The Volunteer (or It Is My Country's Call)
(Волонтер или Это зов моей страны)

By Harry Macarthy (d. 1880)

I leave my home and thee, dear,
With sorrow in my heart,
It is my contry's call, dear,
To aid her I depart;
And on the blood-red battle plain
We'll conquer or we'll die,
T'is for our honor and our name,
We raise the battle cry.

CHORUS:
Then weep not, dearest, weep not,
If in her cause I fall,
O, weep not dearest, weep not,
It is my country's call.

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 usurped, dear,
By Northmen of our land,
Fanatics raised the cry, dear,
Politicians fired the brand.
The Southrons spurn the galling yoke,
The tyrant;s threats defy.
They find we've sons like sturdy oak
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 our battle cry.


Песня южан периода Гражданской войны 1861-65.