Cool, calm, and clear the lucid flood In which its tempering work was done; Be thou whene'er it sees the sun; I give my soldier boy a blade. The eye which marked its peerless edge, Are gone with all their flame and noise; SOMEBODY'S DARLING By MISS MARIE RAVENEL DE LA COSTE ["There are many famous poems," says Miss Rutherford, in "The South in History and Literature,' "that appeared during the war, written by persons who possibly did not write more than one isolated poem. So far as we know this was true of Marie de la Coste, of Savannah, Georgia, the author of "Somebody's Darling." As it was written at the time when loved ones were daily dying in hospital wards, the poem touched tender chords of sympathy, and at once became one of the loved Confederate poems, was put into every scrap-book, and recited on every school stage." Miss La Coste (not Costa) is still living and is a distinguished teacher of French.] Into a ward of the whitewashed walls Matted and damp are the curls of gold Back from the beautiful blue-veined brow Brush every wandering silken thread, Cross his hands on his bosom now— Somebody's darling is still and dead! Kiss him once for somebody's sake; Murmur a prayer both soft and low; One bright curl from its fair mates takeThey were somebody's pride, you know. Somebody's hand has rested there; Was it a mother's soft and white? Or have the lips of a sister fair Been baptized in those waves of light? God knows best! He was somebody's love; Somebody's heart enshrined him thereSomebody wafted his name above, Night and morn, on the wings of prayer. Somebody wept when he marched away, Looking so handsome, brave, and grand; Somebody's kiss on his forehead lay, Somebody clung to his parting hand. Somebody's watching and waiting for him, Yearning to hold him again to her heart; And there he lies with his blue eyes dim, And the smiling, childlike lips apart. Tenderly bury the fair young dead, Pausing to drop on his grave a tear; Carve on the wooden slab o'er his head, "Somebody's darling slumbers here." SONG By DR. JOHN SHAW [Dr. Shaw, a surgeon in the Navy, was born at Annapolis, Maryland, May 4, 1778, and died at sea, January 10, 1809. Än edition of his poems was published in Philadelphia in 1810.] Who has robb'd the ocean cave, To tinge thy lips with coral hue? Thousand charms, thy form to deck, On thy breath their fragrance borne. But one charm remains behind, Which mute earth can ne'er impart; Nor in the circling air, a heart. Fairest! wouldst thou perfect be, SONG OF THE TEXAS RANGERS Air: The Yellow Rose of Texas [This song has been widely circulated through the newspapers. Its authorship has been ascribed to Mrs. Maud J. [Fuller] Young, of North Carolina and Texas; but the question is still an open one.] The morning star is paling, The camp-fires flicker low; With Wharton for our leader, We'll chase the dastard foe, Our men are from the prairies, Then quick into the saddle, And shake the bridle free, To-day with gallant Wharton, We cross the Tennessee. 'Tis joy to be a Ranger! To fight for dear Southland; 'Tis joy to follow Wharton, With his gallant, trusty band! 'Tis joy to see our Harrison, Plunge like a meteor bright Into the thickest of the fray, And deal his deathly might. Oh! who'd not be a Ranger, And follow Wharton's cry! To battle for his countryAnd, if it needs be-die! By the Colorado's waters, On the Gulf's deep murmuring shore, On our soft green peaceful prairies Are the homes we may see no more; But in those homes our gentle wives, And mothers with silv'ry hairs, Are loving us with tender hearts, And shielding us with prayers. So, trusting in our country's God, Our altars and our land. Up, up with the crimson battle-flag- Our steeds are stamping proudly— The thundering bomb, the bugle's call, We strike for God and native land, And all we hold most dear. Then spring into the saddle, And shake the bridle free, For Wharton leads, through fire and blood, For home and Victory! THE SOUTHERN REPUBLIC By OLIVIA TULLY THOMAS [The author of this once celebrated poem was a Mississippian. She is not known to have written anything else.] In the galaxy of nations, A nation's flag's unfurled, Though born of war, baptized in blood, And braver heart, and bolder hand, As Southern wisdom can command, Though kingdoms scorn to own her sway, Or recognize her birth, The land blood-bought for Liberty Will reign supreme on earth. |