By grassy steep or highland lake,
Come, for the land ye love, to form
A bulwark that no foe can break.
Stand, like your own gray cliffs that mock
The whirlwind; stand in her defence:
The blast as soon shall move the rock,
As rushing squadrons bear ye thence.
And ye whose homes are by her grand
Swift rivers, rising far away,
Come from the depth of her green land
As mighty in your march as they;
As terrible as when the rains
Have swelled them over bank and bourne,
With sudden floods to drown the plains
And sweep along the woods uptorn.
And ye who throng beside the deep,
Her ports and hamlets of the strand,
In number like the waves that leap
On his long-murmuring marge of sand,
Come, like that deep, when, o'er his brim,
He rises, all his floods to pour,
And flings the proudest barks that swim,
A helpless wreck against his shore.
Few, few were they whose swords of old
Won the fair land in which we dwell;
But we are many, we who hold
The grim resolve to guard it well.
Strike for that broad and goodly land,
Blow after blow, till men shall see
That Might and Right move hand in hand,
And Glorious must their triumph be.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
A CRY TO ARMS.
BY HENRY TIMROD.
Ho, woodsmen of the mountain-side!
Ho, dwellers in the vales!
Ho, ye who by the chafing tide
Have roughened in the gales!
Leave barn and byre, leave kin and cot,
Lay by the bloodless spade;
Let desk and case and counter rot,
And burn your books of trade!
The despot roves your fairest lands;
And till he flies or fears,
Your fields must grow but armèd bands,
Your sheaves be sheaves of spears!
Give up to mildew and to rust
The useless tools of gain,
And feed your country's sacred dust
With floods of crimson rain!
Come with the weapons at your call--
With musket, pike, or knife;
He wields the deadliest blade of all
Who lightest holds his life.
The arm that drives its unbought blows
With all a patriot's scorn,
Might brain a tyrant with a rose
Or stab him with a thorn.
Does any falter? Let him turn
To some brave maiden's eyes,
And catch the holy fires that burn
In those sublunar skies.
Oh, could you like your women feel,
And in their spirit march,
A day might see your lines of steel
Beneath the victor's arch!
What hope, O God! would not grow warm
When thoughts like these give cheer?
The lily calmly braves the storm,
And shall the palm-tree fear?
No! rather let its branches court
The rack that sweeps the plain;
And from the lily's regal port
Learn how to breast the strain.
Ho, woodsmen of the mountain-side
Ho, dwellers in the vales!
Ho, ye who by the roaring tide
Have roughened in the gales!
Come, flocking gayly to the fight,
From forest, hill, and lake;
We battle for our country's right,
And for the lily's sake!
[Southern.]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE BANNER OF THE STARS.
BY R. W. RAYMOND.
Hurrah! boys, hurrah! fling our banner to the breeze!
Let the enemies of freedom see its folds again unfurled.
And down with the pirates that scorn upon the seas
Our victorious Yankee banner, sign of Freedom to the World!
_Chorus._--We'll never have a new flag, for ours is the true flag,
The true flag, the true flag, the Red, White, and Blue flag,
Hurrah! boys, hurrah! we will carry to the wars,
The old flag, the free flag, the Banner of the Stars.
And what tho' its white shall be crimsoned with our blood?
And what tho' its stripes shall be shredded in the storms?
To the torn flag, the worn flag, we'll keep our promise good,
And we'll bear the starry blue field, with gallant hearts and arms.
--_Chorus._
Then, cursed be he who would strike our Starry Flag!
May the God of Hosts be with us, as we smite the traitor down!
And cursed be he who would hesitate or lag,
Till the dear flag, the fair flag, with Victory we crown.
--_Chorus._
[Illustration]
THE FLAG OF THE CONSTELLATION.
BY T. BUCHANAN REID.
The stars of our morn on our banner borne,
With the iris of heav'n are blended,
The hands of our sires first mingled those fires,
By us they shall be defended!
Then hail the true--the Red, White, and Blue,
The flag of the Constellation;
It sails as it sailed, by our fore-fathers hailed,
O'er battles that made us a nation.
What hand so bold to strike from its fold,
One star or stripe of its bright'ning;
To him be each star a fiery Mars,
Each stripe a terrible lightning.
Then hail the true--the Red, White, and Blue,
The flag of the Constellation.
It sails as it sailed, by our fore-fathers hailed,
O'er battles that made us a nation.
Its meteor form shall ride the storm
Till the fiercest of foes surrender;
The storm gone by, it shall gild the sky,
As a rainbow of peace and splendor.
Then hail the true--the Red, White, and Blue,
The flag of the Constellation,
It sails as it sailed, by our fore-fathers hailed,
O'er battles that made us a nation.
Peace, peace to the world--is our motto unfurled,
Tho' we shun not a field that is gory;
At home or abroad, fearing none but our God,
We will carve our own pathway to glory!
Then hail the true--the Red, White, and Blue,
The flag of the Constellation,
It sails as it sailed, by our fore-fathers hailed,
O'er battles that made us a nation,
Florence, Italy, May, 1861.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE STARS AND STRIPES.
BY JAMES T. FIELDS.
Rally round the flag, boys--
Give it to the breeze!
That's the banner we bore
On the land and seas.
Brave hearts are under it,
Let the _traitors_ brag,
Gallant lads, fire away!
And fight for the flag.
Their flag is but a rag--
Ours is the true one;
Up with the Stars and Stripes!
Down with the new one!
Let our colors fly, boys--
Guard them day and night;
For victory is liberty,
And God will bless the right.
[Illustration]
THE BONNIE BLUE FLAG.
BY ANNIE CHAMBERS KETCHUM.
Come, brothers! rally for the right!
The bravest of the brave
Sends forth her ringing battle-cry
Beside the Atlantic wave!
She leads the way in honor's path;
Come brothers, near and far,
Come rally round the Bonnie Blue Flag
That bears a single star!
We've borne the Yankee trickery,
The Yankee gibe and sneer,
Till Yankee insolence and pride
Know neither shame nor fear;
But ready now with shot and steel
Their brazen front to mar,
We hoist aloft the Bonnie Blue Flag
That bears a single star.
Now Georgia marches to the front,
And close beside her come
Her sisters by the Mexique Sea,
With pealing trump and drum;
Till answering back from hill and glen
The rallying cry afar,
A Nation hoists the Bonnie Blue Flag
That bears a single star!
By every stone in Charleston Bay,
By each beleaguered town,
We swear to rest not, night nor day,
But hunt the tyrants down!
Till bathed in valor's holy blood
The gazing world afar
Shall greet with shouts the Bonnie Blue Flag
That bears the cross and star!
[Southern.]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE STRIPES AND THE STARS.
BY EDNA DEAN PROCTOR.
O STAR-SPANGLED BANNER! the flag of our pride!
Though trampled by traitors and basely defied,
Fling out to the glad winds your red, white, and blue,
For the heart of the Northland is beating for you!
And her strong arm is nerving to strike with a wall,
Till the foe and his boastings are humbled and still!
Here's welcome to wounding and combat and scars
And the glory of death--for the Stripes and the Stars!
From prairie, O ploughman! speed boldly away--
There's seed to be sown in God's furrows to-day!
Row landward, lone fisher! stout woodman come home!
Let smith leave his anvil and weaver his loom,
And hamlet and city ring loud with the cry:
"For God and our country we'll fight till we die!
Here's welcome to wounding and combat and scars
And the glory of death--for the Stripes and the Stars!"
Invincible banner! the flag of the free,
Oh, where treads the foot that would falter for thee?
Or the hands to be folded, till triumph is won
And the eagle looks proud, as of old, to the sun?
Give tears for the parting--a murmur of prayer--
Then forward! the fame of our standard to share!
With welcome to wounding and combat and scars
And the glory of death--for the Stripes and the Stars!
O God of our fathers! this banner must shine
Where battle is hottest, in warfare divine!
The cannon has thundered, the bugle has blown--
We fear not the summons-we fight not alone!
O lead us, till wide from the gulf to the sea
The land shall be sacred to freedom and Thee!
With love for oppression; with blessing, for scars--
One country--one banner--the Stripes and the Stars!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
DIXIE.
BY ALBERT PIKE.
Southrons, hear your country call you!
Up, lest worse than death befall you!
To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie!
Lo! all the beacon-fires are lighted--
Let all hearts be now united!
To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie!
Advance the flag of Dixie!
Hurrah! hurrah!
For Dixie's land we take our stand,
And live or die for Dixie!
To arms! To arms!
And conquer peace for Dixie!
To arms! To arms!
And conquer peace for Dixie!
Hear the Northern thunders mutter!
Northern flags in South winds flutter!
To arms!
Send them back your fierce defiance!
Stamp upon the accursed alliance!
To arms!
Advance the flag of Dixie!
Fear no danger! shun no labor!
Lift up rifle, pike, and sabre!
To arms!
Shoulder pressing close to shoulder,
Let the odds make each heart bolder!
To arms!
Advance the flag of Dixie!
How the South's great heart rejoices
At your cannon's ringing voices!
To arms!
For faith betrayed, and pledges broken,
Wrongs inflicted, insults spoken,
To arms!
Advance the flag of Dixie!
Strong as lions, swift as eagles,
Back to their kennels hunt these beagles!
To arms!
Cut the unequal bond asunder!
Let them hence each other plunder!
To arms!
Advance the flag of Dixie!
Swear upon your country's altar
Never to submit or falter!
To arms!
Till the spoilers are defeated,
Till the Lord's work is completed,
To arms!
Advance the flag of Dixie!
Halt not till our Federation
Secures among earth's powers its station
To arms!
Then at peace, and crowned with glory,
Hear your children tell the story!
To arms!
Advance the flag of Dixie!
If the loved ones weep in sadness,
Victory soon shall bring them gladness.
To arms!
Exultant pride soon vanish sorrow;
Smiles chase tears away to-morrow.
To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie!
Advance the flag of Dixie!
Hurrah! hurrah!
For Dixie's land we take our stand,
And live or die for Dixie!
To arms! To arms!
And conquer peace for Dixie!
To arms! To arms!
And conquer peace for Dixie!
[Southern.]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE OATH OF FREEDOM.
BY JAMES BARRON HOPE.
Born free, thus we resolve to live:
By Heaven, we will be free!
By all the stars which burn on high--
By the green earth--the mighty sea--
By God's unshaken majesty,
We will be free or die!
Then let the drums all roll!
Let all the trumpets blow!
Mind, heart, and soul,
We spurn control
Attempted by a foe!
Born free, thus we resolve to live:
By Heaven, we will be free!
And, vainly now the Northmen try
To beat us down--in arms we stand
To strike for this our native land!
We will be free or die!
Then let the drums all roll!
Born free, we thus resolve to live:
By Heaven, we will be free!
Our wives and children look on high,
Pray God to smile upon the right!
And bid us in the deadly fight
As freemen live or die!
Then let the drums all roll!
Born free, thus we resolve to live:
By Heaven, we will be free!
And ere we cease this battle-cry,
Be all our blood, our kindred's spilt,
On bayonet or sabre hilt!
We will be free or die!
Then let the drums all roll!
Born free, thus we resolve to live:
By Heaven, we will be free!
Defiant let the banners fly,
Shake out their glories to the air,
And kneeling, brothers, let us swear
We will be free or die!
Then let the drums all roll!
Born free, thus we resolve to live:
By Heaven, we will be free!
And to this oath the dead reply--
Our valiant fathers' sacred ghosts--
These with us, and the God of hosts,
We will be free or die!
Then let the drums all roll!
[Southern.]
[Illustration]
[Illustration:
CIVIL WAR]
BY CHARGES DAWSON SHANLY.
[In many collections this poem is entitled "The Fancy Shot." It was
first published in London, in the paper called _Once-a-Week_, and
was there entitled "Civile Bellum." It is believed to be the work of
Charles Dawson Shanly, who died in 1876.--EDITOR.]
"Rifleman, shoot me a fancy shot
Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette;
Ring me a ball in the glittering spot
That shines on his breast like an amulet!"
"Ah, captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead,
There's music around when my barrel's in tune!"
Crack! went the rifle, the messenger sped,
And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon.
"Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and snatch
From your victim some trinket to handsel first blood;
A button, a loop, or that luminous patch
That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!"
"O captain! I staggered and sunk on my track,
When I gazed on the face of that fallen vidette,
For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back,
That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet.
"But I snatched off the trinket,--this locket of gold;
An inch from the centre my lead broke its way,
Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold,
Of a beautiful lady in bridal array."
"Ha! rifleman, fling me the locket!--'tis she,
My brother's young bride,--and the fallen dragoon
Was her husband--Hush! soldier, 'twas Heaven's decree,
We must bury him there, by the light of the moon!
"But hark! the far bugles their warnings unite;
War is a virtue, weakness a sin;
There's a lurking and loping around us to-night;--
Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in!"
[Illustration]
THE MASSACHUSETTS LINE.
BY ROBERT LOWELL.
Still first, as long and long ago,
Let Massachusetts muster;
Give her the post right next the foe;
Be sure that you may trust her.
She was the first to give her blood
For freedom and for honor;
She trod her soil to crimson mud;
God's blessing be upon her!
She never faltered for the right,
Nor ever will hereafter;
Fling up her name with all your might,
Shake roof-tree and shake rafter!
But of old deeds she need not brag,
How she broke sword and fetter;
Fling out again the old striped flag!
She'll do yet more and better.
In peace her sails fleck all the seas,
Her mills shake every river;
And where are scenes so fair as these
God and her true hands give her?
Her claim in war who seek to rob?
All others come in later;--
Hers first it is to front the mob,
The tyrant, and the traitor.
God bless, God bless this glorious State!
Let her have her way in battle!
She'll go where batteries crash with fate
Or where thick rifles rattle.
Give her the Light and let her try,
And then who can may press her;
She'll go straight on or she will die;
God bless her, and God bless her!
May 7, 1861.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
BETHEL.
BY A. J. H. DUGANNE.
[Theodore Winthrop, a brilliant young man of letters, was killed at Big
Bethel, on June 10, 1861.--EDITOR.]
We mustered at midnight, in darkness we formed,
And the whisper went round of a fort to be stormed;
But no drum-beat had called us, no trumpet we heard,
And no voice of command, but our colonel's low word--
"Column! Forward!"
And out, through the mist, and the murk of the morn,
From the beaches of Hampton our barges were borne;
And we heard not a sound, save the sweep of the oar,
Till the word of our colonel came up from the shore--
"Column! Forward!"
With hearts bounding bravely, and eyes all alight,
As ye dance to soft music, so trod we that night;
Through the aisles of the greenwood, with vines over-arched,
Tossing dew-drops, like gems, from our feet, as we marched--
"Column! Forward!"
As ye dance with the damsels, to viol and flute,
So we skipped from the shadows, and mocked their pursuit;
But the soft zephyrs chased us, with scents of the morn,
As we passed by the hay-fields and green waving corn--
"Column! Forward!"
For the leaves were all laden with fragrance of June,
And the flowers and the foliage with sweets were in tune;
And the air was so calm, and the forest so dumb,
That we heard our own heart-beats, like taps of a drum--
"Column! Forward!"
Till the lull of the lowlands was stirred by the breeze,
And the buskins of morn brushed the tops of the trees,
And the glintings of glory that slid from her track
By the sheen of our rifles were gayly flung back--
"Column! Forward!"
And the woodlands grew purple with sunshiny mist,
And the blue-crested hill-tops with rose-light were kissed,
And the earth gave her prayers to the sun in perfumes,
Till we marched as through gardens, and trampled on blooms--
"Column! Forward!"
Ay, trampled on blossoms, and seared the sweet breath
Of the greenwood with low-brooding vapors of death;
O'er the flowers and the corn we were borne like a blast,
And away to the forefront of battle we passed--
"Column! Forward!"
For the cannon's hoarse thunder roared out from the glades,
And the sun was like lightning on banners and blades,
When the long line of chanting Zouaves, like a flood,
From the green of the woodlands rolled, crimson as blood--
"Column! Forward!"
While the sound of their song, like the surge of the seas,
With the "Star-Spangled Banner" swelled over the leas;
And the sword of Duryea, like a torch, led the way,
Bearing down on the batteries of Bethel that day--
"Column! Forward!"
Through green-tasselled cornfields our columns were thrown,
And like corn by the red scythe of fire we were mown;
While the cannon's fierce ploughings new-furrowed the plain,
That our blood might be planted for Liberty's grain--
"Column! Forward!"
Oh! the fields of fair June have no lack of sweet flowers,
But their rarest and best breathe no fragrance like ours;
And the sunshine of June, sprinkling gold on the corn,
Hath no harvest that ripeneth like Bethel's red morn--
"Column! Forward!"
When our heroes, like bridegrooms, with lips and with breath,
Drank the first kiss of Danger and clasped her in death;
And the heart of brave Winthrop grew mute with his lyre,
When the plumes of his genius lay moulting in fire--
"Column! Forward!"
Where he fell shall be sunshine as bright as his name,
And the grass where he slept shall be green as his fame;
For the gold of the pen and the steel of the sword
Write his deeds--in his blood--on the land he adored--
"Column! Forward!"
And the soul of our comrade shall sweeten the air,
And the flowers and the grass-blades his memory upbear;
While the breath of his genius, like music in leaves,
With the corn-tassels whispers, and sings in the sheaves--
"Column! Forward!"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE CHARGE BY THE FORD.
BY DR. THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH.
Eighty and nine with their captain
Rode on the enemy's track,
Rode in the gray of the morning:
Nine of the ninety came back.
Slow rose the mist from the river,
Lighter each moment the way:
Careless and tearless and fearless
Galloped they on to the fray.
Singing in tune, how the scabbards
Loud on the stirrup-irons rang,
Clinked as the men rose in saddle,
Fell as they sank with a clang.
What is it moves by the river,
Jaded and weary and weak,
Gray-backs--a cross on their banner--
Yonder the foe whom they seek.
Silence! They see not, they hear not,
Tarrying there by the marge:
_Forward! Draw sabre! Trot! Gallop!_
_Charge!_ like a hurricane, _charge_!
Ah! 'twas a man-trap infernal--
Fire like the deep pit of hell!
Volley on volley to meet them,
Mixed with the gray rebels' yell.
Ninety had ridden to battle,
Tracing the enemy's track,--
Ninety had ridden to battle,
Nine of the ninety came back.
Honor the name of the ninety;
Honor the heroes who came
Scathless from five hundred muskets,
Safe from the lead-bearing flame.
Eighty and one of the troopers
Lie on the field of the slain--
Lie on the red field of honor:
Honor the nine who remain!
Cold are the dead there, and gory,
There where their life-blood was spilt;
Back come the living, each sabre
Red from the point to the hilt.
Give them three cheers and a tiger!
Let the flags wave as they come!
Give them the blare of the trumpet
Give them the roll of the drum!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
MANASSAS.
July 21, 1861.
BY CATHERINE M. WARFIELD.
They have met at last--as storm-clouds
Meet in heaven,
And the Northmen back and bleeding
Have been driven:
And their thunders have been stilled,
And their leaders crushed or killed,
And their ranks with terror thrilled,
Rent and riven!
Like the leaves of Vallambrosa
They are lying;
In the moonlight, in the midnight,
Dead and dying:
Like those leaves before the gale,
Swept their legions, wild and pale;
While the host that made them quail
Stood, defying.
When aloft in morning sunlight
Flags were flaunted,
And "swift vengeance on the rebel"
Proudly vaunted:
Little did they think that night
Should close upon their shameful flight,
And rebels, victors in the fight,
Stand undaunted.
But peace to those who perished
In our passes!
Light be the earth above them;
Green the grasses!
Long shall Northmen rue the day
When they met our stern array,
And shrunk from battle's wild affray
At Manassas.
(Southern.)
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
UPON THE HILL BEFORE CENTREVILLE.
July 21, 1861.
BY GEORGE H. BOKER.
I'll tell you what I heard that day:
I heard the great guns, far away,
Boom after boom. Their sullen sound
Shook all the shuddering air around;
And shook, ah me! my shrinking ear,
And downward shook the hanging tear
That, in despite of manhood's pride,
Rolled o'er my face a scalding tide.
And then I prayed. O God! I prayed,
As never stricken saint, who laid
His hot cheek to the holy tomb
Of Jesus, in the midnight gloom.
"What saw I?" Little. Clouds of dust;
Great squares of men, with standards thrust
Against their course; dense columns crowned
With billowing steel. Then bound on bound,
The long black lines of cannon poured
Behind the horses, streaked and gored
With sweaty speed. Anon shot by,
Like a lone meteor of the sky,
A single horseman; and he shone
His bright face on me, and was gone.
All these with rolling drums, with cheers,
With songs familiar to my ears,
Passed under the far-hanging cloud,
And vanished, and my heart was proud!
For mile on mile the line of war
Extended; and a steady roar,
As of some distant stormy sea,
On the south-wind came up to me.
And high in air, and over all,
Grew, like a fog, that murky pall,
Beneath whose gloom of dusty smoke
The cannon flamed, the bombshell broke.
And the sharp rattling volley rang,
And shrapnel roared, and bullets sang,
And fierce-eyed men, with panting breath,
Toiled onward at the work of death.
I could not see, but knew too well,
That underneath that cloud of hell,
Which still grew more by great degrees,
Man strove with man in deeds like these.
But when the sun had passed his stand
At noon, behold! on every hand
The dark brown vapor backward bore,
And fainter came the dreadful roar
From the huge sea of striving men.
Thus spoke my rising spirit then:
"Take comfort from that dying sound,
Faint heart, the foe is giving ground!"
And one, who taxed his horse's powers,
Flung at me, "Ho! the day is ours!"
And scoured along. So swift his pace,
I took no memory of his face.
Then turned I once again to Heaven;
All things appeared so just and even;
So clearly from the highest Cause
Traced I the downward-working laws--
Those moral springs, made evident,
In the grand, triumph-crowned event.
So half I shouted, and half sang,
Like Jephtha's daughter, to the clang
Of my spread, cymbal-striking palms,
Some fragments of thanksgiving psalms.
Meanwhile a solemn stillness fell
Upon the land. O'er hill and dell
Failed every sound. My heart stood still,
Waiting before some coming ill.
The silence was more sad and dread,
Under that canopy of lead,
Than the wild tumult of the war
That raged a little while before.
All nature, in her work of death,
Paused for one last, despairing breath;
And, cowering to the earth, I drew
From her strong breast my strength anew.