Then the South, though true love to the vessel she bore,
Since she first laid its keel in the days that were gone--
Saw it plunge madly on to the wild billows' roar,
And rush to destruction and ruin forlorn.
So she passed from the decks, in the faith of her heart
That justice and God her protectors would be;
Not dashed like a frail, fragile spar, without chart,
In the fury and foam of the wild raging sea.
The life-boat that hung by the stout vessel's side
She seized, and embarked on the wide, trackless main,
In the faith that she'd reach, making virtue her guide,
The haven the mother-ship failed to attain
But the crew rose in wrath, and they swore by their might
They would sink the brave boat that did buffet the sea,
For daring to seek, by her honor and right,
A new port from the storms, a new home for the free.
So they crushed the brave boat; all forbearance they lost;
They littered with ruins the ocean so wild--
Till the hulk of the parent ship, beaten and tossed,
Drifted prone on the flood by the wreck of the child.
And the bold rower, loaded with fetters and chains,
In the gloom of her heart sings the proud vessel's dirge;
Half forgets, in its wreck, all the pangs of her pains,
As she sees its stout parts floating loose in the surge.
Savannah Broadside.
The Confederate Flag
By Anna Feyre Dinnies, of Louisiana.
Take that banner down,'tis weary,
Round its staff 'tis drooping dreary,
Furl it, hide it, let it rest;
For there's not a man to wave it--
For there's not a soul to lave it
In the blood that heroes gave it.
Furl it, hide it, let it rest.