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