« EelmineJätka »
Virginians of the Valley.
THE knightliest of the knightly race,
Alight in hearts of gold-
Who rarely hated ease,
Who rode with Smith around the land
Who climbed the blue Virginia hills,
And planted there, in valleys fair,
Whose fragrance lives in many lands,
And lights the hearths of many homes
We thought they slept! these sons who kept
And slumbered, while the darkness crept
But still the Golden Horse-shoe knights,
The Ballad of the Right.
In other days our fathers' love was loyal, full, and free,
For those they left behind them, on the Island of the Sea;
They fought the battles of King George and toasted him in song
For then the Right kept proudly down the tyranny of Wrong.
But when the King's weak, willing slaves laid tax upon the tea,
The western men rose up and braved the Island of the Sea;
And swore a solemn oath to God, those men of iron might
That at their hands the Wrong should die and up should go the Right!
The King sent over hireling hosts-Briton, Hessian, Scot
And swore in turn those Western men, when captured, should be shot;
While Chatham spoke with earnest tongue against the hireling throng,
And mournful saw the Right go down, and place give to the Wrong.
But God was on the righteous side, and Gideon's sword was out,
With clash of steel, and rattling drum, and freeman's thunder-shout;
And crimson torrents drenched the land through that long, stormy fight,
But in the end, hurrah! the Wrong was beaten by the Right!
And when again the foemen came from out the Northern Sea,
To desolate our smiling land and subjugate the free, Our fathers rushed to drive them back, with rifles keen and long,
And swore a mighty oath the Right should subjugate the Wrong.
And while the world was looking on, the strife uncertain grew,
But soon aloft rose up our stars amid a field of blue;
For Jackson fought on red Chalmette, and won the glorious fight,
And then the Wrong went down, hurrah! and triumph crowned the Right!
The day has come again, when all who love the beauteous South,
Must speak, if needs be, for the Right, though by the cannon's mouth;
For foes accursed of God and man, with lying speech and song,
Would bind, imprison, hang the Right, and deify the Wrong.
But canting knave of pen and sword, or sanctimonious fool,
Shall never win this Southern land, to cripple, bind, and rule;
We'll muster on each bloody plain, thick as the stars of night,
And, through the help of God, the Wrong shall perish by the Right.