By Dr. John W. Paine, Lexington, Va., June 30, 1862.

Air—“Gathering of the Clans.”

Rise, rise, mountain and valley men,
Bald sire and beardless son, each come in order,
True loyal patriots, muster and rally, men;
Drive the invader clear over the border;
Down from the mountain steep, up from the valley deep,
Come from the city, the town, and the village,
Let every loyal heart in the strife take a part,
Rescue our country from rapine and pillage.
Rise, rise, etc.
Men of the valley, descendants of heroes—
Heroes whom Washington honored and trusted—
Heirs of the fame and the hills of your fathers,
Men who have never been daunted or worsted;
Long, like all true men, we cherished the Union,
Long did we strive for our country’s salvation;
Now when our very existence is threatened,
Rush to the rescue without hesitation.
Rise, rise, etc.

Say, shall we suffer the ruthless invader
O’er our fair valley to marshal his legions?
Loud calls Virginia, let every man aid her—
Aid her, and thus show his truth and allegiance.
Hark to the battle-cry, rush on to victory!
Banished forever be party and faction;
Let every loyal man rush to be in the van,
Led by the dauntless, the conqueror, Jackson.
Rise, rise, etc.
Richmond Dispatch.

OUR BRAVES IN VIRGINIA.

Air—“Dixie Land.”

We have ridden from the brave Southwest,
On fiery steeds, with throbbing breast;
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
With sabre flash and rifle true,—
Hurrah! hurrah!—
The Northern ranks we will cut through,
And charge for old Virginia, boys;
Hurrah! hurrah!
We have come from the cloud-capp’d mountains,
From the land of purest fountains;
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Our sweethearts and wives conjure us,—
Hurrah! hurrah!
Not to leave a foe before us,
And strike for old Virginia, boys;
Hurrah! hurrah!

Then we’ll rally to the bugle call;
For Southern rights we’ll fight and fall;
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Our grey-haired sires sternly say,—
Hurrah! hurrah!
That we must die or win the day,
Three cheers for old Virginia, boys,
Hurrah! hurrah!
Then our silken banner wave on high;
For Southern homes we’ll fight and die;
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Our cause is right, our quarrel just,—
Hurrah! hurrah!
We’ll in the God of battles trust,
And conquer for Virginia, boys,
Hurrah! hurrah!

BATTLE SONG OF THE INVADED.

The foe! the foe! They come! they come!
Light up the beacon pyre;
Light every hill and mountain home,
Give back the signal fire;
And wave the red cross on the night,
The blood-red cross of war—
What though we perish in the fight!
Our fathers died before!
Hark! lo their shouts upon the breeze,
Their banners in the sun,
And like the thunder of the seas
Their deep tread thunders on.
We’ll meet them here on each bold height,
In every glen make head—
And give the battle to the right;
We will be free or dead.
We stand on sacred, holy ground,
Where thousand memories meet;
Our fathers’ homes are all around,
Their graves beneath our feet;
Our roofs are mouldering far and wide,
That late smiled in the sun;
Our brides are weeping at our sides;
Gods! let them then come on!
Hurrah! hurrah! he gleams in sight;
It fires the brain to see
How the proud spoiler flashes bright
In war’s gay panoply;
We’ll show him that our fathers’ brands
Nor rust nor time can stay;
With tramp and shouts, bold hearts and hands,
Up, freemen, and away!
The work is done, the strife is o’er,
The whirlwinds thundered by,—
There’s not from hill to ocean shore
A foeman left to die.
Our brides are thronging every height,
They wave us weeping home;
God gives the battle to the right—
Back to our hearth-stones, come!