A correspondent in Georgia, wrote as follows:–I find in an Atlanta paper the following extravaganza upon a mocking bird at Resaca. It calls to my mind a fact that I had forgotten. At the first advance upon Resaca, on the 9th of May, I remember observing at dusk an unusual number of birds, and as night fell, just as the troops were withdrawing, a grand chorus of whip-poor-wills rang through the forest. Perhaps Resaca has been a favorite home for the songsters of the woods.
“Waverley,” the correspondent, who was an eye-witness and participator in the late battles in North Georgia, relates the following pretty incident of the battle of Resaca:
“In the hottest part of the battle of Sunday, a shell came screaming through the air from the works in front of our left. It paused above a point where General Johnston and General Polk were standing, whistled like a top above them, and before exploding whistled half-a-dozen notes clear as a fife to the drum-like rattle of musketry. The din had scarce died away, and the fragments fallen to the ground, when the attention of the party was directed to one of the upper boughs of a tall pine, where a mocking-bird had begun to imitate the whistle of the shell. Neither the roar of cannon, nor the rain of balls could drive this brave bird from its lofty perch. It sat above the battle-field like a little god of war, its blythe tones warbling over the din of arms–
“In profuse strains of unpremeditated art,”
and its stout heart as free as though it swelled to the breezy winds of peace in the summer woods. Thou Touchstone of the battle-field, mocking the very air of death and pouring out a cheery canticle for the slain, who are happy in dying for the land they love, thou art the true type of the great Confederate heart. Be it like thine, as bold and free. May it swell as it is pressed, and grow strong as it hurls back the vandal and invader. May it stand upon its own door-sill, as that gallant bird stood upon the bough of the pine, and trill a chant of defiance in the face of danger, and though despair span its bony fingers about its throat, may its armies take a lesson from thy cluck, thou valiant mocking-bird, to the music of Minie ball and shrapnell, never doubting, never daunted, defying the power of the world, and obedient only to the God of the universe. For he who dies in the front dies in the love of the Lord, and there is not a sentiment truer for the soldier than that the brave who perish in the cause of liberty and thrice blessed above the lazy sons of peace.
“Not man nor monarch half so proud,
As he whose flag becomes his shroud.”
Originally posted 2009-02-18 15:18:52.