“Come gentle muse, give me your aid,
Sharp make my pen as Ashby’s blade”—
A Song for Dogs: 1864. (West. Res.)
“Our fathers were men in the days that are past—
What a pity it is that our fathers are dead!”—
Song for the Irish Brigade: By Shamrock of the Sumpter Rifles. (R. R.)
“Not now for the songs of a nation’s wrongs,
Nor the groans of starving labor,”—
Song for the South: (Randolph)
“A shout! a wild glad shout of joy!