Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1914-01-02

nance!
A song for the grand old mountain!
Where heroes fought and died,
Where, free as forest fountain,
Rolled blood in purple tide;
Where the dark, accursed Tory
Met a bloody fate and just,
And the British lions glory
Was trampled in the dust!
Sons of the trackless wildwood,
The sturdy warriors came,
To avenge old age and childhood,
And the cottage wrapt in flame.
Shall the aged, weak and hoary-
Shall the infant at the breast,
Die by hand Of recreat Tory.
And none dare his course arrest?
Waken sons Of freedom waken!
Arm ye arm ye for the fipht!
See the Tory campfires' beacon
Glarine on the troubled night!
Lo! they gather and they gather
From each vale and nook and hill,
Men that sleep upon the heather,
Men that quaff the mountain rill.
Men whose hearts were fixed and
burning
To avenge the widows tears.
And the stricken orphans mournin'
And the insulted grandsire's hairs!
There's no sound Of loud commotion,
But a murmuring deep and low,
Like the warning voice Of ocean
Ere the storm begins to blow.
AS they scale the hills they tell 1t,
By the fixed and lowering brow,
That If life must go, they'll sell 1t
For an awful vengeance now;
And that banner, torn and tattered,
Waving in the bright sunshine,
Cast a glory where 1t fiuttered
Like the curse of Constantine!
With a zeal and fire scarce human
Tho they yet were raw and few,
Did they dare the naughty foeman-
They were fewer but more true!
Now marched the brave nine hundred
And Campbell lead the first,
Loud the volleying rifles thundered,
Loud the foeman's volley burst!
When thick the fight was closing
In unequal strife around,
Hark! Brave Shelby's on the
ground!
Now, in the hottest Of the battle.
While the fight is doubtful still,
Gallant Clevelands bullets rattle
From the left side Of the hill!
Now, now the foes are turning,
Now behold their leader fall!
And each patriot bosom burning,
Sends the cry Of triumph full!
| But, alas! tho Tories flying,
Till the bloody battle done,
Brave Williams lies there, dying
Oh victory, dearly won!
Now, ye patriots eight and eighty
Who fell on that fatal day,
| Now, a host commemorate ye,
And Nations honors pay!
In your high and heavenly dwelling
Can we hear the thrilling cry,
From the thousand bosoms swelling
With pride and triumph high?
| To the highest empyrean
Swell the loud repeated strain
| 'Tis a Nation sings the paean
From the Mexique Gulf to Maine.
Oh, that day Of toll and glory!
Oh, that ever wondrous day!
Told in many song and story,
Yet a rallying cry shall be.
Where our people rising boldly
| For a trodden right demand,
Not in speech recited coldly,
| But with rifle in each hand!
When we feel oppression CALLING,
| Sound this name DER fields anc
| flood,
AS the freman's war-cry calling
| To blot our wrongs in blood
| OF that host so brave and lowly,
| Let the memory still abide,
To be cherished aye, as holy,
| With a reverence and pride!
So to unborn ages waiting,
Let us sound their worthy fame
AS a rallying cry, repeating
The old Kings Mountains name.
| At the recent meeting Of the FRS
Presbytery of the Associate Reformed
church, Rev. c. B. Belts was choser
moderator. The following resolution
offered by Mr.. Brice, was adopted:
Resolved, That the pastor Of ever!
church in the bounds Of which sucf
manufactures exist, publicly and pri
vately warn distillers to desist from
their unholy work, or be prepared t.
abide the censure of the church."
A member Of the Tirzah congrega
ton was suspended from the church
for marrying the sister Of his deceas
ed wife and required to appear at th'
bar Of Presbytery and show cause fol
| his delinquency. ]. G.. Boyd was Ii.