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And yet, my heart is sore, love, to see thee weeping- thus; But mark me, there 's no fear, love, for in Heaven is our
trust; And if the heavy drooping* tear swells in my mournful
eye, It is that Northmen of our land should cause the battle-cry.
Our rights have been usurp'd, dear, by Northmen of land ;
Fanatics rais'd the cry, dear, politicians fired the brand;
The Southrons spurn the galling yoke, the tyrants' threats defy;
They find we 've sons like sturdy oaks to raise the battle-cry.
I knew you'd let me go, pet, I saw it in that tear, To join the gallant men, pet, who never yet knew fear ; With Beauregard and Davis, we'll gain our cause or die; "Win battles like Manassas, and raise the battle-cry.