mountain
+    Pealing forth in triumph strong,
+  Comes a lofty swell of music,
+    Alabama's greeting song.
+  In the new-born arch of glory,
+    So, she burns, the central star,
+  Never shame shall blight its grandeur,
+    Never cloud its radiance mar.
+
+  CHORUS.--Alabama, Alabama,
+             Listen, Southrons, to the strain,
+           Alabama, Alabama,
+             Shout the rallying cry again.
+
+  As the gulf waves rushing shoreward,
+    Break in music echoes grand,
+  Alabama sends this greeting,
+    Proudly to her sister band.
+  This her ultimatum, burning,
+    In each heart of Southern flame,
+  Peace, if gained not by dishonor,
+    But far better war than shame.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  Let the "Northern Lion" couchant,
+    On his bleak and froze plain,
+  Lift his shaggy front in wonder,
+    And defiant shake his mane.
+  Sunward soars the mighty eagle,
+    And where blossom brighter bowers,
+  Than amid the green savannahs
+    Of this sunny land of ours.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  And her sons will rise in legions,
+    Bleed and die at her behest,
+  Ere a hostile Northern footstep
+    Trample, conqueror, on her breast.
+  This the faith she plights her sisters,
+    In this glorious Southern band,
+  Side by side she will be with them,
+    Heart with heart, and hand to hand.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+IMOGEN.
+
+By MAJ.-GEN. J. B. MAGRUDER.
+
+
+  Wake! dearest, wake! 'tis thy lover who calls, Imogen;
+  List! dearest, list! the dew gently falls, Imogen;
+  Arise to thy lattice, the moon is asleep,
+  The bright stars above us their bright vigils keep.
+
+[Illustration: "Thy steed is impatient his mistress to bear."]
+
+  CHORUS.--Then fear not, my Imogen,
+           Thou'rt dearer than life!
+           The heart of the soldier is the home of the wife, Imogen,
+           The heart of the soldier is the home of the wife.
+
+[Illustration: "Arise to thy lattice, the moon is asleep."]
+
+  Thy steed is impatient his mistress to bear, Imogen,
+  Home to her lover, on the prairie afar, Imogen,
+  Belov'd as a maiden, adored as a wife,
+  Thou shalt be forever the star of my life.
+
+
+
+
+AN OLD TEXAN'S APPEAL.
+
+By REUBEN E. BROWN.
+
+
+  Come all ye temper'd hearts of steel--come, quit your flocks and farms,
+  Your sports, your plays, your holidays, and hark! away to arms!
+            And hark! away to arms!
+            Your sports, your plays, your holidays,
+            And hark! away to arms!
+
+  For a soldier is a gentleman--his honor is his life--
+  And he that won't fight at his post shall ne'er stay with his wife!
+            Shall ne'er stay with his wife!
+            And he that won't fight at his post,
+            Shall ne'er stay with his wife!
+
+  For love and honor are the same, they are so near alike,
+  They neither can exist alone, but flourish side by side.
+
+  Our country calls us to the field--let's not a moment stay;
+  Gird on your arms with cheerfulness, and fearless march away.
+
+  No foreign power shall us enslave--no Northern tyrant reign;
+  'Twas independence made us free, and freedom we'll maintain.
+
+  The rising world shall sing of us a thousand years to come,
+  And children to their children tell what glories we have won.
+
+  Farewell, sweethearts! 'tis for awhile; my dear, sweet girls, adieu;
+  Let's drive these Northern dogs away, we'll come and stay with you.
+
+  And when the war is over, boys, we'll then sit down at ease--
+  We'll plow and sow, and reap and mow, and do just as we please.
+
+
+
+
+ARISE! YE SONS OF FREE-BORN SIRES!
+
+(Lines prompted by the spirit that pervaded the soldiers of Galveston on
+receiving the news of our disaster.)
+
+By A. E. MORRIS, Company C, Twentieth Infantry.
+
+
+  Arise! ye sons of free-born sires; arise! your country save;
+  Kindle again the wonted fires that animate the brave:
+  Your heritage your foes menace--secure it from their foul embrace--
+            Your chains asunder burst!
+  What tho' they count as harvest-seed--as fathers bled, their sons must
+      bleed,
+            Or be forever accursed!
+
+  The boasted chivalry of yore you can, you must, maintain;
+  Let not the scars our fathers bore for us, be borne in vain!
+  Degenerate sons of noble sires, by baleful, wild, fanatic fires,
+            And madden'd folly mov'd,
+  Profaned their Hero's sacred dust--betrayed their country's sacred trust,
+            And double traitors proved.
+
+  They've rais'd the fratricidal hand--they've shed their brother's blood--
+  Spread desolation thro' your land with sword and fire and blood,
+  Your desecrated altars lie ensanguin'd in the deepest dye
+            Of holy thing's profaned
+  Your homes and towns in ruins piled--your matrons, maids--your very child
+            With foul pollution stained.
+
+  Then rise, ye sons of free-born sires, _once_ more! and freedom's won,
+  Kindle again the fervid fires that glow'd in sixty-one!
+  Your heritage your foes menace--secure it from their foul embrace--
+            Your chains asunder burst!
+  What tho' they count as harvest-seed--as fathers bled, their sons must
+      bleed,
+            Or be fore'er accursed!
+
+
+
+
+GAY AND HAPPY.
+
+
+  We're the boys so gay and happy,
+    Wheresoever we chance to be--
+  If at home, or on camp duty,
+    'Tis the same, we're always free!
+
+  CHORUS.--Then let the Yanks say what they will,
+             We'll be gay and happy still;
+           Gay and happy, gay and happy,
+             We'll be gay and happy still.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  We've left our homes, and those we cherish
+    In our own dear Texas land!
+  We would rather fight and perish
+    Side by side, and hand in hand.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Old Virginia needs assistance--
+    Northern hosts invade her soil--
+  We'll present a firm resistance,
+    Courting danger, fire and toil.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Then let drums and muskets rattle--
+    Fearless as the name we bore,
+  We'll not leave the field of battle
+    While a Yank is on our shore.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+BAYLOR'S PARTISAN RANGERS.
+
+By MARY L. WILSON, of San Antonio, Texas.
+
+_Air--"Dixie."_
+
+
+  Hear the summons, sons of Texas!
+  Now the fierce invaders vex us,
+    Come on, come on, come on for Texas!
+  Daring, dauntless, reckless Ranger!
+    First in glory, first in danger--
+  Come on, come on for Texas.
+
+  CHORUS.--Exalt the fame of Texas, strike home, strike home!
+           Where Baylor leads the foeman bleeds!
+           Then strike with him for Texas--
+           Come on, come on, ye gallant sons of Texas!
+
+  Awhile ago they dared defy us--
+  Now they meet us but to fly us;
+  Bright the stars and bars are gleaming!
+  Bright our future star is beaming!
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  By base Butler's proclamation,
+  By our sister's defamation,--
+  By the sword of justice sheathless,
+  Be the fires of vengeance quenchless.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Honor, safety, vengeance call you,
+  Ere the tyrant's chains enthrall you--
+  Cities burning, women wailing!
+  Shall their tears be unavailing?
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  Fiercely now the vandal's smiting,
+  Southern homes his torch is blighting--
+  Well he knows he'll conquer never,
+  So would ruin us forever.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  A Texan's name, who would not wear it?
+  Well the foe has learned to fear it!
+  Green the laurels for you springing,
+  Bright the halo 'round you clinging.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  Chosen by the gallant Morgan!
+  The North has heard the Texan slogan;
+  Rangers, ask not, give not quarter!
+  Be your pathway marked with slaughter!
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+[Illustration: Volunteer Confederate Button.]
+
+
+
+
+THE HORSE MARINES AT GALVESTON.
+
+_Air--"Barring of the Door."_
+
+
+  It was on a New Year's morn so soon,
+    Before the break of day, Oh!
+  General Magruder had laid his plan
+    To catch the Yankees in the Bay, Oh!
+
+  CHORUS.--Skedaddle, skedaddle, leave horse, spur and saddle,
+             Charge! Horse Marines, with a hoo-way!
+           Skedaddle, skedaddle, the Yankees will toddle;
+             Rush on them with pistol and bowie--
+                     O, skedaddle!
+
+  Magruder march'd down through Galveston town,
+    And placed his men on the shore, Oh!
+  And the fight then began when he fired the first gun,
+    And the fleet replied with a roar, Oh!
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  The Yankees' big shot flew fast, thick and hot,
+    They thought they'd gain'd the day, Oh!
+  When Bagby and Green, with the new Horse Marine,
+    Came rushing down the Bay, Oh!
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  The two bayou boats went to butting like goats,
+    The big steamer's deck to gain, Oh!
+  Then L'on Smith, that trump, he made the first jump,
+    Right abroad of the Harriet Lane, Oh!
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  Let it not be forgotten, that Jim Dowlan, the Briton,
+    Pitch'd in through flood and through flame, Oh!
+  From the sinking boat swam to the Bayou City ram,
+    And boarded the Harriet Lane, Oh!
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  Then flew the white flag o'er the Federal rag;
+    The Yankees cried stop! just at light, Oh!
+  By cunning and lies, to get off with the prize
+    We had fairly won in the fight, Oh!
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  But General Bill Scurry, was in too great a hurry,
+    To wait for a three hours' truce, Oh!
+  He bagged all ashore, and would have bagged more,
+    Had any been lying around loose, Oh!
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  Old General Magruder will let no intruder
+    Our soil with his footsteps pollute, Oh!
+  The Arizona Brigade, with L'on Smith as aid,
+    Will send them to--Butler, the brute, Oh!
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  Then rejoice, O rejoice, ye Texans, rejoice;
+    Charge! Horse Marines, with a hoo-way!
+  The invaders are dead, ta'en pris'ner, or fled--
+    They can't stand the pistol and bowie.
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+I'M THINKING OF THE SOLDIER.
+
+By MARY E. SMITH, of Austin, Texas.
+
+
+  O, I'm thinking of the soldier as the evening shadows fall,
+  As the twilight fairy sketches her sad picture on the wall;
+  As the trees are resting sadly on the waveless silence deep,
+  Like the barks upon the ocean when the winds are hush'd to sleep.
+
+  All my soul is with the absent, as the evening shadows fall;
+  While the ghosts of night are spreading o'er the dying light a pall;
+  As the robes of day are trailing in the halls of eventide,
+  And yon radiant star is wooing blushing eve to be his bride.
+
+  I have shunn'd the cosy parlor--for a silence lingers there,
+  Since our lov'd one went to battle, and we find a vacant chair;
+  And a sigh is stealing upward, as the evening spirits come,
+  With the zephyrs, to the bowers of this sadly deserted home.
+
+  For when soft "good nights" are ended there's a room not like the rest,
+  Since a soldier left that chamber and that pillow is unprest;
+  O, my soul is in a shadow, and my heart cannot be gay,
+  As the eve with low refraining comes to shroud the dying day.
+
+[Illustration: "I'm thinking of the soldier as the evening shadows fall."]
+
+  For I'm dreaming of the soldier, on his pallet bed of straw;
+  As the leaves are growing yellow and November winds are raw--
+  And a vision comes before me of aching, fever'd brow;
+  And a proud form blighted, blasted, strangely, strangely alter'd now.
+
+  And I feel that strong heart beating fainter, fainter with each breath,
+  Fluttering softly in its prison, fluttering thro' the gate of death;
+  And a voice of sad despairing stirs my heart's deep fountain now,--
+  As my hand is slowly wandering o'er that strangely altered brow.
+
+  And a sigh, soul full of longing, fills the chambers of my soul--
+  While the quivering heart-strings whisper "Life's a tale that soon is
+      told;"
+  God of Love, receive the soldier on that dim mysterious shore,
+  Where the weary are at rest and souls are sad, ah! nevermore.
+
+  Still the dusky sybil, "Future," on her dim, prophetic leaves,
+  Writes that death will claim the soldier, when he gathers up his sheaves;
+  This is why I'm ever sighing, and my heart cannot be gay,
+  As the eve with low refraining comes to shroud the dying day.
+
+  That is why I still am sighing as the deep gray shadows fall,
+  As the twilight spirit settles down her shadows in the hall,
+  And I'm praying for the soldier from a soul with sorrow sore,
+  For our soldier boys have left us--gone, perchance, to come no more.
+
+
+
+
+THE BATTLE OF GALVESTON.
+
+By MRS. L. E. CAPLEN, Galveston.
+
+_Air--"The Harp that once thro' Tara's Halls."_
+
+
+  'Twas on that dark and fearful morn,
+    That anxious hearts beat high!
+  And many from their friends were torn
+    Beneath the wintry sky.
+
+  But hark! what cannon roar is that?
+    Terrific--but sublime--
+  Wafting some mortals to their graves,
+    Far from their Northern clime.
+
+  As the battle rag'd, voices high
+    Echoed along the shore,
+  For death or victory was nigh
+    Amid the battle's roar.
+
+  The Yanks appeared to gain the ground,
+    Their hopes were sure and high,
+  Our little boats then hove in sight,
+    Which caused their men to cry.
+
+  Magruder, for example sake,
+    The cannon first did fire,
+  When soon their boats were made to quake--
+    When one embrac'd his sire.
+
+  But death hath taken for his own
+    Their Captain, Lee, Monroe--
+  And many more they lost that day,
+    Whose death they'll long deplore.
+
+  But were we favored? Sure we were,
+    For victory was ours!
+  But death had stolen our gallant Wier;
+    Our tears did fall in showers.
+
+  Another one, deserving most,
+    The brave and noble son!
+  Sherman! thy country's pride! is lost--
+    A death most nobly won.
+
+  Come, all ye people, far and near,
+    Example you must take,
+  For Texas men and women are
+    Heroes for country's sake!
+
+
+
+
+DEATH OF GEN. ALBERT SIDNEY JOHNSTON.
+
+By GEORGE B. MILROR, of Harrisburg.
+
+
+  The sun was sinking o'er the battle plain,
+    Where the night winds were already sighing,
+  While, with smiling lips, near his war-horse slain,
+    Lay a valiant chieftain dying!
+
+  And as he sank to his long, last rest,
+    The banner--once o'er him streaming--
+  He folded 'round his most gallant breast,
+    On the couch that knows no dreaming.
+
+  Proudly he lay on the battle-field,
+    On the banks of the noble river;
+  And the crimson stream from his veins did yield,
+    Without a pang or quiver!
+
+  There were hands that came to bind his wounds,
+    There were eyes o'er the warrior streaming,
+  As he rais'd his head from the bloody ground,
+    Where many a brave was sleeping.
+
+  "Now, away," he cried--"your aid is vain!
+    My soul will not brook recalling!
+  I have seen the tyrant enemy slain,
+    And like Autumn vine-leaves falling!
+
+  "I have seen our glorious banner wave
+    O'er the tents of the enemy vanquish'd--
+  I have drawn a sword for my country brave,
+    And in her cause now perish!
+
+  "Leave me to die with the free and the brave,
+    On the banks of my own noble river--
+  Ye can give me naught but a soldier's grave,
+    And a place in your hearts forever!"
+
+
+
+
+GOD BLESS OUR SOUTHERN LAND.
+
+Respectfully inscribed to Major-General J. B. Magruder, and sung on the
+occasion of his public reception in the city of Houston, Texas, Jan. 20,
+1863.
+
+
+  God bless our Southern land,
+  God save our sea-girt land,
+      And make us free;
+  With justice for our shield,
+  May we on battle field
+  Never to foemen yield
+      Our liberty.
+
+  O Lord! protect the Chief
+  Who to our prompt relief
+      From threaten'd woe,
+  Hasten'd to lead the way;
+  Nor faltered in the fray,
+  When from our beauteous Bay
+      He drove the foe.
+
+  And may the gallant band
+  Worthy in his command
+      Ever to be,
+  Have of Thy watchful care
+  Ever a plenteous share,
+  Inspiring each to dare
+      For home and thee.
+
+  "O Lord our God! arise,
+  Scatter our enemies,
+      And make them fall!"
+  And when, with peace restored,
+  Each man lays by the sword,
+  May he with joy record
+      Thy mercies all.
+
+
+
+
+SOUTHERN BATTLE SONG.
+
+_Air--"Bruce's Address."_
+
+
+  Raise the Southern flag on high!
+  Shout aloud the battle cry!
+  Let its echoes reach the sky--
+          "God and Southern Rights."
+
+  Sons of wealth, and sons of toil,
+  Will ye yield your land for spoil,
+  Drive the foe from Southern soil!
+          Glory now invites.
+
+  Rally round our banner bright
+  Let its stars of quenchless light
+  Dim the base invader's sight,
+          On the battle field.
+
+  When the death clouds darkly lower,
+  When the cannons blaze and roar,
+  Though its folds be drenched in gore,
+          We will never yield.
+
+  By our sires who fought and bled!
+  By Virginia's honored dead!
+  By the blood so lately shed!
+          We will make them know--
+
+  Southern hearts are true as steel,
+  Wrongs like ours are slow to heal,
+  Sooner will we die than kneel
+          To a Northern foe.
+
+[Illustration: Georgia Belt-buckle.]
+
+
+
+
+BOMBARDMENT AND BATTLES OF GALVESTON.
+
+FROM JUNE 1, 1862, TO JANUARY 1, 1863.
+
+By S. R. EZZELL, of Capt. Daly's Company.
+
+_Air--"Auld Lang Syne."_
+
+
+  The Yankees hate the Lone Star State, because she did secede;
+  At Galveston they've now begun to make her soldiers bleed.
+  The "Old Blockade" her threats have made, that she will burn our town;
+  But Col. Cook, with piercing look, declares he'll stand his ground.
+
+  High in the breeze he soon did raise the flag with single star,
+  Saying, "Let them come, we'll give them some, before they are aware."
+  Along the coast he soon did post his batteries, well mann'd
+  By men of might, prepared to fight, behind breast-works of sand.
+
+  Like lions brave, their land to save, the cavalry do stand
+  Ready to charge the Yankee barge that first attempts to land;
+  Infantry, too, like soldiers true, who never yet did fail,
+  They long to greet the Yankee fleet with musketry like hail.
+
+  We wait to see the "Old Santee" come sailing into shore;
+  And then we'll fight for Southern rights, and make the cannon roar;
+  But if a fleet we have to meet, of gunboats large and strong,
+  We'll cross the bridge without a siege, and think it nothing wrong.
+
+  When on mainland, we'll take our stand, and all their hosts defy;
+  There we will fight for Southern rights--we'll fight them till we die.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Two months passed by, they came not nigh, but only cruis'd around,
+  As if to find the channel's wind, for which they oft did sound;
+  But this was all, the Eagle bald, did not attempt to land;
+  His courage fail'd, away he sailed, and made no more demand.
+
+  But Harriet Lane, she did remain, with quite a heavy fleet,
+  She came up nigher and open'd fire in order quite complete;
+  'Twas at Fort Point she did dismount our best and largest gun;
+  'Twas now in vain here to remain, so we for life did run.
+
+  'Mid bomb and grape we did escape, and not a life was lost;
+  Fearing the town they would burn down over the bridge we crossed;
+  Then on mainland we took our stand, determined not to yield,
+  Tho' bomb and ball should thickly fall, and we die on the field.
+
+  Gen. Herbert he came not near, but strangely stood aloof;
+  From San Antone he did look on, where was good old "4th proof."
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Magruder came, a man of fame, the Texas boys to lead;
+  From Rio Grande he did command, to come with rapid speed;
+  "My plan is laid," he quickly said, "Galveston to retake;
+  Brave boys!" said he, "come, follow me; we'll make the Yankees quake."
+
+  Three bayou crafts, of shallow draught, with cotton breastworks neat;
+  Three hundred men, and three small guns, composed our Texas fleet;
+  Now ready quite, the Feds to fight, our land force did repair,
+  Along Strand Street, the Yanks to greet, just as our boats came near.
+
+  The Lone Star State must seal her fate, in ruin, shame and woe,
+  Or bravely fight for Southern rights, and triumph o'er the foe;
+  On New Year's morn, before day dawn, the year of sixty-three,
+  The New Year's gifts came flying swift, both from the land and sea.
+
+  The lightning glare, both far and near, the darkness did dispel;
+  Grape, bomb and ball did thickly fall, our forces to repel;
+  Magruder then said to his men, "Your country you must save,
+  And still maintain your glorious name, _the bravest of the brave_."
+
+  We fear'd them not, but bravely fought, our homesteads to maintain;
+  By break of day we had the Bay at our command again;
+  The Yankee fleet we did defeat, and captur'd all their crews,
+  Except a few who were untrue, and sail'd off under truce.
+
+
+
+
+GENERAL TOM GREEN.
+
+By MRS. WM. BARNES, of Galveston.
+
+
+  A warrior has fallen! a chieftain has gone!
+    A hero of heroes has sunk to his rest!
+  Those hands that wielded the sword and the sabre,
+    Now lie pulseless and cold o'er his motionless breast;
+  That voice that has gladden'd valiant comrades in arms,
+    And driven away their deep shadows of gloom,
+  Is seemingly hush'd to those seared-stricken hearts,
+    But loudly will speak from its still, hollow tomb!
+
+  Aye, seemingly hush'd, like the black, death-like waters,
+    As they mirror the face of the threatening sky;
+  But see ye the ripple that waves in the distance,
+    Warning the mariner that danger is nigh?
+  Aye, seemingly hush'd, like the dead, sullen calm,
+    As it heralds Vesuvius' virulent ire,
+  Ere she, out of her bosom, malignantly pours
+    Her dull molten lava, her columns of fire.
+
+  Aye, seemingly hush'd, but the words he has spoken
+    Lie deeply incased in the breasts of his men,
+  And tho' to the "echoless shore" he is wafted,
+    His voice will be heard yet again and again;
+  How oft-seated by the bivouac's bright fires,
+    While his men have stood 'round, wrapt in wondrous delight,
+  Has he spurred them to noble and chivalric deeds,
+    As he vividly pictured a forthcoming fight.
+
+  Full many a time has the rough, sunburnt hand
+    Dash'd the unbidden tear from the veteran's cheek,
+  As of home--that lov'd spot to each memory so dear--
+    With heartfelt emotion his chieftain would speak;
+  Aye, seemingly hush'd is the tongue of the warrior,
+    In their bosom its echo is lingering still;
+  Long as their pulse beats, its prompting they yield to--
+    Yes, long as their noble hearts have power to feel.
+
+  The hero of Valverde--the hero of Mansfield,--
+    Now sleeps the calm sleep of the happy and blest;
+  Those eyes once so lustrous are now sightless and dim,
+    Those limbs once so active have sunk to their rest;
+  O there let him lie where the first beams of morning
+    Shall shed o'er his tomb a soft halo of light,
+  And the moon's gentle rays that dear spot shall enliven,
+    As she glides on her course through the still, solemn night.
+
+  Plant the wild-tendriled vine and flowers of the prairie
+    O'er the grave of the chieftain that slumbereth there--
+  How sweetly they'll mingle their gentle perfumes with
+    The orphans' and widows' sweet incense of prayer;
+  Let the song of the whippoorwill, pensive and sad,
+    As he flits on the sprays of the green willow tree,
+  And the deep azure waves of the fair Colorado,
+    By day and by night his mournful requiems be!
+
+
+
+
+HARD TIMES!
+
+By M. B. SMITH, Co. C, Second Texas Volunteer Infantry.
+
+
+  Just listen awhile, and give ear to my song
+  Concerning this war, which will not take me long;
+  Old Lincoln, the blower, swore the Rebels he'd whip,
+  But thanks to my stars, he has not done it yet,
+                  For it's hard times.
+
+  Manassa's the spot, if I recollect right,
+  Where Yankees and Southerners had their first fight;
+  We whipped them so badly, our boys thought it fun,
+  And ever since then they have called it Bull Run,
+                  Those were grand times.
+
+  Old Lincoln had put in his very best man--
+  It was old General Scott who led in his clan--
+  But in facing Jeff Davis he couldn't shine,
+  For we captured his cakes, his brandies and wine,
+                  Then we'd fine times.
+
+  Old Abe and the "Gen'ral" soon got at "out,"
+  Which caused the "Old Gen'ral" to complain of gout;
+  So he told Marse Abe that he would resign,
+  And he laid all the blame to the very hard times,
+                  O, it was hard times.
+
+  McClellan was the next man put in the field,
+  With brass-hilted sword and a sole-leather shield;
+  He boasted quite loudly the Rebels he'd whip--
+  But you see, my dear friends, he's not done it yet,
+                  For it's hard times.
+
+  Yet there was another, Gen. Buell, the great,
+  That followed our Beauregard clean thro' one State,
+  But at Tennessee River he got all his fill--
+  I'm certain he remembered the Shiloh Hill!
+
+  There were Banks, Shields and Fremont, big generals all,
+  While skirmishing 'round ran afoul of "Stonewall!"
+  With Longstreet and Hill, very near by his side,
+  Who said: "Wo-ee, Yankees, let's all have a ride!"
+
+  Old Jackson he then got around to their rear,
+  So the day was ours you can see very clear;
+  Then he sent a dispatch to brave General Lee,
+  "Drive all the Yankees into eternity?"
+
+  But at Gainesville station they made a bold stand,
+  Where they collected a formidable band,
+  And swore to their fill that the Rebels they'd whip,
+  But the Texans made them everlastingly "git!"
+
+  Now the last I've heard of McClellan, the third;
+  He was down on James River bogg'd up in the mud,
+  In a bend of the river, near a big pond,
+  The want of more news puts an end to my song.
+
+AUGUST 13, 1862.
+
+
+
+
+THE FLAG OF THE SOUTHLAND
+
+By MAJOR E. W. CAVE, of Houston.
+
+_Air--"I'm Afloat."_
+
+
+  Flag of the Southland! Flag of the free!
+  'Ere thy sons will be slaves, they will perish with thee!
+  Thy new-risen star shall light Liberty on,
+  'Till the hosts of the tyrant are scatter'd and gone!
+  Whether victory sits on the Southern plumes,
+  Or disaster doth come in some hour of gloom,
+  Freedom's hosts will still rally where'er thou shalt be,
+  O flag of the Southland! flag of the free!
+
+  Flag of the Southland! thy glory has been
+  To be baptized in blood 'midst the great battle's din,
+  From Manassas' red plains, o'er the mountains steep,
+  Thy stars kept their vigils, where Washington sleeps,
+  And the breezes of Vernon have borne on the shout
+  Of thy triumphant sons as the foes took the rout;
+  Valor's trio of genius--Beauregard, Johnston and Lee!
+  Guards the flag of the Southland--flag of the free!
+
+  The foe is upon us, but our flag it is there!
+  We have borne it in triumph--its defeat we can share;
+  Tho' our cities be burned, tho' our thousands be slain,
+  'Mid the flames of our altars we'll fight him again;
+  And while there's a spot where a patriot band
+  May show to the foe a desperate stand,
+  Southern hearts will defy him, their flag will still be
+  The flag of the Southland--the flag of the free!
+
+  In the hour of gloom now thy valorous sons show,
+  That freemen can die, but ne'er yield to the foe!
+  But our Shiloh has come--see the enemy flee!
+  His sceptre has sunk 'neath the swift Tennessee--
+  And the Southern heart and the Southern hand,
+  From classic Potomac to bold Rio Grande,
+  Still push on to battle, when floating they see
+  The flag of the Southland--the flag of the free!
+
+
+
+
+ON TO GLORY.
+
+
+  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,
+    Backward hurl the invading foe;
+  Freemen, never think of danger,
+    To the glorious battle go.
+
+  Oh, remember gallant Jackson,
+    Single-handed in the fight,
+  Death blows dealt the fierce marauder,
+    For his liberty and right;
+  Tho' 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 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.
+
+
+
+
+STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY.
+
+Found on the body of a sergeant of the Old Stonewall Brigade, Winchester,
+Va.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  Come, stack arms, men! pile on the rails,
+    Stir up the camp-fire bright;
+  No matter if the canteen fails,
+    We'll make a roaring night;
+  Here Shenandoah brawls along,
+  To swell the Brigade's rousing song
+    Of "Stonewall Jackson's way."
+
+  We see him now!--the old slouched hat
+    Cocked o'er his eye, askew--
+  The shrewd, dry smile--the speech as pat--
+    So calm, so blunt, so true.
+  The "Blue Light Elder" knows o'er well--
+  Says he, "That's Banks--he's fond of shell--
+  Lord save his soul!--we'll give him"--well,
+    That's "Stonewall Jackson's way."
+
+[Illustration: "He's in the saddle now."]
+
+  Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off!
+    Old Blue Light's going to pray;
+  Strangle the fool that dares to scoff!
+    Attention! 'tis his way!
+  Appealing from his native sod,
+    _In forma pauperis_ to God--
+  "Lay bare thine arm; stretch forth thy rod;
+    Amen!" That's "Stonewall's way."
+
+  He's in the saddle now! Fall in!
+    Steady--the whole Brigade!
+  Hill's at the ford cut off! He'll win
+    His way out, ball and blade;
+  What matter if our shoes are worn!
+  What matter if our feet are torn!
+  "Quick step--we're with him before dawn!"
+    That's "Stonewall Jackson's way."
+
+  The sun's bright lances rout the mists
+    Of morning, and, by George,
+  There's Longstreet struggling in the lists,
+    Hemmed in an ugly gorge--
+  Pope and his Yankees whipped before--
+  "Bayonet and grape!" hear Stonewall roar,
+  "Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby's score
+    In Stonewall Jackson's way."
+
+  Ah, maiden! wait and watch and yearn
+    For news of Stonewall's band;
+  Ah, widow! read with eyes that burn
+    That ring upon thy hand;
+  Ah, wife! sew on, pray on, hope on,
+  Thy life shall not be all forlorn--
+  The foe had better ne'er been born,
+    Than get in "Stonewall's way."
+
+
+
+
+TO THE BELOVED MEMORY OF MAJ.-GEN. TOM GREEN.
+
+By CAPTAIN EDWIN HOBBY.
+
+
+  In the land of the orange-groves, sunshine and flowers,
+    Is heard the funereal tread,
+  And darkly above it, the war-cloud lowers,
+  And a requiem swells thro' its orange bowers,
+    For the brave and noble dead;
+  Then trail'd be the banners in dust,
+    And muffled the martial drum,
+  His sword in its scabbard shall rust;
+    With their coming no more will he come--
+  The earth has received to her bosom its trust--
+  Ashes to ashes--and dust unto dust.
+
+  In the sunniest realm of that beautiful land,
+    Where spring-time her festival's keeping,
+  Where the blossoms of summer in splendor expand,
+  By the camp-fire light there's a sorrow bow'd band--
+    Their leader forever is sleeping:
+  Then plumed be their banners in black,
+    And softly the bugle be blown.
+  No more shall he be welcomed back
+    By hearts that were twined to his own,
+    'Till the voice from the King on his throne
+  To the earth goeth forth, to give up his trust--
+  Ashes to ashes, and dust unto dust.
+
+  A sun has been lost from that bright constellation,
+    Whose splendor illumines the sky;
+  It sank as we gazed in lov'd admiration;
+  Its leaves were the glory and pride of the nation,
+    'Twas Liberty's symbol on high,
+  And darkness now hangs on the face of the day;
+    The illustrious hero's at rest;
+  But the fruit of his genius is left us to say
+  How sublime was the Chief that is taken away;
+    How much of all hearts he possessed.
+
+  On New Mexico's mountains, his banners waved
+    In the face of the haughtiest foe--
+  All dangers he scorned, and all odds had he brav'd,
+  And victory seem'd on his banners engrav'd
+    When his genius directed the blow:
+  _Val Verde!_ a name that in song and story
+    Shall brighten our history's pages,
+  'Till crumbled in dust, is the record of glory,
+  'Till valor's forgotten, and nation's grow hoary,
+    Undimmed by the shadows of ages.
+
+  Massachusetts' black banner wav'd on Galveston's Strand,
+    The roll of her drums echoed nightly,
+  (Sad sound to the freemen who dwelt on the land),
+  It was heard by his ear, it was caught by his band,
+    A stain on our 'scutcheon unsightly:
+  Night closed and morn came, what a change had been wrought!
+    What proud banner floateth there now!
+  Ah! the victory's won--Green the battle has fought!
+  And the cross of the South, morning's golden beam caught;
+    Fresh laurels encircle his brow.
+
+  At Bisland he stood, like a rock in the ocean
+    That stems the strong waves on the shore,
+  Calm and unmoved, in the midst of commotion,
+  Our army he saved by his dauntless devotion--
+    What chieftain has ever done more?
+  Brashear, and Fordoche, Pleasant Hill and Mansfield,
+    All breathe of his glory and fame--
+  There his genius burst forth like the lightning conceal'd,
+  And destiny seem'd to his glance reveal'd--
+    Fate crowning in triumph his name.
+
+  O we weep for the veteran hearts that are gone--
+    Scurry, Randall, Riley, Buchel,
+  Shepherd, Chalmers, Ragsdale, Raines, McNeal and Mouton,
+  Their glorious names and deeds shall live on--
+    Peace to the heroes that fell.
+  And O, for the soldiers that bled with them there,
+    Their country's strong bulwark and trust,
+  United to do, and the courage to dare.
+  In life they had borne all privation and care,
+    In dust, undivided's their dust.
+
+  And Liberty's tree, from the blood of the brave,
+    In strength and in grandeur shall rise;
+  Its branches extend to each ocean's blue wave,
+  And sacred its fruit o'er each patriot's grave:
+    How dearly that fruit shall we prize!
+  Is the hero, O say, in that mystical world,
+    Surrounded on Time's silent shore
+  By the veteran dead, with their banners now furl'd--
+  War's trumpet unblown, and his lances unhurl'd--
+    Are they still with the chief they adore?
+
+  Tom Green is no more! lov'd and honor'd he lies,
+    Near his home by the murmuring river--
+  In the soil he sav'd, 'neath his own Southern skies,
+  Where praises from lips yet unborn shall arise,
+    And bless him forever and ever.
+  There let him sleep on, undisturb'd in repose,
+    And cease for the hero to sigh--
+  Life's morning was honor--in greatness it rose,
+  'Twas a sunset of splendor, that life at its close,
+    He died as a soldier should die.
+
+  O'er his hallow'd remains let no monument shine,
+    To tell of the chieftain beneath it,
+  His requiem hymn'd by the sorrow-toned pine,
+  And wildly around it the jessamine twine,
+    And flowers, bright flowers enwreathe it;
+  Then silently night-skies their soft dews will shed
+    On the spring-flowers that garland his grave--
+  One generous sigh for the bosom that bled,
+  One generous tear for the fate of the dead,
+    The noble, the true and the brave.
+
+  His laurels were pure, and his honor unstained,
+    He lov'd not war's crimson-dyed pall,
+  His nature was peace while the olive remained--
+  Refus'd then the long-baited lion unchain'd--
+    Tom Green was then greater than all.
+  Affection and love was the pulse of his breast,
+    Ever quick at humanity's call--
+  The widow and orphan his charities bless'd,
+  The friend of the homeless, the poor and distress'd,
+    Tom Green was the idol of all.
+
+GALVESTON, TEXAS, May 28, 1864.
+
+
+
+
+HOOD'S OLD BRIGADE.
+
+"_On the March._"
+
+By MISS MOLLIE E. MOORE.
+
+
+  'Twas midnight when we built our fires--
+    We march'd at half-past three!
+  We know not when our march shall end,
+    Nor care--we follow Lee!
+  The starlight gleams on many a crest,
+    And many a well-tried blade--
+  This handful marching on the left--
+    _This_ line is _our_ Brigade!
+
+  Our line is short because its veins
+    So lavishly have bled;
+  The missing! Search the countless plains
+    Whose battles it has led;
+  There are those Georgians on our right,
+    Their ranks are thinning, too--
+  How in one company, they say,
+    They now can count but two!
+
+  There's not much talking down the lines,
+    Nor shouting down the gloam;
+  For when the night is 'round us, then
+    We're thinking most of home!
+
+  I saw yon soldier startle, when
+    We passed an open glade,
+  Where the low starlight, leaf and bough
+    A fairy picture made;
+  Nor has he uttered word since then--
+    _My_ heart can whisper why--
+  'Twas like the spot in Texas where
+    He bade his love good-by!
+
+  And when, beyond us, carelessly,
+    Some soldier sang adieu!
+  My comrade here across his eyes
+    His coarse sleeve roughly drew;
+  So, scarcely sound, save trampling feet,
+    Is echoed through the gloom--
+  Because when stars are brightest, then
+    We're thinking most of home!
+
+  Hush! what an echo startles up
+    Around this rocky hill!
+  Was't shell, half-buried, struck my foot?
+    Or, stay--'tis a human skull!
+  This ridge I surely seem to know
+    By light of yon rising moon;
+  Ha! we battled here three mortal hours
+    One Sunday afternoon.
+
+  Last spring! See where our Captain stands,
+    His head drooped on his breast--
+  At his feet that heap of bones and earth--
+    You know _now_ why his rest
+  Is broke off, and why his sword was
+    So bitter in the fray!
+  'Tis the grave of his only brother, who
+    Was killed that awful day!
+
+  Hush! for in front I heard a shot,
+    And then a well-known cry--
+  "It is the foe!" See where the flames
+    Mount upward to the sky!
+  It is the foe! Halt! Rest we here!
+    We wait the coming sun,
+  And ere these stars may shine again
+    A field is _lost or won_!
+
+  Is _won_! It is the "Old Brigade,"
+    This line of stalwart men!
+  The "long roll!" how it thrills my heart
+    To hear that sound again!
+  God shield us, boys! here breaks the day,
+    The stars begin to fade!
+  "Now steady here! fall in! fall in!
+    Forward! the 'Old Brigade!'"
+
+[Illustration: Georgia Button.]
+
+
+
+
+THE BATTLE SONG OF THE SOUTH.
+
+Words by P. E. COLLINS.
+
+Music by WM. HERZ.
+
+
+  Land of our birth, thee, thee I sing,
+    Proud heritage is thine,
+  Wide to the breeze thy banner fling,
+    Thy freedom ne'er resign.
+  Land of the South, the foe defies
+    Thy valor! lo, he comes,
+  To prove thy strength, awake, arise!
+    To arms! protect thy homes.
+
+  Bright Southern land, the time has come,
+    Thy bright historic day,
+  Sons of the South, the time has come,
+    Drive back the tyrants' sway!
+  Strike, Southrons, strike! the foe shall flee,
+    Nor e'er again invade;
+  The sons of free men shall be free,
+    They cannot slaves be made.
+
+  Land of the South, by right maintained,
+    The day of trial past,
+  The prize of victory will be gained;
+    Thou'lt triumph at the last,
+  And future bards your deeds shall tell
+    Of valor and renown;
+  What tyranny and hate befell,
+    By Southern might cast down.
+
+
+
+
+MY HEART'S IN MISSISSIPPI.
+
+
+  My heart's in Mississippi,
+    'Tis de place whar I was born;
+  'Tis dar I planted sugar cane,
+    'Tis dar I hoed de corn,
+  Dey have taken me to Texas,
+    A thousand miles below;
+  Yet my heart's in Mississippi
+    Wherever I go.
+
+  CHORUS.--Yet my heart's in Mississippi,
+             'Tis de place whar I was born;
+           'Tis dar I planted sugar cane,
+             'Tis dar I hoed de corn.
+
+  Mobile may boast of beauties,
+    Dat lemonade de street;
+  But dey neber hab a sixpence,
+    To ax you to a treat;
+  De Mississippi yellow gals,
+    Dey always treat dar beaux,
+  Den my heart's in Mississippi
+    Wherever I go.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+  Way down in Mississippi,
+    De fields am always green;
+  And orange trees in blossom,
+    De whole year may be seen,
+  Dar darkies live like princes,
+    And dar do heel and toe;
+  Den my heart's in Mississippi,
+    Wherever I go.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+  Den fill to Mississippi,
+    And let de toast go 'round,
+  Rosin up de fiddle-sticks,
+    And let de banjo sound;
+  O fotch along de whiskey,
+    And let de fluid flow:
+  For my heart's in Mississippi, boys,
+    Wherever I go.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE FUNERAL OF ALBERT SYDNEY JOHNSTON.
+
+
+  He fell and they cried, bring us home our dead!
+  We'll bury him here where the prairies spread,
+  And the gulf waves beat on our Southern shores;
+  He will hear them not when he comes once more--
+          Our Albert Sydney Johnston!
+
+  When he went, how the flushed hope beat high
+  On the brows of The Rangers standing nigh!
+  And the champing steeds of the Texas plain--
+  For his voice was that to their bridle rein
+          That the air's to the Persian monsoon.
+
+  But they bore him now to the crash of wheels;
+  No sound of their sorrow the hero feels,
+  Tho' many are come that are sad and fair,
+  With flowers and stars for his bloody bier,
+        And weeping they lay them down.
+
+  And the Crescent shone with a wreathing grace
+  Around that Star on the covered face;
+  No sound but of sobs and a parting look,
+  And the forest sighed and the aspen shook
+        As the train went rumbling on.
+
+  And down to the feet of the moaning sea,
+  Where the waves made the only melody,
+  No band or bell was played or tolled--
+  But the Hero cared not--hate fell cold
+        On the heart of him who slept.
+
+  Where the church was closed by the mandate given,
+  And he lay on the wharf under night and heaven,
+  Fair friend and slave with uncovered head,
+  Gazed alike on the face of the sleeping dead,
+        And alike in silence wept.
+
+  So the vigil held, 'till the chastened cloud,
+  For the shame of men, hid its face and bowed;
+  And thousands came when the moon was high,
+  And they bore their burden sadly by,
+        To its rest on the prairie plain.
+
+  As the prairie flowers that now grow o'er him,
+  Where the white-maned steeds that walked before him
+  Proud and stepped and slow--and the mourners said,
+  Let a stately place for his couch be made--
+        Houston must have its fane.
+
+  There they lay him out in a proud old hall,
+  With the floor's edge kissing the sacred pall;
+  And thousands came to the hallowed room,
+  'Till the day went down to the night of gloom,
+        For his land did honor him.
+
+  And when to the bannered march's swell,
+  They bore him out with a lingering knell,
+  Sad tears flowed out from a thousand eyes,
+  And a thousand voices were choked with sighs,
+        And the sun in the West was dim.
+
+
+
+
+THE COTTON-BURNER'S SONG.[9]
+
+
+  Lo! when Mississippi rolls
+    Oceanward its stream,
+  Upward mounting, folds on folds
+    Flaming fire-tongues gleam;
+  'Tis the planter's grand oblation
+  On the altar of the nation;
+    'Tis a willing sacrifice--
+    Let the golden incense rise--
+    Pile the cotton to the skies!
+
+  CHORUS.--Lo! the sacrificial flame
+             Gilds the starry dome of night!
+           Nations! read the mute acclaim--
+             'Tis for liberty we fight!
+             Homes! Religion! Right!
+
+  Never such a golden light
+    Lit the vaulted sky;
+  Never sacrifice as bright
+    Rose to God on high;
+  Thousands oxen, what were they
+  To the offering we pay?
+    And the brilliant holocaust--
+    When the revolution's past--
+    In the nation's songs will last!
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  Though the night be dark above,
+    Broken though the shield--
+  Those who love us, those we love,
+    Bid us never yield;
+  Never! though our bravest bleed,
+  And the vultures on them feed;
+    Never! though the serpent's race--
+    Hissing hate and vile disgrace--
+    By the million should menace!
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  Pile the cotton to the skies;
+    Lo! the Northmen gaze;
+  England! see our sacrifice--
+    See the cotton blaze!
+  God of nations! now to Thee,
+  Southrons bend th' imploring knee;
+    'Tis our country's hour of need--
+    Hear the mothers intercede--
+    Hear the little children plead!
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: Massa.]
+
+
+THE CONTRABAND.
+
+A song of Mississippi negroes in the Vicksburg Campaign.
+
+
+  Darkies has you seed my massa
+    Wid de mustache on his face?
+  He came along dis morning
+    As dough he'd leave de place.
+  He saw de smoke way up de river,
+    Where de Lincum gunboats lay:
+  He took his hat and he left mighty sudden,
+    I speck he's runned away.
+
+  CHORUS.--Massa run, aha!
+             Darkey stay, aho!
+           It must be now dat de kingdom's comin',
+             In the year of Jubilo.
+
+  He's six feet one way, four feet t'other,
+    And weighs three hundred pounds;
+  His coat's so big he can't pay de tailor--
+    Den it don't go half around.
+
+[Illustration: "Massa run, aha."]
+
+  He drills so much dey call him cap'n;
+    And he am so very tan,
+  Speck he'll try to fool dem Yankees
+    And say he's contraban'.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  Dis darkey gets so very lonesome,
+    In de cabin on de lawn;
+  He moves his things to massa's parlor,
+    To keep 'em, while he's gone.
+
+  There's wine and cider in de cellar,
+    And de darkies dey'll have some;
+  I speck it will be confiscated,
+    When de Lincum soldiers come.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  De overseer will give us trouble,
+    And run us round a spell;
+  We'll lock him up in smoke-house cellar,
+    Wid de key thrown in de well.
+  De whip is lost, and de handcuffs broken,
+    And massa'll lose his pay;
+  He's big enough and old enough,
+    Dan to gone and runned away.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+SONG OF HOOKER'S PICKET.
+
+_Southern Illustrated News_, Feb. 21st, 1863.
+
+
+  I'm 'nation tired of being hired
+    To fight for a shillin' a day;
+  Richmond to gain I'll hev to strain,
+    And travel some other way.
+
+  Darn Ole Abe and Ole Jeff Dave!
+    Darn the day I 'listed!
+  When I came down to this 'ere town,
+    Jerushy! how I missed it.
+
+  All day I've stud in rebel mud
+    A watchin' North Calinians.
+  I might a bin safe up to Lynn,
+    A eatin' clams and inions.
+
+  All night I sit in straw that's wet,
+    Ketchen fleas and other critters;
+  The boys down East are at a feast
+    With gals, doughnuts and fritters.
+
+  I hain't no pay for many a day;--
+    Nigh unto a year I guess,
+  Since a new Greenback hev crosst my track--
+    That's so with all my mess.
+
+  To pull my trigger for a big buck nigger
+    That lives on hog and hominy,
+  While on hard tack my jaws I crack,
+    Ain't war "accordin' to Jomini."
+
+  It's monsus fine for the Bobolition line,
+    With mouths full o' pumpkin pie,
+  To preach in meetin' agin' retreatin'--
+    Why don't they come theirselves and try?
+
+  They'd find the Confed's hev mighty hard heads,
+    And are pow'ful smart at shootin';
+  Their love for the old flag would very soon drag--
+    Lord! how you'd see them scootin'.
+
+  That fool Burnside deserves a cowhide,
+    Coz he's got neither pluck nor sense;
+  He shook like souse at the Phillip's house,
+    While we was murder'd at Marye's fence.
+
+  But it is all one to me who our Gen'ral may be,
+    If I've got to die for the nigger,
+  While Greeley steps on feathers, and Beecher's patent leathers,
+    Sets Plymouth Church in a snigger.
+
+  War is mighty fine to them that's drinking wine
+    At the big hotels in York;
+  But as for _lousy_ me, that's lost his liberty,
+    _Peace_ is the right sort o' talk.
+
+  I calk'late to stay, until next May,
+    A shiv'rin' in all this slush;
+  But when I git paid, I'm a leetle kinder 'fraid
+    I'll back out hum with a rush.
+
+  I'll pitch this gun into old Bull Run,
+    Like I did when I follered McDowell;
+  Secesh may go his ways, and I'll spend my days
+    With my gal, my gin and my trowel.
+
+  Oh! I'm sick as a dog, or a mangy hog,
+    Of this 'tarnal nasty fightin',
+  That's all gone wrong, and lasts too long
+    For a man that's thinkin' o' kitin'.
+
+  I'll tell you, Mississip, you're an ugly looking rip,
+    And if you'll keep your side o' the water,
+  You may save your powder, and I'll take to chowder,
+    And come no more where I hadn't oughter.
+
+
+
+
+NO SURRENDER.
+
+
+  Ever constant, ever true,
+  Let the word be, no surrender,
+  Boldly dare and greatly do!
+  They shall bring us safely through,
+      No surrender, no surrender!
+  And though fortune's smiles be few,
+  Hope is always springing new,
+  Still inspiring me and you
+  With a magic, no surrender.
+
+  Nail the colors to the mast
+  Shouting gladly, no surrender;
+  Troubles near, are all but past,
+      Serve them as you did the last,
+  No surrender, no surrender!
+  Though the skies be overcast,
+  And upon the sleety blast
+  Disappointment gathers fast,
+  Beat them off with no surrender.
+
+  Constant and courageous still,
+  Mind the word is, no surrender!
+  Battle tho' it be up hill,
+  Stagger not at seeming ill,
+      No surrender, no surrender!
+  Hope, and thus your hope fulfill,
+  There's a way where there's a will,
+  And the way all cares to kill,
+  Is to give them no surrender.
+
+
+
+
+A SOUTHERN WOMAN'S SONG.
+
+
+  Stitch, stitch, stitch,
+  Little needle, swiftly fly,
+    Brightly glittering as you go;
+  Every time that you pass by
+    Warms 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 in Spring.
+
+  Stitch, stitch, stitch,
+  Swiftly, little needle, fly,
+    Through this flannel, soft and warm;
+  Though with cold the soldiers 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 that you are able;
+  A _mouse_ a lion once set free,--
+    As says the pretty fable.
+
+  Stitch, stitch, stitch,
+  Swiftly, little needle, glide,
+    Thine's a pleasant labor;
+  To clothe the 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 fly,
+    From the morning until eve,
+  As the moments pass thee by,
+    These substantial comforts weave.
+  Busy thoughts are at our hearts--
+    Thoughts of hopeful cheer,
+  As we toil till day departs
+    For the noble volunteer.
+
+  Quick, quick, quick,
+  Swifter, little needle, go;
+    From our homes 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.
+
+
+
+
+GENERAL LEE AT THE BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS.
+
+By TENELLA.
+
+
+  There he stood, the grand old hero, great Virginia's god-like son,
+  Second unto none in glory--equal of her Washington;
+  Gazing on his line of battle, as it wavered to and fro
+  'Neath the front and flank advances of the almost conquering foe;
+  Calm as was that clear May morning, ere the furious death-roar broke
+
+  From the iron-throated war lions crouching 'neath the cloudy smoke;
+  Cool, as tho' the battle raging was but mimicry of fight,
+  Each brigade an ivory castle, and each regiment a knight;
+  Chafing in reserve beside him, two brigades of Texans lay,
+  All impatient for their portion in the fortune of the day.
+
+  Shot and shell are 'mong them falling, yet unmov'd they silent stand,
+  Longing, eager for the battle, but awaiting his command:
+  Suddenly he rode before them, as the forward line gave way,
+  Rais'd his hat with courtly gesture, "Follow me and save the day!"
+
+  But, as tho' by terror stricken, still and silent stood that troop,
+  Who were wont to rush to battle with a fierce avenging whoop.
+  It was but a single moment, then a murmur thro' them ran,
+  Heard above the cannon's roaring, as it passed from man to man,
+
+  "You go back and we'll go forward!" now the waiting leader hears,
+  Mixed with deep impatient sobbing, as of strong men moved to tears,
+  Once again he gives the order, "I'll lead you on the foe!"
+  Then, thro' all the line of battle rang a loud determined "No!"
+
+  Quick as thought a gallant Major, with a firm and vice-like grasp,
+  Seized the General's bridle, shouting, "Forward, boys! I'll hold him
+      fast!"
+  Then again the hat was lifted, "Sir, I am the older man:
+  Loose my bridle, I will lead them!" in a measured tone and calm.
+
+  Trembling with suppressed emotion, with intense excitement hot,
+  In a quivering voice, the Texan, "No, by God, sir, you shall not!"
+  By them swept the charging squadron, with a loud exultant cheer,
+  "We'll retake the salient, General, if you'll watch us from the rear!"
+
+  And they kept their word right nobly, sweeping every foe away,
+  With that grand grey head uncovered, watching how they saved the day--
+  But the god-like calm was shaken, which no battle shock could move,
+  By this true, spontaneous token of his soldiers' child-like love!
+
+
+
+
+MY NOBLE WARRIOR, COME!
+
+By MRS. COL. C. G. F----Y.
+
+_Air--"The Rock Beside the Sea."_
+
+
+  O, tell me not that earth is fair, that spring is in its bloom,
+  While young hearts, hourly, everywhere meet such untimely doom;
+  That sweet on wind, of morn or eve, the violet's breath may be,
+  Let me but know thy banner waves, and leads to victory!
+                  Let me but know, etc.
+
+  The thundering battle's distant roar, the host's victorious cry,
+  Unto my trembling heart is more than all earth's melody;
+  Come back, my noble warrior, come! there's but one prayer for me,
+  'Till I can greet thy banner home, proud banner of the free!
+                  Till I can greet, etc.
+
+
+
+
+SONG OF THE PRIVATEER
+
+By ALEX. A. CUMMINS.
+
+
+  Fearlessly the seas we roam,
+    Tossed by each briny wave;
+  Its boundless surface is our home,
+    Its bosom deep our graves.
+  No foreign mandate fills with awe
+    Our gallant hearted band;
+  We know no home, we know no law,
+    But that of Dixie's land.
+
+  The bright star is our compass true,
+    Our chart the ocean wide;
+  Our only hope the noble few
+    That's standing side by side;
+  We do not fear the stormy gale
+    That sweeps old ocean's strand;
+  We scorn our enemy's clumsy sail,
+    And all for Dixie's land.
+
+  We love to hoist to the topmost peak,
+    _Our Southern Stars and Stripes_;
+  And woe to him who dares to seek
+    To trample on their rights!
+  It is the ægis of the free,
+    And by it we will stand,
+  And watch it waving o'er the sea,
+    And over Dixie's land.
+
+  We love to roam the deep, deep sea,
+    And hear the cannon's boom,
+  And give the war-cry, wild and free,
+    Amid the battle's gloom,
+  We do not fight alone for gain,
+    So far from native strand;
+  But our country's freedom and its fame,
+    And the fair of Dixie's land.
+
+
+
+
+HOOD'S TEXAS BRIGADE.
+
+
+  Down by the valley, 'mid thunder and lightning,
+    Down by the valley, 'mid shadows of night,
+  Down by the deep crimson'd valley of Richmond,
+    Twenty-five hundred mov'd on to the fight;
+  Onward, still onward, to the portals of glory,
+    To the sepulchral chambers, yet never dismayed;
+  Down by the deep crimson'd valley of Richmond,
+    March'd the bold warriors of Hood's Texas Brigade!
+
+  See ye the fires and flashes still leaping?
+    See ye the tempest and jettings of storm?
+  See ye the banners of proud Texan heroes,
+    In front of her column, move steadily on?
+  Hear ye the music that gladdens each comrade,
+    Riding on wings through torrents of sounds?
+  Hear ye the booming adown the red valley?
+    Riley unbuckles his swarthy old hounds![10]
+
+  Valiant Fifth Texas! I saw your brave column
+    Rush through the channels of living and dead;
+  Sturdy Fourth Texas! Why weep, your old warhorse?
+    He died as he wish'd, in the gear, at your head:
+  West Point! ye will tell, on the pages of glory,
+    How the blood of the South ebb'd away near your shade,
+  And how sons of Texas fought in the red valley,
+    And fell in the columns of Hood's Texas Brigade.
+
+  Fathers and mothers, ye weep for your jewels;
+    Sisters, ye weep for your brothers in vain;
+  Maidens, ye weep for your sunny-eyed lovers--
+    Weep, for you'll never behold them again!
+  But know ye that vict'ry, the shrine of the noble,
+    Encircles the house of death newly made!
+  And know ye that Freedom, the shrine of the mighty,
+    Shines forth on the banners of Hood's Texas Brigade!
+
+  Daughters of Southland, come bring ye bright flowers,
+    Weave ye a chaplet for the brow of the brave;
+  Bring ye the emblems of freedom and victory;
+    Bring ye the emblems of death and the grave;
+  Bring ye some motto befitting a hero;
+    Bring ye exotics that never will fade;
+  Come to the deep crimson'd valley of Richmond,
+    And crown our young Chief of the Texas Brigade!
+
+
+
+
+SWEETHEARTS AND THE WAR.
+
+
+  Oh, dear! its shameful, I declare,
+    To make the men all go
+  And leave so many sweethearts here
+    Without a single beau.
+  We like to see them brave, 'tis true,
+    And would not urge them stay;
+  But what are we, poor girls, to do
+    When they are all away?
+
+  We told them we could spare them there,
+    Before they had to go;
+  But, bless their hearts, we weren't aware
+    That we should miss them so.
+  We miss them all in many ways,
+    But truth will ever out,
+  The greatest thing we miss them for
+    Is seeing us about.
+
+  On Sunday, when we go to church,
+    We look in vain for some
+  To meet us, smiling, on the porch,
+    And ask to see us home.
+  And then we can't enjoy a walk
+    Since all the beaux have gone;
+  For what's the good (to use plain talk),
+    If we must trudge alone?
+
+  But what's the use of talking thus?
+    We'll try to be content;
+  And if they cannot come to us
+    A message may be sent.
+  And that's one comfort, anyway;
+    For though we are apart,
+  There is no reason why we may
+    Not open heart to heart.
+
+  We trust it may soon come
+    To a final test;
+  We want to see our Southern homes
+    Secured in peaceful rest.
+  But if the blood of those we love
+    In freedom's cause must flow,
+  With fervent trust in God above,
+    We bid them onward go.
+
+  And we will watch them as they go,
+    And cheer them on their way:
+  Our arms shall be their resting-place
+    When wounded sore they lay.
+  Oh! if the sons of Southern soil
+    For freedom's cause must die,
+  Her daughters ask no dearer boon
+    Than by their side to lie.
+
+
+
+
+JACKSON'S RESIGNATION.
+
+A Yankee Soliloquy before the Battle of Fredericksburg.
+
+By TENELLA.
+
+
+  Well, we can whip them now I guess,
+    If Jackson has resigned,
+  General Lee in "fighting Burnside,"
+    More than his match will find:
+  We're done with slow McClellan,
+    Who kept us "digging dirt,"
+  And now are "on to Richmond,"
+    Where some one "will be hurt."
+
+  Again around the Rebels
+    The anaconda coils,
+  For East and West, and North and South,
+    We have them in our toils;
+  We'd have beat them at Manassas
+    If McDowell had not slipped,
+  When he tried to leap this Stonewall,
+    Who don't know when he's whipped.
+
+  We'd have laid them in the Valley
+    So low they could not rise,
+  But Banks must run against it,
+    And spill all his supplies.
+  Now if that fool Jeff Davis
+    Has let Stonewall resign,
+  We can go "on to Richmond"
+    By the Rappahannock line.
+
+  But they say he's a shrewd fellow
+    Who knows a soldier well,
+  And stood by Sidney Johnston
+    Until in death he fell;
+  "If Johnston is no general,
+    Then, gentlemen, I've none,"
+  He said to those who grumbled,
+    When Donelson we won.
+
+  And I don't believe that Jackson's
+    Resignation he'll accept--
+  Hallo!!!--A rebel picket--
+    How close the rascal crept!
+  "Say, stranger, is it true
+    That Jackson has resigned?"
+  "Well, yes--I reckon so--
+    Heard somethin' of the kind."
+
+  "What for? Did old Jeff Davis
+    Put a sub. above his head?"
+  "No--they took away his commissary,
+    So I've heard it said."
+  "Well, _we_ are glad to hear it,
+    And will tender them our thanks,
+  But who was Jackson's commissary?"
+    "_Your Major-General Banks._"
+
+  "Confound your rebel impudence!
+    He'd be very smart indeed,
+  If from supplies for _one_ intended,
+    _Two_ armies he could feed."
+
+_Southern Illustrated News_, April, 1863.
+
+
+
+
+WE LEFT HIM ON THE FIELD.
+
+By MISS MARIA E. JONES, of Galveston, Tex.
+
+
+  We left him on the crimson'd field,
+    Where battle storms had swept,
+  We know the soldier's fate was seal'd--
+    No wonder that we wept.
+  Some have, perhaps, as nobly fought,
+    And some as bravely fell,
+  Where the red sword its work hath wrought,
+    But none we lov'd so well.
+
+  O deem us not a faithless band,
+    Who left him to the foe;
+  His latest accent of command,
+    Was when he bade us go!
+  Yet one still linger'd near his side,
+    To watch his fleeting breath,
+  To mark the ebbing of life's tide
+    And pale approach of death.
+
+  But ere we left our Captain there,
+    He gave us each a word,
+  Some thought of kind, remembering care--
+    "Here, Warren, take my sword--
+  You'll be their captain now, you know;
+    But, friend, remember then,"
+  Said he, "how well I loved them;
+    Be faithful to my men!
+
+[Illustration: "He faintly smiled and waved his hand."]
+
+  "Wear the sword well. The gift is small,
+    But with it goes my love,
+  Good-bye, boys! Heaven bless you all;
+    I'm ordered up above,
+  And there can be no countermand--
+    I know my fate is seal'd!"
+  He faintly smiled, and wav'd his hand--
+    We left him on the field.
+
+
+
+
+MOTHER! IS THE BATTLE OVER?
+
+
+  Mother! is the battle over? thousands have been killed they say--
+  Is my father coming?--tell me, have the Southrons gain'd the day?
+  Is he well, or is he wounded? Mother, do you think he's slain?
+  If you know, I pray you tell me--will my father come again?
+
+  Mother, dear, you're always sighing since you last the paper read--
+  Tell me why you now are crying--why that cap is on your head?
+  Ah! I see you cannot tell me--father's one among the slain!
+  Altho' he lov'd us very dearly, he will never come again!
+
+
+
+
+A NORTH CAROLINA CALL TO ARMS.
+
+By LUOLA.
+
+_Air--"The Old North State."_
+
+
+  Ye sons of Carolina! awake from your dreaming!
+  The minions of Lincoln upon us are streaming!
+  Oh! wait not for argument, call, or persuasion
+  To meet at the onset this treach'rous invasion!
+
+  CHORUS.--Defend, defend the old North State forever;
+           Defend, defend the good old North State.
+
+  Oh! think of the maidens, the wives, and the mothers;
+  Fly ye to the rescue, sons, husbands, and brothers,
+  And sink in oblivion all party and section;
+  Your hearth-stones are looking to you for protection!
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  The babe in its sweetness, the child in its beauty,
+  Unconsciously urge you to action and duty!
+  By all that is sacred, by all to you tender,
+  Your country adjures, arise and defend her!
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  The Star-Spangled Banner, dishonored, is streaming
+  O'er lands of fanatics; their swords are now gleaming;
+  They thirst for the life-blood of those you most cherish;
+  With brave hearts and true, then, arouse, or they perish.
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  Round the flag of the South, oh! in thousands now rally,
+  For the hour's departed when freemen may sally;
+  Your all is at stake; then go forth and God speed you,
+  And onward to glory and victory lead you!
+
+  CHORUS.--Hurrah! hurrah! the old North State forever!
+           Hurrah! hurrah! the good old North State.
+
+
+
+
+DIXIE.
+
+By ALBERT PIKE.
+
+
+  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,
+  Let all hearts be now united!
+      To arms! to arms! to arms! in Dixie!
+  Advance the flag of Dixie!
+        Hurrah! hurrah!
+
+  CHORUS.--For Dixie's land we'll take our stand,
+           To 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!
+  Send them back your fierce defiance,
+  Stamp upon the accurs'd alliance!
+
+  Fear no danger! shun no labor!
+  Lift up rifle, pike and sabre!
+  Shoulder pressing close to shoulder,
+  Let the odds make each heart bolder!
+
+  How the South's great heart rejoices
+  At your cannon's ringing voices;
+  For faith betrayed and pledges broken,
+  Wrong inflicted, insults spoken.
+
+  Strong as lions, swift as eagles,
+  Back to their kennels hunt these beagles!
+  Cut the unequal bonds asunder!
+  Let them hence each other plunder.
+
+  Swear upon your country's altar,
+  Never to submit or falter,
+  'Till the spoilers are defeated,
+  'Till the Lord's work is completed.
+
+  Halt not till our federation,
+  Secures among earth's powers its station!
+  Then at peace, and crowned with glory,
+  Hear your children tell the story.
+
+  If the loved ones weep in sadness,
+  Victory soon shall bring them gladness;
+  Exultant pride soon banish sorrow,
+  Smiles chase tears away to-morrow.
+
+
+
+
+BATTLE SONG.
+
+
+  Have you counted up the cost?
+  What is gained and what is lost--
+  When the foe your lines have crossed?
+
+  Gained--the infamy of fame?
+  Gained--a dastard's spotted name;
+  Gained--eternity of shame.
+
+  Lost--desert of manly Worth;
+  Lost--the right you had by birth;
+  Lost--lost! Freedom from the earth!
+
+  Freemen, up! the foe is nearing!
+  Haughty banners high uprearing--
+  Lo! their serried ranks appearing!
+
+  Freemen, on! the drums are beating!
+  Will you shrink from such a meeting?
+  Forward! give them hero greeting!
+
+  From your hearts, and homes, and altars,
+  Backward hurl your proud assaulters--
+  He is not a man that falters!
+
+
+
+
+OVER THE RIVER.
+
+By VIRGINIA NORFOLK.
+
+"Let us cross the river, and rest under the shade of the trees."--_Last
+words of Stonewall Jackson._
+
+
+  Bravely ye've fought, my gallant, gallant men!
+    Bravely ye've fought and well!
+  Yon blood-stained field, where your banner floats,
+    Tells how your foemen fell!
+  Ye are recreant none to your knightly vows,
+    And none to your high behest;
+  But the noon sun shines on your burning brows--
+    So, over the river and rest!
+
+  CHORUS.--Over the river the shade trees grow--
+             Over the river we'll rest!
+           Ye have fought the fight--won the praise that brings
+             Peace to the soldier's breast!
+
+  Bravely ye've conquered, my gallant Southern men!
+    Ye have won your rights anew!
+  Ye have washed out the stain of traitor blood,
+    With the baptism of the true!
+  Your clanging armor and flashing steel
+    Have told of a deadly fray;
+  But foemen are flying right and left!
+    Ye have had a glorious day!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Foemen are flying! aye, madly they've fled,
+    And Peace waves her snow-white wing!
+  But we mourn the loss of our gallant dead,
+    While the hills with victory ring!
+  One warrior wears his laurel crown,--
+    One sleeps on his plumed crest!
+  While the palm tree waves by the river side,
+    There, soldiers, will we rest!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE MAN OF THE TWELFTH OF MAY.[11]
+
+By ROBERT FALLIGANT, Savannah, Ga.
+
+
+  When history tells her story,
+    Of the noble hero band,
+  Who have made the green fields gory,
+    For the life of their native land,
+  How grand will be the picture,
+    Of Georgia's proud array,
+  As they drove the boasting foeman back,
+    On that glorious twelfth of May, boys,
+    That glorious twelfth of May.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then hurrah! while we rally around
+             The hero of that day!
+           And a nation's grateful praises crown,
+             The man of the twelfth of May, boys,
+             The man of the twelfth of May.
+
+  Whose mien is ever proudest,
+    When we hold the foe at bay?
+  Whose war-cry cheers us loudest,
+    As we rush to the bloody fray?
+  'Tis Gordon's! Our reliance!
+    Fearless as on the day,
+  When he hurled his grand defiance,
+    In that charge of the twelfth of May, boys,
+    In that charge of the twelfth of May!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Who can be a coward!
+    What freeman fears to die,
+  When Gordon orders, "Forward!"
+    And the red cross floats on high?
+  Follow his tones inspiring!
+    On! on to the field away!
+  And we'll see the foe retiring,
+    As they did on the twelfth of May, boys,
+    As they did on the twelfth of May!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  This is no time for sighing!
+    Whate'er our fate may be,
+  'Tis sweet to think that, dying,
+    We will leave our country free!
+  When the storms of battle pelt her,
+    She'll defy the tyrants' sway,
+  And our breasts shall be her shelter,
+    As they were on the twelfth of May, boys,
+    As they were on the twelfth of May!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+MORGAN'S WAR SONG.
+
+
+  Cheer, boys, cheer! we'll march away to battle!
+    Cheer, boys, cheer! for our sweethearts and our wives!
+  Cheer, boys, cheer! we'll nobly do our duty,
+    And give to the South our hearts, our arms, our lives.
+
+  Bring forth the flag--our country's noble standard;
+    Wave it on high 'till the wind shakes each fold out:
+  Proudly it floats, nobly waving in the vanguard;
+    Then cheer, boys, cheer! with a lusty, long, bold shout,
+                  Cheer, boys, cheer! etc.
+
+  But as we march, with heads all lowly bending,
+    Let us implore a blessing from on high;
+  Our cause is just--the right from wrong defending;
+    And the God of battle will listen to our cry.
+                  Cheer, boys, cheer! etc.
+
+  Tho' to our homes we never may return,
+    Ne'er press again our lov'd ones in our arms,
+  O'er our lone graves their faithful hearts will mourn,
+    Then cheer up, boys, cheer! such death hath no alarms.
+                  Cheer, boys, cheer! etc.
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG OF THE EXILE.
+
+_Air--"Dixie."_
+
+
+  Oh! here I am in the land of cotton,
+  The flag once honor'd is now forgotten;
+    Fight away, fight away, fight away for Dixie's land.
+  But here I stand for Dixie dear,
+  To fight for freedom, without fear;
+    Fight away, fight away, fight away for Dixie's land.
+
+  CHORUS.--For Dixie's land I'll take my stand,
+           To live or die for Dixie's land,
+           Fight away, fight away, fight away for Dixie's land.
+
+  Abe Lincoln tore through Baltimore,
+  In a baggage car with fastened door;
+            Fight away, etc.
+  And left his wife, alas! alack!
+  To perish on the railroad track!
+            Fight away, etc.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  We have no ships, we have no navies,
+  But mighty faith in the great Jeff Davis;
+            Fight away, etc.
+  Brave old Missouri shall be ours,
+  Despite Abe Lincoln's Northern powers,
+            Fight away, etc.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Abe's proclamation in a twinkle,
+  Stirred up the blood of Rip Van Winkle;
+            Fight away, etc.
+  Jeff Davis's answer was short and curt:
+  "Fort Sumpter's taken, and nobody's hurt!"
+            Fight away, etc.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  We hear the words of this same ditty,
+  To the right and left of the Mississippi;
+            Fight away, etc.
+  In the land of flowers, hot and sandy,
+  From Delaware Bay to Rio Grande!
+            Fight away, etc.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  The ladies cheer with heart and hand,
+  The men who fight for Dixie land;
+            Fight away, etc.
+  The "Stars and Bars" are waving o'er us,
+  And Independence is before us;
+            Fight away, etc.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+MARTINSBURG, VA.
+
+[Illustration: Cavalry Button.]
+
+
+
+
+NATIONAL HYMN.
+
+Words by CAPT. E. GRISWOLD.
+
+Music by J. W. GROSCHEL.
+
+
+  Now let the thrilling anthem rise,
+    O'er all the glorious land,
+  Where tow'ring hills usurp the skies,
+    And valleys broad expand.
+  Where each majestic river rolls,
+    Where wave the fields of grain,
+  Let Southern hearts and Southern souls
+    Repeat the exulting strain.
+
+  CHORUS.--The cross and bars, its gleaming stars,
+             Shall float o'er land and main;
+           The cross and bars, its gleaming stars,
+             Shall float o'er land and main;
+           Confederate Sov'reign State we stand,
+           God save our land, God save our land;
+           Confederate Sov'reign State we stand,
+           God save our land, God save our land,
+           God save our land, God save our land.
+
+  Where golden fruited orange blossoms,
+    Green lemon grove and bower,
+  And where the tall magnolia looms,
+    With proud imperial flower,
+  Where bursting from their ripened bolls,
+    The cotton spreads the plain.
+  Let Southern hearts and Southern souls
+    Repeat the exulting strain.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  Where happy vassals chant their song,
+    In fields and homes and boats,
+  Where mocking birds the chords prolong,
+    Swelling their mottled throats,
+  Where law's broad ægis still upholds
+    Enlightened freedom's claim.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  Where in the Southern zenith glows
+    The warmth the sun imparts,
+  Afar from frigid Northern snows,
+    And bustling Northern Marts,
+  Where generous impulse still controls,
+    And scorns polluting stain,
+  Let Southern hearts and Southern souls,
+    Repeat th' exulting strain.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  And still from age to age repeat
+    The tale of battles won,
+  When bigot Northmen found defeat
+    Before each Southern son.
+  Proudly recount the muster rolls
+    Of living braves and slain,
+  Let Southern hearts and Southern souls
+    Repeat th' exulting strain.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  Where Chesapeake's broad waters glow
+    Round Maryland's green lands,
+  To where the gulf and ocean bow
+    By Florida's white sands;
+  From where the mad Atlantic rolls
+    To Rio Grande's plain,
+  Let Southern hearts and Southern souls
+    Repeat th' exulting strain.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+OVER THE RIVER.
+
+(_MISSISSIPPI_).
+
+By MISS MARIA E. JONES.
+
+
+  Over the river there are fierce, stern meetings,
+    No kindly clasp of hand, no welcome call;
+  But hatred swells the chorus of the greetings,
+    Of foes who meet at Death's high carnival;
+  No flash of wine-cups, but the red blood streaming
+    From ragged wounds, upon the thirsty sand,
+  And fierce, wild music of bright sabre gleaming,
+    Where eager foemen grapple hand to hand.
+
+  Over the river are our lov'd ones lying,
+    Alone and wounded on the couch of pain;
+  Consum'd by wasting fevers--even dying--
+    Sighing for those they ne'er may see again;
+  There are untended graves where grass is growing
+    Rankly and tall o'er each lone sleeper's head;
+  There are long trenches, where bright flowers blowing,
+    Mark the common grave of thousands dead.
+
+  Over the river victory shouts of gladness,
+    Great waves of joy rise above seas of woe;
+  Over the river comes a wail of sadness,
+    A city's fallen, or a chief laid low;
+  Alas! for us! we must sit still and ponder
+    Upon the woes of battle all the day,
+  And dream, and sew, and weep, while our thoughts wander
+    Over the river! Let us watch and pray.
+
+
+
+
+PRIVATE MAGUIRE.
+
+
+  "Och, it's nate to be captain or colonel,
+    Divil a bit would I want to be higher;
+  But to rust as a private, I think's an infernal
+    Predicament, surely," says Private Maguire.
+
+  "They can go sparkin' and playin' at billiards,
+    With money to spend for their slightest desire,
+  Loafin' and atin' and drinkin' at Ballard's,
+    While we're on the pickets," says Private Maguire.
+
+  "Livin' in clover, they think it's a trifle
+    To stand out all night in the rain and the mire,
+  And a Yankee hard by, with a villainous rifle,
+    Just riddy to pop ye," says Private Maguire.
+
+  "Faith, now, it's not that I'm afther complainin',
+    I'm spilin' to meet ye, Abe Lincoln, Esquire!
+  Ye blaggard! it's only I'm weary of thrainin',
+    And thrainin', and thrainin'," says Private Maguire.
+
+  "O Lord, for a row! but Maguire, boy, be aisy,
+    Kape yourself swate for the inimy's fire;
+  General Lee is the chap that shortly will plaze ye,
+    Be the Holy St. Patrick!" says Private Maguire.
+
+  "And, lad, if ye're hit (O, bedad, that infernal
+    Jimmy O'Dowd would make love to Maria!)
+  Whether ye're captain, or major, or colonel,
+    Ye'll die with the best then," says Private Maguire.
+
+
+
+
+STONEWALL JACKSON.
+
+By a lady formerly of Richmond.
+
+_Tune_--"_The Coronack._"
+
+
+  Unmoved in the battle,
+    Whilst friends and foes swerved,
+  Midst roaring and rattle,
+    His heroes were nerved.
+  On Manassas' red plain,
+    Their unyielding front,
+  Gave their chieftain that name,
+    So strong in war's brunt.
+
+  He swoops from the mountain,
+    Like our own regal bird;
+  O'er Potomac's blue fountain,
+    His war scream is heard.
+  Though his foeman be brave,
+    They shrink from his sword,
+  Who its mighty power gave,
+    Is the triumphant Lord!
+
+  Again from the mountain,
+    Through forest and valley,
+  Once more near that fountain,
+    His invincibles rally.
+  Like our own mountain eagle,
+    He swoops on the foemen,
+  And the cohorts of Lincoln
+    Fly and cower before him!
+
+      *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+SOUTHERN SONG.
+
+_Tune_--"_Wait for the Wagon._"
+
+
+  Come, all ye sons of freedom,
+    And join our Southern band,
+  We are going to fight the Yankees,
+    And drive them from our land.
+  Justice is our motto,
+    And Providence our guide;
+  So jump into the wagon,
+    And we'll all take a ride.
+
+  CHORUS.--So wait for the wagon! the dissolution wagon;
+           The South is the wagon, and we'll all take a ride.
+
+  Secession is our watchword;
+    Our rights we all demand;
+  To defend our homes and firesides
+    We pledge our hearts and hands.
+  Jeff Davis is our President,
+    With Stephens by his side;
+  Great Beauregard, our General,
+    He joins us in our ride.
+                                CHORUS.
+
+  Our wagon is the very best;
+    The running gear is good;
+  Stuffed round the sides with cotton,
+    And made of Southern wood.
+  Carolina is the driver,
+    With Georgia by her side,
+  Virginia holds the flag up
+    While we all take a ride.
+                                CHORUS.
+
+  Old Lincoln and his Congressmen,
+    With Seward by his side,
+  Put old Scott in the wagon,
+    Just for to take a ride.
+  McDowell was the driver,
+    To cross Bull Run he tried,
+  But there he left the wagon
+    For Beauregard to ride.
+                                CHORUS.
+
+  The invading tribe, called Yankees,
+    With Lincoln for their guide,
+  Tried to keep good old Kentucky,
+    From joining in the ride;
+  But she heeded not their entreaties,--
+    She has come into the ring;
+  She wouldn't fight for a government,
+    Where cotton wasn't king.
+                                CHORUS.
+
+  Manassas was the battle-ground;
+    The field was fair and wide;
+  The Yankees thought they'd wipe us out,
+    And on to Richmond ride.
+  But when they met our "Dixie" boys,
+    Their danger they espied,
+  They wheeled about for Washington
+    And didn't wait to ride.
+                                CHORUS.
+
+  Brave Beauregard, God bless him!
+    Led legions in his stead,
+  While Johnson seized the colors,
+    And waved them o'er his head.
+  So rising generations,
+    With pleasure we will tell,
+  How bravely our Fisher,
+    And gallant Johnson fell.
+                                CHORUS.
+
+_Raleigh Register._
+
+
+
+
+THE BAND IN THE PINES.
+
+By JOHN ESTEN COOKE.
+
+
+  O band in the pine wood, cease!
+    Cease with your splendid call!
+  The living are brave and noble,
+    But the dead were bravest of all!
+
+  They throng in the martial summons,
+    The loud, triumphant strain;
+  And the dear, bright eyes of long-dead friends,
+    Come to the heart again.
+
+  They come with the ringing bugle
+    And the deep drum's mellow roar--
+  And the soul is faint with longing
+    For the hands we clasp no more!
+
+  O band in the pine wood, cease!
+    Or the heart will melt in tears,
+  For the gallant eyes and the smiling lips,
+    And the voices of old years!
+
+_Southern Illustrated News._
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ "Though fifteen summers scarce have shed
+    Their blossoms on thy brow."]
+
+
+MY WARRIOR BOY.
+
+_Metropolitan Record._
+
+Music by A. E. A. MUSE.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  Thou hast gone forth, my darling one,
+    To battle with the brave,
+  To strike in Freedom's sacred cause,
+    Or win an early grave;
+  With vet'rans grim, and stalwart men,
+    Thy pathway lieth now,
+  Though fifteen summers scarce have shed
+    Their blossoms on thy brow.
+
+  My babe in years, my warrior boy!
+    O! if a mother's tears
+  Could call thee back to be my joy,
+    And still these anxious fears,
+  I'd dash the traitor drops away,
+    That would unnerve thy hand,
+  Now raised to strike in Freedom's cause,
+    For thy dear native land.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+  "Come back to me my darling son,
+    And light my life again."]
+
+  God speed thee on thy course, my boy,
+    Where'er thy pathway lie,
+  And guard thee when the leaden hail,
+    Shall thick around thee fly;
+  But when our sacred cause is won,
+    And peace again shall reign,
+  Come back to me, my darling son,
+    And light my life again.
+
+
+
+
+THE REBEL BAND.
+
+
+  Old Eve she did the apple eat,
+  Old Eve she did the apple eat,
+  Old Eve she did the apple eat,
+  And smacked her lips and called it sweet.
+
+  CHORUS.--Do you belong to the rebel band,
+           Fighting for your home.
+
+  There was a time, the poets say,
+  There was a time, the poets say,
+  There was a time, the poets say,
+  When this world was washed away.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+  How old Noah built him an ark,
+  How old Noah built him an ark,
+  How old Noah built him an ark,
+  Of gopher wood and hickory bark.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+  The ark rested on Mount Ararat,
+  The ark rested on Mount Ararat,
+  The ark rested on Mount Ararat,
+  A mile and a half from Manassas' Gap.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+  The animals came in two by two,
+  The animals came in two by two,
+  The animals came in two by two,
+  The camamile and the kangaroo.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+  Now old Noah got very drunk,
+  Now old Noah got very drunk,
+  Now old Noah got very drunk,
+  And old Ham pulled him out of his bunk.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+  Old Noah got mad as he could be,
+  Old Noah got mad as he could be,
+  Old Noah got mad as he could be,
+  And sent old Ham to Afrikee.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTHERN SOLDIER BOY.
+
+Words by FATHER RYAN.
+
+Music by W. LUDDEN.
+
+
+  Young as the youngest who donned the gray,
+    True as the truest who wore it,
+  Brave as the bravest he marched away,
+  (Hot tears on the cheeks of his mother lay);
+  Triumphant waved our flag one day,
+    He fell in the front before it.
+
+  CHORUS.--A grave in the wood with the grass o'ergrown,
+             A grave in the heart of his mother,
+           His clay in the one, lifeless and lone,
+             But his memory lives in the other.
+
+  Firm as the firmest where duty led,
+    He hurried without a falter;
+  Bold as the boldest he fought and bled,
+  And the day was won--but the field was red;
+  And the blood of his fresh young heart was shed,
+    On his country's hallowed altar.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+  On the trampled breast of the battle plain,
+    Where the foremost ranks had wrestled,
+  The fairest form 'mid all the slain,
+    Like a child asleep he nestled.
+
+  In the solemn of the woods that swept
+    The field where his comrades found him,
+  They buried him there--and strong men wept,
+    As in silence they gathered 'round him.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE CAVALIER'S GLEE.
+
+By CAPT. BLACKFORD, of General Stuart's Staff.
+
+_Air--"The Pirate's Glee."_
+
+
+  Spur on! spur on! we love the bounding
+    Of barbs that bear us to the fray;
+  "The charge" our bugles now are sounding,
+    And our bold Stuart leads the way.
+
+  CHORUS.--The path to honor lies before us
+             Our hated foeman gather fast;
+           At home bright eyes are sparkling for us,
+             And we'll defend them to the last.
+
+  Spur on! spur on! we love the rushing
+    Of steeds that spurn the turf they tread;
+  We'll through the Northern ranks go crushing,
+    With our proud battle-flag o'erhead.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Spur on! spur on! we love the flashing
+    Of blades that battle to be free;
+  'Tis for our sunny South they're clashing,
+    For household gods and liberty.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+SONG.
+
+_Air--"Faintly Flows the Falling River."_
+
+
+  Here we bring a fragrant tribute,
+    To the bed where valor sleeps,
+  Though they missed the victor's triumph,
+    O'er their tomb a nation weeps,
+  Honor through all time be rendered,
+    To their proud, heroic names,
+  Fondly be their mem'ry cherished,
+    Bright their never-dying fame.
+
+  Glowing in young manhood's beauty,
+    Sprang they at their country's call,
+  Made before the foeman's legions
+    'Round our homes a living wall.
+  By disease's foul breath withered,
+    Ere had dawned the battle-day,
+  On the fever couch of anguish,
+    Thousands passed from earth away.
+
+  Thousands, after deeds whose daring,
+    With their glory filled the land,
+  Fell before the flying foeman,
+    On the fields won by their hand.
+  Mourning o'er the fruitless struggle,
+    Bowed beneath the hand of God,
+  Come we weeping and yet proudly,
+    Now to deck this sacred sod.
+
+
+
+
+WE CONQUER OR DIE.
+
+By JAMES PIERPONT, 1861.
+
+Permission of HENRI WEHRMAN.
+
+
+  The war drum is beating; prepare for the fight,
+  The stern bigot Northman exults in his might,
+  Gird on your bright weapons, your foeman is nigh,
+  And this be your watchword, "We conquer or die."
+
+  The trumpet is sounding from mountain to shore,
+  Your swords and your lances must slumber no more.
+  Fling forth to the sunlight your banner on high,
+  Inscribed with the watchword, "We conquer or die."
+
+  March on to the battlefield, there do or dare,
+  With shoulder to shoulder, all danger to share,
+  And let your proud watchword ring up to the sky,
+  Till the blue arch re-echoes, "We conquer or die."
+
+  Press forward undaunted, no thought of retreat,
+  The enemy's host on the threshold to meet,
+  Strike firm, 'til the foemen before you shall fly,
+  Appalled by the watchword, "We conquer or die."
+
+  Go forth in the pathway our forefathers trod;
+  We too fight for freedom, our Captain is God,
+  Their blood in our veins, with their honor we vie;
+  Their's too was the watchword, "We conquer or die."
+
+  We strike for the South: mountains, valley and plain,
+  For the South we will conquer, again and again,
+  Her day of salvation and triumph is nigh,
+  Our's then be the watchword, "We conquer or die."
+
+
+
+
+GOD WILL DEFEND THE RIGHT.
+
+Words and Music by a Lady of Richmond.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  Sons of the South arise,
+    Rise in your matchless might,
+  Your war-cry echo to the skies,
+    "God will defend the right."
+  Let-haughty tyrants know,
+    Our sunny land shall be
+  In spite of every foe,
+    Home of the brave and free.
+
+  CHORUS.--Sons of the South arise,
+             Rise in your matchless might,
+           Your war-cry echo to the skies,
+             "God will defend the right."
+
+  Our flag shall proudly stream,
+    Defiant of assault,
+  Bars of rainbows brightest beam,
+    And stars from Heaven's blue vault.
+  Thousands of true and brave,
+    Their hero lives may end,
+  O'er thousands that flag shall wave,
+    Thousands its folds defend.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+  No wrongs our breasts alarm,
+    No fears our hearts appal,
+  Unswerving justice nerves our arm,
+    We cannot conquered fall.
+  Think on our noble sires,
+    Immortal in renown,
+  Think on our altar-fires,
+    And strike the oppressor down!
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+  With threats of horror dire,
+    The fierce invader comes;
+  We scorn his boasts, we scorn his ire,
+    Striking for hearths and homes.
+  Strike for our mothers now,
+    For daughters, sisters, wives,
+  Truly would each bestow,
+    Were it ten thousand lives.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+RICHMOND ON THE JAMES;
+
+OR, THE DYING TEXAS SOLDIER BOY.
+
+A Parody by ANNIE MARIE NEEBY.
+
+
+  A soldier boy from Texas lay gasping on the field,
+  When the battle's shock was over, and the foe was forced to yield;
+  He fell, a youthful hero, before the foeman's aims,
+  On a blood-red field near Richmond--near Richmond on the James.
+
+  But one still stood beside him--his comrade in the fray--
+  They had been friends together in boyhood's happy day;
+  And side by side had struggled on fields of blood and flames,
+  To part that eve at Richmond--near Richmond on the James.
+
+  He said, "I charge thee, comrade, of the friends in days of yore,
+  Of the far, far distant dear ones that I shall see no more--
+  Tho' scarce my lips can whisper their dear and well-known names,
+  To bear to them my blessing from Richmond on the James.
+
+  "Bear to my brother this sword, and the badge upon my breast
+  To the young and gentle sister that I used to love the best;
+  But one lock from my forehead give the mother still that dreams
+  Of her soldier boy near Richmond--near Richmond on the James.
+
+  "I wish that mother's arms were folded round me now,
+  That her gentle hand could linger, one moment on my brow,
+  But I know that she is praying where our blessed hearthlight gleams,
+  For her soldier boy's safe return from Richmond on the James.
+
+  "And on my heart, dear comrade, lay close these auburn braids,
+  Of one that is the fairest of all our village maids;
+  We were to have been wedded, but death the bridegroom claims,
+  And she is far that loves me, from Richmond on the James.
+
+  "O, does the pale face haunt her, dear friend, that looks on thee,
+  Or is she laughing, singing, in careless, girlish glee?
+  It may be she is joyous, and loves but joyous themes,
+  Nor dreams her love lies bleeding near Richmond on the James.
+
+  "And tho' I know, dear comrade, thou'lt miss me for a while,
+  When their faces--all left to love thee--again on thee shall smile,
+  Again thou'lt be the foremost in all their youthful games,
+  But I shall lie near Richmond--near Richmond on the James."
+
+  The land is fill'd with mourning from hall and cot left lone,
+  We miss the well-known faces that used to greet our own,
+  And long shall weep poor wives, mothers, and titled dames,
+  To hear the name of Richmond--of Richmond on the James.
+
+
+
+
+RICHMOND IS A HARD ROAD TO TRAVEL.
+
+Dedicated to GEN'L A. E. BURNSIDE.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  Would you like to hear my song, I'm afraid it's rather long,
+    Of the famous "on to Richmond" double trouble;
+  Of the half a dozen trips, and half a dozen slips,
+    And the very latest bursting of the bubble?
+  'Tis pretty hard to sing, and like a round, round ring,
+    'Tis a dreadful knotty puzzle to unravel,
+  Though all the papers swore, when we touched Virginia's shore,
+    That Richmond was a hard road to travel.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
+             For Richmond is a hard road to travel;
+           Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
+           For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe!
+
+  First, McDowell, bold and gay, set forth the shortest way,
+    By Manassas, in the pleasant Summer weather,
+  But unfortunately ran on a Stonewall, foolish man,
+    And had a "rocky journey" altogether;
+  And he found it rather hard to ride o'er Beauregard,
+    And Johnston proved a deuce of a bother,
+  And 'twas clear, beyond a doubt, that he didn't like the route,
+    And a second time would have to try another.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
+             For Manassas is a hard road to travel,
+           Manassas gave us fits, and Bull Run made us grieve,
+           For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe!
+
+  Next came the Woolly-Horse,[12] with an overwhelming force,
+    To march down to Richmond by the Valley,
+  But he couldn't find the road, and his "onward movement" showed
+    His campaigning was a mere shilly-shally.
+  Then Commissary Banks, with his motley, foreign ranks,
+    Kicking up a great noise, fuss and flurry,
+  Lost the whole of his supplies, and with tears in his eyes,
+    From the Stonewall ran away in a hurry.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
+             For the Valley is a hard road to travel,
+           The Valley wouldn't do, and we had all to leave,
+           For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe!
+
+  Then the great Galena came, with her port-holes all aflame,
+    And the Monitor, that famous naval wonder,
+  But the guns at Drury's Bluff gave them speedily enough,
+    The loudest sort of reg'lar Rebel thunder.
+  The Galena was astonished and the Monitor admonished,
+    Our patent shot and shell were mocked at,
+  While the dreadful Naugatuck, by the hardest kind of luck,
+    Was knocked into an ugly cocked hat.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
+             For James River is a hard road to travel,
+           The gun-boats gave it up in terror and despair,
+           For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I declare!
+
+  Then McClellan followed soon, both with spade and balloon,
+    To try the Peninsular approaches,
+  But one and all agreed that his best rate of speed,
+    Was no faster than the slowest of "slow coaches."
+  Instead of easy ground, at Williamsburg he found
+    A Longstreet indeed, and nothing shorter,
+  And it put him in the dumps, that spades wasn't trumps,
+    And the Hills he couldn't level "as he orter."
+
+  CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
+             For Longstreet is a hard road to travel,
+           Lay down the shovel and throw away the spade,
+           For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I'm afraid.
+
+  Then said Lincoln unto Pope, "You can make the trip, I hope;"
+    "I will save the universal Yankee nation,
+  To make sure of no defeat, I'll leave no lines of retreat,
+    And issue a famous proclamation."
+  But that same dreaded Jackson, this fellow laid his whacks on,
+    And made him by compulsion, a seceder.[13]
+  And Pope took rapid flight from Manassas' second fight,
+    'Twas his very last appearance as a leader.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
+             For Stonewall is a hard road to travel,
+           Pope did his very best, but was evidently sold,
+           For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I'm told!
+
+  Last of all the _brave_ Burnside, with his pontoon bridge, tried
+    A road no one had thought of before him,
+  With two hundred thousand men for the Rebel slaughter pen,
+    And the blessed Union flag waving o'er him,
+  But he met a fire like hell, of canister and shell,
+    That mowed his men down with great slaughter,
+  'Twas a shocking sight to view, that second Waterloo,
+    And the river ran with more blood than water.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
+             Rappahannock is a hard road to travel,
+           Burnside got in a trap, which caused him for to grieve,
+           For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe!
+
+  We are very much perplexed to know who is the next
+    To command the new Richmond expedition,
+  For the Capital _must blaze_, and that in ninety days,
+    And Jeff and his men be sent to perdition.
+  We'll take the cursed town, and then we'll burn it down,
+    And plunder and hang each cursed rebel;
+  Yet the contraband was right when he told us they would fight,
+    "Oh! yes, massa, they fight like the devil."
+
+  CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
+             For Richmond is a hard road to travel;
+           Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
+           For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe!
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTHRON'S WATCHWORD.
+
+In Imitation of an English Song of the Crimean War.
+
+By M. F. BIGNEY, 1861.
+
+Music from S. GLOVER.
+
+
+  What shall the Southron's watchword be,
+  Fighting for us on land and sea?
+  Bearing our flag o'er the billow's foam,
+  Shedding his blood for his Southern home?
+  To bleed and conquer he's bravely gone;
+  Freedom and glory still urge him on.
+  Then shall the Southron's watchword be,
+  "The grave of the hero or victory!"
+
+  What shall the Southron's watchword be,
+  Bearing the banner that proves him free?
+  Bravely he dashes amid the strife,
+  For home and country, for child and wife;
+  His aims are bright and his hopes are high;
+  His brave resolve is to do or die;
+  Then shall the Southron's watchword be,
+  "The grave of the hero or victory!"
+
+  What shall the Southron's watchword be,
+  Fighting the battles of liberty?
+  Holy the light on his manly brow,
+  The victor's wreath or the cypress bough!
+  Such are the thoughts which the brave inspire,
+  Filling their souls with the soldier's fire;
+  Then shall the Southron's watchword be,
+  "The grave of the hero or victory!"
+
+
+
+
+THERE'S LIFE IN THE OLD LAND YET.
+
+Words by JAMES B. RANDALL.
+
+Music by EDWARD O. EATON.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  By blue Patapsco's billowy dash,
+    The tyrant's war-shout comes,
+  Along with the cymbal's fitful clash,
+    And the roll 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 scourged, we are scarred--
+  We crouch--'tis to welcome the triumph-tread
+    Of the peerless Beauregard.
+  Then woe to your vile, polluting horde,
+    When the Southern 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 sings in the wind,
+    O'er Merryman, Thomas, and Kane;
+  And we--though we smite 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 they scowl on your brutal bands,
+  While the nimble poignard dares the day,
+    In their dear, defiant hands;
+  They will strip their tresses to string our bows,
+    Ere the Northern sun is set--
+  There's faith in their unrelenting woes,
+    "There's life in the Old Land yet!"
+
+  There's life, though it throbbeth in silent veins,
+    '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's life in the Old Land yet!"
+
+_New Orleans Delta_, Sept., 1861.
+
+
+
+
+YOU ARE GOING TO THE WARS, WILLIE BOY!
+
+Words and Music by JOHN H. HEWITT.
+
+
+  You are going to the wars, Willie boy, Willie boy,
+    You are going to the wars far away,
+  To protect our rights and laws, Willie boy, Willie boy,
+    And the banner in the sun's golden ray;
+  With your uniform all new,
+    And your shining buttons, too,
+  You'll win the hearts of pretty girls,
+    But none like me so true.
+  Oh, won't you think of me, Willie boy, Willie boy;
+    Oh, won't you think of me when far away?
+  I'll often think of ye, Willie boy, Willie boy,
+    And ever for your life and glory pray.
+
+  You'll be fighting for the right, Willie boy, Willie boy,
+    You'll be fighting for the right, and your home;
+  And you'll strike the blow with might, Willie boy, Willie boy,
+    'Mid the thundering of cannon and of drum;
+  With an arm as true as steel,
+    You'll make the foeman feel,
+  The vengeance of a Southerner,
+    Too proud to cringe or kneel;
+  Oh, should you fall in strife, Willie boy, Willie boy,
+    Oh, should you fall in strife on the plain,
+  I'll pine away my life, Willie boy, Willie boy,
+    And never, never smile again.
+
+
+
+
+MY MARYLAND.
+
+Written at Pointe Coupee, La., April 26, 1861. First published in the _New
+Orleans Delta_.
+
+By JAMES R. RANDALL.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  The despot's heel is on thy shore,
+                Maryland!
+  His torch is at thy temple door,
+                Maryland!
+  Avenge the patriotic gore
+  That flecked the streets of Baltimore,
+  And be the battle queen of yore,
+                Maryland! My Maryland!
+
+  Hark to an exiled son's appeal,
+                Maryland!
+  My Mother-State, to thee I kneel,
+                Maryland!
+  For life or death, for woe and weal,
+  Thy peerless chivalry reveal,
+  And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,
+                Maryland! My Maryland!
+
+  Thou wilt not cower in the dust,
+                Maryland!
+  Thy beaming sword shall never rust,
+                Maryland!
+  Remember Carroll's sacred trust,
+  Remember Howard's warlike thrust,
+  And all thy slumberers with the just,
+                Maryland! My Maryland!
+
+  Come! 'tis the red dawn of the day,
+                Maryland!
+  Come! with thy panoplied array,
+                Maryland!
+  With Ringgold's spirit for the fray,
+  With Watson's blood at Monterey,
+  With fearless Lowe, and dashing May,
+                Maryland! My Maryland!
+
+  Come! for thy shield is bright and strong,
+                Maryland!
+  Come! for thy dalliance does thee wrong,
+                Maryland!
+  Come! to thine own heroic throng,
+  That stalks with Liberty along,
+  And ring thy dauntless slogan-song,
+                Maryland! My Maryland!
+
+  Dear Mother! burst the tyrant's chain,
+                Maryland!
+  Virginia should not call in vain,
+                Maryland!
+  _She_ meets her sisters on the plain--
+  "Sic semper," 'tis the proud refrain
+  That baffles minions back amain,
+                Maryland!
+  Arise, in majesty again,
+                Maryland! My Maryland!
+
+  I see the blush upon thy cheek,
+                Maryland!
+  For thou 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! My Maryland!
+
+  Thou wilt not yield the 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 bugle, fife, and drum,
+                Maryland!
+  She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb--
+  Huzzah! she spurns the Northern scum!
+  She breathes--she burns! she'll come! she'll come!
+                Maryland! My Maryland!
+
+
+
+
+REBEL TOASTS; OR, DRINK IT DOWN!
+
+
+  Oh, here's to South Carolina! drink it down,
+  Here's to South Carolina, drink it down,
+  Here's to South Carolina, the first to open up the fray.
+
+  CHORUS.--Drink it down, drink it down,
+           Drink it down, down, down.
+
+  Oh, here's to Mississippi! drink it down,
+  Here's to Mississippi, drink it down,
+  Here's to Mississippi, for she gave old Abe the slip.
+
+  Oh, here's to Alabama! drink it down,
+  Here's to Alabama--we'll fight for her banner.
+
+  Oh, here's to Florida State, drink it down,
+  Here's to Florida--to Southern rights she'll ne'er say nay.
+
+  Oh, here's to Georgia State--drink it down,
+  Here's to Georgia State--altho' she _is_ rather late.
+
+  Oh, here's to Louisiana! drink it down,
+  Here's to Louisiana--how glorious is her banner.
+
+  Oh, here's to gallant Texas! drink it down,
+  Here's to gallant Texas--the Yankees say "she vexes us."
+
+  Oh, here's to brave Virginia! drink it down,
+  Here's to brave Virginia--she'll hold up the Confederacy.
+
+  Oh, here's to Arkansas! drink it down,
+  Here's to Arkansas--for she'll break old Abram's jaw.
+
+  Oh, here's to North Carolina! drink it down,
+  Here's to North Carolina--with a whoop and a hurrah.
+
+  Oh, here's to Tennessee! drink it down,
+  Here's to Tennessee--for she's bound to be free.
+
+  Oh, here's to brave Missouri! drink it down,
+  Here's to brave Missouri--whose sons will ne'er say die!
+
+  Oh, here's to old Kentuck! drink it down,
+  Here's to old Kentuck--she yet may have the pluck.
+
+  Oh, here's to Maryland! drink it down,
+  Here's to Maryland--bleeding beneath a tyrant's hand.
+
+  Oh, here's to General Lee! drink it down,
+  Here's to General Lee--for he'll set the Rebels free!
+
+  Oh, here's to Magruder! drink it down--
+  Here's to our Magruder--the Yankees' great deluder.
+
+
+
+
+THE GALLANT GIRL THAT SMOTE THE DASTARD TORY, OH!
+
+Dedicated to MISS SLIDELL.
+
+Words by KLUBS.
+
+Music by DUCIE DIAMONDS.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  Ho, gallants, brim the beaker bowl,
+    And click the festal glasses, oh!
+  The grape shall shed its sapphire soul,
+    To eulogize the lasses, oh!
+  And when ye pledge the lip and curl
+    Of loveliness and glory, oh!
+  Here's a bumper to the gallant girl
+    That smote the dastard Tory, oh!
+
+  CHORUS.--A bumper, a thumper,
+             To loveliness and glory, oh!
+           A bumper to the gallant girl
+             That smote the dastard Tory, oh!
+
+  Our boys are fighting East and West,
+    Our women do not linger, oh!
+  They take their diamonds from the breast,
+    Their rubies from the finger, oh!
+  They send their darlings to the war
+    Of honor and of glory, oh!
+  They've all the spirit of a man,
+    To smite a dastard Tory, oh!
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: Jack Morgan.]
+
+
+THREE CHEERS FOR OUR JACK MORGAN.
+
+By EUGENE RAYMOND.
+
+
+  The snow is in the cloud, and night is gathering o'er us.
+  The winds are piping loud and fan the blaze before us;
+  Then join the jovial band, and tune the vocal organ;
+  And with a will we'll all join in--three cheers for our Jack Morgan!
+
+  CHORUS.--Gather round the camp-fire, our duty has been done,
+           Let's gather round the camp-fire, and have a little fun.
+           Let's gather round the camp-fire, our duty has been done,
+           'Twas done upon the battle-field, three cheers for our Jack
+               Morgan!
+
+  Jack Morgan is his name--the fearless and the lucky;
+  No dastard foe can tame the son of old Kentucky.
+  His heart is with his State, he fights for Southern freedom,
+  His men their General's word await--they'll go where he will lead 'em.
+                                              CHORUS.
+
+  He swore to free his home--to burst her chains asunder,
+  With sound of trump and drum, and loud Confederate thunder;
+  And in the darksome night, by light of homesteads burning,
+  He'll put the skulking foe to flight, their hearts to wailings turning.
+                                              CHORUS.
+
+  The dungeon dark and cold could not his body prison,
+  Nor tame a spirit bold that o'er reverse had risen.
+  Then sing the song of joy--our toast be lovely woman;
+  And Morgan, he's the gallant boy to plague the hated foeman!
+
+[Illustration: Mississippi Button.]
+
+
+
+
+PRAY, MAIDEN, PRAY!
+
+A. W. KERCHEVAL.
+
+A. J. TURNER.
+
+To the patriotic women of the South.
+
+
+  Maiden, pray for thy lover now,
+    Thro' all this starry night,
+  Heaven prove auspicious to thy vow,
+    For with to-morrow's dawning light,
+    We meet the foe in deadly fight!
+              Pray, maiden, pray!
+
+  Maiden, pray that the banner high
+    Advanced, our cross may wave;
+  And foeman's shot and steel defy!
+    In triumph floating o'er the brave,
+    Who strike for freedom or the grave;
+              Pray, maiden, pray!
+
+  Maiden, pray for thy Southern land
+    Of streams and sunlit skies;
+  See thou her living greatness stand!
+    While in her hero-dust there lies,
+    Whatever glory verifies!
+              Pray, maiden, pray!
+
+  Maiden, pray that your trumpet blast
+    And rocket's signal light,
+  But summon squadrons, thick and fast!
+    To win in our glorious fight
+    For Home, for Freedom, and the Right;
+              Pray, maiden, pray!
+
+1863.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOLDIER'S SUIT OF GRAY.
+
+By MISS CARRIE BELL SINCLAIR.
+
+
+  I've seen some handsome uniforms deck'd off with buttons bright,
+  And some that are so very gay they almost blind the sight;
+  But of these handsome uniforms I will not sing to-day,
+  My song is to each soldier lad who wears a suit of gray!
+
+  CHORUS.--Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! for Southern boys we say,
+           And God bless every soldier lad who wears a suit of gray!
+
+  Brass buttons and gold lace I know are beautiful to view,
+  And then, to tell the honest truth, I own I like them, too;
+  Yet should a thousand officers come crowding round to-day,
+  I'd scorn them for a lad who wears a simple suit of gray.
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  God bless our Southern soldiers! for ev'ry one is dear,
+  And God defend each gallant form, no matter what they wear;
+  For each has acted well his part, yet still, in truth, I say,
+  The bravest of the brave are those who wear a suit of gray.
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  Tho' torn and faded be each coat, their buttons tarnish'd too,
+  I know beneath each soldier's dress a Southern heart beats true;
+  We honor ev'ry gallant son who fights for us to-day,
+  And heav'n protect the noble boys who wear the suit of gray.
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  They bravely strike for freedom, and on the battle-field,
+  They're the first to strike a blow, they are the last to yield;
+  At Richmond and Manassas who was it won the day?
+  It was our noble Southern boys, all clad in suits of gray.
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  God bless our Southern soldiers! for each we breathe a prayer,
+  And over ev'ry fallen son we shed a mourner's tear!
+  Oh, sacred be the grave of those who died so far away,
+  And honor'd be each one who sleeps clad in a suit of gray.
+                                                (Omit chorus.)
+
+  'Round ev'ry patriot soldier's brow the laurel wreath entwines,
+  And 'round the battle-flag they bear a ray of glory shines,
+  And when the foe is conquer'd, with pride we then will say,
+  "All honor to the noble boys who wore the suit of gray."
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  (A CHORUS, AFTER THE BATTLE OF FRANKLIN)--
+
+  You may talk about your Beauregard, and sing of General Lee,
+  But General Hood, of Texas, played hell in Tennessee.
+
+
+
+
+SONG OF THE TEXAS RANGERS.
+
+By MRS. J. D. YOUNG.
+
+_Air--"The Yellow Rose of Texas."_
+
+
+  The morning star is paling, the camp-fires flicker low,
+  Our steeds are madly neighing, for the bugle bids us go:
+  So put the foot in stirrup, and shake the bridle free,
+  For to-day the Texas Rangers must cross the Tennessee.
+  With Wharton for our leader, we'll chase the dastard foe,
+  'Till our horses bathe their fetlocks in the deep blue Ohio.
+
+  Our men come from the prairies rolling broad, proud and free,
+  From the high and craggy mountains to the murmuring Mexic' sea;
+  And their hearts are open as their plains; their tho'ts as proudly brave
+  As the bold cliffs of the San Bernard, or the Gulf's resistless wave.
+  Then, quick! into the saddle, and shake the bridle free,
+  To-day with gallant Wharton we cross the Tennessee.
+
+  'Tis joy to be a Ranger! to fight for dear Southland!
+  'Tis joy to follow Wharton, with his gallant, trusty band!
+  'Tis joy to see our Harrison plunge, like a meteor bright,
+  Into the thickest of the fray, and deal his deadly might,
+  Oh! who'd not be a Ranger, and follow Wharton's cry!
+  And battle for their country, and, if needs be, die?
+
+  By the Colorado's waters, on the Gulf's deep murmuring shore,
+  On our soft, green, peaceful prairies, our home we may see no more,
+  But in those homes our gentle wives, and mothers with silvery hairs,
+  Are loving us with tender hearts, and shielding us with prayers.
+  So trusting in our country's God, we draw our stout good brand,
+  For those we love at home, our altars and our land.
+
+  Up! up! with the crimson battle flag, let the blue pennon fly;
+  Our steeds are stamping proudly, they hear the battle cry!
+  The thundering bomb, the bugle's call, proclaim the foe is near:
+  We strike for God and native land, and all we hold most dear.
+  Then spring into the saddle, and shake the bridle free,
+  For Wharton leads, thro' fire and blood, for Home and Victory.
+
+
+
+
+THE OFFICER'S FUNERAL.
+
+
+  Hark! 'tis the shrill trumpet calling,
+    It pierceth the soft summer air!
+  Tears from each comrade are falling,
+    For the widow and orphan are there:
+  Our bayonets earthward are turning,
+    And the drum's muffled breath rolls around,
+  But he hears not the voice of their mourning,
+    Nor awakes to the bugle's shrill sound.
+
+  Sleep, soldier! tho' many regret thee,
+    Who stand by thy cold bier to-day,
+  Soon, soon shall the kindest forget thee,
+    And thy name from the earth pass away;
+  The man thou did'st love as a brother,
+    A friend in thy place will have gained;
+  Thy dog will keep watch for another,
+    And thy steed by a stranger be reined.
+
+  But tho' many now weep for thee sadly,
+    Soon joyous as ever shall be;
+  Tho' thy bright orphan boy may laugh gladly
+    As he sits on some kind comrade's knee,
+  There is one who will still do her duty
+    Of tears for the true and the brave,
+  As when first in the bloom of her beauty,
+    She weeps o'er her brave soldier's grave!
+
+
+
+
+THE SOLDIER'S DEATH.
+
+By A. B. CUNNINGHAM.
+
+
+  The night-cloud had lowered o'er Shiloh's red plain,
+  And the blast howled sadly o'er wounded and slain;
+  The lightning flashed vividly, fiercely and proud,
+  And glared thro' the mist of the smoke and the cloud;
+  The thunder pealed loudly from heaven's black sky,
+  Where litely the cannon had pealed the war-cry;
+  The last gun had been fired, and its moaning sound
+  Had died 'way in the distance, and echoed around.
+
+  Where the fight had raged fiercest, near a deep ravine,
+  At the foot of a crag (a wild, thrilling scene),
+  A soldier lay there all ghastly and gory,
+  Who'd fall'n in the strife for freedom and glory!
+  His life-blood was pouring from out a deep gash
+  He'd received 'mid the battle's loud roar and fierce crash;
+  "O mother! O mother! I never thought this,
+  When but a mere child I received thy sweet kiss--
+
+  "That I'd die on a field all gory and red
+  With the blood of the wounded, the dying and dead,
+  With no friend or relation to cheer my dark way,
+  But the forms of dear comrades all lifeless as clay,
+  None to watch o'er me but the ghosts of the dead,
+  None to smooth down the death-pillow 'neath my poor head;
+  And sadly I think of my home in the South,
+  Where I roam'd a mere boy in the pride of my youth.
+
+  "When I scaled the steep crag o'er the river's wild roar,
+  Or chased the fleet stag 'long the bright, sunny shore--
+  When I bounded in pride o'er valley and hill--
+  O memories, how sweet! ye haunt me now still.
+  But away with the thoughts of my joyous boyhood,
+  I'll face the grim monster death with calm fortitude:
+  Then, mother, farewell! farewell, dearest mother;
+  Farewell to my father, sisters and brother!
+
+  "And when I am gone never utter a sigh,
+  But remember your Charlie reigns proudly on high!"
+  Then death flapp'd wildly his wings on the moor,
+  As his soul took its flight to a heavenly shore--
+  The lightning flash'd fiercely, the howling winds surge,
+  The thunder pealed loudly the hero's wild dirge!
+
+
+
+
+I REMEMBER THE HOUR WHEN SADLY WE PARTED.
+
+_Companion Song to "When this Cruel War is Over."_
+
+
+  I remember the hour when sadly we parted,
+    The tears on your pale cheek glist'ning like dew,
+  When clasped in your arms almost broken-hearted,
+    I swore by the bright sky I'd ever be true,
+  True to the love that nothing could sever,
+  And true to the flag of my country forever.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then weep not, love, oh! weep not,
+           Think not our hopes are vain,
+           For when this fatal war is over,
+           We will surely meet again.
+
+  Oh, let not, my own love, the summer winds winging
+    Their sweet-laden zephyrs o'er land and o'er sea,
+  Bring aught to your heart with the autumn birds singing,
+    But hopes for the future and bright dreams of me;
+  For while in your pure heart my mem'ry you're keeping,
+  I ne'er can be lonely while waking or sleeping.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+  But if, while the loud shouts of vict'ry are ringing,
+    O'er the land that foul traitors have caught to betray,
+  You hear o'er the voices so joyfully singing,
+    That he who so loved you has fallen in the fray,
+  Oh think that he's gone where there's dark treason never,
+  Where tears and sad partings are banished forever.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+OUR FLAG; OR, THE ORIGIN OF THE STARS AND BARS.[14]
+
+Words and Music by HARRY MCCARTHY.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  Young stranger, what land claims thy birth?
+    For thy flag is but new to the sea,
+  And where is the nation on earth,
+    That the right of this flag gives to thee;
+  Thy banner reminds us of one
+    By the Champions of Freedom unfurled,
+  And the proudest of nations have owned,
+    'Twas a glory and pride to the world;
+  That flag was the "Stripes and Stars,"
+    And the colors of thine are the same,
+  But thou hast the "Stars and the Bars,"
+    Oh, stranger, pray tell us thy name.
+
+  That flag, with its garland of fame,
+    Proudly waved o'er my father and me,
+  And my grandsires died to proclaim
+    It the flag of the brave and the free;
+  But alas! for the flag of my youth;
+    I have sighed and dropped my last tear,
+  For the North has forgotten her truth,
+    And would tread on the rights we hold dear;
+  They envied the South her bright Stars,
+    Her glory, her honor, her fame,
+  So we unfurled the "Stars and the Bars"
+    And the Confederate Flag is its name.
+
+  And her bright colors shone forth,
+    All glorious in fair Freedom's light,
+  We swore to remember their birth,
+    And in her honor forever to fight;
+  So woe to the foeman who'll dare,
+    Our Southern soil to invade,
+  For bless'd by the smiles of the fair,
+    And in right's powerful armor arrayed;
+  We'll strike for our Southern stars,
+    Our honor, our glory, our fame,
+  We'll strike for the "Stars and the Bars,"
+    For the Confederate Flag is its name.
+
+
+
+
+THE NAVASOTA VOLUNTEERS.
+
+By WM. NEELY, of Durant's Cavalry.
+
+_Air--"Susanna, Don't you Cry."_
+
+
+  We're the Navasota volunteers, our county is named Grimes;
+  Oh, come along, my conscript boys, we can't leave you behind;
+  Jeff Davis is our President, and Stephens is the Vice--
+  At the head of our armies are Lee, Beauregard and Price.
+
+  We have other officers and generals in command,
+  To lead our gallant forces on, and give the right command;
+  Good old Magruder's our choice, and will help the Yankees roast;
+  So come and go along with us, and help defend the coast.
+
+  O come along, my jolly boys, and help us all to fight--
+  To go against old Uncle Abe I know that we are right;
+  So come along, my countrymen, and with us take your stand;
+  With help of God, we'll whip old Abe, and all his Yankee band.
+
+  Come volunteer, my brave, brave boys, and help to fight it out;
+  We can whip the Abolitionists, without a single doubt;
+  We are volunteers of Texas--we are the very chaps,
+  To whip the Abolitionists, and stop their "nutmeg" traps.
+
+  Come volunteer, my Texas boys, altho' you are forty-six--
+  We'll whip old Abe and Buell, with all their Yankee tricks;
+  Their armies are invading us, and this we cannot stand,
+  We must whip them back to Yankeedom, O come and take a hand.
+
+  Come, all of you brave Southerners, and join our common cause,
+  To go against old Lincoln and all his Yankee boys;
+  If we find them on the hills, or find them in their ditches,
+  If you go along with us we'll whip them out their "britches."
+
+  Now, there is our good doctor, with his powder and his pills,
+  Who is willing to go with us and cure us of our ills;
+  There are some of our countrymen, whose names I will not tell,
+  Who say they cannot volunteer, "for they are not very well!"
+
+  There is the officeseeker! altho' not very noted,
+  He would go along with us if he could only be promoted!
+  There is the little lawyer! who is of no great note,
+  He will not go along with us unless we will promote!
+
+  Now, there is the merchant! with his all in his hand,
+  Who'll sell unto his customers at the highest price he can;
+  If you say to the merchant, when you go in to trade,
+  "I cannot stand your price," he'll holler out "Blockade!"
+
+  And then there's the yearling thief, that ought to go to battle;
+  The country would be better off rid of all such cattle;
+  And there's the rich planters, with their negroes and their lands,
+  They will not go along with us to fight old Lincoln's bands.
+
+  They remind me of a tale, perhaps you've heard yourself:
+  While a woman fought a bear her husband hid himself;
+  The battle was fought, and the good old lady won it--
+  Old man then came crawling out--"Old woman, hain't we done it!"
+
+  There are speculating parsons, who wish their country well--
+  And they will warn poor sinners of going down to hell;
+  They cannot go along with us, they do not wish to fight,
+  They'll stay at home to prey on us, that all may come out right.
+
+  Now unto all such fellows be everlasting shame;
+  And all our honest countrymen will surely them disdain;
+  Come, all ye Texas ladies, now listen to my song,
+  And do not marry any man that will not go along.
+
+  To defend the coast of Texas we all feel now inclined;
+  To leave our wives and little ones in the care of those behind;
+  We hope that they'll prove faithful, and to their wants attend,
+  And see that they're provided for while we the land defend.
+
+  Farewell! my friends and neighbors, we bid you all adieu.
+  Farewell to wife and children! we now must part with you!
+  O God! in mercy bless us! sustain us by Thy grace!
+  And grant we all may meet again our lov'd ones to embrace!
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+  "For I know there is no other,
+    E'er can be so dear to me."]
+
+
+THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.
+
+Composed by FR. SULZNER.
+
+Permission of HENRI WEHRMANN, New Orleans, La.
+
+
+  I am dreaming of thee,
+    Dearest, I am dreaming still of thee,
+  For thy spirit haunts me ever,
+    Like some fairy melody;
+  When in loneliness I wander,
+    Or in haunts of mirth and glee,
+  Still my heart to thine is turning,
+    I am dreaming still of thee.
+
+  When the stars are softly smiling,
+    Thro' the lone and silent night,
+  Then I think of thee and heaven,
+    With a holy, calm delight;
+  For thy spirit is so radiant
+    In its love and purity,
+  That whene'er I dream of angels,
+    I am dreaming still of thee.
+
+  There are hours when dreary shadows,
+    Cast their gloom upon my heart,
+  When I think how well I love thee,
+    When I feel that we must part;
+  For I know there is no other,
+    E'er can be so dear to me,
+  And whene'er of love I'm dreaming,
+    I am dreaming still of thee.
+
+  I am dreaming of thee, dearest,
+    Still I dream of thee alone;
+  We shall meet again in heaven,
+    There our spirits shall be one;
+  For the earth when thou wert near me,
+    Was a paradise to me,
+  And whene'er I dream of heaven,
+    I am dreaming still of thee.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+  "When the stars are softly smiling
+      *       *       *       *
+  Then I think of thee and heaven."]
+
+
+
+
+BY THE BANKS OF RED RIVER.
+
+Words by E. E. KIDD.
+
+Music by LA HACHE.
+
+
+  Oh, gone is the soul from his wondrous dark eye,
+    And gone is her life's dearest glory.
+  The tales of fond lovers unheeded pass by,
+    Her heart hears a single sad story,
+  How her gallant young hero fell asleep, and will never
+    Awake from his dream by the banks of Red River.
+
+  CHORUS.--How her gallant young hero fell asleep, and will never
+           Awake from his dream by the banks of Red River.
+
+  How oft to the window she rushes to wait,
+    As though she expected his coming;
+  She lists, ah! she hears him swing open the gate,
+    And the song he was wont to be humming;
+  But she turns, ah! she feels he's asleep and will never
+    Awake from his dream by the banks of Red River.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Ah, many a sun will awaken the morn,
+    All dressed in its radiant glory,
+  Ere the heart of the maiden shall ever be torn
+    From the woe of his sorrowful story,
+  For it bent--it has broke. Oh! God it will never
+    Arise from that grave by the banks of Red River.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE OFFICERS OF DIXIE.
+
+By A GROWLER.
+
+
+  Let me whisper in your ear, sir,
+  Something that the South should hear, sir,
+    Of the war, of the war, of the war in Dixie;
+  A growing curse--a "burning shame," sir,
+  In the chorus I will name, sir,
+    Of the war, of the war, of the war in Dixie.
+
+  CHORUS.--The officers of Dixie alone, alone!
+           The honors share, the honors wear
+           Throughout the land of Dixie!
+           'Tis so, 'tis so, throughout the land of Dixie.
+
+  Swelling 'round with gold lace plenty,
+  See the gay "brass button" gentry;
+  Solomon in all his splendors
+  Was scarce arrayed like these "defenders."
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  In cities, sir, it is alarming
+  To see them 'round the hotel swarming;
+  And at each little "one-horse town," sir,
+  See the "birds" how they "fly 'round," sir.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  On the steamboat, in the cars, sir,
+  Deep respect is shown the "bars," sir.
+  And if a "star" or two is spotted,
+  See how "the elephant" is courted.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  Should a grand soiree be given,
+  The "braided lions" take the even.
+  No, no! the privates are not slighted!
+  They can't expect to be invited!
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  The ladies! bless the darling creatures!
+  Quite distort their pretty features,
+  And say (I know you've seen it done, sir),
+  "They'll have an officer or none," sir.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  And if when death-shots round us rattle,
+  An officer is kill'd in battle--
+  How the martyr is lamented!
+  (This is right--we've not dissented).
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  But only speak of it to show, sir,
+  Privates are not honor'd so, sir.
+  No muffled drum, no wreath of glory,
+  If one dies, proclaims the story.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  In Dixie's land, in every way, sir,
+  "Fuss and feathers" "win the day," sir,
+  For with all sexes, sizes, ages,
+  How the "gold lace fever" rages!
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  List the moral of my song, sir;
+  In Dixie there is something wrong, sir.
+  As all that glitters is not gold, sir,
+  Read and ponder what I've told, sir.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE SENTINEL'S DREAM OF HOME.
+
+By COL. A. M. HOBBY.
+
+
+  'Tis dead of night, nor voice, nor sound, breaks on the stillness of the
+      air,
+  The waning moon goes coldly down on frozen fields and forests bare:
+  The solemn stars are glittering high, while here my lonely watch I keep,
+  To guard the brave with anxious eye, who sweetly dream and sweetly sleep.
+
+  Perchance of home these sleepers dream, of sainted ones no longer here,
+  Whose mystic forms low bend unseen, and breathe soft whispers in their
+      ear:
+  Sleep on, sleep on, my comrades brave, quaff deep to-night of pleasure's
+      cup,
+  Ere morning's crimson banners wave, and reveille shall rouse thee up.
+
+  The sporting winds and waves to-night seem tired of their boisterous
+      play,
+  And armed ships, with signal lights and bristling guns before me lay:
+  But not of ships nor battle-fields, with clash of arms and roll of
+      drums--
+  To softer scenes my spirit yields--to-night a sweeter vision comes.
+
+  It is thine own beloved one! whose kiss I feel, whose smile I see;
+  O God! protect that wife at home, begirt with growing infancy:
+  To-night, to-night I'm with you there, around my knees fond children
+      gather!
+  And climb, the envied kiss to share, amidst the sounds of "Husband!
+      Father!"
+
+  Such thoughts my eyes with moisture fill, my bosom heaves, my pulses
+      start;
+  Close down I'll press my gun to still the wild emotions of my heart:
+  Hush! pleading one--I cannot stay! the spoiler comes with fiendish
+      wrath--
+  Black ruin marks his bloody way, and blazing homes have lit his path.
+
+  "Go, husband, go! God nerve thy blows--their footsteps foul blot from
+      our shore--
+  Strike! 'till our land is free from foes whose hands are stained with
+      Southern gore;
+  Strike! husband, strike--I'd rather weep, the widow of a patriot brave,
+  Than lay my heart (I'd scorn to sleep) beside a subjugated slave."
+
+  Thy woman's soul is true and grand! the battle-field my home shall be,
+  Until our country'll proudly stand acknowledged as a nation free;
+  'Till then, oh, welcome fields of strife, the victor's shout, the
+      vanquished cry,
+  Where ebbs the crimson stream of life, where quick and dead together lie.
+
+  'Mid bursting shell and squadron's dash, where broken ranks disorder'd
+      fly,
+  Where angry cannon's flash on flash paints hell upon the lurid sky,
+  Where many a brave shall sink to rest, and fondly cherish'd hopes will
+      set,
+  And blood that warms the manly heart, will dim the glittering bayonet.
+
+  When these are past, and victory's sun in undimm'd splendor lights the
+      skies,
+  And peace, by dauntless valor won, and proudly free our banner flies,
+  Then to my Western prairie home, with eager haste, each nerve shall
+      strain,
+  Nor from its hallow'd precincts roam, unless my country call again.
+
+  There unalloy'd shall be our bliss; we'll watch the sun give morning
+      birth,
+  And, sinking, leave his parting kiss upon the dewy lips of earth.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+  The moon has waxed and waned away; the morning star rides pale and high--
+  Fond dreams of home no longer stay, but fade like stars on mornings sky.
+
+GALVESTON, TEXAS, Feb. 1, 1864.
+
+
+
+
+CAMP DOUGLAS BY THE LAKE.
+
+A PRISON SONG.
+
+_Air--"Cottage by the Sea."_
+
+
+  Childhood's days have long since faded,
+    Youth's bright dreams like lights gone out,
+  Distant homes and hearths are shaded,
+    With the future's dread and doubt.
+
+  CHORUS.--Here, old Michigan before us,
+             Moaning waves that ever break,
+           Chanting still the one sad chorus,
+             At Camp Douglas by the Lake.      (Repeat.)
+
+  Exiles from our homes, we sorrow
+    O'er the present's darkening gloom;
+  Will we know that with the morrow,
+    We'll wake to feel the same hard doom.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  Oh, for one short hour of gladness,
+    One hour of hope, this pain to break,
+  And chase away the heavy sadness,
+    At Camp Douglas by the Lake.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  I would some Southern bird was singing,
+    Warbling richest, softest lays,
+  Back to eager memory bringing,
+    Sweetest thoughts of happy days.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  I dread the night's uneasy slumber;
+    Hate the day that bids me wake,
+  Another of that dreary number,
+    At Camp Douglas by the Lake.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  Never Sabbath bells are tolling,
+    Never words of cheer and love;
+  Wintry waves are round us rolling,
+    Clouds are hiding heaven above.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  Dixie Land! still turn toward you,
+    Hearts that now in bondage ache,
+  Hearts that once were strong to guard you,
+    Wasting here beside the lake.
+
+  REFRAIN.--John Morgan crossed the river,
+              And I went across with him.
+            I was captured in Ohio,
+              Because I could not swim.
+
+
+
+
+MISSOURI.
+
+Words and music by HARRY MCCARTHY.
+
+Sung by Harry McCarthy throughout the Confederate States in his
+Personation Concerts.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  Missouri! Missouri! bright land of the West,
+  Where the wayworn emigrant always found rest,
+  Who gave to the farmer reward for the toil
+  Expended in breaking and turning the soil;
+  Awake to the notes of the bugle and drum!
+  Awake from your peace, for the tyrant hath come;
+  And swear by your honor that your chains shall be riven,
+  And add your bright star to our Flag of Eleven.
+
+  They'd force you to join in their unholy fight,
+  With fire and with sword, with power and with might,
+  'Gainst fathers and brothers, and kindred near,
+  'Gainst women and children, all you hold dear;
+  They've o'errun your soil, insulted your press;
+  Murdered your citizens, shown no redress;
+  So swear by your honor that your chains shall be riven,
+  And add your bright star to our Flag of Eleven.
+
+  Missouri! Missouri! where is thy proud fame?
+  Free land of the West, thy once cherished name
+  Trod in the dust by a tyrant's command,
+  Proclaiming there's martial law in the land,
+  Men of Missouri! strike without fear!
+  McCulloch, Jackson, and brave men are near;
+  So swear by your honor that your chains shall be riven,
+  And add your bright star to our Flag of Eleven.
+
+
+
+
+OH, NO! HE'LL NOT NEED THEM AGAIN![15]
+
+
+  Oh, no! no! he'll not need them again--
+    No more will he wake to behold,
+  The splendor and fame of his men--
+    The tale of his victories told!
+  No more will he wake from that sleep,
+    Which he sleeps in his glory and fame,
+  While his comrades are left here to weep
+    Over Cleburne! his grave and his name.
+
+  Oh, no; he'll not meet them again,
+    No more will his banner be spread
+  O'er the field of his gallantry's fame;
+    The soldier's proud spirit is fled!
+  The soldier who rose 'mid applause,
+    From the humblemost place in the van--
+  I sing not in praise of the cause,
+    But rather in praise of the man.
+
+  Oh, no; he'll not need them again,
+    He has fought his last battle without them,
+  For barefoot he, too, must go in,
+    While barefoot stood comrades about him;
+  And barefoot they proudly marched on,
+    With blood flowing fast from their feet;
+  They thought of the past victories won,
+    And the foes that they now were to meet.
+
+  Oh, no; he'll not need them again,
+    He is leading his men to the charge,
+  Unheeding the shells or the slain,
+    Or the showers of the bullets at large.
+  On the right, on the left, on the flanks,
+    He dashingly pushes his way,
+  While with cheers, double quick and in ranks,
+    His soldiers all followed that day.
+
+  Oh, no; he'll not need them again,
+    He falls from his horse to the ground!
+  O anguish! O sorrow! O pain!
+    In the brave hearts that gathered around;
+  He breathes not of grief, nor a sigh
+    On the breast where he pillowed his head,
+  Ere he fix'd his last gaze upon high--
+    "I'm killed, boys, but fight it out!" said.
+
+  Oh, no; he'll not need them again,
+    But treasure them up for his sake;
+  And oh, should you sing a refrain,
+    Of the memories they still must awake,
+  Sing it soft as the summer-eve breeze,
+    Let it sound as refreshing and clear;
+  Tho' grief-born there's that which can please,
+    In thoughts that are gemmed with a tear.
+
+
+
+
+IN MEMORIAM.
+
+Lieut. Sidney A. Sherman,[16] who fell at the Battle of Galveston, January
+1, 1863.
+
+By MISS MOLLIE E. MOORE.
+
+
+  Pillow his head on his flashing sword,
+    Who fell ere the fight was won,
+  The turf looks red where his life was poured--
+    He fell beside his gun!
+
+  He died with the gleam in his youthful eye,
+    The fire in his gallant breast,
+  The light was shadowed but could not die,
+    That glisten'd upon his breast!
+
+  For Liberty claimed his parting breath,
+    And Fame his last trumpet cry:
+  Yes, Freedom hath torn his young name from Death--
+    The brave can never die!
+
+  His young breast met, like an ocean rock,
+    The clash of the battle-storm;
+  His proud soul smiled at the tempest shock,
+    That thundered around his form.
+
+  But his life grew faint when the storm raged high,
+    And ebbed with the dawning sun,
+  And there on the field of victory
+    He fell beside his gun!
+
+  From the gallant throng there is missed a crest,
+    A sword from the ranks of steel,
+  A hand from the gun whose mad unrest,
+    Hath made our foemen reel.
+
+  A blithe young voice from the mellow strain,
+    That floated at evenfall;
+  A voice from the camp-song's high refrain,
+    A step in his father's hall:
+
+  In his father's hall--where his mother's eye,
+    Late hung with a gleam of joy,
+  On the proud young form, as the hopes beat high
+    In the breast of her soldier boy.
+
+  And the dashing sound of the distant sea,
+    With the wail in its troubled breast,
+  To the hearts 'round that clouded hearth will be,
+    But an echo of their unrest!
+
+  But pillow his head on his flashing sword,
+    Whose Fame on the field was won--
+  The strife raged high where his blood was poured--
+    And--he fell beside his gun!
+
+  Oh, circle the banner around his form,
+    That he loved with a soldier's pride,
+  For it shone like a star thro' the battle storm,
+    O'er the field where our hero died!
+
+  He went from the red field down to the grave,
+    He fell where his fame was won,
+  And his own fair State hath a name for the brave,
+    And a song for her martyred son!
+
+  Yes, Liberty shrined his parting breath,
+    And Texas his fainting cry--
+  Yes, Fame hath torn his young name from death,
+    The brave can never die!
+
+  Then pillow his head on his flashing sword,
+    Who fell where the field was won;
+  The turf is red where his life was poured--
+    He fell beside his gun!
+
+TYLER, TEXAS, 1863.
+
+
+
+
+YANKEE VANDALS.
+
+_Air--"Gay and Happy."_
+
+
+  The Northern Abolition vandals,
+  Who have come to free the slave,
+  Will meet their doom in "Old Virginny,"
+  Where they all will get a grave.
+
+  CHORUS--So let the Yankees say what they will,
+          We'll love and fight for Dixie still,
+          Love and fight for, love and fight for,
+          We'll love and fight for Dixie still.
+
+  When the Hessian horde is driven,
+  O'er Potomac's classic flood,
+  The pulse of a new-born freedom,
+  Then will stir old Maryland's blood.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Then we'll crown our warrior chieftains
+  Who have led us in the fight,
+  And have brought the South in triumph,
+  Through dread danger's troubled night.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  And the brave who nobly perished,
+  Struggling in the bloody fray;
+  We'll wear a wreath of fadeless laurel
+  For their glorious memory.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  O'er their graves the Southern maidens,
+  From sea-shore to mountain grot,
+  We'll plant the smiling rose of beauty
+  And the sweet forget-me-not.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+RIDING A RAID.
+
+_Air--"Bonny Dundee."_
+
+
+  'Tis old Stonewall, the rebel, that leans on his sword,
+  And, while we are mounting, prays low to the Lord;
+  Now each cavalier who loves honor and right,
+  Let him follow the feather of Stuart to-night.
+
+  CHORUS--Come, tighten your girths and slacken your rein;
+          Come, buckle your blanket and holster again;
+          Try the click of your trigger and balance your blade,
+          For he must ride _sure_ who goes riding a raid.
+
+  Now gallop, now gallop, to swim or to ford;
+  Old Stonewall, still watching, prays low to the Lord.
+  Good-by, dear old rebel; the river's not wide,
+  And Maryland's lights in the windows do shine.
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  Then gallop, then gallop, by ravine and rocks,
+  Who would bar up the way takes his toll in hard knocks;
+  For with these points of steel up the lines of old Penn,
+  We have made some fine strokes and will make 'em again.
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+[Illustration: "Then gallop, by ravine and rocks."]
+
+
+
+
+THE TOAST OF MORGAN'S MEN.
+
+By CAPT. THORPE, Kentucky.
+
+
+  Unclaimed by the land that bore us,
+    Lost in the land we find
+  The brave have gone before us,
+    Cowards are left behind!
+  Then stand to your glasses, steady,
+    Here's a health to those we prize,
+  Here's a toast to the dead already,
+    And here's to the next who dies.
+
+
+
+
+TRUE HEART SOUTHRONS.
+
+_Air--"Blue Bonnets over the Border."_
+
+
+  For trumpet and drum, leave the soft voice of maiden;
+    For the tramp of armed men, leave the maze of the dance;
+  One kiss on the lips, with words of love laden--
+    One look in dimm'd eyes--then the rifle and lance.
+
+  CHORUS.--March, march, true heart Southrons,
+             Fall into ranks and march in good order,--
+           Escambia shall many a day tell of the fierce affray,
+             When we drove the base Northmen far over our border
+
+  Do ye weep, ye fair flowers, our hearth-stones that brighten?
+    For every tear shed shall fall ten foemen's lives;
+  Far in the cold North their hosts we will frighten,
+    As we strike for our "Homes, our sweethearts, and wives."
+                                                    CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOLDIER'S AMEN.
+
+
+  As a couple of good soldiers were walking one day,
+  Said one to the other: "Let's kneel down and pray!
+  I'll pray for the war, and good of all men:
+  And whatever I pray for, do you say 'Amen!'"
+
+  "We'll pray for the generals and all of their crew,
+  Likewise for the captains and lieutenants too;
+  May good luck and good fortune them always attend!
+  And return safely home;" said the soldier, "Amen!"
+
+  "We'll pray for the privates, the noblest of all;
+  They do all the work and get no glory at all;
+  May good luck and good fortune them always attend,
+  And return crowned with laurels!" said the soldier, "Amen!"
+
+  "We'll pray for the pretty boys who want themselves wives,
+  And have not the courage to strike for themselves;
+  May bad luck and bad fortune them always attend!
+  And go down to Old Harry!" said the soldier, "Amen!"
+
+  "We'll pray for the pretty girls, who make us good wives,
+  And always look at a soldier with tears in their eyes;
+  May good luck and good fortune them always attend!
+  And brave gallants for sweethearts!" said the soldier, "Amen!"
+
+  "We'll pray for the conscript, with frown on his brow,
+  To fight for his country he won't take the vow;
+  May bad luck and bad fortune him always attend;
+  And die with dishonor!" said the soldier, "Amen!"
+
+
+
+
+HERE'S YOUR MULE.
+
+
+  A farmer came to camp, one day, with milk and eggs to sell,
+  Upon a mule who oft would stray to where no one could tell,
+  The farmer, tired of his tramp, for hours was made a fool
+  By ev'ryone he met in camp, with, "Mister, here's your mule."
+
+  CHORUS.--Come on, come on, come on, old man, and don't be made a fool,
+           I'll tell the truth as best I can,
+           John Morgan's got your mule.
+
+  His eggs and chickens all were gone before the break of day,
+  The mule was heard of all along--that's what the soldiers say;
+  And still he hunted all day long--alas! the witless fool--
+  While ev'ry man would sing the song, "Mister, here's your mule."
+                                              CHORUS.
+
+  The soldiers now, in laughing mood, on mischief were intent,
+  They toted muly on their backs, around from tent to tent;
+  Through this hole and that they pushed his head, and made a rule
+  To shout with humorous voices all, "Mister, here's your mule."
+                                              CHORUS.
+
+  Alas! one day the mule was missed, ah! who could tell his fate?
+  The farmer, like a man bereft, searched early and searched late;
+  And as he passed from camp to camp, with stricken face, the fool
+  Cried out to ev'ryone he met, "Oh, Mister, where's my mule?"
+                                              CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+SABINE PASS.
+
+Dedicated to the Davis Guards--(The Living and the Dead).
+
+By MRS. M. J. YOUNG.
+
+
+  Sabine Pass! in letters of gold,
+    Seem written upon the sky to-day,
+  Sabine Pass! with rhythmic feet,
+    Comes passionately stepping down my lay.
+
+  Sabine Pass! and the white sail ships,
+    With their cruel cannons' grinning teeth,
+  Tearing in shreds the sullen smoke,
+    That seem'd weaving for us a winding sheet.
+
+  Sabine Pass! with its Irish hearts,
+    As true as the blessings the Shamrock brings,
+  Hearts as full of royal blood
+    As that which nerves the arms of kings.
+
+  Few, ah! few were the Davis band,
+    "We cannot conquer, but we can die!"
+  Said the dauntless Dowling, as up he sprang,
+    And nailed the starry cross on high.
+
+  Twenty-seven ships in pomp and pride,
+    Came sailing through the Pass that day;
+  Go ask of any Texan child,
+    How many ships survived the fray.
+
+  The God of battle, who loves the brave,
+    Who gave to Gideon of old the fight,
+  Sent victory down that "Guard" to save,
+    And crowned them with immortal light.
+
+  Dark storms have since o'erswept our land,
+    And tyrants do our souls harass,
+  But glory shines on Dowling's band,
+    The forty-two heroes of the Pass.
+
+  Come, fill your glass with Texas wine,
+    Wine that is generous, red and free,
+  And drink with me to the knightliest man,
+    Who conquered the foe on land and sea.
+
+  But tears, rough, manly tears, for the dead,
+    Like dews of night bedim the glass,
+  With throbbing hearts and lifted hands,
+    We name him--"Dowling! of the Pass."
+
+HOUSTON, TEXAS.
+
+
+
+
+SHORT RATIONS; OR, THE CORN-FED ARMY.
+
+
+  Fair ladies and maids of all ages,
+    Little girls and cadets howe'er youthful,
+  Home-guards, quartermasters and sages,
+    Who write for the newspapers so truthful!
+  Clerks, surgeons, and supes--legislators,
+    Staff officers, (fops of the Nation,)
+  And even you, dear speculators,
+    Come list to my song of starvation!
+
+  CHORUS.--For we soldiers have seen something rougher
+             Than a storm, a retreat, or a fight,
+           And the body may toil on, and suffer
+             With a smile, so the heart is all right!
+
+  Our bugles had roused up the camp,
+    The heavens looked dismal and dirty,
+  And the earth looked unpleasant and damp,
+    As a beau on the wrong side of thirty;
+  We were taking these troubles with quiet,
+    When we heard from the mouths of some rash ones,
+  That the army was all put on diet,
+    And the Board had diminish'd our rations!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Reduce our rations at all?
+    It was difficult, yet it was done--
+  We had one meal a day--it was small--
+    Are we now, Oh, ye gods! to have none?
+  Oh, ye gentlemen issuing rations,
+    Give at least half her own to the State,
+  Put a curb on your maddening passions,
+    And, commissaries--commiserate!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Tell me not of the Lacedæmonian,
+    Of his black broth and savage demeanor,
+  We keep up a fare less Plutonian,
+    Yet I'd swear our corn coffee is meaner!
+  Tell me nothing of ancients and strangers,
+    For, on seeing our Southern-bred Catos,
+  I have laugh'd at old Marion's Rangers,
+    Who feasted on roasted potatoes!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Erewhile we had chicken and roasters,
+    For the fowls and pigs were ferocious,
+  We would send them to shoot Pater Nosters,
+    And the deed was not stamped as atrocious;
+  But since we have been shot for the same,
+    We parch corn--it is healthier, but tougher--
+  The chickens and pigs have got tame,
+    But the horses and mules have to suffer.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  But the "corn-fed" is proof to all evils,
+    Has a joke for all hardships and troubles,
+  In honor and glory he revels,
+    Other fancies he looks on as bubbles!
+  He is bound to be free, and he knows it,
+    Then what cares he for toil and privation!
+  He is brave, and in battle he shows it,
+    And will conquer in spite of starvation!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOLDIER'S FAREWELL.
+
+_Air--"Rosin the Bow."_
+
+
+  Hark! the tocsin is sounding, my comrades;
+    Bind your knapsacks--away let us go,
+  Where the flag of the freeman is waving--
+    March to vanquish the ruffian foe!
+
+  CHORUS.--Ho for Liberty! Freedom or death, boys,
+             That's the watchword, away let us go
+           To the sound of the drum and the bugle,
+             March to vanquish the ruffian foe![17]
+
+  Farewell to the scenes of my childhood,
+    To my mother, who's praying for me;
+  She would weep if the son of her bosom
+    From the face of a foeman should flee.
+
+  Farewell to the home and the hearthstone,
+    Where my sisters are weeping for me;
+  Oh; the foot of the spoilers shall never,
+    Stain the home of the brave and the free.
+
+  Adieu, thou beloved of my bosom!
+    For thy soldier-love shed not a tear;
+  But beseech the great Lord of the battle,
+    To protect him and all he holds dear.
+
+  Adieu, honored father! who taught me,
+    For the rights of a freeman to stand--
+  To resist, when his rod, the aggressor,
+    Shakes in wrath o'er my dear native land.
+
+  Oh, my country, thou home of my loved ones!
+    You, the tyrant would seek to enslave--
+  Sweep you off from the face of creation,
+    Wake, freemen, our country to save!
+
+  Hear the threats of that ruthless banditti,
+    Who for "booty" and "beauty" would fight;
+  Shall they sweep our loved South from creation?
+    No! her sons will arise in their might!
+
+  "Sweep the South from the face of the earth!" boys?
+    We can sweep, too, O land of our birth!
+  For our homes and our altars and dear ones,
+    We the ruffians can sweep from the earth.
+
+  Adieu to the church, where the Christian
+    For the soldier and Sabbath will pray;
+  But the Bible and chaplain go with us,
+    And Jehovah, our God, is our stay!
+
+  When the old British lion oppressed us,
+    He with Washington went to the field;
+  Unto Him we will look in the battle,
+    And will strike 'til the enemy yield!
+
+
+
+
+THE BATTLE OF SHILOH HILL.
+
+By M. B. SMITH, of Co. C., Second Regiment Texas Volunteers.
+
+_Air--"Wandering Sailor."_
+
+
+  Come, all ye valiant soldiers, and a story I will tell,
+  It is of a noted battle you all remember well;
+  It was an awful strife, and will cause your blood to chill,
+  It was the famous battle that was fought on Shiloh Hill!
+
+  It was the sixth of April, just at the break of day,
+  The drums and fifes were playing for us to march away;
+  The feeling of that hour I do remember still,
+  For the wounded and the dying that lay on Shiloh Hill.
+
+  About the hour of sunrise the battle it began,
+  And before the day had vanished we fought them hand to hand;
+  The horrors of the field did my heart with anguish fill,
+  For the wounded and the dying that lay on Shiloh Hill.
+
+  There were men of every nation laid on those rocky plains,
+  Fathers, sons and brothers were numbered with the slain,
+  That has caused so many homes with deep mourning to be filled,
+  All from the bloody battle that was fought on Shiloh Hill.
+
+  The wounded men were crying for help from everywhere,
+  While others, who were dying, were offering God their prayer:
+  "Protect my wife and children, if it is Thy holy will!"
+  Such were the prayers I heard that night on Shiloh Hill.
+
+  And early the next morning, we were called to arms again,
+  Unmindful of the wounded and unmindful of the slain,
+  The struggle was renewed, and ten thousand men were killed;
+  This was the second conflict of the famous Shiloh Hill.
+
+  The battle it raged on, though dead and dying men,
+  Lay thick all o'er the ground, on the hill and in the glen,
+  And from their deadly wounds their blood ran like a rill;
+  Such were the mournful sights that I saw on Shiloh Hill.
+
+  Before the day was ended the battle ceased to roar,
+  And thousands of brave soldiers had fall'n to rise no more;
+  They left their vacant ranks for some other ones to fill,
+  And now their mouldering bodies all lie on Shiloh Hill.
+
+  And now my song is ended about those bloody plains,
+  I hope the sight by mortal man may ne'er be seen again;
+  But I pray to God, the Saviour, "if consistent with Thy will,"
+  To save the souls of all who fell on bloody Shiloh Hill.
+
+
+
+
+STONEWALL'S REQUIEM.
+
+Permission of the OLIVER DITSON CO.
+
+Music by M. DEEVES.
+
+
+  The muffled drum is beating,
+    There's a sad and solemn tread,
+  Our banner's draped in mourning,
+    As it shrouds the "illustrious dead,"
+  Proud forms are bent with sorrow,
+    And all Southern hearts are sore,
+  The hero now is sleeping--
+    Noble Stonewall is no more.
+
+  'Mid the rattling of the muskets,
+    And the cannons' thund'rous roar,
+  He stained the field of glory,
+    With his brave life's precious gore;
+  And though our flag waved proudly,
+    We were victors ere sunset--
+  The gallant deeds of Chancellorsville,
+    Will mingle with regret.
+
+  They've borne him to an honored grave,
+    The laurel crowns his brow,
+  By hallowed James' silent wave
+    He's sweetly sleeping now;
+  Virginia to the South is dear,
+    She holds a sacred trust,
+  Our fallen braves from far and near,
+    Are covered with her dust.
+
+  She shrines the spot where now is laid,
+    The bravest of them all,
+  The Martyr of our country's cause,
+    Our idolized Stonewall;
+  But though his spirit's wafted
+    To the happy realms above;
+  His name shall live forever linked,
+    With reverence and love.
+
+
+
+
+LITTLE GIFFIN.
+
+By DR. FRANCIS O. TICKNOR.
+
+"A ballad of such unique and really transcendent merit, that in our
+judgment it ought to rank with the rarest gems of modern martial
+poetry."--P. H. HAYNE.
+
+
+  Out of the focal and foremost fire,
+  Out of the hospital walls as dire,
+  Smitten of grape-shot and gangrene,
+  (Eighteenth battle, and he sixteen!)
+  Specter such as we seldom see,
+  Little Giffin of Tennessee!
+
+  "Take him and welcome!" the surgeon said:
+  "Much your doctor can help the dead!"
+  And so we took him and brought him where,
+  The balm was sweet on the summer air;
+  And we laid him down on a wholesome bed--
+  Utter Lazarus, heel to head!
+
+  Weary War with the bated breath,
+  Skeleton boy against skeleton Death,
+  Months of torture, how many such!
+  Weary weeks of the stick and crutch!
+  Still a glint in the steel-blue eye,
+  Spoke of the spirit that wouldn't die.
+
+  And didn't! nay more! in death's despite,
+  The crippled skeleton learned to write!
+  "Dear mother," at first, of course, and then,
+  "Dear Captain" inquiring about the "men,"
+  Captain's answer--"Of eighty and five,
+  Giffin and I are left alive!"
+
+  "Johnston's pressed at the front, they say!"
+  Little Giffin was up and away.
+  A tear, his first, as he bade good-bye,
+  Dimmed the glint of his steel-blue eye;
+  "I'll write, if spared." There was news of a fight,
+  But none of Giffin! he did not write!
+
+  I sometimes fancy that were I a king
+  Of the princely knights of the Golden Ring,
+  With the song of the minstrel in mine ear,
+  And the tender legend that trembles here,
+  I'd give the best on his bended knee,
+  The whitest soul of my chivalry,
+  For little Giffin of Tennessee!
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: General J. E. B. Stuart.]
+
+
+STUART.
+
+By MRS. HENRY J. VOSE.
+
+Music by A. E. BLACKMAR.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  Oh! mother of States and of men,
+    Bend low thy queenly head,
+  On his shield is borne to thy arms again,
+    Thy youngest, fairest dead;
+  Drop tears like rain for that strong heart stilled,
+    For that dauntless spirit fled!
+
+  Sleep well, O stainless knight,
+    'Neath the folds of the starry cross,
+  For the day now breaks o'er the long, long night
+    Of our anguish, peril and loss;
+  But alas! for the eyes that smiled on death,
+    And the life that held life dross.
+
+  They say thine ancestral line,
+    Swayed the scepter, and wore the crown;
+  But none girded a nobler sword than thine,
+    Nor more stainless life laid down;
+  And we ask no gleam from their grand old past,
+    To brighten thy young renown.
+
+  On the field thy life was giv'n,
+    Where our best blood has been poured;
+  At the feet of our country's God, in heaven,
+    Thou hast laid another sword,
+  When Jackson's head was so lately bowed,
+    The tried soldier of the Lord.
+
+  Oh, swords of the South! like flame,
+    Leap forth for this life-blood shed,
+  Strike the foe till he flies from the field in shame,
+    Sheathe not till the hilt is red!
+  And redeem the land that enshrines in her heart,
+    The graves of her glorious dead!
+
+
+
+
+ONLY A SOLDIER.
+
+By MAJOR LAMAR FONTAINE.
+
+
+  "Only a soldier!" I heard them say,
+  With a heavy heart I turned away,
+        And heaved a sigh.
+  Then watched the tramp of the horses' feet,
+  As the hearse moved slowly down the street,
+        And hot tears dimmed my eye.
+
+  "Only a soldier!" confined in there--
+  A father's joy and a mother's care,
+        Torn from his home.
+  Now a maiden sighs for his return,
+  On his sister's cheek the teardrops burn,
+        For her soldier-brother's gone.
+
+  "Only a soldier!" I thought anew,
+  As fancy came, and I quickly drew
+        "The parting hour,"
+  That hour he left at his country's call,
+  To place himself as a living wall,
+        Where sterner men might cower.
+
+  In dreams he'd seen friends kneeling down
+  To raise his head from the battle-ground,
+        And thus he'd say:
+  "Tell my father that fighting I fell,
+  'Mid hammering shot and screaming shell,
+        When the South had won the day."
+
+  Alas! he never had dreamed of death,
+  But as borne on whistling bullets' breath,
+        'Mid muskets flashing;
+  And where the war-dogs howling loud,
+  Breathe with sulphur-smoke a battle cloud--
+        The shells with thunders crashing!
+
+  But a fevered cot is his battle-ground,
+  And slowly, calmly in death he's bound
+        To the "Far-off-Land."
+  No gentle sister's spirit is there,
+  E'en in stranger's form with tender care,
+        To bathe his dry burning hand.
+
+  The dark sod hides the form of the dead,
+  Dew-drops kiss no more that pale forehead,
+        Nor gleam on his hair.
+  Life's hope is gone! Life's sorrowing o'er,
+  His spirit is on the "echoless shore,"
+        Dwelling with angels up there.
+
+  Thus unwept, unmourned, he sank to rest,
+  E'en by human sympathy unblest,
+        To an unknown grave!
+  God, who notes e'en the sparrow's fall,
+  Shall, in the dread resurrection, call
+        To Heaven the soldier brave!
+
+
+
+
+WHEN THE BOYS COME HOME.
+
+
+  The boys are coming home again,
+    This war will soon be o'er,
+  The Southern land again will stand,
+    As happy as of yore;
+  Yes, hand in hand, and arm in arm,
+    Together we will roam,
+  Oh! won't we have a happy time,
+    When all the boys come home.
+
+  CHORUS.--We'll hoist the starry cross again,
+             On freedom's lofty dome;
+           And live in peace and happiness,
+             When all the boys come home.
+           We'll hoist the starry cross again,
+             On freedom's lofty dome;
+           And live in peace and happiness,
+             When all the boys come home.
+
+  We'll have no more false hopes and fears,
+    No more heartrending sighs--
+  The messengers of peace will dry
+    The weary mourner's eyes,
+  We'll laugh and sing, we'll dance and play,
+    Oh! wait until they come,
+  And joy will crown the happy day,
+    When all the boys come home.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  How proud our nation then will stand!
+    United evermore,
+  We'll bid defiance to the foe,
+    That dare approach our shore,
+  We'll hoist the starry cross again,
+    On freedom's lofty dome,
+  And live in peace and happiness,
+    When all the boys come home.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE DRUMMER BOY OF SHILOH.
+
+
+  On Shiloh's dark and bloody ground the dead and wounded lay,
+  Amongst them was a drummer boy that beat the drum that day;
+  A wounded soldier raised him up--his drum was by his side--
+  He clasped his hands, and raised his eyes, and prayed before he died.
+
+  "Look down upon the battlefield, O Thou our heavenly Friend,
+  Have mercy on our sinful souls"--the soldiers cried, "Amen!"
+  For gathered 'round, a little group, each brave man knelt and cried--
+  They listened to the drummer boy who prayed before he died.
+
+  "Oh, Mother," said the dying boy, "Look down from Heaven on me!
+  Receive me to thy fond embrace! Oh, take me home to thee!
+  I've loved my country as my God, to serve them both I've tried,"
+  He smiled, shook hands, death seized the boy who prayed before he died.
+
+  Each soldier wept then like a child--stout hearts were they and brave--
+  The Flag his winding-sheet! God's Book the key unto his grave;
+  They wrote upon a simple board these words, "This is a guide,
+  To those who mourn the drummer boy who prayed before he died."
+
+[Illustration: Alabama Volunteer Corps.]
+
+
+
+
+OLD STONEWALL.
+
+By C. D. DASHER.
+
+Music by F. YOUNKER.
+
+[The music of this Song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  Oh, don't you remember old Stonewall, my boys,
+    Old Stonewall on charger so gray,
+  Whose memory is dear to the sons of the South,
+    The heroes that once wore the gray.
+  He was true to the cause of the men that he led,
+    Heroic in death as in life,
+  From heaven above he smiles on the brave,
+    Who have ceased from mad carnage and strife--
+  From heaven above he smiles on the brave,
+    Who have ceased from mad carnage and strife.
+
+  The harvest waves over the battlefield, boys,
+    And where bullets once pattered like rain,
+  The peach blooms are drifting like snow in the air,
+    And the hillocks are springing in grain,
+  Oh! green in our hearts may the memories be,
+    Of those heroes, in blue or in grey,
+  As new growing grain, for never again,
+    Can they meet in dread battle array--
+  As new growing grain, for never again,
+    Can they meet in dread battle array.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTH;
+
+OR, I LOVE THEE THE MORE.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  My heart in its sadness turns fondly to thee,
+  Dear land where our lov'd ones fought hard to be free;
+  I loved thee when struggling, and bleeding and sore,
+  But now thou art conquered, I love thee the more!
+
+  Gallant South! when the noble, the gifted, the brave,
+  Dashed onward to battle, like wave after wave,
+  Determin'd to die for the land they adore,
+  Though vain were their efforts, I love thee the more.
+
+  Bright South! though the winter is closing around,
+  And dead leaves of autumn now carpet the ground,
+  Thy beauties of woodland, of river and shore,
+  Still charm the beholder, I love thee the more.
+
+  Dear South! though thy beautiful forests and hills,
+  Thy emerald valleys and silvery rills,
+  Are subject to strangers--not free as of yore--
+  Thus changed, and in sorrow, I love thee the more.
+
+  Sweet South! lovely land of beautiful flowers,
+  Though cool now the zephyrs, and faded thy bowers,
+  Oh, soon shall the springtime thy beauties restore,
+  And bloom o'er our lost ones--I love thee the more.
+
+  Darling South! when I think every forest and grove,
+  And valley have pillow'd the heads that we love,
+  Have echoed their war cry and drank of their gore,
+  I feel thou art sacred, and love thee the more.
+
+
+
+
+THE POOR SOLDIER!
+
+A Popular Camp-fire Song of the 62d Alabama Regiment (The Boy Regiment.)
+
+
+  Little do rich people know,
+  What we poor soldiers undergo--
+  Called upon to take up arms,
+  To guard our country from all harm.
+
+  Break of day--the morning gun,
+  Wakes the rebels--the fife and drum,
+  Breaks a soldier's sweet repose--
+  He tumbles out--puts on his clothes.
+
+  First sergeant rushes in and out:
+  "Hurrah! hurrah, boys! do turn out;"
+  Front and rear he forms his line--
+  His 'coutrements and sword must shine.
+
+  "Eyes right!--steady!" is the word;
+  Our captain then presents his sword--
+  The sergeant jerks out his roll--
+  Names are called--the absent told.
+
+  Our surgeon is a man of skill,
+  Gives the sick each day bread pills;
+  If his pills do not act well--
+  He swears and damns our souls to hell.
+
+  Would you know who wrote this song,
+  I will tell--it won't take long;
+  It was composed by A. T. Height,
+  While walking post one rainy night.
+
+
+
+
+THE BONNIE WHITE FLAG;
+
+OR, THE PRISONER'S INVOCATION TO PEACE.
+
+Col. W. S. HAWKINS.
+
+In _Camp Chase Ventilator_, 1864.
+
+_Air--"Bonnie Blue Flag."_
+
+
+  Though we're a band of prisoners,
+    Let each be firm and true,
+  For noble souls and hearts of oak,
+    The foe can ne'er subdue.
+  We then will turn us homeward,
+    To those we love so dear;
+  For peace and happiness, my boys,
+    Oh, give a hearty cheer!
+
+  CHORUS.--Hurrah! Hurrah! for peace
+             And home, hurrah!
+           Hurrah for the Bonnie White Flag,
+             That ends this cruel war!
+
+  The sword into the scabbard,
+    The musket on the wall,
+  The cannon from its blazing throat,
+    No more shall hurl the ball;
+  From wives and babes and sweethearts,
+    No longer will we roam,
+  For ev'ry gallant soldier boy,
+    Shall seek his cherished home.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  Our battle banners furled away,
+    No more shall greet the eye,
+  Nor beat of angry drums be heard,
+    Nor bugle's hostile cry.
+  The blade no more be raised aloft,
+    In conflict fierce and wild.
+  The bomb shall roll across the sward,
+    The plaything of a child.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  No pale-faced captive then shall stand,
+    Behind his rusted bars,
+  Nor from the prison window bleak,
+    Look sadly to the stars;
+  But out amid the woodland's green,
+    On bounding steed he'll be,
+  And proudly from his heart shall rise,
+    The anthem of the free.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  The plow into the furrow then,
+    The fields shall wave with grain,
+  And smiling children to their schools,
+    All gladly go again.
+  The church invites its grateful throng,
+    And man's rude striving cease,
+  While all across our noble land,
+    Shall glow the light of Peace.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+BOMBARDMENT OF VICKSBURG.
+
+Dedicated with respect and admiration to Maj.-Gen. EARL VAN DORN.
+
+
+  For sixty days and upward a storm of shell and shot,
+  Rained 'round as in a flaming shower, but still we faltered not!
+  "If the noble city perish," our grand young leader said,
+  "Let the only walls the foe shall scale be ramparts of the dead!"
+
+  For sixty days and upward the eye of heaven waxed dim,
+  And even throughout God's holy morn, o'er Christian's prayer and hymn,
+  Arose a hissing tumult, as if the fiends of air,
+  Strove to engulf the voice of faith in shriekings of despair.
+
+  There was wailing in the houses, there was trembling on the marts,
+  While the tempest raged and thundered 'midst the silent thrill of hearts;
+  But the Lord, our shield, was with us--and ere a month had sped,
+  Our very women walked the streets, with scarce one throb of dread.
+
+  And the little children gambolled--their faces purely raised,
+  Just for a wondering moment as the huge bombs whirled and blazed!
+  Then turning with silv'ry laughter to the sports which children love,
+  Thrice mailed in the sweet instinctive thought that the good God watched
+      above.[18]
+
+  Yet the hailing bolts fell faster from scores of flame-clad ships,
+  And above us, denser, darker, grew the conflict's wide eclipse,
+  'Till a solid cloud closed o'er like a type of doom and ire,
+  Whence shot a thousand quiv'ring tongues of forked and vengeful fire.
+
+  But the unseen hands of angels, these death shafts warned aside,
+  And the dove of heavenly mercy, ruled o'er the battle tide;
+  In the houses ceased the wailing, and through the war-scarred marts,
+  The people strode with the step of hope to the music in their hearts.
+
+
+
+
+DEATH OF STONEWALL JACKSON.
+
+Music by C. BLAMPHIN.
+
+
+  On a bright May morn in 'Sixty-three,
+    And eager for the action,
+  On a battlefield for Liberty,
+    Stood gallant Stonewall Jackson.
+  Both flesh and blood alike the same,
+    They strove to gain each other's fame,
+  And long may hist'ry pen the name,
+    Of gallant Stonewall Jackson.
+
+  CHORUS.--Who was his soldiers' pride,
+             And for his country died,
+           On a bright May day in 'Sixty-three,
+             And ready for the action,
+           On a battlefield for Liberty
+             Stood gallant Stonewall Jackson.
+
+  A man more kind was never born,
+    In battle no one bolder;
+  His loss all noble hearts will mourn,
+    This gallant faithful soldier;
+  For when the word was duty,
+    He was first to fight for victory;
+  Oh! may he live in history,
+    The gallant Stonewall Jackson.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  But alas! his time was come,
+    To see our promised land;
+  His comrade's fatal gun,
+    Shot through his arm and hand;
+  The Almighty's will was read,
+    Upon his noble brow;
+  "My race is run," he said.
+    Death has its victim now.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTHERN CAPTIVE.
+
+By CAPT. SAM HOUSTON.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  Softly comes the twilight stealing gently through my prison bars,
+  While from out the vault of heaven, faintly glimmering come the stars;
+  Well I know my mother's weeping for her long-lost wandering boy--
+  Does she know that still I'm living? even that would give her joy.
+
+  No, they tell her that I'm sleeping 'neath the turf on Shiloh's plain;
+  That she ne'er will see her wanderer--never on this earth again;
+  Oh, my poor heart sinks within me, as the months roll slowly by,
+  And it seems in this cold Northland a lone captive I must die!
+
+  Yes, far away from friends and kindred, without a hand to mark my grave--
+  And not upon a field of glory I'll sleep amid the Southern brave;
+  Mother! yes, your boy is dying! soon he'll pass through death's dark
+      wave,
+  And the wintry wind be sighing o'er a captive's lonely grave.
+
+
+
+
+THE VOLUNTEER; OR, IT IS MY COUNTRY'S CALL.
+
+By HARRY MCCARTHY.
+
+
+  I leave my home and thee, dear, with sorrow at my heart,
+  It is my country's call, dear, to aid her, I depart;
+  And on the blood-red battle plain, we'll conquer or we'll die;
+  'Tis for our honor and our name, we raise the battle-cry.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then weep not, dearest, weep not, if in the cause I fall;
+           Oh, weep not, dearest, weep not, it is my country's call.
+
+  And yet, my heart is sore, love, to see thee weeping thus;
+  But mark me, there's no fear, love, for in Heaven is our trust;
+  And if the heavy drooping tear swells in my mournful eye,
+  It is that Northmen of our land should cause the battle-cry.
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  Our rights have been usurp'd, dear, by Northmen of land;
+  Fanatics rais'd the cry, dear, politicians fired the brand;
+  The Southrons spurn the galling yoke, the tyrants' threats defy;
+  They find we've sons like sturdy oaks to raise the battle-cry.
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  I knew you'd let me go, pet, I saw it in that tear,
+  To join the gallant men, pet, who never yet knew fear;
+  With Beauregard and Davis, we'll gain our cause or die;
+  Win battles like Manassas, and raise the battle-cry.
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+DEAR MOTHER, I'VE COME HOME TO DIE.
+
+By E. BOWERS.
+
+Music by HENRY TUCKER.
+
+
+  Dear mother, I remember well
+    The parting kiss you gave me,
+  When merry rang the village bell--
+    My heart was full of joy and glee:
+  I did not dream that one short year,
+    Would crush the hopes that soared so high!
+  Oh, mother dear, draw near to me;
+    Dear mother, I've come home to die.
+
+  CHORUS.--Call sister, brother, to my side,
+             And take your soldier's last good-by.
+           Oh, mother dear, draw near to me;
+             Dear mother, I've come home to die.
+
+  Hark! Mother, 'tis the village bell,
+    I can no longer with thee stay;
+  My country calls to arms! to arms!
+    The foe advance in fierce array!
+  The vision's past--I feel that now,
+    For country I can only sigh.
+  Oh, mother dear, draw near to me:
+    Dear mother, I've come home to die.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  Dear mother, sister, brother, all,
+    One parting kiss--to all good-by:
+  Weep not, but clasp your hand in mine,
+    And let me like a soldier die!
+  I've met the foe upon the field,
+    Where hosts contending scorned to fly;
+  I fought for right--God bless you all--
+    Dear mother, I've come home to die.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+POLK.
+
+By H. L. FLASH.
+
+
+  A flash from the edge of a hostile trench,
+    A puff of smoke, a roar,
+  Whose echo shall roll from Kennesaw hills,
+    To the farthermost Christian shore,
+  Proclaim to the world that the warrior-priest
+    Will battle for right no more.
+
+  And that for a cause which is sanctified,
+    By the blood of martyrs unknown--
+  A cause for which they gave their lives,
+    And for which he gave his own--
+  He kneels, a meek ambassador,
+    At the foot of the Father's throne.
+
+[Illustration: "A flash from the edge of a hostile trench."]
+
+  And up to the courts of another world,
+    That angels alone have trod,
+  He lives away from the din and strife
+    Of this blood-besprinkled sod--
+  Crowned with the amaranthine wreath,
+    That is worn by the blest of God.
+
+
+
+
+THE REBEL'S DREAM.
+
+By A. F. LEOVY.
+
+Music by CH. REISNER.
+
+Permission of A. E. BLACKMAR, New Orleans.
+
+
+  Softly in dreams of repose,
+    A vision so pure and so sweet,
+  Shines on a soldier's sad soul,
+    While his flag lies so low at his feet;
+  Softly an angel is seen,
+    Who saddens the spot with a sigh,
+  Swiftly the banner is raised,
+    And borne to bright realms in the sky.
+
+  Soft music from heavenly choirs,
+    Resounds from that paradise shore.
+  Oh! how sweet to the dreamer's light heart,
+    He sees his brave comrades once more.
+  His banner now floats o'er the blest,
+    And shimmers in heaven's pure air;
+  A voice from its folds is now heard,
+    Jackson prays for the flag that is there.
+
+  The soldier awakes from his dream.
+    Oh! that his sorrows were past,
+  Beyond the bright stars and the sky,
+    There's a home for the weary at last,
+  The gleam of some paradise joys,
+    Will greet him in heaven's pure air,
+  O the heroes who perished for right,
+    How sweet to rejoin them all there!
+
+
+
+
+PRO MEMORA.
+
+By INA M. PORTER, of Alabama.
+
+_Air--"There is Rest for the Weary."_
+
+
+  Lo! the Southland queen emerging,
+    From her sad and wintry gloom,
+  Robes her torn and bleeding bosom,
+    In her richest Orient bloom.
+
+    CHORUS.--(_Repeat first line three times._)
+             For her weary sons are resting
+               By the Eden shore;
+             They have won the crown immortal,
+               And the cross of death is o'er!
+             When the oriflamme is burning,
+               On the starlit Eden shore.
+
+  Brightly still in gorgeous glory,
+    God's great jewel lights the sky;
+  Look! Upon the heart's white dial,
+    There's a shadow flitting by.
+
+    CHORUS.--But the weary feet are resting, etc.
+
+  Homes are dark and hearts are weary,
+    Souls are numb with hopeless pain;
+  For the footfall on the threshold
+    Never more to sound again!
+
+    CHORUS.--They have gone from us forever,
+               Aye, for evermore!
+             We must win the crown immortal,
+               Follow where they led before,
+             Where the oriflamme is burning,
+               On the starlit Eden shore.
+
+  Proudly, as our Southern forests,
+    Meet the winter's shafts so keen;
+  Time-defying memories cluster,
+    Round our hearts in living green.
+
+    CHORUS.--They have gone from us forever, etc.
+
+  May our faltering voices mingle,
+    In the angel-chanted psalm;
+  May our earthly chaplets linger,
+    By the bright celestial palm.
+
+    CHORUS.--They have gone from us forever, etc.
+
+  Crest to crest they bore our banner,
+    Side by side they fell asleep;
+  Hand in hand we scatter flowers,
+    Heart to heart we kneel and weep.
+
+    CHORUS.--They have gone from us forever, etc.
+
+  When the May eternal dawneth
+    At the living God's behest,
+  We will quaff divine Nepenthe,
+    We shall share the soldier's rest.
+
+    CHORUS.--Where the weary feet are resting, etc.
+
+  Where the shadows are uplifted,
+    'Neath the never-waning sun,
+  Shout we Gloria in Excelsis!
+    We have lost, but ye have won!
+
+    CHORUS.--Our hearts are yours forever,
+               Aye, for evermore!
+             Ye have won the crown immortal,
+               And the cross of death is o'er,
+             When the oriflamme is burning
+               On the starlit Eden shore!
+
+
+
+
+WEARIN' OF THE GRAY.
+
+By TAR HEEL.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  Oh! Johnny, dear, and did you hear the news that's lately spread,
+  That never more the Southern cross must rear its stately head;
+  The "white and red's" forbid by law, so Northmen proudly say,
+  Nor you nor I can e'er again be "Wearin' of the Gray!"
+  And when we meet with strangers kind, who take us by the hand,
+  Inquiring warmly of the South, our own beloved land,
+  We're bound to tell the woeful truth, let cost whate'er it may,
+  That some are threatened e'en with death, for "Wearin' of the Gray!"
+
+  Then since the color we must wear is of the hateful blue,
+  The children of the sunny South must be to mem'ry true;
+  Ah! take the cockade from their hats and tread it 'neath the feet,
+  And still tho' bruis'd and mangled sad, 'twill speak a language sweet;
+  And buried in our heart of hearts the precious words lie hid,
+  Where oft they call the bitter tears to wet the drooping lid;
+  But let them flow, they do us good thro' all the mournful day,
+  While constant we do call to mind the "Wearin' of the Gray!"
+
+  And if at last our father's law be torn from Southland's heart,
+  Her sons will take their household gods and far away depart;
+  Rememb'ring still the whisper'd word, to weary wand'rers giv'n,
+  That justice pure, and perfect rest, are found alone in heav'n.
+  Then on some green and distant isle beneath the setting sun,
+  We'll patient wait the coming time when life and earth are done,
+  Nor even in the dying hour, while passing calm away,
+  Can we forget or e'er regret the "Wearin' of the Gray!"
+
+[Illustration: South Carolina Button.]
+
+
+
+
+THE FADED GRAY JACKET.
+
+By MRS. C. A. BALL.
+
+Music by CHARLIE WARD.
+
+Permission of the W. S. SHAW CO., Philadelphia.
+
+
+  Fold it up carefully, lay it aside,
+  Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride;
+  For dear must it be to our hearts evermore,
+  The jacket of gray our loved soldier boy wore.
+  Can we ever forget when he joined the brave band,
+  Who rose in defense of our dear Southern land;
+  And in his bright youth hurried on to the fray,
+  How proudly he donned it, the jacket of gray?
+
+  CHORUS.--Fold it up carefully, lay it aside,
+           Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride;
+           For dear it must be to our hearts evermore,
+           The jacket of gray our loved soldier boy wore.
+
+  His fond mother blessed him and looked up above,
+  Commending to Heaven the child of her love;
+  What anguish was hers, mortal tongue may not say,
+  When he passed from her sight in the jacket of gray.
+  But her country had called him, she would not repine,
+  Though costly the sacrifice placed on its shrine;
+  Her heart's dearest hopes on its altar she lay,
+  When she sent out her boy, in his jacket of gray!
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  Months passed, and war's thunders rolled over the land,
+  Unsheathed was the sword and lighted the brand;
+  We heard in the distance the noise of the fray,
+  And prayed for our boy in the jacket of gray.
+  Ah! vain all--all vain were our prayers and our tears
+  The glad shout of victory rang in our ears;
+  But our treasured one on the cold battle-field lay,
+  While the life blood oozed out on the jacket of gray.
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  His young comrades found him and tenderly bore
+  His cold, lifeless form to his home by the shore;
+  Oh! dark were our hearts on that terrible day,
+  When we saw our dead boy in the jacket of gray.
+  Ah! spotted, and tattered, and stained now with gore,
+  Was the garment which once he so gracefully wore;
+  We bitterly wept as we took it away,
+  And replaced with death's white robes, the jacket of gray.
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  We laid him to rest in his cold, narrow bed,
+  And graved on the marble, we placed o'er his head,
+  As the proudest of tributes our sad hearts could pay,
+  "He never disgraced the dear jacket of gray."
+  Then fold it up carefully, lay it aside,
+  Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride;
+  For dear must it be to our hearts evermore,
+  The jacket of gray our loved soldier boy wore.
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+I'M A GOOD OLD REBEL.
+
+By J. R. T.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  O, I'm a good old rebel,
+    Now that's just what I am,
+  For this "Fair Land of Freedom"
+    I do not care a damn;
+  I'm glad I fit against it,
+    I only wish we'd won,
+  And I don't want no pardon
+    For anything I done.
+
+  I hates the Constitution,
+    This great Republic too,
+  I hates the Freedman's Buro,
+    In uniform of blue;
+  I hates the nasty eagle,
+    With all his bragg and fuss,
+  The lyin', thievin' Yankees,
+    I hates them wuss and wuss.
+
+  I hates the Yankee nation
+    And everything they do,
+  I hates the Declaration
+    Of Independence, too;
+  I hates the glorious Union--
+    'Tis dripping with our blood--
+  I hates their striped banner,
+    I fit it all I could.
+
+[Illustration: "I'm a good old rebel."]
+
+  Three hundred thousand Yankees
+    Is stiff in Southern dust;
+  We got three hundred thousand
+    Before they conquered us;
+  They died of Southern fever,
+    And Southern steel and shot,
+  I wish they was three million,
+    Instead of what we got.
+
+  I followed old mas' Robert
+    For four year near about,
+  Got wounded in three places,
+    And starved at Pint Lookout;
+  I cotched the roomatism,
+    A campin' in the snow,
+  But I killed a chance o' Yankees,
+    I'd like to kill some mo'.
+
+  I can't take up my musket
+    And fight 'em now no more,
+  But I ain't a-going to love 'em,
+    Now that is sartin' sure;
+  And I don't want no pardon,
+    For what I was and am,
+  I won't be reconstructed,
+    And I don't care a damn.
+
+
+
+
+TRUE TO THE GRAY.
+
+By PEARL RIVERS.
+
+
+  I cannot listen to your words, the land is long and wide;
+  Go seek some happy Northern girl to be your loving bride;
+  My brothers they were soldiers--the youngest of the three
+  Was slain while fighting by the side of gallant Fitzhugh Lee!
+
+  They left his body on the field (your side the day had won),
+  A soldier spurned him with his foot--you might have been the one;
+  My lover was a soldier--he belonged to Gordon's band;
+  A sabre pierced his gallant heart--your's might have been the hand.
+
+  He reel'd and fell, but was not dead, a horseman spurr'd his steed
+  And trampled on the dying brain--you may have done the deed;
+  I hold no hatred in my heart, no cold, unrighteous pride,
+  For many a gallant soldier fought upon the other side.
+
+  But still I cannot kiss the hand that smote my country sore,
+  Nor love the foes that trampled down the colors that she bore;
+  Between my heart and yours there rolls a deep and crimson tide--
+  My brother's and my lover's blood forbid me be your bride.
+
+  The girls who lov'd the boys in gray--the girls to country true,
+  May ne'er in wedlock give their hands to those who wore the blue.
+
+
+
+
+WE KNOW THAT WE WERE REBELS; OR, WHY CAN WE NOT BE BROTHERS?
+
+By CLARENCE PRENTICE.
+
+
+  Why can we not be brothers? the battle now is o'er;
+  We've laid our bruised arms on the field to take them up no more;
+  We who have fought you hard and long, now overpower'd, stand
+  As poor, defenseless prisoners in our own native land.
+
+  CHORUS.--We know that we were rebels,
+             And we don't deny the name,
+           We speak of that which we have done
+             With grief, but not with shame!
+
+  But we have rights most sacred, by solemn compact bound,
+  Seal'd by the blood that freely gush'd from many a ghastly wound;
+  When Lee gave up his trusty sword, and his men laid down their arms,
+  It was that they should live at home, secure from war's dire harms.
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  And surely, since we're now disarm'd, we are not to be dreaded;
+  Our old chiefs, who on many fields our trusty columns headed,
+  Are fast within an iron grasp, and manacled with chains,
+  Perchance, 'twixt dreary walls to stay as long as life remains!
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  O shame upon the coward band who, in the conflict dire,
+  Went not to battle for their cause, 'mid the ranks of steel and fire,
+  Yet now, since all the fighting's done, are hourly heard to cry:
+  "Down with the traitors! hang them all! each rebel dog shall die!"
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  We know that we were rebels, we don't deny the name,
+  We speak of that which we have done with grief, but not with shame!
+  And we never will acknowledge that the blood the South has spilt,
+  Was shed defending what we deemed a cause of wrong and guilt.
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+WEARING OF THE GRAY.
+
+
+  Our cannons' mouths are dumb. No more our volleyed muskets peal,
+  Nor gleams, to mark where squadrons rush, the light from flashing steel;
+  No more our crossed and starry flags in gentle dalliance play
+  With battle breeze, as when we fought, a wearing of the gray.
+
+  Our cause is lost! No more we fight 'gainst overwhelming power;
+  All wearied are our limbs, and drenched with many a battle shower;
+  We fain would rest! For want of strength we yield them up the day,
+  And lower the flag so proudly borne while wearing of the gray.
+
+  Defeat is not dishonor! No! Of honor not bereft,
+  We should thank God that in our breasts this priceless boon is left;
+  And though we weep 'tis for those braves who stood in proud array
+  Beneath our flag, and nobly died while wearing of the gray.
+
+  When in the ranks of war we stood, and faced the deadly hail,
+  Our simple suits of gray composed our only coats of mail;
+  And of those awful hours that marked the bloody battle day,
+  In memory we'll still be seen a wearing of the gray.
+
+  O, should we reach that glorious place where waits the sparkling crown,
+  For every one who for the right his soldier life lay down,
+  God grant to us the privilege, upon that happy day,
+  Of clasping hands with those who fell a wearing of the gray.
+
+
+
+
+THE SWORD OF ROBERT LEE.
+
+Words by MOINA.
+
+Music by ARMAND.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  Forth from its scabbard, pure and bright,
+    Flashed the sword of Lee!
+  Far in the front of the deadly fight,
+  High o'er the brave, in the cause of right
+  It's stainless sheen, like a beacon light,
+    Led us to victory.
+
+  Out of its scabbard, when full long
+    It slumbered peacefully--
+  Roused from its rest by the battle song,
+  Shielding the feeble, smiting the strong,
+  Guarding the right, and avenging the wrong--
+    Gleamed the sword of Lee!
+
+  Forth from its scabbard, high in air,
+    Beneath Virginia's sky--
+  And they who saw it gleaming there,
+  And knew who bore it, knelt to swear,
+  That where that sword led they would dare
+    To follow and to die.
+
+  Out of its scabbard! Never hand
+    Waved sword from stain as free,
+  Nor purer sword led braver band,
+  Nor braver bled for a brighter land,
+  Nor brighter land had a cause as grand,
+    Nor cause a chief like Lee!
+
+  Forth from its scabbard! How we prayed,
+    That sword might victor be!
+  And when our triumph was delayed,
+  And many a heart grew sore afraid,
+  We still hoped on, while gleamed the blade
+    Of noble Robert Lee!
+
+  Forth from its scabbard! All in vain!
+    Forth flashed the sword of Lee!
+  'Tis shrouded now in its sheath again,
+  It sleeps the sleep of our noble slain,
+  Defeated, yet without a stain,
+    Proudly and peacefully.
+
+
+
+
+OFF WITH YOUR GRAY SUITS, BOYS!
+
+By LIEUT. FALLIGANT, Savannah, Ga.
+
+
+  Off with gray suits, boys!
+    Off with your rebel gear!
+  It smacks too much of the cannon's peal,
+  The lightning flash of your deadly steel,
+    And fills our hearts with fear.
+
+  The color is like the smoke,
+    That curled o'er your battle line;
+  It calls to mind the yell that woke,
+  When the dastard columns before you broke,
+    And their dead wore your fatal sign!
+
+  Off with your starry wreaths,
+    Ye who have led our van!
+  For you 'twas the pledge of a glorious death,
+  As we followed you over the glorious heath,
+    When we whipped them man to man!
+
+  Down with the cross and stars!
+    Too long has it waved on high;
+  'Tis covered all over with battle scars,
+  But its gleam the hated banner mars--
+    'Tis time to lay it by.
+
+  Down with the vows we had made!
+    Down with each memory!
+  Down with the thoughts of our noble dead!
+  Down, down to the dust where their forms are laid,
+    And down with liberty!
+
+
+
+
+THE CONFEDERATE NOTE.[19]
+
+By S. A. JONAS.
+
+
+  Representing nothing on God's earth now,
+    And naught in the water below it,
+  As a pledge of a nation that's dead and gone,
+    Keep it, dear Captain, and show it.
+  Show it to those that will lend an ear
+    To the tale this paper can tell,
+  Of liberty born, of the patriot's dream,
+    Of a storm-cradled nation that fell.
+
+  Too poor to possess the precious ore,
+    And too much a stranger to borrow,
+  We issue to-day our "promise to pay,"
+    And hope to redeem on the morrow.
+  Days rolled by, and weeks became years,
+    But our coffers were empty still;
+  Coin was so rare that the treasurer quakes,
+    If a dollar should drop in the till.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  But the faith that was in us was strong indeed,
+    And our poverty well we discerned,
+  And these little checks represented the pay
+    That our suffering veterans earned.
+  We knew it had hardly a value in gold,
+    Yet as gold the soldiers received it;
+  It gazed in our eyes with a promise to pay,
+    And each patriot soldier believed it.
+
+  But our boys thought little of price or pay,
+    Or of bills that were over-due;
+  We knew if it bought our bread to-day,
+    'Twas the best our country could do.
+  Keep it! it tells all our history over,
+    From the birth of the dream to its last;
+  Modest, and born of the angel Hope,
+    Like our hope of success it passed.
+
+
+
+
+THE CONQUERED BANNER.
+
+By the Rev. J. A. RYAN, Catholic Priest of Knoxville, Diocese of
+Nashville, Tenn.
+
+Music by A. E. BLACKMAR.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  Furl that banner, for 'tis weary;
+  Round its staff 'tis drooping dreary;
+    Furl it, fold it, it is best;
+  For there's not a man to wave it,
+  And there's not a sword to save it,
+  And there's not one left to lave it
+  In the blood which heroes gave it;
+  And its foes now scorn and brave it,--
+    Furl it, hide it, let it rest.
+
+  Take that banner down--'tis tattered,
+  Broken is its staff and shattered,
+  And the valiant hosts are scattered
+    Over whom it floated high.
+  Oh! 'tis hard for us to fold it,
+  Hard to think there's none to hold it,
+  Hard that those who once unrolled it
+    Now must furl it with a sigh.
+
+  Furl that banner, furl it sadly--
+  Once ten thousands hailed it gladly,
+  And ten thousands wildly, madly,
+    Swore it should forever wave,
+  Swore that foeman's sword could never
+  Hearts like their's entwined dissever,
+  'Till that flag would float forever
+    O'er their freedom or their grave.
+
+  Furl it! for the hands that grasped it,
+  And the hearts that fondly clasped it,
+    Cold and dead are lying low;
+  And the banner, it is trailing
+  While around it sounds the wailing
+    Of its people in their woe.
+  For, though conquered, they adore it,
+  Love the cold, dead hands that bore it,
+  Weep for those who fell before it,
+  Pardon those who trailed and tore it,
+  And oh! wildly they deplore it,
+    Now to furl and fold it so.
+
+  Furl that banner! true 'tis gory,
+  Yet 'tis wreathed around with glory,
+  And 'twill live in song and story,
+    Though its folds are in the dust;
+  For its fame on brightest pages,
+  Penned by poets and by sages,
+  Shall go sounding down the ages,
+    Furl its folds though now we must.
+
+  Furl that banner! softly, slowly,
+  Treat it gently--it is holy--
+    For it droops above the dead;
+  Touch it not, unfold it never;
+  Let it droop there, furled forever,
+    For its people's hopes are dead.
+
+
+
+
+FOLD IT UP CAREFULLY.
+
+A Reply to "The Conquered Banner," by SIR HENRY HOUGHTON, BART., of
+England.
+
+
+  Gallant nation, foiled by numbers,
+    Say not that your hopes are fled;
+  Keep that glorious flag which slumbers,
+    One day to avenge your dead.
+
+  Keep it, widowed, sonless mothers,
+  Keep it, sisters, mourning brothers,
+  Furl it with an iron will;
+  Furl it now, but--keep it still,
+    Think not that its work is done.
+
+  Keep it 'till your children take it,
+  Once again to hail and make it
+  All their sires have bled and fought for,
+  All their noble hearts have sought for,
+    Bled and fought for all alone.
+  All alone! aye, shame the story.
+    Millions here deplore the stain,
+  Shame, alas! for England's glory,
+    Freedom called, and called in vain.
+
+  Furl that banner, sadly, slowly,
+  Treat it gently, for 'tis holy:
+  'Till that day--yes, furl it sadly,
+  Then once more unfurl it gladly--
+    Conquered banner--keep it still!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+INDEX.
+
+
+
+
+_INDEX TO TITLES._
+
+
+  A Confederate Officer to his Lady Love, 42
+
+  Address of the Women to the Southern Troops, 24
+
+  Alabama, 170
+
+  Allons Enfans, 4
+
+  All Quiet along the Potomac to-night, 62
+
+  An Old Texan's Appeal, 174
+
+  A North Carolina Call to Arms, 237
+
+  Another Yankee Doodle, 15
+
+  Arise! ye Sons of Free-Born Sires!, 175
+
+  A Southern Song, 41, 99
+
+  A Southern Woman's Song, 222
+
+  At Fort Pillow, 137
+
+  Awake! To arms in Texas, 166
+
+
+  Banks' Skedaddle, 164
+
+  Battle of the Mississippi, 102
+
+  Battle Song, 240
+
+  Battle Song of the Invaded, 57
+
+  Baylor's Partisan Rangers, 178
+
+  Bayou City Guards' Dixie, 143
+
+  Bayou City Guards' Song, 131
+
+  Bombardment and Battle of Galveston, 191
+
+  Bombardment of Vicksburg, 343
+
+  Boys! Keep Your Powder Dry, 130
+
+  Bull Run, 38
+
+  By the Banks of Red River, 300
+
+
+  Call All! Call All!, 14
+
+  Campaign Ballad, 155
+
+  Camp Douglas by the Lake, 306
+
+  Cannon Song, 77
+
+  Carolina, 124
+
+  Chivalrous C. S. A., 78
+
+  Confederate Land, 48
+
+  Confederate Song, 94
+
+
+  Dear Mother, I've Come Home to Die, 349
+
+  Death of Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston, 187
+
+  Death of Stonewall Jackson, 345
+
+  De Cotton Down in Dixie, 145
+
+  Dixie, 238
+
+  Dixie's Land, 36
+
+  Do they Miss Me in the Trenches, 129
+
+  Dutch Volunteer, 10
+
+  Duty and Defiance, 141
+
+
+  Elegy on the Death of Lieut.-Col. Ch. B. Dreux, 37
+
+
+  Flight of Doodles, 66
+
+  Fold it up Carefully, 375
+
+  For Bales, 112
+
+  Freedom's New Banner, 30
+
+
+  Gathering Song, 40
+
+  Gay and Happy, 177
+
+  General Lee at the Battle of the Wilderness, 224
+
+  General Tom Green, 194
+
+  God Bless our Southern Land, 188
+
+  God Save the South, 1
+
+  God Will Defend the Right, 264
+
+  Goober Peas, 74
+
+
+  Hard Times, 196
+
+  Here's Your Mule, 319
+
+  Hood's Old Brigade, 207
+
+  Hood's Texas Brigade, 228
+
+  Hurrah!, 39
+
+
+  I'm a Good Old Rebel, 260
+
+  I'm Thinking of the Soldier, 182
+
+  Imogen, 172
+
+  Independence Day, 65
+
+  In Memoriam, 311
+
+  I Remember the Hour When Sadly We Parted, 291
+
+  I Wish I was in Dixie's Land, 153
+
+
+  Jackson's Resignation, 232
+
+
+  Knitting for the Soldiers, 52
+
+
+  Ladies, To the Hospital, 116
+
+  Land of King Cotton, 68
+
+  Land of the South, 115
+
+  Lee at the Wilderness, 95
+
+  Little Giffin, 329
+
+
+  Missouri, 308
+
+  Morgans War Song, 110, 244
+
+  Mother! Is the Battle Over?, 236
+
+  My Heart's in Mississippi, 211
+
+  My Maryland, 276
+
+  My Noble Warrior Come!, 226
+
+  My Warrior Boy, 256
+
+
+  National Hymn, 247
+
+  New Red, White and Blue, 60
+
+  North Carolina's War Song, 80
+
+  No Surrender, 221
+
+
+  Off with your Gray Suits, Boys!, 369
+
+  Oh, No! He'll not Need Them Again, 309
+
+  O, Johnny Bull, My Jo, John, 109
+
+  Old Stonewall, 338
+
+  Only a Soldier, 333
+
+  On to Glory, 199
+
+  Our Braves in Virginia, 56
+
+  Our Country's Call, 76
+
+  Our Flag; or, the Origin of the Stars and Bars, 292
+
+  Our Glorious Flag, 159
+
+  Over the River, 241, 249
+
+
+  Patriotic Song, 55
+
+  Polk, 350
+
+  Pop goes the Weasel, 27
+
+  Pray, Maiden, Pray, 284
+
+  Private Maguire, 250
+
+  Pro Memora, 353
+
+
+  Rallying Song of the Virginians, 26
+
+  Reading the List, 86
+
+  Rebel is a Sacred Name, 71
+
+  Rebel Toasts; or, Drink it Down, 279
+
+  Richmond is a Hard Road to Travel, 268
+
+  Richmond on the James, 266
+
+  Riding a Raid, 315
+
+
+  Sabine Pass, 320
+
+  Short Rations; or The Corn-fed Army, 322
+
+  Soldier, I Stay to Pray for Thee, 150
+
+  Song, 262
+
+  Song for the South, 103
+
+  Song of Hooker's Picket, 218
+
+  Song of the Exile, 245
+
+  Song of the Privateer, 227
+
+  Song of the Snow, 59
+
+  Song of the South, 114
+
+  Song of the Southern Soldier, 104
+
+  Song of the Texas Rangers, 287
+
+  Southern Battle Song, 189
+
+  Southern Cross, 6
+
+  Southern Gathering Song, 46
+
+  Southern Marseillaise, 45
+
+  Southern Soldier Boy, 69
+
+  Southern Song, 252
+
+  Southern Song of Freedom, 12
+
+  Southern War Cry, 35
+
+  Southron's War Song, 51
+
+  Southron's Chant of Defiance, the, 8
+
+  Star of the West, the, 7
+
+  Stonewall Jackson, 251
+
+  Stonewall Jackson's Way, 200
+
+  Stonewall's Requiem, 328
+
+  Stuart, 331
+
+  Sweethearts and the War, 230
+
+
+  That Bugler, 22
+
+  The Band in the Pines, 255
+
+  The Banner Song, 83
+
+  The Bars and Stars, 88
+
+  The Battle of Galveston, 185
+
+  The Battle of Shiloh Hill, 326
+
+  The Battle Song of the South, 210
+
+  The Beloved Memory of Major-General Tom Green, 203
+
+  The Black Flag, 163
+
+  The Bonnie Blue Flag, 31
+
+  The Bonnie White Flag, 341
+
+  The Capture of Seventeen of Company H, 4th Texas Cavalry, 168
+
+  The Cavalier's Glee, 261
+
+  The Confederate Note, 370
+
+  The Confederate Oath, 142
+
+  The Contraband, 216
+
+  The Conquered Banner, 373
+
+  The Cotton Burner's Song, 214
+
+  The Countersign, 133
+
+  The Darlings at Home, 134
+
+  The Drummer Boy of Shiloh, 336
+
+  The Dying Soldier Boy, 106
+
+  The Faded Gray Jacket, 358
+
+  The Flag of the Southland, 198
+
+  The Funeral of Albert Sidney Johnston, 212
+
+  The Gallant Girl that Smote the Dastard Tory, Oh!, 281
+
+  The Homespun Dress, 81
+
+  The Horse Marines at Galveston, 180
+
+  The Hour Before Execution, 160
+
+  The Man of the Twelfth of May, 242
+
+  The Mother's Farewell, 28
+
+  The Navasota Volunteers, 294
+
+  The Officer's Funeral, 289
+
+  The Officers of Dixie, 301
+
+  The Poor Soldier, 340
+
+  The Rebel Band, 258
+
+  The Rebel's Dream, 352
+
+  The Sentinel's Dream of Home, 303
+
+  The Soldier's Amen, 318
+
+  The Soldier's Death, 290
+
+  The Soldier's Dream, 297
+
+  The Soldier's Farewell, 324
+
+  The Soldier's Mission, 149
+
+  The Soldier's Suit of Gray, 285
+
+  The South, 339
+
+  The Southern Banner, 108
+
+  The Southern Captive, 346
+
+  The Southern Flag, 91
+
+  The Southern Soldier Boy, 260
+
+  The South for Me, 123
+
+  The South our Country, 152
+
+  The Southron's Watchword, 272
+
+  The Stars and the Bars, 93
+
+  The Sword of Robert Lee, 367
+
+  The Texan Marseillaise, 100
+
+  The Toast of Morgan's Men, 317
+
+  The Volunteer, 85
+
+  The Volunteer; or, It is my Country's Call, 347
+
+  The Young Volunteer, 73
+
+  There's Life in the Old Land yet, 273
+
+  Three Cheers for our Jack Morgan, 282
+
+  To the Davis Guard, 120
+
+  True Heart Southrons, 317
+
+  True to the Gray, 363
+
+
+  Vicksburg Song, 126
+
+
+  War Song, 61, 90, 122
+
+  Wearin' of the Gray, 356
+
+  Wearing of the Gray, 366
+
+  We Conquer or Die, 263
+
+  We Know That We Were Rebels; or Why Can We Not Be Brothers, 364
+
+  We Left Him on the Field, 234
+
+  We'll Be Free in Maryland, 49
+
+  We Swear, 29
+
+  When the Boys Come Home, 334
+
+  Would'st Thou Have me Love Thee, 20
+
+
+  Yankee Vandals, 314
+
+  "Ye Men of Alabama,", 17
+
+  You are Going to the Wars, Willie, Boy!, 275
+
+
+  1776-1861, 19
+
+
+
+
+_INDEX TO AUTHORS._
+
+
+  Alexander, (Capt.) G. W., 69
+
+
+  Ball, (Mrs.) C. A., 358
+
+  Barnes, (Mrs.) Wm., 194
+
+  Bigney, M. F., 272
+
+  Blackford, Capt., 261
+
+  Blackmar, A. E., 4
+
+  Bowers, E., 349
+
+  Brown, Reuben E., 174
+
+
+  Caplen, (Mrs.) L. E., 185
+
+  Carnes, (Rev.) J. E., 155
+
+  Cave, (Major) E. W., 198
+
+  Collins, P. E., 210
+
+  Cooke, John Esten, 255
+
+  Cross, (Mrs.) J. T. H., 24
+
+  Cummins, Alex. A., 227
+
+  Cunningham, A. B., 106, 290
+
+  Cunningham, (Lieut.) W. P., 120
+
+
+  Dasher, C. D., 338
+
+  Duke, (Gen.) Basil, 110
+
+
+  Emmett, Dan. D., 153
+
+  Ezzell, S. R., 191
+
+
+  Falligant, Lieut., 369
+
+  Falligant, Robert, 242
+
+  Flash, H. L., 350
+
+  Fontaine, (Major) Lamar, 62, 333
+
+  Forshey, (Col.) C. G., 134
+
+  French, L. Virginia, 46
+
+
+  Grason, (Miss) Maria, 41
+
+  Griswold, (Capt.) E., 247
+
+
+  Haines, James, 100
+
+  Hawkins (Col.), W. S., 108, 341
+
+  Hayne, Paul H., 163
+
+  Haynes, W. A., 88
+
+  Hewitt, John H., 275
+
+  Hewett, John M., 73
+
+  Hobby, (Capt.) Edwin, 203
+
+  Hobby, (Col.) A. M., 303
+
+  Holtz, R. E., 49
+
+  Houghton, (Bart.) Sir Henry, 375
+
+  Houston, (Capt.) Sam, 346
+
+
+  Jones, (Miss) Maria E., 160, 234, 249
+
+
+  Ketchum, Annie C., 40
+
+  Kercheval, A. W., 284
+
+  Kidd, E. E., 300
+
+  Knight, A. G., 22
+
+
+  Leonard, A. F., 115
+
+  Leovy, A. F., 352
+
+  Lorrimer, Laura, 170
+
+
+  Magruder, (Maj-Gen.) J. B., 172
+
+  Marshall, Jas. B., 83
+
+  McCarthy, Harry, 31, 292, 308, 347
+
+  McKnight, Major ("Asa Hartz"), 42
+
+  Meek, Alex. B., 20
+
+  Miles, Geo. H., 1
+
+  Milror, George B., 187
+
+  Moore, (Miss) Mollie E., 95, 207, 311
+
+  Morris, A. E., 175
+
+  Morse, A. W., 149
+
+
+  Neeby, Anna Marie, 266
+
+  Neely, Wm., 294
+
+  Norfolk, Virginia, 241
+
+
+  Paine, (Dr.) John W., 55
+
+  Pender, A., 74
+
+  Phelan, John D., 17
+
+  Pierpont, Jas., 263
+
+  Pike, Albert, 238
+
+  Porter, Ina M., 353
+
+  Prentice, Clarence, 364
+
+  Preston, (Mrs.) M. J., 59
+
+
+  Randall, Jas. B., 273
+
+  Randall, Jas. R., 37, 276
+
+  Raymond, Eugene, 282
+
+  Rivers, Pearl, 363
+
+  Ryan, Father, 260
+
+  Ryan, (Rev.) J. A., 373
+
+
+  Signaigo, Jo Augustine, 68
+
+  Sinclair, (Miss) Carrie Bell, 285
+
+  Smith, Mary E., 182
+
+  Smith, M. B., 196, 326
+
+  Strawbridge, H. H., 48
+
+  Sulzner, Fr., 297
+
+
+  Tally, Susan A., 26
+
+  Thompson, E. M., 152
+
+  Thompson, Jeff., 60
+
+  Thorpe, (Capt.), 317
+
+  Thovington, J. S., 150
+
+  Ticknor, (Dr.) Francis O., 329
+
+  Townsend, Dan. E., 30
+
+  Tucker, St. Geo., 6
+
+  Turner, (Miss) J., 370
+
+
+  Upshur, Mary J., 52
+
+
+  Vose, (Mrs.) Henry J., 331
+
+
+  Waginer, J. A., 41
+
+  Wailes, (Capt.) E. Lloyd, 94
+
+  Walther, H., 76
+
+  Warfield, C. A., 8
+
+  Washington, (Col.) Hamilton, 141
+
+  Wilson, Mary L., 178
+
+  Woodcock, J. H., 122
+
+  Wright, (Capt.) J. W. A., 126
+
+
+  Young, (Mrs.) J. D., 287
+
+  Young, (Mrs.) M. J., 320
+
+
+
+
+INDEX TO FIRST LINES.
+
+
+A farmer came to camp, one day, with milk and eggs to sell, 319
+
+A flash from the edge of a hostile trench, 350
+
+Aha! a song for the trumpet's tongue, 77
+
+Alas! the rolling hours pass slow, 133
+
+A life on the Vicksburg bluff, 126
+
+All quiet along the Potomac to-night, 62
+
+A nation has sprung into life, 12
+
+Arise! Arise! with main and might, 51
+
+Arise! Ye sons of freeborn sires, arise! your country save, 175
+
+As a couple of good soldiers were walking one day, 318
+
+A soldier boy from Texas lay gasping on the field, 266
+
+At Bull Run, when the sun was low, 38
+
+A warrior has fallen! a chieftain has gone, 194
+
+Away down South in de fields of cotton, 36
+
+
+Bob Roebuck is my sweetheart's name, 69
+
+Bravely ye've fought, my gallant, gallant men, 241
+
+By blue Patapsco's billowy dash, 273
+
+By the cross upon our banner--glory of our Southern sky, 142
+
+
+Can'st tell who lose the battle oft in the council field, 130
+
+Cheer, boys, cheer! we'll march away to battle, 244
+
+Childhood's days have long since faded, 306
+
+Come, all ye sons of freedom, 252
+
+Come all ye temper'd hearts of steel--come, quit your flocks and farms,
+174
+
+Come, all ye valiant soldiers, and a story I will tell, 326
+
+Come, brothers! rally for the right, 40
+
+Come! come! come, 61
+
+Come, stack arms, men! pile on the rails, 200
+
+Countrymen of Washington, 35
+
+
+Darkies, has you seed my massa, 216
+
+Dear mother, I remember well, 349
+
+Do they miss me in the trenches, do they miss me, 129
+
+Down by the valley, 'mid thunder and lightning, 228
+
+
+Ever constant, ever true, 221
+
+
+Fair ladies and maids of all ages, 322
+
+Fearlessly the seas we roam, 227
+
+Fighting for our rights now, feasting when they're won, 131
+
+Flag of the Southland! Flag of the free, 198
+
+Fold away all your bright tinted dresses, 116
+
+Fold it up carefully, lay it aside, 358
+
+Forth from its scabbard pure and bright, 367
+
+For sixty days and upward a storm of shell and shot, 343
+
+For trumpet and drum, leave the soft voice of maiden, 317
+
+From Houston City and Brazos bottom, 143
+
+Furl that banner, for 'tis weary, 373
+
+
+Gallant nation, foiled by numbers, 375
+
+God bless our Southern land, 188
+
+God save the South, 1
+
+
+Halt! the march is over, 59
+
+Hark! the clock strikes! All, all that now remains, 160
+
+Hark! the tocsin is sounding, my comrades, 324
+
+Hark! 'tis the shrill trumpet calling, 289
+
+Haste thee, falter not, noble patriot band, 149
+
+Have you counted up the cost, 240
+
+Hear the summons, sons of Texas, 178
+
+Hear ye not the sound of battle, 166
+
+He fell and they cried, bring us home our dead!, 212
+
+Ho, gallants, brim the beaker bowl, 281
+
+Hurrah! for the Southern confederate State, 39
+
+Hurrah for the South, the glorious South! the land of song and story, 114
+
+Huzza! huzza! let's raise the battle-cry, 122
+
+
+I am dreaming of thee, 297
+
+I cannot listen to your words, the land is long and wide, 363
+
+I come from old Manassas, with a pocket full of fun, 66
+
+If ever I consent to be married, 99
+
+I leave my home, and thee, dear, with sorrow at my heart, 347
+
+I'll sing you a song of the South's sunny clime, 78
+
+I'm a soldier, you see, that oppression has made, 104
+
+I'm gwine back to de land of cotton, 145
+
+I'm 'nation tired of being hired, 218
+
+In the land of the orange groves, sunshine and flowers, 203
+
+I remember the hour when sadly we parted, 291
+
+"Is there any news of the war?" she said, 86
+
+It vos in Ni Orleans City, 10
+
+It was on a New Year's morn so soon, 180
+
+I've seen some handsome uniforms deck'd off with buttons bright, 285
+
+I wish I was in de land o' cotton, 7
+
+I wish I was in de land ob cotton, 153
+
+
+Just listen awhile, and give ear to my song, 196
+
+
+King Abraham is very sick, 27
+
+Kneel, ye Southrons, kneel and swear, 29
+
+Knitting for the soldiers, 52
+
+
+Lady, I go to fight for thee, 150
+
+Land of our birth, thee, thee I sing, 210
+
+Land of the South! the fairest land, 115
+
+Let me whisper in your ear, sir, 301
+
+Like the roar of the wintry surges on a wild tempestuous strand, 163
+
+Little do rich people know, 340
+
+Lo! the Southland queen emerging, 353
+
+Lo! when Mississippi rolls, 214
+
+
+Maiden, pray for thy lover now, 284
+
+March, march on, brave "Palmetto" boys, 90
+
+'Mid her ruins proudly stands, 124
+
+Missouri is the pride of the Nation, 60
+
+Missouri! Missouri! bright land of the West, 308
+
+Mother! is the battle over? thousands have been killed, they say, 236
+
+My heart in its sadness turns fondly to thee, 339
+
+My heart is in Mississippi, 211
+
+My love reposes on a rosewood frame, 42
+
+
+Now let the thrilling anthem rise, 247
+
+Now rouse ye, gallant comrades all, 26
+
+
+O band in the pinewood cease!, 255
+
+"Och, its nate to be captain or colonel", 250
+
+Of all the mighty nations in the East or in the West, 103
+
+Off with gray suits, boys!, 369
+
+Oh, dear its shameful, I declare, 230
+
+Oh! Dixie, the land of King Cotton, 68
+
+Oh, don't you remember old Stonewall, my boys, 338
+
+Oh! Freedom is a blessed thing, 65
+
+Oh, gone is the soul from his wondrous dark eye, 300
+
+Oh! here I am in the land of cotton, 245
+
+Oh! here's to South Carolina! drink it down, 279
+
+Oh! Johnny, dear, and did you hear the news that's lately spread, 356
+
+Oh! mother of States and of men, 331
+
+Oh no! no! he'll not need them again, 309
+
+Oh! say can you see through the gloom and the storms, 6
+
+Oh! the tocsin of war still resounds o'er the land, 88
+
+Oh! yes, I am a Southern girl, 81
+
+O, Johnny Bull, my Jo, John! I wonder what you mean, 109
+
+O, I'm a good old rebel, 360
+
+O, I'm thinking of the soldier as the evening shadows fall, 182
+
+Old Eve she did the apple eat, 258
+
+On a bright May morn in 'Sixty-three, 345
+
+"Only a soldier!" I heard them say, 333
+
+On Shiloh's dark and bloody ground the dead and wounded lay, 336
+
+O, tell me not that earth is fair, that spring is in its bloom, 226
+
+O, the South is the queen of all nations, 93
+
+Our cannons' mouths are dumb. No more our volleyed muskets peal, 366
+
+Our country, our country, oh, where may we find, 152
+
+Our flag is unfurl'd and our arms flash bright, 73
+
+Out of the focal and foremost fire, 329
+
+Over the river there are fierce stern meetings, 249
+
+Over vale and over mountain, 170
+
+
+Pillow his head on his flashing sword, 311
+
+
+Raise the Southern flag on high!, 189
+
+Raise the thrilling cry, to arms!, 141
+
+Rally round our country's flag!, 94
+
+Rebel is a sacred name, 71
+
+Representing nothing on God's earth now, 370
+
+Rise, rise, mountain and valley men, 55
+
+
+Sabine Pass! in letters of gold, 320
+
+Sing ho! for the Southerner's meteor flag, 108
+
+Sitting by the roadside on a Summer day, 74
+
+Softly comes the twilight stealing gently through my prison bars, 346
+
+Softly in dreams of repose, 352
+
+Soldiers! raise your banner proudly, 120
+
+Sons of freedom, on to glory, 199
+
+Sons of the South arise, 264
+
+Sons of the South, arouse to battle, 100
+
+Sons of the South awake to glory, 4
+
+Sons of the South, beware the foe, 46
+
+Sons of the South! from hill and dale, 19
+
+Southern men, unsheathe the sword, 24
+
+Southrons, hear your country call you, 238
+
+States of the South! confederate land, 48
+
+Stitch, stitch, stitch, 222
+
+
+The boys are coming home again, 335
+
+The boys down South in Dixie's Land, 49
+
+The despot's heel is on thy shore, 276
+
+The foe! the foe! They come! they come!, 57
+
+The hour was sad I left the maid, 85
+
+The morning star is paling, the camp-fires flicker low, 287
+
+The muffled drum is beating, 328
+
+The night-cloud had lowered o'er Shiloh's red plain, 290
+
+The Northern abolition vandals, 314
+
+The sentinel treads his martial round, 134
+
+The shades of night were falling fast, 22
+
+The snow is in the cloud, and night is gathering o'er us, 282
+
+The South for me! The sunny clime, 123
+
+The sun sinking o'er the battle plain, 187
+
+The tyrant's broad pennant is floating, 102
+
+The war drum is beating, prepare for the fight, 263
+
+The Yankees hate the Lone Star State, because she did secede, 191
+
+There he stood, the grand old hero, great Virginia's god-like son, 224
+
+There is freedom on each fold, and each star is freedom's throne, 159
+
+Though we're a band of prisoners, 341
+
+Thou hast gone forth, my darling one, 256
+
+Three cheers for the Southern flag, 91
+
+'Tis dead of night, nor voice, nor sound, breaks on the stillness of the
+air, 303
+
+'Tis old Stonewall, the rebel, that leans on his sword, 315
+
+To arms! oh! men in all our Southern clime, 76
+
+'Twas a terrible moment, 95
+
+'Twas early in the morning of eighteen sixty-three, 168
+
+'Twas midnight when we built our fires, 207
+
+'Twas on that dark and fearful morn, 185
+
+
+Unclaimed by the land that bore us, 317
+
+Unmoved in the battle, 251
+
+Upon Manassas' bloody plain a soldier boy lay dying, 106
+
+Up, up with the banner, the foe is before us, 83
+
+
+Wake! dearest, wake! 'tis thy lover who calls, Imogen, 172
+
+We all went down to New Orleans, 112
+
+We are a band of brothers, and native to the soil, 31
+
+Weep, Louisiana, weep! thy gallant dead, 37
+
+We have ridden from the brave southwest, 56
+
+We leave our pleasant homesteads, 80
+
+We left him on the crimson'd field, 234
+
+Well, we can whip them now I guess, 232
+
+We're the boys so gay and happy, 177
+
+We're the Navasota volunteers, our county is named Grimes, 294
+
+What shall the Southron's watchword be, 272
+
+When clouds of oppression o'ershaded, 30
+
+When history tells her story, 242
+
+While crimson drops our hearth-stones stain, 41
+
+Whoop! the Doodles have broken loose, 14
+
+Why can we not be brothers? the battle now is o'er, 364
+
+Would'st thou have me love thee, dearest, 20
+
+Would you like to hear my song, I'm afraid it's rather long, 268
+
+
+Yankee Doodle had a mind, 15
+
+Ye men of Alabama, 17
+
+Ye men of Southern hearts and feeling, 45
+
+Ye sons of Carolina! awake from your dreaming, 237
+
+Ye sons of the South, take your weapons in hand, 110
+
+You are going to leave me, darling, 28
+
+You are going to the wars, Willie boy, Willie boy, 275
+
+You can never win us back, 8
+
+You know the Federal General Banks, 164
+
+Young as the youngest who donned the gray, 260
+
+Young Florida sends forth her clan--the old Dominion's brave, 155
+
+Young stranger, what land claims thy birth, 292
+
+You shudder as you think upon th' carnage of the grim report, 137
+
+
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[1] This was the first song published in the South during the war.
+
+[2] The Rebel ram.
+
+[3] A writer, describing the siege of Vicksburg, gives the following:
+
+    "The meal issued to the army was very coarse, and there were no
+    sieves, and the beef, as a general thing, was hardly fit to feed to a
+    dog. Some herds of Texas steers were corraled near the town, lean,
+    gaunt, long-horned, repulsive looking creatures, and every morning the
+    weakest of the herd were slaughtered for the day's rations. In the
+    Twentieth Alabama, each day a company of men could be seen having in
+    their hands long ox-horns, upon which they occasionally blew a
+    mournful blast, as with solemn steps and slow, they bore to a suitable
+    burial place the beef issued to them for that day. Arrived at the spot
+    a hole was dug, the meat was dumped into it, a mound was heaped over
+    it, a funeral oration was said, the ox-horns once more sounded the
+    dolorous requiem, and then the mourners returned to camp, their heads
+    bowed down with grief and sorrow. Upon inquiring what this woeful
+    pageant meant, I was informed that the men were simply engaged in "the
+    burial of _Old Logan_."
+
+[4] Colonel J. J. Archer.
+
+[5] This thrilling song was circulated _sub rosa_ in New Orleans, and at
+times almost openly. Its bold and defiant tone shows it to have been
+written by one who must have suffered greatly at the hands of Butler.
+
+[6] The Cotton Supply Association, of Manchester, England.
+
+[7] A touching incident occurred in Montgomery at the beginning of the
+war. A soldier met a lovely and refined lady in the street, and feeling
+that in such times we are all sisters and brothers, and wishing to do
+homage to such beauty, he touched his hat and said: "Lady, I'm going to
+fight for you." "Sir," she instantly replied, "I am going to pray for
+you."
+
+[8] Constitutional Liberty against Oppression--a "Cause" decided many
+times in the Old World, yet to be taught in the New.
+
+[9] The Memphis _Appeal_ published the following:--"On yesterday all the
+cotton in Memphis was burned. Probably not less than 300,000 bales have
+been burned in the last three days in West Tennessee and North
+Mississippi."
+
+[10] Capt. Riley commanded a battery composed of Irishmen from North
+Carolina, and was nearly always attached to Hood's Brigade. The "swarthy
+old hounds" refer to his Napoleon guns.
+
+[11] In commemoration of Gen. J. B. Gordon's charge against Hancock's
+corps at Spotsylvania Court House, May 12, 1864.
+
+[12] Fremont, "the path-finder."
+
+[13] Battle of Cedar Run.
+
+[14] Sung by Harry McCarthy, in his "Personation Concerts," in all the
+principal towns of the Confederacy.
+
+[15] On the morning of the battle of Franklin, Tennessee, Major General
+Patrick Cleburne, while riding along the line, encouraging his men, saw an
+old friend--a captain in his command--barefooted, and feet bleeding.
+Alighting from his horse he told the Captain to "please" pull off his
+boots. Upon the Captain doing so, the General told him to try them on,
+which he did. Whereupon the General mounted his horse, telling the Captain
+he was tired of wearing boots, and could well do without them. He would
+hear of no remonstrance, and bidding the Captain good-by, rode away. In
+this condition he was killed.
+
+[16] Brave to a fault, he was cut down in his early youth, and fell a
+willing sacrifice at the altar of his country. Among his last words he
+said, "I fell beside my gun."
+
+[17] The chorus is sung to the second part of the air, excepting after the
+fifth and sixth verses.
+
+[18] Several weeks after the commencement of the terrific bombardment,
+ladies were seen coolly walking the streets, and children in many parts of
+the city engaged, as ever, in their playing, only stopping their sport for
+the moment to gaze and listen at the bursting shells.
+
+[19] The above lines were found written upon the back of a five-hundred
+dollar Confederate note, subsequent to the surrender.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Southern War Songs, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUTHERN WAR SONGS ***
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+<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+    "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
+  <head>
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Southern War Songs: Camp-Fire, Patriotic and Sentimental. Collected and Arranged by W. L. Fagan.
+    </title>
+
+    <style type="text/css">
+
+    p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+
+    body {margin-left: 12%; margin-right: 12%;}
+
+    .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right; font-style: normal;}
+
+    h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center; clear: both;}
+
+    hr {width: 33%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;}
+
+    table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;}
+
+    .giant {font-size: 200%}
+    .huge {font-size: 150%}
+
+    .blockquot {margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    .note {margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%;}
+    .index {margin-left: 20%;}
+
+    .right {text-align: right;}
+    .center {text-align: center;}
+
+    .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;}
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+    .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;}
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+    a:link {color:#0000ff; text-decoration:none}
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+    .spacer {padding-left: 1em; padding-right: 1em;}
+
+    </style>
+  </head>
+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Southern War Songs, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Southern War Songs
+       Camp-Fire, Patriotic and Sentimental
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: September 26, 2011 [EBook #37538]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUTHERN WAR SONGS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
+generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
+Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/frontis.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<table width="50%" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td><small>THE SOUTHERN CROSS BATTLE FLAG DESIGNED BY GEN. JOSEPH E. JOHNSTON.</small></td></tr>
+<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><small>THE STARS AND BARS.</small></span></td></tr>
+<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 4em;"><small>FLAG ADOPTED BY THE CONFEDERATE CONGRESS IN 1863.</small></span></td></tr>
+<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 6em;"><small>BATTLE FLAG ADOPTED BY THE CONFEDERATE CONGRESS IN 1863.</small></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/title.jpg" alt="Southern War Songs. Camp-Fire, Patriotic and Sentimental." /></div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY<br />
+W. L. FAGAN</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center"><i>ILLUSTRATED.</i></p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">New York<br />M. T. RICHARDSON &amp; CO.<br />1890.</p>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyrighted</span><br />
+<small>BY</small>
+M. T. RICHARDSON.<br />
+1889.</p>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p>
+<h2><i>PREFACE.</i></h2>
+
+<div class="note">
+<p><i>The war songs of the South are a part of the history of the Lost Cause.
+They are necessary to the impartial historian in forming a correct
+estimate of the animus of the Southern people.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>Emotional literature is always a correct exponent of public sentiment,
+and these songs index the passionate sincerity of the South at the time
+they were written.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>Poetic merit is not claimed for all of them; still each one embodies
+either a fact or a principle. Written in an era of war, when the public
+mind was thoroughly aroused, some may now appear harsh and vindictive.
+Eight millions of people read and sang them. This fact alone warrants
+their collection and preservation.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>A greater number of the songs have been gathered from Southern
+newspapers. The task has been laborious, but still a labor of love, as no
+work of this kind has before been offered to the public.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>Thanks are due Mr. Henri Wehrman, of New Orleans, for permission to use
+valuable copyrights, also to the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston; A. E.
+Blackmar, New Orleans; and J. C. Schreiner, Savannah, Ga. Mr. G. N.
+Galloway, Philadelphia, has given material assistance.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>The work is not complete, still the compiler claims for it the largest
+and only collection of Confederate songs published.</i></p>
+
+<p class="right"><i>W. L. FAGAN.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>Havana, Ala., December 1, 1889.</i></p></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p>
+<h2>LIST OF ENGRAVINGS.</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="right"><i>Page</i></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>A flash from the edge of a hostile trench</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_351">351</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>And his life-blood is ebbing and splashing</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>Arise to thy lattice, the moon is asleep</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>Come back to me, my darling son, and light my life again</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_257">257</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><i>Confederate note</i>,</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_371">371</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>Farewell to earth and all its beauteous bloom</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>For I know there is no other e&#8217;er can be so dear to me</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_297">297</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><i>General J. E. B. Stuart</i>,</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_331">331</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><i>General Lee</i>,</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>He faintly smiled and waved his hand</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_235">235</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>He&#8217;s in the saddle now</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>* * * How mellow the light showers down on that brow</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>I am thinking of the soldier as the evening shadows fall</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>I&#8217;m a good old rebel</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_361">361</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>I marched up midout fear</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>Jack Morgan</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_282">282</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>Knitting for the soldiers! matron&mdash;merry maid</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>Knitting for the soldiers! wrinkled&mdash;aged crone</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>Lady, I go to fight for thee</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>Lying in the shadow, underneath the trees</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span>&#8220;<i>Massa</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>Massa run, aha</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>My right arm bared for fiercer play</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>No matter should it rain or snow, That bugler is bound to blow</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>Only a list of the wounded and dead</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>So we&#8217;ll bury &#8216;old Logan&#8217; to-night</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>The Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>The hero boy lay dying</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>Then gallop by ravine and rocks</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_316">316</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>There&#8217;s only the sound of the lone sentry&#8217;s tread</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>Though fifteen summers scarce have shed their blossoms on thy brow</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_256">256</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>Three acres I</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>Thy steed is impatient his mistress to bear</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>We&#8217;ll one day meet again</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>&#8220;<i>When the stars are softly smiling * * * Then I think of thee and Heaven</i>,&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_299">299</a></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="giant"><span class="smcap">Southern War Songs.</span></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h2>GOD SAVE THE SOUTH.<a name='fna_1' id='fna_1' href='#f_1'><small>[1]</small></a></h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>National Hymn.</i></p>
+<p class="center">Words by <span class="smcap">George H. Miles</span>; Music by <span class="smcap">C. W. A. Ellerbrock</span>; Permission of <span class="smcap">A.
+E. Blackmar</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass, owner of the copyright.]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>God save the South,<br />
+God save the South,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her altars and firesides,</span><br />
+God save the South,<br />
+Now that the war is nigh,<br />
+Chanting our battle-cry<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Freedom or death.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus</span>&mdash;Now that the war is nigh,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">Now that we arm to die,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">Chanting the battle cry,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Freedom or death.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span><br />
+God be our shield,<br />
+At home or afield,<br />
+Stretch thine arm over us,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strengthen and save.</span><br />
+What tho&#8217; they&#8217;re three to one,<br />
+Forward each sire and son,<br />
+Strike till the war is won,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strike to the grave.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 12em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+God made the right,<br />
+Stronger than <i>might</i>,<br />
+Millions would trample us<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down in their pride.</span><br />
+Lay <i>Thou</i> their legions low,<br />
+Roll back the ruthless foe,<br />
+Let the proud spoiler know<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">God&#8217;s on our side.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 12em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Hark honor&#8217;s call,<br />
+Summoning all,<br />
+Summoning all of us<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unto the strife.</span><br />
+Sons of the South awake!<br />
+Strike till the brand shall break,<br />
+Strike for dear Honor&#8217;s sake,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Freedom and Life.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 12em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Rebels</i> before,<br />
+Our fathers of yore,<br />
+<i>Rebels</i> the righteous name<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Washington</i> bore.</span><br />
+Why, then be our&#8217;s the same,<br />
+The name that he snatch&#8217;d from shame,<br />
+Making it first in fame,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Foremost in war.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 12em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+War to the hilt,<br />
+Their&#8217;s be the guilt,<br />
+Who fetter the freeman,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To ransom the slave.</span><br />
+Up, then, and undismayed,<br />
+Sheathe not the battle blade<br />
+Till the last foe is laid<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Low in the grave!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 12em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+God save the South,<br />
+God save the South,<br />
+Dry the dim eyes that now<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Follow our path.</span><br />
+Still let the light feet rove<br />
+Safe through the orange grove;<br />
+Still keep the land we love<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Safe from <i>Thy</i> wrath.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 12em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+God save the South,<br />
+God save the South,<br />
+Her altars and firesides,<br />
+God save the South!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the great war is nigh,</span><br />
+And we will win or die,<br />
+Chanting our battle cry,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Freedom or death.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 12em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p>
+<h2>&#8220;ALLONS ENFANS.&#8221;</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>The Southern Marseillaise.</i></p>
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">A. E. Blackmar</span>, New Orleans, 1861.</p>
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be obtained of Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass.]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Sons of the South awake to glory,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A thousand voices bid you rise,</span><br />
+Your children, wives and grandsires hoary,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gaze on you now with trusting eyes,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gaze on you now with trusting eyes;</span><br />
+Your country ev&#8217;ry strong arm calling,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To meet the hireling Northern band</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That comes to desolate the land</span><br />
+With fire and blood and scenes appalling,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To arms, to arms, ye brave;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Th&#8217; avenging sword unsheath!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -3em;">March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: -3em;">March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death.</span><br />
+<br />
+Now, now, the dang&#8217;rous storm is rolling,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which treacherous brothers madly raise,</span><br />
+The dogs of war let loose, are howling<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And soon our peaceful towns may blaze,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And soon our peaceful towns may blaze.</span><br />
+Shall fiends who basely plot our ruin,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unchecked, advance with guilty stride</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To spread destruction far and wide,</span><br />
+With Southrons&#8217; blood their hands embruing?<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">To arms, to arms, ye brave!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Th&#8217; avenging sword unsheath!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -3em;">March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: -3em;">March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death.</span><br />
+<br />
+With needy, starving mobs surrounded,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The jealous, blind fanatics dare</span><br />
+To offer, in their zeal unbounded,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our happy slaves their tender care,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our happy slaves their tender care.</span><br />
+The South, though deepest wrongs bewailing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Long yielded all to Union name;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But <i>Independence</i> now we claim,</span><br />
+And all their threats are unavailing.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To arms, to arms, ye brave!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Th&#8217; avenging sword unsheath!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: -3em;">March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: -3em;">March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p class="note">This may be called the rallying song of the Confederacy. Composed early in
+1861, it was sung throughout the South while the soldiers were hurried to
+Virginia with this, the grandest of martial airs, as a benediction.</p>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p>
+<h2>&#8220;THE SOUTHERN CROSS.&#8221;</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">St. Geo. Tucker</span>, of Virginia.</p>
+<p class="center">Published in 1860, a few months before the author&#8217;s death.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Oh! say can you see, through the gloom and the storms,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">More bright for the darkness, that pure constellation?</span><br />
+Like the symbol of love and redemption its form,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As it points to the haven of hope for the nation.</span><br />
+How radiant each star, as the beacon afar,<br />
+Giving promise of peace, or assurance in war!<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus</span>&mdash;&#8217;Tis the Cross of the South, which shall ever remain<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">To light us to freedom and glory again!</span><br />
+<br />
+How peaceful and blest was America&#8217;s soil,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Til betrayed by the guile of the Puritan demon,</span><br />
+Which lurks under virtue, and springs from its coil<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To fasten its fangs in the life-blood of freemen.</span><br />
+Then boldly appeal to each heart that can feel,<br />
+And crush the foul viper &#8217;neath Liberty&#8217;s heel!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 18em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+&#8217;Tis the emblem of peace, &#8217;tis the day-star of hope,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like the sacred <i>Labarum</i> that guided the Roman;</span><br />
+From the shores of the Gulf to the Delaware&#8217;s slope,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Tis the trust of the free and the terror of foeman.</span><br />
+Fling its folds to the air, while we boldly declare<br />
+The rights we demand or the deeds that we dare!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 18em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span><br />
+And if peace should be hopeless and justice denied,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And war&#8217;s bloody vulture should flap its black pinions,</span><br />
+Then gladly &#8220;To arms,&#8221; while we hurl, in our pride,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Defiance to tyrants and death to their minions!</span><br />
+With our front to the field, swearing never to yield,<br />
+Or return, like the Spartan, in death on our shield!<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus</span>&mdash;And the Cross of the South shall triumphantly wave<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">As the flag of the free or the pall of the brave.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE STAR OF THE WEST.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Charleston Mercury.</i></p>
+<p class="center">&#8220;<i>Dixie.</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>I wish I was in de land o&#8217; cotton,<br />
+Old times dair ain&#8217;t not forgotten&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Look away, etc.</span><br />
+In Dixie land whar I was born in,<br />
+Early on one frosty mornin&#8217;&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Look away, etc.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus</span>&mdash;Den I wish I was in Dixie.<br />
+<br />
+In Dixie land dat frosty mornin&#8217;,<br />
+Jis &#8217;bout de time de day was dawnin&#8217;&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Look away, etc.</span><br />
+De signal fire from de East bin roarin&#8217;,<br />
+Rouse up, Dixie, no more snorin&#8217;&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Look away, etc.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span><br />
+Dat rocket high a-blazing in de sky,<br />
+&#8217;Tis de sign dat de snobbies am comin&#8217; up nigh&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Look away, etc.</span><br />
+Dey bin braggin&#8217; long, if we dare to shoot a shot,<br />
+Dey comin&#8217; up strong and dey&#8217;ll send us all to pot,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fire away, fire away, lads in gray.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE SOUTHRON&#8217;S CHANT OF DEFIANCE.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">C. A. Warfield</span>, Kentucky.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by <span class="smcap">A. E. Blackmar.</span></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>You can never win us back<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Never! never!</span><br />
+Though we perish on the track<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of your endeavor;</span><br />
+Though our corses strew the earth,<br />
+That smiled upon their birth,<br />
+And blood pollutes each hearth<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stone forever!</span><br />
+<br />
+We have risen to a man,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stern and fearless;</span><br />
+Of your curses and your ban<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We are careless.</span><br />
+Every hand is on its knife,<br />
+Every gun is pruned for strife,<br />
+Every <i>palm</i> contains a life,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">High and peerless!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span><br />
+You have no such blood as ours<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For the shedding:</span><br />
+In the veins of cavaliers<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was its heading!</span><br />
+You have no such stately men<br />
+In your &#8220;abolition den,&#8221;<br />
+To march through foe and fen,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Nothing dreading!</span><br />
+<br />
+We may fall before the fire<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of your legions,</span><br />
+Paid with gold for murderous hire&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bought allegiance;</span><br />
+But for every drop you shed,<br />
+You shall have a mound of dead,<br />
+And the vultures shall be fed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In your regions.</span><br />
+<br />
+But the battle to the strong<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is not given,</span><br />
+While the judge of right and wrong<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sits in Heaven!</span><br />
+And the God of David still<br />
+Guides the pebble with his will.<br />
+There are giants yet to kill&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wrongs unshriven.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE DUTCH VOLUNTEER.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">As sung by <span class="smcap">Harry Macarthy</span> in his Personation Concerts, 1862.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>It vas in Ni Orleans city,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I first heard der drums und fife,</span><br />
+Und I vas so full mit lager,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dot I care nix for my life.</span><br />
+<br />
+Mit a schicken tail stuck in mine hat,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I marched up midout fear,</span><br />
+Und joined der Southern Army,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a Dutche&mdash;a volunteer.</span><br />
+<br />
+Ven ve vent apoard der steampote,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ve told um all good-by,</span><br />
+Ter vimins wafed der handkerchief,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Und I pegun to gry.</span><br />
+<br />
+Vhen we got to vere de var vas,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dey stood us in a row,</span><br />
+Und learned us ven dey hollered out,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vich vay ve have to go.</span><br />
+<br />
+Dey loads our guns mit noding,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Und learn to shoot um right,</span><br />
+Und charge upon der Yankee,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ven no Yankee vas in sight.</span><br />
+<br />
+My name is Yacob Schneider,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Und I yust come here to-night</span><br />
+From Hood&#8217;s Army up in Georgia,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ver all de times dey fight.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img01.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;I marched up midout fear.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>But, ven I see der Yankee coming,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>So mad it makes me feel</i>,</span><br />
+Dot I jumped apoard der steamer cars,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Und come down to Mopeel.</span><br />
+<br />
+Now, all young folks vot goes out dere,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To fight your country&#8217;s foes,</span><br />
+Take my adfice, brepare yourself<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pefore out dere you goes.</span><br />
+<br />
+Take a couble parrels of sauer-kraut,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Und lots of schweitzer kase,</span><br />
+Also, some perloona sausage,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Und everyting else you please.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span><br />
+Und ven der pattle commence,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kill all der Yankees you can,</span><br />
+Und schump perhind some pig oak-tree,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For dot ish der officer&#8217;s blan.</span><br />
+<br />
+Ven der pattle gits vide open,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Und dem palls dey comes so tick,</span><br />
+Oh! you tink you must go somewhere,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Pecause you vas so sick</i>.</span><br />
+<br />
+Yust lower your knapsack down yer back,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Und cover up your rear,</span><br />
+Den you von&#8217;t get vounded,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like dis Dutcher Volunteer.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>SOUTHERN SONG OF FREEDOM.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;The Minstrel&#8217;s Return.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>A nation has sprung into life<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beneath the bright Cross of the South;</span><br />
+And now a loud call to the strife<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rings out from the shrill bugle&#8217;s mouth.</span><br />
+They gather from morass and mountain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They gather from prairie and mart,</span><br />
+To drink, at young Liberty&#8217;s fountain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Nectar that kindles the heart.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus</span>&mdash;Then, hail to the land of the pine!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">The home of the noble and free;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">A palmetto wreath we&#8217;ll entwine</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Round the altar of young Liberty!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span><br />
+Our flag, with its cluster of stars,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Firm fixed in a field of pure blue,</span><br />
+All shining through red and white bars,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now gallantly flutters in view.</span><br />
+The stalwart and brave round it rally,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They press to their lips every fold,</span><br />
+While the hymn swells from hill and from valley,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;Be God with our Volunteers bold.&#8221;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 17em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Th&#8217; invaders rush down from the North,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our borders are black with their hordes;</span><br />
+Like wolves for their victims they flock,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While whetting their knives and their swords.</span><br />
+Their watchword is &#8220;Booty and Beauty,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their aim is to steal as they go;</span><br />
+But, Southrons, act up to your duty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lay the foul miscreants low.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 17em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+The God of our fathers looks down<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And blesses the cause of the just;</span><br />
+His smile will the patriot crown<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who tramples his chains in the dust.</span><br />
+March, March, Southrons! Shoulder to shoulder,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One heart-throb, one shout for the cause;</span><br />
+Remember&mdash;the world&#8217;s a beholder,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And your bayonets are fixed at your doors!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 17em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+J. J. H.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p>
+<h2>&#8220;CALL ALL! CALL ALL!&#8221;</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By &#8220;<span class="smcap">Georgia</span>.&#8221;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Whoop! the Doodles have broken loose,<br />
+Roaring round like the very deuce;<br />
+Lice of Egypt, a hungry pack,&mdash;<br />
+After &#8217;em, boys, and drive &#8217;em back.<br />
+<br />
+Bull dog, terrier, cur, and fice,<br />
+Back to the beggarly land of ice,<br />
+Worry &#8217;em, bite &#8217;em, scratch and tear<br />
+Everybody and everywhere.<br />
+<br />
+Old Kentucky is caved from under,<br />
+Tennessee is split asunder,<br />
+Alabama awaits attack,<br />
+And Georgia bristles up her back.<br />
+<br />
+Old John Brown is dead and gone!<br />
+Still his spirit is marching on,&mdash;<br />
+Lantern-jawed, and legs, my boys,<br />
+Long as an ape&#8217;s from Illinois.<br />
+<br />
+Want a weapon? Gather a brick,<br />
+Club or cudgel, or stone or stick;<br />
+Anything with a blade or butt,<br />
+Anything that can cleave or cut.<br />
+<br />
+Anything heavy, or hard, or keen!<br />
+Any sort of a slaying machine!<br />
+Anything with a willing mind,<br />
+And the steady arm of a man behind.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span><br />
+Want a weapon? Why, capture one!<br />
+Every Doodle has got a gun,<br />
+Belt, and bayonet, bright and new;<br />
+Kill a Doodle, and capture <i>two</i>!<br />
+<br />
+Shoulder to shoulder, son and sire!<br />
+All, call! all to the feast of fire!<br />
+Mother and maiden, and child and slave,<br />
+A common triumph or a single grave.<br />
+<br />
+<i>Rockingham (Va.) Register.</i></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>ANOTHER YANKEE DOODLE.</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Yankee Doodle had a mind<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To whip the Southern traitors,</span><br />
+Because they didn&#8217;t choose to live<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On codfish and potatoes,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yankee Doodle dandy,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And to keep his courage up</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He took a drink of brandy.</span><br />
+<br />
+Yankee Doodle said he found<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By all the census figures,</span><br />
+That he could starve the rebels out,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If he could steal their niggers.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yankee Doodle dandy,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And then he took another drink</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of gunpowder and brandy.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span><br />
+Yankee Doodle made a speech;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Twas very full of feeling;</span><br />
+&#8220;I fear,&#8221; says he, &#8220;I cannot fight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I am good at stealing.&#8221;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yankee Doodle dandy,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hurrah for Lincoln, he&#8217;s the boy</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To take a drop of brandy.</span><br />
+<br />
+Yankee Doodle drew his sword,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And practised all the passes;</span><br />
+Come, boys, we&#8217;ll take another drink<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When we get to Manassas.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yankee Doodle dandy,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">They never reached Manassas plain,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And never got the brandy.</span><br />
+<br />
+Yankee Doodle soon found out<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That Bull Run was no trifle;</span><br />
+For if the North knew how to steal,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The South knew how to rifle.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yankee Doodle dandy,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">&#8217;Tis very clear I took too much</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of that infernal brandy.</span><br />
+<br />
+Yankee Doodle wheeled about,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And scampered off at full run,</span><br />
+And such a race was never seen<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As that he made at Bull Run.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yankee Doodle dandy,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I haven&#8217;t time to stop just now,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To take a drop of brandy.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span><br />
+Yankee Doodle, oh! for shame,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You&#8217;re always intermeddling;</span><br />
+Let guns alone, they&#8217;re dangerous things;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You&#8217;d better stick to peddling.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yankee Doodle dandy.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When next I go to Bully Run</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I&#8217;ll throw away the brandy.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>&#8220;YE MEN OF ALABAMA!&#8221;</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">John D. Phelan</span>, of Montgomery, Ala.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Ye Mariners of England.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Ye men of Alabama,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awake, arise, awake</span><br />
+And rend the coils asunder<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of this abolition snake.</span><br />
+If another fold he fastens&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If this final coil he plies&mdash;</span><br />
+In the cold clasp of hate and power,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fair Alabama dies.</span><br />
+<br />
+Though round your lower limbs and waist<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His deadly coils I see,</span><br />
+Yet, yet, thank heaven! your head and arms,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And good right hand, are free;</span><br />
+And in that hand there glistens&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O, God! what joy to feel!</span><br />
+A polished blade, full sharp and keen,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of tempered State rights&#8217; steel.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span><br />
+Now, by the free-born sires<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From whose brave loins ye sprung,</span><br />
+And by the noble mothers<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At whose fond breasts ye hung!</span><br />
+And by your wives and daughters,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And by the ills they dread</span><br />
+Drive deep that good secession steel<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Right through the monster&#8217;s head.</span><br />
+<br />
+This serpent abolition<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Has been coiling on for years.</span><br />
+We have reasoned, we have threatened,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We have begged almost with tears;</span><br />
+Now, away, away with union,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Since on our Southern soil</span><br />
+The only <i>union</i> left us<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is an anaconda&#8217;s coil.</span><br />
+<br />
+Brave little South Carolina<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will strike the self-same blow,</span><br />
+And Florida, and Georgia,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Mississippi, too,</span><br />
+And Arkansas, and Texas;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And at the death, I ween,</span><br />
+The head will fall beneath the blows<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of all the brave fifteen.</span><br />
+<br />
+In this, our day of trial,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let feuds and factions cease,</span><br />
+Until above this howling storm<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We see the sign of peace.</span><br />
+Let Southern men, like brothers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In solid phalanx stand,</span><br />
+And poise their spears, and lock their shields<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To guard their native land.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span><br />
+The love that for the Union<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Once in our bosoms beat,</span><br />
+From insult and from injury<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Has turned to scorn and hate;</span><br />
+And the banner of secession,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To-day we lift on high,</span><br />
+Resolved, beneath that sacred flag,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To conquer, <i>or to die</i>!</span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Montgomery Advertiser</i>, October, 1860.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>1776-1861.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Bruce&#8217;s Address.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Sons of the South! from hill and dale,<br />
+From mountain-top, and lowly vale,<br />
+Arouse ye now! &#8217;tis Freedom&#8217;s wail&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">&#8220;To arms! to arms!&#8221; she cries.</span><br />
+Strike! for freedom in the dust;<br />
+Strike! to crush proud Mammon&#8217;s lust;<br />
+Strike! remembering <i>God is just</i>!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thus a freeman dies.</span><br />
+<br />
+Southrons! who with Beauregard,<br />
+Day and night, keep watch and ward&mdash;<br />
+Southrons! whom the angels guard,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Strike for Liberty!</span><br />
+Smite the motley hireling throng;<br />
+Smite! as Heaven smites the wrong;<br />
+Smite! they fly before the strong,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In God and Liberty!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span><br />
+By your hearth-stones, by your dead,<br />
+By all the fields where patriots bled,<br />
+A freeman&#8217;s home or gory bed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Let the alternate be.</span><br />
+Weeping wives and mothers here,<br />
+Sisters, daughters, dear ones near&mdash;<br />
+Seas of blood for every tear,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">God and Liberty!</span><br />
+<br />
+Louder swells the battle-cry,<br />
+Flaming sword and flashing eye<br />
+Light the field when freemen die!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Death or Liberty!</span><br />
+Backward roll your poisonous waves,<br />
+Infidel and ruffian slaves!<br />
+&#8217;Tis Heaven&#8217;s own wrath your blindness braves&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">God and Liberty!</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">C.</td></tr>
+<tr><td><span class="smcap">Washington, D. C.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>WOULD&#8217;ST THOU HAVE ME LOVE THEE?</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Alex. B. Meek</span>, Mobile, Ala.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Would&#8217;st thou have me love thee, dearest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a woman&#8217;s proudest heart,</span><br />
+Which shall ever hold thee nearest<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shrined in its inmost heart?</span><br />
+Listen, then! My country&#8217;s calling<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On her sons to meet the foe!</span><br />
+Leave these groves of rose and myrtle;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drop thy dreamy harp of love!</span><br />
+Like young Korner&mdash;scorn the turtle,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the eagle screams above!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span><br />
+Dost thou pause? Let dastards dally,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do thou for thy country fight!</span><br />
+&#8217;Neath her noble emblem rally&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;God, our country, and our right!&#8221;</span><br />
+Listen! now her trumpets calling<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On her sons to meet the foe!</span><br />
+Woman&#8217;s heart is soft and tender,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But &#8217;tis proud and faithful too:</span><br />
+Shall she be her land&#8217;s defender?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lover! Soldier! up and do!</span><br />
+<br />
+Seize thy father&#8217;s ancient falchion,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which once flashed as freedom&#8217;s star!</span><br />
+&#8217;Til sweet peace&mdash;the bow and halcyon&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stilled the stormy strife of war.</span><br />
+Listen! now thy country&#8217;s calling<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On her sons to meet the foe!</span><br />
+Sweet is love in moonlight bowers!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweet the altar and the flame!</span><br />
+Sweet the Spring-time with her flowers!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweeter far the patriot&#8217;s name!</span><br />
+<br />
+Should the God who smiles above thee,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Doom thee to a soldier&#8217;s grave,</span><br />
+Hearts will break, but fame will love thee,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Canonized among the brave!</span><br />
+Listen, then! thy country&#8217;s calling<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On her sons to meet the foe!</span><br />
+Rather would I view thee lying<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the last red field of strife,</span><br />
+&#8217;Mid thy country&#8217;s heroes dying,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than become a dastard&#8217;s wife!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THAT BUGLER;</h2>
+<p class="center">OR, THE UPIDEE SONG.</p>
+
+<p class="center">Words by <span class="smcap">A. G. Knight</span>.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by <span class="smcap">Armand</span>.</p>
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.]</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>The shades of night were falling fast,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Tra-la-la, tra-la-la,</span><br />
+The bugler blows that well-known blast<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Tra-la-la, tra-la-la,</span><br />
+No matter should it rain or snow,<br />
+That bugler he is bound to blow.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus</span>&mdash;Up&mdash;i&mdash;de&mdash;i&mdash;de&mdash;i&mdash;di,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">U&mdash;pi&mdash;de, u&mdash;pi&mdash;de,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">U&mdash;pi&mdash;de&mdash;i&mdash;de&mdash;i&mdash;di,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">Up&mdash;i&mdash;de&mdash;i&mdash;di,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">U&mdash;pi&mdash;de&mdash;i&mdash;de&mdash;i&mdash;di,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">U&mdash;pi&mdash;de&mdash;u&mdash;pi&mdash;di,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">U&mdash;pi&mdash;de&mdash;i&mdash;de&mdash;i&mdash;di.</span><br />
+<br />
+He saw, as in their bunks they lay,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Tra-la-la, tra-la-la,</span><br />
+How soldiers spent the dawning day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Tra-la-la, tra-la-la,</span><br />
+&#8220;There&#8217;s too much comfort there,&#8221; said he,<br />
+&#8220;And so I&#8217;ll blow the &#8216;Reveille.&#8217;&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+In nice log huts he saw the light,<br />
+Of cabin fires, warm and bright,<br />
+The sight afforded him no heat,<br />
+And so he sounded the &#8220;Retreat.&#8221;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span><br />
+Upon the fire he saw a pot,<br />
+Of sav&#8217;ry viands smoking hot,<br />
+Said he, &#8220;they shan&#8217;t enjoy that stew,&#8221;<br />
+Then &#8220;Boots and saddles&#8221; loudly blew.</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img02.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&#8220;No matter should it rain or snow,<br />
+That bugler he is bound to blow.&#8221;</td></tr></table>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>They scarce their half cooked meal begin,<br />
+Ere orderly cries out &#8220;Fall in,&#8221;<br />
+Then off they march thro&#8217; mud and rain,<br />
+P&#8217;raps only to march back again.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span><br />
+But soldiers, you were made to fight,<br />
+To starve all day, and watch all night,<br />
+And should you chance get bread and meat,<br />
+That bugler will not let you eat.<br />
+<br />
+Oh hasten then, that glorious day,<br />
+When buglers shall no longer play,<br />
+When we through peace shall be set free,<br />
+From &#8220;Tattoo,&#8221; &#8220;Taps,&#8221; and &#8220;Reveille.&#8221;</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>ADDRESS OF THE WOMEN TO THE SOUTHERN TROOPS.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Mrs. J. T. H. Cross</span>.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Bruce&#8217;s Address.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Southern men, unsheathe the sword,<br />
+Inland and along the board;<br />
+Backward drive the Northern horde&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Rush to victory!</span><br />
+<br />
+Let your banners kiss the sky,<br />
+Be &#8220;The right&#8221; your battle cry!<br />
+Be the God of battles nigh&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Crown you in the fight!</span><br />
+<br />
+Pressing back the tears that start,<br />
+We behold your hosts depart:<br />
+Saying, with heroic heart,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Clothe your arms with might!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span><br />
+Lower the proud oppressor&#8217;s crest!<br />
+Or, if he should prove the best,<br />
+Dead, not dishonored, rest<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">On the field of blood!</span><br />
+<br />
+We&mdash;may God so give us grace!&mdash;<br />
+Sons will rear, to take your place;<br />
+Strong the foeman&#8217;s steel to face&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Strong in heart and hand!</span><br />
+<br />
+Death your serried ranks may sweep,<br />
+Proud shall be the tears we weep,<br />
+Sacredly our hearts shall keep<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Memory of your deeds!</span><br />
+<br />
+Though our land be left forlorn,<br />
+Spirit of the Southern-born,<br />
+Northern rage shall laugh to scorn&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Northern hosts defy.</span><br />
+<br />
+He that last is doomed to die<br />
+Shall, with his expiring sigh,<br />
+Send aloft the battle-cry,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">&#8220;God defend the right!&#8221;</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img03.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p>
+<h2>RALLYING SONG OF THE VIRGINIANS.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Susan A. Tally</span>.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Scots, Wha hae wi&#8217; Wallace bled.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Now rouse ye, gallant comrades all,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ready stand, in war&#8217;s array,&mdash;</span><br />
+Virginia sounds her battle call,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And gladly we obey.</span><br />
+Our hands upon our trusty swords,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our hearts with courage beating high&mdash;</span><br />
+We&#8217;ll fight as once our fathers fought,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To conquer or to die!</span><br />
+<br />
+Adieu, awhile, to loving eyes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lips that breathe our names in prayer;</span><br />
+To them our holiest thoughts be given,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For them our swords we bare!</span><br />
+Yet linger not when honor calls,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor breathe one sad, regretful sigh,&mdash;</span><br />
+Defying fate, for love we&#8217;ll live,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or for our country die!</span><br />
+<br />
+No tyrant hand shall ever dare<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our sacred Southern homes despoil,</span><br />
+No tyrant foot shall e&#8217;er invade<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our free Virginia soil.</span><br />
+Lo! from her lofty mountain peaks,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To plains that skirt the Southern seas,</span><br />
+We fling her banner to the winds,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her motto on the breeze!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span><br />
+We hear the roll of stormy drums,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We hear the trumpet&#8217;s call afar!</span><br />
+Now forward, gallant comrades all,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To swell the ranks of war;</span><br />
+Uplift on high our battle cry,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When fiercest rolls the bloody fight,</span><br />
+&#8220;Virginia! for the Southern cause,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And God defend the right!&#8221;</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>POP GOES THE WEASEL.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">From &#8220;<span class="smcap">Jack Morgan Songster</span>.&#8221;</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>King Abraham is very sick,<br />
+Old Scott has got the measles,<br />
+Manassas we have now at last&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Pop goes the weasel!</span><br />
+<br />
+All around the cobbler&#8217;s house<br />
+The monkey chased the people,<br />
+And after them in double haste,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Pop goes the weasel!</span><br />
+<br />
+When the night walks in, as black as a sheep,<br />
+And the hen on her eggs was fast asleep,<br />
+When into her nest with a serpent&#8217;s creep,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Pop goes the weasel!</span><br />
+<br />
+Of all the dance that ever was planned,<br />
+To galvanize the heel and the hand,<br />
+There&#8217;s none that moves so gay and grand,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">As&mdash;pop goes the weasel.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE MOTHER&#8217;S FAREWELL.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Jeannette and Jeannot.&#8221;</i></p>
+<p class="center">From &#8220;<span class="smcap">Jack Morgan Songster</span>.&#8221;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>You are going to leave me, darling,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your country&#8217;s foes to fight,</span><br />
+And though I grieve, I murmur not,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I know we&#8217;re in the right.</span><br />
+Here&#8217;s your father&#8217;s sword and rifle,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Emulate him in the fight;</span><br />
+Let no coward stain be on your name,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That always has shone bright.</span><br />
+<br />
+Then farewell, my loved one,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May a widow&#8217;d mother&#8217;s prayer,</span><br />
+Still shield thy head in battle,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And God keep thee in His care;</span><br />
+Then use your sword and rifle well,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ne&#8217;er falter in the strife&mdash;</span><br />
+You fight for home and freedom,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For honor and for life.</span><br />
+<br />
+And when the &#8220;Stars and Bars&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Float in triumph o&#8217;er each band</span><br />
+That has driven the invaders back,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who dared pollute our land,</span><br />
+Then come back to me with honor,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a mother&#8217;s hand shall place</span><br />
+The laurel wreath your country gives<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each victor&#8217;s brow to grace.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p>
+<h2>WE SWEAR.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Louisville Courier.</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Kneel, ye Southrons, kneel and swear,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On your bleeding country&#8217;s altar,</span><br />
+All the tyrants&#8217; rage to dare,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">E&#8217;en the cursed tyrants&#8217; halter,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">We swear, we swear, we swear!</span><br />
+<br />
+Swear by all the shining stars,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Swear in blunt old Anglo-Saxon,</span><br />
+To defend the stars and bars<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hallowed by the blood of Jackson,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">We swear, etc.</span><br />
+<br />
+Swear by all the noble deeds,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By heroic valor prompted;</span><br />
+Swear that while our country bleeds,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gleaming blades shall not be wanted,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">We swear, etc.</span><br />
+<br />
+Swear our country shall be free;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Submit to subjugation? Never!</span><br />
+Swear the stars and bars shall be<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our insignia forever,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">We swear, etc.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p>
+<h2>FREEDOM&#8217;S NEW BANNER.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Dan. E. Townsend</span>, <i>Richmond Dispatch</i>, June 30, 1862.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>When clouds of oppression o&#8217;ershaded<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The banner that liberty bore,</span><br />
+Bright stars from the galaxy faded,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The day of its splendor was o&#8217;er;</span><br />
+Those stars, in a fresh constellation,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A sky in the South now adorn;</span><br />
+And blazon throughout all creation<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That freedom&#8217;s new banner is born.</span><br />
+<br />
+For the land that&#8217;s richest in beauty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The homestead of justice and right,</span><br />
+Whose sons are the foremost in duty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose daughters are peerless and bright:</span><br />
+For brave hearts in battle defending<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The honor and truth of our cause;</span><br />
+For our trust in victorious ending,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The welkin rings out its huzzas.</span><br />
+<br />
+Our lives and our fortunes enlisted,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our honor, our hopes, and our prayers,</span><br />
+Upholding the act that resisted<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wrong of a series of years.</span><br />
+May the Father in Heaven approve us,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In this the most sacred of wars;</span><br />
+May his hand, to protect, be above us<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While cheering the Stars and the Bars.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE BONNIE BLUE FLAG.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Harry Macarthy</span>.</p>
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>We are a band of brothers, and native to the soil,<br />
+Fighting for our liberty, with treasure, blood and toil;<br />
+And when our rights were threatened, the cry rose near and far,<br />
+Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag, that bears a Single Star!<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Hurrah! Hurrah! for Southern Rights, Hurrah!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Hurrah! for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star!</span><br />
+<br />
+As long as the Union was faithful to her trust,<br />
+Like friends and like brethren kind were we and just;<br />
+But now when Northern treachery attempts our rights to mar,<br />
+We hoist on high the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 22em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+First, gallant South Carolina nobly made the stand;<br />
+Then came Alabama, who took her by the hand;<br />
+Next, quickly Mississippi, Georgia and Florida,<br />
+All raised on high the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 22em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span><br />
+Ye men of valor, gather round the banner of the right,<br />
+Texas and fair Louisiana, join us in the fight;<br />
+Davis, our loved President, and Stephens, statesman rare,<br />
+Now rally round the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 22em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img04.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;The Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>And here&#8217;s to brave Virginia! the Old Dominion State,<br />
+With the young Confederacy at length has link&#8217;d her fate;<br />
+Impelled by her example, now other States prepare,<br />
+To hoist on high the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 22em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span><br />
+Then cheer, boys, raise the joyous shout,<br />
+For Arkansas and North Carolina now have both gone out;<br />
+And let another rousing cheer for Tennessee be given,<br />
+The Single Star of the Bonnie Blue Flag has grown to be Eleven.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 22em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Then here&#8217;s to our Confederacy, strong we are and brave,<br />
+Like patriots of old, we&#8217;ll fight our heritage to save;<br />
+And rather than submit to shame, to die we would prefer,<br />
+So cheer for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Hurrah! Hurrah! for Southern Rights, Hurrah!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Hurrah! for the Bonnie Blue Flag has gained the Eleventh Star!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>&#8220;OH, HE&#8217;S NOTHING BUT A SOLDIER.&#8221;</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Oh, he&#8217;s nothing but a soldier; he&#8217;s coming here to-night,<br />
+For I saw him pass this morning, with his uniform so bright;<br />
+He was coming in from picket, whilst he sang a sweet refrain,<br />
+And he kissed his hand at some one, peeping through the window pane.<br />
+<br />
+Ah! he rode no dashing charger, with black and flowing mane,<br />
+But his bayonet glistened brightly, as the sun lit up the plain;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>No waving plume or feather flashed its crimson in the light,<br />
+He belongs to the light infantry, and came to the war to fight.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, he&#8217;s nothing but a soldier, his trust is in his sword,<br />
+To carve his way to glory through the servile Yankee horde;<br />
+No pompous pageant heralds him, no sycophants attend;<br />
+In his belt you see his body guard, his tried and trusty friend.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, he&#8217;s nothing but a soldier, yet his eyes are very fine,<br />
+And I sometimes think, when passing, they&#8217;re peeping into mine;<br />
+Though he&#8217;s nothing but a soldier&mdash;come, let me be discreet&mdash;<br />
+Yet really for a soldier, his toilet&#8217;s very neat.<br />
+<br />
+He has been again to see us, the gentleman in gray,<br />
+He&#8217;s called to see us often, our house is on his way;<br />
+Ofttimes he sadly seeks the shade of yonder grove of trees,<br />
+I watched him once&mdash;this soldier&mdash;I saw him on his knees.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, he&#8217;s nothing but a soldier, but this I know full well.<br />
+He has a heart of softness, where tender virtues dwell;<br />
+For once when we were talking, and no one else was near,<br />
+I saw him very plainly try to hide a starting tear.<br />
+<br />
+Ah! he&#8217;s nothing but a soldier; but then its very queer.<br />
+Whenever he is absent I&#8217;d much rather have him near;<br />
+He&#8217;s gone to meet the foeman, to stay his bloody track,<br />
+O Heaven! shield the soldier; O God! let him come back.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SOUTHERN WAR-CRY.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Scots, wha hae.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Countrymen of Washington!<br />
+Countrymen of Jefferson!<br />
+By old Hick&#8217;ry oft led on<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To death or victory!</span><br />
+<br />
+Sons of men who fought and bled,<br />
+Whose blood for you was freely shed,<br />
+Where Marion charged and Sumpter led,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For freeman&#8217;s rights!</span><br />
+<br />
+From the Cowpens&#8217; glorious way,<br />
+Southron valor led the fray<br />
+To Yorktown&#8217;s eventful day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">First we were free!</span><br />
+<br />
+At New Orleans we met the foe;<br />
+Oppressors fell at every blow;<br />
+There we laid the usurper low,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For maids and wives!</span><br />
+<br />
+Who on Palo Alto&#8217;s day,<br />
+&#8217;Mid fire and hail at Monterey,<br />
+At Buena Vista, led the way?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">&#8220;Rough-and-Ready.&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+Southrons all; at Freedom&#8217;s call,<br />
+For our homes united all,<br />
+Freemen live, or freemen fall!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Death or liberty!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p>
+<h2>DIXIE&#8217;S LAND.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>As sung by the Confederate Soldier.</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Away down South in de fields of cotton,<br />
+Cinnamon seed and sandy bottom;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Look away, look away,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Look away, look away.</span><br />
+Den &#8217;way down South in de fields of cotton,<br />
+Vinegar shoes and paper stockings;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Look away, look away,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Look away, look away.</span><br />
+Den I wish I was in Dixie&#8217;s Land,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Oh&mdash;oh! Oh&mdash;oh!</span><br />
+In Dixie&#8217;s land I&#8217;ll take my stand,<br />
+And live and die in Dixie&#8217;s Land,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Away, away, away,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Away down South in Dixie.</span><br />
+<br />
+Pork and cabbage in de pot,<br />
+It goes in cold and comes out hot;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Look away, look away,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Look away, look away.</span><br />
+Vinegar put right on red beet,<br />
+It makes them always fit to eat;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Look away, look away,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Look away, look away.</span><br />
+Den I wish I was in Dixie&#8217;s Land,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Oh&mdash;oh! Oh&mdash;oh!</span><br />
+In Dixie&#8217;s land I&#8217;ll take my stand,<br />
+And live and die in Dixie&#8217;s Land,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Away, away, away,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Away down South in Dixie.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p>
+<h2>ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF LIEUT.-COL. CH. B. DREUX.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">James R. Randall</span>.</p>
+<p class="center">Permission of <span class="smcap">Henri Wehrman</span>, <i>New Orleans, La.</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Weep, Louisiana, weep! thy gallant dead<br />
+Weave the green laurel o&#8217;er the undaunted head!<br />
+Fling thy bright banner o&#8217;er the breast which bled<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Defending thee!</span><br />
+Weep, weep, Imperial City, deep and wild!<br />
+Weep for thy martyred and heroic child,<br />
+The young, the brave, the free, the undefiled,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Ah, weep for him.</span><br />
+Lo! lo! the wail surgeth from embatteled bands,<br />
+By Yorktown&#8217;s plains and Pensacola&#8217;s sands,<br />
+Re-echoing to the golden sugar lands,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Adieu! Adieu!</span><br />
+<br />
+The death of honor was the death he craved,<br />
+To die where weapons clashed and pennons waved,<br />
+To welcome Freedom o&#8217;er the opening impetuous grave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And live for aye!</span><br />
+His blood had too much lightning to be still,<br />
+His spirit was the torrent, not the rill,<br />
+The gods have loved him, and the Eternal Hill<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Is his at last!</span><br />
+He died while yet his chainless eye could roll,<br />
+Flashing the conflagrations of his soul,<br />
+The rose and mirror of the bold Creole,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">He sleepeth well.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span><br />
+Lament, lone mother, for his early fate,<br />
+But, bear thy burden with a hope elate,<br />
+For thou hast shrined thy jewels in the state,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">A priceless boon!</span><br />
+And thou, sad wife, thy sacred tears belong<br />
+To the untarnished and immortal throng,<br />
+For he shall fire the poet&#8217;s heart and song,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">In thrilling strains.</span><br />
+And the fair virgins of our sunny clime,<br />
+Shall wed their music to the minstrel&#8217;s rhyme,<br />
+Making his fame melodious for all time;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">It cannot die.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>BULL RUN.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">A PARODY.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>At Bull Run, when the sun was low,<br />
+Each Southern face grew pale as snow,<br />
+While loud as jackdaws rose the crow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Yankees boasting terribly!</span><br />
+<br />
+But Bull Run saw another sight,<br />
+When, at the deepening shades of night,<br />
+Toward Fairfax Court House rose the flight<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Yankees running rapidly.</span><br />
+<br />
+Then broke each corps with terror riven,<br />
+Then rushed the steeds from battle driven,<br />
+For men of battery Number Seven<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forsook their Red Artillery!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span><br />
+Still on McDowell&#8217;s farthest left,<br />
+The roar of cannon strikes one deaf,<br />
+Where furious Abe and fiery Jeff<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Contend for death or victory.</span><br />
+<br />
+The panic thickens&mdash;off, ye brave!<br />
+Throw down your arms! your bacon save!<br />
+Waive Washington, all scruples waive,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fly, with all your chivalry!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>HURRAH!</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By a <span class="smcap">Mississippian</span>.&mdash;<i>Mobile Register.</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Hurrah! for the Southern Confederate State,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With her banner of white, red, and blue;</span><br />
+Hurrah! for her daughters, the fairest on earth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And her sons, ever loyal and true!</span><br />
+Hurrah! and hurrah! for her brave volunteers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Enlisted for freedom or death;</span><br />
+Hurrah! for Jeff. Davis, commander-in-chief,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And three cheers for the Palmetto wreath!</span><br />
+Hurrah! for each heart that is right in the cause;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That cause we&#8217;ll protect with our lives;</span><br />
+Hurrah! for the first one who dies on the field,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hurrah! for each one who survives!</span><br />
+Hurrah! for the South&mdash;shout hurrah! and hurrah!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O&#8217;er her soil shall no tyrant have sway,</span><br />
+In peace or in war we will ever be found<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;Invincible,&#8221; now and for aye.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p>
+<h2>GATHERING SONG.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Bonnie Blue Flag.&#8221;</i></p>
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Annie C. Ketchum</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Come, brothers! rally for the right!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bravest of the brave</span><br />
+Sends forth her ringing battle-cry<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside the Atlantic wave!</span><br />
+She leads the way in honor&#8217;s path!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, brothers, near and far,</span><br />
+Come rally &#8217;round the Bonnie Blue Flag<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That bears a single star!</span><br />
+<br />
+We&#8217;ve borne the Yankee trickery,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Yankee gibe and sneer,</span><br />
+Till Yankee insolence and pride<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Know neither shame nor fear;</span><br />
+But ready now, with shot and steel,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their brazen front to mar,</span><br />
+We hoist aloft the Bonnie Blue Flag<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That bears a single star!</span><br />
+<br />
+Now Georgia marches to the front,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And close beside her come</span><br />
+Her sisters by the Mexique Sea,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With pealing trump and drum!</span><br />
+Till, answering back from hill and glen,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The rallying cry afar,</span><br />
+A <span class="smcap">Nation</span> hoists the Bonnie Blue Flag<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That bears a single star!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span><br />
+By every stone in Charleston Bay,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By each beleaguered town,</span><br />
+We swear to rest not, night nor day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But hunt the tyrants down!</span><br />
+Till, bathed in valor&#8217;s holy blood,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The gazing world afar,</span><br />
+Shall greet with shouts the Bonnie Blue Flag,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That bears the cross and star!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>A SOUTHERN SONG.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Miss Maria Grason</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>While crimson drops our hearthstones stain,<br />
+And Northern despots forge our chain,<br />
+O God! shall freemen strike in vain?<br />
+<br />
+Shall tyrants desecrate the sod<br />
+Our fathers hallowed with their blood,<br />
+Or cowards tread where heroes trod?<br />
+<br />
+The lowering tempest darkens round;<br />
+And at the bugle&#8217;s silvery sound<br />
+The fiery war-horse spurns the ground.<br />
+<br />
+The thunder of his iron tread<br />
+Sweeps o&#8217;er the dying and the dead;<br />
+The trembling earth is blushing red.<br />
+<br />
+&#8217;Mid wreathing smoke, and flashing steel,<br />
+And blazing cannons&#8217; deafening peal<br />
+Our brave battalions charge and wheel.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span><br />
+The maiden sees her lover there!<br />
+Far in the battle&#8217;s lurid glare<br />
+He stands, his only shield her prayer.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, may that warrior in his pride<br />
+Return with honor to her side,<br />
+Or die as old Dentatus died!<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Queen Anne Co., Md.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>A CONFEDERATE OFFICER TO HIS LADY LOVE.</h2>
+
+<p class="note"><span class="smcap">Maj. McKnight</span> (&#8220;Asa Hartz&#8221;), A. A. G., General Loring&#8217;s staff, while a
+prisoner of war, at Johnston&#8217;s Island, wrote the following:</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>My love reposes on a rosewood frame&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">A bunk have I;</span><br />
+A couch of feathery down fills up the same&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Mine&#8217;s straw, but dry;</span><br />
+She sinks to sleep at night with scarce a sigh&mdash;<br />
+With waking eyes I watch the hours creep by.<br />
+<br />
+My love her daily dinner takes in state&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And so do I(?);</span><br />
+The richest viands flank her silver plate&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Coarse grub have I?</span><br />
+Pure wines she sips at ease, her thirst to slake&mdash;<br />
+I pump my drink from Erie&#8217;s limpid lake!</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img05.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;Three Acres I.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>My love has all the world at will to roam&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Three acres I;</span><br />
+She goes abroad or quiet sits at home&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">So cannot I;</span><br />
+Bright angels watch around her couch at night&mdash;<br />
+A Yank, with loaded gun, keeps me in sight.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span><br />
+A thousand weary miles do stretch between<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">My love and I;</span><br />
+To her, this wintry night, cold, calm, serene,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">I waft a sigh;</span><br />
+And hope, with all my earnestness of soul,<br />
+To-morrow&#8217;s mail may bring me my parole!</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img06.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;We&#8217;ll one day meet again.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>There&#8217;s hope ahead! We&#8217;ll one day meet again,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">My love and I;</span><br />
+We&#8217;ll wipe away all tears of sorrow then&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Her love-lit eye,</span><br />
+Will all my many troubles then beguile,<br />
+And keep this wayward reb. from Johnston&#8217;s Isle.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE SOUTHERN MARSEILLAISE.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.]</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Ye men of Southern hearts and feeling,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Arm! arm! your struggling country calls!</span><br />
+Hear ye the guns now loudly pealing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From Sumpter&#8217;s high embattled walls!</span><br />
+Shall a fanatic horde in power<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Send forth a base and hireling band</span><br />
+To desolate our happy land<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And make our Southern freemen cower?</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus</span>&mdash;To arms, to arms! each one,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">Th&#8217; sword unsheathe, and raise the gun,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">Then on, rush on, ye brave and free,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">To death and victory.</span><br />
+<br />
+Now clouds of war begin to gather,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And black and murky is our sky&mdash;</span><br />
+Shall we submit&mdash;no, never, never!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let death or freedom be our cry&mdash;</span><br />
+In Heaven&#8217;s justice firm relying,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We&#8217;ll nobly struggle to be free,</span><br />
+And bravely gain our liberty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or die our Northern foes defying.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+The peaceful homes of Texas burning,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Harper&#8217;s Ferry&#8217;s blood-stained soil,</span><br />
+Proclaim how strong their hearts are yearning,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">For murder, pillage, crime and spoil.</span><br />
+Shall we our feelings longer smother,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bear with patience yet our wrongs,</span><br />
+Their jeers, their crimes, their taunts and thongs<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And greet them still as friend and brother?</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Their tyranny we&#8217;ll bear no longer,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But burst asunder every tie,</span><br />
+Although in number they are stronger,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We will be free, or we will die!</span><br />
+Too long the South has wept, bewailing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That falsehood&#8217;s dagger Yankees wield,</span><br />
+But freedom is our sword and shield,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all their arts are unavailing.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>A SOUTHERN GATHERING SONG.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">L. Virginia French</span>.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Hail Columbia.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Sons of the South, beware the foe!<br />
+Hark to the murmur, deep and low,<br />
+Rolling up like the coming storm,<br />
+Swelling up like the sounding storm,<br />
+Hoarse as the hurricanes that brood<br />
+In space&#8217;s far infinitude!<br />
+Minute guns of omen boom<br />
+Through the future&#8217;s folded gloom;<br />
+Sounds prophetic fill the air,<br />
+Heed the warning&mdash;and prepare!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Watch! be wary&mdash;every hour</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Mark the foeman&#8217;s gathering power&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Keep watch and ward upon his track</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And crush the rash invaders back!</span><br />
+<br />
+Sons of the brave!&mdash;a barrier staunch<br />
+Breasting the alien avalanche&mdash;<br />
+Manning the battlements of <span class="smcap">Right</span>;<br />
+Up, for your <i>Country</i>, &#8220;<i>God and right</i>!&#8221;<br />
+Form your battalions steadily,<br />
+And strike for death or victory!<br />
+Surging onward sweeps the wave,<br />
+Serried columns of the brave,<br />
+Banded &#8217;neath the benison of<br />
+Freedom&#8217;s godlike Washington!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Stand! but should the invading foe</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Aspire to lay your altars low,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Charge on the tyrant ere he gain</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Your iron-arteried domain!</span><br />
+<br />
+Sons of the brave! when tumult trod<br />
+The tide of revolution&mdash;God<br />
+Looked from His throne on &#8220;the things of time,&#8221;<br />
+And two new stars in the reign of time,<br />
+He bade to burn in the azure dome&mdash;<br />
+The freeman&#8217;s <span class="smcap">Love</span> and the freeman&#8217;s <span class="smcap">Home</span>!<br />
+Holy of Holies! guard them well,<br />
+Baffle the despot&#8217;s secret spell,<br />
+And let the chords of life be riven,<br />
+Ere you yield those gifts of heaven!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Io paean!</i> trumpet notes,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Shake the air where our banner floats;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Io triumphe!</i> still we see</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>The land of the South is the home of the free!</i></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CONFEDERATE LAND.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">H. H. Strawbridge</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>States of the South! Confederate Land!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our foe has come&mdash;the hour is nigh;</span><br />
+His bale-fires rise on every hand&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rise as one man, to do or die!</span><br />
+From mountain, vale, and prairie wide,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From forest vast, and field, and glen,</span><br />
+And crowded city, pour thy tide,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh fervid South! Oh patriot men!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus</span>&mdash;Up! old and young; the weak, be strong!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.25em;">Rise for the right,&mdash;hurl back the wrong,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">And foot to foot, and hand to hand,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.25em;">Strike for our own Confederate Land!</span><br />
+<br />
+Make every house, and rock, and tree,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hill, your forts; and fen and flood</span><br />
+Yield not! our soil shall rather be<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One waste of flame, one sea of blood!</span><br />
+On! though perennial be the strife,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For honor dear, for hearthstone fires;</span><br />
+Give blow for blow! take life for life!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;Strike! &#8217;till the last armed foe expires!&#8221;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p>
+<h2>WE&#8217;LL BE FREE IN MARYLAND.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">R. E. Holtz</span>.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Gideon&#8217;s Band.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>The boys down South in Dixie&#8217;s land,<br />
+The boys down South in Dixie&#8217;s land,<br />
+The boys down South in Dixie&#8217;s land<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will come and rescue Maryland.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;If you will join the Dixie band,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Here&#8217;s my heart and here&#8217;s my hand,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">If you will join the Dixie band;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">We&#8217;re fighting for a home.</span><br />
+<br />
+The Northern foes have trod us down,<br />
+The Northern foes have trod us down,<br />
+The Northern foes have trod us down,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But we will rise with true renown.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+The tyrants they must leave our door,<br />
+The tyrants they must leave our door,<br />
+The tyrants they must leave our door,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then we&#8217;ll be free in Baltimore.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+These hirelings they&#8217;ll never stand,<br />
+These hirelings they&#8217;ll never stand,<br />
+These hirelings they&#8217;ll never stand,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whenever they see the Southern band.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span><br />
+Old Abe has got into a trap,<br />
+Old Abe has got into a trap,<br />
+Old Abe has got into a trap,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he can&#8217;t get out with his Scotch cap.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Nobody&#8217;s hurt is easy spun,<br />
+Nobody&#8217;s hurt is easy spun,<br />
+Nobody&#8217;s hurt is easy spun,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the Yankees caught it at Bull Run.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+We&#8217;ll rally to Jeff Davis true,<br />
+Beauregard and Johnston, too,<br />
+Magruder, Price, and General Bragg,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And give three cheers for the Southern Flag.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+We&#8217;ll drink this toast to one and all,<br />
+Keep cocked and primed for the Southern call;<br />
+The day will come, we&#8217;ll make a stand,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then we&#8217;ll be free in Maryland.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">January 30, 1862.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img07.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">Artillery Button.</p>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE SOUTHRON&#8217;S WAR-SONG.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">J. A. Waginer</span>. <i>Charleston Courier.</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Arise! arise! with main and might,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sons of the sunny clime!</span><br />
+Gird on the sword; the sacred fight<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The holy hour doth chime.</span><br />
+Arise, the craven host draws nigh,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In thundering array;</span><br />
+Arise! ye braves! let cowards fly&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The hero bides the fray.</span><br />
+<br />
+Strike hard, strike hard, thou noble band;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strike hard with arm of fire!</span><br />
+Strike hard, for God and fatherland,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For mother, wife, and sire!</span><br />
+Let thunders roar, the lightning flash<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bold Southrons never fear</span><br />
+The bay&#8217;net&#8217;s point, the sabre&#8217;s crash&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">True Southrons, do and dare!</span><br />
+<br />
+Bright flow&#8217;rs spring from the hero&#8217;s grave;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The craven knows no rest!</span><br />
+Thrice curs&#8217;d the traitor and the knave!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The hero thrice is bless&#8217;d.</span><br />
+Then let each noble Southron stand,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With bold and manly eye:</span><br />
+We&#8217;ll do for God and fatherland;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We&#8217;ll do, we&#8217;ll do, or die!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p>
+<h2>KNITTING FOR THE SOLDIERS.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Mary J. Upshur</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Knitting for the soldiers.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How the needles fly!</span><br />
+Now with sounds of merriment&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now with many a sigh!</span><br />
+<br />
+Knitting for the soldiers!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Panoply for feet&mdash;</span><br />
+Onward, bound to victory!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rushing in retreat!</span><br />
+<br />
+Knitting for the soldiers!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wrinkled&mdash;aged crone,</span><br />
+Plying flying needles<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the ember stone.</span><br />
+<br />
+Crooning ancient ballads,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rocking to and fro,</span><br />
+In your sage divining,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Say where these shall go?</span><br />
+<br />
+Jaunty set of stockings,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Neat from top to toe,</span><br />
+March they with the victor?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lie with vanquished low?</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span><br />
+Knitting for the soldiers!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Matron&mdash;merry maid,</span><br />
+Many and many a blessing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Many a prayer is said,</span><br />
+<br />
+While the glittering needles<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fly &#8220;around! around!&#8221;</span><br />
+Like to Macbeth&#8217;s witches<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On enchanted ground.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img08.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&#8220;Knitting for the soldiers<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wrinkled&mdash;aged crone.&#8221;</span></td></tr></table>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Knitting for the soldiers<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still another pair!</span><br />
+And the feet that wear them<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Speed thee onward&mdash;where?</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span><br />
+To the silent city,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On their trackless way?</span><br />
+Homeward&mdash;bearing garlands?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who of us shall say?</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img09.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&#8220;Knitting for the soldiers!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Matron&mdash;merry maid.&#8221;</span></td></tr></table>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Knitting for the soldiers!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heaven bless them all!</span><br />
+Those who win the battle,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those who fighting fall.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span><br />
+Might our benedictions<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Speedily win reply,</span><br />
+Early would they crown ye<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All with victory.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Norfolk, Va.</span>, October 8, 1861.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>PATRIOTIC SONG.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Dr. John W. Paine</span>, Lexington, Va., June 30, 1862.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Gathering of the Clans.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Rise, rise, mountain and valley men,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bald sire and beardless son, each come in order,</span><br />
+True loyal patriots, muster and rally, men;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drive the invader clear over the border;</span><br />
+Down from the mountain steep, up from the valley deep,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come from the city, the town, and the village,</span><br />
+Let every loyal heart in the strife take a part,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rescue our country from rapine and pillage.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Rise, rise, etc.</span><br />
+<br />
+Men of the valley, descendants of heroes&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heroes whom Washington honored and trusted&mdash;</span><br />
+Heirs of the fame and the hills of your fathers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Men who have never been daunted or worsted;</span><br />
+Long, like all true men, we cherished the Union,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Long did we strive for our country&#8217;s salvation;</span><br />
+Now when our very existence is threatened,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rush to the rescue without hesitation.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Rise, rise, etc.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span><br />
+Say, shall we suffer the ruthless invader<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O&#8217;er our fair valley to marshal his legions?</span><br />
+Loud calls Virginia, let every man aid her&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Aid her, and thus show his truth and allegiance.</span><br />
+Hark to the battle-cry, rush on to victory!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Banished forever be party and faction;</span><br />
+Let every loyal man rush to be in the van,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Led by the dauntless, the conqueror, Jackson.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Rise, rise, etc.</span><br />
+<br />
+&mdash;<i>Richmond Dispatch.</i></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>OUR BRAVES IN VIRGINIA.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Dixie Land.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>We have ridden from the brave Southwest,<br />
+On fiery steeds, with throbbing breast;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!</span><br />
+With sabre flash and rifle true,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hurrah! hurrah!&mdash;</span><br />
+The Northern ranks we will cut through,<br />
+And charge for old Virginia, boys;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hurrah! hurrah!</span><br />
+<br />
+We have come from the cloud-capp&#8217;d mountains,<br />
+From the land of purest fountains;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!</span><br />
+Our sweethearts and wives conjure us,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hurrah! hurrah!</span><br />
+Not to leave a foe before us,<br />
+And strike for old Virginia, boys;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hurrah! hurrah!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span><br />
+Then we&#8217;ll rally to the bugle call;<br />
+For Southern rights we&#8217;ll fight and fall;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!</span><br />
+Our grey-haired sires sternly say,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hurrah! hurrah!</span><br />
+That we must die or win the day,<br />
+Three cheers for old Virginia, boys,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hurrah! hurrah!</span><br />
+<br />
+Then our silken banner wave on high;<br />
+For Southern homes we&#8217;ll fight and die;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!</span><br />
+Our cause is right, our quarrel just,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hurrah! hurrah!</span><br />
+We&#8217;ll in the God of battles trust,<br />
+And conquer for Virginia, boys,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hurrah! hurrah!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>BATTLE SONG OF THE INVADED.</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>The foe! the foe! They come! they come!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Light up the beacon pyre;</span><br />
+Light every hill and mountain home,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give back the signal fire;</span><br />
+And wave the red cross on the night,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The blood-red cross of war&mdash;</span><br />
+What though we perish in the fight!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our fathers died before!</span><br />
+<br />
+Hark! lo their shouts upon the breeze,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their banners in the sun,</span><br />
+And like the thunder of the seas<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their deep tread thunders on.</span><br />
+We&#8217;ll meet them here on each bold height,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In every glen make head&mdash;</span><br />
+And give the battle to the right;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We will be free or dead.</span><br />
+<br />
+We stand on sacred, holy ground,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where thousand memories meet;</span><br />
+Our fathers&#8217; homes are all around,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their graves beneath our feet;</span><br />
+Our roofs are mouldering far and wide,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That late smiled in the sun;</span><br />
+Our brides are weeping at our sides;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gods! let them then come on!</span><br />
+<br />
+Hurrah! hurrah! he gleams in sight;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It fires the brain to see</span><br />
+How the proud spoiler flashes bright<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In war&#8217;s gay panoply;</span><br />
+We&#8217;ll show him that our fathers&#8217; brands<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor rust nor time can stay;</span><br />
+With tramp and shouts, bold hearts and hands,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Up, freemen, and away!</span><br />
+<br />
+The work is done, the strife is o&#8217;er,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The whirlwinds thundered by,&mdash;</span><br />
+There&#8217;s not from hill to ocean shore<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A foeman left to die.</span><br />
+Our brides are thronging every height,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They wave us weeping home;</span><br />
+God gives the battle to the right&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Back to our hearth-stones, come!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE SONG OF THE SNOW.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Mrs. M. J. Preston</span>, Lexington, Va.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Halt! the march is over;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Day is almost done;</span><br />
+Loose the cumbrous knapsack,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drop the heavy gun.</span><br />
+Chilled, and worn, and weary,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wander to and fro,</span><br />
+Seeking wood to kindle<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fires amidst the snow.</span><br />
+<br />
+Round the camp-blaze gather,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heed not sleep nor cold;</span><br />
+Ye are Spartan soldiers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strong, and brave, and bold.</span><br />
+Never Xerxian army<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet subdued a foe,</span><br />
+Who but asked a blanket<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On a bed of snow!</span><br />
+<br />
+Shivering &#8217;midst the darkness,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Christian men are found</span><br />
+There devoutly kneeling<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the frozen ground;</span><br />
+Pleading for their country<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In its hour of woe,</span><br />
+For its soldiers marching<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shoeless through the snow!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span><br />
+Lost in heavy slumbers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Free from toil and strife,</span><br />
+Dreaming of their dear ones&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Home, and child, and wife;</span><br />
+Tentless they are lying,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While the fires burn low&mdash;</span><br />
+Lying in their blankets,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Midst December&#8217;s snow.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>A NEW RED, WHITE AND BLUE.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Written for a Lady, by <span class="smcap">Jeff. Thompson</span>.</p>
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,Mass., owners of the copyright.]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Missouri is the pride of the Nation,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The hope of the brave and the free;</span><br />
+The Confederacy will furnish the rations,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the fighting is trusted to thee;</span><br />
+For, brave boys, your soil has been noted,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And your flag has been trusted to you;</span><br />
+For freedom you have not yet voted,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But you fight for the Red, White and Blue.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Three cheers, etc.<br />
+<br />
+The Stars shall shine bright in the heaven,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the Stripes should be trailed in the dust,</span><br />
+For they are no longer the sign of the haven<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the brave, of the free, or the just;</span><br />
+The Bars now in triumph shall wave<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O&#8217;er the land of the faithful and true;</span><br />
+O&#8217;er the home of the Southern brave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall float the new Red, White and Blue.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p>
+<h2>WAR SONG.</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Come! come! come!<br />
+Come, brothers you are called;<br />
+Come, each one unappalled;<br />
+Come and defend your home!<br />
+<br />
+Come! come! come!<br />
+The cannon&#8217;s belching roar,<br />
+The musket&#8217;s deadly pour&mdash;<br />
+Cry, men, defend your home!<br />
+<br />
+Come! come! come!<br />
+Let the invitation sound,<br />
+Through town and country round,<br />
+Come, men, defend your home!<br />
+<br />
+Come! come! come!<br />
+With a prayer to Him on high;<br />
+God grant us victory,<br />
+While fighting for our home.<br />
+<br />
+Come! come! come!<br />
+Wait not, lest you live to see<br />
+Your loved ones crushed by tyranny,<br />
+And desolate your home!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p>
+<h2>ALL QUIET ALONG THE POTOMAC TO-NIGHT.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Lamar Fontaine</span>.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by <span class="smcap">J. H. Hewett</span>.</p>
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass.]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&#8220;All quiet along the Potomac to-night!&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Except here and there a stray picket</span><br />
+Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By a rifleman hid in the thicket.</span><br />
+<br />
+&#8217;Tis nothing! a private or two now and then<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will not count in the news of a battle;</span><br />
+Not an officer lost! only one of the men<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle.</span><br />
+<br />
+&#8220;All quiet along the Potomac to-night!&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;</span><br />
+And their tents in the rays of the clear Autumn moon,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the light of their camp-fires are gleaming.</span><br />
+<br />
+A tremulous sigh, as a gentle night wind<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the forest leaves slowly is creeping;</span><br />
+While the stars up above, with their glittering eyes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Keep guard o&#8217;er the army while sleeping.</span><br />
+<br />
+There&#8217;s only the sound of the lone sentry&#8217;s tread,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As he tramps from rock to the fountain,</span><br />
+And thinks of the two on the low trundle bed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far away, in the cot on the mountain.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span><br />
+His musket falls slack, his face, dark and grim,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grows gentle with memories tender.</span><br />
+As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And their mother&mdash;&#8220;may heaven defend her!&#8221;</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img10.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;There&#8217;s only the sound of the lone sentry&#8217;s tread.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>The moon seems to shine forth as brightly as then&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That night, when the love, yet unspoken,</span><br />
+Leaped up to his lips, and when low-murmured vows<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were pledged to be ever unbroken.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span><br />
+Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He dashes off tears that are welling;</span><br />
+And gathers his gun closer up to his breast,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if to keep down the heart&#8217;s swelling.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img11.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;And his life-blood is ebbing and splashing.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his footstep is lagging and weary;</span><br />
+Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Towards the shades of the forest so dreary.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span><br />
+Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing?</span><br />
+It looked like a rifle: &#8220;Ha, Mary, good-by!&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his life-blood is ebbing and splashing.</span><br />
+<br />
+&#8220;All quiet along the Potomac to-night!&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No sound save the rush of the river;</span><br />
+While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the picket&#8217;s off duty forever!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>&#8220;INDEPENDENCE DAY.&#8221;</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Oh, Freedom is a blessed thing!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And men have marched in stricken fields,</span><br />
+And fought, and bled, to nobly grasp<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The glorious fruit that freedom yields.</span><br />
+Then let the banner float the air,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fairest ones of freedom&#8217;s types&mdash;</span><br />
+The stars are fading one by one&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What matter? We have still the stripes!</span><br />
+Oh! happy men of Maryland,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Remember! we have still the stripes!</span><br />
+<br />
+Why heed the cannon in your streets,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bayonets that block your way?</span><br />
+Rejoice, for you were free men once,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And this is, &#8220;Independence Day.&#8221;</span><br />
+Then let the banner float the air,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fairest one of freedom&#8217;s types&mdash;</span><br />
+The stars are fading one by one&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What matter? we have still the stripes!</span><br />
+Oh! happy men of Maryland,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Remember! we have still the stripes!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p>
+<h2>FLIGHT OF DOODLES.</h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>I come from old Manassas, with a pocket full of fun&mdash;<br />
+I killed forty Yankees with a single-barrelled gun;<br />
+It don&#8217;t make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,<br />
+Big Yankee, little Yankee, all run or die.<br />
+<br />
+I saw all the Yankees at Bull Run,<br />
+They fought like the devil when the battle first begun,<br />
+But it don&#8217;t make a niff-a-stifference to neither you or I<br />
+They took to their heels, boys, and you ought to see &#8217;em fly.<br />
+<br />
+I saw old Fuss-and-Feathers Scott, twenty miles away,<br />
+His horses stuck up their ears, and you ought to hear &#8217;em neigh;<br />
+But it don&#8217;t make niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,<br />
+Old Scott fled like the devil, boys; root, hog, or die.<br />
+<br />
+I then saw a &#8220;Tiger,&#8221; from the old Crescent City,<br />
+He cut down the Yankees without any pity:<br />
+Oh! it don&#8217;t make a diff-a-bitterence to neither you nor I,<br />
+We whipped the Yankee boys, and made the boobies cry.<br />
+<br />
+I saw South Carolina, the first in the cause,<br />
+Shake the dirty Yankees till she broke all their jaws;<br />
+Oh! it don&#8217;t make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,<br />
+South Carolina give &#8217;em&mdash;boys; root, hog, or die.<br />
+<br />
+I saw old Virginia, standing firm and true,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>She fought mighty hard to whip the dirty crew;<br />
+Oh! it don&#8217;t make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,<br />
+Old Virginia&#8217;s blood and thunder, boys; root, hog, or die.<br />
+<br />
+I saw old Georgia, the next in the van,<br />
+She cut down the Yankees almost to a man;<br />
+Oh! it don&#8217;t make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,<br />
+Georgia&#8217;s some in a fight, boys; root, hog, or die.<br />
+<br />
+I saw Alabama in the midst of the storm,<br />
+She stood like a giant in the contest so warm;<br />
+Oh! it don&#8217;t make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,<br />
+Alabama fought the Yankees, boys, till the last one did fly.<br />
+<br />
+I saw Texas go in with a smile,<br />
+But I tell you what it is, she made the Yankees bile;<br />
+Oh! it don&#8217;t make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,<br />
+Texas is the devil, boys; root, hog, or die.<br />
+<br />
+I saw North Carolina in the deepest of the battle,<br />
+She knocked down the Yankees and made their bones rattle;<br />
+Oh! it don&#8217;t make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,<br />
+North Carolina&#8217;s got the grit, boys; root, hog, or die.<br />
+<br />
+Old Florida came in with a terrible shout,<br />
+She frightened all the Yankees till their eyes stuck out;<br />
+Oh! it don&#8217;t make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,<br />
+Florida&#8217;s death on Yankees; root, hog, or die.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p>
+<h2>LAND OF KING COTTON.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Jo. Augustine Signaigo</span>.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Red, White and Blue.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<p class="center">(This was a favorite song of the Tennessee troops, but especially of the
+13th and 154th Regiments. Memphis <i>Appeal</i>, Dec. 9, 1861.)</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Oh! Dixie, the land of King Cotton,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;The home of the brave and the free,&#8221;</span><br />
+A nation by freedom begotten,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The terror of despots to be;</span><br />
+Wherever thy banner is streaming,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Base tyranny quails at thy feet,</span><br />
+And liberty&#8217;s sunlight is beaming,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In splendor of majesty sweet.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus</span>&mdash;Three cheers for our army so true,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.25em;">Three cheers for Price, Johnson, and Lee:</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">Beauregard, and our Davis forever,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.25em;">The pride of the brave and the free!</span><br />
+<br />
+When Liberty sounds her war-rattle,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Demanding her right and her due,</span><br />
+The first land that rallies to battle<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is Dixie, the shrine of the true:</span><br />
+Thick as leaves of the forest in Summer,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her brave sons will rise on each plain,</span><br />
+And then strike, until each vandal comer<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lies dead on the soil he would stain.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span><br />
+May the names of the dead that we cherish,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fill memory&#8217;s cup to the brim;</span><br />
+May the laurels they&#8217;ve won never perish,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;Nor star of their glory grow dim;&#8221;</span><br />
+May the States of the South never sever,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the champions of freedom e&#8217;er be;</span><br />
+May they flourish Confed&#8217;rate forever,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The boast of the brave and the free.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE SOUTHERN SOLDIER BOY.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">As sung by <span class="smcap">Miss Sallie Partington</span>, in the &#8220;Virginia Cavalier,&#8221; Richmond,
+Va., 1863.<br />Composed by Captain <span class="smcap">G. W. Alexander</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;The Boy with the Auburn Hair.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<p class="note">The sentiments of this song pleased the Confederate Soldiers, and for more
+than a year, the New Richmond Theatre was nightly filled by &#8220;Blockade
+Rebels,&#8221; who greeted with wild hurrahs, &#8220;Miss Sallie,&#8221; the prima donna of
+the Confederacy.</p>
+
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.]</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Bob Roebuck is my sweetheart&#8217;s name,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He&#8217;s off to the wars and gone,</span><br />
+He&#8217;s fighting for his Nannie dear,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His sword is buckled on;</span><br />
+He&#8217;s fighting for his own true love,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His foes he does defy;</span><br />
+He is the darling of my heart,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My Southern soldier boy.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span><br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.75em;">He is my only joy,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.75em;">He is the darling of my heart,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.75em;">My Southern soldier boy.</span><br />
+<br />
+When Bob comes home from war&#8217;s alarms,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We start anew in life,</span><br />
+I&#8217;ll give myself right up to him,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A dutiful, loving wife.</span><br />
+I&#8217;ll try my best to please my dear<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For he is my only joy;</span><br />
+He is the darling of my heart<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My Southern soldier boy.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.75em;">He is my only joy,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.75em;">He is the darling of my heart,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.75em;">My Southern soldier boy.</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh! if in battle he was slain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I am sure that I should die,</span><br />
+But I am sure he&#8217;ll come again<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cheer my weeping eye;</span><br />
+But should he fall in this our glorious cause,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He still would be my joy</span><br />
+For many a sweetheart mourns the loss,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of a Southern soldier boy.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.75em;">I&#8217;d grieve to lose my joy,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.75em;">But many a sweetheart mourns the loss</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.75em;">Of a Southern soldier boy.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span><br />
+I hope for the best, and so do all<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose hopes are in the field;</span><br />
+I know that we shall win the day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Southrons never yield,</span><br />
+And when we think of those that are away,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We&#8217;ll look above for joy,</span><br />
+And I&#8217;m mighty glad that my Bobby is<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Southern soldier boy.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>REBEL IS A SACRED NAME.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Written by an inmate of the old Capitol Prison, Washington City.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Rebel is a sacred name;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Traitor, too, is glorious;</span><br />
+By such names our father&#8217;s fought&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By them were victorious.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus</span>&mdash;Gaily floats our rebel flag<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.25em;">Over hill and valley&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">Broad its bars, and bright its stars,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.25em;">Calling us to rally.</span><br />
+<br />
+Washington a rebel was,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jefferson a traitor,&mdash;</span><br />
+But their treason won success,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And made their glory greater.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span><br />
+O&#8217;er our southern sunny strand<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vandal feet are treading;</span><br />
+And the Hessians on our land<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Devastation spreading.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Can you then inactive be?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Maidens fair are saying;</span><br />
+And their bright eyes shame us out<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With this long delaying.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Rouse ye, children of the free,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rally to our streamer;</span><br />
+The vandal flag floats o&#8217;er our land,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awaken, Southern dreamer!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Rebel arms shall win the fight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rebel prayers defend us;</span><br />
+Rebel maidens greet us home,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When tyrants no more rend us.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Words and Music by <span class="smcap">John M. Hewett</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Our flag is unfurl&#8217;d and our arms flash bright,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the sun rides up the sky;</span><br />
+But ere I join the doubting fight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lovely maid, I would say, &#8220;Good by.&#8221;</span><br />
+I&#8217;m a young volunteer, and my heart is true<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the flag that woos the wind;</span><br />
+Then, three cheers for that flag and our country, too,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the girls we leave behind.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Then adieu! then adieu! &#8217;tis the last bugle&#8217;s strain<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.75em;">That is falling on the ear;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.75em;">Should it so be decreed that we ne&#8217;er meet again,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.75em;">Oh! remember the young volunteer.</span><br />
+<br />
+When over the desert, thro&#8217; burning rays,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a heavy heart I tread;</span><br />
+Or when I breast the cannon&#8217;s blaze,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bemoan my comrades dead,</span><br />
+Then, then, I will think of my home and you,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And our flag shall kiss the wind;</span><br />
+With huzza for our cause and our country, too,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the girls we leave behind.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 18em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p>
+<h2>GOOBER PEAS.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Words by <span class="smcap">A. Pender</span>.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by <span class="smcap">P. Nutt</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be obtained of Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass.]</p>
+
+<p class="note">One of the most widely known Confederate Songs. The melody suited a
+soldier, and in his gayest mood he rolled out: &#8220;Peas! Peas! Peas!&#8221; with a
+gusto that was charming.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Sitting by the roadside on a summer day,<br />
+Chatting with my messmates, passing time away,<br />
+Lying in the shadow underneath the trees,<br />
+Goodness, how delicious, eating goober peas!<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Peas! Peas! Peas! Peas! eating goober peas!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Goodness, how delicious, eating goober peas!</span><br />
+<br />
+When a horseman passes, the soldiers have a rule,<br />
+To cry out at their loudest, &#8220;Mister, here&#8217;s your mule,&#8221;<br />
+But another pleasure enchantinger than these,<br />
+Is wearing out your grinders, eating goober peas!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Just before the battle the General hears a row,<br />
+He says &#8220;The Yanks are coming, I hear their rifles now,&#8221;<br />
+He turns around in wonder, and what do you think he sees?<br />
+The Georgia militia eating goober peas!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img12.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;Lying in the shadow underneath the trees.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>I think my song has lasted almost long enough,<br />
+The subject&#8217;s interesting, but the rhymes are mighty rough,<br />
+I wish this war was over, when free from rags and fleas,<br />
+We&#8217;d kiss our wives and sweethearts and gobble goober peas!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>OUR COUNTRY&#8217;S CALL.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">H. Walther</span>.</p>
+<p class="center">[Permission of Henri Wehrmann.]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>To arms! Oh! men in all our Southern clime,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do you not scent the battle from afar,</span><br />
+And hear the ringing clash of armor chime,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where men have met all panoplied for war?</span><br />
+To arms! Let not your country call in vain<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For willing hearts to shield her from the foe,</span><br />
+But let the ardor of a patriot&#8217;s fame<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brightly within each manly bosom glow.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;But let the ardor of a patriot&#8217;s fame<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Brightly within each manly bosom glow.</span><br />
+<br />
+To arms! in this, your country&#8217;s hour of need!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behold her beautiful and broad domain,</span><br />
+And say, if patriot hearts shall freely bleed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To keep it sacred from invasion&#8217;s stain?</span><br />
+To arms! and don the panoply of war,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stay not like cowards from the battle-field;</span><br />
+But with your armor on, march where the roar<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of cannon tells you that your brothers bleed!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 18em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span><br />
+The trumpet and the clarion sound to arms,<br />
+The noisy drum in solemn echo beats,<br />
+And martial music, robed in all her charms,<br />
+The magic words, To arms! To arms! repeats.<br />
+To arms! The mortal combat has begun,<br />
+Rush on and fight amidst the deadly fray,<br />
+Nor pause until the work is nobly done,<br />
+And honor crowns us with her wreath of bay!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>CANNON SONG.</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Aha! a song for the trumpet&#8217;s tongue!<br />
+For the bugle to sing before us,<br />
+When our gleaming guns, like clarions,<br />
+Shall thunder in battle chorus!<br />
+Where the rifles ring, where the bullets sing,<br />
+Where the black bombs whistle o&#8217;er us,<br />
+With rolling wheel and rattling peal<br />
+They&#8217;ll thunder in battle chorus!<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;With the cannon&#8217;s flash, and the cannon&#8217;s crash,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">With the cannon&#8217;s roar and rattle,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Let Freedom&#8217;s sons, with their shouting guns,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Go down to their country&#8217;s battle!</span><br />
+<br />
+Their brassy throats shall learn the notes<br />
+That make old tyrants quiver;<br />
+Till the war is done, or each <span class="smcap">Tyrrell</span> gun<br />
+Grows cold with our hearts forever!<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span><br />
+Where the laurel waves o&#8217;er our brothers graves,<br />
+Who have gone to their rest before us<br />
+Here&#8217;s a requiem shall sound for them<br />
+And thunder in battle chorus!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+By the light that lies in our Southern skies,<br />
+By the spirits that watch above us;<br />
+By the gentle hands in our Summer lands,<br />
+And the gentle hearts that love us!<br />
+Our father&#8217;s faith let us keep till death,<br />
+Their fame in its cloudless splendor&mdash;<br />
+As men who stand for their mother land,<br />
+And die&mdash;but never surrender!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>CHIVALROUS C. S. A.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Vive la Compagnie.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>I&#8217;ll sing you a song of the South&#8217;s sunny clime,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Chivalrous C. S. A.!</span><br />
+Which went to housekeeping once on a time;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Bully for C. S. A.!</span><br />
+Like heroes and princes they lived for a while,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Chivalrous C. S. A.!</span><br />
+And routed the Hessians in most gallant style;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Bully for C. S. A.!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Chivalrous, chivalrous people are they!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Chivalrous, chivalrous people are they!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">In C. S. A.! In C. S. A.!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Aye, in chivalrous C. S. A.!</span><br />
+<br />
+They have a bold leader&mdash;Jeff. Davis his name&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Chivalrous C. S. A.!</span><br />
+Good generals and soldiers, all anxious for fame;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Bully for C. S. A.!</span><br />
+At Manassas they met the North in its pride,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Chivalrous C. S. A.!</span><br />
+But they easily put McDowell aside;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Bully for C. S. A.!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Ministers to England and France, it appears,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Have gone from the C. S. A.!</span><br />
+Who&#8217;ve given the North many fleas in its ears,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Bully for C. S. A.!</span><br />
+Reminders are being to Washington sent,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">By the chivalrous C. S. A.!</span><br />
+That&#8217;ll force Uncle Abe full soon to repent,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Bully for C. S. A.!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Oh, they have the finest of musical ears,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Chivalrous C. S. A.!</span><br />
+Yankee Doodle&#8217;s too vulgar for them, it appears;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Bully for C. S. A.!</span><br />
+The North may sing it and whistle it still,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Miserable U. S. A.!</span><br />
+Three cheers for the South!&mdash;now, boys, with a will!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And groans for the U. S. A.!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p>
+<h2>NORTH CAROLINA&#8217;S WAR SONG.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Annie Laurie.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>We leave our pleasant homesteads,<br />
+We leave our smiling farms,<br />
+At the first call of duty<br />
+We rush at once to arms;<br />
+We rush at once to arms,<br />
+To guard our coasts we fly,<br />
+For the land our mothers lived, on<br />
+Bravely to bleed or die.<br />
+<br />
+Up, boys, and quit your pleasure,<br />
+Up, men, and quit your toil!<br />
+The invader&#8217;s foot must never<br />
+Be pressed upon our soil;<br />
+Be pressed upon our soil,<br />
+In which our fathers sleep;<br />
+Their blessed graves our care, boys,<br />
+Most sacredly must keep.<br />
+<br />
+&#8217;Twas in our brave old State, men,<br />
+That first of all was sung,<br />
+The thrilling song of freedom<br />
+That through the land hath rung;<br />
+That through the land hath rung,<br />
+And we&#8217;ll sound its notes once more,<br />
+Till our men and children shout<br />
+From the mountain to the shore.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span><br />
+Sweet eyes are filled with tears, men,<br />
+Sweet tears of love and pride,<br />
+As our wives and sweethearts bid us<br />
+Go meet whate&#8217;er betide,<br />
+Go meet whate&#8217;er betide,<br />
+And God our guide shall be,<br />
+As we drive the foe before us,<br />
+And rush to victory.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE HOMESPUN DRESS.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Carrie Bell Sinclair</span>.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Bonnie Blue Flag.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Oh, yes, I am a Southern girl,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And glory in the name,</span><br />
+And boast it with far greater pride<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than glittering wealth or fame.</span><br />
+We envy not the Northern girl,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her robes of beauty rare,</span><br />
+Though diamonds grace her snowy neck,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And pearls bedeck her hair.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Hurrah! Hurrah!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">For the sunny South so dear,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Three cheers for the homespun dress</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">The Southern ladies wear!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span><br />
+The homespun dress is plain, I know,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My hat&#8217;s palmetto, too;</span><br />
+But then it shows what Southern girls<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Southern rights will do.</span><br />
+We send the bravest of our land,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To battle with the foe,</span><br />
+And we will lend a helping hand&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We love the South, you know.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Now Northern goods are out of date;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And since old Abe&#8217;s blockade,</span><br />
+We Southern girls can be content<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With goods that&#8217;s Southern made.</span><br />
+We send our sweethearts to the war;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But, dear girls; never mind&mdash;</span><br />
+Your soldier-love will ne&#8217;er forget<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The girl he left behind.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+The soldier is the lad for me&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A brave heart I adore;</span><br />
+And when the sunny South is free,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And when fighting is no more,</span><br />
+I&#8217;ll choose me then a lover brave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From out that gallant band.</span><br />
+The soldier lad I love the best<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall have my heart and hand.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+The Southern land&#8217;s a glorious land,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And has a glorious cause;</span><br />
+Then cheer, three cheers for Southern rights,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And for the Southern boys!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>We scorn to wear a bit of silk,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A bit of Northern lace,</span><br />
+But make our homespun dresses up,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wear them with a grace.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+And now, young man, a word to you:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you would win the fair,</span><br />
+Go to the field where honor calls,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And win your lady there.</span><br />
+Remember that our brightest smiles<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are for the true and brave,</span><br />
+And that our tears are all for those<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who fill a soldier&#8217;s grave.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE BANNER SONG.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">James B. Marshall</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Up, up with the banner, the foe is before us,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His bayonets bristle, his sword is unsheathed,</span><br />
+Charge, charge on his line with harmonious chorus,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the prayers go with us that beauty has breathed.</span><br />
+<br />
+He fights for the power of despot and plunder,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While we are defending our altars and homes;</span><br />
+He has riven the firmly knit Union asunder,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And to bind it with tyranny&#8217;s fetters he comes,</span><br />
+Like the prophet Mokanna, whose veil so resplendent,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His monstrous deformity closely concealed;</span><br />
+Duplicity marks Lincoln&#8217;s course, and dependent<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On falsehood is every fair promise revealed.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span><br />
+When that veil shall be raised, Freedom&#8217;s last feast be taken,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A banquet to which all his followers will crowd;</span><br />
+Oh, horror of horrors! who can view it unshaken?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Without sense they will sit all in suppliance bowed!</span><br />
+We do not forget that they once were our brothers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That we sat in our boyhood around the same board,</span><br />
+That our heart&#8217;s best idolatry blest the same mothers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And to the same fathers libations we poured.</span><br />
+<br />
+We rallied around the same star-spangled standard,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When called to the field by the tocsin of war,</span><br />
+But they from our side have unfeelingly wandered,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we strip from our flag every recusant star.</span><br />
+They have forced us to stand by our own constitution,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To defend our lov&#8217;d homesteads, our altars and fires,</span><br />
+While they tamely submit to a tyrant&#8217;s pollution,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beneath whose foul tread their own freedom expires.</span><br />
+<br />
+Then up with the banner, its broad stripes wide flowing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Tis the emblem of Liberty&mdash;flag of the free;</span><br />
+Let it wave us to triumph, and every heart glowing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nerve each arm&#8217;s bravest blows for its lov&#8217;d Tennessee.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE VOLUNTEER.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Permission of <span class="smcap">H. Wehrman</span>.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Arranged by <span class="smcap">J. C. Viereck</span>.</p>
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>The hour was sad, I left the maid,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A lingering farewell taking;</span><br />
+Her sighs and tears my steps delayed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I thought her heart was breaking.</span><br />
+In hurried words her name I blessed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I breathed the vows that bind me,</span><br />
+And to my heart in anguish pressed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The girl I left behind me.</span><br />
+<br />
+Then to the East we bore away<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To win a name in story,</span><br />
+And, there, where dawns the sun of day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There dawned our sun of glory.</span><br />
+Both blazed in noon on Manassas&#8217; plain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where, in the post assigned me,</span><br />
+I shared the glory of that fight&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweet girl I left behind me!</span><br />
+<br />
+Full many a name our banners bore<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of former deeds of daring&mdash;</span><br />
+But they were of the days of yore,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In which we had no sharing;</span><br />
+But now, our laurels freshly won,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the old ones shall entwin&#8217;d be,</span><br />
+Still worthy of our sires, each son,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweet girl I left behind me!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span><br />
+The hope of final victory<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within my bosom burning,</span><br />
+Is mingling with sweet thoughts of thee,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And of my fond returning.</span><br />
+But should I ne&#8217;er return again,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still worth thy love thou&#8217;lt find me,</span><br />
+Dishonor&#8217;s breath shall never stain<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The name I leave behind me.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>READING THE LIST.</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&#8220;Is there any news of the war?&#8221; she said;<br />
+&#8220;Only a list of the wounded and dead,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was the man&#8217;s reply,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Without lifting his eye</span><br />
+To the face of the woman standing by.<br />
+&#8220;&#8217;Tis the very thing I want,&#8221; she said;<br />
+&#8220;Read me a list of the wounded and dead.&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+He read the list&mdash;&#8217;twas a sad array<br />
+Of the wounded and killed in the fatal fray;<br />
+In the very midst was a pause, to tell<br />
+That his comrades asked, &#8220;Who is he, pray?&#8221;<br />
+&#8220;The only son of the widow Gray,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was the proud reply</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of his Captain nigh.</span><br />
+What ails the woman standing near?<br />
+Her face has the ashen hue of fear!<br />
+<br />
+&#8220;Well, well, read on; is he wounded? quick!<br />
+Oh, God! but my heart is sorrow sick!<br />
+Is he wounded?&#8221; &#8220;No! he fell,&#8221; they say,<br />
+&#8220;Killed outright on that fatal day!&#8221;<br />
+But see, the woman has swooned away!</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img13.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;Only a list of the wounded and dead.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>Sadly she opened her eyes to the light,<br />
+Slowly recalled the events of the fight;<br />
+Faintly she murmured, &#8220;Killed outright!<br />
+It has cost me the life of my only son,<br />
+But the battle is fought and the victory won;<br />
+The will of the Lord, let it be done!&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+God pity the cheerless widow Gray,<br />
+And send from the halls of Eternal Day<br />
+The light of His peace to illume her way!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE BARS AND STARS.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">W. A. Haynes</span>.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Star Spangled Banner.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Oh, the tocsin of war still resounds o&#8217;er the land,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And legions of braves are now rushing to battle,</span><br />
+Our lint-stocks are lighted, our guns are all manned,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Loud thunders the cannon, and musketry rattle,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Our hosts there are led</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">By the blue, white and red,</span><br />
+While the battle fiend flaps his pale wing o&#8217;er the dead.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Let the bars and stars of our banner ever wave<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">O&#8217;er the land of the South, the home of the brave.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span><br />
+O, say, can you see through the mist and the gloom,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Through the clouds of the battle our stars brightly shining,</span><br />
+&#8217;Tis a beacon of hope, &#8217;tis a signal of doom<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">To the hordes of the vandals our borders now lining;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Proud defiance we hurl</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">And our flag we unfurl,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Let it float, proudly float, in the gaze of the world.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 22em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+For thirty years or more, we have waited and prayed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">That the chains of oppression and wrongs might be sundered,</span><br />
+But the black fiends of the North, with their plans foully laid,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Have raised up a whirlwind and the old ship&#8217;s now foundered.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">We shouted the alarm,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">We spoke of our wrongs,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Now the argument&#8217;s exhausted, we&#8217;ll stand by our arms.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 22em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Oh! Manassas has been fought, and the field has been won,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the brag guns of Sherman our brave boys have taken;</span><br />
+Our foes have retreated back to old Washington,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the ranks of our Dixie still remain there unshaken;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">And over the graves</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Of the New York Zouaves</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The bars and the stars now triumphantly waves.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 22em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p>
+<h2>WAR SONG.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Charleston Mercury.</i></p>
+<p class="center">Respectfully inscribed to the companies mentioned.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;March, march, Ettrick and Toviotdale.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>March, march on, brave &#8220;Palmetto&#8221; boys,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;Sumpter&#8221; and &#8220;Lafayettes&#8221; forward in order;</span><br />
+March, march &#8220;Calhoun&#8221; and &#8220;Rifle&#8221; boys,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All the base Yankees are crossing the border,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Banners are round ye spread,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Floating above your head,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soon shall the Lone Star be famous in story,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">On, on, my gallant men,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Vict&#8217;ry be thine again;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fight for your rights till the green sod is gory.</span><br />
+<br />
+Young wives and sisters have buckled your armor on;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Maidens ye love bid ye go to the battle-field;</span><br />
+Strong arms and stout hearts have many a vict&#8217;ry won,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Courage shall strengthen the weapons ye wield;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wild passions are storming,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Dark schemes are forming,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Deep snares are laid, but they shall not enthrall ye;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Justice your cause shall greet,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Laurels lay at your feet,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If each brave band be but watchful and wary.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span><br />
+Let fear and unmanliness vanish before ye;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Trust in the Rock who will shelter the righteous;</span><br />
+Plant firmly each step on the soil of the free,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">A heritage left by the sires who bled for us,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">May each heart be bounding,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">When trumpets are sounding,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And the dark traitors shall strive to surround ye;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The great God of battle</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Can still the war-rattle,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And brighten the land with a sunset of glory.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE SOUTHERN FLAG.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Tune</i>&mdash;&#8220;<i>A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea.</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Three cheers for the Southern flag,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">That floats upon the gale,</span><br />
+Once more fling out its flapping folds,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And make its foeman quail.</span><br />
+And make each foeman quail, my boys,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">While, like an earthquake roar,</span><br />
+Goes forth our war cry through the land,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">For liberty once more.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Three cheers for the Southern flag,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.75em;">That floats above the gale,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.75em;">Once more fling out its flapping folds,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.75em;">And make its foeman quail.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span><br />
+Oh, for an Abolition crowd,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">I hear old Abe cry out,</span><br />
+Affrighted by the march of foes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The freeman&#8217;s mighty shout.</span><br />
+That shouting welcomes to our heart,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The freeman&#8217;s chosen man&mdash;</span><br />
+Jeff Davis&mdash;who now heads our hosts,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And leads the glorious van.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Full brightly waves our flag in air,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">O&#8217;er Sumpter&#8217;s fort just won.</span><br />
+And soon o&#8217;er Pickens&#8217; towering heights<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">It will glitter in the sun.</span><br />
+It will glitter in the sun, my boys,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And fan the battle cloud,</span><br />
+The struggling freeman&#8217;s sigh of hope,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The fallen heroes&#8217; shroud.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+And now three cheers for the glorious flag,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">That victory has won,</span><br />
+And may it soon be towering o&#8217;er<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The Dome at Washington.</span><br />
+The Dome at Washington, my boys,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">While Abolition hosts</span><br />
+Shall quail and shake before the flag&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The freeman&#8217;s glorious boast.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE STARS AND THE BARS.</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>O, the South is the queen of all nations,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The home of the brave and the true&mdash;</span><br />
+She makes no vain demonstration;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But shows what her brave sons can do;</span><br />
+Her freedom and advancement they cherish&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;Our rights, our liberties,&#8221; they cry,</span><br />
+&#8220;To the rescue, we&#8217;ll win the fight or perish,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the Southern boys never fear to die.&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Then hurrah for the &#8220;Stars and Bars,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.75em;">No stain on its folds ever be&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.75em;">Its glory dishonor never mars,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.75em;">And &#8217;twill yet grace the land of the free.</span><br />
+<br />
+Bring forward the tankard and fill it,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ye sons that are loyal and brave,</span><br />
+Our blood&mdash;O, how freely we&#8217;ll spill it,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We are fighting for freedom or the grave;</span><br />
+Our armies may be scattered and disbanded,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet the wild-woods we still will infest&mdash;</span><br />
+Yet shall fear the brave foe tho&#8217; single-handed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the death rattle burst from his breast.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 17em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Though black clouds sometimes may darken,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shadow the bright sunny sky;</span><br />
+To the rumbling of cannon we&#8217;ll hearken,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which tells of the foe as they fly.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>Tho&#8217; thousands may fall stark and gory,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their requiem from gun and cannon mouth,</span><br />
+They&#8217;ll win fame, freedom and glory;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all for the loved &#8220;Sunny South.&#8221;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 17em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>CONFEDERATE SONG.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Bruce&#8217;s Address.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<p class="note">Written for and dedicated to the Kirk&#8217;s Ferry Rangers, by their Captain,
+<span class="smcap">E. Lloyd Wailes</span>. Sung by the Glee Club on 4th July, 1861, at the Kirk&#8217;s
+Ferry Barbecue (Catahoula, La.), after the presentation of a flag, by the
+ladies, to the Kirk&#8217;s Ferry Rangers.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Rally round our country&#8217;s flag!<br />
+Rally, boys, nor do not lag;<br />
+Come from every vale and crag,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sons of Liberty!</span><br />
+Northern Vandals tread our soil,<br />
+Forth they come for blood and spoil,<br />
+To the homes we&#8217;ve gained with toil,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shouting, &#8220;Slavery.&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+Traitorous Lincoln&#8217;s bloody band<br />
+Now invades the freeman&#8217;s land,<br />
+Arm&#8217;d with sword and firebrand,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">&#8217;Gainst the brave and free.</span><br />
+Arm ye, then, for fray and fight,<br />
+March ye forth both day and night,<br />
+Stop not till the foe&#8217;s in sight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sons of chivalry.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span><br />
+In your veins the blood still flows<br />
+Of brave men who once arose&mdash;<br />
+Burst the shackles of their foes;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Honest men and free</span><br />
+Rise, then, in your power and might,<br />
+Seek the spoiler, brave the fight;<br />
+Strike for God, for Truth, for Right:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Strike for Liberty!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>LEE AT THE WILDERNESS.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Miss Mollie E. Moore</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&#8217;Twas a terrible moment!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The blood and the rout!</span><br />
+His great bosom shook<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With an awful doubt.</span><br />
+Confusion in front,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a pause in the cries:</span><br />
+And a darkness like night<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Passed over our skies:</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There were tears in the eyes</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of General Lee.</span><br />
+<br />
+As the blue-clad lines<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Swept fearfully near,</span><br />
+There was wavering yonder,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a break in the cheer</span><br />
+Of our columns unsteady:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But &#8220;<span class="smcap">We are here!</span> <i>We</i> are ready</span><br />
+With rifle and blade!&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cried the Texas Brigade</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">To General Lee.</span><br />
+<br />
+He smiled&mdash;it meant death,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That wonderful smile;</span><br />
+It leaped like a flame<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down each close set file;</span><br />
+And we stormed to the front<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a long, loud cry&mdash;</span><br />
+We had long ago learned<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How to charge and to die:</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There was faith in the eye</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of General Lee.</span><br />
+<br />
+But a sudden pause came,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As we dashed on the foe,</span><br />
+And our scathing columns<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Swayed to and fro;</span><br />
+Cold grew our blood,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Glowing like wine,</span><br />
+And a quick, sharp whisper<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shot over our line,</span><br />
+As our ranks opened wide&mdash;<br />
+<i>And there by our side</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Rode General Lee.</i></span><br />
+<br />
+How grandly he rode!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With his eyes on fire,</span><br />
+And his great bosom shook<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With an awful desire!</span><br />
+But, &#8220;Back to the rear!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Till you ride to the rear</span><br />
+We will not do battle<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With gun or with blade!&#8221;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cried the Texas Brigade</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To General Lee.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img14.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">Gen. Robert E. Lee.</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>And so he rode back;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And our terrible yell</span><br />
+Stormed up to the front;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the fierce, wild swell,</span><br />
+And the roar and the rattle,<br />
+Swept into the battle<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">From General Lee.</span><br />
+<br />
+I felt my foot slip<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the gathering fray&mdash;</span><br />
+I looked, and my brother<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lay dead in my way.</span><br />
+I paused but one moment<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To draw him aside;</span><br />
+Ah! the gash in his bosom<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was bloody and wide!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But he smiled, for he died</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For General Lee.</span><br />
+<br />
+Christ! &#8217;twas maddening work;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the work was done,</span><br />
+And a few came back<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the hour was won.</span><br />
+Let it glow in the peerless<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Records of the fearless&mdash;</span><br />
+The charge that was made<br />
+By the Texas Brigade<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For General Lee.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p>
+<h2>A SOUTHERN SONG.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By &#8220;L. M.,&#8221; in <i>Louisville Courier</i>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>If ever I consent to be married,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And who would refuse a good mate?</span><br />
+The man whom I give my hand to,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must believe in the rights of the State.</span><br />
+<br />
+To a husband who quietly submits<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To negro-equality sway,</span><br />
+The true Southern girl will not barter<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her heart and affections away.</span><br />
+<br />
+The heart I may choose to preside o&#8217;er,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">True, warm, and devoted must be,</span><br />
+And have true love for a Union<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Under the Southern Liberty Tree.</span><br />
+<br />
+Should Lincoln attempt to coerce him<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To share with the negro his right,</span><br />
+Then, smiling, I&#8217;d gird on his armor,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bid him God-speed in the fight.</span><br />
+<br />
+And if he should fall in the conflict,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His memory with tears I will grace;</span><br />
+Better weep o&#8217;er a patriot fallen,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than blush in a Tory embrace.</span><br />
+<br />
+We girls are all for a Union,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where a marked distinction is laid</span><br />
+Between the rights of the mistress<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And those of the kinky-haired maid.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE TEXAN MARSEILLAISE.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">James Haines</span>, of Texas.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Sons of the South, arouse to battle!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gird on your armor for the fight!</span><br />
+The Northern Thugs, with dread &#8220;war&#8217;s rattle,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pour on each vale, and glen, and height;</span><br />
+Meet them as ocean meets in madness<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The frail bark on the rocky shore,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When crested billows roam and roar,</span><br />
+And the wrecked crew go down in sadness:<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Arm! Arm! ye Southern braves!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Scatter yon vandal hordes!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Despots and bandits, fitting food</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">For vultures and your swords.</span><br />
+<br />
+Shall dastard tyrants march their legions<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To crush the land of Jackson&mdash;Lee?</span><br />
+Shall freedom fly to other regions,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sons of Yorktown bend the knee?</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>Or shall their &#8220;footprints&#8217; base pollution&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Southern soil in blood be purged,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And every flying slave be scourged</span><br />
+Back to his snows in wild confusion.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 17em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Vile despots, with their minions knavish,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would drag us back to their embrace;</span><br />
+Will freemen brook a chain so slavish?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will brave men take so low a place?</span><br />
+O, Heaven! for words&mdash;the loathing, scorning<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We feel for such a Union&#8217;s bands:</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To paint with more than mortal hands,</span><br />
+And sound our loudest notes of warning.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 17em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+What! Union with a race ignoring<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The charter of our Nation&#8217;s birth?</span><br />
+Union with bastard slaves adoring<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fiend that chains them to the earth?</span><br />
+No! we reply in tones of thunder,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No! our staunch hills fling back the sound&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No! our hoarse cannon echo round&mdash;</span><br />
+No! evermore remain asunder!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 17em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img15.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">Jackson&#8217;s Cadet Button.</p>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE BATTLE OF THE MISSISSIPPI.</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>The tyrant&#8217;s broad pennant is floating<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the South, o&#8217;er our waters so blue:</span><br />
+On our homes now his foul eye is gloating;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The homes of the brave and the true.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;But our flag at the &#8220;head of the Passes,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Is borne by men brave and true;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">We will teach them to fear our &#8220;Manassas;&#8221;<a name='fna_2' id='fna_2' href='#f_2'><small>[2]</small></a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Three cheers for <i>our</i> Red, White, and Blue.</span><br />
+<br />
+We will give his proud fleet such a greeting<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the storm-cloud&#8217;s shaft to the tree;</span><br />
+As the rock to the wave in their meeting&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is the stroke of the brave and the free.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Though his minions may come as the locust,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And outnumber the sands of the sea,</span><br />
+Their numbers will serve to provoke us,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To dare, to die, or live free.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Every breeze from the &#8220;Crescent&#8221; is laden<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With defiance to the despot on our shore;</span><br />
+Strong men, the child, and each maiden,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Join in chorus with the cannon&#8217;s loud roar.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SONG FOR THE SOUTH.</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Of all the mighty nations, in the East or in the West,<br />
+Our glorious Southern nation is the greatest and the best;<br />
+We have room for all true Southrons, with our Stars and Bars unfurled,<br />
+And a general invitation to the people of the world.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Then, to arms, boys! to arms, boys! make no delay,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Come from every Southern State, come from every way,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Our army isn&#8217;t large enough, Jeff Davis calls for more,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">To hurl the vile invader from off our Southern shore.</span><br />
+<br />
+Ohio is our northern line, far as her waters flow,<br />
+And on the south is the Rio Grande and the Gulf of Mexico;<br />
+While between the Atlantic Ocean, where the sun begins to rise,<br />
+Westward to Arizona, the land of promise lies.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 24em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+While the Gulf States raise the cotton, the others grain and pork,<br />
+North and South Carolina&#8217;s factories will do the finer work;<br />
+For the deep and flowing waterfalls that course along our hills,<br />
+Are &#8220;just the things&#8221; for washing sheep and driving cotton mills.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 24em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span><br />
+Our Southern boys are brave and true, and joining heart and hand<br />
+And are flocking to the &#8220;Stars and Bars&#8221; as they are floating o&#8217;er the land.<br />
+And all are standing ready, with their rifles in their hands,<br />
+And invite the North to open graves down South in Dixie&#8217;s land.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 24em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>SONG OF THE SOUTHERN SOLDIER.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By &#8220;P. E. C.,&#8221; in <i>Richmond Examiner</i>.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Tune</i>&mdash;&#8220;<i>Barclay and Perkins&#8217; Drayman.</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p class="note">These lines were written Jan. 8, 1861, for a friend, who expected to sing
+them in the theatre, but thought at the time to be too much in the secession spirit.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>I&#8217;m a soldier, you see, that oppression has made!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I don&#8217;t fight for pay or for booty;</span><br />
+But I wear in my hat a blue cockade,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Placed there by the fingers of Beauty.</span><br />
+The South is my home, where a black man is black,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a white man there is a white man;</span><br />
+Now I am tired of listening to Northern clack,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let us see what they will do in a fight, man.</span><br />
+<br />
+The Yankees are cute; they have managed, somehow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their business and ours to settle;</span><br />
+They make all we want, from a pin to a plough,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now we&#8217;ll show them some Southern mettle.</span><br />
+We have had just enough of their Northern law,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That robbed us so long of our right, man,</span><br />
+And too much of their cursed abolition jaw,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now we&#8217;ll see what they&#8217;ll do in a fight, man!</span><br />
+<br />
+Their parsons will open their sanctified jaws,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cant of our slave-growing sin, sir;</span><br />
+They pocket the <i>profits</i>, while preaching the laws,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And manage our cotton to spin, sir.</span><br />
+Their incomes are nice, on our sugar and rice,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though against it the hypocrites write, sir;</span><br />
+Now our dander is up, and they&#8217;ll soon smell a mice,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If we once get them into a fight, sir.</span><br />
+<br />
+Our cotton bales once made a good barricade,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And can still do the State a good service;</span><br />
+With them and the boys of the blue cockade,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is power enough to preserve us.</span><br />
+So shoulder your rifles, my boys, for defense,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the cause of our freedom and right, man;</span><br />
+If there&#8217;s no other way for to learn them sense,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We may teach them a lesson in fight, man.</span><br />
+<br />
+The stars that are growing so fast on our flags,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We treasure as Liberty&#8217;s pearls,</span><br />
+And stainless we&#8217;ll bear them, though shot into rags;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They were fixed by the hands of our girls,</span><br />
+And fixed stars they shall be in our national sky,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To guide through the future aright, man,</span><br />
+And your Cousin Sam, with their gleam in his eye,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May dare the whole world to fight, man.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE DYING SOLDIER BOY.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">A. B. Cunningham</span>, of Louisiana.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Maid of Monterey.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Upon Manassas&#8217; bloody plain a soldier boy lay dying!<br />
+The gentle winds above his form in softest tones were sighing;<br />
+The god of day had slowly sank beneath the verge of day,<br />
+And the silver moon was gliding above the milky way.<br />
+<br />
+The stars were shining brightly, and the sky was calm and blue,<br />
+Oh, what a beautiful scene was this for human eyes to view!<br />
+The river roll&#8217;d in splendor, and the wavelets danc&#8217;d around,<br />
+But the banks were strew&#8217;d with dead men, and gory was the ground.<br />
+<br />
+But the hero-boy lay dying, and his thoughts were very deep,<br />
+For the death-wound in his young side was wafting him to sleep;<br />
+The thought of home and kindred away on a distant shore,<br />
+All of whom he must relinquish, and never see them more.<br />
+<br />
+And as the night-breeze passed by, in whispers o&#8217;er the dead,<br />
+Sweet memories of olden days came rushing to his head;<br />
+But his mind was weak and deaden&#8217;d, so he turned from where he lay,<br />
+As the Death-angel flitted by, and call&#8217;d his soul away!</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img16.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;The hero-boy lay dying.&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE SOUTHERN BANNER.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Col. W. S. Hawkins</span>, C. S. A., Camp Chase, Ohio.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Sing-ho! for the Southerner&#8217;s meteor flag<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As &#8217;tis flung in its pride to the breeze,</span><br />
+From the happy glen and the beetling crag,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Tis the pride of the land and the seas.</span><br />
+<br />
+Hurrah! for the scintillant Cross of Red,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As it waves and glances in light,</span><br />
+Beneath it our brothers grandly tread,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To battle for God and right.</span><br />
+<br />
+The flag for which Southrons had gladly died<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is the badge of the tyrant now,</span><br />
+And for it no blush of joy or pride<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Suffuseth the cheek or brow.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span></span><br />
+Sing ho! for the Southerner&#8217;s flag for aye,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ho! for its beautiful Cross;</span><br />
+It shall be the signal of bold array<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the windy surges toss.</span><br />
+<br />
+On a traitor&#8217;s heart be the curses of night,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And palsied the craven hand</span><br />
+That fails in the hazard of furious fight<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For God and our Native Land.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span><br />
+Hurrah! as over the hills it waves,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or is borne on the ocean&#8217;s breast,</span><br />
+Hurrah! as it leads our valorous braves,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or is drooped o&#8217;er the hero&#8217;s rest.</span><br />
+<br />
+Whether it greets the uprising sun<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or is bathed in the western light,</span><br />
+Beneath it shall all our hopes be won<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For &#8220;God will defend the right.&#8221;</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>O, JOHNNY BULL, MY JO JOHN.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;John Anderson, my Jo.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<p class="note">In December, 1861, eighty-seven British ships-of-war were lying in the
+waters of the West Indies. This fact gave rise to the following imitation
+of an old song.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>O, Johnny Bull, my Jo John! I wonder what you mean,<br />
+By sending all these frigates out, commissioned by the Queen;<br />
+You&#8217;ll frighten off the Yankees, John, and why should you do so?<br />
+But catch and sink, or burn them all, O, Johnny Bull, my Jo!<br />
+<br />
+O, Johnny Bull, my Jo John! when Yankee hands profane,<br />
+Were laid in wanton insult upon the lion&#8217;s mane,<br />
+He roared so loud and long, John, they quickly let him go,<br />
+And sank upon their trembling knees, O, Johnny Bull, my Jo!<br />
+<br />
+O, Johnny Bull, my Jo John! when Lincoln first began<br />
+To try his hand at war, John, you were a peaceful man;<br />
+But now your blood is up, John, and well the Yankees know,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>You play the &mdash;&mdash; when you start, O, Johnny Bull, my Jo!<br />
+<br />
+O, Johnny Bull, my Jo John! let&#8217;s take the field together,<br />
+And hunt the Yankee Doodles home, in spite of wind and weather,<br />
+And ere a twelve-month roll around, to Boston we will go,<br />
+And eat our Christmas dinner there, O, Johnny Bull, my Jo!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>MORGAN&#8217;S WAR-SONG.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Gen. Basil Duke</span>, of Kentucky.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;A combination of the &#8220;Marseillaise&#8221; and the &#8220;Old Granite State.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Ye sons of the South, take your weapons in hand,<br />
+For the foot of the foe hath insulted your land:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Sound! sound the loud alarm!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Arise! arise and arm!</span><br />
+Let the hand of each foeman grasp the sword to maintain<br />
+Those rights which, once lost, he can never regain.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Gather fast &#8217;neath our flag,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">For &#8217;tis God&#8217;s own decree,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">That its folds shall still float</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">O&#8217;er a land that is free!</span><br />
+<br />
+See ye not those dark clouds which now threaten the sky?<br />
+Hear ye not that stern thunder now bursting so nigh?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Shout! shout your battle-cry!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Win! win this fight or die!</span><br />
+What our fathers achieved our own valor can keep,<br />
+And we&#8217;ll save our fair land or we&#8217;ll sleep our last sleep!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span><br />
+On our hearts and our arms and our God we rely,<br />
+And a nation shall rise, or a people shall die.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Form! form the serried line!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Advance! advance our proud ensign:</span><br />
+To your country devote every life that she gave,<br />
+Let the land they invade give their army its grave.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Though their plunder-paid hordes come to ravage our land,<br />
+Give our fields to the spoiler, our homes to the brand,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Our souls are all aglow,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">To face the hireling foe.</span><br />
+Give the robbers to know that we <i>never</i> will yield,<br />
+While the arm of one Southron a weapon can wield.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+From our far Southern shore now arises a prayer,<br />
+While the cry of our women fills with anguish the air.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">O! list that pleading voice,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Each youth now make his choice;</span><br />
+Now tamely submit like a coward or slave,<br />
+Or rise and resist like the free and the brave.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Kentucky! Kentucky! can you suffer the sight<br />
+Of your sisters insulted, your friends in the fight?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Awake! be free again!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">O! break the tyrant&#8217;s chain:</span><br />
+Let each hand seize the sword it drew for the right,<br />
+From the homes of your fathers drive the dastard in flight.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Knoxville, Tenn.</span>, July 4, 1862.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p>
+<h2>FOR BALES.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Johnny, fill up the bowl.&#8221;</i></p>
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>We all went down to New Orleans,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Bales, for Bales;</span><br />
+We all went down to New Orleans,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Bales, says I;</span><br />
+We all went down to New Orleans<br />
+To get a peep behind the scenes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">&#8220;And we&#8217;ll all drink stone blind,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Johnny, fill up the bowl.&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+We thought when we got in the &#8220;ring,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Bales, for Bales;</span><br />
+We thought when we got in the &#8220;ring,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Bales, says I;</span><br />
+We thought when we got in the &#8220;ring,&#8221;<br />
+Greenbacks would be a dead sure thing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">&#8220;And we&#8217;ll all drink stone blind,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Johnny, fill up the bowl.&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+The &#8220;ring&#8221; went up with bagging and rope,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Bales, for Bales;</span><br />
+Upon the &#8220;Black Hawk&#8221; with bagging and rope,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Bales, says I;</span><br />
+Went up &#8220;Red River&#8221; with bagging and rope,<br />
+Expecting to make a pile of &#8220;soap,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">&#8220;And we&#8217;ll all drink stone blind,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Johnny, fill up the bowl.&#8221;</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span><br />
+But Taylor and Smith, with ragged ranks,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Bales, for Bales;</span><br />
+But Taylor and Smith, with ragged ranks,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Bales, says I;</span><br />
+But Taylor and Smith, with ragged ranks,<br />
+Burned up the cotton and whipped old Banks,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">&#8220;And we&#8217;ll all drink stone blind,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Johnny, fill up the bowl.&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+Our &#8220;ring&#8221; came back and cursed and swore,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Bales, for Bales;</span><br />
+Our &#8220;ring&#8221; came back and cursed and swore,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Bales, says I;</span><br />
+Our &#8220;ring&#8221; came back and cursed and swore,<br />
+For we got no cotton at Grand Ecore,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">&#8220;And we&#8217;ll all drink stone blind,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Johnny, fill up the bowl.&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+Now let us all give praise and thanks,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Bales, for Bales;</span><br />
+Now let us all give praise and thanks,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Bales, says I;</span><br />
+Now let us all give praise and thanks<br />
+For the victory (?) gained by General Banks,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">&#8220;And we&#8217;ll all drink stone blind,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Johnny, fill up the bowl.&#8221;</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE SONG OF THE SOUTH.</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Hurrah for the South, the glorious South! the land of song and story&mdash;<br />
+Her name shall ring, and the world shall sing her honor, fame, and glory;<br />
+For the skies above, which smiled in love, are dark with hearth-fires burning;<br />
+She rises in might to defend the right, on her treacherous brethren turning.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Sons of the South, arise! arise!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">For never shall fall upon her&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">The land we love all the earth above,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">One stain of dark dishonor.</span><br />
+<br />
+Hurrah for the South, the gallant South, with her great heart proudly beating;<br />
+She takes her stand at Freedom&#8217;s hand, and dreams not of retreating;<br />
+Oh! Southern boys, for fireside joys, with their hearts so brave and tender,<br />
+Will relentlessly fight, and to death&#8217;s dark night alone will they surrender.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 26em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+No Northern band shall rule this land&mdash;to the breeze give Freedom&#8217;s banner,<br />
+As its glowing folds o&#8217;er our land unroll, from mountain and savannah;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>O&#8217;er river and lake the sound shall break, and swell with thundering glory;<br />
+Hurrah for the South! the noble South! the land of war and story!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 26em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>LAND OF THE SOUTH.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">A. F. Leonard</span>.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Friend of My Soul.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Land of the South! the fairest land<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beneath Columbia&#8217;s sky!</span><br />
+Proudly her hills of freedom stand,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her plains in beauty lie.</span><br />
+Her dotted fields, her traversed streams<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their annual wealth renew;</span><br />
+Land of the South! in brightest dreams<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No dearer spot we view.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span></span><br />
+Flag of the South! aye, fling its folds<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the kindred breeze;</span><br />
+Emblem of dread to tyrant holds&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of freedom on the seas,</span><br />
+Forever may its stars and stripes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In cloudless glory wave;</span><br />
+Red, white, and blue&mdash;eternal types<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of nations free and brave!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span><br />
+States of the South! the patriot&#8217;s boast!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here equal laws have sway;</span><br />
+Nor tyrant lord, nor despot host,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the weak may prey.</span><br />
+Then let them rule from sea to sea,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And crown the queenly isle&mdash;</span><br />
+Union of love and liberty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Neath heaven&#8217;s approving smile.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>LADIES, TO THE HOSPITAL!</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By &#8220;<span class="smcap">Personne</span>,&#8221; Correspondent of the <i>Charleston Courier</i>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Fold away all your bright-tinted dresses,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Turn the key on your jewels to-day,</span><br />
+And the wreath of your tendril-like tresses,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Braid back in a serious way:</span><br />
+No more delicate gloves, no more laces;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No more trifling in boudoir or bower;</span><br />
+But come with your souls in your faces,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To meet the stern wants of the hour.</span><br />
+<br />
+Look around! By the torch-light unsteady,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dead and the dying seem one;</span><br />
+What? trembling and paling already,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before your mission&#8217;s begun?</span><br />
+These wounds are more precious than ghastly;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Time presses her lips to each scar,</span><br />
+While she chants of that glory which vastly<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Transcends all the horrors of war.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img17.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&#8220;... <span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span> <span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span> How mellow<br />
+The light showers down on that brow.&#8221;</td></tr></table>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>Pause here by this bedside. How mellow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The light showers down on that brow;</span><br />
+Such a brave, brawny visage! Poor fellow!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some homestead is missing him now;</span><br />
+Some wife shaded her eyes in the clearing;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some mother sits moaning, distressed;</span><br />
+While the lov&#8217;d one lies faint but unfearing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the enemy&#8217;s ball in his breast.</span><br />
+<br />
+Here&#8217;s another; a lad&mdash;a mere stripling&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Picked up on the fields almost dead,</span><br />
+With the blood through the sunny hair rippling,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From a horrible gash in the head!</span><br />
+They say he was first in the action,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gay-hearted, quick-handed and witty;</span><br />
+He fought till he dropped with exhaustion,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In front of our fair Southern city.</span><br />
+<br />
+Fought and fell &#8217;neath the guns of that city,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a spirit transcending his years;</span><br />
+Lift him up in your large-hearted pity,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wet his pale lips with your tears:</span><br />
+Touch him gently; most sacred that duty<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of dressing that poor shatter&#8217;d hand;</span><br />
+God spare him to rise in his beauty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And battle once more for his land!</span><br />
+<br />
+Who groan&#8217;d? What a passionate murmur:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;In Thy mercy, oh God! let me die!</span><br />
+Ha! surgeon, your hand must be firmer,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That musket ball&#8217;s entered his thigh:</span><br />
+Turn the light on those poor furrow&#8217;d features,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gray-haired and unknown, bless thee, brother!</span><br />
+Oh Heaven! that one of Thy creatures<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should e&#8217;er work such woe on another.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span><br />
+Wipe the sweat from his brow with your &#8217;kerchief<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let the tatter&#8217;d old collar go wide!</span><br />
+See! he stretches out blindly to see if<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The surgeon still stands by his side:</span><br />
+&#8220;My son&#8217;s over yonder&mdash;he&#8217;s wounded&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O this ball has entered my thigh!&#8221;</span><br />
+And again he burst out all a tremble,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;In Thy mercy, O God, let me die!&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+Pass on: It is useless to linger<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While other are claiming your care;</span><br />
+There is need for your delicate finger,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For your womanly sympathy there:</span><br />
+There are sick ones athirst for caressing;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There are dying ones raving of home</span><br />
+There are wounds to be bound with a blessing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shrouds to make ready for some.</span><br />
+<br />
+They have gathered about you the harvest<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of death in its ghastliest view;</span><br />
+The nearest as well as the farthest<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is here with the traitor and true;</span><br />
+And crown&#8217;d with your beautiful patience,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Made sunny with love at the heart;</span><br />
+You must balsam the wounds of a nation,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor falter nor shrink from your part.</span><br />
+<br />
+Up and down through the wards where the fever<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stalks noisome and gaunt and impure,</span><br />
+You must go with your steadfast endeavor<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To comfort, to counsel, to cure!</span><br />
+I grant you the task is superhuman,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But strength will be given to you</span><br />
+To do for those lov&#8217;d ones, what woman<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alone in her pity can do.</span><br />
+<br />
+And the lips of the mothers will bless you,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As angels sweet visaged and pale;</span><br />
+And the little ones run to caress you,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the wives and the sisters cry Hail!</span><br />
+But e&#8217;en if you drop down unheeded,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What matter? God&#8217;s ways are the best!</span><br />
+You have pour&#8217;d out your life where &#8217;twas needed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And He will take care of the rest.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>TO THE DAVIS GUARD.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Lieut. W. P. Cunningham</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Soldiers! raise your banner proudly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let it pierce our Texan sky&mdash;</span><br />
+Hurrah! it was shouted loudly&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;We will do it or we&#8217;ll die!&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+Thus spoke the heroic Dowling!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To his Irish gallant band:</span><br />
+&#8220;Let us send the foes a howling,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From our lovely Texas land!&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+Nobly answer&#8217;d those brave men all,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To his soul-stirring appeal;</span><br />
+&#8220;Aye, we&#8217;ll drive them away or fall;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We&#8217;ll fight them with lead and steel.&#8221;</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span><br />
+The Irishmen desert never<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The people that treat them well;</span><br />
+Their friends they love forever;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their foes may &#8220;go to &mdash;&mdash;!&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+&#8220;Steady, steady, keep cool, my boys,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now they are near&mdash;ready&mdash;fire!&#8221;</span><br />
+Thus their noble chieftain cries,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And they fire and never tire.</span><br />
+<br />
+Hear the heavy, thundering sound,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The men of war they cry;</span><br />
+The dull earth itself resounds<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the foemen fight and die.</span><br />
+<br />
+But hurrah! the white flag&#8217;s flying&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">See, they spare the fallen foe!</span><br />
+They attend the wounded&mdash;dying&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The brave will have it so.</span><br />
+<br />
+O, Davis Guards! ye men of war,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You&#8217;ve made a glorious name!</span><br />
+Thus always guard our Texas Star,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And preserve, for aye, your fame.</span><br />
+<br />
+And when around the social glass<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In years to come, you meet,</span><br />
+O ne&#8217;er forget the Sabine Pass!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But its mem&#8217;ries fondly greet.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p>
+<h2>WAR SONG.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">J. H. Woodcock</span>.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Tune</i>&mdash;&#8220;<i>Bonnie Blue Flag.</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Huzza! huzza! let&#8217;s raise the battle cry,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And whip the Yankees from our land,</span><br />
+Or with them fall and die;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rush on our Southern columns,</span><br />
+And make the brigands feel<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That all the booty they will get,</span><br />
+Will be our Southern steel.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Huzza! huzza! let&#8217;s raise our banner high,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And nobly drive the Yankees out,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Or with them fall and die.</span><br />
+<br />
+We are fighting for our mothers, our sisters and our wives;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For these, and our country&#8217;s rights,</span><br />
+We&#8217;ll sacrifice our lives.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then trusting still to Heaven,</span><br />
+We&#8217;ll charge th&#8217; invading host,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till liberty and independence</span><br />
+Shall be the Nation&#8217;s boast.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 19em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Then on with our columns&mdash;slay the vandal foe&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beat them from our sunny soil,</span><br />
+And lay their colors low.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the great God of Nations</span><br />
+Our sacred cause confide,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For we are fighting for our liberty</span><br />
+And He is on our side.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 19em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE SOUTH FOR ME.</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>The South for me! The sunny clime,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where earth is clothed in beauty&#8217;s hue,</span><br />
+And Nature vies in scenes sublime,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With all the old world ever knew;</span><br />
+I love thy soil where&#8217;er I roam,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweet land! and when afar from thee,</span><br />
+My fond heart throbs with thoughts of home,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And echoes back &#8220;The South for me.&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;The South for me, the South for me,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">The golden clime, the heart&#8217;s desires,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">The only land where men are free,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And worthy of their free-born sires.</span><br />
+<br />
+The South for me! the patriot&#8217;s heart<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beats ever to that slogan cry;</span><br />
+And heroes, armed and ready, start<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For their loved land to do or die;</span><br />
+But leave the Southron&#8217;s valor free,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let Southern heroes meet the foe,</span><br />
+And when rings out &#8220;the South for me,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their strong right arms will deal the blow.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span><br />
+The South for me! its bright-eyed maids,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its clime, its stars, its silvery skies,</span><br />
+Its streamlets, with their lovely naiads,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its vales, where varying beauties rise,</span><br />
+Its cotton fields, where dusky slaves,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are happy in protection kind,</span><br />
+The stranger&#8217;s home, though Yankee knaves<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May never there a welcome find.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>CAROLINA.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Mrs. C. A. B.</span><span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by A. E. B.</p>
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&#8217;Mid her ruins proudly stands,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Our Carolina!</span><br />
+Fetters are upon her hands,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Dear Carolina!</span><br />
+Yet she feels no sense of shame,<br />
+For upon the scroll of Fame,<br />
+She hath writ a deathless name,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Brave Carolina!</span><br />
+<br />
+She was first our wrongs to feel,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Our Carolina!</span><br />
+First to draw the glittering steel,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Dear Carolina!</span><br />
+Ready first to strike the blow,<br />
+At th&#8217; oppressor and the foe,<br />
+And to lay their standard low,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 5em;">Brave Carolina!</span><br />
+<br />
+Nobly now she bears her wrongs,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Our Carolina!</span><br />
+In her might she still hath songs,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Dear Carolina!</span><br />
+In the dust her sons lie low,<br />
+Yet though stricken by the foe,<br />
+Pride is mingled with her woe&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Brave Carolina!</span><br />
+<br />
+On her brow there is no stain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Our Carolina!</span><br />
+She hath poured out blood like rain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Dear Carolina!</span><br />
+Vain her sufferings and her pains,<br />
+On her limbs are clanking chains,<br />
+But her glory yet remains,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Brave Carolina!</span><br />
+<br />
+Bitterly we mourn her fate,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Our Carolina!</span><br />
+Cherished old Palmetto State;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Dear Carolina!</span><br />
+Yet while man&#8217;s brave soul is free,<br />
+Honored proudly she shall be,<br />
+Mother of true chivalry!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Brave Carolina!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p>
+<h2>VICKSBURG SONG.<a name='fna_3' id='fna_3' href='#f_3'><small>[3]</small></a></h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Capt. J. W. A. Wright</span>.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;A Life on the Ocean Wave.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>A life on the Vicksburg bluff,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A home in the trenches deep,</span><br />
+Where we dodge &#8220;Yank&#8221; shells enough&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And our old &#8220;pea-bread&#8221; won&#8217;t keep.</span><br />
+On &#8220;Old Logan&#8217;s&#8221; beef I pine,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For there&#8217;s fat on his bones no more;</span><br />
+Oh! give me some pork in brine,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And &#8220;truck&#8221; from a sutler&#8217;s store.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;A life on the Vicksburg bluff,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">A home in the trenches deep,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Where we dodge &#8220;Yank&#8221; shells enough&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And our old &#8220;pea-bread&#8221; won&#8217;t keep,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Pea-bread, pea-bread, pea-bread;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Our old pea-bread won&#8217;t keep.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img18.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;So we&#8217;ll bury &#8216;Old Logan&#8217; to-night.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>Old Grant is starving us out,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our grub is fast wasting away,</span><br />
+Pemb don&#8217;t know what he&#8217;s about,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he hasn&#8217;t for many a day.</span><br />
+So we&#8217;ll bury &#8220;Old Logan&#8221; to-night,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From tough beef we&#8217;ll be set free;</span><br />
+We&#8217;ll put him far out of sight&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No more of his meat for me.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Texas &#8220;steers&#8221; are no longer in view,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mule steaks are now &#8220;done up brown,&#8221;</span><br />
+While &#8220;pea-bread,&#8221; mule roast, and mule stew,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are our fare in old Vicksburg town.</span><br />
+And the song of our hearts shall be,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While the &#8220;Yanks&#8221; and their gunboats rave,</span><br />
+A life in &#8220;bomb-proofs&#8221; for me,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a tear o&#8217;er &#8220;Old Logan&#8217;s&#8221; grave.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img19.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p>
+<h2>DO THEY MISS ME IN THE TRENCHES?</h2>
+
+<p class="center">A VICKSBURG SONG.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Do They Miss Me At Home?&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Do they miss me in the trenches, do they miss me,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the shells fly so thickly around?</span><br />
+Do they know that I&#8217;ve run down the hillside<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hunt for my hole in the ground?</span><br />
+The shell exploded so near me,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It seemed best for me to run;</span><br />
+And altho&#8217; some laugh&#8217;d as I crawfished,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I could not discover the fun.</span><br />
+<br />
+I often get up in the trenches,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When some Yank is near out of sight,</span><br />
+And fire a round or two at him,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To make the boys think I will fight;</span><br />
+But when the Feds commence shelling,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I run to my hole down the hill&mdash;</span><br />
+I&#8217;ll swear my legs never would stay there,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Altho&#8217; all may stay there that will.</span><br />
+<br />
+I&#8217;ll save myself thro&#8217; the dread struggle,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And when the great battle is o&#8217;er,</span><br />
+I&#8217;ll claim my full rations of laurels,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As always I&#8217;ve done heretofore.</span><br />
+I&#8217;ll swear that I fought them as bravely<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the best of my comrades who fell&mdash;</span><br />
+And swear to all others around me,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I never had fears of a shell.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p>
+<h2>BOYS! KEEP YOUR POWDER DRY.</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Can&#8217;st tell who lose the battle, oft in the council-field?<br />
+Not they who struggle bravely, not they who never yield.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Not they who are determined to conquer or to die,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And hearken to this caution: Boys, keep your powder dry!</span><br />
+<br />
+The foe awaits you yonder! he may await you here,<br />
+Have brave hearts, stand with courage; be strangers all to fear!<br />
+And when the charge is given, be ready at the cry:<br />
+Look well each to his priming&mdash;Boys, keep your powder dry!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 23em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Does a lov&#8217;d one home await you, who wept to see you go,<br />
+When with a kiss imprinted, you left with sacred vow&mdash;<br />
+You&#8217;d come again when warfare and arms are all laid by,<br />
+To take her to your bosom?&mdash;Boys, keep your powder dry!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 23em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Does a father home await you? a sister whom you love?<br />
+A mother who has reared you, and pray&#8217;d to Him above&mdash;<br />
+&#8220;Protect my boy, preserve him, and when the battle&#8217;s done,<br />
+Send to his weeping mother, bereft, her darling son!&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 23em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span><br />
+The name of Freedom calls you, the names of martyr&#8217;d sires,<br />
+And Liberty&#8217;s imploring, from all her hallow&#8217;d fires!<br />
+Can you withstand their calling? You cannot pass them by&mdash;<br />
+You cannot! now charge fiercely!&mdash;Boys, keep your powder dry.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 23em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>BAYOU CITY GUARDS&#8217; SONG.</h2>
+<p class="center">IN THE CHICKAHOMINY SWAMP.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Fighting for our rights now, feasting when they&#8217;re won,<br />
+By that Cross and Stars, boys, fluttering in the sun&mdash;<br />
+The girls at home will hear, boys, of our banquet of hard corn,<br />
+And they&#8217;ll think and pray for us, boys, at night and dewy morn,<br />
+Then hand around the corn, boys, and pass the full canteen;<br />
+Corn and water, and a fight, boys, are enough for us, I ween.<br />
+<br />
+Sleeping in the swamps now, without shelter or a bed;<br />
+The heaven&#8217;s green sky above us, green turf beneath our head;<br />
+But at home when we arrive, boys, tender arms shall us enfold;<br />
+Our pillows shall be the hearts, boys, that now our image hold.<br />
+<br />
+Shells are flying over us, the bullets &#8217;round us fly;<br />
+But we&#8217;ll lie upon the grass, boys, and munch our corn away!<br />
+We&#8217;re driven to their gunboats the base, invading foe;<br />
+In quick time, such as Texans can, we&#8217;ll make the Federals go.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span><br />
+Our mothers are praying for us, our darling sisters too;<br />
+Our sweethearts&mdash;ah! God bless them! what can&#8217;t we dare or do?<br />
+With our country&#8217;s rights and darling ones emblazon&#8217;d on our shields,<br />
+We&#8217;ll fight with God&#8217;s protection, till each base invader yields.<br />
+<br />
+In thinking of our cause, boys, and all we love at home,<br />
+These hard grains to heavenly manna have miraculously turn&#8217;d;<br />
+And from this battered old canteen I&#8217;ve drained a nectar sweet;<br />
+&#8217;Tis the heart that makes the banquet, and not what we have to eat.<br />
+<br />
+Soon will we hail brave &#8220;Stonewall!&#8221; in Maryland set free!<br />
+And our &#8220;Old Line&#8221; Chief<a name='fna_4' id='fna_4' href='#f_4'><small>[4]</small></a> with his Texas boys shall shout for his victory.<br />
+With the Cross and Stars then wreathed in flowers, we&#8217;ll turn our steps again,<br />
+To the hearts and homes that sigh for us, on our proud prairie plain;<br />
+Then with gentle hands to tend us, and the chalice for canteen,<br />
+With our rights all won, we&#8217;ll rest us, boys, in peace and joy serene.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE COUNTERSIGN.</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Alas! the rolling hours pass slow&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The night is very dark and still&mdash;</span><br />
+And in the marshes, far below,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is heard the lonely whippoorwill:</span><br />
+I scarce can see a foot ahead&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My ears are strained to catch each sound&mdash;</span><br />
+I feel the leaves beneath me spread&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the springs bubbling thro&#8217; the ground.</span><br />
+<br />
+Along the beaten path I pace,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where white rays mark my sentry&#8217;s track;</span><br />
+In formless things I seem to trace<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The foeman&#8217;s form, with bended back&mdash;</span><br />
+I think I see him crouching low!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I stop and list&mdash;I stop and peer&mdash;</span><br />
+Until the neighb&#8217;ring hillocks grow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To groups of soldiers, far and near.</span><br />
+<br />
+With ready piece I wait, and watch,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Until my eyes&mdash;familiar grown&mdash;</span><br />
+Detect each harmless earthern notch,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And turn &#8220;Guerrillas&#8221; into stone;</span><br />
+And then amid the lonely gloom,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beneath the tall magnolia trees,</span><br />
+My silent marches I resume,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And think of other times than these.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span><br />
+&#8220;Halt! who goes there?&#8221; my challenge cry&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It rings along the watchful line&mdash;</span><br />
+&#8220;Relief!&#8221; I hear a voice reply&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;Advance and give the countersign!&#8221;</span><br />
+With bayonet at the charge, I wait&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The corporal gives the mystic word&mdash;</span><br />
+With &#8220;arms aport&#8221; I change my mate,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then onward pass, and all is well!</span><br />
+<br />
+But in my tent, that night, awake,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I ask, &#8220;If in the fray I fall,</span><br />
+Can I the mystic answer make,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the angelic sentries call?&#8221;</span><br />
+And pray that Heaven so ordain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where&#8217;er I go, what fate be mine,</span><br />
+Whether in pleasure or in pain<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I still may have the &#8220;Countersign!&#8221;</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE DARLINGS AT HOME.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Col. C. G. Forshey</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>The sentinel treads his martial round,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Afar from his humble home&mdash;</span><br />
+The soldier he tramps till his thoughts are found<br />
+On missions of love and tenderness bound,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Away among his darlings to roam.</span><br />
+<br />
+What tender emotions now over him rush!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the tears down his bearded cheeks steal,</span><br />
+As he sees his darlings from their sportings rush,<br />
+And bound to meet him with a joyful gush,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;Papa&#8217;s come!&#8221; from their happy lips peal.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span><br />
+Bright Mary! as fleet as a bounding gazelle,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is into his arms with a spring;</span><br />
+And Cabie, with voice clear as a bell,<br />
+&#8220;There&#8217;s papa, dear papa!&#8221; his joyous notes swell<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet choking with tears as they ring.</span><br />
+<br />
+And next, little Nubbie comes toddling along,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bright curls streaming out to the wind&mdash;</span><br />
+With hands reaching up, and infantile tongue&mdash;<br />
+He&#8217;s lifted the welcoming group among&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As tears the stern sentinel blind.</span><br />
+<br />
+And then, with the darling bright babe, mamma comes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To welcome him home to their cot&mdash;</span><br />
+What sobs and caresses,<br />
+That happy group blesses;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is the sentinel dreaming or not?</span><br />
+<br />
+The stern sergeant of guard, calls out from his tent,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;Number Four has deserted his post!&#8221;</span><br />
+The sentinel nearest saw whither he went,<br />
+And found him, o&#8217;er musket, in reverie bent,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At home&mdash;with his little ones&mdash;lost!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span></span><br />
+The sentinel treads his lonely round&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As dawn in the East is breaking</span><br />
+A cannon&#8217;s deep thundering shakes the ground!<br />
+Another! an army springs up at the sound&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To thousands Death&#8217;s <i>reveille</i> waking!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span><br />
+What a thrilling pang traverses his soul!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a tear down his cheek is stealing,</span><br />
+For a thought of home, with the drum&#8217;s deep roll,<br />
+Spite a soldier&#8217;s manliness, over him stole,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the trumpet of battle was pealing.</span><br />
+<br />
+A moment he saw his darlings and wife;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Heaven he breath&#8217;d a short prayer!</span><br />
+To his country then consecrated his life,<br />
+Rush&#8217;d in where the clamor of battle was rife&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When a tempest of ball filled the air.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span></span><br />
+A wounded soldier, who fell by the Run,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lies panting for breath and for water&mdash;</span><br />
+His hand still grasping his trusty gun&mdash;<br />
+Expires &#8217;mid the glad notes of &#8220;victory won!&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Manassas&#8217; red field of slaughter.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span></span><br />
+In a far away cabin, a wailing is heard,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the lists of the fallen have come;</span><br />
+A mother, long sicken&#8217;d by hope deferr&#8217;d,<br />
+A widow with orphans is made at a word,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And she weeps o&#8217;er the &#8220;darlings at home.&#8221;</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p>
+<h2>AT FORT PILLOW.</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>You shudder as you think upon th&#8217; carnage of the grim report,<br />
+The desolation when we won the inner trenches of the fort;<br />
+But there are deeds ye may not know, that scourge the pulses into strife;<br />
+Dark memories of deathless woe pointing the bayonet and knife.<br />
+<br />
+The house is ashes where I dwelt, beyond the mighty inland sea,<br />
+The tombstones shattered where I knelt by that old church at Pointe Coupee;<br />
+The Yankee fiends that came with fire, camped on the consecrated sod,<br />
+And trampled in the dust and mire the holy Eucharist of God!<br />
+<br />
+The spot where darling mother sleeps, beneath the glimpse of yon sad moon,<br />
+Is crushed with splintered marble heaps, to stall the horse of some dragoon;<br />
+God! when I ponder that black day it makes my frantic spirit wince;<br />
+I marched&mdash;with Longstreet&mdash;far away, but have beheld the ravage since.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span><br />
+The tears are hot upon my face, when thinking what black fate befell<br />
+The only sister of our race&mdash;a thing too horrible to tell!<br />
+They say that ere her senses fled, she rescue of her brothers cried;<br />
+Then freely bowed her stricken head, too poor to live thus&mdash;so she died.<br />
+<br />
+Two of those brothers heard no plea; with their proud hearts forever still&mdash;<br />
+John shrouded by the Tennessee, and Arthur there at Malvern Hill;<br />
+But I have heard it everywhere, vibrating like a passing knell;<br />
+&#8217;Tis as perpetual as the air, and solemn as a funeral bell.<br />
+<br />
+By scorched lagoon and murky swamp, my wrath was never in the lurch;<br />
+I&#8217;ve killed the picket in his camp, and many a pilot on his perch;<br />
+With steady rifle, sharpen&#8217;d brand, a week ago upon my steed,<br />
+With Forrest and his warrior band, I made the hell-hounds writhe and bleed.<br />
+<br />
+You should have seen our leader go upon the battle&#8217;s burning marge,<br />
+Sweeping like falcon on the foe, heading the Gray line&#8217;s iron charge!<br />
+All outcasts from our ruined marts, we heard th&#8217; undying serpent hiss,<br />
+And in the desert of our hearts the fatal spell of Nemesis.</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img20.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;My right arm bared for fiercer play.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>The Southern yell rang loud and high the moment that we thundered in,<br />
+Smiting the demons hip and thigh, cleaving them to the very chin;<br />
+My right arm bared for fiercer play, the left one held the rein in slack;<br />
+In all the fury of the fray I sought the white man, not the black.<br />
+<br />
+The dabbled clots of brain and gore across the swirling sabres ran;<br />
+To me each brutal visage bore the front of one accurs&#8217;d man!<br />
+Throbbing along the frenzied vein, my blood seem&#8217;d kindled into song&mdash;<br />
+The death-dirge of the sacred slain, the slogan of immortal wrong.<br />
+<br />
+It glared athwart the dripping glaves, it blazed in each avenging eye&mdash;<br />
+The thought of desecrated graves and some lone sister&#8217;s desperate cry.</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img21.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">Virginia Sword-Belt Clasp.</p>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p>
+<h2>DUTY AND DEFIANCE.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Colonel Hamilton Washington</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Raise the thrilling cry, to arms!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Texas needs us all, Texans!</span><br />
+Home and love and pleasure&#8217;s charms,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yield to duty&#8217;s call, Texans!</span><br />
+Now the stream of battle lowers&mdash;<br />
+Who before the tempest cowers?<br />
+Who could hide in woman&#8217;s bowers?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Show him to the field, Texans!</span><br />
+Twice our sires for freedom fought&mdash;<br />
+Twice with blood the treasure bought&mdash;<br />
+By the lessons they have taught<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We&#8217;ll die, but never yield, Texans!</span><br />
+<br />
+Long we&#8217;ve heard the storm afar;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now &#8217;tis coming near, Texans!</span><br />
+Onward rolls the din of war,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let us meet it here, Texans!</span><br />
+All we have and love&#8217;s in danger,<br />
+Forward, then, each Texan Ranger!<br />
+Let us meet the daring stranger,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That brings us war at home, Texans!&mdash;</span><br />
+Never shall our happy land<br />
+Be ravaged by a robber band&mdash;<br />
+We will meet them hand to hand,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fight each step they come, Texans.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE CONFEDERATE OATH.<a name='fna_5' id='fna_5' href='#f_5'><small>[5]</small></a></h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;My Maryland.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>By the Cross upon our banner&mdash;glory of our Southern sky&mdash;<br />
+Swear we now, a band of brothers, free to live, or free to die!<br />
+Northrons! by the rights denied, listen to our solemn vow&mdash;<br />
+Here we swear, as freemen, never to your galling yoke to bow!<br />
+<br />
+By our brave ones lost in battle, best and noblest of our land,<br />
+Fighting with your Northern hirelings, face to face and hand to hand;<br />
+By a sacrifice so priceless, by the spirits of the slain&mdash;<br />
+Swear we now, our Southern heroes shall not thus have died in vain.<br />
+<br />
+Wide and deep the breach between us&mdash;rent by hatred&#8217;s poisoned darts,<br />
+And ye cannot now cement it with the blood of Southern hearts!<br />
+Streams of gore that gulf shall widen, running strong and deep and red,<br />
+Severing you from us forever, while there is a drop to shed.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span><br />
+Think you we will brook the insults of your fierce and ruffian chief,<br />
+Heaped upon our dark-eyed daughters stricken down and pale with grief!<br />
+Think you while astounded nations curse your malice, we will bear<br />
+Foulest wrong? with God to call on&mdash;arms to do&mdash;and hearts to dare!<br />
+<br />
+When we prayed in peace to leave you, answering came a battle cry;<br />
+Then we swore that oath which freemen never swear who fear to die!<br />
+Northrons, come! and you shall find us heart to heart and hand to hand,<br />
+Shouting to the God of Battles, Freedom and our native land!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>BAYOU CITY GUARDS&#8217; DIXIE.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By the Company&#8217;s Own Poet.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>From Houston city and Brazos bottom,<br />
+From selling goods and making cotton,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Away, away, away, away!</span><br />
+We go to meet our country&#8217;s foes,<br />
+To win or die in freedom&#8217;s cause;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Away, away, away, away!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;We&#8217;re going to old Virginia, hooray, hooray!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.75em;">To join the fight for Southern rights&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.75em;">We&#8217;ll live or die for Davis, hooray, hooray!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.75em;">We&#8217;ll live or die for Davis.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span><br />
+You&#8217;ve heard of Abe, the gay deceiver,<br />
+Who sent to Sumter to relieve her;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Away, away, away, away!</span><br />
+But Beauregard said &#8220;save your bacon!<br />
+Sumter&#8217;s ours and must be taken!&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Away, away, away, away!</span><br />
+<br />
+With a floating battery and a few hot shot,<br />
+He sent them back to General Scott&mdash;<br />
+Old Abe he swore and cuss&#8217;d like fun<br />
+When he found the rebels wouldn&#8217;t run.<br />
+<br />
+Scott with his army started South!<br />
+You&#8217;ve heard how our armies cleaned them out&mdash;<br />
+On Manassas&#8217; plains for miles around,<br />
+Their dead and wounded fill&#8217;d the ground.<br />
+<br />
+Senator Wilson, the ugly sinner,<br />
+Went over to Centreville to eat a big dinner&mdash;<br />
+The M. C.&#8217;s and ministers of State,<br />
+Left their champagne behind and dinners on the plate.<br />
+<br />
+They had to leave on an empty stomach,<br />
+And &#8220;git up and git&#8221; on t&#8217;other side of the Potomac&mdash;<br />
+But some of the invaders are with us still&mdash;<br />
+We&#8217;ll send them back again if the Lord will.<br />
+<br />
+Our country calls for volunteers,<br />
+And Texas boys reply with cheers&mdash;<br />
+The Henderson Guards and Leon Hunters,<br />
+Friends in peace&mdash;in war like panthers.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span><br />
+The Tom Green Rifles and Lone Star Guards,<br />
+In a cause that is just, nothing retards;<br />
+The Echo Company, and the brave Five Shooters,<br />
+Will deal out death to all freebooters.<br />
+<br />
+The Northern vandals will learn to their sorrow,<br />
+Of the Porter Guards, and Rifles of Navarro&mdash;<br />
+The Mustang Greys, O, they never fight for bounty,<br />
+Nor do the other Greys&mdash;those from Navarro county.<br />
+<br />
+The Liberty Invincibles and Hardeman Texans<br />
+Can wallop ten to one, whether Yanks or Mexicans;<br />
+From the Waverly Confederates and the Dixie Blues,<br />
+And the Bayou City Guards you may expect good news.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>DE COTTON DOWN IN DIXIE.</h2>
+
+<p class="note">These capital verses were found [written?] on board of the English barque
+<i>Premier</i>, in January, 1863, bound from Liverpool to Havana, sixty miles
+west of Madeira, by <i>Lone Star</i>, of Galveston, Texas.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>I&#8217;m gwine back to de land of cotton,<br />
+Wid de &#8220;English Flag&#8221; in an &#8220;English bottom,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far away, far away, far away;</span><br />
+Kase dere I&#8217;m safe from Uncle Sam,<br />
+And he can&#8217;t make me contraban&#8217;,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In de land, in de land, in de land,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Away down South in Dixie.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;O, in Dixie land I&#8217;ll take my stand,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And live and die in Dixie land;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Hoe away, hoe away, hoe away,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">De cotton down in Dixie.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span><br />
+Nor confiscate me for his use,<br />
+To black and clean his sojers&#8217; shoes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far away, etc.,</span><br />
+To &#8220;dig his trenches&#8221; and save his health,<br />
+For a picayune a day and find myself,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far away, far away, far away,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From de cotton land of Dixie.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+O, I&#8217;m gwine back to de old plantations,<br />
+To tell de boys ob my observations,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far away, etc.,</span><br />
+Made by myself in de British nation&mdash;<br />
+I&#8217;ll tell de trufe widout &#8220;sensation,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far away, etc.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+I&#8217;ve been across de Atlantic Ocean,<br />
+Where dey all do make so great commotion,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far away, etc.,</span><br />
+About de war and cotton &#8220;famine,&#8221;<br />
+Dey talk a heap of &#8220;twaddle and gammon,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far away, etc.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+For in dis English land I&#8217;ve bin in,<br />
+Dey&#8217;ve got no cotton for de spinnin&#8217;,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hard times, etc.,</span><br />
+For de warehousemen of Manchester,<br />
+De spinners, too, of Lancashire,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far away, etc.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span><br />
+Some say, &#8220;Make muslin widout cotton,&#8221;<br />
+Others, &#8220;O no, &#8217;twill be too rotten;&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Talk away, etc.,</span><br />
+Some say, &#8220;From India we&#8217;ll get plenty,<br />
+From Egypt, Greenland and Ashantee,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far away, etc.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Dey&#8217;se holdin&#8217; meetin&#8217;s night and day,<br />
+To find out soon some oder way,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some way, etc.,</span><br />
+To git dere cotton widout you,<br />
+But dat&#8217;s a fac&#8217; dey&#8217;ll nebber do,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far away, etc.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+For it will take six million bales<br />
+For de mills ob England, Scotland, Wales,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spin away, etc.,</span><br />
+To feed de spinnin&#8217; mules and jennies,<br />
+Dere boys and gals and pickaninnies,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far away, etc.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Now dis will take a time so long,<br />
+&#8217;Twill be like de horse in de ole man&#8217;s song&#8217;,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sing away, etc.,</span><br />
+Dat he learned to lib widout corn or hay,<br />
+But he <i>went dead</i> dat berry same day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Right away, etc.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span><br />
+O gemmen ob de &#8220;Supply Association,&#8221;<a name='fna_6' id='fna_6' href='#f_6'><small>[6]</small></a><br />
+I&#8217;ll tell you ob de &#8220;New-born Nation,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far away, etc.,</span><br />
+De Confederate States of America,<br />
+Where cotton grows both night and day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far away, etc.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+For we can grow de cotton-wool,<br />
+For John Crapeau and Johnny Bull,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;Parley voo,&#8221; etc.,</span><br />
+An&#8217; dey will feed and keep de workies,<br />
+&#8220;White weaver folk,&#8221; and &#8220;hoe in darkies,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quite right, etc.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+O I&#8217;se gwine back to de land ob cotton,<br />
+Sea Island seed and sandy bottom,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far away, etc.,</span><br />
+To de bressed land whar I was born,<br />
+De land of sugar, cotton and corn,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far away, etc.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE SOLDIER&#8217;S MISSION.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">A. W. Morse</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Haste thee, falter not, noble patriot band,<br />
+Bravely meet thy lot, firm maintain thy stand,<br />
+God, the God of War, who defends the just,<br />
+Give thine arm the power to defend thy trust.<br />
+<br />
+Thy country called thine aid, prompt thine answer came:<br />
+&#8220;We&#8217;ll draw our battle blade, and shield our country&#8217;s name,<br />
+&#8217;Till our firm demand shall have been proclaimed,<br />
+Justice through the land&mdash;equal rights maintained.&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+Welcome, welcome, then, to thy happy home,<br />
+Warm hearts wait thee, when thou mayst thus return<br />
+But shouldst thou fall in defense of right<br />
+With grateful hearts we&#8217;ll all cherish thy memory bright.</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img22.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">Infantry Button.</p>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SOLDIER, I STAY TO PRAY FOR THEE.<a name='fna_7' id='fna_7' href='#f_7'><small>[7]</small></a></h2>
+
+<p class="center">Words by <span class="smcap">J. S. Thovington</span>.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by <span class="smcap">J. W. Groschel</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Vocal Duett.</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td align="center">SOLDIER.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Lady, I go to fight for thee,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where gory banners wave,</span><br />
+To fight for thee, and, oh, perchance<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To find a soldier&#8217;s grave.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="center">LADY.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Soldier, I stay to pray for thee,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A harder task is mine;</span><br />
+To which, and long in lonely grief,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That victory may be thine.</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="center">SOLDIER.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Lady, I go and fight for thee.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="center">LADY.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Soldier, I stay and pray for thee.</td></tr>
+<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="center">BOTH.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>And strength and faith combined,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still form the magic sword,</span><br />
+Wherewith the Southrons victory find,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Southrons victory find.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img23.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;Lady, I go to fight for thee!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td align="center">SOLDIER.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Fare thee well!</td></tr>
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="center">LADY.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Fare thee well!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE SOUTH OUR COUNTRY.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Words by <span class="smcap">E. M. Thompson</span>.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by <span class="smcap">J. A. Butterfield</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Our country, our country, oh, where may we find,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Amid all the proud relics of legend or story,</span><br />
+A holier charm for the patriot mind<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than that soul-stirring topic&mdash;our native land&#8217;s glory.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That land on whose standard the eagle&#8217;s proud pinions</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flutter lordly defiance to tyranny&#8217;s minions,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And whose soil all untarnished by sceptre or throne,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is a home for the brave, and the free heart alone.</span><br />
+<br />
+And we care not to honor the bleak shores of Maine,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With her ship-peopled strand in proud grandeur careering,</span><br />
+Nor the West, with her wide prairies waving in grain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The gainers of plenty by name so endearing.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the South is our home the land of bright flowers,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the softest of suns, and the gentlest of showers</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Distill a sweet balm from the blossoming earth,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And make life a bright vision of pleasure and mirth.</span><br />
+<br />
+Though dreams of the past cling around the heart still,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a thousand proud memories will ever be cherished</span><br />
+Of Princeton and Monmouth and brave Bunker Hill<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The spots where our country&#8217;s defenders have perished;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The union they bled for is now rudely severed,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The idols are broken we once fondly revered,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And discord has scattered its pestilent bane</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From Florida&#8217;s reefs to the snow peaks of Maine.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span><br />
+But union still gladdens our own sunny home,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose bright blades and brave hearts will ever defend her,</span><br />
+And though wreck and disaster and ruin may come,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While the bright sun shines o&#8217;er them they never will surrender.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let the foeman come on in his daring effrontery,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let him trample the loved soil we call our dear country,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And for every fair flower that fades in his path,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A proud heart shall bleed &#8217;neath the sword of our wrath.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>I WISH I WAS IN DIXIE&#8217;S LAND.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Dan D. Emmett</span>.</p>
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be obtained of Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass.]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>I wish I was in de land ob cotton,<br />
+Old times dar am not forgotten,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look away, look away, look away, Dixie Land!</span><br />
+In Dixie land whar I was born in,<br />
+Early on one frosty mornin&#8217;,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look away, look away, look away, Dixie land!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Den I wish I was in Dixie&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Hooray, hooray!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">In Dixie land I&#8217;ll took my stan&#8217;!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">To lib an&#8217; die in Dixie</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Away, away,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Away down south in Dixie</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Away, away,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Away down south in Dixie.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span><br />
+Ole Missus marry &#8220;Will-de-Weaber,&#8221;<br />
+William was gay deceber<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look away, etc.</span><br />
+But when he put his arm around &#8217;er<br />
+He smiled as fierce as a forty-pounder<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look away, etc.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+His face was sharp as a butcher&#8217;s cleaber,<br />
+But dat did not seem to grieb &#8217;er,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look away, etc.</span><br />
+Ole Missus acted de foolish part,<br />
+An&#8217; died for a man dat broke her heart,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look away, etc.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Now, here&#8217;s a health to de next ole Missus,<br />
+Ah! all de gals dat want to kiss us,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look away, etc.</span><br />
+But if you want to drive &#8217;way sorrow,<br />
+Come an&#8217; hear dis song to-morrow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look away, etc.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Dar&#8217;s buckwheat cakes an&#8217; Injun batter,<br />
+Makes you fat, or a little fatter,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look away, etc.</span><br />
+Den hoe it down and scratch your grabble,<br />
+To Dixie&#8217;s Land I&#8217;m bound to trabble,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look away, etc.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CAMPAIGN BALLAD.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Rev. J. E. Carnes</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Young Florida sends forth her clan&mdash;the old Dominion&#8217;s brave,<br />
+With sons of Texas, lead the van to glory or the grave;<br />
+Now, by the fame of Yorktown&#8217;s name, and by the Alamo,<br />
+The sons will not the fathers shame, though mightier be the foe.<br />
+<br />
+From desecrated Maryland come out a faithful few,<br />
+And old Kentucky sends a band to God and Freedom true;<br />
+There comes a thrill from Sharpsburg&#8217;s rill&mdash;and from the &#8220;bloody ground,&#8221;<br />
+Heap&#8217;d with the mounds of Perryville, the spectral slogans sound!<br />
+<br />
+And Alabama&#8217;s well-tried host into the Grey line wheels,<br />
+From wasted farms, beleaguered coast, from Florence to Mobile;<br />
+The torch-lit home, whence kindred roam, has lent its wings their fire;<br />
+And wrongs, tear-writ in mem&#8217;ry&#8217;s tome, to deeds of blood inspire.<br />
+<br />
+Ho, Louisiana! vengeance fraught by rapine&#8217;s hellish scenes,<br />
+Comes vanward with the blended thought of Mansfield&mdash;New Orleans;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>By spicy groves, where beauty roves, and where the Yankees swarm,<br />
+With vandal feet, in hireling droves, she swears her vengeance warm.<br />
+<br />
+Arkansas strikes Missouri&#8217;s hand&mdash;they cross the bayonet,<br />
+Each thinking of a glorious band with blood of kindred met;<br />
+They bless the Post, whose little host fought all but treason well;<br />
+And Elkhorn&#8217;s grief and Springfield&#8217;s boast their patriot bosoms swell.<br />
+<br />
+From where the cypress droppeth down tear-dews on Jackson&#8217;s tomb;<br />
+From where the darkest mountains frown, and brightest valleys bloom,<br />
+All broad of breast, with lance in rest, and in their swift-streams free,<br />
+Pour down the bravest and the best of sinewy Tennessee.<br />
+<br />
+With Vicksburg boiling in their veins, the Mississippians cheer,<br />
+With wildest joy, the trumpet-strains that speak the battle near;<br />
+O hear! O hark! the name of Stark is passed along the line&mdash;<br />
+A thousand eyes more keenly mark where gathering foes combine.<br />
+<br />
+From Chickamauga to the flames that o&#8217;er Savannah glare,<br />
+Inspired by Bee and Barton&#8217;s names the Georgians, too are there;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>By the sad path of Sherman&#8217;s wrath all thro&#8217; their staid old state,<br />
+They swear themselves to deeds of scath, and righteous love of hate!<br />
+<br />
+The Carolinas seek the fray&mdash;the scarr&#8217;d of every fight,<br />
+From far Manassas&#8217; glorious day to Fisher&#8217;s bloody night;<br />
+Grand deeds of old their hearts unfold, and later memories clasp,<br />
+While rifle stock and hilt of gold are griped with fiercer grasp.<br />
+<br />
+Now make one more immortal plain, ye men of battle skill,<br />
+Ye of the comprehensive brain and the undaunted will;<br />
+Now, Robert Lee! there comes to thee the all-decisive hour!<br />
+God make thy flashing blade to be the lightning of his power!<br />
+<br />
+Now, Beauregard and Johnston, now as in your other fight,<br />
+With mutual heart and answering brow inspire the hosts of right!<br />
+Now, Bragg and Hood, who oft withstood, and oft have charged the foe,<br />
+Come with a hand and will as good to lay the vandal low.<br />
+<br />
+Rise, Longstreet, with a face that shines as bright as battle&#8217;s flash,<br />
+Where&#8217;er along the closing lines the burnish&#8217;d bayonets crash;<br />
+Now, Forrest, aid with such a blade as made Fort Pillow quail;<br />
+Now, Hill and Hardee, undismay&#8217;d, direct the iron hail.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span><br />
+Ho! Smith, Magruder, Taylor, Price and Walker in your spheres,<br />
+Warm with your zeal the hearts of ice, and charm the coward&#8217;s fears!<br />
+For by the tree of Liberty God planted on this shore,<br />
+This fight should be a victory or ye should breathe no more.<br />
+<br />
+Now, Davis! on the mount of State, discern the Lord&#8217;s command,<br />
+While faith and courage on thee wait, and lift each cheering hand,<br />
+To beckon all, from farm and street, and make the laggard feel<br />
+A wish to meet the first that greets the carnival of steel!<br />
+<br />
+Let Honor beat the rataplan and Duty quick obey&mdash;<br />
+Make &#8220;yea&#8221; an instant Tagerman, and &#8220;no&#8221; at once a Ney!<br />
+Upon the blood our best have spilled, pledge me with common breaths<br />
+War to the hilt with Yankee guilty, for &#8220;Liberty or Death!&#8221;</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img24.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">Louisiana.</p>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p>
+<h2>OUR GLORIOUS FLAG.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">A VICKSBURG SONG.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Her Bright Smile Haunts Me Still.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>There is freedom on each fold, and each star is freedom&#8217;s throne,<br />
+And the free, the brave, the bold, guard thine honor as their own;<br />
+Ev&#8217;ry danger hast thou known that the battle&#8217;s storm can fill,<br />
+Thy glory hath not flown&mdash;we proudly wave thee still.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Ev&#8217;ry danger, etc.</span><br />
+<br />
+Floating in the morning light, Freedom&#8217;s sun! thou shinest far,<br />
+Floating thro&#8217; the murky night, all shall see thee, Freedom&#8217;s star!<br />
+For <i>sic semper</i> thy refrain, and thy motto e&#8217;er shall be,<br />
+Let tyrants wear the chain&mdash;I am&mdash;I will be free!<br />
+<br />
+O&#8217;er the land or the sea where the hurling waves are torn,<br />
+In the calm, the storm, the breeze, be thy standard proudly borne;<br />
+For there&#8217;s freedom on each fold, and each star&#8217;s freedom&#8217;s throne&mdash;<br />
+The free, the brave, the bold, thy glory is their own.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE HOUR BEFORE EXECUTION.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Miss Maria E. Jones</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Hark! the clock strikes! All, all that now remains,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is one short hour of this fast fleeting life,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then farewell the terrors and the strife,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The heavenly joys, the sorrows of long years,</span><br />
+It&#8217;s holy rapture, the corroding pains&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That fill the heart with rapture or with tears.</span><br />
+<br />
+Farewell, old world! I never knew &#8217;till now<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How well I lov&#8217;d thee; and my wayward heart</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still fondly clings to thee&mdash;but we must part!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Let not my proud heart in that parting fail!</span><br />
+How can I weep to leave thee? I whose brow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hath oft been bared to battle&#8217;s iron hail!</span><br />
+<br />
+My heart beats proudly, yet the coward tears<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Steal from my eyes and bathe my pallid cheek;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">God! what womanly weakness do they speak</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And would half say, that the brave Southern spy</span><br />
+Who had scorned death and mock&#8217;d his idle fears,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Had, at last, forgotten how to die.</span><br />
+<br />
+O beauteous earth! each well remember&#8217;d place&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All that I lov&#8217;d comes up before my mind&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The lov&#8217;d and cherished I must leave behind&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stand out before me! every verdant spot</span><br />
+In my life&#8217;s desert I can clearly trace,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">E&#8217;en to those pictures I had deemed forgot.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span><br />
+I see my mother standing in the door<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of my lov&#8217;d home, as in the evening breeze</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The curtains wave, and the gigantic trees,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stretching their arms to welcome me again,</span><br />
+Cast dark&#8217;ning shadows on the bare bright floor&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mother, dear mother! you will watch in vain.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img25.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;Farewell to earth and all its beauteous bloom.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>Watch for the coming of my eager feet,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My warm embraces and tender, loving kisses&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They will not come! dear mother, you will miss</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Your boy&#8217;s lov&#8217;d presence, and in vain will seek,</span><br />
+The well known form that you were wont to greet<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With tender kisses upon brow and cheek.</span><br />
+<br />
+The tall, green trees will cast their lengthen&#8217;d shade<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Across the prairie, and the shadows pale</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will fill your home, and the wild winds will wail</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With frantic madness, as they swiftly sweep</span><br />
+Thro&#8217; the dark forests where your children play&#8217;d&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where all save one in death&#8217;s embraces sleep.</span><br />
+<br />
+And he will fill an unhonor&#8217;d far-off grave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unmark&#8217;d and lone! The hated foeman&#8217;s scorn,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will soon be o&#8217;er. This glorious, golden morn</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I leave my life, my honor and my fame,</span><br />
+To nobly die as fits a soldier brave&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who asks of Southrons but an honor&#8217;d name?</span><br />
+<br />
+The hour is gone! and I must meet my doom,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And die, as should a soldier always die,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With unblanch&#8217;d cheek, and proudly scornful eye,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">While stern defiance doth my bosom swell&mdash;</span><br />
+Farewell to earth and all its beauteous bloom&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My country! mother! one long, last farewell!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE BLACK FLAG.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Paul H. Hayne</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Like the roar of the wintry surges on a wild tempestuous strand,<br />
+The voice of the madden&#8217;d millions comes up from an outraged land;<br />
+For the cup of our woe runs over, and the day of our grace is past,<br />
+And Mercy has fled to the Angels, and Hatred is King at last!<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Then up with the Sable Banner!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.75em;">Let it thrill to the War God&#8217;s breath,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.75em;">For we march to the watchword&mdash;Vengeance!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.75em;">And we follow the Captain&mdash;Death!</span><br />
+<br />
+In the gloom of the gory breaches, on the ramparts wrapt in flame,<br />
+&#8217;Mid the ruin&#8217;d homesteads, blacken&#8217;d by a hundred deeds of shame;<br />
+Wheresoever the vandals rally, and the bands of the alien meet,<br />
+We will crush the heads of the hydra with the stamp of our armed feet.<br />
+<br />
+They have taught us a fearful lesson! &#8217;tis burn&#8217;d on our hearts in fire,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>And the souls of a host of heroes leap with a fierce desire;<br />
+And we swear by all that is sacred, and we swear by all that is pure,<br />
+That the crafty and cruel dastards shall ravage our homes no more.<br />
+<br />
+We will roll the billows of battle back, back on the braggart foe,<br />
+&#8217;Till his leaguer&#8217;d and stricken cities shall quake with a coward&#8217;s throe;<br />
+They shall compass the awful meaning of the conflict their lust begun,<br />
+When the Northland rings with wailing, and the grand old cause hath won.<a name='fna_8' id='fna_8' href='#f_8'><small>[8]</small></a></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>BANKS&#8217; SKEDADDLE.</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>You know the Federal General Banks,<br />
+Who came through Louisiana with his forty thousand Yanks;<br />
+His object was to execute the Abolition law,<br />
+With as mongrel a horde of soldiers as creation ever saw;<br />
+There were Irish and English, and Spanish and Dutch,<br />
+And negroes and Yankees, and many more such,<br />
+All dress&#8217;d out in blue coats and fine filagree&mdash;<br />
+But such a skedaddle you never did see!<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Doodle, doodle, Yankee doodle, doodle, dee,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">O such a skedaddle you never did see!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span><br />
+They came prepared to shear our sheep and gather in our crops,<br />
+And thus destroy the government by knocking down its props;<br />
+They&#8217;d rob us of our wheat and wool, our poultry and such things,<br />
+And steal the ladies&#8217; jewelry, their dresses and their rings;<br />
+They had scythe-blades and whiskey, and sheep shears and hams,<br />
+And threshes and jack-knives, and jellies and jams,<br />
+O glorious their object&mdash;a nation to free!<br />
+But such a skedaddle you never did see!<br />
+<br />
+The veterans of Vicksburg, who never had been whipped,<br />
+All swore that not a leaflet of their laurels should be clipped;<br />
+They wanted to see Texas, and the famous Texas boys,<br />
+Who thro&#8217; the whole Confederacy were making such a noise;<br />
+They had banners and mottoes, and trumpets and drums,<br />
+And small arms and cannon, and round shot and bombs,<br />
+Their most famous column, the &#8220;Feds&#8221; did agree&mdash;<br />
+But such a skedaddle you never did see!<br />
+<br />
+How first they saw the Texans and heard the Texan yell&mdash;<br />
+But whether men or devils they declare they could not tell,<br />
+They faced about, at &#8220;double quick,&#8221; and run with all their might,<br />
+For they had seen the &#8220;elephant,&#8221; and did not like the sight;<br />
+They left baggage and Enfields, and knapsacks and shoes,<br />
+And pickles and blankets, and negroes and stews,<br />
+And broke for the river as fast as might be&mdash;<br />
+But such a skedaddle you never did see!<br />
+<br />
+Helter, skelter, neck or nothing, driven by their fears,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>From ev&#8217;ry side the Texan yell was ringing in their ears!<br />
+Still on they rush&#8217;d, like quarter-horses, shouting as they ran,<br />
+&#8220;The Rebels take the hindmost&mdash;now save himself who can!&#8221;<br />
+They had gunboats and transports, and all sorts of crafts,<br />
+They were all clad in iron, with guns fore and aft,<br />
+In these they expected in safety to flee&mdash;<br />
+But such a skedaddle you never did see!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>AWAKE! TO ARMS IN TEXAS!</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Dixie.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Hear ye not the sound of battle,<br />
+Sabre clash and musket rattle?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awake, awake, awake in Texas!</span><br />
+Hostile footsteps on your border;<br />
+Hostile columns tread in order;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awake, awake, awake in Texas!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;O, fly to arms in Texas! to arms! to arms!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">From Texas land we&#8217;ll rout the band</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">That comes to conquer Texas&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Awake, awake, and rout the foe from Texas.</span><br />
+<br />
+See the red smoke hanging o&#8217;er us;<br />
+Hear the cannon&#8217;s booming chorus;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awake, awake, awake in Texas!</span><br />
+See our steady columns forming;<br />
+Hear the shouting&mdash;hear the storming,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awake, awake, awake in Texas!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span><br />
+All the Northmen&#8217;s forces coming;<br />
+Hark! the distant rapid drumming:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awake, awake, awake in Texas!</span><br />
+Prouder ranks than theirs were driven,<br />
+When our Mexic ties were riven;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awake, awake, awake in Texas.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Gird your loins, with sword and sabre;<br />
+Give your lives to freedom&#8217;s labor;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awake, awake, awake in Texas!</span><br />
+What though ev&#8217;ry heart be sadden&#8217;d&mdash;<br />
+What though all the land be redden&#8217;d&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awake, awake, awake in Texas!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Shall this boasting, mad invader,<br />
+Trample Texas and degrade her?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awake, awake, awake in Texas!</span><br />
+By our fathers&#8217; proud example,<br />
+Texas soil they shall not trample;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awake, awake, awake in Texas!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Texans! meet them on the border;<br />
+Charge them into wild disorder;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awake, awake, awake in Texas!</span><br />
+Hew the vandals down before you,<br />
+Till the last inch they restore you;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awake, awake, awake in Texas!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span><br />
+Through the echoing hills resounding,<br />
+Hear the Texan bugles sounding;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awake, awake, awake in Texas!</span><br />
+Arouse from ev&#8217;ry hill and valley;<br />
+List the bugle! Rally! rally!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awake, awake, awake in Texas!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE CAPTURE OF SEVENTEEN OF COMPANY H, FOURTH TEXAS CAVALRY.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Wake Snakes and Bite a Biskit.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&#8217;Twas early in the morning of eighteen sixty-three,<br />
+We started out on picket, not knowing what we&#8217;d see;<br />
+The bridge we knew was floating. If the Yankees should pursue,<br />
+We knew we should be captured if running we&#8217;d not do.<br />
+<br />
+To stop and give them battle, we never tho&#8217;t of it&mdash;<br />
+The shot at us did rattle, so we tho&#8217;t we&#8217;d better &#8220;git,&#8221;<br />
+The captain tried to rally us, and so did brave young Linn;<br />
+And Rader, too, with pistol drawn&mdash;Fenly next &#8220;put in.&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+Rainbolt, too, with angry words attempts to stop our flight,<br />
+They tell us yet to stop with them, and give the Yankees fight:<br />
+They saw they could not stop us&mdash;to try it would be vain&mdash;<br />
+So their only chance of safety was to give their steeds the rein.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span><br />
+Now this portion of my story will cause your hearts to bleed,<br />
+It tells of those who halted while going at full speed.<br />
+First came Billy Eddins, with musket shot in thigh,<br />
+He was told by the Yankees, &#8220;surrender now or die!&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+Then came poor Johnny Burns, with sabre cut in head,<br />
+And near by him, and wounded, stood the still unconquer&#8217;d Red;<br />
+Then Oscar, and June Harris stood near in sore affright&mdash;<br />
+Then came the young De Marcus, in none the better plight.<br />
+<br />
+Yarborough, too, with chalky cheek, was walking down the road&mdash;<br />
+The Yankees had to some extent relieved him of his load;<br />
+His overcoat he had pulled off, and in his shirt he stood,<br />
+In woeful plight, he was a sight,&mdash;his face contain&#8217;d no blood.<br />
+<br />
+Then came the lively Lilly, with teeth hard set in wrath,<br />
+To think that some had pass&#8217;d him by, but pick&#8217;d him up at last!<br />
+Then Burnes came, and Maynard, then Graham and Jim Baugh&mdash;<br />
+The gallant Bone was found alone, and bro&#8217;t back from afar.<br />
+<br />
+But of the handsome Parton I must not fail to tell;<br />
+His graceful way of riding you all remember well;<br />
+But to-day the fates concluded to stop his wild career,<br />
+So from his horse was jolted by a musket from the rear.<br />
+<br />
+The gallant Hill, and dashing Dees, were spurring for dear life,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>When a Yankee rode with perfect ease upon them with a knife;<br />
+&#8220;Surrender, now, my pretty pair; and do it quickly too,<br />
+Stop at once and turn your mare, or I will run you through.&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+They stopp&#8217;d at once, and faced about and to the rear did start;<br />
+And back they came, with legs quite lame, with faint and sinking heart:<br />
+And there they saw a crowd who were gobbled up that day&mdash;<br />
+They were the twain that made seventeen, and we were marched away.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>ALABAMA.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Words by <span class="smcap">Laura Lorrimer</span>.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by <span class="smcap">J. W. Groschel</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Over vale and over mountain<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pealing forth in triumph strong,</span><br />
+Comes a lofty swell of music,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alabama&#8217;s greeting song.</span><br />
+In the new-born arch of glory,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So, she burns, the central star,</span><br />
+Never shame shall blight its grandeur,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never cloud its radiance mar.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Alabama, Alabama,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Listen, Southrons, to the strain,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Alabama, Alabama,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Shout the rallying cry again.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span><br />
+As the gulf waves rushing shoreward,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Break in music echoes grand,</span><br />
+Alabama sends this greeting,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Proudly to her sister band.</span><br />
+This her ultimatum, burning,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In each heart of Southern flame,</span><br />
+Peace, if gained not by dishonor,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But far better war than shame.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Let the &#8220;Northern Lion&#8221; couchant,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On his bleak and froze plain,</span><br />
+Lift his shaggy front in wonder,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And defiant shake his mane.</span><br />
+Sunward soars the mighty eagle,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And where blossom brighter bowers,</span><br />
+Than amid the green savannahs<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of this sunny land of ours.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+And her sons will rise in legions,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bleed and die at her behest,</span><br />
+Ere a hostile Northern footstep<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trample, conqueror, on her breast.</span><br />
+This the faith she plights her sisters,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In this glorious Southern band,</span><br />
+Side by side she will be with them,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heart with heart, and hand to hand.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p>
+<h2>IMOGEN.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Maj.-Gen. J. B. Magruder</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Wake! dearest, wake! &#8217;tis thy lover who calls, Imogen;<br />
+List! dearest, list! the dew gently falls, Imogen;<br />
+Arise to thy lattice, the moon is asleep,<br />
+The bright stars above us their bright vigils keep.</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img26.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;Thy steed is impatient his mistress to bear.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Then fear not, my Imogen,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Thou&#8217;rt dearer than life!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">The heart of the soldier is the home of the wife, Imogen,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">The heart of the soldier is the home of the wife.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img27.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;Arise to thy lattice, the moon is asleep.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>Thy steed is impatient his mistress to bear, Imogen,<br />
+Home to her lover, on the prairie afar, Imogen,<br />
+Belov&#8217;d as a maiden, adored as a wife,<br />
+Thou shalt be forever the star of my life.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>AN OLD TEXAN&#8217;S APPEAL.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Reuben E. Brown</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Come all ye temper&#8217;d hearts of steel&mdash;come, quit your flocks and farms,<br />
+Your sports, your plays, your holidays, and hark! away to arms!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And hark! away to arms!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your sports, your plays, your holidays,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And hark! away to arms!</span><br />
+<br />
+For a soldier is a gentleman&mdash;his honor is his life&mdash;<br />
+And he that won&#8217;t fight at his post shall ne&#8217;er stay with his wife!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Shall ne&#8217;er stay with his wife!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And he that won&#8217;t fight at his post,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Shall ne&#8217;er stay with his wife!</span><br />
+<br />
+For love and honor are the same, they are so near alike,<br />
+They neither can exist alone, but flourish side by side.<br />
+<br />
+Our country calls us to the field&mdash;let&#8217;s not a moment stay;<br />
+Gird on your arms with cheerfulness, and fearless march away.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span><br />
+No foreign power shall us enslave&mdash;no Northern tyrant reign;<br />
+&#8217;Twas independence made us free, and freedom we&#8217;ll maintain.<br />
+<br />
+The rising world shall sing of us a thousand years to come,<br />
+And children to their children tell what glories we have won.<br />
+<br />
+Farewell, sweethearts! &#8217;tis for awhile; my dear, sweet girls, adieu;<br />
+Let&#8217;s drive these Northern dogs away, we&#8217;ll come and stay with you.<br />
+<br />
+And when the war is over, boys, we&#8217;ll then sit down at ease&mdash;<br />
+We&#8217;ll plow and sow, and reap and mow, and do just as we please.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>ARISE! YE SONS OF FREE-BORN SIRES!</h2>
+
+<p class="note">(Lines prompted by the spirit that pervaded the soldiers of Galveston on
+receiving the news of our disaster.)</p>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">A. E. Morris</span>, Company C, Twentieth Infantry.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Arise! ye sons of free-born sires; arise! your country save;<br />
+Kindle again the wonted fires that animate the brave:<br />
+Your heritage your foes menace&mdash;secure it from their foul embrace&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your chains asunder burst!</span><br />
+What tho&#8217; they count as harvest-seed&mdash;as fathers bled, their sons must bleed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or be forever accursed!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span><br />
+The boasted chivalry of yore you can, you must, maintain;<br />
+Let not the scars our fathers bore for us, be borne in vain!<br />
+Degenerate sons of noble sires, by baleful, wild, fanatic fires,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And madden&#8217;d folly mov&#8217;d,</span><br />
+Profaned their Hero&#8217;s sacred dust&mdash;betrayed their country&#8217;s sacred trust,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And double traitors proved.</span><br />
+<br />
+They&#8217;ve rais&#8217;d the fratricidal hand&mdash;they&#8217;ve shed their brother&#8217;s blood&mdash;<br />
+Spread desolation thro&#8217; your land with sword and fire and blood,<br />
+Your desecrated altars lie ensanguin&#8217;d in the deepest dye<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of holy thing&#8217;s profaned</span><br />
+Your homes and towns in ruins piled&mdash;your matrons, maids&mdash;your very child<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With foul pollution stained.</span><br />
+<br />
+Then rise, ye sons of free-born sires, <i>once</i> more! and freedom&#8217;s won,<br />
+Kindle again the fervid fires that glow&#8217;d in sixty-one!<br />
+Your heritage your foes menace&mdash;secure it from their foul embrace&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your chains asunder burst!</span><br />
+What tho&#8217; they count as harvest-seed&mdash;as fathers bled, their sons must bleed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or be fore&#8217;er accursed!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p>
+<h2>GAY AND HAPPY.</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>We&#8217;re the boys so gay and happy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wheresoever we chance to be&mdash;</span><br />
+If at home, or on camp duty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Tis the same, we&#8217;re always free!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Then let the Yanks say what they will,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">We&#8217;ll be gay and happy still;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Gay and happy, gay and happy,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">We&#8217;ll be gay and happy still.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+We&#8217;ve left our homes, and those we cherish<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In our own dear Texas land!</span><br />
+We would rather fight and perish<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Side by side, and hand in hand.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Old Virginia needs assistance&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Northern hosts invade her soil&mdash;</span><br />
+We&#8217;ll present a firm resistance,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Courting danger, fire and toil.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Then let drums and muskets rattle&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fearless as the name we bore,</span><br />
+We&#8217;ll not leave the field of battle<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While a Yank is on our shore.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p>
+<h2>BAYLOR&#8217;S PARTISAN RANGERS.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Mary L. Wilson</span>, of San Antonio, Texas.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Dixie.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Hear the summons, sons of Texas!<br />
+Now the fierce invaders vex us,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come on, come on, come on for Texas!</span><br />
+Daring, dauntless, reckless Ranger!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">First in glory, first in danger&mdash;</span><br />
+Come on, come on for Texas.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Exalt the fame of Texas, strike home, strike home!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Where Baylor leads the foeman bleeds!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Then strike with him for Texas&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Come on, come on, ye gallant sons of Texas!</span><br />
+<br />
+Awhile ago they dared defy us&mdash;<br />
+Now they meet us but to fly us;<br />
+Bright the stars and bars are gleaming!<br />
+Bright our future star is beaming!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+By base Butler&#8217;s proclamation,<br />
+By our sister&#8217;s defamation,&mdash;<br />
+By the sword of justice sheathless,<br />
+Be the fires of vengeance quenchless.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>
+Honor, safety, vengeance call you,<br />
+Ere the tyrant&#8217;s chains enthrall you&mdash;<br />
+Cities burning, women wailing!<br />
+Shall their tears be unavailing?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Fiercely now the vandal&#8217;s smiting,<br />
+Southern homes his torch is blighting&mdash;<br />
+Well he knows he&#8217;ll conquer never,<br />
+So would ruin us forever.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+A Texan&#8217;s name, who would not wear it?<br />
+Well the foe has learned to fear it!<br />
+Green the laurels for you springing,<br />
+Bright the halo &#8217;round you clinging.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Chosen by the gallant Morgan!<br />
+The North has heard the Texan slogan;<br />
+Rangers, ask not, give not quarter!<br />
+Be your pathway marked with slaughter!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img28.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">Volunteer Confederate Button.</p>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE HORSE MARINES AT GALVESTON.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Barring of the Door.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>It was on a New Year&#8217;s morn so soon,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before the break of day, Oh!</span><br />
+General Magruder had laid his plan<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To catch the Yankees in the Bay, Oh!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Skedaddle, skedaddle, leave horse, spur and saddle,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Charge! Horse Marines, with a hoo-way!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Skedaddle, skedaddle, the Yankees will toddle;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Rush on them with pistol and bowie&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 9.5em;">O, skedaddle!</span><br />
+<br />
+Magruder march&#8217;d down through Galveston town,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And placed his men on the shore, Oh!</span><br />
+And the fight then began when he fired the first gun,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the fleet replied with a roar, Oh!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+The Yankees&#8217; big shot flew fast, thick and hot,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They thought they&#8217;d gain&#8217;d the day, Oh!</span><br />
+When Bagby and Green, with the new Horse Marine,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Came rushing down the Bay, Oh!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span><br />
+The two bayou boats went to butting like goats,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The big steamer&#8217;s deck to gain, Oh!</span><br />
+Then L&#8217;on Smith, that trump, he made the first jump,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Right abroad of the Harriet Lane, Oh!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Let it not be forgotten, that Jim Dowlan, the Briton,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pitch&#8217;d in through flood and through flame, Oh!</span><br />
+From the sinking boat swam to the Bayou City ram,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And boarded the Harriet Lane, Oh!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Then flew the white flag o&#8217;er the Federal rag;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Yankees cried stop! just at light, Oh!</span><br />
+By cunning and lies, to get off with the prize<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We had fairly won in the fight, Oh!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+But General Bill Scurry, was in too great a hurry,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To wait for a three hours&#8217; truce, Oh!</span><br />
+He bagged all ashore, and would have bagged more,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had any been lying around loose, Oh!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Old General Magruder will let no intruder<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our soil with his footsteps pollute, Oh!</span><br />
+The Arizona Brigade, with L&#8217;on Smith as aid,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will send them to&mdash;Butler, the brute, Oh!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Then rejoice, O rejoice, ye Texans, rejoice;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Charge! Horse Marines, with a hoo-way!</span><br />
+The invaders are dead, ta&#8217;en pris&#8217;ner, or fled&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They can&#8217;t stand the pistol and bowie.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p>
+<h2>I&#8217;M THINKING OF THE SOLDIER.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Mary E. Smith</span>, of Austin, Texas.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>O, I&#8217;m thinking of the soldier as the evening shadows fall,<br />
+As the twilight fairy sketches her sad picture on the wall;<br />
+As the trees are resting sadly on the waveless silence deep,<br />
+Like the barks upon the ocean when the winds are hush&#8217;d to sleep.<br />
+<br />
+All my soul is with the absent, as the evening shadows fall;<br />
+While the ghosts of night are spreading o&#8217;er the dying light a pall;<br />
+As the robes of day are trailing in the halls of eventide,<br />
+And yon radiant star is wooing blushing eve to be his bride.<br />
+<br />
+I have shunn&#8217;d the cosy parlor&mdash;for a silence lingers there,<br />
+Since our lov&#8217;d one went to battle, and we find a vacant chair;<br />
+And a sigh is stealing upward, as the evening spirits come,<br />
+With the zephyrs, to the bowers of this sadly deserted home.<br />
+<br />
+For when soft &#8220;good nights&#8221; are ended there&#8217;s a room not like the rest,<br />
+Since a soldier left that chamber and that pillow is unprest;<br />
+O, my soul is in a shadow, and my heart cannot be gay,<br />
+As the eve with low refraining comes to shroud the dying day.</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img29.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;I&#8217;m thinking of the soldier as the evening shadows fall.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>For I&#8217;m dreaming of the soldier, on his pallet bed of straw;<br />
+As the leaves are growing yellow and November winds are raw&mdash;<br />
+And a vision comes before me of aching, fever&#8217;d brow;<br />
+And a proud form blighted, blasted, strangely, strangely alter&#8217;d now.<br />
+<br />
+And I feel that strong heart beating fainter, fainter with each breath,<br />
+Fluttering softly in its prison, fluttering thro&#8217; the gate of death;<br />
+And a voice of sad despairing stirs my heart&#8217;s deep fountain now,&mdash;<br />
+As my hand is slowly wandering o&#8217;er that strangely altered brow.<br />
+<br />
+And a sigh, soul full of longing, fills the chambers of my soul&mdash;<br />
+While the quivering heart-strings whisper &#8220;Life&#8217;s a tale that soon is told;&#8221;<br />
+God of Love, receive the soldier on that dim mysterious shore,<br />
+Where the weary are at rest and souls are sad, ah! nevermore.<br />
+<br />
+Still the dusky sybil, &#8220;Future,&#8221; on her dim, prophetic leaves,<br />
+Writes that death will claim the soldier, when he gathers up his sheaves;<br />
+This is why I&#8217;m ever sighing, and my heart cannot be gay,<br />
+As the eve with low refraining comes to shroud the dying day.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span><br />
+That is why I still am sighing as the deep gray shadows fall,<br />
+As the twilight spirit settles down her shadows in the hall,<br />
+And I&#8217;m praying for the soldier from a soul with sorrow sore,<br />
+For our soldier boys have left us&mdash;gone, perchance, to come no more.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE BATTLE OF GALVESTON.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Mrs. L. E. Caplen</span>, Galveston.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;The Harp that once thro&#8217; Tara&#8217;s Halls.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&#8217;Twas on that dark and fearful morn,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That anxious hearts beat high!</span><br />
+And many from their friends were torn<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beneath the wintry sky.</span><br />
+<br />
+But hark! what cannon roar is that?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Terrific&mdash;but sublime&mdash;</span><br />
+Wafting some mortals to their graves,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far from their Northern clime.</span><br />
+<br />
+As the battle rag&#8217;d, voices high<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Echoed along the shore,</span><br />
+For death or victory was nigh<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Amid the battle&#8217;s roar.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span><br />
+The Yanks appeared to gain the ground,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their hopes were sure and high,</span><br />
+Our little boats then hove in sight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which caused their men to cry.</span><br />
+<br />
+Magruder, for example sake,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cannon first did fire,</span><br />
+When soon their boats were made to quake&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When one embrac&#8217;d his sire.</span><br />
+<br />
+But death hath taken for his own<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their Captain, Lee, Monroe&mdash;</span><br />
+And many more they lost that day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose death they&#8217;ll long deplore.</span><br />
+<br />
+But were we favored? Sure we were,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For victory was ours!</span><br />
+But death had stolen our gallant Wier;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our tears did fall in showers.</span><br />
+<br />
+Another one, deserving most,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The brave and noble son!</span><br />
+Sherman! thy country&#8217;s pride! is lost&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A death most nobly won.</span><br />
+<br />
+Come, all ye people, far and near,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Example you must take,</span><br />
+For Texas men and women are<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heroes for country&#8217;s sake!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p>
+<h2>DEATH OF GEN. ALBERT SIDNEY JOHNSTON.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">George B. Milror</span>, of Harrisburg.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>The sun was sinking o&#8217;er the battle plain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the night winds were already sighing,</span><br />
+While, with smiling lips, near his war-horse slain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lay a valiant chieftain dying!</span><br />
+<br />
+And as he sank to his long, last rest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The banner&mdash;once o&#8217;er him streaming&mdash;</span><br />
+He folded &#8217;round his most gallant breast,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the couch that knows no dreaming.</span><br />
+<br />
+Proudly he lay on the battle-field,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the banks of the noble river;</span><br />
+And the crimson stream from his veins did yield,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Without a pang or quiver!</span><br />
+<br />
+There were hands that came to bind his wounds,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There were eyes o&#8217;er the warrior streaming,</span><br />
+As he rais&#8217;d his head from the bloody ground,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where many a brave was sleeping.</span><br />
+<br />
+&#8220;Now, away,&#8221; he cried&mdash;&#8220;your aid is vain!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My soul will not brook recalling!</span><br />
+I have seen the tyrant enemy slain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And like Autumn vine-leaves falling!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span><br />
+&#8220;I have seen our glorious banner wave<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O&#8217;er the tents of the enemy vanquish&#8217;d&mdash;</span><br />
+I have drawn a sword for my country brave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in her cause now perish!</span><br />
+<br />
+&#8220;Leave me to die with the free and the brave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the banks of my own noble river&mdash;</span><br />
+Ye can give me naught but a soldier&#8217;s grave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a place in your hearts forever!&#8221;</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>GOD BLESS OUR SOUTHERN LAND.</h2>
+
+<p class="note">Respectfully inscribed to Major-General J. B. Magruder, and sung on the
+occasion of his public reception in the city of Houston, Texas, Jan. 20, 1863.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>God bless our Southern land,<br />
+God save our sea-girt land,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And make us free;</span><br />
+With justice for our shield,<br />
+May we on battle field<br />
+Never to foemen yield<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Our liberty.</span><br />
+<br />
+O Lord! protect the Chief<br />
+Who to our prompt relief<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From threaten&#8217;d woe,</span><br />
+Hasten&#8217;d to lead the way;<br />
+Nor faltered in the fray,<br />
+When from our beauteous Bay<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He drove the foe.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span><br />
+And may the gallant band<br />
+Worthy in his command<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ever to be,</span><br />
+Have of Thy watchful care<br />
+Ever a plenteous share,<br />
+Inspiring each to dare<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For home and thee.</span><br />
+<br />
+&#8220;O Lord our God! arise,<br />
+Scatter our enemies,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And make them fall!&#8221;</span><br />
+And when, with peace restored,<br />
+Each man lays by the sword,<br />
+May he with joy record<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thy mercies all.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>SOUTHERN BATTLE SONG.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Bruce&#8217;s Address.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Raise the Southern flag on high!<br />
+Shout aloud the battle cry!<br />
+Let its echoes reach the sky&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">&#8220;God and Southern Rights.&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+Sons of wealth, and sons of toil,<br />
+Will ye yield your land for spoil,<br />
+Drive the foe from Southern soil!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Glory now invites.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span><br />
+Rally round our banner bright<br />
+Let its stars of quenchless light<br />
+Dim the base invader&#8217;s sight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">On the battle field.</span><br />
+<br />
+When the death clouds darkly lower,<br />
+When the cannons blaze and roar,<br />
+Though its folds be drenched in gore,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">We will never yield.</span><br />
+<br />
+By our sires who fought and bled!<br />
+By Virginia&#8217;s honored dead!<br />
+By the blood so lately shed!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">We will make them know&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+Southern hearts are true as steel,<br />
+Wrongs like ours are slow to heal,<br />
+Sooner will we die than kneel<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">To a Northern foe.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img30.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">Georgia Belt-buckle.</p>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p>
+<h2>BOMBARDMENT AND BATTLES OF GALVESTON.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">From June 1, 1862, to January 1, 1863.</span></p>
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">S. R. Ezzell</span>, of Capt. Daly&#8217;s Company.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Auld Lang Syne.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>The Yankees hate the Lone Star State, because she did secede;<br />
+At Galveston they&#8217;ve now begun to make her soldiers bleed.<br />
+The &#8220;Old Blockade&#8221; her threats have made, that she will burn our town;<br />
+But Col. Cook, with piercing look, declares he&#8217;ll stand his ground.<br />
+<br />
+High in the breeze he soon did raise the flag with single star,<br />
+Saying, &#8220;Let them come, we&#8217;ll give them some, before they are aware.&#8221;<br />
+Along the coast he soon did post his batteries, well mann&#8217;d<br />
+By men of might, prepared to fight, behind breast-works of sand.<br />
+<br />
+Like lions brave, their land to save, the cavalry do stand<br />
+Ready to charge the Yankee barge that first attempts to land;<br />
+Infantry, too, like soldiers true, who never yet did fail,<br />
+They long to greet the Yankee fleet with musketry like hail.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span><br />
+We wait to see the &#8220;Old Santee&#8221; come sailing into shore;<br />
+And then we&#8217;ll fight for Southern rights, and make the cannon roar;<br />
+But if a fleet we have to meet, of gunboats large and strong,<br />
+We&#8217;ll cross the bridge without a siege, and think it nothing wrong.<br />
+<br />
+When on mainland, we&#8217;ll take our stand, and all their hosts defy;<br />
+There we will fight for Southern rights&mdash;we&#8217;ll fight them till we die.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span></span><br />
+Two months passed by, they came not nigh, but only cruis&#8217;d around,<br />
+As if to find the channel&#8217;s wind, for which they oft did sound;<br />
+But this was all, the Eagle bald, did not attempt to land;<br />
+His courage fail&#8217;d, away he sailed, and made no more demand.<br />
+<br />
+But Harriet Lane, she did remain, with quite a heavy fleet,<br />
+She came up nigher and open&#8217;d fire in order quite complete;<br />
+&#8217;Twas at Fort Point she did dismount our best and largest gun;<br />
+&#8217;Twas now in vain here to remain, so we for life did run.<br />
+<br />
+&#8217;Mid bomb and grape we did escape, and not a life was lost;<br />
+Fearing the town they would burn down over the bridge we crossed;<br />
+Then on mainland we took our stand, determined not to yield,<br />
+Tho&#8217; bomb and ball should thickly fall, and we die on the field.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span><br />
+Gen. Herbert he came not near, but strangely stood aloof;<br />
+From San Antone he did look on, where was good old &#8220;4th proof.&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span></span><br />
+Magruder came, a man of fame, the Texas boys to lead;<br />
+From Rio Grande he did command, to come with rapid speed;<br />
+&#8220;My plan is laid,&#8221; he quickly said, &#8220;Galveston to retake;<br />
+Brave boys!&#8221; said he, &#8220;come, follow me; we&#8217;ll make the Yankees quake.&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+Three bayou crafts, of shallow draught, with cotton breastworks neat;<br />
+Three hundred men, and three small guns, composed our Texas fleet;<br />
+Now ready quite, the Feds to fight, our land force did repair,<br />
+Along Strand Street, the Yanks to greet, just as our boats came near.<br />
+<br />
+The Lone Star State must seal her fate, in ruin, shame and woe,<br />
+Or bravely fight for Southern rights, and triumph o&#8217;er the foe;<br />
+On New Year&#8217;s morn, before day dawn, the year of sixty-three,<br />
+The New Year&#8217;s gifts came flying swift, both from the land and sea.<br />
+<br />
+The lightning glare, both far and near, the darkness did dispel;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>Grape, bomb and ball did thickly fall, our forces to repel;<br />
+Magruder then said to his men, &#8220;Your country you must save,<br />
+And still maintain your glorious name, <i>the bravest of the brave</i>.&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+We fear&#8217;d them not, but bravely fought, our homesteads to maintain;<br />
+By break of day we had the Bay at our command again;<br />
+The Yankee fleet we did defeat, and captur&#8217;d all their crews,<br />
+Except a few who were untrue, and sail&#8217;d off under truce.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>GENERAL TOM GREEN.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Mrs. Wm. Barnes</span>, of Galveston.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>A warrior has fallen! a chieftain has gone!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A hero of heroes has sunk to his rest!</span><br />
+Those hands that wielded the sword and the sabre,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now lie pulseless and cold o&#8217;er his motionless breast;</span><br />
+That voice that has gladden&#8217;d valiant comrades in arms,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And driven away their deep shadows of gloom,</span><br />
+Is seemingly hush&#8217;d to those seared-stricken hearts,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But loudly will speak from its still, hollow tomb!</span><br />
+<br />
+Aye, seemingly hush&#8217;d, like the black, death-like waters,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As they mirror the face of the threatening sky;</span><br />
+But see ye the ripple that waves in the distance,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Warning the mariner that danger is nigh?</span><br />
+Aye, seemingly hush&#8217;d, like the dead, sullen calm,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As it heralds Vesuvius&#8217; virulent ire,</span><br />
+Ere she, out of her bosom, malignantly pours<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her dull molten lava, her columns of fire.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span><br />
+Aye, seemingly hush&#8217;d, but the words he has spoken<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lie deeply incased in the breasts of his men,</span><br />
+And tho&#8217; to the &#8220;echoless shore&#8221; he is wafted,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His voice will be heard yet again and again;</span><br />
+How oft-seated by the bivouac&#8217;s bright fires,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While his men have stood &#8217;round, wrapt in wondrous delight,</span><br />
+Has he spurred them to noble and chivalric deeds,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As he vividly pictured a forthcoming fight.</span><br />
+<br />
+Full many a time has the rough, sunburnt hand<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dash&#8217;d the unbidden tear from the veteran&#8217;s cheek,</span><br />
+As of home&mdash;that lov&#8217;d spot to each memory so dear&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With heartfelt emotion his chieftain would speak;</span><br />
+Aye, seemingly hush&#8217;d is the tongue of the warrior,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In their bosom its echo is lingering still;</span><br />
+Long as their pulse beats, its prompting they yield to&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yes, long as their noble hearts have power to feel.</span><br />
+<br />
+The hero of Valverde&mdash;the hero of Mansfield,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now sleeps the calm sleep of the happy and blest;</span><br />
+Those eyes once so lustrous are now sightless and dim,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those limbs once so active have sunk to their rest;</span><br />
+O there let him lie where the first beams of morning<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall shed o&#8217;er his tomb a soft halo of light,</span><br />
+And the moon&#8217;s gentle rays that dear spot shall enliven,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As she glides on her course through the still, solemn night.</span><br />
+<br />
+Plant the wild-tendriled vine and flowers of the prairie<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O&#8217;er the grave of the chieftain that slumbereth there&mdash;</span><br />
+How sweetly they&#8217;ll mingle their gentle perfumes with<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The orphans&#8217; and widows&#8217; sweet incense of prayer;</span><br />
+Let the song of the whippoorwill, pensive and sad,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As he flits on the sprays of the green willow tree,</span><br />
+And the deep azure waves of the fair Colorado,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By day and by night his mournful requiems be!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p>
+<h2>HARD TIMES!</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">M. B. Smith</span>, Co. C, Second Texas Volunteer Infantry.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Just listen awhile, and give ear to my song<br />
+Concerning this war, which will not take me long;<br />
+Old Lincoln, the blower, swore the Rebels he&#8217;d whip,<br />
+But thanks to my stars, he has not done it yet,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">For it&#8217;s hard times.</span><br />
+<br />
+Manassa&#8217;s the spot, if I recollect right,<br />
+Where Yankees and Southerners had their first fight;<br />
+We whipped them so badly, our boys thought it fun,<br />
+And ever since then they have called it Bull Run,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Those were grand times.</span><br />
+<br />
+Old Lincoln had put in his very best man&mdash;<br />
+It was old General Scott who led in his clan&mdash;<br />
+But in facing Jeff Davis he couldn&#8217;t shine,<br />
+For we captured his cakes, his brandies and wine,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Then we&#8217;d fine times.</span><br />
+<br />
+Old Abe and the &#8220;Gen&#8217;ral&#8221; soon got at &#8220;out,&#8221;<br />
+Which caused the &#8220;Old Gen&#8217;ral&#8221; to complain of gout;<br />
+So he told Marse Abe that he would resign,<br />
+And he laid all the blame to the very hard times,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">O, it was hard times.</span><br />
+<br />
+McClellan was the next man put in the field,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>With brass-hilted sword and a sole-leather shield;<br />
+He boasted quite loudly the Rebels he&#8217;d whip&mdash;<br />
+But you see, my dear friends, he&#8217;s not done it yet,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">For it&#8217;s hard times.</span><br />
+<br />
+Yet there was another, Gen. Buell, the great,<br />
+That followed our Beauregard clean thro&#8217; one State,<br />
+But at Tennessee River he got all his fill&mdash;<br />
+I&#8217;m certain he remembered the Shiloh Hill!<br />
+<br />
+There were Banks, Shields and Fremont, big generals all,<br />
+While skirmishing &#8217;round ran afoul of &#8220;Stonewall!&#8221;<br />
+With Longstreet and Hill, very near by his side,<br />
+Who said: &#8220;Wo-ee, Yankees, let&#8217;s all have a ride!&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+Old Jackson he then got around to their rear,<br />
+So the day was ours you can see very clear;<br />
+Then he sent a dispatch to brave General Lee,<br />
+&#8220;Drive all the Yankees into eternity?&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+But at Gainesville station they made a bold stand,<br />
+Where they collected a formidable band,<br />
+And swore to their fill that the Rebels they&#8217;d whip,<br />
+But the Texans made them everlastingly &#8220;git!&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+Now the last I&#8217;ve heard of McClellan, the third;<br />
+He was down on James River bogg&#8217;d up in the mud,<br />
+In a bend of the river, near a big pond,<br />
+The want of more news puts an end to my song.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">August 13, 1862.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE FLAG OF THE SOUTHLAND</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Major E. W. Cave</span>, of Houston.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;I&#8217;m Afloat.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Flag of the Southland! Flag of the free!<br />
+&#8217;Ere thy sons will be slaves, they will perish with thee!<br />
+Thy new-risen star shall light Liberty on,<br />
+&#8217;Till the hosts of the tyrant are scatter&#8217;d and gone!<br />
+Whether victory sits on the Southern plumes,<br />
+Or disaster doth come in some hour of gloom,<br />
+Freedom&#8217;s hosts will still rally where&#8217;er thou shalt be,<br />
+O flag of the Southland! flag of the free!<br />
+<br />
+Flag of the Southland! thy glory has been<br />
+To be baptized in blood &#8217;midst the great battle&#8217;s din,<br />
+From Manassas&#8217; red plains, o&#8217;er the mountains steep,<br />
+Thy stars kept their vigils, where Washington sleeps,<br />
+And the breezes of Vernon have borne on the shout<br />
+Of thy triumphant sons as the foes took the rout;<br />
+Valor&#8217;s trio of genius&mdash;Beauregard, Johnston and Lee!<br />
+Guards the flag of the Southland&mdash;flag of the free!<br />
+<br />
+The foe is upon us, but our flag it is there!<br />
+We have borne it in triumph&mdash;its defeat we can share;<br />
+Tho&#8217; our cities be burned, tho&#8217; our thousands be slain,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>&#8217;Mid the flames of our altars we&#8217;ll fight him again;<br />
+And while there&#8217;s a spot where a patriot band<br />
+May show to the foe a desperate stand,<br />
+Southern hearts will defy him, their flag will still be<br />
+The flag of the Southland&mdash;the flag of the free!<br />
+<br />
+In the hour of gloom now thy valorous sons show,<br />
+That freemen can die, but ne&#8217;er yield to the foe!<br />
+But our Shiloh has come&mdash;see the enemy flee!<br />
+His sceptre has sunk &#8217;neath the swift Tennessee&mdash;<br />
+And the Southern heart and the Southern hand,<br />
+From classic Potomac to bold Rio Grande,<br />
+Still push on to battle, when floating they see<br />
+The flag of the Southland&mdash;the flag of the free!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>ON TO GLORY.</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Sons of freedom, on to glory,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Go where brave men do or die;</span><br />
+Let your names in future story<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gladden every patriot&#8217;s eye;</span><br />
+&#8217;Tis your country calls you hasten,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Backward hurl the invading foe;</span><br />
+Freemen, never think of danger,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the glorious battle go.</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh, remember gallant Jackson,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Single-handed in the fight,</span><br />
+Death blows dealt the fierce marauder,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">For his liberty and right;</span><br />
+Tho&#8217; he fell beneath their thousands,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who that covets not his fame?</span><br />
+Grand and glorious, brave and noble,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henceforth shall be Jackson&#8217;s name.</span><br />
+<br />
+Sons of freedom, can you linger,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When you hear the battle roar,</span><br />
+Fondly dallying with your pleasures<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the foe is at your door?</span><br />
+Never, no, we fear no idlers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Death or Freedom&#8217;s now the cry,</span><br />
+&#8217;Till the &#8220;Stars and Bars&#8221; triumphant<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spread their folds to every eye.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>STONEWALL JACKSON&#8217;S WAY.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Found on the body of a sergeant of the Old Stonewall Brigade, Winchester, Va.</p>
+
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Come, stack arms, men! pile on the rails,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stir up the camp-fire bright;</span><br />
+No matter if the canteen fails,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We&#8217;ll make a roaring night;</span><br />
+Here Shenandoah brawls along,<br />
+To swell the Brigade&#8217;s rousing song<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of &#8220;Stonewall Jackson&#8217;s way.&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+We see him now!&mdash;the old slouched hat<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cocked o&#8217;er his eye, askew&mdash;</span><br />
+The shrewd, dry smile&mdash;the speech as pat&mdash;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">So calm, so blunt, so true.</span><br />
+The &#8220;Blue Light Elder&#8221; knows o&#8217;er well&mdash;<br />
+Says he, &#8220;That&#8217;s Banks&mdash;he&#8217;s fond of shell&mdash;<br />
+Lord save his soul!&mdash;we&#8217;ll give him&#8221;&mdash;well,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That&#8217;s &#8220;Stonewall Jackson&#8217;s way.&#8221;</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img31.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;He&#8217;s in the saddle now.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Blue Light&#8217;s going to pray;</span><br />
+Strangle the fool that dares to scoff!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Attention! &#8217;tis his way!</span><br />
+Appealing from his native sod,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>In forma pauperis</i> to God&mdash;</span><br />
+&#8220;Lay bare thine arm; stretch forth thy rod;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Amen!&#8221; That&#8217;s &#8220;Stonewall&#8217;s way.&#8221;</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span><br />
+He&#8217;s in the saddle now! Fall in!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Steady&mdash;the whole Brigade!</span><br />
+Hill&#8217;s at the ford cut off! He&#8217;ll win<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His way out, ball and blade;</span><br />
+What matter if our shoes are worn!<br />
+What matter if our feet are torn!<br />
+&#8220;Quick step&mdash;we&#8217;re with him before dawn!&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That&#8217;s &#8220;Stonewall Jackson&#8217;s way.&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+The sun&#8217;s bright lances rout the mists<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of morning, and, by George,</span><br />
+There&#8217;s Longstreet struggling in the lists,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hemmed in an ugly gorge&mdash;</span><br />
+Pope and his Yankees whipped before&mdash;<br />
+&#8220;Bayonet and grape!&#8221; hear Stonewall roar,<br />
+&#8220;Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby&#8217;s score<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In Stonewall Jackson&#8217;s way.&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+Ah, maiden! wait and watch and yearn<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For news of Stonewall&#8217;s band;</span><br />
+Ah, widow! read with eyes that burn<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That ring upon thy hand;</span><br />
+Ah, wife! sew on, pray on, hope on,<br />
+Thy life shall not be all forlorn&mdash;<br />
+The foe had better ne&#8217;er been born,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than get in &#8220;Stonewall&#8217;s way.&#8221;</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p>
+<h2>TO THE BELOVED MEMORY OF MAJ.-GEN. TOM GREEN.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Captain Edwin Hobby</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>In the land of the orange-groves, sunshine and flowers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is heard the funereal tread,</span><br />
+And darkly above it, the war-cloud lowers,<br />
+And a requiem swells thro&#8217; its orange bowers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the brave and noble dead;</span><br />
+Then trail&#8217;d be the banners in dust,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And muffled the martial drum,</span><br />
+His sword in its scabbard shall rust;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With their coming no more will he come&mdash;</span><br />
+The earth has received to her bosom its trust&mdash;<br />
+Ashes to ashes&mdash;and dust unto dust.<br />
+<br />
+In the sunniest realm of that beautiful land,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where spring-time her festival&#8217;s keeping,</span><br />
+Where the blossoms of summer in splendor expand,<br />
+By the camp-fire light there&#8217;s a sorrow bow&#8217;d band&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their leader forever is sleeping:</span><br />
+Then plumed be their banners in black,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And softly the bugle be blown.</span><br />
+No more shall he be welcomed back<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By hearts that were twined to his own,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Till the voice from the King on his throne</span><br />
+To the earth goeth forth, to give up his trust&mdash;<br />
+Ashes to ashes, and dust unto dust.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span><br />
+A sun has been lost from that bright constellation,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose splendor illumines the sky;</span><br />
+It sank as we gazed in lov&#8217;d admiration;<br />
+Its leaves were the glory and pride of the nation,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Twas Liberty&#8217;s symbol on high,</span><br />
+And darkness now hangs on the face of the day;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The illustrious hero&#8217;s at rest;</span><br />
+But the fruit of his genius is left us to say<br />
+How sublime was the Chief that is taken away;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How much of all hearts he possessed.</span><br />
+<br />
+On New Mexico&#8217;s mountains, his banners waved<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the face of the haughtiest foe&mdash;</span><br />
+All dangers he scorned, and all odds had he brav&#8217;d,<br />
+And victory seem&#8217;d on his banners engrav&#8217;d<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When his genius directed the blow:</span><br />
+<i>Val Verde!</i> a name that in song and story<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall brighten our history&#8217;s pages,</span><br />
+&#8217;Till crumbled in dust, is the record of glory,<br />
+&#8217;Till valor&#8217;s forgotten, and nation&#8217;s grow hoary,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Undimmed by the shadows of ages.</span><br />
+<br />
+Massachusetts&#8217; black banner wav&#8217;d on Galveston&#8217;s Strand,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The roll of her drums echoed nightly,</span><br />
+(Sad sound to the freemen who dwelt on the land),<br />
+It was heard by his ear, it was caught by his band,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A stain on our &#8217;scutcheon unsightly:</span><br />
+Night closed and morn came, what a change had been wrought!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What proud banner floateth there now!</span><br />
+Ah! the victory&#8217;s won&mdash;Green the battle has fought!<br />
+And the cross of the South, morning&#8217;s golden beam caught;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fresh laurels encircle his brow.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span><br />
+At Bisland he stood, like a rock in the ocean<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That stems the strong waves on the shore,</span><br />
+Calm and unmoved, in the midst of commotion,<br />
+Our army he saved by his dauntless devotion&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What chieftain has ever done more?</span><br />
+Brashear, and Fordoche, Pleasant Hill and Mansfield,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All breathe of his glory and fame&mdash;</span><br />
+There his genius burst forth like the lightning conceal&#8217;d,<br />
+And destiny seem&#8217;d to his glance reveal&#8217;d&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fate crowning in triumph his name.</span><br />
+<br />
+O we weep for the veteran hearts that are gone&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scurry, Randall, Riley, Buchel,</span><br />
+Shepherd, Chalmers, Ragsdale, Raines, McNeal and Mouton,<br />
+Their glorious names and deeds shall live on&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Peace to the heroes that fell.</span><br />
+And O, for the soldiers that bled with them there,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their country&#8217;s strong bulwark and trust,</span><br />
+United to do, and the courage to dare.<br />
+In life they had borne all privation and care,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In dust, undivided&#8217;s their dust.</span><br />
+<br />
+And Liberty&#8217;s tree, from the blood of the brave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In strength and in grandeur shall rise;</span><br />
+Its branches extend to each ocean&#8217;s blue wave,<br />
+And sacred its fruit o&#8217;er each patriot&#8217;s grave:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How dearly that fruit shall we prize!</span><br />
+Is the hero, O say, in that mystical world,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Surrounded on Time&#8217;s silent shore</span><br />
+By the veteran dead, with their banners now furl&#8217;d&mdash;<br />
+War&#8217;s trumpet unblown, and his lances unhurl&#8217;d&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are they still with the chief they adore?</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span><br />
+Tom Green is no more! lov&#8217;d and honor&#8217;d he lies,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Near his home by the murmuring river&mdash;</span><br />
+In the soil he sav&#8217;d, &#8217;neath his own Southern skies,<br />
+Where praises from lips yet unborn shall arise,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bless him forever and ever.</span><br />
+There let him sleep on, undisturb&#8217;d in repose,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cease for the hero to sigh&mdash;</span><br />
+Life&#8217;s morning was honor&mdash;in greatness it rose,<br />
+&#8217;Twas a sunset of splendor, that life at its close,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He died as a soldier should die.</span><br />
+<br />
+O&#8217;er his hallow&#8217;d remains let no monument shine,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To tell of the chieftain beneath it,</span><br />
+His requiem hymn&#8217;d by the sorrow-toned pine,<br />
+And wildly around it the jessamine twine,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And flowers, bright flowers enwreathe it;</span><br />
+Then silently night-skies their soft dews will shed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the spring-flowers that garland his grave&mdash;</span><br />
+One generous sigh for the bosom that bled,<br />
+One generous tear for the fate of the dead,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The noble, the true and the brave.</span><br />
+<br />
+His laurels were pure, and his honor unstained,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He lov&#8217;d not war&#8217;s crimson-dyed pall,</span><br />
+His nature was peace while the olive remained&mdash;<br />
+Refus&#8217;d then the long-baited lion unchain&#8217;d&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tom Green was then greater than all.</span><br />
+Affection and love was the pulse of his breast,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ever quick at humanity&#8217;s call&mdash;</span><br />
+The widow and orphan his charities bless&#8217;d,<br />
+The friend of the homeless, the poor and distress&#8217;d,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tom Green was the idol of all.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Galveston, Texas</span>, May 28, 1864.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p>
+<h2>HOOD&#8217;S OLD BRIGADE.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">&#8220;<i>On the March.</i>&#8221;</p>
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Miss Mollie E. Moore</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&#8217;Twas midnight when we built our fires&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We march&#8217;d at half-past three!</span><br />
+We know not when our march shall end,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor care&mdash;we follow Lee!</span><br />
+The starlight gleams on many a crest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And many a well-tried blade&mdash;</span><br />
+This handful marching on the left&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>This</i> line is <i>our</i> Brigade!</span><br />
+<br />
+Our line is short because its veins<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So lavishly have bled;</span><br />
+The missing! Search the countless plains<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose battles it has led;</span><br />
+There are those Georgians on our right,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their ranks are thinning, too&mdash;</span><br />
+How in one company, they say,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They now can count but two!</span><br />
+<br />
+There&#8217;s not much talking down the lines,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor shouting down the gloam;</span><br />
+For when the night is &#8217;round us, then<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We&#8217;re thinking most of home!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span><br />
+I saw yon soldier startle, when<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We passed an open glade,</span><br />
+Where the low starlight, leaf and bough<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A fairy picture made;</span><br />
+Nor has he uttered word since then&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>My</i> heart can whisper why&mdash;</span><br />
+&#8217;Twas like the spot in Texas where<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He bade his love good-by!</span><br />
+<br />
+And when, beyond us, carelessly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some soldier sang adieu!</span><br />
+My comrade here across his eyes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His coarse sleeve roughly drew;</span><br />
+So, scarcely sound, save trampling feet,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is echoed through the gloom&mdash;</span><br />
+Because when stars are brightest, then<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We&#8217;re thinking most of home!</span><br />
+<br />
+Hush! what an echo startles up<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Around this rocky hill!</span><br />
+Was&#8217;t shell, half-buried, struck my foot?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or, stay&mdash;&#8217;tis a human skull!</span><br />
+This ridge I surely seem to know<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By light of yon rising moon;</span><br />
+Ha! we battled here three mortal hours<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One Sunday afternoon.</span><br />
+<br />
+Last spring! See where our Captain stands,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His head drooped on his breast&mdash;</span><br />
+At his feet that heap of bones and earth&mdash;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">You know <i>now</i> why his rest</span><br />
+Is broke off, and why his sword was<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So bitter in the fray!</span><br />
+&#8217;Tis the grave of his only brother, who<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was killed that awful day!</span><br />
+<br />
+Hush! for in front I heard a shot,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then a well-known cry&mdash;</span><br />
+&#8220;It is the foe!&#8221; See where the flames<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mount upward to the sky!</span><br />
+It is the foe! Halt! Rest we here!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We wait the coming sun,</span><br />
+And ere these stars may shine again<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A field is <i>lost or won</i>!</span><br />
+<br />
+Is <i>won</i>! It is the &#8220;Old Brigade,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This line of stalwart men!</span><br />
+The &#8220;long roll!&#8221; how it thrills my heart<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hear that sound again!</span><br />
+God shield us, boys! here breaks the day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The stars begin to fade!</span><br />
+&#8220;Now steady here! fall in! fall in!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forward! the &#8216;Old Brigade!&#8217;&#8221;</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img32.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">Georgia Button.</p>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE BATTLE SONG OF THE SOUTH.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Words by <span class="smcap">P. E. Collins</span>.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by <span class="smcap">Wm. Herz</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Land of our birth, thee, thee I sing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Proud heritage is thine,</span><br />
+Wide to the breeze thy banner fling,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy freedom ne&#8217;er resign.</span><br />
+Land of the South, the foe defies<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy valor! lo, he comes,</span><br />
+To prove thy strength, awake, arise!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To arms! protect thy homes.</span><br />
+<br />
+Bright Southern land, the time has come,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy bright historic day,</span><br />
+Sons of the South, the time has come,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drive back the tyrants&#8217; sway!</span><br />
+Strike, Southrons, strike! the foe shall flee,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor e&#8217;er again invade;</span><br />
+The sons of free men shall be free,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They cannot slaves be made.</span><br />
+<br />
+Land of the South, by right maintained,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The day of trial past,</span><br />
+The prize of victory will be gained;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou&#8217;lt triumph at the last,</span><br />
+And future bards your deeds shall tell<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of valor and renown;</span><br />
+What tyranny and hate befell,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Southern might cast down.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p>
+<h2>MY HEART&#8217;S IN MISSISSIPPI.</h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>My heart&#8217;s in Mississippi,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Tis de place whar I was born;</span><br />
+&#8217;Tis dar I planted sugar cane,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Tis dar I hoed de corn,</span><br />
+Dey have taken me to Texas,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A thousand miles below;</span><br />
+Yet my heart&#8217;s in Mississippi<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wherever I go.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Yet my heart&#8217;s in Mississippi,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">&#8217;Tis de place whar I was born;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">&#8217;Tis dar I planted sugar cane,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">&#8217;Tis dar I hoed de corn.</span><br />
+<br />
+Mobile may boast of beauties,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dat lemonade de street;</span><br />
+But dey neber hab a sixpence,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To ax you to a treat;</span><br />
+De Mississippi yellow gals,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dey always treat dar beaux,</span><br />
+Den my heart&#8217;s in Mississippi<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wherever I go.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 12em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Way down in Mississippi,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">De fields am always green;</span><br />
+And orange trees in blossom,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">De whole year may be seen,</span><br />
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>Dar darkies live like princes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dar do heel and toe;</span><br />
+Den my heart&#8217;s in Mississippi,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wherever I go.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 12em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Den fill to Mississippi,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And let de toast go &#8217;round,</span><br />
+Rosin up de fiddle-sticks,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And let de banjo sound;</span><br />
+O fotch along de whiskey,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And let de fluid flow:</span><br />
+For my heart&#8217;s in Mississippi, boys,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wherever I go.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 12em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE FUNERAL OF ALBERT SYDNEY JOHNSTON.</h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>He fell and they cried, bring us home our dead!<br />
+We&#8217;ll bury him here where the prairies spread,<br />
+And the gulf waves beat on our Southern shores;<br />
+He will hear them not when he comes once more&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Our Albert Sydney Johnston!</span><br />
+<br />
+When he went, how the flushed hope beat high<br />
+On the brows of The Rangers standing nigh!<br />
+And the champing steeds of the Texas plain&mdash;<br />
+For his voice was that to their bridle rein<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">That the air&#8217;s to the Persian monsoon.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span><br />
+But they bore him now to the crash of wheels;<br />
+No sound of their sorrow the hero feels,<br />
+Tho&#8217; many are come that are sad and fair,<br />
+With flowers and stars for his bloody bier,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And weeping they lay them down.</span><br />
+<br />
+And the Crescent shone with a wreathing grace<br />
+Around that Star on the covered face;<br />
+No sound but of sobs and a parting look,<br />
+And the forest sighed and the aspen shook<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">As the train went rumbling on.</span><br />
+<br />
+And down to the feet of the moaning sea,<br />
+Where the waves made the only melody,<br />
+No band or bell was played or tolled&mdash;<br />
+But the Hero cared not&mdash;hate fell cold<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">On the heart of him who slept.</span><br />
+<br />
+Where the church was closed by the mandate given,<br />
+And he lay on the wharf under night and heaven,<br />
+Fair friend and slave with uncovered head,<br />
+Gazed alike on the face of the sleeping dead,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And alike in silence wept.</span><br />
+<br />
+So the vigil held, &#8217;till the chastened cloud,<br />
+For the shame of men, hid its face and bowed;<br />
+And thousands came when the moon was high,<br />
+And they bore their burden sadly by,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To its rest on the prairie plain.</span><br />
+<br />
+As the prairie flowers that now grow o&#8217;er him,<br />
+Where the white-maned steeds that walked before him<br />
+Proud and stepped and slow&mdash;and the mourners said,<br />
+Let a stately place for his couch be made&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Houston must have its fane.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span><br />
+There they lay him out in a proud old hall,<br />
+With the floor&#8217;s edge kissing the sacred pall;<br />
+And thousands came to the hallowed room,<br />
+&#8217;Till the day went down to the night of gloom,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For his land did honor him.</span><br />
+<br />
+And when to the bannered march&#8217;s swell,<br />
+They bore him out with a lingering knell,<br />
+Sad tears flowed out from a thousand eyes,<br />
+And a thousand voices were choked with sighs,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And the sun in the West was dim.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE COTTON-BURNER&#8217;S SONG.<a name='fna_9' id='fna_9' href='#f_9'><small>[9]</small></a></h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Lo! when Mississippi rolls<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oceanward its stream,</span><br />
+Upward mounting, folds on folds<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flaming fire-tongues gleam;</span><br />
+&#8217;Tis the planter&#8217;s grand oblation<br />
+On the altar of the nation;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Tis a willing sacrifice&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let the golden incense rise&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pile the cotton to the skies!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Lo! the sacrificial flame<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Gilds the starry dome of night!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Nations! read the mute acclaim&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">&#8217;Tis for liberty we fight!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Homes! Religion! Right!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span><br />
+Never such a golden light<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lit the vaulted sky;</span><br />
+Never sacrifice as bright<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rose to God on high;</span><br />
+Thousands oxen, what were they<br />
+To the offering we pay?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the brilliant holocaust&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the revolution&#8217;s past&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the nation&#8217;s songs will last!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Though the night be dark above,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Broken though the shield&mdash;</span><br />
+Those who love us, those we love,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bid us never yield;</span><br />
+Never! though our bravest bleed,<br />
+And the vultures on them feed;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never! though the serpent&#8217;s race&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hissing hate and vile disgrace&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the million should menace!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Pile the cotton to the skies;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lo! the Northmen gaze;</span><br />
+England! see our sacrifice&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">See the cotton blaze!</span><br />
+God of nations! now to Thee,<br />
+Southrons bend th&#8217; imploring knee;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Tis our country&#8217;s hour of need&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hear the mothers intercede&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hear the little children plead!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img33.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">Massa.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h2>THE CONTRABAND.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">A song of Mississippi negroes in the Vicksburg Campaign.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Darkies has you seed my massa<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wid de mustache on his face?</span><br />
+He came along dis morning<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As dough he&#8217;d leave de place.</span><br />
+He saw de smoke way up de river,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where de Lincum gunboats lay:</span><br />
+He took his hat and he left mighty sudden,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I speck he&#8217;s runned away.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span><br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Massa run, aha!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Darkey stay, aho!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">It must be now dat de kingdom&#8217;s comin&#8217;,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">In the year of Jubilo.</span><br />
+<br />
+He&#8217;s six feet one way, four feet t&#8217;other,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And weighs three hundred pounds;</span><br />
+His coat&#8217;s so big he can&#8217;t pay de tailor&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Den it don&#8217;t go half around.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img34.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;Massa run, aha.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>He drills so much dey call him cap&#8217;n;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he am so very tan,</span><br />
+Speck he&#8217;ll try to fool dem Yankees<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And say he&#8217;s contraban&#8217;.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Dis darkey gets so very lonesome,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In de cabin on de lawn;</span><br />
+He moves his things to massa&#8217;s parlor,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To keep &#8217;em, while he&#8217;s gone.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span><br />
+There&#8217;s wine and cider in de cellar,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And de darkies dey&#8217;ll have some;</span><br />
+I speck it will be confiscated,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When de Lincum soldiers come.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+De overseer will give us trouble,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And run us round a spell;</span><br />
+We&#8217;ll lock him up in smoke-house cellar,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wid de key thrown in de well.</span><br />
+De whip is lost, and de handcuffs broken,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And massa&#8217;ll lose his pay;</span><br />
+He&#8217;s big enough and old enough,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dan to gone and runned away.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>SONG OF HOOKER&#8217;S PICKET.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Southern Illustrated News</i>, Feb. 21st, 1863.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>I&#8217;m &#8217;nation tired of being hired<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To fight for a shillin&#8217; a day;</span><br />
+Richmond to gain I&#8217;ll hev to strain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And travel some other way.</span><br />
+<br />
+Darn Ole Abe and Ole Jeff Dave!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Darn the day I &#8217;listed!</span><br />
+When I came down to this &#8217;ere town,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jerushy! how I missed it.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span><br />
+All day I&#8217;ve stud in rebel mud<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A watchin&#8217; North Calinians.</span><br />
+I might a bin safe up to Lynn,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A eatin&#8217; clams and inions.</span><br />
+<br />
+All night I sit in straw that&#8217;s wet,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ketchen fleas and other critters;</span><br />
+The boys down East are at a feast<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With gals, doughnuts and fritters.</span><br />
+<br />
+I hain&#8217;t no pay for many a day;&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nigh unto a year I guess,</span><br />
+Since a new Greenback hev crosst my track&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That&#8217;s so with all my mess.</span><br />
+<br />
+To pull my trigger for a big buck nigger<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That lives on hog and hominy,</span><br />
+While on hard tack my jaws I crack,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ain&#8217;t war &#8220;accordin&#8217; to Jomini.&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+It&#8217;s monsus fine for the Bobolition line,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With mouths full o&#8217; pumpkin pie,</span><br />
+To preach in meetin&#8217; agin&#8217; retreatin&#8217;&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why don&#8217;t they come theirselves and try?</span><br />
+<br />
+They&#8217;d find the Confed&#8217;s hev mighty hard heads,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And are pow&#8217;ful smart at shootin&#8217;;</span><br />
+Their love for the old flag would very soon drag&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lord! how you&#8217;d see them scootin&#8217;.</span><br />
+<br />
+That fool Burnside deserves a cowhide,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Coz he&#8217;s got neither pluck nor sense;</span><br />
+He shook like souse at the Phillip&#8217;s house,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While we was murder&#8217;d at Marye&#8217;s fence.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span><br />
+But it is all one to me who our Gen&#8217;ral may be,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I&#8217;ve got to die for the nigger,</span><br />
+While Greeley steps on feathers, and Beecher&#8217;s patent leathers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sets Plymouth Church in a snigger.</span><br />
+<br />
+War is mighty fine to them that&#8217;s drinking wine<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the big hotels in York;</span><br />
+But as for <i>lousy</i> me, that&#8217;s lost his liberty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Peace</i> is the right sort o&#8217; talk.</span><br />
+<br />
+I calk&#8217;late to stay, until next May,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A shiv&#8217;rin&#8217; in all this slush;</span><br />
+But when I git paid, I&#8217;m a leetle kinder &#8217;fraid<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I&#8217;ll back out hum with a rush.</span><br />
+<br />
+I&#8217;ll pitch this gun into old Bull Run,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like I did when I follered McDowell;</span><br />
+Secesh may go his ways, and I&#8217;ll spend my days<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With my gal, my gin and my trowel.</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh! I&#8217;m sick as a dog, or a mangy hog,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of this &#8217;tarnal nasty fightin&#8217;,</span><br />
+That&#8217;s all gone wrong, and lasts too long<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For a man that&#8217;s thinkin&#8217; o&#8217; kitin&#8217;.</span><br />
+<br />
+I&#8217;ll tell you, Mississip, you&#8217;re an ugly looking rip,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And if you&#8217;ll keep your side o&#8217; the water,</span><br />
+You may save your powder, and I&#8217;ll take to chowder,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And come no more where I hadn&#8217;t oughter.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p>
+<h2>NO SURRENDER.</h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Ever constant, ever true,<br />
+Let the word be, no surrender,<br />
+Boldly dare and greatly do!<br />
+They shall bring us safely through,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">No surrender, no surrender!</span><br />
+And though fortune&#8217;s smiles be few,<br />
+Hope is always springing new,<br />
+Still inspiring me and you<br />
+With a magic, no surrender.<br />
+<br />
+Nail the colors to the mast<br />
+Shouting gladly, no surrender;<br />
+Troubles near, are all but past,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Serve them as you did the last,</span><br />
+No surrender, no surrender!<br />
+Though the skies be overcast,<br />
+And upon the sleety blast<br />
+Disappointment gathers fast,<br />
+Beat them off with no surrender.<br />
+<br />
+Constant and courageous still,<br />
+Mind the word is, no surrender!<br />
+Battle tho&#8217; it be up hill,<br />
+Stagger not at seeming ill,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">No surrender, no surrender!</span><br />
+Hope, and thus your hope fulfill,<br />
+There&#8217;s a way where there&#8217;s a will,<br />
+And the way all cares to kill,<br />
+Is to give them no surrender.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p>
+<h2>A SOUTHERN WOMAN&#8217;S SONG.</h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Stitch, stitch, stitch,<br />
+Little needle, swiftly fly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brightly glittering as you go;</span><br />
+Every time that you pass by<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Warms my heart with pity&#8217;s glow.</span><br />
+Dreams of comfort that will cheer,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through winter&#8217;s cold, the volunteer,</span><br />
+Dreams of courage you will bring,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smile on me like flowers in Spring.</span><br />
+<br />
+Stitch, stitch, stitch,<br />
+Swiftly, little needle, fly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through this flannel, soft and warm;</span><br />
+Though with cold the soldiers sigh,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This will sure keep out the storm.</span><br />
+Set the buttons close and tight<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Out to shut the winter&#8217;s damp;</span><br />
+There&#8217;ll be none to fix them right<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the soldier&#8217;s tented camp.</span><br />
+<br />
+Stitch, stitch, stitch;<br />
+Ah! needle, do not linger;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Close the thread, make firm the knot;</span><br />
+There&#8217;ll be no dainty finger<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To arrange a seam forgot.</span><br />
+Though small and tiny you may be,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do all that you are able;</span><br />
+A <i>mouse</i> a lion once set free,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As says the pretty fable.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span><br />
+Stitch, stitch, stitch,<br />
+Swiftly, little needle, glide,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thine&#8217;s a pleasant labor;</span><br />
+To clothe the soldier be thy pride,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While he wields the sabre.</span><br />
+Ours are tireless hearts and hands;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Southern wives and mothers,</span><br />
+All who join our warlike bands<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are our friends and brothers.</span><br />
+<br />
+Stitch, stitch, stitch,<br />
+Little needle, swiftly fly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the morning until eve,</span><br />
+As the moments pass thee by,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">These substantial comforts weave.</span><br />
+Busy thoughts are at our hearts&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thoughts of hopeful cheer,</span><br />
+As we toil till day departs<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the noble volunteer.</span><br />
+<br />
+Quick, quick, quick,<br />
+Swifter, little needle, go;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From our homes most pleasant fires</span><br />
+Let a loving greeting flow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To our brothers and our sires;</span><br />
+We have tears for those who fall,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smiles for those who laugh at fear,&mdash;</span><br />
+Hope and sympathy for all,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Every noble volunteer.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p>
+<h2>GENERAL LEE AT THE BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Tenella</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>There he stood, the grand old hero, great Virginia&#8217;s god-like son,<br />
+Second unto none in glory&mdash;equal of her Washington;<br />
+Gazing on his line of battle, as it wavered to and fro<br />
+&#8217;Neath the front and flank advances of the almost conquering foe;<br />
+Calm as was that clear May morning, ere the furious death-roar broke<br />
+<br />
+From the iron-throated war lions crouching &#8217;neath the cloudy smoke;<br />
+Cool, as tho&#8217; the battle raging was but mimicry of fight,<br />
+Each brigade an ivory castle, and each regiment a knight;<br />
+Chafing in reserve beside him, two brigades of Texans lay,<br />
+All impatient for their portion in the fortune of the day.<br />
+<br />
+Shot and shell are &#8217;mong them falling, yet unmov&#8217;d they silent stand,<br />
+Longing, eager for the battle, but awaiting his command:<br />
+Suddenly he rode before them, as the forward line gave way,<br />
+Rais&#8217;d his hat with courtly gesture, &#8220;Follow me and save the day!&#8221;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span><br />
+But, as tho&#8217; by terror stricken, still and silent stood that troop,<br />
+Who were wont to rush to battle with a fierce avenging whoop.<br />
+It was but a single moment, then a murmur thro&#8217; them ran,<br />
+Heard above the cannon&#8217;s roaring, as it passed from man to man,<br />
+<br />
+&#8220;You go back and we&#8217;ll go forward!&#8221; now the waiting leader hears,<br />
+Mixed with deep impatient sobbing, as of strong men moved to tears,<br />
+Once again he gives the order, &#8220;I&#8217;ll lead you on the foe!&#8221;<br />
+Then, thro&#8217; all the line of battle rang a loud determined &#8220;No!&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+Quick as thought a gallant Major, with a firm and vice-like grasp,<br />
+Seized the General&#8217;s bridle, shouting, &#8220;Forward, boys! I&#8217;ll hold him fast!&#8221;<br />
+Then again the hat was lifted, &#8220;Sir, I am the older man:<br />
+Loose my bridle, I will lead them!&#8221; in a measured tone and calm.<br />
+<br />
+Trembling with suppressed emotion, with intense excitement hot,<br />
+In a quivering voice, the Texan, &#8220;No, by God, sir, you shall not!&#8221;<br />
+By them swept the charging squadron, with a loud exultant cheer,<br />
+&#8220;We&#8217;ll retake the salient, General, if you&#8217;ll watch us from the rear!&#8221;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span><br />
+And they kept their word right nobly, sweeping every foe away,<br />
+With that grand grey head uncovered, watching how they saved the day&mdash;<br />
+But the god-like calm was shaken, which no battle shock could move,<br />
+By this true, spontaneous token of his soldiers&#8217; child-like love!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>MY NOBLE WARRIOR, COME!</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Mrs. Col. C. G. F&mdash;&mdash;y</span>.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;The Rock Beside the Sea.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>O, tell me not that earth is fair, that spring is in its bloom,<br />
+While young hearts, hourly, everywhere meet such untimely doom;<br />
+That sweet on wind, of morn or eve, the violet&#8217;s breath may be,<br />
+Let me but know thy banner waves, and leads to victory!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Let me but know, etc.</span><br />
+<br />
+The thundering battle&#8217;s distant roar, the host&#8217;s victorious cry,<br />
+Unto my trembling heart is more than all earth&#8217;s melody;<br />
+Come back, my noble warrior, come! there&#8217;s but one prayer for me,<br />
+&#8217;Till I can greet thy banner home, proud banner of the free!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Till I can greet, etc.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SONG OF THE PRIVATEER</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Alex. A. Cummins</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Fearlessly the seas we roam,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tossed by each briny wave;</span><br />
+Its boundless surface is our home,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its bosom deep our graves.</span><br />
+No foreign mandate fills with awe<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our gallant hearted band;</span><br />
+We know no home, we know no law,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But that of Dixie&#8217;s land.</span><br />
+<br />
+The bright star is our compass true,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our chart the ocean wide;</span><br />
+Our only hope the noble few<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That&#8217;s standing side by side;</span><br />
+We do not fear the stormy gale<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sweeps old ocean&#8217;s strand;</span><br />
+We scorn our enemy&#8217;s clumsy sail,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all for Dixie&#8217;s land.</span><br />
+<br />
+We love to hoist to the topmost peak,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Our Southern Stars and Stripes</i>;</span><br />
+And woe to him who dares to seek<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To trample on their rights!</span><br />
+It is the &aelig;gis of the free,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And by it we will stand,</span><br />
+And watch it waving o&#8217;er the sea,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And over Dixie&#8217;s land.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span><br />
+We love to roam the deep, deep sea,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hear the cannon&#8217;s boom,</span><br />
+And give the war-cry, wild and free,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Amid the battle&#8217;s gloom,</span><br />
+We do not fight alone for gain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So far from native strand;</span><br />
+But our country&#8217;s freedom and its fame,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the fair of Dixie&#8217;s land.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>HOOD&#8217;S TEXAS BRIGADE.</h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Down by the valley, &#8217;mid thunder and lightning,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down by the valley, &#8217;mid shadows of night,</span><br />
+Down by the deep crimson&#8217;d valley of Richmond,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Twenty-five hundred mov&#8217;d on to the fight;</span><br />
+Onward, still onward, to the portals of glory,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the sepulchral chambers, yet never dismayed;</span><br />
+Down by the deep crimson&#8217;d valley of Richmond,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">March&#8217;d the bold warriors of Hood&#8217;s Texas Brigade!</span><br />
+<br />
+See ye the fires and flashes still leaping?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">See ye the tempest and jettings of storm?</span><br />
+See ye the banners of proud Texan heroes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In front of her column, move steadily on?</span><br />
+Hear ye the music that gladdens each comrade,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Riding on wings through torrents of sounds?</span><br />
+Hear ye the booming adown the red valley?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Riley unbuckles his swarthy old hounds!<a name='fna_10' id='fna_10' href='#f_10'><small>[10]</small></a></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span><br />
+Valiant Fifth Texas! I saw your brave column<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rush through the channels of living and dead;</span><br />
+Sturdy Fourth Texas! Why weep, your old warhorse?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He died as he wish&#8217;d, in the gear, at your head:</span><br />
+West Point! ye will tell, on the pages of glory,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How the blood of the South ebb&#8217;d away near your shade,</span><br />
+And how sons of Texas fought in the red valley,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fell in the columns of Hood&#8217;s Texas Brigade.</span><br />
+<br />
+Fathers and mothers, ye weep for your jewels;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sisters, ye weep for your brothers in vain;</span><br />
+Maidens, ye weep for your sunny-eyed lovers&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Weep, for you&#8217;ll never behold them again!</span><br />
+But know ye that vict&#8217;ry, the shrine of the noble,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Encircles the house of death newly made!</span><br />
+And know ye that Freedom, the shrine of the mighty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shines forth on the banners of Hood&#8217;s Texas Brigade!</span><br />
+<br />
+Daughters of Southland, come bring ye bright flowers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Weave ye a chaplet for the brow of the brave;</span><br />
+Bring ye the emblems of freedom and victory;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bring ye the emblems of death and the grave;</span><br />
+Bring ye some motto befitting a hero;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bring ye exotics that never will fade;</span><br />
+Come to the deep crimson&#8217;d valley of Richmond,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And crown our young Chief of the Texas Brigade!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SWEETHEARTS AND THE WAR.</h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Oh, dear! its shameful, I declare,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To make the men all go</span><br />
+And leave so many sweethearts here<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Without a single beau.</span><br />
+We like to see them brave, &#8217;tis true,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And would not urge them stay;</span><br />
+But what are we, poor girls, to do<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When they are all away?</span><br />
+<br />
+We told them we could spare them there,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before they had to go;</span><br />
+But, bless their hearts, we weren&#8217;t aware<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That we should miss them so.</span><br />
+We miss them all in many ways,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But truth will ever out,</span><br />
+The greatest thing we miss them for<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is seeing us about.</span><br />
+<br />
+On Sunday, when we go to church,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We look in vain for some</span><br />
+To meet us, smiling, on the porch,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ask to see us home.</span><br />
+And then we can&#8217;t enjoy a walk<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Since all the beaux have gone;</span><br />
+For what&#8217;s the good (to use plain talk),<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If we must trudge alone?</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span><br />
+But what&#8217;s the use of talking thus?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We&#8217;ll try to be content;</span><br />
+And if they cannot come to us<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A message may be sent.</span><br />
+And that&#8217;s one comfort, anyway;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For though we are apart,</span><br />
+There is no reason why we may<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not open heart to heart.</span><br />
+<br />
+We trust it may soon come<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To a final test;</span><br />
+We want to see our Southern homes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Secured in peaceful rest.</span><br />
+But if the blood of those we love<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In freedom&#8217;s cause must flow,</span><br />
+With fervent trust in God above,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We bid them onward go.</span><br />
+<br />
+And we will watch them as they go,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cheer them on their way:</span><br />
+Our arms shall be their resting-place<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When wounded sore they lay.</span><br />
+Oh! if the sons of Southern soil<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For freedom&#8217;s cause must die,</span><br />
+Her daughters ask no dearer boon<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than by their side to lie.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p>
+<h2>JACKSON&#8217;S RESIGNATION.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">A Yankee Soliloquy before the Battle of Fredericksburg.</p>
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Tenella</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Well, we can whip them now I guess,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If Jackson has resigned,</span><br />
+General Lee in &#8220;fighting Burnside,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">More than his match will find:</span><br />
+We&#8217;re done with slow McClellan,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who kept us &#8220;digging dirt,&#8221;</span><br />
+And now are &#8220;on to Richmond,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where some one &#8220;will be hurt.&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+Again around the Rebels<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The anaconda coils,</span><br />
+For East and West, and North and South,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We have them in our toils;</span><br />
+We&#8217;d have beat them at Manassas<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If McDowell had not slipped,</span><br />
+When he tried to leap this Stonewall,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who don&#8217;t know when he&#8217;s whipped.</span><br />
+<br />
+We&#8217;d have laid them in the Valley<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So low they could not rise,</span><br />
+But Banks must run against it,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And spill all his supplies.</span><br />
+Now if that fool Jeff Davis<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Has let Stonewall resign,</span><br />
+We can go &#8220;on to Richmond&#8221;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the Rappahannock line.</span><br />
+<br />
+But they say he&#8217;s a shrewd fellow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who knows a soldier well,</span><br />
+And stood by Sidney Johnston<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Until in death he fell;</span><br />
+&#8220;If Johnston is no general,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then, gentlemen, I&#8217;ve none,&#8221;</span><br />
+He said to those who grumbled,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Donelson we won.</span><br />
+<br />
+And I don&#8217;t believe that Jackson&#8217;s<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Resignation he&#8217;ll accept&mdash;</span><br />
+Hallo!!!&mdash;A rebel picket&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How close the rascal crept!</span><br />
+&#8220;Say, stranger, is it true<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That Jackson has resigned?&#8221;</span><br />
+&#8220;Well, yes&mdash;I reckon so&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heard somethin&#8217; of the kind.&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+&#8220;What for? Did old Jeff Davis<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Put a sub. above his head?&#8221;</span><br />
+&#8220;No&mdash;they took away his commissary,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So I&#8217;ve heard it said.&#8221;</span><br />
+&#8220;Well, <i>we</i> are glad to hear it,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And will tender them our thanks,</span><br />
+But who was Jackson&#8217;s commissary?&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;<i>Your Major-General Banks.</i>&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+&#8220;Confound your rebel impudence!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He&#8217;d be very smart indeed,</span><br />
+If from supplies for <i>one</i> intended,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Two</i> armies he could feed.&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Southern Illustrated News</i>, April, 1863.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p>
+<h2>WE LEFT HIM ON THE FIELD.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Miss Maria E. Jones</span>, of Galveston, Tex.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>We left him on the crimson&#8217;d field,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where battle storms had swept,</span><br />
+We know the soldier&#8217;s fate was seal&#8217;d&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No wonder that we wept.</span><br />
+Some have, perhaps, as nobly fought,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And some as bravely fell,</span><br />
+Where the red sword its work hath wrought,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But none we lov&#8217;d so well.</span><br />
+<br />
+O deem us not a faithless band,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who left him to the foe;</span><br />
+His latest accent of command,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was when he bade us go!</span><br />
+Yet one still linger&#8217;d near his side,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To watch his fleeting breath,</span><br />
+To mark the ebbing of life&#8217;s tide<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And pale approach of death.</span><br />
+<br />
+But ere we left our Captain there,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He gave us each a word,</span><br />
+Some thought of kind, remembering care&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;Here, Warren, take my sword&mdash;</span><br />
+You&#8217;ll be their captain now, you know;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But, friend, remember then,&#8221;</span><br />
+Said he, &#8220;how well I loved them;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be faithful to my men!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img35.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;He faintly smiled and waved his hand.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>&#8220;Wear the sword well. The gift is small,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But with it goes my love,</span><br />
+Good-bye, boys! Heaven bless you all;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I&#8217;m ordered up above,</span><br />
+And there can be no countermand&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I know my fate is seal&#8217;d!&#8221;</span><br />
+He faintly smiled, and wav&#8217;d his hand&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We left him on the field.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>MOTHER! IS THE BATTLE OVER?</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Mother! is the battle over? thousands have been killed they say&mdash;<br />
+Is my father coming?&mdash;tell me, have the Southrons gain&#8217;d the day?<br />
+Is he well, or is he wounded? Mother, do you think he&#8217;s slain?<br />
+If you know, I pray you tell me&mdash;will my father come again?<br />
+<br />
+Mother, dear, you&#8217;re always sighing since you last the paper read&mdash;<br />
+Tell me why you now are crying&mdash;why that cap is on your head?<br />
+Ah! I see you cannot tell me&mdash;father&#8217;s one among the slain!<br />
+Altho&#8217; he lov&#8217;d us very dearly, he will never come again!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p>
+<h2>A NORTH CAROLINA CALL TO ARMS.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Luola</span>.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;The Old North State.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Ye sons of Carolina! awake from your dreaming!<br />
+The minions of Lincoln upon us are streaming!<br />
+Oh! wait not for argument, call, or persuasion<br />
+To meet at the onset this treach&#8217;rous invasion!<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Defend, defend the old North State forever;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Defend, defend the good old North State.</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh! think of the maidens, the wives, and the mothers;<br />
+Fly ye to the rescue, sons, husbands, and brothers,<br />
+And sink in oblivion all party and section;<br />
+Your hearth-stones are looking to you for protection!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+The babe in its sweetness, the child in its beauty,<br />
+Unconsciously urge you to action and duty!<br />
+By all that is sacred, by all to you tender,<br />
+Your country adjures, arise and defend her!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+The Star-Spangled Banner, dishonored, is streaming<br />
+O&#8217;er lands of fanatics; their swords are now gleaming;<br />
+They thirst for the life-blood of those you most cherish;<br />
+With brave hearts and true, then, arouse, or they perish.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span><br />
+Round the flag of the South, oh! in thousands now rally,<br />
+For the hour&#8217;s departed when freemen may sally;<br />
+Your all is at stake; then go forth and God speed you,<br />
+And onward to glory and victory lead you!<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Hurrah! hurrah! the old North State forever!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Hurrah! hurrah! the good old North State.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>DIXIE.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Albert Pike</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Southrons, hear your country call you!<br />
+Up! lest worse than death befall you!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To arms! to arms! to arms! in Dixie!</span><br />
+Lo! all the beacon-fires are lighted,<br />
+Let all hearts be now united!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To arms! to arms! to arms! in Dixie!</span><br />
+Advance the flag of Dixie!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hurrah! hurrah!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;For Dixie&#8217;s land we&#8217;ll take our stand,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">To live or die for Dixie!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">To arms! to arms!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And conquer peace for Dixie!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">To arms! to arms!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And conquer peace for Dixie!</span><br />
+<br />
+Hear the Northern thunders mutter!<br />
+Northern flags in South winds flutter!<br />
+Send them back your fierce defiance,<br />
+Stamp upon the accurs&#8217;d alliance!<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span><br />
+Fear no danger! shun no labor!<br />
+Lift up rifle, pike and sabre!<br />
+Shoulder pressing close to shoulder,<br />
+Let the odds make each heart bolder!<br />
+<br />
+How the South&#8217;s great heart rejoices<br />
+At your cannon&#8217;s ringing voices;<br />
+For faith betrayed and pledges broken,<br />
+Wrong inflicted, insults spoken.<br />
+<br />
+Strong as lions, swift as eagles,<br />
+Back to their kennels hunt these beagles!<br />
+Cut the unequal bonds asunder!<br />
+Let them hence each other plunder.<br />
+<br />
+Swear upon your country&#8217;s altar,<br />
+Never to submit or falter,<br />
+&#8217;Till the spoilers are defeated,<br />
+&#8217;Till the Lord&#8217;s work is completed.<br />
+<br />
+Halt not till our federation,<br />
+Secures among earth&#8217;s powers its station!<br />
+Then at peace, and crowned with glory,<br />
+Hear your children tell the story.<br />
+<br />
+If the loved ones weep in sadness,<br />
+Victory soon shall bring them gladness;<br />
+Exultant pride soon banish sorrow,<br />
+Smiles chase tears away to-morrow.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p>
+<h2>BATTLE SONG.</h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Have you counted up the cost?<br />
+What is gained and what is lost&mdash;<br />
+When the foe your lines have crossed?<br />
+<br />
+Gained&mdash;the infamy of fame?<br />
+Gained&mdash;a dastard&#8217;s spotted name;<br />
+Gained&mdash;eternity of shame.<br />
+<br />
+Lost&mdash;desert of manly Worth;<br />
+Lost&mdash;the right you had by birth;<br />
+Lost&mdash;lost! Freedom from the earth!<br />
+<br />
+Freemen, up! the foe is nearing!<br />
+Haughty banners high uprearing&mdash;<br />
+Lo! their serried ranks appearing!<br />
+<br />
+Freemen, on! the drums are beating!<br />
+Will you shrink from such a meeting?<br />
+Forward! give them hero greeting!<br />
+<br />
+From your hearts, and homes, and altars,<br />
+Backward hurl your proud assaulters&mdash;<br />
+He is not a man that falters!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p>
+<h2>OVER THE RIVER.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Virginia Norfolk</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="note">&#8220;Let us cross the river, and rest under the shade of the trees.&#8221;&mdash;<i>Last
+words of Stonewall Jackson.</i></p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Bravely ye&#8217;ve fought, my gallant, gallant men!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bravely ye&#8217;ve fought and well!</span><br />
+Yon blood-stained field, where your banner floats,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tells how your foemen fell!</span><br />
+Ye are recreant none to your knightly vows,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And none to your high behest;</span><br />
+But the noon sun shines on your burning brows&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So, over the river and rest!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Over the river the shade trees grow&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Over the river we&#8217;ll rest!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Ye have fought the fight&mdash;won the praise that brings</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Peace to the soldier&#8217;s breast!</span><br />
+<br />
+Bravely ye&#8217;ve conquered, my gallant Southern men!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ye have won your rights anew!</span><br />
+Ye have washed out the stain of traitor blood,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the baptism of the true!</span><br />
+Your clanging armor and flashing steel<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Have told of a deadly fray;</span><br />
+But foemen are flying right and left!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ye have had a glorious day!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 18em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span><br />
+Foemen are flying! aye, madly they&#8217;ve fled,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Peace waves her snow-white wing!</span><br />
+But we mourn the loss of our gallant dead,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While the hills with victory ring!</span><br />
+One warrior wears his laurel crown,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One sleeps on his plumed crest!</span><br />
+While the palm tree waves by the river side,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There, soldiers, will we rest!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 18em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE MAN OF THE TWELFTH OF MAY.<a name='fna_11' id='fna_11' href='#f_11'><small>[11]</small></a></h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Robert Falligant</span>, Savannah, Ga.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>When history tells her story,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the noble hero band,</span><br />
+Who have made the green fields gory,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the life of their native land,</span><br />
+How grand will be the picture,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Georgia&#8217;s proud array,</span><br />
+As they drove the boasting foeman back,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On that glorious twelfth of May, boys,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That glorious twelfth of May.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Then hurrah! while we rally around<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">The hero of that day!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And a nation&#8217;s grateful praises crown,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">The man of the twelfth of May, boys,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">The man of the twelfth of May.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span><br />
+Whose mien is ever proudest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When we hold the foe at bay?</span><br />
+Whose war-cry cheers us loudest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As we rush to the bloody fray?</span><br />
+&#8217;Tis Gordon&#8217;s! Our reliance!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fearless as on the day,</span><br />
+When he hurled his grand defiance,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In that charge of the twelfth of May, boys,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In that charge of the twelfth of May!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 18em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Who can be a coward!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What freeman fears to die,</span><br />
+When Gordon orders, &#8220;Forward!&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the red cross floats on high?</span><br />
+Follow his tones inspiring!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On! on to the field away!</span><br />
+And we&#8217;ll see the foe retiring,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As they did on the twelfth of May, boys,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As they did on the twelfth of May!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 18em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+This is no time for sighing!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whate&#8217;er our fate may be,</span><br />
+&#8217;Tis sweet to think that, dying,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We will leave our country free!</span><br />
+When the storms of battle pelt her,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She&#8217;ll defy the tyrants&#8217; sway,</span><br />
+And our breasts shall be her shelter,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As they were on the twelfth of May, boys,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As they were on the twelfth of May!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 18em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p>
+<h2>MORGAN&#8217;S WAR SONG.</h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Cheer, boys, cheer! we&#8217;ll march away to battle!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cheer, boys, cheer! for our sweethearts and our wives!</span><br />
+Cheer, boys, cheer! we&#8217;ll nobly do our duty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And give to the South our hearts, our arms, our lives.</span><br />
+<br />
+Bring forth the flag&mdash;our country&#8217;s noble standard;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wave it on high &#8217;till the wind shakes each fold out:</span><br />
+Proudly it floats, nobly waving in the vanguard;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then cheer, boys, cheer! with a lusty, long, bold shout,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Cheer, boys, cheer! etc.</span><br />
+<br />
+But as we march, with heads all lowly bending,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let us implore a blessing from on high;</span><br />
+Our cause is just&mdash;the right from wrong defending;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the God of battle will listen to our cry.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Cheer, boys, cheer! etc.</span><br />
+<br />
+Tho&#8217; to our homes we never may return,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ne&#8217;er press again our lov&#8217;d ones in our arms,</span><br />
+O&#8217;er our lone graves their faithful hearts will mourn,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then cheer up, boys, cheer! such death hath no alarms.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Cheer, boys, cheer! etc.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE SONG OF THE EXILE.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Dixie.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Oh! here I am in the land of cotton,<br />
+The flag once honor&#8217;d is now forgotten;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fight away, fight away, fight away for Dixie&#8217;s land.</span><br />
+But here I stand for Dixie dear,<br />
+To fight for freedom, without fear;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fight away, fight away, fight away for Dixie&#8217;s land.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;For Dixie&#8217;s land I&#8217;ll take my stand,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">To live or die for Dixie&#8217;s land,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Fight away, fight away, fight away for Dixie&#8217;s land.</span><br />
+<br />
+Abe Lincoln tore through Baltimore,<br />
+In a baggage car with fastened door;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fight away, etc.</span><br />
+And left his wife, alas! alack!<br />
+To perish on the railroad track!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fight away, etc.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+We have no ships, we have no navies,<br />
+But mighty faith in the great Jeff Davis;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fight away, etc.</span><br />
+Brave old Missouri shall be ours,<br />
+Despite Abe Lincoln&#8217;s Northern powers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fight away, etc.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span><br />
+Abe&#8217;s proclamation in a twinkle,<br />
+Stirred up the blood of Rip Van Winkle;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fight away, etc.</span><br />
+Jeff Davis&#8217;s answer was short and curt:<br />
+&#8220;Fort Sumpter&#8217;s taken, and nobody&#8217;s hurt!&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fight away, etc.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+We hear the words of this same ditty,<br />
+To the right and left of the Mississippi;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fight away, etc.</span><br />
+In the land of flowers, hot and sandy,<br />
+From Delaware Bay to Rio Grande!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fight away, etc.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+The ladies cheer with heart and hand,<br />
+The men who fight for Dixie land;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fight away, etc.</span><br />
+The &#8220;Stars and Bars&#8221; are waving o&#8217;er us,<br />
+And Independence is before us;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fight away, etc.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Martinsburg, Va.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img36.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">Cavalry Button.</p>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p>
+<h2>NATIONAL HYMN.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Words by <span class="smcap">Capt. E. Griswold</span>.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by <span class="smcap">J. W. Groschel</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Now let the thrilling anthem rise,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O&#8217;er all the glorious land,</span><br />
+Where tow&#8217;ring hills usurp the skies,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And valleys broad expand.</span><br />
+Where each majestic river rolls,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where wave the fields of grain,</span><br />
+Let Southern hearts and Southern souls<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Repeat the exulting strain.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;The cross and bars, its gleaming stars,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Shall float o&#8217;er land and main;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">The cross and bars, its gleaming stars,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Shall float o&#8217;er land and main;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Confederate Sov&#8217;reign State we stand,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">God save our land, God save our land;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Confederate Sov&#8217;reign State we stand,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">God save our land, God save our land,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">God save our land, God save our land.</span><br />
+<br />
+Where golden fruited orange blossoms,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Green lemon grove and bower,</span><br />
+And where the tall magnolia looms,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With proud imperial flower,</span><br />
+Where bursting from their ripened bolls,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cotton spreads the plain.</span><br />
+Let Southern hearts and Southern souls<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Repeat the exulting strain.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span><br />
+Where happy vassals chant their song,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In fields and homes and boats,</span><br />
+Where mocking birds the chords prolong,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Swelling their mottled throats,</span><br />
+Where law&#8217;s broad &aelig;gis still upholds<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Enlightened freedom&#8217;s claim.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Where in the Southern zenith glows<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The warmth the sun imparts,</span><br />
+Afar from frigid Northern snows,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bustling Northern Marts,</span><br />
+Where generous impulse still controls,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And scorns polluting stain,</span><br />
+Let Southern hearts and Southern souls,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Repeat th&#8217; exulting strain.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+And still from age to age repeat<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tale of battles won,</span><br />
+When bigot Northmen found defeat<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before each Southern son.</span><br />
+Proudly recount the muster rolls<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of living braves and slain,</span><br />
+Let Southern hearts and Southern souls<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Repeat th&#8217; exulting strain.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Where Chesapeake&#8217;s broad waters glow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Round Maryland&#8217;s green lands,</span><br />
+To where the gulf and ocean bow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Florida&#8217;s white sands;</span><br />
+From where the mad Atlantic rolls<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Rio Grande&#8217;s plain,</span><br />
+Let Southern hearts and Southern souls<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Repeat th&#8217; exulting strain.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p>
+<h2>OVER THE RIVER.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">(<i>MISSISSIPPI</i>).</p>
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Miss Maria E. Jones</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Over the river there are fierce, stern meetings,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No kindly clasp of hand, no welcome call;</span><br />
+But hatred swells the chorus of the greetings,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of foes who meet at Death&#8217;s high carnival;</span><br />
+No flash of wine-cups, but the red blood streaming<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From ragged wounds, upon the thirsty sand,</span><br />
+And fierce, wild music of bright sabre gleaming,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where eager foemen grapple hand to hand.</span><br />
+<br />
+Over the river are our lov&#8217;d ones lying,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alone and wounded on the couch of pain;</span><br />
+Consum&#8217;d by wasting fevers&mdash;even dying&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sighing for those they ne&#8217;er may see again;</span><br />
+There are untended graves where grass is growing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rankly and tall o&#8217;er each lone sleeper&#8217;s head;</span><br />
+There are long trenches, where bright flowers blowing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mark the common grave of thousands dead.</span><br />
+<br />
+Over the river victory shouts of gladness,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Great waves of joy rise above seas of woe;</span><br />
+Over the river comes a wail of sadness,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A city&#8217;s fallen, or a chief laid low;</span><br />
+Alas! for us! we must sit still and ponder<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the woes of battle all the day,</span><br />
+And dream, and sew, and weep, while our thoughts wander<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over the river! Let us watch and pray.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p>
+<h2>PRIVATE MAGUIRE.</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&#8220;Och, it&#8217;s nate to be captain or colonel,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Divil a bit would I want to be higher;</span><br />
+But to rust as a private, I think&#8217;s an infernal<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Predicament, surely,&#8221; says Private Maguire.</span><br />
+<br />
+&#8220;They can go sparkin&#8217; and playin&#8217; at billiards,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With money to spend for their slightest desire,</span><br />
+Loafin&#8217; and atin&#8217; and drinkin&#8217; at Ballard&#8217;s,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While we&#8217;re on the pickets,&#8221; says Private Maguire.</span><br />
+<br />
+&#8220;Livin&#8217; in clover, they think it&#8217;s a trifle<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To stand out all night in the rain and the mire,</span><br />
+And a Yankee hard by, with a villainous rifle,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just riddy to pop ye,&#8221; says Private Maguire.</span><br />
+<br />
+&#8220;Faith, now, it&#8217;s not that I&#8217;m afther complainin&#8217;,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I&#8217;m spilin&#8217; to meet ye, Abe Lincoln, Esquire!</span><br />
+Ye blaggard! it&#8217;s only I&#8217;m weary of thrainin&#8217;,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thrainin&#8217;, and thrainin&#8217;,&#8221; says Private Maguire.</span><br />
+<br />
+&#8220;O Lord, for a row! but Maguire, boy, be aisy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kape yourself swate for the inimy&#8217;s fire;</span><br />
+General Lee is the chap that shortly will plaze ye,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be the Holy St. Patrick!&#8221; says Private Maguire.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span><br />
+&#8220;And, lad, if ye&#8217;re hit (O, bedad, that infernal<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jimmy O&#8217;Dowd would make love to Maria!)</span><br />
+Whether ye&#8217;re captain, or major, or colonel,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ye&#8217;ll die with the best then,&#8221; says Private Maguire.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>STONEWALL JACKSON.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By a lady formerly of Richmond.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Tune</i>&mdash;&#8220;<i>The Coronack.</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Unmoved in the battle,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whilst friends and foes swerved,</span><br />
+Midst roaring and rattle,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His heroes were nerved.</span><br />
+On Manassas&#8217; red plain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their unyielding front,</span><br />
+Gave their chieftain that name,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So strong in war&#8217;s brunt.</span><br />
+<br />
+He swoops from the mountain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like our own regal bird;</span><br />
+O&#8217;er Potomac&#8217;s blue fountain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His war scream is heard.</span><br />
+Though his foeman be brave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They shrink from his sword,</span><br />
+Who its mighty power gave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is the triumphant Lord!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span><br />
+Again from the mountain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through forest and valley,</span><br />
+Once more near that fountain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His invincibles rally.</span><br />
+Like our own mountain eagle,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He swoops on the foemen,</span><br />
+And the cohorts of Lincoln<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fly and cower before him!</span><br />
+<span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>SOUTHERN SONG.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Tune</i>&mdash;&#8220;<i>Wait for the Wagon.</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Come, all ye sons of freedom,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And join our Southern band,</span><br />
+We are going to fight the Yankees,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And drive them from our land.</span><br />
+Justice is our motto,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Providence our guide;</span><br />
+So jump into the wagon,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we&#8217;ll all take a ride.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;So wait for the wagon! the dissolution wagon;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">The South is the wagon, and we&#8217;ll all take a ride.</span><br />
+<br />
+Secession is our watchword;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our rights we all demand;</span><br />
+To defend our homes and firesides<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">We pledge our hearts and hands.</span><br />
+Jeff Davis is our President,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With Stephens by his side;</span><br />
+Great Beauregard, our General,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He joins us in our ride.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Our wagon is the very best;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The running gear is good;</span><br />
+Stuffed round the sides with cotton,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And made of Southern wood.</span><br />
+Carolina is the driver,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With Georgia by her side,</span><br />
+Virginia holds the flag up<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While we all take a ride.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Old Lincoln and his Congressmen,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With Seward by his side,</span><br />
+Put old Scott in the wagon,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just for to take a ride.</span><br />
+McDowell was the driver,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To cross Bull Run he tried,</span><br />
+But there he left the wagon<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Beauregard to ride.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+The invading tribe, called Yankees,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With Lincoln for their guide,</span><br />
+Tried to keep good old Kentucky,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">From joining in the ride;</span><br />
+But she heeded not their entreaties,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She has come into the ring;</span><br />
+She wouldn&#8217;t fight for a government,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where cotton wasn&#8217;t king.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Manassas was the battle-ground;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The field was fair and wide;</span><br />
+The Yankees thought they&#8217;d wipe us out,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And on to Richmond ride.</span><br />
+But when they met our &#8220;Dixie&#8221; boys,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their danger they espied,</span><br />
+They wheeled about for Washington<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And didn&#8217;t wait to ride.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Brave Beauregard, God bless him!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Led legions in his stead,</span><br />
+While Johnson seized the colors,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And waved them o&#8217;er his head.</span><br />
+So rising generations,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With pleasure we will tell,</span><br />
+How bravely our Fisher,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And gallant Johnson fell.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Raleigh Register.</i></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE BAND IN THE PINES.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">John Esten Cooke</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>O band in the pine wood, cease!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cease with your splendid call!</span><br />
+The living are brave and noble,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the dead were bravest of all!</span><br />
+<br />
+They throng in the martial summons,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The loud, triumphant strain;</span><br />
+And the dear, bright eyes of long-dead friends,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come to the heart again.</span><br />
+<br />
+They come with the ringing bugle<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the deep drum&#8217;s mellow roar&mdash;</span><br />
+And the soul is faint with longing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the hands we clasp no more!</span><br />
+<br />
+O band in the pine wood, cease!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or the heart will melt in tears,</span><br />
+For the gallant eyes and the smiling lips,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the voices of old years!</span><br />
+<br />
+<i>Southern Illustrated News.</i></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img37.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&#8220;Though fifteen summers scarce have shed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their blossoms on thy brow.&#8221;</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h2>MY WARRIOR BOY.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Metropolitan Record.</i><span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by <span class="smcap">A. E. A. Muse</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.]</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Thou hast gone forth, my darling one,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To battle with the brave,</span><br />
+To strike in Freedom&#8217;s sacred cause,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or win an early grave;</span><br />
+With vet&#8217;rans grim, and stalwart men,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy pathway lieth now,</span><br />
+Though fifteen summers scarce have shed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their blossoms on thy brow.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span><br />
+My babe in years, my warrior boy!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O! if a mother&#8217;s tears</span><br />
+Could call thee back to be my joy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And still these anxious fears,</span><br />
+I&#8217;d dash the traitor drops away,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That would unnerve thy hand,</span><br />
+Now raised to strike in Freedom&#8217;s cause,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For thy dear native land.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img38.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&#8220;Come back to me my darling son,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And light my life again.&#8221;</span></td></tr></table>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span>God speed thee on thy course, my boy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where&#8217;er thy pathway lie,</span><br />
+And guard thee when the leaden hail,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall thick around thee fly;</span><br />
+But when our sacred cause is won,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And peace again shall reign,</span><br />
+Come back to me, my darling son,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And light my life again.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE REBEL BAND.</h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Old Eve she did the apple eat,<br />
+Old Eve she did the apple eat,<br />
+Old Eve she did the apple eat,<br />
+And smacked her lips and called it sweet.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Do you belong to the rebel band,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Fighting for your home.</span><br />
+<br />
+There was a time, the poets say,<br />
+There was a time, the poets say,<br />
+There was a time, the poets say,<br />
+When this world was washed away.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+How old Noah built him an ark,<br />
+How old Noah built him an ark,<br />
+How old Noah built him an ark,<br />
+Of gopher wood and hickory bark.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span><br />
+The ark rested on Mount Ararat,<br />
+The ark rested on Mount Ararat,<br />
+The ark rested on Mount Ararat,<br />
+A mile and a half from Manassas&#8217; Gap.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+The animals came in two by two,<br />
+The animals came in two by two,<br />
+The animals came in two by two,<br />
+The camamile and the kangaroo.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Now old Noah got very drunk,<br />
+Now old Noah got very drunk,<br />
+Now old Noah got very drunk,<br />
+And old Ham pulled him out of his bunk.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Old Noah got mad as he could be,<br />
+Old Noah got mad as he could be,<br />
+Old Noah got mad as he could be,<br />
+And sent old Ham to Afrikee.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE SOUTHERN SOLDIER BOY.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Words by <span class="smcap">Father Ryan</span>.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by <span class="smcap">W. Ludden</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Young as the youngest who donned the gray,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">True as the truest who wore it,</span><br />
+Brave as the bravest he marched away,<br />
+(Hot tears on the cheeks of his mother lay);<br />
+Triumphant waved our flag one day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He fell in the front before it.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;A grave in the wood with the grass o&#8217;ergrown,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">A grave in the heart of his mother,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">His clay in the one, lifeless and lone,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">But his memory lives in the other.</span><br />
+<br />
+Firm as the firmest where duty led,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He hurried without a falter;</span><br />
+Bold as the boldest he fought and bled,<br />
+And the day was won&mdash;but the field was red;<br />
+And the blood of his fresh young heart was shed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On his country&#8217;s hallowed altar.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+On the trampled breast of the battle plain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the foremost ranks had wrestled,</span><br />
+The fairest form &#8217;mid all the slain,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a child asleep he nestled.</span><br />
+<br />
+In the solemn of the woods that swept<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The field where his comrades found him,</span><br />
+They buried him there&mdash;and strong men wept,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As in silence they gathered &#8217;round him.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE CAVALIER&#8217;S GLEE.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Capt. Blackford</span>, of General Stuart&#8217;s Staff.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;The Pirate&#8217;s Glee.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Spur on! spur on! we love the bounding<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of barbs that bear us to the fray;</span><br />
+&#8220;The charge&#8221; our bugles now are sounding,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And our bold Stuart leads the way.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;The path to honor lies before us<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Our hated foeman gather fast;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">At home bright eyes are sparkling for us,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And we&#8217;ll defend them to the last.</span><br />
+<br />
+Spur on! spur on! we love the rushing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of steeds that spurn the turf they tread;</span><br />
+We&#8217;ll through the Northern ranks go crushing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With our proud battle-flag o&#8217;erhead.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Spur on! spur on! we love the flashing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of blades that battle to be free;</span><br />
+&#8217;Tis for our sunny South they&#8217;re clashing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For household gods and liberty.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SONG.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Faintly Flows the Falling River.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Here we bring a fragrant tribute,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the bed where valor sleeps,</span><br />
+Though they missed the victor&#8217;s triumph,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O&#8217;er their tomb a nation weeps,</span><br />
+Honor through all time be rendered,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To their proud, heroic names,</span><br />
+Fondly be their mem&#8217;ry cherished,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bright their never-dying fame.</span><br />
+<br />
+Glowing in young manhood&#8217;s beauty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sprang they at their country&#8217;s call,</span><br />
+Made before the foeman&#8217;s legions<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Round our homes a living wall.</span><br />
+By disease&#8217;s foul breath withered,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ere had dawned the battle-day,</span><br />
+On the fever couch of anguish,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thousands passed from earth away.</span><br />
+<br />
+Thousands, after deeds whose daring,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With their glory filled the land,</span><br />
+Fell before the flying foeman,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the fields won by their hand.</span><br />
+Mourning o&#8217;er the fruitless struggle,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bowed beneath the hand of God,</span><br />
+Come we weeping and yet proudly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now to deck this sacred sod.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p>
+<h2>WE CONQUER OR DIE.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">James Pierpont</span>, 1861.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Permission of <span class="smcap">Henri Wehrman</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>The war drum is beating; prepare for the fight,<br />
+The stern bigot Northman exults in his might,<br />
+Gird on your bright weapons, your foeman is nigh,<br />
+And this be your watchword, &#8220;We conquer or die.&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+The trumpet is sounding from mountain to shore,<br />
+Your swords and your lances must slumber no more.<br />
+Fling forth to the sunlight your banner on high,<br />
+Inscribed with the watchword, &#8220;We conquer or die.&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+March on to the battlefield, there do or dare,<br />
+With shoulder to shoulder, all danger to share,<br />
+And let your proud watchword ring up to the sky,<br />
+Till the blue arch re-echoes, &#8220;We conquer or die.&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+Press forward undaunted, no thought of retreat,<br />
+The enemy&#8217;s host on the threshold to meet,<br />
+Strike firm, &#8217;til the foemen before you shall fly,<br />
+Appalled by the watchword, &#8220;We conquer or die.&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+Go forth in the pathway our forefathers trod;<br />
+We too fight for freedom, our Captain is God,<br />
+Their blood in our veins, with their honor we vie;<br />
+Their&#8217;s too was the watchword, &#8220;We conquer or die.&#8221;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span><br />
+We strike for the South: mountains, valley and plain,<br />
+For the South we will conquer, again and again,<br />
+Her day of salvation and triumph is nigh,<br />
+Our&#8217;s then be the watchword, &#8220;We conquer or die.&#8221;</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>GOD WILL DEFEND THE RIGHT.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Words and Music by a Lady of Richmond.</p>
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass.]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Sons of the South arise,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rise in your matchless might,</span><br />
+Your war-cry echo to the skies,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;God will defend the right.&#8221;</span><br />
+Let-haughty tyrants know,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our sunny land shall be</span><br />
+In spite of every foe,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Home of the brave and free.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Sons of the South arise,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Rise in your matchless might,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Your war-cry echo to the skies,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">&#8220;God will defend the right.&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+Our flag shall proudly stream,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Defiant of assault,</span><br />
+Bars of rainbows brightest beam,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And stars from Heaven&#8217;s blue vault.</span><br />
+Thousands of true and brave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their hero lives may end,</span><br />
+O&#8217;er thousands that flag shall wave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thousands its folds defend.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+No wrongs our breasts alarm,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No fears our hearts appal,</span><br />
+Unswerving justice nerves our arm,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We cannot conquered fall.</span><br />
+Think on our noble sires,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Immortal in renown,</span><br />
+Think on our altar-fires,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And strike the oppressor down!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+With threats of horror dire,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fierce invader comes;</span><br />
+We scorn his boasts, we scorn his ire,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Striking for hearths and homes.</span><br />
+Strike for our mothers now,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For daughters, sisters, wives,</span><br />
+Truly would each bestow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were it ten thousand lives.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p>
+<h2>RICHMOND ON THE JAMES;</h2>
+
+<p class="center">OR, THE DYING TEXAS SOLDIER BOY.</p>
+<p class="center">A Parody by <span class="smcap">Annie Marie Neeby</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>A soldier boy from Texas lay gasping on the field,<br />
+When the battle&#8217;s shock was over, and the foe was forced to yield;<br />
+He fell, a youthful hero, before the foeman&#8217;s aims,<br />
+On a blood-red field near Richmond&mdash;near Richmond on the James.<br />
+<br />
+But one still stood beside him&mdash;his comrade in the fray&mdash;<br />
+They had been friends together in boyhood&#8217;s happy day;<br />
+And side by side had struggled on fields of blood and flames,<br />
+To part that eve at Richmond&mdash;near Richmond on the James.<br />
+<br />
+He said, &#8220;I charge thee, comrade, of the friends in days of yore,<br />
+Of the far, far distant dear ones that I shall see no more&mdash;<br />
+Tho&#8217; scarce my lips can whisper their dear and well-known names,<br />
+To bear to them my blessing from Richmond on the James.<br />
+<br />
+&#8220;Bear to my brother this sword, and the badge upon my breast<br />
+To the young and gentle sister that I used to love the best;<br />
+But one lock from my forehead give the mother still that dreams<br />
+Of her soldier boy near Richmond&mdash;near Richmond on the James.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span><br />
+&#8220;I wish that mother&#8217;s arms were folded round me now,<br />
+That her gentle hand could linger, one moment on my brow,<br />
+But I know that she is praying where our blessed hearthlight gleams,<br />
+For her soldier boy&#8217;s safe return from Richmond on the James.<br />
+<br />
+&#8220;And on my heart, dear comrade, lay close these auburn braids,<br />
+Of one that is the fairest of all our village maids;<br />
+We were to have been wedded, but death the bridegroom claims,<br />
+And she is far that loves me, from Richmond on the James.<br />
+<br />
+&#8220;O, does the pale face haunt her, dear friend, that looks on thee,<br />
+Or is she laughing, singing, in careless, girlish glee?<br />
+It may be she is joyous, and loves but joyous themes,<br />
+Nor dreams her love lies bleeding near Richmond on the James.<br />
+<br />
+&#8220;And tho&#8217; I know, dear comrade, thou&#8217;lt miss me for a while,<br />
+When their faces&mdash;all left to love thee&mdash;again on thee shall smile,<br />
+Again thou&#8217;lt be the foremost in all their youthful games,<br />
+But I shall lie near Richmond&mdash;near Richmond on the James.&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+The land is fill&#8217;d with mourning from hall and cot left lone,<br />
+We miss the well-known faces that used to greet our own,<br />
+And long shall weep poor wives, mothers, and titled dames,<br />
+To hear the name of Richmond&mdash;of Richmond on the James.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p>
+<h2>RICHMOND IS A HARD ROAD TO TRAVEL.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Dedicated to <span class="smcap">Gen&#8217;l A. E. Burnside</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.]</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Would you like to hear my song, I&#8217;m afraid it&#8217;s rather long,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the famous &#8220;on to Richmond&#8221; double trouble;</span><br />
+Of the half a dozen trips, and half a dozen slips,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the very latest bursting of the bubble?</span><br />
+&#8217;Tis pretty hard to sing, and like a round, round ring,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Tis a dreadful knotty puzzle to unravel,</span><br />
+Though all the papers swore, when we touched Virginia&#8217;s shore,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That Richmond was a hard road to travel.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">For Richmond is a hard road to travel;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe!</span><br />
+<br />
+First, McDowell, bold and gay, set forth the shortest way,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Manassas, in the pleasant Summer weather,</span><br />
+But unfortunately ran on a Stonewall, foolish man,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And had a &#8220;rocky journey&#8221; altogether;</span><br />
+And he found it rather hard to ride o&#8217;er Beauregard,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Johnston proved a deuce of a bother,</span><br />
+And &#8217;twas clear, beyond a doubt, that he didn&#8217;t like the route,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a second time would have to try another.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span><br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">For Manassas is a hard road to travel,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Manassas gave us fits, and Bull Run made us grieve,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe!</span><br />
+<br />
+Next came the Woolly-Horse,<a name='fna_12' id='fna_12' href='#f_12'><small>[12]</small></a> with an overwhelming force,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To march down to Richmond by the Valley,</span><br />
+But he couldn&#8217;t find the road, and his &#8220;onward movement&#8221; showed<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His campaigning was a mere shilly-shally.</span><br />
+Then Commissary Banks, with his motley, foreign ranks,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kicking up a great noise, fuss and flurry,</span><br />
+Lost the whole of his supplies, and with tears in his eyes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the Stonewall ran away in a hurry.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">For the Valley is a hard road to travel,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">The Valley wouldn&#8217;t do, and we had all to leave,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe!</span><br />
+<br />
+Then the great Galena came, with her port-holes all aflame,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Monitor, that famous naval wonder,</span><br />
+But the guns at Drury&#8217;s Bluff gave them speedily enough,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The loudest sort of reg&#8217;lar Rebel thunder.</span><br />
+The Galena was astonished and the Monitor admonished,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our patent shot and shell were mocked at,</span><br />
+While the dreadful Naugatuck, by the hardest kind of luck,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was knocked into an ugly cocked hat.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span><br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">For James River is a hard road to travel,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">The gun-boats gave it up in terror and despair,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I declare!</span><br />
+<br />
+Then McClellan followed soon, both with spade and balloon,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To try the Peninsular approaches,</span><br />
+But one and all agreed that his best rate of speed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was no faster than the slowest of &#8220;slow coaches.&#8221;</span><br />
+Instead of easy ground, at Williamsburg he found<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Longstreet indeed, and nothing shorter,</span><br />
+And it put him in the dumps, that spades wasn&#8217;t trumps,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Hills he couldn&#8217;t level &#8220;as he orter.&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">For Longstreet is a hard road to travel,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Lay down the shovel and throw away the spade,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I&#8217;m afraid.</span><br />
+<br />
+Then said Lincoln unto Pope, &#8220;You can make the trip, I hope;&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;I will save the universal Yankee nation,</span><br />
+To make sure of no defeat, I&#8217;ll leave no lines of retreat,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And issue a famous proclamation.&#8221;</span><br />
+But that same dreaded Jackson, this fellow laid his whacks on,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And made him by compulsion, a seceder.<a name='fna_13' id='fna_13' href='#f_13'><small>[13]</small></a></span><br />
+And Pope took rapid flight from Manassas&#8217; second fight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Twas his very last appearance as a leader.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span><br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">For Stonewall is a hard road to travel,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Pope did his very best, but was evidently sold,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I&#8217;m told!</span><br />
+<br />
+Last of all the <i>brave</i> Burnside, with his pontoon bridge, tried<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A road no one had thought of before him,</span><br />
+With two hundred thousand men for the Rebel slaughter pen,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the blessed Union flag waving o&#8217;er him,</span><br />
+But he met a fire like hell, of canister and shell,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That mowed his men down with great slaughter,</span><br />
+&#8217;Twas a shocking sight to view, that second Waterloo,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the river ran with more blood than water.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Rappahannock is a hard road to travel,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Burnside got in a trap, which caused him for to grieve,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe!</span><br />
+<br />
+We are very much perplexed to know who is the next<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To command the new Richmond expedition,</span><br />
+For the Capital <i>must blaze</i>, and that in ninety days,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Jeff and his men be sent to perdition.</span><br />
+We&#8217;ll take the cursed town, and then we&#8217;ll burn it down,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And plunder and hang each cursed rebel;</span><br />
+Yet the contraband was right when he told us they would fight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;Oh! yes, massa, they fight like the devil.&#8221;</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span><br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">For Richmond is a hard road to travel;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE SOUTHRON&#8217;S WATCHWORD.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">In Imitation of an English Song of the Crimean War.</p>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">M. F. Bigney</span>, 1861.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music from <span class="smcap">S. Glover</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>What shall the Southron&#8217;s watchword be,<br />
+Fighting for us on land and sea?<br />
+Bearing our flag o&#8217;er the billow&#8217;s foam,<br />
+Shedding his blood for his Southern home?<br />
+To bleed and conquer he&#8217;s bravely gone;<br />
+Freedom and glory still urge him on.<br />
+Then shall the Southron&#8217;s watchword be,<br />
+&#8220;The grave of the hero or victory!&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+What shall the Southron&#8217;s watchword be,<br />
+Bearing the banner that proves him free?<br />
+Bravely he dashes amid the strife,<br />
+For home and country, for child and wife;<br />
+His aims are bright and his hopes are high;<br />
+His brave resolve is to do or die;<br />
+Then shall the Southron&#8217;s watchword be,<br />
+&#8220;The grave of the hero or victory!&#8221;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span><br />
+What shall the Southron&#8217;s watchword be,<br />
+Fighting the battles of liberty?<br />
+Holy the light on his manly brow,<br />
+The victor&#8217;s wreath or the cypress bough!<br />
+Such are the thoughts which the brave inspire,<br />
+Filling their souls with the soldier&#8217;s fire;<br />
+Then shall the Southron&#8217;s watchword be,<br />
+&#8220;The grave of the hero or victory!&#8221;</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THERE&#8217;S LIFE IN THE OLD LAND YET.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Words by <span class="smcap">James B. Randall</span>.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by <span class="smcap">Edward O. Eaton</span>.</p>
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.]</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>By blue Patapsco&#8217;s billowy dash,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tyrant&#8217;s war-shout comes,</span><br />
+Along with the cymbal&#8217;s fitful clash,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the roll of his sullen drums.</span><br />
+We hear it! we heed it, with vengeful thrills,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we shall not forgive or forget&mdash;</span><br />
+There&#8217;s faith in the streams, there&#8217;s hope in the hills,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;There&#8217;s life in the Old Land yet!&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+Minions! we sleep, but we are not dead;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We are crushed, we are scourged, we are scarred&mdash;</span><br />
+We crouch&mdash;&#8217;tis to welcome the triumph-tread<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the peerless Beauregard.</span><br />
+Then woe to your vile, polluting horde,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the Southern braves are met;</span><br />
+There&#8217;s faith in the victor&#8217;s stainless sword,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;There&#8217;s life in the Old Land yet!&#8221;</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span><br />
+Bigots! ye quell not the valiant mind<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the clank of an iron chain;</span><br />
+The spirit of Freedom sings in the wind,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O&#8217;er Merryman, Thomas, and Kane;</span><br />
+And we&mdash;though we smite not&mdash;are not thralls,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We are piling a gory debt;</span><br />
+While down by McHenry&#8217;s dungeon walls,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;There&#8217;s life in the Old Land yet!&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+Our women have hung their harps away,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And they scowl on your brutal bands,</span><br />
+While the nimble poignard dares the day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In their dear, defiant hands;</span><br />
+They will strip their tresses to string our bows,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ere the Northern sun is set&mdash;</span><br />
+There&#8217;s faith in their unrelenting woes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;There&#8217;s life in the Old Land yet!&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+There&#8217;s life, though it throbbeth in silent veins,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Tis vocal without noise;</span><br />
+It gushed o&#8217;er Manassas&#8217; solemn plains,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the blood of the Maryland boys.</span><br />
+That blood shall cry aloud and rise<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With an everlasting threat&mdash;</span><br />
+By the death of the brave, by the God in the skies,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;There&#8217;s life in the Old Land yet!&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+<i>New Orleans Delta</i>, Sept., 1861.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p>
+<h2>YOU ARE GOING TO THE WARS, WILLIE BOY!</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Words and Music by <span class="smcap">John H. Hewitt</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>You are going to the wars, Willie boy, Willie boy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You are going to the wars far away,</span><br />
+To protect our rights and laws, Willie boy, Willie boy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the banner in the sun&#8217;s golden ray;</span><br />
+With your uniform all new,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And your shining buttons, too,</span><br />
+You&#8217;ll win the hearts of pretty girls,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But none like me so true.</span><br />
+Oh, won&#8217;t you think of me, Willie boy, Willie boy;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, won&#8217;t you think of me when far away?</span><br />
+I&#8217;ll often think of ye, Willie boy, Willie boy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ever for your life and glory pray.</span><br />
+<br />
+You&#8217;ll be fighting for the right, Willie boy, Willie boy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You&#8217;ll be fighting for the right, and your home;</span><br />
+And you&#8217;ll strike the blow with might, Willie boy, Willie boy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Mid the thundering of cannon and of drum;</span><br />
+With an arm as true as steel,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You&#8217;ll make the foeman feel,</span><br />
+The vengeance of a Southerner,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Too proud to cringe or kneel;</span><br />
+Oh, should you fall in strife, Willie boy, Willie boy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, should you fall in strife on the plain,</span><br />
+I&#8217;ll pine away my life, Willie boy, Willie boy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And never, never smile again.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p>
+<h2>MY MARYLAND.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Written at Pointe Coupee, La., April 26, 1861. First published in the <i>New
+Orleans Delta</i>.</p>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">James R. Randall</span>.</p>
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass.]</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>The despot&#8217;s heel is on thy shore,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland!</span><br />
+His torch is at thy temple door,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland!</span><br />
+Avenge the patriotic gore<br />
+That flecked the streets of Baltimore,<br />
+And be the battle queen of yore,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland! My Maryland!</span><br />
+<br />
+Hark to an exiled son&#8217;s appeal,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland!</span><br />
+My Mother-State, to thee I kneel,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland!</span><br />
+For life or death, for woe and weal,<br />
+Thy peerless chivalry reveal,<br />
+And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland! My Maryland!</span><br />
+<br />
+Thou wilt not cower in the dust,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland!</span><br />
+Thy beaming sword shall never rust,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland!</span><br />
+Remember Carroll&#8217;s sacred trust,<br />
+Remember Howard&#8217;s warlike thrust,<br />
+And all thy slumberers with the just,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland! My Maryland!</span><br />
+<br />
+Come! &#8217;tis the red dawn of the day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland!</span><br />
+Come! with thy panoplied array,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland!</span><br />
+With Ringgold&#8217;s spirit for the fray,<br />
+With Watson&#8217;s blood at Monterey,<br />
+With fearless Lowe, and dashing May,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland! My Maryland!</span><br />
+<br />
+Come! for thy shield is bright and strong,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland!</span><br />
+Come! for thy dalliance does thee wrong,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland!</span><br />
+Come! to thine own heroic throng,<br />
+That stalks with Liberty along,<br />
+And ring thy dauntless slogan-song,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland! My Maryland!</span><br />
+<br />
+Dear Mother! burst the tyrant&#8217;s chain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland!</span><br />
+Virginia should not call in vain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland!</span><br />
+<i>She</i> meets her sisters on the plain&mdash;<br />
+&#8220;Sic semper,&#8221; &#8217;tis the proud refrain<br />
+That baffles minions back amain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland!</span><br />
+Arise, in majesty again,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland! My Maryland!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span><br />
+I see the blush upon thy cheek,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland!</span><br />
+For thou wast ever bravely meek,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland!</span><br />
+But lo! there surges forth a shriek<br />
+From hill to hill, from creek to creek&mdash;<br />
+Potomac calls to Chesapeake,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland! My Maryland!</span><br />
+<br />
+Thou wilt not yield the vandal toll,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland!</span><br />
+Thou wilt not crook to his control,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland!</span><br />
+Better the fire upon thee roll,<br />
+Better the shot, the blade, the bowl,<br />
+Than crucifixion of the soul,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland! My Maryland!</span><br />
+<br />
+I hear the distant thunder hum,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland!</span><br />
+The Old Line bugle, fife, and drum,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland!</span><br />
+She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb&mdash;<br />
+Huzzah! she spurns the Northern scum!<br />
+She breathes&mdash;she burns! she&#8217;ll come! she&#8217;ll come!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland! My Maryland!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p>
+<h2>REBEL TOASTS; OR, DRINK IT DOWN!</h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Oh, here&#8217;s to South Carolina! drink it down,<br />
+Here&#8217;s to South Carolina, drink it down,<br />
+Here&#8217;s to South Carolina, the first to open up the fray.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Drink it down, drink it down,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Drink it down, down, down.</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh, here&#8217;s to Mississippi! drink it down,<br />
+Here&#8217;s to Mississippi, drink it down,<br />
+Here&#8217;s to Mississippi, for she gave old Abe the slip.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, here&#8217;s to Alabama! drink it down,<br />
+Here&#8217;s to Alabama&mdash;we&#8217;ll fight for her banner.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, here&#8217;s to Florida State, drink it down,<br />
+Here&#8217;s to Florida&mdash;to Southern rights she&#8217;ll ne&#8217;er say nay.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, here&#8217;s to Georgia State&mdash;drink it down,<br />
+Here&#8217;s to Georgia State&mdash;altho&#8217; she <i>is</i> rather late.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, here&#8217;s to Louisiana! drink it down,<br />
+Here&#8217;s to Louisiana&mdash;how glorious is her banner.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, here&#8217;s to gallant Texas! drink it down,<br />
+Here&#8217;s to gallant Texas&mdash;the Yankees say &#8220;she vexes us.&#8221;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span><br />
+Oh, here&#8217;s to brave Virginia! drink it down,<br />
+Here&#8217;s to brave Virginia&mdash;she&#8217;ll hold up the Confederacy.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, here&#8217;s to Arkansas! drink it down,<br />
+Here&#8217;s to Arkansas&mdash;for she&#8217;ll break old Abram&#8217;s jaw.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, here&#8217;s to North Carolina! drink it down,<br />
+Here&#8217;s to North Carolina&mdash;with a whoop and a hurrah.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, here&#8217;s to Tennessee! drink it down,<br />
+Here&#8217;s to Tennessee&mdash;for she&#8217;s bound to be free.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, here&#8217;s to brave Missouri! drink it down,<br />
+Here&#8217;s to brave Missouri&mdash;whose sons will ne&#8217;er say die!<br />
+<br />
+Oh, here&#8217;s to old Kentuck! drink it down,<br />
+Here&#8217;s to old Kentuck&mdash;she yet may have the pluck.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, here&#8217;s to Maryland! drink it down,<br />
+Here&#8217;s to Maryland&mdash;bleeding beneath a tyrant&#8217;s hand.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, here&#8217;s to General Lee! drink it down,<br />
+Here&#8217;s to General Lee&mdash;for he&#8217;ll set the Rebels free!<br />
+<br />
+Oh, here&#8217;s to Magruder! drink it down&mdash;<br />
+Here&#8217;s to our Magruder&mdash;the Yankees&#8217; great deluder.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE GALLANT GIRL THAT SMOTE THE DASTARD TORY, OH!</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Dedicated to <span class="smcap">Miss Slidell</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center">Words by <span class="smcap">Klubs</span>.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by <span class="smcap">Ducie Diamonds</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.]</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Ho, gallants, brim the beaker bowl,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And click the festal glasses, oh!</span><br />
+The grape shall shed its sapphire soul,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To eulogize the lasses, oh!</span><br />
+And when ye pledge the lip and curl<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of loveliness and glory, oh!</span><br />
+Here&#8217;s a bumper to the gallant girl<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That smote the dastard Tory, oh!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;A bumper, a thumper,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">To loveliness and glory, oh!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">A bumper to the gallant girl</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">That smote the dastard Tory, oh!</span><br />
+<br />
+Our boys are fighting East and West,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our women do not linger, oh!</span><br />
+They take their diamonds from the breast,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their rubies from the finger, oh!</span><br />
+They send their darlings to the war<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of honor and of glory, oh!</span><br />
+They&#8217;ve all the spirit of a man,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To smite a dastard Tory, oh!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img39.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">Jack Morgan.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h2>THREE CHEERS FOR OUR JACK MORGAN.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Eugene Raymond</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>The snow is in the cloud, and night is gathering o&#8217;er us.<br />
+The winds are piping loud and fan the blaze before us;<br />
+Then join the jovial band, and tune the vocal organ;<br />
+And with a will we&#8217;ll all join in&mdash;three cheers for our Jack Morgan!<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Gather round the camp-fire, our duty has been done,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Let&#8217;s gather round the camp-fire, and have a little fun.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Let&#8217;s gather round the camp-fire, our duty has been done,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">&#8217;Twas done upon the battle-field, three cheers for our Jack Morgan!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span><br />
+Jack Morgan is his name&mdash;the fearless and the lucky;<br />
+No dastard foe can tame the son of old Kentucky.<br />
+His heart is with his State, he fights for Southern freedom,<br />
+His men their General&#8217;s word await&mdash;they&#8217;ll go where he will lead &#8217;em.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 26em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+He swore to free his home&mdash;to burst her chains asunder,<br />
+With sound of trump and drum, and loud Confederate thunder;<br />
+And in the darksome night, by light of homesteads burning,<br />
+He&#8217;ll put the skulking foe to flight, their hearts to wailings turning.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 26em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+The dungeon dark and cold could not his body prison,<br />
+Nor tame a spirit bold that o&#8217;er reverse had risen.<br />
+Then sing the song of joy&mdash;our toast be lovely woman;<br />
+And Morgan, he&#8217;s the gallant boy to plague the hated foeman!</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img40.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">Mississippi Button.</p>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p>
+<h2>PRAY, MAIDEN, PRAY!</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">A. W. Kercheval.</span><span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span><span class="smcap">A. J. Turner.</span></p>
+
+<p class="center">To the patriotic women of the South.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Maiden, pray for thy lover now,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thro&#8217; all this starry night,</span><br />
+Heaven prove auspicious to thy vow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For with to-morrow&#8217;s dawning light,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We meet the foe in deadly fight!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Pray, maiden, pray!</span><br />
+<br />
+Maiden, pray that the banner high<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Advanced, our cross may wave;</span><br />
+And foeman&#8217;s shot and steel defy!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In triumph floating o&#8217;er the brave,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who strike for freedom or the grave;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Pray, maiden, pray!</span><br />
+<br />
+Maiden, pray for thy Southern land<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of streams and sunlit skies;</span><br />
+See thou her living greatness stand!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While in her hero-dust there lies,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whatever glory verifies!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Pray, maiden, pray!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span><br />
+Maiden, pray that your trumpet blast<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And rocket&#8217;s signal light,</span><br />
+But summon squadrons, thick and fast!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To win in our glorious fight</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Home, for Freedom, and the Right;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Pray, maiden, pray!</span><br />
+<br />
+1863.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE SOLDIER&#8217;S SUIT OF GRAY.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Miss Carrie Bell Sinclair</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>I&#8217;ve seen some handsome uniforms deck&#8217;d off with buttons bright,<br />
+And some that are so very gay they almost blind the sight;<br />
+But of these handsome uniforms I will not sing to-day,<br />
+My song is to each soldier lad who wears a suit of gray!<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! for Southern boys we say,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And God bless every soldier lad who wears a suit of gray!</span><br />
+<br />
+Brass buttons and gold lace I know are beautiful to view,<br />
+And then, to tell the honest truth, I own I like them, too;<br />
+Yet should a thousand officers come crowding round to-day,<br />
+I&#8217;d scorn them for a lad who wears a simple suit of gray.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 23em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+God bless our Southern soldiers! for ev&#8217;ry one is dear,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span>And God defend each gallant form, no matter what they wear;<br />
+For each has acted well his part, yet still, in truth, I say,<br />
+The bravest of the brave are those who wear a suit of gray.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 23em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Tho&#8217; torn and faded be each coat, their buttons tarnish&#8217;d too,<br />
+I know beneath each soldier&#8217;s dress a Southern heart beats true;<br />
+We honor ev&#8217;ry gallant son who fights for us to-day,<br />
+And heav&#8217;n protect the noble boys who wear the suit of gray.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 23em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+They bravely strike for freedom, and on the battle-field,<br />
+They&#8217;re the first to strike a blow, they are the last to yield;<br />
+At Richmond and Manassas who was it won the day?<br />
+It was our noble Southern boys, all clad in suits of gray.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 23em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+God bless our Southern soldiers! for each we breathe a prayer,<br />
+And over ev&#8217;ry fallen son we shed a mourner&#8217;s tear!<br />
+Oh, sacred be the grave of those who died so far away,<br />
+And honor&#8217;d be each one who sleeps clad in a suit of gray.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 23em;">(Omit chorus.)</span><br />
+<br />
+&#8217;Round ev&#8217;ry patriot soldier&#8217;s brow the laurel wreath entwines,<br />
+And &#8217;round the battle-flag they bear a ray of glory shines,<br />
+And when the foe is conquer&#8217;d, with pride we then will say,<br />
+&#8220;All honor to the noble boys who wore the suit of gray.&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 23em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(<span class="smcap">A Chorus, after the Battle of Franklin</span>)&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+You may talk about your Beauregard, and sing of General Lee,<br />
+But General Hood, of Texas, played hell in Tennessee.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>SONG OF THE TEXAS RANGERS.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Mrs. J. D. Young</span>.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;The Yellow Rose of Texas.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>The morning star is paling, the camp-fires flicker low,<br />
+Our steeds are madly neighing, for the bugle bids us go:<br />
+So put the foot in stirrup, and shake the bridle free,<br />
+For to-day the Texas Rangers must cross the Tennessee.<br />
+With Wharton for our leader, we&#8217;ll chase the dastard foe,<br />
+&#8217;Till our horses bathe their fetlocks in the deep blue Ohio.<br />
+<br />
+Our men come from the prairies rolling broad, proud and free,<br />
+From the high and craggy mountains to the murmuring Mexic&#8217; sea;<br />
+And their hearts are open as their plains; their tho&#8217;ts as proudly brave<br />
+As the bold cliffs of the San Bernard, or the Gulf&#8217;s resistless wave.<br />
+Then, quick! into the saddle, and shake the bridle free,<br />
+To-day with gallant Wharton we cross the Tennessee.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span><br />
+&#8217;Tis joy to be a Ranger! to fight for dear Southland!<br />
+&#8217;Tis joy to follow Wharton, with his gallant, trusty band!<br />
+&#8217;Tis joy to see our Harrison plunge, like a meteor bright,<br />
+Into the thickest of the fray, and deal his deadly might,<br />
+Oh! who&#8217;d not be a Ranger, and follow Wharton&#8217;s cry!<br />
+And battle for their country, and, if needs be, die?<br />
+<br />
+By the Colorado&#8217;s waters, on the Gulf&#8217;s deep murmuring shore,<br />
+On our soft, green, peaceful prairies, our home we may see no more,<br />
+But in those homes our gentle wives, and mothers with silvery hairs,<br />
+Are loving us with tender hearts, and shielding us with prayers.<br />
+So trusting in our country&#8217;s God, we draw our stout good brand,<br />
+For those we love at home, our altars and our land.<br />
+<br />
+Up! up! with the crimson battle flag, let the blue pennon fly;<br />
+Our steeds are stamping proudly, they hear the battle cry!<br />
+The thundering bomb, the bugle&#8217;s call, proclaim the foe is near:<br />
+We strike for God and native land, and all we hold most dear.<br />
+Then spring into the saddle, and shake the bridle free,<br />
+For Wharton leads, thro&#8217; fire and blood, for Home and Victory.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE OFFICER&#8217;S FUNERAL.</h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Hark! &#8217;tis the shrill trumpet calling,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It pierceth the soft summer air!</span><br />
+Tears from each comrade are falling,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the widow and orphan are there:</span><br />
+Our bayonets earthward are turning,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the drum&#8217;s muffled breath rolls around,</span><br />
+But he hears not the voice of their mourning,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor awakes to the bugle&#8217;s shrill sound.</span><br />
+<br />
+Sleep, soldier! tho&#8217; many regret thee,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who stand by thy cold bier to-day,</span><br />
+Soon, soon shall the kindest forget thee,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thy name from the earth pass away;</span><br />
+The man thou did&#8217;st love as a brother,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A friend in thy place will have gained;</span><br />
+Thy dog will keep watch for another,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thy steed by a stranger be reined.</span><br />
+<br />
+But tho&#8217; many now weep for thee sadly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soon joyous as ever shall be;</span><br />
+Tho&#8217; thy bright orphan boy may laugh gladly<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As he sits on some kind comrade&#8217;s knee,</span><br />
+There is one who will still do her duty<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of tears for the true and the brave,</span><br />
+As when first in the bloom of her beauty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She weeps o&#8217;er her brave soldier&#8217;s grave!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE SOLDIER&#8217;S DEATH.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">A. B. Cunningham</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>The night-cloud had lowered o&#8217;er Shiloh&#8217;s red plain,<br />
+And the blast howled sadly o&#8217;er wounded and slain;<br />
+The lightning flashed vividly, fiercely and proud,<br />
+And glared thro&#8217; the mist of the smoke and the cloud;<br />
+The thunder pealed loudly from heaven&#8217;s black sky,<br />
+Where litely the cannon had pealed the war-cry;<br />
+The last gun had been fired, and its moaning sound<br />
+Had died &#8217;way in the distance, and echoed around.<br />
+<br />
+Where the fight had raged fiercest, near a deep ravine,<br />
+At the foot of a crag (a wild, thrilling scene),<br />
+A soldier lay there all ghastly and gory,<br />
+Who&#8217;d fall&#8217;n in the strife for freedom and glory!<br />
+His life-blood was pouring from out a deep gash<br />
+He&#8217;d received &#8217;mid the battle&#8217;s loud roar and fierce crash;<br />
+&#8220;O mother! O mother! I never thought this,<br />
+When but a mere child I received thy sweet kiss&mdash;<br />
+<br />
+&#8220;That I&#8217;d die on a field all gory and red<br />
+With the blood of the wounded, the dying and dead,<br />
+With no friend or relation to cheer my dark way,<br />
+But the forms of dear comrades all lifeless as clay,<br />
+None to watch o&#8217;er me but the ghosts of the dead,<br />
+None to smooth down the death-pillow &#8217;neath my poor head;<br />
+And sadly I think of my home in the South,<br />
+Where I roam&#8217;d a mere boy in the pride of my youth.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span><br />
+&#8220;When I scaled the steep crag o&#8217;er the river&#8217;s wild roar,<br />
+Or chased the fleet stag &#8217;long the bright, sunny shore&mdash;<br />
+When I bounded in pride o&#8217;er valley and hill&mdash;<br />
+O memories, how sweet! ye haunt me now still.<br />
+But away with the thoughts of my joyous boyhood,<br />
+I&#8217;ll face the grim monster death with calm fortitude:<br />
+Then, mother, farewell! farewell, dearest mother;<br />
+Farewell to my father, sisters and brother!<br />
+<br />
+&#8220;And when I am gone never utter a sigh,<br />
+But remember your Charlie reigns proudly on high!&#8221;<br />
+Then death flapp&#8217;d wildly his wings on the moor,<br />
+As his soul took its flight to a heavenly shore&mdash;<br />
+The lightning flash&#8217;d fiercely, the howling winds surge,<br />
+The thunder pealed loudly the hero&#8217;s wild dirge!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>I REMEMBER THE HOUR WHEN SADLY WE PARTED.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Companion Song to &#8220;When this Cruel War is Over.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>I remember the hour when sadly we parted,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tears on your pale cheek glist&#8217;ning like dew,</span><br />
+When clasped in your arms almost broken-hearted,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I swore by the bright sky I&#8217;d ever be true,</span><br />
+True to the love that nothing could sever,<br />
+And true to the flag of my country forever.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Then weep not, love, oh! weep not,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Think not our hopes are vain,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">For when this fatal war is over,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">We will surely meet again.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span><br />
+Oh, let not, my own love, the summer winds winging<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their sweet-laden zephyrs o&#8217;er land and o&#8217;er sea,</span><br />
+Bring aught to your heart with the autumn birds singing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But hopes for the future and bright dreams of me;</span><br />
+For while in your pure heart my mem&#8217;ry you&#8217;re keeping,<br />
+I ne&#8217;er can be lonely while waking or sleeping.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 21em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+But if, while the loud shouts of vict&#8217;ry are ringing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O&#8217;er the land that foul traitors have caught to betray,</span><br />
+You hear o&#8217;er the voices so joyfully singing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That he who so loved you has fallen in the fray,</span><br />
+Oh think that he&#8217;s gone where there&#8217;s dark treason never,<br />
+Where tears and sad partings are banished forever.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 21em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>OUR FLAG; OR, THE ORIGIN OF THE STARS AND BARS.<a name='fna_14' id='fna_14' href='#f_14'><small>[14]</small></a></h2>
+
+<p class="center">Words and Music by <span class="smcap">Harry McCarthy</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Young stranger, what land claims thy birth?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For thy flag is but new to the sea,</span><br />
+And where is the nation on earth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That the right of this flag gives to thee;</span><br />
+Thy banner reminds us of one<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the Champions of Freedom unfurled,</span><br />
+And the proudest of nations have owned,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Twas a glory and pride to the world;</span><br />
+That flag was the &#8220;Stripes and Stars,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the colors of thine are the same,</span><br />
+But thou hast the &#8220;Stars and the Bars,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, stranger, pray tell us thy name.</span><br />
+<br />
+That flag, with its garland of fame,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Proudly waved o&#8217;er my father and me,</span><br />
+And my grandsires died to proclaim<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It the flag of the brave and the free;</span><br />
+But alas! for the flag of my youth;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I have sighed and dropped my last tear,</span><br />
+For the North has forgotten her truth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And would tread on the rights we hold dear;</span><br />
+They envied the South her bright Stars,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her glory, her honor, her fame,</span><br />
+So we unfurled the &#8220;Stars and the Bars&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Confederate Flag is its name.</span><br />
+<br />
+And her bright colors shone forth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All glorious in fair Freedom&#8217;s light,</span><br />
+We swore to remember their birth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in her honor forever to fight;</span><br />
+So woe to the foeman who&#8217;ll dare,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our Southern soil to invade,</span><br />
+For bless&#8217;d by the smiles of the fair,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in right&#8217;s powerful armor arrayed;</span><br />
+We&#8217;ll strike for our Southern stars,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our honor, our glory, our fame,</span><br />
+We&#8217;ll strike for the &#8220;Stars and the Bars,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the Confederate Flag is its name.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE NAVASOTA VOLUNTEERS.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Wm. Neely</span>, of Durant&#8217;s Cavalry.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Susanna, Don&#8217;t you Cry.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>We&#8217;re the Navasota volunteers, our county is named Grimes;<br />
+Oh, come along, my conscript boys, we can&#8217;t leave you behind;<br />
+Jeff Davis is our President, and Stephens is the Vice&mdash;<br />
+At the head of our armies are Lee, Beauregard and Price.<br />
+<br />
+We have other officers and generals in command,<br />
+To lead our gallant forces on, and give the right command;<br />
+Good old Magruder&#8217;s our choice, and will help the Yankees roast;<br />
+So come and go along with us, and help defend the coast.<br />
+<br />
+O come along, my jolly boys, and help us all to fight&mdash;<br />
+To go against old Uncle Abe I know that we are right;<br />
+So come along, my countrymen, and with us take your stand;<br />
+With help of God, we&#8217;ll whip old Abe, and all his Yankee band.<br />
+<br />
+Come volunteer, my brave, brave boys, and help to fight it out;<br />
+We can whip the Abolitionists, without a single doubt;<br />
+We are volunteers of Texas&mdash;we are the very chaps,<br />
+To whip the Abolitionists, and stop their &#8220;nutmeg&#8221; traps.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span><br />
+Come volunteer, my Texas boys, altho&#8217; you are forty-six&mdash;<br />
+We&#8217;ll whip old Abe and Buell, with all their Yankee tricks;<br />
+Their armies are invading us, and this we cannot stand,<br />
+We must whip them back to Yankeedom, O come and take a hand.<br />
+<br />
+Come, all of you brave Southerners, and join our common cause,<br />
+To go against old Lincoln and all his Yankee boys;<br />
+If we find them on the hills, or find them in their ditches,<br />
+If you go along with us we&#8217;ll whip them out their &#8220;britches.&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+Now, there is our good doctor, with his powder and his pills,<br />
+Who is willing to go with us and cure us of our ills;<br />
+There are some of our countrymen, whose names I will not tell,<br />
+Who say they cannot volunteer, &#8220;for they are not very well!&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+There is the officeseeker! altho&#8217; not very noted,<br />
+He would go along with us if he could only be promoted!<br />
+There is the little lawyer! who is of no great note,<br />
+He will not go along with us unless we will promote!<br />
+<br />
+Now, there is the merchant! with his all in his hand,<br />
+Who&#8217;ll sell unto his customers at the highest price he can;<br />
+If you say to the merchant, when you go in to trade,<br />
+&#8220;I cannot stand your price,&#8221; he&#8217;ll holler out &#8220;Blockade!&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+And then there&#8217;s the yearling thief, that ought to go to battle;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span>The country would be better off rid of all such cattle;<br />
+And there&#8217;s the rich planters, with their negroes and their lands,<br />
+They will not go along with us to fight old Lincoln&#8217;s bands.<br />
+<br />
+They remind me of a tale, perhaps you&#8217;ve heard yourself:<br />
+While a woman fought a bear her husband hid himself;<br />
+The battle was fought, and the good old lady won it&mdash;<br />
+Old man then came crawling out&mdash;&#8220;Old woman, hain&#8217;t we done it!&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+There are speculating parsons, who wish their country well&mdash;<br />
+And they will warn poor sinners of going down to hell;<br />
+They cannot go along with us, they do not wish to fight,<br />
+They&#8217;ll stay at home to prey on us, that all may come out right.<br />
+<br />
+Now unto all such fellows be everlasting shame;<br />
+And all our honest countrymen will surely them disdain;<br />
+Come, all ye Texas ladies, now listen to my song,<br />
+And do not marry any man that will not go along.<br />
+<br />
+To defend the coast of Texas we all feel now inclined;<br />
+To leave our wives and little ones in the care of those behind;<br />
+We hope that they&#8217;ll prove faithful, and to their wants attend,<br />
+And see that they&#8217;re provided for while we the land defend.<br />
+<br />
+Farewell! my friends and neighbors, we bid you all adieu.<br />
+Farewell to wife and children! we now must part with you!<br />
+O God! in mercy bless us! sustain us by Thy grace!<br />
+And grant we all may meet again our lov&#8217;d ones to embrace!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img41.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&#8220;For I know there is no other,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">E&#8217;er can be so dear to me.&#8221;</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h2>THE SOLDIER&#8217;S DREAM.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Composed by <span class="smcap">Fr. Sulzner</span>.</p>
+<p class="center">Permission of <span class="smcap">Henri Wehrmann</span>, New Orleans, La.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>I am dreaming of thee,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dearest, I am dreaming still of thee,</span><br />
+For thy spirit haunts me ever,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like some fairy melody;</span><br />
+When in loneliness I wander,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or in haunts of mirth and glee,</span><br />
+Still my heart to thine is turning,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I am dreaming still of thee.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span><br />
+When the stars are softly smiling,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thro&#8217; the lone and silent night,</span><br />
+Then I think of thee and heaven,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a holy, calm delight;</span><br />
+For thy spirit is so radiant<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In its love and purity,</span><br />
+That whene&#8217;er I dream of angels,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I am dreaming still of thee.</span><br />
+<br />
+There are hours when dreary shadows,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cast their gloom upon my heart,</span><br />
+When I think how well I love thee,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I feel that we must part;</span><br />
+For I know there is no other,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">E&#8217;er can be so dear to me,</span><br />
+And whene&#8217;er of love I&#8217;m dreaming,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I am dreaming still of thee.</span><br />
+<br />
+I am dreaming of thee, dearest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still I dream of thee alone;</span><br />
+We shall meet again in heaven,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There our spirits shall be one;</span><br />
+For the earth when thou wert near me,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was a paradise to me,</span><br />
+And whene&#8217;er I dream of heaven,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I am dreaming still of thee.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img42.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&#8220;When the stars are softly smiling<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span></span><br />
+Then I think of thee and heaven.&#8221;</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p>
+<h2>BY THE BANKS OF RED RIVER.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Words by <span class="smcap">E. E. Kidd</span>.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by <span class="smcap">La Hache</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Oh, gone is the soul from his wondrous dark eye,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And gone is her life&#8217;s dearest glory.</span><br />
+The tales of fond lovers unheeded pass by,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her heart hears a single sad story,</span><br />
+How her gallant young hero fell asleep, and will never<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awake from his dream by the banks of Red River.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;How her gallant young hero fell asleep, and will never<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Awake from his dream by the banks of Red River.</span><br />
+<br />
+How oft to the window she rushes to wait,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As though she expected his coming;</span><br />
+She lists, ah! she hears him swing open the gate,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the song he was wont to be humming;</span><br />
+But she turns, ah! she feels he&#8217;s asleep and will never<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awake from his dream by the banks of Red River.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Ah, many a sun will awaken the morn,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All dressed in its radiant glory,</span><br />
+Ere the heart of the maiden shall ever be torn<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the woe of his sorrowful story,</span><br />
+For it bent&mdash;it has broke. Oh! God it will never<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Arise from that grave by the banks of Red River.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE OFFICERS OF DIXIE.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">A Growler</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Let me whisper in your ear, sir,<br />
+Something that the South should hear, sir,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the war, of the war, of the war in Dixie;</span><br />
+A growing curse&mdash;a &#8220;burning shame,&#8221; sir,<br />
+In the chorus I will name, sir,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the war, of the war, of the war in Dixie.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;The officers of Dixie alone, alone!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">The honors share, the honors wear</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Throughout the land of Dixie!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">&#8217;Tis so, &#8217;tis so, throughout the land of Dixie.</span><br />
+<br />
+Swelling &#8217;round with gold lace plenty,<br />
+See the gay &#8220;brass button&#8221; gentry;<br />
+Solomon in all his splendors<br />
+Was scarce arrayed like these &#8220;defenders.&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+In cities, sir, it is alarming<br />
+To see them &#8217;round the hotel swarming;<br />
+And at each little &#8220;one-horse town,&#8221; sir,<br />
+See the &#8220;birds&#8221; how they &#8220;fly &#8217;round,&#8221; sir.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span><br />
+On the steamboat, in the cars, sir,<br />
+Deep respect is shown the &#8220;bars,&#8221; sir.<br />
+And if a &#8220;star&#8221; or two is spotted,<br />
+See how &#8220;the elephant&#8221; is courted.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Should a grand soiree be given,<br />
+The &#8220;braided lions&#8221; take the even.<br />
+No, no! the privates are not slighted!<br />
+They can&#8217;t expect to be invited!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+The ladies! bless the darling creatures!<br />
+Quite distort their pretty features,<br />
+And say (I know you&#8217;ve seen it done, sir),<br />
+&#8220;They&#8217;ll have an officer or none,&#8221; sir.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+And if when death-shots round us rattle,<br />
+An officer is kill&#8217;d in battle&mdash;<br />
+How the martyr is lamented!<br />
+(This is right&mdash;we&#8217;ve not dissented).<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+But only speak of it to show, sir,<br />
+Privates are not honor&#8217;d so, sir.<br />
+No muffled drum, no wreath of glory,<br />
+If one dies, proclaims the story.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+In Dixie&#8217;s land, in every way, sir,<br />
+&#8220;Fuss and feathers&#8221; &#8220;win the day,&#8221; sir,<br />
+For with all sexes, sizes, ages,<br />
+How the &#8220;gold lace fever&#8221; rages!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span><br />
+List the moral of my song, sir;<br />
+In Dixie there is something wrong, sir.<br />
+As all that glitters is not gold, sir,<br />
+Read and ponder what I&#8217;ve told, sir.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE SENTINEL&#8217;S DREAM OF HOME.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Col. A. M. Hobby</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&#8217;Tis dead of night, nor voice, nor sound, breaks on the stillness of the air,<br />
+The waning moon goes coldly down on frozen fields and forests bare:<br />
+The solemn stars are glittering high, while here my lonely watch I keep,<br />
+To guard the brave with anxious eye, who sweetly dream and sweetly sleep.<br />
+<br />
+Perchance of home these sleepers dream, of sainted ones no longer here,<br />
+Whose mystic forms low bend unseen, and breathe soft whispers in their ear:<br />
+Sleep on, sleep on, my comrades brave, quaff deep to-night of pleasure&#8217;s cup,<br />
+Ere morning&#8217;s crimson banners wave, and reveille shall rouse thee up.<br />
+<br />
+The sporting winds and waves to-night seem tired of their boisterous play,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>And armed ships, with signal lights and bristling guns before me lay:<br />
+But not of ships nor battle-fields, with clash of arms and roll of drums&mdash;<br />
+To softer scenes my spirit yields&mdash;to-night a sweeter vision comes.<br />
+<br />
+It is thine own beloved one! whose kiss I feel, whose smile I see;<br />
+O God! protect that wife at home, begirt with growing infancy:<br />
+To-night, to-night I&#8217;m with you there, around my knees fond children gather!<br />
+And climb, the envied kiss to share, amidst the sounds of &#8220;Husband! Father!&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+Such thoughts my eyes with moisture fill, my bosom heaves, my pulses start;<br />
+Close down I&#8217;ll press my gun to still the wild emotions of my heart:<br />
+Hush! pleading one&mdash;I cannot stay! the spoiler comes with fiendish wrath&mdash;<br />
+Black ruin marks his bloody way, and blazing homes have lit his path.<br />
+<br />
+&#8220;Go, husband, go! God nerve thy blows&mdash;their footsteps foul blot from our shore&mdash;<br />
+Strike! &#8217;till our land is free from foes whose hands are stained with Southern gore;<br />
+Strike! husband, strike&mdash;I&#8217;d rather weep, the widow of a patriot brave,<br />
+Than lay my heart (I&#8217;d scorn to sleep) beside a subjugated slave.&#8221;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span><br />
+Thy woman&#8217;s soul is true and grand! the battle-field my home shall be,<br />
+Until our country&#8217;ll proudly stand acknowledged as a nation free;<br />
+&#8217;Till then, oh, welcome fields of strife, the victor&#8217;s shout, the vanquished cry,<br />
+Where ebbs the crimson stream of life, where quick and dead together lie.<br />
+<br />
+&#8217;Mid bursting shell and squadron&#8217;s dash, where broken ranks disorder&#8217;d fly,<br />
+Where angry cannon&#8217;s flash on flash paints hell upon the lurid sky,<br />
+Where many a brave shall sink to rest, and fondly cherish&#8217;d hopes will set,<br />
+And blood that warms the manly heart, will dim the glittering bayonet.<br />
+<br />
+When these are past, and victory&#8217;s sun in undimm&#8217;d splendor lights the skies,<br />
+And peace, by dauntless valor won, and proudly free our banner flies,<br />
+Then to my Western prairie home, with eager haste, each nerve shall strain,<br />
+Nor from its hallow&#8217;d precincts roam, unless my country call again.<br />
+<br />
+There unalloy&#8217;d shall be our bliss; we&#8217;ll watch the sun give morning birth,<br />
+And, sinking, leave his parting kiss upon the dewy lips of earth.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span>
+The moon has waxed and waned away; the morning star rides pale and high&mdash;<br />
+Fond dreams of home no longer stay, but fade like stars on mornings sky.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Galveston, Texas</span>, Feb. 1, 1864.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>CAMP DOUGLAS BY THE LAKE.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">A PRISON SONG.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Cottage by the Sea.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Childhood&#8217;s days have long since faded,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Youth&#8217;s bright dreams like lights gone out,</span><br />
+Distant homes and hearths are shaded,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the future&#8217;s dread and doubt.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Here, old Michigan before us,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Moaning waves that ever break,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Chanting still the one sad chorus,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">At Camp Douglas by the Lake.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (Repeat.)</span><br />
+<br />
+Exiles from our homes, we sorrow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O&#8217;er the present&#8217;s darkening gloom;</span><br />
+Will we know that with the morrow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We&#8217;ll wake to feel the same hard doom.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span><br />
+Oh, for one short hour of gladness,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One hour of hope, this pain to break,</span><br />
+And chase away the heavy sadness,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At Camp Douglas by the Lake.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+I would some Southern bird was singing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Warbling richest, softest lays,</span><br />
+Back to eager memory bringing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweetest thoughts of happy days.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+I dread the night&#8217;s uneasy slumber;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hate the day that bids me wake,</span><br />
+Another of that dreary number,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At Camp Douglas by the Lake.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Never Sabbath bells are tolling,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never words of cheer and love;</span><br />
+Wintry waves are round us rolling,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Clouds are hiding heaven above.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Dixie Land! still turn toward you,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hearts that now in bondage ache,</span><br />
+Hearts that once were strong to guard you,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wasting here beside the lake.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Refrain.</span>&mdash;John Morgan crossed the river,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And I went across with him.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I was captured in Ohio,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Because I could not swim.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span></p>
+<h2>MISSOURI.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Words and music by <span class="smcap">Harry McCarthy</span>.</p>
+<p class="center">Sung by Harry McCarthy throughout the Confederate States in his Personation Concerts.</p>
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be obtained of Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass.]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Missouri! Missouri! bright land of the West,<br />
+Where the wayworn emigrant always found rest,<br />
+Who gave to the farmer reward for the toil<br />
+Expended in breaking and turning the soil;<br />
+Awake to the notes of the bugle and drum!<br />
+Awake from your peace, for the tyrant hath come;<br />
+And swear by your honor that your chains shall be riven,<br />
+And add your bright star to our Flag of Eleven.<br />
+<br />
+They&#8217;d force you to join in their unholy fight,<br />
+With fire and with sword, with power and with might,<br />
+&#8217;Gainst fathers and brothers, and kindred near,<br />
+&#8217;Gainst women and children, all you hold dear;<br />
+They&#8217;ve o&#8217;errun your soil, insulted your press;<br />
+Murdered your citizens, shown no redress;<br />
+So swear by your honor that your chains shall be riven,<br />
+And add your bright star to our Flag of Eleven.<br />
+<br />
+Missouri! Missouri! where is thy proud fame?<br />
+Free land of the West, thy once cherished name<br />
+Trod in the dust by a tyrant&#8217;s command,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>Proclaiming there&#8217;s martial law in the land,<br />
+Men of Missouri! strike without fear!<br />
+McCulloch, Jackson, and brave men are near;<br />
+So swear by your honor that your chains shall be riven,<br />
+And add your bright star to our Flag of Eleven.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>OH, NO! HE&#8217;LL NOT NEED THEM AGAIN!<a name='fna_15' id='fna_15' href='#f_15'><small>[15]</small></a></h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Oh, no! no! he&#8217;ll not need them again&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No more will he wake to behold,</span><br />
+The splendor and fame of his men&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tale of his victories told!</span><br />
+No more will he wake from that sleep,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which he sleeps in his glory and fame,</span><br />
+While his comrades are left here to weep<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over Cleburne! his grave and his name.</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh, no; he&#8217;ll not meet them again,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No more will his banner be spread</span><br />
+O&#8217;er the field of his gallantry&#8217;s fame;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The soldier&#8217;s proud spirit is fled!</span><br />
+The soldier who rose &#8217;mid applause,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the humblemost place in the van&mdash;</span><br />
+I sing not in praise of the cause,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But rather in praise of the man.</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh, no; he&#8217;ll not need them again,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He has fought his last battle without them,</span><br />
+For barefoot he, too, must go in,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While barefoot stood comrades about him;</span><br />
+And barefoot they proudly marched on,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With blood flowing fast from their feet;</span><br />
+They thought of the past victories won,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the foes that they now were to meet.</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh, no; he&#8217;ll not need them again,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He is leading his men to the charge,</span><br />
+Unheeding the shells or the slain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or the showers of the bullets at large.</span><br />
+On the right, on the left, on the flanks,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He dashingly pushes his way,</span><br />
+While with cheers, double quick and in ranks,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His soldiers all followed that day.</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh, no; he&#8217;ll not need them again,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He falls from his horse to the ground!</span><br />
+O anguish! O sorrow! O pain!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the brave hearts that gathered around;</span><br />
+He breathes not of grief, nor a sigh<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the breast where he pillowed his head,</span><br />
+Ere he fix&#8217;d his last gaze upon high&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;I&#8217;m killed, boys, but fight it out!&#8221; said.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span><br />
+Oh, no; he&#8217;ll not need them again,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But treasure them up for his sake;</span><br />
+And oh, should you sing a refrain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the memories they still must awake,</span><br />
+Sing it soft as the summer-eve breeze,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let it sound as refreshing and clear;</span><br />
+Tho&#8217; grief-born there&#8217;s that which can please,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In thoughts that are gemmed with a tear.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>IN MEMORIAM.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Lieut. Sidney A. Sherman,<a name='fna_16' id='fna_16' href='#f_16'><small>[16]</small></a> who fell at the Battle of Galveston, January 1, 1863.</p>
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Miss Mollie E. Moore</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Pillow his head on his flashing sword,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who fell ere the fight was won,</span><br />
+The turf looks red where his life was poured&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He fell beside his gun!</span><br />
+<br />
+He died with the gleam in his youthful eye,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fire in his gallant breast,</span><br />
+The light was shadowed but could not die,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That glisten&#8217;d upon his breast!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span><br />
+For Liberty claimed his parting breath,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Fame his last trumpet cry:</span><br />
+Yes, Freedom hath torn his young name from Death&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The brave can never die!</span><br />
+<br />
+His young breast met, like an ocean rock,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The clash of the battle-storm;</span><br />
+His proud soul smiled at the tempest shock,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That thundered around his form.</span><br />
+<br />
+But his life grew faint when the storm raged high,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ebbed with the dawning sun,</span><br />
+And there on the field of victory<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He fell beside his gun!</span><br />
+<br />
+From the gallant throng there is missed a crest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A sword from the ranks of steel,</span><br />
+A hand from the gun whose mad unrest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hath made our foemen reel.</span><br />
+<br />
+A blithe young voice from the mellow strain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That floated at evenfall;</span><br />
+A voice from the camp-song&#8217;s high refrain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A step in his father&#8217;s hall:</span><br />
+<br />
+In his father&#8217;s hall&mdash;where his mother&#8217;s eye,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Late hung with a gleam of joy,</span><br />
+On the proud young form, as the hopes beat high<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the breast of her soldier boy.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span><br />
+And the dashing sound of the distant sea,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the wail in its troubled breast,</span><br />
+To the hearts &#8217;round that clouded hearth will be,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But an echo of their unrest!</span><br />
+<br />
+But pillow his head on his flashing sword,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose Fame on the field was won&mdash;</span><br />
+The strife raged high where his blood was poured&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And&mdash;he fell beside his gun!</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh, circle the banner around his form,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That he loved with a soldier&#8217;s pride,</span><br />
+For it shone like a star thro&#8217; the battle storm,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O&#8217;er the field where our hero died!</span><br />
+<br />
+He went from the red field down to the grave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He fell where his fame was won,</span><br />
+And his own fair State hath a name for the brave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a song for her martyred son!</span><br />
+<br />
+Yes, Liberty shrined his parting breath,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Texas his fainting cry&mdash;</span><br />
+Yes, Fame hath torn his young name from death,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The brave can never die!</span><br />
+<br />
+Then pillow his head on his flashing sword,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who fell where the field was won;</span><br />
+The turf is red where his life was poured&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He fell beside his gun!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Tyler, Texas, 1863.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span></p>
+<h2>YANKEE VANDALS.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Gay and Happy.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>The Northern Abolition vandals,<br />
+Who have come to free the slave,<br />
+Will meet their doom in &#8220;Old Virginny,&#8221;<br />
+Where they all will get a grave.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus</span>&mdash;So let the Yankees say what they will,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">We&#8217;ll love and fight for Dixie still,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">Love and fight for, love and fight for,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">We&#8217;ll love and fight for Dixie still.</span><br />
+<br />
+When the Hessian horde is driven,<br />
+O&#8217;er Potomac&#8217;s classic flood,<br />
+The pulse of a new-born freedom,<br />
+Then will stir old Maryland&#8217;s blood.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Then we&#8217;ll crown our warrior chieftains<br />
+Who have led us in the fight,<br />
+And have brought the South in triumph,<br />
+Through dread danger&#8217;s troubled night.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+And the brave who nobly perished,<br />
+Struggling in the bloody fray;<br />
+We&#8217;ll wear a wreath of fadeless laurel<br />
+For their glorious memory.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span><br />
+O&#8217;er their graves the Southern maidens,<br />
+From sea-shore to mountain grot,<br />
+We&#8217;ll plant the smiling rose of beauty<br />
+And the sweet forget-me-not.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>RIDING A RAID.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Bonny Dundee.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&#8217;Tis old Stonewall, the rebel, that leans on his sword,<br />
+And, while we are mounting, prays low to the Lord;<br />
+Now each cavalier who loves honor and right,<br />
+Let him follow the feather of Stuart to-night.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus</span>&mdash;Come, tighten your girths and slacken your rein;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Come, buckle your blanket and holster again;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Try the click of your trigger and balance your blade,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">For he must ride <i>sure</i> who goes riding a raid.</span><br />
+<br />
+Now gallop, now gallop, to swim or to ford;<br />
+Old Stonewall, still watching, prays low to the Lord.<br />
+Good-by, dear old rebel; the river&#8217;s not wide,<br />
+And Maryland&#8217;s lights in the windows do shine.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Then gallop, then gallop, by ravine and rocks,<br />
+Who would bar up the way takes his toll in hard knocks;<br />
+For with these points of steel up the lines of old Penn,<br />
+We have made some fine strokes and will make &#8217;em again.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img43.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;Then gallop, by ravine and rocks.&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE TOAST OF MORGAN&#8217;S MEN.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Capt. Thorpe</span>, Kentucky.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Unclaimed by the land that bore us,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lost in the land we find</span><br />
+The brave have gone before us,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cowards are left behind!</span><br />
+Then stand to your glasses, steady,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here&#8217;s a health to those we prize,</span><br />
+Here&#8217;s a toast to the dead already,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And here&#8217;s to the next who dies.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>TRUE HEART SOUTHRONS.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Blue Bonnets over the Border.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>For trumpet and drum, leave the soft voice of maiden;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the tramp of armed men, leave the maze of the dance;</span><br />
+One kiss on the lips, with words of love laden&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One look in dimm&#8217;d eyes&mdash;then the rifle and lance.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;March, march, true heart Southrons,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Fall into ranks and march in good order,&mdash;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Escambia shall many a day tell of the fierce affray,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">When we drove the base Northmen far over our border</span><br />
+<br />
+Do ye weep, ye fair flowers, our hearth-stones that brighten?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For every tear shed shall fall ten foemen&#8217;s lives;</span><br />
+Far in the cold North their hosts we will frighten,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As we strike for our &#8220;Homes, our sweethearts, and wives.&#8221;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 23em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE SOLDIER&#8217;S AMEN.</h2>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>As a couple of good soldiers were walking one day,<br />
+Said one to the other: &#8220;Let&#8217;s kneel down and pray!<br />
+I&#8217;ll pray for the war, and good of all men:<br />
+And whatever I pray for, do you say &#8216;Amen!&#8217;&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+&#8220;We&#8217;ll pray for the generals and all of their crew,<br />
+Likewise for the captains and lieutenants too;<br />
+May good luck and good fortune them always attend!<br />
+And return safely home;&#8221; said the soldier, &#8220;Amen!&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+&#8220;We&#8217;ll pray for the privates, the noblest of all;<br />
+They do all the work and get no glory at all;<br />
+May good luck and good fortune them always attend,<br />
+And return crowned with laurels!&#8221; said the soldier, &#8220;Amen!&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+&#8220;We&#8217;ll pray for the pretty boys who want themselves wives,<br />
+And have not the courage to strike for themselves;<br />
+May bad luck and bad fortune them always attend!<br />
+And go down to Old Harry!&#8221; said the soldier, &#8220;Amen!&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+&#8220;We&#8217;ll pray for the pretty girls, who make us good wives,<br />
+And always look at a soldier with tears in their eyes;<br />
+May good luck and good fortune them always attend!<br />
+And brave gallants for sweethearts!&#8221; said the soldier, &#8220;Amen!&#8221;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span><br />
+&#8220;We&#8217;ll pray for the conscript, with frown on his brow,<br />
+To fight for his country he won&#8217;t take the vow;<br />
+May bad luck and bad fortune him always attend;<br />
+And die with dishonor!&#8221; said the soldier, &#8220;Amen!&#8221;</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>HERE&#8217;S YOUR MULE.</h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>A farmer came to camp, one day, with milk and eggs to sell,<br />
+Upon a mule who oft would stray to where no one could tell,<br />
+The farmer, tired of his tramp, for hours was made a fool<br />
+By ev&#8217;ryone he met in camp, with, &#8220;Mister, here&#8217;s your mule.&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Come on, come on, come on, old man, and don&#8217;t be made a fool,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">I&#8217;ll tell the truth as best I can,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">John Morgan&#8217;s got your mule.</span><br />
+<br />
+His eggs and chickens all were gone before the break of day,<br />
+The mule was heard of all along&mdash;that&#8217;s what the soldiers say;<br />
+And still he hunted all day long&mdash;alas! the witless fool&mdash;<br />
+While ev&#8217;ry man would sing the song, &#8220;Mister, here&#8217;s your mule.&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 24em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+The soldiers now, in laughing mood, on mischief were intent,<br />
+They toted muly on their backs, around from tent to tent;<br />
+Through this hole and that they pushed his head, and made a rule<br />
+To shout with humorous voices all, &#8220;Mister, here&#8217;s your mule.&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 24em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span><br />
+Alas! one day the mule was missed, ah! who could tell his fate?<br />
+The farmer, like a man bereft, searched early and searched late;<br />
+And as he passed from camp to camp, with stricken face, the fool<br />
+Cried out to ev&#8217;ryone he met, &#8220;Oh, Mister, where&#8217;s my mule?&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 24em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>SABINE PASS.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Dedicated to the Davis Guards&mdash;(The Living and the Dead).</p>
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Mrs. M. J. Young</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Sabine Pass! in letters of gold,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seem written upon the sky to-day,</span><br />
+Sabine Pass! with rhythmic feet,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Comes passionately stepping down my lay.</span><br />
+<br />
+Sabine Pass! and the white sail ships,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With their cruel cannons&#8217; grinning teeth,</span><br />
+Tearing in shreds the sullen smoke,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That seem&#8217;d weaving for us a winding sheet.</span><br />
+<br />
+Sabine Pass! with its Irish hearts,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As true as the blessings the Shamrock brings,</span><br />
+Hearts as full of royal blood<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As that which nerves the arms of kings.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span><br />
+Few, ah! few were the Davis band,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;We cannot conquer, but we can die!&#8221;</span><br />
+Said the dauntless Dowling, as up he sprang,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And nailed the starry cross on high.</span><br />
+<br />
+Twenty-seven ships in pomp and pride,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Came sailing through the Pass that day;</span><br />
+Go ask of any Texan child,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How many ships survived the fray.</span><br />
+<br />
+The God of battle, who loves the brave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who gave to Gideon of old the fight,</span><br />
+Sent victory down that &#8220;Guard&#8221; to save,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And crowned them with immortal light.</span><br />
+<br />
+Dark storms have since o&#8217;erswept our land,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And tyrants do our souls harass,</span><br />
+But glory shines on Dowling&#8217;s band,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The forty-two heroes of the Pass.</span><br />
+<br />
+Come, fill your glass with Texas wine,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wine that is generous, red and free,</span><br />
+And drink with me to the knightliest man,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who conquered the foe on land and sea.</span><br />
+<br />
+But tears, rough, manly tears, for the dead,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like dews of night bedim the glass,</span><br />
+With throbbing hearts and lifted hands,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We name him&mdash;&#8220;Dowling! of the Pass.&#8221;</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Houston, Texas.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SHORT RATIONS; OR, THE CORN-FED ARMY.</h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Fair ladies and maids of all ages,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little girls and cadets howe&#8217;er youthful,</span><br />
+Home-guards, quartermasters and sages,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who write for the newspapers so truthful!</span><br />
+Clerks, surgeons, and supes&mdash;legislators,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Staff officers, (fops of the Nation,)</span><br />
+And even you, dear speculators,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come list to my song of starvation!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;For we soldiers have seen something rougher<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Than a storm, a retreat, or a fight,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And the body may toil on, and suffer</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">With a smile, so the heart is all right!</span><br />
+<br />
+Our bugles had roused up the camp,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The heavens looked dismal and dirty,</span><br />
+And the earth looked unpleasant and damp,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As a beau on the wrong side of thirty;</span><br />
+We were taking these troubles with quiet,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When we heard from the mouths of some rash ones,</span><br />
+That the army was all put on diet,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Board had diminish&#8217;d our rations!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 18em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Reduce our rations at all?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It was difficult, yet it was done&mdash;</span><br />
+We had one meal a day&mdash;it was small&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are we now, Oh, ye gods! to have none?</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span>Oh, ye gentlemen issuing rations,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give at least half her own to the State,</span><br />
+Put a curb on your maddening passions,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, commissaries&mdash;commiserate!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 18em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Tell me not of the Laced&aelig;monian,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of his black broth and savage demeanor,</span><br />
+We keep up a fare less Plutonian,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet I&#8217;d swear our corn coffee is meaner!</span><br />
+Tell me nothing of ancients and strangers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For, on seeing our Southern-bred Catos,</span><br />
+I have laugh&#8217;d at old Marion&#8217;s Rangers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who feasted on roasted potatoes!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 18em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Erewhile we had chicken and roasters,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the fowls and pigs were ferocious,</span><br />
+We would send them to shoot Pater Nosters,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the deed was not stamped as atrocious;</span><br />
+But since we have been shot for the same,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We parch corn&mdash;it is healthier, but tougher&mdash;</span><br />
+The chickens and pigs have got tame,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the horses and mules have to suffer.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 18em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+But the &#8220;corn-fed&#8221; is proof to all evils,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Has a joke for all hardships and troubles,</span><br />
+In honor and glory he revels,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Other fancies he looks on as bubbles!</span><br />
+He is bound to be free, and he knows it,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then what cares he for toil and privation!</span><br />
+He is brave, and in battle he shows it,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And will conquer in spite of starvation!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 18em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE SOLDIER&#8217;S FAREWELL.</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Rosin the Bow.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Hark! the tocsin is sounding, my comrades;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bind your knapsacks&mdash;away let us go,</span><br />
+Where the flag of the freeman is waving&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">March to vanquish the ruffian foe!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Ho for Liberty! Freedom or death, boys,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">That&#8217;s the watchword, away let us go</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">To the sound of the drum and the bugle,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">March to vanquish the ruffian foe!<a name='fna_17' id='fna_17' href='#f_17'><small>[17]</small></a></span><br />
+<br />
+Farewell to the scenes of my childhood,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To my mother, who&#8217;s praying for me;</span><br />
+She would weep if the son of her bosom<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the face of a foeman should flee.</span><br />
+<br />
+Farewell to the home and the hearthstone,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where my sisters are weeping for me;</span><br />
+Oh; the foot of the spoilers shall never,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stain the home of the brave and the free.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span><br />
+Adieu, thou beloved of my bosom!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For thy soldier-love shed not a tear;</span><br />
+But beseech the great Lord of the battle,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To protect him and all he holds dear.</span><br />
+<br />
+Adieu, honored father! who taught me,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the rights of a freeman to stand&mdash;</span><br />
+To resist, when his rod, the aggressor,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shakes in wrath o&#8217;er my dear native land.</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh, my country, thou home of my loved ones!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You, the tyrant would seek to enslave&mdash;</span><br />
+Sweep you off from the face of creation,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wake, freemen, our country to save!</span><br />
+<br />
+Hear the threats of that ruthless banditti,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who for &#8220;booty&#8221; and &#8220;beauty&#8221; would fight;</span><br />
+Shall they sweep our loved South from creation?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No! her sons will arise in their might!</span><br />
+<br />
+&#8220;Sweep the South from the face of the earth!&#8221; boys?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We can sweep, too, O land of our birth!</span><br />
+For our homes and our altars and dear ones,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We the ruffians can sweep from the earth.</span><br />
+<br />
+Adieu to the church, where the Christian<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the soldier and Sabbath will pray;</span><br />
+But the Bible and chaplain go with us,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Jehovah, our God, is our stay!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span><br />
+When the old British lion oppressed us,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He with Washington went to the field;</span><br />
+Unto Him we will look in the battle,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And will strike &#8217;til the enemy yield!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE BATTLE OF SHILOH HILL.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">M. B. Smith</span>, of Co. C., Second Regiment Texas Volunteers.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Wandering Sailor.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Come, all ye valiant soldiers, and a story I will tell,<br />
+It is of a noted battle you all remember well;<br />
+It was an awful strife, and will cause your blood to chill,<br />
+It was the famous battle that was fought on Shiloh Hill!<br />
+<br />
+It was the sixth of April, just at the break of day,<br />
+The drums and fifes were playing for us to march away;<br />
+The feeling of that hour I do remember still,<br />
+For the wounded and the dying that lay on Shiloh Hill.<br />
+<br />
+About the hour of sunrise the battle it began,<br />
+And before the day had vanished we fought them hand to hand;<br />
+The horrors of the field did my heart with anguish fill,<br />
+For the wounded and the dying that lay on Shiloh Hill.<br />
+<br />
+There were men of every nation laid on those rocky plains,<br />
+Fathers, sons and brothers were numbered with the slain,<br />
+That has caused so many homes with deep mourning to be filled,<br />
+All from the bloody battle that was fought on Shiloh Hill.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span><br />
+The wounded men were crying for help from everywhere,<br />
+While others, who were dying, were offering God their prayer:<br />
+&#8220;Protect my wife and children, if it is Thy holy will!&#8221;<br />
+Such were the prayers I heard that night on Shiloh Hill.<br />
+<br />
+And early the next morning, we were called to arms again,<br />
+Unmindful of the wounded and unmindful of the slain,<br />
+The struggle was renewed, and ten thousand men were killed;<br />
+This was the second conflict of the famous Shiloh Hill.<br />
+<br />
+The battle it raged on, though dead and dying men,<br />
+Lay thick all o&#8217;er the ground, on the hill and in the glen,<br />
+And from their deadly wounds their blood ran like a rill;<br />
+Such were the mournful sights that I saw on Shiloh Hill.<br />
+<br />
+Before the day was ended the battle ceased to roar,<br />
+And thousands of brave soldiers had fall&#8217;n to rise no more;<br />
+They left their vacant ranks for some other ones to fill,<br />
+And now their mouldering bodies all lie on Shiloh Hill.<br />
+<br />
+And now my song is ended about those bloody plains,<br />
+I hope the sight by mortal man may ne&#8217;er be seen again;<br />
+But I pray to God, the Saviour, &#8220;if consistent with Thy will,&#8221;<br />
+To save the souls of all who fell on bloody Shiloh Hill.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span></p>
+<h2>STONEWALL&#8217;S REQUIEM.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Permission of the <span class="smcap">Oliver Ditson Co.</span><span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by <span class="smcap">M. Deeves</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>The muffled drum is beating,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There&#8217;s a sad and solemn tread,</span><br />
+Our banner&#8217;s draped in mourning,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As it shrouds the &#8220;illustrious dead,&#8221;</span><br />
+Proud forms are bent with sorrow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all Southern hearts are sore,</span><br />
+The hero now is sleeping&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Noble Stonewall is no more.</span><br />
+<br />
+&#8217;Mid the rattling of the muskets,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the cannons&#8217; thund&#8217;rous roar,</span><br />
+He stained the field of glory,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With his brave life&#8217;s precious gore;</span><br />
+And though our flag waved proudly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We were victors ere sunset&mdash;</span><br />
+The gallant deeds of Chancellorsville,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will mingle with regret.</span><br />
+<br />
+They&#8217;ve borne him to an honored grave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The laurel crowns his brow,</span><br />
+By hallowed James&#8217; silent wave<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He&#8217;s sweetly sleeping now;</span><br />
+Virginia to the South is dear,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She holds a sacred trust,</span><br />
+Our fallen braves from far and near,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are covered with her dust.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span><br />
+She shrines the spot where now is laid,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bravest of them all,</span><br />
+The Martyr of our country&#8217;s cause,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our idolized Stonewall;</span><br />
+But though his spirit&#8217;s wafted<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the happy realms above;</span><br />
+His name shall live forever linked,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With reverence and love.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>LITTLE GIFFIN.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Dr. Francis O. Ticknor</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="note">&#8220;A ballad of such unique and really transcendent merit, that in our
+judgment it ought to rank with the rarest gems of modern martial
+poetry.&#8221;&mdash;<span class="smcap">P. H. Hayne.</span></p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Out of the focal and foremost fire,<br />
+Out of the hospital walls as dire,<br />
+Smitten of grape-shot and gangrene,<br />
+(Eighteenth battle, and he sixteen!)<br />
+Specter such as we seldom see,<br />
+Little Giffin of Tennessee!<br />
+<br />
+&#8220;Take him and welcome!&#8221; the surgeon said:<br />
+&#8220;Much your doctor can help the dead!&#8221;<br />
+And so we took him and brought him where,<br />
+The balm was sweet on the summer air;<br />
+And we laid him down on a wholesome bed&mdash;<br />
+Utter Lazarus, heel to head!<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span><br />
+Weary War with the bated breath,<br />
+Skeleton boy against skeleton Death,<br />
+Months of torture, how many such!<br />
+Weary weeks of the stick and crutch!<br />
+Still a glint in the steel-blue eye,<br />
+Spoke of the spirit that wouldn&#8217;t die.<br />
+<br />
+And didn&#8217;t! nay more! in death&#8217;s despite,<br />
+The crippled skeleton learned to write!<br />
+&#8220;Dear mother,&#8221; at first, of course, and then,<br />
+&#8220;Dear Captain&#8221; inquiring about the &#8220;men,&#8221;<br />
+Captain&#8217;s answer&mdash;&#8220;Of eighty and five,<br />
+Giffin and I are left alive!&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+&#8220;Johnston&#8217;s pressed at the front, they say!&#8221;<br />
+Little Giffin was up and away.<br />
+A tear, his first, as he bade good-bye,<br />
+Dimmed the glint of his steel-blue eye;<br />
+&#8220;I&#8217;ll write, if spared.&#8221; There was news of a fight,<br />
+But none of Giffin! he did not write!<br />
+<br />
+I sometimes fancy that were I a king<br />
+Of the princely knights of the Golden Ring,<br />
+With the song of the minstrel in mine ear,<br />
+And the tender legend that trembles here,<br />
+I&#8217;d give the best on his bended knee,<br />
+The whitest soul of my chivalry,<br />
+For little Giffin of Tennessee!</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img44.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">General J. E. B. Stuart.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h2>STUART.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Mrs. Henry J. Vose</span>.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by <span class="smcap">A. E. Blackmar</span>.</p>
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass.]</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Oh! mother of States and of men,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bend low thy queenly head,</span><br />
+On his shield is borne to thy arms again,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy youngest, fairest dead;</span><br />
+Drop tears like rain for that strong heart stilled,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For that dauntless spirit fled!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span><br />
+Sleep well, O stainless knight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Neath the folds of the starry cross,</span><br />
+For the day now breaks o&#8217;er the long, long night<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of our anguish, peril and loss;</span><br />
+But alas! for the eyes that smiled on death,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the life that held life dross.</span><br />
+<br />
+They say thine ancestral line,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Swayed the scepter, and wore the crown;</span><br />
+But none girded a nobler sword than thine,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor more stainless life laid down;</span><br />
+And we ask no gleam from their grand old past,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To brighten thy young renown.</span><br />
+<br />
+On the field thy life was giv&#8217;n,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where our best blood has been poured;</span><br />
+At the feet of our country&#8217;s God, in heaven,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou hast laid another sword,</span><br />
+When Jackson&#8217;s head was so lately bowed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tried soldier of the Lord.</span><br />
+<br />
+Oh, swords of the South! like flame,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leap forth for this life-blood shed,</span><br />
+Strike the foe till he flies from the field in shame,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sheathe not till the hilt is red!</span><br />
+And redeem the land that enshrines in her heart,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The graves of her glorious dead!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span></p>
+<h2>ONLY A SOLDIER.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Major Lamar Fontaine</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&#8220;Only a soldier!&#8221; I heard them say,<br />
+With a heavy heart I turned away,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And heaved a sigh.</span><br />
+Then watched the tramp of the horses&#8217; feet,<br />
+As the hearse moved slowly down the street,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And hot tears dimmed my eye.</span><br />
+<br />
+&#8220;Only a soldier!&#8221; confined in there&mdash;<br />
+A father&#8217;s joy and a mother&#8217;s care,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Torn from his home.</span><br />
+Now a maiden sighs for his return,<br />
+On his sister&#8217;s cheek the teardrops burn,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For her soldier-brother&#8217;s gone.</span><br />
+<br />
+&#8220;Only a soldier!&#8221; I thought anew,<br />
+As fancy came, and I quickly drew<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">&#8220;The parting hour,&#8221;</span><br />
+That hour he left at his country&#8217;s call,<br />
+To place himself as a living wall,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Where sterner men might cower.</span><br />
+<br />
+In dreams he&#8217;d seen friends kneeling down<br />
+To raise his head from the battle-ground,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And thus he&#8217;d say:</span><br />
+&#8220;Tell my father that fighting I fell,<br />
+&#8217;Mid hammering shot and screaming shell,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When the South had won the day.&#8221;</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span><br />
+Alas! he never had dreamed of death,<br />
+But as borne on whistling bullets&#8217; breath,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">&#8217;Mid muskets flashing;</span><br />
+And where the war-dogs howling loud,<br />
+Breathe with sulphur-smoke a battle cloud&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The shells with thunders crashing!</span><br />
+<br />
+But a fevered cot is his battle-ground,<br />
+And slowly, calmly in death he&#8217;s bound<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To the &#8220;Far-off-Land.&#8221;</span><br />
+No gentle sister&#8217;s spirit is there,<br />
+E&#8217;en in stranger&#8217;s form with tender care,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To bathe his dry burning hand.</span><br />
+<br />
+The dark sod hides the form of the dead,<br />
+Dew-drops kiss no more that pale forehead,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Nor gleam on his hair.</span><br />
+Life&#8217;s hope is gone! Life&#8217;s sorrowing o&#8217;er,<br />
+His spirit is on the &#8220;echoless shore,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Dwelling with angels up there.</span><br />
+<br />
+Thus unwept, unmourned, he sank to rest,<br />
+E&#8217;en by human sympathy unblest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To an unknown grave!</span><br />
+God, who notes e&#8217;en the sparrow&#8217;s fall,<br />
+Shall, in the dread resurrection, call<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To Heaven the soldier brave!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span></p>
+<h2>WHEN THE BOYS COME HOME.</h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>The boys are coming home again,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This war will soon be o&#8217;er,</span><br />
+The Southern land again will stand,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As happy as of yore;</span><br />
+Yes, hand in hand, and arm in arm,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Together we will roam,</span><br />
+Oh! won&#8217;t we have a happy time,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When all the boys come home.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;We&#8217;ll hoist the starry cross again,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">On freedom&#8217;s lofty dome;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And live in peace and happiness,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">When all the boys come home.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">We&#8217;ll hoist the starry cross again,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">On freedom&#8217;s lofty dome;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And live in peace and happiness,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">When all the boys come home.</span><br />
+<br />
+We&#8217;ll have no more false hopes and fears,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No more heartrending sighs&mdash;</span><br />
+The messengers of peace will dry<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The weary mourner&#8217;s eyes,</span><br />
+We&#8217;ll laugh and sing, we&#8217;ll dance and play,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh! wait until they come,</span><br />
+And joy will crown the happy day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When all the boys come home.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span><br />
+How proud our nation then will stand!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">United evermore,</span><br />
+We&#8217;ll bid defiance to the foe,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That dare approach our shore,</span><br />
+We&#8217;ll hoist the starry cross again,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On freedom&#8217;s lofty dome,</span><br />
+And live in peace and happiness,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When all the boys come home.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE DRUMMER BOY OF SHILOH.</h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>On Shiloh&#8217;s dark and bloody ground the dead and wounded lay,<br />
+Amongst them was a drummer boy that beat the drum that day;<br />
+A wounded soldier raised him up&mdash;his drum was by his side&mdash;<br />
+He clasped his hands, and raised his eyes, and prayed before he died.<br />
+<br />
+&#8220;Look down upon the battlefield, O Thou our heavenly Friend,<br />
+Have mercy on our sinful souls&#8221;&mdash;the soldiers cried, &#8220;Amen!&#8221;<br />
+For gathered &#8217;round, a little group, each brave man knelt and cried&mdash;<br />
+They listened to the drummer boy who prayed before he died.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span><br />
+&#8220;Oh, Mother,&#8221; said the dying boy, &#8220;Look down from Heaven on me!<br />
+Receive me to thy fond embrace! Oh, take me home to thee!<br />
+I&#8217;ve loved my country as my God, to serve them both I&#8217;ve tried,&#8221;<br />
+He smiled, shook hands, death seized the boy who prayed before he died.<br />
+<br />
+Each soldier wept then like a child&mdash;stout hearts were they and brave&mdash;<br />
+The Flag his winding-sheet! God&#8217;s Book the key unto his grave;<br />
+They wrote upon a simple board these words, &#8220;This is a guide,<br />
+To those who mourn the drummer boy who prayed before he died.&#8221;</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img45.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">Alabama Volunteer Corps.</p>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span></p>
+<h2>OLD STONEWALL.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">C. D. Dasher</span>.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by <span class="smcap">F. Younker</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center">[The music of this Song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass.]</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Oh, don&#8217;t you remember old Stonewall, my boys,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Stonewall on charger so gray,</span><br />
+Whose memory is dear to the sons of the South,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The heroes that once wore the gray.</span><br />
+He was true to the cause of the men that he led,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heroic in death as in life,</span><br />
+From heaven above he smiles on the brave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who have ceased from mad carnage and strife&mdash;</span><br />
+From heaven above he smiles on the brave,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who have ceased from mad carnage and strife.</span><br />
+<br />
+The harvest waves over the battlefield, boys,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And where bullets once pattered like rain,</span><br />
+The peach blooms are drifting like snow in the air,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the hillocks are springing in grain,</span><br />
+Oh! green in our hearts may the memories be,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of those heroes, in blue or in grey,</span><br />
+As new growing grain, for never again,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can they meet in dread battle array&mdash;</span><br />
+As new growing grain, for never again,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can they meet in dread battle array.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE SOUTH;</h2>
+
+<p class="center">OR, I LOVE THEE THE MORE.</p>
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.]</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>My heart in its sadness turns fondly to thee,<br />
+Dear land where our lov&#8217;d ones fought hard to be free;<br />
+I loved thee when struggling, and bleeding and sore,<br />
+But now thou art conquered, I love thee the more!<br />
+<br />
+Gallant South! when the noble, the gifted, the brave,<br />
+Dashed onward to battle, like wave after wave,<br />
+Determin&#8217;d to die for the land they adore,<br />
+Though vain were their efforts, I love thee the more.<br />
+<br />
+Bright South! though the winter is closing around,<br />
+And dead leaves of autumn now carpet the ground,<br />
+Thy beauties of woodland, of river and shore,<br />
+Still charm the beholder, I love thee the more.<br />
+<br />
+Dear South! though thy beautiful forests and hills,<br />
+Thy emerald valleys and silvery rills,<br />
+Are subject to strangers&mdash;not free as of yore&mdash;<br />
+Thus changed, and in sorrow, I love thee the more.<br />
+<br />
+Sweet South! lovely land of beautiful flowers,<br />
+Though cool now the zephyrs, and faded thy bowers,<br />
+Oh, soon shall the springtime thy beauties restore,<br />
+And bloom o&#8217;er our lost ones&mdash;I love thee the more.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span><br />
+Darling South! when I think every forest and grove,<br />
+And valley have pillow&#8217;d the heads that we love,<br />
+Have echoed their war cry and drank of their gore,<br />
+I feel thou art sacred, and love thee the more.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE POOR SOLDIER!</h2>
+
+<p class="center">A Popular Camp-fire Song of the 62d Alabama Regiment (The Boy Regiment.)</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Little do rich people know,<br />
+What we poor soldiers undergo&mdash;<br />
+Called upon to take up arms,<br />
+To guard our country from all harm.<br />
+<br />
+Break of day&mdash;the morning gun,<br />
+Wakes the rebels&mdash;the fife and drum,<br />
+Breaks a soldier&#8217;s sweet repose&mdash;<br />
+He tumbles out&mdash;puts on his clothes.<br />
+<br />
+First sergeant rushes in and out:<br />
+&#8220;Hurrah! hurrah, boys! do turn out;&#8221;<br />
+Front and rear he forms his line&mdash;<br />
+His &#8217;coutrements and sword must shine.<br />
+<br />
+&#8220;Eyes right!&mdash;steady!&#8221; is the word;<br />
+Our captain then presents his sword&mdash;<br />
+The sergeant jerks out his roll&mdash;<br />
+Names are called&mdash;the absent told.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span><br />
+Our surgeon is a man of skill,<br />
+Gives the sick each day bread pills;<br />
+If his pills do not act well&mdash;<br />
+He swears and damns our souls to hell.<br />
+<br />
+Would you know who wrote this song,<br />
+I will tell&mdash;it won&#8217;t take long;<br />
+It was composed by A. T. Height,<br />
+While walking post one rainy night.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE BONNIE WHITE FLAG;</h2>
+
+<p class="center">OR, THE PRISONER&#8217;S INVOCATION TO PEACE.</p>
+<p class="center">Col. <span class="smcap">W. S. Hawkins</span>.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>In <i>Camp Chase Ventilator</i>, 1864.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;Bonnie Blue Flag.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Though we&#8217;re a band of prisoners,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let each be firm and true,</span><br />
+For noble souls and hearts of oak,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The foe can ne&#8217;er subdue.</span><br />
+We then will turn us homeward,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To those we love so dear;</span><br />
+For peace and happiness, my boys,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, give a hearty cheer!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Hurrah! Hurrah! for peace<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And home, hurrah!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Hurrah for the Bonnie White Flag,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">That ends this cruel war!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span><br />
+The sword into the scabbard,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The musket on the wall,</span><br />
+The cannon from its blazing throat,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No more shall hurl the ball;</span><br />
+From wives and babes and sweethearts,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No longer will we roam,</span><br />
+For ev&#8217;ry gallant soldier boy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall seek his cherished home.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Our battle banners furled away,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No more shall greet the eye,</span><br />
+Nor beat of angry drums be heard,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor bugle&#8217;s hostile cry.</span><br />
+The blade no more be raised aloft,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In conflict fierce and wild.</span><br />
+The bomb shall roll across the sward,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The plaything of a child.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+No pale-faced captive then shall stand,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behind his rusted bars,</span><br />
+Nor from the prison window bleak,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look sadly to the stars;</span><br />
+But out amid the woodland&#8217;s green,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On bounding steed he&#8217;ll be,</span><br />
+And proudly from his heart shall rise,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The anthem of the free.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+The plow into the furrow then,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fields shall wave with grain,</span><br />
+And smiling children to their schools,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All gladly go again.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span>The church invites its grateful throng,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And man&#8217;s rude striving cease,</span><br />
+While all across our noble land,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall glow the light of Peace.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>BOMBARDMENT OF VICKSBURG.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Dedicated with respect and admiration to Maj.-Gen. <span class="smcap">Earl Van Dorn</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>For sixty days and upward a storm of shell and shot,<br />
+Rained &#8217;round as in a flaming shower, but still we faltered not!<br />
+&#8220;If the noble city perish,&#8221; our grand young leader said,<br />
+&#8220;Let the only walls the foe shall scale be ramparts of the dead!&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+For sixty days and upward the eye of heaven waxed dim,<br />
+And even throughout God&#8217;s holy morn, o&#8217;er Christian&#8217;s prayer and hymn,<br />
+Arose a hissing tumult, as if the fiends of air,<br />
+Strove to engulf the voice of faith in shriekings of despair.<br />
+<br />
+There was wailing in the houses, there was trembling on the marts,<br />
+While the tempest raged and thundered &#8217;midst the silent thrill of hearts;<br />
+But the Lord, our shield, was with us&mdash;and ere a month had sped,<br />
+Our very women walked the streets, with scarce one throb of dread.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span><br />
+And the little children gambolled&mdash;their faces purely raised,<br />
+Just for a wondering moment as the huge bombs whirled and blazed!<br />
+Then turning with silv&#8217;ry laughter to the sports which children love,<br />
+Thrice mailed in the sweet instinctive thought that the good God watched above.<a name='fna_18' id='fna_18' href='#f_18'><small>[18]</small></a><br />
+<br />
+Yet the hailing bolts fell faster from scores of flame-clad ships,<br />
+And above us, denser, darker, grew the conflict&#8217;s wide eclipse,<br />
+&#8217;Till a solid cloud closed o&#8217;er like a type of doom and ire,<br />
+Whence shot a thousand quiv&#8217;ring tongues of forked and vengeful fire.<br />
+<br />
+But the unseen hands of angels, these death shafts warned aside,<br />
+And the dove of heavenly mercy, ruled o&#8217;er the battle tide;<br />
+In the houses ceased the wailing, and through the war-scarred marts,<br />
+The people strode with the step of hope to the music in their hearts.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span></p>
+<h2>DEATH OF STONEWALL JACKSON.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Music by <span class="smcap">C. Blamphin</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>On a bright May morn in &#8217;Sixty-three,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And eager for the action,</span><br />
+On a battlefield for Liberty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stood gallant Stonewall Jackson.</span><br />
+Both flesh and blood alike the same,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They strove to gain each other&#8217;s fame,</span><br />
+And long may hist&#8217;ry pen the name,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of gallant Stonewall Jackson.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Who was his soldiers&#8217; pride,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And for his country died,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">On a bright May day in &#8217;Sixty-three,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And ready for the action,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">On a battlefield for Liberty</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Stood gallant Stonewall Jackson.</span><br />
+<br />
+A man more kind was never born,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In battle no one bolder;</span><br />
+His loss all noble hearts will mourn,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This gallant faithful soldier;</span><br />
+For when the word was duty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He was first to fight for victory;</span><br />
+Oh! may he live in history,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The gallant Stonewall Jackson.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span><br />
+But alas! his time was come,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To see our promised land;</span><br />
+His comrade&#8217;s fatal gun,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shot through his arm and hand;</span><br />
+The Almighty&#8217;s will was read,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon his noble brow;</span><br />
+&#8220;My race is run,&#8221; he said.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Death has its victim now.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE SOUTHERN CAPTIVE.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Capt. Sam Houston</span>.</p>
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass.]</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Softly comes the twilight stealing gently through my prison bars,<br />
+While from out the vault of heaven, faintly glimmering come the stars;<br />
+Well I know my mother&#8217;s weeping for her long-lost wandering boy&mdash;<br />
+Does she know that still I&#8217;m living? even that would give her joy.<br />
+<br />
+No, they tell her that I&#8217;m sleeping &#8217;neath the turf on Shiloh&#8217;s plain;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span>That she ne&#8217;er will see her wanderer&mdash;never on this earth again;<br />
+Oh, my poor heart sinks within me, as the months roll slowly by,<br />
+And it seems in this cold Northland a lone captive I must die!<br />
+<br />
+Yes, far away from friends and kindred, without a hand to mark my grave&mdash;<br />
+And not upon a field of glory I&#8217;ll sleep amid the Southern brave;<br />
+Mother! yes, your boy is dying! soon he&#8217;ll pass through death&#8217;s dark wave,<br />
+And the wintry wind be sighing o&#8217;er a captive&#8217;s lonely grave.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE VOLUNTEER; OR, IT IS MY COUNTRY&#8217;S CALL.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Harry McCarthy</span>.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>I leave my home and thee, dear, with sorrow at my heart,<br />
+It is my country&#8217;s call, dear, to aid her, I depart;<br />
+And on the blood-red battle plain, we&#8217;ll conquer or we&#8217;ll die;<br />
+&#8217;Tis for our honor and our name, we raise the battle-cry.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Then weep not, dearest, weep not, if in the cause I fall;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Oh, weep not, dearest, weep not, it is my country&#8217;s call.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span><br />
+And yet, my heart is sore, love, to see thee weeping thus;<br />
+But mark me, there&#8217;s no fear, love, for in Heaven is our trust;<br />
+And if the heavy drooping tear swells in my mournful eye,<br />
+It is that Northmen of our land should cause the battle-cry.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 21em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+Our rights have been usurp&#8217;d, dear, by Northmen of land;<br />
+Fanatics rais&#8217;d the cry, dear, politicians fired the brand;<br />
+The Southrons spurn the galling yoke, the tyrants&#8217; threats defy;<br />
+They find we&#8217;ve sons like sturdy oaks to raise the battle-cry.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 21em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+I knew you&#8217;d let me go, pet, I saw it in that tear,<br />
+To join the gallant men, pet, who never yet knew fear;<br />
+With Beauregard and Davis, we&#8217;ll gain our cause or die;<br />
+Win battles like Manassas, and raise the battle-cry.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 21em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span></p>
+<h2>DEAR MOTHER, I&#8217;VE COME HOME TO DIE.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">E. Bowers</span>.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by <span class="smcap">Henry Tucker</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Dear mother, I remember well<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The parting kiss you gave me,</span><br />
+When merry rang the village bell&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My heart was full of joy and glee:</span><br />
+I did not dream that one short year,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would crush the hopes that soared so high!</span><br />
+Oh, mother dear, draw near to me;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dear mother, I&#8217;ve come home to die.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Call sister, brother, to my side,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And take your soldier&#8217;s last good-by.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Oh, mother dear, draw near to me;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Dear mother, I&#8217;ve come home to die.</span><br />
+<br />
+Hark! Mother, &#8217;tis the village bell,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I can no longer with thee stay;</span><br />
+My country calls to arms! to arms!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The foe advance in fierce array!</span><br />
+The vision&#8217;s past&mdash;I feel that now,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For country I can only sigh.</span><br />
+Oh, mother dear, draw near to me:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dear mother, I&#8217;ve come home to die.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span><br />
+Dear mother, sister, brother, all,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One parting kiss&mdash;to all good-by:</span><br />
+Weep not, but clasp your hand in mine,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And let me like a soldier die!</span><br />
+I&#8217;ve met the foe upon the field,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where hosts contending scorned to fly;</span><br />
+I fought for right&mdash;God bless you all&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dear mother, I&#8217;ve come home to die.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>POLK.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">H. L. Flash</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>A flash from the edge of a hostile trench,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A puff of smoke, a roar,</span><br />
+Whose echo shall roll from Kennesaw hills,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the farthermost Christian shore,</span><br />
+Proclaim to the world that the warrior-priest<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will battle for right no more.</span><br />
+<br />
+And that for a cause which is sanctified,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the blood of martyrs unknown&mdash;</span><br />
+A cause for which they gave their lives,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And for which he gave his own&mdash;</span><br />
+He kneels, a meek ambassador,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the foot of the Father&#8217;s throne.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img46.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;A flash from the edge of a hostile trench.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span>And up to the courts of another world,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That angels alone have trod,</span><br />
+He lives away from the din and strife<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of this blood-besprinkled sod&mdash;</span><br />
+Crowned with the amaranthine wreath,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That is worn by the blest of God.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE REBEL&#8217;S DREAM.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">A. F. Leovy</span>.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by <span class="smcap">Ch. Reisner</span>.</p>
+<p class="center">Permission of <span class="smcap">A. E. Blackmar</span>, New Orleans.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Softly in dreams of repose,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A vision so pure and so sweet,</span><br />
+Shines on a soldier&#8217;s sad soul,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While his flag lies so low at his feet;</span><br />
+Softly an angel is seen,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who saddens the spot with a sigh,</span><br />
+Swiftly the banner is raised,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And borne to bright realms in the sky.</span><br />
+<br />
+Soft music from heavenly choirs,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Resounds from that paradise shore.</span><br />
+Oh! how sweet to the dreamer&#8217;s light heart,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He sees his brave comrades once more.</span><br />
+His banner now floats o&#8217;er the blest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shimmers in heaven&#8217;s pure air;</span><br />
+A voice from its folds is now heard,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jackson prays for the flag that is there.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span><br />
+The soldier awakes from his dream.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh! that his sorrows were past,</span><br />
+Beyond the bright stars and the sky,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There&#8217;s a home for the weary at last,</span><br />
+The gleam of some paradise joys,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will greet him in heaven&#8217;s pure air,</span><br />
+O the heroes who perished for right,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How sweet to rejoin them all there!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>PRO MEMORA.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Ina M. Porter</span>, of Alabama.</p>
+<p class="center"><i>Air&mdash;&#8220;There is Rest for the Weary.&#8221;</i></p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Lo! the Southland queen emerging,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From her sad and wintry gloom,</span><br />
+Robes her torn and bleeding bosom,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In her richest Orient bloom.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;(<i>Repeat first line three times.</i>)</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">For her weary sons are resting</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">By the Eden shore;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">They have won the crown immortal,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">And the cross of death is o&#8217;er!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">When the oriflamme is burning,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">On the starlit Eden shore.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span><br />
+Brightly still in gorgeous glory,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">God&#8217;s great jewel lights the sky;</span><br />
+Look! Upon the heart&#8217;s white dial,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There&#8217;s a shadow flitting by.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;But the weary feet are resting, etc.</span><br />
+<br />
+Homes are dark and hearts are weary,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Souls are numb with hopeless pain;</span><br />
+For the footfall on the threshold<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never more to sound again!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;They have gone from us forever,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">Aye, for evermore!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">We must win the crown immortal,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">Follow where they led before,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Where the oriflamme is burning,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">On the starlit Eden shore.</span><br />
+<br />
+Proudly, as our Southern forests,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Meet the winter&#8217;s shafts so keen;</span><br />
+Time-defying memories cluster,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Round our hearts in living green.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;They have gone from us forever, etc.</span><br />
+<br />
+May our faltering voices mingle,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the angel-chanted psalm;</span><br />
+May our earthly chaplets linger,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the bright celestial palm.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;They have gone from us forever, etc.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span><br />
+Crest to crest they bore our banner,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Side by side they fell asleep;</span><br />
+Hand in hand we scatter flowers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heart to heart we kneel and weep.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;They have gone from us forever, etc.</span><br />
+<br />
+When the May eternal dawneth<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the living God&#8217;s behest,</span><br />
+We will quaff divine Nepenthe,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We shall share the soldier&#8217;s rest.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Where the weary feet are resting, etc.</span><br />
+<br />
+Where the shadows are uplifted,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Neath the never-waning sun,</span><br />
+Shout we Gloria in Excelsis!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We have lost, but ye have won!</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Our hearts are yours forever,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">Aye, for evermore!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Ye have won the crown immortal,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">And the cross of death is o&#8217;er,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">When the oriflamme is burning</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">On the starlit Eden shore!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span></p>
+<h2>WEARIN&#8217; OF THE GRAY.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Tar Heel</span>.</p>
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass.]</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Oh! Johnny, dear, and did you hear the news that&#8217;s lately spread,<br />
+That never more the Southern cross must rear its stately head;<br />
+The &#8220;white and red&#8217;s&#8221; forbid by law, so Northmen proudly say,<br />
+Nor you nor I can e&#8217;er again be &#8220;Wearin&#8217; of the Gray!&#8221;<br />
+And when we meet with strangers kind, who take us by the hand,<br />
+Inquiring warmly of the South, our own beloved land,<br />
+We&#8217;re bound to tell the woeful truth, let cost whate&#8217;er it may,<br />
+That some are threatened e&#8217;en with death, for &#8220;Wearin&#8217; of the Gray!&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+Then since the color we must wear is of the hateful blue,<br />
+The children of the sunny South must be to mem&#8217;ry true;<br />
+Ah! take the cockade from their hats and tread it &#8217;neath the feet,<br />
+And still tho&#8217; bruis&#8217;d and mangled sad, &#8217;twill speak a language sweet;<br />
+And buried in our heart of hearts the precious words lie hid,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span>Where oft they call the bitter tears to wet the drooping lid;<br />
+But let them flow, they do us good thro&#8217; all the mournful day,<br />
+While constant we do call to mind the &#8220;Wearin&#8217; of the Gray!&#8221;<br />
+<br />
+And if at last our father&#8217;s law be torn from Southland&#8217;s heart,<br />
+Her sons will take their household gods and far away depart;<br />
+Rememb&#8217;ring still the whisper&#8217;d word, to weary wand&#8217;rers giv&#8217;n,<br />
+That justice pure, and perfect rest, are found alone in heav&#8217;n.<br />
+Then on some green and distant isle beneath the setting sun,<br />
+We&#8217;ll patient wait the coming time when life and earth are done,<br />
+Nor even in the dying hour, while passing calm away,<br />
+Can we forget or e&#8217;er regret the &#8220;Wearin&#8217; of the Gray!&#8221;</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img47.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">South Carolina Button.</p>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE FADED GRAY JACKET.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Mrs. C. A. Ball</span>.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by <span class="smcap">Charlie Ward</span>.</p>
+<p class="center">Permission of the <span class="smcap">W. S. Shaw Co.</span>, Philadelphia.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Fold it up carefully, lay it aside,<br />
+Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride;<br />
+For dear must it be to our hearts evermore,<br />
+The jacket of gray our loved soldier boy wore.<br />
+Can we ever forget when he joined the brave band,<br />
+Who rose in defense of our dear Southern land;<br />
+And in his bright youth hurried on to the fray,<br />
+How proudly he donned it, the jacket of gray?<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;Fold it up carefully, lay it aside,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">For dear it must be to our hearts evermore,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">The jacket of gray our loved soldier boy wore.</span><br />
+<br />
+His fond mother blessed him and looked up above,<br />
+Commending to Heaven the child of her love;<br />
+What anguish was hers, mortal tongue may not say,<br />
+When he passed from her sight in the jacket of gray.<br />
+But her country had called him, she would not repine,<br />
+Though costly the sacrifice placed on its shrine;<br />
+Her heart&#8217;s dearest hopes on its altar she lay,<br />
+When she sent out her boy, in his jacket of gray!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 21em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span><br />
+Months passed, and war&#8217;s thunders rolled over the land,<br />
+Unsheathed was the sword and lighted the brand;<br />
+We heard in the distance the noise of the fray,<br />
+And prayed for our boy in the jacket of gray.<br />
+Ah! vain all&mdash;all vain were our prayers and our tears<br />
+The glad shout of victory rang in our ears;<br />
+But our treasured one on the cold battle-field lay,<br />
+While the life blood oozed out on the jacket of gray.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 21em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+His young comrades found him and tenderly bore<br />
+His cold, lifeless form to his home by the shore;<br />
+Oh! dark were our hearts on that terrible day,<br />
+When we saw our dead boy in the jacket of gray.<br />
+Ah! spotted, and tattered, and stained now with gore,<br />
+Was the garment which once he so gracefully wore;<br />
+We bitterly wept as we took it away,<br />
+And replaced with death&#8217;s white robes, the jacket of gray.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 21em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+We laid him to rest in his cold, narrow bed,<br />
+And graved on the marble, we placed o&#8217;er his head,<br />
+As the proudest of tributes our sad hearts could pay,<br />
+&#8220;He never disgraced the dear jacket of gray.&#8221;<br />
+Then fold it up carefully, lay it aside,<br />
+Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride;<br />
+For dear must it be to our hearts evermore,<br />
+The jacket of gray our loved soldier boy wore.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 21em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span></p>
+<h2>I&#8217;M A GOOD OLD REBEL.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By J. R. T.</p>
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass.]</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>O, I&#8217;m a good old rebel,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now that&#8217;s just what I am,</span><br />
+For this &#8220;Fair Land of Freedom&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I do not care a damn;</span><br />
+I&#8217;m glad I fit against it,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I only wish we&#8217;d won,</span><br />
+And I don&#8217;t want no pardon<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For anything I done.</span><br />
+<br />
+I hates the Constitution,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This great Republic too,</span><br />
+I hates the Freedman&#8217;s Buro,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In uniform of blue;</span><br />
+I hates the nasty eagle,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With all his bragg and fuss,</span><br />
+The lyin&#8217;, thievin&#8217; Yankees,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hates them wuss and wuss.</span><br />
+<br />
+I hates the Yankee nation<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And everything they do,</span><br />
+I hates the Declaration<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Independence, too;</span><br />
+I hates the glorious Union&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Tis dripping with our blood&mdash;</span><br />
+I hates their striped banner,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I fit it all I could.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img48.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="center">&#8220;I&#8217;m a good old rebel.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>hundred thousand Yankees<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is stiff in Southern dust;</span><br />
+We got three hundred thousand<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before they conquered us;</span><br />
+They died of Southern fever,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Southern steel and shot,</span><br />
+I wish they was three million,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Instead of what we got.</span><br />
+<br />
+I followed old mas&#8217; Robert<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For four year near about,</span><br />
+Got wounded in three places,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And starved at Pint Lookout;</span><br />
+I cotched the roomatism,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A campin&#8217; in the snow,</span><br />
+But I killed a chance o&#8217; Yankees,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I&#8217;d like to kill some mo&#8217;.</span><br />
+<br />
+I can&#8217;t take up my musket<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fight &#8217;em now no more,</span><br />
+But I ain&#8217;t a-going to love &#8217;em,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now that is sartin&#8217; sure;</span><br />
+And I don&#8217;t want no pardon,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For what I was and am,</span><br />
+I won&#8217;t be reconstructed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I don&#8217;t care a damn.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span></p>
+<h2>TRUE TO THE GRAY.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Pearl Rivers</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>I cannot listen to your words, the land is long and wide;<br />
+Go seek some happy Northern girl to be your loving bride;<br />
+My brothers they were soldiers&mdash;the youngest of the three<br />
+Was slain while fighting by the side of gallant Fitzhugh Lee!<br />
+<br />
+They left his body on the field (your side the day had won),<br />
+A soldier spurned him with his foot&mdash;you might have been the one;<br />
+My lover was a soldier&mdash;he belonged to Gordon&#8217;s band;<br />
+A sabre pierced his gallant heart&mdash;your&#8217;s might have been the hand.<br />
+<br />
+He reel&#8217;d and fell, but was not dead, a horseman spurr&#8217;d his steed<br />
+And trampled on the dying brain&mdash;you may have done the deed;<br />
+I hold no hatred in my heart, no cold, unrighteous pride,<br />
+For many a gallant soldier fought upon the other side.<br />
+<br />
+But still I cannot kiss the hand that smote my country sore,<br />
+Nor love the foes that trampled down the colors that she bore;<br />
+Between my heart and yours there rolls a deep and crimson tide&mdash;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span>My brother&#8217;s and my lover&#8217;s blood forbid me be your bride.<br />
+<br />
+The girls who lov&#8217;d the boys in gray&mdash;the girls to country true,<br />
+May ne&#8217;er in wedlock give their hands to those who wore the blue.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>WE KNOW THAT WE WERE REBELS; OR, WHY CAN WE NOT BE BROTHERS?</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Clarence Prentice</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Why can we not be brothers? the battle now is o&#8217;er;<br />
+We&#8217;ve laid our bruised arms on the field to take them up no more;<br />
+We who have fought you hard and long, now overpower&#8217;d, stand<br />
+As poor, defenseless prisoners in our own native land.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>&mdash;We know that we were rebels,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And we don&#8217;t deny the name,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">We speak of that which we have done</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">With grief, but not with shame!</span><br />
+<br />
+But we have rights most sacred, by solemn compact bound,<br />
+Seal&#8217;d by the blood that freely gush&#8217;d from many a ghastly wound;<br />
+When Lee gave up his trusty sword, and his men laid down their arms,<br />
+It was that they should live at home, secure from war&#8217;s dire harms.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 23em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span><br />
+And surely, since we&#8217;re now disarm&#8217;d, we are not to be dreaded;<br />
+Our old chiefs, who on many fields our trusty columns headed,<br />
+Are fast within an iron grasp, and manacled with chains,<br />
+Perchance, &#8217;twixt dreary walls to stay as long as life remains!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 23em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+O shame upon the coward band who, in the conflict dire,<br />
+Went not to battle for their cause, &#8217;mid the ranks of steel and fire,<br />
+Yet now, since all the fighting&#8217;s done, are hourly heard to cry:<br />
+&#8220;Down with the traitors! hang them all! each rebel dog shall die!&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 23em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br />
+<br />
+We know that we were rebels, we don&#8217;t deny the name,<br />
+We speak of that which we have done with grief, but not with shame!<br />
+And we never will acknowledge that the blood the South has spilt,<br />
+Was shed defending what we deemed a cause of wrong and guilt.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 23em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span></p>
+<h2>WEARING OF THE GRAY.</h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Our cannons&#8217; mouths are dumb. No more our volleyed muskets peal,<br />
+Nor gleams, to mark where squadrons rush, the light from flashing steel;<br />
+No more our crossed and starry flags in gentle dalliance play<br />
+With battle breeze, as when we fought, a wearing of the gray.<br />
+<br />
+Our cause is lost! No more we fight &#8217;gainst overwhelming power;<br />
+All wearied are our limbs, and drenched with many a battle shower;<br />
+We fain would rest! For want of strength we yield them up the day,<br />
+And lower the flag so proudly borne while wearing of the gray.<br />
+<br />
+Defeat is not dishonor! No! Of honor not bereft,<br />
+We should thank God that in our breasts this priceless boon is left;<br />
+And though we weep &#8217;tis for those braves who stood in proud array<br />
+Beneath our flag, and nobly died while wearing of the gray.<br />
+<br />
+When in the ranks of war we stood, and faced the deadly hail,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span>Our simple suits of gray composed our only coats of mail;<br />
+And of those awful hours that marked the bloody battle day,<br />
+In memory we&#8217;ll still be seen a wearing of the gray.<br />
+<br />
+O, should we reach that glorious place where waits the sparkling crown,<br />
+For every one who for the right his soldier life lay down,<br />
+God grant to us the privilege, upon that happy day,<br />
+Of clasping hands with those who fell a wearing of the gray.</td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE SWORD OF ROBERT LEE.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">Words by <span class="smcap">Moina</span>.<span class="spacer">&nbsp;</span>Music by <span class="smcap">Armand</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.]</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Forth from its scabbard, pure and bright,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flashed the sword of Lee!</span><br />
+Far in the front of the deadly fight,<br />
+High o&#8217;er the brave, in the cause of right<br />
+It&#8217;s stainless sheen, like a beacon light,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Led us to victory.</span><br />
+<br />
+Out of its scabbard, when full long<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It slumbered peacefully&mdash;</span><br />
+Roused from its rest by the battle song,<br />
+Shielding the feeble, smiting the strong,<br />
+Guarding the right, and avenging the wrong&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gleamed the sword of Lee!</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span><br />
+Forth from its scabbard, high in air,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beneath Virginia&#8217;s sky&mdash;</span><br />
+And they who saw it gleaming there,<br />
+And knew who bore it, knelt to swear,<br />
+That where that sword led they would dare<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To follow and to die.</span><br />
+<br />
+Out of its scabbard! Never hand<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Waved sword from stain as free,</span><br />
+Nor purer sword led braver band,<br />
+Nor braver bled for a brighter land,<br />
+Nor brighter land had a cause as grand,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor cause a chief like Lee!</span><br />
+<br />
+Forth from its scabbard! How we prayed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sword might victor be!</span><br />
+And when our triumph was delayed,<br />
+And many a heart grew sore afraid,<br />
+We still hoped on, while gleamed the blade<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of noble Robert Lee!</span><br />
+<br />
+Forth from its scabbard! All in vain!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forth flashed the sword of Lee!</span><br />
+&#8217;Tis shrouded now in its sheath again,<br />
+It sleeps the sleep of our noble slain,<br />
+Defeated, yet without a stain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Proudly and peacefully.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span></p>
+<h2>OFF WITH YOUR GRAY SUITS, BOYS!</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Lieut. Falligant</span>, Savannah, Ga.</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Off with gray suits, boys!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Off with your rebel gear!</span><br />
+It smacks too much of the cannon&#8217;s peal,<br />
+The lightning flash of your deadly steel,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fills our hearts with fear.</span><br />
+<br />
+The color is like the smoke,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That curled o&#8217;er your battle line;</span><br />
+It calls to mind the yell that woke,<br />
+When the dastard columns before you broke,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And their dead wore your fatal sign!</span><br />
+<br />
+Off with your starry wreaths,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ye who have led our van!</span><br />
+For you &#8217;twas the pledge of a glorious death,<br />
+As we followed you over the glorious heath,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When we whipped them man to man!</span><br />
+<br />
+Down with the cross and stars!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Too long has it waved on high;</span><br />
+&#8217;Tis covered all over with battle scars,<br />
+But its gleam the hated banner mars&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Tis time to lay it by.</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span><br />
+Down with the vows we had made!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down with each memory!</span><br />
+Down with the thoughts of our noble dead!<br />
+Down, down to the dust where their forms are laid,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And down with liberty!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<h2>THE CONFEDERATE NOTE.<a name='fna_19' id='fna_19' href='#f_19'><small>[19]</small></a></h2>
+
+<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">S. A. Jonas</span>.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Representing nothing on God&#8217;s earth now,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And naught in the water below it,</span><br />
+As a pledge of a nation that&#8217;s dead and gone,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Keep it, dear Captain, and show it.</span><br />
+Show it to those that will lend an ear<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the tale this paper can tell,</span><br />
+Of liberty born, of the patriot&#8217;s dream,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of a storm-cradled nation that fell.</span><br />
+<br />
+Too poor to possess the precious ore,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And too much a stranger to borrow,</span><br />
+We issue to-day our &#8220;promise to pay,&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hope to redeem on the morrow.</span><br />
+Days rolled by, and weeks became years,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But our coffers were empty still;</span><br />
+Coin was so rare that the treasurer quakes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If a dollar should drop in the till.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img49.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span>But the faith that was in us was strong indeed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And our poverty well we discerned,</span><br />
+And these little checks represented the pay<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That our suffering veterans earned.</span><br />
+We knew it had hardly a value in gold,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet as gold the soldiers received it;</span><br />
+It gazed in our eyes with a promise to pay,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And each patriot soldier believed it.</span><br />
+<br />
+But our boys thought little of price or pay,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or of bills that were over-due;</span><br />
+We knew if it bought our bread to-day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8217;Twas the best our country could do.</span><br />
+Keep it! it tells all our history over,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the birth of the dream to its last;</span><br />
+Modest, and born of the angel Hope,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like our hope of success it passed.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE CONQUERED BANNER.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">By the Rev. <span class="smcap">J. A. Ryan</span>, Catholic Priest of Knoxville, Diocese of Nashville, Tenn.</p>
+<p class="center">Music by <span class="smcap">A. E. Blackmar</span>.</p>
+<p class="center">[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.]</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Furl that banner, for &#8217;tis weary;<br />
+Round its staff &#8217;tis drooping dreary;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Furl it, fold it, it is best;</span><br />
+For there&#8217;s not a man to wave it,<br />
+And there&#8217;s not a sword to save it,<br />
+And there&#8217;s not one left to lave it<br />
+In the blood which heroes gave it;<br />
+And its foes now scorn and brave it,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Furl it, hide it, let it rest.</span><br />
+<br />
+Take that banner down&mdash;&#8217;tis tattered,<br />
+Broken is its staff and shattered,<br />
+And the valiant hosts are scattered<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over whom it floated high.</span><br />
+Oh! &#8217;tis hard for us to fold it,<br />
+Hard to think there&#8217;s none to hold it,<br />
+Hard that those who once unrolled it<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now must furl it with a sigh.</span><br />
+<br />
+Furl that banner, furl it sadly&mdash;<br />
+Once ten thousands hailed it gladly,<br />
+And ten thousands wildly, madly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Swore it should forever wave,</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span>Swore that foeman&#8217;s sword could never<br />
+Hearts like their&#8217;s entwined dissever,<br />
+&#8217;Till that flag would float forever<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O&#8217;er their freedom or their grave.</span><br />
+<br />
+Furl it! for the hands that grasped it,<br />
+And the hearts that fondly clasped it,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cold and dead are lying low;</span><br />
+And the banner, it is trailing<br />
+While around it sounds the wailing<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of its people in their woe.</span><br />
+For, though conquered, they adore it,<br />
+Love the cold, dead hands that bore it,<br />
+Weep for those who fell before it,<br />
+Pardon those who trailed and tore it,<br />
+And oh! wildly they deplore it,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now to furl and fold it so.</span><br />
+<br />
+Furl that banner! true &#8217;tis gory,<br />
+Yet &#8217;tis wreathed around with glory,<br />
+And &#8217;twill live in song and story,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though its folds are in the dust;</span><br />
+For its fame on brightest pages,<br />
+Penned by poets and by sages,<br />
+Shall go sounding down the ages,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Furl its folds though now we must.</span><br />
+<br />
+Furl that banner! softly, slowly,<br />
+Treat it gently&mdash;it is holy&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For it droops above the dead;</span><br />
+Touch it not, unfold it never;<br />
+Let it droop there, furled forever,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For its people&#8217;s hopes are dead.</span></td></tr></table>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span></p>
+<h2>FOLD IT UP CAREFULLY.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">A Reply to &#8220;The Conquered Banner,&#8221; by <span class="smcap">Sir Henry Houghton, Bart.</span>, of England.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>Gallant nation, foiled by numbers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Say not that your hopes are fled;</span><br />
+Keep that glorious flag which slumbers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One day to avenge your dead.</span><br />
+<br />
+Keep it, widowed, sonless mothers,<br />
+Keep it, sisters, mourning brothers,<br />
+Furl it with an iron will;<br />
+Furl it now, but&mdash;keep it still,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Think not that its work is done.</span><br />
+<br />
+Keep it &#8217;till your children take it,<br />
+Once again to hail and make it<br />
+All their sires have bled and fought for,<br />
+All their noble hearts have sought for,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bled and fought for all alone.</span><br />
+All alone! aye, shame the story.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Millions here deplore the stain,</span><br />
+Shame, alas! for England&#8217;s glory,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Freedom called, and called in vain.</span><br />
+<br />
+Furl that banner, sadly, slowly,<br />
+Treat it gently, for &#8217;tis holy:<br />
+&#8217;Till that day&mdash;yes, furl it sadly,<br />
+Then once more unfurl it gladly&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Conquered banner&mdash;keep it still!</span></td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img50.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="huge">INDEX.</span></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span></p>
+<h2><i>INDEX TO TITLES.</i></h2>
+
+
+<p class="index">
+A Confederate Officer to his Lady Love, <a href="#Page_42">42</a><br />
+<br />
+Address of the Women to the Southern Troops, <a href="#Page_24">24</a><br />
+<br />
+Alabama, <a href="#Page_170">170</a><br />
+<br />
+Allons Enfans, <a href="#Page_4">4</a><br />
+<br />
+All Quiet along the Potomac to-night, <a href="#Page_62">62</a><br />
+<br />
+An Old Texan&#8217;s Appeal, <a href="#Page_174">174</a><br />
+<br />
+A North Carolina Call to Arms, <a href="#Page_237">237</a><br />
+<br />
+Another Yankee Doodle, <a href="#Page_15">15</a><br />
+<br />
+Arise! ye Sons of Free-Born Sires!, <a href="#Page_175">175</a><br />
+<br />
+A Southern Song, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a><br />
+<br />
+A Southern Woman&#8217;s Song, <a href="#Page_222">222</a><br />
+<br />
+At Fort Pillow, <a href="#Page_137">137</a><br />
+<br />
+Awake! To arms in Texas, <a href="#Page_166">166</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Banks&#8217; Skedaddle, <a href="#Page_164">164</a><br />
+<br />
+Battle of the Mississippi, <a href="#Page_102">102</a><br />
+<br />
+Battle Song, <a href="#Page_240">240</a><br />
+<br />
+Battle Song of the Invaded, <a href="#Page_57">57</a><br />
+<br />
+Baylor&#8217;s Partisan Rangers, <a href="#Page_178">178</a><br />
+<br />
+Bayou City Guards&#8217; Dixie, <a href="#Page_143">143</a><br />
+<br />
+Bayou City Guards&#8217; Song, <a href="#Page_131">131</a><br />
+<br />
+Bombardment and Battle of Galveston, <a href="#Page_191">191</a><br />
+<br />
+Bombardment of Vicksburg, <a href="#Page_343">343</a><br />
+<br />
+Boys! Keep Your Powder Dry, <a href="#Page_130">130</a><br />
+<br />
+Bull Run, <a href="#Page_38">38</a><br />
+<br />
+By the Banks of Red River, <a href="#Page_300">300</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Call All! Call All!, <a href="#Page_14">14</a><br />
+<br />
+Campaign Ballad, <a href="#Page_155">155</a><br />
+<br />
+Camp Douglas by the Lake, <a href="#Page_306">306</a><br />
+<br />
+Cannon Song, <a href="#Page_77">77</a><br />
+<br />
+Carolina, <a href="#Page_124">124</a><br />
+<br />
+Chivalrous C. S. A., <a href="#Page_78">78</a><br />
+<br />
+Confederate Land, <a href="#Page_48">48</a><br />
+<br />
+Confederate Song, <a href="#Page_94">94</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Dear Mother, I&#8217;ve Come Home to Die, <a href="#Page_349">349</a><br />
+<br />
+Death of Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston, <a href="#Page_187">187</a><br />
+<br />
+Death of Stonewall Jackson, <a href="#Page_345">345</a><br />
+<br />
+De Cotton Down in Dixie, <a href="#Page_145">145</a><br />
+<br />
+Dixie, <a href="#Page_238">238</a><br />
+<br />
+Dixie&#8217;s Land, <a href="#Page_36">36</a><br />
+<br />
+Do they Miss Me in the Trenches, <a href="#Page_129">129</a><br />
+<br />
+Dutch Volunteer, <a href="#Page_10">10</a><br />
+<br />
+Duty and Defiance, <a href="#Page_141">141</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Elegy on the Death of Lieut.-Col. Ch. B. Dreux, <a href="#Page_37">37</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Flight of Doodles, <a href="#Page_66">66</a><br />
+<br />
+Fold it up Carefully, <a href="#Page_375">375</a><br />
+<br />
+For Bales, <a href="#Page_112">112</a><br />
+<br />
+Freedom&#8217;s New Banner, <a href="#Page_30">30</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Gathering Song, <a href="#Page_40">40</a><br />
+<br />
+Gay and Happy, <a href="#Page_177">177</a><br />
+<br />
+General Lee at the Battle of the Wilderness, <a href="#Page_224">224</a><br />
+<br />
+General Tom Green, <a href="#Page_194">194</a><br />
+<br />
+God Bless our Southern Land, <a href="#Page_188">188</a><br />
+<br />
+God Save the South, <a href="#Page_1">1</a><br />
+<br />
+God Will Defend the Right, <a href="#Page_264">264</a><br />
+<br />
+Goober Peas, <a href="#Page_74">74</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Hard Times, <a href="#Page_196">196</a><br />
+<br />
+Here&#8217;s Your Mule, <a href="#Page_319">319</a><br />
+<br />
+Hood&#8217;s Old Brigade, <a href="#Page_207">207</a><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span><br />
+Hood&#8217;s Texas Brigade, <a href="#Page_228">228</a><br />
+<br />
+Hurrah!, <a href="#Page_39">39</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+I&#8217;m a Good Old Rebel, <a href="#Page_260">260</a><br />
+<br />
+I&#8217;m Thinking of the Soldier, <a href="#Page_182">182</a><br />
+<br />
+Imogen, <a href="#Page_172">172</a><br />
+<br />
+Independence Day, <a href="#Page_65">65</a><br />
+<br />
+In Memoriam, <a href="#Page_311">311</a><br />
+<br />
+I Remember the Hour When Sadly We Parted, <a href="#Page_291">291</a><br />
+<br />
+I Wish I was in Dixie&#8217;s Land, <a href="#Page_153">153</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Jackson&#8217;s Resignation, <a href="#Page_232">232</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Knitting for the Soldiers, <a href="#Page_52">52</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Ladies, To the Hospital, <a href="#Page_116">116</a><br />
+<br />
+Land of King Cotton, <a href="#Page_68">68</a><br />
+<br />
+Land of the South, <a href="#Page_115">115</a><br />
+<br />
+Lee at the Wilderness, <a href="#Page_95">95</a><br />
+<br />
+Little Giffin, <a href="#Page_329">329</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Missouri, <a href="#Page_308">308</a><br />
+<br />
+Morgans War Song, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a><br />
+<br />
+Mother! Is the Battle Over?, <a href="#Page_236">236</a><br />
+<br />
+My Heart&#8217;s in Mississippi, <a href="#Page_211">211</a><br />
+<br />
+My Maryland, <a href="#Page_276">276</a><br />
+<br />
+My Noble Warrior Come!, <a href="#Page_226">226</a><br />
+<br />
+My Warrior Boy, <a href="#Page_256">256</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+National Hymn, <a href="#Page_247">247</a><br />
+<br />
+New Red, White and Blue, <a href="#Page_60">60</a><br />
+<br />
+North Carolina&#8217;s War Song, <a href="#Page_80">80</a><br />
+<br />
+No Surrender, <a href="#Page_221">221</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Off with your Gray Suits, Boys!, <a href="#Page_369">369</a><br />
+<br />
+Oh, No! He&#8217;ll not Need Them Again, <a href="#Page_309">309</a><br />
+<br />
+O, Johnny Bull, My Jo, John, <a href="#Page_109">109</a><br />
+<br />
+Old Stonewall, <a href="#Page_338">338</a><br />
+<br />
+Only a Soldier, <a href="#Page_333">333</a><br />
+<br />
+On to Glory, <a href="#Page_199">199</a><br />
+<br />
+Our Braves in Virginia, <a href="#Page_56">56</a><br />
+<br />
+Our Country&#8217;s Call, <a href="#Page_76">76</a><br />
+<br />
+Our Flag; or, the Origin of the Stars and Bars, <a href="#Page_292">292</a><br />
+<br />
+Our Glorious Flag, <a href="#Page_159">159</a><br />
+<br />
+Over the River, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Patriotic Song, <a href="#Page_55">55</a><br />
+<br />
+Polk, <a href="#Page_350">350</a><br />
+<br />
+Pop goes the Weasel, <a href="#Page_27">27</a><br />
+<br />
+Pray, Maiden, Pray, <a href="#Page_284">284</a><br />
+<br />
+Private Maguire, <a href="#Page_250">250</a><br />
+<br />
+Pro Memora, <a href="#Page_353">353</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Rallying Song of the Virginians, <a href="#Page_26">26</a><br />
+<br />
+Reading the List, <a href="#Page_86">86</a><br />
+<br />
+Rebel is a Sacred Name, <a href="#Page_71">71</a><br />
+<br />
+Rebel Toasts; or, Drink it Down, <a href="#Page_279">279</a><br />
+<br />
+Richmond is a Hard Road to Travel, <a href="#Page_268">268</a><br />
+<br />
+Richmond on the James, <a href="#Page_266">266</a><br />
+<br />
+Riding a Raid, <a href="#Page_315">315</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Sabine Pass, <a href="#Page_320">320</a><br />
+<br />
+Short Rations; or The Corn-fed Army, <a href="#Page_322">322</a><br />
+<br />
+Soldier, I Stay to Pray for Thee, <a href="#Page_150">150</a><br />
+<br />
+Song, <a href="#Page_262">262</a><br />
+<br />
+Song for the South, <a href="#Page_103">103</a><br />
+<br />
+Song of Hooker&#8217;s Picket, <a href="#Page_218">218</a><br />
+<br />
+Song of the Exile, <a href="#Page_245">245</a><br />
+<br />
+Song of the Privateer, <a href="#Page_227">227</a><br />
+<br />
+Song of the Snow, <a href="#Page_59">59</a><br />
+<br />
+Song of the South, <a href="#Page_114">114</a><br />
+<br />
+Song of the Southern Soldier, <a href="#Page_104">104</a><br />
+<br />
+Song of the Texas Rangers, <a href="#Page_287">287</a><br />
+<br />
+Southern Battle Song, <a href="#Page_189">189</a><br />
+<br />
+Southern Cross, <a href="#Page_6">6</a><br />
+<br />
+Southern Gathering Song, <a href="#Page_46">46</a><br />
+<br />
+Southern Marseillaise, <a href="#Page_45">45</a><br />
+<br />
+Southern Soldier Boy, <a href="#Page_69">69</a><br />
+<br />
+Southern Song, <a href="#Page_252">252</a><br />
+<br />
+Southern Song of Freedom, <a href="#Page_12">12</a><br />
+<br />
+Southern War Cry, <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br />
+<br />
+Southron&#8217;s War Song, <a href="#Page_51">51</a><br />
+<br />
+Southron&#8217;s Chant of Defiance, the, <a href="#Page_8">8</a><br />
+<br />
+Star of the West, the, <a href="#Page_7">7</a><br />
+<br />
+Stonewall Jackson, <a href="#Page_251">251</a><br />
+<br />
+Stonewall Jackson&#8217;s Way, <a href="#Page_200">200</a><br />
+<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span>Stonewall&#8217;s Requiem, <a href="#Page_328">328</a><br />
+<br />
+Stuart, <a href="#Page_331">331</a><br />
+<br />
+Sweethearts and the War, <a href="#Page_230">230</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+That Bugler, <a href="#Page_22">22</a><br />
+<br />
+The Band in the Pines, <a href="#Page_255">255</a><br />
+<br />
+The Banner Song, <a href="#Page_83">83</a><br />
+<br />
+The Bars and Stars, <a href="#Page_88">88</a><br />
+<br />
+The Battle of Galveston, <a href="#Page_185">185</a><br />
+<br />
+The Battle of Shiloh Hill, <a href="#Page_326">326</a><br />
+<br />
+The Battle Song of the South, <a href="#Page_210">210</a><br />
+<br />
+The Beloved Memory of Major-General Tom Green, <a href="#Page_203">203</a><br />
+<br />
+The Black Flag, <a href="#Page_163">163</a><br />
+<br />
+The Bonnie Blue Flag, <a href="#Page_31">31</a><br />
+<br />
+The Bonnie White Flag, <a href="#Page_341">341</a><br />
+<br />
+The Capture of Seventeen of Company H, 4th Texas Cavalry, <a href="#Page_168">168</a><br />
+<br />
+The Cavalier&#8217;s Glee, <a href="#Page_261">261</a><br />
+<br />
+The Confederate Note, <a href="#Page_370">370</a><br />
+<br />
+The Confederate Oath, <a href="#Page_142">142</a><br />
+<br />
+The Contraband, <a href="#Page_216">216</a><br />
+<br />
+The Conquered Banner, <a href="#Page_373">373</a><br />
+<br />
+The Cotton Burner&#8217;s Song, <a href="#Page_214">214</a><br />
+<br />
+The Countersign, <a href="#Page_133">133</a><br />
+<br />
+The Darlings at Home, <a href="#Page_134">134</a><br />
+<br />
+The Drummer Boy of Shiloh, <a href="#Page_336">336</a><br />
+<br />
+The Dying Soldier Boy, <a href="#Page_106">106</a><br />
+<br />
+The Faded Gray Jacket, <a href="#Page_358">358</a><br />
+<br />
+The Flag of the Southland, <a href="#Page_198">198</a><br />
+<br />
+The Funeral of Albert Sidney Johnston, <a href="#Page_212">212</a><br />
+<br />
+The Gallant Girl that Smote the Dastard Tory, Oh!, <a href="#Page_281">281</a><br />
+<br />
+The Homespun Dress, <a href="#Page_81">81</a><br />
+<br />
+The Horse Marines at Galveston, <a href="#Page_180">180</a><br />
+<br />
+The Hour Before Execution, <a href="#Page_160">160</a><br />
+<br />
+The Man of the Twelfth of May, <a href="#Page_242">242</a><br />
+<br />
+The Mother&#8217;s Farewell, <a href="#Page_28">28</a><br />
+<br />
+The Navasota Volunteers, <a href="#Page_294">294</a><br />
+<br />
+The Officer&#8217;s Funeral, <a href="#Page_289">289</a><br />
+<br />
+The Officers of Dixie, <a href="#Page_301">301</a><br />
+<br />
+The Poor Soldier, <a href="#Page_340">340</a><br />
+<br />
+The Rebel Band, <a href="#Page_258">258</a><br />
+<br />
+The Rebel&#8217;s Dream, <a href="#Page_352">352</a><br />
+<br />
+The Sentinel&#8217;s Dream of Home, <a href="#Page_303">303</a><br />
+<br />
+The Soldier&#8217;s Amen, <a href="#Page_318">318</a><br />
+<br />
+The Soldier&#8217;s Death, <a href="#Page_290">290</a><br />
+<br />
+The Soldier&#8217;s Dream, <a href="#Page_297">297</a><br />
+<br />
+The Soldier&#8217;s Farewell, <a href="#Page_324">324</a><br />
+<br />
+The Soldier&#8217;s Mission, <a href="#Page_149">149</a><br />
+<br />
+The Soldier&#8217;s Suit of Gray, <a href="#Page_285">285</a><br />
+<br />
+The South, <a href="#Page_339">339</a><br />
+<br />
+The Southern Banner, <a href="#Page_108">108</a><br />
+<br />
+The Southern Captive, <a href="#Page_346">346</a><br />
+<br />
+The Southern Flag, <a href="#Page_91">91</a><br />
+<br />
+The Southern Soldier Boy, <a href="#Page_260">260</a><br />
+<br />
+The South for Me, <a href="#Page_123">123</a><br />
+<br />
+The South our Country, <a href="#Page_152">152</a><br />
+<br />
+The Southron&#8217;s Watchword, <a href="#Page_272">272</a><br />
+<br />
+The Stars and the Bars, <a href="#Page_93">93</a><br />
+<br />
+The Sword of Robert Lee, <a href="#Page_367">367</a><br />
+<br />
+The Texan Marseillaise, <a href="#Page_100">100</a><br />
+<br />
+The Toast of Morgan&#8217;s Men, <a href="#Page_317">317</a><br />
+<br />
+The Volunteer, <a href="#Page_85">85</a><br />
+<br />
+The Volunteer; or, It is my Country&#8217;s Call, <a href="#Page_347">347</a><br />
+<br />
+The Young Volunteer, <a href="#Page_73">73</a><br />
+<br />
+There&#8217;s Life in the Old Land yet, <a href="#Page_273">273</a><br />
+<br />
+Three Cheers for our Jack Morgan, <a href="#Page_282">282</a><br />
+<br />
+To the Davis Guard, <a href="#Page_120">120</a><br />
+<br />
+True Heart Southrons, <a href="#Page_317">317</a><br />
+<br />
+True to the Gray, <a href="#Page_363">363</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Vicksburg Song, <a href="#Page_126">126</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+War Song, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a><br />
+<br />
+Wearin&#8217; of the Gray, <a href="#Page_356">356</a><br />
+<br />
+Wearing of the Gray, <a href="#Page_366">366</a><br />
+<br />
+We Conquer or Die, <a href="#Page_263">263</a><br />
+<br />
+We Know That We Were Rebels; or Why Can We Not Be Brothers, <a href="#Page_364">364</a><br />
+<br />
+We Left Him on the Field, <a href="#Page_234">234</a><br />
+<br />
+We&#8217;ll Be Free in Maryland, <a href="#Page_49">49</a><br />
+<br />
+We Swear, <a href="#Page_29">29</a><br />
+<br />
+When the Boys Come Home, <a href="#Page_334">334</a><br />
+<br />
+Would&#8217;st Thou Have me Love Thee, <a href="#Page_20">20</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Yankee Vandals, <a href="#Page_314">314</a><br />
+<br />
+&#8220;Ye Men of Alabama,&#8221;, <a href="#Page_17">17</a><br />
+<br />
+You are Going to the Wars, Willie, Boy!, <a href="#Page_275">275</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+1776-1861, <a href="#Page_19">19</a><br />
+</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span></p>
+<h2><i>INDEX TO AUTHORS.</i></h2>
+
+
+<p class="index">
+Alexander, (Capt.) G. W., <a href="#Page_69">69</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Ball, (Mrs.) C. A., <a href="#Page_358">358</a><br />
+<br />
+Barnes, (Mrs.) Wm., <a href="#Page_194">194</a><br />
+<br />
+Bigney, M. F., <a href="#Page_272">272</a><br />
+<br />
+Blackford, Capt., <a href="#Page_261">261</a><br />
+<br />
+Blackmar, A. E., <a href="#Page_4">4</a><br />
+<br />
+Bowers, E., <a href="#Page_349">349</a><br />
+<br />
+Brown, Reuben E., <a href="#Page_174">174</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Caplen, (Mrs.) L. E., <a href="#Page_185">185</a><br />
+<br />
+Carnes, (Rev.) J. E., <a href="#Page_155">155</a><br />
+<br />
+Cave, (Major) E. W., <a href="#Page_198">198</a><br />
+<br />
+Collins, P. E., <a href="#Page_210">210</a><br />
+<br />
+Cooke, John Esten, <a href="#Page_255">255</a><br />
+<br />
+Cross, (Mrs.) J. T. H., <a href="#Page_24">24</a><br />
+<br />
+Cummins, Alex. A., <a href="#Page_227">227</a><br />
+<br />
+Cunningham, A. B., <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a><br />
+<br />
+Cunningham, (Lieut.) W. P., <a href="#Page_120">120</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Dasher, C. D., <a href="#Page_338">338</a><br />
+<br />
+Duke, (Gen.) Basil, <a href="#Page_110">110</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Emmett, Dan. D., <a href="#Page_153">153</a><br />
+<br />
+Ezzell, S. R., <a href="#Page_191">191</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Falligant, Lieut., <a href="#Page_369">369</a><br />
+<br />
+Falligant, Robert, <a href="#Page_242">242</a><br />
+<br />
+Flash, H. L., <a href="#Page_350">350</a><br />
+<br />
+Fontaine, (Major) Lamar, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_333">333</a><br />
+<br />
+Forshey, (Col.) C. G., <a href="#Page_134">134</a><br />
+<br />
+French, L. Virginia, <a href="#Page_46">46</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Grason, (Miss) Maria, <a href="#Page_41">41</a><br />
+<br />
+Griswold, (Capt.) E., <a href="#Page_247">247</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Haines, James, <a href="#Page_100">100</a><br />
+<br />
+Hawkins (Col.), W. S., <a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_341">341</a><br />
+<br />
+Hayne, Paul H., <a href="#Page_163">163</a><br />
+<br />
+Haynes, W. A., <a href="#Page_88">88</a><br />
+<br />
+Hewitt, John H., <a href="#Page_275">275</a><br />
+<br />
+Hewett, John M., <a href="#Page_73">73</a><br />
+<br />
+Hobby, (Capt.) Edwin, <a href="#Page_203">203</a><br />
+<br />
+Hobby, (Col.) A. M., <a href="#Page_303">303</a><br />
+<br />
+Holtz, R. E., <a href="#Page_49">49</a><br />
+<br />
+Houghton, (Bart.) Sir Henry, <a href="#Page_375">375</a><br />
+<br />
+Houston, (Capt.) Sam, <a href="#Page_346">346</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Jones, (Miss) Maria E., <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Ketchum, Annie C., <a href="#Page_40">40</a><br />
+<br />
+Kercheval, A. W., <a href="#Page_284">284</a><br />
+<br />
+Kidd, E. E., <a href="#Page_300">300</a><br />
+<br />
+Knight, A. G., <a href="#Page_22">22</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Leonard, A. F., <a href="#Page_115">115</a><br />
+<br />
+Leovy, A. F., <a href="#Page_352">352</a><br />
+<br />
+Lorrimer, Laura, <a href="#Page_170">170</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Magruder, (Maj-Gen.) J. B., <a href="#Page_172">172</a><br />
+<br />
+Marshall, Jas. B., <a href="#Page_83">83</a><br />
+<br />
+McCarthy, Harry, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>, <a href="#Page_347">347</a><br />
+<br />
+McKnight, Major (&#8220;Asa Hartz&#8221;), <a href="#Page_42">42</a><br />
+<br />
+Meek, Alex. B., <a href="#Page_20">20</a><br />
+<br />
+Miles, Geo. H., <a href="#Page_1">1</a><br />
+<br />
+Milror, George B., <a href="#Page_187">187</a><br />
+<br />
+Moore, (Miss) Mollie E., <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>, <a href="#Page_311">311</a><br />
+<br />
+Morris, A. E., <a href="#Page_175">175</a><br />
+<br />
+Morse, A. W., <a href="#Page_149">149</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Neeby, Anna Marie, <a href="#Page_266">266</a><br />
+<br />
+Neely, Wm., <a href="#Page_294">294</a><br />
+<br />
+Norfolk, Virginia, <a href="#Page_241">241</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Paine, (Dr.) John W., <a href="#Page_55">55</a><br />
+<br />
+Pender, A., <a href="#Page_74">74</a><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span><br />
+Phelan, John D., <a href="#Page_17">17</a><br />
+<br />
+Pierpont, Jas., <a href="#Page_263">263</a><br />
+<br />
+Pike, Albert, <a href="#Page_238">238</a><br />
+<br />
+Porter, Ina M., <a href="#Page_353">353</a><br />
+<br />
+Prentice, Clarence, <a href="#Page_364">364</a><br />
+<br />
+Preston, (Mrs.) M. J., <a href="#Page_59">59</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Randall, Jas. B., <a href="#Page_273">273</a><br />
+<br />
+Randall, Jas. R., <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a><br />
+<br />
+Raymond, Eugene, <a href="#Page_282">282</a><br />
+<br />
+Rivers, Pearl, <a href="#Page_363">363</a><br />
+<br />
+Ryan, Father, <a href="#Page_260">260</a><br />
+<br />
+Ryan, (Rev.) J. A., <a href="#Page_373">373</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Signaigo, Jo Augustine, <a href="#Page_68">68</a><br />
+<br />
+Sinclair, (Miss) Carrie Bell, <a href="#Page_285">285</a><br />
+<br />
+Smith, Mary E., <a href="#Page_182">182</a><br />
+<br />
+Smith, M. B., <a href="#Page_196">196</a>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a><br />
+<br />
+Strawbridge, H. H., <a href="#Page_48">48</a><br />
+<br />
+Sulzner, Fr., <a href="#Page_297">297</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Tally, Susan A., <a href="#Page_26">26</a><br />
+<br />
+Thompson, E. M., <a href="#Page_152">152</a><br />
+<br />
+Thompson, Jeff., <a href="#Page_60">60</a><br />
+<br />
+Thorpe, (Capt.), <a href="#Page_317">317</a><br />
+<br />
+Thovington, J. S., <a href="#Page_150">150</a><br />
+<br />
+Ticknor, (Dr.) Francis O., <a href="#Page_329">329</a><br />
+<br />
+Townsend, Dan. E., <a href="#Page_30">30</a><br />
+<br />
+Tucker, St. Geo., <a href="#Page_6">6</a><br />
+<br />
+Turner, (Miss) J., <a href="#Page_370">370</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Upshur, Mary J., <a href="#Page_52">52</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Vose, (Mrs.) Henry J., <a href="#Page_331">331</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Waginer, J. A., <a href="#Page_41">41</a><br />
+<br />
+Wailes, (Capt.) E. Lloyd, <a href="#Page_94">94</a><br />
+<br />
+Walther, H., <a href="#Page_76">76</a><br />
+<br />
+Warfield, C. A., <a href="#Page_8">8</a><br />
+<br />
+Washington, (Col.) Hamilton, <a href="#Page_141">141</a><br />
+<br />
+Wilson, Mary L., <a href="#Page_178">178</a><br />
+<br />
+Woodcock, J. H., <a href="#Page_122">122</a><br />
+<br />
+Wright, (Capt.) J. W. A., <a href="#Page_126">126</a><br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Young, (Mrs.) J. D., <a href="#Page_287">287</a><br />
+<br />
+Young, (Mrs.) M. J., <a href="#Page_320">320</a><br />
+</p>
+
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span></p>
+<h2>INDEX TO FIRST LINES.</h2>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="right"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr>
+<tr><td>A farmer came to camp, one day, with milk and eggs to sell</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_319">319</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>A flash from the edge of a hostile trench</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_350">350</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Aha! a song for the trumpet&#8217;s tongue</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Alas! the rolling hours pass slow</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>A life on the Vicksburg bluff</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>All quiet along the Potomac to-night</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>A nation has sprung into life</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Arise! Arise! with main and might</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Arise! Ye sons of freeborn sires, arise! your country save</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_175">175</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>As a couple of good soldiers were walking one day</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_318">318</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>A soldier boy from Texas lay gasping on the field</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_266">266</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>At Bull Run, when the sun was low</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>A warrior has fallen! a chieftain has gone</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_194">194</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Away down South in de fields of cotton</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Bob Roebuck is my sweetheart&#8217;s name</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Bravely ye&#8217;ve fought, my gallant, gallant men</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>By blue Patapsco&#8217;s billowy dash</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_273">273</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>By the cross upon our banner&mdash;glory of our Southern sky</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Can&#8217;st tell who lose the battle oft in the council field</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Cheer, boys, cheer! we&#8217;ll march away to battle</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_244">244</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Childhood&#8217;s days have long since faded</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_306">306</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Come, all ye sons of freedom</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_252">252</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Come all ye temper&#8217;d hearts of steel&mdash;come, quit your flocks and farms</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Come, all ye valiant soldiers, and a story I will tell</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_326">326</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Come, brothers! rally for the right</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Come! come! come</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Come, stack arms, men! pile on the rails</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_200">200</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Countrymen of Washington</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Darkies, has you seed my massa</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Dear mother, I remember well</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_349">349</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Do they miss me in the trenches, do they miss me</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Down by the valley, &#8217;mid thunder and lightning</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_228">228</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Ever constant, ever true</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Fair ladies and maids of all ages</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_322">322</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Fearlessly the seas we roam</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Fighting for our rights now, feasting when they&#8217;re won</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Flag of the Southland! Flag of the free</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span>Fold away all your bright tinted dresses</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Fold it up carefully, lay it aside</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_358">358</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Forth from its scabbard pure and bright</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_367">367</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>For sixty days and upward a storm of shell and shot</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_343">343</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>For trumpet and drum, leave the soft voice of maiden</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_317">317</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>From Houston City and Brazos bottom</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Furl that banner, for &#8217;tis weary</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_373">373</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Gallant nation, foiled by numbers</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_375">375</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>God bless our Southern land</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>God save the South</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Halt! the march is over</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Hark! the clock strikes! All, all that now remains</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Hark! the tocsin is sounding, my comrades</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_324">324</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Hark! &#8217;tis the shrill trumpet calling</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_289">289</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Haste thee, falter not, noble patriot band</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Have you counted up the cost</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_240">240</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Hear the summons, sons of Texas</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_178">178</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Hear ye not the sound of battle</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>He fell and they cried, bring us home our dead!</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Ho, gallants, brim the beaker bowl</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_281">281</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Hurrah! for the Southern confederate State</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Hurrah for the South, the glorious South! the land of song and story</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Huzza! huzza! let&#8217;s raise the battle-cry</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>I am dreaming of thee</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_297">297</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>I cannot listen to your words, the land is long and wide</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_363">363</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>I come from old Manassas, with a pocket full of fun</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>If ever I consent to be married</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>I leave my home, and thee, dear, with sorrow at my heart</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_347">347</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>I&#8217;ll sing you a song of the South&#8217;s sunny clime</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>I&#8217;m a soldier, you see, that oppression has made</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>I&#8217;m gwine back to de land of cotton</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>I&#8217;m &#8217;nation tired of being hired</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>In the land of the orange groves, sunshine and flowers</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_203">203</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>I remember the hour when sadly we parted</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_291">291</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>&#8220;Is there any news of the war?&#8221; she said</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>It vos in Ni Orleans City</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>It was on a New Year&#8217;s morn so soon</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>I&#8217;ve seen some handsome uniforms deck&#8217;d off with buttons bright</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_285">285</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>I wish I was in de land o&#8217; cotton</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>I wish I was in de land ob cotton</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Just listen awhile, and give ear to my song</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>King Abraham is very sick</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Kneel, ye Southrons, kneel and swear</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Knitting for the soldiers</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Lady, I go to fight for thee</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Land of our birth, thee, thee I sing</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Land of the South! the fairest land</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span>Let me whisper in your ear, sir</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_301">301</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Like the roar of the wintry surges on a wild tempestuous strand</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Little do rich people know</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_340">340</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Lo! the Southland queen emerging</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_353">353</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Lo! when Mississippi rolls</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_214">214</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Maiden, pray for thy lover now</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_284">284</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>March, march on, brave &#8220;Palmetto&#8221; boys</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>&#8217;Mid her ruins proudly stands</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Missouri is the pride of the Nation</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Missouri! Missouri! bright land of the West</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_308">308</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Mother! is the battle over? thousands have been killed, they say</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_236">236</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>My heart in its sadness turns fondly to thee</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_339">339</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>My heart is in Mississippi</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_211">211</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>My love reposes on a rosewood frame</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Now let the thrilling anthem rise</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Now rouse ye, gallant comrades all</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>O band in the pinewood cease!</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_255">255</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>&#8220;Och, its nate to be captain or colonel&#8221;</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_250">250</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Of all the mighty nations in the East or in the West</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Off with gray suits, boys!</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_369">369</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Oh, dear its shameful, I declare</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_230">230</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Oh! Dixie, the land of King Cotton</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Oh, don&#8217;t you remember old Stonewall, my boys</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_338">338</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Oh! Freedom is a blessed thing</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Oh, gone is the soul from his wondrous dark eye</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_300">300</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Oh! here I am in the land of cotton</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_245">245</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Oh! here&#8217;s to South Carolina! drink it down</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_279">279</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Oh! Johnny, dear, and did you hear the news that&#8217;s lately spread</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_356">356</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Oh! mother of States and of men</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_331">331</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Oh no! no! he&#8217;ll not need them again</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_309">309</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Oh! say can you see through the gloom and the storms</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_6">6</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Oh! the tocsin of war still resounds o&#8217;er the land</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Oh! yes, I am a Southern girl</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>O, Johnny Bull, my Jo, John! I wonder what you mean</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>O, I&#8217;m a good old rebel</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_360">360</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>O, I&#8217;m thinking of the soldier as the evening shadows fall</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Old Eve she did the apple eat</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_258">258</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>On a bright May morn in &#8217;Sixty-three</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_345">345</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>&#8220;Only a soldier!&#8221; I heard them say</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_333">333</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>On Shiloh&#8217;s dark and bloody ground the dead and wounded lay</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_336">336</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>O, tell me not that earth is fair, that spring is in its bloom</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_226">226</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>O, the South is the queen of all nations</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Our cannons&#8217; mouths are dumb. No more our volleyed muskets peal</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_366">366</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Our country, our country, oh, where may we find</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Our flag is unfurl&#8217;d and our arms flash bright</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Out of the focal and foremost fire</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_329">329</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Over the river there are fierce stern meetings</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_249">249</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span>Over vale and over mountain</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Pillow his head on his flashing sword</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_311">311</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Raise the Southern flag on high!</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Raise the thrilling cry, to arms!</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Rally round our country&#8217;s flag!</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Rebel is a sacred name</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Representing nothing on God&#8217;s earth now</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_370">370</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Rise, rise, mountain and valley men</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Sabine Pass! in letters of gold</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_320">320</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Sing ho! for the Southerner&#8217;s meteor flag</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Sitting by the roadside on a Summer day</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Softly comes the twilight stealing gently through my prison bars</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_346">346</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Softly in dreams of repose</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_352">352</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Soldiers! raise your banner proudly</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Sons of freedom, on to glory</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Sons of the South arise</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_264">264</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Sons of the South, arouse to battle</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Sons of the South awake to glory</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_4">4</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Sons of the South, beware the foe</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Sons of the South! from hill and dale</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Southern men, unsheathe the sword</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Southrons, hear your country call you</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_238">238</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>States of the South! confederate land</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Stitch, stitch, stitch</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_222">222</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>The boys are coming home again</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_335">335</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>The boys down South in Dixie&#8217;s Land</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>The despot&#8217;s heel is on thy shore</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_276">276</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>The foe! the foe! They come! they come!</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>The hour was sad I left the maid</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>The morning star is paling, the camp-fires flicker low</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_287">287</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>The muffled drum is beating</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_328">328</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>The night-cloud had lowered o&#8217;er Shiloh&#8217;s red plain</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_290">290</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Northern abolition vandals</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_314">314</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>The sentinel treads his martial round</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>The shades of night were falling fast</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>The snow is in the cloud, and night is gathering o&#8217;er us</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_282">282</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>The South for me! The sunny clime</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>The sun sinking o&#8217;er the battle plain</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_187">187</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>The tyrant&#8217;s broad pennant is floating</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>The war drum is beating, prepare for the fight</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_263">263</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Yankees hate the Lone Star State, because she did secede</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>There he stood, the grand old hero, great Virginia&#8217;s god-like son</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_224">224</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>There is freedom on each fold, and each star is freedom&#8217;s throne</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Though we&#8217;re a band of prisoners</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_341">341</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Thou hast gone forth, my darling one</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_256">256</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Three cheers for the Southern flag</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>&#8217;Tis dead of night, nor voice, nor sound, breaks on the stillness of the air</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_303">303</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span>&#8217;Tis old Stonewall, the rebel, that leans on his sword</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_315">315</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>To arms! oh! men in all our Southern clime</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>&#8217;Twas a terrible moment</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>&#8217;Twas early in the morning of eighteen sixty-three</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_168">168</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>&#8217;Twas midnight when we built our fires</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>&#8217;Twas on that dark and fearful morn</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Unclaimed by the land that bore us</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_317">317</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Unmoved in the battle</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_251">251</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Upon Manassas&#8217; bloody plain a soldier boy lay dying</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Up, up with the banner, the foe is before us</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Wake! dearest, wake! &#8217;tis thy lover who calls, Imogen</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>We all went down to New Orleans</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>We are a band of brothers, and native to the soil</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Weep, Louisiana, weep! thy gallant dead</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>We have ridden from the brave southwest</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>We leave our pleasant homesteads</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>We left him on the crimson&#8217;d field</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_234">234</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Well, we can whip them now I guess</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>We&#8217;re the boys so gay and happy</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>We&#8217;re the Navasota volunteers, our county is named Grimes</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_294">294</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>What shall the Southron&#8217;s watchword be</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_272">272</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>When clouds of oppression o&#8217;ershaded</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>When history tells her story</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_242">242</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>While crimson drops our hearth-stones stain</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Whoop! the Doodles have broken loose</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Why can we not be brothers? the battle now is o&#8217;er</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_364">364</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Would&#8217;st thou have me love thee, dearest</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Would you like to hear my song, I&#8217;m afraid it&#8217;s rather long</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_268">268</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Yankee Doodle had a mind</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Ye men of Alabama</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Ye men of Southern hearts and feeling</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Ye sons of Carolina! awake from your dreaming</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_237">237</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Ye sons of the South, take your weapons in hand</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>You are going to leave me, darling</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>You are going to the wars, Willie boy, Willie boy</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_275">275</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>You can never win us back</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_8">8</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>You know the Federal General Banks</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Young as the youngest who donned the gray</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_260">260</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Young Florida sends forth her clan&mdash;the old Dominion&#8217;s brave</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>Young stranger, what land claims thy birth</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_292">292</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>You shudder as you think upon th&#8217; carnage of the grim report</td>
+    <td align="right"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr></table>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p><p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr style="width: 50%;" />
+<p><strong>Footnotes:</strong></p>
+
+<p><a name='f_1' id='f_1' href='#fna_1'>[1]</a> This was the first song published in the South during the war.</p>
+
+<p><a name='f_2' id='f_2' href='#fna_2'>[2]</a> The Rebel ram.</p>
+
+<p><a name='f_3' id='f_3' href='#fna_3'>[3]</a> A writer, describing the siege of Vicksburg, gives the following:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;The meal issued to the army was very coarse, and there were no
+sieves, and the beef, as a general thing, was hardly fit to feed to a
+dog. Some herds of Texas steers were corraled near the town, lean,
+gaunt, long-horned, repulsive looking creatures, and every morning the
+weakest of the herd were slaughtered for the day&#8217;s rations. In the
+Twentieth Alabama, each day a company of men could be seen having in
+their hands long ox-horns, upon which they occasionally blew a
+mournful blast, as with solemn steps and slow, they bore to a suitable
+burial place the beef issued to them for that day. Arrived at the spot
+a hole was dug, the meat was dumped into it, a mound was heaped over
+it, a funeral oration was said, the ox-horns once more sounded the
+dolorous requiem, and then the mourners returned to camp, their heads
+bowed down with grief and sorrow. Upon inquiring what this woeful
+pageant meant, I was informed that the men were simply engaged in &#8220;the
+burial of <i>Old Logan</i>.&#8221;</p></div>
+
+
+<p><a name='f_4' id='f_4' href='#fna_4'>[4]</a> Colonel J. J. Archer.</p>
+
+<p><a name='f_5' id='f_5' href='#fna_5'>[5]</a> This thrilling song was circulated <i>sub rosa</i> in New Orleans, and at
+times almost openly. Its bold and defiant tone shows it to have been
+written by one who must have suffered greatly at the hands of Butler.</p>
+
+<p><a name='f_6' id='f_6' href='#fna_6'>[6]</a> The Cotton Supply Association, of Manchester, England.</p>
+
+<p><a name='f_7' id='f_7' href='#fna_7'>[7]</a> A touching incident occurred in Montgomery at the beginning of the
+war. A soldier met a lovely and refined lady in the street, and feeling
+that in such times we are all sisters and brothers, and wishing to do
+homage to such beauty, he touched his hat and said: &#8220;Lady, I&#8217;m going to
+fight for you.&#8221; &#8220;Sir,&#8221; she instantly replied, &#8220;I am going to pray for
+you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><a name='f_8' id='f_8' href='#fna_8'>[8]</a> Constitutional Liberty against Oppression&mdash;a &#8220;Cause&#8221; decided many
+times in the Old World, yet to be taught in the New.</p>
+
+<p><a name='f_9' id='f_9' href='#fna_9'>[9]</a> The Memphis <i>Appeal</i> published the following:&mdash;&#8220;On yesterday all the
+cotton in Memphis was burned. Probably not less than 300,000 bales have
+been burned in the last three days in West Tennessee and North
+Mississippi.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><a name='f_10' id='f_10' href='#fna_10'>[10]</a> Capt. Riley commanded a battery composed of Irishmen from North
+Carolina, and was nearly always attached to Hood&#8217;s Brigade. The &#8220;swarthy
+old hounds&#8221; refer to his Napoleon guns.</p>
+
+<p><a name='f_11' id='f_11' href='#fna_11'>[11]</a> In commemoration of Gen. J. B. Gordon&#8217;s charge against Hancock&#8217;s
+corps at Spotsylvania Court House, May 12, 1864.</p>
+
+<p><a name='f_12' id='f_12' href='#fna_12'>[12]</a> Fremont, &#8220;the path-finder.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><a name='f_13' id='f_13' href='#fna_13'>[13]</a> Battle of Cedar Run.</p>
+
+<p><a name='f_14' id='f_14' href='#fna_14'>[14]</a> Sung by Harry McCarthy, in his &#8220;Personation Concerts,&#8221; in all the
+principal towns of the Confederacy.</p>
+
+<p><a name='f_15' id='f_15' href='#fna_15'>[15]</a> On the morning of the battle of Franklin, Tennessee, Major General
+Patrick Cleburne, while riding along the line, encouraging his men, saw an
+old friend&mdash;a captain in his command&mdash;barefooted, and feet bleeding.
+Alighting from his horse he told the Captain to &#8220;please&#8221; pull off his
+boots. Upon the Captain doing so, the General told him to try them on,
+which he did. Whereupon the General mounted his horse, telling the Captain
+he was tired of wearing boots, and could well do without them. He would
+hear of no remonstrance, and bidding the Captain good-by, rode away. In
+this condition he was killed.</p>
+
+<p><a name='f_16' id='f_16' href='#fna_16'>[16]</a> Brave to a fault, he was cut down in his early youth, and fell a
+willing sacrifice at the altar of his country. Among his last words he
+said, &#8220;I fell beside my gun.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><a name='f_17' id='f_17' href='#fna_17'>[17]</a> The chorus is sung to the second part of the air, excepting after the
+fifth and sixth verses.</p>
+
+<p><a name='f_18' id='f_18' href='#fna_18'>[18]</a> Several weeks after the commencement of the terrific bombardment,
+ladies were seen coolly walking the streets, and children in many parts of
+the city engaged, as ever, in their playing, only stopping their sport for
+the moment to gaze and listen at the bursting shells.</p>
+
+<p><a name='f_19' id='f_19' href='#fna_19'>[19]</a> The above lines were found written upon the back of a five-hundred
+dollar Confederate note, subsequent to the surrender.</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Southern War Songs, by Various
+
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+</body>
+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Southern War Songs, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Southern War Songs
+       Camp-Fire, Patriotic and Sentimental
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: September 26, 2011 [EBook #37538]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUTHERN WAR SONGS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
+generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
+Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+SOUTHERN WAR SONGS
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: THE SOUTHERN CROSS BATTLE FLAG DESIGNED BY GEN. JOSEPH E.
+JOHNSTON.
+
+THE STARS AND BARS.
+
+FLAG ADOPTED BY THE CONFEDERATE CONGRESS IN 1863.
+
+BATTLE FLAG ADOPTED BY THE CONFEDERATE CONGRESS IN 1863.]
+
+
+
+
+  SOUTHERN WAR SONGS.
+
+  Camp-Fire, PATRIOTIC and Sentimental.
+
+
+  COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY W. L. FAGAN
+
+
+  _ILLUSTRATED._
+
+
+  New York
+  M. T. RICHARDSON & CO.
+  1890.
+
+
+
+
+  COPYRIGHTED BY
+  M. T. RICHARDSON.
+  1889.
+
+
+
+
+_PREFACE._
+
+
+_The war songs of the South are a part of the history of the Lost Cause.
+They are necessary to the impartial historian in forming a correct
+estimate of the animus of the Southern people._
+
+_Emotional literature is always a correct exponent of public sentiment,
+and these songs index the passionate sincerity of the South at the time
+they were written._
+
+_Poetic merit is not claimed for all of them; still each one embodies
+either a fact or a principle. Written in an era of war, when the public
+mind was thoroughly aroused, some may now appear harsh and vindictive.
+Eight millions of people read and sang them. This fact alone warrants
+their collection and preservation._
+
+_A greater number of the songs have been gathered from Southern
+newspapers. The task has been laborious, but still a labor of love, as no
+work of this kind has before been offered to the public._
+
+_Thanks are due Mr. Henri Wehrman, of New Orleans, for permission to use
+valuable copyrights, also to the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston; A. E.
+Blackmar, New Orleans; and J. C. Schreiner, Savannah, Ga. Mr. G. N.
+Galloway, Philadelphia, has given material assistance._
+
+_The work is not complete, still the compiler claims for it the largest
+and only collection of Confederate songs published._
+
+_W. L. FAGAN._
+
+_Havana, Ala., December 1, 1889._
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF ENGRAVINGS.
+
+
+                                                                  _Page_
+
+  "_A flash from the edge of a hostile trench_,"                     351
+
+  "_And his life-blood is ebbing and splashing_,"                     64
+
+  "_Arise to thy lattice, the moon is asleep_,"                      173
+
+  "_Come back to me, my darling son, and light my life again_,"      257
+
+  _Confederate note_,                                                371
+
+  "_Farewell to earth and all its beauteous bloom_,"                 161
+
+  "_For I know there is no other e'er can be so dear to me_,"        297
+
+  _General J. E. B. Stuart_,                                         331
+
+  _General Lee_,                                                      97
+
+  "_He faintly smiled and waved his hand_,"                          235
+
+  "_He's in the saddle now_,"                                        201
+
+  "_* * * How mellow the light showers down on that brow_,"          117
+
+  "_I am thinking of the soldier as the evening shadows fall_,"      183
+
+  "_I'm a good old rebel_,"                                          361
+
+  "_I marched up midout fear_,"                                       11
+
+  "_Jack Morgan_,"                                                   282
+
+  "_Knitting for the soldiers! matron--merry maid_,"                  54
+
+  "_Knitting for the soldiers! wrinkled--aged crone_,"                53
+
+  "_Lady, I go to fight for thee_,"                                  151
+
+  "_Lying in the shadow, underneath the trees_,"                      75
+
+  "_Massa_,"                                                         216
+
+  "_Massa run, aha_,"                                                217
+
+  "_My right arm bared for fiercer play_,"                           139
+
+  "_No matter should it rain or snow, That bugler is bound
+  to blow_,"                                                          23
+
+  "_Only a list of the wounded and dead_,"                            87
+
+  "_So we'll bury 'old Logan' to-night_,"                            127
+
+  "_The Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star_,"                  32
+
+  "_The hero boy lay dying_,"                                        107
+
+  "_Then gallop by ravine and rocks_,"                               316
+
+  "_There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread_,"              63
+
+  "_Though fifteen summers scarce have shed their blossoms on
+  thy brow_,"                                                        256
+
+  "_Three acres I_,"                                                  43
+
+  "_Thy steed is impatient his mistress to bear_,"                   172
+
+  "_We'll one day meet again_,"                                       44
+
+  "_When the stars are softly smiling * * * Then I think of
+  thee and Heaven_,"                                                 299
+
+
+
+
+SOUTHERN WAR SONGS.
+
+
+
+
+GOD SAVE THE SOUTH.[1]
+
+_National Hymn._
+
+Words by GEORGE H. MILES; Music by C. W. A. ELLERBROCK; Permission of A.
+E. BLACKMAR.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass, owner of the copyright.]
+
+
+  God save the South,
+  God save the South,
+    Her altars and firesides,
+  God save the South,
+  Now that the war is nigh,
+  Chanting our battle-cry
+    Freedom or death.
+
+  CHORUS--Now that the war is nigh,
+          Now that we arm to die,
+          Chanting the battle cry,
+            Freedom or death.
+
+  God be our shield,
+  At home or afield,
+  Stretch thine arm over us,
+    Strengthen and save.
+  What tho' they're three to one,
+  Forward each sire and son,
+  Strike till the war is won,
+    Strike to the grave.
+                              CHORUS.
+
+  God made the right,
+  Stronger than _might_,
+  Millions would trample us
+    Down in their pride.
+  Lay _Thou_ their legions low,
+  Roll back the ruthless foe,
+  Let the proud spoiler know
+    God's on our side.
+                              CHORUS.
+
+  Hark honor's call,
+  Summoning all,
+  Summoning all of us
+    Unto the strife.
+  Sons of the South awake!
+  Strike till the brand shall break,
+  Strike for dear Honor's sake,
+    Freedom and Life.
+                              CHORUS.
+
+  _Rebels_ before,
+  Our fathers of yore,
+  _Rebels_ the righteous name
+    _Washington_ bore.
+  Why, then be our's the same,
+  The name that he snatch'd from shame,
+  Making it first in fame,
+    Foremost in war.
+                              CHORUS.
+
+  War to the hilt,
+  Their's be the guilt,
+  Who fetter the freeman,
+    To ransom the slave.
+  Up, then, and undismayed,
+  Sheathe not the battle blade
+  Till the last foe is laid
+    Low in the grave!
+                              CHORUS.
+
+  God save the South,
+  God save the South,
+  Dry the dim eyes that now
+    Follow our path.
+  Still let the light feet rove
+  Safe through the orange grove;
+  Still keep the land we love
+    Safe from _Thy_ wrath.
+                              CHORUS.
+
+  God save the South,
+  God save the South,
+  Her altars and firesides,
+  God save the South!
+    For the great war is nigh,
+  And we will win or die,
+  Chanting our battle cry,
+    Freedom or death.
+                              CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+"ALLONS ENFANS."
+
+_The Southern Marseillaise._
+
+By A. E. BLACKMAR, New Orleans, 1861.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  Sons of the South awake to glory,
+    A thousand voices bid you rise,
+  Your children, wives and grandsires hoary,
+    Gaze on you now with trusting eyes,
+    Gaze on you now with trusting eyes;
+  Your country ev'ry strong arm calling,
+    To meet the hireling Northern band
+    That comes to desolate the land
+  With fire and blood and scenes appalling,
+    To arms, to arms, ye brave;
+    Th' avenging sword unsheath!
+
+  March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death.
+  March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death.
+
+  Now, now, the dang'rous storm is rolling,
+    Which treacherous brothers madly raise,
+  The dogs of war let loose, are howling
+    And soon our peaceful towns may blaze,
+    And soon our peaceful towns may blaze.
+  Shall fiends who basely plot our ruin,
+    Unchecked, advance with guilty stride
+    To spread destruction far and wide,
+  With Southrons' blood their hands embruing?
+    To arms, to arms, ye brave!
+    Th' avenging sword unsheath!
+
+  March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death,
+  March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death.
+
+  With needy, starving mobs surrounded,
+    The jealous, blind fanatics dare
+  To offer, in their zeal unbounded,
+    Our happy slaves their tender care,
+    Our happy slaves their tender care.
+  The South, though deepest wrongs bewailing,
+    Long yielded all to Union name;
+    But _Independence_ now we claim,
+  And all their threats are unavailing.
+    To arms, to arms, ye brave!
+    Th' avenging sword unsheath!
+
+  March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death,
+  March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death.
+
+This may be called the rallying song of the Confederacy. Composed early in
+1861, it was sung throughout the South while the soldiers were hurried to
+Virginia with this, the grandest of martial airs, as a benediction.
+
+
+
+
+"THE SOUTHERN CROSS."
+
+By ST. GEO. TUCKER, of Virginia.
+
+Published in 1860, a few months before the author's death.
+
+
+  Oh! say can you see, through the gloom and the storms,
+    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 the beacon afar,
+  Giving promise of peace, or assurance in war!
+
+  CHORUS--'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 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 boldly appeal to each heart that can feel,
+  And crush the foul viper 'neath Liberty's heel!
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  'Tis the emblem of peace, 'tis the day-star of hope,
+    Like the sacred _Labarum_ that guided the Roman;
+  From the shores of the Gulf to the Delaware's slope,
+    'Tis the trust of the free and the terror of foeman.
+  Fling its folds to the air, while we boldly declare
+  The rights we demand or the deeds that we dare!
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  And if peace should be hopeless and justice denied,
+    And war's bloody vulture should flap its 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!
+
+  CHORUS--And the Cross of the South shall triumphantly wave
+          As the flag of the free or the pall of the brave.
+
+
+
+
+THE STAR OF THE WEST.
+
+_Charleston Mercury._
+
+"_Dixie._"
+
+
+  I wish I was in de land o' cotton,
+  Old times dair ain't not forgotten--
+          Look away, etc.
+  In Dixie land whar I was born in,
+  Early on one frosty mornin'--
+          Look away, etc.
+
+  CHORUS--Den I wish I was in Dixie.
+
+  In Dixie land dat frosty mornin',
+  Jis 'bout de time de day was dawnin'--
+          Look away, etc.
+  De signal fire from de East bin roarin',
+  Rouse up, Dixie, no more snorin'--
+          Look away, etc.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Dat rocket high a-blazing in de sky,
+  'Tis de sign dat de snobbies am comin' up nigh--
+          Look away, etc.
+  Dey bin braggin' long, if we dare to shoot a shot,
+  Dey comin' up strong and dey'll send us all to pot,
+    Fire away, fire away, lads in gray.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTHRON'S CHANT OF DEFIANCE.
+
+By C. A. WARFIELD, Kentucky.
+
+Music by A. E. BLACKMAR.
+
+
+  You can never win us back
+      Never! never!
+  Though we perish on the track
+      Of your endeavor;
+  Though our corses strew the earth,
+  That smiled upon their birth,
+  And blood pollutes each hearth
+      Stone forever!
+
+  We have risen to a man,
+      Stern and fearless;
+  Of your curses and your ban
+      We are careless.
+  Every hand is on its knife,
+  Every gun is pruned for strife,
+  Every _palm_ contains a life,
+      High and peerless!
+
+  You have no such blood as ours
+      For the shedding:
+  In the veins of cavaliers
+      Was its heading!
+  You have no such stately men
+  In your "abolition den,"
+  To march through foe and fen,
+      Nothing dreading!
+
+  We may fall before the fire
+      Of your legions,
+  Paid with gold for murderous hire--
+      Bought allegiance;
+  But for every drop you shed,
+  You shall have a mound of dead,
+  And the vultures shall be fed
+      In your regions.
+
+  But the battle to the strong
+      Is not given,
+  While the judge of right and wrong
+      Sits in Heaven!
+  And the God of David still
+  Guides the pebble with his will.
+  There are giants yet to kill--
+      Wrongs unshriven.
+
+
+
+
+THE DUTCH VOLUNTEER.
+
+As sung by HARRY MACARTHY in his Personation Concerts, 1862.
+
+
+  It vas in Ni Orleans city,
+    I first heard der drums und fife,
+  Und I vas so full mit lager,
+    Dot I care nix for my life.
+
+  Mit a schicken tail stuck in mine hat,
+    I marched up midout fear,
+  Und joined der Southern Army,
+    Like a Dutche--a volunteer.
+
+  Ven ve vent apoard der steampote,
+    Ve told um all good-by,
+  Ter vimins wafed der handkerchief,
+    Und I pegun to gry.
+
+  Vhen we got to vere de var vas,
+    Dey stood us in a row,
+  Und learned us ven dey hollered out,
+    Vich vay ve have to go.
+
+  Dey loads our guns mit noding,
+    Und learn to shoot um right,
+  Und charge upon der Yankee,
+    Ven no Yankee vas in sight.
+
+  My name is Yacob Schneider,
+    Und I yust come here to-night
+  From Hood's Army up in Georgia,
+    Ver all de times dey fight.
+
+[Illustration: "I marched up midout fear."]
+
+  But, ven I see der Yankee coming,
+    _So mad it makes me feel_,
+  Dot I jumped apoard der steamer cars,
+    Und come down to Mopeel.
+
+  Now, all young folks vot goes out dere,
+    To fight your country's foes,
+  Take my adfice, brepare yourself
+    Pefore out dere you goes.
+
+  Take a couble parrels of sauer-kraut,
+    Und lots of schweitzer kase,
+  Also, some perloona sausage,
+    Und everyting else you please.
+
+  Und ven der pattle commence,
+    Kill all der Yankees you can,
+  Und schump perhind some pig oak-tree,
+    For dot ish der officer's blan.
+
+  Ven der pattle gits vide open,
+    Und dem palls dey comes so tick,
+  Oh! you tink you must go somewhere,
+    _Pecause you vas so sick_.
+
+  Yust lower your knapsack down yer back,
+    Und cover up your rear,
+  Den you von't get vounded,
+    Like dis Dutcher Volunteer.
+
+
+
+
+SOUTHERN SONG OF FREEDOM.
+
+_Air--"The Minstrel's Return."_
+
+
+  A nation has sprung into life
+    Beneath the bright Cross of the South;
+  And now a loud call to the strife
+    Rings out from the shrill bugle's mouth.
+  They gather from morass and mountain,
+    They gather from prairie and mart,
+  To drink, at young Liberty's fountain,
+    The Nectar that kindles the heart.
+
+  CHORUS--Then, hail to the land of the pine!
+            The home of the noble and free;
+          A palmetto wreath we'll entwine
+            Round the altar of young Liberty!
+
+  Our flag, with its cluster of stars,
+    Firm fixed in a field of pure blue,
+  All shining through red and white bars,
+    Now gallantly flutters in view.
+  The stalwart and brave round it rally,
+    They press to their lips every fold,
+  While the hymn swells from hill and from valley,
+    "Be God with our Volunteers bold."
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  Th' invaders rush down from the North,
+    Our borders are black with their hordes;
+  Like wolves for their victims they flock,
+    While whetting their knives and their swords.
+  Their watchword is "Booty and Beauty,"
+    Their aim is to steal as they go;
+  But, Southrons, act up to your duty,
+    And lay the foul miscreants low.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  The God of our fathers looks down
+    And blesses the cause of the just;
+  His smile will the patriot crown
+    Who tramples his chains in the dust.
+  March, March, Southrons! Shoulder to shoulder,
+    One heart-throb, one shout for the cause;
+  Remember--the world's a beholder,
+    And your bayonets are fixed at your doors!
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+J. J. H.
+
+
+
+
+"CALL ALL! CALL ALL!"
+
+By "GEORGIA."
+
+
+  Whoop! the Doodles have broken loose,
+  Roaring round like the very deuce;
+  Lice of Egypt, a hungry pack,--
+  After 'em, boys, and drive 'em back.
+
+  Bull dog, terrier, cur, and fice,
+  Back to the beggarly land of ice,
+  Worry 'em, bite 'em, scratch and tear
+  Everybody and everywhere.
+
+  Old Kentucky is caved from under,
+  Tennessee is split asunder,
+  Alabama awaits attack,
+  And Georgia bristles up her back.
+
+  Old John Brown is dead and gone!
+  Still his spirit is marching on,--
+  Lantern-jawed, and legs, my boys,
+  Long as an ape's from Illinois.
+
+  Want a weapon? Gather a brick,
+  Club or cudgel, or stone or stick;
+  Anything with a blade or butt,
+  Anything that can cleave or cut.
+
+  Anything heavy, or hard, or keen!
+  Any sort of a slaying machine!
+  Anything with a willing mind,
+  And the steady arm of a man behind.
+
+  Want a weapon? Why, capture one!
+  Every Doodle has got a gun,
+  Belt, and bayonet, bright and new;
+  Kill a Doodle, and capture _two_!
+
+  Shoulder to shoulder, son and sire!
+  All, call! all to the feast of fire!
+  Mother and maiden, and child and slave,
+  A common triumph or a single grave.
+
+_Rockingham (Va.) Register._
+
+
+
+
+ANOTHER YANKEE DOODLE.
+
+
+  Yankee Doodle had a mind
+    To whip the Southern traitors,
+  Because they didn't choose to live
+    On codfish and potatoes,
+      Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
+      Yankee Doodle dandy,
+        And to keep his courage up
+      He took a drink of brandy.
+
+  Yankee Doodle said he found
+    By all the census figures,
+  That he could starve the rebels out,
+    If he could steal their niggers.
+      Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
+      Yankee Doodle dandy,
+        And then he took another drink
+      Of gunpowder and brandy.
+
+  Yankee Doodle made a speech;
+    'Twas very full of feeling;
+  "I fear," says he, "I cannot fight,
+    But I am good at stealing."
+      Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
+      Yankee Doodle dandy,
+        Hurrah for Lincoln, he's the boy
+      To take a drop of brandy.
+
+  Yankee Doodle drew his sword,
+    And practised all the passes;
+  Come, boys, we'll take another drink
+    When we get to Manassas.
+      Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
+      Yankee Doodle dandy,
+        They never reached Manassas plain,
+      And never got the brandy.
+
+  Yankee Doodle soon found out
+    That Bull Run was no trifle;
+  For if the North knew how to steal,
+    The South knew how to rifle.
+      Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
+      Yankee Doodle dandy,
+        'Tis very clear I took too much
+      Of that infernal brandy.
+
+  Yankee Doodle wheeled about,
+    And scampered off at full run,
+  And such a race was never seen
+    As that he made at Bull Run.
+      Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
+      Yankee Doodle dandy,
+        I haven't time to stop just now,
+      To take a drop of brandy.
+
+  Yankee Doodle, oh! for shame,
+    You're always intermeddling;
+  Let guns alone, they're dangerous things;
+    You'd better stick to peddling.
+      Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
+      Yankee Doodle dandy.
+        When next I go to Bully Run
+      I'll throw away the brandy.
+
+
+
+
+"YE MEN OF ALABAMA!"
+
+By JOHN D. PHELAN, of Montgomery, Ala.
+
+_Air--"Ye Mariners of England."_
+
+
+  Ye men of Alabama,
+    Awake, arise, awake
+  And rend the coils asunder
+    Of this abolition snake.
+  If another fold he fastens--
+    If this final coil he plies--
+  In the cold clasp of hate and power,
+    Fair Alabama dies.
+
+  Though round your lower limbs and waist
+    His deadly coils I see,
+  Yet, yet, thank heaven! your head and arms,
+    And good right hand, are free;
+  And in that hand there glistens--
+    O, God! what joy to feel!
+  A polished blade, full sharp and keen,
+    Of tempered State rights' steel.
+
+  Now, by the free-born sires
+    From whose brave loins ye sprung,
+  And by the noble mothers
+    At whose fond breasts ye hung!
+  And by your wives and daughters,
+    And by the ills they dread
+  Drive deep that good secession steel
+    Right through the monster's head.
+
+  This serpent abolition
+    Has been coiling on for years.
+  We have reasoned, we have threatened,
+    We have begged almost with tears;
+  Now, away, away with union,
+    Since on our Southern soil
+  The only _union_ left us
+    Is an anaconda's coil.
+
+  Brave little South Carolina
+    Will strike the self-same blow,
+  And Florida, and Georgia,
+    And Mississippi, too,
+  And Arkansas, and Texas;
+    And at the death, I ween,
+  The head will fall beneath the blows
+    Of all the brave fifteen.
+
+  In this, our day of trial,
+    Let feuds and factions cease,
+  Until above this howling storm
+    We see the sign of peace.
+  Let Southern men, like brothers,
+    In solid phalanx stand,
+  And poise their spears, and lock their shields
+    To guard their native land.
+
+  The love that for the Union
+    Once in our bosoms beat,
+  From insult and from injury
+    Has turned to scorn and hate;
+  And the banner of secession,
+    To-day we lift on high,
+  Resolved, beneath that sacred flag,
+    To conquer, _or to die_!
+
+_Montgomery Advertiser_, October, 1860.
+
+
+
+
+1776-1861.
+
+_Air--"Bruce's Address."_
+
+
+  Sons of the South! from hill and dale,
+  From mountain-top, and lowly vale,
+  Arouse ye now! 'tis Freedom's wail--
+      "To arms! to arms!" she cries.
+  Strike! for freedom in the dust;
+  Strike! to crush proud Mammon's lust;
+  Strike! remembering _God is just_!
+      Thus a freeman dies.
+
+  Southrons! who with Beauregard,
+  Day and night, keep watch and ward--
+  Southrons! whom the angels guard,
+      Strike for Liberty!
+  Smite the motley hireling throng;
+  Smite! as Heaven smites the wrong;
+  Smite! they fly before the strong,
+      In God and Liberty!
+
+  By your hearth-stones, by your dead,
+  By all the fields where patriots bled,
+  A freeman's home or gory bed
+      Let the alternate be.
+  Weeping wives and mothers here,
+  Sisters, daughters, dear ones near--
+  Seas of blood for every tear,
+      God and Liberty!
+
+  Louder swells the battle-cry,
+  Flaming sword and flashing eye
+  Light the field when freemen die!
+      Death or Liberty!
+  Backward roll your poisonous waves,
+  Infidel and ruffian slaves!
+  'Tis Heaven's own wrath your blindness braves--
+      God and Liberty!
+
+C.
+
+WASHINGTON, D. C.
+
+
+
+
+WOULD'ST THOU HAVE ME LOVE THEE?
+
+By ALEX. B. MEEK, Mobile, Ala.
+
+
+  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 rose and myrtle;
+    Drop thy dreamy harp of love!
+  Like young Korner--scorn the turtle,
+    When the eagle screams above!
+
+  Dost thou pause? Let dastards dally,
+    Do thou for thy country fight!
+  'Neath her noble emblem rally--
+    "God, our country, and our right!"
+  Listen! now her trumpets calling
+    On her sons to meet the foe!
+  Woman's heart is soft and tender,
+    But 'tis proud and faithful too:
+  Shall she be her land's defender?
+    Lover! Soldier! up and do!
+
+  Seize thy father's ancient falchion,
+    Which once flashed as freedom's star!
+  'Til 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!
+  Sweet is love in moonlight bowers!
+    Sweet the altar and the flame!
+  Sweet the Spring-time with her flowers!
+    Sweeter far the patriot's name!
+
+  Should the God who 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 last red field of strife,
+  'Mid thy country's heroes dying,
+    Than become a dastard's wife!
+
+
+
+
+THAT BUGLER;
+
+OR, THE UPIDEE SONG.
+
+Words by A. G. KNIGHT.
+
+Music by ARMAND.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  The shades of night were falling fast,
+      Tra-la-la, tra-la-la,
+  The bugler blows that well-known blast
+      Tra-la-la, tra-la-la,
+  No matter should it rain or snow,
+  That bugler he is bound to blow.
+
+  CHORUS--Up--i--de--i--de--i--di,
+          U--pi--de, u--pi--de,
+          U--pi--de--i--de--i--di,
+          Up--i--de--i--di,
+          U--pi--de--i--de--i--di,
+          U--pi--de--u--pi--di,
+          U--pi--de--i--de--i--di.
+
+  He saw, as in their bunks they lay,
+      Tra-la-la, tra-la-la,
+  How soldiers spent the dawning day,
+      Tra-la-la, tra-la-la,
+  "There's too much comfort there," said he,
+  "And so I'll blow the 'Reveille.'"
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  In nice log huts he saw the light,
+  Of cabin fires, warm and bright,
+  The sight afforded him no heat,
+  And so he sounded the "Retreat."
+
+  Upon the fire he saw a pot,
+  Of sav'ry viands smoking hot,
+  Said he, "they shan't enjoy that stew,"
+  Then "Boots and saddles" loudly blew.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+  "No matter should it rain or snow,
+  That bugler he is bound to blow."]
+
+  They scarce their half cooked meal begin,
+  Ere orderly cries out "Fall in,"
+  Then off they march thro' mud and rain,
+  P'raps only to march back again.
+
+  But soldiers, you were made to fight,
+  To starve all day, and watch all night,
+  And should you chance get bread and meat,
+  That bugler will not let you eat.
+
+  Oh hasten then, that glorious day,
+  When buglers shall no longer play,
+  When we through peace shall be set free,
+  From "Tattoo," "Taps," and "Reveille."
+
+
+
+
+ADDRESS OF THE WOMEN TO THE SOUTHERN TROOPS.
+
+By MRS. J. T. H. CROSS.
+
+_Air--"Bruce's Address."_
+
+
+  Southern men, unsheathe the sword,
+  Inland and along the board;
+  Backward drive the Northern horde--
+        Rush to victory!
+
+  Let your banners kiss the sky,
+  Be "The right" your battle cry!
+  Be the God of battles nigh--
+        Crown you in the fight!
+
+  Pressing back the tears that start,
+  We behold your hosts depart:
+  Saying, with heroic heart,
+        Clothe your arms with might!
+
+  Lower the proud oppressor's crest!
+  Or, if he should prove the best,
+  Dead, not dishonored, rest
+        On the field of blood!
+
+  We--may God so give us grace!--
+  Sons will rear, to take your place;
+  Strong the foeman's steel to face--
+        Strong in heart and hand!
+
+  Death your serried ranks may sweep,
+  Proud shall be the tears we weep,
+  Sacredly our hearts shall keep
+        Memory of your deeds!
+
+  Though our land be left forlorn,
+  Spirit of the Southern-born,
+  Northern rage shall laugh to scorn--
+        Northern hosts defy.
+
+  He that last is doomed to die
+  Shall, with his expiring sigh,
+  Send aloft the battle-cry,
+        "God defend the right!"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+RALLYING SONG OF THE VIRGINIANS.
+
+By SUSAN A. TALLY.
+
+_Air--"Scots, Wha hae wi' Wallace bled."_
+
+
+  Now rouse ye, gallant comrades all,
+    And ready stand, in war's array,--
+  Virginia sounds her battle call,
+    And gladly we obey.
+  Our hands upon our trusty swords,
+    Our hearts with courage beating high--
+  We'll fight as once our fathers fought,
+    To conquer or to die!
+
+  Adieu, awhile, to loving eyes,
+    And lips that breathe our names in prayer;
+  To them our holiest thoughts be given,
+    For them our swords we bare!
+  Yet linger not when honor calls,
+    Nor breathe one sad, regretful sigh,--
+  Defying fate, for love we'll live,
+    Or for our country die!
+
+  No tyrant hand shall ever dare
+    Our sacred Southern homes despoil,
+  No tyrant foot shall e'er invade
+    Our free Virginia soil.
+  Lo! from her lofty mountain peaks,
+    To plains that skirt the Southern seas,
+  We fling her banner to the winds,
+    Her motto on the breeze!
+
+  We hear the roll of stormy drums,
+    We hear the trumpet's call afar!
+  Now forward, gallant comrades all,
+    To swell the ranks of war;
+  Uplift on high our battle cry,
+    When fiercest rolls the bloody fight,
+  "Virginia! for the Southern cause,
+    And God defend the right!"
+
+
+
+
+POP GOES THE WEASEL.
+
+From "JACK MORGAN SONGSTER."
+
+
+  King Abraham is very sick,
+  Old Scott has got the measles,
+  Manassas we have now at last--
+        Pop goes the weasel!
+
+  All around the cobbler's house
+  The monkey chased the people,
+  And after them in double haste,
+        Pop goes the weasel!
+
+  When the night walks in, as black as a sheep,
+  And the hen on her eggs was fast asleep,
+  When into her nest with a serpent's creep,
+        Pop goes the weasel!
+
+  Of all the dance that ever was planned,
+  To galvanize the heel and the hand,
+  There's none that moves so gay and grand,
+        As--pop goes the weasel.
+
+
+
+
+THE MOTHER'S FAREWELL.
+
+_Air--"Jeannette and Jeannot."_
+
+From "JACK MORGAN SONGSTER."
+
+
+  You are going to leave me, darling,
+    Your country's foes to fight,
+  And though I grieve, I murmur not,
+    I know we're in the right.
+  Here's your father's sword and rifle,
+    Emulate him in the fight;
+  Let no coward stain be on your name,
+    That always has shone bright.
+
+  Then farewell, my loved one,
+    May a widow'd mother's prayer,
+  Still shield thy head in battle,
+    And God keep thee in His care;
+  Then use your sword and rifle well,
+    Ne'er falter in the strife--
+  You fight for home and freedom,
+    For honor and for life.
+
+  And when the "Stars and Bars"
+    Float in triumph o'er each band
+  That has driven the invaders back,
+    Who dared pollute our land,
+  Then come back to me with honor,
+    And a mother's hand shall place
+  The laurel wreath your country gives
+    Each victor's brow to grace.
+
+
+
+
+WE SWEAR.
+
+_Louisville Courier._
+
+
+  Kneel, ye Southrons, kneel and swear,
+    On your bleeding country's altar,
+  All the tyrants' rage to dare,
+    E'en the cursed tyrants' halter,
+          We swear, we swear, we swear!
+
+  Swear by all the shining stars,
+    Swear in blunt old Anglo-Saxon,
+  To defend the stars and bars
+    Hallowed by the blood of Jackson,
+          We swear, etc.
+
+  Swear by all the noble deeds,
+    By heroic valor prompted;
+  Swear that while our country bleeds,
+    Gleaming blades shall not be wanted,
+          We swear, etc.
+
+  Swear our country shall be free;
+    Submit to subjugation? Never!
+  Swear the stars and bars shall be
+    Our insignia forever,
+          We swear, etc.
+
+
+
+
+FREEDOM'S NEW BANNER.
+
+By DAN. E. TOWNSEND, _Richmond Dispatch_, June 30, 1862.
+
+
+  When clouds of oppression o'ershaded
+    The banner that liberty bore,
+  Bright stars from the galaxy faded,
+    The day of its splendor was o'er;
+  Those stars, in a fresh constellation,
+    A sky in the South now adorn;
+  And blazon throughout all creation
+    That freedom's new banner is born.
+
+  For the land that's richest in beauty,
+    The homestead of justice and right,
+  Whose sons are the foremost in duty,
+    Whose daughters are peerless and bright:
+  For brave hearts in battle defending
+    The honor and truth of our cause;
+  For our trust in victorious ending,
+    The welkin rings out its huzzas.
+
+  Our lives and our fortunes enlisted,
+    Our honor, our hopes, and our prayers,
+  Upholding the act that resisted
+    The wrong of a series of years.
+  May the Father in Heaven approve us,
+    In this the most sacred of wars;
+  May his hand, to protect, be above us
+    While cheering the Stars and the Bars.
+
+
+
+
+THE BONNIE BLUE FLAG.
+
+By HARRY MACARTHY.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  We are a band of brothers, and native to the soil,
+  Fighting for our liberty, with treasure, blood and toil;
+  And when our rights were threatened, the cry rose near and far,
+  Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag, that bears a Single Star!
+
+  CHORUS.--Hurrah! Hurrah! for Southern Rights, Hurrah!
+           Hurrah! for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star!
+
+  As long as the Union was faithful to her trust,
+  Like friends and like brethren kind were we and just;
+  But now when Northern treachery attempts our rights to mar,
+  We hoist on high the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star.
+                                              CHORUS.
+
+  First, gallant South Carolina nobly made the stand;
+  Then came Alabama, who took her by the hand;
+  Next, quickly Mississippi, Georgia and Florida,
+  All raised on high the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star.
+                                              CHORUS.
+
+  Ye men of valor, gather round the banner of the right,
+  Texas and fair Louisiana, join us in the fight;
+  Davis, our loved President, and Stephens, statesman rare,
+  Now rally round the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star.
+                                              CHORUS.
+
+[Illustration: "The Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star."]
+
+  And here's to brave Virginia! the Old Dominion State,
+  With the young Confederacy at length has link'd her fate;
+  Impelled by her example, now other States prepare,
+  To hoist on high the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star.
+                                              CHORUS.
+
+  Then cheer, boys, raise the joyous shout,
+  For Arkansas and North Carolina now have both gone out;
+  And let another rousing cheer for Tennessee be given,
+  The Single Star of the Bonnie Blue Flag has grown to be Eleven.
+                                              CHORUS.
+
+  Then here's to our Confederacy, strong we are and brave,
+  Like patriots of old, we'll fight our heritage to save;
+  And rather than submit to shame, to die we would prefer,
+  So cheer for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star.
+
+  CHORUS.--Hurrah! Hurrah! for Southern Rights, Hurrah!
+           Hurrah! for the Bonnie Blue Flag has gained the Eleventh Star!
+
+
+
+
+"OH, HE'S NOTHING BUT A SOLDIER."
+
+
+  Oh, he's nothing but a soldier; he's coming here to-night,
+  For I saw him pass this morning, with his uniform so bright;
+  He was coming in from picket, whilst he sang a sweet refrain,
+  And he kissed his hand at some one, peeping through the window pane.
+
+  Ah! he rode no dashing charger, with black and flowing mane,
+  But his bayonet glistened brightly, as the sun lit up the plain;
+  No waving plume or feather flashed its crimson in the light,
+  He belongs to the light infantry, and came to the war to fight.
+
+  Oh, he's nothing but a soldier, his trust is in his sword,
+  To carve his way to glory through the servile Yankee horde;
+  No pompous pageant heralds him, no sycophants attend;
+  In his belt you see his body guard, his tried and trusty friend.
+
+  Oh, he's nothing but a soldier, yet his eyes are very fine,
+  And I sometimes think, when passing, they're peeping into mine;
+  Though he's nothing but a soldier--come, let me be discreet--
+  Yet really for a soldier, his toilet's very neat.
+
+  He has been again to see us, the gentleman in gray,
+  He's called to see us often, our house is on his way;
+  Ofttimes he sadly seeks the shade of yonder grove of trees,
+  I watched him once--this soldier--I saw him on his knees.
+
+  Oh, he's nothing but a soldier, but this I know full well.
+  He has a heart of softness, where tender virtues dwell;
+  For once when we were talking, and no one else was near,
+  I saw him very plainly try to hide a starting tear.
+
+  Ah! he's nothing but a soldier; but then its very queer.
+  Whenever he is absent I'd much rather have him near;
+  He's gone to meet the foeman, to stay his bloody track,
+  O Heaven! shield the soldier; O God! let him come back.
+
+
+
+
+SOUTHERN WAR-CRY.
+
+_Air--"Scots, wha hae."_
+
+
+  Countrymen of Washington!
+  Countrymen of Jefferson!
+  By old Hick'ry oft led on
+        To death or victory!
+
+  Sons of men who fought and bled,
+  Whose blood for you was freely shed,
+  Where Marion charged and Sumpter led,
+        For freeman's rights!
+
+  From the Cowpens' glorious way,
+  Southron valor led the fray
+  To Yorktown's eventful day,
+        First we were free!
+
+  At New Orleans we met the foe;
+  Oppressors fell at every blow;
+  There we laid the usurper low,
+        For maids and wives!
+
+  Who on Palo Alto's day,
+  'Mid fire and hail at Monterey,
+  At Buena Vista, led the way?
+        "Rough-and-Ready."
+
+  Southrons all; at Freedom's call,
+  For our homes united all,
+  Freemen live, or freemen fall!
+        Death or liberty!
+
+
+
+
+DIXIE'S LAND.
+
+_As sung by the Confederate Soldier._
+
+
+  Away down South in de fields of cotton,
+  Cinnamon seed and sandy bottom;
+        Look away, look away,
+        Look away, look away.
+  Den 'way down South in de fields of cotton,
+  Vinegar shoes and paper stockings;
+        Look away, look away,
+        Look away, look away.
+  Den I wish I was in Dixie's Land,
+        Oh--oh! Oh--oh!
+  In Dixie's land I'll take my stand,
+  And live and die in Dixie's Land,
+        Away, away, away,
+        Away down South in Dixie.
+
+  Pork and cabbage in de pot,
+  It goes in cold and comes out hot;
+        Look away, look away,
+        Look away, look away.
+  Vinegar put right on red beet,
+  It makes them always fit to eat;
+        Look away, look away,
+        Look away, look away.
+  Den I wish I was in Dixie's Land,
+        Oh--oh! Oh--oh!
+  In Dixie's land I'll take my stand,
+  And live and die in Dixie's Land,
+        Away, away, away,
+        Away down South in Dixie.
+
+
+
+
+ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF LIEUT.-COL. CH. B. DREUX.
+
+By JAMES R. RANDALL.
+
+Permission of HENRI WEHRMAN, _New Orleans, La._
+
+
+  Weep, Louisiana, weep! thy gallant dead
+  Weave the green laurel o'er the undaunted head!
+  Fling thy bright banner o'er the breast which bled
+              Defending thee!
+  Weep, weep, Imperial City, deep and wild!
+  Weep for thy martyred and heroic child,
+  The young, the brave, the free, the undefiled,
+              Ah, weep for him.
+  Lo! lo! the wail surgeth from embatteled bands,
+  By Yorktown's plains and Pensacola's sands,
+  Re-echoing to the golden sugar lands,
+              Adieu! Adieu!
+
+  The death of honor was the death he craved,
+  To die where weapons clashed and pennons waved,
+  To welcome Freedom o'er the opening impetuous grave,
+              And live for aye!
+  His blood had too much lightning to be still,
+  His spirit was the torrent, not the rill,
+  The gods have loved him, and the Eternal Hill
+              Is his at last!
+  He died while yet his chainless eye could roll,
+  Flashing the conflagrations of his soul,
+  The rose and mirror of the bold Creole,
+              He sleepeth well.
+
+  Lament, lone mother, for his early fate,
+  But, bear thy burden with a hope elate,
+  For thou hast shrined thy jewels in the state,
+              A priceless boon!
+  And thou, sad wife, thy sacred tears belong
+  To the untarnished and immortal throng,
+  For he shall fire the poet's heart and song,
+              In thrilling strains.
+  And the fair virgins of our sunny clime,
+  Shall wed their music to the minstrel's rhyme,
+  Making his fame melodious for all time;
+              It cannot die.
+
+
+
+
+BULL RUN.
+
+A PARODY.
+
+
+  At Bull Run, when the sun was low,
+  Each Southern face grew pale as snow,
+  While loud as jackdaws rose the crow
+    Of Yankees boasting terribly!
+
+  But Bull Run saw another sight,
+  When, at the deepening shades of night,
+  Toward Fairfax Court House rose the flight
+    Of Yankees running rapidly.
+
+  Then broke each corps with terror riven,
+  Then rushed the steeds from battle driven,
+  For men of battery Number Seven
+    Forsook their Red Artillery!
+
+  Still on McDowell's farthest left,
+  The roar of cannon strikes one deaf,
+  Where furious Abe and fiery Jeff
+    Contend for death or victory.
+
+  The panic thickens--off, ye brave!
+  Throw down your arms! your bacon save!
+  Waive Washington, all scruples waive,
+    And fly, with all your chivalry!
+
+
+
+
+HURRAH!
+
+By a MISSISSIPPIAN.--_Mobile Register._
+
+
+  Hurrah! for the Southern Confederate State,
+    With her banner of white, red, and blue;
+  Hurrah! for her daughters, the fairest on earth,
+    And her sons, ever loyal and true!
+  Hurrah! and hurrah! for her brave volunteers,
+    Enlisted for freedom or death;
+  Hurrah! for Jeff. Davis, commander-in-chief,
+    And three cheers for the Palmetto wreath!
+  Hurrah! for each heart that is right in the cause;
+    That cause we'll protect with our lives;
+  Hurrah! for the first one who dies on the field,
+    And hurrah! for each one who survives!
+  Hurrah! for the South--shout hurrah! and hurrah!
+    O'er her soil shall no tyrant have sway,
+  In peace or in war we will ever be found
+    "Invincible," now and for aye.
+
+
+
+
+GATHERING SONG.
+
+_Air--"Bonnie Blue Flag."_
+
+By ANNIE C. KETCHUM.
+
+
+  Come, brothers! rally for the right!
+    The bravest of the brave
+  Sends forth her ringing battle-cry
+    Beside the Atlantic wave!
+  She leads the way in honor's path!
+    Come, brothers, near and far,
+  Come rally 'round the Bonnie Blue Flag
+    That bears a single star!
+
+  We've borne the Yankee trickery,
+    The Yankee gibe and sneer,
+  Till Yankee insolence and pride
+    Know neither shame nor fear;
+  But ready now, with shot and steel,
+    Their brazen front to mar,
+  We hoist aloft the Bonnie Blue Flag
+    That bears a single star!
+
+  Now Georgia marches to the front,
+    And close beside her come
+  Her sisters by the Mexique Sea,
+    With pealing trump and drum!
+  Till, answering back from hill and glen,
+    The rallying cry afar,
+  A NATION hoists the Bonnie Blue Flag
+    That bears a single star!
+
+  By every stone in Charleston Bay,
+    By each beleaguered town,
+  We swear to rest not, night nor day,
+    But hunt the tyrants down!
+  Till, bathed in valor's holy blood,
+    The gazing world afar,
+  Shall greet with shouts the Bonnie Blue Flag,
+    That bears the cross and star!
+
+
+
+
+A SOUTHERN SONG.
+
+By MISS MARIA GRASON.
+
+
+  While crimson drops our hearthstones stain,
+  And Northern despots forge our chain,
+  O God! shall freemen strike in vain?
+
+  Shall tyrants desecrate the sod
+  Our fathers hallowed with their blood,
+  Or cowards tread where heroes trod?
+
+  The lowering tempest darkens round;
+  And at the bugle's silvery sound
+  The fiery war-horse spurns the ground.
+
+  The thunder of his iron tread
+  Sweeps o'er the dying and the dead;
+  The trembling earth is blushing red.
+
+  'Mid wreathing smoke, and flashing steel,
+  And blazing cannons' deafening peal
+  Our brave battalions charge and wheel.
+
+  The maiden sees her lover there!
+  Far in the battle's lurid glare
+  He stands, his only shield her prayer.
+
+  Oh, may that warrior in his pride
+  Return with honor to her side,
+  Or die as old Dentatus died!
+
+QUEEN ANNE CO., MD.
+
+
+
+
+A CONFEDERATE OFFICER TO HIS LADY LOVE.
+
+MAJ. MCKNIGHT ("Asa Hartz"), A. A. G., General Loring's staff, while a
+prisoner of war, at Johnston's Island, wrote the following:
+
+
+  My love reposes on a rosewood frame--
+          A bunk have I;
+  A couch of feathery down fills up the same--
+          Mine's straw, but dry;
+  She sinks to sleep at night with scarce a sigh--
+  With waking eyes I watch the hours creep by.
+
+  My love her daily dinner takes in state--
+          And so do I(?);
+  The richest viands flank her silver plate--
+          Coarse grub have I?
+  Pure wines she sips at ease, her thirst to slake--
+  I pump my drink from Erie's limpid lake!
+
+[Illustration: "Three Acres I."]
+
+  My love has all the world at will to roam--
+          Three acres I;
+  She goes abroad or quiet sits at home--
+          So cannot I;
+  Bright angels watch around her couch at night--
+  A Yank, with loaded gun, keeps me in sight.
+
+  A thousand weary miles do stretch between
+          My love and I;
+  To her, this wintry night, cold, calm, serene,
+          I waft a sigh;
+  And hope, with all my earnestness of soul,
+  To-morrow's mail may bring me my parole!
+
+[Illustration: "We'll one day meet again."]
+
+  There's hope ahead! We'll one day meet again,
+          My love and I;
+  We'll wipe away all tears of sorrow then--
+          Her love-lit eye,
+  Will all my many troubles then beguile,
+  And keep this wayward reb. from Johnston's Isle.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTHERN MARSEILLAISE.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  Ye men of Southern hearts and feeling,
+    Arm! arm! your struggling country calls!
+  Hear ye the guns now loudly pealing,
+    From Sumpter's high embattled walls!
+  Shall a fanatic horde in power
+    Send forth a base and hireling band
+  To desolate our happy land
+    And make our Southern freemen cower?
+
+  CHORUS--To arms, to arms! each one,
+          Th' sword unsheathe, and raise the gun,
+          Then on, rush on, ye brave and free,
+          To death and victory.
+
+  Now clouds of war begin to gather,
+    And black and murky is our sky--
+  Shall we submit--no, never, never!
+    Let death or freedom be our cry--
+  In Heaven's justice firm relying,
+    We'll nobly struggle to be free,
+  And bravely gain our liberty,
+    Or die our Northern foes defying.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  The peaceful homes of Texas burning,
+    And Harper's Ferry's blood-stained soil,
+  Proclaim how strong their hearts are yearning,
+    For murder, pillage, crime and spoil.
+  Shall we our feelings longer smother,
+    And bear with patience yet our wrongs,
+  Their jeers, their crimes, their taunts and thongs
+    And greet them still as friend and brother?
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  Their tyranny we'll bear no longer,
+    But burst asunder every tie,
+  Although in number they are stronger,
+    We will be free, or we will die!
+  Too long the South has wept, bewailing,
+    That falsehood's dagger Yankees wield,
+  But freedom is our sword and shield,
+    And all their arts are unavailing.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+A SOUTHERN GATHERING SONG.
+
+By L. VIRGINIA FRENCH.
+
+_Air--"Hail Columbia."_
+
+
+  Sons of the South, beware the foe!
+  Hark to the murmur, deep and low,
+  Rolling up like the coming storm,
+  Swelling up like the sounding storm,
+  Hoarse as the hurricanes that brood
+  In space's far infinitude!
+  Minute guns of omen boom
+  Through the future's folded gloom;
+  Sounds prophetic fill the air,
+  Heed the warning--and prepare!
+        Watch! be wary--every hour
+        Mark the foeman's gathering power--
+        Keep watch and ward upon his track
+        And crush the rash invaders back!
+
+  Sons of the brave!--a barrier staunch
+  Breasting the alien avalanche--
+  Manning the battlements of RIGHT;
+  Up, for your _Country_, "_God and right_!"
+  Form your battalions steadily,
+  And strike for death or victory!
+  Surging onward sweeps the wave,
+  Serried columns of the brave,
+  Banded 'neath the benison of
+  Freedom's godlike Washington!
+        Stand! but should the invading foe
+        Aspire to lay your altars low,
+        Charge on the tyrant ere he gain
+        Your iron-arteried domain!
+
+  Sons of the brave! when tumult trod
+  The tide of revolution--God
+  Looked from His throne on "the things of time,"
+  And two new stars in the reign of time,
+  He bade to burn in the azure dome--
+  The freeman's LOVE and the freeman's HOME!
+  Holy of Holies! guard them well,
+  Baffle the despot's secret spell,
+  And let the chords of life be riven,
+  Ere you yield those gifts of heaven!
+        _Io paean!_ trumpet notes,
+        Shake the air where our banner floats;
+        _Io triumphe!_ still we see
+        _The land of the South is the home of the free!_
+
+
+
+
+CONFEDERATE LAND.
+
+By H. H. STRAWBRIDGE.
+
+
+  States of the South! Confederate Land!
+    Our foe has come--the hour is nigh;
+  His bale-fires rise on every hand--
+    Rise as one man, to do or die!
+  From mountain, vale, and prairie wide,
+    From forest vast, and field, and glen,
+  And crowded city, pour thy tide,
+    Oh fervid South! Oh patriot men!
+
+  CHORUS--Up! old and young; the weak, be strong!
+            Rise for the right,--hurl back the wrong,
+          And foot to foot, and hand to hand,
+            Strike for our own Confederate Land!
+
+  Make every house, and rock, and tree,
+    And hill, your forts; and fen and flood
+  Yield not! our soil shall rather be
+    One waste of flame, one sea of blood!
+  On! though perennial be the strife,
+    For honor dear, for hearthstone fires;
+  Give blow for blow! take life for life!
+    "Strike! 'till the last armed foe expires!"
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+WE'LL BE FREE IN MARYLAND.
+
+By R. E. HOLTZ.
+
+_Air--"Gideon's Band."_
+
+
+  The boys down South in Dixie's land,
+  The boys down South in Dixie's land,
+  The boys down South in Dixie's land
+    Will come and rescue Maryland.
+
+  CHORUS.--If you will join the Dixie band,
+           Here's my heart and here's my hand,
+           If you will join the Dixie band;
+           We're fighting for a home.
+
+  The Northern foes have trod us down,
+  The Northern foes have trod us down,
+  The Northern foes have trod us down,
+    But we will rise with true renown.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  The tyrants they must leave our door,
+  The tyrants they must leave our door,
+  The tyrants they must leave our door,
+    Then we'll be free in Baltimore.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  These hirelings they'll never stand,
+  These hirelings they'll never stand,
+  These hirelings they'll never stand,
+    Whenever they see the Southern band.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Old Abe has got into a trap,
+  Old Abe has got into a trap,
+  Old Abe has got into a trap,
+    And he can't get out with his Scotch cap.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Nobody's hurt is easy spun,
+  Nobody's hurt is easy spun,
+  Nobody's hurt is easy spun,
+    But the Yankees caught it at Bull Run.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  We'll rally to Jeff Davis true,
+  Beauregard and Johnston, too,
+  Magruder, Price, and General Bragg,
+    And give three cheers for the Southern Flag.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  We'll drink this toast to one and all,
+  Keep cocked and primed for the Southern call;
+  The day will come, we'll make a stand,
+    Then we'll be free in Maryland.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+JANUARY 30, 1862.
+
+[Illustration: Artillery Button.]
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTHRON'S WAR-SONG.
+
+By J. A. WAGINER. _Charleston Courier._
+
+
+  Arise! arise! with main and might,
+    Sons of the sunny clime!
+  Gird on the sword; the sacred fight
+    The holy hour doth chime.
+  Arise, the craven host draws nigh,
+    In thundering array;
+  Arise! ye braves! let cowards fly--
+    The hero bides the fray.
+
+  Strike hard, strike hard, thou noble band;
+    Strike hard with arm of fire!
+  Strike hard, for God and fatherland,
+    For mother, wife, and sire!
+  Let thunders roar, the lightning flash
+    Bold Southrons never fear
+  The bay'net's point, the sabre's crash--
+    True Southrons, do and dare!
+
+  Bright flow'rs spring from the hero's grave;
+    The craven knows no rest!
+  Thrice curs'd the traitor and the knave!
+    The hero thrice is bless'd.
+  Then let each noble Southron stand,
+    With bold and manly eye:
+  We'll do for God and fatherland;
+    We'll do, we'll do, or die!
+
+
+
+
+KNITTING FOR THE SOLDIERS.
+
+By MARY J. UPSHUR.
+
+
+  Knitting for the soldiers.
+    How the needles fly!
+  Now with sounds of merriment--
+    Now with many a sigh!
+
+  Knitting for the soldiers!
+    Panoply for feet--
+  Onward, bound to victory!
+    Rushing in retreat!
+
+  Knitting for the soldiers!
+    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 top 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!"
+  Like to Macbeth's witches
+    On enchanted ground.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+  "Knitting for the soldiers
+  Wrinkled--aged crone."]
+
+  Knitting for the soldiers
+    Still another pair!
+  And the feet that wear them
+    Speed thee onward--where?
+
+  To the silent city,
+    On their trackless way?
+  Homeward--bearing garlands?
+    Who of us shall say?
+
+[Illustration:
+
+  "Knitting for the soldiers!
+  Matron--merry maid."]
+
+  Knitting for the soldiers!
+    Heaven bless them all!
+  Those who win the battle,
+    Those who fighting fall.
+
+  Might our benedictions
+    Speedily win reply,
+  Early would they crown ye
+    All with victory.
+
+NORFOLK, VA., October 8, 1861.
+
+
+
+
+PATRIOTIC SONG.
+
+By DR. JOHN W. PAINE, Lexington, Va., June 30, 1862.
+
+_Air--"Gathering of the Clans."_
+
+
+  Rise, rise, mountain and valley men,
+    Bald sire and beardless son, each come in order,
+  True loyal patriots, muster and rally, men;
+    Drive the invader clear over the border;
+  Down from the mountain steep, up from the valley deep,
+    Come from the city, the town, and the village,
+  Let every loyal heart in the strife take a part,
+    Rescue our country from rapine and pillage.
+              Rise, rise, etc.
+
+  Men of the valley, descendants of heroes--
+    Heroes whom Washington honored and trusted--
+  Heirs of the fame and the hills of your fathers,
+    Men who have never been daunted or worsted;
+  Long, like all true men, we cherished the Union,
+    Long did we strive for our country's salvation;
+  Now when our very existence is threatened,
+    Rush to the rescue without hesitation.
+              Rise, rise, etc.
+
+  Say, shall we suffer the ruthless invader
+    O'er our fair valley to marshal his legions?
+  Loud calls Virginia, let every man aid her--
+    Aid her, and thus show his truth and allegiance.
+  Hark to the battle-cry, rush on to victory!
+    Banished forever be party and faction;
+  Let every loyal man rush to be in the van,
+    Led by the dauntless, the conqueror, Jackson.
+              Rise, rise, etc.
+
+--_Richmond Dispatch._
+
+
+
+
+OUR BRAVES IN VIRGINIA.
+
+_Air--"Dixie Land."_
+
+
+  We have ridden from the brave Southwest,
+  On fiery steeds, with throbbing breast;
+        Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
+  With sabre flash and rifle true,--
+        Hurrah! hurrah!--
+  The Northern ranks we will cut through,
+  And charge for old Virginia, boys;
+        Hurrah! hurrah!
+
+  We have come from the cloud-capp'd mountains,
+  From the land of purest fountains;
+        Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
+  Our sweethearts and wives conjure us,--
+        Hurrah! hurrah!
+  Not to leave a foe before us,
+  And strike for old Virginia, boys;
+        Hurrah! hurrah!
+
+  Then we'll rally to the bugle call;
+  For Southern rights we'll fight and fall;
+        Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
+  Our grey-haired sires sternly say,--
+        Hurrah! hurrah!
+  That we must die or win the day,
+  Three cheers for old Virginia, boys,
+        Hurrah! hurrah!
+
+  Then our silken banner wave on high;
+  For Southern homes we'll fight and die;
+        Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
+  Our cause is right, our quarrel just,--
+        Hurrah! hurrah!
+  We'll in the God of battles trust,
+  And conquer for Virginia, boys,
+        Hurrah! hurrah!
+
+
+
+
+BATTLE SONG OF THE INVADED.
+
+
+  The foe! the foe! They come! they come!
+    Light up the beacon pyre;
+  Light every hill and mountain home,
+    Give back the signal fire;
+  And wave the red cross on the night,
+    The blood-red cross of war--
+  What though we perish in the fight!
+    Our fathers died before!
+
+  Hark! lo their shouts upon the breeze,
+    Their banners in the sun,
+  And like the thunder of the seas
+    Their deep tread thunders on.
+  We'll meet them here on each bold height,
+    In every glen make head--
+  And give the battle to the right;
+    We will be free or dead.
+
+  We stand on sacred, holy ground,
+    Where thousand memories meet;
+  Our fathers' homes are all around,
+    Their graves beneath our feet;
+  Our roofs are mouldering far and wide,
+    That late smiled in the sun;
+  Our brides are weeping at our sides;
+    Gods! let them then come on!
+
+  Hurrah! hurrah! he gleams in sight;
+    It fires the brain to see
+  How the proud spoiler flashes bright
+    In war's gay panoply;
+  We'll show him that our fathers' brands
+    Nor rust nor time can stay;
+  With tramp and shouts, bold hearts and hands,
+    Up, freemen, and away!
+
+  The work is done, the strife is o'er,
+    The whirlwinds thundered by,--
+  There's not from hill to ocean shore
+    A foeman left to die.
+  Our brides are thronging every height,
+    They wave us weeping home;
+  God gives the battle to the right--
+    Back to our hearth-stones, come!
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG OF THE SNOW.
+
+By MRS. M. J. PRESTON, Lexington, Va.
+
+
+  Halt! the march is over;
+    Day is almost done;
+  Loose the cumbrous knapsack,
+    Drop the heavy gun.
+  Chilled, and worn, and weary,
+    Wander to and fro,
+  Seeking wood to kindle
+    Fires amidst the snow.
+
+  Round the camp-blaze gather,
+    Heed not sleep nor cold;
+  Ye are Spartan soldiers,
+    Strong, and brave, and bold.
+  Never Xerxian army
+    Yet subdued a foe,
+  Who but asked a blanket
+    On a bed of snow!
+
+  Shivering 'midst the darkness,
+    Christian men are found
+  There devoutly kneeling
+    On the frozen ground;
+  Pleading for their country
+    In its hour of woe,
+  For its soldiers marching
+    Shoeless through the snow!
+
+  Lost in heavy slumbers,
+    Free from toil and strife,
+  Dreaming of their dear ones--
+    Home, and child, and wife;
+  Tentless they are lying,
+    While the fires burn low--
+  Lying in their blankets,
+    'Midst December's snow.
+
+
+
+
+A NEW RED, WHITE AND BLUE.
+
+Written for a Lady, by JEFF. THOMPSON.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  Missouri is the pride of the Nation,
+    The hope of the brave and the free;
+  The Confederacy will furnish the rations,
+    But the fighting is trusted to thee;
+  For, brave boys, your soil has been noted,
+    And your flag has been trusted to you;
+  For freedom you have not yet voted,
+    But you fight for the Red, White and Blue.
+
+  CHORUS.--Three cheers, etc.
+
+  The Stars shall shine bright in the heaven,
+    But the Stripes should be trailed in the dust,
+  For they are no longer the sign of the haven
+    Of the brave, of the free, or the just;
+  The Bars now in triumph shall wave
+    O'er the land of the faithful and true;
+  O'er the home of the Southern brave,
+    Shall float the new Red, White and Blue.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+WAR SONG.
+
+
+  Come! come! come!
+  Come, brothers you are called;
+  Come, each one unappalled;
+  Come and defend your home!
+
+  Come! come! come!
+  The cannon's belching roar,
+  The musket's deadly pour--
+  Cry, men, defend your home!
+
+  Come! come! come!
+  Let the invitation sound,
+  Through town and country round,
+  Come, men, defend your home!
+
+  Come! come! come!
+  With a prayer to Him on high;
+  God grant us victory,
+  While fighting for our home.
+
+  Come! come! come!
+  Wait not, lest you live to see
+  Your loved ones crushed by tyranny,
+  And desolate your home!
+
+
+
+
+ALL QUIET ALONG THE POTOMAC TO-NIGHT.
+
+By LAMAR FONTAINE.
+
+Music by J. H. HEWETT.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  "All quiet along the Potomac to-night!"
+    Except here and there a stray picket
+  Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro,
+    By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
+
+  'Tis nothing! a private or two now and then
+    Will not count in the news of a battle;
+  Not an officer lost! only one of the men
+    Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle.
+
+  "All quiet along the Potomac to-night!"
+    Where soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;
+  And their tents in the rays of the clear Autumn moon,
+    And the light of their camp-fires are gleaming.
+
+  A tremulous sigh, as a gentle night wind
+    Through the forest leaves slowly is creeping;
+  While the stars up above, with their glittering eyes,
+    Keep guard o'er the army while sleeping.
+
+  There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread,
+    As he tramps from rock to the fountain,
+  And thinks of the two on the low trundle bed,
+    Far away, in the cot on the mountain.
+
+  His musket falls slack, his face, dark and grim,
+    Grows gentle with memories tender.
+  As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep,
+    And their mother--"may heaven defend her!"
+
+[Illustration: "There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread."]
+
+  The moon seems to shine forth as brightly as then--
+    That night, when the love, yet unspoken,
+  Leaped up to his lips, and when low-murmured vows
+    Were pledged to be ever unbroken.
+
+  Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,
+    He dashes off tears that are welling;
+  And gathers his gun closer up to his breast,
+    As if to keep down the heart's swelling.
+
+[Illustration: "And his life-blood is ebbing and splashing."]
+
+  He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree,
+    And his footstep is lagging and weary;
+  Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,
+    Towards the shades of the forest so dreary.
+
+  Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves?
+    Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing?
+  It looked like a rifle: "Ha, Mary, good-by!"
+    And his life-blood is ebbing and splashing.
+
+  "All quiet along the Potomac to-night!"
+    No sound save the rush of the river;
+  While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead,
+    And the picket's off duty forever!
+
+
+
+
+"INDEPENDENCE DAY."
+
+
+  Oh, Freedom is a blessed thing!
+    And men have marched in stricken fields,
+  And fought, and bled, to nobly grasp
+    The glorious fruit that freedom yields.
+  Then let the banner float the air,
+    The fairest ones of freedom's types--
+  The stars are fading one by one--
+    What matter? We have still the stripes!
+  Oh! happy men of Maryland,
+    Remember! we have still the stripes!
+
+  Why heed the cannon in your streets,
+    The bayonets that block your way?
+  Rejoice, for you were free men once,
+    And this is, "Independence Day."
+  Then let the banner float the air,
+    The fairest one of freedom's types--
+  The stars are fading one by one--
+    What matter? we have still the stripes!
+  Oh! happy men of Maryland,
+    Remember! we have still the stripes!
+
+
+
+
+FLIGHT OF DOODLES.
+
+
+  I come from old Manassas, with a pocket full of fun--
+  I killed forty Yankees with a single-barrelled gun;
+  It don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,
+  Big Yankee, little Yankee, all run or die.
+
+  I saw all the Yankees at Bull Run,
+  They fought like the devil when the battle first begun,
+  But it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you or I
+  They took to their heels, boys, and you ought to see 'em fly.
+
+  I saw old Fuss-and-Feathers Scott, twenty miles away,
+  His horses stuck up their ears, and you ought to hear 'em neigh;
+  But it don't make niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,
+  Old Scott fled like the devil, boys; root, hog, or die.
+
+  I then saw a "Tiger," from the old Crescent City,
+  He cut down the Yankees without any pity:
+  Oh! it don't make a diff-a-bitterence to neither you nor I,
+  We whipped the Yankee boys, and made the boobies cry.
+
+  I saw South Carolina, the first in the cause,
+  Shake the dirty Yankees till she broke all their jaws;
+  Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,
+  South Carolina give 'em--boys; root, hog, or die.
+
+  I saw old Virginia, standing firm and true,
+  She fought mighty hard to whip the dirty crew;
+  Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,
+  Old Virginia's blood and thunder, boys; root, hog, or die.
+
+  I saw old Georgia, the next in the van,
+  She cut down the Yankees almost to a man;
+  Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,
+  Georgia's some in a fight, boys; root, hog, or die.
+
+  I saw Alabama in the midst of the storm,
+  She stood like a giant in the contest so warm;
+  Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,
+  Alabama fought the Yankees, boys, till the last one did fly.
+
+  I saw Texas go in with a smile,
+  But I tell you what it is, she made the Yankees bile;
+  Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,
+  Texas is the devil, boys; root, hog, or die.
+
+  I saw North Carolina in the deepest of the battle,
+  She knocked down the Yankees and made their bones rattle;
+  Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,
+  North Carolina's got the grit, boys; root, hog, or die.
+
+  Old Florida came in with a terrible shout,
+  She frightened all the Yankees till their eyes stuck out;
+  Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,
+  Florida's death on Yankees; root, hog, or die.
+
+
+
+
+LAND OF KING COTTON.
+
+By JO. AUGUSTINE SIGNAIGO.
+
+_Air--"Red, White and Blue."_
+
+(This was a favorite song of the Tennessee troops, but especially of the
+13th and 154th Regiments. Memphis _Appeal_, Dec. 9, 1861.)
+
+
+  Oh! Dixie, the land of King Cotton,
+    "The home of the brave and the free,"
+  A nation by freedom begotten,
+    The terror of despots to be;
+  Wherever thy banner is streaming,
+    Base tyranny quails at thy feet,
+  And liberty's sunlight is beaming,
+    In splendor of majesty sweet.
+
+  CHORUS--Three cheers for our army so true,
+            Three cheers for Price, Johnson, and Lee:
+          Beauregard, and our Davis forever,
+            The pride of the brave and the free!
+
+  When Liberty sounds her war-rattle,
+    Demanding her right and her due,
+  The first land that rallies to battle
+    Is Dixie, the shrine of the true:
+  Thick as leaves of the forest in Summer,
+    Her brave sons will rise on each plain,
+  And then strike, until each vandal comer
+    Lies dead on the soil he would stain.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  May the names of the dead that we cherish,
+    Fill memory's cup to the brim;
+  May the laurels they've won never perish,
+    "Nor star of their glory grow dim;"
+  May the States of the South never sever,
+    But the champions of freedom e'er be;
+  May they flourish Confed'rate forever,
+    The boast of the brave and the free.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTHERN SOLDIER BOY.
+
+As sung by MISS SALLIE PARTINGTON, in the "Virginia Cavalier," Richmond,
+Va., 1863. Composed by Captain G. W. ALEXANDER.
+
+_Air--"The Boy with the Auburn Hair."_
+
+The sentiments of this song pleased the Confederate Soldiers, and for more
+than a year, the New Richmond Theatre was nightly filled by "Blockade
+Rebels," who greeted with wild hurrahs, "Miss Sallie," the prima donna of
+the Confederacy.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  Bob Roebuck is my sweetheart's name,
+    He's off to the wars and gone,
+  He's fighting for his Nannie dear,
+    His sword is buckled on;
+  He's fighting for his own true love,
+    His foes he does defy;
+  He is the darling of my heart,
+    My Southern soldier boy.
+
+  CHORUS.--Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!
+             He is my only joy,
+           He is the darling of my heart,
+             My Southern soldier boy.
+
+  When Bob comes home from war's alarms,
+    We start anew in life,
+  I'll give myself right up to him,
+    A dutiful, loving wife.
+  I'll try my best to please my dear
+    For he is my only joy;
+  He is the darling of my heart
+    My Southern soldier boy.
+
+  CHORUS.--Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!
+             He is my only joy,
+           He is the darling of my heart,
+             My Southern soldier boy.
+
+  Oh! if in battle he was slain,
+    I am sure that I should die,
+  But I am sure he'll come again
+    And cheer my weeping eye;
+  But should he fall in this our glorious cause,
+    He still would be my joy
+  For many a sweetheart mourns the loss,
+    Of a Southern soldier boy.
+
+  CHORUS.--Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!
+             I'd grieve to lose my joy,
+           But many a sweetheart mourns the loss
+             Of a Southern soldier boy.
+
+  I hope for the best, and so do all
+    Whose hopes are in the field;
+  I know that we shall win the day,
+    For Southrons never yield,
+  And when we think of those that are away,
+    We'll look above for joy,
+  And I'm mighty glad that my Bobby is
+    A Southern soldier boy.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+REBEL IS A SACRED NAME.
+
+Written by an inmate of the old Capitol Prison, Washington City.
+
+
+  Rebel is a sacred name;
+    Traitor, too, is glorious;
+  By such names our father's fought--
+    By them were victorious.
+
+  CHORUS--Gaily floats our rebel flag
+            Over hill and valley--
+          Broad its bars, and bright its stars,
+            Calling us to rally.
+
+  Washington a rebel was,
+    Jefferson a traitor,--
+  But their treason won success,
+    And made their glory greater.
+                                CHORUS.
+
+  O'er our southern sunny strand
+    Vandal feet are treading;
+  And the Hessians on our land
+    Devastation spreading.
+                                CHORUS.
+
+  Can you then inactive be?
+    Maidens fair are saying;
+  And their bright eyes shame us out
+    With this long delaying.
+                                CHORUS.
+
+  Rouse ye, children of the free,
+    Rally to our streamer;
+  The vandal flag floats o'er our land,--
+    Awaken, Southern dreamer!
+                                CHORUS.
+
+  Rebel arms shall win the fight,
+    Rebel prayers defend us;
+  Rebel maidens greet us home,
+    When tyrants no more rend us.
+                                CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
+
+Words and Music by JOHN M. HEWETT.
+
+
+  Our flag is unfurl'd and our arms flash bright,
+    As the sun rides up the sky;
+  But ere I join the doubting fight,
+    Lovely maid, I would say, "Good by."
+  I'm a young volunteer, and my heart is true
+    To the flag that woos the wind;
+  Then, three cheers for that flag and our country, too,
+    And the girls we leave behind.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then adieu! then adieu! 'tis the last bugle's strain
+             That is falling on the ear;
+           Should it so be decreed that we ne'er meet again,
+             Oh! remember the young volunteer.
+
+  When over the desert, thro' burning rays,
+    With a heavy heart I tread;
+  Or when I breast the cannon's blaze,
+    And bemoan my comrades dead,
+  Then, then, I will think of my home and you,
+    And our flag shall kiss the wind;
+  With huzza for our cause and our country, too,
+    And the girls we leave behind.
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+GOOBER PEAS.
+
+Words by A. PENDER.
+
+Music by P. NUTT.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+One of the most widely known Confederate Songs. The melody suited a
+soldier, and in his gayest mood he rolled out: "Peas! Peas! Peas!" with a
+gusto that was charming.
+
+
+  Sitting by the roadside on a summer day,
+  Chatting with my messmates, passing time away,
+  Lying in the shadow underneath the trees,
+  Goodness, how delicious, eating goober peas!
+
+  CHORUS.--Peas! Peas! Peas! Peas! eating goober peas!
+           Goodness, how delicious, eating goober peas!
+
+  When a horseman passes, the soldiers have a rule,
+  To cry out at their loudest, "Mister, here's your mule,"
+  But another pleasure enchantinger than these,
+  Is wearing out your grinders, eating goober peas!
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  Just before the battle the General hears a row,
+  He says "The Yanks are coming, I hear their rifles now,"
+  He turns around in wonder, and what do you think he sees?
+  The Georgia militia eating goober peas!
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+[Illustration: "Lying in the shadow underneath the trees."]
+
+  I think my song has lasted almost long enough,
+  The subject's interesting, but the rhymes are mighty rough,
+  I wish this war was over, when free from rags and fleas,
+  We'd kiss our wives and sweethearts and gobble goober peas!
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+OUR COUNTRY'S CALL.
+
+By H. WALTHER.
+
+[Permission of Henri Wehrmann.]
+
+
+  To arms! Oh! men in all our Southern clime,
+    Do you not scent the battle from afar,
+  And hear the ringing clash of armor chime,
+    Where men have met all panoplied for war?
+  To arms! Let not your country call in vain
+    For willing hearts to shield her from the foe,
+  But let the ardor of a patriot's fame
+    Brightly within each manly bosom glow.
+
+  CHORUS.--But let the ardor of a patriot's fame
+           Brightly within each manly bosom glow.
+
+  To arms! in this, your country's hour of need!
+    Behold her beautiful and broad domain,
+  And say, if patriot hearts shall freely bleed
+    To keep it sacred from invasion's stain?
+  To arms! and don the panoply of war,
+    Stay not like cowards from the battle-field;
+  But with your armor on, march where the roar
+    Of cannon tells you that your brothers bleed!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  The trumpet and the clarion sound to arms,
+  The noisy drum in solemn echo beats,
+  And martial music, robed in all her charms,
+  The magic words, To arms! To arms! repeats.
+  To arms! The mortal combat has begun,
+  Rush on and fight amidst the deadly fray,
+  Nor pause until the work is nobly done,
+  And honor crowns us with her wreath of bay!
+
+
+
+
+CANNON SONG.
+
+
+  Aha! a song for the trumpet's tongue!
+  For the bugle to sing before us,
+  When our gleaming guns, like clarions,
+  Shall thunder in battle chorus!
+  Where the rifles ring, where the bullets sing,
+  Where the black bombs whistle o'er us,
+  With rolling wheel and rattling peal
+  They'll thunder in battle chorus!
+
+  CHORUS.--With the cannon's flash, and the cannon's crash,
+           With the cannon's roar and rattle,
+           Let Freedom's sons, with their shouting guns,
+           Go down to their country's battle!
+
+  Their brassy throats shall learn the notes
+  That make old tyrants quiver;
+  Till the war is done, or each TYRRELL gun
+  Grows cold with our hearts forever!
+
+  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!
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  By 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!
+  Our father's 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!
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+CHIVALROUS C. S. A.
+
+_Air--"Vive la Compagnie."_
+
+
+  I'll sing you a song of the South's sunny clime,
+                Chivalrous C. S. A.!
+  Which went to housekeeping once on a time;
+                Bully for C. S. A.!
+  Like heroes and princes they lived for a while,
+                Chivalrous C. S. A.!
+  And routed the Hessians in most gallant style;
+                Bully for C. S. A.!
+
+  CHORUS.--Chivalrous, chivalrous people are they!
+           Chivalrous, chivalrous people are they!
+           In C. S. A.! In C. S. A.!
+           Aye, in chivalrous C. S. A.!
+
+  They have a bold leader--Jeff. Davis his name--
+                Chivalrous C. S. A.!
+  Good generals and soldiers, all anxious for fame;
+                Bully for C. S. A.!
+  At Manassas they met the North in its pride,
+                Chivalrous C. S. A.!
+  But they easily put McDowell aside;
+                Bully for C. S. A.!
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Ministers to England and France, it appears,
+                Have gone from the C. S. A.!
+  Who've given the North many fleas in its ears,
+                Bully for C. S. A.!
+  Reminders are being to Washington sent,
+                By the chivalrous C. S. A.!
+  That'll force Uncle Abe full soon to repent,
+                Bully for C. S. A.!
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Oh, they have the finest of musical ears,
+                Chivalrous C. S. A.!
+  Yankee Doodle's too vulgar for them, it appears;
+                Bully for C. S. A.!
+  The North may sing it and whistle it still,
+                Miserable U. S. A.!
+  Three cheers for the South!--now, boys, with a will!
+                And groans for the U. S. A.!
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+NORTH CAROLINA'S WAR SONG.
+
+_Air--"Annie Laurie."_
+
+
+  We leave our pleasant homesteads,
+  We leave our smiling farms,
+  At the first call of duty
+  We rush at once to arms;
+  We rush at once to arms,
+  To guard our coasts we fly,
+  For the land our mothers lived, on
+  Bravely to bleed or die.
+
+  Up, boys, and quit your pleasure,
+  Up, men, and quit your toil!
+  The invader's foot must never
+  Be pressed upon our soil;
+  Be pressed upon our soil,
+  In which our fathers sleep;
+  Their blessed graves our care, boys,
+  Most sacredly must keep.
+
+  'Twas in our brave old State, men,
+  That first of all was sung,
+  The thrilling song of freedom
+  That through the land hath rung;
+  That through the land hath rung,
+  And we'll sound its notes once more,
+  Till our men and children shout
+  From the mountain to the shore.
+
+  Sweet eyes are filled with tears, men,
+  Sweet tears of love and pride,
+  As our wives and sweethearts bid us
+  Go meet whate'er betide,
+  Go meet whate'er betide,
+  And God our guide shall be,
+  As we drive the foe before us,
+  And rush to victory.
+
+
+
+
+THE HOMESPUN DRESS.
+
+By CARRIE BELL SINCLAIR.
+
+_Air--"Bonnie Blue Flag."_
+
+
+  Oh, yes, I am a Southern girl,
+    And glory in the name,
+  And boast it with far greater pride
+    Than glittering wealth or fame.
+  We envy not the Northern girl,
+    Her robes of beauty rare,
+  Though diamonds grace her snowy neck,
+    And pearls bedeck her hair.
+
+  CHORUS.--Hurrah! Hurrah!
+           For the sunny South so dear,
+           Three cheers for the homespun dress
+           The Southern ladies wear!
+
+  The homespun dress is plain, I know,
+    My hat's palmetto, too;
+  But then it shows what Southern girls
+    For Southern rights will do.
+  We send the bravest of our land,
+    To battle with the foe,
+  And we will lend a helping hand--
+    We love the South, you know.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Now Northern goods are out of date;
+    And since old Abe's blockade,
+  We Southern girls can be content
+    With goods that's Southern made.
+  We send our sweethearts to the war;
+    But, dear girls; never mind--
+  Your soldier-love will ne'er forget
+    The girl he left behind.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  The soldier is the lad for me--
+    A brave heart I adore;
+  And when the sunny South is free,
+    And when fighting is no more,
+  I'll choose me then a lover brave,
+    From out that gallant band.
+  The soldier lad I love the best
+    Shall have my heart and hand.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  The Southern land's a glorious land,
+    And has a glorious cause;
+  Then cheer, three cheers for Southern rights,
+    And for the Southern boys!
+  We scorn to wear a bit of silk,
+    A bit of Northern lace,
+  But make our homespun dresses up,
+    And wear them with a grace.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  And now, young man, a word to you:
+    If you would win the fair,
+  Go to the field where honor calls,
+    And win your lady there.
+  Remember that our brightest smiles
+    Are for the true and brave,
+  And that our tears are all for those
+    Who fill a soldier's grave.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE BANNER SONG.
+
+By JAMES B. MARSHALL.
+
+
+  Up, up with the banner, the foe is before us,
+    His bayonets bristle, his sword is unsheathed,
+  Charge, charge on his line with harmonious chorus,
+    For the prayers go with us that beauty has breathed.
+
+  He fights for the power of despot and plunder,
+    While we are defending our altars and homes;
+  He has riven the firmly knit Union asunder,
+    And to bind it with tyranny's fetters he comes,
+  Like the prophet Mokanna, whose veil so resplendent,
+    His monstrous deformity closely concealed;
+  Duplicity marks Lincoln's course, and dependent
+    On falsehood is every fair promise revealed.
+
+  When that veil shall be raised, Freedom's last feast be taken,
+    A banquet to which all his followers will crowd;
+  Oh, horror of horrors! who can view it unshaken?
+    Without sense they will sit all in suppliance bowed!
+  We do not forget that they once were our brothers,
+    That we sat in our boyhood around the same board,
+  That our heart's best idolatry blest the same mothers,
+    And to the same fathers libations we poured.
+
+  We rallied around the same star-spangled standard,
+    When called to the field by the tocsin of war,
+  But they from our side have unfeelingly wandered,
+    And we strip from our flag every recusant star.
+  They have forced us to stand by our own constitution,
+    To defend our lov'd homesteads, our altars and fires,
+  While they tamely submit to a tyrant's pollution,
+    Beneath whose foul tread their own freedom expires.
+
+  Then up with the banner, its broad stripes wide flowing,
+    'Tis the emblem of Liberty--flag of the free;
+  Let it wave us to triumph, and every heart glowing,
+    Nerve each arm's bravest blows for its lov'd Tennessee.
+
+
+
+
+THE VOLUNTEER.
+
+Permission of H. WEHRMAN.
+
+Arranged by J. C. VIERECK.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  The hour was sad, I left the maid,
+    A lingering farewell taking;
+  Her sighs and tears my steps delayed,
+    I thought her heart was breaking.
+  In hurried words her name I blessed,
+    I breathed the vows that bind me,
+  And to my heart in anguish pressed
+    The girl I left behind me.
+
+  Then to the East we bore away
+    To win a name in story,
+  And, there, where dawns the sun of day,
+    There dawned our sun of glory.
+  Both blazed in noon on Manassas' plain,
+    Where, in the post assigned me,
+  I shared the glory of that fight--
+    Sweet girl I left behind me!
+
+  Full many a name our banners bore
+    Of former deeds of daring--
+  But they were of the days of yore,
+    In which we had no sharing;
+  But now, our laurels freshly won,
+    With the old ones shall entwin'd be,
+  Still worthy of our sires, each son,
+    Sweet girl I left behind me!
+
+  The hope of final victory
+    Within my bosom burning,
+  Is mingling with sweet thoughts of thee,
+    And of my fond returning.
+  But should I ne'er return again,
+    Still worth thy love thou'lt find me,
+  Dishonor's breath shall never stain
+    The name I leave behind me.
+
+
+
+
+READING THE LIST.
+
+
+  "Is there any news of the war?" she said;
+  "Only a list of the wounded and dead,"
+      Was the man's reply,
+      Without lifting his eye
+  To the face of the woman standing by.
+  "'Tis the very thing I want," she said;
+  "Read me a list of the wounded and dead."
+
+  He read the list--'twas a sad array
+  Of the wounded and killed in the fatal fray;
+  In the very midst was a pause, to tell
+  That his comrades asked, "Who is he, pray?"
+  "The only son of the widow Gray,"
+      Was the proud reply
+      Of his Captain nigh.
+  What ails the woman standing near?
+  Her face has the ashen hue of fear!
+
+  "Well, well, read on; is he wounded? quick!
+  Oh, God! but my heart is sorrow sick!
+  Is he wounded?" "No! he fell," they say,
+  "Killed outright on that fatal day!"
+  But see, the woman has swooned away!
+
+[Illustration: "Only a list of the wounded and dead."]
+
+  Sadly she opened her eyes to the light,
+  Slowly recalled the events of the fight;
+  Faintly she murmured, "Killed outright!
+  It has cost me the life of my only son,
+  But the battle is fought and the victory won;
+  The will of the Lord, let it be done!"
+
+  God pity the cheerless widow Gray,
+  And send from the halls of Eternal Day
+  The light of His peace to illume her way!
+
+
+
+
+THE BARS AND STARS.
+
+By W. A. HAYNES.
+
+_Air--"Star Spangled Banner."_
+
+
+  Oh, the tocsin of war still resounds o'er the land,
+   And legions of braves are now rushing to battle,
+  Our lint-stocks are lighted, our guns are all manned,
+   Loud thunders the cannon, and musketry rattle,
+                Our hosts there are led
+                By the blue, white and red,
+  While the battle fiend flaps his pale wing o'er the dead.
+
+  CHORUS.--Let the bars and stars of our banner ever wave
+           O'er the land of the South, the home of the brave.
+
+  O, say, can you see through the mist and the gloom,
+   Through the clouds of the battle our stars brightly shining,
+  'Tis a beacon of hope, 'tis a signal of doom
+   To the hordes of the vandals our borders now lining;
+                  Proud defiance we hurl
+                  And our flag we unfurl,
+      Let it float, proudly float, in the gaze of the world.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+  For thirty years or more, we have waited and prayed
+   That the chains of oppression and wrongs might be sundered,
+  But the black fiends of the North, with their plans foully laid,
+   Have raised up a whirlwind and the old ship's now foundered.
+                  We shouted the alarm,
+                  We spoke of our wrongs,
+      Now the argument's exhausted, we'll stand by our arms.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+  Oh! Manassas has been fought, and the field has been won,
+    And the brag guns of Sherman our brave boys have taken;
+  Our foes have retreated back to old Washington,
+    But the ranks of our Dixie still remain there unshaken;
+                  And over the graves
+                  Of the New York Zouaves
+      The bars and the stars now triumphantly waves.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+WAR SONG.
+
+_Charleston Mercury._
+
+Respectfully inscribed to the companies mentioned.
+
+_Air--"March, march, Ettrick and Toviotdale."_
+
+
+  March, march on, brave "Palmetto" boys,
+    "Sumpter" and "Lafayettes" forward in order;
+  March, march "Calhoun" and "Rifle" boys,
+    All the base Yankees are crossing the border,
+        Banners are round ye spread,
+        Floating above your head,
+    Soon shall the Lone Star be famous in story,
+        On, on, my gallant men,
+        Vict'ry be thine again;
+    Fight for your rights till the green sod is gory.
+
+  Young wives and sisters have buckled your armor on;
+    Maidens ye love bid ye go to the battle-field;
+  Strong arms and stout hearts have many a vict'ry won,
+    Courage shall strengthen the weapons ye wield;
+        Wild passions are storming,
+        Dark schemes are forming,
+    Deep snares are laid, but they shall not enthrall ye;
+        Justice your cause shall greet,
+        Laurels lay at your feet,
+    If each brave band be but watchful and wary.
+
+  Let fear and unmanliness vanish before ye;
+   Trust in the Rock who will shelter the righteous;
+  Plant firmly each step on the soil of the free,--
+   A heritage left by the sires who bled for us,
+       May each heart be bounding,
+       When trumpets are sounding,
+   And the dark traitors shall strive to surround ye;
+       The great God of battle
+       Can still the war-rattle,
+   And brighten the land with a sunset of glory.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTHERN FLAG.
+
+_Tune_--"_A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea._"
+
+
+  Three cheers for the Southern flag,
+   That floats upon the gale,
+  Once more fling out its flapping folds,
+   And make its foeman quail.
+  And make each foeman quail, my boys,
+   While, like an earthquake roar,
+  Goes forth our war cry through the land,
+   For liberty once more.
+
+  CHORUS.--Three cheers for the Southern flag,
+             That floats above the gale,
+           Once more fling out its flapping folds,
+             And make its foeman quail.
+
+  Oh, for an Abolition crowd,
+   I hear old Abe cry out,
+  Affrighted by the march of foes,
+   The freeman's mighty shout.
+  That shouting welcomes to our heart,
+   The freeman's chosen man--
+  Jeff Davis--who now heads our hosts,
+   And leads the glorious van.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Full brightly waves our flag in air,
+   O'er Sumpter's fort just won.
+  And soon o'er Pickens' towering heights
+   It will glitter in the sun.
+  It will glitter in the sun, my boys,
+   And fan the battle cloud,
+  The struggling freeman's sigh of hope,
+   The fallen heroes' shroud.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  And now three cheers for the glorious flag,
+   That victory has won,
+  And may it soon be towering o'er
+   The Dome at Washington.
+  The Dome at Washington, my boys,
+   While Abolition hosts
+  Shall quail and shake before the flag--
+   The freeman's glorious boast.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE STARS AND THE BARS.
+
+
+  O, the South is the queen of all nations,
+    The home of the brave and the true--
+  She makes no vain demonstration;
+    But shows what her brave sons can do;
+  Her freedom and advancement they cherish--
+    "Our rights, our liberties," they cry,
+  "To the rescue, we'll win the fight or perish,
+    For the Southern boys never fear to die."
+
+  CHORUS.--Then hurrah for the "Stars and Bars,"
+             No stain on its folds ever be--
+           Its glory dishonor never mars,
+             And 'twill yet grace the land of the free.
+
+  Bring forward the tankard and fill it,
+    Ye sons that are loyal and brave,
+  Our blood--O, how freely we'll spill it,
+    We are fighting for freedom or the grave;
+  Our armies may be scattered and disbanded,
+    Yet the wild-woods we still will infest--
+  Yet shall fear the brave foe tho' single-handed,
+    When the death rattle burst from his breast.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Though black clouds sometimes may darken,
+    And shadow the bright sunny sky;
+  To the rumbling of cannon we'll hearken,
+    Which tells of the foe as they fly.
+  Tho' thousands may fall stark and gory,
+    Their requiem from gun and cannon mouth,
+  They'll win fame, freedom and glory;
+    And all for the loved "Sunny South."
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+CONFEDERATE SONG.
+
+_Air--"Bruce's Address."_
+
+Written for and dedicated to the Kirk's Ferry Rangers, by their Captain,
+E. LLOYD WAILES. Sung by the Glee Club on 4th July, 1861, at the Kirk's
+Ferry Barbecue (Catahoula, La.), after the presentation of a flag, by the
+ladies, to the Kirk's Ferry Rangers.
+
+
+  Rally round our country's flag!
+  Rally, boys, nor do not lag;
+  Come from every vale and crag,
+      Sons of Liberty!
+  Northern Vandals tread our soil,
+  Forth they come for blood and spoil,
+  To the homes we've gained with toil,
+      Shouting, "Slavery."
+
+  Traitorous Lincoln's bloody band
+  Now invades the freeman's land,
+  Arm'd with sword and firebrand,
+      'Gainst the brave and free.
+  Arm ye, then, for fray and fight,
+  March ye forth both day and night,
+  Stop not till the foe's in sight,
+      Sons of chivalry.
+
+  In your veins the blood still flows
+  Of brave men who once arose--
+  Burst the shackles of their foes;
+      Honest men and free
+  Rise, then, in your power and might,
+  Seek the spoiler, brave the fight;
+  Strike for God, for Truth, for Right:
+      Strike for Liberty!
+
+
+
+
+LEE AT THE WILDERNESS.
+
+By MISS MOLLIE E. MOORE.
+
+
+  'Twas a terrible moment!
+    The blood and the rout!
+  His great bosom shook
+    With an awful doubt.
+  Confusion in front,
+    And a pause in the cries:
+  And a darkness like night
+    Passed over our skies:
+    There were tears in the eyes
+        Of General Lee.
+
+  As the blue-clad lines
+    Swept fearfully near,
+  There was wavering yonder,
+    And a break in the cheer
+  Of our columns unsteady:
+    But "WE ARE HERE! _We_ are ready
+  With rifle and blade!"
+    Cried the Texas Brigade
+        To General Lee.
+
+  He smiled--it meant death,
+    That wonderful smile;
+  It leaped like a flame
+    Down each close set file;
+  And we stormed to the front
+    With a long, loud cry--
+  We had long ago learned
+    How to charge and to die:
+    There was faith in the eye
+        Of General Lee.
+
+  But a sudden pause came,
+    As we dashed on the foe,
+  And our scathing columns
+    Swayed to and fro;
+  Cold grew our blood,
+    Glowing like wine,
+  And a quick, sharp whisper
+    Shot over our line,
+  As our ranks opened wide--
+  _And there by our side
+        Rode General Lee._
+
+  How grandly he rode!
+    With his eyes on fire,
+  And his great bosom shook
+    With an awful desire!
+  But, "Back to the rear!
+    'Till you ride to the rear
+  We will not do battle
+    With gun or with blade!"
+    Cried the Texas Brigade
+        To General Lee.
+
+[Illustration: Gen. Robert E. Lee.]
+
+  And so he rode back;
+    And our terrible yell
+  Stormed up to the front;
+    And the fierce, wild swell,
+  And the roar and the rattle,
+  Swept into the battle
+        From General Lee.
+
+  I felt my foot slip
+    In the gathering fray--
+  I looked, and my brother
+    Lay dead in my way.
+  I paused but one moment
+    To draw him aside;
+  Ah! the gash in his bosom
+    Was bloody and wide!
+    But he smiled, for he died
+        For General Lee.
+
+  Christ! 'twas maddening work;
+    But the work was done,
+  And a few came back
+    When the hour was won.
+  Let it glow in the peerless
+    Records of the fearless--
+  The charge that was made
+  By the Texas Brigade
+        For General Lee.
+
+
+
+
+A SOUTHERN SONG.
+
+By "L. M.," in _Louisville Courier_.
+
+
+  If ever I consent to be married,
+    And who would refuse a good mate?
+  The man whom I give my hand to,
+    Must believe in the rights of the State.
+
+  To a husband who quietly submits
+    To negro-equality sway,
+  The true Southern girl will not barter
+    Her heart and affections away.
+
+  The heart I may choose to preside o'er,
+    True, warm, and devoted must be,
+  And have true love for a Union
+    Under the Southern Liberty Tree.
+
+  Should Lincoln attempt to coerce him
+    To share with the negro his right,
+  Then, smiling, I'd gird on his armor,
+    And bid him God-speed in the fight.
+
+  And if he should fall in the conflict,
+    His memory with tears I will grace;
+  Better weep o'er a patriot fallen,
+    Than blush in a Tory embrace.
+
+  We girls are all for a Union,
+    Where a marked distinction is laid
+  Between the rights of the mistress
+    And those of the kinky-haired maid.
+
+
+
+
+THE TEXAN MARSEILLAISE.
+
+By JAMES HAINES, of Texas.
+
+
+  Sons of the South, arouse to battle!
+    Gird on your armor for the fight!
+  The Northern Thugs, with dread "war's rattle,"
+    Pour on each vale, and glen, and height;
+  Meet them as ocean meets in madness
+    The frail bark on the rocky shore,
+    When crested billows roam and roar,
+  And the wrecked crew go down in sadness:
+
+  CHORUS.--Arm! Arm! ye Southern braves!
+             Scatter yon vandal hordes!
+           Despots and bandits, fitting food
+             For vultures and your swords.
+
+  Shall dastard tyrants march their legions
+    To crush the land of Jackson--Lee?
+  Shall freedom fly to other regions,
+    And sons of Yorktown bend the knee?
+  Or shall their "footprints' base pollution"
+    Of Southern soil in blood be purged,
+    And every flying slave be scourged
+  Back to his snows in wild confusion.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Vile despots, with their minions knavish,
+    Would drag us back to their embrace;
+  Will freemen brook a chain so slavish?
+    Will brave men take so low a place?
+  O, Heaven! for words--the loathing, scorning
+    We feel for such a Union's bands:
+    To paint with more than mortal hands,
+  And sound our loudest notes of warning.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  What! Union with a race ignoring
+    The charter of our Nation's birth?
+  Union with bastard slaves adoring
+    The fiend that chains them to the earth?
+  No! we reply in tones of thunder,
+    No! our staunch hills fling back the sound--
+    No! our hoarse cannon echo round--
+  No! evermore remain asunder!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+[Illustration: Stonewall Jackson's Cadet Button.]
+
+
+
+
+THE BATTLE OF THE MISSISSIPPI.
+
+
+  The tyrant's broad pennant is floating
+    In the South, o'er our waters so blue:
+  On our homes now his foul eye is gloating;
+    The homes of the brave and the true.
+
+  CHORUS.--But our flag at the "head of the Passes,"
+           Is borne by men brave and true;
+           We will teach them to fear our "Manassas;"[2]
+           Three cheers for _our_ Red, White, and Blue.
+
+  We will give his proud fleet such a greeting
+    As the storm-cloud's shaft to the tree;
+  As the rock to the wave in their meeting--
+    Is the stroke of the brave and the free.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Though his minions may come as the locust,
+    And outnumber the sands of the sea,
+  Their numbers will serve to provoke us,
+    To dare, to die, or live free.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Every breeze from the "Crescent" is laden
+    With defiance to the despot on our shore;
+  Strong men, the child, and each maiden,
+    Join in chorus with the cannon's loud roar.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+SONG FOR THE SOUTH.
+
+
+  Of all the mighty nations, in the East or in the West,
+  Our glorious Southern nation is the greatest and the best;
+  We have room for all true Southrons, with our Stars and Bars unfurled,
+  And a general invitation to the people of the world.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then, to arms, boys! to arms, boys! make no delay,
+           Come from every Southern State, come from every way,
+           Our army isn't large enough, Jeff Davis calls for more,
+           To hurl the vile invader from off our Southern shore.
+
+  Ohio is our northern line, far as her waters flow,
+  And on the south is the Rio Grande and the Gulf of Mexico;
+  While between the Atlantic Ocean, where the sun begins to rise,
+  Westward to Arizona, the land of promise lies.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+  While the Gulf States raise the cotton, the others grain and pork,
+  North and South Carolina's factories will do the finer work;
+  For the deep and flowing waterfalls that course along our hills,
+  Are "just the things" for washing sheep and driving cotton mills.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+  Our Southern boys are brave and true, and joining heart and hand
+  And are flocking to the "Stars and Bars" as they are floating o'er the
+      land.
+  And all are standing ready, with their rifles in their hands,
+  And invite the North to open graves down South in Dixie's land.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+SONG OF THE SOUTHERN SOLDIER.
+
+By "P. E. C.," in _Richmond Examiner_.
+
+_Tune_--"_Barclay and Perkins' Drayman._"
+
+These lines were written Jan. 8, 1861, for a friend, who expected to sing
+them in the theatre, but thought at the time to be too much in the
+secession spirit.
+
+
+  I'm a soldier, you see, that oppression has made!
+    I don't fight for pay or for booty;
+  But I wear in my hat a blue cockade,
+    Placed there by the fingers of Beauty.
+  The South is my home, where a black man is black,
+    And a white man there is a white man;
+  Now I am tired of listening to Northern clack,--
+    Let us see what they will do in a fight, man.
+
+  The Yankees are cute; they have managed, somehow,
+    Their business and ours to settle;
+  They make all we want, from a pin to a plough,
+    Now we'll show them some Southern mettle.
+  We have had just enough of their Northern law,
+    That robbed us so long of our right, man,
+  And too much of their cursed abolition jaw,--
+    Now we'll see what they'll do in a fight, man!
+
+  Their parsons will open their sanctified jaws,
+    And cant of our slave-growing sin, sir;
+  They pocket the _profits_, while preaching the laws,
+    And manage our cotton to spin, sir.
+  Their incomes are nice, on our sugar and rice,
+    Though against it the hypocrites write, sir;
+  Now our dander is up, and they'll soon smell a mice,
+    If we once get them into a fight, sir.
+
+  Our cotton bales once made a good barricade,
+    And can still do the State a good service;
+  With them and the boys of the blue cockade,
+    There is power enough to preserve us.
+  So shoulder your rifles, my boys, for defense,
+    In the cause of our freedom and right, man;
+  If there's no other way for to learn them sense,
+    We may teach them a lesson in fight, man.
+
+  The stars that are growing so fast on our flags,
+    We treasure as Liberty's pearls,
+  And stainless we'll bear them, though shot into rags;
+    They were fixed by the hands of our girls,
+  And fixed stars they shall be in our national sky,
+    To guide through the future aright, man,
+  And your Cousin Sam, with their gleam in his eye,
+    May dare the whole world to fight, man.
+
+
+
+
+THE DYING SOLDIER BOY.
+
+By A. B. CUNNINGHAM, of Louisiana.
+
+_Air--"Maid of Monterey."_
+
+
+  Upon Manassas' bloody plain a soldier boy lay dying!
+  The gentle winds above his form in softest tones were sighing;
+  The god of day had slowly sank beneath the verge of day,
+  And the silver moon was gliding above the milky way.
+
+  The stars were shining brightly, and the sky was calm and blue,
+  Oh, what a beautiful scene was this for human eyes to view!
+  The river roll'd in splendor, and the wavelets danc'd around,
+  But the banks were strew'd with dead men, and gory was the ground.
+
+  But the hero-boy lay dying, and his thoughts were very deep,
+  For the death-wound in his young side was wafting him to sleep;
+  The thought of home and kindred away on a distant shore,
+  All of whom he must relinquish, and never see them more.
+
+  And as the night-breeze passed by, in whispers o'er the dead,
+  Sweet memories of olden days came rushing to his head;
+  But his mind was weak and deaden'd, so he turned from where he lay,
+  As the Death-angel flitted by, and call'd his soul away!
+
+[Illustration: "The hero-boy lay dying."]
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTHERN BANNER.
+
+By COL. W. S. HAWKINS, C. S. A., Camp Chase, Ohio.
+
+
+  Sing-ho! for the Southerner's meteor flag
+    As 'tis flung in its pride to the breeze,
+  From the happy glen and the beetling crag,
+    'Tis the pride of the land and the seas.
+
+  Hurrah! for the scintillant Cross of Red,
+    As it waves and glances in light,
+  Beneath it our brothers grandly tread,
+    To battle for God and right.
+
+  The flag for which Southrons had gladly died
+    Is the badge of the tyrant now,
+  And for it no blush of joy or pride
+    Suffuseth the cheek or brow.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Sing ho! for the Southerner's flag for aye,
+    And ho! for its beautiful Cross;
+  It shall be the signal of bold array
+    Where the windy surges toss.
+
+  On a traitor's heart be the curses of night,
+    And palsied the craven hand
+  That fails in the hazard of furious fight
+    For God and our Native Land.
+
+  Hurrah! as over the hills it waves,
+    Or is borne on the ocean's breast,
+  Hurrah! as it leads our valorous braves,
+    Or is drooped o'er the hero's rest.
+
+  Whether it greets the uprising sun
+    Or is bathed in the western light,
+  Beneath it shall all our hopes be won
+    For "God will defend the right."
+
+
+
+
+O, JOHNNY BULL, MY JO JOHN.
+
+_Air--"John Anderson, my Jo."_
+
+In December, 1861, eighty-seven British ships-of-war were lying in the
+waters of the West Indies. This fact gave rise to the following imitation
+of an old song.
+
+
+  O, Johnny Bull, my Jo John! I wonder what you mean,
+  By sending all these frigates out, commissioned by the Queen;
+  You'll frighten off the Yankees, John, and why should you do so?
+  But catch and sink, or burn them all, O, Johnny Bull, my Jo!
+
+  O, Johnny Bull, my Jo John! when Yankee hands profane,
+  Were laid in wanton insult upon the lion's mane,
+  He roared so loud and long, John, they quickly let him go,
+  And sank upon their trembling knees, O, Johnny Bull, my Jo!
+
+  O, Johnny Bull, my Jo John! when Lincoln first began
+  To try his hand at war, John, you were a peaceful man;
+  But now your blood is up, John, and well the Yankees know,
+  You play the ---- when you start, O, Johnny Bull, my Jo!
+
+  O, Johnny Bull, my Jo John! let's take the field together,
+  And hunt the Yankee Doodles home, in spite of wind and weather,
+  And ere a twelve-month roll around, to Boston we will go,
+  And eat our Christmas dinner there, O, Johnny Bull, my Jo!
+
+
+
+
+MORGAN'S WAR-SONG.
+
+By GEN. BASIL DUKE, of Kentucky.
+
+_Air--A combination of the "Marseillaise" and the "Old Granite State."_
+
+
+  Ye sons of the South, take your weapons in hand,
+  For the foot of the foe hath insulted your land:
+          Sound! sound the loud alarm!
+          Arise! arise and arm!
+  Let the hand of each foeman grasp the sword to maintain
+  Those rights which, once lost, he can never regain.
+
+  CHORUS.--Gather fast 'neath our flag,
+             For 'tis God's own decree,
+           That its folds shall still float
+             O'er a land that is free!
+
+  See ye not those dark clouds which now threaten the sky?
+  Hear ye not that stern thunder now bursting so nigh?
+          Shout! shout your battle-cry!
+          Win! win this fight or die!
+  What our fathers achieved our own valor can keep,
+  And we'll save our fair land or we'll sleep our last sleep!
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+  On our hearts and our arms and our God we rely,
+  And a nation shall rise, or a people shall die.
+          Form! form the serried line!
+          Advance! advance our proud ensign:
+  To your country devote every life that she gave,
+  Let the land they invade give their army its grave.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+  Though their plunder-paid hordes come to ravage our land,
+  Give our fields to the spoiler, our homes to the brand,
+          Our souls are all aglow,
+          To face the hireling foe.
+  Give the robbers to know that we _never_ will yield,
+  While the arm of one Southron a weapon can wield.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+  From our far Southern shore now arises a prayer,
+  While the cry of our women fills with anguish the air.
+          O! list that pleading voice,
+          Each youth now make his choice;
+  Now tamely submit like a coward or slave,
+  Or rise and resist like the free and the brave.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+  Kentucky! Kentucky! can you suffer the sight
+  Of your sisters insulted, your friends in the fight?
+          Awake! be free again!
+          O! break the tyrant's chain:
+  Let each hand seize the sword it drew for the right,
+  From the homes of your fathers drive the dastard in flight.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+KNOXVILLE, TENN., July 4, 1862.
+
+
+
+
+FOR BALES.
+
+_Air--"Johnny, fill up the bowl."_
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  We all went down to New Orleans,
+    For Bales, for Bales;
+  We all went down to New Orleans,
+    For Bales, says I;
+  We all went down to New Orleans
+  To get a peep behind the scenes,
+      "And we'll all drink stone blind,
+      Johnny, fill up the bowl."
+
+  We thought when we got in the "ring,"
+    For Bales, for Bales;
+  We thought when we got in the "ring,"
+    For Bales, says I;
+  We thought when we got in the "ring,"
+  Greenbacks would be a dead sure thing,
+      "And we'll all drink stone blind,
+      Johnny, fill up the bowl."
+
+  The "ring" went up with bagging and rope,
+    For Bales, for Bales;
+  Upon the "Black Hawk" with bagging and rope,
+    For Bales, says I;
+  Went up "Red River" with bagging and rope,
+  Expecting to make a pile of "soap,"
+      "And we'll all drink stone blind,
+      Johnny, fill up the bowl."
+
+  But Taylor and Smith, with ragged ranks,
+    For Bales, for Bales;
+  But Taylor and Smith, with ragged ranks,
+    For Bales, says I;
+  But Taylor and Smith, with ragged ranks,
+  Burned up the cotton and whipped old Banks,
+      "And we'll all drink stone blind,
+      Johnny, fill up the bowl."
+
+  Our "ring" came back and cursed and swore,
+    For Bales, for Bales;
+  Our "ring" came back and cursed and swore,
+    For Bales, says I;
+  Our "ring" came back and cursed and swore,
+  For we got no cotton at Grand Ecore,
+      "And we'll all drink stone blind,
+      Johnny, fill up the bowl."
+
+  Now let us all give praise and thanks,
+    For Bales, for Bales;
+  Now let us all give praise and thanks,
+    For Bales, says I;
+  Now let us all give praise and thanks
+  For the victory (?) gained by General Banks,
+      "And we'll all drink stone blind,
+      Johnny, fill up the bowl."
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG OF THE SOUTH.
+
+
+  Hurrah for the South, the glorious South! the land of song and story--
+  Her name shall ring, and the world shall sing her honor, fame, and glory;
+  For the skies above, which smiled in love, are dark with hearth-fires
+      burning;
+  She rises in might to defend the right, on her treacherous brethren
+      turning.
+
+  CHORUS.--Sons of the South, arise! arise!
+             For never shall fall upon her--
+           The land we love all the earth above,
+             One stain of dark dishonor.
+
+  Hurrah for the South, the gallant South, with her great heart proudly
+      beating;
+  She takes her stand at Freedom's hand, and dreams not of retreating;
+  Oh! Southern boys, for fireside joys, with their hearts so brave and
+      tender,
+  Will relentlessly fight, and to death's dark night alone will they
+      surrender.
+                                                      CHORUS.
+
+  No Northern band shall rule this land--to the breeze give Freedom's
+      banner,
+  As its glowing folds o'er our land unroll, from mountain and savannah;
+  O'er river and lake the sound shall break, and swell with thundering
+      glory;
+  Hurrah for the South! the noble South! the land of war and story!
+                                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+LAND OF THE SOUTH.
+
+By A. F. LEONARD.
+
+_Air--"Friend of My Soul."_
+
+
+  Land of the South! the fairest land
+    Beneath Columbia's sky!
+  Proudly her hills of freedom stand,
+    Her plains in beauty lie.
+  Her dotted fields, her traversed streams
+    Their annual wealth renew;
+  Land of the South! in brightest dreams
+    No dearer spot we view.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Flag of the South! aye, fling its folds
+    Upon the kindred breeze;
+  Emblem of dread to tyrant holds--
+    Of freedom on the seas,
+  Forever may its stars and stripes
+    In cloudless glory wave;
+  Red, white, and blue--eternal types
+    Of nations free and brave!
+
+  States of the South! the patriot's boast!
+    Here equal laws have sway;
+  Nor tyrant lord, nor despot host,
+    Upon the weak may prey.
+  Then let them rule from sea to sea,
+    And crown the queenly isle--
+  Union of love and liberty,
+    'Neath heaven's approving smile.
+
+
+
+
+LADIES, TO THE HOSPITAL!
+
+By "PERSONNE," Correspondent of the _Charleston Courier_.
+
+
+  Fold away all your bright-tinted dresses,
+    Turn the key on your jewels to-day,
+  And the wreath of your tendril-like tresses,
+    Braid back in a serious way:
+  No more delicate gloves, no more laces;
+    No more trifling in boudoir or bower;
+  But come with your souls in your faces,
+    To meet the stern wants of the hour.
+
+  Look around! By the torch-light unsteady,
+    The dead and the dying seem one;
+  What? trembling and paling already,
+    Before your mission's begun?
+  These wounds are more precious than ghastly;
+    Time presses her lips to each scar,
+  While she chants of that glory which vastly
+    Transcends all the horrors of war.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+  "... How mellow
+  The light showers down on that brow."]
+
+  Pause here by this bedside. How mellow
+    The light showers down on that brow;
+  Such a brave, brawny visage! Poor fellow!
+    Some homestead is missing him now;
+  Some wife shaded her eyes in the clearing;
+    Some mother sits moaning, distressed;
+  While the lov'd one lies faint but unfearing,
+    With the enemy's ball in his breast.
+
+  Here's another; a lad--a mere stripling--
+    Picked up on the fields almost dead,
+  With the blood through the sunny hair rippling,
+    From a horrible gash in the head!
+  They say he was first in the action,
+    Gay-hearted, quick-handed and witty;
+  He fought till he dropped with exhaustion,
+    In front of our fair Southern city.
+
+  Fought and fell 'neath the guns of that city,
+    With a spirit transcending his years;
+  Lift him up in your large-hearted pity,
+    And wet his pale lips with your tears:
+  Touch him gently; most sacred that duty
+    Of dressing that poor shatter'd hand;
+  God spare him to rise in his beauty,
+    And battle once more for his land!
+
+  Who groan'd? What a passionate murmur:
+    "In Thy mercy, oh God! let me die!
+  Ha! surgeon, your hand must be firmer,"
+    That musket ball's entered his thigh:
+  Turn the light on those poor furrow'd features,
+    Gray-haired and unknown, bless thee, brother!
+  Oh Heaven! that one of Thy creatures
+    Should e'er work such woe on another.
+
+  Wipe the sweat from his brow with your 'kerchief
+    Let the tatter'd old collar go wide!
+  See! he stretches out blindly to see if
+    The surgeon still stands by his side:
+  "My son's over yonder--he's wounded--
+    O this ball has entered my thigh!"
+  And again he burst out all a tremble,
+    "In Thy mercy, O God, let me die!"
+
+  Pass on: It is useless to linger
+    While other are claiming your care;
+  There is need for your delicate finger,
+    For your womanly sympathy there:
+  There are sick ones athirst for caressing;
+    There are dying ones raving of home
+  There are wounds to be bound with a blessing
+    And shrouds to make ready for some.
+
+  They have gathered about you the harvest
+    Of death in its ghastliest view;
+  The nearest as well as the farthest
+    Is here with the traitor and true;
+  And crown'd with your beautiful patience,
+    Made sunny with love at the heart;
+  You must balsam the wounds of a nation,
+    Nor falter nor shrink from your part.
+
+  Up and down through the wards where the fever
+    Stalks noisome and gaunt and impure,
+  You must go with your steadfast endeavor
+    To comfort, to counsel, to cure!
+  I grant you the task is superhuman,
+    But strength will be given to you
+  To do for those lov'd ones, what woman
+    Alone in her pity can do.
+
+  And the lips of the mothers will bless you,
+    As angels sweet visaged and pale;
+  And the little ones run to caress you,
+    And the wives and the sisters cry Hail!
+  But e'en if you drop down unheeded,
+    What matter? God's ways are the best!
+  You have pour'd out your life where 'twas needed,
+    And He will take care of the rest.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE DAVIS GUARD.
+
+By LIEUT. W. P. CUNNINGHAM.
+
+
+  Soldiers! raise your banner proudly,
+    Let it pierce our Texan sky--
+  Hurrah! it was shouted loudly--
+    "We will do it or we'll die!"
+
+  Thus spoke the heroic Dowling!
+    To his Irish gallant band:
+  "Let us send the foes a howling,
+    From our lovely Texas land!"
+
+  Nobly answer'd those brave men all,
+    To his soul-stirring appeal;
+  "Aye, we'll drive them away or fall;
+    We'll fight them with lead and steel."
+
+  The Irishmen desert never
+    The people that treat them well;
+  Their friends they love forever;
+    Their foes may "go to ----!"
+
+  "Steady, steady, keep cool, my boys,
+    Now they are near--ready--fire!"
+  Thus their noble chieftain cries,
+    And they fire and never tire.
+
+  Hear the heavy, thundering sound,
+    The men of war they cry;
+  The dull earth itself resounds
+    As the foemen fight and die.
+
+  But hurrah! the white flag's flying--
+    See, they spare the fallen foe!
+  They attend the wounded--dying--
+    The brave will have it so.
+
+  O, Davis Guards! ye men of war,
+    You've made a glorious name!
+  Thus always guard our Texas Star,
+    And preserve, for aye, your fame.
+
+  And when around the social glass
+    In years to come, you meet,
+  O ne'er forget the Sabine Pass!
+    But its mem'ries fondly greet.
+
+
+
+
+WAR SONG.
+
+By J. H. WOODCOCK.
+
+_Tune_--"_Bonnie Blue Flag._"
+
+
+  Huzza! huzza! let's raise the battle cry,
+    And whip the Yankees from our land,
+  Or with them fall and die;
+    Rush on our Southern columns,
+  And make the brigands feel
+    That all the booty they will get,
+  Will be our Southern steel.
+
+  CHORUS.--Huzza! huzza! let's raise our banner high,
+           And nobly drive the Yankees out,
+           Or with them fall and die.
+
+  We are fighting for our mothers, our sisters and our wives;
+    For these, and our country's rights,
+  We'll sacrifice our lives.
+    Then trusting still to Heaven,
+  We'll charge th' invading host,
+    Till liberty and independence
+  Shall be the Nation's boast.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  Then on with our columns--slay the vandal foe--
+    Beat them from our sunny soil,
+  And lay their colors low.
+    To the great God of Nations
+  Our sacred cause confide,
+    For we are fighting for our liberty
+  And He is on our side.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTH FOR ME.
+
+
+  The South for me! The sunny clime,
+    Where earth is clothed in beauty's hue,
+  And Nature vies in scenes sublime,
+    With all the old world ever knew;
+  I love thy soil where'er I roam,
+    Sweet land! and when afar from thee,
+  My fond heart throbs with thoughts of home,
+    And echoes back "The South for me."
+
+  CHORUS.--The South for me, the South for me,
+             The golden clime, the heart's desires,
+           The only land where men are free,
+             And worthy of their free-born sires.
+
+  The South for me! the patriot's heart
+    Beats ever to that slogan cry;
+  And heroes, armed and ready, start
+    For their loved land to do or die;
+  But leave the Southron's valor free,
+    Let Southern heroes meet the foe,
+  And when rings out "the South for me,"
+    Their strong right arms will deal the blow.
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  The South for me! its bright-eyed maids,
+    Its clime, its stars, its silvery skies,
+  Its streamlets, with their lovely naiads,
+    Its vales, where varying beauties rise,
+  Its cotton fields, where dusky slaves,
+    Are happy in protection kind,
+  The stranger's home, though Yankee knaves
+    May never there a welcome find.
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+CAROLINA.
+
+By MRS. C. A. B.
+
+Music by A. E. B.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  'Mid her ruins proudly stands,
+              Our Carolina!
+  Fetters are upon her hands,
+              Dear Carolina!
+  Yet she feels no sense of shame,
+  For upon the scroll of Fame,
+  She hath writ a deathless name,
+              Brave Carolina!
+
+  She was first our wrongs to feel,
+              Our Carolina!
+  First to draw the glittering steel,
+              Dear Carolina!
+  Ready first to strike the blow,
+  At th' oppressor and the foe,
+  And to lay their standard low,
+              Brave Carolina!
+
+  Nobly now she bears her wrongs,
+              Our Carolina!
+  In her might she still hath songs,
+              Dear Carolina!
+  In the dust her sons lie low,
+  Yet though stricken by the foe,
+  Pride is mingled with her woe--
+              Brave Carolina!
+
+  On her brow there is no stain,
+              Our Carolina!
+  She hath poured out blood like rain,
+              Dear Carolina!
+  Vain her sufferings and her pains,
+  On her limbs are clanking chains,
+  But her glory yet remains,
+              Brave Carolina!
+
+  Bitterly we mourn her fate,
+              Our Carolina!
+  Cherished old Palmetto State;
+              Dear Carolina!
+  Yet while man's brave soul is free,
+  Honored proudly she shall be,
+  Mother of true chivalry!
+              Brave Carolina!
+
+
+
+
+VICKSBURG SONG.[3]
+
+By CAPT. J. W. A. WRIGHT.
+
+_Air--"A Life on the Ocean Wave."_
+
+
+  A life on the Vicksburg bluff,
+    A home in the trenches deep,
+  Where we dodge "Yank" shells enough--
+    And our old "pea-bread" won't keep.
+  On "Old Logan's" beef I pine,
+    For there's fat on his bones no more;
+  Oh! give me some pork in brine,
+    And "truck" from a sutler's store.
+
+  CHORUS.--A life on the Vicksburg bluff,
+             A home in the trenches deep,
+           Where we dodge "Yank" shells enough--
+             And our old "pea-bread" won't keep,
+           Pea-bread, pea-bread, pea-bread;
+             Our old pea-bread won't keep.
+
+[Illustration: "So we'll bury 'Old Logan' to-night."]
+
+  Old Grant is starving us out,
+    Our grub is fast wasting away,
+  Pemb don't know what he's about,
+    And he hasn't for many a day.
+  So we'll bury "Old Logan" to-night,
+    From tough beef we'll be set free;
+  We'll put him far out of sight--
+    No more of his meat for me.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Texas "steers" are no longer in view,
+    Mule steaks are now "done up brown,"
+  While "pea-bread," mule roast, and mule stew,
+    Are our fare in old Vicksburg town.
+  And the song of our hearts shall be,
+    While the "Yanks" and their gunboats rave,
+  A life in "bomb-proofs" for me,
+    And a tear o'er "Old Logan's" grave.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+DO THEY MISS ME IN THE TRENCHES?
+
+A VICKSBURG SONG.
+
+_Air--"Do They Miss Me At Home?"_
+
+
+  Do they miss me in the trenches, do they miss me,
+    When the shells fly so thickly around?
+  Do they know that I've run down the hillside
+    To hunt for my hole in the ground?
+  The shell exploded so near me,
+    It seemed best for me to run;
+  And altho' some laugh'd as I crawfished,
+    I could not discover the fun.
+
+  I often get up in the trenches,
+    When some Yank is near out of sight,
+  And fire a round or two at him,
+    To make the boys think I will fight;
+  But when the Feds commence shelling,
+    I run to my hole down the hill--
+  I'll swear my legs never would stay there,
+    Altho' all may stay there that will.
+
+  I'll save myself thro' the dread struggle,
+    And when the great battle is o'er,
+  I'll claim my full rations of laurels,
+    As always I've done heretofore.
+  I'll swear that I fought them as bravely
+    As the best of my comrades who fell--
+  And swear to all others around me,
+    That I never had fears of a shell.
+
+
+
+
+BOYS! KEEP YOUR POWDER DRY.
+
+
+  Can'st tell who lose the battle, oft in the council-field?
+  Not they who struggle bravely, not they who never yield.
+
+  CHORUS.--Not they who are determined to conquer or to die,
+           And hearken to this caution: Boys, keep your powder dry!
+
+  The foe awaits you yonder! he may await you here,
+  Have brave hearts, stand with courage; be strangers all to fear!
+  And when the charge is given, be ready at the cry:
+  Look well each to his priming--Boys, keep your powder dry!
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  Does a lov'd one home await you, who wept to see you go,
+  When with a kiss imprinted, you left with sacred vow--
+  You'd come again when warfare and arms are all laid by,
+  To take her to your bosom?--Boys, keep your powder dry!
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  Does a father home await you? a sister whom you love?
+  A mother who has reared you, and pray'd to Him above--
+  "Protect my boy, preserve him, and when the battle's done,
+  Send to his weeping mother, bereft, her darling son!"
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  The name of Freedom calls you, the names of martyr'd sires,
+  And Liberty's imploring, from all her hallow'd fires!
+  Can you withstand their calling? You cannot pass them by--
+  You cannot! now charge fiercely!--Boys, keep your powder dry.
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+BAYOU CITY GUARDS' SONG.
+
+IN THE CHICKAHOMINY SWAMP.
+
+
+  Fighting for our rights now, feasting when they're won,
+  By that Cross and Stars, boys, fluttering in the sun--
+  The girls at home will hear, boys, of our banquet of hard corn,
+  And they'll think and pray for us, boys, at night and dewy morn,
+  Then hand around the corn, boys, and pass the full canteen;
+  Corn and water, and a fight, boys, are enough for us, I ween.
+
+  Sleeping in the swamps now, without shelter or a bed;
+  The heaven's green sky above us, green turf beneath our head;
+  But at home when we arrive, boys, tender arms shall us enfold;
+  Our pillows shall be the hearts, boys, that now our image hold.
+
+  Shells are flying over us, the bullets 'round us fly;
+  But we'll lie upon the grass, boys, and munch our corn away!
+  We're driven to their gunboats the base, invading foe;
+  In quick time, such as Texans can, we'll make the Federals go.
+
+  Our mothers are praying for us, our darling sisters too;
+  Our sweethearts--ah! God bless them! what can't we dare or do?
+  With our country's rights and darling ones emblazon'd on our shields,
+  We'll fight with God's protection, till each base invader yields.
+
+  In thinking of our cause, boys, and all we love at home,
+  These hard grains to heavenly manna have miraculously turn'd;
+  And from this battered old canteen I've drained a nectar sweet;
+  'Tis the heart that makes the banquet, and not what we have to eat.
+
+  Soon will we hail brave "Stonewall!" in Maryland set free!
+  And our "Old Line" Chief[4] with his Texas boys shall shout for his
+      victory.
+  With the Cross and Stars then wreathed in flowers, we'll turn our steps
+      again,
+  To the hearts and homes that sigh for us, on our proud prairie plain;
+  Then with gentle hands to tend us, and the chalice for canteen,
+  With our rights all won, we'll rest us, boys, in peace and joy serene.
+
+
+
+
+THE COUNTERSIGN.
+
+
+  Alas! the rolling hours pass slow--
+    The night is very dark and still--
+  And in the marshes, far below,
+    Is heard the lonely whippoorwill:
+  I scarce can see a foot ahead--
+    My ears are strained to catch each sound--
+  I feel the leaves beneath me spread--
+    And the springs bubbling thro' the ground.
+
+  Along the beaten path I pace,
+    Where white rays mark my sentry's track;
+  In formless things I seem to trace
+    The foeman's form, with bended back--
+  I think I see him crouching low!
+    I stop and list--I stop and peer--
+  Until the neighb'ring hillocks grow
+    To groups of soldiers, far and near.
+
+  With ready piece I wait, and watch,
+    Until my eyes--familiar grown--
+  Detect each harmless earthern notch,
+    And turn "Guerrillas" into stone;
+  And then amid the lonely gloom,
+    Beneath the tall magnolia trees,
+  My silent marches I resume,
+    And think of other times than these.
+
+  "Halt! who goes there?" my challenge cry--
+    It rings along the watchful line--
+  "Relief!" I hear a voice reply--
+    "Advance and give the countersign!"
+  With bayonet at the charge, I wait--
+    The corporal gives the mystic word--
+  With "arms aport" I change my mate,
+    Then onward pass, and all is well!
+
+  But in my tent, that night, awake,
+    I ask, "If in the fray I fall,
+  Can I the mystic answer make,
+    When the angelic sentries call?"
+  And pray that Heaven so ordain,
+    Where'er I go, what fate be mine,
+  Whether in pleasure or in pain
+    I still may have the "Countersign!"
+
+
+
+
+THE DARLINGS AT HOME.
+
+By COL. C. G. FORSHEY.
+
+
+  The sentinel treads his martial round,
+    Afar from his humble home--
+  The soldier he tramps till his thoughts are found
+  On missions of love and tenderness bound,
+    Away among his darlings to roam.
+
+  What tender emotions now over him rush!
+    And the tears down his bearded cheeks steal,
+  As he sees his darlings from their sportings rush,
+  And bound to meet him with a joyful gush,
+    "Papa's come!" from their happy lips peal.
+
+  Bright Mary! as fleet as a bounding gazelle,
+    Is into his arms with a spring;
+  And Cabie, with voice clear as a bell,
+  "There's papa, dear papa!" his joyous notes swell
+    Yet choking with tears as they ring.
+
+  And next, little Nubbie comes toddling along,
+    Bright curls streaming out to the wind--
+  With hands reaching up, and infantile tongue--
+  He's lifted the welcoming group among--
+    As tears the stern sentinel blind.
+
+  And then, with the darling bright babe, mamma comes,
+    To welcome him home to their cot--
+  What sobs and caresses,
+  That happy group blesses;
+    Is the sentinel dreaming or not?
+
+  The stern sergeant of guard, calls out from his tent,
+    "Number Four has deserted his post!"
+  The sentinel nearest saw whither he went,
+  And found him, o'er musket, in reverie bent,
+    At home--with his little ones--lost!
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+  The sentinel treads his lonely round--
+    As dawn in the East is breaking
+  A cannon's deep thundering shakes the ground!
+  Another! an army springs up at the sound--
+    To thousands Death's _reveille_ waking!
+
+  What a thrilling pang traverses his soul!
+    And a tear down his cheek is stealing,
+  For a thought of home, with the drum's deep roll,
+  Spite a soldier's manliness, over him stole,
+    As the trumpet of battle was pealing.
+
+  A moment he saw his darlings and wife;
+    To Heaven he breath'd a short prayer!
+  To his country then consecrated his life,
+  Rush'd in where the clamor of battle was rife--
+    When a tempest of ball filled the air.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+  A wounded soldier, who fell by the Run,
+    Lies panting for breath and for water--
+  His hand still grasping his trusty gun--
+  Expires 'mid the glad notes of "victory won!"
+    On Manassas' red field of slaughter.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+  In a far away cabin, a wailing is heard,
+    When the lists of the fallen have come;
+  A mother, long sicken'd by hope deferr'd,
+  A widow with orphans is made at a word,
+    And she weeps o'er the "darlings at home."
+
+
+
+
+AT FORT PILLOW.
+
+
+  You shudder as you think upon th' carnage of the grim report,
+  The desolation when we won the inner trenches of the fort;
+  But there are deeds ye may not know, that scourge the pulses into strife;
+  Dark memories of deathless woe pointing the bayonet and knife.
+
+  The house is ashes where I dwelt, beyond the mighty inland sea,
+  The tombstones shattered where I knelt by that old church at Pointe
+      Coupee;
+  The Yankee fiends that came with fire, camped on the consecrated sod,
+  And trampled in the dust and mire the holy Eucharist of God!
+
+  The spot where darling mother sleeps, beneath the glimpse of yon sad
+      moon,
+  Is crushed with splintered marble heaps, to stall the horse of some
+      dragoon;
+  God! when I ponder that black day it makes my frantic spirit wince;
+  I marched--with Longstreet--far away, but have beheld the ravage since.
+
+  The tears are hot upon my face, when thinking what black fate befell
+  The only sister of our race--a thing too horrible to tell!
+  They say that ere her senses fled, she rescue of her brothers cried;
+  Then freely bowed her stricken head, too poor to live thus--so she died.
+
+  Two of those brothers heard no plea; with their proud hearts forever
+      still--
+  John shrouded by the Tennessee, and Arthur there at Malvern Hill;
+  But I have heard it everywhere, vibrating like a passing knell;
+  'Tis as perpetual as the air, and solemn as a funeral bell.
+
+  By scorched lagoon and murky swamp, my wrath was never in the lurch;
+  I've killed the picket in his camp, and many a pilot on his perch;
+  With steady rifle, sharpen'd brand, a week ago upon my steed,
+  With Forrest and his warrior band, I made the hell-hounds writhe and
+      bleed.
+
+  You should have seen our leader go upon the battle's burning marge,
+  Sweeping like falcon on the foe, heading the Gray line's iron charge!
+  All outcasts from our ruined marts, we heard th' undying serpent hiss,
+  And in the desert of our hearts the fatal spell of Nemesis.
+
+[Illustration: "My right arm bared for fiercer play."]
+
+  The Southern yell rang loud and high the moment that we thundered in,
+  Smiting the demons hip and thigh, cleaving them to the very chin;
+  My right arm bared for fiercer play, the left one held the rein in slack;
+  In all the fury of the fray I sought the white man, not the black.
+
+  The dabbled clots of brain and gore across the swirling sabres ran;
+  To me each brutal visage bore the front of one accurs'd man!
+  Throbbing along the frenzied vein, my blood seem'd kindled into song--
+  The death-dirge of the sacred slain, the slogan of immortal wrong.
+
+  It glared athwart the dripping glaves, it blazed in each avenging eye--
+  The thought of desecrated graves and some lone sister's desperate cry.
+
+[Illustration: Virginia Sword-Belt Clasp.]
+
+
+
+
+DUTY AND DEFIANCE.
+
+By COLONEL HAMILTON WASHINGTON.
+
+
+  Raise the thrilling cry, to arms!
+    Texas needs us all, Texans!
+  Home and love and pleasure's charms,
+    Yield to duty's call, Texans!
+  Now the stream of battle lowers--
+  Who before the tempest cowers?
+  Who could hide in woman's bowers?
+    Show him to the field, Texans!
+  Twice our sires for freedom fought--
+  Twice with blood the treasure bought--
+  By the lessons they have taught
+    We'll die, but never yield, Texans!
+
+  Long we've heard the storm afar;
+    Now 'tis coming near, Texans!
+  Onward rolls the din of war,
+    Let us meet it here, Texans!
+  All we have and love's in danger,
+  Forward, then, each Texan Ranger!
+  Let us meet the daring stranger,
+    That brings us war at home, Texans!--
+  Never shall our happy land
+  Be ravaged by a robber band--
+  We will meet them hand to hand,
+    And fight each step they come, Texans.
+
+
+
+
+THE CONFEDERATE OATH.[5]
+
+_Air--"My Maryland."_
+
+
+  By the Cross upon our banner--glory of our Southern sky--
+  Swear we now, a band of brothers, free to live, or free to die!
+  Northrons! by the rights denied, listen to our solemn vow--
+  Here we swear, as freemen, never to your galling yoke to bow!
+
+  By our brave ones lost in battle, best and noblest of our land,
+  Fighting with your Northern hirelings, face to face and hand to hand;
+  By a sacrifice so priceless, by the spirits of the slain--
+  Swear we now, our Southern heroes shall not thus have died in vain.
+
+  Wide and deep the breach between us--rent by hatred's poisoned darts,
+  And ye cannot now cement it with the blood of Southern hearts!
+  Streams of gore that gulf shall widen, running strong and deep and red,
+  Severing you from us forever, while there is a drop to shed.
+
+  Think you we will brook the insults of your fierce and ruffian chief,
+  Heaped upon our dark-eyed daughters stricken down and pale with grief!
+  Think you while astounded nations curse your malice, we will bear
+  Foulest wrong? with God to call on--arms to do--and hearts to dare!
+
+  When we prayed in peace to leave you, answering came a battle cry;
+  Then we swore that oath which freemen never swear who fear to die!
+  Northrons, come! and you shall find us heart to heart and hand to hand,
+  Shouting to the God of Battles, Freedom and our native land!
+
+
+
+
+BAYOU CITY GUARDS' DIXIE.
+
+By the Company's Own Poet.
+
+
+  From Houston city and Brazos bottom,
+  From selling goods and making cotton,
+    Away, away, away, away!
+  We go to meet our country's foes,
+  To win or die in freedom's cause;
+    Away, away, away, away!
+
+  CHORUS.--We're going to old Virginia, hooray, hooray!
+           To join the fight for Southern rights--
+           We'll live or die for Davis, hooray, hooray!
+           We'll live or die for Davis.
+
+  You've heard of Abe, the gay deceiver,
+  Who sent to Sumter to relieve her;
+    Away, away, away, away!
+  But Beauregard said "save your bacon!
+  Sumter's ours and must be taken!"
+    Away, away, away, away!
+
+  With a floating battery and a few hot shot,
+  He sent them back to General Scott--
+  Old Abe he swore and cuss'd like fun
+  When he found the rebels wouldn't run.
+
+  Scott with his army started South!
+  You've heard how our armies cleaned them out--
+  On Manassas' plains for miles around,
+  Their dead and wounded fill'd the ground.
+
+  Senator Wilson, the ugly sinner,
+  Went over to Centreville to eat a big dinner--
+  The M. C.'s and ministers of State,
+  Left their champagne behind and dinners on the plate.
+
+  They had to leave on an empty stomach,
+  And "git up and git" on t'other side of the Potomac--
+  But some of the invaders are with us still--
+  We'll send them back again if the Lord will.
+
+  Our country calls for volunteers,
+  And Texas boys reply with cheers--
+  The Henderson Guards and Leon Hunters,
+  Friends in peace--in war like panthers.
+
+  The Tom Green Rifles and Lone Star Guards,
+  In a cause that is just, nothing retards;
+  The Echo Company, and the brave Five Shooters,
+  Will deal out death to all freebooters.
+
+  The Northern vandals will learn to their sorrow,
+  Of the Porter Guards, and Rifles of Navarro--
+  The Mustang Greys, O, they never fight for bounty,
+  Nor do the other Greys--those from Navarro county.
+
+  The Liberty Invincibles and Hardeman Texans
+  Can wallop ten to one, whether Yanks or Mexicans;
+  From the Waverly Confederates and the Dixie Blues,
+  And the Bayou City Guards you may expect good news.
+
+
+
+
+DE COTTON DOWN IN DIXIE.
+
+These capital verses were found [written?] on board of the English barque
+_Premier_, in January, 1863, bound from Liverpool to Havana, sixty miles
+west of Madeira, by _Lone Star_, of Galveston, Texas.
+
+
+  I'm gwine back to de land of cotton,
+  Wid de "English Flag" in an "English bottom,"
+    Far away, far away, far away;
+  Kase dere I'm safe from Uncle Sam,
+  And he can't make me contraban',
+    In de land, in de land, in de land,
+    Away down South in Dixie.
+
+  CHORUS.--O, in Dixie land I'll take my stand,
+           And live and die in Dixie land;
+           Hoe away, hoe away, hoe away,
+           De cotton down in Dixie.
+
+  Nor confiscate me for his use,
+  To black and clean his sojers' shoes,
+    Far away, etc.,
+  To "dig his trenches" and save his health,
+  For a picayune a day and find myself,
+    Far away, far away, far away,
+    From de cotton land of Dixie.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  O, I'm gwine back to de old plantations,
+  To tell de boys ob my observations,
+    Far away, etc.,
+  Made by myself in de British nation--
+  I'll tell de trufe widout "sensation,"
+    Far away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  I've been across de Atlantic Ocean,
+  Where dey all do make so great commotion,
+    Far away, etc.,
+  About de war and cotton "famine,"
+  Dey talk a heap of "twaddle and gammon,"
+    Far away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  For in dis English land I've bin in,
+  Dey've got no cotton for de spinnin',
+    Hard times, etc.,
+  For de warehousemen of Manchester,
+  De spinners, too, of Lancashire,
+    Far away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Some say, "Make muslin widout cotton,"
+  Others, "O no, 'twill be too rotten;"
+    Talk away, etc.,
+  Some say, "From India we'll get plenty,
+  From Egypt, Greenland and Ashantee,"
+    Far away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Dey'se holdin' meetin's night and day,
+  To find out soon some oder way,
+    Some way, etc.,
+  To git dere cotton widout you,
+  But dat's a fac' dey'll nebber do,
+    Far away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  For it will take six million bales
+  For de mills ob England, Scotland, Wales,
+    Spin away, etc.,
+  To feed de spinnin' mules and jennies,
+  Dere boys and gals and pickaninnies,
+    Far away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Now dis will take a time so long,
+  'Twill be like de horse in de ole man's song',
+    Sing away, etc.,
+  Dat he learned to lib widout corn or hay,
+  But he _went dead_ dat berry same day,
+    Right away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  O gemmen ob de "Supply Association,"[6]
+  I'll tell you ob de "New-born Nation,"
+    Far away, etc.,
+  De Confederate States of America,
+  Where cotton grows both night and day,
+    Far away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  For we can grow de cotton-wool,
+  For John Crapeau and Johnny Bull,
+    "Parley voo," etc.,
+  An' dey will feed and keep de workies,
+  "White weaver folk," and "hoe in darkies,"
+    Quite right, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  O I'se gwine back to de land ob cotton,
+  Sea Island seed and sandy bottom,
+    Far away, etc.,
+  To de bressed land whar I was born,
+  De land of sugar, cotton and corn,
+    Far away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOLDIER'S MISSION.
+
+By A. W. MORSE.
+
+
+  Haste thee, falter not, noble patriot band,
+  Bravely meet thy lot, firm maintain thy stand,
+  God, the God of War, who defends the just,
+  Give thine arm the power to defend thy trust.
+
+  Thy country called thine aid, prompt thine answer came:
+  "We'll draw our battle blade, and shield our country's name,
+  'Till our firm demand shall have been proclaimed,
+  Justice through the land--equal rights maintained."
+
+  Welcome, welcome, then, to thy happy home,
+  Warm hearts wait thee, when thou mayst thus return
+  But shouldst thou fall in defense of right
+  With grateful hearts we'll all cherish thy memory bright.
+
+[Illustration: Infantry Button.]
+
+
+
+
+SOLDIER, I STAY TO PRAY FOR THEE.[7]
+
+Words by J. S. THOVINGTON.
+
+Music by J. W. GROSCHEL.
+
+_Vocal Duett._
+
+
+  SOLDIER.
+
+  Lady, I go to fight for thee,
+    Where gory banners wave,
+  To fight for thee, and, oh, perchance
+    To find a soldier's grave.
+
+  LADY.
+
+  Soldier, I stay to pray for thee,
+    A harder task is mine;
+  To which, and long in lonely grief,
+    That victory may be thine.
+
+  SOLDIER.
+
+  Lady, I go and fight for thee.
+
+  LADY.
+
+  Soldier, I stay and pray for thee.
+
+  BOTH.
+
+  And strength and faith combined,
+    Still form the magic sword,
+  Wherewith the Southrons victory find,
+    The Southrons victory find.
+
+[Illustration: "Lady, I go to fight for thee!"]
+
+  SOLDIER.
+
+  Fare thee well!
+
+  LADY.
+
+  Fare thee well!
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTH OUR COUNTRY.
+
+Words by E. M. THOMPSON.
+
+Music by J. A. BUTTERFIELD.
+
+
+  Our country, our country, oh, where may we find,
+    Amid all the proud relics of legend or story,
+  A holier charm for the patriot mind
+    Than that soul-stirring topic--our native land's glory.
+    That land on whose standard the eagle's proud pinions
+    Flutter lordly defiance to tyranny's minions,
+    And whose soil all untarnished by sceptre or throne,
+    Is a home for the brave, and the free heart alone.
+
+  And we care not to honor the bleak shores of Maine,
+    With her ship-peopled strand in proud grandeur careering,
+  Nor the West, with her wide prairies waving in grain,
+    The gainers of plenty by name so endearing.
+    But the South is our home the land of bright flowers,
+    Where the softest of suns, and the gentlest of showers
+    Distill a sweet balm from the blossoming earth,
+    And make life a bright vision of pleasure and mirth.
+
+  Though dreams of the past cling around the heart still,
+    And a thousand proud memories will ever be cherished
+  Of Princeton and Monmouth and brave Bunker Hill
+    The spots where our country's defenders have perished;
+    The union they bled for is now rudely severed,
+    The idols are broken we once fondly revered,
+    And discord has scattered its pestilent bane
+    From Florida's reefs to the snow peaks of Maine.
+
+  But union still gladdens our own sunny home,
+    Whose bright blades and brave hearts will ever defend her,
+  And though wreck and disaster and ruin may come,
+    While the bright sun shines o'er them they never will surrender.
+    Let the foeman come on in his daring effrontery,
+    Let him trample the loved soil we call our dear country,
+    And for every fair flower that fades in his path,
+    A proud heart shall bleed 'neath the sword of our wrath.
+
+
+
+
+I WISH I WAS IN DIXIE'S LAND.
+
+By DAN D. EMMETT.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  I wish I was in de land ob cotton,
+  Old times dar am not forgotten,
+    Look away, look away, look away, Dixie Land!
+  In Dixie land whar I was born in,
+  Early on one frosty mornin',
+    Look away, look away, look away, Dixie land!
+
+  CHORUS.--Den I wish I was in Dixie--
+                Hooray, hooray!
+           In Dixie land I'll took my stan'!
+           To lib an' die in Dixie
+                Away, away,
+           Away down south in Dixie
+                Away, away,
+           Away down south in Dixie.
+
+  Ole Missus marry "Will-de-Weaber,"
+  William was gay deceber
+    Look away, etc.
+  But when he put his arm around 'er
+  He smiled as fierce as a forty-pounder
+    Look away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  His face was sharp as a butcher's cleaber,
+  But dat did not seem to grieb 'er,
+    Look away, etc.
+  Ole Missus acted de foolish part,
+  An' died for a man dat broke her heart,
+    Look away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Now, here's a health to de next ole Missus,
+  Ah! all de gals dat want to kiss us,
+    Look away, etc.
+  But if you want to drive 'way sorrow,
+  Come an' hear dis song to-morrow,
+    Look away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Dar's buckwheat cakes an' Injun batter,
+  Makes you fat, or a little fatter,
+    Look away, etc.
+  Den hoe it down and scratch your grabble,
+  To Dixie's Land I'm bound to trabble,
+    Look away, etc.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+CAMPAIGN BALLAD.
+
+By REV. J. E. CARNES.
+
+
+  Young Florida sends forth her clan--the old Dominion's brave,
+  With sons of Texas, lead the van to glory or the grave;
+  Now, by the fame of Yorktown's name, and by the Alamo,
+  The sons will not the fathers shame, though mightier be the foe.
+
+  From desecrated Maryland come out a faithful few,
+  And old Kentucky sends a band to God and Freedom true;
+  There comes a thrill from Sharpsburg's rill--and from the "bloody
+      ground,"
+  Heap'd with the mounds of Perryville, the spectral slogans sound!
+
+  And Alabama's well-tried host into the Grey line wheels,
+  From wasted farms, beleaguered coast, from Florence to Mobile;
+  The torch-lit home, whence kindred roam, has lent its wings their fire;
+  And wrongs, tear-writ in mem'ry's tome, to deeds of blood inspire.
+
+  Ho, Louisiana! vengeance fraught by rapine's hellish scenes,
+  Comes vanward with the blended thought of Mansfield--New Orleans;
+  By spicy groves, where beauty roves, and where the Yankees swarm,
+  With vandal feet, in hireling droves, she swears her vengeance warm.
+
+  Arkansas strikes Missouri's hand--they cross the bayonet,
+  Each thinking of a glorious band with blood of kindred met;
+  They bless the Post, whose little host fought all but treason well;
+  And Elkhorn's grief and Springfield's boast their patriot bosoms swell.
+
+  From where the cypress droppeth down tear-dews on Jackson's tomb;
+  From where the darkest mountains frown, and brightest valleys bloom,
+  All broad of breast, with lance in rest, and in their swift-streams free,
+  Pour down the bravest and the best of sinewy Tennessee.
+
+  With Vicksburg boiling in their veins, the Mississippians cheer,
+  With wildest joy, the trumpet-strains that speak the battle near;
+  O hear! O hark! the name of Stark is passed along the line--
+  A thousand eyes more keenly mark where gathering foes combine.
+
+  From Chickamauga to the flames that o'er Savannah glare,
+  Inspired by Bee and Barton's names the Georgians, too are there;
+  By the sad path of Sherman's wrath all thro' their staid old state,
+  They swear themselves to deeds of scath, and righteous love of hate!
+
+  The Carolinas seek the fray--the scarr'd of every fight,
+  From far Manassas' glorious day to Fisher's bloody night;
+  Grand deeds of old their hearts unfold, and later memories clasp,
+  While rifle stock and hilt of gold are griped with fiercer grasp.
+
+  Now make one more immortal plain, ye men of battle skill,
+  Ye of the comprehensive brain and the undaunted will;
+  Now, Robert Lee! there comes to thee the all-decisive hour!
+  God make thy flashing blade to be the lightning of his power!
+
+  Now, Beauregard and Johnston, now as in your other fight,
+  With mutual heart and answering brow inspire the hosts of right!
+  Now, Bragg and Hood, who oft withstood, and oft have charged the foe,
+  Come with a hand and will as good to lay the vandal low.
+
+  Rise, Longstreet, with a face that shines as bright as battle's flash,
+  Where'er along the closing lines the burnish'd bayonets crash;
+  Now, Forrest, aid with such a blade as made Fort Pillow quail;
+  Now, Hill and Hardee, undismay'd, direct the iron hail.
+
+  Ho! Smith, Magruder, Taylor, Price and Walker in your spheres,
+  Warm with your zeal the hearts of ice, and charm the coward's fears!
+  For by the tree of Liberty God planted on this shore,
+  This fight should be a victory or ye should breathe no more.
+
+  Now, Davis! on the mount of State, discern the Lord's command,
+  While faith and courage on thee wait, and lift each cheering hand,
+  To beckon all, from farm and street, and make the laggard feel
+  A wish to meet the first that greets the carnival of steel!
+
+  Let Honor beat the rataplan and Duty quick obey--
+  Make "yea" an instant Tagerman, and "no" at once a Ney!
+  Upon the blood our best have spilled, pledge me with common breaths
+  War to the hilt with Yankee guilty, for "Liberty or Death!"
+
+[Illustration: Louisiana.]
+
+
+
+
+OUR GLORIOUS FLAG.
+
+A VICKSBURG SONG.
+
+_Air--"Her Bright Smile Haunts Me Still."_
+
+
+  There is freedom on each fold, and each star is freedom's throne,
+  And the free, the brave, the bold, guard thine honor as their own;
+  Ev'ry danger hast thou known that the battle's storm can fill,
+  Thy glory hath not flown--we proudly wave thee still.
+                      Ev'ry danger, etc.
+
+  Floating in the morning light, Freedom's sun! thou shinest far,
+  Floating thro' the murky night, all shall see thee, Freedom's star!
+  For _sic semper_ thy refrain, and thy motto e'er shall be,
+  Let tyrants wear the chain--I am--I will be free!
+
+  O'er the land or the sea where the hurling waves are torn,
+  In the calm, the storm, the breeze, be thy standard proudly borne;
+  For there's freedom on each fold, and each star's freedom's throne--
+  The free, the brave, the bold, thy glory is their own.
+
+
+
+
+THE HOUR BEFORE EXECUTION.
+
+By MISS MARIA E. JONES.
+
+
+  Hark! the clock strikes! All, all that now remains,
+    Is one short hour of this fast fleeting life,
+    And then farewell the terrors and the strife,
+      The heavenly joys, the sorrows of long years,
+  It's holy rapture, the corroding pains--
+      That fill the heart with rapture or with tears.
+
+  Farewell, old world! I never knew 'till now
+    How well I lov'd thee; and my wayward heart
+    Still fondly clings to thee--but we must part!
+      Let not my proud heart in that parting fail!
+  How can I weep to leave thee? I whose brow
+      Hath oft been bared to battle's iron hail!
+
+  My heart beats proudly, yet the coward tears
+    Steal from my eyes and bathe my pallid cheek;
+    God! what womanly weakness do they speak
+      And would half say, that the brave Southern spy
+  Who had scorned death and mock'd his idle fears,
+      Had, at last, forgotten how to die.
+
+  O beauteous earth! each well remember'd place--
+    All that I lov'd comes up before my mind--
+    The lov'd and cherished I must leave behind--
+      Stand out before me! every verdant spot
+  In my life's desert I can clearly trace,
+      E'en to those pictures I had deemed forgot.
+
+  I see my mother standing in the door
+    Of my lov'd home, as in the evening breeze
+    The curtains wave, and the gigantic trees,
+      Stretching their arms to welcome me again,
+  Cast dark'ning shadows on the bare bright floor--
+      Mother, dear mother! you will watch in vain.
+
+[Illustration: "Farewell to earth and all its beauteous bloom."]
+
+  Watch for the coming of my eager feet,
+    My warm embraces and tender, loving kisses--
+    They will not come! dear mother, you will miss
+      Your boy's lov'd presence, and in vain will seek,
+  The well known form that you were wont to greet
+      With tender kisses upon brow and cheek.
+
+  The tall, green trees will cast their lengthen'd shade
+    Across the prairie, and the shadows pale
+    Will fill your home, and the wild winds will wail
+      With frantic madness, as they swiftly sweep
+  Thro' the dark forests where your children play'd--
+      Where all save one in death's embraces sleep.
+
+  And he will fill an unhonor'd far-off grave,
+    Unmark'd and lone! The hated foeman's scorn,
+    Will soon be o'er. This glorious, golden morn
+      I leave my life, my honor and my fame,
+  To nobly die as fits a soldier brave--
+      Who asks of Southrons but an honor'd name?
+
+  The hour is gone! and I must meet my doom,
+    And die, as should a soldier always die,
+    With unblanch'd cheek, and proudly scornful eye,
+      While stern defiance doth my bosom swell--
+  Farewell to earth and all its beauteous bloom--
+      My country! mother! one long, last farewell!
+
+
+
+
+THE BLACK FLAG.
+
+By PAUL H. HAYNE.
+
+
+  Like the roar of the wintry surges on a wild tempestuous strand,
+  The voice of the madden'd millions comes up from an outraged land;
+  For the cup of our woe runs over, and the day of our grace is past,
+  And Mercy has fled to the Angels, and Hatred is King at last!
+
+  CHORUS.--Then up with the Sable Banner!
+             Let it thrill to the War God's breath,
+           For we march to the watchword--Vengeance!
+             And we follow the Captain--Death!
+
+  In the gloom of the gory breaches, on the ramparts wrapt in flame,
+  'Mid the ruin'd homesteads, blacken'd by a hundred deeds of shame;
+  Wheresoever the vandals rally, and the bands of the alien meet,
+  We will crush the heads of the hydra with the stamp of our armed feet.
+
+  They have taught us a fearful lesson! 'tis burn'd on our hearts in fire,
+  And the souls of a host of heroes leap with a fierce desire;
+  And we swear by all that is sacred, and we swear by all that is pure,
+  That the crafty and cruel dastards shall ravage our homes no more.
+
+  We will roll the billows of battle back, back on the braggart foe,
+  'Till his leaguer'd and stricken cities shall quake with a coward's
+      throe;
+  They shall compass the awful meaning of the conflict their lust begun,
+  When the Northland rings with wailing, and the grand old cause hath
+      won.[8]
+
+
+
+
+BANKS' SKEDADDLE.
+
+
+  You know the Federal General Banks,
+  Who came through Louisiana with his forty thousand Yanks;
+  His object was to execute the Abolition law,
+  With as mongrel a horde of soldiers as creation ever saw;
+  There were Irish and English, and Spanish and Dutch,
+  And negroes and Yankees, and many more such,
+  All dress'd out in blue coats and fine filagree--
+  But such a skedaddle you never did see!
+
+  CHORUS.--Doodle, doodle, Yankee doodle, doodle, dee,
+             O such a skedaddle you never did see!
+
+  They came prepared to shear our sheep and gather in our crops,
+  And thus destroy the government by knocking down its props;
+  They'd rob us of our wheat and wool, our poultry and such things,
+  And steal the ladies' jewelry, their dresses and their rings;
+  They had scythe-blades and whiskey, and sheep shears and hams,
+  And threshes and jack-knives, and jellies and jams,
+  O glorious their object--a nation to free!
+  But such a skedaddle you never did see!
+
+  The veterans of Vicksburg, who never had been whipped,
+  All swore that not a leaflet of their laurels should be clipped;
+  They wanted to see Texas, and the famous Texas boys,
+  Who thro' the whole Confederacy were making such a noise;
+  They had banners and mottoes, and trumpets and drums,
+  And small arms and cannon, and round shot and bombs,
+  Their most famous column, the "Feds" did agree--
+  But such a skedaddle you never did see!
+
+  How first they saw the Texans and heard the Texan yell--
+  But whether men or devils they declare they could not tell,
+  They faced about, at "double quick," and run with all their might,
+  For they had seen the "elephant," and did not like the sight;
+  They left baggage and Enfields, and knapsacks and shoes,
+  And pickles and blankets, and negroes and stews,
+  And broke for the river as fast as might be--
+  But such a skedaddle you never did see!
+
+  Helter, skelter, neck or nothing, driven by their fears,
+  From ev'ry side the Texan yell was ringing in their ears!
+  Still on they rush'd, like quarter-horses, shouting as they ran,
+  "The Rebels take the hindmost--now save himself who can!"
+  They had gunboats and transports, and all sorts of crafts,
+  They were all clad in iron, with guns fore and aft,
+  In these they expected in safety to flee--
+  But such a skedaddle you never did see!
+
+
+
+
+AWAKE! TO ARMS IN TEXAS!
+
+_Air--"Dixie."_
+
+
+  Hear ye not the sound of battle,
+  Sabre clash and musket rattle?
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+  Hostile footsteps on your border;
+  Hostile columns tread in order;
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+
+  CHORUS.--O, fly to arms in Texas! to arms! to arms!
+           From Texas land we'll rout the band
+           That comes to conquer Texas--
+           Awake, awake, and rout the foe from Texas.
+
+  See the red smoke hanging o'er us;
+  Hear the cannon's booming chorus;
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+  See our steady columns forming;
+  Hear the shouting--hear the storming,
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  All the Northmen's forces coming;
+  Hark! the distant rapid drumming:
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+  Prouder ranks than theirs were driven,
+  When our Mexic ties were riven;
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Gird your loins, with sword and sabre;
+  Give your lives to freedom's labor;
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+  What though ev'ry heart be sadden'd--
+  What though all the land be redden'd--
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Shall this boasting, mad invader,
+  Trample Texas and degrade her?
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+  By our fathers' proud example,
+  Texas soil they shall not trample;
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Texans! meet them on the border;
+  Charge them into wild disorder;
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+  Hew the vandals down before you,
+  Till the last inch they restore you;
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Through the echoing hills resounding,
+  Hear the Texan bugles sounding;
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+  Arouse from ev'ry hill and valley;
+  List the bugle! Rally! rally!
+    Awake, awake, awake in Texas!
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE CAPTURE OF SEVENTEEN OF COMPANY H, FOURTH TEXAS CAVALRY.
+
+_Air--"Wake Snakes and Bite a Biskit."_
+
+
+  'Twas early in the morning of eighteen sixty-three,
+  We started out on picket, not knowing what we'd see;
+  The bridge we knew was floating. If the Yankees should pursue,
+  We knew we should be captured if running we'd not do.
+
+  To stop and give them battle, we never tho't of it--
+  The shot at us did rattle, so we tho't we'd better "git,"
+  The captain tried to rally us, and so did brave young Linn;
+  And Rader, too, with pistol drawn--Fenly next "put in."
+
+  Rainbolt, too, with angry words attempts to stop our flight,
+  They tell us yet to stop with them, and give the Yankees fight:
+  They saw they could not stop us--to try it would be vain--
+  So their only chance of safety was to give their steeds the rein.
+
+  Now this portion of my story will cause your hearts to bleed,
+  It tells of those who halted while going at full speed.
+  First came Billy Eddins, with musket shot in thigh,
+  He was told by the Yankees, "surrender now or die!"
+
+  Then came poor Johnny Burns, with sabre cut in head,
+  And near by him, and wounded, stood the still unconquer'd Red;
+  Then Oscar, and June Harris stood near in sore affright--
+  Then came the young De Marcus, in none the better plight.
+
+  Yarborough, too, with chalky cheek, was walking down the road--
+  The Yankees had to some extent relieved him of his load;
+  His overcoat he had pulled off, and in his shirt he stood,
+  In woeful plight, he was a sight,--his face contain'd no blood.
+
+  Then came the lively Lilly, with teeth hard set in wrath,
+  To think that some had pass'd him by, but pick'd him up at last!
+  Then Burnes came, and Maynard, then Graham and Jim Baugh--
+  The gallant Bone was found alone, and bro't back from afar.
+
+  But of the handsome Parton I must not fail to tell;
+  His graceful way of riding you all remember well;
+  But to-day the fates concluded to stop his wild career,
+  So from his horse was jolted by a musket from the rear.
+
+  The gallant Hill, and dashing Dees, were spurring for dear life,
+  When a Yankee rode with perfect ease upon them with a knife;
+  "Surrender, now, my pretty pair; and do it quickly too,
+  Stop at once and turn your mare, or I will run you through."
+
+  They stopp'd at once, and faced about and to the rear did start;
+  And back they came, with legs quite lame, with faint and sinking heart:
+  And there they saw a crowd who were gobbled up that day--
+  They were the twain that made seventeen, and we were marched away.
+
+
+
+
+ALABAMA.
+
+Words by LAURA LORRIMER.
+
+Music by J. W. GROSCHEL.
+
+
+  Over vale and over mountain
+    Pealing forth in triumph strong,
+  Comes a lofty swell of music,
+    Alabama's greeting song.
+  In the new-born arch of glory,
+    So, she burns, the central star,
+  Never shame shall blight its grandeur,
+    Never cloud its radiance mar.
+
+  CHORUS.--Alabama, Alabama,
+             Listen, Southrons, to the strain,
+           Alabama, Alabama,
+             Shout the rallying cry again.
+
+  As the gulf waves rushing shoreward,
+    Break in music echoes grand,
+  Alabama sends this greeting,
+    Proudly to her sister band.
+  This her ultimatum, burning,
+    In each heart of Southern flame,
+  Peace, if gained not by dishonor,
+    But far better war than shame.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  Let the "Northern Lion" couchant,
+    On his bleak and froze plain,
+  Lift his shaggy front in wonder,
+    And defiant shake his mane.
+  Sunward soars the mighty eagle,
+    And where blossom brighter bowers,
+  Than amid the green savannahs
+    Of this sunny land of ours.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  And her sons will rise in legions,
+    Bleed and die at her behest,
+  Ere a hostile Northern footstep
+    Trample, conqueror, on her breast.
+  This the faith she plights her sisters,
+    In this glorious Southern band,
+  Side by side she will be with them,
+    Heart with heart, and hand to hand.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+IMOGEN.
+
+By MAJ.-GEN. J. B. MAGRUDER.
+
+
+  Wake! dearest, wake! 'tis thy lover who calls, Imogen;
+  List! dearest, list! the dew gently falls, Imogen;
+  Arise to thy lattice, the moon is asleep,
+  The bright stars above us their bright vigils keep.
+
+[Illustration: "Thy steed is impatient his mistress to bear."]
+
+  CHORUS.--Then fear not, my Imogen,
+           Thou'rt dearer than life!
+           The heart of the soldier is the home of the wife, Imogen,
+           The heart of the soldier is the home of the wife.
+
+[Illustration: "Arise to thy lattice, the moon is asleep."]
+
+  Thy steed is impatient his mistress to bear, Imogen,
+  Home to her lover, on the prairie afar, Imogen,
+  Belov'd as a maiden, adored as a wife,
+  Thou shalt be forever the star of my life.
+
+
+
+
+AN OLD TEXAN'S APPEAL.
+
+By REUBEN E. BROWN.
+
+
+  Come all ye temper'd hearts of steel--come, quit your flocks and farms,
+  Your sports, your plays, your holidays, and hark! away to arms!
+            And hark! away to arms!
+            Your sports, your plays, your holidays,
+            And hark! away to arms!
+
+  For a soldier is a gentleman--his honor is his life--
+  And he that won't fight at his post shall ne'er stay with his wife!
+            Shall ne'er stay with his wife!
+            And he that won't fight at his post,
+            Shall ne'er stay with his wife!
+
+  For love and honor are the same, they are so near alike,
+  They neither can exist alone, but flourish side by side.
+
+  Our country calls us to the field--let's not a moment stay;
+  Gird on your arms with cheerfulness, and fearless march away.
+
+  No foreign power shall us enslave--no Northern tyrant reign;
+  'Twas independence made us free, and freedom we'll maintain.
+
+  The rising world shall sing of us a thousand years to come,
+  And children to their children tell what glories we have won.
+
+  Farewell, sweethearts! 'tis for awhile; my dear, sweet girls, adieu;
+  Let's drive these Northern dogs away, we'll come and stay with you.
+
+  And when the war is over, boys, we'll then sit down at ease--
+  We'll plow and sow, and reap and mow, and do just as we please.
+
+
+
+
+ARISE! YE SONS OF FREE-BORN SIRES!
+
+(Lines prompted by the spirit that pervaded the soldiers of Galveston on
+receiving the news of our disaster.)
+
+By A. E. MORRIS, Company C, Twentieth Infantry.
+
+
+  Arise! ye sons of free-born sires; arise! your country save;
+  Kindle again the wonted fires that animate the brave:
+  Your heritage your foes menace--secure it from their foul embrace--
+            Your chains asunder burst!
+  What tho' they count as harvest-seed--as fathers bled, their sons must
+      bleed,
+            Or be forever accursed!
+
+  The boasted chivalry of yore you can, you must, maintain;
+  Let not the scars our fathers bore for us, be borne in vain!
+  Degenerate sons of noble sires, by baleful, wild, fanatic fires,
+            And madden'd folly mov'd,
+  Profaned their Hero's sacred dust--betrayed their country's sacred trust,
+            And double traitors proved.
+
+  They've rais'd the fratricidal hand--they've shed their brother's blood--
+  Spread desolation thro' your land with sword and fire and blood,
+  Your desecrated altars lie ensanguin'd in the deepest dye
+            Of holy thing's profaned
+  Your homes and towns in ruins piled--your matrons, maids--your very child
+            With foul pollution stained.
+
+  Then rise, ye sons of free-born sires, _once_ more! and freedom's won,
+  Kindle again the fervid fires that glow'd in sixty-one!
+  Your heritage your foes menace--secure it from their foul embrace--
+            Your chains asunder burst!
+  What tho' they count as harvest-seed--as fathers bled, their sons must
+      bleed,
+            Or be fore'er accursed!
+
+
+
+
+GAY AND HAPPY.
+
+
+  We're the boys so gay and happy,
+    Wheresoever we chance to be--
+  If at home, or on camp duty,
+    'Tis the same, we're always free!
+
+  CHORUS.--Then let the Yanks say what they will,
+             We'll be gay and happy still;
+           Gay and happy, gay and happy,
+             We'll be gay and happy still.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  We've left our homes, and those we cherish
+    In our own dear Texas land!
+  We would rather fight and perish
+    Side by side, and hand in hand.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Old Virginia needs assistance--
+    Northern hosts invade her soil--
+  We'll present a firm resistance,
+    Courting danger, fire and toil.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Then let drums and muskets rattle--
+    Fearless as the name we bore,
+  We'll not leave the field of battle
+    While a Yank is on our shore.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+BAYLOR'S PARTISAN RANGERS.
+
+By MARY L. WILSON, of San Antonio, Texas.
+
+_Air--"Dixie."_
+
+
+  Hear the summons, sons of Texas!
+  Now the fierce invaders vex us,
+    Come on, come on, come on for Texas!
+  Daring, dauntless, reckless Ranger!
+    First in glory, first in danger--
+  Come on, come on for Texas.
+
+  CHORUS.--Exalt the fame of Texas, strike home, strike home!
+           Where Baylor leads the foeman bleeds!
+           Then strike with him for Texas--
+           Come on, come on, ye gallant sons of Texas!
+
+  Awhile ago they dared defy us--
+  Now they meet us but to fly us;
+  Bright the stars and bars are gleaming!
+  Bright our future star is beaming!
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  By base Butler's proclamation,
+  By our sister's defamation,--
+  By the sword of justice sheathless,
+  Be the fires of vengeance quenchless.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Honor, safety, vengeance call you,
+  Ere the tyrant's chains enthrall you--
+  Cities burning, women wailing!
+  Shall their tears be unavailing?
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  Fiercely now the vandal's smiting,
+  Southern homes his torch is blighting--
+  Well he knows he'll conquer never,
+  So would ruin us forever.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  A Texan's name, who would not wear it?
+  Well the foe has learned to fear it!
+  Green the laurels for you springing,
+  Bright the halo 'round you clinging.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  Chosen by the gallant Morgan!
+  The North has heard the Texan slogan;
+  Rangers, ask not, give not quarter!
+  Be your pathway marked with slaughter!
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+[Illustration: Volunteer Confederate Button.]
+
+
+
+
+THE HORSE MARINES AT GALVESTON.
+
+_Air--"Barring of the Door."_
+
+
+  It was on a New Year's morn so soon,
+    Before the break of day, Oh!
+  General Magruder had laid his plan
+    To catch the Yankees in the Bay, Oh!
+
+  CHORUS.--Skedaddle, skedaddle, leave horse, spur and saddle,
+             Charge! Horse Marines, with a hoo-way!
+           Skedaddle, skedaddle, the Yankees will toddle;
+             Rush on them with pistol and bowie--
+                     O, skedaddle!
+
+  Magruder march'd down through Galveston town,
+    And placed his men on the shore, Oh!
+  And the fight then began when he fired the first gun,
+    And the fleet replied with a roar, Oh!
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  The Yankees' big shot flew fast, thick and hot,
+    They thought they'd gain'd the day, Oh!
+  When Bagby and Green, with the new Horse Marine,
+    Came rushing down the Bay, Oh!
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  The two bayou boats went to butting like goats,
+    The big steamer's deck to gain, Oh!
+  Then L'on Smith, that trump, he made the first jump,
+    Right abroad of the Harriet Lane, Oh!
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  Let it not be forgotten, that Jim Dowlan, the Briton,
+    Pitch'd in through flood and through flame, Oh!
+  From the sinking boat swam to the Bayou City ram,
+    And boarded the Harriet Lane, Oh!
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  Then flew the white flag o'er the Federal rag;
+    The Yankees cried stop! just at light, Oh!
+  By cunning and lies, to get off with the prize
+    We had fairly won in the fight, Oh!
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  But General Bill Scurry, was in too great a hurry,
+    To wait for a three hours' truce, Oh!
+  He bagged all ashore, and would have bagged more,
+    Had any been lying around loose, Oh!
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  Old General Magruder will let no intruder
+    Our soil with his footsteps pollute, Oh!
+  The Arizona Brigade, with L'on Smith as aid,
+    Will send them to--Butler, the brute, Oh!
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  Then rejoice, O rejoice, ye Texans, rejoice;
+    Charge! Horse Marines, with a hoo-way!
+  The invaders are dead, ta'en pris'ner, or fled--
+    They can't stand the pistol and bowie.
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+I'M THINKING OF THE SOLDIER.
+
+By MARY E. SMITH, of Austin, Texas.
+
+
+  O, I'm thinking of the soldier as the evening shadows fall,
+  As the twilight fairy sketches her sad picture on the wall;
+  As the trees are resting sadly on the waveless silence deep,
+  Like the barks upon the ocean when the winds are hush'd to sleep.
+
+  All my soul is with the absent, as the evening shadows fall;
+  While the ghosts of night are spreading o'er the dying light a pall;
+  As the robes of day are trailing in the halls of eventide,
+  And yon radiant star is wooing blushing eve to be his bride.
+
+  I have shunn'd the cosy parlor--for a silence lingers there,
+  Since our lov'd one went to battle, and we find a vacant chair;
+  And a sigh is stealing upward, as the evening spirits come,
+  With the zephyrs, to the bowers of this sadly deserted home.
+
+  For when soft "good nights" are ended there's a room not like the rest,
+  Since a soldier left that chamber and that pillow is unprest;
+  O, my soul is in a shadow, and my heart cannot be gay,
+  As the eve with low refraining comes to shroud the dying day.
+
+[Illustration: "I'm thinking of the soldier as the evening shadows fall."]
+
+  For I'm dreaming of the soldier, on his pallet bed of straw;
+  As the leaves are growing yellow and November winds are raw--
+  And a vision comes before me of aching, fever'd brow;
+  And a proud form blighted, blasted, strangely, strangely alter'd now.
+
+  And I feel that strong heart beating fainter, fainter with each breath,
+  Fluttering softly in its prison, fluttering thro' the gate of death;
+  And a voice of sad despairing stirs my heart's deep fountain now,--
+  As my hand is slowly wandering o'er that strangely altered brow.
+
+  And a sigh, soul full of longing, fills the chambers of my soul--
+  While the quivering heart-strings whisper "Life's a tale that soon is
+      told;"
+  God of Love, receive the soldier on that dim mysterious shore,
+  Where the weary are at rest and souls are sad, ah! nevermore.
+
+  Still the dusky sybil, "Future," on her dim, prophetic leaves,
+  Writes that death will claim the soldier, when he gathers up his sheaves;
+  This is why I'm ever sighing, and my heart cannot be gay,
+  As the eve with low refraining comes to shroud the dying day.
+
+  That is why I still am sighing as the deep gray shadows fall,
+  As the twilight spirit settles down her shadows in the hall,
+  And I'm praying for the soldier from a soul with sorrow sore,
+  For our soldier boys have left us--gone, perchance, to come no more.
+
+
+
+
+THE BATTLE OF GALVESTON.
+
+By MRS. L. E. CAPLEN, Galveston.
+
+_Air--"The Harp that once thro' Tara's Halls."_
+
+
+  'Twas on that dark and fearful morn,
+    That anxious hearts beat high!
+  And many from their friends were torn
+    Beneath the wintry sky.
+
+  But hark! what cannon roar is that?
+    Terrific--but sublime--
+  Wafting some mortals to their graves,
+    Far from their Northern clime.
+
+  As the battle rag'd, voices high
+    Echoed along the shore,
+  For death or victory was nigh
+    Amid the battle's roar.
+
+  The Yanks appeared to gain the ground,
+    Their hopes were sure and high,
+  Our little boats then hove in sight,
+    Which caused their men to cry.
+
+  Magruder, for example sake,
+    The cannon first did fire,
+  When soon their boats were made to quake--
+    When one embrac'd his sire.
+
+  But death hath taken for his own
+    Their Captain, Lee, Monroe--
+  And many more they lost that day,
+    Whose death they'll long deplore.
+
+  But were we favored? Sure we were,
+    For victory was ours!
+  But death had stolen our gallant Wier;
+    Our tears did fall in showers.
+
+  Another one, deserving most,
+    The brave and noble son!
+  Sherman! thy country's pride! is lost--
+    A death most nobly won.
+
+  Come, all ye people, far and near,
+    Example you must take,
+  For Texas men and women are
+    Heroes for country's sake!
+
+
+
+
+DEATH OF GEN. ALBERT SIDNEY JOHNSTON.
+
+By GEORGE B. MILROR, of Harrisburg.
+
+
+  The sun was sinking o'er the battle plain,
+    Where the night winds were already sighing,
+  While, with smiling lips, near his war-horse slain,
+    Lay a valiant chieftain dying!
+
+  And as he sank to his long, last rest,
+    The banner--once o'er him streaming--
+  He folded 'round his most gallant breast,
+    On the couch that knows no dreaming.
+
+  Proudly he lay on the battle-field,
+    On the banks of the noble river;
+  And the crimson stream from his veins did yield,
+    Without a pang or quiver!
+
+  There were hands that came to bind his wounds,
+    There were eyes o'er the warrior streaming,
+  As he rais'd his head from the bloody ground,
+    Where many a brave was sleeping.
+
+  "Now, away," he cried--"your aid is vain!
+    My soul will not brook recalling!
+  I have seen the tyrant enemy slain,
+    And like Autumn vine-leaves falling!
+
+  "I have seen our glorious banner wave
+    O'er the tents of the enemy vanquish'd--
+  I have drawn a sword for my country brave,
+    And in her cause now perish!
+
+  "Leave me to die with the free and the brave,
+    On the banks of my own noble river--
+  Ye can give me naught but a soldier's grave,
+    And a place in your hearts forever!"
+
+
+
+
+GOD BLESS OUR SOUTHERN LAND.
+
+Respectfully inscribed to Major-General J. B. Magruder, and sung on the
+occasion of his public reception in the city of Houston, Texas, Jan. 20,
+1863.
+
+
+  God bless our Southern land,
+  God save our sea-girt land,
+      And make us free;
+  With justice for our shield,
+  May we on battle field
+  Never to foemen yield
+      Our liberty.
+
+  O Lord! protect the Chief
+  Who to our prompt relief
+      From threaten'd woe,
+  Hasten'd to lead the way;
+  Nor faltered in the fray,
+  When from our beauteous Bay
+      He drove the foe.
+
+  And may the gallant band
+  Worthy in his command
+      Ever to be,
+  Have of Thy watchful care
+  Ever a plenteous share,
+  Inspiring each to dare
+      For home and thee.
+
+  "O Lord our God! arise,
+  Scatter our enemies,
+      And make them fall!"
+  And when, with peace restored,
+  Each man lays by the sword,
+  May he with joy record
+      Thy mercies all.
+
+
+
+
+SOUTHERN BATTLE SONG.
+
+_Air--"Bruce's Address."_
+
+
+  Raise the Southern flag on high!
+  Shout aloud the battle cry!
+  Let its echoes reach the sky--
+          "God and Southern Rights."
+
+  Sons of wealth, and sons of toil,
+  Will ye yield your land for spoil,
+  Drive the foe from Southern soil!
+          Glory now invites.
+
+  Rally round our banner bright
+  Let its stars of quenchless light
+  Dim the base invader's sight,
+          On the battle field.
+
+  When the death clouds darkly lower,
+  When the cannons blaze and roar,
+  Though its folds be drenched in gore,
+          We will never yield.
+
+  By our sires who fought and bled!
+  By Virginia's honored dead!
+  By the blood so lately shed!
+          We will make them know--
+
+  Southern hearts are true as steel,
+  Wrongs like ours are slow to heal,
+  Sooner will we die than kneel
+          To a Northern foe.
+
+[Illustration: Georgia Belt-buckle.]
+
+
+
+
+BOMBARDMENT AND BATTLES OF GALVESTON.
+
+FROM JUNE 1, 1862, TO JANUARY 1, 1863.
+
+By S. R. EZZELL, of Capt. Daly's Company.
+
+_Air--"Auld Lang Syne."_
+
+
+  The Yankees hate the Lone Star State, because she did secede;
+  At Galveston they've now begun to make her soldiers bleed.
+  The "Old Blockade" her threats have made, that she will burn our town;
+  But Col. Cook, with piercing look, declares he'll stand his ground.
+
+  High in the breeze he soon did raise the flag with single star,
+  Saying, "Let them come, we'll give them some, before they are aware."
+  Along the coast he soon did post his batteries, well mann'd
+  By men of might, prepared to fight, behind breast-works of sand.
+
+  Like lions brave, their land to save, the cavalry do stand
+  Ready to charge the Yankee barge that first attempts to land;
+  Infantry, too, like soldiers true, who never yet did fail,
+  They long to greet the Yankee fleet with musketry like hail.
+
+  We wait to see the "Old Santee" come sailing into shore;
+  And then we'll fight for Southern rights, and make the cannon roar;
+  But if a fleet we have to meet, of gunboats large and strong,
+  We'll cross the bridge without a siege, and think it nothing wrong.
+
+  When on mainland, we'll take our stand, and all their hosts defy;
+  There we will fight for Southern rights--we'll fight them till we die.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Two months passed by, they came not nigh, but only cruis'd around,
+  As if to find the channel's wind, for which they oft did sound;
+  But this was all, the Eagle bald, did not attempt to land;
+  His courage fail'd, away he sailed, and made no more demand.
+
+  But Harriet Lane, she did remain, with quite a heavy fleet,
+  She came up nigher and open'd fire in order quite complete;
+  'Twas at Fort Point she did dismount our best and largest gun;
+  'Twas now in vain here to remain, so we for life did run.
+
+  'Mid bomb and grape we did escape, and not a life was lost;
+  Fearing the town they would burn down over the bridge we crossed;
+  Then on mainland we took our stand, determined not to yield,
+  Tho' bomb and ball should thickly fall, and we die on the field.
+
+  Gen. Herbert he came not near, but strangely stood aloof;
+  From San Antone he did look on, where was good old "4th proof."
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Magruder came, a man of fame, the Texas boys to lead;
+  From Rio Grande he did command, to come with rapid speed;
+  "My plan is laid," he quickly said, "Galveston to retake;
+  Brave boys!" said he, "come, follow me; we'll make the Yankees quake."
+
+  Three bayou crafts, of shallow draught, with cotton breastworks neat;
+  Three hundred men, and three small guns, composed our Texas fleet;
+  Now ready quite, the Feds to fight, our land force did repair,
+  Along Strand Street, the Yanks to greet, just as our boats came near.
+
+  The Lone Star State must seal her fate, in ruin, shame and woe,
+  Or bravely fight for Southern rights, and triumph o'er the foe;
+  On New Year's morn, before day dawn, the year of sixty-three,
+  The New Year's gifts came flying swift, both from the land and sea.
+
+  The lightning glare, both far and near, the darkness did dispel;
+  Grape, bomb and ball did thickly fall, our forces to repel;
+  Magruder then said to his men, "Your country you must save,
+  And still maintain your glorious name, _the bravest of the brave_."
+
+  We fear'd them not, but bravely fought, our homesteads to maintain;
+  By break of day we had the Bay at our command again;
+  The Yankee fleet we did defeat, and captur'd all their crews,
+  Except a few who were untrue, and sail'd off under truce.
+
+
+
+
+GENERAL TOM GREEN.
+
+By MRS. WM. BARNES, of Galveston.
+
+
+  A warrior has fallen! a chieftain has gone!
+    A hero of heroes has sunk to his rest!
+  Those hands that wielded the sword and the sabre,
+    Now lie pulseless and cold o'er his motionless breast;
+  That voice that has gladden'd valiant comrades in arms,
+    And driven away their deep shadows of gloom,
+  Is seemingly hush'd to those seared-stricken hearts,
+    But loudly will speak from its still, hollow tomb!
+
+  Aye, seemingly hush'd, like the black, death-like waters,
+    As they mirror the face of the threatening sky;
+  But see ye the ripple that waves in the distance,
+    Warning the mariner that danger is nigh?
+  Aye, seemingly hush'd, like the dead, sullen calm,
+    As it heralds Vesuvius' virulent ire,
+  Ere she, out of her bosom, malignantly pours
+    Her dull molten lava, her columns of fire.
+
+  Aye, seemingly hush'd, but the words he has spoken
+    Lie deeply incased in the breasts of his men,
+  And tho' to the "echoless shore" he is wafted,
+    His voice will be heard yet again and again;
+  How oft-seated by the bivouac's bright fires,
+    While his men have stood 'round, wrapt in wondrous delight,
+  Has he spurred them to noble and chivalric deeds,
+    As he vividly pictured a forthcoming fight.
+
+  Full many a time has the rough, sunburnt hand
+    Dash'd the unbidden tear from the veteran's cheek,
+  As of home--that lov'd spot to each memory so dear--
+    With heartfelt emotion his chieftain would speak;
+  Aye, seemingly hush'd is the tongue of the warrior,
+    In their bosom its echo is lingering still;
+  Long as their pulse beats, its prompting they yield to--
+    Yes, long as their noble hearts have power to feel.
+
+  The hero of Valverde--the hero of Mansfield,--
+    Now sleeps the calm sleep of the happy and blest;
+  Those eyes once so lustrous are now sightless and dim,
+    Those limbs once so active have sunk to their rest;
+  O there let him lie where the first beams of morning
+    Shall shed o'er his tomb a soft halo of light,
+  And the moon's gentle rays that dear spot shall enliven,
+    As she glides on her course through the still, solemn night.
+
+  Plant the wild-tendriled vine and flowers of the prairie
+    O'er the grave of the chieftain that slumbereth there--
+  How sweetly they'll mingle their gentle perfumes with
+    The orphans' and widows' sweet incense of prayer;
+  Let the song of the whippoorwill, pensive and sad,
+    As he flits on the sprays of the green willow tree,
+  And the deep azure waves of the fair Colorado,
+    By day and by night his mournful requiems be!
+
+
+
+
+HARD TIMES!
+
+By M. B. SMITH, Co. C, Second Texas Volunteer Infantry.
+
+
+  Just listen awhile, and give ear to my song
+  Concerning this war, which will not take me long;
+  Old Lincoln, the blower, swore the Rebels he'd whip,
+  But thanks to my stars, he has not done it yet,
+                  For it's hard times.
+
+  Manassa's the spot, if I recollect right,
+  Where Yankees and Southerners had their first fight;
+  We whipped them so badly, our boys thought it fun,
+  And ever since then they have called it Bull Run,
+                  Those were grand times.
+
+  Old Lincoln had put in his very best man--
+  It was old General Scott who led in his clan--
+  But in facing Jeff Davis he couldn't shine,
+  For we captured his cakes, his brandies and wine,
+                  Then we'd fine times.
+
+  Old Abe and the "Gen'ral" soon got at "out,"
+  Which caused the "Old Gen'ral" to complain of gout;
+  So he told Marse Abe that he would resign,
+  And he laid all the blame to the very hard times,
+                  O, it was hard times.
+
+  McClellan was the next man put in the field,
+  With brass-hilted sword and a sole-leather shield;
+  He boasted quite loudly the Rebels he'd whip--
+  But you see, my dear friends, he's not done it yet,
+                  For it's hard times.
+
+  Yet there was another, Gen. Buell, the great,
+  That followed our Beauregard clean thro' one State,
+  But at Tennessee River he got all his fill--
+  I'm certain he remembered the Shiloh Hill!
+
+  There were Banks, Shields and Fremont, big generals all,
+  While skirmishing 'round ran afoul of "Stonewall!"
+  With Longstreet and Hill, very near by his side,
+  Who said: "Wo-ee, Yankees, let's all have a ride!"
+
+  Old Jackson he then got around to their rear,
+  So the day was ours you can see very clear;
+  Then he sent a dispatch to brave General Lee,
+  "Drive all the Yankees into eternity?"
+
+  But at Gainesville station they made a bold stand,
+  Where they collected a formidable band,
+  And swore to their fill that the Rebels they'd whip,
+  But the Texans made them everlastingly "git!"
+
+  Now the last I've heard of McClellan, the third;
+  He was down on James River bogg'd up in the mud,
+  In a bend of the river, near a big pond,
+  The want of more news puts an end to my song.
+
+AUGUST 13, 1862.
+
+
+
+
+THE FLAG OF THE SOUTHLAND
+
+By MAJOR E. W. CAVE, of Houston.
+
+_Air--"I'm Afloat."_
+
+
+  Flag of the Southland! Flag of the free!
+  'Ere thy sons will be slaves, they will perish with thee!
+  Thy new-risen star shall light Liberty on,
+  'Till the hosts of the tyrant are scatter'd and gone!
+  Whether victory sits on the Southern plumes,
+  Or disaster doth come in some hour of gloom,
+  Freedom's hosts will still rally where'er thou shalt be,
+  O flag of the Southland! flag of the free!
+
+  Flag of the Southland! thy glory has been
+  To be baptized in blood 'midst the great battle's din,
+  From Manassas' red plains, o'er the mountains steep,
+  Thy stars kept their vigils, where Washington sleeps,
+  And the breezes of Vernon have borne on the shout
+  Of thy triumphant sons as the foes took the rout;
+  Valor's trio of genius--Beauregard, Johnston and Lee!
+  Guards the flag of the Southland--flag of the free!
+
+  The foe is upon us, but our flag it is there!
+  We have borne it in triumph--its defeat we can share;
+  Tho' our cities be burned, tho' our thousands be slain,
+  'Mid the flames of our altars we'll fight him again;
+  And while there's a spot where a patriot band
+  May show to the foe a desperate stand,
+  Southern hearts will defy him, their flag will still be
+  The flag of the Southland--the flag of the free!
+
+  In the hour of gloom now thy valorous sons show,
+  That freemen can die, but ne'er yield to the foe!
+  But our Shiloh has come--see the enemy flee!
+  His sceptre has sunk 'neath the swift Tennessee--
+  And the Southern heart and the Southern hand,
+  From classic Potomac to bold Rio Grande,
+  Still push on to battle, when floating they see
+  The flag of the Southland--the flag of the free!
+
+
+
+
+ON TO GLORY.
+
+
+  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,
+    Backward hurl the invading foe;
+  Freemen, never think of danger,
+    To the glorious battle go.
+
+  Oh, remember gallant Jackson,
+    Single-handed in the fight,
+  Death blows dealt the fierce marauder,
+    For his liberty and right;
+  Tho' 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 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.
+
+
+
+
+STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY.
+
+Found on the body of a sergeant of the Old Stonewall Brigade, Winchester,
+Va.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  Come, stack arms, men! pile on the rails,
+    Stir up the camp-fire bright;
+  No matter if the canteen fails,
+    We'll make a roaring night;
+  Here Shenandoah brawls along,
+  To swell the Brigade's rousing song
+    Of "Stonewall Jackson's way."
+
+  We see him now!--the old slouched hat
+    Cocked o'er his eye, askew--
+  The shrewd, dry smile--the speech as pat--
+    So calm, so blunt, so true.
+  The "Blue Light Elder" knows o'er well--
+  Says he, "That's Banks--he's fond of shell--
+  Lord save his soul!--we'll give him"--well,
+    That's "Stonewall Jackson's way."
+
+[Illustration: "He's in the saddle now."]
+
+  Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off!
+    Old Blue Light's going to pray;
+  Strangle the fool that dares to scoff!
+    Attention! 'tis his way!
+  Appealing from his native sod,
+    _In forma pauperis_ to God--
+  "Lay bare thine arm; stretch forth thy rod;
+    Amen!" That's "Stonewall's way."
+
+  He's in the saddle now! Fall in!
+    Steady--the whole Brigade!
+  Hill's at the ford cut off! He'll win
+    His way out, ball and blade;
+  What matter if our shoes are worn!
+  What matter if our feet are torn!
+  "Quick step--we're with him before dawn!"
+    That's "Stonewall Jackson's way."
+
+  The sun's bright lances rout the mists
+    Of morning, and, by George,
+  There's Longstreet struggling in the lists,
+    Hemmed in an ugly gorge--
+  Pope and his Yankees whipped before--
+  "Bayonet and grape!" hear Stonewall roar,
+  "Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby's score
+    In Stonewall Jackson's way."
+
+  Ah, maiden! wait and watch and yearn
+    For news of Stonewall's band;
+  Ah, widow! read with eyes that burn
+    That ring upon thy hand;
+  Ah, wife! sew on, pray on, hope on,
+  Thy life shall not be all forlorn--
+  The foe had better ne'er been born,
+    Than get in "Stonewall's way."
+
+
+
+
+TO THE BELOVED MEMORY OF MAJ.-GEN. TOM GREEN.
+
+By CAPTAIN EDWIN HOBBY.
+
+
+  In the land of the orange-groves, sunshine and flowers,
+    Is heard the funereal tread,
+  And darkly above it, the war-cloud lowers,
+  And a requiem swells thro' its orange bowers,
+    For the brave and noble dead;
+  Then trail'd be the banners in dust,
+    And muffled the martial drum,
+  His sword in its scabbard shall rust;
+    With their coming no more will he come--
+  The earth has received to her bosom its trust--
+  Ashes to ashes--and dust unto dust.
+
+  In the sunniest realm of that beautiful land,
+    Where spring-time her festival's keeping,
+  Where the blossoms of summer in splendor expand,
+  By the camp-fire light there's a sorrow bow'd band--
+    Their leader forever is sleeping:
+  Then plumed be their banners in black,
+    And softly the bugle be blown.
+  No more shall he be welcomed back
+    By hearts that were twined to his own,
+    'Till the voice from the King on his throne
+  To the earth goeth forth, to give up his trust--
+  Ashes to ashes, and dust unto dust.
+
+  A sun has been lost from that bright constellation,
+    Whose splendor illumines the sky;
+  It sank as we gazed in lov'd admiration;
+  Its leaves were the glory and pride of the nation,
+    'Twas Liberty's symbol on high,
+  And darkness now hangs on the face of the day;
+    The illustrious hero's at rest;
+  But the fruit of his genius is left us to say
+  How sublime was the Chief that is taken away;
+    How much of all hearts he possessed.
+
+  On New Mexico's mountains, his banners waved
+    In the face of the haughtiest foe--
+  All dangers he scorned, and all odds had he brav'd,
+  And victory seem'd on his banners engrav'd
+    When his genius directed the blow:
+  _Val Verde!_ a name that in song and story
+    Shall brighten our history's pages,
+  'Till crumbled in dust, is the record of glory,
+  'Till valor's forgotten, and nation's grow hoary,
+    Undimmed by the shadows of ages.
+
+  Massachusetts' black banner wav'd on Galveston's Strand,
+    The roll of her drums echoed nightly,
+  (Sad sound to the freemen who dwelt on the land),
+  It was heard by his ear, it was caught by his band,
+    A stain on our 'scutcheon unsightly:
+  Night closed and morn came, what a change had been wrought!
+    What proud banner floateth there now!
+  Ah! the victory's won--Green the battle has fought!
+  And the cross of the South, morning's golden beam caught;
+    Fresh laurels encircle his brow.
+
+  At Bisland he stood, like a rock in the ocean
+    That stems the strong waves on the shore,
+  Calm and unmoved, in the midst of commotion,
+  Our army he saved by his dauntless devotion--
+    What chieftain has ever done more?
+  Brashear, and Fordoche, Pleasant Hill and Mansfield,
+    All breathe of his glory and fame--
+  There his genius burst forth like the lightning conceal'd,
+  And destiny seem'd to his glance reveal'd--
+    Fate crowning in triumph his name.
+
+  O we weep for the veteran hearts that are gone--
+    Scurry, Randall, Riley, Buchel,
+  Shepherd, Chalmers, Ragsdale, Raines, McNeal and Mouton,
+  Their glorious names and deeds shall live on--
+    Peace to the heroes that fell.
+  And O, for the soldiers that bled with them there,
+    Their country's strong bulwark and trust,
+  United to do, and the courage to dare.
+  In life they had borne all privation and care,
+    In dust, undivided's their dust.
+
+  And Liberty's tree, from the blood of the brave,
+    In strength and in grandeur shall rise;
+  Its branches extend to each ocean's blue wave,
+  And sacred its fruit o'er each patriot's grave:
+    How dearly that fruit shall we prize!
+  Is the hero, O say, in that mystical world,
+    Surrounded on Time's silent shore
+  By the veteran dead, with their banners now furl'd--
+  War's trumpet unblown, and his lances unhurl'd--
+    Are they still with the chief they adore?
+
+  Tom Green is no more! lov'd and honor'd he lies,
+    Near his home by the murmuring river--
+  In the soil he sav'd, 'neath his own Southern skies,
+  Where praises from lips yet unborn shall arise,
+    And bless him forever and ever.
+  There let him sleep on, undisturb'd in repose,
+    And cease for the hero to sigh--
+  Life's morning was honor--in greatness it rose,
+  'Twas a sunset of splendor, that life at its close,
+    He died as a soldier should die.
+
+  O'er his hallow'd remains let no monument shine,
+    To tell of the chieftain beneath it,
+  His requiem hymn'd by the sorrow-toned pine,
+  And wildly around it the jessamine twine,
+    And flowers, bright flowers enwreathe it;
+  Then silently night-skies their soft dews will shed
+    On the spring-flowers that garland his grave--
+  One generous sigh for the bosom that bled,
+  One generous tear for the fate of the dead,
+    The noble, the true and the brave.
+
+  His laurels were pure, and his honor unstained,
+    He lov'd not war's crimson-dyed pall,
+  His nature was peace while the olive remained--
+  Refus'd then the long-baited lion unchain'd--
+    Tom Green was then greater than all.
+  Affection and love was the pulse of his breast,
+    Ever quick at humanity's call--
+  The widow and orphan his charities bless'd,
+  The friend of the homeless, the poor and distress'd,
+    Tom Green was the idol of all.
+
+GALVESTON, TEXAS, May 28, 1864.
+
+
+
+
+HOOD'S OLD BRIGADE.
+
+"_On the March._"
+
+By MISS MOLLIE E. MOORE.
+
+
+  'Twas midnight when we built our fires--
+    We march'd at half-past three!
+  We know not when our march shall end,
+    Nor care--we follow Lee!
+  The starlight gleams on many a crest,
+    And many a well-tried blade--
+  This handful marching on the left--
+    _This_ line is _our_ Brigade!
+
+  Our line is short because its veins
+    So lavishly have bled;
+  The missing! Search the countless plains
+    Whose battles it has led;
+  There are those Georgians on our right,
+    Their ranks are thinning, too--
+  How in one company, they say,
+    They now can count but two!
+
+  There's not much talking down the lines,
+    Nor shouting down the gloam;
+  For when the night is 'round us, then
+    We're thinking most of home!
+
+  I saw yon soldier startle, when
+    We passed an open glade,
+  Where the low starlight, leaf and bough
+    A fairy picture made;
+  Nor has he uttered word since then--
+    _My_ heart can whisper why--
+  'Twas like the spot in Texas where
+    He bade his love good-by!
+
+  And when, beyond us, carelessly,
+    Some soldier sang adieu!
+  My comrade here across his eyes
+    His coarse sleeve roughly drew;
+  So, scarcely sound, save trampling feet,
+    Is echoed through the gloom--
+  Because when stars are brightest, then
+    We're thinking most of home!
+
+  Hush! what an echo startles up
+    Around this rocky hill!
+  Was't shell, half-buried, struck my foot?
+    Or, stay--'tis a human skull!
+  This ridge I surely seem to know
+    By light of yon rising moon;
+  Ha! we battled here three mortal hours
+    One Sunday afternoon.
+
+  Last spring! See where our Captain stands,
+    His head drooped on his breast--
+  At his feet that heap of bones and earth--
+    You know _now_ why his rest
+  Is broke off, and why his sword was
+    So bitter in the fray!
+  'Tis the grave of his only brother, who
+    Was killed that awful day!
+
+  Hush! for in front I heard a shot,
+    And then a well-known cry--
+  "It is the foe!" See where the flames
+    Mount upward to the sky!
+  It is the foe! Halt! Rest we here!
+    We wait the coming sun,
+  And ere these stars may shine again
+    A field is _lost or won_!
+
+  Is _won_! It is the "Old Brigade,"
+    This line of stalwart men!
+  The "long roll!" how it thrills my heart
+    To hear that sound again!
+  God shield us, boys! here breaks the day,
+    The stars begin to fade!
+  "Now steady here! fall in! fall in!
+    Forward! the 'Old Brigade!'"
+
+[Illustration: Georgia Button.]
+
+
+
+
+THE BATTLE SONG OF THE SOUTH.
+
+Words by P. E. COLLINS.
+
+Music by WM. HERZ.
+
+
+  Land of our birth, thee, thee I sing,
+    Proud heritage is thine,
+  Wide to the breeze thy banner fling,
+    Thy freedom ne'er resign.
+  Land of the South, the foe defies
+    Thy valor! lo, he comes,
+  To prove thy strength, awake, arise!
+    To arms! protect thy homes.
+
+  Bright Southern land, the time has come,
+    Thy bright historic day,
+  Sons of the South, the time has come,
+    Drive back the tyrants' sway!
+  Strike, Southrons, strike! the foe shall flee,
+    Nor e'er again invade;
+  The sons of free men shall be free,
+    They cannot slaves be made.
+
+  Land of the South, by right maintained,
+    The day of trial past,
+  The prize of victory will be gained;
+    Thou'lt triumph at the last,
+  And future bards your deeds shall tell
+    Of valor and renown;
+  What tyranny and hate befell,
+    By Southern might cast down.
+
+
+
+
+MY HEART'S IN MISSISSIPPI.
+
+
+  My heart's in Mississippi,
+    'Tis de place whar I was born;
+  'Tis dar I planted sugar cane,
+    'Tis dar I hoed de corn,
+  Dey have taken me to Texas,
+    A thousand miles below;
+  Yet my heart's in Mississippi
+    Wherever I go.
+
+  CHORUS.--Yet my heart's in Mississippi,
+             'Tis de place whar I was born;
+           'Tis dar I planted sugar cane,
+             'Tis dar I hoed de corn.
+
+  Mobile may boast of beauties,
+    Dat lemonade de street;
+  But dey neber hab a sixpence,
+    To ax you to a treat;
+  De Mississippi yellow gals,
+    Dey always treat dar beaux,
+  Den my heart's in Mississippi
+    Wherever I go.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+  Way down in Mississippi,
+    De fields am always green;
+  And orange trees in blossom,
+    De whole year may be seen,
+  Dar darkies live like princes,
+    And dar do heel and toe;
+  Den my heart's in Mississippi,
+    Wherever I go.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+  Den fill to Mississippi,
+    And let de toast go 'round,
+  Rosin up de fiddle-sticks,
+    And let de banjo sound;
+  O fotch along de whiskey,
+    And let de fluid flow:
+  For my heart's in Mississippi, boys,
+    Wherever I go.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE FUNERAL OF ALBERT SYDNEY JOHNSTON.
+
+
+  He fell and they cried, bring us home our dead!
+  We'll bury him here where the prairies spread,
+  And the gulf waves beat on our Southern shores;
+  He will hear them not when he comes once more--
+          Our Albert Sydney Johnston!
+
+  When he went, how the flushed hope beat high
+  On the brows of The Rangers standing nigh!
+  And the champing steeds of the Texas plain--
+  For his voice was that to their bridle rein
+          That the air's to the Persian monsoon.
+
+  But they bore him now to the crash of wheels;
+  No sound of their sorrow the hero feels,
+  Tho' many are come that are sad and fair,
+  With flowers and stars for his bloody bier,
+        And weeping they lay them down.
+
+  And the Crescent shone with a wreathing grace
+  Around that Star on the covered face;
+  No sound but of sobs and a parting look,
+  And the forest sighed and the aspen shook
+        As the train went rumbling on.
+
+  And down to the feet of the moaning sea,
+  Where the waves made the only melody,
+  No band or bell was played or tolled--
+  But the Hero cared not--hate fell cold
+        On the heart of him who slept.
+
+  Where the church was closed by the mandate given,
+  And he lay on the wharf under night and heaven,
+  Fair friend and slave with uncovered head,
+  Gazed alike on the face of the sleeping dead,
+        And alike in silence wept.
+
+  So the vigil held, 'till the chastened cloud,
+  For the shame of men, hid its face and bowed;
+  And thousands came when the moon was high,
+  And they bore their burden sadly by,
+        To its rest on the prairie plain.
+
+  As the prairie flowers that now grow o'er him,
+  Where the white-maned steeds that walked before him
+  Proud and stepped and slow--and the mourners said,
+  Let a stately place for his couch be made--
+        Houston must have its fane.
+
+  There they lay him out in a proud old hall,
+  With the floor's edge kissing the sacred pall;
+  And thousands came to the hallowed room,
+  'Till the day went down to the night of gloom,
+        For his land did honor him.
+
+  And when to the bannered march's swell,
+  They bore him out with a lingering knell,
+  Sad tears flowed out from a thousand eyes,
+  And a thousand voices were choked with sighs,
+        And the sun in the West was dim.
+
+
+
+
+THE COTTON-BURNER'S SONG.[9]
+
+
+  Lo! when Mississippi rolls
+    Oceanward its stream,
+  Upward mounting, folds on folds
+    Flaming fire-tongues gleam;
+  'Tis the planter's grand oblation
+  On the altar of the nation;
+    'Tis a willing sacrifice--
+    Let the golden incense rise--
+    Pile the cotton to the skies!
+
+  CHORUS.--Lo! the sacrificial flame
+             Gilds the starry dome of night!
+           Nations! read the mute acclaim--
+             'Tis for liberty we fight!
+             Homes! Religion! Right!
+
+  Never such a golden light
+    Lit the vaulted sky;
+  Never sacrifice as bright
+    Rose to God on high;
+  Thousands oxen, what were they
+  To the offering we pay?
+    And the brilliant holocaust--
+    When the revolution's past--
+    In the nation's songs will last!
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  Though the night be dark above,
+    Broken though the shield--
+  Those who love us, those we love,
+    Bid us never yield;
+  Never! though our bravest bleed,
+  And the vultures on them feed;
+    Never! though the serpent's race--
+    Hissing hate and vile disgrace--
+    By the million should menace!
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  Pile the cotton to the skies;
+    Lo! the Northmen gaze;
+  England! see our sacrifice--
+    See the cotton blaze!
+  God of nations! now to Thee,
+  Southrons bend th' imploring knee;
+    'Tis our country's hour of need--
+    Hear the mothers intercede--
+    Hear the little children plead!
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: Massa.]
+
+
+THE CONTRABAND.
+
+A song of Mississippi negroes in the Vicksburg Campaign.
+
+
+  Darkies has you seed my massa
+    Wid de mustache on his face?
+  He came along dis morning
+    As dough he'd leave de place.
+  He saw de smoke way up de river,
+    Where de Lincum gunboats lay:
+  He took his hat and he left mighty sudden,
+    I speck he's runned away.
+
+  CHORUS.--Massa run, aha!
+             Darkey stay, aho!
+           It must be now dat de kingdom's comin',
+             In the year of Jubilo.
+
+  He's six feet one way, four feet t'other,
+    And weighs three hundred pounds;
+  His coat's so big he can't pay de tailor--
+    Den it don't go half around.
+
+[Illustration: "Massa run, aha."]
+
+  He drills so much dey call him cap'n;
+    And he am so very tan,
+  Speck he'll try to fool dem Yankees
+    And say he's contraban'.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  Dis darkey gets so very lonesome,
+    In de cabin on de lawn;
+  He moves his things to massa's parlor,
+    To keep 'em, while he's gone.
+
+  There's wine and cider in de cellar,
+    And de darkies dey'll have some;
+  I speck it will be confiscated,
+    When de Lincum soldiers come.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  De overseer will give us trouble,
+    And run us round a spell;
+  We'll lock him up in smoke-house cellar,
+    Wid de key thrown in de well.
+  De whip is lost, and de handcuffs broken,
+    And massa'll lose his pay;
+  He's big enough and old enough,
+    Dan to gone and runned away.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+SONG OF HOOKER'S PICKET.
+
+_Southern Illustrated News_, Feb. 21st, 1863.
+
+
+  I'm 'nation tired of being hired
+    To fight for a shillin' a day;
+  Richmond to gain I'll hev to strain,
+    And travel some other way.
+
+  Darn Ole Abe and Ole Jeff Dave!
+    Darn the day I 'listed!
+  When I came down to this 'ere town,
+    Jerushy! how I missed it.
+
+  All day I've stud in rebel mud
+    A watchin' North Calinians.
+  I might a bin safe up to Lynn,
+    A eatin' clams and inions.
+
+  All night I sit in straw that's wet,
+    Ketchen fleas and other critters;
+  The boys down East are at a feast
+    With gals, doughnuts and fritters.
+
+  I hain't no pay for many a day;--
+    Nigh unto a year I guess,
+  Since a new Greenback hev crosst my track--
+    That's so with all my mess.
+
+  To pull my trigger for a big buck nigger
+    That lives on hog and hominy,
+  While on hard tack my jaws I crack,
+    Ain't war "accordin' to Jomini."
+
+  It's monsus fine for the Bobolition line,
+    With mouths full o' pumpkin pie,
+  To preach in meetin' agin' retreatin'--
+    Why don't they come theirselves and try?
+
+  They'd find the Confed's hev mighty hard heads,
+    And are pow'ful smart at shootin';
+  Their love for the old flag would very soon drag--
+    Lord! how you'd see them scootin'.
+
+  That fool Burnside deserves a cowhide,
+    Coz he's got neither pluck nor sense;
+  He shook like souse at the Phillip's house,
+    While we was murder'd at Marye's fence.
+
+  But it is all one to me who our Gen'ral may be,
+    If I've got to die for the nigger,
+  While Greeley steps on feathers, and Beecher's patent leathers,
+    Sets Plymouth Church in a snigger.
+
+  War is mighty fine to them that's drinking wine
+    At the big hotels in York;
+  But as for _lousy_ me, that's lost his liberty,
+    _Peace_ is the right sort o' talk.
+
+  I calk'late to stay, until next May,
+    A shiv'rin' in all this slush;
+  But when I git paid, I'm a leetle kinder 'fraid
+    I'll back out hum with a rush.
+
+  I'll pitch this gun into old Bull Run,
+    Like I did when I follered McDowell;
+  Secesh may go his ways, and I'll spend my days
+    With my gal, my gin and my trowel.
+
+  Oh! I'm sick as a dog, or a mangy hog,
+    Of this 'tarnal nasty fightin',
+  That's all gone wrong, and lasts too long
+    For a man that's thinkin' o' kitin'.
+
+  I'll tell you, Mississip, you're an ugly looking rip,
+    And if you'll keep your side o' the water,
+  You may save your powder, and I'll take to chowder,
+    And come no more where I hadn't oughter.
+
+
+
+
+NO SURRENDER.
+
+
+  Ever constant, ever true,
+  Let the word be, no surrender,
+  Boldly dare and greatly do!
+  They shall bring us safely through,
+      No surrender, no surrender!
+  And though fortune's smiles be few,
+  Hope is always springing new,
+  Still inspiring me and you
+  With a magic, no surrender.
+
+  Nail the colors to the mast
+  Shouting gladly, no surrender;
+  Troubles near, are all but past,
+      Serve them as you did the last,
+  No surrender, no surrender!
+  Though the skies be overcast,
+  And upon the sleety blast
+  Disappointment gathers fast,
+  Beat them off with no surrender.
+
+  Constant and courageous still,
+  Mind the word is, no surrender!
+  Battle tho' it be up hill,
+  Stagger not at seeming ill,
+      No surrender, no surrender!
+  Hope, and thus your hope fulfill,
+  There's a way where there's a will,
+  And the way all cares to kill,
+  Is to give them no surrender.
+
+
+
+
+A SOUTHERN WOMAN'S SONG.
+
+
+  Stitch, stitch, stitch,
+  Little needle, swiftly fly,
+    Brightly glittering as you go;
+  Every time that you pass by
+    Warms 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 in Spring.
+
+  Stitch, stitch, stitch,
+  Swiftly, little needle, fly,
+    Through this flannel, soft and warm;
+  Though with cold the soldiers 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 that you are able;
+  A _mouse_ a lion once set free,--
+    As says the pretty fable.
+
+  Stitch, stitch, stitch,
+  Swiftly, little needle, glide,
+    Thine's a pleasant labor;
+  To clothe the 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 fly,
+    From the morning until eve,
+  As the moments pass thee by,
+    These substantial comforts weave.
+  Busy thoughts are at our hearts--
+    Thoughts of hopeful cheer,
+  As we toil till day departs
+    For the noble volunteer.
+
+  Quick, quick, quick,
+  Swifter, little needle, go;
+    From our homes 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.
+
+
+
+
+GENERAL LEE AT THE BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS.
+
+By TENELLA.
+
+
+  There he stood, the grand old hero, great Virginia's god-like son,
+  Second unto none in glory--equal of her Washington;
+  Gazing on his line of battle, as it wavered to and fro
+  'Neath the front and flank advances of the almost conquering foe;
+  Calm as was that clear May morning, ere the furious death-roar broke
+
+  From the iron-throated war lions crouching 'neath the cloudy smoke;
+  Cool, as tho' the battle raging was but mimicry of fight,
+  Each brigade an ivory castle, and each regiment a knight;
+  Chafing in reserve beside him, two brigades of Texans lay,
+  All impatient for their portion in the fortune of the day.
+
+  Shot and shell are 'mong them falling, yet unmov'd they silent stand,
+  Longing, eager for the battle, but awaiting his command:
+  Suddenly he rode before them, as the forward line gave way,
+  Rais'd his hat with courtly gesture, "Follow me and save the day!"
+
+  But, as tho' by terror stricken, still and silent stood that troop,
+  Who were wont to rush to battle with a fierce avenging whoop.
+  It was but a single moment, then a murmur thro' them ran,
+  Heard above the cannon's roaring, as it passed from man to man,
+
+  "You go back and we'll go forward!" now the waiting leader hears,
+  Mixed with deep impatient sobbing, as of strong men moved to tears,
+  Once again he gives the order, "I'll lead you on the foe!"
+  Then, thro' all the line of battle rang a loud determined "No!"
+
+  Quick as thought a gallant Major, with a firm and vice-like grasp,
+  Seized the General's bridle, shouting, "Forward, boys! I'll hold him
+      fast!"
+  Then again the hat was lifted, "Sir, I am the older man:
+  Loose my bridle, I will lead them!" in a measured tone and calm.
+
+  Trembling with suppressed emotion, with intense excitement hot,
+  In a quivering voice, the Texan, "No, by God, sir, you shall not!"
+  By them swept the charging squadron, with a loud exultant cheer,
+  "We'll retake the salient, General, if you'll watch us from the rear!"
+
+  And they kept their word right nobly, sweeping every foe away,
+  With that grand grey head uncovered, watching how they saved the day--
+  But the god-like calm was shaken, which no battle shock could move,
+  By this true, spontaneous token of his soldiers' child-like love!
+
+
+
+
+MY NOBLE WARRIOR, COME!
+
+By MRS. COL. C. G. F----Y.
+
+_Air--"The Rock Beside the Sea."_
+
+
+  O, tell me not that earth is fair, that spring is in its bloom,
+  While young hearts, hourly, everywhere meet such untimely doom;
+  That sweet on wind, of morn or eve, the violet's breath may be,
+  Let me but know thy banner waves, and leads to victory!
+                  Let me but know, etc.
+
+  The thundering battle's distant roar, the host's victorious cry,
+  Unto my trembling heart is more than all earth's melody;
+  Come back, my noble warrior, come! there's but one prayer for me,
+  'Till I can greet thy banner home, proud banner of the free!
+                  Till I can greet, etc.
+
+
+
+
+SONG OF THE PRIVATEER
+
+By ALEX. A. CUMMINS.
+
+
+  Fearlessly the seas we roam,
+    Tossed by each briny wave;
+  Its boundless surface is our home,
+    Its bosom deep our graves.
+  No foreign mandate fills with awe
+    Our gallant hearted band;
+  We know no home, we know no law,
+    But that of Dixie's land.
+
+  The bright star is our compass true,
+    Our chart the ocean wide;
+  Our only hope the noble few
+    That's standing side by side;
+  We do not fear the stormy gale
+    That sweeps old ocean's strand;
+  We scorn our enemy's clumsy sail,
+    And all for Dixie's land.
+
+  We love to hoist to the topmost peak,
+    _Our Southern Stars and Stripes_;
+  And woe to him who dares to seek
+    To trample on their rights!
+  It is the aegis of the free,
+    And by it we will stand,
+  And watch it waving o'er the sea,
+    And over Dixie's land.
+
+  We love to roam the deep, deep sea,
+    And hear the cannon's boom,
+  And give the war-cry, wild and free,
+    Amid the battle's gloom,
+  We do not fight alone for gain,
+    So far from native strand;
+  But our country's freedom and its fame,
+    And the fair of Dixie's land.
+
+
+
+
+HOOD'S TEXAS BRIGADE.
+
+
+  Down by the valley, 'mid thunder and lightning,
+    Down by the valley, 'mid shadows of night,
+  Down by the deep crimson'd valley of Richmond,
+    Twenty-five hundred mov'd on to the fight;
+  Onward, still onward, to the portals of glory,
+    To the sepulchral chambers, yet never dismayed;
+  Down by the deep crimson'd valley of Richmond,
+    March'd the bold warriors of Hood's Texas Brigade!
+
+  See ye the fires and flashes still leaping?
+    See ye the tempest and jettings of storm?
+  See ye the banners of proud Texan heroes,
+    In front of her column, move steadily on?
+  Hear ye the music that gladdens each comrade,
+    Riding on wings through torrents of sounds?
+  Hear ye the booming adown the red valley?
+    Riley unbuckles his swarthy old hounds![10]
+
+  Valiant Fifth Texas! I saw your brave column
+    Rush through the channels of living and dead;
+  Sturdy Fourth Texas! Why weep, your old warhorse?
+    He died as he wish'd, in the gear, at your head:
+  West Point! ye will tell, on the pages of glory,
+    How the blood of the South ebb'd away near your shade,
+  And how sons of Texas fought in the red valley,
+    And fell in the columns of Hood's Texas Brigade.
+
+  Fathers and mothers, ye weep for your jewels;
+    Sisters, ye weep for your brothers in vain;
+  Maidens, ye weep for your sunny-eyed lovers--
+    Weep, for you'll never behold them again!
+  But know ye that vict'ry, the shrine of the noble,
+    Encircles the house of death newly made!
+  And know ye that Freedom, the shrine of the mighty,
+    Shines forth on the banners of Hood's Texas Brigade!
+
+  Daughters of Southland, come bring ye bright flowers,
+    Weave ye a chaplet for the brow of the brave;
+  Bring ye the emblems of freedom and victory;
+    Bring ye the emblems of death and the grave;
+  Bring ye some motto befitting a hero;
+    Bring ye exotics that never will fade;
+  Come to the deep crimson'd valley of Richmond,
+    And crown our young Chief of the Texas Brigade!
+
+
+
+
+SWEETHEARTS AND THE WAR.
+
+
+  Oh, dear! its shameful, I declare,
+    To make the men all go
+  And leave so many sweethearts here
+    Without a single beau.
+  We like to see them brave, 'tis true,
+    And would not urge them stay;
+  But what are we, poor girls, to do
+    When they are all away?
+
+  We told them we could spare them there,
+    Before they had to go;
+  But, bless their hearts, we weren't aware
+    That we should miss them so.
+  We miss them all in many ways,
+    But truth will ever out,
+  The greatest thing we miss them for
+    Is seeing us about.
+
+  On Sunday, when we go to church,
+    We look in vain for some
+  To meet us, smiling, on the porch,
+    And ask to see us home.
+  And then we can't enjoy a walk
+    Since all the beaux have gone;
+  For what's the good (to use plain talk),
+    If we must trudge alone?
+
+  But what's the use of talking thus?
+    We'll try to be content;
+  And if they cannot come to us
+    A message may be sent.
+  And that's one comfort, anyway;
+    For though we are apart,
+  There is no reason why we may
+    Not open heart to heart.
+
+  We trust it may soon come
+    To a final test;
+  We want to see our Southern homes
+    Secured in peaceful rest.
+  But if the blood of those we love
+    In freedom's cause must flow,
+  With fervent trust in God above,
+    We bid them onward go.
+
+  And we will watch them as they go,
+    And cheer them on their way:
+  Our arms shall be their resting-place
+    When wounded sore they lay.
+  Oh! if the sons of Southern soil
+    For freedom's cause must die,
+  Her daughters ask no dearer boon
+    Than by their side to lie.
+
+
+
+
+JACKSON'S RESIGNATION.
+
+A Yankee Soliloquy before the Battle of Fredericksburg.
+
+By TENELLA.
+
+
+  Well, we can whip them now I guess,
+    If Jackson has resigned,
+  General Lee in "fighting Burnside,"
+    More than his match will find:
+  We're done with slow McClellan,
+    Who kept us "digging dirt,"
+  And now are "on to Richmond,"
+    Where some one "will be hurt."
+
+  Again around the Rebels
+    The anaconda coils,
+  For East and West, and North and South,
+    We have them in our toils;
+  We'd have beat them at Manassas
+    If McDowell had not slipped,
+  When he tried to leap this Stonewall,
+    Who don't know when he's whipped.
+
+  We'd have laid them in the Valley
+    So low they could not rise,
+  But Banks must run against it,
+    And spill all his supplies.
+  Now if that fool Jeff Davis
+    Has let Stonewall resign,
+  We can go "on to Richmond"
+    By the Rappahannock line.
+
+  But they say he's a shrewd fellow
+    Who knows a soldier well,
+  And stood by Sidney Johnston
+    Until in death he fell;
+  "If Johnston is no general,
+    Then, gentlemen, I've none,"
+  He said to those who grumbled,
+    When Donelson we won.
+
+  And I don't believe that Jackson's
+    Resignation he'll accept--
+  Hallo!!!--A rebel picket--
+    How close the rascal crept!
+  "Say, stranger, is it true
+    That Jackson has resigned?"
+  "Well, yes--I reckon so--
+    Heard somethin' of the kind."
+
+  "What for? Did old Jeff Davis
+    Put a sub. above his head?"
+  "No--they took away his commissary,
+    So I've heard it said."
+  "Well, _we_ are glad to hear it,
+    And will tender them our thanks,
+  But who was Jackson's commissary?"
+    "_Your Major-General Banks._"
+
+  "Confound your rebel impudence!
+    He'd be very smart indeed,
+  If from supplies for _one_ intended,
+    _Two_ armies he could feed."
+
+_Southern Illustrated News_, April, 1863.
+
+
+
+
+WE LEFT HIM ON THE FIELD.
+
+By MISS MARIA E. JONES, of Galveston, Tex.
+
+
+  We left him on the crimson'd field,
+    Where battle storms had swept,
+  We know the soldier's fate was seal'd--
+    No wonder that we wept.
+  Some have, perhaps, as nobly fought,
+    And some as bravely fell,
+  Where the red sword its work hath wrought,
+    But none we lov'd so well.
+
+  O deem us not a faithless band,
+    Who left him to the foe;
+  His latest accent of command,
+    Was when he bade us go!
+  Yet one still linger'd near his side,
+    To watch his fleeting breath,
+  To mark the ebbing of life's tide
+    And pale approach of death.
+
+  But ere we left our Captain there,
+    He gave us each a word,
+  Some thought of kind, remembering care--
+    "Here, Warren, take my sword--
+  You'll be their captain now, you know;
+    But, friend, remember then,"
+  Said he, "how well I loved them;
+    Be faithful to my men!
+
+[Illustration: "He faintly smiled and waved his hand."]
+
+  "Wear the sword well. The gift is small,
+    But with it goes my love,
+  Good-bye, boys! Heaven bless you all;
+    I'm ordered up above,
+  And there can be no countermand--
+    I know my fate is seal'd!"
+  He faintly smiled, and wav'd his hand--
+    We left him on the field.
+
+
+
+
+MOTHER! IS THE BATTLE OVER?
+
+
+  Mother! is the battle over? thousands have been killed they say--
+  Is my father coming?--tell me, have the Southrons gain'd the day?
+  Is he well, or is he wounded? Mother, do you think he's slain?
+  If you know, I pray you tell me--will my father come again?
+
+  Mother, dear, you're always sighing since you last the paper read--
+  Tell me why you now are crying--why that cap is on your head?
+  Ah! I see you cannot tell me--father's one among the slain!
+  Altho' he lov'd us very dearly, he will never come again!
+
+
+
+
+A NORTH CAROLINA CALL TO ARMS.
+
+By LUOLA.
+
+_Air--"The Old North State."_
+
+
+  Ye sons of Carolina! awake from your dreaming!
+  The minions of Lincoln upon us are streaming!
+  Oh! wait not for argument, call, or persuasion
+  To meet at the onset this treach'rous invasion!
+
+  CHORUS.--Defend, defend the old North State forever;
+           Defend, defend the good old North State.
+
+  Oh! think of the maidens, the wives, and the mothers;
+  Fly ye to the rescue, sons, husbands, and brothers,
+  And sink in oblivion all party and section;
+  Your hearth-stones are looking to you for protection!
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  The babe in its sweetness, the child in its beauty,
+  Unconsciously urge you to action and duty!
+  By all that is sacred, by all to you tender,
+  Your country adjures, arise and defend her!
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  The Star-Spangled Banner, dishonored, is streaming
+  O'er lands of fanatics; their swords are now gleaming;
+  They thirst for the life-blood of those you most cherish;
+  With brave hearts and true, then, arouse, or they perish.
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  Round the flag of the South, oh! in thousands now rally,
+  For the hour's departed when freemen may sally;
+  Your all is at stake; then go forth and God speed you,
+  And onward to glory and victory lead you!
+
+  CHORUS.--Hurrah! hurrah! the old North State forever!
+           Hurrah! hurrah! the good old North State.
+
+
+
+
+DIXIE.
+
+By ALBERT PIKE.
+
+
+  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,
+  Let all hearts be now united!
+      To arms! to arms! to arms! in Dixie!
+  Advance the flag of Dixie!
+        Hurrah! hurrah!
+
+  CHORUS.--For Dixie's land we'll take our stand,
+           To 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!
+  Send them back your fierce defiance,
+  Stamp upon the accurs'd alliance!
+
+  Fear no danger! shun no labor!
+  Lift up rifle, pike and sabre!
+  Shoulder pressing close to shoulder,
+  Let the odds make each heart bolder!
+
+  How the South's great heart rejoices
+  At your cannon's ringing voices;
+  For faith betrayed and pledges broken,
+  Wrong inflicted, insults spoken.
+
+  Strong as lions, swift as eagles,
+  Back to their kennels hunt these beagles!
+  Cut the unequal bonds asunder!
+  Let them hence each other plunder.
+
+  Swear upon your country's altar,
+  Never to submit or falter,
+  'Till the spoilers are defeated,
+  'Till the Lord's work is completed.
+
+  Halt not till our federation,
+  Secures among earth's powers its station!
+  Then at peace, and crowned with glory,
+  Hear your children tell the story.
+
+  If the loved ones weep in sadness,
+  Victory soon shall bring them gladness;
+  Exultant pride soon banish sorrow,
+  Smiles chase tears away to-morrow.
+
+
+
+
+BATTLE SONG.
+
+
+  Have you counted up the cost?
+  What is gained and what is lost--
+  When the foe your lines have crossed?
+
+  Gained--the infamy of fame?
+  Gained--a dastard's spotted name;
+  Gained--eternity of shame.
+
+  Lost--desert of manly Worth;
+  Lost--the right you had by birth;
+  Lost--lost! Freedom from the earth!
+
+  Freemen, up! the foe is nearing!
+  Haughty banners high uprearing--
+  Lo! their serried ranks appearing!
+
+  Freemen, on! the drums are beating!
+  Will you shrink from such a meeting?
+  Forward! give them hero greeting!
+
+  From your hearts, and homes, and altars,
+  Backward hurl your proud assaulters--
+  He is not a man that falters!
+
+
+
+
+OVER THE RIVER.
+
+By VIRGINIA NORFOLK.
+
+"Let us cross the river, and rest under the shade of the trees."--_Last
+words of Stonewall Jackson._
+
+
+  Bravely ye've fought, my gallant, gallant men!
+    Bravely ye've fought and well!
+  Yon blood-stained field, where your banner floats,
+    Tells how your foemen fell!
+  Ye are recreant none to your knightly vows,
+    And none to your high behest;
+  But the noon sun shines on your burning brows--
+    So, over the river and rest!
+
+  CHORUS.--Over the river the shade trees grow--
+             Over the river we'll rest!
+           Ye have fought the fight--won the praise that brings
+             Peace to the soldier's breast!
+
+  Bravely ye've conquered, my gallant Southern men!
+    Ye have won your rights anew!
+  Ye have washed out the stain of traitor blood,
+    With the baptism of the true!
+  Your clanging armor and flashing steel
+    Have told of a deadly fray;
+  But foemen are flying right and left!
+    Ye have had a glorious day!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Foemen are flying! aye, madly they've fled,
+    And Peace waves her snow-white wing!
+  But we mourn the loss of our gallant dead,
+    While the hills with victory ring!
+  One warrior wears his laurel crown,--
+    One sleeps on his plumed crest!
+  While the palm tree waves by the river side,
+    There, soldiers, will we rest!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE MAN OF THE TWELFTH OF MAY.[11]
+
+By ROBERT FALLIGANT, Savannah, Ga.
+
+
+  When history tells her story,
+    Of the noble hero band,
+  Who have made the green fields gory,
+    For the life of their native land,
+  How grand will be the picture,
+    Of Georgia's proud array,
+  As they drove the boasting foeman back,
+    On that glorious twelfth of May, boys,
+    That glorious twelfth of May.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then hurrah! while we rally around
+             The hero of that day!
+           And a nation's grateful praises crown,
+             The man of the twelfth of May, boys,
+             The man of the twelfth of May.
+
+  Whose mien is ever proudest,
+    When we hold the foe at bay?
+  Whose war-cry cheers us loudest,
+    As we rush to the bloody fray?
+  'Tis Gordon's! Our reliance!
+    Fearless as on the day,
+  When he hurled his grand defiance,
+    In that charge of the twelfth of May, boys,
+    In that charge of the twelfth of May!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Who can be a coward!
+    What freeman fears to die,
+  When Gordon orders, "Forward!"
+    And the red cross floats on high?
+  Follow his tones inspiring!
+    On! on to the field away!
+  And we'll see the foe retiring,
+    As they did on the twelfth of May, boys,
+    As they did on the twelfth of May!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  This is no time for sighing!
+    Whate'er our fate may be,
+  'Tis sweet to think that, dying,
+    We will leave our country free!
+  When the storms of battle pelt her,
+    She'll defy the tyrants' sway,
+  And our breasts shall be her shelter,
+    As they were on the twelfth of May, boys,
+    As they were on the twelfth of May!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+MORGAN'S WAR SONG.
+
+
+  Cheer, boys, cheer! we'll march away to battle!
+    Cheer, boys, cheer! for our sweethearts and our wives!
+  Cheer, boys, cheer! we'll nobly do our duty,
+    And give to the South our hearts, our arms, our lives.
+
+  Bring forth the flag--our country's noble standard;
+    Wave it on high 'till the wind shakes each fold out:
+  Proudly it floats, nobly waving in the vanguard;
+    Then cheer, boys, cheer! with a lusty, long, bold shout,
+                  Cheer, boys, cheer! etc.
+
+  But as we march, with heads all lowly bending,
+    Let us implore a blessing from on high;
+  Our cause is just--the right from wrong defending;
+    And the God of battle will listen to our cry.
+                  Cheer, boys, cheer! etc.
+
+  Tho' to our homes we never may return,
+    Ne'er press again our lov'd ones in our arms,
+  O'er our lone graves their faithful hearts will mourn,
+    Then cheer up, boys, cheer! such death hath no alarms.
+                  Cheer, boys, cheer! etc.
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG OF THE EXILE.
+
+_Air--"Dixie."_
+
+
+  Oh! here I am in the land of cotton,
+  The flag once honor'd is now forgotten;
+    Fight away, fight away, fight away for Dixie's land.
+  But here I stand for Dixie dear,
+  To fight for freedom, without fear;
+    Fight away, fight away, fight away for Dixie's land.
+
+  CHORUS.--For Dixie's land I'll take my stand,
+           To live or die for Dixie's land,
+           Fight away, fight away, fight away for Dixie's land.
+
+  Abe Lincoln tore through Baltimore,
+  In a baggage car with fastened door;
+            Fight away, etc.
+  And left his wife, alas! alack!
+  To perish on the railroad track!
+            Fight away, etc.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  We have no ships, we have no navies,
+  But mighty faith in the great Jeff Davis;
+            Fight away, etc.
+  Brave old Missouri shall be ours,
+  Despite Abe Lincoln's Northern powers,
+            Fight away, etc.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Abe's proclamation in a twinkle,
+  Stirred up the blood of Rip Van Winkle;
+            Fight away, etc.
+  Jeff Davis's answer was short and curt:
+  "Fort Sumpter's taken, and nobody's hurt!"
+            Fight away, etc.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  We hear the words of this same ditty,
+  To the right and left of the Mississippi;
+            Fight away, etc.
+  In the land of flowers, hot and sandy,
+  From Delaware Bay to Rio Grande!
+            Fight away, etc.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  The ladies cheer with heart and hand,
+  The men who fight for Dixie land;
+            Fight away, etc.
+  The "Stars and Bars" are waving o'er us,
+  And Independence is before us;
+            Fight away, etc.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+MARTINSBURG, VA.
+
+[Illustration: Cavalry Button.]
+
+
+
+
+NATIONAL HYMN.
+
+Words by CAPT. E. GRISWOLD.
+
+Music by J. W. GROSCHEL.
+
+
+  Now let the thrilling anthem rise,
+    O'er all the glorious land,
+  Where tow'ring hills usurp the skies,
+    And valleys broad expand.
+  Where each majestic river rolls,
+    Where wave the fields of grain,
+  Let Southern hearts and Southern souls
+    Repeat the exulting strain.
+
+  CHORUS.--The cross and bars, its gleaming stars,
+             Shall float o'er land and main;
+           The cross and bars, its gleaming stars,
+             Shall float o'er land and main;
+           Confederate Sov'reign State we stand,
+           God save our land, God save our land;
+           Confederate Sov'reign State we stand,
+           God save our land, God save our land,
+           God save our land, God save our land.
+
+  Where golden fruited orange blossoms,
+    Green lemon grove and bower,
+  And where the tall magnolia looms,
+    With proud imperial flower,
+  Where bursting from their ripened bolls,
+    The cotton spreads the plain.
+  Let Southern hearts and Southern souls
+    Repeat the exulting strain.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  Where happy vassals chant their song,
+    In fields and homes and boats,
+  Where mocking birds the chords prolong,
+    Swelling their mottled throats,
+  Where law's broad aegis still upholds
+    Enlightened freedom's claim.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  Where in the Southern zenith glows
+    The warmth the sun imparts,
+  Afar from frigid Northern snows,
+    And bustling Northern Marts,
+  Where generous impulse still controls,
+    And scorns polluting stain,
+  Let Southern hearts and Southern souls,
+    Repeat th' exulting strain.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  And still from age to age repeat
+    The tale of battles won,
+  When bigot Northmen found defeat
+    Before each Southern son.
+  Proudly recount the muster rolls
+    Of living braves and slain,
+  Let Southern hearts and Southern souls
+    Repeat th' exulting strain.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  Where Chesapeake's broad waters glow
+    Round Maryland's green lands,
+  To where the gulf and ocean bow
+    By Florida's white sands;
+  From where the mad Atlantic rolls
+    To Rio Grande's plain,
+  Let Southern hearts and Southern souls
+    Repeat th' exulting strain.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+OVER THE RIVER.
+
+(_MISSISSIPPI_).
+
+By MISS MARIA E. JONES.
+
+
+  Over the river there are fierce, stern meetings,
+    No kindly clasp of hand, no welcome call;
+  But hatred swells the chorus of the greetings,
+    Of foes who meet at Death's high carnival;
+  No flash of wine-cups, but the red blood streaming
+    From ragged wounds, upon the thirsty sand,
+  And fierce, wild music of bright sabre gleaming,
+    Where eager foemen grapple hand to hand.
+
+  Over the river are our lov'd ones lying,
+    Alone and wounded on the couch of pain;
+  Consum'd by wasting fevers--even dying--
+    Sighing for those they ne'er may see again;
+  There are untended graves where grass is growing
+    Rankly and tall o'er each lone sleeper's head;
+  There are long trenches, where bright flowers blowing,
+    Mark the common grave of thousands dead.
+
+  Over the river victory shouts of gladness,
+    Great waves of joy rise above seas of woe;
+  Over the river comes a wail of sadness,
+    A city's fallen, or a chief laid low;
+  Alas! for us! we must sit still and ponder
+    Upon the woes of battle all the day,
+  And dream, and sew, and weep, while our thoughts wander
+    Over the river! Let us watch and pray.
+
+
+
+
+PRIVATE MAGUIRE.
+
+
+  "Och, it's nate to be captain or colonel,
+    Divil a bit would I want to be higher;
+  But to rust as a private, I think's an infernal
+    Predicament, surely," says Private Maguire.
+
+  "They can go sparkin' and playin' at billiards,
+    With money to spend for their slightest desire,
+  Loafin' and atin' and drinkin' at Ballard's,
+    While we're on the pickets," says Private Maguire.
+
+  "Livin' in clover, they think it's a trifle
+    To stand out all night in the rain and the mire,
+  And a Yankee hard by, with a villainous rifle,
+    Just riddy to pop ye," says Private Maguire.
+
+  "Faith, now, it's not that I'm afther complainin',
+    I'm spilin' to meet ye, Abe Lincoln, Esquire!
+  Ye blaggard! it's only I'm weary of thrainin',
+    And thrainin', and thrainin'," says Private Maguire.
+
+  "O Lord, for a row! but Maguire, boy, be aisy,
+    Kape yourself swate for the inimy's fire;
+  General Lee is the chap that shortly will plaze ye,
+    Be the Holy St. Patrick!" says Private Maguire.
+
+  "And, lad, if ye're hit (O, bedad, that infernal
+    Jimmy O'Dowd would make love to Maria!)
+  Whether ye're captain, or major, or colonel,
+    Ye'll die with the best then," says Private Maguire.
+
+
+
+
+STONEWALL JACKSON.
+
+By a lady formerly of Richmond.
+
+_Tune_--"_The Coronack._"
+
+
+  Unmoved in the battle,
+    Whilst friends and foes swerved,
+  Midst roaring and rattle,
+    His heroes were nerved.
+  On Manassas' red plain,
+    Their unyielding front,
+  Gave their chieftain that name,
+    So strong in war's brunt.
+
+  He swoops from the mountain,
+    Like our own regal bird;
+  O'er Potomac's blue fountain,
+    His war scream is heard.
+  Though his foeman be brave,
+    They shrink from his sword,
+  Who its mighty power gave,
+    Is the triumphant Lord!
+
+  Again from the mountain,
+    Through forest and valley,
+  Once more near that fountain,
+    His invincibles rally.
+  Like our own mountain eagle,
+    He swoops on the foemen,
+  And the cohorts of Lincoln
+    Fly and cower before him!
+
+      *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+SOUTHERN SONG.
+
+_Tune_--"_Wait for the Wagon._"
+
+
+  Come, all ye sons of freedom,
+    And join our Southern band,
+  We are going to fight the Yankees,
+    And drive them from our land.
+  Justice is our motto,
+    And Providence our guide;
+  So jump into the wagon,
+    And we'll all take a ride.
+
+  CHORUS.--So wait for the wagon! the dissolution wagon;
+           The South is the wagon, and we'll all take a ride.
+
+  Secession is our watchword;
+    Our rights we all demand;
+  To defend our homes and firesides
+    We pledge our hearts and hands.
+  Jeff Davis is our President,
+    With Stephens by his side;
+  Great Beauregard, our General,
+    He joins us in our ride.
+                                CHORUS.
+
+  Our wagon is the very best;
+    The running gear is good;
+  Stuffed round the sides with cotton,
+    And made of Southern wood.
+  Carolina is the driver,
+    With Georgia by her side,
+  Virginia holds the flag up
+    While we all take a ride.
+                                CHORUS.
+
+  Old Lincoln and his Congressmen,
+    With Seward by his side,
+  Put old Scott in the wagon,
+    Just for to take a ride.
+  McDowell was the driver,
+    To cross Bull Run he tried,
+  But there he left the wagon
+    For Beauregard to ride.
+                                CHORUS.
+
+  The invading tribe, called Yankees,
+    With Lincoln for their guide,
+  Tried to keep good old Kentucky,
+    From joining in the ride;
+  But she heeded not their entreaties,--
+    She has come into the ring;
+  She wouldn't fight for a government,
+    Where cotton wasn't king.
+                                CHORUS.
+
+  Manassas was the battle-ground;
+    The field was fair and wide;
+  The Yankees thought they'd wipe us out,
+    And on to Richmond ride.
+  But when they met our "Dixie" boys,
+    Their danger they espied,
+  They wheeled about for Washington
+    And didn't wait to ride.
+                                CHORUS.
+
+  Brave Beauregard, God bless him!
+    Led legions in his stead,
+  While Johnson seized the colors,
+    And waved them o'er his head.
+  So rising generations,
+    With pleasure we will tell,
+  How bravely our Fisher,
+    And gallant Johnson fell.
+                                CHORUS.
+
+_Raleigh Register._
+
+
+
+
+THE BAND IN THE PINES.
+
+By JOHN ESTEN COOKE.
+
+
+  O band in the pine wood, cease!
+    Cease with your splendid call!
+  The living are brave and noble,
+    But the dead were bravest of all!
+
+  They throng in the martial summons,
+    The loud, triumphant strain;
+  And the dear, bright eyes of long-dead friends,
+    Come to the heart again.
+
+  They come with the ringing bugle
+    And the deep drum's mellow roar--
+  And the soul is faint with longing
+    For the hands we clasp no more!
+
+  O band in the pine wood, cease!
+    Or the heart will melt in tears,
+  For the gallant eyes and the smiling lips,
+    And the voices of old years!
+
+_Southern Illustrated News._
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ "Though fifteen summers scarce have shed
+    Their blossoms on thy brow."]
+
+
+MY WARRIOR BOY.
+
+_Metropolitan Record._
+
+Music by A. E. A. MUSE.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  Thou hast gone forth, my darling one,
+    To battle with the brave,
+  To strike in Freedom's sacred cause,
+    Or win an early grave;
+  With vet'rans grim, and stalwart men,
+    Thy pathway lieth now,
+  Though fifteen summers scarce have shed
+    Their blossoms on thy brow.
+
+  My babe in years, my warrior boy!
+    O! if a mother's tears
+  Could call thee back to be my joy,
+    And still these anxious fears,
+  I'd dash the traitor drops away,
+    That would unnerve thy hand,
+  Now raised to strike in Freedom's cause,
+    For thy dear native land.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+  "Come back to me my darling son,
+    And light my life again."]
+
+  God speed thee on thy course, my boy,
+    Where'er thy pathway lie,
+  And guard thee when the leaden hail,
+    Shall thick around thee fly;
+  But when our sacred cause is won,
+    And peace again shall reign,
+  Come back to me, my darling son,
+    And light my life again.
+
+
+
+
+THE REBEL BAND.
+
+
+  Old Eve she did the apple eat,
+  Old Eve she did the apple eat,
+  Old Eve she did the apple eat,
+  And smacked her lips and called it sweet.
+
+  CHORUS.--Do you belong to the rebel band,
+           Fighting for your home.
+
+  There was a time, the poets say,
+  There was a time, the poets say,
+  There was a time, the poets say,
+  When this world was washed away.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+  How old Noah built him an ark,
+  How old Noah built him an ark,
+  How old Noah built him an ark,
+  Of gopher wood and hickory bark.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+  The ark rested on Mount Ararat,
+  The ark rested on Mount Ararat,
+  The ark rested on Mount Ararat,
+  A mile and a half from Manassas' Gap.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+  The animals came in two by two,
+  The animals came in two by two,
+  The animals came in two by two,
+  The camamile and the kangaroo.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+  Now old Noah got very drunk,
+  Now old Noah got very drunk,
+  Now old Noah got very drunk,
+  And old Ham pulled him out of his bunk.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+  Old Noah got mad as he could be,
+  Old Noah got mad as he could be,
+  Old Noah got mad as he could be,
+  And sent old Ham to Afrikee.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTHERN SOLDIER BOY.
+
+Words by FATHER RYAN.
+
+Music by W. LUDDEN.
+
+
+  Young as the youngest who donned the gray,
+    True as the truest who wore it,
+  Brave as the bravest he marched away,
+  (Hot tears on the cheeks of his mother lay);
+  Triumphant waved our flag one day,
+    He fell in the front before it.
+
+  CHORUS.--A grave in the wood with the grass o'ergrown,
+             A grave in the heart of his mother,
+           His clay in the one, lifeless and lone,
+             But his memory lives in the other.
+
+  Firm as the firmest where duty led,
+    He hurried without a falter;
+  Bold as the boldest he fought and bled,
+  And the day was won--but the field was red;
+  And the blood of his fresh young heart was shed,
+    On his country's hallowed altar.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+  On the trampled breast of the battle plain,
+    Where the foremost ranks had wrestled,
+  The fairest form 'mid all the slain,
+    Like a child asleep he nestled.
+
+  In the solemn of the woods that swept
+    The field where his comrades found him,
+  They buried him there--and strong men wept,
+    As in silence they gathered 'round him.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE CAVALIER'S GLEE.
+
+By CAPT. BLACKFORD, of General Stuart's Staff.
+
+_Air--"The Pirate's Glee."_
+
+
+  Spur on! spur on! we love the bounding
+    Of barbs that bear us to the fray;
+  "The charge" our bugles now are sounding,
+    And our bold Stuart leads the way.
+
+  CHORUS.--The path to honor lies before us
+             Our hated foeman gather fast;
+           At home bright eyes are sparkling for us,
+             And we'll defend them to the last.
+
+  Spur on! spur on! we love the rushing
+    Of steeds that spurn the turf they tread;
+  We'll through the Northern ranks go crushing,
+    With our proud battle-flag o'erhead.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Spur on! spur on! we love the flashing
+    Of blades that battle to be free;
+  'Tis for our sunny South they're clashing,
+    For household gods and liberty.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+SONG.
+
+_Air--"Faintly Flows the Falling River."_
+
+
+  Here we bring a fragrant tribute,
+    To the bed where valor sleeps,
+  Though they missed the victor's triumph,
+    O'er their tomb a nation weeps,
+  Honor through all time be rendered,
+    To their proud, heroic names,
+  Fondly be their mem'ry cherished,
+    Bright their never-dying fame.
+
+  Glowing in young manhood's beauty,
+    Sprang they at their country's call,
+  Made before the foeman's legions
+    'Round our homes a living wall.
+  By disease's foul breath withered,
+    Ere had dawned the battle-day,
+  On the fever couch of anguish,
+    Thousands passed from earth away.
+
+  Thousands, after deeds whose daring,
+    With their glory filled the land,
+  Fell before the flying foeman,
+    On the fields won by their hand.
+  Mourning o'er the fruitless struggle,
+    Bowed beneath the hand of God,
+  Come we weeping and yet proudly,
+    Now to deck this sacred sod.
+
+
+
+
+WE CONQUER OR DIE.
+
+By JAMES PIERPONT, 1861.
+
+Permission of HENRI WEHRMAN.
+
+
+  The war drum is beating; prepare for the fight,
+  The stern bigot Northman exults in his might,
+  Gird on your bright weapons, your foeman is nigh,
+  And this be your watchword, "We conquer or die."
+
+  The trumpet is sounding from mountain to shore,
+  Your swords and your lances must slumber no more.
+  Fling forth to the sunlight your banner on high,
+  Inscribed with the watchword, "We conquer or die."
+
+  March on to the battlefield, there do or dare,
+  With shoulder to shoulder, all danger to share,
+  And let your proud watchword ring up to the sky,
+  Till the blue arch re-echoes, "We conquer or die."
+
+  Press forward undaunted, no thought of retreat,
+  The enemy's host on the threshold to meet,
+  Strike firm, 'til the foemen before you shall fly,
+  Appalled by the watchword, "We conquer or die."
+
+  Go forth in the pathway our forefathers trod;
+  We too fight for freedom, our Captain is God,
+  Their blood in our veins, with their honor we vie;
+  Their's too was the watchword, "We conquer or die."
+
+  We strike for the South: mountains, valley and plain,
+  For the South we will conquer, again and again,
+  Her day of salvation and triumph is nigh,
+  Our's then be the watchword, "We conquer or die."
+
+
+
+
+GOD WILL DEFEND THE RIGHT.
+
+Words and Music by a Lady of Richmond.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  Sons of the South arise,
+    Rise in your matchless might,
+  Your war-cry echo to the skies,
+    "God will defend the right."
+  Let-haughty tyrants know,
+    Our sunny land shall be
+  In spite of every foe,
+    Home of the brave and free.
+
+  CHORUS.--Sons of the South arise,
+             Rise in your matchless might,
+           Your war-cry echo to the skies,
+             "God will defend the right."
+
+  Our flag shall proudly stream,
+    Defiant of assault,
+  Bars of rainbows brightest beam,
+    And stars from Heaven's blue vault.
+  Thousands of true and brave,
+    Their hero lives may end,
+  O'er thousands that flag shall wave,
+    Thousands its folds defend.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+  No wrongs our breasts alarm,
+    No fears our hearts appal,
+  Unswerving justice nerves our arm,
+    We cannot conquered fall.
+  Think on our noble sires,
+    Immortal in renown,
+  Think on our altar-fires,
+    And strike the oppressor down!
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+  With threats of horror dire,
+    The fierce invader comes;
+  We scorn his boasts, we scorn his ire,
+    Striking for hearths and homes.
+  Strike for our mothers now,
+    For daughters, sisters, wives,
+  Truly would each bestow,
+    Were it ten thousand lives.
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+RICHMOND ON THE JAMES;
+
+OR, THE DYING TEXAS SOLDIER BOY.
+
+A Parody by ANNIE MARIE NEEBY.
+
+
+  A soldier boy from Texas lay gasping on the field,
+  When the battle's shock was over, and the foe was forced to yield;
+  He fell, a youthful hero, before the foeman's aims,
+  On a blood-red field near Richmond--near Richmond on the James.
+
+  But one still stood beside him--his comrade in the fray--
+  They had been friends together in boyhood's happy day;
+  And side by side had struggled on fields of blood and flames,
+  To part that eve at Richmond--near Richmond on the James.
+
+  He said, "I charge thee, comrade, of the friends in days of yore,
+  Of the far, far distant dear ones that I shall see no more--
+  Tho' scarce my lips can whisper their dear and well-known names,
+  To bear to them my blessing from Richmond on the James.
+
+  "Bear to my brother this sword, and the badge upon my breast
+  To the young and gentle sister that I used to love the best;
+  But one lock from my forehead give the mother still that dreams
+  Of her soldier boy near Richmond--near Richmond on the James.
+
+  "I wish that mother's arms were folded round me now,
+  That her gentle hand could linger, one moment on my brow,
+  But I know that she is praying where our blessed hearthlight gleams,
+  For her soldier boy's safe return from Richmond on the James.
+
+  "And on my heart, dear comrade, lay close these auburn braids,
+  Of one that is the fairest of all our village maids;
+  We were to have been wedded, but death the bridegroom claims,
+  And she is far that loves me, from Richmond on the James.
+
+  "O, does the pale face haunt her, dear friend, that looks on thee,
+  Or is she laughing, singing, in careless, girlish glee?
+  It may be she is joyous, and loves but joyous themes,
+  Nor dreams her love lies bleeding near Richmond on the James.
+
+  "And tho' I know, dear comrade, thou'lt miss me for a while,
+  When their faces--all left to love thee--again on thee shall smile,
+  Again thou'lt be the foremost in all their youthful games,
+  But I shall lie near Richmond--near Richmond on the James."
+
+  The land is fill'd with mourning from hall and cot left lone,
+  We miss the well-known faces that used to greet our own,
+  And long shall weep poor wives, mothers, and titled dames,
+  To hear the name of Richmond--of Richmond on the James.
+
+
+
+
+RICHMOND IS A HARD ROAD TO TRAVEL.
+
+Dedicated to GEN'L A. E. BURNSIDE.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  Would you like to hear my song, I'm afraid it's rather long,
+    Of the famous "on to Richmond" double trouble;
+  Of the half a dozen trips, and half a dozen slips,
+    And the very latest bursting of the bubble?
+  'Tis pretty hard to sing, and like a round, round ring,
+    'Tis a dreadful knotty puzzle to unravel,
+  Though all the papers swore, when we touched Virginia's shore,
+    That Richmond was a hard road to travel.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
+             For Richmond is a hard road to travel;
+           Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
+           For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe!
+
+  First, McDowell, bold and gay, set forth the shortest way,
+    By Manassas, in the pleasant Summer weather,
+  But unfortunately ran on a Stonewall, foolish man,
+    And had a "rocky journey" altogether;
+  And he found it rather hard to ride o'er Beauregard,
+    And Johnston proved a deuce of a bother,
+  And 'twas clear, beyond a doubt, that he didn't like the route,
+    And a second time would have to try another.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
+             For Manassas is a hard road to travel,
+           Manassas gave us fits, and Bull Run made us grieve,
+           For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe!
+
+  Next came the Woolly-Horse,[12] with an overwhelming force,
+    To march down to Richmond by the Valley,
+  But he couldn't find the road, and his "onward movement" showed
+    His campaigning was a mere shilly-shally.
+  Then Commissary Banks, with his motley, foreign ranks,
+    Kicking up a great noise, fuss and flurry,
+  Lost the whole of his supplies, and with tears in his eyes,
+    From the Stonewall ran away in a hurry.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
+             For the Valley is a hard road to travel,
+           The Valley wouldn't do, and we had all to leave,
+           For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe!
+
+  Then the great Galena came, with her port-holes all aflame,
+    And the Monitor, that famous naval wonder,
+  But the guns at Drury's Bluff gave them speedily enough,
+    The loudest sort of reg'lar Rebel thunder.
+  The Galena was astonished and the Monitor admonished,
+    Our patent shot and shell were mocked at,
+  While the dreadful Naugatuck, by the hardest kind of luck,
+    Was knocked into an ugly cocked hat.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
+             For James River is a hard road to travel,
+           The gun-boats gave it up in terror and despair,
+           For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I declare!
+
+  Then McClellan followed soon, both with spade and balloon,
+    To try the Peninsular approaches,
+  But one and all agreed that his best rate of speed,
+    Was no faster than the slowest of "slow coaches."
+  Instead of easy ground, at Williamsburg he found
+    A Longstreet indeed, and nothing shorter,
+  And it put him in the dumps, that spades wasn't trumps,
+    And the Hills he couldn't level "as he orter."
+
+  CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
+             For Longstreet is a hard road to travel,
+           Lay down the shovel and throw away the spade,
+           For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I'm afraid.
+
+  Then said Lincoln unto Pope, "You can make the trip, I hope;"
+    "I will save the universal Yankee nation,
+  To make sure of no defeat, I'll leave no lines of retreat,
+    And issue a famous proclamation."
+  But that same dreaded Jackson, this fellow laid his whacks on,
+    And made him by compulsion, a seceder.[13]
+  And Pope took rapid flight from Manassas' second fight,
+    'Twas his very last appearance as a leader.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
+             For Stonewall is a hard road to travel,
+           Pope did his very best, but was evidently sold,
+           For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I'm told!
+
+  Last of all the _brave_ Burnside, with his pontoon bridge, tried
+    A road no one had thought of before him,
+  With two hundred thousand men for the Rebel slaughter pen,
+    And the blessed Union flag waving o'er him,
+  But he met a fire like hell, of canister and shell,
+    That mowed his men down with great slaughter,
+  'Twas a shocking sight to view, that second Waterloo,
+    And the river ran with more blood than water.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
+             Rappahannock is a hard road to travel,
+           Burnside got in a trap, which caused him for to grieve,
+           For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe!
+
+  We are very much perplexed to know who is the next
+    To command the new Richmond expedition,
+  For the Capital _must blaze_, and that in ninety days,
+    And Jeff and his men be sent to perdition.
+  We'll take the cursed town, and then we'll burn it down,
+    And plunder and hang each cursed rebel;
+  Yet the contraband was right when he told us they would fight,
+    "Oh! yes, massa, they fight like the devil."
+
+  CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
+             For Richmond is a hard road to travel;
+           Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
+           For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe!
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTHRON'S WATCHWORD.
+
+In Imitation of an English Song of the Crimean War.
+
+By M. F. BIGNEY, 1861.
+
+Music from S. GLOVER.
+
+
+  What shall the Southron's watchword be,
+  Fighting for us on land and sea?
+  Bearing our flag o'er the billow's foam,
+  Shedding his blood for his Southern home?
+  To bleed and conquer he's bravely gone;
+  Freedom and glory still urge him on.
+  Then shall the Southron's watchword be,
+  "The grave of the hero or victory!"
+
+  What shall the Southron's watchword be,
+  Bearing the banner that proves him free?
+  Bravely he dashes amid the strife,
+  For home and country, for child and wife;
+  His aims are bright and his hopes are high;
+  His brave resolve is to do or die;
+  Then shall the Southron's watchword be,
+  "The grave of the hero or victory!"
+
+  What shall the Southron's watchword be,
+  Fighting the battles of liberty?
+  Holy the light on his manly brow,
+  The victor's wreath or the cypress bough!
+  Such are the thoughts which the brave inspire,
+  Filling their souls with the soldier's fire;
+  Then shall the Southron's watchword be,
+  "The grave of the hero or victory!"
+
+
+
+
+THERE'S LIFE IN THE OLD LAND YET.
+
+Words by JAMES B. RANDALL.
+
+Music by EDWARD O. EATON.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  By blue Patapsco's billowy dash,
+    The tyrant's war-shout comes,
+  Along with the cymbal's fitful clash,
+    And the roll 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 scourged, we are scarred--
+  We crouch--'tis to welcome the triumph-tread
+    Of the peerless Beauregard.
+  Then woe to your vile, polluting horde,
+    When the Southern 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 sings in the wind,
+    O'er Merryman, Thomas, and Kane;
+  And we--though we smite 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 they scowl on your brutal bands,
+  While the nimble poignard dares the day,
+    In their dear, defiant hands;
+  They will strip their tresses to string our bows,
+    Ere the Northern sun is set--
+  There's faith in their unrelenting woes,
+    "There's life in the Old Land yet!"
+
+  There's life, though it throbbeth in silent veins,
+    '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's life in the Old Land yet!"
+
+_New Orleans Delta_, Sept., 1861.
+
+
+
+
+YOU ARE GOING TO THE WARS, WILLIE BOY!
+
+Words and Music by JOHN H. HEWITT.
+
+
+  You are going to the wars, Willie boy, Willie boy,
+    You are going to the wars far away,
+  To protect our rights and laws, Willie boy, Willie boy,
+    And the banner in the sun's golden ray;
+  With your uniform all new,
+    And your shining buttons, too,
+  You'll win the hearts of pretty girls,
+    But none like me so true.
+  Oh, won't you think of me, Willie boy, Willie boy;
+    Oh, won't you think of me when far away?
+  I'll often think of ye, Willie boy, Willie boy,
+    And ever for your life and glory pray.
+
+  You'll be fighting for the right, Willie boy, Willie boy,
+    You'll be fighting for the right, and your home;
+  And you'll strike the blow with might, Willie boy, Willie boy,
+    'Mid the thundering of cannon and of drum;
+  With an arm as true as steel,
+    You'll make the foeman feel,
+  The vengeance of a Southerner,
+    Too proud to cringe or kneel;
+  Oh, should you fall in strife, Willie boy, Willie boy,
+    Oh, should you fall in strife on the plain,
+  I'll pine away my life, Willie boy, Willie boy,
+    And never, never smile again.
+
+
+
+
+MY MARYLAND.
+
+Written at Pointe Coupee, La., April 26, 1861. First published in the _New
+Orleans Delta_.
+
+By JAMES R. RANDALL.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  The despot's heel is on thy shore,
+                Maryland!
+  His torch is at thy temple door,
+                Maryland!
+  Avenge the patriotic gore
+  That flecked the streets of Baltimore,
+  And be the battle queen of yore,
+                Maryland! My Maryland!
+
+  Hark to an exiled son's appeal,
+                Maryland!
+  My Mother-State, to thee I kneel,
+                Maryland!
+  For life or death, for woe and weal,
+  Thy peerless chivalry reveal,
+  And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,
+                Maryland! My Maryland!
+
+  Thou wilt not cower in the dust,
+                Maryland!
+  Thy beaming sword shall never rust,
+                Maryland!
+  Remember Carroll's sacred trust,
+  Remember Howard's warlike thrust,
+  And all thy slumberers with the just,
+                Maryland! My Maryland!
+
+  Come! 'tis the red dawn of the day,
+                Maryland!
+  Come! with thy panoplied array,
+                Maryland!
+  With Ringgold's spirit for the fray,
+  With Watson's blood at Monterey,
+  With fearless Lowe, and dashing May,
+                Maryland! My Maryland!
+
+  Come! for thy shield is bright and strong,
+                Maryland!
+  Come! for thy dalliance does thee wrong,
+                Maryland!
+  Come! to thine own heroic throng,
+  That stalks with Liberty along,
+  And ring thy dauntless slogan-song,
+                Maryland! My Maryland!
+
+  Dear Mother! burst the tyrant's chain,
+                Maryland!
+  Virginia should not call in vain,
+                Maryland!
+  _She_ meets her sisters on the plain--
+  "Sic semper," 'tis the proud refrain
+  That baffles minions back amain,
+                Maryland!
+  Arise, in majesty again,
+                Maryland! My Maryland!
+
+  I see the blush upon thy cheek,
+                Maryland!
+  For thou 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! My Maryland!
+
+  Thou wilt not yield the 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 bugle, fife, and drum,
+                Maryland!
+  She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb--
+  Huzzah! she spurns the Northern scum!
+  She breathes--she burns! she'll come! she'll come!
+                Maryland! My Maryland!
+
+
+
+
+REBEL TOASTS; OR, DRINK IT DOWN!
+
+
+  Oh, here's to South Carolina! drink it down,
+  Here's to South Carolina, drink it down,
+  Here's to South Carolina, the first to open up the fray.
+
+  CHORUS.--Drink it down, drink it down,
+           Drink it down, down, down.
+
+  Oh, here's to Mississippi! drink it down,
+  Here's to Mississippi, drink it down,
+  Here's to Mississippi, for she gave old Abe the slip.
+
+  Oh, here's to Alabama! drink it down,
+  Here's to Alabama--we'll fight for her banner.
+
+  Oh, here's to Florida State, drink it down,
+  Here's to Florida--to Southern rights she'll ne'er say nay.
+
+  Oh, here's to Georgia State--drink it down,
+  Here's to Georgia State--altho' she _is_ rather late.
+
+  Oh, here's to Louisiana! drink it down,
+  Here's to Louisiana--how glorious is her banner.
+
+  Oh, here's to gallant Texas! drink it down,
+  Here's to gallant Texas--the Yankees say "she vexes us."
+
+  Oh, here's to brave Virginia! drink it down,
+  Here's to brave Virginia--she'll hold up the Confederacy.
+
+  Oh, here's to Arkansas! drink it down,
+  Here's to Arkansas--for she'll break old Abram's jaw.
+
+  Oh, here's to North Carolina! drink it down,
+  Here's to North Carolina--with a whoop and a hurrah.
+
+  Oh, here's to Tennessee! drink it down,
+  Here's to Tennessee--for she's bound to be free.
+
+  Oh, here's to brave Missouri! drink it down,
+  Here's to brave Missouri--whose sons will ne'er say die!
+
+  Oh, here's to old Kentuck! drink it down,
+  Here's to old Kentuck--she yet may have the pluck.
+
+  Oh, here's to Maryland! drink it down,
+  Here's to Maryland--bleeding beneath a tyrant's hand.
+
+  Oh, here's to General Lee! drink it down,
+  Here's to General Lee--for he'll set the Rebels free!
+
+  Oh, here's to Magruder! drink it down--
+  Here's to our Magruder--the Yankees' great deluder.
+
+
+
+
+THE GALLANT GIRL THAT SMOTE THE DASTARD TORY, OH!
+
+Dedicated to MISS SLIDELL.
+
+Words by KLUBS.
+
+Music by DUCIE DIAMONDS.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  Ho, gallants, brim the beaker bowl,
+    And click the festal glasses, oh!
+  The grape shall shed its sapphire soul,
+    To eulogize the lasses, oh!
+  And when ye pledge the lip and curl
+    Of loveliness and glory, oh!
+  Here's a bumper to the gallant girl
+    That smote the dastard Tory, oh!
+
+  CHORUS.--A bumper, a thumper,
+             To loveliness and glory, oh!
+           A bumper to the gallant girl
+             That smote the dastard Tory, oh!
+
+  Our boys are fighting East and West,
+    Our women do not linger, oh!
+  They take their diamonds from the breast,
+    Their rubies from the finger, oh!
+  They send their darlings to the war
+    Of honor and of glory, oh!
+  They've all the spirit of a man,
+    To smite a dastard Tory, oh!
+                                  CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: Jack Morgan.]
+
+
+THREE CHEERS FOR OUR JACK MORGAN.
+
+By EUGENE RAYMOND.
+
+
+  The snow is in the cloud, and night is gathering o'er us.
+  The winds are piping loud and fan the blaze before us;
+  Then join the jovial band, and tune the vocal organ;
+  And with a will we'll all join in--three cheers for our Jack Morgan!
+
+  CHORUS.--Gather round the camp-fire, our duty has been done,
+           Let's gather round the camp-fire, and have a little fun.
+           Let's gather round the camp-fire, our duty has been done,
+           'Twas done upon the battle-field, three cheers for our Jack
+               Morgan!
+
+  Jack Morgan is his name--the fearless and the lucky;
+  No dastard foe can tame the son of old Kentucky.
+  His heart is with his State, he fights for Southern freedom,
+  His men their General's word await--they'll go where he will lead 'em.
+                                              CHORUS.
+
+  He swore to free his home--to burst her chains asunder,
+  With sound of trump and drum, and loud Confederate thunder;
+  And in the darksome night, by light of homesteads burning,
+  He'll put the skulking foe to flight, their hearts to wailings turning.
+                                              CHORUS.
+
+  The dungeon dark and cold could not his body prison,
+  Nor tame a spirit bold that o'er reverse had risen.
+  Then sing the song of joy--our toast be lovely woman;
+  And Morgan, he's the gallant boy to plague the hated foeman!
+
+[Illustration: Mississippi Button.]
+
+
+
+
+PRAY, MAIDEN, PRAY!
+
+A. W. KERCHEVAL.
+
+A. J. TURNER.
+
+To the patriotic women of the South.
+
+
+  Maiden, pray for thy lover now,
+    Thro' all this starry night,
+  Heaven prove auspicious to thy vow,
+    For with to-morrow's dawning light,
+    We meet the foe in deadly fight!
+              Pray, maiden, pray!
+
+  Maiden, pray that the banner high
+    Advanced, our cross may wave;
+  And foeman's shot and steel defy!
+    In triumph floating o'er the brave,
+    Who strike for freedom or the grave;
+              Pray, maiden, pray!
+
+  Maiden, pray for thy Southern land
+    Of streams and sunlit skies;
+  See thou her living greatness stand!
+    While in her hero-dust there lies,
+    Whatever glory verifies!
+              Pray, maiden, pray!
+
+  Maiden, pray that your trumpet blast
+    And rocket's signal light,
+  But summon squadrons, thick and fast!
+    To win in our glorious fight
+    For Home, for Freedom, and the Right;
+              Pray, maiden, pray!
+
+1863.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOLDIER'S SUIT OF GRAY.
+
+By MISS CARRIE BELL SINCLAIR.
+
+
+  I've seen some handsome uniforms deck'd off with buttons bright,
+  And some that are so very gay they almost blind the sight;
+  But of these handsome uniforms I will not sing to-day,
+  My song is to each soldier lad who wears a suit of gray!
+
+  CHORUS.--Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! for Southern boys we say,
+           And God bless every soldier lad who wears a suit of gray!
+
+  Brass buttons and gold lace I know are beautiful to view,
+  And then, to tell the honest truth, I own I like them, too;
+  Yet should a thousand officers come crowding round to-day,
+  I'd scorn them for a lad who wears a simple suit of gray.
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  God bless our Southern soldiers! for ev'ry one is dear,
+  And God defend each gallant form, no matter what they wear;
+  For each has acted well his part, yet still, in truth, I say,
+  The bravest of the brave are those who wear a suit of gray.
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  Tho' torn and faded be each coat, their buttons tarnish'd too,
+  I know beneath each soldier's dress a Southern heart beats true;
+  We honor ev'ry gallant son who fights for us to-day,
+  And heav'n protect the noble boys who wear the suit of gray.
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  They bravely strike for freedom, and on the battle-field,
+  They're the first to strike a blow, they are the last to yield;
+  At Richmond and Manassas who was it won the day?
+  It was our noble Southern boys, all clad in suits of gray.
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  God bless our Southern soldiers! for each we breathe a prayer,
+  And over ev'ry fallen son we shed a mourner's tear!
+  Oh, sacred be the grave of those who died so far away,
+  And honor'd be each one who sleeps clad in a suit of gray.
+                                                (Omit chorus.)
+
+  'Round ev'ry patriot soldier's brow the laurel wreath entwines,
+  And 'round the battle-flag they bear a ray of glory shines,
+  And when the foe is conquer'd, with pride we then will say,
+  "All honor to the noble boys who wore the suit of gray."
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  (A CHORUS, AFTER THE BATTLE OF FRANKLIN)--
+
+  You may talk about your Beauregard, and sing of General Lee,
+  But General Hood, of Texas, played hell in Tennessee.
+
+
+
+
+SONG OF THE TEXAS RANGERS.
+
+By MRS. J. D. YOUNG.
+
+_Air--"The Yellow Rose of Texas."_
+
+
+  The morning star is paling, the camp-fires flicker low,
+  Our steeds are madly neighing, for the bugle bids us go:
+  So put the foot in stirrup, and shake the bridle free,
+  For to-day the Texas Rangers must cross the Tennessee.
+  With Wharton for our leader, we'll chase the dastard foe,
+  'Till our horses bathe their fetlocks in the deep blue Ohio.
+
+  Our men come from the prairies rolling broad, proud and free,
+  From the high and craggy mountains to the murmuring Mexic' sea;
+  And their hearts are open as their plains; their tho'ts as proudly brave
+  As the bold cliffs of the San Bernard, or the Gulf's resistless wave.
+  Then, quick! into the saddle, and shake the bridle free,
+  To-day with gallant Wharton we cross the Tennessee.
+
+  'Tis joy to be a Ranger! to fight for dear Southland!
+  'Tis joy to follow Wharton, with his gallant, trusty band!
+  'Tis joy to see our Harrison plunge, like a meteor bright,
+  Into the thickest of the fray, and deal his deadly might,
+  Oh! who'd not be a Ranger, and follow Wharton's cry!
+  And battle for their country, and, if needs be, die?
+
+  By the Colorado's waters, on the Gulf's deep murmuring shore,
+  On our soft, green, peaceful prairies, our home we may see no more,
+  But in those homes our gentle wives, and mothers with silvery hairs,
+  Are loving us with tender hearts, and shielding us with prayers.
+  So trusting in our country's God, we draw our stout good brand,
+  For those we love at home, our altars and our land.
+
+  Up! up! with the crimson battle flag, let the blue pennon fly;
+  Our steeds are stamping proudly, they hear the battle cry!
+  The thundering bomb, the bugle's call, proclaim the foe is near:
+  We strike for God and native land, and all we hold most dear.
+  Then spring into the saddle, and shake the bridle free,
+  For Wharton leads, thro' fire and blood, for Home and Victory.
+
+
+
+
+THE OFFICER'S FUNERAL.
+
+
+  Hark! 'tis the shrill trumpet calling,
+    It pierceth the soft summer air!
+  Tears from each comrade are falling,
+    For the widow and orphan are there:
+  Our bayonets earthward are turning,
+    And the drum's muffled breath rolls around,
+  But he hears not the voice of their mourning,
+    Nor awakes to the bugle's shrill sound.
+
+  Sleep, soldier! tho' many regret thee,
+    Who stand by thy cold bier to-day,
+  Soon, soon shall the kindest forget thee,
+    And thy name from the earth pass away;
+  The man thou did'st love as a brother,
+    A friend in thy place will have gained;
+  Thy dog will keep watch for another,
+    And thy steed by a stranger be reined.
+
+  But tho' many now weep for thee sadly,
+    Soon joyous as ever shall be;
+  Tho' thy bright orphan boy may laugh gladly
+    As he sits on some kind comrade's knee,
+  There is one who will still do her duty
+    Of tears for the true and the brave,
+  As when first in the bloom of her beauty,
+    She weeps o'er her brave soldier's grave!
+
+
+
+
+THE SOLDIER'S DEATH.
+
+By A. B. CUNNINGHAM.
+
+
+  The night-cloud had lowered o'er Shiloh's red plain,
+  And the blast howled sadly o'er wounded and slain;
+  The lightning flashed vividly, fiercely and proud,
+  And glared thro' the mist of the smoke and the cloud;
+  The thunder pealed loudly from heaven's black sky,
+  Where litely the cannon had pealed the war-cry;
+  The last gun had been fired, and its moaning sound
+  Had died 'way in the distance, and echoed around.
+
+  Where the fight had raged fiercest, near a deep ravine,
+  At the foot of a crag (a wild, thrilling scene),
+  A soldier lay there all ghastly and gory,
+  Who'd fall'n in the strife for freedom and glory!
+  His life-blood was pouring from out a deep gash
+  He'd received 'mid the battle's loud roar and fierce crash;
+  "O mother! O mother! I never thought this,
+  When but a mere child I received thy sweet kiss--
+
+  "That I'd die on a field all gory and red
+  With the blood of the wounded, the dying and dead,
+  With no friend or relation to cheer my dark way,
+  But the forms of dear comrades all lifeless as clay,
+  None to watch o'er me but the ghosts of the dead,
+  None to smooth down the death-pillow 'neath my poor head;
+  And sadly I think of my home in the South,
+  Where I roam'd a mere boy in the pride of my youth.
+
+  "When I scaled the steep crag o'er the river's wild roar,
+  Or chased the fleet stag 'long the bright, sunny shore--
+  When I bounded in pride o'er valley and hill--
+  O memories, how sweet! ye haunt me now still.
+  But away with the thoughts of my joyous boyhood,
+  I'll face the grim monster death with calm fortitude:
+  Then, mother, farewell! farewell, dearest mother;
+  Farewell to my father, sisters and brother!
+
+  "And when I am gone never utter a sigh,
+  But remember your Charlie reigns proudly on high!"
+  Then death flapp'd wildly his wings on the moor,
+  As his soul took its flight to a heavenly shore--
+  The lightning flash'd fiercely, the howling winds surge,
+  The thunder pealed loudly the hero's wild dirge!
+
+
+
+
+I REMEMBER THE HOUR WHEN SADLY WE PARTED.
+
+_Companion Song to "When this Cruel War is Over."_
+
+
+  I remember the hour when sadly we parted,
+    The tears on your pale cheek glist'ning like dew,
+  When clasped in your arms almost broken-hearted,
+    I swore by the bright sky I'd ever be true,
+  True to the love that nothing could sever,
+  And true to the flag of my country forever.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then weep not, love, oh! weep not,
+           Think not our hopes are vain,
+           For when this fatal war is over,
+           We will surely meet again.
+
+  Oh, let not, my own love, the summer winds winging
+    Their sweet-laden zephyrs o'er land and o'er sea,
+  Bring aught to your heart with the autumn birds singing,
+    But hopes for the future and bright dreams of me;
+  For while in your pure heart my mem'ry you're keeping,
+  I ne'er can be lonely while waking or sleeping.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+  But if, while the loud shouts of vict'ry are ringing,
+    O'er the land that foul traitors have caught to betray,
+  You hear o'er the voices so joyfully singing,
+    That he who so loved you has fallen in the fray,
+  Oh think that he's gone where there's dark treason never,
+  Where tears and sad partings are banished forever.
+                                                  CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+OUR FLAG; OR, THE ORIGIN OF THE STARS AND BARS.[14]
+
+Words and Music by HARRY MCCARTHY.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  Young stranger, what land claims thy birth?
+    For thy flag is but new to the sea,
+  And where is the nation on earth,
+    That the right of this flag gives to thee;
+  Thy banner reminds us of one
+    By the Champions of Freedom unfurled,
+  And the proudest of nations have owned,
+    'Twas a glory and pride to the world;
+  That flag was the "Stripes and Stars,"
+    And the colors of thine are the same,
+  But thou hast the "Stars and the Bars,"
+    Oh, stranger, pray tell us thy name.
+
+  That flag, with its garland of fame,
+    Proudly waved o'er my father and me,
+  And my grandsires died to proclaim
+    It the flag of the brave and the free;
+  But alas! for the flag of my youth;
+    I have sighed and dropped my last tear,
+  For the North has forgotten her truth,
+    And would tread on the rights we hold dear;
+  They envied the South her bright Stars,
+    Her glory, her honor, her fame,
+  So we unfurled the "Stars and the Bars"
+    And the Confederate Flag is its name.
+
+  And her bright colors shone forth,
+    All glorious in fair Freedom's light,
+  We swore to remember their birth,
+    And in her honor forever to fight;
+  So woe to the foeman who'll dare,
+    Our Southern soil to invade,
+  For bless'd by the smiles of the fair,
+    And in right's powerful armor arrayed;
+  We'll strike for our Southern stars,
+    Our honor, our glory, our fame,
+  We'll strike for the "Stars and the Bars,"
+    For the Confederate Flag is its name.
+
+
+
+
+THE NAVASOTA VOLUNTEERS.
+
+By WM. NEELY, of Durant's Cavalry.
+
+_Air--"Susanna, Don't you Cry."_
+
+
+  We're the Navasota volunteers, our county is named Grimes;
+  Oh, come along, my conscript boys, we can't leave you behind;
+  Jeff Davis is our President, and Stephens is the Vice--
+  At the head of our armies are Lee, Beauregard and Price.
+
+  We have other officers and generals in command,
+  To lead our gallant forces on, and give the right command;
+  Good old Magruder's our choice, and will help the Yankees roast;
+  So come and go along with us, and help defend the coast.
+
+  O come along, my jolly boys, and help us all to fight--
+  To go against old Uncle Abe I know that we are right;
+  So come along, my countrymen, and with us take your stand;
+  With help of God, we'll whip old Abe, and all his Yankee band.
+
+  Come volunteer, my brave, brave boys, and help to fight it out;
+  We can whip the Abolitionists, without a single doubt;
+  We are volunteers of Texas--we are the very chaps,
+  To whip the Abolitionists, and stop their "nutmeg" traps.
+
+  Come volunteer, my Texas boys, altho' you are forty-six--
+  We'll whip old Abe and Buell, with all their Yankee tricks;
+  Their armies are invading us, and this we cannot stand,
+  We must whip them back to Yankeedom, O come and take a hand.
+
+  Come, all of you brave Southerners, and join our common cause,
+  To go against old Lincoln and all his Yankee boys;
+  If we find them on the hills, or find them in their ditches,
+  If you go along with us we'll whip them out their "britches."
+
+  Now, there is our good doctor, with his powder and his pills,
+  Who is willing to go with us and cure us of our ills;
+  There are some of our countrymen, whose names I will not tell,
+  Who say they cannot volunteer, "for they are not very well!"
+
+  There is the officeseeker! altho' not very noted,
+  He would go along with us if he could only be promoted!
+  There is the little lawyer! who is of no great note,
+  He will not go along with us unless we will promote!
+
+  Now, there is the merchant! with his all in his hand,
+  Who'll sell unto his customers at the highest price he can;
+  If you say to the merchant, when you go in to trade,
+  "I cannot stand your price," he'll holler out "Blockade!"
+
+  And then there's the yearling thief, that ought to go to battle;
+  The country would be better off rid of all such cattle;
+  And there's the rich planters, with their negroes and their lands,
+  They will not go along with us to fight old Lincoln's bands.
+
+  They remind me of a tale, perhaps you've heard yourself:
+  While a woman fought a bear her husband hid himself;
+  The battle was fought, and the good old lady won it--
+  Old man then came crawling out--"Old woman, hain't we done it!"
+
+  There are speculating parsons, who wish their country well--
+  And they will warn poor sinners of going down to hell;
+  They cannot go along with us, they do not wish to fight,
+  They'll stay at home to prey on us, that all may come out right.
+
+  Now unto all such fellows be everlasting shame;
+  And all our honest countrymen will surely them disdain;
+  Come, all ye Texas ladies, now listen to my song,
+  And do not marry any man that will not go along.
+
+  To defend the coast of Texas we all feel now inclined;
+  To leave our wives and little ones in the care of those behind;
+  We hope that they'll prove faithful, and to their wants attend,
+  And see that they're provided for while we the land defend.
+
+  Farewell! my friends and neighbors, we bid you all adieu.
+  Farewell to wife and children! we now must part with you!
+  O God! in mercy bless us! sustain us by Thy grace!
+  And grant we all may meet again our lov'd ones to embrace!
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration:
+
+  "For I know there is no other,
+    E'er can be so dear to me."]
+
+
+THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.
+
+Composed by FR. SULZNER.
+
+Permission of HENRI WEHRMANN, New Orleans, La.
+
+
+  I am dreaming of thee,
+    Dearest, I am dreaming still of thee,
+  For thy spirit haunts me ever,
+    Like some fairy melody;
+  When in loneliness I wander,
+    Or in haunts of mirth and glee,
+  Still my heart to thine is turning,
+    I am dreaming still of thee.
+
+  When the stars are softly smiling,
+    Thro' the lone and silent night,
+  Then I think of thee and heaven,
+    With a holy, calm delight;
+  For thy spirit is so radiant
+    In its love and purity,
+  That whene'er I dream of angels,
+    I am dreaming still of thee.
+
+  There are hours when dreary shadows,
+    Cast their gloom upon my heart,
+  When I think how well I love thee,
+    When I feel that we must part;
+  For I know there is no other,
+    E'er can be so dear to me,
+  And whene'er of love I'm dreaming,
+    I am dreaming still of thee.
+
+  I am dreaming of thee, dearest,
+    Still I dream of thee alone;
+  We shall meet again in heaven,
+    There our spirits shall be one;
+  For the earth when thou wert near me,
+    Was a paradise to me,
+  And whene'er I dream of heaven,
+    I am dreaming still of thee.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+  "When the stars are softly smiling
+      *       *       *       *
+  Then I think of thee and heaven."]
+
+
+
+
+BY THE BANKS OF RED RIVER.
+
+Words by E. E. KIDD.
+
+Music by LA HACHE.
+
+
+  Oh, gone is the soul from his wondrous dark eye,
+    And gone is her life's dearest glory.
+  The tales of fond lovers unheeded pass by,
+    Her heart hears a single sad story,
+  How her gallant young hero fell asleep, and will never
+    Awake from his dream by the banks of Red River.
+
+  CHORUS.--How her gallant young hero fell asleep, and will never
+           Awake from his dream by the banks of Red River.
+
+  How oft to the window she rushes to wait,
+    As though she expected his coming;
+  She lists, ah! she hears him swing open the gate,
+    And the song he was wont to be humming;
+  But she turns, ah! she feels he's asleep and will never
+    Awake from his dream by the banks of Red River.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Ah, many a sun will awaken the morn,
+    All dressed in its radiant glory,
+  Ere the heart of the maiden shall ever be torn
+    From the woe of his sorrowful story,
+  For it bent--it has broke. Oh! God it will never
+    Arise from that grave by the banks of Red River.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE OFFICERS OF DIXIE.
+
+By A GROWLER.
+
+
+  Let me whisper in your ear, sir,
+  Something that the South should hear, sir,
+    Of the war, of the war, of the war in Dixie;
+  A growing curse--a "burning shame," sir,
+  In the chorus I will name, sir,
+    Of the war, of the war, of the war in Dixie.
+
+  CHORUS.--The officers of Dixie alone, alone!
+           The honors share, the honors wear
+           Throughout the land of Dixie!
+           'Tis so, 'tis so, throughout the land of Dixie.
+
+  Swelling 'round with gold lace plenty,
+  See the gay "brass button" gentry;
+  Solomon in all his splendors
+  Was scarce arrayed like these "defenders."
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  In cities, sir, it is alarming
+  To see them 'round the hotel swarming;
+  And at each little "one-horse town," sir,
+  See the "birds" how they "fly 'round," sir.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  On the steamboat, in the cars, sir,
+  Deep respect is shown the "bars," sir.
+  And if a "star" or two is spotted,
+  See how "the elephant" is courted.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  Should a grand soiree be given,
+  The "braided lions" take the even.
+  No, no! the privates are not slighted!
+  They can't expect to be invited!
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  The ladies! bless the darling creatures!
+  Quite distort their pretty features,
+  And say (I know you've seen it done, sir),
+  "They'll have an officer or none," sir.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  And if when death-shots round us rattle,
+  An officer is kill'd in battle--
+  How the martyr is lamented!
+  (This is right--we've not dissented).
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  But only speak of it to show, sir,
+  Privates are not honor'd so, sir.
+  No muffled drum, no wreath of glory,
+  If one dies, proclaims the story.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  In Dixie's land, in every way, sir,
+  "Fuss and feathers" "win the day," sir,
+  For with all sexes, sizes, ages,
+  How the "gold lace fever" rages!
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  List the moral of my song, sir;
+  In Dixie there is something wrong, sir.
+  As all that glitters is not gold, sir,
+  Read and ponder what I've told, sir.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE SENTINEL'S DREAM OF HOME.
+
+By COL. A. M. HOBBY.
+
+
+  'Tis dead of night, nor voice, nor sound, breaks on the stillness of the
+      air,
+  The waning moon goes coldly down on frozen fields and forests bare:
+  The solemn stars are glittering high, while here my lonely watch I keep,
+  To guard the brave with anxious eye, who sweetly dream and sweetly sleep.
+
+  Perchance of home these sleepers dream, of sainted ones no longer here,
+  Whose mystic forms low bend unseen, and breathe soft whispers in their
+      ear:
+  Sleep on, sleep on, my comrades brave, quaff deep to-night of pleasure's
+      cup,
+  Ere morning's crimson banners wave, and reveille shall rouse thee up.
+
+  The sporting winds and waves to-night seem tired of their boisterous
+      play,
+  And armed ships, with signal lights and bristling guns before me lay:
+  But not of ships nor battle-fields, with clash of arms and roll of
+      drums--
+  To softer scenes my spirit yields--to-night a sweeter vision comes.
+
+  It is thine own beloved one! whose kiss I feel, whose smile I see;
+  O God! protect that wife at home, begirt with growing infancy:
+  To-night, to-night I'm with you there, around my knees fond children
+      gather!
+  And climb, the envied kiss to share, amidst the sounds of "Husband!
+      Father!"
+
+  Such thoughts my eyes with moisture fill, my bosom heaves, my pulses
+      start;
+  Close down I'll press my gun to still the wild emotions of my heart:
+  Hush! pleading one--I cannot stay! the spoiler comes with fiendish
+      wrath--
+  Black ruin marks his bloody way, and blazing homes have lit his path.
+
+  "Go, husband, go! God nerve thy blows--their footsteps foul blot from
+      our shore--
+  Strike! 'till our land is free from foes whose hands are stained with
+      Southern gore;
+  Strike! husband, strike--I'd rather weep, the widow of a patriot brave,
+  Than lay my heart (I'd scorn to sleep) beside a subjugated slave."
+
+  Thy woman's soul is true and grand! the battle-field my home shall be,
+  Until our country'll proudly stand acknowledged as a nation free;
+  'Till then, oh, welcome fields of strife, the victor's shout, the
+      vanquished cry,
+  Where ebbs the crimson stream of life, where quick and dead together lie.
+
+  'Mid bursting shell and squadron's dash, where broken ranks disorder'd
+      fly,
+  Where angry cannon's flash on flash paints hell upon the lurid sky,
+  Where many a brave shall sink to rest, and fondly cherish'd hopes will
+      set,
+  And blood that warms the manly heart, will dim the glittering bayonet.
+
+  When these are past, and victory's sun in undimm'd splendor lights the
+      skies,
+  And peace, by dauntless valor won, and proudly free our banner flies,
+  Then to my Western prairie home, with eager haste, each nerve shall
+      strain,
+  Nor from its hallow'd precincts roam, unless my country call again.
+
+  There unalloy'd shall be our bliss; we'll watch the sun give morning
+      birth,
+  And, sinking, leave his parting kiss upon the dewy lips of earth.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+  The moon has waxed and waned away; the morning star rides pale and high--
+  Fond dreams of home no longer stay, but fade like stars on mornings sky.
+
+GALVESTON, TEXAS, Feb. 1, 1864.
+
+
+
+
+CAMP DOUGLAS BY THE LAKE.
+
+A PRISON SONG.
+
+_Air--"Cottage by the Sea."_
+
+
+  Childhood's days have long since faded,
+    Youth's bright dreams like lights gone out,
+  Distant homes and hearths are shaded,
+    With the future's dread and doubt.
+
+  CHORUS.--Here, old Michigan before us,
+             Moaning waves that ever break,
+           Chanting still the one sad chorus,
+             At Camp Douglas by the Lake.      (Repeat.)
+
+  Exiles from our homes, we sorrow
+    O'er the present's darkening gloom;
+  Will we know that with the morrow,
+    We'll wake to feel the same hard doom.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  Oh, for one short hour of gladness,
+    One hour of hope, this pain to break,
+  And chase away the heavy sadness,
+    At Camp Douglas by the Lake.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  I would some Southern bird was singing,
+    Warbling richest, softest lays,
+  Back to eager memory bringing,
+    Sweetest thoughts of happy days.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  I dread the night's uneasy slumber;
+    Hate the day that bids me wake,
+  Another of that dreary number,
+    At Camp Douglas by the Lake.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  Never Sabbath bells are tolling,
+    Never words of cheer and love;
+  Wintry waves are round us rolling,
+    Clouds are hiding heaven above.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  Dixie Land! still turn toward you,
+    Hearts that now in bondage ache,
+  Hearts that once were strong to guard you,
+    Wasting here beside the lake.
+
+  REFRAIN.--John Morgan crossed the river,
+              And I went across with him.
+            I was captured in Ohio,
+              Because I could not swim.
+
+
+
+
+MISSOURI.
+
+Words and music by HARRY MCCARTHY.
+
+Sung by Harry McCarthy throughout the Confederate States in his
+Personation Concerts.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  Missouri! Missouri! bright land of the West,
+  Where the wayworn emigrant always found rest,
+  Who gave to the farmer reward for the toil
+  Expended in breaking and turning the soil;
+  Awake to the notes of the bugle and drum!
+  Awake from your peace, for the tyrant hath come;
+  And swear by your honor that your chains shall be riven,
+  And add your bright star to our Flag of Eleven.
+
+  They'd force you to join in their unholy fight,
+  With fire and with sword, with power and with might,
+  'Gainst fathers and brothers, and kindred near,
+  'Gainst women and children, all you hold dear;
+  They've o'errun your soil, insulted your press;
+  Murdered your citizens, shown no redress;
+  So swear by your honor that your chains shall be riven,
+  And add your bright star to our Flag of Eleven.
+
+  Missouri! Missouri! where is thy proud fame?
+  Free land of the West, thy once cherished name
+  Trod in the dust by a tyrant's command,
+  Proclaiming there's martial law in the land,
+  Men of Missouri! strike without fear!
+  McCulloch, Jackson, and brave men are near;
+  So swear by your honor that your chains shall be riven,
+  And add your bright star to our Flag of Eleven.
+
+
+
+
+OH, NO! HE'LL NOT NEED THEM AGAIN![15]
+
+
+  Oh, no! no! he'll not need them again--
+    No more will he wake to behold,
+  The splendor and fame of his men--
+    The tale of his victories told!
+  No more will he wake from that sleep,
+    Which he sleeps in his glory and fame,
+  While his comrades are left here to weep
+    Over Cleburne! his grave and his name.
+
+  Oh, no; he'll not meet them again,
+    No more will his banner be spread
+  O'er the field of his gallantry's fame;
+    The soldier's proud spirit is fled!
+  The soldier who rose 'mid applause,
+    From the humblemost place in the van--
+  I sing not in praise of the cause,
+    But rather in praise of the man.
+
+  Oh, no; he'll not need them again,
+    He has fought his last battle without them,
+  For barefoot he, too, must go in,
+    While barefoot stood comrades about him;
+  And barefoot they proudly marched on,
+    With blood flowing fast from their feet;
+  They thought of the past victories won,
+    And the foes that they now were to meet.
+
+  Oh, no; he'll not need them again,
+    He is leading his men to the charge,
+  Unheeding the shells or the slain,
+    Or the showers of the bullets at large.
+  On the right, on the left, on the flanks,
+    He dashingly pushes his way,
+  While with cheers, double quick and in ranks,
+    His soldiers all followed that day.
+
+  Oh, no; he'll not need them again,
+    He falls from his horse to the ground!
+  O anguish! O sorrow! O pain!
+    In the brave hearts that gathered around;
+  He breathes not of grief, nor a sigh
+    On the breast where he pillowed his head,
+  Ere he fix'd his last gaze upon high--
+    "I'm killed, boys, but fight it out!" said.
+
+  Oh, no; he'll not need them again,
+    But treasure them up for his sake;
+  And oh, should you sing a refrain,
+    Of the memories they still must awake,
+  Sing it soft as the summer-eve breeze,
+    Let it sound as refreshing and clear;
+  Tho' grief-born there's that which can please,
+    In thoughts that are gemmed with a tear.
+
+
+
+
+IN MEMORIAM.
+
+Lieut. Sidney A. Sherman,[16] who fell at the Battle of Galveston, January
+1, 1863.
+
+By MISS MOLLIE E. MOORE.
+
+
+  Pillow his head on his flashing sword,
+    Who fell ere the fight was won,
+  The turf looks red where his life was poured--
+    He fell beside his gun!
+
+  He died with the gleam in his youthful eye,
+    The fire in his gallant breast,
+  The light was shadowed but could not die,
+    That glisten'd upon his breast!
+
+  For Liberty claimed his parting breath,
+    And Fame his last trumpet cry:
+  Yes, Freedom hath torn his young name from Death--
+    The brave can never die!
+
+  His young breast met, like an ocean rock,
+    The clash of the battle-storm;
+  His proud soul smiled at the tempest shock,
+    That thundered around his form.
+
+  But his life grew faint when the storm raged high,
+    And ebbed with the dawning sun,
+  And there on the field of victory
+    He fell beside his gun!
+
+  From the gallant throng there is missed a crest,
+    A sword from the ranks of steel,
+  A hand from the gun whose mad unrest,
+    Hath made our foemen reel.
+
+  A blithe young voice from the mellow strain,
+    That floated at evenfall;
+  A voice from the camp-song's high refrain,
+    A step in his father's hall:
+
+  In his father's hall--where his mother's eye,
+    Late hung with a gleam of joy,
+  On the proud young form, as the hopes beat high
+    In the breast of her soldier boy.
+
+  And the dashing sound of the distant sea,
+    With the wail in its troubled breast,
+  To the hearts 'round that clouded hearth will be,
+    But an echo of their unrest!
+
+  But pillow his head on his flashing sword,
+    Whose Fame on the field was won--
+  The strife raged high where his blood was poured--
+    And--he fell beside his gun!
+
+  Oh, circle the banner around his form,
+    That he loved with a soldier's pride,
+  For it shone like a star thro' the battle storm,
+    O'er the field where our hero died!
+
+  He went from the red field down to the grave,
+    He fell where his fame was won,
+  And his own fair State hath a name for the brave,
+    And a song for her martyred son!
+
+  Yes, Liberty shrined his parting breath,
+    And Texas his fainting cry--
+  Yes, Fame hath torn his young name from death,
+    The brave can never die!
+
+  Then pillow his head on his flashing sword,
+    Who fell where the field was won;
+  The turf is red where his life was poured--
+    He fell beside his gun!
+
+TYLER, TEXAS, 1863.
+
+
+
+
+YANKEE VANDALS.
+
+_Air--"Gay and Happy."_
+
+
+  The Northern Abolition vandals,
+  Who have come to free the slave,
+  Will meet their doom in "Old Virginny,"
+  Where they all will get a grave.
+
+  CHORUS--So let the Yankees say what they will,
+          We'll love and fight for Dixie still,
+          Love and fight for, love and fight for,
+          We'll love and fight for Dixie still.
+
+  When the Hessian horde is driven,
+  O'er Potomac's classic flood,
+  The pulse of a new-born freedom,
+  Then will stir old Maryland's blood.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  Then we'll crown our warrior chieftains
+  Who have led us in the fight,
+  And have brought the South in triumph,
+  Through dread danger's troubled night.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  And the brave who nobly perished,
+  Struggling in the bloody fray;
+  We'll wear a wreath of fadeless laurel
+  For their glorious memory.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  O'er their graves the Southern maidens,
+  From sea-shore to mountain grot,
+  We'll plant the smiling rose of beauty
+  And the sweet forget-me-not.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+RIDING A RAID.
+
+_Air--"Bonny Dundee."_
+
+
+  'Tis old Stonewall, the rebel, that leans on his sword,
+  And, while we are mounting, prays low to the Lord;
+  Now each cavalier who loves honor and right,
+  Let him follow the feather of Stuart to-night.
+
+  CHORUS--Come, tighten your girths and slacken your rein;
+          Come, buckle your blanket and holster again;
+          Try the click of your trigger and balance your blade,
+          For he must ride _sure_ who goes riding a raid.
+
+  Now gallop, now gallop, to swim or to ford;
+  Old Stonewall, still watching, prays low to the Lord.
+  Good-by, dear old rebel; the river's not wide,
+  And Maryland's lights in the windows do shine.
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  Then gallop, then gallop, by ravine and rocks,
+  Who would bar up the way takes his toll in hard knocks;
+  For with these points of steel up the lines of old Penn,
+  We have made some fine strokes and will make 'em again.
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+[Illustration: "Then gallop, by ravine and rocks."]
+
+
+
+
+THE TOAST OF MORGAN'S MEN.
+
+By CAPT. THORPE, Kentucky.
+
+
+  Unclaimed by the land that bore us,
+    Lost in the land we find
+  The brave have gone before us,
+    Cowards are left behind!
+  Then stand to your glasses, steady,
+    Here's a health to those we prize,
+  Here's a toast to the dead already,
+    And here's to the next who dies.
+
+
+
+
+TRUE HEART SOUTHRONS.
+
+_Air--"Blue Bonnets over the Border."_
+
+
+  For trumpet and drum, leave the soft voice of maiden;
+    For the tramp of armed men, leave the maze of the dance;
+  One kiss on the lips, with words of love laden--
+    One look in dimm'd eyes--then the rifle and lance.
+
+  CHORUS.--March, march, true heart Southrons,
+             Fall into ranks and march in good order,--
+           Escambia shall many a day tell of the fierce affray,
+             When we drove the base Northmen far over our border
+
+  Do ye weep, ye fair flowers, our hearth-stones that brighten?
+    For every tear shed shall fall ten foemen's lives;
+  Far in the cold North their hosts we will frighten,
+    As we strike for our "Homes, our sweethearts, and wives."
+                                                    CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOLDIER'S AMEN.
+
+
+  As a couple of good soldiers were walking one day,
+  Said one to the other: "Let's kneel down and pray!
+  I'll pray for the war, and good of all men:
+  And whatever I pray for, do you say 'Amen!'"
+
+  "We'll pray for the generals and all of their crew,
+  Likewise for the captains and lieutenants too;
+  May good luck and good fortune them always attend!
+  And return safely home;" said the soldier, "Amen!"
+
+  "We'll pray for the privates, the noblest of all;
+  They do all the work and get no glory at all;
+  May good luck and good fortune them always attend,
+  And return crowned with laurels!" said the soldier, "Amen!"
+
+  "We'll pray for the pretty boys who want themselves wives,
+  And have not the courage to strike for themselves;
+  May bad luck and bad fortune them always attend!
+  And go down to Old Harry!" said the soldier, "Amen!"
+
+  "We'll pray for the pretty girls, who make us good wives,
+  And always look at a soldier with tears in their eyes;
+  May good luck and good fortune them always attend!
+  And brave gallants for sweethearts!" said the soldier, "Amen!"
+
+  "We'll pray for the conscript, with frown on his brow,
+  To fight for his country he won't take the vow;
+  May bad luck and bad fortune him always attend;
+  And die with dishonor!" said the soldier, "Amen!"
+
+
+
+
+HERE'S YOUR MULE.
+
+
+  A farmer came to camp, one day, with milk and eggs to sell,
+  Upon a mule who oft would stray to where no one could tell,
+  The farmer, tired of his tramp, for hours was made a fool
+  By ev'ryone he met in camp, with, "Mister, here's your mule."
+
+  CHORUS.--Come on, come on, come on, old man, and don't be made a fool,
+           I'll tell the truth as best I can,
+           John Morgan's got your mule.
+
+  His eggs and chickens all were gone before the break of day,
+  The mule was heard of all along--that's what the soldiers say;
+  And still he hunted all day long--alas! the witless fool--
+  While ev'ry man would sing the song, "Mister, here's your mule."
+                                              CHORUS.
+
+  The soldiers now, in laughing mood, on mischief were intent,
+  They toted muly on their backs, around from tent to tent;
+  Through this hole and that they pushed his head, and made a rule
+  To shout with humorous voices all, "Mister, here's your mule."
+                                              CHORUS.
+
+  Alas! one day the mule was missed, ah! who could tell his fate?
+  The farmer, like a man bereft, searched early and searched late;
+  And as he passed from camp to camp, with stricken face, the fool
+  Cried out to ev'ryone he met, "Oh, Mister, where's my mule?"
+                                              CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+SABINE PASS.
+
+Dedicated to the Davis Guards--(The Living and the Dead).
+
+By MRS. M. J. YOUNG.
+
+
+  Sabine Pass! in letters of gold,
+    Seem written upon the sky to-day,
+  Sabine Pass! with rhythmic feet,
+    Comes passionately stepping down my lay.
+
+  Sabine Pass! and the white sail ships,
+    With their cruel cannons' grinning teeth,
+  Tearing in shreds the sullen smoke,
+    That seem'd weaving for us a winding sheet.
+
+  Sabine Pass! with its Irish hearts,
+    As true as the blessings the Shamrock brings,
+  Hearts as full of royal blood
+    As that which nerves the arms of kings.
+
+  Few, ah! few were the Davis band,
+    "We cannot conquer, but we can die!"
+  Said the dauntless Dowling, as up he sprang,
+    And nailed the starry cross on high.
+
+  Twenty-seven ships in pomp and pride,
+    Came sailing through the Pass that day;
+  Go ask of any Texan child,
+    How many ships survived the fray.
+
+  The God of battle, who loves the brave,
+    Who gave to Gideon of old the fight,
+  Sent victory down that "Guard" to save,
+    And crowned them with immortal light.
+
+  Dark storms have since o'erswept our land,
+    And tyrants do our souls harass,
+  But glory shines on Dowling's band,
+    The forty-two heroes of the Pass.
+
+  Come, fill your glass with Texas wine,
+    Wine that is generous, red and free,
+  And drink with me to the knightliest man,
+    Who conquered the foe on land and sea.
+
+  But tears, rough, manly tears, for the dead,
+    Like dews of night bedim the glass,
+  With throbbing hearts and lifted hands,
+    We name him--"Dowling! of the Pass."
+
+HOUSTON, TEXAS.
+
+
+
+
+SHORT RATIONS; OR, THE CORN-FED ARMY.
+
+
+  Fair ladies and maids of all ages,
+    Little girls and cadets howe'er youthful,
+  Home-guards, quartermasters and sages,
+    Who write for the newspapers so truthful!
+  Clerks, surgeons, and supes--legislators,
+    Staff officers, (fops of the Nation,)
+  And even you, dear speculators,
+    Come list to my song of starvation!
+
+  CHORUS.--For we soldiers have seen something rougher
+             Than a storm, a retreat, or a fight,
+           And the body may toil on, and suffer
+             With a smile, so the heart is all right!
+
+  Our bugles had roused up the camp,
+    The heavens looked dismal and dirty,
+  And the earth looked unpleasant and damp,
+    As a beau on the wrong side of thirty;
+  We were taking these troubles with quiet,
+    When we heard from the mouths of some rash ones,
+  That the army was all put on diet,
+    And the Board had diminish'd our rations!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Reduce our rations at all?
+    It was difficult, yet it was done--
+  We had one meal a day--it was small--
+    Are we now, Oh, ye gods! to have none?
+  Oh, ye gentlemen issuing rations,
+    Give at least half her own to the State,
+  Put a curb on your maddening passions,
+    And, commissaries--commiserate!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Tell me not of the Lacedaemonian,
+    Of his black broth and savage demeanor,
+  We keep up a fare less Plutonian,
+    Yet I'd swear our corn coffee is meaner!
+  Tell me nothing of ancients and strangers,
+    For, on seeing our Southern-bred Catos,
+  I have laugh'd at old Marion's Rangers,
+    Who feasted on roasted potatoes!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  Erewhile we had chicken and roasters,
+    For the fowls and pigs were ferocious,
+  We would send them to shoot Pater Nosters,
+    And the deed was not stamped as atrocious;
+  But since we have been shot for the same,
+    We parch corn--it is healthier, but tougher--
+  The chickens and pigs have got tame,
+    But the horses and mules have to suffer.
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+  But the "corn-fed" is proof to all evils,
+    Has a joke for all hardships and troubles,
+  In honor and glory he revels,
+    Other fancies he looks on as bubbles!
+  He is bound to be free, and he knows it,
+    Then what cares he for toil and privation!
+  He is brave, and in battle he shows it,
+    And will conquer in spite of starvation!
+                                          CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOLDIER'S FAREWELL.
+
+_Air--"Rosin the Bow."_
+
+
+  Hark! the tocsin is sounding, my comrades;
+    Bind your knapsacks--away let us go,
+  Where the flag of the freeman is waving--
+    March to vanquish the ruffian foe!
+
+  CHORUS.--Ho for Liberty! Freedom or death, boys,
+             That's the watchword, away let us go
+           To the sound of the drum and the bugle,
+             March to vanquish the ruffian foe![17]
+
+  Farewell to the scenes of my childhood,
+    To my mother, who's praying for me;
+  She would weep if the son of her bosom
+    From the face of a foeman should flee.
+
+  Farewell to the home and the hearthstone,
+    Where my sisters are weeping for me;
+  Oh; the foot of the spoilers shall never,
+    Stain the home of the brave and the free.
+
+  Adieu, thou beloved of my bosom!
+    For thy soldier-love shed not a tear;
+  But beseech the great Lord of the battle,
+    To protect him and all he holds dear.
+
+  Adieu, honored father! who taught me,
+    For the rights of a freeman to stand--
+  To resist, when his rod, the aggressor,
+    Shakes in wrath o'er my dear native land.
+
+  Oh, my country, thou home of my loved ones!
+    You, the tyrant would seek to enslave--
+  Sweep you off from the face of creation,
+    Wake, freemen, our country to save!
+
+  Hear the threats of that ruthless banditti,
+    Who for "booty" and "beauty" would fight;
+  Shall they sweep our loved South from creation?
+    No! her sons will arise in their might!
+
+  "Sweep the South from the face of the earth!" boys?
+    We can sweep, too, O land of our birth!
+  For our homes and our altars and dear ones,
+    We the ruffians can sweep from the earth.
+
+  Adieu to the church, where the Christian
+    For the soldier and Sabbath will pray;
+  But the Bible and chaplain go with us,
+    And Jehovah, our God, is our stay!
+
+  When the old British lion oppressed us,
+    He with Washington went to the field;
+  Unto Him we will look in the battle,
+    And will strike 'til the enemy yield!
+
+
+
+
+THE BATTLE OF SHILOH HILL.
+
+By M. B. SMITH, of Co. C., Second Regiment Texas Volunteers.
+
+_Air--"Wandering Sailor."_
+
+
+  Come, all ye valiant soldiers, and a story I will tell,
+  It is of a noted battle you all remember well;
+  It was an awful strife, and will cause your blood to chill,
+  It was the famous battle that was fought on Shiloh Hill!
+
+  It was the sixth of April, just at the break of day,
+  The drums and fifes were playing for us to march away;
+  The feeling of that hour I do remember still,
+  For the wounded and the dying that lay on Shiloh Hill.
+
+  About the hour of sunrise the battle it began,
+  And before the day had vanished we fought them hand to hand;
+  The horrors of the field did my heart with anguish fill,
+  For the wounded and the dying that lay on Shiloh Hill.
+
+  There were men of every nation laid on those rocky plains,
+  Fathers, sons and brothers were numbered with the slain,
+  That has caused so many homes with deep mourning to be filled,
+  All from the bloody battle that was fought on Shiloh Hill.
+
+  The wounded men were crying for help from everywhere,
+  While others, who were dying, were offering God their prayer:
+  "Protect my wife and children, if it is Thy holy will!"
+  Such were the prayers I heard that night on Shiloh Hill.
+
+  And early the next morning, we were called to arms again,
+  Unmindful of the wounded and unmindful of the slain,
+  The struggle was renewed, and ten thousand men were killed;
+  This was the second conflict of the famous Shiloh Hill.
+
+  The battle it raged on, though dead and dying men,
+  Lay thick all o'er the ground, on the hill and in the glen,
+  And from their deadly wounds their blood ran like a rill;
+  Such were the mournful sights that I saw on Shiloh Hill.
+
+  Before the day was ended the battle ceased to roar,
+  And thousands of brave soldiers had fall'n to rise no more;
+  They left their vacant ranks for some other ones to fill,
+  And now their mouldering bodies all lie on Shiloh Hill.
+
+  And now my song is ended about those bloody plains,
+  I hope the sight by mortal man may ne'er be seen again;
+  But I pray to God, the Saviour, "if consistent with Thy will,"
+  To save the souls of all who fell on bloody Shiloh Hill.
+
+
+
+
+STONEWALL'S REQUIEM.
+
+Permission of the OLIVER DITSON CO.
+
+Music by M. DEEVES.
+
+
+  The muffled drum is beating,
+    There's a sad and solemn tread,
+  Our banner's draped in mourning,
+    As it shrouds the "illustrious dead,"
+  Proud forms are bent with sorrow,
+    And all Southern hearts are sore,
+  The hero now is sleeping--
+    Noble Stonewall is no more.
+
+  'Mid the rattling of the muskets,
+    And the cannons' thund'rous roar,
+  He stained the field of glory,
+    With his brave life's precious gore;
+  And though our flag waved proudly,
+    We were victors ere sunset--
+  The gallant deeds of Chancellorsville,
+    Will mingle with regret.
+
+  They've borne him to an honored grave,
+    The laurel crowns his brow,
+  By hallowed James' silent wave
+    He's sweetly sleeping now;
+  Virginia to the South is dear,
+    She holds a sacred trust,
+  Our fallen braves from far and near,
+    Are covered with her dust.
+
+  She shrines the spot where now is laid,
+    The bravest of them all,
+  The Martyr of our country's cause,
+    Our idolized Stonewall;
+  But though his spirit's wafted
+    To the happy realms above;
+  His name shall live forever linked,
+    With reverence and love.
+
+
+
+
+LITTLE GIFFIN.
+
+By DR. FRANCIS O. TICKNOR.
+
+"A ballad of such unique and really transcendent merit, that in our
+judgment it ought to rank with the rarest gems of modern martial
+poetry."--P. H. HAYNE.
+
+
+  Out of the focal and foremost fire,
+  Out of the hospital walls as dire,
+  Smitten of grape-shot and gangrene,
+  (Eighteenth battle, and he sixteen!)
+  Specter such as we seldom see,
+  Little Giffin of Tennessee!
+
+  "Take him and welcome!" the surgeon said:
+  "Much your doctor can help the dead!"
+  And so we took him and brought him where,
+  The balm was sweet on the summer air;
+  And we laid him down on a wholesome bed--
+  Utter Lazarus, heel to head!
+
+  Weary War with the bated breath,
+  Skeleton boy against skeleton Death,
+  Months of torture, how many such!
+  Weary weeks of the stick and crutch!
+  Still a glint in the steel-blue eye,
+  Spoke of the spirit that wouldn't die.
+
+  And didn't! nay more! in death's despite,
+  The crippled skeleton learned to write!
+  "Dear mother," at first, of course, and then,
+  "Dear Captain" inquiring about the "men,"
+  Captain's answer--"Of eighty and five,
+  Giffin and I are left alive!"
+
+  "Johnston's pressed at the front, they say!"
+  Little Giffin was up and away.
+  A tear, his first, as he bade good-bye,
+  Dimmed the glint of his steel-blue eye;
+  "I'll write, if spared." There was news of a fight,
+  But none of Giffin! he did not write!
+
+  I sometimes fancy that were I a king
+  Of the princely knights of the Golden Ring,
+  With the song of the minstrel in mine ear,
+  And the tender legend that trembles here,
+  I'd give the best on his bended knee,
+  The whitest soul of my chivalry,
+  For little Giffin of Tennessee!
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: General J. E. B. Stuart.]
+
+
+STUART.
+
+By MRS. HENRY J. VOSE.
+
+Music by A. E. BLACKMAR.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  Oh! mother of States and of men,
+    Bend low thy queenly head,
+  On his shield is borne to thy arms again,
+    Thy youngest, fairest dead;
+  Drop tears like rain for that strong heart stilled,
+    For that dauntless spirit fled!
+
+  Sleep well, O stainless knight,
+    'Neath the folds of the starry cross,
+  For the day now breaks o'er the long, long night
+    Of our anguish, peril and loss;
+  But alas! for the eyes that smiled on death,
+    And the life that held life dross.
+
+  They say thine ancestral line,
+    Swayed the scepter, and wore the crown;
+  But none girded a nobler sword than thine,
+    Nor more stainless life laid down;
+  And we ask no gleam from their grand old past,
+    To brighten thy young renown.
+
+  On the field thy life was giv'n,
+    Where our best blood has been poured;
+  At the feet of our country's God, in heaven,
+    Thou hast laid another sword,
+  When Jackson's head was so lately bowed,
+    The tried soldier of the Lord.
+
+  Oh, swords of the South! like flame,
+    Leap forth for this life-blood shed,
+  Strike the foe till he flies from the field in shame,
+    Sheathe not till the hilt is red!
+  And redeem the land that enshrines in her heart,
+    The graves of her glorious dead!
+
+
+
+
+ONLY A SOLDIER.
+
+By MAJOR LAMAR FONTAINE.
+
+
+  "Only a soldier!" I heard them say,
+  With a heavy heart I turned away,
+        And heaved a sigh.
+  Then watched the tramp of the horses' feet,
+  As the hearse moved slowly down the street,
+        And hot tears dimmed my eye.
+
+  "Only a soldier!" confined in there--
+  A father's joy and a mother's care,
+        Torn from his home.
+  Now a maiden sighs for his return,
+  On his sister's cheek the teardrops burn,
+        For her soldier-brother's gone.
+
+  "Only a soldier!" I thought anew,
+  As fancy came, and I quickly drew
+        "The parting hour,"
+  That hour he left at his country's call,
+  To place himself as a living wall,
+        Where sterner men might cower.
+
+  In dreams he'd seen friends kneeling down
+  To raise his head from the battle-ground,
+        And thus he'd say:
+  "Tell my father that fighting I fell,
+  'Mid hammering shot and screaming shell,
+        When the South had won the day."
+
+  Alas! he never had dreamed of death,
+  But as borne on whistling bullets' breath,
+        'Mid muskets flashing;
+  And where the war-dogs howling loud,
+  Breathe with sulphur-smoke a battle cloud--
+        The shells with thunders crashing!
+
+  But a fevered cot is his battle-ground,
+  And slowly, calmly in death he's bound
+        To the "Far-off-Land."
+  No gentle sister's spirit is there,
+  E'en in stranger's form with tender care,
+        To bathe his dry burning hand.
+
+  The dark sod hides the form of the dead,
+  Dew-drops kiss no more that pale forehead,
+        Nor gleam on his hair.
+  Life's hope is gone! Life's sorrowing o'er,
+  His spirit is on the "echoless shore,"
+        Dwelling with angels up there.
+
+  Thus unwept, unmourned, he sank to rest,
+  E'en by human sympathy unblest,
+        To an unknown grave!
+  God, who notes e'en the sparrow's fall,
+  Shall, in the dread resurrection, call
+        To Heaven the soldier brave!
+
+
+
+
+WHEN THE BOYS COME HOME.
+
+
+  The boys are coming home again,
+    This war will soon be o'er,
+  The Southern land again will stand,
+    As happy as of yore;
+  Yes, hand in hand, and arm in arm,
+    Together we will roam,
+  Oh! won't we have a happy time,
+    When all the boys come home.
+
+  CHORUS.--We'll hoist the starry cross again,
+             On freedom's lofty dome;
+           And live in peace and happiness,
+             When all the boys come home.
+           We'll hoist the starry cross again,
+             On freedom's lofty dome;
+           And live in peace and happiness,
+             When all the boys come home.
+
+  We'll have no more false hopes and fears,
+    No more heartrending sighs--
+  The messengers of peace will dry
+    The weary mourner's eyes,
+  We'll laugh and sing, we'll dance and play,
+    Oh! wait until they come,
+  And joy will crown the happy day,
+    When all the boys come home.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  How proud our nation then will stand!
+    United evermore,
+  We'll bid defiance to the foe,
+    That dare approach our shore,
+  We'll hoist the starry cross again,
+    On freedom's lofty dome,
+  And live in peace and happiness,
+    When all the boys come home.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE DRUMMER BOY OF SHILOH.
+
+
+  On Shiloh's dark and bloody ground the dead and wounded lay,
+  Amongst them was a drummer boy that beat the drum that day;
+  A wounded soldier raised him up--his drum was by his side--
+  He clasped his hands, and raised his eyes, and prayed before he died.
+
+  "Look down upon the battlefield, O Thou our heavenly Friend,
+  Have mercy on our sinful souls"--the soldiers cried, "Amen!"
+  For gathered 'round, a little group, each brave man knelt and cried--
+  They listened to the drummer boy who prayed before he died.
+
+  "Oh, Mother," said the dying boy, "Look down from Heaven on me!
+  Receive me to thy fond embrace! Oh, take me home to thee!
+  I've loved my country as my God, to serve them both I've tried,"
+  He smiled, shook hands, death seized the boy who prayed before he died.
+
+  Each soldier wept then like a child--stout hearts were they and brave--
+  The Flag his winding-sheet! God's Book the key unto his grave;
+  They wrote upon a simple board these words, "This is a guide,
+  To those who mourn the drummer boy who prayed before he died."
+
+[Illustration: Alabama Volunteer Corps.]
+
+
+
+
+OLD STONEWALL.
+
+By C. D. DASHER.
+
+Music by F. YOUNKER.
+
+[The music of this Song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  Oh, don't you remember old Stonewall, my boys,
+    Old Stonewall on charger so gray,
+  Whose memory is dear to the sons of the South,
+    The heroes that once wore the gray.
+  He was true to the cause of the men that he led,
+    Heroic in death as in life,
+  From heaven above he smiles on the brave,
+    Who have ceased from mad carnage and strife--
+  From heaven above he smiles on the brave,
+    Who have ceased from mad carnage and strife.
+
+  The harvest waves over the battlefield, boys,
+    And where bullets once pattered like rain,
+  The peach blooms are drifting like snow in the air,
+    And the hillocks are springing in grain,
+  Oh! green in our hearts may the memories be,
+    Of those heroes, in blue or in grey,
+  As new growing grain, for never again,
+    Can they meet in dread battle array--
+  As new growing grain, for never again,
+    Can they meet in dread battle array.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTH;
+
+OR, I LOVE THEE THE MORE.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  My heart in its sadness turns fondly to thee,
+  Dear land where our lov'd ones fought hard to be free;
+  I loved thee when struggling, and bleeding and sore,
+  But now thou art conquered, I love thee the more!
+
+  Gallant South! when the noble, the gifted, the brave,
+  Dashed onward to battle, like wave after wave,
+  Determin'd to die for the land they adore,
+  Though vain were their efforts, I love thee the more.
+
+  Bright South! though the winter is closing around,
+  And dead leaves of autumn now carpet the ground,
+  Thy beauties of woodland, of river and shore,
+  Still charm the beholder, I love thee the more.
+
+  Dear South! though thy beautiful forests and hills,
+  Thy emerald valleys and silvery rills,
+  Are subject to strangers--not free as of yore--
+  Thus changed, and in sorrow, I love thee the more.
+
+  Sweet South! lovely land of beautiful flowers,
+  Though cool now the zephyrs, and faded thy bowers,
+  Oh, soon shall the springtime thy beauties restore,
+  And bloom o'er our lost ones--I love thee the more.
+
+  Darling South! when I think every forest and grove,
+  And valley have pillow'd the heads that we love,
+  Have echoed their war cry and drank of their gore,
+  I feel thou art sacred, and love thee the more.
+
+
+
+
+THE POOR SOLDIER!
+
+A Popular Camp-fire Song of the 62d Alabama Regiment (The Boy Regiment.)
+
+
+  Little do rich people know,
+  What we poor soldiers undergo--
+  Called upon to take up arms,
+  To guard our country from all harm.
+
+  Break of day--the morning gun,
+  Wakes the rebels--the fife and drum,
+  Breaks a soldier's sweet repose--
+  He tumbles out--puts on his clothes.
+
+  First sergeant rushes in and out:
+  "Hurrah! hurrah, boys! do turn out;"
+  Front and rear he forms his line--
+  His 'coutrements and sword must shine.
+
+  "Eyes right!--steady!" is the word;
+  Our captain then presents his sword--
+  The sergeant jerks out his roll--
+  Names are called--the absent told.
+
+  Our surgeon is a man of skill,
+  Gives the sick each day bread pills;
+  If his pills do not act well--
+  He swears and damns our souls to hell.
+
+  Would you know who wrote this song,
+  I will tell--it won't take long;
+  It was composed by A. T. Height,
+  While walking post one rainy night.
+
+
+
+
+THE BONNIE WHITE FLAG;
+
+OR, THE PRISONER'S INVOCATION TO PEACE.
+
+Col. W. S. HAWKINS.
+
+In _Camp Chase Ventilator_, 1864.
+
+_Air--"Bonnie Blue Flag."_
+
+
+  Though we're a band of prisoners,
+    Let each be firm and true,
+  For noble souls and hearts of oak,
+    The foe can ne'er subdue.
+  We then will turn us homeward,
+    To those we love so dear;
+  For peace and happiness, my boys,
+    Oh, give a hearty cheer!
+
+  CHORUS.--Hurrah! Hurrah! for peace
+             And home, hurrah!
+           Hurrah for the Bonnie White Flag,
+             That ends this cruel war!
+
+  The sword into the scabbard,
+    The musket on the wall,
+  The cannon from its blazing throat,
+    No more shall hurl the ball;
+  From wives and babes and sweethearts,
+    No longer will we roam,
+  For ev'ry gallant soldier boy,
+    Shall seek his cherished home.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  Our battle banners furled away,
+    No more shall greet the eye,
+  Nor beat of angry drums be heard,
+    Nor bugle's hostile cry.
+  The blade no more be raised aloft,
+    In conflict fierce and wild.
+  The bomb shall roll across the sward,
+    The plaything of a child.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  No pale-faced captive then shall stand,
+    Behind his rusted bars,
+  Nor from the prison window bleak,
+    Look sadly to the stars;
+  But out amid the woodland's green,
+    On bounding steed he'll be,
+  And proudly from his heart shall rise,
+    The anthem of the free.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+  The plow into the furrow then,
+    The fields shall wave with grain,
+  And smiling children to their schools,
+    All gladly go again.
+  The church invites its grateful throng,
+    And man's rude striving cease,
+  While all across our noble land,
+    Shall glow the light of Peace.
+                                    CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+BOMBARDMENT OF VICKSBURG.
+
+Dedicated with respect and admiration to Maj.-Gen. EARL VAN DORN.
+
+
+  For sixty days and upward a storm of shell and shot,
+  Rained 'round as in a flaming shower, but still we faltered not!
+  "If the noble city perish," our grand young leader said,
+  "Let the only walls the foe shall scale be ramparts of the dead!"
+
+  For sixty days and upward the eye of heaven waxed dim,
+  And even throughout God's holy morn, o'er Christian's prayer and hymn,
+  Arose a hissing tumult, as if the fiends of air,
+  Strove to engulf the voice of faith in shriekings of despair.
+
+  There was wailing in the houses, there was trembling on the marts,
+  While the tempest raged and thundered 'midst the silent thrill of hearts;
+  But the Lord, our shield, was with us--and ere a month had sped,
+  Our very women walked the streets, with scarce one throb of dread.
+
+  And the little children gambolled--their faces purely raised,
+  Just for a wondering moment as the huge bombs whirled and blazed!
+  Then turning with silv'ry laughter to the sports which children love,
+  Thrice mailed in the sweet instinctive thought that the good God watched
+      above.[18]
+
+  Yet the hailing bolts fell faster from scores of flame-clad ships,
+  And above us, denser, darker, grew the conflict's wide eclipse,
+  'Till a solid cloud closed o'er like a type of doom and ire,
+  Whence shot a thousand quiv'ring tongues of forked and vengeful fire.
+
+  But the unseen hands of angels, these death shafts warned aside,
+  And the dove of heavenly mercy, ruled o'er the battle tide;
+  In the houses ceased the wailing, and through the war-scarred marts,
+  The people strode with the step of hope to the music in their hearts.
+
+
+
+
+DEATH OF STONEWALL JACKSON.
+
+Music by C. BLAMPHIN.
+
+
+  On a bright May morn in 'Sixty-three,
+    And eager for the action,
+  On a battlefield for Liberty,
+    Stood gallant Stonewall Jackson.
+  Both flesh and blood alike the same,
+    They strove to gain each other's fame,
+  And long may hist'ry pen the name,
+    Of gallant Stonewall Jackson.
+
+  CHORUS.--Who was his soldiers' pride,
+             And for his country died,
+           On a bright May day in 'Sixty-three,
+             And ready for the action,
+           On a battlefield for Liberty
+             Stood gallant Stonewall Jackson.
+
+  A man more kind was never born,
+    In battle no one bolder;
+  His loss all noble hearts will mourn,
+    This gallant faithful soldier;
+  For when the word was duty,
+    He was first to fight for victory;
+  Oh! may he live in history,
+    The gallant Stonewall Jackson.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+  But alas! his time was come,
+    To see our promised land;
+  His comrade's fatal gun,
+    Shot through his arm and hand;
+  The Almighty's will was read,
+    Upon his noble brow;
+  "My race is run," he said.
+    Death has its victim now.
+                                      CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+THE SOUTHERN CAPTIVE.
+
+By CAPT. SAM HOUSTON.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  Softly comes the twilight stealing gently through my prison bars,
+  While from out the vault of heaven, faintly glimmering come the stars;
+  Well I know my mother's weeping for her long-lost wandering boy--
+  Does she know that still I'm living? even that would give her joy.
+
+  No, they tell her that I'm sleeping 'neath the turf on Shiloh's plain;
+  That she ne'er will see her wanderer--never on this earth again;
+  Oh, my poor heart sinks within me, as the months roll slowly by,
+  And it seems in this cold Northland a lone captive I must die!
+
+  Yes, far away from friends and kindred, without a hand to mark my grave--
+  And not upon a field of glory I'll sleep amid the Southern brave;
+  Mother! yes, your boy is dying! soon he'll pass through death's dark
+      wave,
+  And the wintry wind be sighing o'er a captive's lonely grave.
+
+
+
+
+THE VOLUNTEER; OR, IT IS MY COUNTRY'S CALL.
+
+By HARRY MCCARTHY.
+
+
+  I leave my home and thee, dear, with sorrow at my heart,
+  It is my country's call, dear, to aid her, I depart;
+  And on the blood-red battle plain, we'll conquer or we'll die;
+  'Tis for our honor and our name, we raise the battle-cry.
+
+  CHORUS.--Then weep not, dearest, weep not, if in the cause I fall;
+           Oh, weep not, dearest, weep not, it is my country's call.
+
+  And yet, my heart is sore, love, to see thee weeping thus;
+  But mark me, there's no fear, love, for in Heaven is our trust;
+  And if the heavy drooping tear swells in my mournful eye,
+  It is that Northmen of our land should cause the battle-cry.
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  Our rights have been usurp'd, dear, by Northmen of land;
+  Fanatics rais'd the cry, dear, politicians fired the brand;
+  The Southrons spurn the galling yoke, the tyrants' threats defy;
+  They find we've sons like sturdy oaks to raise the battle-cry.
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  I knew you'd let me go, pet, I saw it in that tear,
+  To join the gallant men, pet, who never yet knew fear;
+  With Beauregard and Davis, we'll gain our cause or die;
+  Win battles like Manassas, and raise the battle-cry.
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+DEAR MOTHER, I'VE COME HOME TO DIE.
+
+By E. BOWERS.
+
+Music by HENRY TUCKER.
+
+
+  Dear mother, I remember well
+    The parting kiss you gave me,
+  When merry rang the village bell--
+    My heart was full of joy and glee:
+  I did not dream that one short year,
+    Would crush the hopes that soared so high!
+  Oh, mother dear, draw near to me;
+    Dear mother, I've come home to die.
+
+  CHORUS.--Call sister, brother, to my side,
+             And take your soldier's last good-by.
+           Oh, mother dear, draw near to me;
+             Dear mother, I've come home to die.
+
+  Hark! Mother, 'tis the village bell,
+    I can no longer with thee stay;
+  My country calls to arms! to arms!
+    The foe advance in fierce array!
+  The vision's past--I feel that now,
+    For country I can only sigh.
+  Oh, mother dear, draw near to me:
+    Dear mother, I've come home to die.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+  Dear mother, sister, brother, all,
+    One parting kiss--to all good-by:
+  Weep not, but clasp your hand in mine,
+    And let me like a soldier die!
+  I've met the foe upon the field,
+    Where hosts contending scorned to fly;
+  I fought for right--God bless you all--
+    Dear mother, I've come home to die.
+                                        CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+POLK.
+
+By H. L. FLASH.
+
+
+  A flash from the edge of a hostile trench,
+    A puff of smoke, a roar,
+  Whose echo shall roll from Kennesaw hills,
+    To the farthermost Christian shore,
+  Proclaim to the world that the warrior-priest
+    Will battle for right no more.
+
+  And that for a cause which is sanctified,
+    By the blood of martyrs unknown--
+  A cause for which they gave their lives,
+    And for which he gave his own--
+  He kneels, a meek ambassador,
+    At the foot of the Father's throne.
+
+[Illustration: "A flash from the edge of a hostile trench."]
+
+  And up to the courts of another world,
+    That angels alone have trod,
+  He lives away from the din and strife
+    Of this blood-besprinkled sod--
+  Crowned with the amaranthine wreath,
+    That is worn by the blest of God.
+
+
+
+
+THE REBEL'S DREAM.
+
+By A. F. LEOVY.
+
+Music by CH. REISNER.
+
+Permission of A. E. BLACKMAR, New Orleans.
+
+
+  Softly in dreams of repose,
+    A vision so pure and so sweet,
+  Shines on a soldier's sad soul,
+    While his flag lies so low at his feet;
+  Softly an angel is seen,
+    Who saddens the spot with a sigh,
+  Swiftly the banner is raised,
+    And borne to bright realms in the sky.
+
+  Soft music from heavenly choirs,
+    Resounds from that paradise shore.
+  Oh! how sweet to the dreamer's light heart,
+    He sees his brave comrades once more.
+  His banner now floats o'er the blest,
+    And shimmers in heaven's pure air;
+  A voice from its folds is now heard,
+    Jackson prays for the flag that is there.
+
+  The soldier awakes from his dream.
+    Oh! that his sorrows were past,
+  Beyond the bright stars and the sky,
+    There's a home for the weary at last,
+  The gleam of some paradise joys,
+    Will greet him in heaven's pure air,
+  O the heroes who perished for right,
+    How sweet to rejoin them all there!
+
+
+
+
+PRO MEMORA.
+
+By INA M. PORTER, of Alabama.
+
+_Air--"There is Rest for the Weary."_
+
+
+  Lo! the Southland queen emerging,
+    From her sad and wintry gloom,
+  Robes her torn and bleeding bosom,
+    In her richest Orient bloom.
+
+    CHORUS.--(_Repeat first line three times._)
+             For her weary sons are resting
+               By the Eden shore;
+             They have won the crown immortal,
+               And the cross of death is o'er!
+             When the oriflamme is burning,
+               On the starlit Eden shore.
+
+  Brightly still in gorgeous glory,
+    God's great jewel lights the sky;
+  Look! Upon the heart's white dial,
+    There's a shadow flitting by.
+
+    CHORUS.--But the weary feet are resting, etc.
+
+  Homes are dark and hearts are weary,
+    Souls are numb with hopeless pain;
+  For the footfall on the threshold
+    Never more to sound again!
+
+    CHORUS.--They have gone from us forever,
+               Aye, for evermore!
+             We must win the crown immortal,
+               Follow where they led before,
+             Where the oriflamme is burning,
+               On the starlit Eden shore.
+
+  Proudly, as our Southern forests,
+    Meet the winter's shafts so keen;
+  Time-defying memories cluster,
+    Round our hearts in living green.
+
+    CHORUS.--They have gone from us forever, etc.
+
+  May our faltering voices mingle,
+    In the angel-chanted psalm;
+  May our earthly chaplets linger,
+    By the bright celestial palm.
+
+    CHORUS.--They have gone from us forever, etc.
+
+  Crest to crest they bore our banner,
+    Side by side they fell asleep;
+  Hand in hand we scatter flowers,
+    Heart to heart we kneel and weep.
+
+    CHORUS.--They have gone from us forever, etc.
+
+  When the May eternal dawneth
+    At the living God's behest,
+  We will quaff divine Nepenthe,
+    We shall share the soldier's rest.
+
+    CHORUS.--Where the weary feet are resting, etc.
+
+  Where the shadows are uplifted,
+    'Neath the never-waning sun,
+  Shout we Gloria in Excelsis!
+    We have lost, but ye have won!
+
+    CHORUS.--Our hearts are yours forever,
+               Aye, for evermore!
+             Ye have won the crown immortal,
+               And the cross of death is o'er,
+             When the oriflamme is burning
+               On the starlit Eden shore!
+
+
+
+
+WEARIN' OF THE GRAY.
+
+By TAR HEEL.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  Oh! Johnny, dear, and did you hear the news that's lately spread,
+  That never more the Southern cross must rear its stately head;
+  The "white and red's" forbid by law, so Northmen proudly say,
+  Nor you nor I can e'er again be "Wearin' of the Gray!"
+  And when we meet with strangers kind, who take us by the hand,
+  Inquiring warmly of the South, our own beloved land,
+  We're bound to tell the woeful truth, let cost whate'er it may,
+  That some are threatened e'en with death, for "Wearin' of the Gray!"
+
+  Then since the color we must wear is of the hateful blue,
+  The children of the sunny South must be to mem'ry true;
+  Ah! take the cockade from their hats and tread it 'neath the feet,
+  And still tho' bruis'd and mangled sad, 'twill speak a language sweet;
+  And buried in our heart of hearts the precious words lie hid,
+  Where oft they call the bitter tears to wet the drooping lid;
+  But let them flow, they do us good thro' all the mournful day,
+  While constant we do call to mind the "Wearin' of the Gray!"
+
+  And if at last our father's law be torn from Southland's heart,
+  Her sons will take their household gods and far away depart;
+  Rememb'ring still the whisper'd word, to weary wand'rers giv'n,
+  That justice pure, and perfect rest, are found alone in heav'n.
+  Then on some green and distant isle beneath the setting sun,
+  We'll patient wait the coming time when life and earth are done,
+  Nor even in the dying hour, while passing calm away,
+  Can we forget or e'er regret the "Wearin' of the Gray!"
+
+[Illustration: South Carolina Button.]
+
+
+
+
+THE FADED GRAY JACKET.
+
+By MRS. C. A. BALL.
+
+Music by CHARLIE WARD.
+
+Permission of the W. S. SHAW CO., Philadelphia.
+
+
+  Fold it up carefully, lay it aside,
+  Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride;
+  For dear must it be to our hearts evermore,
+  The jacket of gray our loved soldier boy wore.
+  Can we ever forget when he joined the brave band,
+  Who rose in defense of our dear Southern land;
+  And in his bright youth hurried on to the fray,
+  How proudly he donned it, the jacket of gray?
+
+  CHORUS.--Fold it up carefully, lay it aside,
+           Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride;
+           For dear it must be to our hearts evermore,
+           The jacket of gray our loved soldier boy wore.
+
+  His fond mother blessed him and looked up above,
+  Commending to Heaven the child of her love;
+  What anguish was hers, mortal tongue may not say,
+  When he passed from her sight in the jacket of gray.
+  But her country had called him, she would not repine,
+  Though costly the sacrifice placed on its shrine;
+  Her heart's dearest hopes on its altar she lay,
+  When she sent out her boy, in his jacket of gray!
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  Months passed, and war's thunders rolled over the land,
+  Unsheathed was the sword and lighted the brand;
+  We heard in the distance the noise of the fray,
+  And prayed for our boy in the jacket of gray.
+  Ah! vain all--all vain were our prayers and our tears
+  The glad shout of victory rang in our ears;
+  But our treasured one on the cold battle-field lay,
+  While the life blood oozed out on the jacket of gray.
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  His young comrades found him and tenderly bore
+  His cold, lifeless form to his home by the shore;
+  Oh! dark were our hearts on that terrible day,
+  When we saw our dead boy in the jacket of gray.
+  Ah! spotted, and tattered, and stained now with gore,
+  Was the garment which once he so gracefully wore;
+  We bitterly wept as we took it away,
+  And replaced with death's white robes, the jacket of gray.
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+  We laid him to rest in his cold, narrow bed,
+  And graved on the marble, we placed o'er his head,
+  As the proudest of tributes our sad hearts could pay,
+  "He never disgraced the dear jacket of gray."
+  Then fold it up carefully, lay it aside,
+  Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride;
+  For dear must it be to our hearts evermore,
+  The jacket of gray our loved soldier boy wore.
+                                            CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+I'M A GOOD OLD REBEL.
+
+By J. R. T.
+
+[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass.]
+
+
+  O, I'm a good old rebel,
+    Now that's just what I am,
+  For this "Fair Land of Freedom"
+    I do not care a damn;
+  I'm glad I fit against it,
+    I only wish we'd won,
+  And I don't want no pardon
+    For anything I done.
+
+  I hates the Constitution,
+    This great Republic too,
+  I hates the Freedman's Buro,
+    In uniform of blue;
+  I hates the nasty eagle,
+    With all his bragg and fuss,
+  The lyin', thievin' Yankees,
+    I hates them wuss and wuss.
+
+  I hates the Yankee nation
+    And everything they do,
+  I hates the Declaration
+    Of Independence, too;
+  I hates the glorious Union--
+    'Tis dripping with our blood--
+  I hates their striped banner,
+    I fit it all I could.
+
+[Illustration: "I'm a good old rebel."]
+
+  Three hundred thousand Yankees
+    Is stiff in Southern dust;
+  We got three hundred thousand
+    Before they conquered us;
+  They died of Southern fever,
+    And Southern steel and shot,
+  I wish they was three million,
+    Instead of what we got.
+
+  I followed old mas' Robert
+    For four year near about,
+  Got wounded in three places,
+    And starved at Pint Lookout;
+  I cotched the roomatism,
+    A campin' in the snow,
+  But I killed a chance o' Yankees,
+    I'd like to kill some mo'.
+
+  I can't take up my musket
+    And fight 'em now no more,
+  But I ain't a-going to love 'em,
+    Now that is sartin' sure;
+  And I don't want no pardon,
+    For what I was and am,
+  I won't be reconstructed,
+    And I don't care a damn.
+
+
+
+
+TRUE TO THE GRAY.
+
+By PEARL RIVERS.
+
+
+  I cannot listen to your words, the land is long and wide;
+  Go seek some happy Northern girl to be your loving bride;
+  My brothers they were soldiers--the youngest of the three
+  Was slain while fighting by the side of gallant Fitzhugh Lee!
+
+  They left his body on the field (your side the day had won),
+  A soldier spurned him with his foot--you might have been the one;
+  My lover was a soldier--he belonged to Gordon's band;
+  A sabre pierced his gallant heart--your's might have been the hand.
+
+  He reel'd and fell, but was not dead, a horseman spurr'd his steed
+  And trampled on the dying brain--you may have done the deed;
+  I hold no hatred in my heart, no cold, unrighteous pride,
+  For many a gallant soldier fought upon the other side.
+
+  But still I cannot kiss the hand that smote my country sore,
+  Nor love the foes that trampled down the colors that she bore;
+  Between my heart and yours there rolls a deep and crimson tide--
+  My brother's and my lover's blood forbid me be your bride.
+
+  The girls who lov'd the boys in gray--the girls to country true,
+  May ne'er in wedlock give their hands to those who wore the blue.
+
+
+
+
+WE KNOW THAT WE WERE REBELS; OR, WHY CAN WE NOT BE BROTHERS?
+
+By CLARENCE PRENTICE.
+
+
+  Why can we not be brothers? the battle now is o'er;
+  We've laid our bruised arms on the field to take them up no more;
+  We who have fought you hard and long, now overpower'd, stand
+  As poor, defenseless prisoners in our own native land.
+
+  CHORUS.--We know that we were rebels,
+             And we don't deny the name,
+           We speak of that which we have done
+             With grief, but not with shame!
+
+  But we have rights most sacred, by solemn compact bound,
+  Seal'd by the blood that freely gush'd from many a ghastly wound;
+  When Lee gave up his trusty sword, and his men laid down their arms,
+  It was that they should live at home, secure from war's dire harms.
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  And surely, since we're now disarm'd, we are not to be dreaded;
+  Our old chiefs, who on many fields our trusty columns headed,
+  Are fast within an iron grasp, and manacled with chains,
+  Perchance, 'twixt dreary walls to stay as long as life remains!
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  O shame upon the coward band who, in the conflict dire,
+  Went not to battle for their cause, 'mid the ranks of steel and fire,
+  Yet now, since all the fighting's done, are hourly heard to cry:
+  "Down with the traitors! hang them all! each rebel dog shall die!"
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+  We know that we were rebels, we don't deny the name,
+  We speak of that which we have done with grief, but not with shame!
+  And we never will acknowledge that the blood the South has spilt,
+  Was shed defending what we deemed a cause of wrong and guilt.
+                                                CHORUS.
+
+
+
+
+WEARING OF THE GRAY.
+
+
+  Our cannons' mouths are dumb. No more our volleyed muskets peal,
+  Nor gleams, to mark where squadrons rush, the light from flashing steel;
+  No more our crossed and starry flags in gentle dalliance play
+  With battle breeze, as when we fought, a wearing of the gray.
+
+  Our cause is lost! No more we fight 'gainst overwhelming power;
+  All wearied are our limbs, and drenched with many a battle shower;
+  We fain would rest! For want of strength we yield them up the day,
+  And lower the flag so proudly borne while wearing of the gray.
+
+  Defeat is not dishonor! No! Of honor not bereft,
+  We should thank God that in our breasts this priceless boon is left;
+  And though we weep 'tis for those braves who stood in proud array
+  Beneath our flag, and nobly died while wearing of the gray.
+
+  When in the ranks of war we stood, and faced the deadly hail,
+  Our simple suits of gray composed our only coats of mail;
+  And of those awful hours that marked the bloody battle day,
+  In memory we'll still be seen a wearing of the gray.
+
+  O, should we reach that glorious place where waits the sparkling crown,
+  For every one who for the right his soldier life lay down,
+  God grant to us the privilege, upon that happy day,
+  Of clasping hands with those who fell a wearing of the gray.
+
+
+
+
+THE SWORD OF ROBERT LEE.
+
+Words by MOINA.
+
+Music by ARMAND.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  Forth from its scabbard, pure and bright,
+    Flashed the sword of Lee!
+  Far in the front of the deadly fight,
+  High o'er the brave, in the cause of right
+  It's stainless sheen, like a beacon light,
+    Led us to victory.
+
+  Out of its scabbard, when full long
+    It slumbered peacefully--
+  Roused from its rest by the battle song,
+  Shielding the feeble, smiting the strong,
+  Guarding the right, and avenging the wrong--
+    Gleamed the sword of Lee!
+
+  Forth from its scabbard, high in air,
+    Beneath Virginia's sky--
+  And they who saw it gleaming there,
+  And knew who bore it, knelt to swear,
+  That where that sword led they would dare
+    To follow and to die.
+
+  Out of its scabbard! Never hand
+    Waved sword from stain as free,
+  Nor purer sword led braver band,
+  Nor braver bled for a brighter land,
+  Nor brighter land had a cause as grand,
+    Nor cause a chief like Lee!
+
+  Forth from its scabbard! How we prayed,
+    That sword might victor be!
+  And when our triumph was delayed,
+  And many a heart grew sore afraid,
+  We still hoped on, while gleamed the blade
+    Of noble Robert Lee!
+
+  Forth from its scabbard! All in vain!
+    Forth flashed the sword of Lee!
+  'Tis shrouded now in its sheath again,
+  It sleeps the sleep of our noble slain,
+  Defeated, yet without a stain,
+    Proudly and peacefully.
+
+
+
+
+OFF WITH YOUR GRAY SUITS, BOYS!
+
+By LIEUT. FALLIGANT, Savannah, Ga.
+
+
+  Off with gray suits, boys!
+    Off with your rebel gear!
+  It smacks too much of the cannon's peal,
+  The lightning flash of your deadly steel,
+    And fills our hearts with fear.
+
+  The color is like the smoke,
+    That curled o'er your battle line;
+  It calls to mind the yell that woke,
+  When the dastard columns before you broke,
+    And their dead wore your fatal sign!
+
+  Off with your starry wreaths,
+    Ye who have led our van!
+  For you 'twas the pledge of a glorious death,
+  As we followed you over the glorious heath,
+    When we whipped them man to man!
+
+  Down with the cross and stars!
+    Too long has it waved on high;
+  'Tis covered all over with battle scars,
+  But its gleam the hated banner mars--
+    'Tis time to lay it by.
+
+  Down with the vows we had made!
+    Down with each memory!
+  Down with the thoughts of our noble dead!
+  Down, down to the dust where their forms are laid,
+    And down with liberty!
+
+
+
+
+THE CONFEDERATE NOTE.[19]
+
+By S. A. JONAS.
+
+
+  Representing nothing on God's earth now,
+    And naught in the water below it,
+  As a pledge of a nation that's dead and gone,
+    Keep it, dear Captain, and show it.
+  Show it to those that will lend an ear
+    To the tale this paper can tell,
+  Of liberty born, of the patriot's dream,
+    Of a storm-cradled nation that fell.
+
+  Too poor to possess the precious ore,
+    And too much a stranger to borrow,
+  We issue to-day our "promise to pay,"
+    And hope to redeem on the morrow.
+  Days rolled by, and weeks became years,
+    But our coffers were empty still;
+  Coin was so rare that the treasurer quakes,
+    If a dollar should drop in the till.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  But the faith that was in us was strong indeed,
+    And our poverty well we discerned,
+  And these little checks represented the pay
+    That our suffering veterans earned.
+  We knew it had hardly a value in gold,
+    Yet as gold the soldiers received it;
+  It gazed in our eyes with a promise to pay,
+    And each patriot soldier believed it.
+
+  But our boys thought little of price or pay,
+    Or of bills that were over-due;
+  We knew if it bought our bread to-day,
+    'Twas the best our country could do.
+  Keep it! it tells all our history over,
+    From the birth of the dream to its last;
+  Modest, and born of the angel Hope,
+    Like our hope of success it passed.
+
+
+
+
+THE CONQUERED BANNER.
+
+By the Rev. J. A. RYAN, Catholic Priest of Knoxville, Diocese of
+Nashville, Tenn.
+
+Music by A. E. BLACKMAR.
+
+[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
+Mass., owners of the copyright.]
+
+
+  Furl that banner, for 'tis weary;
+  Round its staff 'tis drooping dreary;
+    Furl it, fold it, it is best;
+  For there's not a man to wave it,
+  And there's not a sword to save it,
+  And there's not one left to lave it
+  In the blood which heroes gave it;
+  And its foes now scorn and brave it,--
+    Furl it, hide it, let it rest.
+
+  Take that banner down--'tis tattered,
+  Broken is its staff and shattered,
+  And the valiant hosts are scattered
+    Over whom it floated high.
+  Oh! 'tis hard for us to fold it,
+  Hard to think there's none to hold it,
+  Hard that those who once unrolled it
+    Now must furl it with a sigh.
+
+  Furl that banner, furl it sadly--
+  Once ten thousands hailed it gladly,
+  And ten thousands wildly, madly,
+    Swore it should forever wave,
+  Swore that foeman's sword could never
+  Hearts like their's entwined dissever,
+  'Till that flag would float forever
+    O'er their freedom or their grave.
+
+  Furl it! for the hands that grasped it,
+  And the hearts that fondly clasped it,
+    Cold and dead are lying low;
+  And the banner, it is trailing
+  While around it sounds the wailing
+    Of its people in their woe.
+  For, though conquered, they adore it,
+  Love the cold, dead hands that bore it,
+  Weep for those who fell before it,
+  Pardon those who trailed and tore it,
+  And oh! wildly they deplore it,
+    Now to furl and fold it so.
+
+  Furl that banner! true 'tis gory,
+  Yet 'tis wreathed around with glory,
+  And 'twill live in song and story,
+    Though its folds are in the dust;
+  For its fame on brightest pages,
+  Penned by poets and by sages,
+  Shall go sounding down the ages,
+    Furl its folds though now we must.
+
+  Furl that banner! softly, slowly,
+  Treat it gently--it is holy--
+    For it droops above the dead;
+  Touch it not, unfold it never;
+  Let it droop there, furled forever,
+    For its people's hopes are dead.
+
+
+
+
+FOLD IT UP CAREFULLY.
+
+A Reply to "The Conquered Banner," by SIR HENRY HOUGHTON, BART., of
+England.
+
+
+  Gallant nation, foiled by numbers,
+    Say not that your hopes are fled;
+  Keep that glorious flag which slumbers,
+    One day to avenge your dead.
+
+  Keep it, widowed, sonless mothers,
+  Keep it, sisters, mourning brothers,
+  Furl it with an iron will;
+  Furl it now, but--keep it still,
+    Think not that its work is done.
+
+  Keep it 'till your children take it,
+  Once again to hail and make it
+  All their sires have bled and fought for,
+  All their noble hearts have sought for,
+    Bled and fought for all alone.
+  All alone! aye, shame the story.
+    Millions here deplore the stain,
+  Shame, alas! for England's glory,
+    Freedom called, and called in vain.
+
+  Furl that banner, sadly, slowly,
+  Treat it gently, for 'tis holy:
+  'Till that day--yes, furl it sadly,
+  Then once more unfurl it gladly--
+    Conquered banner--keep it still!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+INDEX.
+
+
+
+
+_INDEX TO TITLES._
+
+
+  A Confederate Officer to his Lady Love, 42
+
+  Address of the Women to the Southern Troops, 24
+
+  Alabama, 170
+
+  Allons Enfans, 4
+
+  All Quiet along the Potomac to-night, 62
+
+  An Old Texan's Appeal, 174
+
+  A North Carolina Call to Arms, 237
+
+  Another Yankee Doodle, 15
+
+  Arise! ye Sons of Free-Born Sires!, 175
+
+  A Southern Song, 41, 99
+
+  A Southern Woman's Song, 222
+
+  At Fort Pillow, 137
+
+  Awake! To arms in Texas, 166
+
+
+  Banks' Skedaddle, 164
+
+  Battle of the Mississippi, 102
+
+  Battle Song, 240
+
+  Battle Song of the Invaded, 57
+
+  Baylor's Partisan Rangers, 178
+
+  Bayou City Guards' Dixie, 143
+
+  Bayou City Guards' Song, 131
+
+  Bombardment and Battle of Galveston, 191
+
+  Bombardment of Vicksburg, 343
+
+  Boys! Keep Your Powder Dry, 130
+
+  Bull Run, 38
+
+  By the Banks of Red River, 300
+
+
+  Call All! Call All!, 14
+
+  Campaign Ballad, 155
+
+  Camp Douglas by the Lake, 306
+
+  Cannon Song, 77
+
+  Carolina, 124
+
+  Chivalrous C. S. A., 78
+
+  Confederate Land, 48
+
+  Confederate Song, 94
+
+
+  Dear Mother, I've Come Home to Die, 349
+
+  Death of Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston, 187
+
+  Death of Stonewall Jackson, 345
+
+  De Cotton Down in Dixie, 145
+
+  Dixie, 238
+
+  Dixie's Land, 36
+
+  Do they Miss Me in the Trenches, 129
+
+  Dutch Volunteer, 10
+
+  Duty and Defiance, 141
+
+
+  Elegy on the Death of Lieut.-Col. Ch. B. Dreux, 37
+
+
+  Flight of Doodles, 66
+
+  Fold it up Carefully, 375
+
+  For Bales, 112
+
+  Freedom's New Banner, 30
+
+
+  Gathering Song, 40
+
+  Gay and Happy, 177
+
+  General Lee at the Battle of the Wilderness, 224
+
+  General Tom Green, 194
+
+  God Bless our Southern Land, 188
+
+  God Save the South, 1
+
+  God Will Defend the Right, 264
+
+  Goober Peas, 74
+
+
+  Hard Times, 196
+
+  Here's Your Mule, 319
+
+  Hood's Old Brigade, 207
+
+  Hood's Texas Brigade, 228
+
+  Hurrah!, 39
+
+
+  I'm a Good Old Rebel, 260
+
+  I'm Thinking of the Soldier, 182
+
+  Imogen, 172
+
+  Independence Day, 65
+
+  In Memoriam, 311
+
+  I Remember the Hour When Sadly We Parted, 291
+
+  I Wish I was in Dixie's Land, 153
+
+
+  Jackson's Resignation, 232
+
+
+  Knitting for the Soldiers, 52
+
+
+  Ladies, To the Hospital, 116
+
+  Land of King Cotton, 68
+
+  Land of the South, 115
+
+  Lee at the Wilderness, 95
+
+  Little Giffin, 329
+
+
+  Missouri, 308
+
+  Morgans War Song, 110, 244
+
+  Mother! Is the Battle Over?, 236
+
+  My Heart's in Mississippi, 211
+
+  My Maryland, 276
+
+  My Noble Warrior Come!, 226
+
+  My Warrior Boy, 256
+
+
+  National Hymn, 247
+
+  New Red, White and Blue, 60
+
+  North Carolina's War Song, 80
+
+  No Surrender, 221
+
+
+  Off with your Gray Suits, Boys!, 369
+
+  Oh, No! He'll not Need Them Again, 309
+
+  O, Johnny Bull, My Jo, John, 109
+
+  Old Stonewall, 338
+
+  Only a Soldier, 333
+
+  On to Glory, 199
+
+  Our Braves in Virginia, 56
+
+  Our Country's Call, 76
+
+  Our Flag; or, the Origin of the Stars and Bars, 292
+
+  Our Glorious Flag, 159
+
+  Over the River, 241, 249
+
+
+  Patriotic Song, 55
+
+  Polk, 350
+
+  Pop goes the Weasel, 27
+
+  Pray, Maiden, Pray, 284
+
+  Private Maguire, 250
+
+  Pro Memora, 353
+
+
+  Rallying Song of the Virginians, 26
+
+  Reading the List, 86
+
+  Rebel is a Sacred Name, 71
+
+  Rebel Toasts; or, Drink it Down, 279
+
+  Richmond is a Hard Road to Travel, 268
+
+  Richmond on the James, 266
+
+  Riding a Raid, 315
+
+
+  Sabine Pass, 320
+
+  Short Rations; or The Corn-fed Army, 322
+
+  Soldier, I Stay to Pray for Thee, 150
+
+  Song, 262
+
+  Song for the South, 103
+
+  Song of Hooker's Picket, 218
+
+  Song of the Exile, 245
+
+  Song of the Privateer, 227
+
+  Song of the Snow, 59
+
+  Song of the South, 114
+
+  Song of the Southern Soldier, 104
+
+  Song of the Texas Rangers, 287
+
+  Southern Battle Song, 189
+
+  Southern Cross, 6
+
+  Southern Gathering Song, 46
+
+  Southern Marseillaise, 45
+
+  Southern Soldier Boy, 69
+
+  Southern Song, 252
+
+  Southern Song of Freedom, 12
+
+  Southern War Cry, 35
+
+  Southron's War Song, 51
+
+  Southron's Chant of Defiance, the, 8
+
+  Star of the West, the, 7
+
+  Stonewall Jackson, 251
+
+  Stonewall Jackson's Way, 200
+
+  Stonewall's Requiem, 328
+
+  Stuart, 331
+
+  Sweethearts and the War, 230
+
+
+  That Bugler, 22
+
+  The Band in the Pines, 255
+
+  The Banner Song, 83
+
+  The Bars and Stars, 88
+
+  The Battle of Galveston, 185
+
+  The Battle of Shiloh Hill, 326
+
+  The Battle Song of the South, 210
+
+  The Beloved Memory of Major-General Tom Green, 203
+
+  The Black Flag, 163
+
+  The Bonnie Blue Flag, 31
+
+  The Bonnie White Flag, 341
+
+  The Capture of Seventeen of Company H, 4th Texas Cavalry, 168
+
+  The Cavalier's Glee, 261
+
+  The Confederate Note, 370
+
+  The Confederate Oath, 142
+
+  The Contraband, 216
+
+  The Conquered Banner, 373
+
+  The Cotton Burner's Song, 214
+
+  The Countersign, 133
+
+  The Darlings at Home, 134
+
+  The Drummer Boy of Shiloh, 336
+
+  The Dying Soldier Boy, 106
+
+  The Faded Gray Jacket, 358
+
+  The Flag of the Southland, 198
+
+  The Funeral of Albert Sidney Johnston, 212
+
+  The Gallant Girl that Smote the Dastard Tory, Oh!, 281
+
+  The Homespun Dress, 81
+
+  The Horse Marines at Galveston, 180
+
+  The Hour Before Execution, 160
+
+  The Man of the Twelfth of May, 242
+
+  The Mother's Farewell, 28
+
+  The Navasota Volunteers, 294
+
+  The Officer's Funeral, 289
+
+  The Officers of Dixie, 301
+
+  The Poor Soldier, 340
+
+  The Rebel Band, 258
+
+  The Rebel's Dream, 352
+
+  The Sentinel's Dream of Home, 303
+
+  The Soldier's Amen, 318
+
+  The Soldier's Death, 290
+
+  The Soldier's Dream, 297
+
+  The Soldier's Farewell, 324
+
+  The Soldier's Mission, 149
+
+  The Soldier's Suit of Gray, 285
+
+  The South, 339
+
+  The Southern Banner, 108
+
+  The Southern Captive, 346
+
+  The Southern Flag, 91
+
+  The Southern Soldier Boy, 260
+
+  The South for Me, 123
+
+  The South our Country, 152
+
+  The Southron's Watchword, 272
+
+  The Stars and the Bars, 93
+
+  The Sword of Robert Lee, 367
+
+  The Texan Marseillaise, 100
+
+  The Toast of Morgan's Men, 317
+
+  The Volunteer, 85
+
+  The Volunteer; or, It is my Country's Call, 347
+
+  The Young Volunteer, 73
+
+  There's Life in the Old Land yet, 273
+
+  Three Cheers for our Jack Morgan, 282
+
+  To the Davis Guard, 120
+
+  True Heart Southrons, 317
+
+  True to the Gray, 363
+
+
+  Vicksburg Song, 126
+
+
+  War Song, 61, 90, 122
+
+  Wearin' of the Gray, 356
+
+  Wearing of the Gray, 366
+
+  We Conquer or Die, 263
+
+  We Know That We Were Rebels; or Why Can We Not Be Brothers, 364
+
+  We Left Him on the Field, 234
+
+  We'll Be Free in Maryland, 49
+
+  We Swear, 29
+
+  When the Boys Come Home, 334
+
+  Would'st Thou Have me Love Thee, 20
+
+
+  Yankee Vandals, 314
+
+  "Ye Men of Alabama,", 17
+
+  You are Going to the Wars, Willie, Boy!, 275
+
+
+  1776-1861, 19
+
+
+
+
+_INDEX TO AUTHORS._
+
+
+  Alexander, (Capt.) G. W., 69
+
+
+  Ball, (Mrs.) C. A., 358
+
+  Barnes, (Mrs.) Wm., 194
+
+  Bigney, M. F., 272
+
+  Blackford, Capt., 261
+
+  Blackmar, A. E., 4
+
+  Bowers, E., 349
+
+  Brown, Reuben E., 174
+
+
+  Caplen, (Mrs.) L. E., 185
+
+  Carnes, (Rev.) J. E., 155
+
+  Cave, (Major) E. W., 198
+
+  Collins, P. E., 210
+
+  Cooke, John Esten, 255
+
+  Cross, (Mrs.) J. T. H., 24
+
+  Cummins, Alex. A., 227
+
+  Cunningham, A. B., 106, 290
+
+  Cunningham, (Lieut.) W. P., 120
+
+
+  Dasher, C. D., 338
+
+  Duke, (Gen.) Basil, 110
+
+
+  Emmett, Dan. D., 153
+
+  Ezzell, S. R., 191
+
+
+  Falligant, Lieut., 369
+
+  Falligant, Robert, 242
+
+  Flash, H. L., 350
+
+  Fontaine, (Major) Lamar, 62, 333
+
+  Forshey, (Col.) C. G., 134
+
+  French, L. Virginia, 46
+
+
+  Grason, (Miss) Maria, 41
+
+  Griswold, (Capt.) E., 247
+
+
+  Haines, James, 100
+
+  Hawkins (Col.), W. S., 108, 341
+
+  Hayne, Paul H., 163
+
+  Haynes, W. A., 88
+
+  Hewitt, John H., 275
+
+  Hewett, John M., 73
+
+  Hobby, (Capt.) Edwin, 203
+
+  Hobby, (Col.) A. M., 303
+
+  Holtz, R. E., 49
+
+  Houghton, (Bart.) Sir Henry, 375
+
+  Houston, (Capt.) Sam, 346
+
+
+  Jones, (Miss) Maria E., 160, 234, 249
+
+
+  Ketchum, Annie C., 40
+
+  Kercheval, A. W., 284
+
+  Kidd, E. E., 300
+
+  Knight, A. G., 22
+
+
+  Leonard, A. F., 115
+
+  Leovy, A. F., 352
+
+  Lorrimer, Laura, 170
+
+
+  Magruder, (Maj-Gen.) J. B., 172
+
+  Marshall, Jas. B., 83
+
+  McCarthy, Harry, 31, 292, 308, 347
+
+  McKnight, Major ("Asa Hartz"), 42
+
+  Meek, Alex. B., 20
+
+  Miles, Geo. H., 1
+
+  Milror, George B., 187
+
+  Moore, (Miss) Mollie E., 95, 207, 311
+
+  Morris, A. E., 175
+
+  Morse, A. W., 149
+
+
+  Neeby, Anna Marie, 266
+
+  Neely, Wm., 294
+
+  Norfolk, Virginia, 241
+
+
+  Paine, (Dr.) John W., 55
+
+  Pender, A., 74
+
+  Phelan, John D., 17
+
+  Pierpont, Jas., 263
+
+  Pike, Albert, 238
+
+  Porter, Ina M., 353
+
+  Prentice, Clarence, 364
+
+  Preston, (Mrs.) M. J., 59
+
+
+  Randall, Jas. B., 273
+
+  Randall, Jas. R., 37, 276
+
+  Raymond, Eugene, 282
+
+  Rivers, Pearl, 363
+
+  Ryan, Father, 260
+
+  Ryan, (Rev.) J. A., 373
+
+
+  Signaigo, Jo Augustine, 68
+
+  Sinclair, (Miss) Carrie Bell, 285
+
+  Smith, Mary E., 182
+
+  Smith, M. B., 196, 326
+
+  Strawbridge, H. H., 48
+
+  Sulzner, Fr., 297
+
+
+  Tally, Susan A., 26
+
+  Thompson, E. M., 152
+
+  Thompson, Jeff., 60
+
+  Thorpe, (Capt.), 317
+
+  Thovington, J. S., 150
+
+  Ticknor, (Dr.) Francis O., 329
+
+  Townsend, Dan. E., 30
+
+  Tucker, St. Geo., 6
+
+  Turner, (Miss) J., 370
+
+
+  Upshur, Mary J., 52
+
+
+  Vose, (Mrs.) Henry J., 331
+
+
+  Waginer, J. A., 41
+
+  Wailes, (Capt.) E. Lloyd, 94
+
+  Walther, H., 76
+
+  Warfield, C. A., 8
+
+  Washington, (Col.) Hamilton, 141
+
+  Wilson, Mary L., 178
+
+  Woodcock, J. H., 122
+
+  Wright, (Capt.) J. W. A., 126
+
+
+  Young, (Mrs.) J. D., 287
+
+  Young, (Mrs.) M. J., 320
+
+
+
+
+INDEX TO FIRST LINES.
+
+
+A farmer came to camp, one day, with milk and eggs to sell, 319
+
+A flash from the edge of a hostile trench, 350
+
+Aha! a song for the trumpet's tongue, 77
+
+Alas! the rolling hours pass slow, 133
+
+A life on the Vicksburg bluff, 126
+
+All quiet along the Potomac to-night, 62
+
+A nation has sprung into life, 12
+
+Arise! Arise! with main and might, 51
+
+Arise! Ye sons of freeborn sires, arise! your country save, 175
+
+As a couple of good soldiers were walking one day, 318
+
+A soldier boy from Texas lay gasping on the field, 266
+
+At Bull Run, when the sun was low, 38
+
+A warrior has fallen! a chieftain has gone, 194
+
+Away down South in de fields of cotton, 36
+
+
+Bob Roebuck is my sweetheart's name, 69
+
+Bravely ye've fought, my gallant, gallant men, 241
+
+By blue Patapsco's billowy dash, 273
+
+By the cross upon our banner--glory of our Southern sky, 142
+
+
+Can'st tell who lose the battle oft in the council field, 130
+
+Cheer, boys, cheer! we'll march away to battle, 244
+
+Childhood's days have long since faded, 306
+
+Come, all ye sons of freedom, 252
+
+Come all ye temper'd hearts of steel--come, quit your flocks and farms,
+174
+
+Come, all ye valiant soldiers, and a story I will tell, 326
+
+Come, brothers! rally for the right, 40
+
+Come! come! come, 61
+
+Come, stack arms, men! pile on the rails, 200
+
+Countrymen of Washington, 35
+
+
+Darkies, has you seed my massa, 216
+
+Dear mother, I remember well, 349
+
+Do they miss me in the trenches, do they miss me, 129
+
+Down by the valley, 'mid thunder and lightning, 228
+
+
+Ever constant, ever true, 221
+
+
+Fair ladies and maids of all ages, 322
+
+Fearlessly the seas we roam, 227
+
+Fighting for our rights now, feasting when they're won, 131
+
+Flag of the Southland! Flag of the free, 198
+
+Fold away all your bright tinted dresses, 116
+
+Fold it up carefully, lay it aside, 358
+
+Forth from its scabbard pure and bright, 367
+
+For sixty days and upward a storm of shell and shot, 343
+
+For trumpet and drum, leave the soft voice of maiden, 317
+
+From Houston City and Brazos bottom, 143
+
+Furl that banner, for 'tis weary, 373
+
+
+Gallant nation, foiled by numbers, 375
+
+God bless our Southern land, 188
+
+God save the South, 1
+
+
+Halt! the march is over, 59
+
+Hark! the clock strikes! All, all that now remains, 160
+
+Hark! the tocsin is sounding, my comrades, 324
+
+Hark! 'tis the shrill trumpet calling, 289
+
+Haste thee, falter not, noble patriot band, 149
+
+Have you counted up the cost, 240
+
+Hear the summons, sons of Texas, 178
+
+Hear ye not the sound of battle, 166
+
+He fell and they cried, bring us home our dead!, 212
+
+Ho, gallants, brim the beaker bowl, 281
+
+Hurrah! for the Southern confederate State, 39
+
+Hurrah for the South, the glorious South! the land of song and story, 114
+
+Huzza! huzza! let's raise the battle-cry, 122
+
+
+I am dreaming of thee, 297
+
+I cannot listen to your words, the land is long and wide, 363
+
+I come from old Manassas, with a pocket full of fun, 66
+
+If ever I consent to be married, 99
+
+I leave my home, and thee, dear, with sorrow at my heart, 347
+
+I'll sing you a song of the South's sunny clime, 78
+
+I'm a soldier, you see, that oppression has made, 104
+
+I'm gwine back to de land of cotton, 145
+
+I'm 'nation tired of being hired, 218
+
+In the land of the orange groves, sunshine and flowers, 203
+
+I remember the hour when sadly we parted, 291
+
+"Is there any news of the war?" she said, 86
+
+It vos in Ni Orleans City, 10
+
+It was on a New Year's morn so soon, 180
+
+I've seen some handsome uniforms deck'd off with buttons bright, 285
+
+I wish I was in de land o' cotton, 7
+
+I wish I was in de land ob cotton, 153
+
+
+Just listen awhile, and give ear to my song, 196
+
+
+King Abraham is very sick, 27
+
+Kneel, ye Southrons, kneel and swear, 29
+
+Knitting for the soldiers, 52
+
+
+Lady, I go to fight for thee, 150
+
+Land of our birth, thee, thee I sing, 210
+
+Land of the South! the fairest land, 115
+
+Let me whisper in your ear, sir, 301
+
+Like the roar of the wintry surges on a wild tempestuous strand, 163
+
+Little do rich people know, 340
+
+Lo! the Southland queen emerging, 353
+
+Lo! when Mississippi rolls, 214
+
+
+Maiden, pray for thy lover now, 284
+
+March, march on, brave "Palmetto" boys, 90
+
+'Mid her ruins proudly stands, 124
+
+Missouri is the pride of the Nation, 60
+
+Missouri! Missouri! bright land of the West, 308
+
+Mother! is the battle over? thousands have been killed, they say, 236
+
+My heart in its sadness turns fondly to thee, 339
+
+My heart is in Mississippi, 211
+
+My love reposes on a rosewood frame, 42
+
+
+Now let the thrilling anthem rise, 247
+
+Now rouse ye, gallant comrades all, 26
+
+
+O band in the pinewood cease!, 255
+
+"Och, its nate to be captain or colonel", 250
+
+Of all the mighty nations in the East or in the West, 103
+
+Off with gray suits, boys!, 369
+
+Oh, dear its shameful, I declare, 230
+
+Oh! Dixie, the land of King Cotton, 68
+
+Oh, don't you remember old Stonewall, my boys, 338
+
+Oh! Freedom is a blessed thing, 65
+
+Oh, gone is the soul from his wondrous dark eye, 300
+
+Oh! here I am in the land of cotton, 245
+
+Oh! here's to South Carolina! drink it down, 279
+
+Oh! Johnny, dear, and did you hear the news that's lately spread, 356
+
+Oh! mother of States and of men, 331
+
+Oh no! no! he'll not need them again, 309
+
+Oh! say can you see through the gloom and the storms, 6
+
+Oh! the tocsin of war still resounds o'er the land, 88
+
+Oh! yes, I am a Southern girl, 81
+
+O, Johnny Bull, my Jo, John! I wonder what you mean, 109
+
+O, I'm a good old rebel, 360
+
+O, I'm thinking of the soldier as the evening shadows fall, 182
+
+Old Eve she did the apple eat, 258
+
+On a bright May morn in 'Sixty-three, 345
+
+"Only a soldier!" I heard them say, 333
+
+On Shiloh's dark and bloody ground the dead and wounded lay, 336
+
+O, tell me not that earth is fair, that spring is in its bloom, 226
+
+O, the South is the queen of all nations, 93
+
+Our cannons' mouths are dumb. No more our volleyed muskets peal, 366
+
+Our country, our country, oh, where may we find, 152
+
+Our flag is unfurl'd and our arms flash bright, 73
+
+Out of the focal and foremost fire, 329
+
+Over the river there are fierce stern meetings, 249
+
+Over vale and over mountain, 170
+
+
+Pillow his head on his flashing sword, 311
+
+
+Raise the Southern flag on high!, 189
+
+Raise the thrilling cry, to arms!, 141
+
+Rally round our country's flag!, 94
+
+Rebel is a sacred name, 71
+
+Representing nothing on God's earth now, 370
+
+Rise, rise, mountain and valley men, 55
+
+
+Sabine Pass! in letters of gold, 320
+
+Sing ho! for the Southerner's meteor flag, 108
+
+Sitting by the roadside on a Summer day, 74
+
+Softly comes the twilight stealing gently through my prison bars, 346
+
+Softly in dreams of repose, 352
+
+Soldiers! raise your banner proudly, 120
+
+Sons of freedom, on to glory, 199
+
+Sons of the South arise, 264
+
+Sons of the South, arouse to battle, 100
+
+Sons of the South awake to glory, 4
+
+Sons of the South, beware the foe, 46
+
+Sons of the South! from hill and dale, 19
+
+Southern men, unsheathe the sword, 24
+
+Southrons, hear your country call you, 238
+
+States of the South! confederate land, 48
+
+Stitch, stitch, stitch, 222
+
+
+The boys are coming home again, 335
+
+The boys down South in Dixie's Land, 49
+
+The despot's heel is on thy shore, 276
+
+The foe! the foe! They come! they come!, 57
+
+The hour was sad I left the maid, 85
+
+The morning star is paling, the camp-fires flicker low, 287
+
+The muffled drum is beating, 328
+
+The night-cloud had lowered o'er Shiloh's red plain, 290
+
+The Northern abolition vandals, 314
+
+The sentinel treads his martial round, 134
+
+The shades of night were falling fast, 22
+
+The snow is in the cloud, and night is gathering o'er us, 282
+
+The South for me! The sunny clime, 123
+
+The sun sinking o'er the battle plain, 187
+
+The tyrant's broad pennant is floating, 102
+
+The war drum is beating, prepare for the fight, 263
+
+The Yankees hate the Lone Star State, because she did secede, 191
+
+There he stood, the grand old hero, great Virginia's god-like son, 224
+
+There is freedom on each fold, and each star is freedom's throne, 159
+
+Though we're a band of prisoners, 341
+
+Thou hast gone forth, my darling one, 256
+
+Three cheers for the Southern flag, 91
+
+'Tis dead of night, nor voice, nor sound, breaks on the stillness of the
+air, 303
+
+'Tis old Stonewall, the rebel, that leans on his sword, 315
+
+To arms! oh! men in all our Southern clime, 76
+
+'Twas a terrible moment, 95
+
+'Twas early in the morning of eighteen sixty-three, 168
+
+'Twas midnight when we built our fires, 207
+
+'Twas on that dark and fearful morn, 185
+
+
+Unclaimed by the land that bore us, 317
+
+Unmoved in the battle, 251
+
+Upon Manassas' bloody plain a soldier boy lay dying, 106
+
+Up, up with the banner, the foe is before us, 83
+
+
+Wake! dearest, wake! 'tis thy lover who calls, Imogen, 172
+
+We all went down to New Orleans, 112
+
+We are a band of brothers, and native to the soil, 31
+
+Weep, Louisiana, weep! thy gallant dead, 37
+
+We have ridden from the brave southwest, 56
+
+We leave our pleasant homesteads, 80
+
+We left him on the crimson'd field, 234
+
+Well, we can whip them now I guess, 232
+
+We're the boys so gay and happy, 177
+
+We're the Navasota volunteers, our county is named Grimes, 294
+
+What shall the Southron's watchword be, 272
+
+When clouds of oppression o'ershaded, 30
+
+When history tells her story, 242
+
+While crimson drops our hearth-stones stain, 41
+
+Whoop! the Doodles have broken loose, 14
+
+Why can we not be brothers? the battle now is o'er, 364
+
+Would'st thou have me love thee, dearest, 20
+
+Would you like to hear my song, I'm afraid it's rather long, 268
+
+
+Yankee Doodle had a mind, 15
+
+Ye men of Alabama, 17
+
+Ye men of Southern hearts and feeling, 45
+
+Ye sons of Carolina! awake from your dreaming, 237
+
+Ye sons of the South, take your weapons in hand, 110
+
+You are going to leave me, darling, 28
+
+You are going to the wars, Willie boy, Willie boy, 275
+
+You can never win us back, 8
+
+You know the Federal General Banks, 164
+
+Young as the youngest who donned the gray, 260
+
+Young Florida sends forth her clan--the old Dominion's brave, 155
+
+Young stranger, what land claims thy birth, 292
+
+You shudder as you think upon th' carnage of the grim report, 137
+
+
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[1] This was the first song published in the South during the war.
+
+[2] The Rebel ram.
+
+[3] A writer, describing the siege of Vicksburg, gives the following:
+
+    "The meal issued to the army was very coarse, and there were no
+    sieves, and the beef, as a general thing, was hardly fit to feed to a
+    dog. Some herds of Texas steers were corraled near the town, lean,
+    gaunt, long-horned, repulsive looking creatures, and every morning the
+    weakest of the herd were slaughtered for the day's rations. In the
+    Twentieth Alabama, each day a company of men could be seen having in
+    their hands long ox-horns, upon which they occasionally blew a
+    mournful blast, as with solemn steps and slow, they bore to a suitable
+    burial place the beef issued to them for that day. Arrived at the spot
+    a hole was dug, the meat was dumped into it, a mound was heaped over
+    it, a funeral oration was said, the ox-horns once more sounded the
+    dolorous requiem, and then the mourners returned to camp, their heads
+    bowed down with grief and sorrow. Upon inquiring what this woeful
+    pageant meant, I was informed that the men were simply engaged in "the
+    burial of _Old Logan_."
+
+[4] Colonel J. J. Archer.
+
+[5] This thrilling song was circulated _sub rosa_ in New Orleans, and at
+times almost openly. Its bold and defiant tone shows it to have been
+written by one who must have suffered greatly at the hands of Butler.
+
+[6] The Cotton Supply Association, of Manchester, England.
+
+[7] A touching incident occurred in Montgomery at the beginning of the
+war. A soldier met a lovely and refined lady in the street, and feeling
+that in such times we are all sisters and brothers, and wishing to do
+homage to such beauty, he touched his hat and said: "Lady, I'm going to
+fight for you." "Sir," she instantly replied, "I am going to pray for
+you."
+
+[8] Constitutional Liberty against Oppression--a "Cause" decided many
+times in the Old World, yet to be taught in the New.
+
+[9] The Memphis _Appeal_ published the following:--"On yesterday all the
+cotton in Memphis was burned. Probably not less than 300,000 bales have
+been burned in the last three days in West Tennessee and North
+Mississippi."
+
+[10] Capt. Riley commanded a battery composed of Irishmen from North
+Carolina, and was nearly always attached to Hood's Brigade. The "swarthy
+old hounds" refer to his Napoleon guns.
+
+[11] In commemoration of Gen. J. B. Gordon's charge against Hancock's
+corps at Spotsylvania Court House, May 12, 1864.
+
+[12] Fremont, "the path-finder."
+
+[13] Battle of Cedar Run.
+
+[14] Sung by Harry McCarthy, in his "Personation Concerts," in all the
+principal towns of the Confederacy.
+
+[15] On the morning of the battle of Franklin, Tennessee, Major General
+Patrick Cleburne, while riding along the line, encouraging his men, saw an
+old friend--a captain in his command--barefooted, and feet bleeding.
+Alighting from his horse he told the Captain to "please" pull off his
+boots. Upon the Captain doing so, the General told him to try them on,
+which he did. Whereupon the General mounted his horse, telling the Captain
+he was tired of wearing boots, and could well do without them. He would
+hear of no remonstrance, and bidding the Captain good-by, rode away. In
+this condition he was killed.
+
+[16] Brave to a fault, he was cut down in his early youth, and fell a
+willing sacrifice at the altar of his country. Among his last words he
+said, "I fell beside my gun."
+
+[17] The chorus is sung to the second part of the air, excepting after the
+fifth and sixth verses.
+
+[18] Several weeks after the commencement of the terrific bombardment,
+ladies were seen coolly walking the streets, and children in many parts of
+the city engaged, as ever, in their playing, only stopping their sport for
+the moment to gaze and listen at the bursting shells.
+
+[19] The above lines were found written upon the back of a five-hundred
+dollar Confederate note, subsequent to the surrender.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Southern War Songs, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUTHERN WAR SONGS ***
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