And now as we meet them on Washington's streets,
They always do hail us with unction,

And still the old cry some one surely repeats,
""Twas only nine miles to the Junction."
Three cheers for the warm-hearted Rhode Island boys,
May each one be true to his function,

And whene'er we meet, let us each other greet
With "Only nine miles to the Junction."
CHORUS.-Only nine miles, &c.

Nine cheers for the flag under which we will fight,
If the traitors should dare to assail it;
One cheer for each mile we made on that night
When 'twas "only nine miles to the Junction."
With hearts thus united, our breasts to the foe,
Once again with delight we will hail it;
If duty should call us, still onward we'll go,
If even "nine miles to the Junction."

CHORUS.-Only nine miles, &c.

STEP TO THE FRONT, SONS OF THE HEATHER.

RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO THE HIGHLAND GUARD, 79TH REGIMENT.

Step to the front, bonnet and feather,

Linked with the dreams of your own Highland vale; Step to the front, sons of the heather,

Show the bold Southrons the face of the Gael.

The lords of the South have unkennelled their beagles,

The legions of tyranny sweep from afar;
We welcome you, lads, to the feast of the eagles,
The van of the battle-the honors of war.

Step to the front, bonnet and feather, &c.

Flowers of the vale they have crushed down before them;

All to the will of the despots must bow; But manhood has met them, and death hovers o'er them

The strong-bearded thistle is waiting them now.

Step to the front, bonnet and feather, &c.

Down on them, Highlanders, swoop from your eyry,
Ruffle the tartans, and give the claymore;
Read them a lesson to pause and to fear ye,
When gathered the rights of the free to restore.

Step to the front, bonnet and feather, &c.
-Buffalo Daily Courier, May 30,

STEAM-FRIGATE PAWNEE PASSING MOUNT VERNON.

BY ISAAC M'Lellan.

"In passing down the Potomac River, and arriving opposite Mount Vernon, a beautiful and graceful tribute was paid to the sacred remains that lie entombed in that hallowed spot. All hands were called, officers in swords and epaulets, sailors in their neat uniforms, the fine guard of the Pawnee drawn up, with belt and musket. At a given signal the large American ensign fell at half-mast; the ship's bell tolled out its muffled tones, the melancholy drums rolled their funereal salute, while the presented arms and uncovered heads of officers and men paid a sad tribute of respect to him who was first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen; and so the Pawnee passed on, silent and mourning; for he by whose grave she glided was the Father of his Country." -Morning paper.

Fast down the bay the frigate pass'd,
With swelling sail and bending mast,
For the blue ocean bound.
From slender gaff and topmost spar,
The ensign of the "stripe and star"
Flung its emblazoned folds afar—

The brave flag, world-renowned!

The hundred seamen, stout and bold,
Were gathered 'neath that azure fold,

To guard it evermore ;

While life should last, while heart should beat,
In Arctic ice, in Tropic heat,

That flag should be their winding-sheet,
The rugged seamen swore.

Though foemen might their hurricane
Of shot and shell around them rain,

From bastion and from wall;

Though red with gore their decks should flow, Though mast and spar were level'd low,

Ah! never, never from their foe

Would they for mercy call!

On as they swept, Mount Vernon's shade
Its soaring cenotaph display'd-
Its monumental tomb;
Then with reverential tread,
With folded arms, uncover'd head,
The warriors from those batteries dread
Gaz'd forth with looks of gloom.

Their ensign at the half-mast fell,
The ship-bell toll'd its solemn knell,
Sad music wail'd its strains;
With downcast, sadden'd, mournful face,
Each gaz'd upon that holy place,
That held in sorrowful embrace

Their Father's great remains!

No whisper breath'd that sailing crew,
As fast the laboring vessel flew

Fast by that sacred shore;
Each mus'd on that Great Heart that led
The armies in the years long fled,
And for the North-and-South realm bled-
United now no more!

They mus'd on him, and his stern ranks,
Whose swords blazed o'er the battle-flanks
In many a stormy year;
Whose flags along the Atlantic coast
O'er many a battle-field were lost,
Till, triumphant, the mighty host

Ceas'd from their great career!
Methinks, in Fancy's mystic haze,
As forth in dreaming mood they gaze,
They might the Dead discern;
Might see, thro' salt-fogs of the deep,
Pale phantoms, such as haunt our sleep,
In spectral, vast procession sweep
O'er that memorial urn!

Might see, in each dim, moody glade,
Arm'd cohorts, in long cavalcade,

Close round that lonely tomb;
While He, the august Father, stands,
Sad musing 'mid his war-worn bands,
Lamenting that his country's lands

Are darkening now in gloom!
Lamenting that red hands are thrust
To rend above his very dust

The starry banner low !
To drag the noble standard down
By leaguer'd fort, embattled town,
Where batteries relentless frown,
As 'gainst some foreign foe.

And Morton, with some trusty chaps,
Went up to see Meguffin;
At 6 A. M. they took their traps,
And off they went a-puffin',
So they did.

Magoffin 4 A. M. did fix,

By post and by the wire;
But when the hour had come-why nix
Comehraus was he-Beriah,
So he was.

And then, could you have heard them swear!
Them chaps along with Perry:

They cussed, and stamped, and pulled their hair,

For they were angry-very,
So they were.

And when they found that they were sold,
And saw no chance for fighting,
They took a train that they controlled,
And home they went a-kiting,
So they did.

At 2 A. M. the scamp did come,
But didn't let them know it;
And so, at three, they started home,
And when they start, they "go it,"
So they do.

No matter what they find to do,

"Tis done with all their power;
What other men will do in two,
They'll do in just one hour,
So they will.
And now, if they could mix his "todd,"
They'd put some pizen stuff in,
And serve their country and their God,
By killing off" Meguffin,"
So they would.

And serve the devil, too, as well,
By sending him, a traitor,

To roast eternally in hell,
As Pat would roast a tater,

So they would.

Editors are gathering;

And the walls of fame

Soon will show their children

Where they "carved a name;"

Every inland steamer,
Every train of cars,

Bring their eager thousands,
Going to the wars.

Tailors, clerks, mechanics,
Shoemakers to boot;
Teachers tell their "ideas,"

"Now's the time to shoot."
Bronzed and honest farmers
Say, "We're bound to jine,"
As the hardy fellows

Fall within the line.

Students, doctors, lawyers,
Make a sight sublime,
With the shoulder-hitters,
"Coming up to time;"
Officers and seamen,
Salts and jolly tars,
All are now enlisting,
Going to the wars.

Timid, blushing maiden

Softly gasps, "My gracious!" As her gallant lover

Swears he'll shoot Jeff. Davis.
Proud and doting father,
When he says, "My son,"
Hears his roguish youngster
Whisper," of a gun,"

Gallant-looking firemen,
In their flannel shirts,
Reckon they can handle
"Them 'ere Southern squirts."
Armies from the mountains,
Armies from the hills,
Armies from the workshops,
Armies from the mills;
Hosts of freemen rushing
Round the Stripes and Stars;
Gracious! won't the Southrons
Get their full of wars!

"All we ask is to be let alone."—Jeff. Davis.

A dog having stolen a large piece of meat,
Ran off with the prize he regarded so sweet,
And while he was quietly gnawing the bone,
He asked nothing more than to be let alone.
You impudent rascal! the market man cried,
Your villainous action cannot be denied,
"Tis foolish to think, when your conduct is known,
That any good people will let you alone,

'Tis thus with mankind, though conscious of wrong,
They sing for a pretext a similar song;
Though of infamous character second to none,
They howl like the dog, and cry, Let us alone.
Just so with Jeff. Davis, he asks nothing more,
He says so to-day-he has said it before,
Comes out in his message in thundering tone,
And says all he wants is to be let alone.

The traitorous minions who follow his lead,
Would fain on the ruins of Liberty feed,
And gnaw the flesh clean from the Federal bone,
If Uncle Sam only would let them alone.

Let them capture the forts, and our property seize,
Make war on the Government-do as they please,
And still they cry out, with a piteous moan,
We're opposed to coercion-oh, let us alone.

They treat with contempt our Union and name,
Disregard constitutional freedom and fame,
Appropriate millions of funds not their own,
And yet cry indignantly, Let us alone.
Such unblushing impudence rarely is found,
Their lofty pretensions must fall to the ground,
For they to the wind and the tempest have sown,
And the whirlwind now will not let them alone.

SONGS OF THE REBELS.

THE SOUTHRON'S WAR-SONG.
BY J. A. WAGENER.

Arise! arise! with main and might,
Sons of the sunny clime!
Gird on the sword; the sacred fight,
The holy hour doth chime.
Arise the craven host draws nigh,
In thundering array;

Arise, ye brave! let cowards fly-
The hero bides the fray.

Strike hard, strike hard, thou noble band;
Strike hard, with arm of fire!
Strike hard, for God and fatherland,
For mother, wife, and sire!

Let thunders roar, the lightning flash;

Bold Southron, never fear!

The bay'net's point, the sabre's clash,
True Southrons do and dare!

Bright flow'rs spring from the hero's grave;
The craven knows no rest!

Thrice curs'd the traitor and the knave!
The hero thrice is bless'd.

Then let each noble Southron stand,
With bold and manly eye:
We'll do for God and fatherland;
We'll do, we'll do or die!

-Charleston Courier, June 11.

HURRAH!

BY A MISSISSIPPIAN.

Hurrah! for the Southern Confederate State,
With her banner of white, red, and blue;
Hurrah! for her daughters, the fairest on earth,
And her sons, ever loyal and true!

Hurrah! and hurrah! for her brave volunteers,
Enlisted for freedom or death;
Hurrah! for Jeff. Davis, Commander-in-Chief,

And three cheers for the Palmetto wreath!
Hurrah! for each heart that is right in the cause;
That cause we'll protect with our lives;
Hurrah! for the first one who dies on the field,
And hurrah! for each one who survives!

Hurrah! for the South-shout hurrah! and hurrah ! O'er her soil shall no tyrant have sway.

In peace or in war we will ever be found

66

Invincible," now and for aye.

-Mobile Register.

THE NATCHEZ MILITARY.

BY WALTER STANLEY.

The stirring notes of the rolling drum
Awaken the brave again;

So wave a kiss to your friends and home,
And away to the battle-plain.

Our trade is war, and we do not care
How quickly the summons come;
To meet the foe we will gaily go,

To the sound of the fife and drum.

The fierce invader and all his band,
With his grove of shining steel,
May never rule where our sires died,
By his cannon's thundering peal.
We never knelt at the gory shrine

Of the fierce and cruel Mars;
But we draw the sword for our firesides,
And gaily march to the war,

And there on the field of death and doom
Our banner shall proudly wave,
Or we, who fight for the sunny South,
Will sleep in the honor'd grave.

Now let us be faithful, bold, and true,
And Heaven will bless us still;
And so good-bye to our homes and friends,
And Natchez on the Hill.

-Natchez Free Trader.