On missions of love and tenderness bound,
Away among his darlings to roam.
What tender emotions now over him rush!
And the tears down his bearded cheeks steal,
As he sees his darlings from their sportings rush,
And bound to meet him with a joyful gush,
“Papa’s come!” from their happy lips peal.
Bright Mary! as fleet as a bounding gazelle,
Is into his arms with a spring;
And Cabie, with voice clear as a bell,
“There’s papa, dear papa!” his joyous notes swell
Yet choking with tears as they ring.
And next, little Nubbie comes toddling along,
Bright curls streaming out to the wind—
With hands reaching up, and infantile tongue—
He’s lifted the welcoming group among—
As tears the stern sentinel blind.
And then, with the darling bright babe, mamma comes,
To welcome him home to their cot—
What sobs and caresses,
That happy group blesses;
Is the sentinel dreaming or not?
The stern sergeant of guard, calls out from his tent,
“Number Four has deserted his post!”
The sentinel nearest saw whither he went,
And found him, o’er musket, in reverie bent,
At home—with his little ones—lost!
****
The sentinel treads his lonely round—
As dawn in the East is breaking
A cannon’s deep thundering shakes the ground!
Another! an army springs up at the sound—
To thousands Death’s reveille waking!
What a thrilling pang traverses his soul!
And a tear down his cheek is stealing,
For a thought of home, with the drum’s deep roll,
Spite a soldier’s manliness, over him stole,
As the trumpet of battle was pealing.
A moment he saw his darlings and wife;
To Heaven he breath’d a short prayer!
To his country then consecrated his life,
Rush’d in where the clamor of battle was rife—
When a tempest of ball filled the air.
****
A wounded soldier, who fell by the Run,
Lies panting for breath and for water—
His hand still grasping his trusty gun—
Expires ’mid the glad notes of “victory won!”
On Manassas’ red field of slaughter.
****
In a far away cabin, a wailing is heard,
When the lists of the fallen have come;
A mother, long sicken’d by hope deferr’d,
A widow with orphans is made at a word,
And she weeps o’er the “darlings at home.”
У ФОРТА ПИЛЛОУ.
You shudder as you think upon th’ carnage of the grim report,
The desolation when we won the inner trenches of the fort;
But there are deeds ye may not know, that scourge the pulses into strife;
Dark memories of deathless woe pointing the bayonet and knife.
The house is ashes where I dwelt, beyond the mighty inland sea,
The tombstones shattered where I knelt by that old church at Pointe Coupee;
The Yankee fiends that came with fire, camped on the consecrated sod,
And trampled in the dust and mire the holy Eucharist of God!
The spot where darling mother sleeps, beneath the glimpse of yon sad moon,
Is crushed with splintered marble heaps, to stall the horse of some dragoon;
God! when I ponder that black day it makes my frantic spirit wince;
I marched—with Longstreet—far away, but have beheld the ravage since.
The tears are hot upon my face, when thinking what black fate befell
The only sister of our race—a thing too horrible to tell!
They say that ere her senses fled, she rescue of her brothers cried;
Then freely bowed her stricken head, too poor to live thus—so she died.
Two of those brothers heard no plea; with their proud hearts forever still—
John shrouded by the Tennessee, and Arthur there at Malvern Hill;
But I have heard it everywhere, vibrating like a passing knell;
’Tis as perpetual as the air, and solemn as a funeral bell.
By scorched lagoon and murky swamp, my wrath was never in the lurch;
I’ve killed the picket in his camp, and many a pilot on his perch;
With steady rifle, sharpen’d brand, a week ago upon my steed,
With Forrest and his warrior band, I made the hell-hounds writhe and bleed.
You should have seen our leader go upon the battle’s burning marge,
Sweeping like falcon on the foe, heading the Gray line’s iron charge!
All outcasts from our ruined marts, we heard th’ undying serpent hiss,
And in the desert of our hearts the fatal spell of Nemesis.
«Моя правая рука обнажена для более яростной схватки».
The Southern yell rang loud and high the moment that we thundered in,
Smiting the demons hip and thigh, cleaving them to the very chin;
My right arm bared for fiercer play, the left one held the rein in slack;
In all the fury of the fray I sought the white man, not the black.
The dabbled clots of brain and gore across the swirling sabres ran;
To me each brutal visage bore the front of one accurs’d man!
Throbbing along the frenzied vein, my blood seem’d kindled into song—
The death-dirge of the sacred slain, the slogan of immortal wrong.
It glared athwart the dripping glaves, it blazed in each avenging eye—
The thought of desecrated graves and some lone sister’s desperate cry.
Пряжка поясного ремня виргинского образца.
ДОЛГ И ВЫЗОВ.
Автор полковник Гамильтон Вашингтон .
Raise the thrilling cry, to arms!
Texas needs us all, Texans!
Home and love and pleasure’s charms,
Yield to duty’s call, Texans!
Now the stream of battle lowers—
Who before the tempest cowers?
Who could hide in woman’s bowers?
Show him to the field, Texans!
Twice our sires for freedom fought—
Twice with blood the treasure bought—
By the lessons they have taught
We’ll die, but never yield, Texans!
Long we’ve heard the storm afar;
Now ’tis coming near, Texans!
Onward rolls the din of war,
Let us meet it here, Texans!
All we have and love’s in danger,
Forward, then, each Texan Ranger!
Let us meet the daring stranger,
That brings us war at home, Texans!—
Never shall our happy land
Be ravaged by a robber band—
We will meet them hand to hand,
And fight each step they come, Texans.
ПРИСЯГА КОНФЕДЕРАТА. [5]
Мотив — «Мой Мериленд».
By the Cross upon our banner—glory of our Southern sky—
Swear we now, a band of brothers, free to live, or free to die!
Northrons! by the rights denied, listen to our solemn vow—
Here we swear, as freemen, never to your galling yoke to bow!
By our brave ones lost in battle, best and noblest of our land,
Fighting with your Northern hirelings, face to face and hand to hand;
By a sacrifice so priceless, by the spirits of the slain—
Swear we now, our Southern heroes shall not thus have died in vain.
Wide and deep the breach between us—rent by hatred’s poisoned darts,
And ye cannot now cement it with the blood of Southern hearts!
Streams of gore that gulf shall widen, running strong and deep and red,
Severing you from us forever, while there is a drop to shed.
Think you we will brook the insults of your fierce and ruffian chief,
Heaped upon our dark-eyed daughters stricken down and pale with grief!
Think you while astounded nations curse your malice, we will bear
Foulest wrong? with God to call on—arms to do—and hearts to dare!
When we prayed in peace to leave you, answering came a battle cry;
Then we swore that oath which freemen never swear who fear to die!
Northrons, come! and you shall find us heart to heart and hand to hand,
Shouting to the God of Battles, Freedom and our native land!
ДИКСИ ГВАРДИИ ГОРОДА БАЙУ.
Собственный поэт роты.
From Houston city and Brazos bottom,
From selling goods and making cotton,
Away, away, away, away!
We go to meet our country’s foes,
To win or die in freedom’s cause;
Away, away, away, away!
Chorus.—We’re going to old Virginia, hooray, hooray!
To join the fight for Southern rights—
We’ll live or die for Davis, hooray, hooray!
We’ll live or die for Davis.
You’ve heard of Abe, the gay deceiver,
Who sent to Sumter to relieve her;
Away, away, away, away!
But Beauregard said “save your bacon!
Sumter’s ours and must be taken!”
Away, away, away, away!
With a floating battery and a few hot shot,
He sent them back to General Scott—
Old Abe he swore and cuss’d like fun
When he found the rebels wouldn’t run.
Scott with his army started South!
You’ve heard how our armies cleaned them out—
On Manassas’ plains for miles around,
Their dead and wounded fill’d the ground.
Senator Wilson, the ugly sinner,
Went over to Centreville to eat a big dinner—
The M. C.’s and ministers of State,
Left their champagne behind and dinners on the plate.
They had to leave on an empty stomach,
And “git up and git” on t’other side of the Potomac—
But some of the invaders are with us still—
We’ll send them back again if the Lord will.
Our country calls for volunteers,
And Texas boys reply with cheers—
The Henderson Guards and Leon Hunters,
Friends in peace—in war like panthers.
The Tom Green Rifles and Lone Star Guards,
In a cause that is just, nothing retards;
The Echo Company, and the brave Five Shooters,
Will deal out death to all freebooters.
The Northern vandals will learn to their sorrow,
Of the Porter Guards, and Rifles of Navarro—
The Mustang Greys, O, they never fight for bounty,
Nor do the other Greys—those from Navarro county.
The Liberty Invincibles and Hardeman Texans
Can wallop ten to one, whether Yanks or Mexicans;
From the Waverly Confederates and the Dixie Blues,
And the Bayou City Guards you may expect good news.
ХЛОПОК В ДИКСИ.
Эти отличные стихи были найдены [написанными?] на борту английского барка «Премьер» в январе 1863 года, следовавшего из Ливерпуля в Гавану, в шестидесяти милях к западу от Мадейры, автором Одинокая Звезда из Галвестона, шт. Техас.
I’m gwine back to de land of cotton,
Wid de “English Flag” in an “English bottom,”
Far away, far away, far away;
Kase dere I’m safe from Uncle Sam,
And he can’t make me contraban’,
In de land, in de land, in de land,
Away down South in Dixie.
Chorus.—O, in Dixie land I’ll take my stand,
And live and die in Dixie land;
Hoe away, hoe away, hoe away,
De cotton down in Dixie.
Nor confiscate me for his use,
To black and clean his sojers’ shoes,
Far away, etc.,
To “dig his trenches” and save his health,
For a picayune a day and find myself,
Far away, far away, far away,
From de cotton land of Dixie.
Chorus.
O, I’m gwine back to de old plantations,
To tell de boys ob my observations,
Far away, etc.,
Made by myself in de British nation—
I’ll tell de trufe widout “sensation,”
Far away, etc.
Chorus.
I’ve been across de Atlantic Ocean,
Where dey all do make so great commotion,
Far away, etc.,
About de war and cotton “famine,”
Dey talk a heap of “twaddle and gammon,”
Far away, etc.
Chorus.
For in dis English land I’ve bin in,
Dey’ve got no cotton for de spinnin’,
Hard times, etc.,
For de warehousemen of Manchester,
De spinners, too, of Lancashire,
Far away, etc.
Chorus.
Some say, “Make muslin widout cotton,”
Others, “O no, ’twill be too rotten;”
Talk away, etc.,
Some say, “From India we’ll get plenty,
From Egypt, Greenland and Ashantee,”
Far away, etc.
Chorus.
Dey’se holdin’ meetin’s night and day,
To find out soon some oder way,
Some way, etc.,
To git dere cotton widout you,
But dat’s a fac’ dey’ll nebber do,
Far away, etc.
Chorus.
For it will take six million bales
For de mills ob England, Scotland, Wales,
Spin away, etc.,
To feed de spinnin’ mules and jennies,
Dere boys and gals and pickaninnies,
Far away, etc.
Chorus.
Now dis will take a time so long,
’Twill be like de horse in de ole man’s song’,
Sing away, etc.,
Dat he learned to lib widout corn or hay,
But he went dead dat berry same day,
Right away, etc.
Chorus.
O gemmen ob de “Supply Association,”[6]
I’ll tell you ob de “New-born Nation,”
Far away, etc.,
De Confederate States of America,
Where cotton grows both night and day,
Far away, etc.
Chorus.
For we can grow de cotton-wool,
For John Crapeau and Johnny Bull,
“Parley voo,” etc.,
An’ dey will feed and keep de workies,
“White weaver folk,” and “hoe in darkies,”
Quite right, etc.
Chorus.
O I’se gwine back to de land ob cotton,
Sea Island seed and sandy bottom,
Far away, etc.,
To de bressed land whar I was born,
De land of sugar, cotton and corn,
Far away, etc.
Chorus.
МИССИЯ СОЛДАТА.
Автор А. В. Морз .
Haste thee, falter not, noble patriot band,
Bravely meet thy lot, firm maintain thy stand,
God, the God of War, who defends the just,
Give thine arm the power to defend thy trust.
Thy country called thine aid, prompt thine answer came:
“We’ll draw our battle blade, and shield our country’s name,
’Till our firm demand shall have been proclaimed,
Justice through the land—equal rights maintained.”
Welcome, welcome, then, to thy happy home,
Warm hearts wait thee, when thou mayst thus return
But shouldst thou fall in defense of right
With grateful hearts we’ll all cherish thy memory bright.
Пехотная пуговица.
СОЛДАТ, Я ОСТАЮСЬ МОЛИТЬСЯ ЗА ТЕБЯ. [7]
Слова Дж. С. Товингтона . Музыка Д. В. Грошеля .
Вокальный дуэт.
SOLDIER. Lady, I go to fight for thee,
Where gory banners wave,
To fight for thee, and, oh, perchance
To find a soldier’s grave. LADY. Soldier, I stay to pray for thee,
A harder task is mine;
To which, and long in lonely grief,
That victory may be thine. SOLDIER. Lady, I go and fight for thee. LADY. Soldier, I stay and pray for thee. BOTH. And strength and faith combined,
Still form the magic sword,
Wherewith the Southrons victory find,
The Southrons victory find.
«Леди, я отправляюсь сражаться за тебя!»
SOLDIER. Fare thee well! LADY. Fare thee well!
ЮГ — НАША СТРАНА.
Слова Е. М. Томпсона . Музыка Дж. А. Баттерфилда .
Our country, our country, oh, where may we find,
Amid all the proud relics of legend or story,
A holier charm for the patriot mind
Than that soul-stirring topic—our native land’s glory.
That land on whose standard the eagle’s proud pinions
Flutter lordly defiance to tyranny’s minions,
And whose soil all untarnished by sceptre or throne,
Is a home for the brave, and the free heart alone.
And we care not to honor the bleak shores of Maine,
With her ship-peopled strand in proud grandeur careering,
Nor the West, with her wide prairies waving in grain,
The gainers of plenty by name so endearing.
But the South is our home the land of bright flowers,
Where the softest of suns, and the gentlest of showers
Distill a sweet balm from the blossoming earth,
And make life a bright vision of pleasure and mirth.
Though dreams of the past cling around the heart still,
And a thousand proud memories will ever be cherished
Of Princeton and Monmouth and brave Bunker Hill
The spots where our country’s defenders have perished;
The union they bled for is now rudely severed,
The idols are broken we once fondly revered,
And discord has scattered its pestilent bane
From Florida’s reefs to the snow peaks of Maine.
But union still gladdens our own sunny home,
Whose bright blades and brave hearts will ever defend her,
And though wreck and disaster and ruin may come,
While the bright sun shines o’er them they never will surrender.
Let the foeman come on in his daring effrontery,
Let him trample the loved soil we call our dear country,
And for every fair flower that fades in his path,
A proud heart shall bleed ’neath the sword of our wrath.
Я ХОТЕЛ БЫ ОКАЗАТЬСЯ В КРАЮ ДИКСИ.
Автор Дэн Д. Эммет .
[Ноты этой песни можно получить у Оливер Дитсон и Ко., Бостон, шт. Массачусетс.]
I wish I was in de land ob cotton,
Old times dar am not forgotten,
Look away, look away, look away, Dixie Land!
In Dixie land whar I was born in,
Early on one frosty mornin’,
Look away, look away, look away, Dixie land!
Chorus.—Den I wish I was in Dixie—
Hooray, hooray!
In Dixie land I’ll took my stan’!
To lib an’ die in Dixie
Away, away,
Away down south in Dixie
Away, away,
Away down south in Dixie.
Ole Missus marry “Will-de-Weaber,”
William was gay deceber
Look away, etc.
But when he put his arm around ’er
He smiled as fierce as a forty-pounder
Look away, etc.
Chorus.
His face was sharp as a butcher’s cleaber,
But dat did not seem to grieb ’er,
Look away, etc.
Ole Missus acted de foolish part,
An’ died for a man dat broke her heart,
Look away, etc.
Chorus.
Now, here’s a health to de next ole Missus,
Ah! all de gals dat want to kiss us,
Look away, etc.
But if you want to drive ’way sorrow,
Come an’ hear dis song to-morrow,
Look away, etc.
Chorus.
Dar’s buckwheat cakes an’ Injun batter,
Makes you fat, or a little fatter,
Look away, etc.
Den hoe it down and scratch your grabble,
To Dixie’s Land I’m bound to trabble,
Look away, etc.
Chorus.
АГИТАЦИОННАЯ БАЛЛАДА.
Автор рер. Дж. Э. Карнес .
Young Florida sends forth her clan—the old Dominion’s brave,
With sons of Texas, lead the van to glory or the grave;
Now, by the fame of Yorktown’s name, and by the Alamo,
The sons will not the fathers shame, though mightier be the foe.
From desecrated Maryland come out a faithful few,
And old Kentucky sends a band to God and Freedom true;
There comes a thrill from Sharpsburg’s rill—and from the “bloody ground,”
Heap’d with the mounds of Perryville, the spectral slogans sound!
And Alabama’s well-tried host into the Grey line wheels,
From wasted farms, beleaguered coast, from Florence to Mobile;
The torch-lit home, whence kindred roam, has lent its wings their fire;
And wrongs, tear-writ in mem’ry’s tome, to deeds of blood inspire.
Ho, Louisiana! vengeance fraught by rapine’s hellish scenes,
Comes vanward with the blended thought of Mansfield—New Orleans;
By spicy groves, where beauty roves, and where the Yankees swarm,
With vandal feet, in hireling droves, she swears her vengeance warm.
Arkansas strikes Missouri’s hand—they cross the bayonet,
Each thinking of a glorious band with blood of kindred met;
They bless the Post, whose little host fought all but treason well;
And Elkhorn’s grief and Springfield’s boast their patriot bosoms swell.
From where the cypress droppeth down tear-dews on Jackson’s tomb;
From where the darkest mountains frown, and brightest valleys bloom,
All broad of breast, with lance in rest, and in their swift-streams free,
Pour down the bravest and the best of sinewy Tennessee.
With Vicksburg boiling in their veins, the Mississippians cheer,
With wildest joy, the trumpet-strains that speak the battle near;
O hear! O hark! the name of Stark is passed along the line—
A thousand eyes more keenly mark where gathering foes combine.
From Chickamauga to the flames that o’er Savannah glare,
Inspired by Bee and Barton’s names the Georgians, too are there;
By the sad path of Sherman’s wrath all thro’ their staid old state,
They swear themselves to deeds of scath, and righteous love of hate!
The Carolinas seek the fray—the scarr’d of every fight,
From far Manassas’ glorious day to Fisher’s bloody night;
Grand deeds of old their hearts unfold, and later memories clasp,
While rifle stock and hilt of gold are griped with fiercer grasp.
Now make one more immortal plain, ye men of battle skill,