My love reposes on a rosewood frame-- A bunk have I; A couch of feathery down fills up the same-- Mine's straw, but dry; She sinks to sleep at night with scarce a sigh-- With waking eyes I watch the hours creep by. My love her daily dinner takes in state-- And so do I(?); The richest viands flank her silver plate-- Coarse grub have I? Pure wines she sips at ease, her thirst to slake-- I pump my drink from Erie's limpid lake! [Illustration: "Three Acres I."] My love has all the world at will to roam-- Three acres I; She goes abroad or quiet sits at home-- So cannot I; Bright angels watch around her couch at night-- A Yank, with loaded gun, keeps me in sight. A thousand weary miles do stretch between My love and I; To her, this wintry night, cold, calm, serene, I waft a sigh; And hope, with all my earnestness of soul, To-morrow's mail may bring me my parole! [Illustration: "We'll one day meet again."] There's hope ahead! We'll one day meet again, My love and I; We'll wipe away all tears of sorrow then-- Her love-lit eye, Will all my many troubles then beguile, And keep this wayward reb. from Johnston's Isle. THE SOUTHERN MARSEILLAISE. [The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.] Ye men of Southern hearts and feeling, Arm! arm! your struggling country calls! Hear ye the guns now loudly pealing, From Sumpter's high embattled walls! Shall a fanatic horde in power Send forth a base and hireling band To desolate our happy land And make our Southern freemen cower? CHORUS--To arms, to arms! each one, Th' sword unsheathe, and raise the gun, Then on, rush on, ye brave and free, To death and victory. Now clouds of war begin to gather, And black and murky is our sky-- Shall we submit--no, never, never! Let death or freedom be our cry-- In Heaven's justice firm relying, We'll nobly struggle to be free, And bravely gain our liberty, Or die our Northern foes defying. CHORUS. The peaceful homes of Texas burning, And Harper's Ferry's blood-stained soil, Proclaim how strong their hearts are yearning, For murder, pillage, crime and spoil. Shall we our feelings longer smother, And bear with patience yet our wrongs, Their jeers, their crimes, their taunts and thongs And greet them still as friend and brother? CHORUS. Their tyranny we'll bear no longer, But burst asunder every tie, Although in number they are stronger, We will be free, or we will die! Too long the South has wept, bewailing, That falsehood's dagger Yankees wield, But freedom is our sword and shield, And all their arts are unavailing. CHORUS.