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Yes, these were words of thine, Lorena

They are within my memory yet-
They touched some tender chords, Lorena,

Which thrill and tremble with regret.
'Twas not the woman's heart which spoke-

Thy heart was always true to me;
A duty stern and piercing broke

The tie that linked my soul with thee.

It matters little now, Lorena,

The past is in the eternal past;
Our hearts will soon lie low, Lorena,

Life's tide is ebbing out so fast.
There is a future, oh, thank God!

Of life this is so small a part-
'Tis dust to dust beneath the sod,

But there, up there, 'tis heart to heart.

MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME

By STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER

[graphic]

[No collection of poems reflecting Southern life and sentiment would be complete without at least one selection from Stephen Collins Foster. He was born in Lawrence's burg, now a part of Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, July 4, 1826, and died January 13, 1864. "My Old Kentucky Home," "Old Folks at Home" (or "Swanee River"), "Old Black Joe," and "Massa's in de Cold, Cold Ground" are treasured in the memory and sung by thousands in the South who know nothing of the author. A handsome monument has been erected to Mr. Foster in Louisville, Kentucky.)

The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home;

'Tis summer, the darkies are gay;
The corn-top's ripe, and the meadow's in the bloom,

While the birds make music all the day.
The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,

All merry, all happy and bright;
By-'n'-by hard times comes a-knocking at the door :-
Then my old Kentucky home, good night!

Weep no more, my lady,

O, weep no more to-day!
We will sing one song for the old Kentucky home,

For the old Kentucky home, far away.

They hunt no more for the possum and the coon,

On the meadow, the hill, and the shore;
They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon,

On the bench by the old cabin door:
The day goes by like a shadow o'er the heart,

With sorrow, where all was delight;
The time has come when the darkies have to part:-
Then my old Kentucky home, good night!

Weep no more, my lady,

O, weep no more to-day!
We will sing one song for the old Kentucky home,

For the old Kentucky home, far away.

The head must bow, and the back will have to bend,

Wherever the darky may go;
A few more days, and the trouble all will end,

In the field where the sugar canes grow.
A few more days for to tote the weary load,

No matter, 'twill never be light;
A few more days till we totter on the road :-
Then my old Kentucky hone, good night!

Weep no more, my lady,

O, weep no more to-day!
We will sing one song for the old Kentucky home,

For the old Kentucky home far away.

MORGAN'S WAR SONG

By LIEUTENANT-COLONEL BASIL W. DUKE

[About July 1, 1862.]

Ye sons of the South take your weapons in hand,
For the foot of the foe hath insulted your land,

Sound, sound the loud alarm!

Arise, arise and arm!
Let the hand of each freeman grasp the sword to maintain
Those rights which once lost he can never regain,

Gather fast neath our flag, for 'tis God's own decree
That its folds shall still float o'er a land that is free.

See ye not those strange clouds which now darken the sky? Hear ye not that stern thunder now bursting so nigh?

Shout, shout your battle cry!

Win, win this fight or die!
To your country devote every life that she gave
Let the land they invade give their armies a grave,

Gather fast neath our flag, for 'tis God's own decree
That its folds shall still float o'er a land that is free.

From our far Southern shores now arises a prayer
'Tis the cry of our women fills with anguish the air,

Oh! list that pleading voice!

Each youth now make his choice!
Now tamely submit like the coward and slave
Or rise and resist like the free and the brave,

Gather fast neath our flag, for 'tis God's own decree
That its folds shall still float o'er a land that is free.

Though their plunder-paid hordes come to ravage our land, Give our fields to the spoiler, our homes to the brand,

Our souls are all aglow!

To face the hireling foe!
Give the robber to know that we never will yield.
While the arm of one Southron a weapon can wield,

Gather fast neath our flag, for 'tis God's own decree
That its folds shall still float o'er a land that is free.

On our hearts, and our cause, and our God we rely,
And a nation shall rise or a people shall die,

Form, form the serried line!

Advance our proved ensign!
What our fathers achieved, our own valor can keep,
And we'll save our fair land or we'll sleep our last sleep,

Gather fast neath our flag, for 'tis God's own decree
That its folds shall still float o'er a land that is free.

Kentucky, Kentucky, can you suffer the sight
Of your sisters insulted, your friends in the fight?

Awake, be free again!
Oh, break the tyrant's chain!

Draw the sword you once drew but to strike for the right
From the homes of your fathers drive the dastards in flight,

Gather fast neath our flag, for 'tis God's own decree
That its folds shall still float o'er a land that is free.

NEWES FROM VIRGINIA

By RICHARD RICH

[This poem was published in England, in 1610, under the title of "Newes from Virginia: The Lost Flocke Triumphant, with the Happy Arrival of that Famous and Worthy Knight, Sir Thomas Gates, and the Well Reputed and Valiant Captaine, Mr. Christopher Newporte, and Others, into England." The original is in the Huth Library, London, and is adorned with the woodcut of a ship.]

It is no idle fabulous tale, nor is it fayned newes:
For Truth herself is heere arriv’d, because you should not muse.
With her both Gates and Newport come, to tell Report doth lye,
Which did divulge unto the world that they at sea did dye.

Tis true that eleaven months and more, these gallant worthy

wights Were in the shippe Sea-venture nam'd depriv'd Virginia's

sight. And bravely did they glide the maine, till Neptune gân to

frowne, As if à courser prowdly backt would throwe his ryder downe.

The seas did rage, the windes did blowe, distressed were they

then Their ship did leake, her tacklings breake, in danger were

her men. But heaven was pylotte in that storme, and to an iland nere, Bermoothawes call’d, conducted them, which did abate their

feare.

But yet these worthies forced were, opprest with weather

againe, To runne their ship betweene two rockes, where she doth

still remaine. And then on shore the iland came, inhabited by hogges, Some foule and tortoyses there were, they only had one dogge.

To kill these swyne, to yield thein foode that little had to eate, Their store was spent, and all things scant, alas! they wanted

meate. A thousand hogges that dogge did kill, their hunger to sustaine, And with such foode did in that ile two and forty weekes re

maine.

And there two gallant pynases did build of seader-tree;
The brave Deliverance one was call’d, of seaventy tonne was

shee. The other Patience had to name, her burthen thirty tonne; Two only of their men which there pale death did overcome.

And for the losse of these two soules, which were accounted

deere, A sonne and daughter then were borne, and were baptized

there. The two and forty weekes being past, they hoyst sayle and

away; Their ships with hogs well freighted were, their harts with

mickle joy.

And so unto Virginia came, where these brave soldiers finde The English-men opprest with griefe and discontent in minde. They seem'd distracted and forlorne, for those two worthyes

losse, Yet at their home returne they joyd, among'st them some

were crosse.

And in the mid'st of discontent came noble Delaware;
He heard the griefes on either part, and sett them free from

care.

He comforts them and cheres their hearts, that they abound

with joy;

He feedes them full and feedes their soules with God's word

every day.

A discreet counsell he creates of men of worthy fame,
That noble Gates leiftenant was the admirall had to name.

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