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diff --git a/37538.txt b/37538.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2375799 --- /dev/null +++ b/37538.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13025 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Southern War Songs, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Southern War Songs + Camp-Fire, Patriotic and Sentimental + +Author: Various + +Release Date: September 26, 2011 [EBook #37538] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUTHERN WAR SONGS *** + + + + +Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images +generously made available by The Internet Archive/American +Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + +SOUTHERN WAR SONGS + + + + +[Illustration: THE SOUTHERN CROSS BATTLE FLAG DESIGNED BY GEN. JOSEPH E. +JOHNSTON. + +THE STARS AND BARS. + +FLAG ADOPTED BY THE CONFEDERATE CONGRESS IN 1863. + +BATTLE FLAG ADOPTED BY THE CONFEDERATE CONGRESS IN 1863.] + + + + + SOUTHERN WAR SONGS. + + Camp-Fire, PATRIOTIC and Sentimental. + + + COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY W. L. FAGAN + + + _ILLUSTRATED._ + + + New York + M. T. RICHARDSON & CO. + 1890. + + + + + COPYRIGHTED BY + M. T. RICHARDSON. + 1889. + + + + +_PREFACE._ + + +_The war songs of the South are a part of the history of the Lost Cause. +They are necessary to the impartial historian in forming a correct +estimate of the animus of the Southern people._ + +_Emotional literature is always a correct exponent of public sentiment, +and these songs index the passionate sincerity of the South at the time +they were written._ + +_Poetic merit is not claimed for all of them; still each one embodies +either a fact or a principle. Written in an era of war, when the public +mind was thoroughly aroused, some may now appear harsh and vindictive. +Eight millions of people read and sang them. This fact alone warrants +their collection and preservation._ + +_A greater number of the songs have been gathered from Southern +newspapers. The task has been laborious, but still a labor of love, as no +work of this kind has before been offered to the public._ + +_Thanks are due Mr. Henri Wehrman, of New Orleans, for permission to use +valuable copyrights, also to the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston; A. E. +Blackmar, New Orleans; and J. C. Schreiner, Savannah, Ga. Mr. G. N. +Galloway, Philadelphia, has given material assistance._ + +_The work is not complete, still the compiler claims for it the largest +and only collection of Confederate songs published._ + +_W. L. FAGAN._ + +_Havana, Ala., December 1, 1889._ + + + + +LIST OF ENGRAVINGS. + + + _Page_ + + "_A flash from the edge of a hostile trench_," 351 + + "_And his life-blood is ebbing and splashing_," 64 + + "_Arise to thy lattice, the moon is asleep_," 173 + + "_Come back to me, my darling son, and light my life again_," 257 + + _Confederate note_, 371 + + "_Farewell to earth and all its beauteous bloom_," 161 + + "_For I know there is no other e'er can be so dear to me_," 297 + + _General J. E. B. Stuart_, 331 + + _General Lee_, 97 + + "_He faintly smiled and waved his hand_," 235 + + "_He's in the saddle now_," 201 + + "_* * * How mellow the light showers down on that brow_," 117 + + "_I am thinking of the soldier as the evening shadows fall_," 183 + + "_I'm a good old rebel_," 361 + + "_I marched up midout fear_," 11 + + "_Jack Morgan_," 282 + + "_Knitting for the soldiers! matron--merry maid_," 54 + + "_Knitting for the soldiers! wrinkled--aged crone_," 53 + + "_Lady, I go to fight for thee_," 151 + + "_Lying in the shadow, underneath the trees_," 75 + + "_Massa_," 216 + + "_Massa run, aha_," 217 + + "_My right arm bared for fiercer play_," 139 + + "_No matter should it rain or snow, That bugler is bound + to blow_," 23 + + "_Only a list of the wounded and dead_," 87 + + "_So we'll bury 'old Logan' to-night_," 127 + + "_The Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star_," 32 + + "_The hero boy lay dying_," 107 + + "_Then gallop by ravine and rocks_," 316 + + "_There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread_," 63 + + "_Though fifteen summers scarce have shed their blossoms on + thy brow_," 256 + + "_Three acres I_," 43 + + "_Thy steed is impatient his mistress to bear_," 172 + + "_We'll one day meet again_," 44 + + "_When the stars are softly smiling * * * Then I think of + thee and Heaven_," 299 + + + + +SOUTHERN WAR SONGS. + + + + +GOD SAVE THE SOUTH.[1] + +_National Hymn._ + +Words by GEORGE H. MILES; Music by C. W. A. ELLERBROCK; Permission of A. +E. BLACKMAR. + +[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass, owner of the copyright.] + + + God save the South, + God save the South, + Her altars and firesides, + God save the South, + Now that the war is nigh, + Chanting our battle-cry + Freedom or death. + + CHORUS--Now that the war is nigh, + Now that we arm to die, + Chanting the battle cry, + Freedom or death. + + God be our shield, + At home or afield, + Stretch thine arm over us, + Strengthen and save. + What tho' they're three to one, + Forward each sire and son, + Strike till the war is won, + Strike to the grave. + CHORUS. + + God made the right, + Stronger than _might_, + Millions would trample us + Down in their pride. + Lay _Thou_ their legions low, + Roll back the ruthless foe, + Let the proud spoiler know + God's on our side. + CHORUS. + + Hark honor's call, + Summoning all, + Summoning all of us + Unto the strife. + Sons of the South awake! + Strike till the brand shall break, + Strike for dear Honor's sake, + Freedom and Life. + CHORUS. + + _Rebels_ before, + Our fathers of yore, + _Rebels_ the righteous name + _Washington_ bore. + Why, then be our's the same, + The name that he snatch'd from shame, + Making it first in fame, + Foremost in war. + CHORUS. + + War to the hilt, + Their's be the guilt, + Who fetter the freeman, + To ransom the slave. + Up, then, and undismayed, + Sheathe not the battle blade + Till the last foe is laid + Low in the grave! + CHORUS. + + God save the South, + God save the South, + Dry the dim eyes that now + Follow our path. + Still let the light feet rove + Safe through the orange grove; + Still keep the land we love + Safe from _Thy_ wrath. + CHORUS. + + God save the South, + God save the South, + Her altars and firesides, + God save the South! + For the great war is nigh, + And we will win or die, + Chanting our battle cry, + Freedom or death. + CHORUS. + + + + +"ALLONS ENFANS." + +_The Southern Marseillaise._ + +By A. E. BLACKMAR, New Orleans, 1861. + +[The music of this song can be obtained of Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass.] + + + Sons of the South awake to glory, + A thousand voices bid you rise, + Your children, wives and grandsires hoary, + Gaze on you now with trusting eyes, + Gaze on you now with trusting eyes; + Your country ev'ry strong arm calling, + To meet the hireling Northern band + That comes to desolate the land + With fire and blood and scenes appalling, + To arms, to arms, ye brave; + Th' avenging sword unsheath! + + March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death. + March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death. + + Now, now, the dang'rous storm is rolling, + Which treacherous brothers madly raise, + The dogs of war let loose, are howling + And soon our peaceful towns may blaze, + And soon our peaceful towns may blaze. + Shall fiends who basely plot our ruin, + Unchecked, advance with guilty stride + To spread destruction far and wide, + With Southrons' blood their hands embruing? + To arms, to arms, ye brave! + Th' avenging sword unsheath! + + March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death, + March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death. + + With needy, starving mobs surrounded, + The jealous, blind fanatics dare + To offer, in their zeal unbounded, + Our happy slaves their tender care, + Our happy slaves their tender care. + The South, though deepest wrongs bewailing, + Long yielded all to Union name; + But _Independence_ now we claim, + And all their threats are unavailing. + To arms, to arms, ye brave! + Th' avenging sword unsheath! + + March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death, + March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death. + +This may be called the rallying song of the Confederacy. Composed early in +1861, it was sung throughout the South while the soldiers were hurried to +Virginia with this, the grandest of martial airs, as a benediction. + + + + +"THE SOUTHERN CROSS." + +By ST. GEO. TUCKER, of Virginia. + +Published in 1860, a few months before the author's death. + + + Oh! say can you see, through the gloom and the storms, + More bright for the darkness, that pure constellation? + Like the symbol of love and redemption its form, + As it points to the haven of hope for the nation. + How radiant each star, as the beacon afar, + Giving promise of peace, or assurance in war! + + CHORUS--'Tis the Cross of the South, which shall ever remain + To light us to freedom and glory again! + + How peaceful and blest was America's soil, + 'Til betrayed by the guile of the Puritan demon, + Which lurks under virtue, and springs from its coil + To fasten its fangs in the life-blood of freemen. + Then boldly appeal to each heart that can feel, + And crush the foul viper 'neath Liberty's heel! + CHORUS. + + 'Tis the emblem of peace, 'tis the day-star of hope, + Like the sacred _Labarum_ that guided the Roman; + From the shores of the Gulf to the Delaware's slope, + 'Tis the trust of the free and the terror of foeman. + Fling its folds to the air, while we boldly declare + The rights we demand or the deeds that we dare! + CHORUS. + + And if peace should be hopeless and justice denied, + And war's bloody vulture should flap its black pinions, + Then gladly "To arms," while we hurl, in our pride, + Defiance to tyrants and death to their minions! + With our front to the field, swearing never to yield, + Or return, like the Spartan, in death on our shield! + + CHORUS--And the Cross of the South shall triumphantly wave + As the flag of the free or the pall of the brave. + + + + +THE STAR OF THE WEST. + +_Charleston Mercury._ + +"_Dixie._" + + + I wish I was in de land o' cotton, + Old times dair ain't not forgotten-- + Look away, etc. + In Dixie land whar I was born in, + Early on one frosty mornin'-- + Look away, etc. + + CHORUS--Den I wish I was in Dixie. + + In Dixie land dat frosty mornin', + Jis 'bout de time de day was dawnin'-- + Look away, etc. + De signal fire from de East bin roarin', + Rouse up, Dixie, no more snorin'-- + Look away, etc. + CHORUS. + + Dat rocket high a-blazing in de sky, + 'Tis de sign dat de snobbies am comin' up nigh-- + Look away, etc. + Dey bin braggin' long, if we dare to shoot a shot, + Dey comin' up strong and dey'll send us all to pot, + Fire away, fire away, lads in gray. + CHORUS. + + + + +THE SOUTHRON'S CHANT OF DEFIANCE. + +By C. A. WARFIELD, Kentucky. + +Music by A. E. BLACKMAR. + + + You can never win us back + Never! never! + Though we perish on the track + Of your endeavor; + Though our corses strew the earth, + That smiled upon their birth, + And blood pollutes each hearth + Stone forever! + + We have risen to a man, + Stern and fearless; + Of your curses and your ban + We are careless. + Every hand is on its knife, + Every gun is pruned for strife, + Every _palm_ contains a life, + High and peerless! + + You have no such blood as ours + For the shedding: + In the veins of cavaliers + Was its heading! + You have no such stately men + In your "abolition den," + To march through foe and fen, + Nothing dreading! + + We may fall before the fire + Of your legions, + Paid with gold for murderous hire-- + Bought allegiance; + But for every drop you shed, + You shall have a mound of dead, + And the vultures shall be fed + In your regions. + + But the battle to the strong + Is not given, + While the judge of right and wrong + Sits in Heaven! + And the God of David still + Guides the pebble with his will. + There are giants yet to kill-- + Wrongs unshriven. + + + + +THE DUTCH VOLUNTEER. + +As sung by HARRY MACARTHY in his Personation Concerts, 1862. + + + It vas in Ni Orleans city, + I first heard der drums und fife, + Und I vas so full mit lager, + Dot I care nix for my life. + + Mit a schicken tail stuck in mine hat, + I marched up midout fear, + Und joined der Southern Army, + Like a Dutche--a volunteer. + + Ven ve vent apoard der steampote, + Ve told um all good-by, + Ter vimins wafed der handkerchief, + Und I pegun to gry. + + Vhen we got to vere de var vas, + Dey stood us in a row, + Und learned us ven dey hollered out, + Vich vay ve have to go. + + Dey loads our guns mit noding, + Und learn to shoot um right, + Und charge upon der Yankee, + Ven no Yankee vas in sight. + + My name is Yacob Schneider, + Und I yust come here to-night + From Hood's Army up in Georgia, + Ver all de times dey fight. + +[Illustration: "I marched up midout fear."] + + But, ven I see der Yankee coming, + _So mad it makes me feel_, + Dot I jumped apoard der steamer cars, + Und come down to Mopeel. + + Now, all young folks vot goes out dere, + To fight your country's foes, + Take my adfice, brepare yourself + Pefore out dere you goes. + + Take a couble parrels of sauer-kraut, + Und lots of schweitzer kase, + Also, some perloona sausage, + Und everyting else you please. + + Und ven der pattle commence, + Kill all der Yankees you can, + Und schump perhind some pig oak-tree, + For dot ish der officer's blan. + + Ven der pattle gits vide open, + Und dem palls dey comes so tick, + Oh! you tink you must go somewhere, + _Pecause you vas so sick_. + + Yust lower your knapsack down yer back, + Und cover up your rear, + Den you von't get vounded, + Like dis Dutcher Volunteer. + + + + +SOUTHERN SONG OF FREEDOM. + +_Air--"The Minstrel's Return."_ + + + A nation has sprung into life + Beneath the bright Cross of the South; + And now a loud call to the strife + Rings out from the shrill bugle's mouth. + They gather from morass and mountain, + They gather from prairie and mart, + To drink, at young Liberty's fountain, + The Nectar that kindles the heart. + + CHORUS--Then, hail to the land of the pine! + The home of the noble and free; + A palmetto wreath we'll entwine + Round the altar of young Liberty! + + Our flag, with its cluster of stars, + Firm fixed in a field of pure blue, + All shining through red and white bars, + Now gallantly flutters in view. + The stalwart and brave round it rally, + They press to their lips every fold, + While the hymn swells from hill and from valley, + "Be God with our Volunteers bold." + CHORUS. + + Th' invaders rush down from the North, + Our borders are black with their hordes; + Like wolves for their victims they flock, + While whetting their knives and their swords. + Their watchword is "Booty and Beauty," + Their aim is to steal as they go; + But, Southrons, act up to your duty, + And lay the foul miscreants low. + CHORUS. + + The God of our fathers looks down + And blesses the cause of the just; + His smile will the patriot crown + Who tramples his chains in the dust. + March, March, Southrons! Shoulder to shoulder, + One heart-throb, one shout for the cause; + Remember--the world's a beholder, + And your bayonets are fixed at your doors! + CHORUS. + +J. J. H. + + + + +"CALL ALL! CALL ALL!" + +By "GEORGIA." + + + Whoop! the Doodles have broken loose, + Roaring round like the very deuce; + Lice of Egypt, a hungry pack,-- + After 'em, boys, and drive 'em back. + + Bull dog, terrier, cur, and fice, + Back to the beggarly land of ice, + Worry 'em, bite 'em, scratch and tear + Everybody and everywhere. + + Old Kentucky is caved from under, + Tennessee is split asunder, + Alabama awaits attack, + And Georgia bristles up her back. + + Old John Brown is dead and gone! + Still his spirit is marching on,-- + Lantern-jawed, and legs, my boys, + Long as an ape's from Illinois. + + Want a weapon? Gather a brick, + Club or cudgel, or stone or stick; + Anything with a blade or butt, + Anything that can cleave or cut. + + Anything heavy, or hard, or keen! + Any sort of a slaying machine! + Anything with a willing mind, + And the steady arm of a man behind. + + Want a weapon? Why, capture one! + Every Doodle has got a gun, + Belt, and bayonet, bright and new; + Kill a Doodle, and capture _two_! + + Shoulder to shoulder, son and sire! + All, call! all to the feast of fire! + Mother and maiden, and child and slave, + A common triumph or a single grave. + +_Rockingham (Va.) Register._ + + + + +ANOTHER YANKEE DOODLE. + + + Yankee Doodle had a mind + To whip the Southern traitors, + Because they didn't choose to live + On codfish and potatoes, + Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo, + Yankee Doodle dandy, + And to keep his courage up + He took a drink of brandy. + + Yankee Doodle said he found + By all the census figures, + That he could starve the rebels out, + If he could steal their niggers. + Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo, + Yankee Doodle dandy, + And then he took another drink + Of gunpowder and brandy. + + Yankee Doodle made a speech; + 'Twas very full of feeling; + "I fear," says he, "I cannot fight, + But I am good at stealing." + Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo, + Yankee Doodle dandy, + Hurrah for Lincoln, he's the boy + To take a drop of brandy. + + Yankee Doodle drew his sword, + And practised all the passes; + Come, boys, we'll take another drink + When we get to Manassas. + Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo, + Yankee Doodle dandy, + They never reached Manassas plain, + And never got the brandy. + + Yankee Doodle soon found out + That Bull Run was no trifle; + For if the North knew how to steal, + The South knew how to rifle. + Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo, + Yankee Doodle dandy, + 'Tis very clear I took too much + Of that infernal brandy. + + Yankee Doodle wheeled about, + And scampered off at full run, + And such a race was never seen + As that he made at Bull Run. + Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo, + Yankee Doodle dandy, + I haven't time to stop just now, + To take a drop of brandy. + + Yankee Doodle, oh! for shame, + You're always intermeddling; + Let guns alone, they're dangerous things; + You'd better stick to peddling. + Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo, + Yankee Doodle dandy. + When next I go to Bully Run + I'll throw away the brandy. + + + + +"YE MEN OF ALABAMA!" + +By JOHN D. PHELAN, of Montgomery, Ala. + +_Air--"Ye Mariners of England."_ + + + Ye men of Alabama, + Awake, arise, awake + And rend the coils asunder + Of this abolition snake. + If another fold he fastens-- + If this final coil he plies-- + In the cold clasp of hate and power, + Fair Alabama dies. + + Though round your lower limbs and waist + His deadly coils I see, + Yet, yet, thank heaven! your head and arms, + And good right hand, are free; + And in that hand there glistens-- + O, God! what joy to feel! + A polished blade, full sharp and keen, + Of tempered State rights' steel. + + Now, by the free-born sires + From whose brave loins ye sprung, + And by the noble mothers + At whose fond breasts ye hung! + And by your wives and daughters, + And by the ills they dread + Drive deep that good secession steel + Right through the monster's head. + + This serpent abolition + Has been coiling on for years. + We have reasoned, we have threatened, + We have begged almost with tears; + Now, away, away with union, + Since on our Southern soil + The only _union_ left us + Is an anaconda's coil. + + Brave little South Carolina + Will strike the self-same blow, + And Florida, and Georgia, + And Mississippi, too, + And Arkansas, and Texas; + And at the death, I ween, + The head will fall beneath the blows + Of all the brave fifteen. + + In this, our day of trial, + Let feuds and factions cease, + Until above this howling storm + We see the sign of peace. + Let Southern men, like brothers, + In solid phalanx stand, + And poise their spears, and lock their shields + To guard their native land. + + The love that for the Union + Once in our bosoms beat, + From insult and from injury + Has turned to scorn and hate; + And the banner of secession, + To-day we lift on high, + Resolved, beneath that sacred flag, + To conquer, _or to die_! + +_Montgomery Advertiser_, October, 1860. + + + + +1776-1861. + +_Air--"Bruce's Address."_ + + + Sons of the South! from hill and dale, + From mountain-top, and lowly vale, + Arouse ye now! 'tis Freedom's wail-- + "To arms! to arms!" she cries. + Strike! for freedom in the dust; + Strike! to crush proud Mammon's lust; + Strike! remembering _God is just_! + Thus a freeman dies. + + Southrons! who with Beauregard, + Day and night, keep watch and ward-- + Southrons! whom the angels guard, + Strike for Liberty! + Smite the motley hireling throng; + Smite! as Heaven smites the wrong; + Smite! they fly before the strong, + In God and Liberty! + + By your hearth-stones, by your dead, + By all the fields where patriots bled, + A freeman's home or gory bed + Let the alternate be. + Weeping wives and mothers here, + Sisters, daughters, dear ones near-- + Seas of blood for every tear, + God and Liberty! + + Louder swells the battle-cry, + Flaming sword and flashing eye + Light the field when freemen die! + Death or Liberty! + Backward roll your poisonous waves, + Infidel and ruffian slaves! + 'Tis Heaven's own wrath your blindness braves-- + God and Liberty! + +C. + +WASHINGTON, D. C. + + + + +WOULD'ST THOU HAVE ME LOVE THEE? + +By ALEX. B. MEEK, Mobile, Ala. + + + Would'st thou have me love thee, dearest, + With a woman's proudest heart, + Which shall ever hold thee nearest + Shrined in its inmost heart? + Listen, then! My country's calling + On her sons to meet the foe! + Leave these groves of rose and myrtle; + Drop thy dreamy harp of love! + Like young Korner--scorn the turtle, + When the eagle screams above! + + Dost thou pause? Let dastards dally, + Do thou for thy country fight! + 'Neath her noble emblem rally-- + "God, our country, and our right!" + Listen! now her trumpets calling + On her sons to meet the foe! + Woman's heart is soft and tender, + But 'tis proud and faithful too: + Shall she be her land's defender? + Lover! Soldier! up and do! + + Seize thy father's ancient falchion, + Which once flashed as freedom's star! + 'Til sweet peace--the bow and halcyon-- + Stilled the stormy strife of war. + Listen! now thy country's calling + On her sons to meet the foe! + Sweet is love in moonlight bowers! + Sweet the altar and the flame! + Sweet the Spring-time with her flowers! + Sweeter far the patriot's name! + + Should the God who smiles above thee, + Doom thee to a soldier's grave, + Hearts will break, but fame will love thee, + Canonized among the brave! + Listen, then! thy country's calling + On her sons to meet the foe! + Rather would I view thee lying + On the last red field of strife, + 'Mid thy country's heroes dying, + Than become a dastard's wife! + + + + +THAT BUGLER; + +OR, THE UPIDEE SONG. + +Words by A. G. KNIGHT. + +Music by ARMAND. + +[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass., owners of the copyright.] + + + The shades of night were falling fast, + Tra-la-la, tra-la-la, + The bugler blows that well-known blast + Tra-la-la, tra-la-la, + No matter should it rain or snow, + That bugler he is bound to blow. + + CHORUS--Up--i--de--i--de--i--di, + U--pi--de, u--pi--de, + U--pi--de--i--de--i--di, + Up--i--de--i--di, + U--pi--de--i--de--i--di, + U--pi--de--u--pi--di, + U--pi--de--i--de--i--di. + + He saw, as in their bunks they lay, + Tra-la-la, tra-la-la, + How soldiers spent the dawning day, + Tra-la-la, tra-la-la, + "There's too much comfort there," said he, + "And so I'll blow the 'Reveille.'" + CHORUS. + + In nice log huts he saw the light, + Of cabin fires, warm and bright, + The sight afforded him no heat, + And so he sounded the "Retreat." + + Upon the fire he saw a pot, + Of sav'ry viands smoking hot, + Said he, "they shan't enjoy that stew," + Then "Boots and saddles" loudly blew. + +[Illustration: + + "No matter should it rain or snow, + That bugler he is bound to blow."] + + They scarce their half cooked meal begin, + Ere orderly cries out "Fall in," + Then off they march thro' mud and rain, + P'raps only to march back again. + + But soldiers, you were made to fight, + To starve all day, and watch all night, + And should you chance get bread and meat, + That bugler will not let you eat. + + Oh hasten then, that glorious day, + When buglers shall no longer play, + When we through peace shall be set free, + From "Tattoo," "Taps," and "Reveille." + + + + +ADDRESS OF THE WOMEN TO THE SOUTHERN TROOPS. + +By MRS. J. T. H. CROSS. + +_Air--"Bruce's Address."_ + + + Southern men, unsheathe the sword, + Inland and along the board; + Backward drive the Northern horde-- + Rush to victory! + + Let your banners kiss the sky, + Be "The right" your battle cry! + Be the God of battles nigh-- + Crown you in the fight! + + Pressing back the tears that start, + We behold your hosts depart: + Saying, with heroic heart, + Clothe your arms with might! + + Lower the proud oppressor's crest! + Or, if he should prove the best, + Dead, not dishonored, rest + On the field of blood! + + We--may God so give us grace!-- + Sons will rear, to take your place; + Strong the foeman's steel to face-- + Strong in heart and hand! + + Death your serried ranks may sweep, + Proud shall be the tears we weep, + Sacredly our hearts shall keep + Memory of your deeds! + + Though our land be left forlorn, + Spirit of the Southern-born, + Northern rage shall laugh to scorn-- + Northern hosts defy. + + He that last is doomed to die + Shall, with his expiring sigh, + Send aloft the battle-cry, + "God defend the right!" + +[Illustration] + + + + +RALLYING SONG OF THE VIRGINIANS. + +By SUSAN A. TALLY. + +_Air--"Scots, Wha hae wi' Wallace bled."_ + + + Now rouse ye, gallant comrades all, + And ready stand, in war's array,-- + Virginia sounds her battle call, + And gladly we obey. + Our hands upon our trusty swords, + Our hearts with courage beating high-- + We'll fight as once our fathers fought, + To conquer or to die! + + Adieu, awhile, to loving eyes, + And lips that breathe our names in prayer; + To them our holiest thoughts be given, + For them our swords we bare! + Yet linger not when honor calls, + Nor breathe one sad, regretful sigh,-- + Defying fate, for love we'll live, + Or for our country die! + + No tyrant hand shall ever dare + Our sacred Southern homes despoil, + No tyrant foot shall e'er invade + Our free Virginia soil. + Lo! from her lofty mountain peaks, + To plains that skirt the Southern seas, + We fling her banner to the winds, + Her motto on the breeze! + + We hear the roll of stormy drums, + We hear the trumpet's call afar! + Now forward, gallant comrades all, + To swell the ranks of war; + Uplift on high our battle cry, + When fiercest rolls the bloody fight, + "Virginia! for the Southern cause, + And God defend the right!" + + + + +POP GOES THE WEASEL. + +From "JACK MORGAN SONGSTER." + + + King Abraham is very sick, + Old Scott has got the measles, + Manassas we have now at last-- + Pop goes the weasel! + + All around the cobbler's house + The monkey chased the people, + And after them in double haste, + Pop goes the weasel! + + When the night walks in, as black as a sheep, + And the hen on her eggs was fast asleep, + When into her nest with a serpent's creep, + Pop goes the weasel! + + Of all the dance that ever was planned, + To galvanize the heel and the hand, + There's none that moves so gay and grand, + As--pop goes the weasel. + + + + +THE MOTHER'S FAREWELL. + +_Air--"Jeannette and Jeannot."_ + +From "JACK MORGAN SONGSTER." + + + You are going to leave me, darling, + Your country's foes to fight, + And though I grieve, I murmur not, + I know we're in the right. + Here's your father's sword and rifle, + Emulate him in the fight; + Let no coward stain be on your name, + That always has shone bright. + + Then farewell, my loved one, + May a widow'd mother's prayer, + Still shield thy head in battle, + And God keep thee in His care; + Then use your sword and rifle well, + Ne'er falter in the strife-- + You fight for home and freedom, + For honor and for life. + + And when the "Stars and Bars" + Float in triumph o'er each band + That has driven the invaders back, + Who dared pollute our land, + Then come back to me with honor, + And a mother's hand shall place + The laurel wreath your country gives + Each victor's brow to grace. + + + + +WE SWEAR. + +_Louisville Courier._ + + + Kneel, ye Southrons, kneel and swear, + On your bleeding country's altar, + All the tyrants' rage to dare, + E'en the cursed tyrants' halter, + We swear, we swear, we swear! + + Swear by all the shining stars, + Swear in blunt old Anglo-Saxon, + To defend the stars and bars + Hallowed by the blood of Jackson, + We swear, etc. + + Swear by all the noble deeds, + By heroic valor prompted; + Swear that while our country bleeds, + Gleaming blades shall not be wanted, + We swear, etc. + + Swear our country shall be free; + Submit to subjugation? Never! + Swear the stars and bars shall be + Our insignia forever, + We swear, etc. + + + + +FREEDOM'S NEW BANNER. + +By DAN. E. TOWNSEND, _Richmond Dispatch_, June 30, 1862. + + + When clouds of oppression o'ershaded + The banner that liberty bore, + Bright stars from the galaxy faded, + The day of its splendor was o'er; + Those stars, in a fresh constellation, + A sky in the South now adorn; + And blazon throughout all creation + That freedom's new banner is born. + + For the land that's richest in beauty, + The homestead of justice and right, + Whose sons are the foremost in duty, + Whose daughters are peerless and bright: + For brave hearts in battle defending + The honor and truth of our cause; + For our trust in victorious ending, + The welkin rings out its huzzas. + + Our lives and our fortunes enlisted, + Our honor, our hopes, and our prayers, + Upholding the act that resisted + The wrong of a series of years. + May the Father in Heaven approve us, + In this the most sacred of wars; + May his hand, to protect, be above us + While cheering the Stars and the Bars. + + + + +THE BONNIE BLUE FLAG. + +By HARRY MACARTHY. + +[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass., owners of the copyright.] + + + We are a band of brothers, and native to the soil, + Fighting for our liberty, with treasure, blood and toil; + And when our rights were threatened, the cry rose near and far, + Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag, that bears a Single Star! + + CHORUS.--Hurrah! Hurrah! for Southern Rights, Hurrah! + Hurrah! for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star! + + As long as the Union was faithful to her trust, + Like friends and like brethren kind were we and just; + But now when Northern treachery attempts our rights to mar, + We hoist on high the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star. + CHORUS. + + First, gallant South Carolina nobly made the stand; + Then came Alabama, who took her by the hand; + Next, quickly Mississippi, Georgia and Florida, + All raised on high the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star. + CHORUS. + + Ye men of valor, gather round the banner of the right, + Texas and fair Louisiana, join us in the fight; + Davis, our loved President, and Stephens, statesman rare, + Now rally round the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star. + CHORUS. + +[Illustration: "The Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star."] + + And here's to brave Virginia! the Old Dominion State, + With the young Confederacy at length has link'd her fate; + Impelled by her example, now other States prepare, + To hoist on high the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star. + CHORUS. + + Then cheer, boys, raise the joyous shout, + For Arkansas and North Carolina now have both gone out; + And let another rousing cheer for Tennessee be given, + The Single Star of the Bonnie Blue Flag has grown to be Eleven. + CHORUS. + + Then here's to our Confederacy, strong we are and brave, + Like patriots of old, we'll fight our heritage to save; + And rather than submit to shame, to die we would prefer, + So cheer for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star. + + CHORUS.--Hurrah! Hurrah! for Southern Rights, Hurrah! + Hurrah! for the Bonnie Blue Flag has gained the Eleventh Star! + + + + +"OH, HE'S NOTHING BUT A SOLDIER." + + + Oh, he's nothing but a soldier; he's coming here to-night, + For I saw him pass this morning, with his uniform so bright; + He was coming in from picket, whilst he sang a sweet refrain, + And he kissed his hand at some one, peeping through the window pane. + + Ah! he rode no dashing charger, with black and flowing mane, + But his bayonet glistened brightly, as the sun lit up the plain; + No waving plume or feather flashed its crimson in the light, + He belongs to the light infantry, and came to the war to fight. + + Oh, he's nothing but a soldier, his trust is in his sword, + To carve his way to glory through the servile Yankee horde; + No pompous pageant heralds him, no sycophants attend; + In his belt you see his body guard, his tried and trusty friend. + + Oh, he's nothing but a soldier, yet his eyes are very fine, + And I sometimes think, when passing, they're peeping into mine; + Though he's nothing but a soldier--come, let me be discreet-- + Yet really for a soldier, his toilet's very neat. + + He has been again to see us, the gentleman in gray, + He's called to see us often, our house is on his way; + Ofttimes he sadly seeks the shade of yonder grove of trees, + I watched him once--this soldier--I saw him on his knees. + + Oh, he's nothing but a soldier, but this I know full well. + He has a heart of softness, where tender virtues dwell; + For once when we were talking, and no one else was near, + I saw him very plainly try to hide a starting tear. + + Ah! he's nothing but a soldier; but then its very queer. + Whenever he is absent I'd much rather have him near; + He's gone to meet the foeman, to stay his bloody track, + O Heaven! shield the soldier; O God! let him come back. + + + + +SOUTHERN WAR-CRY. + +_Air--"Scots, wha hae."_ + + + Countrymen of Washington! + Countrymen of Jefferson! + By old Hick'ry oft led on + To death or victory! + + Sons of men who fought and bled, + Whose blood for you was freely shed, + Where Marion charged and Sumpter led, + For freeman's rights! + + From the Cowpens' glorious way, + Southron valor led the fray + To Yorktown's eventful day, + First we were free! + + At New Orleans we met the foe; + Oppressors fell at every blow; + There we laid the usurper low, + For maids and wives! + + Who on Palo Alto's day, + 'Mid fire and hail at Monterey, + At Buena Vista, led the way? + "Rough-and-Ready." + + Southrons all; at Freedom's call, + For our homes united all, + Freemen live, or freemen fall! + Death or liberty! + + + + +DIXIE'S LAND. + +_As sung by the Confederate Soldier._ + + + Away down South in de fields of cotton, + Cinnamon seed and sandy bottom; + Look away, look away, + Look away, look away. + Den 'way down South in de fields of cotton, + Vinegar shoes and paper stockings; + Look away, look away, + Look away, look away. + Den I wish I was in Dixie's Land, + Oh--oh! Oh--oh! + In Dixie's land I'll take my stand, + And live and die in Dixie's Land, + Away, away, away, + Away down South in Dixie. + + Pork and cabbage in de pot, + It goes in cold and comes out hot; + Look away, look away, + Look away, look away. + Vinegar put right on red beet, + It makes them always fit to eat; + Look away, look away, + Look away, look away. + Den I wish I was in Dixie's Land, + Oh--oh! Oh--oh! + In Dixie's land I'll take my stand, + And live and die in Dixie's Land, + Away, away, away, + Away down South in Dixie. + + + + +ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF LIEUT.-COL. CH. B. DREUX. + +By JAMES R. RANDALL. + +Permission of HENRI WEHRMAN, _New Orleans, La._ + + + Weep, Louisiana, weep! thy gallant dead + Weave the green laurel o'er the undaunted head! + Fling thy bright banner o'er the breast which bled + Defending thee! + Weep, weep, Imperial City, deep and wild! + Weep for thy martyred and heroic child, + The young, the brave, the free, the undefiled, + Ah, weep for him. + Lo! lo! the wail surgeth from embatteled bands, + By Yorktown's plains and Pensacola's sands, + Re-echoing to the golden sugar lands, + Adieu! Adieu! + + The death of honor was the death he craved, + To die where weapons clashed and pennons waved, + To welcome Freedom o'er the opening impetuous grave, + And live for aye! + His blood had too much lightning to be still, + His spirit was the torrent, not the rill, + The gods have loved him, and the Eternal Hill + Is his at last! + He died while yet his chainless eye could roll, + Flashing the conflagrations of his soul, + The rose and mirror of the bold Creole, + He sleepeth well. + + Lament, lone mother, for his early fate, + But, bear thy burden with a hope elate, + For thou hast shrined thy jewels in the state, + A priceless boon! + And thou, sad wife, thy sacred tears belong + To the untarnished and immortal throng, + For he shall fire the poet's heart and song, + In thrilling strains. + And the fair virgins of our sunny clime, + Shall wed their music to the minstrel's rhyme, + Making his fame melodious for all time; + It cannot die. + + + + +BULL RUN. + +A PARODY. + + + At Bull Run, when the sun was low, + Each Southern face grew pale as snow, + While loud as jackdaws rose the crow + Of Yankees boasting terribly! + + But Bull Run saw another sight, + When, at the deepening shades of night, + Toward Fairfax Court House rose the flight + Of Yankees running rapidly. + + Then broke each corps with terror riven, + Then rushed the steeds from battle driven, + For men of battery Number Seven + Forsook their Red Artillery! + + Still on McDowell's farthest left, + The roar of cannon strikes one deaf, + Where furious Abe and fiery Jeff + Contend for death or victory. + + The panic thickens--off, ye brave! + Throw down your arms! your bacon save! + Waive Washington, all scruples waive, + And fly, with all your chivalry! + + + + +HURRAH! + +By a MISSISSIPPIAN.--_Mobile Register._ + + + Hurrah! for the Southern Confederate State, + With her banner of white, red, and blue; + Hurrah! for her daughters, the fairest on earth, + And her sons, ever loyal and true! + Hurrah! and hurrah! for her brave volunteers, + Enlisted for freedom or death; + Hurrah! for Jeff. Davis, commander-in-chief, + And three cheers for the Palmetto wreath! + Hurrah! for each heart that is right in the cause; + That cause we'll protect with our lives; + Hurrah! for the first one who dies on the field, + And hurrah! for each one who survives! + Hurrah! for the South--shout hurrah! and hurrah! + O'er her soil shall no tyrant have sway, + In peace or in war we will ever be found + "Invincible," now and for aye. + + + + +GATHERING SONG. + +_Air--"Bonnie Blue Flag."_ + +By ANNIE C. KETCHUM. + + + Come, brothers! rally for the right! + The bravest of the brave + Sends forth her ringing battle-cry + Beside the Atlantic wave! + She leads the way in honor's path! + Come, brothers, near and far, + Come rally 'round the Bonnie Blue Flag + That bears a single star! + + We've borne the Yankee trickery, + The Yankee gibe and sneer, + Till Yankee insolence and pride + Know neither shame nor fear; + But ready now, with shot and steel, + Their brazen front to mar, + We hoist aloft the Bonnie Blue Flag + That bears a single star! + + Now Georgia marches to the front, + And close beside her come + Her sisters by the Mexique Sea, + With pealing trump and drum! + Till, answering back from hill and glen, + The rallying cry afar, + A NATION hoists the Bonnie Blue Flag + That bears a single star! + + By every stone in Charleston Bay, + By each beleaguered town, + We swear to rest not, night nor day, + But hunt the tyrants down! + Till, bathed in valor's holy blood, + The gazing world afar, + Shall greet with shouts the Bonnie Blue Flag, + That bears the cross and star! + + + + +A SOUTHERN SONG. + +By MISS MARIA GRASON. + + + While crimson drops our hearthstones stain, + And Northern despots forge our chain, + O God! shall freemen strike in vain? + + Shall tyrants desecrate the sod + Our fathers hallowed with their blood, + Or cowards tread where heroes trod? + + The lowering tempest darkens round; + And at the bugle's silvery sound + The fiery war-horse spurns the ground. + + The thunder of his iron tread + Sweeps o'er the dying and the dead; + The trembling earth is blushing red. + + 'Mid wreathing smoke, and flashing steel, + And blazing cannons' deafening peal + Our brave battalions charge and wheel. + + The maiden sees her lover there! + Far in the battle's lurid glare + He stands, his only shield her prayer. + + Oh, may that warrior in his pride + Return with honor to her side, + Or die as old Dentatus died! + +QUEEN ANNE CO., MD. + + + + +A CONFEDERATE OFFICER TO HIS LADY LOVE. + +MAJ. MCKNIGHT ("Asa Hartz"), A. A. G., General Loring's staff, while a +prisoner of war, at Johnston's Island, wrote the following: + + + My love reposes on a rosewood frame-- + A bunk have I; + A couch of feathery down fills up the same-- + Mine's straw, but dry; + She sinks to sleep at night with scarce a sigh-- + With waking eyes I watch the hours creep by. + + My love her daily dinner takes in state-- + And so do I(?); + The richest viands flank her silver plate-- + Coarse grub have I? + Pure wines she sips at ease, her thirst to slake-- + I pump my drink from Erie's limpid lake! + +[Illustration: "Three Acres I."] + + My love has all the world at will to roam-- + Three acres I; + She goes abroad or quiet sits at home-- + So cannot I; + Bright angels watch around her couch at night-- + A Yank, with loaded gun, keeps me in sight. + + A thousand weary miles do stretch between + My love and I; + To her, this wintry night, cold, calm, serene, + I waft a sigh; + And hope, with all my earnestness of soul, + To-morrow's mail may bring me my parole! + +[Illustration: "We'll one day meet again."] + + There's hope ahead! We'll one day meet again, + My love and I; + We'll wipe away all tears of sorrow then-- + Her love-lit eye, + Will all my many troubles then beguile, + And keep this wayward reb. from Johnston's Isle. + + + + +THE SOUTHERN MARSEILLAISE. + +[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass., owners of the copyright.] + + + Ye men of Southern hearts and feeling, + Arm! arm! your struggling country calls! + Hear ye the guns now loudly pealing, + From Sumpter's high embattled walls! + Shall a fanatic horde in power + Send forth a base and hireling band + To desolate our happy land + And make our Southern freemen cower? + + CHORUS--To arms, to arms! each one, + Th' sword unsheathe, and raise the gun, + Then on, rush on, ye brave and free, + To death and victory. + + Now clouds of war begin to gather, + And black and murky is our sky-- + Shall we submit--no, never, never! + Let death or freedom be our cry-- + In Heaven's justice firm relying, + We'll nobly struggle to be free, + And bravely gain our liberty, + Or die our Northern foes defying. + CHORUS. + + The peaceful homes of Texas burning, + And Harper's Ferry's blood-stained soil, + Proclaim how strong their hearts are yearning, + For murder, pillage, crime and spoil. + Shall we our feelings longer smother, + And bear with patience yet our wrongs, + Their jeers, their crimes, their taunts and thongs + And greet them still as friend and brother? + CHORUS. + + Their tyranny we'll bear no longer, + But burst asunder every tie, + Although in number they are stronger, + We will be free, or we will die! + Too long the South has wept, bewailing, + That falsehood's dagger Yankees wield, + But freedom is our sword and shield, + And all their arts are unavailing. + CHORUS. + + + + +A SOUTHERN GATHERING SONG. + +By L. VIRGINIA FRENCH. + +_Air--"Hail Columbia."_ + + + Sons of the South, beware the foe! + Hark to the murmur, deep and low, + Rolling up like the coming storm, + Swelling up like the sounding storm, + Hoarse as the hurricanes that brood + In space's far infinitude! + Minute guns of omen boom + Through the future's folded gloom; + Sounds prophetic fill the air, + Heed the warning--and prepare! + Watch! be wary--every hour + Mark the foeman's gathering power-- + Keep watch and ward upon his track + And crush the rash invaders back! + + Sons of the brave!--a barrier staunch + Breasting the alien avalanche-- + Manning the battlements of RIGHT; + Up, for your _Country_, "_God and right_!" + Form your battalions steadily, + And strike for death or victory! + Surging onward sweeps the wave, + Serried columns of the brave, + Banded 'neath the benison of + Freedom's godlike Washington! + Stand! but should the invading foe + Aspire to lay your altars low, + Charge on the tyrant ere he gain + Your iron-arteried domain! + + Sons of the brave! when tumult trod + The tide of revolution--God + Looked from His throne on "the things of time," + And two new stars in the reign of time, + He bade to burn in the azure dome-- + The freeman's LOVE and the freeman's HOME! + Holy of Holies! guard them well, + Baffle the despot's secret spell, + And let the chords of life be riven, + Ere you yield those gifts of heaven! + _Io paean!_ trumpet notes, + Shake the air where our banner floats; + _Io triumphe!_ still we see + _The land of the South is the home of the free!_ + + + + +CONFEDERATE LAND. + +By H. H. STRAWBRIDGE. + + + States of the South! Confederate Land! + Our foe has come--the hour is nigh; + His bale-fires rise on every hand-- + Rise as one man, to do or die! + From mountain, vale, and prairie wide, + From forest vast, and field, and glen, + And crowded city, pour thy tide, + Oh fervid South! Oh patriot men! + + CHORUS--Up! old and young; the weak, be strong! + Rise for the right,--hurl back the wrong, + And foot to foot, and hand to hand, + Strike for our own Confederate Land! + + Make every house, and rock, and tree, + And hill, your forts; and fen and flood + Yield not! our soil shall rather be + One waste of flame, one sea of blood! + On! though perennial be the strife, + For honor dear, for hearthstone fires; + Give blow for blow! take life for life! + "Strike! 'till the last armed foe expires!" + CHORUS. + + + + +WE'LL BE FREE IN MARYLAND. + +By R. E. HOLTZ. + +_Air--"Gideon's Band."_ + + + The boys down South in Dixie's land, + The boys down South in Dixie's land, + The boys down South in Dixie's land + Will come and rescue Maryland. + + CHORUS.--If you will join the Dixie band, + Here's my heart and here's my hand, + If you will join the Dixie band; + We're fighting for a home. + + The Northern foes have trod us down, + The Northern foes have trod us down, + The Northern foes have trod us down, + But we will rise with true renown. + CHORUS. + + The tyrants they must leave our door, + The tyrants they must leave our door, + The tyrants they must leave our door, + Then we'll be free in Baltimore. + CHORUS. + + These hirelings they'll never stand, + These hirelings they'll never stand, + These hirelings they'll never stand, + Whenever they see the Southern band. + CHORUS. + + Old Abe has got into a trap, + Old Abe has got into a trap, + Old Abe has got into a trap, + And he can't get out with his Scotch cap. + CHORUS. + + Nobody's hurt is easy spun, + Nobody's hurt is easy spun, + Nobody's hurt is easy spun, + But the Yankees caught it at Bull Run. + CHORUS. + + We'll rally to Jeff Davis true, + Beauregard and Johnston, too, + Magruder, Price, and General Bragg, + And give three cheers for the Southern Flag. + CHORUS. + + We'll drink this toast to one and all, + Keep cocked and primed for the Southern call; + The day will come, we'll make a stand, + Then we'll be free in Maryland. + CHORUS. + +JANUARY 30, 1862. + +[Illustration: Artillery Button.] + + + + +THE SOUTHRON'S WAR-SONG. + +By J. A. WAGINER. _Charleston Courier._ + + + Arise! arise! with main and might, + Sons of the sunny clime! + Gird on the sword; the sacred fight + The holy hour doth chime. + Arise, the craven host draws nigh, + In thundering array; + Arise! ye braves! let cowards fly-- + The hero bides the fray. + + Strike hard, strike hard, thou noble band; + Strike hard with arm of fire! + Strike hard, for God and fatherland, + For mother, wife, and sire! + Let thunders roar, the lightning flash + Bold Southrons never fear + The bay'net's point, the sabre's crash-- + True Southrons, do and dare! + + Bright flow'rs spring from the hero's grave; + The craven knows no rest! + Thrice curs'd the traitor and the knave! + The hero thrice is bless'd. + Then let each noble Southron stand, + With bold and manly eye: + We'll do for God and fatherland; + We'll do, we'll do, or die! + + + + +KNITTING FOR THE SOLDIERS. + +By MARY J. UPSHUR. + + + Knitting for the soldiers. + How the needles fly! + Now with sounds of merriment-- + Now with many a sigh! + + Knitting for the soldiers! + Panoply for feet-- + Onward, bound to victory! + Rushing in retreat! + + Knitting for the soldiers! + Wrinkled--aged crone, + Plying flying needles + By the ember stone. + + Crooning ancient ballads, + Rocking to and fro, + In your sage divining, + Say where these shall go? + + Jaunty set of stockings, + Neat from top to toe, + March they with the victor? + Lie with vanquished low? + + Knitting for the soldiers! + Matron--merry maid, + Many and many a blessing, + Many a prayer is said, + + While the glittering needles + Fly "around! around!" + Like to Macbeth's witches + On enchanted ground. + +[Illustration: + + "Knitting for the soldiers + Wrinkled--aged crone."] + + Knitting for the soldiers + Still another pair! + And the feet that wear them + Speed thee onward--where? + + To the silent city, + On their trackless way? + Homeward--bearing garlands? + Who of us shall say? + +[Illustration: + + "Knitting for the soldiers! + Matron--merry maid."] + + Knitting for the soldiers! + Heaven bless them all! + Those who win the battle, + Those who fighting fall. + + Might our benedictions + Speedily win reply, + Early would they crown ye + All with victory. + +NORFOLK, VA., October 8, 1861. + + + + +PATRIOTIC SONG. + +By DR. JOHN W. PAINE, Lexington, Va., June 30, 1862. + +_Air--"Gathering of the Clans."_ + + + Rise, rise, mountain and valley men, + Bald sire and beardless son, each come in order, + True loyal patriots, muster and rally, men; + Drive the invader clear over the border; + Down from the mountain steep, up from the valley deep, + Come from the city, the town, and the village, + Let every loyal heart in the strife take a part, + Rescue our country from rapine and pillage. + Rise, rise, etc. + + Men of the valley, descendants of heroes-- + Heroes whom Washington honored and trusted-- + Heirs of the fame and the hills of your fathers, + Men who have never been daunted or worsted; + Long, like all true men, we cherished the Union, + Long did we strive for our country's salvation; + Now when our very existence is threatened, + Rush to the rescue without hesitation. + Rise, rise, etc. + + Say, shall we suffer the ruthless invader + O'er our fair valley to marshal his legions? + Loud calls Virginia, let every man aid her-- + Aid her, and thus show his truth and allegiance. + Hark to the battle-cry, rush on to victory! + Banished forever be party and faction; + Let every loyal man rush to be in the van, + Led by the dauntless, the conqueror, Jackson. + Rise, rise, etc. + +--_Richmond Dispatch._ + + + + +OUR BRAVES IN VIRGINIA. + +_Air--"Dixie Land."_ + + + We have ridden from the brave Southwest, + On fiery steeds, with throbbing breast; + Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! + With sabre flash and rifle true,-- + Hurrah! hurrah!-- + The Northern ranks we will cut through, + And charge for old Virginia, boys; + Hurrah! hurrah! + + We have come from the cloud-capp'd mountains, + From the land of purest fountains; + Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! + Our sweethearts and wives conjure us,-- + Hurrah! hurrah! + Not to leave a foe before us, + And strike for old Virginia, boys; + Hurrah! hurrah! + + Then we'll rally to the bugle call; + For Southern rights we'll fight and fall; + Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! + Our grey-haired sires sternly say,-- + Hurrah! hurrah! + That we must die or win the day, + Three cheers for old Virginia, boys, + Hurrah! hurrah! + + Then our silken banner wave on high; + For Southern homes we'll fight and die; + Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! + Our cause is right, our quarrel just,-- + Hurrah! hurrah! + We'll in the God of battles trust, + And conquer for Virginia, boys, + Hurrah! hurrah! + + + + +BATTLE SONG OF THE INVADED. + + + The foe! the foe! They come! they come! + Light up the beacon pyre; + Light every hill and mountain home, + Give back the signal fire; + And wave the red cross on the night, + The blood-red cross of war-- + What though we perish in the fight! + Our fathers died before! + + Hark! lo their shouts upon the breeze, + Their banners in the sun, + And like the thunder of the seas + Their deep tread thunders on. + We'll meet them here on each bold height, + In every glen make head-- + And give the battle to the right; + We will be free or dead. + + We stand on sacred, holy ground, + Where thousand memories meet; + Our fathers' homes are all around, + Their graves beneath our feet; + Our roofs are mouldering far and wide, + That late smiled in the sun; + Our brides are weeping at our sides; + Gods! let them then come on! + + Hurrah! hurrah! he gleams in sight; + It fires the brain to see + How the proud spoiler flashes bright + In war's gay panoply; + We'll show him that our fathers' brands + Nor rust nor time can stay; + With tramp and shouts, bold hearts and hands, + Up, freemen, and away! + + The work is done, the strife is o'er, + The whirlwinds thundered by,-- + There's not from hill to ocean shore + A foeman left to die. + Our brides are thronging every height, + They wave us weeping home; + God gives the battle to the right-- + Back to our hearth-stones, come! + + + + +THE SONG OF THE SNOW. + +By MRS. M. J. PRESTON, Lexington, Va. + + + Halt! the march is over; + Day is almost done; + Loose the cumbrous knapsack, + Drop the heavy gun. + Chilled, and worn, and weary, + Wander to and fro, + Seeking wood to kindle + Fires amidst the snow. + + Round the camp-blaze gather, + Heed not sleep nor cold; + Ye are Spartan soldiers, + Strong, and brave, and bold. + Never Xerxian army + Yet subdued a foe, + Who but asked a blanket + On a bed of snow! + + Shivering 'midst the darkness, + Christian men are found + There devoutly kneeling + On the frozen ground; + Pleading for their country + In its hour of woe, + For its soldiers marching + Shoeless through the snow! + + Lost in heavy slumbers, + Free from toil and strife, + Dreaming of their dear ones-- + Home, and child, and wife; + Tentless they are lying, + While the fires burn low-- + Lying in their blankets, + 'Midst December's snow. + + + + +A NEW RED, WHITE AND BLUE. + +Written for a Lady, by JEFF. THOMPSON. + +[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass., owners of the copyright.] + + + Missouri is the pride of the Nation, + The hope of the brave and the free; + The Confederacy will furnish the rations, + But the fighting is trusted to thee; + For, brave boys, your soil has been noted, + And your flag has been trusted to you; + For freedom you have not yet voted, + But you fight for the Red, White and Blue. + + CHORUS.--Three cheers, etc. + + The Stars shall shine bright in the heaven, + But the Stripes should be trailed in the dust, + For they are no longer the sign of the haven + Of the brave, of the free, or the just; + The Bars now in triumph shall wave + O'er the land of the faithful and true; + O'er the home of the Southern brave, + Shall float the new Red, White and Blue. + CHORUS. + + + + +WAR SONG. + + + Come! come! come! + Come, brothers you are called; + Come, each one unappalled; + Come and defend your home! + + Come! come! come! + The cannon's belching roar, + The musket's deadly pour-- + Cry, men, defend your home! + + Come! come! come! + Let the invitation sound, + Through town and country round, + Come, men, defend your home! + + Come! come! come! + With a prayer to Him on high; + God grant us victory, + While fighting for our home. + + Come! come! come! + Wait not, lest you live to see + Your loved ones crushed by tyranny, + And desolate your home! + + + + +ALL QUIET ALONG THE POTOMAC TO-NIGHT. + +By LAMAR FONTAINE. + +Music by J. H. HEWETT. + +[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass.] + + + "All quiet along the Potomac to-night!" + Except here and there a stray picket + Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro, + By a rifleman hid in the thicket. + + 'Tis nothing! a private or two now and then + Will not count in the news of a battle; + Not an officer lost! only one of the men + Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle. + + "All quiet along the Potomac to-night!" + Where soldiers lie peacefully dreaming; + And their tents in the rays of the clear Autumn moon, + And the light of their camp-fires are gleaming. + + A tremulous sigh, as a gentle night wind + Through the forest leaves slowly is creeping; + While the stars up above, with their glittering eyes, + Keep guard o'er the army while sleeping. + + There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread, + As he tramps from rock to the fountain, + And thinks of the two on the low trundle bed, + Far away, in the cot on the mountain. + + His musket falls slack, his face, dark and grim, + Grows gentle with memories tender. + As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep, + And their mother--"may heaven defend her!" + +[Illustration: "There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread."] + + The moon seems to shine forth as brightly as then-- + That night, when the love, yet unspoken, + Leaped up to his lips, and when low-murmured vows + Were pledged to be ever unbroken. + + Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, + He dashes off tears that are welling; + And gathers his gun closer up to his breast, + As if to keep down the heart's swelling. + +[Illustration: "And his life-blood is ebbing and splashing."] + + He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree, + And his footstep is lagging and weary; + Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light, + Towards the shades of the forest so dreary. + + Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves? + Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing? + It looked like a rifle: "Ha, Mary, good-by!" + And his life-blood is ebbing and splashing. + + "All quiet along the Potomac to-night!" + No sound save the rush of the river; + While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead, + And the picket's off duty forever! + + + + +"INDEPENDENCE DAY." + + + Oh, Freedom is a blessed thing! + And men have marched in stricken fields, + And fought, and bled, to nobly grasp + The glorious fruit that freedom yields. + Then let the banner float the air, + The fairest ones of freedom's types-- + The stars are fading one by one-- + What matter? We have still the stripes! + Oh! happy men of Maryland, + Remember! we have still the stripes! + + Why heed the cannon in your streets, + The bayonets that block your way? + Rejoice, for you were free men once, + And this is, "Independence Day." + Then let the banner float the air, + The fairest one of freedom's types-- + The stars are fading one by one-- + What matter? we have still the stripes! + Oh! happy men of Maryland, + Remember! we have still the stripes! + + + + +FLIGHT OF DOODLES. + + + I come from old Manassas, with a pocket full of fun-- + I killed forty Yankees with a single-barrelled gun; + It don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I, + Big Yankee, little Yankee, all run or die. + + I saw all the Yankees at Bull Run, + They fought like the devil when the battle first begun, + But it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you or I + They took to their heels, boys, and you ought to see 'em fly. + + I saw old Fuss-and-Feathers Scott, twenty miles away, + His horses stuck up their ears, and you ought to hear 'em neigh; + But it don't make niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I, + Old Scott fled like the devil, boys; root, hog, or die. + + I then saw a "Tiger," from the old Crescent City, + He cut down the Yankees without any pity: + Oh! it don't make a diff-a-bitterence to neither you nor I, + We whipped the Yankee boys, and made the boobies cry. + + I saw South Carolina, the first in the cause, + Shake the dirty Yankees till she broke all their jaws; + Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I, + South Carolina give 'em--boys; root, hog, or die. + + I saw old Virginia, standing firm and true, + She fought mighty hard to whip the dirty crew; + Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I, + Old Virginia's blood and thunder, boys; root, hog, or die. + + I saw old Georgia, the next in the van, + She cut down the Yankees almost to a man; + Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I, + Georgia's some in a fight, boys; root, hog, or die. + + I saw Alabama in the midst of the storm, + She stood like a giant in the contest so warm; + Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I, + Alabama fought the Yankees, boys, till the last one did fly. + + I saw Texas go in with a smile, + But I tell you what it is, she made the Yankees bile; + Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I, + Texas is the devil, boys; root, hog, or die. + + I saw North Carolina in the deepest of the battle, + She knocked down the Yankees and made their bones rattle; + Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I, + North Carolina's got the grit, boys; root, hog, or die. + + Old Florida came in with a terrible shout, + She frightened all the Yankees till their eyes stuck out; + Oh! it don't make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I, + Florida's death on Yankees; root, hog, or die. + + + + +LAND OF KING COTTON. + +By JO. AUGUSTINE SIGNAIGO. + +_Air--"Red, White and Blue."_ + +(This was a favorite song of the Tennessee troops, but especially of the +13th and 154th Regiments. Memphis _Appeal_, Dec. 9, 1861.) + + + Oh! Dixie, the land of King Cotton, + "The home of the brave and the free," + A nation by freedom begotten, + The terror of despots to be; + Wherever thy banner is streaming, + Base tyranny quails at thy feet, + And liberty's sunlight is beaming, + In splendor of majesty sweet. + + CHORUS--Three cheers for our army so true, + Three cheers for Price, Johnson, and Lee: + Beauregard, and our Davis forever, + The pride of the brave and the free! + + When Liberty sounds her war-rattle, + Demanding her right and her due, + The first land that rallies to battle + Is Dixie, the shrine of the true: + Thick as leaves of the forest in Summer, + Her brave sons will rise on each plain, + And then strike, until each vandal comer + Lies dead on the soil he would stain. + CHORUS. + + May the names of the dead that we cherish, + Fill memory's cup to the brim; + May the laurels they've won never perish, + "Nor star of their glory grow dim;" + May the States of the South never sever, + But the champions of freedom e'er be; + May they flourish Confed'rate forever, + The boast of the brave and the free. + CHORUS. + + + + +THE SOUTHERN SOLDIER BOY. + +As sung by MISS SALLIE PARTINGTON, in the "Virginia Cavalier," Richmond, +Va., 1863. Composed by Captain G. W. ALEXANDER. + +_Air--"The Boy with the Auburn Hair."_ + +The sentiments of this song pleased the Confederate Soldiers, and for more +than a year, the New Richmond Theatre was nightly filled by "Blockade +Rebels," who greeted with wild hurrahs, "Miss Sallie," the prima donna of +the Confederacy. + +[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass., owners of the copyright.] + + + Bob Roebuck is my sweetheart's name, + He's off to the wars and gone, + He's fighting for his Nannie dear, + His sword is buckled on; + He's fighting for his own true love, + His foes he does defy; + He is the darling of my heart, + My Southern soldier boy. + + CHORUS.--Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! + He is my only joy, + He is the darling of my heart, + My Southern soldier boy. + + When Bob comes home from war's alarms, + We start anew in life, + I'll give myself right up to him, + A dutiful, loving wife. + I'll try my best to please my dear + For he is my only joy; + He is the darling of my heart + My Southern soldier boy. + + CHORUS.--Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! + He is my only joy, + He is the darling of my heart, + My Southern soldier boy. + + Oh! if in battle he was slain, + I am sure that I should die, + But I am sure he'll come again + And cheer my weeping eye; + But should he fall in this our glorious cause, + He still would be my joy + For many a sweetheart mourns the loss, + Of a Southern soldier boy. + + CHORUS.--Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! + I'd grieve to lose my joy, + But many a sweetheart mourns the loss + Of a Southern soldier boy. + + I hope for the best, and so do all + Whose hopes are in the field; + I know that we shall win the day, + For Southrons never yield, + And when we think of those that are away, + We'll look above for joy, + And I'm mighty glad that my Bobby is + A Southern soldier boy. + CHORUS. + + + + +REBEL IS A SACRED NAME. + +Written by an inmate of the old Capitol Prison, Washington City. + + + Rebel is a sacred name; + Traitor, too, is glorious; + By such names our father's fought-- + By them were victorious. + + CHORUS--Gaily floats our rebel flag + Over hill and valley-- + Broad its bars, and bright its stars, + Calling us to rally. + + Washington a rebel was, + Jefferson a traitor,-- + But their treason won success, + And made their glory greater. + CHORUS. + + O'er our southern sunny strand + Vandal feet are treading; + And the Hessians on our land + Devastation spreading. + CHORUS. + + Can you then inactive be? + Maidens fair are saying; + And their bright eyes shame us out + With this long delaying. + CHORUS. + + Rouse ye, children of the free, + Rally to our streamer; + The vandal flag floats o'er our land,-- + Awaken, Southern dreamer! + CHORUS. + + Rebel arms shall win the fight, + Rebel prayers defend us; + Rebel maidens greet us home, + When tyrants no more rend us. + CHORUS. + + + + +THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. + +Words and Music by JOHN M. HEWETT. + + + Our flag is unfurl'd and our arms flash bright, + As the sun rides up the sky; + But ere I join the doubting fight, + Lovely maid, I would say, "Good by." + I'm a young volunteer, and my heart is true + To the flag that woos the wind; + Then, three cheers for that flag and our country, too, + And the girls we leave behind. + + CHORUS.--Then adieu! then adieu! 'tis the last bugle's strain + That is falling on the ear; + Should it so be decreed that we ne'er meet again, + Oh! remember the young volunteer. + + When over the desert, thro' burning rays, + With a heavy heart I tread; + Or when I breast the cannon's blaze, + And bemoan my comrades dead, + Then, then, I will think of my home and you, + And our flag shall kiss the wind; + With huzza for our cause and our country, too, + And the girls we leave behind. + CHORUS. + + + + +GOOBER PEAS. + +Words by A. PENDER. + +Music by P. NUTT. + +[The music of this song can be obtained of Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass.] + +One of the most widely known Confederate Songs. The melody suited a +soldier, and in his gayest mood he rolled out: "Peas! Peas! Peas!" with a +gusto that was charming. + + + Sitting by the roadside on a summer day, + Chatting with my messmates, passing time away, + Lying in the shadow underneath the trees, + Goodness, how delicious, eating goober peas! + + CHORUS.--Peas! Peas! Peas! Peas! eating goober peas! + Goodness, how delicious, eating goober peas! + + When a horseman passes, the soldiers have a rule, + To cry out at their loudest, "Mister, here's your mule," + But another pleasure enchantinger than these, + Is wearing out your grinders, eating goober peas! + CHORUS. + + Just before the battle the General hears a row, + He says "The Yanks are coming, I hear their rifles now," + He turns around in wonder, and what do you think he sees? + The Georgia militia eating goober peas! + CHORUS. + +[Illustration: "Lying in the shadow underneath the trees."] + + I think my song has lasted almost long enough, + The subject's interesting, but the rhymes are mighty rough, + I wish this war was over, when free from rags and fleas, + We'd kiss our wives and sweethearts and gobble goober peas! + CHORUS. + + + + +OUR COUNTRY'S CALL. + +By H. WALTHER. + +[Permission of Henri Wehrmann.] + + + To arms! Oh! men in all our Southern clime, + Do you not scent the battle from afar, + And hear the ringing clash of armor chime, + Where men have met all panoplied for war? + To arms! Let not your country call in vain + For willing hearts to shield her from the foe, + But let the ardor of a patriot's fame + Brightly within each manly bosom glow. + + CHORUS.--But let the ardor of a patriot's fame + Brightly within each manly bosom glow. + + To arms! in this, your country's hour of need! + Behold her beautiful and broad domain, + And say, if patriot hearts shall freely bleed + To keep it sacred from invasion's stain? + To arms! and don the panoply of war, + Stay not like cowards from the battle-field; + But with your armor on, march where the roar + Of cannon tells you that your brothers bleed! + CHORUS. + + The trumpet and the clarion sound to arms, + The noisy drum in solemn echo beats, + And martial music, robed in all her charms, + The magic words, To arms! To arms! repeats. + To arms! The mortal combat has begun, + Rush on and fight amidst the deadly fray, + Nor pause until the work is nobly done, + And honor crowns us with her wreath of bay! + + + + +CANNON SONG. + + + Aha! a song for the trumpet's tongue! + For the bugle to sing before us, + When our gleaming guns, like clarions, + Shall thunder in battle chorus! + Where the rifles ring, where the bullets sing, + Where the black bombs whistle o'er us, + With rolling wheel and rattling peal + They'll thunder in battle chorus! + + CHORUS.--With the cannon's flash, and the cannon's crash, + With the cannon's roar and rattle, + Let Freedom's sons, with their shouting guns, + Go down to their country's battle! + + Their brassy throats shall learn the notes + That make old tyrants quiver; + Till the war is done, or each TYRRELL gun + Grows cold with our hearts forever! + + Where the laurel waves o'er our brothers graves, + Who have gone to their rest before us + Here's a requiem shall sound for them + And thunder in battle chorus! + CHORUS. + + By the light that lies in our Southern skies, + By the spirits that watch above us; + By the gentle hands in our Summer lands, + And the gentle hearts that love us! + Our father's faith let us keep till death, + Their fame in its cloudless splendor-- + As men who stand for their mother land, + And die--but never surrender! + CHORUS. + + + + +CHIVALROUS C. S. A. + +_Air--"Vive la Compagnie."_ + + + I'll sing you a song of the South's sunny clime, + Chivalrous C. S. A.! + Which went to housekeeping once on a time; + Bully for C. S. A.! + Like heroes and princes they lived for a while, + Chivalrous C. S. A.! + And routed the Hessians in most gallant style; + Bully for C. S. A.! + + CHORUS.--Chivalrous, chivalrous people are they! + Chivalrous, chivalrous people are they! + In C. S. A.! In C. S. A.! + Aye, in chivalrous C. S. A.! + + They have a bold leader--Jeff. Davis his name-- + Chivalrous C. S. A.! + Good generals and soldiers, all anxious for fame; + Bully for C. S. A.! + At Manassas they met the North in its pride, + Chivalrous C. S. A.! + But they easily put McDowell aside; + Bully for C. S. A.! + CHORUS. + + Ministers to England and France, it appears, + Have gone from the C. S. A.! + Who've given the North many fleas in its ears, + Bully for C. S. A.! + Reminders are being to Washington sent, + By the chivalrous C. S. A.! + That'll force Uncle Abe full soon to repent, + Bully for C. S. A.! + CHORUS. + + Oh, they have the finest of musical ears, + Chivalrous C. S. A.! + Yankee Doodle's too vulgar for them, it appears; + Bully for C. S. A.! + The North may sing it and whistle it still, + Miserable U. S. A.! + Three cheers for the South!--now, boys, with a will! + And groans for the U. S. A.! + CHORUS. + + + + +NORTH CAROLINA'S WAR SONG. + +_Air--"Annie Laurie."_ + + + We leave our pleasant homesteads, + We leave our smiling farms, + At the first call of duty + We rush at once to arms; + We rush at once to arms, + To guard our coasts we fly, + For the land our mothers lived, on + Bravely to bleed or die. + + Up, boys, and quit your pleasure, + Up, men, and quit your toil! + The invader's foot must never + Be pressed upon our soil; + Be pressed upon our soil, + In which our fathers sleep; + Their blessed graves our care, boys, + Most sacredly must keep. + + 'Twas in our brave old State, men, + That first of all was sung, + The thrilling song of freedom + That through the land hath rung; + That through the land hath rung, + And we'll sound its notes once more, + Till our men and children shout + From the mountain to the shore. + + Sweet eyes are filled with tears, men, + Sweet tears of love and pride, + As our wives and sweethearts bid us + Go meet whate'er betide, + Go meet whate'er betide, + And God our guide shall be, + As we drive the foe before us, + And rush to victory. + + + + +THE HOMESPUN DRESS. + +By CARRIE BELL SINCLAIR. + +_Air--"Bonnie Blue Flag."_ + + + Oh, yes, I am a Southern girl, + And glory in the name, + And boast it with far greater pride + Than glittering wealth or fame. + We envy not the Northern girl, + Her robes of beauty rare, + Though diamonds grace her snowy neck, + And pearls bedeck her hair. + + CHORUS.--Hurrah! Hurrah! + For the sunny South so dear, + Three cheers for the homespun dress + The Southern ladies wear! + + The homespun dress is plain, I know, + My hat's palmetto, too; + But then it shows what Southern girls + For Southern rights will do. + We send the bravest of our land, + To battle with the foe, + And we will lend a helping hand-- + We love the South, you know. + CHORUS. + + Now Northern goods are out of date; + And since old Abe's blockade, + We Southern girls can be content + With goods that's Southern made. + We send our sweethearts to the war; + But, dear girls; never mind-- + Your soldier-love will ne'er forget + The girl he left behind. + CHORUS. + + The soldier is the lad for me-- + A brave heart I adore; + And when the sunny South is free, + And when fighting is no more, + I'll choose me then a lover brave, + From out that gallant band. + The soldier lad I love the best + Shall have my heart and hand. + CHORUS. + + The Southern land's a glorious land, + And has a glorious cause; + Then cheer, three cheers for Southern rights, + And for the Southern boys! + We scorn to wear a bit of silk, + A bit of Northern lace, + But make our homespun dresses up, + And wear them with a grace. + CHORUS. + + And now, young man, a word to you: + If you would win the fair, + Go to the field where honor calls, + And win your lady there. + Remember that our brightest smiles + Are for the true and brave, + And that our tears are all for those + Who fill a soldier's grave. + CHORUS. + + + + +THE BANNER SONG. + +By JAMES B. MARSHALL. + + + Up, up with the banner, the foe is before us, + His bayonets bristle, his sword is unsheathed, + Charge, charge on his line with harmonious chorus, + For the prayers go with us that beauty has breathed. + + He fights for the power of despot and plunder, + While we are defending our altars and homes; + He has riven the firmly knit Union asunder, + And to bind it with tyranny's fetters he comes, + Like the prophet Mokanna, whose veil so resplendent, + His monstrous deformity closely concealed; + Duplicity marks Lincoln's course, and dependent + On falsehood is every fair promise revealed. + + When that veil shall be raised, Freedom's last feast be taken, + A banquet to which all his followers will crowd; + Oh, horror of horrors! who can view it unshaken? + Without sense they will sit all in suppliance bowed! + We do not forget that they once were our brothers, + That we sat in our boyhood around the same board, + That our heart's best idolatry blest the same mothers, + And to the same fathers libations we poured. + + We rallied around the same star-spangled standard, + When called to the field by the tocsin of war, + But they from our side have unfeelingly wandered, + And we strip from our flag every recusant star. + They have forced us to stand by our own constitution, + To defend our lov'd homesteads, our altars and fires, + While they tamely submit to a tyrant's pollution, + Beneath whose foul tread their own freedom expires. + + Then up with the banner, its broad stripes wide flowing, + 'Tis the emblem of Liberty--flag of the free; + Let it wave us to triumph, and every heart glowing, + Nerve each arm's bravest blows for its lov'd Tennessee. + + + + +THE VOLUNTEER. + +Permission of H. WEHRMAN. + +Arranged by J. C. VIERECK. + +[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass., owners of the copyright.] + + + The hour was sad, I left the maid, + A lingering farewell taking; + Her sighs and tears my steps delayed, + I thought her heart was breaking. + In hurried words her name I blessed, + I breathed the vows that bind me, + And to my heart in anguish pressed + The girl I left behind me. + + Then to the East we bore away + To win a name in story, + And, there, where dawns the sun of day, + There dawned our sun of glory. + Both blazed in noon on Manassas' plain, + Where, in the post assigned me, + I shared the glory of that fight-- + Sweet girl I left behind me! + + Full many a name our banners bore + Of former deeds of daring-- + But they were of the days of yore, + In which we had no sharing; + But now, our laurels freshly won, + With the old ones shall entwin'd be, + Still worthy of our sires, each son, + Sweet girl I left behind me! + + The hope of final victory + Within my bosom burning, + Is mingling with sweet thoughts of thee, + And of my fond returning. + But should I ne'er return again, + Still worth thy love thou'lt find me, + Dishonor's breath shall never stain + The name I leave behind me. + + + + +READING THE LIST. + + + "Is there any news of the war?" she said; + "Only a list of the wounded and dead," + Was the man's reply, + Without lifting his eye + To the face of the woman standing by. + "'Tis the very thing I want," she said; + "Read me a list of the wounded and dead." + + He read the list--'twas a sad array + Of the wounded and killed in the fatal fray; + In the very midst was a pause, to tell + That his comrades asked, "Who is he, pray?" + "The only son of the widow Gray," + Was the proud reply + Of his Captain nigh. + What ails the woman standing near? + Her face has the ashen hue of fear! + + "Well, well, read on; is he wounded? quick! + Oh, God! but my heart is sorrow sick! + Is he wounded?" "No! he fell," they say, + "Killed outright on that fatal day!" + But see, the woman has swooned away! + +[Illustration: "Only a list of the wounded and dead."] + + Sadly she opened her eyes to the light, + Slowly recalled the events of the fight; + Faintly she murmured, "Killed outright! + It has cost me the life of my only son, + But the battle is fought and the victory won; + The will of the Lord, let it be done!" + + God pity the cheerless widow Gray, + And send from the halls of Eternal Day + The light of His peace to illume her way! + + + + +THE BARS AND STARS. + +By W. A. HAYNES. + +_Air--"Star Spangled Banner."_ + + + Oh, the tocsin of war still resounds o'er the land, + And legions of braves are now rushing to battle, + Our lint-stocks are lighted, our guns are all manned, + Loud thunders the cannon, and musketry rattle, + Our hosts there are led + By the blue, white and red, + While the battle fiend flaps his pale wing o'er the dead. + + CHORUS.--Let the bars and stars of our banner ever wave + O'er the land of the South, the home of the brave. + + O, say, can you see through the mist and the gloom, + Through the clouds of the battle our stars brightly shining, + 'Tis a beacon of hope, 'tis a signal of doom + To the hordes of the vandals our borders now lining; + Proud defiance we hurl + And our flag we unfurl, + Let it float, proudly float, in the gaze of the world. + CHORUS. + + For thirty years or more, we have waited and prayed + That the chains of oppression and wrongs might be sundered, + But the black fiends of the North, with their plans foully laid, + Have raised up a whirlwind and the old ship's now foundered. + We shouted the alarm, + We spoke of our wrongs, + Now the argument's exhausted, we'll stand by our arms. + CHORUS. + + Oh! Manassas has been fought, and the field has been won, + And the brag guns of Sherman our brave boys have taken; + Our foes have retreated back to old Washington, + But the ranks of our Dixie still remain there unshaken; + And over the graves + Of the New York Zouaves + The bars and the stars now triumphantly waves. + CHORUS. + + + + +WAR SONG. + +_Charleston Mercury._ + +Respectfully inscribed to the companies mentioned. + +_Air--"March, march, Ettrick and Toviotdale."_ + + + March, march on, brave "Palmetto" boys, + "Sumpter" and "Lafayettes" forward in order; + March, march "Calhoun" and "Rifle" boys, + All the base Yankees are crossing the border, + Banners are round ye spread, + Floating above your head, + Soon shall the Lone Star be famous in story, + On, on, my gallant men, + Vict'ry be thine again; + Fight for your rights till the green sod is gory. + + Young wives and sisters have buckled your armor on; + Maidens ye love bid ye go to the battle-field; + Strong arms and stout hearts have many a vict'ry won, + Courage shall strengthen the weapons ye wield; + Wild passions are storming, + Dark schemes are forming, + Deep snares are laid, but they shall not enthrall ye; + Justice your cause shall greet, + Laurels lay at your feet, + If each brave band be but watchful and wary. + + Let fear and unmanliness vanish before ye; + Trust in the Rock who will shelter the righteous; + Plant firmly each step on the soil of the free,-- + A heritage left by the sires who bled for us, + May each heart be bounding, + When trumpets are sounding, + And the dark traitors shall strive to surround ye; + The great God of battle + Can still the war-rattle, + And brighten the land with a sunset of glory. + + + + +THE SOUTHERN FLAG. + +_Tune_--"_A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea._" + + + Three cheers for the Southern flag, + That floats upon the gale, + Once more fling out its flapping folds, + And make its foeman quail. + And make each foeman quail, my boys, + While, like an earthquake roar, + Goes forth our war cry through the land, + For liberty once more. + + CHORUS.--Three cheers for the Southern flag, + That floats above the gale, + Once more fling out its flapping folds, + And make its foeman quail. + + Oh, for an Abolition crowd, + I hear old Abe cry out, + Affrighted by the march of foes, + The freeman's mighty shout. + That shouting welcomes to our heart, + The freeman's chosen man-- + Jeff Davis--who now heads our hosts, + And leads the glorious van. + CHORUS. + + Full brightly waves our flag in air, + O'er Sumpter's fort just won. + And soon o'er Pickens' towering heights + It will glitter in the sun. + It will glitter in the sun, my boys, + And fan the battle cloud, + The struggling freeman's sigh of hope, + The fallen heroes' shroud. + CHORUS. + + And now three cheers for the glorious flag, + That victory has won, + And may it soon be towering o'er + The Dome at Washington. + The Dome at Washington, my boys, + While Abolition hosts + Shall quail and shake before the flag-- + The freeman's glorious boast. + CHORUS. + + + + +THE STARS AND THE BARS. + + + O, the South is the queen of all nations, + The home of the brave and the true-- + She makes no vain demonstration; + But shows what her brave sons can do; + Her freedom and advancement they cherish-- + "Our rights, our liberties," they cry, + "To the rescue, we'll win the fight or perish, + For the Southern boys never fear to die." + + CHORUS.--Then hurrah for the "Stars and Bars," + No stain on its folds ever be-- + Its glory dishonor never mars, + And 'twill yet grace the land of the free. + + Bring forward the tankard and fill it, + Ye sons that are loyal and brave, + Our blood--O, how freely we'll spill it, + We are fighting for freedom or the grave; + Our armies may be scattered and disbanded, + Yet the wild-woods we still will infest-- + Yet shall fear the brave foe tho' single-handed, + When the death rattle burst from his breast. + CHORUS. + + Though black clouds sometimes may darken, + And shadow the bright sunny sky; + To the rumbling of cannon we'll hearken, + Which tells of the foe as they fly. + Tho' thousands may fall stark and gory, + Their requiem from gun and cannon mouth, + They'll win fame, freedom and glory; + And all for the loved "Sunny South." + CHORUS. + + + + +CONFEDERATE SONG. + +_Air--"Bruce's Address."_ + +Written for and dedicated to the Kirk's Ferry Rangers, by their Captain, +E. LLOYD WAILES. Sung by the Glee Club on 4th July, 1861, at the Kirk's +Ferry Barbecue (Catahoula, La.), after the presentation of a flag, by the +ladies, to the Kirk's Ferry Rangers. + + + Rally round our country's flag! + Rally, boys, nor do not lag; + Come from every vale and crag, + Sons of Liberty! + Northern Vandals tread our soil, + Forth they come for blood and spoil, + To the homes we've gained with toil, + Shouting, "Slavery." + + Traitorous Lincoln's bloody band + Now invades the freeman's land, + Arm'd with sword and firebrand, + 'Gainst the brave and free. + Arm ye, then, for fray and fight, + March ye forth both day and night, + Stop not till the foe's in sight, + Sons of chivalry. + + In your veins the blood still flows + Of brave men who once arose-- + Burst the shackles of their foes; + Honest men and free + Rise, then, in your power and might, + Seek the spoiler, brave the fight; + Strike for God, for Truth, for Right: + Strike for Liberty! + + + + +LEE AT THE WILDERNESS. + +By MISS MOLLIE E. MOORE. + + + 'Twas a terrible moment! + The blood and the rout! + His great bosom shook + With an awful doubt. + Confusion in front, + And a pause in the cries: + And a darkness like night + Passed over our skies: + There were tears in the eyes + Of General Lee. + + As the blue-clad lines + Swept fearfully near, + There was wavering yonder, + And a break in the cheer + Of our columns unsteady: + But "WE ARE HERE! _We_ are ready + With rifle and blade!" + Cried the Texas Brigade + To General Lee. + + He smiled--it meant death, + That wonderful smile; + It leaped like a flame + Down each close set file; + And we stormed to the front + With a long, loud cry-- + We had long ago learned + How to charge and to die: + There was faith in the eye + Of General Lee. + + But a sudden pause came, + As we dashed on the foe, + And our scathing columns + Swayed to and fro; + Cold grew our blood, + Glowing like wine, + And a quick, sharp whisper + Shot over our line, + As our ranks opened wide-- + _And there by our side + Rode General Lee._ + + How grandly he rode! + With his eyes on fire, + And his great bosom shook + With an awful desire! + But, "Back to the rear! + 'Till you ride to the rear + We will not do battle + With gun or with blade!" + Cried the Texas Brigade + To General Lee. + +[Illustration: Gen. Robert E. Lee.] + + And so he rode back; + And our terrible yell + Stormed up to the front; + And the fierce, wild swell, + And the roar and the rattle, + Swept into the battle + From General Lee. + + I felt my foot slip + In the gathering fray-- + I looked, and my brother + Lay dead in my way. + I paused but one moment + To draw him aside; + Ah! the gash in his bosom + Was bloody and wide! + But he smiled, for he died + For General Lee. + + Christ! 'twas maddening work; + But the work was done, + And a few came back + When the hour was won. + Let it glow in the peerless + Records of the fearless-- + The charge that was made + By the Texas Brigade + For General Lee. + + + + +A SOUTHERN SONG. + +By "L. M.," in _Louisville Courier_. + + + If ever I consent to be married, + And who would refuse a good mate? + The man whom I give my hand to, + Must believe in the rights of the State. + + To a husband who quietly submits + To negro-equality sway, + The true Southern girl will not barter + Her heart and affections away. + + The heart I may choose to preside o'er, + True, warm, and devoted must be, + And have true love for a Union + Under the Southern Liberty Tree. + + Should Lincoln attempt to coerce him + To share with the negro his right, + Then, smiling, I'd gird on his armor, + And bid him God-speed in the fight. + + And if he should fall in the conflict, + His memory with tears I will grace; + Better weep o'er a patriot fallen, + Than blush in a Tory embrace. + + We girls are all for a Union, + Where a marked distinction is laid + Between the rights of the mistress + And those of the kinky-haired maid. + + + + +THE TEXAN MARSEILLAISE. + +By JAMES HAINES, of Texas. + + + Sons of the South, arouse to battle! + Gird on your armor for the fight! + The Northern Thugs, with dread "war's rattle," + Pour on each vale, and glen, and height; + Meet them as ocean meets in madness + The frail bark on the rocky shore, + When crested billows roam and roar, + And the wrecked crew go down in sadness: + + CHORUS.--Arm! Arm! ye Southern braves! + Scatter yon vandal hordes! + Despots and bandits, fitting food + For vultures and your swords. + + Shall dastard tyrants march their legions + To crush the land of Jackson--Lee? + Shall freedom fly to other regions, + And sons of Yorktown bend the knee? + Or shall their "footprints' base pollution" + Of Southern soil in blood be purged, + And every flying slave be scourged + Back to his snows in wild confusion. + CHORUS. + + Vile despots, with their minions knavish, + Would drag us back to their embrace; + Will freemen brook a chain so slavish? + Will brave men take so low a place? + O, Heaven! for words--the loathing, scorning + We feel for such a Union's bands: + To paint with more than mortal hands, + And sound our loudest notes of warning. + CHORUS. + + What! Union with a race ignoring + The charter of our Nation's birth? + Union with bastard slaves adoring + The fiend that chains them to the earth? + No! we reply in tones of thunder, + No! our staunch hills fling back the sound-- + No! our hoarse cannon echo round-- + No! evermore remain asunder! + CHORUS. + +[Illustration: Stonewall Jackson's Cadet Button.] + + + + +THE BATTLE OF THE MISSISSIPPI. + + + The tyrant's broad pennant is floating + In the South, o'er our waters so blue: + On our homes now his foul eye is gloating; + The homes of the brave and the true. + + CHORUS.--But our flag at the "head of the Passes," + Is borne by men brave and true; + We will teach them to fear our "Manassas;"[2] + Three cheers for _our_ Red, White, and Blue. + + We will give his proud fleet such a greeting + As the storm-cloud's shaft to the tree; + As the rock to the wave in their meeting-- + Is the stroke of the brave and the free. + CHORUS. + + Though his minions may come as the locust, + And outnumber the sands of the sea, + Their numbers will serve to provoke us, + To dare, to die, or live free. + CHORUS. + + Every breeze from the "Crescent" is laden + With defiance to the despot on our shore; + Strong men, the child, and each maiden, + Join in chorus with the cannon's loud roar. + CHORUS. + + + + +SONG FOR THE SOUTH. + + + Of all the mighty nations, in the East or in the West, + Our glorious Southern nation is the greatest and the best; + We have room for all true Southrons, with our Stars and Bars unfurled, + And a general invitation to the people of the world. + + CHORUS.--Then, to arms, boys! to arms, boys! make no delay, + Come from every Southern State, come from every way, + Our army isn't large enough, Jeff Davis calls for more, + To hurl the vile invader from off our Southern shore. + + Ohio is our northern line, far as her waters flow, + And on the south is the Rio Grande and the Gulf of Mexico; + While between the Atlantic Ocean, where the sun begins to rise, + Westward to Arizona, the land of promise lies. + CHORUS. + + While the Gulf States raise the cotton, the others grain and pork, + North and South Carolina's factories will do the finer work; + For the deep and flowing waterfalls that course along our hills, + Are "just the things" for washing sheep and driving cotton mills. + CHORUS. + + Our Southern boys are brave and true, and joining heart and hand + And are flocking to the "Stars and Bars" as they are floating o'er the + land. + And all are standing ready, with their rifles in their hands, + And invite the North to open graves down South in Dixie's land. + CHORUS. + + + + +SONG OF THE SOUTHERN SOLDIER. + +By "P. E. C.," in _Richmond Examiner_. + +_Tune_--"_Barclay and Perkins' Drayman._" + +These lines were written Jan. 8, 1861, for a friend, who expected to sing +them in the theatre, but thought at the time to be too much in the +secession spirit. + + + I'm a soldier, you see, that oppression has made! + I don't fight for pay or for booty; + But I wear in my hat a blue cockade, + Placed there by the fingers of Beauty. + The South is my home, where a black man is black, + And a white man there is a white man; + Now I am tired of listening to Northern clack,-- + Let us see what they will do in a fight, man. + + The Yankees are cute; they have managed, somehow, + Their business and ours to settle; + They make all we want, from a pin to a plough, + Now we'll show them some Southern mettle. + We have had just enough of their Northern law, + That robbed us so long of our right, man, + And too much of their cursed abolition jaw,-- + Now we'll see what they'll do in a fight, man! + + Their parsons will open their sanctified jaws, + And cant of our slave-growing sin, sir; + They pocket the _profits_, while preaching the laws, + And manage our cotton to spin, sir. + Their incomes are nice, on our sugar and rice, + Though against it the hypocrites write, sir; + Now our dander is up, and they'll soon smell a mice, + If we once get them into a fight, sir. + + Our cotton bales once made a good barricade, + And can still do the State a good service; + With them and the boys of the blue cockade, + There is power enough to preserve us. + So shoulder your rifles, my boys, for defense, + In the cause of our freedom and right, man; + If there's no other way for to learn them sense, + We may teach them a lesson in fight, man. + + The stars that are growing so fast on our flags, + We treasure as Liberty's pearls, + And stainless we'll bear them, though shot into rags; + They were fixed by the hands of our girls, + And fixed stars they shall be in our national sky, + To guide through the future aright, man, + And your Cousin Sam, with their gleam in his eye, + May dare the whole world to fight, man. + + + + +THE DYING SOLDIER BOY. + +By A. B. CUNNINGHAM, of Louisiana. + +_Air--"Maid of Monterey."_ + + + Upon Manassas' bloody plain a soldier boy lay dying! + The gentle winds above his form in softest tones were sighing; + The god of day had slowly sank beneath the verge of day, + And the silver moon was gliding above the milky way. + + The stars were shining brightly, and the sky was calm and blue, + Oh, what a beautiful scene was this for human eyes to view! + The river roll'd in splendor, and the wavelets danc'd around, + But the banks were strew'd with dead men, and gory was the ground. + + But the hero-boy lay dying, and his thoughts were very deep, + For the death-wound in his young side was wafting him to sleep; + The thought of home and kindred away on a distant shore, + All of whom he must relinquish, and never see them more. + + And as the night-breeze passed by, in whispers o'er the dead, + Sweet memories of olden days came rushing to his head; + But his mind was weak and deaden'd, so he turned from where he lay, + As the Death-angel flitted by, and call'd his soul away! + +[Illustration: "The hero-boy lay dying."] + + + + +THE SOUTHERN BANNER. + +By COL. W. S. HAWKINS, C. S. A., Camp Chase, Ohio. + + + Sing-ho! for the Southerner's meteor flag + As 'tis flung in its pride to the breeze, + From the happy glen and the beetling crag, + 'Tis the pride of the land and the seas. + + Hurrah! for the scintillant Cross of Red, + As it waves and glances in light, + Beneath it our brothers grandly tread, + To battle for God and right. + + The flag for which Southrons had gladly died + Is the badge of the tyrant now, + And for it no blush of joy or pride + Suffuseth the cheek or brow. + + * * * * * + + Sing ho! for the Southerner's flag for aye, + And ho! for its beautiful Cross; + It shall be the signal of bold array + Where the windy surges toss. + + On a traitor's heart be the curses of night, + And palsied the craven hand + That fails in the hazard of furious fight + For God and our Native Land. + + Hurrah! as over the hills it waves, + Or is borne on the ocean's breast, + Hurrah! as it leads our valorous braves, + Or is drooped o'er the hero's rest. + + Whether it greets the uprising sun + Or is bathed in the western light, + Beneath it shall all our hopes be won + For "God will defend the right." + + + + +O, JOHNNY BULL, MY JO JOHN. + +_Air--"John Anderson, my Jo."_ + +In December, 1861, eighty-seven British ships-of-war were lying in the +waters of the West Indies. This fact gave rise to the following imitation +of an old song. + + + O, Johnny Bull, my Jo John! I wonder what you mean, + By sending all these frigates out, commissioned by the Queen; + You'll frighten off the Yankees, John, and why should you do so? + But catch and sink, or burn them all, O, Johnny Bull, my Jo! + + O, Johnny Bull, my Jo John! when Yankee hands profane, + Were laid in wanton insult upon the lion's mane, + He roared so loud and long, John, they quickly let him go, + And sank upon their trembling knees, O, Johnny Bull, my Jo! + + O, Johnny Bull, my Jo John! when Lincoln first began + To try his hand at war, John, you were a peaceful man; + But now your blood is up, John, and well the Yankees know, + You play the ---- when you start, O, Johnny Bull, my Jo! + + O, Johnny Bull, my Jo John! let's take the field together, + And hunt the Yankee Doodles home, in spite of wind and weather, + And ere a twelve-month roll around, to Boston we will go, + And eat our Christmas dinner there, O, Johnny Bull, my Jo! + + + + +MORGAN'S WAR-SONG. + +By GEN. BASIL DUKE, of Kentucky. + +_Air--A combination of the "Marseillaise" and the "Old Granite State."_ + + + Ye sons of the South, take your weapons in hand, + For the foot of the foe hath insulted your land: + Sound! sound the loud alarm! + Arise! arise and arm! + Let the hand of each foeman grasp the sword to maintain + Those rights which, once lost, he can never regain. + + CHORUS.--Gather fast 'neath our flag, + For 'tis God's own decree, + That its folds shall still float + O'er a land that is free! + + See ye not those dark clouds which now threaten the sky? + Hear ye not that stern thunder now bursting so nigh? + Shout! shout your battle-cry! + Win! win this fight or die! + What our fathers achieved our own valor can keep, + And we'll save our fair land or we'll sleep our last sleep! + CHORUS. + + On our hearts and our arms and our God we rely, + And a nation shall rise, or a people shall die. + Form! form the serried line! + Advance! advance our proud ensign: + To your country devote every life that she gave, + Let the land they invade give their army its grave. + CHORUS. + + Though their plunder-paid hordes come to ravage our land, + Give our fields to the spoiler, our homes to the brand, + Our souls are all aglow, + To face the hireling foe. + Give the robbers to know that we _never_ will yield, + While the arm of one Southron a weapon can wield. + CHORUS. + + From our far Southern shore now arises a prayer, + While the cry of our women fills with anguish the air. + O! list that pleading voice, + Each youth now make his choice; + Now tamely submit like a coward or slave, + Or rise and resist like the free and the brave. + CHORUS. + + Kentucky! Kentucky! can you suffer the sight + Of your sisters insulted, your friends in the fight? + Awake! be free again! + O! break the tyrant's chain: + Let each hand seize the sword it drew for the right, + From the homes of your fathers drive the dastard in flight. + CHORUS. + +KNOXVILLE, TENN., July 4, 1862. + + + + +FOR BALES. + +_Air--"Johnny, fill up the bowl."_ + +[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass., owners of the copyright.] + + + We all went down to New Orleans, + For Bales, for Bales; + We all went down to New Orleans, + For Bales, says I; + We all went down to New Orleans + To get a peep behind the scenes, + "And we'll all drink stone blind, + Johnny, fill up the bowl." + + We thought when we got in the "ring," + For Bales, for Bales; + We thought when we got in the "ring," + For Bales, says I; + We thought when we got in the "ring," + Greenbacks would be a dead sure thing, + "And we'll all drink stone blind, + Johnny, fill up the bowl." + + The "ring" went up with bagging and rope, + For Bales, for Bales; + Upon the "Black Hawk" with bagging and rope, + For Bales, says I; + Went up "Red River" with bagging and rope, + Expecting to make a pile of "soap," + "And we'll all drink stone blind, + Johnny, fill up the bowl." + + But Taylor and Smith, with ragged ranks, + For Bales, for Bales; + But Taylor and Smith, with ragged ranks, + For Bales, says I; + But Taylor and Smith, with ragged ranks, + Burned up the cotton and whipped old Banks, + "And we'll all drink stone blind, + Johnny, fill up the bowl." + + Our "ring" came back and cursed and swore, + For Bales, for Bales; + Our "ring" came back and cursed and swore, + For Bales, says I; + Our "ring" came back and cursed and swore, + For we got no cotton at Grand Ecore, + "And we'll all drink stone blind, + Johnny, fill up the bowl." + + Now let us all give praise and thanks, + For Bales, for Bales; + Now let us all give praise and thanks, + For Bales, says I; + Now let us all give praise and thanks + For the victory (?) gained by General Banks, + "And we'll all drink stone blind, + Johnny, fill up the bowl." + + + + +THE SONG OF THE SOUTH. + + + Hurrah for the South, the glorious South! the land of song and story-- + Her name shall ring, and the world shall sing her honor, fame, and glory; + For the skies above, which smiled in love, are dark with hearth-fires + burning; + She rises in might to defend the right, on her treacherous brethren + turning. + + CHORUS.--Sons of the South, arise! arise! + For never shall fall upon her-- + The land we love all the earth above, + One stain of dark dishonor. + + Hurrah for the South, the gallant South, with her great heart proudly + beating; + She takes her stand at Freedom's hand, and dreams not of retreating; + Oh! Southern boys, for fireside joys, with their hearts so brave and + tender, + Will relentlessly fight, and to death's dark night alone will they + surrender. + CHORUS. + + No Northern band shall rule this land--to the breeze give Freedom's + banner, + As its glowing folds o'er our land unroll, from mountain and savannah; + O'er river and lake the sound shall break, and swell with thundering + glory; + Hurrah for the South! the noble South! the land of war and story! + CHORUS. + + + + +LAND OF THE SOUTH. + +By A. F. LEONARD. + +_Air--"Friend of My Soul."_ + + + Land of the South! the fairest land + Beneath Columbia's sky! + Proudly her hills of freedom stand, + Her plains in beauty lie. + Her dotted fields, her traversed streams + Their annual wealth renew; + Land of the South! in brightest dreams + No dearer spot we view. + + * * * * * + + Flag of the South! aye, fling its folds + Upon the kindred breeze; + Emblem of dread to tyrant holds-- + Of freedom on the seas, + Forever may its stars and stripes + In cloudless glory wave; + Red, white, and blue--eternal types + Of nations free and brave! + + States of the South! the patriot's boast! + Here equal laws have sway; + Nor tyrant lord, nor despot host, + Upon the weak may prey. + Then let them rule from sea to sea, + And crown the queenly isle-- + Union of love and liberty, + 'Neath heaven's approving smile. + + + + +LADIES, TO THE HOSPITAL! + +By "PERSONNE," Correspondent of the _Charleston Courier_. + + + Fold away all your bright-tinted dresses, + Turn the key on your jewels to-day, + And the wreath of your tendril-like tresses, + Braid back in a serious way: + No more delicate gloves, no more laces; + No more trifling in boudoir or bower; + But come with your souls in your faces, + To meet the stern wants of the hour. + + Look around! By the torch-light unsteady, + The dead and the dying seem one; + What? trembling and paling already, + Before your mission's begun? + These wounds are more precious than ghastly; + Time presses her lips to each scar, + While she chants of that glory which vastly + Transcends all the horrors of war. + +[Illustration: + + "... How mellow + The light showers down on that brow."] + + Pause here by this bedside. How mellow + The light showers down on that brow; + Such a brave, brawny visage! Poor fellow! + Some homestead is missing him now; + Some wife shaded her eyes in the clearing; + Some mother sits moaning, distressed; + While the lov'd one lies faint but unfearing, + With the enemy's ball in his breast. + + Here's another; a lad--a mere stripling-- + Picked up on the fields almost dead, + With the blood through the sunny hair rippling, + From a horrible gash in the head! + They say he was first in the action, + Gay-hearted, quick-handed and witty; + He fought till he dropped with exhaustion, + In front of our fair Southern city. + + Fought and fell 'neath the guns of that city, + With a spirit transcending his years; + Lift him up in your large-hearted pity, + And wet his pale lips with your tears: + Touch him gently; most sacred that duty + Of dressing that poor shatter'd hand; + God spare him to rise in his beauty, + And battle once more for his land! + + Who groan'd? What a passionate murmur: + "In Thy mercy, oh God! let me die! + Ha! surgeon, your hand must be firmer," + That musket ball's entered his thigh: + Turn the light on those poor furrow'd features, + Gray-haired and unknown, bless thee, brother! + Oh Heaven! that one of Thy creatures + Should e'er work such woe on another. + + Wipe the sweat from his brow with your 'kerchief + Let the tatter'd old collar go wide! + See! he stretches out blindly to see if + The surgeon still stands by his side: + "My son's over yonder--he's wounded-- + O this ball has entered my thigh!" + And again he burst out all a tremble, + "In Thy mercy, O God, let me die!" + + Pass on: It is useless to linger + While other are claiming your care; + There is need for your delicate finger, + For your womanly sympathy there: + There are sick ones athirst for caressing; + There are dying ones raving of home + There are wounds to be bound with a blessing + And shrouds to make ready for some. + + They have gathered about you the harvest + Of death in its ghastliest view; + The nearest as well as the farthest + Is here with the traitor and true; + And crown'd with your beautiful patience, + Made sunny with love at the heart; + You must balsam the wounds of a nation, + Nor falter nor shrink from your part. + + Up and down through the wards where the fever + Stalks noisome and gaunt and impure, + You must go with your steadfast endeavor + To comfort, to counsel, to cure! + I grant you the task is superhuman, + But strength will be given to you + To do for those lov'd ones, what woman + Alone in her pity can do. + + And the lips of the mothers will bless you, + As angels sweet visaged and pale; + And the little ones run to caress you, + And the wives and the sisters cry Hail! + But e'en if you drop down unheeded, + What matter? God's ways are the best! + You have pour'd out your life where 'twas needed, + And He will take care of the rest. + + + + +TO THE DAVIS GUARD. + +By LIEUT. W. P. CUNNINGHAM. + + + Soldiers! raise your banner proudly, + Let it pierce our Texan sky-- + Hurrah! it was shouted loudly-- + "We will do it or we'll die!" + + Thus spoke the heroic Dowling! + To his Irish gallant band: + "Let us send the foes a howling, + From our lovely Texas land!" + + Nobly answer'd those brave men all, + To his soul-stirring appeal; + "Aye, we'll drive them away or fall; + We'll fight them with lead and steel." + + The Irishmen desert never + The people that treat them well; + Their friends they love forever; + Their foes may "go to ----!" + + "Steady, steady, keep cool, my boys, + Now they are near--ready--fire!" + Thus their noble chieftain cries, + And they fire and never tire. + + Hear the heavy, thundering sound, + The men of war they cry; + The dull earth itself resounds + As the foemen fight and die. + + But hurrah! the white flag's flying-- + See, they spare the fallen foe! + They attend the wounded--dying-- + The brave will have it so. + + O, Davis Guards! ye men of war, + You've made a glorious name! + Thus always guard our Texas Star, + And preserve, for aye, your fame. + + And when around the social glass + In years to come, you meet, + O ne'er forget the Sabine Pass! + But its mem'ries fondly greet. + + + + +WAR SONG. + +By J. H. WOODCOCK. + +_Tune_--"_Bonnie Blue Flag._" + + + Huzza! huzza! let's raise the battle cry, + And whip the Yankees from our land, + Or with them fall and die; + Rush on our Southern columns, + And make the brigands feel + That all the booty they will get, + Will be our Southern steel. + + CHORUS.--Huzza! huzza! let's raise our banner high, + And nobly drive the Yankees out, + Or with them fall and die. + + We are fighting for our mothers, our sisters and our wives; + For these, and our country's rights, + We'll sacrifice our lives. + Then trusting still to Heaven, + We'll charge th' invading host, + Till liberty and independence + Shall be the Nation's boast. + CHORUS. + + Then on with our columns--slay the vandal foe-- + Beat them from our sunny soil, + And lay their colors low. + To the great God of Nations + Our sacred cause confide, + For we are fighting for our liberty + And He is on our side. + CHORUS. + + + + +THE SOUTH FOR ME. + + + The South for me! The sunny clime, + Where earth is clothed in beauty's hue, + And Nature vies in scenes sublime, + With all the old world ever knew; + I love thy soil where'er I roam, + Sweet land! and when afar from thee, + My fond heart throbs with thoughts of home, + And echoes back "The South for me." + + CHORUS.--The South for me, the South for me, + The golden clime, the heart's desires, + The only land where men are free, + And worthy of their free-born sires. + + The South for me! the patriot's heart + Beats ever to that slogan cry; + And heroes, armed and ready, start + For their loved land to do or die; + But leave the Southron's valor free, + Let Southern heroes meet the foe, + And when rings out "the South for me," + Their strong right arms will deal the blow. + CHORUS. + + The South for me! its bright-eyed maids, + Its clime, its stars, its silvery skies, + Its streamlets, with their lovely naiads, + Its vales, where varying beauties rise, + Its cotton fields, where dusky slaves, + Are happy in protection kind, + The stranger's home, though Yankee knaves + May never there a welcome find. + CHORUS. + + + + +CAROLINA. + +By MRS. C. A. B. + +Music by A. E. B. + +[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass., owners of the copyright.] + + + 'Mid her ruins proudly stands, + Our Carolina! + Fetters are upon her hands, + Dear Carolina! + Yet she feels no sense of shame, + For upon the scroll of Fame, + She hath writ a deathless name, + Brave Carolina! + + She was first our wrongs to feel, + Our Carolina! + First to draw the glittering steel, + Dear Carolina! + Ready first to strike the blow, + At th' oppressor and the foe, + And to lay their standard low, + Brave Carolina! + + Nobly now she bears her wrongs, + Our Carolina! + In her might she still hath songs, + Dear Carolina! + In the dust her sons lie low, + Yet though stricken by the foe, + Pride is mingled with her woe-- + Brave Carolina! + + On her brow there is no stain, + Our Carolina! + She hath poured out blood like rain, + Dear Carolina! + Vain her sufferings and her pains, + On her limbs are clanking chains, + But her glory yet remains, + Brave Carolina! + + Bitterly we mourn her fate, + Our Carolina! + Cherished old Palmetto State; + Dear Carolina! + Yet while man's brave soul is free, + Honored proudly she shall be, + Mother of true chivalry! + Brave Carolina! + + + + +VICKSBURG SONG.[3] + +By CAPT. J. W. A. WRIGHT. + +_Air--"A Life on the Ocean Wave."_ + + + A life on the Vicksburg bluff, + A home in the trenches deep, + Where we dodge "Yank" shells enough-- + And our old "pea-bread" won't keep. + On "Old Logan's" beef I pine, + For there's fat on his bones no more; + Oh! give me some pork in brine, + And "truck" from a sutler's store. + + CHORUS.--A life on the Vicksburg bluff, + A home in the trenches deep, + Where we dodge "Yank" shells enough-- + And our old "pea-bread" won't keep, + Pea-bread, pea-bread, pea-bread; + Our old pea-bread won't keep. + +[Illustration: "So we'll bury 'Old Logan' to-night."] + + Old Grant is starving us out, + Our grub is fast wasting away, + Pemb don't know what he's about, + And he hasn't for many a day. + So we'll bury "Old Logan" to-night, + From tough beef we'll be set free; + We'll put him far out of sight-- + No more of his meat for me. + CHORUS. + + Texas "steers" are no longer in view, + Mule steaks are now "done up brown," + While "pea-bread," mule roast, and mule stew, + Are our fare in old Vicksburg town. + And the song of our hearts shall be, + While the "Yanks" and their gunboats rave, + A life in "bomb-proofs" for me, + And a tear o'er "Old Logan's" grave. + CHORUS. + +[Illustration] + + + + +DO THEY MISS ME IN THE TRENCHES? + +A VICKSBURG SONG. + +_Air--"Do They Miss Me At Home?"_ + + + Do they miss me in the trenches, do they miss me, + When the shells fly so thickly around? + Do they know that I've run down the hillside + To hunt for my hole in the ground? + The shell exploded so near me, + It seemed best for me to run; + And altho' some laugh'd as I crawfished, + I could not discover the fun. + + I often get up in the trenches, + When some Yank is near out of sight, + And fire a round or two at him, + To make the boys think I will fight; + But when the Feds commence shelling, + I run to my hole down the hill-- + I'll swear my legs never would stay there, + Altho' all may stay there that will. + + I'll save myself thro' the dread struggle, + And when the great battle is o'er, + I'll claim my full rations of laurels, + As always I've done heretofore. + I'll swear that I fought them as bravely + As the best of my comrades who fell-- + And swear to all others around me, + That I never had fears of a shell. + + + + +BOYS! KEEP YOUR POWDER DRY. + + + Can'st tell who lose the battle, oft in the council-field? + Not they who struggle bravely, not they who never yield. + + CHORUS.--Not they who are determined to conquer or to die, + And hearken to this caution: Boys, keep your powder dry! + + The foe awaits you yonder! he may await you here, + Have brave hearts, stand with courage; be strangers all to fear! + And when the charge is given, be ready at the cry: + Look well each to his priming--Boys, keep your powder dry! + CHORUS. + + Does a lov'd one home await you, who wept to see you go, + When with a kiss imprinted, you left with sacred vow-- + You'd come again when warfare and arms are all laid by, + To take her to your bosom?--Boys, keep your powder dry! + CHORUS. + + Does a father home await you? a sister whom you love? + A mother who has reared you, and pray'd to Him above-- + "Protect my boy, preserve him, and when the battle's done, + Send to his weeping mother, bereft, her darling son!" + CHORUS. + + The name of Freedom calls you, the names of martyr'd sires, + And Liberty's imploring, from all her hallow'd fires! + Can you withstand their calling? You cannot pass them by-- + You cannot! now charge fiercely!--Boys, keep your powder dry. + CHORUS. + + + + +BAYOU CITY GUARDS' SONG. + +IN THE CHICKAHOMINY SWAMP. + + + Fighting for our rights now, feasting when they're won, + By that Cross and Stars, boys, fluttering in the sun-- + The girls at home will hear, boys, of our banquet of hard corn, + And they'll think and pray for us, boys, at night and dewy morn, + Then hand around the corn, boys, and pass the full canteen; + Corn and water, and a fight, boys, are enough for us, I ween. + + Sleeping in the swamps now, without shelter or a bed; + The heaven's green sky above us, green turf beneath our head; + But at home when we arrive, boys, tender arms shall us enfold; + Our pillows shall be the hearts, boys, that now our image hold. + + Shells are flying over us, the bullets 'round us fly; + But we'll lie upon the grass, boys, and munch our corn away! + We're driven to their gunboats the base, invading foe; + In quick time, such as Texans can, we'll make the Federals go. + + Our mothers are praying for us, our darling sisters too; + Our sweethearts--ah! God bless them! what can't we dare or do? + With our country's rights and darling ones emblazon'd on our shields, + We'll fight with God's protection, till each base invader yields. + + In thinking of our cause, boys, and all we love at home, + These hard grains to heavenly manna have miraculously turn'd; + And from this battered old canteen I've drained a nectar sweet; + 'Tis the heart that makes the banquet, and not what we have to eat. + + Soon will we hail brave "Stonewall!" in Maryland set free! + And our "Old Line" Chief[4] with his Texas boys shall shout for his + victory. + With the Cross and Stars then wreathed in flowers, we'll turn our steps + again, + To the hearts and homes that sigh for us, on our proud prairie plain; + Then with gentle hands to tend us, and the chalice for canteen, + With our rights all won, we'll rest us, boys, in peace and joy serene. + + + + +THE COUNTERSIGN. + + + Alas! the rolling hours pass slow-- + The night is very dark and still-- + And in the marshes, far below, + Is heard the lonely whippoorwill: + I scarce can see a foot ahead-- + My ears are strained to catch each sound-- + I feel the leaves beneath me spread-- + And the springs bubbling thro' the ground. + + Along the beaten path I pace, + Where white rays mark my sentry's track; + In formless things I seem to trace + The foeman's form, with bended back-- + I think I see him crouching low! + I stop and list--I stop and peer-- + Until the neighb'ring hillocks grow + To groups of soldiers, far and near. + + With ready piece I wait, and watch, + Until my eyes--familiar grown-- + Detect each harmless earthern notch, + And turn "Guerrillas" into stone; + And then amid the lonely gloom, + Beneath the tall magnolia trees, + My silent marches I resume, + And think of other times than these. + + "Halt! who goes there?" my challenge cry-- + It rings along the watchful line-- + "Relief!" I hear a voice reply-- + "Advance and give the countersign!" + With bayonet at the charge, I wait-- + The corporal gives the mystic word-- + With "arms aport" I change my mate, + Then onward pass, and all is well! + + But in my tent, that night, awake, + I ask, "If in the fray I fall, + Can I the mystic answer make, + When the angelic sentries call?" + And pray that Heaven so ordain, + Where'er I go, what fate be mine, + Whether in pleasure or in pain + I still may have the "Countersign!" + + + + +THE DARLINGS AT HOME. + +By COL. C. G. FORSHEY. + + + The sentinel treads his martial round, + Afar from his humble home-- + The soldier he tramps till his thoughts are found + On missions of love and tenderness bound, + Away among his darlings to roam. + + What tender emotions now over him rush! + And the tears down his bearded cheeks steal, + As he sees his darlings from their sportings rush, + And bound to meet him with a joyful gush, + "Papa's come!" from their happy lips peal. + + Bright Mary! as fleet as a bounding gazelle, + Is into his arms with a spring; + And Cabie, with voice clear as a bell, + "There's papa, dear papa!" his joyous notes swell + Yet choking with tears as they ring. + + And next, little Nubbie comes toddling along, + Bright curls streaming out to the wind-- + With hands reaching up, and infantile tongue-- + He's lifted the welcoming group among-- + As tears the stern sentinel blind. + + And then, with the darling bright babe, mamma comes, + To welcome him home to their cot-- + What sobs and caresses, + That happy group blesses; + Is the sentinel dreaming or not? + + The stern sergeant of guard, calls out from his tent, + "Number Four has deserted his post!" + The sentinel nearest saw whither he went, + And found him, o'er musket, in reverie bent, + At home--with his little ones--lost! + + * * * * * + + The sentinel treads his lonely round-- + As dawn in the East is breaking + A cannon's deep thundering shakes the ground! + Another! an army springs up at the sound-- + To thousands Death's _reveille_ waking! + + What a thrilling pang traverses his soul! + And a tear down his cheek is stealing, + For a thought of home, with the drum's deep roll, + Spite a soldier's manliness, over him stole, + As the trumpet of battle was pealing. + + A moment he saw his darlings and wife; + To Heaven he breath'd a short prayer! + To his country then consecrated his life, + Rush'd in where the clamor of battle was rife-- + When a tempest of ball filled the air. + + * * * * * + + A wounded soldier, who fell by the Run, + Lies panting for breath and for water-- + His hand still grasping his trusty gun-- + Expires 'mid the glad notes of "victory won!" + On Manassas' red field of slaughter. + + * * * * * + + In a far away cabin, a wailing is heard, + When the lists of the fallen have come; + A mother, long sicken'd by hope deferr'd, + A widow with orphans is made at a word, + And she weeps o'er the "darlings at home." + + + + +AT FORT PILLOW. + + + You shudder as you think upon th' carnage of the grim report, + The desolation when we won the inner trenches of the fort; + But there are deeds ye may not know, that scourge the pulses into strife; + Dark memories of deathless woe pointing the bayonet and knife. + + The house is ashes where I dwelt, beyond the mighty inland sea, + The tombstones shattered where I knelt by that old church at Pointe + Coupee; + The Yankee fiends that came with fire, camped on the consecrated sod, + And trampled in the dust and mire the holy Eucharist of God! + + The spot where darling mother sleeps, beneath the glimpse of yon sad + moon, + Is crushed with splintered marble heaps, to stall the horse of some + dragoon; + God! when I ponder that black day it makes my frantic spirit wince; + I marched--with Longstreet--far away, but have beheld the ravage since. + + The tears are hot upon my face, when thinking what black fate befell + The only sister of our race--a thing too horrible to tell! + They say that ere her senses fled, she rescue of her brothers cried; + Then freely bowed her stricken head, too poor to live thus--so she died. + + Two of those brothers heard no plea; with their proud hearts forever + still-- + John shrouded by the Tennessee, and Arthur there at Malvern Hill; + But I have heard it everywhere, vibrating like a passing knell; + 'Tis as perpetual as the air, and solemn as a funeral bell. + + By scorched lagoon and murky swamp, my wrath was never in the lurch; + I've killed the picket in his camp, and many a pilot on his perch; + With steady rifle, sharpen'd brand, a week ago upon my steed, + With Forrest and his warrior band, I made the hell-hounds writhe and + bleed. + + You should have seen our leader go upon the battle's burning marge, + Sweeping like falcon on the foe, heading the Gray line's iron charge! + All outcasts from our ruined marts, we heard th' undying serpent hiss, + And in the desert of our hearts the fatal spell of Nemesis. + +[Illustration: "My right arm bared for fiercer play."] + + The Southern yell rang loud and high the moment that we thundered in, + Smiting the demons hip and thigh, cleaving them to the very chin; + My right arm bared for fiercer play, the left one held the rein in slack; + In all the fury of the fray I sought the white man, not the black. + + The dabbled clots of brain and gore across the swirling sabres ran; + To me each brutal visage bore the front of one accurs'd man! + Throbbing along the frenzied vein, my blood seem'd kindled into song-- + The death-dirge of the sacred slain, the slogan of immortal wrong. + + It glared athwart the dripping glaves, it blazed in each avenging eye-- + The thought of desecrated graves and some lone sister's desperate cry. + +[Illustration: Virginia Sword-Belt Clasp.] + + + + +DUTY AND DEFIANCE. + +By COLONEL HAMILTON WASHINGTON. + + + Raise the thrilling cry, to arms! + Texas needs us all, Texans! + Home and love and pleasure's charms, + Yield to duty's call, Texans! + Now the stream of battle lowers-- + Who before the tempest cowers? + Who could hide in woman's bowers? + Show him to the field, Texans! + Twice our sires for freedom fought-- + Twice with blood the treasure bought-- + By the lessons they have taught + We'll die, but never yield, Texans! + + Long we've heard the storm afar; + Now 'tis coming near, Texans! + Onward rolls the din of war, + Let us meet it here, Texans! + All we have and love's in danger, + Forward, then, each Texan Ranger! + Let us meet the daring stranger, + That brings us war at home, Texans!-- + Never shall our happy land + Be ravaged by a robber band-- + We will meet them hand to hand, + And fight each step they come, Texans. + + + + +THE CONFEDERATE OATH.[5] + +_Air--"My Maryland."_ + + + By the Cross upon our banner--glory of our Southern sky-- + Swear we now, a band of brothers, free to live, or free to die! + Northrons! by the rights denied, listen to our solemn vow-- + Here we swear, as freemen, never to your galling yoke to bow! + + By our brave ones lost in battle, best and noblest of our land, + Fighting with your Northern hirelings, face to face and hand to hand; + By a sacrifice so priceless, by the spirits of the slain-- + Swear we now, our Southern heroes shall not thus have died in vain. + + Wide and deep the breach between us--rent by hatred's poisoned darts, + And ye cannot now cement it with the blood of Southern hearts! + Streams of gore that gulf shall widen, running strong and deep and red, + Severing you from us forever, while there is a drop to shed. + + Think you we will brook the insults of your fierce and ruffian chief, + Heaped upon our dark-eyed daughters stricken down and pale with grief! + Think you while astounded nations curse your malice, we will bear + Foulest wrong? with God to call on--arms to do--and hearts to dare! + + When we prayed in peace to leave you, answering came a battle cry; + Then we swore that oath which freemen never swear who fear to die! + Northrons, come! and you shall find us heart to heart and hand to hand, + Shouting to the God of Battles, Freedom and our native land! + + + + +BAYOU CITY GUARDS' DIXIE. + +By the Company's Own Poet. + + + From Houston city and Brazos bottom, + From selling goods and making cotton, + Away, away, away, away! + We go to meet our country's foes, + To win or die in freedom's cause; + Away, away, away, away! + + CHORUS.--We're going to old Virginia, hooray, hooray! + To join the fight for Southern rights-- + We'll live or die for Davis, hooray, hooray! + We'll live or die for Davis. + + You've heard of Abe, the gay deceiver, + Who sent to Sumter to relieve her; + Away, away, away, away! + But Beauregard said "save your bacon! + Sumter's ours and must be taken!" + Away, away, away, away! + + With a floating battery and a few hot shot, + He sent them back to General Scott-- + Old Abe he swore and cuss'd like fun + When he found the rebels wouldn't run. + + Scott with his army started South! + You've heard how our armies cleaned them out-- + On Manassas' plains for miles around, + Their dead and wounded fill'd the ground. + + Senator Wilson, the ugly sinner, + Went over to Centreville to eat a big dinner-- + The M. C.'s and ministers of State, + Left their champagne behind and dinners on the plate. + + They had to leave on an empty stomach, + And "git up and git" on t'other side of the Potomac-- + But some of the invaders are with us still-- + We'll send them back again if the Lord will. + + Our country calls for volunteers, + And Texas boys reply with cheers-- + The Henderson Guards and Leon Hunters, + Friends in peace--in war like panthers. + + The Tom Green Rifles and Lone Star Guards, + In a cause that is just, nothing retards; + The Echo Company, and the brave Five Shooters, + Will deal out death to all freebooters. + + The Northern vandals will learn to their sorrow, + Of the Porter Guards, and Rifles of Navarro-- + The Mustang Greys, O, they never fight for bounty, + Nor do the other Greys--those from Navarro county. + + The Liberty Invincibles and Hardeman Texans + Can wallop ten to one, whether Yanks or Mexicans; + From the Waverly Confederates and the Dixie Blues, + And the Bayou City Guards you may expect good news. + + + + +DE COTTON DOWN IN DIXIE. + +These capital verses were found [written?] on board of the English barque +_Premier_, in January, 1863, bound from Liverpool to Havana, sixty miles +west of Madeira, by _Lone Star_, of Galveston, Texas. + + + I'm gwine back to de land of cotton, + Wid de "English Flag" in an "English bottom," + Far away, far away, far away; + Kase dere I'm safe from Uncle Sam, + And he can't make me contraban', + In de land, in de land, in de land, + Away down South in Dixie. + + CHORUS.--O, in Dixie land I'll take my stand, + And live and die in Dixie land; + Hoe away, hoe away, hoe away, + De cotton down in Dixie. + + Nor confiscate me for his use, + To black and clean his sojers' shoes, + Far away, etc., + To "dig his trenches" and save his health, + For a picayune a day and find myself, + Far away, far away, far away, + From de cotton land of Dixie. + CHORUS. + + O, I'm gwine back to de old plantations, + To tell de boys ob my observations, + Far away, etc., + Made by myself in de British nation-- + I'll tell de trufe widout "sensation," + Far away, etc. + CHORUS. + + I've been across de Atlantic Ocean, + Where dey all do make so great commotion, + Far away, etc., + About de war and cotton "famine," + Dey talk a heap of "twaddle and gammon," + Far away, etc. + CHORUS. + + For in dis English land I've bin in, + Dey've got no cotton for de spinnin', + Hard times, etc., + For de warehousemen of Manchester, + De spinners, too, of Lancashire, + Far away, etc. + CHORUS. + + Some say, "Make muslin widout cotton," + Others, "O no, 'twill be too rotten;" + Talk away, etc., + Some say, "From India we'll get plenty, + From Egypt, Greenland and Ashantee," + Far away, etc. + CHORUS. + + Dey'se holdin' meetin's night and day, + To find out soon some oder way, + Some way, etc., + To git dere cotton widout you, + But dat's a fac' dey'll nebber do, + Far away, etc. + CHORUS. + + For it will take six million bales + For de mills ob England, Scotland, Wales, + Spin away, etc., + To feed de spinnin' mules and jennies, + Dere boys and gals and pickaninnies, + Far away, etc. + CHORUS. + + Now dis will take a time so long, + 'Twill be like de horse in de ole man's song', + Sing away, etc., + Dat he learned to lib widout corn or hay, + But he _went dead_ dat berry same day, + Right away, etc. + CHORUS. + + O gemmen ob de "Supply Association,"[6] + I'll tell you ob de "New-born Nation," + Far away, etc., + De Confederate States of America, + Where cotton grows both night and day, + Far away, etc. + CHORUS. + + For we can grow de cotton-wool, + For John Crapeau and Johnny Bull, + "Parley voo," etc., + An' dey will feed and keep de workies, + "White weaver folk," and "hoe in darkies," + Quite right, etc. + CHORUS. + + O I'se gwine back to de land ob cotton, + Sea Island seed and sandy bottom, + Far away, etc., + To de bressed land whar I was born, + De land of sugar, cotton and corn, + Far away, etc. + CHORUS. + + + + +THE SOLDIER'S MISSION. + +By A. W. MORSE. + + + Haste thee, falter not, noble patriot band, + Bravely meet thy lot, firm maintain thy stand, + God, the God of War, who defends the just, + Give thine arm the power to defend thy trust. + + Thy country called thine aid, prompt thine answer came: + "We'll draw our battle blade, and shield our country's name, + 'Till our firm demand shall have been proclaimed, + Justice through the land--equal rights maintained." + + Welcome, welcome, then, to thy happy home, + Warm hearts wait thee, when thou mayst thus return + But shouldst thou fall in defense of right + With grateful hearts we'll all cherish thy memory bright. + +[Illustration: Infantry Button.] + + + + +SOLDIER, I STAY TO PRAY FOR THEE.[7] + +Words by J. S. THOVINGTON. + +Music by J. W. GROSCHEL. + +_Vocal Duett._ + + + SOLDIER. + + Lady, I go to fight for thee, + Where gory banners wave, + To fight for thee, and, oh, perchance + To find a soldier's grave. + + LADY. + + Soldier, I stay to pray for thee, + A harder task is mine; + To which, and long in lonely grief, + That victory may be thine. + + SOLDIER. + + Lady, I go and fight for thee. + + LADY. + + Soldier, I stay and pray for thee. + + BOTH. + + And strength and faith combined, + Still form the magic sword, + Wherewith the Southrons victory find, + The Southrons victory find. + +[Illustration: "Lady, I go to fight for thee!"] + + SOLDIER. + + Fare thee well! + + LADY. + + Fare thee well! + + + + +THE SOUTH OUR COUNTRY. + +Words by E. M. THOMPSON. + +Music by J. A. BUTTERFIELD. + + + Our country, our country, oh, where may we find, + Amid all the proud relics of legend or story, + A holier charm for the patriot mind + Than that soul-stirring topic--our native land's glory. + That land on whose standard the eagle's proud pinions + Flutter lordly defiance to tyranny's minions, + And whose soil all untarnished by sceptre or throne, + Is a home for the brave, and the free heart alone. + + And we care not to honor the bleak shores of Maine, + With her ship-peopled strand in proud grandeur careering, + Nor the West, with her wide prairies waving in grain, + The gainers of plenty by name so endearing. + But the South is our home the land of bright flowers, + Where the softest of suns, and the gentlest of showers + Distill a sweet balm from the blossoming earth, + And make life a bright vision of pleasure and mirth. + + Though dreams of the past cling around the heart still, + And a thousand proud memories will ever be cherished + Of Princeton and Monmouth and brave Bunker Hill + The spots where our country's defenders have perished; + The union they bled for is now rudely severed, + The idols are broken we once fondly revered, + And discord has scattered its pestilent bane + From Florida's reefs to the snow peaks of Maine. + + But union still gladdens our own sunny home, + Whose bright blades and brave hearts will ever defend her, + And though wreck and disaster and ruin may come, + While the bright sun shines o'er them they never will surrender. + Let the foeman come on in his daring effrontery, + Let him trample the loved soil we call our dear country, + And for every fair flower that fades in his path, + A proud heart shall bleed 'neath the sword of our wrath. + + + + +I WISH I WAS IN DIXIE'S LAND. + +By DAN D. EMMETT. + +[The music of this song can be obtained of Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass.] + + + I wish I was in de land ob cotton, + Old times dar am not forgotten, + Look away, look away, look away, Dixie Land! + In Dixie land whar I was born in, + Early on one frosty mornin', + Look away, look away, look away, Dixie land! + + CHORUS.--Den I wish I was in Dixie-- + Hooray, hooray! + In Dixie land I'll took my stan'! + To lib an' die in Dixie + Away, away, + Away down south in Dixie + Away, away, + Away down south in Dixie. + + Ole Missus marry "Will-de-Weaber," + William was gay deceber + Look away, etc. + But when he put his arm around 'er + He smiled as fierce as a forty-pounder + Look away, etc. + CHORUS. + + His face was sharp as a butcher's cleaber, + But dat did not seem to grieb 'er, + Look away, etc. + Ole Missus acted de foolish part, + An' died for a man dat broke her heart, + Look away, etc. + CHORUS. + + Now, here's a health to de next ole Missus, + Ah! all de gals dat want to kiss us, + Look away, etc. + But if you want to drive 'way sorrow, + Come an' hear dis song to-morrow, + Look away, etc. + CHORUS. + + Dar's buckwheat cakes an' Injun batter, + Makes you fat, or a little fatter, + Look away, etc. + Den hoe it down and scratch your grabble, + To Dixie's Land I'm bound to trabble, + Look away, etc. + CHORUS. + + + + +CAMPAIGN BALLAD. + +By REV. J. E. CARNES. + + + Young Florida sends forth her clan--the old Dominion's brave, + With sons of Texas, lead the van to glory or the grave; + Now, by the fame of Yorktown's name, and by the Alamo, + The sons will not the fathers shame, though mightier be the foe. + + From desecrated Maryland come out a faithful few, + And old Kentucky sends a band to God and Freedom true; + There comes a thrill from Sharpsburg's rill--and from the "bloody + ground," + Heap'd with the mounds of Perryville, the spectral slogans sound! + + And Alabama's well-tried host into the Grey line wheels, + From wasted farms, beleaguered coast, from Florence to Mobile; + The torch-lit home, whence kindred roam, has lent its wings their fire; + And wrongs, tear-writ in mem'ry's tome, to deeds of blood inspire. + + Ho, Louisiana! vengeance fraught by rapine's hellish scenes, + Comes vanward with the blended thought of Mansfield--New Orleans; + By spicy groves, where beauty roves, and where the Yankees swarm, + With vandal feet, in hireling droves, she swears her vengeance warm. + + Arkansas strikes Missouri's hand--they cross the bayonet, + Each thinking of a glorious band with blood of kindred met; + They bless the Post, whose little host fought all but treason well; + And Elkhorn's grief and Springfield's boast their patriot bosoms swell. + + From where the cypress droppeth down tear-dews on Jackson's tomb; + From where the darkest mountains frown, and brightest valleys bloom, + All broad of breast, with lance in rest, and in their swift-streams free, + Pour down the bravest and the best of sinewy Tennessee. + + With Vicksburg boiling in their veins, the Mississippians cheer, + With wildest joy, the trumpet-strains that speak the battle near; + O hear! O hark! the name of Stark is passed along the line-- + A thousand eyes more keenly mark where gathering foes combine. + + From Chickamauga to the flames that o'er Savannah glare, + Inspired by Bee and Barton's names the Georgians, too are there; + By the sad path of Sherman's wrath all thro' their staid old state, + They swear themselves to deeds of scath, and righteous love of hate! + + The Carolinas seek the fray--the scarr'd of every fight, + From far Manassas' glorious day to Fisher's bloody night; + Grand deeds of old their hearts unfold, and later memories clasp, + While rifle stock and hilt of gold are griped with fiercer grasp. + + Now make one more immortal plain, ye men of battle skill, + Ye of the comprehensive brain and the undaunted will; + Now, Robert Lee! there comes to thee the all-decisive hour! + God make thy flashing blade to be the lightning of his power! + + Now, Beauregard and Johnston, now as in your other fight, + With mutual heart and answering brow inspire the hosts of right! + Now, Bragg and Hood, who oft withstood, and oft have charged the foe, + Come with a hand and will as good to lay the vandal low. + + Rise, Longstreet, with a face that shines as bright as battle's flash, + Where'er along the closing lines the burnish'd bayonets crash; + Now, Forrest, aid with such a blade as made Fort Pillow quail; + Now, Hill and Hardee, undismay'd, direct the iron hail. + + Ho! Smith, Magruder, Taylor, Price and Walker in your spheres, + Warm with your zeal the hearts of ice, and charm the coward's fears! + For by the tree of Liberty God planted on this shore, + This fight should be a victory or ye should breathe no more. + + Now, Davis! on the mount of State, discern the Lord's command, + While faith and courage on thee wait, and lift each cheering hand, + To beckon all, from farm and street, and make the laggard feel + A wish to meet the first that greets the carnival of steel! + + Let Honor beat the rataplan and Duty quick obey-- + Make "yea" an instant Tagerman, and "no" at once a Ney! + Upon the blood our best have spilled, pledge me with common breaths + War to the hilt with Yankee guilty, for "Liberty or Death!" + +[Illustration: Louisiana.] + + + + +OUR GLORIOUS FLAG. + +A VICKSBURG SONG. + +_Air--"Her Bright Smile Haunts Me Still."_ + + + There is freedom on each fold, and each star is freedom's throne, + And the free, the brave, the bold, guard thine honor as their own; + Ev'ry danger hast thou known that the battle's storm can fill, + Thy glory hath not flown--we proudly wave thee still. + Ev'ry danger, etc. + + Floating in the morning light, Freedom's sun! thou shinest far, + Floating thro' the murky night, all shall see thee, Freedom's star! + For _sic semper_ thy refrain, and thy motto e'er shall be, + Let tyrants wear the chain--I am--I will be free! + + O'er the land or the sea where the hurling waves are torn, + In the calm, the storm, the breeze, be thy standard proudly borne; + For there's freedom on each fold, and each star's freedom's throne-- + The free, the brave, the bold, thy glory is their own. + + + + +THE HOUR BEFORE EXECUTION. + +By MISS MARIA E. JONES. + + + Hark! the clock strikes! All, all that now remains, + Is one short hour of this fast fleeting life, + And then farewell the terrors and the strife, + The heavenly joys, the sorrows of long years, + It's holy rapture, the corroding pains-- + That fill the heart with rapture or with tears. + + Farewell, old world! I never knew 'till now + How well I lov'd thee; and my wayward heart + Still fondly clings to thee--but we must part! + Let not my proud heart in that parting fail! + How can I weep to leave thee? I whose brow + Hath oft been bared to battle's iron hail! + + My heart beats proudly, yet the coward tears + Steal from my eyes and bathe my pallid cheek; + God! what womanly weakness do they speak + And would half say, that the brave Southern spy + Who had scorned death and mock'd his idle fears, + Had, at last, forgotten how to die. + + O beauteous earth! each well remember'd place-- + All that I lov'd comes up before my mind-- + The lov'd and cherished I must leave behind-- + Stand out before me! every verdant spot + In my life's desert I can clearly trace, + E'en to those pictures I had deemed forgot. + + I see my mother standing in the door + Of my lov'd home, as in the evening breeze + The curtains wave, and the gigantic trees, + Stretching their arms to welcome me again, + Cast dark'ning shadows on the bare bright floor-- + Mother, dear mother! you will watch in vain. + +[Illustration: "Farewell to earth and all its beauteous bloom."] + + Watch for the coming of my eager feet, + My warm embraces and tender, loving kisses-- + They will not come! dear mother, you will miss + Your boy's lov'd presence, and in vain will seek, + The well known form that you were wont to greet + With tender kisses upon brow and cheek. + + The tall, green trees will cast their lengthen'd shade + Across the prairie, and the shadows pale + Will fill your home, and the wild winds will wail + With frantic madness, as they swiftly sweep + Thro' the dark forests where your children play'd-- + Where all save one in death's embraces sleep. + + And he will fill an unhonor'd far-off grave, + Unmark'd and lone! The hated foeman's scorn, + Will soon be o'er. This glorious, golden morn + I leave my life, my honor and my fame, + To nobly die as fits a soldier brave-- + Who asks of Southrons but an honor'd name? + + The hour is gone! and I must meet my doom, + And die, as should a soldier always die, + With unblanch'd cheek, and proudly scornful eye, + While stern defiance doth my bosom swell-- + Farewell to earth and all its beauteous bloom-- + My country! mother! one long, last farewell! + + + + +THE BLACK FLAG. + +By PAUL H. HAYNE. + + + Like the roar of the wintry surges on a wild tempestuous strand, + The voice of the madden'd millions comes up from an outraged land; + For the cup of our woe runs over, and the day of our grace is past, + And Mercy has fled to the Angels, and Hatred is King at last! + + CHORUS.--Then up with the Sable Banner! + Let it thrill to the War God's breath, + For we march to the watchword--Vengeance! + And we follow the Captain--Death! + + In the gloom of the gory breaches, on the ramparts wrapt in flame, + 'Mid the ruin'd homesteads, blacken'd by a hundred deeds of shame; + Wheresoever the vandals rally, and the bands of the alien meet, + We will crush the heads of the hydra with the stamp of our armed feet. + + They have taught us a fearful lesson! 'tis burn'd on our hearts in fire, + And the souls of a host of heroes leap with a fierce desire; + And we swear by all that is sacred, and we swear by all that is pure, + That the crafty and cruel dastards shall ravage our homes no more. + + We will roll the billows of battle back, back on the braggart foe, + 'Till his leaguer'd and stricken cities shall quake with a coward's + throe; + They shall compass the awful meaning of the conflict their lust begun, + When the Northland rings with wailing, and the grand old cause hath + won.[8] + + + + +BANKS' SKEDADDLE. + + + You know the Federal General Banks, + Who came through Louisiana with his forty thousand Yanks; + His object was to execute the Abolition law, + With as mongrel a horde of soldiers as creation ever saw; + There were Irish and English, and Spanish and Dutch, + And negroes and Yankees, and many more such, + All dress'd out in blue coats and fine filagree-- + But such a skedaddle you never did see! + + CHORUS.--Doodle, doodle, Yankee doodle, doodle, dee, + O such a skedaddle you never did see! + + They came prepared to shear our sheep and gather in our crops, + And thus destroy the government by knocking down its props; + They'd rob us of our wheat and wool, our poultry and such things, + And steal the ladies' jewelry, their dresses and their rings; + They had scythe-blades and whiskey, and sheep shears and hams, + And threshes and jack-knives, and jellies and jams, + O glorious their object--a nation to free! + But such a skedaddle you never did see! + + The veterans of Vicksburg, who never had been whipped, + All swore that not a leaflet of their laurels should be clipped; + They wanted to see Texas, and the famous Texas boys, + Who thro' the whole Confederacy were making such a noise; + They had banners and mottoes, and trumpets and drums, + And small arms and cannon, and round shot and bombs, + Their most famous column, the "Feds" did agree-- + But such a skedaddle you never did see! + + How first they saw the Texans and heard the Texan yell-- + But whether men or devils they declare they could not tell, + They faced about, at "double quick," and run with all their might, + For they had seen the "elephant," and did not like the sight; + They left baggage and Enfields, and knapsacks and shoes, + And pickles and blankets, and negroes and stews, + And broke for the river as fast as might be-- + But such a skedaddle you never did see! + + Helter, skelter, neck or nothing, driven by their fears, + From ev'ry side the Texan yell was ringing in their ears! + Still on they rush'd, like quarter-horses, shouting as they ran, + "The Rebels take the hindmost--now save himself who can!" + They had gunboats and transports, and all sorts of crafts, + They were all clad in iron, with guns fore and aft, + In these they expected in safety to flee-- + But such a skedaddle you never did see! + + + + +AWAKE! TO ARMS IN TEXAS! + +_Air--"Dixie."_ + + + Hear ye not the sound of battle, + Sabre clash and musket rattle? + Awake, awake, awake in Texas! + Hostile footsteps on your border; + Hostile columns tread in order; + Awake, awake, awake in Texas! + + CHORUS.--O, fly to arms in Texas! to arms! to arms! + From Texas land we'll rout the band + That comes to conquer Texas-- + Awake, awake, and rout the foe from Texas. + + See the red smoke hanging o'er us; + Hear the cannon's booming chorus; + Awake, awake, awake in Texas! + See our steady columns forming; + Hear the shouting--hear the storming, + Awake, awake, awake in Texas! + CHORUS. + + All the Northmen's forces coming; + Hark! the distant rapid drumming: + Awake, awake, awake in Texas! + Prouder ranks than theirs were driven, + When our Mexic ties were riven; + Awake, awake, awake in Texas. + CHORUS. + + Gird your loins, with sword and sabre; + Give your lives to freedom's labor; + Awake, awake, awake in Texas! + What though ev'ry heart be sadden'd-- + What though all the land be redden'd-- + Awake, awake, awake in Texas! + CHORUS. + + Shall this boasting, mad invader, + Trample Texas and degrade her? + Awake, awake, awake in Texas! + By our fathers' proud example, + Texas soil they shall not trample; + Awake, awake, awake in Texas! + CHORUS. + + Texans! meet them on the border; + Charge them into wild disorder; + Awake, awake, awake in Texas! + Hew the vandals down before you, + Till the last inch they restore you; + Awake, awake, awake in Texas! + CHORUS. + + Through the echoing hills resounding, + Hear the Texan bugles sounding; + Awake, awake, awake in Texas! + Arouse from ev'ry hill and valley; + List the bugle! Rally! rally! + Awake, awake, awake in Texas! + CHORUS. + + + + +THE CAPTURE OF SEVENTEEN OF COMPANY H, FOURTH TEXAS CAVALRY. + +_Air--"Wake Snakes and Bite a Biskit."_ + + + 'Twas early in the morning of eighteen sixty-three, + We started out on picket, not knowing what we'd see; + The bridge we knew was floating. If the Yankees should pursue, + We knew we should be captured if running we'd not do. + + To stop and give them battle, we never tho't of it-- + The shot at us did rattle, so we tho't we'd better "git," + The captain tried to rally us, and so did brave young Linn; + And Rader, too, with pistol drawn--Fenly next "put in." + + Rainbolt, too, with angry words attempts to stop our flight, + They tell us yet to stop with them, and give the Yankees fight: + They saw they could not stop us--to try it would be vain-- + So their only chance of safety was to give their steeds the rein. + + Now this portion of my story will cause your hearts to bleed, + It tells of those who halted while going at full speed. + First came Billy Eddins, with musket shot in thigh, + He was told by the Yankees, "surrender now or die!" + + Then came poor Johnny Burns, with sabre cut in head, + And near by him, and wounded, stood the still unconquer'd Red; + Then Oscar, and June Harris stood near in sore affright-- + Then came the young De Marcus, in none the better plight. + + Yarborough, too, with chalky cheek, was walking down the road-- + The Yankees had to some extent relieved him of his load; + His overcoat he had pulled off, and in his shirt he stood, + In woeful plight, he was a sight,--his face contain'd no blood. + + Then came the lively Lilly, with teeth hard set in wrath, + To think that some had pass'd him by, but pick'd him up at last! + Then Burnes came, and Maynard, then Graham and Jim Baugh-- + The gallant Bone was found alone, and bro't back from afar. + + But of the handsome Parton I must not fail to tell; + His graceful way of riding you all remember well; + But to-day the fates concluded to stop his wild career, + So from his horse was jolted by a musket from the rear. + + The gallant Hill, and dashing Dees, were spurring for dear life, + When a Yankee rode with perfect ease upon them with a knife; + "Surrender, now, my pretty pair; and do it quickly too, + Stop at once and turn your mare, or I will run you through." + + They stopp'd at once, and faced about and to the rear did start; + And back they came, with legs quite lame, with faint and sinking heart: + And there they saw a crowd who were gobbled up that day-- + They were the twain that made seventeen, and we were marched away. + + + + +ALABAMA. + +Words by LAURA LORRIMER. + +Music by J. W. GROSCHEL. + + + Over vale and over mountain + Pealing forth in triumph strong, + Comes a lofty swell of music, + Alabama's greeting song. + In the new-born arch of glory, + So, she burns, the central star, + Never shame shall blight its grandeur, + Never cloud its radiance mar. + + CHORUS.--Alabama, Alabama, + Listen, Southrons, to the strain, + Alabama, Alabama, + Shout the rallying cry again. + + As the gulf waves rushing shoreward, + Break in music echoes grand, + Alabama sends this greeting, + Proudly to her sister band. + This her ultimatum, burning, + In each heart of Southern flame, + Peace, if gained not by dishonor, + But far better war than shame. + CHORUS. + + Let the "Northern Lion" couchant, + On his bleak and froze plain, + Lift his shaggy front in wonder, + And defiant shake his mane. + Sunward soars the mighty eagle, + And where blossom brighter bowers, + Than amid the green savannahs + Of this sunny land of ours. + CHORUS. + + And her sons will rise in legions, + Bleed and die at her behest, + Ere a hostile Northern footstep + Trample, conqueror, on her breast. + This the faith she plights her sisters, + In this glorious Southern band, + Side by side she will be with them, + Heart with heart, and hand to hand. + CHORUS. + + + + +IMOGEN. + +By MAJ.-GEN. J. B. MAGRUDER. + + + Wake! dearest, wake! 'tis thy lover who calls, Imogen; + List! dearest, list! the dew gently falls, Imogen; + Arise to thy lattice, the moon is asleep, + The bright stars above us their bright vigils keep. + +[Illustration: "Thy steed is impatient his mistress to bear."] + + CHORUS.--Then fear not, my Imogen, + Thou'rt dearer than life! + The heart of the soldier is the home of the wife, Imogen, + The heart of the soldier is the home of the wife. + +[Illustration: "Arise to thy lattice, the moon is asleep."] + + Thy steed is impatient his mistress to bear, Imogen, + Home to her lover, on the prairie afar, Imogen, + Belov'd as a maiden, adored as a wife, + Thou shalt be forever the star of my life. + + + + +AN OLD TEXAN'S APPEAL. + +By REUBEN E. BROWN. + + + Come all ye temper'd hearts of steel--come, quit your flocks and farms, + Your sports, your plays, your holidays, and hark! away to arms! + And hark! away to arms! + Your sports, your plays, your holidays, + And hark! away to arms! + + For a soldier is a gentleman--his honor is his life-- + And he that won't fight at his post shall ne'er stay with his wife! + Shall ne'er stay with his wife! + And he that won't fight at his post, + Shall ne'er stay with his wife! + + For love and honor are the same, they are so near alike, + They neither can exist alone, but flourish side by side. + + Our country calls us to the field--let's not a moment stay; + Gird on your arms with cheerfulness, and fearless march away. + + No foreign power shall us enslave--no Northern tyrant reign; + 'Twas independence made us free, and freedom we'll maintain. + + The rising world shall sing of us a thousand years to come, + And children to their children tell what glories we have won. + + Farewell, sweethearts! 'tis for awhile; my dear, sweet girls, adieu; + Let's drive these Northern dogs away, we'll come and stay with you. + + And when the war is over, boys, we'll then sit down at ease-- + We'll plow and sow, and reap and mow, and do just as we please. + + + + +ARISE! YE SONS OF FREE-BORN SIRES! + +(Lines prompted by the spirit that pervaded the soldiers of Galveston on +receiving the news of our disaster.) + +By A. E. MORRIS, Company C, Twentieth Infantry. + + + Arise! ye sons of free-born sires; arise! your country save; + Kindle again the wonted fires that animate the brave: + Your heritage your foes menace--secure it from their foul embrace-- + Your chains asunder burst! + What tho' they count as harvest-seed--as fathers bled, their sons must + bleed, + Or be forever accursed! + + The boasted chivalry of yore you can, you must, maintain; + Let not the scars our fathers bore for us, be borne in vain! + Degenerate sons of noble sires, by baleful, wild, fanatic fires, + And madden'd folly mov'd, + Profaned their Hero's sacred dust--betrayed their country's sacred trust, + And double traitors proved. + + They've rais'd the fratricidal hand--they've shed their brother's blood-- + Spread desolation thro' your land with sword and fire and blood, + Your desecrated altars lie ensanguin'd in the deepest dye + Of holy thing's profaned + Your homes and towns in ruins piled--your matrons, maids--your very child + With foul pollution stained. + + Then rise, ye sons of free-born sires, _once_ more! and freedom's won, + Kindle again the fervid fires that glow'd in sixty-one! + Your heritage your foes menace--secure it from their foul embrace-- + Your chains asunder burst! + What tho' they count as harvest-seed--as fathers bled, their sons must + bleed, + Or be fore'er accursed! + + + + +GAY AND HAPPY. + + + We're the boys so gay and happy, + Wheresoever we chance to be-- + If at home, or on camp duty, + 'Tis the same, we're always free! + + CHORUS.--Then let the Yanks say what they will, + We'll be gay and happy still; + Gay and happy, gay and happy, + We'll be gay and happy still. + CHORUS. + + We've left our homes, and those we cherish + In our own dear Texas land! + We would rather fight and perish + Side by side, and hand in hand. + CHORUS. + + Old Virginia needs assistance-- + Northern hosts invade her soil-- + We'll present a firm resistance, + Courting danger, fire and toil. + CHORUS. + + Then let drums and muskets rattle-- + Fearless as the name we bore, + We'll not leave the field of battle + While a Yank is on our shore. + CHORUS. + + + + +BAYLOR'S PARTISAN RANGERS. + +By MARY L. WILSON, of San Antonio, Texas. + +_Air--"Dixie."_ + + + Hear the summons, sons of Texas! + Now the fierce invaders vex us, + Come on, come on, come on for Texas! + Daring, dauntless, reckless Ranger! + First in glory, first in danger-- + Come on, come on for Texas. + + CHORUS.--Exalt the fame of Texas, strike home, strike home! + Where Baylor leads the foeman bleeds! + Then strike with him for Texas-- + Come on, come on, ye gallant sons of Texas! + + Awhile ago they dared defy us-- + Now they meet us but to fly us; + Bright the stars and bars are gleaming! + Bright our future star is beaming! + CHORUS. + + By base Butler's proclamation, + By our sister's defamation,-- + By the sword of justice sheathless, + Be the fires of vengeance quenchless. + CHORUS. + + * * * * * + + Honor, safety, vengeance call you, + Ere the tyrant's chains enthrall you-- + Cities burning, women wailing! + Shall their tears be unavailing? + CHORUS. + + Fiercely now the vandal's smiting, + Southern homes his torch is blighting-- + Well he knows he'll conquer never, + So would ruin us forever. + CHORUS. + + A Texan's name, who would not wear it? + Well the foe has learned to fear it! + Green the laurels for you springing, + Bright the halo 'round you clinging. + CHORUS. + + Chosen by the gallant Morgan! + The North has heard the Texan slogan; + Rangers, ask not, give not quarter! + Be your pathway marked with slaughter! + CHORUS. + +[Illustration: Volunteer Confederate Button.] + + + + +THE HORSE MARINES AT GALVESTON. + +_Air--"Barring of the Door."_ + + + It was on a New Year's morn so soon, + Before the break of day, Oh! + General Magruder had laid his plan + To catch the Yankees in the Bay, Oh! + + CHORUS.--Skedaddle, skedaddle, leave horse, spur and saddle, + Charge! Horse Marines, with a hoo-way! + Skedaddle, skedaddle, the Yankees will toddle; + Rush on them with pistol and bowie-- + O, skedaddle! + + Magruder march'd down through Galveston town, + And placed his men on the shore, Oh! + And the fight then began when he fired the first gun, + And the fleet replied with a roar, Oh! + CHORUS. + + The Yankees' big shot flew fast, thick and hot, + They thought they'd gain'd the day, Oh! + When Bagby and Green, with the new Horse Marine, + Came rushing down the Bay, Oh! + CHORUS. + + The two bayou boats went to butting like goats, + The big steamer's deck to gain, Oh! + Then L'on Smith, that trump, he made the first jump, + Right abroad of the Harriet Lane, Oh! + CHORUS. + + Let it not be forgotten, that Jim Dowlan, the Briton, + Pitch'd in through flood and through flame, Oh! + From the sinking boat swam to the Bayou City ram, + And boarded the Harriet Lane, Oh! + CHORUS. + + Then flew the white flag o'er the Federal rag; + The Yankees cried stop! just at light, Oh! + By cunning and lies, to get off with the prize + We had fairly won in the fight, Oh! + CHORUS. + + But General Bill Scurry, was in too great a hurry, + To wait for a three hours' truce, Oh! + He bagged all ashore, and would have bagged more, + Had any been lying around loose, Oh! + CHORUS. + + Old General Magruder will let no intruder + Our soil with his footsteps pollute, Oh! + The Arizona Brigade, with L'on Smith as aid, + Will send them to--Butler, the brute, Oh! + CHORUS. + + Then rejoice, O rejoice, ye Texans, rejoice; + Charge! Horse Marines, with a hoo-way! + The invaders are dead, ta'en pris'ner, or fled-- + They can't stand the pistol and bowie. + CHORUS. + + + + +I'M THINKING OF THE SOLDIER. + +By MARY E. SMITH, of Austin, Texas. + + + O, I'm thinking of the soldier as the evening shadows fall, + As the twilight fairy sketches her sad picture on the wall; + As the trees are resting sadly on the waveless silence deep, + Like the barks upon the ocean when the winds are hush'd to sleep. + + All my soul is with the absent, as the evening shadows fall; + While the ghosts of night are spreading o'er the dying light a pall; + As the robes of day are trailing in the halls of eventide, + And yon radiant star is wooing blushing eve to be his bride. + + I have shunn'd the cosy parlor--for a silence lingers there, + Since our lov'd one went to battle, and we find a vacant chair; + And a sigh is stealing upward, as the evening spirits come, + With the zephyrs, to the bowers of this sadly deserted home. + + For when soft "good nights" are ended there's a room not like the rest, + Since a soldier left that chamber and that pillow is unprest; + O, my soul is in a shadow, and my heart cannot be gay, + As the eve with low refraining comes to shroud the dying day. + +[Illustration: "I'm thinking of the soldier as the evening shadows fall."] + + For I'm dreaming of the soldier, on his pallet bed of straw; + As the leaves are growing yellow and November winds are raw-- + And a vision comes before me of aching, fever'd brow; + And a proud form blighted, blasted, strangely, strangely alter'd now. + + And I feel that strong heart beating fainter, fainter with each breath, + Fluttering softly in its prison, fluttering thro' the gate of death; + And a voice of sad despairing stirs my heart's deep fountain now,-- + As my hand is slowly wandering o'er that strangely altered brow. + + And a sigh, soul full of longing, fills the chambers of my soul-- + While the quivering heart-strings whisper "Life's a tale that soon is + told;" + God of Love, receive the soldier on that dim mysterious shore, + Where the weary are at rest and souls are sad, ah! nevermore. + + Still the dusky sybil, "Future," on her dim, prophetic leaves, + Writes that death will claim the soldier, when he gathers up his sheaves; + This is why I'm ever sighing, and my heart cannot be gay, + As the eve with low refraining comes to shroud the dying day. + + That is why I still am sighing as the deep gray shadows fall, + As the twilight spirit settles down her shadows in the hall, + And I'm praying for the soldier from a soul with sorrow sore, + For our soldier boys have left us--gone, perchance, to come no more. + + + + +THE BATTLE OF GALVESTON. + +By MRS. L. E. CAPLEN, Galveston. + +_Air--"The Harp that once thro' Tara's Halls."_ + + + 'Twas on that dark and fearful morn, + That anxious hearts beat high! + And many from their friends were torn + Beneath the wintry sky. + + But hark! what cannon roar is that? + Terrific--but sublime-- + Wafting some mortals to their graves, + Far from their Northern clime. + + As the battle rag'd, voices high + Echoed along the shore, + For death or victory was nigh + Amid the battle's roar. + + The Yanks appeared to gain the ground, + Their hopes were sure and high, + Our little boats then hove in sight, + Which caused their men to cry. + + Magruder, for example sake, + The cannon first did fire, + When soon their boats were made to quake-- + When one embrac'd his sire. + + But death hath taken for his own + Their Captain, Lee, Monroe-- + And many more they lost that day, + Whose death they'll long deplore. + + But were we favored? Sure we were, + For victory was ours! + But death had stolen our gallant Wier; + Our tears did fall in showers. + + Another one, deserving most, + The brave and noble son! + Sherman! thy country's pride! is lost-- + A death most nobly won. + + Come, all ye people, far and near, + Example you must take, + For Texas men and women are + Heroes for country's sake! + + + + +DEATH OF GEN. ALBERT SIDNEY JOHNSTON. + +By GEORGE B. MILROR, of Harrisburg. + + + The sun was sinking o'er the battle plain, + Where the night winds were already sighing, + While, with smiling lips, near his war-horse slain, + Lay a valiant chieftain dying! + + And as he sank to his long, last rest, + The banner--once o'er him streaming-- + He folded 'round his most gallant breast, + On the couch that knows no dreaming. + + Proudly he lay on the battle-field, + On the banks of the noble river; + And the crimson stream from his veins did yield, + Without a pang or quiver! + + There were hands that came to bind his wounds, + There were eyes o'er the warrior streaming, + As he rais'd his head from the bloody ground, + Where many a brave was sleeping. + + "Now, away," he cried--"your aid is vain! + My soul will not brook recalling! + I have seen the tyrant enemy slain, + And like Autumn vine-leaves falling! + + "I have seen our glorious banner wave + O'er the tents of the enemy vanquish'd-- + I have drawn a sword for my country brave, + And in her cause now perish! + + "Leave me to die with the free and the brave, + On the banks of my own noble river-- + Ye can give me naught but a soldier's grave, + And a place in your hearts forever!" + + + + +GOD BLESS OUR SOUTHERN LAND. + +Respectfully inscribed to Major-General J. B. Magruder, and sung on the +occasion of his public reception in the city of Houston, Texas, Jan. 20, +1863. + + + God bless our Southern land, + God save our sea-girt land, + And make us free; + With justice for our shield, + May we on battle field + Never to foemen yield + Our liberty. + + O Lord! protect the Chief + Who to our prompt relief + From threaten'd woe, + Hasten'd to lead the way; + Nor faltered in the fray, + When from our beauteous Bay + He drove the foe. + + And may the gallant band + Worthy in his command + Ever to be, + Have of Thy watchful care + Ever a plenteous share, + Inspiring each to dare + For home and thee. + + "O Lord our God! arise, + Scatter our enemies, + And make them fall!" + And when, with peace restored, + Each man lays by the sword, + May he with joy record + Thy mercies all. + + + + +SOUTHERN BATTLE SONG. + +_Air--"Bruce's Address."_ + + + Raise the Southern flag on high! + Shout aloud the battle cry! + Let its echoes reach the sky-- + "God and Southern Rights." + + Sons of wealth, and sons of toil, + Will ye yield your land for spoil, + Drive the foe from Southern soil! + Glory now invites. + + Rally round our banner bright + Let its stars of quenchless light + Dim the base invader's sight, + On the battle field. + + When the death clouds darkly lower, + When the cannons blaze and roar, + Though its folds be drenched in gore, + We will never yield. + + By our sires who fought and bled! + By Virginia's honored dead! + By the blood so lately shed! + We will make them know-- + + Southern hearts are true as steel, + Wrongs like ours are slow to heal, + Sooner will we die than kneel + To a Northern foe. + +[Illustration: Georgia Belt-buckle.] + + + + +BOMBARDMENT AND BATTLES OF GALVESTON. + +FROM JUNE 1, 1862, TO JANUARY 1, 1863. + +By S. R. EZZELL, of Capt. Daly's Company. + +_Air--"Auld Lang Syne."_ + + + The Yankees hate the Lone Star State, because she did secede; + At Galveston they've now begun to make her soldiers bleed. + The "Old Blockade" her threats have made, that she will burn our town; + But Col. Cook, with piercing look, declares he'll stand his ground. + + High in the breeze he soon did raise the flag with single star, + Saying, "Let them come, we'll give them some, before they are aware." + Along the coast he soon did post his batteries, well mann'd + By men of might, prepared to fight, behind breast-works of sand. + + Like lions brave, their land to save, the cavalry do stand + Ready to charge the Yankee barge that first attempts to land; + Infantry, too, like soldiers true, who never yet did fail, + They long to greet the Yankee fleet with musketry like hail. + + We wait to see the "Old Santee" come sailing into shore; + And then we'll fight for Southern rights, and make the cannon roar; + But if a fleet we have to meet, of gunboats large and strong, + We'll cross the bridge without a siege, and think it nothing wrong. + + When on mainland, we'll take our stand, and all their hosts defy; + There we will fight for Southern rights--we'll fight them till we die. + + * * * * * + + Two months passed by, they came not nigh, but only cruis'd around, + As if to find the channel's wind, for which they oft did sound; + But this was all, the Eagle bald, did not attempt to land; + His courage fail'd, away he sailed, and made no more demand. + + But Harriet Lane, she did remain, with quite a heavy fleet, + She came up nigher and open'd fire in order quite complete; + 'Twas at Fort Point she did dismount our best and largest gun; + 'Twas now in vain here to remain, so we for life did run. + + 'Mid bomb and grape we did escape, and not a life was lost; + Fearing the town they would burn down over the bridge we crossed; + Then on mainland we took our stand, determined not to yield, + Tho' bomb and ball should thickly fall, and we die on the field. + + Gen. Herbert he came not near, but strangely stood aloof; + From San Antone he did look on, where was good old "4th proof." + + * * * * * + + Magruder came, a man of fame, the Texas boys to lead; + From Rio Grande he did command, to come with rapid speed; + "My plan is laid," he quickly said, "Galveston to retake; + Brave boys!" said he, "come, follow me; we'll make the Yankees quake." + + Three bayou crafts, of shallow draught, with cotton breastworks neat; + Three hundred men, and three small guns, composed our Texas fleet; + Now ready quite, the Feds to fight, our land force did repair, + Along Strand Street, the Yanks to greet, just as our boats came near. + + The Lone Star State must seal her fate, in ruin, shame and woe, + Or bravely fight for Southern rights, and triumph o'er the foe; + On New Year's morn, before day dawn, the year of sixty-three, + The New Year's gifts came flying swift, both from the land and sea. + + The lightning glare, both far and near, the darkness did dispel; + Grape, bomb and ball did thickly fall, our forces to repel; + Magruder then said to his men, "Your country you must save, + And still maintain your glorious name, _the bravest of the brave_." + + We fear'd them not, but bravely fought, our homesteads to maintain; + By break of day we had the Bay at our command again; + The Yankee fleet we did defeat, and captur'd all their crews, + Except a few who were untrue, and sail'd off under truce. + + + + +GENERAL TOM GREEN. + +By MRS. WM. BARNES, of Galveston. + + + A warrior has fallen! a chieftain has gone! + A hero of heroes has sunk to his rest! + Those hands that wielded the sword and the sabre, + Now lie pulseless and cold o'er his motionless breast; + That voice that has gladden'd valiant comrades in arms, + And driven away their deep shadows of gloom, + Is seemingly hush'd to those seared-stricken hearts, + But loudly will speak from its still, hollow tomb! + + Aye, seemingly hush'd, like the black, death-like waters, + As they mirror the face of the threatening sky; + But see ye the ripple that waves in the distance, + Warning the mariner that danger is nigh? + Aye, seemingly hush'd, like the dead, sullen calm, + As it heralds Vesuvius' virulent ire, + Ere she, out of her bosom, malignantly pours + Her dull molten lava, her columns of fire. + + Aye, seemingly hush'd, but the words he has spoken + Lie deeply incased in the breasts of his men, + And tho' to the "echoless shore" he is wafted, + His voice will be heard yet again and again; + How oft-seated by the bivouac's bright fires, + While his men have stood 'round, wrapt in wondrous delight, + Has he spurred them to noble and chivalric deeds, + As he vividly pictured a forthcoming fight. + + Full many a time has the rough, sunburnt hand + Dash'd the unbidden tear from the veteran's cheek, + As of home--that lov'd spot to each memory so dear-- + With heartfelt emotion his chieftain would speak; + Aye, seemingly hush'd is the tongue of the warrior, + In their bosom its echo is lingering still; + Long as their pulse beats, its prompting they yield to-- + Yes, long as their noble hearts have power to feel. + + The hero of Valverde--the hero of Mansfield,-- + Now sleeps the calm sleep of the happy and blest; + Those eyes once so lustrous are now sightless and dim, + Those limbs once so active have sunk to their rest; + O there let him lie where the first beams of morning + Shall shed o'er his tomb a soft halo of light, + And the moon's gentle rays that dear spot shall enliven, + As she glides on her course through the still, solemn night. + + Plant the wild-tendriled vine and flowers of the prairie + O'er the grave of the chieftain that slumbereth there-- + How sweetly they'll mingle their gentle perfumes with + The orphans' and widows' sweet incense of prayer; + Let the song of the whippoorwill, pensive and sad, + As he flits on the sprays of the green willow tree, + And the deep azure waves of the fair Colorado, + By day and by night his mournful requiems be! + + + + +HARD TIMES! + +By M. B. SMITH, Co. C, Second Texas Volunteer Infantry. + + + Just listen awhile, and give ear to my song + Concerning this war, which will not take me long; + Old Lincoln, the blower, swore the Rebels he'd whip, + But thanks to my stars, he has not done it yet, + For it's hard times. + + Manassa's the spot, if I recollect right, + Where Yankees and Southerners had their first fight; + We whipped them so badly, our boys thought it fun, + And ever since then they have called it Bull Run, + Those were grand times. + + Old Lincoln had put in his very best man-- + It was old General Scott who led in his clan-- + But in facing Jeff Davis he couldn't shine, + For we captured his cakes, his brandies and wine, + Then we'd fine times. + + Old Abe and the "Gen'ral" soon got at "out," + Which caused the "Old Gen'ral" to complain of gout; + So he told Marse Abe that he would resign, + And he laid all the blame to the very hard times, + O, it was hard times. + + McClellan was the next man put in the field, + With brass-hilted sword and a sole-leather shield; + He boasted quite loudly the Rebels he'd whip-- + But you see, my dear friends, he's not done it yet, + For it's hard times. + + Yet there was another, Gen. Buell, the great, + That followed our Beauregard clean thro' one State, + But at Tennessee River he got all his fill-- + I'm certain he remembered the Shiloh Hill! + + There were Banks, Shields and Fremont, big generals all, + While skirmishing 'round ran afoul of "Stonewall!" + With Longstreet and Hill, very near by his side, + Who said: "Wo-ee, Yankees, let's all have a ride!" + + Old Jackson he then got around to their rear, + So the day was ours you can see very clear; + Then he sent a dispatch to brave General Lee, + "Drive all the Yankees into eternity?" + + But at Gainesville station they made a bold stand, + Where they collected a formidable band, + And swore to their fill that the Rebels they'd whip, + But the Texans made them everlastingly "git!" + + Now the last I've heard of McClellan, the third; + He was down on James River bogg'd up in the mud, + In a bend of the river, near a big pond, + The want of more news puts an end to my song. + +AUGUST 13, 1862. + + + + +THE FLAG OF THE SOUTHLAND + +By MAJOR E. W. CAVE, of Houston. + +_Air--"I'm Afloat."_ + + + Flag of the Southland! Flag of the free! + 'Ere thy sons will be slaves, they will perish with thee! + Thy new-risen star shall light Liberty on, + 'Till the hosts of the tyrant are scatter'd and gone! + Whether victory sits on the Southern plumes, + Or disaster doth come in some hour of gloom, + Freedom's hosts will still rally where'er thou shalt be, + O flag of the Southland! flag of the free! + + Flag of the Southland! thy glory has been + To be baptized in blood 'midst the great battle's din, + From Manassas' red plains, o'er the mountains steep, + Thy stars kept their vigils, where Washington sleeps, + And the breezes of Vernon have borne on the shout + Of thy triumphant sons as the foes took the rout; + Valor's trio of genius--Beauregard, Johnston and Lee! + Guards the flag of the Southland--flag of the free! + + The foe is upon us, but our flag it is there! + We have borne it in triumph--its defeat we can share; + Tho' our cities be burned, tho' our thousands be slain, + 'Mid the flames of our altars we'll fight him again; + And while there's a spot where a patriot band + May show to the foe a desperate stand, + Southern hearts will defy him, their flag will still be + The flag of the Southland--the flag of the free! + + In the hour of gloom now thy valorous sons show, + That freemen can die, but ne'er yield to the foe! + But our Shiloh has come--see the enemy flee! + His sceptre has sunk 'neath the swift Tennessee-- + And the Southern heart and the Southern hand, + From classic Potomac to bold Rio Grande, + Still push on to battle, when floating they see + The flag of the Southland--the flag of the free! + + + + +ON TO GLORY. + + + Sons of freedom, on to glory, + Go where brave men do or die; + Let your names in future story + Gladden every patriot's eye; + 'Tis your country calls you hasten, + Backward hurl the invading foe; + Freemen, never think of danger, + To the glorious battle go. + + Oh, remember gallant Jackson, + Single-handed in the fight, + Death blows dealt the fierce marauder, + For his liberty and right; + Tho' he fell beneath their thousands, + Who that covets not his fame? + Grand and glorious, brave and noble, + Henceforth shall be Jackson's name. + + Sons of freedom, can you linger, + When you hear the battle roar, + Fondly dallying with your pleasures + When the foe is at your door? + Never, no, we fear no idlers, + Death or Freedom's now the cry, + 'Till the "Stars and Bars" triumphant + Spread their folds to every eye. + + + + +STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY. + +Found on the body of a sergeant of the Old Stonewall Brigade, Winchester, +Va. + +[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass., owners of the copyright.] + + + Come, stack arms, men! pile on the rails, + Stir up the camp-fire bright; + No matter if the canteen fails, + We'll make a roaring night; + Here Shenandoah brawls along, + To swell the Brigade's rousing song + Of "Stonewall Jackson's way." + + We see him now!--the old slouched hat + Cocked o'er his eye, askew-- + The shrewd, dry smile--the speech as pat-- + So calm, so blunt, so true. + The "Blue Light Elder" knows o'er well-- + Says he, "That's Banks--he's fond of shell-- + Lord save his soul!--we'll give him"--well, + That's "Stonewall Jackson's way." + +[Illustration: "He's in the saddle now."] + + Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off! + Old Blue Light's going to pray; + Strangle the fool that dares to scoff! + Attention! 'tis his way! + Appealing from his native sod, + _In forma pauperis_ to God-- + "Lay bare thine arm; stretch forth thy rod; + Amen!" That's "Stonewall's way." + + He's in the saddle now! Fall in! + Steady--the whole Brigade! + Hill's at the ford cut off! He'll win + His way out, ball and blade; + What matter if our shoes are worn! + What matter if our feet are torn! + "Quick step--we're with him before dawn!" + That's "Stonewall Jackson's way." + + The sun's bright lances rout the mists + Of morning, and, by George, + There's Longstreet struggling in the lists, + Hemmed in an ugly gorge-- + Pope and his Yankees whipped before-- + "Bayonet and grape!" hear Stonewall roar, + "Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby's score + In Stonewall Jackson's way." + + Ah, maiden! wait and watch and yearn + For news of Stonewall's band; + Ah, widow! read with eyes that burn + That ring upon thy hand; + Ah, wife! sew on, pray on, hope on, + Thy life shall not be all forlorn-- + The foe had better ne'er been born, + Than get in "Stonewall's way." + + + + +TO THE BELOVED MEMORY OF MAJ.-GEN. TOM GREEN. + +By CAPTAIN EDWIN HOBBY. + + + In the land of the orange-groves, sunshine and flowers, + Is heard the funereal tread, + And darkly above it, the war-cloud lowers, + And a requiem swells thro' its orange bowers, + For the brave and noble dead; + Then trail'd be the banners in dust, + And muffled the martial drum, + His sword in its scabbard shall rust; + With their coming no more will he come-- + The earth has received to her bosom its trust-- + Ashes to ashes--and dust unto dust. + + In the sunniest realm of that beautiful land, + Where spring-time her festival's keeping, + Where the blossoms of summer in splendor expand, + By the camp-fire light there's a sorrow bow'd band-- + Their leader forever is sleeping: + Then plumed be their banners in black, + And softly the bugle be blown. + No more shall he be welcomed back + By hearts that were twined to his own, + 'Till the voice from the King on his throne + To the earth goeth forth, to give up his trust-- + Ashes to ashes, and dust unto dust. + + A sun has been lost from that bright constellation, + Whose splendor illumines the sky; + It sank as we gazed in lov'd admiration; + Its leaves were the glory and pride of the nation, + 'Twas Liberty's symbol on high, + And darkness now hangs on the face of the day; + The illustrious hero's at rest; + But the fruit of his genius is left us to say + How sublime was the Chief that is taken away; + How much of all hearts he possessed. + + On New Mexico's mountains, his banners waved + In the face of the haughtiest foe-- + All dangers he scorned, and all odds had he brav'd, + And victory seem'd on his banners engrav'd + When his genius directed the blow: + _Val Verde!_ a name that in song and story + Shall brighten our history's pages, + 'Till crumbled in dust, is the record of glory, + 'Till valor's forgotten, and nation's grow hoary, + Undimmed by the shadows of ages. + + Massachusetts' black banner wav'd on Galveston's Strand, + The roll of her drums echoed nightly, + (Sad sound to the freemen who dwelt on the land), + It was heard by his ear, it was caught by his band, + A stain on our 'scutcheon unsightly: + Night closed and morn came, what a change had been wrought! + What proud banner floateth there now! + Ah! the victory's won--Green the battle has fought! + And the cross of the South, morning's golden beam caught; + Fresh laurels encircle his brow. + + At Bisland he stood, like a rock in the ocean + That stems the strong waves on the shore, + Calm and unmoved, in the midst of commotion, + Our army he saved by his dauntless devotion-- + What chieftain has ever done more? + Brashear, and Fordoche, Pleasant Hill and Mansfield, + All breathe of his glory and fame-- + There his genius burst forth like the lightning conceal'd, + And destiny seem'd to his glance reveal'd-- + Fate crowning in triumph his name. + + O we weep for the veteran hearts that are gone-- + Scurry, Randall, Riley, Buchel, + Shepherd, Chalmers, Ragsdale, Raines, McNeal and Mouton, + Their glorious names and deeds shall live on-- + Peace to the heroes that fell. + And O, for the soldiers that bled with them there, + Their country's strong bulwark and trust, + United to do, and the courage to dare. + In life they had borne all privation and care, + In dust, undivided's their dust. + + And Liberty's tree, from the blood of the brave, + In strength and in grandeur shall rise; + Its branches extend to each ocean's blue wave, + And sacred its fruit o'er each patriot's grave: + How dearly that fruit shall we prize! + Is the hero, O say, in that mystical world, + Surrounded on Time's silent shore + By the veteran dead, with their banners now furl'd-- + War's trumpet unblown, and his lances unhurl'd-- + Are they still with the chief they adore? + + Tom Green is no more! lov'd and honor'd he lies, + Near his home by the murmuring river-- + In the soil he sav'd, 'neath his own Southern skies, + Where praises from lips yet unborn shall arise, + And bless him forever and ever. + There let him sleep on, undisturb'd in repose, + And cease for the hero to sigh-- + Life's morning was honor--in greatness it rose, + 'Twas a sunset of splendor, that life at its close, + He died as a soldier should die. + + O'er his hallow'd remains let no monument shine, + To tell of the chieftain beneath it, + His requiem hymn'd by the sorrow-toned pine, + And wildly around it the jessamine twine, + And flowers, bright flowers enwreathe it; + Then silently night-skies their soft dews will shed + On the spring-flowers that garland his grave-- + One generous sigh for the bosom that bled, + One generous tear for the fate of the dead, + The noble, the true and the brave. + + His laurels were pure, and his honor unstained, + He lov'd not war's crimson-dyed pall, + His nature was peace while the olive remained-- + Refus'd then the long-baited lion unchain'd-- + Tom Green was then greater than all. + Affection and love was the pulse of his breast, + Ever quick at humanity's call-- + The widow and orphan his charities bless'd, + The friend of the homeless, the poor and distress'd, + Tom Green was the idol of all. + +GALVESTON, TEXAS, May 28, 1864. + + + + +HOOD'S OLD BRIGADE. + +"_On the March._" + +By MISS MOLLIE E. MOORE. + + + 'Twas midnight when we built our fires-- + We march'd at half-past three! + We know not when our march shall end, + Nor care--we follow Lee! + The starlight gleams on many a crest, + And many a well-tried blade-- + This handful marching on the left-- + _This_ line is _our_ Brigade! + + Our line is short because its veins + So lavishly have bled; + The missing! Search the countless plains + Whose battles it has led; + There are those Georgians on our right, + Their ranks are thinning, too-- + How in one company, they say, + They now can count but two! + + There's not much talking down the lines, + Nor shouting down the gloam; + For when the night is 'round us, then + We're thinking most of home! + + I saw yon soldier startle, when + We passed an open glade, + Where the low starlight, leaf and bough + A fairy picture made; + Nor has he uttered word since then-- + _My_ heart can whisper why-- + 'Twas like the spot in Texas where + He bade his love good-by! + + And when, beyond us, carelessly, + Some soldier sang adieu! + My comrade here across his eyes + His coarse sleeve roughly drew; + So, scarcely sound, save trampling feet, + Is echoed through the gloom-- + Because when stars are brightest, then + We're thinking most of home! + + Hush! what an echo startles up + Around this rocky hill! + Was't shell, half-buried, struck my foot? + Or, stay--'tis a human skull! + This ridge I surely seem to know + By light of yon rising moon; + Ha! we battled here three mortal hours + One Sunday afternoon. + + Last spring! See where our Captain stands, + His head drooped on his breast-- + At his feet that heap of bones and earth-- + You know _now_ why his rest + Is broke off, and why his sword was + So bitter in the fray! + 'Tis the grave of his only brother, who + Was killed that awful day! + + Hush! for in front I heard a shot, + And then a well-known cry-- + "It is the foe!" See where the flames + Mount upward to the sky! + It is the foe! Halt! Rest we here! + We wait the coming sun, + And ere these stars may shine again + A field is _lost or won_! + + Is _won_! It is the "Old Brigade," + This line of stalwart men! + The "long roll!" how it thrills my heart + To hear that sound again! + God shield us, boys! here breaks the day, + The stars begin to fade! + "Now steady here! fall in! fall in! + Forward! the 'Old Brigade!'" + +[Illustration: Georgia Button.] + + + + +THE BATTLE SONG OF THE SOUTH. + +Words by P. E. COLLINS. + +Music by WM. HERZ. + + + Land of our birth, thee, thee I sing, + Proud heritage is thine, + Wide to the breeze thy banner fling, + Thy freedom ne'er resign. + Land of the South, the foe defies + Thy valor! lo, he comes, + To prove thy strength, awake, arise! + To arms! protect thy homes. + + Bright Southern land, the time has come, + Thy bright historic day, + Sons of the South, the time has come, + Drive back the tyrants' sway! + Strike, Southrons, strike! the foe shall flee, + Nor e'er again invade; + The sons of free men shall be free, + They cannot slaves be made. + + Land of the South, by right maintained, + The day of trial past, + The prize of victory will be gained; + Thou'lt triumph at the last, + And future bards your deeds shall tell + Of valor and renown; + What tyranny and hate befell, + By Southern might cast down. + + + + +MY HEART'S IN MISSISSIPPI. + + + My heart's in Mississippi, + 'Tis de place whar I was born; + 'Tis dar I planted sugar cane, + 'Tis dar I hoed de corn, + Dey have taken me to Texas, + A thousand miles below; + Yet my heart's in Mississippi + Wherever I go. + + CHORUS.--Yet my heart's in Mississippi, + 'Tis de place whar I was born; + 'Tis dar I planted sugar cane, + 'Tis dar I hoed de corn. + + Mobile may boast of beauties, + Dat lemonade de street; + But dey neber hab a sixpence, + To ax you to a treat; + De Mississippi yellow gals, + Dey always treat dar beaux, + Den my heart's in Mississippi + Wherever I go. + CHORUS. + + Way down in Mississippi, + De fields am always green; + And orange trees in blossom, + De whole year may be seen, + Dar darkies live like princes, + And dar do heel and toe; + Den my heart's in Mississippi, + Wherever I go. + CHORUS. + + Den fill to Mississippi, + And let de toast go 'round, + Rosin up de fiddle-sticks, + And let de banjo sound; + O fotch along de whiskey, + And let de fluid flow: + For my heart's in Mississippi, boys, + Wherever I go. + CHORUS. + + + + +THE FUNERAL OF ALBERT SYDNEY JOHNSTON. + + + He fell and they cried, bring us home our dead! + We'll bury him here where the prairies spread, + And the gulf waves beat on our Southern shores; + He will hear them not when he comes once more-- + Our Albert Sydney Johnston! + + When he went, how the flushed hope beat high + On the brows of The Rangers standing nigh! + And the champing steeds of the Texas plain-- + For his voice was that to their bridle rein + That the air's to the Persian monsoon. + + But they bore him now to the crash of wheels; + No sound of their sorrow the hero feels, + Tho' many are come that are sad and fair, + With flowers and stars for his bloody bier, + And weeping they lay them down. + + And the Crescent shone with a wreathing grace + Around that Star on the covered face; + No sound but of sobs and a parting look, + And the forest sighed and the aspen shook + As the train went rumbling on. + + And down to the feet of the moaning sea, + Where the waves made the only melody, + No band or bell was played or tolled-- + But the Hero cared not--hate fell cold + On the heart of him who slept. + + Where the church was closed by the mandate given, + And he lay on the wharf under night and heaven, + Fair friend and slave with uncovered head, + Gazed alike on the face of the sleeping dead, + And alike in silence wept. + + So the vigil held, 'till the chastened cloud, + For the shame of men, hid its face and bowed; + And thousands came when the moon was high, + And they bore their burden sadly by, + To its rest on the prairie plain. + + As the prairie flowers that now grow o'er him, + Where the white-maned steeds that walked before him + Proud and stepped and slow--and the mourners said, + Let a stately place for his couch be made-- + Houston must have its fane. + + There they lay him out in a proud old hall, + With the floor's edge kissing the sacred pall; + And thousands came to the hallowed room, + 'Till the day went down to the night of gloom, + For his land did honor him. + + And when to the bannered march's swell, + They bore him out with a lingering knell, + Sad tears flowed out from a thousand eyes, + And a thousand voices were choked with sighs, + And the sun in the West was dim. + + + + +THE COTTON-BURNER'S SONG.[9] + + + Lo! when Mississippi rolls + Oceanward its stream, + Upward mounting, folds on folds + Flaming fire-tongues gleam; + 'Tis the planter's grand oblation + On the altar of the nation; + 'Tis a willing sacrifice-- + Let the golden incense rise-- + Pile the cotton to the skies! + + CHORUS.--Lo! the sacrificial flame + Gilds the starry dome of night! + Nations! read the mute acclaim-- + 'Tis for liberty we fight! + Homes! Religion! Right! + + Never such a golden light + Lit the vaulted sky; + Never sacrifice as bright + Rose to God on high; + Thousands oxen, what were they + To the offering we pay? + And the brilliant holocaust-- + When the revolution's past-- + In the nation's songs will last! + CHORUS. + + Though the night be dark above, + Broken though the shield-- + Those who love us, those we love, + Bid us never yield; + Never! though our bravest bleed, + And the vultures on them feed; + Never! though the serpent's race-- + Hissing hate and vile disgrace-- + By the million should menace! + CHORUS. + + Pile the cotton to the skies; + Lo! the Northmen gaze; + England! see our sacrifice-- + See the cotton blaze! + God of nations! now to Thee, + Southrons bend th' imploring knee; + 'Tis our country's hour of need-- + Hear the mothers intercede-- + Hear the little children plead! + CHORUS. + + + + +[Illustration: Massa.] + + +THE CONTRABAND. + +A song of Mississippi negroes in the Vicksburg Campaign. + + + Darkies has you seed my massa + Wid de mustache on his face? + He came along dis morning + As dough he'd leave de place. + He saw de smoke way up de river, + Where de Lincum gunboats lay: + He took his hat and he left mighty sudden, + I speck he's runned away. + + CHORUS.--Massa run, aha! + Darkey stay, aho! + It must be now dat de kingdom's comin', + In the year of Jubilo. + + He's six feet one way, four feet t'other, + And weighs three hundred pounds; + His coat's so big he can't pay de tailor-- + Den it don't go half around. + +[Illustration: "Massa run, aha."] + + He drills so much dey call him cap'n; + And he am so very tan, + Speck he'll try to fool dem Yankees + And say he's contraban'. + CHORUS. + + Dis darkey gets so very lonesome, + In de cabin on de lawn; + He moves his things to massa's parlor, + To keep 'em, while he's gone. + + There's wine and cider in de cellar, + And de darkies dey'll have some; + I speck it will be confiscated, + When de Lincum soldiers come. + CHORUS. + + De overseer will give us trouble, + And run us round a spell; + We'll lock him up in smoke-house cellar, + Wid de key thrown in de well. + De whip is lost, and de handcuffs broken, + And massa'll lose his pay; + He's big enough and old enough, + Dan to gone and runned away. + CHORUS. + + + + +SONG OF HOOKER'S PICKET. + +_Southern Illustrated News_, Feb. 21st, 1863. + + + I'm 'nation tired of being hired + To fight for a shillin' a day; + Richmond to gain I'll hev to strain, + And travel some other way. + + Darn Ole Abe and Ole Jeff Dave! + Darn the day I 'listed! + When I came down to this 'ere town, + Jerushy! how I missed it. + + All day I've stud in rebel mud + A watchin' North Calinians. + I might a bin safe up to Lynn, + A eatin' clams and inions. + + All night I sit in straw that's wet, + Ketchen fleas and other critters; + The boys down East are at a feast + With gals, doughnuts and fritters. + + I hain't no pay for many a day;-- + Nigh unto a year I guess, + Since a new Greenback hev crosst my track-- + That's so with all my mess. + + To pull my trigger for a big buck nigger + That lives on hog and hominy, + While on hard tack my jaws I crack, + Ain't war "accordin' to Jomini." + + It's monsus fine for the Bobolition line, + With mouths full o' pumpkin pie, + To preach in meetin' agin' retreatin'-- + Why don't they come theirselves and try? + + They'd find the Confed's hev mighty hard heads, + And are pow'ful smart at shootin'; + Their love for the old flag would very soon drag-- + Lord! how you'd see them scootin'. + + That fool Burnside deserves a cowhide, + Coz he's got neither pluck nor sense; + He shook like souse at the Phillip's house, + While we was murder'd at Marye's fence. + + But it is all one to me who our Gen'ral may be, + If I've got to die for the nigger, + While Greeley steps on feathers, and Beecher's patent leathers, + Sets Plymouth Church in a snigger. + + War is mighty fine to them that's drinking wine + At the big hotels in York; + But as for _lousy_ me, that's lost his liberty, + _Peace_ is the right sort o' talk. + + I calk'late to stay, until next May, + A shiv'rin' in all this slush; + But when I git paid, I'm a leetle kinder 'fraid + I'll back out hum with a rush. + + I'll pitch this gun into old Bull Run, + Like I did when I follered McDowell; + Secesh may go his ways, and I'll spend my days + With my gal, my gin and my trowel. + + Oh! I'm sick as a dog, or a mangy hog, + Of this 'tarnal nasty fightin', + That's all gone wrong, and lasts too long + For a man that's thinkin' o' kitin'. + + I'll tell you, Mississip, you're an ugly looking rip, + And if you'll keep your side o' the water, + You may save your powder, and I'll take to chowder, + And come no more where I hadn't oughter. + + + + +NO SURRENDER. + + + Ever constant, ever true, + Let the word be, no surrender, + Boldly dare and greatly do! + They shall bring us safely through, + No surrender, no surrender! + And though fortune's smiles be few, + Hope is always springing new, + Still inspiring me and you + With a magic, no surrender. + + Nail the colors to the mast + Shouting gladly, no surrender; + Troubles near, are all but past, + Serve them as you did the last, + No surrender, no surrender! + Though the skies be overcast, + And upon the sleety blast + Disappointment gathers fast, + Beat them off with no surrender. + + Constant and courageous still, + Mind the word is, no surrender! + Battle tho' it be up hill, + Stagger not at seeming ill, + No surrender, no surrender! + Hope, and thus your hope fulfill, + There's a way where there's a will, + And the way all cares to kill, + Is to give them no surrender. + + + + +A SOUTHERN WOMAN'S SONG. + + + Stitch, stitch, stitch, + Little needle, swiftly fly, + Brightly glittering as you go; + Every time that you pass by + Warms my heart with pity's glow. + Dreams of comfort that will cheer, + Through winter's cold, the volunteer, + Dreams of courage you will bring, + Smile on me like flowers in Spring. + + Stitch, stitch, stitch, + Swiftly, little needle, fly, + Through this flannel, soft and warm; + Though with cold the soldiers sigh, + This will sure keep out the storm. + Set the buttons close and tight + Out to shut the winter's damp; + There'll be none to fix them right + In the soldier's tented camp. + + Stitch, stitch, stitch; + Ah! needle, do not linger; + Close the thread, make firm the knot; + There'll be no dainty finger + To arrange a seam forgot. + Though small and tiny you may be, + Do all that you are able; + A _mouse_ a lion once set free,-- + As says the pretty fable. + + Stitch, stitch, stitch, + Swiftly, little needle, glide, + Thine's a pleasant labor; + To clothe the soldier be thy pride, + While he wields the sabre. + Ours are tireless hearts and hands; + To Southern wives and mothers, + All who join our warlike bands + Are our friends and brothers. + + Stitch, stitch, stitch, + Little needle, swiftly fly, + From the morning until eve, + As the moments pass thee by, + These substantial comforts weave. + Busy thoughts are at our hearts-- + Thoughts of hopeful cheer, + As we toil till day departs + For the noble volunteer. + + Quick, quick, quick, + Swifter, little needle, go; + From our homes most pleasant fires + Let a loving greeting flow + To our brothers and our sires; + We have tears for those who fall,-- + Smiles for those who laugh at fear,-- + Hope and sympathy for all,-- + Every noble volunteer. + + + + +GENERAL LEE AT THE BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS. + +By TENELLA. + + + There he stood, the grand old hero, great Virginia's god-like son, + Second unto none in glory--equal of her Washington; + Gazing on his line of battle, as it wavered to and fro + 'Neath the front and flank advances of the almost conquering foe; + Calm as was that clear May morning, ere the furious death-roar broke + + From the iron-throated war lions crouching 'neath the cloudy smoke; + Cool, as tho' the battle raging was but mimicry of fight, + Each brigade an ivory castle, and each regiment a knight; + Chafing in reserve beside him, two brigades of Texans lay, + All impatient for their portion in the fortune of the day. + + Shot and shell are 'mong them falling, yet unmov'd they silent stand, + Longing, eager for the battle, but awaiting his command: + Suddenly he rode before them, as the forward line gave way, + Rais'd his hat with courtly gesture, "Follow me and save the day!" + + But, as tho' by terror stricken, still and silent stood that troop, + Who were wont to rush to battle with a fierce avenging whoop. + It was but a single moment, then a murmur thro' them ran, + Heard above the cannon's roaring, as it passed from man to man, + + "You go back and we'll go forward!" now the waiting leader hears, + Mixed with deep impatient sobbing, as of strong men moved to tears, + Once again he gives the order, "I'll lead you on the foe!" + Then, thro' all the line of battle rang a loud determined "No!" + + Quick as thought a gallant Major, with a firm and vice-like grasp, + Seized the General's bridle, shouting, "Forward, boys! I'll hold him + fast!" + Then again the hat was lifted, "Sir, I am the older man: + Loose my bridle, I will lead them!" in a measured tone and calm. + + Trembling with suppressed emotion, with intense excitement hot, + In a quivering voice, the Texan, "No, by God, sir, you shall not!" + By them swept the charging squadron, with a loud exultant cheer, + "We'll retake the salient, General, if you'll watch us from the rear!" + + And they kept their word right nobly, sweeping every foe away, + With that grand grey head uncovered, watching how they saved the day-- + But the god-like calm was shaken, which no battle shock could move, + By this true, spontaneous token of his soldiers' child-like love! + + + + +MY NOBLE WARRIOR, COME! + +By MRS. COL. C. G. F----Y. + +_Air--"The Rock Beside the Sea."_ + + + O, tell me not that earth is fair, that spring is in its bloom, + While young hearts, hourly, everywhere meet such untimely doom; + That sweet on wind, of morn or eve, the violet's breath may be, + Let me but know thy banner waves, and leads to victory! + Let me but know, etc. + + The thundering battle's distant roar, the host's victorious cry, + Unto my trembling heart is more than all earth's melody; + Come back, my noble warrior, come! there's but one prayer for me, + 'Till I can greet thy banner home, proud banner of the free! + Till I can greet, etc. + + + + +SONG OF THE PRIVATEER + +By ALEX. A. CUMMINS. + + + Fearlessly the seas we roam, + Tossed by each briny wave; + Its boundless surface is our home, + Its bosom deep our graves. + No foreign mandate fills with awe + Our gallant hearted band; + We know no home, we know no law, + But that of Dixie's land. + + The bright star is our compass true, + Our chart the ocean wide; + Our only hope the noble few + That's standing side by side; + We do not fear the stormy gale + That sweeps old ocean's strand; + We scorn our enemy's clumsy sail, + And all for Dixie's land. + + We love to hoist to the topmost peak, + _Our Southern Stars and Stripes_; + And woe to him who dares to seek + To trample on their rights! + It is the aegis of the free, + And by it we will stand, + And watch it waving o'er the sea, + And over Dixie's land. + + We love to roam the deep, deep sea, + And hear the cannon's boom, + And give the war-cry, wild and free, + Amid the battle's gloom, + We do not fight alone for gain, + So far from native strand; + But our country's freedom and its fame, + And the fair of Dixie's land. + + + + +HOOD'S TEXAS BRIGADE. + + + Down by the valley, 'mid thunder and lightning, + Down by the valley, 'mid shadows of night, + Down by the deep crimson'd valley of Richmond, + Twenty-five hundred mov'd on to the fight; + Onward, still onward, to the portals of glory, + To the sepulchral chambers, yet never dismayed; + Down by the deep crimson'd valley of Richmond, + March'd the bold warriors of Hood's Texas Brigade! + + See ye the fires and flashes still leaping? + See ye the tempest and jettings of storm? + See ye the banners of proud Texan heroes, + In front of her column, move steadily on? + Hear ye the music that gladdens each comrade, + Riding on wings through torrents of sounds? + Hear ye the booming adown the red valley? + Riley unbuckles his swarthy old hounds![10] + + Valiant Fifth Texas! I saw your brave column + Rush through the channels of living and dead; + Sturdy Fourth Texas! Why weep, your old warhorse? + He died as he wish'd, in the gear, at your head: + West Point! ye will tell, on the pages of glory, + How the blood of the South ebb'd away near your shade, + And how sons of Texas fought in the red valley, + And fell in the columns of Hood's Texas Brigade. + + Fathers and mothers, ye weep for your jewels; + Sisters, ye weep for your brothers in vain; + Maidens, ye weep for your sunny-eyed lovers-- + Weep, for you'll never behold them again! + But know ye that vict'ry, the shrine of the noble, + Encircles the house of death newly made! + And know ye that Freedom, the shrine of the mighty, + Shines forth on the banners of Hood's Texas Brigade! + + Daughters of Southland, come bring ye bright flowers, + Weave ye a chaplet for the brow of the brave; + Bring ye the emblems of freedom and victory; + Bring ye the emblems of death and the grave; + Bring ye some motto befitting a hero; + Bring ye exotics that never will fade; + Come to the deep crimson'd valley of Richmond, + And crown our young Chief of the Texas Brigade! + + + + +SWEETHEARTS AND THE WAR. + + + Oh, dear! its shameful, I declare, + To make the men all go + And leave so many sweethearts here + Without a single beau. + We like to see them brave, 'tis true, + And would not urge them stay; + But what are we, poor girls, to do + When they are all away? + + We told them we could spare them there, + Before they had to go; + But, bless their hearts, we weren't aware + That we should miss them so. + We miss them all in many ways, + But truth will ever out, + The greatest thing we miss them for + Is seeing us about. + + On Sunday, when we go to church, + We look in vain for some + To meet us, smiling, on the porch, + And ask to see us home. + And then we can't enjoy a walk + Since all the beaux have gone; + For what's the good (to use plain talk), + If we must trudge alone? + + But what's the use of talking thus? + We'll try to be content; + And if they cannot come to us + A message may be sent. + And that's one comfort, anyway; + For though we are apart, + There is no reason why we may + Not open heart to heart. + + We trust it may soon come + To a final test; + We want to see our Southern homes + Secured in peaceful rest. + But if the blood of those we love + In freedom's cause must flow, + With fervent trust in God above, + We bid them onward go. + + And we will watch them as they go, + And cheer them on their way: + Our arms shall be their resting-place + When wounded sore they lay. + Oh! if the sons of Southern soil + For freedom's cause must die, + Her daughters ask no dearer boon + Than by their side to lie. + + + + +JACKSON'S RESIGNATION. + +A Yankee Soliloquy before the Battle of Fredericksburg. + +By TENELLA. + + + Well, we can whip them now I guess, + If Jackson has resigned, + General Lee in "fighting Burnside," + More than his match will find: + We're done with slow McClellan, + Who kept us "digging dirt," + And now are "on to Richmond," + Where some one "will be hurt." + + Again around the Rebels + The anaconda coils, + For East and West, and North and South, + We have them in our toils; + We'd have beat them at Manassas + If McDowell had not slipped, + When he tried to leap this Stonewall, + Who don't know when he's whipped. + + We'd have laid them in the Valley + So low they could not rise, + But Banks must run against it, + And spill all his supplies. + Now if that fool Jeff Davis + Has let Stonewall resign, + We can go "on to Richmond" + By the Rappahannock line. + + But they say he's a shrewd fellow + Who knows a soldier well, + And stood by Sidney Johnston + Until in death he fell; + "If Johnston is no general, + Then, gentlemen, I've none," + He said to those who grumbled, + When Donelson we won. + + And I don't believe that Jackson's + Resignation he'll accept-- + Hallo!!!--A rebel picket-- + How close the rascal crept! + "Say, stranger, is it true + That Jackson has resigned?" + "Well, yes--I reckon so-- + Heard somethin' of the kind." + + "What for? Did old Jeff Davis + Put a sub. above his head?" + "No--they took away his commissary, + So I've heard it said." + "Well, _we_ are glad to hear it, + And will tender them our thanks, + But who was Jackson's commissary?" + "_Your Major-General Banks._" + + "Confound your rebel impudence! + He'd be very smart indeed, + If from supplies for _one_ intended, + _Two_ armies he could feed." + +_Southern Illustrated News_, April, 1863. + + + + +WE LEFT HIM ON THE FIELD. + +By MISS MARIA E. JONES, of Galveston, Tex. + + + We left him on the crimson'd field, + Where battle storms had swept, + We know the soldier's fate was seal'd-- + No wonder that we wept. + Some have, perhaps, as nobly fought, + And some as bravely fell, + Where the red sword its work hath wrought, + But none we lov'd so well. + + O deem us not a faithless band, + Who left him to the foe; + His latest accent of command, + Was when he bade us go! + Yet one still linger'd near his side, + To watch his fleeting breath, + To mark the ebbing of life's tide + And pale approach of death. + + But ere we left our Captain there, + He gave us each a word, + Some thought of kind, remembering care-- + "Here, Warren, take my sword-- + You'll be their captain now, you know; + But, friend, remember then," + Said he, "how well I loved them; + Be faithful to my men! + +[Illustration: "He faintly smiled and waved his hand."] + + "Wear the sword well. The gift is small, + But with it goes my love, + Good-bye, boys! Heaven bless you all; + I'm ordered up above, + And there can be no countermand-- + I know my fate is seal'd!" + He faintly smiled, and wav'd his hand-- + We left him on the field. + + + + +MOTHER! IS THE BATTLE OVER? + + + Mother! is the battle over? thousands have been killed they say-- + Is my father coming?--tell me, have the Southrons gain'd the day? + Is he well, or is he wounded? Mother, do you think he's slain? + If you know, I pray you tell me--will my father come again? + + Mother, dear, you're always sighing since you last the paper read-- + Tell me why you now are crying--why that cap is on your head? + Ah! I see you cannot tell me--father's one among the slain! + Altho' he lov'd us very dearly, he will never come again! + + + + +A NORTH CAROLINA CALL TO ARMS. + +By LUOLA. + +_Air--"The Old North State."_ + + + Ye sons of Carolina! awake from your dreaming! + The minions of Lincoln upon us are streaming! + Oh! wait not for argument, call, or persuasion + To meet at the onset this treach'rous invasion! + + CHORUS.--Defend, defend the old North State forever; + Defend, defend the good old North State. + + Oh! think of the maidens, the wives, and the mothers; + Fly ye to the rescue, sons, husbands, and brothers, + And sink in oblivion all party and section; + Your hearth-stones are looking to you for protection! + CHORUS. + + The babe in its sweetness, the child in its beauty, + Unconsciously urge you to action and duty! + By all that is sacred, by all to you tender, + Your country adjures, arise and defend her! + CHORUS. + + The Star-Spangled Banner, dishonored, is streaming + O'er lands of fanatics; their swords are now gleaming; + They thirst for the life-blood of those you most cherish; + With brave hearts and true, then, arouse, or they perish. + CHORUS. + + Round the flag of the South, oh! in thousands now rally, + For the hour's departed when freemen may sally; + Your all is at stake; then go forth and God speed you, + And onward to glory and victory lead you! + + CHORUS.--Hurrah! hurrah! the old North State forever! + Hurrah! hurrah! the good old North State. + + + + +DIXIE. + +By ALBERT PIKE. + + + Southrons, hear your country call you! + Up! lest worse than death befall you! + To arms! to arms! to arms! in Dixie! + Lo! all the beacon-fires are lighted, + Let all hearts be now united! + To arms! to arms! to arms! in Dixie! + Advance the flag of Dixie! + Hurrah! hurrah! + + CHORUS.--For Dixie's land we'll take our stand, + To live or die for Dixie! + To arms! to arms! + And conquer peace for Dixie! + To arms! to arms! + And conquer peace for Dixie! + + Hear the Northern thunders mutter! + Northern flags in South winds flutter! + Send them back your fierce defiance, + Stamp upon the accurs'd alliance! + + Fear no danger! shun no labor! + Lift up rifle, pike and sabre! + Shoulder pressing close to shoulder, + Let the odds make each heart bolder! + + How the South's great heart rejoices + At your cannon's ringing voices; + For faith betrayed and pledges broken, + Wrong inflicted, insults spoken. + + Strong as lions, swift as eagles, + Back to their kennels hunt these beagles! + Cut the unequal bonds asunder! + Let them hence each other plunder. + + Swear upon your country's altar, + Never to submit or falter, + 'Till the spoilers are defeated, + 'Till the Lord's work is completed. + + Halt not till our federation, + Secures among earth's powers its station! + Then at peace, and crowned with glory, + Hear your children tell the story. + + If the loved ones weep in sadness, + Victory soon shall bring them gladness; + Exultant pride soon banish sorrow, + Smiles chase tears away to-morrow. + + + + +BATTLE SONG. + + + Have you counted up the cost? + What is gained and what is lost-- + When the foe your lines have crossed? + + Gained--the infamy of fame? + Gained--a dastard's spotted name; + Gained--eternity of shame. + + Lost--desert of manly Worth; + Lost--the right you had by birth; + Lost--lost! Freedom from the earth! + + Freemen, up! the foe is nearing! + Haughty banners high uprearing-- + Lo! their serried ranks appearing! + + Freemen, on! the drums are beating! + Will you shrink from such a meeting? + Forward! give them hero greeting! + + From your hearts, and homes, and altars, + Backward hurl your proud assaulters-- + He is not a man that falters! + + + + +OVER THE RIVER. + +By VIRGINIA NORFOLK. + +"Let us cross the river, and rest under the shade of the trees."--_Last +words of Stonewall Jackson._ + + + Bravely ye've fought, my gallant, gallant men! + Bravely ye've fought and well! + Yon blood-stained field, where your banner floats, + Tells how your foemen fell! + Ye are recreant none to your knightly vows, + And none to your high behest; + But the noon sun shines on your burning brows-- + So, over the river and rest! + + CHORUS.--Over the river the shade trees grow-- + Over the river we'll rest! + Ye have fought the fight--won the praise that brings + Peace to the soldier's breast! + + Bravely ye've conquered, my gallant Southern men! + Ye have won your rights anew! + Ye have washed out the stain of traitor blood, + With the baptism of the true! + Your clanging armor and flashing steel + Have told of a deadly fray; + But foemen are flying right and left! + Ye have had a glorious day! + CHORUS. + + Foemen are flying! aye, madly they've fled, + And Peace waves her snow-white wing! + But we mourn the loss of our gallant dead, + While the hills with victory ring! + One warrior wears his laurel crown,-- + One sleeps on his plumed crest! + While the palm tree waves by the river side, + There, soldiers, will we rest! + CHORUS. + + + + +THE MAN OF THE TWELFTH OF MAY.[11] + +By ROBERT FALLIGANT, Savannah, Ga. + + + When history tells her story, + Of the noble hero band, + Who have made the green fields gory, + For the life of their native land, + How grand will be the picture, + Of Georgia's proud array, + As they drove the boasting foeman back, + On that glorious twelfth of May, boys, + That glorious twelfth of May. + + CHORUS.--Then hurrah! while we rally around + The hero of that day! + And a nation's grateful praises crown, + The man of the twelfth of May, boys, + The man of the twelfth of May. + + Whose mien is ever proudest, + When we hold the foe at bay? + Whose war-cry cheers us loudest, + As we rush to the bloody fray? + 'Tis Gordon's! Our reliance! + Fearless as on the day, + When he hurled his grand defiance, + In that charge of the twelfth of May, boys, + In that charge of the twelfth of May! + CHORUS. + + Who can be a coward! + What freeman fears to die, + When Gordon orders, "Forward!" + And the red cross floats on high? + Follow his tones inspiring! + On! on to the field away! + And we'll see the foe retiring, + As they did on the twelfth of May, boys, + As they did on the twelfth of May! + CHORUS. + + This is no time for sighing! + Whate'er our fate may be, + 'Tis sweet to think that, dying, + We will leave our country free! + When the storms of battle pelt her, + She'll defy the tyrants' sway, + And our breasts shall be her shelter, + As they were on the twelfth of May, boys, + As they were on the twelfth of May! + CHORUS. + + + + +MORGAN'S WAR SONG. + + + Cheer, boys, cheer! we'll march away to battle! + Cheer, boys, cheer! for our sweethearts and our wives! + Cheer, boys, cheer! we'll nobly do our duty, + And give to the South our hearts, our arms, our lives. + + Bring forth the flag--our country's noble standard; + Wave it on high 'till the wind shakes each fold out: + Proudly it floats, nobly waving in the vanguard; + Then cheer, boys, cheer! with a lusty, long, bold shout, + Cheer, boys, cheer! etc. + + But as we march, with heads all lowly bending, + Let us implore a blessing from on high; + Our cause is just--the right from wrong defending; + And the God of battle will listen to our cry. + Cheer, boys, cheer! etc. + + Tho' to our homes we never may return, + Ne'er press again our lov'd ones in our arms, + O'er our lone graves their faithful hearts will mourn, + Then cheer up, boys, cheer! such death hath no alarms. + Cheer, boys, cheer! etc. + + + + +THE SONG OF THE EXILE. + +_Air--"Dixie."_ + + + Oh! here I am in the land of cotton, + The flag once honor'd is now forgotten; + Fight away, fight away, fight away for Dixie's land. + But here I stand for Dixie dear, + To fight for freedom, without fear; + Fight away, fight away, fight away for Dixie's land. + + CHORUS.--For Dixie's land I'll take my stand, + To live or die for Dixie's land, + Fight away, fight away, fight away for Dixie's land. + + Abe Lincoln tore through Baltimore, + In a baggage car with fastened door; + Fight away, etc. + And left his wife, alas! alack! + To perish on the railroad track! + Fight away, etc. + CHORUS. + + We have no ships, we have no navies, + But mighty faith in the great Jeff Davis; + Fight away, etc. + Brave old Missouri shall be ours, + Despite Abe Lincoln's Northern powers, + Fight away, etc. + CHORUS. + + Abe's proclamation in a twinkle, + Stirred up the blood of Rip Van Winkle; + Fight away, etc. + Jeff Davis's answer was short and curt: + "Fort Sumpter's taken, and nobody's hurt!" + Fight away, etc. + CHORUS. + + We hear the words of this same ditty, + To the right and left of the Mississippi; + Fight away, etc. + In the land of flowers, hot and sandy, + From Delaware Bay to Rio Grande! + Fight away, etc. + CHORUS. + + The ladies cheer with heart and hand, + The men who fight for Dixie land; + Fight away, etc. + The "Stars and Bars" are waving o'er us, + And Independence is before us; + Fight away, etc. + CHORUS. + +MARTINSBURG, VA. + +[Illustration: Cavalry Button.] + + + + +NATIONAL HYMN. + +Words by CAPT. E. GRISWOLD. + +Music by J. W. GROSCHEL. + + + Now let the thrilling anthem rise, + O'er all the glorious land, + Where tow'ring hills usurp the skies, + And valleys broad expand. + Where each majestic river rolls, + Where wave the fields of grain, + Let Southern hearts and Southern souls + Repeat the exulting strain. + + CHORUS.--The cross and bars, its gleaming stars, + Shall float o'er land and main; + The cross and bars, its gleaming stars, + Shall float o'er land and main; + Confederate Sov'reign State we stand, + God save our land, God save our land; + Confederate Sov'reign State we stand, + God save our land, God save our land, + God save our land, God save our land. + + Where golden fruited orange blossoms, + Green lemon grove and bower, + And where the tall magnolia looms, + With proud imperial flower, + Where bursting from their ripened bolls, + The cotton spreads the plain. + Let Southern hearts and Southern souls + Repeat the exulting strain. + CHORUS. + + Where happy vassals chant their song, + In fields and homes and boats, + Where mocking birds the chords prolong, + Swelling their mottled throats, + Where law's broad aegis still upholds + Enlightened freedom's claim. + CHORUS. + + Where in the Southern zenith glows + The warmth the sun imparts, + Afar from frigid Northern snows, + And bustling Northern Marts, + Where generous impulse still controls, + And scorns polluting stain, + Let Southern hearts and Southern souls, + Repeat th' exulting strain. + CHORUS. + + And still from age to age repeat + The tale of battles won, + When bigot Northmen found defeat + Before each Southern son. + Proudly recount the muster rolls + Of living braves and slain, + Let Southern hearts and Southern souls + Repeat th' exulting strain. + CHORUS. + + Where Chesapeake's broad waters glow + Round Maryland's green lands, + To where the gulf and ocean bow + By Florida's white sands; + From where the mad Atlantic rolls + To Rio Grande's plain, + Let Southern hearts and Southern souls + Repeat th' exulting strain. + CHORUS. + + + + +OVER THE RIVER. + +(_MISSISSIPPI_). + +By MISS MARIA E. JONES. + + + Over the river there are fierce, stern meetings, + No kindly clasp of hand, no welcome call; + But hatred swells the chorus of the greetings, + Of foes who meet at Death's high carnival; + No flash of wine-cups, but the red blood streaming + From ragged wounds, upon the thirsty sand, + And fierce, wild music of bright sabre gleaming, + Where eager foemen grapple hand to hand. + + Over the river are our lov'd ones lying, + Alone and wounded on the couch of pain; + Consum'd by wasting fevers--even dying-- + Sighing for those they ne'er may see again; + There are untended graves where grass is growing + Rankly and tall o'er each lone sleeper's head; + There are long trenches, where bright flowers blowing, + Mark the common grave of thousands dead. + + Over the river victory shouts of gladness, + Great waves of joy rise above seas of woe; + Over the river comes a wail of sadness, + A city's fallen, or a chief laid low; + Alas! for us! we must sit still and ponder + Upon the woes of battle all the day, + And dream, and sew, and weep, while our thoughts wander + Over the river! Let us watch and pray. + + + + +PRIVATE MAGUIRE. + + + "Och, it's nate to be captain or colonel, + Divil a bit would I want to be higher; + But to rust as a private, I think's an infernal + Predicament, surely," says Private Maguire. + + "They can go sparkin' and playin' at billiards, + With money to spend for their slightest desire, + Loafin' and atin' and drinkin' at Ballard's, + While we're on the pickets," says Private Maguire. + + "Livin' in clover, they think it's a trifle + To stand out all night in the rain and the mire, + And a Yankee hard by, with a villainous rifle, + Just riddy to pop ye," says Private Maguire. + + "Faith, now, it's not that I'm afther complainin', + I'm spilin' to meet ye, Abe Lincoln, Esquire! + Ye blaggard! it's only I'm weary of thrainin', + And thrainin', and thrainin'," says Private Maguire. + + "O Lord, for a row! but Maguire, boy, be aisy, + Kape yourself swate for the inimy's fire; + General Lee is the chap that shortly will plaze ye, + Be the Holy St. Patrick!" says Private Maguire. + + "And, lad, if ye're hit (O, bedad, that infernal + Jimmy O'Dowd would make love to Maria!) + Whether ye're captain, or major, or colonel, + Ye'll die with the best then," says Private Maguire. + + + + +STONEWALL JACKSON. + +By a lady formerly of Richmond. + +_Tune_--"_The Coronack._" + + + Unmoved in the battle, + Whilst friends and foes swerved, + Midst roaring and rattle, + His heroes were nerved. + On Manassas' red plain, + Their unyielding front, + Gave their chieftain that name, + So strong in war's brunt. + + He swoops from the mountain, + Like our own regal bird; + O'er Potomac's blue fountain, + His war scream is heard. + Though his foeman be brave, + They shrink from his sword, + Who its mighty power gave, + Is the triumphant Lord! + + Again from the mountain, + Through forest and valley, + Once more near that fountain, + His invincibles rally. + Like our own mountain eagle, + He swoops on the foemen, + And the cohorts of Lincoln + Fly and cower before him! + + * * * * + + + + +SOUTHERN SONG. + +_Tune_--"_Wait for the Wagon._" + + + Come, all ye sons of freedom, + And join our Southern band, + We are going to fight the Yankees, + And drive them from our land. + Justice is our motto, + And Providence our guide; + So jump into the wagon, + And we'll all take a ride. + + CHORUS.--So wait for the wagon! the dissolution wagon; + The South is the wagon, and we'll all take a ride. + + Secession is our watchword; + Our rights we all demand; + To defend our homes and firesides + We pledge our hearts and hands. + Jeff Davis is our President, + With Stephens by his side; + Great Beauregard, our General, + He joins us in our ride. + CHORUS. + + Our wagon is the very best; + The running gear is good; + Stuffed round the sides with cotton, + And made of Southern wood. + Carolina is the driver, + With Georgia by her side, + Virginia holds the flag up + While we all take a ride. + CHORUS. + + Old Lincoln and his Congressmen, + With Seward by his side, + Put old Scott in the wagon, + Just for to take a ride. + McDowell was the driver, + To cross Bull Run he tried, + But there he left the wagon + For Beauregard to ride. + CHORUS. + + The invading tribe, called Yankees, + With Lincoln for their guide, + Tried to keep good old Kentucky, + From joining in the ride; + But she heeded not their entreaties,-- + She has come into the ring; + She wouldn't fight for a government, + Where cotton wasn't king. + CHORUS. + + Manassas was the battle-ground; + The field was fair and wide; + The Yankees thought they'd wipe us out, + And on to Richmond ride. + But when they met our "Dixie" boys, + Their danger they espied, + They wheeled about for Washington + And didn't wait to ride. + CHORUS. + + Brave Beauregard, God bless him! + Led legions in his stead, + While Johnson seized the colors, + And waved them o'er his head. + So rising generations, + With pleasure we will tell, + How bravely our Fisher, + And gallant Johnson fell. + CHORUS. + +_Raleigh Register._ + + + + +THE BAND IN THE PINES. + +By JOHN ESTEN COOKE. + + + O band in the pine wood, cease! + Cease with your splendid call! + The living are brave and noble, + But the dead were bravest of all! + + They throng in the martial summons, + The loud, triumphant strain; + And the dear, bright eyes of long-dead friends, + Come to the heart again. + + They come with the ringing bugle + And the deep drum's mellow roar-- + And the soul is faint with longing + For the hands we clasp no more! + + O band in the pine wood, cease! + Or the heart will melt in tears, + For the gallant eyes and the smiling lips, + And the voices of old years! + +_Southern Illustrated News._ + + + + +[Illustration: + + "Though fifteen summers scarce have shed + Their blossoms on thy brow."] + + +MY WARRIOR BOY. + +_Metropolitan Record._ + +Music by A. E. A. MUSE. + +[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass., owners of the copyright.] + + + Thou hast gone forth, my darling one, + To battle with the brave, + To strike in Freedom's sacred cause, + Or win an early grave; + With vet'rans grim, and stalwart men, + Thy pathway lieth now, + Though fifteen summers scarce have shed + Their blossoms on thy brow. + + My babe in years, my warrior boy! + O! if a mother's tears + Could call thee back to be my joy, + And still these anxious fears, + I'd dash the traitor drops away, + That would unnerve thy hand, + Now raised to strike in Freedom's cause, + For thy dear native land. + +[Illustration: + + "Come back to me my darling son, + And light my life again."] + + God speed thee on thy course, my boy, + Where'er thy pathway lie, + And guard thee when the leaden hail, + Shall thick around thee fly; + But when our sacred cause is won, + And peace again shall reign, + Come back to me, my darling son, + And light my life again. + + + + +THE REBEL BAND. + + + Old Eve she did the apple eat, + Old Eve she did the apple eat, + Old Eve she did the apple eat, + And smacked her lips and called it sweet. + + CHORUS.--Do you belong to the rebel band, + Fighting for your home. + + There was a time, the poets say, + There was a time, the poets say, + There was a time, the poets say, + When this world was washed away. + CHORUS. + + How old Noah built him an ark, + How old Noah built him an ark, + How old Noah built him an ark, + Of gopher wood and hickory bark. + CHORUS. + + The ark rested on Mount Ararat, + The ark rested on Mount Ararat, + The ark rested on Mount Ararat, + A mile and a half from Manassas' Gap. + CHORUS. + + The animals came in two by two, + The animals came in two by two, + The animals came in two by two, + The camamile and the kangaroo. + CHORUS. + + Now old Noah got very drunk, + Now old Noah got very drunk, + Now old Noah got very drunk, + And old Ham pulled him out of his bunk. + CHORUS. + + Old Noah got mad as he could be, + Old Noah got mad as he could be, + Old Noah got mad as he could be, + And sent old Ham to Afrikee. + CHORUS. + + + + +THE SOUTHERN SOLDIER BOY. + +Words by FATHER RYAN. + +Music by W. LUDDEN. + + + Young as the youngest who donned the gray, + True as the truest who wore it, + Brave as the bravest he marched away, + (Hot tears on the cheeks of his mother lay); + Triumphant waved our flag one day, + He fell in the front before it. + + CHORUS.--A grave in the wood with the grass o'ergrown, + A grave in the heart of his mother, + His clay in the one, lifeless and lone, + But his memory lives in the other. + + Firm as the firmest where duty led, + He hurried without a falter; + Bold as the boldest he fought and bled, + And the day was won--but the field was red; + And the blood of his fresh young heart was shed, + On his country's hallowed altar. + CHORUS. + + On the trampled breast of the battle plain, + Where the foremost ranks had wrestled, + The fairest form 'mid all the slain, + Like a child asleep he nestled. + + In the solemn of the woods that swept + The field where his comrades found him, + They buried him there--and strong men wept, + As in silence they gathered 'round him. + CHORUS. + + + + +THE CAVALIER'S GLEE. + +By CAPT. BLACKFORD, of General Stuart's Staff. + +_Air--"The Pirate's Glee."_ + + + Spur on! spur on! we love the bounding + Of barbs that bear us to the fray; + "The charge" our bugles now are sounding, + And our bold Stuart leads the way. + + CHORUS.--The path to honor lies before us + Our hated foeman gather fast; + At home bright eyes are sparkling for us, + And we'll defend them to the last. + + Spur on! spur on! we love the rushing + Of steeds that spurn the turf they tread; + We'll through the Northern ranks go crushing, + With our proud battle-flag o'erhead. + CHORUS. + + Spur on! spur on! we love the flashing + Of blades that battle to be free; + 'Tis for our sunny South they're clashing, + For household gods and liberty. + CHORUS. + + + + +SONG. + +_Air--"Faintly Flows the Falling River."_ + + + Here we bring a fragrant tribute, + To the bed where valor sleeps, + Though they missed the victor's triumph, + O'er their tomb a nation weeps, + Honor through all time be rendered, + To their proud, heroic names, + Fondly be their mem'ry cherished, + Bright their never-dying fame. + + Glowing in young manhood's beauty, + Sprang they at their country's call, + Made before the foeman's legions + 'Round our homes a living wall. + By disease's foul breath withered, + Ere had dawned the battle-day, + On the fever couch of anguish, + Thousands passed from earth away. + + Thousands, after deeds whose daring, + With their glory filled the land, + Fell before the flying foeman, + On the fields won by their hand. + Mourning o'er the fruitless struggle, + Bowed beneath the hand of God, + Come we weeping and yet proudly, + Now to deck this sacred sod. + + + + +WE CONQUER OR DIE. + +By JAMES PIERPONT, 1861. + +Permission of HENRI WEHRMAN. + + + The war drum is beating; prepare for the fight, + The stern bigot Northman exults in his might, + Gird on your bright weapons, your foeman is nigh, + And this be your watchword, "We conquer or die." + + The trumpet is sounding from mountain to shore, + Your swords and your lances must slumber no more. + Fling forth to the sunlight your banner on high, + Inscribed with the watchword, "We conquer or die." + + March on to the battlefield, there do or dare, + With shoulder to shoulder, all danger to share, + And let your proud watchword ring up to the sky, + Till the blue arch re-echoes, "We conquer or die." + + Press forward undaunted, no thought of retreat, + The enemy's host on the threshold to meet, + Strike firm, 'til the foemen before you shall fly, + Appalled by the watchword, "We conquer or die." + + Go forth in the pathway our forefathers trod; + We too fight for freedom, our Captain is God, + Their blood in our veins, with their honor we vie; + Their's too was the watchword, "We conquer or die." + + We strike for the South: mountains, valley and plain, + For the South we will conquer, again and again, + Her day of salvation and triumph is nigh, + Our's then be the watchword, "We conquer or die." + + + + +GOD WILL DEFEND THE RIGHT. + +Words and Music by a Lady of Richmond. + +[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass.] + + + Sons of the South arise, + Rise in your matchless might, + Your war-cry echo to the skies, + "God will defend the right." + Let-haughty tyrants know, + Our sunny land shall be + In spite of every foe, + Home of the brave and free. + + CHORUS.--Sons of the South arise, + Rise in your matchless might, + Your war-cry echo to the skies, + "God will defend the right." + + Our flag shall proudly stream, + Defiant of assault, + Bars of rainbows brightest beam, + And stars from Heaven's blue vault. + Thousands of true and brave, + Their hero lives may end, + O'er thousands that flag shall wave, + Thousands its folds defend. + CHORUS. + + No wrongs our breasts alarm, + No fears our hearts appal, + Unswerving justice nerves our arm, + We cannot conquered fall. + Think on our noble sires, + Immortal in renown, + Think on our altar-fires, + And strike the oppressor down! + CHORUS. + + With threats of horror dire, + The fierce invader comes; + We scorn his boasts, we scorn his ire, + Striking for hearths and homes. + Strike for our mothers now, + For daughters, sisters, wives, + Truly would each bestow, + Were it ten thousand lives. + CHORUS. + + + + +RICHMOND ON THE JAMES; + +OR, THE DYING TEXAS SOLDIER BOY. + +A Parody by ANNIE MARIE NEEBY. + + + A soldier boy from Texas lay gasping on the field, + When the battle's shock was over, and the foe was forced to yield; + He fell, a youthful hero, before the foeman's aims, + On a blood-red field near Richmond--near Richmond on the James. + + But one still stood beside him--his comrade in the fray-- + They had been friends together in boyhood's happy day; + And side by side had struggled on fields of blood and flames, + To part that eve at Richmond--near Richmond on the James. + + He said, "I charge thee, comrade, of the friends in days of yore, + Of the far, far distant dear ones that I shall see no more-- + Tho' scarce my lips can whisper their dear and well-known names, + To bear to them my blessing from Richmond on the James. + + "Bear to my brother this sword, and the badge upon my breast + To the young and gentle sister that I used to love the best; + But one lock from my forehead give the mother still that dreams + Of her soldier boy near Richmond--near Richmond on the James. + + "I wish that mother's arms were folded round me now, + That her gentle hand could linger, one moment on my brow, + But I know that she is praying where our blessed hearthlight gleams, + For her soldier boy's safe return from Richmond on the James. + + "And on my heart, dear comrade, lay close these auburn braids, + Of one that is the fairest of all our village maids; + We were to have been wedded, but death the bridegroom claims, + And she is far that loves me, from Richmond on the James. + + "O, does the pale face haunt her, dear friend, that looks on thee, + Or is she laughing, singing, in careless, girlish glee? + It may be she is joyous, and loves but joyous themes, + Nor dreams her love lies bleeding near Richmond on the James. + + "And tho' I know, dear comrade, thou'lt miss me for a while, + When their faces--all left to love thee--again on thee shall smile, + Again thou'lt be the foremost in all their youthful games, + But I shall lie near Richmond--near Richmond on the James." + + The land is fill'd with mourning from hall and cot left lone, + We miss the well-known faces that used to greet our own, + And long shall weep poor wives, mothers, and titled dames, + To hear the name of Richmond--of Richmond on the James. + + + + +RICHMOND IS A HARD ROAD TO TRAVEL. + +Dedicated to GEN'L A. E. BURNSIDE. + +[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass., owners of the copyright.] + + + Would you like to hear my song, I'm afraid it's rather long, + Of the famous "on to Richmond" double trouble; + Of the half a dozen trips, and half a dozen slips, + And the very latest bursting of the bubble? + 'Tis pretty hard to sing, and like a round, round ring, + 'Tis a dreadful knotty puzzle to unravel, + Though all the papers swore, when we touched Virginia's shore, + That Richmond was a hard road to travel. + + CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve, + For Richmond is a hard road to travel; + Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve, + For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe! + + First, McDowell, bold and gay, set forth the shortest way, + By Manassas, in the pleasant Summer weather, + But unfortunately ran on a Stonewall, foolish man, + And had a "rocky journey" altogether; + And he found it rather hard to ride o'er Beauregard, + And Johnston proved a deuce of a bother, + And 'twas clear, beyond a doubt, that he didn't like the route, + And a second time would have to try another. + + CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve, + For Manassas is a hard road to travel, + Manassas gave us fits, and Bull Run made us grieve, + For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe! + + Next came the Woolly-Horse,[12] with an overwhelming force, + To march down to Richmond by the Valley, + But he couldn't find the road, and his "onward movement" showed + His campaigning was a mere shilly-shally. + Then Commissary Banks, with his motley, foreign ranks, + Kicking up a great noise, fuss and flurry, + Lost the whole of his supplies, and with tears in his eyes, + From the Stonewall ran away in a hurry. + + CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve, + For the Valley is a hard road to travel, + The Valley wouldn't do, and we had all to leave, + For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe! + + Then the great Galena came, with her port-holes all aflame, + And the Monitor, that famous naval wonder, + But the guns at Drury's Bluff gave them speedily enough, + The loudest sort of reg'lar Rebel thunder. + The Galena was astonished and the Monitor admonished, + Our patent shot and shell were mocked at, + While the dreadful Naugatuck, by the hardest kind of luck, + Was knocked into an ugly cocked hat. + + CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve, + For James River is a hard road to travel, + The gun-boats gave it up in terror and despair, + For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I declare! + + Then McClellan followed soon, both with spade and balloon, + To try the Peninsular approaches, + But one and all agreed that his best rate of speed, + Was no faster than the slowest of "slow coaches." + Instead of easy ground, at Williamsburg he found + A Longstreet indeed, and nothing shorter, + And it put him in the dumps, that spades wasn't trumps, + And the Hills he couldn't level "as he orter." + + CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve, + For Longstreet is a hard road to travel, + Lay down the shovel and throw away the spade, + For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I'm afraid. + + Then said Lincoln unto Pope, "You can make the trip, I hope;" + "I will save the universal Yankee nation, + To make sure of no defeat, I'll leave no lines of retreat, + And issue a famous proclamation." + But that same dreaded Jackson, this fellow laid his whacks on, + And made him by compulsion, a seceder.[13] + And Pope took rapid flight from Manassas' second fight, + 'Twas his very last appearance as a leader. + + CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve, + For Stonewall is a hard road to travel, + Pope did his very best, but was evidently sold, + For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I'm told! + + Last of all the _brave_ Burnside, with his pontoon bridge, tried + A road no one had thought of before him, + With two hundred thousand men for the Rebel slaughter pen, + And the blessed Union flag waving o'er him, + But he met a fire like hell, of canister and shell, + That mowed his men down with great slaughter, + 'Twas a shocking sight to view, that second Waterloo, + And the river ran with more blood than water. + + CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve, + Rappahannock is a hard road to travel, + Burnside got in a trap, which caused him for to grieve, + For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe! + + We are very much perplexed to know who is the next + To command the new Richmond expedition, + For the Capital _must blaze_, and that in ninety days, + And Jeff and his men be sent to perdition. + We'll take the cursed town, and then we'll burn it down, + And plunder and hang each cursed rebel; + Yet the contraband was right when he told us they would fight, + "Oh! yes, massa, they fight like the devil." + + CHORUS.--Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve, + For Richmond is a hard road to travel; + Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve, + For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe! + + + + +THE SOUTHRON'S WATCHWORD. + +In Imitation of an English Song of the Crimean War. + +By M. F. BIGNEY, 1861. + +Music from S. GLOVER. + + + What shall the Southron's watchword be, + Fighting for us on land and sea? + Bearing our flag o'er the billow's foam, + Shedding his blood for his Southern home? + To bleed and conquer he's bravely gone; + Freedom and glory still urge him on. + Then shall the Southron's watchword be, + "The grave of the hero or victory!" + + What shall the Southron's watchword be, + Bearing the banner that proves him free? + Bravely he dashes amid the strife, + For home and country, for child and wife; + His aims are bright and his hopes are high; + His brave resolve is to do or die; + Then shall the Southron's watchword be, + "The grave of the hero or victory!" + + What shall the Southron's watchword be, + Fighting the battles of liberty? + Holy the light on his manly brow, + The victor's wreath or the cypress bough! + Such are the thoughts which the brave inspire, + Filling their souls with the soldier's fire; + Then shall the Southron's watchword be, + "The grave of the hero or victory!" + + + + +THERE'S LIFE IN THE OLD LAND YET. + +Words by JAMES B. RANDALL. + +Music by EDWARD O. EATON. + +[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass., owners of the copyright.] + + + By blue Patapsco's billowy dash, + The tyrant's war-shout comes, + Along with the cymbal's fitful clash, + And the roll of his sullen drums. + We hear it! we heed it, with vengeful thrills, + And we shall not forgive or forget-- + There's faith in the streams, there's hope in the hills, + "There's life in the Old Land yet!" + + Minions! we sleep, but we are not dead; + We are crushed, we are scourged, we are scarred-- + We crouch--'tis to welcome the triumph-tread + Of the peerless Beauregard. + Then woe to your vile, polluting horde, + When the Southern braves are met; + There's faith in the victor's stainless sword,-- + "There's life in the Old Land yet!" + + Bigots! ye quell not the valiant mind + With the clank of an iron chain; + The spirit of Freedom sings in the wind, + O'er Merryman, Thomas, and Kane; + And we--though we smite not--are not thralls, + We are piling a gory debt; + While down by McHenry's dungeon walls, + "There's life in the Old Land yet!" + + Our women have hung their harps away, + And they scowl on your brutal bands, + While the nimble poignard dares the day, + In their dear, defiant hands; + They will strip their tresses to string our bows, + Ere the Northern sun is set-- + There's faith in their unrelenting woes, + "There's life in the Old Land yet!" + + There's life, though it throbbeth in silent veins, + 'Tis vocal without noise; + It gushed o'er Manassas' solemn plains, + From the blood of the Maryland boys. + That blood shall cry aloud and rise + With an everlasting threat-- + By the death of the brave, by the God in the skies, + "There's life in the Old Land yet!" + +_New Orleans Delta_, Sept., 1861. + + + + +YOU ARE GOING TO THE WARS, WILLIE BOY! + +Words and Music by JOHN H. HEWITT. + + + You are going to the wars, Willie boy, Willie boy, + You are going to the wars far away, + To protect our rights and laws, Willie boy, Willie boy, + And the banner in the sun's golden ray; + With your uniform all new, + And your shining buttons, too, + You'll win the hearts of pretty girls, + But none like me so true. + Oh, won't you think of me, Willie boy, Willie boy; + Oh, won't you think of me when far away? + I'll often think of ye, Willie boy, Willie boy, + And ever for your life and glory pray. + + You'll be fighting for the right, Willie boy, Willie boy, + You'll be fighting for the right, and your home; + And you'll strike the blow with might, Willie boy, Willie boy, + 'Mid the thundering of cannon and of drum; + With an arm as true as steel, + You'll make the foeman feel, + The vengeance of a Southerner, + Too proud to cringe or kneel; + Oh, should you fall in strife, Willie boy, Willie boy, + Oh, should you fall in strife on the plain, + I'll pine away my life, Willie boy, Willie boy, + And never, never smile again. + + + + +MY MARYLAND. + +Written at Pointe Coupee, La., April 26, 1861. First published in the _New +Orleans Delta_. + +By JAMES R. RANDALL. + +[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass.] + + + The despot's heel is on thy shore, + Maryland! + His torch is at thy temple door, + Maryland! + Avenge the patriotic gore + That flecked the streets of Baltimore, + And be the battle queen of yore, + Maryland! My Maryland! + + Hark to an exiled son's appeal, + Maryland! + My Mother-State, to thee I kneel, + Maryland! + For life or death, for woe and weal, + Thy peerless chivalry reveal, + And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, + Maryland! My Maryland! + + Thou wilt not cower in the dust, + Maryland! + Thy beaming sword shall never rust, + Maryland! + Remember Carroll's sacred trust, + Remember Howard's warlike thrust, + And all thy slumberers with the just, + Maryland! My Maryland! + + Come! 'tis the red dawn of the day, + Maryland! + Come! with thy panoplied array, + Maryland! + With Ringgold's spirit for the fray, + With Watson's blood at Monterey, + With fearless Lowe, and dashing May, + Maryland! My Maryland! + + Come! for thy shield is bright and strong, + Maryland! + Come! for thy dalliance does thee wrong, + Maryland! + Come! to thine own heroic throng, + That stalks with Liberty along, + And ring thy dauntless slogan-song, + Maryland! My Maryland! + + Dear Mother! burst the tyrant's chain, + Maryland! + Virginia should not call in vain, + Maryland! + _She_ meets her sisters on the plain-- + "Sic semper," 'tis the proud refrain + That baffles minions back amain, + Maryland! + Arise, in majesty again, + Maryland! My Maryland! + + I see the blush upon thy cheek, + Maryland! + For thou wast ever bravely meek, + Maryland! + But lo! there surges forth a shriek + From hill to hill, from creek to creek-- + Potomac calls to Chesapeake, + Maryland! My Maryland! + + Thou wilt not yield the vandal toll, + Maryland! + Thou wilt not crook to his control, + Maryland! + Better the fire upon thee roll, + Better the shot, the blade, the bowl, + Than crucifixion of the soul, + Maryland! My Maryland! + + I hear the distant thunder hum, + Maryland! + The Old Line bugle, fife, and drum, + Maryland! + She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb-- + Huzzah! she spurns the Northern scum! + She breathes--she burns! she'll come! she'll come! + Maryland! My Maryland! + + + + +REBEL TOASTS; OR, DRINK IT DOWN! + + + Oh, here's to South Carolina! drink it down, + Here's to South Carolina, drink it down, + Here's to South Carolina, the first to open up the fray. + + CHORUS.--Drink it down, drink it down, + Drink it down, down, down. + + Oh, here's to Mississippi! drink it down, + Here's to Mississippi, drink it down, + Here's to Mississippi, for she gave old Abe the slip. + + Oh, here's to Alabama! drink it down, + Here's to Alabama--we'll fight for her banner. + + Oh, here's to Florida State, drink it down, + Here's to Florida--to Southern rights she'll ne'er say nay. + + Oh, here's to Georgia State--drink it down, + Here's to Georgia State--altho' she _is_ rather late. + + Oh, here's to Louisiana! drink it down, + Here's to Louisiana--how glorious is her banner. + + Oh, here's to gallant Texas! drink it down, + Here's to gallant Texas--the Yankees say "she vexes us." + + Oh, here's to brave Virginia! drink it down, + Here's to brave Virginia--she'll hold up the Confederacy. + + Oh, here's to Arkansas! drink it down, + Here's to Arkansas--for she'll break old Abram's jaw. + + Oh, here's to North Carolina! drink it down, + Here's to North Carolina--with a whoop and a hurrah. + + Oh, here's to Tennessee! drink it down, + Here's to Tennessee--for she's bound to be free. + + Oh, here's to brave Missouri! drink it down, + Here's to brave Missouri--whose sons will ne'er say die! + + Oh, here's to old Kentuck! drink it down, + Here's to old Kentuck--she yet may have the pluck. + + Oh, here's to Maryland! drink it down, + Here's to Maryland--bleeding beneath a tyrant's hand. + + Oh, here's to General Lee! drink it down, + Here's to General Lee--for he'll set the Rebels free! + + Oh, here's to Magruder! drink it down-- + Here's to our Magruder--the Yankees' great deluder. + + + + +THE GALLANT GIRL THAT SMOTE THE DASTARD TORY, OH! + +Dedicated to MISS SLIDELL. + +Words by KLUBS. + +Music by DUCIE DIAMONDS. + +[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass., owners of the copyright.] + + + Ho, gallants, brim the beaker bowl, + And click the festal glasses, oh! + The grape shall shed its sapphire soul, + To eulogize the lasses, oh! + And when ye pledge the lip and curl + Of loveliness and glory, oh! + Here's a bumper to the gallant girl + That smote the dastard Tory, oh! + + CHORUS.--A bumper, a thumper, + To loveliness and glory, oh! + A bumper to the gallant girl + That smote the dastard Tory, oh! + + Our boys are fighting East and West, + Our women do not linger, oh! + They take their diamonds from the breast, + Their rubies from the finger, oh! + They send their darlings to the war + Of honor and of glory, oh! + They've all the spirit of a man, + To smite a dastard Tory, oh! + CHORUS. + + + + +[Illustration: Jack Morgan.] + + +THREE CHEERS FOR OUR JACK MORGAN. + +By EUGENE RAYMOND. + + + The snow is in the cloud, and night is gathering o'er us. + The winds are piping loud and fan the blaze before us; + Then join the jovial band, and tune the vocal organ; + And with a will we'll all join in--three cheers for our Jack Morgan! + + CHORUS.--Gather round the camp-fire, our duty has been done, + Let's gather round the camp-fire, and have a little fun. + Let's gather round the camp-fire, our duty has been done, + 'Twas done upon the battle-field, three cheers for our Jack + Morgan! + + Jack Morgan is his name--the fearless and the lucky; + No dastard foe can tame the son of old Kentucky. + His heart is with his State, he fights for Southern freedom, + His men their General's word await--they'll go where he will lead 'em. + CHORUS. + + He swore to free his home--to burst her chains asunder, + With sound of trump and drum, and loud Confederate thunder; + And in the darksome night, by light of homesteads burning, + He'll put the skulking foe to flight, their hearts to wailings turning. + CHORUS. + + The dungeon dark and cold could not his body prison, + Nor tame a spirit bold that o'er reverse had risen. + Then sing the song of joy--our toast be lovely woman; + And Morgan, he's the gallant boy to plague the hated foeman! + +[Illustration: Mississippi Button.] + + + + +PRAY, MAIDEN, PRAY! + +A. W. KERCHEVAL. + +A. J. TURNER. + +To the patriotic women of the South. + + + Maiden, pray for thy lover now, + Thro' all this starry night, + Heaven prove auspicious to thy vow, + For with to-morrow's dawning light, + We meet the foe in deadly fight! + Pray, maiden, pray! + + Maiden, pray that the banner high + Advanced, our cross may wave; + And foeman's shot and steel defy! + In triumph floating o'er the brave, + Who strike for freedom or the grave; + Pray, maiden, pray! + + Maiden, pray for thy Southern land + Of streams and sunlit skies; + See thou her living greatness stand! + While in her hero-dust there lies, + Whatever glory verifies! + Pray, maiden, pray! + + Maiden, pray that your trumpet blast + And rocket's signal light, + But summon squadrons, thick and fast! + To win in our glorious fight + For Home, for Freedom, and the Right; + Pray, maiden, pray! + +1863. + + + + +THE SOLDIER'S SUIT OF GRAY. + +By MISS CARRIE BELL SINCLAIR. + + + I've seen some handsome uniforms deck'd off with buttons bright, + And some that are so very gay they almost blind the sight; + But of these handsome uniforms I will not sing to-day, + My song is to each soldier lad who wears a suit of gray! + + CHORUS.--Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! for Southern boys we say, + And God bless every soldier lad who wears a suit of gray! + + Brass buttons and gold lace I know are beautiful to view, + And then, to tell the honest truth, I own I like them, too; + Yet should a thousand officers come crowding round to-day, + I'd scorn them for a lad who wears a simple suit of gray. + CHORUS. + + God bless our Southern soldiers! for ev'ry one is dear, + And God defend each gallant form, no matter what they wear; + For each has acted well his part, yet still, in truth, I say, + The bravest of the brave are those who wear a suit of gray. + CHORUS. + + Tho' torn and faded be each coat, their buttons tarnish'd too, + I know beneath each soldier's dress a Southern heart beats true; + We honor ev'ry gallant son who fights for us to-day, + And heav'n protect the noble boys who wear the suit of gray. + CHORUS. + + They bravely strike for freedom, and on the battle-field, + They're the first to strike a blow, they are the last to yield; + At Richmond and Manassas who was it won the day? + It was our noble Southern boys, all clad in suits of gray. + CHORUS. + + God bless our Southern soldiers! for each we breathe a prayer, + And over ev'ry fallen son we shed a mourner's tear! + Oh, sacred be the grave of those who died so far away, + And honor'd be each one who sleeps clad in a suit of gray. + (Omit chorus.) + + 'Round ev'ry patriot soldier's brow the laurel wreath entwines, + And 'round the battle-flag they bear a ray of glory shines, + And when the foe is conquer'd, with pride we then will say, + "All honor to the noble boys who wore the suit of gray." + CHORUS. + + (A CHORUS, AFTER THE BATTLE OF FRANKLIN)-- + + You may talk about your Beauregard, and sing of General Lee, + But General Hood, of Texas, played hell in Tennessee. + + + + +SONG OF THE TEXAS RANGERS. + +By MRS. J. D. YOUNG. + +_Air--"The Yellow Rose of Texas."_ + + + The morning star is paling, the camp-fires flicker low, + Our steeds are madly neighing, for the bugle bids us go: + So put the foot in stirrup, and shake the bridle free, + For to-day the Texas Rangers must cross the Tennessee. + With Wharton for our leader, we'll chase the dastard foe, + 'Till our horses bathe their fetlocks in the deep blue Ohio. + + Our men come from the prairies rolling broad, proud and free, + From the high and craggy mountains to the murmuring Mexic' sea; + And their hearts are open as their plains; their tho'ts as proudly brave + As the bold cliffs of the San Bernard, or the Gulf's resistless wave. + Then, quick! into the saddle, and shake the bridle free, + To-day with gallant Wharton we cross the Tennessee. + + 'Tis joy to be a Ranger! to fight for dear Southland! + 'Tis joy to follow Wharton, with his gallant, trusty band! + 'Tis joy to see our Harrison plunge, like a meteor bright, + Into the thickest of the fray, and deal his deadly might, + Oh! who'd not be a Ranger, and follow Wharton's cry! + And battle for their country, and, if needs be, die? + + By the Colorado's waters, on the Gulf's deep murmuring shore, + On our soft, green, peaceful prairies, our home we may see no more, + But in those homes our gentle wives, and mothers with silvery hairs, + Are loving us with tender hearts, and shielding us with prayers. + So trusting in our country's God, we draw our stout good brand, + For those we love at home, our altars and our land. + + Up! up! with the crimson battle flag, let the blue pennon fly; + Our steeds are stamping proudly, they hear the battle cry! + The thundering bomb, the bugle's call, proclaim the foe is near: + We strike for God and native land, and all we hold most dear. + Then spring into the saddle, and shake the bridle free, + For Wharton leads, thro' fire and blood, for Home and Victory. + + + + +THE OFFICER'S FUNERAL. + + + Hark! 'tis the shrill trumpet calling, + It pierceth the soft summer air! + Tears from each comrade are falling, + For the widow and orphan are there: + Our bayonets earthward are turning, + And the drum's muffled breath rolls around, + But he hears not the voice of their mourning, + Nor awakes to the bugle's shrill sound. + + Sleep, soldier! tho' many regret thee, + Who stand by thy cold bier to-day, + Soon, soon shall the kindest forget thee, + And thy name from the earth pass away; + The man thou did'st love as a brother, + A friend in thy place will have gained; + Thy dog will keep watch for another, + And thy steed by a stranger be reined. + + But tho' many now weep for thee sadly, + Soon joyous as ever shall be; + Tho' thy bright orphan boy may laugh gladly + As he sits on some kind comrade's knee, + There is one who will still do her duty + Of tears for the true and the brave, + As when first in the bloom of her beauty, + She weeps o'er her brave soldier's grave! + + + + +THE SOLDIER'S DEATH. + +By A. B. CUNNINGHAM. + + + The night-cloud had lowered o'er Shiloh's red plain, + And the blast howled sadly o'er wounded and slain; + The lightning flashed vividly, fiercely and proud, + And glared thro' the mist of the smoke and the cloud; + The thunder pealed loudly from heaven's black sky, + Where litely the cannon had pealed the war-cry; + The last gun had been fired, and its moaning sound + Had died 'way in the distance, and echoed around. + + Where the fight had raged fiercest, near a deep ravine, + At the foot of a crag (a wild, thrilling scene), + A soldier lay there all ghastly and gory, + Who'd fall'n in the strife for freedom and glory! + His life-blood was pouring from out a deep gash + He'd received 'mid the battle's loud roar and fierce crash; + "O mother! O mother! I never thought this, + When but a mere child I received thy sweet kiss-- + + "That I'd die on a field all gory and red + With the blood of the wounded, the dying and dead, + With no friend or relation to cheer my dark way, + But the forms of dear comrades all lifeless as clay, + None to watch o'er me but the ghosts of the dead, + None to smooth down the death-pillow 'neath my poor head; + And sadly I think of my home in the South, + Where I roam'd a mere boy in the pride of my youth. + + "When I scaled the steep crag o'er the river's wild roar, + Or chased the fleet stag 'long the bright, sunny shore-- + When I bounded in pride o'er valley and hill-- + O memories, how sweet! ye haunt me now still. + But away with the thoughts of my joyous boyhood, + I'll face the grim monster death with calm fortitude: + Then, mother, farewell! farewell, dearest mother; + Farewell to my father, sisters and brother! + + "And when I am gone never utter a sigh, + But remember your Charlie reigns proudly on high!" + Then death flapp'd wildly his wings on the moor, + As his soul took its flight to a heavenly shore-- + The lightning flash'd fiercely, the howling winds surge, + The thunder pealed loudly the hero's wild dirge! + + + + +I REMEMBER THE HOUR WHEN SADLY WE PARTED. + +_Companion Song to "When this Cruel War is Over."_ + + + I remember the hour when sadly we parted, + The tears on your pale cheek glist'ning like dew, + When clasped in your arms almost broken-hearted, + I swore by the bright sky I'd ever be true, + True to the love that nothing could sever, + And true to the flag of my country forever. + + CHORUS.--Then weep not, love, oh! weep not, + Think not our hopes are vain, + For when this fatal war is over, + We will surely meet again. + + Oh, let not, my own love, the summer winds winging + Their sweet-laden zephyrs o'er land and o'er sea, + Bring aught to your heart with the autumn birds singing, + But hopes for the future and bright dreams of me; + For while in your pure heart my mem'ry you're keeping, + I ne'er can be lonely while waking or sleeping. + CHORUS. + + But if, while the loud shouts of vict'ry are ringing, + O'er the land that foul traitors have caught to betray, + You hear o'er the voices so joyfully singing, + That he who so loved you has fallen in the fray, + Oh think that he's gone where there's dark treason never, + Where tears and sad partings are banished forever. + CHORUS. + + + + +OUR FLAG; OR, THE ORIGIN OF THE STARS AND BARS.[14] + +Words and Music by HARRY MCCARTHY. + +[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass., owners of the copyright.] + + + Young stranger, what land claims thy birth? + For thy flag is but new to the sea, + And where is the nation on earth, + That the right of this flag gives to thee; + Thy banner reminds us of one + By the Champions of Freedom unfurled, + And the proudest of nations have owned, + 'Twas a glory and pride to the world; + That flag was the "Stripes and Stars," + And the colors of thine are the same, + But thou hast the "Stars and the Bars," + Oh, stranger, pray tell us thy name. + + That flag, with its garland of fame, + Proudly waved o'er my father and me, + And my grandsires died to proclaim + It the flag of the brave and the free; + But alas! for the flag of my youth; + I have sighed and dropped my last tear, + For the North has forgotten her truth, + And would tread on the rights we hold dear; + They envied the South her bright Stars, + Her glory, her honor, her fame, + So we unfurled the "Stars and the Bars" + And the Confederate Flag is its name. + + And her bright colors shone forth, + All glorious in fair Freedom's light, + We swore to remember their birth, + And in her honor forever to fight; + So woe to the foeman who'll dare, + Our Southern soil to invade, + For bless'd by the smiles of the fair, + And in right's powerful armor arrayed; + We'll strike for our Southern stars, + Our honor, our glory, our fame, + We'll strike for the "Stars and the Bars," + For the Confederate Flag is its name. + + + + +THE NAVASOTA VOLUNTEERS. + +By WM. NEELY, of Durant's Cavalry. + +_Air--"Susanna, Don't you Cry."_ + + + We're the Navasota volunteers, our county is named Grimes; + Oh, come along, my conscript boys, we can't leave you behind; + Jeff Davis is our President, and Stephens is the Vice-- + At the head of our armies are Lee, Beauregard and Price. + + We have other officers and generals in command, + To lead our gallant forces on, and give the right command; + Good old Magruder's our choice, and will help the Yankees roast; + So come and go along with us, and help defend the coast. + + O come along, my jolly boys, and help us all to fight-- + To go against old Uncle Abe I know that we are right; + So come along, my countrymen, and with us take your stand; + With help of God, we'll whip old Abe, and all his Yankee band. + + Come volunteer, my brave, brave boys, and help to fight it out; + We can whip the Abolitionists, without a single doubt; + We are volunteers of Texas--we are the very chaps, + To whip the Abolitionists, and stop their "nutmeg" traps. + + Come volunteer, my Texas boys, altho' you are forty-six-- + We'll whip old Abe and Buell, with all their Yankee tricks; + Their armies are invading us, and this we cannot stand, + We must whip them back to Yankeedom, O come and take a hand. + + Come, all of you brave Southerners, and join our common cause, + To go against old Lincoln and all his Yankee boys; + If we find them on the hills, or find them in their ditches, + If you go along with us we'll whip them out their "britches." + + Now, there is our good doctor, with his powder and his pills, + Who is willing to go with us and cure us of our ills; + There are some of our countrymen, whose names I will not tell, + Who say they cannot volunteer, "for they are not very well!" + + There is the officeseeker! altho' not very noted, + He would go along with us if he could only be promoted! + There is the little lawyer! who is of no great note, + He will not go along with us unless we will promote! + + Now, there is the merchant! with his all in his hand, + Who'll sell unto his customers at the highest price he can; + If you say to the merchant, when you go in to trade, + "I cannot stand your price," he'll holler out "Blockade!" + + And then there's the yearling thief, that ought to go to battle; + The country would be better off rid of all such cattle; + And there's the rich planters, with their negroes and their lands, + They will not go along with us to fight old Lincoln's bands. + + They remind me of a tale, perhaps you've heard yourself: + While a woman fought a bear her husband hid himself; + The battle was fought, and the good old lady won it-- + Old man then came crawling out--"Old woman, hain't we done it!" + + There are speculating parsons, who wish their country well-- + And they will warn poor sinners of going down to hell; + They cannot go along with us, they do not wish to fight, + They'll stay at home to prey on us, that all may come out right. + + Now unto all such fellows be everlasting shame; + And all our honest countrymen will surely them disdain; + Come, all ye Texas ladies, now listen to my song, + And do not marry any man that will not go along. + + To defend the coast of Texas we all feel now inclined; + To leave our wives and little ones in the care of those behind; + We hope that they'll prove faithful, and to their wants attend, + And see that they're provided for while we the land defend. + + Farewell! my friends and neighbors, we bid you all adieu. + Farewell to wife and children! we now must part with you! + O God! in mercy bless us! sustain us by Thy grace! + And grant we all may meet again our lov'd ones to embrace! + + + + +[Illustration: + + "For I know there is no other, + E'er can be so dear to me."] + + +THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. + +Composed by FR. SULZNER. + +Permission of HENRI WEHRMANN, New Orleans, La. + + + I am dreaming of thee, + Dearest, I am dreaming still of thee, + For thy spirit haunts me ever, + Like some fairy melody; + When in loneliness I wander, + Or in haunts of mirth and glee, + Still my heart to thine is turning, + I am dreaming still of thee. + + When the stars are softly smiling, + Thro' the lone and silent night, + Then I think of thee and heaven, + With a holy, calm delight; + For thy spirit is so radiant + In its love and purity, + That whene'er I dream of angels, + I am dreaming still of thee. + + There are hours when dreary shadows, + Cast their gloom upon my heart, + When I think how well I love thee, + When I feel that we must part; + For I know there is no other, + E'er can be so dear to me, + And whene'er of love I'm dreaming, + I am dreaming still of thee. + + I am dreaming of thee, dearest, + Still I dream of thee alone; + We shall meet again in heaven, + There our spirits shall be one; + For the earth when thou wert near me, + Was a paradise to me, + And whene'er I dream of heaven, + I am dreaming still of thee. + +[Illustration: + + "When the stars are softly smiling + * * * * + Then I think of thee and heaven."] + + + + +BY THE BANKS OF RED RIVER. + +Words by E. E. KIDD. + +Music by LA HACHE. + + + Oh, gone is the soul from his wondrous dark eye, + And gone is her life's dearest glory. + The tales of fond lovers unheeded pass by, + Her heart hears a single sad story, + How her gallant young hero fell asleep, and will never + Awake from his dream by the banks of Red River. + + CHORUS.--How her gallant young hero fell asleep, and will never + Awake from his dream by the banks of Red River. + + How oft to the window she rushes to wait, + As though she expected his coming; + She lists, ah! she hears him swing open the gate, + And the song he was wont to be humming; + But she turns, ah! she feels he's asleep and will never + Awake from his dream by the banks of Red River. + CHORUS. + + Ah, many a sun will awaken the morn, + All dressed in its radiant glory, + Ere the heart of the maiden shall ever be torn + From the woe of his sorrowful story, + For it bent--it has broke. Oh! God it will never + Arise from that grave by the banks of Red River. + CHORUS. + + + + +THE OFFICERS OF DIXIE. + +By A GROWLER. + + + Let me whisper in your ear, sir, + Something that the South should hear, sir, + Of the war, of the war, of the war in Dixie; + A growing curse--a "burning shame," sir, + In the chorus I will name, sir, + Of the war, of the war, of the war in Dixie. + + CHORUS.--The officers of Dixie alone, alone! + The honors share, the honors wear + Throughout the land of Dixie! + 'Tis so, 'tis so, throughout the land of Dixie. + + Swelling 'round with gold lace plenty, + See the gay "brass button" gentry; + Solomon in all his splendors + Was scarce arrayed like these "defenders." + CHORUS. + + In cities, sir, it is alarming + To see them 'round the hotel swarming; + And at each little "one-horse town," sir, + See the "birds" how they "fly 'round," sir. + CHORUS. + + On the steamboat, in the cars, sir, + Deep respect is shown the "bars," sir. + And if a "star" or two is spotted, + See how "the elephant" is courted. + CHORUS. + + Should a grand soiree be given, + The "braided lions" take the even. + No, no! the privates are not slighted! + They can't expect to be invited! + CHORUS. + + The ladies! bless the darling creatures! + Quite distort their pretty features, + And say (I know you've seen it done, sir), + "They'll have an officer or none," sir. + CHORUS. + + And if when death-shots round us rattle, + An officer is kill'd in battle-- + How the martyr is lamented! + (This is right--we've not dissented). + CHORUS. + + But only speak of it to show, sir, + Privates are not honor'd so, sir. + No muffled drum, no wreath of glory, + If one dies, proclaims the story. + CHORUS. + + In Dixie's land, in every way, sir, + "Fuss and feathers" "win the day," sir, + For with all sexes, sizes, ages, + How the "gold lace fever" rages! + CHORUS. + + List the moral of my song, sir; + In Dixie there is something wrong, sir. + As all that glitters is not gold, sir, + Read and ponder what I've told, sir. + CHORUS. + + + + +THE SENTINEL'S DREAM OF HOME. + +By COL. A. M. HOBBY. + + + 'Tis dead of night, nor voice, nor sound, breaks on the stillness of the + air, + The waning moon goes coldly down on frozen fields and forests bare: + The solemn stars are glittering high, while here my lonely watch I keep, + To guard the brave with anxious eye, who sweetly dream and sweetly sleep. + + Perchance of home these sleepers dream, of sainted ones no longer here, + Whose mystic forms low bend unseen, and breathe soft whispers in their + ear: + Sleep on, sleep on, my comrades brave, quaff deep to-night of pleasure's + cup, + Ere morning's crimson banners wave, and reveille shall rouse thee up. + + The sporting winds and waves to-night seem tired of their boisterous + play, + And armed ships, with signal lights and bristling guns before me lay: + But not of ships nor battle-fields, with clash of arms and roll of + drums-- + To softer scenes my spirit yields--to-night a sweeter vision comes. + + It is thine own beloved one! whose kiss I feel, whose smile I see; + O God! protect that wife at home, begirt with growing infancy: + To-night, to-night I'm with you there, around my knees fond children + gather! + And climb, the envied kiss to share, amidst the sounds of "Husband! + Father!" + + Such thoughts my eyes with moisture fill, my bosom heaves, my pulses + start; + Close down I'll press my gun to still the wild emotions of my heart: + Hush! pleading one--I cannot stay! the spoiler comes with fiendish + wrath-- + Black ruin marks his bloody way, and blazing homes have lit his path. + + "Go, husband, go! God nerve thy blows--their footsteps foul blot from + our shore-- + Strike! 'till our land is free from foes whose hands are stained with + Southern gore; + Strike! husband, strike--I'd rather weep, the widow of a patriot brave, + Than lay my heart (I'd scorn to sleep) beside a subjugated slave." + + Thy woman's soul is true and grand! the battle-field my home shall be, + Until our country'll proudly stand acknowledged as a nation free; + 'Till then, oh, welcome fields of strife, the victor's shout, the + vanquished cry, + Where ebbs the crimson stream of life, where quick and dead together lie. + + 'Mid bursting shell and squadron's dash, where broken ranks disorder'd + fly, + Where angry cannon's flash on flash paints hell upon the lurid sky, + Where many a brave shall sink to rest, and fondly cherish'd hopes will + set, + And blood that warms the manly heart, will dim the glittering bayonet. + + When these are past, and victory's sun in undimm'd splendor lights the + skies, + And peace, by dauntless valor won, and proudly free our banner flies, + Then to my Western prairie home, with eager haste, each nerve shall + strain, + Nor from its hallow'd precincts roam, unless my country call again. + + There unalloy'd shall be our bliss; we'll watch the sun give morning + birth, + And, sinking, leave his parting kiss upon the dewy lips of earth. + + * * * * * + + The moon has waxed and waned away; the morning star rides pale and high-- + Fond dreams of home no longer stay, but fade like stars on mornings sky. + +GALVESTON, TEXAS, Feb. 1, 1864. + + + + +CAMP DOUGLAS BY THE LAKE. + +A PRISON SONG. + +_Air--"Cottage by the Sea."_ + + + Childhood's days have long since faded, + Youth's bright dreams like lights gone out, + Distant homes and hearths are shaded, + With the future's dread and doubt. + + CHORUS.--Here, old Michigan before us, + Moaning waves that ever break, + Chanting still the one sad chorus, + At Camp Douglas by the Lake. (Repeat.) + + Exiles from our homes, we sorrow + O'er the present's darkening gloom; + Will we know that with the morrow, + We'll wake to feel the same hard doom. + CHORUS. + + Oh, for one short hour of gladness, + One hour of hope, this pain to break, + And chase away the heavy sadness, + At Camp Douglas by the Lake. + CHORUS. + + I would some Southern bird was singing, + Warbling richest, softest lays, + Back to eager memory bringing, + Sweetest thoughts of happy days. + CHORUS. + + I dread the night's uneasy slumber; + Hate the day that bids me wake, + Another of that dreary number, + At Camp Douglas by the Lake. + CHORUS. + + Never Sabbath bells are tolling, + Never words of cheer and love; + Wintry waves are round us rolling, + Clouds are hiding heaven above. + CHORUS. + + Dixie Land! still turn toward you, + Hearts that now in bondage ache, + Hearts that once were strong to guard you, + Wasting here beside the lake. + + REFRAIN.--John Morgan crossed the river, + And I went across with him. + I was captured in Ohio, + Because I could not swim. + + + + +MISSOURI. + +Words and music by HARRY MCCARTHY. + +Sung by Harry McCarthy throughout the Confederate States in his +Personation Concerts. + +[The music of this song can be obtained of Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass.] + + + Missouri! Missouri! bright land of the West, + Where the wayworn emigrant always found rest, + Who gave to the farmer reward for the toil + Expended in breaking and turning the soil; + Awake to the notes of the bugle and drum! + Awake from your peace, for the tyrant hath come; + And swear by your honor that your chains shall be riven, + And add your bright star to our Flag of Eleven. + + They'd force you to join in their unholy fight, + With fire and with sword, with power and with might, + 'Gainst fathers and brothers, and kindred near, + 'Gainst women and children, all you hold dear; + They've o'errun your soil, insulted your press; + Murdered your citizens, shown no redress; + So swear by your honor that your chains shall be riven, + And add your bright star to our Flag of Eleven. + + Missouri! Missouri! where is thy proud fame? + Free land of the West, thy once cherished name + Trod in the dust by a tyrant's command, + Proclaiming there's martial law in the land, + Men of Missouri! strike without fear! + McCulloch, Jackson, and brave men are near; + So swear by your honor that your chains shall be riven, + And add your bright star to our Flag of Eleven. + + + + +OH, NO! HE'LL NOT NEED THEM AGAIN![15] + + + Oh, no! no! he'll not need them again-- + No more will he wake to behold, + The splendor and fame of his men-- + The tale of his victories told! + No more will he wake from that sleep, + Which he sleeps in his glory and fame, + While his comrades are left here to weep + Over Cleburne! his grave and his name. + + Oh, no; he'll not meet them again, + No more will his banner be spread + O'er the field of his gallantry's fame; + The soldier's proud spirit is fled! + The soldier who rose 'mid applause, + From the humblemost place in the van-- + I sing not in praise of the cause, + But rather in praise of the man. + + Oh, no; he'll not need them again, + He has fought his last battle without them, + For barefoot he, too, must go in, + While barefoot stood comrades about him; + And barefoot they proudly marched on, + With blood flowing fast from their feet; + They thought of the past victories won, + And the foes that they now were to meet. + + Oh, no; he'll not need them again, + He is leading his men to the charge, + Unheeding the shells or the slain, + Or the showers of the bullets at large. + On the right, on the left, on the flanks, + He dashingly pushes his way, + While with cheers, double quick and in ranks, + His soldiers all followed that day. + + Oh, no; he'll not need them again, + He falls from his horse to the ground! + O anguish! O sorrow! O pain! + In the brave hearts that gathered around; + He breathes not of grief, nor a sigh + On the breast where he pillowed his head, + Ere he fix'd his last gaze upon high-- + "I'm killed, boys, but fight it out!" said. + + Oh, no; he'll not need them again, + But treasure them up for his sake; + And oh, should you sing a refrain, + Of the memories they still must awake, + Sing it soft as the summer-eve breeze, + Let it sound as refreshing and clear; + Tho' grief-born there's that which can please, + In thoughts that are gemmed with a tear. + + + + +IN MEMORIAM. + +Lieut. Sidney A. Sherman,[16] who fell at the Battle of Galveston, January +1, 1863. + +By MISS MOLLIE E. MOORE. + + + Pillow his head on his flashing sword, + Who fell ere the fight was won, + The turf looks red where his life was poured-- + He fell beside his gun! + + He died with the gleam in his youthful eye, + The fire in his gallant breast, + The light was shadowed but could not die, + That glisten'd upon his breast! + + For Liberty claimed his parting breath, + And Fame his last trumpet cry: + Yes, Freedom hath torn his young name from Death-- + The brave can never die! + + His young breast met, like an ocean rock, + The clash of the battle-storm; + His proud soul smiled at the tempest shock, + That thundered around his form. + + But his life grew faint when the storm raged high, + And ebbed with the dawning sun, + And there on the field of victory + He fell beside his gun! + + From the gallant throng there is missed a crest, + A sword from the ranks of steel, + A hand from the gun whose mad unrest, + Hath made our foemen reel. + + A blithe young voice from the mellow strain, + That floated at evenfall; + A voice from the camp-song's high refrain, + A step in his father's hall: + + In his father's hall--where his mother's eye, + Late hung with a gleam of joy, + On the proud young form, as the hopes beat high + In the breast of her soldier boy. + + And the dashing sound of the distant sea, + With the wail in its troubled breast, + To the hearts 'round that clouded hearth will be, + But an echo of their unrest! + + But pillow his head on his flashing sword, + Whose Fame on the field was won-- + The strife raged high where his blood was poured-- + And--he fell beside his gun! + + Oh, circle the banner around his form, + That he loved with a soldier's pride, + For it shone like a star thro' the battle storm, + O'er the field where our hero died! + + He went from the red field down to the grave, + He fell where his fame was won, + And his own fair State hath a name for the brave, + And a song for her martyred son! + + Yes, Liberty shrined his parting breath, + And Texas his fainting cry-- + Yes, Fame hath torn his young name from death, + The brave can never die! + + Then pillow his head on his flashing sword, + Who fell where the field was won; + The turf is red where his life was poured-- + He fell beside his gun! + +TYLER, TEXAS, 1863. + + + + +YANKEE VANDALS. + +_Air--"Gay and Happy."_ + + + The Northern Abolition vandals, + Who have come to free the slave, + Will meet their doom in "Old Virginny," + Where they all will get a grave. + + CHORUS--So let the Yankees say what they will, + We'll love and fight for Dixie still, + Love and fight for, love and fight for, + We'll love and fight for Dixie still. + + When the Hessian horde is driven, + O'er Potomac's classic flood, + The pulse of a new-born freedom, + Then will stir old Maryland's blood. + CHORUS. + + Then we'll crown our warrior chieftains + Who have led us in the fight, + And have brought the South in triumph, + Through dread danger's troubled night. + CHORUS. + + And the brave who nobly perished, + Struggling in the bloody fray; + We'll wear a wreath of fadeless laurel + For their glorious memory. + CHORUS. + + O'er their graves the Southern maidens, + From sea-shore to mountain grot, + We'll plant the smiling rose of beauty + And the sweet forget-me-not. + CHORUS. + + + + +RIDING A RAID. + +_Air--"Bonny Dundee."_ + + + 'Tis old Stonewall, the rebel, that leans on his sword, + And, while we are mounting, prays low to the Lord; + Now each cavalier who loves honor and right, + Let him follow the feather of Stuart to-night. + + CHORUS--Come, tighten your girths and slacken your rein; + Come, buckle your blanket and holster again; + Try the click of your trigger and balance your blade, + For he must ride _sure_ who goes riding a raid. + + Now gallop, now gallop, to swim or to ford; + Old Stonewall, still watching, prays low to the Lord. + Good-by, dear old rebel; the river's not wide, + And Maryland's lights in the windows do shine. + CHORUS. + + Then gallop, then gallop, by ravine and rocks, + Who would bar up the way takes his toll in hard knocks; + For with these points of steel up the lines of old Penn, + We have made some fine strokes and will make 'em again. + CHORUS. + +[Illustration: "Then gallop, by ravine and rocks."] + + + + +THE TOAST OF MORGAN'S MEN. + +By CAPT. THORPE, Kentucky. + + + Unclaimed by the land that bore us, + Lost in the land we find + The brave have gone before us, + Cowards are left behind! + Then stand to your glasses, steady, + Here's a health to those we prize, + Here's a toast to the dead already, + And here's to the next who dies. + + + + +TRUE HEART SOUTHRONS. + +_Air--"Blue Bonnets over the Border."_ + + + For trumpet and drum, leave the soft voice of maiden; + For the tramp of armed men, leave the maze of the dance; + One kiss on the lips, with words of love laden-- + One look in dimm'd eyes--then the rifle and lance. + + CHORUS.--March, march, true heart Southrons, + Fall into ranks and march in good order,-- + Escambia shall many a day tell of the fierce affray, + When we drove the base Northmen far over our border + + Do ye weep, ye fair flowers, our hearth-stones that brighten? + For every tear shed shall fall ten foemen's lives; + Far in the cold North their hosts we will frighten, + As we strike for our "Homes, our sweethearts, and wives." + CHORUS. + + + + +THE SOLDIER'S AMEN. + + + As a couple of good soldiers were walking one day, + Said one to the other: "Let's kneel down and pray! + I'll pray for the war, and good of all men: + And whatever I pray for, do you say 'Amen!'" + + "We'll pray for the generals and all of their crew, + Likewise for the captains and lieutenants too; + May good luck and good fortune them always attend! + And return safely home;" said the soldier, "Amen!" + + "We'll pray for the privates, the noblest of all; + They do all the work and get no glory at all; + May good luck and good fortune them always attend, + And return crowned with laurels!" said the soldier, "Amen!" + + "We'll pray for the pretty boys who want themselves wives, + And have not the courage to strike for themselves; + May bad luck and bad fortune them always attend! + And go down to Old Harry!" said the soldier, "Amen!" + + "We'll pray for the pretty girls, who make us good wives, + And always look at a soldier with tears in their eyes; + May good luck and good fortune them always attend! + And brave gallants for sweethearts!" said the soldier, "Amen!" + + "We'll pray for the conscript, with frown on his brow, + To fight for his country he won't take the vow; + May bad luck and bad fortune him always attend; + And die with dishonor!" said the soldier, "Amen!" + + + + +HERE'S YOUR MULE. + + + A farmer came to camp, one day, with milk and eggs to sell, + Upon a mule who oft would stray to where no one could tell, + The farmer, tired of his tramp, for hours was made a fool + By ev'ryone he met in camp, with, "Mister, here's your mule." + + CHORUS.--Come on, come on, come on, old man, and don't be made a fool, + I'll tell the truth as best I can, + John Morgan's got your mule. + + His eggs and chickens all were gone before the break of day, + The mule was heard of all along--that's what the soldiers say; + And still he hunted all day long--alas! the witless fool-- + While ev'ry man would sing the song, "Mister, here's your mule." + CHORUS. + + The soldiers now, in laughing mood, on mischief were intent, + They toted muly on their backs, around from tent to tent; + Through this hole and that they pushed his head, and made a rule + To shout with humorous voices all, "Mister, here's your mule." + CHORUS. + + Alas! one day the mule was missed, ah! who could tell his fate? + The farmer, like a man bereft, searched early and searched late; + And as he passed from camp to camp, with stricken face, the fool + Cried out to ev'ryone he met, "Oh, Mister, where's my mule?" + CHORUS. + + + + +SABINE PASS. + +Dedicated to the Davis Guards--(The Living and the Dead). + +By MRS. M. J. YOUNG. + + + Sabine Pass! in letters of gold, + Seem written upon the sky to-day, + Sabine Pass! with rhythmic feet, + Comes passionately stepping down my lay. + + Sabine Pass! and the white sail ships, + With their cruel cannons' grinning teeth, + Tearing in shreds the sullen smoke, + That seem'd weaving for us a winding sheet. + + Sabine Pass! with its Irish hearts, + As true as the blessings the Shamrock brings, + Hearts as full of royal blood + As that which nerves the arms of kings. + + Few, ah! few were the Davis band, + "We cannot conquer, but we can die!" + Said the dauntless Dowling, as up he sprang, + And nailed the starry cross on high. + + Twenty-seven ships in pomp and pride, + Came sailing through the Pass that day; + Go ask of any Texan child, + How many ships survived the fray. + + The God of battle, who loves the brave, + Who gave to Gideon of old the fight, + Sent victory down that "Guard" to save, + And crowned them with immortal light. + + Dark storms have since o'erswept our land, + And tyrants do our souls harass, + But glory shines on Dowling's band, + The forty-two heroes of the Pass. + + Come, fill your glass with Texas wine, + Wine that is generous, red and free, + And drink with me to the knightliest man, + Who conquered the foe on land and sea. + + But tears, rough, manly tears, for the dead, + Like dews of night bedim the glass, + With throbbing hearts and lifted hands, + We name him--"Dowling! of the Pass." + +HOUSTON, TEXAS. + + + + +SHORT RATIONS; OR, THE CORN-FED ARMY. + + + Fair ladies and maids of all ages, + Little girls and cadets howe'er youthful, + Home-guards, quartermasters and sages, + Who write for the newspapers so truthful! + Clerks, surgeons, and supes--legislators, + Staff officers, (fops of the Nation,) + And even you, dear speculators, + Come list to my song of starvation! + + CHORUS.--For we soldiers have seen something rougher + Than a storm, a retreat, or a fight, + And the body may toil on, and suffer + With a smile, so the heart is all right! + + Our bugles had roused up the camp, + The heavens looked dismal and dirty, + And the earth looked unpleasant and damp, + As a beau on the wrong side of thirty; + We were taking these troubles with quiet, + When we heard from the mouths of some rash ones, + That the army was all put on diet, + And the Board had diminish'd our rations! + CHORUS. + + Reduce our rations at all? + It was difficult, yet it was done-- + We had one meal a day--it was small-- + Are we now, Oh, ye gods! to have none? + Oh, ye gentlemen issuing rations, + Give at least half her own to the State, + Put a curb on your maddening passions, + And, commissaries--commiserate! + CHORUS. + + Tell me not of the Lacedaemonian, + Of his black broth and savage demeanor, + We keep up a fare less Plutonian, + Yet I'd swear our corn coffee is meaner! + Tell me nothing of ancients and strangers, + For, on seeing our Southern-bred Catos, + I have laugh'd at old Marion's Rangers, + Who feasted on roasted potatoes! + CHORUS. + + Erewhile we had chicken and roasters, + For the fowls and pigs were ferocious, + We would send them to shoot Pater Nosters, + And the deed was not stamped as atrocious; + But since we have been shot for the same, + We parch corn--it is healthier, but tougher-- + The chickens and pigs have got tame, + But the horses and mules have to suffer. + CHORUS. + + But the "corn-fed" is proof to all evils, + Has a joke for all hardships and troubles, + In honor and glory he revels, + Other fancies he looks on as bubbles! + He is bound to be free, and he knows it, + Then what cares he for toil and privation! + He is brave, and in battle he shows it, + And will conquer in spite of starvation! + CHORUS. + + + + +THE SOLDIER'S FAREWELL. + +_Air--"Rosin the Bow."_ + + + Hark! the tocsin is sounding, my comrades; + Bind your knapsacks--away let us go, + Where the flag of the freeman is waving-- + March to vanquish the ruffian foe! + + CHORUS.--Ho for Liberty! Freedom or death, boys, + That's the watchword, away let us go + To the sound of the drum and the bugle, + March to vanquish the ruffian foe![17] + + Farewell to the scenes of my childhood, + To my mother, who's praying for me; + She would weep if the son of her bosom + From the face of a foeman should flee. + + Farewell to the home and the hearthstone, + Where my sisters are weeping for me; + Oh; the foot of the spoilers shall never, + Stain the home of the brave and the free. + + Adieu, thou beloved of my bosom! + For thy soldier-love shed not a tear; + But beseech the great Lord of the battle, + To protect him and all he holds dear. + + Adieu, honored father! who taught me, + For the rights of a freeman to stand-- + To resist, when his rod, the aggressor, + Shakes in wrath o'er my dear native land. + + Oh, my country, thou home of my loved ones! + You, the tyrant would seek to enslave-- + Sweep you off from the face of creation, + Wake, freemen, our country to save! + + Hear the threats of that ruthless banditti, + Who for "booty" and "beauty" would fight; + Shall they sweep our loved South from creation? + No! her sons will arise in their might! + + "Sweep the South from the face of the earth!" boys? + We can sweep, too, O land of our birth! + For our homes and our altars and dear ones, + We the ruffians can sweep from the earth. + + Adieu to the church, where the Christian + For the soldier and Sabbath will pray; + But the Bible and chaplain go with us, + And Jehovah, our God, is our stay! + + When the old British lion oppressed us, + He with Washington went to the field; + Unto Him we will look in the battle, + And will strike 'til the enemy yield! + + + + +THE BATTLE OF SHILOH HILL. + +By M. B. SMITH, of Co. C., Second Regiment Texas Volunteers. + +_Air--"Wandering Sailor."_ + + + Come, all ye valiant soldiers, and a story I will tell, + It is of a noted battle you all remember well; + It was an awful strife, and will cause your blood to chill, + It was the famous battle that was fought on Shiloh Hill! + + It was the sixth of April, just at the break of day, + The drums and fifes were playing for us to march away; + The feeling of that hour I do remember still, + For the wounded and the dying that lay on Shiloh Hill. + + About the hour of sunrise the battle it began, + And before the day had vanished we fought them hand to hand; + The horrors of the field did my heart with anguish fill, + For the wounded and the dying that lay on Shiloh Hill. + + There were men of every nation laid on those rocky plains, + Fathers, sons and brothers were numbered with the slain, + That has caused so many homes with deep mourning to be filled, + All from the bloody battle that was fought on Shiloh Hill. + + The wounded men were crying for help from everywhere, + While others, who were dying, were offering God their prayer: + "Protect my wife and children, if it is Thy holy will!" + Such were the prayers I heard that night on Shiloh Hill. + + And early the next morning, we were called to arms again, + Unmindful of the wounded and unmindful of the slain, + The struggle was renewed, and ten thousand men were killed; + This was the second conflict of the famous Shiloh Hill. + + The battle it raged on, though dead and dying men, + Lay thick all o'er the ground, on the hill and in the glen, + And from their deadly wounds their blood ran like a rill; + Such were the mournful sights that I saw on Shiloh Hill. + + Before the day was ended the battle ceased to roar, + And thousands of brave soldiers had fall'n to rise no more; + They left their vacant ranks for some other ones to fill, + And now their mouldering bodies all lie on Shiloh Hill. + + And now my song is ended about those bloody plains, + I hope the sight by mortal man may ne'er be seen again; + But I pray to God, the Saviour, "if consistent with Thy will," + To save the souls of all who fell on bloody Shiloh Hill. + + + + +STONEWALL'S REQUIEM. + +Permission of the OLIVER DITSON CO. + +Music by M. DEEVES. + + + The muffled drum is beating, + There's a sad and solemn tread, + Our banner's draped in mourning, + As it shrouds the "illustrious dead," + Proud forms are bent with sorrow, + And all Southern hearts are sore, + The hero now is sleeping-- + Noble Stonewall is no more. + + 'Mid the rattling of the muskets, + And the cannons' thund'rous roar, + He stained the field of glory, + With his brave life's precious gore; + And though our flag waved proudly, + We were victors ere sunset-- + The gallant deeds of Chancellorsville, + Will mingle with regret. + + They've borne him to an honored grave, + The laurel crowns his brow, + By hallowed James' silent wave + He's sweetly sleeping now; + Virginia to the South is dear, + She holds a sacred trust, + Our fallen braves from far and near, + Are covered with her dust. + + She shrines the spot where now is laid, + The bravest of them all, + The Martyr of our country's cause, + Our idolized Stonewall; + But though his spirit's wafted + To the happy realms above; + His name shall live forever linked, + With reverence and love. + + + + +LITTLE GIFFIN. + +By DR. FRANCIS O. TICKNOR. + +"A ballad of such unique and really transcendent merit, that in our +judgment it ought to rank with the rarest gems of modern martial +poetry."--P. H. HAYNE. + + + Out of the focal and foremost fire, + Out of the hospital walls as dire, + Smitten of grape-shot and gangrene, + (Eighteenth battle, and he sixteen!) + Specter such as we seldom see, + Little Giffin of Tennessee! + + "Take him and welcome!" the surgeon said: + "Much your doctor can help the dead!" + And so we took him and brought him where, + The balm was sweet on the summer air; + And we laid him down on a wholesome bed-- + Utter Lazarus, heel to head! + + Weary War with the bated breath, + Skeleton boy against skeleton Death, + Months of torture, how many such! + Weary weeks of the stick and crutch! + Still a glint in the steel-blue eye, + Spoke of the spirit that wouldn't die. + + And didn't! nay more! in death's despite, + The crippled skeleton learned to write! + "Dear mother," at first, of course, and then, + "Dear Captain" inquiring about the "men," + Captain's answer--"Of eighty and five, + Giffin and I are left alive!" + + "Johnston's pressed at the front, they say!" + Little Giffin was up and away. + A tear, his first, as he bade good-bye, + Dimmed the glint of his steel-blue eye; + "I'll write, if spared." There was news of a fight, + But none of Giffin! he did not write! + + I sometimes fancy that were I a king + Of the princely knights of the Golden Ring, + With the song of the minstrel in mine ear, + And the tender legend that trembles here, + I'd give the best on his bended knee, + The whitest soul of my chivalry, + For little Giffin of Tennessee! + + + + +[Illustration: General J. E. B. Stuart.] + + +STUART. + +By MRS. HENRY J. VOSE. + +Music by A. E. BLACKMAR. + +[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass.] + + + Oh! mother of States and of men, + Bend low thy queenly head, + On his shield is borne to thy arms again, + Thy youngest, fairest dead; + Drop tears like rain for that strong heart stilled, + For that dauntless spirit fled! + + Sleep well, O stainless knight, + 'Neath the folds of the starry cross, + For the day now breaks o'er the long, long night + Of our anguish, peril and loss; + But alas! for the eyes that smiled on death, + And the life that held life dross. + + They say thine ancestral line, + Swayed the scepter, and wore the crown; + But none girded a nobler sword than thine, + Nor more stainless life laid down; + And we ask no gleam from their grand old past, + To brighten thy young renown. + + On the field thy life was giv'n, + Where our best blood has been poured; + At the feet of our country's God, in heaven, + Thou hast laid another sword, + When Jackson's head was so lately bowed, + The tried soldier of the Lord. + + Oh, swords of the South! like flame, + Leap forth for this life-blood shed, + Strike the foe till he flies from the field in shame, + Sheathe not till the hilt is red! + And redeem the land that enshrines in her heart, + The graves of her glorious dead! + + + + +ONLY A SOLDIER. + +By MAJOR LAMAR FONTAINE. + + + "Only a soldier!" I heard them say, + With a heavy heart I turned away, + And heaved a sigh. + Then watched the tramp of the horses' feet, + As the hearse moved slowly down the street, + And hot tears dimmed my eye. + + "Only a soldier!" confined in there-- + A father's joy and a mother's care, + Torn from his home. + Now a maiden sighs for his return, + On his sister's cheek the teardrops burn, + For her soldier-brother's gone. + + "Only a soldier!" I thought anew, + As fancy came, and I quickly drew + "The parting hour," + That hour he left at his country's call, + To place himself as a living wall, + Where sterner men might cower. + + In dreams he'd seen friends kneeling down + To raise his head from the battle-ground, + And thus he'd say: + "Tell my father that fighting I fell, + 'Mid hammering shot and screaming shell, + When the South had won the day." + + Alas! he never had dreamed of death, + But as borne on whistling bullets' breath, + 'Mid muskets flashing; + And where the war-dogs howling loud, + Breathe with sulphur-smoke a battle cloud-- + The shells with thunders crashing! + + But a fevered cot is his battle-ground, + And slowly, calmly in death he's bound + To the "Far-off-Land." + No gentle sister's spirit is there, + E'en in stranger's form with tender care, + To bathe his dry burning hand. + + The dark sod hides the form of the dead, + Dew-drops kiss no more that pale forehead, + Nor gleam on his hair. + Life's hope is gone! Life's sorrowing o'er, + His spirit is on the "echoless shore," + Dwelling with angels up there. + + Thus unwept, unmourned, he sank to rest, + E'en by human sympathy unblest, + To an unknown grave! + God, who notes e'en the sparrow's fall, + Shall, in the dread resurrection, call + To Heaven the soldier brave! + + + + +WHEN THE BOYS COME HOME. + + + The boys are coming home again, + This war will soon be o'er, + The Southern land again will stand, + As happy as of yore; + Yes, hand in hand, and arm in arm, + Together we will roam, + Oh! won't we have a happy time, + When all the boys come home. + + CHORUS.--We'll hoist the starry cross again, + On freedom's lofty dome; + And live in peace and happiness, + When all the boys come home. + We'll hoist the starry cross again, + On freedom's lofty dome; + And live in peace and happiness, + When all the boys come home. + + We'll have no more false hopes and fears, + No more heartrending sighs-- + The messengers of peace will dry + The weary mourner's eyes, + We'll laugh and sing, we'll dance and play, + Oh! wait until they come, + And joy will crown the happy day, + When all the boys come home. + CHORUS. + + How proud our nation then will stand! + United evermore, + We'll bid defiance to the foe, + That dare approach our shore, + We'll hoist the starry cross again, + On freedom's lofty dome, + And live in peace and happiness, + When all the boys come home. + CHORUS. + + + + +THE DRUMMER BOY OF SHILOH. + + + On Shiloh's dark and bloody ground the dead and wounded lay, + Amongst them was a drummer boy that beat the drum that day; + A wounded soldier raised him up--his drum was by his side-- + He clasped his hands, and raised his eyes, and prayed before he died. + + "Look down upon the battlefield, O Thou our heavenly Friend, + Have mercy on our sinful souls"--the soldiers cried, "Amen!" + For gathered 'round, a little group, each brave man knelt and cried-- + They listened to the drummer boy who prayed before he died. + + "Oh, Mother," said the dying boy, "Look down from Heaven on me! + Receive me to thy fond embrace! Oh, take me home to thee! + I've loved my country as my God, to serve them both I've tried," + He smiled, shook hands, death seized the boy who prayed before he died. + + Each soldier wept then like a child--stout hearts were they and brave-- + The Flag his winding-sheet! God's Book the key unto his grave; + They wrote upon a simple board these words, "This is a guide, + To those who mourn the drummer boy who prayed before he died." + +[Illustration: Alabama Volunteer Corps.] + + + + +OLD STONEWALL. + +By C. D. DASHER. + +Music by F. YOUNKER. + +[The music of this Song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass.] + + + Oh, don't you remember old Stonewall, my boys, + Old Stonewall on charger so gray, + Whose memory is dear to the sons of the South, + The heroes that once wore the gray. + He was true to the cause of the men that he led, + Heroic in death as in life, + From heaven above he smiles on the brave, + Who have ceased from mad carnage and strife-- + From heaven above he smiles on the brave, + Who have ceased from mad carnage and strife. + + The harvest waves over the battlefield, boys, + And where bullets once pattered like rain, + The peach blooms are drifting like snow in the air, + And the hillocks are springing in grain, + Oh! green in our hearts may the memories be, + Of those heroes, in blue or in grey, + As new growing grain, for never again, + Can they meet in dread battle array-- + As new growing grain, for never again, + Can they meet in dread battle array. + + + + +THE SOUTH; + +OR, I LOVE THEE THE MORE. + +[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass., owners of the copyright.] + + + My heart in its sadness turns fondly to thee, + Dear land where our lov'd ones fought hard to be free; + I loved thee when struggling, and bleeding and sore, + But now thou art conquered, I love thee the more! + + Gallant South! when the noble, the gifted, the brave, + Dashed onward to battle, like wave after wave, + Determin'd to die for the land they adore, + Though vain were their efforts, I love thee the more. + + Bright South! though the winter is closing around, + And dead leaves of autumn now carpet the ground, + Thy beauties of woodland, of river and shore, + Still charm the beholder, I love thee the more. + + Dear South! though thy beautiful forests and hills, + Thy emerald valleys and silvery rills, + Are subject to strangers--not free as of yore-- + Thus changed, and in sorrow, I love thee the more. + + Sweet South! lovely land of beautiful flowers, + Though cool now the zephyrs, and faded thy bowers, + Oh, soon shall the springtime thy beauties restore, + And bloom o'er our lost ones--I love thee the more. + + Darling South! when I think every forest and grove, + And valley have pillow'd the heads that we love, + Have echoed their war cry and drank of their gore, + I feel thou art sacred, and love thee the more. + + + + +THE POOR SOLDIER! + +A Popular Camp-fire Song of the 62d Alabama Regiment (The Boy Regiment.) + + + Little do rich people know, + What we poor soldiers undergo-- + Called upon to take up arms, + To guard our country from all harm. + + Break of day--the morning gun, + Wakes the rebels--the fife and drum, + Breaks a soldier's sweet repose-- + He tumbles out--puts on his clothes. + + First sergeant rushes in and out: + "Hurrah! hurrah, boys! do turn out;" + Front and rear he forms his line-- + His 'coutrements and sword must shine. + + "Eyes right!--steady!" is the word; + Our captain then presents his sword-- + The sergeant jerks out his roll-- + Names are called--the absent told. + + Our surgeon is a man of skill, + Gives the sick each day bread pills; + If his pills do not act well-- + He swears and damns our souls to hell. + + Would you know who wrote this song, + I will tell--it won't take long; + It was composed by A. T. Height, + While walking post one rainy night. + + + + +THE BONNIE WHITE FLAG; + +OR, THE PRISONER'S INVOCATION TO PEACE. + +Col. W. S. HAWKINS. + +In _Camp Chase Ventilator_, 1864. + +_Air--"Bonnie Blue Flag."_ + + + Though we're a band of prisoners, + Let each be firm and true, + For noble souls and hearts of oak, + The foe can ne'er subdue. + We then will turn us homeward, + To those we love so dear; + For peace and happiness, my boys, + Oh, give a hearty cheer! + + CHORUS.--Hurrah! Hurrah! for peace + And home, hurrah! + Hurrah for the Bonnie White Flag, + That ends this cruel war! + + The sword into the scabbard, + The musket on the wall, + The cannon from its blazing throat, + No more shall hurl the ball; + From wives and babes and sweethearts, + No longer will we roam, + For ev'ry gallant soldier boy, + Shall seek his cherished home. + CHORUS. + + Our battle banners furled away, + No more shall greet the eye, + Nor beat of angry drums be heard, + Nor bugle's hostile cry. + The blade no more be raised aloft, + In conflict fierce and wild. + The bomb shall roll across the sward, + The plaything of a child. + CHORUS. + + No pale-faced captive then shall stand, + Behind his rusted bars, + Nor from the prison window bleak, + Look sadly to the stars; + But out amid the woodland's green, + On bounding steed he'll be, + And proudly from his heart shall rise, + The anthem of the free. + CHORUS. + + The plow into the furrow then, + The fields shall wave with grain, + And smiling children to their schools, + All gladly go again. + The church invites its grateful throng, + And man's rude striving cease, + While all across our noble land, + Shall glow the light of Peace. + CHORUS. + + + + +BOMBARDMENT OF VICKSBURG. + +Dedicated with respect and admiration to Maj.-Gen. EARL VAN DORN. + + + For sixty days and upward a storm of shell and shot, + Rained 'round as in a flaming shower, but still we faltered not! + "If the noble city perish," our grand young leader said, + "Let the only walls the foe shall scale be ramparts of the dead!" + + For sixty days and upward the eye of heaven waxed dim, + And even throughout God's holy morn, o'er Christian's prayer and hymn, + Arose a hissing tumult, as if the fiends of air, + Strove to engulf the voice of faith in shriekings of despair. + + There was wailing in the houses, there was trembling on the marts, + While the tempest raged and thundered 'midst the silent thrill of hearts; + But the Lord, our shield, was with us--and ere a month had sped, + Our very women walked the streets, with scarce one throb of dread. + + And the little children gambolled--their faces purely raised, + Just for a wondering moment as the huge bombs whirled and blazed! + Then turning with silv'ry laughter to the sports which children love, + Thrice mailed in the sweet instinctive thought that the good God watched + above.[18] + + Yet the hailing bolts fell faster from scores of flame-clad ships, + And above us, denser, darker, grew the conflict's wide eclipse, + 'Till a solid cloud closed o'er like a type of doom and ire, + Whence shot a thousand quiv'ring tongues of forked and vengeful fire. + + But the unseen hands of angels, these death shafts warned aside, + And the dove of heavenly mercy, ruled o'er the battle tide; + In the houses ceased the wailing, and through the war-scarred marts, + The people strode with the step of hope to the music in their hearts. + + + + +DEATH OF STONEWALL JACKSON. + +Music by C. BLAMPHIN. + + + On a bright May morn in 'Sixty-three, + And eager for the action, + On a battlefield for Liberty, + Stood gallant Stonewall Jackson. + Both flesh and blood alike the same, + They strove to gain each other's fame, + And long may hist'ry pen the name, + Of gallant Stonewall Jackson. + + CHORUS.--Who was his soldiers' pride, + And for his country died, + On a bright May day in 'Sixty-three, + And ready for the action, + On a battlefield for Liberty + Stood gallant Stonewall Jackson. + + A man more kind was never born, + In battle no one bolder; + His loss all noble hearts will mourn, + This gallant faithful soldier; + For when the word was duty, + He was first to fight for victory; + Oh! may he live in history, + The gallant Stonewall Jackson. + CHORUS. + + But alas! his time was come, + To see our promised land; + His comrade's fatal gun, + Shot through his arm and hand; + The Almighty's will was read, + Upon his noble brow; + "My race is run," he said. + Death has its victim now. + CHORUS. + + + + +THE SOUTHERN CAPTIVE. + +By CAPT. SAM HOUSTON. + +[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass.] + + + Softly comes the twilight stealing gently through my prison bars, + While from out the vault of heaven, faintly glimmering come the stars; + Well I know my mother's weeping for her long-lost wandering boy-- + Does she know that still I'm living? even that would give her joy. + + No, they tell her that I'm sleeping 'neath the turf on Shiloh's plain; + That she ne'er will see her wanderer--never on this earth again; + Oh, my poor heart sinks within me, as the months roll slowly by, + And it seems in this cold Northland a lone captive I must die! + + Yes, far away from friends and kindred, without a hand to mark my grave-- + And not upon a field of glory I'll sleep amid the Southern brave; + Mother! yes, your boy is dying! soon he'll pass through death's dark + wave, + And the wintry wind be sighing o'er a captive's lonely grave. + + + + +THE VOLUNTEER; OR, IT IS MY COUNTRY'S CALL. + +By HARRY MCCARTHY. + + + I leave my home and thee, dear, with sorrow at my heart, + It is my country's call, dear, to aid her, I depart; + And on the blood-red battle plain, we'll conquer or we'll die; + 'Tis for our honor and our name, we raise the battle-cry. + + CHORUS.--Then weep not, dearest, weep not, if in the cause I fall; + Oh, weep not, dearest, weep not, it is my country's call. + + And yet, my heart is sore, love, to see thee weeping thus; + But mark me, there's no fear, love, for in Heaven is our trust; + And if the heavy drooping tear swells in my mournful eye, + It is that Northmen of our land should cause the battle-cry. + CHORUS. + + Our rights have been usurp'd, dear, by Northmen of land; + Fanatics rais'd the cry, dear, politicians fired the brand; + The Southrons spurn the galling yoke, the tyrants' threats defy; + They find we've sons like sturdy oaks to raise the battle-cry. + CHORUS. + + I knew you'd let me go, pet, I saw it in that tear, + To join the gallant men, pet, who never yet knew fear; + With Beauregard and Davis, we'll gain our cause or die; + Win battles like Manassas, and raise the battle-cry. + CHORUS. + + + + +DEAR MOTHER, I'VE COME HOME TO DIE. + +By E. BOWERS. + +Music by HENRY TUCKER. + + + Dear mother, I remember well + The parting kiss you gave me, + When merry rang the village bell-- + My heart was full of joy and glee: + I did not dream that one short year, + Would crush the hopes that soared so high! + Oh, mother dear, draw near to me; + Dear mother, I've come home to die. + + CHORUS.--Call sister, brother, to my side, + And take your soldier's last good-by. + Oh, mother dear, draw near to me; + Dear mother, I've come home to die. + + Hark! Mother, 'tis the village bell, + I can no longer with thee stay; + My country calls to arms! to arms! + The foe advance in fierce array! + The vision's past--I feel that now, + For country I can only sigh. + Oh, mother dear, draw near to me: + Dear mother, I've come home to die. + CHORUS. + + Dear mother, sister, brother, all, + One parting kiss--to all good-by: + Weep not, but clasp your hand in mine, + And let me like a soldier die! + I've met the foe upon the field, + Where hosts contending scorned to fly; + I fought for right--God bless you all-- + Dear mother, I've come home to die. + CHORUS. + + + + +POLK. + +By H. L. FLASH. + + + A flash from the edge of a hostile trench, + A puff of smoke, a roar, + Whose echo shall roll from Kennesaw hills, + To the farthermost Christian shore, + Proclaim to the world that the warrior-priest + Will battle for right no more. + + And that for a cause which is sanctified, + By the blood of martyrs unknown-- + A cause for which they gave their lives, + And for which he gave his own-- + He kneels, a meek ambassador, + At the foot of the Father's throne. + +[Illustration: "A flash from the edge of a hostile trench."] + + And up to the courts of another world, + That angels alone have trod, + He lives away from the din and strife + Of this blood-besprinkled sod-- + Crowned with the amaranthine wreath, + That is worn by the blest of God. + + + + +THE REBEL'S DREAM. + +By A. F. LEOVY. + +Music by CH. REISNER. + +Permission of A. E. BLACKMAR, New Orleans. + + + Softly in dreams of repose, + A vision so pure and so sweet, + Shines on a soldier's sad soul, + While his flag lies so low at his feet; + Softly an angel is seen, + Who saddens the spot with a sigh, + Swiftly the banner is raised, + And borne to bright realms in the sky. + + Soft music from heavenly choirs, + Resounds from that paradise shore. + Oh! how sweet to the dreamer's light heart, + He sees his brave comrades once more. + His banner now floats o'er the blest, + And shimmers in heaven's pure air; + A voice from its folds is now heard, + Jackson prays for the flag that is there. + + The soldier awakes from his dream. + Oh! that his sorrows were past, + Beyond the bright stars and the sky, + There's a home for the weary at last, + The gleam of some paradise joys, + Will greet him in heaven's pure air, + O the heroes who perished for right, + How sweet to rejoin them all there! + + + + +PRO MEMORA. + +By INA M. PORTER, of Alabama. + +_Air--"There is Rest for the Weary."_ + + + Lo! the Southland queen emerging, + From her sad and wintry gloom, + Robes her torn and bleeding bosom, + In her richest Orient bloom. + + CHORUS.--(_Repeat first line three times._) + For her weary sons are resting + By the Eden shore; + They have won the crown immortal, + And the cross of death is o'er! + When the oriflamme is burning, + On the starlit Eden shore. + + Brightly still in gorgeous glory, + God's great jewel lights the sky; + Look! Upon the heart's white dial, + There's a shadow flitting by. + + CHORUS.--But the weary feet are resting, etc. + + Homes are dark and hearts are weary, + Souls are numb with hopeless pain; + For the footfall on the threshold + Never more to sound again! + + CHORUS.--They have gone from us forever, + Aye, for evermore! + We must win the crown immortal, + Follow where they led before, + Where the oriflamme is burning, + On the starlit Eden shore. + + Proudly, as our Southern forests, + Meet the winter's shafts so keen; + Time-defying memories cluster, + Round our hearts in living green. + + CHORUS.--They have gone from us forever, etc. + + May our faltering voices mingle, + In the angel-chanted psalm; + May our earthly chaplets linger, + By the bright celestial palm. + + CHORUS.--They have gone from us forever, etc. + + Crest to crest they bore our banner, + Side by side they fell asleep; + Hand in hand we scatter flowers, + Heart to heart we kneel and weep. + + CHORUS.--They have gone from us forever, etc. + + When the May eternal dawneth + At the living God's behest, + We will quaff divine Nepenthe, + We shall share the soldier's rest. + + CHORUS.--Where the weary feet are resting, etc. + + Where the shadows are uplifted, + 'Neath the never-waning sun, + Shout we Gloria in Excelsis! + We have lost, but ye have won! + + CHORUS.--Our hearts are yours forever, + Aye, for evermore! + Ye have won the crown immortal, + And the cross of death is o'er, + When the oriflamme is burning + On the starlit Eden shore! + + + + +WEARIN' OF THE GRAY. + +By TAR HEEL. + +[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass.] + + + Oh! Johnny, dear, and did you hear the news that's lately spread, + That never more the Southern cross must rear its stately head; + The "white and red's" forbid by law, so Northmen proudly say, + Nor you nor I can e'er again be "Wearin' of the Gray!" + And when we meet with strangers kind, who take us by the hand, + Inquiring warmly of the South, our own beloved land, + We're bound to tell the woeful truth, let cost whate'er it may, + That some are threatened e'en with death, for "Wearin' of the Gray!" + + Then since the color we must wear is of the hateful blue, + The children of the sunny South must be to mem'ry true; + Ah! take the cockade from their hats and tread it 'neath the feet, + And still tho' bruis'd and mangled sad, 'twill speak a language sweet; + And buried in our heart of hearts the precious words lie hid, + Where oft they call the bitter tears to wet the drooping lid; + But let them flow, they do us good thro' all the mournful day, + While constant we do call to mind the "Wearin' of the Gray!" + + And if at last our father's law be torn from Southland's heart, + Her sons will take their household gods and far away depart; + Rememb'ring still the whisper'd word, to weary wand'rers giv'n, + That justice pure, and perfect rest, are found alone in heav'n. + Then on some green and distant isle beneath the setting sun, + We'll patient wait the coming time when life and earth are done, + Nor even in the dying hour, while passing calm away, + Can we forget or e'er regret the "Wearin' of the Gray!" + +[Illustration: South Carolina Button.] + + + + +THE FADED GRAY JACKET. + +By MRS. C. A. BALL. + +Music by CHARLIE WARD. + +Permission of the W. S. SHAW CO., Philadelphia. + + + Fold it up carefully, lay it aside, + Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride; + For dear must it be to our hearts evermore, + The jacket of gray our loved soldier boy wore. + Can we ever forget when he joined the brave band, + Who rose in defense of our dear Southern land; + And in his bright youth hurried on to the fray, + How proudly he donned it, the jacket of gray? + + CHORUS.--Fold it up carefully, lay it aside, + Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride; + For dear it must be to our hearts evermore, + The jacket of gray our loved soldier boy wore. + + His fond mother blessed him and looked up above, + Commending to Heaven the child of her love; + What anguish was hers, mortal tongue may not say, + When he passed from her sight in the jacket of gray. + But her country had called him, she would not repine, + Though costly the sacrifice placed on its shrine; + Her heart's dearest hopes on its altar she lay, + When she sent out her boy, in his jacket of gray! + CHORUS. + + Months passed, and war's thunders rolled over the land, + Unsheathed was the sword and lighted the brand; + We heard in the distance the noise of the fray, + And prayed for our boy in the jacket of gray. + Ah! vain all--all vain were our prayers and our tears + The glad shout of victory rang in our ears; + But our treasured one on the cold battle-field lay, + While the life blood oozed out on the jacket of gray. + CHORUS. + + His young comrades found him and tenderly bore + His cold, lifeless form to his home by the shore; + Oh! dark were our hearts on that terrible day, + When we saw our dead boy in the jacket of gray. + Ah! spotted, and tattered, and stained now with gore, + Was the garment which once he so gracefully wore; + We bitterly wept as we took it away, + And replaced with death's white robes, the jacket of gray. + CHORUS. + + We laid him to rest in his cold, narrow bed, + And graved on the marble, we placed o'er his head, + As the proudest of tributes our sad hearts could pay, + "He never disgraced the dear jacket of gray." + Then fold it up carefully, lay it aside, + Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride; + For dear must it be to our hearts evermore, + The jacket of gray our loved soldier boy wore. + CHORUS. + + + + +I'M A GOOD OLD REBEL. + +By J. R. T. + +[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass.] + + + O, I'm a good old rebel, + Now that's just what I am, + For this "Fair Land of Freedom" + I do not care a damn; + I'm glad I fit against it, + I only wish we'd won, + And I don't want no pardon + For anything I done. + + I hates the Constitution, + This great Republic too, + I hates the Freedman's Buro, + In uniform of blue; + I hates the nasty eagle, + With all his bragg and fuss, + The lyin', thievin' Yankees, + I hates them wuss and wuss. + + I hates the Yankee nation + And everything they do, + I hates the Declaration + Of Independence, too; + I hates the glorious Union-- + 'Tis dripping with our blood-- + I hates their striped banner, + I fit it all I could. + +[Illustration: "I'm a good old rebel."] + + Three hundred thousand Yankees + Is stiff in Southern dust; + We got three hundred thousand + Before they conquered us; + They died of Southern fever, + And Southern steel and shot, + I wish they was three million, + Instead of what we got. + + I followed old mas' Robert + For four year near about, + Got wounded in three places, + And starved at Pint Lookout; + I cotched the roomatism, + A campin' in the snow, + But I killed a chance o' Yankees, + I'd like to kill some mo'. + + I can't take up my musket + And fight 'em now no more, + But I ain't a-going to love 'em, + Now that is sartin' sure; + And I don't want no pardon, + For what I was and am, + I won't be reconstructed, + And I don't care a damn. + + + + +TRUE TO THE GRAY. + +By PEARL RIVERS. + + + I cannot listen to your words, the land is long and wide; + Go seek some happy Northern girl to be your loving bride; + My brothers they were soldiers--the youngest of the three + Was slain while fighting by the side of gallant Fitzhugh Lee! + + They left his body on the field (your side the day had won), + A soldier spurned him with his foot--you might have been the one; + My lover was a soldier--he belonged to Gordon's band; + A sabre pierced his gallant heart--your's might have been the hand. + + He reel'd and fell, but was not dead, a horseman spurr'd his steed + And trampled on the dying brain--you may have done the deed; + I hold no hatred in my heart, no cold, unrighteous pride, + For many a gallant soldier fought upon the other side. + + But still I cannot kiss the hand that smote my country sore, + Nor love the foes that trampled down the colors that she bore; + Between my heart and yours there rolls a deep and crimson tide-- + My brother's and my lover's blood forbid me be your bride. + + The girls who lov'd the boys in gray--the girls to country true, + May ne'er in wedlock give their hands to those who wore the blue. + + + + +WE KNOW THAT WE WERE REBELS; OR, WHY CAN WE NOT BE BROTHERS? + +By CLARENCE PRENTICE. + + + Why can we not be brothers? the battle now is o'er; + We've laid our bruised arms on the field to take them up no more; + We who have fought you hard and long, now overpower'd, stand + As poor, defenseless prisoners in our own native land. + + CHORUS.--We know that we were rebels, + And we don't deny the name, + We speak of that which we have done + With grief, but not with shame! + + But we have rights most sacred, by solemn compact bound, + Seal'd by the blood that freely gush'd from many a ghastly wound; + When Lee gave up his trusty sword, and his men laid down their arms, + It was that they should live at home, secure from war's dire harms. + CHORUS. + + And surely, since we're now disarm'd, we are not to be dreaded; + Our old chiefs, who on many fields our trusty columns headed, + Are fast within an iron grasp, and manacled with chains, + Perchance, 'twixt dreary walls to stay as long as life remains! + CHORUS. + + O shame upon the coward band who, in the conflict dire, + Went not to battle for their cause, 'mid the ranks of steel and fire, + Yet now, since all the fighting's done, are hourly heard to cry: + "Down with the traitors! hang them all! each rebel dog shall die!" + CHORUS. + + We know that we were rebels, we don't deny the name, + We speak of that which we have done with grief, but not with shame! + And we never will acknowledge that the blood the South has spilt, + Was shed defending what we deemed a cause of wrong and guilt. + CHORUS. + + + + +WEARING OF THE GRAY. + + + Our cannons' mouths are dumb. No more our volleyed muskets peal, + Nor gleams, to mark where squadrons rush, the light from flashing steel; + No more our crossed and starry flags in gentle dalliance play + With battle breeze, as when we fought, a wearing of the gray. + + Our cause is lost! No more we fight 'gainst overwhelming power; + All wearied are our limbs, and drenched with many a battle shower; + We fain would rest! For want of strength we yield them up the day, + And lower the flag so proudly borne while wearing of the gray. + + Defeat is not dishonor! No! Of honor not bereft, + We should thank God that in our breasts this priceless boon is left; + And though we weep 'tis for those braves who stood in proud array + Beneath our flag, and nobly died while wearing of the gray. + + When in the ranks of war we stood, and faced the deadly hail, + Our simple suits of gray composed our only coats of mail; + And of those awful hours that marked the bloody battle day, + In memory we'll still be seen a wearing of the gray. + + O, should we reach that glorious place where waits the sparkling crown, + For every one who for the right his soldier life lay down, + God grant to us the privilege, upon that happy day, + Of clasping hands with those who fell a wearing of the gray. + + + + +THE SWORD OF ROBERT LEE. + +Words by MOINA. + +Music by ARMAND. + +[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass., owners of the copyright.] + + + Forth from its scabbard, pure and bright, + Flashed the sword of Lee! + Far in the front of the deadly fight, + High o'er the brave, in the cause of right + It's stainless sheen, like a beacon light, + Led us to victory. + + Out of its scabbard, when full long + It slumbered peacefully-- + Roused from its rest by the battle song, + Shielding the feeble, smiting the strong, + Guarding the right, and avenging the wrong-- + Gleamed the sword of Lee! + + Forth from its scabbard, high in air, + Beneath Virginia's sky-- + And they who saw it gleaming there, + And knew who bore it, knelt to swear, + That where that sword led they would dare + To follow and to die. + + Out of its scabbard! Never hand + Waved sword from stain as free, + Nor purer sword led braver band, + Nor braver bled for a brighter land, + Nor brighter land had a cause as grand, + Nor cause a chief like Lee! + + Forth from its scabbard! How we prayed, + That sword might victor be! + And when our triumph was delayed, + And many a heart grew sore afraid, + We still hoped on, while gleamed the blade + Of noble Robert Lee! + + Forth from its scabbard! All in vain! + Forth flashed the sword of Lee! + 'Tis shrouded now in its sheath again, + It sleeps the sleep of our noble slain, + Defeated, yet without a stain, + Proudly and peacefully. + + + + +OFF WITH YOUR GRAY SUITS, BOYS! + +By LIEUT. FALLIGANT, Savannah, Ga. + + + Off with gray suits, boys! + Off with your rebel gear! + It smacks too much of the cannon's peal, + The lightning flash of your deadly steel, + And fills our hearts with fear. + + The color is like the smoke, + That curled o'er your battle line; + It calls to mind the yell that woke, + When the dastard columns before you broke, + And their dead wore your fatal sign! + + Off with your starry wreaths, + Ye who have led our van! + For you 'twas the pledge of a glorious death, + As we followed you over the glorious heath, + When we whipped them man to man! + + Down with the cross and stars! + Too long has it waved on high; + 'Tis covered all over with battle scars, + But its gleam the hated banner mars-- + 'Tis time to lay it by. + + Down with the vows we had made! + Down with each memory! + Down with the thoughts of our noble dead! + Down, down to the dust where their forms are laid, + And down with liberty! + + + + +THE CONFEDERATE NOTE.[19] + +By S. A. JONAS. + + + Representing nothing on God's earth now, + And naught in the water below it, + As a pledge of a nation that's dead and gone, + Keep it, dear Captain, and show it. + Show it to those that will lend an ear + To the tale this paper can tell, + Of liberty born, of the patriot's dream, + Of a storm-cradled nation that fell. + + Too poor to possess the precious ore, + And too much a stranger to borrow, + We issue to-day our "promise to pay," + And hope to redeem on the morrow. + Days rolled by, and weeks became years, + But our coffers were empty still; + Coin was so rare that the treasurer quakes, + If a dollar should drop in the till. + +[Illustration] + + But the faith that was in us was strong indeed, + And our poverty well we discerned, + And these little checks represented the pay + That our suffering veterans earned. + We knew it had hardly a value in gold, + Yet as gold the soldiers received it; + It gazed in our eyes with a promise to pay, + And each patriot soldier believed it. + + But our boys thought little of price or pay, + Or of bills that were over-due; + We knew if it bought our bread to-day, + 'Twas the best our country could do. + Keep it! it tells all our history over, + From the birth of the dream to its last; + Modest, and born of the angel Hope, + Like our hope of success it passed. + + + + +THE CONQUERED BANNER. + +By the Rev. J. A. RYAN, Catholic Priest of Knoxville, Diocese of +Nashville, Tenn. + +Music by A. E. BLACKMAR. + +[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, +Mass., owners of the copyright.] + + + Furl that banner, for 'tis weary; + Round its staff 'tis drooping dreary; + Furl it, fold it, it is best; + For there's not a man to wave it, + And there's not a sword to save it, + And there's not one left to lave it + In the blood which heroes gave it; + And its foes now scorn and brave it,-- + Furl it, hide it, let it rest. + + Take that banner down--'tis tattered, + Broken is its staff and shattered, + And the valiant hosts are scattered + Over whom it floated high. + Oh! 'tis hard for us to fold it, + Hard to think there's none to hold it, + Hard that those who once unrolled it + Now must furl it with a sigh. + + Furl that banner, furl it sadly-- + Once ten thousands hailed it gladly, + And ten thousands wildly, madly, + Swore it should forever wave, + Swore that foeman's sword could never + Hearts like their's entwined dissever, + 'Till that flag would float forever + O'er their freedom or their grave. + + Furl it! for the hands that grasped it, + And the hearts that fondly clasped it, + Cold and dead are lying low; + And the banner, it is trailing + While around it sounds the wailing + Of its people in their woe. + For, though conquered, they adore it, + Love the cold, dead hands that bore it, + Weep for those who fell before it, + Pardon those who trailed and tore it, + And oh! wildly they deplore it, + Now to furl and fold it so. + + Furl that banner! true 'tis gory, + Yet 'tis wreathed around with glory, + And 'twill live in song and story, + Though its folds are in the dust; + For its fame on brightest pages, + Penned by poets and by sages, + Shall go sounding down the ages, + Furl its folds though now we must. + + Furl that banner! softly, slowly, + Treat it gently--it is holy-- + For it droops above the dead; + Touch it not, unfold it never; + Let it droop there, furled forever, + For its people's hopes are dead. + + + + +FOLD IT UP CAREFULLY. + +A Reply to "The Conquered Banner," by SIR HENRY HOUGHTON, BART., of +England. + + + Gallant nation, foiled by numbers, + Say not that your hopes are fled; + Keep that glorious flag which slumbers, + One day to avenge your dead. + + Keep it, widowed, sonless mothers, + Keep it, sisters, mourning brothers, + Furl it with an iron will; + Furl it now, but--keep it still, + Think not that its work is done. + + Keep it 'till your children take it, + Once again to hail and make it + All their sires have bled and fought for, + All their noble hearts have sought for, + Bled and fought for all alone. + All alone! aye, shame the story. + Millions here deplore the stain, + Shame, alas! for England's glory, + Freedom called, and called in vain. + + Furl that banner, sadly, slowly, + Treat it gently, for 'tis holy: + 'Till that day--yes, furl it sadly, + Then once more unfurl it gladly-- + Conquered banner--keep it still! + +[Illustration] + + + + +INDEX. + + + + +_INDEX TO TITLES._ + + + A Confederate Officer to his Lady Love, 42 + + Address of the Women to the Southern Troops, 24 + + Alabama, 170 + + Allons Enfans, 4 + + All Quiet along the Potomac to-night, 62 + + An Old Texan's Appeal, 174 + + A North Carolina Call to Arms, 237 + + Another Yankee Doodle, 15 + + Arise! ye Sons of Free-Born Sires!, 175 + + A Southern Song, 41, 99 + + A Southern Woman's Song, 222 + + At Fort Pillow, 137 + + Awake! To arms in Texas, 166 + + + Banks' Skedaddle, 164 + + Battle of the Mississippi, 102 + + Battle Song, 240 + + Battle Song of the Invaded, 57 + + Baylor's Partisan Rangers, 178 + + Bayou City Guards' Dixie, 143 + + Bayou City Guards' Song, 131 + + Bombardment and Battle of Galveston, 191 + + Bombardment of Vicksburg, 343 + + Boys! Keep Your Powder Dry, 130 + + Bull Run, 38 + + By the Banks of Red River, 300 + + + Call All! Call All!, 14 + + Campaign Ballad, 155 + + Camp Douglas by the Lake, 306 + + Cannon Song, 77 + + Carolina, 124 + + Chivalrous C. S. A., 78 + + Confederate Land, 48 + + Confederate Song, 94 + + + Dear Mother, I've Come Home to Die, 349 + + Death of Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston, 187 + + Death of Stonewall Jackson, 345 + + De Cotton Down in Dixie, 145 + + Dixie, 238 + + Dixie's Land, 36 + + Do they Miss Me in the Trenches, 129 + + Dutch Volunteer, 10 + + Duty and Defiance, 141 + + + Elegy on the Death of Lieut.-Col. Ch. B. Dreux, 37 + + + Flight of Doodles, 66 + + Fold it up Carefully, 375 + + For Bales, 112 + + Freedom's New Banner, 30 + + + Gathering Song, 40 + + Gay and Happy, 177 + + General Lee at the Battle of the Wilderness, 224 + + General Tom Green, 194 + + God Bless our Southern Land, 188 + + God Save the South, 1 + + God Will Defend the Right, 264 + + Goober Peas, 74 + + + Hard Times, 196 + + Here's Your Mule, 319 + + Hood's Old Brigade, 207 + + Hood's Texas Brigade, 228 + + Hurrah!, 39 + + + I'm a Good Old Rebel, 260 + + I'm Thinking of the Soldier, 182 + + Imogen, 172 + + Independence Day, 65 + + In Memoriam, 311 + + I Remember the Hour When Sadly We Parted, 291 + + I Wish I was in Dixie's Land, 153 + + + Jackson's Resignation, 232 + + + Knitting for the Soldiers, 52 + + + Ladies, To the Hospital, 116 + + Land of King Cotton, 68 + + Land of the South, 115 + + Lee at the Wilderness, 95 + + Little Giffin, 329 + + + Missouri, 308 + + Morgans War Song, 110, 244 + + Mother! Is the Battle Over?, 236 + + My Heart's in Mississippi, 211 + + My Maryland, 276 + + My Noble Warrior Come!, 226 + + My Warrior Boy, 256 + + + National Hymn, 247 + + New Red, White and Blue, 60 + + North Carolina's War Song, 80 + + No Surrender, 221 + + + Off with your Gray Suits, Boys!, 369 + + Oh, No! He'll not Need Them Again, 309 + + O, Johnny Bull, My Jo, John, 109 + + Old Stonewall, 338 + + Only a Soldier, 333 + + On to Glory, 199 + + Our Braves in Virginia, 56 + + Our Country's Call, 76 + + Our Flag; or, the Origin of the Stars and Bars, 292 + + Our Glorious Flag, 159 + + Over the River, 241, 249 + + + Patriotic Song, 55 + + Polk, 350 + + Pop goes the Weasel, 27 + + Pray, Maiden, Pray, 284 + + Private Maguire, 250 + + Pro Memora, 353 + + + Rallying Song of the Virginians, 26 + + Reading the List, 86 + + Rebel is a Sacred Name, 71 + + Rebel Toasts; or, Drink it Down, 279 + + Richmond is a Hard Road to Travel, 268 + + Richmond on the James, 266 + + Riding a Raid, 315 + + + Sabine Pass, 320 + + Short Rations; or The Corn-fed Army, 322 + + Soldier, I Stay to Pray for Thee, 150 + + Song, 262 + + Song for the South, 103 + + Song of Hooker's Picket, 218 + + Song of the Exile, 245 + + Song of the Privateer, 227 + + Song of the Snow, 59 + + Song of the South, 114 + + Song of the Southern Soldier, 104 + + Song of the Texas Rangers, 287 + + Southern Battle Song, 189 + + Southern Cross, 6 + + Southern Gathering Song, 46 + + Southern Marseillaise, 45 + + Southern Soldier Boy, 69 + + Southern Song, 252 + + Southern Song of Freedom, 12 + + Southern War Cry, 35 + + Southron's War Song, 51 + + Southron's Chant of Defiance, the, 8 + + Star of the West, the, 7 + + Stonewall Jackson, 251 + + Stonewall Jackson's Way, 200 + + Stonewall's Requiem, 328 + + Stuart, 331 + + Sweethearts and the War, 230 + + + That Bugler, 22 + + The Band in the Pines, 255 + + The Banner Song, 83 + + The Bars and Stars, 88 + + The Battle of Galveston, 185 + + The Battle of Shiloh Hill, 326 + + The Battle Song of the South, 210 + + The Beloved Memory of Major-General Tom Green, 203 + + The Black Flag, 163 + + The Bonnie Blue Flag, 31 + + The Bonnie White Flag, 341 + + The Capture of Seventeen of Company H, 4th Texas Cavalry, 168 + + The Cavalier's Glee, 261 + + The Confederate Note, 370 + + The Confederate Oath, 142 + + The Contraband, 216 + + The Conquered Banner, 373 + + The Cotton Burner's Song, 214 + + The Countersign, 133 + + The Darlings at Home, 134 + + The Drummer Boy of Shiloh, 336 + + The Dying Soldier Boy, 106 + + The Faded Gray Jacket, 358 + + The Flag of the Southland, 198 + + The Funeral of Albert Sidney Johnston, 212 + + The Gallant Girl that Smote the Dastard Tory, Oh!, 281 + + The Homespun Dress, 81 + + The Horse Marines at Galveston, 180 + + The Hour Before Execution, 160 + + The Man of the Twelfth of May, 242 + + The Mother's Farewell, 28 + + The Navasota Volunteers, 294 + + The Officer's Funeral, 289 + + The Officers of Dixie, 301 + + The Poor Soldier, 340 + + The Rebel Band, 258 + + The Rebel's Dream, 352 + + The Sentinel's Dream of Home, 303 + + The Soldier's Amen, 318 + + The Soldier's Death, 290 + + The Soldier's Dream, 297 + + The Soldier's Farewell, 324 + + The Soldier's Mission, 149 + + The Soldier's Suit of Gray, 285 + + The South, 339 + + The Southern Banner, 108 + + The Southern Captive, 346 + + The Southern Flag, 91 + + The Southern Soldier Boy, 260 + + The South for Me, 123 + + The South our Country, 152 + + The Southron's Watchword, 272 + + The Stars and the Bars, 93 + + The Sword of Robert Lee, 367 + + The Texan Marseillaise, 100 + + The Toast of Morgan's Men, 317 + + The Volunteer, 85 + + The Volunteer; or, It is my Country's Call, 347 + + The Young Volunteer, 73 + + There's Life in the Old Land yet, 273 + + Three Cheers for our Jack Morgan, 282 + + To the Davis Guard, 120 + + True Heart Southrons, 317 + + True to the Gray, 363 + + + Vicksburg Song, 126 + + + War Song, 61, 90, 122 + + Wearin' of the Gray, 356 + + Wearing of the Gray, 366 + + We Conquer or Die, 263 + + We Know That We Were Rebels; or Why Can We Not Be Brothers, 364 + + We Left Him on the Field, 234 + + We'll Be Free in Maryland, 49 + + We Swear, 29 + + When the Boys Come Home, 334 + + Would'st Thou Have me Love Thee, 20 + + + Yankee Vandals, 314 + + "Ye Men of Alabama,", 17 + + You are Going to the Wars, Willie, Boy!, 275 + + + 1776-1861, 19 + + + + +_INDEX TO AUTHORS._ + + + Alexander, (Capt.) G. W., 69 + + + Ball, (Mrs.) C. A., 358 + + Barnes, (Mrs.) Wm., 194 + + Bigney, M. F., 272 + + Blackford, Capt., 261 + + Blackmar, A. E., 4 + + Bowers, E., 349 + + Brown, Reuben E., 174 + + + Caplen, (Mrs.) L. E., 185 + + Carnes, (Rev.) J. E., 155 + + Cave, (Major) E. W., 198 + + Collins, P. E., 210 + + Cooke, John Esten, 255 + + Cross, (Mrs.) J. T. H., 24 + + Cummins, Alex. A., 227 + + Cunningham, A. B., 106, 290 + + Cunningham, (Lieut.) W. P., 120 + + + Dasher, C. D., 338 + + Duke, (Gen.) Basil, 110 + + + Emmett, Dan. D., 153 + + Ezzell, S. R., 191 + + + Falligant, Lieut., 369 + + Falligant, Robert, 242 + + Flash, H. L., 350 + + Fontaine, (Major) Lamar, 62, 333 + + Forshey, (Col.) C. G., 134 + + French, L. Virginia, 46 + + + Grason, (Miss) Maria, 41 + + Griswold, (Capt.) E., 247 + + + Haines, James, 100 + + Hawkins (Col.), W. S., 108, 341 + + Hayne, Paul H., 163 + + Haynes, W. A., 88 + + Hewitt, John H., 275 + + Hewett, John M., 73 + + Hobby, (Capt.) Edwin, 203 + + Hobby, (Col.) A. M., 303 + + Holtz, R. E., 49 + + Houghton, (Bart.) Sir Henry, 375 + + Houston, (Capt.) Sam, 346 + + + Jones, (Miss) Maria E., 160, 234, 249 + + + Ketchum, Annie C., 40 + + Kercheval, A. W., 284 + + Kidd, E. E., 300 + + Knight, A. G., 22 + + + Leonard, A. F., 115 + + Leovy, A. F., 352 + + Lorrimer, Laura, 170 + + + Magruder, (Maj-Gen.) J. B., 172 + + Marshall, Jas. B., 83 + + McCarthy, Harry, 31, 292, 308, 347 + + McKnight, Major ("Asa Hartz"), 42 + + Meek, Alex. B., 20 + + Miles, Geo. H., 1 + + Milror, George B., 187 + + Moore, (Miss) Mollie E., 95, 207, 311 + + Morris, A. E., 175 + + Morse, A. W., 149 + + + Neeby, Anna Marie, 266 + + Neely, Wm., 294 + + Norfolk, Virginia, 241 + + + Paine, (Dr.) John W., 55 + + Pender, A., 74 + + Phelan, John D., 17 + + Pierpont, Jas., 263 + + Pike, Albert, 238 + + Porter, Ina M., 353 + + Prentice, Clarence, 364 + + Preston, (Mrs.) M. J., 59 + + + Randall, Jas. B., 273 + + Randall, Jas. R., 37, 276 + + Raymond, Eugene, 282 + + Rivers, Pearl, 363 + + Ryan, Father, 260 + + Ryan, (Rev.) J. A., 373 + + + Signaigo, Jo Augustine, 68 + + Sinclair, (Miss) Carrie Bell, 285 + + Smith, Mary E., 182 + + Smith, M. B., 196, 326 + + Strawbridge, H. H., 48 + + Sulzner, Fr., 297 + + + Tally, Susan A., 26 + + Thompson, E. M., 152 + + Thompson, Jeff., 60 + + Thorpe, (Capt.), 317 + + Thovington, J. S., 150 + + Ticknor, (Dr.) Francis O., 329 + + Townsend, Dan. E., 30 + + Tucker, St. Geo., 6 + + Turner, (Miss) J., 370 + + + Upshur, Mary J., 52 + + + Vose, (Mrs.) Henry J., 331 + + + Waginer, J. A., 41 + + Wailes, (Capt.) E. Lloyd, 94 + + Walther, H., 76 + + Warfield, C. A., 8 + + Washington, (Col.) Hamilton, 141 + + Wilson, Mary L., 178 + + Woodcock, J. H., 122 + + Wright, (Capt.) J. W. A., 126 + + + Young, (Mrs.) J. D., 287 + + Young, (Mrs.) M. J., 320 + + + + +INDEX TO FIRST LINES. + + +A farmer came to camp, one day, with milk and eggs to sell, 319 + +A flash from the edge of a hostile trench, 350 + +Aha! a song for the trumpet's tongue, 77 + +Alas! the rolling hours pass slow, 133 + +A life on the Vicksburg bluff, 126 + +All quiet along the Potomac to-night, 62 + +A nation has sprung into life, 12 + +Arise! Arise! with main and might, 51 + +Arise! Ye sons of freeborn sires, arise! your country save, 175 + +As a couple of good soldiers were walking one day, 318 + +A soldier boy from Texas lay gasping on the field, 266 + +At Bull Run, when the sun was low, 38 + +A warrior has fallen! a chieftain has gone, 194 + +Away down South in de fields of cotton, 36 + + +Bob Roebuck is my sweetheart's name, 69 + +Bravely ye've fought, my gallant, gallant men, 241 + +By blue Patapsco's billowy dash, 273 + +By the cross upon our banner--glory of our Southern sky, 142 + + +Can'st tell who lose the battle oft in the council field, 130 + +Cheer, boys, cheer! we'll march away to battle, 244 + +Childhood's days have long since faded, 306 + +Come, all ye sons of freedom, 252 + +Come all ye temper'd hearts of steel--come, quit your flocks and farms, +174 + +Come, all ye valiant soldiers, and a story I will tell, 326 + +Come, brothers! rally for the right, 40 + +Come! come! come, 61 + +Come, stack arms, men! pile on the rails, 200 + +Countrymen of Washington, 35 + + +Darkies, has you seed my massa, 216 + +Dear mother, I remember well, 349 + +Do they miss me in the trenches, do they miss me, 129 + +Down by the valley, 'mid thunder and lightning, 228 + + +Ever constant, ever true, 221 + + +Fair ladies and maids of all ages, 322 + +Fearlessly the seas we roam, 227 + +Fighting for our rights now, feasting when they're won, 131 + +Flag of the Southland! Flag of the free, 198 + +Fold away all your bright tinted dresses, 116 + +Fold it up carefully, lay it aside, 358 + +Forth from its scabbard pure and bright, 367 + +For sixty days and upward a storm of shell and shot, 343 + +For trumpet and drum, leave the soft voice of maiden, 317 + +From Houston City and Brazos bottom, 143 + +Furl that banner, for 'tis weary, 373 + + +Gallant nation, foiled by numbers, 375 + +God bless our Southern land, 188 + +God save the South, 1 + + +Halt! the march is over, 59 + +Hark! the clock strikes! All, all that now remains, 160 + +Hark! the tocsin is sounding, my comrades, 324 + +Hark! 'tis the shrill trumpet calling, 289 + +Haste thee, falter not, noble patriot band, 149 + +Have you counted up the cost, 240 + +Hear the summons, sons of Texas, 178 + +Hear ye not the sound of battle, 166 + +He fell and they cried, bring us home our dead!, 212 + +Ho, gallants, brim the beaker bowl, 281 + +Hurrah! for the Southern confederate State, 39 + +Hurrah for the South, the glorious South! the land of song and story, 114 + +Huzza! huzza! let's raise the battle-cry, 122 + + +I am dreaming of thee, 297 + +I cannot listen to your words, the land is long and wide, 363 + +I come from old Manassas, with a pocket full of fun, 66 + +If ever I consent to be married, 99 + +I leave my home, and thee, dear, with sorrow at my heart, 347 + +I'll sing you a song of the South's sunny clime, 78 + +I'm a soldier, you see, that oppression has made, 104 + +I'm gwine back to de land of cotton, 145 + +I'm 'nation tired of being hired, 218 + +In the land of the orange groves, sunshine and flowers, 203 + +I remember the hour when sadly we parted, 291 + +"Is there any news of the war?" she said, 86 + +It vos in Ni Orleans City, 10 + +It was on a New Year's morn so soon, 180 + +I've seen some handsome uniforms deck'd off with buttons bright, 285 + +I wish I was in de land o' cotton, 7 + +I wish I was in de land ob cotton, 153 + + +Just listen awhile, and give ear to my song, 196 + + +King Abraham is very sick, 27 + +Kneel, ye Southrons, kneel and swear, 29 + +Knitting for the soldiers, 52 + + +Lady, I go to fight for thee, 150 + +Land of our birth, thee, thee I sing, 210 + +Land of the South! the fairest land, 115 + +Let me whisper in your ear, sir, 301 + +Like the roar of the wintry surges on a wild tempestuous strand, 163 + +Little do rich people know, 340 + +Lo! the Southland queen emerging, 353 + +Lo! when Mississippi rolls, 214 + + +Maiden, pray for thy lover now, 284 + +March, march on, brave "Palmetto" boys, 90 + +'Mid her ruins proudly stands, 124 + +Missouri is the pride of the Nation, 60 + +Missouri! Missouri! bright land of the West, 308 + +Mother! is the battle over? thousands have been killed, they say, 236 + +My heart in its sadness turns fondly to thee, 339 + +My heart is in Mississippi, 211 + +My love reposes on a rosewood frame, 42 + + +Now let the thrilling anthem rise, 247 + +Now rouse ye, gallant comrades all, 26 + + +O band in the pinewood cease!, 255 + +"Och, its nate to be captain or colonel", 250 + +Of all the mighty nations in the East or in the West, 103 + +Off with gray suits, boys!, 369 + +Oh, dear its shameful, I declare, 230 + +Oh! Dixie, the land of King Cotton, 68 + +Oh, don't you remember old Stonewall, my boys, 338 + +Oh! Freedom is a blessed thing, 65 + +Oh, gone is the soul from his wondrous dark eye, 300 + +Oh! here I am in the land of cotton, 245 + +Oh! here's to South Carolina! drink it down, 279 + +Oh! Johnny, dear, and did you hear the news that's lately spread, 356 + +Oh! mother of States and of men, 331 + +Oh no! no! he'll not need them again, 309 + +Oh! say can you see through the gloom and the storms, 6 + +Oh! the tocsin of war still resounds o'er the land, 88 + +Oh! yes, I am a Southern girl, 81 + +O, Johnny Bull, my Jo, John! I wonder what you mean, 109 + +O, I'm a good old rebel, 360 + +O, I'm thinking of the soldier as the evening shadows fall, 182 + +Old Eve she did the apple eat, 258 + +On a bright May morn in 'Sixty-three, 345 + +"Only a soldier!" I heard them say, 333 + +On Shiloh's dark and bloody ground the dead and wounded lay, 336 + +O, tell me not that earth is fair, that spring is in its bloom, 226 + +O, the South is the queen of all nations, 93 + +Our cannons' mouths are dumb. No more our volleyed muskets peal, 366 + +Our country, our country, oh, where may we find, 152 + +Our flag is unfurl'd and our arms flash bright, 73 + +Out of the focal and foremost fire, 329 + +Over the river there are fierce stern meetings, 249 + +Over vale and over mountain, 170 + + +Pillow his head on his flashing sword, 311 + + +Raise the Southern flag on high!, 189 + +Raise the thrilling cry, to arms!, 141 + +Rally round our country's flag!, 94 + +Rebel is a sacred name, 71 + +Representing nothing on God's earth now, 370 + +Rise, rise, mountain and valley men, 55 + + +Sabine Pass! in letters of gold, 320 + +Sing ho! for the Southerner's meteor flag, 108 + +Sitting by the roadside on a Summer day, 74 + +Softly comes the twilight stealing gently through my prison bars, 346 + +Softly in dreams of repose, 352 + +Soldiers! raise your banner proudly, 120 + +Sons of freedom, on to glory, 199 + +Sons of the South arise, 264 + +Sons of the South, arouse to battle, 100 + +Sons of the South awake to glory, 4 + +Sons of the South, beware the foe, 46 + +Sons of the South! from hill and dale, 19 + +Southern men, unsheathe the sword, 24 + +Southrons, hear your country call you, 238 + +States of the South! confederate land, 48 + +Stitch, stitch, stitch, 222 + + +The boys are coming home again, 335 + +The boys down South in Dixie's Land, 49 + +The despot's heel is on thy shore, 276 + +The foe! the foe! They come! they come!, 57 + +The hour was sad I left the maid, 85 + +The morning star is paling, the camp-fires flicker low, 287 + +The muffled drum is beating, 328 + +The night-cloud had lowered o'er Shiloh's red plain, 290 + +The Northern abolition vandals, 314 + +The sentinel treads his martial round, 134 + +The shades of night were falling fast, 22 + +The snow is in the cloud, and night is gathering o'er us, 282 + +The South for me! The sunny clime, 123 + +The sun sinking o'er the battle plain, 187 + +The tyrant's broad pennant is floating, 102 + +The war drum is beating, prepare for the fight, 263 + +The Yankees hate the Lone Star State, because she did secede, 191 + +There he stood, the grand old hero, great Virginia's god-like son, 224 + +There is freedom on each fold, and each star is freedom's throne, 159 + +Though we're a band of prisoners, 341 + +Thou hast gone forth, my darling one, 256 + +Three cheers for the Southern flag, 91 + +'Tis dead of night, nor voice, nor sound, breaks on the stillness of the +air, 303 + +'Tis old Stonewall, the rebel, that leans on his sword, 315 + +To arms! oh! men in all our Southern clime, 76 + +'Twas a terrible moment, 95 + +'Twas early in the morning of eighteen sixty-three, 168 + +'Twas midnight when we built our fires, 207 + +'Twas on that dark and fearful morn, 185 + + +Unclaimed by the land that bore us, 317 + +Unmoved in the battle, 251 + +Upon Manassas' bloody plain a soldier boy lay dying, 106 + +Up, up with the banner, the foe is before us, 83 + + +Wake! dearest, wake! 'tis thy lover who calls, Imogen, 172 + +We all went down to New Orleans, 112 + +We are a band of brothers, and native to the soil, 31 + +Weep, Louisiana, weep! thy gallant dead, 37 + +We have ridden from the brave southwest, 56 + +We leave our pleasant homesteads, 80 + +We left him on the crimson'd field, 234 + +Well, we can whip them now I guess, 232 + +We're the boys so gay and happy, 177 + +We're the Navasota volunteers, our county is named Grimes, 294 + +What shall the Southron's watchword be, 272 + +When clouds of oppression o'ershaded, 30 + +When history tells her story, 242 + +While crimson drops our hearth-stones stain, 41 + +Whoop! the Doodles have broken loose, 14 + +Why can we not be brothers? the battle now is o'er, 364 + +Would'st thou have me love thee, dearest, 20 + +Would you like to hear my song, I'm afraid it's rather long, 268 + + +Yankee Doodle had a mind, 15 + +Ye men of Alabama, 17 + +Ye men of Southern hearts and feeling, 45 + +Ye sons of Carolina! awake from your dreaming, 237 + +Ye sons of the South, take your weapons in hand, 110 + +You are going to leave me, darling, 28 + +You are going to the wars, Willie boy, Willie boy, 275 + +You can never win us back, 8 + +You know the Federal General Banks, 164 + +Young as the youngest who donned the gray, 260 + +Young Florida sends forth her clan--the old Dominion's brave, 155 + +Young stranger, what land claims thy birth, 292 + +You shudder as you think upon th' carnage of the grim report, 137 + + + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] This was the first song published in the South during the war. + +[2] The Rebel ram. + +[3] A writer, describing the siege of Vicksburg, gives the following: + + "The meal issued to the army was very coarse, and there were no + sieves, and the beef, as a general thing, was hardly fit to feed to a + dog. Some herds of Texas steers were corraled near the town, lean, + gaunt, long-horned, repulsive looking creatures, and every morning the + weakest of the herd were slaughtered for the day's rations. In the + Twentieth Alabama, each day a company of men could be seen having in + their hands long ox-horns, upon which they occasionally blew a + mournful blast, as with solemn steps and slow, they bore to a suitable + burial place the beef issued to them for that day. Arrived at the spot + a hole was dug, the meat was dumped into it, a mound was heaped over + it, a funeral oration was said, the ox-horns once more sounded the + dolorous requiem, and then the mourners returned to camp, their heads + bowed down with grief and sorrow. Upon inquiring what this woeful + pageant meant, I was informed that the men were simply engaged in "the + burial of _Old Logan_." + +[4] Colonel J. J. Archer. + +[5] This thrilling song was circulated _sub rosa_ in New Orleans, and at +times almost openly. Its bold and defiant tone shows it to have been +written by one who must have suffered greatly at the hands of Butler. + +[6] The Cotton Supply Association, of Manchester, England. + +[7] A touching incident occurred in Montgomery at the beginning of the +war. A soldier met a lovely and refined lady in the street, and feeling +that in such times we are all sisters and brothers, and wishing to do +homage to such beauty, he touched his hat and said: "Lady, I'm going to +fight for you." "Sir," she instantly replied, "I am going to pray for +you." + +[8] Constitutional Liberty against Oppression--a "Cause" decided many +times in the Old World, yet to be taught in the New. + +[9] The Memphis _Appeal_ published the following:--"On yesterday all the +cotton in Memphis was burned. Probably not less than 300,000 bales have +been burned in the last three days in West Tennessee and North +Mississippi." + +[10] Capt. Riley commanded a battery composed of Irishmen from North +Carolina, and was nearly always attached to Hood's Brigade. The "swarthy +old hounds" refer to his Napoleon guns. + +[11] In commemoration of Gen. J. B. Gordon's charge against Hancock's +corps at Spotsylvania Court House, May 12, 1864. + +[12] Fremont, "the path-finder." + +[13] Battle of Cedar Run. + +[14] Sung by Harry McCarthy, in his "Personation Concerts," in all the +principal towns of the Confederacy. + +[15] On the morning of the battle of Franklin, Tennessee, Major General +Patrick Cleburne, while riding along the line, encouraging his men, saw an +old friend--a captain in his command--barefooted, and feet bleeding. +Alighting from his horse he told the Captain to "please" pull off his +boots. Upon the Captain doing so, the General told him to try them on, +which he did. Whereupon the General mounted his horse, telling the Captain +he was tired of wearing boots, and could well do without them. He would +hear of no remonstrance, and bidding the Captain good-by, rode away. In +this condition he was killed. + +[16] Brave to a fault, he was cut down in his early youth, and fell a +willing sacrifice at the altar of his country. Among his last words he +said, "I fell beside my gun." + +[17] The chorus is sung to the second part of the air, excepting after the +fifth and sixth verses. + +[18] Several weeks after the commencement of the terrific bombardment, +ladies were seen coolly walking the streets, and children in many parts of +the city engaged, as ever, in their playing, only stopping their sport for +the moment to gaze and listen at the bursting shells. + +[19] The above lines were found written upon the back of a five-hundred +dollar Confederate note, subsequent to the surrender. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Southern War Songs, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUTHERN WAR SONGS *** + +***** This file should be named 37538.txt or 37538.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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