Part 12

CHORUS.--Drink it down, drink it down, Drink it down, down, down.

Oh, here's to Mississippi! drink it down, Here's to Mississippi, drink it down, Here's to Mississippi, for she gave old Abe the slip.

Oh, here's to Alabama! drink it down, Here's to Alabama--we'll fight for her banner.

Oh, here's to Florida State, drink it down, Here's to Florida--to Southern rights she'll ne'er say nay.

Oh, here's to Georgia State--drink it down, Here's to Georgia State--altho' she _is_ rather late.

Oh, here's to Louisiana! drink it down, Here's to Louisiana--how glorious is her banner.

Oh, here's to gallant Texas! drink it down, Here's to gallant Texas--the Yankees say "she vexes us."

Oh, here's to brave Virginia! drink it down, Here's to brave Virginia--she'll hold up the Confederacy.

Oh, here's to Arkansas! drink it down, Here's to Arkansas--for she'll break old Abram's jaw.

Oh, here's to North Carolina! drink it down, Here's to North Carolina--with a whoop and a hurrah.

Oh, here's to Tennessee! drink it down, Here's to Tennessee--for she's bound to be free.

Oh, here's to brave Missouri! drink it down, Here's to brave Missouri--whose sons will ne'er say die!

Oh, here's to old Kentuck! drink it down, Here's to old Kentuck--she yet may have the pluck.

Oh, here's to Maryland! drink it down, Here's to Maryland--bleeding beneath a tyrant's hand.

Oh, here's to General Lee! drink it down, Here's to General Lee--for he'll set the Rebels free!

Oh, here's to Magruder! drink it down-- Here's to our Magruder--the Yankees' great deluder.

THE GALLANT GIRL THAT SMOTE THE DASTARD TORY, OH!

Dedicated to MISS SLIDELL.

Words by KLUBS.

Music by DUCIE DIAMONDS.

[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.]

Ho, gallants, brim the beaker bowl, And click the festal glasses, oh! The grape shall shed its sapphire soul, To eulogize the lasses, oh! And when ye pledge the lip and curl Of loveliness and glory, oh! Here's a bumper to the gallant girl That smote the dastard Tory, oh!

CHORUS.--A bumper, a thumper, To loveliness and glory, oh! A bumper to the gallant girl That smote the dastard Tory, oh!

Our boys are fighting East and West, Our women do not linger, oh! They take their diamonds from the breast, Their rubies from the finger, oh! They send their darlings to the war Of honor and of glory, oh! They've all the spirit of a man, To smite a dastard Tory, oh! CHORUS.

THREE CHEERS FOR OUR JACK MORGAN.

By EUGENE RAYMOND.

The snow is in the cloud, and night is gathering o'er us. The winds are piping loud and fan the blaze before us; Then join the jovial band, and tune the vocal organ; And with a will we'll all join in--three cheers for our Jack Morgan!

CHORUS.--Gather round the camp-fire, our duty has been done, Let's gather round the camp-fire, and have a little fun. Let's gather round the camp-fire, our duty has been done, 'Twas done upon the battle-field, three cheers for our Jack Morgan!

Jack Morgan is his name--the fearless and the lucky; No dastard foe can tame the son of old Kentucky. His heart is with his State, he fights for Southern freedom, His men their General's word await--they'll go where he will lead 'em. CHORUS.

He swore to free his home--to burst her chains asunder, With sound of trump and drum, and loud Confederate thunder; And in the darksome night, by light of homesteads burning, He'll put the skulking foe to flight, their hearts to wailings turning. CHORUS.

The dungeon dark and cold could not his body prison, Nor tame a spirit bold that o'er reverse had risen. Then sing the song of joy--our toast be lovely woman; And Morgan, he's the gallant boy to plague the hated foeman!

PRAY, MAIDEN, PRAY!

A. W. KERCHEVAL.

A. J. TURNER.

To the patriotic women of the South.

Maiden, pray for thy lover now, Thro' all this starry night, Heaven prove auspicious to thy vow, For with to-morrow's dawning light, We meet the foe in deadly fight! Pray, maiden, pray!

Maiden, pray that the banner high Advanced, our cross may wave; And foeman's shot and steel defy! In triumph floating o'er the brave, Who strike for freedom or the grave; Pray, maiden, pray!

Maiden, pray for thy Southern land Of streams and sunlit skies; See thou her living greatness stand! While in her hero-dust there lies, Whatever glory verifies! Pray, maiden, pray!

Maiden, pray that your trumpet blast And rocket's signal light, But summon squadrons, thick and fast! To win in our glorious fight For Home, for Freedom, and the Right; Pray, maiden, pray!

1863.

THE SOLDIER'S SUIT OF GRAY.

By MISS CARRIE BELL SINCLAIR.

I've seen some handsome uniforms deck'd off with buttons bright, And some that are so very gay they almost blind the sight; But of these handsome uniforms I will not sing to-day, My song is to each soldier lad who wears a suit of gray!

CHORUS.--Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! for Southern boys we say, And God bless every soldier lad who wears a suit of gray!

Brass buttons and gold lace I know are beautiful to view, And then, to tell the honest truth, I own I like them, too; Yet should a thousand officers come crowding round to-day, I'd scorn them for a lad who wears a simple suit of gray. CHORUS.

God bless our Southern soldiers! for ev'ry one is dear, And God defend each gallant form, no matter what they wear; For each has acted well his part, yet still, in truth, I say, The bravest of the brave are those who wear a suit of gray. CHORUS.

Tho' torn and faded be each coat, their buttons tarnish'd too, I know beneath each soldier's dress a Southern heart beats true; We honor ev'ry gallant son who fights for us to-day, And heav'n protect the noble boys who wear the suit of gray. CHORUS.

They bravely strike for freedom, and on the battle-field, They're the first to strike a blow, they are the last to yield; At Richmond and Manassas who was it won the day? It was our noble Southern boys, all clad in suits of gray. CHORUS.

God bless our Southern soldiers! for each we breathe a prayer, And over ev'ry fallen son we shed a mourner's tear! Oh, sacred be the grave of those who died so far away, And honor'd be each one who sleeps clad in a suit of gray. (Omit chorus.)

'Round ev'ry patriot soldier's brow the laurel wreath entwines, And 'round the battle-flag they bear a ray of glory shines, And when the foe is conquer'd, with pride we then will say, "All honor to the noble boys who wore the suit of gray." CHORUS.

(A CHORUS, AFTER THE BATTLE OF FRANKLIN)--

You may talk about your Beauregard, and sing of General Lee, But General Hood, of Texas, played hell in Tennessee.

SONG OF THE TEXAS RANGERS.

By MRS. J. D. YOUNG.

_Air--"The Yellow Rose of Texas."_

The morning star is paling, the camp-fires flicker low, Our steeds are madly neighing, for the bugle bids us go: So put the foot in stirrup, and shake the bridle free, For to-day the Texas Rangers must cross the Tennessee. With Wharton for our leader, we'll chase the dastard foe, 'Till our horses bathe their fetlocks in the deep blue Ohio.

Our men come from the prairies rolling broad, proud and free, From the high and craggy mountains to the murmuring Mexic' sea; And their hearts are open as their plains; their tho'ts as proudly brave As the bold cliffs of the San Bernard, or the Gulf's resistless wave. Then, quick! into the saddle, and shake the bridle free, To-day with gallant Wharton we cross the Tennessee.

'Tis joy to be a Ranger! to fight for dear Southland! 'Tis joy to follow Wharton, with his gallant, trusty band! 'Tis joy to see our Harrison plunge, like a meteor bright, Into the thickest of the fray, and deal his deadly might, Oh! who'd not be a Ranger, and follow Wharton's cry! And battle for their country, and, if needs be, die?

By the Colorado's waters, on the Gulf's deep murmuring shore, On our soft, green, peaceful prairies, our home we may see no more, But in those homes our gentle wives, and mothers with silvery hairs, Are loving us with tender hearts, and shielding us with prayers. So trusting in our country's God, we draw our stout good brand, For those we love at home, our altars and our land.

Up! up! with the crimson battle flag, let the blue pennon fly; Our steeds are stamping proudly, they hear the battle cry! The thundering bomb, the bugle's call, proclaim the foe is near: We strike for God and native land, and all we hold most dear. Then spring into the saddle, and shake the bridle free, For Wharton leads, thro' fire and blood, for Home and Victory.

THE OFFICER'S FUNERAL.

Hark! 'tis the shrill trumpet calling, It pierceth the soft summer air! Tears from each comrade are falling, For the widow and orphan are there: Our bayonets earthward are turning, And the drum's muffled breath rolls around, But he hears not the voice of their mourning, Nor awakes to the bugle's shrill sound.

Sleep, soldier! tho' many regret thee, Who stand by thy cold bier to-day, Soon, soon shall the kindest forget thee, And thy name from the earth pass away; The man thou did'st love as a brother, A friend in thy place will have gained; Thy dog will keep watch for another, And thy steed by a stranger be reined.

But tho' many now weep for thee sadly, Soon joyous as ever shall be; Tho' thy bright orphan boy may laugh gladly As he sits on some kind comrade's knee, There is one who will still do her duty Of tears for the true and the brave, As when first in the bloom of her beauty, She weeps o'er her brave soldier's grave!

THE SOLDIER'S DEATH.

By A. B. CUNNINGHAM.

The night-cloud had lowered o'er Shiloh's red plain, And the blast howled sadly o'er wounded and slain; The lightning flashed vividly, fiercely and proud, And glared thro' the mist of the smoke and the cloud; The thunder pealed loudly from heaven's black sky, Where litely the cannon had pealed the war-cry; The last gun had been fired, and its moaning sound Had died 'way in the distance, and echoed around.

Where the fight had raged fiercest, near a deep ravine, At the foot of a crag (a wild, thrilling scene), A soldier lay there all ghastly and gory, Who'd fall'n in the strife for freedom and glory! His life-blood was pouring from out a deep gash He'd received 'mid the battle's loud roar and fierce crash; "O mother! O mother! I never thought this, When but a mere child I received thy sweet kiss--

"That I'd die on a field all gory and red With the blood of the wounded, the dying and dead, With no friend or relation to cheer my dark way, But the forms of dear comrades all lifeless as clay, None to watch o'er me but the ghosts of the dead, None to smooth down the death-pillow 'neath my poor head; And sadly I think of my home in the South, Where I roam'd a mere boy in the pride of my youth.

"When I scaled the steep crag o'er the river's wild roar, Or chased the fleet stag 'long the bright, sunny shore-- When I bounded in pride o'er valley and hill-- O memories, how sweet! ye haunt me now still. But away with the thoughts of my joyous boyhood, I'll face the grim monster death with calm fortitude: Then, mother, farewell! farewell, dearest mother; Farewell to my father, sisters and brother!

"And when I am gone never utter a sigh, But remember your Charlie reigns proudly on high!" Then death flapp'd wildly his wings on the moor, As his soul took its flight to a heavenly shore-- The lightning flash'd fiercely, the howling winds surge, The thunder pealed loudly the hero's wild dirge!

I REMEMBER THE HOUR WHEN SADLY WE PARTED.

_Companion Song to "When this Cruel War is Over."_

I remember the hour when sadly we parted, The tears on your pale cheek glist'ning like dew, When clasped in your arms almost broken-hearted, I swore by the bright sky I'd ever be true, True to the love that nothing could sever, And true to the flag of my country forever.

CHORUS.--Then weep not, love, oh! weep not, Think not our hopes are vain, For when this fatal war is over, We will surely meet again.

Oh, let not, my own love, the summer winds winging Their sweet-laden zephyrs o'er land and o'er sea, Bring aught to your heart with the autumn birds singing, But hopes for the future and bright dreams of me; For while in your pure heart my mem'ry you're keeping, I ne'er can be lonely while waking or sleeping. CHORUS.

But if, while the loud shouts of vict'ry are ringing, O'er the land that foul traitors have caught to betray, You hear o'er the voices so joyfully singing, That he who so loved you has fallen in the fray, Oh think that he's gone where there's dark treason never, Where tears and sad partings are banished forever. CHORUS.

OUR FLAG; OR, THE ORIGIN OF THE STARS AND BARS.[14]

Words and Music by HARRY MCCARTHY.

[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.]

Young stranger, what land claims thy birth? For thy flag is but new to the sea, And where is the nation on earth, That the right of this flag gives to thee; Thy banner reminds us of one By the Champions of Freedom unfurled, And the proudest of nations have owned, 'Twas a glory and pride to the world; That flag was the "Stripes and Stars," And the colors of thine are the same, But thou hast the "Stars and the Bars," Oh, stranger, pray tell us thy name.

That flag, with its garland of fame, Proudly waved o'er my father and me, And my grandsires died to proclaim It the flag of the brave and the free; But alas! for the flag of my youth; I have sighed and dropped my last tear, For the North has forgotten her truth, And would tread on the rights we hold dear; They envied the South her bright Stars, Her glory, her honor, her fame, So we unfurled the "Stars and the Bars" And the Confederate Flag is its name.

And her bright colors shone forth, All glorious in fair Freedom's light, We swore to remember their birth, And in her honor forever to fight; So woe to the foeman who'll dare, Our Southern soil to invade, For bless'd by the smiles of the fair, And in right's powerful armor arrayed; We'll strike for our Southern stars, Our honor, our glory, our fame, We'll strike for the "Stars and the Bars," For the Confederate Flag is its name.

THE NAVASOTA VOLUNTEERS.

By WM. NEELY, of Durant's Cavalry.

_Air--"Susanna, Don't you Cry."_

We're the Navasota volunteers, our county is named Grimes; Oh, come along, my conscript boys, we can't leave you behind; Jeff Davis is our President, and Stephens is the Vice-- At the head of our armies are Lee, Beauregard and Price.

We have other officers and generals in command, To lead our gallant forces on, and give the right command; Good old Magruder's our choice, and will help the Yankees roast; So come and go along with us, and help defend the coast.

O come along, my jolly boys, and help us all to fight-- To go against old Uncle Abe I know that we are right; So come along, my countrymen, and with us take your stand; With help of God, we'll whip old Abe, and all his Yankee band.

Come volunteer, my brave, brave boys, and help to fight it out; We can whip the Abolitionists, without a single doubt; We are volunteers of Texas--we are the very chaps, To whip the Abolitionists, and stop their "nutmeg" traps.

Come volunteer, my Texas boys, altho' you are forty-six-- We'll whip old Abe and Buell, with all their Yankee tricks; Their armies are invading us, and this we cannot stand, We must whip them back to Yankeedom, O come and take a hand.

Come, all of you brave Southerners, and join our common cause, To go against old Lincoln and all his Yankee boys; If we find them on the hills, or find them in their ditches, If you go along with us we'll whip them out their "britches."

Now, there is our good doctor, with his powder and his pills, Who is willing to go with us and cure us of our ills; There are some of our countrymen, whose names I will not tell, Who say they cannot volunteer, "for they are not very well!"

There is the officeseeker! altho' not very noted, He would go along with us if he could only be promoted! There is the little lawyer! who is of no great note, He will not go along with us unless we will promote!

Now, there is the merchant! with his all in his hand, Who'll sell unto his customers at the highest price he can; If you say to the merchant, when you go in to trade, "I cannot stand your price," he'll holler out "Blockade!"

And then there's the yearling thief, that ought to go to battle; The country would be better off rid of all such cattle; And there's the rich planters, with their negroes and their lands, They will not go along with us to fight old Lincoln's bands.

They remind me of a tale, perhaps you've heard yourself: While a woman fought a bear her husband hid himself; The battle was fought, and the good old lady won it-- Old man then came crawling out--"Old woman, hain't we done it!"

There are speculating parsons, who wish their country well-- And they will warn poor sinners of going down to hell; They cannot go along with us, they do not wish to fight, They'll stay at home to prey on us, that all may come out right.

Now unto all such fellows be everlasting shame; And all our honest countrymen will surely them disdain; Come, all ye Texas ladies, now listen to my song, And do not marry any man that will not go along.

To defend the coast of Texas we all feel now inclined; To leave our wives and little ones in the care of those behind; We hope that they'll prove faithful, and to their wants attend, And see that they're provided for while we the land defend.

Farewell! my friends and neighbors, we bid you all adieu. Farewell to wife and children! we now must part with you! O God! in mercy bless us! sustain us by Thy grace! And grant we all may meet again our lov'd ones to embrace!

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.

Composed by FR. SULZNER.

Permission of HENRI WEHRMANN, New Orleans, La.

I am dreaming of thee, Dearest, I am dreaming still of thee, For thy spirit haunts me ever, Like some fairy melody; When in loneliness I wander, Or in haunts of mirth and glee, Still my heart to thine is turning, I am dreaming still of thee.

When the stars are softly smiling, Thro' the lone and silent night, Then I think of thee and heaven, With a holy, calm delight; For thy spirit is so radiant In its love and purity, That whene'er I dream of angels, I am dreaming still of thee.

There are hours when dreary shadows, Cast their gloom upon my heart, When I think how well I love thee, When I feel that we must part; For I know there is no other, E'er can be so dear to me, And whene'er of love I'm dreaming, I am dreaming still of thee.

I am dreaming of thee, dearest, Still I dream of thee alone; We shall meet again in heaven, There our spirits shall be one; For the earth when thou wert near me, Was a paradise to me, And whene'er I dream of heaven, I am dreaming still of thee.

BY THE BANKS OF RED RIVER.

Words by E. E. KIDD.

Music by LA HACHE.

Oh, gone is the soul from his wondrous dark eye, And gone is her life's dearest glory. The tales of fond lovers unheeded pass by, Her heart hears a single sad story, How her gallant young hero fell asleep, and will never Awake from his dream by the banks of Red River.

CHORUS.--How her gallant young hero fell asleep, and will never Awake from his dream by the banks of Red River.

How oft to the window she rushes to wait, As though she expected his coming; She lists, ah! she hears him swing open the gate, And the song he was wont to be humming; But she turns, ah! she feels he's asleep and will never Awake from his dream by the banks of Red River. CHORUS.

Ah, many a sun will awaken the morn, All dressed in its radiant glory, Ere the heart of the maiden shall ever be torn From the woe of his sorrowful story, For it bent--it has broke. Oh! God it will never Arise from that grave by the banks of Red River. CHORUS.

THE OFFICERS OF DIXIE.

By A GROWLER.

Let me whisper in your ear, sir, Something that the South should hear, sir, Of the war, of the war, of the war in Dixie; A growing curse--a "burning shame," sir, In the chorus I will name, sir, Of the war, of the war, of the war in Dixie.

CHORUS.--The officers of Dixie alone, alone! The honors share, the honors wear Throughout the land of Dixie! 'Tis so, 'tis so, throughout the land of Dixie.

Swelling 'round with gold lace plenty, See the gay "brass button" gentry; Solomon in all his splendors Was scarce arrayed like these "defenders." CHORUS.

In cities, sir, it is alarming To see them 'round the hotel swarming; And at each little "one-horse town," sir, See the "birds" how they "fly 'round," sir. CHORUS.

On the steamboat, in the cars, sir, Deep respect is shown the "bars," sir. And if a "star" or two is spotted, See how "the elephant" is courted. CHORUS.

Should a grand soiree be given, The "braided lions" take the even. No, no! the privates are not slighted! They can't expect to be invited! CHORUS.

The ladies! bless the darling creatures! Quite distort their pretty features, And say (I know you've seen it done, sir), "They'll have an officer or none," sir. CHORUS.

And if when death-shots round us rattle, An officer is kill'd in battle-- How the martyr is lamented! (This is right--we've not dissented). CHORUS.

But only speak of it to show, sir, Privates are not honor'd so, sir. No muffled drum, no wreath of glory, If one dies, proclaims the story. CHORUS.

In Dixie's land, in every way, sir, "Fuss and feathers" "win the day," sir, For with all sexes, sizes, ages, How the "gold lace fever" rages! CHORUS.

List the moral of my song, sir; In Dixie there is something wrong, sir. As all that glitters is not gold, sir, Read and ponder what I've told, sir. CHORUS.

THE SENTINEL'S DREAM OF HOME.

By COL. A. M. HOBBY.