Captives Going Home.

No flaunting banners o'er them wave, No arms flash back the sun's bright ray, No shouting crowds around them throng, No music cheers them on their way: They're going home. By adverse fate Compelled their trusty swords to sheathe; True soldiers they, even though disarmed-- Heroes, though robbed of victory's wreath.

Brave Southrons! 'Tis with sorrowing hearts We gaze upon them through our tears, And sadly feel how vain were all Their heroic deeds through weary years; Yet 'mid their enemies they move With firm, bold step and dauntless mien: Oh, Liberty! in every age, Such have thy chosen heroes been.

Going home! Alas, to them the words Bring visions fraught with gloom and woe: Since last they saw those cherished homes The legions of the invading foe Have swept them, simoon-like, along, Spreading destruction with the wind! "They found a garden, but they left A howling wilderness behind."

Ah! in those desolated homes To which the "fate of war has come," Sad is the welcome--poor the feast-- That waits the soldier's coming home; Yet loving ones will round him throng, With smiles more tender, if less gay, And joy will brighten pallid cheeks At sight of the dear boys in gray.

Aye, give them welcome home, fair South, For you they've made a deathless name; Bright through all after-time will glow The glorious record of their fame. They made a nation. What, though soon Its radiant sun has seemed to set; The past has shown what they can do, The future holds bright promise yet.