Air--Hussars of Glen.
Come, strike the loud anthem I. Again must the story
Of Freedom, down trodden by tyrant, be told — Not by History's page, but by swords wet and gory,
On fields where our fathers lie mongering and cold.
Real hostile invaders, their tyrants obeying,
Have planted their blood spatter'd flag on our shore--
In our vine-bower'd porches, no longer are playing
Our love ones — the thresholds are red with their morel
Oh ! where is the glory, our fathers' souls firing,
When they forc'd the base cohorts of monarchs to yield!
On! Southern men! onward! their mem'ries inspiring,
Like them, we will conquer, or die in the field!
Shall the land that long march'd in the front rank of nations,
The light that illum'd the dark night of the past,
To the idols of tyranny offer oblations!
Shall chains of a despot around her be cast!
On fields where the vile feet of Hessians offinded--
On shore where the rudds Indian's death song across--
The rights of the South must again be defended;
Again must her chivalry grapple with foes!
Again on the land running o'er with their blood,
Shall our foes' hear the proud song of victory wall!
Again on the fields where our successors stood,
Shall children point out where brave Southerners fell!
Let millions invade our dear land — to defend her
We'll burn our loved homes, and entrench with our dead;
Our people may die, but can never surrender!
The pathway to victory's where duty shall lead!
Then, Southern men, rally 'round Liberty's portal!
Let none ask, in her cause, ‘"Shall I live?"’--‘"Shall I die?"’
Our bodies may perish, but Freedom's immortal!
She builds her proud temple where her dead heroes lies!