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Page 103
And now, when clouds arise,
And shadows round thee fall;
I lift to heaven my eyes,
Those visions to recall;
For I cannot dream that darkness will rest upon thee long,
Oh, lordly Carolina! with thine arms and hearts so strong.
Thy serried ranks of pine,
Thy live-oaks spreading wide,
Beneath the sunbeams shine,
In fadeless robes of pride;
Thus marshalled on their native soil their gallant sons stand forth,
As changeless as thy forests green, defiant of the North.
The deeds of other days,
Enacted by their sires,
Themes long of love and praise,
Have wakened high desires
In every heart that beats within thy proud domain,
To cherish their remembrance, and live those scenes again.
Each heart the home of daring,
Each hand the foe of wrong,
They'll meet with haughty bearing,
The war-ship's thunder song;
And though the base invader pollute thy sacred shore,
They'll greet him in their prowess as their fathers did of yore.
His feet may press their soil,
Or his numbers bear them down,
In his vandal raid for spoil,
His sordid soul to crown;
But his triumph will be fleeting, for the hour is drawing near,
When the war-cry of thy cavaliers shall strike his startled ear.
A fearful time shall come,
When thy gathering bands unite,
And the larum-sounding drum
Calls to struggle for the Right;
"_Pro aris et pro focis_," from rank to rank shall fly,
As they meet the cruel foeman, to conquer or to die.
Oh, then a tale of glory
Shall yet again be thine,
And the record of thy story
The Laurel shall entwine;
Oh, noble Carolina! oh, proud and lordly State!
Heroic deeds shall crown thee, and the Nations own thee great.
Our Martyrs.
Bu Paul H. Hayne.
I am sitting lone and weary
On the hearth of my darkened room,
And the low wind's _miserere_
Makes sadder the midnight gloom;
There's a terror that's nameless nigh me--
There's a phantom spell in the air,
And methinks that the dead glide by me,
And the breath of the grave's in my hair!
'Tis a vision of ghastly faces,
All pallid, and worn with pain,
Where the splendor of manhood's graces
Give place to a gory stain;
In a wild and weird procession
They sweep by my startled eyes,
And stern with their fate's fruition,
Seem melting in blood-red skies.
Have they come from the shores supernal,
Have they passed from the spirit's goal,
'Neath the veil of the life eternal,
To dawn on my shrinking soul?
Have they turned from the choiring angels,
Aghast at the woe and dearth
That war, with his dark evangels,
Hath wrought in the loved of earth?
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