[Poems by Cranch in] The spirit of the fair Tuesday, April 19, 1864. No. 13 |
JEFFERSON DAVIS, JOHN C. CALHOUN, AND THE REBELLION.
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[Poems by Cranch in] The spirit of the fair | ||
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JEFFERSON DAVIS, JOHN C. CALHOUN, AND THE REBELLION.
THREE SONNETS.—BY C. P. CRANCH.
[Beelzebub, the god of flies, I would]
Beelzebub, the god of flies, I wouldEmbalm in sonnet-amber. Hear me, Muse!
Let not his wings, his horned head, the blood
Of martyrs sticking to his sting, excuse
This Southern traitor, who is wont to abuse
God's boundless patience and the pliant mood
Of ignorant man too long. I fain would use
This monster dragon-fly, and all his brood:
Shew him (in corpore vili) chained in verse
And pilloried in rhyme; anatomise
His heart, if heart he has, and see what breeds
About it; while the wondering universe,
Angels and men, shall marvel at the lies
That choke God's harvest with such baleful weeds.
[Yet are this fly-god and his poisonous swarm]
Yet are this fly-god and his poisonous swarm,Who ply their fiendish tasks with bloody hands,
But baser spawn of one whose giant form
Still towers Titanic o'er those Southern lands.
Arch-fiend of this fair continent, he stands
Foremost, though dead; and in the direful storm
Of battle, lies the spirit that commands
The rebel's code and keeps their courage warm—
Slavery's apostle and Secession's sage,
His name still rings as teacher and as guide.
The very frogs of Dismal Swamp still croak
The name Calhoun. That name from age to age
Shall stand accursed. Southern hate and pride
Are branches—he, the acorn of their oak.
[Oak, did I write? Say rather upas tree!]
Oak, did I write? Say rather upas tree!The root is poison, poisonous is the crown
Of leaves and blossoms, blighting all that's free,
South, north, east, west, with sickness. Cut it down!
Why cumbers it the earth? From field and town
The cry comes thicker, louder—we will see
The end. The axe is sharp. No threat or frown
Of slave-lords or of copperheads heed we.
On with the work! Strike at the root, nor fear;
White men and black men! Now while shrinks the foe;
Now while with desperate strength one dying thrust
He aims at all that makes our country dear,
Band we together, till we overthrow
And trample down Rebellion in the dust!
March 30th, 1864.
[Poems by Cranch in] The spirit of the fair | ||