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diff --git a/old/7wvbl10.txt b/old/7wvbl10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3f62472 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/7wvbl10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4740 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Wreath of Virginia Bay Leaves +by James Barron Hope + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: A Wreath of Virginia Bay Leaves + +Author: James Barron Hope + +Release Date: January, 2006 [EBook #9653] +[This file was first posted on October 13, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, A WREATH OF VIRGINIA BAY LEAVES *** + + + + +E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Robert Prince, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + +A WREATH OF VIRGINIA BAY LEAVES. + +POEMS OF JAMES BARRON HOPE. + +JANEY HOPE MARR (EDITOR) + + + + + + + + +To the memory of the gallant little lad who bore his grandfather's +name and image--to the dear remembrance of: + + _Barron Hope Marr_ + +His mother dedicates whatsoever there may be of worth in her effort +to show James Barron Hope, the Poet, as Virginia's Laureate, and +James Barron Hope, the Man, as he was loved and reverenced by his +household and his friends. + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + +It has been claimed for James Barron Hope that he was "Virginia's +Laureate." He did not deal in "abstractions, or generalized arguments," +or vague mysticisms. He fired the imagination purely, he awoke lofty +thoughts and presented, through his noble odes that which is the soul +of "every true poem, a living succession of concrete images and +pictures." + +James Barron, the elder, organized the Virginia Colonial Navy, of +which he was commander-in-chief during the Revolution, and his sons, +Samuel and James, served gallantly in the United States Navy. It was +from these ancestors that James Barron Hope derived that unswerving +devotion to his native state for which he was remarkable, and it was +at the residence of his grandfather, Commodore James Barron, the +younger, who then commanded the Gosport Navy-yard, that he was born +the 23d of March, 1829. + +His mother, Jane Barron, was the eldest daughter of the Commodore +and most near to his regard. An attractive gentlewoman of the old +school, generous, of quick and lively sympathies, she wielded a +clever, ready pen, and the brush and embroiderer's needle in a +manner not to be scorned in those days, and was a personage in her +family. + +Her child was the child not only of her material, but of her +spiritual being, and the two were closely knit as the years passed, +in mutual affection and confidence, in tastes and aspirations. + +His father was Wilton Hope of "Bethel," Elizabeth City County, a +handsome, talented man, a landed proprietor, of a family whose acres +bordered the picturesque waters of Hampton River. + +He gained his early education at Germantown, Pennsylvania, and at +the "Academy" in Hampton, Virginia, under his venerated master, John +B. Cary, Esq.,--the master who declares himself proud to say, +"I taught him"--the invaluable friend of all his after years. + +In 1847 he graduated from William and Mary College with the degree +of A.B. + +From the "Pennsylvania," upon which man-of-war he was secretary to +his uncle, Captain Samuel Barron, he was transferred to the +"Cyane," and in 1852 made a cruise to the West Indies. + +In 1856 he was elected Commonwealth's attorney to the "game-cock +town of Virginia," historic and picturesque old Hampton, which was +the centre of a charming and cultivated society and which had +already claimed him as her "bard." For as Henry Ellen he had +contributed to various southern publications, his poems in "The +Southern Literary Messenger" attracting much gratifying attention. + +In 1857 Lippincott brought out "Leoni di Monota and Other Poems." +The volume was cordially noticed by the southern critics of the time, +not only for its central poem, but also for several of its minor ones, +notably, "The Charge at Balaklava," which G.P.R. James--as have +others since--declared unsurpassed by Tennyson's "Charge of the +Light Brigade." + +Upon the 13th of May, 1857, he stood poet at the 250th anniversary +of the English settlement at Jamestown. + +As poet, and as the youthful colleague of Henry A. Wise and John R. +Thompson, he stood at the base of Crawford's statue of Washington, +in the Capitol Square, Richmond, Virginia, the 22d of February, 1858. +That same year these recited poems, together with some miscellaneous +ones were published. + +Congress chose him as poet for the Yorktown Centennial, 1881, and +his "brilliant and masterly poem was a fitting companion piece to +the splendid oration delivered upon that occasion by the renowned +orator, Robert C. Winthrop." + +This metrical address "Arms and the Man," with various sonnets was +published the next year. As the flower of his genius, its noble +measures only revealed their full beauty when they fell from the +lips of him who framed them, and it was under this spell that one of +those who had thronged about him that 19th of October cried out: +"Now I understand the power by which the old Greek poets swayed the +men of their generation." + +Again his State called upon him to weave among her annals the +laurels of his verse at the laying of the cornerstone of the +monument erected in Richmond to Robert E. Lee. The corner-stone was +laid October, 1887, but the poet's voice had been stilled forever. +He died September the 15th, as he had often wished to die, "in +harness," and at home, and Death came swift and painless. + +His poem, save for the after softening touches, had been finished +the previous day, and was recited at the appointed time and place by +Captain William Gordon McCabe. + +"Memoriae Sacrum," the Lee Memorial Ode, has been pronounced by many +his masterpiece, and waked this noble echo in a brother poet's soul: + + 'Like those of whom the olden scriptures tell, + Who faltered not, but went on dangerous quest, + For one cool draught of water from the well + With which to cheer their exiled monarch's breast;' + + 'So thou to add one single laurel more + To our great chieftain's fame--heedless of pain + Didst gather up thy failing strength and pour + Out all thy soul in one last glorious strain.' + + * * * * * + + "And when the many pilgrims come to gaze + Upon the sculptured form of mighty Lee, + They'll not forget the bard who sang his praise + With dying breath, but deathless melody." + + "For on the statue which a country rears, + Tho' graven by no hand, we'll surely see, + E'en tho' it be thro' blinding mists of tears, + Thy name forever linked with that of Lee." + + --_Rev. Beverly D. Tucker_. + +His genius had flowered not out of opulence, or congenial occupation, +but out of the tread-mill of newspaper life, and under such +conditions from 1870-1887 he delivered the poem at Lynchburg's +celebration of its founding; at the unveiling of the monument raised +to Annie Lee by the ladies of Warren County, North Carolina; +memorial odes in Warrenton, Virginia, in Portsmouth, and Norfolk, +and at the Virginia Military Institute. He was the first commander +of Norfolk's Camp of Confederate Veterans, the Pickett-Buchanan, but +through all his stirring lines there breaks no discordant note of +hate or rancor. He also sent into print, "Little Stories for Little +People," and his novel "Madelon," and delivered among various +masterly addresses, "Virginia--Her Past, Present and Future," and +"The Press and the Printer's Devil." + +During these years he had suffered a physical agony well-nigh past +the bearing, but which he bore with a wonderful patience and +fortitude, and not only bore, but hid away from those nearest to him. +He had brought both broken health and fortunes out of the war; for +when in 1861 the people of Hampton left the town,[1] "Its men to +join the Southern army, and its women to go in exile for four long +weary years, returning thence to find their homes in ashes, James +Barron Hope was among the first who left their household gods behind +to take up arms for their native State, and he bore his part nobly +in the great conflict." + +When it ended he did not return to Hampton, or to the practice of +his profession. Instead of the law he embarked in journalism in +Norfolk, Virginia, and, despite its lack of entire congeniality, +made therefrom a career as brilliant as it was fearless and unsullied. + +[Footnote: A: "They themselves applying the torch to their own homes +under the patriotic, but mistaken idea that they would thus arrest +the march of the Invaders." ("Col. Cary's address at unveiling of +monument to Captain Hope.")] + + + + +_Introduction_. + +He was a little under six feet in height, slender, graceful, and +finely proportioned, with hands and feet of distinctive beauty. And +his fingers were gifted with a woman's touch in the sick-room, and +an artist's grasp upon the pencil and the brush of the water-colorist. + +It was said of him that his manner was as courtly as that of +"Sir Roger de Coverly." Words which though fitly applied are but as +the bare outlines of a picture, for he was the embodiment of what +was best in the Old South. He was gifted with a rare charm. There +was charm in his pale face, which in conversation flashed out of its +deep thoughtfulness into vivid animation. His fine head was crowned +with soft hair fast whitening before its time. His eyes shone under +his broad white forehead, wise and serene, until his dauntless spirit, +or his lofty enthusiasm awoke to fire their grey depths. His was a +face that women trusted and that little children looked up into with +smiles. Those whom he called friend learned the meaning of that name, +and he drew and linked men to him from all ranks and conditions of +life. + +Beloved by many, those who guard his memory coin the very fervor of +their hearts into the speech with which they link his name. +"A very Chevalier Bayard" he was called. + +Of him was quoted that noble epitaph on the great Lord Fairfax: + + 'Both sexes' virtues in him combined, + He had the fierceness of the manliest mind, + And all the meekness too of woman kind.' + + 'He never knew what envy was, nor hate, + His soul was filled with worth and honesty, + And with another thing quite out of date, called modesty.' + +No sketch could approach justice toward Captain Hope without at +least a brief review of his domestic life. + +In 1857 he had married Miss Annie Beverly Whiting of Hampton. Hers +were the face and form to take captive his poet's fancy, and she +possessed a character as lovely as her person; a courage and +strength of will far out of proportion to her dainty shape, and an +intellect of masculine robustness. Often the editor brought his work +to the table of his library that he might avail himself of his +wife's judgment, and labor with the faces around him that he loved, +for their union was a very congenial one, and when two daughters +came to bless it, as husband and father, he poured out the treasures +of his heart, his mind and soul. To his children he was a wise +teacher, a tender guide, an unfailing friend, the most delightful of +companions. His sympathy for and his understanding of young people +never aged, and he had a circle of dear and familiar friends of +varying ages that gathered about him once a week. There, beside his +own hearth, his ready wit, his kindly humor sparkled most brightly, +and there flowed forth most evenly that speech accounted by many +well worth the hearing. For his was also the art of listening; he +not only led the expression of thought, but inspired it in others. +His own roof-tree looked down upon James Barron Hope at his best and +down upon a home in the sacred sense of the word, for he touched +with poetry the prose of daily living, and left to those who loved +him the blessed legacy of a memory which death cannot take from them. + +I have said that in his early years Old Hampton claimed him. He +became the son of the city of his adoption and sleeps among her dead. + +Above his ashes rises a shaft, fashioned from the stones of the +State he loved so well which proclaims that it is "The tribute of +his friends offered to the memory of the Poet, Patriot, Scholar, and +Journalist and the Knightly Virginia Gentleman." + +JANEY HOPE MARR, + +LEXINGTON, VA. + + + + +INDEX. + + + The Charge at Balaklava + A Short Sermon + A Little Picture + A Reply to a Young Lady + A Story of the Caracas Valley + Three Summer Studies + The Washington Memorial Ode + How it Fell Calm on Summer Night + A Friend of Mine + Indolence + The Jamestown Anniversary Ode + An Elegiac Ode + The Cadets at New Market + Our Heroic Dead + Mahone's Brigade + The Portsmouth Memorial Poem--The Future Historian + Arms and The Man + Prologue + The Dead Statesman + The Colonies + The New England Group + The Southern Colonies + The Old Dominion + The Oaks and the Tempest + The Embattled Colonies + Welcome to France + The Allies at Yorktown + The Ravages of War + The Lines Around Yorktown + The French in the Trenches + Nelson and the Gunners + The Beleaguered Town + Storming the Redoubts + The Two Leaders + The Beginning of the End + The Surrender of Lord Cornwallis + Our Ancient Allies + The Continentals + The Marquis + The Ancient Enemies + The Splendid Three + The War Horse Draws the Plough + Heroes and Statesmen + Pater Patriae + The Flag of the Republic + The South in the Union + To Alexander Galt, the Sculptor + To the Poet-Priest Ryan + Three Names + Sir Walter Raleigh + Captain John Smith + Pocahontas + Sunset on Hampton Roads + A King's Gratitude + "The Twinses" + Dreamers + Under One Blanket + The Lee Memorial Ode + + + +[ILLUSTRATION] + + + + +A WREATH OF VIRGINIA BAY LEAVES. + + +THE CHARGE AT BALAKLAVA. + + Nolan halted where the squadrons, + Stood impatient of delay, + Out he drew his brief dispatches, + Which their leader quickly snatches, + At a glance their meaning catches; + They are ordered to the fray! + + All that morning they had waited-- + As their frowning faces showed, + Horses stamping, riders fretting, + And their teeth together setting; + Not a single sword-blade wetting + As the battle ebbed and flowed. + + Now the fevered spell is broken, + Every man feels twice as large, + Every heart is fiercely leaping, + As a lion roused from sleeping, + For they know they will be sweeping + In a moment to the charge. + + Brightly gleam six hundred sabres, + And the brazen trumpets ring; + Steeds are gathered, spurs are driven, + And the heavens widely riven + With a mad shout upward given, + Scaring vultures on the wing. + + Stern its meaning; was not Gallia + Looking down on Albion's sons? + In each mind this thought implanted, + Undismayed and all undaunted, + By the battle-fiends enchanted, + They ride down upon the guns. + + Onward! On! the chargers trample; + Quicker falls each iron heel! + And the headlong pace grows faster; + Noble steed and noble master, + Rushing on to red disaster, + Where the heavy cannons peal. + + In the van rides Captain Nolan; + Soldier stout he was and brave! + And his shining sabre flashes, + As upon the foe he dashes: + God! his face turns white as ashes, + He has ridden to his grave! + + Down he fell, prone from his saddle, + Without motion, without breath, + Never more a trump to waken-- + He the very first one taken, + From the bough so sorely shaken, + In the vintage-time of Death. + + In a moment, in a twinkling, + He was gathered to his rest; + In the time for which he'd waited-- + With his gallant heart elated-- + Down went Nolan, decorated + With a death wound on his breast. + + Comrades still are onward charging, + He is lying on the sod: + Onward still their steeds are rushing + Where the shot and shell are crushing; + From his corpse the blood is gushing, + And his soul is with his God. + + As they spur on, what strange visions + Flit across each rider's brain! + Thoughts of maidens fair, of mothers, + Friends and sisters, wives and brothers, + Blent with images of others, + Whom they ne'er shall see again. + + Onward still the squadrons thunder-- + Knightly hearts were their's and brave, + Men and horses without number + All the furrowed ground encumber-- + Falling fast to their last slumber-- + Bloody slumber! bloody grave! + + Of that charge at Balaklava-- + In its chivalry sublime-- + Vivid, grand, historic pages + Shall descend to future ages; + Poets, painters, hoary sages + Shall record it for all time; + + Telling how those English horsemen + Rode the Russian gunners down; + How with ranks all torn and shattered; + How with helmets hacked and battered; + How with sword arms blood-bespattered; + They won honor and renown. + + 'Twas "not war," but it was splendid + As a dream of old romance; + Thinking which their Gallic neighbors + Thrilled to watch them at their labors, + Hewing red graves with their sabres + In that wonderful advance. + + Down went many a gallant soldier; + Down went many a stout dragoon; + Lying grim, and stark, and gory, + On the crimson field of glory, + Leaving us a noble story + And their white-cliffed home a boon. + + Full of hopes and aspirations + Were their hearts at dawn of day; + Now, with forms all rent and broken, + Bearing each some frightful token + Of a scene ne'er to be spoken, + In their silent sleep they lay. + + Here a noble charger stiffens, + There his rider grasps the hilt + Of his sabre lying bloody + By his side, upon the muddy, + Trampled ground, which darkly ruddy + Shows the blood that he has spilt. + + And to-night the moon shall shudder + As she looks down on the moor, + Where the dead of hostile races + Slumber, slaughtered in their places; + All their rigid ghastly faces + Spattered hideously with gore. + + And the sleepers! ah, the sleepers + Make a Westminster that day; + 'Mid the seething battle's lava! + And each man who fell shall have a + Proud inscription--BALAKLAVA, + Which shall never fade away. + + + + +A SHORT SERMON. + + "He that giveth to the poor, lendeth to the Lord." + + The night-wind comes in sudden squalls: + The ruddy fire-light starts and falls + Fantastically on the walls. + + The bare trees all their branches wave; + The frantic wind doth howl and rave, + Like prairie-wolf above a grave. + + The moon looks out; but cold and pale, + And seeming scar'd at this wild gale + Draws o'er her pallid face a veil. + + In vain I turn the poet's page-- + In vain consult some ancient sage-- + I hear alone the tempest rage. + + The shutters tug at hinge and bar-- + The windows clash with frosty jar-- + The child creeps closer to "Papa." + + And now, I almost start aghast, + The clamor rises thick and fast, + Surely a troop of fiends drove past! + + That last shock shook the oaken door. + Sounding like billows on the shore, + On such a night God shield the poor! + + God shield the poor to-night, who stay + In piteous homes! who, if they pray, + Ask thee, oh God! for bread and day! + + Think! think! ye men who daily wear + "Purple and linen"--ye whose hair + Flings perfume on the temper'd air. + + Think! think! I say, aye! start and think + That many tremble on death's brink-- + Dying for want of meat and drink. + + When tatter'd poor folk meet your eyes, + Think, friend, like Christian, in this wise, + Each one is Christ hid in disguise. + + Then when you hear the tempest's roar + That thunders at your carved door, + Know that, it knocketh for the poor. + + + + +A LITTLE PICTURE. + + Oft when pacing thro' the long and dim + Dark gallery of the Past, I pause before + A picture of which this is a copy-- + Wretched at best. + + How fair she look'd, standing a-tiptoe there, + Pois'd daintily upon her little feet! + The slanting sunset falling thro' the leaves + In golden glory on her smiling face, + Upturn'd towards the blushing roses; while + The breeze that came up from the river's brink, + Shook all their clusters over her fair face; + And sported with her robe, until methought, + That she stood there clad wondrously indeed! + In perfume and in music: for her dress + Made a low, rippling sound, like little waves + That break at midnight on the tawny sands-- + While all the evening air of roses whisper'd. + Over her face a rich, warm blush spread slowly, + And she laughed, a low, sweet, mellow laugh + To see the branches still evade her hands-- + Her small white hands which seem'd indeed as if + Made only thus to gather roses. + Then with face + All flushed and smiling she did nod to me + Asking my help to gather them for her: + And so, I bent the heavy clusters down, + Show'ring the rose-leaves o'er her neck and face; + Then carefully she plucked the very fairest one, + And court'seying playfully gave it to me-- + Show'd me her finger-tip, pricked by a thorn, + And when I would have kiss'd it, shook her head, + Kiss'd it herself, and mock'd me with a smile! + The rose she gave me sleeps between the leaves + Of an old poet where its sight oft brings + That summer evening back again to me. + + + + +A REPLY TO A YOUNG LADY. + + "I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done + Than to be one of the twenty to follow my own teaching," + --_Merchant of Venice_. + + "Do as I tell you, and not as I do." + --_Old Saying_. + + You say, a "moral sign-post" I + Point out the road towards the sky; + And then with glance so very shy + You archly ask me, lady, why + I hesitate myself to go + In the direction which I show? + + To answer is an easy task, + If you allow me but to ask + One little question, sweet, of you:-- + 'Tis this: should sign-posts travel too + What would bewildered pilgrims do-- + Celestial pilgrims, such as you? + + + + +A STORY OF THE CARACAS VALLEY. + + High-perch'd upon the rocky way, + Stands a Posada stern and grey; + Which from the valley, seems as if, + A condor there had paus'd to 'light + And rest upon that lonely cliff, + From some stupendous flight; + But when the road you gain at length, + It seems a ruin'd hold of strength, + With archway dark, and bridge of stone, + By waving shrubs all overgrown, + Which clings 'round that ruin'd gate, + Making it look less desolate; + For here and there, a wild flower's bloom + With brilliant hue relieves the gloom, + Which clings 'round that Posada's wall-- + A sort of misty funeral pall. + + The gulf spann'd by that olden arch + Might stop an army's onward march, + For dark and dim--far down below-- + 'Tis lost amid a torrent's flow; + And blending with the eagle's scream + Sounds dismally that mountain-stream, + That rushes foaming down a fall + Which Chamois hunter might appal, + Nor shame his manhood, did he shrink + In treading on its dizzy brink. + In years long past, ere bridge or wall + Had spann'd that gulf and water-fall, + 'Tis said--perhaps, an idle tale-- + That on the road above the vale + Occurred as strange and wild a scene, + As ever ballad told, I ween.-- + Yes, on this road which seems to be + Suspended o'er eternity; + So dim--so shadow-like--the vale + O'er which it hangs: but to my tale: + Once, 'tis well-known, this sunny land + Was ravag'd by full many a band + Of reckless buccaneers. + Cities were captur'd [2]--old men slain; + Trampled the fields of waving cane; + Or scatter'd wide the garner'd grain; + An hour wrought wreck of years! + + Where'er these stern freebooters trod, + In hacienda--church of God-- + Or, on the green-enamell'd sod-- + They left foot-prints so deep, + That but their simple names would start + The blood back to each Spanish heart, + And make the children weep. + + E'en to this day, their many crimes + The peasants sing in drowsy rhymes-- + On mountain, or on plain; + And as they sing, the plaintive song + Tells many a deed of guilt and wrong-- + Each has a doleful strain! + + * * * * * + + One glorious morn, it so befell, + I heard the tale which I shall tell, + At that Posada dark and grey + Which stands upon the mountain way, + Between Caracas and the sea; + So grim--so dark--it seem'd to me + Fit place for deed of guilt or sin-- + Tho' peaceful peasants dwelt therein. + + At midnight we, (my friends and I,) + Beneath a tranquil tropic sky, + Bestrode our mules and onward rode, + Behind the guide who swiftly strode + Up the dark mountain side; while we + With many a jest and repartee-- + With jingling swords, and spurs, and bits-- + Made trial of our youthful wits. + Ah! we were gay, for we were young + And care had never on us flung-- + But, to my tale: the purple sky + Was thick overlaid with burning stars, + And oft the breeze that murmur'd by, + Brought dreamy tones from soft guitars, + Until we sank in silence deep. + It was a night for thought not sleep-- + It was a night for song and love-- + The burning planets shone above-- + The Southern Cross was all ablaze-- + 'Tis long since it then met my gaze!-- + Above us, whisp'ring in the breeze, + Were many strange, gigantic trees, + And in their shadow, deep and dark, + Slept many a pile of mould'ring bones; + For tales of murder fell and stark, + Are told by monumental stones + Flung by the passer's hand, until + The place grows to a little hill. + Up through the shade we rode, nor spoke, + Till suddenly the morning broke. + Beneath we saw in purple shade + The mighty sea; above display'd, + A thousand gorgeous hues which met + In tints that I remember yet; + But which I may not paint, my skill, + Alas! would but depict it ill-- + E'en Claude has never given hints + On canvas of such splendid tints! + The mountains, which ere dawn of day + I'd liken'd unto friars grey-- + Gigantic friars clad in grey-- + Stood now like kings, wrapp'd in the fold + +[Footnote 2: Panama, Carthagena, Maracaibo, and Chagres, were at +various times held by the buccaneers.] + + + + +_A Story of the Caracas Valley_. + + Of gorgeous clouds around them roll'd-- + Their lofty heads all crown'd with gold; + And many a painted bird went by + Strange to my unaccustom'd eye-- + Their plumage mimicking the sky. + O'er many a league, and many a mile-- + Crag--pinnacle--and lone defile-- + All Nature woke!--woke with a smile-- + As tho' the morning's golden gleam + Had broken some enchanting dream, + But left its soft impression still, + On lofty peak and dancing rill. + With many a halt and many a call, + At last we saw the rugged wall, + And gaz'd upon the ruin'd gate + Which even then look'd desolate, + For that Posada so forlorn + Seem'd sad e'en on so gay a morn! + The heavy gate at length unbarr'd, + We rode within the busy yard, + Well scatter'd o'er with many a pack; + For on that wild, romantic track, + The long and heavy-laden trains + Toil seaward from the valley's plains. + And often on its silence swells + The distant tinkle of the bells, + While muleteers' shrill, angry cries + From the dim road before you rise; + And such were group'd in circles round + Playing at monte on the ground; + Each swarthy face that met my eye + To thought of honesty gave lie. + In each fierce orb there was a spark + That few would care to see by dark-- + And many a sash I saw gleam thro' + The keen _cuchillo_ into view. + Within; the place was rude enough-- + The walls of clay--in color buff-- + A pictur'd saint--a cross or so-- + A hammock swinging to and fro-- + A gittern by the window laid + Whereon the morning breezes play'd, + And its low tones and broken parts + Seem'd like some thoughtless minstrel's arts-- + A rugged table in the floor-- + Ran thro' this homely _comedor_. + Here, weary as you well may think, + An hour or so we made abode, + To give our mules both food and drink, + Before we took again the road; + And honestly, our own repast + Was that of monks from lenten fast. + The meal once o'er; our stores replaced; + We gather'd where the window fac'd + Upon the vale, and gaz'd below + Where mists from a mad torrent's flow + Were dimly waving to and fro. + Meanwhile, the old guitar replied + To the swift fingers of our guide: + His voice was deep, and rich, and strong, + And he himself a child of song. + At first the music's liquid flow + Was soft and plaintive--rich and low; + The murmur of a fountain's stream + Where sleeping water-lilies dream; + Or, like the breathing of love-vows + Beneath the shade of orange-boughs; + And then more stirring grew his song-- + A strain which swept the blood along! + And as he sang, his eyes so sad-- + Which lately wore the look of pain, + Danc'd with a gleam both proud and glad, + Awaken'd by his fervid strain-- + His face now flush'd and now grew pale-- + The song he sang, was this, my tale. + + A fort above Laguayra stands, + Which all the town below commands. + The damp moss clings upon its walls-- + The rotting drawbridge slowly falls-- + Its dreary silentness appalls! + The iron bars are thick with rust + And slowly moulder into dust; + The roofless turrets show the sky, + The moats below are bare and dry-- + No captain issues proud behest-- + The guard-room echoes to no jest; + As I have said, within those walls + The very silentness appalls! + In other days it was not so-- + The Spanish banner, long ago, + Above the turrets tall did flow. + And many a gallant soldier there + With musket or with gleaming spear, + Pac'd on the battlements that then + Were throng'd with tall and proper men. + But this was many a year ago-- + A long shot back for mem'ry's bow! + The Governor here made his home + Beneath the great hall's gilded dome. + And here his lady-wife he brought + From Spain, across the sea; + And sumptuous festival was made, + Where now the tangled ivy's shade + Is hanging drearily. + The lady was both fair and young-- + Fair as a poet ever sung; + And well they lov'd; so it is told;-- + Had plighted troth in days gone by, + Ere he had won his spurs of gold, + Or, gain'd his station high. + And often from the martial keep + They'd sail together on the deep; + Or, wander many a weary mile + In lonely valley, or defile. + + Well; once upon this road, a pair, + A lady and a cavalier, + Were riding side by side. + And she was young and "passing fair," + With crimson lips and ebon hair-- + She was the gallant's bride! + And he was cast in manly mould, + His port was high, and free, and bold-- + Fitting a cavalier! + But now bent reverently low + His crest's unsullied plume of snow + Play'd 'mid the lady's hair. + + This knight with orders on his breast, + The Governor, as you have guess'd-- + The lady was his wife, and they, + Alone were on the road that day;-- + Their horses moving at a walk, + And they engaged in earnest talk, + Low words and sweet they spoke; + The lady smil'd, and blush'd, and then, + Smiling and blushing, spoke again; + When sleeping echo woke-- + Woke with the shouts of a wild band + Who urg'd with spur and heavy hand + Their steeds along the way. + + Gave but one look the cavalier-- + Murmur'd a vow the lady fair-- + His right arm is around her thrown + Her form close-gather'd to his own; + While his brave steed, white as the snow, + Darts like an arrow from the bow; + His hoofs fall fast as tempest rain + Spurning the road that rings again. + Onward the race!--now fainter sounds + The yell and whoop; but still like hounds + The pirate band behind him rush + Breaking the mountains solemn hush. + On speeds he now--his steed so white + Far in advance, proclaims his flight; + God speed him and his bride! + But ah! that chasm's fearful gape + Seems to forbid hope of escape, + He _cannot_ turn aside. + + He bends his head; is it in pray'r? + Is it to shed a bitter tear? + Or utter craven vow? + No; 'tis to gaze into those eyes + Which are to him love-litten skies-- + To kiss his lady's brow. + And must he on? full well he knew + That none were spar'd by that wild crew-- + Never a lady fair. + And now a shout, a fierce halloo, + Told that they were again in view-- + Close to his ear a bullet sings, + And then the distant carbine rings. + + Why pales the cavalier? + And why does he now set his teeth + And draw his dagger from its sheath? + He breasts his charger at the leap-- + He pricketh him full sharp and deep: + He leaps, and then with heaving flank + Gains footing on the other bank: + A moment--'mid the pass's gloom, + Vanish both veil and dancing plume-- + It seems a dream. No! there is proof, + The clatter of a flying hoof, + And too, the lady's steed remains, + With empty seat, and flying reins; + And then is borne to that wild rout, + A long and proud triumphant shout. + And he who led the pirate band, + Urg'd on his horse, with spur and hand; + The long locks drifted from his brow, + Like midnight waves from storm-vexed prow; + And darkly flashed his eyes of jet + Beneath the brows which almost met. + Stern was his face; but war and crime, + --For he had sinn'd in many a clime-- + Had plough'd it deeper far than time. + He was their chief: will he draw rein? + Will he the yawning rift refrain? + And with his halting band remain? + He rais'd up in his stirrups, high, + Better the chasm to descry, + And measure with his hawk-like eye, + While his dark steed begrim'd with toil, + Tried madly, vainly, to recoil! + A mutter'd curse--a sabre goad-- + Full at the leap the robber rode: + Great God! his horse near dead and spent, + Scarce halfway o'er the chasm went. + That fearful rush, and daring bound, + Was followed by a crashing sound-- + A sudden, awful knell! + For down, more than a thousand feet, + Where mist and mountain torrent meet, + That reckless rider fell. + + His band drew up:--they could not speak, + For long, and loud his charger's shriek + Was heard in an unearthly scream, + Above that roaring mountain stream-- + Like fancied sound in fever'd dream, + When the sick brain with crazy skill + Weaves fantasies of woe and ill. + Some said: no steed gave forth that yell, + And hinted solemnly of--hell! + And others said, that from his vest + A miniature with haughty crest + And features like the lady's 'pressed, + Fell on the rugged bank: + But who he was, none knew or tell; + + They simply point out where he fell + When horse and horseman sank. + Like Ravenswood he left no trace-- + Tradition only points the place. + + Rude is my hand, and rude my lay-- + Rude as the Inn, time-worn and grey, + Where resting, on the mountain-way, + I heard the tale which I have tried + To tell to thee; and saw the wide + Deep rift--ten yards from side to side-- + Great God! it was a fearful ride + The robber took that day. + + + + + +THREE SUMMER 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 + Responding to yon strutting gobbler's call. + + 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 + 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-- + A partridge-whistle thro' the garden floats, + While yonder gaudy peacock harshly cries, + As red and gold flush all the eastern skies. + + Up comes the sun: thro' the dense leaves a spot + Of splendid light drinks up the dew; the breeze + 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 shadow'd by the solemn pines. + + +II. + + Over the farm is brooding silence now-- + 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. + + 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, + I pause and listen for some faint church bell. + + The leaves are motionless--the song-bird's mute-- + The very air seems somnolent and sick: + The spreading branches with o'er-ripen'd 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 ploughed + Seem fairly dancing in my dazzled sight, + While over yonder road a dusty haze + Grows reddish purple in the sultry blaze. + + +III. + + That solitary cloud grows dark and wide, + While distant thunder rumbles in the air, + 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 + 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. + + 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, + And now I see the thick-advancing rain. + + 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 + 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, + 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. + + + + +THE WASHINGTON MEMORIAL ODE. + + Certain events, like architects, build up + Viewless cathedrals, in whose aisles the cup + Of some impressive sacrament is kist-- + Where thankful nations taste the Eucharist. + Pressed to their lips by some heroic Past + Enthroned like Pontiff in the temple vast-- + Where incense rises t'wards the dome sublime + From golden censers in the hands of Time-- + Where through the smoke some sculptured saint appears + Crowned with the glories of historic years; + Before whose shrine whole races tell their beads-- + From whose pale front each sordid thought recedes, + Gliding away like white and stealthy ghost, + As Memory rears it's consecrated Host, + As blood and body of a sacred name + Make the last supper of some deathless fame. + + This the event! Here springs the temple grand, + Whose mighty arches take in all the land! + Its twilight aisles stretch far away and reach + 'Mid lights and shadows which defy my speech: + And near its portal which Morn opened wide-- + Grey Janitor!--to let in all this tide + Of prayerful men, most solemnly there stands + One recollection, which, for pious hands + Is ready like the Minster's sculptured vase, + With holy water for each reverent face. + And mystic columns, which my fancy views, + Glow in a thousand soft, subduing hues + Flung through the stained windows of the Past in gloom, + Of royal purple o'er our warrior's tomb. + + * * * * * + + Oh, proud old Commonwealth! thy sacred name + Makes frequent music on the lips of Fame! + And as the nation, in its onward march, + Thunders beneath the Union's mighty arch, + Thine the bold front which every patriot sees + The stateliest figure on its massive frieze. + Oh, proud old State! well may thy form be grand, + 'Twas thine to give a Savior to the land. + For, in the past, when upward rose the cry, + "Save or we perish!" thine 'twas to supply + The master-spirit of the storm whose will + Said to the billows in their wrath: "Be still!" + And though a great calm followed, yet the age + In which he saw that mad tornado rage + Made in its cares and wild tempestuous strife + One solemn Passion of his noble life. + + This day, then, Countrymen of all the year, + We well may claim to be without a peer: + Amid the rest--impalpable and vast-- + It stands a Cheops looming through the past, + Close to the rushing, patriotic Nile + Which here o'erflows our hearts to make them smile + With a rich harvest of devoted zeal, + Men of Virginia, for the Common-weal! + + And to our Bethlehem ye who come to-day-- + Ye who compose this multitude's array-- + Ye who are here from mighty Northern marts + With frankincense and myrrh within your hearts-- + Ye who are here from the gigantic West, + The offspring nurtured at Virginia's breast, + Which in development by magic seems + Straight to embody all that Progress dreams-- + Ye who are here from summer-wedded lands-- + From Carolina's woods to Tampa's sands, + From Florida to Texas broad and free + Where spreads the prairie, like a dark, green sea-- + Ye whose bold fathers from Virginia went + In wilds to pitch brave enterprise's tent, + Spreading our faith and social system wide, + By which we stand peculiarly allied!-- + Ye Southern men, whose work is but begun, + Whose course is on t'ward regions of the sun, + Whose brave battalions moved to tropic sods + Solemn and certain as though marching gods + Were ordered in their circumstance and state + Beneath the banner of resistless Fate! + + Ye have been welcomed, Countrymen, by him [3] + Beside whose speech my rhetoric grows dim-- + Whose thoughts are flint and steel--whose words are flame, + For they all stir us like some hero's name: + But once again the Commonwealth extends + Her open hand in welcome to her friends; + Come ye from North, or South, or West, or East, + No bull's head enters at Virginia's feast. + And ye who've journeyed hither from afar, + Know that fair Freedom's liquid morning star + Still sheds its glories in a thousand beams, + Gilding our forests, fountains, mountains, streams, + With light as luminous as on that morn + When the Messiah of the land was born. + Then as we here partake the mystic rites + To which his memory like a priest invites; + Kneeling beside the altars of this day, + Let every heart subdued one moment pray, + +[Footnote 3: Governor Wise.] + + * * * * * + + That He who lit our morning star's pure light + Will never blot it from the nation's sight; + That He will banish those portentous clouds + Which from so many its effulgence shrouds-- + Which none will deem me Hamlet-mad when I + Say hang like banners on the darkened sky, + Suggesting perils in their warlike shape, + Which Heavenly Father grant that we escape! + + * * * * * + + Why touch upon these topics, do you ask? + Why blend these themes with my allotted task? + My answer's brief, 'tis, Citizens, because + I see fierce warfare made upon the Laws. + A people's poets are that people's seers, + The prophet's faculty, in part, is theirs, + And thus 'tis fit that from this statue's base, + Beneath great Washington's majestic face, + That I should point the dangers which menace + Our social temple's symmetry and grace. + + * * * * * + + But here I pause, for happier omens look, + And playing Flamen turn to Nature's book: + Where late rich Autumn sat on golden throne, + A stern usurper makes the crown his own; + The courtier woodlands, robbed of all their state, + Stripped of their pomp, look grim and desolate; + Reluctant conscripts, clad in icy mail, + Their captive pleadings rise on every gale. + Now mighty oaks stand like bereaved Lears; + Pennons are furled on all the sedgy spears + Where the sad river glides between its banks, + Like beaten general twixt his pompless ranks; + And the earth's bosom, clad in armor now, + Bids stern defiance to the iron plough, + While o'er the fields so desolate and damp + Invading Winter spreads his hostile camp.[4] + + And as he shakes his helmet's snowy plume + The landscape saddens into deeper gloom. + But yet ere many moons have flung to lea, + To begging billows of the hungry sea, + Their generous gold--like oriental queens-- + A change will pass o'er all these wintry scenes; + There'll come the coronation of glad Spring, + Grander than any made for bride of king. + +[Footnote 4: The statue was unveiled in a snow-storm.] + + * * * * * + + Earth's hodden grey will change to livelier hues + Enriched with pearl drops of the limpid dews; + Plenty will stand with her large tranquil eyes + To see her treasures o'er the landscape rise. + Thus may the lover of his country hope + To see again the Nation's spring-tide ope, + And freedom's harvest turn to ripened gold, + So that our world may give unto the old + Of its great opulence, as Joseph gave + Bread to his brothers when they came to crave. + + But from his name I've paused too long you think? + Yet he who stands beside Niagra's brink + Breaketh not forth at once of its grand strife; + 'Tis thus I stand subdued by his great life-- + + * * * * * + + And with his name a host of others rise, + Climbing like planets, Fame's eternal skies: + Great names, my Brothers! with such deeds allied + That all Virginians glow with filial pride-- + That here the multitude shall daily pace + Around this statue's hero-circled base, + Thinking on those who, though long sunk in sleep, + Still round our camp the guard of sentries keep-- + Who when a foe encroaches on our line, + Prompt the stern challenge for the countersign-- + Who with proud memories feed our bright watch-fire + Which ne'er has faded, never will expire; + Grand benedictions, they in bronze will stand + To guard and consecrate our native land! + Great names are theirs! But his, like battle song, + In quicker current sends our blood along; + For at its music hearts throb quick and large, + Like those of horsemen thundering in the charge. + God's own Knight-Errant! There his figure stands! + Our souls are full--our bonnets in our hands! + + When the fierce torrent--lava-like--of bronze + To mould this statue burst it furnace bonds, + When it out-thundered in its liquid flow, + With splendid flame and scintillating glow, + 'Twas in its wild tumultuous throb and storm + Type of the age which moulded into form + The god-like character of him sublime, + Whose name is reared a statue for all time + In the great minster of the whole world's heart. + + * * * * * + + I've called his name a statue. Stern and vast + It rests enthroned upon the mighty past: + Fit plinth for him whose image in the mind + Looms up as that of one by God designed! + Fit plinth in sooth! the mighty past for him + Whose simple name is Glory's synonyme! + E'en Fancy's self, in her enchanted sleep, + Can dream no future which may cease to keep + His name in guard, like sentinel and cry + From Time's great bastions: "It shall never die." + + * * * * * + + His simple name a statue? Yes, and grand + 'Tis reared in this and every other land. + Around its base a group more noble stands + Than e'er was carved by human sculptor's hands, + E'en though each form, like that of old should flush + With vivid beauty's animating blush-- + Though dusky bronze, or pallid stone should thrill + With sudden life at some Pygmalion's will-- + For these great figures, with his own enshrined, + Are seen, my Countrymen, by men, though blind. + + There Valor fronts us with her storied shield, + Brave in devices won on many a field; + A splendid wreath snatched from the carnage grim + Is twined around that buckler's burnished rim, + And as we gaze, the brazen trumpets blare + With shrill vibration shakes the frightened air-- + The roll of musketry--the clash of steel-- + The clang of hoofs as charging squadrons wheel-- + The hoarse command--the imprecative cry-- + Swell loud and long, while Fancy's eager eye + Sees the stern van move on with crimson strides + Where Freedom's warrior on his war-horse rides, + Sees the great cannon flash out red and fast + Through battle mists which canopy the past. + + And solemn-fronted Truth with earnest eyes, + Stands there serenely beautiful and wise; + Her stately form in undisturbed repose, + Rests by her well, where limpid crystal flows + While on her face, which can severely frown, + A smile is breaking as she gazes down; + For clearly marked upon that tranquil wave + Slumbers his image in a picture brave, + And leaning on the fountain's coping stone, + She scarce can tell his shadow from her own. + + And Wisdom, with her meditative gaze, + Beside its base her mighty chart displays; + There with her solemn and impressive hand + Writes as she stoops--as Christ wrote on the sand-- + But what she traces all may read--'tis this: + An invocation by our dreams of bliss-- + By hopes to do and by our great deeds done, + The war of sections thro' all time to shun-- + She writes the words which almost seem divine, + "Our deadliest foe's a geographic line!" + And Justice, with her face severely grand, + Stands 'mid the group, her balances in hand: + Faultless in judging trivial deeds, or great, + Unmoved by love and unimpressed by hate. + Beside her gleams undimmed by spot, or rust, + A mighty blade to strike when strike she must; + And this bright falchion like that which defends + The guarded gate where earth in Eden ends, + With flame terrific and with ponderous sway + Frightens each Brennus from her scales away. + + And there we see pale, pleading Mercy bow, + A troubled shadow on her saintly brow; + Her fringed lashes tremulous with tears, + Which glitter still through all the change of years: + And as we see those tear drops slowly rise, + Giving new softness to her tender eyes, + Away the mists which o'er the dark past drift + Are rent and scattered, while the sudden rift + Shows, like some distant headland vast and dim + Seen through the tempest, the great soul of him + Who guarding against the native traitor, could + Turn from her pleadings for his country's good. + + And Honor last completes the stately group, + With eye like eagle's in descending swoop, + Fronted like goddess beautiful and proud + When sailing on the "lazy-pacing cloud": + Prouder her port than that of all the rest, + With radiant forehead and translucent breast, + She needs no gesture of supreme command + For us to know her foremost of the band: + They were his counsellors, she as the mind + By which their promptings were in deeds combined-- + In deeds which Fame, like fasces bears before + The noblest consul that earth ever bore. + + * * * * * + + Why are we here? It were a bitter shame + To pay this homage to a hero's name, + And yet forget the principles which gave + His true defiance to oblivion's wave! + Aye! Sirs, remember when the day is spent, + In Freedom's camp our soldier pitched his tent! + Maintain your own--respect your brother's right-- + Thus will you praise Jehovah's belted Knight. + + Are we Pompeians gathered here to-day, + Gazing upon our last superb display? + Crowning the hours with many a festal wreath, + While red Vesuvius bubbles underneath? + Oh! no, my Countrymen! This cloud must be + The smoke of incense floating o'er the free! + No lava-flood can e'er o'erwhelm this land, + Held as 'tis holden, in God's mighty hand. + + And when the garlands of to-day are pale, + Shall clang of armorers riveting our mail + Rise in harsh dissonance where now the song + In surging music sweeps the land along? + No, Brothers, no! The Providence on high + Stretches above us like the arching sky; + As o'er the world that broad empyrean field, + So o'er the nation God's protecting shield! + + * * * * * + + His the great will which sways the tide of earth-- + His the great will which giveth empires birth-- + And this grand truth through every age and clime + Is written out in characters sublime; + But most we see the traces of His hand + In the great Epic of our native land. + + This new world had its Adam and he fled-- + God's was the voice and God's the mighty tread + Which scared the red man from his Eden bowers + God's the decree which made the garden ours! + And Eden 'twas and such it still remains: + Oh, Brothers! shall we prove a race of Cains? + Shall impious hands be armed with deadly things, + Because we bring up different offerings + Unto our altars? To the Nation's shrine + I take my gift; my brother, take thou thine! + Again I ask: While this proud bronze remains, + Shall this great people prove a race of Cains? + Here make your answer at this statue's base, + Beneath this warrior's calm, majestic face; + And here remember that your best applause + To him is shown in standing by the Laws! + But if our rights shall ever be denied, + I call upon you, by your race's pride, + To seek some "West Augusta" and unfurl + Our banner where the mountain vapors curl: + Lowland and valley then will swell the cry, + He left us free: thus will we live, or die! + One other word, Virginia, hear thy son, + Whose filial service now is nearly done-- + Hear me old State! Thou art supremely blest: + A hero's ashes slumber in thy breast! + Oh, Mother! if the ashes of a king + Could nerve to deeds with which Fame's trumpets ring, + What glove of challenger shall make thee start, + When thy great son lies sleeping on thy heart! + + + + +HOW IT FELL CALM ON SUMMER NIGHT. + + My Lady's rest was calm and deep: + She had been gazing at the moon; + And thus it chanced she fell asleep + One balmy night in June. + + Freebooter winds stole richest smells + From roses bursting in the gloom, + And rifled half-blown daffodils, + And lilies of perfume. + + These dainty robbers of the South + Found "beauty" sunk in deep repose, + And seized upon her crimson mouth, + Thinking her lips a rose. + + The wooing winds made love full fast-- + To rouse her up in vain they tried-- + They kist and kist her, till, at last, + In ecstasy they died. + + + + +A FRIEND OF MINE. + + We sat beneath tall waving trees that flung + Their heavy shadows o'er the dewy grass. + Over the waters, breaking at our feet, + Quivered the moon, and lighted solemnly + The scene before us. + + He with whom I talked + Was in the noble vigor of his youth: + Tall, much beyond the standard, and well knit, + With a dark, Norman face, from which the breeze + Flung back his locks of ebon darkness which + In rare luxuriance fell around his brow, + That, in its massive beauty, brought me up + Pictures by ancient masters; or the sharp + And perfect features carved by Grecian hands, + In days when Gods, in forms worthy of Gods, + Started from marble to bewitch the world-- + A brow so beautiful was his, that one + Might well conceive it always bound with dreams; + His eyes were luminous and full of gleams, + That made me think of waves wherein I've seen + The moon-hued lightning breaking in the dark + With sudden flashes of phosphoric light: + His cheeks were bronze, his firm lips scarlet-hued. + The Roman's valor, the Assyrian's love + Of ease and pomp sat on his crimson lips, + Uneasy rulers on the self-same throne, + Spoiling the empire of the soul within: + Such was his face. + + * * * * * + + His thoughts went forth like emperors, and all + His words arrayed themselves around them like + Imperial guards. + + * * * * * + + Opinions which I had been taught to hold + As full of pith and gravity, he took + As 'twere, 'twixt thumb and finger of his wit-- + Rubbed off their gloss, until they seemed to me, + All, as he said, varnished hypocrisies. + + * * * * * + + Most wise for one so young! and strangely read + In books of quaint philosophy--although + His mind's strange alchemy could find some + Rich thought hidden in the basest thing, + Which he transmuted into golden words, + So that in hearing him I often thought + Upon the story of that Saint whose mouth + Was radiant with the angel's blessed touch, + Which gave him superhuman eloquence; + And though he was thus gifted, yet--ah me! + + * * * * * + + Still earnest with my theme, I bade him think + Of Auerbach's cellar, and that wassail night + Whole centuries ago: and then in phrase, + Better than that which cometh to me now + I likened it--the necromancy which + Drew richest vintage from the rugged boards-- + Unto the spell wherewith he'd bound himself-- + The spell by which he drew from simplest things + Conceptions beautiful, as Faust drew wine + From the rude table; for this friend of mine + Was a true poet, though he seldom wrote: + The wealth which might have royally endowed + Some noble charity for coming time + Was idly wasted--pearls dissolved in wine-- + + * * * * * + + Still on my theme I hung and pointed out, + Full eagerly, how Mephistopheles + Ordered the gimlet wherewith it was drawn: + + * * * * * + + But he who went his way that summer night, + Beneath the shadow of those stately trees + Comes back to me--to earth--ah! nevermore. + + * * * * * + + He fell obscurely in the common ranks-- + His keen sword rusted in its splendid sheath. + God pardon him his faults! for faults he had; + But oh! so blent with goodness, that the while + The lip of every theory of his + Curved with a sneer, each action smiled + With Christian charity. + + Like Manfred he had summoned to his aid + Forbidden ministers--but unlike his-- + Of the earth, earthy, which did slowly clutch + Upon his lofty faculties until + They summoned him from the lone tow'r of thought + And false philosophy wherein he dwelt. + God pardon him! Amen. + + + + +INDOLENCE. [5] + + * * * * * + + I turn aside; and, in the pause, might start + As Mem'ry's elbow leans upon Time's Chart, + Which shows, alas! how soon all men must glide + Over meridians on life's ocean tide-- + Meridians showing how both youth and sage + Are sailing northward to the zone of age: + On to an atmosphere of gloom I wist, + Where mariners are lost in melancholy mist. + But gayer thoughts, like spring-tide swallows, dart + Through youth's brave mind and animate its heart. + + * * * * * + + But Indolence is seen a pallid Ruth-- + A timid gleaner in the fields of youth-- + A wretched gath'rer of the scattered grain + Left by the reapers who have swept the plain; + But with no Boaz standing by the while, + To watch its figure with approving smile. + + +[Footnote 5: (From a Poem pronounced before the Phi Beta Kappa +Society and graduating classes of William and Mary College, July 4th, +1858.)] + + + + +THE JAMESTOWN ANNIVERSARY ODE. + + * * * * * + + In those vast forests dwelt a race of kings, + Free as the eagle when he spreads his wings-- + His wings which never in their wild flight lag-- + In mists which fly the fierce tornado's flag; + Their flight the eagle's! and their name, alas! + The eagle's shadow swooping o'er the grass, + Or, as it fades, it well may seem to be + The shade of tempest driven o'er the sea. + + Fierce, too, this race, as mountain torrent wild, + With haughty hearts, where Mercy rarely smiled-- + All their traditions--histories imbued + With tales of war and sanguinary feud, + Yet though they never couched the knightly lance, + The glowing songs of Europe's old romance + Can find their parallels amid the race, + Which, on this spot, met England face to face. + And when they met the white man, hand to hand, + Twilight and sunrise stood upon the strand-- + Twilight and sunrise? Saxon sunshine gleams + To-day o'er prairies and those distant streams, + Which hurry onward through far Western plains, + Where the last Indian, for a season, reigns. + Here, the red CANUTE on this spot, sat down, + His splendid forehead stormy with a frown, + To quell, with the wild lightning of his glance + The swift encroachment of the wave's advance; + To meet and check the ruthless tide which rose, + Crest after crest of energetic foes, + While high and strong poured on each cruel wave, + Until they left his royalty--a grave; + But, o'er this wild, tumultuous deluge glows + A vision fair as Heaven to saint e'er shows; + A dove of mercy o'er the billows dark + Fluttered awhile then fled within God's ark. + Had I the power, I'd reverently describe + That peerless maid--the "pearl of all her tribe," + As evening fair, when coming night and day + Contend together which shall wield its sway. + But, here abashed, my paltry fancy stays; + For her, too humble its most stately lays. + A shade of twilight's softest, sweetest gloom-- + The dusk of morning--found a splendid tomb + In England's glare; so strange, so vast, so bright, + The dusk of morning burst in splendid light, + Which falleth through the Past's cathedral aisles, + Till sculptured Mercy like a seraph smiles. + And though Fame's grand and consecrated fane + No kingly statue may, in time, retain, + _Her_ name shall linger, nor with age grow faint; + Its simple sound--the image of a saint. + + Sad is the story of that maiden's race, + Long driven from each legendary place. + All their expansive hunting-grounds are now + Torn by the iron of the Saxon's plough, + Which turns up skulls and arrow-heads and bones-- + Their places nameless and unmarked by stones. + Now freighted vessels toil along the view, + Where once was seen the Indian's bark canoe; + And to the woods the shrill escaping steam + Proclaims our triumph in discordant scream. + Where rose the wigwam in its sylvan shade, + Where the bold hunter in his freedom strayed, + And met his foe or chased the bounding stag, + The lazy horses at the harrow lag. + Where the rude dance was held or war-song rose, + The scene is one of plenty and repose. + The quiver of her race is empty now, + Its bow lies broken underneath the plough; + And where the wheat-fields ripple in the gale, + The vanished hunter scarcely leaves a trail. + 'Twas where yon river musically flows, + The European's nomenclature rose; + A keen-edged axe, which since, alas! has swept + Away their names--those boughs, which blossoms kept, + Leaving so few, that when their story's drowned, + 'Twill sink, alas! with no fair garland crowned. + What strange vicissitudes and perils fell + On the first settlers 'tis not mine to tell; + I scarce may pause to syllable the name + Which the great Captain left behind to fame; + A name which echoes through the tented past + Like sound of charge rung in a bugle's blast. + His age, although it still put faith in stars, + No longer glanced through feudal helmet's bars, + But stood in its half armor; thus stands he + An image half of antique chivalry, + And half presented to our eager eyes, + The brilliant type of modern enterprise. + A knightly blade, without one spot of rust, + Undimmed by time and undefaced by dust, + His name hangs up in that past age's hall, + Where many hang, the brightest of them all. + + + + +AN ELEGIAC ODE.[6] + + * * * * * + + He chastens us as nations and as men, + He smites us sore until our pride doth yield, + And hence our heroes, each with hearts for ten, + Were vanquished in the field; + + And stand to-day beneath our Southern sun + O'erthrown in battle and despoiled of hope, + Their drums all silent and their cause undone, + And they all left to grope + + In darkness till God's own appointed time + In His own manner passeth fully by. + Our Penance this. His Parable sublime + Means we must learn to die. + + Not as our soldiers died beneath their flags, + Not as in tumult and in blood they fell, + When from their columns, clad in homely rags, + Rose the Confederate yell. + + Not as they died, though never mortal men + Since Tubal Cain first forged his cruel blade + Fought as they fought, nor ever shall agen + Such Leader be obeyed! + + No, not as died our knightly, soldier dead, + Though they, I trust, have found above surcease + For all life's troubles, but on Christian bed + Should we depart in peace, + + Falling asleep like those whose gentle deeds + Are governed through time's passions and its strife, + So justly that we might erect new creeds + From each well ordered life, + + Whose saintly lessons are so framed that we + May learn that pain is but a text sublime, + Teaching us how to learn at Sorrow's knee + To value things of time. + + Thus thinking o'er life's promise-breaking dreams, + Its lights and shadows made of hopes and fears, + I say that Death is kinder than he seems, + And not the King of Tears. + +[Footnote: 6: It may not be out of place to state that this ode was +written at the express and urgent request of the ladies of Warren +county, North Carolina, and recited by the author, August 8th, 1866, +on the occasion of the completion of the monument, erected by the +ladies of Warren county, over the ashes of Miss Annie Carter Lee, +who was the daughter of General Robert E. Lee and Mary Custis Lee; +born at Arlington, Va., June 18th, 1839, and died at the White +Sulphur Springs, Warren county, North Carolina, October 20th, 1862. +The monument was unveiled in the presence of a great concourse of +people, and with Major-Generals G.W.C. Lee and W.H.F. Lee, in +attendance, as representatives of their family.] + + + + +THE CADETS AT NEW MARKET.[7] + + * * * * * + + Their sleep is made glorious, + And dead they're victorious + Over defeat! + Never Lethean billows + Shall roll o'er their pillows, + Red with the feet + Of Mars from the wine press + So bitterly sweet! + + Sleeping, but glorious, + Dead in Fame's portal, + Dead, but victorious, + Dead, but immortal! + They gave us great glory, + What more could they give? + They have left us a story, + A story to live-- + And blaze on the brows of the State like a crown, + While from these grand mountains the rivers run down, + While grass grows in graveyards, or the Ocean's deep calls, + Their deeds and their glory shall fresco these walls. + +[Footnote 7: Delivered at Virginia Military Institute, 1870.] + + + + +OUR HEROIC DEAD. + + +I. + + A King once said of a Prince struck down, + "Taller he seems in death." + And this speech holds truth, for now as then + 'Tis after death that we measure men, + And as mists of the past are rolled away + Our heroes, who died in their tattered grey, + Grow "taller" and greater in all their parts + Till they fill our minds as they fill our hearts. + And for those who lament them there's this relief-- + That Glory sits by the side of Grief, + Yes, they grow "taller" as the years pass by + And the World learns how they could do and die. + + +II. + + A Nation respects them. The East and West, + The far-off slope of the Golden Coast, + The stricken South and the North agree + That the heroes who died for you and me-- + Each valiant man, in his own degree, + Whether he fell on the shore or sea, + Did deeds of which + This Land, though rich + In histories may boast, + And the Sage's Book and the Poet's Lay + Are full of the deeds of the Men in Grey. + + +III. + + No lion cleft from the rock is ours, + Such as Lucerne displays, + Our only wealth is in tears and flowers, + And words of reverent praise. + And the Roses brought to this silent Yard + Are Red and White. Behold! + + They tell how wars for a kingly crown, + In the blood of England's best writ down, + Left Britain a story whose moral old + Is fit to be graven in text of gold: + The moral is, that when battles cease + The ramparts smile in the blooms of peace. + + And flowers to-day were hither brought + From the gallant men who against us fought; + York and Lancaster!--Grey and Blue! + Each to itself and the other true-- + And so I say + Our Men in Grey + Have left to the South and North a tale + Which none of the glories of Earth can pale. + + +IV. + + Norfolk has names in the sleeping host + Which fill us with mournful pride-- + Taylor and Newton, we well may boast, + McPhail, and Walke, and Selden, too, + Brave as the bravest, as truest true! + And Grandy struck down ere his May became June, + A battle-flag folded away too soon, + And Williams, than whom not a man stood higher, + 'Mid the host of heroes baptized in fire. + And Mallory, whose sires aforetime died, + When Freedom and Danger stood side by side. + McIntosh, too, with his boarders slain, + Saunders and Jackson, the unripe grain, + And Taliaferro, stately as knight of old, + A blade of steel with a sheath of gold. + And Wright, who fell on the Crater's red sod, + Giving life to the Cause, his soul to GOD. + And there is another, whose portrait at length + Should blend graces of Sidney with great Raleigh's strength. + Ah, John Randolph Tucker![8] To match me this name + You must climb to the top of the Temple of Fame! + + These are random shots o'er the men at rest, + But each rings out on a warrior's crest. + Yes, names like bayonet points, when massed, + Blaze out as we gaze on the splendid past. + + +V. + + That past is now like an Arctic Sea + Where the living currents have ceased to run, + But over that past the fame of Lee + Shines out as the "Midnight Sun:" + And that glorious Orb, in its march sublime, + Shall gild our graves till the end of time! + +[Footnote 8: That splendid seaman, Admiral Tucker.] + + + + +MAHONE'S BRIGADE.[9] + + A METRICAL ADDRESS. + + "In pace decus, in bello praesidium."--_Tacitus_. + + +I. + + Your arms are stacked, your splendid colors furled, + Your drums are still, aside your trumpets laid, + But your dumb muskets once spoke to the world-- + And the world listened to Mahone's Brigade. + + Like waving plume upon Bellona's crest, + Or comet in red majesty arrayed, + Or Persia's flame transported to the West, + Shall shine the glory of Mahone's Brigade. + + Not once, in all those years so dark and grim, + Your columns from the path of duty strayed; + No craven act made your escutcheon dim-- + 'Twas burnished with your blood, Mahone's Brigade. + + Not once on post, on march, in camp, or field, + Was your brave leader's trust in you betrayed, + And never yet has old Virginia's shield + Suffered dishonor through Mahone's Brigade. + + Who has forgotten at the deadly Mine, + How our great Captain of great Captains bade + Your General to retake the captured line? + How it was done, you know, Mahone's Brigade. + + Who has forgotten how th' undying dead, + And you, yourselves, won that for which Lee prayed? + Who has forgotten how th' Immortal said: + That "heroes" swept that field, Mahone's Brigade? + + From the far right, beneath the "stars and bars," + You marched amain to Bushrod Johnson's aid, + And when you charged--an arrow shot by Mars + Went forward in your rush, Mahone's Brigade. + + In front stood death. Such task as yours before + By mortal man has rarely been essayed, + There you defeated Burnside's boasted corps, + And did an army's work, Mahone's Brigade. + + And those who led you, field, or line, or staff, + Showed they were fit for more than mere parade; + Their motto: "Victory or an epitaph," + And well they did their part, Mahone's Brigade. + + +II. + + Were mine the gift to coin my heart of hearts + In living words, fit tribute should be paid + To all the heroes whose enacted parts + Gave fame immortal to Mahone's Brigade. + + But he who bore the musket is the man + Whose figure should for future time be made-- + Cleft from a rock by some new Thorwaldsen-- + The Private Soldier of Mahone's Brigade. + + His was that sense of duty only felt + By souls heroic. In the modest shade + He lived, or fell; but his, Fame's Starry Belt-- + His, Fame's own Galaxy, Mahone's Brigade. + + And in that Belt--all luminous with stars, + Unnamed and woven in a wondrous braid-- + A blaze of glory in the sky of Mars-- + Your orbs are thickly set, Mahone's Brigade. + + The Private Soldier is the man who comes + From mart, or plain, or grange, or sylvan glade, + To answer calls of trumpets and of drums-- + So came the Soldier of Mahone's Brigade. + + His messmate, hunger; comrades, heat and cold; + His decorations, death or wounds, conveyed + To the brave patriot in ways manifold-- + But yet he flinched not in Mahone's Brigade. + + When needing bread, Fate gave him but a stone; + Ragged, he answered when the trumpet brayed; + Barefoot he marched, or died without a groan; + True to his battle-flag, Mahone's Brigade. + + Could some Supreme Intelligence proclaim, + Arise from all the pomp of rank and grade, + War's truest heroes, oft we'd hear some name, + Unmentioned by the world, Mahone's Brigade. + + And yet they have a name, enriched with thanks + And tears and homage--which shall never fade-- + Their name is simply this: Men of the Ranks-- + The Knights without their spurs--Mahone's Brigade. + + And though unbelted and without their spurs, + To them is due Fame's splendid accolade; + And theirs the story which to-day still stirs + The pulses of your heart, Mahone's Brigade. + + Men of the Ranks, step proudly to the front, + 'Twas yours unknown through sheeted flame to wade, + In the red battle's fierce and deadly brunt; + Yours be full laurels in Mahone's Brigade. + + +III. + + For those who fell be yours the sacred trust + To see forgetfulness, shall not invade + The spots made holy by their noble dust; + Green keep them in your hearts, Mahone's Brigade. + + Oh, keep them green with patriotic tears! + Forget not, now war's fever is allayed, + Those valiant men, who, in the vanished years, + Kept step with you in ranks, Mahone's Brigade. + + Each circling year, in the sweet month of May, + Your countrywomen--matron and fair maid-- + Still pay their tribute to the Soldier's clay, + And strew his grave with flow'rs, Mahone's Brigade. + + Join in the task, with retrospective eye; + Men's mem'ries should not perish 'neath the spade; + Pay homage to the dead, whose dying cry + Was for the Commonwealth, Mahone's Brigade. + + Raise up, O State! a shaft to pierce the sky, + To him, the Private, who was but afraid + To fail in his full duty--not to die; + And on its base engrave, "Mahone's Brigade." + + +IV. + + Now that the work of blood and tears is done, + Whether of stern assault, or sudden raid, + Yours is a record second yet to none-- + None takes your right in line, Mahone's Brigade. + + Now that we've lost, as was fore-doomed, the day-- + Now that the good by ill has been outweighed-- + Let us plant olives on the rugged way, + Once proudly trodden by Mahone's Brigade. + + And when some far-stretchen future folds the past, + To us so recent, in its purple shade, + High up, as if on some "tall Admiral's mast," + Shall fly your battle-flags, Mahone's Brigade. + + +V. + + Each battle-flag shall float abroad and fling + A radiance round, as from a new-lit star; + Or light the air about, as when a King + Flashes in armor in his royal car; + And Fame's own vestibule I see inlaid + With their proud images, Mahone's Brigade. + + Your battle-flags shall fly throughout all time, + By History's self exultingly unfurled; + And stately prose, and loud-resounding rhyme, + Nobler than mine, shall tell to all the world + How dauntless moved, and how all undismayed, + Through good and ill stood Mahone's Brigade. + + O glorious flags! No victory could stain + Your tattered folds with one unworthy deed, + O glorious flags! No country shall again + Fly nobler symbols in its hour of need. + Success stained not, nor could defeat degrade; + Spotless they float to-day, Mahone's Brigade. + + Immortal flags, upon Time's breezes flung, + Seen by the mind in forests, or in marts, + Cherished in visions, praised from tongue to tongue, + Wrapped in the very fibres of your hearts, + And gazing on them, none may dare upbraid + Your Leader, or your men, Mahone's Brigade. + + +VI. + + That splendid Leader's name is yours, and he + Flesh of your flesh, himself bone of your bone, + His simple name maketh a history, + Which stands, itself grand, glorious and alone, + Or, 'tis a trophy, splendidly arrayed, + With all your battle-flags, Mahone's Brigade. + + His name itself a history? Yes, and none + May halt me here. In war and peace + It challenges the full rays of the sun; + And when the passions of our day shall cease, + 'Twill stand undying, for all time displayed, + Itself a battle-flag, Mahone's Brigade. + + He rose successor of that mighty man + Who was the "right arm" [10] of immortal Lee; + Whose genius put defeat beneath a ban; + Who swept the field as tempest sweeps the sea; + Who fought full hard, and yet full harder prayed. + You knew that man full well, Mahone's Brigade. + + And here that great man's shadow claims a place; + Within my mind I see his image rise, + With Cromwell's will and Havelock's Christian grace; + As daring as the Swede, as Frederick wise; + Swift as Napoleon ere his hopes decayed; + You knew the hero well, Mahone's Brigade. + + And when he fell his fall shook all the land, + As falling oak shakes mountain side and glen; + But soon men saw his good sword in the hand + Of one, himself born leader among men,-- + Of him who led you through the fusilade, + The storm of shot and shell, Mahone's Brigade. + + Immortal Lee, who triumphed o'er despair, + Greater than all the heroes I have named. + Whose life has made a Westminster where'er + His name is spoken; he, so wise and famed, + Gave Jackson's duties unto him whose blade + Was lightning to your storms, Mahone's Brigade. + + Ere Jackson fell Mahone shone day by day, + A burnished lance amid that crop of spears,-- + None rose above him in that grand array; + And Lee, who stood Last of the Cavaliers, + Knew he had found of War's stupendous trade, + A Master at your head, Mahone's Brigade. + + O Countrymen! I see the coming days + When he, above all hinderances and lets + Shall stand in Epic form, lit by the rays + Of Fame's eternal sun that never sets, + The first great chapter of his life is made, + And spoken in two words--"Mahone's Brigade." + + O Countrymen! I see historic brass + Leap from the furnace in a blazing tide; + I see it through strange transformations pass + Into a form of energy and pride; + Beneath our Capitol's majestic shade + In bronze I see Mahone--Mahone's Brigade. + + O Countrymen! When dust has gone to dust. + Still shall he live in story and in rhyme; + Then History's self shall multiply his bust, + And he defy the silent Conqueror, Time. + My song is sung: My prophecy is made-- + The State will make it good, Mahone's Brigade. + +[Footnote 9: Recited at Norfolk Opera House, July 30, 1876, the +twelfth anniversary of the Battle of the Crater, and second reunion +of survivors of Mahone's old brigade.] + +[Footnote 10: Stonewall Jackson.] + + + + + +THE PORTSMOUTH MEMORIAL POEM. + + --THE FUTURE HISTORIAN. + + Oh the women of Old Portsmouth in their patience were sublime, + As in working and in praying they abided GOD's own time! + Marble saints in a stately Minster, in some land across the sea, + In a flood of Winter moonlight were not half so pure to me! + And your men in Grey were faithful! they were counted with the best! + And where they fought no shadow fell on Old Virginia's crest. + Rags in cold, bare feet in marches never turned your children back; + In retreat they loved the rearguard, in advance they loved attack! + + Oh, my brothers! I see figures which all flit athwart my brain, + Like the torches lit by lightning in some tempest-driven rain, + And above the rushing vision, in my soul I hear the cry: + "Those who fell for Home and Duty left us names that cannot die!" + First, before the sleeping warriors, comes a gentle woman's face, + Every mark Time made upon it seemed to add a Christian grace. + Sister of the soldier's widow, mother of his orphan child, + To us she seemed, indeed, as one on whom her GOD had smiled, + Passed from our sight, sustained by CHRIST, she went upon her way, + And be you sure, as I am, that her soul is here to-day! + + Other names now blaze upon me, and they shine out one by one + As the rays dart out a glitter from a shield hung in the sun. + Fiske, and White, and brave Vermillion, fell on Malvern's deadly slope, + When the cause that they defended was a-glow with life and hope. + Gallant Butt, and two Neimeyers you may boast in mood of pride, + Types were they of valiant soldiers, and like soldiers true they + died! + And Grimes, at bloody Sharpsburg, went down prone upon the field, + And Hodges, under Pickett, took his last sleep on his shield. + And Cowley, and Forrest, and Wilson, and Cocke on your Window + still blaze, + And their names enrich its blazon in the evening's golden haze. + Dunderdale, and Beaton, and Bennett, and Bingley, and Armistead, + and Gayle, + And Williams, the brave Color Sergeant, and Owens are men to bewail. + + Last, not least, there comes the Seaman, valiant Cooke, my cherished + friend, + Who was faithful to Virginia from beginning to the end; + Had the theatre been given he had played a Nelson's part, + Or in Anson's place had written his prodigious log and chart. + Carolina--may GOD bless her!--gave that true man to the State, + With a heart for any fortune and a soul for any fate. + Seaman of the blue salt water! On our narrow streams you taught, + Highest lessons of devotion in the battles that you fought. + + Other names crowd fast upon me as stars thicken on the view, + When the night comes down upon us, but I fix my gaze on two-- + As the "midland oak" of England is chief tree of all her trees-- + As the peak of Teneriffa is chief peak of all the seas-- + So our mighty Lee and Stonewall--greater names no era boasts-- + Shall exalt their Shades forever o'er the grand Confederate Hosts! + 'Twas not glory that they fought for through those weary years of + pain + Though the glory fell upon them as it ne'er may fall again. + That sentiment inspired them which lifts men to make them great, + Love of hearthstone, friends, and neighbors, and devotion to the State. + Not as rebels but as warriors they sent forth their famous cry-- + Not as traitors but as freemen they went forth to do or die! + + Then give the dead your tears, oh, friends, upon this day of days, + And let a solemn joy resound in all your words of praise! + For honor still has claims on man, and duty still can call + Above the sordid cares of life, the market and the stall. + Yes, honor still has claims on man! Thank GOD that this is so! + And there are heights of life where still all spotless lies the snow. + Oh, better than lands and vast estates, or titles high and long + The spirit of those whose deeds are fit to consecrate in Song! + When Regulus to Carthage went, and went back to keep his word, + His great action preached a homily which all mankind has heard. + It gave to the sacred cause of truth an impulse which still lives, + And left the world the moral which a grand example gives. + Here, within a nutshell's compass, the high argument appears + Which the man who dies for duty in his dying moment cheers, + And 'tis thus the Human Epic, acted out by all below, + Takes a fuller pulse and cadence in its long-resounding flow. + + In the future some historian shall come forth both strong and wise, + With a love of the Republic, and the truth, before his eyes. + He will show the subtle causes of the war between the States, + He will go back in his studies far beyond our modern dates, + He will trace out hostile ideas as the miner does the lodes, + He will show the different habits born of different social codes, + He will show the Union riven, and the picture will deplore, + He will show it re-united and made stronger than before. + Slow and patient, fair and truthful must the coming teacher be + To show how the knife was sharpened that was ground to prune the tree. + He will hold the Scales of Justice, he will measure praise and blame, + And the South will stand the verdict, and will stand it without shame. + + +[Illustration: MONUMENT AT YORKTOWN, VIRGINIA.] + + + + +ARMS AND THE MAN. + + A Metrical Address recited on the one hundredth anniversary of + the surrender of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown on invitation + of a joint committee of the Senate and House of the United + States Congress. + + +PROLOGUE. + + Full-burnished through the long-revolving years + The ploughshare of a Century to-day + Runs peaceful furrows where a crop of Spears + Once stood in War's array. + + And we, like those who on the Trojan plain + See hoary secrets wrenched from upturned sods;-- + Who, in their fancy, hear resound again + The battle-cry of gods;-- + + We now,--this splendid scene before us spread + Where Freedom's full hexameter began-- + Restore our Epic, which the Nations read + As far its thunders ran. + + Here visions throng on People and on Bard, + Ranks all a-glitter in battalions massed + And closed around as like a plumed guard, + They lead us down the Past. + + I see great Shapes in vague confusion march + Like giant shadows, moving vast and slow, + Beneath some torch-lit temple's mighty arch + Where long processions go. + + I see these Shapes before me, all unfold, + But ne'er can fix them on the lofty wall, + Nor tell them, save as she of Endor told + What she beheld to Saul. + + +THE DEAD STATESMAN. + + I see his Shape who should have led these ranks-- + GARFIELD I see whose presence had evoked + The stormy rapture of a Nation's thanks-- + His chariot stands unyoked! + + Unyoked and empty, and the Charioteer + To Fame's expanded arms has headlong rushed + Ending the glories of a grand career, + While all the world stood hushed. + + The thunder of his wheels is done, but he + Sustained by patience, fortitude, and grace-- + A Christian Hero--from the struggle free-- + Has won the Christian's race! + + His wheel-tracks stop not in the Valley cold + But upward lead, and on, and up, and higher, + Till Hope can realize and Faith behold + His chariot mount in fire! + + Therefore, my Countrymen, lift up your hearts! + Therefore, my Countrymen, be not cast down! + He lives with those who well have done their parts, + And God bestowed his crown! + + And yet another form to-day I miss;-- + Grigsby the scholar, good, and pure, and wise, + Who now, perchance, from scenes of perfect bliss + Looks down with tender eyes. + + Where his great friend, through life great Winthrop stands, + Winthrop, whose gift, in life's departing hours, + Went to the dying Old Virginian's hands + Who died amid those flowers.[11] + + Prayers change to blooms, the ancient Rabbins taught; + So his, then, seemed to blossom forth and glow, + As if his supplicating soul had brought + Sandalphon down below. + + But, happily, that Winthrop stood to-day, + The patriot, scholar, orator, and sage, + To tell the meaning of this grand array + And vindicate an Age. + + That Era's life and meaning his to teach, + To him the parchments, but the shell to me, + His voice the voice of billows on the beach + Wherein we heard the sea. + + My voice the voice of some sequestered stream + Which only boasts, as on its waters glide, + That, here and there, it shows a broken gleam + Of pictures on its tide. + + +II. + + THE COLONIES. + + The fountain of our story spreads no clouds + Of mist above it rich in varied glows, + None paint us Gods and Goddesses in crowds + Where some Scamander flows. + + The tale of Jamestown, which I need not gild, + With that of Plymouth, by the World is seen, + But none, in visions, fancifully build + Olympus in between. + + At Jamestown stood the Saxon's home and graves, + There Britain's spray broke on the native rock, + There rose the English tide with crested waves + And overwhelming shock. + + Virginia thence, stirred by a grand unrest, + Swept o'er the waters, scaled the mountain's crag, + Hewed out a more than Roman roadway West, + And planted there her flag. + + Her fortune was forewritten even then-- + That fortune in the coming years to be + "Mother of States and unpolluted men," + And nurse of Liberty. + + Then 'twas our coast all bore Virginia's name; + Next North Virginia took its separate place, + And grew by slow degrees in wealth and fame + And Freedom's special grace. + +[Footnote 11: Hugh Blair Grigsby, L.L.D., Chancellor of William and +Mary College, and President of the Virginia Historical Society, +Scholar and Historian, died on the day on which he received a gift +of flowers from his life-long friend, Mr. Winthrop, and these +literally gladdened the dying eyes of the noble gentleman whose loss +will long be deplored by all who knew him, whether they live in +Virginia or Massachusetts.] + + + THE NEW ENGLAND GROUP. + + At Plymouth Rock a handful of brave souls, + Full-armed in faith, erected home and shrine, + And flourished where the wild Atlantic rolls + Its pyramids of brine. + + There rose a manly race austere and strong, + On whom no lessons of their day were lost, + Earnest as some conventicle's deep song, + And keen as their own frost. + + But that shrewd frost became a friend to those + Who fronted there the Ice-King's bitter storm, + For see we not that underneath the snows + The growing wheat keeps warm? + + Soft ease and silken opulence they spurned; + From sands of silver, and from emerald boughs + With golden ingots laden full, they turned + Like Pilgrims under vows. + + For them no tropic seas, no slumbrous calms, + No rich abundance generously unrolled: + In place of Cromwell's proffered flow'rs and palms + They chose the long-drawn cold. + + The more it blew, the more they faced the gale; + The more it snowed, the more they would not freeze; + And when crops failed on sterile hill and vale-- + They went to reap the seas! + + Far North, through wild and stormy brine they ran, + With hands a-cold plucked Winter by the locks! + Masterful mastered great Leviathan + And drove the foam as flocks! + + Next in their order came the Middle Group, + Perchance less hardy, but as brave they grew,-- + Grew straight and tall with not a bend, or stoop-- + Heart-timber through and through! + + Midway between the ardent heat and cold + They spread abroad, and by a homely spell, + The iron of their axes changed to gold + As fast the forests fell! + + Doing the things they found to do, we see + That thus they drew a mighty empire's charts, + And, working for the present, took in fee + The future for their marts! + + And there unchallenged may the boast be made, + Although they do not hold his sacred dust, + That Penn, the Founder, never once betrayed + The simple Indian's trust. + + To them the genius which linked Silver Lakes + With the blue Ocean and the outer World, + And the fair banner, which their commerce shakes, + Wise Clinton's hand unfurled. + + + THE SOUTHERN COLONIES. + + Then sweeping down below Virginia's Capes, + From Chesapeake to where Savannah flows, + We find the settlers laughing 'mid their grapes + And ignorant of snows. + + The fragrant _uppowock_, and golden corn + Spread far a-field by river and lagoon, + And all the months poured out from Plenty's Horn + Were opulent as June. + + Yet, they had tragedies all dark and fell! + Lone Roanoke Island rises on the view, + And this Peninsula its tale could tell + Of Opecancanough! + + But, when the Ocean thunders on the shore + Its waves, though broken, overflow the beach; + So here our Fathers on and onward bore + With English laws and speech. + + Kind skies above them, underfoot rich soils; + Silence and Savage at their presence fled; + This Giant's Causeway, sacred through their toils, + Resounded at their tread. + + With ardent hearts, and ever-open hands, + Candid and honest, brave and proud they grew, + Their lives and habits colored by fair lands + As skies give waters hue. + + The race in semi-Feudal State appears-- + Their Knightly figures glow in tender mist, + With ghostly pennons flung from ghostly spears + And ghostly hawks on wrist. + + By enterprise and high adventure stirred, + From rude lunette and sentry-guarded croft + They hawked at Empire, and, as on they spurred, + Fate's falcon soared aloft! + + Fate's falcon soared aloft full strong and free, + With blood on talons, plumage, beak, and breast! + Her shadow like a storm-shade on the sea + Far-sailing down the West! + + Swift hoofs clang out behind that Falcon's flights-- + Hoofs shod with Golden Horse Shoes catch the eye! + And as they ring, we see the Forest-Knights-- + The Cavaliers ride by! + + + THE OLD DOMINION. + + Midway between the orange and the snows + As some fair planet rounds up from the sea, + Eldest of all, the Central Power arose + In vague immensity. + + She stretched from Seas in sun to Lakes in Shade, + O'erstepped swift _Rio Escondido's_ stream-- + Her bounds expressed, as by the Tudor made, + An Alexander's dream. + + And liberal Stuart granted broad and free + Bound'ries which still the annalist may boast-- + Limits which ran "throughout from sea to sea," + And far along the coast! + + A mighty shaft through Raleigh's fingers slipped, + Smith shot it, and--a Continent awoke! + For that great arrow with an acorn tipped, + Planted an English Oak! + + +III. + + THE OAKS AND THE TEMPEST. + + Oaks multiplied apace, and o'er the seas + Big rumors went in many a winding ring; + And stories fabulous on every breeze + Swept to a distant King. + + Full many a tale of wild romance, and myth, + In large hyperbole the New World told, + And down from days of Raleigh and of Smith + The Colonies meant gold. + + Not from Banchoonan's mines came forth the ore, + But from the waters, and the woods, and fields, + Paid for in blood, but bringing more and more + The wealth that labor yields. + + Then seeing this, that King beyond the sea, + The _jus divinum_ filling all his soul, + Bethought him that he held these lands in fee + And absolute control. + + When this high claim in action was displayed + With one accord the young Plantations spoke, + And told him, English-like, they were not made + To plough with such a yoke. + + Thus met, not his to falter, or to flag, + A sudden fury seized the Royal breast-- + Prometheus bound upon a Scythian crag + His policy expressed. + + And, so, he ordered in those stormy hours + His adamantine chains for one and all, + Brute "Force" and soulless "Strength" the only Power + On which he chose to call. + + Great men withstood him many a weary day; + In Press and Parliament full well they strove: + But all in vain, for he was bound to play + A travesty on Jove! + + Then flamed the crater! And the flame took wing; + Furious and far the lava blazed around, + Until at last, on this same spot that King + His Herculaneum found! + + Breed's Hill became Vesuvius, and its stream + Rushed forth through years, a God-directed tide + To light two Worlds and realize the dream + For which brave Warren died. + + +IV. + + THE EMBATTLED COLONIES. + + Before this thought the present hour recedes, + As from the beach a billow backward rolls, + And the great past, rich in heroic deeds + Illuminates our souls! + + Stern Massachusetts Bay uplifts her form, + Boston the tale of Lexington repeats, + With breast unarmored she confronts the storm-- + New England England meets. + + I see the Middle Group by Fortune made + The bloody Flanders of the Northern Coast, + And, in a varying play of light and shade, + Host thundering fall on host. + + I see the Carolinas, Georgia, mowed + By War the Reaper, and grim Ruin stalk + O'er wasted fields;--but Guilford paved the way + That led to this same York. + + Here, too, Virginia in the vision comes-- + Full-bent to crown the battle's closing arch, + Her pulses trumpets and her heart throbs drums, + To animate her march. + + As Pocahontas, in a by-gone time, + Leaped forth the wrath of Powhatan to brave, + Virginia came, and here she stood sublime + To perish, or to save. + + I see her interposing now her frame + Between her sisters and the alien bands, + And taking both of Freedom and of Fame + Full seisin with her hands. + + +V. + + WELCOME TO FRANCE. + + But, in that fiery zone + She upriseth not alone, + Over all the bloody fields + Glitter Amazonian shields; + While through the mists of years + Another form appears, + And as I bow my head + Already you have said:-- + 'Tis France! + + Welcome to France! + From sea to sea, + With heart and hand! + Welcome to all within the land-- + Thrice welcome let her be! + + And to France + The Union here to-day + Gives the right of this array, + And folds her to her breast + As the friend that she loves best. + Yes to France. + The proud Ruler of the West + Bows her sun-illumined crest, + Grave and slow, + In a passion of fond memories of + One hundred years ago! + + France's colors wave again + High above this tented plain, + Stream and flaunt, and blaze and shine, + O'er the banner-painted brine, + Float and flow! + And the brazen trumpets blow + While upon her serried lines, + Full the light of Freedom shines + In a broad, effulgent glow. + And here this day I see + The fairest dream that ever yet + Was dreamt by History! + + As in cadence, and in time, + To the martial throb and rhyme + Of her bugles and her drums + Forth a stately vision comes-- + Comes majestically slow-- + Comes a fair and stately vision of + One hundred years ago! + + Welcome to France! + From sea to sea, + With heart and hand! + Welcome to all within the land! + Thrice welcome let her be! + Of Freedom's Guild made free! + Welcome! + Thrice Welcome! + Welcome let her be! + + And as in days of old + Walter Raleigh did unfold + His gay cloak, with all its hems + Wrought in braided gold and gems, + That his Queen might passing tread + On the sumptuous cloth outspread, + And step on the shining fold + Or fair samnite rich in gold. + So for France-- + Splendid, grand, majestic France!-- + May Fortune down _her_ mantle throw + To mend the way that _she_ may go! + + May GLORY leap before to reap-- + Up to the shoulders turned her sleeves-- + And FAME behind follow to bind + Unnumbered honors in unnumbered sheaves! + And may that mantle forever be + Under thy footfall, oh France the Free! + Forever and forever! + + +VI. + + THE ALLIES AT YORKTOWN. + + And here France came one hundred years ago! + Red, russet, purple glowed upon the trees, + And sunset glories deepened in their glow + Along the painted seas. + + A wealth of color blazed on land and wave, + Topaz and gold, and crimson met the eye-- + October hailed the ships which came to save + With banners in the sky. + + DeBarras swept down from the Northern coast, + DeGrasse, foam-driving, came with favoring breeze, + And here surprised the proud, marauding host + Like spectres of the seas. + + Then was no time for such a boastful strain + As Campbell sang o'er Baltic's bloody tide, + Nor did Britannia dominate the main + In customary pride. + + France closed this river, and France ruled yon sea, + Held all our waters in triumphant state, + Her sails foretelling what was soon to be + Like Ministers of Fate. + + And when the Union chants her proudest Lay + DeGrasse is often on her tuneful lips, + And his achievement challenges to-day + Some Homer of the ships. + + So, when this spot its monument shall crown + His name upon its base two Worlds shall see, + With a fair wind his story shall sail down + Through Ages yet to be, + + +VII. + + THE RAVAGES OF WAR. + + This on the water: on the land a scene + Whose Epic scope is far beyond my power, + For on this spot a People's fate hath been + Decided in an hour. + + Long was the conflict waged through weary years + Counted from when the sturdy farmers fell: + Hopes crucified, red trenches, bitter tears, + Made Man another hell! + + See pallid women girt in woe and weeds! + See little children gaunt for lack of food! + Behold the catalogue of War's black deeds + Where evil stands for good! + + See slaughtered cattle, never more to roam, + Rot in the fields, while chimneys tall and bare + Tell in dumb pathos how some quiet home + Lit up the midnight air! + + See that burnt crop, yon choked-up sylvan well, + This yeoman slain ye corven in the sun! + My GOD! shreds of a woman's dress to tell + Why murder there was done! + + Such things as these gave edge to all the blows + Our fathers struck on this historic sod, + Feet, hands, and faces turned toward their foes-- + Their valiant hearts to GOD. + + +VIII. + + THE LINES AROUND YORKTOWN. + + Troops late by Williamsburg's brave palace walls, + With trump and drum had marched down Glo'ster street, + And some with throb of oars, and loud sea-calls + Had landed from the fleet. + + And well our leader had befooled his foes-- + Left them like archers blundering in the dark + To draw against the empty space their bows, + While here was their true mark. + + Brave Lincoln on the right with kindling eye + Smiles 'mid the cares of grave command immersed, + To see dramatic retribution nigh + And Charleston's fate reversed! + + The Light Troops stood upon the curved right flank, + New Hampshire, Massachusetts Bay were there, + Connecticut marched with them, rank on rank, + And gallant Delaware. + + There, too, Virginia's sturdy yeomen stood, + Led on by Nelson of the open hand, + As thick and stubborn as a living wood + In some enchanted land. + + Next came the steady Continental Line, + Rhode Island, and New Jersey, breast to breast, + Ready to tread the hot and smoking wine + From War's red clusters pressed. + + New York and Pennsylvania on these plains + Closed boldly in on the embattled town, + Nor feared they threatened penalties and pains + Of Parliament, or Crown. + + And Maryland, the gay and gallant came, + As always ready for the battle's brunt; + And here again Virginia faced the flame + Along the deadly front. + + +IX. + + THE FRENCH IN THE TRENCHES. + + And as the allied hosts advance + All the left wing is given to France, + Is given to France and--Fame! + Yes, these together always ride + The Dioscouroi of the tide + Where War plays out the game! + And that broad front 'tis her's to hold + With hand of iron, heart of gold + And helmet plumed with flame. + Across the river broad she sends + DeChoisy and Lauzun where ends + The leaguer far and wide, + While Weedon seconds as he may + The gallant Frenchmen in array + Upon the Gloucester side. + + As waves hurled on a stranded keel + Make all the oaken timbers reel + With many a pond'rous blow, + So day by day, and night by night + The French like billows foaming white + Thunder against the foe. + + +X. + + NELSON AND THE GUNNERS. + + O'er town, and works, and waves amain + Far fell grim Ruin's furious rain, + O'er parapet and mast, + And riding on the thunder-swell + Far flew the shot, far flew the shell + Red Havoc on the blast! + Then as the flashing cannon sowed + Their iron crop brave Nelson rode, + His bridle bit all foam, + Up to the gunners, and said he: + "Batter yon mansion down for me"-- + "Basement, and walls, and dome!" + And better to sharpen those gunners' wits, + "Five guineas," he cried, "for each shot that hits!"-- + That mansion was his home! + + +XI. + + THE BELEAGUERED TOWN. + + Behind the town the sun sinks down + Gilding the vane upon the spire, + While many a wall reels to its fall + Beneath the fell artillery fire. + + As sinks that sun mortar and gun + Like living things leap grim and hot, + And far and wide across the tide + Spray-furrows show the flying shot. + + White smoke in clouds yon earthwork shrouds + Where, steeped in battle to the lips, + The French amain pour fiery rain + On town, and walls, and English ships. + + That deadly sleet smites lines and fleet, + As closes in the Autumn night, + And Aboville from head to heel + Thrills with the battle's wild delight. + + At every flash oak timbers crash-- + A sudden glare yon frigate dyes! + Then flames up-gush, and roar, and rush, + From deck to where her pennon flies! + + Those flames on high crimson the sky + And paint their signals overhead, + And every fold of smoke is rolled + And woven in Plutonian red. + + All radiant now taffrail and prow, + And hull, and cordage, beams and spars, + Thus lit she sails on fiery gales + To purple seas where float the stars. + + Ages ago just such a glow + Woke Agamemnon's house to joy, + Its red and gold to Argos told + The long-expected fate of Troy. + + So, on these heights, that flame delights + The Allies thundering at the wall, + Forewrit they see the land set free + And Albion's short-lived Ilium fall! + + Then as the Lilies turn to red + Dipped in the battles' wine + Another picture is outspread + Where still the figures shine-- + The picture of a deadly fray + Worthy the pencil of Vernet! + + +XII. + + STORMING THE REDOUBTS. + + On the night air there floating comes, hoarse, war-like, low and deep, + A sound as tho' the dreaming drums were talking in their sleep. + + "Fall in! Fall in!" The stormers form, in silence, stern and grim, + Each heart full-beating out the time to Freedom's battle hymn.-- + + "Charge! _en Avant_!"--The word goes forth and forth the stormers go, + Each column like a mighty shaft shot from a mighty bow. + + And tumult rose upon the night like sound of roaring seas, + Mars drank of the Horn of Ulphus and he drained it to the lees! + + Now by fair Freedom's splendid dreams! it was a gallant sight + To see the blows against the foes well struck that Autumn night! + + Gimat, and Fish, and Hamilton, and Laurens pressed the foe, + And Olney--brave Rhode Islander!--was there, alas! laid low. + + Viominil, and Noallies, and Damas, stout and brave, + Broke o'er the English right redoubt a steel-encrested wave. + + St. Simon from his sick couch rose, wooed by the battle's charms, + And like a knight of old romance went to the shock of arms. + + [But they who bore the muskets, who went charging thro' the flame, + Deserve far more than ever will be given them by Fame-- + + Then let us pour libations out!--full freely let them flow + For the men who bore the muskets here a century ago!] + + And, then, the columns won the works, and then uprose the cheers + That have lasted us and ours for a good one hundred years! + + And there were those amid the French filled with a rapture stern + And long the cry resounded: "Live the Regiment of Auverne!" + + Long live the Gallic Army and long live splendid France, + The Power that gives to History the beauty of Romance! + + Upon our right commanded one dearer by far than all, + The hero who first came to us and came without a call; + + Whose name with that of his leader all histories entwine, + The one as is the mighty oak, the other as the vine; + + The one the staff, the other the great banner on its lance-- + Now, need I name the dearest name of all the names of France? + + Oh, Marquis brave! Upon this shaft, deep-cut thy cherished name + Twin Old Mortalities shall find--fond Gratitude and Fame! + + + THE TWO LEADERS. + + Two chieftains watch the battle's tide and listen as it rolls + And only HEAVEN above can tell the tumult of their souls! + + Cornwallis saw the British power struck down by one fell blow, + A Gallic spearhead on the lance that laid the Lion low. + + But the Father of his Country saw the future all unrolled, + Independence blazed before him written down in text of gold, + + Like the Hebrew, on the mountain, looking forward then he saw + The Promised Land of Freedom blooming under Freedom's law; + + Saw a great Republic spurring in the lists where Nations ride, + The peer of any Power in her majesty and pride; + + Saw that young Republic gazing through her helmet's gilded bars + Toward the West all luminous with th' light of coming stars; + + From Atlantic to Pacific saw her banners all unfurled + Heard sonorous trumpets blowing blessed Peace with all the world? + + Roused from this glorious vision, with success within his reach, + In few and simple words he made this long-resounding speech: + + "The work is done, and well done:" thus spake he on this sod, + In accents calm and measured as the accents of a God. + + God, said I? Yes, his image rises on the raptured sight + Like Baldur, the fair and blameless, the Goth's God of the Light! + + +XIII. + + THE BEGINNING OF THE END. + + As some spent gladiator, struck by Death, + Whose reeling vision scarce a foe defines, + For one last effort gathers all his breath, + England draws in her lines. + + Her blood-red flag floats out full fair, but flows + O'er crumbling bastions, in fictitious state: + Who stands a siege Cornwallis full well knows, + Plays at a game with Fate. + + Siege means surrender at the bitter end, + From Ilium downward such the sword-made rule, + With few exceptions, few indeed amend + This law in any school! + + The student who for these has ever sought + 'Mid his exceptions Caesar counts as one, + Besieger and besieged he, victor, fought + Under a Gallic sun. + + For Vircinget'rex failed, but at the wall: + He strove and failed gilded by Glory's rays + So that true soldiership describes that Gaul + In terms of honest praise. + + But there was not a Julius in the lines + Round which our Chief the fatal leaguer drew, + The noble Earl, though valiant, never shines + 'Mid War's majestic few. + + By hopes and fears in agonies long tossed-- + [Clinton hard fixed in method's rigid groove] + The British Leader saw the game was lost; + But, still, it had one move! + + Could he attain yon spreading Gloucester shore; + Could he and his cross York's majestic tide; + He, then, might laugh to hear the cannon roar + And far for safety ride. + + Bold was the plan! and generous Light Horse Lee + Gives it full measure of unstinted praise; + But PROVIDENCE declared this should not be + In its own wondrous ways. + + Loud roared the storm! The rattling thunders rang! + Against the blast his rowers could not row! + White waves like hoary-headed Homers sang + Hexameters of woe. + + Then came the time to end the mighty Play, + To drop the curtain and to quench the lamps, + And soon the story took its jocund way + Through all the Allied camps. + + "Measure for measure" then was righteous law, + The cup of Lincoln, bowed Cornwallis pressed, + And as he drank the wondering Nations saw + A sunrise--in the West! + + Death fell upon the Royal cause that day, + The King stood like Swift's oak with blighted crest, + Headpiece and Crown both cleft he drooped away: + _Hic jacet_--tells the rest! + + And patriots stood where traitors late were jeered, + Transformed from rebels into freemen bold, + What seemed Membrino's helmet _now_ appeared + A real casque of gold! + + +XIV. + + THE SURRENDER OF LORD CORNWALLIS. + + Next came the closing scene: but shall I paint + The scarlet column, sullen, slow, and faint, + Which marched, with "colors cased" to yonder field, + Where Britain threw down corslet, sword and shield? + + Shall I depict the anguish of the brave + Who envied comrades sleeping in the grave? + Shall I exult o'er inoffensive dust + Of valiant men whose swords have turned to rust? + Shall I, like Menelaus by the coast, + O'er dead Ajaces make unmanly boast? + Shall I, in chains of an ignoble Verse, + Degrade dead Hectors, and their pangs rehearse-- + Nay! such is not the mood this People feels, + Their chariots drag no foemen by the heels! + Let Ajax slumber by the sounding sea + From the fell passion of his madness free! + Let Hector's ashes unmolested sleep-- + But not to-day shall any Priam weep! + + + OUR ANCIENT ALLIES. + + Superb in white and red, and white and gold, + And white and violet, the French unfold + Their blazoned banners on the Autumn air, + While cymbols clash and brazen trumpets blare: + Steeds fret and foam, and spurs with scabbards clank + As far they form, in many a shining rank. + Deux-Ponts is there, as hilt to sword blade true, + And Guvion rises smiling on the view; + And the brave Swede, as yet untouched by Fate, + Rides 'mid his comrades with a mien elate; + And Duportail--and scores of others glance + Upon the scene, and all are worthy France! + And for those Frenchmen and their splendid bands, + The very Centuries shall clap their hands, + While at their head, as all their banners flow, + And all their drums roll out, and trumpets blow, + Rides first and foremost splendid Rochambeau! + And well he rides, worthy an epic rhyme-- + Full well he rides in attitude sublime-- + Fair Freedom's Champion in the lists of Time. + + + THE CONTINENTALS. + + In hunting shirts, or faded blue and buff, + And many clad in simple, rustic stuff, + Their ensigns torn but held by Freedom's hand, + In long-drawn lines the Continentals stand. + To them precision, if not martial grace; + Each heart triumphant but composed each face; + Well taught in military arts by brave Steuben, + With port of soldiers, majesty of men, + All fathers of their Country like a wall + They stand at rest to see the curtain fall. + Well-taught were they by one who learned War's trade + From Frederick, whom not Ruin's self dismayed;-- + Well-taught by one who never lost the heat + Caught on an anvil where all Europe beat;-- + Beat in a storm of blows, with might and main, + But on that Prussian anvil beat in vain! + And to the gallant race of Steuben's name + That long has held close intercourse with Fame, + This great Republic bows its lofty crest, + And folds his kinsmen to her ample breast: + At fray, or festival, on march or halt, + Von Steuben always far above the salt! + + + "THE MARQUIS." + + The Brave young Marquis, second but to one + For whom he felt the reverence of a son, + Rides at the head of his division proud-- + A ray of Glory painted on the cloud! + Mad Anthony is there, and Knox--but why + Great names like battle flags attempt to fly? + Who sings of skies lit up by Jove and Mars + Thinks not to chant a catalogue of stars! + I bow me low, and bowing low I pass + Unnumbered heroes in unnumbered mass, + While at their head in grave, and sober state, + Rides one whom Time has found completely great + Master of Fortune and the match of Fate! + + * * * * * + + Then Tilghman mounted on these Plains of York + Swift sped away as speeds the homing hawk, + And soon 'twas his to wake that watchman's cry + That woke all Nations and shall never die! + + + THE ANCIENT ENEMIES. + + Brave was the foeman! well he held his ground! + But here defeat at kindred hands he found! + The shafts rained on him, in a righteous cause, + Came from the quiver of Old England's laws! + + He fought in vain; and on this spot went down + The _jus divinum_, and the kingly crown. + But for those scenes Time long has made amends. + The ancient enemies are present friends; + Two swords, in Massachusetts, rich in dust, + And, better still, the peacefulness of rust, + Told the whole story in its double parts + To one who lives in two great nations' hearts; + And late above Old England's roar and din + Slow-tolling bells spoke sympathy of kin: + Victoria's wreath blooms on the sleeping breast + Of him just gone to his reward and rest, + And firm and fast between two mighty Powers + New treaties live in those undying flowers. + + + THE SPLENDID THREE. + + Turned back my gaze, on Spain's romantic shore + I see Gaul bending by the grave of Moore, + And later, when the page of Fame I scan + I see brave France at deadly Inkerman, + While on red Balaklava's field I hear + Gallia's applause swell Albion's ringing cheer, + England and France, as Allies, side by side + Fought on the Pieho's melancholy tide, + And there, brave Tattnall, ere the fight was done, + Stirred English hearts as far as shone the sun, + Or tides and billows in their courses run. + That day, 'mid the dark Pieho's slaughter + He said: "Blood is thicker than water!" + And your true man though "brayed in a mortar" + At feast, or at fray + Will still feel it and say + As he said: "Blood _is_ thicker than water!" + + And full homely is the saying but this story always starts + An answer from ten thousand times ten thousand kindred hearts. + + Then let us pray that as the sun shines ever on the sea + Fair Peace forevermore may smile upon the Splendid Three! + + May happy France see purple grapes a-glow on all her hills, + And England breast-deep in her corn laugh back the laugh of rills! + + May this fair land to which all roads lead as the roads of Rome + Led to th' eternal city's gates still offer Man a home-- + + A home of peace and plenty, and of freedom and of ease, + With all before him where to choose between the shining seas! + + May the war-cries of the Captains yield to happy reapers shouts, + And the clover whiten bastions and the olive shade redoubts! + + +XV. + + THE WAR HORSE DRAWS THE PLOUGH. + + At last our Fathers saw the Treaty sealed, + Victory unhelmed her broad, majestic brow, + The Sword became a Sickle in the field, + The war horse drew the plough. + + There is a time when men shape for their Land + Its institutions 'mid some tempests' roar, + Just as the waves that thunder on the strand + Shape out and round the shore. + + Then comes a day when institutions turn + And carve the men, or cast them into moulds; + One Era trembles while volcanoes burn, + Another Age beholds + + The hardened lava changed to hills and leas, + With blooming glades and orchards intermixed, + Vineyards which look abroad o'er purple seas, + And deep foundations fixed. + + So, when fell Chaos like a baleful Fate + What we had won seemed bent to snatch away + Sound thinkers rose who fashioned out the State + As potters fashion clay. + + +XVI. + + HEROES AND STATESMEN. + + Of their great names I may record but few; + He who beholds the Ocean white with sails + And copies each confuses all the view, + He paints too much--and fails. + + His picture shows no high, emphatic light, + Its shadows in full mass refuse to fall, + And as its broken details meet the light + Men turn it to the wall. + + Of those great names but few may pass my lips, + For he who speaks of Salamis then sees + Not men who there commanded Grecian ships-- + But grand Themistocles! + + Yet some I mark, and these discreetly take + To grace my verse through duty and design, + As one notes barks that leave the broadest wake + Upon the stormy Brine. + + These rise before me; and there Mason stands + The Constitution-maker firm and bold, + Like Bernal Diaz, planting with kind hands + Fair trees to blaze in gold. + + Amid the lofty group sedate, I see + Great Franklin muse where Truth had locked her stores, + Holding within his steady hand the key + That opened many doors. + + And Trumbull, strong as hammered steel of old, + Stands boldly out in clear and high relief,-- + A blade unbending worth a hilt of gold,-- + He never failed his Chief. + + Then Robert Morris glides into my Verse + Turning the very stones at need to bread-- + Filling the young Republic's slender purse + When Credit's self seemed dead. + + Tylers I see--sprung from the sturdy Wat-- + A strong-armed rebel of an ancient date, + With Falkland-Carys come, to draw the lot + Cast in the helm of Fate. + + And Marshall in his ermine white as snow, + Wise, learned and profound Fame loves to draw, + His noble function on the Bench to show + That Reason is the Law. + + His sword unbuckled and his brows unbent, + The gallant Hamilton again appears, + And in fair Freedom's mighty Parliament + He marches with the Peers! + + Henry is there beneath his civic crown; + He speaks in words that thunder as they flow, + And as he speaks his thunder-tones bring down + An avalanche below! + + Nor does John Adams in the picture lag, + He was as bold, as resolute, and free, + As is the eagle on a misty crag + Above a stormy sea. + + And 'mid his fellows in those days of need, + Impassioned Jefferson burns like a sun, + The New World's Prophet of the New World's Creed-- + Prophet and Priest in one! + + These two together stood in our great past, + When Independence flamed across the land; + On Independence Day these two at last + Departed hand in hand. + + And they are taken by a patriot's mind + As kindred types of our great Saxon stock, + And that same thinker hopes some day to find + Both statues in one block.[12] + + But, here I number splendid names too fast, + Heroes and Sages throng behind this group, + And thick they come as came in Homer's past + A Goddess and her troop; + + And as that troop, 'mid frays and fell alarms, + Swept, all a-glitter, on their mission bent, + And bore from Vulcan the resplendent arms + To great Achilles sent, + + So came the names that light my pious Song-- + Came bearing Union forged in high debates-- + A sun-illuminated Shield, and strong, + To guard these mighty States. + + The Shield sent to the son of Peleus glowed + With hammered wonders, all without a flaw; + The Shield of Union in its splendor showed + The Compromise of Law. + + And as the Epic lifts a form sublime + For all the Ages on its plinth of gold, + So does our Story, challenging all time, + Its crowning shape uphold! + +[Footnote 12: This fine idea is borrowed from one of the addresses +of Mr. Winthrop, the orator of the occasion.] + + +XVII. + + PATER PATRAE. + + Achilles came from Homer's Jove-like brain, + Pavilioned 'mid his ships where Thetis trod; + But he whose image dominates this plain + Came from the hand of God! + + Yet, of his life, which shall all time adorn + I dare not sing; to try the theme would be + To drink as 'twere that Scandinavian Horn + Whose tip was in the Sea. + + I bow my head and go upon my ways, + Who tells that story can but gild the gold-- + Could I pile Alps on Apennines of praise + The tale would not be told. + + Not his the blade which lyric fables say + Cleft Pyrenees from ridge to nether bed, + But his the sword which cleared the Sacred Way + For Freedom's feet to tread. + + Not Caesar's genius nor Napoleon's skill + Gave him proud mast'ry o'er the trembling earth; + But great in honesty, and sense and will-- + He was the "man of worth." + + He knew not North, nor South, nor West, nor East: + Childless himself, Father of States he stood, + Strong and sagacious as a Knight turned Priest, + And vowed to deeds of good. + + Compared with all Earth's heroes I may say + He was, with even half his virtues hid, + Greater in what his hand refrained than they + Were great in what they did. + + And thus his image dominates all time, + Uplifted like the everlasting dome + Which rises in a miracle sublime + Above eternal Rome. + + On Rome's once blooming plain where'er we stray + That dome majestic rises on the view, + Its Cross a-glow with every wandering ray + That shines along the Blue. + + So his vast image shadows all the lands, + So holds forever Man's adoring eye, + And o'er the Union which he left it stands + Our Cross against the sky! + + +XVIII. + + THE FLAG OF THE REPUBLIC. + + My harp soon ceases; but I here allege + Its strings are in my heart and tremble there: + My Song's last strain shall be a claim and pledge-- + A claim, a pledge, a prayer! + + I stand, as stood, in storied days of old, + Vasco Balboa staring o'er bright seas + When fair Pacific's tide of limpid gold + Surged up against his knees. + + For haughty Spain, her banner in his hand, + He claimed a New World, sea, and plain, and crag-- + I claim the Future's Ocean for this land + And here I plant her flag! + + Float out, oh flag, from Freedom's burnished lance! + Float out, oh flag, in Red, and White, and Blue! + The Union's colors and the hues of France + Commingled on the view! + + Float out, oh flag, and all thy splendors wake! + Float out, oh flag, above our Hero's bed! + Float out, oh flag, and let thy blazon take + New glories from the dead! + + Float out, oh flag, o'er Freedom's noblest types! + Float out, oh flag, all free of blot or stain! + Float out, oh flag, the "Roses" in thy stripes + Forever blent again! + + Float out, oh flag, and float in every clime! + Float out, oh flag, and blaze on every sea! + Float out, oh flag, and float as long as Time + And Space themselves shall be! + + Float out, oh flag, o'er Freedom's onward march! + Float out, oh flag, in Freedom's starry sheen! + Float out, oh flag, above the Union's arch + Where Washington is seen! + + Float out, oh flag, above a smiling Land! + Float out, oh flag, above a peaceful sod! + Float out, oh flag, thy staff within the hand + Beneficent of God! + + +XIX. + + THE SOUTH IN THE UNION. + + An ancient Chronicle has told + That, in the famous days of old, + In Antioch under ground + The self-same lance was found-- + Unbitten by corrosive rust-- + The lance the Roman soldier thrust + In CHRIST'S bare side upon the Tree; + And that it brought + A mighty spell + To those who fought + The Infidel + And mighty victory. + + And so this day + To you I say-- + Speaking for millions of true Southern men-- + In words that have no undertow-- + I say, and say agen: + Come weal, or woe, + Should this Republic ever fight, + By land, or sea, + For present law, or ancient right + The South will be + As was that lance, + Albeit not found + Hid under ground + But in the forefront of the first advance! + + 'Twill fly a pennon fair + As ever kissed the air, + On it, for every glance, + Shall blaze majestic France + Blent with our Hero's name + In everlasting flame, + And written, fair in gold, + This legend on its fold: + Give us back the ties of Yorktown! + Perish all the modern hates! + Let us stand together, brothers, + In defiance of the Fates; + FOR THE SAFETY OF THE UNION + IS THE SAFETY OF THE STATES! + + + + +TO ALEXANDER GALT, THE SCULPTOR. + + Alas! he's cold! + Cold as the marble which his fingers wrought-- + Cold, but not dead; for each embodied thought + Of his, which he from the Ideal brought + To live in stone, + Assures him immortality of fame. + + Galt is not dead! + Only too soon + We saw him climb + Up to his pedestal, where equal Time + And coming generations, in the noon + Of his full reputation, yet shall stand + To pay just homage to his noble name. + + Our Poet of the Quarries only sleeps, + He cleft his pathway up the future's steeps, + And now rests from his labors. + + Hence 'tis I say; + For him there is no death, + Only the stopping of the pulse and breath-- + But simple breath is not the all in all; + Man hath it but in common with the brutes-- + Life is in action and in brave pursuits! + By what we dream, and having dreamt, dare do, + We hold our places in the world's large view, + And still have part in the affairs of men + When the long sleep is on us. + + He dreamt and made his dreams perpetual things + Fit for the rugged cell of penitential saints, + Or sumptuous halls of Kings, + And showed himself a Poet in the Art: + He chiselled Lyrics with a touch so fine, + With such a tender beauty of their own, + That rarest songs broke out from every line + And verse was audible in voiceless stone! + His Psyche, soft in beauty and in grace, + Waits for her lover in the Western breeze, + And a swift smile irradiates her face, + As though she heard him whisper in the trees. + + His passion-stricken Sappho seems alive-- + Before her none can ever feel alone, + For on her face emotions so do strive + That we forget she is but pallid stone; + And all her tragedy of love and woe + Is told us in the chilly marble's snow. + + Bacchante, with her vine-crowned hair, + Leaps to the cymbal-measured dance + With such a passion in her air-- + Upon her brow--upon her lips-- + As thrills you to the finger-tips, + And fascinates your glance. + + These are, as 'twere, three of his Songs in stone-- + The first full of the tenderness of love, + Speaking of moon-rise, and the low wind's call: + The second of love's tragedy and fall; + The third of shrill, mad laughter, and the tone + Of festal music, on whose rise and fall + Swift-footed dancers follow. + + Nobler than these sweet lyric dreams, + Dreamt out beside Italia's streams, + He'd worked some Epic studies out, in part-- + To leave them incomplete his chiefest pain + When the low pulses of his failing heart + Admonished him of death. + + Ay! he had soared upon a lofty wing, + Wet with the purple and encrimsoned rain + Of dreams, whose clouds had floated o'er his brain + Until it ached with glories. + + If you would see his Epic studies, go-- + Go with the student from his dim arcade-- + Halt where the Statesman standeth in the hall, + And mark how careless voices hush and fall, + And all light talk to sudden pause is brought + In presence of the noble type of thought-- + Embodied Independence which he wrought + From stone of far Carrara. + + View his Columbus: Hero grand and meek, + Scarred 'mid the battle's long-protracted brunt-- + Palos and Salvador stamped on his front, + With not a line about it, poor or weak-- + A second Atlas, bearing on his brow + A New World, just discovered. + + Go see Virginia's wise, majestic face + With some faint shadow of her coming woe + Writ on the broad, expansive, virgin snow + Of her imperial forehead, just as though + Some disembodied Prophet-hand of eld + The Sculptor's chisel in its touch had held, + Foreshadowing her coming crown of thorns-- + Her crown and her great glory! + These of the many; but they are enough-- + Enough to show that I have rightly said + The marble's snow bids back from him decay, + He sleepeth long; but sleeps not with the dead + Who die, and are forgotten ere the clay + Heaped over them hath hardened in the sun. + + This much of Galt, the Artist: + Of the man + Fain would I speak, but in sad sooth I can + Ne'er find the words wherein to tell + How he was loved, or yet how well + He did deserve it. + All things of beauty were to him delight-- + The sunset's clouds--the turret rent apart-- + The stars which glitter in the noon of night-- + Spoke in one voice unto his mind and heart, + His love of Nature made his love of Art, + And had his span + Of life been longer + He had surely done + Such noble things that he + Like to a soaring eagle would have been + At last--lost in the sun! + + + + +TO THE POET-PRIEST RYAN. + + _IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF A COPY OF HIS POEMS_. + + Himself I read beneath the words he writes ... + I may come back and sing again.--RYAN. + + +I. + + This Bard's to me a whole-souled man + In honesty and might, + For when he sees Wrong in the van + He leaps like any Knight + To horse, and charging on the wrong + Smites it with the great sword of Song. + + +II. + + Beneath the cassock of the Priest + There throbs another heart-- + Another--but 'tis not the least-- + Which in his Lays takes part, + So that 'mid clash of Swords and Spears + There is no lack of Pity's tears. + + +III. + + This other heart is brave and soft, + As such hearts always are, + And plumes itself, a bird aloft, + When Morning's gates unbar-- + Till high it soars above the sod + Bathed in the very light of God. + + +IV. + + Woman and Soldier, Priest and Man, + I find within these Lays, + And the closer still th' Verse I scan + The more I see to praise: + Some of these Lyrics shower down + The glories of the Cross and Crown. + + +V. + + To thee, oh Bard! my head I bow, + As I'd not to a King, + And my last word, writ here and now, + Is not a little thing; + Recall the promise of thy strain-- + Thou art to "come and sing again!" + + + + +THREE NAMES. + + Virginia in her proud, Colonial days + Boasts three great names which full of glory shine; + Two glitter like the burnished heads of spears, + the third in tender light is half divine. + Turning that page my eager fancy hears + Trumpets and drums, and fleet on fleet appears. + + Those names are graven deep and broad, to last + And outlast Ages: while recording Time + Hands down their story, worth an Epic Rhyme + To light her future by her splendid past: + One planned the Saxon's Empire o'er these lands,-- + The other planted it with valiant hands-- + The third, with Mercy's soft, celestial beams, + Lights fair romances, histories and dreams. + + +SIR WALTER RALEIGH. + + Whether in velvet white, slashed, and be-pearled, + And rich in knots of clustering gems a-glow: + Or, in his rusted armor, he unfurled + St. George's Cross by Oronoko's flow; + He was a man to note right well as one + Who shot his arrows straightway at the sun. + + Dark was his hair, his beard all crisp and curled. + And narrow-lidded were his piercing eyes, + Anhungered in their glances for a world + That he might win by daring enterprise,-- + Explorer, soldier, scholar, poet, he + Not only wrote but acted historie!-- + And that great Captain, of our Saxon stock, + Took his last slumber on the ghastly block! + + +CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. + + A yeoman born, with patrimony small, + He held the world at large as his estate; + Found fit advices in the bugle's call + And took his part in iron-tongued debate + Where'er one sword another sword blade notched; + Ne'er was he slain, though often he was scotched, + Now down, now up, but always fronting fate. + + At last a figure resolute, and grand + In arms he leaped upon Virginia's strand; + Fitted in many schools his course to steer + He knew the ax, the musketoon, and brand, + How to obey, and better to command; + First of his line he stood--a planted spear + The New World saw the English Pioneer! + + +_POCAHONTAS_. + + Her story, sure, was fashioned out above, + Ere 't was enacted on the scene below! + For 't was a very miracle of love + When from the savage hawk's nest came the dove + With wings of peace to stay the ordered blow-- + The hawk's plumes bloody, but the dove's as snow! + + And here my heart oppressed by pleasant tears + Yields to a young girl's half angelic spell-- + Yes, for that maiden like a Saint appears; + She needs no fresco, stone, nor shrine to tell + Her story to the people of this Land-- + Saint of the Wilderness, enthroned amid + The wooded Minster where the Pagan hid! + + + + +SUNSET ON HAMPTON ROADS. + + Behind me purplish lines marked out the town, + Before me stretched the noble Roadstead's tide: + And there I saw the Evening sun go down + Casting a parting glory far and wide-- + As King who for the cowl puts off his crown-- + So went the sun: and left a wealth of light + Ere hidden by the cloister-gates of Night. + + Beholding this my soul was stilled in prayer, + I understood how all men, save the blind, + Might find religion in a scene so fair + And formulate a creed within the mind;-- + See prophesies in clouds; fates in the air; + The skies flamed red; the murm'ring waves were hushed-- + "The conscious water saw its God and blushed." + + + + +A KING'S GRATITUDE. + + Plain men have fitful moods and so have Kings, + For Kings are only men, and often made + Of clay as common as e'er stained a spade. + But when the great are moody, then, the strings + Of gilded harps are smitten, and their strains + Are soft and soothing as the Summer rains. + + And Saul was taken by an evil mood, + He felt within himself his spirit faint: + In vain he tossed upon his couch and wooed + Refreshing slumbers. Sleep knows no constraint! + Then David came: his physic and advice + All in a harp, and cleared the mind of Saul-- + And Saul thereafter launched his javelin twice + To nail the harper to the palace wall! + + + + +"THE TWINSES." [13] + + Two little children toddled up to me, + Their faces fair as faces well could be, + Roses and snow, but pale the roses were + Like flowers fainting for the lack of air. + Sad was the tender study which I gave + The winning creatures, both so sweet and grave, + Two beautiful young Saxons, scarce knee high! + As like as peas! Two Lilliputian men! + Immortal ere they knew it by the pen + Which waketh laughter or bedews the eye. + God bless you, little people! May His hand + Hold you within its hollow all your days! + Smooth all the rugged places, and your ways + Make long and pleasant in a fruitful land! + +[Footnote 13: Children of his friend, Dr. George W. Bagby.] + + + + +DREAMERS. + + Fools laugh at dreamers, and the dreamers smile + In answer, if they any answer make: + They know that Saxon Alfred could not bake + The oaten cakes, but that he snatched his Isle + Back from the fierce and bloody-handed Dane. + + And so, they leave the plodders to their gains-- + Quit money changing for the student's lamp, + And tune the harp to gain thereby some camp, + Where what they learn is worth a kingdom's crown; + They fashion bows and arrows to bring down + The mighty truths which sail the upper air; + To them the facts which make the fools despair + Become familiar, and a thousand things + Tell them the secrets they refuse to kings. + + + + +UNDER ONE BLANKET. + + The sun went down in flame and smoke, + The cold night passed without alarms, + And when the bitter morning broke + Our men stood to their arms. + + But not a foe in front was found + After the long and stubborn fight. + The enemy had left the ground + Where we had lain that night. + + In hollows where the sun was lost + Unthawed still lay the shining snow, + And on the rugged ground the frost + In slender spears did grow. + + Close to us, where our final rush + Was made at closing in of day, + We saw, amid an awful hush, + The rigid shapes of clay: + + Things, which but yesterday had life, + And answered to the trumpet's call, + Remained as victims of the strife, + Clods of the Valley all! + + Then, the grim detail marched away + A grave from the hard soil to wrench + Wherein should sleep the Blue and Grey + All in a ghastly trench! + + A thicket of young pines arose, + Midway upon that frosty ground; + A shelter from the winds and snows, + And by its edge I found + + Two stiffened forms, where they had died, + As sculptured marble white and cold, + Lying together side by side + Beneath one blanket's fold. + + My heart already touched and sad + The blanket down I gently drew + And saw a sturdy form, well clad + From head to heel in Blue. + + Beside him, gaunt from many a fast, + A pale and boyish "rebel" lay, + Free of all pangs of life, at last, + In tattered suit of Grey. + + There side by side those soldiers slept + Each for the cause that he thought good, + And bowing down my head I wept + Through human brotherhood. + + Oh, sirs! it was a piteous thing + To see how they had vainly tried + With strips of shirts, and bits of string, + To stay life's ebbing tide! + + The story told itself aright; + (Print scarce were plainer to the eye) + How they together in the night + Had laid them down to die. + + The story told itself, I say, + How smitten by their wounds and cold + They'd nestled close, the Blue and Grey, + Beneath one blanket's fold. + + All their poor surgery could do + They did to stop their wounds so deep, + Until at last the Grey and Blue + Like comrades fell asleep. + + We dug for them a generous grave, + Under that sombre thicket's lee, + And there we laid the sleeping brave + To wait God's reveille. + + That grave by many a tear was graced + From ragged heroes ranged around + As in one blanket they were placed + In consecrated ground. + + Aye! consecrated, without flaw, + Because upon that bloody sod, + My soul uplifted stood and saw + Where CHRIST had lately trod! + + + + +THE LEE MEMORIAL ODE. + + "Great Mother of great Commonwealths" + Men call our Mother State: + And she so well has earned this name + That she may challenge Fate + To snatch away the epithet + Long given her of "great." + + First of all Old England's outposts + To stand fast upon these shores + Soon she brought a mighty harvest + To a People's threshing floors, + And more than golden grain was piled + Within her ample doors. + + Behind her stormy sunrise shone, + Her shadow fell vast and long, + And her mighty Adm'ral, English Smith, + Heads a prodigous throng + Of as mighty men, from Raleigh down, + As ever arose in song. + + Her names are the shining arrows + Which her ancient quiver bears, + And their splendid sheaf has thickened + Through the long march of the years, + While her great shield has been burnished + By her children's blood and tears. + + Yes, it is true, my Countrymen, + We are rich in names and blood, + And red have been the blossoms + From the first Colonial bud, + While her names have blazed as meteors + By many a field and flood. + + And as some flood tumultuous + In sounding billows rolled + Gives back the evening's glories + In a wealth of blazing gold: + So does the present from its waves + Reflect the lights of old. + + Our history is a shining sea + Locked in by lofty land + And its great Pillars of Hercules, + Above the shining sand, + I here behold in majesty + Uprising on each hand. + + These Pillars of our history, + In fame forever young, + Are known in every latitude + And named in every tongue, + And down through all the Ages + Their story shall be sung. + + The Father of his Country + Stands above that shut-in sea + A glorious symbol to the world + Of all that's great and free; + And to-day Virginia matches him-- + And matches him with Lee. + + +II. + + Who shall blame the social order + Which gave us men as great as these? + Who condemn the soil of t' forest + Which bring forth gigantic trees? + Who presume to doubt that Providence + Shapes out our destinies? + + Fore-ordained, and long maturing, + Came the famous men of old: + In the dark mines deep were driven + Down the shafts to reach the gold, + And the story is far longer + Than the histories have told. + + From Bacon down to Washington + The generations passed, + Great events and moving causes + Were in serried order massed: + Berkeley well was first confronted, + Better George the King at last! + + From the time of that stern ruler + To our own familiar days + Long the pathway we have trodden, + Hard, and devious were its ways + Till at last there came the second + Mightier Revolution's blaze: + + Till at last there broke the tempest + Like a cyclone on the sea, + When the lightnings blazed and dazzled + And the thunders were set free-- + And riding on that whirlwind came + Majestic, Robert Lee! + + Who--again I ask the question-- + Who may challenge in debate, + With any show of truthfulness, + Our former social state + Which brought forth more than heroes + In their lives supremely great? + + Not Peter, the wild Crusader, + When bent upon his knee, + Not Arthur and his belted knights, + In the Poet's Song, could be + More earnest than those Southern men + Who followed Robert Lee. + + They thought that they were right and this + Was hammered into those + Who held that crest all drenched in blood + Where the "Bloody Angle" rose. + As for all else? It passes by + As the idle wind that blows. + + +III. + + Then stand up, oh my Countrymen! + And unto God give thanks, + On mountains, and on hillsides + And by sloping river banks-- + Thank God that you were worthy + Of the grand Confederate ranks: + + That you who came from uplands + And from beside the sea, + Filled with love of Old Virginia + And the teachings of the free, + May boast in sight of all men + That you followed Robert Lee. + + Peace has come. God give his blessing + On the fact and on the name! + The South speaks no invective + And she writes no word of blame; + But we call all men to witness + That we stand up without shame. + + Nay! Send it forth to all the world + That we stand up here with pride, + With love for our living comrades + And with praise for those who died: + And in this manly frame of mind + Till death we will abide. + + GOD and our consciences alone + Give us measure of right and wrong; + The race may fall unto the swift + And the battle to the strong: + But the truth will shine in history + And blossom into song. + + Human grief full oft by glory + Is assuaged and disappears + When its requiem swells with music + Like the shock of shields and spears, + And its passion is too full of pride + To leave a space for tears. + + And hence to-day, my Countrymen, + We come, with undimmed eyes, + In homage of the hero Lee, + The good, the great, the wise! + And at his name our hearts will leap + Till his last old soldier dies. + + Ask me, if so you please, to paint + Storm winds upon the sea; + Tell me to weigh great Cheops-- + Set volcanic forces free; + But bid me not, my Countrymen, + To picture Robert Lee! + + As Saul, bound for Damascus fair, + Was struck blind by sudden light + So my eyes are pained and dazzled + By a radiance pure and white + Shot back by the burnished armor + Of that glory-belted Knight. + + His was all the Norman's polish + And sobriety of grace; + All the Goth's majestic figure; + All the Roman's noble face; + And he stood the tall exemplar + Of a grand historic race. + + Baronial were his acres where + Potomac's waters run; + High his lineage, and his blazon + Was by cunning heralds done; + But better still he might have said + Of his "works" he was the "son." + + Truth walked beside him always, + From his childhood's early years, + Honor followed as his shadow, + Valor lightened all his cares: + And he rode--that grand Virginian-- + Last of all the Cavaliers! + + As a soldier we all knew him + Great in action and repose, + Saw how his genius kindled + And his mighty spirit rose + When the four quarters of the globe + Encompassed him with foes. + + But he and his grew braver + As the danger grew more rife, + Avaricious they of glory + But most prodigal of life, + And the "Army of Virginia" + Was the Atlas of the strife. + + As his troubles gathered round him, + Thick as waves that beat the shore, + _Atra Cura_ rode behind him, + Famine's shadow filled his door; + Still he wrought deeds no mortal man + Had ever wrought before. + + +IV. + + Then came the end, my Countrymen, + The last thunderbolts were hurled! + Worn out by his own victories + His battle flags were furled + And a history was finished + That has changed the modern world. + + As some saint in the arena + Of a bloody Roman game, + As the prize of his endeavor, + Put on an immortal frame, + Through long agonies our Soldier + Won the crown of martial fame. + + But there came a greater glory + To that man supremely great + (When his just sword he laid aside + In peace to serve his State) + For in his classic solitude + He rose up and mastered Fate. + + He triumphed and he did not die!-- + No funeral bells are tolled-- + But on that day in Lexington + Fame came herself to hold + His stirrup while he mounted + To ride down the streets of gold. + + He is not dead! There is no death! + He only went before + His journey on when CHRIST THE LORD + Wide open held the door, + And a calm, celestial peace is his: + Thank God! forevermore. + + +V. + + When the effigy of Washington + In its bronze was reared on high + 'Twas mine, with others, now long gone. + Beneath a stormy sky, + To utter to the multitude + His name that cannot die. + + And here to-day, my Countrymen, + I tell you Lee shall ride + With that great "rebel" down the years-- + Twin "rebels" side by side!-- + And confronting such a vision + All our grief gives place to pride. + + Those two shall ride immortal + And shall ride abreast of Time, + Shall light up stately history + And blaze in Epic Rhyme-- + Both patriots, both Virginians true, + Both "rebels," both sublime! + + Our past is full of glories + It is a shut-in sea, + The pillars overlooking it + Are Washington and Lee: + And a future spreads before us, + Not unworthy of the free. + + And here and now, my Countrymen, + Upon this sacred sod, + Let us feel: It was "OUR FATHER" + Who above us held the rod, + And from hills to sea + Like Robert Lee + Bow reverently to God. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, A WREATH OF VIRGINIA BAY LEAVES *** + +This file should be named 7wvbl10.txt or 7wvbl10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 7wvbl11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 7wvbl10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: A Wreath of Virginia Bay Leaves + +Author: James Barron Hope + +Release Date: January, 2006 [EBook #9653] +[This file was first posted on October 13, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, A WREATH OF VIRGINIA BAY LEAVES *** + + + + +E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Robert Prince, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + +A WREATH OF VIRGINIA BAY LEAVES. + +POEMS OF JAMES BARRON HOPE. + +JANEY HOPE MARR (EDITOR) + + + + + + + + +To the memory of the gallant little lad who bore his grandfather's +name and image--to the dear remembrance of: + + _Barron Hope Marr_ + +His mother dedicates whatsoever there may be of worth in her effort +to show James Barron Hope, the Poet, as Virginia's Laureate, and +James Barron Hope, the Man, as he was loved and reverenced by his +household and his friends. + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + +It has been claimed for James Barron Hope that he was "Virginia's +Laureate." He did not deal in "abstractions, or generalized arguments," +or vague mysticisms. He fired the imagination purely, he awoke lofty +thoughts and presented, through his noble odes that which is the soul +of "every true poem, a living succession of concrete images and +pictures." + +James Barron, the elder, organized the Virginia Colonial Navy, of +which he was commander-in-chief during the Revolution, and his sons, +Samuel and James, served gallantly in the United States Navy. It was +from these ancestors that James Barron Hope derived that unswerving +devotion to his native state for which he was remarkable, and it was +at the residence of his grandfather, Commodore James Barron, the +younger, who then commanded the Gosport Navy-yard, that he was born +the 23d of March, 1829. + +His mother, Jane Barron, was the eldest daughter of the Commodore +and most near to his regard. An attractive gentlewoman of the old +school, generous, of quick and lively sympathies, she wielded a +clever, ready pen, and the brush and embroiderer's needle in a +manner not to be scorned in those days, and was a personage in her +family. + +Her child was the child not only of her material, but of her +spiritual being, and the two were closely knit as the years passed, +in mutual affection and confidence, in tastes and aspirations. + +His father was Wilton Hope of "Bethel," Elizabeth City County, a +handsome, talented man, a landed proprietor, of a family whose acres +bordered the picturesque waters of Hampton River. + +He gained his early education at Germantown, Pennsylvania, and at +the "Academy" in Hampton, Virginia, under his venerated master, John +B. Cary, Esq.,--the master who declares himself proud to say, +"I taught him"--the invaluable friend of all his after years. + +In 1847 he graduated from William and Mary College with the degree +of A.B. + +From the "Pennsylvania," upon which man-of-war he was secretary to +his uncle, Captain Samuel Barron, he was transferred to the +"Cyane," and in 1852 made a cruise to the West Indies. + +In 1856 he was elected Commonwealth's attorney to the "game-cock +town of Virginia," historic and picturesque old Hampton, which was +the centre of a charming and cultivated society and which had +already claimed him as her "bard." For as Henry Ellen he had +contributed to various southern publications, his poems in "The +Southern Literary Messenger" attracting much gratifying attention. + +In 1857 Lippincott brought out "Leoni di Monota and Other Poems." +The volume was cordially noticed by the southern critics of the time, +not only for its central poem, but also for several of its minor ones, +notably, "The Charge at Balaklava," which G.P.R. James--as have +others since--declared unsurpassed by Tennyson's "Charge of the +Light Brigade." + +Upon the 13th of May, 1857, he stood poet at the 250th anniversary +of the English settlement at Jamestown. + +As poet, and as the youthful colleague of Henry A. Wise and John R. +Thompson, he stood at the base of Crawford's statue of Washington, +in the Capitol Square, Richmond, Virginia, the 22d of February, 1858. +That same year these recited poems, together with some miscellaneous +ones were published. + +Congress chose him as poet for the Yorktown Centennial, 1881, and +his "brilliant and masterly poem was a fitting companion piece to +the splendid oration delivered upon that occasion by the renowned +orator, Robert C. Winthrop." + +This metrical address "Arms and the Man," with various sonnets was +published the next year. As the flower of his genius, its noble +measures only revealed their full beauty when they fell from the +lips of him who framed them, and it was under this spell that one of +those who had thronged about him that 19th of October cried out: +"Now I understand the power by which the old Greek poets swayed the +men of their generation." + +Again his State called upon him to weave among her annals the +laurels of his verse at the laying of the cornerstone of the +monument erected in Richmond to Robert E. Lee. The corner-stone was +laid October, 1887, but the poet's voice had been stilled forever. +He died September the 15th, as he had often wished to die, "in +harness," and at home, and Death came swift and painless. + +His poem, save for the after softening touches, had been finished +the previous day, and was recited at the appointed time and place by +Captain William Gordon McCabe. + +"Memoriæ Sacrum," the Lee Memorial Ode, has been pronounced by many +his masterpiece, and waked this noble echo in a brother poet's soul: + + 'Like those of whom the olden scriptures tell, + Who faltered not, but went on dangerous quest, + For one cool draught of water from the well + With which to cheer their exiled monarch's breast;' + + 'So thou to add one single laurel more + To our great chieftain's fame--heedless of pain + Didst gather up thy failing strength and pour + Out all thy soul in one last glorious strain.' + + * * * * * + + "And when the many pilgrims come to gaze + Upon the sculptured form of mighty Lee, + They'll not forget the bard who sang his praise + With dying breath, but deathless melody." + + "For on the statue which a country rears, + Tho' graven by no hand, we'll surely see, + E'en tho' it be thro' blinding mists of tears, + Thy name forever linked with that of Lee." + + --_Rev. Beverly D. Tucker_. + +His genius had flowered not out of opulence, or congenial occupation, +but out of the tread-mill of newspaper life, and under such +conditions from 1870-1887 he delivered the poem at Lynchburg's +celebration of its founding; at the unveiling of the monument raised +to Annie Lee by the ladies of Warren County, North Carolina; +memorial odes in Warrenton, Virginia, in Portsmouth, and Norfolk, +and at the Virginia Military Institute. He was the first commander +of Norfolk's Camp of Confederate Veterans, the Pickett-Buchanan, but +through all his stirring lines there breaks no discordant note of +hate or rancor. He also sent into print, "Little Stories for Little +People," and his novel "Madelon," and delivered among various +masterly addresses, "Virginia--Her Past, Present and Future," and +"The Press and the Printer's Devil." + +During these years he had suffered a physical agony well-nigh past +the bearing, but which he bore with a wonderful patience and +fortitude, and not only bore, but hid away from those nearest to him. +He had brought both broken health and fortunes out of the war; for +when in 1861 the people of Hampton left the town,[1] "Its men to +join the Southern army, and its women to go in exile for four long +weary years, returning thence to find their homes in ashes, James +Barron Hope was among the first who left their household gods behind +to take up arms for their native State, and he bore his part nobly +in the great conflict." + +When it ended he did not return to Hampton, or to the practice of +his profession. Instead of the law he embarked in journalism in +Norfolk, Virginia, and, despite its lack of entire congeniality, +made therefrom a career as brilliant as it was fearless and unsullied. + +[Footnote: A: "They themselves applying the torch to their own homes +under the patriotic, but mistaken idea that they would thus arrest +the march of the Invaders." ("Col. Cary's address at unveiling of +monument to Captain Hope.")] + + + + +_Introduction_. + +He was a little under six feet in height, slender, graceful, and +finely proportioned, with hands and feet of distinctive beauty. And +his fingers were gifted with a woman's touch in the sick-room, and +an artist's grasp upon the pencil and the brush of the water-colorist. + +It was said of him that his manner was as courtly as that of +"Sir Roger de Coverly." Words which though fitly applied are but as +the bare outlines of a picture, for he was the embodiment of what +was best in the Old South. He was gifted with a rare charm. There +was charm in his pale face, which in conversation flashed out of its +deep thoughtfulness into vivid animation. His fine head was crowned +with soft hair fast whitening before its time. His eyes shone under +his broad white forehead, wise and serene, until his dauntless spirit, +or his lofty enthusiasm awoke to fire their grey depths. His was a +face that women trusted and that little children looked up into with +smiles. Those whom he called friend learned the meaning of that name, +and he drew and linked men to him from all ranks and conditions of +life. + +Beloved by many, those who guard his memory coin the very fervor of +their hearts into the speech with which they link his name. +"A very Chevalier Bayard" he was called. + +Of him was quoted that noble epitaph on the great Lord Fairfax: + + 'Both sexes' virtues in him combined, + He had the fierceness of the manliest mind, + And all the meekness too of woman kind.' + + 'He never knew what envy was, nor hate, + His soul was filled with worth and honesty, + And with another thing quite out of date, called modesty.' + +No sketch could approach justice toward Captain Hope without at +least a brief review of his domestic life. + +In 1857 he had married Miss Annie Beverly Whiting of Hampton. Hers +were the face and form to take captive his poet's fancy, and she +possessed a character as lovely as her person; a courage and +strength of will far out of proportion to her dainty shape, and an +intellect of masculine robustness. Often the editor brought his work +to the table of his library that he might avail himself of his +wife's judgment, and labor with the faces around him that he loved, +for their union was a very congenial one, and when two daughters +came to bless it, as husband and father, he poured out the treasures +of his heart, his mind and soul. To his children he was a wise +teacher, a tender guide, an unfailing friend, the most delightful of +companions. His sympathy for and his understanding of young people +never aged, and he had a circle of dear and familiar friends of +varying ages that gathered about him once a week. There, beside his +own hearth, his ready wit, his kindly humor sparkled most brightly, +and there flowed forth most evenly that speech accounted by many +well worth the hearing. For his was also the art of listening; he +not only led the expression of thought, but inspired it in others. +His own roof-tree looked down upon James Barron Hope at his best and +down upon a home in the sacred sense of the word, for he touched +with poetry the prose of daily living, and left to those who loved +him the blessed legacy of a memory which death cannot take from them. + +I have said that in his early years Old Hampton claimed him. He +became the son of the city of his adoption and sleeps among her dead. + +Above his ashes rises a shaft, fashioned from the stones of the +State he loved so well which proclaims that it is "The tribute of +his friends offered to the memory of the Poet, Patriot, Scholar, and +Journalist and the Knightly Virginia Gentleman." + +JANEY HOPE MARR, + +LEXINGTON, VA. + + + + +INDEX. + + + The Charge at Balaklava + A Short Sermon + A Little Picture + A Reply to a Young Lady + A Story of the Caracas Valley + Three Summer Studies + The Washington Memorial Ode + How it Fell Calm on Summer Night + A Friend of Mine + Indolence + The Jamestown Anniversary Ode + An Elegiac Ode + The Cadets at New Market + Our Heroic Dead + Mahone's Brigade + The Portsmouth Memorial Poem--The Future Historian + Arms and The Man + Prologue + The Dead Statesman + The Colonies + The New England Group + The Southern Colonies + The Old Dominion + The Oaks and the Tempest + The Embattled Colonies + Welcome to France + The Allies at Yorktown + The Ravages of War + The Lines Around Yorktown + The French in the Trenches + Nelson and the Gunners + The Beleaguered Town + Storming the Redoubts + The Two Leaders + The Beginning of the End + The Surrender of Lord Cornwallis + Our Ancient Allies + The Continentals + The Marquis + The Ancient Enemies + The Splendid Three + The War Horse Draws the Plough + Heroes and Statesmen + Pater Patriæ + The Flag of the Republic + The South in the Union + To Alexander Galt, the Sculptor + To the Poet-Priest Ryan + Three Names + Sir Walter Raleigh + Captain John Smith + Pocahontas + Sunset on Hampton Roads + A King's Gratitude + "The Twinses" + Dreamers + Under One Blanket + The Lee Memorial Ode + + + +[ILLUSTRATION] + + + + +A WREATH OF VIRGINIA BAY LEAVES. + + +THE CHARGE AT BALAKLAVA. + + Nolan halted where the squadrons, + Stood impatient of delay, + Out he drew his brief dispatches, + Which their leader quickly snatches, + At a glance their meaning catches; + They are ordered to the fray! + + All that morning they had waited-- + As their frowning faces showed, + Horses stamping, riders fretting, + And their teeth together setting; + Not a single sword-blade wetting + As the battle ebbed and flowed. + + Now the fevered spell is broken, + Every man feels twice as large, + Every heart is fiercely leaping, + As a lion roused from sleeping, + For they know they will be sweeping + In a moment to the charge. + + Brightly gleam six hundred sabres, + And the brazen trumpets ring; + Steeds are gathered, spurs are driven, + And the heavens widely riven + With a mad shout upward given, + Scaring vultures on the wing. + + Stern its meaning; was not Gallia + Looking down on Albion's sons? + In each mind this thought implanted, + Undismayed and all undaunted, + By the battle-fiends enchanted, + They ride down upon the guns. + + Onward! On! the chargers trample; + Quicker falls each iron heel! + And the headlong pace grows faster; + Noble steed and noble master, + Rushing on to red disaster, + Where the heavy cannons peal. + + In the van rides Captain Nolan; + Soldier stout he was and brave! + And his shining sabre flashes, + As upon the foe he dashes: + God! his face turns white as ashes, + He has ridden to his grave! + + Down he fell, prone from his saddle, + Without motion, without breath, + Never more a trump to waken-- + He the very first one taken, + From the bough so sorely shaken, + In the vintage-time of Death. + + In a moment, in a twinkling, + He was gathered to his rest; + In the time for which he'd waited-- + With his gallant heart elated-- + Down went Nolan, decorated + With a death wound on his breast. + + Comrades still are onward charging, + He is lying on the sod: + Onward still their steeds are rushing + Where the shot and shell are crushing; + From his corpse the blood is gushing, + And his soul is with his God. + + As they spur on, what strange visions + Flit across each rider's brain! + Thoughts of maidens fair, of mothers, + Friends and sisters, wives and brothers, + Blent with images of others, + Whom they ne'er shall see again. + + Onward still the squadrons thunder-- + Knightly hearts were their's and brave, + Men and horses without number + All the furrowed ground encumber-- + Falling fast to their last slumber-- + Bloody slumber! bloody grave! + + Of that charge at Balaklava-- + In its chivalry sublime-- + Vivid, grand, historic pages + Shall descend to future ages; + Poets, painters, hoary sages + Shall record it for all time; + + Telling how those English horsemen + Rode the Russian gunners down; + How with ranks all torn and shattered; + How with helmets hacked and battered; + How with sword arms blood-bespattered; + They won honor and renown. + + 'Twas "not war," but it was splendid + As a dream of old romance; + Thinking which their Gallic neighbors + Thrilled to watch them at their labors, + Hewing red graves with their sabres + In that wonderful advance. + + Down went many a gallant soldier; + Down went many a stout dragoon; + Lying grim, and stark, and gory, + On the crimson field of glory, + Leaving us a noble story + And their white-cliffed home a boon. + + Full of hopes and aspirations + Were their hearts at dawn of day; + Now, with forms all rent and broken, + Bearing each some frightful token + Of a scene ne'er to be spoken, + In their silent sleep they lay. + + Here a noble charger stiffens, + There his rider grasps the hilt + Of his sabre lying bloody + By his side, upon the muddy, + Trampled ground, which darkly ruddy + Shows the blood that he has spilt. + + And to-night the moon shall shudder + As she looks down on the moor, + Where the dead of hostile races + Slumber, slaughtered in their places; + All their rigid ghastly faces + Spattered hideously with gore. + + And the sleepers! ah, the sleepers + Make a Westminster that day; + 'Mid the seething battle's lava! + And each man who fell shall have a + Proud inscription--BALAKLAVA, + Which shall never fade away. + + + + +A SHORT SERMON. + + "He that giveth to the poor, lendeth to the Lord." + + The night-wind comes in sudden squalls: + The ruddy fire-light starts and falls + Fantastically on the walls. + + The bare trees all their branches wave; + The frantic wind doth howl and rave, + Like prairie-wolf above a grave. + + The moon looks out; but cold and pale, + And seeming scar'd at this wild gale + Draws o'er her pallid face a veil. + + In vain I turn the poet's page-- + In vain consult some ancient sage-- + I hear alone the tempest rage. + + The shutters tug at hinge and bar-- + The windows clash with frosty jar-- + The child creeps closer to "Papa." + + And now, I almost start aghast, + The clamor rises thick and fast, + Surely a troop of fiends drove past! + + That last shock shook the oaken door. + Sounding like billows on the shore, + On such a night God shield the poor! + + God shield the poor to-night, who stay + In piteous homes! who, if they pray, + Ask thee, oh God! for bread and day! + + Think! think! ye men who daily wear + "Purple and linen"--ye whose hair + Flings perfume on the temper'd air. + + Think! think! I say, aye! start and think + That many tremble on death's brink-- + Dying for want of meat and drink. + + When tatter'd poor folk meet your eyes, + Think, friend, like Christian, in this wise, + Each one is Christ hid in disguise. + + Then when you hear the tempest's roar + That thunders at your carvéd door, + Know that, it knocketh for the poor. + + + + +A LITTLE PICTURE. + + Oft when pacing thro' the long and dim + Dark gallery of the Past, I pause before + A picture of which this is a copy-- + Wretched at best. + + How fair she look'd, standing a-tiptoe there, + Pois'd daintily upon her little feet! + The slanting sunset falling thro' the leaves + In golden glory on her smiling face, + Upturn'd towards the blushing roses; while + The breeze that came up from the river's brink, + Shook all their clusters over her fair face; + And sported with her robe, until methought, + That she stood there clad wondrously indeed! + In perfume and in music: for her dress + Made a low, rippling sound, like little waves + That break at midnight on the tawny sands-- + While all the evening air of roses whisper'd. + Over her face a rich, warm blush spread slowly, + And she laughed, a low, sweet, mellow laugh + To see the branches still evade her hands-- + Her small white hands which seem'd indeed as if + Made only thus to gather roses. + Then with face + All flushed and smiling she did nod to me + Asking my help to gather them for her: + And so, I bent the heavy clusters down, + Show'ring the rose-leaves o'er her neck and face; + Then carefully she plucked the very fairest one, + And court'seying playfully gave it to me-- + Show'd me her finger-tip, pricked by a thorn, + And when I would have kiss'd it, shook her head, + Kiss'd it herself, and mock'd me with a smile! + The rose she gave me sleeps between the leaves + Of an old poet where its sight oft brings + That summer evening back again to me. + + + + +A REPLY TO A YOUNG LADY. + + "I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done + Than to be one of the twenty to follow my own teaching," + --_Merchant of Venice_. + + "Do as I tell you, and not as I do." + --_Old Saying_. + + You say, a "moral sign-post" I + Point out the road towards the sky; + And then with glance so very shy + You archly ask me, lady, why + I hesitate myself to go + In the direction which I show? + + To answer is an easy task, + If you allow me but to ask + One little question, sweet, of you:-- + 'Tis this: should sign-posts travel too + What would bewildered pilgrims do-- + Celestial pilgrims, such as you? + + + + +A STORY OF THE CARACAS VALLEY. + + High-perch'd upon the rocky way, + Stands a Posada stern and grey; + Which from the valley, seems as if, + A condor there had paus'd to 'light + And rest upon that lonely cliff, + From some stupendous flight; + But when the road you gain at length, + It seems a ruin'd hold of strength, + With archway dark, and bridge of stone, + By waving shrubs all overgrown, + Which clings 'round that ruin'd gate, + Making it look less desolate; + For here and there, a wild flower's bloom + With brilliant hue relieves the gloom, + Which clings 'round that Posada's wall-- + A sort of misty funeral pall. + + The gulf spann'd by that olden arch + Might stop an army's onward march, + For dark and dim--far down below-- + 'Tis lost amid a torrent's flow; + And blending with the eagle's scream + Sounds dismally that mountain-stream, + That rushes foaming down a fall + Which Chamois hunter might appal, + Nor shame his manhood, did he shrink + In treading on its dizzy brink. + In years long past, ere bridge or wall + Had spann'd that gulf and water-fall, + 'Tis said--perhaps, an idle tale-- + That on the road above the vale + Occurred as strange and wild a scene, + As ever ballad told, I ween.-- + Yes, on this road which seems to be + Suspended o'er eternity; + So dim--so shadow-like--the vale + O'er which it hangs: but to my tale: + Once, 'tis well-known, this sunny land + Was ravag'd by full many a band + Of reckless buccaneers. + Cities were captur'd [2]--old men slain; + Trampled the fields of waving cane; + Or scatter'd wide the garner'd grain; + An hour wrought wreck of years! + + Where'er these stern freebooters trod, + In hacienda--church of God-- + Or, on the green-enamell'd sod-- + They left foot-prints so deep, + That but their simple names would start + The blood back to each Spanish heart, + And make the children weep. + + E'en to this day, their many crimes + The peasants sing in drowsy rhymes-- + On mountain, or on plain; + And as they sing, the plaintive song + Tells many a deed of guilt and wrong-- + Each has a doleful strain! + + * * * * * + + One glorious morn, it so befell, + I heard the tale which I shall tell, + At that Posada dark and grey + Which stands upon the mountain way, + Between Caracas and the sea; + So grim--so dark--it seem'd to me + Fit place for deed of guilt or sin-- + Tho' peaceful peasants dwelt therein. + + At midnight we, (my friends and I,) + Beneath a tranquil tropic sky, + Bestrode our mules and onward rode, + Behind the guide who swiftly strode + Up the dark mountain side; while we + With many a jest and repartee-- + With jingling swords, and spurs, and bits-- + Made trial of our youthful wits. + Ah! we were gay, for we were young + And care had never on us flung-- + But, to my tale: the purple sky + Was thick overlaid with burning stars, + And oft the breeze that murmur'd by, + Brought dreamy tones from soft guitars, + Until we sank in silence deep. + It was a night for thought not sleep-- + It was a night for song and love-- + The burning planets shone above-- + The Southern Cross was all ablaze-- + 'Tis long since it then met my gaze!-- + Above us, whisp'ring in the breeze, + Were many strange, gigantic trees, + And in their shadow, deep and dark, + Slept many a pile of mould'ring bones; + For tales of murder fell and stark, + Are told by monumental stones + Flung by the passer's hand, until + The place grows to a little hill. + Up through the shade we rode, nor spoke, + Till suddenly the morning broke. + Beneath we saw in purple shade + The mighty sea; above display'd, + A thousand gorgeous hues which met + In tints that I remember yet; + But which I may not paint, my skill, + Alas! would but depict it ill-- + E'en Claude has never given hints + On canvas of such splendid tints! + The mountains, which ere dawn of day + I'd liken'd unto friars grey-- + Gigantic friars clad in grey-- + Stood now like kings, wrapp'd in the fold + +[Footnote 2: Panama, Carthagena, Maracaibo, and Chagres, were at +various times held by the buccaneers.] + + + + +_A Story of the Caracas Valley_. + + Of gorgeous clouds around them roll'd-- + Their lofty heads all crown'd with gold; + And many a painted bird went by + Strange to my unaccustom'd eye-- + Their plumage mimicking the sky. + O'er many a league, and many a mile-- + Crag--pinnacle--and lone defile-- + All Nature woke!--woke with a smile-- + As tho' the morning's golden gleam + Had broken some enchanting dream, + But left its soft impression still, + On lofty peak and dancing rill. + With many a halt and many a call, + At last we saw the rugged wall, + And gaz'd upon the ruin'd gate + Which even then look'd desolate, + For that Posada so forlorn + Seem'd sad e'en on so gay a morn! + The heavy gate at length unbarr'd, + We rode within the busy yard, + Well scatter'd o'er with many a pack; + For on that wild, romantic track, + The long and heavy-laden trains + Toil seaward from the valley's plains. + And often on its silence swells + The distant tinkle of the bells, + While muleteers' shrill, angry cries + From the dim road before you rise; + And such were group'd in circles round + Playing at monté on the ground; + Each swarthy face that met my eye + To thought of honesty gave lie. + In each fierce orb there was a spark + That few would care to see by dark-- + And many a sash I saw gleam thro' + The keen _cuchillo_ into view. + Within; the place was rude enough-- + The walls of clay--in color buff-- + A pictur'd saint--a cross or so-- + A hammock swinging to and fro-- + A gittern by the window laid + Whereon the morning breezes play'd, + And its low tones and broken parts + Seem'd like some thoughtless minstrel's arts-- + A rugged table in the floor-- + Ran thro' this homely _comedor_. + Here, weary as you well may think, + An hour or so we made abode, + To give our mules both food and drink, + Before we took again the road; + And honestly, our own repast + Was that of monks from lenten fast. + The meal once o'er; our stores replaced; + We gather'd where the window fac'd + Upon the vale, and gaz'd below + Where mists from a mad torrent's flow + Were dimly waving to and fro. + Meanwhile, the old guitar replied + To the swift fingers of our guide: + His voice was deep, and rich, and strong, + And he himself a child of song. + At first the music's liquid flow + Was soft and plaintive--rich and low; + The murmur of a fountain's stream + Where sleeping water-lilies dream; + Or, like the breathing of love-vows + Beneath the shade of orange-boughs; + And then more stirring grew his song-- + A strain which swept the blood along! + And as he sang, his eyes so sad-- + Which lately wore the look of pain, + Danc'd with a gleam both proud and glad, + Awaken'd by his fervid strain-- + His face now flush'd and now grew pale-- + The song he sang, was this, my tale. + + A fort above Laguayra stands, + Which all the town below commands. + The damp moss clings upon its walls-- + The rotting drawbridge slowly falls-- + Its dreary silentness appalls! + The iron bars are thick with rust + And slowly moulder into dust; + The roofless turrets show the sky, + The moats below are bare and dry-- + No captain issues proud behest-- + The guard-room echoes to no jest; + As I have said, within those walls + The very silentness appalls! + In other days it was not so-- + The Spanish banner, long ago, + Above the turrets tall did flow. + And many a gallant soldier there + With musket or with gleaming spear, + Pac'd on the battlements that then + Were throng'd with tall and proper men. + But this was many a year ago-- + A long shot back for mem'ry's bow! + The Governor here made his home + Beneath the great hall's gilded dome. + And here his lady-wife he brought + From Spain, across the sea; + And sumptuous festival was made, + Where now the tangled ivy's shade + Is hanging drearily. + The lady was both fair and young-- + Fair as a poet ever sung; + And well they lov'd; so it is told;-- + Had plighted troth in days gone by, + Ere he had won his spurs of gold, + Or, gain'd his station high. + And often from the martial keep + They'd sail together on the deep; + Or, wander many a weary mile + In lonely valley, or defile. + + Well; once upon this road, a pair, + A lady and a cavalier, + Were riding side by side. + And she was young and "passing fair," + With crimson lips and ebon hair-- + She was the gallant's bride! + And he was cast in manly mould, + His port was high, and free, and bold-- + Fitting a cavalier! + But now bent reverently low + His crest's unsullied plume of snow + Play'd 'mid the lady's hair. + + This knight with orders on his breast, + The Governor, as you have guess'd-- + The lady was his wife, and they, + Alone were on the road that day;-- + Their horses moving at a walk, + And they engaged in earnest talk, + Low words and sweet they spoke; + The lady smil'd, and blush'd, and then, + Smiling and blushing, spoke again; + When sleeping echo woke-- + Woke with the shouts of a wild band + Who urg'd with spur and heavy hand + Their steeds along the way. + + Gave but one look the cavalier-- + Murmur'd a vow the lady fair-- + His right arm is around her thrown + Her form close-gather'd to his own; + While his brave steed, white as the snow, + Darts like an arrow from the bow; + His hoofs fall fast as tempest rain + Spurning the road that rings again. + Onward the race!--now fainter sounds + The yell and whoop; but still like hounds + The pirate band behind him rush + Breaking the mountains solemn hush. + On speeds he now--his steed so white + Far in advance, proclaims his flight; + God speed him and his bride! + But ah! that chasm's fearful gape + Seems to forbid hope of escape, + He _cannot_ turn aside. + + He bends his head; is it in pray'r? + Is it to shed a bitter tear? + Or utter craven vow? + No; 'tis to gaze into those eyes + Which are to him love-litten skies-- + To kiss his lady's brow. + And must he on? full well he knew + That none were spar'd by that wild crew-- + Never a lady fair. + And now a shout, a fierce halloo, + Told that they were again in view-- + Close to his ear a bullet sings, + And then the distant carbine rings. + + Why pales the cavalier? + And why does he now set his teeth + And draw his dagger from its sheath? + He breasts his charger at the leap-- + He pricketh him full sharp and deep: + He leaps, and then with heaving flank + Gains footing on the other bank: + A moment--'mid the pass's gloom, + Vanish both veil and dancing plume-- + It seems a dream. No! there is proof, + The clatter of a flying hoof, + And too, the lady's steed remains, + With empty seat, and flying reins; + And then is borne to that wild rout, + A long and proud triumphant shout. + And he who led the pirate band, + Urg'd on his horse, with spur and hand; + The long locks drifted from his brow, + Like midnight waves from storm-vexed prow; + And darkly flashed his eyes of jet + Beneath the brows which almost met. + Stern was his face; but war and crime, + --For he had sinn'd in many a clime-- + Had plough'd it deeper far than time. + He was their chief: will he draw rein? + Will he the yawning rift refrain? + And with his halting band remain? + He rais'd up in his stirrups, high, + Better the chasm to descry, + And measure with his hawk-like eye, + While his dark steed begrim'd with toil, + Tried madly, vainly, to recoil! + A mutter'd curse--a sabre goad-- + Full at the leap the robber rode: + Great God! his horse near dead and spent, + Scarce halfway o'er the chasm went. + That fearful rush, and daring bound, + Was followed by a crashing sound-- + A sudden, awful knell! + For down, more than a thousand feet, + Where mist and mountain torrent meet, + That reckless rider fell. + + His band drew up:--they could not speak, + For long, and loud his charger's shriek + Was heard in an unearthly scream, + Above that roaring mountain stream-- + Like fancied sound in fever'd dream, + When the sick brain with crazy skill + Weaves fantasies of woe and ill. + Some said: no steed gave forth that yell, + And hinted solemnly of--hell! + And others said, that from his vest + A miniature with haughty crest + And features like the lady's 'pressed, + Fell on the rugged bank: + But who he was, none knew or tell; + + They simply point out where he fell + When horse and horseman sank. + Like Ravenswood he left no trace-- + Tradition only points the place. + + Rude is my hand, and rude my lay-- + Rude as the Inn, time-worn and grey, + Where resting, on the mountain-way, + I heard the tale which I have tried + To tell to thee; and saw the wide + Deep rift--ten yards from side to side-- + Great God! it was a fearful ride + The robber took that day. + + + + + +THREE SUMMER 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 + Responding to yon strutting gobbler's call. + + 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 + 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-- + A partridge-whistle thro' the garden floats, + While yonder gaudy peacock harshly cries, + As red and gold flush all the eastern skies. + + Up comes the sun: thro' the dense leaves a spot + Of splendid light drinks up the dew; the breeze + 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 shadow'd by the solemn pines. + + +II. + + Over the farm is brooding silence now-- + 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. + + 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, + I pause and listen for some faint church bell. + + The leaves are motionless--the song-bird's mute-- + The very air seems somnolent and sick: + The spreading branches with o'er-ripen'd 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 ploughed + Seem fairly dancing in my dazzled sight, + While over yonder road a dusty haze + Grows reddish purple in the sultry blaze. + + +III. + + That solitary cloud grows dark and wide, + While distant thunder rumbles in the air, + 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 + 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. + + 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, + And now I see the thick-advancing rain. + + 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 + 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, + 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. + + + + +THE WASHINGTON MEMORIAL ODE. + + Certain events, like architects, build up + Viewless cathedrals, in whose aisles the cup + Of some impressive sacrament is kist-- + Where thankful nations taste the Eucharist. + Pressed to their lips by some heroic Past + Enthroned like Pontiff in the temple vast-- + Where incense rises t'wards the dome sublime + From golden censers in the hands of Time-- + Where through the smoke some sculptured saint appears + Crowned with the glories of historic years; + Before whose shrine whole races tell their beads-- + From whose pale front each sordid thought recedes, + Gliding away like white and stealthy ghost, + As Memory rears it's consecrated Host, + As blood and body of a sacred name + Make the last supper of some deathless fame. + + This the event! Here springs the temple grand, + Whose mighty arches take in all the land! + Its twilight aisles stretch far away and reach + 'Mid lights and shadows which defy my speech: + And near its portal which Morn opened wide-- + Grey Janitor!--to let in all this tide + Of prayerful men, most solemnly there stands + One recollection, which, for pious hands + Is ready like the Minster's sculptured vase, + With holy water for each reverent face. + And mystic columns, which my fancy views, + Glow in a thousand soft, subduing hues + Flung through the stained windows of the Past in gloom, + Of royal purple o'er our warrior's tomb. + + * * * * * + + Oh, proud old Commonwealth! thy sacred name + Makes frequent music on the lips of Fame! + And as the nation, in its onward march, + Thunders beneath the Union's mighty arch, + Thine the bold front which every patriot sees + The stateliest figure on its massive frieze. + Oh, proud old State! well may thy form be grand, + 'Twas thine to give a Savior to the land. + For, in the past, when upward rose the cry, + "Save or we perish!" thine 'twas to supply + The master-spirit of the storm whose will + Said to the billows in their wrath: "Be still!" + And though a great calm followed, yet the age + In which he saw that mad tornado rage + Made in its cares and wild tempestuous strife + One solemn Passion of his noble life. + + This day, then, Countrymen of all the year, + We well may claim to be without a peer: + Amid the rest--impalpable and vast-- + It stands a Cheops looming through the past, + Close to the rushing, patriotic Nile + Which here o'erflows our hearts to make them smile + With a rich harvest of devoted zeal, + Men of Virginia, for the Common-weal! + + And to our Bethlehem ye who come to-day-- + Ye who compose this multitude's array-- + Ye who are here from mighty Northern marts + With frankincense and myrrh within your hearts-- + Ye who are here from the gigantic West, + The offspring nurtured at Virginia's breast, + Which in development by magic seems + Straight to embody all that Progress dreams-- + Ye who are here from summer-wedded lands-- + From Carolina's woods to Tampa's sands, + From Florida to Texas broad and free + Where spreads the prairie, like a dark, green sea-- + Ye whose bold fathers from Virginia went + In wilds to pitch brave enterprise's tent, + Spreading our faith and social system wide, + By which we stand peculiarly allied!-- + Ye Southern men, whose work is but begun, + Whose course is on t'ward regions of the sun, + Whose brave battalions moved to tropic sods + Solemn and certain as though marching gods + Were ordered in their circumstance and state + Beneath the banner of resistless Fate! + + Ye have been welcomed, Countrymen, by him [3] + Beside whose speech my rhetoric grows dim-- + Whose thoughts are flint and steel--whose words are flame, + For they all stir us like some hero's name: + But once again the Commonwealth extends + Her open hand in welcome to her friends; + Come ye from North, or South, or West, or East, + No bull's head enters at Virginia's feast. + And ye who've journeyed hither from afar, + Know that fair Freedom's liquid morning star + Still sheds its glories in a thousand beams, + Gilding our forests, fountains, mountains, streams, + With light as luminous as on that morn + When the Messiah of the land was born. + Then as we here partake the mystic rites + To which his memory like a priest invites; + Kneeling beside the altars of this day, + Let every heart subdued one moment pray, + +[Footnote 3: Governor Wise.] + + * * * * * + + That He who lit our morning star's pure light + Will never blot it from the nation's sight; + That He will banish those portentous clouds + Which from so many its effulgence shrouds-- + Which none will deem me Hamlet-mad when I + Say hang like banners on the darkened sky, + Suggesting perils in their warlike shape, + Which Heavenly Father grant that we escape! + + * * * * * + + Why touch upon these topics, do you ask? + Why blend these themes with my allotted task? + My answer's brief, 'tis, Citizens, because + I see fierce warfare made upon the Laws. + A people's poets are that people's seers, + The prophet's faculty, in part, is theirs, + And thus 'tis fit that from this statue's base, + Beneath great Washington's majestic face, + That I should point the dangers which menace + Our social temple's symmetry and grace. + + * * * * * + + But here I pause, for happier omens look, + And playing Flamen turn to Nature's book: + Where late rich Autumn sat on golden throne, + A stern usurper makes the crown his own; + The courtier woodlands, robbed of all their state, + Stripped of their pomp, look grim and desolate; + Reluctant conscripts, clad in icy mail, + Their captive pleadings rise on every gale. + Now mighty oaks stand like bereaved Lears; + Pennons are furled on all the sedgy spears + Where the sad river glides between its banks, + Like beaten general twixt his pompless ranks; + And the earth's bosom, clad in armor now, + Bids stern defiance to the iron plough, + While o'er the fields so desolate and damp + Invading Winter spreads his hostile camp.[4] + + And as he shakes his helmet's snowy plume + The landscape saddens into deeper gloom. + But yet ere many moons have flung to lea, + To begging billows of the hungry sea, + Their generous gold--like oriental queens-- + A change will pass o'er all these wintry scenes; + There'll come the coronation of glad Spring, + Grander than any made for bride of king. + +[Footnote 4: The statue was unveiled in a snow-storm.] + + * * * * * + + Earth's hodden grey will change to livelier hues + Enriched with pearl drops of the limpid dews; + Plenty will stand with her large tranquil eyes + To see her treasures o'er the landscape rise. + Thus may the lover of his country hope + To see again the Nation's spring-tide ope, + And freedom's harvest turn to ripened gold, + So that our world may give unto the old + Of its great opulence, as Joseph gave + Bread to his brothers when they came to crave. + + But from his name I've paused too long you think? + Yet he who stands beside Niagra's brink + Breaketh not forth at once of its grand strife; + 'Tis thus I stand subdued by his great life-- + + * * * * * + + And with his name a host of others rise, + Climbing like planets, Fame's eternal skies: + Great names, my Brothers! with such deeds allied + That all Virginians glow with filial pride-- + That here the multitude shall daily pace + Around this statue's hero-circled base, + Thinking on those who, though long sunk in sleep, + Still round our camp the guard of sentries keep-- + Who when a foe encroaches on our line, + Prompt the stern challenge for the countersign-- + Who with proud memories feed our bright watch-fire + Which ne'er has faded, never will expire; + Grand benedictions, they in bronze will stand + To guard and consecrate our native land! + Great names are theirs! But his, like battle song, + In quicker current sends our blood along; + For at its music hearts throb quick and large, + Like those of horsemen thundering in the charge. + God's own Knight-Errant! There his figure stands! + Our souls are full--our bonnets in our hands! + + When the fierce torrent--lava-like--of bronze + To mould this statue burst it furnace bonds, + When it out-thundered in its liquid flow, + With splendid flame and scintillating glow, + 'Twas in its wild tumultuous throb and storm + Type of the age which moulded into form + The god-like character of him sublime, + Whose name is reared a statue for all time + In the great minster of the whole world's heart. + + * * * * * + + I've called his name a statue. Stern and vast + It rests enthroned upon the mighty past: + Fit plinth for him whose image in the mind + Looms up as that of one by God designed! + Fit plinth in sooth! the mighty past for him + Whose simple name is Glory's synonyme! + E'en Fancy's self, in her enchanted sleep, + Can dream no future which may cease to keep + His name in guard, like sentinel and cry + From Time's great bastions: "It shall never die." + + * * * * * + + His simple name a statue? Yes, and grand + 'Tis reared in this and every other land. + Around its base a group more noble stands + Than e'er was carved by human sculptor's hands, + E'en though each form, like that of old should flush + With vivid beauty's animating blush-- + Though dusky bronze, or pallid stone should thrill + With sudden life at some Pygmalion's will-- + For these great figures, with his own enshrined, + Are seen, my Countrymen, by men, though blind. + + There Valor fronts us with her storied shield, + Brave in devices won on many a field; + A splendid wreath snatched from the carnage grim + Is twined around that buckler's burnished rim, + And as we gaze, the brazen trumpets blare + With shrill vibration shakes the frightened air-- + The roll of musketry--the clash of steel-- + The clang of hoofs as charging squadrons wheel-- + The hoarse command--the imprecative cry-- + Swell loud and long, while Fancy's eager eye + Sees the stern van move on with crimson strides + Where Freedom's warrior on his war-horse rides, + Sees the great cannon flash out red and fast + Through battle mists which canopy the past. + + And solemn-fronted Truth with earnest eyes, + Stands there serenely beautiful and wise; + Her stately form in undisturbed repose, + Rests by her well, where limpid crystal flows + While on her face, which can severely frown, + A smile is breaking as she gazes down; + For clearly marked upon that tranquil wave + Slumbers his image in a picture brave, + And leaning on the fountain's coping stone, + She scarce can tell his shadow from her own. + + And Wisdom, with her meditative gaze, + Beside its base her mighty chart displays; + There with her solemn and impressive hand + Writes as she stoops--as Christ wrote on the sand-- + But what she traces all may read--'tis this: + An invocation by our dreams of bliss-- + By hopes to do and by our great deeds done, + The war of sections thro' all time to shun-- + She writes the words which almost seem divine, + "Our deadliest foe's a geographic line!" + And Justice, with her face severely grand, + Stands 'mid the group, her balances in hand: + Faultless in judging trivial deeds, or great, + Unmoved by love and unimpressed by hate. + Beside her gleams undimmed by spot, or rust, + A mighty blade to strike when strike she must; + And this bright falchion like that which defends + The guarded gate where earth in Eden ends, + With flame terrific and with ponderous sway + Frightens each Brennus from her scales away. + + And there we see pale, pleading Mercy bow, + A troubled shadow on her saintly brow; + Her fringed lashes tremulous with tears, + Which glitter still through all the change of years: + And as we see those tear drops slowly rise, + Giving new softness to her tender eyes, + Away the mists which o'er the dark past drift + Are rent and scattered, while the sudden rift + Shows, like some distant headland vast and dim + Seen through the tempest, the great soul of him + Who guarding against the native traitor, could + Turn from her pleadings for his country's good. + + And Honor last completes the stately group, + With eye like eagle's in descending swoop, + Fronted like goddess beautiful and proud + When sailing on the "lazy-pacing cloud": + Prouder her port than that of all the rest, + With radiant forehead and translucent breast, + She needs no gesture of supreme command + For us to know her foremost of the band: + They were his counsellors, she as the mind + By which their promptings were in deeds combined-- + In deeds which Fame, like fasces bears before + The noblest consul that earth ever bore. + + * * * * * + + Why are we here? It were a bitter shame + To pay this homage to a hero's name, + And yet forget the principles which gave + His true defiance to oblivion's wave! + Aye! Sirs, remember when the day is spent, + In Freedom's camp our soldier pitched his tent! + Maintain your own--respect your brother's right-- + Thus will you praise Jehovah's belted Knight. + + Are we Pompeians gathered here to-day, + Gazing upon our last superb display? + Crowning the hours with many a festal wreath, + While red Vesuvius bubbles underneath? + Oh! no, my Countrymen! This cloud must be + The smoke of incense floating o'er the free! + No lava-flood can e'er o'erwhelm this land, + Held as 'tis holden, in God's mighty hand. + + And when the garlands of to-day are pale, + Shall clang of armorers riveting our mail + Rise in harsh dissonance where now the song + In surging music sweeps the land along? + No, Brothers, no! The Providence on high + Stretches above us like the arching sky; + As o'er the world that broad empyrean field, + So o'er the nation God's protecting shield! + + * * * * * + + His the great will which sways the tide of earth-- + His the great will which giveth empires birth-- + And this grand truth through every age and clime + Is written out in characters sublime; + But most we see the traces of His hand + In the great Epic of our native land. + + This new world had its Adam and he fled-- + God's was the voice and God's the mighty tread + Which scared the red man from his Eden bowers + God's the decree which made the garden ours! + And Eden 'twas and such it still remains: + Oh, Brothers! shall we prove a race of Cains? + Shall impious hands be armed with deadly things, + Because we bring up different offerings + Unto our altars? To the Nation's shrine + I take my gift; my brother, take thou thine! + Again I ask: While this proud bronze remains, + Shall this great people prove a race of Cains? + Here make your answer at this statue's base, + Beneath this warrior's calm, majestic face; + And here remember that your best applause + To him is shown in standing by the Laws! + But if our rights shall ever be denied, + I call upon you, by your race's pride, + To seek some "West Augusta" and unfurl + Our banner where the mountain vapors curl: + Lowland and valley then will swell the cry, + He left us free: thus will we live, or die! + One other word, Virginia, hear thy son, + Whose filial service now is nearly done-- + Hear me old State! Thou art supremely blest: + A hero's ashes slumber in thy breast! + Oh, Mother! if the ashes of a king + Could nerve to deeds with which Fame's trumpets ring, + What glove of challenger shall make thee start, + When thy great son lies sleeping on thy heart! + + + + +HOW IT FELL CALM ON SUMMER NIGHT. + + My Lady's rest was calm and deep: + She had been gazing at the moon; + And thus it chanced she fell asleep + One balmy night in June. + + Freebooter winds stole richest smells + From roses bursting in the gloom, + And rifled half-blown daffodils, + And lilies of perfume. + + These dainty robbers of the South + Found "beauty" sunk in deep repose, + And seized upon her crimson mouth, + Thinking her lips a rose. + + The wooing winds made love full fast-- + To rouse her up in vain they tried-- + They kist and kist her, till, at last, + In ecstasy they died. + + + + +A FRIEND OF MINE. + + We sat beneath tall waving trees that flung + Their heavy shadows o'er the dewy grass. + Over the waters, breaking at our feet, + Quivered the moon, and lighted solemnly + The scene before us. + + He with whom I talked + Was in the noble vigor of his youth: + Tall, much beyond the standard, and well knit, + With a dark, Norman face, from which the breeze + Flung back his locks of ebon darkness which + In rare luxuriance fell around his brow, + That, in its massive beauty, brought me up + Pictures by ancient masters; or the sharp + And perfect features carved by Grecian hands, + In days when Gods, in forms worthy of Gods, + Started from marble to bewitch the world-- + A brow so beautiful was his, that one + Might well conceive it always bound with dreams; + His eyes were luminous and full of gleams, + That made me think of waves wherein I've seen + The moon-hued lightning breaking in the dark + With sudden flashes of phosphoric light: + His cheeks were bronze, his firm lips scarlet-hued. + The Roman's valor, the Assyrian's love + Of ease and pomp sat on his crimson lips, + Uneasy rulers on the self-same throne, + Spoiling the empire of the soul within: + Such was his face. + + * * * * * + + His thoughts went forth like emperors, and all + His words arrayed themselves around them like + Imperial guards. + + * * * * * + + Opinions which I had been taught to hold + As full of pith and gravity, he took + As 'twere, 'twixt thumb and finger of his wit-- + Rubbed off their gloss, until they seemed to me, + All, as he said, varnished hypocrisies. + + * * * * * + + Most wise for one so young! and strangely read + In books of quaint philosophy--although + His mind's strange alchemy could find some + Rich thought hidden in the basest thing, + Which he transmuted into golden words, + So that in hearing him I often thought + Upon the story of that Saint whose mouth + Was radiant with the angel's blessed touch, + Which gave him superhuman eloquence; + And though he was thus gifted, yet--ah me! + + * * * * * + + Still earnest with my theme, I bade him think + Of Auerbach's cellar, and that wassail night + Whole centuries ago: and then in phrase, + Better than that which cometh to me now + I likened it--the necromancy which + Drew richest vintage from the rugged boards-- + Unto the spell wherewith he'd bound himself-- + The spell by which he drew from simplest things + Conceptions beautiful, as Faust drew wine + From the rude table; for this friend of mine + Was a true poet, though he seldom wrote: + The wealth which might have royally endowed + Some noble charity for coming time + Was idly wasted--pearls dissolved in wine-- + + * * * * * + + Still on my theme I hung and pointed out, + Full eagerly, how Mephistopheles + Ordered the gimlet wherewith it was drawn: + + * * * * * + + But he who went his way that summer night, + Beneath the shadow of those stately trees + Comes back to me--to earth--ah! nevermore. + + * * * * * + + He fell obscurely in the common ranks-- + His keen sword rusted in its splendid sheath. + God pardon him his faults! for faults he had; + But oh! so blent with goodness, that the while + The lip of every theory of his + Curved with a sneer, each action smiled + With Christian charity. + + Like Manfred he had summoned to his aid + Forbidden ministers--but unlike his-- + Of the earth, earthy, which did slowly clutch + Upon his lofty faculties until + They summoned him from the lone tow'r of thought + And false philosophy wherein he dwelt. + God pardon him! Amen. + + + + +INDOLENCE. [5] + + * * * * * + + I turn aside; and, in the pause, might start + As Mem'ry's elbow leans upon Time's Chart, + Which shows, alas! how soon all men must glide + Over meridians on life's ocean tide-- + Meridians showing how both youth and sage + Are sailing northward to the zone of age: + On to an atmosphere of gloom I wist, + Where mariners are lost in melancholy mist. + But gayer thoughts, like spring-tide swallows, dart + Through youth's brave mind and animate its heart. + + * * * * * + + But Indolence is seen a pallid Ruth-- + A timid gleaner in the fields of youth-- + A wretched gath'rer of the scattered grain + Left by the reapers who have swept the plain; + But with no Boaz standing by the while, + To watch its figure with approving smile. + + +[Footnote 5: (From a Poem pronounced before the Phi Beta Kappa +Society and graduating classes of William and Mary College, July 4th, +1858.)] + + + + +THE JAMESTOWN ANNIVERSARY ODE. + + * * * * * + + In those vast forests dwelt a race of kings, + Free as the eagle when he spreads his wings-- + His wings which never in their wild flight lag-- + In mists which fly the fierce tornado's flag; + Their flight the eagle's! and their name, alas! + The eagle's shadow swooping o'er the grass, + Or, as it fades, it well may seem to be + The shade of tempest driven o'er the sea. + + Fierce, too, this race, as mountain torrent wild, + With haughty hearts, where Mercy rarely smiled-- + All their traditions--histories imbued + With tales of war and sanguinary feud, + Yet though they never couched the knightly lance, + The glowing songs of Europe's old romance + Can find their parallels amid the race, + Which, on this spot, met England face to face. + And when they met the white man, hand to hand, + Twilight and sunrise stood upon the strand-- + Twilight and sunrise? Saxon sunshine gleams + To-day o'er prairies and those distant streams, + Which hurry onward through far Western plains, + Where the last Indian, for a season, reigns. + Here, the red CANUTE on this spot, sat down, + His splendid forehead stormy with a frown, + To quell, with the wild lightning of his glance + The swift encroachment of the wave's advance; + To meet and check the ruthless tide which rose, + Crest after crest of energetic foes, + While high and strong poured on each cruel wave, + Until they left his royalty--a grave; + But, o'er this wild, tumultuous deluge glows + A vision fair as Heaven to saint e'er shows; + A dove of mercy o'er the billows dark + Fluttered awhile then fled within God's ark. + Had I the power, I'd reverently describe + That peerless maid--the "pearl of all her tribe," + As evening fair, when coming night and day + Contend together which shall wield its sway. + But, here abashed, my paltry fancy stays; + For her, too humble its most stately lays. + A shade of twilight's softest, sweetest gloom-- + The dusk of morning--found a splendid tomb + In England's glare; so strange, so vast, so bright, + The dusk of morning burst in splendid light, + Which falleth through the Past's cathedral aisles, + Till sculptured Mercy like a seraph smiles. + And though Fame's grand and consecrated fane + No kingly statue may, in time, retain, + _Her_ name shall linger, nor with age grow faint; + Its simple sound--the image of a saint. + + Sad is the story of that maiden's race, + Long driven from each legendary place. + All their expansive hunting-grounds are now + Torn by the iron of the Saxon's plough, + Which turns up skulls and arrow-heads and bones-- + Their places nameless and unmarked by stones. + Now freighted vessels toil along the view, + Where once was seen the Indian's bark canoe; + And to the woods the shrill escaping steam + Proclaims our triumph in discordant scream. + Where rose the wigwam in its sylvan shade, + Where the bold hunter in his freedom strayed, + And met his foe or chased the bounding stag, + The lazy horses at the harrow lag. + Where the rude dance was held or war-song rose, + The scene is one of plenty and repose. + The quiver of her race is empty now, + Its bow lies broken underneath the plough; + And where the wheat-fields ripple in the gale, + The vanished hunter scarcely leaves a trail. + 'Twas where yon river musically flows, + The European's nomenclature rose; + A keen-edged axe, which since, alas! has swept + Away their names--those boughs, which blossoms kept, + Leaving so few, that when their story's drowned, + 'Twill sink, alas! with no fair garland crowned. + What strange vicissitudes and perils fell + On the first settlers 'tis not mine to tell; + I scarce may pause to syllable the name + Which the great Captain left behind to fame; + A name which echoes through the tented past + Like sound of charge rung in a bugle's blast. + His age, although it still put faith in stars, + No longer glanced through feudal helmet's bars, + But stood in its half armor; thus stands he + An image half of antique chivalry, + And half presented to our eager eyes, + The brilliant type of modern enterprise. + A knightly blade, without one spot of rust, + Undimmed by time and undefaced by dust, + His name hangs up in that past age's hall, + Where many hang, the brightest of them all. + + + + +AN ELEGIAC ODE.[6] + + * * * * * + + He chastens us as nations and as men, + He smites us sore until our pride doth yield, + And hence our heroes, each with hearts for ten, + Were vanquished in the field; + + And stand to-day beneath our Southern sun + O'erthrown in battle and despoiled of hope, + Their drums all silent and their cause undone, + And they all left to grope + + In darkness till God's own appointed time + In His own manner passeth fully by. + Our Penance this. His Parable sublime + Means we must learn to die. + + Not as our soldiers died beneath their flags, + Not as in tumult and in blood they fell, + When from their columns, clad in homely rags, + Rose the Confederate yell. + + Not as they died, though never mortal men + Since Tubal Cain first forged his cruel blade + Fought as they fought, nor ever shall agen + Such Leader be obeyed! + + No, not as died our knightly, soldier dead, + Though they, I trust, have found above surcease + For all life's troubles, but on Christian bed + Should we depart in peace, + + Falling asleep like those whose gentle deeds + Are governed through time's passions and its strife, + So justly that we might erect new creeds + From each well ordered life, + + Whose saintly lessons are so framed that we + May learn that pain is but a text sublime, + Teaching us how to learn at Sorrow's knee + To value things of time. + + Thus thinking o'er life's promise-breaking dreams, + Its lights and shadows made of hopes and fears, + I say that Death is kinder than he seems, + And not the King of Tears. + +[Footnote: 6: It may not be out of place to state that this ode was +written at the express and urgent request of the ladies of Warren +county, North Carolina, and recited by the author, August 8th, 1866, +on the occasion of the completion of the monument, erected by the +ladies of Warren county, over the ashes of Miss Annie Carter Lee, +who was the daughter of General Robert E. Lee and Mary Custis Lee; +born at Arlington, Va., June 18th, 1839, and died at the White +Sulphur Springs, Warren county, North Carolina, October 20th, 1862. +The monument was unveiled in the presence of a great concourse of +people, and with Major-Generals G.W.C. Lee and W.H.F. Lee, in +attendance, as representatives of their family.] + + + + +THE CADETS AT NEW MARKET.[7] + + * * * * * + + Their sleep is made glorious, + And dead they're victorious + Over defeat! + Never Lethean billows + Shall roll o'er their pillows, + Red with the feet + Of Mars from the wine press + So bitterly sweet! + + Sleeping, but glorious, + Dead in Fame's portal, + Dead, but victorious, + Dead, but immortal! + They gave us great glory, + What more could they give? + They have left us a story, + A story to live-- + And blaze on the brows of the State like a crown, + While from these grand mountains the rivers run down, + While grass grows in graveyards, or the Ocean's deep calls, + Their deeds and their glory shall fresco these walls. + +[Footnote 7: Delivered at Virginia Military Institute, 1870.] + + + + +OUR HEROIC DEAD. + + +I. + + A King once said of a Prince struck down, + "Taller he seems in death." + And this speech holds truth, for now as then + 'Tis after death that we measure men, + And as mists of the past are rolled away + Our heroes, who died in their tattered grey, + Grow "taller" and greater in all their parts + Till they fill our minds as they fill our hearts. + And for those who lament them there's this relief-- + That Glory sits by the side of Grief, + Yes, they grow "taller" as the years pass by + And the World learns how they could do and die. + + +II. + + A Nation respects them. The East and West, + The far-off slope of the Golden Coast, + The stricken South and the North agree + That the heroes who died for you and me-- + Each valiant man, in his own degree, + Whether he fell on the shore or sea, + Did deeds of which + This Land, though rich + In histories may boast, + And the Sage's Book and the Poet's Lay + Are full of the deeds of the Men in Grey. + + +III. + + No lion cleft from the rock is ours, + Such as Lucerne displays, + Our only wealth is in tears and flowers, + And words of reverent praise. + And the Roses brought to this silent Yard + Are Red and White. Behold! + + They tell how wars for a kingly crown, + In the blood of England's best writ down, + Left Britain a story whose moral old + Is fit to be graven in text of gold: + The moral is, that when battles cease + The ramparts smile in the blooms of peace. + + And flowers to-day were hither brought + From the gallant men who against us fought; + York and Lancaster!--Grey and Blue! + Each to itself and the other true-- + And so I say + Our Men in Grey + Have left to the South and North a tale + Which none of the glories of Earth can pale. + + +IV. + + Norfolk has names in the sleeping host + Which fill us with mournful pride-- + Taylor and Newton, we well may boast, + McPhail, and Walke, and Selden, too, + Brave as the bravest, as truest true! + And Grandy struck down ere his May became June, + A battle-flag folded away too soon, + And Williams, than whom not a man stood higher, + 'Mid the host of heroes baptized in fire. + And Mallory, whose sires aforetime died, + When Freedom and Danger stood side by side. + McIntosh, too, with his boarders slain, + Saunders and Jackson, the unripe grain, + And Taliaferro, stately as knight of old, + A blade of steel with a sheath of gold. + And Wright, who fell on the Crater's red sod, + Giving life to the Cause, his soul to GOD. + And there is another, whose portrait at length + Should blend graces of Sidney with great Raleigh's strength. + Ah, John Randolph Tucker![8] To match me this name + You must climb to the top of the Temple of Fame! + + These are random shots o'er the men at rest, + But each rings out on a warrior's crest. + Yes, names like bayonet points, when massed, + Blaze out as we gaze on the splendid past. + + +V. + + That past is now like an Arctic Sea + Where the living currents have ceased to run, + But over that past the fame of Lee + Shines out as the "Midnight Sun:" + And that glorious Orb, in its march sublime, + Shall gild our graves till the end of time! + +[Footnote 8: That splendid seaman, Admiral Tucker.] + + + + +MAHONE'S BRIGADE.[9] + + A METRICAL ADDRESS. + + "In pace decus, in bello praesidium."--_Tacitus_. + + +I. + + Your arms are stacked, your splendid colors furled, + Your drums are still, aside your trumpets laid, + But your dumb muskets once spoke to the world-- + And the world listened to Mahone's Brigade. + + Like waving plume upon Bellona's crest, + Or comet in red majesty arrayed, + Or Persia's flame transported to the West, + Shall shine the glory of Mahone's Brigade. + + Not once, in all those years so dark and grim, + Your columns from the path of duty strayed; + No craven act made your escutcheon dim-- + 'Twas burnished with your blood, Mahone's Brigade. + + Not once on post, on march, in camp, or field, + Was your brave leader's trust in you betrayed, + And never yet has old Virginia's shield + Suffered dishonor through Mahone's Brigade. + + Who has forgotten at the deadly Mine, + How our great Captain of great Captains bade + Your General to retake the captured line? + How it was done, you know, Mahone's Brigade. + + Who has forgotten how th' undying dead, + And you, yourselves, won that for which Lee prayed? + Who has forgotten how th' Immortal said: + That "heroes" swept that field, Mahone's Brigade? + + From the far right, beneath the "stars and bars," + You marched amain to Bushrod Johnson's aid, + And when you charged--an arrow shot by Mars + Went forward in your rush, Mahone's Brigade. + + In front stood death. Such task as yours before + By mortal man has rarely been essayed, + There you defeated Burnside's boasted corps, + And did an army's work, Mahone's Brigade. + + And those who led you, field, or line, or staff, + Showed they were fit for more than mere parade; + Their motto: "Victory or an epitaph," + And well they did their part, Mahone's Brigade. + + +II. + + Were mine the gift to coin my heart of hearts + In living words, fit tribute should be paid + To all the heroes whose enacted parts + Gave fame immortal to Mahone's Brigade. + + But he who bore the musket is the man + Whose figure should for future time be made-- + Cleft from a rock by some new Thorwaldsen-- + The Private Soldier of Mahone's Brigade. + + His was that sense of duty only felt + By souls heroic. In the modest shade + He lived, or fell; but his, Fame's Starry Belt-- + His, Fame's own Galaxy, Mahone's Brigade. + + And in that Belt--all luminous with stars, + Unnamed and woven in a wondrous braid-- + A blaze of glory in the sky of Mars-- + Your orbs are thickly set, Mahone's Brigade. + + The Private Soldier is the man who comes + From mart, or plain, or grange, or sylvan glade, + To answer calls of trumpets and of drums-- + So came the Soldier of Mahone's Brigade. + + His messmate, hunger; comrades, heat and cold; + His decorations, death or wounds, conveyed + To the brave patriot in ways manifold-- + But yet he flinched not in Mahone's Brigade. + + When needing bread, Fate gave him but a stone; + Ragged, he answered when the trumpet brayed; + Barefoot he marched, or died without a groan; + True to his battle-flag, Mahone's Brigade. + + Could some Supreme Intelligence proclaim, + Arise from all the pomp of rank and grade, + War's truest heroes, oft we'd hear some name, + Unmentioned by the world, Mahone's Brigade. + + And yet they have a name, enriched with thanks + And tears and homage--which shall never fade-- + Their name is simply this: Men of the Ranks-- + The Knights without their spurs--Mahone's Brigade. + + And though unbelted and without their spurs, + To them is due Fame's splendid accolade; + And theirs the story which to-day still stirs + The pulses of your heart, Mahone's Brigade. + + Men of the Ranks, step proudly to the front, + 'Twas yours unknown through sheeted flame to wade, + In the red battle's fierce and deadly brunt; + Yours be full laurels in Mahone's Brigade. + + +III. + + For those who fell be yours the sacred trust + To see forgetfulness, shall not invade + The spots made holy by their noble dust; + Green keep them in your hearts, Mahone's Brigade. + + Oh, keep them green with patriotic tears! + Forget not, now war's fever is allayed, + Those valiant men, who, in the vanished years, + Kept step with you in ranks, Mahone's Brigade. + + Each circling year, in the sweet month of May, + Your countrywomen--matron and fair maid-- + Still pay their tribute to the Soldier's clay, + And strew his grave with flow'rs, Mahone's Brigade. + + Join in the task, with retrospective eye; + Men's mem'ries should not perish 'neath the spade; + Pay homage to the dead, whose dying cry + Was for the Commonwealth, Mahone's Brigade. + + Raise up, O State! a shaft to pierce the sky, + To him, the Private, who was but afraid + To fail in his full duty--not to die; + And on its base engrave, "Mahone's Brigade." + + +IV. + + Now that the work of blood and tears is done, + Whether of stern assault, or sudden raid, + Yours is a record second yet to none-- + None takes your right in line, Mahone's Brigade. + + Now that we've lost, as was fore-doomed, the day-- + Now that the good by ill has been outweighed-- + Let us plant olives on the rugged way, + Once proudly trodden by Mahone's Brigade. + + And when some far-stretchen future folds the past, + To us so recent, in its purple shade, + High up, as if on some "tall Admiral's mast," + Shall fly your battle-flags, Mahone's Brigade. + + +V. + + Each battle-flag shall float abroad and fling + A radiance round, as from a new-lit star; + Or light the air about, as when a King + Flashes in armor in his royal car; + And Fame's own vestibule I see inlaid + With their proud images, Mahone's Brigade. + + Your battle-flags shall fly throughout all time, + By History's self exultingly unfurled; + And stately prose, and loud-resounding rhyme, + Nobler than mine, shall tell to all the world + How dauntless moved, and how all undismayed, + Through good and ill stood Mahone's Brigade. + + O glorious flags! No victory could stain + Your tattered folds with one unworthy deed, + O glorious flags! No country shall again + Fly nobler symbols in its hour of need. + Success stained not, nor could defeat degrade; + Spotless they float to-day, Mahone's Brigade. + + Immortal flags, upon Time's breezes flung, + Seen by the mind in forests, or in marts, + Cherished in visions, praised from tongue to tongue, + Wrapped in the very fibres of your hearts, + And gazing on them, none may dare upbraid + Your Leader, or your men, Mahone's Brigade. + + +VI. + + That splendid Leader's name is yours, and he + Flesh of your flesh, himself bone of your bone, + His simple name maketh a history, + Which stands, itself grand, glorious and alone, + Or, 'tis a trophy, splendidly arrayed, + With all your battle-flags, Mahone's Brigade. + + His name itself a history? Yes, and none + May halt me here. In war and peace + It challenges the full rays of the sun; + And when the passions of our day shall cease, + 'Twill stand undying, for all time displayed, + Itself a battle-flag, Mahone's Brigade. + + He rose successor of that mighty man + Who was the "right arm" [10] of immortal Lee; + Whose genius put defeat beneath a ban; + Who swept the field as tempest sweeps the sea; + Who fought full hard, and yet full harder prayed. + You knew that man full well, Mahone's Brigade. + + And here that great man's shadow claims a place; + Within my mind I see his image rise, + With Cromwell's will and Havelock's Christian grace; + As daring as the Swede, as Frederick wise; + Swift as Napoleon ere his hopes decayed; + You knew the hero well, Mahone's Brigade. + + And when he fell his fall shook all the land, + As falling oak shakes mountain side and glen; + But soon men saw his good sword in the hand + Of one, himself born leader among men,-- + Of him who led you through the fusilade, + The storm of shot and shell, Mahone's Brigade. + + Immortal Lee, who triumphed o'er despair, + Greater than all the heroes I have named. + Whose life has made a Westminster where'er + His name is spoken; he, so wise and famed, + Gave Jackson's duties unto him whose blade + Was lightning to your storms, Mahone's Brigade. + + Ere Jackson fell Mahone shone day by day, + A burnished lance amid that crop of spears,-- + None rose above him in that grand array; + And Lee, who stood Last of the Cavaliers, + Knew he had found of War's stupendous trade, + A Master at your head, Mahone's Brigade. + + O Countrymen! I see the coming days + When he, above all hinderances and lets + Shall stand in Epic form, lit by the rays + Of Fame's eternal sun that never sets, + The first great chapter of his life is made, + And spoken in two words--"Mahone's Brigade." + + O Countrymen! I see historic brass + Leap from the furnace in a blazing tide; + I see it through strange transformations pass + Into a form of energy and pride; + Beneath our Capitol's majestic shade + In bronze I see Mahone--Mahone's Brigade. + + O Countrymen! When dust has gone to dust. + Still shall he live in story and in rhyme; + Then History's self shall multiply his bust, + And he defy the silent Conqueror, Time. + My song is sung: My prophecy is made-- + The State will make it good, Mahone's Brigade. + +[Footnote 9: Recited at Norfolk Opera House, July 30, 1876, the +twelfth anniversary of the Battle of the Crater, and second reunion +of survivors of Mahone's old brigade.] + +[Footnote 10: Stonewall Jackson.] + + + + + +THE PORTSMOUTH MEMORIAL POEM. + + --THE FUTURE HISTORIAN. + + Oh the women of Old Portsmouth in their patience were sublime, + As in working and in praying they abided GOD's own time! + Marble saints in a stately Minster, in some land across the sea, + In a flood of Winter moonlight were not half so pure to me! + And your men in Grey were faithful! they were counted with the best! + And where they fought no shadow fell on Old Virginia's crest. + Rags in cold, bare feet in marches never turned your children back; + In retreat they loved the rearguard, in advance they loved attack! + + Oh, my brothers! I see figures which all flit athwart my brain, + Like the torches lit by lightning in some tempest-driven rain, + And above the rushing vision, in my soul I hear the cry: + "Those who fell for Home and Duty left us names that cannot die!" + First, before the sleeping warriors, comes a gentle woman's face, + Every mark Time made upon it seemed to add a Christian grace. + Sister of the soldier's widow, mother of his orphan child, + To us she seemed, indeed, as one on whom her GOD had smiled, + Passed from our sight, sustained by CHRIST, she went upon her way, + And be you sure, as I am, that her soul is here to-day! + + Other names now blaze upon me, and they shine out one by one + As the rays dart out a glitter from a shield hung in the sun. + Fiske, and White, and brave Vermillion, fell on Malvern's deadly slope, + When the cause that they defended was a-glow with life and hope. + Gallant Butt, and two Neimeyers you may boast in mood of pride, + Types were they of valiant soldiers, and like soldiers true they + died! + And Grimes, at bloody Sharpsburg, went down prone upon the field, + And Hodges, under Pickett, took his last sleep on his shield. + And Cowley, and Forrest, and Wilson, and Cocke on your Window + still blaze, + And their names enrich its blazon in the evening's golden haze. + Dunderdale, and Beaton, and Bennett, and Bingley, and Armistead, + and Gayle, + And Williams, the brave Color Sergeant, and Owens are men to bewail. + + Last, not least, there comes the Seaman, valiant Cooke, my cherished + friend, + Who was faithful to Virginia from beginning to the end; + Had the theatre been given he had played a Nelson's part, + Or in Anson's place had written his prodigious log and chart. + Carolina--may GOD bless her!--gave that true man to the State, + With a heart for any fortune and a soul for any fate. + Seaman of the blue salt water! On our narrow streams you taught, + Highest lessons of devotion in the battles that you fought. + + Other names crowd fast upon me as stars thicken on the view, + When the night comes down upon us, but I fix my gaze on two-- + As the "midland oak" of England is chief tree of all her trees-- + As the peak of Teneriffa is chief peak of all the seas-- + So our mighty Lee and Stonewall--greater names no era boasts-- + Shall exalt their Shades forever o'er the grand Confederate Hosts! + 'Twas not glory that they fought for through those weary years of + pain + Though the glory fell upon them as it ne'er may fall again. + That sentiment inspired them which lifts men to make them great, + Love of hearthstone, friends, and neighbors, and devotion to the State. + Not as rebels but as warriors they sent forth their famous cry-- + Not as traitors but as freemen they went forth to do or die! + + Then give the dead your tears, oh, friends, upon this day of days, + And let a solemn joy resound in all your words of praise! + For honor still has claims on man, and duty still can call + Above the sordid cares of life, the market and the stall. + Yes, honor still has claims on man! Thank GOD that this is so! + And there are heights of life where still all spotless lies the snow. + Oh, better than lands and vast estates, or titles high and long + The spirit of those whose deeds are fit to consecrate in Song! + When Regulus to Carthage went, and went back to keep his word, + His great action preached a homily which all mankind has heard. + It gave to the sacred cause of truth an impulse which still lives, + And left the world the moral which a grand example gives. + Here, within a nutshell's compass, the high argument appears + Which the man who dies for duty in his dying moment cheers, + And 'tis thus the Human Epic, acted out by all below, + Takes a fuller pulse and cadence in its long-resounding flow. + + In the future some historian shall come forth both strong and wise, + With a love of the Republic, and the truth, before his eyes. + He will show the subtle causes of the war between the States, + He will go back in his studies far beyond our modern dates, + He will trace out hostile ideas as the miner does the lodes, + He will show the different habits born of different social codes, + He will show the Union riven, and the picture will deplore, + He will show it re-united and made stronger than before. + Slow and patient, fair and truthful must the coming teacher be + To show how the knife was sharpened that was ground to prune the tree. + He will hold the Scales of Justice, he will measure praise and blame, + And the South will stand the verdict, and will stand it without shame. + + +[Illustration: MONUMENT AT YORKTOWN, VIRGINIA.] + + + + +ARMS AND THE MAN. + + A Metrical Address recited on the one hundredth anniversary of + the surrender of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown on invitation + of a joint committee of the Senate and House of the United + States Congress. + + +PROLOGUE. + + Full-burnished through the long-revolving years + The ploughshare of a Century to-day + Runs peaceful furrows where a crop of Spears + Once stood in War's array. + + And we, like those who on the Trojan plain + See hoary secrets wrenched from upturned sods;-- + Who, in their fancy, hear resound again + The battle-cry of gods;-- + + We now,--this splendid scene before us spread + Where Freedom's full hexameter began-- + Restore our Epic, which the Nations read + As far its thunders ran. + + Here visions throng on People and on Bard, + Ranks all a-glitter in battalions massed + And closed around as like a plumèd guard, + They lead us down the Past. + + I see great Shapes in vague confusion march + Like giant shadows, moving vast and slow, + Beneath some torch-lit temple's mighty arch + Where long processions go. + + I see these Shapes before me, all unfold, + But ne'er can fix them on the lofty wall, + Nor tell them, save as she of Endor told + What she beheld to Saul. + + +THE DEAD STATESMAN. + + I see his Shape who should have led these ranks-- + GARFIELD I see whose presence had evoked + The stormy rapture of a Nation's thanks-- + His chariot stands unyoked! + + Unyoked and empty, and the Charioteer + To Fame's expanded arms has headlong rushed + Ending the glories of a grand career, + While all the world stood hushed. + + The thunder of his wheels is done, but he + Sustained by patience, fortitude, and grace-- + A Christian Hero--from the struggle free-- + Has won the Christian's race! + + His wheel-tracks stop not in the Valley cold + But upward lead, and on, and up, and higher, + Till Hope can realize and Faith behold + His chariot mount in fire! + + Therefore, my Countrymen, lift up your hearts! + Therefore, my Countrymen, be not cast down! + He lives with those who well have done their parts, + And God bestowed his crown! + + And yet another form to-day I miss;-- + Grigsby the scholar, good, and pure, and wise, + Who now, perchance, from scenes of perfect bliss + Looks down with tender eyes. + + Where his great friend, through life great Winthrop stands, + Winthrop, whose gift, in life's departing hours, + Went to the dying Old Virginian's hands + Who died amid those flowers.[11] + + Prayers change to blooms, the ancient Rabbins taught; + So his, then, seemed to blossom forth and glow, + As if his supplicating soul had brought + Sandalphon down below. + + But, happily, that Winthrop stood to-day, + The patriot, scholar, orator, and sage, + To tell the meaning of this grand array + And vindicate an Age. + + That Era's life and meaning his to teach, + To him the parchments, but the shell to me, + His voice the voice of billows on the beach + Wherein we heard the sea. + + My voice the voice of some sequestered stream + Which only boasts, as on its waters glide, + That, here and there, it shows a broken gleam + Of pictures on its tide. + + +II. + + THE COLONIES. + + The fountain of our story spreads no clouds + Of mist above it rich in varied glows, + None paint us Gods and Goddesses in crowds + Where some Scamander flows. + + The tale of Jamestown, which I need not gild, + With that of Plymouth, by the World is seen, + But none, in visions, fancifully build + Olympus in between. + + At Jamestown stood the Saxon's home and graves, + There Britain's spray broke on the native rock, + There rose the English tide with crested waves + And overwhelming shock. + + Virginia thence, stirred by a grand unrest, + Swept o'er the waters, scaled the mountain's crag, + Hewed out a more than Roman roadway West, + And planted there her flag. + + Her fortune was forewritten even then-- + That fortune in the coming years to be + "Mother of States and unpolluted men," + And nurse of Liberty. + + Then 'twas our coast all bore Virginia's name; + Next North Virginia took its separate place, + And grew by slow degrees in wealth and fame + And Freedom's special grace. + +[Footnote 11: Hugh Blair Grigsby, L.L.D., Chancellor of William and +Mary College, and President of the Virginia Historical Society, +Scholar and Historian, died on the day on which he received a gift +of flowers from his life-long friend, Mr. Winthrop, and these +literally gladdened the dying eyes of the noble gentleman whose loss +will long be deplored by all who knew him, whether they live in +Virginia or Massachusetts.] + + + THE NEW ENGLAND GROUP. + + At Plymouth Rock a handful of brave souls, + Full-armed in faith, erected home and shrine, + And flourished where the wild Atlantic rolls + Its pyramids of brine. + + There rose a manly race austere and strong, + On whom no lessons of their day were lost, + Earnest as some conventicle's deep song, + And keen as their own frost. + + But that shrewd frost became a friend to those + Who fronted there the Ice-King's bitter storm, + For see we not that underneath the snows + The growing wheat keeps warm? + + Soft ease and silken opulence they spurned; + From sands of silver, and from emerald boughs + With golden ingots laden full, they turned + Like Pilgrims under vows. + + For them no tropic seas, no slumbrous calms, + No rich abundance generously unrolled: + In place of Cromwell's proffered flow'rs and palms + They chose the long-drawn cold. + + The more it blew, the more they faced the gale; + The more it snowed, the more they would not freeze; + And when crops failed on sterile hill and vale-- + They went to reap the seas! + + Far North, through wild and stormy brine they ran, + With hands a-cold plucked Winter by the locks! + Masterful mastered great Leviathan + And drove the foam as flocks! + + Next in their order came the Middle Group, + Perchance less hardy, but as brave they grew,-- + Grew straight and tall with not a bend, or stoop-- + Heart-timber through and through! + + Midway between the ardent heat and cold + They spread abroad, and by a homely spell, + The iron of their axes changed to gold + As fast the forests fell! + + Doing the things they found to do, we see + That thus they drew a mighty empire's charts, + And, working for the present, took in fee + The future for their marts! + + And there unchallenged may the boast be made, + Although they do not hold his sacred dust, + That Penn, the Founder, never once betrayed + The simple Indian's trust. + + To them the genius which linked Silver Lakes + With the blue Ocean and the outer World, + And the fair banner, which their commerce shakes, + Wise Clinton's hand unfurled. + + + THE SOUTHERN COLONIES. + + Then sweeping down below Virginia's Capes, + From Chesapeake to where Savannah flows, + We find the settlers laughing 'mid their grapes + And ignorant of snows. + + The fragrant _uppowock_, and golden corn + Spread far a-field by river and lagoon, + And all the months poured out from Plenty's Horn + Were opulent as June. + + Yet, they had tragedies all dark and fell! + Lone Roanoke Island rises on the view, + And this Peninsula its tale could tell + Of Opecancanough! + + But, when the Ocean thunders on the shore + Its waves, though broken, overflow the beach; + So here our Fathers on and onward bore + With English laws and speech. + + Kind skies above them, underfoot rich soils; + Silence and Savage at their presence fled; + This Giant's Causeway, sacred through their toils, + Resounded at their tread. + + With ardent hearts, and ever-open hands, + Candid and honest, brave and proud they grew, + Their lives and habits colored by fair lands + As skies give waters hue. + + The race in semi-Feudal State appears-- + Their Knightly figures glow in tender mist, + With ghostly pennons flung from ghostly spears + And ghostly hawks on wrist. + + By enterprise and high adventure stirred, + From rude lunette and sentry-guarded croft + They hawked at Empire, and, as on they spurred, + Fate's falcon soared aloft! + + Fate's falcon soared aloft full strong and free, + With blood on talons, plumage, beak, and breast! + Her shadow like a storm-shade on the sea + Far-sailing down the West! + + Swift hoofs clang out behind that Falcon's flights-- + Hoofs shod with Golden Horse Shoes catch the eye! + And as they ring, we see the Forest-Knights-- + The Cavaliers ride by! + + + THE OLD DOMINION. + + Midway between the orange and the snows + As some fair planet rounds up from the sea, + Eldest of all, the Central Power arose + In vague immensity. + + She stretched from Seas in sun to Lakes in Shade, + O'erstepped swift _Rio Escondido's_ stream-- + Her bounds expressed, as by the Tudor made, + An Alexander's dream. + + And liberal Stuart granted broad and free + Bound'ries which still the annalist may boast-- + Limits which ran "throughout from sea to sea," + And far along the coast! + + A mighty shaft through Raleigh's fingers slipped, + Smith shot it, and--a Continent awoke! + For that great arrow with an acorn tipped, + Planted an English Oak! + + +III. + + THE OAKS AND THE TEMPEST. + + Oaks multiplied apace, and o'er the seas + Big rumors went in many a winding ring; + And stories fabulous on every breeze + Swept to a distant King. + + Full many a tale of wild romance, and myth, + In large hyperbole the New World told, + And down from days of Raleigh and of Smith + The Colonies meant gold. + + Not from Banchoonan's mines came forth the ore, + But from the waters, and the woods, and fields, + Paid for in blood, but bringing more and more + The wealth that labor yields. + + Then seeing this, that King beyond the sea, + The _jus divinum_ filling all his soul, + Bethought him that he held these lands in fee + And absolute control. + + When this high claim in action was displayed + With one accord the young Plantations spoke, + And told him, English-like, they were not made + To plough with such a yoke. + + Thus met, not his to falter, or to flag, + A sudden fury seized the Royal breast-- + Prometheus bound upon a Scythian crag + His policy expressed. + + And, so, he ordered in those stormy hours + His adamantine chains for one and all, + Brute "Force" and soulless "Strength" the only Power + On which he chose to call. + + Great men withstood him many a weary day; + In Press and Parliament full well they strove: + But all in vain, for he was bound to play + A travesty on Jove! + + Then flamed the crater! And the flame took wing; + Furious and far the lava blazed around, + Until at last, on this same spot that King + His Herculaneum found! + + Breed's Hill became Vesuvius, and its stream + Rushed forth through years, a God-directed tide + To light two Worlds and realize the dream + For which brave Warren died. + + +IV. + + THE EMBATTLED COLONIES. + + Before this thought the present hour recedes, + As from the beach a billow backward rolls, + And the great past, rich in heroic deeds + Illuminates our souls! + + Stern Massachusetts Bay uplifts her form, + Boston the tale of Lexington repeats, + With breast unarmored she confronts the storm-- + New England England meets. + + I see the Middle Group by Fortune made + The bloody Flanders of the Northern Coast, + And, in a varying play of light and shade, + Host thundering fall on host. + + I see the Carolinas, Georgia, mowed + By War the Reaper, and grim Ruin stalk + O'er wasted fields;--but Guilford paved the way + That led to this same York. + + Here, too, Virginia in the vision comes-- + Full-bent to crown the battle's closing arch, + Her pulses trumpets and her heart throbs drums, + To animate her march. + + As Pocahontas, in a by-gone time, + Leaped forth the wrath of Powhatan to brave, + Virginia came, and here she stood sublime + To perish, or to save. + + I see her interposing now her frame + Between her sisters and the alien bands, + And taking both of Freedom and of Fame + Full seisin with her hands. + + +V. + + WELCOME TO FRANCE. + + But, in that fiery zone + She upriseth not alone, + Over all the bloody fields + Glitter Amazonian shields; + While through the mists of years + Another form appears, + And as I bow my head + Already you have said:-- + 'Tis France! + + Welcome to France! + From sea to sea, + With heart and hand! + Welcome to all within the land-- + Thrice welcome let her be! + + And to France + The Union here to-day + Gives the right of this array, + And folds her to her breast + As the friend that she loves best. + Yes to France. + The proud Ruler of the West + Bows her sun-illumined crest, + Grave and slow, + In a passion of fond memories of + One hundred years ago! + + France's colors wave again + High above this tented plain, + Stream and flaunt, and blaze and shine, + O'er the banner-painted brine, + Float and flow! + And the brazen trumpets blow + While upon her serried lines, + Full the light of Freedom shines + In a broad, effulgent glow. + And here this day I see + The fairest dream that ever yet + Was dreamt by History! + + As in cadence, and in time, + To the martial throb and rhyme + Of her bugles and her drums + Forth a stately vision comes-- + Comes majestically slow-- + Comes a fair and stately vision of + One hundred years ago! + + Welcome to France! + From sea to sea, + With heart and hand! + Welcome to all within the land! + Thrice welcome let her be! + Of Freedom's Guild made free! + Welcome! + Thrice Welcome! + Welcome let her be! + + And as in days of old + Walter Raleigh did unfold + His gay cloak, with all its hems + Wrought in braided gold and gems, + That his Queen might passing tread + On the sumptuous cloth outspread, + And step on the shining fold + Or fair samnite rich in gold. + So for France-- + Splendid, grand, majestic France!-- + May Fortune down _her_ mantle throw + To mend the way that _she_ may go! + + May GLORY leap before to reap-- + Up to the shoulders turned her sleeves-- + And FAME behind follow to bind + Unnumbered honors in unnumbered sheaves! + And may that mantle forever be + Under thy footfall, oh France the Free! + Forever and forever! + + +VI. + + THE ALLIES AT YORKTOWN. + + And here France came one hundred years ago! + Red, russet, purple glowed upon the trees, + And sunset glories deepened in their glow + Along the painted seas. + + A wealth of color blazed on land and wave, + Topaz and gold, and crimson met the eye-- + October hailed the ships which came to save + With banners in the sky. + + DeBarras swept down from the Northern coast, + DeGrasse, foam-driving, came with favoring breeze, + And here surprised the proud, marauding host + Like spectres of the seas. + + Then was no time for such a boastful strain + As Campbell sang o'er Baltic's bloody tide, + Nor did Britannia dominate the main + In customary pride. + + France closed this river, and France ruled yon sea, + Held all our waters in triumphant state, + Her sails foretelling what was soon to be + Like Ministers of Fate. + + And when the Union chants her proudest Lay + DeGrasse is often on her tuneful lips, + And his achievement challenges to-day + Some Homer of the ships. + + So, when this spot its monument shall crown + His name upon its base two Worlds shall see, + With a fair wind his story shall sail down + Through Ages yet to be, + + +VII. + + THE RAVAGES OF WAR. + + This on the water: on the land a scene + Whose Epic scope is far beyond my power, + For on this spot a People's fate hath been + Decided in an hour. + + Long was the conflict waged through weary years + Counted from when the sturdy farmers fell: + Hopes crucified, red trenches, bitter tears, + Made Man another hell! + + See pallid women girt in woe and weeds! + See little children gaunt for lack of food! + Behold the catalogue of War's black deeds + Where evil stands for good! + + See slaughtered cattle, never more to roam, + Rot in the fields, while chimneys tall and bare + Tell in dumb pathos how some quiet home + Lit up the midnight air! + + See that burnt crop, yon choked-up sylvan well, + This yeoman slain ye corven in the sun! + My GOD! shreds of a woman's dress to tell + Why murder there was done! + + Such things as these gave edge to all the blows + Our fathers struck on this historic sod, + Feet, hands, and faces turned toward their foes-- + Their valiant hearts to GOD. + + +VIII. + + THE LINES AROUND YORKTOWN. + + Troops late by Williamsburg's brave palace walls, + With trump and drum had marched down Glo'ster street, + And some with throb of oars, and loud sea-calls + Had landed from the fleet. + + And well our leader had befooled his foes-- + Left them like archers blundering in the dark + To draw against the empty space their bows, + While here was their true mark. + + Brave Lincoln on the right with kindling eye + Smiles 'mid the cares of grave command immersed, + To see dramatic retribution nigh + And Charleston's fate reversed! + + The Light Troops stood upon the curved right flank, + New Hampshire, Massachusetts Bay were there, + Connecticut marched with them, rank on rank, + And gallant Delaware. + + There, too, Virginia's sturdy yeomen stood, + Led on by Nelson of the open hand, + As thick and stubborn as a living wood + In some enchanted land. + + Next came the steady Continental Line, + Rhode Island, and New Jersey, breast to breast, + Ready to tread the hot and smoking wine + From War's red clusters pressed. + + New York and Pennsylvania on these plains + Closed boldly in on the embattled town, + Nor feared they threatened penalties and pains + Of Parliament, or Crown. + + And Maryland, the gay and gallant came, + As always ready for the battle's brunt; + And here again Virginia faced the flame + Along the deadly front. + + +IX. + + THE FRENCH IN THE TRENCHES. + + And as the allied hosts advance + All the left wing is given to France, + Is given to France and--Fame! + Yes, these together always ride + The Dioscouroi of the tide + Where War plays out the game! + And that broad front 'tis her's to hold + With hand of iron, heart of gold + And helmet plumed with flame. + Across the river broad she sends + DeChoisy and Lauzun where ends + The leaguer far and wide, + While Weedon seconds as he may + The gallant Frenchmen in array + Upon the Gloucester side. + + As waves hurled on a stranded keel + Make all the oaken timbers reel + With many a pond'rous blow, + So day by day, and night by night + The French like billows foaming white + Thunder against the foe. + + +X. + + NELSON AND THE GUNNERS. + + O'er town, and works, and waves amain + Far fell grim Ruin's furious rain, + O'er parapet and mast, + And riding on the thunder-swell + Far flew the shot, far flew the shell + Red Havoc on the blast! + Then as the flashing cannon sowed + Their iron crop brave Nelson rode, + His bridle bit all foam, + Up to the gunners, and said he: + "Batter yon mansion down for me"-- + "Basement, and walls, and dome!" + And better to sharpen those gunners' wits, + "Five guineas," he cried, "for each shot that hits!"-- + That mansion was his home! + + +XI. + + THE BELEAGUERED TOWN. + + Behind the town the sun sinks down + Gilding the vane upon the spire, + While many a wall reels to its fall + Beneath the fell artillery fire. + + As sinks that sun mortar and gun + Like living things leap grim and hot, + And far and wide across the tide + Spray-furrows show the flying shot. + + White smoke in clouds yon earthwork shrouds + Where, steeped in battle to the lips, + The French amain pour fiery rain + On town, and walls, and English ships. + + That deadly sleet smites lines and fleet, + As closes in the Autumn night, + And Aboville from head to heel + Thrills with the battle's wild delight. + + At every flash oak timbers crash-- + A sudden glare yon frigate dyes! + Then flames up-gush, and roar, and rush, + From deck to where her pennon flies! + + Those flames on high crimson the sky + And paint their signals overhead, + And every fold of smoke is rolled + And woven in Plutonian red. + + All radiant now taffrail and prow, + And hull, and cordage, beams and spars, + Thus lit she sails on fiery gales + To purple seas where float the stars. + + Ages ago just such a glow + Woke Agamemnon's house to joy, + Its red and gold to Argos told + The long-expected fate of Troy. + + So, on these heights, that flame delights + The Allies thundering at the wall, + Forewrit they see the land set free + And Albion's short-lived Ilium fall! + + Then as the Lilies turn to red + Dipped in the battles' wine + Another picture is outspread + Where still the figures shine-- + The picture of a deadly fray + Worthy the pencil of Vernet! + + +XII. + + STORMING THE REDOUBTS. + + On the night air there floating comes, hoarse, war-like, low and deep, + A sound as tho' the dreaming drums were talking in their sleep. + + "Fall in! Fall in!" The stormers form, in silence, stern and grim, + Each heart full-beating out the time to Freedom's battle hymn.-- + + "Charge! _en Avant_!"--The word goes forth and forth the stormers go, + Each column like a mighty shaft shot from a mighty bow. + + And tumult rose upon the night like sound of roaring seas, + Mars drank of the Horn of Ulphus and he drained it to the lees! + + Now by fair Freedom's splendid dreams! it was a gallant sight + To see the blows against the foes well struck that Autumn night! + + Gimat, and Fish, and Hamilton, and Laurens pressed the foe, + And Olney--brave Rhode Islander!--was there, alas! laid low. + + Viominil, and Noallies, and Damas, stout and brave, + Broke o'er the English right redoubt a steel-encrested wave. + + St. Simon from his sick couch rose, wooed by the battle's charms, + And like a knight of old romance went to the shock of arms. + + [But they who bore the muskets, who went charging thro' the flame, + Deserve far more than ever will be given them by Fame-- + + Then let us pour libations out!--full freely let them flow + For the men who bore the muskets here a century ago!] + + And, then, the columns won the works, and then uprose the cheers + That have lasted us and ours for a good one hundred years! + + And there were those amid the French filled with a rapture stern + And long the cry resounded: "Live the Regiment of Auverne!" + + Long live the Gallic Army and long live splendid France, + The Power that gives to History the beauty of Romance! + + Upon our right commanded one dearer by far than all, + The hero who first came to us and came without a call; + + Whose name with that of his leader all histories entwine, + The one as is the mighty oak, the other as the vine; + + The one the staff, the other the great banner on its lance-- + Now, need I name the dearest name of all the names of France? + + Oh, Marquis brave! Upon this shaft, deep-cut thy cherished name + Twin Old Mortalities shall find--fond Gratitude and Fame! + + + THE TWO LEADERS. + + Two chieftains watch the battle's tide and listen as it rolls + And only HEAVEN above can tell the tumult of their souls! + + Cornwallis saw the British power struck down by one fell blow, + A Gallic spearhead on the lance that laid the Lion low. + + But the Father of his Country saw the future all unrolled, + Independence blazed before him written down in text of gold, + + Like the Hebrew, on the mountain, looking forward then he saw + The Promised Land of Freedom blooming under Freedom's law; + + Saw a great Republic spurring in the lists where Nations ride, + The peer of any Power in her majesty and pride; + + Saw that young Republic gazing through her helmet's gilded bars + Toward the West all luminous with th' light of coming stars; + + From Atlantic to Pacific saw her banners all unfurled + Heard sonorous trumpets blowing blessèd Peace with all the world? + + Roused from this glorious vision, with success within his reach, + In few and simple words he made this long-resounding speech: + + "The work is done, and well done:" thus spake he on this sod, + In accents calm and measured as the accents of a God. + + God, said I? Yes, his image rises on the raptured sight + Like Baldur, the fair and blameless, the Goth's God of the Light! + + +XIII. + + THE BEGINNING OF THE END. + + As some spent gladiator, struck by Death, + Whose reeling vision scarce a foe defines, + For one last effort gathers all his breath, + England draws in her lines. + + Her blood-red flag floats out full fair, but flows + O'er crumbling bastions, in fictitious state: + Who stands a siege Cornwallis full well knows, + Plays at a game with Fate. + + Siege means surrender at the bitter end, + From Ilium downward such the sword-made rule, + With few exceptions, few indeed amend + This law in any school! + + The student who for these has ever sought + 'Mid his exceptions Cæsar counts as one, + Besieger and besieged he, victor, fought + Under a Gallic sun. + + For Vircinget'rex failed, but at the wall: + He strove and failed gilded by Glory's rays + So that true soldiership describes that Gaul + In terms of honest praise. + + But there was not a Julius in the lines + Round which our Chief the fatal leaguer drew, + The noble Earl, though valiant, never shines + 'Mid War's majestic few. + + By hopes and fears in agonies long tossed-- + [Clinton hard fixed in method's rigid groove] + The British Leader saw the game was lost; + But, still, it had one move! + + Could he attain yon spreading Gloucester shore; + Could he and his cross York's majestic tide; + He, then, might laugh to hear the cannon roar + And far for safety ride. + + Bold was the plan! and generous Light Horse Lee + Gives it full measure of unstinted praise; + But PROVIDENCE declared this should not be + In its own wondrous ways. + + Loud roared the storm! The rattling thunders rang! + Against the blast his rowers could not row! + White waves like hoary-headed Homers sang + Hexameters of woe. + + Then came the time to end the mighty Play, + To drop the curtain and to quench the lamps, + And soon the story took its jocund way + Through all the Allied camps. + + "Measure for measure" then was righteous law, + The cup of Lincoln, bowed Cornwallis pressed, + And as he drank the wondering Nations saw + A sunrise--in the West! + + Death fell upon the Royal cause that day, + The King stood like Swift's oak with blighted crest, + Headpiece and Crown both cleft he drooped away: + _Hic jacet_--tells the rest! + + And patriots stood where traitors late were jeered, + Transformed from rebels into freemen bold, + What seemed Membrino's helmet _now_ appeared + A real casque of gold! + + +XIV. + + THE SURRENDER OF LORD CORNWALLIS. + + Next came the closing scene: but shall I paint + The scarlet column, sullen, slow, and faint, + Which marched, with "colors cased" to yonder field, + Where Britain threw down corslet, sword and shield? + + Shall I depict the anguish of the brave + Who envied comrades sleeping in the grave? + Shall I exult o'er inoffensive dust + Of valiant men whose swords have turned to rust? + Shall I, like Menelaus by the coast, + O'er dead Ajaces make unmanly boast? + Shall I, in chains of an ignoble Verse, + Degrade dead Hectors, and their pangs rehearse-- + Nay! such is not the mood this People feels, + Their chariots drag no foemen by the heels! + Let Ajax slumber by the sounding sea + From the fell passion of his madness free! + Let Hector's ashes unmolested sleep-- + But not to-day shall any Priam weep! + + + OUR ANCIENT ALLIES. + + Superb in white and red, and white and gold, + And white and violet, the French unfold + Their blazoned banners on the Autumn air, + While cymbols clash and brazen trumpets blare: + Steeds fret and foam, and spurs with scabbards clank + As far they form, in many a shining rank. + Deux-Ponts is there, as hilt to sword blade true, + And Guvion rises smiling on the view; + And the brave Swede, as yet untouched by Fate, + Rides 'mid his comrades with a mien elate; + And Duportail--and scores of others glance + Upon the scene, and all are worthy France! + And for those Frenchmen and their splendid bands, + The very Centuries shall clap their hands, + While at their head, as all their banners flow, + And all their drums roll out, and trumpets blow, + Rides first and foremost splendid Rochambeau! + And well he rides, worthy an epic rhyme-- + Full well he rides in attitude sublime-- + Fair Freedom's Champion in the lists of Time. + + + THE CONTINENTALS. + + In hunting shirts, or faded blue and buff, + And many clad in simple, rustic stuff, + Their ensigns torn but held by Freedom's hand, + In long-drawn lines the Continentals stand. + To them precision, if not martial grace; + Each heart triumphant but composed each face; + Well taught in military arts by brave Steuben, + With port of soldiers, majesty of men, + All fathers of their Country like a wall + They stand at rest to see the curtain fall. + Well-taught were they by one who learned War's trade + From Frederick, whom not Ruin's self dismayed;-- + Well-taught by one who never lost the heat + Caught on an anvil where all Europe beat;-- + Beat in a storm of blows, with might and main, + But on that Prussian anvil beat in vain! + And to the gallant race of Steuben's name + That long has held close intercourse with Fame, + This great Republic bows its lofty crest, + And folds his kinsmen to her ample breast: + At fray, or festival, on march or halt, + Von Steuben always far above the salt! + + + "THE MARQUIS." + + The Brave young Marquis, second but to one + For whom he felt the reverence of a son, + Rides at the head of his division proud-- + A ray of Glory painted on the cloud! + Mad Anthony is there, and Knox--but why + Great names like battle flags attempt to fly? + Who sings of skies lit up by Jove and Mars + Thinks not to chant a catalogue of stars! + I bow me low, and bowing low I pass + Unnumbered heroes in unnumbered mass, + While at their head in grave, and sober state, + Rides one whom Time has found completely great + Master of Fortune and the match of Fate! + + * * * * * + + Then Tilghman mounted on these Plains of York + Swift sped away as speeds the homing hawk, + And soon 'twas his to wake that watchman's cry + That woke all Nations and shall never die! + + + THE ANCIENT ENEMIES. + + Brave was the foeman! well he held his ground! + But here defeat at kindred hands he found! + The shafts rained on him, in a righteous cause, + Came from the quiver of Old England's laws! + + He fought in vain; and on this spot went down + The _jus divinum_, and the kingly crown. + But for those scenes Time long has made amends. + The ancient enemies are present friends; + Two swords, in Massachusetts, rich in dust, + And, better still, the peacefulness of rust, + Told the whole story in its double parts + To one who lives in two great nations' hearts; + And late above Old England's roar and din + Slow-tolling bells spoke sympathy of kin: + Victoria's wreath blooms on the sleeping breast + Of him just gone to his reward and rest, + And firm and fast between two mighty Powers + New treaties live in those undying flowers. + + + THE SPLENDID THREE. + + Turned back my gaze, on Spain's romantic shore + I see Gaul bending by the grave of Moore, + And later, when the page of Fame I scan + I see brave France at deadly Inkerman, + While on red Balaklava's field I hear + Gallia's applause swell Albion's ringing cheer, + England and France, as Allies, side by side + Fought on the Pieho's melancholy tide, + And there, brave Tattnall, ere the fight was done, + Stirred English hearts as far as shone the sun, + Or tides and billows in their courses run. + That day, 'mid the dark Pieho's slaughter + He said: "Blood is thicker than water!" + And your true man though "brayed in a mortar" + At feast, or at fray + Will still feel it and say + As he said: "Blood _is_ thicker than water!" + + And full homely is the saying but this story always starts + An answer from ten thousand times ten thousand kindred hearts. + + Then let us pray that as the sun shines ever on the sea + Fair Peace forevermore may smile upon the Splendid Three! + + May happy France see purple grapes a-glow on all her hills, + And England breast-deep in her corn laugh back the laugh of rills! + + May this fair land to which all roads lead as the roads of Rome + Led to th' eternal city's gates still offer Man a home-- + + A home of peace and plenty, and of freedom and of ease, + With all before him where to choose between the shining seas! + + May the war-cries of the Captains yield to happy reapers shouts, + And the clover whiten bastions and the olive shade redoubts! + + +XV. + + THE WAR HORSE DRAWS THE PLOUGH. + + At last our Fathers saw the Treaty sealed, + Victory unhelmed her broad, majestic brow, + The Sword became a Sickle in the field, + The war horse drew the plough. + + There is a time when men shape for their Land + Its institutions 'mid some tempests' roar, + Just as the waves that thunder on the strand + Shape out and round the shore. + + Then comes a day when institutions turn + And carve the men, or cast them into moulds; + One Era trembles while volcanoes burn, + Another Age beholds + + The hardened lava changed to hills and leas, + With blooming glades and orchards intermixed, + Vineyards which look abroad o'er purple seas, + And deep foundations fixed. + + So, when fell Chaos like a baleful Fate + What we had won seemed bent to snatch away + Sound thinkers rose who fashioned out the State + As potters fashion clay. + + +XVI. + + HEROES AND STATESMEN. + + Of their great names I may record but few; + He who beholds the Ocean white with sails + And copies each confuses all the view, + He paints too much--and fails. + + His picture shows no high, emphatic light, + Its shadows in full mass refuse to fall, + And as its broken details meet the light + Men turn it to the wall. + + Of those great names but few may pass my lips, + For he who speaks of Salamis then sees + Not men who there commanded Grecian ships-- + But grand Themistocles! + + Yet some I mark, and these discreetly take + To grace my verse through duty and design, + As one notes barks that leave the broadest wake + Upon the stormy Brine. + + These rise before me; and there Mason stands + The Constitution-maker firm and bold, + Like Bernal Diaz, planting with kind hands + Fair trees to blaze in gold. + + Amid the lofty group sedate, I see + Great Franklin muse where Truth had locked her stores, + Holding within his steady hand the key + That opened many doors. + + And Trumbull, strong as hammered steel of old, + Stands boldly out in clear and high relief,-- + A blade unbending worth a hilt of gold,-- + He never failed his Chief. + + Then Robert Morris glides into my Verse + Turning the very stones at need to bread-- + Filling the young Republic's slender purse + When Credit's self seemed dead. + + Tylers I see--sprung from the sturdy Wat-- + A strong-armed rebel of an ancient date, + With Falkland-Carys come, to draw the lot + Cast in the helm of Fate. + + And Marshall in his ermine white as snow, + Wise, learned and profound Fame loves to draw, + His noble function on the Bench to show + That Reason is the Law. + + His sword unbuckled and his brows unbent, + The gallant Hamilton again appears, + And in fair Freedom's mighty Parliament + He marches with the Peers! + + Henry is there beneath his civic crown; + He speaks in words that thunder as they flow, + And as he speaks his thunder-tones bring down + An avalanche below! + + Nor does John Adams in the picture lag, + He was as bold, as resolute, and free, + As is the eagle on a misty crag + Above a stormy sea. + + And 'mid his fellows in those days of need, + Impassioned Jefferson burns like a sun, + The New World's Prophet of the New World's Creed-- + Prophet and Priest in one! + + These two together stood in our great past, + When Independence flamed across the land; + On Independence Day these two at last + Departed hand in hand. + + And they are taken by a patriot's mind + As kindred types of our great Saxon stock, + And that same thinker hopes some day to find + Both statues in one block.[12] + + But, here I number splendid names too fast, + Heroes and Sages throng behind this group, + And thick they come as came in Homer's past + A Goddess and her troop; + + And as that troop, 'mid frays and fell alarms, + Swept, all a-glitter, on their mission bent, + And bore from Vulcan the resplendent arms + To great Achilles sent, + + So came the names that light my pious Song-- + Came bearing Union forged in high debates-- + A sun-illuminated Shield, and strong, + To guard these mighty States. + + The Shield sent to the son of Peleus glowed + With hammered wonders, all without a flaw; + The Shield of Union in its splendor showed + The Compromise of Law. + + And as the Epic lifts a form sublime + For all the Ages on its plinth of gold, + So does our Story, challenging all time, + Its crowning shape uphold! + +[Footnote 12: This fine idea is borrowed from one of the addresses +of Mr. Winthrop, the orator of the occasion.] + + +XVII. + + PATER PATRÆ. + + Achilles came from Homer's Jove-like brain, + Pavilioned 'mid his ships where Thetis trod; + But he whose image dominates this plain + Came from the hand of God! + + Yet, of his life, which shall all time adorn + I dare not sing; to try the theme would be + To drink as 'twere that Scandinavian Horn + Whose tip was in the Sea. + + I bow my head and go upon my ways, + Who tells that story can but gild the gold-- + Could I pile Alps on Apennines of praise + The tale would not be told. + + Not his the blade which lyric fables say + Cleft Pyrenees from ridge to nether bed, + But his the sword which cleared the Sacred Way + For Freedom's feet to tread. + + Not Caesar's genius nor Napoleon's skill + Gave him proud mast'ry o'er the trembling earth; + But great in honesty, and sense and will-- + He was the "man of worth." + + He knew not North, nor South, nor West, nor East: + Childless himself, Father of States he stood, + Strong and sagacious as a Knight turned Priest, + And vowed to deeds of good. + + Compared with all Earth's heroes I may say + He was, with even half his virtues hid, + Greater in what his hand refrained than they + Were great in what they did. + + And thus his image dominates all time, + Uplifted like the everlasting dome + Which rises in a miracle sublime + Above eternal Rome. + + On Rome's once blooming plain where'er we stray + That dome majestic rises on the view, + Its Cross a-glow with every wandering ray + That shines along the Blue. + + So his vast image shadows all the lands, + So holds forever Man's adoring eye, + And o'er the Union which he left it stands + Our Cross against the sky! + + +XVIII. + + THE FLAG OF THE REPUBLIC. + + My harp soon ceases; but I here allege + Its strings are in my heart and tremble there: + My Song's last strain shall be a claim and pledge-- + A claim, a pledge, a prayer! + + I stand, as stood, in storied days of old, + Vasco Balboa staring o'er bright seas + When fair Pacific's tide of limpid gold + Surged up against his knees. + + For haughty Spain, her banner in his hand, + He claimed a New World, sea, and plain, and crag-- + I claim the Future's Ocean for this land + And here I plant her flag! + + Float out, oh flag, from Freedom's burnished lance! + Float out, oh flag, in Red, and White, and Blue! + The Union's colors and the hues of France + Commingled on the view! + + Float out, oh flag, and all thy splendors wake! + Float out, oh flag, above our Hero's bed! + Float out, oh flag, and let thy blazon take + New glories from the dead! + + Float out, oh flag, o'er Freedom's noblest types! + Float out, oh flag, all free of blot or stain! + Float out, oh flag, the "Roses" in thy stripes + Forever blent again! + + Float out, oh flag, and float in every clime! + Float out, oh flag, and blaze on every sea! + Float out, oh flag, and float as long as Time + And Space themselves shall be! + + Float out, oh flag, o'er Freedom's onward march! + Float out, oh flag, in Freedom's starry sheen! + Float out, oh flag, above the Union's arch + Where Washington is seen! + + Float out, oh flag, above a smiling Land! + Float out, oh flag, above a peaceful sod! + Float out, oh flag, thy staff within the hand + Beneficent of God! + + +XIX. + + THE SOUTH IN THE UNION. + + An ancient Chronicle has told + That, in the famous days of old, + In Antioch under ground + The self-same lance was found-- + Unbitten by corrosive rust-- + The lance the Roman soldier thrust + In CHRIST'S bare side upon the Tree; + And that it brought + A mighty spell + To those who fought + The Infidel + And mighty victory. + + And so this day + To you I say-- + Speaking for millions of true Southern men-- + In words that have no undertow-- + I say, and say agen: + Come weal, or woe, + Should this Republic ever fight, + By land, or sea, + For present law, or ancient right + The South will be + As was that lance, + Albeit not found + Hid under ground + But in the forefront of the first advance! + + 'Twill fly a pennon fair + As ever kissed the air, + On it, for every glance, + Shall blaze majestic France + Blent with our Hero's name + In everlasting flame, + And written, fair in gold, + This legend on its fold: + Give us back the ties of Yorktown! + Perish all the modern hates! + Let us stand together, brothers, + In defiance of the Fates; + FOR THE SAFETY OF THE UNION + IS THE SAFETY OF THE STATES! + + + + +TO ALEXANDER GALT, THE SCULPTOR. + + Alas! he's cold! + Cold as the marble which his fingers wrought-- + Cold, but not dead; for each embodied thought + Of his, which he from the Ideal brought + To live in stone, + Assures him immortality of fame. + + Galt is not dead! + Only too soon + We saw him climb + Up to his pedestal, where equal Time + And coming generations, in the noon + Of his full reputation, yet shall stand + To pay just homage to his noble name. + + Our Poet of the Quarries only sleeps, + He cleft his pathway up the future's steeps, + And now rests from his labors. + + Hence 'tis I say; + For him there is no death, + Only the stopping of the pulse and breath-- + But simple breath is not the all in all; + Man hath it but in common with the brutes-- + Life is in action and in brave pursuits! + By what we dream, and having dreamt, dare do, + We hold our places in the world's large view, + And still have part in the affairs of men + When the long sleep is on us. + + He dreamt and made his dreams perpetual things + Fit for the rugged cell of penitential saints, + Or sumptuous halls of Kings, + And showed himself a Poet in the Art: + He chiselled Lyrics with a touch so fine, + With such a tender beauty of their own, + That rarest songs broke out from every line + And verse was audible in voiceless stone! + His Psyche, soft in beauty and in grace, + Waits for her lover in the Western breeze, + And a swift smile irradiates her face, + As though she heard him whisper in the trees. + + His passion-stricken Sappho seems alive-- + Before her none can ever feel alone, + For on her face emotions so do strive + That we forget she is but pallid stone; + And all her tragedy of love and woe + Is told us in the chilly marble's snow. + + Bacchante, with her vine-crowned hair, + Leaps to the cymbal-measured dance + With such a passion in her air-- + Upon her brow--upon her lips-- + As thrills you to the finger-tips, + And fascinates your glance. + + These are, as 'twere, three of his Songs in stone-- + The first full of the tenderness of love, + Speaking of moon-rise, and the low wind's call: + The second of love's tragedy and fall; + The third of shrill, mad laughter, and the tone + Of festal music, on whose rise and fall + Swift-footed dancers follow. + + Nobler than these sweet lyric dreams, + Dreamt out beside Italia's streams, + He'd worked some Epic studies out, in part-- + To leave them incomplete his chiefest pain + When the low pulses of his failing heart + Admonished him of death. + + Ay! he had soared upon a lofty wing, + Wet with the purple and encrimsoned rain + Of dreams, whose clouds had floated o'er his brain + Until it ached with glories. + + If you would see his Epic studies, go-- + Go with the student from his dim arcade-- + Halt where the Statesman standeth in the hall, + And mark how careless voices hush and fall, + And all light talk to sudden pause is brought + In presence of the noble type of thought-- + Embodied Independence which he wrought + From stone of far Carrara. + + View his Columbus: Hero grand and meek, + Scarred 'mid the battle's long-protracted brunt-- + Palos and Salvador stamped on his front, + With not a line about it, poor or weak-- + A second Atlas, bearing on his brow + A New World, just discovered. + + Go see Virginia's wise, majestic face + With some faint shadow of her coming woe + Writ on the broad, expansive, virgin snow + Of her imperial forehead, just as though + Some disembodied Prophet-hand of eld + The Sculptor's chisel in its touch had held, + Foreshadowing her coming crown of thorns-- + Her crown and her great glory! + These of the many; but they are enough-- + Enough to show that I have rightly said + The marble's snow bids back from him decay, + He sleepeth long; but sleeps not with the dead + Who die, and are forgotten ere the clay + Heaped over them hath hardened in the sun. + + This much of Galt, the Artist: + Of the man + Fain would I speak, but in sad sooth I can + Ne'er find the words wherein to tell + How he was loved, or yet how well + He did deserve it. + All things of beauty were to him delight-- + The sunset's clouds--the turret rent apart-- + The stars which glitter in the noon of night-- + Spoke in one voice unto his mind and heart, + His love of Nature made his love of Art, + And had his span + Of life been longer + He had surely done + Such noble things that he + Like to a soaring eagle would have been + At last--lost in the sun! + + + + +TO THE POET-PRIEST RYAN. + + _IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF A COPY OF HIS POEMS_. + + Himself I read beneath the words he writes ... + I may come back and sing again.--RYAN. + + +I. + + This Bard's to me a whole-souled man + In honesty and might, + For when he sees Wrong in the van + He leaps like any Knight + To horse, and charging on the wrong + Smites it with the great sword of Song. + + +II. + + Beneath the cassock of the Priest + There throbs another heart-- + Another--but 'tis not the least-- + Which in his Lays takes part, + So that 'mid clash of Swords and Spears + There is no lack of Pity's tears. + + +III. + + This other heart is brave and soft, + As such hearts always are, + And plumes itself, a bird aloft, + When Morning's gates unbar-- + Till high it soars above the sod + Bathed in the very light of God. + + +IV. + + Woman and Soldier, Priest and Man, + I find within these Lays, + And the closer still th' Verse I scan + The more I see to praise: + Some of these Lyrics shower down + The glories of the Cross and Crown. + + +V. + + To thee, oh Bard! my head I bow, + As I'd not to a King, + And my last word, writ here and now, + Is not a little thing; + Recall the promise of thy strain-- + Thou art to "come and sing again!" + + + + +THREE NAMES. + + Virginia in her proud, Colonial days + Boasts three great names which full of glory shine; + Two glitter like the burnished heads of spears, + the third in tender light is half divine. + Turning that page my eager fancy hears + Trumpets and drums, and fleet on fleet appears. + + Those names are graven deep and broad, to last + And outlast Ages: while recording Time + Hands down their story, worth an Epic Rhyme + To light her future by her splendid past: + One planned the Saxon's Empire o'er these lands,-- + The other planted it with valiant hands-- + The third, with Mercy's soft, celestial beams, + Lights fair romances, histories and dreams. + + +SIR WALTER RALEIGH. + + Whether in velvet white, slashed, and be-pearled, + And rich in knots of clustering gems a-glow: + Or, in his rusted armor, he unfurled + St. George's Cross by Oronoko's flow; + He was a man to note right well as one + Who shot his arrows straightway at the sun. + + Dark was his hair, his beard all crisp and curled. + And narrow-lidded were his piercing eyes, + Anhungered in their glances for a world + That he might win by daring enterprise,-- + Explorer, soldier, scholar, poet, he + Not only wrote but acted historie!-- + And that great Captain, of our Saxon stock, + Took his last slumber on the ghastly block! + + +CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. + + A yeoman born, with patrimony small, + He held the world at large as his estate; + Found fit advices in the bugle's call + And took his part in iron-tongued debate + Where'er one sword another sword blade notched; + Ne'er was he slain, though often he was scotched, + Now down, now up, but always fronting fate. + + At last a figure resolute, and grand + In arms he leaped upon Virginia's strand; + Fitted in many schools his course to steer + He knew the ax, the musketoon, and brand, + How to obey, and better to command; + First of his line he stood--a planted spear + The New World saw the English Pioneer! + + +_POCAHONTAS_. + + Her story, sure, was fashioned out above, + Ere 't was enacted on the scene below! + For 't was a very miracle of love + When from the savage hawk's nest came the dove + With wings of peace to stay the ordered blow-- + The hawk's plumes bloody, but the dove's as snow! + + And here my heart oppressed by pleasant tears + Yields to a young girl's half angelic spell-- + Yes, for that maiden like a Saint appears; + She needs no fresco, stone, nor shrine to tell + Her story to the people of this Land-- + Saint of the Wilderness, enthroned amid + The wooded Minster where the Pagan hid! + + + + +SUNSET ON HAMPTON ROADS. + + Behind me purplish lines marked out the town, + Before me stretched the noble Roadstead's tide: + And there I saw the Evening sun go down + Casting a parting glory far and wide-- + As King who for the cowl puts off his crown-- + So went the sun: and left a wealth of light + Ere hidden by the cloister-gates of Night. + + Beholding this my soul was stilled in prayer, + I understood how all men, save the blind, + Might find religion in a scene so fair + And formulate a creed within the mind;-- + See prophesies in clouds; fates in the air; + The skies flamed red; the murm'ring waves were hushed-- + "The conscious water saw its God and blushed." + + + + +A KING'S GRATITUDE. + + Plain men have fitful moods and so have Kings, + For Kings are only men, and often made + Of clay as common as e'er stained a spade. + But when the great are moody, then, the strings + Of gilded harps are smitten, and their strains + Are soft and soothing as the Summer rains. + + And Saul was taken by an evil mood, + He felt within himself his spirit faint: + In vain he tossed upon his couch and wooed + Refreshing slumbers. Sleep knows no constraint! + Then David came: his physic and advice + All in a harp, and cleared the mind of Saul-- + And Saul thereafter launched his javelin twice + To nail the harper to the palace wall! + + + + +"THE TWINSES." [13] + + Two little children toddled up to me, + Their faces fair as faces well could be, + Roses and snow, but pale the roses were + Like flowers fainting for the lack of air. + Sad was the tender study which I gave + The winning creatures, both so sweet and grave, + Two beautiful young Saxons, scarce knee high! + As like as peas! Two Lilliputian men! + Immortal ere they knew it by the pen + Which waketh laughter or bedews the eye. + God bless you, little people! May His hand + Hold you within its hollow all your days! + Smooth all the rugged places, and your ways + Make long and pleasant in a fruitful land! + +[Footnote 13: Children of his friend, Dr. George W. Bagby.] + + + + +DREAMERS. + + Fools laugh at dreamers, and the dreamers smile + In answer, if they any answer make: + They know that Saxon Alfred could not bake + The oaten cakes, but that he snatched his Isle + Back from the fierce and bloody-handed Dane. + + And so, they leave the plodders to their gains-- + Quit money changing for the student's lamp, + And tune the harp to gain thereby some camp, + Where what they learn is worth a kingdom's crown; + They fashion bows and arrows to bring down + The mighty truths which sail the upper air; + To them the facts which make the fools despair + Become familiar, and a thousand things + Tell them the secrets they refuse to kings. + + + + +UNDER ONE BLANKET. + + The sun went down in flame and smoke, + The cold night passed without alarms, + And when the bitter morning broke + Our men stood to their arms. + + But not a foe in front was found + After the long and stubborn fight. + The enemy had left the ground + Where we had lain that night. + + In hollows where the sun was lost + Unthawed still lay the shining snow, + And on the rugged ground the frost + In slender spears did grow. + + Close to us, where our final rush + Was made at closing in of day, + We saw, amid an awful hush, + The rigid shapes of clay: + + Things, which but yesterday had life, + And answered to the trumpet's call, + Remained as victims of the strife, + Clods of the Valley all! + + Then, the grim detail marched away + A grave from the hard soil to wrench + Wherein should sleep the Blue and Grey + All in a ghastly trench! + + A thicket of young pines arose, + Midway upon that frosty ground; + A shelter from the winds and snows, + And by its edge I found + + Two stiffened forms, where they had died, + As sculptured marble white and cold, + Lying together side by side + Beneath one blanket's fold. + + My heart already touched and sad + The blanket down I gently drew + And saw a sturdy form, well clad + From head to heel in Blue. + + Beside him, gaunt from many a fast, + A pale and boyish "rebel" lay, + Free of all pangs of life, at last, + In tattered suit of Grey. + + There side by side those soldiers slept + Each for the cause that he thought good, + And bowing down my head I wept + Through human brotherhood. + + Oh, sirs! it was a piteous thing + To see how they had vainly tried + With strips of shirts, and bits of string, + To stay life's ebbing tide! + + The story told itself aright; + (Print scarce were plainer to the eye) + How they together in the night + Had laid them down to die. + + The story told itself, I say, + How smitten by their wounds and cold + They'd nestled close, the Blue and Grey, + Beneath one blanket's fold. + + All their poor surgery could do + They did to stop their wounds so deep, + Until at last the Grey and Blue + Like comrades fell asleep. + + We dug for them a generous grave, + Under that sombre thicket's lee, + And there we laid the sleeping brave + To wait God's reveille. + + That grave by many a tear was graced + From ragged heroes ranged around + As in one blanket they were placed + In consecrated ground. + + Aye! consecrated, without flaw, + Because upon that bloody sod, + My soul uplifted stood and saw + Where CHRIST had lately trod! + + + + +THE LEE MEMORIAL ODE. + + "Great Mother of great Commonwealths" + Men call our Mother State: + And she so well has earned this name + That she may challenge Fate + To snatch away the epithet + Long given her of "great." + + First of all Old England's outposts + To stand fast upon these shores + Soon she brought a mighty harvest + To a People's threshing floors, + And more than golden grain was piled + Within her ample doors. + + Behind her stormy sunrise shone, + Her shadow fell vast and long, + And her mighty Adm'ral, English Smith, + Heads a prodigous throng + Of as mighty men, from Raleigh down, + As ever arose in song. + + Her names are the shining arrows + Which her ancient quiver bears, + And their splendid sheaf has thickened + Through the long march of the years, + While her great shield has been burnished + By her children's blood and tears. + + Yes, it is true, my Countrymen, + We are rich in names and blood, + And red have been the blossoms + From the first Colonial bud, + While her names have blazed as meteors + By many a field and flood. + + And as some flood tumultuous + In sounding billows rolled + Gives back the evening's glories + In a wealth of blazing gold: + So does the present from its waves + Reflect the lights of old. + + Our history is a shining sea + Locked in by lofty land + And its great Pillars of Hercules, + Above the shining sand, + I here behold in majesty + Uprising on each hand. + + These Pillars of our history, + In fame forever young, + Are known in every latitude + And named in every tongue, + And down through all the Ages + Their story shall be sung. + + The Father of his Country + Stands above that shut-in sea + A glorious symbol to the world + Of all that's great and free; + And to-day Virginia matches him-- + And matches him with Lee. + + +II. + + Who shall blame the social order + Which gave us men as great as these? + Who condemn the soil of t' forest + Which bring forth gigantic trees? + Who presume to doubt that Providence + Shapes out our destinies? + + Fore-ordained, and long maturing, + Came the famous men of old: + In the dark mines deep were driven + Down the shafts to reach the gold, + And the story is far longer + Than the histories have told. + + From Bacon down to Washington + The generations passed, + Great events and moving causes + Were in serried order massed: + Berkeley well was first confronted, + Better George the King at last! + + From the time of that stern ruler + To our own familiar days + Long the pathway we have trodden, + Hard, and devious were its ways + Till at last there came the second + Mightier Revolution's blaze: + + Till at last there broke the tempest + Like a cyclone on the sea, + When the lightnings blazed and dazzled + And the thunders were set free-- + And riding on that whirlwind came + Majestic, Robert Lee! + + Who--again I ask the question-- + Who may challenge in debate, + With any show of truthfulness, + Our former social state + Which brought forth more than heroes + In their lives supremely great? + + Not Peter, the wild Crusader, + When bent upon his knee, + Not Arthur and his belted knights, + In the Poet's Song, could be + More earnest than those Southern men + Who followed Robert Lee. + + They thought that they were right and this + Was hammered into those + Who held that crest all drenched in blood + Where the "Bloody Angle" rose. + As for all else? It passes by + As the idle wind that blows. + + +III. + + Then stand up, oh my Countrymen! + And unto God give thanks, + On mountains, and on hillsides + And by sloping river banks-- + Thank God that you were worthy + Of the grand Confederate ranks: + + That you who came from uplands + And from beside the sea, + Filled with love of Old Virginia + And the teachings of the free, + May boast in sight of all men + That you followed Robert Lee. + + Peace has come. God give his blessing + On the fact and on the name! + The South speaks no invective + And she writes no word of blame; + But we call all men to witness + That we stand up without shame. + + Nay! Send it forth to all the world + That we stand up here with pride, + With love for our living comrades + And with praise for those who died: + And in this manly frame of mind + Till death we will abide. + + GOD and our consciences alone + Give us measure of right and wrong; + The race may fall unto the swift + And the battle to the strong: + But the truth will shine in history + And blossom into song. + + Human grief full oft by glory + Is assuaged and disappears + When its requiem swells with music + Like the shock of shields and spears, + And its passion is too full of pride + To leave a space for tears. + + And hence to-day, my Countrymen, + We come, with undimmed eyes, + In homage of the hero Lee, + The good, the great, the wise! + And at his name our hearts will leap + Till his last old soldier dies. + + Ask me, if so you please, to paint + Storm winds upon the sea; + Tell me to weigh great Cheops-- + Set volcanic forces free; + But bid me not, my Countrymen, + To picture Robert Lee! + + As Saul, bound for Damascus fair, + Was struck blind by sudden light + So my eyes are pained and dazzled + By a radiance pure and white + Shot back by the burnished armor + Of that glory-belted Knight. + + His was all the Norman's polish + And sobriety of grace; + All the Goth's majestic figure; + All the Roman's noble face; + And he stood the tall exemplar + Of a grand historic race. + + Baronial were his acres where + Potomac's waters run; + High his lineage, and his blazon + Was by cunning heralds done; + But better still he might have said + Of his "works" he was the "son." + + Truth walked beside him always, + From his childhood's early years, + Honor followed as his shadow, + Valor lightened all his cares: + And he rode--that grand Virginian-- + Last of all the Cavaliers! + + As a soldier we all knew him + Great in action and repose, + Saw how his genius kindled + And his mighty spirit rose + When the four quarters of the globe + Encompassed him with foes. + + But he and his grew braver + As the danger grew more rife, + Avaricious they of glory + But most prodigal of life, + And the "Army of Virginia" + Was the Atlas of the strife. + + As his troubles gathered round him, + Thick as waves that beat the shore, + _Atra Cura_ rode behind him, + Famine's shadow filled his door; + Still he wrought deeds no mortal man + Had ever wrought before. + + +IV. + + Then came the end, my Countrymen, + The last thunderbolts were hurled! + Worn out by his own victories + His battle flags were furled + And a history was finished + That has changed the modern world. + + As some saint in the arena + Of a bloody Roman game, + As the prize of his endeavor, + Put on an immortal frame, + Through long agonies our Soldier + Won the crown of martial fame. + + But there came a greater glory + To that man supremely great + (When his just sword he laid aside + In peace to serve his State) + For in his classic solitude + He rose up and mastered Fate. + + He triumphed and he did not die!-- + No funeral bells are tolled-- + But on that day in Lexington + Fame came herself to hold + His stirrup while he mounted + To ride down the streets of gold. + + He is not dead! There is no death! + He only went before + His journey on when CHRIST THE LORD + Wide open held the door, + And a calm, celestial peace is his: + Thank God! forevermore. + + +V. + + When the effigy of Washington + In its bronze was reared on high + 'Twas mine, with others, now long gone. + Beneath a stormy sky, + To utter to the multitude + His name that cannot die. + + And here to-day, my Countrymen, + I tell you Lee shall ride + With that great "rebel" down the years-- + Twin "rebels" side by side!-- + And confronting such a vision + All our grief gives place to pride. + + Those two shall ride immortal + And shall ride abreast of Time, + Shall light up stately history + And blaze in Epic Rhyme-- + Both patriots, both Virginians true, + Both "rebels," both sublime! + + Our past is full of glories + It is a shut-in sea, + The pillars overlooking it + Are Washington and Lee: + And a future spreads before us, + Not unworthy of the free. + + And here and now, my Countrymen, + Upon this sacred sod, + Let us feel: It was "OUR FATHER" + Who above us held the rod, + And from hills to sea + Like Robert Lee + Bow reverently to God. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, A WREATH OF VIRGINIA BAY LEAVES *** + +This file should be named 8wvbl10.txt or 8wvbl10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8wvbl11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8wvbl10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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