Charleston Mercury.
Democracy hath done its work of ill,
And, seeming freemen, never to be free,
While the poor people shout in vanity,
The Demagogue triumphs o'er the popular will.
How swift the abasement follows! But few years,
And we stood eminent. Great men were ours,
Of virtue stern, and armed with mightiest powers!
How have we sunk below our proper spheres!
No Heroes, Virtues, Men! But in their place,
The nimble marmozet and magpie men;
Creatures that only mock and mimic, when
They run astride the shoulders of the race;
Democracy, in vanity elate,
Clothing but sycophants in robes of state.
Seventy-Six and Sixty-One.
By John W. Overall, of Louisiana.
Ye spirits of the glorious dead!
Ye watchers in the sky!
Who sought the patriot's crimson bed,
With holy trust and high--
Come, lend your inspiration now,
Come, fire each Southern son,
Who nobly fights for freemen's rights,
And shouts for sixty-one.
Come, teach them how, on hill on glade,
Quick leaping from your side,
The lightning flash of sabres made
A red and flowing tide--
How well ye fought, how bravely fell,
Beneath our burning sun;
And let the lyre, in strains of fire,
So speak of sixty-one.
There's many a grave in all the land,
And many a crucifix,
Which tells how that heroic band
Stood firm in seventy-six--
Ye heroes of the deathless past,
Your glorious race is run,
But from your dust springs freemen's trust,
And blows for sixty-one.
We build our altars where you lie,
On many a verdant sod,
With sabres pointing to the sky,
And sanctified of God;
The smoke shall rise from every pile,
Till freedom's cause is won,
And every mouth throughout the South,
Shall shout for sixty-one!