 | [Poems by Hayne in] The Southern Amaranth |  |
139
Scenes.
Oh, God! if gifted with an angel's flight,
And somewhat of an angel's mystic sight,
'Twere ours to pass this bleeding country over
What visions would those piercing orbs discover!
What horrors branded on the shrinking brain
Would burn and burn like purgatorial pain,
Thrilling throughout our consciousness to rise
In nightmare terror on our sleeping eyes!
Nay! though our flight be fancy's—and our view
But owns the magic of an insight true,
We well may pause and tremble as we see
Revived, in all their shame and infamy,
The cruel orgies of that later day
Of Rome, which knew the Borgia's cruel sway
Ere Rome sunk to perdition—!
But with these
Are mingled tenderer scenes and images,
Mournful as any Shakspeare pitying wrought
On the dim canvas of pathetic thought.
And somewhat of an angel's mystic sight,
'Twere ours to pass this bleeding country over
What visions would those piercing orbs discover!
What horrors branded on the shrinking brain
Would burn and burn like purgatorial pain,
Thrilling throughout our consciousness to rise
In nightmare terror on our sleeping eyes!
Nay! though our flight be fancy's—and our view
But owns the magic of an insight true,
We well may pause and tremble as we see
Revived, in all their shame and infamy,
The cruel orgies of that later day
Of Rome, which knew the Borgia's cruel sway
Ere Rome sunk to perdition—!
But with these
Are mingled tenderer scenes and images,
Mournful as any Shakspeare pitying wrought
On the dim canvas of pathetic thought.
Farewells, whereat no scorching tears are shed,
Mute claspings of the brave, untimely dead,
Calm hero bearings, though the heart be broke
And the soul withered at the lightning's stroke
Of supreme grief! unconscious children playing
Despite a father's curse, a mother's praying;
Fair maidens, smiling on despair, to make
A lover's death-bed softer for love's sake,
And all home's fragrant ministries that bring
Full blosoms and odors (like a sudden spring
Born in mid winter) to the sufferer's room,
Wafting both light and sweetness through the gloom
Mute claspings of the brave, untimely dead,
Calm hero bearings, though the heart be broke
And the soul withered at the lightning's stroke
Of supreme grief! unconscious children playing
Despite a father's curse, a mother's praying;
Fair maidens, smiling on despair, to make
140
And all home's fragrant ministries that bring
Full blosoms and odors (like a sudden spring
Born in mid winter) to the sufferer's room,
Wafting both light and sweetness through the gloom
Yet o'er it all, fierce tumult and false calm,
Unseen, but sovereign, rules the dread “I Am!”
His prescience guides the complex threads of Fate,
His mercy will not leave us desolate,
For in our blood, our tears, and pain and sorrow,
Rest the rich germs of some sublime to-morrow!
Unseen, but sovereign, rules the dread “I Am!”
His prescience guides the complex threads of Fate,
His mercy will not leave us desolate,
For in our blood, our tears, and pain and sorrow,
Rest the rich germs of some sublime to-morrow!
Southern Illustrated News.
434
The Southern Lyre.
No longer shall the darksome cloud
Of Northern Hate and Envy shroud
The radiance of our Poets proud.
Of Northern Hate and Envy shroud
The radiance of our Poets proud.
They come, a glorious band, to claim
The guerdon of their poet-fame—
Their brows with heavenly light aflame!
The guerdon of their poet-fame—
Their brows with heavenly light aflame!
435
That Mystic Bard whose “Raven” broods,
Broods sternly, o'er his solemn moods,
His weird, funereal solitudes;—
Broods sternly, o'er his solemn moods,
His weird, funereal solitudes;—
Whose genius lives in realms of Blight,
Yet oft towards the Infinite
Essays to rise on wings, of might:—
Yet oft towards the Infinite
Essays to rise on wings, of might:—
Who sought the nether gulfs profound,
Deep as Thought's daring plummet's sound—
A lurid spirit, wildly crowned
Deep as Thought's daring plummet's sound—
A lurid spirit, wildly crowned
With bays of supernatural bloom—
Yet, flashing from his wizard tomb
An Angel's glory through the gloom!
Yet, flashing from his wizard tomb
An Angel's glory through the gloom!
Allston! o'er whose illustrious way
Two Muses shed their separate ray,
Each struggling for the regal sway:—
Two Muses shed their separate ray,
Each struggling for the regal sway:—
Painting and Poesy!—he won
From both, ere yet his race was run,
The plaudit of a deep “well done!”
From both, ere yet his race was run,
The plaudit of a deep “well done!”
Here Pinckney! with his lyric glow,
His delicate nature's happy flow
Of fancies, whiter than the snow,
His delicate nature's happy flow
Of fancies, whiter than the snow,
But warm as sunshine; lilies sweet,
And roses, in a wreath complete,
Above his genial forehead meet!
And roses, in a wreath complete,
Above his genial forehead meet!
And He, whose rugged presence shows
A soul whereon the tempest blows,
Have left at last a stern repose;—
A soul whereon the tempest blows,
Have left at last a stern repose;—
436
Whose songs, with weightiest meanings fraught,
And trenchant measures, strongly wrought
In strains of olden English thought,
And trenchant measures, strongly wrought
In strains of olden English thought,
Please not our fancy's lighter hour,
But fair with health, and rife with power,
Rain round us in a fruitful shower!
But fair with health, and rife with power,
Rain round us in a fruitful shower!
“Poet of Woodlands!” men will see
More clearly what they owned in Thee
When thou, oh Bard! hast ceased to be!
More clearly what they owned in Thee
When thou, oh Bard! hast ceased to be!
And Wilde! his polished numbers glide
Serenely; on that roseate tide,
A hundred charmed Fancies ride,
Serenely; on that roseate tide,
A hundred charmed Fancies ride,
Like golden shallops o'er a stream
Of fairy-land; how gently seem
Affection's moon-like rays to gleam
Of fairy-land; how gently seem
Affection's moon-like rays to gleam
Across his manly brow, who sung
“My Father,” with a trembling tongue,
And tears from heart-deep memories wrung!
“My Father,” with a trembling tongue,
And tears from heart-deep memories wrung!
And Pike! whose Muse—a sylvan maid—
Thro' all the woodland haunts hath strayed,
Fair Dian of the Western glade!
Thro' all the woodland haunts hath strayed,
Fair Dian of the Western glade!
And Grayson! with his vein clear-hued,
Chaste, purely classic, and imbued
With those rare graces that bedewed
Chaste, purely classic, and imbued
With those rare graces that bedewed
The style of Goldsmith!—his mild brow,
Whereon such temperate lustres glow,
Seems shrinking from the laurel bough.
We fain would place—
Whereon such temperate lustres glow,
Seems shrinking from the laurel bough.
437
***—Crafts! the gay,
Glad genius, in whose sparkling lay
His soul burst outward, like a day
Glad genius, in whose sparkling lay
His soul burst outward, like a day
Of earliest spring-time. Meek! who dwells
Far in the misty forest dells
And, at the somewhat turbid wells
Far in the misty forest dells
And, at the somewhat turbid wells
Of Indian lore, his fancy slakes
With Simons, whose fresh measure wakes
Boldest by tropic streams and brakes!
With Simons, whose fresh measure wakes
Boldest by tropic streams and brakes!
But lo! our younger Minstrels rise,
High-browed, with kindling mien and eyes,
Bathed in the bliss of Earth and Skies!
High-browed, with kindling mien and eyes,
Bathed in the bliss of Earth and Skies!
Not dead to us, but fair as when
He charmed the listening ears of men
With music from his mountain glen;
He charmed the listening ears of men
With music from his mountain glen;
Soft threnodies from soul and brain
Pierced by an inward thorn of pain—
Most touching in his “Florence Vane,”
Pierced by an inward thorn of pain—
Most touching in his “Florence Vane,”
Cooke and his Poet-Brother pass,
Musing amid the autumn grass,
Of rich Virginia woods; alas,
Musing amid the autumn grass,
Of rich Virginia woods; alas,
That they—twin Minstrels, bold and true—
Have given the waiting world so few
Of those rare songs, mixed fire and dew!
Have given the waiting world so few
Of those rare songs, mixed fire and dew!
438
But stay! what subtle notes are these,
Borne on the fragrant Southern breeze
From out the Palms?—strange witcheries
Borne on the fragrant Southern breeze
From out the Palms?—strange witcheries
Of purest Art to Genius wed,
Float sweetly, grandly, overhead;
Most willingly our souls are led
Float sweetly, grandly, overhead;
Most willingly our souls are led
Thro' paths of fancy, and delight,
Whereon the sunshine streaming bright,
Seems mingled tenderness and might!
Whereon the sunshine streaming bright,
Seems mingled tenderness and might!
Oh, golden lays! no common lyre
Outpours those strains of love or ire,
All instinct with the sacred fire!
Outpours those strains of love or ire,
All instinct with the sacred fire!
The “Call to Arms,” in thrilling tone,
Rings like a silver trumpet blown,
For Knights to guard their Sovereign's Throne!
Rings like a silver trumpet blown,
For Knights to guard their Sovereign's Throne!
And “Carolina,” like a wail,
First strikes the dubious spirit pale—
Then, as a keen sword smiting mail
First strikes the dubious spirit pale—
Then, as a keen sword smiting mail
Of proof, extorts an answer clear,
'Twere well the sullen Foe should hear,
With echoings of a stern “Beware!”
'Twere well the sullen Foe should hear,
With echoings of a stern “Beware!”
Here, Randall! with his harp that flings
Fair, spray-like notes from out its strings,
Blended with gentlest murmurings
Fair, spray-like notes from out its strings,
Blended with gentlest murmurings
Of love, both sensuous and divine,
Gleams with his spirit pure and fine,
Like star-light thro' the Poet-line!
Gleams with his spirit pure and fine,
Like star-light thro' the Poet-line!
439
But, fired at need by impulse high,
His tender Muse can cease to sigh,
Soaring in Patriot ecstasy!
His tender Muse can cease to sigh,
Soaring in Patriot ecstasy!
There, Thompson! with his scholar's mien,
His front so graceful and serene,
Walks calmly o'er the fairy scene;
His front so graceful and serene,
Walks calmly o'er the fairy scene;
He owns—whate'er his Muse's part—
Ease, learning, tenderness and art—
Bright fusion of the mind and heart!
Ease, learning, tenderness and art—
Bright fusion of the mind and heart!
And Hope! whose complex measure teems,
With gorgeous images, and dreams,
Dreamt by the haunted sunset streams!
With gorgeous images, and dreams,
Dreamt by the haunted sunset streams!
With Requier! on whose presence shines
A splendor from Thought's inner shrines,
The eye of kindred taste divines!
A splendor from Thought's inner shrines,
The eye of kindred taste divines!
And Flash! the ardent and the bold,
Whose youthful Muse is never cold,
Where'er her purpling wings unfold.
Whose youthful Muse is never cold,
Where'er her purpling wings unfold.
But hark! what stirring strain is born,
Clear as a warrior's bugle horn,
Resounding thro' the hills at morn,
Clear as a warrior's bugle horn,
Resounding thro' the hills at morn,
To rouse his vassals from their sleep?
That burning lyric, grand and deep,
Comes from the Foeman's “donjon keep,”
That burning lyric, grand and deep,
Comes from the Foeman's “donjon keep,”
In black Fort Warren! Freemen start
To hear that call, and camp and mart
Greet it with fiery leaps of heart!
To hear that call, and camp and mart
Greet it with fiery leaps of heart!
440
And now, the Poet-throng from view
Slowly recedes; their music true
Melts gently up the Heavenly Blue!—
Slowly recedes; their music true
Melts gently up the Heavenly Blue!—
But not in empty air to die,
Poet and Song have passed us by,
With all their varied harmony!
Poet and Song have passed us by,
With all their varied harmony!
Still must we make our music heard;
These genuine numbers, long deferred
Full audience, shall not leave unstirred,
These genuine numbers, long deferred
Full audience, shall not leave unstirred,
In callous scorn, the hearts of those
Who, pondering in a cold repose,
Have watched our strife with ruffian foes!
Who, pondering in a cold repose,
Have watched our strife with ruffian foes!
The storm must break—the spring-time come!
No longer drowned by trump or drum,
Truth's voice shall waken Christendom!
No longer drowned by trump or drum,
Truth's voice shall waken Christendom!
Then, with the war-cloud rolled afar,
And all undimmed our natal star,
Mankind SHALL know us—AS WE ARE!—
And all undimmed our natal star,
Mankind SHALL know us—AS WE ARE!—
A people, liberal, noble, brave,
And courteous to the feeblest slave,
Trembling at fourscore o'er his grave!
And courteous to the feeblest slave,
Trembling at fourscore o'er his grave!
Unmoved 'mid battle's wild alarms—
Supreme in will—sublime in arms—
Yet cultured, open to the charms
Supreme in will—sublime in arms—
Yet cultured, open to the charms
441
Of Beauty, from whose genial Lyre
Hath poured full oft a strain of fire,
To rise in future ages higher,
Hath poured full oft a strain of fire,
To rise in future ages higher,
Unshackled by the Northman's rule,
Freed from the Bigot's canting school,
The maxims of the knave and fool,
Freed from the Bigot's canting school,
The maxims of the knave and fool,
The genius of this youthful Land,
Like some rare blossom will expand,
Upflowering to the Fair and Grand!
Like some rare blossom will expand,
Upflowering to the Fair and Grand!
Then Art will build her stately Fane,
And Song resound from Height to Plain,
Re-echoing to the Heights again!
And Song resound from Height to Plain,
Re-echoing to the Heights again!
Till, in the ripened time, shall rise,
With deep, divinely-thoughtful eyes,
And brow whereon the Destinies
With deep, divinely-thoughtful eyes,
And brow whereon the Destinies
Placed even at birth, a shadowy crown,
The Poet whose august renown
Will smite the haughtiest natures down
The Poet whose august renown
Will smite the haughtiest natures down
To homage!—from whose “golden mouth,”
(Fit well-spring for a World in drouth,)
Outspeaks the Shakspeare of the South!
(Fit well-spring for a World in drouth,)
Outspeaks the Shakspeare of the South!
It was not possible, in accordance with the scope and design of this poem, to introduce the many gifted female poets of the South. Such an introduction would have extended the piece to an unreasonable length.
573
Sonnet.
ON THE PRESENT CONDITION OF THE SOUTH.
She lies before thee a pale, pulseless Land;No more her great eyes burn with hopeful lights;
About her worn and helmless droop her Knights,
A shattered weapon in each dead right hand:
The trumpets that aroused that warrior band
To pluck fresh honor from an hundred fights,
Seem distant now as echoes up the heights
Of fabulous Legend borne to realms unscanned;
Yet fearest thou this Queen Titan from her rest
574
Her ringing battle-cry o'er mount and plain,
With Conquest blazing on her fiery crest?
Aye! SUCH thy dread! hence to all Earth's disdain,
Thy ruthless sword still gores her prostrate breast!
| [Poems by Hayne in] The Southern Amaranth | |