In freedom's sacred cause they fight, For Independence, Justice, Right, And to resist a desperate might. And by Manassas' glorious name, And by Missouri's fields of fame, We hear them swear, with one acclaim, We'll triumph or we'll die! MELT THE BELLS. BY F. Y. ROCKETT. Melt the bells, melt the bells, Still the tinkling on the plain, And transmute the evening chimes Into war's resounding rhymes, That the invaders may be slain By the bells. Melt the bells, melt the bells, That for years have called to prayer, And, instead, the cannon's roar Shall resound the valleys o'er, That the foe may catch despair From the bells. Melt the bells, melt the bells, Though it cost a tear to part With the music they have made, Where the friends we love are laid, With pale cheek and silent heart, 'Neath the bells. Melt the bells, melt the bells, Into cannon, vast and grim, And the foe shall feel the ire From the heaving lungs of fire, And we'll put our trust in Him, And the bells. Melt the bells, melt the bells, And when foes no more attack, And the lightning cloud of war Shall roll thunderless and far, We will melt the cannon back Into bells. Melt the bells, melt the bells, And they'll peal a sweeter chime, And remind of all the brave Who have sunk to glory's grave, And will sleep through coming time 'Neath the bells.[3] TO THE TORIES OF VIRGINIA. "I speak this unto your shame." In the ages gone by, when Virginia arose Her honor and truth to maintain, Her sons round her banner would rally with pride, Determined to save it from stain. No heart in those days was so false or so cold, That it did not exquisitely thrill With a love and devotion that none would withhold, Until death the proud bosom should chill. Was Virginia in danger? Fast, fast at her call, From the mountains e'en unto the sea, Came up her brave children their mother to shield, And to die that she still might be free. And a coward was he, who, when danger's dark cloud Overshadowed Virginia's fair sky, Turned a deaf, careless ear, when her summons was heard, Or refused for her honor to die. Oh! proud are the mem'ries of days that are past, And richly the heart thrills whene'er We think of the brave who, their mother to save, Have died, as they lived, without fear. But _now_, can it be that Virginia's name Fails to waken the homage and love Of e'en one of her sons? Oh! cold, cold must be The heart that her name will not move. When she rallies for freedom, for justice, and right, Will her sons, with a withering sneer, Revile her, and taunt her with treason and shame, Or say she is moved by foul fear?