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What the South winds say.

Faint as the echo of an echo born,
A bugle note swells on the air;
Now louder, fuller, far and near
It sounds a mighty horn.

The noblest blast blown in our time
Comes from the South on every breeze,
To sweep across the shining seas
In symphony sublime!

'Tis Freedom's reveille that comes
Upon the air, blent with a tramp
Which tells that she now seats her camp
With trumpets and with drums.

When first I heard that pealing horn
Its sounds were faint and black in the night;
But soon I saw a burst of light
That told of coming morn!

When first I heard that martial tread
Swell on the chilly morning breeze,
‘T was faint as sound of distant seas--
Now, it might rouse the dead!

Ay, it has roused the dead! They start
From many a battle-field, to teach
Their children noble thoughts and speech--
To “fire the Southern heart!”

Not only noble thoughts, but deeds
Our fathers taught us how to dare;
They fling our banners on the air
And bring our battle-steeds!

While louder rings that mighty horn--
Whose clarion notes on every gale
Tell history's latest, greatest tale--
A nation now is born!

And as that trump's inspiring peal,
Within time's lists I see it stand,
A splendid banner in its hand,
Full armed from head to heel!

Long ages in their flight shall see
That flag wave o'er a nation brave--
A people who preferred one grave
Sooner than slavery.

--Richmond Dispatch.

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