20

Droop  down  ye  Southern  banners/while  the  gale
Sweeps  with  a  moan  around  Virginia's  hall,*

Tell  to  the  cruel  world,  ye  winds  the  tale,
Of  the  warrior  resting  in  his  pall.
Just  heaven,  forgive  the  vengeance  in  our  soul,
For  the  torn  Southern  heart.
Would  with  life  freely  part.
That  the  black  clouds  of  destruction  might  unroll.
Break  forth  on  the  head  of  the  Merciless  foe,
And  crush  him  forever  in  i^itiless  woe.
Virginia,  his  blood  on  thy  bosom  was  left,

As  he  fought  for  thy  honor  and  life-
Weep  mother  of  States !  of  thy  guardian  bereft,

In  the  dark  hour  of  vengeance  and  strife.
But  that  blood  which  is  staining  thy  breast.
Through  thy  veins  shall  flow
With  a  furnace  red  glow,
And  thy  being  shall  know  never  an  hour  of  rest,

'Till  he  be  avenged  whose  knell  has  just  tolled.
Who  lies  on  earth's  bosom  so  helpless,  so  cold.
Yes,  Virginia  shall  give  to  thy  foes,

A  dread  death  more  eternal  than  thine;
Her  prowess  shall  gather  thy  enemy's  woes.
And  offer  them  up  on  Nemesis'  shrine.
And  her  tearful  eyes  with  a  softened  light,
Shall  turn  when  she  weeps,
That  her  loved  early  sleeps,
In  death's  long,  dreamless  hours  of  night.
And  that  young  bride  shall  yet  love  the  soil  where  he  fell,

Virginia,  whose  rich  annals  his  bright  deeds  shall  tell,

Ye  soldiers  !  whom  Ramseur  the  gallant,  on  led,
Why  weep  that  so  noble  a  chieftain  is  gone?

Hark !  list  to  the  beckoning  spirits  tread,
It  woos  ye  to  rise,  be  men,  hasten  on.
Ye  men  of  his  pride,  ye  men  of  his  love.
Look  at  his  native  land,
See  where  her  spoilers  stand.
