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Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: War Poetry of the South + +Author: Various + +Release Date: August, 2005 [EBook #8648] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on July 29, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAR POETRY OF THE SOUTH *** + + + + +Produced by Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>War Poetry of the South.</h1> + +<p align="center" class="smallcaps">Edited By</p> + +<h2>William Gilmore Simms, LL. D.</h2> + + +<h4>Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, +By <span class="smallcaps">Richardson & Co.</span></h4> + +<p align="center">In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the +Southern District of New York.</p> + +<p align="center">Press of Geo. C. Rand & Avery,<br /> +540 Broadway.</p> + + + +<p align="center">To<br /> +The Women of the South<br /> +I Inscribe This Volume</p> + +<p>They have lost a cause, but they have made a triumph! They have shown +themselves worthy of any manhood; and will leave a record which shall +survive all the caprices of time. They have proved themselves worthy of +the best womanhood, and, in their posterity, will leave no race which +shall be unworthy of the cause which is lost, or of the mothers, sisters +and wives, who have taught such noble lessons of virtuous effort, and +womanly endurance.</p> + +<p>W.G.S.</p> + + + + +<h1>Preface.</h1> + + + +<p>Several considerations have prompted the editor of this volume in the +compilation of its pages. It constitutes a contribution to the national +literature which is assumed to be not unworthy of it, and which is +otherwise valuable as illustrating the degree of mental and art +development which has been made, in a large section of the country, under +circumstances greatly calculated to stimulate talent and provoke +expression, through the higher utterances of passion and imagination. +Though sectional in its character, and indicative of a temper and a +feeling which were in conflict with nationality, yet, now that the States +of the Union have been resolved into one nation, this collection is +essentially as much the property of the whole as are the captured cannon +which were employed against it during the progress of the late war. It +belongs to the national literature, and will hereafter be regarded as +constituting a proper part of it, just as legitimately to be recognized by +the nation as are the rival ballads of the cavaliers and roundheads, by +the English, in the great civil conflict of their country.</p> + +<p>The emotional literature of a people is as necessary to the philosophical +historian as the mere details of events in the progress of a nation. This +is essential to the reputation of the Southern people, as illustrating +their feelings, sentiments, ideas, and opinions--the motives which +influenced their actions, and the objects which they had in contemplation, +and which seemed to them to justify the struggle in which they were +engaged. It shows with what spirit the popular mind regarded the course of +events, whether favorable or adverse; and, in this aspect, it is even of +more importance to the writer of history than any mere chronicle of facts. +The mere facts in a history do not always, or often, indicate the true +<i>animus</i>, of the action. But, in poetry and song, the emotional +nature is apt to declare itself without reserve--speaking out with a +passion which disdains subterfuge, and through media of imagination and +fancy, which are not only without reserve, but which are too coercive in +their own nature, too arbitrary in their influence, to acknowledge any +restraints upon that expression, which glows or weeps with emotions that +gush freely and freshly from the heart. With this persuasion, we can also +forgive the muse who, in her fervor, is sometimes forgetful of her art.</p> + +<p>And yet, it is believed that the numerous pieces of this volume will be +found creditable to the genius and culture of the Southern people, and +honorable, as in accordance with their convictions. They are derived from +all the States of the late Southern Confederacy, and will be found +truthfully to exhibit the sentiment and opinion prevailing more or less +generally throughout the whole. The editor has had special advantages in +making the compilation. Having a large correspondence in most of the +Southern States, he has found no difficulty in procuring his material. +Contributions have poured in upon him from all portions of the South; the +original publications having been, in a large number of cases, subjected +to the careful revision of the several authors. It is a matter of great +regret with him that the limits of the present volume have not suffered +him to do justice to, and find a place for, many of the pieces which fully +deserve to be put on record. Some of the poems were quite too long for his +purpose; a large number, delayed by the mails and other causes, were +received too late for publication. Several collections, from Louisiana, +North Carolina, and Texas, especially, are omitted for this reason. Many +of these pieces are distinguished by fire, force, passion, and a free play +of fancy. Briefly, his material would enable him to prepare another +volume, similar to the present, which would not be unworthy of its +companionship. He is authorized by his publisher to say that, in the event +of the popular success of the present volume, he will cheerfully follow up +its publication by a second, of like style, character, and dimensions.</p> + +<p>The editor has seen with pleasure the volume of "Rebel Rhymes" edited by +Mr. Moore, and of "South Songs," by Mr. De Leon. He has seen, besides, a +single number of a periodical pamphlet called "The Southern Monthly," +published at Memphis, Tenn. This has been supplied him by a contributor. +He has seen no other publications of this nature, though he has heard of +others, and has sought for them in vain. There may be others still +forthcoming; for, in so large a field, with a population so greatly +scattered as that of the South, it is a physical impossibility adequately +to do justice to the whole by any one editor; and each of the sections +must make its own contributions, in its own time, and according to its +several opportunities. There will be room enough for all; and each, I +doubt not, will possess its special claims to recognition and reward.</p> + +<p>His own collections, made during the progress of the war, from the +newspapers, chiefly, of South Carolina, Virginia, and Georgia, were +copious. Of these, many have been omitted from this collection, which, he +trusts, will some day find another medium of publication. He has been able +to ascertain the authorship, in many cases, of these writings; but must +regret still that so many others, under a too fastidious delicacy, deny +that their names should be made known. It is to be hoped that they will +hereafter be supplied. To the numerous ladies who have so frankly and +generously contributed to this collection, by sending originals and making +copies, he begs to offer his most grateful acknowledgments.</p> + +<p>A large proportion of the pieces omitted are of elegiac character. Of this +class, he could find a place for such pieces only as were dedicated to the +most distinguished of the persons falling in battle, or such as are marked +by the higher characteristics of poetry--freshness, thought, and +imagination. But many of the omitted pieces are quite worthy of +preservation. Much space has not been given to that class of songs, camp +catches, or marching ballads, which are so numerous in the "Rebel Rhymes" +of Mr. Moore. The songs which are most popular are rarely such as may +claim poetical rank. They depend upon lively music and certain +spirit-stirring catchwords, and are rarely worked up with much regard +to art or even, propriety. Still, many of these should have found a place +in this volume, had adequate space been allowed the editor. It is his +desire, as well as that of the publisher, to collect and bind together +these fugitives in yet another publication. He will preserve the +manuscripts and copies of all unpublished pieces, with the view to this +object--keeping them always subject to the wishes of their several +writers.</p> + +<p>At the close, he must express the hope that these poems will be +recognized, not only as highly creditable to the Southern mind, but as +truly illustrative, if not justificatory of, that sentiment and opinion +with which they have been written; which sentiment and opinion have +sustained their people through a war unexampled in its horrors in modern +times, and which has fully tested their powers of endurance, as well as +their ability in creating their own resources, under all reverses, and +amidst every form of privation.</p> + +<p>W.G.S.</p> + +<p>Brooklyn, September 8, 1866.</p> + + + + +<h1>Contents.</h1> + + +<ul> + <li><a href="#1">Ethnogenesis</a>, <i>Henry Timrod</i></li> + <li><a href="#2">God Save the South</a>, <i>George H. Miles</i></li> + <li><a href="#3">"You can never win them back"</a>, <i>Catherine M. Warfield</i></li> + <li><a href="#4">The Southern Cross</a>, <i>E. K. Blunt</i></li> + <li><a href="#5">South Carolina</a>, <i> S. Henry Dickson</i></li> + <li><a href="#6">The New Star</a>, <i>B. M. Anderson</i></li> + <li><a href="#7">The Irrepressible Conflict</a>, <i>Tyrtæus</i></li> + <li><a href="#8">The Southern Republic</a>, <i>Olivia T. Thomas</i></li> + <li><a href="#9">"Is there then no Hope?"</a>, <i>Charleston Courier</i></li> + <li><a href="#10">The Fate of the Republic</a>, <i>Charleston Mercury</i></li> + <li><a href="#11">The Voice of the South</a>, <i>Charleston Mercury</i></li> + <li><a href="#12">The Oath of Freedom</a>, <i>James Barron Hope</i></li> + <li><a href="#13">The Battle Cry of the South</a>, <i>James R. Randall</i></li> + <li><a href="#14">Sonnet</a>, <i>Charleston Mercury</i></li> + <li><a href="#15">Seventy-six and Sixty-one</a>, <i>J. W. Overall</i></li> + <li><a href="#16">"Reddato Gladium"</a>, <i>Richmond Whig</i></li> + <li><a href="#17">"Nay, keep the Sword"</a>, <i>Richmond Whig</i></li> + <li><a href="#18">Coercion</a>, <i>John R. Thompson</i></li> + <li><a href="#19">A Cry to Arms</a>, <i>Henry Timrod</i></li> + <li><a href="#20">Jackson, the Alexandria Martyr</a>, <i>W. H. Holcombe</i></li> + <li><a href="#21">The Martyr of Alexandria</a>, <i>James W. Simmons</i></li> + <li><a href="#22">The Blessed Union</a>, <i>Charleston Mercury</i></li> + <li><a href="#23">The Fire of Freedom</a>, <i>Richmond paper</i></li> + <li><a href="#24">Hymn to the National Flag</a>, <i>Mrs. M. J. Preston</i></li> + <li><a href="#25">Sonnet--moral of party</a>, <i>Charleston Mercury</i></li> + <li><a href="#26">Our Faith in '61</a>, <i>A. J. Requier</i></li> + <li><a href="#27">"Wouldst thou have me love thee?"</a>, <i>Alex. B. Meek</i></li> + <li><a href="#28">Enlisted to-day</a>, <i>Anonymous</i></li> + <li><a href="#29">"My Maryland"</a>, <i>James R. Randall</i></li> + <li><a href="#30">The Boy Soldier</a>, <i>Lady of Savannah</i></li> + <li><a href="#31">The good old cause</a>, <i>John D. Phelan</i></li> + <li><a href="#32">Manassas</a>, <i>Catherine M. Warfield</i></li> + <li><a href="#33">Virginia</a>, <i>Ibid.</i></li> + <li><a href="#34">The War-Christian's Thanksgiving</a>, <i>S. Teackle Wallis</i></li> + <li><a href="#35">Sonnet</a>, <i>Charleston Mercury</i></li> + <li><a href="#36">Marching to Death</a>, <i>J. Herbert Sass</i></li> + <li><a href="#37">Charleston</a>, <i>Henry Timrod</i></li> + <li><a href="#38">Charleston</a>, <i>Paul H. Hayne</i></li> + <li><a href="#39">"Ye Men of Alabama"</a>, <i>Jno. D. Phelan</i></li> + <li><a href="#40">Nec temere, nec timida</a>, <i>Annie C. Ketchum</i></li> + <li><a href="#41">Dixie</a>, <i>Albert Pike</i></li> + <li><a href="#42">The Old Rifleman</a>, <i>Frank Ticknor</i></li> + <li><a href="#43">Battle Hymn</a>, <i>Charleston Mercury</i></li> + <li><a href="#44">Kentucky, she is sold</a>, <i>J. R. Barrick</i></li> + <li><a href="#45">The Ship of State</a>, <i>Charleston Mercury</i></li> + <li><a href="#46">"In his blanket on the ground,"</a> <i>Caroline H. Gervais</i></li> + <li><a href="#47">The Mountain Partisan</a>, <i>Charleston Mercury</i></li> + <li><a href="#48">The Cameo Bracelet</a>, <i>James R. Randall</i></li> + <li><a href="#49">Zollicoffer</a>, <i>Henry L. Flash</i></li> + <li><a href="#50">Beauregard</a>, <i>Catherine M. Warfield</i></li> + <li><a href="#51">South Carolina</a>, <i>Gossypium</i></li> + <li><a href="#52">Carolina</a>, <i>Henry Timrod</i></li> + <li><a href="#53">My Mother Land</a>, <i>Paul H. Hayne</i></li> + <li><a href="#54">Joe Johnston</a>, <i>Jno. R. Thompson</i></li> + <li><a href="#55">Over the River</a>, <i>Jane T. H. Cross</i></li> + <li><a href="#56">The Confederacy</a>, <i>Jane T. H. Cross</i></li> + <li><a href="#57">President Davis</a>, <i>Jane T. H. Cross</i></li> + <li><a href="#58">The Rifleman's Fancy Shot</a>, <i>Anonymous</i></li> + <li><a href="#59">"All quiet along the Potomac"</a></li> + <li><a href="#60">Prize Address</a>, <i>Henry Timrod</i></li> + <li><a href="#61">The Battle of Richmond</a>, <i>Geo. Herbert Sass</i></li> + <li><a href="#62">The Guerrillas</a>, <i>S. Teackle Wallis</i></li> + <li><a href="#63">A Farewell to Pope</a>, <i>Jno. R. Thompson</i></li> + <li><a href="#64">Sonnet--Public Prayer</a>, <i>South Carolinian</i></li> + <li><a href="#65">Battle of Belmont</a>, <i>J.A. Signaigo</i></li> + <li><a href="#66">Vicksburg</a>, <i>Paul H. Hayne</i></li> + <li><a href="#67">Ballad of the War</a>, <i>G.H. Sass</i></li> + <li><a href="#68">The two Armies</a>, <i>Henry Timrod</i></li> + <li><a href="#69">The Legion of Honor</a>, <i>H.L. Flash</i></li> + <li><a href="#70">Clouds in the West</a>, <i>A.J. Requier</i></li> + <li><a href="#71">Georgia! My Georgia!</a>, <i>Carrie B. Sinclair</i></li> + <li><a href="#72">Song of the Texan Rangers</a>, <i>Anonymous</i></li> + <li><a href="#73">Kentucky required to yield her arms</a>, <i>Anonymous</i></li> + <li><a href="#74">There's life in the old land yet</a>, <i>J.B. Randall</i></li> + <li><a href="#75">"Tell the boys the War is ended,"</a> <i>Emily J. Moore</i></li> + <li><a href="#76">The Southern Cross</a>, <i>St. George Tucker</i></li> + <li><a href="#77">England's Neutrality</a>, <i>John R. Thompson</i></li> + <li><a href="#78">Close the Ranks</a>, <i>J.L. O'Sullivan</i></li> + <li><a href="#79">The Sea-kings of the South</a>, <i>Ed. G. Bruce</i></li> + <li><a href="#80">The Return</a>, <i>Anonymous</i></li> + <li><a href="#81">Our Christmas Hymn</a>, <i>J. Dickson Bruns</i></li> + <li><a href="#82">Charleston</a>, <i>Miss E.B. Cheesborough</i></li> + <li><a href="#83">Gathering Song</a>, <i>Annie Chambers Ketchum</i></li> + <li><a href="#84">Christmas</a>, <i>Henry Timrod</i></li> + <li><a href="#85">A Prayer for Peace</a>, <i>S. Teackle Wallis</i></li> + <li><a href="#86">The Band in the Pines</a>, <i>Jno. Esten Cooke</i></li> + <li><a href="#87">At Fort Pillow</a>, <i>James R. Randall</i></li> + <li><a href="#88">From the Rapidan</a>, <i>Anonymous</i></li> + <li><a href="#89">Song of our Southland</a>, <i>Mrs. Mary Ware</i></li> + <li><a href="#90">Sonnets</a>, <i>Paul H. Hayne</i></li> + <li><a href="#91">Hospital Duties</a>, <i>Charleston Courier</i></li> + <li><a href="#92">They cry Peace, Peace!</a>, <i>Mrs. Alethea S. Burroughs</i></li> + <li><a href="#93">Ballad--"What! have ye thought?"</a> <i>Charleston Mercury</i></li> + <li><a href="#94">Missing</a>, <i>Anonymous</i></li> + <li><a href="#95">Ode--"Souls of Heroes,"</a> <i>Charleston Mercury</i></li> + <li><a href="#96">Jackson</a>, <i>Henry L. Flash</i></li> + <li><a href="#97">Captain Maffit's Ballad</a>, <i>Charleston Mercury</i></li> + <li><a href="#98">Melt the Bells</a>, <i>F. T. Rockett</i></li> + <li><a href="#99">John Pelham</a>, <i>James R. Randall</i></li> + <li><a href="#100">"Ye batteries of Beauregard,"</a> <i>J. R. Barrick</i></li> + <li><a href="#101">"When Peace returns,"</a> <i>Olivia T. Thomas</i></li> + <li><a href="#102">The Right above the Wrong</a>, <i>J. W. Overall</i></li> + <li><a href="#103">Carmen Triumphale</a>, <i>Henry Timrod</i></li> + <li><a href="#104">The Fiend Unbound</a>, <i>Charleston Mercury</i></li> + <li><a href="#105">The Unknown Dead</a>, <i>Henry Timrod</i></li> + <li><a href="#106">Ode--"Do ye quail?"</a> <i>W. Gilmore Simms</i></li> + <li><a href="#107">Ode--"Our City by the Sea,"</a> <i>Ibid</i>.</li> + <li><a href="#108">The Lone Sentry</a>, <i>J. R. Randall</i></li> + <li><a href="#109">My Soldier Brother</a>, <i>Sallie E. Bollard</i></li> + <li><a href="#110">Seaweeds</a>, <i>Annie Chambers Ketchum</i></li> + <li><a href="#111">The Salkehatchie</a>, <i>Emily J. Moore</i></li> + <li><a href="#112">The Broken Mug</a>, <i>Jno. Esten Cooke</i></li> + <li><a href="#113">Carolina</a>, <i>Anna Peyre Dinnies</i></li> + <li><a href="#114">Our Martyrs</a>, <i>Paul H. Hayne</i></li> + <li><a href="#115">Cleburne</a>, <i>Mrs. M. A. Jennings</i></li> + <li><a href="#116">The Texan Marseillaise</a>, <i>James Harris</i></li> + <li><a href="#117">"O, tempora! O, mores,"</a> <i>J. Dickson Bruns</i></li> + <li><a href="#118">Our Departed Comrades</a>, <i>J. M. Shirer</i></li> + <li><a href="#119">No Land like Ours</a>, <i>J. R. Barrick</i></li> + <li><a href="#120">The Angel of the Church</a>, <i>W. Gilmore Simms</i></li> + <li><a href="#121">Ode--"Shell the old City,"</a> <i>Ibid</i>.</li> + <li><a href="#122">The Enemy shall never reach your City</a>, <i>Charleston Mercury</i></li> + <li><a href="#123">War Waves</a>, <i>Catherine G. Poyas</i></li> + <li><a href="#124">Old Moultrie</a>, <i>Ibid</i>.</li> + <li><a href="#125">Only one killed</a>, <i>Julia L. Keyes</i></li> + <li><a href="#126">Land of King Cotton</a>, <i>J. A. Signaigo</i></li> + <li><a href="#127">If you love me</a>, <i>Ibid</i>.</li> + <li><a href="#128">The Cotton Boll</a>, <i>Henry Timrod</i></li> + <li><a href="#129">Battle of Charleston Harbor</a>, <i>Paul H. Hayne</i></li> + <li><a href="#130">Fort Wagner</a>, <i>W. Gilmore Simms</i></li> + <li><a href="#131">Sumter in Ruins</a>, <i>Ibid</i>.</li> + <li><a href="#132">Morris Island</a>, <i>Ibid</i>.</li> + <li><a href="#133">Promise of Spring</a>, <i>South Carolinian</i></li> + <li><a href="#134">Spring</a>, <i>Henry Timrod</i></li> + <li><a href="#135">Chickamauga</a>, <i>Richmond Sentinel</i></li> + <li><a href="#136">In Memoriam--Bishop Polk</a>, <i>Viola</i></li> + <li><a href="#137">Stonewall Jackson</a>, <i>H. L. Flash</i></li> + <li><a href="#138">Stonewall Jackson--a Dirge</a>, <i>Anonymous</i></li> + <li><a href="#139">Beaufort</a>, <i>W. J. Grayson</i></li> + <li><a href="#140">The Empty Sleeve</a>, <i>J. R. Bagby</i></li> + <li><a href="#141">Cotton Burners' Hymn</a>, <i>Memphis Appeal</i></li> + <li><a href="#142">Reading the List</a>, <i>Anonymous</i></li> + <li><a href="#143">His Last Words</a>, <i>Anonymous</i></li> + <li><a href="#144">Charge of Hagood's Brigade</a>, <i>J. Blythe Allston</i></li> + <li><a href="#145">Carolina</a>, <i>Jno. A, Wagener</i></li> + <li><a href="#146">Savannah</a>, <i>Alethea S. Burroughs</i></li> + <li><a href="#147">"Old Betsy,"</a> <i>John Killian</i></li> + <li><a href="#148">Awake! Arise!</a> <i>G. W. Archer</i></li> + <li><a href="#149">Albert Sydney Johnston</a>, <i>Mary Jervey</i></li> + <li><a href="#150">Eulogy of the Dead</a>, <i>B. F. Porter</i></li> + <li><a href="#151">The Beaufort Exile</a>, <i>Anonymous</i></li> + <li><a href="#152">Somebody's Darling</a>, <i>Miss Maria LaCoste</i></li> + <li><a href="#153">John Pegram</a>, <i>W. Gordon McGabe</i></li> + <li><a href="#154">Captives Going Home</a>, <i>Anonymous</i></li> + <li><a href="#155">Heights of Mission Ridge</a>, <i>J. A. Signaigo</i></li> + <li><a href="#156">Our Left at Manassas</a>, <i>Anonymous</i></li> + <li><a href="#157">On to Richmond</a>, <i>J. R. Thompson</i></li> + <li><a href="#158">Turner Ashby</a>, <i>Ibid</i>.</li> + <li><a href="#159">Captain Latanè</a>, <i>Ibid</i>.</li> + <li><a href="#160">The Men</a>, <i>Maurice Bell</i></li> + <li><a href="#161">The Rebel Soldier</a>, <i>Kentucky Girl</i></li> + <li><a href="#162">Battle of Hampton Roads</a>, <i>Ossian D. Gorman</i></li> + <li><a href="#163">"Is this a time to dance?"</a> <i>Anonymous</i></li> + <li><a href="#164">The Maryland Line</a>, <i>J. D, McCabe, Jr.</i></li> + <li><a href="#165">I give my Soldier Boy a blade</a>, <i>H. M. L.</i></li> + <li><a href="#166">Sonnet--Avatar of Hell</a>, <i>Anonymous</i></li> + <li><a href="#167">Stonewall Jackson's Way</a>, <i>Anonymous</i></li> + <li><a href="#168">The Silent March</a>, <i>Anonymous</i></li> + <li><a href="#169">Pro Memoria</a>, <i>Ina M. Porter</i></li> + <li><a href="#170">Southern Homes in Ruins</a>, <i>R. B. Vance</i></li> + <li><a href="#171">Rappahannock Army Song</a>, <i>J. C. McLemore</i></li> + <li><a href="#172">Soldier in the Rain</a>, <i>Julia L. Keyes</i></li> + <li><a href="#173">My Country</a>, <i>W. D. Porter</i></li> + <li><a href="#174">After the Battle</a>, <i>Miss Agnes Leonard</i></li> + <li><a href="#175">Our Confederate Dead</a>, <i>Lady of Augusta</i></li> + <li><a href="#176">Ye Cavaliers of Dixie</a>, <i>B. F. Porter</i></li> + <li><a href="#177">Song of Spring</a>, <i>Jno. A. Wagener</i></li> + <li><a href="#178">What the Village Bell said</a>, <i>Jno. C. McLemore</i></li> + <li><a href="#179">The Tree, the Serpent, and the Star</a>, <i>A. P. Gray</i></li> + <li><a href="#180">Southern War Hymn</a>, <i>Jno. A. Wagener</i></li> + <li><a href="#181">The Battle Rainbow</a>, <i>J. R. Thompson</i></li> + <li><a href="#182">Stonewall Jackson</a>, <i>Richmond Broadside</i></li> + <li><a href="#183">Dirge for Ashby</a>, <i>Mrs. M. J. Preston</i></li> + <li><a href="#184">Sacrifice</a>, <i>Charleston Mercury</i></li> + <li><a href="#185">Sonnet</a>, <i>Ibid</i>.</li> + <li><a href="#186">Grave of A. Sydney Johnston</a>, <i>J. B. Synott</i></li> + <li><a href="#187">"Not doubtful of your Fatherland,"</a> <i>Charleston Mercury</i></li> + <li><a href="#188">Only a Soldier's grave</a>, <i>S. A. Jonas</i></li> + <li><a href="#189">The Guerrilla Martyrs</a>, <i>Charleston Mercury</i></li> + <li><a href="#190">"Libera Nos, O Domine!"</a> <i>James Barron Hope</i></li> + <li><a href="#191">The Knell shall sound once more</a>, <i>Charleston Mercury</i></li> + <li><a href="#192">Gendron Palmer, of the Holcombe Legion</a>, <i>Ina M. Porter</i></li> + <li><a href="#193">Mumford, the Martyr of New Orleans</a>, <i>Ibid</i>.</li> + <li><a href="#194">The Foe at the Gates--Charleston</a>, <i>J. Dickson Bruns</i></li> + <li><a href="#195">Savannah Fallen</a>, <i>Alethea S. Burroughs</i></li> + <li><a href="#196">Bull Run--A Parody</a>, <i>Anonymous</i></li> + <li><a href="#197">"Stack Arms,"</a> <i>Jos. Blythe Allston</i></li> + <li><a href="#198">Doffing the Gray</a>, <i>Lieutenant Falligant</i></li> + <li><a href="#199">In the Land where we were dreaming</a>, <i>D. B. Lucas</i></li> + <li><a href="#200">Ballad--"Yes, build your Walls,"</a> <i>Charleston Mercury</i></li> + <li><a href="#201">The Lines around Petersburg</a>, <i>Samuel Davis</i></li> + <li><a href="#202">All is gone</a>, Fadette--<i>Memphis Appeal</i></li> + <li><a href="#203">Bowing her Head</a>, <i>Savannah Broadside</i></li> + <li><a href="#204">The Confederate Flag</a>, <i>Anna Peyre Dinnies</i></li> + <li><a href="#205">Ashes of Glory</a>, <i>A. J. Requier</i></li> +</ul> + + + + +<h1>War Poetry of the South</h1> + + + + +<h1><a name="1"></a>Ethnogenesis.</h1> + +<h2>By Henry Timrod, of S.C.</h2> + +<p align="center">Written during the meeting of the First Southern Congress, at Montgomery, +February, 1861.</p> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Hath not the morning dawned with added light?<br /> +And shall not evening--call another star<br /> +Out of the infinite regions of the night,<br /> +To mark this day in Heaven? At last, we are<br /> +A nation among nations; and the world<br /> +Shall soon behold in many a distant port<br /> + Another flag unfurled!<br /> +Now, come what may, whose favor need we court?<br /> +And, under God, whose thunder need we fear?<br /> + Thank Him who placed us here<br /> +Beneath so kind a sky--the very sun<br /> +Takes part with us; and on our errands run<br /> +All breezes of the ocean; dew and rain<br /> +Do noiseless battle for us; and the Year,<br /> +And all the gentle daughters in her train,<br /> +March in our ranks, and in our service wield<br /> + Long spears of golden grain!<br /> +A yellow blossom as her fairy shield,<br /> +June fling's her azure banner to the wind,<br /> + While in the order of their birth<br /> +Her sisters pass; and many an ample field<br /> +Grows white beneath their steps, till now, behold<br /> + Its endless sheets unfold<br /> +THE SNOW OF SOUTHERN SUMMERS! Let the earth<br /> +Rejoice! beneath those fleeces soft and warm<br /> + Our happy land shall sleep<br /> + In a repose as deep<br /> + As if we lay intrenched behind<br /> +Whole leagues of Russian ice and Arctic storm!</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>And what if, mad with wrongs themselves have wrought,<br /> + In their own treachery caught,<br /> + By their own fears made bold,<br /> + And leagued with him of old,<br /> +Who long since, in the limits of the North,<br /> +Set up his evil throne, and warred with God--<br /> +What if, both mad and blinded in their rage,<br /> +Our foes should fling us down their mortal gage,<br /> +And with a hostile step profane our sod!<br /> +We shall not shrink, my brothers, but go forth<br /> +To meet them, marshalled by the Lord of Hosts,<br /> +And overshadowed by the mighty ghosts<br /> +Of Moultrie and of Eutaw--who shall foil<br /> +Auxiliars such as these? Nor these alone,<br /> + But every stock and stone<br /> + Shall help us; but the very soil,<br /> +And all the generous wealth it gives to toil,<br /> +And all for which we love our noble land,<br /> +Shall fight beside, and through us, sea and strand,<br /> + The heart of woman, and her hand,<br /> +Tree, fruit, and flower, and every influence,<br /> + Gentle, or grave, or grand;<br /> + The winds in our defence<br /> +Shall seem to blow; to us the hills shall lend<br /> + Their firmness and their calm;<br /> +And in our stiffened sinews we shall blend<br /> + The strength of pine and palm!</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>Nor would we shun the battle-ground,<br /> + Though weak as we are strong;<br /> +Call up the clashing elements around,<br /> + And test the right and wrong!<br /> +On one side, creeds that dare to teach<br /> +What Christ and Paul refrained to preach;<br /> +Codes built upon a broken pledge,<br /> +And charity that whets a poniard's edge;<br /> +Fair schemes that leave the neighboring poor<br /> +To starve and shiver at the schemer's door,<br /> +While in the world's most liberal ranks enrolled,<br /> +He turns some vast philanthropy to gold;<br /> +Religion taking every mortal form<br /> +But that a pure and Christian faith makes warm,<br /> +Where not to vile fanatic passion urged,<br /> +Or not in vague philosophies submerged,<br /> +Repulsive with all Pharisaic leaven,<br /> +And making laws to stay the laws of Heaven!<br /> +And on the other, scorn of sordid gain,<br /> +Unblemished honor, truth without a stain,<br /> +Faith, justice, reverence, charitable wealth,<br /> +And, for the poor and humble, laws which give,<br /> +Not the mean right to buy the right to live,<br /> + But life, and home, and health!<br /> +To doubt the end were want of trust in God,<br /> + Who, if he has decreed<br /> +That we must pass a redder sea<br /> +Than that which rang to Miriam's holy glee,<br /> + Will surely raise at need<br /> + A Moses with his rod!</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>But let our fears-if fears we have--be still,<br /> +And turn us to the future! Could we climb<br /> +Some mighty Alp, and view the coming time,<br /> +The rapturous sight would fill<br /> + Our eyes with happy tears!<br /> +Not only for the glories which the years<br /> +Shall bring us; not for lands from sea to sea,<br /> +And wealth, and power, and peace, though these shall be;<br /> +But for the distant peoples we shall bless,<br /> +And the hushed murmurs of a world's distress:<br /> +For, to give labor to the poor,<br /> + The whole sad planet o'er,<br /> +And save from want and crime the humblest door,<br /> +Is one among--the many ends for which<br /> + God makes us great and rich!<br /> +The hour perchance is not yet wholly ripe<br /> +When all shall own it, but the type<br /> +Whereby we shall be known in every land<br /> +Is that vast gulf which laves our Southern strand,<br /> +And through the cold, untempered ocean pours<br /> +Its genial streams, that far-off Arctic shores<br /> +May sometimes catch upon the softened breeze<br /> +Strange tropic warmth and hints of summer seas.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="2"></a>God Save the South.</h1> + +<h2>George H. Miles, of Baltimore.</h2> + + + +<p>God save the South!<br /> +God save the South!<br /> +Her altars and firesides--<br /> + God save the South!<br /> +Now that the war is nigh--<br /> +Now that we arm to die--<br /> +Chanting--our battle-cry,<br /> + Freedom or Death!</p> + +<p>God be our shield!<br /> +At home or a-field,<br /> +Stretch Thine arm over us,<br /> + Strengthen and save!<br /> +What though they're five to one,<br /> +Forward each sire and son,<br /> +Strike till the war is done,<br /> + Strike to the grave.</p> + +<p>God make the right<br /> +Stronger than might!<br /> +Millions would trample us<br /> + Down in their pride.<br /> +Lay, thou, their legions low;<br /> +Roll back the ruthless foe;<br /> +Let the proud spoiler know<br /> + God's on our side!</p> + +<p>Hark! honor's call,<br /> +Summoning all--<br /> +Summoning all of us<br /> + Up to the strife.<br /> +Sons of the South, awake!<br /> +Strike till the brand shall break!<br /> +Strike for dear honor's sake,<br /> + Freedom and Life!</p> + +<p>Rebels before<br /> +Were our fathers of yore;<br /> +Rebel, the glorious name<br /> + Washington bore,<br /> +Why, then, be ours the same<br /> +Title he snatched from shame;<br /> +Making it first in fame,<br /> + Odious no more.</p> + +<p>War to the hilt!<br /> +Theirs be the guilt,<br /> +Who fetter the freeman<br /> + To ransom the slave.<br /> +Up, then, and undismayed,<br /> +Sheathe not the battle-blade?<br /> +Till the last foe is laid<br /> + Low in the grave.</p> + +<p>God save the South!<br /> +God save the South!<br /> +Dry the dim eyes that now<br /> + Follow our path.<br /> +Still let the light feet rove<br /> +Safe through the orange grove;<br /> +Still keep the land we love<br /> + Safe from all wrath.</p> + +<p>God save the South!<br /> +God save the South!<br /> +Her altars and firesides--<br /> + God save the South!<br /> +For the rude war is nigh,<br /> +And we must win or die;<br /> +Chanting our battle-cry<br /> + Freedom or Death!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="3"></a>You Can Never Win Them Back.</h1> + +<h2>By Catherine M. Warfield.</h2> + + + +<p>You can never win them back,<br /> + never! never!<br /> +Though they perish on the track<br /> + of your endeavor;<br /> +Though their corses strew the earth<br /> +That smiled upon their birth,<br /> +And blood pollutes each hearthstone<br /> + forever!</p> + +<p>They have risen, to a man<br /> + stern and fearless;<br /> +Of your curses and your ban<br /> + they are careless.<br /> +Every hand is on its knife;<br /> +Every gun is primed for strife;<br /> +Every palm contains a life<br /> + high and peerless!</p> + +<p>You have no such blood as theirs<br /> + for the shedding,<br /> +In the veins of Cavaliers<br /> + was its heading.<br /> +You have no such stately men<br /> +In your abolition den,<br /> +To march through foe and fen,<br /> + nothing dreading.</p> + +<p>They may fall before the fire<br /> + of your legions,<br /> +Paid in gold for murd'rous hire--<br /> + bought allegiance!<br /> +But for every drop you shed<br /> +You shall leave a mound of dead;<br /> +And the vultures shall be fed<br /> + in our regions.</p> + +<p>But the battle to the strong<br /> + is not given,<br /> +While the Judge of right and wrong<br /> + sits in heaven!<br /> +And the God of David still<br /> +Guides each pebble by His will;<br /> +There are giants yet to kill--<br /> + wrong's unshriven.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="4"></a>The Southern Cross.</h1> + +<h2>By E. K. Blunt.</h2> + + + +<p>In the name of God! Amen!<br /> + Stand for our Southern rights;<br /> +On our side, Southern men,<br /> + The God of battles fights!<br /> +Fling the invaders far--<br /> + Hurl back their work of woe--<br /> +The voice is the voice of a brother,<br /> + But the hands are the hands of a foe.<br /> +They come with a trampling army,<br /> + Invading our native sod--<br /> +Stand, Southrons! fight and conquer,<br /> + In the name of the mighty God!</p> + +<p>They are singing <i>our</i> song of triumph,[1]<br /> + Which proclaimed <i>us</i> proud and free--<br /> +While breaking away the heartstrings<br /> + Of our nation's harmony.<br /> +Sadly it floateth from us,<br /> + Sighing o'er land and wave;<br /> +Till, mute on the lips of the poet,<br /> + It sleeps in his Southern grave.<br /> +Spirit and song departed!<br /> + Minstrel and minstrelsy!<br /> +We mourn ye, heavy hearted,--<br /> + But we will--we will be free!</p> + +<p>They are waving <i>our</i> flag above us,<br /> + With the despot's tyrant will;<br /> +With our blood they have stained its colors,<br /> + And they call it holy still.<br /> +With tearful eyes, but steady hand,<br /> + We'll tear its stripes apart,<br /> +And fling them, like broken fetters,<br /> + That may not bind the heart.<br /> +But we'll save our stars of glory,<br /> + In the might of the sacred sign<br /> +Of Him who has fixed forever<br /> + One "Southern Cross" to shine.</p> + +<p>Stand, Southrons! fight and conquer!<br /> + Solemn, and strong, and sure!<br /> +The fight shall not be longer<br /> + Than God shall bid endure.<br /> +By the life that but yesterday<br /> + Waked with the infant's breath!<br /> +By the feet which, ere morning, may<br /> + Tread to the soldier's death!<br /> +By the blood which cries to heaven--<br /> + Crimson upon our sod!<br /> +Stand, Southrons! fight and conquer,<br /> + In the name of the mighty God!</p> + +<p>[1] The Star Spangled Banner. Written by F. S. Key, of Baltimore; all +whose descendants are Confederates.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="5"></a>South Carolina.</h1> + +<h2>December 20, 1860.</h2> + +S. Henry Dickson. + + + +<p>The deed is done! the die is cast;<br /> +The glorious Rubicon is passed:<br /> +Hail, Carolina! free at last!</p> + +<p>Strong in the right, I see her stand<br /> +Where ocean laves the shelving sand;<br /> +Her own Palmetto decks the strand.</p> + +<p>She turns aloft her flashing eye;<br /> +Radiant, her lonely star[1] on high<br /> +Shines clear amidst the darkening sky.</p> + +<p>Silent, along those azure deeps<br /> +Its course her silver crescent keeps,<br /> +And in soft light the landscape steeps.</p> + +<p>Fling forth her banner to the gale!<br /> +Let all the hosts of earth assail,--<br /> +Their fury and their force shall fail.</p> + +<p>Echoes the wide resounding shore,<br /> +With voice above th' Atlantic roar,<br /> +Her sons proclaim her free once more!</p> + +<p>Oh, land of heroes! Spartan State!<br /> +In numbers few, in daring great,<br /> +Thus to affront the frowns of fate!</p> + +<p>And while mad triumph rules the hour,<br /> +And thickening clouds of menace lower,<br /> +Bear back the tide of tyrant power.</p> + +<p>With steadfast courage, faltering never,<br /> +Sternly resolved, her bonds we sever:<br /> +Hail, Carolina! free forever!</p> + +<p>[1] The flag showed a star within a crescent or new moon.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="6"></a>The New Star.</h1> + +<h2>By B.M. Anderson.</h2> + + + +<p>Another star arisen; another flag unfurled;<br /> +Another name inscribed among the nations of the world;<br /> +Another mighty struggle 'gainst a tyrant's fell decree,<br /> +And again a burdened people have uprisen, and are free.</p> + +<p>The spirit of the fathers in the children liveth yet;<br /> +Liveth still the olden blood which dimmed the foreign bayonet;<br /> +And the fathers fought for freedom, and the sons for freedom fight;<br /> +Their God was with the fathers--and is still the God of right!</p> + +<p>Behold! the skies are darkened! A gloomy cloud hath lowered!<br /> +Shall it break before the sun of peace, or spread in rage impowered?<br /> +Shall we have the smile of friendship, or shall it be the blow?<br /> +Shall it be the right hand to the friend, or the red hand to the foe?</p> + +<p>In peacefulness we wish to live, but not in slavish fear;<br /> +In peacefulness we dare not die, dishonored on our bier.<br /> +To our allies of the Northern land we offer heart and hand,<br /> +But if they scorn our friendship--then the banner and the brand!</p> + +<p>Honor to the new-born nation! and honor to the brave!<br /> +A country freed from thraldom, or a soldier's honored grave.<br /> +Every step shall be contested; every rivulet run red,<br /> +And the invader, should he conquer, find the conquered in the dead.</p> + +<p>But victory shall follow where the sons of freedom go,<br /> +And the signal for the onset be the death-knell of the foe;<br /> +And hallowed shall the spot be where he was so bravely met,<br /> +And the star which yonder rises, rises never more to set.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="7"></a>The Irrepressible Conflict.</h1> + +<h2>Tyrtæus.--<i>Charleston Mercury.</i></h2> + + + +<p>Then welcome be it, if indeed it be<br /> + The Irrepressible Conflict! Let it come;<br /> + There will be mitigation of the doom,<br /> +If, battling to the last, our sires shall see<br /> +Their sons contending for the homes made free<br /> + In ancient conflict with the foreign foe!<br /> + If those who call us brethren strike the blow,<br /> + No common conflict shall the invader know!<br /> +War to the knife, and to the last, until<br /> + The sacred land we keep shall overflow<br /> +With blood as sacred--valley, wave, and hill,<br /> +Or the last enemy finds his bloody grave!<br /> +Aye, welcome to your graves--or ours! The brave<br /> +May perish, but ye shall not bind one slave.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="8"></a>The Southern Republic.</h1> + +<h2>By Olivia Tully Thomas, of Mississippi.</h2> + + + +<p>In the galaxy of nations,<br /> + A nation's flag's unfurled,<br /> +Transcending in its martial pride<br /> + The nations of the world.<br /> +Though born of war, baptized in blood,<br /> + Yet mighty from the time,<br /> +Like fabled phoenix, forth she stood--<br /> + Dismembered, yet sublime.</p> + +<p>And braver heart, and bolder hand,<br /> + Ne'er formed a fabric fair<br /> +As Southern wisdom can command,<br /> + And Southern valor rear.<br /> +Though kingdoms scorn to own her sway,<br /> + Or recognize her birth,<br /> +The land blood-bought for Liberty<br /> + Will reign supreme on earth.</p> + +<p>Clime of the Sun! Home of the Brave!<br /> + Thy sons are bold and free,<br /> +And pour life's crimson tide to save<br /> + Their birthright, Liberty!<br /> +Their fertile fields and sunny plains<br /> + That yield the wealth alone,<br /> +That's coveted for greedy gains<br /> + By despots-and a throne!</p> + +<p>Proud country! battling, bleeding, torn,<br /> + Thy altars desolate;<br /> +Thy lovely dark-eyed daughters mourn<br /> + At war's relentless fate;<br /> +And widow's prayers, and orphan's tears,<br /> + Her homes will consecrate,<br /> +While more than brass or marble rears<br /> + The trophy of her great.</p> + +<p>Oh! land that boasts each gallant name<br /> + Of JACKSON, JOHNSON, LEE,<br /> +And hosts of valiant sons, whose fame<br /> + Extends beyond the sea;<br /> +Far rather let thy plains become,<br /> + From gulf to mountain cave,<br /> +One honored sepulchre and tomb,<br /> + Than we the tyrant's slave!</p> + +<p>Fair, favored land! thou mayst be free,<br /> + Redeemed by blood and war;<br /> +Through agony and gloom we see<br /> + Thy hope--a glimmering star;<br /> +Thy banner, too, may proudly float,<br /> + A herald on the seas--<br /> +Thy deeds of daring worlds remote<br /> + Will emulate and praise!</p> + +<p>But who can paint the impulse pure,<br /> + That thrills and nerves thy brave<br /> +To deeds of valor, that secure<br /> + The rights their fathers gave?<br /> +Oh! grieve not, hearts; her matchless stain,<br /> + Crowned with the warrior's wreath,<br /> +From beds of fame their proud refrain<br /> + Was "Liberty or Death!"</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="9"></a>"Is There, Then, No Hope for the Nations?"</h1> + +<h2>Charleston Courier.</h2> + + + +<p>Is there, then, no hope for the nations?<br /> + Must the record of Time be the same?<br /> +And shall History, in all her narrations,<br /> + Still close each last chapter in shame?<br /> +Shall the valor which grew to be glorious,<br /> + Prove the shame, as the pride of a race:<br /> +And a people, for ages victorious,<br /> + Through the arts of the chapman, grow base?</p> + +<p>Greek, Hebrew, Assyrian, and Roman,<br /> + Each strides o'er the scene and departs!<br /> +How valiant their deeds 'gainst the foeman,<br /> + How wondrous their virtues and arts!<br /> +Rude valor, at first, when beginning,<br /> + The nation through blood took its name;<br /> +Then the wisdom, which hourly winning<br /> + New heights in its march, rose to Fame!</p> + +<p>How noble the tale for long ages,<br /> + Blending Beauty with courage and might!<br /> +What Heroes, what Poets, and Sages,<br /> + Made eminent stars for each height!<br /> +While their people, with reverence ample.<br /> + Brought tribute of praise to the Great,<br /> +Whose wisdom and virtuous example,<br /> + Made virtue the pride of the State!</p> + +<p>Ours, too, was as noble a dawning,<br /> + With hopes of the Future as high:<br /> +Great men, each a star of the morning,<br /> + Taught us bravely to live and to die!<br /> +We fought the long fight with our foeman,<br /> + And through trial--well-borne--won a name,<br /> +Not less glorious than Grecian or Roman,<br /> + And worthy as lasting a fame!</p> + +<p>Shut the Book! We must open another!<br /> + O Southron! if taught by the Past,<br /> +Beware, when thou choosest a brother,<br /> + With what ally thy fortunes are cast!<br /> +Beware of all foreign alliance,<br /> + Of their pleadings and pleasings beware,<br /> +Better meet the old snake with defiance,<br /> + Than find in his charming a snare!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="10"></a>The Fate of the Republics.</h1> + +<h2>Charleston Mercury.</h2> + + + +<p>Thus, the grand fabric of a thousand years--<br /> +Rear'd with such art and wisdom--by a race<br /> +Of giant sires, in virtue all compact,<br /> +Self-sacrificing; having grand ideals<br /> +Of public strength, and peoples capable<br /> +Of great conceptions for the common good,<br /> +And of enduring liberties, kept strong<br /> +Through purity;--tumbles and falls apart,<br /> +Lacking cement in virtue; and assail'd<br /> +Within, without, by greed of avarice,<br /> +And vain ambition for supremacy.</p> + +<p>So fell the old Republics--Gentile and Jew,<br /> +Roman and Greek--such evermore the record;<br /> +Mix'd glory and shame, still lapsing into greed,<br /> +From conquest and from triumph, into fall!<br /> +The glory that we see exchanged for guilt<br /> +Might yet be glory. There were pride enough,<br /> +And emulous ambition to achieve,--<br /> +Both generous powers, when coupled with endowment,<br /> +To do the work of States--and there were courage<br /> +And sense of public need, and public welfare,--<br /> +And duty--in a brave but scattered few,<br /> +Throughout the States--had these been credited<br /> +To combat 'gainst the popular appetites.<br /> +But these were scorn'd and set aside for naught,<br /> +As lacking favor with the popular lusts!<br /> +They found reward in exile or in death!<br /> +And he alone who could debase his spirit,<br /> +And file his mind down to the basest nature<br /> +Grew capp'd with rule!--</p> + +<p> So, with the lapse<br /> +From virtue, the great nation forfeits all<br /> +The pride with the security--the liberty,<br /> +With that prime modesty which keeps the heart<br /> +Upright, in meek subjection, to the doubts<br /> +That wait upon Humanity, and teach<br /> +Humility, as best check and guaranty,<br /> +Against the wolfish greed of appetite!<br /> +Worst of all signs, assuring coming doom,<br /> +When peoples loathe to listen to the praise<br /> +Of their great men; and, jealous of just claims,<br /> +Eagerly set upon them to revile,<br /> +And banish from their councils! Worse than all<br /> +When the great man, succumbing to the mass,<br /> +Yields up his mind as a low instrument<br /> +To vulgar fingers, to be played upon:--<br /> +Yields to the vulgar lure, the cunning bribe<br /> +Of place or profit, and makes sale of States<br /> +To Party!</p> + +<p> Thus and then are States subdued--<br /> +'Till one vast central tyranny upstarts,<br /> +With front of glittering brass, but legs of clay;<br /> +Insolent, reckless of account as right,--<br /> +While lust grows license, and tears off the robes<br /> +From justice; and makes right a thing of mock;<br /> +And puts a foolscap on the head of law,<br /> +And plucks the baton of authority<br /> +From his right hand, and breaks it o'er his head.</p> + +<p>So rages still the irresponsible power,<br /> +Using the madden'd populace as hounds,<br /> +To hunt down freedom where she seeks retreat.<br /> +The ancient history becomes the new--<br /> +The ages move in circles, and the snake<br /> +Ends ever with his tail in his own mouth.<br /> +Thus still in all the past!--and man the same<br /> +In all the ages--a poor thing of passion,<br /> +Hot greed, and miserable vanity,<br /> +And all infirmities of lust and error,<br /> +Makes of himself the wretched instrument<br /> +To murder his own hope.</p> + +<p> So empires fall,--<br /> +Past, present, and to come!--<br /> + There is no hope<br /> +For nations or peoples, once they lapse from virtue<br /> +And fail in modest sense of what they are--<br /> +Creatures of weakness, whose security<br /> +Lies in meek resting on the law of God,<br /> +And in that wise humility which pleads<br /> +Ever for his guardian watch and Government,<br /> +Though men may bear the open signs of rule.<br /> +Humility is safety! could men learn<br /> +The law, "<i>ne sutor ultra crepidam</i>,"<br /> +And the sagacious cobbler, at his last,<br /> +Content himself with paring leather down<br /> +To heel and instep, nicely fitting parts,<br /> +In proper adaptation, to the foot,<br /> +We might have safety.</p> + +<p> Rightly to conceive<br /> +What's right, and limit the o'erreaching will<br /> +To this one measure only, is the whole<br /> +Of that grand rule, and wise necessity,<br /> +Which only gives us safety.</p> + +<p> Where a State,<br /> +Or blended States, or peoples, pass the bounds<br /> +Set for their progress, they must topple and fall<br /> +Into that gulf of ruin which has swallowed<br /> +All ancient Empires, States, Republics; all<br /> +Perishing, in like manner, from the selfsame cause!<br /> +The terrible conjunction of the event,<br /> +Close with the provocation, stands apart,<br /> +A social beacon in all histories;<br /> +And yet we take no heed, but still rush on,<br /> +Under mixed sway of greed and vanity,<br /> +And like the silly boy with his card-castle,<br /> +Precipitate to ruin as we build.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="11"></a>The Voice of the South.</h1> + +<h2>Tyrtæus.--<i>Charleston Mercury.</i></h2> + + + +<p>'Twas a goodly boon that our fathers gave,<br /> +And fits but ill to be held by the slave;<br /> +And sad were the thought, if one of our band<br /> +Should give up the hope of so fair a land.</p> + +<p>But the hour has come, and the times that tried<br /> +The souls of men in our days of pride,<br /> +Return once more, and now for the brave,<br /> +To merit the boon which our fathers gave.</p> + +<p>And if there be one base spirit who stands<br /> +Now, in our peril, with folded hands,<br /> +Let his grave at once in the soil be wrought,<br /> +With the sword with which his old father fought.</p> + +<p>An oath sublime should the freeman take,<br /> +Still braving the fight and the felon stake,--<br /> +The oath that his sires brought over the sea,<br /> +When they pledged their swords to Liberty!</p> + +<p>'Twas a goodly oath, and In Heaven's own sight,<br /> +They battled and bled in behalf of the right;<br /> +'Twas hallowed by God with the holiest sign,<br /> +And seal'd with the blood of your sires and mine.</p> + +<p>We cannot forget, and we dare not forego,<br /> +The holy duty to them that we owe,<br /> +The duty that pledges the soul of the son<br /> +To keep the freedom his sire hath won.</p> + +<p>To suffer no proud transgressor to spoil<br /> +One right of our homes, or one foot of our soil,<br /> +One privilege pluck from our keeping, or dare<br /> +Usurp one blessing 'tis fit that we share!</p> + +<p>Art ready for this, dear brother, who still<br /> +Keep'st Washington's bones upon Vernon's hill?<br /> +Art ready for this, dear brother, whose ear,<br /> +Should ever the voices of Mecklenberg hear?</p> + +<p>Thou art ready, I know, brother nearest my heart,<br /> +Son of Eutaw and Ashley, to do thy part;<br /> +The sword and the rifle are bright in thy hands,<br /> +And waits but the word for the flashing of brands!</p> + +<p>And thou, by Savannah's broad valleys,--and thou<br /> +Where the Black Warrior murmurs in echoes the vow;<br /> +And thou, youngest son of our sires, who roves<br /> +Where Apala-chicola[1] glides through her groves.</p> + +<p>Nor shall Tennessee pause, when like voice from the steep,<br /> +The great South shall summon her sons from their sleep;<br /> +Nor Kentucky be slow, when our trumpet shall call,<br /> +To tear down the rifle that hangs on her wall!</p> + +<p>Oh, sound, to awaken the dead from their graves,<br /> +The will that would thrust us from place for our slaves,<br /> +That, by fraud which lacks courage, and plea that lacks truth,<br /> +Would rob us of right without reason or ruth.</p> + +<p>Dost thou hearken, brave Creole, as fearless as strong,<br /> +Nor rouse thee to combat the infamous wrong?<br /> +Ye hear it, I know, in the depth of your souls,<br /> +Valiant race, through whose valley the great river rolls.</p> + +<p>At last ye are wakened, all rising at length,<br /> +In the passion of pride, in the fulness of strength;<br /> +And now let the struggle begin which shall see,<br /> +If the son, like the sire, is fit to be free.</p> + +<p>We are sworn to the State, from our fathers that came,<br /> +To welcome the ruin, but never the shame;<br /> +To yield not a foot of our soil, nor a right,<br /> +While the soul and the sword are still fit for the fight.</p> + +<p>Then, brothers, your hands and your hearts, while we draw<br /> +The bright sword of right, on the charter of law;--<br /> +Here the record was writ by our fathers, and here,<br /> +To keep, with the sword, that old record, we swear.<br /> +<br /> +Let those who defile and deface it, be sure,<br /> +No longer their wrong or their fraud we endure;<br /> +We will scatter in scorn every link of the chain,<br /> +With which they would fetter our free souls in vain.</p> + +<p>How goodly and bright were its links at the first!<br /> +How loathly and foul, in their usage accurst!<br /> +We had worn it in pride while it honor'd the brave,<br /> +But we rend it, when only grown fit for the slave.</p> + +<p>[1] The reader will place the accent on the <i>ante-penultimate</i>, which +affords not only the most musical, but the correct pronunciation.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="12"></a>The Oath of Freedom.</h1> + +<h2>By James Barron Hope.</h2> + + + +<p><i>"Liberty is always won where there exists the unconquerable will to be +free."</i></p> + +<p>Born free, thus we resolve to live:<br /> + By Heaven we will be free!<br /> +By all the stars which burn on high--<br /> +By the green earth--the mighty sea--<br /> +By God's unshaken majesty,<br /> + We will be free or die!<br /> + Then let the drums all roll!<br /> + Let all the trumpets blow!<br /> + Mind, heart, and soul,<br /> + We spurn control<br /> + Attempted by a foe!</p> + +<p>Born free, thus we resolve to live:<br /> + By Heaven we will be free!<br /> +And, vainly now the Northmen try<br /> +To beat us down--in arms we stand<br /> +To strike for this our native land!<br /> + We will be free or die!<br /> + Then let the drums all roll! etc., etc.</p> + +<p>Born free, we thus resolve to live:<br /> + By Heaven we will be free!<br /> +Our wives and children look on high,<br /> +Pray God to smile upon the right!<br /> +And bid us in the deadly fight<br /> + As freemen live or die!<br /> + Then let the drums all roll! etc., etc.</p> + +<p>Born free, thus we resolve to live:<br /> + By Heaven we will be free!<br /> +And ere we cease this battle-cry,<br /> +Be all our blood, our kindred's spilt,<br /> +On bayonet or sabre hilt!<br /> + We will be free or die!<br /> + Then let the drums all roll! etc., etc.</p> + +<p>Born free, thus we resolve to live:<br /> + By Heaven we will be free!<br /> +Defiant let the banners fly,<br /> +Shake out their glories to the air,<br /> +And, kneeling, brothers, let us swear<br /> + We will be free or die!<br /> + Then let the drums all roll! etc., etc.</p> + +<p>Born free, thus we resolve to live:<br /> + By Heaven we will be free!<br /> +And to this oath the dead reply--<br /> +Our valiant fathers' sacred ghosts--<br /> +These with us, and the God of hosts,<br /> + We will be free or die!<br /> + Then let the drums all roll! etc., etc.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="13"></a>The Battle-Cry of the South.</h1> + +<h2>By James R. Randall.</h2> + + + +<p>Arm yourselves and be valiant men, and see that ye be in readiness against +the morning, that ye may fight with these nations that are assembled +against us, to destroy us and our sanctuary. For it is better for us to +die in battle than to behold the calamities of our people and our +sanctuary.--<i>Maccabees I.</i></p> + +<p>Brothers! the thunder-cloud is black,<br /> + And the wail of the South wings forth;<br /> +Will ye cringe to the hot tornado's rack,<br /> + And the vampires of the North?<br /> +Strike! ye can win a martyr's goal,<br /> + Strike! with a ruthless hand--<br /> +Strike! with the vengeance of the soul,<br /> + For your bright, beleaguered land!<br /> + To arms! to arms! for the South needs help,<br /> + And a craven is he who flees--<br /> + For ye have the sword of the Lion's Whelp,[1]<br /> + And the God of the Maccabees!</p> + +<p>Arise! though the stars have a rugged glare,<br /> + And the moon has a wrath-blurred crown--<br /> +Brothers! a blessing is ambushed there<br /> + In the cliffs of the Father's frown:<br /> +Arise! ye are worthy the wondrous light<br /> + Which the Sun of Justice gives--<br /> +In the caves and sepulchres of night<br /> + Jehovah the Lord King lives!<br /> + To arms! to arms! for the South needs help,<br /> + And a craven is he who flees--<br /> + For ye have the sword of the Lion's Whelp,<br /> + And the God of the Maccabees!</p> + +<p>Think of the dead by the Tennessee,<br /> + In their frozen shrouds of gore--<br /> +Think of the mothers who shall see<br /> + Those darling eyes no more!<br /> +But better are they in a hero grave<br /> + Than the serfs of time and breath,<br /> +For they are the children of the brave,<br /> + And the cherubim of death!<br /> + To arms! to arms! for the South needs help,<br /> + And a craven is he who flees--<br /> + For ye have the sword of the Lion's Whelp,<br /> + And the God of the Maccabees!</p> + +<p>Better the charnels of the West,<br /> + And a hecatomb of lives,<br /> +Than the foul invader as a guest<br /> + 'Mid your sisters and your wives--<br /> +But a spirit lurketh in every maid,<br /> + Though, brothers, ye should quail,<br /> +To sharpen a Judith's lurid blade,<br /> + And the livid spike of Jael!<br /> + To arms! to arms! for the South needs help,<br /> + And a craven is he who flees--<br /> + For ye have the sword of the Lion's Whelp,<br /> + And the God of the Maccabees!</p> + +<p>Brothers! I see you tramping by,<br /> + With the gladiator gaze,<br /> +And your shout is the Macedonian cry<br /> + Of the old, heroic days!<br /> +March on! with trumpet and with drum,<br /> + With rifle, pike, and dart,<br /> +And die--if even death must come--<br /> + Upon your country's heart!<br /> + To arms! to arms! for the South needs help,<br /> + And a craven is he who flees--<br /> + For ye have the sword of the Lion's Whelp,<br /> + And the God of the Maccabees!</p> + +<p>Brothers! the thunder-cloud is black,<br /> + And the wail of the South wings forth;<br /> +Will ye cringe to the hot tornado's rack,<br /> + And the vampires of the North?<br /> +Strike! ye can win a martyr's goal,<br /> + Strike! with a ruthless hand--<br /> +Strike! with the vengeance of the soul<br /> + For your bright, beleaguered land!<br /> + To arms! to arms! for the South needs help,<br /> + And a craven is he who flees--<br /> + For ye have the sword of the Lion's Whelp,<br /> + And the God of the Maccabees!</p> + +<p>[1] The surname of the great Maccabeus.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="14"></a>Sonnet.</h1> + +<h2>Charleston Mercury.</h2> + + + +<p>Democracy hath done its work of ill,<br /> + And, seeming freemen, never to be free,<br /> + While the poor people shout in vanity,<br /> +The Demagogue triumphs o'er the popular will.<br /> +How swift the abasement follows! But few years,<br /> + And we stood eminent. Great men were ours,<br /> + Of virtue stern, and armed with mightiest powers!<br /> +How have we sunk below our proper spheres!<br /> +No Heroes, Virtues, Men! But in their place,<br /> + The nimble marmozet and magpie men;<br /> + Creatures that only mock and mimic, when<br /> +They run astride the shoulders of the race;<br /> +Democracy, in vanity elate,<br /> +Clothing but sycophants in robes of state.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="15"></a>Seventy-Six and Sixty-One.</h1> + +<h2>By John W. Overall, of Louisiana.</h2> + + + +<p>Ye spirits of the glorious dead!<br /> + Ye watchers in the sky!<br /> +Who sought the patriot's crimson bed,<br /> + With holy trust and high--<br /> +Come, lend your inspiration now,<br /> + Come, fire each Southern son,<br /> +Who nobly fights for freemen's rights,<br /> + And shouts for sixty-one.</p> + +<p>Come, teach them how, on hill on glade,<br /> + Quick leaping from your side,<br /> +The lightning flash of sabres made<br /> + A red and flowing tide--<br /> +How well ye fought, how bravely fell,<br /> + Beneath our burning sun;<br /> +And let the lyre, in strains of fire,<br /> + So speak of sixty-one.</p> + +<p>There's many a grave in all the land,<br /> + And many a crucifix,<br /> +Which tells how that heroic band<br /> + Stood firm in seventy-six--<br /> +Ye heroes of the deathless past,<br /> + Your glorious race is run,<br /> +But from your dust springs freemen's trust,<br /> + And blows for sixty-one.</p> + +<p>We build our altars where you lie,<br /> + On many a verdant sod,<br /> +With sabres pointing to the sky,<br /> + And sanctified of God;<br /> +The smoke shall rise from every pile,<br /> + Till freedom's cause is won,<br /> +And every mouth throughout the South,<br /> + Shall shout for sixty-one!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="16"></a>"Reddato Gladium."</h1> + +<h2>Virginia to Winfield Scott.</h2> + + + +<p>A voice is heard in Ramah!<br /> + High sounds are on the gale!<br /> +Notes to wake buried patriots!<br /> + Notes to strike traitors pale!<br /> +Wild notes of outraged feeling<br /> + Cry aloud and spare him not!<br /> +'Tis Virginia's strong appealing,<br /> + And she calls to Winfield Scott!</p> + +<p>Oh! chief among ten thousand!<br /> + Thou whom I loved so well,<br /> +Star that has set, as never yet<br /> + Since son of morning fell!<br /> +I call not in reviling,<br /> + Nor to speak thee what thou art;<br /> +I leave thee to thy death-bed,<br /> + And I leave thee to thy heart!</p> + +<p>But by every mortal hope,<br /> + And by every mortal fear;<br /> +By all that man deems sacred,<br /> + And that woman holds most dear;<br /> +Yea! by thy mother's honor,<br /> + And by thy father's grave,<br /> +By hell beneath, and heaven above,<br /> + Give back the sword I gave!</p> + +<p>Not since God's sword was planted<br /> + To guard life's heavenly tree,<br /> +Has ever blade been granted,<br /> + Like that bestowed on thee!<br /> +To pierce me with the steel I gave<br /> + To guard mine honor's shrine,<br /> +Not since Iscariot lived and died,<br /> + Was treason like to thine!</p> + +<p>Give back the sword! and sever<br /> + Our strong and mighty tie!<br /> +We part, and part forever,<br /> + To conquer or to die!<br /> +In sorrow, not in anger,<br /> + I speak the word, "We part!"<br /> +For I leave thee to thy death-bed,<br /> + And I leave thee to thy heart!</p> + +<p>Richmond Whig.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="17"></a>Nay, Keep the Sword.</h1> + +<h2>By Carrie Clifford.</h2> + + + +<p>Nay, keep the sword which once we gave,<br /> + A token of our trust in thee;<br /> +The steel is true, the blade is keen--<br /> + False as thou art it cannot be.</p> + +<p>We hailed thee as our glorious chief,<br /> + With laurel-wreaths we bound thy brow;<br /> +Thy name then thrilled from tongue to tongue:<br /> + In whispers hushed we breathe it now.</p> + +<p>Yes, keep it till thy dying day;<br /> + Momentous ever let it be,<br /> +Of a great treasure once possessed--<br /> + A people's love now lost to thee.</p> + +<p>Thy mother will not bow her head;<br /> + She bares her bosom to thee now;<br /> +But may the bright steel fail to wound--<br /> + It is more merciful than thou.</p> + +<p>And ere thou strik'st the fatal blow,<br /> + Thousands of sons of this fair land<br /> +Will rise, and, in their anger just,<br /> + Will stay the rash act of thy hand.</p> + +<p>And when in terror thou shalt hear<br /> + Thy murderous deeds of vengeance cry<br /> +And feel the weight of thy great crime,<br /> + Then fall upon thy sword and die.</p> + +<p>Those aged locks I'll not reproach,<br /> + Although upon a traitor's brow;<br /> +We've looked with reverence on them once,<br /> + We'll try and not revile them now.</p> + +<p>But her true sons and daughters pray,<br /> + That ere thy day of reckoning be,<br /> +Thy ingrate heart may feel the pain<br /> + To know thy mother once more free.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="18"></a>Coercion: A Poem for Then and Now.</h1> + +<h2>By John R. Thompson, of Virginia.</h2> + + + +<p>Who talks of coercion? who dares to deny<br /> + A resolute people the right to be free?<br /> +Let him blot out forever one star from the sky,<br /> + Or curb with his fetter the wave of the sea!</p> + +<p>Who prates of coercion? Can love be restored<br /> + To bosoms where only resentment may dwell?<br /> +Can peace upon earth be proclaimed by the sword,<br /> + Or good-will among men be established by shell?</p> + +<p>Shame! shame!--that the statesman and trickster, forsooth,<br /> + Should have for a crisis no other recourse,<br /> +Beneath the fair day-spring of light and of truth,<br /> + Than the old <i>brutum fulmen</i> of tyranny--force!</p> + +<p>From the holes where fraud, falsehood, and hate slink away--<br /> + From the crypt in which error lies buried in chains--<br /> +This foul apparition stalks forth to the day,<br /> + And would ravage the land which his presence profanes.</p> + +<p>Could you conquer us, men of the North--could you bring<br /> + Desolation and death on our homes as a flood--<br /> +Can you hope the pure lily, affection, will spring<br /> + From ashes all reeking and sodden with blood?</p> + +<p>Could you brand us as villains and serfs, know ye not<br /> + What fierce, sullen hatred lurks under the scar?<br /> +How loyal to Hapsburg is Venice, I wot!<br /> + How dearly the Pole loves his father, the Czar!</p> + +<p>But 'twere well to remember this land of the sun<br /> + Is a <i>nutrix leonum</i>, and suckles a race<br /> +Strong-armed, lion-hearted, and banded as one,<br /> + Who brook not oppression and know not disgrace.</p> + +<p>And well may the schemers in office beware<br /> + The swift retribution that waits upon crime,<br /> +When the lion, RESISTANCE, shall leap from his lair,<br /> + With a fury that renders his vengeance sublime.</p> + +<p>Once, men of the North, we were brothers, and still,<br /> + Though brothers no more, we would gladly be friends;<br /> +Nor join in a conflict accursed, that must fill<br /> + With ruin, the country on which it descends.</p> + +<p>But, if smitten with blindness, and mad with the rage<br /> + The gods gave to all whom they wished to destroy,<br /> +You would act a new Iliad, to darken the age<br /> + With horrors beyond what is told us of Troy--</p> + +<p>If, deaf as the adder itself to the cries,<br /> + When wisdom, humanity, justice implore,<br /> +You would have our proud eagle to feed on the eyes<br /> + Of those who have taught him so grandly to soar--</p> + +<p>If there be to your malice no limit imposed,<br /> + And you purpose hereafter to rule with the rod<br /> +The men upon whom you already have closed<br /> + Our goodly domain and the temples of God:</p> + +<p>To the breeze then your banner dishonored unfold,<br /> + And, at once, let the tocsin be sounded afar;<br /> +We greet you, as greeted the Swiss, Charles the Bold--<br /> + With a farewell to peace and a welcome to war!</p> + +<p>For the courage that clings to our soil, ever bright,<br /> + Shall catch inspiration from turf and from tide;<br /> +Our sons unappalled shall go forth to the fight,<br /> + With the smile of the fair, the pure kiss of the bride;</p> + +<p>And the bugle its echoes shall send through the past,<br /> + In the trenches of Yorktown to waken the slain;<br /> +While the sod of King's Mountain shall heave at the blast,<br /> + And give up its heroes to glory again.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="19"></a>A Cry to Arms.</h1> + +<h2>By Henry Timrod.</h2> + + + +<p>Ho! woodsmen of the mountain-side!<br /> + Ho! dwellers in the vales!<br /> +Ho! ye who by the chafing tide<br /> + Have roughened in the gales!<br /> +Leave barn and byre, leave kin and cot,<br /> + Lay by the bloodless spade;<br /> +Let desk, and case, and counter rot,<br /> + And burn your books of trade.</p> + +<p>The despot roves your fairest lands;<br /> + And till he flies or fears,<br /> +Your fields must grow but armed bands,<br /> + Your sheaves be sheaves of spears!<br /> +Give up to mildew and to rust<br /> + The useless tools of gain;<br /> +And feed your country's sacred dust<br /> + With floods of crimson rain!</p> + +<p>Come, with the weapons at your call--<br /> + With musket, pike, or knife;<br /> +He wields the deadliest blade of all<br /> + Who lightest holds his life.<br /> +The arm that drives its unbought blows<br /> + With all a patriot's scorn,<br /> +Might brain a tyrant with a rose,<br /> + Or stab him with a thorn.</p> + +<p>Does any falter? let him turn<br /> + To some brave maiden's eyes,<br /> +And catch the holy fires that burn<br /> + In those sublunar skies.<br /> +Oh! could you like your women feel,<br /> + And in their spirit march,<br /> +A day might see your lines of steel<br /> + Beneath the victor's arch.</p> + +<p>What hope, O God! would not grow warm<br /> + When thoughts like these give cheer?<br /> +The lily calmly braves the storm,<br /> + And shall the palm-tree fear?<br /> +No! rather let its branches court<br /> + The rack that sweeps the plain;<br /> +And from the lily's regal port<br /> + Learn how to breast the strain!</p> + +<p>Ho! woodsmen of the mountain-side!<br /> + Ho! dwellers in the vales!<br /> +Ho! ye who by the roaring tide<br /> + Have roughened in the gales!</p> + +<p>Come! flocking gayly to the fight<br /> + From forest, hill, and lake;<br /> +We battle for our country's right,<br /> + And for the lily's sake!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="20"></a>Jackson, The Alexandria Martyr.</h1> + +<h2>By Wm. H. Holcombe, M.D., of Virginia.</h2> + + + +<p>'Twas not the private insult galled him most,<br /> +But public outrage of his country's flag,<br /> +To which his patriotic heart had pledged<br /> +Its faith as to a bride. The bold, proud chief,<br /> +Th' avenging host, and the swift-coming death<br /> +Appalled him not. Nor life with all its charms,<br /> +Nor home, nor wife, nor children could weigh down<br /> +The fierce, heroic instincts to destroy<br /> +The insolent invader. Ellsworth fell,<br /> +And Jackson perished 'mid the pack of wolves,<br /> +Befriended only by his own great heart<br /> +And God approving. More than Roman soul!<br /> +O type of our impetuous chivalry!<br /> +May this young nation ever boast her sons<br /> +A vast, and inconceivable multitude,<br /> +Standing like thee in her extremest van,<br /> +Self-poised and ready, in defence of rights<br /> +Or in revenge of wrongs, to dare and die!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="21"></a>The Martyr of Alexandria.</h1> + +<h2>By James W. Simmons, of Texas.</h2> + + + +<p>Revealed, as in a lightning flash,<br /> + A hero stood!<br /> +The invading foe, the trumpet's crash,<br /> + Set up his blood.</p> + +<p>High o'er the sacred pile that bends<br /> + Those forms above,<br /> +Thy star, O Freedom! brightly blends<br /> + Its rays with love.</p> + +<p>The banner of a mighty race,<br /> + Serenely there,<br /> +Unfurls the genius of the place,<br /> + In haunted air.</p> + +<p>A vow is registered in Heaven!<br /> + Patriot! 'tis thine!<br /> +To guard those matchless colors, given<br /> + By hands divine.</p> + +<p>Jackson! thy spirit may not hear<br /> + Our wail ascend;<br /> +A nation gathers round thy bier,<br /> + And mourns its friend.</p> + +<p>The example is thy monument,<br /> + And organ tones<br /> +Thy name resound, with glory blent,<br /> + Prouder than thrones!</p> + +<p>And they whose loss hath been our gain,<br /> + A people's cares<br /> +Shall win their wounded hearts from pain,<br /> + And wipe their tears.</p> + +<p>When time shall set the captives free,<br /> + Now scathed by wrath,<br /> +Heirs of his immortality,<br /> + Bright be their path.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="22"></a>The Blessed Union--Epigram.</h1> + + + +<p>Doubtless to some, with length of ears,<br /> + To gratify an ape's desire,<br /> +The blessed Union still endears;--<br /> +The stripes, if not the stars, be theirs!<br /> +"Greek faith" they gave us eighty years,<br /> + And then--"Greek fire!"<br /> +But, better all their fires of scath<br /> +Than one hour's trust in Yankee faith!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="23"></a>The Fire of Freedom.</h1> + + + +<p>The holy fire that nerved the Greek<br /> + To make his stand at Marathon,<br /> +Until the last red foeman's shriek<br /> + Proclaimed that freedom's fight was won,<br /> +Still lives unquenched--unquenchable:<br /> + Through every age its fires will burn--<br /> +Lives in the hermit's lonely cell,<br /> + And springs from every storied urn.</p> + +<p>The hearthstone embers hold the spark<br /> + Where fell oppression's foot hath trod;<br /> +Through superstition's shadow dark<br /> + It flashes to the living God!<br /> +From Moscow's ashes springs the Russ;<br /> + In Warsaw, Poland lives again:<br /> +Schamyl, on frosty Caucasus,<br /> + Strikes liberty's electric chain!</p> + +<p>Tell's freedom-beacon lights the Swiss;<br /> + Vainly the invader ever strives;<br /> +He finds <i>Sic Semper Tyrannis</i><br /> + In San Jacinto's bowie-knives!<br /> +Than these--than all--a holier fire<br /> + Now burns thy soul, Virginia's son!<br /> +Strike then for wife, babe, gray-haired sire,<br /> + Strike for the grave of Washington!</p> + +<p>The Northern rabble arms for greed;<br /> + The hireling parson goads the train--<br /> +In that foul crop from, bigot seed,<br /> + Old "Praise God Barebones" howls again!<br /> +We welcome them to "Southern lands,"<br /> + We welcome them to "Southern slaves,"<br /> +We welcome them "with bloody hands<br /> + To hospitable Southern graves!"</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="24"></a>Hymn to the National Flag.</h1> + +<h2>By Mrs. M. J. Preston.</h2> + + + +<p>Float aloft, thou stainless banner!<br /> + Azure cross and field of light;<br /> +Be thy brilliant stars the symbol<br /> + Of the pure and true and right.<br /> +Shelter freedom's holy cause--<br /> +Liberty and sacred laws;<br /> +Guard the youngest of the nations--<br /> + Keep her virgin honor bright.</p> + +<p>From Virginia's storied border,<br /> + Down to Tampa's furthest shore--<br /> +From the blue Atlantic's clashings<br /> + To the Rio Grande's roar--<br /> +Over many a crimson plain,<br /> +Where our martyred ones lie slain--<br /> +Fling abroad thy blessed shelter,<br /> + Stream and mount and valley o'er.</p> + +<p>In thy cross of heavenly azure<br /> + Has our faith its emblem high;<br /> +In thy field of white, the hallow'd<br /> + Truth for which we'll dare and die;<br /> +In thy red, the patriot blood--<br /> + Ah! the consecrated flood.<br /> +Lift thyself, resistless banner!<br /> + Ever fill our Southern sky!</p> + +<p>Flash with living, lightning motion<br /> + In the sight of all the brave!<br /> +Tell the price at which we purchased<br /> + Room and right for thee to wave<br /> +Freely in our God's free air,<br /> +Pure and proud and stainless fair,<br /> +Banner of the youngest nation--<br /> + Banner we would die to save!<br /> +<br /> +Strike Thou for us! King of armies!<br /> + Grant us room in Thy broad world!<br /> +Loosen all the despot's fetters,<br /> + Back be all his legions hurled!<br /> +Give us peace and liberty,<br /> +Let the land we love be free--<br /> +Then, oh! bright and stainless banner!<br /> + Never shall thy folds be furled!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="25"></a>Sonnet--Moral of Party</h1> + +<h2>Charleston Mercury.</h2> + + + +<p>The moral of a party--if it be<br /> + That healthy States need parties, lies in this,<br /> + That we consider well what race it is,<br /> +And what the germ that first has made it free.<br /> +That germ must constitute the living tie<br /> + That binds its generations to the end,<br /> +Change measures if it need, or policy,<br /> + But neither break the principle, nor bend.<br /> +Each race hath its own nature--fixed, defined,<br /> + By Heaven, and if its principle be won,<br /> + Kept changeless as the progress of the sun,<br /> +It mocks at storm and rage, at sea and wind,<br /> +And grows to consummation, as the tree,<br /> +Matured, that ever grew in culture free.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="26"></a>Our Faith in '61.</h1> + +<h2>By A. J. Requier.</h2> + + + +<p>"That governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers +from the consent of the governed: that whenever any form of government +becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter +or abolish it, and to institute a new government, laying its foundation on +such principles, and organizing its powers in such form, as TO THEM SHALL +SEEM most likely to effect their safety and happiness."--[Declaration of +Independence, July 4, '76.]</p> + + +<p>Not yet one hundred years have flown<br /> + Since on this very spot,<br /> +The subjects of a sovereign throne--<br /> + Liege-master of their lot--<br /> +This high degree sped o'er the sea,<br /> + From council-board and tent,<br /> +"No earthly power can rule the free<br /> + But by their own consent!"</p> + +<p>For this, they fought as Saxons fight,<br /> + On bloody fields and long--<br /> +Themselves the champions of the right,<br /> + And judges of the wrong;<br /> +For this their stainless knighthood wore<br /> + The branded rebel's name,<br /> +Until the starry cross they bore<br /> + Set all the skies aflame!</p> + +<p>And States co-equal and distinct<br /> + Outshone the western sun,<br /> +By one great charter interlinked--<br /> + Not blended into one;<br /> +Whose graven key that high decree<br /> + The grand inscription lent,<br /> +"No earthly power can rule the free<br /> + But by their own consent!"</p> + +<p>Oh! sordid age! Oh! ruthless rage!<br /> + Oh! sacrilegious wrong!<br /> +A deed to blast the record page,<br /> + And snap the strings of song;<br /> +In that great charter's name, a band<br /> + By grovelling greed enticed,<br /> +Whose warrant is the grasping hand<br /> + Of creeds without a Christ--</p> + +<p>States that have trampled every pledge<br /> + Its crystal code contains,<br /> +Now give their swords a keener edge<br /> + To harness it with chains--<br /> +To make a bond of brotherhood<br /> + The sanction and the seal,<br /> +By which to arm a rabble brood<br /> + With fratricidal steel.</p> + +<p>Who, conscious that their cause is black,<br /> + In puling prose and rhyme,<br /> +Talk hatefully of love, and tack<br /> + Hypocrisy to crime;<br /> +Who smile and smite, engross the gorge<br /> + Or impotently frown;<br /> +And call us "rebels" with King George,<br /> + As if they wore his crown!</p> + +<p>Most venal of a venal race,<br /> + Who think you cheat the sky<br /> +With every pharisaic face<br /> + And simulated lie;<br /> +Round Freedom's lair, with weapons bare,<br /> + We greet the light divine<br /> +Of those who throned the goddess there,<br /> + And yet inspire the shrine!</p> + +<p>Our loved ones' graves are at our feet,<br /> + Their homesteads at our back--<br /> +No belted Southron can retreat<br /> + With women on his track;<br /> +Peal, bannered host, the proud decree<br /> + Which from your fathers went,<br /> +"No earthly power can rule the free<br /> + But by their own consent!"</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="27"></a>Wouldst Thou Have Me Love Thee.</h1> + +<h2>By Alex B. Meek.</h2> + + + +<p>Wouldst thou have me love thee, dearest,<br /> + With a woman's proudest heart,<br /> +Which shall ever hold thee nearest,<br /> + Shrined in its inmost heart?<br /> +Listen, then! My country's calling<br /> + On her sons to meet the foe!<br /> +Leave these groves of rose and myrtle;<br /> + Drop thy dreamy harp of love!<br /> +Like young Korner--scorn the turtle,<br /> + When the eagle screams above!</p> + +<p>Dost thou pause?--Let dastards dally--<br /> + Do thou for thy country fight!<br /> +'Neath her noble emblem rally--<br /> + "God, our country, and our right!"<br /> +Listen! now her trumpet's calling<br /> + On her sons to meet the foe!<br /> +Woman's heart is soft and tender,<br /> + But 'tis proud and faithful too:<br /> +Shall she be her land's defender?<br /> + Lover! Soldier! up and do!</p> + +<p>Seize thy father's ancient falchion,<br /> + Which once flashed as freedom's star!<br /> +Till sweet peace--the bow and halcyon,<br /> + Stilled the stormy strife of war.<br /> +Listen! now thy country's calling<br /> + On her sons to meet her foe!<br /> +Sweet is love in moonlight bowers!<br /> + Sweet the altar and the flame!<br /> +Sweet the spring-time with her flowers!<br /> + Sweeter far the patriot's name!</p> + +<p>Should the God who smiles above thee,<br /> + Doom thee to a soldier's grave,<br /> +Hearts will break, but fame will love thee,<br /> + Canonized among the brave!<br /> +Listen, then! thy country's calling<br /> + On her sons to meet the foe!<br /> +Rather would I view thee lying<br /> + On the last red field of strife,<br /> +'Mid thy country's heroes dying,<br /> + Than become a dastard's wife!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="28"></a>Enlisted To-Day.</h1> + + + +<p>I know the sun shines, and the lilacs are blowing,<br /> + And summer sends kisses by beautiful May--<br /> +Oh! to see all the treasures the spring is bestowing,<br /> + And think--my boy Willie enlisted to-day.</p> + +<p>It seems but a day since at twilight, low humming,<br /> + I rocked him to sleep with his cheek upon mine,<br /> +While Robby, the four-year old, watched for the coming<br /> + Of father, adown the street's indistinct line.</p> + +<p>It is many a year since my Harry departed,<br /> + To come back no more in the twilight or dawn;<br /> +And Robby grew weary of watching, and started<br /> + Alone on the journey his father had gone.</p> + +<p>It is many a year--and this afternoon sitting<br /> + At Robby's old window, I heard the band play,<br /> +And suddenly ceased dreaming over my knitting,<br /> + To recollect Willie is twenty to-day.</p> + +<p>And that, standing beside him this soft May-day morning,<br /> + The sun making gold of his wreathed cigar smoke,<br /> +I saw in his sweet eyes and lips a faint warning,<br /> + And choked down the tears when he eagerly spoke:</p> + +<p>"Dear mother, you know how these Northmen are crowing,<br /> + They would trample the rights of the South in the dust;<br /> +The boys are all fire; and they wish I were going--"<br /> +He stopped, but his eyes said, "Oh, say if I must!"</p> + +<p>I smiled on the boy, though my heart it seemed breaking,<br /> + My eyes filled with tears, so I turned them away,<br /> +And answered him, "Willie, 'tis well you are waking--<br /> + Go, act as your father would bid you, to-day!"</p> + +<p>I sit in the window, and see the flags flying,<br /> + And drearily list to the roll of the drum,<br /> +And smother the pain in my heart that is lying,<br /> + And bid all the fears in my bosom be dumb.</p> + +<p>I shall sit in the window when summer is lying<br /> + Out over the fields, and the honey-bee's hum<br /> +Lulls the rose at the porch from her tremulous sighing,<br /> + And watch for the face of my darling to come.</p> + +<p>And if he should fall--his young life he has given<br /> + For freedom's sweet sake; and for me, I will pray<br /> +Once more with my Harry and Robby in Heaven<br /> + To meet the dear boy that enlisted to-day.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="29"></a>My Maryland.</h1> + + + +<p>Written at Pointe Coupee, LA., April 26, 1861. First Published in the New +Orleans Delta.</p> + + +<p>The despot's heel is on thy shore,<br /> + Maryland!<br /> +His torch is at thy temple door,<br /> + Maryland!<br /> +Avenge the patriotic gore<br /> +That flecked the streets of Baltimore,<br /> +And be the battle-queen of yore,<br /> + Maryland! My Maryland!</p> + +<p>Hark to an exiled son's appeal,<br /> + Maryland!<br /> +My Mother-State, to thee I kneel,<br /> + Maryland!<br /> +For life and death, for woe and weal,<br /> +Thy peerless chivalry reveal,<br /> +And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,<br /> + Maryland! My Maryland!</p> + +<p>Thou wilt not cower in the dust,<br /> + Maryland!<br /> +Thy beaming sword shall never rust,<br /> + Maryland!</p> + +<p>Remember Carroll's sacred trust,<br /> +Remember Howard's warlike thrust,<br /> +And all thy slumberers with the just,<br /> + Maryland! My Maryland!</p> + +<p>Come! 'tis the red dawn of the day,<br /> + Maryland!<br /> +Come! with thy panoplied array,<br /> + Maryland!<br /> +With Ringgold's spirit for the fray,<br /> +With Watson's blood at Monterey,<br /> +With fearless Lowe and dashing May,<br /> + Maryland! My Maryland!</p> + +<p>Come! for thy shield is bright and strong,<br /> + Maryland!<br /> +Come! for thy dalliance does thee wrong,<br /> + Maryland!<br /> +Come! to thine own heroic throng,<br /> +That stalks with Liberty along,<br /> +And ring thy dauntless Slogan-song,<br /> + Maryland! My Maryland!</p> + +<p>Dear Mother! burst the tyrant's chain,<br /> + Maryland!<br /> +Virginia should not call in vain,<br /> + Maryland!</p> + +<p><i>She</i> meets her sisters on the plain--<br /> +"<i>Sic semper,</i>" 'tis the proud refrain<br /> +That baffles minions back amain,<br /> + Maryland!<br /> +Arise, in majesty again,<br /> + Maryland! My Maryland!</p> + +<p>I see the blush upon thy cheek,<br /> + Maryland!<br /> +For thou wast ever bravely meek,<br /> + Maryland!<br /> +But lo! there surges forth a shriek<br /> +From hill to hill, from creek to creek--<br /> +Potomac calls to Chesapeake,<br /> + Maryland! My Maryland!</p> + +<p>Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll,<br /> + Maryland!<br /> +Thou wilt not crook to his control,<br /> + Maryland!<br /> +Better the fire upon thee roll,<br /> +Better the shot, the blade, the bowl,<br /> +Than crucifixion of the soul,<br /> + Maryland! My Maryland!</p> + +<p>I hear the distant thunder hum,<br /> + Maryland!<br /> +The Old Line bugle, fife, and drum,<br /> + Maryland!</p> + +<p>She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb--<br /> +Huzza! she spurns the Northern scum!<br /> +She breathes--she burns! she'll come! she'll come!<br /> + Maryland! My Maryland!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="30"></a>The Boy-Soldier.</h1> + +<h2>By a Lady of Savannah.</h2> + + + +<p>He is acting o'er the battle,<br /> + With his cap and feather gay,<br /> +Singing out his soldier-prattle,<br /> + In a mockish manly way--<br /> +With the boldest, bravest footstep,<br /> + Treading firmly up and down,<br /> +And his banner waving softly,<br /> + O'er his boyish locks of brown.</p> + +<p>And I sit beside him sewing,<br /> + With a busy heart and hand,<br /> +For the gallant soldiers going<br /> + To the far-off battle land--<br /> +And I gaze upon my jewel,<br /> + In his baby spirit bold,<br /> +My little blue-eyed soldier,<br /> + Just a second summer old.</p> + +<p>Still a deep, deep well of feeling,<br /> + In my mother's heart is stirred,<br /> +And the tears come softly stealing<br /> + At each imitative word!<br /> +There's a struggle in my bosom,<br /> + For I love my darling boy--<br /> +He's the gladness of my spirit,<br /> + He's the sunlight of my joy!<br /> +Yet I think upon my country,<br /> + And my spirit groweth bold--<br /> +Oh! I wish my blue-eyed soldier<br /> + Were but twenty summers old!</p> + +<p>I would speed him to the battle--<br /> + I would arm him for the fight;<br /> +I would give him to his country,<br /> + For his country's wrong and right!<br /> +I would nerve his hand with blessing<br /> + From the "God of battles" won--<br /> +With His helmet and His armor,<br /> + I would cover o'er my son.</p> + +<p>Oh! I know there'd be a struggle,<br /> + For I love my darling boy;<br /> +He's the gladness of my spirit,<br /> + He's the sunlight of my joy!<br /> +Yet in thinking of my country,<br /> + Oh! my spirit groweth bold,<br /> +And I with my blue-eyed soldier<br /> + Were but twenty summers old!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="31"></a>The Good Old Cause.</h1> + +<h2>By John D. Phelan, of Montgomery, Ala.</h2> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Huzza! huzza! for the <i>Good Old Cause</i>,<br /> + 'Tis a stirring sound to hear,<br /> +For it tells of rights and liberties,<br /> + Our fathers bought so dear;<br /> +It brings up the <i>Jersey prison-ship</i>,<br /> + The spot where <i>Warren</i> fell,<br /> +And the scaffold which echoes the dying words<br /> + Of <i>murdered Hayne's</i> farewell.</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>The <i>Good Old Cause!</i> it is still the same<br /> + Though age upon age may roll;<br /> +'Tis the cause of <i>the right</i> against <i>the wrong</i>,<br /> + Burning bright in each generous soul;<br /> +'Tis the cause of all who claim to live<br /> + As freemen on Freedom's sod;<br /> +Of the widow, who wails her husband and sons,<br /> + By Tyranny's heel down-trod.</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>And whoever burns with a holy zeal,<br /> + To behold his country free,<br /> +And would sooner see her <i>baptized in blood</i>,<br /> + Than to bend the suppliant knee;<br /> +Must agree to follow her <i>White-Cross flag</i>,<br /> + Where the storms of battle roll,<br /> +<i>A soldier</i>--A SOLDIER!--with <i>arms in his hands</i>,<br /> + And the <i>love of the South in his soul!</i></p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>Come one, come all, at your country's call,<br /> + Let none remain behind,<br /> +But those too young, and those too old,<br /> + The feeble, the halt, the blind;<br /> +Let <i>every man</i>, whether rich or poor,<br /> + Who can carry a knapsack and gun,<br /> +Repair to the ranks of our Southern host,<br /> + 'Till the cause of the South is won.</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>But the son of the South, if such there be,<br /> + Who will shrink from the contest now,<br /> +From a love of ease, or the lust of gain,<br /> + Or through fear of the Yankee foe;<br /> +May his neighbors shrink from his proffered hand,<br /> + As though it was soiled for aye,<br /> +And may every woman turn her cheek<br /> + From his craven lips away;<br /> +May his country's curse be on his head,<br /> + And may no man ever see,<br /> +A gentle bride by the traitor's side,<br /> + Or children about his knee.</p> + + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + + +<p>Huzza! huzza! for the Good Old Cause,<br /> + 'Tis a stirring sound to hear;<br /> +For it tells of rights and liberties,<br /> + Our fathers bought so dear;<br /> +It summons our braves from their bloody graves.<br /> + To receive our fond applause,<br /> +And bids us tread in the steps of those<br /> + Who <i>died</i> for the <i>Good Old Cause</i>.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="32"></a>Manassas.</h1> + +<h2>By Catherine M. Warfield.</h2> + + + +<p>They have met at last--as storm-clouds<br /> + meet in heaven;<br /> +And the Northmen, back and bleeding,<br /> + have been driven:<br /> +And their thunders have been stilled,<br /> +And their leaders crushed or killed,<br /> +And their ranks, with terror thrilled,<br /> + rent and riven!</p> + +<p>Like the leaves of Vallambrosa<br /> + they are lying;<br /> +In the moonlight, in the midnight,<br /> + dead and dying:<br /> +Like those leaves before the gale,<br /> +Swept their legions, wild and pale;<br /> +While the host that made them quail<br /> + stood, defying.</p> + +<p>When aloft in morning sunlight<br /> + flags were flaunted,<br /> +And "swift vengeance on the rebel"<br /> + proudly vaunted:<br /> +Little did they think that night<br /> +Should close upon their shameful flight,<br /> +And rebels, victors in the fight,<br /> + stand undaunted.</p> + +<p>But peace to those who perished<br /> + in our passes!<br /> +Light be the earth above them!<br /> + green the grasses!<br /> +Long shall Northmen rue the day,<br /> +When they met our stern array,<br /> +And shrunk from battle's wild affray<br /> + at Manassas!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="33"></a>Virginia.</h1> + +<h2>By Catherine M. Warfield.</h2> + + + +<p>Glorious Virginia! Freedom sprang<br /> +Light to her feet at thy trumpet's clang:<br /> +At the first sound of that clarion blast,<br /> +Foes like the chaff from the whirlwind passed--<br /> +Passed to their doom: from that hour no more<br /> +Triumphs their cause by sea or shore.</p> + +<p>Glorious Virginia! noble the blood<br /> +That hath bathed thy fields in a crimson flood;<br /> +On many a wide-spread and sunny plain,<br /> +Like leaves of autumn thy dead have lain:<br /> +The Southron heart is their funeral urn!<br /> +The Southern slogan their requiem stern!</p> + +<p>Glorious Virginia! to thee, to thee<br /> +We lean, as the shoots to the parent tree;<br /> +Bending in awe at thy glance of might;--<br /> +First in the council, first in the fight!<br /> +While our flag is fanned by the breath of fame,<br /> +Glorious Virginia! we'll bless thy name.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="34"></a>The War-Christian's Thanksgiving.</h1> + +<h2>Respectfully dedicated to the War-Clergy of the United States.</h2> + +By S. Teackle Wallis. + + + +<p>Oh, God of battles! once again,<br /> + With banner, trump, and drum,<br /> +And garments in thy wine-press dyed,<br /> + To give Thee thanks we come.</p> + +<p>No goats or bullocks garlanded,<br /> + Unto thine altars go;<br /> +With brothers' blood, by brothers shed,<br /> + Our glad libations flow,</p> + +<p>From pest-house and from dungeon foul,<br /> + Where, maimed and torn, they die,<br /> +From gory trench and charnel-house,<br /> + Where, heap on heap, they lie.</p> + +<p>In every groan that yields a soul,<br /> + Each shriek a heart that rends,<br /> +With every breath of tainted air,<br /> + Our homage, Lord, ascends.</p> + +<p>We thank Thee for the sabre's gash,<br /> + The cannon's havoc wild;<br /> +We bless Thee for the widow's tears,<br /> + The want that starves her child!</p> + +<p>We give Thee praise that Thou hast lit<br /> + The torch, and fanned the flame;<br /> +That lust and rapine hunt their prey,<br /> + Kind Father, in Thy name!</p> + +<p>That, for the songs of idle joy<br /> + False angels sang of yore,<br /> +Thou sendest War on earth--ill-will<br /> + To men for evermore!</p> + +<p>We know that wisdom, truth, and right<br /> + To us and ours are given;<br /> +That Thou hast clothed us with the wrath,<br /> + To do the work of heaven.</p> + +<p>We know that plains and cities waste<br /> + Are pleasant in Thine eyes--<br /> +Thou lov'st a hearthstone desolate,<br /> + Thou lov'st a mourner's cries.</p> + +<p>Let not our weakness fall below<br /> + The measure of Thy will,<br /> +And while the press hath wine to bleed,<br /> + Oh, tread it with us still!</p> + +<p>Teach us to hate--as Jesus taught<br /> + Fond fools, of yore, to love;<br /> +Give us Thy vengeance as our own--<br /> + Thy pity, hide above!</p> + +<p>Teach us to turn, with reeking hands,<br /> + The pages of Thy word,<br /> +And learn the blessed curses there,<br /> + On them that sheathe the sword.</p> + +<p>Where'er we tread may deserts spring,<br /> + 'Till none are left to slay;<br /> +And when the last red drop is shed,<br /> + We'll kneel again--and pray!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="35"></a>Sonnet.</h1> + +<h2>Charleston Mercury.</h2> + + + +<p>Man makes his own dread fates, and these in turn<br /> +Create his tyrants. In our lust and passion,<br /> +Our appetite and ignorance, he springs.<br /> +The creature of our need as our desert,<br /> +The scourge that whips us for decaying virtue,<br /> +He chastens to reform us! Never yet,<br /> +In mortal life, did tyrant rise to power,<br /> +But in the people's worst infirmities<br /> +Of crime and greed. The creature of our vices,<br /> +The loathsome ulcer of our vicious moods,<br /> +He is decreed their proper punishment.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="36"></a>Marching to Death.</h1> + +<h2>By J. Herbert Sass, of South Carolina.</h2> + +1862. + + +<p>"The National Quarterly depicts a remarkable scene, which occurred some +years since on one of the British transport ships. The commander of the +troops on board, seeing that the vessel must soon sink, and that there was +no hope of saving his men, drew them up in order of battle, and, as in the +presence of a human enemy, bravely faced the doom that was before them. We +know of no more impressive illustration of the power of military +discipline in the presence of death."</p> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>The last farewells are breathed by loving lips,<br /> +The last fond prayer for darling ones is said,<br /> +And o'er each heart stern sorrow's dark eclipse<br /> + Her sable pall hath spread.</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>Far, far beyond each anxious watcher's sight,<br /> +Baring her bosom to the wanton sea,<br /> +The lordly ship sweeps onward in her might,<br /> + Her tameless majesty.</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>Forth from his fortress in the western sky,<br /> +Flashing defiance on each crested wave,<br /> +Out glares the sun, with red and lowering eye,<br /> + Grand, even in his grave.</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>Till, waxing bolder as his rays decline,<br /> +The clustering billows o'er his ramparts sweep,<br /> +Slow droops his banner--fades his light divine,<br /> + And darkness rules the deep.</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>Look once again!--Night's sombre shades have fled:<br /> +But the pale rays that glimmer from their sheath,<br /> +Serve but to show the blackness overhead,<br /> + And the wild void beneath.</p> + + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + + +<p>Mastless and helmless drifts the helpless bark;<br /> +Her pride, her majesty, her glory gone;<br /> +While o'er the waters broods the tempest dark,<br /> + And the wild winds howl on.</p> + + + +<h3>VII.</h3> + + +<p>But hark! amid the madness of the storm<br /> +There comes an echo o'er the surging wave;<br /> +Firm at its call the dauntless legions form,<br /> + The resolute and brave.</p> + + + +<h3>VIII.</h3> + + +<p>Eight hundred men, the pride of England's host,<br /> +In stern array stand marshall'd on her deck,<br /> +Calmly as though they knew not they were lost--<br /> + Lost in that shattered wreck.</p> + + + +<h3>IX.</h3> + + +<p>Eight hundred men,--old England's tried and true,<br /> +Their hopes, their fears, their tasks of glory done,<br /> +Steadfast, till the last foe be conquered too,<br /> + And the last fight be won.</p> + + + +<h3>X.</h3> + + +<p>Free floats their banner o'er them as they stand;<br /> +No mournful dirge may o'er the waters ring;<br /> +Out peals the anthem, glorious and grand,<br /> + "The king! God save the king!"</p> + + + +<h3>XI.</h3> + + +<p>Lower and lower sinks the fated bark,<br /> +Closer and closer creeps the ruthless wave,<br /> +But loud outswells, across the waters dark,<br /> + The death-song of the brave.</p> + + + +<h3>XII.</h3> + + +<p>Over their heads the gurgling billows sweep;<br /> +Still o'er the waves the last fond echoes ring,<br /> +Out-thrilling from the caverns of the deep,<br /> + "The king! God save the king!"</p> + + + +<h3>XIII.</h3> + + +<p>Oh thou! whoe'er thou art that reads this page,<br /> +Learn here a lesson of high, holy faith,<br /> +For all throughout our earthly pilgrimage,<br /> + We hold a tryst with death.</p> + + + +<h3>XIV.</h3> + + +<p>Not in the battle-field's tumultuous strife,<br /> +Not in the hour when vanquished foemen fly,<br /> +Not in the midst of bright and happy life,<br /> + Is it most hard to die.</p> + + + +<h3>XV.</h3> + + +<p>Greater the guerdon, holier the prize,<br /> +Of him who trusts, and waits in lowly mood;<br /> +Oh! learn how high, how holy courage lies<br /> + In patient fortitude.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="37"></a>Charleston.</h1> + +<h2>By Henry Timrod.</h2> + + + +<p>Calm as that second summer which precedes<br /> + The first fall of the snow,<br /> +In the broad sunlight of heroic deeds,<br /> + The city bides the foe.</p> + +<p>As yet, behind their ramparts, stern and proud,<br /> + Her bolted thunders sleep--<br /> +Dark Sumter, like a battlemented cloud,<br /> + Looms o'er the solemn deep.</p> + +<p>No Calpe frowns from lofty cliff or scaur<br /> + To guard the holy strand;<br /> +But Moultrie holds in leash her dogs of war,<br /> + Above the level sand.</p> + +<p>And down the dunes a thousand guns lie couched.<br /> + Unseen, beside the flood--<br /> +Like tigers in some Orient jungle crouched,<br /> + That wait and watch for blood.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, through streets still echoing with trade,<br /> + Walk grave and thoughtful men,<br /> +Whose hands may one day wield the patriot's blade<br /> + As lightly as the pen.</p> + +<p>And maidens, with such eyes as would grow dim<br /> + Over a bleeding hound,<br /> +Seem each one to have caught the strength of him<br /> + Whose sword she sadly bound.</p> + +<p>Thus girt without and garrisoned at home,<br /> + Day patient following day,<br /> +Old Charleston looks from roof, and spire, and dome,<br /> + Across her tranquil bay.</p> + +<p>Ships, through a hundred foes, from Saxon lands<br /> + And spicy Indian ports,<br /> +Bring Saxon steel and iron to her hands,<br /> + And summer to her courts.</p> + +<p>But still, along yon dim Atlantic line,<br /> + The only hostile smoke<br /> +Creeps like a harmless mist above the brine,<br /> + From some frail, floating oak.</p> + +<p>Shall the spring dawn, and she still clad in smiles,<br /> + And with an unscathed brow,<br /> +Rest in the strong arms of her palm-crowned isles,<br /> + As fair and free as now?</p> + +<p>We know not; in the temple of the Fates<br /> + God has inscribed her doom;<br /> +And, all untroubled in her faith, she waits<br /> + The triumph or the tomb.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="38"></a>Charleston.</h1> + +<h2>By Paul H. Hayne.</h2> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>What! still does the Mother of Treason uprear<br /> + Her crest 'gainst the Furies that darken her sea?<br /> +Unquelled by mistrust, and unblanched by a Fear,<br /> + Unbowed her proud head, and unbending her knee,<br /> + Calm, steadfast, and free?</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>Aye! launch your red lightnings, blaspheme in your wrath,<br /> + Shock earth, wave, and heaven with the blasts of your ire;--<br /> +But she seizes your death-bolts, yet hot from their path,<br /> + And hurls back your lightnings, and mocks at the fire<br /> + Of your fruitless desire.</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>Ringed round by her Brave, a fierce circlet of flame,<br /> + Flashes up from the sword-points that cover her breast;<br /> +She is guarded by Love, and enhaloed by Fame,<br /> + And never, we swear, shall <i>your</i> footsteps be pressed<br /> + Where her dead heroes rest!</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>Her voice shook the Tyrant!--sublime from her tongue<br /> + Fell the accents of warning,--a Prophetess grand,--<br /> +On her soil the first life-notes of Liberty rung,<br /> + <i>And the first stalwart blow of her gauntleted hand</i><br /> + Broke the sleep of her land!</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>What more! she hath grasped with her iron-bound will<br /> + The Fate that would trample her honor to earth,--<br /> +The light in those deep eyes is luminous still<br /> + With the warmth of her valor, the glow of her worth,<br /> + Which illumine the Earth!</p> + + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + + +<p>And beside her a Knight the great Bayard had loved,<br /> + "Without fear or reproach," lifts her Banner on high;<br /> +He stands in the vanguard, majestic, unmoved,<br /> + And a thousand firm souls, when that Chieftain is nigh,<br /> + Vow, "'tis easy to die!"</p> + + + +<h3>VII.</h3> + + +<p>Their swords have gone forth on the fetterless air!<br /> + The world's breath is hushed at the conflict! before<br /> +Gleams the bright form of Freedom with wreaths in her hair--<br /> + And what though the chaplet be crimsoned with gore,<br /> + We shall prize her the more!</p> + + + +<h3>VIII.</h3> + + +<p>And while Freedom lures on with her passionate eyes<br /> + To the height of her promise, the voices of yore,<br /> +From the storied Profound of past ages arise,<br /> + And the pomps of their magical music outpour<br /> + O'er the war-beaten shore.</p> + + + +<h3>IX.</h3> + + +<p>Then gird your brave Empress, O! Heroes, with flame<br /> + Flashed up from the sword-points that cover her breast,<br /> +She is guarded by Love, and enhaloed by Fame,<br /> + And never, base Foe! shall your footsteps be pressed<br /> + Where her dead Martyrs rest!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="39"></a>"Ye Men of Alabama!"</h1> + +<h2>By John D. Phelan, of Montgomery, Ala.</h2> + + + +Air--"Ye Mariners of England." + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Ye men of Alabama,<br /> + Awake, arise, awake!<br /> +And rend the coils asunder<br /> + Of this Abolition snake.<br /> +If another fold he fastens--<br /> + If this final coil he plies--<br /> +In the cold clasp of hate and power<br /> + Fair Alabama dies.</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>Though round your lower limbs and waist<br /> + His deadly coils I see,<br /> +Yet, yet, thank Heaven! your head and arms,<br /> + And good right hand, are free;<br /> +And in that hand there glistens--<br /> + O God! what joy to feel!--<br /> +A polished blade, full sharp and keen,<br /> + Of tempered State Rights steel.</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>Now, by the free-born sires<br /> + From whose brave loins ye sprung!<br /> +And by the noble mothers<br /> + At whose fond breasts ye hung!<br /> +And by your wives and daughters,<br /> + And by the ills they dread,<br /> +Drive deep that good Secession steel<br /> + Right through the Monster's head.</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>This serpent Abolition<br /> + Has been coiling on for years;<br /> +We have reasoned, we have threatened,<br /> + We have begged almost with tears:<br /> +Now, away, away with Union,<br /> + Since on our Southern soil<br /> +The only <i>union</i> left us<br /> + Is an anaconda's coil.</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>Brave little South Carolina<br /> + Will strike the self-same blow,<br /> +And Florida, and Georgia,<br /> + And Mississippi too;<br /> +And Arkansas, and Texas;<br /> + And at the death, I ween,<br /> +The head will fall beneath the blows<br /> + Of all the brave Fifteen.</p> + + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + + +<p>In this our day of trial,<br /> + Let feuds and factions cease,<br /> +Until above this howling storm<br /> + We see the sign of Peace.<br /> +Let Southern men, like brothers,<br /> + In solid phalanx stand,<br /> +And poise their spears, and lock their shields,<br /> + To guard their native land.</p> + + + +<h3>VII.</h3> + + +<p>The love that for the Union<br /> + Once in our bosoms beat,<br /> +From insult and from injury<br /> + Has turned to scorn and hate;<br /> +And the banner of Secession<br /> + To-day we lift on high,<br /> +Resolved, beneath that sacred flag,<br /> + To conquer, or TO DIE!</p> + +Montgomery Advertiser, October, 1860. + + + + +<h1><a name="40"></a>Nec Temere, Nec Timide.</h1> + +<h2>By Annie Chambers Ketchum.</h2> + + + +<p>Gentlemen of the South,<br /> + Gird on your glittering swords!<br /> +Darkly along our borders fair<br /> + Gather the Northern hordes.<br /> +Ruthless and fierce they come<br /> + At the fiery cannon's mouth,<br /> +To blast the glory of our land,<br /> + Gentlemen of the South!</p> + +<p>Ride forth in your stately pride,<br /> + Each bearing on his shield<br /> +Ensigns our fathers won of yore<br /> + On many a well-fought field!<br /> +Let this be your battle-cry,<br /> + Even to the cannon's mouth,<br /> +<i>Cor unum via una!</i> Onward,<br /> + Gentlemen of the South!</p> + +<p>Brave knights of a knightly race,<br /> + Gordon, and Chambers, and Gray,<br /> +Show to the minions of the North<br /> + How Valor dares the fray!<br /> +Let them read on each stainless crest<br /> + At the belching cannon's mouth,<br /> +<i>Decori decus addit avito</i>,<br /> + Gentlemen of the South!</p> + +<p>Morrison, Douglas, Stuart,<br /> + Erskine, and Bradford, and West,<br /> +Your gauntlets on many a bloody field<br /> + Have stood the battle's test!<br /> +<i>Animo non astutia!</i><br /> + March to the cannon's mouth,<br /> +Heirs of the brave dead centuries! Onward,<br /> + Gentlemen of the South!</p> + +<p>Call forth your stalwart men,<br /> + Workers in brass and steel!<br /> +Bid the swart artisans come forth<br /> + At sound of the trumpet's peal!<br /> +Give them your war-cry, Erskine!<br /> + <i>Fight!</i> to the cannon's mouth!<br /> +Bid the men <i>Forward!</i> Douglas, <i>Forward!</i><br /> + Yeomanry of the South!</p> + +<p>Brave hunters! Ye have met<br /> + The fierce black bear in the fray;<br /> +Ye have trailed the panther night by night,<br /> + Ye have chased the fox by day!<br /> +Your prancing chargers pant<br /> + To dash at the gray wolf's mouth,<br /> +Your arms are sure of their quarry! Onward!<br /> + Gentlemen of the South!</p> + +<p>Fight! that the lowly serf<br /> + And the high-born lady still<br /> +May bide in their proud dependency,<br /> + Free subjects of your will!<br /> +Teach the base North how ill,<br /> + At the fiery cannon's mouth,<br /> +He fares who touches your household gods,<br /> + Gentlemen of the South!</p> + +<p>From mother, and wife, and child,<br /> + From faithful and happy slave,<br /> +Prayers for your sakes ascend to Him<br /> + Whose arm is strong to save!<br /> +We check the gathering tears,<br /> + Though ye go to the cannon's mouth;<br /> +<i>Dominus providebit!</i> Onward,<br /> + Gentlemen of the South!</p> + +<p>Memphis Appeal.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="41"></a>Dixie.</h1> + +<h2>By Albert Pike.</h2> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Southrons, hear your Country call you!<br /> +Up! lest worse than death befall you!<br /> + To arms! to arms! to arms! in Dixie!<br /> +Lo! all the beacon-fires are lighted,<br /> +Let all hearts be now united!<br /> + To arms! to arms! to arms! in Dixie!<br /> + Advance the flag; of Dixie!<br /> + Hurrah! hurrah!<br /> + For Dixie's land we'll take our stand,<br /> + To live or die for Dixie!<br /> + To arms! to arms!<br /> + And conquer peace for Dixie!<br /> + To arms! to arms!<br /> + And conquer peace for Dixie!</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>Hear the Northern thunders mutter!<br /> +Northern flags in South-winds flutter!<br /> + To arms! etc.<br /> +Send them back your fierce defiance!<br /> +Stamp upon the accursed alliance!<br /> + To arms! etc.<br /> + Advance the flag of Dixie! etc.</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>Fear no danger! shun no labor!<br /> +Lift up rifle, pike, and sabre!<br /> + To arms! etc.<br /> +Shoulder pressing close to shoulder,<br /> +Let the odds make each heart bolder!<br /> + To arms! etc.<br /> + Advance the flag of Dixie, etc.</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>How the South's great heart rejoices<br /> +At your cannon's ringing voices;<br /> + To arms! etc.<br /> +For faith betrayed and pledges broken,<br /> +Wrong inflicted, insults spoken.<br /> + To arms! etc.<br /> + Advance the flag of Dixie, etc.</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>Strong as lions, swift as eagles,<br /> +Back to their kennels hunt these beagles!<br /> + To arms! etc.<br /> +Cut the unequal bonds asunder!<br /> +Let them hence each other plunder!<br /> + To arms! etc.<br /> + Advance the flag of Dixie! etc.</p> + + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + + +<p>Swear upon your Country's altar,<br /> +Never to submit or falter;<br /> + To arms! etc.<br /> +Till the spoilers are defeated,<br /> +Till the Lord's work is completed.<br /> + To arms! etc.<br /> + Advance the flag of Dixie! etc.</p> + + + +<h3>VII.</h3> + + +<p>Halt not till our Federation<br /> +Secures among earth's Powers its station!<br /> + To arms! etc.<br /> +Then at peace, and crowned with glory,<br /> +Hear your children tell the story!<br /> + To arms! etc.<br /> + Advance the flag of Dixie! etc.</p> + + + +<h3>VIII.</h3> + + +<p>If the loved ones weep in sadness,<br /> +Victory soon shall bring them gladness;<br /> + To arms! etc.<br /> +Exultant pride soon banish sorrow;<br /> +Smiles chase tears away to-morrow.<br /> + To arms! etc.<br /> + Advance the flag of Dixie! etc.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="42"></a>The Old Rifleman.</h1> + +<h2>By Frank Ticknor, of Georgia.</h2> + + + +<p>Now bring me out my buckskin suit!<br /> + My pouch and powder, too!<br /> +We'll see if seventy-six can shoot<br /> + As sixteen used to do.</p> + +<p>Old Bess! we've kept our barrels bright!<br /> + Our trigger quick and true!<br /> +As far, if not as <i>fine</i> a sight,<br /> + As long ago we drew!</p> + +<p>And pick me out a trusty flint!<br /> + A real white and blue,<br /> +Perhaps 'twill win the <i>other</i> tint<br /> + Before the hunt is through!</p> + +<p>Give boys your brass percussion caps!<br /> + Old "shut-pan" suits as well!<br /> +There's something in the <i>sparks:</i> perhaps<br /> + There's something in the smell!</p> + +<p>We've seen the red-coat Briton bleed!<br /> + The red-skin Indian, too!<br /> +We've never thought to draw a bead<br /> + On Yanke-doodle-doo!</p> + +<p>But, Bessie! bless your dear old heart!<br /> + Those days are mostly done;<br /> +And now we must revive the art<br /> + Of shooting on the run!</p> + +<p>If Doodle must be meddling, why,<br /> + There's only this to do--<br /> +Select the black spot in his eye,<br /> + And let the daylight through!</p> + +<p>And if he doesn't like the way<br /> + That Bess presents the view,<br /> +He'll maybe change his mind, and stay<br /> + Where the good Doodles do!</p> + +<p>Where Lincoln lives. The man, you know,<br /> + Who kissed the Testament;<br /> +To keep the Constitution? No!<br /> + <i>To keep the Government!</i></p> + +<p>We'll hunt for Lincoln, Bess! old tool,<br /> + And take him half and half;<br /> +We'll aim to <i>hit</i> him, if a fool,<br /> + And <i>miss</i> him, if a calf!</p> + +<p>We'll teach these shot-gun boys the tricks<br /> + By which a war is won;<br /> +Especially how Seventy-six<br /> + Took Tories on the run.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="43"></a>Battle Hymn.</h1> + +<h2>Charleston Mercury.</h2> + + + +<p>Lord of Hosts, that beholds us in battle, defending<br /> + The homes of our sires 'gainst the hosts of the foe,<br /> +Send us help on the wings of thy angels descending,<br /> + And shield from his terrors, and baffle his blow.<br /> +Warm the faith of our sons, till they flame as the iron,<br /> + Red-glowing from the fire-forge, kindled by zeal;<br /> +Make them forward to grapple the hordes that environ,<br /> + In the storm-rush of battle, through forests of steel!<br /> +<br /> +Teach them, Lord, that the cause of their country makes glorious<br /> + The martyr who falls in the front of the fight;--<br /> +That the faith which is steadfast makes ever victorious<br /> + The arm which strikes boldly defending the right;--<br /> +That the zeal, which is roused by the wrongs of a nation,<br /> + Is a war-horse that sweeps o'er the field as his own;<br /> +And the Faith, which is winged by the soul's approbation,<br /> + Is a warrior, in proof, that can ne'er be o'erthrown.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="44"></a>Kentucky, She Is Sold</h1> + +<h2>By J. R. Barrick, of Kentucky.</h2> + + + +<p>A tear for "the dark and bloody ground,"<br /> + For the land of hills and caves;<br /> +Her Kentons, Boones, and her Shelbys sleep<br /> + Where the vandals tread their graves;<br /> +A sigh for the loss of her honored fame,<br /> + Dear won in the days of old;<br /> +Her ship is manned by a foreign crew,<br /> + For Kentucky, she is sold.</p> + +<p>The bones of her sons lie bleaching on<br /> + The plains of Tippecanoe,<br /> +On the field of Raisin her blood was shed,<br /> + As free as the summer's dew;<br /> +In Mexico her McRee and Clay<br /> + Were first of the brave and bold--<br /> +A change has been in her bosom wrought,<br /> + For Kentucky, she is sold.</p> + +<p>Pride of the free, was that noble State,<br /> + And her banner still were so,<br /> +Had the iron heel of the despot not<br /> + Her prowess sunk so low;<br /> +Her valleys once were the freeman's home,<br /> + Her valor unbought with gold,<br /> +But now the pride of her life is fled,<br /> + For Kentucky, she is sold.</p> + +<p>Her brave would once have scorned to wear<br /> + The yoke that crushes her now,<br /> +And the tyrant grasp, and the vandal tread,<br /> + Would sullen have made her brow;<br /> +Her spirit yet will be wakened up,<br /> + And her saddened fate be told,<br /> +Her gallant sons to the world yet prove<br /> + That Kentucky is not sold.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="45"></a>Sonnet--The Ship of State.</h1> + + + +<p>Here lie the peril and necessity<br /> + That need a race of giants--a great realm,<br /> + With not one noble leader at the helm;<br /> +And the great Ship of State still driving high,<br /> + 'Midst breakers, on a lee shore--to the rocks.<br /> + With ever and anon most terrible shocks--<br /> +The crew aghast, and fear in every eye.<br /> +Yet is the gracious Providence still nigh;<br /> + And, if our cause be just, our hearts be true,<br /> + We shall save goodly ship and gallant crew,<br /> +Nor suffer shipwreck of our liberty!<br /> + It needs that as a people we arise,<br /> + With solemn purpose that even fate defies,<br /> +And brave all perils with unblenching eye!</p> + +<p>Charleston Mercury.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="46"></a>"In His Blanket on the Ground."</h1> + +<h2>By Caroline H. Gervais, Charleston.</h2> + + + +<p>Weary, weary lies the soldier,<br /> + In his blanket on the ground<br /> +With no sweet "Good-night" to cheer him,<br /> + And no tender voice's sound,<br /> +Making music in the darkness,<br /> + Making light his toilsome hours,<br /> +Like a sunbeam in the forest,<br /> + Or a tomb wreathed o'er with flowers.</p> + +<p>Thoughtful, hushed, he lies, and tearful,<br /> + As his memories sadly roam<br /> +To the "cozy little parlor"<br /> + And the loved ones of his home;<br /> +And his waking and his dreaming<br /> + Softly braid themselves in one,<br /> +As the twilight is the mingling<br /> + Of the starlight and the sun.</p> + +<p>And when sleep descends upon him,<br /> + <i>Still</i> his thought within his dream<br /> +Is of home, and friends, and loved ones,<br /> + And his busy fancies seem<br /> +To be <i>real</i>, as they wander<br /> + To his mother's cherished form.<br /> +As she gently said, in parting<br /> + "Thine in sunshine and in storm:<br /> +Thine in helpless childhood's morning,<br /> + And in boyhood's joyous time,<br /> +Thou must leave me now--<i>God</i> watch thee<br /> + In thy manhood's ripened prime."</p> + +<p>Or, mayhap, amid the phantoms<br /> + Teeming thick within his brain,<br /> +His dear father's locks, o'er-silvered,<br /> + Come to greet his view again;<br /> +And he hears his trembling accents,<br /> + Like a clarion ringing high,<br /> +"Since <i>not mine</i> are youth and strength, boy,<br /> + <i>Thou</i> must victor prove, or die."</p> + +<p>Or perchance he hears a whisper<br /> + Of the faintest, faintest sigh,<br /> +Something deeper than word-spoken,<br /> + Something breathing of a tie<br /> +Near his soul as bounding heart-blood:<br /> + It is hers, that patient wife--<br /> +And again that parting seemeth<br /> + Like the taking leave of life:<br /> +And her last kiss he remembers,<br /> + And the agonizing thrill,<br /> +And the "<i>Must you go?</i>" and answer,<br /> + "<i>I but know my Country's will.</i>"</p> + +<p>Or the little children gather,<br /> +Half in wonder, round his knees;<br /> +And the faithful dog, mute, watchful,<br /> +In the mystic glass he sees;<br /> +And the voice of song, and pictures,<br /> +And the simplest homestead flowers,<br /> +Unforgotten, crowd before him<br /> +In the solemn midnight hours.</p> + +<p>Then his thoughts in Dreamland wander<br /> +To a sister's sweet caress,<br /> +And he feels her dear lips quiver<br /> +As his own they fondly press;<br /> +And he hears her proudly saying,<br /> +(Though sad tears are in her eyes),<br /> +"Brave men fall, but live in story,<br /> +<i>For the Hero never dies!</i>"</p> + +<p>Or, perhaps, his brown cheek flushes,<br /> +And his heart beats quicker now,<br /> +As he thinks of one who gave him,<br /> +Him, the loved one, love's sweet vow;<br /> +And, ah, fondly he remembers<br /> +He is <i>still</i> her dearest care,<br /> +Even in his star-watched slumber<br /> +That she pleads for him in prayer.</p> + +<p>Oh, the soldier <i>will</i> be dreaming,<br /> +Dreaming <i>often</i> of us all,<br /> +(When the damp earth is his pillow,<br /> +And the snow and cold sleet fall),<br /> +Of the dear, familiar faces,<br /> +Of the cozy, curtained room,<br /> +Of the flitting of the shadows<br /> +In the twilight's pensive gloom.</p> + +<p>Or when summer suns burn o'er him,<br /> +Bringing drought and dread disease,<br /> +And the throes of wasting fever<br /> +Come his weary frame to seize--<br /> +In the restless sleep of sickness,<br /> +Doomed, perchance, to martyr death,<br /> +Hear him whisper "<i>Home</i>"--sweet cadence,<br /> +With his quickened, labored breath.</p> + +<p>Then God bless him, bless the soldier,<br /> +And God nerve him for the fight;<br /> +May He lend his arm new prowess<br /> +To do battle for the right.<br /> +Let him feel that while he's dreaming<br /> +In his fitful slumber bound,<br /> +That we're praying--<i>God watch o'er him<br /> +In his blanket on the ground.</i></p> + + + + +<h1><a name="47"></a>The Mountain Partisan.</h1> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>My rifle, pouch, and knife!<br /> + My steed! And then we part!<br /> +One loving kiss, dear wife,<br /> + One press of heart to heart!<br /> +Cling to me yet awhile,<br /> + But stay the sob, the tear!<br /> +Smile--only try to smile--<br /> + And I go without a fear.</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>Our little cradled boy,<br /> + He sleeps--and in his sleep,<br /> +Smiles, with an angel joy,<br /> + Which tells thee not to weep.<br /> +I'll kneel beside, and kiss--<br /> + He will not wake the while,<br /> +Thus dreaming of the bliss,<br /> + That bids thee, too, to smile.</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>Think not, dear wife, I go,<br /> + With a light thought at my heart<br /> +'Tis a pang akin to woe,<br /> + That fills me as we part;<br /> +But when the wolf was heard<br /> + To howl around our lot,<br /> +Thou know'st, dear mother-bird,<br /> + I slew him on the spot!</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>Aye, panther, wolf, and bear,<br /> + Have perish'd 'neath my knife;<br /> +Why tremble, then, with fear,<br /> + When now I go, my wife?<br /> +Shall I not keep the peace,<br /> + That made our cottage dear;<br /> +And 'till these wolf-curs cease<br /> + Shall I be housing here?</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>One loving kiss, dear wife,<br /> + One press of heart to heart;<br /> +Then for the deadliest strife,<br /> + For freedom I depart!<br /> +I were of little worth,<br /> + Were these Yankee wolves left free<br /> +To ravage 'round our hearth,<br /> + And bring one grief to thee!</p> + + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + + +<p>God's blessing on thee, wife,<br /> + God's blessing on the young:<br /> +Pray for me through the strife,<br /> + And teach our infant's tongue.<br /> +Whatever haps in fight,<br /> + I shall be true to thee--<br /> +To the home of our delight--<br /> + To my people of the free.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="48"></a>The Cameo Bracelet.</h1> + +<h2>By James R. Randall, of Maryland.</h2> + + + +<p>Eva sits on the ottoman there,<br /> + Sits by a Psyche carved in stone,<br /> +With just such a face, and just such an air,<br /> + As Esther upon her throne.</p> + +<p>She's sifting lint for the brave who bleed,<br /> + And I watch her fingers float and flow<br /> +Over the linen, as, thread by thread,<br /> + It flakes to her lap like snow.</p> + +<p>A bracelet clinks on her delicate wrist,<br /> + Wrought, as Cellini's were at Rome,<br /> +Out of the tears of the amethyst,<br /> + And the wan Vesuvian foam.</p> + +<p>And full on the bauble-crest alway--<br /> + A cameo image keen and fine--<br /> +Glares thy impetuous knife, Corday,<br /> + And the lava-locks are thine!</p> + +<p>I thought of the war-wolves on our trail,<br /> + Their gaunt fangs sluiced with gouts of blood;<br /> +Till the Past, in a dead, mesmeric veil,<br /> + Drooped with a wizard flood</p> + +<p>Till the surly blaze through the iron bars<br /> + Shot to the hearth with a pang and cry--<br /> +And a lank howl plunged from the Champ de Mars<br /> + To the Column of July--</p> + +<p>Till Corday sprang from the gem, I swear,<br /> + And the dove-eyed damsel I knew had flown--<br /> +For Eva was not on the ottoman there,<br /> + By the Psyche carved in stone.</p> + +<p>She grew like a Pythoness flushed with fate,<br /> + With the incantation in her gaze,<br /> +A lip of scorn--an arm of hate--<br /> + And a dirge of the "Marseillaise!"</p> + +<p>Eva, the vision was not wild,<br /> + When wreaked on the tyrants of the land--<br /> +For you were transfigured to Nemesis, child,<br /> + With the dagger in your hand!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="49"></a>Zollicoffer.</h1> + +<h2>By H. L. Flash, of Alabama.</h2> + + + +<p>First in the fight, and first in the arms<br /> + Of the white-winged angels of glory,<br /> +With the heart of the South at the feet of God,<br /> + And his wounds to tell the story:</p> + +<p>And the blood that flowed from his hero heart,<br /> + On the spot where he nobly perished,<br /> +Was drunk by the earth as a sacrament<br /> + In the holy cause he cherished.</p> + +<p>In Heaven a home with the brave and blessed,<br /> + And, for his soul's sustaining,<br /> +The apocalyptic eyes of Christ--<br /> + And nothing on earth remaining,</p> + +<p>But a handful of dust in the land of his choice,<br /> + A name in song and story,<br /> +And Fame to shout with her brazen voice,<br /> + "Died on the Field of Glory!"</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="50"></a>Beauregard</h1> + +<h2>By Catharine A. Warfield, of Mississippi.</h2> + + + +<p>Let the trumpet shout once more,<br /> + Beauregard!<br /> +Let the battle-thunders roar,<br /> + Beauregard!<br /> +And again by yonder sea,<br /> +Let the swords of all the free<br /> +Leap forth to fight with thee,<br /> + Beauregard!</p> + +<p>Old Sumter loves thy name,<br /> + Beauregard!<br /> +Grim Moultrie guards thy fame,<br /> + Beauregard!<br /> +Oh! first in Freedom's fight!<br /> +Oh! steadfast in the right!<br /> +Oh! brave and Christian Knight!<br /> + Beauregard!</p> + +<p>St. Michael with his host,<br /> + Beauregard!<br /> +Encamps by yonder coast,<br /> + Beauregard!<br /> +And the Demon's might shall quail,<br /> +And the Dragon's terrors fail,<br /> +Were he trebly clad in mail,<br /> + Beauregard!</p> + +<p>Not a leaf shall fall away,<br /> + Beauregard!<br /> +From the laurel won to-day,<br /> + Beauregard!<br /> +While the ocean breezes blow,<br /> +While the billows lapse and flow<br /> +O'er the Northman's bones below,<br /> + Beauregard!</p> + +<p>Let the trumpet shout once more,<br /> + Beauregard!<br /> +Let the battle-thunders roar,<br /> + Beauregard!<br /> +From the centre to the shore,<br /> +From the sea to the land's core<br /> +Thrills the echo, evermore,<br /> + Beauregard!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="51"></a>South Carolina.</h1> + + + +<p> 1719. Colonial Revolution.<br /> + 1763. Colonial History--Progress,<br /> + 1776. American Revolution.<br /> + 1812-15. Second War with Great Britain<br /> + 1830-32. Nullification for State Rights.<br /> + 1835-40. Florida War.<br /> + 1847. Mexican War--Palmetto Regiment.<br /> + 1860-61. Secession, and Third War for Independence.</p> + +<p>My brave old Country! I have watched thee long<br /> +Still ever first to rise against the wrong;<br /> +To check the usurper in his giant stride,<br /> +And brave his terrors and abase his pride;<br /> +Foresee the insidious danger ere it rise,<br /> +And warn the heedless and inform the wise;<br /> +Scorning the lure, the bribe, the selfish game,<br /> +Which, through the office, still becomes the shame;<br /> +Thou stood'st aloof--superior to the fate<br /> +That would have wrecked thy freedom as a State.<br /> +In vain the despot's threat, his cunning lure;<br /> +Too proud thy spirit, and thy heart too pure;<br /> +Thou hadst no quest but freedom, and to be<br /> +In conscience well-assured, and people free.<br /> +The statesman's lore was thine, the patriot's aim,<br /> +These kept thee virtuous, and preserved thy fame;<br /> +The wisdom still for council, the brave voice,<br /> +That thrills a people till they all rejoice.<br /> +These were thy birthrights; and two centuries pass'd,<br /> +As, at the first, still find thee at the last;<br /> +Supreme in council, resolute in will,<br /> +Pure in thy purpose--independent still!</p> + +<p>The great good counsels, the examples brave,<br /> +Won from the past, not buried in its grave,<br /> +Still warm your soul with courage--still impar<br /> +Wisdom to virtue, valor to the heart!<br /> +Still first to check th' encroachment--to declare<br /> +"Thus far! no further, shall the assailant dare;"<br /> +Thou keep'st thy ermine white, thy State secure,<br /> +Thy fortunes prosperous, and thy freedom sure;<br /> +No glozing art deceives thee to thy bane;<br /> +The tempter and the usurper strive in vain!<br /> +Thy spear's first touch unfolds the fiendish form,<br /> +And first, with fearless breast, thou meet'st the storm;<br /> +Though hosts assail thee, thou thyself a host,<br /> +Prepar'st to meet the invader on the coast:<br /> +Thy generous sons contending which shall be<br /> +First in the phalanx, gathering by the sea;<br /> +No dastard fear appals them, as they teach<br /> +How best to hurl the bolt, or man the breach!</p> + +<p>Great Soul in little frame!--the hope of man<br /> +Exults, when such as thou art in the van!<br /> +Unshaken, unbeguiled, unslaved, unbought,<br /> +Thy fame shall brighten with each battle fought;<br /> +True to the examples of the past, thou'lt be,<br /> +For the long future, best security.</p> + +<p>Charleston Mercury.</p> + +<p>Gossypium.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="52"></a>Carolina.</h1> + +<h2>By Henry Timrod.</h2> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>The despot treads thy sacred sands,<br /> +Thy pines give shelter to his bands,<br /> +Thy sons stand by with idle hands,<br /> + Carolina!<br /> +He breathes at ease thy airs of balm,<br /> +He scorns the lances of thy palm;<br /> +Oh I who shall break thy craven calm,<br /> + Carolina!<br /> +Thy ancient fame is growing dim,<br /> +A spot is on thy garment's rim;<br /> +Give to the winds thy battle hymn,<br /> + Carolina!</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>Call on thy children of the hill,<br /> +Wake swamp and river, coast and rill,<br /> +Rouse all thy strength and all thy skill,<br /> + Carolina!<br /> +Cite wealth and science, trade and art,<br /> +Touch with thy fire the cautious mart,<br /> +And pour thee through the people's heart,<br /> + Carolina!<br /> +Till even the coward spurns his fears,<br /> +And all thy fields, and fens, and meres,<br /> +Shall bristle like thy palm, with spears,<br /> + Carolina!</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>Hold up the glories of thy dead;<br /> +Say how thy elder children bled,<br /> +Arid point to Eutaw's battle-bed,<br /> + Carolina!<br /> +Tell how the patriot's soul was tried,<br /> +And what his dauntless breast defied;<br /> +How Rutledge ruled, and Laurens died,<br /> + Carolina!<br /> +Cry! till thy summons, heard at last,<br /> +Shall fall, like Marion's bugle-blast,<br /> +Re-echoed from the haunted past,<br /> + Carolina!</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>I hear a murmur, as of waves<br /> +That grope their way through sunless caves,<br /> +Like bodies struggling in their graves,<br /> + Carolina!<br /> +And now it deepens; slow and grand<br /> +It swells, as rolling to the land<br /> +An ocean broke upon the strand,<br /> + Carolina!<br /> +Shout! let it reach the startled Huns!<br /> +And roar with all thy festal guns!<br /> +It is the answer of thy sons,<br /> + Carolina!</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>They will not wait to hear thee call;<br /> +From Sachem's head to Sumter's wall<br /> +Resounds the voice of hut and hall,<br /> + Carolina!<br /> +No! thou hast not a stain, they say,<br /> +Or none save what the battle-day<br /> +Shall wash in seas of blood away,<br /> + Carolina!<br /> +Thy skirts, indeed, the foe may part,<br /> +Thy robe be pierced with sword and dart,<br /> +They shall not touch thy noble heart,<br /> + Carolina!</p> + + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + + +<p>Ere thou shalt own the tyrant's thrall,<br /> +Ten times ten thousand men must fall;<br /> +Thy corpse may hearken to his call,<br /> + Carolina!<br /> +When by thy bier, in mournful throngs,<br /> +The women chant thy mortal wrongs,<br /> +'Twill be their own funereal songs,<br /> + Carolina!<br /> +From thy dead breast, by ruffians trod,<br /> +No helpless child shall look to God;<br /> +All shall be safe beneath thy sod,<br /> + Carolina!</p> + + + +<h3>VII.</h3> + + +<p>Girt with such wills to do and bear,<br /> +Assured in right, and mailed in prayer,<br /> +Thou wilt not bow thee to despair,<br /> + Carolina!<br /> +Throw thy bold banner to the breeze!<br /> +Front with thy ranks the threatening seas,<br /> +Like thine own proud armorial trees,<br /> + Carolina!<br /> +Fling down thy gauntlet to the Huns,<br /> +And roar the challenge from thy guns;<br /> +Then leave the future to thy sons,<br /> + Carolina!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="53"></a>My Mother-Land.</h1> + +<h2>By Paul H. Hayne.</h2> + + + +<p><i>"Animis, Opibusque Parati."</i></p> + +<p>My Mother-land! thou wert the first to fling<br /> +Thy virgin flag of freedom to the breeze,<br /> +The first to humble, in thy neighboring seas,<br /> +The imperious despot's power;<br /> +But long before that hour,<br /> +While yet, in false and vain imagining,<br /> +Thy sister nations would not own their foe,<br /> +And turned to jest thy warnings, though the low,<br /> +Deep, awful mutterings, that precede the throe<br /> +Of earthquakes, burdened all the ominous air;<br /> +While yet they paused in scorn,<br /> +Of fatal madness born,--<br /> +Thou, oh, my Mother! like a priestess bless'd<br /> +With wondrous vision of the things to come,<br /> +Thou couldst not calmly rest<br /> +Secure and dumb--<br /> +But from thy borders, with the sounds of drum<br /> +And trumpet, came the thrilling note, "PREPARE!"<br /> +"Prepare for what?" thy careless sisters said;<br /> +"We see no threatening tempest overhead,<br /> +Only a few pale clouds, the west wind's breath<br /> +Will sweep away, or melt in watery death."</p> + +<p>"Prepare!" the time grows ripe to meet our doom!<br /> +Alas! it was not till the thunder-boom<br /> +Of shell and cannon shocked the vernal day,<br /> +Which shone o'er Charleston Bay--<br /> +When the tamed "Stars and Stripes" before us bowed--<br /> +That startled, roused, the last scale fallen away<br /> +From, blinded eyes, our SOUTH, erect and proud,<br /> +Fronted the issue, and, though lulled too long,<br /> +Felt her great spirit nerved, her patriot valor strong.</p> + +<p>But darker days have found us--'gainst the horde<br /> +Of robber Northmen, who, with torch and sword,<br /> + Approach to desecrate<br /> +The sacred hearthstone and the Temple-gate--<br /> +Who would defile our fathers' graves, and cast<br /> +Their ashes to the blast--<br /> +Yea! who declare, "we will annihilate<br /> +The very bound-lines of your sovereign State"--<br /> +Against this ravening flood<br /> +Of foul invaders, drunk with lust and blood,<br /> + Oh! we,<br /> +Strong in the strength of God-supported might,<br /> +Go forth to give our foe no paltry fight,<br /> + Nor basely yield<br /> +To venal legions a scarce blood-dewed field--<br /> +But witness, Heaven! if such the need should be,<br /> +To make our fated land one vast Thermopylæ!</p> + +<p> Death! What of Death?--<br /> +Can he who once drew honorable breath<br /> + In liberty's pure sphere,<br /> + Foster a sensual fear,<br /> +When death and slavery meet him face to face,<br /> +Saying: "Choose thou between us; here, the grace<br /> +Which follows patriot martyrdom, and there,<br /> +Black degradation, haunted by despair."</p> + +<p> Death! What of Death?--<br /> +The vilest reptiles, brutes or men, who crawl<br /> +Across their portion of this earthly ball,<br /> +Share life and motion with us; would we strive<br /> +Like such to creep alive,<br /> +Polluted, loathsome, only that with sin<br /> +We still might keep our mortal breathings in?</p> + +<p>The very thought brings blushes to the cheek!<br /> +I hear all 'round about me murmurs run,<br /> +Hot murmurs, but soon merging into ONE<br /> +Soul-stirring utterance--hark! the people speak:</p> + +<p>"Our course is righteous, and our aims are just!<br /> + Behold, we seek<br /> +Not merely to preserve for noble wives<br /> +The virtuous pride of unpolluted lives,<br /> +To shield our daughters from the ruffian's hand,<br /> +And leave our sons their heirloom of command,<br /> + In generous perpetuity of trust;<br /> +Not only to defend those ancient laws,<br /> +Which Saxon sturdiness and Norman fire<br /> +Welded forevermore with freedom's cause,<br /> +And handed scathless down from sire to sire--<br /> +Nor yet, our grand religion, and our Christ,<br /> +Undecked by upstart creeds and vulgar charms,<br /> +(Though these had sure sufficed<br /> +To urge the feeblest Sybarite to arms)--<br /> +But more than all, because embracing all,<br /> +Insuring all, SELF-GOVERNMENT, the boon<br /> +Our patriot statesmen strove to win and keep,<br /> +From prescient Pinckney and the wise Calhoun<br /> + To him, that gallant Knight,<br /> +The youngest champion in the Senate hall,<br /> +Who, led and guarded by a luminous fate,<br /> +His armor, Courage, and his war-horse, Right,<br /> +Dared through the lists of eloquence to sweep<br /> +Against the proud Bois Guilbert of debate![1]</p> + +<p>"There's not a tone from out the teeming past,<br /> +Uplifted once in such a cause as ours,<br /> +Which does not smite our souls<br /> +In long reverberating thunder-rolls,<br /> +From the far mountain-steeps of ancient story.<br /> +Above the shouting, furious Persian mass,<br /> +Millions arrayed in pomp of Orient powers,<br /> +Rings the wild war-cry of Leonidas<br /> +Pent in his rugged fortress of the rock;<br /> +And o'er the murmurous seas,<br /> +Compact of hero-faith and patriot bliss,<br /> +(For conquest crowns the Athenian's hope at last),<br /> +Gome the clear accents of Miltiades,<br /> +Mingled with cheers that drown the battle-shock<br /> +Beside the wave-washed strand of Salamis.</p> + +<p>"Where'er on earth the self-devoted heart<br /> +Hath been by worthy deeds exalted thus,<br /> +We look for proud exemplars; yet for us<br /> + It is enough to know<br /> +<i>Our fathers left us freemen</i>; let us show<br /> +The will to hold our lofty heritage,<br /> +The patient strength to act our fathers' part--<br /> +Brothers on history's page,<br /> +We wait to write our autographs in gore,<br /> +To cast the morning brightness of our glory<br /> + Beyond our day and hope,<br /> +The narrow limit of <i>one</i> age's scope,<br /> + On Time's remotest shore!</p> + +<p> "Yea! though our children's blood<br /> +Kain 'round us in a crimson-swelling flood,<br /> +Why pause or falter?--that red tide shall bear<br /> + The Ark that holds our shrined liberty,<br /> + Nearer, and yet more near<br /> +Some height of promise o'er the ensanguined sea.</p> + +<p> "At last, the conflict done,<br /> +The fadeless meed of final victory won--<br /> +Behold! emerging from the rifted dark<br /> +Athwart a shining summit high in heaven,<br /> + That delegated Ark!<br /> +No more to be by vengeful tempests driven,<br /> +But poised upon the sacred mount, whereat<br /> +The congregated nations gladly gaze,<br /> +Struck by the quiet splendor of the rays<br /> +That circle Freedom's blood-bought Ararat!"</p> + +<p>Thus spake the people's wisdom; unto me<br /> +Its voice hath come, a passionate augury!<br /> +Methinks the very aspect of the world<br /> +Changed to the mystic music of its hope.<br /> +For, lo! about the deepening heavenly cope<br /> +The stormy cloudland banners all are furled,<br /> + And softly borne above<br /> +Are brooding pinions of invisible love,<br /> + Distilling balm of rest and tender thought<br /> + From fairy realms, by fairy witchery wrought<br /> +O'er the hushed ocean steal celestial gleams<br /> + Divine as light that haunts a poet's dreams;<br /> + And universal nature, wheresoever<br /> +My vision strays--o'er sky, and sea, and river--<br /> + Sleeps, like a happy child,<br /> + In slumber undefiled,<br /> +A premonition of sublimer days,<br /> + When war and warlike lays<br /> + At length shall cease,<br /> + Before a grand Apocalypse of Peace,<br /> + Vouchsafed in mercy to all human kind--<br /> + A prelude and a prophecy combined!</p> + +<p>[1]Everybody must remember the famous tournament scene in "Ivanhoe." Of +course the author, in drawing a comparison between that chivalric battle +and the contest upon "Foote's Resolutions" in the great Senatorial debate +of 1832, would be understood as <i>not</i> pushing the comparison further +than the <i>first</i> shock of arms between Bois Guilbert and his youthful +opponent, which Scott tells us was the most spirited encounter of the day. +Both the knights' lances were fairly broken, and they parted, with no +decisive advantage on either side.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="54"></a>Joe Johnston.</h1> + +<h2>By John R. Thompson.</h2> + + + +<p>Once more to the breach for the land of the West!<br /> +And a leader we give of our bravest and best,<br /> + Of his State and his army the pride;<br /> +Hope shines like the plume of Navarre on his crest,<br /> + And gleams in the glaive at his side.</p> + +<p>For his courage is keen, and his honor is bright<br /> +As the trusty Toledo[1] he wears to the fight,<br /> + Newly wrought in the forges of Spain;<br /> +And this weapon, like all he has brandished for right,<br /> + Will never be dimmed by a stain.</p> + +<p>He leaves the loved, soil of Virginia behind,<br /> +Where the dust of his fathers is fitly enshrined,<br /> + Where lie the fresh fields of his fame;<br /> +Where the murmurous pines, as they sway in the wind,<br /> + Seem ever to whisper his name.</p> + +<p>The Johnstons have always borne wings on their spurs,<br /> +And their motto a noble distinction confers--<br /> + "Ever ready!" for friend or for foe--<br /> +With a patriot's fervor the sentiment stirs<br /> + The large, manly heart of our JOE.</p> + +<p>We read that a former bold chief of the clan,<br /> +Fell, bravely defending the West, in the van,<br /> + On Shiloh's illustrious day;<br /> +And with reason we reckon our Johnston's the man<br /> + The dark, bloody debt to repay.</p> + +<p>There is much to be done; if not glory to seek,<br /> +There's a just and terrible vengeance to wreak<br /> + For crimes of a terrible dye;<br /> +While the plaint of the helpless, the wail of the weak,<br /> + In a chorus rise up to the sky.</p> + +<p>For the Wolf of the North we once drove to his den,<br /> +That quailed with affright 'neath the stern glance of men,<br /> + With his pack has returned to the spoil;<br /> +Then come from the mountain, the hamlet, the glen,<br /> + And drive him again from your soil.</p> + +<p>Brave-born Tennesseeans, so loyal, so true,<br /> +Who have hunted the beast in your highlands, of you<br /> + Our leader had never a doubt;<br /> +You will troop by the thousand the chase to renew,<br /> + The day that his bugles ring out.</p> + +<p>But ye "Hunters," so famed, "of Kentucky" of yore,<br /> +Where now are the rifles that kept from your door<br /> + The wolf and the robber as well?<br /> +Of a truth, you have never been laggard before<br /> + To deal with a savage so fell.</p> + +<p>Has the love you once bore to your country grown cold?<br /> +Has the fire on the altar died out? do you hold<br /> + Your lives than your freedom more dear?<br /> +Can you shamefully barter your birthright for gold,<br /> + Or basely take counsel of fear?</p> + +<p>We will not believe it; Kentucky, the land<br /> +Of a Clay, will not tamely submit to the brand<br /> + That disgraces the dastard, the slave:<br /> +The hour of redemption draws nigh, is at hand,<br /> + Her own sons her own honor shall save!</p> + +<p>Mighty men of Missouri, come forth to the call,<br /> +When the rush of your rivers, when tempests appal,<br /> + And the torrents their sources unseal;<br /> +And this be the watchword of one and of all--<br /> + "Remember the butcher, McNeil!"</p> + +<p>Then once more to the breach for the land of the West;<br /> +Strike home for your hearths--for the lips you love best;<br /> + Follow on where your leader you see;<br /> +One flash of his sword, when the foe is hard pressed,<br /> + And the land of the West shall be free!</p> + +<p>[Footnote 1: General Johnston carries with him a beautiful blade, recently +presented to him, bearing the mark of the Royal Manufactory of Toledo, +1862.]</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="55"></a>Over the River.</h1> + +<h2>By Jane T. H. Cross.</h2> + +<h3>Published in the Nashville Christian Advocate, 1861.</h3> + + + +<p>We hail your "stripes" and lessened "stars,"<br /> + As one may hail a neighbor;<br /> +Now forward move! no fear of jars,<br /> + With nothing but free labor;<br /> +And we will mind our slaves and farm,<br /> +And never wish you any harm,<br /> + But greet you--<i>over the river</i>.</p> + +<p>The self-same language do we speak,<br /> + The same dear words we utter;<br /> +Then let's not make each other weak,<br /> + Nor 'gainst each other mutter;<br /> +But let each go his separate way,<br /> +And each will doff his hat, and say:<br /> + "I greet you--over the river!"</p> + +<p>Our flags, almost the same, unfurl,<br /> + And nod across the border;<br /> +Ohio's waves between them curl--<br /> + <i>Our stripe's a little broader</i>;<br /> +May yours float out on every breeze,<br /> +And, <i>in our wake</i>, traverse all seas--<br /> + We greet you--over the river!</p> + +<p>We part, as friends of years should part,<br /> + With pleasant words and wishes,<br /> +And no desire is in our heart<br /> + For Lincoln's loaves and fishes;<br /> +"Farewell," we wave you from afar,<br /> +We like you best--just where you are--<br /> + And greet you--over the river!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="56"></a>The Confederacy.</h1> + +<h2>By Jane T. H. Cross.</h2> + +<h3>Published in the Southern Christian Advocated.</h3> + + + +<p>Born in a day, full-grown, our Nation stood,<br /> + The pearly light of heaven was on her face;<br /> +Life's early joy was coursing in her blood;<br /> + A thing she was of beauty and of grace.</p> + +<p>She stood, a stranger on the great broad earth,<br /> + No voice of sympathy was heard to greet<br /> +The glory-beaming morning of her birth,<br /> + Or hail the coming of the unsoiled feet.</p> + +<p>She stood, derided by her passing foes;<br /> + Her heart beat calmly 'neath their look of scorn;<br /> +Their rage in blackening billows round her rose--<br /> + Her brow, meanwhile, as radiant as the morn.</p> + +<p>Their poisonous coils about her limbs are cast,<br /> + She shakes them off in pure and holy ire,<br /> +As quietly as Paul, in ages past,<br /> + Shook off the serpent in the crackling fire.</p> + +<p>She bends not to her foes, nor to the world,<br /> + She bears a heart for glory, or for gloom;<br /> +But with her starry cross, her flag unfurled,<br /> + She kneels amid the sweet magnolia bloom.</p> + +<p>She kneels to Thee, O God, she claims her birth,<br /> + She lifts to Thee her young and trusting eye,<br /> +She asks of Thee her place upon the earth--<br /> + For it is Thine to give or to deny.</p> + +<p>Oh, let <i>Thine</i> eye but recognize her right!<br /> + Oh, let <i>Thy</i> voice but justify her claim!<br /> +Like grasshoppers are nations in Thy sight,<br /> + And all their power is but an empty name,</p> + +<p>Then listen, Father, listen to her prayer!<br /> + Her robes are dripping with her children's blood;<br /> +Her foes around "like bulls of Bashan stare,"<br /> + They fain would sweep her off, "as with a flood."</p> + +<p>The anguish wraps her close around, like death,<br /> + Her children lie in heaps about her slain;<br /> +Before the world she bravely holds her breath,<br /> + Nor gives one utterance to a note of pain.</p> + +<p>But 'tis not like Thee to forget the oppressed,<br /> + Thou feel'st within her heart the stifled moan--<br /> +Thou Christ! Thou Lamb of God! oh, give her rest!<br /> + For Thou hast called her!--is she not Thine own?</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="57"></a>President Davis.</h1> + +<h2>By Jane T. H. Cross.</h2> + +<h3>Published in the New York News, 1865.</h3> + + + +<p>The cell is lonely, and the night<br /> + Has filled it with a darker gloom;<br /> +The little rays of friendly light,<br /> + Which through each crack and chink found room<br /> +To press in with their noiseless feet,<br /> +All merciful and fleet,<br /> +And bring, like Noah's trembling dove,<br /> +God's silent messages of love--<br /> + These, too, are gone,<br /> + Shut out, and gone,<br /> +And that great heart is left alone.</p> + +<p>Alone, with darkness and with woe,<br /> + Around him Freedom's temple lies,<br /> +Its arches crushed, its columns low,<br /> + The night-wind through its ruin sighs;<br /> +Rash, cruel hands that temple razed,<br /> +Then stood the world amazed!<br /> +And now those hands--ah, ruthless deeds!<br /> +Their captive pierce--his brave heart bleeds;<br /> + And yet no groan<br /> + Is heard, no groan!<br /> +He suffers silently, alone.</p> + +<p>For all his bright and happy home,<br /> + He has that cell, so drear and dark,<br /> +The narrow walls, for heaven's blue dome,<br /> + The clank of chains, for song of lark;<br /> +And for the grateful voice of friends--<br /> +That voice which ever lends<br /> +Its charm where human hearts are found--<br /> +He hears the key's dull, grating sound;<br /> + No heart is near,<br /> + No kind heart near,<br /> +No sigh of sympathy, no tear!</p> + +<p>Oh, dream not thus, thou true and good!<br /> + Unnumbered hearts on thee await,<br /> +By thee invisibly have stood,<br /> + Have crowded through thy prison-gate;<br /> +Nor dungeon bolts, nor dungeon bars,<br /> +Nor floating "stripes and stars,"<br /> +Nor glittering gun or bayonet,<br /> +Can ever cause us to forget<br /> + Our faith to thee,<br /> + Our love to thee,<br /> +Thou glorious soul! thou strong! <i>thou free!</i></p> + + + + +<h1><a name="58"></a>The Rifleman's "Fancy Shot."</h1> + + + +<p>"Rifleman, shoot me a fancy shot,<br /> + Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette;<br /> +Ring me a ball on the glittering spot<br /> + That shines on his breast like an amulet."</p> + +<p>"Ah, captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead;<br /> + There's music around when my barrel's in tune."<br /> +Crack! went the rifle; the messenger sped,<br /> + And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon.</p> + +<p>"Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and snatch<br /> + From your victim some trinket to handsel first blood:<br /> +A button, a loop, or that luminous patch<br /> + That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud."</p> + +<p>"Oh, captain! I staggered, and sank in my track,<br /> + When I gazed on the face of the fallen vidette;<br /> +For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back,<br /> + That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet.</p> + +<p>"But I snatched off the trinket--this locket of gold;<br /> + An inch from the centre my lead broke its way,<br /> +Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold,<br /> + Of a beautiful lady in bridal array."</p> + +<p>"Ha! rifleman! fling me the locket--'tis she!<br /> + My brother's young bride; and the fallen dragoon.<br /> +Was her husband. Hush, soldier!--'twas heaven's deer<br /> + We must bury him there, by the light of the moon.</p> + +<p>"But hark! the far bugles their warning unite;<br /> + War is a virtue, and weakness a sin;<br /> +There's a lurking and lopping around us to-night:<br /> + Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in!"</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="59"></a>"All Quiet Along the Potomac To-Night."</h1> + +<h2>By Lamar Fontaine.</h2> + + + +<p>[The claim to the authorship of this poem, which Fontaine alleges, has +been disputed in behalf of a lady of New York, but she herself continues +silent on the subject.]</p> + + +<p>"All quiet along the Potomac to-night!"<br /> + Except here and there a stray picket<br /> +Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro,<br /> + By a rifleman hid in the thicket.</p> + +<p>'Tis nothing! a private or two now and then<br /> + Will not count in the news of a battle;<br /> +Not an officer lost! only one of the men<br /> + Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle.</p> + +<p>All quiet along the Potomac to-night!<br /> + Where soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;<br /> +And their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon,<br /> + And the light of their camp-fires are gleaming.</p> + +<p>A tremulous sigh, as a gentle night-wind<br /> + Through the forest leaves slowly is creeping;<br /> +While the stars up above, with their glittering eyes,<br /> + Keep guard o'er the army while sleeping.</p> + +<p>There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread,<br /> + As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,<br /> +And thinks of the two on the low trundle bed,<br /> + Far away, in the cot on the mountain.</p> + +<p>His musket falls slack, his face, dark and grim,<br /> + Grows gentle with memories tender,<br /> +As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep,<br /> + And their mother--"may heaven defend her!"</p> + +<p>The moon seems to shine forth as brightly as then--<br /> + That night, when the love, yet unspoken,<br /> +Leaped up to his lips, and when low-murmured vows<br /> + Were pledged to be ever unbroken.</p> + +<p>Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,<br /> + He dashes off tears that are welling;<br /> +And gathers his gun closer up to his breast,<br /> + As if to keep down the heart's swelling.</p> + +<p>He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree,<br /> + And his footstep is lagging and weary;<br /> +Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,<br /> + Towards the shades of the forest so dreary.</p> + +<p>Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves?<br /> + Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing?<br /> +It looked like a rifle: "Ha! Mary, good-by!"<br /> + And his life-blood is ebbing and splashing.</p> + +<p>"All quiet along the Potomac to-night!"<br /> + No sound save the rush of the river;<br /> +While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead,<br /> + And the picket's off duty forever!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="60"></a>Address</h1> + +<h2>Delivered at the opening of the new theatre at Richmond.</h2> + +<h3>A Prize Poem.--By Henry Timrod.</h3> + + + +<p> A FAIRY ring</p> + +<p>Drawn in the crimson of a battle-plain--<br /> +From whose weird circle every loathsome thing<br /> + And sight and sound of pain<br /> +Are banished, while about it in the air,<br /> +And from the ground, and from the low-hung skies,<br /> + Throng, in a vision fair<br /> +As ever lit a prophet's dying eyes,<br /> + Gleams of that unseen world<br /> +That lies about us, rainbow-tinted shapes<br /> + With starry wings unfurled,<br /> +Poised for a moment on such airy capes<br /> + As pierce the golden foam<br /> + Of sunset's silent main--<br /> +Would image what in this enchanted dome,<br /> + Amid the night of war and death<br /> +In which the armed city draws its breath,<br /> + We have built up!<br /> +For though no wizard wand or magic cup<br /> + The spell hath wrought,<br /> +Within this charmed fane we ope the gates<br /> + Of that divinest fairy-land<br /> + Where, under loftier fates<br /> +Than rule the vulgar earth on which we stand,<br /> +Move the bright creatures of the realm of thought.</p> + +<p>Shut for one happy evening from the flood<br /> +That roars around us, here you may behold--<br /> + As if a desert way<br /> + Could blossom and unfold<br /> + A garden fresh with May--<br /> +Substantialized in breathing flesh and blood,<br /> + Souls that upon the poet's page<br /> + Have lived from age to age,<br /> +And yet have never donned this mortal clay.<br /> + A golden strand<br /> +Shall sometimes spread before you like the isle<br /> + Where fair Miranda's smile<br /> +Met the sweet stranger whom the father's art<br /> + Had led unto her heart,<br /> +Which, like a bud that waited for the light,<br /> + Burst into bloom at sight!<br /> +Love shall grow softer in each maiden's eyes<br /> +As Juliet leans her cheek upon her hand,<br /> + And prattles to the night.<br /> + Anon, a reverend form<br /> + With tattered robe and forehead bare,<br /> +That challenge all the torments of the air,<br /> + Goes by!<br /> +And the pent feelings choke in one long sigh,<br /> +While, as the mimic thunder rolls, you hear<br /> + The noble wreck of Lear<br /> +Reproach like things of life the ancient skies,<br /> + And commune with the storm!<br /> +Lo! next a dim and silent chamber, where<br /> +Wrapt in glad dreams, in which, perchance, the Moor<br /> + Tells his strange story o'er,<br /> +The gentle Desdemona chastely lies,<br /> +Unconscious of the loving murderer nigh.<br /> + Then through a hush like death<br /> + Stalks Denmark's mailed ghost!<br /> +And Hamlet enters with that thoughtful breath<br /> +Which is the trumpet to a countless host<br /> +Of reasons, but which wakes no deed from sleep;<br /> + For while it calls to strife,<br /> +He pauses on the very brink of fact<br /> +To toy as with the shadow of an act,<br /> +And utter those wise saws that cut so deep<br /> + Into the core of life!</p> + +<p> Nor shall be wanting many a scene<br /> + Where forms of more familiar mien,<br /> +Moving through lowlier pathways, shall present<br /> + The world of every day,<br /> +Such as it whirls along the busy quay,<br /> +Or sits beneath a rustic orchard wall,<br /> +Or floats about a fashion-freighted hall,<br /> +Or toils in attics dark the night away.<br /> +Love, hate, grief, joy, gain, glory, shame, shall meet,<br /> +As in the round wherein our lives are pent;<br /> + Chance for a while shall seem to reign,<br /> +While goodness roves like guilt about the street,<br /> + And guilt looks innocent.</p> + +<p>But all at last shall vindicate the right.<br /> +Crime shall be meted with its proper pain,<br /> +Motes shall be taken from the doubter's sight,<br /> +And fortune's general justice rendered plain.<br /> +Of honest laughter there shall be no dearth,<br /> +Wit shall shake hands with humor grave and sweet,<br /> +Our wisdom shall not be too wise for mirth,<br /> +Nor kindred follies want a fool to greet.<br /> +As sometimes from the meanest spot of earth<br /> +A sudden beauty unexpected starts,<br /> +So you shall find some germs of hidden worth<br /> + Within the vilest hearts;<br /> +And now and then, when in those moods that turn<br /> +To the cold Muse that whips a fault with sneers,<br /> +You shall, perchance, be strangely touched to learn<br /> + You've struck a spring of tears!</p> + +<p>But while we lead you thus from change to change,<br /> +Shall we not find within our ample range<br /> +Some type to elevate a people's heart--<br /> +Some haro who shall teach a hero's part<br /> + In this distracted time?<br /> +Rise from thy sleep of ages, noble Tell!<br /> +And, with the Alpine thunders of thy voice,<br /> +As if across the billows unenthralled,<br /> +Thy Alps unto the Alleghanies called,<br /> + Bid liberty rejoice!<br /> +Proclaim upon this trans-Atlantic strand<br /> +The deeds which, more than their own awful mien,<br /> +Make every crag of Switzerland sublime!<br /> +And say to those whose feeble souls would lean<br /> +Not on themselves, but on some outstretched hand,<br /> +That once a single mind sufficed to quell<br /> +The malice of a tyrant; let them know<br /> +That each may crowd in every well-aimed blow,<br /> +Not the poor strength alone of arm and brand,<br /> +But the whole spirit of a mighty land!</p> + +<p>Bid liberty rejoice! Aye, though its day<br /> +Be far or near, these clouds shall yet be red<br /> +With the large promise of the coming ray.<br /> +Meanwhile, with that calm courage which can smile<br /> +Amid the terrors of the wildest fray,<br /> +Let us among the charms of art awhile<br /> + Fleet the deep gloom away;<br /> +Nor yet forget that on each hand and head<br /> +Rest the dear rights for which we fight and pray.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="61"></a>The Battle of Richmond.</h1> + +<h2>By George Herbert Sass, Charleston, S.C.</h2> + + + +<p>"For they gat not the land in possession by their own sword; neither was +it their own arm that helped them; but Thy right hand, and Thine arm, and +the light of Thy countenance, because Thou hadst a favor unto them."--Psalm, xliv. 3, 4.</p> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Now blessed be the Lord of Hosts through all our Southern land,<br /> +And blessed be His holy name, in whose great might we stand;<br /> +For He who loves the voice of prayer hath heard His people's cry,<br /> +And with His own almighty arm hath won the victory!<br /> +Oh, tell it out through hearth and home, from blue Potomac's wave<br /> +To those far waters of the West which hide De Soto's grave.</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>Now let there be through all the land one grand triumphant cry,<br /> +Wherever beats a Southern heart, or glows a Southern sky;<br /> +For He who ruleth every fight hath been with us to-day,<br /> +And the great God of battles hath led the glorious fray;<br /> +Oh, then unto His holy name ring out the joyful song,<br /> +The race hath not been to the swift, the battle to the strong.</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>From royal Hudson's cliff-crowned banks, from proud Ohio's flood,<br /> +From that dark rock in Plymouth's bay where erst the pilgrims stood,<br /> +From East and North, from far and near, went forth the gathering cry,<br /> +And the countless hordes came swarming on with fierce and lustful eye.<br /> +In the great name of Liberty each thirsty sword is drawn;<br /> +In the great name of Liberty each tyrant presseth on.</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>Alas, alas! her sacred name is all dishonored now,<br /> +And blood-stained hands are tearing off each laurel from her brow;<br /> +But ever yet rings out the cry, in loud and mocking tone,<br /> +Still in her holy shrine they strive to rear a despot's throne;<br /> +And pressing on with eager tread, they sweep across the land,<br /> +To burn and havoc and destroy--a fierce and ruthless band.</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>I looked on fair Potomac's shore, and at my feet the while<br /> +The sparkling waves leaped gayly up to meet glad summer's smile;<br /> +And pennons gay were floating there, and banners fair to see,<br /> +A mighty host arrayed, I ween, in war's proud panoply;<br /> +And as I gazed a cry arose, a low, deep-swelling hum,<br /> +And loud and stern along the line broke in the sullen drum.</p> + + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + + +<p>Onward, o'er fair Virginia's fields, through ranks of nodding grain,<br /> +With shout and song they sweep along, a gay and gallant train.<br /> +Oh, ne'er, I ween, had those broad plains beheld a fairer sight,<br /> +And clear and glad those skies of June shed forth their glorious light.<br /> +Onwards, yea, ever onwards, that mighty host hath passed,<br /> +And "On to Richmond!" is the cry which echoes on the blast.</p> + + + +<h3>VII.</h3> + + +<p>I looked again, the rising sun shines down upon the moors,<br /> +And 'neath his beams rise ramparts high and frowning embrasures,<br /> +And on each proud abattis yawn, with menace stern and dread,<br /> +Grim-visaged messengers of death: the watchful sentry's tread<br /> +In measured cadence slowly falls; all Nature seems at ease,<br /> +And over all the Stars and Stripes are floating in the breeze.</p> + + + +<h3>VIII.</h3> + + +<p>But far away another line is stretching dark and long,<br /> +Another flag is floating free where armed legions throng;<br /> +Another war-cry's on the air, as wakes the martial drum,<br /> +And onward still, in serried ranks, the Southern soldiers come,<br /> +And up to that abattis high the charging' columns tread,<br /> +And bold and free the Stars and Bars are waving at their head.</p> + + + +<h3>IX.</h3> + + +<p>They are on it! they are o'er it! who can stay that living flood?<br /> +Lo, ever swelling, rolleth on the weltering tide of blood.<br /> +Yet another and another is full boldly stormed and won,<br /> +And forward to the spoiler's camp the column presseth on.<br /> +Hurrah! hurrah! the field is won! we'e met them man to man,<br /> +And ever still the Stars and Bars are riding in the van.</p> + + + +<h3>X.</h3> + + +<p>They are flying! they are flying! and close upon their track<br /> +Comes our glorious "Stonewall" Jackson, with ten thousand at his back;<br /> +And Longstreet, too, and gallant Hill, and Rhodes, and brave Huger,[1]<br /> +And he whose name is worth a host, our bold, devoted Lee;<br /> +And back to where the lordly James his scornful billow rolls,<br /> +The recreant foe is fleeing fast--those men of dastard souls.</p> + + + +<h3>XI.</h3> + + +<p>They are flying! they are flying! horse and foot, and bold dragoon,<br /> +In one refluent mass are mingled, 'neath the slowly waning moon;<br /> +And louder still the cry is heard, as borne upon the blast,<br /> +The shouts of the pursuing host are rising full and fast:<br /> +"On, on unto the river, 'tis our only chance for life!<br /> +We needs must reach the gunboats, or we perish in the strife!"</p> + + + +<h3>XII.</h3> + + +<p>'Tis done! the gory field is ours; we've conquered in the fight!<br /> +And yet once more our tongues can tell the triumph of the right;<br /> +And humbled is the haughty foe, who our destruction sought,<br /> +For God's right hand and holy arm have great deliverance wrought.<br /> +Oh, then, unto His holy name ring out the joyful song--<br /> +The race has not been to the swift, the battle to the strong.</p> + +<p>[1] Pronounced <i>Eujee</i></p> + + + + +<h1><a name="62"></a>The Guerillas: A Southern War-Song.</h1> + +<h2>By S. Teackle Wallis, of Maryland.</h2> + + + +<p>"Awake! and to horse, my brothers!<br /> + For the dawn is glimmering gray;<br /> +And hark! in the crackling brushwood<br /> + There are feet that tread this way.</p> + +<p>"Who cometh?" "A friend." "What tidings?"<br /> + "O God! I sicken to tell,<br /> +For the earth seems earth no longer,<br /> + And its sights are sights of hell!</p> + +<p>"There's rapine and fire and slaughter,<br /> + From the mountain down to the shore;<br /> +There's blood on the trampled harvest--<br /> + There's blood on the homestead floor.</p> + +<p>"From the far-off conquered cities<br /> + Comes the voice of a stifled wail;<br /> +And the shrieks and moans of the houseless<br /> + Ring out, like a dirge, on the gale.</p> + +<p>"I've seen, from the smoking village<br /> + Our mothers and daughters fly;<br /> +I've seen where the little children<br /> + Sank down, in the furrows, to die.</p> + +<p>"On the banks of the battle-stained river<br /> + I stood, as the moonlight shone,<br /> +And it glared on the face of my brother,<br /> + As the sad wave swept him on.</p> + +<p>"Where my home was glad, are ashes,<br /> + And horror and shame had been there--<br /> +For I found, on the fallen lintel,<br /> + This tress of my wife's torn hair.</p> + +<p>"They are turning the slave upon us,<br /> + And, with more than the fiend's worst art,<br /> +Have uncovered the fires of the savage<br /> + That slept in his untaught heart.</p> + +<p>"The ties to our hearths that bound him,<br /> + They have rent, with curses, away,<br /> +And maddened him, with their madness,<br /> + To be almost as brutal as they.</p> + +<p>"With halter and torch and Bible,<br /> + And hymns to the sound of the drum,<br /> +They preach the gospel of Murder,<br /> + And pray for Lust's kingdom to come.</p> + +<p>"To saddle! to saddle! my brothers!<br /> + Look up to the rising sun,<br /> +And ask of the God who shines there,<br /> + Whether deeds like these shall be done!</p> + +<p>"Wherever the vandal cometh,<br /> + Press home to his heart with your steel,<br /> +And when at his bosom you cannot,<br /> + Like the serpent, go strike at his heel!</p> + +<p>"Through thicket and wood go hunt him,<br /> + Creep up to his camp fireside,<br /> +And let ten of his corpses blacken<br /> + Where one of our brothers hath died.</p> + +<p>"In his fainting, foot-sore marches,<br /> + In his flight from the stricken fray,<br /> +In the snare of the lonely ambush,<br /> + The debts that we owe him pay,</p> + +<p>"In God's hand, alone, is judgment;<br /> + But He strikes with the hands of men,<br /> +And His blight would wither our manhood<br /> + If we smote not the smiter again.</p> + +<p>"By the graves where our fathers slumber,<br /> + By the shrines where our mothers prayed,<br /> +By our homes and hopes and freedom.<br /> + Let every man swear on his blade.--</p> + +<p>"That he will not sheath nor stay it,<br /> + Till from point to heft it glow<br /> +With the flush of Almighty vengeance,<br /> + In the blood of the felon foe."</p> + +<p>They swore--and the answering sunlight<br /> + Leapt red from their lifted swords,<br /> +And the hate in their hearts made echo<br /> + To the wrath in their burning words.</p> + +<p>There's weeping in all New England,<br /> + And by Schuylkill's banks a knell,<br /> +And the widows there, and the orphans,<br /> + How the oath was kept can tell.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="63"></a>A Farewell to Pope.</h1> + +<h2>By John K. Thompson, of Virginia.</h2> + + + +<p>"Hats off" in the crowd, "Present arms" in the line!<br /> +Let the standards all bow, and the sabres incline--<br /> +Roll, drums, the Rogue's March, while the conqueror goes,<br /> +Whose eyes have seen only "the backs of his foes"--<br /> +Through a thicket of laurel, a whirlwind of cheers,<br /> +His vanishing form from our gaze disappears;<br /> +Henceforth with the savage Dacotahs to cope,<br /> +<i>Abiit, evasit, erupit</i>--John Pope.</p> + +<p>He came out of the West, like the young Lochinvor,<br /> +Compeller of fate and controller of war,<br /> +<i>Videre et vincere</i>, simply to see,<br /> +And straightway to conquer Hill, Jackson and Lee,<br /> +And old Abe at the White House, like Kilmansegg <i>pére</i>,<br /> +With a monkeyish grin and beatified air,<br /> +"Seemed washing his hands with invisible soap,"<br /> +As with eager attention he listened to Pope.</p> + +<p>He <i>came</i>--and the poultry was swept by his sword,<br /> +Spoons, liquors, and furniture went by the board;<br /> +He <i>saw</i>--at a distance, the rebels appear,<br /> +And "rode to the front," which was strangely the rear;<br /> +He <i>conquered</i>--truth, decency, honor full soon,<br /> +Pest, pilferer, puppy, pretender, poltroon;<br /> +And was fain from the scene of his triumphs to slope.<br /> +Sure there never was fortunate hero like Pope.</p> + +<p>He has left us his shining example to note,<br /> +And Stuart has captured his uniform coat;<br /> +But 'tis puzzling enough, as his deeds we recall,<br /> +To tell on whose shoulders his mantle should fall;<br /> +While many may claim to deserve it, at least,<br /> +From Hunter, the Hound, down to Butler, the Beast,<br /> +None else, we can say, without risking the trope,<br /> +But himself can be parallel ever to Pope.</p> + +<p>Like his namesake the poet of genius and fire,<br /> +He gives new expression and force to <i>the lyre</i>;<br /> +But in one little matter they differ, the two,<br /> +And differ, indeed, very widely, 'tis true--<br /> +While his verses gave great Alexaader his fame,<br /> +'Tis our hero's reverses accomplish the same;<br /> +And fate may decree that the end of a rope<br /> +Shall award yet his highest position to Pope.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="64"></a>Sonnet.</h1> + +<h2>On Reading a Proclamation for Public Prayer.</h2> + +<h3>South Carolinian.</h3> + + + +<p>Oh! terrible, this prayer in the market-place,<br /> + These advertised humilities--decreed<br /> + By proclamation, that we may be freed,<br /> +And mercy find for once, and saving grace,<br /> +Even while we forfeit all that made the race<br /> + Worthy of Heavenly favor--and profess<br /> + Our faith and homage only through duress,<br /> +And dread of danger which we dare not face.</p> + +<p>All working that's done worthily is prayer--<br /> + And honest thought is prayer--the wish, the will<br /> + To mend our ways, maintain our virtues still,<br /> +And, losing life, still keep our bosoms fair<br /> +In sight of God--with whom humility<br /> +And patient working can alone make free.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="65"></a>Battle of Belmont.</h1> + +<h2>By J. Augustine Signaigo.</h2> + +<h3>From the Memphis Appeal, Dec. 21, 1861.</h3> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Now glory to our Southern cause, and praises be to God,<br /> +That He hath met the Southron's foe, and scourged him with his rod:<br /> +On the tented plains of Belmont, in their might the Vandals came,<br /> +And they gave unto destruction all they found, with sword and flame;<br /> +But they met a stout resistance from a little band that day,<br /> +Who swore nobly they would conquer, or return to mother clay.</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>But the Vandals with presumption--for they came in all their might--<br /> +Gave free vent unto their <i>feelings</i>, for they thought to win the fight;<br /> +And they forced our little cohorts to the very river's brink,<br /> +With a breath between destruction and of life's remaining link:<br /> +When the cannon of McCown, belching fire from out its mouth,<br /> +Brought destruction to the Vandals and protection to the South.</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>There was Pillow, Polk and Cheatham, who had sworn that day on high<br /> +That field should see them conquer, or that field should see them die;<br /> +And amid the groan of dying and amid the battle's din,<br /> +Came the echo back from heaven, that they should that battle win:<br /> +And amid the boom of cannons, and amid the clash of swords,<br /> +Came destruction to the foeman--and the vengeance was the Lord's!</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>When the fight was raging hottest, came the wild and cheering cry,<br /> +That brought terror to the foeman, and that raised our spirits high!<br /> +It was "Cheatham!" "Cheatham!" "Cheatham!" that the Vandals' ears did sting,<br /> +And our boys caught up the echo till it made the welkin ring;<br /> +And the moment that the Hessians thought the fight was surely won,<br /> +From the crackling of our rifles--<i>bravely</i> then they had to run!</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>Then they ran unto their transports in deep terror and dismay,<br /> +And their great grandchildren's children will be shamed to name that day;<br /> +For the woe they came to bring to the people of the South<br /> +Was returned tenfold to them at the cannon's booming mouth:<br /> +And the proud old Mississippi ran that day a horrid flood,<br /> +For its banks were deeply crimsoned with the hireling Northman's blood.</p> + + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + + +<p>Let us think of those who fell there, fighting foremost with the foe,<br /> +And who nobly struck for Freedom, dealing Tyranny a blow:<br /> +Like the ocean beating wildly 'gainst a prow of adamant,<br /> +Or the storm that keeps on bursting, but cannot destroy the plant;<br /> +Brave Lieutenant Walker, wounded, still fought on the bloody field,<br /> +Cheering on his noble comrades, ne'er unto the foe to yield!</p> + + + +<h3>VII.</h3> + + +<p>None e'er knew him but to love him, the brave martyr to his clime--<br /> +Now his name belongs to Freedom, to the very end of Time:<br /> +And the last words that he uttered will forgotten be by few:<br /> +"I have bravely fought them, mother--I have bravely fought for you!"<br /> +Let his memory be green in the hearts who love the South,<br /> +And his noble deeds the theme that shall dwell in every mouth.</p> + + + +<h3>VIII.</h3> + + +<p>In the hottest of the battle stood a Vandal bunting rag,<br /> +Proudly to the breeze 'twas floating in defiance to our flag;<br /> +And our Southern boys knew well that, to bring that bunting down,<br /> +They would meet the angel death in his sternest, maddest frown;<br /> +But it could not gallant Armstrong, dauntless Vollmer, or brave Lynch,<br /> +Though ten thousand deaths confronted, from the task of honor flinch!</p> + + + +<h3>IX.</h3> + + +<p>And they charged upon that bunting, guarded by grim-visaged Death,<br /> +Who had withered all around it with the blister of his breath;<br /> +But they plucked it from his grasp, and brave Vollmner waved it high,<br /> +On the gory field of battle, where the three were doomed to die;<br /> +But before their spirits fled came the death-shout of the three,<br /> +Cheering for the sunny South and beloved old Tennessee!</p> + + + +<h3>X.</h3> + + +<p>Let the horrors of this day to the foe a warning be,<br /> +That the Lord is with the South, that His arm is with the free;<br /> +That her soil is pure and spotless, as her clear and sunny sky.<br /> +And that he who dare pollute it on her soil shall basely die;<br /> +For His fiat hath gone forth, e'en among the Hessian horde,<br /> +That the South has got His blessing, for the South is of the Lord.</p> + + + +<h3>XI.</h3> + + +<p>Then glory to our Southern cause, and praises give to God,<br /> +That He hath met the Southron's foe and scourged him with His rod;<br /> +That He hath been upon our side, with all His strength and might,<br /> +And battled for the Southern cause in every bloody fight;<br /> +Let us, in meek humility, to all the world proclaim,<br /> +We bless and glorify the Lord, and battle in His name.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="66"></a>Vicksburg--A Ballad.</h1> + +<h2>By Paul H. Hayne.</h2> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>For sixty days and upwards,<br /> + A storm of shell and shot<br /> +Rained 'round us in a flaming shower,<br /> + But still we faltered not!<br /> +"If the noble city perish,"<br /> + Our grand young leader said,<br /> +"Let the only walls the foe shall scale<br /> + Be the ramparts of the dead!"</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>For sixty days and upwards<br /> + The eye of heaven waxed dim,<br /> +And even throughout God's holy morn,<br /> + O'er Christian's prayer and hymn,<br /> +Arose a hissing tumult,<br /> + As if the fiends of air<br /> +Strove to ingulf the voice of faith<br /> + In the shrieks of their despair.</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>There was wailing in the houses,<br /> + There was trembling on the marts,<br /> +While the tempest raged and thundered,<br /> + 'Mid the silent thrill of hearts;<br /> +But the Lord, our shield, was with us,<br /> + And ere a month had sped<br /> +Our very women walked the streets<br /> + With scarce one throb of dread.</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>And the little children gambolled--<br /> + Their faces purely raised,<br /> +Just for a wondering moment,<br /> + As the huge bomb whirled and blazed!<br /> +Then turned with silvery laughter<br /> + To the sports which children love,<br /> +Thrice mailed in the sweet, instinctive thought,<br /> + That the good God watched above.</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>Yet the hailing bolts fell faster,<br /> + From scores of flame-clad ships,<br /> +And about us, denser, darker,<br /> + Grew the conflict's wild eclipse,<br /> +Till a solid cloud closed o'er us,<br /> + Like a type of doom, and ire,<br /> +Whence shot a thousand quivering tongues<br /> + Of forked and vengeful fire.</p> + + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + + +<p>But the unseen hands of angels<br /> + Those death-shafts turned aside,<br /> +And the dove of heavenly mercy<br /> + Ruled o'er the battle tide;<br /> +In the houses ceased the wailing,<br /> + And through the war-scarred marts<br /> +The people trode with the step of hope,<br /> + To the music in their hearts.</p> + +<p>Columbia, S.C., August 6, 1862.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="67"></a>A Ballad of the War.</h1> + +<h2>Published Originally in the Southern Field and Fireside,</h2> + +<h3>By George Herbert Sass, of Charleston, S.C.</h3> + + + +<p>Watchman, what of the night?<br /> + Through the city's darkening street,<br /> +Silent and slow, the guardsmen go<br /> + On their long and lonely beat.</p> + +<p>Darkly, drearily down,<br /> + Falleth the wintry rain;<br /> +And the cold, gray mist hath the roof-tops kissed,<br /> + As it glides o'er town and plain.</p> + +<p>Beating against the windows,<br /> + The sleet falls heavy and chill,<br /> +And the children draw nigher 'round hearth and fire,<br /> + As the blast shrieks loud and shrill.</p> + +<p>Silent is all without,<br /> + Save the sentry's challenge grim,<br /> +And a hush sinks down o'er the weary town,<br /> + And the sleeper's eyes are dim.</p> + +<p>Watchman, what of the night?<br /> + Hark! from the old church-tower<br /> +Rings loud and clear, on the misty air,<br /> + The chime of the midnight hour.</p> + +<p>But another sound breaks in,<br /> + A summons deep and rude,<br /> +The roll of the drum, and the rush and hum<br /> + Of a gathering multitude.</p> + +<p>And the dim and flickering torch<br /> + Sheds a red and lurid glare,<br /> +O'er the long dark line, whose bayonets shine<br /> + Faintly, yet sternly there.</p> + +<p>A low, deep voice is heard:<br /> + "Rest on your arms, my men."<br /> +Then the muskets clank through each serried rank,<br /> + And all is still again.</p> + +<p>Pale faces and tearful eyes<br /> + Gaze down on that grim array,<br /> +For a rumor hath spread that that column dread<br /> + Marcheth ere break of day.</p> + +<p>Marcheth against "the rebels,"<br /> + Whose camp lies heavy and still,<br /> +Where the driving sleet and the cold rain beat<br /> + On the brow of a distant hill.</p> + +<p>And the mother's heart grows faint,<br /> + As she thinks of her darling one,<br /> +Who perchance may lie 'neath that wintry sky,<br /> + Ere the long, dark night be done.</p> + +<p>Pallid and haggard, too,<br /> + Is the cheek of the fair young wife;<br /> +And her eye grows dim as she thinks of him<br /> + She loveth more than life.</p> + +<p>For fathers, husbands, sons,<br /> + Are the "rebels" the foe would smite,<br /> +And earnest the prayer for those lives so dear,<br /> + And a bleeding country's right.</p> + +<p>And where their treasure is,<br /> + There is each loving heart;<br /> +And sadly they gaze by the torches' blaze,<br /> + And the tears unbidden start.</p> + +<p>Is there none to warn the camp,<br /> + None from that anxious throng?<br /> +Ah, the rain beats down o'er plain and town--<br /> + The way is dark and long.</p> + +<p>No <i>man</i> is left behind,<br /> + None that is brave and true,<br /> +And the bayonets, bright in the lurid light<br /> + With menace stern shine through.</p> + +<p>Guarded is every street,<br /> + Brutal the hireling foe;<br /> +Is there one heart here will boldly dare<br /> + So brave a deed to do?</p> + +<p>Look! in her still, dark room,<br /> + Alone a woman kneels,<br /> +With Care's deep trace on her pale, worn face,<br /> + And Sorrow's ruthless seals.</p> + +<p>Wrinkling her placid brow,<br /> + A matron, she, and fair,<br /> +Though wan her cheek, and the silver streak<br /> + Gemming her glossy hair.</p> + +<p>A moment in silent prayer<br /> + Her pale lips move, and then,<br /> +Through the dreary night, like an angel bright,<br /> + On her mission of love to men.</p> + +<p>She glideth upon her way,<br /> + Through the lonely, misty street,<br /> +Shrinking with dread as she hears the tread<br /> + Of the watchman on his beat.</p> + +<p>Onward, aye, onward still,<br /> + Far past the weary town,<br /> +Till languor doth seize on her feeble knees,<br /> + And the heavy hands hang down.</p> + +<p>But bravely she struggles on,<br /> + Breasting the cold, dank rain,<br /> +And, heavy and chill, the mist from the hill<br /> + Sweeps down upon the plain.</p> + +<p>Hark! far behind she hears<br /> + A dull and muffled tramp,<br /> +But before her the gleam of the watch-fire's beam<br /> + Shines out from the Southern camp.</p> + +<p>She hears the sentry's challenge,<br /> + Her work of love is done;<br /> +She has fought a good fight, and on Fame's proud height<br /> + Hath a crown of glory won.</p> + +<p>Oh, they tell of a Tyrol maiden,<br /> + Who saved from a ruthless foe<br /> +Her own fair town, 'mid its mountains brown,<br /> + Three hundred years ago.</p> + +<p>And I've read in tales heroic<br /> + How a noble Scottish maid<br /> +Her own life gave, her king to save<br /> + From the foul assassin's blade.</p> + +<p>But if these, on the rolls of honor,<br /> + Shall live in lasting fame,<br /> +Oh, close beside, in grateful pride,<br /> + We'll write this matron's name.</p> + +<p>And when our fair-haired children<br /> + Shall cluster round our knee,<br /> +With wondering gaze, as we tell of the days<br /> + When we swore that we would be free,<br /> +<br /> +We'll tell them the thrilling story,<br /> + And we'll say to each childish heart,<br /> +"By this gallant deed, at thy country's need,<br /> + Be ready to do thy part."</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="68"></a>The Two Armies.</h1> + +<h2>By Henry Timrod.</h2> + + + +<p>Two armies stand enrolled beneath<br /> +The banner with the starry wreath:<br /> +One, facing battle, blight, and blast,<br /> +Through twice a hundred fields has passed;<br /> +Its deeds against a ruffian foe,<br /> +Stream, valley, hill, and mountain know,<br /> +Till every wind that sweeps the land<br /> +Goes, glory-laden, from the strand.</p> + +<p>The other, with a narrower scope,<br /> +Yet led by not less grand a hope,<br /> +Hath won, perhaps, as proud a place,<br /> +And wears its fame with meeker grace.<br /> +Wives march beneath its glittering sign,<br /> +Fond mothers swell the lovely line:<br /> +And many a sweetheart hides her blush<br /> +In the young patriot's generous flush.</p> + +<p>No breeze of battle ever fanned<br /> +The colors of that tender band;<br /> +Its office is beside the bed,<br /> +Where throbs some sick or wounded head.<br /> +It does not court the soldier's tomb,<br /> +But plies the needle and the loom;<br /> +And, by a thousand peaceful deeds,<br /> +Supplies a struggling nation's needs.</p> + +<p>Nor is that army's gentle might<br /> +Unfelt amid the deadly fight;<br /> +It nerves the son's, the husband's hand,<br /> +It points the lover's fearless brand;<br /> +It thrills the languid, warms the cold,<br /> +Gives even new courage to the bold;<br /> +And sometimes lifts the veriest clod<br /> +To its own lofty trust in God.</p> + +<p>When Heaven shall blow the trump of peace,<br /> +And bid this weary warfare cease,<br /> +Their several missions nobly done,<br /> +The triumph grasped, and freedom won,<br /> +Both armies, from their toils at rest,<br /> +Alike may claim the victor's crest,<br /> +But each shall see its dearest prize<br /> +Gleam softly from the other's eyes.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="69"></a>The Legion of Honor.</h1> + +By H.L. Flash. + + + +<p>Why are we forever speaking<br /> + Of the warriors of old?<br /> +Men are fighting all around us,<br /> + Full as noble, full as bold.</p> + +<p>Ever working, ever striving,<br /> + Mind and muscle, heart and soul,<br /> +With the reins of judgment keeping<br /> + Passions under full control.</p> + +<p>Noble hearts are beating boldly<br /> + As they ever did on earth;<br /> +Swordless heroes are around us,<br /> + Striving ever from their birth.</p> + +<p>Tearing down the old abuses,<br /> + Building up the purer laws,<br /> +Scattering the dust of ages,<br /> + Searching out the hidden flaws.</p> + +<p>Acknowledging no "right divine"<br /> + In kings and princes from the rest;<br /> +In their creed he is the noblest<br /> + Who has worked and striven best.</p> + +<p>Decorations do not tempt them--<br /> + Diamond stars they laugh to scorn--<br /> +Each will wear a "Cross of Honor"<br /> + On the Resurrection morn.</p> + +<p>Warriors they in fields of wisdom--<br /> + Like the noble Hebrew youth,<br /> +Striking down Goliath's error<br /> + With the God-blessed stone of truth.</p> + +<p>Marshalled 'neath the Right's broad banner,<br /> + Forward rush these volunteers,<br /> +Beating olden wrong away<br /> + From the fast advancing years.</p> + +<p>Contemporaries do not see them,<br /> + But the <i>coming</i> times will say<br /> +(Speaking of the slandered present),<br /> + "There were heroes in that day."</p> + +<p>Why are we then idly lying<br /> + On the roses of our life,<br /> +While the noble-hearted struggle<br /> + In the world-redeeming strife.</p> + +<p>Let us rise and join the legion,<br /> + Ever foremost in the fray--<br /> +Battling in the name of Progress<br /> + For the nobler, purer day.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="70"></a>Clouds in the West.</h1> + +<h2>By A. J. Requier, of Alabama.</h2> + + + +<p>Hark! on the wind that whistles from the West<br /> + A manly shout for instant succor comes,<br /> +From men who fight, outnumbered, breast to breast,<br /> + With rage-indented drums!</p> + +<p>Who dare for child, wife, country--stream and strand,<br /> + Though but a fraction to the swarming foe,<br /> +There--at the flooded gateways of the land,<br /> + To stem a torrent's flow.</p> + +<p>To arms! brave sons of each embattled State,<br /> + Whose queenly standard is a Southern star:<br /> +Who would be free must ride the lists of Fate<br /> + On Freedom's victor-car!</p> + +<p>Forsake the field, the shop, the mart, the hum<br /> + Of craven traffic for the mustering clan:<br /> +The dead themselves are pledged that you shall come<br /> + And prove yourself--a man.</p> + +<p>That sacred turf where first a thrilling grief<br /> + Was felt which taught you Heaven alone disposes--<br /> +God! can you live to see a foreign thief<br /> + Contaminate its roses?</p> + +<p>Blow, summoning trumpets, a compulsive stave<br /> + Through all the bounds, from Beersheba to Dan;<br /> +Come out! come out! who scorns to be a slave,<br /> + Or claims to be a man!</p> + +<p>Hark! on the breezes whistling from the West<br /> + A manly shout for instant succor comes,<br /> +From men who fight, outnumbered, breast to breast.<br /> + With rage-indented drums!</p> + +<p>Who charge and cheer amid the murderous din,<br /> + Where still your battle-flags unbended wave,<br /> +Dying for what your fathers died to win<br /> + And you must fight to save.</p> + +<p>Ho! shrilly fifes that stir the vales from sleep,<br /> + Ho! brazen thunders from the mountains hoar;<br /> +The very waves are marshalling on the deep,<br /> + While tempests tread the shore.</p> + +<p>Arise and swear, your palm-engirdled land<br /> + Shall burial only yield a bandit foe;<br /> +Then spring upon the caitiffs, steel in hand,<br /> + And strike the fated blow.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="71"></a>Georgia, My Georgia!</h1> + +<h2>By Carrie Bell Sinclair.</h2> + + + +<p>Hark! 'tis the cannon's deafening roar,<br /> +That sounds along thy sunny shore,<br /> +And thou shalt lie in chains no more,<br /> + My wounded, bleeding Georgia!<br /> +Then arm each youth and patriot sire,<br /> +Light up the patriotic fire,<br /> +And bid the zeal of those ne'er tire,<br /> + Who strike for thee, my Georgia</p> + +<p>On thee is laid oppression's hand,<br /> +Around thy altars foemen stand,<br /> +To scatter freedom's gallant band,<br /> + And lay thee low, my Georgia!<br /> +But thou hast noble sons, and brave,<br /> +The Stars and Bars above thee wave,<br /> +And here we'll make oppression's grave,<br /> + Upon the soil of Georgia!</p> + +<p>We bow at Liberty's fair shrine,<br /> +And kneel in holy love at thine,<br /> +And while above our stars still shine,<br /> + We'll strike for them and Georgia!</p> + +<p>Thy woods with victory shall resound,<br /> +Thy brow shall be with laurels crowned,<br /> +And peace shall spread her wings around<br /> + My own, my sunny Georgia!</p> + +<p>Yes, these shall teach thy foes to feel<br /> +That Southern hearts, and Southern steel,<br /> +Will make them in submission kneel<br /> + Before the sons of Georgia!<br /> +And thou shalt see thy daughters, too,<br /> +With pride and patriotism true,<br /> +Arise with strength to dare and do,<br /> + Ere they shall conquer Georgia.</p> + +<p>Thy name shall be a name of pride--<br /> +Thy heroes all have nobly died,<br /> +That thou mayst be the spotless bride<br /> + Of Liberty, my Georgia!<br /> +Then wave thy sword and banner high,<br /> +And louder raise the battle-cry,<br /> +'Till shouts of victory reach the sky,<br /> + And thou art free, my Georgia!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="72"></a>Song of the Texas Rangers.</h1> + + + +<p>Air--<i>The Yellow Rose of Texas</i>.</p> + + +<p>The morning star is paling,<br /> + The camp-fires flicker low,<br /> +Our steeds are madly neighing,<br /> + For the bugle bids us go.<br /> +So put the foot in stirrup,<br /> + And shake the bridle free,<br /> +For to-day the Texas Rangers<br /> + Must cross the Tennessee,</p> + +<p>With Wharton for our leader,<br /> + We'll chase the dastard foe,<br /> +Till our horses bathe their fetlocks<br /> + In the deep blue Ohio.<br /> +Our men are from the prairies,<br /> + That roll broad and proud and free,<br /> +From the high and craggy mountains<br /> + To the murmuring Mexic' sea;<br /> +And their hearts are open as their plains,<br /> + Their thoughts as proudly brave<br /> +As the bold cliffs of the San Bernard,<br /> + Or the Gulf's resistless wave.</p> + +<p> Then quick! into the saddle,<br /> + And shake the bridle free,<br /> + To-day, with gallant Wharton,<br /> + We cross the Tennessee.</p> + +<p>'Tis joy to be a Ranger!<br /> + To fight for dear Southland;<br /> +'Tis joy to follow Wharton,<br /> + With his gallant, trusty band!<br /> +'Tis joy to see our Harrison,<br /> + Plunge like a meteor bright<br /> +Into the thickest of the fray,<br /> + And deal his deathly might.</p> + +<p> Oh! who'd not be a Ranger,<br /> + And follow Wharton's cry!<br /> + To battle for his country--<br /> + And, if it needs be--die!</p> + +<p>By the Colorado's waters,<br /> + On the Gulf's deep murmuring shore,<br /> +On our soft green peaceful prairies<br /> + Are the homes we may see no more;<br /> +But in those homes our gentle wives,<br /> + And mothers with silv'ry hairs,<br /> +Are loving us with tender hearts,<br /> + And shielding us with prayers.</p> + +<p> So, trusting in our country's God,<br /> + We draw our stout, good brand,<br /> + For those we love at home,<br /> + Our altars and our land.</p> + +<p>Up, up with the crimson battle-flag--<br /> + Let the blue pennon fly;<br /> +Our steeds are stamping proudly--<br /> + They hear the battle-cry!<br /> +The thundering bomb, the bugle's call,<br /> + Proclaim the foe is near;<br /> +We strike for God and native land,<br /> + And all we hold most dear.</p> + +<p> Then spring into the saddle,<br /> + And shake the bridle free--<br /> + For Wharton leads, through fire and blood,<br /> + For Home and Victory!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="73"></a>Kentucky Required to Yield Her Arms.</h1> + +<h2>By----Boone.</h2> + + + +<p>Ho! will the despot trifle,<br /> + In dwellings of the free;<br /> +Kentuckians yield the rifle,<br /> + Kentuckians bend the knee!<br /> +With dastard fear of danger,<br /> + And trembling at the strife;<br /> +Kentucky, to the stranger,<br /> + Yield liberty for life!<br /> +Up! up! each gallant ranger,<br /> + With rifle and with knife!</p> + +<p>The bastard and the traitor,<br /> + The wolfcub and the snake,<br /> +The robber, swindler, hater,<br /> + Are in your homes--awake!<br /> +Nor let the cunning foeman<br /> + Despoil your liberty;<br /> +Yield weapon up to no man,<br /> + While ye can strike and see,<br /> +Awake, each gallant yeoman,<br /> + If still ye would be free!</p> + +<p>Aye, see to sight the rifle,<br /> + And smite with spear and knife,<br /> +Let no base cunning stifle<br /> + Each lesson of your life:<br /> +How won your gallant sires<br /> + The country which ye keep?<br /> +By soul, which still inspires<br /> + The soil on which ye weep!<br /> +Leap up! their spirit fires,<br /> + And rouse ye from your sleep!</p> + +<p>"What!" cry the sires so famous,<br /> + In Orleans' ancient field,<br /> +"Will ye, our children, shame us,<br /> + And to the despot yield?<br /> +What! each brave lesson stifle<br /> + We left to give you life?<br /> +Let apish despots trifle<br /> + With home and child and wife?<br /> +And yield, O shame! the rifle,<br /> + And sheathe, O shame! the knife?"</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="74"></a>"There's Life in the Old Land Yet."</h1> + +<h2>First Published in the New Orleans Delta, about September 1, 1861.</h2> + + + +<p>By blue Patapsco's billowy dash<br /> + The tyrant's war-shout comes,<br /> +Along with the cymbal's fitful clash<br /> + And the growl of his sullen drums;<br /> +We hear it, we heed it, with vengeful thrills,<br /> + And we shall not forgive or forget--<br /> +There's faith in the streams, there's hope in the hills,<br /> + "There's life in the Old Land yet!"</p> + +<p>Minions! we sleep, but we are not dead,<br /> + We are crushed, we are scourged, we are scarred--<br /> +We crouch--'tis to welcome the triumph-tread<br /> + Of the peerless Beauregard.<br /> +Then woe to your vile, polluting horde,<br /> + When the Southern braves are met;<br /> +There's faith in the victor's stainless sword,<br /> + "There's life in the Old Land yet!"</p> + +<p>Bigots! ye quell not the valiant mind<br /> + With the clank of an iron chain;<br /> +The spirit of Freedom sings in the wind<br /> + O'er Merryman, Thomas, and Kane;<br /> +And we--though we smite not--are not thralls,<br /> + We are piling a gory debt;<br /> +While down by McHenry's dungeon walls<br /> + "There's life in the Old Land yet!"</p> + +<p>Our women, have hung their harps away<br /> + And they scowl on your brutal bands,<br /> +While the nimble poignard dares the day<br /> + In their dear defiant hands;<br /> +They will strip their tresses to string our bows<br /> + Ere the Northern sun is set--<br /> +There's faith in their unrelenting woes--<br /> + "There's life in the Old Land yet!"</p> + +<p>There's life, though it throbbeth in silent veins,<br /> + 'Tis vocal without noise;<br /> +It gushed o'er Manassas' solemn plains<br /> + From the blood of the Maryland boys.<br /> +That blood shall cry aloud and rise<br /> + With an everlasting threat--<br /> +By the death of the brave, by the God in the skies,<br /> + "There's life in the Old Land yet!"</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="75"></a>Tell the Boys the War Is Ended.</h1> + +<h2>By Emily J. Moore.</h2> + + + +<p>While in the first ward of the Quintard Hospital, Rome, Georgia, a young +soldier from the Eighth Arkansas Begiment, who had been wounded at +Murfreesboro', called me to his bedside. As I approached I saw that he was +dying, and when I bent over him he was just able to whisper, "Tell the +boys the war is ended."</p> + +<p> "Tell the boys the war is ended,"<br /> +These were all the words he said;<br /> + "Tell the boys the war is ended,"<br /> +In an instant more was dead.</p> + +<p>Strangely bright, serene, and cheerful<br /> + Was the smile upon his face,<br /> +While the pain, of late so fearful,<br /> + Had not left the slightest trace.</p> + +<p>"Tell the boys the war is ended,"<br /> + And with heavenly visions bright<br /> +Thoughts of comrades loved were blended,<br /> + As his spirit took its flight.<br /> +"Tell the boys the war is ended,"<br /> + "Grant, 0 God, it may be so,"<br /> +Was the prayer which then ascended,<br /> + In a whisper deep, though low.</p> + +<p>"Tell the boys the war is ended,"<br /> + And his warfare then was o'er,<br /> +As, by angel bands attended,<br /> + He departed from earth's shore.<br /> +Bursting shells and cannons roaring<br /> + Could not rouse him by their din;<br /> +He to better worlds was soaring,<br /> + Far from war, and pain, and sin.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="76"></a>"The Southern Cross."</h1> + +<h2>By St. George Tucker, of Virginia.</h2> + + + +<p>Oh! say can you see, through the gloom and the storm,<br /> +More bright for the darkness, that pure constellation?<br /> +Like the symbol of love and redemption its form,<br /> +As it points to the haven of hope for the nation.<br /> +How radiant each star, as the beacon afar,<br /> +Giving promise of peace, or assurance in war!<br /> +'Tis the Cross of the South, which shall ever remain<br /> +To light us to freedom and glory again!</p> + +<p>How peaceful and blest was America's soil,<br /> +'Till betrayed by the guile of the Puritan demon,<br /> +Which lurks under virtue, and springs from its coil<br /> +To fasten its fangs in the life-blood of freemen.<br /> +Then boldly appeal to each heart that can feel,<br /> +And crush the foul viper 'neath Liberty's heel!<br /> +And the Cross of the South shall in triumph remain,<br /> +To light us to freedom and glory again!</p> + +<p>'Tis the emblem of peace,'tis the day-star of hope,<br /> +Like the sacred <i>Labarum</i> that guided the Roman;<br /> +From the shores of the Gulf to the Delaware's slope,<br /> +'Tis the trust of the free and the terror of foemen.<br /> +Fling its folds to the air, while we boldly declare<br /> +The rights we demand or the deeds that we dare!<br /> +While the Cross of the South shall in triumph remain,<br /> +To light us to freedom and glory again!</p> + +<p>And if peace should be hopeless and justice denied,<br /> +And war's bloody vulture should flap its black pinions,<br /> +Then gladly "to arms," while we hurl, in our pride,<br /> +Defiance to tyrants and death to their minions!<br /> +With our front in the field, swearing never to yield,<br /> +Or return, like the Spartan, in death on our shield!<br /> +And the Cross of the South shall triumphantly wave,<br /> +As the flag of the free or the pall of the brave!</p> + +<p>Southern Literary Messenger.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="77"></a>England's Neutrality.</h1> + +<h2>A Parliamentary Debate.</h2> + +<h3>By John R. Thompson, of Richmond, Virginia.</h3> + + + +<p>All ye who with credulity the whispers hear of fancy,<br /> +Or yet pursue with eagerness hope's wild extravagancy,<br /> +Who dream that England soon will drop her long miscalled neutrality,<br /> +And give us, with a hearty shake, the hand of nationality,</p> + +<p>Read, as we give, with little fault of statement or omission,<br /> +The <i>next</i> debate in parliament on Southern Recognition;<br /> +They're all so much alike, indeed, that one can write it off, I see,<br /> +As truly as the <i>Times</i>' report, without the gift of prophecy.</p> + +<p>Not yet, not yet to interfere does England see occasion,<br /> +But treats our good commissioner with coolness and evasion;<br /> +Such coolness in the premises, that really 'tis refrigerant<br /> +To think that two long years ago she called us a belligerent.</p> + +<p>But, further, Downing-street is dumb, the premier deaf to reason,<br /> +As deaf as is the <i>Morning Post</i>, both in and out of season;<br /> +The working men of Lancashire are all reduced to beggary,<br /> +And yet they will not listen unto Roebuck or to Gregory,</p> + +<p>"Or any other man," to-day, who counsels interfering,<br /> +While all who speak on t'other side obtain a ready hearing--<br /> +As, <i>par exemple</i>, Mr. Bright, that pink of all propriety,<br /> +That meek and mild disciple of the blessed Peace Society.</p> + +<p>"Why, let 'em fight," says Mr. Bright, "those Southerners, I hate 'em,<br /> +And hope the Black Republicans will soon exterminate 'em;<br /> +If freedom can't rebellion crush, pray tell me what's the use of her?"<br /> +And so he chuckles o'er the fray as gleefully as Lucifer.</p> + +<p>Enough of him--an abler man demands our close attention--<br /> +The Maximus Apollo of strict <i>non</i>-intervention--<br /> +With pitiless severity, though decorous and calm his tone,<br /> +Thus spake the "old man eloquent," the puissant Earl of Palmerston:</p> + +<p>"What though the land run red with blood, what though the lurid flashes<br /> +Of cannon light, at dead of night, a mournful heap of ashes<br /> +Where many an ancient mansion stood--what though the robber pillages<br /> +The sacred home, the house of God, in twice a hundred villages.</p> + +<p>"What though a fiendish, nameless wrong, that makes revenge a duty,<br /> +Is daily done" (O Lord, how long!) "to tenderness and beauty!"<br /> +(And who shall tell this deed of hell, how deadlier far a curse it is<br /> +Than even pulling temples down and burning universities)?</p> + +<p>"Let arts decay, let millions fall, aye, let freedom perish,<br /> +With all that in the western world men fain would love and cherish;<br /> +Let universal ruin there become a sad reality:<br /> +We cannot swerve, we must preserve our rigorous neutrality."</p> + +<p>Oh, Pam! oh, Pam! hast ever read what's writ in holy pages,<br /> +How blessed the peace-makers are, God's children of the ages?<br /> +Perhaps you think the promise sweet was nothing but a platitude;<br /> +'Tis clear that <i>you</i> have no concern in that divine beatitude.</p> + +<p>But "hear! hear! hear!" another peer, that mighty man of muscle,<br /> +Is on his legs, what slender pegs! "ye noble Earl" of Russell;<br /> +Thus might he speak, did not of speech his shrewd reserve the folly see,<br /> +And thus unfold the subtle plan of England's secret policy.</p> + +<p>"John Bright was right, yes, let 'em fight, these fools across the water,<br /> +'Tis no affair at all of ours, their carnival of slaughter;<br /> +The Christian world, indeed, may say we ought not to allow it, sirs,<br /> +But still 'tis music in our ears, this roar of Yankee howitzers.</p> + +<p>"A word or two of sympathy, that costs us not a penny,<br /> +We give the gallant Southerners, the few against the many;<br /> +We say their noble fortitude of final triumph presages,<br /> +And praise, in Blackwood's Magazine, Jeff. Davis and his messages.</p> + +<p>"Of course we claim the shining fame of glorious Stonewall Jackson,<br /> +Who typifies the English race, a sterling Anglo-Saxon;<br /> +To bravest song his deeds belong, to Clio and Melpomene"--<br /> +(And why not for a British stream demand the Chickahominy?)</p> + +<p>"But for the cause in which he fell we cannot lift a finger,<br /> +'Tis idle on the question any longer here to linger;<br /> +'Tis true the South has freely bled, her sorrows are Homeric, oh!<br /> +Her case is like to his of old who journeyed unto Jericho.</p> + +<p>"The thieves have stripped and bruised, although as yet they have not<br /> + bound her,<br /> +We'd like to see her slay 'em all to right and left around her;<br /> +We shouldn't cry in parliament if Lee should cross the Raritan,<br /> +But England never yet was known to play the Good Samaritan.</p> + +<p>"And so we pass the other side, and leave them to their glory,<br /> +To give new proofs of manliness, new scenes for song and story;<br /> +These honeyed words of compliment may possibly bamboozle 'em,<br /> +But ere we intervene, you know, we'll see 'em in--Jerusalem.</p> + +<p>"Yes, let 'em fight, till both are brought to hopeless desolation,<br /> +Till wolves troop round the cottage door in one and t'other nation,<br /> +Till, worn and broken down, the South shall prove no more refractory,<br /> +And rust eats up the silent looms of every Yankee factory.</p> + +<p>"Till bursts no more the cotton boll o'er fields of Carolina,<br /> +And fills with snowy flosses the dusky hands of Dinah;<br /> +Till war has dealt its final blow, and Mr. Seward's knavery<br /> +Has put an end in all the land to freedom and to slavery.</p> + +<p>"The grim Bastile, the rack, the wheel, without remorse or pity,<br /> +May flourish with the guillotine in every Yankee city;<br /> +No matter should old Abe revive the brazen bull of Phalaris,<br /> +'Tis no concern at all of ours"--(sensation in the galleries.)</p> + +<p>"So shall our 'merry England' thrive on trans-Atlantic troubles,<br /> +While India, on her distant plains, her crop of cotton doubles;<br /> +And just so long as North or South shall show the least vitality,<br /> +We cannot swerve, we must preserve our rigorous neutrality."</p> + +<p>Your speech, my lord, might well become a Saxon legislator,<br /> +When the "fine old English gentleman" lived in a state of natur',<br /> +When Vikings quaffed from human skulls their fiery draughts of honey mead,<br /> +Long, long before the barons bold met tyrant John at Runnymede.</p> + +<p>But 'tis a speech so plain, my lord, that all may understand it,<br /> +And so we quickly turn again to fight the Yankee bandit,<br /> +Convinced that we shall fairly win at last our nationality,<br /> +Without the help of Britain's arm, <i>in spite of</i> her neutrality.</p> + +<p>Illustrated News.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="78"></a>Close the Ranks.</h1> + +<h2>By John L. O'Sullivan.</h2> + + + +<p>The fell invader is before!<br /> + Close the ranks! Close up the ranks!<br /> +We'll hunt his legions from our shore,<br /> + Close the ranks! Close up the ranks!<br /> +Our wives, our children are behind,<br /> +Our mothers, sisters, dear and kind,<br /> +Their voices reach us on the wind,<br /> + Close the ranks! Close up the ranks!</p> + +<p>Are we to bend to slavish yoke?<br /> + Close the ranks! Close up the ranks!<br /> +We'll bend when bends our Southern oak.<br /> + Close the ranks! Close up the ranks!<br /> +On with the line of serried steel,<br /> +We all can die, we none can kneel<br /> +To crouch beneath the Northern heel.<br /> + Close the ranks! Close up the ranks!</p> + +<p>We kneel to God, and God alone.<br /> + Close the ranks! Close up the ranks!<br /> +One heart in all--all hearts as one.<br /> + Close the ranks! Close up the ranks!<br /> +For home, for country, truth and right,<br /> +We stand or fall in freedom's fight:<br /> +In such a cause the right is might.<br /> + Close the ranks! Close up the ranks!</p> + +<p>We're here from every southern home.<br /> + Close the ranks! Close up the ranks!<br /> +Fond, weeping voices bade us come.<br /> + Close the ranks! Close up the ranks<br /> +The husband, brother, boy, and sire,<br /> +All burning with one holy fire--<br /> +Our country's love our only hire.<br /> + Close the ranks! Close up the ranks!</p> + +<p>We cannot fail, we will not yield!<br /> + Close the ranks! Close up the ranks!<br /> +Our bosoms are our country's shield.<br /> + Close the ranks! Close up the ranks!<br /> +By Washington's immortal name,<br /> +By Stonewall Jackson's kindred fame,<br /> +Their souls, their deeds, their cause the same,<br /> + Close the ranks! Close up the ranks!</p> + +<p>By all we hope, by all we love,<br /> + Close the ranks! Close up the ranks!<br /> +By home on earth, by Heaven above,<br /> + Close the ranks! Close up the ranks!<br /> +By all the tears, and heart's blood shed,<br /> +By all our hosts of martyred dead,<br /> +We'll conquer, or we'll share their bed.<br /> + Close the ranks! Close up the ranks!</p> + +<p>The front may fall, the rear succeed,<br /> + Close the ranks! Close up the ranks!<br /> +We smile in triumph as we bleed,<br /> + Close the ranks! Close up the ranks!<br /> +Our Southern Cross above us waves,<br /> +Long shall it bless the sacred graves<br /> +Of those who died, but were not slaves.<br /> + Close the ranks! Close up the ranks!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="79"></a>The Sea-Kings of the South.</h1> + +<h2>By Edward C. Bruce, of Winchester, Va.</h2> + + + +<p>Full many have sung of the victories our warriors have won,<br /> +From Bethel, by the eastern tide, to sunny Galveston,<br /> +On fair Potomac's classic shore, by sweeping Tennessee,<br /> +Hill, rock, and river shall tell forever the vengeance of the free.</p> + +<p>The air still rings with the cannon-shot, with battle's breath is warm;<br /> +Still on the hills their swords have saved our legions wheel and form;<br /> +And Johnston, Beauregard, and Lee, with all their gallant train,<br /> +Wait yet at their head, in silence dread, the hour to charge again.</p> + +<p>But a ruggeder field than the mountain-side--a broader field than the plain,<br /> +Is spread for the fight in the stormy wave and the globe-embracing main,<br /> +'Tis there the keel of the goodly ship must trace the fate of the land,<br /> +For the name ye write in the sea-foam white shall first and longest stand.</p> + +<p>For centuries on centuries, since first the hallowed tree<br /> +Was launched by the lone mariner on some primeval sea,<br /> +No stouter stuff than the heart of oak, or tough elastic pine,<br /> +Had floated beyond the shallow shoal to pass the burning Line.</p> + +<p>The Naiad and the Dryad met in billow and in spar;<br /> +The forest fought at Salamis, the grove at Trafalgar.<br /> +Old Tubalcain had sweated amain to forge the brand and ball;<br /> +But failed to frame the mighty hull that held enfortressed all.</p> + +<p>Six thousand years had waited for our gallant tars to show<br /> +That iron was to ride the wave and timber sink below.<br /> +The waters bland that welcomed first the white man to our shore,<br /> +Columbus, of an iron world, the brave Buchanan bore.</p> + +<p>Not gun for gun, but thirty to one, the odds he had to meet!<br /> +One craft, untried of wind or tide, to beard a haughty fleet!<br /> +Above her shattered relics now the billows break and pour;<br /> +But the glory of that wondrous day shall be hers for evermore.</p> + +<p>See yonder speck on the mist afar, as dim as in a dream!<br /> +Anear it speeds, there are masts like reeds and a tossing plume of steam!<br /> +Fleet, fierce, and gaunt, with bows aslant, she dashes proudly on,<br /> +Whence and whither, her prey to gather, the foe shall learn anon.</p> + +<p>Oh, broad and green is her hunting-park, and plentiful the game!<br /> +From the restless bay of old Biscay to the Carib' sea she came.<br /> +The catchers of the whale she caught; swift <i>Ariel</i> overhauled;<br /> +And made <i>Hatteras</i> know the hardest <i>blow</i> that ever a tar appalled.</p> + +<p>She bears the name of a noble State, and sooth she bears it well.<br /> +To us she hath made it a word of pride, to the Northern ear a knell.<br /> +To the Puritan in the busy mart, the Puritan on his deck,<br /> +With "Alabama" visions start of ruin, woe, and wreck.</p> + +<p>In vain his lubberly squadrons round her magic pathway swoop--<br /> +Admiral, captain, commodore, in gunboat, frigate, sloop.<br /> +Save to snatch a prize, or a foe chastise, as their feeble art she foils,<br /> +She will scorn a point from her course to veer, to baffle all their toils.</p> + +<p>And bravely doth her sister-ship begin her young career.<br /> +Already hath her gentle name become a name of fear;<br /> +The name that breathes of the orange-bloom, of soft lagoons that roll<br /> +Round the home of the Roman of the West--the unconquered Seminole.</p> + +<p>Like the albatross and the tropic-bird, forever on the wing,<br /> +For them nor night nor breaking morn may peace nor shelter bring.<br /> +All drooping from the weary cruise or shattered from the fight,<br /> +No dear home-haven opes to them its arms with welcome bright.</p> + +<p>Then side by side, in our love and pride, be our men of the land and sea;<br /> +The fewer these, the sterner task, the greater their guerdon be!<br /> +The fairest wreaths of amaranth the fairest hands shall twine<br /> +For the brows of our preux chevaliers, the Bayards of the brine!</p> + +<p>The "stars and bars" of our sturdy tars as gallantly shall wave<br /> +As long shall live in the storied page, or the spirit-stirring stave,<br /> +As hath the red cross of St. George or the raven-flag of Thor,<br /> +Or flag of the sea, whate'er it be, that ever unfurled to war.</p> + +<p>Then flout full high to their parent sky those circled stars of ours,<br /> +Where'er the dark-hulled foeman floats, where'er his emblem towers!<br /> +Speak for the right, for the truth and light, from the gun's unmuzzled mouth,<br /> +And the fame of the Dane revive again, ye Vikings of the SOUTH!</p> + +<p>Richmond Sentinel, March 30, 1863.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="80"></a>The Return.</h1> + + + +<p>Three years! I wonder if she'll know me?<br /> + I limp a little, and I left one arm<br /> +At Petersburg; and I am grown as brown<br /> + As the plump chestnuts on my little farm:<br /> +And I'm as shaggy as the chestnut burrs--<br /> +But ripe and sweet within, and wholly hers.</p> + +<p>The darling! how I long to see her!<br /> + My heart outruns this feeble soldier pace,<br /> +For I remember, after I had left,<br /> + A little Charlie came to take my place.<br /> +Ah! how the laughing, three-year old, brown eyes--<br /> +His mother's eyes--will stare with pleased surprise!</p> + +<p>Surely, they will be at the corner watching!<br /> + I sent them word that I should come to-night:<br /> +The birds all know it, for they crowd around,<br /> + Twittering their welcome with a wild delight;<br /> +And that old robin, with a halting wing--<br /> +I saved her life, three years ago last spring.</p> + +<p>Three years! perhaps I am but dreaming!<br /> + For, like the pilgrim of the long ago,<br /> +I've tugged, a weary burden at my back,<br /> + Through summer's heat and winter's blinding snow;<br /> +Till now, I reach my home, my darling's breast,<br /> +There I can roll my burden off, and rest.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>When morning came, the early rising sun<br /> + Laid his light fingers on a soldier sleeping--<br /> +Where a soft covering of bright green grass<br /> + Over two mounds was lightly creeping;<br /> +But waked him not: his was the rest eternal,<br /> +Where the brown eyes reflected love supernal.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="81"></a>Our Christmas Hymn.</h1> + +<h2>By John Dickson Bruns, M.D., of Charleston, S.C.</h2> + + + +<p>"Good-will and peace! peace and good-will!"<br /> + The burden of the Advent song,<br /> +What time the love-charmed waves grew still<br /> + To hearken to the shining throng;<br /> +The wondering shepherds heard the strain<br /> + Who watched by night the slumbering fleece,<br /> +The deep skies echoed the refrain,<br /> + "Peace and good-will, good-will and peace!"</p> + +<p>And wise men hailed the promised sign,<br /> + And brought their birth-gifts from the East,<br /> +Dear to that Mother as the wine<br /> + That hallowed Cana's bridal feast;<br /> +But what to these are myrrh or gold,<br /> + And what Arabia's costliest gem,<br /> +Whose eyes the Child divine behold,<br /> + The blessed Babe of Bethlehem.</p> + +<p>"Peace and good-will, good-will and peace!"<br /> + They sing, the bright ones overhead;<br /> +And scarce the jubilant anthems cease<br /> + Ere Judah wails her first-born dead;<br /> +And Rama's wild, despairing cry<br /> + Fills with great dread the shuddering coast,<br /> +And Rachel hath but one reply,<br /> + "Bring back, bring back my loved and lost."</p> + +<p>So, down two thousand years of doom<br /> + That cry is borne on wailing winds,<br /> +But never star breaks through the gloom,<br /> + No cradled peace the watcher finds;<br /> +And still the Herodian steel is driven,<br /> + And breaking hearts make ceaseless moan,<br /> +And still the mute appeal to heaven<br /> + Man answers back with groan for groan.</p> + +<p>How shall we keep our Christmas tide?<br /> + With that dread past, its wounds agape,<br /> +Forever walking by our side,<br /> + A fearful shade, an awful shape;<br /> +Can any promise of the spring<br /> + Make green the faded autumn leaf?<br /> +Or who shall say that time will bring<br /> + Fair fruit to him who sows but grief?</p> + +<p>Wild bells! that shake the midnight air<br /> + With those dear tones that custom loves,<br /> +You wake no sounds of laughter here,<br /> + Nor mirth in all our silent groves;<br /> +On one broad waste, by hill or flood,<br /> + Of ravaged lands your music falls,<br /> +And where the happy homestead stood<br /> + The stars look down on roofless halls.</p> + +<p>At every board a vacant chair<br /> + Fills with quick tears some tender eye,<br /> +And at our maddest sports appear<br /> + Those well-loved forms that will not die.<br /> +We lift the glass, our hand is stayed--<br /> + We jest, a spectre rises up--<br /> +And weeping, though no word is said,<br /> + We kiss and pass the silent cup,</p> + +<p>And pledge the gallant friend who keeps<br /> + His Christmas-eve on Malvern's height,<br /> +And him, our fair-haired boy, who sleeps<br /> + Beneath Virginian snows to-night;<br /> +While, by the fire, she, musing, broods<br /> + On all that was and might have been,<br /> +If Shiloh's dank and oozing woods<br /> + Had never drunk that crimson stain.</p> + +<p>O happy Yules of buried years!<br /> + Could ye but come in wonted guise,<br /> +Sweet as love's earliest kiss appears,<br /> + When looking back through wistful eyes,<br /> +Would seem those chimes whose voices tell<br /> + His birth-night with melodious burst,<br /> +Who, sitting by Samaria's well,<br /> + Quenched the lorn widow's life-long thirst.</p> + +<p>Ah! yet I trust that all who weep,<br /> + Somewhere, at last, will surely find<br /> +His rest, if through dark ways they keep<br /> + The child-like faith, the prayerful mind;<br /> +And some far Christmas morn shall bring<br /> + From human ills a sweet release<br /> +To loving hearts, while angels sing<br /> + "Peace and good-will, good-will and peace!"</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="82"></a>Charleston.</h1> + +<h2>Written for the Charleston Courier in 1863.</h2> + +<h3>By Miss E. B. Cheesborough.</h3> + + + +<p>Proudly she stands by the crystal sea,<br /> + With the fires of hate around her,<br /> +But a cordon of love as strong as fate,<br /> + With adamant links surround her.<br /> +Let them hurl their bolts through the azure sky,<br /> + And death-bearing missiles send her,<br /> +She finds in our God a mighty shield,<br /> + And in heaven a sure defender.</p> + +<p>Her past is a page of glory bright,<br /> + Her present a blaze of splendor,<br /> +You may turn o'er the leaves of the jewell'd tome,<br /> + You'll not find the word <i>surrender</i>;<br /> +For sooner than lay down her trusty arms,<br /> + She'd build her own funeral pyre,<br /> +And the flames that give her a martyr's fate<br /> + Will kindle her glory higher.</p> + +<p>How the demons glare as they see her stand<br /> + In majestic pride serenely,<br /> +And gnash with the impotent rage of hate,<br /> + Creeping up slowly, meanly;<br /> +While she cries, "Come forth from your covered dens,<br /> + All your hireling legions send me,<br /> +I'll bare my breast to a million swords,<br /> + Whilst God and my sons defend me."</p> + +<p>Oh, brave old town, o'er thy sacred form<br /> + Whilst the fiery rain is sweeping,<br /> +May He whose love is an armor strong<br /> + Embrace thee in tender keeping;<br /> +And when the red war-cloud has rolled away,<br /> + Anoint thee with holy chrism,<br /> +And sanctified, chastened, regenerate, true,<br /> + Thou surviv'st this fierce baptism.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="83"></a>Gathering Song.</h1> + +<h2>Air--Bonnie Blue Flag</h2> + +<h3>By Annie Chambers Ketchum.</h3> + + + +<p>Come, brothers! rally for the right!<br /> + The bravest of the brave<br /> +Sends forth her ringing battle-cry<br /> + Beside the Atlantic wave!<br /> +She leads the way in honor's path!<br /> + Come, brothers, near and far,<br /> +Come rally 'round the Bonnie Blue Flag<br /> + That bears a single star!</p> + +<p>We've borne the Yankee trickery,<br /> + The Yankee gibe and sneer,<br /> +Till Yankee insolence and pride<br /> + Know neither shame nor fear;<br /> +But ready now with shot and steel<br /> + Their brazen front to mar,<br /> +We hoist aloft the Bonnie Blue Flag<br /> + That bears a single star!</p> + +<p>Now Georgia marches to the front,<br /> + And close beside her come<br /> +Her sisters by the Mexique Sea,<br /> + With pealing trump and drum!<br /> +Till, answering back from hill and glen<br /> + The rallying cry afar,<br /> +A NATION hoists the Bonnie Blue Flag<br /> + That bears a single star!</p> + +<p>By every stone in Charleston Bay,<br /> + By each beleaguered town,<br /> +We swear to rest not, night nor day,<br /> + But hunt the tyrants down!<br /> +Till, bathed in valor's holy blood<br /> + The gazing world afar<br /> +Shall greet with shouts the Bonnie Blue<br /> + That bears the cross and star!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="84"></a>Christmas.</h1> + +<h2>By Henry Timrod, of South Carolina.</h2> + + + +<p> How grace this hallowed day?<br /> +Shall happy bells, from yonder ancient spire,<br /> +Send their glad greetings to each Christmas fire<br /> + Round which the children play?</p> + +<p> Alas! for many a moon,<br /> +That tongueless tower hath cleaved the Sabbath air,<br /> +Mute as an obelisk of ice aglare<br /> + Beneath an Arctic noon.</p> + +<p> Shame to the foes that drown<br /> +Our psalms of worship with their impious drum.<br /> +The sweetest chimes in all the land lie dumb<br /> + In some far rustic town.</p> + +<p> There, let us think, they keep,<br /> +Of the dead Yules which here beside the sea<br /> +They've ushered in with old-world, English glee,<br /> + Some echoes in their sleep.<br /> +<br /> + How shall we grace the day?<br /> +With feast, and song, and dance, and antique sports,<br /> +And shout of happy children in the courts,<br /> + And tales of ghost and fay?</p> + +<p> Is there indeed a door<br /> +Where the old pastimes, with their lawful noise,<br /> +And all the merry round of Christmas joys,<br /> + Could enter as of yore?</p> + +<p> Would not some pallid face<br /> +Look in upon the banquet, calling up<br /> +Dread shapes of battle in the wassail cup,<br /> + And trouble all the place?</p> + +<p> How could we bear the mirth,<br /> +While some loved reveller of a year ago<br /> +Keeps his mute Christmas now beneath the snow,<br /> + In cold Virginian earth?</p> + +<p> How shall we grace the day?<br /> +Ah! let the thought that on this holy morn<br /> +The Prince of Peace--the Prince of Peace was born,<br /> + Employ us, while we pray!</p> + +<p> Pray for the peace which long<br /> +Hath left this tortured land, and haply now<br /> +Holds its white court on some far mountain's brow,<br /> + There hardly safe from wrong.</p> + +<p> Let every sacred fane<br /> +Call its sad votaries to the shrine of God,<br /> +And, with the cloister and the tented sod,<br /> + Join in one solemn strain!</p> + +<p> With pomp of Roman form,<br /> +With the grave ritual brought from England's shore,<br /> +And with the simple faith which asks no more<br /> + Than that the heart be warm.</p> + +<p> He, who till time shall cease,<br /> +Shall watch that earth, where once, not all in vain,<br /> +He died to give us peace, will not disdain<br /> + A prayer whose theme is--peace.</p> + +<p> Perhaps, ere yet the spring<br /> +Hath died into the summer, over all<br /> +The land, the peace of His vast love shall fall<br /> + Like some protecting wing.</p> + +<p> Oh, ponder what it means!<br /> +Oh, turn the rapturous thought in every way!<br /> +Oh, give the vision and the fancy play,<br /> + And shape the coming scenes!</p> + +<p> Peace in the quiet dales,<br /> +Made rankly fertile by the blood of men;<br /> +Peace in the woodland, and the lonely glen,<br /> + Peace in the peopled vales!</p> + +<p> Peace in the crowded town,<br /> +Peace in a thousand fields of waving grain,<br /> +Peace in the highway and the flowery lane,<br /> + Peace on the wind-swept down!</p> + +<p> Peace on the furthest seas,<br /> +Peace in our sheltered bays and ample streams,<br /> +Peace wheresoe'er our starry garland gleams,<br /> + And peace in every breeze!</p> + +<p> Peace on the whirring marts,<br /> +Peace where the scholar thinks, the hunter roams,<br /> +Peace, God of Peace! peace, peace in all our homes,<br /> + And peace in all our hearts!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="85"></a>A Prayer for Peace.</h1> + +<h2>By S. Teackle Wallis, of Maryland.</h2> + + + +<p>Peace! Peace! God of our fathers, grant us Peace!<br /> +Unto our cry of anguish and despair<br /> +Give ear and pity! From the lonely homes,<br /> +Where widowed beggary and orphaned woe<br /> +Fill their poor urns with tears; from trampled plains,<br /> +Where the bright harvest Thou has sent us rots--<br /> +The blood of them who should have garnered it<br /> +Calling to Thee--from fields of carnage, where<br /> +The foul-beaked vultures, sated, flap their wings<br /> +O'er crowded corpses, that but yesterday<br /> +Bore hearts of brothers, beating high with love<br /> +And common hopes and pride, all blasted now--<br /> +Father of Mercies! not alone from these<br /> +Our prayer and wail are lifted. Not alone<br /> +Upon the battle's seared and desolate track,<br /> +Nor with the sword and flame, is it, O God,<br /> +That Thou hast smitten us. Around our hearths,<br /> +And in the crowded streets and busy marts,<br /> +Where echo whispers not the far-off strife<br /> +That slays our loved ones; in the solemn halls<br /> +Of safe and quiet counsel--nay, beneath<br /> +The temple-roofs that we have reared to Thee,<br /> +And 'mid their rising incense--God of Peace!<br /> +The curse of war is on us. Greed and hate<br /> +Hungering for gold and blood; Ambition, bred<br /> +Of passionate vanity and sordid lusts,<br /> +Mad with the base desire of tyrannous sway<br /> +Over men's souls and thoughts, have set their price<br /> +On human hecatombs, and sell and buy<br /> +Their sons and brothers for the shambles. Priests,<br /> +With white, anointed, supplicating hands,<br /> +From Sabbath unto Sabbath clasped to Thee,<br /> +Burn, in their tingling pulses, to fling down<br /> +Thy censers and Thy cross, to clutch the throats<br /> +Of kinsmen, by whose cradles they were born,<br /> +Or grasp the brand of Herod, and go forth<br /> +Till Rachel hath no children left to slay.<br /> +The very name of Jesus, writ upon<br /> +Thy shrines beneath the spotless, outstretched wings,<br /> +Of Thine Almighty Dove, is wrapt and hid<br /> +With bloody battle-flags, and from the spires<br /> +That rise above them angry banners flout<br /> +The skies to which they point, amid the clang<br /> +Of rolling war-songs tuned to mock Thy praise.</p> + +<p>All things once prized and honored are forgot:<br /> +The freedom that we worshipped next to Thee;<br /> +The manhood that was freedom's spear and shield;<br /> +The proud, true heart; the brave, outspoken word,<br /> +Which might be stifled, but could never wear<br /> +The guise, whate'er the profit, of a lie;<br /> +All these are gone, and in their stead have come<br /> +The vices of the miser and the slave--<br /> +Scorning no shame that bringeth gold or power,<br /> +Knowing no love, or faith, or reverence,<br /> +Or sympathy, or tie, or aim, or hope,<br /> +Save as begun in self, and ending there.<br /> +With vipers like to these, oh! blessed God!<br /> +Scourge us no longer! Send us down, once more,<br /> +Some shining seraph in Thy glory glad,<br /> +To wake the midnight of our sorrowing<br /> +With tidings of good-will and peace to men;<br /> +And if the star, that through the darkness led<br /> +Earth's wisdom then, guide not our folly now,<br /> +Oh, be the lightning Thine Evangelist,<br /> +With all its fiery, forked tongues, to speak<br /> +The unanswerable message of Thy will.</p> + +<p> Peace! Peace! God of our fathers, grant us peace!<br /> +Peace in our hearts, and at Thine altars; Peace<br /> +On the red waters and their blighted shores;<br /> +Peace for the 'leaguered cities, and the hosts<br /> +That watch and bleed around them and within,<br /> +Peace for the homeless and the fatherless;<br /> +Peace for the captive on his weary way,<br /> +And the mad crowds who jeer his helplessness;<br /> +For them that suffer, them that do the wrong<br /> +Sinning and sinned against.--O God! for all;<br /> +For a distracted, torn, and bleeding land--<br /> +Speed the glad tidings! Give us, give us Peace!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="86"></a>The Band in the Pines.</h1> + +<h2>(Heard after Pelham Died.)</h2> + +<h3>By John Esten Cooke.</h3> + + + +<p>Oh, band in the pine-wood, cease!<br /> + Cease with your splendid call;<br /> +The living are brave and noble,<br /> + But the dead were bravest of all!</p> + +<p>They throng to the martial summons,<br /> + To the loud, triumphant strain;<br /> +And the dear bright eyes of long-dead friends<br /> + Come to the heart again!</p> + +<p>They come with the ringing bugle,<br /> + And the deep drum's mellow roar;<br /> +Till the soul is faint with longing<br /> + For the hands we clasp no more!</p> + +<p>Oh, band in the pine-wood, cease!<br /> + Or the heart will melt in tears,<br /> +For the gallant eyes and the smiling lips,<br /> + And the voices of old years!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="87"></a>At Fort Pillow.</h1> + +<h2>First published in the Wilmington Journal, April 25, 1864.</h2> + + + +<p>You shudder as you think upon<br /> + The carnage of the grim report,<br /> +The desolation when we won<br /> + The inner trenches of the fort.</p> + +<p>But there are deeds you may not know,<br /> + That scourge the pulses into strife;<br /> +Dark memories of deathless woe<br /> + Pointing the bayonet and knife.</p> + +<p>The house is ashes where I dwelt,<br /> + Beyond the mighty inland sea;<br /> +The tombstones shattered where I knelt,<br /> + By that old church at Pointe Coupee.</p> + +<p>The Yankee fiends, that came with fire,<br /> + Camped on the consecrated sod,<br /> +And trampled in the dust and mire<br /> + The Holy Eucharist of God!</p> + +<p>The spot where darling mother sleeps,<br /> + Beneath the glimpse of yon sad moon,<br /> +Is crushed, with splintered marble heaps,<br /> + To stall the horse of some dragoon.</p> + +<p>God! when I ponder that black day<br /> + It makes my frantic spirit wince;<br /> +I marched--with Longstreet--far away,<br /> + But have beheld the ravage since</p> + +<p>The tears are hot upon my face,<br /> + When thinking what bleak fate befell<br /> +The only sister of our race--<br /> + A thing too horrible to tell.</p> + +<p>They say that, ere her senses fled,<br /> + She rescue of her brothers cried;<br /> +Then feebly bowed her stricken head,<br /> + Too pure to live thus--so she died.</p> + +<p>Two of those brothers heard no plea;<br /> + With their proud hearts forever still--<br /> +John shrouded by the Tennessee,<br /> + And Arthur there at Malvern Hill.</p> + +<p>But I have heard it everywhere,<br /> + Vibrating like a passing knell;<br /> +'Tis as perpetual as the air,<br /> + And solemn as a funeral bell.</p> + +<p>By scorched lagoon and murky swamp<br /> + My wrath was never in the lurch;<br /> +I've killed the picket in his camp,<br /> + And many a pilot on his perch.</p> + +<p>With steady rifle, sharpened brand,<br /> + A week ago, upon my steed,<br /> +With Forrest and his warrior band,<br /> + I made the hell-hounds writhe and bleed.</p> + +<p>You should have seen our leader go<br /> + Upon the battle's burning marge,<br /> +Swooping, like falcon, on the foe,<br /> + Heading the gray line's iron charge!</p> + +<p>All outcasts from our ruined marts,<br /> + We heard th' undying serpent hiss,<br /> +And in the desert of our hearts<br /> + The fatal spell of Nemesis.</p> + +<p>The Southern yell rang loud and high<br /> + The moment that we thundered in,<br /> +Smiting the demons hip and thigh,<br /> + Cleaving them to the very chin.</p> + +<p>My right arm bared for fiercer play,<br /> + The left one held the rein in slack;<br /> +In all the fury of the fray<br /> + I sought the white man, not the black.</p> + +<p>The dabbled clots of brain and gore<br /> + Across the swirling sabres ran;<br /> +To me each brutal visage bore<br /> + The front of one accursed man.</p> + +<p>Throbbing along the frenzied vein,<br /> + My blood seemed kindled into song--<br /> +The death-dirge of the sacred slain,<br /> + The slogan of immortal wrong.</p> + +<p>It glared athwart the dripping glaves,<br /> + It blazed in each avenging eye--<br /> +<i>The thought of desecrated graves,<br /> + And some lone sister's desperate cry!</i></p> + + + + +<h1><a name="88"></a>From the Rapidan--1864.</h1> + + + +<p>A low wind in the pines!<br /> + And a dull pain in the breast!<br /> +And oh! for the sigh of her lips and eyes--<br /> + One touch of the hand I pressed!</p> + +<p>The slow, sad lowland wind,<br /> + It sighs through the livelong day,<br /> +While the splendid mountain breezes blow,<br /> + And the autumn is burning away.</p> + +<p>Here the pines sigh ever above,<br /> + And the broomstraw sighs below;<br /> +And far from the bare, bleak, windy fields<br /> + Comes the note of the drowsy crow.</p> + +<p>There the trees are crimson and gold,<br /> + Like the tints of a magical dawn,<br /> +And the slender form, in the dreamy days,<br /> + By the slow stream rambles on.</p> + +<p>Oh, day that weighs on the heart!<br /> + Oh, wind in the dreary pines!<br /> +Does she think on me 'mid the golden hours,<br /> + Past the mountain's long blue lines?</p> + +<p>The old house, lonely and still,<br /> + By the sad Shenandoah's waves,<br /> +Must be touched to-day by the sunshine's gleam,<br /> + As the spring flowers bloom on graves.</p> + +<p>Oh, sunshine, flitting and sad,<br /> + Oh, wind, that forever sighs!<br /> +The hall may be bright, but my life is dark<br /> + For the sunshine of her eyes!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="89"></a>Song of Our Glorious Southland.</h1> + +<h2>By Mrs. Mary Ware.</h2> + +<h3>From the Southern Field and Fireside.</h3> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Oh, sing of our glorious Southland,<br /> + The pride of the golden sun!<br /> +'Tis the fairest land of flowers<br /> + The eye e'er looked upon.</p> + +<p>Sing of her orange and myrtle<br /> + That glitter like gems above;<br /> +Sing of her dark-eyed maidens<br /> + As fair as a dream of love.</p> + +<p>Sing of her flowing rivers--<br /> + How musical their sound!<br /> +Sing of her dark green forests,<br /> + The Indian hunting-ground.</p> + +<p>Sing of the noble nation<br /> + Fierce struggling to be free;<br /> +Sing of the brave who barter<br /> + Their lives for liberty!</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>Weep for the maid and matron<br /> + Who mourn their loved ones slain;<br /> +Sigh for the light departed,<br /> + Never to shine again:</p> + +<p>'Tis the voice of Rachel weeping,<br /> + That never will comfort know;<br /> +'Tis the wail of desolation,<br /> + The breaking of hearts in woe!</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>Ah! the blood of Abel crieth<br /> + For vengeance from the sod!<br /> +'Tis a brother's hand that's lifted<br /> + In the face of an angry God!</p> + +<p>Oh! brother of the Northland,<br /> + We plead from our father's grave;<br /> +We strike for our homes and altars,<br /> + He fought to build and save!</p> + +<p>A smouldering fire is burning,<br /> + The Southern heart is steeled--<br /> +Perhaps 'twill break in dying,<br /> + But never will it yield.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="90"></a>Sonnet.</h1> + +<h2>By Paul H. Hayne.</h2> + + + +<p>Rise from your gory ashes stern and pale,<br /> +Ye martyred thousands! and with dreadful ire,<br /> +A voice of doom, a front of gloomy fire,<br /> +Rebuke those faithless souls, whose querulous wail<br /> +Disturbs your sacred sleep!--"The withering hail<br /> +Of battle, hunger, pestilence, despair,<br /> +Whatever of mortal anguish man may bear,<br /> +We bore unmurmuring! strengthened by the mail<br /> +Of a most holy purpose!--then we died!--<br /> +Vex not our rest by cries of selfish pain,<br /> +But to the noblest measure of your powers<br /> +Endure the appointed trial! Griefs defied,<br /> +But launch their threatening thunderbolts in vain,<br /> +And angry storms pass by in gentlest showers!"</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="91"></a>Hospital Duties.</h1> + +<h2>Charleston Courier.</h2> + + + +<p>Fold away all your bright-tinted dresses,<br /> + Turn the key on your jewels to-day,<br /> +And the wealth of your tendril-like tresses<br /> + Braid back in a serious way;<br /> +No more delicate gloves, no more laces,<br /> + No more trifling in boudoir or bower,<br /> +But come with your souls in your faces<br /> + To meet the stern wants of the hour.</p> + +<p>Look around. By the torchlight unsteady<br /> + The dead and the dying seem one--<br /> +What! trembling and paling already,<br /> + Before your dear mission's begun?<br /> +These wounds are more precious than ghastly--<br /> + Time presses her lips to each scar,<br /> +While she chants of that glory which vastly<br /> + Transcends all the horrors of war.</p> + +<p>Pause here by this bedside. How mellow<br /> + The light showers down on that brow!<br /> +Such a brave, brawny visage, poor fellow!<br /> + Some homestead is missing him now.<br /> +Some wife shades her eyes in the clearing,<br /> + Some mother sits moaning distressed,<br /> +While the loved one lies faint but unfearing,<br /> + With the enemy's ball in his breast.</p> + +<p>Here's another--a lad--a mere stripling,<br /> + Picked up in the field almost dead,<br /> +With the blood through his sunny hair rippling<br /> + From the horrible gash in the head.<br /> +They say he was first in the action:<br /> + Gay-hearted, quick-headed, and witty:<br /> +He fought till he dropped with exhaustion<br /> + At the gates of our fair southern city.</p> + +<p>Fought and fell 'neath the guns of that city,<br /> + With a spirit transcending his years--<br /> +Lift him up in your large-hearted pity,<br /> + And wet his pale lips with your tears.<br /> +Touch him gently; most sacred the duty<br /> + Of dressing that poor shattered hand!<br /> +God spare him to rise in his beauty,<br /> + And battle once more for his land!</p> + +<p>Pass on! it is useless to linger<br /> + While others are calling your care;<br /> +There is need for your delicate finger,<br /> + For your womanly sympathy there.<br /> +There are sick ones athirst for caressing,<br /> + There are dying ones raving at home,<br /> +There are wounds to be bound with a blessing,<br /> + And shrouds to make ready for some.</p> + +<p>They have gathered about you the harvest<br /> + Of death in its ghastliest view;<br /> +The nearest as well as the furthest<br /> + Is there with the traitor and true.<br /> +And crowned with your beautiful patience,<br /> + Made sunny with love at the heart,<br /> +You must balsam the wounds of the nations,<br /> + Nor falter nor shrink from your part.</p> + +<p>And the lips of the mother will bless you,<br /> + And angels, sweet-visaged and pale,<br /> +And the little ones run to caress you,<br /> + And the wives and the sisters cry hail!<br /> +But e'en if you drop down unheeded,<br /> + What matter? God's ways are the best:<br /> +You have poured out your life where 'twas needed,<br /> + And he will take care of the rest.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="92"></a>They Cry Peace, Peace, When There Is No Peace.</h1> + +<h2>By Mrs. Alethea S. Burroughs, of Georgia.</h2> + + + +<p>They are ringing peace on my heavy ear--<br /> + No peace to my heavy heart!<br /> +They are ringing peace, I hear! I hear!<br /> + O God! how my hopes depart!</p> + +<p>They are ringing peace from the mountain side;<br /> + With a hollow voice it comes--<br /> +They are ringing peace o'er the foaming tide,<br /> + And its echoes fill our homes.</p> + +<p>They are ringing peace, and the spring-time blooms<br /> + Like a garden fresh and fair;<br /> +But our martyrs sleep in their silent tombs--<br /> + Do <i>they</i> hear that sound--do they hear?</p> + +<p>They are ringing peace, and the battle-cry<br /> + And the bayonet's work are done,<br /> +And the armor bright they are laying by,<br /> + From the brave sire to the son.</p> + +<p>And the musket's clang, and the soldier's drill,<br /> + And the tattoo's nightly sound;<br /> +We shall hear no more, with a joyous thrill,<br /> + Peace, peace, they are ringing round!</p> + +<p>There are women, still as the stifled air<br /> + On the burning desert's track,<br /> +Not a cry of joy, not a welcome cheer--<br /> + And their brave ones coming back!</p> + +<p>There are fair young heads in their morning pride,<br /> + Like the lilies pale they bow;<br /> +Just a memory left to the soldier's bride--<br /> + Ah, God! sustain her now!</p> + +<p>There are martial steps that we may not hear!<br /> + There are forms we may not see!<br /> +Death's muster roll they have answered clear,<br /> + <i>They are free! thank God, they are free!</i></p> + +<p>Not a fetter fast, nor a prisoner's chain<br /> + For the noble army gone--<br /> +No conqueror comes o'er the heavenly plain--<br /> + Peace, <i>peace to the dead alone!</i></p> + +<p>They are ringing peace, but strangers tread<br /> + O'er the land where our fathers trod,<br /> +And our birthright joys, like a dream, have fled,<br /> + And <i>Thou!</i> where art <i>Thou</i>, 0 God!</p> + +<p>They are ringing peace! <i>not here, not here,</i><br /> + Where the victor's mark is set;<br /> +Roll back to the North its mocking cheer--<br /> + No peace to the Southland yet!</p> + +<p>We may sheathe the sword, and the rifle-gun<br /> + We may hang on the cottage wall,<br /> +And the bayonet brave, sharp duty done,<br /> + From, the soldier's arm it may fall.</p> + +<p>But peace!--no peace! till the same good sword,<br /> + Drawn out from its scabbard be,<br /> +And the wide world list to my country's word,<br /> + And the South! oh, the South, be free!</p> + +<p>Charleston Broadside.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="93"></a>Ballad--"What! Have Ye Thought?"</h1> + +<h2>Charleston Mercury.</h2> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p> What! have ye thought to pluck<br /> + Victory from chance and luck,<br /> +Triumph from clamorous shout, without a will?<br /> + Without the heart to brave<br /> + All peril to the grave,<br /> +And battle on its brink, unshrinking still?</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p> And did ye dream success<br /> + Would still unvarying bless<br /> +Your arms, nor meet reverse in some dread field?<br /> + And shall an adverse hour<br /> + Make ye mistrust the power<br /> +Of virtue, in your souls, to make your enemy yield?</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p> Oh! from this dreary sleep<br /> + Arise, and upward leap,<br /> +Nor let your hearts grow palsied with dismay!<br /> + Fling out your banner high,<br /> + Still challenging the sky,<br /> +While thousand strong arms bear it on its way.</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p> Forth, as a sacred band,<br /> + Sworn saviours of the land,<br /> +Chosen by God, the champions of the right!<br /> + And never doubt that <i>He</i><br /> + Who <i>made</i> will <i>keep</i> ye free,<br /> +If thus your souls resolve to triumph in the fight!</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p> The felon foe, no more<br /> + Trampling the sacred shore,<br /> +Shall leave defiling footprint on the sod;<br /> + Where, desperate in the strife,<br /> + Reckless of wounds and life,<br /> +Ye brave your myriad foes beneath the eye of God!</p> + + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + + +<p> On brothers, comrades, men,<br /> + Rush to the field again;<br /> +Home, peace, love, safety--freedom--are the prize!<br /> + Strike! while an arm can bear<br /> + Weapon--and do not spare--<br /> +Ye break a felon bond in every foe that dies!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="94"></a>Missing.</h1> + + + +<p>In the cool, sweet hush of a wooded nook,<br /> + Where the May buds sprinkle the green old mound,<br /> +And the winds, and the birds, and the limpid brook,<br /> + Murmur their dreams with a drowsy sound;<br /> +Who lies so still in the plushy moss,<br /> + With his pale cheek pressed on a breezy pillow,<br /> +Couched where the light and the shadows cross<br /> + Through the flickering fringe of the willow?<br /> + Who lies, alas!<br /> +So still, so chill, in the whispering grass?</p> + +<p>A soldier clad in the Zouave dress,<br /> + A bright-haired man, with his lips apart,<br /> +One hand thrown up o'er his frank, dead face,<br /> + And the other clutching his pulseless heart,<br /> +Lies here in the shadows, cool and dim,<br /> + His musket swept by a trailing bough,<br /> +With a careless grace in each quiet limb,<br /> + And a wound on his manly brow;<br /> + A wound, alas!<br /> +Whence the warm blood drips on the quiet grass.</p> + +<p>The violets peer from their dusky beds,<br /> + With a tearful dew in their great, pure eyes;<br /> +The lilies quiver their shining heads,<br /> + Their pale lips full of a sad surprise;<br /> +And the lizard darts through the glistening fern--<br /> + And the squirrel rustles the branches hoary;<br /> +Strange birds fly out, with a cry, to bathe<br /> + Their wings in the sunset glory;<br /> + While the shadows pass<br /> +O'er the quiet face and the dewy grass.</p> + +<p>God pity the bride who waits at home,<br /> + With her lily cheeks and her violet eyes,<br /> +Dreaming the sweet old dreams of love,<br /> + While her lover is walking in Paradise;<br /> +God strengthen her heart as the days go by,<br /> + And the long, drear nights of her vigil follow,<br /> +Nor bird, nor moon, nor whispering wind,<br /> + May breathe the tale of the hollow;<br /> + Alas! alas!<br /> +The secret is safe with the woodland grass.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="95"></a>Ode-"Souls of Heroes."</h1> + +<h2>Charleston Mercury.</h2> + + + +<p>Souls of heroes, ascended from fields ye have won,<br /> +Still smile on the conflict so greatly begun;<br /> +Bring succor to comrade, to brother, to son<br /> + Now breasting the battle in ranks of the brave;<br /> +And the dastard that loiters, the conflict to shun,<br /> + Pursue him with scorn to the grave!</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>Pursue him with furies that goad to despair,<br /> +Hunt him out, where he crouches in crevice and lair,<br /> +Drive him forth, while the wife of his bosom cries--"There<br /> + Goes the coward that skulks, though his sister and wife<br /> +Tremble, nightly, in sleep, overshadowed by fear<br /> + Of a sacrifice dearer than life."</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>There are thousands that loiter, of historied claim,<br /> +Who boast of the heritage shrined in each name--<br /> +Sting their souls to the quick, till they shrink from the shame<br /> + Which dishonors the names and the past of their boast;<br /> +Even now they may win the best guerdon of fame,<br /> + And retrieve the bright honors they've lost!</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>Even now, while their country is torn in the toils,<br /> +While the wild boar is raging to raven the spoils,<br /> +While the boa is spreading around us the coils<br /> + Which would strangle the freedom our ancestors gave;<br /> +But each soul must be quickened until it o'er-boils,<br /> + Every muscle be corded to save!</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>Still the cause is the same which, in long ages gone,<br /> +Roused up your great sires, so gallantly known,<br /> +When, braving the tyrant, the sceptre and throne,<br /> + They rushed to the conflict, despising the odds;<br /> +Armed with bow, spear, and scythe, and with sling and with stone,<br /> + For their homes and their family gods!</p> + + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + + +<p>Shall we be less worthy the sacrifice grand,<br /> +The heritage noble we took at their hand,<br /> +The peace and the comfort, the fruits of the land;<br /> + And, sunk in a torpor as hopeless as base,<br /> +Recoil from the shock of the Sodomite band,<br /> + That would ruin the realm and the race?</p> + + + +<h3>VII.</h3> + + +<p>Souls of heroes, ascended from fields ye have won,<br /> + Your toils are not closed in the deeds ye have done;<br /> +Touch the souls of each laggard and profligate son,<br /> + The greed and the sloth, and the cowardice shame;<br /> +Till we rise to complete the great work ye've begun,<br /> + And with freedom make conquest of fame!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="96"></a>Jackson.</h1> + +<h2>By H. L. Flash, of Galveston, Formerly of Mobile.</h2> + + + +<p>Not midst the lightning of the stormy fight,<br /> +Nor in the rush upon the vandal foe,<br /> +Did kingly death, with his resistless might,<br /> + Lay the great leader low.</p> + +<p>His warrior soul its earthly shackles broke,<br /> +In the full sunshine of a peaceful town:<br /> +When all the storm was hushed, the trusty oak<br /> + That propped our cause went down.</p> + +<p>Though his alone the blood that flecks the ground,<br /> +Recalling all his grand heroic deeds,<br /> +Freedom herself is writhing with the wound,<br /> + And all the country bleeds.</p> + +<p>He entered not the nation's promised land,<br /> +At the red belching of the cannon's mouth:<br /> +But broke the house of bondage with his hand--<br /> + The Moses of the South!</p> + +<p>O gracious God! not gainless in the loss;<br /> +A glorious sunbeam gilds the sternest frown;<br /> +And while his country staggers with the cross,<br /> + He rises with the crown!</p> + +<p>Mobile Advertiser and Register.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="97"></a>Captain Maffit's Ballad of the Sea.</h1> + +<h2>Charleston Mercury.</h2> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Though winds are high and skies are dark,<br /> +And the stars scarce show us a meteor spark;<br /> +Yet buoyantly bounds our gallant barque,<br /> + Through billows that flash in a sea of blue;<br /> +We are coursing free, like the Viking shark,<br /> + And our prey, like him, pursue!</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>At each plunge of our prow we bare the graves,<br /> +Where, heedless of roar among winds and waves,<br /> +The dead have slept in their ocean caves,<br /> + Never once dreaming--as if no more<br /> +They hear, though the Storm-God ramps and raves<br /> + From the deeps to the rock-bound shore.</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>Brave sailors were they in the ancient times,<br /> +Heroes or pirates--men of all climes,<br /> +That had never an ear for the Sabbath chimes,<br /> + Never once called on the priest to be shriven;<br /> +They died with the courage that still sublimes,<br /> + And, haply, may fit for Heaven.</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>Never once asking the when or why,<br /> +But ready, all hours, to battle and die,<br /> +They went into fight with a terrible cry,<br /> + Counting no odds, and, victors or slain,<br /> +Meeting fortune or fate, with an equal eye,<br /> + Defiant of death and pain.</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>Dread are the tales of the wondrous deep,<br /> +And well do the billows their secrets keep,<br /> +And sound should those savage old sailors sleep,<br /> + If sleep they may after such a life;<br /> +Where every dark passion, alert and aleap,<br /> + Made slumber itself a strife.</p> + + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + + +<p>What voices of horror, through storm and surge,<br /> +Sang in the perishing ear its dirge,<br /> +As, raging and rending, o'er Hell's black verge,<br /> + Each howling soul sank to its doom;<br /> +And what thunder-tones from the deeps emerge,<br /> + As yawns for its prey the tomb!</p> + + + +<h3>VII.</h3> + + +<p>We plough the same seas which the rovers trod,<br /> +But with better faith in the saving God,<br /> +And bear aloft and carry abroad<br /> + The starry cross, our sacred sign,<br /> +Which, never yet sullied by crime or fraud,<br /> + Makes light o'er the midnight brine.</p> + + + +<h3>VIII.</h3> + + +<p>And we rove not now on a lawless quest,<br /> +With passions foul in the hero's breast,<br /> +Moved by no greed at the fiend's behest,<br /> + Gloating in lust o'er a bloody prey;<br /> +But from tyrant robber the spoil to wrest,<br /> + And tear down his despot sway!</p> + + + +<h3>IX.</h3> + + +<p>'Gainst the spawn of Europe, and all the lands,<br /> +British and German--Norway's sands,<br /> +Dutchland and Irish--the hireling bands<br /> + Bought for butchery--recking no rede,<br /> +But, flocking like vultures, with felon hands,<br /> + To fatten the rage of greed.</p> + + + +<h3>X.</h3> + + +<p>With scath they traverse both land and sea,<br /> +And with sacred wrath we must make them flee;<br /> +Making the path of the nations free,<br /> + And planting peace in the heart of strife;<br /> +In the star of the cross, our liberty<br /> + Brings light to the world, and life!</p> + + + +<h3>XI.</h3> + + +<p>Let Christendom cower 'neath Stripes and Stars,<br /> +Cloaking her shame under legal bars,<br /> +Not too moral for traffic, but shirking wars,<br /> + While the Southern cross, floating topmast high.<br /> +Though torn, perchance, by a thousand scars,<br /> + Shall light up the midnight sky!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="98"></a>Melt the Bells.</h1> + +<h2>F. Y. Rockett.--Memphis Appeal.</h2> + + + +<p>The following lines were written on General Beauregard's appeal to the +people to contribute their bells, that they may be melted into cannon.</p> + + +<p>Melt the bells, melt the bells,<br /> +Still the tinkling on the plains,<br /> +And transmute the evening chimes<br /> +Into war's resounding rhymes,<br /> +That the invaders may be slain<br /> +By the bells.</p> + +<p>Melt the bells, melt the bells,<br /> +That for years have called to prayer,<br /> +And, instead, the cannon's roar<br /> +Shall resound the valleys o'er,<br /> +That the foe may catch despair<br /> +From the bells.</p> + +<p>Melt the bells, melt the bells,<br /> +Though it cost a tear to part<br /> +With the music they have made,<br /> +Where the friends we love are laid,<br /> +With pale cheek and silent heart,<br /> +'Neath the bells.</p> + +<p>Melt the bells, melt the bells,<br /> +Into cannon, vast and grim,<br /> +And the foe shall feel the ire<br /> +From each heaving lungs of fire,<br /> +And we'll put our trust in Him<br /> +And the bells.</p> + +<p>Melt the bells, melt the bells,<br /> +And when foes no more attack,<br /> +And the lightning cloud of war<br /> +Shall roll thunderless and far,<br /> +We will melt the cannon back<br /> +Into bells.</p> + +<p>Melt the bells, melt the bells,<br /> +And they'll peal a sweeter chime,<br /> +And remind of all the brave<br /> +Who have sunk to glory's grave,<br /> +And will sleep thro' coming time<br /> +'Neath the bells.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="99"></a>John Pelham.</h1> + +<h2>By James R. Randall.</h2> + + + +<p>Just as the spring came laughing through the strife,<br /> + With all its gorgeous cheer;<br /> +In the bright April of historic life<br /> + Fell the great cannoneer.</p> + +<p>The wondrous lulling of a hero's breath<br /> + His bleeding country weeps--<br /> +Hushed in the alabaster arms of death,<br /> + Our young Marcellus sleeps.</p> + +<p>Nobler and grander than the Child of Rome,<br /> + Curbing his chariot steeds;<br /> +The knightly scion of a Southern home<br /> + Dazzled the land with deeds.</p> + +<p>Gentlest and bravest in the battle brunt,<br /> + The champion of the truth,<br /> +He bore his banner to the very front<br /> + Of our immortal youth.</p> + +<p>A clang of sabres 'mid Virginian snow,<br /> + The fiery pang of shells--<br /> +And there's a wail of immemorial woe<br /> + In Alabama dells.</p> + +<p>The pennon drops that led the sacred band<br /> + Along the crimson field;<br /> +The meteor blade sinks from the nerveless hand<br /> + Over the spotless shield.</p> + +<p>We gazed and gazed upon that beauteous face<br /> + While 'round the lips and eyes,<br /> +Couched in the marble slumber, flashed the grace<br /> + Of a divine surprise.</p> + +<p>Oh, mother of a blessed soul on high!<br /> + Thy tears may soon be shed--<br /> +Think of thy boy with princes of the sky,<br /> + Among the Southern dead.</p> + +<p>How must he smile on this dull world beneath,<br /> + Fevered with swift renown--<br /> +He--with the martyr's amaranthine wreath<br /> + Twining the victor's crown!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="100"></a>"Ye Batteries of Beauregard."</h1> + +<h2>By J. R. Barrick, of Kentucky.</h2> + + + +<p>"Ye batteries of Beauregard!"<br /> + Pour your hail from Moultrie's wall;<br /> +Bid the shock of your deep thunder<br /> + On their fleet in terror fall:<br /> +Rain your storm of leaden fury<br /> + On the black invading host--<br /> +Teach them that their step shall never<br /> + Press on Carolina's coast.</p> + +<p>"Ye batteries of Beauregard!"<br /> + Sound the story of our wrong;<br /> +Let your tocsin wake the spirit<br /> + Of a people brave and strong;<br /> +Her proud names of old remember--<br /> + Marion, Sumter, Pinckney, Greene;<br /> +Swell the roll whose deeds of glory<br /> + Side by side with theirs are seen.</p> + +<p>"Ye batteries of Beauregard!"<br /> + From Savannah on them frown;<br /> +By the majesty of Heaven<br /> + Strike their "grand armada" down;<br /> +By the blood of many a freeman,<br /> + By each dear-bought battle-field,<br /> +By the hopes we fondly cherish,<br /> + Never ye the victory yield.</p> + +<p>"Ye batteries of Beauregard!"<br /> + All along our Southern coast,<br /> +Let, in after-time, your triumphs,<br /> + Be a nation's pride and boast;<br /> +Send each missile with a greeting<br /> + To the vile, ungodly crew;<br /> +Make them feel they ne'er can conquer<br /> + People to themselves so true.</p> + +<p>"Ye batteries of Beauregard!"<br /> + By the glories of the past,<br /> +By the memory of old Sumter,<br /> + Whose renown will ever last,<br /> +Speed upon their vaunted legions<br /> + Volleys thick of shot and shell,<br /> +Bid them welcome, in your glory,<br /> + To their own appointed hell.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="101"></a>"When Peace Returns."</h1> + +<h2>Published in the Granada Picket.</h2> + +<h3>By Olivia Tully Thomas.</h3> + + + +<p>When "war has smoothed his wrinkled front,"<br /> + And meek-eyed peace returning,<br /> +Has brightened hearts that long were wont<br /> + To sigh in grief and mourning--<br /> +How blissful then will be the day<br /> + When, from the wars returning,<br /> +The weary soldier wends his way<br /> + To dear ones that are yearning,</p> + +<p>To clasp in true love's fond embrace,<br /> + To gaze with looks so tender<br /> +Upon the war-worn form and face<br /> + Of Liberty's defender;<br /> +To count with pride each cruel scar,<br /> + That mars the manly beauty,<br /> +Of him who proved so brave in war,<br /> + So beautiful in duty.</p> + +<p>When peace returns, throughout our land,<br /> + Glad shouts of welcome render<br /> +The gallant few of Freedom's band<br /> + Whose cry was "no surrender;"<br /> +Who battled bravely to be free<br /> + From tyranny's oppressions,<br /> +And won, for Southern chivalry,<br /> + The homage of all nations!</p> + +<p>And when, again, in Southern bowers<br /> + The ray of peace is shining,<br /> +Her maidens gather fairest flowers,<br /> + And honor's wreaths are twining,<br /> +To bind the brows victorious<br /> + On many a field so gory,<br /> +Whose names, renowned and glorious,<br /> + Shall live in song and story,</p> + +<p>Then will affection's tear be shed,<br /> + And pity, joy restraining,<br /> +For those, the lost, lamented dead,<br /> + Are all beyond our plaining;<br /> +They fell in manhood's prime and might;<br /> + And we should not weep the story<br /> +That tells of Fame, a sacred light,<br /> + Above each grave of glory!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="102"></a>The Right above the Wrong.</h1> + +<h2>By John W. Overall.</h2> + + + +<p>In other days our fathers' love was loyal, full, and free,<br /> +For those they left behind them in the Island of the Sea;<br /> +They fought the battles of King George, and toasted him in song,<br /> +For then the Right kept proudly down the tyranny of Wrong.</p> + +<p>But when the King's weak, willing slaves laid tax upon the tea,<br /> +The Western men rose up and braved the Island of the Sea;<br /> +And swore a fearful oath to God, those men of iron might,<br /> +That in the end the Wrong should die, and up should go the Right.</p> + +<p>The King sent over hireling hosts--the Briton, Hessian, Scot--<br /> +And swore in turn those Western men, when captured, should be shot;<br /> +While Chatham spoke with earnest tongue against the hireling throng,<br /> +And mournfully saw the Right go down, and place given to the Wrong.</p> + +<p>But God was on the righteous side, and Gideon's sword was out,<br /> +With clash of steel, and rattling drum, and freeman's thunder-shout;<br /> +And crimson torrents drenched the land through that long, stormy fight,<br /> +But in the end, hurrah! the Wrong was beaten by the Right!</p> + +<p>And when again the foemen came from out the Northern Sea,<br /> +To desolate our smiling land and subjugate the free,<br /> +Our fathers rushed to drive them back, with rifles keen and long,<br /> +And swore a mighty oath, the Right should subjugate the Wrong.</p> + +<p>And while the world was looking on, the strife uncertain grew,<br /> +But soon aloft rose up our stars amid a field of blue;<br /> +For Jackson fought on red Chalmette, and won the glorious fight,<br /> +And then the Wrong went down, hurrah! and triumph crowned the Right!</p> + +<p>The day has come again, when men who love the beauteous South,<br /> +To speak, if needs be, for the Right, though by the cannon's mouth;<br /> +For foes accursed of God and man, with lying speech and song,<br /> +Would bind, imprison, hang the Right, and deify the Wrong.</p> + +<p>But canting knave of pen and sword, nor sanctimonious fool,<br /> +Shall never win this Southern land, to cripple, bind, and rule;<br /> +We'll muster on each bloody plain, thick as the stars of night,<br /> +And, through the help of God, the Wrong shall perish by the Right.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="103"></a>Carmen Triumphale.</h1> + +<h2>By Henry Timrod.</h2> + + + +<p>Go forth and bid the land rejoice,<br /> + Yet not too gladly, oh my song!<br /> + Breathe softly, as if mirth would wrong<br /> +The solemn rapture of thy voice.</p> + +<p>Be nothing lightly done or said<br /> + This happy day! Our joy should flow<br /> + Accordant with the lofty woe<br /> +That wails above the noble dead.</p> + +<p>Let him whose brow and breast were calm<br /> + While yet the battle lay with God,<br /> + Look down upon the crimson sod<br /> +And gravely wear his mournful palm;</p> + +<p>And him, whose heart still weak from fear<br /> + Beats all too gayly for the time,<br /> + Know that intemperate glee is crime<br /> +While one dead hero claims a tear.</p> + +<p>Yet go thou forth, my song! and thrill,<br /> + With sober joy, the troubled days;<br /> + A nation's hymn of grateful praise<br /> +May not be hushed for private ill.</p> + +<p>Our foes are fallen! Flash, ye wires!<br /> + The mighty tidings far and nigh!<br /> + Ye cities! write them on the sky<br /> +In purple and in emerald fires!</p> + +<p>They came with many a haughty boast;<br /> + Their threats were heard on every breeze;<br /> + They darkened half the neighboring seas,<br /> +And swooped like vultures on the coast.</p> + +<p>False recreants in all knightly strife,<br /> + Their way was wet with woman's tears;<br /> + Behind them flamed the toil of years,<br /> +And bloodshed stained the sheaves of life.</p> + +<p>They fought as tyrants fight, or slaves;<br /> + God gave the dastards to our hands;<br /> + Their bones are bleaching on the sands,<br /> +Or mouldering slow in shallow graves.</p> + +<p>What though we hear about our path<br /> + The heavens with howls of vengeance rent;<br /> + The venom of their hate is spent;<br /> +We need not heed their fangless wrath.</p> + +<p>Meantime the stream they strove to chain<br /> + Now drinks a thousand springs, and sweeps<br /> + With broadening breast, and mightier deeps,<br /> +And rushes onward to the main;</p> + +<p>While down the swelling current glides<br /> + Our ship of state before the blast,<br /> + With streamers poured from every mast,<br /> +Her thunders roaring from her sides.</p> + +<p>Lord! bid the frenzied tempest cease,<br /> + Hang out thy rainbow on the sea!<br /> + Laugh round her, waves! in silver glee,<br /> +And speed her to the ports of peace!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="104"></a>The Fiend Unbound.</h1> + +<h2>Charleston Mercury.</h2> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>No more, with glad and happy cheer,<br /> + And smiling face, doth Christmas come,<br /> +But usher'd in with sword and spear,<br /> + And beat of the barbarian drum!<br /> +No more, with ivy-circled brow,<br /> + And mossy beard all snowy white,<br /> +He comes to glad the children now,<br /> + With sweet and innocent delight.</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>The merry dance, the lavish feast,<br /> + The cheery welcome, all are o'er:<br /> +The music of the viol ceased,<br /> + The gleesome ring around the floor.<br /> +No glad communion greets the hour,<br /> + That welcomes in a Saviour's birth,<br /> +And Christmas, to a hostile power,<br /> + Yields all the sway that made its mirth.</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>The Church, like some deserted bride,<br /> + In trembling, at the Altar waits,<br /> +While, raging fierce on every side,<br /> + The foe is thundering at her gates.<br /> +No ivy green, nor glittering leaves,<br /> + Nor crimson berries, deck her walls:<br /> +But blood, red dripping from her eaves,<br /> + Along the sacred pavement falls.</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>Her silver bells no longer chime<br /> + In summons to her sacred home;<br /> +Nor holy song at matin prime,<br /> + Proclaims the God within the dome.<br /> +Nor do the fireside's happy bands<br /> + Assemble fond, with greetings dear,<br /> +While Patriarch Christmas spreads his hands<br /> + To glad with gifts and crown with cheer.</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>In place of that beloved form,<br /> + Benignant, bland, and blessing all,<br /> +Comes one begirt with fire and storm,<br /> + The raging shell, the hissing ball!<br /> +Type of the Prince of Peace, no more,<br /> + Evoked by those who bear His name,<br /> +THE FIEND, in place of SAINT of yore,<br /> + Now hurls around Satanic flame.</p> + + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + + +<p>In hate,--evoked by kindred lands,<br /> + But late beslavering with caress,<br /> +Lo, Moloch, dripping crimson, stands,<br /> + And curses where he cannot bless.<br /> +He wings the bolt and hurls the spear,<br /> + A <i>demon loosed</i>, that rends in rage,<br /> +Sends havoc through the homes most dear,<br /> + And butchers youth and tramples age!</p> + + + +<h3>VII.</h3> + + +<p>With face of Fox--with glee that grins,<br /> + And apish arms, with fingers claw'd,<br /> +To snatch at all his brother wins,<br /> + And straight secrete, with stealth and fraud;--<br /> +Lo! Mammon, kindred Demon, comes,<br /> + And lurks, as dreading ill, in rear;<br /> +He blows the trumpet, beats the drums,<br /> + Inflames the torch, and sharps the spear!</p> + + + +<h3>VIII.</h3> + + +<p>And furious, following in their train,<br /> + What hosts of lesser Demons rise;<br /> +Lust, Malice, Hunger, Greed and Gain,<br /> + Each raging for its special prize.<br /> +Too base for freedom, mean for toil,<br /> + And reckless all of just and right,<br /> +They rage in peaceful homes for spoil,<br /> + And where they cannot butcher, blight.</p> + + + +<h3>IX.</h3> + + +<p>A Serpent lie from every mouth,<br /> + Coils outward ever,--sworn to bless;<br /> +Yet, through the gardens of the South,<br /> + Still spreading evils numberless,<br /> +By locust swarms the fields are swept,<br /> + By frenzied hands the dwelling flames,<br /> +And virgin beds, where Beauty slept,<br /> + Polluted blush, from worst of shames.</p> + + + +<h3>X.</h3> + + +<p>The Dragon, chain'd for thousand years,<br /> + Hath burst his bonds and rages free;--<br /> +Yet, patience, brethren, stay your fears;--<br /> + Loosed for "a little season,"[1] he<br /> +Will soon, beneath th' Ithuriel sword,<br /> + Of heavenly judgment, crush'd and driven,<br /> +Yield to the vengeance of the Lord,<br /> + And crouch beneath the wrath of Heaven!</p> + + + +<h3>XI.</h3> + + +<p>"A little season," and the Peace,<br /> + That now is foremost in your prayers,<br /> +Shall crown your harvest with increase,<br /> + And bless with smiles the home of tears;<br /> +Your wounds be healed; your noble sons,<br /> + Unhurt, unmutilated--free--<br /> +Shall limber up their conquering guns,<br /> + In triumph grand of Liberty!</p> + + + +<h3>XII.</h3> + + +<p>A few more hours of mortal strife,--<br /> + Of faith and patience, working still,<br /> +In struggle for the immortal life,<br /> + With all their soul, and strength, and will;<br /> +And, in the favor of the Lord,<br /> + And powerful grown by heavenly aid,<br /> +Your roof trees all shall be restored,<br /> + And ye shall triumph in their shade.</p> + + + +<p>[1] "1. And I saw an Angel come down from Heaven, having the key of the +bottomless pit and a great chain in his hand.</p> + +<p>"2. And he laid hold on the Dragon, that Old Serpent, which is the Devil +and Satan, and bound him a thousand years.</p> + +<p>"And cast him into the bottomless pit, and shut him up, and set a seal +upon him, that he should deceive the nations no more, till the thousand +years should be fulfilled; and <i>after that he must be loosed a little +season</i>."--Rev. xx., v. 1-3.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="105"></a>The Unknown Dead.</h1> + +<h2>By Henry Timrod.</h2> + + + +<p>The rain is plashing on my sill,<br /> +But all the winds of Heaven are still;<br /> +And so, it falls with that dull sound<br /> +Which thrills us in the churchyard ground,<br /> +When the first spadeful drops like lead<br /> +Upon the coffin of the dead.<br /> +Beyond my streaming window-pane,<br /> +I cannot see the neighboring vane,<br /> +Yet from its old familiar tower<br /> +The bell comes, muffled, through the shower.<br /> +What strange and unsuspected link<br /> +Of feeling touched has made me think--<br /> +While with a vacant soul and eye<br /> +I watch that gray and stony sky--<br /> +Of nameless graves on battle plains,<br /> +Washed by a single winter's rains,<br /> +Where, some beneath Virginian hills,<br /> +And some by green Atlantic rills,<br /> +Some by the waters of the West,<br /> +A myriad unknown heroes rest?<br /> +Ah! not the chiefs who, dying, see<br /> +Their flags in front of victory,<br /> +Or, at their life-blood's noblest cost<br /> +Pay for a battle nobly lost,<br /> +Claim from their monumental beds<br /> +The bitterest tears a nation sheds.<br /> +Beneath yon lonely mound--the spot,<br /> +By all save some fond few forgot--<br /> +Lie the true martyrs of the fight,<br /> +Which strikes for freedom and for right.<br /> +Of them, their patriot zeal and pride,<br /> +The lofty faith that with them died,<br /> +No grateful page shall further tell<br /> +Than that so many bravely fell;<br /> +And we can only dimly guess<br /> +What worlds of all this world's distress,<br /> +What utter woe, despair, and dearth,<br /> +Their fate has brought to many a hearth.<br /> +Just such a sky as this should weep<br /> +Above them, always, where they sleep;<br /> +Yet, haply, at this very hour,<br /> +Their graves are like a lover's bower;<br /> +And Nature's self, with eyes unwet,<br /> +Oblivious of the crimson debt<br /> +To which she owes her April grace,<br /> +Laughs gayly o'er their burial place.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="106"></a>Ode--"Do Ye Quail?"</h1> + +<h2>By W. Gilmore Simms.</h2> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Do ye quail but to hear, Carolinians,<br /> +The first foot-tramp of Tyranny's minions?<br /> +Have ye buckled on armor, and brandished the spear,<br /> +But to shrink with the trumpet's first peal on the ear?<br /> +Why your forts now embattled on headland and height,<br /> +Your sons all in armor, unless for the fight?<br /> +Did ye think the mere show of your guns on the wall,<br /> +And your shouts, would the souls of the heathen appal?<br /> +That his lusts and his appetites, greedy as Hell,<br /> +Led by Mammon and Moloch, would sink at a spell;--<br /> +Nor strive, with the tiger's own thirst, lest the flesh<br /> +Should be torn from his jaws, while yet bleeding afresh.</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>For shame! To the breach, Carolinians!--<br /> +To the death for your sacred dominions!--<br /> +Homes, shrines, and your cities all reeking in flame,<br /> +Cry aloud to your souls, in their sorrow and shame;<br /> +Your greybeards, with necks in the halter--<br /> +Your virgins, defiled at the altar,--<br /> +In the loathsome embrace of the felon and slave,<br /> +Touch loathsomer far than the worm of the grave!<br /> +Ah! God! if you fail in this moment of gloom!<br /> +How base were the weakness, how horrid the doom!<br /> +With the fiends in your streets howling pæans,<br /> +And the Beast o'er another Orleans!</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>Do ye quail, as on yon little islet<br /> +They have planted the feet that defile it?<br /> +Make its sands pure of taint, by the stroke of the sword,<br /> +And by torrents of blood in red sacrifice pour'd!<br /> +Doubts are Traitors, if once they persuade you to fear,<br /> +That the foe, in his foothold, is safe from your spear!<br /> +When the foot of pollution is set on your shores,<br /> +What sinew and soul should be stronger than yours?<br /> +By the fame--by the shame--of your sires,<br /> +Set on, though each freeman expires;<br /> +Better fall, grappling fast with the foe, to their graves,<br /> +Than groan in your fetters, the slaves of your slaves.</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>The voice of your loud exultation<br /> +Hath rung, like a trump, through the nation,<br /> +How loudly, how proudly, of deeds to be done,<br /> +The blood of the sire in the veins of the son!<br /> +Old Moultrie and Sumter still keep at your gates,<br /> +And the foe in his foothold as patiently waits.<br /> +He asks, with a taunt, by your patience made bold,<br /> +If the hot spur of Percy grows suddenly cold--<br /> +Makes merry with boasts of your city his own,<br /> +And the Chivalry fled, ere his trumpet is blown;<br /> +Upon them, O sons of the mighty of yore,<br /> +And fatten the sands with their Sodomite gore!</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>Where's the dastard that cowers and falters<br /> +In the sight of his hearthstones and altars?<br /> +With the faith of the free in the God of the brave,<br /> +Go forth; ye are mighty to conquer and save!<br /> +By the blue Heaven shining above ye,<br /> +By the pure-hearted thousands that love ye,<br /> +Ye are armed with a might to prevail in the fight,<br /> +And an ægis to shield and a weapon to smite!<br /> +Then fail not, and quail not; the foe shall prevail not:<br /> +With the faith and the will, ye shall conquer him still.<br /> +To the knife--with the knife, Carolinians,<br /> +For your homes, and your sacred dominions.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="107"></a>Ode--"Our City by the Sea."</h1> + +<h2>By W. Gilmore Simms.</h2> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Our city by the sea,<br /> + As the rebel city known,<br /> +With a soul and spirit free<br /> + As the waves that make her zone,<br /> +Stands in wait for the fate<br /> +From the angry arm of hate;<br /> +But she nothing fears the terror of his blow;<br /> +She hath garrisoned her walls,<br /> +And for every son that falls,<br /> +She will spread a thousand palls<br /> + For-the foe!</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>Old Moultrie at her gate,<br /> + Clad in arms and ancient fame.<br /> +Grimly watching, stands elate<br /> + To deliver bolt and flame!<br /> +Brave the band, at command,<br /> +To illumine sea and land<br /> +With a glory that shall honor days of yore;<br /> +And, as racers for their goals,<br /> +A thousand fiery souls,<br /> +While the drum of battle rolls,<br /> + Line the shore.</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>Lo! rising at his side,<br /> + As if emulous to share<br /> +His old historic pride,<br /> + The vast form of Sumter there!<br /> +Girt by waves, which he braves<br /> +Though the equinoctial raves,<br /> +As the mountain braves the lightning on his steep;<br /> +And, like tigers crouching round,<br /> +Are the tribute forts that bound<br /> +All the consecrated ground,<br /> + By the deep!</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>It was calm, the April noon,<br /> + When, in iron-castled towers,<br /> +Our haughty foe came on,<br /> + With his aggregated powers;<br /> +All his might 'gainst the right,<br /> +Now embattled for the fight,<br /> +With Hell's hate and venom working in his heart;<br /> +A vast and dread array,<br /> +Glooming black upon the day,<br /> +Hell's passions all in play,<br /> + With Hell's art.</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>But they trouble not the souls<br /> + Of our Carolina host,[1]<br /> +And the drum of battle rolls,<br /> + While each hero seeks his post;<br /> +Firm, though few, sworn to do,<br /> +Their old city full in view,<br /> +The brave city of their sires and their dead;<br /> +There each freeman had his brood,<br /> +All the dear ones of his blood,<br /> +And he knew they watching stood,<br /> + In their dread!</p> + + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + + +<p>To the bare embattled height,<br /> + Then our gallant colonel sprung--<br /> +"Bid them welcome to the fight,"<br /> + Were the accents of his tongue--<br /> +"Music! band, pour out--grand--<br /> +The free song of Dixie Land!<br /> +Let it tell them we are joyful that they come!<br /> +Bid them welcome, drum and flute,<br /> +Nor be your cannon mute,<br /> +Give them chivalrous salute--<br /> + To their doom!"[2]</p> + + + +<h3>VII.</h3> + + +<p>Out spoke an eager gun,<br /> + From the walls of Moultrie then;<br /> +And through clouds of sulph'rous dun,<br /> + Rose a shout of thousand men,<br /> +As the shot, hissing hot,<br /> +Goes in lightning to the spot--<br /> +Goes crashing wild through timber and through mail;<br /> +Then roared the storm from all,<br /> +Moultrie's ports and Sumter's wall--<br /> +Bursting bomb and driving ball--<br /> + Hell in hail!</p> + + + +<h3>VIII.</h3> + + +<p>Full a hundred cannon roared<br /> + The dread welcome to the foe,<br /> +And his felon spirit cowered,<br /> + As he crouched beneath the blow!<br /> +As each side opened wide<br /> +To the iron and the tide,<br /> +He lost his faith in armor and in art;<br /> +And, with the loss of faith,<br /> +Came the dread of wounds and scath--<br /> +And the felon fear of death<br /> + Wrung his heart!</p> + + + +<h3>IX.</h3> + + +<p>Quenched then his foul desires;<br /> + In his mortal pain and fear,<br /> +How feeble grew his fires,<br /> + How stayed his fell career!<br /> +How each keel, made to reel<br /> +'Neath our thunder, seems to kneel,<br /> +Their turrets staggering wildly, to and fro, blind and lame;<br /> +Ironsides and iron roof,<br /> +Held no longer bullet-proof,<br /> +Steal away, shrink aloof,<br /> + In their shame!</p> + + + +<h3>X.</h3> + + +<p>But our lightnings follow fast,<br /> + With a vengeance sharp and hot;<br /> +Our bolts are on the blast,<br /> + And they rive with shell and shot!<br /> +Huge the form which they warm<br /> +With the hot breath of the storm;<br /> +Dread the crash which follows as each Titan mass is struck--<br /> +They shiver as they fly,<br /> +While their leader, drifting nigh,<br /> +Sinks, choking with the cry--<br /> + "Keokuk!"</p> + + + +<h3>XI.</h3> + + +<p>To the brave old city, joy!<br /> + For that the hostile race,<br /> +Commissioned to destroy,<br /> + Hath fled in sore disgrace!<br /> +That our sons, at their guns,<br /> +Have beat back the modern Huns--<br /> +Have maintained their household fanes and their fires;<br /> +And free from taint and scath,<br /> +Have kept the fame and faith<br /> +(And will keep, through blood and death)<br /> + Of their sires!</p> + + + +<h3>XII.</h3> + + +<p>To the Lord of Hosts the glory,<br /> + For His the arm and might,<br /> +That have writ for us the story,<br /> + And have borne us through the fight!<br /> +His our shield in that field--<br /> +Voice that bade us never yield;<br /> +Oh! had he not been with us through the terrors of that day?<br /> +His strength hath made us strong,<br /> +Cheered the right and crushed the wrong,<br /> +To His temple let us throng--<br /> + PRAISE AND PRAY!</p> + + +<p>[1] The battle of Charleston Harbor, April 7, 1863, was fought by South +Carolina troops exclusively.</p> + +<p>[2] As the iron-clads approached Fort Sumter in line of battle, Col. Alfred +Rhett, commandant of the post, mounting the parapet, where he remained, +ordered the band to strike up the national air of "Dixie;" and at the same +time, in addition to the Confederate flag, the State and regimental flags +were flung out at different salients of the fort, and saluted with thirteen +guns.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="108"></a>The Lone Sentry.</h1> + +<h2>By James R. Randall.</h2> + + + +<p>Previous to the first battle of Manassas, when the troops under Stonewall +Jackson had made a forced march, on halting at night they fell on the +ground exhausted and faint. The hour arrived for setting the watch for the +night. The officer of the day went to the general's tent, and said:</p> + +<p>"General, the men are all wearied, and there is not one but is asleep. +Shall I wake them?"</p> + +<p>"No," said the noble Jackson; "let them sleep, and I will watch the camp +to-night."</p> + +<p>And all night long he rode round that lonely camp, the one lone sentinel +for that brave, but weary and silent body of Virginia heroes. And when +glorious morning broke, the soldiers awoke fresh and ready for action, all +unconscious of the noble vigils kept over their slumbers.</p> + + +<p>'Twas in the dying of the day,<br /> + The darkness grew so still;<br /> +The drowsy pipe of evening birds<br /> + Was hushed upon the hill;<br /> +Athwart the shadows of the vale<br /> + Slumbered the men of might,<br /> +And one lone sentry paced his rounds,<br /> + To watch the camp that night.</p> + +<p>A grave and solemn man was he,<br /> + With deep and sombre brow;<br /> +The dreamful eyes seemed hoarding up<br /> + Some unaccomplished vow.<br /> +The wistful glance peered o'er the plains<br /> + Beneath the starry light--<br /> +And with the murmured name of God,<br /> + He watched the camp that night.</p> + +<p>The Future opened unto him<br /> + Its grand and awful scroll:<br /> +Manassas and the Valley march<br /> + Came heaving o'er his soul--<br /> +Richmond and Sharpsburg thundered by<br /> + With that tremendous fight<br /> +Which gave him to the angel hosts<br /> + Who watched the camp that night.</p> + +<p>We mourn for him who died for us,<br /> + With one resistless moan;<br /> +While up the Valley of the Lord<br /> + He marches to the Throne!<br /> +He kept the faith of men and saints<br /> + Sublime, and pure, and bright--<br /> +He sleeps--and all is well with him<br /> + Who watched the camp that night.</p> + +<p>Brothers! the Midnight of the Cause<br /> + Is shrouded in our fate;<br /> +The demon Goths pollute our halls<br /> + With fire, and lust, and hate.<br /> +Be strong--be valiant--be assured--<br /> + Strike home for Heaven and Right!<br /> +<i>The soul of Jackson stalks abroad,<br /> + And guards the camp to-night!</i></p> + + + + +<h1><a name="109"></a>To My Soldier Brother.</h1> + +<h2>By Sallie E. Ballard, of Texas.</h2> + + + +<p>When softly gathering shades of ev'n<br /> +Creep o'er the prairies broad and green,<br /> +And countless stars bespangle heav'n,<br /> +And fringe the clouds with silv'ry sheen,<br /> +My fondest sigh to thee is giv'n,<br /> +My lonely wandering soldier boy;<br /> + And thoughts of thee<br /> + Steal over me<br /> +Like ev'ning shades, my soldier boy.</p> + +<p>My brother, though thou'rt far away,<br /> +And dangers hurtle round thy path,<br /> +And battle lightnings o'er thee play,<br /> +And thunders peal in awful wrath,<br /> +Think, whilst thou'rt in the hot affray,<br /> +Thy sister prays for thee, my boy.<br /> + If fondest prayer<br /> + Can shield thee there<br /> +Sweet angels guard my soldier boy.</p> + +<p>Thy proud young heart is beating high<br /> +To clash of arms and cannons' roar;<br /> +That firm-set lip and flashing eye<br /> +Tell how thy heart is brimming o'er.<br /> +Be free and live, be free or die;<br /> +Be that thy motto now, my boy;<br /> + And though thy name's<br /> + Unknown to fame's,<br /> +'Tis graven on my heart, my boy.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="110"></a>Sea-Weeds</h1> + +<h2>Written in Exile.</h2> + +<h3>By Annie Chambers Ketchum.</h3> + + + +<p>Friend of the thoughtful mind and gentle heart!<br /> + Beneath the citron-tree--<br /> +Deep calling to my soul's profounder deep--<br /> + I hear the Mexique Sea.</p> + +<p>While through the night rides in the spectral surf<br /> + Along the spectral sands,<br /> +And all the air vibrates, as if from harps<br /> + Touched by phantasmal hands.</p> + +<p>Bright in the moon the red pomegranate flowers<br /> + Lean to the Yucca's bells,<br /> +While with her chrism of dew, sad Midnight fills<br /> + The milk-white asphodels.</p> + +<p>Watching all night--as I have done before--<br /> + I count the stars that set,<br /> +Each writing on my soul some memory deep<br /> + Of Pleasure or Regret;</p> + +<p>Till, wild with heart-break, toward the East I turn,<br /> + Waiting for dawn of day;--<br /> +And chanting sea, and asphodel and star<br /> + Are faded, all, away.</p> + +<p>Only within my trembling, trembling hands--<br /> + Brought unto me by thee--<br /> +I clasp these beautiful and fragile things,<br /> + Bright sea-weeds from the sea,</p> + +<p>Fair bloom the flowers beneath these Northern skies,<br /> + Pure shine the stars by night,<br /> +And grandly sing the grand Atlantic waves<br /> + In thunder-throated might;</p> + +<p>But, as the sea-shell in her chambers keeps<br /> + The murmur of the sea,<br /> +So the deep-echoing memories of my home<br /> + Will not depart from me.</p> + +<p>Prone on the page they lie, these gentle things!<br /> + As I have seen them cast<br /> +Like a drowned woman's hair, along the beach,<br /> + When storms were over-past;</p> + +<p>Prone, like mine own affections, cast ashore<br /> + In Battle's storm and blight;<br /> +Would <i>they</i> had died, like sea-weeds! Pray forgive me<br /> + But I must weep to-night.</p> + +<p>Tell me again, of Summer fields made fair<br /> + By Spring's precursing plough;<br /> +Of joyful reapers, gathering tear-sown harvests--<br /> + Talk to me,--will you?--now!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="111"></a>The Salkehatchie.</h1> + +<h2>By Emily J. Moore.</h2> + + + +<p>Written when a garrison, at or near Salkehatchie Bridge, were threatening +a raid up in the Fork of Big and Little Salkehatchie.</p> + + +<p>The crystal streams, the pearly streams,<br /> + The streams in sunbeams flashing,<br /> +The murm'ring streams, the gentle streams,<br /> + The streams down mountains dashing,<br /> + Have been the theme<br /> + Of poets' dream,<br /> + And, in wild witching story,<br /> +Have been renowned for love's fond scenes,<br /> + Or some great deed of glory.</p> + +<p>The Rhine, the Tiber, Ayr, and Tweed,<br /> + The Arno, silver-flowing,<br /> +The Hudson, Charles, Potomac, Dan,<br /> + With poesy are glowing;<br /> + But I would praise<br /> + In artless lays,<br /> + A stream which well may match ye,<br /> +Though dark its waters glide along--<br /> + The swampy Salkehatchie.</p> + +<p>'Tis not the beauty of its stream,<br /> + Which makes it so deserving<br /> +Of honor at the Muses' hands,<br /> + But 'tis the use it's serving,<br /> + And 'gainst a raid,<br /> + We hope its aid<br /> + Will ever prove efficient,<br /> +Its fords remain still overflowed,<br /> + In water ne'er deficient.</p> + +<p>If Vandal bands are held in check,<br /> + Their crossing thus prevented,<br /> +And we are spared the ravage wild<br /> + Their malice has invented,<br /> + Then we may well<br /> + In numbers tell<br /> + No other stream can match ye,<br /> +And grateful we shall ever be<br /> + To swampy Salkehatchie.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="112"></a>The Broken Mug.</h1> + +<h2>Ode (so-called) on a Lite Melancholy Accident in the Shenandoah Valley +(so-called.)</h2> + +<h3>John Esten Cooke.</h3> + + + +<p>My mug is broken, my heart is sad!<br /> + What woes can fate still hold in store!<br /> +The friend I cherished a thousand days<br /> + Is smashed to pieces on the floor!<br /> + Is shattered and to Limbo gone,<br /> + I'll see my Mug no more!</p> + +<p>Relic it was of joyous hours<br /> + Whose golden memories still allure--<br /> +When coffee made of rye we drank,<br /> + And gray was all the dress we wore!<br /> + When we were paid some cents a month,<br /> + But never asked for more!</p> + +<p>In marches long, by day and night,<br /> + In raids, hot charges, shocks of war,<br /> +Strapped on the saddle at my back<br /> + This faithful comrade still I bore--<br /> + This old companion, true and tried,<br /> + I'll never carry more!</p> + +<p>From the Rapidan to Gettysburg--<br /> + "Hard bread" behind, "sour krout" before--<br /> +This friend went with the cavalry<br /> + And heard the jarring-cannon roar<br /> + In front of Cemetery Hill--<br /> + Good heavens! how they did roar!</p> + +<p>Then back again, the foe behind,<br /> + Back to the "Old Virginia shore"--<br /> +Some dead and wounded left--some holes<br /> + In flags, the sullen graybacks bore;<br /> + This mug had made the great campaign,<br /> + And we'd have gone once more!</p> + +<p>Alas! we never went again!<br /> + The red cross banner, slow but sure,<br /> +"Fell back"--we bade to sour krout<br /> + (Like the lover of Lenore)<br /> + A long, sad, lingering farewell--<br /> + To taste its joys no more.</p> + +<p>But still we fought, and ate hard bread,<br /> + Or starved--good friend, our woes deplore!<br /> +And still this faithful friend remained--<br /> + Riding behind me as before--<br /> + The friend on march, in bivouac,<br /> + When others were no more.</p> + +<p>How oft we drove the horsemen blue<br /> + In Summer bright or Winter frore!<br /> +How oft before the Southern charge<br /> + Through field and wood the blue-birds tore!<br /> + Im "harmonized," but long to hear<br /> + The bugles ring once more.</p> + +<p>Oh yes! we're all "fraternal" now,<br /> + Purged of our sins, we're clean and pure,<br /> +Congress will "reconstruct" us soon--<br /> + But no gray people on <i>that</i> floor!<br /> + I'm harmonized--"so-called"--but long<br /> + To see those times once more!</p> + +<p>Gay days! the sun was brighter then,<br /> + And we were happy, though so poor!<br /> +That past comes back as I behold<br /> + My shattered friend upon the floor,<br /> + My splintered, useless, ruined mug,<br /> + From which I'll drink no more.</p> + +<p>How many lips I'll love for aye,<br /> + While heart and memory endure,<br /> +Have touched this broken cup and laughed--<br /> + How they did laugh!--in days of yore!<br /> + Those days we'd call "a beauteous dream,<br /> + If they had been no more!"</p> + +<p>Dear comrades, dead this many a day,<br /> + I saw you weltering in your gore,<br /> +After those days, amid the pines<br /> + On the Rappahannock shore!<br /> + When the joy of life was much to me<br /> + But your warm hearts were more!</p> + +<p>Yours was the grand heroic nerve<br /> + That laughs amid the storm of war--<br /> +Souls that "loved much" your native land,<br /> + Who fought and died therefor!<br /> + You gave your youth, your brains, your arms,<br /> + Your blood--you had no more!</p> + +<p>You lived and died true to your flag!<br /> + And now your wounds are healed--but sore<br /> +Are many hearts that think of you<br /> + Where you have "gone before."<br /> + Peace, comrade! God bound up those forms,<br /> + They are "whole" forevermore!</p> + +<p>Those lips this broken vessel touched,<br /> + His, too!--the man's we all adore--<br /> +That cavalier of cavaliers,<br /> + Whose voice will ring no more--<br /> + Whose plume will float amid the storm<br /> + Of battle never more!</p> + +<p>Not on this idle page I write<br /> + That name of names, shrined in the core<br /> +Of every heart!--peace! foolish pen,<br /> + Hush! words so cold and poor!<br /> + His sword is rust; the blue eyes dust,<br /> + His bugle sounds no more!</p> + +<p>Never was cavalier like ours!<br /> + Not Rupert in the years before!<br /> +And when his stern, hard work was done,<br /> + His griefs, joys, battles o'er--<br /> + His mighty spirit rode the storm,<br /> + And led his men once more!</p> + +<p>He lies beneath his native sod,<br /> + Where violets spring, or frost is hoar:<br /> +He recks not--charging squadrons watch<br /> + His raven plume no more!<br /> + That smile we'll see, that voice we'll hear,<br /> + That hand we'll touch no more!</p> + +<p>My foolish mirth is quenched in tears:<br /> + Poor fragments strewed upon the floor,<br /> +Ye are the types of nobler things<br /> + That find their use no more--<br /> + Things glorious once, now trodden down--<br /> + That makes us smile no more!</p> + +<p>Of courage, pride, high hopes, stout hearts--<br /> + Hard, stubborn nerve, devotion pure,<br /> +Beating his wings against the bars,<br /> + The prisoned eagle tried to soar!<br /> +Outmatched, overwhelmed, we struggled still--<br /> + Bread failed--we fought no more!</p> + +<p>Lies in the dust the shattered staff<br /> + That bore aloft on sea and shore,<br /> +That blazing flag, amid the storm!<br /> + And none are now so poor,<br /> + So poor to do it reverence,<br /> + Now when it flames no more!</p> + +<p>But it is glorious in the dust,<br /> + Sacred till Time shall be no more:<br /> +Spare it, fierce editors! your scorn--<br /> + The dread "Rebellion's" o'er!<br /> + Furl the great flag--hide cross and star,<br /> + Thrust into darkness star and bar,<br /> + But look! across the ages far<br /> + It flames for evermore!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="113"></a>Carolina.</h1> + +<h2>By Anna Peyre Dinnies.</h2> + + + +<p> In the hour of thy glory,<br /> + When thy name was far renowned,<br /> + When Sumter's glowing story<br /> + Thy bright escutcheon crowned;<br /> +Oh, noble Carolina! how proud a claim was mine,<br /> +That through homage and through duty, and birthright, I was thine.</p> + +<p> Exulting as I heard thee,<br /> + Of every lip the theme,<br /> + Prophetic visions stirred me,<br /> + In a hope-illumined dream:<br /> +A dream of dauntless valor, of battles fought and won,<br /> +Where each field was but a triumph--a hero every son.</p> + +<p> And now, when clouds arise,<br /> + And shadows round thee fall;<br /> + I lift to heaven my eyes,<br /> + Those visions to recall;<br /> +For I cannot dream that darkness will rest upon thee long,<br /> +Oh, lordly Carolina! with thine arms and hearts so strong.</p> + +<p> Thy serried ranks of pine,<br /> + Thy live-oaks spreading wide,<br /> + Beneath the sunbeams shine,<br /> + In fadeless robes of pride;<br /> +Thus marshalled on their native soil their gallant sons stand forth,<br /> +As changeless as thy forests green, defiant of the North.</p> + +<p> The deeds of other days,<br /> + Enacted by their sires,<br /> + Themes long of love and praise,<br /> + Have wakened high desires<br /> +In every heart that beats within thy proud domain,<br /> +To cherish their remembrance, and live those scenes again.</p> + +<p> Each heart the home of daring,<br /> + Each hand the foe of wrong,<br /> + They'll meet with haughty bearing,<br /> + The war-ship's thunder song;<br /> +And though the base invader pollute thy sacred shore,<br /> +They'll greet him in their prowess as their fathers did of yore.</p> + +<p> His feet may press their soil,<br /> + Or his numbers bear them down,<br /> + In his vandal raid for spoil,<br /> + His sordid soul to crown;<br /> +But his triumph will be fleeting, for the hour is drawing near,<br /> +When the war-cry of thy cavaliers shall strike his startled ear.<br /> +<br /> + A fearful time shall come,<br /> + When thy gathering bands unite,<br /> + And the larum-sounding drum<br /> + Calls to struggle for the Right;<br /> +"<i>Pro aris et pro focis</i>," from rank to rank shall fly,<br /> +As they meet the cruel foeman, to conquer or to die.</p> + +<p> Oh, then a tale of glory<br /> + Shall yet again be thine,<br /> + And the record of thy story<br /> + The Laurel shall entwine;<br /> +Oh, noble Carolina! oh, proud and lordly State!<br /> +Heroic deeds shall crown thee, and the Nations own thee great.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="114"></a>Our Martyrs.</h1> + +<h2>Bu Paul H. Hayne.</h2> + + + +<p>I am sitting lone and weary<br /> + On the hearth of my darkened room,<br /> +And the low wind's <i>miserere</i><br /> + Makes sadder the midnight gloom;<br /> +There's a terror that's nameless nigh me--<br /> + There's a phantom spell in the air,<br /> +And methinks that the dead glide by me,<br /> + And the breath of the grave's in my hair!</p> + +<p>'Tis a vision of ghastly faces,<br /> + All pallid, and worn with pain,<br /> +Where the splendor of manhood's graces<br /> + Give place to a gory stain;<br /> +In a wild and weird procession<br /> + They sweep by my startled eyes,<br /> +And stern with their fate's fruition,<br /> + Seem melting in blood-red skies.</p> + +<p>Have they come from the shores supernal,<br /> + Have they passed from the spirit's goal,<br /> +'Neath the veil of the life eternal,<br /> + To dawn on my shrinking soul?<br /> +Have they turned from the choiring angels,<br /> + Aghast at the woe and dearth<br /> +That war, with his dark evangels,<br /> + Hath wrought in the loved of earth?</p> + +<p>Vain dream! 'mid the far-off mountains<br /> + They lie, where the dew-mists weep,<br /> +And the murmur of mournful fountains<br /> + Breaks over their painful sleep;<br /> +On the breast of the lonely meadows,<br /> + Safe, safe from the despot's will,<br /> +They rest in the star-lit shadows,<br /> + And their brows are white and still!</p> + +<p>Alas! for the martyred heroes<br /> + Cut down at their golden prime,<br /> +In a strife with the brutal Neroes,<br /> + Who blacken the path of Time!<br /> +For them is the voice of wailing,<br /> + And the sweet blush-rose departs<br /> +From the cheeks of the maidens, paling<br /> + O'er the wreck of their broken hearts!</p> + +<p>And alas! for the vanished glory<br /> + Of a thousand household spells!<br /> +And alas! for the tearful story<br /> + Of the spirit's fond farewells!<br /> +By the flood, on the field, in the forest,<br /> + Our bravest have yielded breath,<br /> +But the shafts that have smitten sorest,<br /> + Were launched by a viewless death!</p> + +<p>Oh, Thou, that hast charms of healing,<br /> + Descend on a widowed land,<br /> +And bind o'er the wounds of feeling<br /> + The balms of Thy mystic hand!<br /> +Till the hearts that lament and languish,<br /> + Renewed by the touch divine,<br /> +From the depths of a mortal anguish<br /> + May rise to the calm of Thine!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="115"></a>Cleburne.</h1> + +<h2>By M. A. Jennings, of Alabama.</h2> + + + +<p>"<i>Another star now shines on high.</i>"</p> + + +<p>Another ray of light hath fled, another Southern brave<br /> +Hath fallen in his country's cause and found a laurelled grave--<br /> +Hath fallen, but his deathless name shall live when stars shall set,<br /> +For, noble Cleburne, thou art one this world will ne'er forget.</p> + +<p>'Tis true thy warm heart beats no more, that on thy noble head<br /> +Azrael placed his icy hand, and thou art with the dead;<br /> +The glancing of thine eyes are dim; no more will they be bright<br /> +Until they ope in Paradise, with clearer, heavenlier light.</p> + +<p>No battle news disturbs thy rest upon the sun-bright shore,<br /> +No clarion voice awakens thee on earth to wrestle more,<br /> +No tramping steed, no wary foe bids thee awake, arise,<br /> +For thou art in the angel world, beyond the starry skies.</p> + +<p>Brave Cleburne, dream in thy low bed, with pulseless, deadened heart;<br /> +Calm, calm and sweet, 0 warrior rest! thou well hast borne thy part,<br /> +And now a glory wreath for thee the angels singing twine,<br /> +A glory wreath, not of the earth, but made by hands divine.</p> + +<p>A long farewell--we give thee up, with all thy bright renown;<br /> +A chieftain here on earth is lost, in heaven an angel found.<br /> +Above thy grave a wail is heard--a nation mourns her dead;<br /> +A nobler for the South ne'er died, a braver never bled.</p> + +<p>A last farewell--how can we speak the bitter word farewell!<br /> +The anguish of our bleeding hearts vain words may never tell.<br /> +Sleep on, sleep on, to God we give our chieftain in his might;<br /> +And weeping, feel he lives on high, where comes no sorrow's night.</p> + +<p>Selma Despatch, 1864.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="116"></a>The Texan Marseillaise.</h1> + +<h2>By James Haines, of Texas.</h2> + + + +<p>Sons of the South, arouse to battle!<br /> + Gird on your armor for the fight!<br /> +The Northern Thugs with dread "War's rattle,"<br /> + Pour on each vale, and glen, and height;<br /> +Meet them as Ocean meets in madness<br /> + The frail bark on the rocky shore,<br /> + When crested billows foam and roar,<br /> +And the wrecked crew go down in sadness.<br /> + Arm! Arm! ye Southern braves!<br /> + Scatter yon Vandal hordes!<br /> + Despots and bandits, fitting food<br /> + For vultures and your swords.</p> + +<p>Shall dastard tyrants march their legions<br /> + To crush the land of Jackson--Lee?<br /> +Shall freedom fly to other regions,<br /> + And sons of Yorktown bend the knee?<br /> +Or shall their "footprints' base pollution"<br /> + Of Southern soil, in blood be purged,<br /> + And every flying slave be scourged<br /> +Back to his snows in wild confusion?<br /> + Arm! Arm! &c.</p> + +<p>Vile despots, with their minions knavish,<br /> + Would drag us back to their embrace;<br /> +Will freemen brook a chain so slavish?<br /> + Will brave men take so low a place?<br /> +O, Heaven! for words--the loathing, scorning<br /> + We feel for such a Union's bands:<br /> + To paint with more than mortal hands,<br /> +And sound our loudest notes of warning.<br /> + Arm! Arm! &c.</p> + +<p>What! union with a race ignoring<br /> +The charter of our nation's birth!<br /> +Union with bastard slaves adoring<br /> +The fiend that chains them, to the earth!<br /> +No! we reply in tones of thunder--<br /> +No! our staunch hills fling back the sound--<br /> +No! our hoarse cannon echo round--<br /> +No! evermore remain asunder!<br /> +Arm! Arm! &c.</p> + +<p>Southern Confederacy.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="117"></a>O, Tempora! O, Mores!</h1> + +<h2>By John Dickson Bruns, M. D.</h2> + + + +<p>"Great Pan is dead!" so cried an airy tongue<br /> + To one who, drifting down Calabria's shore,<br /> +Heard the last knell, in starry midnight rung,<br /> + Of the old Oracles, dumb for evermore.</p> + +<p>A low wail ran along the shuddering deep,<br /> + And as, far off, its flaming accents died,<br /> +The awe-struck sailors, startled from their sleep,<br /> + Gazed, called aloud: no answering voice replied;</p> + +<p>Nor ever will--the angry Gods have fled,<br /> + Closed are the temples, mute are all the shrines,<br /> +The fires are quenched, Dodona's growth is dead,<br /> + The Sibyl's leaves are scattered to the winds.</p> + +<p>No mystic sentence will they bear again,<br /> + Which, sagely spelled, might ward a nation's doom;<br /> +But we have left us still some god-like men,<br /> + And some great voices pleading from the tomb.</p> + +<p>If we would heed them, they might save us yet,<br /> + Call up some gleams of manhood in our breasts,<br /> +Truth, valor, justice, teach us to forget<br /> + In a grand cause our selfish interests.</p> + +<p>But we have fallen on evil times indeed,<br /> + When public faith is but the common shame,<br /> +And private morals held an idiot's creed,<br /> + And old-world honesty an empty name.</p> + +<p>And lust, and greed, and gain are all our arts!<br /> + The simple lessons which our father's taught<br /> +Are scorned and jeered at; in our sordid marts<br /> + We sell the faith for which they toiled and fought.</p> + +<p>Each jostling each in the mad strife for gold,<br /> + The weaker trampled by the unrecking throng<br /> +Friends, honor, country lost, betrayed, or sold,<br /> + And lying blasphemies on every tongue.</p> + +<p>Cant for religion, sounding words for truth,<br /> + Fraud leads to fortune, gelt for guilt atones,<br /> +No care for hoary age or tender youth,<br /> + For widows' tears or helpless orphans' groans.</p> + +<p>The people rage, and work their own wild will,<br /> + They stone the prophets, drag their highest down,<br /> +And as they smite, with savage folly still<br /> + Smile at their work, those dead eyes wear no frown.</p> + +<p>The sage of "Drainfield"[1] tills a barren soil,<br /> + And reaps no harvest where he sowed the seed,<br /> +He has but exile for long years of toil;<br /> + Nor voice in council, though his children bleed.</p> + +<p>And never more shall "Redcliffs"[2] oaks rejoice,<br /> + Now bowed with grief above their master's bier;<br /> +Faction and party stilled that mighty voice,<br /> + Which yet could teach us wisdom, could we hear.</p> + +<p>And "Woodland's"[3] harp is mute: the gray, old man<br /> + Broods by his lonely hearth and weaves no song;<br /> +Or, if he sing, the note is sad and wan,<br /> + Like the pale face of one who's suffered long.</p> + +<p>So all earth's teachers have been overborne<br /> + By the coarse crowd, and fainting; droop or die;<br /> +They bear the cross, their bleeding brows the thorn,<br /> + And ever hear the clamor--"Crucify!"</p> + +<p>Oh, for a man with godlike heart and brain!<br /> + A god in stature, with a god's great will.<br /> +And fitted to the time, that not in vain<br /> + Be all the blood we're spilt and yet must spill.</p> + +<p>Oh, brothers! friends! shake off the Circean spell!<br /> + Rouse to the dangers of impending fate!<br /> +Grasp your keen swords, and all may yet be well--<br /> + More gain, more pelf, and it will be, too late!</p> + +<p>Charleston Mercury [1864].</p> + +<p>[1] The country-seat of R. Barnwell Rhett.</p> + +<p>[2] The homestead of Jas. H. Hammond.</p> + +<p>[3] The homestead of W. Gilmore Simms (destroyed by Sherman's army.)</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="118"></a>Our Departed Comrades.</h1> + +<h2>By J. Marion Shirer.</h2> + + + +<p>I am sitting alone by a fire<br /> + That glimmers on Sugar Loaf's height,<br /> +But before I to rest shall retire<br /> + And put out the fast fading light--<br /> +While the lanterns of heaven are ling'ring<br /> + In silence all o'er the deep sea,<br /> +And loved ones at home are yet mingling<br /> + Their voices in converse of me--<br /> +While yet the lone seabird is flying<br /> + So swiftly far o'er the rough wave,<br /> +And many fond mothers are sighing<br /> + For the noble, the true, and the brave;<br /> +Let me muse o'er the many departed<br /> + Who slumber on mountain and vale;<br /> +With the sadness which shrouds the lone-hearted,<br /> + Let me tell of my comrades a tale.<br /> +Far away in the green, lonely mountains,<br /> + Where the eagle makes bloody his beak,<br /> +In the mist, and by Gettysburg's fountains,<br /> + Our fallen companions now sleep!<br /> +Near Charleston, where Sumter still rises<br /> + In grandeur above the still wave,<br /> +And always at evening discloses<br /> + The fact that her inmates yet live--<br /> +On islands, and fronting Savannah,<br /> + Where dark oaks overshadow the ground,<br /> +Round Macon and smoking Atlanta,<br /> + How many dead heroes are found!<br /> +And out on the dark swelling ocean,<br /> + Where vessels go, riding the waves,<br /> +How many, for love and devotion,<br /> + Now slumber in warriors' graves!<br /> +No memorials have yet been erected<br /> + To mark where these warriors lie.<br /> +All alone, save by angels protected,<br /> + They sleep 'neath the sea and the sky!<br /> +But think not that they are forgotten<br /> + By those who the carnage survive:<br /> +When their headboards will all have grown rotten,<br /> + And the night-winds have levelled their graves,<br /> +Then hundreds of sisters and mothers,<br /> + Whose freedom they perished to save,<br /> +And fathers, and empty-sleeved brothers,<br /> + Who surmounted the battle's red wave;<br /> +Will crowd from their homes in the Southward,<br /> + In search of the loved and the blest,<br /> +And, rejoicing, will soon return homeward<br /> + And lay our dear martyrs to rest.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="119"></a>No Land Like Ours.</h1> + +<h2>Published in the Montgomery Advertiser, January, 1863.</h2> + +<h3>By J. R. Barrick, of Kentucky.</h3> + + + +<p>Though other lands may boast of skies<br /> + Far deeper in their blue,<br /> +Where flowers, in Eden's pristine dyes,<br /> + Bloom with a richer hue;<br /> +And other nations pride in kings,<br /> + And worship lordly powers;<br /> +Yet every voice of nature sings,<br /> + There is no land like ours!</p> + +<p>Though other scenes, than such as grace<br /> + Our forests, fields, and plains,<br /> +May lend the earth a sweeter face<br /> + Where peace incessant reigns;<br /> +But dearest still to me the land<br /> + Where sunshine cheers the hours,<br /> +For God hath shown, with his own hand,<br /> + There is no land like ours!</p> + +<p>Though other streams may softer flow<br /> + In vales of classic bloom,<br /> +And rivers clear as crystal glow,<br /> + That wear no tinge of gloom;<br /> +Though other mountains lofty look,<br /> + And grand seem olden towers,<br /> +We see, as in an open book,<br /> + There is no land like ours!</p> + +<p>Though other nations boast of deeds<br /> + That live in old renown,<br /> +And other peoples cling to creeds<br /> + That coldly on us frown;<br /> +On pure religion, love, and law<br /> + Are based our ruling powers--<br /> +The world but feels, with wondering awe,<br /> + There is no land like ours!<br /> +<br /> +Though other lands may boast their brave,<br /> +Whose deeds are writ in fame,<br /> +Their heroes ne'er such glory gave<br /> +As gilds our country's name;<br /> +Though others rush to daring deeds,<br /> +Where the darkening war-cloud lowers,<br /> +Here, each alike for freedom bleeds--<br /> +There is no land like ours!</p> + +<p>Though other lands Napoleon<br /> +And Wellington adorn,<br /> +America, her Washington,<br /> +And later heroes born;<br /> +Yet Johnston, Jackson, Price, and Lee,<br /> +Bragg, Buckner, Morgan towers,<br /> +With Beauregard, and Hood, and Bee--<br /> +There is no land like ours!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="120"></a>The Angel of the Church.</h1> + +<h2>By W. Gilmore Simms.</h2> + + + +<p>The enemy, from his camp on Morris Island, has, in frequent letters in +the Northern papers, avowed the object at which they aim their shells in +Charleston to be the spire of St. Michael's Church. Their <i>practice</i> +shows that these avowals are true. Thus far, they have not succeeded in +their aim. Angels of the Churches, is a phrase applied by St. John in +reference to the Seven Churches of Asia. The Hebrews recognized an Angel +of the Church, in their language, "Sheliack-Zibbor," whose office may be +described as that of a watcher or guardian of the church. Daniel says, +iv. 13, "Behold, a watcher and a Holy one came down from Heaven." The +practice of naming churches after tutelary saints, originated, no doubt, +in the conviction that, where the church was pure, and the faith true, and +the congregation pious, these guardian angels, so chosen, would accept the +office assigned them. They were generally chosen from the Seraphim and +Cherubim--those who, according to St. Paul (1 Colossians xvi.), +represented thrones, dominions, principalities, and powers. According to +the Hebrew traditions, St. Michael was the head of the first order; +Gabriel, of the second; Uriel, of the third; and Raphael, of the fourth. +St. Michael is the warrior angel who led the hosts of the sky against the +powers of the princes of the air; who overthrew the dragon, and trampled +him under foot. The destruction of the Anaconda, in his hands, would be a +smaller undertaking. Assuming for our people a hope not less rational than +that of the people of Nineveh, we may reasonably build upon the +guardianship and protection of God, through his angels, "a great city of +sixty thousand souls," which has been for so long a season the subject of +his care. These notes will supply the adequate illustrations for the ode +which follows.</p> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Aye, strike with sacrilegious aim<br /> + The temple of the living God;<br /> +Hurl iron bolt and seething flame<br /> + Through aisles which holiest feet have trod;<br /> +Tear up the altar, spoil the tomb,<br /> + And, raging with demoniac ire,<br /> +Send down, in sudden crash of doom,<br /> + That grand, old, sky-sustaining spire.</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>That spire, for full a hundred years,[1]<br /> + Hath been a people's point of sight;<br /> +That shrine hath warmed their souls to tears,<br /> + With strains well worthy Salem's height;<br /> +The sweet, clear music of its bells,<br /> + Made liquid soft in Southern air,<br /> +Still through the heart of memory swells,<br /> + And wakes the hopeful soul to prayer.</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>Along the shores for many a mile,<br /> + Long ere they owned a beacon-mark,<br /> +It caught arid kept the Day-God's smile,<br /> + The guide for every wandering bark;[2]<br /> +Averting from our homes the scaith<br /> + Of fiery bolt, in storm-cloud driven,<br /> +The Pharos to the wandering faith,<br /> + It pointed every prayer to Heaven!</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>Well may ye, felons of the time,<br /> + Still loathing all that's pure and free,<br /> +Add this to many a thousand crime<br /> + 'Gainst peace and sweet humanity:<br /> +Ye, who have wrapped our towns in flame,<br /> + Defiled our shrines, befouled our homes,<br /> +But fitly turn your murderous aim<br /> + Against Jehovah's ancient domes.</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>Yet, though the grand old temple falls,<br /> + And downward sinks the lofty spire,<br /> +Our faith is stronger than our walls,<br /> + And soars above the storm and fire.<br /> +Ye shake no faith in souls made free<br /> + To tread the paths their fathers trod;<br /> +To fight and die for liberty,<br /> + Believing in the avenging God!</p> + + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + + +<p>Think not, though long his anger stays,<br /> + His justice sleeps--His wrath is spent;<br /> +The arm of vengeance but delays,<br /> + To make more dread the punishment!<br /> +Each impious hand that lights the torch<br /> + Shall wither ere the bolt shall fall;<br /> +And the bright Angel of the Church,<br /> + With seraph shield avert the ball!</p> + + + +<h3>VII.</h3> + + +<p>For still we deem, as taught of old,<br /> + That where the faith the altar builds,<br /> +God sends an angel from his fold,<br /> + Whose sleepless watch the temple shields,<br /> +And to his flock, with sweet accord,<br /> + Yields their fond choice, from THRONES and POWERS;<br /> +Thus, Michael, with his fiery sword<br /> + And golden shield, still champions ours!</p> + + + +<h3>VIII.</h3> + + +<p>And he who smote the dragon down,<br /> + And chained him thousand years of time,<br /> +Need never fear the boa's frown,<br /> + Though loathsome in his spite and slime.<br /> +He, from the topmost height, surveys<br /> + And guards the shrines our fathers gave;<br /> +And we, who sleep beneath his gaze,<br /> + May well believe his power to save!</p> + + + +<h3>IX.</h3> + + +<p>Yet, if it be that for our sin<br /> + Our angel's term of watch is o'er,<br /> +With proper prayer, true faith must win<br /> + The guardian watcher back once more I<br /> +Faith, brethren of the Church, and prayer--<br /> + In blood and sackcloth, if it need;<br /> +And still our spire shall rise in air,<br /> + Our temple, though our people bleed!</p> + +<p>[1] St.. Michael's Church was opened for divine worship, February 1, 1761</p> + +<p>[2] "The height of this steeple makes it the principal land-mark for the +pilots."--Dalcjio (in 1819).</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="121"></a>Ode--"Shell the Old City! Shell!"</h1> + +<h2>By W. Gilmore Simms.</h2> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Shell the old city I shell!<br /> +Ye myrmidons of Hell;<br /> +Ye serve your master well,<br /> + With hellish arts!<br /> +Hurl down, with bolt and fire,<br /> +The grand old shrines, the spire;<br /> +But know, your demon ire<br /> +Subdues no hearts!</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>There, we defy ye still,<br /> +With sworn and resolute will;<br /> +Courage ye cannot kill<br /> + While we have breath!<br /> +Stone walls your bolts may break,<br /> +But, ere our souls ye shake,<br /> +Of the whole land we'll make<br /> + One realm of death!</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>Dear are our homes! our eyes<br /> +Weep at their sacrifice;<br /> +And, with each bolt that flies,<br /> + Each roof that falls,<br /> +The pang extorts the tear,<br /> +That things so precious, dear<br /> +To memory, love, and care,<br /> + Sink with our walls.</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>Trophies of ancient time,<br /> +When, with great souls, sublime,<br /> +Opposing force and crime,<br /> + Our fathers fought;<br /> +Relics of golden hours,<br /> +When, for our shrines and bowers,<br /> +Genius, with magic powers,<br /> + Her triumphs wrought!</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>Each Sabbath-hallowed dome,<br /> +Each ancient family home,<br /> +The dear old southwest room,<br /> + All trellised round;<br /> +Where gay, bright summer vines,<br /> +Linked in fantastic twines<br /> +With the sun's blazing lines,<br /> + Rubied the ground!</p> + + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + + +<p>Homes, sacred to the past,<br /> +Which bore the hostile blast,<br /> +Though Spain, France, Britain cast<br /> + Their shot and shell!<br /> +Tombs of the mighty dead,<br /> +That in our battles bled,<br /> +When on our infant head<br /> + These furies fell!</p> + + + +<h3>VII.</h3> + + +<p>Halls which the foreign guest +Found of each charm possessed, +With cheer unstinted blessed, + And noblest grace; +Where, drawing to her side +The stranger, far and wide, +Frank courtesy took pride + To give him place!</p> + + + +<h3>VIII.</h3> + + +<p>The shaded walks--the bowers<br /> +Where, through long summer hours,<br /> +Young Love first proved his powers<br /> + To win the prize;<br /> +Where every tree has heard<br /> +Some vows of love preferred,<br /> +And, with his leaves unstirred,<br /> + Watch'd lips and eyes.</p> + + + +<h3>IX.</h3> + + +<p>Gardens of tropic blooms,<br /> +That, through the shaded rooms,<br /> +Sent Orient-winged perfumes<br /> + With dusk and dawn;<br /> +The grand old laurel, tall,<br /> +As sovereign over all,<br /> +And, from the porch and hall,<br /> + The verdant lawn.</p> + + + +<h3>X.</h3> + + +<p>Oh! when we think of these<br /> +Old homes, ancestral trees;<br /> +Where, in the sun and breeze,<br /> + At morn and even,<br /> +Was to enjoy the play<br /> +Of hearts at holiday,<br /> +And find, in blooms of May,<br /> + Foretaste of Heaven!</p> + + + +<h3>XI.</h3> + + +<p>Where, as we cast our eyes<br /> +On thing's of precious prize,<br /> +Trophies of good and wise,<br /> + Grand, noble, brave;<br /> +And think of these, so late<br /> +Sacred to soul and state,<br /> +Doomed, as the wreck of fate,<br /> + By fiend and slave!--</p> + + + +<h3>XII.</h3> + + +<p>The inevitable pain,<br /> +Coursing through blood and brain,<br /> +Drives forth, like winter rain,<br /> + The bitter tear!<br /> +We cannot help but weep,<br /> +From depth of hearts that keep<br /> +The memories, dread and deep.<br /> + To vengeance dear!</p> + + + +<h3>XIII.</h3> + + +<p>Aye, for each tear we shed,<br /> +There shall be torrents red,<br /> +Not from the eye-founts fed,<br /> + But from the veins!<br /> +Bloody shall be the sweat,<br /> +Fiends, felons, that shall yet<br /> +Pay retribution's debt,<br /> + In torture's pains!</p> + + + +<h3>XIV.</h3> + + +<p>Our tears shall naught abate,<br /> +Of what we owe to hate--<br /> +To the avenging fate--<br /> + To earth and Heaven!<br /> +And, soon or late, the hour<br /> +Shall bring th' atoning power,<br /> +When, through the clouds that lower,<br /> + The storm-bolt's driven!</p> + + + +<h3>XV.</h3> + + +<p>Shell the old city--shell!<br /> +But, with each rooftree's knell,<br /> +Vows deep of vengeance fell,<br /> + Fire soul and eye!<br /> +With every tear that falls<br /> +Above our stricken walls<br /> +Each heart more fiercely calls,<br /> + "Avenge, or die!"</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="122"></a>"The Enemy Shall Never Reach Your City."</h1> + +<h2>Andrew Jackson's Address to the People of New Orleans.</h2> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Never, while such as ye are in the breach,<br /> +Oh! brothers, sons, and Southrons--never! never!<br /> +Shall the foul enemy your city reach!<br /> +For souls and hearts are eager with endeavor;<br /> +And God's own sanction on your cause, makes holy<br /> +Each arm that strikes for home, however lowly!--<br /> +And ye shall conquer by the rolling deep!--<br /> +And ye shall conquer on the embattled steep!--<br /> +And ye shall see Leviathan go down<br /> +A hundred fathoms, with a horrible cry<br /> +Of drowning wretches, in their agony--<br /> +While Slaughter wades in gore along the sands,<br /> +And Terror flies with pleading, outstretched hands,<br /> +All speechless, but with glassy-staring eyes--<br /> +Flying to Fate--and fated as he flies;--<br /> +Seeking his refuge in the tossing wave,<br /> +That gives him, when the shark has fed, a grave!</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>Thus saith the Lord of Battles: "Shall it be,<br /> +That this great city, planted by the sea,<br /> +With threescore thousand souls--with fanes and spires<br /> +Reared by a race of unexampled sires--<br /> +That I have watched, now twice a hundred years,[1]<br /> +Nursed through long infancy of hopes and fears,<br /> +Baptized in blood at seasons, oft in tears;<br /> +Purged with the storm and fire, and bade to grow<br /> +To greatness, with a progress firm but slow--<br /> +That being the grand condition of duration--<br /> +Until it spreads into the mighty nation!<br /> +And shall the usurper, insolent of power,<br /> +O'erwhelm it with swift ruin in an hour!<br /> +And hurl his bolts, and with a dominant will,<br /> +Say to its mighty heart--'Crouch, and be still!<br /> +My foot is on your neck! I am your Fate!<br /> +Can speak your doom, and make you desolate!'</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>"No! He shall know--I am the Lord of war;<br /> +And all his mighty hosts but pigmies are!<br /> +His hellish engines, wrought for human woe,<br /> +His arts and vile inventions, and his power,<br /> +My arm shall bring to ruin, swift and low!<br /> +Even now my bolts are aimed, my storm-clouds lower,<br /> +And I will arm my people with a faith,<br /> +Shall make them free of fear, and free of scaith;<br /> +Arid they shall bear from me a smiting sword,<br /> +Edged with keen lightning, at whose stroke is poured<br /> +A torrent of destruction and swift wrath,<br /> +Sweeping--the insolent legions from their path!<br /> +The usurper shall be taught that none shall take--<br /> +The right to punish and avenge from me:<br /> +And I will guard my City by the Sea,<br /> +And save its people for their fathers' sake!"</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>Selah!--Oh I brothers, sons, and Southrons, rise;<br /> +To prayer: and lo! the wonder in the skies!<br /> +The sunbow spans your towers, even while the foe<br /> +Hurls his fell bolt, and rains his iron blow.<br /> +Toss'd by his shafts, the spray above yon height[1]<br /> +God's smile hath turned into a golden light;<br /> +Orange and purple-golden! In that sign<br /> +Find ye fit promise for that voice divine!<br /> +Hark! 'tis the thunder! Through the murky air,<br /> +The solemn roll goes echoing far and near!<br /> +Go forth, and unafraid! His shield is yours!<br /> +And the great spirits of your earlier day--<br /> +Your fathers, hovering round your sacred shores--<br /> +Will guard your bosoms through the unequal fray!<br /> +Hark to their voices, issuing through the gloom:[2]<br /> +"The cruel hosts that haunt you, march to doom:<br /> +Give them the vulture's rites--a naked tomb!<br /> +And, while ye bravely smite, with fierce endeavor,<br /> +The foe shall reach your city--never! never!"</p> + + +<p>[1] Charleston was originally settled in 1671. She is now near 2 years +old.</p> + +<p>[2]In the late engagement of Fort Sumter, with the enemy's fleet, April +7th, the spray thrown above the walls by their enormous missiles, was +formed into a beautiful sunbow, seeing which, General Ripley, with the +piety of Constantine, exclaimed: "<i>In hoc signo vinces!</i>"</p> + + +<p>Charleston Mercury.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="123"></a>War-Waves.</h1> + +<h2>By Catherine Gendron Poyas, of Charleston.</h2> + + + +<p>What are the war-waves saying,<br /> + As they compass us around?<br /> +The dark, ensanguined billows,<br /> + With their deep and dirge-like sound?<br /> +Do they murmur of submission;<br /> + Do they call on us to bow<br /> +Our necks to the foe triumphant<br /> + Who is riding o'er us now?</p> + +<p>Never! No sound submissive<br /> + Comes from those waves sublime,<br /> +Or the low, mysterious voices<br /> + Attuned to their solemn chime!<br /> +For the hearts of our noble martyrs<br /> + Are the springs of its rich supply;<br /> +And those deeply mystic murmurs<br /> + Echo their dying cry!</p> + +<p>They bid us uplift our banner<br /> + Once more in the name of God;<br /> +And press to the goal of Freedom<br /> + By the paths our Fathers trod:<br /> +<i>They</i> passed o'er their dying brothers;<br /> + From their pale lips caught the sigh--<br /> +The <i>flame</i> of their hearts heroic,<br /> + From the flash of each closing eye!</p> + +<p>Up! Up! for the time is pressing,<br /> + The red waves close around;--<br /> +They will lift us on their billows<br /> + If our hearts are faithful found!<br /> +They will lift us high--exultant,<br /> + And the craven world shall see<br /> +The Ark of a ransomed people<br /> + Afloat on the crimson sea!</p> + +<p>Afloat, with her glorious banner--<br /> + The cross on its field of red,<br /> +Its stars, and its white folds waving<br /> + In triumph at her head;<br /> +Emblem of all that's sacred<br /> + Heralding Faith to view;<br /> +Type of unblemished honor;<br /> + Symbol of all that's true!</p> + +<p><i>Then</i> what can those waves be singing<br /> + But an anthem grand, sublime,<br /> +As they bear for our martyred heroes<br /> + A wail to the coast of Time?<br /> +What else as they roll majestic<br /> + To the far-off shadowy shore,<br /> +To join the Eternal chorus<br /> + When Time shall be no more!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="124"></a>Old Moultrie.</h1> + +<h2>By Catherine Gendron Poyas, of Charleston.</h2> + + + +<p>All lovers of poetry will know in whose liquid gold I have dipped my brush +to illumine the picture.</p> + + +<p>The splendor falls on bannered walls<br /> + Of ancient Moultrie, great in story;<br /> +And flushes now, his scar-seamed brow,<br /> + With rays of golden glory!<br /> + Great in his old renown;<br /> + Great in the honor thrown<br /> + Around him by the foe,<br /> + Had sworn to lay him low!</p> + +<p>The glory falls--historic walls<br /> + Too weak to cover foes insulting,<br /> +Become a tower--a sheltering bower--<br /> + A theme of joy exulting;<br /> + God, merciful and great,<br /> + Preserved the high estate<br /> + Of Moultrie, by His power<br /> + Through the fierce battle-hour!</p> + +<p>The splendor fell--his banners swell<br /> + Majestic forth to catch the shower;<br /> +Our own loved <i>blue</i> receives anew<br /> + A rich immortal dower!<br /> + Adown the triple bars<br /> + Of its companion, spars<br /> + Of golden glory stream;<br /> + On seven-rayed circlet beam!</p> + +<p>The glory falls--but not on walls<br /> + Of Sumter deemed <i>the post of duty</i>;<br /> +A brilliant sphere, it circles clear<br /> + The harbor in its beauty;<br /> + Holding in its embrace<br /> + The city's queenly grace;<br /> + Stern battery and tower,<br /> + Of manly strength and power,</p> + +<p>But brightest falls on Moultrie's walls,<br /> + Forever there to rest in glory,<br /> +A hallowed light--on buttress height--<br /> + Oh, fort, beloved and hoary!<br /> + Rest <i>there</i> and tell that <i>faith</i><br /> + Shall never suffer scaith;<br /> + <i>Rest there</i>-and glow afar--<br /> + <i>Hope's ever-burning star!</i></p> + +<p>Charleston Mercury</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="125"></a>Only One Killed.</h1> + +<h2>By Julia L. Keyes, Montgomery, Ala.</h2> + + + +<p>Only one killed--in company B,<br /> + 'Twas a trifling loss--one man!<br /> +A charge of the bold and dashing Lee--<br /> +While merry enough it was, to see<br /> + The enemy, as he ran.</p> + +<p>Only one killed upon our side--<br /> + Once more to the field they turn.<br /> +Quietly now the horsemen ride--<br /> +And pause by the form of the one who died,<br /> + So bravely, as now we learn.</p> + +<p>Their grief for the comrade loved and true<br /> + For a time was unconcealed;<br /> +They saw the bullet had pierced him through<br /> +That his pain was brief--ah! very few<br /> + Die thus, on the battle-field.</p> + +<p>The news has gone to his home, afar--<br /> + Of the short and gallant fight,<br /> +Of the noble deeds of the young La Var<br /> +Whose life went out as a falling star<br /> + In the skirmish of that night.</p> + +<p>"Only one killed! It was my son,"<br /> + The widowed mother cried.<br /> +She turned but to clasp the sinking one,<br /> +Who heard not the words of the victory won,<br /> + But of him who had bravely died.</p> + +<p>Ah! death to her were a sweet relief,<br /> + The bride of a single year.<br /> +Oh! would she might, with her weight of grief,<br /> +Lie down in the dust, with the autumn leaf<br /> + Now trodden and brown and sere!</p> + +<p>But no, she must bear through coming life<br /> + Her burden of silent woe,<br /> +The aged mother and youthful wife<br /> +Must live through a nation's bloody strife,<br /> + Sighing, and waiting to go.</p> + +<p>Where the loved are meeting beyond the stars,<br /> + Are meeting no more to part,<br /> +They can smile once more through the crystal bars--<br /> +Where never more will the woe of wars<br /> + O'ershadow the loving--heart.</p> + +<p>Field and Fireside.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="126"></a>Land of King Cotton.[1]</h1> + +<h2>Air--Red, White, and Blue.</h2> + +<h3>By J. Augustine Signaigo.</h3> + +<h4>From the Memphis Appeal, December 18, 1861.</h4> + + + +<p>Oh! Dixie, dear land of King Cotton,<br /> + "The home of the brave and the free,"<br /> +A nation by freedom begotten,<br /> + The terror of despots to be;<br /> +Wherever thy banner is streaming,<br /> + Base tyranny quails at thy feet,<br /> +And liberty's sunlight is beaming,<br /> + In splendor of majesty sweet.</p> + +<p>CHORUS.--Three cheers for our army so true,<br /> + Three cheers for Price, Johnston, and Lee;<br /> + Beauregard and our Davis forever,<br /> + The pride of the brave and the free!</p> + +<p>When Liberty sounds her war-rattle,<br /> + Demanding her right and her due,<br /> +The first land that rallies to battle<br /> + Is Dixie, the shrine of the true;<br /> +Thick as leaves of the forest in summer,<br /> + Her brave sons will rise on each plain,<br /> +And then strike, until each Vandal comer<br /> + Lies dead on the soil he would stain.<br /> +CHORUS.--Three cheers, etc.</p> + +<p>May the names of the dead that we cherish,<br /> + Fill memory's cup to the brim;<br /> +May the laurels they've won never perish,<br /> + "Nor star of their glory grow dim;"<br /> +May the States of the South never sever,<br /> + But the champions of freedom e'er be;<br /> +May they flourish Confederate forever,<br /> + The boast of the brave and the free.<br /> +CHORUS.--Three cheers, etc.</p> + +<p>[1] "Land of King Cotton" was the favorite song of the Tennessee troops, +but especially of the Thirteenth and One Hundred and Fifty-fourth +regiments.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="127"></a>If You Love Me.</h1> + +<h2>By J. Augustine Signaigo.</h2> + + + +<p>You have told me that you love me,<br /> + That you worship at my shrine;<br /> +That no purity above me<br /> + Can on earth be more divine.<br /> +Though the kind words you have spoken.<br /> + Sound to me most sweetly strange,<br /> +Will your pledges ne'er be broken?<br /> + Will there be in you no change?</p> + +<p>If you love me half so wildly--<br /> + Half so madly as you say,<br /> +Listen to me, darling, mildly--<br /> + Would you do aught I would pray?<br /> +If you would, then hear the thunder<br /> + Of our country's cannon speak!<br /> +While by war she's rent asunder,<br /> + Do not come my love to seek.</p> + +<p>If you love me, do not ponder,<br /> + Do not breathe what you would say,<br /> +Do not look at me with wonder,<br /> + Join your country in the fray.<br /> +Go! your aid and right hand lend her,<br /> + Breast the tyrant's angry blast:<br /> +Be her own and my defender--<br /> + Strike for freedom to the last,</p> + +<p>Then I'll vow to love none other,<br /> + While you nobly dare and do;<br /> +As you're faithful to our mother,<br /> + So I'll faithful prove to you.<br /> +But return not while the thunder<br /> + Lives in one invading sword;<br /> +Strike the despot's hirelings under--<br /> + Own no master but the Lord.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="128"></a>The Cotton Boll.</h1> + +<h2>By Henry Timrod.</h2> + + + +<p>While I recline<br /> +At ease beneath<br /> +This immemorial pine,<br /> +Small sphere!--<br /> +By dusky fingers brought this morning here?<br /> +And shown with boastful smiles,--<br /> +I turn thy cloven sheath,<br /> +Through which the soft white fibres peer,<br /> +That, with their gossamer bands,<br /> +Unite, like love, the sea-divided lands,<br /> +And slowly, thread by thread,<br /> +Draw forth the folded strands,<br /> +Than which the trembling line,<br /> +By whose frail help yon startled spider fled<br /> +Down the tall spear-grass from his swinging bed,<br /> +Is scarce more fine;<br /> +And as the tangled skein<br /> +Unravels in my hands,<br /> +Betwixt me and the noonday light,<br /> +A veil seems lifted, and for miles and miles<br /> +The landscape broadens on my sight,<br /> +As, in the little boll, there lurked a spell<br /> +Like that which, in the ocean shell,<br /> +With mystic sound,<br /> +Breaks down the narrow walls that hem us round,<br /> +And turns some city lane<br /> +Into the restless main,<br /> +With all his capes and isles!</p> + +<p>Yonder bird,--<br /> +Which floats, as if at rest,<br /> +In those blue tracts above the thunder, where<br /> +No vapors cloud the stainless air,<br /> +And never sound is heard,<br /> +Unless at such rare time<br /> +When, from the City of the Blest,<br /> +Rings down some golden chime,--<br /> +Sees not from his high place<br /> +So vast a cirque of summer space<br /> +As widens round me in one mighty field,<br /> +Which, rimmed by seas and sands,<br /> +Doth hail its earliest daylight in the beams<br /> +Of gray Atlantic dawns;<br /> +And, broad as realms made up of many lands,<br /> +Is lost afar<br /> +Behind the crimson hills and purple lawns<br /> +Of sunset, among plains which roll their streams<br /> +Against the Evening Star!<br /> +And lo!<br /> +To the remotest point of sight,<br /> +Although I gaze upon no waste of snow,<br /> +The endless field is white;<br /> +And the whole landscape glows,<br /> +For many a shining league away,<br /> +With such accumulated light<br /> +As Polar lands would flash beneath a tropic day!<br /> +Nor lack there (for the vision grows,<br /> +And the small charm within my hands--<br /> +More potent even than the fabled one,<br /> +Which oped whatever golden mystery<br /> +Lay hid in fairy wood or magic vale,<br /> +The curious ointment of the Arabian tale--<br /> +Beyond all mortal sense<br /> +Doth stretch my sight's horizon, and I see<br /> +Beneath its simple influence,<br /> +As if, with Uriel's crown,<br /> +I stood in some great temple of the Sun,<br /> +And looked, as Uriel, down)--<br /> +Nor lack there pastures rich and fields all green<br /> +With all the common gifts of God,<br /> +For temperate airs and torrid sheen<br /> +Weave Edens of the sod;<br /> +Through lands which look one sea of billowy gold<br /> +Broad rivers wind their devious ways;<br /> +A hundred isles in their embraces fold<br /> +A hundred luminous bays;<br /> +And through yon purple haze<br /> +Vast mountains lift their pluméd peaks cloud-crowned;<br /> +And, save where up their sides the ploughman creeps,<br /> +An unknown forest girds them grandly round,<br /> +In whose dark shades a future navy sleeps!<br /> +Ye stars, which though unseen, yet with me gaze<br /> +Upon this loveliest fragment of the earth!<br /> +Thou Sun, that kindlest all thy gentlest rays<br /> +Above it, as to light a favorite hearth!<br /> +Ye clouds, that in your temples in the West<br /> +See nothing brighter than its humblest flowers!<br /> +And, you, ye Winds, that on the ocean's breast<br /> +Are kissed to coolness ere ye reach its bowers!<br /> +Bear witness with me in my song of praise,<br /> +And tell the world that, since the world began,<br /> +No fairer land hath fired a poet's lays,<br /> +Or given a home to man!</p> + +<p>But these are charms already widely blown!<br /> +His be the meed whose pencil's trace<br /> +Hath touched our very swamps with grace,<br /> +And round whose tuneful way<br /> +All Southern laurels bloom;<br /> +The Poet of "The Woodlands," unto whom<br /> +Alike are known<br /> +The flute's low breathing and the trumpet's tone,<br /> +And the soft west-wind's sighs;<br /> +But who shall utter all the debt,<br /> +0 Land! wherein all powers are met<br /> +That bind a people's heart,<br /> +The world doth owe thee at this day,<br /> +And which it never can repay,<br /> +Yet scarcely deigns to own!<br /> +Where sleeps the poet who shall fitly sing<br /> +The source wherefrom doth spring<br /> +That mighty commerce which, confined<br /> +To the mean channels of no selfish mart,<br /> +Goes out to every shore<br /> +Of this broad earth, and throngs the sea with ships<br /> +That bear no thunders; hushes hungry lips<br /> +In alien lands;<br /> +Joins with a delicate web remotest strands;<br /> +And gladdening rich and poor,<br /> +Doth gild Parisian domes,<br /> +Or feed the cottage-smoke of English homes,<br /> +And only bounds its blessings by mankind!<br /> +In offices like these, thy mission lies,<br /> +My Country! and it shall not end<br /> +As long as rain shall fall and Heaven bend<br /> +In blue above thee; though thy foes be hard<br /> +And cruel as their weapons, it shall guard<br /> +Thy hearthstones as a bulwark; make thee great<br /> +In white and bloodless state;<br /> +And, haply, as the years increase--<br /> +Still working through its humbler reach<br /> +With that large wisdom which the ages teach--<br /> +Revive the half-dead dream of universal peace!</p> + +<p>As men who labor in that mine<br /> +Of Cornwall, hollowed out beneath the bed<br /> +Of ocean, when a storm rolls overhead,<br /> +Hear the dull booming of the world of brine<br /> +Above them, and a mighty muffled roar<br /> +Of winds and waters, and yet toil calmly on,<br /> +And split the rock, and pile the massive ore,<br /> +Or carve a niche, or shape the archéd roof;<br /> +So I, as calmly, weave my woof<br /> +Of song, chanting the days to come,<br /> +Unsilenced, though the quiet summer air<br /> +Stirs with the bruit of battles, and each dawn<br /> +Wakes from its starry silence to the hum<br /> +Of many gathering armies. Still,<br /> +In that we sometimes hear,<br /> +Upon the Northern winds the voice of woe<br /> +Not wholly drowned in triumph, though I know<br /> +The end must crown us, and a few brief years<br /> +Dry all our tears,<br /> +I may not sing too gladly. To Thy will<br /> +Resigned, O Lord! we cannot all forget<br /> +That there is much even Victory must regret.<br /> +And, therefore, not too long<br /> +From the great burden of our country's wrong<br /> +Delay our just release!</p> + +<p>And, if it may be, save<br /> +These sacred fields of peace<br /> +From stain of patriot or of hostile blood!<br /> +Oh, help us Lord! to roll the crimson flood<br /> +Back on its course, and, while our banners wing<br /> +Northward, strike with us! till the Goth shall cling<br /> +To his own blasted altar-stones, and crave<br /> +Mercy; and we shall grant it, and dictate<br /> +The lenient future of his fate<br /> +There, where some rotting ships and trembling quays<br /> +Shall one day mark the Port which ruled the Western seas.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="129"></a>The Battle of Charleston Harbor.</h1> + +<h2>April 7th, 1863.</h2> + +<h3>By Paul H. Hayne.</h3> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Two hours, or more, beyond the prime of a blithe April day,<br /> +The Northman's mailed "Invincibles" steamed up fair Charleston Bay;<br /> +They came in sullen file, and slow, low-breasted on the wave,<br /> +Black as a midnight front of storm, and silent as the grave.</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>A thousand warrior-hearts beat high as those dread monsters drew<br /> +More closely to the game of death across the breezeless blue,<br /> +And twice ten thousand hearts of those who watched the scene afar,<br /> +Thrill in the awful hush that bides the battle's broadening Star!</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>Each gunner, moveless by his gun, with rigid aspect stands,<br /> +The ready linstocks firmly grasped in bold, untrembling hands,<br /> +So moveless in their marbled calm, their stern heroic guise,<br /> +They looked like forms of statued stone with burning human eyes!</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>Our banners on the outmost walls, with stately rustling fold,<br /> +Flash back from arch and parapet the sunlight's ruddy gold--<br /> +They mount to the deep roll of drums, and widely-echoing cheers,<br /> +And then--once more, dark, breathless, hushed, wait the grim cannoneers.</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>Onward--in sullen file, and slow, low glooming on the wave,<br /> +Near, nearer still, the haughty fleet glides silent as the grave,<br /> +When sudden, shivering up the calm, o'er startled flood and shore,<br /> +Burst from the sacred Island Fort the thunder-wrath of yore![1]</p> + + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + + +<p>Ha! brutal Corsairs! tho' ye come thrice-cased in iron mail,<br /> +Beware the storm that's opening now, God's vengeance guides the hail!<br /> +Ye strive the ruffian types of Might 'gainst law, and truth, and Right,<br /> +Now quail beneath a sturdier Power, and own a mightier Might!</p> + + + +<h3>VII.</h3> + + +<p>No empty boast! I for while we speak, more furious, wilder, higher,<br /> +Dart from the circling batteries a hundred tongues of fire.<br /> +The waves gleam red, the lurid vault of heaven seems rent above.<br /> +Fight on! oh! knightly Gentlemen! for faith, and home, and love!</p> + + + +<h3>VIII.</h3> + + +<p>There's not in all that line of flame, one soul that would not rise,<br /> +To seize the Victor's wreath of blood, tho' Death must give the prize--<br /> +There's not in all this anxious crowd that throngs the ancient Town,<br /> +A maid who does not yearn for power to strike one despot down.</p> + + + +<h3>IX.</h3> + + +<p>The strife grows fiercer! ship by ship the proud Armada sweeps,<br /> +Where hot from Sumter's raging breast the volleyed lightning leaps;<br /> +And ship by ship, raked, overborne, 'ere burned the sunset bloom,<br /> +Crawls seaward, like a hangman's hearse bound to his felon tomb!</p> + + + +<h3>X.</h3> + + +<p>Oh! glorious Empress of the Main! from out thy storied spires,<br /> +Thou well mayst peal thy bells of joy, and light thy festal fires--<br /> +Since Heaven this day hath striven for thee, hath nerved thy dauntless sons,<br /> +And thou, in clear-eyed faith hast seen God's Angels near the guns!</p> + +<p> +[1] Fort Moultrie fired the first gun.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="130"></a>Fort Wagner.</h1> + +<h2>By W. Gilmore Simms.</h2> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Glory unto the gallant boys who stood<br /> + At Wagner, and, unflinching, sought the van;<br /> +Dealing fierce blows, and shedding precious blood,<br /> + For homes as precious, and dear rights of man!<br /> +They've won the meed, and they shall have the glory;--<br /> + Song, with melodious memories, shall repeat<br /> +The legend, which shall grow to themes for story,<br /> + Told through long ages, and forever sweet!</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>High honor to our youth--our sons and brothers,<br /> + Georgians and Carolinians, where they stand!<br /> +They will not shame their birthrights, or their mothers,<br /> + But keep, through storm, the bulwarks of the land!<br /> +They feel that they <i>must</i> conquer! Not to do it,<br /> + Were worse than death--perdition! Should they fail,<br /> +The innocent races yet unborn shall rue it,<br /> + The whole world feel the wound, and nations wail!</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>No! They must conquer in the breach or perish!<br /> + Assured, in the last consciousness of breath,<br /> +That love shall deck their graves, and memory cherish<br /> + Their deeds, with honors that shall sweeten death!<br /> +They shall have trophies in long future hours,<br /> + And loving recollections, which shall be<br /> +Green, as the summer leaves, and fresh as flowers,<br /> + That, through all seasons, bloom eternally!</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>Their memories shall be monuments, to rise<br /> + Next those of mightiest martyrs of the past;<br /> +Beacons, when angry tempests sweep the skies,<br /> + And feeble souls bend crouching to the blast!<br /> +A shrine for thee, young Cheves, well devoted,<br /> + Most worthy of a great, illustrious sire;--<br /> +A niche for thee, young Haskell, nobly noted,<br /> + When skies and seas around thee shook with fire!</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>And others as well chronicled shall be!<br /> + What though they fell with unrecorded name--<br /> +They live among the archives of the free,<br /> + With proudest title to undying fame!<br /> +The unchisell'd marble under which they sleep,<br /> + Shall tell of heroes, fearless still of fate;<br /> +Not asking if their memories shall keep,<br /> + But if they nobly served, and saved, the State!</p> + + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + + +<p>For thee, young Fortress Wagner--thou shalt wear<br /> + Green laurels, worthy of the names that now,<br /> +Thy sister forts of Moultrie, Sumter, bear!<br /> + See that thou lift'st, for aye, as proud a brow!<br /> +And thou shalt be, to future generations,<br /> + A trophied monument; whither men shall come<br /> +In homage; and report to distant nations,<br /> +A SHRINE, which foes shall never make a TOMB!</p> + +<p>Charleston Mercury.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="131"></a>Sumter in Ruins.</h1> + +<h2>By W. Gilmore Simms.</h2> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Ye batter down the lion's den,<br /> + But yet the lordly beast g'oes free;<br /> +And ye shall hear his roar again,<br /> +From mountain height, from lowland glen,<br /> +From sandy shore and reedy fen--<br /> +Where'er a band of freeborn men<br /> + Rears sacred shrines to liberty.</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>The serpent scales the eagle's nest,<br /> + And yet the royal bird, in air,<br /> +Triumphant wins the mountain's crest,<br /> +And sworn for strife, yet takes his rest,<br /> +And plumes, to calm, his ruffled breast,<br /> +Till, like a storm-bolt from the west,<br /> + He strikes the invader in his lair.</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>What's loss of den, or nest, or home,<br /> + If, like the lion, free to go;--<br /> +If, like the eagle, wing'd to roam,<br /> +We span the rock and breast the foam,<br /> +Still watchful for the hour of doom,<br /> +When, with the knell of thunder-boom,<br /> + We bound upon the serpent foe!</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>Oh! noble sons of lion heart!<br /> + Oh! gallant hearts of eagle wing!<br /> +What though your batter'd bulwarks part,<br /> +Your nest be spoiled by reptile art--<br /> +Your souls, on wings of hate, shall start<br /> +For vengeance, and with lightning-dart,<br /> + Rend the foul serpent ere he sting!</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>Your battered den, your shattered nest,<br /> + Was but the lion's crouching-place;--<br /> +It heard his roar, and bore his crest,<br /> +His, or the eagle's place of rest;--<br /> +But not the soul in either breast!<br /> +This arms the twain, by freedom bless'd,<br /> + To save and to avenge their race!</p> + +<p>Charleston Mercury.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="132"></a>Morris Island.</h1> + +<h2>By W. Gilmore Simms.</h2> + + + +<p>Oh! from the deeds well done, the blood well shed<br /> + In a good cause springs up to crown the land<br /> +With ever-during verdure, memory fed,<br /> + Wherever freedom rears one fearless band,<br /> +The genius, which makes sacred time and place,<br /> +Shaping the grand memorials of a race!</p> + +<p>The barren rock becomes a monument,<br /> + The sea-shore sands a shrine;<br /> +And each brave life, in desperate conflict spent,<br /> + Grows to a memory which prolongs a line!</p> + +<p>Oh! barren isle--oh! fruitless shore,<br /> + Oh! realm devoid of beauty--how the light<br /> +From glory's sun streams down for evermore,<br /> + Hallowing your ancient barrenness with bright!</p> + +<p>Brief dates, your lowly forts; but full of glory,<br /> + Worthy a life-long story;<br /> +Remembered, to be chronicled and read,<br /> + When all your gallant garrisons are dead;<br /> + And to be sung<br /> +While liberty and letters find a tongue!</p> + +<p>Taught by the grandsires at the ingle-blaze,<br /> + Through the long winter night;<br /> +Pored over, memoried well, in winter days,<br /> + While youthful admiration, with delight,<br /> +Hangs, breathless, o'er the tale, with silent praise;<br /> +Seasoning delight with wonder, as he reads<br /> +Of stubborn conflict and audacious deeds;<br /> + Watching the endurance of the free and brave,<br /> + Through the protracted struggle and close fight,<br /> +Contending for the lands they may not save,<br /> + Against the felon, and innumerous foe;<br /> +Still struggling, though each rampart proves a grave.<br /> + For home, and all that's dear to man below!</p> + +<p>Earth reels and ocean rocks at every blow;<br /> + But still undaunted, with a martyr's might,<br /> + They make for man a new Thermopylæ;<br /> +And, perishing for freedom, still go free!<br /> + Let but each humble islet of our coast<br /> +Thus join the terrible issue to the last;<br /> + And never shall the invader make his boast<br /> +Of triumph, though with mightiest panoply<br /> + He seeks to rend and rive, to blight and blast!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="133"></a>Promise of Spring.</h1> + + + +<p> The sun-beguiling breeze,<br /> + From the soft Cuban seas,<br /> +With life-bestowing kiss wakes the pride of garden bowers;<br /> + And lo! our city elms,<br /> + Have plumed with buds their helms,<br /> +And, with tiny spears salute the coming on of flowers.</p> + +<p> The promise of the Spring,<br /> + Is in every glancing wing<br /> +That tells its flight in song which shall long survive the flight;<br /> + And mocking Winter's glooms,<br /> + Skies, air and earth grow blooms,<br /> +With change as bless'd as ever came with passage of a night!</p> + +<p> Ah! could our hearts but share<br /> + The promise rich and rare,<br /> +That welcomes life to rapture in each happy fond caress,<br /> + That makes each innocent thing<br /> + Put on its bloom and wing,<br /> +Singing for Spring to come to the realm she still would bless!</p> + +<p> But, alas for us, no more<br /> + Shall the coming hour rescore<br /> +The glory, sweet and wonted, of the seasons to our souls;<br /> + Even as the Spring appears,<br /> + Her smiling makes our tears,<br /> +While with each bitter memory the torrent o'er us rolls.</p> + +<p> Even as our zephyrs sing<br /> + That they bring us in the Spring,<br /> +Even as our bird grows musical in ecstasy of flight--<br /> + We see the serpent crawl,<br /> + With his slimy coat o'er all,<br /> +And blended with the song is the hissing of his blight.</p> + +<p> We shudder at the blooms,<br /> + Which but serve to cover tombs--<br /> +At the very sweet of odors which blend venom with the breath;<br /> + Sad shapes look out from trees,<br /> + And in sky and earth and breeze,<br /> +We behold but the aspect of a Horror worse than Death!</p> + +<p>South Carolinian.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="134"></a>Spring.</h1> + +<h2>By Henry Timrod.</h2> + + + +<p>Spring, with that nameless pathos in the air<br /> +Which dwells with all things fair,<br /> +Spring, with her golden suns and silver rain,<br /> +Is with us once again.</p> + +<p>Out in the lonely woods the jasmine burns<br /> +Its fragrant lamps, and turns<br /> +Into a royal court with green festoons<br /> +The banks of dark lagoons.</p> + +<p>In the deep heart of every forest tree<br /> +The blood is all aglee,<br /> +And there's a look about the leafless bowers<br /> +As if they dreamed of flowers.</p> + +<p>Yet still on every side appears the hand<br /> +Of Winter in the land,<br /> +Save where the maple reddens on the lawn,<br /> +Flushed by the season's dawn;</p> + +<p>Or where, like those strange semblances we find<br /> +That age to childhood bind,<br /> +The elm puts on, as if in Nature's scorn,<br /> +The brown of Autumn corn.</p> + +<p>As yet the turf is dark, although you know<br /> +That, not a span below,<br /> +A thousand germs are groping through the gloom,<br /> +And soon will burst their tomb.</p> + +<p>Already, here and there, on frailest stems<br /> +Appear some azure gems,<br /> +Small as might deck, upon a gala day,<br /> +The forehead of a fay.</p> + +<p>In gardens you may see, amid the dearth,<br /> +The crocus breaking earth;<br /> +And near the snowdrop's tender white and green,<br /> +The violet in its screen.</p> + +<p>But many gleams and shadows need must pass<br /> +Along the budding grass,<br /> +And weeks go by, before the enamored South<br /> +Shall kiss the rose's mouth.</p> + +<p>Still there's a sense of blossoms yet unborn<br /> +In the sweet airs of morn;<br /> +One almost looks to see the very street<br /> +Grow purple at his feet.</p> + +<p>At times a fragrant breeze comes floating by<br /> +And brings, you know not why,<br /> +A feeling as when eager crowds await<br /> +Before a palace gate.</p> + +<p>Some wondrous pageant; and you scarce would start,<br /> +If from a beech's heart<br /> +A blue-eyed Dryad, stepping forth, should say<br /> +"Behold me! I am May!"</p> + +<p>Ah! who would couple thoughts of war and crime<br /> +With such a blessed time!<br /> +Who in the west-wind's aromatic breath<br /> +Could hear the call of Death!</p> + +<p>Yet not more surely shall the Spring awake<br /> +The voice of wood and brake,<br /> +Than she shall rouse, for all her tranquil charms<br /> +A million men to arms.</p> + +<p>There shall be deeper hues upon her plains<br /> +Than all her sunlight rains,<br /> +And every gladdening influence around<br /> +Can summon from the ground.</p> + +<p>Oh! standing on this desecrated mould,<br /> +Methinks that I behold,<br /> +Lifting her bloody daisies up to God,<br /> +Spring, kneeling on the sod,</p> + +<p>And calling with the voice of all her rills<br /> +Upon the ancient hills,<br /> +To fall and crush the tyrants and the slaves<br /> +Who turn her meads to graves.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="135"></a>Chickmauga--"The Stream of Death."</h1> + +<h2>Richmond Senitnel.</h2> + + + +<p>Chickamuga! Chickamauga!<br /> + O'er thy dark and turbid wave<br /> +Rolls the death-cry of the daring,<br /> + Rings the war-shout of the brave;<br /> +Round thy shore the red fires flashing,<br /> + Startling shot and screaming shell--<br /> +Chickamauga, stream of battle,<br /> + Who thy fearful tale shall tell?</p> + +<p>Olden memories of horror,<br /> + Sown by scourge of deadly plague,<br /> +Long hath clothed thy circling forests<br /> + With a terror vast and vague;<br /> +Now to gather further vigor<br /> + From the phantoms grim with gore,<br /> +Hurried, by war's wilder carnage,<br /> + To their graves on thy lone shore.</p> + +<p>Long, with hearts subdued and saddened,<br /> + As th' oppressor's hosts moved on,<br /> +Fell the arms of freedom backward,<br /> + Till our hopes had almost flown;<br /> +Till outspoke stern valor's fiat--<br /> + "<i>Here</i> th' invading wave shall stay;<br /> +<i>Here</i> shall cease the foe's proud progress;<br /> + <i>Here</i> be crushed his grand array!"</p> + +<p><i>Then</i> their eager hearts all throbbing,<br /> + Backward flashed each battle-flag<br /> +Of the veteran corps of Longstreet,<br /> + And the sturdy troops of Bragg;<br /> +Fierce upon the foemen turning,<br /> + All their pent-up wrath breaks out<br /> +In the furious battle-clangor,<br /> + And the frenzied battle-shout.</p> + +<p>Roll thy dark waves, Chickamauga,<br /> + Trembles all thy ghastly shore,<br /> +With the rude shock of the onset,<br /> + And the tumult's horrid roar;<br /> +As the Southern battle-giants<br /> + Hurl their bolts of death along,<br /> +Breckenridge, the iron-hearted,<br /> + Cheatham, chivalric and strong:</p> + +<p>Polk Preston--gallant Buckner,<br /> + Hill and Hindman, strong in might,<br /> +Cleburne, flower of manly valor,<br /> + Hood, the Ajax of the fight;<br /> +Benning, bold and hardy warrior,<br /> + Fearless, resolute Kershaw;<br /> +Mingle battle-yell and death-bolt,<br /> + Volley fierce and wild hurrah!</p> + +<p>At the volleys bleed their bodies,<br /> + At the fierce shout rise their souls,<br /> +While the fiery wave of vengeance<br /> + On their quailing column rolls;<br /> +And the parched throats of the stricken<br /> + Breathe for air the roaring flame,<br /> +Horrors of that hell foretasted,<br /> + Who shall ever dare to name!</p> + +<p>Borne by' those who, stiff and mangled,<br /> + Paid, upon that bloody field,<br /> +Direful, cringing, awe-struck homage<br /> + To the sword our heroes yield;<br /> +And who felt, by fiery trial,<br /> + That the men who will be free.<br /> +Though in conflict baffled often,<br /> + Ever will unconquered be!</p> + +<p>Learned, though long unchecked they spoil us,<br /> + Dealing desolation round,<br /> +Marking, with the tracks of ruin,<br /> + Many a rood of Southern ground;<br /> +Yet, whatever course they follow,<br /> + <i>Somewhere</i> in their pathway flows,<br /> +Dark and deep, a Chickamauga,<br /> + <i>Stream of death</i> to vandal foes!</p> + +<p>They have found it darkly flowing<br /> + By Manassas' famous plain,<br /> +And by rushing Shenandoah<br /> + Met the tide of woe again;<br /> +Chickahominy, immortal,<br /> + By the long, ensanguined fight,<br /> +Rappahannock, glorious river,<br /> + Twice renowned for matchless fight.</p> + +<p>Heed the story, dastard spoilers,<br /> + Mark the tale these waters tell,<br /> +Ponder well your fearful lesson,<br /> + And the doom that there befell;<br /> +Learn to shun the Southern vengeance,<br /> + Sworn upon the votive sword,<br /> +"<i>Every</i> stream a Chickamauga<br /> + To the vile invading horde!"</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="136"></a>In Memoriam</h1> + +<h2>Of Our Right-Revered Father in God, Leonidas Polk, Lieutenant-General +Confederate States Army.</h2> + + + +<p>Peace, troubled soul! The strife is done,<br /> + This life's fierce conflicts and its woes are ended:<br /> +There is no more--eternity begun,<br /> + Faith merged in sight--hope with fruition blended.<br /> + Peace, troubled soul!<br /> +The Warrior rests upon his bier,<br /> + Within his coffin calmly sleeping.<br /> + His requiem the cannon peals,<br /> + And heroes of a hundred fields<br /> + Their last sad watch are round him keeping.</p> + +<p>Joy, sainted soul! Within the vale<br /> + Of Heaven's great temple, is thy blissful dwelling;<br /> +Bathed in a light, to which the sun is pale,<br /> + Archangels' hymns in endless transports swelling.<br /> + Joy, sainted soul!<br /> +Back to her altar which he served,<br /> + The Holy Church her child is bringing.<br /> + The organ's wail then dies away,<br /> + And kneeling priests around him pray,<br /> + As <i>De Profundis</i> they are singing.</p> + +<p>Bring all the trophies, that are owed<br /> + To him at once so great, so good.<br /> +His Bible and his well-used sword--<br /> + His snowy lawn not "stained with blood!"<br /> +No! pure as when before his God,<br /> + He laid its spotless folds aside,<br /> +War's path of awful duty trod,<br /> + And on his country's altar died!</p> + +<p>Oh! Warrior-bishop, Church and State<br /> + Sustain in thee an equal loss;<br /> +But who would call thee from thy weight<br /> + Of glory, back to bear life's cross!<br /> +The Faith was kept--thy course was run,<br /> + Thy good fight finished; hence the word,<br /> +"Well done, oh! faithful child, well done,<br /> + Taste thou the mercies of thy Lord!"</p> + +<p>No dull decay nor lingering pain,<br /> + By slow degrees, consumed thy health,<br /> +A glowing messenger of flame<br /> + Translated thee by fiery death!<br /> +And we who in one common grief<br /> + Are bending now beneath the rod,<br /> +In this sweet thought may find relief,<br /> + "Our holy father walked with God,<br /> +And is not--God has taken him!"</p> + +<p>Viola.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="137"></a>"Stonewall" Jackson</h1> + +<h2>By H. L. Flash.</h2> + + + +<p>Not 'midst the lightning of the stormy fight<br /> +Not in the rush upon the vandal foe,<br /> +Did kingly death, with his resistless might,<br /> +Lay the great leader low!</p> + +<p>His warrior soul its earthly shackles bore<br /> +In the full sunshine of a peaceful town;<br /> +When all the storm, was hushed, the trusty oak<br /> +That propped our cause, went down.</p> + +<p>Though his alone the blood that flecks the ground,<br /> +Recording all his grand heroic deeds,<br /> +Freedom herself is writhing with his wound,<br /> +And all the country bleeds.</p> + +<p>He entered not the nation's "Promised Land,"<br /> +At the red belching of the cannon's mouth;<br /> +But broke the "House of Bondage" with his hand--<br /> +The Moses of the South!</p> + +<p>Oh, gracious God! not gainless is our loss:<br /> +A glorious sunbeam gilds Thy sternest frown;<br /> +And while his country staggers with the cross--<br /> +He rises with the crown!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="138"></a>"Stonewall" Jackson.--A Dirge.</h1> + + + +<p>Go to thy rest, great chieftain!<br /> +In the zenith of thy fame;<br /> +With the proud heart stilled and frozen,<br /> +No foeman e'er could tame;<br /> +With the eye that met the battle<br /> +As the eagle's meets the sun,<br /> +Rayless-beneath its marble lid,<br /> +Repose-thou mighty one!</p> + +<p>Yet ill our cause could spare thee;<br /> +And harsh the blow of fate<br /> +That struck its staunchest pillar<br /> +From 'neath our dome of state.<br /> +Of thee, as of the Douglas,<br /> +We say, with Scotland's king,<br /> +"There is not one to take his place<br /> +In all the knightly ring."</p> + +<p>Thou wert the noblest captain<br /> +Of all that martial host<br /> +That front the haughty Northman,<br /> +And put to shame his boast.<br /> +Thou wert the strongest bulwark<br /> +To stay the tide of fight;<br /> +The name thy soldiers gave thee<br /> +Bore witness of thy might!</p> + +<p>But we may not weep above thee;<br /> +This is no time for tears!<br /> +Thou wouldst not brook their shedding,<br /> +Oh! saint among thy peers!<br /> +Couldst thou speak from yonder heaven,<br /> +Above us smiling spread,<br /> +Thou wouldst not have us pause, for grief,<br /> +On the blood-stained path we tread!</p> + +<p>Not--while our homes in ashes<br /> +Lie smouldering on the sod!<br /> +Not--while our houseless women<br /> +Send up wild wails to God!<br /> +Not--while the mad fanatic<br /> +Strews ruin on his track!<br /> +<i>Dare</i> any Southron give the rein<br /> +To feeling, and look back!</p> + +<p>No! Still the cry is "onward!"<br /> +This is no time for tears;<br /> +No I Still the word is "vengeance!"<br /> +Leave ruth for coming years.<br /> +We will snatch thy glorious banner<br /> +From thy dead and stiffening hand,<br /> +And high, 'mid battle's deadly storm,<br /> +We'll bear it through the land.</p> + +<p>And all who mark it streaming--<br /> +Oh! soldier of the cross!--<br /> +Shall gird them with a fresh resolve<br /> +Sternly to avenge our loss;<br /> +Whilst thou, enrolled a martyr,<br /> +Thy sacred mission shown,<br /> +Shalt lay the record of our wrongs<br /> +Before the Eternal throne!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="139"></a>Beaufort.</h1> + +<h2>By W. J. Grayson, of South Carolina.</h2> + + + +<p>Old home! what blessings late were yours;<br /> + The gifts of peace, the songs of joy!<br /> +Now, hostile squadrons seek your shores,<br /> + To ravage and destroy.</p> + +<p>The Northman comes no longer there,<br /> + With soft address and measured phrase,<br /> +With bated breath, and sainted air,<br /> + And simulated praise.</p> + +<p>He comes a vulture to his prey;<br /> + A wolf to raven in your streets:<br /> +Around on shining stream and bay<br /> + Gather his bandit fleets.</p> + +<p>They steal the pittance of the poor;<br /> + Pollute the precincts of the dead;<br /> +Despoil the widow of her store,--<br /> + The orphan of his bread.</p> + +<p>Crimes like their crimes--of lust and blood,<br /> + No Christian land has known before;<br /> +Oh, for some scourge of fire and flood,<br /> + To sweep them from the shore!</p> + +<p>Exiles from home, your people fly,<br /> + In adverse fortune's hardest school;<br /> +With swelling breast and flashing eye--<br /> + They scorn the tyrant's rule!</p> + +<p>Away, from all their joys away,<br /> + The sports that active youth engage;<br /> +The scenes where childhood loves to play,<br /> + The resting-place of age.</p> + +<p>Away, from fertile field and farm;<br /> + The oak-fringed island-homes that seem<br /> +To sit like swans, with matchless charm,<br /> + On sea-born sound and stream.</p> + +<p>Away, from palm-environed coast,<br /> + The beach that ocean beats in vain;<br /> +The Royal Port, your pride and boast,<br /> + The loud-resounding main.</p> + +<p>Away, from orange groves that glow<br /> + With golden fruit or snowy flowers,<br /> +Roses that never cease to blow,<br /> + Myrtle and jasmine bowers.</p> + +<p>From these afar, the hoary bead<br /> + Of feeble age, the timid maid,<br /> +Mothers and nurslings, all have fled,<br /> + Of ruthless foes afraid.</p> + +<p>But, ready, with avenging hand,<br /> + By wood and fen, in ambush lie<br /> +Your sons, a stern, determined band,<br /> + Intent to do or die.</p> + +<p>Whene'er the foe advance to dare<br /> + The onset, urged by hate and wrath,<br /> +Still have they found, aghast with fear,<br /> + A Lion in the path.</p> + +<p>Scourged, to their ships they wildly rush,<br /> + Their shattered ranks to shield and save,<br /> +And learn how hard a task to crush<br /> + The spirit of the brave.</p> + +<p>Oh, God! Protector of the right,<br /> + The widows' stay, the orphans' friend,<br /> +Restrain the rage of lawless might,<br /> + The wronged and crushed defend!</p> + +<p>Be guide and helper, sword and shield!<br /> + From hill and vale, where'er they roam,<br /> +Bring back the yeoman to his field,<br /> + The exile to his home!</p> + +<p>Pastors and scattered flocks restore;<br /> + Their fanes rebuild, their altars raise;<br /> +And let their quivering lips once more<br /> + Rejoice in songs of praise!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="140"></a>The Empty Sleeve.</h1> + +By Dr. J. R. Bagby, Of Virginia. + + + +<p>Tom, old fellow, I grieve to see<br /> + The sleeve hanging loose at your side<br /> +The arm you lost was worth to me<br /> + Every Yankee that ever died.<br /> +But you don't mind it at all;<br /> + You swear you've a beautiful stump,<br /> +And laugh at that damnable ball--<br /> + Tom, I knew you were always a trump.</p> + +<p>A good right arm, a nervy hand,<br /> + A wrist as strong as a sapling oak,<br /> +Buried deep in the Malverri sand--<br /> + To laugh at that, is a sorry joke.<br /> +Never again your iron grip<br /> + Shall I feel in my shrinking palm--<br /> +Tom, Tom, I see your trembling lip;<br /> + All within is not so calm.</p> + +<p>Well! the arm is gone, it is true;<br /> + But the one that is nearest the heart<br /> +Is left--and that's as good as two;<br /> + Tom, old fellow, what makes you start?<br /> +Why, man, <i>she</i> thinks that empty sleeve<br /> + A badge of honor; so do I,<br /> +And all of us:--I do believe<br /> + The fellow is going to cry!</p> + +<p>"She deserves a perfect man," you say;<br /> + "You were not worth her in your prime:"<br /> +Tom! the arm that has turned to clay,<br /> + Your whole body has made sublime;<br /> +For you have placed in the Malvern earth<br /> + The proof and pledge of a noble life--<br /> +And the rest, henceforward of higher worth,<br /> + Will be dearer than all to your wife.</p> + +<p>I see the people in the street<br /> + Look at your sleeve with kindling eyes;<br /> +And you know, Torn, there's naught so sweet<br /> + As homage shown in mute surmise.<br /> +Bravely your arm in battle strove,<br /> + Freely for Freedom's sake, you gave it;<br /> +It has perished--but a nation's love<br /> + In proud remembrance will save it.</p> + +<p>Go to your sweetheart, then, forthwith--<br /> + You're a fool for staying so long--<br /> +Woman's love you'll find no myth,<br /> + But a truth; living, tender, strong.<br /> +And when around her slender belt<br /> + Your left is clasped in fond embrace,<br /> +Your right will thrill, as if it felt,<br /> + In its grave, the usurper's place.</p> + +<p>As I look through the coming years,<br /> + I see a one-armed married man;<br /> +A little woman, with smiles and tears,<br /> + Is helping--as hard as she can<br /> +To put on his coat, to pin his sleeve,<br /> + Tie his cravat, and cut his food;<br /> +And I say, as these fancies I weave,<br /> + "That is Tom, and the woman he wooed."</p> + +<p>The years roll on, and then I see<br /> + A wedding picture, bright and fair;<br /> +I look closer, and its plain to me<br /> + That is Tom with the silver hair.<br /> +He gives away the lovely bride,<br /> + And the guests linger, loth to leave<br /> +The house of him in whom they pride--<br /> + "Brave old Tom with the empty sleeve."</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="141"></a>The Cotton-Burners' Hymn.</h1> + + + +<p>"On yesterday, all the cotton in Memphis, and throughout the country, +was burned. Probably not less than 300,000 bales have been burned in the +last three days, in West Tennessee and North Mississippi."--<i>Memphis +Appeal.</i></p> + + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<p>Lo! where Mississippi rolls<br /> + Oceanward its stream,<br /> +Upward mounting, folds on folds,<br /> + Flaming fire-tongues gleam;<br /> +'Tis the planters' grand oblation<br /> + On the altar of the nation;<br /> +'Tis a willing sacrifice--<br /> +Let the golden incense rise--<br /> +Pile the Cotton to the skies!<br /> + CHORUS--Lo! the sacrificial flame<br /> + Gilds the starry dome of night!<br /> + Nations! read the mute acclaim--<br /> + 'Tis for liberty we fight!<br /> + Homes! Religion! Right!</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>Never such a golden light<br /> + Lit the vaulted sky;<br /> +Never sacrifice as bright,<br /> + Rose to God on high:<br /> +Thousands oxen, what were they<br /> +To the offering we pay?<br /> +And the brilliant holocaust--<br /> +When the revolution's past--<br /> +In the nation's songs will last!<br /> + CHORUS-Lo! the sacrificial flame, etc.</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>Though the night be dark above,<br /> + Broken though the shield--<br /> +Those who love us, those we love,<br /> + Bid us never yield:<br /> +Never! though our bravest bleed,<br /> +And the vultures on them feed;<br /> +Never! though the Serpents' race--<br /> +Hissing hate and vile disgrace--<br /> +By the million should menace!<br /> + CHORUS-Lo! the sacrificial flame, etc.</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>Pile the Cotton to the skies;<br /> + Lo! the Northmen gaze;<br /> +England! see our sacrifice--<br /> + See the Cotton blaze!<br /> +God of nations! now to Thee,<br /> +Southrons bend th' imploring knee;<br /> +'Tis our country's hour of need--<br /> +Hear the mothers intercede--<br /> +Hear the little children plead!<br /> + CHORUS-Lo! the sacrificial flame, etc.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="142"></a>Reading the List.</h1> + + + +<p>"Is there any news of the war?" she said--<br /> +"Only a list of the wounded and dead,"<br /> + Was the man's reply,<br /> + Without lifting his eye<br /> + To the face of the woman standing by.<br /> +"'Tis the very thing--I want," she said;<br /> +"Read me a list of the wounded and dead."</p> + +<p>He read the list--'twas a sad array<br /> +Of the wounded and killed in the fatal fray;<br /> + In the very midst, was a pause to tell<br /> + Of a gallant youth, who fought so well<br /> +That his comrades asked: "Who is he, pray?"<br /> +"The only son of the Widow Gray,"<br /> + Was the proud reply<br /> + Of his Captain nigh.<br /> +What ails the woman standing near?<br /> +Her face has the ashen hue of fear!</p> + +<p>"Well, well, read on; is he wounded? quick!<br /> +Oh God! but my heart is sorrow-sick!"<br /> + "Is he wounded? No! he fell, they say,<br /> + Killed outright on that fatal day."<br /> + But see, the woman has swooned away!</p> + +<p>Sadly she opened her eyes to the light;<br /> +Slowly recalled the events of the fight;<br /> +Faintly she murmured: "Killed outright!<br /> + It has cost me the life of my only son;<br /> + But the battle is fought, and the victory won;<br /> + The will of the Lord, let it be done!"</p> + +<p>God pity the cheerless Widow Gray,<br /> +And send from the halls of eternal day,<br /> +The light of His peace to illumine her way!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="143"></a>His Last Words.</h1> + + + +<p>"A few moments before his death (Stonewall Jackson) he called out in his +delirium: 'Order A.P. Hill to prepare for action. Pass the infantry +rapidly to the front. Tell Major Hawks--.' Here the sentence was left +unfinished. Bat, soon after, a sweet smile overspread his face, and he +murmured quietly, with an air of relief: 'Let us cross the river and rest +under the shade of the trees.' These were his last words; and, without any +expression of pain, or sign of struggle, his spirit passed away."</p> + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Come, let us cross the river, and rest beneath the trees,<br /> +And list the merry leaflets at sport with every breeze;<br /> +Our rest is won by fighting, and Peace awaits us there.<br /> +Strange that a cause so blighting produces fruit so fair!</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>Come, let us cross the river, those that have gone before,<br /> +Crush'd in the strife for freedom, await on yonder shore;<br /> +So bright the sunshine sparkles, so merry hums the breeze,<br /> +Come, let us cross the river, and rest beneath the trees.</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>Come, let us cross the river, the stream that runs so dark:<br /> +'Tis none but cowards quiver, so let us all embark.<br /> +Come, men with hearts undaunted, we'll stem the tide with ease,<br /> +We'll cross the flowing river, and rest beneath the trees.</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>Come, let us cross the river, the dying hero cried,<br /> +And God, of life the giver, then bore him o'er the tide.<br /> +Life's wars for him are over, the warrior takes his ease,<br /> +There, by the flowing river, at rest beneath the trees.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="144"></a>Charge of Hagood's Brigade.</h1> + +<h2>Weldon Railroad, August 21, 1864.</h2> + + + +<p>The following lines were written in the summer of 1864, immediately after +the charge referred to in them, which was always considered by the brigade +as their most desperate encounter.</p> + + +<p>Scarce seven hundred men they stand<br /> + In tattered, rude array,<br /> +A remnant of that gallant band,<br /> +Who erstwhile held the sea-girt strand<br /> +Of Morris' isle, with iron hand<br /> + 'Gainst Yankees' hated sway.</p> + +<p>SECESSIONVILLE their banner claims,<br /> +And SUMTER, held 'mid smoke and flames,<br /> +And the dark battle on the streams<br /> + Of POCOTALIGO:<br /> +And WALTHALL'S JUNCTION'S hard-earned fight,<br /> +And DREWRY'S BLUFF'S embattled height,<br /> +Whence, at the gray dawn of the light,<br /> + They rushed upon the foe.</p> + +<p>Tattered and torn those banners now,<br /> +But not less proud each lofty brow,<br /> + Untaught as yet to yield:<br /> +With mien unblenched, unfaltering eye,<br /> +Forward, where bombshells shrieking fly<br /> +Flecking with smoke the azure sky<br /> + On Weldon's fated field.</p> + +<p>Sweeps from the woods the bold array,<br /> +Not theirs to falter in the fray,<br /> +No men more sternly trained than they<br /> + To meet their deadly doom:<br /> +While, from a hundred throats agape,<br /> +A hundred sulphurous flames escape,<br /> +Round shot, and canister, and grape,<br /> + The thundering cannon's boom!</p> + +<p>Swift, on their flank, with fearful crash<br /> +Shrapnel and ball commingling clash,<br /> +And bursting shells, with lurid flash,<br /> + Their dazzled sight confound:<br /> +Trembles the earth beneath their feet,<br /> +Along their front a rattling sheet<br /> +Of leaden hail concentric meet,<br /> + And numbers strew the ground.</p> + +<p>On, o'er the dying and the dead,<br /> +O'er mangled limb and gory head,<br /> +With martial look, with martial tread,<br /> +March Hagood's men to bloody bed,<br /> + Honor their sole reward;<br /> +Himself doth lead their battle line,<br /> + Himself those banners guard.</p> + +<p>They win the height, those gallant few,<br /> +A fiercer struggle to renew,<br /> +Resolved as gallant men to do<br /> + Or sink in glory's shroud;<br /> +But scarcely gain its stubborn crest,<br /> +Ere, from the ensign's murdered breast,<br /> +An impious foe has dared to wrest<br /> + That banner proud.</p> + +<p>Upon him, Hagood, in thy might!<br /> +Flash on thy soul th' immortal light<br /> +Of those brave deeds that blazon bright<br /> + Our Southern Cross.<br /> +He dies. Unfurl its folds again,<br /> +Let it wave proudly o'er the plain;<br /> +The dying shall forget their pain,<br /> + Count not their loss.</p> + +<p>Then, rallying to your chieftain's call,<br /> +Ploughed through by cannon-shot and ball<br /> +Hemmed in, as by a living wall,<br /> + Cleave back your way.<br /> +Those bannered deeds their souls inspire,<br /> +Borne, amid sheets of forkéd fire,<br /> +By the Two Hundred who retire<br /> + Of that array.</p> + +<p>Ah, Carolina! well the tear<br /> +May dew thy cheek; thy clasped hands rear<br /> +In passion, o'er their tombless bier,<br /> + Thy fallen chivalry!<br /> +Malony, mirror of the brave,<br /> +And Sellers lie in glorious grave;<br /> +No prouder fate than theirs, who gave<br /> + Their lives for Liberty.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="145"></a>Carolina.</h1> + +<h2>April 14, 1861.</h2> + +<h3>By John A. Wagener, of S.C.</h3> + + + +<p>Carolina! Carolina!<br /> + Noble name in State and story,<br /> + How I love thy truthful glory,<br /> + As I love the blue sky o'er ye,<br /> + Carolina evermore!</p> + +<p>Carolina! Carolina!<br /> +Land of chivalry unfearing,<br /> +Daughters fair beyond comparing,<br /> +Sons of worth, and noble daring,<br /> +Carolina evermore!</p> + +<p>Carolina! Carolina!<br /> +Soft thy clasp in loving greeting,<br /> +Plenteous board and kindly meeting,<br /> +All thy pulses nobly beating,<br /> +Carolina evermore!</p> + +<p>Carolina! Carolina!<br /> +Green thy valleys, bright thy heaven,<br /> +Bold thy streams through forest riven,<br /> +Bright thy laurels, hero-given,<br /> +Carolina evermore!</p> + +<p>Carolina! Carolina!<br /> +Holy name, and dear forever,<br /> +Never shall thy childen, never,<br /> +Fail to strike with grand endeavor,<br /> +Carolina evermore!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="146"></a>Savannah.</h1> + +<h2>By Alethea S. Burroughs.</h2> + + + +<p>Thou hast not drooped thy stately head,<br /> +Thy woes a wondrous beauty shed!<br /> +Not like a lamb to slaughter led,<br /> +But with the lion's monarch tread,<br /> +Thou eomest to thy battle bed,<br /> + Savannah! oh, Savannah!</p> + +<p>Thine arm of flesh is girded strong;<br /> +The blue veins swell beneath thy wrong;<br /> +To thee, the triple cords belong,<br /> +Of woe, and death, and shameless wrong,<br /> +And spirit vaunted long, <i>too</i> long!<br /> + Savannah! oh, Savannah!</p> + +<p>No blood-stains spot thy forehead fair;<br /> +Only the martyrs' blood is there;<br /> +It gleams upon thy bosom bier,<br /> +It moves thy deep, deep soul to prayer,<br /> +And tunes a dirge for thy sad ear,<br /> + Savannah! oh, Savannah!</p> + +<p>Thy clean white hand is opened wide<br /> +For weal or woe, thou Freedom Bride;<br /> +The sword-sheath sparkles at thy side,<br /> +Thy plighted troth, whate'er betide,<br /> +Thou hast but Freedom for thy guide,<br /> + Savannah! oh, Savannah!</p> + +<p>What though the heavy storm-cloud lowers--<br /> +Still at thy feet the old oak towers;<br /> +Still fragrant are thy jessamine bowers,<br /> +And things of beauty, love, and flowers<br /> +Are smiling o'er this land of ours,<br /> + My sunny home, Savannah!</p> + +<p>There is no film before thy sight--<br /> +Thou seest woe, and death, and night--<br /> +And blood upon thy banner bright;<br /> +But in thy full wrath's kindled might,<br /> +What carest <i>thou</i> for woe, or night?<br /> + My rebel home, Savannah!</p> + +<p>Come--for the crown is on thy head!<br /> +Thy woes a wondrous beauty shed,<br /> +Not like a lamb to slaughter led,<br /> +But with the lion's monarch tread,<br /> +Oh! come unto thy battle bed,<br /> + Savannah! oh, Savannah!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="147"></a>"Old Betsy."</h1> + +<h2>By John Killum.</h2> + + + +<p>Come, with the rifle so long in your keeping,<br /> + Clean the old gun up and hurry it forth;<br /> +Better to die while "Old Betsy" is speaking,<br /> + Than live with arms folded, the slave of the North.</p> + +<p>Hear ye the yelp of the North-wolf resounding,<br /> + Scenting the blood of the warm-hearted South;<br /> +Quick! or his villainous feet will be bounding<br /> + Where the gore of our maidens may drip from his mouth.</p> + +<p>Oft in the wildwood "Old Bess" has relieved you,<br /> + When the fierce bear was cut down in his track--<br /> +If at that moment she never deceived you,<br /> + Trust her to-day with this ravenous pack.</p> + +<p>Then come with the rifle so long in your keeping,<br /> + Clean the old girl up and hurry her forth;<br /> +Better to die while "Old Betsy" is speaking,<br /> + Than live with arms folded, the slave of the North.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="148"></a>Awake--Arise!</h1> + +<h2>By G. W. Archer, M. D.</h2> + + + +<p>Sons of the South--awake--arise!<br /> + A million foes sweep down amain,<br /> +Fierce hatred gleaming in their eyes,<br /> + And fire and rapine in their train,<br /> + Like savage Hun and merciless Dane!<br /> + "We come as brothers!" Trust them not!<br /> + By all that's dear in heaven and earth,<br /> + By every tie that hath its birth<br /> + Within your homes--around your hearth;<br /> +Believe me, 'tis a tyrant's plot,<br /> + Worse for the fair and sleek disguise--<br /> +A traitor in a patriot's cloak!<br /> + "Your country's good<br /> + Demands your blood!"<br /> +Was it a fiend from hell that spoke?</p> + +<p>They point us to the Stripes and Stars;<br /> + (Our banner erst--the despot's now!)<br /> +But let not thoughts of by-gone wars,<br /> + When beat we back the common foe,<br /> + And felled them fast and shamed them so,<br /> +Divide us at this fearful hour;<br /> + But think of dungeons and of chains--<br /> + Think of your violated fanes--<br /> + Of your loved homestead's gory stains--<br /> +Eternal thraldom for your dower!<br /> +No love of country fires their breasts--<br /> +The fell fanatics fain would free<br /> + A grovelling race,<br /> + And in their place<br /> +Would fetter us with fiendish glee!</p> + +<p>Sons of the South--awake--awake!<br /> + And strike for rights full dear as those<br /> + For which our struggling sires did shake<br /> + Earth's proudest throne--while freedom rose,<br /> + Baptized in blood of braggart foes.<br /> +Awake--that hour hath come again!<br /> + Strike! as ye look to Heaven's high throne--<br /> + Strike! for the Christian patriot's crown--<br /> + Strike! in the name of Washington,<br /> +Who taught you once to rend the chain,<br /> + Smiles now from heaven upon our cause,<br /> +So like his own. His spirit moves<br /> + Through every fight,<br /> + And lends its might<br /> +To every heart that freedom loves.</p> + +<p>Ye beauteous of the sunny land!<br /> + Unmatched your charms in all the earth,<br /> +'Neath freedom's banner take your stand;<br /> + And, though ye strike not, prove your worth,<br /> + As wont in days of joy and mirth:<br /> +Lavish your praises on the brave--<br /> + Pray when the battle fiercely lowers--<br /> + Smile when the victory is ours--<br /> + Frown on the wretch who basely cowers--<br /> +Mourn o'er each fallen hero's grave!<br /> + Lend thus your favors whilst we smite!<br /> +Full soon we'll crush this vandal host!--<br /> + With woman's charms<br /> + To nerve their arms,<br /> +Oh! when have men their freedom lost!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="149"></a>General Albert Sidney Johnston.</h1> + +<h2>By Mary Jervy, of Charleston.</h2> + + + +<p>In thickest fight triumphantly he fell,<br /> + While into victory's arms he led us on;<br /> +A death so glorious our grief should quell:<br /> + We mourn him, yet his battle-crown is won.</p> + +<p>No slanderous tongue can vex his spirit now,<br /> + No bitter taunts can stain his blood-bought fame<br /> +Immortal honor rests upon his brow,<br /> + And noble memories cluster round his name.</p> + +<p>For hearts shall thrill and eyes g-row dim with tears,<br /> + To read the story of his touching fate;<br /> +How in his death the gallant soldier wears<br /> + The crown that came for earthly life too late.</p> + +<p>Ye people! guard his memory--sacred keep<br /> + The garlands green above his hero-grave;<br /> +Yet weep, for praise can never wake his sleep,<br /> + To tell him he is shrined among the brave!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="150"></a>Eulogy of the Dead.</h1> + +<h2>By B. F. Porter, of Alabama.</h2> + + + +<p><i>"Weep not for the dead; neither bemoan him"--Jeremiah.</i></p> + +<p>Oh! weep not for the dead,<br /> +Whose blood, for freedom shed,<br /> +Is hallowed evermore!<br /> +Who on the battle-field<br /> +Gould die--but never yield!<br /> +Oh, bemoan them never more--<br /> +They live immortal in their gore!</p> + +<p>Oh, what is it to die<br /> +Midst shouts of victory,<br /> +Our rights and homes defending!<br /> +Oh! what were fame and life<br /> +Gained in that basest strife<br /> +For tyrants' power contending,<br /> +Our country's bosom rending!</p> + +<p>Oh! dead of red Manassah!<br /> +Oh! dead of Shiloh's fray!<br /> +Oh! victors of the Richmond field!<br /> +Dead on your mother's breast,<br /> +You live in glorious rest;<br /> +Each on[1] his honored shield,<br /> +Immortal in each bloody field!</p> + +<p>Oh! sons of noble mothers!<br /> +Oh! youth of maiden lovers!<br /> +Oh! husbands of chaste wives!<br /> +Though asleep in beds of gore,<br /> +You return, oh! never more;<br /> +Still immortal are your lives!<br /> +Immortal mothers! lovers! wives!</p> + +<p>How blest is he who draws<br /> +His sword in freedom's cause!<br /> +Though dead on battle-field,<br /> +Forever to his tomb<br /> +Shall youthful heroes come,<br /> +Their hearts for freedom steeled,<br /> +And learn to die on battle-field.</p> + +<p>As at Thermopylæ,<br /> +Grecian child of liberty;<br /> +Swears to despot ne'er to yield--<br /> +Here, by our glorious dead,<br /> +Let's revenge the blood they've shed,<br /> +Or die on bloody field,<br /> +By the sons who scorned to yield!</p> + +<p>Oh! mothers! lovers! wives!<br /> +Oh! weep no more--our lives<br /> +Are our country's evermore!<br /> +More glorious in your graves,<br /> +Than if living Lincoln's slaves,<br /> +Ye will perish never more,<br /> +Martyred on our fields of gore!</p> + +<p>[1] The Grecian mother, on sending her son to battle, pointing to his +shield, said--"With it, or on it."</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="151"></a>The Beaufort Exile's Lament.</h1> + + + +<p>Now chant me a dirge for the Isles of the Sea,<br /> + And sing the sad wanderer's psalm--<br /> +Ye women and children in exile that flee<br /> + From the land of the orange and palm.</p> + +<p>Lament for your homes, for the house of your God,<br /> + Now the haunt of the vile and the low;<br /> +Lament for the graves of your fathers, now trod<br /> + By the foot of the Puritan foe!</p> + +<p>No longer for thee, when the sables of night<br /> + Are fading like shadows away,<br /> +Does the mocking-bird, drinking the first beams of light,<br /> + Praise God for the birth of a day.</p> + +<p>No longer for thee, when the rays are now full,<br /> + Do the oaks form an evergreen glade;<br /> +While the drone of the locust overhead, seemed to lull<br /> + The cattle that rest in the shade.</p> + +<p>No longer for thee does the soft-shining moon<br /> + Silver o'er the green waves of the bay;<br /> +Nor at evening, the notes of the wandering loon<br /> + Bid farewell to the sun's dying ray.</p> + +<p>Nor when night drops her pall over river and shore,<br /> + And scatters eve's merry-voiced throng,<br /> +Does there rise, keeping time to the stroke of the oar,<br /> + The wild chant of the sacred boat-song.</p> + +<p>Then the revellers would cease ere the red wine they'd quaff,<br /> + The traveller would pause on his way;<br /> +And maidens would hush their low silvery laugh,<br /> + To list to the negro's rude lay.</p> + +<p>"Going home! going home!" methinks I now hear<br /> + At the close of each solemn refrain;<br /> +'Twill be many a day, aye, and many a year,<br /> + Ere ye'll sing that dear word "Home" again.</p> + +<p>Your noble sons slain, on the battle-field lie,<br /> + Your daughters' mid strangers now roam;<br /> +Your aged and helpless in poverty sigh<br /> + O'er the days when they once had a <i>home</i>.</p> + +<p>"Going home! going home!" for the exile alone<br /> + Can those words sweep the chords of the soul,<br /> +And raise from the grave the loved ones who are gone,<br /> + As the tide-waves of time backward roll.</p> + +<p>"Going home! going home!" Ah! how many who pine,<br /> + Dear Beaufort, to press thy green soul,<br /> +Ere then will have passed to shores brighter than thine--<br /> + Will have gone home at last to their God!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="152"></a>Somebody's Darling.</h1> + +<h2>By Marie La Coste, of Georgia.</h2> + + + +<p>Into a ward of the whitewashed halls,<br /> + Where the dead and the dying lay--<br /> +Wounded by bayonets, shells, and balls,<br /> + Somebody's darling was borne one day--<br /> +Somebody's darling, so young and so brave!<br /> + Wearing yet on his sweet, pale face--<br /> +Soon to be hid in the dust of the grave--<br /> + The lingering light of his boyhood's grace!</p> + +<p>Matted and damp are the curls of gold<br /> + Kissing the snow of that fair young brow,<br /> +Pale are the lips of delicate mould--<br /> + Somebody's darling is dying now.<br /> +Back from his beautiful blue-veined brow<br /> + Brush his wandering waves of gold;<br /> +Cross his hands on his bosom now--<br /> + Somebody's darling is still and cold.</p> + +<p>Kiss him once for somebody's sake,<br /> + Murmur a prayer soft and low--<br /> +One bright curl from its fair mates take--<br /> + They were somebody's pride you know.<br /> +Somebody's hand hath rested there;<br /> + Was it a mother's, soft and white?<br /> +Or have the lips of a sister fair--<br /> + Been baptized in their waves of light?</p> + +<p>God knows best! He has somebody's love;<br /> + Somebody's heart enshrined him there--<br /> +Somebody wafted his name above,<br /> + Night and morn, on the wings of prayer.<br /> +Somebody wept when he marched away,<br /> + Looking so handsome, brave, and grand!<br /> +Somebody's kiss on his forehead lay--<br /> + Somebody clung to his parting hand.</p> + +<p>Somebody's watching and waiting for him,<br /> + Yearning to hold him again to her heart;<br /> +And there he lies with his blue eyes dim,<br /> + And the smiling child-like lips apart.<br /> +Tenderly bury the fair young dead--<br /> + Pausing to drop on his grave a tear;<br /> +Carve on the wooden slab o'er his head--<br /> + "Somebody's darling slumbers here."</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="153"></a>John Pegram,</h1> + +<h2>Fell at the Head of His Division, Feb. 6th, 1865, Ætat XXXIII.</h2> + +<h3>By W. Gordon McCabe.</h3> + + + +<p>What shall we say, now, of our gentle knight,<br /> + Or how express the measure of our woe,<br /> +For him who rode the foremost in the fight,<br /> + Whose good blade flashed so far amid the foe?</p> + +<p>Of all his knightly deeds what need to tell?--<br /> + That good blade now lies fast within its sheath;<br /> +What can we do but point to where he fell,<br /> + And, like a soldier, met a soldier's death?</p> + +<p>We sorrow not as those who have no hope;<br /> + For he was pure in heart as brave in deed--<br /> +God pardon us, if blindly we should grope,<br /> + And love be questioned by the hearts that bleed.</p> + +<p>And yet--oh! foolish and of little faith!<br /> + We cannot choose but weep our useless tears;<br /> +We loved him so; we never dreamed that death<br /> + Would dare to touch him in his brave young years.</p> + +<p>Ah! dear, browned face, so fearless and so bright!<br /> + As kind to friend as thou wast stern to foe--<br /> +No more we'll see thee radiant in the fight,<br /> + The eager eyes--the flush on cheek and brow!</p> + +<p>No more we'll greet the lithe, familiar form,<br /> + Amid the surging smoke, with deaf'ning cheer;<br /> +No more shall soar above the iron storm,<br /> + Thy ringing voice in accents sweet and clear.</p> + +<p>Aye! he has fought the fight and passed away--<br /> + Our grand young leader smitten in the strife!<br /> +So swift to seize the chances of the fray,<br /> + And careless only of his noble life.</p> + +<p>He is not dead, but sleepeth! well we know<br /> + The form that lies to-day beneath the sod,<br /> +Shall rise that time the golden bugles blow,<br /> + And pour their music through the courts of God.</p> + +<p>And there amid our great heroic dead--<br /> + The war-worn sons of God, whose work is done--<br /> +His face shall shine, as they with stately tread,<br /> + In grand review, sweep past the jasper throne.</p> + +<p>Let not our hearts be troubled! Few and brief<br /> + His days were here, yet rich in love and faith:<br /> +Lord, we believe, help thou our unbelief,<br /> + And grant thy servants such a life and death!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="154"></a>Captives Going Home.</h1> + + + +<p>No flaunting banners o'er them wave,<br /> + No arms flash back the sun's bright ray,<br /> +No shouting crowds around them throng,<br /> + No music cheers them on their way:<br /> +They're going home. By adverse fate<br /> + Compelled their trusty swords to sheathe;<br /> +True soldiers they, even though disarmed--<br /> + Heroes, though robbed of victory's wreath.</p> + +<p>Brave Southrons! 'Tis with sorrowing hearts<br /> + We gaze upon them through our tears,<br /> +And sadly feel how vain were all<br /> + Their heroic deeds through weary years;<br /> +Yet 'mid their enemies they move<br /> + With firm, bold step and dauntless mien:<br /> +Oh, Liberty! in every age,<br /> + Such have thy chosen heroes been.</p> + +<p>Going home! Alas, to them the words<br /> + Bring visions fraught with gloom and woe:<br /> +Since last they saw those cherished homes<br /> + The legions of the invading foe<br /> +Have swept them, simoon-like, along,<br /> + Spreading destruction with the wind!<br /> +"They found a garden, but they left<br /> + A howling wilderness behind."</p> + +<p>Ah! in those desolated homes<br /> + To which the "fate of war has come,"<br /> +Sad is the welcome--poor the feast--<br /> + That waits the soldier's coming home;<br /> +Yet loving ones will round him throng,<br /> + With smiles more tender, if less gay,<br /> +And joy will brighten pallid cheeks<br /> + At sight of the dear boys in gray.</p> + +<p>Aye, give them welcome home, fair South,<br /> + For you they've made a deathless name;<br /> +Bright through all after-time will glow<br /> + The glorious record of their fame.<br /> +They made a nation. What, though soon<br /> + Its radiant sun has seemed to set;<br /> +The past has shown what they can do,<br /> + The future holds bright promise yet.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="155"></a>The Heights of Mission Ridge.</h1> + +<h2>By J. Augustine Signaigo.</h2> + + + +<p>When the foes, in conflict heated,<br /> + Battled over road and bridge,<br /> +While Bragg sullenly retreated<br /> + From the heights of Mission Ridge--<br /> +There, amid the pines and wildwood,<br /> + Two opposing colonels fell,<br /> +Who had schoolmates been in childhood,<br /> + And had loved each other well.</p> + +<p>There, amid the roar and rattle,<br /> + Facing Havoc's fiery breath,<br /> +Met the wounded two in battle,<br /> + In the agonies of death.<br /> +But they saw each other reeling<br /> + On the dead and dying men,<br /> +And the old time, full of feeling,<br /> + Came upon them once again.</p> + +<p>When that night the moon came creeping,<br /> + With its gold streaks, o'er the slain,<br /> +She beheld two soldiers, sleeping,<br /> + Free from every earthly pain.<br /> +Close beside the mountain heather,<br /> + Where the rocks obscure the sand,<br /> +They had died, it seems, together,<br /> + As they clasped each other's hand.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="156"></a>"Our Left at Manassas."</h1> + + + +<p>From dawn to dark they stood,<br /> + That long midsummer's day!<br /> +While fierce and fast<br /> +The battle-blast<br /> + Swept rank on rank away!</p> + +<p>From dawn to dark, they fought<br /> + With legions swept and cleft,<br /> +While black and wide,<br /> +The battle-tide<br /> + Poured ever on our "Left!"</p> + +<p>They closed each ghastly gap!<br /> + They dressed each shattered rank<br /> +They knew, how well!<br /> +That Freedom fell<br /> + With that exhausted flank!</p> + +<p>"Oh! for a thousand men,<br /> + Like these that melt away!"<br /> +And down they came,<br /> +With steel and flame,<br /> + <i>Four thousand</i> to the fray!</p> + +<p>They left the laggard train;<br /> + The panting steam might stay;<br /> +And down they came,<br /> +With steel and flame,<br /> + Head-foremost to the fray!</p> + +<p>Right through the blackest cloud<br /> + Their lightning-path they cleft!<br /> +Freedom and Fame<br /> +With triumph came<br /> + To our immortal Left.</p> + +<p>Ye! of your living, sure!<br /> + Ye! of your dead, bereft!<br /> +Honor the brave<br /> +Who died to save<br /> + <i>Your all</i>, upon our Left.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="157"></a>On to Richmond.</h1> + +<h2>After Southey's "March to Moscow."</h2> + +<h3>By John R. Thompson, of Virginia.</h3> + + + +<p>Major-General Scott<br /> +An order had got<br /> + To push on the columns to Richmond;<br /> +For loudly went forth,<br /> +From all parts of the North,<br /> +The cry that an end of the war must be made<br /> +In time for the regular yearly Fall Trade:<br /> +Mr. Greeley spoke freely about the delay,<br /> +The Yankees "to hum" were all hot for the fray;<br /> +The chivalrous Grow<br /> +Declared they were slow,<br /> +And therefore the order<br /> +To march from the border<br /> + And make an excursion to Richmond.<br /> +Major-General Scott<br /> +Most likely was not<br /> +Very loth to obey this instruction, I wot;<br /> +In his private opinion<br /> +The Ancient Dominion<br /> +Deserved to be pillaged, her sons to be shot,<br /> + And the reason is easily noted;<br /> +Though this part of the earth<br /> +Had given him birth,<br /> +And medals and swords,<br /> +Inscribed with fine words,<br /> + It never for Winfield had voted.<br /> +Besides, you must know that our First of Commanders<br /> +Had sworn, quite as hard as the Army in Flanders,<br /> +With his finest of armies and proudest of navies,<br /> +To wreak his old grudge against Jefferson Davis.<br /> +Then "forward the column," he said to McDowell;<br /> + And the Zouaves, with a shout,<br /> + Most fiercely cried out,<br /> +"To Richmond or h--ll" (I omit here the vowel),<br /> +And Winfield, he ordered his carriage and four,<br /> +A dashing turn-out, to be brought to the door,<br /> + For a pleasant excursion to Richmond.<br /> +Major-General Scott<br /> +Had there on the spot<br /> +A splendid array<br /> +To plunder and slay;<br /> +In the camp he might boast<br /> +Such a numerous host,<br /> +As he never had yet<br /> +In the battle-field set;<br /> +Every class and condition of Northern society<br /> +Were in for the trip, a most varied variety:<br /> +In the camp he might hear every lingo in vogue,<br /> +"The sweet German accent, the rich Irish brogue."<br /> +The buthiful boy<br /> + From the banks of the Shannon,<br /> +Was there to employ<br /> +His excellent cannon;<br /> +And besides the long files of dragoons and artillery.<br /> + The Zouaves and Hussars,<br /> + All the children of Mars,<br /> + There were barbers and cooks<br /> + And writers of books,--<br /> +The <i>chef de cuisine</i> with his French bills of fare,<br /> +And the artists to dress the young officers' hair.<br /> +And the scribblers all ready at once to prepare<br /> + An eloquent story<br /> + Of conquest and glory;<br /> +And servants with numberless baskets of Sillery,<br /> +Though Wilson, the Senator, followed the train,<br /> +At a distance quite safe, to "conduct the <i>champagne</i>:"<br /> +While the fields were so green and the sky was so blue,<br /> +There was certainly nothing more pleasant to do<br /> + On this pleasant excursion to Richmond.<br /> +In Congress the talk, as I said, was of action,<br /> +To crush out <i>instanter</i> the traitorous faction.<br /> +In the press, and the mess,<br /> +They would hear nothing less<br /> +Than to make the advance, spite of rhyme or of reason,<br /> +And at once put an end to the insolent treason.<br /> +There was Greeley,<br /> +And Ely,<br /> +The bloodthirsty Grow,<br /> +And Hickman (the rowdy, not Hickman the beau),<br /> +And that terrible Baker<br /> +Who would seize on the South, every acre,<br /> +And Webb, who would drive us all into the Gulf, or<br /> +Some nameless locality smelling of sulphur;<br /> +And with all this bold crew<br /> +Nothing would do,<br /> +While the fields were so green and the sky was so blue,<br /> + But to march on directly to Richmond.</p> + +<p>Then the gallant McDowell<br /> +Drove madly the rowel<br /> + Of spur that had never been "won" by him,<br /> +In the flank of his steed,<br /> +To accomplish a deed,<br /> + Such as never before had been done by him;<br /> +And the battery called Sherman's<br /> + Was wheeled into line,<br /> +While the beer-drinking Germans,<br /> + From Neckar and Rhine,<br /> +With minie and yager,<br /> +Came on with a swagger,<br /> +Full of fury and lager,<br /> + (The day and the pageant were equally fine.)<br /> +Oh! the fields were so green and the sky was so blue,<br /> +Indeed 'twas a spectacle pleasant to view,<br /> + As the column pushed onward to Richmond.</p> + +<p>Ere the march was begun,<br /> +In a spirit of fun,<br /> +General Scott in a speech<br /> +Said this army should teach<br /> +The Southrons the lesson the laws to obey,<br /> +And just before dusk of the third or fourth day,<br /> + Should joyfully march into Richmond.</p> + +<p>He spoke of their drill<br /> +And their courage and skill,<br /> +And declared that the ladies of Richmond would rave<br /> +O'er such matchless perfection, and gracefully wave<br /> +In rapture their delicate kerchiefs in air<br /> +At their morning parades on the Capitol Square.<br /> +But alack! and alas!<br /> +Mark what soon came to pass,<br /> + When this army, in spite of his flatteries,<br /> +Amid war's loudest thunder<br /> +Must stupidly blunder<br /> + Upon those accursed "masked batteries."<br /> +Then Beauregard came,<br /> +Like a tempest of flame,<br /> +To consume them in wrath<br /> +On their perilous path;<br /> +And Johnston bore down in a whirlwind to sweep<br /> + Their ranks from the field<br /> + Where their doom had been sealed,<br /> +As the storm rushes over the face of the deep;<br /> +While swift on the centre our President pressed.<br /> + And the foe might descry<br /> + In the glance of his eye<br /> +The light that once blazed upon Diomed's crest.<br /> +McDowell! McDowell! weep, weep for the day.<br /> +When the Southrons you meet in their battle array;<br /> +To your confident hosts with its bullets and steel<br /> +'Twas worse than Culloden to luckless Lochiel.<br /> +Oh! the generals were green and old Scott is now blue,<br /> +And a terrible business, McDowell, to you,<br /> + Was that pleasant excursion to Richmond.</p> + +<p>Richmond Whig.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="158"></a>Turner Ashby.</h1> + +<h2>By John R. Thompson, of Virginia</h2> + + + +<p>To the brave all homage render,<br /> + Weep, ye skies of June!<br /> +With a radiance pure and tender,<br /> + Shine, oh saddened moon!<br /> + "Dead upon the field of glory,"<br /> + Hero fit for song and story,<br /> + Lies our bold dragoon!</p> + +<p>Well they learned, whose hands have slain him,<br /> + Braver, knightlier foe<br /> +Never fought with Moor nor Paynim--<br /> + Rode at Templestowe;<br /> + With a mien how high and joyous,<br /> + 'Gainst the hordes that would destroy us,<br /> +Went he forth we know.</p> + +<p>Never more, alas I shall sabre<br /> + Gleam around his crest;<br /> +Fought his fight, fulfilled his labor,<br /> + Stilled his manly breast;<br /> + All unheard sweet nature's cadence,<br /> + Trump of fame and voice of maidens--<br /> + Now he takes his rest.</p> + +<p>Earth, that all too soon hath bound him?<br /> + Gently wrap his clay;<br /> +Linger lovingly around him,<br /> + Light of dying day;<br /> + Softly fall the summer showers,<br /> + Birds and bees among the flowers<br /> + Make the gloom seem gay.</p> + +<p>There, throughout the coming ages,<br /> + When his sword is rust,<br /> +And his deeds in classic pages;<br /> + Mindful of her trust,<br /> + Shall Virginia, bending lowly,<br /> + Still a ceaseless vigil holy<br /> + Keep above his dust.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="159"></a>Captain Latane.</h1> + +<h2>By John R. Thompson, of Virginia.</h2> + + + +<p>The combat raged not long; but ours the day,<br /> + And through the hosts which compassed us around<br /> +Our little band rode proudly on its way,<br /> + Leaving one gallant spirit, glory crowned,<br /> +Unburied on the field he died to gain;<br /> +Single, of all his men, among the hostile slain!</p> + +<p>One moment at the battle's edge he stood,<br /> + Hope's halo, like a helmet, round his hair--<br /> +The next, beheld him dabbled in his blood,<br /> + Prostrate in death; and yet in death how fair!<br /> +And thus he passed, through the red gates of strife,<br /> +From earthly crowns and palms, to an eternal life.</p> + +<p>A brother bore his body from the field,<br /> + And gave it into strangers' hands, who closed<br /> +His calm blue eyes, on earth forever sealed,<br /> + And tenderly the slender limbs composed;<br /> +Strangers, but <i>sisters, who, with Mary's love,<br /> +Sat by the open tomb and, weeping, looked above.</i></p> + +<p>A little girl strewed roses on his bier,<br /> + Pale roses--not more stainless than his soul,<br /> +Nor yet more fragrant than his life sincere,<br /> + That blossomed with good actions--brief, but whole.<br /> +The aged matron, with the faithful slave,<br /> +Approached with reverent steps the hero's lowly grave.</p> + +<p>No man of God might read the burial rite<br /> + Above the rebel--thus declared the foe,<br /> +Who blanched before him in the deadly fight;<br /> + But woman's voice, in accents soft and low,<br /> +Trembling with pity, touched with pathos, read<br /> +Over his hallowed dust, the ritual for the dead!</p> + +<p>"'Tis sown in weakness; it is raised in power."<br /> + Softly the promise floated on the air,<br /> +Arid the sweet breathings of the sunset hour,<br /> + Come back responsive to the mourner's prayer.<br /> +Gently they laid him underneath the sod,<br /> +And left him with his fame, his country, and his God.</p> + +<p>We should not weep for him! His deeds endure;<br /> + So young, so beautiful, so brave--he died<br /> +As he would wish to die. The past secure,<br /> + Whatever yet of sorrow may betide<br /> +Those who still linger by the stormy shore;<br /> +Change cannot hurt him now, nor fortune reach him more.</p> + +<p>And when Virginia, leaning on her spear,<br /> + <i>Vitrix et vidua</i>, the conflict done,<br /> +Shall raise her mailéd hand to wipe the tear<br /> + That starts, as she recalls each martyr son;<br /> +No prouder memory her breast shall sway<br /> +Than thine--the early lost--lamented Lat-a-nè!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="160"></a>The Men.</h1> + +<h2>By Maurice Bell.</h2> + + + +<p>In the dusk of the forest shade<br /> + A sallow and dusty group reclined;<br /> +Gallops a horseman up the glade--<br /> + "Where will I your leader find?<br /> +Tidings I bring from the morning's scout--<br /> + I've borne them o'er mound, and moor, and fen."<br /> +"Well, sir, stay not hereabout,<br /> + Here are only a few of 'the men.'</p> + +<p>"Here no collar has bar or star,<br /> + No rich lacing adorns a sleeve;<br /> +Further on our officers are,<br /> + Let them your report receive.<br /> +Higher up, on the hill up there,<br /> + Overlooking this shady glen.<br /> +There are their quarters--don't stop here,<br /> + We are only some of 'the men.'</p> + +<p>"Yet stay, courier, if you bear<br /> + Tidings that the fight is near;<br /> +Tell them we're ready, and that where<br /> + They wish us to be we'll soon appear;<br /> +Tell them only to let us know<br /> + Where to form our ranks, and when;<br /> +And we'll teach the vaunting foe<br /> + That they've met a few of 'the men.'</p> + +<p>"We're <i>the men</i>, though our clothes are worn--<br /> + We're <i>the men</i>, though we wear no lace--<br /> +We're <i>the men</i>, who the foe hath torn,<br /> + And scattered their ranks in dire disgrace;<br /> +We're the men who have triumphed before--<br /> + We're the men who will triumph again;<br /> +For the dust, and the smoke, and the cannon's roar,<br /> + And the clashing bayonets--'<i>we're the men</i>.'</p> + +<p>"Ye who sneer at the battle-scars,<br /> + Of garments faded, and soiled and bare,<br /> +Yet who have for the 'stars and bars'<br /> + Praise, and homage, and dainty fare;<br /> +Mock the wearers and pass them on,<br /> + Refuse them kindly word--and then<br /> +Know, if your freedom is ever won<br /> + By human agents--<i>these are the men!</i>"</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="161"></a>"A Rebel Soldier Killed in the Trenches before Petersburg, Va., April 15, +1865."</h1> + +<h2>By a Kentucky Girl.</h2> + + + +<p>Killed in the trenches! How cold and bare<br /> +The inscription graved on the white card there.<br /> +'Tis a photograph, taken last Spring, they say,<br /> +Ere the smoke of battle had cleared away--<br /> +Of a rebel soldier--just as he fell,<br /> +When his heart was pierced by a Union shell;<br /> +And his image was stamped by the sunbeam's ray,<br /> +As he lay in the trenches that April day.</p> + +<p>Oh God! Oh God! How my woman's heart<br /> + Thrills with a quick, convulsive pain,<br /> +As I view, unrolled by the magic of Art,<br /> + One dreadful scene from the battle-plain:--<br /> +White as the foam of the storm-tossed wave,<br /> +Lone as the rocks those billows lave--<br /> +Gray sky above--cold clay beneath--<br /> +A gallant form lies stretched in death!</p> + +<p>With his calm face fresh on the trampled clay,<br /> + And the brave hands clasped o'er the manly breast:<br /> +Save the sanguine stains on his jacket gray,<br /> + We might deem him taking a soldier's rest.<br /> +Ah no! Too red is that crimson tide--<br /> +Too deeply pierced that wounded side;<br /> +Youth, hope, love, glory--manhood's pride--<br /> +Have all in vain Death's bolt defied.</p> + +<p>His faithful carbine lies useless there,<br /> + As it dropped from its master's nerveless ward;<br /> +And the sunbeams glance on his waving hair<br /> + Which the fallen cap has ceased to guard--<br /> +Oh Heaven! spread o'er it thy merciful shield,<br /> +No more to my sight be the battle revealed!<br /> +Oh fiercer than tempest--grim Hades as dread--<br /> +On woman's eye flashes the field of the dead!</p> + +<p>The scene is changed: In a quiet room,<br /> + Far from the spot where the lone corse lies,<br /> +A mother kneels in the evening gloom<br /> + To offer her nightly sacrifice.<br /> +The noon is past, and the day is done,<br /> +She knows that the battle is lost or won--<br /> +Who lives? Who died? Hush! be thou still!<br /> +The boy lies dead on the trench-barred hill.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="162"></a>Battle of Hampton Roads.</h1> + +<h2>By Ossian D. Gorman.</h2> + + + +<p>Ne'er had a scene of beauty smiled<br /> + On placid waters 'neath the sun,<br /> +Like that on Hampton's watery plain,<br /> + The fatal morn the fight begun.<br /> +Far toward the silvery Sewell shores,<br /> + Below the guns of Craney Isle,<br /> +Were seen our fleet advancing fast,<br /> + Beneath the sun's auspicious smile.</p> + +<p>Oh, fatal sight! the hostile hordes<br /> + Of Newport camp spread dire alarms:<br /> +The Cumberland for fight prepares--<br /> + The fierce marines now rush to arms.<br /> +The Merrimac, strong cladded o'er,<br /> + In quarters close begins her fire,<br /> +Nor fears the rushing hail of shot,<br /> + And deadly missiles swift and dire;<br /> +But, rushing on 'mid smoke and flame,<br /> + And belching thunder long and loud,<br /> +Salutes the ship with bow austere,<br /> + And then withdraws in wreaths of cloud.</p> + +<p>The work is done. The frigate turns<br /> + In agonizing, doubtful poise--<br /> +She sinks, she sinks! along the deck<br /> + Is heard a shrieking, wailing noise.<br /> +Engulfed beneath those placid waves<br /> + Disturbed by battle's onward surge,<br /> +The crew is gone; the vessel sleeps,<br /> + And whistling bombshells sing her dirge.</p> + +<p>The battle still is raging fierce:<br /> + The Congress, "high and dry" aground,<br /> +Maintains in vain her boasted power,<br /> + For now the gunboats flock around,<br /> +With "stars and bars" at mainmast reared,<br /> + And pour their lightning on the main,<br /> +While Merrimac, approaching fast<br /> + Sends forth her shell and hot-shot rain.</p> + +<p>Meantime the Jamestown, gallant boat,<br /> + Engages strong redoubts at land--<br /> +While Patrick Henry glides along,<br /> + To board the Congress, still astrand.<br /> +This done, we turn intently on<br /> + The Minnesota, which replies,<br /> +With whizzing shell to Teuser's gun,<br /> + Whose booming cleaves the distant skies.<br /> +The naval combat sounds anew;<br /> + The hostile fleets are not withdrawn,<br /> +Though night is closing earth and sea<br /> + In twilight's pale and mystic dawn.<br /> +Strange whistling noises fill the air;<br /> + The powdered smoke looks dark as night,<br /> +And deadly, lurid flames, pour forth<br /> + Their radiance on the missiles' flight;<br /> +Grand picture on the noisy waves!<br /> + The breezy zephyrs onward roam,<br /> +And echoing volleys float afar,<br /> + Disturbing Neptune's coral home.<br /> +The victory's ours, and let the world<br /> + Record Buchanan's[1] name with pride;<br /> +The <i>crew is brave, the banner bright</i>,<br /> + That ruled the day when Hutter[2] died.</p> + +<p>[1] Commander of the "Merrimac."</p> + +<p>[2] Midshipman on the "Patrick Henry."</p> + +<p>Macon Daily Telegraph.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="163"></a>Is This a Time to Dance?</h1> + + + +<p>The breath of evening' sweeps the plain,<br /> + And sheds its perfume in the dell,<br /> +But on its wings are sounds of pain,<br /> + Sad tones that drown the echo's swell;<br /> +And yet we hear a mirthful call,<br /> + Fair pleasure smiles with beaming glance,<br /> +Gay music sounds in the joyous hall:<br /> + Oh God! is this a time to dance?</p> + +<p>Sad notes, as if a spirit sighed,<br /> + Float from the crimson battle-plain,<br /> +As if a mighty spirit cried<br /> + In awful agony and pain:<br /> +Our friends we know there suffering lay,<br /> + Our brothers, too, perchance,<br /> +And in reproachful accents say,<br /> + Loved ones, is this a time to dance?</p> + +<p>Oh, lift your festal robes on high!<br /> + The human gore that flows around<br /> +Will stain their hues with crimson dye;<br /> + And louder let your music sound<br /> +To drown the dying warrior's cry!<br /> + Let sparkling wine your joy enhance<br /> +Forget that <i>blood</i> has tinged its dye,<br /> + And quicker urge the maniac dance.</p> + +<p>But stop! the floor beneath your feet<br /> + Gives back a <i>coffin's</i> hollow moan,<br /> +And every strain of music sweet,<br /> + Wafts forth a <i>dying soldier's groan</i>.<br /> +Oh, sisters! who have brothers dear<br /> + Exposed to every battle's chance,<br /> +Brings dark Remorse no forms of fear,<br /> + To fright you from the heartless dance?</p> + +<p>Go, fling your festal robes away!<br /> + Go, don the mourner's sable veil!<br /> +Go, bow before your God, and pray!<br /> + If yet your prayers may aught avail.<br /> +Go, face the fearful form of Death!<br /> + And trembling meet his chilling glance,<br /> +And then, for once, with truthful breath,<br /> + Answer, <i>Is this a time to dance?</i></p> + + + + +<h1><a name="164"></a>"The Maryland Line."</h1> + +<h2>By J.D. M'Cabe, Jr.</h2> + + + +<p>The Maryland regiments in the Confederate army have adopted the title of +"The Maryland Line," which was so heroically sustained by their patriot +sires of the first Revolution, and which the deeds of Marylanders at +Manassas, show that the patriot Marylanders of this second Revolution are +worthy to bear.</p> + + + +<p>By old Potomac's rushing tide,<br /> + Our bayonets are gleaming;<br /> +And o'er the bounding waters wide<br /> + We gaze, while tears are streaming.<br /> +The distant hills of Maryland<br /> + Rise sadly up before us--<br /> +And tyrant bands have chained our laud,<br /> + Our mother proud that bore us.</p> + +<p>Our proud old mother's queenly head<br /> + Is bowed in subjugation;<br /> +With her children's blood her soil is red,<br /> + And fiends in exultation<br /> +Taunt her with shame as they bind her chains,<br /> + While her heart is torn with anguish;<br /> +Old mother, on famed Manassas' plains<br /> + Our vengeance did not languish.</p> + +<p>We thought of your wrongs as on we rushed,<br /> + 'Mid shot and shell appalling;<br /> +We heard your voice as it upward gush'd,<br /> + From the Maryland life-blood falling.<br /> +No pity we knew! Did they mercy show<br /> + When they bound the mother that bore us?<br /> +But we scattered death 'mid the dastard foe<br /> + Till they, shrieking, fled before us.</p> + +<p>We mourn for our brothers brave that fell<br /> + On that field so stern and gory;<br /> +But their spirits rose with our triumph yell<br /> + To the heavenly realms of glory.<br /> +And their bodies rest on the hard-won field--<br /> + By their love so true and tender,<br /> +We'll keep the prize they would not yield,<br /> + We'll die, but we'll not surrender.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="165"></a>The Virginians of the Shenandoah Valley.</h1> + +<h2>"<i>Sic Jurat</i>."</h2> + +<h3>By Frank Ticknor, M.D., of Georgia.</h3> + + + +<p>The knightliest of the knightly race<br /> + Who, since the clays of old,<br /> +Have kept the lamp of chivalry<br /> + Alight in hearts of gold;<br /> +The kindliest of the kindly band<br /> + Who rarely hated ease,<br /> +Yet rode with Smith around the land,<br /> + And Raleigh o'er the seas;</p> + +<p>Who climbed the blue Virginia hills,<br /> + Amid embattled foes,<br /> +And planted there, in valleys fair,<br /> + The lily and the rose;<br /> +Whose fragrance lives in many lands,<br /> + Whose beauty stars the earth,<br /> +And lights the hearths of thousand homes<br /> + With loveliness and worth,--</p> + +<p>We feared they slept!--the sons who kept<br /> + The names of noblest sires,<br /> +And waked not, though the darkness crept<br /> + Around their vigil fires;<br /> +But still the Golden Horse-shoe Knights<br /> + Their "Old Dominion" keep:<br /> +The foe has found the enchanted ground,<br /> + But not a knight asleep.</p> + +<p>Torch-Hall, Georgia.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="166"></a>Sonnet.--The Avatar of Hell.</h1> + +<h2>Charleston Mercury.</h2> + + + +<p>Six thousand years of commune, God with man,--<br /> +Two thousand years of Ohrist; yet from such roots,<br /> +Immortal, earth reaps only bitterest fruits!<br /> +The fiends rage now as when they first began!<br /> +Hate, Lust, Greed, Vanity, triumphant still,<br /> +Yell, shout, exult, and lord o'er human will!<br /> +The sun moves back! The fond convictions felt,<br /> +That, in the progress of the race, we stood,<br /> +Two thousand years of height above the flood<br /> +Before the day's experience sink and melt,<br /> +As frost beneath the fire! and what remains<br /> +Of all our grand ideals and great gains,<br /> +With Goth, Hun, Vandal, warring in their pride,<br /> +While the meek Christ is hourly crucified!</p> + +<p>Pax.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="167"></a>"Stonewall" Jackson's Way.</h1> + + + +<p>These verses, according to the newspaper account, <i>may</i> have been +found in the bosom of a dead rebel, after one of Jackson's battles in the +Shenandoah valley; but we are pleased to state that the <i>author</i> of +them is a still living rebel, and able to write even better things.</p> + + +<p>Come, stack arms, men! Pile on the rails;<br /> + Stir up the camp-fire bright;<br /> +No matter if the canteen fails,<br /> + We'll make a roaring night.<br /> +Here Shenandoah brawls along,<br /> +Here burly Blue Ridge echoes strong,<br /> +To swell the brigade's rousing song,<br /> + Of "Stonewall Jackson's way."</p> + +<p>We see him now--the old slouched hat<br /> + Cocked o'er his eye askew--<br /> +The shrewd dry smile--the speech so pat,<br /> + So calm, so blunt, so true.<br /> +The "Blue Light Elder" knows 'em well:<br /> +Says he, "That's Banks; he's fond of shell.<br /> +Lord save his soul! we'll give him ----" well<br /> + That's "Stonewall Jackson's way."</p> + +<p>Silence! Ground arms! Kneel all! Caps off!<br /> + Old "Blue Light's" going to pray.<br /> +Strangle the fool that dares to scoff!<br /> + Attention! it's his way!<br /> +Appealing from his native sod<br /> +<i>In forma pauperis</i> to God,<br /> +"Lay bare thine arm! Stretch forth thy rod!<br /> + Amen!" That's Stonewall's way.</p> + +<p>He's in the saddle now: Fall in!<br /> + Steady! The whole brigade!<br /> +Hill's at the ford, cut off; we'll win<br /> + His way out, ball and blade.<br /> +What matter if our shoes are worn?<br /> +What matter if our feet are torn?<br /> +Quick step! we're with him before dawn!<br /> + That's Stonewall Jackson's way!</p> + +<p>The sun's bright lances rout the mists<br /> + Of morning--and, by George!<br /> +Here's Longstreet, struggling in the lists,<br /> + Hemmed in an ugly gorge.<br /> +Pope and his Yankees, whipped before:<br /> +"Bayonets and grape!" hear Stonewall roar;<br /> +"Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby's score,<br /> + In Stonewall Jackson's way!"</p> + +<p>Ah, maiden! wait, and watch, and yearn,<br /> + For news of Stonewall's band!<br /> +Ah, widow! read--with eyes that burn,<br /> + That ring upon thy hand!<br /> + Ah! wife, sew on, pray on, hope on:<br /> +Thy life shall not be all forlorn.<br /> +The foe had better ne'er been born,<br /> + That gets in Stonewall's way.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="168"></a>The Silent March.</h1> + + + +<p>On one occasion during the war in Virginia, General Lee was lying asleep +by the wayside, when an army of fifteen thousand men passed by with hushed +voices and footsteps, lest they should disturb his slumbers.</p> + + +<p>O'ercome with weariness and care,<br /> + The war-worn veteran lay<br /> +On the green turf of his native land,<br /> + And slumbered by the way;<br /> +The breeze that sighed across his brow,<br /> + And smoothed its deepened lines,<br /> +Fresh from his own loved mountain bore<br /> + The murmur of their pines;<br /> +And the glad sound of waters,<br /> + The blue rejoicing streams,<br /> +Whose sweet familiar tones were blent<br /> + With the music of his dreams:<br /> +They brought no sound of battle's din,<br /> + Shrill fife or clarion,<br /> +But only tenderest memories<br /> + Of his own fair Arlington.<br /> +While thus the chieftain slumbered,<br /> + Forgetful of his care,<br /> +The hollow tramp of thousands<br /> + Came sounding through the air.<br /> +With ringing spur and sabre,<br /> + And trampling feet they come,<br /> +Gay plume and rustling banner,<br /> + And fife, and trump, and drum;<br /> +But soon the foremost column<br /> + Sees where, beneath the shade,<br /> +In slumber, calm as childhood,<br /> + Their wearied chief is laid;<br /> +And down the line a murmur<br /> + From lip to lip there ran,<br /> +Until the stilly whisper<br /> + Had spread to rear from van;<br /> +And o'er the host a silence<br /> + As deep and sudden fell,<br /> +As though some mighty wizard<br /> + Had hushed them with a spell;<br /> +And every sound was muffled,<br /> + And every soldier's tread<br /> +Fell lightly as a mother's<br /> + 'Round her baby's cradle-bed;<br /> +And rank, and file, and column,<br /> + So softly by they swept,<br /> +It seemed a ghostly army<br /> + Had passed him as he slept;<br /> +But mightier than enchantment<br /> + Was that with magic move--<br /> +The spell that hushed their voices--<br /> + Deep reverence and love.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="169"></a>Pro Memoria.</h1> + +<h2>Air--There is rest for the weary.</h2> + +<h3>By Ina M. Porter, of Alabama.</h3> + + + +<p>Lo! the Southland Queen, emerging<br /> + From her sad and wintry gloom,<br /> +Robes her torn and bleeding bosom<br /> + In her richest orient bloom:</p> + +<p>CHORUS.--(Repeat first line three times.)<br /> + For her weary sons are resting<br /> + By the Edenshore;<br /> + They have won the crown immortal,<br /> + And the cross of death is o'er!<br /> + Where the Oriflamme is burning<br /> + On the starlit Edenshore!</p> + +<p>Brightly still, in gorgeous glory,<br /> + God's great jewel lights our sky;<br /> +Look! upon the heart's white dial<br /> + There's a SHADOW flitting by!</p> + +<p>CHORUS.--But the weary feet are resting, etc.</p> + +<p>Homes are dark and hearts are weary,<br /> + Souls are numb with hopeless pain;<br /> +For the footfall on the threshold<br /> + Never more to sound again!</p> + +<p>CHORUS.--They have gone from us forever,<br /> + Aye, for evermore!<br /> + We must win the crown immortal,<br /> + Follow where they led before,<br /> + Where the Oriflamme is burning<br /> + On the starlit Edenshore.</p> + +<p>Proudly, as our Southern forests<br /> + Meet the winter's shafts so keen:<br /> +Time-defying memories cluster<br /> + Round our hearts in living green.</p> + +<p>CHORUS.--They have gone from us forever, etc.</p> + +<p>May our faltering voices mingle<br /> + In the angel-chanted psalm;<br /> +May our earthly chaplets linger<br /> + By the bright celestial palm.</p> + +<p>CHORUS.--They have gone from us forever, etc.</p> + +<p>Crest to crest they bore our banner,<br /> + Side by side they fell asleep;<br /> +Hand in hand we scatter flowers,<br /> + Heart to heart we kneel and weep!</p> + +<p>CHORUS.--They have gone from us forever, etc.</p> + +<p>When the May eternal dawneth<br /> + At the living God's behest,<br /> +We will quaff divine Nepenthe,<br /> + We will share the Soldier's rest.</p> + +<p>CHORUS.--Where the weary feet are resting, etc.</p> + +<p>Where the shadows are uplifted<br /> + 'Neath the never-waning sun,<br /> +Shout we, Gloria in Excelsis!<br /> + We have lost, but ye have won!</p> + +<p>CHORUS.--Our hearts are yours forever,<br /> + Aye, for evermore!<br /> + Ye have won the crown immortal,<br /> + And the cross of death is o'er,<br /> + Where the Oriflamme is burning<br /> + On the starlit Edenshore!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="170"></a>The Southern Homes in Ruin.</h1> + +<h2>By R. B. Vance, of North Carolina.</h2> + + + +<p>"We know a great deal about war now; but, dear readers, the Southern +women know more. Blood has not dripped on our doorsills yet; shells have +not burst above our <i>homesteads</i>--let us pray they never may."--<i>Frank Leslie's Illustrated</i>.</p> + + +<p>Many a gray-haired sire has died,<br /> + As falls the oak, to rise no more,<br /> +Because his son, his prop, his pride,<br /> + Breathed out his last all red with gore.<br /> +No more on earth, at morn, at eve,<br /> + Shall age and youth, entwined as one--<br /> +Nor father, son, for either grieve--<br /> + Life's work, alas, for both is done!</p> + +<p>Many a mother's heart has bled<br /> + While gazing on her darling child,<br /> +As in its tiny eyes she read<br /> + The father's image, kind and mild;<br /> +For ne'er again his voice will cheer<br /> + The widowed heart, which mourns him dead;<br /> +Nor kisses dry the scalding tear,<br /> + Fast falling on the orphan's head!</p> + +<p>Many a little form will stray<br /> + Adown the glen and o'er the hill,<br /> +And watch, with wistful looks, the way<br /> + For him whose step is missing still;<br /> +And when the twilight steals apace<br /> + O'er mead, and brook, and lonely home,<br /> +And shadows cloud the dear, sweet face--<br /> + The cry will be, "Oh, papa, come!"</p> + +<p>And many a home's in ashes now,<br /> + Where joy was once a constant guest,<br /> +And mournful groups there are, I trow,<br /> + With neither house nor place of rest;<br /> +And blood is on the broken <i>sill</i>,<br /> + Where happy feet went to and fro,<br /> +And everywhere, by field and hill,<br /> + Are sickening sights and sounds of woe!</p> + +<p>There is a God who rules on high,<br /> + The widow's and the orphan's friend,<br /> +Who sees each tear and hears each sigh,<br /> + That these lone hearts to Him may send!<br /> +And when in wrath He tears away<br /> + The reasons vain which men indite,<br /> +The record book will plainest say<br /> + Who's in the wrong, and who is right.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="171"></a>"Rappahannock Army Song."</h1> + +<h2>By John C. M'Lemore.</h2> + + + +<p>The toil of the march is over--<br /> + The pack will be borne no more--<br /> +For we've come for the help of Richmond,<br /> + From the Rappahannock's shore.<br /> +The foe is closing round us--<br /> + We can hear his ravening cry;<br /> +So, ho! for fair old Richmond!<br /> + Like soldiers we'll do or die.</p> + +<p>We have left the land that bore us,<br /> + Full many a league away,<br /> +And our mothers and sisters miss us,<br /> + As with tearful eyes they pray;<br /> +But <i>this</i> will repress their weeping,<br /> + And still the rising sigh--<br /> +For all, for fair old Richmond,<br /> + Have come to do or die.</p> + +<p>We have come to join our brothers<br /> + From the proud Dominion's vales,<br /> +And to meet the dark-cheeked soldier,<br /> + Tanned by the Tropic gales;<br /> +To greet them all full gladly,<br /> + With hand and beaming eye,<br /> +And to swear, for fair old Richmond,<br /> + We all will do or die.</p> + +<p>The fair Carolina sisters<br /> + Stand ready, lance in hand,<br /> +To fight as they did in an older war,<br /> + For the sake of their fatherland.<br /> +The glories of Sumter and Bethel<br /> + Have raised their fame full high,<br /> +But they'll fade, if for fair old Richmond<br /> + They swear not to do or die.</p> + +<p>Zollicoffer looks down on his people,<br /> + And trusts to their hearts and arms,<br /> +To avenge the blood he has shed,<br /> + In the midst of the battle's alarms.<br /> +Alabamians, remember the past,<br /> + Be the "South at Manassas," their cry;<br /> +As onward for fair old Richmond,<br /> + They marched to do or die.</p> + +<p>Brave Bartow, from home on high,<br /> + Calls the Empire State to the front,<br /> +To bear once more as she has borne<br /> + With glory the battle's brunt.<br /> +Mississippians who know no surrender,<br /> + Bear the flag of the Chief on high;<br /> +For he, too, for fair old Richmond,<br /> + Has sworn to do or die.</p> + +<p>Fair land of my birth--sweet Florida--<br /> + Your arm is weak, but your soul<br /> +Must tell of a purer, holier strength,<br /> + When the drums for the battle roll.<br /> +Look within, for your hope in the combat,<br /> + Nor think of your few with a sigh--<br /> +If you win not for fair old Richmond,<br /> + At least you can bravely die.</p> + +<p>Onward all! Oh! band of brothers!<br /> + The beat of the long roll's heard!<br /> +And the hearts of the columns advancing,<br /> + By the sound of its music is stirred.<br /> +Onward all! and never return,<br /> + Till our foes from the Borders fly--<br /> +To be crowned by the fair of old Richmond,<br /> + As those who could do or die.</p> + +<p>Richmond Enquirer.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="172"></a>The Soldier in the Rain.</h1> + +<h2>By Julia L. Keyes.</h2> + + + +<p>Ah me! the rain has a sadder sound<br /> + Than it ever had before;<br /> +And the wind more plaintively whistles through<br /> + The crevices of the door.</p> + +<p>We know we are safe beneath our roof<br /> + From every drop that falls;<br /> +And we feel secure and blest, within<br /> + The shelter of our walls.</p> + +<p>Then why do we dread to hear the noise<br /> + Of the rapid, rushing rain--<br /> +And the plash of the wintry drops, that beat<br /> + Through the blinds, on the window-pane?</p> + +<p>We think of the tents on the lowly ground,<br /> + Where our patriot soldiers lie;<br /> +And the sentry's bleak and lonely march,<br /> + 'Neath the dark and starless sky.</p> + +<p>And we pray, with a tearful heart, for those<br /> + Who brave for us yet more--<br /> +And we wish this war, with its thousand ills<br /> + And griefs, was only o'er.</p> + +<p>We pray when the skies are bright and clear,<br /> + When the winds are soft and warm--<br /> +But oh! we pray with an aching heart<br /> + 'Mid the winter's rain and storm.</p> + +<p>We fain would lift these mantling clouds<br /> + That shadow our sunny clime;<br /> +We can but wait--for we know there'll be<br /> + A day, in the coming time,</p> + +<p>When peace, like a rosy dawn, will flood<br /> + Our land with softest light:<br /> +Then--we will scarcely hearken the rain<br /> + In the dreary winter's night.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="173"></a>My Country.</h1> + +<h2>By W. D. Porter, S. C.</h2> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<p>Go, read the stories of the great and free, + The nations on the long, bright roll of fame, +Whose noble rage has baffled the decree + Of tyrants to despoil their life and name;</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>Whose swords have flashed like lightning in the eyes<br /> + Of robber despots, glorying in their might,<br /> +And taught the world, by deeds of high emprise,<br /> + The power of truth and sacredness of right:</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>Whose people, strong to suffer and endure,<br /> + In faith have wrestled till the blessing came,<br /> +And won through woes a victory doubly sure,<br /> + As martyr wins his crown through blood and flame.</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>The purest virtue has been sorest tried,<br /> + Nor is there glory without patient toil;<br /> +And he who woos fair Freedom for his bride,<br /> + Through suffering must be purged of stain and soil.</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>My country! in this hour of trial sore,<br /> + When in the balance trembling hangs thy fate,<br /> +Brace thy great heart with courage to the core,<br /> + Nor let one jot of faith or hope abate!</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>The world's bright eye is fixed upon thee still;<br /> + <i>Life, honor, fame</i>--these all are in the scale:<br /> +<i>Endure! endure! endure!</i> with iron will,<br /> + And by the truth of heaven, thou shalt not fail!</p> + +<p>Patriot and Mountaineer.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="174"></a>"After the Battle."</h1> + +<h2>By Miss Agnes Leonard.</h2> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>All day long the sun had wandered,<br /> + Through the slowly creeping hours,<br /> +And at last the stars were shining<br /> + Like some golden-petalled flowers<br /> +Scattered o'er the azure bosom<br /> + Of the glory-haunted night,<br /> +Flooding all the sky with grandeur,<br /> + Filling all the earth with light.</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>And the fair moon, with the sweet stars,<br /> + Gleamed amid the radiant spheres<br /> +Like "a pearl of great price" shining<br /> + Just as it had shone for years,<br /> +On the young land that had risen,<br /> + In her beauty and her might,<br /> +Like some gorgeous superstructure<br /> + Woven in the dreams of night:</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>With her "cities hung like jewels"<br /> + On her green and peaceful breast,<br /> +With her harvest fields of plenty,<br /> + And her quiet homes of rest.<br /> +But a change had fallen sadly<br /> + O'er the young and beauteous land,<br /> +Brothers on the field fought madly<br /> + That once wandered hand in hand.</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>And "the hearts of distant mountains<br /> + Shuddered," with a fearful wonder,<br /> +As the echoes burst upon them<br /> + Of the cannon's awful thunder.<br /> +Through the long hours waged the battle<br /> + Till the setting of the sun<br /> +Dropped a seal upon the record,<br /> +That the day's mad work was done.</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>Thickly on the trampled grasses<br /> + Lay the battle's awful traces,<br /> +'Mid the blood-stained clover-blossoms<br /> + Lay the stark and ghastly faces,<br /> +With no mourners bending downward<br /> + O'er a costly funeral pall;<br /> +And the dying daylight softly,<br /> + With the starlight watched o'er all.</p> + + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + + +<p>And, where eager, joyous footsteps<br /> + Once perchance were wont to pass,<br /> +Ran a little streamlet making<br /> + One "blue fold in the dark grass;"<br /> +And where, from its hidden fountain,<br /> + Clear and bright the brooklet burst<br /> +Two had crawled, and each was bending<br /> + O'er to slake his burning thirst.</p> + + + +<h3>VII.</h3> + + +<p>Then beneath the solemn starlight<br /> + Of the radiant jewelled skies,<br /> +Both had turned, and were intently<br /> + Gazing in each other's eyes.<br /> +Both were solemnly forgiving--<br /> + Hushed the pulse of passion's breath--<br /> +Calmed the maddening thirst for battle,<br /> + By the chilling hand of death.</p> + + + +<h3>VIII.</h3> + + +<p>Then spoke one, in bitter anguish:<br /> + "God have pity on my wife,<br /> +And my children, in New Hampshire;<br /> + Orphans by this cruel strife."<br /> +And the other, leaning closer,<br /> + Underneath the solemn sky,<br /> +Bowed his head to hide the moisture<br /> + Gathering in his downcast eye:</p> + + + +<h3>IX.</h3> + + +<p>"<i>I've</i> a wife and little daughter,<br /> + 'Mid the fragrant Georgia bloom,"--<br /> +Then his cry rang sharper, wilder,<br /> + "Oh, God! pity all their gloom."<br /> +And the wounded, in their death-hour,<br /> + Talking of the loved ones' woes,<br /> +Nearer drew unto each other,<br /> + Till they were no longer foes.</p> + + + +<h3>X.</h3> + + +<p>And the Georgian listened sadly<br /> + As the other tried to speak,<br /> +While the tears were dropping softly<br /> + O'er the pallor of his cheek:<br /> +"How she used to stand and listen,<br /> + Looking o'er the fields for me,<br /> +Waiting, till she saw me coming,<br /> + 'Neath the shadowy old plum-tree.<br /> +Never more I'll hear her laughter,<br /> + As she sees me at the gate,<br /> +And beneath the plum-tree's shadows,<br /> + All in vain for me she'll wait."</p> + + + +<h3>XI.</h3> + + +<p>Then the Georgian, speaking softly,<br /> + Said: "A brown-eyed little one<br /> +Used to wait among the roses,<br /> + For <i>me</i>, when the day was done;<br /> +And amid the early fragrance<br /> + Of those blossoms, fresh and sweet,<br /> +Up and down the old verandah<br /> + I would chase my darling's feet.<br /> +But on earth no more the beauty<br /> + Of her face my eye shall greet,<br /> +Nevermore I'll hear the music<br /> + Of those merry pattering feet--<br /> +Ah, the solemn starlight, falling<br /> + On the far-off Georgia bloom,<br /> +Tells no tale unto my darling<br /> + Of her absent father's doom."</p> + + + +<h3>XII.</h3> + + +<p>Through the tears that rose between them<br /> + Both were trying grief to smother,<br /> +As they clasped each other's fingers<br /> + Whispering: <i>"Let's forgive each other."</i></p> + + + +<h3>XIII.</h3> + + +<p>When the morning sun was walking<br /> + "Up the gray stairs of the dawn,"<br /> +And the crimson east was flushing<br /> + All the forehead of the morn,<br /> +Pitying skies were looking sadly<br /> + On the "once proud, happy land,"<br /> +On the Southron and the Northman,<br /> + Holding fast each other's hand.<br /> +Fatherless the golden tresses,<br /> + Watching 'neath the old plum-tree;<br /> +Fatherless the little Georgian<br /> + Sporting in unconscious glee.</p> + +<p>Chicago Journal of Commerce, June, 1868.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="175"></a>Our Confederate Dead.</h1> + +<h2>What the Heart of a Young Girl Said to the Dead Soldier.</h2> + +<h3>By a Lady of Augusta, Geo.</h3> + + + +<p>Unknown to me, brave boy, but still I wreathe<br /> + For you the tenderest of wildwood flowers;<br /> +And o'er your tomb a virgin's prayer I breathe,<br /> + To greet the pure moon and the April showers.</p> + +<p>I only know, I only care to know,<br /> + You died for me--for me and country bled;<br /> +A thousand Springs and wild December snow<br /> + Will weep for one of all the SOUTHERN DEAD.</p> + +<p>Perchance, some mother gazes up the skies,<br /> + Wailing, like Rachel, for her martyred brave--<br /> +Oh, for her darling sake, my dewy eyes<br /> + Moisten the turf above your lowly grave.</p> + +<p>The cause is sacred, when our maidens stand<br /> + Linked with sad matrons and heroic sires,<br /> +Above the relics of a vanquished land<br /> + And light the torch of sanctifying fires.</p> + +<p>Your bed of honor has a rosy cope<br /> + To shimmer back the tributary stars;<br /> +And every petal glistens with a hope<br /> + Where Love hath blossomed in the disk of Mars.</p> + +<p>Sleep! On your couch of glory slumber comes<br /> + Bosomed amid the archangelic choir;<br /> +Not with the grumble of impetuous drums<br /> + Deepening the chorus of embattled ire.</p> + +<p>Above you shall the oak and cedar fling<br /> + Their giant plumage and protecting shade;<br /> +For you the song-bird pause upon his wing<br /> + And warble requiems ever undismayed.</p> + +<p>Farewell! And if your spirit wander near<br /> + To kiss this plant of unaspiring art--<br /> +Translate it, even in the heavenly sphere,<br /> + As the libretto of a maiden's heart.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="176"></a>Ye Cavaliers of Dixie</h1> + +<h2>By Benj. F. Pouter, of Alabama.</h2> + + + +<p>Ye Cavaliers of Dixie<br /> +That guard our Southern shores,<br /> +Whose standards brave the battle-storm<br /> +That round the border roars;<br /> +Your glorious sabres draw again,<br /> +And charge the invading foe;<br /> +Reap the columns deep<br /> +Where the battle tempests blow,<br /> +Where the iron hail in floods descends,<br /> +And the bloody torrents flow.</p> + +<p>Ye Cavaliers of Dixie!<br /> +Though dark the tempest lower,<br /> +No arms will wear a tyrant's chains!<br /> +No dastard heart will cower!<br /> +Bright o'er the cloud the sign will rise,<br /> +To lead to victory;<br /> +While your swords reap his hordes,<br /> +Where the battle-tempests blow,<br /> +And the iron hail in floods descends,<br /> +And the bloody torrents flow.</p> + +<p>Ye Cavaliers of Dixie!<br /> +Though Vicksburg's towers fall,<br /> +Here still are sacred rights to shield!<br /> +Your wives, your homes, your all!<br /> +With gleaming arms advance again,<br /> +Drive back the raging foe,<br /> +Nor yield your native field,<br /> +While the battle-tempests blow,<br /> +And the iron hail in floods descends,<br /> +And the bloody torrents flow.</p> + +<p>Our country needs no ramparts,<br /> +No batteries to shield!<br /> +Your bosoms are her bulwarks strong,<br /> +Breastworks that cannot yield!<br /> +The thunders of your battle-blades<br /> +Shall sweep the hated foe,<br /> +While their gore stains the shore,<br /> +Where the battle-tempests blow,<br /> +And the iron hail in floods descends,<br /> +And the bloody torrents flow.</p> + +<p>The spirits of your fathers<br /> +Shall rise from every grave!<br /> +Our country is their field of fame,<br /> +They nobly died to save!<br /> +Where Johnson, Jackson, Tilghman fell,<br /> +Your patriot hearts shall glow;<br /> +While you reap columns deep,<br /> +Through the armies of the foe,<br /> +Where the battle-storm is raging loud,<br /> +And the bloody torrents flow.</p> + +<p>The battle-flag of Dixie<br /> +On crimson field shall flame,<br /> +With azure cross, and silver stars,<br /> +To light her sons to fame!<br /> +When peace with olive-branch returns,<br /> +That flag's white folds shall glow,<br /> +Still bright on every height,<br /> +Where the storm has ceased to blow,<br /> +Where battle-tempests rage no more,<br /> +Nor bloody torrents flow.</p> + +<p>The battle-flag of Dixie<br /> +Shall long triumphant wave,<br /> +Where'er the storms of battle roar,<br /> +And victory crowns the brave!<br /> +The Cavaliers of Dixie!<br /> +In woman's songs shall glow<br /> +The fame of your name,<br /> +When the storm has ceased to blow,<br /> +When the battle-tempests rage no more,<br /> +Nor the bloody torrents flow.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="177"></a>Song of Spring, (1864.)</h1> + +<h2>By John A. Wagener, of South Carolina.</h2> + + + +<p>Spring has come! Spring has come!<br /> + The brightening earth, the sparkling dew,<br /> + The bursting buds, the sky of blue,<br /> + The mocker's carol, in tree and hedge,<br /> + Proclaim anew Jehovah's pledge--<br /> +"So long as man shall earth retain,<br /> +The seasons gone shall come again."</p> + +<p>Spring has come! Springs has come!<br /> + We have her here, in the balmy air,<br /> + In the blossoms that bourgeon without a care;<br /> + The violet bounds from her lowly bed,<br /> + And the jasmin flaunts with a lofty head;<br /> +All nature, in her baptismal dress,<br /> +Is abroad--to win, to soothe, and bless.</p> + +<p>Spring has come! Spring has come!<br /> + Yes, and eternal as the Lord,<br /> + Who spells her being at a word;<br /> + All blest but man, whose passions proud<br /> + Wrap Nature in her bloody shroud--<br /> +His heart is winter to the core,<br /> +His spring, alas! shall come no more!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="178"></a>"What the Village Bell Said."</h1> + +<h2>By John C. M'Lemore, of South Carolina.[1]</h2> + + + +<p>Full many a year in the village church,<br /> + Above the world have I made my home;<br /> +And happier there, than if I had hung<br /> + High up in the air in a golden dome;<br /> + For I have tolled<br /> + When the slow hearse rolled<br /> + Its burden sad to my door;<br /> + And each echo that woke,<br /> + With the solemn stroke,<br /> + Was a sigh from the heart of the poor.</p> + +<p>I know the great bell of the city spire<br /> + Is a far prouder one than such as I;<br /> +And its deafening stroke, compared with mine,<br /> + Is thunder compared with a sigh:<br /> + But the shattering note<br /> + Of his brazen throat,<br /> + As it swells on the Sabbath air,<br /> + Far oftener rings<br /> + For other things<br /> + Than a call to the house of prayer.</p> + +<p>Brave boy, I tolled when your father died,<br /> + And you wept while my tones pealed loud;<br /> +And more gently I rung when the lily-white dame,<br /> + Your mother dear, lay in her shroud:<br /> + And I sang in sweet tone<br /> + The angels might own,<br /> + When your sister you gave to your friend;<br /> + Oh! I rang with delight,<br /> + On that sweet summer night,<br /> + When they vowed they would love to the end!</p> + +<p>But a base foe comes from the regions of crime,<br /> + With a heart all hot with the flames of hell;<br /> +And the tones of the bell you have loved so long<br /> + No more on the air shall swell:<br /> + For the people's chief,<br /> + With his proud belief<br /> + That his country's cause is God's own,<br /> + Would change the song,<br /> + The hills have rung,<br /> + To the thunder's harsher tone.</p> + +<p>Then take me down from the village church,<br /> + Where in peace so long I have hung;<br /> +But I charge you, by all the loved and lost,<br /> + <i>Remember the songs I have sung.</i><br /> + Remember the mound<br /> + Of holy ground,<br /> + Where your father and mother lie;<br /> + And swear by the love<br /> + For the dead above<br /> + To beat your foul foe or die.</p> + +<p>Then take me; but when (I charge you this)<br /> + You have come to the bloody field,<br /> +That the bell of God, to a cannon grown,<br /> + You will ne'er to the foeman yield.<br /> + By the love of the past,<br /> + Be that hour your last,<br /> + When the foe has reached this trust;<br /> + And make him a bed<br /> + Of patriot dead,<br /> + And let him sleep in this holy dust.</p> + +<p>[1] Mortally wounded at the battle of Seven Pines.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="179"></a>The Tree, the Serpent, and the Star.</h1> + +<h2>By A. P. Gray, of South Carolina.</h2> + + + +<p>From the silver sands of a gleaming shore,<br /> + Where the wild sea-waves were breaking,<br /> +A lofty shoot from a twining root<br /> + Sprang forth as the dawn was waking;<br /> +And the crest, though fed by the sultry beam,<br /> + (And the shaft by the salt wave only,)<br /> +Spread green to the breeze of the curling seas,<br /> + And rose like a column lonely.<br /> + Then hail to the tree, the Palmetto tree,<br /> + Ensign of the noble, the brave, and the free.</p> + +<p>As the sea-winds rustled the bladed crest,<br /> + And the sun to the noon rose higher,<br /> +A serpent came, with an eye of flame,<br /> + And coiled by the leafy pyre;<br /> +His ward he would keep by the lonely tree,<br /> + To guard it with constant devotion;<br /> +Oh, sharp was the fang, and the arméd clang,<br /> + That pierced through the roar of the ocean,<br /> + And guarded the tree, the Palmetto tree,<br /> + Ensign of the noble, the brave, and the free.</p> + +<p>And the day wore down to the twilight close,<br /> + The breeze died away from the billow;<br /> +Yet the wakeful clang of the rattles rang<br /> + Anon from the serpent's pillow;<br /> +When I saw through the night a gleaming star<br /> + O'er the branching summit growing,<br /> +Till the foliage green and the serpent's sheen<br /> + In the golden light were glowing,<br /> + That hung o'er the tree, the Palmetto tree,<br /> + Ensign of the noble, the brave, and the free.</p> + +<p>By the standard cleave every loyal son,<br /> + When the drums' long roll shall rattle;<br /> +Let the folds stream high to the victor's eye;<br /> + Or sink in the shock of the battle.<br /> +Should triumph rest on the red field won,<br /> + With a victor's song let us hail it;<br /> +If the battle fail and the star grow pale,<br /> + Yet never in shame will we veil it,<br /> + But cherish the tree, the Palmetto tree,<br /> + Ensign of the noble, the brave, and the free.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="180"></a>Southern War Hymn</h1> + +<h2>By John A. Wagener, of South Carolina.</h2> + + + +<p>Arise! arise! with arm of might,<br /> + Sons of our sunny home!<br /> +Gird on the sword for the sacred fight,<br /> + For the battle-hour hath come!<br /> +Arise! for the felon foe draws nigh<br /> + In battle's dread array;<br /> +To the front, ye brave! let the coward fly,<br /> + 'Tis the hero that bides the fray!</p> + +<p>Strike hot and hard, my noble band,<br /> + With the arm of fight and fire;<br /> +Strike fast for God and Fatherland,<br /> + For mother, and wife, and sire.<br /> +Though thunders roar and lightnings flash,<br /> + Oh! Southrons, never fear,<br /> +Ye shall turn the bolt with the sabre's clash,<br /> + And the shaft with the steely spear.</p> + +<p>Bright blooms shall wave o'er the hero's grave,<br /> + While the craven finds no rest;<br /> +Thrice cursed the traitor, the slave, the knave,<br /> + While thrice is the hero blessed<br /> +To the front in the fight, ye Southrons, stand,<br /> + Brave spirits, with eagle eye,<br /> +And standing for God and for Fatherland,<br /> + Ye will gallantly do or die.</p> + +<p>Charleston Courier.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="181"></a>The Battle Rainbow.</h1> + +<h2>By John R. Thompson, of Virginia.</h2> + + + +<p>The poem which follows was written just after the Seven Days of Battle, +near Richmond, in 1862. It was suggested by the appearance of a rainbow, +the evening before the grand trial of strength between the contending +armies. This rainbow overspread the eastern sky, and exactly defined the +position of the Confederate army, as seen from the Capitol at Richmond.</p> + + +<p>The warm, weary day, was departing--the smile<br /> + Of the sunset gave token the tempest had ceased;<br /> +And the lightning yet fitfully gleamed for a while<br /> + On the cloud that sank sullen and dark in the east.</p> + +<p>There our army--awaiting the terrible fight<br /> + Of the morrow--lay hopeful, and watching, and still;<br /> +Where their tents all the region had sprinkled with white,<br /> + From river to river, o'er meadow and hill.</p> + +<p>While above them the fierce cannonade of the sky<br /> + Blazed and burst from the vapors that muffled the sun,<br /> +Their "counterfeit clamors" gave forth no reply;<br /> + And slept till the battle, the charge in each gun.</p> + +<p>When lo! on the cloud, a miraculous thing!<br /> + Broke in beauty the rainbow our host to enfold!<br /> +The centre o'erspread by its arch, and each wing<br /> + Suffused with its azure and crimson and gold.</p> + +<p>Blest omen of victory, symbol divine<br /> + Of peace after tumult, repose after pain;<br /> +How sweet and how glowing with promise the sign,<br /> + To eyes that should never behold it again!</p> + +<p>For the fierce flame of war on the morrow flashed out,<br /> + And its thunder-peals filled all the tremulous air:<br /> +Over slippery intrenchment and reddened redoubt,<br /> + Rang the wild cheer of triumph, the cry of despair.</p> + +<p>Then a long week of glory and agony came--<br /> + Of mute supplication, and yearning, and dread;<br /> +When day unto day gave the record of fame,<br /> + And night unto night gave the list of its dead.</p> + +<p>We had triumphed--the foe had fled back to his ships--<br /> + His standard in rags and his legions a wreck--<br /> +But alas! the stark faces and colorless lips<br /> + Of our loved ones, gave triumph's rejoicing a check.</p> + +<p>Not yet, oh not yet, as a sign of release,<br /> + Had the Lord set in mercy his bow in the cloud;<br /> +Not yet had the Comforter whispered of peace<br /> + To the hearts that around us lay bleeding and bowed.</p> + +<p>But the promise was given--the beautiful arc,<br /> + With its brilliant profusion of colors, that spanned<br /> +The sky on that exquisite eve, was the mark<br /> + Of the Infinite Love overarching the land:</p> + +<p>And that Love, shining richly and full as the day,<br /> + Through the tear-drops that moisten each martyr's proud pall,<br /> +On the gloom of the past the bright bow shall display<br /> + Of Freedom, Peace, Victory, bent over all.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="182"></a>Stonewall Jackson.</h1> + +<h2>Mortally wounded--"<i>The Brigade must not know, sir.</i>"</h2> + + + +<p>"Who've ye got there?"--"Only a dying brother,<br /> + Hurt in the front just now."<br /> +"Good boy! he'll do. Somebody tell his mother<br /> + Where he was killed, and how."</p> + +<p>"Whom have you there?"--"A crippled courier, major,<br /> + Shot by mistake, we hear.<br /> +He was with Stonewall." "Cruel work they've made here:<br /> + Quick with him to the rear!"</p> + +<p>"Well, who comes next?"--"Doctor, speak low, speak low, sir;<br /> + Don't let the men find out.<br /> +It's STONEWALL!" "God!" "The brigade must not know, sir,<br /> + While there's a foe about."</p> + +<p>Whom have we <i>here</i>--shrouded in martial manner,<br /> + Crowned with a martyr's charm?<br /> +A grand dead hero, in a living banner,<br /> + Born of his heart and arm:</p> + +<p>The heart whereon his cause hung--see how clingeth<br /> + That banner to his bier!<br /> +The arm wherewith his cause struck--hark! how ringeth<br /> + His trumpet in their rear!</p> + +<p>What have we left? His glorious inspiration,<br /> + His prayers in council met.<br /> +Living, he laid the first stones of a nation;<br /> + And dead, he builds it yet.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="183"></a>Dirge for Ashby.</h1> + +<h2>By Mrs. M. J. Preston.</h2> + + + +<p>Heard ye that thrilling word--<br /> + Accent of dread--<br /> +Fall, like a thunderbolt,<br /> + Bowing each head?<br /> +Over the battle dun,<br /> +Over each booming gun--<br /> +Ashby, our bravest one!<br /> + Ashby is dead!</p> + +<p>Saw ye the veterans--<br /> + Hearts that had known<br /> +Never a quail of fear,<br /> + Never a groan--<br /> +Sob, though the fight they win,<br /> +Tears their stern eyes within--<br /> +Ashby, our Paladin,<br /> + Ashby is dead!</p> + +<p>Dash, dash the tear away--<br /> + Crush down the pain!<br /> +<i>Dulce et decus</i>, be<br /> + Fittest refrain!<br /> +Why should the dreary pall,<br /> +Round <i>him</i>, be flung at all?<br /> +Did not our hero fall<br /> + Gallantly slain!</p> + +<p>Catch the last words of cheer,<br /> + Dropt from his tongue;<br /> +Over the battle's din,<br /> + Let them be rung!<br /> +"Follow <i>me!</i> follow <i>me!</i>"<br /> +Soldier, oh! could there be<br /> +Pæan or dirge for thee,<br /> + Loftier sung?</p> + +<p>Bold as the lion's heart--<br /> + Dauntlessly brave--<br /> +Knightly as knightliest<br /> + Bayard might crave;<br /> +Sweet, with all Sydney's grace.<br /> +Tender as Hampden's face,<br /> +Who now shall fill the space,<br /> + Void by his grave?</p> + +<p>'Tis not one broken heart,<br /> + Wild with dismay--<br /> +Crazed in her agony,<br /> + Weeps o'er his clay!<br /> +Ah! from a thousand eyes,<br /> +Flow the pure tears that rise--<br /> +Widowed Virginia lies<br /> + Stricken to-day!</p> + +<p>Yet, charge as gallantly,<br /> + Ye, whom he led!<br /> +Jackson, the victor, still<br /> + Leads, at your head!<br /> +Heroes! be battle done<br /> +Bravelier, every one<br /> +Nerved by the thought alone--<br /> + Ashby is dead!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="184"></a>Sacrifice.</h1> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Another victim for the sacrifice!<br /> + Oh! my own mother South,<br /> + How terrible this wail above thy youth,<br /> + Dying at the cannon's mouth,--<br /> +And for no crime--no vice--<br /> +No scheme of selfish greed--no avarice,<br /> +Or insolent ambition, seeking power;--.<br /> +But that, with resolute soul and will sublime,<br /> + They made their proud election to be free,--<br /> +To leave a grand inheritance to time,<br /> + And to their sons and race, of liberty!</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>Oh! widow'd woman, sitting in thy weeds,<br /> + With thy young brood around thee, sad and lone,<br /> +Thy fancy sees thy hero where he bleeds,<br /> + And still thou hear'st his moan!<br /> +Dying he calls on thee--again--again!<br /> + With blessing and fond memories. Be of cheer;<br /> +He has not died--he did not bless--in vain:<br /> +For, in the eternal rounds of GOD, HE squares<br /> +The account with sorrowing hearts; and soothes the fears,<br /> +And leads the orphans home, and dries the widow's tears.</p> + +<p>Charleston Mercury.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="185"></a>Sonnet.</h1> + +<h2>Written in 1864.</h2> + + + +<p>What right to freedom when we are not free?<br /> + When all the passions goad us into lust;<br /> + When, for the worthless spoil we lick the dust,<br /> +And while one-half our people die, that we<br /> +May sit with peace and freedom 'neath our tree,<br /> +The other gloats for plunder and for spoil:<br /> +Bustles through daylight, vexes night with toil,<br /> +Cheats, swindles, lies and steals!--Shall such things be<br /> +Endowed with such grand boons as Liberty<br /> + Brings in her train of blessings? Should we pray<br /> + That such as these should still maintain the sway--<br /> +These soulless, senseless, heartless enemies<br /> +Of all that's good and great, of all that's wise,<br /> +Worthy on earth, or in the Eternal Eyes!</p> + +<p>Charleston Mercury.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="186"></a>Grave of A. Sydney Johnston.</h1> + +By J. B. Synnott. + + + +<p>The Lone Star State secretes the clay<br /> + Of him who led on Shiloh's field,<br /> +Where mourning wives will stop to pray,<br /> + And maids a weeping tribute yield.</p> + +<p>In after time, when spleen and strife<br /> + Their madd'ning flame shall have expired,<br /> +The noble deeds that gemm'd this life<br /> + By Age and Youth will be admired.</p> + +<p>As o'er the stream the boatmen rove<br /> + By Pittsburg Bend at early Spring,<br /> +They'll show with moist'ning eye the grave<br /> + Where havoc spread her sable wing.</p> + +<p>There, 'neath the budding foliage green,<br /> + Ere Night evolved her dewy breath,<br /> +While Vict'ry smiled upon the scene,<br /> + Our Chieftain met the blow of death.</p> + +<p>Great men to come will bless the brave;<br /> + The soldier, bronzed in War's career,<br /> +Shall weave a chaplet o'er his grave,<br /> + While Mem'ry drops the glist'ning tear.</p> + +<p>Though envy wag her scorpion tongue,<br /> + The march of Time shall find his fame;<br /> +Where Bravery's loved and Glory's sung,<br /> + There children's lips shall lisp his name.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="187"></a>"Not Doubtful of Your Fatherland."</h1> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Not doubtful of your fatherland,<br /> + Or of the God who gave it;<br /> +On, Southrons! 'gainst the hireling band<br /> + That struggle to enslave it;<br /> + Ring boldly out<br /> + Your battle-shout,<br /> +Charge fiercely 'gainst these felon hordes:<br /> + One hour of strife<br /> + Is freedom's life,<br /> +And glory hangs upon your swords!</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>A thousand mothers' matron eyes,<br /> + Wives, sisters, daughters weeping,<br /> +Watch, where your virgin banner flies,<br /> + To battle fiercely sweeping:<br /> + Though science fails,<br /> + The steel prevails,<br /> +When hands that wield, own hearts of oak:<br /> + These, though the wall<br /> + Of stone may fall,<br /> +Grow stronger with each hostile stroke.</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>The faith that feels its cause as true,<br /> + The virtue to maintain it;<br /> +The soul to brave, the will to do,--<br /> + These seek the fight, and gain it!<br /> + The precious prize<br /> + Before your eyes,<br /> +The all that life conceives of charm,<br /> + Home, freedom, life,<br /> + Child, sister, wife,<br /> +All rest upon your soul and arm!</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>And what the foe, the felon race,<br /> + That seek your subjugation?<br /> +The scum of Europe, her disgrace.<br /> + The lepers of the nation.<br /> + And what the spoil<br /> + That tempts their toil,<br /> +The bait that goads them on to fight?<br /> + Lust, crime, and blood,<br /> + Each fiendish mood<br /> +That prompts and follows appetite.</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>Shall such prevail, and shall you fail,<br /> + Asserting cause so holy?<br /> +With souls of might, go, seek the fight,<br /> + And crush these wretches lowly.<br /> + On, with the cry,<br /> + To do or die,<br /> +As did, in darker days, your sires,<br /> + Nor stay the blow,<br /> + Till every foe,<br /> +Down stricken, in your path, expires!</p> + +<p>Charleston Mercury.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="188"></a>Only a Soldier's Grave.</h1> + +<h2>By S. A. Jones, of Aberdeen, Mississippi.</h2> + + + +<p>Only a soldier's grave! Pass by,<br /> +For soldiers, like other mortals, die.<br /> +Parents he had--they are far away;<br /> +No sister weeps o'er the soldier's clay;<br /> +No brother comes, with a tearful eye:<br /> +It's only a soldier's grave--pass by.</p> + +<p>True, he was loving, and young, and brave,<br /> +Though no glowing epitaph honors his grave;<br /> +No proud recital of virtues known,<br /> +Of griefs endured, or of triumphs won;<br /> +No tablet of marble, or obelisk high;--<br /> +Only a soldier's grave--pass by.</p> + +<p>Yet bravely he wielded his sword in fight,<br /> +And he gave his life in the cause of right!<br /> +When his hope was high, and his youthful dream<br /> +As warm as the sunlight on yonder stream;<br /> +His heart unvexed by sorrow or sigh;--<br /> +Yet,'tis only a soldier's grave:--pass by.</p> + +<p>Yet, should we mark it--the soldier's grave,<br /> +Some one may seek him in hope to save!<br /> +Some of the dear ones, far away,<br /> +Would bear him home to his native clay:<br /> +'Twere sad, indeed, should they wander nigh,<br /> +Find not the hillock, and pass him by.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="189"></a>The Guerilla Martyrs.</h1> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Ay, to the doom--the scaffold and the chain,--<br /> + To all your cruel tortures, bear them on,<br /> +Ye foul and coward Hangmen;--but in vain!--<br /> + Ye cannot touch the glory they have won--<br /> +And win--thus yielding up the martyr's breath<br /> + For freedom!--Theirs is a triumphant death!--<br /> +A sacred pledge from Nature, that her womb<br /> + Still keeps some sacred fires;--that yet shall burst,<br /> +Even from the reeking ravage of their doom,<br /> + As glorious--ay, more glorious--than the first!<br /> +Exult, shout, triumph! Wretches, do your worst!<br /> + 'Tis for a season only! There shall come<br /> +An hour when ye shall feel yourselves accurst;<br /> + When the dread vengeance of a century<br /> +Shall reap its harvest in a single day;<br /> + And ye shall howl in horror;--and, to die,<br /> +Shall be escape and refuge! Ye may slay;<br /> + But to be cruel and brutal, does not make<br /> +Ye conquerors; and the vulture yet shall prey<br /> + On living hearts; and vengeance fiercely slake<br /> +The unappeasable appetite ye wake,<br /> + In the hot blood of victims, that have been,<br /> +Most eager, binding freemen to the stake,--<br /> + Most greedy, in the orgies of this sin!</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>Ye slaughter,--do ye triumph? Ask your chains,<br /> + Ye Sodom-hearted butchers!--turn your eyes,<br /> +Where reeks yon bloody scaffold; and the pains,<br /> + Ungroaned, of a true martyr, ere he dies,<br /> +Attest the damned folly of your crime,<br /> + Now at its carnival! His spirit flies,<br /> +Unscathed by all your fires, through every clime,<br /> + Into the world's wide bosom. Thousands rise,<br /> +Prompt at its call, and principled to strike<br /> +The tyrants and the tyrannies alike!--<br /> +Voices, that doom ye, speak in all your deeds,<br /> + And cry to heaven, arm earth, and kindle hell!<br /> +A host of freemen, where one martyr bleeds,<br /> + Spring from his place of doom, and make his knell<br /> +The toscin, to arouse a myriad race,<br /> +T'avenge Humanity's wrong, and wipe off man's disgrace!</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>We mourn not for our martyrs!--for they perish,<br /> + As the good perish, for a deathless faith:<br /> +Their glorious memories men will fondly cherish,<br /> + In terms and signs that shall ennoble death!<br /> +Their blood becomes a principle, to guide,<br /> + Onward, forever onward, in proud flow,<br /> +Restless, resistless, as the ocean tide,<br /> + The Spirit heaven yields freedom here below!<br /> +How should we mourn the martyrs, who arise,<br /> +Even from the stake and scaffold, to the skies;--<br /> +And take their thrones, as slars; and o'er the night,<br /> + Shed a new glory; and to other souls,<br /> +Shine out with blessed guidance, and true light,<br /> + Which leads successive races to their goals!</p> + +<p>Charleston Mercury.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="190"></a>"Libera Nos, O Domine!"</h1> + +<h2>By James Barron Hope.</h2> + + + +<p>What! ye hold yourselves as freemen?<br /> + Tyrants love just such as ye!<br /> +Go! abate your lofty manner!<br /> +Write upon the State's old banner,<br /> + "<i>A furore Normanorum,<br /> + Libera nos, O Domine!</i>"</p> + +<p>Sink before the federal altar,<br /> + Each one low, on bended knee,<br /> +Pray, with lips that sob and falter,<br /> +This prayer from the coward's psalter,--<br /> + "<i>A furore Normanorum,<br /> + Libera nos, O Domine!</i>"</p> + +<p>But ye hold that quick repentance<br /> + In the Northern mind will be;<br /> +This repentance comes no sooner<br /> +Than the robbers did, at Luna!<br /> + "<i>A furore Normanorum,<br /> + Libera nos, O Domine!</i>"</p> + +<p>He repented <i>him</i>:--the Bishop<br /> + Gave him absolution free;<br /> +Poured upon him sacred chrism<br /> +In the pomp of his baptism.<br /> + <i>"A furore Normanorum,<br /> + Libera nos, O Domine!"</i></p> + +<p>He repented;--then he sickened!<br /> + Was he pining for the sea?<br /> +<i>In extremis</i> was he shriven,<br /> +The viaticum was given,<br /> + <i>"A furore Normanorum,<br /> + Libera nos, O Domine!"</i></p> + +<p>Then the old cathedral's choir<br /> + Took the plaintive minor key;<br /> +With the Host upraised before him,<br /> +Down the marble aisles they bore him;<br /> + <i>"A furore Normanorum,<br /> + Libera nos, O Domine!"</i></p> + +<p>While the bishop and the abbot--<br /> + All the monks of high degree,<br /> +Chanting praise to the Madonna,<br /> +Came to do him Christian honor!<br /> + <i>"A furore Normanorum,<br /> + Libera nos, O Domine!"</i></p> + +<p>Now the <i>miserere's</i> cadence,<br /> + Takes the voices of the sea;<br /> +As the music-billows quiver,<br /> +See the dead freebooter shiver!<br /> + <i>"A furore Normanorum,<br /> + Libera nos, O Domine!"</i></p> + +<p>Is it that these intonations<br /> + Thrill him thus from head to knee?<br /> +Lo, his cerements burst asunder!<br /> +'Tis a sight of fear and wonder!<br /> + <i>"A furore Normanorum,<br /> + Libera nos, O Domine!"</i></p> + +<p>Fierce, he stands before the bishop,<br /> + Dark as shape of Destinie.<br /> +Hark! a shriek ascends, appalling,--<br /> +Down the prelate goes--dead--falling!<br /> + <i>"A furore Normanorum,<br /> + Libera nos, O Domine!"</i></p> + +<p>Hastings lives! He was but feigning!<br /> + What! Repentant? Never he!<br /> +Down he smites the priests and friars,<br /> +And the city lights with fires!<br /> + <i>"A furore Normanorum,<br /> + Libera nos, O Domine!"</i></p> + +<p>Ah! the children and the maidens,<br /> + 'Tis in vain they strive to flee!<br /> +Where the white-haired priests lie bleeding,<br /> +Is no place for woman's pleading.<br /> + <i>"A furore Normanorum,<br /> + Libera nos, O Domine!"</i></p> + +<p>Louder swells the frightful tumult--<br /> + Pallid Death holds revelrie!<br /> +Dies the organ's mighty clamor,<br /> +By the horseman's iron hammer!<br /> + <i>"A furore Normanorum,<br /> + Libera nos, O Domine!"</i></p> + +<p>So they thought that he'd repented!<br /> + Had they nailed him to the tree,<br /> +He had not deserved their pity,<br /> +And they had not--lost their city.<br /> + <i>"A furore Normanorum,<br /> + Libera nos, O Domine!"</i></p> + +<p>For the moral in this story,<br /> + Which is plain as truth can be:<br /> +If we trust the North's relenting,<br /> +We shall shriek-too late repenting--<br /> + <i>"A furore Normanorum,<br /> + Libera nos, O Domine!"</i> [1]</p> + +<p>[1] For this incident in the life of the sea-robber, Hastings, see Milman's +History of Latin Christianity.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="191"></a>The Knell Shall Sound Once More.</h1> + + + +<p>I know that the knell shall sound once more,<br /> + And the dirge be sung o'er a bloody grave;<br /> +And there shall be storm on the beaten shore,<br /> + And there shall be strife on the stormy wave;<br /> +And we shall wail, with a mighty wail,<br /> + And feel the keen sorrow through many years,<br /> +But shall not our banner at last prevail,<br /> + And our eyes be dried of tears?</p> + +<p>There's a bitter pledge for each fruitful tree,<br /> + And the nation whose course is long to run,<br /> +Must make, though in anguish still it be,<br /> + The tribute of many a noble son;<br /> +The roots of each mighty shaft must grow<br /> + In the blood-red fountains of mighty hearts;<br /> +And to conquer the right from a bloody foe,<br /> + Brings a pang as when soul and body parts!</p> + +<p>But the blood and the pang are the need, alas!<br /> + To strengthen the sovereign will that svrays<br /> +The generations that rise, and pass<br /> + To the full fruition that crowns their days!<br /> +'Tis still in the strife, they must grow to life:<br /> + And sorrow shall strengthen the soul for care;<br /> +And the freedom sought must ever be bought<br /> + By the best blood-offerings, held most dear.</p> + +<p>Heroes, the noblest, shall still be first<br /> + To mount the red altar of sacrifice;<br /> +Homes the most sacred shall fare the worst,<br /> + Ere we conquer and win the precious prize!--<br /> +The struggle may last for a thousand years,<br /> + And only with blood shall the field be bought;<br /> +But the sons shall inherit, through blood and tears,<br /> + The birth-right for 'which their old fathers fought.</p> + +<p>Charleston Mercury.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="192"></a>Gendron Palmer, of the Holcombe Legion</h1> + +<h2>By Ina M. Porter, of Alabama.</h2> + + + +<p>He sleeps upon Virginia's strand,<br /> +While comrades of the Legion stand<br /> +With arms reversed--a mournful band--<br /> + Around his early bier!<br /> +His war-horse paws the shaking ground,<br /> +The volleys ring--they close around--<br /> +And on the white brow, laurel-bound,<br /> + Falls many a soldier's tear.</p> + +<p>Up, stricken mourners! look on high,<br /> +Loud anthems rend the echoing sky,<br /> +Re-born where heroes never die--<br /> + The warrior is at rest!<br /> +Gone is the weary, pain-traced frown;<br /> +Life's march is o'er, his arms cast down,<br /> +His plumes replaced by shining--crown,<br /> +The red cross on his breast!</p> + +<p>Though Gendron's arm is with the dust,<br /> +Let not his blood-stained weapon rust,<br /> +Bequeathed to one who'll bear the trust,<br /> + Where Southern banners fly!<br /> +Some brave, who followed where he led--<br /> +Aye, swear him o'er the martyred dead,<br /> +To avenge each drop of blood he shed,<br /> + Or, like him, bravely die!</p> + +<p>He deemed a death for honor sweet.--<br /> +And thus he fell!-'Tis doubly meet,<br /> +Our flag should be his winding-sheet,<br /> + Proud banner of the free!<br /> +Oh, let his honored form be laid<br /> +Beneath the loved Palmetto's shade;<br /> +His praises sung by Southern maid,<br /> + While flows the broad Santee!</p> + +<p>We come around his urn to twine<br /> +Sweet clusters of the jasmine vine,<br /> +Culled where our tropic sunbeams shine,<br /> + From skies deep-dyed and bright;<br /> +And, kneeling, vow no right to yield!--<br /> +On, brothers, on!--Fight! win the field!<br /> +Or dead return on battered shield,<br /> + As martyrs for the right!</p> + +<p>Where camp-fires light the reddened sod,<br /> +The grief-bowed Legion kneel to God,<br /> +In Palmer's name, and by his blood,<br /> + They swell the battle-cry;<br /> +We'll sheathe no more our dripping steel,<br /> +'Till tyrants Southern vengeance feel,<br /> +And menial hordes as suppliants kneel,<br /> + Or, terror-stricken, fly!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="193"></a>Mumford, the Martyr of New Orleans.</h1> + +<h2>By Ina M. Porter, of Alabama.</h2> + + + +<p>Where murdered Mumford lies,<br /> +Bewailed in bitter sighs,<br /> +Low-bowed beneath the flag he loved,<br /> +Martyrs of Liberty,<br /> +Defenders of the Free!<br /> +Come, humbly nigh,<br /> +And learn to die!</p> + +<p>Ah, Freedom, on that day,<br /> +Turned fearfully away,<br /> +While pitying angels lingered near,<br /> +To gaze upon the sod,<br /> +Red with a martyr's blood;<br /> +And woman's tear<br /> +Fell on his bier!</p> + +<p>O God! that he should die<br /> +Beneath a Southern sky!<br /> +Upon a felon's gallows swung,<br /> +Murdered by tyrant hand,--<br /> +While round a helpless band,<br /> +On Butler's name<br /> +Poured scorn and shame.</p> + +<p>But hark! loud pæans fly<br /> +From earth to vaulted sky,<br /> +He's crowned at Freedom's holy throne!<br /> +List! sweet-voiced Israfel[1]<br /> +Tolls far the martyr's knell!<br /> +Shout, Southrons, high,<br /> +Our battle cry!</p> + +<p>Come, all of Southern blood,<br /> +Come, kneel to Freedom's God!<br /> +Here at her crimsoned altar swear!<br /> +Accursed for evermore<br /> +The flag that Mumford tore,<br /> +And o'er his grave<br /> +Our colors wave!</p> + + +<p>[1] "The sweetest-voiced angel around the throne of God."--<i>Oriental Legend.</i></p> + + + + +<h1><a name="194"></a>The Foe at the Gates.--Charleston.</h1> + +<h2>By J. Dickson Bruns, M. D.</h2> + + + +<p>Ring round her! children of her gloridus skies,<br /> + Whom she hath nursed to stature proud and great;<br /> +Catch one last glance from her imploring eyes,<br /> + Then close your ranks and face the threatening fate.</p> + +<p>Ring round her! with a wall of horrent steel<br /> + Confront the foe, nor mercy ask nor give;<br /> +And in her hour of anguish let her feel<br /> + That ye can die whom she has taught to live.</p> + +<p>Ring round her! swear, by every lifted blade,<br /> + To shield from wrong the mother who gave you birth;<br /> +That never villain hand on her be laid,<br /> + Nor base foot desecrate her hallowed hearth.</p> + +<p>See how she thrills all o'er with noble shame,<br /> + As through deep sobs she draws the laboring breath,<br /> +Her generous brow and bosom all aflame<br /> + At the bare thought of insult, worse than death.</p> + +<p>And stained and rent her snowy garments are;<br /> + The big drops gather on her pallid face,<br /> +Gashed with great wounds by cowards who strove to mar<br /> + The beauteous form that spurned their foul embrace.</p> + +<p>And still she pleads, oh! how she pleads, with prayers<br /> + And bitter tears, to every loving child<br /> +To stand between her and the doom she fears,<br /> + To keep her fame untarnished, undefiled!</p> + +<p>Curst be the dastard who shall halt or doubt!<br /> + And doubly damned who casts one look behind!<br /> +Ye who are men! with unsheathed sword, and shout,<br /> + Up with her banner! give it to the wind.</p> + +<p>Peal your wild slogan, echoing far and wide,<br /> + Till every ringing avenue repeat<br /> +The gathering cry, and Ashley's angry tide<br /> + Calls to the sea-waves beating round her feet.</p> + +<p>Sons, to the rescue! spurred and belted, come!<br /> + Kneeling, with clasp'd hands, she invokes you now<br /> +By the sweet memories of your childhood's home,<br /> + By every manly hope and filial vow,</p> + +<p>To save her proud soul from that loathéd thrall<br /> + Which yet her spirit cannot brook to name;<br /> +Or, if her fate be near, and she must fall,<br /> + Spare her--she sues--the agony and the shame.</p> + +<p>From all her fanes let solemn bells be tolled,<br /> + Heap with kind hands her costly funeral pyre,<br /> +And thus, with pæan sung and anthem rolled,<br /> + Give her, unspotted, to the God of Fire.</p> + +<p>Gather around her sacred ashes then,<br /> + Sprinkle the cherished dust with crimson rain,<br /> +Die! as becomes a race of free-born men,<br /> + Who will not crouch to wear the bondman's chain.</p> + +<p>So, dying, ye shall win a high renown,<br /> + If not in life, at least by death, set free--<br /> +And send her fame, through endless ages down,<br /> + The last grand holocaust of liberty.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="195"></a>Savannah Fallen.</h1> + +<h2>By Alethea S. Burroughs, of Georgia.</h2> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Bowing her head to the dust of the earth.<br /> + Smitten and stricken is she,<br /> +Light after light gone out from her hearth,<br /> + Son after son from her knee.<br /> +Bowing her head to the dust at her feet,<br /> + Weeping her beautiful slain,<br /> +Silence! keep silence, for aye in the street,<br /> + See! they are coming again.</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>Coming again, oh! glorious ones,<br /> + Wrapped in the flag of the free;<br /> +Queen of the South! bright crowns for thy sons,<br /> + Only the cypress for <i>thee!</i><br /> +Laurel, and banner, and music, and drum,<br /> + Marches, and requiems sweet;<br /> +Silence! keep silence! alas, how they come,<br /> + Oh! how they move through the street!</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>Slowly, ah! mournfully, slowly they go,<br /> + Bearing the young and the brave,<br /> +Fair as the summer, but white as the snow<br /> + Bearing them down to the grave.<br /> +Some in the morning, and some in the noou,<br /> + Some in the hey-day of life;<br /> +Bower nor blossom, nor summer nor June,<br /> + Wooing them back to the strife.</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>Some in the billow, afar, oh! afar,<br /> + Staining the waves with their blood;<br /> +One on the vessel's high deck, like a star,<br /> + Sinking in glory's bright-flood.[1]<br /> +Bowing her head to the dust of the earth,<br /> + Humbled but honored is she,<br /> +lighting the skies with the stars from her hearth,<br /> + Who shall her comforter be?</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>Bring her, oh! bring her the garments of woe,<br /> + Sackcloth and ashes for aye;<br /> +Winds of the South! oh, a requiem blow,<br /> + Sighing and sorrow to-day.<br /> +Sprinkle the showers from heaven's blue eyes<br /> + Wide o'er the green summer lea,<br /> +Rachel is weeping, oh! Lord of the skies,<br /> + Thou shalt her comforter be!</p> + + +<p>[1] Captain Thomas Pelot, C. S. N., killed at the capture of the +"Water Witch."</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="196"></a>Bull Run.--A Parody.</h1> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>At Bull Run when the sun was low,<br /> +Each Southern face grew pale as snow,<br /> +While loud as jackdaws rose the crow<br /> + Of Yankees boasting terribly!</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>But Bull Run saw another sight,<br /> +When at the deepening shades of night,<br /> +Towards Fairfax Court-House rose the flight<br /> + Of Yankees running rapidly.</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>Then broke each corps with terror riven,<br /> +Then rushed the steeds from battle driven,<br /> +The men of battery Number Seven<br /> + Forsook their Red artillery!</p> + + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + + +<p>Still on McDowell's farthest left,<br /> +The roar of cannon strikes one deaf,<br /> +Where furious Abe and fiery Jeff<br /> + Contend for death or victory.</p> + + + +<h3>V.</h3> + + +<p>The panic thickens--off, ye brave!<br /> +Throw down your arms! your bacon save!<br /> +Waive, Washington, all scruples waive,<br /> + And fly, with all your chivalry!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="197"></a>"Stack Arms."</h1> + +<h2>Written in the Prison of Fort Delaware, Del., on Hearing of the +Surrender of General Lee.</h2> + +<h3>By Jos. Blyth Alston.</h3> + + + +<p>"Stack Arms!" I've gladly heard the cry<br /> + When, weary with the dusty tread<br /> +Of marching troops, as night drew nigh,<br /> + I sank upon my soldier bed,<br /> +And camly slept; the starry dome<br /> + Of heaven's blue arch my canopy,<br /> +And mingled with my dreams of home,<br /> + The thoughts of Peace and Liberty.</p> + +<p>"Stack Arms!" I've heard it, when the shout<br /> + Exulting, rang along our line,<br /> +Of foes hurled back in bloody rout,<br /> + Captured, dispersed; its tones divine<br /> +Then came to mine enraptured ear.<br /> + Guerdon of duty nobly done,<br /> +And glistened on my cheek the tear<br /> + Of grateful joy for victory won.</p> + +<p>"Stack Arms!" In faltering accents, slow<br /> + And sad, it creeps from tongue to tongue,<br /> +A broken, murmuring wail of woe,<br /> + From manly hearts by anguish wrung.<br /> +Like victims of a midnight dream,<br /> + We move, we know not how nor why,<br /> +For life and hope but phantoms seem,<br /> + And it would be relief--to die!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="198"></a>Doffing the Gray.</h1> + +<h2>By Lieutenant Falligant, of Savannah, Geo.</h2> + + + +<p>Off with your gray suits, boys--<br /> + Off with your rebel gear--<br /> +They smack too much of the cannons' peal,<br /> +The lightning flash of your deadly steel,<br /> + The terror of your spear.</p> + +<p>Their color is like the smoke<br /> + That curled o'er your battle-line;<br /> +They call to mind the yell that woke<br /> +When the dastard columns before you broke,<br /> + And their dead were your fatal sign.</p> + +<p>Off with the starry wreath,<br /> + Ye who have led our van;<br /> +To you 'twas the pledge of glorious death,<br /> +When we followed you over the gory heath,<br /> + Where we whipped them man to man.</p> + +<p>Down with the cross of stars--<br /> + Too long hath it waved on high;<br /> +'Tis covered all over with battle scars,<br /> +But its gleam the Northern banner mars--<br /> + 'Tis time to lay it by.</p> + +<p>Down with the vows we've made,<br /> + Down, with each memory--<br /> +Down with the thoughts of our noble dead--<br /> +Down, down to the dust, where their forms are laid<br /> + And down with Liberty.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="199"></a>In the Land Where We Were Dreaming</h1> + +<h2>By D. B. Lucas, Esq., of Jefferson.</h2> + + + +<p>Fair were our visions! Oh, they were as grand<br /> +As ever floated out of Faerie land;<br /> + Children were we in single faith,<br /> + But God-like children, whom, nor death,<br /> +Nor threat, nor danger drove from Honor's path,<br /> + In the land where we were dreaming.</p> + +<p>Proud were our men, as pride of birth could render;<br /> +As violets, our women pure and tender;<br /> + And when they spoke, their voice did thrill<br /> + Until at eve, the whip-poor-will,<br /> +At morn the mocking-bird, were mute and still<br /> + In the land where we were dreaming.</p> + +<p>And we had graves that covered more of glory<br /> +Than ever tracked tradition's ancient story;<br /> + And in our dream we wove the thread<br /> + Of principles for which had bled<br /> +And suffered long our own immortal dead<br /> + In the land where we were dreaming.</p> + +<p>Though in our land we had both bond and free,<br /> +Both were content; and so God let them be;--<br /> + 'Till envy coveted our land<br /> + And those fair fields our valor won:<br /> +But little recked we, for we still slept on,<br /> + In the land where we were dreaming.</p> + +<p>Our sleep grew troubled and our dreams grew wild--<br /> +Red meteors flashed across our heaven's field;<br /> + Crimson the moon; between the Twins<br /> + Barbed arrows fly, and then begins<br /> +Such strife as when disorder's Chaos reigns,<br /> + In the land where we were dreaming.</p> + +<p>Down from her sun-lit heights smiled Liberty<br /> +And waved her cap in sign of Victory--<br /> + The world approved, and everywhere<br /> + Except where growled the Russian bear,<br /> +The good, the brave, the just gave us their prayer<br /> + In the land where we were dreaming.</p> + +<p>We fancied that a Government was ours--<br /> +We challenged place among the world's great powers;<br /> + We talked in sleep of Rank, Commission,<br /> + Until so life-like grew our vision,<br /> +That he who dared to doubt but met derision<br /> + In the land where we were dreaming.</p> + +<p>We looked on high: a banner there was seen,<br /> +Whose field was blanched and spotless in its sheen--<br /> + Chivalry's cross its Union bears,<br /> + And vet'rans swearing by their scars<br /> +Vowed they would bear it through a hundred wars<br /> + In the land where we were dreaming.</p> + +<p>A hero came amongst us as we slept;<br /> +At first he lowly knelt--then rose and wept;<br /> + Then gathering up a thousand spears<br /> + He swept across the field of Mars;<br /> +Then bowed farewell and walked beyond the stars--<br /> + In the land where we were dreaming.</p> + +<p>We looked again: another figure still<br /> +Gave hope, and nerved each individual will--<br /> + Full of grandeur, clothed with power,<br /> + Self-poised, erect, he ruled the hour<br /> +With stern, majestic sway--of strength a tower<br /> + In the land where we were dreaming.</p> + +<p>As, while great Jove, in bronze, a warder God,<br /> +Gazed eastward from the Forum where he stood,<br /> + Rome felt herself secure and free,<br /> + So, "Richmond's safe," we said, while we<br /> +Beheld a bronzed Hero--God-like Lee,<br /> + In the land where we were dreaming.</p> + +<p>As wakes the soldier when the alarum calls--<br /> +As wakes the mother when the infant falls--<br /> + As starts the traveller when around<br /> + His sleeping couch the fire-bells sound--<br /> +So woke our nation with a single bound<br /> + In the land where we were dreaming.</p> + +<p>Woe! woe is me! the startled mother cried--<br /> +While we have slept our noble sons have died!<br /> + Woe! woe is me! how strange and sad,<br /> + That all our glorious vision's fled<br /> +And left us nothing real but the dead<br /> + In the land where we were dreaming.</p> + +<p>And are they really dead, our martyred slain?<br /> +No! dreamers! morn shall bid them rise again<br /> + From every vale--from every height<br /> + On which they <i>seemed</i> to die for right--<br /> +Their gallant spirits shall renew the fight<br /> + In the land where we were dreaming.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="200"></a>Ballad--"Yes, Build Your Walls."</h1> + + + +<h3>I.</h3> + + +<p>Yes, build your walls of stone or sand,<br /> + But know, when all is builded--then,<br /> +The proper breastworks of the land<br /> + Are in a race of freeborn men!<br /> +The sons of sires, who knew, in life,<br /> + That, of all virtues, manhood first,<br /> +Still nursing peace, yet arms for strife,<br /> + And braves, for liberty, the worst!</p> + + + +<h3>II.</h3> + + +<p>What grand examples have been ours!<br /> + Oh! sons of Moultrie, Marion,--call<br /> +From mansions of the past, the powers,<br /> + That plucked ye from the despot's thrall!<br /> +Do Sumter, Rutledge, Gadsden, live?<br /> + Oh! for your City by the Sea,<br /> +They gladly gave, what men could give,<br /> + Blood, life, and toil, and made it free!</p> + + + +<h3>III.</h3> + + +<p>The grand inheritance, in trust<br /> + For children of your loins, must know<br /> +No taint of shame, no loss by lust,<br /> + Your own, or of the usurping foe!<br /> +Let not your sons, in future days,<br /> + The children now that bear your name,<br /> +Exulting in a grandsire's praise,<br /> + Droop o'er a father's grave in shame!</p> + +<p>Charleston Mercury.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="201"></a>The Lines Around Petersburg.</h1> + +<h2>By Samuel Davis, of North Carolina.</h2> + + + +<p>"Such a sleep they sleep,<br /> +The men I loved!"<br /> + Tennyson.</p> + + +<p>Oh, silence, silence! now, when night is near,<br /> + And I am left alone,<br /> +Thou art so strange, so sad reposing here--<br /> + And all so changed hath grown,<br /> +Where all was once exuberant with life<br /> + Through day and night, in deep and deadly strife.</p> + +<p>If I must weep, oh, tell me, is there not<br /> +Some plaintive story breathed into mine ear<br /> +By spirit-whispers from thy voiceless sphere,<br /> + Haunting this awful spot?<br /> +To my sad soul, more mutely eloquent<br /> +Than words of fame on sculptured monument<br /> +Outspeaks yon crumbling parapet, where lies<br /> +The broken gun, the idly rusting ball,<br /> +Mute tokens of an ill-starred enterprise!<br /> +Rude altars reared for costly sacrifice!<br /> +Vast work of hero-hands left in thy fall!</p> + +<p>Where are they now, that fearless brotherhood,<br /> + Who marshalled here,<br /> + That fearful year,<br /> +In pain and peril, yet undaunted stood,--<br /> +Though Death rode fiercest on the battle-storm<br /> +And earth lay strewn with many a glorious form?<br /> +Where are they now, who, when the strife was done,<br /> +With kindly greeting 'round the camp-fire met,--<br /> +And made an hour of mirth, from triumphs won,<br /> +Repay the day's stern toil, when the slow sun had set?</p> + +<p>Where are they?--<br /> +Let the nameless grave declare,--<br /> +In strange unwonted hillocks--frequent seen!<br /> +Alas I who knows how much lies buried there!--<br /> +What worlds, of love, and all that might have been!<br /> +The rest are scattered now, we know not where;<br /> +And Life to each a new employment brings;<br /> +But still they seem to gather round me here,<br /> +To whom these places were familiar things!<br /> +Wide sundered now, by mountain and by stream,<br /> +Once brothers--still a brotherhood they seem;--<br /> +More firm united, since a common woe<br /> +Hath brought to common hopes their overthrow!</p> + +<p>Brave souls and true;--in toil and danger tried,--<br /> +I see them still as in those glorious years,<br /> +When strong, and battling bravely side by side,<br /> +All crowned their deeds with praise,--and some with tears<br /> +'Tis done! the sword is sheathed; the banner furled,<br /> +No sound where late the crashing missile whirled--<br /> +The dead alone possess the battle-plain;<br /> +The living turn them to life's cares again.</p> + +<p>Oh, Silence! blessed dreams upon thee wait;<br /> +here Thought and Feeling ope their precious store,<br /> +And Memory, gathering from the spoils of Fate<br /> +Love's scattered treasures, brings them back once more!<br /> + So let me often dream,<br /> + As up the brightening stream<br /> + Of olden Time, thought gently leads me on,<br /> +Seeking those better days, lost, lost, alas! and gone!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="202"></a>All Is Gone.</h1> + +<h2>Fadette.--Memphis Appeal.</h2> + + + +<p>Sister, hark! Atween the trees cometh naught but summer breeze?<br /> + All is gone--<br /> +Summer breezes come and go. Hope doth never wander so--<br /> +No, nor evermore doth Woe.</p> + +<p>Sister, look! Adown the lane treadeth only April rain?<br /> + All is gone--<br /> +Through the tangled hedge-rows green glimmer thus the sunbeam's sheen,<br /> +Dropping from cloud-rifts between?</p> + +<p>Sister, hark! the very air heavy on my heart doth bear--<br /> + All is gone!--<br /> +E'en the birds that chirped erewhile for the frowning sun to smile,<br /> +Hush at that drum near the stile.</p> + +<p>Sister, pray!--it is the foe! On thy knees--aye, very low--<br /> + All is gone,<br /> +And the proud South on her knees to a mongrel race like these--<br /> +But the dead sleep 'neath the trees.</p> + +<p>See--they come--their banners flare gayly in our gloomy air--<br /> + All is gone--<br /> +Flashed our Southern Cross all night--naught but a meteoric light<br /> +In a moment lost to sight?</p> + +<p>Aye, so gay--the brave array--marching from no battle fray--<br /> + All is gone,--<br /> +Yet who vaunteth, of your host, maketh he but little boast<br /> +If he think on battles most.</p> + +<p>On they wind, behind the wood. Dost remember once we stood--<br /> + All is gone--<br /> +All but memory, of those days--but we've stood here while the haze<br /> +Of the battle met the blaze.</p> + +<p>Of the sun adown yon hill. Charge on charge--I hear them still.--<br /> + All is gone!--<br /> +Yet I hear the echoing crash--see the sabres gleam and flash--<br /> +See one gallant headlong dash.</p> + +<p>One, amid the battle-wreck, restive plunged his charger black--<br /> + All is gone--<br /> +Whirrs the partridge there--didst see where he rode so<br /> +recklessly?<br /> +Once he turned and waved to me.</p> + +<p>"Ah," thou saidst, "the smoke is dark, scarce can I our banner mark"--<br /> + All is gone--<br /> +All but memory; yet I see, darksome howsoever it be,<br /> +How to death--to death--rode he.</p> + +<p>Not a star he proudly bore, but a sword all dripping gore--<br /> + All is gone--<br /> +Dashes on our little band like yon billow on the strand--<br /> +Like yon strand unmoved they stand.</p> + +<p>For their serried ranks are strong: thousands upon thousands throng--<br /> + All is gone,<br /> +And the handful, true and brave, spent, like yonder dying wave,<br /> +Fall back slowly from that grave.</p> + +<p>Low our banner drooped--and fell. Back he spurs, mid shot and shell--<br /> + All <i>was</i> gone,<br /> +But he waves it high--and then, on--we sweep them from the glen--<br /> +But he ne'er rode back again.</p> + +<p>Ah, I smiled to see him go. How my cheek with pride did glow!<br /> + All is gone--<br /> +All, of pride or hope, for me--but that evening, hopefully<br /> +Stood I at the gate with thee,</p> + +<p>Sister, when at twilight gray marched our soldiers back this way--<br /> + All is gone--<br /> +In the woods rang many a cheer--how we smiled! I did not fear<br /> +Till--at last was borne a bier.</p> + +<p>Sweetest sister, dost thou weep? Hush! he only fell asleep--<br /> + All is gone--<br /> +And'twere better he had died--free, whatever us betide--<br /> +Our galling chains untried.</p> + +<p>We were leaning on the gate. Dost remember, it grew late--<br /> + All is gone--<br /> +Yet I see the stars so pale--see the shadows down the vale--<br /> +Hear the whip-poor-will's far wail,</p> + +<p>As if all were in a dream. Through yon pines the moon did gleam--<br /> + All is gone--<br /> +On that banner-pall of death--on that red sword without sheath--<br /> +And--I knew who lay beneath.<br /> +<br /> +Did I speak? I thought I said, let me look upon your dead--<br /> + All is gone---<br /> +Was I cold? I did not weep. Tears are spray from founts not deep--<br /> +My heart lies in frozen sleep.</p> + +<p>Sister, pray for me. Thine eyes gleam like God's own midnight skies--<br /> + All is gone--<br /> +Tuneless are my spirit's chords. I but look up, like the birds,<br /> +And trust Christ to say the words.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="203"></a>Bowing Her Head.</h1> + + + +<p>Her head is bowed downwards; so pensive her air,<br /> + As she looks on the ground with her pale, solemn face,<br /> +It were hard to decide whether faith or despair,<br /> + Whether anguish or trust, in her heart holds a place.</p> + +<p>Her hair was all gold in the sun's joyous light,<br /> + Her brow was as smooth as the soft, placid sea:<br /> +But the furrows of care came with shadows of night,<br /> + And the gold silvered pale when the light left the lea.</p> + +<p>Her lips slightly parted, deep thought in her eye,<br /> + While sorrow cuts seams in her forehead so fair;<br /> +Her bosom heaves gently, she stifles a sigh,<br /> + And just moistens her lid with the dews of a tear.</p> + +<p>Why droops she thus earthward--why bends she? Oh, see!<br /> + There are gyves on her limbs! see her manacled hand!<br /> +She is loaded with chains; but her spirit is free--<br /> + Free to love and to mourn for her desolate land.</p> + +<p>Her jailer, though cunning, lacks wit to devise<br /> + How to fetter her thoughts, as her limbs he has done;<br /> +The eagle that's snatched from his flight to the skies,<br /> + From the bars of his cage may still gaze at the sun.</p> + +<p>No sound does she utter; all voiceless her pains;<br /> + The wounds of her spirit with pride she conceals;<br /> +She is dumb to her shearers; the clank of her chains<br /> + And the throbs of her heart only tell what she feels.</p> + +<p>She looks sadly around her; now sombre the scene!<br /> + How thick the deep shadows that darken her view!<br /> +The black embers of homes where the earth was so green,<br /> + And the smokes of her wreck where the heavens shone blue.</p> + +<p>Her daughters bereaved of all succor but God,<br /> + Her bravest sons perished--the light of her eyes;<br /> +But oppression's sharp heel does not cut 'neath the sod,<br /> + And she knows that the chains cannot bind in the skies.</p> + +<p>She thinks of the vessel she aided to build,<br /> + Of all argosies richest that floated the seas;<br /> +Compacted so strong, framed by architects skilled,<br /> + Or to dare the wild storm, or to sail to the breeze.</p> + +<p>The balmiest winds blowing soft where she steers,<br /> + The favor of heaven illuming her path--<br /> +She might sail as she pleased to the mild summer airs,<br /> + And avoid the dread regions of tempest and wrath.</p> + +<p>But the crew quarrelled soon o'er the cargo she bore;<br /> + 'Twas adjusted unfairly, the cavillers said;<br /> +And the anger of men marred the peace that of yore<br /> + Spread a broad path of glory and sunshine ahead.</p> + +<p>There were seams in her planks--there were spots on her flag--<br /> + So the fanatics said, as they seized on her helm;<br /> +And from soft summer seas, turned her prow where the crag<br /> + And the wild breakers rose the good ship to overwhelm.</p> + +<p>Then the South, though true love to the vessel she bore,<br /> + Since she first laid its keel in the days that were gone--<br /> +Saw it plunge madly on to the wild billows' roar,<br /> + And rush to destruction and ruin forlorn.</p> + +<p>So she passed from the decks, in the faith of her heart<br /> + That justice and God her protectors would be;<br /> +Not dashed like a frail, fragile spar, without chart,<br /> + In the fury and foam of the wild raging sea.</p> + +<p>The life-boat that hung by the stout vessel's side<br /> + She seized, and embarked on the wide, trackless main,<br /> +In the faith that she'd reach, making virtue her guide,<br /> + The haven the mother-ship failed to attain</p> + +<p>But the crew rose in wrath, and they swore by their might<br /> + They would sink the brave boat that did buffet the sea,<br /> +For daring to seek, by her honor and right,<br /> + A new port from the storms, a new home for the free.</p> + +<p>So they crushed the brave boat; all forbearance they lost;<br /> + They littered with ruins the ocean so wild--<br /> +Till the hulk of the parent ship, beaten and tossed,<br /> + Drifted prone on the flood by the wreck of the child.</p> + +<p>And the bold rower, loaded with fetters and chains,<br /> + In the gloom of her heart sings the proud vessel's dirge;<br /> +Half forgets, in its wreck, all the pangs of her pains,<br /> + As she sees its stout parts floating loose in the surge.</p> + +<p>Savannah Broadside.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="204"></a>The Confederate Flag</h1> + +<h2>By Anna Feyre Dinnies, of Louisiana.</h2> + + + +<p>Take that banner down,'tis weary,<br /> +Round its staff 'tis drooping dreary,<br /> + Furl it, hide it, let it rest;<br /> +For there's not a man to wave it--<br /> +For there's not a soul to lave it<br /> +In the blood that heroes gave it.<br /> + Furl it, hide it, let it rest.</p> + +<p>Take that banner down,'tis tattered;<br /> +Broken is its staff, and shattered;<br /> +And the valiant hearts are scattered<br /> + Over whom it floated high.<br /> +Oh! 'tis hard for us to fold it--<br /> +Hard to think there's none to hold it--<br /> +Hard that those, who once unrolled it,<br /> + Now must furl it with a sigh.</p> + +<p>Furl that banner, furl it sadly;<br /> +Once six millions hailed it gladly,<br /> +And three hundred thousand, madly,<br /> + Swore it should forever wave--<br /> +Swore that foeman's sword should never<br /> +Hearts like theirs entwined dissever--<br /> +That their flag should float forever<br /> + O'er their freedom or their grave!</p> + +<p>Furl it, for the hands that grasped it,<br /> +And the hearts that fondly clasped it,<br /> + Cold and dead are lying low;<br /> +And that banner--it is trailing,<br /> +While around it sounds the wailing<br /> + Of its people in their woe;<br /> +For, though conquered, they adore it,<br /> +Love the cold, dead hands that bore it,<br /> +Weep for those who fell before it--<br /> +Oh! how wildly they deplore it,<br /> + Now to furl and fold it so!</p> + +<p>Furl that banner; true 'tis gory,<br /> +But 'tis wreathed around with glory,<br /> +And'twill live in song and story,<br /> + Though its folds are in the dust;<br /> +For its fame, on brightest pages--<br /> +Sung by poets, penned by sages--<br /> +Shall go sounding down to ages--<br /> + Furl its folds though now we must.</p> + +<p>Furl that banner-softly, slowly;<br /> +Furl it gently, it is holy,<br /> + For it droops above the dead.<br /> +Touch it not, unfurl it never,<br /> +Let it droop there, furled forever,<br /> + For its people's hopes are fled.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="205"></a>Ashes of Glory.</h1> + +<h2>A. J. Requier.</h2> + + + +<p>Fold up the gorgeous silken sun,<br /> + By bleeding martyrs blest,<br /> +And heap the laurels it has won<br /> + Above its place of rest.<br /> +<br /> +No trumpet's note need harshly blare--<br /> + No drum funereal roll--<br /> +Nor trailing sables drape the bier<br /> + That frees a dauntless soul!</p> + +<p>It lived with Lee, and decked his brow<br /> + From Fate's empyreal Palm:<br /> +It sleeps the sleep of Jackson now--<br /> + As spotless and as calm.</p> + +<p>It was outnumbered--not outdone;<br /> + And they shall shuddering tell,<br /> +Who struck the blow, its latest gun<br /> + Flashed ruin as it fell.</p> + +<p>Sleep, shrouded Ensign! not the breeze<br /> + That smote the victor tar,<br /> +With death across the heaving seas<br /> + Of fiery Trafalgar;</p> + +<p>Not Arthur's knights, amid the gloom<br /> + Their knightly deeds have starred;<br /> +Nor Gallic Henry's matchless plume,<br /> + Nor peerless-born Bayard;</p> + +<p>Not all that antique fables feign,<br /> + And Orient dreams disgorge;<br /> +Nor yet, the Silver Cross of Spain,<br /> + And Lion of St. George,</p> + +<p>Can bid thee pale! Proud emblem, still<br /> + Thy crimson glory shines<br /> +Beyond the lengthened shades that fill<br /> + Their proudest kingly lines.</p> + +<p>Sleep! in thine own historic night,--<br /> + And be thy blazoned scroll,<br /> +<i>A warrior's Banner takes its flight,<br /> + To greet the warrior's soul!</i></p> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of War Poetry of the South, by Various + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAR POETRY OF THE SOUTH *** + +This file should be named 8wrpm10h.htm or 8wrpm10h.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8wrpm11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8wrpm10ah.htm + +Produced by Distributed Proofreaders + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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