 | Life and Writings of the Grimke Family |  |
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II. VOLUME II The Life and Writings of Charlotte Forten Grimke
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—FOUR—POEMS
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In Washington
A JUNE SONG
We would sing a song to the fair young June,To the rare and radiant June,
The lovely, laughing, fragrant June,
How shall her praises be sung or said?
Her cheek has caught the rose's hue
Her eye the Heaven's serenest blue,
And the gold of sunset crowns her head.
And her smile, ah! there's never a sweeter, I ween,
Than the smile of this fair young summer queen.
What life, what hope her coming brings!
What joy anew in the sad heart springs
As her robe of beauty o'er all she flings.
Old Earth grows young in her presence sweet,
And thrills at the touch of her tender feet,
As the flowers spring up her coming to greet,
Hark how the birds are singing her praise
In their gladdest, sweetest roundelays.
Over the lovely peaceful river
The golden arrows of sunset quiver;
The trees on the hillside have caught the glow
And the heaven smiles down on the earth below
And our radiant June
Our lovely, joyous, fragrant June,
Our summer queen
Smiles too, as she stands
With folded hands
And brow serene.
How shall we crown her bright young head?
Crown it with roses rare and red
Crown it with roses creamy white
As the lotus bloom which sweetens the night.
Crown it with roses whose petals hold
Treasures of richest, rarest gold
Crown it with roses pink as the shell
In which the voices of ocean dwell;
And a fairer queen shall ne'er be seen
Than our lovely laughing June.
We have crowned her now but she will not stay;
The vision of beauty will steal away,
Fading as faded the bright young May.
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Pour into our hearts the warmth of thy smile,
The gloom of the winter comes all too soon;
Stay with us, gladden us, beautiful June!
Thou glidest away from our eager grasp,
But our hearts will hold thee fast; and the days to be
Will be brighter and sweeter for thoughts of thee.
Our song shall not be a song of farewell,
As with words of love the chorus we swell
In praise of the fair young June,
Of the rare and radiant June—
The lovely, laughing, fragrant June.
Washington, D. C., June 15, 1885
AT NEWPORT
A quiet nook 'neath the o'erhanging cliffs:The grim old giants frown upon us, but
Deny us not rest in their grateful shade.
Oh, deep delight to watch the gladsome waves
Exultant leap upon the rugged rocks;
Ever repulsed, yet ever rushing on—
Filled with a life that will not know defeat;
To see the glorious hues of sky and sea.
The distant snowy sails, glide spirit like,
Into an unknown world, to feel the sweet
Enchantment of the sea thrill all the soul,
Clearing the clouded brain, making the heart
Leap joyous as its own bright, singing waves!
“Ah, perfect day,” cry happy voices—yet,
For me, beloved, the joy is incomplete—
Thou art not here!
Charlotte F. Grimke.
IN FLORIDA
In Florida to-day, the roses blow,And breath of orange blossoms fills the air;
In blooming thickets, by a brook I know,
The mocking-bird is pouring forth his rare,
Rich song, thrilling the charmed listener's heart.
In deeper woods the fair pink lily grows;
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Or, glowing with the blushes of the rose,
From the dark pool she lifts her lovely head,—
A radiant presence 'mid the woodland gloom,—
While, smiling on her from their mossy bed,
Sweet purple violets in beauty bloom
Mid their dark shining leaves magnolias gleam,
White as the snows that o'er our fields extend;
And oleander-trees, beside a stream,
O'erladen with their rosy blossoms bend.
O'er hedge, and bank, and bush the jasmine flings
Its graceful golden leaves with lavish hand;
To boughs of ancient oaks the gray moss clings,
It's long, weird tresses by the soft breeze fanned.
How sweet to linger in the shaded bowers;
How sweet to catch gleams of the blue, blue sky;
To dream away the softly-gliding hours,
As on the fragrant, flower-sown earth we lie!
Alas, it may not be; Our lot is cast
In bleaker climes, 'neath duller skies we stray,—
Still haunted by bright visions of the Past;—
Sweet, sweet to be in Florida to-day!
March 1893—Charlotte F. Grimke.
CHARLOTTE CORDAY
Suggested by Two Pictures in the Corcoran Art Gallery
She stands without the cruel leader's door,—A fair young girl, with sunny, flowing hair,
And eyes in whose blue depths methinks should dwell
Only the sweetness of a tranquil soul.
But the fierce light that burns within them now,
The dark frown resting on the girlish brow,
The red lips tightly pressed; the little hand
Grasping relentlessly the fatal knife,
Betrays a purpose dread within the heart
Whence all the happy dreams of youth have fled.
In scorn she marks the legend on the door,—
“L'Ami du Peuple.” God deliver thee,
Ah, my poor, bleeding France, from such a friend,
And strengthen this weak hand to strike the blow!
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How wearily! The heavy, tear-dimmed eyes
Gaze at us, from the pale pathetic face,
In utter mournfulness. One slender hand
Clasps the rough bars; the other holds the pen
With which, in words with love and courage fraught,
She bids farewell to kindred, home, and life.
No burden of remorse, no fear of death
Weights that fair brow so heavily with pain;
For France alone she mourns;—one foe is fall'n,
But others live to stain her soil with blood.
Father, forgive the suffering young soul,
By her loved country's woes the vengeance driv'n,
And grant to her the sweetness of Thy peace.
Charlotte Forten Grimke, Washington, D. C.
WORDSWORTH
Poet of the serene and thoughful lay!In youth's fair dawn, when the soul, still untried,
Longs for life's conflict, and seeks restlessly
Food for its cravings in the stirring songs,
The thrilling strains of more impassioned bards;
Or, eager for fresh joys, culls with delight
The flowers that bloom in fancy's fairy realm—
We may not prize the mild and steadfast ray
That streams from thy pure soul in tranquil song
But, in our riper years, when through the heat
And burden of the day we struggle on,
Breasting the stream upon whose shores we dreamed,
Weary of all the turmoil and the din
Which drowns the finer voices of the soul;
We turn to thee, true priest of Nature's fane,
And find the rest our fainting spirits need,—
The calm, more ardent singers cannot give;
As in the glare intense of tropic days,
Gladly we turn from the sun's radiant beams,
And grateful hail fair Luna's tender light.
Charlotte Forten Grimke.
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CHARLES SUMNER
On seeing some pictures of the interior of his house, Washington, D. C.
Only the casket left, the jewel gone
Whose noble presence filled these stately rooms,
And made this spot a shrine where pilgrims came—
Stranger and friend—to bend in reverence
Before the great, pure soul that knew no guile;
To listen to the wise and gracious words
That fell from lips whose rare, exquisite smile
Gave tender beauty to the grand, grave face.
Whose noble presence filled these stately rooms,
And made this spot a shrine where pilgrims came—
Stranger and friend—to bend in reverence
Before the great, pure soul that knew no guile;
To listen to the wise and gracious words
That fell from lips whose rare, exquisite smile
Gave tender beauty to the grand, grave face.
Upon these pictured walls we see thy peers,—
Poet, and saint, and sage, painter, and king,—
A glorious band;—they shine upon us still;
Still gleam in marble the enchanting forms
Whereupon thy artist eye delighted dwelt;
Thy favorite Psyche droops her matchless face,
Listening, methinks, for the beloved voice
Which nevermore on earth shall sound her praise.
Poet, and saint, and sage, painter, and king,—
A glorious band;—they shine upon us still;
Still gleam in marble the enchanting forms
Whereupon thy artist eye delighted dwelt;
Thy favorite Psyche droops her matchless face,
Listening, methinks, for the beloved voice
Which nevermore on earth shall sound her praise.
All these remain,—the beautiful, the brave,
The gifted, silent ones; but thou art gone!
Fair is the world that smiles upon us now;
Blue are the skies of June, balmy the air
That soothes with touches soft the weary brow;
And perfect days glide into perfect nights,—
Moonlit and calm; but still our grateful hearts
Are sad, and faint with fear,—for thou art gone!
The gifted, silent ones; but thou art gone!
Fair is the world that smiles upon us now;
Blue are the skies of June, balmy the air
That soothes with touches soft the weary brow;
And perfect days glide into perfect nights,—
Moonlit and calm; but still our grateful hearts
Are sad, and faint with fear,—for thou art gone!
Oh friend beloved, with longing, tear-filled eyes
We look up, up to the unclouded blue,
And seek in vain some answering sign from thee.
Look down upon us, guide and cheer us still
From the serene height where thou dwellest now;
Dark is the way without the beacon light
Which long and steadfastly thy hand upheld.
Oh, nerve with courage new the stricken hearts
Whose dearest hopes seem lost in losing thee!
We look up, up to the unclouded blue,
And seek in vain some answering sign from thee.
Look down upon us, guide and cheer us still
From the serene height where thou dwellest now;
Dark is the way without the beacon light
Which long and steadfastly thy hand upheld.
Oh, nerve with courage new the stricken hearts
Whose dearest hopes seem lost in losing thee!
—Charlotte F. Grimke, Columbia, S. C. June 1874.
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THE GATHERING OF THE GRAND ARMY
Through all the city's streets there poured a flood,
A flood of human souls, eager, intent;
One thought, one purpose stirred the people's blood,
And through their veins its quickening current sent.
A flood of human souls, eager, intent;
One thought, one purpose stirred the people's blood,
And through their veins its quickening current sent.
The flags waved gayly in the summer air,
O'er patient watchers 'neath the clouded skies;
Old age, and youth, and infancy were there,
The glad light shining in expectant eyes.
O'er patient watchers 'neath the clouded skies;
Old age, and youth, and infancy were there,
The glad light shining in expectant eyes.
And when at last our country's saviors came,—
In proud procession down the crowded street,
Still brighter burned the patriotic flame,
And loud acclaims leaped forth their steps to greet.
In proud procession down the crowded street,
Still brighter burned the patriotic flame,
And loud acclaims leaped forth their steps to greet.
And now the veterans scarred and maimed appear,
And now the tattered battle-flags uprise;
A silence deep one moment fills the air,
Then shout on shout ascends unto the skies.
And now the tattered battle-flags uprise;
A silence deep one moment fills the air,
Then shout on shout ascends unto the skies.
Oh, brothers, ye have borne the battle strain,
And ye have felt it through the ling'ring years;
For all your valiant deeds, your hours of pain,
We can but give to you our grateful tears!
And ye have felt it through the ling'ring years;
For all your valiant deeds, your hours of pain,
We can but give to you our grateful tears!
And now, with heads bowed low, and tear-filled eyes
We see a Silent Army passing slow;
For it no music swells, no shouts arise,
But silent blessings from our full hearts flow.
We see a Silent Army passing slow;
For it no music swells, no shouts arise,
But silent blessings from our full hearts flow.
The dead, the living,—All,—a glorious host,
A “cloud of witnesses,”—around us press—
Shall we, like them, stand faithful at our post,
Or weakly yield, unequal to the stress?
A “cloud of witnesses,”—around us press—
Shall we, like them, stand faithful at our post,
Or weakly yield, unequal to the stress?
Shall it be said the land they fought to save,
Ungrateful now, proves faithless to her trust?
Shall it be said the sons of sires so brave
Now trail her sacred banner in the dust?
Ungrateful now, proves faithless to her trust?
Shall it be said the sons of sires so brave
Now trail her sacred banner in the dust?
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Ah, no! again shall rise the people's voice
As once it rose in accents clear and high—
“Oh, outraged brother, lift your head, rejoice!
Justice shall reign,—Insult and Wrong shall die!”
As once it rose in accents clear and high—
“Oh, outraged brother, lift your head, rejoice!
Justice shall reign,—Insult and Wrong shall die!”
So shall this day the joyous promise be
Of golden days for our fair land in store;
When Freedom's flag shall float above the free,
And Love and Peace prevail from shore to shore.
Of golden days for our fair land in store;
When Freedom's flag shall float above the free,
And Love and Peace prevail from shore to shore.
Boston, August 12, 1890.—Charlotte F. Grimke.
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—FIVE—IN & AROUND WASHINGTON
PROSE
A SUMMER IN VIRGINIA
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“Now all is fresh and calm and still,
Alone the chirp of flitting bird,
And cry of children on the hill,
And bell of wandering kine are heard.
Alone the chirp of flitting bird,
And cry of children on the hill,
And bell of wandering kine are heard.
“No solemn host goes trailing by,
The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain;
Men start not at the battle-cry.
Oh, be it never heard again!”
The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain;
Men start not at the battle-cry.
Oh, be it never heard again!”
August '83
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FROM WASHINGTON
Washington, April, 1876
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[“My ear is pained]
“My ear is pained,
My soul is sick with every day's report
Of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled!”
My soul is sick with every day's report
Of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled!”
But now, when all the outer world is so fair and bright and joyous, we, too, cannot fail to be more hopeful, to see, through all the darkness, gleams of light, glimpses of a loving Father's care; and we will
“------trust that somehow, good
Will be the final goal of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt and taints of blood.
Will be the final goal of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt and taints of blood.
“Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last—far off—at last—to all,
And every winter change to spring.”
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last—far off—at last—to all,
And every winter change to spring.”
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[“The statesman to his holy trust]
“The statesman to his holy trust,As the Athenian archon, just,—
Struck down, exiled, like him, for truth alone,”
the beloved, the revered, the long-lamented, Sumner!
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MIDSUMMER DAYS IN THE CAPITAL
The Corcoran Art Gallery
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[“Maiden with the meek brown eyes]
“Maiden with the meek brown eyes,In whose orb a shadow lies
Like the dust of evening skies.”
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[“And so the shadows fall apart]
“And so the shadows fall apart,I open to the day.”
And all the windows of my heart
And so the west winds play,
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AT THE HOME OF FREDERICK DOUGLASS
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Only the casket left! The jewel gone
Whose noble presence filled these lovely halls,
And made this spot a shrine, where pilgrims came—
Stranger and friend—to bend in reverence
Before the great pure soul that knew no guile:
To listen to the wise and gracious words
That fell from lips whose rare, exquisite smile
Gave tender beauty to the grand, grave face.
Whose noble presence filled these lovely halls,
And made this spot a shrine, where pilgrims came—
Stranger and friend—to bend in reverence
Before the great pure soul that knew no guile:
To listen to the wise and gracious words
That fell from lips whose rare, exquisite smile
Gave tender beauty to the grand, grave face.
Blue are the summer skies, gentle the airs
That soothe with touches soft the weary brow;
And perfect days glide into perfect nights,
Moonlit and calm; but still our aching hearts
Are sad and faint with fear:—for thou art gone.
O friend beloved! with longing, tear-filled eyes
We look up, up to the unclouded blue,
And seek in vain some answering sign from thee.
Look down upon us, guide and cheer us still
From the serene height where thou dwellest now;
Dark is the way without the beacon light
Which long and steadfastly thy hand upheld;
O nerve with courage new the stricken hearts
Whose dearest hopes seem lost in losing thee!
That soothe with touches soft the weary brow;
And perfect days glide into perfect nights,
Moonlit and calm; but still our aching hearts
Are sad and faint with fear:—for thou art gone.
O friend beloved! with longing, tear-filled eyes
We look up, up to the unclouded blue,
And seek in vain some answering sign from thee.
Look down upon us, guide and cheer us still
From the serene height where thou dwellest now;
Dark is the way without the beacon light
Which long and steadfastly thy hand upheld;
O nerve with courage new the stricken hearts
Whose dearest hopes seem lost in losing thee!
Charlotte F. Grimke
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MR. SAVAGE'S SERMON, “THE PROBLEM OF THE HOUR”
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[I pray the prayer of Plato old]
I pray the prayer of Plato old:God make me beautiful within;
And let mine eyes the good behold
In everything but Sin!
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[“Pay ransom to the owner? Ay!]
“Pay ransom to the owner? Ay!And fill the bag to the brim—
Who is the owner? The slave is owner,
And ever was. Pay him!
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ONE PHASE OF THE RACE DISTINCTION
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[“Right forever on the scaffold, wrong forever on the throne]
“Right forever on the scaffold, wrong forever on the throne,But that scaffold sways the future, and behind the dim unknown
Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own.”
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