Mid-Morning Open Thread

This is the statue of General Jackson in Jackson Park, in Charlottesville Virginia.

It is a fine sculpture of an impressive and interesting figure in our history, and I wonder how long it will grace Jackson Park, or, for that matter, how long will Jackson Park have that name?

New Orleans is in the process of destroying a small part of American history by burning books removing statues of Confederate figures. Regardless of one's opinion of the War Of The Southern Rebellion (SWIDT?), it is a hugely important part of American history, and no amount of revisionism will make it go away.

I have seen those statues, and the idea that they "lionize" the Confederacy is laughable. They honor courageous men, and important figures in our past. And when I see Stonewall Jackson on his horse, I think not of slavery, which was rightly cast into the dustbin of history, but of a brave and resourceful and honorable man.

But the Progressive cant cannot allow any deviation from the orthodoxy, and they are particularly exercised by the Confederacy. Here is The National Laughingstock gleefully tarring anyone with any respect for the Confederacy as an "extremist." [Check the link...it is courtesy of a lurker!] New Orleans needs help moving Confederate statues -- and stopping extremists in the way

Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees.

General Jackson died on this day in 1863, about a week after being wounded at Chancellorsville, where he and Lee kicked the Army of The Potomac's ass.

Barbara Frietchie
By John Greenleaf Whittier

Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn,

The clustered spires of Frederick stand
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.

Round about them orchards sweep,
Apple-and peach-tree fruited deep,

Fair as a garden of the Lord
To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,

On that pleasant morn of the early fall
When Lee marched over the mountain wall,—

Over the mountains winding down,
Horse and foot, into Frederick town.

Forty flags with their silver stars,
Forty flags with their crimson bars,

Flapped in the morning wind: the sun
Of noon looked down, and saw not one.

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;

Bravest of all in Frederick town,
She took up the flag the men hauled down;

In her attic window the staff she set,
To show that one heart was loyal yet.

Up the street came the rebel tread,
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.

Under his slouched hat left and right
He glanced: the old flag met his sight.

“Halt!”— the dust-brown ranks stood fast.
“Fire!”— out blazed the rifle-blast.

It shivered the window, pane and sash;
It rent the banner with seam and gash.

Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf;

She leaned far out on the window-sill,
And shook it forth with a royal will.

“Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,
But spare your country’s flag,” she said.

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,
Over the face of the leader came;

The nobler nature within him stirred
To life at that woman’s deed and word:

“Who touches a hair of yon gray head
Dies like a dog! March on!” he said.

All day long through Frederick street
Sounded the tread of marching feet:

All day long that free flag tost
Over the heads of the rebel host.

Ever its torn folds rose and fell
On the loyal winds that loved it well;

And through the hill-gaps sunset light
Shone over it with a warm good-night.

Barbara Frietchie’s work is o’er,
And the Rebel rides on his raids no more.

Honor to her! and let a tear
Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall’s bier.

Over Barbara Frietchie’s grave
Flag of Freedom and Union, wave!

Peace and order and beauty draw
Round thy symbol of light and law;

And ever the stars above look down
On thy stars below in Frederick town!

posted by CBD at 09:35 AM

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