Part 4

To arms! Oh! men in all our Southern clime, Do you not scent the battle from afar, And hear the ringing clash of armor chime, Where men have met all panoplied for war? To arms! Let not your country call in vain For willing hearts to shield her from the foe, But let the ardor of a patriot's fame Brightly within each manly bosom glow.

CHORUS.--But let the ardor of a patriot's fame Brightly within each manly bosom glow.

To arms! in this, your country's hour of need! Behold her beautiful and broad domain, And say, if patriot hearts shall freely bleed To keep it sacred from invasion's stain? To arms! and don the panoply of war, Stay not like cowards from the battle-field; But with your armor on, march where the roar Of cannon tells you that your brothers bleed! CHORUS.

The trumpet and the clarion sound to arms, The noisy drum in solemn echo beats, And martial music, robed in all her charms, The magic words, To arms! To arms! repeats. To arms! The mortal combat has begun, Rush on and fight amidst the deadly fray, Nor pause until the work is nobly done, And honor crowns us with her wreath of bay!

CANNON SONG.

Aha! a song for the trumpet's tongue! For the bugle to sing before us, When our gleaming guns, like clarions, Shall thunder in battle chorus! Where the rifles ring, where the bullets sing, Where the black bombs whistle o'er us, With rolling wheel and rattling peal They'll thunder in battle chorus!

CHORUS.--With the cannon's flash, and the cannon's crash, With the cannon's roar and rattle, Let Freedom's sons, with their shouting guns, Go down to their country's battle!

Their brassy throats shall learn the notes That make old tyrants quiver; Till the war is done, or each TYRRELL gun Grows cold with our hearts forever!

Where the laurel waves o'er our brothers graves, Who have gone to their rest before us Here's a requiem shall sound for them And thunder in battle chorus! CHORUS.

By the light that lies in our Southern skies, By the spirits that watch above us; By the gentle hands in our Summer lands, And the gentle hearts that love us! Our father's faith let us keep till death, Their fame in its cloudless splendor-- As men who stand for their mother land, And die--but never surrender! CHORUS.

CHIVALROUS C. S. A.

_Air--"Vive la Compagnie."_

I'll sing you a song of the South's sunny clime, Chivalrous C. S. A.! Which went to housekeeping once on a time; Bully for C. S. A.! Like heroes and princes they lived for a while, Chivalrous C. S. A.! And routed the Hessians in most gallant style; Bully for C. S. A.!

CHORUS.--Chivalrous, chivalrous people are they! Chivalrous, chivalrous people are they! In C. S. A.! In C. S. A.! Aye, in chivalrous C. S. A.!

They have a bold leader--Jeff. Davis his name-- Chivalrous C. S. A.! Good generals and soldiers, all anxious for fame; Bully for C. S. A.! At Manassas they met the North in its pride, Chivalrous C. S. A.! But they easily put McDowell aside; Bully for C. S. A.! CHORUS.

Ministers to England and France, it appears, Have gone from the C. S. A.! Who've given the North many fleas in its ears, Bully for C. S. A.! Reminders are being to Washington sent, By the chivalrous C. S. A.! That'll force Uncle Abe full soon to repent, Bully for C. S. A.! CHORUS.

Oh, they have the finest of musical ears, Chivalrous C. S. A.! Yankee Doodle's too vulgar for them, it appears; Bully for C. S. A.! The North may sing it and whistle it still, Miserable U. S. A.! Three cheers for the South!--now, boys, with a will! And groans for the U. S. A.! CHORUS.

NORTH CAROLINA'S WAR SONG.

_Air--"Annie Laurie."_

We leave our pleasant homesteads, We leave our smiling farms, At the first call of duty We rush at once to arms; We rush at once to arms, To guard our coasts we fly, For the land our mothers lived, on Bravely to bleed or die.

Up, boys, and quit your pleasure, Up, men, and quit your toil! The invader's foot must never Be pressed upon our soil; Be pressed upon our soil, In which our fathers sleep; Their blessed graves our care, boys, Most sacredly must keep.

'Twas in our brave old State, men, That first of all was sung, The thrilling song of freedom That through the land hath rung; That through the land hath rung, And we'll sound its notes once more, Till our men and children shout From the mountain to the shore.

Sweet eyes are filled with tears, men, Sweet tears of love and pride, As our wives and sweethearts bid us Go meet whate'er betide, Go meet whate'er betide, And God our guide shall be, As we drive the foe before us, And rush to victory.

THE HOMESPUN DRESS.

By CARRIE BELL SINCLAIR.

_Air--"Bonnie Blue Flag."_

Oh, yes, I am a Southern girl, And glory in the name, And boast it with far greater pride Than glittering wealth or fame. We envy not the Northern girl, Her robes of beauty rare, Though diamonds grace her snowy neck, And pearls bedeck her hair.

CHORUS.--Hurrah! Hurrah! For the sunny South so dear, Three cheers for the homespun dress The Southern ladies wear!

The homespun dress is plain, I know, My hat's palmetto, too; But then it shows what Southern girls For Southern rights will do. We send the bravest of our land, To battle with the foe, And we will lend a helping hand-- We love the South, you know. CHORUS.

Now Northern goods are out of date; And since old Abe's blockade, We Southern girls can be content With goods that's Southern made. We send our sweethearts to the war; But, dear girls; never mind-- Your soldier-love will ne'er forget The girl he left behind. CHORUS.

The soldier is the lad for me-- A brave heart I adore; And when the sunny South is free, And when fighting is no more, I'll choose me then a lover brave, From out that gallant band. The soldier lad I love the best Shall have my heart and hand. CHORUS.

The Southern land's a glorious land, And has a glorious cause; Then cheer, three cheers for Southern rights, And for the Southern boys! We scorn to wear a bit of silk, A bit of Northern lace, But make our homespun dresses up, And wear them with a grace. CHORUS.

And now, young man, a word to you: If you would win the fair, Go to the field where honor calls, And win your lady there. Remember that our brightest smiles Are for the true and brave, And that our tears are all for those Who fill a soldier's grave. CHORUS.

THE BANNER SONG.

By JAMES B. MARSHALL.

Up, up with the banner, the foe is before us, His bayonets bristle, his sword is unsheathed, Charge, charge on his line with harmonious chorus, For the prayers go with us that beauty has breathed.

He fights for the power of despot and plunder, While we are defending our altars and homes; He has riven the firmly knit Union asunder, And to bind it with tyranny's fetters he comes, Like the prophet Mokanna, whose veil so resplendent, His monstrous deformity closely concealed; Duplicity marks Lincoln's course, and dependent On falsehood is every fair promise revealed.

When that veil shall be raised, Freedom's last feast be taken, A banquet to which all his followers will crowd; Oh, horror of horrors! who can view it unshaken? Without sense they will sit all in suppliance bowed! We do not forget that they once were our brothers, That we sat in our boyhood around the same board, That our heart's best idolatry blest the same mothers, And to the same fathers libations we poured.

We rallied around the same star-spangled standard, When called to the field by the tocsin of war, But they from our side have unfeelingly wandered, And we strip from our flag every recusant star. They have forced us to stand by our own constitution, To defend our lov'd homesteads, our altars and fires, While they tamely submit to a tyrant's pollution, Beneath whose foul tread their own freedom expires.

Then up with the banner, its broad stripes wide flowing, 'Tis the emblem of Liberty--flag of the free; Let it wave us to triumph, and every heart glowing, Nerve each arm's bravest blows for its lov'd Tennessee.

THE VOLUNTEER.

Permission of H. WEHRMAN.

Arranged by J. C. VIERECK.

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

The hour was sad, I left the maid, A lingering farewell taking; Her sighs and tears my steps delayed, I thought her heart was breaking. In hurried words her name I blessed, I breathed the vows that bind me, And to my heart in anguish pressed The girl I left behind me.

Then to the East we bore away To win a name in story, And, there, where dawns the sun of day, There dawned our sun of glory. Both blazed in noon on Manassas' plain, Where, in the post assigned me, I shared the glory of that fight-- Sweet girl I left behind me!

Full many a name our banners bore Of former deeds of daring-- But they were of the days of yore, In which we had no sharing; But now, our laurels freshly won, With the old ones shall entwin'd be, Still worthy of our sires, each son, Sweet girl I left behind me!

The hope of final victory Within my bosom burning, Is mingling with sweet thoughts of thee, And of my fond returning. But should I ne'er return again, Still worth thy love thou'lt find me, Dishonor's breath shall never stain The name I leave behind me.

READING THE LIST.

"Is there any news of the war?" she said; "Only a list of the wounded and dead," Was the man's reply, Without lifting his eye To the face of the woman standing by. "'Tis the very thing I want," she said; "Read me a list of the wounded and dead."

He read the list--'twas a sad array Of the wounded and killed in the fatal fray; In the very midst was a pause, to tell That his comrades asked, "Who is he, pray?" "The only son of the widow Gray," Was the proud reply Of his Captain nigh. What ails the woman standing near? Her face has the ashen hue of fear!

"Well, well, read on; is he wounded? quick! Oh, God! but my heart is sorrow sick! Is he wounded?" "No! he fell," they say, "Killed outright on that fatal day!" But see, the woman has swooned away!

Sadly she opened her eyes to the light, Slowly recalled the events of the fight; Faintly she murmured, "Killed outright! It has cost me the life of my only son, But the battle is fought and the victory won; The will of the Lord, let it be done!"

God pity the cheerless widow Gray, And send from the halls of Eternal Day The light of His peace to illume her way!

THE BARS AND STARS.

By W. A. HAYNES.

_Air--"Star Spangled Banner."_

Oh, the tocsin of war still resounds o'er the land, And legions of braves are now rushing to battle, Our lint-stocks are lighted, our guns are all manned, Loud thunders the cannon, and musketry rattle, Our hosts there are led By the blue, white and red, While the battle fiend flaps his pale wing o'er the dead.

CHORUS.--Let the bars and stars of our banner ever wave O'er the land of the South, the home of the brave.

O, say, can you see through the mist and the gloom, Through the clouds of the battle our stars brightly shining, 'Tis a beacon of hope, 'tis a signal of doom To the hordes of the vandals our borders now lining; Proud defiance we hurl And our flag we unfurl, Let it float, proudly float, in the gaze of the world. CHORUS.

For thirty years or more, we have waited and prayed That the chains of oppression and wrongs might be sundered, But the black fiends of the North, with their plans foully laid, Have raised up a whirlwind and the old ship's now foundered. We shouted the alarm, We spoke of our wrongs, Now the argument's exhausted, we'll stand by our arms. CHORUS.

Oh! Manassas has been fought, and the field has been won, And the brag guns of Sherman our brave boys have taken; Our foes have retreated back to old Washington, But the ranks of our Dixie still remain there unshaken; And over the graves Of the New York Zouaves The bars and the stars now triumphantly waves. CHORUS.

WAR SONG.

_Charleston Mercury._

Respectfully inscribed to the companies mentioned.

_Air--"March, march, Ettrick and Toviotdale."_

March, march on, brave "Palmetto" boys, "Sumpter" and "Lafayettes" forward in order; March, march "Calhoun" and "Rifle" boys, All the base Yankees are crossing the border, Banners are round ye spread, Floating above your head, Soon shall the Lone Star be famous in story, On, on, my gallant men, Vict'ry be thine again; Fight for your rights till the green sod is gory.

Young wives and sisters have buckled your armor on; Maidens ye love bid ye go to the battle-field; Strong arms and stout hearts have many a vict'ry won, Courage shall strengthen the weapons ye wield; Wild passions are storming, Dark schemes are forming, Deep snares are laid, but they shall not enthrall ye; Justice your cause shall greet, Laurels lay at your feet, If each brave band be but watchful and wary.

Let fear and unmanliness vanish before ye; Trust in the Rock who will shelter the righteous; Plant firmly each step on the soil of the free,-- A heritage left by the sires who bled for us, May each heart be bounding, When trumpets are sounding, And the dark traitors shall strive to surround ye; The great God of battle Can still the war-rattle, And brighten the land with a sunset of glory.

THE SOUTHERN FLAG.

_Tune_--"_A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea._"

Three cheers for the Southern flag, That floats upon the gale, Once more fling out its flapping folds, And make its foeman quail. And make each foeman quail, my boys, While, like an earthquake roar, Goes forth our war cry through the land, For liberty once more.

CHORUS.--Three cheers for the Southern flag, That floats above the gale, Once more fling out its flapping folds, And make its foeman quail.

Oh, for an Abolition crowd, I hear old Abe cry out, Affrighted by the march of foes, The freeman's mighty shout. That shouting welcomes to our heart, The freeman's chosen man-- Jeff Davis--who now heads our hosts, And leads the glorious van. CHORUS.

Full brightly waves our flag in air, O'er Sumpter's fort just won. And soon o'er Pickens' towering heights It will glitter in the sun. It will glitter in the sun, my boys, And fan the battle cloud, The struggling freeman's sigh of hope, The fallen heroes' shroud. CHORUS.

And now three cheers for the glorious flag, That victory has won, And may it soon be towering o'er The Dome at Washington. The Dome at Washington, my boys, While Abolition hosts Shall quail and shake before the flag-- The freeman's glorious boast. CHORUS.

THE STARS AND THE BARS.

O, the South is the queen of all nations, The home of the brave and the true-- She makes no vain demonstration; But shows what her brave sons can do; Her freedom and advancement they cherish-- "Our rights, our liberties," they cry, "To the rescue, we'll win the fight or perish, For the Southern boys never fear to die."

CHORUS.--Then hurrah for the "Stars and Bars," No stain on its folds ever be-- Its glory dishonor never mars, And 'twill yet grace the land of the free.

Bring forward the tankard and fill it, Ye sons that are loyal and brave, Our blood--O, how freely we'll spill it, We are fighting for freedom or the grave; Our armies may be scattered and disbanded, Yet the wild-woods we still will infest-- Yet shall fear the brave foe tho' single-handed, When the death rattle burst from his breast. CHORUS.

Though black clouds sometimes may darken, And shadow the bright sunny sky; To the rumbling of cannon we'll hearken, Which tells of the foe as they fly. Tho' thousands may fall stark and gory, Their requiem from gun and cannon mouth, They'll win fame, freedom and glory; And all for the loved "Sunny South." CHORUS.

CONFEDERATE SONG.

_Air--"Bruce's Address."_

Written for and dedicated to the Kirk's Ferry Rangers, by their Captain, E. LLOYD WAILES. Sung by the Glee Club on 4th July, 1861, at the Kirk's Ferry Barbecue (Catahoula, La.), after the presentation of a flag, by the ladies, to the Kirk's Ferry Rangers.

Rally round our country's flag! Rally, boys, nor do not lag; Come from every vale and crag, Sons of Liberty! Northern Vandals tread our soil, Forth they come for blood and spoil, To the homes we've gained with toil, Shouting, "Slavery."

Traitorous Lincoln's bloody band Now invades the freeman's land, Arm'd with sword and firebrand, 'Gainst the brave and free. Arm ye, then, for fray and fight, March ye forth both day and night, Stop not till the foe's in sight, Sons of chivalry.

In your veins the blood still flows Of brave men who once arose-- Burst the shackles of their foes; Honest men and free Rise, then, in your power and might, Seek the spoiler, brave the fight; Strike for God, for Truth, for Right: Strike for Liberty!

LEE AT THE WILDERNESS.

By MISS MOLLIE E. MOORE.

'Twas a terrible moment! The blood and the rout! His great bosom shook With an awful doubt. Confusion in front, And a pause in the cries: And a darkness like night Passed over our skies: There were tears in the eyes Of General Lee.

As the blue-clad lines Swept fearfully near, There was wavering yonder, And a break in the cheer Of our columns unsteady: But "WE ARE HERE! _We_ are ready With rifle and blade!" Cried the Texas Brigade To General Lee.

He smiled--it meant death, That wonderful smile; It leaped like a flame Down each close set file; And we stormed to the front With a long, loud cry-- We had long ago learned How to charge and to die: There was faith in the eye Of General Lee.

But a sudden pause came, As we dashed on the foe, And our scathing columns Swayed to and fro; Cold grew our blood, Glowing like wine, And a quick, sharp whisper Shot over our line, As our ranks opened wide-- _And there by our side Rode General Lee._

How grandly he rode! With his eyes on fire, And his great bosom shook With an awful desire! But, "Back to the rear! 'Till you ride to the rear We will not do battle With gun or with blade!" Cried the Texas Brigade To General Lee.

And so he rode back; And our terrible yell Stormed up to the front; And the fierce, wild swell, And the roar and the rattle, Swept into the battle From General Lee.

I felt my foot slip In the gathering fray-- I looked, and my brother Lay dead in my way. I paused but one moment To draw him aside; Ah! the gash in his bosom Was bloody and wide! But he smiled, for he died For General Lee.

Christ! 'twas maddening work; But the work was done, And a few came back When the hour was won. Let it glow in the peerless Records of the fearless-- The charge that was made By the Texas Brigade For General Lee.

A SOUTHERN SONG.

By "L. M.," in _Louisville Courier_.

If ever I consent to be married, And who would refuse a good mate? The man whom I give my hand to, Must believe in the rights of the State.

To a husband who quietly submits To negro-equality sway, The true Southern girl will not barter Her heart and affections away.

The heart I may choose to preside o'er, True, warm, and devoted must be, And have true love for a Union Under the Southern Liberty Tree.

Should Lincoln attempt to coerce him To share with the negro his right, Then, smiling, I'd gird on his armor, And bid him God-speed in the fight.

And if he should fall in the conflict, His memory with tears I will grace; Better weep o'er a patriot fallen, Than blush in a Tory embrace.

We girls are all for a Union, Where a marked distinction is laid Between the rights of the mistress And those of the kinky-haired maid.

THE TEXAN MARSEILLAISE.

By JAMES HAINES, of Texas.

Sons of the South, arouse to battle! Gird on your armor for the fight! The Northern Thugs, with dread "war's rattle," Pour on each vale, and glen, and height; Meet them as ocean meets in madness The frail bark on the rocky shore, When crested billows roam and roar, And the wrecked crew go down in sadness:

CHORUS.--Arm! Arm! ye Southern braves! Scatter yon vandal hordes! Despots and bandits, fitting food For vultures and your swords.

Shall dastard tyrants march their legions To crush the land of Jackson--Lee? Shall freedom fly to other regions, And sons of Yorktown bend the knee? Or shall their "footprints' base pollution" Of Southern soil in blood be purged, And every flying slave be scourged Back to his snows in wild confusion. CHORUS.

Vile despots, with their minions knavish, Would drag us back to their embrace; Will freemen brook a chain so slavish? Will brave men take so low a place? O, Heaven! for words--the loathing, scorning We feel for such a Union's bands: To paint with more than mortal hands, And sound our loudest notes of warning. CHORUS.

What! Union with a race ignoring The charter of our Nation's birth? Union with bastard slaves adoring The fiend that chains them to the earth? No! we reply in tones of thunder, No! our staunch hills fling back the sound-- No! our hoarse cannon echo round-- No! evermore remain asunder! CHORUS.

THE BATTLE OF THE MISSISSIPPI.

The tyrant's broad pennant is floating In the South, o'er our waters so blue: On our homes now his foul eye is gloating; The homes of the brave and the true.