The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1909-06-17
The Returned Battle Flags.

Story of How Moses Owen Came to Write
the Beautiful Poem.
Nothing but fags-but simple flags,
Tattered and torn and hanging in rags;
And we walk beneath them with careless tread.
Nor think of the hosts of the mighty dead,
That have marched beneath them in days gone
by,
With burning cheek, and kindling eye,
And have bathed their folds with their young
life's tide
And dying, blessed them, and blessing, died
Nothing but fags-yet, methinks, at night,
They tell each other their tales of fright!
And dim spectres come, and their thin arms
Irvine
Round each standard torn-as they stand in
line,
AS the word is given-they charge! they form!
And the dim hall rings with the battles storm,
And once again, through the smoke and strife,
Those colors lead to Nations life.
Nothing but fags-yet they're bathed with
They tell of triumphs-of hopes-of fears;
OF a mothers prayers-of boy away
OF serpent crushed-of the coming day;
Silent, they speak-and the tear will start,
AS we stand beneath them with throbbing
And think of those who are ne'er forgot,
Their flags come home-why come they not?
Nothing but fags-yet we hold our breath.
And gaze with awe at those types of death;
Nothing but flags, yet the thought will come,
The heart must pray though the lips be dumb!
They are sacred, pure and we can see no stain
On those dear loved flags come home again;
Baptised in blood, our purest, best,
Tattered and torn, they're now at rest
MOSES OWEN
The following from the Portland Ad-
vertiser of May 29th gives the interest
ing story of Moses Owens famous poem.
''The Returned Battle Flags telling Of
the inspiration and also how near the
poem came to being lost forever:
Complimentary things were being
said about Gen. Elliot C. Dill, the new
adjutant general of the State, today be-
cause of his embodying in his Memorial
Day order to the National Guard Moses
Ovens poem ''The Returned Battle
Flags, which is regarded by many peo-
pie as the best poem Moses Owen ever
wrote and one which would have made
him famous as poet had he never writ
ten anything else. The publication of
this poem brought to light today an in
teresting story of the inspiration of the
poem and how it came to be preserved
for future generations.
wi. OWeH was graduate Ol DCWQOlH
in the class Of 1861. Right after the
flee of the secretery of state at Augusta.
One afternoon he was passing through
the rotunda of the capitol where the re-
turned battle flags had just been placed
in the glass cases which have since held
them and saw aorouped about the cases
crowd of young women who were intent
ly looking at the ragged and shot-torn
banners. One Of the young women i'm
patiently remarked to her companions,
as Mr. Owen was passing, Come along
girls, they're nothing but flags
Son returning to his desk Mr.. Owen
completed the work he had in hand and
upon the brown paper which covered the
top of his desk in lieu of the blotter or
pad now SO commonly used, he scrib-
bled the poem beginning Nothing but
flags" Major A. L. Smith, now the
treasurer of the National Soldiers
Home at Togus, was clerk in the of
fee and occupied desk by the side of
Mr. Owen He had noticed his compan-
ion writing with a lead pencil upon the
top of the brown paper covering his
desk. Finally Mr.. Owen tore off the
paper and handed it across to his COM
panion, saying, Major, what do you
think of that?' Major Smith read it
through and said that he thought it was
the finest thing Mr.. Owen had ever writ
ten.
''Mr. Owen laughed and remarked
that he would revise it and forthwith tore
the brown paper into pieces and threw
them into his waste basket.
major Smith, knowing his companion
we'll, realized that Mr.. Owen would
never in all probability revise the poem
or think of it again and that it would be
lost for all time. 1t seemed to Major
Smith to be such beautiful thing that
he extricated the pieces of brown paper
from the waste-paper basket and past
ing the sections together took the
poem, just as it has been written, to the
Kennebec Journal Office, where it was
printed the next morning.
This poem, which no man with patrio-
tic feeling can read without emotion,
was the work of few idle moments by
man whose genius and ability were
not recognized until after his death. Mr..
Owen died in Augusta in 1878. He was
well known in Portland and had written
many verses, some of which have been
published about this city and the people
here