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BRIGADIER-GENERAL ALBERT PIKE, C. S. A.

DIXIE.

The tune "Dixie" was composed in 1859, by Mr. Dan D. Emmett, for Bryant's Minstrels, then performing in New York City. It hit the taste of the New York play-going public, and was adopted at once by various bands of wandering minstrels, who sang it in all parts of the Union. In 1860 it was first sung in New Orleans. In that city the tune was harmonized, set to new words, and, without the authority of the composer, was published. As from Boston "John Brown's Body" spread through the North, so from New Orleans "Dixie" spread through the South; and as Northern poets strove to find fitting words for the one, so Southern poets wrote fiery lines to fill the measures of the other. The only version possessing any literary merit is the one given in this collection. It was written by Gen. Albert Pike, a native of Massachusetts. In early life Mr. Pike moved to Little Rock, Ark., editing a paper and studying law in that city. He served in the Mexican war with distinction, and on the breaking out of the Rebellion enlisted on the Confederate side a force of Cherokee Indians, whom he led at the battle of Pea Ridge. It is said that President Lincoln requested a band in Washington to play "Dixie" in 1865, a short time after the surrender of Appomattox, remarking "that, as we had captured the rebel army, we had captured also the rebel tune."

Southrons, hear your country call you! Up, lest worse than death befall you! To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie! Lo! all the beacon-fires are lighted— Let hearts be now united. To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie! Advance the flag of Dixie! Hurrah! hurrah! For Dixie's land we take our stand, And live or die for Dixie! To arms! To arms! And conquer peace for Dixie! To arms! To arms! And conquer peace for Dixie! Hear the Northern thunders mutter! Northern flags in South winds flutter. Send them back your fierce defiance; Stamp upon the accursed alliance. Fear no danger! Shun no labor! Lift up rifle, pike, and sabre. Shoulder pressing close to shoulder, Let the odds make each heart bolder. How the South's great heart rejoices At your cannons' ringing voices! For faith betrayed, and pledges broken, Wrongs inflicted, insults spoken. Strong as lions, swift as eagles, Back to their kennels hunt these beagles! Cut the unequal bonds asunder; Let them hence each other plunder! Swear upon your country's altar Never to submit or falter, Till the spoilers are defeated, Till the Lord's work is completed. Halt not till our Federation Secures among earth's powers its station. Then at peace, and crowned with glory, Hear your children tell the story. If the loved ones weep in sadness, Victory soon shall bring them gladness, Exultant pride soon banish sorrow, Smiles chase tears away to-morrow.

MY MARYLAND.

"My Maryland" is regarded by some as the greatest song inspired by the civil war, and if we consider these songs as poems it is the best. Its burning lines, written early in 1861, helped to fire the Southern heart. Its author, Mr. James Ryder Randall, is a native of Baltimore. He was professor of English literature in Poydras College in Louisiana, a short distance from New Orleans, and there in April, 1861, he read the news of the attack on the Massachusetts troops as they passed through Baltimore. Naturally he was greatly excited on reading this account, and it inspired the song, which was written within twenty-four hours of the time he read of the assault. "My Maryland" is one of a number of songs written by Mr. Randall, but none of the others attained popularity. His "John Pelham," commonly called "The Dead Cannonneer," is a much finer poem. After the war he became editor of the Constitutionalist, published in Augusta, Ga., in which city he still resides.

The despot's heel is on thy shore, Maryland! His torch is at thy temple door, Maryland! Avenge the patriotic gore That flecked the streets of Baltimore, And be the battle-queen of yore, Maryland, my Maryland! Hark to an exiled son's appeal, Maryland! My Mother State, to thee I kneel, Maryland! For life and death, for woe and weal, Thy peerless chivalry reveal, And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, Maryland, my Maryland! Thou wilt not cower in the dust, Maryland! Thy beaming sword shall never rust, Maryland! Remember Carroll's sacred trust, Remember Howard's warlike thrust, And all thy slumberers with the just, Maryland, my Maryland! Come! 'tis the red dawn of the day, Maryland! Come with thy panoplied array, Maryland! With Ringgold's spirit for the fray, With Watson's blood at Monterey, With fearless Lowe and dashing May, Maryland, my Maryland! Dear Mother, burst the tyrant's chain, Maryland! Virginia should not call in vain, Maryland! She meets her sisters on the plain— "Sic semper!" 'tis the proud refrain That baffles minions back amain, Maryland! Arise in majesty again, Maryland, my Maryland! Come! for thy shield is bright and strong, Maryland! Come! for thy dalliance does thee wrong, Maryland! Come to thine own heroic throng Stalking with Liberty along, And chant thy dauntless slogan-song, Maryland, my Maryland! I see the blush upon thy cheek, Maryland! For thou wast ever bravely meek, Maryland! But lo! there surges forth a shriek, From hill to hill, from creek to creek, Potomac calls to Chesapeake, Maryland, my Maryland! Thou wilt not yield the vandal toll, Maryland! Thou wilt not crook to his control, Maryland! Better the fire upon thee roll, Better the shot, the blade, the bowl, Than crucifixion of the soul, Maryland, my Maryland! I hear the distant thunder-hum, Maryland! The Old Line's bugle, fife, and drum, Maryland! She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb; Huzza! she spurns the Northern scum— She breathes! She burns! She'll come! She'll come! Maryland, my Maryland!

REBELS.

First published in the Atlanta Confederacy. The author is unknown.

Rebels! 'tis a holy name! The name our fathers bore When battling in the cause of Right, Against the tyrant in his might, In the dark days of yore. Rebels! 'tis our family name! Our father, Washington, Was the arch-rebel in the fight, And gave the name to us—a right Of father unto son. Rebels! 'tis our given name! Our mother, Liberty, Received the title with her fame, In days of grief, of fear, and shame, When at her breast were we. Rebels! 'tis our sealed name! A baptism of blood! The war—ay, and the din of strife— The fearful contest, life for life— The mingled crimson flood. Rebels! 'tis a patriot's name! In struggles it was given; We bore it then when tyrants raved, And through their curses 'twas engraved On the doomsday-book of heaven. Rebels! 'tis our fighting name! For peace rules o'er the land Until they speak of craven woe, Until our rights receive a blow From foe's or brother's hand. Rebels! 'tis our dying name! For although life is dear, Yet, freemen born and freemen bred, We'd rather live as freemen dead, Than live in slavish fear. Then call us rebels, if you will— We glory in the name; For bending under unjust laws, And swearing faith to an unjust cause, We count a greater shame.

CALL ALL.

This Southern war song, which was first published in the Rockingham, Va., Register in 1861, became quite popular with the boys in gray. It is published here because of its peculiarities rather than on account of its literary merit.

Whoop! the Doodles have broken loose, Roaring round like the very deuce! Lice of Egypt, a hungry pack— After 'em, boys, and drive 'em back. Bull-dog, terrier, cur, and fice, Back to the beggarly land of ice; Worry 'em, bite 'em, scratch and tear Everybody and everywhere. Old Kentucky is caved from under, Tennessee is split asunder, Alabama awaits attack, And Georgia bristles up her back. Old John Brown is dead and gone! Still his spirit is marching on— Lantern-jawed, and legs, my boys, Long as an ape's from Illinois! Want a weapon? Gather a brick, Club or cudgel, or stone or stick; Anything with a blade or butt, Anything that can cleave or cut; Anything heavy, or hard, or keen— Any sort of slaying machine! Anything with a willing mind And the steady arm of a man behind. Want a weapon? Why, capture one! Every Doodle has got a gun, Belt, and bayonet, bright and new; Kill a Doodle, and capture two! Shoulder to shoulder, son and sire! All, call all! to the feast of fire! Mother and maiden, and child and slave, A common triumph or a single grave.

THE BLACK FLAG.

The raising of the black flag means death without quarter. It means that prisoners taken should be slaughtered at once. It is contrary to the spirit of modern warfare. General Sherman, in his celebrated letter to the Mayor of Atlanta, says, "War is cruelty, and you cannot refine it." War arouses the fiercest, most tiger-like passions of mankind. Were it not so, the poet who wrote "The Mountain of the Lovers" could never have written "The Black Flag." Paul Hamilton Hayne was born in Charleston, S. C., in 1830. He abandoned the practice of law for literary pursuits. He contributed to the Southern Literary Messenger, and for a while edited the Charleston Literary Gazette. He entered the Southern army at the outbreak of the civil war, and served until obliged to resign by failing health. His house and all his personal property were destroyed at the bombardment of Charleston. He wrote extensively both in poetry and prose.

Like the roar of the wintry surges on a wild, tempestuous strand, The voice of the maddened millions comes up from an outraged land; For the cup of our woe runs over, and the day of our grace is past, And Mercy has fled to the angels, and Hatred is king at last! CHORUS: Then up with the sable banner! Let it thrill to the War God's breath, For we march to the watchword—Vengeance! And we follow the captain—Death! In the gloom of the gory breaches, on the ramparts wrapped in flame, 'Mid the ruined homesteads, blackened by a hundred deeds of shame; Wheresoever the vandals rally, and the bands of the alien meet, We will crush the heads of the hydra with the stamp of our armed feet. They have taught us a fearful lesson! 'tis burned on our hearts in fire, And the souls of a host of heroes leap with a fierce desire; And we swear by all that is sacred, and we swear by all that is pure, That the crafty and cruel dastards shall ravage our homes no more. We will roll the billows of battle back, back on the braggart foe, Till his leaguered and stricken cities shall quake with a coward's throe; They shall compass the awful meaning or the conflict their lust begun, When the Northland rings with wailing, and the grand old cause hath won.

LORENA.

This doleful and pathetic song of affection was very popular among the Confederate soldiers. It started at the start, and never stopped till the last musket was stacked and the last camp-fire cold. It was, without doubt, the song nearest the Confederate soldier's heart. It was the "Annie Laurie" of the Confederate trenches.

"Each heart recalled a different name, But all sang 'Annie Laurie.'"

The years creep slowly by, Lorena, The snow is on the grass again; The sun's low down the sky, Lorena, And frost gleams where the flowers have been. But the heart throbs on as warmly now As when the summer days were nigh. Oh! the sun can never dip so low Adown affection's cloudless sky. One hundred months have passed, Lorena, Since last I held that hand in mine; I felt that pulse beat fast, Lorena, But mine beat faster still than thine. One hundred months! 'Twas flowery May, When up the mountain slope we climbed, To watch the dying of the day, And hear the merry church bells chime. We loved each other then, Lorena, More than we ever dared to tell; And what we might have been, Lorena, Had but our loving prospered well— But then, 'tis past, the years have flown; I'll not call up their shadowy forms; I'll say to them, "Lost years, sleep on— Sleep on, nor heed life's pelting storms." It matters little now, Lorena, The past is the eternal past; Our heads will soon lie low, Lorena, Life's tide is ebbing out so fast. But there's a future, oh! thank God— Of life this is so small a part, 'Tis dust to dust beneath the sod; But there, up there, 'tis heart to heart.

STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER.

OLD FOLKS AT HOME.

Mr. F. G. de Fontaine, a celebrated Southern war correspondent, writes that the most popular songs with the soldiers of the Confederate armies were negro melodies, such as "Old Folks at Home" and "My Old Kentucky Home." This is our reason for publishing the pacific and kindly words of the most celebrated negro melody, among songs that breathe threatening and slaughter. It is not difficult to understand why such songs were popular with men raised in the South. They would bring forcibly to mind the distant home, and the dear associations of early life on the old plantations. "Old Folks at Home" was written by Stephen Collins Foster. He wrote between two and three hundred popular songs—more than any other American. Among the most familiar of his compositions are "Old Uncle Ned," "Massa's in the Cold, Cold Ground," "Old Dog Tray," and "My Old Kentucky Home." Mr. Foster was finely educated, was proficient in French and German, was an amateur painter of ability, and a talented musician. It is said that he received fifteen thousand dollars for "Old Folks at Home."

Way down upon de Swanee ribber, Far, far away, Dere's wha my heart is turning ebber, Dere's wha de old folks stay. All up and down de whole creation Sadly I roam, Still longing for de old plantation, And for de old folks at home. CHORUS: All de world am sad and dreary, Ebrywhere I roam; Oh, darkies, how my heart grows weary, Far from de old folks at home! All round de little farm I wandered When I was young; Den many happy days I squandered, Many de songs I sung. When I was playing wid my brudder, Happy was I; Oh, take me to my kind old mudder! Dere let me live and die. One little hut among de bushes, One dat I love, Still sadly to my mem'ry rushes, No matter where I rove. When will I see de bees a-humming All round de comb? When will I hear de banjo tumming, Down in my good old home? CHORUS: All de world am sad and dreary, Ebrywhere I roam; Oh, darkies, how my heart grows weary, Far from de old folks at home!

THE BONNIE BLUE FLAG.

The most popular war songs of the South were "Dixie" and "The Bonnie Blue Flag." Like "Dixie," the "Bonnie Blue Flag" began its popular career in New Orleans. The words were written by an Irish comedian, Mr. Harry McCarthy, and the song was first sung by his sister, Miss Marion McCarthy, at the Variety Theatre in New Orleans in 1861. The tune is an old and popular Irish melody, "The Irish Jaunting Car." It is said that General Butler, when he was commander of the National forces in New Orleans in 1862, made it very profitable by fining every man, woman, or child, who sang, whistled, or played this tune on any instrument, twenty-five dollars. It has also been said that he arrested the publisher, destroyed the stock of sheet music, and fined him five hundred dollars.

We are a band of brothers, and native to the soil, Fighting for the property we gained by honest toil; And when our rights were threatened, the cry rose near and far: Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star! Hurrah! hurrah! for the Bonnie Blue Flag That bears a single star! As long as the Union was faithful to her trust, Like friends and like brothers, kind were we and just; But now when Northern treachery attempts our rights to mar, We hoist on high the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star. First, gallant South Carolina nobly made the stand; Then came Alabama, who took her by the hand; Next, quickly Mississippi, Georgia, and Florida— All raised the flag, the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star. Ye men of valor, gather round the banner of the right; Texas and fair Louisiana join us in the fight. Davis, our loved President, and Stephens, statesmen are; Now rally round the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star. And here's to brave Virginia! The Old Dominion State With the young Confederacy at length has linked her fate. Impelled by her example, now other States prepare To hoist on high the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star. Then here's to our Confederacy! Strong we are and brave; Like patriots of old we'll fight, our heritage to save; And rather than submit to shame, to die we would prefer, So cheer for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star. Then cheer, boys, cheer, raise the joyous shout, For Arkansas and North Carolina now have both gone out; And let another rousing cheer for Tennessee be given, The single star of the Bonnie Blue Flag has grown to be eleven. Hurrah! hurrah! for the Bonnie Blue Flag That bears a single star!