The Stars and Bars

While enjoying the songs and accompanying music on the Poetry and Music of the War Between the States web site, I found these intriguing lyrics and accompanying commentary from the June 21, 1861 edition of Vanity Fair.

Please forgive the vulgar language. No offense intended.

"Having understood that the Southern Confederated States of America were suffering for want of a patriotic song -- a national anthem -- to the stirring tones of which their chivalry might march gallantly to victory, or death, or both, we have set ourself to work to produce such a composition. This we do in pure charity and benevolence, without hope of reward or emolument from the new Republic of Fools. Republics are inevitably ungrateful.

The only national song that has attained any great popularity in the Federal, or United States, is the "Star-Spangled Banner" -- a song all about our flag. Very well: why not have a song about the Confederate flag? Sure enough -- but then, their flag is only a modification of ours -- a sort of bunting parody, as it were. Just the thing! They shall have a sort of fustian parody of our flag-song, to be in keeping; and its flowing numbers shall be chaunted far and near, wherever cotton is grown, corn-whiskey guzzled, and niggers licked.

Gentlemen of the Southern Confederated States, here is your national anthem."

THE STARS AND BARS
Anonymous (1861)

O say, can you see -- though perhaps you're too tight --
What so feebly we hailed at the twilight's last beaming --
Whose broad bars and few stars o'er our scurrilous flight
From the rumshops we filched, were so gaudily streaming?
When the rockets' red glare and bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof, though we ran, that our rag remained there?
O, say, does that Bar-Strangled Banner still wave
O'er the land of the thief and the home of the slave?

On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's honest host in its glory reposes,
What is that which the breeze -- while we fearfully creep
To escape deserved blows -- half-conceals, half-discloses?
Now it sullies the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In dishonor reflected now taints the pure stream --
'Tis the Bar-Strangled Banner, that foully doth wave
O'er the land of the thief and the home of the slave!

And where is that band who so truthfully swore
That the might of the law, and a stern retribution,
A hold for rebellion should leave us no more?
Their guns have ploughed up our footsteps' pollution!
Their protection we crave, both rebel and slave --
None other we hope for except in the grave,
And our Bar-Strangled Banner no longer shall wave
O'er the land of the thief and the home of the slave!

O, thus is it ever, when traitors may stand
Against a loved land and its administration;
In rout and destruction, our treacherous band
See the error we have made in arousing a nation;
Be conquered we must, for our cause is unjust --
They look but to God, while in Mammon we trust;
And their -- not our -- Banner in triumph shall wave
O'er South as o'er North, o'er the free as the slave!"

Sincerely,

Randy

Please visit my primary site at www.brotherswar.com

All original material Copyright © 2005-2007. All Rights Reserved

Source: Civil War Poetry

The Graves of our Dead

The Blue & The Gray

The flow of the inland river,
Hence the fleets of iron have fled,
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,
Asleep are the ranks of the dead;
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day ;
Under the one, the Blue;
Under the other, the Gray.

These in the robings of glory,
Those in the gloom of defeat,
All with the battle-blood gory,
In the dusk of eternity meet;
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;
Under the laurel, the Blue;
Under the willow, the Gray.

From the silence of sorrowful hours
The desolate mourners go,
Lovingly laden with flowers
Alike for the friend and the foe;
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day ;
Under the roses, the Blue;
Under the lilies, the Gray.

So with an equal splendor
The morning sun-rays fall,
With a touch, impartially tender,
On the blossoms blooming for all;
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;
Broidered with gold, the Blue;
Mellowed with gold, the Gray.

So, when the Summer calleth,
On forest and field of grain
With an equal murmur falleth
The cooling drip of the rain ;
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;
Wet with the rain, the Blue;
Wet with the rain, the Gray.

Sadly, but not with upbraiding,
The generous deed was done;
In the storm of the years that are fading,
No braver battle was won;
Under the sod aad the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;
Under the blossoms, the Blue,
Under the garlands, the Gray.

No more shall the war-cry sever,
Or the winding rivers be red;
They banish our anger forever
When they laurel the graves of our dead!
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day ;
Love and tears for the Blue,
Tears and love for the Gray.

Francis Miles Finch (1827–1907)

Respectfully,

Randy

Please visit my primary site at www.brotherswar.com

All original material Copyright © 2006. All Rights Reserved