Songs and Ballads of the Southern People Part 2

THE STAR OF THE WEST.

I wish I was in de land o' cotton, Old times dair ain't not forgotten-- Look away, etc.

In Dixie land whar I was born in, Early on one frosty mornin'-- Look away, etc.

_Chorus_--Den I wish I was in Dixie.

In Dixie land dat frosty mornin', Jis 'bout de time de day was dawnin', Look away, etc.

De signal fire from de east bin roarin', Rouse up, Dixie, no more snorin'-- Look away, etc.-- Den I wish I was in Dixie.

Dat rocket high a blazing in de sky, 'Tis de sign dat de sn.o.bbies am comin' up nigh-- Look away, etc.

Dey bin braggin' long, if we dare to shoot a shot, Dey comin' up strong and dey'll send us all to pot.

Fire away, fire away, lads in gray.

Den I wish I was in Dixie.

_Charleston Mercury._

FAREWELL TO BROTHER JONATHAN.

BY "CAROLINE."

Farewell! we must part; we have turned from the land Of our cold-hearted brother, with tyrannous hand, Who a.s.sumed all our rights as a favor to grant, And whose smile ever covered the sting of a taunt;

Who breathed on the fame he was bound to defend-- Still the craftiest foe, 'neath the guise of a friend; Who believed that our bosoms would bleed at a touch, Yet could never believe he could goad them too much;

Whose conscience affects to be seared with our sin, Yet is plastic to take all its benefits in; The mote in our eye so enormous has grown, That he never perceives there's a beam in his own.

O Jonathan, Jonathan! va.s.sal of pelf, Self-righteous, self-glorious, yes, every inch self, Your loyalty now is all bl.u.s.ter and boast, But was dumb when the foemen invaded our coast.

In vain did your country appeal to you then, You coldly refused her your money and men; Your trade interrupted, you slunk from her wars, And preferred British gold to the Stripes and the Stars!

Then our generous blood was as water poured forth, And the sons of the South were the s.h.i.+elds of the North; Nor our patriot ardor one moment gave o'er, Till the foe you had fed we had driven from the sh.o.r.e!

Long years we have suffered opprobrium and wrong, But we clung to your side with affection so strong, That at last, in mere wanton aggression, you broke All the ties of our hearts with one murderous stroke.

We are tired of contest for what is our own, We are sick of a strife that could never be done; Thus our love has died out, and its altars are dark, Not Prometheus's self could rekindle the spark.

O Jonathan, Jonathan! deadly the sin Of your tigerish thirst for the blood of your kin; And shameful the spirit that gloats over wives And maidens despoiled of their honor and lives!

Your palaces rise from the fruits of our toil, Your millions are fed from the wealth of our soil; The balm of our air brings the health to your cheek, And our hearts are aglow with the welcome we speak.

O brother! beware how you seek us again, Lest you brand on your forehead the signet of Cain; That blood and that crime on your conscience must sit; We may fall--we may perish--but never submit!

The pathway that leads to the Pharisee's door We remember, indeed, but we tread it no more; Preferring to turn, with the Publican's faith, To the path through the valley and shadow of death!

THE UNIFORM OF GRAY.

BY EVAN ELBERT.

The Briton boasts his coat of red, With lace and spangles decked; In garb of green the French are seen, With gaudy colors flecked; The Yankees strut in dingy blue, And epaulets display; Our Southern girls more proudly view The uniform of gray.

That dress is worn by gallant hearts Who every foe defy, Who stalwart stand, with battle-brand, To conquer or to die!

They fight for freedom, hope and home, And honor's voice obey, And proudly wear where'er they roam The uniform of gray.

What though 'tis stained with crimson hues, And dim with dust and smoke, By bullets torn, and rent and shorn By many a hostile stroke; The march, the camp, the bivouac, The onset and the fray But only serve more dear to make The uniform of gray.

When wild war's tiger-strife is past, And liberty restored; When independence reigns at last, By valor's arm secured; The South will stand, erect and grand, And loftiest honors pay To those who bore her flag, and wore The uniform of gray.

And woman's love, man's best reward, Shall cl.u.s.ter round their path, And soothe and cheer the volunteer Who dared the foeman's wrath.

Bright wreaths she'll bring, and roses fling Around his triumph-way, And long in song thy fame prolong Old uniform of gray.

"WE CONQUER OR DIE."

BY JAMES PIERPONT.

The war drum is beating, prepare for the fight, The stern bigot Northman exults in his might, Gird on your bright weapons, your foemen are nigh; Let this be our watchword, "We conquer or die!"

The trumpet is sounding from mountain to sh.o.r.e, Your swords and your lances must slumber no more, Fling forth to the sunlight your banner on high, Inscribed with the watchword, "We conquer or die!"

March to the battlefield, there do or dare, With shoulder to shoulder, all danger to share, And let your proud watchword ring up to the sky, Till the blue arch re-echoes "We conquer or die!"

Press forward undaunted, nor think of retreat, The enemy's host on the threshold to meet; Strike firm till the foeman before you shall fly, Appalled by the watchword, "We conquer or die!"

Go forth in the pathway our forefathers trod; We, too, fight for freedom--our Captain is G.o.d; Their blood in our veins, with their honor we vie, Theirs, too, was the watchword, "We conquer or die!"

We strike for the South--mountain, valley and plain-- For the South we will conquer again and again; Her day of salvation and triumph is nigh, Ours, then, be the watchword, "We conquer or die!"

SONS OF FREEDOM.

BY NANNY GRAY.

Sons of freedom, on to glory Go, where brave men _do_ or _die_, Let your names in future story Gladden every patriot's eye; 'Tis your country calls you, hasten!

Backward hurl the invading foe; Freemen never think of danger,-- To the glorious battle go!