At Mana.s.sas they met the North in its pride, Chivalrous C. S. A.!

But they easily put McDowell aside; Bully for C. S. A.!

_Chorus_--Chivalrous, chivalrous people, etc.

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_--Chivalrous, chivalrous people, etc.

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_--Chivalrous, chivalrous people, etc.

THE BATTLE-FIELD OF MANa.s.sAS.

BY M. F. BIGNEY.

Fill, fill the trump of fame With the name-- MANa.s.sAS--the battle-field of pride; Where Freedom's heroes fought with their spirits all aflame, Where the Gospel of Liberty was sounded with acclaim, Where heroes for Liberty have died!

Come, Fancy, once again Fill the plain with armed men; Let us see the struggling hosts of Wrong and Right; Let the tide of battle pour, Fight and conquer o'er and o'er, Till we glow with inspiration at the sight.

There's glory in the air: Everywhere Glory rises from the ground, All around.

A hundred thousand men, Gather in from hill and glen, And for battle fierce and b.l.o.o.d.y they are bound.

See, see the cohorts come, To the sound of fife and drum; They're the foemen of the North Coming forth, In the pride of conscious might; They would trample down the Right, As forth they come, those foemen of the North.

The flag which they bear Is a snare: Its Stripes writhe as snakes upon the air; And its Stars, no longer bright, Tell of chaos and of night, And of how they yet Will set In despair.

On comes the lengthening line, As if eager for the wine Which from the press of battle freely flows; And from the Southern heart Such wine will freely start, As the pledge to each hecatomb of foes.

On comes the lengthened line, And a "higher law" _divine_; The snakes on their banners seem to hiss; "Destruction to the South,"

Bursts in hate from every mouth, And the demon-words are held akin to bliss.

A brave, heroic band, Hand to hand, To meet the shock of battle are prepared; For wife and child they stand-- For home and native land; Oh, pray that every hero may be spared!

The drum and fife may sound, But their stirring notes are drowned In the roar and the thunder of the guns; The death-charged bullets fly, And the sh.e.l.ls ascend the sky-- They are offerings to G.o.d's and Freedom's sons.

Where Freedom nerves the arm, There's a charm; Where Freedom stirs the heart, Fears depart.

Oh, sacred is the strife, And the sacrifice of life, Where Freedom's chosen heroes point the dart.

G.o.d! how the freemen press!

There's distress In each lead and iron shower that they send; Their countless columns pour, Like the waves in wild uproar, Beating on a rocky sh.o.r.e They would rend.

But firm as rocks our band Grandly stand-- For home and native land Hand to hand.

How the proud invaders reel, As with shot and sh.e.l.l and steel, Destruction wide we deal, Sternly grand!

Again, and yet again, These wild, fanatic men-- Those foemen that invade our Southern homes-- Still rally to the cry: "We must conquer here, or die!

The laurel, or the fate of h.e.l.lish gnomes!"

Again, and yet again, Southern men Force the fierce insulting foe to retire.

Again the Northmen fall, And to Heaven vainly call, While they yell, "There is h.e.l.l In Southern fire!"

Speed, Beauregard the brave, onward speed!

Speed, Davis unto Johnson, in his need!

Hurrah! the foemen fly!

Send the victor shout on high, For Heaven still rewards the daring deed.

How fearfully they bleed-- Man and steed!

Oh, how their dying prayer Rends the air!

All this for Northern greed, All that strange, fanatic creed, Which so wickedly they heed.

_Do not spare!_

"The Southron is accurst"-- So they say; "He's baser than the worst Beast of prey;"

And the African is white, In those Northern foemen's sight, As the lily, when it greets the G.o.d of day.

Then drive them to their lair; Do not spare!

Let shot and sh.e.l.l reply To their cry.

Though their bodies taint the air, And become the vulture's fare, It is just that such invading hordes should die.

McDowell, in the van, Sees his beaten columns fly!

He calls on G.o.d and man For the aid that both deny; The army he would rally, as it runs.

Thus, thus, McDowell raves: "Know ye not, ye unworthy knaves, That you fight the fight for slaves-- Sable ones; Come, and purchase redder graves With your guns."

But the guns are thrown away, The invaders will not stay; To them a fearful lesson has been read: For miles strewn all around, Encrimsoning the rich ground, Lie their fallen friends--the wounded and the dead.

The sun slopes down the west, But the foe in wild unrest Rushes on, though destruction follows fast.

The Southern cavalcade Dyes with red each trusty blade, And the carnage is terrible and vast!

Oh, where is Scott, the chief?

Why brings he not relief?

And Patterson, the tardy, where is he?

And where is Abe, the Great, With his cap and cloak of state?

He should see How his warriors can flee.

Fear lendeth speed to flight, And the foe invokes the night To let its starless curtain quickly fall; But it falleth all too slow, For the terrors of the foe, And it seems to them the shadow of a pall.

A Nemesis concealed In the shades of wold and field, Breathes of vengeance to the foemen as they run; They are rushing in despair, But there's carnage everywhere, And they know not what to welcome or to shun.

Ten thousand of their slain Strew the plain; The shrieks from ten thousand more arise; And the ghosts From their hosts Wail despairingly and vain, In their pain, For a welcome to the skies.

At morning, in their pride, Side by side, They went forth in their might To the fight; And now they flee in fear, Trembling like the stricken deer, At the saber and the spear-- It is night.