A SOUTHERN GATHERING SONG.

BY L. VIRGINIA FRENCH.

Air—“Hail Columbia.”[9]

Sons of the South, beware the foe!
Hark to the murmur deep and low,
Rolling up like the coming storm,
Swelling up like sounding storm,
Hoarse as the hurricanes that brood
In space’s far infinitude!
Minute guns of omen boom
Through the future’s folded gloom;
Sounds prophetic fill the air,
Heed the warning—and prepare!
Watch! be wary—every hour
Mark the foeman’s gathering power—
Keep watch and ward upon his track
And crush the rash invader back!
Sons of the brave!—a barrier stanch
Breasting the alien avalanche—
Manning the battlements of Right;
Up, for your Country, “God, and right!”
Form your battalions steadily,
And strike for death or victory!
Surging onward sweeps the wave,
Serried columns of the brave,
Banded ’neath the benison
Of Freedom’s godlike Washington!
Stand! but should the invading foe
Aspire to lay your altars low,
Charge on the tyrant ere he gain
Your iron arteried domain!
Sons of the brave! when tumult trod
The tide of revolution—God
Looked from His throne on “the things of time,”
And two new stars in the reign of time
He bade to burn in the azure dome—
The freeman’s Love and the freeman’s Home!
Holy of Holies! guard them well,
Baffle the despot’s secret spell,
And let the chords of life be riven
Ere you yield those gifts of Heaven!
Io pæan! trumpet notes
Shake the air where our banner floats;
Io triumphe! still we see
The land of the South is the home of the free!

BATTLE-CALL.

Nec temere, nec timide.

Dedicated to her Countrymen, the Cavaliers of the South.

BY ANNIE CHAMBERS KETCHUM.

Gentlemen of the South!
Gird on your flashing swords!
Darkly along your borders fair
Gather the ruffian hordes!
Ruthless and fierce they come;
Even at the cannon’s mouth
To blast the glory of your land,
Gentlemen of the South!
Ride forth in your stately pride,
Each bearing on his shield
Ensigns your fathers won of yore
On many a well-fought field.
Let this be your battle-cry,
Even to the cannon’s mouth,
Cor unum via una! Onward!
Gentlemen of the South!
Brave knights of a knightly race,
Gordon and Chambers and Gray,
Show to the minions of the North
How valor dares the fray!
Let them read on each spotless crest,
Even at the cannon’s mouth,
Decori decus addit avito,
Gentlemen of the South!
Morrison, Douglas, Stuart,
Erskine and Bradford and West,
Your gauntlets on many a hill and plain
Have stood the battle’s test.
Animo non astutia!
March to the cannon’s mouth,
Heirs of the brave dead centuries,
Gentlemen of the South!
Call out your stalwart men,
Workers in brass and steel,
Bid the swart artisans come forth
At sound of the trumpet’s peal;
Give them your war-cry, Erskine,
Fight to the cannon’s mouth—
Bid the men forward, Douglas, forward!
Yeomanry of the South!
Brave hunters, ye have met
The fierce black bear in the fray,
Ye have trailed the panther night by night,
Ye have chased the fox by day;
Your prancing chargers pant
To dash at the gray wolf’s mouth,
Your arms are sure of their quarry—forward!
Gentlemen of the South!

Fight! that the lowly serf
And the high-born lady, still
May bide in their proud dependency,
Free subjects of your will;
Teach the base North how ill—
At the belching cannon’s mouth—
He fares who touches your household gods,
Gentlemen of the South!
From mother, and wife, and child,
From faithful and happy slave,
Prayers for your sake ascend to Him
Whose arm is strong to save.
We check the gathering tears,
Though ye go to the cannon’s mouth;
Dominus providebit! Onward!
Gentlemen of the South!
Dunrobin Cottage.