THE CONQUERED BANNER. BY ABRAM J. RYAN. [This poem appeared very soon after the surrender of the Confederate armies, and was probably the first, as it is the finest, poetical expression of reverent regret for the Lost Cause, without any touch of bitterness in its loss. The author was a Catholic priest, who wrote a number of poems of merit, though none that appealed so strongly as this one does to the generous sympathy of the victor with the sorrow of the vanquished. The author was born in Norfolk, Va., August 15, 1839, and died in Louisville, Ky., April 22, 1886.-EDITOR.] URL that Banner, for 't is weary, FURL that it staff 't is drooping dreary: Furl it, fold it,-it is best; For there's not a man to wave it, And its foes now scorn and brave it : Furl it, hide it,―let it rest! Take the Banner down! 't is tattered; Oh, 't is hard for us to fold it, Hard to think there 's none to hold it, Hard that those who once unrolled it Now must furl it with a sigh! Furl that Banner-furl it sadly; Swore it should forever wave-Swore that foemen's sword could never Hearts like theirs entwined dissever, And that flag should float forever O'er their freedom, or their grave! Furl it!-for the hands that grasped it, For though conquered, they adore it– Furl that Banner! True, 't is gory, Though its folds are in the dust! Furl its folds though now we must! Furl that Banner, softly, slowly; For it droops above the dead; [Southern.] NTO a ward of the whitewashed halls Na wale ofend and the dying lay, Wounded by bayonets, shells, and balls, Matted and damp are the curls of gold Back from his beautiful blue-veined brow Somebody's darling is still and cold. |