Air—“Blue Bonnets over the Border.”

For trumpet and drum, leave the soft voice of maiden;
For the tramp of armed men, leave the maze of the dance;
One kiss on the lips, with words of love laden—
One look in dimm’d eyes—then the rifle and lance.

Chorus.—March, march, true heart Southrons,
Fall into ranks and march in good order,—
Escambia shall many a day tell of the fierce affray,
When we drove the base Northmen far over our border

Do ye weep, ye fair flowers, our hearth-stones that brighten?
For every tear shed shall fall ten foemen’s lives;
Far in the cold North their hosts we will frighten,
As we strike for our “Homes, our sweethearts, and wives.”