Part 10

See ye the fires and flashes still leaping? See ye the tempest and jettings of storm? See ye the banners of proud Texan heroes, In front of her column, move steadily on? Hear ye the music that gladdens each comrade, Riding on wings through torrents of sounds? Hear ye the booming adown the red valley? Riley unbuckles his swarthy old hounds![10]

Valiant Fifth Texas! I saw your brave column Rush through the channels of living and dead; Sturdy Fourth Texas! Why weep, your old warhorse? He died as he wish'd, in the gear, at your head: West Point! ye will tell, on the pages of glory, How the blood of the South ebb'd away near your shade, And how sons of Texas fought in the red valley, And fell in the columns of Hood's Texas Brigade.

Fathers and mothers, ye weep for your jewels; Sisters, ye weep for your brothers in vain; Maidens, ye weep for your sunny-eyed lovers-- Weep, for you'll never behold them again! But know ye that vict'ry, the shrine of the noble, Encircles the house of death newly made! And know ye that Freedom, the shrine of the mighty, Shines forth on the banners of Hood's Texas Brigade!

Daughters of Southland, come bring ye bright flowers, Weave ye a chaplet for the brow of the brave; Bring ye the emblems of freedom and victory; Bring ye the emblems of death and the grave; Bring ye some motto befitting a hero; Bring ye exotics that never will fade; Come to the deep crimson'd valley of Richmond, And crown our young Chief of the Texas Brigade!

SWEETHEARTS AND THE WAR.

Oh, dear! its shameful, I declare, To make the men all go And leave so many sweethearts here Without a single beau. We like to see them brave, 'tis true, And would not urge them stay; But what are we, poor girls, to do When they are all away?

We told them we could spare them there, Before they had to go; But, bless their hearts, we weren't aware That we should miss them so. We miss them all in many ways, But truth will ever out, The greatest thing we miss them for Is seeing us about.

On Sunday, when we go to church, We look in vain for some To meet us, smiling, on the porch, And ask to see us home. And then we can't enjoy a walk Since all the beaux have gone; For what's the good (to use plain talk), If we must trudge alone?

But what's the use of talking thus? We'll try to be content; And if they cannot come to us A message may be sent. And that's one comfort, anyway; For though we are apart, There is no reason why we may Not open heart to heart.

We trust it may soon come To a final test; We want to see our Southern homes Secured in peaceful rest. But if the blood of those we love In freedom's cause must flow, With fervent trust in God above, We bid them onward go.

And we will watch them as they go, And cheer them on their way: Our arms shall be their resting-place When wounded sore they lay. Oh! if the sons of Southern soil For freedom's cause must die, Her daughters ask no dearer boon Than by their side to lie.

JACKSON'S RESIGNATION.

A Yankee Soliloquy before the Battle of Fredericksburg.

By TENELLA.

Well, we can whip them now I guess, If Jackson has resigned, General Lee in "fighting Burnside," More than his match will find: We're done with slow McClellan, Who kept us "digging dirt," And now are "on to Richmond," Where some one "will be hurt."

Again around the Rebels The anaconda coils, For East and West, and North and South, We have them in our toils; We'd have beat them at Manassas If McDowell had not slipped, When he tried to leap this Stonewall, Who don't know when he's whipped.

We'd have laid them in the Valley So low they could not rise, But Banks must run against it, And spill all his supplies. Now if that fool Jeff Davis Has let Stonewall resign, We can go "on to Richmond" By the Rappahannock line.

But they say he's a shrewd fellow Who knows a soldier well, And stood by Sidney Johnston Until in death he fell; "If Johnston is no general, Then, gentlemen, I've none," He said to those who grumbled, When Donelson we won.

And I don't believe that Jackson's Resignation he'll accept-- Hallo!!!--A rebel picket-- How close the rascal crept! "Say, stranger, is it true That Jackson has resigned?" "Well, yes--I reckon so-- Heard somethin' of the kind."

"What for? Did old Jeff Davis Put a sub. above his head?" "No--they took away his commissary, So I've heard it said." "Well, _we_ are glad to hear it, And will tender them our thanks, But who was Jackson's commissary?" "_Your Major-General Banks._"

"Confound your rebel impudence! He'd be very smart indeed, If from supplies for _one_ intended, _Two_ armies he could feed."

_Southern Illustrated News_, April, 1863.

WE LEFT HIM ON THE FIELD.

By MISS MARIA E. JONES, of Galveston, Tex.

We left him on the crimson'd field, Where battle storms had swept, We know the soldier's fate was seal'd-- No wonder that we wept. Some have, perhaps, as nobly fought, And some as bravely fell, Where the red sword its work hath wrought, But none we lov'd so well.

O deem us not a faithless band, Who left him to the foe; His latest accent of command, Was when he bade us go! Yet one still linger'd near his side, To watch his fleeting breath, To mark the ebbing of life's tide And pale approach of death.

But ere we left our Captain there, He gave us each a word, Some thought of kind, remembering care-- "Here, Warren, take my sword-- You'll be their captain now, you know; But, friend, remember then," Said he, "how well I loved them; Be faithful to my men!

"Wear the sword well. The gift is small, But with it goes my love, Good-bye, boys! Heaven bless you all; I'm ordered up above, And there can be no countermand-- I know my fate is seal'd!" He faintly smiled, and wav'd his hand-- We left him on the field.

MOTHER! IS THE BATTLE OVER?

Mother! is the battle over? thousands have been killed they say-- Is my father coming?--tell me, have the Southrons gain'd the day? Is he well, or is he wounded? Mother, do you think he's slain? If you know, I pray you tell me--will my father come again?

Mother, dear, you're always sighing since you last the paper read-- Tell me why you now are crying--why that cap is on your head? Ah! I see you cannot tell me--father's one among the slain! Altho' he lov'd us very dearly, he will never come again!

A NORTH CAROLINA CALL TO ARMS.

By LUOLA.

_Air--"The Old North State."_

Ye sons of Carolina! awake from your dreaming! The minions of Lincoln upon us are streaming! Oh! wait not for argument, call, or persuasion To meet at the onset this treach'rous invasion!

CHORUS.--Defend, defend the old North State forever; Defend, defend the good old North State.

Oh! think of the maidens, the wives, and the mothers; Fly ye to the rescue, sons, husbands, and brothers, And sink in oblivion all party and section; Your hearth-stones are looking to you for protection! CHORUS.

The babe in its sweetness, the child in its beauty, Unconsciously urge you to action and duty! By all that is sacred, by all to you tender, Your country adjures, arise and defend her! CHORUS.

The Star-Spangled Banner, dishonored, is streaming O'er lands of fanatics; their swords are now gleaming; They thirst for the life-blood of those you most cherish; With brave hearts and true, then, arouse, or they perish. CHORUS.

Round the flag of the South, oh! in thousands now rally, For the hour's departed when freemen may sally; Your all is at stake; then go forth and God speed you, And onward to glory and victory lead you!

CHORUS.--Hurrah! hurrah! the old North State forever! Hurrah! hurrah! the good old North State.

DIXIE.

By ALBERT PIKE.

Southrons, hear your country call you! Up! lest worse than death befall you! To arms! to arms! to arms! in Dixie! Lo! all the beacon-fires are lighted, Let all hearts be now united! To arms! to arms! to arms! in Dixie! Advance the flag of Dixie! Hurrah! hurrah!

CHORUS.--For Dixie's land we'll take our stand, To live or die for Dixie! To arms! to arms! And conquer peace for Dixie! To arms! to arms! And conquer peace for Dixie!

Hear the Northern thunders mutter! Northern flags in South winds flutter! Send them back your fierce defiance, Stamp upon the accurs'd alliance!

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

How the South's great heart rejoices At your cannon's ringing voices; For faith betrayed and pledges broken, Wrong inflicted, insults spoken.

Strong as lions, swift as eagles, Back to their kennels hunt these beagles! Cut the unequal bonds asunder! Let them hence each other plunder.

Swear upon your country's altar, Never to submit or falter, 'Till the spoilers are defeated, 'Till the Lord's work is completed.

Halt not till our federation, Secures among earth's powers its station! Then at peace, and crowned with glory, Hear your children tell the story.

If the loved ones weep in sadness, Victory soon shall bring them gladness; Exultant pride soon banish sorrow, Smiles chase tears away to-morrow.

BATTLE SONG.

Have you counted up the cost? What is gained and what is lost-- When the foe your lines have crossed?

Gained--the infamy of fame? Gained--a dastard's spotted name; Gained--eternity of shame.

Lost--desert of manly Worth; Lost--the right you had by birth; Lost--lost! Freedom from the earth!

Freemen, up! the foe is nearing! Haughty banners high uprearing-- Lo! their serried ranks appearing!

Freemen, on! the drums are beating! Will you shrink from such a meeting? Forward! give them hero greeting!

From your hearts, and homes, and altars, Backward hurl your proud assaulters-- He is not a man that falters!

OVER THE RIVER.

By VIRGINIA NORFOLK.

"Let us cross the river, and rest under the shade of the trees."--_Last words of Stonewall Jackson._

Bravely ye've fought, my gallant, gallant men! Bravely ye've fought and well! Yon blood-stained field, where your banner floats, Tells how your foemen fell! Ye are recreant none to your knightly vows, And none to your high behest; But the noon sun shines on your burning brows-- So, over the river and rest!

CHORUS.--Over the river the shade trees grow-- Over the river we'll rest! Ye have fought the fight--won the praise that brings Peace to the soldier's breast!

Bravely ye've conquered, my gallant Southern men! Ye have won your rights anew! Ye have washed out the stain of traitor blood, With the baptism of the true! Your clanging armor and flashing steel Have told of a deadly fray; But foemen are flying right and left! Ye have had a glorious day! CHORUS.

Foemen are flying! aye, madly they've fled, And Peace waves her snow-white wing! But we mourn the loss of our gallant dead, While the hills with victory ring! One warrior wears his laurel crown,-- One sleeps on his plumed crest! While the palm tree waves by the river side, There, soldiers, will we rest! CHORUS.

THE MAN OF THE TWELFTH OF MAY.[11]

By ROBERT FALLIGANT, Savannah, Ga.

When history tells her story, Of the noble hero band, Who have made the green fields gory, For the life of their native land, How grand will be the picture, Of Georgia's proud array, As they drove the boasting foeman back, On that glorious twelfth of May, boys, That glorious twelfth of May.

CHORUS.--Then hurrah! while we rally around The hero of that day! And a nation's grateful praises crown, The man of the twelfth of May, boys, The man of the twelfth of May.

Whose mien is ever proudest, When we hold the foe at bay? Whose war-cry cheers us loudest, As we rush to the bloody fray? 'Tis Gordon's! Our reliance! Fearless as on the day, When he hurled his grand defiance, In that charge of the twelfth of May, boys, In that charge of the twelfth of May! CHORUS.

Who can be a coward! What freeman fears to die, When Gordon orders, "Forward!" And the red cross floats on high? Follow his tones inspiring! On! on to the field away! And we'll see the foe retiring, As they did on the twelfth of May, boys, As they did on the twelfth of May! CHORUS.

This is no time for sighing! Whate'er our fate may be, 'Tis sweet to think that, dying, We will leave our country free! When the storms of battle pelt her, She'll defy the tyrants' sway, And our breasts shall be her shelter, As they were on the twelfth of May, boys, As they were on the twelfth of May! CHORUS.

MORGAN'S WAR SONG.

Cheer, boys, cheer! we'll march away to battle! Cheer, boys, cheer! for our sweethearts and our wives! Cheer, boys, cheer! we'll nobly do our duty, And give to the South our hearts, our arms, our lives.

Bring forth the flag--our country's noble standard; Wave it on high 'till the wind shakes each fold out: Proudly it floats, nobly waving in the vanguard; Then cheer, boys, cheer! with a lusty, long, bold shout, Cheer, boys, cheer! etc.

But as we march, with heads all lowly bending, Let us implore a blessing from on high; Our cause is just--the right from wrong defending; And the God of battle will listen to our cry. Cheer, boys, cheer! etc.

Tho' to our homes we never may return, Ne'er press again our lov'd ones in our arms, O'er our lone graves their faithful hearts will mourn, Then cheer up, boys, cheer! such death hath no alarms. Cheer, boys, cheer! etc.

THE SONG OF THE EXILE.

_Air--"Dixie."_

Oh! here I am in the land of cotton, The flag once honor'd is now forgotten; Fight away, fight away, fight away for Dixie's land. But here I stand for Dixie dear, To fight for freedom, without fear; Fight away, fight away, fight away for Dixie's land.

CHORUS.--For Dixie's land I'll take my stand, To live or die for Dixie's land, Fight away, fight away, fight away for Dixie's land.

Abe Lincoln tore through Baltimore, In a baggage car with fastened door; Fight away, etc. And left his wife, alas! alack! To perish on the railroad track! Fight away, etc. CHORUS.

We have no ships, we have no navies, But mighty faith in the great Jeff Davis; Fight away, etc. Brave old Missouri shall be ours, Despite Abe Lincoln's Northern powers, Fight away, etc. CHORUS.

Abe's proclamation in a twinkle, Stirred up the blood of Rip Van Winkle; Fight away, etc. Jeff Davis's answer was short and curt: "Fort Sumpter's taken, and nobody's hurt!" Fight away, etc. CHORUS.

We hear the words of this same ditty, To the right and left of the Mississippi; Fight away, etc. In the land of flowers, hot and sandy, From Delaware Bay to Rio Grande! Fight away, etc. CHORUS.

The ladies cheer with heart and hand, The men who fight for Dixie land; Fight away, etc. The "Stars and Bars" are waving o'er us, And Independence is before us; Fight away, etc. CHORUS.

MARTINSBURG, VA.

NATIONAL HYMN.

Words by CAPT. E. GRISWOLD.

Music by J. W. GROSCHEL.

Now let the thrilling anthem rise, O'er all the glorious land, Where tow'ring hills usurp the skies, And valleys broad expand. Where each majestic river rolls, Where wave the fields of grain, Let Southern hearts and Southern souls Repeat the exulting strain.

CHORUS.--The cross and bars, its gleaming stars, Shall float o'er land and main; The cross and bars, its gleaming stars, Shall float o'er land and main; Confederate Sov'reign State we stand, God save our land, God save our land; Confederate Sov'reign State we stand, God save our land, God save our land, God save our land, God save our land.

Where golden fruited orange blossoms, Green lemon grove and bower, And where the tall magnolia looms, With proud imperial flower, Where bursting from their ripened bolls, The cotton spreads the plain. Let Southern hearts and Southern souls Repeat the exulting strain. CHORUS.

Where happy vassals chant their song, In fields and homes and boats, Where mocking birds the chords prolong, Swelling their mottled throats, Where law's broad ægis still upholds Enlightened freedom's claim. CHORUS.

Where in the Southern zenith glows The warmth the sun imparts, Afar from frigid Northern snows, And bustling Northern Marts, Where generous impulse still controls, And scorns polluting stain, Let Southern hearts and Southern souls, Repeat th' exulting strain. CHORUS.

And still from age to age repeat The tale of battles won, When bigot Northmen found defeat Before each Southern son. Proudly recount the muster rolls Of living braves and slain, Let Southern hearts and Southern souls Repeat th' exulting strain. CHORUS.

Where Chesapeake's broad waters glow Round Maryland's green lands, To where the gulf and ocean bow By Florida's white sands; From where the mad Atlantic rolls To Rio Grande's plain, Let Southern hearts and Southern souls Repeat th' exulting strain. CHORUS.

OVER THE RIVER.

(_MISSISSIPPI_).

By MISS MARIA E. JONES.

Over the river there are fierce, stern meetings, No kindly clasp of hand, no welcome call; But hatred swells the chorus of the greetings, Of foes who meet at Death's high carnival; No flash of wine-cups, but the red blood streaming From ragged wounds, upon the thirsty sand, And fierce, wild music of bright sabre gleaming, Where eager foemen grapple hand to hand.

Over the river are our lov'd ones lying, Alone and wounded on the couch of pain; Consum'd by wasting fevers--even dying-- Sighing for those they ne'er may see again; There are untended graves where grass is growing Rankly and tall o'er each lone sleeper's head; There are long trenches, where bright flowers blowing, Mark the common grave of thousands dead.

Over the river victory shouts of gladness, Great waves of joy rise above seas of woe; Over the river comes a wail of sadness, A city's fallen, or a chief laid low; Alas! for us! we must sit still and ponder Upon the woes of battle all the day, And dream, and sew, and weep, while our thoughts wander Over the river! Let us watch and pray.

PRIVATE MAGUIRE.

"Och, it's nate to be captain or colonel, Divil a bit would I want to be higher; But to rust as a private, I think's an infernal Predicament, surely," says Private Maguire.

"They can go sparkin' and playin' at billiards, With money to spend for their slightest desire, Loafin' and atin' and drinkin' at Ballard's, While we're on the pickets," says Private Maguire.

"Livin' in clover, they think it's a trifle To stand out all night in the rain and the mire, And a Yankee hard by, with a villainous rifle, Just riddy to pop ye," says Private Maguire.

"Faith, now, it's not that I'm afther complainin', I'm spilin' to meet ye, Abe Lincoln, Esquire! Ye blaggard! it's only I'm weary of thrainin', And thrainin', and thrainin'," says Private Maguire.

"O Lord, for a row! but Maguire, boy, be aisy, Kape yourself swate for the inimy's fire; General Lee is the chap that shortly will plaze ye, Be the Holy St. Patrick!" says Private Maguire.

"And, lad, if ye're hit (O, bedad, that infernal Jimmy O'Dowd would make love to Maria!) Whether ye're captain, or major, or colonel, Ye'll die with the best then," says Private Maguire.

STONEWALL JACKSON.

By a lady formerly of Richmond.

_Tune_--"_The Coronack._"

Unmoved in the battle, Whilst friends and foes swerved, Midst roaring and rattle, His heroes were nerved. On Manassas' red plain, Their unyielding front, Gave their chieftain that name, So strong in war's brunt.

He swoops from the mountain, Like our own regal bird; O'er Potomac's blue fountain, His war scream is heard. Though his foeman be brave, They shrink from his sword, Who its mighty power gave, Is the triumphant Lord!

Again from the mountain, Through forest and valley, Once more near that fountain, His invincibles rally. Like our own mountain eagle, He swoops on the foemen, And the cohorts of Lincoln Fly and cower before him!

* * * *

SOUTHERN SONG.

_Tune_--"_Wait for the Wagon._"

Come, all ye sons of freedom, And join our Southern band, We are going to fight the Yankees, And drive them from our land. Justice is our motto, And Providence our guide; So jump into the wagon, And we'll all take a ride.

CHORUS.--So wait for the wagon! the dissolution wagon; The South is the wagon, and we'll all take a ride.

Secession is our watchword; Our rights we all demand; To defend our homes and firesides We pledge our hearts and hands. Jeff Davis is our President, With Stephens by his side; Great Beauregard, our General, He joins us in our ride. CHORUS.

Our wagon is the very best; The running gear is good; Stuffed round the sides with cotton, And made of Southern wood. Carolina is the driver, With Georgia by her side, Virginia holds the flag up While we all take a ride. CHORUS.

Old Lincoln and his Congressmen, With Seward by his side, Put old Scott in the wagon, Just for to take a ride. McDowell was the driver, To cross Bull Run he tried, But there he left the wagon For Beauregard to ride. CHORUS.

The invading tribe, called Yankees, With Lincoln for their guide, Tried to keep good old Kentucky, From joining in the ride; But she heeded not their entreaties,-- She has come into the ring; She wouldn't fight for a government, Where cotton wasn't king. CHORUS.

Manassas was the battle-ground; The field was fair and wide; The Yankees thought they'd wipe us out, And on to Richmond ride. But when they met our "Dixie" boys, Their danger they espied, They wheeled about for Washington And didn't wait to ride. CHORUS.