 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
BATTLE HYMN.—COLUMNS, STEADY!
Columns, steady! make ye ready—with the steel and rifle ready!
Wait the signal! wait the moment—soul and steel and weapon steady!
Hark! the bugle! Music! march! we are on the foe already!
Quick step, column! swift, though solemn!
Let them feel ye! bravely steel ye—
And the field shall soon be won!
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Bravely steel ye! make them feel ye!
Every man and mother's son!
Hurrah!
Wait the signal! wait the moment—soul and steel and weapon steady!
Hark! the bugle! Music! march! we are on the foe already!
Quick step, column! swift, though solemn!
Let them feel ye! bravely steel ye—
And the field shall soon be won!
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Bravely steel ye! make them feel ye!
Every man and mother's son!
Hurrah!
They are looking from the house tops, they are listening from the wood,
Mothers, wives, and sweethearts, and the children of your blood!
And they ask of all the wounded, as we bear them to the rear,
“What of him whom my soul loveth? doth he turn away in fear?
Is he coward? is he recreant? Let me take his place and spear!”
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Charge! ye gallant legions, bravely, as one soul and body, charge!
Ye have souls of strength among ye, though your number be not large!
Bravely steel ye!
Let them feel ye!
On 'em! over 'em!—Hurrah!
On!—every mother's son—
And the field is won!
Hurrah!
Mothers, wives, and sweethearts, and the children of your blood!
And they ask of all the wounded, as we bear them to the rear,
“What of him whom my soul loveth? doth he turn away in fear?
Is he coward? is he recreant? Let me take his place and spear!”
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
186
Ye have souls of strength among ye, though your number be not large!
Bravely steel ye!
Let them feel ye!
On 'em! over 'em!—Hurrah!
On!—every mother's son—
And the field is won!
Hurrah!
'Tis not blood, thirsting madly, that we crave!
No wild passion for the strife;
But our honor, and our glory, more than life,
We would pluck from bloody grave—bloody grave!
'Tis for this we have thrown aside the plow!
In earth's sterile furrows let it rust—
'Tis our manhood, we must lift up from the dust;
And to fields of strife and slaughter hurry now—
Our only fields of freedom and of fame!
To work in others now,
With the brand upon our brow,
Would be shame—the worst of sorrows—would be shame!
No wild passion for the strife;
But our honor, and our glory, more than life,
We would pluck from bloody grave—bloody grave!
'Tis for this we have thrown aside the plow!
In earth's sterile furrows let it rust—
'Tis our manhood, we must lift up from the dust;
And to fields of strife and slaughter hurry now—
Our only fields of freedom and of fame!
To work in others now,
With the brand upon our brow,
Would be shame—the worst of sorrows—would be shame!
Columns, rally! make you ready for the final charge and sally!
Skirmishers, in front! and cover, with your rifles, height and valley!
Let each pass be sighted deadly—range with eye of fate each alley!
Wings, be swift! and centre, steady!
Firm and steady, make ye ready
For the grapple now at hand!
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Make them feel ye! bravely steel ye!
Bullets down, and bared the brand!
Hurrah!
Skirmishers, in front! and cover, with your rifles, height and valley!
Let each pass be sighted deadly—range with eye of fate each alley!
Wings, be swift! and centre, steady!
Firm and steady, make ye ready
For the grapple now at hand!
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Make them feel ye! bravely steel ye!
Bullets down, and bared the brand!
Hurrah!
187
Waiting, watching, trembling, weeping, they are crouching in the wood,
Wives and sweethearts, mothers, sisters, and the children of your blood!
As they bind the wounds of comrades, cowering, sheltered in the rear,
How they toil in silent terror! how they weep in silent prayer!
“Husbands, brothers, do not fail us! doom'd to bondage and despair!”
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Charge, ye legions! bravely, sternly; as one soul and body, charge!
Ye are sons and brothers—men—though your number be not large!
Let them feel ye!
Bravely steel ye!
On 'em! over 'em!—Hurrah!
Be the work well done,
And the field is won!
Hurrah!
Wives and sweethearts, mothers, sisters, and the children of your blood!
As they bind the wounds of comrades, cowering, sheltered in the rear,
How they toil in silent terror! how they weep in silent prayer!
“Husbands, brothers, do not fail us! doom'd to bondage and despair!”
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Charge, ye legions! bravely, sternly; as one soul and body, charge!
Ye are sons and brothers—men—though your number be not large!
Let them feel ye!
Bravely steel ye!
On 'em! over 'em!—Hurrah!
Be the work well done,
And the field is won!
Hurrah!
And if joy should be ours, when the storm of battle rolls,
'Tis because that we have burst
From the sleep of shame and sorrow that accurst,
And feel the fresh air of freedom on our souls!—
See the dawning, in its glory, of the light
Which shall bring us to the day—
Though it be through all the horrors of the fray,
Though our sun shall forever set in night!—
Yet, welcome be the trial storm and strife!
Ay, welcome, Fate and Fight,
Though our day shall set in night,
Since, in perishing for freedom, we prove worthy of its life!
'Tis because that we have burst
From the sleep of shame and sorrow that accurst,
And feel the fresh air of freedom on our souls!—
See the dawning, in its glory, of the light
Which shall bring us to the day—
Though it be through all the horrors of the fray,
Though our sun shall forever set in night!—
Yet, welcome be the trial storm and strife!
Ay, welcome, Fate and Fight,
Though our day shall set in night,
Since, in perishing for freedom, we prove worthy of its life!
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |