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diff --git a/37538-h/37538-h.htm b/37538-h/37538-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..537ce6d --- /dev/null +++ b/37538-h/37538-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13457 @@ +<!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;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + a:link {color:#0000ff; text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:#6633cc; text-decoration:none} + + .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> </p><p> </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> </p><p> </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> </p> +<p class="center">COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY<br /> +W. L. FAGAN</p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><i>ILLUSTRATED.</i></p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center">New York<br />M. T. RICHARDSON & CO.<br />1890.</p> + + +<p> </p><p> </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> </p><p> </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> </p><p> </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> </td><td align="right"><i>Page</i></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>A flash from the edge of a hostile trench</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_351">351</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>And his life-blood is ebbing and splashing</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>Arise to thy lattice, the moon is asleep</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>Come back to me, my darling son, and light my life again</i>,”</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>“<i>Farewell to earth and all its beauteous bloom</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>For I know there is no other e’er can be so dear to me</i>,”</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>“<i>He faintly smiled and waved his hand</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_235">235</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>He’s in the saddle now</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>* * * How mellow the light showers down on that brow</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>I am thinking of the soldier as the evening shadows fall</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>I’m a good old rebel</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_361">361</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>I marched up midout fear</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>Jack Morgan</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_282">282</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>Knitting for the soldiers! matron—merry maid</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>Knitting for the soldiers! wrinkled—aged crone</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>Lady, I go to fight for thee</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>Lying in the shadow, underneath the trees</i>,”</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>“<i>Massa</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>Massa run, aha</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>My right arm bared for fiercer play</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>No matter should it rain or snow, That bugler is bound to blow</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>Only a list of the wounded and dead</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>So we’ll bury ‘old Logan’ to-night</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>The Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>The hero boy lay dying</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>Then gallop by ravine and rocks</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_316">316</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>There’s only the sound of the lone sentry’s tread</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>Though fifteen summers scarce have shed their blossoms on thy brow</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_256">256</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>Three acres I</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>Thy steed is impatient his mistress to bear</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>We’ll one day meet again</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>“<i>When the stars are softly smiling * * * Then I think of thee and Heaven</i>,”</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_299">299</a></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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> </p><p> </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>—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’ they’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’s on our side.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br /> +<br /> +Hark honor’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’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’s the same,<br /> +The name that he snatch’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’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> +<h2>“ALLONS ENFANS.”</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’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’ 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’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’ 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’ 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’ 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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p> +<h2>“THE SOUTHERN CROSS.”</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’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>—’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’s soil,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’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 ’neath Liberty’s heel!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 18em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br /> +<br /> +’Tis the emblem of peace, ’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’s slope,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’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’s bloody vulture should flap its black pinions,</span><br /> +Then gladly “To arms,” 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>—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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>THE STAR OF THE WEST.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Charleston Mercury.</i></p> +<p class="center">“<i>Dixie.</i>”</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>I wish I was in de land o’ cotton,<br /> +Old times dair ain’t not forgotten—<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’—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Look away, etc.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus</span>—Den I wish I was in Dixie.<br /> +<br /> +In Dixie land dat frosty mornin’,<br /> +Jis ’bout de time de day was dawnin’—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Look away, etc.</span><br /> +De signal fire from de East bin roarin’,<br /> +Rouse up, Dixie, no more snorin’—<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 /> +’Tis de sign dat de snobbies am comin’ up nigh—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Look away, etc.</span><br /> +Dey bin braggin’ long, if we dare to shoot a shot,<br /> +Dey comin’ up strong and dey’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>THE SOUTHRON’S CHANT OF DEFIANCE.</h2> + +<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">C. A. Warfield</span>, Kentucky.<span class="spacer"> </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 “abolition den,”<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—<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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wrongs unshriven.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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—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’s Army up in Georgia,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ver all de times dey fight.</span></td></tr></table> + +<p> </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">“I marched up midout fear.”</p> +<p> </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’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’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’t get vounded,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like dis Dutcher Volunteer.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>SOUTHERN SONG OF FREEDOM.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Air—“The Minstrel’s Return.”</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’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’s fountain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Nectar that kindles the heart.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus</span>—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’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;">“Be God with our Volunteers bold.”</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 17em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br /> +<br /> +Th’ 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 “Booty and Beauty,”<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—the world’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> +<h2>“CALL ALL! CALL ALL!”</h2> + +<p class="center">By “<span class="smcap">Georgia</span>.”</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,—<br /> +After ’em, boys, and drive ’em back.<br /> +<br /> +Bull dog, terrier, cur, and fice,<br /> +Back to the beggarly land of ice,<br /> +Worry ’em, bite ’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,—<br /> +Lantern-jawed, and legs, my boys,<br /> +Long as an ape’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> </p><p> </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’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;">’Twas very full of feeling;</span><br /> +“I fear,” says he, “I cannot fight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I am good at stealing.”</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’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’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;">’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’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’re always intermeddling;</span><br /> +Let guns alone, they’re dangerous things;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You’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’ll throw away the brandy.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>“YE MEN OF ALABAMA!”</h2> + +<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">John D. Phelan</span>, of Montgomery, Ala.</p> +<p class="center"><i>Air—“Ye Mariners of England.”</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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If this final coil he plies—</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—<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’ 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’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’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>1776-1861.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Air—“Bruce’s Address.”</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! ’tis Freedom’s wail—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">“To arms! to arms!” she cries.</span><br /> +Strike! for freedom in the dust;<br /> +Strike! to crush proud Mammon’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—<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’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—<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 /> +’Tis Heaven’s own wrath your blindness braves—<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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>WOULD’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’st thou have me love thee, dearest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a woman’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’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—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 /> +’Neath her noble emblem rally—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“God, our country, and our right!”</span><br /> +Listen! now her trumpets calling<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On her sons to meet the foe!</span><br /> +Woman’s heart is soft and tender,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But ’tis proud and faithful too:</span><br /> +Shall she be her land’s defender?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lover! Soldier! up and do!</span><br /> +<br /> +Seize thy father’s ancient falchion,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which once flashed as freedom’s star!</span><br /> +’Til sweet peace—the bow and halcyon—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stilled the stormy strife of war.</span><br /> +Listen! now thy country’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’s name!</span><br /> +<br /> +Should the God who smiles above thee,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Doom thee to a soldier’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’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 /> +’Mid thy country’s heroes dying,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than become a dastard’s wife!</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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"> </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>—Up—i—de—i—de—i—di,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">U—pi—de, u—pi—de,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">U—pi—de—i—de—i—di,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">Up—i—de—i—di,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">U—pi—de—i—de—i—di,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">U—pi—de—u—pi—di,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">U—pi—de—i—de—i—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 /> +“There’s too much comfort there,” said he,<br /> +“And so I’ll blow the ‘Reveille.’”<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 “Retreat.”<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’ry viands smoking hot,<br /> +Said he, “they shan’t enjoy that stew,”<br /> +Then “Boots and saddles” loudly blew.</td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img02.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>“No matter should it rain or snow,<br /> +That bugler he is bound to blow.”</td></tr></table> +<p> </p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>They scarce their half cooked meal begin,<br /> +Ere orderly cries out “Fall in,”<br /> +Then off they march thro’ mud and rain,<br /> +P’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 “Tattoo,” “Taps,” and “Reveille.”</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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—“Bruce’s Address.”</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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Rush to victory!</span><br /> +<br /> +Let your banners kiss the sky,<br /> +Be “The right” your battle cry!<br /> +Be the God of battles nigh—<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’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—may God so give us grace!—<br /> +Sons will rear, to take your place;<br /> +Strong the foeman’s steel to face—<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—<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;">“God defend the right!”</span></td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img03.jpg" alt="" /></div> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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—“Scots, Wha hae wi’ Wallace bled.”</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’s array,—</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—</span><br /> +We’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,—</span><br /> +Defying fate, for love we’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’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’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 /> +“Virginia! for the Southern cause,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And God defend the right!”</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>POP GOES THE WEASEL.</h2> + +<p class="center">From “<span class="smcap">Jack Morgan Songster</span>.”</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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Pop goes the weasel!</span><br /> +<br /> +All around the cobbler’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’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’s none that moves so gay and grand,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">As—pop goes the weasel.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE MOTHER’S FAREWELL.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Air—“Jeannette and Jeannot.”</i></p> +<p class="center">From “<span class="smcap">Jack Morgan Songster</span>.”</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’s foes to fight,</span><br /> +And though I grieve, I murmur not,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I know we’re in the right.</span><br /> +Here’s your father’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’d mother’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’er falter in the strife—</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 “Stars and Bars”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Float in triumph o’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’s hand shall place</span><br /> +The laurel wreath your country gives<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each victor’s brow to grace.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’s altar,</span><br /> +All the tyrants’ rage to dare,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">E’en the cursed tyrants’ 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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> +<h2>FREEDOM’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’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’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’s new banner is born.</span><br /> +<br /> +For the land that’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> </p><p> </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>—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> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img04.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">“The Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star.”</p> +<p> </p> + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>And here’s to brave Virginia! the Old Dominion State,<br /> +With the young Confederacy at length has link’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’s to our Confederacy, strong we are and brave,<br /> +Like patriots of old, we’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>—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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>“OH, HE’S NOTHING BUT A SOLDIER.”</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Oh, he’s nothing but a soldier; he’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’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’s nothing but a soldier, yet his eyes are very fine,<br /> +And I sometimes think, when passing, they’re peeping into mine;<br /> +Though he’s nothing but a soldier—come, let me be discreet—<br /> +Yet really for a soldier, his toilet’s very neat.<br /> +<br /> +He has been again to see us, the gentleman in gray,<br /> +He’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—this soldier—I saw him on his knees.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, he’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’s nothing but a soldier; but then its very queer.<br /> +Whenever he is absent I’d much rather have him near;<br /> +He’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> </p><p> </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—“Scots, wha hae.”</i></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Countrymen of Washington!<br /> +Countrymen of Jefferson!<br /> +By old Hick’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’s rights!</span><br /> +<br /> +From the Cowpens’ glorious way,<br /> +Southron valor led the fray<br /> +To Yorktown’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’s day,<br /> +’Mid fire and hail at Monterey,<br /> +At Buena Vista, led the way?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">“Rough-and-Ready.”</span><br /> +<br /> +Southrons all; at Freedom’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> +<h2>DIXIE’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 ’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’s Land,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Oh—oh! Oh—oh!</span><br /> +In Dixie’s land I’ll take my stand,<br /> +And live and die in Dixie’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’s Land,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Oh—oh! Oh—oh!</span><br /> +In Dixie’s land I’ll take my stand,<br /> +And live and die in Dixie’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> </p><p> </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’er the undaunted head!<br /> +Fling thy bright banner o’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’s plains and Pensacola’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’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’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’s rhyme,<br /> +Making his fame melodious for all time;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">It cannot die.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’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—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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>HURRAH!</h2> + +<p class="center">By a <span class="smcap">Mississippian</span>.—<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’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—shout hurrah! and hurrah!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O’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;">“Invincible,” now and for aye.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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—“Bonnie Blue Flag.”</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’s path!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, brothers, near and far,</span><br /> +Come rally ’round the Bonnie Blue Flag<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That bears a single star!</span><br /> +<br /> +We’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’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> </p><p> </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’s silvery sound<br /> +The fiery war-horse spurns the ground.<br /> +<br /> +The thunder of his iron tread<br /> +Sweeps o’er the dying and the dead;<br /> +The trembling earth is blushing red.<br /> +<br /> +’Mid wreathing smoke, and flashing steel,<br /> +And blazing cannons’ 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’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>A CONFEDERATE OFFICER TO HIS LADY LOVE.</h2> + +<p class="note"><span class="smcap">Maj. McKnight</span> (“Asa Hartz”), A. A. G., General Loring’s staff, while a +prisoner of war, at Johnston’s Island, wrote the following:</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>My love reposes on a rosewood frame—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">A bunk have I;</span><br /> +A couch of feathery down fills up the same—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Mine’s straw, but dry;</span><br /> +She sinks to sleep at night with scarce a sigh—<br /> +With waking eyes I watch the hours creep by.<br /> +<br /> +My love her daily dinner takes in state—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And so do I(?);</span><br /> +The richest viands flank her silver plate—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Coarse grub have I?</span><br /> +Pure wines she sips at ease, her thirst to slake—<br /> +I pump my drink from Erie’s limpid lake!</td></tr></table> + +<p> </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">“Three Acres I.”</p> +<p> </p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>My love has all the world at will to roam—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Three acres I;</span><br /> +She goes abroad or quiet sits at home—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">So cannot I;</span><br /> +Bright angels watch around her couch at night—<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’s mail may bring me my parole!</td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img06.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">“We’ll one day meet again.”</p> +<p> </p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>There’s hope ahead! We’ll one day meet again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">My love and I;</span><br /> +We’ll wipe away all tears of sorrow then—<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’s Isle.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’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>—To arms, to arms! each one,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">Th’ 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—</span><br /> +Shall we submit—no, never, never!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let death or freedom be our cry—</span><br /> +In Heaven’s justice firm relying,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We’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’s Ferry’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’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’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> </p><p> </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—“Hail Columbia.”</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’s far infinitude!<br /> +Minute guns of omen boom<br /> +Through the future’s folded gloom;<br /> +Sounds prophetic fill the air,<br /> +Heed the warning—and prepare!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Watch! be wary—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’s gathering power—</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!—a barrier staunch<br /> +Breasting the alien avalanche—<br /> +Manning the battlements of <span class="smcap">Right</span>;<br /> +Up, for your <i>Country</i>, “<i>God and right</i>!”<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 ’neath the benison of<br /> +Freedom’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—God<br /> +Looked from His throne on “the things of time,”<br /> +And two new stars in the reign of time,<br /> +He bade to burn in the azure dome—<br /> +The freeman’s <span class="smcap">Love</span> and the freeman’s <span class="smcap">Home</span>!<br /> +Holy of Holies! guard them well,<br /> +Baffle the despot’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> </p><p> </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—the hour is nigh;</span><br /> +His bale-fires rise on every hand—<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>—Up! old and young; the weak, be strong!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.25em;">Rise for the right,—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;">“Strike! ’till the last armed foe expires!”</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p> +<h2>WE’LL BE FREE IN MARYLAND.</h2> + +<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">R. E. Holtz</span>.</p> +<p class="center"><i>Air—“Gideon’s Band.”</i></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>The boys down South in Dixie’s land,<br /> +The boys down South in Dixie’s land,<br /> +The boys down South in Dixie’s land<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will come and rescue Maryland.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—If you will join the Dixie band,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Here’s my heart and here’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’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’ll be free in Baltimore.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br /> +<br /> +These hirelings they’ll never stand,<br /> +These hirelings they’ll never stand,<br /> +These hirelings they’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’t get out with his Scotch cap.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br /> +<br /> +Nobody’s hurt is easy spun,<br /> +Nobody’s hurt is easy spun,<br /> +Nobody’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’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’ll drink this toast to one and all,<br /> +Keep cocked and primed for the Southern call;<br /> +The day will come, we’ll make a stand,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then we’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> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img07.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">Artillery Button.</p> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SOUTHRON’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—<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’net’s point, the sabre’s crash—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">True Southrons, do and dare!</span><br /> +<br /> +Bright flow’rs spring from the hero’s grave;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The craven knows no rest!</span><br /> +Thrice curs’d the traitor and the knave!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The hero thrice is bless’d.</span><br /> +Then let each noble Southron stand,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With bold and manly eye:</span><br /> +We’ll do for God and fatherland;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We’ll do, we’ll do, or die!</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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—<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—</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—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—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 “around! around!”</span><br /> +Like to Macbeth’s witches<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On enchanted ground.</span></td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img08.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>“Knitting for the soldiers<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wrinkled—aged crone.”</span></td></tr></table> +<p> </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—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—bearing garlands?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who of us shall say?</span></td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img09.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>“Knitting for the soldiers!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Matron—merry maid.”</span></td></tr></table> +<p> </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> </p><p> </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—“Gathering of the Clans.”</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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heroes whom Washington honored and trusted—</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’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’er our fair valley to marshal his legions?</span><br /> +Loud calls Virginia, let every man aid her—<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 /> +—<i>Richmond Dispatch.</i></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>OUR BRAVES IN VIRGINIA.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Air—“Dixie Land.”</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,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hurrah! hurrah!—</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’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,—<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’ll rally to the bugle call;<br /> +For Southern rights we’ll fight and fall;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!</span><br /> +Our grey-haired sires sternly say,—<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’ll fight and die;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!</span><br /> +Our cause is right, our quarrel just,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hurrah! hurrah!</span><br /> +We’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> </p><p> </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—</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’ll meet them here on each bold height,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In every glen make head—</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’ 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’s gay panoply;</span><br /> +We’ll show him that our fathers’ 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’er,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The whirlwinds thundered by,—</span><br /> +There’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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Back to our hearth-stones, come!</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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 ’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—<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—</span><br /> +Lying in their blankets,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’Midst December’s snow.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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>—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’er the land of the faithful and true;</span><br /> +O’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> </p><p> </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’s belching roar,<br /> +The musket’s deadly pour—<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> </p><p> </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"> </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>“All quiet along the Potomac to-night!”<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 /> +’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 /> +“All quiet along the Potomac to-night!”<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’er the army while sleeping.</span><br /> +<br /> +There’s only the sound of the lone sentry’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—“may heaven defend her!”</span></td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img10.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">“There’s only the sound of the lone sentry’s tread.”</p> +<p> </p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>The moon seems to shine forth as brightly as then—<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’s swelling.</span></td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img11.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">“And his life-blood is ebbing and splashing.”</p> +<p> </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: “Ha, Mary, good-by!”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his life-blood is ebbing and splashing.</span><br /> +<br /> +“All quiet along the Potomac to-night!”<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’s off duty forever!</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>“INDEPENDENCE DAY.”</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’s types—</span><br /> +The stars are fading one by one—<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, “Independence Day.”</span><br /> +Then let the banner float the air,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fairest one of freedom’s types—</span><br /> +The stars are fading one by one—<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> </p><p> </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—<br /> +I killed forty Yankees with a single-barrelled gun;<br /> +It don’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’t make a niff-a-stifference to neither you or I<br /> +They took to their heels, boys, and you ought to see ’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 ’em neigh;<br /> +But it don’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 “Tiger,” from the old Crescent City,<br /> +He cut down the Yankees without any pity:<br /> +Oh! it don’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’t make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,<br /> +South Carolina give ’em—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’t make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,<br /> +Old Virginia’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’t make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,<br /> +Georgia’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’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’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’t make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,<br /> +North Carolina’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’t make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,<br /> +Florida’s death on Yankees; root, hog, or die.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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—“Red, White and Blue.”</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;">“The home of the brave and the free,”</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’s sunlight is beaming,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In splendor of majesty sweet.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus</span>—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’s cup to the brim;</span><br /> +May the laurels they’ve won never perish,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“Nor star of their glory grow dim;”</span><br /> +May the States of the South never sever,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the champions of freedom e’er be;</span><br /> +May they flourish Confed’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> </p><p> </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 “Virginia Cavalier,” Richmond, +Va., 1863.<br />Composed by Captain <span class="smcap">G. W. Alexander</span>.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Air—“The Boy with the Auburn Hair.”</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 “Blockade +Rebels,” who greeted with wild hurrahs, “Miss Sallie,” 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’s name,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He’s off to the wars and gone,</span><br /> +He’s fighting for his Nannie dear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His sword is buckled on;</span><br /> +He’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>—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’s alarms,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We start anew in life,</span><br /> +I’ll give myself right up to him,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A dutiful, loving wife.</span><br /> +I’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>—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’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>—Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.75em;">I’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’ll look above for joy,</span><br /> +And I’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> </p><p> </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’s fought—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By them were victorious.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus</span>—Gaily floats our rebel flag<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.25em;">Over hill and valley—</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,—</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’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’er our land,—<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> </p><p> </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’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, “Good by.”</span><br /> +I’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>—Then adieu! then adieu! ’tis the last bugle’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’er meet again,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.75em;">Oh! remember the young volunteer.</span><br /> +<br /> +When over the desert, thro’ burning rays,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a heavy heart I tread;</span><br /> +Or when I breast the cannon’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> </p><p> </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"> </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: “Peas! Peas! Peas!” 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>—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, “Mister, here’s your mule,”<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 “The Yanks are coming, I hear their rifles now,”<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> </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">“Lying in the shadow underneath the trees.”</p> +<p> </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’s interesting, but the rhymes are mighty rough,<br /> +I wish this war was over, when free from rags and fleas,<br /> +We’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>OUR COUNTRY’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’s fame<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brightly within each manly bosom glow.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—But let the ardor of a patriot’s fame<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Brightly within each manly bosom glow.</span><br /> +<br /> +To arms! in this, your country’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’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> </p><p> </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’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’er us,<br /> +With rolling wheel and rattling peal<br /> +They’ll thunder in battle chorus!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—With the cannon’s flash, and the cannon’s crash,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">With the cannon’s roar and rattle,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Let Freedom’s sons, with their shouting guns,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Go down to their country’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’er our brothers graves,<br /> +Who have gone to their rest before us<br /> +Here’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’s faith let us keep till death,<br /> +Their fame in its cloudless splendor—<br /> +As men who stand for their mother land,<br /> +And die—but never surrender!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>CHIVALROUS C. S. A.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Air—“Vive la Compagnie.”</i></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>I’ll sing you a song of the South’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>—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—Jeff. Davis his name—<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’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’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’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!—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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> +<h2>NORTH CAROLINA’S WAR SONG.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Air—“Annie Laurie.”</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’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 /> +’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’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’er betide,<br /> +Go meet whate’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> </p><p> </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—“Bonnie Blue Flag.”</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>—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’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—<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’s blockade,</span><br /> +We Southern girls can be content<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With goods that’s Southern made.</span><br /> +We send our sweethearts to the war;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But, dear girls; never mind—</span><br /> +Your soldier-love will ne’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—<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’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’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’s grave.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’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’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’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’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’d homesteads, our altars and fires,</span><br /> +While they tamely submit to a tyrant’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;">’Tis the emblem of Liberty—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’s bravest blows for its lov’d Tennessee.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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"> </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’ plain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where, in the post assigned me,</span><br /> +I shared the glory of that fight—<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—</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’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’er return again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still worth thy love thou’lt find me,</span><br /> +Dishonor’s breath shall never stain<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The name I leave behind me.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>READING THE LIST.</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>“Is there any news of the war?” she said;<br /> +“Only a list of the wounded and dead,”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was the man’s reply,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Without lifting his eye</span><br /> +To the face of the woman standing by.<br /> +“’Tis the very thing I want,” she said;<br /> +“Read me a list of the wounded and dead.”<br /> +<br /> +He read the list—’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, “Who is he, pray?”<br /> +“The only son of the widow Gray,”<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 /> +“Well, well, read on; is he wounded? quick!<br /> +Oh, God! but my heart is sorrow sick!<br /> +Is he wounded?” “No! he fell,” they say,<br /> +“Killed outright on that fatal day!”<br /> +But see, the woman has swooned away!</td></tr></table> + +<p> </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">“Only a list of the wounded and dead.”</p> +<p> </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, “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!”<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> </p><p> </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—“Star Spangled Banner.”</i></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Oh, the tocsin of war still resounds o’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’er the dead.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—Let the bars and stars of our banner ever wave<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">O’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 /> +’Tis a beacon of hope, ’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’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’s exhausted, we’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> </p><p> </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—“March, march, Ettrick and Toviotdale.”</i></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>March, march on, brave “Palmetto” boys,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“Sumpter” and “Lafayettes” forward in order;</span><br /> +March, march “Calhoun” and “Rifle” 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’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’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,—<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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>THE SOUTHERN FLAG.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Tune</i>—“<i>A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea.</i>”</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>—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’s mighty shout.</span><br /> +That shouting welcomes to our heart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The freeman’s chosen man—</span><br /> +Jeff Davis—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’er Sumpter’s fort just won.</span><br /> +And soon o’er Pickens’ 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’s sigh of hope,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The fallen heroes’ 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’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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The freeman’s glorious boast.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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—</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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“Our rights, our liberties,” they cry,</span><br /> +“To the rescue, we’ll win the fight or perish,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the Southern boys never fear to die.”</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—Then hurrah for the “Stars and Bars,”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.75em;">No stain on its folds ever be—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.75em;">Its glory dishonor never mars,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.75em;">And ’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—O, how freely we’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—</span><br /> +Yet shall fear the brave foe tho’ 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’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’ thousands may fall stark and gory,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their requiem from gun and cannon mouth,</span><br /> +They’ll win fame, freedom and glory;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all for the loved “Sunny South.”</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 17em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>CONFEDERATE SONG.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Air—“Bruce’s Address.”</i></p> + +<p class="note">Written for and dedicated to the Kirk’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’s +Ferry Barbecue (Catahoula, La.), after the presentation of a flag, by the +ladies, to the Kirk’s Ferry Rangers.</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Rally round our country’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’ve gained with toil,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shouting, “Slavery.”</span><br /> +<br /> +Traitorous Lincoln’s bloody band<br /> +Now invades the freeman’s land,<br /> +Arm’d with sword and firebrand,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">’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’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—<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> </p><p> </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>’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 “<span class="smcap">We are here!</span> <i>We</i> are ready</span><br /> +With rifle and blade!”<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—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—</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—<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, “Back to the rear!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’Till you ride to the rear</span><br /> +We will not do battle<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With gun or with blade!”</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> </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> </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—</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! ’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—</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> </p><p> </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 “L. M.,” 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’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’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’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> </p><p> </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 “war’s rattle,”<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>—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—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 “footprints’ base pollution”<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—the loathing, scorning<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We feel for such a Union’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’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—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No! our hoarse cannon echo round—</span><br /> +No! evermore remain asunder!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 17em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img15.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">Jackson’s Cadet Button.</p> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’s broad pennant is floating<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the South, o’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>—But our flag at the “head of the Passes,”<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 “Manassas;”<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’s shaft to the tree;</span><br /> +As the rock to the wave in their meeting—<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 “Crescent” 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’s loud roar.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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>—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’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’s factories will do the finer work;<br /> +For the deep and flowing waterfalls that course along our hills,<br /> +Are “just the things” 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 “Stars and Bars” as they are floating o’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’s land.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>SONG OF THE SOUTHERN SOLDIER.</h2> + +<p class="center">By “P. E. C.,” in <i>Richmond Examiner</i>.</p> +<p class="center"><i>Tune</i>—“<i>Barclay and Perkins’ Drayman.</i>”</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’m a soldier, you see, that oppression has made!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I don’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,—<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’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,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now we’ll see what they’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’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’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’s pearls,</span><br /> +And stainless we’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> </p><p> </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—“Maid of Monterey.”</i></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Upon Manassas’ 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’d in splendor, and the wavelets danc’d around,<br /> +But the banks were strew’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’er the dead,<br /> +Sweet memories of olden days came rushing to his head;<br /> +But his mind was weak and deaden’d, so he turned from where he lay,<br /> +As the Death-angel flitted by, and call’d his soul away!</td></tr></table> + +<p> </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">“The hero-boy lay dying.”</p> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’s meteor flag<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As ’tis flung in its pride to the breeze,</span><br /> +From the happy glen and the beetling crag,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’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’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’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’s breast,</span><br /> +Hurrah! as it leads our valorous braves,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or is drooped o’er the hero’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 “God will defend the right.”</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>O, JOHNNY BULL, MY JO JOHN.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Air—“John Anderson, my Jo.”</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’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’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 —— when you start, O, Johnny Bull, my Jo!<br /> +<br /> +O, Johnny Bull, my Jo John! let’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>MORGAN’S WAR-SONG.</h2> + +<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Gen. Basil Duke</span>, of Kentucky.</p> +<p class="center"><i>Air—A combination of the “Marseillaise” and the “Old Granite State.”</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>—Gather fast ’neath our flag,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">For ’tis God’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’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’ll save our fair land or we’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’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> </p><p> </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—“Johnny, fill up the bowl.”</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;">“And we’ll all drink stone blind,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Johnny, fill up the bowl.”</span><br /> +<br /> +We thought when we got in the “ring,”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Bales, for Bales;</span><br /> +We thought when we got in the “ring,”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Bales, says I;</span><br /> +We thought when we got in the “ring,”<br /> +Greenbacks would be a dead sure thing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">“And we’ll all drink stone blind,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Johnny, fill up the bowl.”</span><br /> +<br /> +The “ring” went up with bagging and rope,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Bales, for Bales;</span><br /> +Upon the “Black Hawk” with bagging and rope,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Bales, says I;</span><br /> +Went up “Red River” with bagging and rope,<br /> +Expecting to make a pile of “soap,”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">“And we’ll all drink stone blind,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Johnny, fill up the bowl.”</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;">“And we’ll all drink stone blind,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Johnny, fill up the bowl.”</span><br /> +<br /> +Our “ring” came back and cursed and swore,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Bales, for Bales;</span><br /> +Our “ring” came back and cursed and swore,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Bales, says I;</span><br /> +Our “ring” came back and cursed and swore,<br /> +For we got no cotton at Grand Ecore,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">“And we’ll all drink stone blind,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Johnny, fill up the bowl.”</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;">“And we’ll all drink stone blind,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Johnny, fill up the bowl.”</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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—<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>—Sons of the South, arise! arise!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">For never shall fall upon her—</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’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’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—to the breeze give Freedom’s banner,<br /> +As its glowing folds o’er our land unroll, from mountain and savannah;<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>O’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> </p><p> </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—“Friend of My Soul.”</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’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—<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—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’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—</span><br /> +Union of love and liberty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’Neath heaven’s approving smile.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>LADIES, TO THE HOSPITAL!</h2> + +<p class="center">By “<span class="smcap">Personne</span>,” 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’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> </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>“... <span class="spacer"> </span> <span class="spacer"> </span> How mellow<br /> +The light showers down on that brow.”</td></tr></table> +<p> </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’d one lies faint but unfearing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the enemy’s ball in his breast.</span><br /> +<br /> +Here’s another; a lad—a mere stripling—<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 ’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’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’d? What a passionate murmur:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“In Thy mercy, oh God! let me die!</span><br /> +Ha! surgeon, your hand must be firmer,”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That musket ball’s entered his thigh:</span><br /> +Turn the light on those poor furrow’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’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 ’kerchief<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let the tatter’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 /> +“My son’s over yonder—he’s wounded—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O this ball has entered my thigh!”</span><br /> +And again he burst out all a tremble,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“In Thy mercy, O God, let me die!”</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’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’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’en if you drop down unheeded,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What matter? God’s ways are the best!</span><br /> +You have pour’d out your life where ’twas needed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And He will take care of the rest.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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—</span><br /> +Hurrah! it was shouted loudly—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“We will do it or we’ll die!”</span><br /> +<br /> +Thus spoke the heroic Dowling!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To his Irish gallant band:</span><br /> +“Let us send the foes a howling,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From our lovely Texas land!”</span><br /> +<br /> +Nobly answer’d those brave men all,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To his soul-stirring appeal;</span><br /> +“Aye, we’ll drive them away or fall;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We’ll fight them with lead and steel.”</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 “go to ——!”</span><br /> +<br /> +“Steady, steady, keep cool, my boys,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now they are near—ready—fire!”</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’s flying—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">See, they spare the fallen foe!</span><br /> +They attend the wounded—dying—<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’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’er forget the Sabine Pass!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But its mem’ries fondly greet.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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>—“<i>Bonnie Blue Flag.</i>”</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Huzza! huzza! let’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>—Huzza! huzza! let’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’s rights,</span><br /> +We’ll sacrifice our lives.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then trusting still to Heaven,</span><br /> +We’ll charge th’ invading host,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till liberty and independence</span><br /> +Shall be the Nation’s boast.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 19em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br /> +<br /> +Then on with our columns—slay the vandal foe—<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> </p><p> </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’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’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 “The South for me.”</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—The South for me, the South for me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">The golden clime, the heart’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’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’s valor free,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let Southern heroes meet the foe,</span><br /> +And when rings out “the South for me,”<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’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>CAROLINA.</h2> + +<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Mrs. C. A. B.</span><span class="spacer"> </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>’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’ 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—<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’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> </p><p> </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—“A Life on the Ocean Wave.”</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 “Yank” shells enough—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And our old “pea-bread” won’t keep.</span><br /> +On “Old Logan’s” beef I pine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For there’s fat on his bones no more;</span><br /> +Oh! give me some pork in brine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And “truck” from a sutler’s store.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—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 “Yank” shells enough—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And our old “pea-bread” won’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’t keep.</span></td></tr></table> + +<p> </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">“So we’ll bury ‘Old Logan’ to-night.”</p> +<p> </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’t know what he’s about,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he hasn’t for many a day.</span><br /> +So we’ll bury “Old Logan” to-night,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From tough beef we’ll be set free;</span><br /> +We’ll put him far out of sight—<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 “steers” are no longer in view,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mule steaks are now “done up brown,”</span><br /> +While “pea-bread,” 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 “Yanks” and their gunboats rave,</span><br /> +A life in “bomb-proofs” for me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a tear o’er “Old Logan’s” grave.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img19.jpg" alt="" /></div> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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—“Do They Miss Me At Home?”</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’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’ some laugh’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—</span><br /> +I’ll swear my legs never would stay there,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Altho’ all may stay there that will.</span><br /> +<br /> +I’ll save myself thro’ the dread struggle,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And when the great battle is o’er,</span><br /> +I’ll claim my full rations of laurels,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As always I’ve done heretofore.</span><br /> +I’ll swear that I fought them as bravely<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the best of my comrades who fell—</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> </p><p> </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’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>—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—Boys, keep your powder dry!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 23em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br /> +<br /> +Does a lov’d one home await you, who wept to see you go,<br /> +When with a kiss imprinted, you left with sacred vow—<br /> +You’d come again when warfare and arms are all laid by,<br /> +To take her to your bosom?—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’d to Him above—<br /> +“Protect my boy, preserve him, and when the battle’s done,<br /> +Send to his weeping mother, bereft, her darling son!”<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’d sires,<br /> +And Liberty’s imploring, from all her hallow’d fires!<br /> +Can you withstand their calling? You cannot pass them by—<br /> +You cannot! now charge fiercely!—Boys, keep your powder dry.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 23em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>BAYOU CITY GUARDS’ 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’re won,<br /> +By that Cross and Stars, boys, fluttering in the sun—<br /> +The girls at home will hear, boys, of our banquet of hard corn,<br /> +And they’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’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 ’round us fly;<br /> +But we’ll lie upon the grass, boys, and munch our corn away!<br /> +We’re driven to their gunboats the base, invading foe;<br /> +In quick time, such as Texans can, we’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—ah! God bless them! what can’t we dare or do?<br /> +With our country’s rights and darling ones emblazon’d on our shields,<br /> +We’ll fight with God’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’d;<br /> +And from this battered old canteen I’ve drained a nectar sweet;<br /> +’Tis the heart that makes the banquet, and not what we have to eat.<br /> +<br /> +Soon will we hail brave “Stonewall!” in Maryland set free!<br /> +And our “Old Line” 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’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’ll rest us, boys, in peace and joy serene.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The night is very dark and still—</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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My ears are strained to catch each sound—</span><br /> +I feel the leaves beneath me spread—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the springs bubbling thro’ the ground.</span><br /> +<br /> +Along the beaten path I pace,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where white rays mark my sentry’s track;</span><br /> +In formless things I seem to trace<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The foeman’s form, with bended back—</span><br /> +I think I see him crouching low!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I stop and list—I stop and peer—</span><br /> +Until the neighb’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—familiar grown—</span><br /> +Detect each harmless earthern notch,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And turn “Guerrillas” 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 /> +“Halt! who goes there?” my challenge cry—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It rings along the watchful line—</span><br /> +“Relief!” I hear a voice reply—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“Advance and give the countersign!”</span><br /> +With bayonet at the charge, I wait—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The corporal gives the mystic word—</span><br /> +With “arms aport” 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, “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?”</span><br /> +And pray that Heaven so ordain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where’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 “Countersign!”</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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—</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;">“Papa’s come!” 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 /> +“There’s papa, dear papa!” 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—</span><br /> +With hands reaching up, and infantile tongue—<br /> +He’s lifted the welcoming group among—<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—</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;">“Number Four has deserted his post!”</span><br /> +The sentinel nearest saw whither he went,<br /> +And found him, o’er musket, in reverie bent,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At home—with his little ones—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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As dawn in the East is breaking</span><br /> +A cannon’s deep thundering shakes the ground!<br /> +Another! an army springs up at the sound—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To thousands Death’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’s deep roll,<br /> +Spite a soldier’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’d a short prayer!</span><br /> +To his country then consecrated his life,<br /> +Rush’d in where the clamor of battle was rife—<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—</span><br /> +His hand still grasping his trusty gun—<br /> +Expires ’mid the glad notes of “victory won!”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Manassas’ 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’d by hope deferr’d,<br /> +A widow with orphans is made at a word,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And she weeps o’er the “darlings at home.”</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’ 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—with Longstreet—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—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—so she died.<br /> +<br /> +Two of those brothers heard no plea; with their proud hearts forever still—<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 /> +’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’ve killed the picket in his camp, and many a pilot on his perch;<br /> +With steady rifle, sharpen’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’s burning marge,<br /> +Sweeping like falcon on the foe, heading the Gray line’s iron charge!<br /> +All outcasts from our ruined marts, we heard th’ undying serpent hiss,<br /> +And in the desert of our hearts the fatal spell of Nemesis.</td></tr></table> + +<p> </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">“My right arm bared for fiercer play.”</p> +<p> </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’d man!<br /> +Throbbing along the frenzied vein, my blood seem’d kindled into song—<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—<br /> +The thought of desecrated graves and some lone sister’s desperate cry.</td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img21.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">Virginia Sword-Belt Clasp.</p> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’s charms,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yield to duty’s call, Texans!</span><br /> +Now the stream of battle lowers—<br /> +Who before the tempest cowers?<br /> +Who could hide in woman’s bowers?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Show him to the field, Texans!</span><br /> +Twice our sires for freedom fought—<br /> +Twice with blood the treasure bought—<br /> +By the lessons they have taught<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We’ll die, but never yield, Texans!</span><br /> +<br /> +Long we’ve heard the storm afar;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now ’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’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!—</span><br /> +Never shall our happy land<br /> +Be ravaged by a robber band—<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> </p><p> </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—“My Maryland.”</i></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>By the Cross upon our banner—glory of our Southern sky—<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—<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—<br /> +Swear we now, our Southern heroes shall not thus have died in vain.<br /> +<br /> +Wide and deep the breach between us—rent by hatred’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—arms to do—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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>BAYOU CITY GUARDS’ DIXIE.</h2> + +<p class="center">By the Company’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’s foes,<br /> +To win or die in freedom’s cause;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Away, away, away, away!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—We’re going to old Virginia, hooray, hooray!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.75em;">To join the fight for Southern rights—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.75em;">We’ll live or die for Davis, hooray, hooray!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.75em;">We’ll live or die for Davis.</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span><br /> +You’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 “save your bacon!<br /> +Sumter’s ours and must be taken!”<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—<br /> +Old Abe he swore and cuss’d like fun<br /> +When he found the rebels wouldn’t run.<br /> +<br /> +Scott with his army started South!<br /> +You’ve heard how our armies cleaned them out—<br /> +On Manassas’ plains for miles around,<br /> +Their dead and wounded fill’d the ground.<br /> +<br /> +Senator Wilson, the ugly sinner,<br /> +Went over to Centreville to eat a big dinner—<br /> +The M. C.’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 “git up and git” on t’other side of the Potomac—<br /> +But some of the invaders are with us still—<br /> +We’ll send them back again if the Lord will.<br /> +<br /> +Our country calls for volunteers,<br /> +And Texas boys reply with cheers—<br /> +The Henderson Guards and Leon Hunters,<br /> +Friends in peace—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—<br /> +The Mustang Greys, O, they never fight for bounty,<br /> +Nor do the other Greys—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> </p><p> </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’m gwine back to de land of cotton,<br /> +Wid de “English Flag” in an “English bottom,”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far away, far away, far away;</span><br /> +Kase dere I’m safe from Uncle Sam,<br /> +And he can’t make me contraban’,<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>—O, in Dixie land I’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’ shoes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far away, etc.,</span><br /> +To “dig his trenches” 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’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—<br /> +I’ll tell de trufe widout “sensation,”<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’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 “famine,”<br /> +Dey talk a heap of “twaddle and gammon,”<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’ve bin in,<br /> +Dey’ve got no cotton for de spinnin’,<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, “Make muslin widout cotton,”<br /> +Others, “O no, ’twill be too rotten;”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Talk away, etc.,</span><br /> +Some say, “From India we’ll get plenty,<br /> +From Egypt, Greenland and Ashantee,”<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’se holdin’ meetin’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’s a fac’ dey’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’ 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 /> +’Twill be like de horse in de ole man’s song’,<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 “Supply Association,”<a name='fna_6' id='fna_6' href='#f_6'><small>[6]</small></a><br /> +I’ll tell you ob de “New-born Nation,”<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;">“Parley voo,” etc.,</span><br /> +An’ dey will feed and keep de workies,<br /> +“White weaver folk,” and “hoe in darkies,”<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’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SOLDIER’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 /> +“We’ll draw our battle blade, and shield our country’s name,<br /> +’Till our firm demand shall have been proclaimed,<br /> +Justice through the land—equal rights maintained.”<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’ll all cherish thy memory bright.</td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img22.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">Infantry Button.</p> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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"> </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’s grave.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </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> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">SOLDIER.</td></tr> +<tr><td>Lady, I go and fight for thee.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </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> </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> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img23.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">“Lady, I go to fight for thee!”</p> +<p> </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> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">LADY.</td></tr> +<tr><td>Fare thee well!</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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"> </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—our native land’s glory.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That land on whose standard the eagle’s proud pinions</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flutter lordly defiance to tyranny’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’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’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’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 ’neath the sword of our wrath.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>I WISH I WAS IN DIXIE’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’,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look away, look away, look away, Dixie land!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—Den I wish I was in Dixie—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Hooray, hooray!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">In Dixie land I’ll took my stan’!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">To lib an’ 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 “Will-de-Weaber,”<br /> +William was gay deceber<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look away, etc.</span><br /> +But when he put his arm around ’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’s cleaber,<br /> +But dat did not seem to grieb ’er,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look away, etc.</span><br /> +Ole Missus acted de foolish part,<br /> +An’ 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’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 ’way sorrow,<br /> +Come an’ 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’s buckwheat cakes an’ 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’s Land I’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> </p><p> </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—the old Dominion’s brave,<br /> +With sons of Texas, lead the van to glory or the grave;<br /> +Now, by the fame of Yorktown’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’s rill—and from the “bloody ground,”<br /> +Heap’d with the mounds of Perryville, the spectral slogans sound!<br /> +<br /> +And Alabama’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’ry’s tome, to deeds of blood inspire.<br /> +<br /> +Ho, Louisiana! vengeance fraught by rapine’s hellish scenes,<br /> +Comes vanward with the blended thought of Mansfield—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’s hand—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’s grief and Springfield’s boast their patriot bosoms swell.<br /> +<br /> +From where the cypress droppeth down tear-dews on Jackson’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—<br /> +A thousand eyes more keenly mark where gathering foes combine.<br /> +<br /> +From Chickamauga to the flames that o’er Savannah glare,<br /> +Inspired by Bee and Barton’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’s wrath all thro’ their staid old state,<br /> +They swear themselves to deeds of scath, and righteous love of hate!<br /> +<br /> +The Carolinas seek the fray—the scarr’d of every fight,<br /> +From far Manassas’ glorious day to Fisher’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’s flash,<br /> +Where’er along the closing lines the burnish’d bayonets crash;<br /> +Now, Forrest, aid with such a blade as made Fort Pillow quail;<br /> +Now, Hill and Hardee, undismay’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’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’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—<br /> +Make “yea” an instant Tagerman, and “no” 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 “Liberty or Death!”</td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img24.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">Louisiana.</p> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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—“Her Bright Smile Haunts Me Still.”</i></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>There is freedom on each fold, and each star is freedom’s throne,<br /> +And the free, the brave, the bold, guard thine honor as their own;<br /> +Ev’ry danger hast thou known that the battle’s storm can fill,<br /> +Thy glory hath not flown—we proudly wave thee still.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Ev’ry danger, etc.</span><br /> +<br /> +Floating in the morning light, Freedom’s sun! thou shinest far,<br /> +Floating thro’ the murky night, all shall see thee, Freedom’s star!<br /> +For <i>sic semper</i> thy refrain, and thy motto e’er shall be,<br /> +Let tyrants wear the chain—I am—I will be free!<br /> +<br /> +O’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’s freedom on each fold, and each star’s freedom’s throne—<br /> +The free, the brave, the bold, thy glory is their own.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’s holy rapture, the corroding pains—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That fill the heart with rapture or with tears.</span><br /> +<br /> +Farewell, old world! I never knew ’till now<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How well I lov’d thee; and my wayward heart</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still fondly clings to thee—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’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’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’d place—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All that I lov’d comes up before my mind—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The lov’d and cherished I must leave behind—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stand out before me! every verdant spot</span><br /> +In my life’s desert I can clearly trace,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">E’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’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’ning shadows on the bare bright floor—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mother, dear mother! you will watch in vain.</span></td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img25.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">“Farewell to earth and all its beauteous bloom.”</p> +<p> </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—</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’s lov’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’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’ the dark forests where your children play’d—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where all save one in death’s embraces sleep.</span><br /> +<br /> +And he will fill an unhonor’d far-off grave,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unmark’d and lone! The hated foeman’s scorn,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will soon be o’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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who asks of Southrons but an honor’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’d cheek, and proudly scornful eye,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">While stern defiance doth my bosom swell—</span><br /> +Farewell to earth and all its beauteous bloom—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My country! mother! one long, last farewell!</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’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>—Then up with the Sable Banner!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.75em;">Let it thrill to the War God’s breath,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.75em;">For we march to the watchword—Vengeance!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.75em;">And we follow the Captain—Death!</span><br /> +<br /> +In the gloom of the gory breaches, on the ramparts wrapt in flame,<br /> +’Mid the ruin’d homesteads, blacken’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! ’tis burn’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 /> +’Till his leaguer’d and stricken cities shall quake with a coward’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>BANKS’ 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’d out in blue coats and fine filagree—<br /> +But such a skedaddle you never did see!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—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’d rob us of our wheat and wool, our poultry and such things,<br /> +And steal the ladies’ 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—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’ 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 “Feds” did agree—<br /> +But such a skedaddle you never did see!<br /> +<br /> +How first they saw the Texans and heard the Texan yell—<br /> +But whether men or devils they declare they could not tell,<br /> +They faced about, at “double quick,” and run with all their might,<br /> +For they had seen the “elephant,” 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—<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’ry side the Texan yell was ringing in their ears!<br /> +Still on they rush’d, like quarter-horses, shouting as they ran,<br /> +“The Rebels take the hindmost—now save himself who can!”<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—<br /> +But such a skedaddle you never did see!</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>AWAKE! TO ARMS IN TEXAS!</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Air—“Dixie.”</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>—O, fly to arms in Texas! to arms! to arms!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">From Texas land we’ll rout the band</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">That comes to conquer Texas—</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’er us;<br /> +Hear the cannon’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—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’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’s labor;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awake, awake, awake in Texas!</span><br /> +What though ev’ry heart be sadden’d—<br /> +What though all the land be redden’d—<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’ 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’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>THE CAPTURE OF SEVENTEEN OF COMPANY H, FOURTH TEXAS CAVALRY.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Air—“Wake Snakes and Bite a Biskit.”</i></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>’Twas early in the morning of eighteen sixty-three,<br /> +We started out on picket, not knowing what we’d see;<br /> +The bridge we knew was floating. If the Yankees should pursue,<br /> +We knew we should be captured if running we’d not do.<br /> +<br /> +To stop and give them battle, we never tho’t of it—<br /> +The shot at us did rattle, so we tho’t we’d better “git,”<br /> +The captain tried to rally us, and so did brave young Linn;<br /> +And Rader, too, with pistol drawn—Fenly next “put in.”<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—to try it would be vain—<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, “surrender now or die!”<br /> +<br /> +Then came poor Johnny Burns, with sabre cut in head,<br /> +And near by him, and wounded, stood the still unconquer’d Red;<br /> +Then Oscar, and June Harris stood near in sore affright—<br /> +Then came the young De Marcus, in none the better plight.<br /> +<br /> +Yarborough, too, with chalky cheek, was walking down the road—<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,—his face contain’d no blood.<br /> +<br /> +Then came the lively Lilly, with teeth hard set in wrath,<br /> +To think that some had pass’d him by, but pick’d him up at last!<br /> +Then Burnes came, and Maynard, then Graham and Jim Baugh—<br /> +The gallant Bone was found alone, and bro’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 /> +“Surrender, now, my pretty pair; and do it quickly too,<br /> +Stop at once and turn your mare, or I will run you through.”<br /> +<br /> +They stopp’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—<br /> +They were the twain that made seventeen, and we were marched away.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>ALABAMA.</h2> + +<p class="center">Words by <span class="smcap">Laura Lorrimer</span>.<span class="spacer"> </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’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>—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 “Northern Lion” 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> </p><p> </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! ’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> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img26.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">“Thy steed is impatient his mistress to bear.”</p> +<p> </p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—Then fear not, my Imogen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Thou’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> </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">“Arise to thy lattice, the moon is asleep.”</p> +<p> </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’d as a maiden, adored as a wife,<br /> +Thou shalt be forever the star of my life.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>AN OLD TEXAN’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’d hearts of steel—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—his honor is his life—<br /> +And he that won’t fight at his post shall ne’er stay with his wife!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Shall ne’er stay with his wife!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And he that won’t fight at his post,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Shall ne’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—let’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—no Northern tyrant reign;<br /> +’Twas independence made us free, and freedom we’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! ’tis for awhile; my dear, sweet girls, adieu;<br /> +Let’s drive these Northern dogs away, we’ll come and stay with you.<br /> +<br /> +And when the war is over, boys, we’ll then sit down at ease—<br /> +We’ll plow and sow, and reap and mow, and do just as we please.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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—secure it from their foul embrace—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your chains asunder burst!</span><br /> +What tho’ they count as harvest-seed—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’d folly mov’d,</span><br /> +Profaned their Hero’s sacred dust—betrayed their country’s sacred trust,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And double traitors proved.</span><br /> +<br /> +They’ve rais’d the fratricidal hand—they’ve shed their brother’s blood—<br /> +Spread desolation thro’ your land with sword and fire and blood,<br /> +Your desecrated altars lie ensanguin’d in the deepest dye<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of holy thing’s profaned</span><br /> +Your homes and towns in ruins piled—your matrons, maids—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’s won,<br /> +Kindle again the fervid fires that glow’d in sixty-one!<br /> +Your heritage your foes menace—secure it from their foul embrace—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your chains asunder burst!</span><br /> +What tho’ they count as harvest-seed—as fathers bled, their sons must bleed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or be fore’er accursed!</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’re the boys so gay and happy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wheresoever we chance to be—</span><br /> +If at home, or on camp duty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’Tis the same, we’re always free!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—Then let the Yanks say what they will,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">We’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’ll be gay and happy still.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br /> +<br /> +We’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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Northern hosts invade her soil—</span><br /> +We’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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fearless as the name we bore,</span><br /> +We’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> +<h2>BAYLOR’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—“Dixie.”</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—</span><br /> +Come on, come on for Texas.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—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—</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—<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’s proclamation,<br /> +By our sister’s defamation,—<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’s chains enthrall you—<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’s smiting,<br /> +Southern homes his torch is blighting—<br /> +Well he knows he’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’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 ’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> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img28.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">Volunteer Confederate Button.</p> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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—“Barring of the Door.”</i></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>It was on a New Year’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>—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—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9.5em;">O, skedaddle!</span><br /> +<br /> +Magruder march’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’ big shot flew fast, thick and hot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They thought they’d gain’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’s deck to gain, Oh!</span><br /> +Then L’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’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’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’ 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’on Smith as aid,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will send them to—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’en pris’ner, or fled—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They can’t stand the pistol and bowie.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> +<h2>I’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’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’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’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’d the cosy parlor—for a silence lingers there,<br /> +Since our lov’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 “good nights” are ended there’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> </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">“I’m thinking of the soldier as the evening shadows fall.”</p> +<p> </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’m dreaming of the soldier, on his pallet bed of straw;<br /> +As the leaves are growing yellow and November winds are raw—<br /> +And a vision comes before me of aching, fever’d brow;<br /> +And a proud form blighted, blasted, strangely, strangely alter’d now.<br /> +<br /> +And I feel that strong heart beating fainter, fainter with each breath,<br /> +Fluttering softly in its prison, fluttering thro’ the gate of death;<br /> +And a voice of sad despairing stirs my heart’s deep fountain now,—<br /> +As my hand is slowly wandering o’er that strangely altered brow.<br /> +<br /> +And a sigh, soul full of longing, fills the chambers of my soul—<br /> +While the quivering heart-strings whisper “Life’s a tale that soon is told;”<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, “Future,” on her dim, prophetic leaves,<br /> +Writes that death will claim the soldier, when he gathers up his sheaves;<br /> +This is why I’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’m praying for the soldier from a soul with sorrow sore,<br /> +For our soldier boys have left us—gone, perchance, to come no more.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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—“The Harp that once thro’ Tara’s Halls.”</i></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>’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—but sublime—</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’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’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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When one embrac’d his sire.</span><br /> +<br /> +But death hath taken for his own<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their Captain, Lee, Monroe—</span><br /> +And many more they lost that day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose death they’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’s pride! is lost—<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’s sake!</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’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—once o’er him streaming—</span><br /> +He folded ’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’er the warrior streaming,</span><br /> +As he rais’d his head from the bloody ground,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where many a brave was sleeping.</span><br /> +<br /> +“Now, away,” he cried—“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 /> +“I have seen our glorious banner wave<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O’er the tents of the enemy vanquish’d—</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 /> +“Leave me to die with the free and the brave,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the banks of my own noble river—</span><br /> +Ye can give me naught but a soldier’s grave,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a place in your hearts forever!”</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’d woe,</span><br /> +Hasten’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 /> +“O Lord our God! arise,<br /> +Scatter our enemies,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And make them fall!”</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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>SOUTHERN BATTLE SONG.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Air—“Bruce’s Address.”</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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">“God and Southern Rights.”</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’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’s honored dead!<br /> +By the blood so lately shed!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">We will make them know—</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> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img30.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">Georgia Belt-buckle.</p> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’s Company.</p> +<p class="center"><i>Air—“Auld Lang Syne.”</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’ve now begun to make her soldiers bleed.<br /> +The “Old Blockade” her threats have made, that she will burn our town;<br /> +But Col. Cook, with piercing look, declares he’ll stand his ground.<br /> +<br /> +High in the breeze he soon did raise the flag with single star,<br /> +Saying, “Let them come, we’ll give them some, before they are aware.”<br /> +Along the coast he soon did post his batteries, well mann’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 “Old Santee” come sailing into shore;<br /> +And then we’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’ll cross the bridge without a siege, and think it nothing wrong.<br /> +<br /> +When on mainland, we’ll take our stand, and all their hosts defy;<br /> +There we will fight for Southern rights—we’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’d around,<br /> +As if to find the channel’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’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’d fire in order quite complete;<br /> +’Twas at Fort Point she did dismount our best and largest gun;<br /> +’Twas now in vain here to remain, so we for life did run.<br /> +<br /> +’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’ 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 “4th proof.”<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 /> +“My plan is laid,” he quickly said, “Galveston to retake;<br /> +Brave boys!” said he, “come, follow me; we’ll make the Yankees quake.”<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’er the foe;<br /> +On New Year’s morn, before day dawn, the year of sixty-three,<br /> +The New Year’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, “Your country you must save,<br /> +And still maintain your glorious name, <i>the bravest of the brave</i>.”<br /> +<br /> +We fear’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’d all their crews,<br /> +Except a few who were untrue, and sail’d off under truce.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’er his motionless breast;</span><br /> +That voice that has gladden’d valiant comrades in arms,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And driven away their deep shadows of gloom,</span><br /> +Is seemingly hush’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’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’d, like the dead, sullen calm,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As it heralds Vesuvius’ 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’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’ to the “echoless shore” 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’s bright fires,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While his men have stood ’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’d the unbidden tear from the veteran’s cheek,</span><br /> +As of home—that lov’d spot to each memory so dear—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With heartfelt emotion his chieftain would speak;</span><br /> +Aye, seemingly hush’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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yes, long as their noble hearts have power to feel.</span><br /> +<br /> +The hero of Valverde—the hero of Mansfield,—<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’er his tomb a soft halo of light,</span><br /> +And the moon’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’er the grave of the chieftain that slumbereth there—</span><br /> +How sweetly they’ll mingle their gentle perfumes with<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The orphans’ and widows’ 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> </p><p> </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’d whip,<br /> +But thanks to my stars, he has not done it yet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">For it’s hard times.</span><br /> +<br /> +Manassa’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—<br /> +It was old General Scott who led in his clan—<br /> +But in facing Jeff Davis he couldn’t shine,<br /> +For we captured his cakes, his brandies and wine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Then we’d fine times.</span><br /> +<br /> +Old Abe and the “Gen’ral” soon got at “out,”<br /> +Which caused the “Old Gen’ral” 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’d whip—<br /> +But you see, my dear friends, he’s not done it yet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">For it’s hard times.</span><br /> +<br /> +Yet there was another, Gen. Buell, the great,<br /> +That followed our Beauregard clean thro’ one State,<br /> +But at Tennessee River he got all his fill—<br /> +I’m certain he remembered the Shiloh Hill!<br /> +<br /> +There were Banks, Shields and Fremont, big generals all,<br /> +While skirmishing ’round ran afoul of “Stonewall!”<br /> +With Longstreet and Hill, very near by his side,<br /> +Who said: “Wo-ee, Yankees, let’s all have a ride!”<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 /> +“Drive all the Yankees into eternity?”<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’d whip,<br /> +But the Texans made them everlastingly “git!”<br /> +<br /> +Now the last I’ve heard of McClellan, the third;<br /> +He was down on James River bogg’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> </p><p> </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—“I’m Afloat.”</i></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Flag of the Southland! Flag of the free!<br /> +’Ere thy sons will be slaves, they will perish with thee!<br /> +Thy new-risen star shall light Liberty on,<br /> +’Till the hosts of the tyrant are scatter’d and gone!<br /> +Whether victory sits on the Southern plumes,<br /> +Or disaster doth come in some hour of gloom,<br /> +Freedom’s hosts will still rally where’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 ’midst the great battle’s din,<br /> +From Manassas’ red plains, o’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’s trio of genius—Beauregard, Johnston and Lee!<br /> +Guards the flag of the Southland—flag of the free!<br /> +<br /> +The foe is upon us, but our flag it is there!<br /> +We have borne it in triumph—its defeat we can share;<br /> +Tho’ our cities be burned, tho’ our thousands be slain,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>’Mid the flames of our altars we’ll fight him again;<br /> +And while there’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—the flag of the free!<br /> +<br /> +In the hour of gloom now thy valorous sons show,<br /> +That freemen can die, but ne’er yield to the foe!<br /> +But our Shiloh has come—see the enemy flee!<br /> +His sceptre has sunk ’neath the swift Tennessee—<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—the flag of the free!</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’s eye;</span><br /> +’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’ 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’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’s now the cry,</span><br /> +’Till the “Stars and Bars” triumphant<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spread their folds to every eye.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>STONEWALL JACKSON’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’ll make a roaring night;</span><br /> +Here Shenandoah brawls along,<br /> +To swell the Brigade’s rousing song<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of “Stonewall Jackson’s way.”</span><br /> +<br /> +We see him now!—the old slouched hat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cocked o’er his eye, askew—</span><br /> +The shrewd, dry smile—the speech as pat—<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 “Blue Light Elder” knows o’er well—<br /> +Says he, “That’s Banks—he’s fond of shell—<br /> +Lord save his soul!—we’ll give him”—well,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That’s “Stonewall Jackson’s way.”</span></td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img31.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">“He’s in the saddle now.”</p> +<p> </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’s going to pray;</span><br /> +Strangle the fool that dares to scoff!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Attention! ’tis his way!</span><br /> +Appealing from his native sod,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>In forma pauperis</i> to God—</span><br /> +“Lay bare thine arm; stretch forth thy rod;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Amen!” That’s “Stonewall’s way.”</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span><br /> +He’s in the saddle now! Fall in!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Steady—the whole Brigade!</span><br /> +Hill’s at the ford cut off! He’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 /> +“Quick step—we’re with him before dawn!”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That’s “Stonewall Jackson’s way.”</span><br /> +<br /> +The sun’s bright lances rout the mists<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of morning, and, by George,</span><br /> +There’s Longstreet struggling in the lists,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hemmed in an ugly gorge—</span><br /> +Pope and his Yankees whipped before—<br /> +“Bayonet and grape!” hear Stonewall roar,<br /> +“Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby’s score<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In Stonewall Jackson’s way.”</span><br /> +<br /> +Ah, maiden! wait and watch and yearn<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For news of Stonewall’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—<br /> +The foe had better ne’er been born,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than get in “Stonewall’s way.”</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’ its orange bowers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the brave and noble dead;</span><br /> +Then trail’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—</span><br /> +The earth has received to her bosom its trust—<br /> +Ashes to ashes—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’s keeping,</span><br /> +Where the blossoms of summer in splendor expand,<br /> +By the camp-fire light there’s a sorrow bow’d band—<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;">’Till the voice from the King on his throne</span><br /> +To the earth goeth forth, to give up his trust—<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’d admiration;<br /> +Its leaves were the glory and pride of the nation,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’Twas Liberty’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’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’s mountains, his banners waved<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the face of the haughtiest foe—</span><br /> +All dangers he scorned, and all odds had he brav’d,<br /> +And victory seem’d on his banners engrav’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’s pages,</span><br /> +’Till crumbled in dust, is the record of glory,<br /> +’Till valor’s forgotten, and nation’s grow hoary,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Undimmed by the shadows of ages.</span><br /> +<br /> +Massachusetts’ black banner wav’d on Galveston’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 ’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’s won—Green the battle has fought!<br /> +And the cross of the South, morning’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—<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—</span><br /> +There his genius burst forth like the lightning conceal’d,<br /> +And destiny seem’d to his glance reveal’d—<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—<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—<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’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’s their dust.</span><br /> +<br /> +And Liberty’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’s blue wave,<br /> +And sacred its fruit o’er each patriot’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’s silent shore</span><br /> +By the veteran dead, with their banners now furl’d—<br /> +War’s trumpet unblown, and his lances unhurl’d—<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’d and honor’d he lies,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Near his home by the murmuring river—</span><br /> +In the soil he sav’d, ’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’d in repose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cease for the hero to sigh—</span><br /> +Life’s morning was honor—in greatness it rose,<br /> +’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’er his hallow’d remains let no monument shine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To tell of the chieftain beneath it,</span><br /> +His requiem hymn’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—</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’d not war’s crimson-dyed pall,</span><br /> +His nature was peace while the olive remained—<br /> +Refus’d then the long-baited lion unchain’d—<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’s call—</span><br /> +The widow and orphan his charities bless’d,<br /> +The friend of the homeless, the poor and distress’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> +<h2>HOOD’S OLD BRIGADE.</h2> + +<p class="center">“<i>On the March.</i>”</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>’Twas midnight when we built our fires—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We march’d at half-past three!</span><br /> +We know not when our march shall end,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor care—we follow Lee!</span><br /> +The starlight gleams on many a crest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And many a well-tried blade—</span><br /> +This handful marching on the left—<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—</span><br /> +How in one company, they say,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They now can count but two!</span><br /> +<br /> +There’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 ’round us, then<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We’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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>My</i> heart can whisper why—</span><br /> +’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—</span><br /> +Because when stars are brightest, then<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We’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’t shell, half-buried, struck my foot?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or, stay—’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—</span><br /> +At his feet that heap of bones and earth—<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 /> +’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—</span><br /> +“It is the foe!” 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 “Old Brigade,”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This line of stalwart men!</span><br /> +The “long roll!” 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 /> +“Now steady here! fall in! fall in!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forward! the ‘Old Brigade!’”</span></td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img32.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">Georgia Button.</p> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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"> </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’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’ sway!</span><br /> +Strike, Southrons, strike! the foe shall flee,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor e’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’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> +<h2>MY HEART’S IN MISSISSIPPI.</h2> + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>My heart’s in Mississippi,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’Tis de place whar I was born;</span><br /> +’Tis dar I planted sugar cane,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’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’s in Mississippi<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wherever I go.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—Yet my heart’s in Mississippi,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">’Tis de place whar I was born;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">’Tis dar I planted sugar cane,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">’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’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’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 ’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’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> </p><p> </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’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—<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—<br /> +For his voice was that to their bridle rein<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">That the air’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’ 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—<br /> +But the Hero cared not—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, ’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’er him,<br /> +Where the white-maned steeds that walked before him<br /> +Proud and stepped and slow—and the mourners said,<br /> +Let a stately place for his couch be made—<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’s edge kissing the sacred pall;<br /> +And thousands came to the hallowed room,<br /> +’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’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>THE COTTON-BURNER’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 /> +’Tis the planter’s grand oblation<br /> +On the altar of the nation;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’Tis a willing sacrifice—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let the golden incense rise—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pile the cotton to the skies!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—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—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">’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—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the revolution’s past—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the nation’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—</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’s race—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hissing hate and vile disgrace—</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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">See the cotton blaze!</span><br /> +God of nations! now to Thee,<br /> +Southrons bend th’ imploring knee;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’Tis our country’s hour of need—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hear the mothers intercede—</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> </p><p> </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> </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’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’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>—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’s comin’,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">In the year of Jubilo.</span><br /> +<br /> +He’s six feet one way, four feet t’other,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And weighs three hundred pounds;</span><br /> +His coat’s so big he can’t pay de tailor—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Den it don’t go half around.</span></td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img34.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">“Massa run, aha.”</p> +<p> </p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>He drills so much dey call him cap’n;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he am so very tan,</span><br /> +Speck he’ll try to fool dem Yankees<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And say he’s contraban’.</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’s parlor,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To keep ’em, while he’s gone.</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span><br /> +There’s wine and cider in de cellar,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And de darkies dey’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’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’ll lose his pay;</span><br /> +He’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>SONG OF HOOKER’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’m ’nation tired of being hired<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To fight for a shillin’ a day;</span><br /> +Richmond to gain I’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 ’listed!</span><br /> +When I came down to this ’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’ve stud in rebel mud<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A watchin’ North Calinians.</span><br /> +I might a bin safe up to Lynn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A eatin’ clams and inions.</span><br /> +<br /> +All night I sit in straw that’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’t no pay for many a day;—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nigh unto a year I guess,</span><br /> +Since a new Greenback hev crosst my track—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That’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’t war “accordin’ to Jomini.”</span><br /> +<br /> +It’s monsus fine for the Bobolition line,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With mouths full o’ pumpkin pie,</span><br /> +To preach in meetin’ agin’ retreatin’—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why don’t they come theirselves and try?</span><br /> +<br /> +They’d find the Confed’s hev mighty hard heads,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And are pow’ful smart at shootin’;</span><br /> +Their love for the old flag would very soon drag—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lord! how you’d see them scootin’.</span><br /> +<br /> +That fool Burnside deserves a cowhide,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Coz he’s got neither pluck nor sense;</span><br /> +He shook like souse at the Phillip’s house,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While we was murder’d at Marye’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’ral may be,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I’ve got to die for the nigger,</span><br /> +While Greeley steps on feathers, and Beecher’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’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’s lost his liberty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Peace</i> is the right sort o’ talk.</span><br /> +<br /> +I calk’late to stay, until next May,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A shiv’rin’ in all this slush;</span><br /> +But when I git paid, I’m a leetle kinder ’fraid<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I’ll back out hum with a rush.</span><br /> +<br /> +I’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’ll spend my days<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With my gal, my gin and my trowel.</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh! I’m sick as a dog, or a mangy hog,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of this ’tarnal nasty fightin’,</span><br /> +That’s all gone wrong, and lasts too long<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For a man that’s thinkin’ o’ kitin’.</span><br /> +<br /> +I’ll tell you, Mississip, you’re an ugly looking rip,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And if you’ll keep your side o’ the water,</span><br /> +You may save your powder, and I’ll take to chowder,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And come no more where I hadn’t oughter.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’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’ 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’s a way where there’s a will,<br /> +And the way all cares to kill,<br /> +Is to give them no surrender.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’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’s glow.</span><br /> +Dreams of comfort that will cheer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through winter’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’s damp;</span><br /> +There’ll be none to fix them right<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the soldier’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’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,—<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’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—<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,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smiles for those who laugh at fear,—</span><br /> +Hope and sympathy for all,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Every noble volunteer.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’s god-like son,<br /> +Second unto none in glory—equal of her Washington;<br /> +Gazing on his line of battle, as it wavered to and fro<br /> +’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 ’neath the cloudy smoke;<br /> +Cool, as tho’ 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 ’mong them falling, yet unmov’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’d his hat with courtly gesture, “Follow me and save the day!”<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span><br /> +But, as tho’ 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’ them ran,<br /> +Heard above the cannon’s roaring, as it passed from man to man,<br /> +<br /> +“You go back and we’ll go forward!” 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, “I’ll lead you on the foe!”<br /> +Then, thro’ all the line of battle rang a loud determined “No!”<br /> +<br /> +Quick as thought a gallant Major, with a firm and vice-like grasp,<br /> +Seized the General’s bridle, shouting, “Forward, boys! I’ll hold him fast!”<br /> +Then again the hat was lifted, “Sir, I am the older man:<br /> +Loose my bridle, I will lead them!” in a measured tone and calm.<br /> +<br /> +Trembling with suppressed emotion, with intense excitement hot,<br /> +In a quivering voice, the Texan, “No, by God, sir, you shall not!”<br /> +By them swept the charging squadron, with a loud exultant cheer,<br /> +“We’ll retake the salient, General, if you’ll watch us from the rear!”<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—<br /> +But the god-like calm was shaken, which no battle shock could move,<br /> +By this true, spontaneous token of his soldiers’ child-like love!</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>MY NOBLE WARRIOR, COME!</h2> + +<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Mrs. Col. C. G. F——y</span>.</p> +<p class="center"><i>Air—“The Rock Beside the Sea.”</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’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’s distant roar, the host’s victorious cry,<br /> +Unto my trembling heart is more than all earth’s melody;<br /> +Come back, my noble warrior, come! there’s but one prayer for me,<br /> +’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> </p><p> </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’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’s standing side by side;</span><br /> +We do not fear the stormy gale<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sweeps old ocean’s strand;</span><br /> +We scorn our enemy’s clumsy sail,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all for Dixie’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 ægis of the free,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And by it we will stand,</span><br /> +And watch it waving o’er the sea,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And over Dixie’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’s boom,</span><br /> +And give the war-cry, wild and free,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Amid the battle’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’s freedom and its fame,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the fair of Dixie’s land.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>HOOD’S TEXAS BRIGADE.</h2> + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Down by the valley, ’mid thunder and lightning,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down by the valley, ’mid shadows of night,</span><br /> +Down by the deep crimson’d valley of Richmond,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Twenty-five hundred mov’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’d valley of Richmond,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">March’d the bold warriors of Hood’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’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’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’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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Weep, for you’ll never behold them again!</span><br /> +But know ye that vict’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’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’d valley of Richmond,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And crown our young Chief of the Texas Brigade!</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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, ’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’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’t enjoy a walk<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Since all the beaux have gone;</span><br /> +For what’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’s the use of talking thus?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We’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’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’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’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p> +<h2>JACKSON’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 “fighting Burnside,”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">More than his match will find:</span><br /> +We’re done with slow McClellan,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who kept us “digging dirt,”</span><br /> +And now are “on to Richmond,”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where some one “will be hurt.”</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’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’t know when he’s whipped.</span><br /> +<br /> +We’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 “on to Richmond”<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’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 /> +“If Johnston is no general,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then, gentlemen, I’ve none,”</span><br /> +He said to those who grumbled,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Donelson we won.</span><br /> +<br /> +And I don’t believe that Jackson’s<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Resignation he’ll accept—</span><br /> +Hallo!!!—A rebel picket—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How close the rascal crept!</span><br /> +“Say, stranger, is it true<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That Jackson has resigned?”</span><br /> +“Well, yes—I reckon so—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heard somethin’ of the kind.”</span><br /> +<br /> +“What for? Did old Jeff Davis<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Put a sub. above his head?”</span><br /> +“No—they took away his commissary,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So I’ve heard it said.”</span><br /> +“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’s commissary?”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“<i>Your Major-General Banks.</i>”</span><br /> +<br /> +“Confound your rebel impudence!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He’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.”</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Southern Illustrated News</i>, April, 1863.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’d field,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where battle storms had swept,</span><br /> +We know the soldier’s fate was seal’d—<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’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’d near his side,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To watch his fleeting breath,</span><br /> +To mark the ebbing of life’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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“Here, Warren, take my sword—</span><br /> +You’ll be their captain now, you know;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But, friend, remember then,”</span><br /> +Said he, “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">“He faintly smiled and waved his hand.”</p> +<p> </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>“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’m ordered up above,</span><br /> +And there can be no countermand—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I know my fate is seal’d!”</span><br /> +He faintly smiled, and wav’d his hand—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We left him on the field.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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—<br /> +Is my father coming?—tell me, have the Southrons gain’d the day?<br /> +Is he well, or is he wounded? Mother, do you think he’s slain?<br /> +If you know, I pray you tell me—will my father come again?<br /> +<br /> +Mother, dear, you’re always sighing since you last the paper read—<br /> +Tell me why you now are crying—why that cap is on your head?<br /> +Ah! I see you cannot tell me—father’s one among the slain!<br /> +Altho’ he lov’d us very dearly, he will never come again!</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </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—“The Old North State.”</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’rous invasion!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—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’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’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>—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> </p><p> </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>—For Dixie’s land we’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’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’s great heart rejoices<br /> +At your cannon’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’s altar,<br /> +Never to submit or falter,<br /> +’Till the spoilers are defeated,<br /> +’Till the Lord’s work is completed.<br /> +<br /> +Halt not till our federation,<br /> +Secures among earth’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> </p><p> </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—<br /> +When the foe your lines have crossed?<br /> +<br /> +Gained—the infamy of fame?<br /> +Gained—a dastard’s spotted name;<br /> +Gained—eternity of shame.<br /> +<br /> +Lost—desert of manly Worth;<br /> +Lost—the right you had by birth;<br /> +Lost—lost! Freedom from the earth!<br /> +<br /> +Freemen, up! the foe is nearing!<br /> +Haughty banners high uprearing—<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—<br /> +He is not a man that falters!</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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">“Let us cross the river, and rest under the shade of the trees.”—<i>Last +words of Stonewall Jackson.</i></p> + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Bravely ye’ve fought, my gallant, gallant men!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bravely ye’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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So, over the river and rest!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—Over the river the shade trees grow—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Over the river we’ll rest!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Ye have fought the fight—won the praise that brings</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Peace to the soldier’s breast!</span><br /> +<br /> +Bravely ye’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’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,—<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> </p><p> </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’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>—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’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 /> +’Tis Gordon’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, “Forward!”<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’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’er our fate may be,</span><br /> +’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’ll defy the tyrants’ 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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p> +<h2>MORGAN’S WAR SONG.</h2> + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Cheer, boys, cheer! we’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’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—our country’s noble standard;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wave it on high ’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—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’ to our homes we never may return,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ne’er press again our lov’d ones in our arms,</span><br /> +O’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> </p><p> </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—“Dixie.”</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’d is now forgotten;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fight away, fight away, fight away for Dixie’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’s land.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—For Dixie’s land I’ll take my stand,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">To live or die for Dixie’s land,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Fight away, fight away, fight away for Dixie’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’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’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’s answer was short and curt:<br /> +“Fort Sumpter’s taken, and nobody’s hurt!”<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 “Stars and Bars” are waving o’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> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img36.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">Cavalry Button.</p> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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"> </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’er all the glorious land,</span><br /> +Where tow’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>—The cross and bars, its gleaming stars,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Shall float o’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’er land and main;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Confederate Sov’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’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’s broad ægis still upholds<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Enlightened freedom’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’ 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’ exulting strain.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br /> +<br /> +Where Chesapeake’s broad waters glow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Round Maryland’s green lands,</span><br /> +To where the gulf and ocean bow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Florida’s white sands;</span><br /> +From where the mad Atlantic rolls<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Rio Grande’s plain,</span><br /> +Let Southern hearts and Southern souls<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Repeat th’ exulting strain.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’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’d ones lying,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alone and wounded on the couch of pain;</span><br /> +Consum’d by wasting fevers—even dying—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sighing for those they ne’er may see again;</span><br /> +There are untended graves where grass is growing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rankly and tall o’er each lone sleeper’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’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> </p><p> </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>“Och, it’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’s an infernal<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Predicament, surely,” says Private Maguire.</span><br /> +<br /> +“They can go sparkin’ and playin’ at billiards,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With money to spend for their slightest desire,</span><br /> +Loafin’ and atin’ and drinkin’ at Ballard’s,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While we’re on the pickets,” says Private Maguire.</span><br /> +<br /> +“Livin’ in clover, they think it’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,” says Private Maguire.</span><br /> +<br /> +“Faith, now, it’s not that I’m afther complainin’,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I’m spilin’ to meet ye, Abe Lincoln, Esquire!</span><br /> +Ye blaggard! it’s only I’m weary of thrainin’,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thrainin’, and thrainin’,” says Private Maguire.</span><br /> +<br /> +“O Lord, for a row! but Maguire, boy, be aisy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kape yourself swate for the inimy’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!” says Private Maguire.</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span><br /> +“And, lad, if ye’re hit (O, bedad, that infernal<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jimmy O’Dowd would make love to Maria!)</span><br /> +Whether ye’re captain, or major, or colonel,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ye’ll die with the best then,” says Private Maguire.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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>—“<i>The Coronack.</i>”</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’ 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’s brunt.</span><br /> +<br /> +He swoops from the mountain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like our own regal bird;</span><br /> +O’er Potomac’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>SOUTHERN SONG.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Tune</i>—“<i>Wait for the Wagon.</i>”</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’ll all take a ride.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—So wait for the wagon! the dissolution wagon;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">The South is the wagon, and we’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,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She has come into the ring;</span><br /> +She wouldn’t fight for a government,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where cotton wasn’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’d wipe us out,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And on to Richmond ride.</span><br /> +But when they met our “Dixie” 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’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’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> </p><p> </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’s mellow roar—</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> </p><p> </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>“Though fifteen summers scarce have shed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their blossoms on thy brow.”</span></td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<h2>MY WARRIOR BOY.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Metropolitan Record.</i><span class="spacer"> </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’s sacred cause,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or win an early grave;</span><br /> +With vet’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’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’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’s cause,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For thy dear native land.</span></td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img38.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>“Come back to me my darling son,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And light my life again.”</span></td></tr></table> +<p> </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’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> </p><p> </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>—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’ 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> </p><p> </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"> </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>—A grave in the wood with the grass o’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—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’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 ’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—and strong men wept,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As in silence they gathered ’round him.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>THE CAVALIER’S GLEE.</h2> + +<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Capt. Blackford</span>, of General Stuart’s Staff.</p> +<p class="center"><i>Air—“The Pirate’s Glee.”</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 /> +“The charge” 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>—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’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’ll through the Northern ranks go crushing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With our proud battle-flag o’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 /> +’Tis for our sunny South they’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> </p><p> </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—“Faintly Flows the Falling River.”</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’s triumph,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O’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’ry cherished,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bright their never-dying fame.</span><br /> +<br /> +Glowing in young manhood’s beauty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sprang they at their country’s call,</span><br /> +Made before the foeman’s legions<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’Round our homes a living wall.</span><br /> +By disease’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’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> </p><p> </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"> </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, “We conquer or die.”<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, “We conquer or die.”<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, “We conquer or die.”<br /> +<br /> +Press forward undaunted, no thought of retreat,<br /> +The enemy’s host on the threshold to meet,<br /> +Strike firm, ’til the foemen before you shall fly,<br /> +Appalled by the watchword, “We conquer or die.”<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’s too was the watchword, “We conquer or die.”<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’s then be the watchword, “We conquer or die.”</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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;">“God will defend the right.”</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>—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;">“God will defend the right.”</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’s blue vault.</span><br /> +Thousands of true and brave,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their hero lives may end,</span><br /> +O’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> </p><p> </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’s shock was over, and the foe was forced to yield;<br /> +He fell, a youthful hero, before the foeman’s aims,<br /> +On a blood-red field near Richmond—near Richmond on the James.<br /> +<br /> +But one still stood beside him—his comrade in the fray—<br /> +They had been friends together in boyhood’s happy day;<br /> +And side by side had struggled on fields of blood and flames,<br /> +To part that eve at Richmond—near Richmond on the James.<br /> +<br /> +He said, “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—<br /> +Tho’ 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 /> +“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—near Richmond on the James.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span><br /> +“I wish that mother’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’s safe return from Richmond on the James.<br /> +<br /> +“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 /> +“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 /> +“And tho’ I know, dear comrade, thou’lt miss me for a while,<br /> +When their faces—all left to love thee—again on thee shall smile,<br /> +Again thou’lt be the foremost in all their youthful games,<br /> +But I shall lie near Richmond—near Richmond on the James.”<br /> +<br /> +The land is fill’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—of Richmond on the James.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’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’m afraid it’s rather long,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the famous “on to Richmond” 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 /> +’Tis pretty hard to sing, and like a round, round ring,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’Tis a dreadful knotty puzzle to unravel,</span><br /> +Though all the papers swore, when we touched Virginia’s shore,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That Richmond was a hard road to travel.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—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 “rocky journey” altogether;</span><br /> +And he found it rather hard to ride o’er Beauregard,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Johnston proved a deuce of a bother,</span><br /> +And ’twas clear, beyond a doubt, that he didn’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>—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’t find the road, and his “onward movement” 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>—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’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’s Bluff gave them speedily enough,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The loudest sort of reg’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>—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 “slow coaches.”</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’t trumps,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Hills he couldn’t level “as he orter.”</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—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’m afraid.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then said Lincoln unto Pope, “You can make the trip, I hope;”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“I will save the universal Yankee nation,</span><br /> +To make sure of no defeat, I’ll leave no lines of retreat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And issue a famous proclamation.”</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’ second fight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’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>—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’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’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 /> +’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>—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’ll take the cursed town, and then we’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;">“Oh! yes, massa, they fight like the devil.”</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>THE SOUTHRON’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"> </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’s watchword be,<br /> +Fighting for us on land and sea?<br /> +Bearing our flag o’er the billow’s foam,<br /> +Shedding his blood for his Southern home?<br /> +To bleed and conquer he’s bravely gone;<br /> +Freedom and glory still urge him on.<br /> +Then shall the Southron’s watchword be,<br /> +“The grave of the hero or victory!”<br /> +<br /> +What shall the Southron’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’s watchword be,<br /> +“The grave of the hero or victory!”<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span><br /> +What shall the Southron’s watchword be,<br /> +Fighting the battles of liberty?<br /> +Holy the light on his manly brow,<br /> +The victor’s wreath or the cypress bough!<br /> +Such are the thoughts which the brave inspire,<br /> +Filling their souls with the soldier’s fire;<br /> +Then shall the Southron’s watchword be,<br /> +“The grave of the hero or victory!”</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>THERE’S LIFE IN THE OLD LAND YET.</h2> + +<p class="center">Words by <span class="smcap">James B. Randall</span>.<span class="spacer"> </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’s billowy dash,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tyrant’s war-shout comes,</span><br /> +Along with the cymbal’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—</span><br /> +There’s faith in the streams, there’s hope in the hills,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“There’s life in the Old Land yet!”</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—</span><br /> +We crouch—’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’s faith in the victor’s stainless sword,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“There’s life in the Old Land yet!”</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’er Merryman, Thomas, and Kane;</span><br /> +And we—though we smite not—are not thralls,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We are piling a gory debt;</span><br /> +While down by McHenry’s dungeon walls,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“There’s life in the Old Land yet!”</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—</span><br /> +There’s faith in their unrelenting woes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“There’s life in the Old Land yet!”</span><br /> +<br /> +There’s life, though it throbbeth in silent veins,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’Tis vocal without noise;</span><br /> +It gushed o’er Manassas’ 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—</span><br /> +By the death of the brave, by the God in the skies,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“There’s life in the Old Land yet!”</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>New Orleans Delta</i>, Sept., 1861.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’s golden ray;</span><br /> +With your uniform all new,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And your shining buttons, too,</span><br /> +You’ll win the hearts of pretty girls,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But none like me so true.</span><br /> +Oh, won’t you think of me, Willie boy, Willie boy;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, won’t you think of me when far away?</span><br /> +I’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’ll be fighting for the right, Willie boy, Willie boy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You’ll be fighting for the right, and your home;</span><br /> +And you’ll strike the blow with might, Willie boy, Willie boy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’Mid the thundering of cannon and of drum;</span><br /> +With an arm as true as steel,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You’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’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> </p><p> </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’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’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’s sacred trust,<br /> +Remember Howard’s warlike thrust,<br /> +And all thy slumberers with the just,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland! My Maryland!</span><br /> +<br /> +Come! ’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’s spirit for the fray,<br /> +With Watson’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’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—<br /> +“Sic semper,” ’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—<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—<br /> +Huzzah! she spurns the Northern scum!<br /> +She breathes—she burns! she’ll come! she’ll come!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Maryland! My Maryland!</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’s to South Carolina! drink it down,<br /> +Here’s to South Carolina, drink it down,<br /> +Here’s to South Carolina, the first to open up the fray.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—Drink it down, drink it down,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Drink it down, down, down.</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, here’s to Mississippi! drink it down,<br /> +Here’s to Mississippi, drink it down,<br /> +Here’s to Mississippi, for she gave old Abe the slip.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, here’s to Alabama! drink it down,<br /> +Here’s to Alabama—we’ll fight for her banner.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, here’s to Florida State, drink it down,<br /> +Here’s to Florida—to Southern rights she’ll ne’er say nay.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, here’s to Georgia State—drink it down,<br /> +Here’s to Georgia State—altho’ she <i>is</i> rather late.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, here’s to Louisiana! drink it down,<br /> +Here’s to Louisiana—how glorious is her banner.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, here’s to gallant Texas! drink it down,<br /> +Here’s to gallant Texas—the Yankees say “she vexes us.”<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span><br /> +Oh, here’s to brave Virginia! drink it down,<br /> +Here’s to brave Virginia—she’ll hold up the Confederacy.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, here’s to Arkansas! drink it down,<br /> +Here’s to Arkansas—for she’ll break old Abram’s jaw.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, here’s to North Carolina! drink it down,<br /> +Here’s to North Carolina—with a whoop and a hurrah.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, here’s to Tennessee! drink it down,<br /> +Here’s to Tennessee—for she’s bound to be free.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, here’s to brave Missouri! drink it down,<br /> +Here’s to brave Missouri—whose sons will ne’er say die!<br /> +<br /> +Oh, here’s to old Kentuck! drink it down,<br /> +Here’s to old Kentuck—she yet may have the pluck.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, here’s to Maryland! drink it down,<br /> +Here’s to Maryland—bleeding beneath a tyrant’s hand.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, here’s to General Lee! drink it down,<br /> +Here’s to General Lee—for he’ll set the Rebels free!<br /> +<br /> +Oh, here’s to Magruder! drink it down—<br /> +Here’s to our Magruder—the Yankees’ great deluder.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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"> </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’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>—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’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> </p><p> </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> </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’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’ll all join in—three cheers for our Jack Morgan!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—Gather round the camp-fire, our duty has been done,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Let’s gather round the camp-fire, and have a little fun.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Let’s gather round the camp-fire, our duty has been done,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">’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—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’s word await—they’ll go where he will lead ’em.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 26em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br /> +<br /> +He swore to free his home—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’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’er reverse had risen.<br /> +Then sing the song of joy—our toast be lovely woman;<br /> +And Morgan, he’s the gallant boy to plague the hated foeman!</td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img40.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">Mississippi Button.</p> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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"> </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’ all this starry night,</span><br /> +Heaven prove auspicious to thy vow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For with to-morrow’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’s shot and steel defy!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In triumph floating o’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’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>THE SOLDIER’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’ve seen some handsome uniforms deck’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>—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’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’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’ torn and faded be each coat, their buttons tarnish’d too,<br /> +I know beneath each soldier’s dress a Southern heart beats true;<br /> +We honor ev’ry gallant son who fights for us to-day,<br /> +And heav’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’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’ry fallen son we shed a mourner’s tear!<br /> +Oh, sacred be the grave of those who died so far away,<br /> +And honor’d be each one who sleeps clad in a suit of gray.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 23em;">(Omit chorus.)</span><br /> +<br /> +’Round ev’ry patriot soldier’s brow the laurel wreath entwines,<br /> +And ’round the battle-flag they bear a ray of glory shines,<br /> +And when the foe is conquer’d, with pride we then will say,<br /> +“All honor to the noble boys who wore the suit of gray.”<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>)—</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> </p><p> </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—“The Yellow Rose of Texas.”</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’ll chase the dastard foe,<br /> +’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’ sea;<br /> +And their hearts are open as their plains; their tho’ts as proudly brave<br /> +As the bold cliffs of the San Bernard, or the Gulf’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 /> +’Tis joy to be a Ranger! to fight for dear Southland!<br /> +’Tis joy to follow Wharton, with his gallant, trusty band!<br /> +’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’d not be a Ranger, and follow Wharton’s cry!<br /> +And battle for their country, and, if needs be, die?<br /> +<br /> +By the Colorado’s waters, on the Gulf’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’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’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’ fire and blood, for Home and Victory.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE OFFICER’S FUNERAL.</h2> + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Hark! ’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’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’s shrill sound.</span><br /> +<br /> +Sleep, soldier! tho’ 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’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’ many now weep for thee sadly,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soon joyous as ever shall be;</span><br /> +Tho’ thy bright orphan boy may laugh gladly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As he sits on some kind comrade’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’er her brave soldier’s grave!</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SOLDIER’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’er Shiloh’s red plain,<br /> +And the blast howled sadly o’er wounded and slain;<br /> +The lightning flashed vividly, fiercely and proud,<br /> +And glared thro’ the mist of the smoke and the cloud;<br /> +The thunder pealed loudly from heaven’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 ’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’d fall’n in the strife for freedom and glory!<br /> +His life-blood was pouring from out a deep gash<br /> +He’d received ’mid the battle’s loud roar and fierce crash;<br /> +“O mother! O mother! I never thought this,<br /> +When but a mere child I received thy sweet kiss—<br /> +<br /> +“That I’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’er me but the ghosts of the dead,<br /> +None to smooth down the death-pillow ’neath my poor head;<br /> +And sadly I think of my home in the South,<br /> +Where I roam’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 /> +“When I scaled the steep crag o’er the river’s wild roar,<br /> +Or chased the fleet stag ’long the bright, sunny shore—<br /> +When I bounded in pride o’er valley and hill—<br /> +O memories, how sweet! ye haunt me now still.<br /> +But away with the thoughts of my joyous boyhood,<br /> +I’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 /> +“And when I am gone never utter a sigh,<br /> +But remember your Charlie reigns proudly on high!”<br /> +Then death flapp’d wildly his wings on the moor,<br /> +As his soul took its flight to a heavenly shore—<br /> +The lightning flash’d fiercely, the howling winds surge,<br /> +The thunder pealed loudly the hero’s wild dirge!</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>I REMEMBER THE HOUR WHEN SADLY WE PARTED.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Companion Song to “When this Cruel War is Over.”</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’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’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>—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’er land and o’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’ry you’re keeping,<br /> +I ne’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’ry are ringing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O’er the land that foul traitors have caught to betray,</span><br /> +You hear o’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’s gone where there’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> </p><p> </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;">’Twas a glory and pride to the world;</span><br /> +That flag was the “Stripes and Stars,”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the colors of thine are the same,</span><br /> +But thou hast the “Stars and the Bars,”<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’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 “Stars and the Bars”<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’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’ll dare,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our Southern soil to invade,</span><br /> +For bless’d by the smiles of the fair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in right’s powerful armor arrayed;</span><br /> +We’ll strike for our Southern stars,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our honor, our glory, our fame,</span><br /> +We’ll strike for the “Stars and the Bars,”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the Confederate Flag is its name.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’s Cavalry.</p> +<p class="center"><i>Air—“Susanna, Don’t you Cry.”</i></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>We’re the Navasota volunteers, our county is named Grimes;<br /> +Oh, come along, my conscript boys, we can’t leave you behind;<br /> +Jeff Davis is our President, and Stephens is the Vice—<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’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—<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’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—we are the very chaps,<br /> +To whip the Abolitionists, and stop their “nutmeg” traps.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span><br /> +Come volunteer, my Texas boys, altho’ you are forty-six—<br /> +We’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’ll whip them out their “britches.”<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, “for they are not very well!”<br /> +<br /> +There is the officeseeker! altho’ 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’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 /> +“I cannot stand your price,” he’ll holler out “Blockade!”<br /> +<br /> +And then there’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’s the rich planters, with their negroes and their lands,<br /> +They will not go along with us to fight old Lincoln’s bands.<br /> +<br /> +They remind me of a tale, perhaps you’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—<br /> +Old man then came crawling out—“Old woman, hain’t we done it!”<br /> +<br /> +There are speculating parsons, who wish their country well—<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’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’ll prove faithful, and to their wants attend,<br /> +And see that they’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’d ones to embrace!</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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>“For I know there is no other,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">E’er can be so dear to me.”</span></td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<h2>THE SOLDIER’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’ 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’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’er can be so dear to me,</span><br /> +And whene’er of love I’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’er I dream of heaven,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I am dreaming still of thee.</span></td></tr></table> + +<p> </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>“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.”</td></tr></table> + + + + +<p> </p><p> </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"> </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’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>—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’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—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> </p><p> </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—a “burning shame,” 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>—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;">’Tis so, ’tis so, throughout the land of Dixie.</span><br /> +<br /> +Swelling ’round with gold lace plenty,<br /> +See the gay “brass button” gentry;<br /> +Solomon in all his splendors<br /> +Was scarce arrayed like these “defenders.”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br /> +<br /> +In cities, sir, it is alarming<br /> +To see them ’round the hotel swarming;<br /> +And at each little “one-horse town,” sir,<br /> +See the “birds” how they “fly ’round,” 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 “bars,” sir.<br /> +And if a “star” or two is spotted,<br /> +See how “the elephant” is courted.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br /> +<br /> +Should a grand soiree be given,<br /> +The “braided lions” take the even.<br /> +No, no! the privates are not slighted!<br /> +They can’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’ve seen it done, sir),<br /> +“They’ll have an officer or none,” 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’d in battle—<br /> +How the martyr is lamented!<br /> +(This is right—we’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’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’s land, in every way, sir,<br /> +“Fuss and feathers” “win the day,” sir,<br /> +For with all sexes, sizes, ages,<br /> +How the “gold lace fever” 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’ve told, sir.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>THE SENTINEL’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>’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’s cup,<br /> +Ere morning’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—<br /> +To softer scenes my spirit yields—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’m with you there, around my knees fond children gather!<br /> +And climb, the envied kiss to share, amidst the sounds of “Husband! Father!”<br /> +<br /> +Such thoughts my eyes with moisture fill, my bosom heaves, my pulses start;<br /> +Close down I’ll press my gun to still the wild emotions of my heart:<br /> +Hush! pleading one—I cannot stay! the spoiler comes with fiendish wrath—<br /> +Black ruin marks his bloody way, and blazing homes have lit his path.<br /> +<br /> +“Go, husband, go! God nerve thy blows—their footsteps foul blot from our shore—<br /> +Strike! ’till our land is free from foes whose hands are stained with Southern gore;<br /> +Strike! husband, strike—I’d rather weep, the widow of a patriot brave,<br /> +Than lay my heart (I’d scorn to sleep) beside a subjugated slave.”<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span><br /> +Thy woman’s soul is true and grand! the battle-field my home shall be,<br /> +Until our country’ll proudly stand acknowledged as a nation free;<br /> +’Till then, oh, welcome fields of strife, the victor’s shout, the vanquished cry,<br /> +Where ebbs the crimson stream of life, where quick and dead together lie.<br /> +<br /> +’Mid bursting shell and squadron’s dash, where broken ranks disorder’d fly,<br /> +Where angry cannon’s flash on flash paints hell upon the lurid sky,<br /> +Where many a brave shall sink to rest, and fondly cherish’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’s sun in undimm’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’d precincts roam, unless my country call again.<br /> +<br /> +There unalloy’d shall be our bliss; we’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—<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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>CAMP DOUGLAS BY THE LAKE.</h2> + +<p class="center">A PRISON SONG.</p> +<p class="center"><i>Air—“Cottage by the Sea.”</i></p> + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Childhood’s days have long since faded,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Youth’s bright dreams like lights gone out,</span><br /> +Distant homes and hearths are shaded,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the future’s dread and doubt.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—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. (Repeat.)</span><br /> +<br /> +Exiles from our homes, we sorrow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O’er the present’s darkening gloom;</span><br /> +Will we know that with the morrow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We’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’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>—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> </p><p> </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’d force you to join in their unholy fight,<br /> +With fire and with sword, with power and with might,<br /> +’Gainst fathers and brothers, and kindred near,<br /> +’Gainst women and children, all you hold dear;<br /> +They’ve o’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’s command,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>Proclaiming there’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>OH, NO! HE’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’ll not need them again—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No more will he wake to behold,</span><br /> +The splendor and fame of his men—<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’ll not meet them again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No more will his banner be spread</span><br /> +O’er the field of his gallantry’s fame;<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The soldier’s proud spirit is fled!</span><br /> +The soldier who rose ’mid applause,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the humblemost place in the van—</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’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’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’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’d his last gaze upon high—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“I’m killed, boys, but fight it out!” said.</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span><br /> +Oh, no; he’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’ grief-born there’s that which can please,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In thoughts that are gemmed with a tear.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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—<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’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—<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’s high refrain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A step in his father’s hall:</span><br /> +<br /> +In his father’s hall—where his mother’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 ’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—</span><br /> +The strife raged high where his blood was poured—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And—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’s pride,</span><br /> +For it shone like a star thro’ the battle storm,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O’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—</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—<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> </p><p> </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—“Gay and Happy.”</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 “Old Virginny,”<br /> +Where they all will get a grave.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus</span>—So let the Yankees say what they will,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.25em;">We’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’ll love and fight for Dixie still.</span><br /> +<br /> +When the Hessian horde is driven,<br /> +O’er Potomac’s classic flood,<br /> +The pulse of a new-born freedom,<br /> +Then will stir old Maryland’s blood.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br /> +<br /> +Then we’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’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’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’er their graves the Southern maidens,<br /> +From sea-shore to mountain grot,<br /> +We’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>RIDING A RAID.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Air—“Bonny Dundee.”</i></p> + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>’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>—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’s not wide,<br /> +And Maryland’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 ’em again.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table> + +<p> </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">“Then gallop, by ravine and rocks.”</p> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’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’s a health to those we prize,</span><br /> +Here’s a toast to the dead already,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And here’s to the next who dies.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>TRUE HEART SOUTHRONS.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Air—“Blue Bonnets over the Border.”</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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One look in dimm’d eyes—then the rifle and lance.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—March, march, true heart Southrons,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Fall into ranks and march in good order,—</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’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 “Homes, our sweethearts, and wives.”</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 23em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SOLDIER’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: “Let’s kneel down and pray!<br /> +I’ll pray for the war, and good of all men:<br /> +And whatever I pray for, do you say ‘Amen!’”<br /> +<br /> +“We’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;” said the soldier, “Amen!”<br /> +<br /> +“We’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!” said the soldier, “Amen!”<br /> +<br /> +“We’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!” said the soldier, “Amen!”<br /> +<br /> +“We’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!” said the soldier, “Amen!”<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span><br /> +“We’ll pray for the conscript, with frown on his brow,<br /> +To fight for his country he won’t take the vow;<br /> +May bad luck and bad fortune him always attend;<br /> +And die with dishonor!” said the soldier, “Amen!”</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>HERE’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’ryone he met in camp, with, “Mister, here’s your mule.”<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—Come on, come on, come on, old man, and don’t be made a fool,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">I’ll tell the truth as best I can,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">John Morgan’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—that’s what the soldiers say;<br /> +And still he hunted all day long—alas! the witless fool—<br /> +While ev’ry man would sing the song, “Mister, here’s your mule.”<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, “Mister, here’s your mule.”<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’ryone he met, “Oh, Mister, where’s my mule?”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>SABINE PASS.</h2> + +<p class="center">Dedicated to the Davis Guards—(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’ grinning teeth,</span><br /> +Tearing in shreds the sullen smoke,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That seem’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;">“We cannot conquer, but we can die!”</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 “Guard” to save,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And crowned them with immortal light.</span><br /> +<br /> +Dark storms have since o’erswept our land,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And tyrants do our souls harass,</span><br /> +But glory shines on Dowling’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—“Dowling! of the Pass.”</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Houston, Texas.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’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—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>—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’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—</span><br /> +We had one meal a day—it was small—<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—commiserate!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 18em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br /> +<br /> +Tell me not of the Lacedæmonian,<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’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’d at old Marion’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—it is healthier, but tougher—</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 “corn-fed” 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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SOLDIER’S FAREWELL.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Air—“Rosin the Bow.”</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—away let us go,</span><br /> +Where the flag of the freeman is waving—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">March to vanquish the ruffian foe!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—Ho for Liberty! Freedom or death, boys,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">That’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’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—</span><br /> +To resist, when his rod, the aggressor,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shakes in wrath o’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—</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 “booty” and “beauty” 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 /> +“Sweep the South from the face of the earth!” 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 ’til the enemy yield!</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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—“Wandering Sailor.”</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 /> +“Protect my wife and children, if it is Thy holy will!”<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’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’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’er be seen again;<br /> +But I pray to God, the Saviour, “if consistent with Thy will,”<br /> +To save the souls of all who fell on bloody Shiloh Hill.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span></p> +<h2>STONEWALL’S REQUIEM.</h2> + +<p class="center">Permission of the <span class="smcap">Oliver Ditson Co.</span><span class="spacer"> </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’s a sad and solemn tread,</span><br /> +Our banner’s draped in mourning,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As it shrouds the “illustrious dead,”</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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Noble Stonewall is no more.</span><br /> +<br /> +’Mid the rattling of the muskets,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the cannons’ thund’rous roar,</span><br /> +He stained the field of glory,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With his brave life’s precious gore;</span><br /> +And though our flag waved proudly,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We were victors ere sunset—</span><br /> +The gallant deeds of Chancellorsville,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will mingle with regret.</span><br /> +<br /> +They’ve borne him to an honored grave,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The laurel crowns his brow,</span><br /> +By hallowed James’ silent wave<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He’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’s cause,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our idolized Stonewall;</span><br /> +But though his spirit’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> </p><p> </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">“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.”—<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 /> +“Take him and welcome!” the surgeon said:<br /> +“Much your doctor can help the dead!”<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—<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’t die.<br /> +<br /> +And didn’t! nay more! in death’s despite,<br /> +The crippled skeleton learned to write!<br /> +“Dear mother,” at first, of course, and then,<br /> +“Dear Captain” inquiring about the “men,”<br /> +Captain’s answer—“Of eighty and five,<br /> +Giffin and I are left alive!”<br /> +<br /> +“Johnston’s pressed at the front, they say!”<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 /> +“I’ll write, if spared.” 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’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> </p><p> </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> </p> +<h2>STUART.</h2> + +<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Mrs. Henry J. Vose</span>.<span class="spacer"> </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;">’Neath the folds of the starry cross,</span><br /> +For the day now breaks o’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’n,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where our best blood has been poured;</span><br /> +At the feet of our country’s God, in heaven,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou hast laid another sword,</span><br /> +When Jackson’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> </p><p> </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>“Only a soldier!” 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’ 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 /> +“Only a soldier!” confined in there—<br /> +A father’s joy and a mother’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’s cheek the teardrops burn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For her soldier-brother’s gone.</span><br /> +<br /> +“Only a soldier!” I thought anew,<br /> +As fancy came, and I quickly drew<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">“The parting hour,”</span><br /> +That hour he left at his country’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’d seen friends kneeling down<br /> +To raise his head from the battle-ground,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And thus he’d say:</span><br /> +“Tell my father that fighting I fell,<br /> +’Mid hammering shot and screaming shell,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When the South had won the day.”</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’ breath,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">’Mid muskets flashing;</span><br /> +And where the war-dogs howling loud,<br /> +Breathe with sulphur-smoke a battle cloud—<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’s bound<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To the “Far-off-Land.”</span><br /> +No gentle sister’s spirit is there,<br /> +E’en in stranger’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’s hope is gone! Life’s sorrowing o’er,<br /> +His spirit is on the “echoless shore,”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Dwelling with angels up there.</span><br /> +<br /> +Thus unwept, unmourned, he sank to rest,<br /> +E’en by human sympathy unblest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To an unknown grave!</span><br /> +God, who notes e’en the sparrow’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> </p><p> </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’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’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>—We’ll hoist the starry cross again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">On freedom’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’ll hoist the starry cross again,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">On freedom’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’ll have no more false hopes and fears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No more heartrending sighs—</span><br /> +The messengers of peace will dry<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The weary mourner’s eyes,</span><br /> +We’ll laugh and sing, we’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’ll bid defiance to the foe,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That dare approach our shore,</span><br /> +We’ll hoist the starry cross again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On freedom’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> </p><p> </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’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—his drum was by his side—<br /> +He clasped his hands, and raised his eyes, and prayed before he died.<br /> +<br /> +“Look down upon the battlefield, O Thou our heavenly Friend,<br /> +Have mercy on our sinful souls”—the soldiers cried, “Amen!”<br /> +For gathered ’round, a little group, each brave man knelt and cried—<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 /> +“Oh, Mother,” said the dying boy, “Look down from Heaven on me!<br /> +Receive me to thy fond embrace! Oh, take me home to thee!<br /> +I’ve loved my country as my God, to serve them both I’ve tried,”<br /> +He smiled, shook hands, death seized the boy who prayed before he died.<br /> +<br /> +Each soldier wept then like a child—stout hearts were they and brave—<br /> +The Flag his winding-sheet! God’s Book the key unto his grave;<br /> +They wrote upon a simple board these words, “This is a guide,<br /> +To those who mourn the drummer boy who prayed before he died.”</td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img45.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">Alabama Volunteer Corps.</p> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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"> </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’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—</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—</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> </p><p> </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’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’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—not free as of yore—<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’er our lost ones—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’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> </p><p> </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—<br /> +Called upon to take up arms,<br /> +To guard our country from all harm.<br /> +<br /> +Break of day—the morning gun,<br /> +Wakes the rebels—the fife and drum,<br /> +Breaks a soldier’s sweet repose—<br /> +He tumbles out—puts on his clothes.<br /> +<br /> +First sergeant rushes in and out:<br /> +“Hurrah! hurrah, boys! do turn out;”<br /> +Front and rear he forms his line—<br /> +His ’coutrements and sword must shine.<br /> +<br /> +“Eyes right!—steady!” is the word;<br /> +Our captain then presents his sword—<br /> +The sergeant jerks out his roll—<br /> +Names are called—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—<br /> +He swears and damns our souls to hell.<br /> +<br /> +Would you know who wrote this song,<br /> +I will tell—it won’t take long;<br /> +It was composed by A. T. Height,<br /> +While walking post one rainy night.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>THE BONNIE WHITE FLAG;</h2> + +<p class="center">OR, THE PRISONER’S INVOCATION TO PEACE.</p> +<p class="center">Col. <span class="smcap">W. S. Hawkins</span>.<span class="spacer"> </span>In <i>Camp Chase Ventilator</i>, 1864.</p> +<p class="center"><i>Air—“Bonnie Blue Flag.”</i></p> + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Though we’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’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>—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’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’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’s green,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On bounding steed he’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’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> </p><p> </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 ’round as in a flaming shower, but still we faltered not!<br /> +“If the noble city perish,” our grand young leader said,<br /> +“Let the only walls the foe shall scale be ramparts of the dead!”<br /> +<br /> +For sixty days and upward the eye of heaven waxed dim,<br /> +And even throughout God’s holy morn, o’er Christian’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 ’midst the silent thrill of hearts;<br /> +But the Lord, our shield, was with us—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—their faces purely raised,<br /> +Just for a wondering moment as the huge bombs whirled and blazed!<br /> +Then turning with silv’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’s wide eclipse,<br /> +’Till a solid cloud closed o’er like a type of doom and ire,<br /> +Whence shot a thousand quiv’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’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> </p><p> </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 ’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’s fame,</span><br /> +And long may hist’ry pen the name,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of gallant Stonewall Jackson.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—Who was his soldiers’ 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 ’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’s fatal gun,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shot through his arm and hand;</span><br /> +The Almighty’s will was read,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon his noble brow;</span><br /> +“My race is run,” 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> </p><p> </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’s weeping for her long-lost wandering boy—<br /> +Does she know that still I’m living? even that would give her joy.<br /> +<br /> +No, they tell her that I’m sleeping ’neath the turf on Shiloh’s plain;<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span>That she ne’er will see her wanderer—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—<br /> +And not upon a field of glory I’ll sleep amid the Southern brave;<br /> +Mother! yes, your boy is dying! soon he’ll pass through death’s dark wave,<br /> +And the wintry wind be sighing o’er a captive’s lonely grave.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>THE VOLUNTEER; OR, IT IS MY COUNTRY’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’s call, dear, to aid her, I depart;<br /> +And on the blood-red battle plain, we’ll conquer or we’ll die;<br /> +’Tis for our honor and our name, we raise the battle-cry.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—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’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’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’d, dear, by Northmen of land;<br /> +Fanatics rais’d the cry, dear, politicians fired the brand;<br /> +The Southrons spurn the galling yoke, the tyrants’ threats defy;<br /> +They find we’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’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’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> </p><p> </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’VE COME HOME TO DIE.</h2> + +<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">E. Bowers</span>.<span class="spacer"> </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—<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’ve come home to die.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—Call sister, brother, to my side,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And take your soldier’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’ve come home to die.</span><br /> +<br /> +Hark! Mother, ’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’s past—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’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—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’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—God bless you all—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dear mother, I’ve come home to die.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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—</span><br /> +A cause for which they gave their lives,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And for which he gave his own—</span><br /> +He kneels, a meek ambassador,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the foot of the Father’s throne.</span></td></tr></table> + +<p> </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">“A flash from the edge of a hostile trench.”</p> +<p> </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—</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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>THE REBEL’S DREAM.</h2> + +<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">A. F. Leovy</span>.<span class="spacer"> </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’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’s light heart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He sees his brave comrades once more.</span><br /> +His banner now floats o’er the blest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shimmers in heaven’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’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’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> </p><p> </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—“There is Rest for the Weary.”</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>—(<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’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’s great jewel lights the sky;</span><br /> +Look! Upon the heart’s white dial,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There’s a shadow flitting by.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—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>—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’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>—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>—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>—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’s behest,</span><br /> +We will quaff divine Nepenthe,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We shall share the soldier’s rest.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—Where the weary feet are resting, etc.</span><br /> +<br /> +Where the shadows are uplifted,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’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>—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’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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span></p> +<h2>WEARIN’ 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’s lately spread,<br /> +That never more the Southern cross must rear its stately head;<br /> +The “white and red’s” forbid by law, so Northmen proudly say,<br /> +Nor you nor I can e’er again be “Wearin’ of the Gray!”<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’re bound to tell the woeful truth, let cost whate’er it may,<br /> +That some are threatened e’en with death, for “Wearin’ of the Gray!”<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’ry true;<br /> +Ah! take the cockade from their hats and tread it ’neath the feet,<br /> +And still tho’ bruis’d and mangled sad, ’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’ all the mournful day,<br /> +While constant we do call to mind the “Wearin’ of the Gray!”<br /> +<br /> +And if at last our father’s law be torn from Southland’s heart,<br /> +Her sons will take their household gods and far away depart;<br /> +Rememb’ring still the whisper’d word, to weary wand’rers giv’n,<br /> +That justice pure, and perfect rest, are found alone in heav’n.<br /> +Then on some green and distant isle beneath the setting sun,<br /> +We’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’er regret the “Wearin’ of the Gray!”</td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img47.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">South Carolina Button.</p> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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"> </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>—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’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’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—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’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’er his head,<br /> +As the proudest of tributes our sad hearts could pay,<br /> +“He never disgraced the dear jacket of gray.”<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> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span></p> +<h2>I’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’m a good old rebel,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now that’s just what I am,</span><br /> +For this “Fair Land of Freedom”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I do not care a damn;</span><br /> +I’m glad I fit against it,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I only wish we’d won,</span><br /> +And I don’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’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’, thievin’ 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—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’Tis dripping with our blood—</span><br /> +I hates their striped banner,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I fit it all I could.</span></td></tr></table> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img48.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p class="center">“I’m a good old rebel.”</p> +<p> </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’ 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’ in the snow,</span><br /> +But I killed a chance o’ Yankees,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I’d like to kill some mo’.</span><br /> +<br /> +I can’t take up my musket<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fight ’em now no more,</span><br /> +But I ain’t a-going to love ’em,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now that is sartin’ sure;</span><br /> +And I don’t want no pardon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For what I was and am,</span><br /> +I won’t be reconstructed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I don’t care a damn.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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—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—you might have been the one;<br /> +My lover was a soldier—he belonged to Gordon’s band;<br /> +A sabre pierced his gallant heart—your’s might have been the hand.<br /> +<br /> +He reel’d and fell, but was not dead, a horseman spurr’d his steed<br /> +And trampled on the dying brain—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—<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span>My brother’s and my lover’s blood forbid me be your bride.<br /> +<br /> +The girls who lov’d the boys in gray—the girls to country true,<br /> +May ne’er in wedlock give their hands to those who wore the blue.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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’er;<br /> +We’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’d, stand<br /> +As poor, defenseless prisoners in our own native land.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Chorus.</span>—We know that we were rebels,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And we don’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’d by the blood that freely gush’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’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’re now disarm’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, ’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, ’mid the ranks of steel and fire,<br /> +Yet now, since all the fighting’s done, are hourly heard to cry:<br /> +“Down with the traitors! hang them all! each rebel dog shall die!”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 23em;"><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span></span><br /> +<br /> +We know that we were rebels, we don’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> </p><p> </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’ 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 ’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 ’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’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> </p><p> </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"> </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’er the brave, in the cause of right<br /> +It’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—</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—<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’s sky—</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 /> +’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> </p><p> </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’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’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 ’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 /> +’Tis covered all over with battle scars,<br /> +But its gleam the hated banner mars—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’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> </p><p> </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’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’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’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 “promise to pay,”<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> </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> </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;">’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> </p><p> </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 ’tis weary;<br /> +Round its staff ’tis drooping dreary;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Furl it, fold it, it is best;</span><br /> +For there’s not a man to wave it,<br /> +And there’s not a sword to save it,<br /> +And there’s not one left to lave it<br /> +In the blood which heroes gave it;<br /> +And its foes now scorn and brave it,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Furl it, hide it, let it rest.</span><br /> +<br /> +Take that banner down—’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! ’tis hard for us to fold it,<br /> +Hard to think there’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—<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’s sword could never<br /> +Hearts like their’s entwined dissever,<br /> +’Till that flag would float forever<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O’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 ’tis gory,<br /> +Yet ’tis wreathed around with glory,<br /> +And ’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—it is holy—<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’s hopes are dead.</span></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </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 “The Conquered Banner,” 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—keep it still,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Think not that its work is done.</span><br /> +<br /> +Keep it ’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’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 ’tis holy:<br /> +’Till that day—yes, furl it sadly,<br /> +Then once more unfurl it gladly—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Conquered banner—keep it still!</span></td></tr></table> + +<p> </p><p> </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> </p><p> </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> </p><p> </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’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’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’ 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’s Partisan Rangers, <a href="#Page_178">178</a><br /> +<br /> +Bayou City Guards’ Dixie, <a href="#Page_143">143</a><br /> +<br /> +Bayou City Guards’ 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’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’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’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’s Your Mule, <a href="#Page_319">319</a><br /> +<br /> +Hood’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’s Texas Brigade, <a href="#Page_228">228</a><br /> +<br /> +Hurrah!, <a href="#Page_39">39</a><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +I’m a Good Old Rebel, <a href="#Page_260">260</a><br /> +<br /> +I’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’s Land, <a href="#Page_153">153</a><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Jackson’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’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’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’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’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’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’s War Song, <a href="#Page_51">51</a><br /> +<br /> +Southron’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’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’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’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’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’s Farewell, <a href="#Page_28">28</a><br /> +<br /> +The Navasota Volunteers, <a href="#Page_294">294</a><br /> +<br /> +The Officer’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’s Dream, <a href="#Page_352">352</a><br /> +<br /> +The Sentinel’s Dream of Home, <a href="#Page_303">303</a><br /> +<br /> +The Soldier’s Amen, <a href="#Page_318">318</a><br /> +<br /> +The Soldier’s Death, <a href="#Page_290">290</a><br /> +<br /> +The Soldier’s Dream, <a href="#Page_297">297</a><br /> +<br /> +The Soldier’s Farewell, <a href="#Page_324">324</a><br /> +<br /> +The Soldier’s Mission, <a href="#Page_149">149</a><br /> +<br /> +The Soldier’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’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’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’s Call, <a href="#Page_347">347</a><br /> +<br /> +The Young Volunteer, <a href="#Page_73">73</a><br /> +<br /> +There’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’ 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’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’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 /> +“Ye Men of Alabama,”, <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> </p><p> </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 (“Asa Hartz”), <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> </p><p> </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> </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’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’s name</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Bravely ye’ve fought, my gallant, gallant men</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>By blue Patapsco’s billowy dash</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_273">273</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>By the cross upon our banner—glory of our Southern sky</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Can’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’ll march away to battle</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_244">244</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Childhood’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’d hearts of steel—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, ’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’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 ’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! ’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’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’ll sing you a song of the South’s sunny clime</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I’m a soldier, you see, that oppression has made</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I’m gwine back to de land of cotton</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I’m ’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>“Is there any news of the war?” 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’s morn so soon</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I’ve seen some handsome uniforms deck’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’ 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 “Palmetto” boys</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>’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>“Och, its nate to be captain or colonel”</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’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’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’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’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’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’m a good old rebel</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_360">360</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>O, I’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 ’Sixty-three</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_345">345</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>“Only a soldier!” I heard them say</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_333">333</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On Shiloh’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’ 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’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’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’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’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’s Land</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The despot’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’er Shiloh’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’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’er the battle plain</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_187">187</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The tyrant’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’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’s throne</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Though we’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>’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>’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>’Twas a terrible moment</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>’Twas early in the morning of eighteen sixty-three</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_168">168</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>’Twas midnight when we built our fires</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>’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’ 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! ’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’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’re the boys so gay and happy</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>We’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’s watchword be</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_272">272</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When clouds of oppression o’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’er</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_364">364</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Would’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’m afraid it’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—the old Dominion’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’ carnage of the grim report</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </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>“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 <i>Old Logan</i>.”</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: “Lady, I’m going to +fight for you.” “Sir,” she instantly replied, “I am going to pray for +you.”</p> + +<p><a name='f_8' id='f_8' href='#fna_8'>[8]</a> Constitutional Liberty against Oppression—a “Cause” 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:—“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.”</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’s Brigade. The “swarthy +old hounds” 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’s charge against Hancock’s +corps at Spotsylvania Court House, May 12, 1864.</p> + +<p><a name='f_12' id='f_12' href='#fna_12'>[12]</a> Fremont, “the path-finder.”</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 “Personation Concerts,” 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—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.</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, “I fell beside my gun.”</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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUTHERN WAR SONGS *** + +***** This file should be named 37538-h.htm or 37538-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/5/3/37538/ + +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.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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