Poems and miscellanies selected from the writings of Miss Eliza Townsend Printed but not published |
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ODE
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 | Poems and miscellanies selected from the writings of Miss Eliza Townsend |  |
174
ODE
TO WHOM IT CONCERNS.
[1832.]
O Carolina! wilt thou sever
The silver cord so long confessed?
And must our nation's eagle never
His wing on thy Palmetto rest?
Wrenched from thy course by these wild jars,
Madly through space to run;
Wilt thou forsake the fixed stars,
To be a wandering one?
The silver cord so long confessed?
And must our nation's eagle never
His wing on thy Palmetto rest?
Wrenched from thy course by these wild jars,
Madly through space to run;
Wilt thou forsake the fixed stars,
To be a wandering one?
Star of the South! that wont to gleam
So steady and so bright,
Shedding afar its guiding beam
Through War's tempestuous night;
When England's “meteor flag” full high
“Terrific burned” o'er all,
Between us and the darkened sky,
Like 'scutcheoned funeral pall;
So steady and so bright,
Shedding afar its guiding beam
Through War's tempestuous night;
175
“Terrific burned” o'er all,
Between us and the darkened sky,
Like 'scutcheoned funeral pall;
Star of the South! thy glorious ray
O'erpowered that boding glare,
Till the broad banner, rent away,
No more could menace there.
Long as the rescuing blade was bared
That cut our passage free,
The danger dared, the duty shared,
Canst thou forget? can we?
O'erpowered that boding glare,
Till the broad banner, rent away,
No more could menace there.
Long as the rescuing blade was bared
That cut our passage free,
The danger dared, the duty shared,
Canst thou forget? can we?
O, land of Marion and his band,
That, ever tried and true,
With gallant heart, with strenuous hand,
The same, yet ever new,
“Came, saw and conquered,” like the sprite
More than like mortal men,
And sped them as the arrowy flight,
That none knew where or when.
That, ever tried and true,
With gallant heart, with strenuous hand,
The same, yet ever new,
“Came, saw and conquered,” like the sprite
More than like mortal men,
And sped them as the arrowy flight,
That none knew where or when.
176
Land of the Laurens'! son and sire,
Each peerless in his place,
A Spartan pair, a seed of fire,
Like Lacedæmon's race.
He, captive in the ocean strife,
Immured in foreign thrall,
Who perilled fortune, freedom, life,
At stubborn duty's call.
Each peerless in his place,
A Spartan pair, a seed of fire,
Like Lacedæmon's race.
He, captive in the ocean strife,
Immured in foreign thrall,
Who perilled fortune, freedom, life,
At stubborn duty's call.
Yet, while the Julian towers confined
Their veteran prisoner fast,
The mantle of that dauntless mind
Was to his first-born cast;
Last victim of an hostile hour,
Nor less heroic he,
Who fell, in life, in death, the flower
Of Carolina's chivalry!
Their veteran prisoner fast,
The mantle of that dauntless mind
Was to his first-born cast;
Last victim of an hostile hour,
Nor less heroic he,
Who fell, in life, in death, the flower
Of Carolina's chivalry!
Then did the reign of Peace reveal
Throughout its better day,
The gentler, not less generous zeal,
That cheered our common way.
Whene'er disease had forced to flee,
Or feel its deadlier thrust,
We yielded all we loved to thee,
Nor thou refused the trust.
Throughout its better day,
The gentler, not less generous zeal,
That cheered our common way.
Whene'er disease had forced to flee,
Or feel its deadlier thrust,
We yielded all we loved to thee,
Nor thou refused the trust.
177
Thy luscious fruits, thy sunny sky,
Thy bland and balmier air,
And more than all that these supply,
Thy hospitable care;
All thine, the sufferer felt was ours,
Who helplessly had come,
But found, within a stranger's bowers,
The kindly hearts of home.
Thy bland and balmier air,
And more than all that these supply,
Thy hospitable care;
All thine, the sufferer felt was ours,
Who helplessly had come,
But found, within a stranger's bowers,
The kindly hearts of home.
No half disgust that scarce could hush,
E'er made thy greeting tame;
No dread lest that strange hectic flush
Might sere thee with its flame;
Reckless of selfish risk or not,
Watchful but to befriend;
O God! and is it all forgot,
And is it all to end?
E'er made thy greeting tame;
No dread lest that strange hectic flush
Might sere thee with its flame;
Reckless of selfish risk or not,
Watchful but to befriend;
O God! and is it all forgot,
And is it all to end?
The wise, the weak, who dwell at ease,
From storm and strife apart,
May marvel at the blasts that freeze
The tempest-beaten heart.
Let statists calmly count thy throes,
Let fools thy cause malign;
The bosom its own burden knows—
I may not measure thine.
From storm and strife apart,
May marvel at the blasts that freeze
The tempest-beaten heart.
178
Let fools thy cause malign;
The bosom its own burden knows—
I may not measure thine.
And, lo! the threat is on thy tongue,
The scowl is on thy brow;
Yet, Carolina! ours so long,
Do not desert us now;
Forbid that present interests screen—
Or right or wrong—from thee
The memory of what once has been,
The hope of what's to be.
The scowl is on thy brow;
Yet, Carolina! ours so long,
Do not desert us now;
Forbid that present interests screen—
Or right or wrong—from thee
The memory of what once has been,
The hope of what's to be.
Alas! how old so'er the tale,
'Tis not less true than trite,
Wherever kindred feuds prevail,
Neither is fully right.
Yet man in every age and clime
His story well has shown,
Perversely scans his brother's crime,
And recks not of his own.
'Tis not less true than trite,
Wherever kindred feuds prevail,
Neither is fully right.
Yet man in every age and clime
His story well has shown,
Perversely scans his brother's crime,
And recks not of his own.
179
For us may better views betide
Than such a half survey,
Nor narrowing mists prevail to hide
What truth the times convey;
But patriots still, afar or nigh,
Till civil discords cease,
Echo impartial Carey's sigh,
For party not, but “Peace!”
Than such a half survey,
Nor narrowing mists prevail to hide
What truth the times convey;
But patriots still, afar or nigh,
Till civil discords cease,
Echo impartial Carey's sigh,
For party not, but “Peace!”
Lucius Carey, Lord Falkland. His disinterested dread of the ultimate success of either side, his own or the opposite, from a conviction of the injury that would ensue to the common weal, and his choice of death rather than life, (a death so gallantly sought and found,) that he might not witness what he could not avert, must be familiar to all who are conversant with the story of the English civil wars.
| Poems and miscellanies selected from the writings of Miss Eliza Townsend | |