Sabine Pass! in letters of gold,
Seem written upon the sky to-day,
Sabine Pass! with rhythmic feet,
Comes passionately stepping down my lay.
Sabine Pass! and the white sail ships,
With their cruel cannons’ grinning teeth,
Tearing in shreds the sullen smoke,
That seem’d weaving for us a winding sheet.
Sabine Pass! with its Irish hearts,
As true as the blessings the Shamrock brings,
Hearts as full of royal blood
As that which nerves the arms of kings.

Few, ah! few were the Davis band,
“We cannot conquer, but we can die!”
Said the dauntless Dowling, as up he sprang,
And nailed the starry cross on high.
Twenty-seven ships in pomp and pride,
Came sailing through the Pass that day;
Go ask of any Texan child,
How many ships survived the fray.
The God of battle, who loves the brave,
Who gave to Gideon of old the fight,
Sent victory down that “Guard” to save,
And crowned them with immortal light.
Dark storms have since o’erswept our land,
And tyrants do our souls harass,
But glory shines on Dowling’s band,
The forty-two heroes of the Pass.
Come, fill your glass with Texas wine,
Wine that is generous, red and free,
And drink with me to the knightliest man,
Who conquered the foe on land and sea.
But tears, rough, manly tears, for the dead,
Like dews of night bedim the glass,
With throbbing hearts and lifted hands,
We name him—“Dowling! of the Pass.”
Houston, Texas.

SHORT RATIONS; OR, THE CORN-FED ARMY.

Fair ladies and maids of all ages,
Little girls and cadets howe’er youthful,
Home-guards, quartermasters and sages,
Who write for the newspapers so truthful!
Clerks, surgeons, and supes—legislators,
Staff officers, (fops of the Nation,)
And even you, dear speculators,
Come list to my song of starvation!
Chorus.—For we soldiers have seen something rougher
Than a storm, a retreat, or a fight,
And the body may toil on, and suffer
With a smile, so the heart is all right!
Our bugles had roused up the camp,
The heavens looked dismal and dirty,
And the earth looked unpleasant and damp,
As a beau on the wrong side of thirty;
We were taking these troubles with quiet,
When we heard from the mouths of some rash ones,
That the army was all put on diet,
And the Board had diminish’d our rations!
Chorus.
Reduce our rations at all?
It was difficult, yet it was done—
We had one meal a day—it was small—
Are we now, Oh, ye gods! to have none?
Oh, ye gentlemen issuing rations,
Give at least half her own to the State,
Put a curb on your maddening passions,
And, commissaries—commiserate!
Chorus.
Tell me not of the Lacedæmonian,
Of his black broth and savage demeanor,
We keep up a fare less Plutonian,
Yet I’d swear our corn coffee is meaner!
Tell me nothing of ancients and strangers,
For, on seeing our Southern-bred Catos,
I have laugh’d at old Marion’s Rangers,
Who feasted on roasted potatoes!
Chorus.
Erewhile we had chicken and roasters,
For the fowls and pigs were ferocious,
We would send them to shoot Pater Nosters,
And the deed was not stamped as atrocious;
But since we have been shot for the same,
We parch corn—it is healthier, but tougher—
The chickens and pigs have got tame,
But the horses and mules have to suffer.
Chorus.
But the “corn-fed” is proof to all evils,
Has a joke for all hardships and troubles,
In honor and glory he revels,
Other fancies he looks on as bubbles!
He is bound to be free, and he knows it,
Then what cares he for toil and privation!
He is brave, and in battle he shows it,
And will conquer in spite of starvation!
Chorus.

THE SOLDIER’S FAREWELL.

Air—“Rosin the Bow.”

Hark! the tocsin is sounding, my comrades;
Bind your knapsacks—away let us go,
Where the flag of the freeman is waving—
March to vanquish the ruffian foe!
Chorus.—Ho for Liberty! Freedom or death, boys,
That’s the watchword, away let us go
To the sound of the drum and the bugle,
March to vanquish the ruffian foe![17]
Farewell to the scenes of my childhood,
To my mother, who’s praying for me;
She would weep if the son of her bosom
From the face of a foeman should flee.
Farewell to the home and the hearthstone,
Where my sisters are weeping for me;
Oh; the foot of the spoilers shall never,
Stain the home of the brave and the free.

Adieu, thou beloved of my bosom!
For thy soldier-love shed not a tear;
But beseech the great Lord of the battle,
To protect him and all he holds dear.
Adieu, honored father! who taught me,
For the rights of a freeman to stand—
To resist, when his rod, the aggressor,
Shakes in wrath o’er my dear native land.
Oh, my country, thou home of my loved ones!
You, the tyrant would seek to enslave—
Sweep you off from the face of creation,
Wake, freemen, our country to save!
Hear the threats of that ruthless banditti,
Who for “booty” and “beauty” would fight;
Shall they sweep our loved South from creation?
No! her sons will arise in their might!
“Sweep the South from the face of the earth!” boys?
We can sweep, too, O land of our birth!
For our homes and our altars and dear ones,
We the ruffians can sweep from the earth.
Adieu to the church, where the Christian
For the soldier and Sabbath will pray;
But the Bible and chaplain go with us,
And Jehovah, our God, is our stay!

When the old British lion oppressed us,
He with Washington went to the field;
Unto Him we will look in the battle,
And will strike ’til the enemy yield!