For 'tis only nine miles to the Junction." They gave us hot coffee, a grasp of the hand, Which cheered and refreshed our exhaustion, We reached in six hours the long-promised land, For 'twas "only nine miles to the Junction." CHORUS.-Only nine miles, &c. And now as we meet them on Washington's streets, They always do hail us with unction, And still the old cry some one surely repeats, ""Twas only nine miles to the Junction." Three cheers for the warm-hearted Rhode Island boys, And whene'er we meet, let us each other greet Nine cheers for the flag under which we will fight, CHORUS.-Only nine miles, &c. STEP TO THE FRONT, SONS OF THE HEATHER. RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO THE HIGHLAND GUARD, 79TH REGIMENT. Step to the front, bonnet and feather, Linked with the dreams of your own Highland vale; Step to the front, sons of the heather, Show the bold Southrons the face of the Gael. The lords of the South have unkennelled their beagles, The legions of tyranny sweep from afar; Step to the front, bonnet and feather, &c. Flowers of the vale they have crushed down before them; All to the will of the despots must bow; But manhood has met them, and death hovers o'er them The strong-bearded thistle is waiting them now. Step to the front, bonnet and feather, &c. Down on them, Highlanders, swoop from your eyry, STEAM-FRIGATE PAWNEE PASSING MOUNT VERNON. BY ISAAC M'LELLAN. "In passing down the Potomac River, and arriving opposite Mount Vernon, a beautiful and graceful tribute was paid to the sacred remains that lie entombed in that hallowed spot. All hands were called, officers in swords and epaulets, sailors in their neat uniforms, the fine guard of the Pawnee drawn up, with belt and musket. At a given signal the large American ensign fell at half-mast; the ship's bell tolled out its muffled tones, the melancholy drums rolled their funereal salute, while the presented arms and uncovered heads of officers and men paid a sad tribute of respect to him who was first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen; and so the Pawnee passed on, silent and mourning; for he by whose grave she glided was the Father of his Country." -Morning paper. Fast down the bay the frigate pass'd, The brave flag, world-renowned ! The hundred seamen, stout and bold, While life should last, while heart should beat, That flag should be their winding-sheet, Though foemen might their hurricane Though red with gore their decks should flow, Ah! never, never from their foe Would they for mercy call! On as they swept, Mount Vernon's shade Their ensign at the half-mast fell, Their Father's great remains! No whisper breath'd that sailing crew, Fast by that sacred shore; They mus'd on him, and his stern ranks, Ceas'd from their great career! O'er that memorial urn! Might see, in each dim, moody glade, Arm'd cohorts, in long cavalcade, Close round that lonely tomb; While He, the august Father, stands, Sad musing 'mid his war-worn bands, Lamenting that his country's lands Are darkening now in gloom! Lamenting that red hands are thrust To rend above his very dust The starry banner low! As 'gainst some foreign foe. On, on the noble vessel glides, THE MEETING ON THE BORDER. The civil war had just begun, And caused much consternation, While O. P. Morton governed one Great State of this great nation, So it did. So they did. And Morton, with some trusty chaps, Magoffin 4 A. M. did fix, By post and by the wire; And then, could you have heard them swear! For they were angry-very, So they were. And when they found that they were sold, At 2 A. M. the scamp did come, No matter what they find to do, So they will. And serve the devil, too, as well, So they would. She parted with them tearfully, and yet she's glad they went; But now that they are far away-her mother long since dead, She's left at home, and all alone-perhaps she'll want for bread. She says she may, and yet she smiles; she boasts her kinsmen brave Have gone to bear her country's flag where it of right should wave. She loves that banner more than life, and were she but a man, She vows 'twould be her pride and boast to lead the Union van. God bless the maid of Ulster, that all so freely gave; God bless the noble father, may he be strong and brave; God bless the two dear brothers, may they be bold and true; God bless the faithful Henry, the gifted uncle too. BY MARTIN FARQUHAR TUPPER. No blots on the banner of Light! No slaves in the land of the Free! No Wrong to be rampant where all should be Right, No sin that is shameful to see! America,-show the wide world in thy strength To cut from thy soil in its breadth and its length Uprouse thee! and swear by thy might For all men are brothers--the black as the white, To ridding the heart of old habits of crime Away to the bats and the moles With the lash, and the goad, and the chain! America, this is thy chance-now at length- Those rebels and slaveholders-slaves to thy strength The curse and contempt of the Free! ALARUM. Men of America, Up from your slumbers! Freedom is yet alive! Resistless numbers. Were we not freemen born- When shall the hiss of scorn, With crimson blended. Our realm is half a world; Ocean to ocean! Shall our flag now be furled 'Mid war's commotion? No! let our Chief's command, Rouse every freeman's hand, Each heart's devotion? Up! up for Liberty! The battle rages Of our land's history Blood stains the pages. Death may be welcome now; All through the ages. "All we ask is to be let alone."-JEFF. DAVIS. 'Tis thus with mankind, though conscious of wrong, The traitorous minions who follow his lead, They treat with contempt our Union and name, SONGS OF THE REBELS. THE SOUTHRON'S WAR-SONG. Arise! arise! with main and might, Arise, ye brave! let cowards fly- Strike hard, strike hard, thou noble band; Strike hard, for God and fatherland, Let thunders roar, the lightning flash; Bold Southron, never fear! The bay'net's point, the sabre's clash, True Southrons do and dare! Bright flow'rs spring from the hero's grave; Thrice curs'd the traitor and the knave! Then let each noble Southron stand, We'll do for God and fatherland; -Charleston Courier, June 11. HURRAH! BY A MISSISSIPPIAN. Hurrah! for the Southern Confederate State, And three cheers for the Palmetto wreuth! Hurrah! for each heart that is right in the cause; BY WALTER STANLEY. The stirring notes of the rolling drum So wave a kiss to your friends and home, Our trade is war, and we do not care To the sound of the fife and drum. Of the fierce and cruel Mars; And there on the field of death and doom Or we, who fight for the sunny South, Now let us be faithful, bold, and true, -Natchez Free Trader. |