Part 7

Peace, peace to the world--is our motto unfurled, Tho' we shun not a field that is gory; At home or abroad, fearing none but our God, We will carve our own pathway to glory! Then hail the true--the Red, White, and Blue, The flag of the Constellation, It sails as it sailed, by our fore-fathers hailed, O'er battles that made us a nation,

Florence, Italy, May, 1861.

THE STARS AND STRIPES.

BY JAMES T. FIELDS.

Rally round the flag, boys-- Give it to the breeze! That's the banner we bore On the land and seas.

Brave hearts are under it, Let the _traitors_ brag, Gallant lads, fire away! And fight for the flag.

Their flag is but a rag-- Ours is the true one; Up with the Stars and Stripes! Down with the new one!

Let our colors fly, boys-- Guard them day and night; For victory is liberty, And God will bless the right.

THE BONNIE BLUE FLAG.

BY ANNIE CHAMBERS KETCHUM.

Come, brothers! rally for the right! The bravest of the brave Sends forth her ringing battle-cry Beside the Atlantic wave! She leads the way in honor's path; Come brothers, near and far, Come rally round the Bonnie Blue Flag That bears a single star!

We've borne the Yankee trickery, The Yankee gibe and sneer, Till Yankee insolence and pride Know neither shame nor fear; But ready now with shot and steel Their brazen front to mar, We hoist aloft the Bonnie Blue Flag That bears a single star.

Now Georgia marches to the front, And close beside her come Her sisters by the Mexique Sea, With pealing trump and drum; Till answering back from hill and glen The rallying cry afar, A Nation hoists the Bonnie Blue Flag That bears a single star!

By every stone in Charleston Bay, By each beleaguered town, We swear to rest not, night nor day, But hunt the tyrants down! Till bathed in valor's holy blood The gazing world afar Shall greet with shouts the Bonnie Blue Flag That bears the cross and star!

[Southern.]

THE STRIPES AND THE STARS.

BY EDNA DEAN PROCTOR.

O STAR-SPANGLED BANNER! the flag of our pride! Though trampled by traitors and basely defied, Fling out to the glad winds your red, white, and blue, For the heart of the Northland is beating for you! And her strong arm is nerving to strike with a wall, Till the foe and his boastings are humbled and still! Here's welcome to wounding and combat and scars And the glory of death--for the Stripes and the Stars!

From prairie, O ploughman! speed boldly away-- There's seed to be sown in God's furrows to-day! Row landward, lone fisher! stout woodman come home! Let smith leave his anvil and weaver his loom, And hamlet and city ring loud with the cry: "For God and our country we'll fight till we die! Here's welcome to wounding and combat and scars And the glory of death--for the Stripes and the Stars!"

Invincible banner! the flag of the free, Oh, where treads the foot that would falter for thee? Or the hands to be folded, till triumph is won And the eagle looks proud, as of old, to the sun? Give tears for the parting--a murmur of prayer-- Then forward! the fame of our standard to share! With welcome to wounding and combat and scars And the glory of death--for the Stripes and the Stars!

O God of our fathers! this banner must shine Where battle is hottest, in warfare divine! The cannon has thundered, the bugle has blown-- We fear not the summons-we fight not alone! O lead us, till wide from the gulf to the sea The land shall be sacred to freedom and Thee! With love for oppression; with blessing, for scars-- One country--one banner--the Stripes and the Stars!

DIXIE.

BY ALBERT PIKE.

Southrons, hear your country call you! Up, lest worse than death befall you! To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie! Lo! all the beacon-fires are lighted-- Let all hearts be now united! To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie! Advance the flag of Dixie! Hurrah! hurrah! For Dixie's land we take our stand, And live or die for Dixie! To arms! To arms! And conquer peace for Dixie! To arms! To arms! And conquer peace for Dixie!

Hear the Northern thunders mutter! Northern flags in South winds flutter! To arms! Send them back your fierce defiance! Stamp upon the accursed alliance! To arms! Advance the flag of Dixie!

Fear no danger! shun no labor! Lift up rifle, pike, and sabre! To arms! Shoulder pressing close to shoulder, Let the odds make each heart bolder! To arms! Advance the flag of Dixie!

How the South's great heart rejoices At your cannon's ringing voices! To arms! For faith betrayed, and pledges broken, Wrongs inflicted, insults spoken, To arms! Advance the flag of Dixie!

Strong as lions, swift as eagles, Back to their kennels hunt these beagles! To arms! Cut the unequal bond asunder! Let them hence each other plunder! To arms! Advance the flag of Dixie!

Swear upon your country's altar Never to submit or falter! To arms! Till the spoilers are defeated, Till the Lord's work is completed, To arms! Advance the flag of Dixie!

Halt not till our Federation Secures among earth's powers its station To arms! Then at peace, and crowned with glory, Hear your children tell the story! To arms! Advance the flag of Dixie!

If the loved ones weep in sadness, Victory soon shall bring them gladness. To arms! Exultant pride soon vanish sorrow; Smiles chase tears away to-morrow. To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie! Advance the flag of Dixie! Hurrah! hurrah! For Dixie's land we take our stand, And live or die for Dixie! To arms! To arms! And conquer peace for Dixie! To arms! To arms! And conquer peace for Dixie!

[Southern.]

THE OATH OF FREEDOM.

BY JAMES BARRON HOPE.

Born free, thus we resolve to live: By Heaven, we will be free! By all the stars which burn on high-- By the green earth--the mighty sea-- By God's unshaken majesty, We will be free or die! Then let the drums all roll! Let all the trumpets blow! Mind, heart, and soul, We spurn control Attempted by a foe!

Born free, thus we resolve to live: By Heaven, we will be free! And, vainly now the Northmen try To beat us down--in arms we stand To strike for this our native land! We will be free or die! Then let the drums all roll!

Born free, we thus resolve to live: By Heaven, we will be free! Our wives and children look on high, Pray God to smile upon the right! And bid us in the deadly fight As freemen live or die! Then let the drums all roll!

Born free, thus we resolve to live: By Heaven, we will be free! And ere we cease this battle-cry, Be all our blood, our kindred's spilt, On bayonet or sabre hilt! We will be free or die! Then let the drums all roll!

Born free, thus we resolve to live: By Heaven, we will be free! Defiant let the banners fly, Shake out their glories to the air, And kneeling, brothers, let us swear We will be free or die! Then let the drums all roll!

Born free, thus we resolve to live: By Heaven, we will be free! And to this oath the dead reply-- Our valiant fathers' sacred ghosts-- These with us, and the God of hosts, We will be free or die! Then let the drums all roll!

[Southern.]

BY CHARGES DAWSON SHANLY.

[In many collections this poem is entitled "The Fancy Shot." It was first published in London, in the paper called _Once-a-Week_, and was there entitled "Civile Bellum." It is believed to be the work of Charles Dawson Shanly, who died in 1876.--EDITOR.]

"Rifleman, shoot me a fancy shot Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette; Ring me a ball in the glittering spot That shines on his breast like an amulet!"

"Ah, captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead, There's music around when my barrel's in tune!" Crack! went the rifle, the messenger sped, And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon.

"Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and snatch From your victim some trinket to handsel first blood; A button, a loop, or that luminous patch That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!"

"O captain! I staggered and sunk on my track, When I gazed on the face of that fallen vidette, For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back, That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet.

"But I snatched off the trinket,--this locket of gold; An inch from the centre my lead broke its way, Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold, Of a beautiful lady in bridal array."

"Ha! rifleman, fling me the locket!--'tis she, My brother's young bride,--and the fallen dragoon Was her husband--Hush! soldier, 'twas Heaven's decree, We must bury him there, by the light of the moon!

"But hark! the far bugles their warnings unite; War is a virtue, weakness a sin; There's a lurking and loping around us to-night;-- Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in!"

THE MASSACHUSETTS LINE.

BY ROBERT LOWELL.

Still first, as long and long ago, Let Massachusetts muster; Give her the post right next the foe; Be sure that you may trust her. She was the first to give her blood For freedom and for honor; She trod her soil to crimson mud; God's blessing be upon her!

She never faltered for the right, Nor ever will hereafter; Fling up her name with all your might, Shake roof-tree and shake rafter! But of old deeds she need not brag, How she broke sword and fetter; Fling out again the old striped flag! She'll do yet more and better.

In peace her sails fleck all the seas, Her mills shake every river; And where are scenes so fair as these God and her true hands give her? Her claim in war who seek to rob? All others come in later;-- Hers first it is to front the mob, The tyrant, and the traitor.

God bless, God bless this glorious State! Let her have her way in battle! She'll go where batteries crash with fate Or where thick rifles rattle. Give her the Light and let her try, And then who can may press her; She'll go straight on or she will die; God bless her, and God bless her!

May 7, 1861.

BETHEL.

BY A. J. H. DUGANNE.

[Theodore Winthrop, a brilliant young man of letters, was killed at Big Bethel, on June 10, 1861.--EDITOR.]

We mustered at midnight, in darkness we formed, And the whisper went round of a fort to be stormed; But no drum-beat had called us, no trumpet we heard, And no voice of command, but our colonel's low word-- "Column! Forward!"

And out, through the mist, and the murk of the morn, From the beaches of Hampton our barges were borne; And we heard not a sound, save the sweep of the oar, Till the word of our colonel came up from the shore-- "Column! Forward!"

With hearts bounding bravely, and eyes all alight, As ye dance to soft music, so trod we that night; Through the aisles of the greenwood, with vines over-arched, Tossing dew-drops, like gems, from our feet, as we marched-- "Column! Forward!"

As ye dance with the damsels, to viol and flute, So we skipped from the shadows, and mocked their pursuit; But the soft zephyrs chased us, with scents of the morn, As we passed by the hay-fields and green waving corn-- "Column! Forward!"

For the leaves were all laden with fragrance of June, And the flowers and the foliage with sweets were in tune; And the air was so calm, and the forest so dumb, That we heard our own heart-beats, like taps of a drum-- "Column! Forward!"

Till the lull of the lowlands was stirred by the breeze, And the buskins of morn brushed the tops of the trees, And the glintings of glory that slid from her track By the sheen of our rifles were gayly flung back-- "Column! Forward!"

And the woodlands grew purple with sunshiny mist, And the blue-crested hill-tops with rose-light were kissed, And the earth gave her prayers to the sun in perfumes, Till we marched as through gardens, and trampled on blooms-- "Column! Forward!"

Ay, trampled on blossoms, and seared the sweet breath Of the greenwood with low-brooding vapors of death; O'er the flowers and the corn we were borne like a blast, And away to the forefront of battle we passed-- "Column! Forward!"

For the cannon's hoarse thunder roared out from the glades, And the sun was like lightning on banners and blades, When the long line of chanting Zouaves, like a flood, From the green of the woodlands rolled, crimson as blood-- "Column! Forward!"

While the sound of their song, like the surge of the seas, With the "Star-Spangled Banner" swelled over the leas; And the sword of Duryea, like a torch, led the way, Bearing down on the batteries of Bethel that day-- "Column! Forward!"

Through green-tasselled cornfields our columns were thrown, And like corn by the red scythe of fire we were mown; While the cannon's fierce ploughings new-furrowed the plain, That our blood might be planted for Liberty's grain-- "Column! Forward!"

Oh! the fields of fair June have no lack of sweet flowers, But their rarest and best breathe no fragrance like ours; And the sunshine of June, sprinkling gold on the corn, Hath no harvest that ripeneth like Bethel's red morn-- "Column! Forward!"

When our heroes, like bridegrooms, with lips and with breath, Drank the first kiss of Danger and clasped her in death; And the heart of brave Winthrop grew mute with his lyre, When the plumes of his genius lay moulting in fire-- "Column! Forward!"

Where he fell shall be sunshine as bright as his name, And the grass where he slept shall be green as his fame; For the gold of the pen and the steel of the sword Write his deeds--in his blood--on the land he adored-- "Column! Forward!"

And the soul of our comrade shall sweeten the air, And the flowers and the grass-blades his memory upbear; While the breath of his genius, like music in leaves, With the corn-tassels whispers, and sings in the sheaves-- "Column! Forward!"

THE CHARGE BY THE FORD.

BY DR. THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH.

Eighty and nine with their captain Rode on the enemy's track, Rode in the gray of the morning: Nine of the ninety came back.

Slow rose the mist from the river, Lighter each moment the way: Careless and tearless and fearless Galloped they on to the fray.

Singing in tune, how the scabbards Loud on the stirrup-irons rang, Clinked as the men rose in saddle, Fell as they sank with a clang.

What is it moves by the river, Jaded and weary and weak, Gray-backs--a cross on their banner-- Yonder the foe whom they seek.

Silence! They see not, they hear not, Tarrying there by the marge: _Forward! Draw sabre! Trot! Gallop!_ _Charge!_ like a hurricane, _charge_!

Ah! 'twas a man-trap infernal-- Fire like the deep pit of hell! Volley on volley to meet them, Mixed with the gray rebels' yell.

Ninety had ridden to battle, Tracing the enemy's track,-- Ninety had ridden to battle, Nine of the ninety came back.

Honor the name of the ninety; Honor the heroes who came Scathless from five hundred muskets, Safe from the lead-bearing flame.

Eighty and one of the troopers Lie on the field of the slain-- Lie on the red field of honor: Honor the nine who remain!

Cold are the dead there, and gory, There where their life-blood was spilt; Back come the living, each sabre Red from the point to the hilt.

Give them three cheers and a tiger! Let the flags wave as they come! Give them the blare of the trumpet Give them the roll of the drum!

MANASSAS.

July 21, 1861.

BY CATHERINE M. WARFIELD.

They have met at last--as storm-clouds Meet in heaven, And the Northmen back and bleeding Have been driven: And their thunders have been stilled, And their leaders crushed or killed, And their ranks with terror thrilled, Rent and riven!

Like the leaves of Vallambrosa They are lying; In the moonlight, in the midnight, Dead and dying: Like those leaves before the gale, Swept their legions, wild and pale; While the host that made them quail Stood, defying.

When aloft in morning sunlight Flags were flaunted, And "swift vengeance on the rebel" Proudly vaunted: Little did they think that night Should close upon their shameful flight, And rebels, victors in the fight, Stand undaunted.

But peace to those who perished In our passes! Light be the earth above them; Green the grasses! Long shall Northmen rue the day When they met our stern array, And shrunk from battle's wild affray At Manassas.

(Southern.)

UPON THE HILL BEFORE CENTREVILLE.

July 21, 1861.

BY GEORGE H. BOKER.

I'll tell you what I heard that day: I heard the great guns, far away, Boom after boom. Their sullen sound Shook all the shuddering air around; And shook, ah me! my shrinking ear, And downward shook the hanging tear That, in despite of manhood's pride, Rolled o'er my face a scalding tide. And then I prayed. O God! I prayed, As never stricken saint, who laid His hot cheek to the holy tomb Of Jesus, in the midnight gloom.

"What saw I?" Little. Clouds of dust; Great squares of men, with standards thrust Against their course; dense columns crowned With billowing steel. Then bound on bound, The long black lines of cannon poured Behind the horses, streaked and gored With sweaty speed. Anon shot by, Like a lone meteor of the sky, A single horseman; and he shone His bright face on me, and was gone. All these with rolling drums, with cheers, With songs familiar to my ears, Passed under the far-hanging cloud, And vanished, and my heart was proud!

For mile on mile the line of war Extended; and a steady roar, As of some distant stormy sea, On the south-wind came up to me. And high in air, and over all, Grew, like a fog, that murky pall, Beneath whose gloom of dusty smoke The cannon flamed, the bombshell broke. And the sharp rattling volley rang, And shrapnel roared, and bullets sang, And fierce-eyed men, with panting breath, Toiled onward at the work of death. I could not see, but knew too well, That underneath that cloud of hell, Which still grew more by great degrees, Man strove with man in deeds like these.

But when the sun had passed his stand At noon, behold! on every hand The dark brown vapor backward bore, And fainter came the dreadful roar From the huge sea of striving men. Thus spoke my rising spirit then: "Take comfort from that dying sound, Faint heart, the foe is giving ground!" And one, who taxed his horse's powers, Flung at me, "Ho! the day is ours!" And scoured along. So swift his pace, I took no memory of his face. Then turned I once again to Heaven; All things appeared so just and even; So clearly from the highest Cause Traced I the downward-working laws-- Those moral springs, made evident, In the grand, triumph-crowned event. So half I shouted, and half sang, Like Jephtha's daughter, to the clang Of my spread, cymbal-striking palms, Some fragments of thanksgiving psalms.

Meanwhile a solemn stillness fell Upon the land. O'er hill and dell Failed every sound. My heart stood still, Waiting before some coming ill. The silence was more sad and dread, Under that canopy of lead, Than the wild tumult of the war That raged a little while before. All nature, in her work of death, Paused for one last, despairing breath; And, cowering to the earth, I drew From her strong breast my strength anew.

When I arose, I wondering saw Another dusty vapor draw, From the far right, its sluggish way Toward the main cloud, that frowning lay Against the western sloping sun: And all the war was re-begun, Ere this fresh marvel of my sense Caught from my mind significance. And then--why ask me? O my God! Would I had lain beneath the sod, A patient clod, for many a day, And from my bones and mouldering clay The rank field grass and flowers had sprung, Ere the base sight, that struck and stung My very soul, confronted me, Shamed at my own humanity. O happy dead! who early fell, Ye have no wretched tale to tell Of causeless fear and coward flight, Of victory snatched beneath your sight, Of martial strength and honor lost, Of mere life bought at any cost, Of the deep, lingering mark of shame, For ever scorched on brow and name, That no new deeds, however bright, Shall banish from men's loathful sight!

Ye perished in your conscious pride, Ere this vile scandal opened wide A wound that cannot close nor heal. Ye perished steel to levelled steel, Stern votaries of the god of war, Filled with his godhead to the core! Ye died to live, these lived to die, Beneath the scorn of every eye! How eloquent your voices sound From the low chambers under ground! How clear each separate title burns From your high-set and laurelled urns! While these, who walk about the earth, Are blushing at their very birth! And, though they talk, and go, and come, Their moving lips are worse than dumb. Ye sleep beneath the valley's dew, And all the nation mourns for you; So sleep till God shall wake the lands! For angels, armed with fiery brands, Await to take you by the hands.