Minstrel.

The song of the South, with her free flag furled.

My heart grows mute at the prayer!

For the anthem would trouble the heart of the world Like the song of a fallen star!

And they should remember that 'twas not alone,
'Gainst the odds of her Northern foe;

That she struck when the star of her victory shone,
Or sank in her hour of woe!

But the Teuton and Celt, from the Shannon and Rhine,
And the Northman from Ottowa's banks,

Came to barter their blood at Mammon's red shrine,
And filled up the enemy's ranks.

Kildare and O'Neal, these SONS would ye call,
Who for gold in recreant bands,

The chains which are rusting in Erin's soul
Have fettered on Southern hands!

Let the victory there, to the North remain,
And the same to the Foreign Powers;
The South has enough, amid all her pain-
For the honor and glory are ours!

So I'll hang my harp o'er the fresh turned sod,
On a bough where the rain-crow sings,

Till the breath of the South, like the spirit of God,
Pour over my trembling strings.

THE LAND WE LOVE.

MANASSAS.

245

Manassas.

BY CATHERINE M. WARFIELD.

THEY have met at last-as storm clouds
Meet in heaven,

And the Northmen back and bleeding
Have been driven:

And their thunders have been stilled,
And their leaders crushed or killed,
And their ranks with terror thrilled,

Rent and riven!

Like the leaves of Vallambrosa,

They are lying;

In the moonlight, in the midnight,

Dead and dying:

Like those leaves before the gale,
Swept their legions wild and pale;
While the host that made them quail
Stood defying.

When-aloft in morning sunlight,

Flags were flaunted,

And "swift vengeance on the rebel"

Proudly vaunted:

Little did they think that night

Should close upon their shameful flight,

And rebels, victors in the fight,

Stand undaunted.

But peace to those who perished

In our passes!

Light be the earth above them,

Green the grasses

Long shall Northmen rue the day,
When they met our stern array,
And shrunk from battle's wild affray
At Manassas !

Scene in a Country Hospital.

BY PAUL H. HAYNE.

HERE, lonely, wounded and apart,

From out my casement's glimmering round, I watch the wayward bluebirds dart

Across yon flowery ground;

How sweet the prospect! and how fair
The balmy peace of earth and air.

But, lowering over fields afar,

A red cloud breaks with sulphurous breath, And well I know what gory Star,

Is regnant in his house of Death;

Yet faint the conflict's gathering roll,
To the fierce tempest in my soul.

I, who the foremost ranks had led,

To strike for cherished home and land

Groan idly on this torturing bed,

SCENE IN A COUNTRY HOSPITAL.

With broken frame and palsied hand, So nerveless, 'tis a task to scare,

The insects fluttering round my hair :

O, God! for one brief hour again,
Of that grim joy my spirit knew,
When tyrant life blood poured like rain,
And sabres flashed and trumpets blew,-
One hour to smile, or smitten die
On the wild breast of Victory!

It may not be !-my pulses beat
Too feebly-and my heart is chill,
Death, like a thief with stealthy feet

Draws nigh to work his ruthless will,

Hope, Honor, Glory pass me by-
But He stands near with mocking eye!

247

Aye! smooth the couch !-pour out the draught,

That, haply, for a season's space,

Hath power to charm his fatal shaft,

And warn the death-damps off my face,
A blest reprieve !-a wondrous boon!
Thank Heaven! this-all-ends with me soon.

SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS.

The Southern Patriot's Lament.

WRITTEN IN FORT WARREN, IN 1864.

"O patria amada! á ti suspira y llora,

Esta en su carcel alma peregrina

Llevada errando de uno en otro instante."

I.

I AM a captive on a hostile shore,

Caged like the falcon from its native skies,
And doom'd my agonizing grief to pour

In futile lamentations, tears, and sighs,
And feed the gaze of fools whom I despise.
Daily they taunt my heart with bitter sneers-
They prate of Liberty-deeds great and wise,
And fill the air with patriotic cheers,

While human shackles clank around their listless ears.

II.

Hark! hear ye not, 'mid those triumphal cries,

The clanking of the freeman's heavy chains?
His smothered curses from the sore heart rise?
The loud indignant beating of his veins,
Stirred by the lava-hell that in him reigns?
Hearest him not writhe against the dark decree
That gyves the soul-for it just hate maintains?
The impetuous rushings of his heart when he
Watches the eagle soar into the heavens, all free?

III.

My soul appall'd shrinks from Hypocrisy,
And whatsoever bears deception's name.
Under thy banner-Heaven-born Liberty