Down by the valley, 'mid thunder and lightning, Down by the valley, 'mid shadows of night, Down by the deep crimson'd valley of Richmond, Twenty-five hundred mov'd on to the fight; Onward, still onward, to the portals of glory, To the sepulchral chambers, yet never dismayed; Down by the deep crimson'd valley of Richmond, March'd the bold warriors of Hood's Texas Brigade! See ye the fires and flashes still leaping? See ye the tempest and jettings of storm? See ye the banners of proud Texan heroes, In front of her column, move steadily on? Hear ye the music that gladdens each comrade, Riding on wings through torrents of sounds? Hear ye the booming adown the red valley? Riley unbuckles his swarthy old hounds![10] Valiant Fifth Texas! I saw your brave column Rush through the channels of living and dead; Sturdy Fourth Texas! Why weep, your old warhorse? He died as he wish'd, in the gear, at your head: West Point! ye will tell, on the pages of glory, How the blood of the South ebb'd away near your shade, And how sons of Texas fought in the red valley, And fell in the columns of Hood's Texas Brigade. Fathers and mothers, ye weep for your jewels; Sisters, ye weep for your brothers in vain; Maidens, ye weep for your sunny-eyed lovers-- Weep, for you'll never behold them again! But know ye that vict'ry, the shrine of the noble, Encircles the house of death newly made! And know ye that Freedom, the shrine of the mighty, Shines forth on the banners of Hood's Texas Brigade! Daughters of Southland, come bring ye bright flowers, Weave ye a chaplet for the brow of the brave; Bring ye the emblems of freedom and victory; Bring ye the emblems of death and the grave; Bring ye some motto befitting a hero; Bring ye exotics that never will fade; Come to the deep crimson'd valley of Richmond, And crown our young Chief of the Texas Brigade! SWEETHEARTS AND THE WAR. Oh, dear! its shameful, I declare, To make the men all go And leave so many sweethearts here Without a single beau. We like to see them brave, 'tis true, And would not urge them stay; But what are we, poor girls, to do When they are all away? We told them we could spare them there, Before they had to go; But, bless their hearts, we weren't aware That we should miss them so. We miss them all in many ways, But truth will ever out, The greatest thing we miss them for Is seeing us about. On Sunday, when we go to church, We look in vain for some To meet us, smiling, on the porch, And ask to see us home. And then we can't enjoy a walk Since all the beaux have gone; For what's the good (to use plain talk), If we must trudge alone?