O the sweet South! the sunny, sunny South! Land of true feeling, land forever mine! I drink the kisses of her rosy mouth, And my heart swells as with a draught of wine; She brings me blessings of maternal love; I have her smile which hallows all my toil; Her voice persuades, her generous smiles approve, She sings me from the sky and from the soil! O, by her lonely pines that wave and sigh! O, by her myriad flowers, that bloom and fade, By all the thousand beauties of her sky, And the sweet solace of her forest shade, She's mine--she's ever mine-- Nor will I aught resign Of what she gives me, mortal or divine; Will sooner part With life, hope, heart-- Will die--before I fly! O, love is hers--such love as ever glows In souls where leap affection's living tide; She is all fondness to her friends; to foes She glows a thing of passion, strength, and pride; She feels no tremors when the danger's nigh, But the fight over and the victory won, How, with strange fondness, turns her loving eye In tearful welcome on each gallant son! O! by her virtues of the cherished past-- By all her hopes of what the future brings-- I glory that my lot with her is cast, And my soul flushes and exulting sings; She's mine--she's ever mine-- For her will I resign All precious things--all placed upon her shrine; Will freely part With life, hope, heart-- Will die--do aught but fly! THE SOUTHERN CROSS.[19] BY MRS. ELLEN KEY BLUNT. In the name of God! Amen! Stand for our Southern rights! Arm, ye Southern men, The God of Battle fights! Fling the invaders far, Hurl back their work of woe, The voice is the voice of a brother, But the hands are the hands of a foe. They come with a trampling army, Invading our native sod-- Stand, Southrons! fight and conquer! In the name of the Mighty God! They're singing _our_ song of triumph[20] Which was made to make us free, While they're breaking away the heartstrings Of our nation's harmony. Sadly it floateth from us, Sighing o'er land and wave, Till mute on the lips of the poet, It sleeps in his Southern grave. Spirit and song departed! Minstrel and minstrelsy! We mourn thee, heavy-hearted, But we will, we shall be free! They are waving _our_ flag above us, With a despot's tyrant will; With our blood they have stained its colors, And call it holy still. With tearful eyes, but steady hand, We'll tear its stripes apart, And fling them like broken fetters, That may not bind the heart; But we'll save our stars of glory, In the might of the sacred sign Of Him who has fixed forever Our Southern Cross to shine.