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War Poetry of the South

Ethnogenesis.

Written during the meeting of the First Southern Congress, at Montgomery, February, 1861.

Hath not the morning dawned with added light? And shall not evening--call another star Out of the infinite regions of the night, To mark this day in Heaven? At last, we are A nation among nations; and the world Shall soon behold in many a distant port Another flag unfurled! Now, come what may, whose favor need we court? And, under God, whose thunder need we fear? Thank Him who placed us here Beneath so kind a sky--the very sun Takes part with us; and on our errands run All breezes of the ocean; dew and rain Do noiseless battle for us; and the Year, And all the gentle daughters in her train, March in our ranks, and in our service wield Long spears of golden grain! A yellow blossom as her fairy shield, June fling's her azure banner to the wind, While in the order of their birth Her sisters pass; and many an ample field Grows white beneath their steps, till now, behold Its endless sheets unfold THE SNOW OF SOUTHERN SUMMERS! Let the earth Rejoice! beneath those fleeces soft and warm Our happy land shall sleep In a repose as deep As if we lay intrenched behind Whole leagues of Russian ice and Arctic storm!

Nor would we shun the battle-ground, Though weak as we are strong; Call up the clashing elements around, And test the right and wrong! On one side, creeds that dare to teach What Christ and Paul refrained to preach; Codes built upon a broken pledge, And charity that whets a poniard's edge; Fair schemes that leave the neighboring poor To starve and shiver at the schemer's door, While in the world's most liberal ranks enrolled, He turns some vast philanthropy to gold; Religion taking every mortal form But that a pure and Christian faith makes warm, Where not to vile fanatic passion urged, Or not in vague philosophies submerged, Repulsive with all Pharisaic leaven, And making laws to stay the laws of Heaven! And on the other, scorn of sordid gain, Unblemished honor, truth without a stain, Faith, justice, reverence, charitable wealth, And, for the poor and humble, laws which give, Not the mean right to buy the right to live, But life, and home, and health! To doubt the end were want of trust in God, Who, if he has decreed That we must pass a redder sea Than that which rang to Miriam's holy glee, Will surely raise at need A Moses with his rod!

But let our fears-if fears we have--be still, And turn us to the future! Could we climb Some mighty Alp, and view the coming time, The rapturous sight would fill Our eyes with happy tears! Not only for the glories which the years Shall bring us; not for lands from sea to sea, And wealth, and power, and peace, though these shall be; But for the distant peoples we shall bless, And the hushed murmurs of a world's distress: For, to give labor to the poor, The whole sad planet o'er, And save from want and crime the humblest door, Is one among--the many ends for which God makes us great and rich! The hour perchance is not yet wholly ripe When all shall own it, but the type Whereby we shall be known in every land Is that vast gulf which laves our Southern strand, And through the cold, untempered ocean pours Its genial streams, that far-off Arctic shores May sometimes catch upon the softened breeze Strange tropic warmth and hints of summer seas.

God Save the South.

George H. Miles, of Baltimore.

God save the South! God save the South! Her altars and firesides-- God save the South! Now that the war is nigh-- Now that we arm to die-- Chanting--our battle-cry, Freedom or Death!

God be our shield! At home or a-field, Stretch Thine arm over us, Strengthen and save! What though they're five to one, Forward each sire and son, Strike till the war is done, Strike to the grave.

God make the right Stronger than might! Millions would trample us Down in their pride. Lay, thou, their legions low; Roll back the ruthless foe; Let the proud spoiler know God's on our side!

Hark! honor's call, Summoning all-- Summoning all of us Up to the strife. Sons of the South, awake! Strike till the brand shall break! Strike for dear honor's sake, Freedom and Life!

Rebels before Were our fathers of yore; Rebel, the glorious name Washington bore, Why, then, be ours the same Title he snatched from shame; Making it first in fame, Odious no more.

War to the hilt! Theirs be the guilt, Who fetter the freeman To ransom the slave. Up, then, and undismayed, Sheathe not the battle-blade? Till the last foe is laid Low in the grave.

God save the South! God save the South! Dry the dim eyes that now Follow our path. Still let the light feet rove Safe through the orange grove; Still keep the land we love Safe from all wrath.

God save the South! God save the South! Her altars and firesides-- God save the South! For the rude war is nigh, And we must win or die; Chanting our battle-cry Freedom or Death!

You Can Never Win Them Back.

You can never win them back, never! never! Though they perish on the track of your endeavor; Though their corses strew the earth That smiled upon their birth, And blood pollutes each hearthstone forever!

They have risen, to a man stern and fearless; Of your curses and your ban they are careless. Every hand is on its knife; Every gun is primed for strife; Every palm contains a life high and peerless!

You have no such blood as theirs for the shedding, In the veins of Cavaliers was its heading. You have no such stately men In your abolition den, To march through foe and fen, nothing dreading.

They may fall before the fire of your legions, Paid in gold for murd'rous hire-- bought allegiance! But for every drop you shed You shall leave a mound of dead; And the vultures shall be fed in our regions.

But the battle to the strong is not given, While the Judge of right and wrong sits in heaven! And the God of David still Guides each pebble by His will; There are giants yet to kill-- wrong's unshriven.

The Southern Cross.

In the name of God! Amen! Stand for our Southern rights; On our side, Southern men, The God of battles fights! Fling the invaders far-- Hurl back their work of woe-- The voice is the voice of a brother, But the hands are the hands of a foe. They come with a trampling army, Invading our native sod-- Stand, Southrons! fight and conquer, In the name of the mighty God!

The Star Spangled Banner. Written by F. S. Key, of Baltimore; all whose descendants are Confederates.

South Carolina.

December 20, 1860.

S. Henry Dickson.

The deed is done! the die is cast; The glorious Rubicon is passed: Hail, Carolina! free at last!

Strong in the right, I see her stand Where ocean laves the shelving sand; Her own Palmetto decks the strand.

She turns aloft her flashing eye; Radiant, her lonely star on high Shines clear amidst the darkening sky.

Silent, along those azure deeps Its course her silver crescent keeps, And in soft light the landscape steeps.

Fling forth her banner to the gale! Let all the hosts of earth assail,-- Their fury and their force shall fail.

Echoes the wide resounding shore, With voice above th' Atlantic roar, Her sons proclaim her free once more!

Oh, land of heroes! Spartan State! In numbers few, in daring great, Thus to affront the frowns of fate!

And while mad triumph rules the hour, And thickening clouds of menace lower, Bear back the tide of tyrant power.

With steadfast courage, faltering never, Sternly resolved, her bonds we sever: Hail, Carolina! free forever!

The flag showed a star within a crescent or new moon.

The New Star.

Another star arisen; another flag unfurled; Another name inscribed among the nations of the world; Another mighty struggle 'gainst a tyrant's fell decree, And again a burdened people have uprisen, and are free.

The spirit of the fathers in the children liveth yet; Liveth still the olden blood which dimmed the foreign bayonet; And the fathers fought for freedom, and the sons for freedom fight; Their God was with the fathers--and is still the God of right!

Behold! the skies are darkened! A gloomy cloud hath lowered! Shall it break before the sun of peace, or spread in rage impowered? Shall we have the smile of friendship, or shall it be the blow? Shall it be the right hand to the friend, or the red hand to the foe?

In peacefulness we wish to live, but not in slavish fear; In peacefulness we dare not die, dishonored on our bier. To our allies of the Northern land we offer heart and hand, But if they scorn our friendship--then the banner and the brand!

Honor to the new-born nation! and honor to the brave! A country freed from thraldom, or a soldier's honored grave. Every step shall be contested; every rivulet run red, And the invader, should he conquer, find the conquered in the dead.

But victory shall follow where the sons of freedom go, And the signal for the onset be the death-knell of the foe; And hallowed shall the spot be where he was so bravely met, And the star which yonder rises, rises never more to set.

The Irrepressible Conflict.

Then welcome be it, if indeed it be The Irrepressible Conflict! Let it come; There will be mitigation of the doom, If, battling to the last, our sires shall see Their sons contending for the homes made free In ancient conflict with the foreign foe! If those who call us brethren strike the blow, No common conflict shall the invader know! War to the knife, and to the last, until The sacred land we keep shall overflow With blood as sacred--valley, wave, and hill, Or the last enemy finds his bloody grave! Aye, welcome to your graves--or ours! The brave May perish, but ye shall not bind one slave.

The Southern Republic.

In the galaxy of nations, A nation's flag's unfurled, Transcending in its martial pride The nations of the world. Though born of war, baptized in blood, Yet mighty from the time, Like fabled phoenix, forth she stood-- Dismembered, yet sublime.

And braver heart, and bolder hand, Ne'er formed a fabric fair As Southern wisdom can command, And Southern valor rear. Though kingdoms scorn to own her sway, Or recognize her birth, The land blood-bought for Liberty Will reign supreme on earth.

Proud country! battling, bleeding, torn, Thy altars desolate; Thy lovely dark-eyed daughters mourn At war's relentless fate; And widow's prayers, and orphan's tears, Her homes will consecrate, While more than brass or marble rears The trophy of her great.

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