Poets of the South Part 18

THE SUMMER BOWER [16]

It is a place whither I have often gone For peace, and found it, secret, hushed, and cool, A beautiful recess in neighboring woods.

Trees of the soberest hues, thick-leaved and tall.

Arch it o'erhead and column it around, Framing a covert, natural and wild, Domelike and dim; though nowhere so enclosed But that the gentlest breezes reach the spot Unwearied and unweakened. Sound is here A transient and unfrequent visitor; Yet, if the day be calm, not often then, Whilst the high pines in one another's arms Sleep, you may sometimes with unstartled ear Catch the far fall of voices, how remote You know not, and you do not care to know.

The turf is soft and green, but not a flower Lights the recess, save one, star-shaped and bright-- I do not know its name--which here and there Gleams like a sapphire set in emerald.

A narrow opening in the branched roof, A single one, is large enough to show, With that half glimpse a dreamer loves so much, The blue air and the blessing of the sky.

Thither I always bent my idle steps, When griefs depressed, or joys disturbed my heart, And found the calm I looked for, or returned Strong with the quiet rapture in my soul.[17]

But one day, One of those July days when winds have fled One knows not whither, I, most sick in mind With thoughts that shall be nameless, yet, no doubt, Wrong, or at least unhealthful, since though dark With gloom, and touched with discontent, they had No adequate excuse, nor cause, nor end, I, with these thoughts, and on this summer day, Entered the accustomed haunt, and found for once No medicinal virtue.

Not a leaf Stirred with the whispering welcome which I sought, But in a close and humid atmosphere, Every fair plant and implicated bough Hung lax and lifeless. Something in the place, Its utter stillness, the unusual heat, And some more secret influence, I thought, Weighed on the sense like sin. Above I saw, Though not a cloud was visible in heaven, The pallid sky look through a glazed mist Like a blue eye in death.

The change, perhaps, Was natural enough; my jaundiced sight, The weather, and the time explain it all: Yet have I drawn a lesson from the spot, And shrined it in these verses for my heart.

Thenceforth those tranquil precincts I have sought Not less, and in all shades of various moods; But always shun to desecrate the spot By vain repinings, sickly sentiments, Or inconclusive sorrows. Nature, though Pure as she was in Eden when her breath Kissed the white brow of Eve, doth not refuse, In her own way and with a just reserve, To sympathize with human suffering;[18]

But for the pains, the fever, and the fret Engendered of a weak, unquiet heart, She hath no solace; and who seeks her when These be the troubles over which he moans, Reads in her unreplying lineaments Rebukes, that, to the guilty consciousness, Strike like contempt.

For a general introduction to the following selections, see Chapter IV.

The poet's verse is perfectly clear. He prefers to

"Cling to the lowly and be content."

[Footnote 1: This poem, which first appeared in _Russell's Magazine_, exhibits one of Timrod's characteristics: he does not describe Nature for its own sake, as Hayne often does, but for the sake of some truth or lesson in relation to man. The lesson of this poem is that a life of uninterrupted ease and comfort is not favorable to the development of n.o.ble character.]

[Footnote 2: This selection ill.u.s.trates the fierce energy of the poet's martial lyrics. Compare _Bannockburn_ by Burns, which Carlyle said "should be sung with the throat of the whirlwind."]

[Footnote 3: _Byre_ is a cow-stable.]

[Footnote 4: _Rack_, usually _wrack_, signifies ruin or destruction.]

[Footnote 5: This lyric, which was sung on the occasion of decorating the graves of the Confederate dead in Magnolia Cemetery, Charleston, South Carolina, in 1867, has been much admired, especially the last stanza.]

[Footnote 6: It is interesting to know that this prediction has been fulfilled. A monument of granite now stands above the dead.]

[Footnote 7: _Behalf_, instead of _in behalf of_, is a rather hazardous construction.]

[Footnote 8: A n.o.ble bronze figure of a color bearer on a granite pedestal now commemorates the fallen heroes.]

[Footnote 9: This poem first appeared in the _Southern Literary Messenger_ in 1851. The first stanza of this half-playful, half-serious piece, mentions the objects in which the poet most delighted.]

[Footnote 10: This belief has been frequently held, and has some support from recent scientific experiments. But that this sentiency goes as far as the poet describes, is of course pure fancy.]

[Footnote 11: The sibyls (Sybil is an incorrect form) were, according to ancient mythology, prophetic women. The sibylline leaves or books contained their teachings, and were preserved with the utmost care in Rome. The sibyl of c.u.mae conducted Aeneas through the under world, as narrated in the sixth book of Virgil's _Aeneid_.]

[Footnote 12: This sonnet expresses the poet's creed, to which his practice was confirmed. This fact imparts unusual simplicity to his verse--a simplicity that strikes us all the more at the present time, when an over-refinement of thought and expression is in vogue.]

[Footnote 13: This sonnet, on the commonest of all poetic themes, treats of love in a deep, serious way. It is removed as far as possible from the sentimental.]

[Footnote 14: This line reminds us of a well-known pa.s.sage in Byron:-- "Man's love is of man's life a thing apart; 'Tis woman's whole existence. Man may range The court, camp, church, the vessel and the mart; Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange Pride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart, And few there are whom these cannot estrange."]

[Footnote 15: This is the divine ideal, the realization of which will bring the true "Golden Age." "G.o.d is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in G.o.d, and G.o.d in him."--I _John_ iv. 16.]

[Footnote 16: This poem first appeared in the _Southern Literary Messenger_ in 1852. It will serve to show Timrod's manner of using blank verse. It will be observed that "a lesson" is again the princ.i.p.al thing.]

[Footnote 17: This recalls the closing lines of Longfellow's _Sunrise on the Hills_:--

"If thou art worn and hard beset With sorrows that thou wouldst forget, If thou wouldst read a lesson that will keep Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, Go to the woods and hills! No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears."]

[Footnote 18: Compare the following lines from Bryant's _Thanatopsis_:--

"To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware."]

SELECTIONS FROM SIDNEY LANIER

SONG OF THE CHATTAHOOCHEE [1]

Out of the hills of Habersham, Down the valleys of Hall,[2]

The hurrying rain,[3] to reach the plain, Has run the rapid and leapt the fall, Split at the rock and together again, Accepted his bed, or narrow or wide, And fled from folly on every side, With a lover's pain to attain the plain, Far from the hills of Habersham, Far from the valleys of Hall.

All down the hills of Habersham, All through the valleys of Hall, The rushes cried, _Abide, abide_; The wilful water weeds held me thrall, The laurel, slow-laving,[4] turned my tide, The ferns and the fondling gra.s.s said _stay_, The dewberry dipped for to win delay,[5]

And the little reeds sighed _Abide, abide_, _Here in the hills of Habersham,_ _Here in the valleys of Hall._

High over the hills of Habersham, Veiling the valleys of Hall, The hickory told me manifold Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall Wrought me her shadowy self to hold, The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine, Overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign, Said, _Pa.s.s not so cold these manifold Deep shades of the hills of Habersham, These glades in the valleys of Hall._

And oft in the hills of Habersham, And oft in the valleys of Hall, The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook-stone Barred[6] me of pa.s.sage with friendly brawl, And many a metal lay sad, alone, And the diamond, the garnet, the amethyst, And the crystal that prisons a purple mist, Showed lights like my own from each cordial stone[7]

In the clefts of the hills of Habersham, In the beds of the valleys of Hall.

But oh, not the hills of Habersham, And oh, not the valleys of Hall, Shall hinder the rain from attaining the plain,[8]

For downward the voices of duty call-- Downward to toil and be mixed with the main.

The dry fields burn and the mills are to turn, And a thousand meadows [9] mortally yearn, And the final [10] main from beyond the plain Calls o'er the hills of Habersham, And calls through the valleys of Hall.

THE CRYSTAL [11]

At midnight, death's and truth's unlocking time, When far within the spirit's hearing rolls The great soft rumble of the course of things-- A bulk of silence in a mask of sound-- When darkness clears our vision that by day Is sun-blind, and the soul's a ravening owl For truth, and flitteth here and there about Low-lying woody tracts of time and oft Is minded for to sit upon a bough, Dry-dead and sharp, of some long-stricken tree And muse in that gaunt place,--'twas then my heart, Deep in the meditative dark, cried out:

Ye companies of governor-spirits grave, Bards, and old bringers-down of flaming news From steep-walled heavens, holy malcontents, Sweet seers, and stellar visionaries, all That brood about the skies of poesy, Full bright ye shine, insuperable stars; Yet, if a man look hard upon you, none With total l.u.s.ter blazeth, no, not one But hath some heinous freckle of the flesh Upon his shining cheek, not one but winks His ray, opaqued with intermittent mist Of defect; yea, you masters all must ask Some sweet forgiveness, which we leap to give, We lovers of you, heavenly-glad to meet Your largess so with love, and interplight Your geniuses with our mortalities.

Thus unto thee, O sweetest Shakspere sole,[12]

A hundred hurts a day I do forgive ('Tis little, but, enchantment! 'tis for thee): Small curious quibble; ... Henry's fustian roar Which frights away that sleep he invocates;[13]

Wronged Valentine's [14] unnatural haste to yield; Too-silly shifts of maids that mask as men In faint disguises that could ne'er disguise-- Viola, Julia, Portia, Rosalind;[15]

Fatigues most drear, and needless overtax Of speech obscure that had as lief be plain.

... Father Homer, thee, Thee also I forgive thy sandy wastes Of prose and catalogue,[16] thy drear harangues That tease the patience of the centuries, Thy sleazy sc.r.a.p of story,--but a rogue's Rape of a light-o'-love,[17]--too soiled a patch To broider with the G.o.ds.

Thee, Socrates,[18]

Thou dear and very strong one, I forgive Thy year-worn cloak, thine iron stringencies That were but dandy upside-down,[19] thy words Of truth that, mildlier spoke, had manlier wrought.

So, Buddha,[20] beautiful! I pardon thee That all the All thou hadst for needy man Was Nothing, and thy Best of being was But not to be.