SONG OF THE SOUTHERN SOLDIER.

By “P. E. C.,” in Richmond Examiner.

Tune—“Barclay and Perkins’ Drayman.

These lines were written Jan. 8, 1861, for a friend, who expected to sing them in the theatre, but thought at the time to be too much in the secession spirit.

I’m a soldier, you see, that oppression has made!
I don’t fight for pay or for booty;
But I wear in my hat a blue cockade,
Placed there by the fingers of Beauty.
The South is my home, where a black man is black,
And a white man there is a white man;
Now I am tired of listening to Northern clack,—
Let us see what they will do in a fight, man.

The Yankees are cute; they have managed, somehow,
Their business and ours to settle;
They make all we want, from a pin to a plough,
Now we’ll show them some Southern mettle.
We have had just enough of their Northern law,
That robbed us so long of our right, man,
And too much of their cursed abolition jaw,—
Now we’ll see what they’ll do in a fight, man!

Their parsons will open their sanctified jaws,
And cant of our slave-growing sin, sir;
They pocket the profits, while preaching the laws,
And manage our cotton to spin, sir.
Their incomes are nice, on our sugar and rice,
Though against it the hypocrites write, sir;
Now our dander is up, and they’ll soon smell a mice,
If we once get them into a fight, sir.

Our cotton bales once made a good barricade,
And can still do the State a good service;
With them and the boys of the blue cockade,
There is power enough to preserve us.
So shoulder your rifles, my boys, for defense,
In the cause of our freedom and right, man;
If there’s no other way for to learn them sense,
We may teach them a lesson in fight, man.

The stars that are growing so fast on our flags,
We treasure as Liberty’s pearls,
And stainless we’ll bear them, though shot into rags;
They were fixed by the hands of our girls,
And fixed stars they shall be in our national sky,
To guide through the future aright, man,
And your Cousin Sam, with their gleam in his eye,
May dare the whole world to fight, man.