[from the Charleston Courier.]
Southern Camp Song.
‘ Oh! land of the South of the brave and the free!
Our hearts cling as arm as thy kills unto thee!
The Usurper's vile deeds but nerve the strong arm,
To shield thee from rain and thy daughters from harm.
Our swords are unshaded, and shall not return
To their , till the vandals in gladness shall burn
The olive's fair branch on the Altars of Peace,
And from petty baseness eternally cease;
Till than as at Bethel or Belmont's proud plain,
Or gory Manassas shall the Hessians be slain.
We caught not their ruin, we would harm not a bar--
We would not deny them the freedom of air.
They seek to oppress us, but we never shall bow,
Though they fight on forever, as they vainly are now.
Our honor and rights are our and shell be
Though our blood flow in rivers down to the sea.
Encompassed about by fierce fogmen we stand,
Who seek to despoil and pillage our land;
To blight the fair whose tendrils entwine
Round us for protection, as to the oak clings the vine.
Stand forth then brave Southron, we are proof against harm,
While our hoarse are all true and God nerves our arm!
We shall stand like Gibraltar in firmness and might.
Or rolling like a torrent till Abe's legions in fight.
Will sweep back to their dens like Sahara's dark clouds--
Some wrapped in their baseness the rest in their shrouds.
’ One of The Boys. Eighteenth Regiment, N. C. V.
