Part 23
By blue Patapsco's billowy dash, The tyrant's war-shout comes, Along with the cymbal's fitful clash, And the growl of his sullen drums.
We hear it! we heed it, with vengeful thrills, And we shall not forgive or forget; There's faith in the streams, there's hope in the hills, There's life in the old land yet!
Minions! we sleep, but we are not dead; We are crushed, we are scourged, we are scarred; We crouch--'tis to welcome the triumph tread Of the peerless BEAUREGARD.
Then woe to your vile, polluting horde, When the Southern braves are met; There's faith in the victor's stainless sword, There's life in the old land yet!
Bigots! ye quell not the valiant mind, With the clank of an iron chain, The spirit of freedom sings in the wind, O'er _Merryman_, _Thomas_, and _Kane_; And we, though we smite not, are not thralls, Are piling a gory debt; While down by McHenry's dungeon-walls _There's life in the old land yet_!
Our women have hung their harps away, And they scowl on your brutal bands, While the nimble poignard dares the day, In their dear defiant hands.
They will strip their tresses to string our bows, Ere the Northern sun is set; There's faith in their unrelenting woes, There's life in the old land yet!
There's life, though it throbbeth in silent veins, 'Tis vocal without noise, It gushed o'er Mana.s.sas's solemn plains, From the blood of the MARYLAND BOYS!
That blood shall cry aloud, and rise With an everlasting threat; By the death of the brave, by the G.o.d in the skies.
_There's life in the old land yet!_
THE MEN.
BY MAURICE BELL.
In the dusk of the forest shade A sallow and dusty group reclined; Gallops a horseman up the glade-- "Where will I your leader find?
Tidings I bring from the morning's scout-- I've borne them o'er mound, and moor, and fen."
"Well, sir, stay not hereabout, Here are only a few of 'the men.'
"Here no collar has bar or star, No rich lacing adorns a sleeve; Further on our officers are, Let them your news receive.
Higher up, on the hill up there, Overlooking this shady glen, There are their quarters--don't stop here, We are only some of 'the men.'
"Yet stay, courier, if you bear Tidings that the fight is near, Tell them we're ready, and that where They wish us to be we'll soon appear; Tell them only to let us know Where to form our ranks, and when; And we'll teach the vaunting foe That they've met a few of 'the men.'
"We're _the men_, though our clothes are worn-- We're _the men_, though we wear no lace-- We're _the men_, who the foe have torn, And scattered their ranks in dire disgrace; We're the men who have triumphed before-- We're the men who will triumph again; For the dust, and the smoke, and the cannon's roar, And the clashing bayonets--'_we're the men_.'
"Ye who sneer at the battle-scars, Of garments faded, and soiled and bare, Yet who have for the 'stars and bars'
Praise, and homage, and dainty fare; Mock the wearers and pa.s.s them on, Refuse them kindly word, and then Know, if your freedom is ever won By human agents--_these are the men_!"
THE CONFEDERATE FLAG.
BY J. R. BARRICK.
Flag of the South! Flag of the free!
Thy stars shall cheer each eye, Thy folds a sacred banner be, To all beneath our sky; From where the blue Ohio flows, Far to the sea-gulf's stream, Borne by each gentle breath that blows, Thy hues shall flush and gleam.
Flag of the South! Flag of the free!
Type of a new estate, Thy folds shall wave o'er land and sea, And heart and home elate; At thy approach shall tyrants quail And despots, trembling, flee; Nor wrong thy sway of right a.s.sail-- Nought mar thy liberty.
Flag of the South! Flag of the free!
Bright symbol of a land Wrung from the grasp of tyranny, Ere fettered heart and hand; Freedom fixed in thy firm embrace, A home for age shall find, Linking the high hopes of our race With the grand march of mind.
Flag of the South! Flag of the free!
The one to which we clung In years agone, hath ceased to be The pride on which we hung; Long trampled in the dust, that flag Hath lost the charm it bore; No longer vale, and glen, and crag, Swell with its praise of yore.
Flag of the South! Flag of the free!
Type of the Land of Flowers; Thy stars shall light our victory O'er all contending powers; Where law and order still shall reign, Thou shalt a signal be To man, that he may still attain The boon of Liberty!
GLASGOW, KY.
"STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY."
Come, stack arms, men! Pile on the rails, Stir up the camp-fire bright; No matter if the canteen fails, We'll make a roaring night.
Here Shenandoah brawls along, There burly Blue Ridge echoes strong, To swell the brigade's rousing song Of "Stonewall Jackson's Way."
We see him now--the old slouched hat c.o.c.ked o'er his eye askew, The shrewd, dry smile, the speech so pat, So calm, so blunt, so true.
The "Blue-Light Elder" knows 'em well; Says he, "That's Banks--he's fond of sh.e.l.l; Lord save his soul! we'll give him ----" well, That's "Stonewall Jackson's way."
Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off!
Old Blue-Light's going to pray.
Strangle the fool that dares to scoff!
Attention! it's his way.
Appealing from his native sod, _In forma pauperis_ to G.o.d-- "Lay bare thine arm, stretch forth thy rod!
Amen!" That's "Stonewall's way."
He's in the saddle now. Fall in!
Steady! the whole brigade!
Hill's at the ford, cut off--we'll win His way out, ball and blade!
What matter if our shoes are worn?
What matter if our feet are torn?
"Quick-step! we're with him before dawn!"
That's "Stonewall Jackson's way."
The sun's bright lances rout the mists Of morning, and by George!
Here's Longstreet struggling in the lists, Hemmed in an ugly gorge.
Pope and his Yankees, whipped before; "Bay'nets and grape!" hear Stonewall roar; "Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby's score!"
Is "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 That gets in "Stonewall's way."
