“Ye Batteries of Beauregard”
“Ye batteries of Beauregard!”
Pour your hail from Moultrie’s wall;
Bid the shock of your deep thunder
On their fleet in terror fall:
Rain your storm of leaden fury
On the black invading host—
Teach them that their step shall never
Press on Carolina’s coast.
“Ye batteries of Beauregard!”
Sound the story of our wrong;
Let your tocsin wake the spirit
Of a people brave and strong;
Her proud names of old remember—
Marion, Sumter, Pinckney, Greene;
Swell the roll whose deeds of glory
Side by side with theirs are seen.
“Ye batteries of Beauregard!”
From Savannah on them frown;
By the majesty of Heaven
Strike their “grand armada” down;
By the blood of many a freeman,
By each dear-bought battle-field,
By the hopes we fondly cherish,
Never ye the victory yield.
“Ye batteries of Beauregard!”
All along our Southern coast,
Let, in after-time, your triumphs,
Be a nation’s pride and boast;
Send each missile with a greeting
To the vile, ungodly crew;
Make them feel they ne’er can conquer
People to themselves so true.
“Ye batteries of Beauregard!”
By the glories of the past,
By the memory of old Sumter,
Whose renown will ever last,
Speed upon their vaunted legions
Volleys thick of shot and shell,
Bid them welcome, in your glory,
To their own appointed hell.