BY DE G.

We’re free from Yankee despots,
We’ve left the foul mud-sills,
Declared for e’er our freedom—
We’ll keep it spite of ills.
Bring forth your scum and rowdies,
Thieves, vagabonds, and all;
March down your Seventh Regiment,
Battalions great and small.
We’ll meet you in Virginia,
A Southern battle-field,
Where Southern men will never
To Yankee foemen yield.

Equip your Lincoln cavalry,
Your NEGRO light-brigade,
Your hodmen, bootblacks, tinkers,
And scum of every grade.
Pretended love for negroes
Incites you to the strife;
Well, come each Yankee white man,
And take a negro wife.
You’d make fit black companions,
Black heart joined to black skin;
Such unions would be glorious—
They’d make the Devil grin.
Our freedom is our panoply—
Come on, you base black-guards,
We’ll snuff you like wax-candles,
Led by our Beauregards.
P. G. T. B. is not alone,
Men like him with him fight;
God’s providence is o’er us,
He will protect the right.

THE BLUE COCKADE.

BY MARY WALSINGHAM CREAN.

God be with the laddie, who wears the blue cockade!
He’s gone to fight the battles of our darling Southern land;
He was true to old Columbia, till more sacred ties forbade—
Till ’twere treason to obey her, when he took his sword in hand;
And God be with the laddie, who was true in heart and hand,
To the voice of old Columbia, till she wronged his native land!
He buckled on his knapsack—his musket on his breast—
And donned the plumèd bonnet—sword and pistol by his side;
Then his weeping mother kissed him, and his aged father bless’d,
And he pinned the floating ribbon to his gallant plume of pride.
And God be with the ribbon, and the floating plume of pride!
They have gone where duty called them, and may glory them betide!
He would not soil his honor, and he would not strike a blow,
For he loved the aged Union, and he breath’d no taunting word;
He would dare Columbia, till she swore herself his foe—
Forged the chains for freemen—when he buckled on his sword.
And God be with the freeman, when he buckled on his sword!
He lives or dies for duty, and he yields no inch of sward.
The foes they come with thunder, and with blood and fire arrayed,
And they swear that we shall own them—they the masters, we the slaves;
But there’s many a gallant laddie, who wears a blue cockade,
Will show them what it is to dare the blood of Southern braves!
And God be with the banner of those gallant Southern braves!
They may nobly die as freemen—they can never live as slaves!

THE LEGION OF HONOR.

BY H. L. FLASH.