Then plant that flag-staff in the earth, And round it rally, every son Who loves the State that gave him birth, Till her proud sovereignty be won. What though our limbs be weak with toil, What though we bear full many a scar; Huzza! here's to our native soil, _We re-enlist, and for the war_! SOUTHLAND. THE PRIZE SONG.[13] They sing of the East, With its flowery feast, And clime of the North, with its mountains of snow; But give me the land Where the breezes blow bland, O'er realms of magnolia and myrtle below. The land of the South, The fair sunny South, The flower-crowned South, In its _grandeur_ for me. Her sons are aye brave, And no chains can enslave, Though countless the hordes of their foemen may be; Ah! see, even now, As with battle-stained brow, They vanquish the Northmen on land and on sea! The land of the South, The young gallant South, The invincible South, In its _valor_ for me. Her daughters are fair As the pure lilies there, And cheer her brave soldiers for freedom to die; Their smiles are the light Of the war-clouded night, Their tears are sweet dew-drops distilled from the sky. The land of the South, The sweet rosy South, The starry-gemmed South, In its _beauty_ for me! In green blossomed dales, And in violet vales, And fields white with cotton, its dwellings once stood; The spoilers now seek Their vile vengeance to wreak, And darken this Eden with ashes and blood! The land of the South, The opulent South, The long-plundered South, In its _richness_ for me! Oh, who would not stand With his life in his hand, To shield such a land from the feet of the foe? God made it thus free, And oh, perish must we, Before it can be in bondage laid low! The land of the South, The proud sovereign South, The God-shielded South, In its _freedom_ for me! BEYOND THE POTOMAC. BY PAUL H. HAYNE.[14] They slept on the fields which their valor had won! But arose with the first early blush of the sun, For they knew that a great deed remained to be done, When they passed o'er the River. They rose with the sun, and caught life from his light-- Those giants of courage, those Anaks in fight-- And they laughed out aloud in the joy of their might, Marching swift for the River. On! on! like the rushing of storms through the hills-- On! on! with a tramp that is firm as their wills-- And the one heart of thousands grows buoyant and thrills, At the thought of the River.