The Barefooted Boys

I.
 
By the sword of St. Michael
 The old dragon through;
By David his sling
 And the giant he slew;
Let us write us a rhyme,
 As a record to tell
How the South on a time
 Stormed the ramparts of Hell
 With her barefooted boys!
 
II.
 
Had the South in her border
 A hero to spare,
Or a heart at her altar,
 Lo! its life's blood was there!
And the black battle-grime
 Might never disguise
The smile of the South
 On the lips and the eyes
 Of her barefooted boys!
 
III.
 
There's a grandeur in fight,
 And a terror the while,
But none like the light
 Of that terrible smile -
The smile of the South,
When the storm-cloud unrolls
The lightening that loosens
The wrath in the souls
 Of her barefooted boys!
 
IV.
 
It withered the foe
Like the red light that runs
Through the dead forest leaves,
And he fled from his guns!
Grew the smile to a laugh,
Rose the laugh to a yell.
As the iron-clad hoofs
Clattered back into Hell
 From our barefooted boys!