By Alonzo W. Slayback, Piedras Negras, on the Rio Grande, July 4, 1865
A July sun, in torrid clime, gleamed on exile band, who in suits of gray
Stood in mute array On the banks of the Rio Grande.
They were dusty and faint with their long, drear ride,
And they paused when they came to the river side;
For its wavelets divide
With their glowing tide
Their own dear land of youth, hope, pride
And comrades graves, who in vain had died,
From the stranger's home, in a land untried.
Above them waved the Confederate Flag, with its fatal cross of stars,
That had always been
In the battle's din
Like a pennon of potent Mars.
And there curved from the crest of their leader a plume
That the brave had followed in joy and gloom That was ever in sight
In the hottest fight
A flaunting dare for a soldier's tomb,
For the marksman's aim and the cannons boom,
But it bore a charm from the band of doom.
Forth stepped that leader then and said to the faithful few around:
"This tattered rag
Is the only flag
That floats on Dixie ground;
And this plume that I tear from the hat I wear
Of all my spoils is my only share; And brave men! I swear
That no foe shall dare
To lay his hand on our standard there. It's folds were braided by fingers fair,
"Tis the emblem now of their deep despair.
It's cause is lost. And the men it led on many a glorious field In disputing tread
Of invaders dread, Have been forced at last to yield
But this banner and plume have not been to blame, No exulting eye shall behold
their shame;
And-----these relics so dear
In the waters here,
Before we cross, shall burial claim;
And while you mountains may bear name
They shall stand as monuments of our fame."
Tears stood in eyes that looked on death in every awful form
Without dismay;
But the scene that day
Was sublimer than mountain storm!
'Tis easy to touch the veteran's heart
With finger of nature, but not of art,
While the noble of soul
Lose self control,
When called on with flag, home and country to part,
Base bosoms are ever to callous to start
With feelings that generous natures can smart.
They buried then that flag and plume in the river's rushing tide,
Ere that fallent few
Of the tried and true
Had been scattered far and wide.
And that group of Missouri's valiant throng,
Who had fought for the weak against the strong-
Who had charged and bled where Shelby led-
Were the last who held above the wave
The glorious flag of the vanquished brave,
No more to rise from it's watery grave!
______________________________
David Upton