Songs and Ballads of the Southern People Part 1

Songs and Ballads of the Southern People.

by Anonymous.

NOTE TO READERS.

This collection has been made with the view of preserving in permanent form the opinions and sentiments of the Southern people, as embodied in their Songs and Ballads of 1861-1865; which, better than any other medium, exhibit the temper of the times and popular feeling. The historical value of the productions is admitted. Age will not impair it.

The editor has endeavored to give the best of the inspirations. A desire to announce the authors.h.i.+p of the pieces has been gratified in most instances. Where requests have been made not to give names and places and circ.u.mstances, by whom, and where they have been written, they have been regarded, the spirit, meaning and intent not being affected, nor in the least abated by such a course. To those who have a.s.sisted in collecting, the editor returns his thanks. After this volume reaches those who are interested, should any of them desire to correct mistakes that may have crept into it, he will be glad to make the changes required.

Should any one, into whose hands the volume may fall, know of copies of songs or ballads, or of letters and incidents upon which such are founded--songs and ballads, letters or incidents not already collected in book form--the editor will be glad to be advised, that means may be taken for their permanent preservation, which he is using every endeavor to secure. A postal card, giving name and residence, addressed to him, in the care of his publishers, D. Appleton and Company, New York City, will receive immediate attention.

The essence of history exists in its songs. Those that are carried in the memory are earliest forgotten. It is a praiseworthy plan that saves all.

Will those who "know them by heart," and have "sung them in camp and in battle," help to rescue them from oblivion?

FRANK MOORE.

NEW YORK, _January, 1886_.

SONGS OF THE SOUTHERN PEOPLE.

A POEM FOR THE TIMES.

BY JOHN R. THOMPSON.

Who talks of Coercion? Who dares to deny A resolute people their right to be free?

Let him blot out forever one star from the sky, Or curb with his fetter one wave of the sea.

Who prates of Coercion? Can love be restored To bosoms where only resentment may dwell; Can peace upon earth be proclaimed by the sword, Or good-will among men be established by sh.e.l.l?

Shame! shame that the statesman and trickster, forsooth, Should have for a crisis no other recourse, Beneath the fair day-spring of Light and of Truth, Than the old _brutum fulmen_ of Tyranny,--Force.

From the holes where Fraud, Falsehood, and Hate slink away; From the crypt in which Error lies buried in chains; This foul apparition stalks forth to the day, And would ravage the land which his presence profanes.

Could you conquer us, Men of the North, could you bring Desolation and death on our homes as a flood; Can you hope the pure lily, Affection, will spring From ashes all reeking and sodden with blood?

Could you brand us as villeins and serfs, know ye not What fierce, sullen hatred lurks under the scar?

How loyal to Hapsburg is Venice, I wot; How dearly the Pole loves his Father, the Czar!

But 'twere well to remember this land of the sun Is a _nutrix leonum_, and suckles a race Strong-armed, lion-hearted, and banded as one, Who brook not oppression and know not disgrace.

And well may the schemers in office beware The swift retribution that waits upon crime, When the lion, RESISTANCE, shall leap from his lair, With a fury that renders his vengeance sublime.

Once, men of the North, we were brothers, and still, Though brothers no more, we would gladly be friends; Nor join in a conflict accurst, that must fill With ruin the country on which it descends.

But if smitten with blindness, and mad with the rage The G.o.ds give to all whom they wished to destroy, You would act a new Iliad to darken the age, With horrors beyond what is told us of Troy:

If, deaf as the adder itself to the cries, When Wisdom, Humanity, Justice implore, You would have our proud eagle to feed on the eyes Of those who have taught him so grandly to soar:

If there be to your malice no limit imposed, And your reckless design is to rule with the rod The men upon whom you have already closed Our goodly domain and the temples of G.o.d:

To the breeze then your banner dishonored unfold, And at once let the tocsin be sounded afar; We greet you, as greeted the Swiss Charles the Bold, With a farewell to peace and a welcome to war!

For the courage that clings to our soil, ever bright, Shall catch inspiration from turf and from tide; Our sons unappalled shall go forth to the fight, With the smile of the fair, the pure kiss of the bride;

And the bugle its echoes shall send through the past, In the trenches of Yorktown to waken the slain; While the sods of King's Mountain shall heave at the blast, And give up its heroes to glory again.

_Charleston Mercury._

ETHNOGENESIS.

BY HENRY TIMROD.[1]

I.

Hath not the morning dawned with added light?

And will not evening call another star Out of the infinite regions of the night, To mark this day in heaven? At last we are A nation among nations; and the world Shall soon behold in many a distant part Another flag unfurled!

Now, come what may, whose favor need we court?

And, under G.o.d, whose thunder need we fear?

Thank him who placed us here Beneath so kind a sky--the very sun Takes part with us; and on our errands run All breezes of the ocean; dew and rain Do noiseless battle for us; and the year And all the gentle daughters in her train March in our ranks, and in our service wield Long spears of golden grain!

A yellow blossom as her fairy s.h.i.+eld June flings our azure banner to the wind, While in the order of their birth Her sisters pa.s.s, and many an ample field Grows white beneath their steps, till now behold Its endless sheets unfold THE SNOW OF SOUTHERN SUMMERS! Let the earth Rejoice! beneath those fleeces soft and warm Our happy land shall sleep In a repose as deep As if we lay intrenched behind Whole leagues of Russian ice and Arctic storm!

II.

And what, if mad with wrongs themselves have wrought, In their own treachery caught, By their own fears made bold, And leagued with him of old, Who long since in the limits of the North Set up his evil throne, and warred with G.o.d-- What if, both mad and blinded in their rage, Our foes should fling us down their mortal gage, And with a hostile step profane our sod!

We shall not shrink, my brothers, but go forth To meet them, marshaled by the Lord of Hosts, And overshadowed by the mighty ghosts Of Moultrie and of Eutaw--who shall foil Auxiliars such as these? Nor these alone, But every stock and stone Shall help us; but the very soil, And all the generous wealth it gives to toil, And all for which we love our n.o.ble land, Shall fight beside, and through us, sea and strand, The heart of woman, and her hand, Tree, fruit, and flower, and every influence Gentle or grave or grand.

The winds in our defense Shall seem to blow; to us the hills shall lend Their firmness and their calm; And in our stiffened sinews we shall blend The strength of pine and palm!

III.

Look where we will, we can not find a ground For any mournful song: Call up the clas.h.i.+ng elements around, And test the right and wrong!

On one side, pledges broken, creeds that lie, Religion sunk in vague philosophy, Empty professions, pharisaic leaven, Souls that would sell their birthright in the sky, Philanthropists who pa.s.s the beggar by, And laws which controvert the laws of Heaven.

And, on the other--first, a righteous cause!

Then, honor without flaws, Truth, Bible reverence, charitable wealth, And for the poor and humble, laws which give, Not the mean right to buy the right to live, But life, and home, and health.