CAROLINA.

By Mrs. C. A. B. Music by A. E. B.

[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.]

’Mid her ruins proudly stands,
Our Carolina!
Fetters are upon her hands,
Dear Carolina!
Yet she feels no sense of shame,
For upon the scroll of Fame,
She hath writ a deathless name,
Brave Carolina!
She was first our wrongs to feel,
Our Carolina!
First to draw the glittering steel,
Dear Carolina!
Ready first to strike the blow,
At th’ oppressor and the foe,
And to lay their standard low,
Brave Carolina!
Nobly now she bears her wrongs,
Our Carolina!
In her might she still hath songs,
Dear Carolina!
In the dust her sons lie low,
Yet though stricken by the foe,
Pride is mingled with her woe—
Brave Carolina!
On her brow there is no stain,
Our Carolina!
She hath poured out blood like rain,
Dear Carolina!
Vain her sufferings and her pains,
On her limbs are clanking chains,
But her glory yet remains,
Brave Carolina!
Bitterly we mourn her fate,
Our Carolina!
Cherished old Palmetto State;
Dear Carolina!
Yet while man’s brave soul is free,
Honored proudly she shall be,
Mother of true chivalry!
Brave Carolina!

VICKSBURG SONG.[3]

By Capt. J. W. A. Wright.

Air—“A Life on the Ocean Wave.”

A life on the Vicksburg bluff,
A home in the trenches deep,
Where we dodge “Yank” shells enough—
And our old “pea-bread” won’t keep.
On “Old Logan’s” beef I pine,
For there’s fat on his bones no more;
Oh! give me some pork in brine,
And “truck” from a sutler’s store.
Chorus.—A life on the Vicksburg bluff,
A home in the trenches deep,
Where we dodge “Yank” shells enough—
And our old “pea-bread” won’t keep,
Pea-bread, pea-bread, pea-bread;
Our old pea-bread won’t keep.

“So we’ll bury ‘Old Logan’ to-night.”

Old Grant is starving us out,
Our grub is fast wasting away,
Pemb don’t know what he’s about,
And he hasn’t for many a day.
So we’ll bury “Old Logan” to-night,
From tough beef we’ll be set free;
We’ll put him far out of sight—
No more of his meat for me.
Chorus.
Texas “steers” are no longer in view,
Mule steaks are now “done up brown,”
While “pea-bread,” mule roast, and mule stew,
Are our fare in old Vicksburg town.
And the song of our hearts shall be,
While the “Yanks” and their gunboats rave,
A life in “bomb-proofs” for me,
And a tear o’er “Old Logan’s” grave.
Chorus.