Dost thou pause? Let dastards dally, Do thou for thy country fight! 'Neath her noble emblem rally-- "God, our country, and our right!" Listen! now her trumpets calling On her sons to meet the foe! Woman's heart is soft and tender, But 'tis proud and faithful too: Shall she be her land's defender? Lover! Soldier! up and do! Seize thy father's ancient falchion, Which once flashed as freedom's star! 'Til sweet peace--the bow and halcyon-- Stilled the stormy strife of war. Listen! now thy country's calling On her sons to meet the foe! Sweet is love in moonlight bowers! Sweet the altar and the flame! Sweet the Spring-time with her flowers! Sweeter far the patriot's name! Should the God who smiles above thee, Doom thee to a soldier's grave, Hearts will break, but fame will love thee, Canonized among the brave! Listen, then! thy country's calling On her sons to meet the foe! Rather would I view thee lying On the last red field of strife, 'Mid thy country's heroes dying, Than become a dastard's wife! THAT BUGLER; OR, THE UPIDEE SONG. Words by A. G. KNIGHT. Music by ARMAND. [The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.] The shades of night were falling fast, Tra-la-la, tra-la-la, The bugler blows that well-known blast Tra-la-la, tra-la-la, No matter should it rain or snow, That bugler he is bound to blow. CHORUS--Up--i--de--i--de--i--di, U--pi--de, u--pi--de, U--pi--de--i--de--i--di, Up--i--de--i--di, U--pi--de--i--de--i--di, U--pi--de--u--pi--di, U--pi--de--i--de--i--di. He saw, as in their bunks they lay, Tra-la-la, tra-la-la, How soldiers spent the dawning day, Tra-la-la, tra-la-la, "There's too much comfort there," said he, "And so I'll blow the 'Reveille.'" CHORUS. In nice log huts he saw the light, Of cabin fires, warm and bright, The sight afforded him no heat, And so he sounded the "Retreat." Upon the fire he saw a pot, Of sav'ry viands smoking hot, Said he, "they shan't enjoy that stew," Then "Boots and saddles" loudly blew. [Illustration: "No matter should it rain or snow, That bugler he is bound to blow."] They scarce their half cooked meal begin, Ere orderly cries out "Fall in," Then off they march thro' mud and rain, P'raps only to march back again. But soldiers, you were made to fight, To starve all day, and watch all night, And should you chance get bread and meat, That bugler will not let you eat. Oh hasten then, that glorious day, When buglers shall no longer play, When we through peace shall be set free, From "Tattoo," "Taps," and "Reveille." ADDRESS OF THE WOMEN TO THE SOUTHERN TROOPS. By MRS. J. T. H. CROSS. _Air--"Bruce's Address."_