Songs and Ballads of the Southern People Part 33

On! Southron, on!

Your flag's unfurled 'Mid clas.h.i.+ng steel, and death-shot hurled, And war's dark storm-cloud, swiftly whirled, Your country calls. On! Southron, on!

Strike! Southron, strike!

The foeman's trail Is marked with blood and flame alike; And woman's shriek, and infant's wail, Show that he wars upon the frail A war of hate. Strike! Southron, strike!

Can manhood fly, And, recreant, brave The silent scorn, the averted eye-- Decked in its chains--a cringing slave?

No! rather seek a soldier's grave, And show the tyrant how to die.

Then, Southron, on!

By all that's dear, By feeble age, and childhood's dawn, By mother's love, and maiden's prayer, The brother's blood, the sister's tear-- One glance to Heaven, then, Southron, on!

CIVILE BELLUM.

"In this fearful struggle between North and South there are hundreds of cases in which fathers are arrayed against sons, brothers against brothers."--_American paper._

"Rifleman, shoot me a fancy shot, Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette; Ring me a ball on the glittering spot, That s.h.i.+nes on his breast like an amulet!"

"Ah! Captain, here goes for a fine-drawn bead; There's music around, when my barrel's in tune."

Crack! went the rifle; the messenger sped, And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon.

"Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes and s.n.a.t.c.h From your victim some trinket to handsel first blood; A b.u.t.ton, a loop, or that luminous patch, That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud."

"O Captain! I staggered and sunk in my track, When I gazed on the face of the fallen vidette, For he looked so like you as he lay on his back, That my heart rose upon me and masters me yet.

"But I s.n.a.t.c.hed off the trinket--this locket of gold-- An inch from the center my lead broke its way, Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold, Of a beautiful lady in bridal array."

"Ha! rifleman, fling me the locket--'tis she: My brother's young bride--and the fallen dragoon Was her husband--hus.h.!.+ soldier, 'twas heaven's decree; We must bury him there by the light of the moon!

"But hark! the far bugles their warning unite; War is a virtue--weakness a sin; There's a lurking and loping around us to-night; Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in!"

FROM THE ONCE UNITED STATES.

_London Once a Week._

"FOLLOW, BOYS! FOLLOW!"

BY MILLIE MAYFIELD.

Follow, brave boys, follow!

'Tis the roll-call of the drum, And the bright steel's ringing music, With its spirit-stirring hum-- 'Tis the tramp of armed columns, Brazen fronted, drawing near, And the rattle of the sabers In the scabbards, that ye hear; Follow, follow, 'tis the van, boys, So bravely leading on; Follow, follow, to a man, boys, There's glory to be won!

Follow, follow, saith the mother-- Follow, follow, saith the wife-- Though ye're dear as our hearts' blood, More precious, far than life; But we would not have ye linger While the hated foeman stands Beside our sacred hearth-stones, And desecrates our lands!

We'll forgive the starting tear, boys, 'Tis the jewel of the heart, That ye may not blush to wear, boys, When from loved ones thus ye part.

There's not a Southern matron But in her bosom wears The iron Key of Firmness That locketh up her fears; While ye buckle on your armor, She will bid ye safe "G.o.d-speed,"

And bear her cross all bravely For her precious country's need!

When our women have such souls, boys, Ye must never flinch or quail-- While the storm of battle rolls, boys, Ne'er strike the straining sail!

Our lives are dearly purchased, When bondage is the price; And what is home, where freedom Withers 'neath the tyrant's vice?

Better the earthy pillow, Better the gory bier, Where the true-hearted ever Will drop the burning tear; For think, if ye should fall, boys, Ye have not lived in vain-- On the brave soldier's pall, boys, None ever put a stain!

Fling out our glorious banner Upon the golden air-- Swear by its stars, Dishonor Shall leave no footprint there!

That ye'll plant its broad bars firmly, As a barrier to the foe, From the blue Gulf to the Border, From the Sea to Mexico!

The Southern sky's a-flame, boys, Where our stately cities burn, But, as monuments of fame, boys, Their ashes we'll in-urn!

Oh! inch by inch, repel him, The foul invading foe!

Let the sharp saber tell him How despots are laid low!

And history's burning pencil Will, on her golden page, Your hero name enamel An honor to the age!

One blow, and we are free, boys, Strike firmly, and 'tis done!

On, on, to Tennessee, boys, Oh! follow bravely on!

THE SWORD OF ROBERT LEE.

BY FATHER A. J. RYAN.

Forth from its scabbard, pure and bright, Flashed the sword of Lee!

Far in the front of the deadly fight, High o'er the brave in the cause of Right, Its stainless sheen, like a beacon light, Led us to victory.

Out of its scabbard, where, full long, It slumbered peacefully, Roused from its rest by the battle's song, s.h.i.+elding the feeble, smiting the strong, Guarding the right, avenging the wrong, Gleamed the sword of Lee.

Forth from its scabbard, high in air, Beneath Virginia's sky-- And they who saw it gleaming there, And knew who bore it, knelt to swear That where that sword led they would dare To follow--and to die!

Out of its scabbard! Never hand Waved sword from stain as free, Nor purer sword led braver band, Nor braver bled for a brighter land, Nor brighter land had a cause so grand, Nor cause a chief like Lee!

Forth from its scabbard! How we prayed That sword might victor be; And when our triumph was delayed, And many a heart grew sore afraid, We still hoped on while gleamed the blade Of n.o.ble Robert Lee.

Forth from its scabbard all in vain Bright flashed the sword of Lee; 'Tis shrouded now in its sheath again, It sleeps the sleep of our n.o.ble slain, Defeated, yet without a stain, Proudly and peacefully.

BOMBARDMENT OF VICKSBURG.

BY PAUL H. HAYNE.