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Hunter Wallace
Occidental Dissent
May 25, 2017
Isn’t this lovely?
This is the work of our “fellow Americans” who drive around New Orleans with Coexist bumper stickers. Rainbows and Patriots also believe we can “coexist” with these people.
Now that the Confederate monuments are gone, here is the latest from New Orleans: pic.twitter.com/ETQDnyLxdx
— Hunter Wallace (@occdissent) May 21, 2017
This isn't the first time the Albert Pike monument has been vandalized in New Orleans: pic.twitter.com/BrmtH0VmBO
— Hunter Wallace (@occdissent) May 21, 2017
General Albert Pike was also a better man than these folks:
“What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us; what we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal.” – Albert Pike
Father Abram Joseph Ryan was the poet priest of the Confederacy:
MARCH OF THE DEATHLESS DEAD
GATHER the sacred dust
Of the warriors tried and true,
Who bore the flag of our People’s trust
And fell in a cause, though lost still just
And died for me and you.
Gather them one and all!
From the Private to the Chief,
Come they from hovel or princely hall,
They fell for us, and for them should fall
The tears of a Nation’s grief.
Gather the corpses strewn
O’er many a battle plain;
From many a grave that lies so lone,
Without a name and without a stone,
Gather the Southern slain.
We care not whence they came,
Dear in their lifeless clay!
Whether unknown, or known to fame,
Their cause and country still the same–
They died–and wore the Gray.
Wherever the brave have died,
They should not rest apart;
Living they struggled side by side–
Why should the hand of Death divide
A single heart from heart.
Gather their scattered clay,
Wherever it may rest;
Just as they marched to the bloody fray;
Just as they fell on the battle day;
Bury them breast to breast.
The foeman need not dread
This gathering of the brave;
Without sword or flag, and with soundless tread,
We muster once more our deathless dead;
Out of each lonely grave.
The foeman need not frown,
They all are powerless now–
We gather them here and we lay them down,
And tears and prayers are the only crown
We bring to wreathe each brow.
And the dead thus meet the dead,
While the living o’er them weep;
And the men by Lee and Stonewall led,
And the hearts that once together bled,
Together still shall sleep.
In a sense, I am glad Antifas are vandalizing these Confederate monuments. While these Confederate monuments have been placed in prominent public spaces all over the South, they are mostly invisible to the present generation. We don’t think about them. We don’t remember men like Father Abram Joseph Ryan. We aren’t even familiar with their work.
I wasn’t even aware of his monument in downtown Mobile, AL:
That’s why our enemies are so eager to erase these monuments.
White Southerners are like the Italians living among the ruins of the Roman Empire. These monuments are reminders that we used to be a great people and can be so again. In the 19th century, the Southern people were a race of masters, explorers, settlers, statesmen, military leaders and orators. We see neoclassical Greco-Roman architecture and Greek and Roman place names all over the South because that’s who our classically educated ancestors admired and wanted to be like.
THE LAND WE LOVE
LAND of the gentle and brave!
Our love is as wide as thy woe;
It deepens beside every grave
Where the heart of a hero lies low.
Land of the sunniest skies!
Our love glows the more for thy gloom;
Our hearts by the saddest of ties,
Cling closest to thee in thy doom.
Land where the desolate weep
In a sorrow no voice may console,
Our tears are but streams making deep
The ocean of love in our soul.
Land where the victor’s flag waves,
Where only the dead are the free;
Each link of the chain that enslaves,
But binds us to them and to thee.
Land where the Sign of the Cross
Its shadow hath everywhere shed,
We measure our love by thy loss,–
Thy loss–by the graves of our dead!
Here’s my favorite Confederate poem from St. George Tucker:
THE SOUTHERN CROSS
Oh, say can you see, through the gloom and the storm
More bright for the darkness, that pure constellation?
Like the symbol of love and redemption in its form,
As it points to the haven of hope for the nation.
How radiant each star! As they beacon afar,
Giving promise of peace, or assurance in war;
‘Tis the Cross of the South, which shall ever remain
To light us to Freedom and Glory again.
How peaceful and blest was America’s soil,
‘Till betrayed by the guile of the Puritan demon,
Which lurks under Virtue, and springs from its coil,
To fasten its fangs in the life-blood of freemen.
Then loudly appeal to each heart that can feel,
And crush the foul viper ‘neath Liberty’s heel;
And the Cross of the South shall forever remain
To light us to Freedom and Glory again.
‘Tis the emblem of peace, ’tis the day star of hope;
Like the sacred Labarum, which guided the Roman,
From the shores of the Gulf to the Delaware’s slope,
‘Tis the trust of the free and the terror of foemen –
Fling its folds to the air, while we boldly declare,
The rights we demand, or deeds that we dare;
And the Cross of the South shall forever remain
To light us to Freedom and Glory again.
But, if peace should be hopeless and justice denied,
And war’s bloody vulture should flap his bloody pinions,
Then, gladly to arms! while we hurt in our pride,
Defiance to tyrants, and death to their minions,
With our front to the field, swearing never to yield,
Our return like the Spartan in death on our shield;
And the Cross of the South shall triumphantly wave
As the flag of the free or the pall of the brave.
Note: As you may have noticed, our ancestors didn’t believe in this American Patriot civic nationalist bullshit. The “Liberty” we fought for was our independence.
