On our soft, green, peaceful prairies, our home we may see no more,
But in those homes our gentle wives, and mothers with silvery hairs,
Are loving us with tender hearts, and shielding us with prayers.
So trusting in our country's God, we draw our stout good brand,
For those we love at home, our altars and our land.
Up! up! with the crimson battle flag, let the blue pennon fly;
Our steeds are stamping proudly, they hear the battle cry!
The thundering bomb, the bugle's call, proclaim the foe is near:
We strike for God and native land, and all we hold most dear.
Then spring into the saddle, and shake the bridle free,
For Wharton leads, thro' fire and blood, for Home and Victory.
THE OFFICER'S FUNERAL.
Hark! 'tis the shrill trumpet calling,
It pierceth the soft summer air!
Tears from each comrade are falling,
For the widow and orphan are there:
Our bayonets earthward are turning,
And the drum's muffled breath rolls around,
But he hears not the voice of their mourning,
Nor awakes to the bugle's shrill sound.
Sleep, soldier! tho' many regret thee,
Who stand by thy cold bier to-day,
Soon, soon shall the kindest forget thee,
And thy name from the earth pass away;
The man thou did'st love as a brother,
A friend in thy place will have gained;
Thy dog will keep watch for another,
And thy steed by a stranger be reined.
But tho' many now weep for thee sadly,
Soon joyous as ever shall be;
Tho' thy bright orphan boy may laugh gladly
As he sits on some kind comrade's knee,
There is one who will still do her duty
Of tears for the true and the brave,
As when first in the bloom of her beauty,
She weeps o'er her brave soldier's grave!
THE SOLDIER'S DEATH.
By A. B. CUNNINGHAM.
The night-cloud had lowered o'er Shiloh's red plain,
And the blast howled sadly o'er wounded and slain;
The lightning flashed vividly, fiercely and proud,
And glared thro' the mist of the smoke and the cloud;
The thunder pealed loudly from heaven's black sky,
Where litely the cannon had pealed the war-cry;
The last gun had been fired, and its moaning sound
Had died 'way in the distance, and echoed around.
Where the fight had raged fiercest, near a deep ravine,
At the foot of a crag (a wild, thrilling scene),
A soldier lay there all ghastly and gory,
Who'd fall'n in the strife for freedom and glory!
His life-blood was pouring from out a deep gash
He'd received 'mid the battle's loud roar and fierce crash;
"O mother! O mother! I never thought this,
When but a mere child I received thy sweet kiss--
"That I'd die on a field all gory and red
With the blood of the wounded, the dying and dead,
With no friend or relation to cheer my dark way,
But the forms of dear comrades all lifeless as clay,
None to watch o'er me but the ghosts of the dead,
None to smooth down the death-pillow 'neath my poor head;
And sadly I think of my home in the South,
Where I roam'd a mere boy in the pride of my youth.
"When I scaled the steep crag o'er the river's wild roar,
Or chased the fleet stag 'long the bright, sunny shore--
When I bounded in pride o'er valley and hill--
O memories, how sweet! ye haunt me now still.
But away with the thoughts of my joyous boyhood,
I'll face the grim monster death with calm fortitude:
Then, mother, farewell! farewell, dearest mother;
Farewell to my father, sisters and brother!
"And when I am gone never utter a sigh,
But remember your Charlie reigns proudly on high!"
Then death flapp'd wildly his wings on the moor,
As his soul took its flight to a heavenly shore--
The lightning flash'd fiercely, the howling winds surge,
The thunder pealed loudly the hero's wild dirge!
I REMEMBER THE HOUR WHEN SADLY WE PARTED.
_Companion Song to "When this Cruel War is Over."_
I remember the hour when sadly we parted,
The tears on your pale cheek glist'ning like dew,
When clasped in your arms almost broken-hearted,
I swore by the bright sky I'd ever be true,
True to the love that nothing could sever,
And true to the flag of my country forever.
CHORUS.--Then weep not, love, oh! weep not,
Think not our hopes are vain,
For when this fatal war is over,
We will surely meet again.
Oh, let not, my own love, the summer winds winging
Their sweet-laden zephyrs o'er land and o'er sea,
Bring aught to your heart with the autumn birds singing,
But hopes for the future and bright dreams of me;
For while in your pure heart my mem'ry you're keeping,
I ne'er can be lonely while waking or sleeping.
CHORUS.
But if, while the loud shouts of vict'ry are ringing,
O'er the land that foul traitors have caught to betray,
You hear o'er the voices so joyfully singing,
That he who so loved you has fallen in the fray,
Oh think that he's gone where there's dark treason never,
Where tears and sad partings are banished forever.
CHORUS.
OUR FLAG; OR, THE ORIGIN OF THE STARS AND BARS.[14]
Words and Music by HARRY MCCARTHY.
[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
Mass., owners of the copyright.]
Young stranger, what land claims thy birth?
For thy flag is but new to the sea,
And where is the nation on earth,
That the right of this flag gives to thee;
Thy banner reminds us of one
By the Champions of Freedom unfurled,
And the proudest of nations have owned,
'Twas a glory and pride to the world;
That flag was the "Stripes and Stars,"
And the colors of thine are the same,
But thou hast the "Stars and the Bars,"
Oh, stranger, pray tell us thy name.
That flag, with its garland of fame,
Proudly waved o'er my father and me,
And my grandsires died to proclaim
It the flag of the brave and the free;
But alas! for the flag of my youth;
I have sighed and dropped my last tear,
For the North has forgotten her truth,
And would tread on the rights we hold dear;
They envied the South her bright Stars,
Her glory, her honor, her fame,
So we unfurled the "Stars and the Bars"
And the Confederate Flag is its name.
And her bright colors shone forth,
All glorious in fair Freedom's light,
We swore to remember their birth,
And in her honor forever to fight;
So woe to the foeman who'll dare,
Our Southern soil to invade,
For bless'd by the smiles of the fair,
And in right's powerful armor arrayed;
We'll strike for our Southern stars,
Our honor, our glory, our fame,
We'll strike for the "Stars and the Bars,"
For the Confederate Flag is its name.
THE NAVASOTA VOLUNTEERS.
By WM. NEELY, of Durant's Cavalry.
_Air--"Susanna, Don't you Cry."_
We're the Navasota volunteers, our county is named Grimes;
Oh, come along, my conscript boys, we can't leave you behind;
Jeff Davis is our President, and Stephens is the Vice--
At the head of our armies are Lee, Beauregard and Price.
We have other officers and generals in command,
To lead our gallant forces on, and give the right command;
Good old Magruder's our choice, and will help the Yankees roast;
So come and go along with us, and help defend the coast.
O come along, my jolly boys, and help us all to fight--
To go against old Uncle Abe I know that we are right;
So come along, my countrymen, and with us take your stand;
With help of God, we'll whip old Abe, and all his Yankee band.
Come volunteer, my brave, brave boys, and help to fight it out;
We can whip the Abolitionists, without a single doubt;
We are volunteers of Texas--we are the very chaps,
To whip the Abolitionists, and stop their "nutmeg" traps.
Come volunteer, my Texas boys, altho' you are forty-six--
We'll whip old Abe and Buell, with all their Yankee tricks;
Their armies are invading us, and this we cannot stand,
We must whip them back to Yankeedom, O come and take a hand.
Come, all of you brave Southerners, and join our common cause,
To go against old Lincoln and all his Yankee boys;
If we find them on the hills, or find them in their ditches,
If you go along with us we'll whip them out their "britches."
Now, there is our good doctor, with his powder and his pills,
Who is willing to go with us and cure us of our ills;
There are some of our countrymen, whose names I will not tell,
Who say they cannot volunteer, "for they are not very well!"
There is the officeseeker! altho' not very noted,
He would go along with us if he could only be promoted!
There is the little lawyer! who is of no great note,
He will not go along with us unless we will promote!
Now, there is the merchant! with his all in his hand,
Who'll sell unto his customers at the highest price he can;
If you say to the merchant, when you go in to trade,
"I cannot stand your price," he'll holler out "Blockade!"
And then there's the yearling thief, that ought to go to battle;
The country would be better off rid of all such cattle;
And there's the rich planters, with their negroes and their lands,
They will not go along with us to fight old Lincoln's bands.
They remind me of a tale, perhaps you've heard yourself:
While a woman fought a bear her husband hid himself;
The battle was fought, and the good old lady won it--
Old man then came crawling out--"Old woman, hain't we done it!"
There are speculating parsons, who wish their country well--
And they will warn poor sinners of going down to hell;
They cannot go along with us, they do not wish to fight,
They'll stay at home to prey on us, that all may come out right.
Now unto all such fellows be everlasting shame;
And all our honest countrymen will surely them disdain;
Come, all ye Texas ladies, now listen to my song,
And do not marry any man that will not go along.
To defend the coast of Texas we all feel now inclined;
To leave our wives and little ones in the care of those behind;
We hope that they'll prove faithful, and to their wants attend,
And see that they're provided for while we the land defend.
Farewell! my friends and neighbors, we bid you all adieu.
Farewell to wife and children! we now must part with you!
O God! in mercy bless us! sustain us by Thy grace!
And grant we all may meet again our lov'd ones to embrace!
[Illustration:
"For I know there is no other,
E'er can be so dear to me."]
THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.
Composed by FR. SULZNER.
Permission of HENRI WEHRMANN, New Orleans, La.
I am dreaming of thee,
Dearest, I am dreaming still of thee,
For thy spirit haunts me ever,
Like some fairy melody;
When in loneliness I wander,
Or in haunts of mirth and glee,
Still my heart to thine is turning,
I am dreaming still of thee.
When the stars are softly smiling,
Thro' the lone and silent night,
Then I think of thee and heaven,
With a holy, calm delight;
For thy spirit is so radiant
In its love and purity,
That whene'er I dream of angels,
I am dreaming still of thee.
There are hours when dreary shadows,
Cast their gloom upon my heart,
When I think how well I love thee,
When I feel that we must part;
For I know there is no other,
E'er can be so dear to me,
And whene'er of love I'm dreaming,
I am dreaming still of thee.
I am dreaming of thee, dearest,
Still I dream of thee alone;
We shall meet again in heaven,
There our spirits shall be one;
For the earth when thou wert near me,
Was a paradise to me,
And whene'er I dream of heaven,
I am dreaming still of thee.
[Illustration:
"When the stars are softly smiling
* * * *
Then I think of thee and heaven."]
BY THE BANKS OF RED RIVER.
Words by E. E. KIDD.
Music by LA HACHE.
Oh, gone is the soul from his wondrous dark eye,
And gone is her life's dearest glory.
The tales of fond lovers unheeded pass by,
Her heart hears a single sad story,
How her gallant young hero fell asleep, and will never
Awake from his dream by the banks of Red River.
CHORUS.--How her gallant young hero fell asleep, and will never
Awake from his dream by the banks of Red River.
How oft to the window she rushes to wait,
As though she expected his coming;
She lists, ah! she hears him swing open the gate,
And the song he was wont to be humming;
But she turns, ah! she feels he's asleep and will never
Awake from his dream by the banks of Red River.
CHORUS.
Ah, many a sun will awaken the morn,
All dressed in its radiant glory,
Ere the heart of the maiden shall ever be torn
From the woe of his sorrowful story,
For it bent--it has broke. Oh! God it will never
Arise from that grave by the banks of Red River.
CHORUS.
THE OFFICERS OF DIXIE.
By A GROWLER.
Let me whisper in your ear, sir,
Something that the South should hear, sir,
Of the war, of the war, of the war in Dixie;
A growing curse--a "burning shame," sir,
In the chorus I will name, sir,
Of the war, of the war, of the war in Dixie.
CHORUS.--The officers of Dixie alone, alone!
The honors share, the honors wear
Throughout the land of Dixie!
'Tis so, 'tis so, throughout the land of Dixie.
Swelling 'round with gold lace plenty,
See the gay "brass button" gentry;
Solomon in all his splendors
Was scarce arrayed like these "defenders."
CHORUS.
In cities, sir, it is alarming
To see them 'round the hotel swarming;
And at each little "one-horse town," sir,
See the "birds" how they "fly 'round," sir.
CHORUS.
On the steamboat, in the cars, sir,
Deep respect is shown the "bars," sir.
And if a "star" or two is spotted,
See how "the elephant" is courted.
CHORUS.
Should a grand soiree be given,
The "braided lions" take the even.
No, no! the privates are not slighted!
They can't expect to be invited!
CHORUS.
The ladies! bless the darling creatures!
Quite distort their pretty features,
And say (I know you've seen it done, sir),
"They'll have an officer or none," sir.
CHORUS.
And if when death-shots round us rattle,
An officer is kill'd in battle--
How the martyr is lamented!
(This is right--we've not dissented).
CHORUS.
But only speak of it to show, sir,
Privates are not honor'd so, sir.
No muffled drum, no wreath of glory,
If one dies, proclaims the story.
CHORUS.
In Dixie's land, in every way, sir,
"Fuss and feathers" "win the day," sir,
For with all sexes, sizes, ages,
How the "gold lace fever" rages!
CHORUS.
List the moral of my song, sir;
In Dixie there is something wrong, sir.
As all that glitters is not gold, sir,
Read and ponder what I've told, sir.
CHORUS.
THE SENTINEL'S DREAM OF HOME.
By COL. A. M. HOBBY.
'Tis dead of night, nor voice, nor sound, breaks on the stillness of the
air,
The waning moon goes coldly down on frozen fields and forests bare:
The solemn stars are glittering high, while here my lonely watch I keep,
To guard the brave with anxious eye, who sweetly dream and sweetly sleep.
Perchance of home these sleepers dream, of sainted ones no longer here,
Whose mystic forms low bend unseen, and breathe soft whispers in their
ear:
Sleep on, sleep on, my comrades brave, quaff deep to-night of pleasure's
cup,
Ere morning's crimson banners wave, and reveille shall rouse thee up.
The sporting winds and waves to-night seem tired of their boisterous
play,
And armed ships, with signal lights and bristling guns before me lay:
But not of ships nor battle-fields, with clash of arms and roll of
drums--
To softer scenes my spirit yields--to-night a sweeter vision comes.
It is thine own beloved one! whose kiss I feel, whose smile I see;
O God! protect that wife at home, begirt with growing infancy:
To-night, to-night I'm with you there, around my knees fond children
gather!
And climb, the envied kiss to share, amidst the sounds of "Husband!
Father!"
Such thoughts my eyes with moisture fill, my bosom heaves, my pulses
start;
Close down I'll press my gun to still the wild emotions of my heart:
Hush! pleading one--I cannot stay! the spoiler comes with fiendish
wrath--
Black ruin marks his bloody way, and blazing homes have lit his path.
"Go, husband, go! God nerve thy blows--their footsteps foul blot from
our shore--
Strike! 'till our land is free from foes whose hands are stained with
Southern gore;
Strike! husband, strike--I'd rather weep, the widow of a patriot brave,
Than lay my heart (I'd scorn to sleep) beside a subjugated slave."
Thy woman's soul is true and grand! the battle-field my home shall be,
Until our country'll proudly stand acknowledged as a nation free;
'Till then, oh, welcome fields of strife, the victor's shout, the
vanquished cry,
Where ebbs the crimson stream of life, where quick and dead together lie.
'Mid bursting shell and squadron's dash, where broken ranks disorder'd
fly,
Where angry cannon's flash on flash paints hell upon the lurid sky,
Where many a brave shall sink to rest, and fondly cherish'd hopes will
set,
And blood that warms the manly heart, will dim the glittering bayonet.
When these are past, and victory's sun in undimm'd splendor lights the
skies,
And peace, by dauntless valor won, and proudly free our banner flies,
Then to my Western prairie home, with eager haste, each nerve shall
strain,
Nor from its hallow'd precincts roam, unless my country call again.
There unalloy'd shall be our bliss; we'll watch the sun give morning
birth,
And, sinking, leave his parting kiss upon the dewy lips of earth.
* * * * *
The moon has waxed and waned away; the morning star rides pale and high--
Fond dreams of home no longer stay, but fade like stars on mornings sky.
GALVESTON, TEXAS, Feb. 1, 1864.
CAMP DOUGLAS BY THE LAKE.
A PRISON SONG.
_Air--"Cottage by the Sea."_
Childhood's days have long since faded,
Youth's bright dreams like lights gone out,
Distant homes and hearths are shaded,
With the future's dread and doubt.
CHORUS.--Here, old Michigan before us,
Moaning waves that ever break,
Chanting still the one sad chorus,
At Camp Douglas by the Lake. (Repeat.)
Exiles from our homes, we sorrow
O'er the present's darkening gloom;
Will we know that with the morrow,
We'll wake to feel the same hard doom.
CHORUS.
Oh, for one short hour of gladness,
One hour of hope, this pain to break,
And chase away the heavy sadness,
At Camp Douglas by the Lake.
CHORUS.
I would some Southern bird was singing,
Warbling richest, softest lays,
Back to eager memory bringing,
Sweetest thoughts of happy days.
CHORUS.
I dread the night's uneasy slumber;
Hate the day that bids me wake,
Another of that dreary number,
At Camp Douglas by the Lake.
CHORUS.
Never Sabbath bells are tolling,
Never words of cheer and love;
Wintry waves are round us rolling,
Clouds are hiding heaven above.
CHORUS.
Dixie Land! still turn toward you,
Hearts that now in bondage ache,
Hearts that once were strong to guard you,
Wasting here beside the lake.
REFRAIN.--John Morgan crossed the river,
And I went across with him.
I was captured in Ohio,
Because I could not swim.
MISSOURI.
Words and music by HARRY MCCARTHY.
Sung by Harry McCarthy throughout the Confederate States in his
Personation Concerts.
[The music of this song can be obtained of Oliver Ditson Co., Boston,
Mass.]
Missouri! Missouri! bright land of the West,
Where the wayworn emigrant always found rest,
Who gave to the farmer reward for the toil
Expended in breaking and turning the soil;
Awake to the notes of the bugle and drum!
Awake from your peace, for the tyrant hath come;
And swear by your honor that your chains shall be riven,
And add your bright star to our Flag of Eleven.
They'd force you to join in their unholy fight,
With fire and with sword, with power and with might,
'Gainst fathers and brothers, and kindred near,
'Gainst women and children, all you hold dear;
They've o'errun your soil, insulted your press;
Murdered your citizens, shown no redress;
So swear by your honor that your chains shall be riven,
And add your bright star to our Flag of Eleven.
Missouri! Missouri! where is thy proud fame?
Free land of the West, thy once cherished name
Trod in the dust by a tyrant's command,
Proclaiming there's martial law in the land,
Men of Missouri! strike without fear!
McCulloch, Jackson, and brave men are near;
So swear by your honor that your chains shall be riven,
And add your bright star to our Flag of Eleven.
OH, NO! HE'LL NOT NEED THEM AGAIN![15]
Oh, no! no! he'll not need them again--
No more will he wake to behold,
The splendor and fame of his men--
The tale of his victories told!
No more will he wake from that sleep,
Which he sleeps in his glory and fame,
While his comrades are left here to weep
Over Cleburne! his grave and his name.
Oh, no; he'll not meet them again,
No more will his banner be spread
O'er the field of his gallantry's fame;
The soldier's proud spirit is fled!
The soldier who rose 'mid applause,
From the humblemost place in the van--
I sing not in praise of the cause,
But rather in praise of the man.
Oh, no; he'll not need them again,
He has fought his last battle without them,
For barefoot he, too, must go in,
While barefoot stood comrades about him;
And barefoot they proudly marched on,
With blood flowing fast from their feet;
They thought of the past victories won,
And the foes that they now were to meet.
Oh, no; he'll not need them again,
He is leading his men to the charge,
Unheeding the shells or the slain,
Or the showers of the bullets at large.
On the right, on the left, on the flanks,
He dashingly pushes his way,
While with cheers, double quick and in ranks,
His soldiers all followed that day.
Oh, no; he'll not need them again,
He falls from his horse to the ground!
O anguish! O sorrow! O pain!
In the brave hearts that gathered around;
He breathes not of grief, nor a sigh
On the breast where he pillowed his head,
Ere he fix'd his last gaze upon high--
"I'm killed, boys, but fight it out!" said.
Oh, no; he'll not need them again,
But treasure them up for his sake;
And oh, should you sing a refrain,
Of the memories they still must awake,
Sing it soft as the summer-eve breeze,
Let it sound as refreshing and clear;
Tho' grief-born there's that which can please,
In thoughts that are gemmed with a tear.
IN MEMORIAM.
Lieut. Sidney A. Sherman,[16] who fell at the Battle of Galveston, January
1, 1863.
By MISS MOLLIE E. MOORE.
Pillow his head on his flashing sword,
Who fell ere the fight was won,
The turf looks red where his life was poured--
He fell beside his gun!
He died with the gleam in his youthful eye,
The fire in his gallant breast,
The light was shadowed but could not die,
That glisten'd upon his breast!
For Liberty claimed his parting breath,
And Fame his last trumpet cry:
Yes, Freedom hath torn his young name from Death--
The brave can never die!
His young breast met, like an ocean rock,
The clash of the battle-storm;
His proud soul smiled at the tempest shock,
That thundered around his form.
But his life grew faint when the storm raged high,
And ebbed with the dawning sun,
And there on the field of victory
He fell beside his gun!
From the gallant throng there is missed a crest,
A sword from the ranks of steel,
A hand from the gun whose mad unrest,
Hath made our foemen reel.
A blithe young voice from the mellow strain,
That floated at evenfall;
A voice from the camp-song's high refrain,
A step in his father's hall:
In his father's hall--where his mother's eye,
Late hung with a gleam of joy,
On the proud young form, as the hopes beat high
In the breast of her soldier boy.
And the dashing sound of the distant sea,
With the wail in its troubled breast,
To the hearts 'round that clouded hearth will be,
But an echo of their unrest!
But pillow his head on his flashing sword,
Whose Fame on the field was won--
The strife raged high where his blood was poured--
And--he fell beside his gun!
Oh, circle the banner around his form,
That he loved with a soldier's pride,
For it shone like a star thro' the battle storm,
O'er the field where our hero died!
He went from the red field down to the grave,
He fell where his fame was won,
And his own fair State hath a name for the brave,
And a song for her martyred son!
Yes, Liberty shrined his parting breath,
And Texas his fainting cry--
Yes, Fame hath torn his young name from death,
The brave can never die!
Then pillow his head on his flashing sword,
Who fell where the field was won;
The turf is red where his life was poured--
He fell beside his gun!
TYLER, TEXAS, 1863.
YANKEE VANDALS.
_Air--"Gay and Happy."_
The Northern Abolition vandals,
Who have come to free the slave,
Will meet their doom in "Old Virginny,"
Where they all will get a grave.
CHORUS--So let the Yankees say what they will,
We'll love and fight for Dixie still,
Love and fight for, love and fight for,
We'll love and fight for Dixie still.
When the Hessian horde is driven,
O'er Potomac's classic flood,
The pulse of a new-born freedom,
Then will stir old Maryland's blood.
CHORUS.
Then we'll crown our warrior chieftains
Who have led us in the fight,
And have brought the South in triumph,
Through dread danger's troubled night.
CHORUS.
And the brave who nobly perished,
Struggling in the bloody fray;
We'll wear a wreath of fadeless laurel
For their glorious memory.
CHORUS.
O'er their graves the Southern maidens,
From sea-shore to mountain grot,
We'll plant the smiling rose of beauty
And the sweet forget-me-not.
CHORUS.
RIDING A RAID.
_Air--"Bonny Dundee."_