War Poetry of the South

by Unknown

VIII.

In the hottest of the battle stood a Vandal bunting rag,
Proudly to the breeze 'twas floating in defiance to our flag;
And our Southern boys knew well that, to bring that bunting down,
They would meet the angel death in his sternest, maddest frown;
But it could not gallant Armstrong, dauntless Vollmer, or brave Lynch,
Though ten thousand deaths confronted, from the task of honor flinch!