INDEX TO FIRST LINES.
| PAGE | |
| A farmer came to camp, one day, with milk and eggs to sell | [319] |
| A flash from the edge of a hostile trench | [350] |
| Aha! a song for the trumpet’s tongue | [77] |
| Alas! the rolling hours pass slow | [133] |
| A life on the Vicksburg bluff | [126] |
| All quiet along the Potomac to-night | [62] |
| A nation has sprung into life | [12] |
| Arise! Arise! with main and might | [51] |
| Arise! Ye sons of freeborn sires, arise! your country save | [175] |
| As a couple of good soldiers were walking one day | [318] |
| A soldier boy from Texas lay gasping on the field | [266] |
| At Bull Run, when the sun was low | [38] |
| A warrior has fallen! a chieftain has gone | [194] |
| Away down South in de fields of cotton | [36] |
| Bob Roebuck is my sweetheart’s name | [69] |
| Bravely ye’ve fought, my gallant, gallant men | [241] |
| By blue Patapsco’s billowy dash | [273] |
| By the cross upon our banner—glory of our Southern sky | [142] |
| Can’st tell who lose the battle oft in the council field | [130] |
| Cheer, boys, cheer! we’ll march away to battle | [244] |
| Childhood’s days have long since faded | [306] |
| Come, all ye sons of freedom | [252] |
| Come all ye temper’d hearts of steel—come, quit your flocks and farms | [174] |
| Come, all ye valiant soldiers, and a story I will tell | [326] |
| Come, brothers! rally for the right | [40] |
| Come! come! come | [61] |
| Come, stack arms, men! pile on the rails | [200] |
| Countrymen of Washington | [35] |
| Darkies, has you seed my massa | [216] |
| Dear mother, I remember well | [349] |
| Do they miss me in the trenches, do they miss me | [129] |
| Down by the valley, ’mid thunder and lightning | [228] |
| Ever constant, ever true | [221] |
| Fair ladies and maids of all ages | [322] |
| Fearlessly the seas we roam | [227] |
| Fighting for our rights now, feasting when they’re won | [131] |
| Flag of the Southland! Flag of the free | [198] |
| Fold away all your bright tinted dresses | [116] |
| Fold it up carefully, lay it aside | [358] |
| Forth from its scabbard pure and bright | [367] |
| For sixty days and upward a storm of shell and shot | [343] |
| For trumpet and drum, leave the soft voice of maiden | [317] |
| From Houston City and Brazos bottom | [143] |
| Furl that banner, for ’tis weary | [373] |
| Gallant nation, foiled by numbers | [375] |
| God bless our Southern land | [188] |
| God save the South | [1] |
| Halt! the march is over | [59] |
| Hark! the clock strikes! All, all that now remains | [160] |
| Hark! the tocsin is sounding, my comrades | [324] |
| Hark! ’tis the shrill trumpet calling | [289] |
| Haste thee, falter not, noble patriot band | [149] |
| Have you counted up the cost | [240] |
| Hear the summons, sons of Texas | [178] |
| Hear ye not the sound of battle | [166] |
| He fell and they cried, bring us home our dead! | [212] |
| Ho, gallants, brim the beaker bowl | [281] |
| Hurrah! for the Southern confederate State | [39] |
| Hurrah for the South, the glorious South! the land of song and story | [114] |
| Huzza! huzza! let’s raise the battle-cry | [122] |
| I am dreaming of thee | [297] |
| I cannot listen to your words, the land is long and wide | [363] |
| I come from old Manassas, with a pocket full of fun | [66] |
| If ever I consent to be married | [99] |
| I leave my home, and thee, dear, with sorrow at my heart | [347] |
| I’ll sing you a song of the South’s sunny clime | [78] |
| I’m a soldier, you see, that oppression has made | [104] |
| I’m gwine back to de land of cotton | [145] |
| I’m ’nation tired of being hired | [218] |
| In the land of the orange groves, sunshine and flowers | [203] |
| I remember the hour when sadly we parted | [291] |
| “Is there any news of the war?” she said | [86] |
| It vos in Ni Orleans City | [10] |
| It was on a New Year’s morn so soon | [180] |
| I’ve seen some handsome uniforms deck’d off with buttons bright | [285] |
| I wish I was in de land o’ cotton | [7] |
| I wish I was in de land ob cotton | [153] |
| Just listen awhile, and give ear to my song | [196] |
| King Abraham is very sick | [27] |
| Kneel, ye Southrons, kneel and swear | [29] |
| Knitting for the soldiers | [52] |
| Lady, I go to fight for thee | [150] |
| Land of our birth, thee, thee I sing | [210] |
| Land of the South! the fairest land | [115] |
| Let me whisper in your ear, sir | [301] |
| Like the roar of the wintry surges on a wild tempestuous strand | [163] |
| Little do rich people know | [340] |
| Lo! the Southland queen emerging | [353] |
| Lo! when Mississippi rolls | [214] |
| Maiden, pray for thy lover now | [284] |
| March, march on, brave “Palmetto” boys | [90] |
| ’Mid her ruins proudly stands | [124] |
| Missouri is the pride of the Nation | [60] |
| Missouri! Missouri! bright land of the West | [308] |
| Mother! is the battle over? thousands have been killed, they say | [236] |
| My heart in its sadness turns fondly to thee | [339] |
| My heart is in Mississippi | [211] |
| My love reposes on a rosewood frame | [42] |
| Now let the thrilling anthem rise | [247] |
| Now rouse ye, gallant comrades all | [26] |
| O band in the pinewood cease! | [255] |
| “Och, its nate to be captain or colonel” | [250] |
| Of all the mighty nations in the East or in the West | [103] |
| Off with gray suits, boys! | [369] |
| Oh, dear its shameful, I declare | [230] |
| Oh! Dixie, the land of King Cotton | [68] |
| Oh, don’t you remember old Stonewall, my boys | [338] |
| Oh! Freedom is a blessed thing | [65] |
| Oh, gone is the soul from his wondrous dark eye | [300] |
| Oh! here I am in the land of cotton | [245] |
| Oh! here’s to South Carolina! drink it down | [279] |
| Oh! Johnny, dear, and did you hear the news that’s lately spread | [356] |
| Oh! mother of States and of men | [331] |
| Oh no! no! he’ll not need them again | [309] |
| Oh! say can you see through the gloom and the storms | [6] |
| Oh! the tocsin of war still resounds o’er the land | [88] |
| Oh! yes, I am a Southern girl | [81] |
| O, Johnny Bull, my Jo, John! I wonder what you mean | [109] |
| O, I’m a good old rebel | [360] |
| O, I’m thinking of the soldier as the evening shadows fall | [182] |
| Old Eve she did the apple eat | [258] |
| On a bright May morn in ’Sixty-three | [345] |
| “Only a soldier!” I heard them say | [333] |
| On Shiloh’s dark and bloody ground the dead and wounded lay | [336] |
| O, tell me not that earth is fair, that spring is in its bloom | [226] |
| O, the South is the queen of all nations | [93] |
| Our cannons’ mouths are dumb. No more our volleyed muskets peal | [366] |
| Our country, our country, oh, where may we find | [152] |
| Our flag is unfurl’d and our arms flash bright | [73] |
| Out of the focal and foremost fire | [329] |
| Over the river there are fierce stern meetings | [249] |
| Over vale and over mountain | [170] |
| Pillow his head on his flashing sword | [311] |
| Raise the Southern flag on high! | [189] |
| Raise the thrilling cry, to arms! | [141] |
| Rally round our country’s flag! | [94] |
| Rebel is a sacred name | [71] |
| Representing nothing on God’s earth now | [370] |
| Rise, rise, mountain and valley men | [55] |
| Sabine Pass! in letters of gold | [320] |
| Sing ho! for the Southerner’s meteor flag | [108] |
| Sitting by the roadside on a Summer day | [74] |
| Softly comes the twilight stealing gently through my prison bars | [346] |
| Softly in dreams of repose | [352] |
| Soldiers! raise your banner proudly | [120] |
| Sons of freedom, on to glory | [199] |
| Sons of the South arise | [264] |
| Sons of the South, arouse to battle | [100] |
| Sons of the South awake to glory | [4] |
| Sons of the South, beware the foe | [46] |
| Sons of the South! from hill and dale | [19] |
| Southern men, unsheathe the sword | [24] |
| Southrons, hear your country call you | [238] |
| States of the South! confederate land | [48] |
| Stitch, stitch, stitch | [222] |
| The boys are coming home again | [335] |
| The boys down South in Dixie’s Land | [49] |
| The despot’s heel is on thy shore | [276] |
| The foe! the foe! They come! they come! | [57] |
| The hour was sad I left the maid | [85] |
| The morning star is paling, the camp-fires flicker low | [287] |
| The muffled drum is beating | [328] |
| The night-cloud had lowered o’er Shiloh’s red plain | [290] |
| The Northern abolition vandals | [314] |
| The sentinel treads his martial round | [134] |
| The shades of night were falling fast | [22] |
| The snow is in the cloud, and night is gathering o’er us | [282] |
| The South for me! The sunny clime | [123] |
| The sun sinking o’er the battle plain | [187] |
| The tyrant’s broad pennant is floating | [102] |
| The war drum is beating, prepare for the fight | [263] |
| The Yankees hate the Lone Star State, because she did secede | [191] |
| There he stood, the grand old hero, great Virginia’s god-like son | [224] |
| There is freedom on each fold, and each star is freedom’s throne | [159] |
| Though we’re a band of prisoners | [341] |
| Thou hast gone forth, my darling one | [256] |
| Three cheers for the Southern flag | [91] |
| ’Tis dead of night, nor voice, nor sound, breaks on the stillness of the air | [303] |
| ’Tis old Stonewall, the rebel, that leans on his sword | [315] |
| To arms! oh! men in all our Southern clime | [76] |
| ’Twas a terrible moment | [95] |
| ’Twas early in the morning of eighteen sixty-three | [168] |
| ’Twas midnight when we built our fires | [207] |
| ’Twas on that dark and fearful morn | [185] |
| Unclaimed by the land that bore us | [317] |
| Unmoved in the battle | [251] |
| Upon Manassas’ bloody plain a soldier boy lay dying | [106] |
| Up, up with the banner, the foe is before us | [83] |
| Wake! dearest, wake! ’tis thy lover who calls, Imogen | [172] |
| We all went down to New Orleans | [112] |
| We are a band of brothers, and native to the soil | [31] |
| Weep, Louisiana, weep! thy gallant dead | [37] |
| We have ridden from the brave southwest | [56] |
| We leave our pleasant homesteads | [80] |
| We left him on the crimson’d field | [234] |
| Well, we can whip them now I guess | [232] |
| We’re the boys so gay and happy | [177] |
| We’re the Navasota volunteers, our county is named Grimes | [294] |
| What shall the Southron’s watchword be | [272] |
| When clouds of oppression o’ershaded | [30] |
| When history tells her story | [242] |
| While crimson drops our hearth-stones stain | [41] |
| Whoop! the Doodles have broken loose | [14] |
| Why can we not be brothers? the battle now is o’er | [364] |
| Would’st thou have me love thee, dearest | [20] |
| Would you like to hear my song, I’m afraid it’s rather long | [268] |
| Yankee Doodle had a mind | [15] |
| Ye men of Alabama | [17] |
| Ye men of Southern hearts and feeling | [45] |
| Ye sons of Carolina! awake from your dreaming | [237] |
| Ye sons of the South, take your weapons in hand | [110] |
| You are going to leave me, darling | [28] |
| You are going to the wars, Willie boy, Willie boy | [275] |
| You can never win us back | [8] |
| You know the Federal General Banks | [164] |
| Young as the youngest who donned the gray | [260] |
| Young Florida sends forth her clan—the old Dominion’s brave | [155] |
| Young stranger, what land claims thy birth | [292] |
| You shudder as you think upon th’ carnage of the grim report | [137] |
Footnotes:
[1] This was the first song published in the South during the war.
[2] The Rebel ram.
[3] A writer, describing the siege of Vicksburg, gives the following:
“The meal issued to the army was very coarse, and there were no sieves, and the beef, as a general thing, was hardly fit to feed to a dog. Some herds of Texas steers were corraled near the town, lean, gaunt, long-horned, repulsive looking creatures, and every morning the weakest of the herd were slaughtered for the day’s rations. In the Twentieth Alabama, each day a company of men could be seen having in their hands long ox-horns, upon which they occasionally blew a mournful blast, as with solemn steps and slow, they bore to a suitable burial place the beef issued to them for that day. Arrived at the spot a hole was dug, the meat was dumped into it, a mound was heaped over it, a funeral oration was said, the ox-horns once more sounded the dolorous requiem, and then the mourners returned to camp, their heads bowed down with grief and sorrow. Upon inquiring what this woeful pageant meant, I was informed that the men were simply engaged in “the burial of Old Logan.”
[4] Colonel J. J. Archer.