Wilmington journal. [volume] (Wilmington, N.C.) 1844-1895, 1862-02-06
lad for the Young South.
BY JOSEPH BREEAN.


st like prophecy:
a Ballad for the Young South.
BY JOSEPH Brennan.
Men of the South GU foes are up
In fierce and grim array;
Their sable banner laps the air
An insult o the day
The Saints of Cromwell Use again
in sanctjmon Gus hordes,
Hiding behind the garb Of peace
million ruthless ewords
From North, from East and West they seek
The same disastrous goal,
With Christ upon their lying lip,
And Satan in the soul
hooking with ancient Sbibboleth,
All wise and just restraints
ITO the Saints OF Heaven was Empire given,
And IRE alone are Saints
Men of the South! Look up-behold
The deep and sullen gloom
Which dsrkens o er your sunny land
With thunder in its womb!
Are ye blind We can not see
The Us in the sky?
Are Sc so deaf ye can not hear
The tramp of fGeiuen nigh
Are SO dull We VIII endure
The whips and sUorn of men
Who hide the heart OF Titus Oates
Beneath the words of Penn
Are yc so base that, foot to foot,
Ye will not gladly stand
For land and life, for child and wife,
With naked steel in hand
A preacher TO the pulpit comes,
And calls upon the crowd,
For Southern cceeds and Southern hopes,
To weave bloody shroud.
Beside the prayer book on his desk
The bullet mould is seen,
And near the Bibles golden clasp
The dagger's steslthly sheen;
The simple tale of Bethlehem
No mere is fondly told,
For every pre- ly Gurplace drags
Too ht avily with gold
The blessed Cross of Calvary
Becomes a sign of bale,
Like that which played when Cheftains raised
The clansmeD of the Gael
Down with the laws our fathers made!
They bind cur hearts 10 more;
Down wi the stately edifice
Cemented ty their gore!
For&et tie iegenIs OF orr race
Eface each wise decree
Americans must kneel as slaves
TIL Africans are free
Ont the mere Caucasian blood
OF Jenton Cet or Gaul-
The stream which springs from Myers source
Must triumph over all ~
20 speaks a solemn SeeatOr
Within these halls o-day,
Which echoed erst the thunderhurst
Of Webster and of Clay
Hark 10 the moving demag0gues--
fierce and raVeuous pack
With nostrils proDe, and bark aud bay,
Which run upon our track!
The wadIiing buA-pup Hale-the cur
Of Massachusetts, breed
The mOping mODgTeI, spaIsely crossed
With Puritanic seed
The Boston bards who join the chase
With genuine besgle chime,
ADd umner, snarling pood pet,
OF virgins past their prime;
And eve. the slu''s of Women's Rights
Tray, Bianch and Sweetheart, all
Are yelping shril against US STILL
And hunger for our fall
Look North look East. look West-the scene
Is backenipg all around
Ihe Negro Gordon, year by year,
Is fast and faster bound
The black line crossed-the sable flag
Surrounded by host
Onr outpost forced, our sentinels
Asleep upon their posts;
Our brethTen's life blood flowing free
To stain the Kansas soil,
And she'd in vain, while pious thieves
Are fatteniDg on our toll!
Look North looG West, the omiGops sky
Is mOOnless starless, black,
And from the East comes hurrylng up
A sweeping thunder rack
Men of the eouth ye have no kin
With fapatcs or fools;
You not bound by blood or birth
ro Massachusetts, rules.
j hundred nations gave their blood
To feed those heaithful springs,
Which blend the seed of Jacques Bonhomme
With that of Bourbon kings;
he Danish pluck and sailor craft
The huguenJtlc WILL
The Norman's grace and cLiValry,
The Germans steady skill,
The fiery Celt's impassioned thought,
Inspire the Southern heart;
hO have no room for bigOt gloom,
Or, pious plumbers art
Sens of the brave! the time has come
TO bow the naughty crest,
Or stand alone, despite the threats
Oh North, or East or West
The hour MS come for manly deeds,
Ard not for pulling words
The hour has passed fol platform prate-
1t is the time for swords;
And by the fame of John Calhoun,
To honest truth be true;
And BY old JacksoH's iron will,
Now do what ye can do!
By all ye love and all ye hope,
Be resolute and proud,
And make your flag symbol high
OF triumph, or shroud
Men of the South! Look up-behold
The deep and suIien gloom
Which darkens Ger your sunny land,
With thunders in its womb
Are ye so blind ye can not see
The omens in the sky?
Are ye so deaf We can not hear
The tramp of foemen nigh?
Are ye so dull ye will endure
The whips anG seorns of men
Who hide the heart of Titus Oates
Beneath the words of Penn?
Are e so base that, foot to foot,
Ye " i'll not gladly stand
Fer land and life, for child and wife,
With naked steel in hand?
SPoILs From THE LINCOLN FLEET.-within th
w days large quantity of wrecked material, CO
& OF blocks, spars. &c, have been picked up il
ear this harbor. These articles have undoubted
I'm, tho TrNcnIN stone feet cunk moor This mr.