A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY For Use in Schools, Colleges and the Library BY HENRY JEROME STOCKARD PRESIDENT OF PEACE INSTITUTE NEW YORK AND WASHINGTON THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY 1911 Copyright, 1911, by The Neale Publishing Company A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY 257825 Index of Titles ADONAIS (HABNEY) 173 AH AB MOHAMMED (LEGABE) 120 ALABAMA GARDEN, AN (PECK) 285 AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN (ALLSTON) 22 AMY (LEGARE) 121 ANGEL WATCHERS (JEFFREY) 143 ANNABEL LEE (POE) 66 ASHBY (THOMPSON) 116 ASHES OF GLORY (REQUIER) 129 ASSAULT, THE (THOMPSON) 255 As SOME MYSTERIOUS WANDERER OF THE SKIES (STOCKARD) 305 AT ARLINGTON (RANDALL) 210 AT ST. OSWALD'S (PRESTON) 140 AT THE NINTH HOUR (SPALDING) 218 AUTUMN IN THE SOUTH (MALONE) 325 BALLAD OF TREES AND THE MASTER, A (LANIER) .... 237 BAND IN THE PINES, THE (COOKE) 172 BEETHOVEN AND ANGELO (TABS) 266 BEFORE DEATH (PRESTON) 139 BEFORE THE RAIN (CAWEIN) 316 BELLS, THE (Pos) 68 BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD, THE (O'HARA) 100 BLESSING ON THE DANCE, A (RUSSELL) 279 BOND OF BLOOD, THE (THOMPSON) 271 BUST OF KRONOS, THE (HAYNE) 292 CAMEO BRACELET, THE (RANDALL) 205 CAVERNS (CAWEIN) 321 CHRISTMAS NIGHT OF '62 (McCABE) 220 CITY IN THE SEA, THE (POE) 62 CLOSING YEAR, THE (PRENTICE) 31 CLOUD FANTASIES (HAYNE) 164 COMPARISON, A (HAYNE) 166 3 INDEX OF TITLES CONFEDERATE CBOSS OF HONOB, THE (FLASH) .... 180 CONQUEBED BANNEB, THE (RYAN) 199 CONQUEBOB WOBM, THE (POE) 54 COBN (LANIEB) 238 COTTON BOLL, THE (TIMBOD) 146 CBEED (TOWNSEND) 193 CBISMUS TIME is COME (BONEB) 260 CBYSTAL, THE (LANIEB) 226 DEATH (RYAN) 202 DEATH-DBEAM OF ABMENIA, THE (THOMPSON).... 273 DECADENCE ( SLEDD) 309 DEPABTED, THE (TABS) 266 DBEAMING IN THE TBENCHES (McCABE) 221 DBOUTH (CAWEIN) 315 ENCHANTMENT (CAWEIN) 320 ENVOY (PIATT) 190 EVENING SONG (LANIEB) 225 EVEBY YEAB (PIKE) 84 EVOLUTION (TABB) 267 FACE TO FACE (HAYNE) 167 FAME (TABB) 267 FEUD (CAWEIN) 317 FEW DAYS OFF, A (McNEHJL) 336 FIGHT AT THE SAN JACINTO, THE (PALMEB) 123 FLOOD-TIDE (PBESTON) 141 FLOBENCE VANE (COOKE) 93 FOBEBODING (PECK) 282 FBESHNESS OF POETIC PEBCEPTION (HAYNE) 165 GANGESE DBEAM, A (HILL) 184 GEOBGIA VOLUNTEEB, A (TOWNSEND) 195 GOOD-BY (STANTON) 300 GBAVE IN HOLLYWOOD CEMETEBY, RICHMOND, A (PBESTON) 134 GBEAT MAN, THE (DABGAN) 342 HARK TO THE SHOUTING WIND (TIMBOD) 153 HABLEQUIN OF DBEAMS, THE (LANIEB) 236 HAUNTED PALACE, THE (PoE) 52 HEAD OF NIOBE, THE (HAYNE) 292 4 INDEX OF TITLES HEALTH, A (PINKNEY) 36 HE WHO HATH LOVED (MALONE) 326 HIGH TIDE AT GETTYSBURG, THE 268 HYMN 151 IDEAL SIESTA, AN (HELL) 187 IN EXILE (THOMPSON) 248 IN SHADOW-LAND ( HAYNE) 293 INTERCESSION ( SLEDD) 309 IN THE SOUTHERN PINES (PECK) 283 IN VINCULIS (HILL) 188 ISAAC (SLEDD) 307 ISRAFEL (POE) 49 JOHN PELHAM (RANDALL) 209 LENORE (POE) 51 LIGHT'OOD FIRE, THE (BONER) 259 'LlGION ( McNEILL) 336 LITTLE ELAINE (STANTON) 299 LITTLE GIFFEN (TICKNOR) 109 LOST PLEIAD, THE ( SIMMS) 43 LOYAL (TICKNOR) 110 MAN IN GRAY, THE (CAWEIN) 318 MARION (SIMMS) 40 MEMORIES (COOKE) 171 MIGNON (PECK) 286 MOCKING-BIRD, THE (HAYNE) 162 MOLLUSCS (STOCKARD) 304 Music IN CAMP (THOMPSON) 113 MY BABES IN THE WOOD (PIATT) 191 MY DEAD FRIEND (STANTON) 297 MY LIFE is LIKE THE SUMMER ROSE (WILDE) 29 MY MARYLAND (RANDALL) 207 MY SILENT GUEST (SLEDD) 306 MY STUDY (HAYNE) 164 MY WIFE AND CHILD (JACKSON) 106 NEW MARKET (GORDON) 288 OCTOBER IN TENNESSEE (MALONE) 323 ODE (TIMROD) 152 OH, ASK ME Nor (MCNEILL) 335 5 INDEX OF TITLES ONLY A DBEAM (REQUIEB) 132 ONLY A MEMORY (MCCABE) 222 ORIGIN OF THE BANJO, THE (RUSSELL) 276 OUB ANGLO-SAXON TONGUE ( HOPE) 159 PINE'S MYSTEBY, THE (HAYNE) 163 FOE'S COTTAGE AT FOBDHAM (BONEB) 261 POET'S VISION, THE (SIMMS) 39 POLK (FLASH) 181 PBESENTIMENT (RYAN) 203 RAINBOW, THE (WELBY) 96 RAVEN, THE (POE) 55 RED OLD HILLS OF GEOBGIA, THE (JACKSON) 104 REMEMBBANCE (BONEB) 263 RESIGNATION, OB DAYS OF MY YOUTH (TUCKEB) .... 20 SCIENCE (STOCKABD) 304 SCBEECH-OWL, THE (HAYNE) 293 SEA LYBIC, A (HAYNE) 295 SHAKESPEABE ( STOCKABD) 303 SILENCE (SPALDING) 215 SOLACE (THOMPSON) 247 SONG (PINKNEY) 37 SONG FOB THE SOUTH, A (PECK) 283 SONNET (TIMBOD) 154 SONNET (TIMBOD) 154 SOBOLLA (DABGAN) 340 SOUTHEBN SNOW-BIBD, THE (HAYNE) 294 STAB, THE (HABNEY) 175 STABBY HOST, THE (SPALDING) 217 STAB-SPANGLED BANNEB, THE (KEY) 26 STONEWALL JACKSON (FLASH) 182 STONEWALL JACKSON'S GBAVE (PBESTON) 136 STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY (PALMES) 125 SUNDOWN (MCNEELL) 336 SUNBISE (LANIEB) 229 SWOBD OF ROBEBT, LEE, THE (RYAN ) 201 THAT'S ALL (FLASH) 179 THREE SUMMEB STUDIES (HOPE) 156 "TIME BRINGS ROSES" (BONEB) 264 To A LILY (LEGARE) 119 6 INDEX OF TITLES TOGETHER (FLASH) 178 To HELEN (PoE) 48 To ONE IN PARADISE (Pos) 72 To THE MOCKING-BIRD (PIKE) 82 TREE TOAD, THE (CAWEIN) 313 TULIP, THE (.THOMPSON ) 250 TWILIGHT AT SEA (WELBY) 98 TWILIGHT MOTH, A (CAWEIN) 312 ULALUME (POE) 63 VAST UNKNOWN, THE (SPALDING) 217 VIRGINIANS OF THE VALLEY (TICKNOR) 108 WHEN THE CRICKET SINGS (PECK) 284 WHO WAS IT! (REQUIER) 131 WIDOWED HEART, THE (PIKE) 87 WILL AND THE WING, THE (HAYNE) 166 WITCH IN THE GLASS, THE (PIATT) 191 WIZARD OF THE SADDLE, THE (BOYLE) 328 WOMEN OF THE CONFEDERACY, THE (BOYLE) 330 Preface There is a deplorable lack of knowledge as to Southern poets. The object of this volume is to give a glimpse at their lives and a more complete survey of their work than any book that I have seen has offered. A few writers, not born in the South but identi- fied with it, are included: Albert Pike, an officer in the Confederacy, for instance. Quite as many others, native here but resident elsewhere, have been omitted: Mrs. Julia C. R. Dorr and Mr. C. P. Cranch, for examples. It may appear that undue attention has been given to certain poets of the war period. Ample space has been accorded them for two reasons: first, the intrinsic value of their work warrants it ; and, second, their poems either have never been collected or no longer are in print. I acknowledge my indebtedness to the following publishers for the use of poems over which they hold the copyright: Messrs. Frederick A. Stokes Co. for selections from the works of Messrs. Peck and Wm. H. Hayne ; to the Independent for Lanier's " The Crystal/' "Ballad of Trees/' and "Sunrise"; to Messrs. J. B. Lippincott & Co. for " The Harlequin of Dreams/' "Evening Song," and "Corn"; to Messrs. Small, Maynard & Co. for Tabb's poems ; to the Century Co. for selections by Wm. H. Thompson, John H. Boner, etc.; to Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. for poems by James Maurice Thompson and Wm. H. Hayne; to Mr. J. P. Kennedy for Ryan's 9 PREFACE work; and to Dr. George Preston for the poems by his mother. My thanks are due also to several of the poets represented for work generously placed at my disposal. A work of this character is never complete: were it possible to make the manuscript so, the printed book would not be; new writers are continu- ally appearing, while the living writers who are represented are changing their record. To the dis- cerning reader, though, one fact will be evident: the stream of poesy in our Southland has grown wider and deeper and stronger, and others may trace it as it widens out into a majestic river. H. J. S. RALEIGH, N. C. September 14, 1910. 10 Poetics I VERSIFICATION VERSE. A Verse is a line of a poem. The word is often incorrectly used for stanza. STANZA. A Stanza is a collection of verses mak- ing up a regular division of a poem. Two lines so associated make a couplet; three, a triplet; four, a quatrain, etc. RHYME. Rhyme is a correspondence of sound at the ends of verses. If the unisonance is on the last syllable, the rhyme is masculine, or single; if on the next to the last, feminine, or double ; if on the third from the last, triple. The three kinds are thus il- lustrated in the order named: Where the pools are bright and deep, Where the gray trout lies asleep. Nor wintry leaves, nor vernal, Nbr days, nor things diurnaL The young May moon is beaming, love, The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love. METEE. Metre is the regular recurrence of stressed syllables; and such syllables, together with those un- accented grouped with them, determine the kind of verse. By indicating the former thus ( x ) and the 11 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY latter thus ( ' ) we may illustrate the various kinds of feet, or groups of syllables: > x | / x | ' * | ' x Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright. (Iambus.) x f I x / I x / j x Love me little, love me long. (Trochee.) ' '/X|' / X] / / X |> / X The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold. (Anapest.) X > / | X ' / | X / 'j X f /| Coral and sea-fan and tangle, the blooms and the x ' ' I x ' palms of the ocean. (Dactyl.) There are yet other kinds of feet, but they occur in lines of the foregoing types. The pyrrhic ( " ) and J spondee ( xx ) are seen in this line : / x| / / | / x|/ / I x x The quality of mercy is not strained. It frequently happens that a trochaic foot is intro- duced into an iambic line, or that the verse is other- wise varied; this may be done with a most happy effect, and a poet's skill in such transitions is an index to his mastery of his art. KINDS OF METRE. The number of stresses in a line determines its measure. A verse of one foot is called a monometer; of two, a dimeter; of three, a trimeter; of four, a tetrameter; of five, a pentam- eter; of six, hexameter. Browning's opening lines 12 POETICS to " Pippa Passees " illustrate all measures but one, from monometer to hexameter, inclusive: Day! Faster and more fast O'er night's brim day boils at last: Put forth one wavelet, then another, curled, Till the whole sunrise, not to be suppressed, Rose, reddened, and its seething breast Flickered in bounds, grew gold, then overflowed the world. Longer measures are usually divided, a heptam- eter appearing as two verses a tetrameter and a trimeter, as: > x | / x | > x|> x Ye banks and braes o' bonny Boon, ' X | > X | > X How can ye bloom sae fair. In place of an octameter, two tetrameters are often written, as: ' X | ' X | > X|' X The tide is high and stormy beams x 1 1 , x | /x | / | x Of sunlight scud across the down. Sometimes a line lacks a syllable, or has an extra one, either at the beginning or at the end; the one case is called catalectic; the other, hypercatalectic. Examples in the order stated are : x ' | x/ x Touch us gently, Time. ' x j / x I / x|/ x|' Then steal away, give little warning. 13 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY THE CAESURA. In reading poetry aloud, one nat- urally makes a pause at the end of a line and also at certain points in the line. This pause is known as the caesura, and is usually, but not always, marked by punctuation. It may occur at any place in the verse, but tends toward the middle. A line may have two or more caesuras. The following will illus- trate these points: Misery, | my sweetest friend, | oh ! | weep no more. I hear the fruitful stream | lapsing along. In shifting this point so as to bring out the mel- ody of his lines, the artistic poet exercises his finest cunning. Milton was a master of the caesura. ANALYSIS OP FORMS. In analyzing poetic forms one should give the kind of feet, the number of feet in the line, the number of lines in the stanza, and the rhyme order. If there is a mixture, the pre- vailing foot determines the type. If there is a difficulty in deciding without actual count, as is sometimes the case in the most artistic of poems, let the effect produced be observed. Illustrations follow: Tiger! Tiger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Framed thy fearful symmetry? The poem of which this is a stanza would be de- 14 POETICS scribed as trochaic tetrameter, catalectic, in quat- rains rhymed aa bb. " Traveler, what lies over the hill ? Traveler, tell to me: I am only a child from the window-sill Over I cannot see." In this stanza there are four kinds of feet, but the effect is dactylic. Tennyson's matchless lyric of grief has an anapestic movement: Break! break! break! On thy cold gray stones, Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me! The first line of this poem has but three sylla- bles, but each is accented. The unstressed syllables are represented by what is termed the compensating pause. If x indicates unrhymed verses, this poem would be characterized as trimeter, of anapestic effect, in quatrains rhymed xaxa, the third line hypercatalectic. However, the corresponding line in the second stanza is full trimeter ; and in the fourth, full tetrameter. Exercises in scansion are suggested in connection with the poems in this volume. 15 II DIVISIONS OF POETEY NARRATIVE POETRY tells of the deeds of other men. It is objective. In it the poet's individuality is obscured. Homer is so veiled behind his works that his very existence has been questioned. Under the division of Narrative Poetry fall, The Epic: a long poem with a noble theme, set forth in fitting language. " Paradise Lost " is the noblest English epic. The Metrical Eomance: the name explains itself. Longfellow's " Evangeline " and Tennyson's " Prin- cess " are notable examples. The Ballad: a short, ringing narrative poem. Tennyson's "Charge of the Light Brigade" is a fine one. If the characters of the story speak for themselves the poem is a dramatic ballad; and if feeling becomes more pronounced than narration, the result is a lyrical ballad. The Descriptive Poem: objects rather than events are treated. Thomson's " Seasons " illustrates. There are further divisions, such as the Pastoral Poem, the Idyll, the Mock-Epic, the Humorous Epic, etc., the names of which indicate their spheres. LYRIC POETRY reveals the emotions of the writer is subjective. In it the poet's personality stands out. Pindar, the great lyric poet, is immortal, while the songs he sang are unknown to the vast majority of mankind. Lyrics are of several types, and are classified with regard to the feeling under which they were composed. The Sacred Lyric: voices religious fervor. It 16 POETICS is well represented in Cardinal Newman's "Lead, Kindly Light," a song that adds a grace to many a hymnody. The Patriotic Lyric: the inspiration for this is love of country. " The Star-Spangled Banner/' by Key, and " America," by Smith, illustrate. Under this head come also War Lyrics, those fierce out- bursts of passion such as Randall's "Maryland" and de I'Isle's "Marseillaise/' The Love Lyric: this is the most common type? The lyric is at home in this province, and has been since the days of the troubadour and minnesinger, some six hundred years ago. Its range is as wide as the moods love inspires, from rapture to despair; as Chaucer puts it, " Now up, now doun, as bokets in a welle." From grave to gay are Burns's "Highland Mary," Sidney's " My True Love Hath My Heart," and Ben Jonson's "To Celia." When death is the central theme the poem is a Lyric of Grief. Nature Lyric: the scope of this, too, is wide- reaching, for it comprehends not only such simple strains as Browning's " The Year's at the Spring," but such involved poems as Milton's " L' Allegro " and " II Penseroso," in which the analogies between nature and life are traced out. The Eeflective Lyric: the philosophical element pervades this type, and therefore good examples of it are rare; for it is in danger of verging into didacticism, and that is not poetry. Still there are purely reflective poems of exalted feeling, such, for instance, as Matthew Arnold's " Rugby Chapel " and George Eliot's " Choir Invisible." The Convivial Lyric, a drinking song (also called 17 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Anacreontic verse, from Anacreon, the master of this kind of writing). One of the finest in the language is Shakespeare's "Cup Us Till the World Go Bound." One or two notable illustrations ap- pear in this book, pp. 36, 37. The Lyric of Fancy: pure imagination is the sub- stance whereof this is wrought, and it must be clothed with exquisite grace. Ariel's songs in " The Tempest," "Full Fathom Five Thy Father Lies" and " Where the Bee Sucks " embody these essen- tials. The Humorous Lyric: no better instance of this need be sought for than " Contentment," by Oliver Wendell Holmes. The Lyric of Praise has for its theme the lauda- tion of some individual. Palmer's " Stonewall Jackson's Way," included in this study, p. 125, is one. Society Verse : a light, graceful treatment of so- ciety trifles. The periodicals of to-day are flooded with them. Lyrics may be classified also, as to form, into Ode, Sonnet, Song, Rondeau, Rondel, Triolet, Ballade, Villanelle, etc. Of these, the Ode and the Song as- sume many a form; the others have more or less prescribed limits. Such of these forms as are rep- resented in this book will be discussed in the notes under them; as for the others, the student is re- ferred to some treatise on poetics. DRAMATIC POETRY. The Drama is written to be acted, to represent before the eyes human life in its hopes and fears, rapture and despair. Hence into its composition may enter all the elements that go to make literature. It is divided into Tragedy, Comedy, and Reconciling-Drama. Tragedy moves on to some fatal issue. " Ham- let" is one example. 18 POETICS Comedy is of a light, amusing nature, and holds up the foibles and frailties of society and the ludi- crous accidents of life. "As You Like It" is a type. Keconciling-Drama threatens a tragic close, but at the last averts it. "The Merchant of Venice" is an example. The poems in these pages are almost all lyrics. In studying each certain points should be especially observed : The Mood: is it tender, hopeful, morbid, grave, tragic, etc.? The Movement: is it majestic, tripping, vigorous, regular, halting, etc.? The Sound: is it alliterative, sibilant, musical, sonorous, harsh, etc.? Seek to extend each of these lists so as to char- acterize accurately each poem. Then, too, the theme should be stated, after the poem has been classified. If it is a patriotic lyric its theme may be love for state engendered by her heroic deeds; or love for country roused at threat- ened invasion. The diction should be characterized and the stanza structure and rhyme order indicated. Nota- ble passages, or even entire poems, should be com- mitted to memory. It is better, however, not to examine each poem from all these points of view at the same recitation. Such a process might become tedious or confusing. Let one or two phases engage the attention for several successive days, the mood and movement, for instance ; then take up the sound, the classification, etc. 19 St. George Tucker 1752-1828 Mr. Tucker was a native of the Bermudas. In early life he came to Virginia, where he received his education, finishing the course at William and Mary. He took up the law as a profession, and after practic- ing in the Colonial courts a while became a judge of the General Court of Virginia. Later he was chosen professor of law in William and Mary, from which institution he received the degree of LL. D. He was the author of numerous law treatises, dramas, and poems. Chiefly upon these last his fame rests. RESIGNATION, OK DAYS OF MY YOUTH Days of my youth, Ye have glided away ; Hairs of my youth, Ye are frosted and gray; Eyes of my youth, B Your keen sight is no more; Cheeks of my youth, Ye are furrowed all o'er, Strength of my youth, All your vigor is gone; 10 Thoughts of my youth, Your gay visions are flown. 20 ST. GEORGE TUCKER II Days of my youth, I wish not your recall; Hairs of my youth, 15 Fm content ye should fall; Eyes of my youth, You much evil have seen; Cheeks of my youth, Bathed in tears have you been; 20 Thoughts of my youth, You have led me astray; Strength of my youth, Why lament your decay? Ill Days of my age, 25 Ye will shortly be past; Pains of my age, Yet a while ye can last; Joys of my age, In true wisdom delight; 30 Eyes of my age, Be religion your light; Thoughts of my age, Dread ye not the cold sod; Hopes of my age, 35 Be ye fixed on your God. A reflective lyric. What mood pervades it ? What is its object? Does it attain it? 21 Washington Allston 1779-1843 A South Carolinian by birth, Mr. Allston removed to Ehode Island in boyhood. He was graduated at Harvard, and went abroad to study painting. For some years he resided in England, and during this period produced his best pictures. " The Dead Man Kevived," "Uriel in the Sun/' and "Jacob's Feast" represent him best in art. His writings are " The Sylphs of the Seasons, and Other Poems"; "Monaldi, a Tale"; "Lectures on Art, and Poems," etc. He was closely connected with the beginnings of art and literature in America. AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN All hail ! thou noble land, Our fathers' native soil ! Oh, stretch thy mighty hand, Gigantic grown by toil, O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore ! 5 For thou with magic might Canst reach to where the light Of Phoebus travels bright The world o'er! The genius of our clime, 10 From his pine-embattled steep, Shall hail the guest sublime, While the Tritons of the deep 22 WASHINGTON ALLSTON With their conches the kindred league shall proclaim. Then let the world combine, ** O'er the main our naval line Like the Milky-Way shall shine Bright in fame ! Though ages long have passed Since our fathers left their home, 20 Their pilot in the blast, O'er untravelled seas to roam, Yet lives the blood of England in our veins ! And shall we not proclaim That blood of honest fame 25 Which no tyranny can tame By its chains? While the language free and bold Which the bard of Avon sung, In which our Milton told 30 How the vault of Heaven rung When Satan, blasted, fell with his host; While this, with reverence meet, Ten thousand echoes greet, From rock to rock repeat tt Round our coast ; While the manners, while the arts, That mould a nation's soul, Still cling around our hearts, Between let Ocean roll, Our joint communion breaking with the Sun: Yet still from either beach The voice of blood shall reach, More audible than speech, " We are one." 45 23 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY A patriotic lyric. State its exact theme. What prophetic touches in it seem to have been fulfilled by recent events ? 1. What figure? 8. Meaning of Phcebus? 8, 9. Another way of saying, " The sun never sets on England's dominions." 10. Freedom is " the genius of our clime." 13. The Tritons were fabled creatures of the sea, heralding on their conch shells the ap- proach of Neptune. 17. Is the simile forceful? 29. Explain " bard of Avon." 31, 32. Allusion to what work of Milton? 40,41. Give the thought. Francis Scott Key 1780-1843 The author of the lyric below, thus far the best of our national songs, was born in Maryland, but spent most of his life in Washington, where he was attorney for the District of Columbia. The story of the poem is as follows : Mr. Key had visited a British ship in Baltimore harbor to procure the release of a friend, held prisoner on board, and was not permitted to leave until after the attack on Fort McHenry. The bombardment ceased during the night, but he did not know the result until the next morning, when he saw the banner still floating on the battlements. While aboard this vessel the now notable lines were written, first on the back of an old envelope. When the author returned to Balti- more he revised them, and gave them to Captain Eades, who had participated in the battle of North Point. Eades had them printed, and a copy fell into the hands of an actor, who sang them for the first time to the air, " Anacreon in Heaven." They were received with wild applause, and were immedi- ately taken up and sung all over the country. A collection of Key's poems was published in New York, 1857, with an introduction by Roger B. Taney. Some years since James Lick bequeathed $60,000 for a monument to the author of the song. This memorial, executed by Story, in Rome, stands in Golden Gate Park, San Francisco. 25 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER Oh ! say, can you see by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming ? Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the clouds of the fight O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming ! And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, 6 Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there; 0, say, does that Star-Spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave ? On that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence re- poses, 10 What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering ^ steep, As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected now shines on the stream; 'Tis the Star-Spangled banner ; 0, long may it wave 15 O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave ! And where is that band who so vauntingly swore That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion A home and a country should leave us no more? Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution. 20 26 FRANCIS SCOTT KEY No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave; And the Star-Spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave. Oh ! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand 25 Between their loved home and the war's desolation ! Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation! Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, And this be our motto " In God is our Trust " 30 And the Star-Spangled "banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave. Compare the theme in this with that in Allston's, pp. 22, 23. What type of lyric is this? What is the measure ? 6. "Gave proof "how ? 12. A good picture. 17. " That band "the British. 20. A vigorous line. 21. Explain "hireling and slave." 27. Criticise the movement. Richard Henry Wilde 1789-1847 The author of these well-known lines came from Ireland. Poverty was his by inheritance, but through his own efforts he arose to a position of distinction in law and in letters. He first lived in Georgia, when he became the Attorney-General of the State, and, later, its representative in Congress. After- wards he moved to New Orleans and occupied a chair in the University of Louisiana. While hold- ing this position he died of yellow fever. The accompanying lyric, first entitled "The La- ment of the Captive," is a fragment of an epic which the author planned on the life and the experiences of his brother, James Wilde, in the Seminole war. It was suggested by the story of Juan Ortez, the last survivor of the ill-fated expedition of Narvaez. Anthony Barclay translated the lines into Greek, and the North American Review surmised that they were from a Greek ode by Alcasus. Mr. Barclay subsequently wrote " An Authentic Account of Wilde's Alleged Plagiarism," which was published by the Georgia Historical Society in 1871. Mr. Wilde was a student in Italian literature, his main work being " Conjectures and Researches Con- cerning the Love, Madness, and Imprisonment of Torquato Tasso." This contains graceful translations from that Italian poet. He wrote original poems for the magazines, and left an unfinished Life of Dante, together with translations of Italian lyrics. 28 RICHARD HENRY WILDE These have not been published, but a completed poem, "Hesperia," edited by his son, appeared in Boston in 1867. MY LIFE IS LIKE THE SUMMER ROSE My life is like the summer rose, That opens to the morning sky, And ere the shades of evening close, Is scattered on the ground to die; Yet on that rose's humble bed 5 The sweetest dews of night are shed As though she wept such waste to see; But none shall weep a tear for me ! My life is like the autumn leaf Which trembles in the moon's pale ray, 10 Its hold is frail, its date is brief, Restless, and soon to pass away; Yet when that leaf shall fall and fade, The parent tree will mourn its shade, The wind bewail the leafless tree; 16 But none shall breathe a sigh for me ! My life is like the prints which feet Have left on Tampa's desert strand, Soon as the rising tide shall beat Their trace will vanish from the sand; 20 Yet still, as grieving to efface All vestige of the human race, On that lone shore loud moans the sea; But none, alas ! shall mourn for me ! Classify this lyric. What is its stanza structure? 29 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Its meter and kind of feet ? Its rhyme order ? Notice the felicity of the simile in each stanza, and the turn at " yet " in the middle. Discuss the unity of the song. 11. Observe the fine use of "date." 18. What fine musical phrase? George Denison Prentice 1802-1870 Mr. Prentice was born in Connecticut, and taught school at an early age. He was graduated at Brown and, completing his course in law, was admitted to the bar. He never practiced his profession, however, his inclination being toward journalism. He edited the Connecticut Mirror and, afterwards, the New England WeeUy Review. Moving to Louisville, Ky., he became editor of the Louisville Journal, and made that paper a powerful advocate of the Whig party. He resigned as editor, but continued contributions to the paper until it was consoli- dated with the Courier, forming the Courier-Journal of to-day. He furnished a column of wit and humor to the New York Ledger for several years, and wrote many poems, which have been collected and pub- lished, with a biography, by John James Piatt. " Prenticeana " is the title of a volume made up of his pithy sayings. He did more, possibly, than any one else to encourage authorship in the South. A life-size marble statue oi him stands above the entrance to the Courier- Journal building in Louis- ville. THE CLOSING YEAR 'Tis midnight's holy hour and silence now Is brooding, like a gentle spirit, o'er The still and pulseless world. Hark! on the winds, The bell's deep-notes are swelling. 'Tis the knell Of the departed year. 5 31 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY No funeral train Is sweeping past ; yet on the stream and wood, With melancholy light, the moonbeams rest, Like a pale, spotless shroud ; the air is stirred, As by a mourner's sigh ; and on yon cloud, That floats so still and placidly through heaven, The spirits of the seasons seem to stand Young Spring, bright Summer, Autumn's solemn form, And Winter, with his aged locks and breathe In mournful cadences, that come abroad 15 Like the far wind harp's wild and touching wail, A melancholy dirge o'er the dead Year, Gone from the earth forever. 'Tis a time For memory and for tears. Within the deep, 20 Still chambers of the heart a spectre dim, Whose tones are like the wizard voice of Time, Heard from the tomb of ages, pointc its cold And solemn finger to the beautiful And holy visions that have passed away 25 And left no shadow of their loveliness On the dead waste of life. That spectre lifts The coffin-lid of hope, and joy, and love And, bending mournfully above the pale, Sweet forms that slumber there, scatters dead flowers 30 O'er what has passed to nothingness. The year Has gone, and, with it, many a glorious throng Of happy dreams. Its mark is on each brow, Its shadow on each heart. In its svdft course 35 It waved its sceptre o'er the beautiful, GEORGE DENISON PRENTICE And they are not. It laid its pallid hand Upon the strong man, and the haughty form Is fallen, and the flashing eye is dim. It trod the hall of revelry, where thronged 40 The bright and joyous, and the tearful wail Of stricken ones is heard, where erst the song And reckless shout resounded. It passed o'er The battle plain, where sword, and spear, and shield Flashed in the light of midday and the strength 45 Of serried hosts is shivered, and the grass, Green from the soil of carnage, waves above The crushed and mouldering skeleton. It came And faded like a wreath of mist at eve; Yet, ere it melted in the viewless air, 60 It heralded its millions to their home In the dim land of dreams. Remorseless Time! Fierce spirit of the glass and scythe ! what power Can stay him in his silent course, or melt BB His iron heart to pity? On, still on He presses and forever. The proud bird, The condor of the Andes, that can soar Through heaven's unfathomable depths, or brave The fury of the Northern hurricane 60 And bathe his plumage in the thunder's home, Furls his broad wings at nightfall and sinks down To rest upon his mountain crag but Time Knows not the weight of sleep or weariness, And night's deep darkness has no chain to bind 65 His rushing pinion. Revolutions sweep O'er earth, like troubled visions o'er the breast Of dreaming sorrow; cities rise and sink, Like bubbles on the water; fiery isles Spring, blazing, from the ocean, and go back 70 S3 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY To their mysterious caverns ; mountains rear To heaven their bald and blackened cliffs, and bow Their tall heads to the plain; new empires rise, Gathering the strength of hoary centuries, And rush down like the Alpine avalanche, l5 Startling the nations; and the very stars, Yon bright and burning blazonry of God, Glitter a while in their eternal depths, And, like the Pleiad, loveliest of their train, Shoot from their glorious spheres, and pass away, * To darkle in the trackless void; yet Time, Time, the tomb-builder, holds his fierce career, Dark, stern, all pitiless, and pauses not Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his path, To sit and muse, like other conquerors, 85 Upon the fearful ruin he has wrought. A reflective poem in blank verse. Read it aloud and note the majestic movement of the lines. In this respect it is to be compared with Bryant's " Thanatopsis." What figure abounds ? Is it used ineffectively at any point? 46. Explain " serried hosts/' 56. "Iron heart" is what figure ? 69. " Fiery isle " : in volcanic belts islands sometimes heave suddenly above the surface of the sea; and, owing to their loose foundation, almost as suddenly disappear. 71, 72. The slow process of mountain formation and disintegration here is in strong contrast to the foregoing; but both alike, together with "new empires" and "the very stars," are one when measured with Time. 73. Any criticism on the position of " new empires " in this fine climax? 79. See note to "The Lost Pleiad," by Simms, in this volume, pp. 43, 44. Edward Coate Pinkney 1802-1828 James Pinkney, the father of Edward Coate Pink- ney, was Minister to the Court of St. James. In London, during his parents' stay there, the subject of this sketch was born. The first nine years of his life were spent in the British metropolis. On his father's return to Baltimore, the family home, the boy was placed in college, but before he had com- pleted his course he entered the United States navy. Here he remained six years, resigning at last on account of a quarrel between himself and a superior officer. After this episode he studied law and was admitted to the bar; but, as has often been the case with spirits of like temperament, he grew tired of this profession. After essaying the navy again, with the patriots of Mexico, he returned to Balti- more, and soon after was appointed professor of rhetoric and belles-lettres in the University of Maryland a position that yielded no salary. After a short while he was chosen editor of the Mary- lander, a political newspaper; but failing health soon resulted in death. A thin volume of poems, published in 1825, em- bodies his contribution to literature; but it contains exquisite work. As a proof of this it is sufficient to state that, when it was proposed to publish biograph- ical sketches of five of America's greatest poets, he was chosen as one of the number. 85 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY A HEALTH I fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone; A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon; To whom the better elements 5 And kindly stars have given A form so fair, that, like the air, ? Tis less of earth than heaven. Her every tone is music's own, Like those of morning birds, 10 And something more than melody Dwells ever in her words; The coinage of her heart are they, And from her lips each flows As one may see the burdened bee 15 Forth issue from the rose. Affections are as thoughts to her, The measures of her hours; Her feelings have the fragrancy, The freshness of young flowers, 20 And lovely passions, changing oft, So fill her, she appears The image of themselves by turns, The idol of past years. Of her bright face, one glance will trace 25 A picture on the brain, And of her voice in echoing hearts A sound must long remain; 36 EDWARD COATE PINKNEY But memory such as mine of her So very much endears, 30 When death is nigh my latest sigh Will not be life's, but hers. I fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex 35 The seeming paragon Her health ! and would on earth there stood Some more of such a frame, That life might be all poetry, And weariness a name. 40 SONG We break the glass, whose sacred wine To some beloved health we drain, Lest future pledges, less divine, Should e'er the hallowed toy profane : And thus I broke a heart that poured 5 Its tide of feelings out for thee, In draughts, by after times deplored, Yet dear to memory. But still the old empassioned ways And habits of my mind remain, 10 And still unhappy light displays Thine image chambered in my brain; And still it looks as when the hours Went by like flights of living birds, Or that soft chain of spoken flowers 15 And airy gems, thy words. 37 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY A HEALTH. A convivial lyric. What is the rhyme scheme? Lines one and seven in each stanza have an internal rhyme. 17. Is the rhyme perfect? SONG. Is this of the foregoing type? What is its metre? Its rhyme order? 5. "And thus I broke/' etc. : is this the conclusion of a simile ? 38 William Gilmore Simms 18061870 Mr. Simms early manifested a love for letters. His scholastic training was received in his native city, Charleston, S. C. He first thought of taking up medicine as a life work, but turned his attention to the law. This he never practiced, however. Simms is better known as a novelist than as a poet. He wrote voluminously, poems, novels, dramas, his- tories, book reviews, editorials, etc. His best known poem is "Atalantis"; "Yemassee" is one of his best novels. He published "Lyrical and Other Poems' 5 in 1826; and twenty years later another book of verse, " Areytos, or Songs and Ballads of the South/ 5 He edited various journals, and did much to foster a literary spirit in his section of the Union. Other books of verse by him are : " Southern Pas- sages and Pictures," " Grouped Thoughts and Scat- tered Fancies," " Lays of the Palmetto," etc. Hayne, Timrod and others found in him a sympathetic friend. His last years were spent in a heroic fight against want, a common experience throughout the Southland in his day. A fine bust of him adorns the Battery, in his native city. THE POET'S VISION Upon the Poet's soul they flash forever, In evening shades, these glimpses strange and sweet; They fill his heart betimes, rthey leave him never, And haunt his steps with sounds of falling feet; 39 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY He walks beside a mystery night and day; 6 Still wanders where the sacred spring is hidden; Yet, would he take the seal from the forbidden, Then must he work and watch as well as pray I How work? How watch? Beside him in his way, Springs without check the floVr by whose choice spell, 10 More potent than " herb moly," he can tell Where the stream rises, and the waters play! Ah ! spirits call'd avail not ! On his eyes, Sealed up with stubborn clay, the darkness lies. MARION' "THE SWAMP Fox" (From the Partisan) We follow where the Swamp Fox guides, His friends and merry men are we; And when the troop of Tarleton rides, We burrow in the cypress tree. The turfy hammock is our bed, 6 Our home is in the red deer's den, Our roof, the tree-top overhead, For we are wild and hunted men. We fly by day, and shun its light, But, prompt to strike the sudden blow, 10 We mount and start with early night, And through the forest track our foe. And soon he hears our chargers leap, The flashing sabre blinds his eyes, And, ere he drives away his sleep, 1B And rushes from his camp, he dies. 40 WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS Free bridle-bit, good gallant steed, That will not ask a kind caress, To swim the Santee at our need, When on his heels the foemen press, 20 The true heart and the ready hand, The spirit stubborn to be free, The twisted bore, the smiting brand, And we are Marion's men, you see. Now light the fire, and cook the meal, 2B The last perhaps that we shall taste; I hear the Swamp Fox round us steal, And that's a sign we move in haste. He whistles to the scouts, and hark ! You hear his order calm and low 30 Come, wave your torch across the dark, And let us see the boys that go. We may not see their forms again, God help 'em, should they find the strife ! For they are strong and fearless men, 35 And make no coward terms for life; They'll fight as long as Marion bids, And when he speaks the word to shy, Then not till then they turn their steeds, Through thickening shade and swamp to fly. 40 Now stir the fire, and lie at ease, The scouts are gone, and on the brush I see the colonel bend his knees, To take his slumbers too but hush ! He's praying, comrades ; 'tis not strange ; 45 The man that's fighting day by day, May well, when night comes, take a change, And down upon his knees to pray. 41 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Break up that hoe-cake, boys, and hand The sly and silent jug that's there; 50 I love not it should idly stand, . When Marion's men have need of cheer. 'Tis seldom that our luck affords A stuff like this we just have quaffed, And dry potatoes on our boards 55 May always call for such a draught. Now pile the brush and roll the log; Hard pillow, but a soldier's head That's half the time in brake and bog Must never think of softer bed. 60 The owl is hooting to the night, The cooter crawling o'er the bank, And in that pond the flashing light Tells where the alligator sank. What ! 'tis the signal ! start so soon, 65 And through the Santee swamp so deep, Without the aid of friendly moon, And we, Heaven help us ! half asleep ! But courage, comrades! Marion leads, The Swamp Fox takes us out to-night; 70 So clear your swords, and spur your steeds, There's goodly chance, I think, of fight. We follow where the Swamp Fox guides, We leave the swamp and cypress tree, Our spurs are in our coursers' sides, 75 And ready for the strife are we, The Tory camp is now in sight, And there he cowers within his den, He hears our shouts, he dreads the fight, He fears, and flies from Marion's men. 80 WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS THE LOST PLEIAD Not in the sky, Where it was seen So long in eminence of light serene, Nor on the white tops of the glistening wave, N*or down in mansions of the hidden deep, Though beautiful in green And crystal, its great caves of mystery, Shall the bright watcher have Her place, and, as of old, high station keep ! Gone! gone! 10 Oh ! nevermore, to cheer The mariner, who holds his course alone On the Atlantic, through the weary night, When the stars turn to watchers, and do sleep, Shall it again appear, With the sweet-loving certainty of light, Down shining on the shut eyes of the deep ! The upward-looking shepherd on the hills Of Chaldea, night-returning with his flocks, He wonders why her beauty doth not blaze, 20 Gladding his gaze, And, from his dreary watch along the rocks, Guiding him homeward o'er the perilous ways ! How stands he waiting still, in a sad maze, Much wondering, while the drowsy silence fills 25 The sorrowful vault ! how lingers, in the hope that night May yet renew the expected and sweet light, So natural to his sight ! And lone, Where, at the first, in smiling love she shone, 30 43 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Brood the once happy circle of bright stars: How should they dream, until her fate was known, That they were ever confiscate to death ? That dark oblivion the pure beauty mars, And, like the earth, its common bloom and breath, 35 That they should fall from high; Their lights grow blasted by a touch, and die, All their concerted springs of harmony Snapt rudely, and the generous music gone ! Ah ! still the strain Of wailing sweetness fills the saddening sky; The sister stars, lamenting in their pain That one of the selected ones must die, Must vanish, when most lovely, from the rest! Alas ! 'tis ever thus the destiny. 45 Even Eapture's song hath evermore a tone Of wailing, as for bliss too quickly gone. The hope most precious is the soonest lost, The flower most sweet is first to feel the frost. Are not all short-lived things the loveliest? 50 And, like the pale star, shooting down the sky, Look they not ever brightest, as they fly From the lone sphere they blest! THE POET'S VISION. This is a sonnet; study its structure. 11. "Herb moly": a fabulous plant of magic potency, said by Homer to have been given to Ulysses by Mercury that he might break with it the spell of Circe. MARION". Of what class is this? Francis Marion was called the "Swamp Fox": why appropriately? 3. Who was Tarleton? 19. Why is this particular river named? 23. "Twisted bore": the grooves in 44 WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS the rifle barrel ; " brand " : sword. 59. " Brake and bog": explain. THE LOST PLEIAD : an ode. Note the irregularity of its form. 14. Meaning? 16, 18, 19. Does his fondness for compounds lead to a bold use? 30. The remaining six " brood " over the fate of their sister. Give the thought from this line down to 36. 36. Mythology accounts for the disappearance of the star in several ways: the one that it was destroyed by lightning is here accepted. 37. Justify "concerted springs of harmony snapt." This and the succeeding line are especially fine. 44 to the close: does the applica- tion add to the art of the poem ? Does the figure at the close redeem the moralizing? The Pleiades, seven in number, were the daugh- ters of Atlas and Pleione. They hunted with Diana. On one of these hunting occasions Orion met them ; and, being enamored, pursued them. They prayed the gods to change their forms, and Jupiter turned them first into pigeons, afterward into a con- stellation. It requires a very keen sight to discern in this con- stellation more than six stars. Hence, as seven were mentioned, the ancients naturally concluded that one of the cluster was lost. One explanation was that noted above. Another was that the lost Pleiad was Electra, who withdrew in sorrow at the fall of Ilium and the misfortunes of her descendants, Dar- danus having been her son. Another story was that the missing sister was Merope, who veiled her light because of shame that she alone had married a mortal. Edgar Allan Poe 18091849 Nothing more can be given here than a condensed statement of some of the main facts regarding the life and works of this, in some respects, most not- ahle American writer. It would require a volume to treat the subject with any measure of completeness. Such volumes have been prepared, that by Professor Woodberry about as impartial and satisfactory as any. The great-grandfather of Edgar, John Poe, was a descendant from one of the officers of Cromwell. He came from Ireland to Pennsylvania about 1745. A son of his, David, was a Eevolutionary patriot, and his son of the same name was the father of the poet. This David Poe was educated for the law, but went upon the stage, and in 1845 married an actress, Elizabeth Arnold. While the parents were filling an engagement at the Federal Street Theatre, Boston, Edgar, their second son, was born, January 19, 1809. Being left an orphan at two years of age, he was adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Allan, of Richmond; hence Poe's middle name. The Allans took him abroad in 1815 and placed him in school near London. Five years later he was brought back to Richmond and was sent to a private school there. He showed marked precocity in those years. In 1826 he entered the University of Virginia, but was withdrawn in a year and placed in his foster-father's counting-room. Restless in this position, he left Richmond to seek his fortune. 46 EDGAR ALLAN POE Going first to Boston, he put forth his earliest venture, " Tamerlane, and Other Poems," which met with no response. Next he enlisted as Edgar A. Perry in the United States army. Presumably tiring of this service, he made his whereabouts known to Mr. Allan, through whose efforts he was released and appointed to a cadetship in the United States Mili- tary Academy. He stood well at West Point for a while, but on Mr. Allan's refusing to sanction his resignation he purposely brought about his own dis- missal. Meantime he had published a second col- lection, " Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems," which, like the first, created no impression. Now, as he left West Point, his third book appeared. It bore the title "Poems" and was issued mainly through the subscriptions of his fellow-students. At this the silence was broken it did elicit ridicule. About this time Poe was cut entirely adrift from his benefactors, Mrs. Allan having died and her hus- band having remarried. Poe went to Baltimore and became an inmate of the home of his aunt, Mrs. Clemm. Soon after he received his first pronounced encouragement, in the way of one hundred dollars from the Saturday Visitor for his story, "A MS. Found in a Bottle." He worked, later, on the Southern Literary Messenger, and gained high dis- tinction for that periodical. In 1836 he married his cousin, Virginia Clemm, a child of thirteen ; and the next year went to New York, invited, as some say, by Dr. Francis L. Hawkes to become a contributor to the recently established New York Review. He furnished only one article for this journal; but dur- ing this period in New York he finished his " Narra- tive of Arthur Gordon Pym," which had been par- tially published in the Messenger. He moved to 47 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY and fro, to Philadelphia, back to New York, con- tributing to periodicals and publishing collections of his tales always with the hope that one day he should have a magazine of his own. When "The Eaven and Other Poems" appeared in 1845, Poe was the most prominent writer of the time; but his wife's health was fast failing, and his own constitution, whipped to over-work, was speedily becoming exhausted. The family was reduced to poverty and moved to the little cottage at Fordham, near New York, where Mrs. Poe died. Shattered in health, Poe entered upon a lecturing tour to repair his broken fortune, and in a short while was found dying in a polling-place in Baltimore. A marble monument stands to his memory in Bal- timore; a memorial was erected to him in the Metro- politan Museum, New York; and within the last few years a bronze bust of him was unveiled, with appro- priate ceremonies, at the University of Virginia, and he has been enrolled among the notables to be repre- sented in the Hall of Fame, New York City. Without doubt he was the greatest poet, essayist, critic, and romancer the South has brought forth, if, indeed, he has been equalled in America. His writings have been translated into French, German, Italian, and other languages; and many editions in English have appeared. TO HELEN Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That, gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. 48 EDGAR ALLAN POE On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome. 10 Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche How statue-like I see thee stand ! The agate lamp within thy hand, Ah ! Psyche, from the regions which Are Holy Land ! 15 ISRAFEL And the angel Israfel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and who has the sweetest voice of all God's creatures. KORAN. In Heaven a spirit doth dwell " Whose heart-strings are a lute ; " None sing so wildly well As the angel Israfel, And the giddy stars (so legends tell) 5 Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell Of his voice, all mute. Tottering above In her highest noon, The enamored moon 10 Blushes with love, While, to listen, the red levin (With the rapid Pleiades, even, . Which were seven) Pauses in Heaven. 1B 49 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY And they say (the starry choir And the other listening things) That Israfeli's fire Is owing to that lyre By which he sits and sings The trembling living wire Of those unusual strings. But the skies that angel trod, Where deep thoughts are a duty Where Love's grown-up God 25 Where the Houri glances are Imbued with all the beauty Which we worship in a star. Therefore, thou art not wrong, Israfeli, who despisest 30 An unimpassioned song; To thee the laurels belong, Best bard, because the wisest! Merrily live, and long! The ecstasies above 35 With thy burning measures suit Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love, With the fervor of thy lute Well may the stars be mute ! Yes, heaven is thine; but this 40 Is a world of sweets and sours ; Our flowers are merely flowers, And the shadow of thy perfect bliss Is the sunshine of ours. 50 EDGAR! ALLAN POE If I could dwell 45 Where Israfel Hath dwelt, and he where I, He might not sing so wildly well A mortal melody, While a bolder note than this might swell 5e From my lyre within the sky. LENOKE Ah, broken is the golden bowl ! the spirit flown for- ever! Let the bell toll ! a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river; And, Guy De Vere, hast fhou no tear? weep now or nevermore! See, on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore ! Come, let the burial rite be read the funeral song be sung: 5 An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young, A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young. , " Wretches, ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride, And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her that she died ! How shall the ritual, then, be read ? the requiem how be sung 10 By you by yours, the evil eye, by yours, the slan- derous tongue That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young? " si A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong. The sweet Lenore hath gone before, with Hope that flew beside, Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride: For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies, The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes ; The life still there, upon her hair the death upon her eyes. "Avaunt! avaunt! from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of Heaven! Let no bell toll, then, lest her soul, amid its hal- lowed mirth, Should catch the note as it doth float up from the damned Earth! And I ! to-night my heart is light ! no dirge will I upraise, 25 But waft the angel on her flight with a Paean of old days!" THE HAUNTED PALACE In the greenest of our valleys By good angels tenanted, Once a fair and stately palace Eadiant palace reared its head. 52 EDGAR ALLAN POE In the monarch Thought's dominion, 8 It stood there; Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair. Banners yellow, glorious, golden, On its roof did float and flow 10 (This all this was in the olden Time long ago), And every gentle air that dallied, In that sweet day, Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, 15 A winged odor went away. Wanderers in that happy valley Through two luminous windows saw Spirits moving musically, To a lute's well-tuned law, 20 Eound about a throne where, sitting, Porphyrogene, In state his glory well befitting, The ruler of the realm was seen. And all with pearl and ruby glowing 25 Was the fair palace door, Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing, And sparkling evermore, A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty Was but to sing, 80 In voices of surpassing beauty, The wit and wisdom of their king. But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Assailed the monarch's high estate; (Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow 8B Shall dawn upon him desolate!) 53 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY And round about his home the glory That blushed and bloomed, Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed. 40 And travellers now within that valley Through the red-litten windows see Vast forms that move fantastically To a discordant melody; While, like a ghastly rapid river, 45 Through the pale door A hideous throng rush out forever, And laugh but smile no more. THE CONQUEROR WORM Lo ! 'tis a gala night Within the lonesome latter years. An angel throng, bewinged, bedight In veils, and drowned in tears, Sit in a theatre to see 5 A play of hopes and fears, While the orchestra breathes fitfully The music of the spheres. Mimes, in the form of God on high, Mutter and mumble low, 10 And hither and thither fly; Mere puppets they, who come and go At bidding of vast formless things That shift the scenery to and fro, Flapping from out their condor wings 15 Invisible Woe. 54 EDGAKl ALLAN POE That motley drama oh, be sure It shall not be forgot ! With its Phantom chased for evermore By a crowd that seize it not, 20 Through a circle that ever returneth in To the self -same spot; And much of Madness, and more of Sin, And Horror the soul of the plot. But see amid the mimic rout A crawling shape intrude: 25 A blood-red thing that writhes from out The scenic solitude! It writhes it writhes ! with mortal pangs The mimes become its food, 30 And seraphs sob at vermin fangs In human gore imbued. Out out are the lights out all ! And over each quivering form The curtain, a funeral pall, 35 Comes down with the rush of a storm, While the angels, all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy, " Man," And its hero, the Conqueror Worm. 40 THE EAVE1ST Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, 55 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my cham- ber door. "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door: 5 Only this and nothing more." Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak Decem- ber, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow sorrow for the lost Lenore, 10 For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore: Nameless here for evermore. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating 15 " 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door, Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door: This it is and nothing more." Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, " Sir," said I, " or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; 20 56 EDGARi ALLAN POE But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you " here I opened wide the door: Darkness there and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore": Merely this and nothing more. 30 Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. " Surely," said I, " surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore ; Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore : 35 'Tis the wind and nothing more/' Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. 57 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door, Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door: Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, " art sure no craven, 45 Ghastly grim and ancient Kaven wandering from the Nightly shore: Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plu- tonian shore ! " Quoth the Eaven, "Nevermore." Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear dis- course so plainly, Though his answer little meaning little relevancy bore; 50 For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his cham- ber door, Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as " Nevermore." But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only 55 That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. 58 EDGAR ALLAN POE Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he fluttered, Till I scarcely more than muttered, " Other friends have flown before : On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before." Then the bird said, " Nevermore." 60 Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, " Doubtless," said I, " what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore: Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore 65 Of ' Never nevermore.' " But the Kaven still beguiling all my fancy into smil- ing, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore, 70 What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and omi- nous bird of yore Meant in croaking " Nevermore." This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable ex- pressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; 59 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 75 On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. 80 "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee by these angels he hath sent thee Eespite respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore ! Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore ! " Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore." "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil! 85 Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land en- chanted On this home by Horror haunted tell me truly, I implore : Is there is there balm in Gilead? tell me tell me, I implore ! " Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore." 90 "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil ! By that Heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore, 60 EDGAR ALLAN POE Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore : Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore ! " 95 Quoth the Kaven, "Nevermore." " Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend ! " I shrieked, upstarting: "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken ! Leave my loneliness unbroken! quit the bust above my door ! 10 Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door ! " Quoth the Kaven, " Nevermore." And the Eaven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, 105 And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor : And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted nevermore ! 61 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY THE CITY IN THE SEA Lo ! Death has reared himself a throne In a strange city lying alone Far down within the dim West, Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best Have gone to their eternal rest. 5 There shrines and palaces and towers (Time-eaten towers that tremble not) Resemble nothing that is ours. Around, by lifting winds forgot, Resignedly beneath the sky 10 The melancholy waters lie. No rays from the holy heaven come down On the long night-time of that town; But light from out the lurid sea Streams up the turrets silently, 15 Gleams up the pinnacles far and free : Up domes, up spires, up kingly halls, Up fanes, up Babylon-like walls, Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers, 20 Up many and many a marvellous shrine Whose wreathed friezes intertwine The viol, the violet, and the vine. Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie. 25 So blend the turrets and the shadows there That all seem pendulous in air, While from a proud tower in the town Death looks gigantically down. EDGAR ALLAN POE There open fanes and gaping graves 30 Yawn level with the luminous waves; But not the riches there that lie In each idol's diamond eye, Not the gayly jewelled dead, Tempt the waters from their bed; 3P For no ripples curl, alas, Along that wilderness of glass; No- swellings tell that winds may be Upon some far-off happier sea; No heavings hint that winds have been 40 On seas less hideously serene ! But lo, a stir is in the air! The wave there is a movement there! As if the towers had thrust aside, In slightly sinking, the dull tide; 45 As if their tops had feebly given A void within the filmy Heaven ! The waves have now a redder glow, The hours are breathing faint and low; And when, amid no earthly moans, 50 Down, down that town shall settle hence, Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, Shall do it reverence. ULALUME The skies they were ashen and sober ; The leaves they were crisped and sere, The leaves they were withering and sere ; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year; 6 63 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of Weir : It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. Here once, through an alley Titanic 10 Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. These were days when my heart was volcanic As the scoriae rivers that roll, As the lavas that restlessly roll 15 Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek In the ultimate climes of the pole, That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek In the realms of the boreal pole. Our talk had been serious and sober, 20 But our thoughts they were palsied and sere, Our memories were treacherous and sere, For we knew not the month was October, And we marked not the night of the year, (Ah, night of all nights in the year !) 25 We noted not the dim lake of Auber (Though once we had journeyed down here) Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. And now, as the night was senescent 30 And star-dials pointed to morn, As the star dials hinted of morn, At the end of our path a liquescent And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent 35 Arose with a duplicate horn, Astarte's bediamonded crescent Distinct with its duplicate horn. 64 EDGAR ALLAN POE And I said " She is warmer than Dian : She rolls through an ether of sighs, 40 She revels in a region of sighs : She has seen that the tears are not dry on These cheeks, where the worm never dies, And has come past the stars of the Lion To point us the path to the skies, 45 To the Lethean peace of the skies : Come up in spite of the Lion, To shine on us with her bright eyes: Come up through the lair of the Lion, With love in her luminous eyes." 60 But Psyche, uplifting her finger, Said "Sadly this star I mistrust, Her pallor I strangely mistrust : Oh, hasten! oh, let us not linger! Oh, fly ! let us fly ! f or we must." 55 In terror she spoke, letting sink her Wings till they trailed in the dust; In agony sobbed, letting sink her Plumes till they trailed in the dust, Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. 60 I replied " This is nothing but dreaming : Let us on by this tremulous light! Let us bathe in this crystalline light ! Its sibyllic splendor is beaming With hope and in beauty to-night: See, it flickers up the sky through the night ! Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, And be sure it will lead us aright : We safely may trust to a gleaming 65 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY That cannot but guide us aright, 70 Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night. Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, And tempted her out of her gloom, And conquered her scruples and gloom; And we passed to the end of the vista, 75 But were stopped by the door of a tomb, By the door of a legended tomb ; And I said " What is written, sweet sister, On the door of this legended tomb? " She replied "Ulalume Ulalume 80 'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume ! " Then my heart it grew ashen and sober As the leaves that were crisped and sere, As the leaves that were withering and sere, And I cried " It was surely October 85 On this very night of last year That I journeyed I journeyed down here, That I brought a dread burden down here: On this night of all nights in the year, Ah, what demon has tempted me here ? 90 Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber, This misty mid region of Weir: Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir." ANNABEL LEE It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Jjee ; And this maiden she lived with no other thought 5 Than to love and be loved by me. 66 EDGAR ALLAN POE I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 15 My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. 20 The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me ; Yes ! that was the reason (as all men Imow, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, 25 Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we, Of many far wiser than we; And neither the angels in heaven above, 30 NOT the demons under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee : For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee ; 35 And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; 67 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side, Of my darling my darling my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea 40 In her tomb by the sounding sea. THE BELLS Hear the sledges with the bells, Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells ! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night ! 5 While the stars, that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Kunic rhyme, 10 To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. II Hear the mellow wedding bells, 15 Golden bells! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight ! From the molten-golden notes, 20 And all in tune, What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats 68 EDGAR ALLAN POE On the moon! Oh, from out the sounding cells, 25 What a gush of euphony voluminously wells ! How it swells ! How it dwells On the Future ! how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, beUs, Bells, bells, bells- To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells ! 35 III Hear the loud alarum bells, Brazen bells! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright ! 40 Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire 4B Leaping higher, higher, higher With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavor Now now to sit or never, By the side of the pale-faced moon. 60 Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair! How they clang, and clash, and roar ! 69 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY What a horror they outpour 55 On the bosom of the palpitating air ! Yet the ear it fully knows By the twanging And the clanging How the danger ebbs and flows; 60 Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells, es Of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells In the clamor and the clangor of the bells ! IV Hear the tolling of the bells, 70 Iron bells ! What a world of solemn thought their monody com- pels! In the silence of the night How we shiver Tzith affright At the melancholy menace of their tone ! 75 For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people ah, the people, They that dwell up in the steeple, 80 All alone* And who tolling, tolling, tolling In that muffled monotone, 70 EDGAK ALLAN POE Peel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone They are neither man nor woman, They are neither brute nor human, They are Ghouls: And their king it is who tolls; And he rolls, rolls, rolls, 90 Eolls A paean from the bells; And his merry bosom swells With the paean of the bells, And he dances, and he yells : 95 Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Eunic rhyme, To the paean of the bells, Of the bells: Keeping time, time, time, 10 In a sort of Eunic rhyme, To the throbbing of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells To the sobbing of the bells ; Keeping time, time, time, 106 As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Eunic rhyme, To the rolling of the bells. Of the bells, bells, bells : To the tolling of the bells, no Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY TO ONE IN PARADISE Thou wast all that to me, love, For which my soul did pine : A green isle in the sea, love, A fountain and a shrine All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, 5 And all the flowers were mine. Ah ! dream too bright to last ! Ah ! starry hope that didst arise But to be overcast! A voice from out the future cries, 10 " On ! on ! " -but o'er the Past (Dim gulf !) my spirit hovering lies Mute, motionless, aghast. For, alas! alas! with me The light of life is o'er ! No more no more no more (Such language holds the solemn sea To the sands upon the shore) Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree, Or the stricken eagle soar. 20 And all my days are trances, And all my nightly dreams Are where thy gray eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams, In what ethereal dances, ^ By what eternal streams. To HELEN. Classify this graceful lyric. 2. Al- lusion seems to be confused: possibly Phaeacian is meant, or more likely the poet chose the word 72 EDGAR ALLAN POE for its sound. 4. What poetic touch? 7. "Hya- cinth": becoming Hyacinthus, the youth beloved of Apollo. 8. "Naiad": a rural nymph. 9, 10. Bold metaphors. 14. " Psyche " : read the beautiful story of Psyche and Cupid, and see note under " Ulalume." ISRAFEL. There is a thrill of joy in this lyric ; the poem, therefore, is unique. The singer rises for once like the lark, above the mists, and carols in the morning light. 12. "Levin": lightning. What kind of epithet is "red"? 13. Why the adjective with Pleiades " ? 26. " Houri " : a nymph of Para- dise; so called by Mohammedans. 32. "The laurels": symbolical of highest lyrical attainments. 36. " Suit " : are in perfect accord. 43, 44. Explain. LENORE. 1. What Biblical allusion? 2. " Stygian river " : the Styx, a fabled stream, flows around the regions of the dead. 9. Any criticism of " in feeble health"? 12. Criticise a phrase in this line. 13. " Peccavimus " : a Latin verb meaning "We have sinned." Does the foreign word add to the beauty of the poem? 26. " Paean " : a song of triumph. THE HAUNTED PALACE. This extended metaphor is drawn out with powerful effect. Stedman has truthfully said : " The conception of a lost mind never has been so imaginatively treated, whether by poet or by painter." 1. Under the happiest conditions. 2. "Good angels " : beautiful fancies. 3. " Palace " : the body. 7, 8. Meaning? 9-16. Of these lines Myers has writ- ten with this keen appreciation : " What inward im- pulse struck the strong note of Banners; and mar- shalled those long vowels in deepening choir; and interjected the intensifying pause, all this; and led on through air to the melancholy olden; and hung* in the void of an unknown eternity the diapason of 73 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Time long ago?" What are the "banners/ 7 the "roof" and "the ramparts plumed and pallid"? 17. "Wanderers": kindred spirits that communed with the one described. 18. " Luminous windows " : the eyes. 19, 20. Poetic dreams. 22. Born to the purple. 25. "The ruler": the mind. 26, 27. Ex- plain pearl, ruby and palace door. 29. " Echoes " : words. Aptly characterized, for words fail to express fully the poet's thoughts. 33. "Evil things": ex- plain. 35, 36. The parenthesis indicates a subordi- nate, but this is pregnant with thought give it. 42. "Red-litten windows": a masterful stroke and in strong contrast to the " luminous windows " above. What further antitheses below to foregoing descrip- tions ? 46. " The pale door " : this is pathos indeed. 48. In the laugh of the maniac the laugh without the smile the gloom is absolute. THE CONQUEROR WORM. This is the most unre- lievedly hopeless of all Poe's lyrics. It is a cry of abject despair. 1. The "r;ala light" heightens the effect of the entire poem. 8. Music supposed to be produced by the harmonious movement of the heav- enly bodies. 9 " Mimes " : actors in a farce. Mor- tal beings are meant a man in the image of God : a fearful state in the poet's life. 13. " Vast formless things " : Fate, Chance, etc. 19. " Phantom " : Hap- piness. Though she lead the chasing crowd far, she circles with them about the sepulchre. 25-32. There is sheer madness in these lines. 36. A fine corre- spondence between sound and sense : wherein lies the secret ? THE RAVEN. This is the most notable of all Poe's work, whether prose or poetry. In it he reached his highest excellence. He wrought into its composition all his wealth of love, gloom, glamour, symbolism, 74 EDGAR ALLAN POE imagery, harmony, mystery, despair. The critics differ as to its relative value, however. Various sources have been suggested from which Poe drew his inspiration: Pike's "Isadore," (in- cluded in this book) with its refrain, " Thou art lost to me forever, Isadore " ; and Mrs. Browning's " Lady Geraldine's Courtship," with certain points of resemblance, the line, for instance, " With a murmurous stir uncertain, in the air, the pur- ple curtain." which is strongly like Poe's, " And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain." But the intricate metre, the conjuring melody, the fantastic imagery, the ethereal visitants, the croak- ing raven, the .lurid setting these are Poe's, no matter whence his materials. Despite its unique tone-color and well-nigh in- surmountable intricacies of rhyme, it has been re- peatedly translated into French, German, Hungarian, Latin, etc., so strengthening Mr. Ingram's estimate of it as the most popular lyric in the world. 3. Correspondence between sound and sense: what figure? 4. Notice the repetition. 7-12. Introduced for suspense. What point of difference between this stanza and all others? 25, 26. Striking alliteration. 28, 29. It is hard to understand how the author of these magical lines could be content with the prosaic refrain, "Merely Ibis and nothing more." 37. " Flirt and flutter " : figure ? This is graphic. 41. The bust of Pallas is in keeping with the lover's scholarship but one suspects it was intended also 75 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY to bring out in the strongest possible relief the ebony plumage of the bird. 42-48. What dramatic effect has the stanza, introduced, as it is, after the grave reflections and intimations that precede? 45. Ex- plain this line. 47. "Pluto," the god of darkness, ruled over the infernal regions. 48. How does the raven's answer to his playful question affect the man ? 60. Notice the soliloquizing that elicited this reply, and the effect on the lover in the next stanza. The third reply, also, was an answer to spoken reflections ; but afterwards the " Nevermore " was a reply to a direct question so framed that the word stabbed the lover to the heart. 82. "Nepenthe": a drug that relieves pain and sorrow. 89. " Balm in Gilead " : what allusion? 93. " Aidenn": Eden; suggested by the Arabic form of the word, Adan. 101. What powerful metaphor? "It will be observed," says Poe, "that the words 6 from out my heart ' involve the first metaphorical expression in the poem. They, with the answer 6 Nevermore,' dispose the mind to seek a moral in all that has been previously narrated. The reader begins now to regard the Eaven as emblematical but it is not until the very last line of the very last stanza that the intention of making him emblematical of Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance is per- mitted distinctly to be seen." 106. In answer to the criticism on this line, that the lamp could not throw the shadow of the bird on the floor, Poe says: "My conception was that of the bracket candelabrum affixed against the wall, high above the door and bust, as is often seen in the English palaces, and even in some of the better houses of New York." THE CITY IN THE SEA. 3. Why place the city in 76 EDGAR ALLAN POE the west? 7. "Tremble not": why this statement? 9. "By lifting winds forgot": complete stagnation. 14-23. The city of the dead is pictured more dis- tinctly here, though " kingly halls " is a little con- fusing. Explain the figures. "No rays from holy heaven come down": no positive voice of those that leave us speaks back to us across the gloom, but death itself diffuses a lurid light. 24, 25. Any criticism on the repetition? 26, 27. A marvellous touch! 33. Eich memorials to the dead. 40, 41. Nothing there suggestive of the past of those silent voyagers. 42-53. A vision of the Resurrection; read this meaning into the lines. ULALUME. 2, 3. Repetition. What figure in each of these lines? 5. Figure? 6. "Auber," "Weir," and "Yaanek," are coinages by the poet. 10. " Titanic " : the Titans were mythological giants who made war on Zeus. 12. "Psyche": the word is Greek and first meant soul, later, butterfly, since both leave the body or chrysalis and escape into an- other sphere. 14. " Scoriae " : explained in next line. 21. Repeated with a variation. 30. " Senes- cent": derivation? 37. "Astarte": the Phoenician Venus, called also Astoreth, the queen of the heaven, and here identified with Diana, the goddess of the moon. She is represented as clad in a long robe and veil, with a crescent moon above her head. 44. "The Lion": the constellation, Leo. 46. " Lethean " : the Lethe, a river of Hades, brought forgetfulness to those who drank of its waters. 64. Sibyllic " : the Sibyls, mythological women, had pro- phetic powers. It is impossible to trace a definite thought through this poem. One should yield to its spell just as one would to the fantasies of some old master. 77 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY ANNABEL LEE. Stedman considers this superior to " The Raven," while Stoddard averred that it has no merit beyond that of a melodious jingle. It is one of the poet's simplest and tenderest poems. There is a charm in its spontaneity. The lines are a tribute to the memory of his lost wife, the only woman, thinks Mrs. Osgood, that he ever truly loved. Of her personality Captain Mayne Reid says, "A lady angelically beautiful in person, and not less beautiful in spirit." 2. " Kingdom by the sea " : the kingdom is Time ; the sea, Eternity. 17. "Highborn kinsmen 5 ': an- gels. 38. Professor Painter thinks this line may be taken literally, but one would prefer to read it figuratively, the poet's heart lies buried with his loved one. THE BELLS. The story of " The Bells," as given by Mr. Stoddard, is as follows: "In the autumn of this year [1847] Poe visited Mrs. Shew at her resi- dence in New York and said that he had a poem to write, but that he had no feeling, no sentiment, no inspiration. She persuaded him to have tea, which was served in the conservatory, the windows of which were open and admitted the sound of neighboring church-bells. After tea she produced pens and paper, but he declined them, saying that he disliked the sound of bells so much that night that he could not write; he had no subject, and was exhausted. She took the pen and wrote the head-line, 'The Bells, by E. A. Poe,' and for the first line of the projected poem, ' The bells, the little silver bells/ He finished the stanza. She then suggested for the first line of the second stanza, ' The heavy iron bells,' and he finished that stanza also. Then he copied the 78 EDGAEi ALLAN POE composite poem, and heading it, 'By Mrs. M. L. Shew/ handed it to her, saying it was hers." The poem was three times rewritten and enlarged, and was published in 1849, soon after Poe's death, in Sartain's Magazine. The following is the first form of the poem: "The bells! hear the bells! The merry wedding bells ! The little silver bells ! How fairy-like a melody there swells From the silver tinkling cells Of the bells, bells, bells, Of the bells! The bells ! ah, the bells ! The heavy iron bells! Hear the tolling of the bells! Hear the knells! How horrible a melody there floats From their throats From their deep-toned throats! How I shudder at the notes From the melancholy throats Of the bells, bells, bells, Of the bells! Notice how the words and the rhythm in the poem as we now have it correspond to the sense ; " tintin- nabulation/' "jingling," "tinkling/' expressive of the chime of sleigh bells; and "bells, bells, bells, bells/' etc., of the monotony of their sound. What figure is this? Observe the "molten-golden notes" of the wedding bells ; the " jangling/' " wrangling," 79 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY of the fire bells; and the "throbbing," "sobbing," "moaning," "groaning," of the death bells. Trace the figure throughout. To ONE IN PARADISE. What is the metre? The rhyme order ? The stanza form ? What is the mood that prompted the poem? What is the central theme ? The lyric note is especially clear in the first and the last stanza. What difference as to structure in the second and the third? 10. What "voice"? 16. The long-drawn roar of the sea is heard in this line. 19, 20. "Thunder-blasted tree stricken eagle": figures? 25, 26. "What what": what- ever. 80 Albert Pike 18091891 Though Pike was born in Boston, the fact that he organized bodies of Indians and, as a brigadier-gen- eral, led them in the Confederate Army, identifies him with the South. After an incomplete course at Harvard he engaged in teaching at Newburyport for a while ; then he set out for the Southwest: and, after wandering for a time through that vast region, settled at Fort Smith, Ark. There he resumed his teaching, but soon after- ward became editor of the Arkansas Advocate. This position he held only a short while, turning his at- tention to the law, in which profession he distin- guished himself. Meanwhile he kept up his literary pursuits, contributing to Blackwood's, for one thing, his notable "Hymns to the Gods." In 1866 he moved to Memphis, where he engaged in the practice of law, and a year later took editorial control of the Memphis Appeal. Within a twelvemonth he sold, out and went to Washington; there he spent the re- mainder of his life. In his latter years he followed his literary bent, at the same time keeping up his law practice. He published four volumes of verse, " Nugae," including " Hymns to the Gods," being his most notable. He was prominent as a Freemason, and left some twenty volumes on that subject. 81 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY TO THE MOCKING-BIKD Thou glorious mocker of the world! I hear Thy many voices ringing through the glooms Of these green solitudes; and all the clear, Bright joyance of their song enthralls the ear, And floods the heart. Over the sphered tombs 5 Of vanished nations rolls thy music-tide; No light from History's starlit page illumes The memory of these nations; they have died: None care for them but thou ; and thou mayst sing O'er me, perhaps, as now thy clear notes ring 10 Over their bones by whom thou once wast deified. Glad scorner of all cities! Thou dost leave The world's mad turmoil and incessant din, Where none in others' honesty believe, Where the old sigh, the young turn gray and grieve, 15 Where misery gnaws the maiden's heart within : Thou fleest far into the dark green woods, Where, with thy flood of music, thou canst win Their heart to harmony, and where intrudes No discord on thy melodies. Oh, where, 20 Among the sweet musicians of the air, Is one so dear as thou to these old solitudes ? Ha ! what a burst was that! The ^Eolian strain Goes floating through the tangled passages Of the still woods, and now it comes again, 25 A multitudinous melody, like a rain Of glassy music under echoing trees, Close by a ringing lake. It wraps the soul With a bright harmony of happiness, 82 ALBERT PIKE Even as a gem is wrapped when round it roll 30 Thin waves of crimson flame; till we become With the excess of perfect pleasure, dumb, And pant like a swift runner clinging to the goal. I cannot love the man who doth not love, As men love light, the song of happy birds; 35 For the first visions that my boy-heart wove To fill its sleep with, were that I did rove Through the fresh wood, what time the snowy herds Of morning clouds shrunk from the advancing sun Into the depths of Heaven's blue heart, as words 40 From the Poet's lips float gently, one by one, And vanish in the human heart; and then I revelled in such songs, and sorrowed when, With noon-heat overwrought, the music-gush was done. I would, sweet bird, that I might live with thee, 45 Amid the eloquent grandeur of these shades, Alone with nature, but it may not be ; I have to struggle with the stormy sea Of human life until existence fades Into death's darkness. Thou wilt sing and soar 50 Through the thick woods and shadow-checkered glades, While pain and sorrow cast no dimness o'er The brilliance of thy heart; but I must wear, As now, my garments of regret and care, As penitents of old their galling sackcloth wore. 55 Yet why complain? What though fond hopes de- ferred Have overshadowed Life's green paths with gloom ? Content's soft music is not all unheard ; There is a voice sweeter than thine, sweet bird, S3 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY To welcome me within my humble home ; 60 There is an eye, with love's devotion bright, The darkness of existence to illume. Then why complain? When Death shall cast his blight Over the spirit, my cold bones shall rest Beneath these trees; and, from thy swelling breast, Over them pour thy song, like a rich flood of light. EVERY YEAR The spring has less of brightness, Every year; And the snow a ghastlier whiteness, Every year; NOT do summer flowers quicken, 6 Nor does autumn fruitage thicken, As they once did, for they sicken, Every year. Life is a count of losses, Every year; ia For the weak are heavier crosses, Every year; Lost springs with sobs replying, TJnto weary autumn's sighing, While those we love are dying, 15 Every year. It is growing darker, colder, Every year; As the heart and soul grow older, Every year; * 84 ALBERT PIKE I care not now for dancing, Or for eyes with passion glancing, Love is less and less entrancing, Every year. The days have less of gladness, * Every year; The nights have more of sadness, Every year; Fair springs no longer charm us, The wind and weather harm us, 30 The threats of death alarm us, Every year. There come new cares and sorrows, Every year; Dark days and darker morrows, 35 Every year; The ghosts of dead loves haunt us, The ghosts of changed friends taunt us, And disappointments daunt us, Every year. 40 Of the loves and sorrows blended, Every year; Of the charms of friendship ended, Every year; Of the ties that still might bind me, 45 Until time and death resigned me, My infirmities remind me, Every year. Our life is less worth living, Every year; 50 And briefer our thanksgiving, Every year; 85 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY And love, grown faint and fretful, With lips but half regretful, Averts its eyes, forgetful, 55 Every year. Ah! how sad to look before us, Every year; While the clouds grow darker o'er us, Every year; 60 When we see the blossoms faded, That to bloom we might have aided, And immortal garlands braided, Every year. To the past go more dead faces, 65 Every year; And the loved leave vacant places, Every year; Everywhere the sad eyes meet us, In the evening's dusk they greet us, 70 And to come to them entreat us, Every year. " You are growing old," they tell us, "Every year." " You are more alone," they tell us, 75 "Every year." " You can win no new affection, You have only recollection, Deeper sorrow and dejection, Every year." 80 Too true! Life's shores are shifting, Every year; And we are seaward drifting, Every year; 86 ALBERT PIKE Old places, changing, fret us, 8B The living more forget us, There are fewer to regret us, Every year. But the truer life draws nigher, Every year; 90 And its morning-star climbs higher, Every year; Earth's hold on us grows slighter, And the heavy burdens lighter, And the dawn immortal brighter, 95 Every year. Thank God ! no clouds are shifting, Every year, O'er the land to which we're drifting, Every year; 10 No losses there will grieve us, Nor loving faces leave us, Nor death of friends bereave us, Every year. THE WIDOWED HEAET Thou art lost to me forever! I have lost thee, Isa- dore! Thy head will never rest upon my loyal bosom more ; Thy tender eyes will never more look fondly into mine, Nor thine arms around me lovingly and trustingly entwine, Thou art lost to me forever, Isadore I 5 87 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Thou art dead and gone, dear loving wife, thy heart is still and cold, And mine, benumbed with wretchedness, is prema- turely old: Of our whole world of love and joy thou wast the only light, A star, whose setting left behind, ah me! how dark a night! Thou art lost to me forever, Isadore ! 10 The vines and flowers we planted, Love, I tend with anxious care, And yet they droop and fade away, as though they wanted air: They cannot live without thine eyes to feed them with their light; Since thy hands ceased to train them, Love, they cannot grow aright; Thou art lost to them forever, Isadore! 15 Our little ones inquire of me where is their mother gone :- What answer can I make to them, except with tears alone, For if I say " To Heaven," then the poor things wish to learn How far it is, and where, and when their mother will return ; Thou art lost to them forever, Isadore! 20 Our happy home has now become a lonely, silent place ; Like heaven without its stars it is, without thy blessed face; 88 ALBERT PIKE Our little ones are still and sad; none love them now but I, Except their mother's spirit, which I feel is always nigh; Thou lovest us in heaven, Isadore ! 25 Their merry laugh is heard no more, they neither run nor play, But wander round like little ghosts, the long, long summer day: The spider weaves his web across the windows at his will, The flowers I gathered for thee last are on the mantel still; Thou art lost to me forever, Isadore ! 30 Eestless I pace our lonely rooms, I play our songs no more, The garish sun shines flauntingly upon the unswept floor; The mocking-bird still sits and sings, melancholy strain ! For my heart is like an autumn cloud that overflows with rain; Thou art lost to me forever, Isadore ! 35 Alas ! how changed is all, dear wife, from that sweet eve in spring, When first my love for thee was told, and thou to me didst cling, Thy sweet eyes radiant, through their tears, pressing thy lips to mine, In our old arbor, Dear, beneath the overarching " vine; Thy lips are cold forever, Isadore! * A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY The moonlight struggled through the leaves, and fell upon thy face, So lovingly upturning there, with pure and trustful gaze; The southern breezes murmured through the dark cloud of thy hair, As like a happy child thou didst in my arms nestle there ; Death holds thee now forever, Isadore! 45 Thy love and faith so plighted then, with mingled smile and tear, Was never broken, Darling, while we dwelt together here: NOT bitter word, nor dark, cold look thou ever gavest me Loving and trusting always, as I loved and wor- shipped thee; Thou art lost to me forever, Isadore ! 50 Thou wast my nurse in sickness, and my comforter in health, So gentle and so constant, when our love was all our wealth : The voice of music cheered me, Love, in each de- spondent hour, As Heaven's sweet honey-dew consoles the bruised and broken flower Thou art lost to me forever, Isadore ! 55 Thou art gone from me forever; I have lost thee, Isadore ! And desolate and lonely I shall be forever more : 90 ALBERT PIKE Our children hold me, Darling, or I to God should pray To let me cast the burthen of this long, dark life away, And see thy face in Heaven, Isadore! 60 To THE MOCKING-BIRD. Bead Keats's " Ode to a Nightingale," and trace its influence in this poem. 5. "The sphered tomb": of the Mound-Builders. 20. Effect of the short syllables? 56. "Hopes de- ferred": is this original? EVERY YEAR. Criticise the sentiment of this poem. To what is its merit mainly due? Criticise the unity; for instance, in 11 and 94. 49-56. Com- pare with these the following lines from Swinburne's " Garden of Proserpine " : "And love, grown faint and fretful, With lips but half regretful, Sighs, and with eyes forgetful Weeps that no loves endure." As to these lines, a son of Mr. Pike, now living in Washington, D. C., writes, April 5, 1904, to Dr. C. A. Smith, now of the University of Virginia: " The lines you quote were not written by my father. While he made changes in the poem at different times, these lines never appeared in any publication of the poem by his sanction. < Every Year ' was first writ~ ten by my father soon after the Civil War. I am unable to give you the exact date." Dr. Smith may be correct in the following solu- tion : " Some irresponsible editor evidently inter- polated the lines in question. This has long been a conjecture of mine, inasmuch as what seem to be the authorized editions of the poem do not contain the Swinburnean lines." 91 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Only seven stanzas make the complete poem as given in Stedman and Hutchinson's "Library of American Literature " : 2, 4, 5, 9, 10, 11 and 1%. Eead Swinburne's marvellously musical poem, re- ferred to, and compare it with this at other points. THE WIDOWED HEART. Compare this poem care- fully with Poe's " Kaven," and decide whether or not the latter was inspired by it. What is the theme in both? Is the feeling feigned or sincere? Is the refrain ever forced in? If so, where? Philip Pendleton Cooke 1816-1850 This author was a Virginian, an elder brother of John Esten Cooke, the novelist. He was an alumnus of Princeton, 1834, and prepared himself for the law; literature, however, lured him away from this profession. His poems and stories were published chiefly in the Southern Literary Messenger while Thompson was its editor; but, at an earlier period, he had con- tributed to the Knickerbocker Magazine. His lyric given here, together with others, as " Eosa Lee " and " To My Daughter Lily/' became very popular. The first has been translated into different languages, and has been set to music by distinguished composers. His only volume was " Froissart Ballads, and Other Poems/ 3 Philadelphia, 1847. FLORENCE VANE I loved thee long and dearly, Florence Vane; My life's bright dream, and early, Hath come again; I renew, in my fond vision, My heart's dear pain, My hope, and thy derision, Florence Vane. 93 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY The ruin lone and hoary, The ruin old, 10 Where thou didst hark my story, At even told, That spot the hues Elysian Of sky and plain I treasure in my vision, 15 Florence Vane. Thou wast lovelier than the roses In their prime: Thy voice excelled the closes Of sweetest rhyme; 20 Thy heart was as a river Without a main. Would I had loved thee never, Florence Vane! But fairest, coldest wonder ! 25 Thy glorious clay Lieth the green sod under Alas the day! And it boots not to remember Thy disdain so To quicken love's pale ember, Florence Vane. The lilies of the valley By young graves weep, The pansies love to dally 35 Where maidens sleep; May their bloom, in beauty vying, Never wane. Where thine earthly part is lying, Florence Vane. 40 94 PHILIP PENDLETON COOKE Is there any resemblance between this and Pike's "Every Year"? 6. "Dear pain": mean- ing ? Figure ? 14. " Elysian " : blissful abodes of the dead. 19. "Closes": cadences. 21, 22. Fig- ure? 22. "Without a main": in what respect? Amelia B. Welby 1819-1859 Mrs. Welby was a Miss Coppuck, of St. Michael's, Md., but when she was a child her parents removed to Kentucky. In 1837 she began writing verses for the Louisville Journal, under the name, "Amelia," her work receiving high praise from Poe, Prentice, Griswold, and others. A small collection of her verses, "Poems by Amelia/' Boston, 1844, has gone through more than twenty editions. A larger one, with illustrations, was published in New York, 1850, by Robert W. Weir. THE RAINBOW I sometimes have thoughts, in my loneliest hours, That lie^on my heart like dew on the flowers, Of a ramble I took one bright afternoon When my heart was as light as a blossom in June; The green earth was moist with the late fallen showers, 5 The breeze fluttered down and blew open the flowers, While a single white cloud, to its haven of rest On the white wing of peace, floated off in the west. As I threw back my tresses to catch the cool breeze, That scattered the rain-drops and dimpled the seas, 10 Far up the blue sky a fair rainbow unrolled Its soft-tinted pinions of purple and gold. 96 AMELIA B. WELBY 'Twas born in a moment, yet, quick as its birth, It had stretched to the uttermost ends of the earth, And, fair as an angel, it floated as free, 15 With a wing on the earth and a wing on the sea. How calm was the ocean ! how gentle its swell ! Like a woman's soft bosom it rose and it fell ; While its light, sparkling waves, stealing laughingly o'er, When they saw the fair rainbow, knelt down on the shore. 20 No sweet hymn ascended, no murmur of prayer, Yet I felt that the spirit of worship was there, And bent my young head, in devotion and love, 'Neath the form of the angel, that floated above. How wide was the sweep of its beautiful wings ! 25 How boundless its circle ! how radiant its rings ! If I looked on the sky, 'twas suspended in air; If I looked on the ocean, the rainbow was there ; Thus forming a girdle, as brilliant and whole As the thoughts of the rainbow, that circled my soul. 30 Like the wing of the Deity, calmly unfurled, It bent from the cloud and encircled the world. There are moments, I think, when the spirit receives Whole volumes of thought on its unwritten leaves, When the folds of the heart in a moment unclose 35 Like the innermost leaves from the heart of a rose. And thus, when the rainbow had passed from the sky, The thoughts it awoke were too deep to pass by; It left my full soul, like the wing of a dove, All fluttering with pleasure, and fluttering with love. 4 97 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY I know that each moment of rapture or pain But shortens the links in life's mystical chain; I know that my form, like that bow from the wave, Must pass from the earth, and lie cold in the grave ; Yet oh ! when death's shadows my bosom encloud, 45 When I shrink at the thought of the coffin and shroud, May Hope, like the rainbow, my spirit enfold In her beautiful pinions of purple and gold. TWILIGHT AT SEA The twilight hours, like birds, flew by, As lightly and as free; Ten thousand stars were in the sky, Ten thousand in the sea: For every wave, with dimpled face, 5 That leaped into the air, Had caught a star in its embrace And held it trembling there. THE RAINBOW. 18. Is this a figure? 20. What figure here? 33. Is there a change of treatment at this point? What, if so? 43, 44. Is this figure ac- curately applied ? TWILIGHT AT SEA. A delicate bit of fancy. Theodore O'Hara 1820-1867 Theodore O'Hara, the author of a few stirring lyrics, was the son of Kane O'Hara, a political exile from Ireland. He was born in Danville, Ky., and was educated at St. Joseph's Academy, where he taught Greek while he was finishing his studies. After graduation he read law and was admitted to the bar. Later he was employed in the Treasury Department at Washington. He took part in the Mexican War, first as a cap- tain of volunteers, but afterwards was advanced to major, for gallantry on the field, and to yet higher honors in the service. At the close of this war he returned to Washington and resumed the practice of his profession. Turning his face southward again, he became editorially connected at different times with the Mobile Register, the Louisville Times, and the Frankfort Yeoman. Moreover, the government sent him on several diplomatic missions. He became a colonel in the Civil War, and served on the staffs of Generals A. S. Johnston and J. C. Breckinridge. After the war he settled in Columbus, Ga., where he engaged in the cotton business. Losing everything by fire, he removed to a plantation in Ala- bama, where he died. He was buried in Columbus, but by an act of the Kentucky legislature his remains were reinterred in Frankfort amid those whom his noble stanzas commemorate. 99 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD The muffled drum's sad roll has beat The soldier's last tattoo; No more on life's parade shall meet That brave and fallen few. On Fame's eternal camping-ground 6 Their silent tents are spread, And Glory guards, with solemn round, The bivouac of the dead. No rumor of the foe's advance Now swells upon the wind; 10 No troubled thought at midnight haunts Of loved ones left behind; No vision of the morrow's strife The warrior's dream alarms; No braying horn nor screaming fife 15 At dawn shall call to arms. Their shivered swords are red with rust, Their plumed heads are bowed; Their haughty banner, trailed in dust, Is now their martial shroud. 20 And plenteous funeral tears have washed The red stains from each brow, And the proud forms, by battle gashed, Are free from anguish now. The neighing troop, the flashing blade, 25 The bugle's stirring blast, The charge, the dreadful cannonade, The din and shout, are past; 100 THEODORE O'HARA Nor war's wild note, nor glory's peal Shall thrill with fierce delight w Those breasts that never more may feel The rapture of the fight. Like the fierce northern hurricane That sweeps this great plateau, Flushed with triumph yet to gain, Came down the serried foe. Who heard the thunder of the fray Break o'er the field beneath, Knew well the watchword of that day Was " Victory or death." 40 Long has the doubtful conflict raged O'er all that stricken plain, For never fiercer fight had waged The vengeful blood of Spain; And still the storm of battle blew, 45 Still swelled the gory tide; Not long, our stout old chieftain knew, Such odds his strength could bide. 'Twas in that hour his stern command Called to a martyr's grave 50 The flower of his beloved band The nation's flag to save. By rivers of their fathers' gore His first-born laurels grew, And well he deemed the sons would pour 65 Their lives for glory too. Full many a norther's breath has swept O'er Angostura's plain And long the pitying sky has wept Above its mouldering slain. 60 101 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY The raven's scream, or eagle's flight, Or shepherd's pensive lay, Alone awakes each sullen height That frowned o'er that dread fray. Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground, 65 Ye must not slumher there, Where stranger steps and tongues resound Along the heedless air. Your own proud land's heroic soil Shall be your fitter grave ; 70 She claims from War his richest spoil The ashes of her brave. Thus 'neath their parent turf they rest, Far from the gory field; Borne to a Spartan mother's breast 75 On many a bloody shield; The sunlight of their native sky Smiles sadly on them here, And kindred eyes and hearts watch by The heroes' sepulchre. 80 Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead, Dear as the blood ye gave, No impious footstep here shall tread The herbage of your grave. Nor shall your glory be forgot 86 While Fame her record keeps, Or Honor points the hallowed spot Where Valor proudly sleeps. Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone In deathless song shall tell 90 When many a vanished age hath flown, The story how ye fell; 102 THEODORE O'HARA Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight, Nor Time's remorseless doom, Shall dim one ray of glory's light w That gilds your glorious tomb. When the remains of the Kentucky soldiers who fell at Buena Vista were brought back to Frankfort this lyric was written for the occasion. It burns with a living fire. Lines from it are engraved on tablets in many of the National cemeteries. 7. " Round " : the beat of a sentry. 8. " Bivouac " : de- fine. 16. "Braying screaming": felicitous epi- thets. 36. " The serried foe " : the Mexicans under Santa Anna. 37. "Who": he who. 47. "Stout old chieftain": Taylor, the American commander. 58. " Angostura's plain " : a pass held by the Ameri- cans in the battle of Buena Vista. 65. Kentucky, an Indian name, means "the Dark and Bloody Ground." 75. The Spartan mother bade her son return with his shield or on it. 103 Henry Rootes Jackson 1820-1898 Mr. Jackson, a native of Georgia, was a graduate of Yale, 1839, and the next year was admitted to the bar of his State. He was appointed United States District Attorney three years later. After serving as colonel of a Georgia regiment in the Mexican War, he was for a year editor of the Savannah Georgian. He arose in his profession to be judge of the supe- rior court, and was appointed consul at the court of Austria, the next year becoming resident minister there. Eesigning this post, he returned to Savannah, and for a brief period was chancellor of the Univer- sity of Georgia. In the Civil War he became a brigadier-general in the Confederate Army, and was captured, with all his forces, in the fight at Nashville. Upon his lib- eration at the close of the war he returned to Savan- nah and took up anew his practice of law. He was sent on one more diplomatic mission, as minister to Mexico, but he resigned in a few months. He was a prominent figure in the literature, art, science, and education of his State. " Tallulah and Other Poems," printed in Savannah, 1851, repre- sents his contribution to poesy. THE EED OLD HILLS OF GEOEGIA The red old hills of Georgia! So bold and bare and bleak, Their memory fills my spirit With thoughts I cannot speak. 104 HENRY ROOTES JACKSON They have no robe of verdure, 5 Stript naked to the blast; And yet of all the varied earth I love them best at last. The red old hills of Georgia! My heart is on them now; 10 Where, fed from golden streamlets, Oconee's waters flow! I love them with devotion, Though washed so bleak and bare ; How can my spirit e'er forget 15 The warm hearts dwelling there? I love them for the living, The generous, kind, and gay; And for the dead who slumber Within their breast of clay. * I love them for the bounty Which cheers the social hearth; I love them for their rosy girls, The fairest on the earth. The red old hills of Georgia! 26 Where, where, upon the face Of earth is freedom's spirit More bright in any race? In Switzerland and Scotland Each patriot breast it fills, w But sure it blazes brighter yet Among our Georgia hills! And where, upon their surface, Is heart to feeling dead ? And when has needy stranger M Gone from those hills unfed? 105 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY There bravery and kindness For aye go hand in hand, Upon your washed and naked hills, " My own, my native land ! " 40 The red old hills of Georgia! I never can forget; Amid life's joys and sorrows, My heart is on them yet; And when my course is ended, 4B When life her web has wove, Oh! may I then, beneath those hills, Lie close to them I love! MY WIFE AND CHILD The tattoo beats, the lights are gone, The camp around in slumber lies, The night with solemn pace moves on, The shadows thicken o'er the skies; But sleep my weary eyes hath flown, 5 And sad, uneasy thoughts arise. I think of thee, oh, darling one, Whose love my early life hath blest, Of thee and him our baby son Who slumbers on thy gentle breast. 10 God of the tender, frail, and lone, Oh, guard the tender sleeper's rest ! And hover gently, hover near To her whose watchful eye is wet, To mother, wife the doubly dear, 15 In whose young heart have freshly met Two streams of love so deep and clear, And cheer her drooping spirit? yet. 106 - HENRY ROOTES JACKSON Now while she kneels before Thy throne, Oh, teach her, Euler of the skies, 20 That, while by Thy behest alone Earth's mightiest powers fall or rise, No tear is wept to Thee unknown, No hair is lost, no sparrow dies ! That Thou canst stay the ruthless hand 25 Of dark disease, and soothe its pain; That only by Thy stern command The battle's lost, the soldier's slain; That from the distant sea or land Thou bring'st the wanderer home again. 30 And when upon her pillow lone Her tear-wet cheek is sadly pressed, May happier visions beam upon The brightening current of her breast, No frowning look or angry tone 85 Disturb the Sabbath of her rest ! THE RED OLD HILLS OP GEORGIA. A patriotic lyric. Is the feeling sincere? Scan the first stanza and analyze it. 8. " At last " : does this phrase fall naturally to its place? 12. "Oconee": one of the tributaries of the Altamaha. 22. " Social hearth " : figure ? 40. A quotation from Scotf s " Lay of the Last Minstrel." 46. Criticise this. MY WIFE AND CHILD. What is the theme in this ? The stanza structure and measure? 1. "Tattoo": a beat of drum at night, signalling the soldiers to their tents. 11,12. This is fervent. 24. Allusion? 25-30. The grammatical relation of this? 107 Francis Orray Ticknor 1822-1874 Ticknor, too, belongs to Georgia, and does honor to the State. After studying medicine in New York and Philadelphia he took up his lifework at his country residence, "Torch Hill/' near Columbus. He wrote because he could not but write; and from the character of the bits he left one wishes he had devoted more time to poetry. In 1879 some of his fugitives were collected and published under the title, " Poems," edited by Paul H. Hayne. VIRGINIANS OF THE VALLEY The Knightliest of the Knightly race, That since the days of old, Have kept the lamp of chivalry Alight in hearts of gold. The kindliest of the kindly band 5 That rarely hating ease! Yet rode with Ealeigh round the land, With Smith around the seas. Who climbed the blue embattled hills Against uncounted foes, 10 And planted there, in valleys fair, The Lily and the Eose ! Whose fragrance lives in many lands, Whose beauty stars the earth; And lights the hearths of happy homes 15 With loveliness and worth! 108 FRANCIS ORRAY TICKNOR We thought they slept! the men who kept The names of noble sires, And slumbered while the darkness crept Around their vigil fires! But aye! the golden horseshoe Knights Their Old Dominion keep, Whose foes have found enchanted ground But not a knight asleep. LITTLE GIFFEN Out of the focal and foremost fire Out of the hospital walls as dire Smitten of grapeshot and gangrene - Eighteenth battle and he, sixteen Spectre, such as you seldom see, 6 Little Giffen of Tennessee. " Take him and welcome," the surgeon said, " Not the doctor can help the dead ! " So we took him and brought him where The balm was sweet in our Summer air; 10 And we laid him down on a wholesome bed; Utter Lazarus, heel to head ! And we watched the war with abated breath, Skeleton boy against skeleton death! Months of torture, how many such I 15 Weary weeks of the stick and crutch, And still a glint in the steel-blue eye Told of a spirit that wouldn't die, And didn't! Nay! more! in death's despite The crippled skeleton learned to write 20 109 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY " Dear Mother ! " at first, of course, and then " Dear Captain ! " enquiring about the men. Captain's answer : " Of eighty and five Giffen and I are left alive." " Johnston pressed at the front," they say ; 25 Little Giffen was up and away! A tear, his first, as he bade good-bye Dimmed the glint of his steel-blue eye; " I'll write, if spared ! " There was news of fight, But none of Giffen ! he did not write ! I sometimes fancy that were I King Of the courtly Knights of Arthur's ring, With the voice of the minstrel in mine ear And the tender legend that trembles here Fd give the best on his bended knee 35 The whitest soul of my chivalry For Little Giffen of Tennessee. LOYAL The Douglas in the days of old The gentle minstrels sing, Wore at his heart, encased in gold, The heart of Bruce, his King. Through Paynim lands to Palestine, Befall what peril might, To lay that heart on Christ his shrine His Knightly word he plight. 110 FRANCIS ORRAY TICKNOR A weary way, by night and day, Of vigil and of fight, 10 Where never rescue came by day NOT ever rest by night. And one by one the valiant spears, They faltered from his side; And one by one his heavy tears 1B Fell for the Brave who died. Till fierce and black, around his track, He saw the combat close, And counted but a single sword Against uncounted foes. 20 He drew the casket from his breast, He bared his solemn brow, Oh, Kingliest and Knightliest, Go first in battle, now! Where leads my Lord of Bruce, the Sword * 5 Of Douglas shall not stay ! Forward ! and to the feet of Christ I follow thee, to-day. The casket flashed ! The Battle clashed, Thundered and rolled away. 30 And dead above the Heart of Bruce The heart of Douglas lay. " Loyal ! " Methinks the antique mould Is lost ! or Theirs alone, Who sheltered Freedom's heart of gold, Like Douglas with their own! Ill A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY VIRGINIANS OP THE VALLEY. 6. Explain. 7. Sir Walter Raleigh, the first projector of colonies in the New World. He did not attend the expedition; so what figure in "rode with Raleigh"? 9. " Em- battled ": in what sense? 12. "Lily and Rose": symbolical. To whom do they refer? 13-16. Give the meaning. 21. " The golden horseshoe Knights " : followers of Spotswood, a Virginia pioneer, each having been given a golden horseshoe. LITTLE GIFFEN. There is intense energy in this poem, written in honor of a little Tennessee lad who was wounded probably at the battle of Murfrees- boro. Dr. Ticknor nursed him back to life at " Torch Hill." 13. Explain. 25. "Johnston": Joseph E., a Confederate general. 29. Giffen was killed, but in what battle it is not known, in some fight near Atlanta, in 1864. 31-37. What reference here? LOYAL. These ringing lines were written in memory of General Cleburne, who at the battle of Franklin was ordered to storm some difficult posi- tion. Against his better judgment he obeyed the command and lost his life. It will be noticed that the only direct reference to the hero is made in the last stanza, but he was all that Douglas was. 4. " Bruce " : the Scottish king had planned to go upon a crusade to the Holy Land, but never carried out his wish. At his death, legend has it, he entrusted his heart to Douglas, with the request that he take it to Jerusalem. 5. " Paynim " : heathen. 7. " Christ his shrine": an early way of expressing possession. 13. "Valiant spears": what figure? 29, 30. Fig- ures in these lines? 112 John Reuben Thompson 1823-1873 As editor of the Southern Literary Messenger Thompson did much toward creating and nurturing a love of letters in the South. Through the pages of that journal many whose names are now household words first found voice. He was a Virginian; a graduate of the University of that State. The law was his chosen field, but was abandoned for literature. Failing health compelled him to give up the Messenger and leave Eichmond in search of a more genial climate. He first went to Augusta, and undertook the editorship of the South' ern Field and Fireside, but, finding no restoration, he went to London, where he resided for several years. Afterwards he returned to America and be- came literary editor of the New York Evening Post, a position he filled with great acceptability. Forced to give this up, he wandered again, sojourning a while in Colorado and elsewhere, yet receiving no perma- nent benefit. In 1873 he died in New York, and was buried in Eichmond. Within the past few years Dr. Kent, of the Uni- versity of Virginia, has planned a collection of his poems. MUSIC IN CAMP Two armies covered hill and plain, Where Eappahannock's waters Kan deeply crimsoned with the stain Of battle's recent slaughters. 113 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY The summer clouds lay pitched like tents 5 In meads of heavenly azure; And each dread gun of the elements Slept in its embrasure. The breeze so softly blew, it made No forest leaf to quiver, And the smoke of the random cannonade Boiled slowly from the river. And now, where circling hills looked down With cannon grimly planted, O'er listless camp and silent town 15 The golden sunset slanted. When on the fervid air there came A strain now rich, now tender; The music seemed itself aflame With day's departing splendor. 20 A Federal band, which, eve and morn, Played measures brave and nimble, Had just struck up, with flute and horn And lively clash of cymbal. Down flocked the soldiers to the banks, 25 Till, margined by its pebbles, One wooded shore was blue with " Yanks," And one was gray with " Rebels." Then all was still, and then the band, With movement light and tricksy, 30 Made stream and forest, hill and strand, Reverberate with "Dixie." 114 JOHN REUBEN THOMPSON The conscious stream with burnished glow Went proudly o'er its pebbles, But thrilled throughout its deepest flow 3B With yelling of the Eebels. Again a pause, and then again The trumpets pealed sonorous, And " Yankee Doodle " was the strain To which the shore gave chorus. 40 The laughing ripple shoreward flew, To kiss the shining pebbles; Loud shrieked the swarming Boys in Blue Defiance to the Eebels. And yet once more the bugle sang 45 Above the stormy riot; No shout upon the evening rang There reigned a holy quiet. The sad, slow stream its noiseless flood Poured o'er the glistening pebbles; 50 All silent now the Yankees stood, And silent stood the Kebels. No unresponsive soul had heard That plaintive note's appealing, So deeply " Home, Sweet Home " had stirred 55 The hidden founts of feeling. Or Blue, or Gray, the soldier sees As by the wand of fairy, The cottage 'neath the live-oak trees, The cabin by the prairie. 60 115 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Or cold, or warm, his native skies Bend in their beauty o'er him; Seen through the tear-mist in his eyes, His loved ones stand before him. As fades the iris after rain 65 In April's tearful weather, The vision vanished, as the strain And daylight died together. But memory, waked by music's art, Expressed in simplest numbers, 70 Subdued the sternest Yankee's heart, Made light the Eebel's slumbers. And fair the form of music shines, That bright celestial creature, Who still, 'mid war's embattled lines, 76 rave this one touch of Nature. ASHBY To the brave all homage render, Weep, ye skies of June! With a radiance pure and tender, Shine, oh saddened moon ! " Dead upon the field of glory ," 5 Hero fit for song and story, Ides our bold dragoon. Well they learned, whose hands have slain him, Braver, knightlier foe Never fought with Moor nor Paynim, 10 Rode at Templestowe; 116 JOHN REUBEN THOMPSON With a mien how high and joyous, 'Gainst the hordes that would destroy us Went he forth we know. Never more, alas! shall sabre 1B Gleam around his crest; Fought his fight; fulfilled his labour; Stilled his manly breast. All unheard sweet Nature cadence, Trump of fame and voice of maidens, 20 Now he takes his rest. Earth that all too soon hath bound him, Gently wrap his clay; Linger lovingly around him, Light of dying day ; 25 Softly fall the summer showers, Birds and bees among the flowers Make the gloom seem gay. There, throughout the coming ages, When his sword is rust, 30 And his deeds in classic pages, Mindful of her trust, Shall Virginia, bending lowly, Still a ceaseless vigil holy Keep above his dust ! S5 Music IN CAMP. This narrates a true incident at the battle of Fredericksburg. 8. "Embrasure": an aperture in a fort through which a cannon is dis- charged. 12. The Rappahannock. The influence of both Shakespeare and Tennyson is seen in this poem : where ? ASHBY. In memory of Turner Ashby, a gallant 117 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY officer in the Confederate Army who lost his life in battle near Harrisonburg, June 6, 1862. 7. "Dra- goon": a soldier trained to serve either on horse or on foot. 11. " Templestowe " : The Castle of Templestowe was one of the " preeeptories," or for- tified lodges, of the Knights Templars," described in Sir Walter Scott's novel " Ivanhoe." It was in the tilt-yard of this preceptory that the mortal combat took 'place between Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe and one of the Knights of the Temple, Sir Brian de Bois- Guilbert. 23. Bead Collins' "How Sleep the Brave." 118 James Matthews Legare 1823-1859. Legare was a native of Charleston, S. C. He was an inventor and writer, contributing both verse and prose to various magazines. " Orta-Undis, and Other Poems/' published in 1847, contains his best work. I have been able to collect very few facts about his life. TO A LILY Go bow thy head in gentle spite, Thou lily white, For she who spies thee waving here, With thee in beauty can compare As day with night. 5 Soft are thy leaves and white : her arms Boast whiter charms. Thy stem prone bent with loveliness Of maiden grace possesseth less: Therein she charms. 10 Thou in thy lake dost see Thyself: so she Beholds her image in her eyes Reflected. Thus did Venus rise From out the sea. 15 Inconsolate, bloom not again. Thou rival vain Of her whose charms have thine outdone, Whose purity might spot the sun, And make thy leaf a stain. 20 119 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY AHAB MOHAMMED A peasant stood before a king and said, " My children starve, I come to thee for bread/' On cushions soft and silken sat enthroned The king, and looked on him that prayed and moaned, Who cried again, " For bread I come to thee/' 5 For grief, like wine, the tongue will render free. Then said the prince with simple truth, " Behold I sit on cushions silken-soft, of gold And wrought with skill the vessels which they bring To fitly grace the banquet of a king. 10 But at my gate the Mede triumphant beats, And die for food my people in the streets. Yet no good father hears his child complain And gives him stones for bread, for alms disdain. Come, thou and I will sup together come/' 15 The wondering courtiers saw saw and were dumb ; Then followed with their eyes where Ahab led With grace the humble guest, amazed, to share his bread. Him half abashed the royal host withdrew Into a room, the curtained doorway through. 20 Silent behind the folds of purple closed, In marble life the statues stood disposed; From the high ceiling, perfume breathing, hung Lamps rich, pomegranate-shaped, and golden-swung. Gorgeous the board with massive metal shone, 25 Gorgeous with gems arose in front a throne : These through the Orient lattice saw the sun. If gold there was, of meat and bread was none Save one small loaf; this stretched his hand and took Ahab Mohammed, prayed to God, and broke : 30 One half his yearning nature bid him crave, 120 JAMES MATTHEWS LEGARE The other gladly to his guest he gave. " I have no more to give," he cheerily said : " With thee I share my only loaf of bread." Humbly the stranger took the offered crumb 35 Yet ate not of it, standing meek and dumb; Then lifts his eyes, the wondering Ahab saw His rags fall from him as the snow in thaw. Resplendent, blue, those orbs upon him turned; All Ahab's soul within him throbbed and burned. 40 " Ahab Mohammed," spoke the vision then, " From this thou shalt be blessed among men. Go forth thy gates the Mede bewildered flees, And Allah thank thy people on their knees. He who gives somewhat does a worthy deed, 45 Of him the recording angel shall take heed. But he that halves all that his house doth hold, His deeds are more to God, yea, more than finest gold." AMY This is the pathway where she walked, The tender grass pressed by her feet. The laurel boughs laced overhead, . Shut out the noonday heat. The sunshine gladly stole between 6 The softly undulating limbs. From every blade and leaf arose The myriad insect hymns. A brook ran murmuring beneath The grateful twilight of the trees, 10 Where from the dripping pebbles swelled A beach's mossy knees. 121 A STUDY ^ IN SOUTHERN POETRY N' And there her robe of spotless white, (Pure whits such purity beseemed!) Her angel face, and tresses bright 15 Within the bacin gleamed. The coy sweetbriers half detained Her light hem as we moved along ! To hear the music of hei . voice The mockbird hushed his song. 20 But now her little feet are still, Her lips the Everlasting seal; The hideous secrets of the grave The weeping eyes reveal. The path still winds, the brook descends. 25 The skies are bright as then they were. My Amy is the only leaf In all that forest sere. To A LILY. A piquant love lyric. What tone per- vades it? 11. Any criticism on the measure? 14. Venus, the goddess of love, was born of sea-foam. AHAB MOHAMMED. What poem by another American writer works to the same conclusion as this? Read also "Abou Ben Adhem," by Leigh Hunt. 14. What allusion? 18. Does it differ in measure? 38. A very inapt figure: why? 43. " The Mede ": what figure and why? AMY. A touching lyric of grief. 23-28. Give the thought. 122 John William Palmer 1825-1896 Though a physician by profession, Palmer is known better as an author. He was a native of Baltimore, and a graduate of the University of Maryland. He practiced medicine in San Francisco, going later as a surgeon on the East India Company's war steamer, Phlegethon, in the Burmese War. In the Civil War he was correspondent for the New York Tribune, and up till his death was an occasional contributor to periodicals. He translated and compiled many volumes, wrote a novel, "After His Kind," under the pen name, "John Coventry," and left several ballads of native strength. "Stonewall Jackson's Way," given below, was written at Oakland, Md., September 17, while the battle of Antietam was in progress. THE FIGHT AT THE SAN"; JACHSTTO " Now for a brisk and cheerful fight! " Said Harman big and droll, As he coaxed his flint and steel for a light, And puffed at his cold clay bowl; "For we are a skulking lot," says he, 5 " Of land-thieves hereabout, And these bold senores, two to one, Have come to smoke us out." Santa Anna and Castillon, Almonte brave and gay, 10 Portilla red from Goliad, And Cos with his smart array. 123 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Dulces and cigarritos, And the light guitar, ting-turn! Sant' Anna courts siesta, 15 And Sam Houston taps his drum. The buck stands still in the timber "Is it patter of nuts that fall?" The foal of the wild mare whinnies Did he hear the Comanche call ? 20 In the brake by the crawling bayou The slinking she-wolves howl; And the mustang's snort in the river sedge Has startled the paddling fowl. A soft, low tap, and a muffled tap, 25 And a roll not loud nor long We would not break Sant' Anna's nap, Nor spoil Almonte's song. Saddles and knives and rifles ! Lord ! but the men were glad 30 When Deaf Smith muttered " Alamo ! " And Karnes hissed " Goliad ! " The drummer tucked his sticks in his belt, And the fifer gripped his gun. Oh, for one free, wild, Texan yell, 35 As we took the slope in a run ! But never a shout nor a shot we spent, NOT an oath nor a prayer, that day, Till we faced the bravos, eye to eye, And then we blazed away. 40 Then we knew the rapture of Ben Milam, And the glory that Travis made, With Bowie's lunge and Crockett's shot, And Fannin's dancing blade; 124 JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER And the heart of the fighter, bounding free 45 In his joy so hot and mad When Millard charged for Alamo, Lamar for Goliad. Deaf Smith rode straight, with reeking spur, Into the shock and rout : 60 " I've hacked and burned the bayou bridge There's no sneak's back-way out ! " Muzzle or butt for Goliad, Pistol and blade and fist Oh, for the knife that never glanced, 55 And the gun that never missed ! Dulces and cigarritos, Song and the mandolin ! That gory swamp is a gruesome grove To dance fandangoes in. 60 We bridged the bog with the sprawling herd That fell in that frantic rout; We slew and slew till the sun set red, And the Texas star flashed out. STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY Come, stack arms, men ! Pile on the rails, Stir up the camp-fire bright; No matter if the canteen fails, We'll make a roaring night. Here Shenandoah brawls along, There burly Blue Ridge echoes strong, To swell the brigade's rousing song Of " Stonewall Jackson's way." 125 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY We see him now, the old slouched hat Cocked o'er his eye askew; 10 The shrewd, dry smile, the speech so pat, So calm, so blunt, so true. The "Blue-Light Elder" knows 'em well; Says he, " That's Banks, he's fond of shell; Lord save his soul! we'll give him ;" well, 15 That's " Stonewall Jackson's way." Silence ! ground arms ! kneel all ! caps off ! Old Blue-Light's going to pray. Strangle the fool that dares to scoff ! Attention ! it's his way. 20 Appealing from his native sod, In forma pauperis to God, " Lay bare Thine arm ; stretch forth Thy rod ! Amen ! That's " Stonewall's way." He's in the saddle now. Fall in! 25 Steady ! the whole brigade ! Hill's at the ford, cut off; we'll win His way out, ball and blade ! What matter if our shoes are worn ? What matter if our feet are torn ? 30 " Quick-step ! we're with him before morn ! " That's "Stonewall Jackson's way." The sun's bright lances rout the mists Of morning, and, by George! Here's Longstreet struggling in the lists, 35 Hemmed in an ugly gorge. Pope and his Yankees, whipped before, " Bay'nets and grape ! " hear Stonewall roar ; " Charge, Stuart ! Pay off Ashby's score ! " In " Stonewall Jackson's way." 40 126 JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER Ah ! maiden, wait and watch and yearn For news of Stonewall's band ! Ah ! widow, read with eyes that burn That ring upon thy hand. Ah ! wife, sew on, pray on, hope on, 4i Thy life shall not be all forlorn; The foe had better ne'er been born That gets in " Stonewall's way." THE FIGHT AT SAN JACINTO. A battle of the Mexican War. Classify the poem. Point out pas- sages of notable grace; as 9-16; of sound correspond- ing to sense, as 14; of animated description, as 17-24 ; of powerful energy, as 49-56. Characterize other lines. Note the Spanish names used, thus giving local color to the work. 10. " Almonte " : one of the aides of Santa Anna, captured in this fight. 11. " Goliad " : county seat of Goliad county in southern Texas, and the scene of a most perfidious act on the part of the Mexicans, where Colonel James W. Fan- nin and over three hundred Texans, after having surrendered and been disarmed on the understand- ing that they were to be treated as prisoners of war, were marched out and shot down. 42-44. "Travis, Crockett, Bowie": Texan leaders who, at the head of 140 men, were besieged in the old mission sta- tion of San Antonio de Valerio (otherwise known as the Alamo) by 4000 Mexicans, February 23, 1836. For ten days the fort was defended stub- bornly against frequent assaults, and appeals for reinforcements were repeatedly sent out, but only thirty-two men could get through the Mexican lines. On the sixth of March three attacks were made, and the handful of Texans were cut down until only six were left : Joseph Travis, David Crockett, and James 127, A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Bowie, with three others. They fought desperately in a hand-to-hand struggle, and surrendered only under promise of protection, but Santa Anna again was faithless to his promise, and ordered them to be hacked to pieces. Hence, " Eemember the Alamo ! " was the battle cry at San Jacinto. Discuss other characters and places named. This lyric has all the dash and fire of a cavalry charge. STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY. A lyric of praise, Characterize its style. Is it graphic, strong, ani- mated, elliptical? 13. "Blue-Light Elder." Jack- son was a Presbyterian elder. Blue-light is a compo- sition used in war to give signals ; so called from the color of its flame. 14. "Banks": the Federal com- mander that Jackson pounced upon in the Valley of Virginia. 22. "Forma pauperis": posture of a beggar. 27. "Hill": a Confederate general. Lo- cate other leaders mentioned. 128 Augustus Julian Requier 1825-1887 Judge Requier, a South Carolinian, was of French descent. He was educated in his native city, Charles- ton, and was admitted to the bar at nineteen. His first contributions to letters began to appear earlier than this, even. In 1850 he removed to Mobile, where he was appointed United States District At- torney. During the Civil War he was Attorney for Alabama, and at the close of hostilities he went to New York City and established a practice. As an author he is known in several departments : fiction, drama, law, essay, poetry. He won success in all, but distinction in his lyrics. They deserve more careful study than they have yet received, for they are chaste, logical, vigorous, symmetrical. His "Crystalline," "Legend of Tremaine," "Ode to Shakespeare," and " Ode to Victory," while too long to use here, are worthy of close analysis. His " Poems " appeared in Philadelphia in 1859, and he purposed to prepare another volume embodying his later songs, but this has never been published. ASHES OF GLORY Fold up the gorgeous silken sun, By bleeding martyrs blest, And heap the laurels it has won Above its place of rest. 129 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY No trumpet note need harshly blare, 5 No drum funereal roll, No trailing sables drape the bier That frees a dauntless soul. It lived with Lee, and decked his brow With fate's empyreal palm; It sleeps the sleep of Jackson now, As spotless and as calm. It was outnumbered not outdone; And they shall shuddering tell, Who struck the blow, its latest gun 15 Flashed ruin as it fell. Sleep, shrouded ensign ! Not the breeze That smote the victor tar With death across the heaving seas Of fiery Trafalgar; 20 Not Arthur's knights amid the gloom Their knightly deeds have starred ; Nor Gallic Henry's matchless plume. Nor peerless-born Bayard; Not all that antique fables feign, 25 And orient dreams disgorge; Nor yet the silver cross of Spain, And Lion of St. George, Can bid thee pale ! Proud emblem, still Thy crimson glory shines 30 Beyond the lengthened shades that fill Their proudest kingly lines. ISO AUGUSTUS JULIAN REQUIER Sleep ! in thine own historic night, And be thy blazoned scroll ; 'A warriors banner takes its flight 35 To greet the warrior's soul. WHO WAS IT? I met when was it? Oh! between The sunset and the morn Of one indelible day as green As Memory's eldest born. I met her where the grasses grow 5 Away from tower and town Whose gypsy bonnet dipt the glow Of chestnut isles of brown ! I asked the rose to breathe her name; She pouted and she said, 10 She could not speak of her who came To pale her richest red. I asked the lily, ripple-rimmed, A flake-like curve of snow She sighed her glory had been dimmed 1B By one she did not know. I stooped beside a tufted bed Of leaflets moist with dew, Where one sweet posy hung its head Of deep, di vines t blue; And asked the violet if her power Could reach that spell of flame : She smiled, " I am her favorite flower, And Lizzie! is her name." 131 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY ONLY A DREAM By the lake beyond the meadow, Where the lilies blow As the young moon dipt and lifted Her reflected bow Lived and died a dream of beauty 6 Many years ago. Something made the milk-white blossoms Even whiter grow ; Something gave the dying sunset An intenser glow, 10 And enriched the cup of rapture, Filled to overflow. Hope was frail and Passion fleeting It is often so Visions born of golden sunsets 15 With the sunsets go: To have loved is to have suffered Martyrdom below. By the lake beyond the meadow, Where the lilies blow 20 Oh, the glory there that perished, None shall ever know When a human heart was broken, Many years ago ! ASHES OF GLORY. Type of poem? Its measure? 7. "Trailing sables": meaning? 18. "Victor tar": explain. 20. "Trafalgar": historical allu- 132 AUGUSTUS JULIAN REQUIER sion ? 21-29. Discuss the proper names. 26. " Dis- gorge": criticise the use of the word here. WHO WAS IT? Contrast this with the following, and show their difference in mood and structure. Do they both fall in the same class of lyric? ONLY A DREAM. Is there a suggestion of Poe in this? 15, 16. These lines are worthy of being re- membered. 133 Margaret Junkin Preston 1835-1897 The father of Mrs. Preston, Rev. Dr. Junkin, of Philadelphia, was chosen president of Washington and Lee University, at Lexington, Va. There the daughter became the wife of Prof. John T. L. Pres- ton, of the Virginia Military Institute, and a sister of hers, Miss Eleanor Junkin, was married to the great Confederate general, T. J. Jackson. Prior to her marriage Mrs. Preston contributed to Sartain's Magazine, and throughout a long life her poems appeared from time to time in some of our best periodicals. She wrote one novel, " Silver- wood," and several volumes of verse, the most noted of which, " Beechenbrook, a Rhyme of the War/ 9 contains the familiar " Stonewall Jackson's Grave " and "Slain in Battle." Her final collection of verses is entitled " Colonial Ballads, Sonnets, and other Verse." Her poems are thoughtful, strong, and full of religious fervor. A GRAVE IN HOLLYWOOD CEMETERY, RICHMOND J. R. T. I read the marble-lettered name, And half in bitterness I said : "As Dante from Ravenna came, Our poet came from exile dead." 134 MARGARET JUNKIN PRESTON And yet, had it been asked of him B Where he would rather lay his head, This spot he would have chosen. Dim The city's hum drifts o'er his grave, And green above the hollies wave Their jagged leaves, as when a boy, 10 On blissful summer afternoons, He came to sing the birds his runes, And tell the river of his joy. Who dreams that in his wanderings wide, By stern misfortunes tossed and driven 15 His soul's electric strands were riven From home and country? Let betide What might, what would, his boast, his pride, Was in his stricken mother-land, That could but bless and bid him go, 20 Because no crust was in her hand To stay her children's need. We know The mystic cable sank too deep For surface storm or stress to strain, Or from his answering heart to keep 25 The spark from flashing back again ! Think of the thousand mellow rhymes, The pure idyllic passion-flowers, Wherewith, in far gone, happier times, He garlanded this South of ours. 30 Provengal-like, he wandered long, And sang at many a stranger's board, Yet 'twas Virginia's name that poured The tenderest pathos through his song. We owe the Poet praise and tears, 35 Whose ringing ballad sends the brave, Bold Stuart riding down the years What have we given him? Just a grave! 122 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY STONEWALL JACKSON'S GRAVE A simple, sodded mound of earth, With not a line above it With only daily votive flowers To prove that any love it ; The token flag that, silently, B Each breeze's visit numbers, Alone keeps martial ward above The hero's dreamless slumbers. No name ? no record ? Ask the world The world has heard his story 10 If all its annals can unfold A prouder tale of glory? If ever merely human life Hath taught diviner moral If ever round a worthier brow w Was twined a purer laurel? Humanity's responsive heart Concedes his wond'rous powers, And pulses with a tenderness Almost akin to ours ; 20 Nay, not to ours for us he poured His life a rich oblation; And on adoring souls we bear His blood of consecration. A twelvemonth only since his sword * Went flashing through the battle; A twelvemonth only since his ear Heard war's last deadly rattle. 136 MARGARET JUNKIN PRESTON And yet have countless pilgrim feet The pilgrim's guerdon paid him ; And weeping women come to see The place where they have laid him. Contending armies bring, in turn, Their meed of praise or honor; And Pallas here has paused to bind 35 The cypress wreath upon her. It seems a holy sepulchre Whose sanctities can waken Alike the love of friend or foe Of Christian or of Pagan. 40 They come to own his high emprise Who fled in frantic masses Before the glittering bayonet That triumphed at Manassas; Who witnessed Kernstown's fearful odds, 4B As on their ranks he thundered, Defiant as the storied Greek Amid his brave three hundred. 'They well recall the tiger spring, The wise retreat, the rally ; 50 The tireless march, the fierce pursuit Through many a mountain valley. Cross Keys unlocks new paths to fame, And Port Republic's story Wrests from his ever-vanquished foes 55 Strange tributes to his glory! Cold Harbor rises to their view, The Cedar's gloom is o'er them, Antietam's rough and rugged heights Stretch mockingly before them. 60 137 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY The lurid flames of Fredericksburg Eight grimly they remember, That lit the frozen night's retreat That wintry, wild December. The largesse of their praise is flung 65 With bounty rare and regal; Is it because the vulture fears No longer the dead eagle? Nay, rather far accept it thus; A homage true and tender, 70 As soldier unto soldier's worth As brave to brave will render ! But who shall weigh the wordless grief That leaves in tears its traces, As 'round their leader crowd again 75 Those bronzed and veteran faces? The " old brigade " he loved so well, The mountain men who bound him. With bays of their own winning, ere A tardier fame had crowned him. 80 The legions who had seen his glance Across the carnage flashing, And thrilled to catch his ringing " Charge ! " Above the volley crashing; Who oft had watched the lifted hand 85 The inward trust betraying, And felt their courage grow sublime While they beheld him praying. Good knights, and true as ever drew Their swords with knightly Roland, 90 Or died at Sobieski's side For love of martyred Poland; 138 MARGARET JUNKIN PRESTON Or knelt with Cromwell's " Ironsides," Or sung with brave Gustavus, Or on the field of Austerlitz 95 Breathed out their dying " aves." Rare fame ! rare name ! if chanted praise, With all the world to listen; If pride that swells a nation's soul ; If foeman's tears that glisten ; 10 If pilgrim's shrining love ; if grief Which naught can soothe or sever, If these can consecrate, this spot Is sacred ground forever. BEFORE DEATH How much would I care for it, could I know, That when I am under the grass or snow, The ravelled garment of life's brief day Folded, and quietly laid away; The spirit let loose from mortal bars, And somewhere away among the stars: How much do you think it would matter then What praise was lavished upon me, when, Whatever might be its stint or store, It neither could help nor harm me more ? 10 II If midst of my toil they had but thought To stretch a finger, I would have caught Gladly such aid, to bear me through Some bitter duty I had to do : 139 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY And when it was done, had I but heard 15 One breath of applause, one cheering word, One cry of " Courage ! " amid the strife, So weighted for me, with death or life, How would it have nerved my soul to strain Through the whirl of the coming surge again ! Ill 20 What use for the rope, if it be not flung Till the swimmer's grasp to the rock has clung ? What help in a comrade's bugle-blast When the peril of Alpine heights is past ? What need that the spurring paean roll 25 When the runner is safe beyond the goal? What worth is eulogy's blandest breath When whispered in ears that are hushed in death? No ! no ! if you have but a word of cheer, Speak it, while I am alive to hear ! 80 AT ST. OSWALD'S Within the church I knelt, where many a year Wordsworth had worshipped, while his musing eye Wandered o'er mountain, fell, and scaur, and sky, That rimmed the silver circle of Grasmere, Whose crystal held an under-world as clear 5 As that which girt it round ; and questioned why The place was sacred for his lifted sigh, More than the humble dalesman's kneeling near. Strange spell of Genius ! that can melt the soul To reverence tenderer than o'er it falls 10 Beneath the marvellous heavens which God hath made, 140 MARGARET JUNKJN PRESTON And sway it with such human-sweet control That holier henceforth seem these simple walls, Because within them once a poet prayed ! FLOOD-TIDE To every artist, howsoe'er his thought Unfolds itself before the eyes of men Whether through sculptor's chisel, poet's pen, Or painter's wondrous brush, there comes, full fraught With instant revelation, lightning-wrought, 5 A moment of supremest heart-swell, when The mind leaps to the tidal crest, and then Sweeps on triumphant to the harbor sought. Wait, eager spirit, till the topping waves Shall roll their gathering strength in one, and lift 10 From out the swamping trough thy galleon free ; Mount with the whirl, command the rush that raves A maelstrom round ; then proudly shoreward drift, Bich-freighted as an Indian argosy. A GRAVE IN HOLLYWOOD. This is a tribute to the memory of John R. Thompson. 3. Dante, the great Italian poet, was driven into exile by his political enemies and died at Eavenna. 31. " Provengal-like " : like one of the wandering lyric poets of Provence, France. 36. "Einging ballad": Thompson's fine poem, " The Death of Stuart." STONEWALL JACKSON'S GRAVE. 1, 2. This was true when written, but not now; an appropriate monument stands at his grave, and memorials have been erected to him in various places notably the 141 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY bronze statue at Kichmond, in 1875, paid for by English admirers. 33. In June, 1864, two hostile armies reverently visited Jackson's grave. 35. " Pal- las " :' explain. 48. The Spartans at ThermopylaB. Explain other proper names. BEFORE DEATH. Scan this. Characterize its dic- tion. What is its tone? What references in the third division? The two sonnet^ reveal no little deftness in this difficult form of composition. Both obey the rigid rules as to rhyme and treatment. This is the Petrar- chan, or Italian, scheme. The octave must rhyme abbaaba ; and the sestet, cdecde, though there is great license in the latter division, even in the son- nets of Petrarch. These poems, too, change the phase of the thought at the close of the first divi- sion another requisite in this type of lyric. 142 Rosa Vertner Jeffrey 1828-1894 Mrs. Jeffrey was the daughter of Mr. John Y. Griffith, a writer of some distinction. She was a native of Mississippi, was educated in Lexington, Ky., and was married at seventeen to Mr. Claude M. Johnson. After his death she became the wife of Mr. Alexander Jeffrey, of Edinburgh, Scotland. She was a favorite contributor to the Louisville Journal, under the pen name, " Kosa." Some of her volumes of verse are: "Poems, by Rosa," "Daisy Dare and Baby Power," " The Crimson Hand, and Other Poems." Besides these she wrote several stories, of which her two novels, "Marsh" and "Woodburn," stand first. ANGEL WATCHERS Angel faces watch my pillow, angel voices haunt my sleep, And upon the winds of midnight shining pinions round me sweep ; Floating downward on the starlight two bright in- fant forms I see, They are mine, my own bright darlings, come from Heaven to visit me. Earthly children smile upon me, but those little ones above 5 Were the first to stir the fountains of a mother's deathless love; 143 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY And, as now they watch my slumber, while their soft eyes on me shine, God forgive a mortal yearning still to call His angels mine. Earthly children fondly call me, but no mortal voice can seem Sweet as those that whisper " Mother ! " 'mid the glories of my dream : 10 Years will pass, and earthly prattlers cease perchance to lisp my name, But my angel babies' accents shall be evermore the same. And the bright band now around me from their home perchance will rove, In their strength no more depending on my constant care and love But my first-born still shall wander from the sky, in dreams to rest 15 Their soft cheeks and shining tresses on an earthly mother's breast. Time may steal away the freshness, or some whelm- ing grief destroy All the hopes that erst had blossomed in my summer- time of joy Earthly children may forsake me, earthly friends per- haps betray, Every tie that now unites me to this life may pass away, 20 But, unchanged, those angel watchers, from their blest immortal home, Pure and fair, to cheer the sadness of my darkened dreams shall come, 144 ROSA VERTNER JEFFREY And I cannot feel forsaken, for, though 'reft of earthly lore, Angel children call me " Mother ! " and my soul will look above. A lyric of grief, the theme of which is a mother's love for her lost children. It is the expression of tender feeling and keen pathos. 145 Henry fTimrod 1829-1867 This young South Carolinian must be rated as among the first poets of the South. What he has left us is marked by a tender sentiment, a fine im- agination, .and a delicate sweetness. He prepared himself for the law, but never pur- sued it. His first work was that of teacher a work he followed ten years, writing poems the while, a number being published in the Literary Messenger. He moved from his native city, Charleston, to Columbia, where he edited the South Carolinian. Soon afterward his first collection appeared in Boston, 1860. It met with a generous reception North and South. His brilliant war lyrics added to his reputa- tion, and for a time life opened a beautiful vista for him, but ill health and the tempest of war ruined all his prospects. Eeduced almost to actual starva- tion, he bitterly wrote in 1865, "I would consign every line I have written to eternal oblivion for one hundred dollars in hand." His works were republished in New York in 1873, with a sympathetic introduction by his brother-poet and life-long friend, Paul Hayne. A revised edition appeared in 1879. THE COTTON BOLL While I recline At ease beneath This immemorial pine, Small sphere! (By dusky fingers brought this morning here 5 146 HENRY TIMROD And shown with boastful smiles), I turn thy cloven sheath, Through which the soft white fibres peer, That, with their gossamer bands, Unite, like love, the sea-divided lands, 10 And slowly, thread by thread, Draw forth the folded strands, . Than which the trembling line, By whose frail help yon startled spider fled Down the tall spear-grass from his swinging-bed, 15 Is scarce more fine ; And as the tangled skein Unravels in my hands, Betwixt me and the noonday light, A veil seems lifted, and for miles and miles 20 The landscape broadens on my sight, As, in the little boll, there lurked a spell Like that which, in the ocean shell, With mystic sound, Breaks down the narrow walls that hem us round, 25 And turns some city lane Into the restless main, With all his capes and isles ! Yonder bird, Which floats, as if at rest, 30 In those blue tracts above the thunder, where No vapors cloud the stainless air, And never a sound is heard, Unless at such rare time When, from the City of the Blest, Rings down some golden chime, Sees not from his high place So vast a cirque of summer space 147 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY As widens round me in one mighty field, Which, rimmed by seas and sands, * a Doth hail its earliest daylight in the beams Of gray Atlantic dawns; And, broad as realms made up of many lands, Is lost afar Behind the crimson hills and purple lawns 4e Of sunset, among plains which roll their streams Against the Evening Star ! Andlo! To the remotest point of sight, Although I gaze upon no waste of snow, w The endless field is white ; And the whole landscape glows, For many a shining league away, With such accumulated light As Polar lands would flash beneath a tropic day ! 55 Nor lack there (for the vision grows, And the small charm within my hands More potent even than the fabled one, Which oped whatever golden mystery Lay hid in fairy wood or magic vale, 60 The curious ointment of the Arabian tale Beyond all mortal sense Doth stretch my sight's horizon, and I see, Beneath its simple influence, As if with Uriel's crown, ** I stood in some great temple of the Sun, And looked, as Uriel, down!) N*or lack there pastures rich and fields all green With all the common gifts of God, For temperate airs and torrid sheen 70 Weave Edens of the sod; Through lands which look one sea of billowy gold Broad rivers wind their devious ways; 148 HENRY TIMROD A hundred isles in their emfiraces fold A hundred luminous bays; 75 And through yon purple haze Vast mountains lift their plumed peaks cloud- crowned; And, save where up their sides the ploughman creeps, An unhewn forest girds them grandly round, In whose dark shades a future navy sleeps ! 80 Ye Stars, which, though unseen, yet with me gaze Upon this loveliest fragment of the earth I Thou Sun, that kindlest all thy gentlest rays Above it, as to light a favorite hearth ! Ye Clouds, that in your temples in the West 85 See nothing brighter than its humblest flowers ! And you, ye Winds, that on the ocean's breast Are kissed to coolness ere ye reach its bowers ! Bear witness with me in my song of praise, And tell the world that, since the world began, * No fairer land hath fired a poet's lays, Or given a home to man 1 But these are charms already widely blown I His be the meed whose pencil's trace Hath touched our very swamps with grace, 95 And round whose tuneful way All Southern laurels bloom; The Poet of " The Woodlands," unto whom Alike are known The flute's low breathing and the trumpet's tone, 10 And the soft west wind's sighs ; But who shall utter all the debt, land wherein all powers are met That bind a people's heart, The world doth owe thee at this day, 106 And which it never can repay, 149 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Yet scarcely deigns to own! Where sleeps the poet who shall fitly sing The source wherefrom doth spring That mighty commerce which, confined no To the mean channels of no selfish mart, Goes out to every shore Of this broad earth, and throngs the sea with ships That bear no thunders; hushes hungry lips 115 In alien lands; Joins with a delicate web remotest strands; And gladdening rich and poor, Doth gild Parisian domes, Or feed the cottage-smoke of English homes, And only bounds its blessings by mankind! 12 In offices like these, thy mission lies, My Country! and it shall not end As long as rain shall fall and Heaven bend In blue above thee; though thy foes be hard And cruel as their weapons, it shall guard 125 Thy hearth-stones as a bulwark; make thee great In white and bloodless state; And haply, as the years increase-^ Still working through its humbler reach With that large wisdom which the ages teach 13 Revive the half-dead dream of universal peace ! As men who labor in that mine Of Cornwall, hollowed out beneath the bed Of ocean, when a storm rolls overhead, Hear the dull booming of the world of brine 135 Above them, and a mighty muffled roar Of winds and waters, yet toil calmly on, And split the rock, and pile the massive ore, Or carve a niche, or shape the arched roof; So I, as calmly, weave my woof 14 Of song, chanting the days to come, 150 HENRY TIMROD Unsilenced, though the quiet summer air Stirs with the bruit of battles, and each dawn Wakes from its starry silence to the hum Of many gathering armies. Still, 145 In that we sometimes hear, Upon the Northern winds, the voice of woe Not wholly drowned in triumph, though I know The end must crown us, and a few brief years Dry all our tears, 15 I may not sing too gladly. To thy will Resigned, Lord! we cannot all forget That there is much even Victory must regret. And, therefore, not too long From the great burthen of our country's wrong 155 Delay our just release ! And, if it may be, save These sacred fields of peace From stain of patriot or of hostile blood ! Oh, help us, Lord ! to roll the crimson flood 16 Back on its course, and while our banners wing Northward, strike with us ! till the Goth shall cling To his own blasted altar-stones, and crave Mercy; and we shall grant it, and dictate The lenient future of his fate 165 There, where some rotting ships and crumbling quays Shall one day mark the Port which ruled the Western seas. HYMN; Sung at the consecration of Magnolia Cemetery, Charleston, 8. C. Whose was the hand that painted thee, Death! In the false aspect of a ruthless foe, Despair and sorrow waiting on thy breath, gentle Power ! who could have wronged thee so ? 151 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Thou rather should'st be crowned with fadeless flowers, 5 Of lasting fragrance and celestial hue ; Or be thy couch amid funereal bowers, But let the stars and sunlight sparkle through. So, with these thoughts before us, we have fixed And beautified, Death ! thy mansion here, 10 Where gloom and gladness grave and garden > mixed, Make it a place to love, and not to fear. Heaven ! shed thy most propitious dews around ! Ye holy stars ! look down with tender eyes, And gild and guard and consecrate the ground 1B Where we may rest, and whence we pray to rise. ODE I Sleep sweetly in your humble graves, Sleep, martyrs of a fallen cause; Though yet no marble column craves The pilgrim here to pause. n In seeds of laurel in the earth The blossom of your fame is blown, And somewhere, waiting for its birth, The shaft is in the stone ! 152 HENRY TIMROD III Meanwhile, behalf the tardy years Which keep in trust your storied tombs, 10 Behold ! your sisters bring their tears And these memorial blooms. IV Small tributes ! but your shades will smile More proudly on these wreaths to-day, Than when some cannon-moulded pile 15 Shall overlook this bay. Stoop, angels, hither from the skies! There is no holier spot of ground Than where defeated valor lies, By mourning beauty crowned! HAEK TO THE SHOUTING WIND Hark to the shouting Wind! Hark to the flying Rain ! And I care not though I never see A bright blue sky again. There are thoughts in my breast to-day 5 That are not for human speech; But I hear them in the driving storm, And the roar upon the beach. And oh, to be with that ship That I watch through the blinding brine ! 10 Wind ! for thy sweep of land and sea ! Sea ! for a voice like thine ! 153 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Shout on, thou pitiless Wind, To the frightened and flying Rain! I care not though I never see 15 A calm blue sky again. SONNET I scarcely grieve, Nature ! at the lot That pent my life within a city's hounds, And shut me from thy sweetest sights and sounds. Perhaps I had not learned, if some lone cot Had nursed a dreamy childhood, what the mart Taught me amid its turmoil ; so my youth Had missed full many a stern hut wholesome truth. Here, too, Nature ! in this haunt of Art, Thy power is on me, and I own thy thrall. There is no unimpressive spot on earth ! 10 The beauty of the stars is over all, And Day and Darkness visit every hearth. Clouds do not scorn us : yonder factory's smoke Looked like a golden mist when morning broke. SONNET Life ever seems as from its present site It aimed to lure us. Mountains of the past It melts, with all their crags and caverns vast, Into a purple cloud ! Across the night Which hides what is to be, it shoots a light 6 All rosy with the yet unrisen dawn. Not the near daisies, but yon distant height Attracts us, lying on this emerald lawn. And always, be the landscape what it may Blue, misty hill, or sweep of glimmering plain 10 154 HENRY TIMROD It is the eye's endeavor still to gain The fine, faint limit of the bounding day. God, haply, in this mystic mode, would fain Hint of a happier home, far, far away ! THE COTTON BOLL. "Uriel": one of the seven Archangels nearest the throne of God. The name means God's light. 95. Allusion to Simms' "The Edge of the Swamp.'"' 98. Simms spent half his time on his plantation, "Woodlands," near Midway, S. C. 100, 101. "Mute, trumpet, west wind": symbolize what types of Simms' poetry? 143. " Bruit " : report. 153. This is a rememberable line. 162. " Goth " : the Federal invaders of the South. 166. "Quays": wharfs. 167. What port is the doom pronounced against? " The Cotton Boll" is held to be the author's best work. It is imaginative, patriotic, melodious, but discursive. The poet's fancy led him far away from his theme. HYMN. To my mind this grave, exalted poem is superior to the foregoing. There is not an aimless, irrelevant thought in it. ODE. Whittier said of this song, sung at the deco- ration of graves in Magnolia Cemetery, Charleston, " In its simple grandeur it is the noblest poem ever written by a Southern poet." 3. A monument has since been erected. 15. "Cannon-moulded pile": explain. HARK TO THE SHOUTING WIND. What mood in- spired this? Type of lyric? Read Tennyson's " Break, Break, Break," and trace its influence here. SONNETS. These are introduced to illustrate the poet's range. They are good, but not notably so. Hayne surpassed him far in this form. 155 James Barren Hope 1829-1887 Mr. Hope was born in Norfolk, Va., and was edu- cated at William and Mary. He took up the law, and became Commonwealth Attorney ; but he inclined toward letters, and received his first recognition by a series of poems contributed under the pen-name, " The late Henry Ellen, Esq.," to a Baltimore pub- lication. He served through the Civil War, first as quarter- master, then as captain; settling afterwards in his native town, where he became superintendent of schools, and afterwards editor of the Landmark. He was invited by the United State Senate to read a poem on October 19, 1881, the one hundredth anni- versary of the surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown. A metrical address, "Arms and the Man/' was the result, and this, with other poems, was published in Norfolk, 1882. He published two other volumes of poems and a novel. His daughter, Mrs. J. B. Hope- Marr, has collected his poems into one volume, pub- lished in Eichmond. THREE SUMMEE STUDIES I The cock hath crow'd. I hear the doors unbarr'd ; Down to the moss-grown porch my way I take, And hear, beside the well within the yard, Full many an ancient, quacking, splashing drake, And gabbling goose, and noisy brood-hen all 5 Responding to yon strutting gobbler's call. 156 JAMES BARRON HOPE The dew is thick upon the velvet grass The porch-rails hold it in translucent drops, And as the cattle from th' enclosure pass, Each one, alternate, slowly halts and crops 10 The tall, green spears, with all their dewy load, Which grow beside the well-known pasture-road. A lustrous polish is on all the leaves The birds flit in and out with varied notes The noisy swallows twitter 'neath the eaves 1B A partridge-whistle thro' the garden floats, While yonder gaudy peacock harshly cries, As red and gold flush all the eastern skies. Up conies the sun : thro' the dense leaves a spot Of splendid light drinks up the dew ; the breeze 20 Which late made leafy music dies ; the day grows hot, And slumbrous sounds come from marauding bees : The burnish'd river like a sword-blade shines, Save where 'tis shadowed by the solemn pines. II Over the farm is brooding silence now 25 No reaper's song no raven's clangor harsh "No bleat of sheep no distant low of cow No croak of frogs within the spreading marsh No bragging cock from litter'd farm-yard crows, The scene is steep'd in silence and repose. 30 A trembling haze hangs over all the fields The panting cattle in the river stand, Seeking the coolness which its wave scarce yields. It seems a Sabbath thro' the drowsy land : So hush'd is all beneath the Summer's spell, 86 I pause and listen for some faint church bell. 157 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY The leaves are motionless the song-bird's mute The very air seems somnolent and sick: The spreading branches with o'er-ripened fruit Show in the sunshine all their clusters thick, While now and then a mellow apple falls With a dull sound within the orchard's walls. The sky has but one solitary cloud, Like a dark island in a sea of light; The parching furrows 'twixt the corn-rows plough'd 45 Seem fairly dancing in my dazzled sight, While over yonder road a dusty haze Grows reddish purple in the sultry blaze. Ill That solitary cloud grows dark and wide, While distant thunder rumbles in the air, 50 A fitful ripple breaks the river's tide The lazy cattle are no longer there, But homeward come in long procession slow, With many a bleat and many a plaintive low. Darker and wider-spreading o'er the west 55 Advancing clouds, each in fantastic form, And mirror'd turrets on the river's breast Tell in advance the coming of a storm Closer and brighter glares the lightning's flash And louder, nearer, sounds the thunder's crash. 60 The air of evening is intensely hot, The breeze feels heated as it fans my brows Now sullen rain-drops patter down like shot Strike in the grass, or rattle 'mid the boughs. A sultry lull : and then a gust again, 65 And now I see the thick-advancing rain. 158 JAMES BARRON HOPE It fairly hisses as it comes along, And where it strikes bounds up again in spray As if 'twere dancing to the fitful song Made by the trees, which twist themselves and sway 70 In contest with the wind which rises fast, Until the breeze becomes a furious blast. And now, the sudden, fitful storm has fled, The clouds lie pil'd up in the splendid west, In massive shadow tipp'd with purplish red, 75 Crimson or gold. The scene is one of rest; And on the bosom of yon still lagoon I see the crescent of the pallid moon. OUK ANGLO-SAXON TONGUE Good is the Saxon speech! clear, short, and strong, Its clean-cut words, fit both for prayer and song; Good is this tongue for all the needs of life; Good for sweet words with friend, or child, or wife. Seax short sword and like a sword its sway Hews out a path 'mid all the forms of speech, . For in itself it hath the power to teach Itself, while many tongues slow fade away. 'Tis good for laws; for vows of youth and maid; Good for the preacher; or shrewd folk in trade; Good for sea-calls when loud the rush of spray; Good for war-cries where men meet hilt to hilt, And man's best blood like new-trod wine is spilt, Good for all times, and good for what thou wilt ! THREE SUMMER STUDIES. This is a descriptive poem ; it deals with objects instead of events. Point 159 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY out extracts especially vivid. What is the setting? Are the descriptions true? 3-5. Means of descrip- tion here? 50. What means here? 63. Is the figure vivid? 65. The movement of the line serves forci- bly in the sketching ; how ? Extend the study on this as indicated. OUR ANGLO-SAXON TONGUE. Wherein lies the chief merit of this poem? What form does it as- sume? 160 Paul Hamilton Hayne 1830-1886 "The Laureate of the South," as Hayne was styled, wore his wreath becomingly. He was a poet of fine culture and true imagination. He was an in- tense lover of Nature and entered sympathetically into her moods. In a less degree, she was to him, as to Wordsworth, an embodied being. Hayne was a native of Charleston, S. C., the son of a naval officer and a nephew of Governor Hayne. Owing to the death of his father, he was left when an infant to the care of his mother, his distinguished uncle taking the place of a father to him. The child had every advantage of the time and place, and when a young man was graduated with honor at the College of South Carolina. He chose law as a pro- fession, practiced for a while, but gave it up for liter- ature. At twenty-three he became first editor of Rus- sell's Magazine, and later of the Charleston Literary Gazette. During the bombardment of his native city his home was burned, together with all his ancestral belongings. Thus impoverished, he moved to Au- gusta, Ga., and soon afterwards out to a little farm, " Copse Hill," where, with his wife and son, he spent the remaining years of his life. Through declining health he labored untiringly on, singing his bravest and best song " in the unveiled face of Death." He addressed himself earnestly to poetry through- out his life, and attained a high degree of perfection 161 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY in technique. His poems are almost wholly lyrics, the sonnet, however, receiving affectionate attention. His poems are musical always; and, varying with the mood, mournful, passionate, earnest, delicate, ten- der, hopeful, religious. While his best work is the lyric, some of his narrative poems are of extraordi- nary power. It is doubtful whether any other Ameri- can poet has produced anything to surpass his "Daphles." His life gave an impulse to literature in the South an impulse which is increasingly felt to-day. He is the author of several books of poems, among which are "Poems; Sonnets and Other Poems," "Legends and Lyrics," "The Mountain of the Lov- ers, and Other Poems," etc. A complete illus- trated edition of his verse-writings appeared in Bos- ton, 1882. Besides these, he wrote a " Life of Kobert Y. Hayne" and a "Life of Hugh S. Legare"; and also edited, with a memoir, the poems of Henry Timrod. THE MOCKING-BIRD At Night A golden pallor of voluptuous light Filled the warm southern night: The moon, clear orbed, above the sylvan scene Moved like a stately queen, So rife with conscious beauty all the while 6 What could she do but smile At her own perfect loveliness below, Glassed in the tranquil flow Of crystal fountains and unruffled streams? Half lost in waking dreams, 10 162 PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE As down the loneliest forest dell I strayed, Lo! from a neighboring glade, Flashed through the drifts of moonshine, swiftly came A fairy shape of flame. It rose in dazzling spirals overhead, 1B Whence to wild sweetness wed, Poured marvellous melodies, silvery trill on trill; The very leaves grew still On the charmed trees to hearken; while for me, Heart-thrilled to ecstasy, 20 I followed followed the bright shape that flew, Still circling up the blue, Till as a fountain that has reached its height, Falls back in sprays of light Slowly dissolved, so that enrapturing lay, 25 Divinely melts away Through tremulous spaces to a music-mist, Soon by the fitful breeze How gently kissed Into remote and tender silences. 80 THE PINE'S MYSTERY I Listen ! the sombre foliage of the Pine, A swart Gitana of the woodland trees, Is answering what we may but half divine, To those soft whispers of the twilight breeze ! 163 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY II Passion and mystery murmur through the leaves, 6 Passion and mystery, touched by deathless pain. Whose monotone of long, low anguish grieves For something lost that shall not live again ! MY STUDY This is my world ! within these narrow walls, I own a princely service ; the hot care And tumult of our frenzied life are here But as a ghost, and echo ; what befalls In the far mart to me is less than naught; 5 I walk the fields of quiet Arcadies, And wander by the brink of hoary seas, Calmed to the tendance of untroubled thought: Or if a livelier humor should enhance 9 The slow-timed pulse, 'tis not for present strife, The sordid zeal with which our age is rife, Its mammon conflicts crowned by fraud or chance, But gleamings of the lost, heroic life, Flashed through the gorgeous vistas of romance. CLOUD FANTASIES Wild, rapid, dark, like dreams of threatening doom, Low cloud-racks scud before the level wind; Beneath them, the bare moorlands, blank and blind, Stretch, mournful, through pale lengths of glimmer- ing gloom; 164 PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE Afar, grand mimic of the sea-waves' boom, * Hollow, yet sweet as if a Titan pined O'er deathless woes, yon mighty wood, consigned To autumn's blight, bemoans its perished bloom; The dim air creeps with a vague shuddering thrill Down from those monstrous mists the sea-gale brings 10 Half-formless, inland, poisoning earth and sky; Most from yon black cloud, shaped like vampire wings Or a lost angel's visage, deathly-still, Uplifted toward some dread eternity. FRESHNESS OF POETIC PERCEPTION Day follows day; years perish; still mine eyes Are opened on the self -same round of space; Yon fadeless forests in their Titan grace, And the large splendors of those opulent skies. I watch, unwearied, the miraculous dyes 5 Of dawn or sunset; the soft boughs which lace Round some coy dryad in a lonely place, Thrilled with low whispering and strange sylvan sighs : Weary? The poet's mind is fresh as dew, And oft refilled as fountains of the light. 10 His clear child's soul finds something sweet and new Even in a weed's heart, the carved leaves of corn, The spear-like grass, the silvery rim of morn, A cloud rose-edged, and fleeting stars at night ! 165 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY A COMPARISON I think, ofttimes, that lives of men may be Likened to wandering winds that come and go, Not knowing whence they rise, whither they blow O'er the vast globe, voiceful of grief or glee. Some lives are buoyant zephyrs sporting free 5 In tropic sunshine ; some, long winds of woe That shun the day, wailing with murmurs low, Through haunted twilights, by the unresting sea; Others are ruthless, stormful, drunk with might, Born with deep passion or malign desire: 10 They rave 'mid thunder-peals and clouds of fire. Wild, reckless all, save that some power unknown Guides each blind force till life be overblown, Lost in vague hollows of the fathomless night. THE WILL AND THE WING To have the will to soar, but not the wings, Eyes fixed forever on a starry height, Whence stately shapes of grand imaginings Flash down the splendors of imperial light; And yet to lack the charm that makes them ours, 5 The obedient vassals of that conquering spell, Whose omnipresent and ethereal powers Encircle Heaven, nor fear to enter Hell; This is the doom of Tantalus the thirst For beauty's balmy fount to quench the fires 10 Of the wild passion that our souls have nurst In hopeless promptings unfulfilled desires. 166 PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE Yet would I rather in the outward state Of Song's immortal temple lay me down, A beggar basking by that radiant gate, 15 Than bend beneath the haughtiest empire's crown ! For sometimes, through the bars, my ravished eyes Have caught brief glimpses of a life divine, And seen a far, mysterious rapture rise Beyond the veil that guards the inmost shrine. 20 FACE TO FACE Sad mortal, couldst thou but know What truly it means to die, The wings of thy soul would glow, And the hopes of thy heart beat high; Thou wouldst turn from the Pyrrhonist schools, 6 And laugh their jargon to scorn, As the babble of midnight fools Ere the morning of Truth be born: But I, earth's madness above, In a kingdom of stormless breath, 10 I gaze on the glory of love In the unveiled face of Death. I tell thee his face is fair. As the moon-bow's amber rings, And the gleam in his unbound hair Like the flush of a thousand springs: His face is the fathomless beam Of the star-shine's sacred light, When the summers of Southland dream 167 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY In the lap of the holy night; 20 For I, earth's blindness above, In a kingdom of halcyon breath, I gaze on the marvel of love In the unveiled face of Death. In his eyes a heaven there dwells, 25 But they hold few mysteries now, And his pity for earth's farewells Half furrows that shining brow; Souls taken from Time's cold tide He folds to his fostering breast, 80 And the tears of their grief are dried Ere they enter the courts of rest; And still, earth's madness above, In a kingdom of stormless breath, I gaze on a light that is love S5 In the unveiled face of Death. Through the splendor of stars impearled In the glow of their far-off grace, He is soaring world by world With souls in his strong embrace; 40 Lone ethers unstirred by a wind At the passage of Death grow sweet, With the fragrance that floats behind The flash of his winged retreat; And I, earth's madness above, *6 'Mid a kingdom of tranquil breath, Have gazed on a lustre of love In the unveiled face of Death. But beyond the stars and the sun I can follow him still on his way, 60 Till the pearl-white gates are won In the calm of the central day. 168 PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE Far voices of fond acclaim Thrill down from the place of souls, As Death, with a touch like flame, 65 Uncloses the goal of goals; And from heaven of heavens above, God speaketh with bateless breath : My angel of perfect love Is the angel men call Death. 60 THE MOCKING-BIRD. What is the metrical scheme in this ? Show how the diction is in keeping with the theme. Is the figure of the fountain apt? The cadence of the poem is worthy that of the bird's song. THE PINE'S MYSTERY. 3. "Gitana": a gypsy dancer. The poet loved the pine, and his interpreta- tion of its mysterious voices here is artistic. MY STUDY. Hayne excelled in the sonnet; these introduced here will prove the assertion. 6. "Area- dies": demesnes of happiness, referring to Arcadia, a mountainous district of Greece renowned for its picturesqueness and for the simplicity and content- ment of its people. Read Wordsworth's " The World Is Too Much With Us." In it there is the same protest against the sordid zeal and mammon conflicts of to-day and the same yearning for the heroic life. CLOUD FANTASIES. What mood pervades this? 6. " Titan " : a mythological giant The same word is used in the next sonnet. A COMPARISON. This is full of suggestion and is worked out masterfully. To my mind the poet never surpassed it. Study the different lives rep- resented. THE WILL AND THE WING. Give the thought in 169 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY the poem ? 9. " Tantalus " : a character in Greek mythology who, as penalty for divulging the secrets of Zeus, was visited with an insatiable thirst. Ulysses, when relating to the Phseacians what he had beheld in the lower world, describes him as standing up to his chin in water, which eludes his lips as often as he attempts to quench his tormenting thirst. Above his head grow luscious fruit which, whenever he would take them, the wind dissipates to clouds. 15. "Beggar": what allusion? 20. Explain. FACE TO FACE. This is a noble, triumphant song, one of the last, if not the very last, of his poems. The stanzas close with almost identical lines; this is known as repetition. What is the measure? 5. " Pyrrhonist " : one who doubts everything. Point out passages of exquisite grace ; as, for instance, lines 11 and 18. In imaginative strength the poem sug- gests Shelley's "Cloud/' The poem was printed in Harper's Magazine, through the courtesy of whose publishers it is here used. 170 John Esten Cooke 1830-1886 As has been said, John Esten Cooke was a younger brother of Philip Pendleton Cooke. He left school at sixteen, and worked in his father's law office four years. Afterwards he devoted his time to literature. He was a voluminous writer along four lines fic- tion, biography, history, and poetry. He succeeded in all, but achieved distinction in the first. " Surry of Eagle's Nest," " The Life of Stonewall Jackson," " Virginia, a History of the People," and the sub- joined selection from his poems represent him in these departments. MEMOEIES The flush of sunset dies Far on ancestral trees; On the bright-booted bees, On cattle-dotted leas ! And a mist is in my eyes, 5 For in a stranger land Halts the quick-running sand, Shaken by no dear hand ! How plain the flowering grass, The sunset-flooded door ! * I hear the river's roar Say clearly, "Nevermore." I see cloud-shadows pass Over my mountain meres; Gone are the rose-bright years, 18 Drowned in a flood of tears. 171 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY THE BAND IN THE PINES After Pelham died Oh, band in the pine-wood, cease ! Cease with your splendid call; The living are brave and noble, But the dead are bravest of all! They throng to the martial summons, 5 To the loud triumphant strain, And the dear bright eyes of long-dead friends Come to the heart again. They come with the ringing bugle, And the deep drum's mellow roar; 10 Till the soul is faint with longing For the hands we clasp no more ! Oh, band in the pine-wood, cease ! Or the heart will break with tears, For the gallant eyes and the smiling lips, 15 And the voices of old years. MEMORIES. The second line is notable; but the poem, as a whole, is inferior to the other given. THE BAND IN THE PINES. John Pelham, the gallant young Confederate cannoneer, fell at Freder- icksburg. Read Randall's splendid tribute to his memory, included in this book, p. 209. The influence of Tennyson is plainly seen in this poem; indicate where. But it is a conjuring lyric of native music, and is vibrant with emotion. 172 Will Wallace Harney 1831 Mr. Harney is of Kentucky parentage and educa- tion, though a native of Indiana. After graduation in law at the Louisville University, he first turned to teaching, ultimately occupying the chair of belles- lettres at Transylvania University, Lexington. Then he entered journalism, first as associate editor of the Louisville Democrat, later as editor-in-chief. Leaving this position, he removed to Florida and took up orange culture, at the same time directing a paper at Kissimee and acting as correspondent for Cincinnati, Boston, and New Orleans dailies. He is now a resident of Miami, Fla. His poems, contributed to various periodicals, have never been collected, but a volume made up of such as the two below would deserve an honorable place in American literature. ADONAIS Shall we meet no more, my love, at the binding of the sheaves, In the happy harvest-fields, as the sun sinks low, When the orchard paths are dim with the drift of fallen leaves, And the reapers sing together, in the mellow, misty eves: 0, happy are the apples when the south winds blow! 6 173 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Love met me in the orchard, ere the corn had gath- ered plume, 0, happy are the apples when the south winds blow! Sweet as summer days that die when the months are in the bloom, And the peaks are ripe with sunset, like the tassels of the broom, In the happy harvest-fields as the sun sinks low. 10 Sweet as summer days that die, leafing sweeter each to each, 0, happy are the apples when the south winds blow ! All the heart was full of feeling: love had ripened into speech, Like the sap that turns to nectar in the velvet of the peach, In the happy harvest-fields as the sun sinks low. 15 Sweet as summer days that die at the ripening of the corn, 0, happy are the apples when the south winds blow ! Sweet as lovers' fickle oaths, sworn to faithless maids forsworn, When the musty orchard breathes like a mellow drinking-horn, Over happy harvest-fields when the sun sinks low. 20 Love left us at the dying of the mellow autumn eves, 0, happy are the apples when the south winds blow ! When the skies are ripe and fading, like the colors of the leaves, 174 WILL WALLACE HARNEY And the reapers kiss and part, at the binding of the sheaves, In the happy harvest-fields as the sun sinks low. 25 Then the reapers gather home, from the gray and misty meres; 0, happy are the apples when the south winds blow! Then the reapers gather home, and they bear upon their spears, One whose face is like the moon, fallen gray among the spheres, With the daylight's curse upon it, as the sun sinks low. 30 Faint as far-off bugles blowing, soft and low the reapers sung; 0, happy are the apples when the south winds blow! Sweet as summer in the blood, when the heart is ripe and young, Love is sweetest in the dying, like the sheaves he lies among, In the happy harvest-fields as the sun sinks low. 35 THE STAB On the road, the lonely road, Under the cold, white moon, Under the ragged trees, he strode ; He whistled and shifted his heavy load, Whistled a foolish tune. 175 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY There was a step, timed with his own, A figure that stooped and bowed; A cold, white blade that gleamed and shone, Like a splinter of daylight downward thrown; And the moon went behind a cloud. 10 But the moon came out so broad and good, The barn-cock woke and crowed; Then roughed his feathers in drowsy mood; And the brown owl called to his mate in the wood That a dead man lay on the road. 15 ADONAIS. A poetical name given by Shelley to Keats, on whose untimely death he wrote a monody bearing this name as title. Shelley coined the name, probably from Adonis, a character in mythology. The chief merit of " Adonais," like many of Swin- burne's poems, lies in its melody. Is there a thread of thought traceable through it, as, for instance, in lines 1, 6, 13, 16, 21, 29, 34? 19. " Musty". As to the use of this word the aged poet writes, " If you will go into an orchard when the fruit is ripe or cider making, and inhale the must of the bruised and rot- ting apples, you will understand the sense of the line/' 26. "Meres": meaning? 28, 29. Does the poet sac- rifice sense to rhyme? The latter of these lines is surpassingly fine. Point out any confusion of ima- gery. THE STAB. This is a masterful piece of word painting. What brilliant figure in the heart of the poem? Accessories to its vividness are, epithet, " cold, white moon," " ragged trees " ; verbs, "gleamed and shone"; suggestion, lines 3, 4; fig- ure, line 9. 176 Henry Lynden Flash 1835 The parents of Mr. Plash came from the West In- dies and settled in New Orleans. The son was edu- cated at the Western Military Institute of Kentucky. He volunteered in the Confederate army, served as aide under General Joseph Wheeler, and with his pen as well as with his sword was an ardent supporter of the South. After the war he edited the Confed- erate at Macon, Ga., and subsequently, for twenty years, engaged in business in New Orleans. He now lives in Los Angeles, California, where he is treas- urer of two lighting and electric companies of that city. Although over seventy, he writes, February 10, 1904, " I take as much interest in current events as ever, and feel no older than I did twenty years ago/' Under the pen names, " Lynden Eclair " and " Harry Flash," he wrote at will lyrics of startling energy and native pathos. As illustrative of his readiness, this story is recorded: When Flash was editor of the Confederate the foreman came to him for a bit of copy to fill out his form. Flash asked him what kind he needed. On being told there was no poetry in the issue, and reminded that he had written on the death of Zollicoifer and Jackson re- cently, he determined to write on General Polk, who had just fallen in battle. In five minutes the poem was written; and in twenty, being printed. A volume of his poems, now out of print, appeared in 1860 from the presses of Rudd and Carleton, 177 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY New York. He has ready for publication another collection, which, since the above was written, has been published (1906) by the Neale Publishing Company of New York. TOGETHER We loved each other long and true, And at last in April weather, When the crocus-buds were breaking through, And the dying moon hung faint in the blue We put to sea together. 5 For years we sailed a sunny main And then came stormy weather; Our vessel groaned with the tug and strain, And out in the shrieking wind and rain We faced the gale together. 10 At times we caught a glimpse of sky That promised clearing weather, And light and swift our bark would fly, Till the clouds resumed their murky dye And we sat in the gloom together. 15 But whether the sky was dark or bright, Or fair or foul the weather, Our love was ever the beacon light That cheered our souls in the darkest night, And held our hearts together. 20 And now we sail in our battered boat Unmindful of the weather, The winds may rave and the clouds may gloat, But little we care if we sink or float, So we sink or float together. 25 178 HENRY LYNDEN FLASH THAT'S ALL Lilies and roses! Lilies and roses! Man in his youth The season of Truth, When Heaven uncloses, 6 With his eyes on the skies Dreamily lies On his lilies and roses. Nettles and thorns! Nettles and thorns! 10 Man in his manhood Sorrows and mourns. Girt with regrets He rages and storms Tosses and frets 15 On his nettles and thorns. In the dark earth at last The Book of the Past Time silently closes No longer he mourns * N"o longer he frets Nothing he scorns Nothing regrets But calmly reposes Under nettles and thorns, ** Under lilies and roses. 179 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY THE CONFEDERATE CROSS OF HONOR As even a tiny shell recalls The presence of the sea, So gazing on this cross of bronze, The Past recurs to me. I see the Stars and Bars unfurled, 6 And like a meteor rise To flash upon a startled world, A wonder in the skies. I see the gathering of the hosts, As like a flood they come 10 I hear the shrieking of the fife The growling of the drum. I see the tattered Flag afloat Above the flaming line Its ragged folds, to dying eyes, ** A token and a sign. I see the charging hosts advance I see the slow retreat I hear the shouts of victory The curses of defeat. 20 I see the grass of many fields With crimson life-blood wet I see the dauntless eyes ablaze Above the bayonet. I hear the crashing of the shells 25 In Chickamauga's pines I hear the fierce, defiant yells, Ring down the waiting lines. 180 HENRY LYNDEN FLASH I hear the voices of the dead Of comrades tried and true I0 I see the pallid lips of those Who died for me and you. With back to earth, wherever raged The battle's deadliest brunt, I see the men I loved thank God, 35 With all their wounds in front. The many varied scenes of war Upon my vision rise I liear the widow's piteous wail, I hear the orphan's cries. I see the Stars and Bars refurled, Unstained, in Glory's hand, And Peace once more her wings unfold Above a stricken land. All this and more, this little Cross 45 Recalls to heart and brain Beneath its mystic influence The dead Past lives again. And friends who take a parting look When I am laid to rest, 50 Will see beside the cross of Christ, This cross upon my breast. POLK A flash from the edge of a hostile trench, A puff of smoke, a roar, Whose echo shall roll from Kennesaw hills, To the farthermost Christian shore, Proclaims to the world that the warrior-priest Will battle for right no more. 6 181 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY And that for a cause which is sanctified By the blood of martyrs unknown, A cause for which they gave their lives, And for which he gave his own; 10 He kneels, a meek ambassador, At the foot of the Father's throne. And up in the courts of another world That angels alone have trod, He lives, away from the din and strife 1B Of this blood-besprinkled sod, Crowned with the amaranthine wreath That is worn by the blest of Grod. STONEWALL JACKSON Not midst the lightning of the stormy fight, Nor in the rush upon the vandal foe, Did kindly Death, with his resistless might, Lay the great leader low. His warrior soul its earthly shackles broke 5 In the full sunshine of a peaceful town; When all the storm was hushed, the trusty oak That propped our cause went down. Though his alone the blood that flecks the ground, Recalling all his grand heroic deeds, 10 Freedom herself is writhing in the wound, And all the country bleeds. He entered not the Nation's Promised Land At the red belching of the cannon's mouth, 14 But broke the House of Bondage with his hand The Moses of the South ! 182 HENRY LYNDEN FLASH gracious God, not gainless is the loss: A glorious sunbeam gilds thy sternest frown; And while his country staggers 'neath the Cross, He rises with the Crown ! 20 TOGETHER. What is the figure running through this: trace it. THAT'S ALL. What spirit pervades these lines? What type of lyric is it? Its measure and scheme of rhymes? Interpret it throughout. THE CROSS OF HONOR. Type of poem? 5. " Stars and Bars " : the standard of the Confederacy. 11, 12. Forceful epithets. See, also, in lines 15, 23, 25, 34, etc. POLK. See introductory sketch of the author for history of this poem. How many different kinds of feet in the poem? What is the movement? 5. "Warrior-priest": Leonidas Polk, born in Raleigh, N. C., a graduate of the University of that State and of the United States Military Academy at West Point, became a bishop in the Protestant Episcopal church. He took up arms in the Southern cause and as a lieutenant-general exhibited remarkable strat- egy in the field. 17. "Amaranthine": fadeless. STONEWALL JACKSON. Another ringing war lyric, and one of the author's best poems. 13-16. Explain the allusions. 183 Theophilus Hunter Hill 1836-1901 Mr. Hill was a North Carolinian, born in Wake County, October 31, 1836. Though admitted to the bar, he never practiced his profession. His leanings were toward literature, and he gave his life to the pursuit of it. At one time he was editor of the Spirit of the Age, published in Ealeigh. At another he held the place of State Librarian, a position that was especially congenial to one of his tendencies. His earliest book, "Hesper, and Other Poems," published in Raleigh, 1861, was the first volume of verse under copyright of the Confederacy. " Poems," his second collection, appeared in New York, 1869; and his third, and last, " Passion Flower, and Other Poems," bears the imprint of P. W. Wiley, Ealeigh, 1883. The closing days of his life were spent in a final revision of such of his work as he desired to have survive. This task he left unfinished. Hill's lines are carefully wrought. He had the poet's true feeling for beauty. Tennyson and Poe were his masters, yet his songs are a faithful expres- sion of his own pure life. A GANGESE DEEAM Freighted with fruits, aflush with flowers, Oblations to offended powers, What fairy-like flotillas gleam, At night, on Brahma's sacred stream; 184 THEOPHILUS HUNTER HILL The while, ashore, on bended knees B Benighted Hindoo devotees Sue for their silvery, silken sails The advent of auspicious gales! Such gorgeous pageant I have seen Drift down the Ganges, while I stood, 10 Within the banian's bosky screen, And gazed on his transfigured flood: Around each consecrated bark, That sailed into the outer dark, What lambent lights those lanterns gave ! 15 What opalescent mazes played, Ee-duplicated on the wave, While, to and fro, like censers swayed, They made it luminous to glass Their fleeting splendors ere they pass! 20 O'er each, as shimmering it swung, A haze of crimson halo hung, Begirt by folds of billowy mist, Suffused with purpling amethyst : From these, still fainter halos flung, 25 Lent each to some refracted zone Hues of a lustre not its own, Till, satellite of satellite, Eluding my bewildered sight, In gloomier eddies of the stream, 30 Eetained no more a borrowed beam: Thus, one by one, their sparkling sails, Distended by Sabean gales, I saw those votive vessels glide, Resplendent, o'er the swelling tide, S6 While each, with its attendant shade, Or dusk, or radiant ripples made; 185 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY These flashing into fiery bloom ; Those smouldering into garnet-gloom ! All this I saw, or else, at night, 40 Pursuing Fancy in her flight, I paused beneath what seemed to be The umbrage of a banian-tree, And down the Ganges of a dream Beheld that gay flotilla gleam. 45 It seems to me but yesterday, Since off the beach of Promise lay The brilliant barges Hope had wrought, And young Desire had richly fraught, (Alas! how soon such tissues fade!) 50 With fragile stuff, whence dreams are made ! Proud owner of that fleet, I stood, Gazing on the transfigured flood, And saw its constellated sails, Expanded by propitious gales, 55 Till shallop after shallop flew, As fresher yet the breezes blew, In joyous quest of full fruition, To swift and terrible perdition ! Some, in life's vernal equinox, o O'er desperate seas to wreck were driven ; And others struck on sunken rocks, 'Or, in the night, by lightning riven, Burned to the water's edge ; while they 64 That, not unscathed, but still unshattered, Survived the storm, were widely scattered; One only kept its destined way, 186 THEOPHILUS HUNTER HILL To sink no friendly consort near In sight of port, at close of day, When seas were calm, and skies were clear ! 70 AN IDEAL SIESTA While I nodded, nearly napping." THE RAVEN. The drowsy hum of the murmuring bees, Hovering over the lavender trees, Steals through half-shut lattices, As awake or asleep, I scarce know which, I lazily loll near a window-niche, B Whose gossamer curtains are softly stirred By the gauzy wings of a humming-bird. From airy heights, the feathery down, Blown from the nettle's nodding crown, Weary with wandering everywhere, 10 Sails slowly to earth through the sultry air; While indolent zephyrs, oppressed with perfume, Stolen from many a balmy bloom, Are falling asleep within the room. Now floating afar, now hovering near, u Dull to the eye and dumb to the ear, Grow the shapes that I see, the sounds that I hear; Every murmur around dies into my dream, Save only the song of a sylvan stream, Whose burden, set to a somnolent tune, Has lulled the whispering leaves of June, 187 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY All things are hazy, and dreamy, and dim; The flies in lazier circles swim; On slumberous wings, on muffled feet, Imaginary sounds retreat; 25 And the clouds Elysian isles that lie In the bright blue sea of Summer sky Fade out, before my closing eye. IN VUSTCULIS "It is no friendly environment, this of thine" CAHLYLE. By no grim gaoler am I held in thrall; I bear about no galling ball and chain; No sentries guard a castellated wall, Lest I attempt my freedom to regain; Yet here are fetters others may not see, B That chafe and fret and, like a canker, eat ; While, out of call, though visible to me, What ghostly warders glide on stealthy feet! So long have I within this dungeon dwelt, I were too weak, had I the will to fly; 10 For, chilled by frost no sun may ever melt, My palsied pinions dream not of the sky : They once were nerved by hope and high intent, But how could these survive this drear environment ? A GANGES DREAM. The diction in this is worthy of study. 4. "Brahma's sacred stream": the Ganges. 6. "Hindoo devotees": Hindoo worship- pers. 11. "Banian's bosky screen"; the banian is a tree of India whose branches project limbs to the ground. These take root and form new trunks and in time cover hundreds of feet in area. 33. " Sa- bean " : Saba, in Arabia, celebrated for the production 188 THEOPHILUS HUNTER HILL of aromatic plants. 67-70. What is the poet's prob- able meaning? AN IDEAL SIESTA. This picture is well-nigh per- fect. One of the lines characterizes it "All things are hazy and dreamy and dim." By what means chiefly is this effect reached? IN VINCDLIS. This sonnet appears here for the first time. The title is Latin and means "in chains." The author rarely used this poetical form, but once he has made it the vehicle for the vigorous expression of intense feeling. 189 Sarah M. B. Piatt 1836 Mrs. Piatt's maiden name was Sarah Morgan Bryan. She is a native of Kentucky, a grand- daughter of Morgan Bryan, one of the early settlers of the Middle West who went out with Daniel Boone from North Carolina. Miss Bryan was educated at New Castle, Ky., and in 1861 was married to John J. Piatt, the poet and diplomat. The couple have been called the wedded poets. Mrs. Piatt has published numerous works, and she still contributes to the press. Some of her books are "A Woman's Poems/' "A Voyage to the For- tunate Isles," " That New World, and Other Poems," " Poems in Company with Children," " An Irish Garland," "Child-World Ballads," "An Enchanted Castle," etc. Her work has been well received both in America and in England. ENVOY Sweet World, if you will hear me now : I may not own a sounding Lyre And wear my name upon my brow Like some great jewel quick with fire. But let me, singing, sit apart, 5 In tender quiet with a few, And keep my fame upon my heart, A little blush-rose wet with dew. 190 SARAH M. B. PIATT THE WITCH IN THE GLASS "My mother says I must not pass Too near that glass; She is afraid that I will see A little witch that looks like me, With red, red mouth to whisper low 6 The very thing I should not know ! " " Alack for all your mother's care ! A bird of air, A wistful wind, or (I suppose Sent by some hapless boy) a rose, 10 With breath too sweet, will whisper low The very thing you should not know ! " MY BABES IN* THE WOOD I know a story, fairer, dimmer, sadder, Than any story painted in your books. You are so glad ? It will not make you gladder ; Yet listen, with your pretty, restless looks. " Is it a fairy story ? " Well, half fairy, 5 At least it dates far back as fairies do, And seems to me as beautiful and airy ; Yet half, perhaps the fairy half, is true. You had a baby sister and a brother (Two very dainty people, rosy white, 10 Each sweeter than all things except the other!) Older yet younger, gone from human sight ! And I, who loved them, and shall love them ever, And think with yearning tears how each light hand Crept towards bright bloom or berries, I shall never Know how I lost them. Do you understand ? 16 191 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Poor sightly golden heads ! I think I missed them First, in some dreamy, piteous, doubtful way; But when and where with lingering lips I kissed them, My gradual parting, I can never say. 20 Sometimes I fancy that they may have perished In shadowy quiet of wet rocks and moss, Near paths whose very pebbles I have cherished, For their small sakes, since my most lovely loss. I fancy, too, that they were softly covered 25 By robins, out of apple-flowers they knew, Whose nursing wings in far home sunshine hovered, Before the timid world had dropped the dew. Their names were what yours are! At this you wonder. Their pictures are your own, as you have seen ; 30 And my bird-buried darlings, hidden under Lost leaves why it is your dead selves I mean ! ENVOY. What is the exact thought ? 2. " Lyre " : what figure? 4. A fine figure here; what? 7. Meaning? THE WITCH IN THE GLASS. The author here and in the next selection proves she lias not forgotten the path back into childhood. MY BABIES IN THE WOOD. What allusion in the title? What kind of poem is this? Scheme and kind of rhymes? Scan one stanza. Is the story brightened at the close? What impression does it leave as a whole? It is informed with love and tenderness. It is one of the poems that should be read more than once. 192 Mary Ashley Townsend 1836-1901 Mrs. Townsend's maiden name was Van Voorhis. Though born in Lyons, N. Y., she was married to Mr. Gideon Townsend, of New Orleans, and had made that city her home. Her first contributions, a series of humorous papers entitled " Quillotypes," in the New Orleans Delta, appeared under the pen name, " Xariffa." Other works of hers are " Poems," published in Philadel- phia, 1870; and "Down the Bayou, and Other Poems/' Boston, 1884. She was officially appointed to deliver the poem at the opening of the New Orleans Exposition, 1884 ; and that one at the unveil- ing of the statue of Albert Sidney Johnston, 1887. CEEED I believe if I should die, And you should kiss my eyelids while I lie Cold, dead, and dumb to all the world contains, The folded orbs would open at thy breath, And from its exile in the isles of death 5 Life would come gladly back along my veins. I believe if I were dead, And you upon my lifeless heart should tread, Not knowing what the poor clod chanced to be, It would find sudden pulse beneath the touch 10 Of thee it ever loved in life so much, And throb again, warm, tender, true to thee. 193 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY I believe if on my grave, Hidden in woody deeps or by the wave, 14 Your eyes should drop some warm tears of regret, From every salty seed of thy dear grief Some fair sweet blossom would leap into leaf, To prove death could not make my love forget. I believe if I should fade Into those mystic realms where light is made, 20 And you should long once more my face to see, I would come forth upon the hills of night And gather stars like fagots, till thy sight, Led by the beacon blaze, fell full on me. I believe my faith in thee , 25 Strong as my life, so nobly placed to be, I would as soon expect to see the sun Fall like a dead king from his height sublime, His glory stricken from the throne of time, As thee unworth the worship thou hast won. 30 I believe who hath not loved Hath half the sweetness of his life unproved, Like the one who with the grape within his grasp Drops it with all its crimson juice unpressed, And all its luscious sweetness left unguessed, 85 Out from his careless and unheeding clasp. I believe love, pure and true, Is to the soul a sweet immortal dew That gems life's petals in its hours of dusk, The waiting angels see and recognize 40 The rich crown jewel, Love, of Paradise, When life falls from us like a withered husk. 194 MARY ASHLEY TOWNSEND A GEORGIA VOLUNTEER Far up the lonely mountain-side My wandering footsteps led; The moss lay thick beneath my feet, The pine sighed overhead. The trace of a dismantled fort 5 Lay in the forest nave, And in the shadow near my path I saw a soldier's grave. The bramble wrestled with the weed Upon the lowly mound, 10 The simple headboard, rudely writ, Had rotted to the ground; I raised it with a reverent hand, From dust its words to clear, But time had blotted all but these 15 "A Georgia Volunteer!" I saw the toad and scaly snake From tangled covert start, And hide themselves among the weeds Above the dead man's heart; 20 But undisturbed, in sleep profound, Unheeding, there he lay; His coffin but the mountain soil, His shroud Confederate Gray. I heard the Shenandoah roll * 5 Along the vale below, I saw the Alleghanies rise Towards the realms of snow. 195 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY The " Valley Campaign " rose to mind, Its leader's name, and then 30 I knew the sleeper had been one Of Stonewall Jackson's men. Yet whence he came, what lip shall say? Whose tongue will ever tell What desolated hearths and hearts 35 Have been because he fell? What sad-eyed maiden braids her hair, Her hair which he held dear ? One lock of which, perchance, lies with The Georgia Volunteer ! 40 What mother, with long watching eyes And white lips cold and dumb, Waits with appalling patience for Her darling boy to come? Her boy ! whose mountain grave swells up 45 But one of many a scar Cut on the face of our fair land By gory-handed war. What fights he fought, what wounds he wore, Are all unknown to fame; 50 Remember, on his lonely grave There is not e'en a name ! That he fought well and bravely, too, And held his country dear, We know, else he had never been 5B A Georgia Volunteer. He sleeps what need to question now If he were wrong or right? He knows ere this whose cause was just In God the Father's sight. 60 196 MARY ASHLEY TOWNSEND He wields no warlike weapons now, Keturns no foeman's thrust, Who but a coward would revile An honest soldier's dust? Roll, Shenandoah, proudly roll, w Adown thy rocky glen, Above thee lies the grave of one Of Stonewall Jackson's men. Beneath the cedar and the pine, In solitude austere, 70 Unknown, unnamed, forgotten, lies A Georgia Volunteer. CREED. There is some sincerity in these lines; yet do they lack it anywhere? Examine them with these points in mind. What is the metrical scheme ? A GEORGIA VOLUNTEER. Classify this poem. 6. "Nave": meaning? 9. Figure? 29. "Valley Campaign ": Jackson's memorable campaign in the Valley of Virginia. 65-72. Two echoes of Byron here; point them out. The poem is a noble tribute to the brave unknown dead. 197 !A.bram J. Ryan 1839-1886 * This writer is known both as " Father Ryan " and as " the Poet-Priest." He was born of Irish parent- age, in Norfolk, Va., but the family removed to St. Louis, where the boy received the training prepara- tory to entrance at the Catholic Seminary, of Niagara, N. Y. Through a deep spiritual conviction he was or- dained into the, priesthood, and at the opening of the Civil War was chosen a chaplain, though his fiery enthusiasm for the cause of the South often led him into the ranks. This intense devotion is vividly shown in his fierce lyrics, " The Sword of Lee " and " The Conquered Banner." For a long time he re- fused to accept the results of the struggle, and used much of his time in lecturing for the aid of the widows, orphans, and maimed soldiers of the South. His last years were spent in the faithful pursuit of his ministerial duties, in Mississippi, Tennessee, Georgia editing at one time The Banner of the South, and venting in it his indignation upon the iniquitous Reconstructionists. He died in a Francis- can monastery, at Louisville. There is a prevailing note of melancholy in many of Ryan's poems, attributable, very likely, to the loss of an early love. One of his longer pieces, "Their Story Runneth Thus/' leads one to this con- clusion. Still, his songs are wholesome. They deal with the serious experiences of life its disappoint- 198 ABRAM J. RYAN ments, changes, defeats, end ; but there is an abiding faith through all. From a technical point his work is defective. He recognized this himself, for he tells us in his preface: "They were written at random off and on, here, there and everywhere, just as the mood came ; with little study and less of art, and al- ways in a hurry." THE CONQUERED BANNER Furl that Banner, for 'tis weary; Round its staff 'tis drooping dreary; Furl it, fold it, it is best; For there's not a man to wave it, And there's not a sword to save it, 5 And there's not one left to lave it In the blood which heroes gave it; And its foes now scorn and brave it; Furl it, hide it--let it rest ! Take that Banner down! 'tis tattered; 10 Broken is its staff and shattered; And the valiant hosts are scattered Over whom it floated high. Oh ! 'tis hard for us to fold it ; Hard to think there's none to hold it; 15 Hard that those who once unrolled it Now must furl it with a sigh. Furl that Banner ! furl it sadly ! Once ten thousand hailed it gladly, And ten thousand wildly, madly, Swore it should forever wave; 199 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Swore that foeman's sword should never Hearts like theirs entwined dissever. Till that flag should float forever O'er their freedom or their grave! 25 Furl it ! for the hands that grasped it, And the hearts that fondly clasped it, Cold and dead are lying low; And that Banner it is trailing! While around it sounds the wailing 30 Of its people in their woe. For, though conquered, they adore it ! Love the cold, dead hands that bore it ! Weep for those who fell before it ! Pardon those who trailed and tore it ! 35 But, oh ! wildly they deplore it, Now who furl and fold it so. Furl that Banner ! True, 'tis gory, Yet 'tis wreathed around with glory, And 'twill live in song and story, Though its folds are in the dust: For its fame on brightest pages, Penned by poets and by sages, Shall go sounding down the ages Furl its folds though now we must. 45 Furl that Banner, softly, slowly! Treat it gently it is holy For it droops above the dead. Touch it not unfold it never, Let it droop there, furled forever, 60 For its people's hopes are dead ! 200 ABRAM J. RYAN THE SWORD OP ROBERT LEE [Forth from its scabbard, pure and bright, Flashed the sword of Lee! Far in the front of the deadly fight, High o'er the brave in the cause of Right, Its stainless sheen, like a beacon light, 5 Led us to victory. Out of its scabbard, where full long It slumbered peacefully, Roused from its rest by the battle's song, Shielding the feeble, smiting the strong, 10 Guarding the right, avenging the wrong, Gleamed the sword of Lee. Forth from its scabbard, high in air Beneath Virginia's sky And they who saw it gleaming there, 15 And knew who bore it, knelt to swear That where that sword led they would dare To follow and to die. Out of its scabbard ! Never hand Waved sword from stain as free ; 80 NOT purer sword led braver band, Nor braver bled for a brighter land, Nor brighter land had a cause so grand, Nor cause a chief like Lee ! Forth from its scabbard ! How we prayed 25 That sword might victor be; And when our triumph was delayed, And many a heart grew sore afraid, We still hoped on while gleamed the blade Of noble Robert Lee. 30 201 STUDY. IN SOUTHERN POETRY Forth from its scabbard all in vain Bright flashed the sword of Lee; 'Tis shrouded now in its sheath again, It sleeps the sleep of our noble slain, Defeated, yet without a stain, 85 Proudly and peacefully. DEATH Out of the shadows of sadness, Into the sunshine of gladness, Into the light of the blest; Out of a land very dreary, Out of the world very weary, 5 Into the rapture of rest. Out of to-day's sin and sorrow, Into a blissful to-morrow, Into a day without gloom; Out of a land filled with sighing, 10 Land of the dead and the dying, Into a land without tomb. Out of a life of commotion, Tempest-swept oft as the ocean, Dark with the wrecks drifting o'er, 15 Into a land calm and quiet; Never a storm cometh nigh it, Never a wreck on its shore. Out of a land in whose bowers Perish and fade all the flowers; 20 Out of the land of decay, Into the Eden where fairest Of flowerets, and sweetest and rarest, Never shall wither away. 202 ABRAM J. RYAN Out of the world of the wailing 25 Thronged with the anguished and ailing; Out of the world of the sad, Into the world that rejoices World of bright visions and voices Into the world of the glad. 30 Out of a life ever mournful, Out of a land very lornful, Where in bleak exile we roam, Into a joy-land above us, Where there's a Father to love us 35 Into our home " Sweet Home." PRESENTIMENT Cometh a voice from a far-land, Beautiful, sad, and low; Shineth a light from the star-land Down on the night of my woe ; And a white hand, with a garland, B Biddeth my spirit to go. Away and afar from the night-land, Where sorrow o'ershadows my way, To the splendors and skies of the light-land, Where reigneth eternity's day, 10 To the cloudless and shadowless bright-land, Whose sun never passeth away. And I knew the voice ; not a sweeter On earth or in Heaven can be; And never did shadow pass fleeter Than it, and its strange melody; And I know I must hasten to meet her, " Yea, Sister! Thou callest to me ! " 203 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY And I saw the light; 'twas not seeming, It flashed from the crown that she wore, 20 And the brow, that with jewels was gleaming, My lips had kissed often of yore ! And the eyes, that with rapture were beaming, Had smiled on me sweetly before. And I saw the hand with the garland, 25 Ethel's hand holy and fair; Who went long ago to the far-land To weave me the wreath I shall wear; And to-night I look up to the star-land And pray that I soon may be there. 3e THE CONQUERED BANNER. In its exalted mood and complicated metrical structure this assumes the nature of an ode. 26, 27. The figurative and the lit- eral; a defect. 29. "Banner it": what figure? 35. What nature of the author here disclosed? 49- 51. What spirit toward the Union is evinced ? THE SWORD OF LEE. A war lyric. Its stanzas are regular. 21-24. This climax reveals the author's exalted opinion of Lee; how? DEATH. Ryan's spirit was in accord with this theme. What is the measure and stanza structure? Is the poem strengthening? PRESENTIMENT. Classify as to type. 1. "A voice": that of his lost love. Allusions are made elsewhere to this early loss. 30. This yearning for death often finds expression in his verses. 204 James Ryder Randall 1839-1908 Eandall was a Baltimorean. He received his scho- lastic training at Georgetown College, Washington, and when a young man went to Louisiana, where he held for some time a professorship in Poydras Col- lege, at Point Coupee. There he wrote the poem by which he is best known. Afterwards he was con- nected with the Sunday Delta, in New Orleans, and still later with the Constitutionalist at Augusta, Ga. He was an ardent supporter of the Southern cause, though his physical condition kept him from the field. "For six years/' he writes from Augusta, Ga., February 19, 1904, " I was private secretary of Hon. Wm. H. Fleming, congressman from this, district. I have done a great deal of editorial writing on various subjects. At present I may describe myself as living by my wits turning my hand to whatever honorably presents itself." His poems have recently been collected, and some of them are of surpassing excellence. In addition to those included here, the following are eminently worth study, "The Sole Sentry," "The Battle-Cry of the South," and " There's Life in the Old Land Yet." THE CAMEO BRACELET Eva sits on the ottoman there, Sits by a Psyche carved in stone, With just such a face and just such an air As Esther upon her throne. 205 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY She's sifting lint for the brave who bled, 5 And I watch her fingers float and flow Over the linen, as thread by thread It flakes to her lap like snow. A bracelet clinks on her delicate wrist, Wrought as Cellini's were at Rome, 10 Out of the tears of the amethyst And the wan Vesuvian foam. And full on the bauble-crest alway, A cameo image, keen and fine, Gleams thy impetuous knife, Corday, 15 And the lava-locks are thine. I thought of the war-wolves on our trail, Their gaunt fangs sluiced with gouts of blood, Till the Past, in a dead, mesmeric veil, Drooped with its wizard flood ; 20 Till the surly blaze through the iron bars Shot to the hearth with a pang and cry, While a lank howl plunged from the Champ de Mars To the Column of July; Till Corday sprang from the gem, I swear, 25 And the dove-eyed damsel I knew had flown; For Eva was not on the ottoman there By Psyche carved in stone. She grew like a Pythoness, flushed with fate, 'Mid the incantation in her gaze, 30 A lip of scorn, an arm of hate, A dirge of the Marseillaise ! 206 JAMES RYDER RANDALL Eva, the vision was not wild When wreaked on the tyrants of the land; For you were transfigured to Nemesis, child, With the dagger in your hand ! MY MARYLAND The despot's heel is on thy shore, Maryland ! His torch is at thy temple door, Maryland ! Avenge the patriotic gore 5 That flecked the streets of Baltimore, And be the battle-queen of yore, Maryland! My Maryland! Hark to an exiled son's appeal, Maryland ! 10 My Mother-State, to thee I kneel, Maryland ! For life and death, for woe and weal, Thy peerless chivalry reveal, And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, 16 Maryland! My Maryland! Thou wilt not cower in the dust, Maryland ! Thy beaming sword shall never rust, Maryland ! Remember Carroll's sacred trust; Remember Howard's warlike thrust, And all thy slumberers with the just, Maryland! My Maryland! 207 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Come ! 'tis the red dawn of the day, 25 Maryland ! Come ! with thy panoplied array, Maryland ! With RInggold's spirit for the fray, With Watson's blood, at Monterey, 30 With fearless Lowe, and dashing May, Maryland ! My Maryland ! Dear Mother, burst the tyrant's chain, Maryland ! Virginia should not call in vain, 35 Maryland ! She meets her sisters on the plain, "Sic Semper" 'tis the proud refrain, That baffles minions back amain, Maryland! 40 Arise in majesty again, Maryland! My Maryland! Come ! for thy shield is bright and strong, Maryland ! Come ! for thy dalliance does thee wrong, 45 Maryland ! Come ! to thine own heroic throng, Striding with Liberty along, And ring thy dauntless slogan song, Maryland ! My Maryland ! 50 I see the blush upon thy cheek, Maryland ! For thou wast ever bravely meek, Maryland ! But, lo ! there surges forth a shriek 65 From hill to hill, from creek to creek, Potomac calls to Chesapeake, Maryland! My Maryland! 208 JAMES RYDER RANDALL Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll, Maryland ! 6 Thou wilt not crook to his control, Maryland i Better the fire upon thee roll, Better the shot, the blade, the bowl, Than crucifixion of the soul, 65 Maryland! My Maryland! I hear the distant thunder-hum, Maryland ! The Old Line bugle, fife, and drum, Maryland! 70 She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb Huzza ! she spurns the Northern scum ! She breathes she burns! she'll come! she'll come! Maryland! My Maryland! JOHN PELHAM Just as the Spring came laughing through the strife, With all its gorgeous cheer, In the bright April of historic life Fell the great cannoneer. The wondrous lulling of a hero's breath * His bleeding country weeps; Hushed in the alabaster arms of Death Our young Marcellus sleeps. Nobler and grander than the Child of Rome, Curbing his chariot steeds; 10 The knightly scion of a Southern home Dazzled the land with deeds. 209 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Gentlest and bravest in the battle brunt, The champion qf the truth, He bore his banner to the very front ** Of our immortal youth. A clang of sabres 'mid Virginian snow, The fiery pang of shells, And there's a wail of immemorial woe In Alabama dells. 20 The pennon droops that led the sacred band Along the crimson field ; The meteor blade sinks from the nerveless hand Over the spotless shield. We gazed and gazed upon that beauteous face 25 While round the lips and eyes, Couched in their marble slumber, flashed the grace Of a divine surprise. Oh, mother of a blessed soul on high, Thy tears may soon be shed; 30 Think of thy boy with princes of the sky Among the Southern dead. How must he smile on this dull world beneath, Fevered with swift renown; He with the martyr's amaranthine wreath 35 Twining the victor's crown. AT ARLINGTON The stately column, reared in air, To him who made our country great, Can almost cast its shadow where The victims of a grand despair, 210 JAMES RYDER RANDALL In long, long ranks of death await The last, loud trump and Judgment Sun, Which comes for all, and, soon or late, Will come for those at Arlington. In that vast sepulchre repose The thousands reaped from every fray; The Men in Blue who once uprose In battle front to smite their foes The Spartan bands who wore the Gray. The combat o'er, the death-hug done, In Summer blaze or Winter snows, They keep the truce at Arlington. And almost lost in myriad graves Of those who gained th' unequal fight, Are mounds that hide Confederate braves Who reck not how the North wind raves, In dazzling day or dimmest night. O'er those who lost and those who won, Death holds no. parley which was right Jehovah judges Arlington! The dead had rest ; the dove of peace Brooded o'er both with equal wings. To both had come that great surcease, The last omnipotent release From all the world's delirious stings. To bugle deaf and signal gun, They slept, like heroes of old Greece, Beneath the glebe at Arlington. And in the Spring's benignant reign, The sweet May woke her harp of pines; Teaching her choir a thrilling strain Of jubilee to land and main, 211 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY She danced in emerald down the lines. Denying largess bright to none, She saw no difference in the signs That told who slept at Arlington. She gave her grasses and her showers To all alike who dreamed in dust ; Her song-birds wove their dainty bowers Amid the jasmine buds and flowers And piped with an impartial trust. Waifs of the air and liberal sun ! Their guileless glees were kind and just To friend and foe at Arlington. And 'mid the generous Spring there came Some women of the land, who strove To make this funeral field of fame Glad as the May god's altar flame, With rosy wreaths of mutual love Unmindful who had lost or won, They scorned the jargon of a name No North, no South, at Arlington. Between their pious thought and God Stood files of men with brutal steel; The garlands placed on " Eebel sod " Were trampled in the common clod To die beneath the hireling's heel. Facing this triumph of the Hun, Our Smoky Caesar gave no nod To keep the peace at Arlington. Jehovah judged, abashing man; For, in the vigils of the night, His mighty storm-avengers ran Together in one choral clan 212 JAMES RYDER RANDALL Rebuking wrong, rewarding right. Plucking the wreaths from those who won, The tempest heaped them dewy-bright On Rebel graves at Arlington And, when the morn came, young and fair, Brimful of blushes ripe and red, Knee-deep in sky-sent roses there, Nature began her earliest prayer Above triumphant Southern Dead. So, in the dark and in the sun, Our Cause survives the tyrant's tread And sleeps to wake at Arlington ! THE CAMEO BRACELET. 2. "Psyche": explain. 4. " Esther ": what character and what attribute of hers are suggested in the preceding line ? 10. " Cel- lini": an Italian artist in metal. 15. "De Corday d'Armons," a French heroine; the assassinator of Marat. 23. "Champ de Mars": one of the parks in Paris. 24. " Column of July " : erected in Place de la Bastile, Paris, to commemorate the French Revolution of 1830. 30. "Pythoness": a female supposed to have a spirit of divination. 36. " Neme- sis": the goddess of vengeance. What kind of a lyric, and what is the central thought? MARYLAND. It would be difficult to find in any language a war lyric that burns with a fiercer passion than this. It has been called the Marseillaise of the Confederacy. It was written one night in 1861 at Point Coupe*e, as has been stated, and was published in Baltimore to the air of an old German Burschen- lied. In that year it is no wonder such ringing lines, set to such stirring music, fired the souls of seven millions of people. 21. Charles Carroll, of Carroll- 213 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY ton, one of the signers of the Declaration of Inde- pendence. 22. John Eager Howard, a Revolutionary leader, who displayed great gallantry, notably at the battle of Cowpens, where at one time in the day he held the swords of seven British officers who had surrendered to him. Explain other references to persons. Is there any irregularity in the stanza form? JOHN PELHAM. Compare with John Esten Cooke's poem on the same subject, p. 172. 8. " Marcellus " : a Roman consul; the conqueror of Syracuse. The forceful diction and the striking figures are worthy of special notice. AT ARLINGTON. On the day that the graves of the Federal soldiers buried at Arlington were decorated, in 1869, a number of ladies entered the cemetery for the purpose of placing flowers on the graves of thirty Confederates. Their progress was stopped by bayo- nets, and they were not allowed to perform their mis- sion of love. During the night a high wind arose, and in the morning all the floral offerings that had been placed the day before upon the Federal graves were found piled upon the mounds under which re- posed the thirty Confederates. What men had de- nied nature had granted; nay, had taken into her own hands to perform. 214 John Lancaster Spalding 1840 Bishop Spalding was born in Lebanon, Ky. After his preparatory studies were finished at St. Mary's, Ky., he went to Mount St. Mary's, Cincinnati, and thence to the American College, Louvain, Belgium, where he was ordained priest in 1863. A year then spent in special studies in Eome found him well equipped to begin his life work. In 1865 he entered upon his priestly career at the Cathedral of Louis- ville. Even at this time he was a scholar of marked attainments, and was chosen theologian to Arch- bishop Blanchet, of Oregon, at the second Plenary Council, Baltimore, in 1866. On May 1, 1877, he was consecrated first bishop of the diocese of Peoria. His inheritance of talent and piety had been so largely increased by his per- sonal worth that he at once took high rank in a dis- tinguished hierarchy. Two books of virile verse, "America, and Other Poems " and " The Poet's Praise," gave assurance of his gifts. This assurance has been made doubly sure by his " God and the Soul," published in 1902." He is active in educational and literary move- ments, and is a vigorous writer on various subjects. His poems are notable for their imaginative range and religious fervor. SILENCE Inaudible move day and night, And noiseless grows the flower; Silent are pulsing wings of light, And voiceless fleets the hour. 315 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY The moon utters no word when she 5 Walks through the heavens bare; The stars forever silent flee, And songless gleam through air. The deepest love is voiceless too; Heart sorrow makes no moan: 10 How still the zephyrs when they woo! How calm the rose full blown ! The bird winging the evening sky Plies onward without song; The crowding years as they pass by 15 Mow on in mutest throng. The fishes glide through liquid deep And never speak a word; The angels round about us sweep, And not a whisper's heard. 20 The highest thoughts no utterance find^. The holiest hope is dumb, In silence grows the immortal mind, And, speechless, deep joys come. Rapt adoration has no tongue 25 No words has holiest prayer; The loftiest mountain-peaks among Is stillness everywhere. With sweetest music silence blends, And silent praise is best ; 30 In silence life begins and ends: God cannot be expressed. 216 JOHN LANCASTER SPALDING THE STARRY HOST The countless stars, which to our human eye Are fixed and steadfast, each in proper place, Forever bound to changeless points in space, Rush with our sun and planets through the sky, And like a flock of birds still onward fly; 5 Returning never whence began their race. They speed their ceaseless way with gleaming face As though God bade them win Infinity. Ah, whither, whither is their forward flight Through endless time and limitless expanse ? 10 What Power with unimaginable might First hurled them forth to spin in tireless dance? What Beauty lures them on through primal night, So that for them to be is to advance ? THE VAST UNKNOWN The vast abyss of space is without light, Forever dark, and like deep hidden mine, Where, here and there, rich glowing rubies shine; While all else lies clothed in eternal night. The watcher on the loftiest mountain height 5 In the full noon sees all the stars in line, Burning like lamps before a holy shrine, As through the dark it breaks on pilgrim's sight. So in the boundless world of truth we see But little isles that brighten to our eyes, 10 While all else lies lost in obscurity; And we move on amid the dim-lit skies, From point to point through the dark mystery, Still calling God with our sad, piteous cries. 217 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY AT THE NINTH HOUR Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani ? sadder than the ocean's wailing moan, Sadder than homes whence life and joy have flown, Than graves where those we love in darkness lie; More full of anguish than all agony Of broken hearts, forsaken of their own And left in hopeless misery alone, Is this, sweet and loving Christ, Thy cry! For this, this only is infinite pain: To feel that God Himself has turned away. If He abide all loss may still be gain, And darkest night be beautiful as day. But lacking Him the universe is vain, And man's immortal soul is turned to clay. SILENCE. 24. A halting line. 32. The thought of the entire poem is gathered up in this one line. THE STARRY HOST. The poet is strongest in his sonnets. This and the others given are of remem- berable excellence. They are found in his last book, " God and the Soul," a volume containing this form almost exclusively. What theory of the stellar uni- verse is referred to in this ? AT THE NINTH HOUR. What greater theme was ever taken than these tragic, last words of our Saviour? One cannot resist the feeling that if the poet had worked his thought up to them as his last line the effect would have been more powerful ; but it is a great sonnet as it stands. 218 William Gordon McCabe 1841 Mr. McCabe is a Virginian, a graduate of the uni- versity of that State, and until recently the director of a high school, first established in Petersburg, but afterwards removed to Richmond. In the Civil War he was a captain of artillery, and did valiant service throughout that conflict. At Appomattox Court- house," just before the surrender, and after it was known that the Army of Northern Virginia would be . surrendered, McCabe, Richard Walke, James Din- widdie, John Hampden Chamberlayne, and other dis- tinguished young artillery officers, concluding that they were not willing to give up the fight, left the army before the surrender and gradually made their way through the country towards General Johnston's division, near Greensboro, N. C., where they intended to report for duty and did; but General Johnston surrendered before they had an opportunity to see any further service. McCabe was paroled in Rich- mond in May, 1865. Besides occasional poems, he has written essays, reviews, sketches, and translations from the ecclesi- astical poetry of the Middle Ages. He is an author- ity on Latin. Dr. Gildersleeve speaks of him as " a Latinist of exact and penetrating scholarship." He enjoyed the friendship of Tennyson, and wrote for the Century Magazine, March, 1902, his personal recollections of the great poet. 219 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY CHRISTMAS NIGHT OF '63 The wintry blast goes wailing by, The snow is falling overhead; I hear the lonely sentry's tread, And distant watch-fires light the sky. Dim forms go flitting through the gloom ; 5 The soldiers cluster round the blaze To talk of other Christmas days, And softly speak of love and home. My sabre swinging overhead Gleams in the watch-fire's fitful glow, 10 While fiercely drives the blinding snow, And memory leads me to the dead. My thoughts go wandering to and fro, Vibrating 'twixt the N"ow and Then; I see the low-browed home again, 15 The old hall wreathed with mistletoe. And sweetly from the far-off years Comes borne the laughter faint and low, The voices of the Long Ago ! My eyes are wet with tender tears. 20 I feel again the mother-kiss, I see again the glad surprise That lightened up the tranquil eyes And brimmed them o'er with tears of bliss. As, rushing from the old hall door, 25 She fondly clasped her wayward boy Her face all radiant, with the joy She felt to see him home once more. 220 WILLIAM GORDON McCABE My sabre swinging on the bough Gleams in the watch-fire's fitful glow, 80 While fiercely drives the blinding snow Aslant upon my saddened brow. Those cherished faces all are gone ! Asleep within the quiet graves Where lies the snow in drifting waves,- 35 And I am sitting here alone. There's not a comrade here to-night But knows that loved ones far away On bended knees this night will pray: " God bring our darling from the fight! " 40 But there are none to wish me back, For me no yearning prayers arise, The lips are mute and closed the eyes, My home is in the bivouac. DREAMING IN THE TRENCHES I picture her there in the quaint old room, When the fading firelight starts and falls, Alone in the twilight's tender gloom With the shadows that dance on the dim-lit walls. Alone, while those faces look silently down 5 From their antique frames in a grim repose, Slight scholarly Ralph in his Oxford gown, And stout Sir Alan, who died for Montrose. There are gallants gay in crimson and gold, There are smiling beauties in powdered hair, 10 But she sits there, fairer a thousand-fold, Leaning dreamily back in her low arm-chair. 221 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY And the roseate shadows of fading light, Softly clear, steal over the sweet young face, Where a woman's tenderness blends to-night 15 With the guileless pride of a haughty race. Her hands lie clasped in a listless way On the old romance which she holds on her knee Of Tristram, the bravest of knights in the fray, And Iseult, who waits by the sounding sea. 20 And her proud, dark eyes wear a softened look, As she watches the dying embers fall, Perhaps she dreams of the knight in the book, Perhaps of the pictures that smile on the wall. What fancies, I wonder, are thronging her brain, 25 For her cheeks flush warm with a crimson glow ! Perhaps Ah! me, how foolish and vain! But I'd give my life to believe it so. Well, whether I ever march home again To offer my love and a stainless name, so Or whether I die at the head of my men, I'll be true to the end all the same. OISTLY A MEMORY old times, they cling, they cling. OWEN MEBEDITH. Still I can see her before me, As in the days of old, Her lips of serious sweetness, Hair of the richest gold. WILLIAM GORDON McCABE II The rings on her dainty fingers, B Love in her tender eyes, And the sweet young bosom heaving With low, delicious sighs. Ill Is it a wonder I love her ? That through long years of pain, 10 I still am true to the old love, The love alas ! in vain. HOWITZER CAMP, YOEKTOWN, OCT. 1861. CHRISTMAS NIGHT. This is the stanza-type used by Tennyson in his great poem, "In Memoriam." What mood pervades these verses? 44. "Bivouac": meaning ? DREAMING IN THE TRENCHES. What is the meas- ure of this? Scan the first stanza. What type of lyric? 7, 8. Explain proper names. 19, 20. Sir Tristram, the hero of an old Cymric romance in which Iseult, the daughter of the king of Ireland, is involved, was connected with King Arthur's court. His adventures have been related by Thomas the Ehymer and many another romancist. Bead Mat- thew Arnold's "Tristram and Iseult" ONLY A MEMORY. There is a peculiar charm about this and the foregoing poem. Wherein does it lie? 223 Sidney Lanier 1842-1881 Mr. Lanier was born in Macon, Ga., February 3, 1842, and died in Lynn, N. C., September 7, 1881. A love for music and poetry was his by inheritance, and was a solace to him through a life of toil, sick- ness, poverty, and disappointment. For while he lived to see his work appreciated, it was at a time when he had risen from many a defeat and was waging a losing fight with death. He was a graduate of Oglethorpe College, Midway, Ga., class of 1860; and soon afterwards volunteered in the Confederate Army. He became a scout, and later a blockade runner, exhibiting courage on many an occasion. While in this last-named service he was captured near Fort Fisher and taken to Point Lookout. After the war he taught school for a while at Pratt- ville, Ala. Then he studied and practiced law with his father in his native town. Giving up this work, he went to Baltimore, where he was engaged as first flute for the Peabody Symphony concerts. Here he made his home and addressed himself to music and literature. But meantime tuberculosis, contracted in camp, had developed, and he was driven from work to tent life in the high, pure atmosphere around Asheville, N. C., where the end was not long delayed. He entertained original ideas of a close relation- ship between music and poetry ; these he defined and illustrated in a course of lectures at Johns Hopkins University, later appearing in a volume entitled, " The Science of English Verse." These theories are 224 SIDNEY LANIER generally regarded as vague, but it may be the critics of them cannot see so far into the affinity of ethereal things as Lanier's fine spirit could see. Other vol- umes by him are, " Tiger Lilies : a Novel," " Florida : Its Scenery, Climate, and History," " Poems," " The English Novel, and the Principles of Its Develop- ment," "The Boy's Froissart," etc. "Poems," edited by his wife, with an introduction by William Hayes Ward, editor of the Independent, appeared soon after the poet's death. Lanier stands in the forefront of Southern poets, and when he has been assigned his true place in liter- ature he will be rated among the very first in Amer- ica. No other poet on this side of the Atlantic has surpassed him either in boldness of imagery or in vigor of diction. EVENING SONG Look off, dear love, across the sallow sands, And mark yon meeting of the sun and sea, How long they kiss in eight of all the lands, Ah! longer we! Now in the sea's red vintage melts the sun, 6 As Egypt's pearl dissolved in rosy wine, And Cleopatra night drinks all. 'T is done, Love, lay thine hand in mine. Come forth, sweet stars, and comfort heaven's heart ; Glimmer, ye waves, round else unlighted sands; 10 night ! divorce our sun and sky apart Never our lips, our hands. 225 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY THE CRYSTAL At midnight, death's and truth's unlocking time, When far within the spirit's hearing rolls The great soft rumble of the course of things A bulk of silence in a mask of sound When darkness clears our vision that by day 6 Is sun-blind, and the soul's a ravening owl For truth, and flitteth here and there about Low-lying woody tracts of time and oft Is minded for to sit upon a bough, Dry-dead and sharp, of some long-stricken tree 10 And muse in that gaunt place, 'twas then my heart, Deep in the meditative dark, cried out : Ye companies of governor-spirits grave, Bards, and old bringers-down of flaming news From steep-walled heavens, holy malcontents, 1B Sweet seers, and stellar visionaries, all That brood about the skies of poesy, Full bright ye shine, insuperable stars ; Yet, if a man look hard upon you, none With total lustre blazeth, no, not one 20 But hath some heinous freckle of the flesh Upon his shining cheek, not one but winks His ray, opaqued with intermittent mist Of defect ; yea, you masters all must ask Some sweet forgiveness, which we leap to give, 25 We lovers of you, heavenly-glad to meet Your largess so with love, and interplight Your geniuses with our mortalities. Thus unto thee, sweetest Shakespere sole, A hundred hurts a day I do forgive 30 22(5 SIDNEY LANIER ('Tis little, but, enchantment! 'tis for thee) : Small curious quibble; . . . Henry's fustian roar Which frights away that sleep he invocates; Wronged Valentine's unnatural haste to yield; Too-silly shifts of maids that mask as men 35 In faint disguises that could ne'er disguise Viola, Julia, Portia, Eosalind; Fatigues most drear, and needless overtax Of speech obscure that had as lief be plain. . . . Father Homer, thee, 40 Thee also I forgive thy sandy wastes Of prose and catalogue, thy drear harangues That tease the patience of the centuries, Thy sleazy scrap of story, but a rogue's Rape of a light-o'-love, too soiled a patch 45 To broider with the gods. Thee, Socrates, Thou dear and very strong one, I forgive Thy year-worn cloak, thine iron stringencies That were but dandy upside-down, thy words Of truth that, mildlier spoke, had manlier wrought. 50 So, Buddha, beautiful ! I pardon thee That all the All thou hadst for needy man Was Nothing, and thy Best of being was But not to be. Worn Dante, I forgive The implacable hates that in thy horrid hells 6i Or burn or freeze thy fellows, never loosed By death, nor time, nor love. 227 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY And I forgive Thee, Milton, those thy comic-dreadful wars Where, armed with gross and inconclusive steel, Immortals smite immortals mortalwise, 60 And fill all heaven with folly. Also thee, Brave ^Eschylus, thee I forgive, for that Thine eye, by bare bright justice basilisked, Turned not, nor ever learned to look where Love Stands shining. So, unto thee, Lucretius mine, 65 (For oh, what heart hath loved thee like to this That's now complaining?) freely I forgive Thy logic poor, thine error rich, thine earth Whose graves eat souls and all. Yea, all you hearts Of beauty, and sweet righteous lovers large: 70 Aurelius fine, oft superfine; mild Saint A Kempis, overmild; Epictetus, Whiles low in thought, still with old slavery tinct ; Rapt Behmen, rapt too far; high Swedenborg, O'ertoppling ; Langley, that with but a touch 75 Of art hadst sung Piers Plowman to the top Of English songs, whereof 'tis dearest, now, And most adorable; Caedmon, in the morn A-calling angels with the cowherd's call That late brought up the cattle; Emerson, 80 Most wise, that yet, in finding wisdom, lost Thy Self, sometimes ; tense Keats, with angels' nerves Where men's were better ; Tennyson, largest voice Since Milton, yet some register of wit Wanting, all, all, I pardon, ere 'tis asked, 85 228 SIDNEY LANIER Your more or less, your little mole that marks Your brother and your kinship seals to man. But Thee, but Thee, sovereign Seer of time, But Thee, poets' Poet, Wisdom's Tongue, But Thee, man's best Man, love's best Love, 90 perfect life in perfect labor writ, all men's Comrade, Servant, King, or Priest, What if or yet, what mole, what flaw, what lapse, What least defect or shadow of defect, What rumor, tattled by an enemy, 95 Of inference loose, what lack of grace Even in torture's grasp, or sleep's, or death's Oh, what amiss may I forgive in Thee, Jesus, good Paragon, thou Crystal Christ? SUNBISE In my sleep I was fain of their fellowship, fain Of the live-oak, the marsh, and the main. The little green leaves would not let me alone in my sleep ; Up breathed from the marshes, a message of range and of sweep, Interwoven with waftures of wild sea-liberties, drift- ing, 5 Came through the lapped leaves sifting, sifting, Came to the gates of sleep. Then my thoughts, in the dark of the dungeon-keep Of the Castle of Captives hid in the City of Sleep, Upstarted, by twos and by threes assembling : The gates of sleep fell a-trembling Like as the lips of a lady that forth falter yes, Shaken with happiness: The gates of sleep stood wide. 229 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY I have waked, I have come, my beloved ! I might not abide: 15 I have come ere the dawn, beloved, my live-oaks, to hide In your gospeling glooms to be As a lover in heaven, the marsh my marsh and the sea my sea. Tell me, sweet burly-barked, man-bodied Tree That mine arms in the dark are embracing, dost know 20 From what fount are these tears at thy feet which flow? They rise not from reason, but deeper inconsequent deeps. Reason's not one that weeps. What logic of greeting lies Betwixt dear over-beautiful trees and the rain of the eyes? 25 cunning green leaves, little masters ! like as ye gloss All the dull-tissued dark with your luminous darks that emboss The vague blackness of night into pattern and plan, So, (But would I could know, but would I could know,) 30 With your question embroid'ring the dark of the question of man, So, with your silences purfling this silence of man While his cry to the dead for some knowledge is under the ban, Under the ban, So, ye have wrought me 230 SIDNEY LANIER Designs on the night of our knowledge, yea, ye have taught me, So, That haply we know somewhat more than we know. Ye lispers, whisperers, singers in storms, Ye consciences murmuring faiths under forms, 40 Ye ministers meet for each passion that grieves, Friendly, sisterly, sweetheart leaves, Oh, rain me down from your darks that contain me Wisdoms ye winnow from winds that pain me, Sift down tremors of sweet-within-sweet 45 That advise me of more than they bring, repeat Me the woods-smell that swiftly but now brought breath From the heaven-side bank of the river of death, Teach me the terms of silence, preach me The passion of patience, sift me, impeach me, 50 And there, oh there As ye hang with your myriad palms upturned in the air, Pray me a myriad prayer. My gossip, the owl, is it thou That out of the leaves of the low-hanging bough, 55 As I pass to the beach, art stirred? Dumb woods, have ye uttered a bird? Reverend Marsh, low-couched along the sea, Old chemist, rapt in alchemy, Distilling silence, lo, . 60 That which our father-age had died to know The menstruum that dissolves all matter thou Hast found it : for this silence, filling now The globed clarity of receiving space, This solves us all : man, matter, doubt, disgrace, 65 Death, love, sin, sanity, 231 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Must in yon silence' clear solution lie. Too clear! That crystal nothing who'll peruse? The blackest night could bring us brighter news, Yet precious qualities of silence haunt 70 Round these vast margins, ministrant. Oh, if thy soul's at latter gasp for space, With trying to breathe no bigger than thy race Just to be fellowed, when that thou hast found No man with room, or grace enough of bound 75 To entertain that New thou tell'st, thou art,- 'Tis here, 'tis here, thou canst unhand thy heart And breathe it free, and breathe it free, By rangy marsh, in lone sea-liberty. The tide's at full : the marsh with flooded streams 80 Glimmers, a limpid labyrinth of dreams. Each winding creek in grave entrancement lies A rhapsody of morning-stars. The skies Shine scant with one forked galaxy, The marsh brags ten : looped on his breast they lie. 85 Oh, what if a sound should be made ! Oh, what if a bound should be laid To this bow-and-string tension of beauty and silence- a-spring, To the bend of beauty the bow, or the hold of silence the string! I fear me, I fear me yon dome of diaphanous gleam 90 Will break as a bubble o'erblown in a dream, Yon dome of too-tenuous tissues of space and of night, Overweighted with stars, overfreighted with light, Oversated with beauty and silence, will seem But a bubble that broke in a dream, 95 If a bound of degree to this grace be laid, Or a sound or a motion made. 232 SIDNEY LANIER But no: it is made: list! somewhere, mystery, where ? In the leaves? in the air? In my heart? is a motion made: 10 Tis a motion of dawn, like a flicker of shade on shade. In the leaves 'tis palpable: low multitudinous stir- ring Upwinds through the woods; the little ones, softly conferring, Have settled my lord's to be looked for; so, they are still; But the air and my heart and the earth are a-thrill, 105 And look where the wild duck sails round the bend of the river, And look where a passionate shiver Expectant is bending the blades Of the marsh-grass in serial shimmers and shades, And invisible wings, fast fleeting, fast fleeting, no Are beating The dark overhead as my heart beats, and steady and free Is the ebb-tide flowing from marsh to sea (Run home, little streams, With your lapfuls of stars and dreams), 11B And a sailor unseen is hoisting a-peak, For list, down the inshore curve of the creek How merrily flutters the sail, And lo, in the East! Will the East unveil? The East is unveiled, the East hath confessed 12 A flush : 'tis dead ; 'tis alive ; 'tis dead, ere the West Was aware of it : nay, 'tis abiding, 'tis withdrawn : Have a care, sweet Heaven ! 'Tis Dawn. 283 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Now a dream of a flame through that dream of a flush is uprolled: To the zenith ascending, a dome of undazzling gold 125 Is builded, in shape as a beehive, from out of the sea : The hive is of gold undazzling, but oh, the Bee, The star-fed Bee, the build-fire Bee, Of dazzling gold is the great Sun-Bee That shall flash from the hive-hole over the sea. 13 Yet now the dewdrop, now the morning gray, Shall live their little lucid sober day Ere with the sun their souls exhale away. Now in each pettiest personal sphere of dew The summ'd morn shines complete as in the blue 135 Big dewdrop of all heaven : with these lit shrines O'ersilvered to the farthest sea-confines, The sacramental marsh one pious plain Of worship lies. Peace to the ante-reign Of Mary Morning, blissful mother mild, 14 Minded of nought but peace, and of a child. Not slower than Majesty moves, for a mean and a measure Of motion, not faster than dateless Olympian leisure Might pace with unblown ample garments from pleasure to pleasure, The wave-serrate sea-rim sinks un jar ring, unreel- ing, i Forever revealing, revealing, revealing, Edgewise, bladewise, half wise, wholewise, 'tis done ! Good-morrow, lord Sun! With several voice, with ascription one, The woods and the marsh and the sea and my soul 15 234 SIDNEY LANIER Unto thee, whence the glittering stream of all mor- rows doth roll, Cry good and past-good and most heavenly morrow, lord Sun. Artisan born in the purple, Workman Heat, Barter of passionate atoms that travail to meet And be mixed in the death-cold oneness, innermost Guest 155 At the marriage of elements, fellow of publicans, blest King in the blouse of flame, that loiterest o'er The idle skies, yet laborest fast evermore, Thou in the fine forge-thunder, thou, in the beat Of the heart of a man, thou Motive, Laborer Heat: 16 Yea, Artist, thou, of whose art yon sea's all news, With his inshore greens and manifold mid-sea blues Pearl-glint, shell-tint, ancientest perfectest hues, Ever shaming the maidens, lily and rose Confess thee, and each mild flame that glows 165 In the clarified virginal bosoms of stones that shine, It is thine, it is thine : Thou chemist of storms, whether driving the winds a-swirl Or a-flicker the subtiler essences polar that whirl In the magnet earth, yea, thou with a storm for a heart, 17 Rent with debate, many-spotted with question, part From part oft sundered, yet ever a globed light, Yet ever the artist, ever more large and bright Than the eye of a man may avail of: manifold One, 1 must pass from thy face, I must pass from the face of the Sun: 17B 235 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Old "Want is awake and agog, every wrinkle a-f rown ; The worker must pass to his work in the terrible town: But I fear not, nay, and I fear not the thing to be done; I am strong with the strength of my lord the Sun: How dark, how dark soever the race that must needs be run, 18 I am lit with the Sun. Oh, never the mast-high run of the seas Of traffic shall hide thee, Never the hell-colored smoke of the factories Hide thee, 185 Never the reek of the time's fen-politics Hide thee, And ever my heart through the night shall with knowledge abide thee, And ever by day shall my spirit, as one that hath tried thee, Labor, at leisure, in art, till yonder beside thee 19 My soul shall float, friend Sun, The day being done. THE HARLEQUIN OF DREAMS Swift, through some trap mine eyes have never found, Dim-panelled in the painted scene of Sleep, Thou, giant Harlequin of Dreams, dost leap Upon my spirit's stage. Then Sight and Sound, Then Space and Time, then Language, Mete and Bound, 5 And all familiar Forms that firmly keep Man's reason in the road, change faces, peep SIDNEY LANIER Betwixt the legs and mock the daily round. Yet thou canst more than mock : sometimes my tears At midnight break through bounden lids a sign 10 Thou hast a heart : and oft thy little leaven Of dream-taught wisdom works me bettered years. In one night witch, saint, trickster, fool divine, I think thou ? rt Jester at the Court of Heaven ! A BALLAD OF TREES AND THE MASTER Into the woods my Master went, Clean forspent, forspent. Into the woods my Master came, Forspent with love and shame. 4 But the olives they were not blind to Him; The little gray leaves were kind to Him; The thorn-tree had a mind to Him When into the woods He came. Out of the woods my Master went, And He was well content. 10 Out of the woods my Master came, Content with death and shame. When Death and Shame would woo Him last, From under the trees they drew Him last: 'Twas on a tree they slew Him last, 1B When out of the woods He came. 237 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY CORN" To-day the woods are trembling through and through With shimmering forms that flash before my view, Then melt in green as dawn-stars melt in blue. The leaves that wave against my cheek caress Like women's hands; the embracing boughs ex- press 5 A subtlety of mighty tenderness; The copse-depths into little noises start, That sound anon like beatings of a heart, Anon like talk 'twixt lips not far apart. The beech dreams balm, as a dreamer hums a song; 10 Through that vague wafture, aspirations strong Throb from young hickories breathing deep and long With stress and urgence bold of prisoned spring And ecstasy of burgeoning. Now, since the dew-plashed road of morn is dry, 15 Forth venture odors of more quality And heavenlier giving. Like Jove's locks awry, Long muscadines Rich-wreathe the spacious foreheads of great pines, And breathe ambrosial passions from their vines. 20 I pray with mosses, ferns and flowers shy That hide like gentle nuns from human eye To lift adoring perfumes to the sky. I hear faint bridal-sighs of brown and green Dying to silent hints of kisses keen 25 As far lights fringe into a pleasant sheen. I start at fragmentary whispers, blown From under-talks of leafy souls unknown, Vague purports sweet, of inarticulate tone. 238 SIDNEY LANIER Dreaming of gods, men, nuns and brides, between 30 Old companies of oaks that inward lean To join their radiant amplitudes of green I slowly move, with ranging looks that pass Up from the matted miracles of grass Into yon veined and complex space 35 Where sky and leafage interlace So close, the heaven of blue is seen Inwoven with a heaven of green. I wander to the zigzag-cornered fence Where sassafras, intrenched in brambles dense, 40 Contests with stolid vehemence The march of culture, setting limb and thorn As pikes against the army of the com. There, while I pause, my fieldward-faring eyes Take harvests, where the stately corn-ranks rise, 45 Of inward dignities And large benignities and insights wise, Graces and modest majesties. Thus, without theft, I reap another's field; Thus, without tilth, I house a wondrous yield, 60 And heap my heart with quintuple crops concealed. Look, out of line one tall corn-captain stands Advanced beyond the foremost of his bands, And waves his blades upon the very edge And hottest thicket of the battling hedge. 55 Thou lustrous stalk, that ne'er mayst walk nor talk, Still shalt thou type the poet-soul sublime That leads the vanward of his timid time And sings up cowards with commanding rhyme Soul calm, like thee, yet fain, like thee, to grow 60 By double increment, above, below; 239 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Soul homely, as thou art, yet rich in grace like thee, Teaching the yeomen selfless chivalry That moves in gentle curves of courtesy; Soul filled like thy long veins with sweetness tense, 65 By every godlike sense Transmuted from the four wild elements. Drawn to high plans, Thou lift'st more stature than a mortal man's, Yet ever piercest downward in the mould 70 And keepest hold Upon the reverend and steadfast earth That gave thee birth; Yea, standest smiling in thy future grave, Serene and brave, 75 With unremitting breath Inhaling life from death, Thine epitaph writ fair in fruitage eloquent, Thyself thy monument. As poets should, 80 Thou hast built up thy hardihood With universal food, Drawn in select proportion fair From honest mould and vagabond air; From darkness of the dreadful night, w And joyful light; From antique ashes, whose departed flame In thee has finer life and longer fame; From wounds and balms, From storms and calms, 90 From potsherds and dry bones And ruin-stones. Into thy vigorous substance thou hast wrought Whatever the hand of Circumstance hath brought; 240 SIDNEY LANIER Yea, into cool solacing green hast spun 95 White radiance hot from out the sun. So thou dost mutually leaven Strength of earth with grace of heaven; So thou dost marry new and old Into a one of higher mould ; 10 So thou dost reconcile the hot and cold The dark and bright, And many a heart-perplexing opposite, And so, Akin by blood too high and low, 105 Fitly thou playest out thy poet's part, Eichly expanding thy much-bruised heart In equal care to nourish lord in hall Or beast in stall: Thou took'st from all that thou mightst give to all. no steadfast dweller on the selfsame spot Where thou wast born, that still repinest not Type of the home-fond heart, the happy lot ! Deeply thy mild content rebukes the land Whose flimsy homes, built on the shifting sands 115 Of trade, for ever rise and fall With alternation whimsical, Enduring scarce a day, Then swept away By swift engulfments of incalculable tides m Whereon capricious Commerce rides. Look, thou substantial spirit of content! Across this little vale, thy continent, To where, beyond the mouldering mill Yon old deserted Georgian hill 125 Bears to the sun his piteous aged crest And seamy breast, 241 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY By restless-hearted children left to lie Untended there beneath the heedless sky, As barbarous folk expose their old to die. 13 Upon that generous-rounding side, With gullies scarified Where keen Neglect his lash has plied, Dwelt one I knew of old, who played at toil, And gave to coquette Cotton soul and soil. 135 Scorning the slow reward of patient grain, He sowed his heart with hopes of swifter gain, Then sat him down and waited for the rain. He sailed in borrowed ships of usury A foolish Jason on a treacherous sea, 14 Seeking the Fleece and. finding misery. Lulled by smooth-rippling loans, in idle trance He lay, content that unthrift Circumstance Should plough for him the stony field of Chance. Yea, gathering crops whose worth no man might tell, 145 He staked his life on games of Buy-and-Sell, And turned each field into a gambler's hell. Aye, as each year began, My farmer to the neighboring city ran; Passed with a mournful anxious face 15 Into the banker's inner place; Parleyed, excused, pleaded for longer grace; Railed at the drouth, the worm, the rust, the grass ; Protested ne'er again 'twould come to pass; With many an oh and if and but alas 155 Parried or swallowed searching questions rude, And kissed the dust to soften Dives's mood. At last, small loans by pledges great renewed, He issues smiling from the fatal door, And buys with lavish hand his yearly store 16 Till his small borrowings will yield no more. 242 SIDNEY LANIER Aye, as each year declined, With bitter heart and ever brooding mind He mourned his fate unkind. Jn dust, in rain, with might and main, 165 He nursed his cotton, cursed his grain, Fretted for news that made him fret again, Snatched at each telegram of Future Sale, And thrilled with Bulls' or Bears' alternate wail In hope or fear alike for ever pale. 17 And thus from year to year, through hope and fear, With many a curse and many a secret tear, Striving in vain his cloud of debt to clear, At last He woke to find his foolish dreaming past, 175 And all his best-of-life the easy prey Of squandering scamps and quacks that lined his way With vile array, From rascal statesman down to petty knave; Himself, at best, for all his bragging brave, 18 A gamester's catspaw and a banker's slave. Then, worn and gray, and sick with deep unrest, He fled away into the oblivious West, Unmourned, unblest. Old hill ! old hill ! thou gashed and hairy Lear 185 Whom the divine Cordelia of the year, E'en pitying Spring, will vainly strive to cheer King, that no subject man or beast may own, Discrowned, undaughtered and alone Yet shall the great God turn thy fate, 19 And bring thee back into thy monarch state And majesty immaculate. Lo, through hot waverings of the August morn, Thou givest from thy vasty sides forlorn 243 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Visions of golden treasuries of corn 195 Ripe largesse lingering for some bolder heart That manfully shall take thy part, And tend thee, And defend thee 20 With antique sinew and with modern art. EVENING SONG. This beautiful song appeared first in Lippincott's Magazine. The publishers of this periodical were among the very first to recognize the genius of Lanier. Is there any irregularity in stanza structure? It is an especially pleasing love- lyric, and has been set to music by Dudley Buck. THE CRYSTAL. This noble poem appeared in the New York Independent, as did also " The Ballad of Trees " and " Sunrise." The Independent was an- other paper that gave the struggling poet earliest encouragement. This selection shows the author's keen critical powers and is informed by the spirit of scholarship. He has pointed unerringly to the defects of the great characters named. 1. When death and truth unlock their secrets. 1-12. The poem never rises above the plane of this introduction. 29-39. Justify the criti- cisms of Shakspere. 42. " Of prose and catalogue " : refers to the Iliad, Book II. "My song to fame shall give The chieftains and enumerate their ships." 45. " Light-o'-love " : Helen, carried away by Paris. The Trojan War resulted, which furnished the theme for the Iliad. 48. " Thy year-worn cloak." Socra- tes, the Athenian philosopher, said : " To want noth- ing is divine ; to want as little as possible is the near- est possible approach to the divine life." This belief 244 SIDNEY LANIER controlled his mode of living. His meat and drink were of the poorest; summer and winter his coat was the eame. 49. His iron stringencies were at the other extreme from the dandy's excessive indul- gences. 51. "Buddha": the founder of the Bud- dhist religion, tenets of which are explained in the succeeding lines. 51. "Dante": the great Italian poet. Pursue the study on this line. The criticisms are very felicitous; as, for instance, that on Milton, or on Emerson, or on Tennyson. The close reveals the poet's attitude toward Christ. SUNRISE. The editor of the Independent, the pa- per from which this is taken, says of it: "This poem, we do not hesitate to say, is one of the few great poems that have been written on this side of the ocean." It is said upon authority that the lines were written when the author was in his last illness, with a fever of 104 degrees. It is melodious and emotional, almost, if not quite, rhapsodical. All kinds of feet are used, but the effect is anapestic; hence, it affords an excellent study in scansion. 17. "Gospeling glooms": shades that provoke holy feelings. 19. Observe here and elsewhere the poet's Wordsworthian view of Nature. 29. Just what influenced the author to give a line to this brief word here and again below, is difficult to understand. 58-85. This is great thought; search its full import. 86, 87. What liberty in rhyme? See, also, the " Symphony," by this writer : "We weave in the mills and heave in the kilns, We sieve mine-meshes under the hills, And thieve much gold from the Devil's bank tills, To relieve," etc. 102. "Multitudinous": effect of this word? 114, 115. It is rather a tax upon the average reader to A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY share the poet's rapture here and in the " beehive " figure further on. The poet's Pegasus sometimes takes the bit in his teeth. 153-181. Another supreme passage, well worthy close study. 182-192. A ca- dence according with the vast harmonies of the poem. A BALLAD or TREES. Fine proportion, careful versification, and exact diction make this poem re- memberable. What occasion in Christ's career is referred to? 4. Meaning of the line? 5, 6, 7. Kind of rhymes? Point out others. 7. Interpret the line. 12. Contrast with 4, and explain. 15. "Last. They had slain Him before"; how? Give the thought in a few words. CORN. This poem is not of uniform excellence. Parts of it are very imaginative; 80-110, for in- stance; others, brilliantly figurative. 185-192, and yet others, well, characterize 134-184. 50. "Tilth": meaning? 60. "Fain": a favorite word with the poet. 130. What people did this? 133. "Neglect": a fine figure. 41. "Fleece": what al- lusion? 146. Meaning? Explain other terms of the mart in 68, 69, etc. 96. " Largesse " : define. 246 James Maurice Thompson 1844-1901 Mr. Thompson was a native of Indiana, but his parents were Southerners and returned to the South, first to Kentucky, then to Georgia, where the son was reared and educated. He served in the Con- federate Army, and at the close of the war estab- lished himself in law at Crawfordsville, Ind. He was elected to the legislature of that State, and was later appointed State Geologist. He was a versatile writer, of poems, critiques, essays, novels, sketches of out-door life, etc. At one time he was connected editorially with the New York Independent. Among his books are " Hoosier Mosaics," " A Tallahassee Girl," " Songs of Fair Weather," " By- Ways and Bird-Notes," " Sylvan Secrets in Bird- Songs and Brooks," "The Story of Louisiana," " Poems," " The Ocala Boy," " At Love's Extremes," "The Witchery of Archery," "A Fortnight of Folly," and "Alice of Old Vincennes," the last published about the time of his death. SOLACE Thou art the last rose of the year, By gusty breezes rudely fanned : The dying Summer holds thee fast In the hot hollow of her hand. 247 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Thy face pales, as if looking back Into the splendor of thy past Had thrilled thee strangely, knowing that This one long look must be the last. Thine essence, that was heavenly sweet, Has flown upon the tricksy air: * Fate's hand is on thee; drop thy leaves, And go among the things that were. Be must and mould, be trampled dust, Be nothing that is fair to see : One day, at least, of glorious life 15 Was thine of all eternity. Be this a comfort : crown and lyre And regal purple last not long; Kings fall like leaves, but thy perfume Strays through the years like royal song. 20 IN EXILE The singing streams, and deep, dark wood Beloved of old by Robin Hood, Lift me a voice, kiss me a hand, To call me from this younger land. What time by dull Floridian lakes, What time by rivers fringed with brakes, I blow the reed, and draw the bow, And see my arrows hurtling go. 248 JAMES MAURICE THOMPSON Well sent to deer or wary hare, Or wildfowl whistling down the air; 10 What time I lie in shady spots On beds of wild forget-me-nots, That fringe the fen lands insincere And boggy marges of the mere, Whereon I see the heron stand, 15 Knee-deep in sable slush of sand, I think how sweet if friends should come And tell me England calls me home. II I keep good heart and bide my time, And blow the bubbles of my rhyme; 20 I wait and watch, for soon I know In Sherwood merry horns shall blow, And blow and blow, and folks shall come And tell me England calls me home. Mother of archers, then I go 25 Wind-blown to you with bended bow, To stand close up by you and ask That it be my appointed task To sing in leal and loyal lays Your matchless bowmen's meed of praise; 80 249 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY And that unchallenged I may go Through your green woods with bended bow, Your woods where bowered and hidden stood Of old the home of Robin Hood. Ah, this were sweet, and it will come 35 When merry England calls me home. Ill Perchance, long hence, it may befall, Or soon, mayhap, or not at all, That all my songs now hither sent, And all my shafts at random spent, 40 Will find their way to those who love The simple force and truth thereof; Wherefore my name shall then be rung Across the land from tongue to tongue, Till some who hear shall haste to come 45 With news that England calls me home. I walk where spiced winds raff the blades Of sedge-grass on the summer glades; Through purfled blades that fringe the mere I watch the timid tawny deer 50 250 JAMES MAURICE THOMPSON Set its quick feet and quake and spring, As if it heard some deadly thing, When but a brown snipe flutters by With rustling wing and piping cry; I stand in some dim place at dawn, 55 And see across a forest lawn The tall wild turkeys swiftly pass Light-footed through the dewy grass; I shout, and wind my horn, and go The whole morn through with bended bow, 60 Then on my rest I feel at noon Sown pulvil of the blooms of June; I live and keep no count of time, I blow the bubbles of my rhyme: These are my joys till friends shall come ^ And tell me England calls me home. IV The self -yew bow was England's boast; She leaned upon her archer host, - It was her very life-support At Cre"cy and at Agincourt, 70 At Flodden and at Halidon Hill, And fields of glory redder still ! 251 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY bows that rang at Solway Moss ! yeomanry of Neville's Cross ! These were your victories, for by you 75 Breastplate and shield were cloven through; And mailed knights at every joint, Sore wounded by an arrow point, Drew rein, turned pale, reeled in the sell, 79 And, bristled with arrows, gasped and fell ! barbed points that scratched the name Of England on the walls of fame ! music of the ringing cords Set to grand song of deeds, not words ! yeoman! for your memory's sake, 85 These bubbles of my rhyme I make, Not rhymes of conquest stern and sad, Or hoarse-voiced like the Iliad, But soft and dreamful as the sigh Of this sweet wind that washes by, 90 The while I wait for friends to come And tell me England calls me home. I wait and wait ; it would be sweet To feel the sea beneath my feet, 252 JAMES MAURICE THOMPSON And hear the breeze sing in the shrouds 95 Betwixt me and the white-winged clouds, To feel and know my heart should soon Have its desire, its one sweet boon, To look out on the foam-sprent waste Through which my vessel's keel would haste, M Till on the far horizon dim A low white line would shine and swim; The low white line; the gleaming strand, The pale cliffs of the Mother-land ! God ! the very thought is bliss, 106 The burden of my song it is, Till over sea song-blown shall come The news that England calls me home ! VI Ah, call me, England, some sweet day Ere these brown locks are silver gray, no And these brown arms are shrunken small, Unfit for deeds of strength at all; When the swift deer shall pass me by, Whilst all unstrung my bow shall lie, And birds shall taunt me with the time 116 1 wasted making foolish rhyme, 253 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY And wasted blowing in a reed The runes of praise, the yeoman's meed, And wasted dreaming foolish dreams Of English woods and English streams, 12 Of grassy glade and queachy fen Beloved of old by archer men, And of the friends who would not come To tell me England called me home. VII Such words are sad : blow them away 125 And lose them in the leaves of May, wind ! and leave them there to rot, Like random arrows lost when shot; And Here, these better thoughts, take these And blow them far across the seas, 13 To that old land and that old wood Which hold the dust of Eobin Hood ! Say this, low-speaking in my place : " The last of all the archer race "4 " Sends this his sheaf of rhymes to those Whose fathers bent the self -yew bows, " And made the cloth-yard arrows ring For merry England and her king; 254 JAMES MAURICE THOMPSON " Wherever Lion Kichard set His fortune's stormy banneret ! " 14 Say this, and then, oh, haste to come And tell me England calls me home ! THE ASSAULT Amazilia cerviniventris A winged rocket curving through An amethyst trajectory, Blew up the magazines of dew Within the fortress of the bee. Some say the tulip mortar sent 5 The missile forth; I do not know; I scarcely saw which way it went, Its whisk of flame surprised me so. I heard the sudden hum and boom And saw the arc of purple light 10 Across the garden's rosy gloom; Then something glorious blurred my sight ! The bees forgot to sound alarm, And did not pause their gates to lock; A topaz terror took by storm w The tower of the hollyhock. Above the rose a halo hung, As if a bomb had been a gem, And round the dahlias's head was swung A blade that looked a diadem. 20 255 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY What more befell I cannot say; By ruby glint and emerald gleam My sense was dazed; the garden lay Around me like an opal dream ! THE TULIP Caveat Regina Seeing, above dark spikes of green, Your great bold flowers of gold and red, I think of some young heathen queen With blazing crown upon her head. Some beautiful barbaric thing, 5 Clothed in rich garments emerald zoned, Whom simple folk, half worshipping And half in fear, have crowned and throned. You will not deign to give the breeze 10 The slightest nod as it goes by; You will not move a leaf to please The drowsy gorgeous butterfly. With measureless nonchalance and pride, You take the humming bird's caress ; The brown melodious bee must bide 15 Your haughty, arrogant wilfulness! You will not even stoop to hear The whisper of the adoring grass; The violets droop their heads in fear, The beetles grumble as they pass. 20 256 JAMES MAURICE THOMPSON Beware, queen, some day ere long All these may drop their fealty, And for redress of causeless wrong Uprise in passionate mutiny. Ah, then what rapturous sound of wings, 25 Applauding when your throne goes down! What cheering when the rude breeze springs, And whisks away your withered crown ! SOLACE. A reflective lyric. Wherein exists the solace? 10. "Tricksy": define. IN EXILE. Read through and explain whence the subject. The poem is written in couplets. What is its measure? Its character? The author was an ex- pert archer. What evidences of a love for out-door sports are shown in this ? " England calls me home," a refrain at the close of each section; what is the thought ? Explain proper names in 2, 70, 71, 72, 73. THE ASSAULT. The poem glows with imagination. Amazilia cerviniventris is a species of the humming- bird. 2. " Trajectory " : the arc described by a body thrown upward obliquely into the air. Dwell upon the vivid imagery in 3, 4, 5, 10, 15, 16, 20, 24. THE TULIP. What is the exact theme ? Compare this with the foregoing. Did the same mood inspire them? Did the same feeling toward flowers, birds, etc., inspire them? Wherein do they differ? 257 John Henry Boner 1845-1903 Mr. Boner was born in the old Moravian town, Salem, N. C. He received his early training in the schools there and began a bread-winner's life when he was yet a boy first as a printer, work he was con- nected with more or less closely until his death. He edited papers in his native town and in Asheville, N. C. He was chief clerk of the North Carolina' House of Bepresentatives, 1869-70, and two years later went into the Civil Service, at Washington, D. C., where he remained for sixteen years. He then removed to New York, and was successively on the staffs of the Century Dictionary, the New York World, the Literary Digest, and "A Library of American Literature." Declining health forced him to give up this work and seek restoration among his friends in his native State. A winter was spent in Kaleigh, with tem- porary relief; but soon after his return to the Gov- ernment Printing Office, Washington, he suddenly died of hemorrhage, March 6, 1903. The Authors Club of New York, of which he was a member, as- sisted in doing honor to his memory. He was buried in the Congressional Cemetery, Washington, but his remains were removed to Salem, N. C., and were reinterred with impressive ceremonies. Dr. Marcus Benjamin, of Washington, D. C., led the movement, and prepared a fitting memorial to the dead poet. Boner published "Whispering Pines" in 1883, 258 JOHN HENRY BONER and " Some New Poems " in 1901. Just before his death he prepared a collection of such of his works as he wished to have survive. This book, " Boner's Lyrics," has been issued by his wife, through the Neale Publishing Company, of New York. THE LIGHT'OOD FIEE IWhen wintry days are dark and drear And all the forest ways grow still, When gray, snow-laden clouds appear Along the bleak horizon hill, When cattle all are snugly penned 6 And sheep go huddling close together, When steady streams of smoke ascend From farm-house chimneys in such weather Give me old Carolina's own, A great log-house, a great hearth-stone, 10 A cheering pipe, of cob or briar, And a red, leaping light'ood fire. When dreary day draws to a close And all the silent land is dark, When Boreas down the chimney blows 15 And sparks fly from the crackling bark, 'When limbs are bent with snow or sleet And owls hoot from the hollow tree, With hounds asleep about your feet, Then is the time for reverie. Give me old Carolina's own, A hospitable, wide hearth-stone, A cheering pipe, of cob or briar, And a red, rousing light'ood fire. 259 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY CEISMUS TIMES IS COME I Wen de sheppuds watch de sheep on de plain of Beflehem (Crismus times is come,) Dey was 'stonished at de star dat went a-swinging ober dem, (Crismus times is come;) Dey lean upon de sheppud crooks a-shadin' ob der eyes, 5 (Crismus times is come,) An' dey know de sun of glory was a-gwine fur to rise, (Crismus times is come,) De wise men walk wid der heads ben' low Twell dey hear a ban' o' music like dey nebber hear befo' *> An' de angels come a-singin' wid de stars in der han's An' der flamin' wings a-shinin' on de heathun lan's II De kings ob de erf woke up dat night, (Crismus times is come,) An' der crowns look shabby in de hallyluyer light. 15 (Crismus times is come,) But de po' man riz en tuck his ole hat down, (Crismus times is come,) An' hit look so fine dat he fought it were a crown, (Crismus times is come,) 20 Ole Jordan roll high en ole Jordan roll low, An' de star stood still whar de folks had to go, 260 JOHN HENRY BONER An ? de angels flew away agin a-leavin' arter dem A blaze road from Juda to de new Jerusalem. Ill Den pile on de light'ood en set aroun' de fire, 25 (Crismus times is come,) Eosum up de ole bow en chune the banjer higher, (Crismus times is come,) Dere's no mo' coonin' ob de log in de night, (Crismus times is come,) glory to de Lam' fur de hallyluyer light, (Crismus times is come,) De Crismus possum am a-bakin' mighty snug, So han' aroun' de tumbler en de little yal- ler jug Wid de co'ncob stopper, en de honey in de bowl, ** An' a-glory hallyluyer en a-bless yo' soul. POE'S COTTAGE AT FORDHAM Here lived the soul enchanted By melody of song; Here dwelt the spirit haunted By a demoniac throng; Here sang the lips elated; Here grief and death were sated; Here loved and here unmated Was he, so frail, so strong. 261 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Here wintry winds and cheerless The dying firelight blew 10 While he whose song was peerless Dreamed the drear midnight through, And from dull embers chilling Crept shadows darkly filling The silent place, and thrilling 15 His fancy as they grew. Here, with brow bared to heaven, In starry night he stood, With the lost star of seven Feeling sad brotherhood. 20 Here in the sobbing showers Of dark autumnal hours He heard suspected powers Shriek through the stormy wood. From visions of Apollo 25 And of Astarte's bliss, He gazed into the hollow And hopeless vale of Dis; And though earth were surrounded By heaven, it still was mounded 30 With graves. His soul had sounded The dolorous abyss. Proud, mad, but not defiant, He touched at heaven and hell. Fate found a rare soul pliant 35 And rung her changes well. Alternately his lyre, Stranded with strings of fire, Led earth's most happy choir Or flashed with Israfel. 40 262 JOHN HENRY BONER No singer of old story Luting accustomed lays, No harper for new glory, No mendicant for praise, He struck high chords and splendid, 45 Wherein were fiercely blended Tones that unfinished ended With his unfinished days. Here through this lowly portal, Made sacred by his name, 50 Unheralded immortal The mortal went and came. And fate that then denied him, And envy that decried him, And malice that belied him, 55 Have cenotaphed his fame. REMEMBRANCE I think that we retain of our dead friends And absent ones no general portraiture; That perfect memory does not long endure, But fades and fades until our own life ends. Unconsciously, forgetfulness attends 5 That grief for which there is no other cure, But leaves of each lost one some record sure A look, an act, a tone something that lends Relief and consolation, not regret. Even that poor mother mourning her dead child 10 Whose agonizing eyes with tears are wet, Whose bleeding heart can not be reconciled, Unto the grave's embrace even she shall yet Remember only when her babe first smiled ! 263 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY "TIME BRINGS ROSES" When from my mountain-top of years I gaze Backward upon the scenes that I have passed, How pleasant is the view ! and yet how vast The deserts where I thirsted many days! There, where now hangs that blue and shimmering haze, 5 And there, and there, my lot with pain was cast, Hopeless and dark; but always at the last Deliverance came from unexpected ways. And now all past grief is as but a dream: Yet even now there loom before my path 10 Shadows whose gloomy portent checks my breath. But shadows are not always what they seem God's love sometimes appears to be his wrath, And his best gift is the white rose of death. THE LIGHT'OOD FIRE. A descriptive lyric true to nature. 15. " Boreas " : the north wind. CRISMUS TIMES Is COME. Dialect verse was ex- cluded in the plan of this book, but this and one or two others are so perfectly faithful in delineating the negro of the South that they have almost de- manded admission. POE'S COTTAGE AT FORDHAM. Classify this lyric, and state its stanza and metrical-structure. 7. Poe lost his young wife at Fordham. 20. Explain. 21- 24. Lines worthy the spirit they commemorate. 25- 28. Mythological names introduced to express Poe's imaginative reach. The same idea is repeated below, " He touched at heaven and hell." Does it appear elsewhere? 31. An unfortunate in- 264 JOHN HENRY BONER terruption in the fluency of the poem. 38. "Stranded": stringed. 40. Israfel." See Poe's poem with this title, p. 49. 56. " Cenotaphed " : like " stranded " above, a somewhat bold use of the word. The noun cenotaph, from which this word is made, means an empty tomb ; one erected to a person buried elsewhere. In the haunting music of the lines and in the graceful movement of the stanzas the poem reminds one of Swinburne's " Garden of Proser- pine." REMEMBRANCE. The sonnet was a favorite form with Mr. Boner in his latter years, and he handled it with remarkable skill. This is as well wrought as some by the English masters, nor is it the only one, nor even the best, that could be chosen from his work. "TIME BRINGS ROSES." Another sonnet grave, thoughtful, comforting. 265 John Banister Tabb 1845-1909 Father Tabb, ordained as a Catholic priest in 1884, was born in Virginia. He served in the Con- federate Navy as captain's mate on a blockade-run- ner. At the time of his death he was a teacher of the lower classes in English at St. Charles College, Ellicott City, Md., and for several years had been a contributor of short, thoughtful poems to periodical literature. He published these books : " Poems," " Lyrics," "An Octave to Mary," etc. BEETHOVEN AND ANGELO One made the surging sea of tone Subservient to his rod: One from the sterile womb of stone Raised children unto God. THE DEPARTED They cannot wholly pass away, How far soe'er above; Nor we, the lingerers, wholly stay Apart from those we love: For spirits in eternity, As shadows in the sun, Reach backward into Time, as we, Like lifted clouds, reach on. 266 JOHN BANISTER TABB FAME Their noonday never knows What names immortal are: 'T is night alone that shows How star surpasseth star. EVOLUTION Out of the dusk a shadow, Then, a spark; Out of the cloud a silence, Then, a lark; Out of the heart a rapture, 8 Then, a pain; Out of the dead, cold ashes, Life again. BEETHOVEN AND ANGELO. This quatrain is rep- resentative of the author's work thought couched in a few forceful words. THE DEPARTED. 5-8. The simile is beautiful in the beginning, but is not carried out to a perfect con- clusion. Criticise it. FAME. Another perfect quatrain. Eead White's great sonnet on Night and Death. EVOLUTION. Nature teaches immortality; let us ponder this with hopeful reverence. 267 Will Henry Thompson 1848 Mr. Thompson is a brother of the late James Mau- rice Thompson, whose poetical works have already received attention in this compilation. He was born in Gordon County, Ga., and, with his brother, served through the war in the Confederate Army. He is a lawyer, and followed that profession for a while at Crawfordsville, Ind., but later removed to Seattle, Wash., where he now resides, and is an influential member of the bar. He is distinguished as an ora- tor and as the author of a few remarkably strong poems. THE HIGH TIDE AT GETTYSBUEG A cloud possessed the hollow field; The gathering battle's smoky shield, Athwart' the gloom the lightning flashed, And through the cloud some horsemen dashed, And from the heights the thunder pealed. B Then, a the brief command of Lee Moved out that matchless infantry, With Pickett leading grandly down, To rush against the roaring crown Of those dread heights of destiny. 10 Par heard above the angry guns A cry across the tumult runs The voice that rang through Shiloh's woods And Chickamauga's solitudes, The fierce South cheering on her sons ! 15 268 WILL HENRY THOMPSON Ah, how the withering tempest blew Against the front of Pettigrew! A Kamsin wind that scorched and singed Like that infernal flame that fringed The British squares at Waterloo ! 20 A thousand fell where Kemper led; A thousand died where Garnett bled; In blinding flame and strangling smoke The remnant through the batteries broke And crossed the works with Armistead. 25 " Once more in glory's van with me ! " Virginia cried to Tennessee; " We two together, come what may Shall stand upon these works to-day " (The reddest day in history.) 30 Brave Tennessee! In reckless way Virginia heard her comrade say: " Close round this rent and riddled rag ! " What time she sets her battle-flag Amid the guns of Doubleday. 35 But who shall break the guards that wait Before the awful face of fate? The tattered standards of the South Were shriveled at the cannon's mouth, And all her hopes were desolate. 40 In vain the Tennesseean set His breast against the bayonet! In vain Virginia charged and raged, A tigress in her wrath uncaged, Till all the hill was red and wet! 45 269 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Above the bayonets, mixed and crossed, Men saw a gray, gigantic ghost Eeceding through the battle-cloud, And heard across the tempest loud The death cry of a nation lost ! 50 The brave went down ! Without disgrace They leaped to Ruin's red embrace, They only heard Fame's thunders wake, And saw the dazzling sun-burst break In smiles on Glory's bloody face ! 55 They fell, who lifted up a hand And bade the sun in heaven to stand ! They smote and fell, who set the bars Against the progress of the stars, And stayed the march of Motherland ! 60 They stood, who saw the future come On through the fight's delirium! They smote and stood, who held the hope Of nations on that slippery slope Amid the cheers of Christendom ! 65 God lives! He forged the iron will That clutched and held that trembling hill, God lives and reigns ! He built and lent The heights for Freedom's battlement Where floats her flag in triumph still ! 70 Fold up the banners ! Smelt the guns ! Love rules. Her gentler purpose runs, The mighty mother turns in tears The pages of her battle years, Lamenting all her fallen sons ! n 270 WILL HENRY THOMPSON THE BOND OF BLOOD The words of a rebel old and battered, Who will care to remember them? "Under the Lost Flag, battle-tattered, I was a comrade of Allan Memm. Who was Allan that I should name him 5 Bravest of all the brave who bled? Why should a soldier's song proclaim him First of a hundred thousand dead? An angel of battle, with fair hair curling By brown cheeks shrunken and wan with want ; 10 A living missile that Lee was hurling Straight on the iron front of Grant; A war-child born of the Old South's passion, Trained in the camp of the cavaliers; A spirit wrought in the antique fashion 15 Of Glory's martial morning years. His young wife's laugh and his baby's prattle He bore through the roar of the hungry guns Through the yell of shell in the rage of battle, And the moan that under the thunder runs. 20 His was the voice that cried the warning At the shattered gate of the slaughter-pen, When Hancock rushed in the gray of morning Over our doomed and desperate men. 271 STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY His was the hand that held the standard 25 A flaring torch on a crumbling shore 'Mid the billows of blue by the storm blown landward, And his call we heard through the ocean roar : Ere the flag should shrink to a lost hope's token, Ere the glow of its glory be low and dim, 30 Ere its stars should fade and its bars be broken, Calling his comrades to come to him. And these, at the order of Hill or Gordon, God keep their ashes! I knew them well, Would have smashed the ranks of the devil's cordon, 35 Or charged through the flames that roar in hell. But none could stand where the storm was beat- ing, Never a comrade could reach his side; In the spume of flame where the tides were meeting, He, of a thousand, stood and died. 40 And the foe, in the old heroic manner, Tenderly laid his form to rest, The splintered staff and the riddled banner Hiding the horror upon his breast. Gone is the cot in the Georgia wildwood, 45 Gone is the blossom-strangled porch; The roof that sheltered a soldier's childhood Vainly pleaded with Sherman's torch. 272 WILL HENRY THOMPSON Gone are the years, and far and feeble Ever the old wild echoes die ; 60 Hark to the voice of a great, glad people Hailing the one flag under the sky! And the monstrous heart of the storm receding Fainter and farther throbs and jars; And the new storm bursts, and the brave are bleeding 56 Under the cruel alien stars. And Allan's wife in the grave is lying Under the old scorched vine and pine, While Allan's child in the isles is dying Far on the foremost fighting line. 60 Cheer for the flag with the old stars spangled I Shake out its folds to the wind's caress, Over the hearts by the war-hounds mangled, Down in the tangled Wilderness ! To wave o'er the grave of the brave forever ; 65 For the Gray has sealed, in the bond of blood, His faith to the Blue, and the brave shall never Question the brave in the sight of God. THE DEATH-DREAM OF ARMENIA A cry from pagan dungeons deep To Albion old and brave; A wail that startles from her sleep The mistress of the wave. 273 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY We feel the thrill through England's soul Of noblest passion's birth; 6 We hear her drum-alarum roll The circle of the earth. When mothers kisfc with pallid lips The wounds of murdered sons, 10 We see the sailors on her ships Leap to their shotted guns. We hear her martial trumpets blow The challenge of the free ; Her lean steel war-wolves howling go 15 Through gateways of the sea. The talons of her eagles tear The vulture from his feast; The lion mangles in his lair The tiger of the East. 20 Ah, what a cheer from Asia breaks And roars along the dawn, As rescue's battle-thunder shakes The walls of Babylon! THE HIGH TIDE AT GETTYSBURG. The late Charles A. Dana, of the New York Sun, called this the most remarkable battle poem, not merely of our day, but perhaps of any day, an opinion in which Oliver Wendell Holmes concurred. Unquestionably it is the most powerful war lyric we have ever read. " Ho- henlinden " and " The Charge of the Light Brigade " both stand second to it. The author of it partici- pated in many hard-fought battles (he was at the 274 WILL HENRY THOMPSON " Bloody Angle/' for instance), and he has in an un- equalled degree the power to portray in language the action and sublimity of a great battle. Where lies the secret of the poet's power ? In the first stanza he sketches out the whole setting. Sequence, observa- tion, description, imagery, take their places naturally. Follow out the study from these suggestions. 46-50. What superb figure here? Is there anything in the sentiments between this and the close that a South- erner could criticise? 56-60. Is the standard of his imagery sustained here? Criticise it. THE BOND OF BLOOD. What type of poem is this? What is its measure? Its movement? Its theme? Its spirit? 65-68. What distinguishes this stanza? Do these touches add to the effect or the finish of the poem? THE DEATH-DREAM OF ARMENIA. Give the thought in this. What is the type? The poem is characteristic of the author. Some of its lines are masterfully constructed, 7, 12, 16, for instance. It rises to a climax. 275 Irwin Russell 1853-1879 Irwin Knssell was the first to discover the literary value of the negro folk-song; both Joel Chandler Harris and Thomas Nelson Page acknowledge their indebtedness to Kussell. Eussell was born at Port Gibson, Miss., and when a child contracted yellow fever, from the effects of which he never recovered fully. The family removed to St. Louis, where the boy completed a commercial course. At the opening of the Civil War his family returned to their native State, and at the close of the conflict Irwin studied law, a profession he never fol- lowed, his inclination being toward letters. It is said that " Christmas Night in the Quar- ters," from which these extracts are taken, was first declined by a local newspaper, and afterwards pub- lished by an influential magazine. Upon its appear- ance other journals of standing gave the young au- thor a hearing ; and, thus encouraged, he visited New York with the hope of establishing himself there. He fell sick, however, and, disappointed, returned to the South to spend his last days in grief and pov- erty. THE OKIGIN OF THE BANJO From "Christmas Night in the Quarters." Go 'way, fiddle! folks is tired o' hearin' you a-squawkin' ; Keep silence fur yo' betters! don't you heah de banjo talkin'? 276 IRWIN RUSSELL About de 'possum's tail she's gwine to lecter ladies, listen ! About de ha'r whut isn't dar, an' why de ha'r is missin' : "Bar's gwine to be a oberflow," said Noah, lookin' solemn, B Fur Noah tuk the " Herald," an' he read de ribber column, An' so he sot his hands to wuk a-cl'arin' timber- patches, An' 'lowed he's gwine to build a boat to beat the steamah Natchez. 01' Noah kep' a-nailin' an' a-chippin' an' a-sawin'; An' all de wicked neighbors kep' a-laughin' an' a-pshawin' ; But Noah didn't min' 'em, knowin' whut wuz gwine to happen: An' forty days an' forty nights de rain it kep' a-drappin'. Now, Noah had done cotched a lot ob eb'ry sort o' beas'es, Ob all de shows a-trabbelin', it beat 'em all to pieces ! He had a Morgan colt an' seb'ral head o' Jarsey cattle, 1B An' druv 'em board de Ark as soon's he heerd de thunder rattle. Den sech anoder fall ob rain! it come so awful hebby, De ribber riz immejitly, an' busted troo de lebbee; De people all wuz drownded out 'cep' Noah an' de critters, An' men he'd hired to work de boat an' one to mix de bitters. * 277 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY De Ark she kep' a-sailin' an' a-sailin' an' a-sailin' ; De lion got his dander up, an' like to bruk de palin' ; De sarpints hissed ; de painters yelled ; tell, whut wid all de fussin', You c'u'dn't hardly heah de mate a-bossin' 'roun' an' Now, Ham, de only nigger whut wuz runnin' on de packet, 25 Got lonesome in de barber-shop, an' c'u'dn't stan' de racket; An' so, fur to amuse hese'f, he steamed some wood an' bent it, An' soon he had a banjo made de fust dat wuz in- vented. He wet de ledder, stretched it on; made bridge an' screws an' apriri; An' fitted in a proper neck 'twuz berry long an' tap'rin'; ' 30 He tuk some tin, an' twisted him a thimble fur to ring it; An' den de mighty question riz: how wuz he gwine to string it? De 'possum had as fine a tail as dis dat I's a-singin'; De ha'r's so long an' thick an' strong, des fit fur banjo-stringin' ; Dat nigger shaved 'em off as short as washday-dinner graces; 35 An' sorted ob 'em by de size, f'om little E's to basses. He strung her, tuned her, struck a jig, 'twuz " Neb- ber min' de wedder," She sound' like forty-lebben bands a-playin' all to- gether; 278 IRWIN RUSSELL Some went to pattin'; some to dancin'; Noah called de figgers; An' Ham he sot an' knocked de tune, de happiest ob de niggers ! 40 Now, sence dat time it's mighty strange dere's not de slightes' showin' Ob any ha'r at all upon de 'possum's tail a-growin' ; An' curi's, too, dat's nigger's ways : his people nebber los' 'em, Fur whar you finds de nigger dar's de banjo an' de 'possum ! A BLESSING ON THE DANCE From "Christmas Night in the Quarters." Mahs'r! let dis gath'rin' fin' a blessin' in yo' sight I Don't jedge us hard fur what we does you know it's Chrismus-night ; An' all de balunce of de yeah we does as right's we kin, Ef dancin's wrong, Mahs'r ! let de time excuse de sin! We labors in de vineya'd, wu'kin' hard an' wu'kin true ; 5 Now, shorely you won't notus ef we eats a grape or two, An' takes a leetle holiday, a leetle restin'-spell, Bekase, next week, we'll start in fresh, an' labor twicet as well. 279 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Kemember, Mahs'r, min' dis, now, de sinfulness ob sin Is 'pendin' 'pon de sperrit what we goes an' does it in: 10 An' in a righchis frame ob min' we's gwine to dance an' sing, A-feelin' like King David when he cut de pigeon- wing. It seems to me indeed it do I mebbe mout be wrong That people r'aly ought to dance when Chrismus comes along; Des dance bekase dey's happy like de birds hops in de trees, 15 De pine-top fiddle soundin' to de bowin' ob de breeze. "We has no ark to dance afore, like Isrul's prophet king; We has no harp to soun' de chords, to help us out to sing; But 'cordin' to de gif s we has we does de bes' we knows, An' folks don't spise de vi'let-flower bekase it ain't de rose. 20 You bless us, please, sah, eben ef we's doin' wrong to- night; Ease den we'll need de blessin' more 'n ef we's doin' right; An' let de blessin' stay wid us, untel we comes to die, An' goes to keep our Chrismus wid dem sheriffs in de sky! 280 IRWIN RUSSELL Yes, tell dem preshis anguls we's a-gwine to jine 'em soon : 25 Our voices we's a-trainin' fur to sing de glory tune; We's ready when you wants us, an' it ain't no matter when Maha'r ! call yo' chillun soon, an' take 'em home I Amen. These two selections, together with Boner's, pp. 260, 261, and McNeill's, pp, 336, 337, leave nothing to be added in negro dialect. Nothing better or truer has ever been written in this vein. 281 Samuel Minturn Peck 1854 This writer of graceful songs lives in his native town, Tuscaloosa, Ala. His parents were both from the North, hut lived in, and were identified with, the South. His father, E. Wolsey Peck, was Chief Jus- tice of Alabama. The son was graduated from the University of Alabama, studied medicine (which he never prac- ticed), and later began making songs, nature lyrics, and society verse. Still later he tried prose, and has published a book of stories entitled "Alabama Sketches," which appeared about 1902. He con- tinues to contribute to the magazines, and has con- siderable material toward another volume. His principal collections are " Cap and Bells," " Rings and Love-Knots," and "Rhymes and Roses." He is to America what Austin Dobson is to England. FOREBODING If love could pass as die away The summer winds at ebb of day That through the amber silence stray, Sweet heralds of repose, Whispering in the ear of Mght 5 The memory of the Morning's light, The fragrance of its rose, Then we might love and never dread The awful void when love is dead. 282 SAMUEL MINTURN PECK A SONG FOE THE SOUTH peerless land of tears and smiles, Of fragrant glooms and golden hours, Where Summer's hand with endless wiles Entwines the feet of Time with flowers, Howe'er the tide of fortune flow, 5 Thou hast my heart where'er I go ! No blot of shame thy record mars In senate-hall or lurid fight: Thy spotless fame shines like the stars That guard thee through the balmy night. 10 In weary wanderings to and fro, Thou hast my heart where'er I go ! Thy maids are fair, thy warriors brave, And those at peace beneath the pine, Hymned through the air by wind and wave, 15 Their glory needs no song of mine. native Land ! through weal and woe, Thou hast my heart where'er I go. IN THE SOUTHEKN PINES Oh, art thou weary of the glare Of cities and the fevered show, And dost thou loathe the fret and care That through their ways forever flow? Prithee to me give ear, for lo! Beside a pine-clad Southern hill There is a place to soothe thy woe, Where sings the lonely whip-poor-will. 283 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Thou wilt not hear the trumpet's blare, !Nb diva's shrill arpeggio; 10 No danseuse demi-nude will dare Lorgnettes up-levelled row on row; But purer pleasures thou shalt know, The trembling fern, the purling rill ; For thee shall bound the startled doe 15 Where sings the lonely whip-poor-will. And thou shalt greet beyond compare The fairest vision life can owe, When through the calm and fragrant air The night shall come with stars a-glow, 20 And tall magnolias all a-blow Shall win the zephyrs to be still ; All this is thine if thou wilt go Where sings the lonely whip-poor-will. ENVOY Oh, Prince, I pray this boon bestow 25 On one unlearned in courtier-skill, Come with me now and fear no foe Where sings the lonely whip-poor-will. WHEN THE CRICKET SINGS When the cricket sings with elfin lyre In autumn fields of rich attire, How sweet to gaze, with heart at rest, Where summer's flying feet have pressed The glowing turf! What joy is higher? 5 The sunbeams stretch like golden wire Whereon the winds at their desire Chant choruses with happy zest When the cricket sings. 284 SAMUEL MINTURN PECK Yet when the autumn hues expire, 10 And winter gales shriek out in ire, There comes an hour more truly blest, For Love and I, within our nest, We heed no storm beside the fire When the cricket sings ! u AN ALABAMA GARDEN Along a pine-clad hill it lies, O'erlooked by limpid Southern skies, A spot to feast a fairy's eyes, A nook for happy fancies. The wild bee's mellow monotone 5 Here blends with bird-notes zephyr-blown, And many an insect voice unknown The harmony enhances. The rose's shattered splendor flees With lavish grace on every breeze, 10 And lilies sway with flexile ease Like dryads snowy-breasted; And where gardenias drowse between Eich curving leaves of glossy green, The cricket strikes his tambourine, 16 Amid the mosses nested. Here dawn-flushed myrtles interlace, And sifted sunbeams shyly trace Frail arabesques whose shifting grace Is wrought of shade and shimmer; 20 At eventide scents quaint and rare Go straying through my garden fair, As if they sought with wildered air The fireflies' fitful glimmer. 285 A STUDY IN' SOUTHERN POETRY Oh, could some painter's facile brush 25 On canvas limn my garden's blush, The fevered world its din would hush To crown the high endeavor ; Or could a poet snare in rhyme The breathings of this balmy clime His fame might dare the dart of Time And soar undimmed forever I .. ,. MIGNON" Across the gloom the gray moth speeds To taste the midnight brew, The drowsy lilies tell their beads On rosaries of dew. The stars seem kind, 5 And e'en the wind Hath pity for my woe, Ah, must I sue in vain, ma "belle? Say no, Mignon, say no! Erelong the dawn will come to break 10 The web of darkness through ; Let not my heart unanswered ache That beats alone for you.' Your casement ope And bid me hope, 15 Give me one smile to bless; A word will ease my pain, ma ladle, Say yes, Mignon, say yes ! FOREBODING. The author sent me this tender lit- tle reflection, and it is now printed for the first time. A SONG FOR THE SOUTH. This lyric reveals the author's feeling toward his native Southland. 286 SAMUEL MINTURN PECK IN THE SOUTHERN PINES. This is a ballade, a French form. Examine its complicated structure. It takes rare skill in versification to write it well, for spontaneity is its chief charm, and its restrictions are likely to give it a labored movement. 25. The "Envoy" is an explanatory or commendatory post- script added to this kind of poem. WHEN THE CRICKET SINGS is also a foreign form, a rondeau. The foregoing remarks apply here. AN ALABAMA GARDEN. Classify this poem. What is its mood ? Characterize its diction. Its movement. What is its stanza-form? Is the form figurative? 6. "Zephyr-blown": the word is trite. 11, 12. Is the figure more graceful than illustrative? 12. " Dryads " : nymphs of the woods. 15. Criticise the line. 19. "Arabesques": meaning? The poem is written with delicate appreciation. MIGNON. This is an exquisite little love song, tender in mood and graceful in movement 2, 3. Explain the pretty conceit 287 Armistead Churchill Gordon 1855 Mr. Gordon is a lawyer, living in Staunton, Va., and was at one time mayor of that city. He is a Virginian, born in Albemarle County, and is the grandson of General W. F. Gordon. With Thomas Nelson Page he published " Befo' de War." He himself is the author of " Echoes in Negro Dialect," "For Truth and Freedom," and " The Gay Gordons," this last being a collection of ballads edited by him and containing one of his own. " The Gift of the Morning Star," " The Ivory Gate," " Robin Aroon," " For Truth and Freedom," " Life of General William Fitzhugh Gordon," are others of his works. NEW MAEKET How shall the eternal fame of them be told, Who, dying in the heyday of life's morn, Thrust from their lips the chalice of bright gold Filled to the brim with joy, and went forlorn Into the abysmal darkness of that bourn 5 Whence they who thither go may nevermore return ? The circling seasons pass in old progression Of beauty and of immortality; The ancient stars march on in far procession; And immemorial winds sweep o'er the sea; 10 The mountains drop their wine; the flowers bloom; While these, who should have lived, sleep in an early tomb. 288 ARMISTEAD CHURCHILL GORDON No blight had touched the garlands that they wore, Dewy and fresh with innocence and ruth; No dead illusions or spent glamours bore 15 With heaviness upon them. Their gay youth Caught but the bubbles on the beaker's brim, Nor e'er beheld life's lees with eyes grown old and dim. Were they in love with death's forgetfulness Thus to lie down with the enduring dead? Had wood and stream lost all their loveliness, Or morning's sunshine faded overhead, That they sought surcease of life's sorrows there, Leaving wan Love to weep o'er boyhood's sunny hair ? All the old questionings rise to our lips 25 In the sad contemplation of Youth slain : Life's hidden meaning, and Death's dark eclipse, The passion and the pathos and the pain; The unanswering answer that the wisest reads In the grim mystery that hangs behind the creeds. 30 And yet and yet we old, whose heads are gray, Whose hearts are heavy, and whose steps are slow With journeying on this rough and thorny way, We, who live after them, what may we know Of their ecstatic rapture thus to have died, 36 The marvellous, sleepless souls that perished in their pride? If the worn hearts and weary fall on sleep With a deep longing for its sweet repose, Shall not they, likewise, whom the high Gods keep, Die while yet bloom the lily and the rose ? To each man living comes a day to die : What better day than when Truth calls to Liberty? 289 A STUDY IN 1 SOUTHERN POETRY Writ in the rocks, the world's primeval page Is old past human skill to interpret it, Save where it speaks to grief of man's gray age, 45 And with the end of all things is o'erwrit: All things save one, that hath unfading youth And strength and power and beauty, clear-eyed Truth. On mountain top in valley by the sea, Wherever sleep the patriots who have died 50 In her high honor, at Thermopylae, At Bannockburn, or where great rivers glide, To the wide ocean bordering our own shore, Truth sees the holy face of Freedom evermore! The blood-stained face of Freedom, that hath wrought 55 For man a magic and a mystery: Whose bright blade, e'en, when broken, yet hath bought A grave with the eternal for the free. Freedom and Truth, these went beside them there, Marching to deathless death, forever young and fair. 60 " Send the Cadets in ! and may God forgive ! " Who spake the words had welcomed rather death. But truth dies not, and Liberty shall live, E'en though Youth wither in the cannon's breath. 65 And at the order, debonair and gay, They move into the front of an immortal day. 290 ARMISTEAD CHURCHILL GORDON " Battalion forward ! " rang the sharp command ; " Guide centre ! " and the banner was unfurled. Then, as if on parade, the little band Dressed to the flag. A sad and sombre world 70 Thrills with the memory of how they went, Into that raging storm of fire and carnage blent. A worn and weary world in sorrow weeps For high hopes vanished at life's sunny morn ; Yet Truth with eyes that never falter, keeps 75 Her gaze on Freedom's face, that smiles in scorn Of death for them who wear the laurelled crown, The early dead, who die with an achieved renown. Creeds fade, faiths perish ; empires rise and fall ; And as the shining sun goes on his way, Oblivion covers with a dusty pall The life of man, predestined to decay. Yet is there one thing that shall never die: The memory of the Dead for Truth and Liberty. This poem was read June 23, 1903, at the dedi- cation of Sir Moses Ezekiel's monument to the mem- ory of the cadets of the Virginia Military Institute who fell in the battle of New Market, Va., May 15, 1864. What type of poem? 52, 53. What battles are meant in " or where great rivers glide," etc. ? 291 William Hamilton Hayne 1856 The son of Paul Hamilton Hayne inherited a goodly share of his father's lyric gift. He grew to manhood at " Copse Hill " under the careful direc- tion of his refined parents, and attained to an inti- mate knowledge of English literature and music. His poems are usually brief, many of them taking the quatrain form. His power of concentration is at times striking. No better illustration of this state- ment could be offered than the first selection from his work, " The Head of Mobe." Mr. Hayne has published one volume, " Sylvan Lyrics/' and contributes occasionally to some of our leading periodicals. He now lives in Augusta, Ga. THE HEAD OF NIOBE In the Uffizi Gallery Lips that withhold the anguish she had known, Perpetual pathos in the voiceless stone, The eyes decreed in dead Olympian years A mournful immortality of tears. THE BUST OF KROJSTOS In the Vatican Museum A half-veiled head, a sad, unfurrowed face, Titanic power and more than mortal grace; Across wan lips and eyes bereft of light The awful shadow of unending night. 292 WILLIAM HAMILTON HAYNE IN SHADOW-LAND In shadow-land I wander far Without the clasp of that dear hand, Whose mother-love was like a star In shadow-land. Her soul has reached the shining strand 5 Where waves that roll from Death's dark bar Lapse into light and music grand. She dwells where darkness cannot mar The hills of God, by glory spanned, I roam where grief's gray memories are 10 In shadow-land. THE SCREECH-OWL I He loves the dark, he shuns the light, His soul rejoices in the night ! When the sun's latest glow has fled, Weird as a warning from the dead, His voice comes o'er the startled rills, 5 And the black hollows of the hills, As though to chant, in language fell, An invocation caught from Hell! II He seeks the dark, he shuns the light, His soul rejoices in the night ! 293 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY He loves to think man's breath must pass Like a spent wind amid the grass ; And oft the bitterest blows of Fate, His eerie cries anticipate! Ah ! once he knew in realms below The mysteries of Death and Woe; ' And in his sombre wings are furled The secrets of the under world! THE SOUTHERN SNOW-BIRD I see a tiny fluttering form Beneath the soft snow's soundless storm 'Mid a strange moonlight palely shed Through mocking cloud-rifts overhead. All other birds are far from sight, 5 They think the day has turned to night; But he is cast in hardier mould, This chirping courier of the cold. He does not come from lands forlorn, Where midnight takes the place of morn ; 10 Nor did his dauntless heart, I know, Beat first above Siberian snow; And yet an arctic bird he seems; Though nurtured near our southern streams. The tip of his small tail may be 15 A snow-storm in epitome. 294 WILLIAM HAMILTON HAYNE A SEA LYRIC There is no music that man has heard, Like the voice of the minstrel sea, Whose major and minor chords are fraught With infinite mystery For the sea is a harp, and the winds of God 5 Play over his rhythmic breast, And bear on the sweep of their mighty wings The song of a vast unrest. There is no passion that man has sung, Like the love of the deep-souled sea, 10 Whose tide responds to the moon's soft light With marvelous melody For the sea is a harp, and the winds of God Play over. his rhythmic breast, And bear on the sweep of their mighty wings The song of a vast unrest. There is no sorrow that man has known, Like the grief of the wordless main, Whose Titan bosom forever throbs With an untranslated pain 20 For the sea is a harp, and the winds of God Play over his rhythmic breast, And bear on the sweep of their mighty wings The song of a vast unrest. IN SHADOW LAND. Compare this rondeau with Peck's, p. 284, and note the difference in their form. THE SCREECH-OWL is written in couplets. Point out how the setting and the diction are in harmony with the theme. 295 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY THE SOUTHERN SNOW-BIRD. This, too, is written with keen appreciation. Contrast its treatment with the foregoing. 8, 16. Very felicitous lines; match them elsewhere in the poem. A SEA LYRIC. This poem, taken from the Atlan- tic Monthly, in which it first appeared, is one of the author's very best poems. It is indeed a haunting melody. 296 Frank Lebby Stanton 1857 Mr. Stanton is a South Carolinian. He was born in Charleston, but for the most of his life has been a resident of Atlanta, Ga. He is on the editorial staff of the Constitution, and contributes a column daily to that paper, verses, witticisms, etc. While these songs necessarily lack thought and finish, dashed off as they are to fill waiting space, yet now and then one sings with lyric beauty. He has issued three volumes, " Songs of a Day," " Songs of the Soil/' and " Comes One with a Song/' His poems are widely popular. MY DEAD FKIEND Adown the vale of Life together We walked in Spring and Winter weather, When days were dim, when days were bright; My friend of whom God's will bereft me, Whose kind, congenial spirit left me 5 And went forth in the Unknown Night. I saw his step grow more invalid, I saw his cheek grow pallid pallid, And wither like a dying rose; Until, at length, being all too weary 10 For Life's rude scenes and places dreary, He bade farewell to friends and foes. 297 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY This is his grave. The Spring with flowers Bestrews it in the morning hours, Her rarest roses o'er him bowed; 1B And Summer pauses to deplore him, And weeping Winter arches o'er him Her solemn drapery of cloud. He was not faultless. God, who gave him Life, and Christ, who died to save him, 20 Sent Sorrow, wherewith he was tried; And if, as I who loved him name him, There should be heard a voice to blame him, May we not answer, " Christ hath died"? Ah, verily! ... I fancy often 25 I see his kindly features soften, I mark his melting eyes grow dim, While Hunger, with its pained appealing, Its want and woe and grief revealing, Stretched its imploring palms to him. 30 He cannot answer now. He never, In all the dim, vast, deep Forever, Shall speak with human words again. He cannot hear the song-birds calling; He cannot feel the Spring dews falling, 35 Nor sigh when Winter winds complain. Deep is his sleep. He would not waken Though earth were to her centre shaken By the loud thunders of a God. Though the strong sea, by tempest driven, 40 With wailing waves rock earth and heaven, He would not answer from the sod. FRANK LEBBY STANTON So be it, friend ! A little while hence, And in the drear, deep, dreamless silence We too shall share thy couch of rest. 45 When we have trod Life's pathways dreary, Kind Death will take the hands grown weary, And gently fold them o'er the breast. Sleep on, dear friend! No marble column Gleams in the lights and shadows solemn 50 Over the grasses on thy grave ; But flowers bloom there the roses love thee; And the tall oaks that tower above thee, Their broad, green banners o'er thee wave. Sleep, while the weary years are flying; B5 While men are born, while men are dying ! Sleep on thy curtained couch of sod! Thine be the rest which Christ hath given, Thine be the Christian's hope of Heaven; Thine be the perfect peace of God ! 60 LITTLE ELAINE Where have you gone, little Elaine, With eyes like violets wet with rain Silvery April rain that throws (Ah, never with eyes as bright as those!) Melting diamonds over the rose. You have left me alone, but where have you flown? God knows, my dear, God knows! A STUDY IN* SOUTHERN POETRY Where have you gone, little Elaine, With laughing lips of the crimson stain Lips that smiled as the sunlight glows When morning breaks like a white, sweet rose Over the wearisome winter snows? Shall I miss their song my whole life long? God knows, my dear, God knows ! You have left me lonely, little Elaine : & I call to you, but I call in vain; I sing to you when the twilight throws Its dying light on my life's last rose, While the tide of memory ebbs and flows. Is it God's own will I should miss you still ? God knows, my dear, God knows! GOOD-BY There's "a kind o' chilly feelin' in the blowin' o' the breeze, An' a sense o' sadness stealin' through the tresses o' the trees; And it's not the sad September that's slowly drawin' nigh, But jest that I remember I'm here to say " Good-by." " Good-by," the wind is wailin' ; " good-by," the trees complain, 5 An' bend low down to whisper, with green leaves white with rain ; " Good-by," the roses murmur, an' the bendin' lilies sigh, As if they all felt sorry that I'm come to say " Good- V 800 FRANK LEBBY STANTON I reckon all have said it, some time or other soft An' easy like with eyes low down, that couldn't look aloft 10 Fer the tears that trembled in 'em, fer the lips that choked the sigh When it kind o' took holt o' the heart, an' made it beat "Good-by!" I didn't think 'twas hard to say, but standin' here alone, With the pleasant past behin' me, an' the future all unknown, A gloomin' yonder in the dark, I can't keep back the sigh, 15 An' I'm weepin' like a woman as I tell you all " Good- by!" The work I've done is with you; maybe some things went wrong, Like a note that jars the music in the sweet flow of a song! But, brethren, when you think o' me, I only ask you would Say as the Master said o' one : " He's done just what he could!" 20 An' when you sit together in the time that's goin' to be, By your bright an' beamin' firesides in this pleasant land o' Lee, Let the sweet past come before you, an' with some- thin' like a sigh, Jest say: "We ain't f ergot him since the day he said "Good-by!" 301 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY MY DEAD FRIEND. A dignified expression of a manly sorrow. At times the poem reaches exalted utterance, as, for instance, in line 32. 36-41. Is this passage in the same key as the verse mentioned ? 43. "While hence," rhyming with "silence/' is as un- expected as Browning's somewhat similar " silence " with " mile hence " in " The Pied Piper of Hamelin," or his " from mice " with " promise/' in the same poem. LITTLE ELAINE. A lyric of tender sentiment, wor- thy to be classed with some of those by Aldrich, Field, and Riley. GOOD-BY. This is introduced as a representative of the author's dialect verse, in which class by far the most of his work falls. What is the theme in this poem? 20. What of this quotation? What is the measure? The movement? 302 Henry Jerome Stockard 1858 [Mr. Stockard's poems are included in this volume at our request. THE PUBLISHEBS.] Mr. Stockard is a native of North Carolina, where he has resided nearly all his life. He was educated at the Graham High School, and pursued a course at the State University, Chapel Hill, N. C. He is an educator, has been a member of the faculties of the University of North Carolina, Fredericksburg Col- lege (Va.), etc., and is at this time the president of Peace Institute, Raleigh, N. C., with which college he has been connected for about ten years. Mr. Stockard has contributed occasionally to some of our leading periodicals, Harper's, the Century, etc., and is the author of one volume of verse, " Fugi- tive Lines" (1897), published by the Putnams of New York. He is also the author of this " Study in Southern Poetry/' SHAKESPEARE He heard the Voice that spake and, unafraid, Beheld at dawning of primeval light The systems flame to being, move in flight Unmeasured, unimagined, and unstayed. He stood at nature's evening and surveyed Dissolved worlds, saw uncreated night About the universe's depth and height 303 A STUDY INi SOUTHERN POETRY Slowly and silently forever laid. Down the pale avenues of death he trod, And, trembling, gazed on scenes of hate that chilled 1( > His blood, and for a breath his pulses stilled : Then clouds from sun-bright shores a moment rolled And, blinded, glimpsed he One with thunder shod, Crowned with the stars, and with the morning stoled! SCIENCE She leads the sea through hills of Darien, And brings the east and west to every door, With silent influence drawing more and more Into close brotherhood the tribes of men. She holds the trail of Pain to his secret den; 6 The dim process of being dares explore ; Spells slowly out on mountain, rock, and shore The syllables of God to mortal ken. She yet may sail from vague, cloud-builded piers, And lay along the darkness and the wind 10 A cable vast which world to world shall bind ; Breathless, may catch the deep, slow speech of Mars, Now, haply, passing on from outer spheres The grave, tremendous message of the stars. MOLLUSCS Down where the bed of ocean sinks profound, Lodged in the clefts and chasms of the deep Where silence and eternal darkness keep These dumb primordial living forms abound. What know they of this life in the vast round 304 HENRY JEROME STOCKARD Of earth and air, how wild the pulses leap At love's sweet dream, what storms of sorrow sweep, What hopes allure us and what terrors hound? And, scattered on these slopes and plains below This atmospheric sea, one with the worm 10 And beetle, for a momentary term, What know we more of those ethereal spheres, What rapture may be there, what poignant woe, What towering passions and what high careers? AS SOME MYSTERIOUS WANDERER OF THE SKIES As some mysterious wanderer of the skies, Emerging from the deeps of outer dark, Traces for once in human ken the arc Of its stupendous curve, then swiftly flies Out through some orbit veiled in space, which lies 5 Where no imagination may embark, Some onward-reaching track that God did mark For all eternity beneath his eyes, So comes the soul forth from creation's vast; So clothed with mystery moves through mortal sight; 1 Then sinks away into the Great Unknown. What systems it hath seen in all the past, What worlds shall blaze upon its future flight, Thou knowest, eternal God, and thou alone I 305 Benjamin Sledd 1864 Mr. Sledd was born in Virginia, and was educated at Washington and Lee University, that State, where in 1886 he was graduated with the degree of M. A. Immediately he entered upon a course at Johns Hop- kins, but was compelled to give up his plans on ac- count of failing sight. Since 1888 he has been a professor in Wake Forest College, Wake Forest, N. C. Mr. Sledd has published two volumes of verses, " From Cliff and Scaur" and " The Watchers of the Hearth/' and he has yet another ready for the press, " Idylls of the Old South/' There is a chord of melancholy distinct in the poef s lyrics which at times becomes a major tone. MY SILENT GUEST In the lone night she comes And clasps her hand in mine; We speak not : silence has A language more divine. Day with its weary strife, Night with its gloom, forgot: Soul and soul are wandering Where day and night come not. 306 BENJAMIN SLEDD ISAAC "Wood fur marster; Tcin'lin' wood." NEGBO MELODY. Where the pine-woods in the twilight murmur sadly of the past, Singing goes he, with the fagots o'er his bended shoulder cast, Poor old Isaac, of a vanished time and order, best and last. And his song is of the master, many a year now in his grave, Loved as brother loveth brother, worthy master, worthy slave. 5 "Wood fur marster; kin'lin' wood! " oh, the mem- ory of the days Blessed with more than ease and plenty, freer hearts and gentler ways. Once again 'tis Christmas morning, and I watch with sleepless eyes Where the phantom of the Yule log 'mid its ashes glimmering lies. Isaac's horn, without, is sounding day-break sum- mons unto all. 10 Mansion, cabin, byre and sheepfold, waken to the mellow call. And 'tis Isaac's noiseless shadow starts the pine-knots into flame; To the trundle-bed then stealing, whispers low each sleeper's name, Loving forfeit of the children, who but Isaac first to claim? 307 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY And lie tells of many a secret Santa Glaus alone should know, Mysteries that will not wait the morning's tardy light to show. And the treasures without number fashioned by the dear old hand Childhood's inmost, sweetest longings, who so well could understand? Christ, who so loved little children, bless him in that better land ! For no more the aged figure comes at sunset down the way: Yonder stands his empty cabin slowly yielding to decay. Weeds and creepers now are struggling where we played before the door, And the rabbit hides her litter there beneath the sunken floor. Trees are springing where the pathway to the mas- ter's mansion led, And the feet which trooped along it, all are vanished, some are dead. 25 " Wood fur marster ; kin'lin' wood ! " comes the old remembered strain; Hush! 'tis Isaac softly singing by his cabin door again! Only swallows in the twilight round the chimney twittering go, Mournful token of the hearthstone cold and tenant- less below. 308 BENJAMIN SLEDD In the old forsaken garden, sleeps the master, sleeps the slave: And the pines to-night are sighing o'er each unre- membered grave. DECADENCE They weary us, those mighty bards of old Who sang alone of war and fateful wrong, Their accents for our tired lives too strong, Which all the voices of the past must hold. And Ilion's woe, divinest tale e'er told, 5 Can win us not; nor Milton's seraph song; And even he, lord of the buskined throng, Speaks in a language harsh and overbold. Better in time's still, pensive noon to lie ? Mid the sweet grass, on lonely pasture slopes 10 Some lowly poet's new-discovered rhymes, A far white hamlet, with its faint-heard chimes, Murmur of youth and maiden loitering by, And all our little world of dreams and hopes. INTEECESSION To-night, methought, across the moonlight's play Upon my wall, a shadowy hand was thrust, And past my lattice, like a wandering gust Of ghostly wind, that wailing dies away, Came a low voice. "A year," it seemed to say, 5 " And earth shall hold in her mysterious trust Thy little all of silent, sightless dust, Waiting some far-off, prophet-promised day ! " And while I listened, awed but undismayed, 309 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Half joyed to give life's long, hard conflict o'er, 10 Came sound of little feet upon my floor, And touch of soft, warm cheeks pressed to my own. And through the gloom, with burning heart I prayed, " Spare me, ye powers, till my brood be flown ! " MY SILENT GUEST. These lines have reference to a lost child. They are stamped with sincerity. ISAAC. A true picture of a character that is pass- ing away rapidly too rapidly. What type of poem is this? Its measure? Its theme? DECADENCE. What is the exact theme in this son- net? 6. "Ilion": Troy. 7. "Lord of the buskined throng": Shakespeare. Explain buskined. 8. Jus- tify the criticism. INTERCESSION. The author's love for children is shown again here. Give the scheme of this and con- trast its sestet with that of the foregoing. 11, 12. A tender sentiment. 310 Madison Julius Cawein 1865 No other American of to-day has taken up verse- writing with more earnestness than Mr. Cawein, and very few with so much success. He has already is- sued eight or ten volumes, and is yet a young man. His first collection, put forth when he was a school- boy, attracted the favorable notice of recognized crit- ics; and if one may judge by his growth in his art since its appearance the author has entered upon a career honorable alike to himself and to the South. Among his books may be named the following: " Blooms of the Berry," " Accolon of Gaul," " Lyrics and Idylls/' " Moods and Memories," " Red Leaves and Roses," "Undertones," "The Garden of Dreams," "Shapes and Shadows," "Idyllic Mono- logues," "One Day and Another," "Weeds by the Wall," and "A Voice on the Wind." A collec- tion of his poems, made by Mr. Edmund Gosse, was published, 1902, in England under the title, " Ken- tucky Poems," and was received with cordial favor throughout that country. Besides his original work, he has made good translations, in their original me- ters, of tlie German poets from Goethe to Geibel. His poems are instinct with true feeling, graceful in diction, rich in imagery, and vivid in imagination. Mr. Cawein is a native of Louisville, Ky., where he now lives. 811 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY A TWILIGHT MOTH Dusk is thy dawn ; when Eve puts on her state Of gold and purple in the marblest west, Thou comest forth like some embodied trait, Or dim conceit, a lily-bud confessed; Or, of a rose, the visible wish ; that, white, 5 Goes softly messengering through the night, Whom each expectant flower makes it guest. All day the primroses have thought of thee, Their golden heads close-haremed from the heat; All day the mystic moonflowers silkenly 10 Veiled snowy faces, that no bee might greet Or butterfly that, weighed with pollen, passed; Keeping Sultana charms for thee, at last, Their lord, who comest to salute each sweet. Cool-throated flowers that avoid the day's 15 Too fervid kisses; every bud that drinks The tipsy dew and to the starlight plays Nocturnes of fragrance, thy winged shadow links In bonds of secret brotherhood and faith; bearer of their order's shibboleth, 20 Like some pale symbol fluttering o'er these pinks. What dost thou whisper in the balsam's ear That sets it blushing, or the hollyhock's, A syllabled silence that no man may hear, As dreamily upon its stem it rocks? 25 What spell dost bear from listening plant to plant, Like some white witch, some ghostly ministrant, Some spectre of some perished flower of phlox? 312 MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN voyager of that universe which lies Between the four walls of this garden fair, 30 Whose constellations are the fireflies That wheel their instant courses everywhere, 'Mid fairy firmaments wherein one sees Mimic Bootes and the Pleiades, Thou steerest like some fairy ship-of-air. 35 Gnome-wrought of moonbeam fluff and gossamer, Silent as scent, perhaps thou chariotest Mab or King Oberon; or, haply, her His queen, Titania, on some midnight quest. for the herb, the magic euphrasy, 40 That should unmask thee to mine eyes, ah, me ! And all that world at which my soul hath guessed ! THE TREE TOAD Secluded, solitary on some underbough, Or cradled in a leaf, 'mid glimmering light, Like Puck thou crouchest : Haply watching how The slow toad-stool comes bulging, moony white, Through loosening loam; or how, against the night, 5 The glow-worm gathers silver to endow The darkness with; or how the dew conspires To hang at dusk with lamps of chilly fires Each blade that shrivels now. 313 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY II vague confederate of the whip-poor-will, 10 Of owl and cricket and the katydid ! Thou gatherest up the silence in one shrill Vibrating note and send'st it where, half hid In cedars, twilight sleeps each azure lid Drooping a line of golden eyehall still. * 15 Afar, yet neat, I hear thy dewy voice Within the Garden of the Hours apoise On dusk's deep daffodil. Ill Minstrel of moisture ! silent when high noon Shows her tanned face among the thirsting clover And parching meadows thy tenebrious tune 21 Wakes with the dew or when the rain is over, Thou troubadour of wetness and damp lover Of all cool things ! admitted comrade boon Of twilight's hush, and little intimate 25 Of eve's first fluttering star and delicate Eound rim of rainy moon! IV Art trumpeter of Dwarf -land? does thy horn Inform the gnomes and goblins of the hour When they may gambol under haw and thorn, 30 Straddling each winking web and twinkling flower ? Or bell-ringer of Elf-land ? whose tall tower The liriodendron is? from whence is borne The elfin music of thy bell's deep bass, To summon fairies to their starlit maze, 86 To summon them or warn. 314 MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN DKOUTH The hot sunflowers by the glaring pike Lift shields of sultry brass ; the teasel tops, Pink-thorned, advance with bristling spike on spike Against the furious sunlight. Field and copse Are sick with summer now, with breathless stops The locusts cymbal; now grasshoppers beat 6 Their castanets: and rolled in dust, a team, Like some mean life wrapped in its sorry dream, An empty wagon rattles through the heat. II Where now the blue, blue flags? the flow'rs whose mouths Are moist and musky? Where the sweet-breathed mint, That made the brook-bank herby? Where the South's Wild morning-glories, rich in hues, that hint At coming showers that the rainbows tint? x * Where all the blossoms tl^at the wildwood knows ? The frail oxalis hidden in its leaves; The Indian-pipe, pale as a soul that grieves; The freckled touch-me-not and forest-rose. Ill Dead ! dead ! all dead besides the drouth-burnt brook, Shrouded in moss or in the shriveled grass. 20 Where waved their bells, from which the wild-bee shook The dew-drop once, gaunt, in a nightmare mass, 315 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY The rank weeds crowd; through which the cattle pass, Thirsty and lean, seeking some meagre spring, Closed in with thorns, on which stray bits of wool The panting sheep have left, that sought the cool, From morn till evening wearily wandering. IV No bird is heard; no throat to whistle awake The sleepy hush; to let its music leak Fresh, bubble-like, through bloom-roofs of the brake: 30 Only the green-blue heron, famine weak, Searching the stale pools of the minnowless creek, Utters its call; and then the rain-crow, too, False prophet now, croaks to the stagnant air; While overhead, still as if painted there, 35 A buzzard hangs, black on the burning blue. BEFORE THE RAIN Before the rain, low in the obscure east, Weak and morose the moon hung, sickly gray; Around its disc the storm mists, cracked and creased, Wove an enormous web, wherein it lay Like some white spider hungry for its prey. 5 Vindictive looked the scowling firmament, In which each star, that flashed a dagger ray, Seemed filled with malice of some dark intent. 316 MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN The marsh-frog croaked; and underneath the stone The peevish cricket raised a creaking cry. 10 Within the world these sounds were heard alone, Save when the ruffian wind swept from the sky, Making each tree like some sad spirit sigh; Or shook the clumsy beetle from its weed, That, in the drowsy darkness, bungling by, 15 Sharded the silence with its feverish speed. Slowly the tempest gathered. Hours passed Before was heard the thunder's sullen drum Bumbling night's hollow ; and the Earth at last, Kestless with waiting, like a woman, dumb 20 With doubting of the love that should have clomb Her casement hours ago, avowed again, 'Mid protestations, joy that he had come. And all night long I heard the Heavens explain. FEUD A mile of lane, hedged high with iron-weeds And dying daisies, white with sun, that leads Downward into a wood; through which a stream Steals like a shadow; over which is laid A bridge of logs, worn deep by many a team, 6 Sunk in the tangled shade. Far off a wood-dove lifts it's lonely cry; And in the sleepy silver of the sky A gray hawk wheels scarce larger than a hand. From point to point the road grows worse and worse, 10 Until that place is reached where all the land Seems burdened with some curse. 517 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY A ragged fence of pickets, warped and sprung, On which the fragments of a gate are hung, Divides a hill, the fox and ground-hog haunt, 15 A wilderness of briers; o'er whose tops A battered barn is seen, low-roofed and gaunt, 'Mid fields that know no crops. Fields over which a path, o'erwhelmed with burrs And ragweeds, noisy with the grasshoppers, 20 Leads, lost, irresolute as paths the cows "Wear through the woods, unto a woodshed; then, With wrecks of windows, to a huddled house, Where men have murdered men. A house, whose tottering chimney, clay and rock, 25 Is seamed and crannied ; whose lame door and lock Are bullet-bored; around which, there and here, Are sinister stains. One dreads to look around. The place seems thinking of that time of fear And dares not breathe a sound. 30 Within is emptiness: the sunlight falls On faded journals papering its walls; On advertisement chromos, torn with time, Around a hearth where wasps and spiders build. The house is dead ; meseems that night of crime 35 It, too, was shot and killed. THE MAN IN GRAY I Again, in dreams, the veteran hears The bugle and the drum; Again the boom of battle nears, Again the bullets hum; 318 MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN Again he mounts, again he cheers, 5 Again his charge speeds home memories of those long gone years ! years that are to come ! We live in dreams as well as deeds, in thoughts as as well as acts; And life through things we feel, not know, is real- ized the most; 10 The conquered are the conquerors, despite the face of facts, If they still feel their cause was just who fought for it and lost. II Again, in thought, he hears at dawn The far reveille die; Again he marches stern and wan ** Beneath a burning sky: He bivouacs; the night comes on; His comrades 'round him lie memories of the years long gone! years that now go by ! 20 The vintager of Earth is War, is War whose grapes are men; Into his wine-vats armies go, his wine-vats steam- ing red: The crimson vats of battle where he stalks, as in a den, Drunk with the must of Hell that spurts beneath his iron tread. 319 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY III Again, in mind, he's lying where 25 The trenches slay with heat; Again his flag floats o'er him, fair In charge or fierce retreat: Again all's lost; again despair Makes death seem three times sweet 30 O years of tears that crowned his hair With laurels of defeat! There is reward for those who dare, for those who dare and do; Who face the dark inevitable, who fall and know no shame: Upon their banner triumph sits and in the horn they blew, Naught's lost if honor be not lost, defeat is but a name. ENCHANTMENT The deep seclusion of this forest path, O'er which the green boughs weave a canopy, Along which bluet and anemone Spread a dim carpet; where the twilight hath Her dark abode ; and, sweet as aftermath, 5 Wood-fragrance breathes, has so enchanted me, That yonder blossoming bramble seems to be Some sylvan resting, rosy from her bath: Has so enspelled me with tradition's dreams, That every foam-white stream that twinkling flows, 10 320 MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN And every bird that flutters wings of tan, Or warbles hidden, to my fancy seems A Naiad dancing to a Faun who blows Wild woodland music on the pipes of Pan. CAVERNS Written of Colossal Cave, Kentucky Aisles and abysses; leagues no man explores, Of rock that labyrinths and night that drips; Where everlasting silence broods, with lips Of adamant, o'er earthquake-builded floors. Where forms, such as the Demon- World adores, * Laborious water carves; whence echo slips Wild-tongued o'er pools where petrifaction strips Her breasts of crystal from which crystal pours. Here where primordial fear, the Gorgon, sits Staring all life to stone in ghastly mirth, 10 I seem to tread, with awe no tongue can tell, Beneath vast domes, by torrent-tortured pits, 'Mid wrecks terrific of the ruined Earth, An ancient causeway of forgotten Hell. A TWILIGHT MOTH. A nature lyric. Select im- aginative touches, as, for instance, 29-35. Study the classical allusions. THE TREE TOAD. Classify this, and characterize its diction. 4. What distinguishes this line? Any especially fine imagery in the poem ? DROUTH. An intimate knowledge of nature is disclosed in this. The picture is well drawn. The poet seems to have a fondness for compounds. His epithets are especially felicitous: "glaring pike/' " sorry dream," " meagre spring," etc. His rhymes 321 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY are unusual, unhackneyed. Justify this assertion here and in the other selections. BEFORE THE BAIN. Another nature lyric into which description enters with fine effect. 10. "Peevish cricket": point out other equally signifi- cant epithets. 15, 16. Striking lines. 18, 19. A notable case of correspondence between sound and sense. 20. The figure is not so apt as the diction. 24. Meaning? FEUD. A descriptive poem pervaded by a spirit of horror. The theme is treated by a firm hand and from original sources. Some of the most fatal feuds in our history have been in Kentucky. THE MAN IN GRAY. This poem was written for the reunion of the Confederate Veterans at Louis- ville, Ky., 1900. Type of poem? 21-24. What dis- tinguishes this passage? What is the central thought in the lines for instance, from 33 to 36? ENCHANTMENT. Delicacy of thought and diction characterizes this sonnet. 13, 14. Explain mytho- logical names. CAVERNS. What characterizes this? 2. Origin of the word labyrinth ? 8. " Gorgon " : explain the allusion as revealed in the next line. 14. " Cause- way": meaning? 322 Walter Malone 1866 Mr. Malone is a native of De Soto County, Miss- issippi, and an alumnus of the University of that State, class of 1887. For ten years he practiced law in Memphis, going to New York City in 1897, where he lived three years and engaged in literary pursuits. In 1900 he returned to Memphis and resumed his profession. He resides there now, and has been raised to the bench. He has been a faithful wooer of the Muse. Some of his published volumes of verse are the following: "Claribel, and Other Poems/' "The Outcast, and Other Poems/' "Narcissus, and Other Poems/' " Songs of Dusk and Dawn/' " Songs of December and June," " The Coming of the King," " Songs of the North and South," and " Poems." OCTOBER IN TENNESSEE Far, far away, beyond a hazy height, The turquoise skies are hung in dreamy sleep; Below, the fields of cotton, fleecy-white, Are spreading like a mighty flock of sheep. Now, like Aladdin of the days of old, October robes the weeds in purple gowns; He sprinkles all the sterile fields with gold, And all the rustic trees wear royal crowns. 323 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY The straggling fences are all interlaced With pink and azure morning-glory blooms, 10 The starry asters glorify the waste, While grasses stand on guard with pikes and plumes. Yet still amid the splendor of decay The chill winds call for blossoms that are dead, The cricket chirps for sunshine passed away, 15 And lovely Summer songsters that have fled. And lonesome in a haunt of withered vines, Amid the flutter of her withered leaves, Pale Summer for her perished Kingdom pines, And all the glories of her golden sheaves. In vain October woos her to remain Within the palace of his scarlet bowers, Entreats her to forget her heart-break pain, And weep no more above her faded .flowers. At last November, like a Conqueror, comes 25 To storm the golden city of his foe; We hear his rude winds, like the roll of drums, Bringing their desolation and their woe. The sunset, like a vast vermilion flood, Splashes its giant glowing waves on high, 80 The forest flames with foliage red as blood, A conflagration sweeping to the sky. Then all the treasures of that brilliant state Are gathered in a mighty funeral pyre; October, like a King resigned to fate, 35 Dies in his forests, with their sunset fire. 324 WALTER MALONE AUTUMN IN THE SOUTH This livelong day I listen to the fall Of hickory nuts and acorns to the ground, The croak of rain-crows and the blue jay's call, The woodman's axe that hews with muffled sound. And like a spendthrift in a threadbare coat 6 That still retains a dash of crimson hue, An old woodpecker chatters forth a note About the better Summer days he knew. Across the road a ruined cabin stands, With ragweeds and with thistles at its door, 10 While withered cypress vines hang tattered strands About its falling roof and rotting floor. In yonder forest nook no sound is heard Save when the walnuts patter on the earth, Or when by winds the hectic leaves are stirred 15 To dance like witches in their maniac mirth. Down in the orchard hang the golden pears, Half honeycombed by yellow-hammer beaks; Near by, a dwarfed and twisted apple bears Its fruit, brown-red as Amazonian cheeks. 20 The lonesome landscape seems as if it yearned Like our own aching hearts, when first we knew The one love of our life was not returned, Or first we found an old-time friend untrue. At last the night comes, and the broad white moon 25 Is welcomed by the owl with frenzied glee; The fat opossum, like a satyr, soon Blinks at its light from yon persimmon tree. S25 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY The raccoon starts to hear long-dreaded sounds, Amid his scattered spoils of ripened corn 30 The cry of negroes and the yelp of hounds, The wild, rude pealing of a hunter's horn. At last a gray mist covers all the land Until we seem to wander in a cloud, Far, far away upon some elfin strand 35 Where Sorrow drapes us in a mildewed shroud. No voice is heard in field or forest nigh To break the desolation of the spell Save one sad mocking-bird in boughs near by, Who sings like Tasso in his madman's cell; 40 While one magnolia blossom, ghastly white, Like high-born Leonora, lingering there, Haughty and splendid in the lonesome night, Is pale with passion in her dumb despair. "HE WHO HATH LOVED" He who hath loved hath borne a vassal's chain, And worn the royal purple of a king; Hath shrunk beneath the icy Winter's sting, Then reveled in the golden Summer's reign; He hath within the dust and ashes lain, Then soared o'er mountains on an eagle's wing; A hut hath slept in, worn with wandering, And hath been lord of castle-towers in Spain. 826 WALTER MALONE He who hath loved hath starved in beggar's cell, Then in Aladdin's jeweled chariot driven; He hath with passion roamed a demon fell, And had an angel's raiment to him given; His restless soul hath burned with flames of hell, And winged through ever-blooming fields of heaven. OCTOBER IN TENNESSEE. What class of poem does this represent? 5. " Aladdin": explain the char- acter. 12. An imaginative line. Point out other like touches. Some of the figures are striking; choose the best for analysis. AUTUMN IN THE SOUTH. Does this fall in the same class with the foregoing? Which predomi- nates, description or reflection ? 20. " Amazonian " : interpret. 25-28. What felicitous imagery? 40. Explain the allusion. " HE WHO HATH LOVED/' This is one of the poet's best pieces of verse. The theme justifies the hyper- boles. It is the Petrarchan type of sonnet Com- pare it with the Shakesperean and state wherein they differ. 327 Virginia Frazer Boyle 18 Mrs. Boyle is a daughter of the late Col. Charles Wesley Frazer, who was an officer in the Confederate Army. She was married to Mr. Thomas E. Boyle, an attorney of Memphis, Tenn., her native city, where she has always lived. She comes of old Col- onial and [Revolutionary stock on both sides, repre- senting North Carolina and Virginia lines. Her writings, both prose and verse, have appeared in the Atlantic, the Century, Harper's, and other like magazines. "The Other Side," her first book, a poem of the South from its settlement through Ee- construction, was well received both North and South. The same may be said of " Brokenburne," a love story of the war. " Devil Tales," published by Harper's in 1900, a series of old nurses' stories, which first ran through their magazine, possesses literary and dramatic interest. Other books by her are " Serena/' a novel, and " Love Songs and Bugle Calls/' THE WIZAED OP THE SADDLE It was out of the South that the lion heart came, From the ranks of the Gray like the flashing of flame, A juggler with fortune, a master with fame The rugged heart born to command. 328 VIRGINIA FRAZER BOYLE And he rode by the star of an unconquered will, 6 And he struck with the might of an undaunted skill, Unschooled, but as firm as the granite-flanked hill As true and as tried as steel. Though the Gray were outnumbered, he counted no odd, But fought like a demon and struck like a god, 10 Disclaiming defeat on the blood-curdled sod, As he pledged to the South that he loved. 'Twas saddle and spur, or on foot in the field, Unguided by tactics that knew how to yield; Stripped of all, save his honor, but rich in that shield, 15 Full armored by nature's own hand. As the rush of the storm, he swept on the foe ; It was " Come ! " to his legions, he never said " Go ! " With sinews unbending, how could the world know That he rallied a starving host? For the wondering ranks of the foe were like clay To these men of flint in the molten day ; And the hell-hounds of war howled afar for their prey, When the arm of a Forrest led. For devil or angel, life stirred when he spoke, 25 And the current of courage, if slumbering, woke At the yell of the leader, for never was broke The record men wondering read. With a hundred he charged like a thousand men, And the hoofbeats of one seemed the tattoo of ten ; 30 What bar were burned bridges or flooded fords when The wizard of battles was there 1 829 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY But his pity could bend to a fallen foe, The mailed hand soothe a brother's woe; There was time to be human, for tears to flow 35 For the heart of the man to thrill. Then " On ! " as though tfever a halt befell, With a swinging blade and. the Eebel yell, Through the song of the bullets and ploughshares of hell The hero, half iron, half soul ! 40 Swing, rustless blade in the strong right hand Eide, soul of a god, through the dauntless band Through the low green mounds or the breadth of the land Wherever your legions dwell ! Swing, Rebel blade, through the halls of fame, 45 Where courage and justice have left your name ; By the torches of glory your deeds shall flame In the reckoning of Time ! THE WOMEN OF THE CONFEDERACY War has played the game of battles on the bloody field of Mars, With fate behind the masque of hope, for clashing gray and blue; And beside its broken altars, one has furled its stars and bars, The whitest flower of chivalry that Heraldry e'er knew; 330 VIRGINIA FRAZER BOYLE And the knighthood of the Southland kept the mem- ory of its Cross, 5 Above the bitter lees of life the darkened years have quaffed, For its spirit lives, invincible, beyond life's woe and loss, Its wassail bowl was valor and immortal truth the draught. How they charged ! the whole world wondered at the thrilling battle stroke, In life's grandest panorama, like Crusaders they had come; 10 But knightlier far, than legend e'er in song or story woke, * For their Cross was love and honor, and their Holy Grail was Home! What marvel then, that nations heard and gave of their applause, Before the clash of right with might, of princi- ple with gold ? That cradle and the grave were robbed to swell the living cause, 15 That left upon the sodden field the grandest record told! Fate won ; and knew not mercy in that awful molten blare, When the Southrons turned in sorrow from the smoking cannon's mouth. But the arms of love were round them, and above a grim despair Rose the voices of their vestals, faithful women of the South! 20 331 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Theirs were the hands that tied the sash and girt the blade of light; Theirs were the hearts that fared them forth, the bravest of the brave; Theirs were the feet that trod the loom from morn till weary night, And theirs the love that knelt in faith beside a war- rior's grave ! Far out upon the wrecks of love, their cradle songs were cast, 25 The songs of nursing mothers, as they wept the blood-stained shields; And hymned unto the boom of guns, the rattling of the blast, Their days of youth lie buried on forgotten battle- fields; But they builded in the twilight of their hopes and of their fears, Love's memorial unto valor, that shall stand while time shall bide; so Blent of springtime's crimson roses and the purity of tears, The Southron's glory-chaplet, for the victor's shaft, denied. And the wide world heard no murmur from the keepers of the shrine, In the birth throe of a nation, nor the death pang that it brought, In the tending of the cypress that a faithful few will twine, 35 When fate tramples down the laurels that a daunt- less people sought. 832 VIRGINIA FRAZER BOYLE Give the laurel to the victor, give the song unto the slain, Give the Iron Cross of Honor, ere death lays the Southron down! But give to these, soul proven, tried by 'fire and by Pain, A memory of their mother-love that pressed an Iron Crown! 4( > THE WIZARD OF THE SADDLE. This noble poem was read at the laying of the corner-stone of the monument erected to the memory of Gen. Nathan Bedford Forrest, the dashing cavalry leader of the Confederacy. It is a lyric of rememberable power. It was written in 1902 by invitation of the Forrest Monument Association, of Memphis. THE WOMEN OF THE CONFEDERACY. This was written for the book of Memorial Histories pub- lished by the Confederated Southern Memorial As- sociation, whose badge, the iron crown, was suggested by the last stanza. Classify both poems. Is the movement in the first regular? Should it be? Choose striking imagery for analysis. Criticise. 8. In second poem : wassail bowl ; explain. 9. What recollection of Tennyson? 10. Is there another line equal to this in power? 12. Allusions? 20. "Ves- tals": meaning? This is one of the poems that should be committed to memory. To say it makes an approach toward its lofty theme is to accord it very high praise. 333 John Charles McNeill 1874-1907 John Charles McNeill was a native of North Caro- lina. His ancestors came from Scotland and settled in the Old North State about the beginning of the nineteenth century. He was graduated from "Wake Forest College, Wake Forest, N". C., in 1898, but remained a year for post-graduate work, meanwhile acting as tutor in the department of English. In 1900 he was elected to assistant's position in Mercer College, where he spent a year. He then turned to the law as a profession, in which he met with encouragement. He was elected to represent his country in the State legislature one term, but he cared little for politics. His verses having found acceptance with the Century editors, he was encouraged to cast himself more fully upon a literary career. The Charlotte (N. C.) 06- server, too, recognized his gifts and made him an offer to join the staff of that journal. The offer was accepted, and McNeill's column became a feature of the Observer almost up to the day of his death. Two volumes embody his work, " Songs Merry and Sad " and " Lyrics from Cotton Land," both published by Messrs. Stone and Barringer, Charlotte, N. C. The titles of the two books characterize the spirit of their contents. The negro dialect pieces are wonderfully true, and the more serious lines con- vince one that the untimely death of the young poet was especially to be deplored. 334 JOHN CHARLES McNEILL "OH, ASK ME NOT" Love, should I set my heart upon a crown, Squander my years, and gain it, What recompense of pleasure could I own? For youth's red drops would stain it. Much have I thought on what our lives may { mean, * And what their best endeavor, Seeing we may not come again to glean, But, losing, lose forever. Seeing how zealots, making choice of pain, From home and country parted, Have thought it life to leave their fellow slain, Their women broken-hearted ; How teasing truth a thousand faces claims, As in a broken mirror, And what a father died for in the flames 1B His own son scorns as error; How even they whose hearts were sweet with song Must quaff oblivion's potion, And, soon or late, their sails be lost along The all-surrounding ocean; Oh, ask me not the haven of our ships, Nor what flag floats above you ! I hold you close, I kiss your sweet, sweet lips, And love you, love you, love you ! 335 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY SUNDOWN Hills, wrapped in gray, standing along the west; Clouds, dimly lighted, gathering slowly; The star of peace at watch above the crest Oh, holy, holy, holy! We know, Lord, so little what is best; Wingless, we move so lowly; But in thy calm all-knowledge let us rest Oh, holy, holy, holy ! De Augus' meetin's over now, We's all done been baptize' ; Me en Ham en Hick'ry Jim En Joe's big Lize. Oh, 'ligion is a cu'i's thing g In its workin' amongs' men ! We'll hatter wait a whole yur now 'Fo' bein' baptize' again! A FEW DAYS OFF 1 ain't gwine a work till my dyin' day; 'F I ever lays up enough, I's gwine a go off a while en stay; I'll be takin' a few days off. 'Ca'se de jimson weeds don't bloom but once, 5 En when dey's shed de/s shed; En when you's dead, 'tain't jis' a few monf s, But you's gwine be a long time dead. 836 JOHN CHARLES McNEILL I knowed a' ol' man died powerful rich Two mules en Ian' en a cow. 10 I jus' soon die furri fallin' in a ditch, Fur he went to's grave fum's plough. He never had nothin' 'twas good to eat Ner no piller upon his hed; He never took time to dance wid his feet, ** But he's gwine a take a long time dead. I know a' ol' woman wut scrubbed and hoed, En never didn' go nowhar, En when she died de people 'knowed Dat she had supp'n hid 'bout dar. *> She mought a dressed up en a-done supp'n' wrong En had 'er a coht-case ple'd; But she didn' have time to live veh long; She's gwine have a plenty dead. So I says, if I manage to save enough * Frum de wages I gits dis yur, I is right den takin' a few days off At one time en an'er. 'Ca'se while I is got my mouf en eyes En a little wheel in my head, 80 I's gwine a live fas', fer when I dies I'll sho' be a long time dead. " OH, ASK ME NOT." McNeill regarded this as his best work. Point out felicitous figures. 7, 9. Exact meaning of "seeing"? 13. Explain "teas- ing." Give the thought in the entire poem. SUNDOWN. There is sincere reverence in these lines. What type of lyric is it? 337 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY A FEW DAYS OFF. The lines call up the quat- rain so often seen in the cafes of Berlin's Latin Quarter: Das Leben froh geniessen 1st der Vernunft Gebot, Man lebt doch nur so kurze Zeit Und is so lange todt. [("'Enjoy your life, my brother/ Is gray old reason's song. One has so little time to live And one is dead so long.") '899 Olive Tilford Dargan 187- Mrs. Olive Tilford Dargan was born some time in the " troublous seventies/' in the town of Old Caney, county of Grayson, which lies in the hill-country of western Kentucky on the borders of the blue-grass region. She is of Virginian ancestry, but her fore- fathers emigrated to Kentucky in time to take part in the founding of that Commonwealth. Her mother, Rebecca Day, was a remarkably gifted teacher, and her father, Francis Tilford, was also a teacher of much popularity before he finally fell upon days of unrelieved invalidism. He was, however, of a rest- less temperament, and moved with his family to Mis- souri when Olive, his second daughter, was ten years old. For three years the parents taught together in the town of Doniphan, but, the mother's health fail- ing, the family removed to Warm Springs, a health resort in the Ozark foothills of northern Arkansas, where her father again established a successful school. It was near this place that Mrs. Dargan, then a child of fourteen, began her work as teacher, at the same time continuing her own studies, which she declared to be " the fun of her life." At the age of eighteen she secured a scholarship to the University of Nashville, Tenn., and two years later was graduated with honor from that institu- tion. After three more years of teaching, one in Missouri and two in San Antonio, Tex., she went to Cambridge, Mass., and became a student of 339 A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY Radcliffe College, taking courses in philosophy and literature, but for the most part working independ- ently in the Harvard library. It was here that she met Mr. Pegram Dargan, then in his senior year at Harvard, to whom she was. married three years later. Mr. and Mrs. Dargan, when not in New York city, are usually to be found at their beautiful mountain place in western North Carolina, two miles from the village of Almond. Mrs. Dargan is a contributor to the best maga- zines, though she has written very few lyrics. She has published "Semiramis, and Other Plays/' "Lords, and Lovers," and a masque, "The Woods of Ida." She has a new books of plays in prepara- tion. All her work is vibrant with life. SOROLLA " I am fleet," said the joy of the sun, Trembling then on the breast Of the summer, white, still; " I am fleet, I am gone." Smiling came one 6 With brush and a will, Undelaying, unpressed, And the glancing gold of the tremulous sun Lingers for man, inescapable, won. "Not here, nor yet there," 10 Cried the waves that fled, "Shall ye set us a snare. Motion is breath, of us, Stillness is death of us; We pause and are sped, " S40 OLIVE TILFORD DARGAN We live as we run/' Laughing came one With brush and a will, And the waves never die and are never- more still. " I pass," said the light 20 On the face of the child; But softly came one And forever it smiled. Here Time shall replight His faith with the dawn, * 6 And his ages gaunt, gray, Ever cycling behold Their youth never flown In a world never old, Though they pass and repass with their trailing decay. 30 "We stay/' said the shadows, and hung On the brush of the master ; " take us, thine own ! " Fearless he flung The magical chains around them, and said, "Ye too shall be light, and to life bring the sun." 35 And man, delayed By the painted pain's revealing glow, Feeleth the breathing woe, And his vow is made: "Ye shall pass, ye shadows; yea, 40 And life, as the sun, be free; The God in me saith!" And the shadows go; A STUDY IN SOUTHERN POETRY For joy is the breath 45 Of eternity, And sorrow the sigh of a day. THE GEEAT MAN Born of needs of little men, Of the longing gods in them, Of the reach of children's hands, Of the piercing mother eyes Begging "Now!" and praying "When?" 5 Of the yearning millions' cries, Of the passion and the dream Sighing up from trodden lands, Comes the vision and the power, Comes the voice unmastered, free 10 Comes the soul unto the hour, And the way grows wide for him Walking with the day to be. Dead the grasp of Custom then, Silent grows her voice and pen; 15 Break as thread the steel-drawn strands, Part as air the birth-wrong bands; Graves no longer overawe; Dust is dust, and men are men; A living tongue again gives living law. 20 Trophies ours by gold and gun, Little treasures, houses, nay, Guerdons of our dearest fight, Now are fuel for his sun, And the dreams that lit the night 25 Burn as candles in the day. 342 OLIVE TILFORD DARGAN Yet we made thee, Man of Bight, As our being plead to rise; Of our straining arm thy might; Even as we prayed for sight, so Lo, afar thou hadst thy prophet eyes. Ay, thy gleaming spear is ours ; Ours thy fearless, golden how; And our shining arrows go From thy bright untaken towers. w Thou art what we will to be, Sceptre, star and winged cloud; We are blood and brawn of thee, Glowing up through sod and stone, Burning through thy rended shroud, 40 Moving with thee, chainless, on, Till the world, a quickened whole, Truth-delivered, naked, free, Once again hath found its deathless soul. SOROLLA. A Spanish painter whose pictures, espe- cially of seashore life of Valencia, are notable for their exquisite chasteness. THE GREAT MAN. We consider this as possibly Mrs. Dargan's best short poem. 343 Index of Authors ALLSTON, WASHINGTON : 22 BONEB, JOHN HENBY 258 BOYLE, VIBGINIA. FBAZEB 328 CAWEIN, MADISON JULIUS 311 COOKE, JOHN ESTEN 171 COOKE, PHILIP PENDLETON 93 DABGAN, OLIVE TILFOBD 339 FLASH, HENBY LYNDEN 177 GOBDON, ABMISTEAD CHUBCHILL 288 HABNEY, WILL WALLACE 173 HAYNE, PAUL HAMILTON 161 HAYNE, WILLIAM HAMILTON 292 HILL, THEOPHILUS HUNTEB 184 HOPE, JAMES BABBON 156 JACKSON, HENBY ROOTES 104 JEFFBEY, ROSA VEBTNEB 143 KEY, FBANCIS SCOTT 25 LANIEB, SIDNEY 224 LEGABE, JAMES MATTHEWS 119 MCCABE, WILLIAM GOBDON 219 MCNEILL, JOHN CHABLES 334 MALONE, WALTEB 323 O'HABA, THEODOBE 99 PALMES, JOHN WILLIAMSON 123 PECK, SAMUEL MINTUBN 282 PIATT, SABAH M. B 190 PIKE, ALBEBT 81 PINKNEY, EDWABD COATE 35 POE, EDGAB ALLAN 46 PBENTICE, GEOBGE DENISON 31 PBESTON, MABGABET JUNKIN 134 RANDALL, JAMES RYDEB 205 845 INDEX OF AUTHORS REQUIEB, AUGUSTUS JULIAN 129 RUSSELL, IEWIN 276 RYAN, ABBAM J 198 SIMMS, WILLIAM GILMOBE 39 SLEDD, BENJAMIN 306 SPALDING, JOHN LANCASTEB 215 STANTON, FBANK LEBBY ; 297 STOCKABD, HENBY JEROME 303 TABB, JOHN BANISTEB 266 THOMPSON, JAMES MAUBICE 247 THOMPSON, JOHN REUBEN 113 THOMPSON, WILL HENBY 268 TICKNOB, FBANCIS OBBAY 108 TIMBOD, HENBY 146 TOWNSEND, MABY ASHLEY 193 TUCKEB, ST. GEOBGE 20 WELBY, AMELIA B 96 WILDE, RICHABD HENBY 28 846 SST- UA LIBRAE* THE LAST DATE 57825