In the dusk of the forest shade A sallow and dusty group reclined; Gallops a horseman up the glade-- "Where will I your leader find? Tidings I bring from the morning's scout-- I've borne them o'er mound, and moor, and fen." "Well, sir, stay not hereabout, Here are only a few of 'the men.' "Here no collar has bar or star, No rich lacing adorns a sleeve; Further on our officers are, Let them your news receive. Higher up, on the hill up there, Overlooking this shady glen, There are their quarters--don't stop here, We are only some of 'the men.' "Yet stay, courier, if you bear Tidings that the fight is near, Tell them we're ready, and that where They wish us to be we'll soon appear; Tell them only to let us know Where to form our ranks, and when; And we'll teach the vaunting foe That they've met a few of 'the men.' "We're _the men_, though our clothes are worn-- We're _the men_, though we wear no lace-- We're _the men_, who the foe have torn, And scattered their ranks in dire disgrace; We're the men who have triumphed before-- We're the men who will triumph again; For the dust, and the smoke, and the cannon's roar, And the clashing bayonets--'_we're the men_.' "Ye who sneer at the battle-scars, Of garments faded, and soiled and bare, Yet who have for the 'stars and bars' Praise, and homage, and dainty fare; Mock the wearers and pass them on, Refuse them kindly word, and then Know, if your freedom is ever won By human agents--_these are the men_!" THE CONFEDERATE FLAG. BY J. R. BARRICK. Flag of the South! Flag of the free! Thy stars shall cheer each eye, Thy folds a sacred banner be, To all beneath our sky; From where the blue Ohio flows, Far to the sea-gulf's stream, Borne by each gentle breath that blows, Thy hues shall flush and gleam. Flag of the South! Flag of the free! Type of a new estate, Thy folds shall wave o'er land and sea, And heart and home elate; At thy approach shall tyrants quail And despots, trembling, flee; Nor wrong thy sway of right assail-- Nought mar thy liberty. Flag of the South! Flag of the free! Bright symbol of a land Wrung from the grasp of tyranny, Ere fettered heart and hand; Freedom fixed in thy firm embrace, A home for age shall find, Linking the high hopes of our race With the grand march of mind. Flag of the South! Flag of the free! The one to which we clung In years agone, hath ceased to be The pride on which we hung; Long trampled in the dust, that flag Hath lost the charm it bore; No longer vale, and glen, and crag, Swell with its praise of yore.