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Page 157
Your bed of honor has a rosy cope
To shimmer back the tributary stars;
And every petal glistens with a hope
Where Love hath blossomed in the disk of Mars.
Sleep! On your couch of glory slumber comes
Bosomed amid the archangelic choir;
Not with the grumble of impetuous drums
Deepening the chorus of embattled ire.
Above you shall the oak and cedar fling
Their giant plumage and protecting shade;
For you the song-bird pause upon his wing
And warble requiems ever undismayed.
Farewell! And if your spirit wander near
To kiss this plant of unaspiring art--
Translate it, even in the heavenly sphere,
As the libretto of a maiden's heart.
Ye Cavaliers of Dixie
By Benj. F. Pouter, of Alabama.
Ye Cavaliers of Dixie
That guard our Southern shores,
Whose standards brave the battle-storm
That round the border roars;
Your glorious sabres draw again,
And charge the invading foe;
Reap the columns deep
Where the battle tempests blow,
Where the iron hail in floods descends,
And the bloody torrents flow.
Ye Cavaliers of Dixie!
Though dark the tempest lower,
No arms will wear a tyrant's chains!
No dastard heart will cower!
Bright o'er the cloud the sign will rise,
To lead to victory;
While your swords reap his hordes,
Where the battle-tempests blow,
And the iron hail in floods descends,
And the bloody torrents flow.
Ye Cavaliers of Dixie!
Though Vicksburg's towers fall,
Here still are sacred rights to shield!
Your wives, your homes, your all!
With gleaming arms advance again,
Drive back the raging foe,
Nor yield your native field,
While the battle-tempests blow,
And the iron hail in floods descends,
And the bloody torrents flow.
Our country needs no ramparts,
No batteries to shield!
Your bosoms are her bulwarks strong,
Breastworks that cannot yield!
The thunders of your battle-blades
Shall sweep the hated foe,
While their gore stains the shore,
Where the battle-tempests blow,
And the iron hail in floods descends,
And the bloody torrents flow.
The spirits of your fathers
Shall rise from every grave!
Our country is their field of fame,
They nobly died to save!
Where Johnson, Jackson, Tilghman fell,
Your patriot hearts shall glow;
While you reap columns deep,
Through the armies of the foe,
Where the battle-storm is raging loud,
And the bloody torrents flow.
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