I would speed him to the battle, I would arm him for the fight, I would give him to his country, For his country's wrong and right! I would nerve his hand with blessing, From the "God of Battles" won; With _His_ helmet and _His_ armor, I would cover o'er my son. Oh! I _know_ there'd be a struggle, For I love my darling boy; He's the gladness of my spirit, He's the sunlight of my joy! Yet in thinking of my country, Oh! my spirit groweth bold; And I wish my blue-eyed soldier Were but twenty summers old. THE VIRGINIANS OF THE VALLEY. BY FRANK TICKNOR, M. D. _Sic Jurat._ The knightliest of the knightly race, Who, since the days of old, Have kept the lamp of chivalry Alight in hearts of gold; The kindliest of the kindly band Who rarely hated ease, Who rode with Smith around the land And Raleigh round the seas! Who climbed the blue Virginia hills, Amid embattled foes, And planted there, in valleys fair, The lily and the rose; Whose fragrance lives in many lands, Whose beauty stars the earth, And lights the hearths of many homes With loveliness and worth! We thought they slept! the sons who kept The names of noble sires, And slumbered while the darkness crept Around their vigil fires! But still the Golden Horseshoe knights, Their Old Dominion keep, Whose foes have found enchanted ground, But not a knight asleep. TORCH HALL, GA. C. S. A. BY FATHER ABRAM J. RYAN. Do we weep for the heroes who died for us, Who, living, were true and tried for us, And, dying, sleep side by side for us; The martyr band That hallowed our land With the blood they shed in a tide for us? Ah! fearless on many a day for us, They stood in the front of the fray for us, And held the foeman at bay for us; And tears should fall Fore'er o'er all Who fell while wearing the gray for us. How many a glorious name for us, How many a story of fame for us They left: Would it not be a blame for us If their memories part From our land and heart, And a wrong to them, and a shame for us? No, no, no! they were brave for us, And bright were the lives they gave for us; The land they struggled to save for us Will not forget Its warriors yet Who sleep in so many a grave for us. On many and many a plain for us Their blood poured down all in vain for us, Red, rich, and pure, like a rain for us; They bleed--we weep, We live--they sleep, "All lost," the only refrain for us. But their memories e'er shall remain for us, And their names, bright names, without stain for us; The glory they won shall not wane for us, In legend and lay Our heroes in gray Shall forever live over again for us. THE SWEET SOUTH. BY WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS.