Songs and Ballads of the Southern People Part 5

Thy proud young heart is beating high To clash of arms and cannons' roar; That firm set lip and flashing eye Tell how thy heart is br.i.m.m.i.n.g o'er.

Be free and live, be free or die!

Be that thy motto now, my boy; And though thy name's Unknown to fame's 'Tis graven on my heart, my boy.

THE SOUTH IN ARMS.

BY REV. J. H. MARTIN.

Oh! see ye not the sight sublime, Unequaled in all previous time, Presented in this Southern clime, The home of chivalry?

A warlike race of freemen stand, With martial front and sword in hand, Defenders of their native land,-- The sons of Liberty.

Unawed by numbers, they defy The tyrant North, nor will they fly, Resolved to conquer or to die, And win a glorious name.

Sprung from renowned heroic sires, Inflamed with patriotic fires, Their bosoms burn with fierce desires, They thirst for victory.

'Tis not the love of b.l.o.o.d.y strife, The horrid sacrifice of life, But thoughts of mother, sister, wife, That stir their manly hearts.

A sense of honor bids them go, To meet a hireling, ruthless foe, And deal in wrath the deadly blow Which vengeance loud demands.

In freedom's sacred cause they fight, For Independence, Justice, Right, And to resist a desperate might.

And by Mana.s.sas' glorious name, And by Missouri's fields of fame, We hear them swear, with one acclaim, We'll triumph or we'll die!

MELT THE BELLS.

BY F. Y. ROCKETT.

Melt the bells, melt the bells, Still the tinkling on the plain, And trans.m.u.te the evening chimes Into war's resounding rhymes, That the invaders may be slain By the bells.

Melt the bells, melt the bells, That for years have called to prayer, And, instead, the cannon's roar Shall resound the valleys o'er, That the foe may catch despair From the bells.

Melt the bells, melt the bells, Though it cost a tear to part With the music they have made, Where the friends we love are laid, With pale cheek and silent heart, 'Neath the bells.

Melt the bells, melt the bells, Into cannon, vast and grim, And the foe shall feel the ire From the heaving lungs of fire, And we'll put our trust in Him, And the bells.

Melt the bells, melt the bells, And when foes no more attack, And the lightning cloud of war Shall roll thunderless and far, We will melt the cannon back Into bells.

Melt the bells, melt the bells, And they'll peal a sweeter chime, And remind of all the brave Who have sunk to glory's grave, And will sleep through coming time 'Neath the bells.[3]

TO THE TORIES OF VIRGINIA.

"I speak this unto your shame."

In the ages gone by, when Virginia arose Her honor and truth to maintain, Her sons round her banner would rally with pride, Determined to save it from stain.

No heart in those days was so false or so cold, That it did not exquisitely thrill With a love and devotion that none would withhold, Until death the proud bosom should chill.

Was Virginia in danger? Fast, fast at her call, From the mountains e'en unto the sea, Came up her brave children their mother to shield, And to die that she still might be free.

And a coward was he, who, when danger's dark cloud Overshadowed Virginia's fair sky, Turned a deaf, careless ear, when her summons was heard, Or refused for her honor to die.

Oh! proud are the mem'ries of days that are past, And richly the heart thrills whene'er We think of the brave who, their mother to save, Have died, as they lived, without fear.

But _now_, can it be that Virginia's name Fails to waken the homage and love Of e'en one of her sons? Oh! cold, cold must be The heart that her name will not move.

When she rallies for freedom, for justice, and right, Will her sons, with a withering sneer, Revile her, and taunt her with treason and shame, Or say she is moved by foul fear?

Will they tell her her glories have fled or grown pale?

That she bends to a tyrant in shame?

Will they trample her glorious flag in the dust, Or load with reproaches her name?

Will they fly from her sh.o.r.es, or desert her in need?

Will _Virginians_ their backs ever turn On their mother, and fly when the danger is nigh, And her claim to their fealty spurn?

False, false is the heart that refuses to yield The love that Virginia doth claim; And base is the tongue that could utter the lie, That charges his mother with shame.

A blot on her 'scutcheon! a stain on her name!

Our heart's blood should wipe it away; We should die for her honor, and count it a boon Her mandates to heed and obey.

But never, oh, never, let human tongue say She is false to her honor or fame!

She is true to her past--to her future she's true-- And Virginia has never known shame.

Then shame on the dastard, the recreant fool, That _would strike_, _in the dark_, at her now; That would coldly refuse her fair fame to uphold, That would basely prove false to his vow.

But no! it can not--it can never be true, That Virginia claims one single child, That would ever prove false to his home or his G.o.d, Or be with foul treason defiled.

And the man that could succor her enemies _now_, Even though on her soil he were born, Is so base, so inhuman, so false and so vile, That Virginia disowns him with scorn!

_Richmond Examiner._

WAR SONG.

BY A. B. MEEK, OF MOBILE.