BY BENJAMIN F. PORTER.

Ye Cavaliers of Dixie!

Who guard the Southern sh.o.r.es, Whose standards brave the battle storm Which o'er our border roars; Your glorious sabers draw once more, And charge the Northern foe; And reap their columns deep, Where the raging tempests blow, And the iron hail in floods descends, And the b.l.o.o.d.y torrents flow.

Ye Cavaliers of Dixie!

Though dark the tempest lower, What arms will wear the tyrants chains, What dastard heart will cower?

Bright o'er the night a sign shall rise To lead to victory!

And your swords reap their hordes, Where the battle tempests blow; Where the iron hail in floods descends, And the b.l.o.o.d.y torrents flow.

The South! she needs no ramparts, No lofty towers to shield; Your bosoms are her bulwarks strong, Breastworks that never yield!

The thunders of your battle blades Shall sweep the servile foe; While their gore stains the sh.o.r.e, Where the battle tempests blow; Where the iron hail in floods descends And the b.l.o.o.d.y torrents flow.

The battle-flag of Dixie!

With crimson field shall flame, Her azure cross and silver stars Shall light her sons to fame!

When peace with olive-branch returns, That flag's white folds shall glow Still bright on every height, When storm has ceased to blow, And the battle tempests roar no more; Nor the b.l.o.o.d.y torrents flow.

Oh! battle-flag of Dixie!

Long, long, triumphant wave!

Where'er the storms of battle roar, Or victory crowns the brave!

The Cavaliers of Dixie!

In woman's song shall glow The fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow, When the battle tempests rage no more Nor the b.l.o.o.d.y torrents flow.[10]

LAND OF KING COTTON.

BY JO. AUGUSTINE SIGNAIGO.

AIR--"_Red, White, and Blue_."

Oh! Dixie, the land of King Cotton, The home of the brave and the free; A nation by Freedom begotten, The terror of despots to be; Wherever thy banner is streaming, Base tyranny quails at thy feet, And Liberty's sunlight is beaming, In splendor of majesty sweet.

_Chorus_--Three cheers for our army so true, Three cheers for Price, Johnston, and Lee, Beauregard, and our Davis, forever; The pride of the brave and the free!

When Liberty sounds her war-rattle, Demanding her right and her due, The first land who rallies to battle Is Dixie, the shrine of the true; Thick as leaves of the forest in summer, Her brave sons will rise on each plain; And strike, until each vandal comer Lies dead on the soil he would stain.

Three cheers for our army, etc.

May the names of the dead, that we cherish, Fill memory's cup to the brim; May the laurels they've won never perish, Nor "star of their glory grow dim;"

May the States of the South never sever, But champions of freedom e'er be; May they flourish, Confed'rate forever, The boast of the brave and the free.

Three cheers for our army, etc.[11]

THE GUERILLAS.

BY S. TEACKLE WALLIS.

Awake and to horse, my brothers!

For the dawn is glimmering gray, And hark! in the crackling brushwood There are feet that tread this way.

"Who cometh?" "A friend." "What tidings?"

"O G.o.d! I sicken to tell; For the earth seems earth no longer, And its sights are sights of h.e.l.l!

"From the far-off conquered cities Comes a voice of stifled wail, And the shrieks and moans of the houseless Ring out, like a dirge on the gale.

"I've seen from the smoking village Our mothers and daughters fly; I've seen where the little children Sank down in the furrows to die.

"On the banks of the battle-stained river I stood as the moonlight shone, And it glared on the face of my brother, As the sad wave swept him on.

"Where my home was glad, are ashes, And horrors and shame had been there, For I found on the fallen lintel This tress of my wife's torn hair!

"They are turning the slaves upon us, And with more than the fiend's worst art, Have uncovered the fire of the savage, That slept in his untaught heart!

"The ties to our hearths that bound him, They have rent with curses away, And maddened him, with their madness, To be almost as brutal as they.

"With halter, and torch, and Bible, And hymns to the sound of the drum, They preach the gospel of murder, And pray for l.u.s.t's kingdom to come.

"To saddle! to saddle! my brothers!

Look up to the rising sun, And ask of the G.o.d who shines there, Whether deeds like these shall be done!

"Wherever the vandal cometh, Press home to his heart with your steel, And when at his bosom you can not, Like the serpent, go strike at his heel.

"Through thicket and wood, go hunt him, Creep up to his camp-fire side, And let ten of his corpses blacken Where one of our brothers hath died.

"In his fainting, foot-sore marches, In his flight from the stricken fray, In the snare of the lonely ambush, The debts we owe him, pay.

"In G.o.d's hand alone is vengeance, But he strikes with the hands of men, And his blight would wither our manhood, If we smite not the smiter again.

"By the graves where our fathers slumber, By the shrines where our mothers prayed, By our homes, and hopes, and freedom, Let every man swear on his blade,

"That he will not sheathe nor stay it, Till from point to hilt it glow With the flush of Almighty vengeance, In the blood of the felon foe."

They swore--and the answering sunlight Leaped red from their lifted swords, And the hate in their hearts made echo To the wrath in their burning words.

There's weeping in all New England, And by Schuylkill's banks a knell, And the widows there and the orphans, How the oath was kept, can tell.[12]

SOUTHERN Ma.r.s.eILLAISE.

Ye men of Southern hearts and feeling, Arm, Arm! your struggling country calls-- Hear ye the guns now loudly pealing, From Sumter's high embattled walls!

Shall a fanatic horde in power Send forth a base and hireling band, To desolate our happy land, And make our Southern freemen cower.