Air—“My Maryland.”

By the Cross upon our banner—glory of our Southern sky—
Swear we now, a band of brothers, free to live, or free to die!
Northrons! by the rights denied, listen to our solemn vow—
Here we swear, as freemen, never to your galling yoke to bow!
By our brave ones lost in battle, best and noblest of our land,
Fighting with your Northern hirelings, face to face and hand to hand;
By a sacrifice so priceless, by the spirits of the slain—
Swear we now, our Southern heroes shall not thus have died in vain.
Wide and deep the breach between us—rent by hatred’s poisoned darts,
And ye cannot now cement it with the blood of Southern hearts!
Streams of gore that gulf shall widen, running strong and deep and red,
Severing you from us forever, while there is a drop to shed.

Think you we will brook the insults of your fierce and ruffian chief,
Heaped upon our dark-eyed daughters stricken down and pale with grief!
Think you while astounded nations curse your malice, we will bear
Foulest wrong? with God to call on—arms to do—and hearts to dare!
When we prayed in peace to leave you, answering came a battle cry;
Then we swore that oath which freemen never swear who fear to die!
Northrons, come! and you shall find us heart to heart and hand to hand,
Shouting to the God of Battles, Freedom and our native land!

BAYOU CITY GUARDS’ DIXIE.

By the Company’s Own Poet.

From Houston city and Brazos bottom,
From selling goods and making cotton,
Away, away, away, away!
We go to meet our country’s foes,
To win or die in freedom’s cause;
Away, away, away, away!
Chorus.—We’re going to old Virginia, hooray, hooray!
To join the fight for Southern rights—
We’ll live or die for Davis, hooray, hooray!
We’ll live or die for Davis.

You’ve heard of Abe, the gay deceiver,
Who sent to Sumter to relieve her;
Away, away, away, away!
But Beauregard said “save your bacon!
Sumter’s ours and must be taken!”
Away, away, away, away!
With a floating battery and a few hot shot,
He sent them back to General Scott—
Old Abe he swore and cuss’d like fun
When he found the rebels wouldn’t run.
Scott with his army started South!
You’ve heard how our armies cleaned them out—
On Manassas’ plains for miles around,
Their dead and wounded fill’d the ground.
Senator Wilson, the ugly sinner,
Went over to Centreville to eat a big dinner—
The M. C.’s and ministers of State,
Left their champagne behind and dinners on the plate.
They had to leave on an empty stomach,
And “git up and git” on t’other side of the Potomac—
But some of the invaders are with us still—
We’ll send them back again if the Lord will.
Our country calls for volunteers,
And Texas boys reply with cheers—
The Henderson Guards and Leon Hunters,
Friends in peace—in war like panthers.

The Tom Green Rifles and Lone Star Guards,
In a cause that is just, nothing retards;
The Echo Company, and the brave Five Shooters,
Will deal out death to all freebooters.
The Northern vandals will learn to their sorrow,
Of the Porter Guards, and Rifles of Navarro—
The Mustang Greys, O, they never fight for bounty,
Nor do the other Greys—those from Navarro county.
The Liberty Invincibles and Hardeman Texans
Can wallop ten to one, whether Yanks or Mexicans;
From the Waverly Confederates and the Dixie Blues,
And the Bayou City Guards you may expect good news.

DE COTTON DOWN IN DIXIE.

These capital verses were found [written?] on board of the English barque Premier, in January, 1863, bound from Liverpool to Havana, sixty miles west of Madeira, by Lone Star, of Galveston, Texas.

I’m gwine back to de land of cotton,
Wid de “English Flag” in an “English bottom,”
Far away, far away, far away;
Kase dere I’m safe from Uncle Sam,
And he can’t make me contraban’,
In de land, in de land, in de land,
Away down South in Dixie.
Chorus.—O, in Dixie land I’ll take my stand,
And live and die in Dixie land;
Hoe away, hoe away, hoe away,
De cotton down in Dixie.

Nor confiscate me for his use,
To black and clean his sojers’ shoes,
Far away, etc.,
To “dig his trenches” and save his health,
For a picayune a day and find myself,
Far away, far away, far away,
From de cotton land of Dixie.
Chorus.
O, I’m gwine back to de old plantations,
To tell de boys ob my observations,
Far away, etc.,
Made by myself in de British nation—
I’ll tell de trufe widout “sensation,”
Far away, etc.
Chorus.
I’ve been across de Atlantic Ocean,
Where dey all do make so great commotion,
Far away, etc.,
About de war and cotton “famine,”
Dey talk a heap of “twaddle and gammon,”
Far away, etc.
Chorus.
For in dis English land I’ve bin in,
Dey’ve got no cotton for de spinnin’,
Hard times, etc.,
For de warehousemen of Manchester,
De spinners, too, of Lancashire,
Far away, etc.
Chorus.

Some say, “Make muslin widout cotton,”
Others, “O no, ’twill be too rotten;”
Talk away, etc.,
Some say, “From India we’ll get plenty,
From Egypt, Greenland and Ashantee,”
Far away, etc.
Chorus.
Dey’se holdin’ meetin’s night and day,
To find out soon some oder way,
Some way, etc.,
To git dere cotton widout you,
But dat’s a fac’ dey’ll nebber do,
Far away, etc.
Chorus.
For it will take six million bales
For de mills ob England, Scotland, Wales,
Spin away, etc.,
To feed de spinnin’ mules and jennies,
Dere boys and gals and pickaninnies,
Far away, etc.
Chorus.
Now dis will take a time so long,
’Twill be like de horse in de ole man’s song’,
Sing away, etc.,
Dat he learned to lib widout corn or hay,
But he went dead dat berry same day,
Right away, etc.
Chorus.

O gemmen ob de “Supply Association,”[6]
I’ll tell you ob de “New-born Nation,”
Far away, etc.,
De Confederate States of America,
Where cotton grows both night and day,
Far away, etc.
Chorus.
For we can grow de cotton-wool,
For John Crapeau and Johnny Bull,
“Parley voo,” etc.,
An’ dey will feed and keep de workies,
“White weaver folk,” and “hoe in darkies,”
Quite right, etc.
Chorus.
O I’se gwine back to de land ob cotton,
Sea Island seed and sandy bottom,
Far away, etc.,
To de bressed land whar I was born,
De land of sugar, cotton and corn,
Far away, etc.
Chorus.