The peaceful homes of Texas burning, And Harper's Ferry's blood-stained soil, Proclaim how strong their hearts are yearning For murder, pillage, crime, and spoil. Shall we our feelings longer smother, And bear with patience yet our wrongs, Their jeers, their crimes, their taunts and thongs, And greet them still as friend and brother? To arms, to arms! each one, etc. Their tyranny we'll bear no longer, But burst asunder every tie, Although in numbers they are stronger, We will be free, or we will die! Too long the South has wept, bewailing That falsehood's dagger Yankees wield, But freedom is our sword and shield, And all their arts are unavailing. To arms, to arms, each one, etc. _Beauregard Songster._ RICHMOND ON THE JAMES. BY G. T. BURGESS. A soldier of our army lay gasping on the field, When battle's shock was over, and the foe was forced to yield. He fell a youthful hero, before the foemen's aims, On a blood-red field near Richmond, near Richmond on the James. But one still stood beside him, his comrade in the fray, They had been friends together through boyhood's happy day, And side by side had struggled on field of blood and flames, To part that eve near Richmond, near Richmond on the James. He said, "I charge thee, comrade, the friend in days of yore, Of the far, far distant dear ones that I shall see no more, Though scarce my lips can whisper their dear and well-known names, To bear to them my blessing from Richmond on the James. "Bear my good sword to my brother, and the badge upon my breast, To the young and gentle sister that I used to love the best; But one lock from my forehead give my mother who still dreams Of her soldier boy near Richmond--near Richmond on the James. "Oh, I wish that mother's arms were folded round me now, That her gentle hand could linger one moment on my brow, But I know that she is praying where our blessed hearth-light gleams, For her soldier's safe return from Richmond on the James. "And on my heart, dear comrade, close lay those nut-brown braids, Of one who was the fairest of all our village maids; We were to have been wedded, but death the bridegroom claims, And she is far, that loves me, from Richmond on the James. "Oh, does the pale face haunt her, dear friend, that looks on thee? Or is she laughing, singing in careless girlish glee? It may be she is joyous, and loves but joyous themes, Nor dreams her love lies bleeding near Richmond on the James. "And though I know, dear comrade, thou'lt miss me for a while, When their faces--all that loved thee--again on thee shall smile; Again thou'lt be the foremost in all their youthful games, But I shall lie near Richmond--near Richmond on the James."