When you prize it from my dead fingers

When you prize it from my dead fingers - Printable Version

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When you prize it from my dead fingers - IainH - 07-29-2019

Why I'll be graveyard dead before I abandon the colors. The Battle Flag of the ANV hangs from my deck and the b@$¥@£ds will have to come and take it.

[b]Look Away, Dixie Land!

[/b]

I Am Their Flag

By: Dr Michael R Bradley.

In 1861, when they perceived their rights to be threatened; when those who would change the nature of the government of their fathers were placed in charge; when threatened with change they could not accept the mighty men of valor began to gather. A band of brothers, native to the Southern soil, they pledged themselves to a cause; the cause of defending family, firesides, and faith. Between the desolation of war and their homes they interposed their bodies and they chose me as their symbol.
I AM THEIR FLAG.
Their mothers, wives and sweethearts took scissors and thimbles, needles and thread and from silk or cotton or calico - whatever was the best they had - even from the fabric of their wedding dresses, they cut my pieces and stitched my seams.
I AM THEIR FLAG
On courthouse lawns, in picnic groves, at train stations across the South the men mustered and the women placed me in their hand. "Fight hard, win if possible, come back if you can, but, above all, maintain your honor. Here is your symbol," they said.
I AM THEIR FLAG.
They flocked to the training grounds and the drill fields. They felt the wrenching sadness of leaving home. They endured sickness, loneliness, boredom, bad food and poor quarters. They looked to me for inspiration.
I AM THEIR FLAG.
I was at Sumter when they began in jubilation. I was at Big Bethel when the infantry fired its first volley. I smelled the gun smoke along Bull Run in Virginia and at Belmont along the Mississippi. I was in the debacle at Ft. Donelson; I led Jackson up the Valley; for Seven Days I flapped in the turgid air of the James River bottoms as McClelland ran from before Richmond. Sidney Johnston died for me at Shiloh as would thousands of others whose graves are marked Sine Nomine, "without a name," unknown.
I AM THEIR FLAG.
With ammunition gone they defended me along the railroad bed at Manassas by throwing rocks. I saw the fields run red with blood at Sharpsburg. Brave men carried me across Doctor's Creek at Perryville. I saw the Blue bodies cover Marye's Heights at Fredericksburg and the Gray ones fall like leaves in the Round Forest at Stones River.
I AM THEIR FLAG!
I was a shroud for the body of Stonewall after Chancellorsville. Men ate rats and mule meat to keep me flying over Vicksburg. I tramped across the wheat field with Kemper and Armistead and Garnett at Gettysburg. I know the thrill of victory, the misery of defeat, the bloody cost of both.
I AM THEIR FLAG!
When Longstreet broke the line at Chickamauga I was in the lead. I was the last off Lookout Mountain. Men died to rescue me at Missionary Ridge. I was singed by the wildfire that burned to death the wounded in the Wilderness. I was shot to tatters in the Bloody Angle at Spotsylvania. I was in it all from Dalton to Peachtree Creek and no worse place did I ever see than Kennesaw and New Hope Church. They planted me over the trenches at Petersburg and there I stayed for many long months.
I AM THEIR FLAG.
I was rolled in blood at Franklin; I was stiff with ice at Nashville. Many good men bade me farewell at Saylor's Creek. When the end came at Appomattox, when the last Johnny Reb left Durham Station many of them carried fragments of my fabric hidden on their bodies.
I AM THEIR FLAG!
In the hard years of so-called "Reconstruction;" in the difficulty and despair of years that slowly passed, the veterans, their wives and sons and daughters, they loved me. They kept alive the tales of valor and the legends of bravery. They passed them on to the grandchildren and they to their children and so they were passed to you.
I AM THEIR FLAG!
I have shrouded the bodies of heroes, I have been laid with the blood of martyrs, I am enshrined in the hearts of millions, living and dead. Salute me with affection and reverence. Keep undying devotion in your hearts.

I AM THE INSPIRATION OF VALOR FROM THE PAST.
LOOK AWAY, DIXIE LAND!
I AM THEIR FLAG!

RE: When you prize it from my dead fingers - Ed Hurst - 07-30-2019

I did a lot of research on the song "Dixie" and it still surprises me how a show tune from the days of black-face minstrelsy up north was absorbed as the anthem of the South. It seems a case of mockery turned on its head and worn proudly.

RE: When you prize it from my dead fingers - IainH - 07-30-2019

(07-30-2019, 05:13 AM)Ed Hurst Wrote: I did a lot of research on the song "Dixie" and it still surprises me how a show tune from the days of black-face minstrelsy up north was absorbed as the anthem of the South. It seems a case of mockery turned on its head and worn proudly.

Indeed it is, Sir. Dixie was written by a Yankee and we knew it was mockery but, Southerners being a gracious people turned it on it's head.

RE: When you prize it from my dead fingers - jaybreak - 07-30-2019

(07-30-2019, 06:35 PM)IainH Wrote:
(07-30-2019, 05:13 AM)Ed Hurst Wrote: I did a lot of research on the song "Dixie" and it still surprises me how a show tune from the days of black-face minstrelsy up north was absorbed as the anthem of the South. It seems a case of mockery turned on its head and worn proudly.

Indeed it is, Sir. Dixie was written by a Yankee and we knew it was mockery but, Southerners being a gracious people turned it on it's head.

I don't think I've ever heard this song.

RE: When you prize it from my dead fingers - Ed Hurst - 07-30-2019

(07-30-2019, 06:46 PM)jaybreak Wrote: I don't think I've ever heard this song.

It features in a lot of movies, particularly those that attempt to portray America during the Civil War. It was quite literally the Confederate Anthem. You can get a very old recording of it on the Wikipedia page devoted to the song. It takes a lot of cues from Irish and Scots musical traditions.

RE: When you prize it from my dead fingers - IainH - 07-31-2019

(07-30-2019, 06:46 PM)jaybreak Wrote:
(07-30-2019, 06:35 PM)IainH Wrote:
(07-30-2019, 05:13 AM)Ed Hurst Wrote: I did a lot of research on the song "Dixie" and it still surprises me how a show tune from the days of black-face minstrelsy up north was absorbed as the anthem of the South. It seems a case of mockery turned on its head and worn proudly.

Indeed it is, Sir. Dixie was written by a Yankee and we knew it was mockery but, Southerners being a gracious people turned it on it's head.

I don't think I've ever heard this song.

" I wish I was in the land,
Old times there are not forgotten,
Look away. Look away. Look away.
Dixieland "
Sound familiar?
I have my own versions " It's glad I'm from the land of baccer (tobacco), it would be better without the slackers, look away...."
Funny thing is, I can come up with alternate lyrics to existing songs on the fly but, can't write lyrics for my own tunes?!!
It's frustrating because I tried to find a lyricist to collaborate with on songs and had no success in doing so. The ones I do know aren't interested even, after explaining how working together would create better art than a wordsmith who struggles with the music or a tunesmith who can't write lyrics. Ego is enormous among most musicians and that's just too bad. I got lots of melodies and harmonies, etc but no words. WAAAAH! I wanted to be a rockstar!!!