The bright rose of beauty, unnurtured by art,
And purity’s lily doth thrive in thy heart,
While honor hath crowned thee with glory’s bright ray,
And Flora hath decked thee with flowers of May.
Oh, beautiful South! cherished home of my birth,
Thou fairest, thou loveliest land of the earth!
My heart, like the ivy, still clings unto thee,
Oh, beautiful, beautiful land of the free!
Chorus—The South! the South! my own beautiful South!
Land of chivalry! home of liberty!
Fondly I love thee, dear land of the South!
Dear land of the South! dear land of the South!
Dear liberty, virtue, and truth, most sublime,
The flowers that bloom in that sun-smiling clime,
And these the base tyrant would crush to the earth,
And mangle and bruise on the soil of their birth.
All crimson thy land, with the life-glowing flood,
And dabble his hands in thy heart’s reeking blood!
But oh! by the God of the righteous and free,
Bright region! it never! no, never! shall be.

Like swarms of foul demons, his minions come down,
And their war-rusted weapons insultingly frown,
To fright thy fair fields with their bloody alarms,
And rob thee, dear land, of all of thy charms.
But thy free spirit still rides on the swift gale,
Like the eagle that sweeps o’er the mountain and dale;
And thy sons, they rush forth with the courage of men,
To fight, and to bleed, and to conquer again.
The tyrant, with shackles, would manacle thee—
Would strangle thy spirit, dear land of the free,
Would trample the banner of right in the dust,
And yoke thee with iron, proud queen of the just!
But the hearts of thy sons, unappalled by a fear,
As their swords leap up fiercely and flame in the air,
Now swear that it never! no! never! shall be,
Bright queen of the lovely! sweet home of the free!
Chorus—The South! the South, etc.

THE GIRLS OF THE MONUMENTAL CITY.

WRITTEN BY A CONFEDERATE PRISONER.

Daughters of the sunny South,
Where Freedom loves to dwell,
How rare your charms, how sweet your smiles,
No mortal lips can tell;
Your native hills, the rippling rills,
The echo wild and free,
Declare you born to hate and scorn
All Northern tyranny.
Girls whose smiles are all reserved,
The Southern youth to bless;
Whose hearts are kept for those who fight
For Freedom’s happiness;
Your spirits bold, so now unfold
What willingly you would do,
Where Yankee spirit—the tyrants might
Not wield against you.
For you your loving brothers rush
To overthrow the invader’s might—
On martial field the sword they wield,
And Yankee cowards smite.
May heaven bless, with bright success,
Each glorious Southern son;
Be this your prayer, O maidens fair!
And our freedom will be won.
Southern girls, on this we’ve sworn,
The South must—shall be free—
No Northern shackles will be worn;
To them we’ll bend no knee.
From hill to hill, exultant, shrill,
Our battle-cry rings forth:
Freedom or death on every breath,
And hatred to the North.
Cease not to smile, brave Southern girls,
On our efforts to be free—
Whilst life remains, we’ll struggle on,
Till all the world shall see
That those who fight for home and right
Can never be enslaved;
Their blood may stain the battle-plain;
Our country must be saved.
Baltimore, Md., March, 1862.

WAR SONG OF THE PARTISAN RANGERS.

BY BENJAMIN F. PORTER.