Our cotton bales once made a good barricade, And can still do the State a good service; With them and the boys of the blue cockade, There is power enough to preserve us. So shoulder your rifles, my boys, for defense, In the cause of our freedom and right, man; If there's no other way for to learn them sense, We may teach them a lesson in fight, man. The stars that are growing so fast on our flags, We treasure as Liberty's pearls, And stainless we'll bear them, though shot into rags; They were fixed by the hands of our girls, And fixed stars they shall be in our national sky, To guide through the future aright, man, And your Cousin Sam, with their gleam in his eye, May dare the whole world to fight, man. THE DYING SOLDIER BOY. By A. B. CUNNINGHAM, of Louisiana. _Air--"Maid of Monterey."_ Upon Manassas' bloody plain a soldier boy lay dying! The gentle winds above his form in softest tones were sighing; The god of day had slowly sank beneath the verge of day, And the silver moon was gliding above the milky way. The stars were shining brightly, and the sky was calm and blue, Oh, what a beautiful scene was this for human eyes to view! The river roll'd in splendor, and the wavelets danc'd around, But the banks were strew'd with dead men, and gory was the ground. But the hero-boy lay dying, and his thoughts were very deep, For the death-wound in his young side was wafting him to sleep; The thought of home and kindred away on a distant shore, All of whom he must relinquish, and never see them more. And as the night-breeze passed by, in whispers o'er the dead, Sweet memories of olden days came rushing to his head; But his mind was weak and deaden'd, so he turned from where he lay, As the Death-angel flitted by, and call'd his soul away! [Illustration: "The hero-boy lay dying."] THE SOUTHERN BANNER. By COL. W. S. HAWKINS, C. S. A., Camp Chase, Ohio. Sing-ho! for the Southerner's meteor flag As 'tis flung in its pride to the breeze, From the happy glen and the beetling crag, 'Tis the pride of the land and the seas. Hurrah! for the scintillant Cross of Red, As it waves and glances in light, Beneath it our brothers grandly tread, To battle for God and right. The flag for which Southrons had gladly died Is the badge of the tyrant now, And for it no blush of joy or pride Suffuseth the cheek or brow. * * * * * Sing ho! for the Southerner's flag for aye, And ho! for its beautiful Cross; It shall be the signal of bold array Where the windy surges toss. On a traitor's heart be the curses of night, And palsied the craven hand That fails in the hazard of furious fight For God and our Native Land. Hurrah! as over the hills it waves, Or is borne on the ocean's breast, Hurrah! as it leads our valorous braves, Or is drooped o'er the hero's rest.