[for the Dispatch.] The fee has hommed us round; we stand at bay.
Virginia — late, but sure!
by Wm. K. Holcombe, M. D., of Louisiana.
Here will we perish, or be free to-day!
To drum and bugle sternly sounding.
The Southern soldier's heart is bounding--
But stay — oh, stay!--Virginia is not here!
Hush your strains of martial cheer,
O bugle, peace!
O war-drum, cease!
Virginia is not here!
Suspend, O Chief! your word of fight!
She will be soon in sight!
Her children never called in vain!
She comes not — comes not: the disgrace
Were bitterer than the tyrant's chain!
O death! we dare thee face to face!
A gun! the fee's defiant shot — be still!
Hurrah! an answering gun behind the hill,
And o'er its summit wildly streaming
The squadrons of Virginia gleaming!
Hurrah! hurrah! the Old Dominion comes!
Blow your bugles, beat your drums.
O doubt accurate!
The last is first.--
The Old Dominion comes!
She grasps her thunderbolts of war;
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Now loose, O Chief! your battle-storm;
We hang impatient on your breath.
Here in the flashing front we form!
Virginians!--Victory or Death!