The Barefooted Boys. By the sword of St. Michael By David his sling, And the giant he slew! How the South on a time With her barefooted boys! Had the South in her border A hero to spare, Or a heart at her altar, Lo! its life's blood was there! And the black battle-grime Might never disguise The smile of the South, On the lips and the eyes Of her barefooted boys! There's a grandeur in fight, But none like the light Of that terrible smile— The smile of the South, When the storm-cloud unrolls The lightning that loosens The wrath in the souls Of her barefooted boys! It withered the foe Like the red light that runs Through the dead forest leaves, And he fled from his guns! Grew the smile to a laugh, Rose the laugh to a yell, As the iron-clad hoofs Clattered back into hell From our barefooted boys. The Tennessee Exile's Song. I HEAR the rushing of her streams, Where, where are they who swore to save― They come, from every blue hill-side, From every lovely dale, The heart, the soul, the very pride Of mountain, hill, and vale. Stalwart, they court like Anak's sons, The rapture of the strife; Drink in the earthquake of the guns, To them the breath of life. Spare not the invading mongrel hordes, Strew o'er her plains their hostile lines, Ay, sow the seeds of lasting hate Press round the flag you always bore I feel her pulse beat high and quick, Full come her heart-throbs deep and thick, Though Donelson has told her tale, And Shiloh's page is bright, There's yet a bloodier field to win, For Nashville and the right! Somebody's Darling. INTO a ward of the whitewashed walls Where the dead and the dying lay— Wounded by bayonets, shells and ballsSomebody's darling was borne one day. Somebody's darling! so young and so brave, Wearing still on his pale, sweet faceSoon to be hid by the dust of the graveThe lingering light of his boyhood's grace. Matted and damp are the curls of gold, Back from the beautiful, blue-veined face Kiss him once for somebody's sake; They were somebody's pride, you know. |