'Tis the emblem of peace, 'tis the day-star of hope, Like the sacred Labarum, which guided the Roman; From the shores of the Gulf to the Delaware's slope, 'Tis the trust of the free, and the terror of foemen. Fling its folds to the air, while we boldly declare The rights we demand, or the deeds that we dare; And the Cross of the South shall forever remain, To light us to Freedom and Glory again! But if peace should be hopeless, and justice denied, And war's bloody vulture should flap his black pinions, Then gladly to arms! while we hurl in our pride, Defiance to tyrants, and death to their minions, With our front to the field, swearing never to yield, Or return, like the Spartan, in death on our shield; And the Cross of the South shall triumphantly wave As the flag of the Free, or the pall of the brave. _Southern Literary Messenger._ HARP OF THE SOUTH, AWAKE! BY J. M. KILGOUR. Harp of the South, awake! From every golden wire, Let the voice of thy power go forth, Like the rush of a prairie fire; With the rush and the rhythm of a power That dares a freeman's grave, Rather than live to wear The chains of a truckling slave. Harp of the South, awake! Thy sons are aroused at last, And their legions are gathering now, To the sound of the trumpet blast; To the scream of the piercing fife, And the beat of the rolling drum, From mountain, and hill, and plain, And field, and town, they come. Harp of the South, awake! Their banners are on the breeze; Tell the world how vain the thought To subdue such men as these, With hero hearts that beat, To the throbs of the spirit-flame, Which will kindle their battle-fires In freedom's holy name. Harp of the South, awake! But not to sing of love, In shady forest-bower, Or fragrant orange grove; Oh, no, but thy song must be The wrath of the battle crash, Inscribed on the cloud of war, With the pen of its lightning flash. Harp of the South, awake! And strike the strains once more, Which nerved thy heroes' hearts In the glorious days of yore; Which gave a giant's strength To the arm of MARION, Of SUMTER, MORGAN, LEE, And your own great WASHINGTON. Harp of the South, awake! Your freedom's angel calls, In the laugh of the rippling rills, And the roar of the waterfalls. See how she bends to hear, As she walks the valleys through, And along the mountain tops, In robes of gold and blue. Harp of the South, awake! The proud, the full-soul'd South-- With the dusk of her flashing eyes, And the lure of her rosy mouth-- With love, or pride, or wrath, Thrilling her noble form, As she smiles like a summer sky, Or frowns like a summer storm!