98. to the Union soldier.
Brave soldier, hail! the winter's o'er,And Southern soil's well drenched with gore.
Thy blood-stained banners, how they wave
O'er Zollicoffer's men and grave!
O'er Donelson, and Henry too,
The tri-colored red, white, and blue
To every breeze is wide unfurled,
Declaring victory to the world.
Clarksville has fallen-Roanoke
Has yielded to the mighty stroke;
And Richmond, Treason's central grounds,
Is suffering from her sister's wounds.
Her pulse is sluggish, stagnant, slow,
And when the coming potent blow
Is struck, she'll stagger, reel and fall,
And Davis with it, treason, all.
Then where's that fancied paradise,
Those fields luxuriant, cotton, rice;
Those verdant lawns; elysian plains;
Embowered shrines; pierian strains;
That constitution, moulded in time,
To suit the South and Southern clime;
Those petticoated belles and maids,
Who scoff to shame the Yankee trades;
And all that fancy-gilded scheme,
The South-Carolinian's golden dream?
Where, where, bold soldier, tell us where,
When spring is breathing summer's air.
Where have the mighty thousands bled?
Where was the hero's blood not shed?
Where is that flag you bore away,
The symbol of a bloody day?
Tell us, brave soldier, does it wave
Still o'er the land, the free, the brave?
--Baltimore American, March 14.
