Girls whose smiles are all reserved, The Southern youth to bless; Whose hearts are kept for those who fight For Freedom's happiness; Your spirits bold, so now unfold What willingly you would do, Where Yankee spirit--the tyrants might Not wield against you. For you your loving brothers rush To overthrow the invader's might-- On martial field the sword they wield, And Yankee cowards smite. May heaven bless, with bright success, Each glorious Southern son; Be this your prayer, O maidens fair! And our freedom will be won. Southern girls, on this we've sworn, The South _must_--_shall be free_-- No Northern shackles will be worn; To them we'll bend no knee. From hill to hill, exultant, shrill, Our battle-cry rings forth: Freedom or death on every breath, And hatred to the North. Cease not to smile, brave Southern girls, On our efforts to be free-- Whilst life remains, we'll struggle on, Till all the world shall see That those who fight for home and right Can never be enslaved; Their blood may stain the battle-plain; Our country must be saved. BALTIMORE, MD., _March, 1862_. WAR SONG OF THE PARTISAN RANGERS. BY BENJAMIN F. PORTER. AIR--_McGregor's Gathering_. The forests are green by the homes of the South, But the hearth-stones are red with the blood of her youth; Unfurl the black banner o'er mountain and vale, Let the war-cry of vengeance swell loud on the gale. Then gather, gather, gather, gather, gather; While there's leaf in the forest, and foam on the river, The cry of the South shall be Vengeance Forever! Each drop of the blood of our children they've shed, Our foes shall atone for, in heaps of their dead; The signal for fight which our forefathers knew, Shall be heard in their midst in our vengeful halloo. Then gather, gather, etc. Thro' their cities our horsemen, with sword and with flame, Shall carry the dread of the Southerner's name! At the sound of our bugles their strong men shall quail, And the cheeks of their wives and their mothers turn pale. Then gather, gather, etc. They have blasted our fields, they have slaughtered our youth, And dishonored the names of the maids of the South; But the rivers shall dry, and the mountains be riven, Ere vengeance be quenched or our wrongs be forgiven. Then gather, gather, etc. Then rally from forest and rally from ford, Give their homes to the flames, and their sons to the sword; While a child shall be born in the South, let its cry Be, "Death to the Northmen, and vengeance for aye!" _Greenville, Ala., Observer._ THE BAND IN THE PINES. BY JOHN ESTEN COOKE.[15] Oh, band in the pine-wood, cease! Cease with your splendid call; The living are brave and noble, But the dead were bravest of all!