War Poetry of the South

by Unknown

And the blood that flowed from his hero heart,
On the spot where he nobly perished,
Was drunk by the earth as a sacrament
In the holy cause he cherished.

In Heaven a home with the brave and blessed,
And, for his soul's sustaining,
The apocalyptic eyes of Christ--
And nothing on earth remaining,

But a handful of dust in the land of his choice,
A name in song and story,
And Fame to shout with her brazen voice,
"Died on the Field of Glory!"

Beauregard

By Catharine A. Warfield, of Mississippi.

Let the trumpet shout once more,
Beauregard!
Let the battle-thunders roar,
Beauregard!
And again by yonder sea,
Let the swords of all the free
Leap forth to fight with thee,
Beauregard!

Old Sumter loves thy name,
Beauregard!
Grim Moultrie guards thy fame,
Beauregard!
Oh! first in Freedom's fight!
Oh! steadfast in the right!
Oh! brave and Christian Knight!
Beauregard!

St. Michael with his host,
Beauregard!
Encamps by yonder coast,
Beauregard!
And the Demon's might shall quail,
And the Dragon's terrors fail,
Were he trebly clad in mail,
Beauregard!

Not a leaf shall fall away,
Beauregard!
From the laurel won to-day,
Beauregard!
While the ocean breezes blow,
While the billows lapse and flow
O'er the Northman's bones below,
Beauregard!

Let the trumpet shout once more,
Beauregard!
Let the battle-thunders roar,
Beauregard!
From the centre to the shore,
From the sea to the land's core
Thrills the echo, evermore,
Beauregard!