WHAT THE SPIRITS OF THE FATHERS OF THE FIRST REVOLUTION SAY TO THEIR SONS NOW ENGAGED IN THE SECOND.

BY HENRY LOMAS.

We are watching that land where Liberty woke-- Like beams of the morning through darkness it broke-- Then up from the mountain the bold eagle sprung, And wide to the breeze his broad pinions flung.

Rise! rise! ye sons of the South and be free!

The mighty have fallen, yet death can not chill, Those n.o.ble emotions the soul ever thrill; The grave hath no confines the spirit to hold, While back to its kindred it flies to unfold Truth! Truth! safeguard of the South and the free.

Shall Washington rest, while a wail of discord Reminds him the North is forgetting the Lord?

Will hero and statesman--the country's bright light-- Look down without pity from yonder far height, On this Land of Hope, for the brave and the free?

That same n.o.ble spirit now watches above, With thousands of others, to guide and guard you with love; For here, true, earnest, and brave men are found, With hearts uncorrupted, to their native land bound.

Awake! awake! O ye sons of the South, and be free!

Down with the hireling that seeks now to rend The homes which your ancestors fought to defend; Rekindle the beacon ere the last spark is fled, And light up the camp-fires round Liberty's bed!

Ye sons of the sunny South, strike to be free!

Fear not the Northern despot, or his feeble frown, Who seeks, through his minions, the South to put down; Look to your G.o.d, from whence comes all power, And seek His aid and protection in each darkened hour.

Strike again and again, O ye sons of the free!

Carolina's sons to this platform have come-- Protection to Liberty, to fireside, and home-- Their watch-word to-day, as their Fathers' of old, Truth, Justice, and Freedom, before Northern gold.

Ye are the sons of the Fathers who bled to be free!

Then loud ring the anvil, the hammer, and bell; The South her new anthem, say what does it tell?

Cotton, Grain, and Sugar, have proved threefold cord-- Columbia, the envied, the blest of the Lord!

Sun of the sunny land, shine still o'er the free!

On heaven's fair arches, see graven the names Of patriot and soldier, who drained life's pure veins; Then down with the Northern despot, let him hide his head, Who by heartless oppression would sever one thread Of this Southern Confederacy, the hope of the free!

Once again at the altar, brothers, gather and kneel; Our pledge, the South--one family, in woe or in weal; One G.o.d and one Country--in peace or in war; The South, Free, United, and Truth the pole-star Of this sunny land, which for ye must be free!

HEART-VICTORIES.

BY A SOLDIER'S WIFE.

There's not a stately hall, There's not a cottage fair, That proudly stands on Southern soil, Or softly nestles there, But in its peaceful walls, With wealth or comfort blest, A stormy battle fierce hath raged In gentle woman's breast.

There Love, the true, the brave, The beautiful, the strong, Wrestles with Duty, gaunt and stern, Wrestles and struggles long; He falls--no more again His giant foe to meet; Bleeding at every opening vein, Love falls at Duty's feet.

Oh! daughter of the South!

No victor's crown be thine; Not thine, upon the tented field, In martial pomp to shine; But, with unfaltering trust In Him who rules on high, To deck thy loved ones for the fray, And send them forth to die.

With wildly throbbing heart-- With faint and trembling breath-- The maiden speeds her lover on, To victory or death; Forth from caressing arms, The mother sends her son, And bids him n.o.bly battle on, Till the last field is won.

While she, the tried, the true, The loving wife of years, Chokes down the rising agony, Drives back the starting tears: "I yield thee up," she cries, "In the country's cause to fight; Strike for our own, our children's home, And G.o.d defend the right."

Oh! daughter of the South, When our fair land is free, When peace her lovely mantle throws Softly o'er land and sea, History shall tell, how thou Hast n.o.bly borne thy part, And won the proudest triumphs yet-- The victories of the heart.

SEVENTY-SIX AND SIXTY-ONE.

BY JOHN W. OVERALL.

Ye spirits of the glorious dead!

Ye watchers in the sky!

Who sought the patriot's crimson bed, With holy trust and high-- Come, lend your inspiration now, Come, fire each Southern son, Who n.o.bly fights for freemen's rights, And shouts for sixty-one.

Come, teach them how on hill, on glade, Quick leaping from your side, The lightning flash of sabers made A red and flowing tide; How well ye fought, how bravely fell, Beneath our burning sun, And let the lyre, in strains of fire, So speak of sixty-one.

There's many a grave in all the land, And many a crucifix, Which tells how that heroic band Stood firm in seventy-six-- Ye heroes of the deathless past, Your glorious race is run, But from your dust springs freemen's trust, And blows for sixty-one.

We build our altars where you lie, On many a verdant sod, With sabers pointing to the sky, And sanctified of G.o.d; The smoke shall rise from every pile, Till Freedom's cause is won, And every mouth throughout the South Shall shout for sixty-one!

KENTUCKY.

BY ESTELLE.

"Just send for us Kentucky boys, And we'll protect you, ladies."--_Old Song._

Then, leave us not, Kentucky boys, Though thick upon thy border, The vulture flaps his restless wing, And scowls the dark marauder.

Kentucky blood is just as proud, Kentucky powder ready, Kentucky hearts are just as brave, Kentucky nerve as steady,

As when the flag we once revered, Unfolded o'er her proudly, And for the South, Kentucky's voice, Undaunted, echoed loudly.

The lion-hearted hero then, Who led that gallant number, Must surely feel a sad unrest Disturb his death-cold slumber.

And one whose sire, on history's page, Is blent in proudest story, Fell on a Southern field, and bathed His dying brow in glory.

Fell, overcome by savage foes, Yet still their rage defying; "_These_, give my father," cried the son, "And tell him how I'm dying."

But now that flag is vilely stained, Its sacred rights invaded-- Wrong and dishonor wield the staff; Its glory's sadly shaded.

And when we would its dying spark s.n.a.t.c.h from the blackening ashes, And worship once again its light, As through the world it flashes,

Kentucky leans upon her arms, And coldly looks about her, Till hirelings, at her very door, Dare threaten, and to flout her.