First published in the Atlanta Confederacy. The author is unknown.

Rebels! 'tis a holy name!
The name our fathers bore
When battling in the cause of Right,
Against the tyrant in his might,
In the dark days of yore.

Rebels! 'tis our family name!
Our father, Washington,
Was the arch-rebel in the fight,
And gave the name to us—a right
Of father unto son.

Rebels! 'tis our given name!
Our mother, Liberty,
Received the title with her fame,
In days of grief, of fear, and shame,
When at her breast were we.

Rebels! 'tis our sealed name!
A baptism of blood!
The war—ay, and the din of strife—
The fearful contest, life for life—
The mingled crimson flood.

Rebels! 'tis a patriot's name!
In struggles it was given;
We bore it then when tyrants raved,
And through their curses 'twas engraved
On the doomsday-book of heaven.

Rebels! 'tis our fighting name!
For peace rules o'er the land
Until they speak of craven woe,
Until our rights receive a blow
From foe's or brother's hand.

Rebels! 'tis our dying name!
For although life is dear,
Yet, freemen born and freemen bred,
We'd rather live as freemen dead,
Than live in slavish fear.

Then call us rebels, if you will—
We glory in the name;
For bending under unjust laws,
And swearing faith to an unjust cause,
We count a greater shame.

CALL ALL.

This Southern war song, which was first published in the Rockingham, Va., Register in 1861, became quite popular with the boys in gray. It is published here because of its peculiarities rather than on account of its literary merit.

Whoop! the Doodles have broken loose,
Roaring round like the very deuce!
Lice of Egypt, a hungry pack—
After 'em, boys, and drive 'em back.

Bull-dog, terrier, cur, and fice,
Back to the beggarly land of ice;
Worry 'em, bite 'em, scratch and tear
Everybody and everywhere.

Old Kentucky is caved from under,
Tennessee is split asunder,
Alabama awaits attack,
And Georgia bristles up her back.

Old John Brown is dead and gone!
Still his spirit is marching on—
Lantern-jawed, and legs, my boys,
Long as an ape's from Illinois!

Want a weapon? Gather a brick,
Club or cudgel, or stone or stick;
Anything with a blade or butt,
Anything that can cleave or cut;

Anything heavy, or hard, or keen—
Any sort of slaying machine!
Anything with a willing mind
And the steady arm of a man behind.

Want a weapon? Why, capture one!
Every Doodle has got a gun,
Belt, and bayonet, bright and new;
Kill a Doodle, and capture two!

Shoulder to shoulder, son and sire!
All, call all! to the feast of fire!
Mother and maiden, and child and slave,
A common triumph or a single grave.

THE BLACK FLAG.

The raising of the black flag means death without quarter. It means that prisoners taken should be slaughtered at once. It is contrary to the spirit of modern warfare. General Sherman, in his celebrated letter to the Mayor of Atlanta, says, "War is cruelty, and you cannot refine it." War arouses the fiercest, most tiger-like passions of mankind. Were it not so, the poet who wrote "The Mountain of the Lovers" could never have written "The Black Flag." Paul Hamilton Hayne was born in Charleston, S. C., in 1830. He abandoned the practice of law for literary pursuits. He contributed to the Southern Literary Messenger, and for a while edited the Charleston Literary Gazette. He entered the Southern army at the outbreak of the civil war, and served until obliged to resign by failing health. His house and all his personal property were destroyed at the bombardment of Charleston. He wrote extensively both in poetry and prose.

Like the roar of the wintry surges on a wild, tempestuous strand,
The voice of the maddened millions comes up from an outraged land;
For the cup of our woe runs over, and the day of our grace is past,
And Mercy has fled to the angels, and Hatred is king at last!

CHORUS:

Then up with the sable banner!
Let it thrill to the War God's breath,
For we march to the watchword—Vengeance!
And we follow the captain—Death!

In the gloom of the gory breaches, on the ramparts wrapped in flame,
'Mid the ruined homesteads, blackened by a hundred deeds of shame;
Wheresoever the vandals rally, and the bands of the alien meet,
We will crush the heads of the hydra with the stamp of our armed feet.

They have taught us a fearful lesson! 'tis burned on our hearts in fire,
And the souls of a host of heroes leap with a fierce desire;
And we swear by all that is sacred, and we swear by all that is pure,
That the crafty and cruel dastards shall ravage our homes no more.

We will roll the billows of battle back, back on the braggart foe,
Till his leaguered and stricken cities shall quake with a coward's throe;
They shall compass the awful meaning or the conflict their lust begun,
When the Northland rings with wailing, and the grand old cause hath won.

LORENA.