Confederate Poetry: A Wasteland

In addition to being Confederate Heritage Month, April is also National Poetry Month. The combination of the two is brutal, as the following example from the Civil War era attests. The poet, to his progeny’s enduring fortune, chose not to claim authorship of this adolescent swill. Curiously, I find nothing in this that couldn’t work equally well at the masthead of Little Green Footballs, Captain’s Quarters, or Ace O. Spades, Heterosexual.

“Rebels” (by Anonymous)

Rebels! ‘t is a holy name!
The name our fathers bore,
When battling in the cause of Right,
Against the tyrant in his might,
In the dark days of yore.

Rebels! ‘t is our family name!
Our father, Washington,
Was the arch-rebel in the fight,
And gave the name to use,–a right
Of father unto son.

Rebels! ‘t is our given name!
Our mother, Liberty,
Received the title with her fame,
In days of grief, of fear, and shame,
When at her breast were we.

Rebels! ‘t is our sealed name!
A baptism of blood!
The war–aye, and the din of strife–
The fearful contest, life for life–
The mingled crimson flood.

Rebels! ‘t is a patriot’s name!
In struggles it was given;
We bore it then when tyrants raved
And through their curses ‘t was engraved
On the doomsday-book of heaven.

Rebels! ‘t is our fighting name!
For peace rules o’er the land,
Until they speak of craven woe–
Until our rights receive a blow,
From foe’s or brother’s hand.

Rebels! ‘t is our dying name!
For, although life is dear,
Yet, freemen born and freemen bred,
We’d rather live as freemen dead,
Than live in slavish fear.

Then call us rebels if you will–
We glory in the name;
For bending under unjust laws,
And swearing faith to an unjust cause,
We count a greater shame.