“ Fought and fell ’neath the guns of that city,
With a spirit transcending his years;
Lift him up in your large-hearted pity,
And wet his pale lips with your tears:
Touch him gently; most sacred that duty
Of dressing that poor shatter’d hand;
God spare him to rise in his beauty,
And battle once more for his land!
Who groan’d? What a passionate murmur:
“In Thy mercy, oh God! let me die!
Ha! surgeon, your hand must be firmer,”
That musket ball’s entered his thigh:
Turn the light on those poor furrow’d features,
Gray-haired and unknown, bless thee, brother! ”

“ THE SOUTH; OR, I LOVE THEE THE MORE.
[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.]
My heart in its sadness turns fondly to thee,
Dear land where our lov’d ones fought hard to be free;
I loved thee when struggling, and bleeding and sore,
But now thou art conquered, I love thee the more!
Gallant South! when the noble, the gifted, the brave,
Dashed onward to battle, like wave after wave,
Determin’d to die for the land they adore,
Though vain were their efforts, I love thee the more. ”

“ Oh! it don’t make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,
Alabama fought the Yankees, boys, till the last one did fly.
I saw Texas go in with a smile,
But I tell you what it is, she made the Yankees bile;
Oh! it don’t make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,
Texas is the devil, boys; root, hog, or die.
I saw North Carolina in the deepest of the battle,
She knocked down the Yankees and made their bones rattle;
Oh! it don’t make a niff-a-stifference to neither you nor I,
North Carolina’s got the grit, boys; root, hog, or die. ”

“ 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Now Northern goods are out of date;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 SOUTH FOR ME. The South for me! The sunny clime,
Where earth is clothed in beauty’s hue,
And Nature vies in scenes sublime,
With all the old world ever knew;
I love thy soil where’er I roam,
Sweet land! and when afar from thee,
My fond heart throbs with thoughts of home,
And echoes back “The South for me.”
Chorus.—The South for me, the South for me,
The golden clime, the heart’s desires,
The only land where men are free,
And worthy of their free-born sires.
The South for me! the patriot’s heart
Beats ever to that slogan cry ”

“ With battle breeze, as when we fought, a wearing of the gray.
Our cause is lost! No more we fight ’gainst overwhelming power;
All wearied are our limbs, and drenched with many a battle shower;
We fain would rest! For want of strength we yield them up the day,
And lower the flag so proudly borne while wearing of the gray.
Defeat is not dishonor! No! Of honor not bereft,
We should thank God that in our breasts this priceless boon is left;
And though we weep ’tis for those braves who stood in proud array
Beneath our flag, and nobly died while wearing of the gray. ”

“ That’s “Stonewall Jackson’s way.”
The sun’s bright lances rout the mists
Of morning, and, by George,
There’s Longstreet struggling in the lists,
Hemmed in an ugly gorge—
Pope and his Yankees whipped before—
“Bayonet and grape!” hear Stonewall roar,
“Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby’s score
In Stonewall Jackson’s way.”
Ah, maiden! wait and watch and yearn
For news of Stonewall’s band;
Ah, widow! read with eyes that burn
That ring upon thy hand;
Ah, wife! sew on, pray on, hope on,
Thy life shall not be all forlorn—
The foe had better ne’er been born,
Than get in “Stonewall’s way.” ”

“ For Southern rights we’ll fight and fall;
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Our grey-haired sires sternly say,—
Hurrah! hurrah!
That we must die or win the day,
Three cheers for old Virginia, boys,
Hurrah! hurrah!
Then our silken banner wave on high;
For Southern homes we’ll fight and die;
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Our cause is right, our quarrel just,—
Hurrah! hurrah!
We’ll in the God of battles trust,
And conquer for Virginia, boys,
Hurrah! hurrah!
BATTLE SONG OF THE INVADED. The foe! the foe! They come! they come! ”

“ Let each be firm and true,
For noble souls and hearts of oak,
The foe can ne’er subdue.
We then will turn us homeward,
To those we love so dear;
For peace and happiness, my boys,
Oh, give a hearty cheer!
Chorus.—Hurrah! Hurrah! for peace
And home, hurrah!
Hurrah for the Bonnie White Flag,
That ends this cruel war!
[Pg 342]
The sword into the scabbard,
The musket on the wall,
The cannon from its blazing throat,
No more shall hurl the ball;
From wives and babes and sweethearts,
No longer will we roam,
For ev’ry gallant soldier boy,
Shall seek his cherished home. ”

“ 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. ”

“ And return safely home;” said the soldier, “Amen!”
“We’ll pray for the privates, the noblest of all;
They do all the work and get no glory at all;
May good luck and good fortune them always attend,
And return crowned with laurels!” said the soldier, “Amen!”
“We’ll pray for the pretty boys who want themselves wives,
And have not the courage to strike for themselves;
May bad luck and bad fortune them always attend!
And go down to Old Harry!” said the soldier, “Amen!”
“We’ll pray for the pretty girls, who make us good wives,
And always look at a soldier with tears in their eyes ”

“ And then a well-known cry—
“It is the foe!” See where the flames
Mount upward to the sky!
It is the foe! Halt! Rest we here!
We wait the coming sun,
And ere these stars may shine again
A field is lost or won!
Is won! It is the “Old Brigade,”
This line of stalwart men!
The “long roll!” how it thrills my heart
To hear that sound again!
God shield us, boys! here breaks the day,
The stars begin to fade!
“Now steady here! fall in! fall in!
Forward! the ‘Old Brigade!’”
Georgia Button. ”

“ Drive the foe from Southern soil!
Glory now invites.
[Pg 190]
Rally round our banner bright
Let its stars of quenchless light
Dim the base invader’s sight,
On the battle field.
When the death clouds darkly lower,
When the cannons blaze and roar,
Though its folds be drenched in gore,
We will never yield.
By our sires who fought and bled!
By Virginia’s honored dead!
By the blood so lately shed!
We will make them know—
Southern hearts are true as steel,
Wrongs like ours are slow to heal,
Sooner will we die than kneel
To a Northern foe. ”

“ Chorus.—Gather fast ’neath our flag,
For ’tis God’s own decree,
That its folds shall still float
O’er a land that is free!
See ye not those dark clouds which now threaten the sky?
Hear ye not that stern thunder now bursting so nigh?
Shout! shout your battle-cry!
Win! win this fight or die!
What our fathers achieved our own valor can keep,
And we’ll save our fair land or we’ll sleep our last sleep!
Chorus.
[Pg 111]
On our hearts and our arms and our God we rely,
And a nation shall rise, or a people shall die. ”

“ Across the prairie, and the shadows pale
Will fill your home, and the wild winds will wail
With frantic madness, as they swiftly sweep
Thro’ the dark forests where your children play’d—
Where all save one in death’s embraces sleep.
And he will fill an unhonor’d far-off grave,
Unmark’d and lone! The hated foeman’s scorn,
Will soon be o’er. This glorious, golden morn
I leave my life, my honor and my fame,
To nobly die as fits a soldier brave—
Who asks of Southrons but an honor’d name? ”

“ 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! ”

“ 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. ”

“ CAMPAIGN BALLAD. By Rev. J. E. Carnes.
Young Florida sends forth her clan—the old Dominion’s brave,
With sons of Texas, lead the van to glory or the grave;
Now, by the fame of Yorktown’s name, and by the Alamo,
The sons will not the fathers shame, though mightier be the foe.
From desecrated Maryland come out a faithful few,
And old Kentucky sends a band to God and Freedom true;
There comes a thrill from Sharpsburg’s rill—and from the “bloody ground,”
Heap’d with the mounds of Perryville, the spectral slogans sound! ”

“ In spite of every foe,
Home of the brave and free.
Chorus.—Sons of the South arise,
Rise in your matchless might,
Your war-cry echo to the skies,
“God will defend the right.”
Our flag shall proudly stream,
Defiant of assault,
Bars of rainbows brightest beam,
[Pg 265] And stars from Heaven’s blue vault.
Thousands of true and brave,
Their hero lives may end,
O’er thousands that flag shall wave,
Thousands its folds defend.
Chorus.
No wrongs our breasts alarm,
No fears our hearts appal,
Unswerving justice nerves our arm,
We cannot conquered fall. ”

“ By the sad path of Sherman’s wrath all thro’ their staid old state,
They swear themselves to deeds of scath, and righteous love of hate!
The Carolinas seek the fray—the scarr’d of every fight,
From far Manassas’ glorious day to Fisher’s bloody night;
Grand deeds of old their hearts unfold, and later memories clasp,
While rifle stock and hilt of gold are griped with fiercer grasp.
Now make one more immortal plain, ye men of battle skill,
Ye of the comprehensive brain and the undaunted will;
Now, Robert Lee! there comes to thee the all-decisive hour! ”