Poets of the South Part 8

"The flower which Bethlehem saw bloom Out of a heart all full of grace, Gave never forth its full perfume Until the cross became its vase."

Then again, the poet-priest, as was becoming his character, deals with the mysteries of life. Much of our recent poetry is as trifling in theme as it is polished in workmanship. But Father Ryan habitually brings before us the profounder and sadder aspects of life. The truths of religion, the vicissitudes of human destiny, the tragedy of death--these are the themes in which he finds his inspiration, and to which we all turn in our most serious moments. And though the strain in which he sings is attuned to tears, it is still illumined by a strength-giving faith and hope. When we feel weighed down with a sense of pitiless law, when fate seems to cross our holiest aspirations with a ruthless hand, he bids us be of good cheer.

"There is no fate--G.o.d's love Is law beneath each law, And law all laws above Fore'er, without a flaw."

In 1883 Father Ryan, whose reputation had been established by his volume of poems, undertook a lecturing tour through the North in the interest of some charitable enterprise. At his best he was an eloquent speaker. But during the later years of his life impaired health interfered with prolonged mental effort. His mission had only a moderate degree of success. His sense of weariness deepened, and his eyes turned longingly to the life to come. In one of his later productions he said:--

"My feet are wearied, and my hands are tired, My soul oppressed-- And I desire, what I have long desired-- Rest--only rest.

"And so I cry a weak and human cry, So heart oppressed; And so I sigh a weak and human sigh For rest--for rest."

At length, April 22, 1886, in a Franciscan monastery at Louisville, came the rest for which he had prayed. And in that higher life to which he pa.s.sed, we may believe that he was welcomed by her to whom in youth he had given the tender name of Ullainee, and for whom, through all the years of a great sacrifice, his faithful heart had yearned with an inextinguishable human longing.

ILl.u.s.tRATIVE SELECTIONS WITH NOTES

SELECTION FROM FRANCIS SCOTT KEY

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER [1]

O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming, Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts [2] we watched, were so gallantly streaming?

And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.

O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the sh.o.r.e dimly seen thro' the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, [3]

What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?

Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected now shines on the stream; 'Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion A home and a country should leave us no more? [4]

Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.

No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave; And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!

Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land Praise the power that hath made and preserv'd us a nation!

Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, And this be our motto--_"In G.o.d is our trust:"_ And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

[Footnote 1: For a brief statement of the circ.u.mstances that gave rise to the poem, see sketch of Key, page 12.]

[Footnote 2: Fort McHenry, on the north bank of the Patapsco, below Baltimore, was attacked by the British fleet, September 13, 1814.]

[Footnote 3: The attack being unsuccessful, the British became disheartened and withdrew.]

[Footnote 4: Before the attack upon Baltimore, the British had taken Washington and burned the capitol and other public buildings.

With this poem may be compared other martial lyrics, such as Hopkinson's _Hail Columbia_, Mrs. Howe's _Battle Hymn of the Republic_, Campbell's _Ye Mariners of England_ and _Battle of the Baltic_, Tennyson's _Charge of the Light Brigade_, etc.]

SELECTIONS FROM RICHARD HENRY WILDE

STANZAS [1]

My life is like the summer rose, That opens to the morning sky, But, ere the shades of evening close, Is scattered on the ground--to die![2]

Yet on the rose's humble bed The sweetest dews of night are shed, As if she wept the waste to see-- But none shall weep a tear for me!

My life is like the autumn leaf That trembles in the moon's pale ray: Its hold is frail--its date is brief, Restless--and soon to pa.s.s away!

Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, The parent tree will mourn its shade, The winds bewail the leafless tree-- But none shall breathe a sigh for me!

My life is like the prints, which feet Have left on Tampa's [3] desert strand; Soon as the rising tide shall beat, All trace will vanish from the sand; Yet, as if grieving to efface All vestige of the human race, On that lone sh.o.r.e loud moans the sea-- But none, alas! shall mourn for me!

A FAREWELL TO AMERICA [4]

Farewell, my more than fatherland![5]

Home of my heart and friends, adieu!

Lingering beside some foreign strand, How oft shall I remember you!

How often, o'er the waters blue, Send back a sigh to those I leave, The loving and beloved few, Who grieve for me,--for whom I grieve!

We part!--no matter how we part, There are some thoughts we utter not, Deep treasured in our inmost heart, Never revealed, and ne'er forgot!

Why murmur at the common lot?

We part!--I speak not of the pain,-- But when shall I each lovely spot, And each loved face behold again?

It must be months,--it may be years,--[6]

It may--but no!--I will not fill Fond hearts with gloom,--fond eyes with tears, "Curious to shape uncertain ill."

Though humble,--few and far,--yet, still Those hearts and eyes are ever dear; Theirs is the love no time can chill, The truth no chance or change can sear!

All I have seen, and all I see, Only endears them more and more; Friends cool, hopes fade, and hours flee, Affection lives when all is o'er!

Farewell, my more than native sh.o.r.e!

I do not seek or hope to find, Roam where I will, what I deplore To leave with them and thee behind!

[Footnote 1: See sketch of Wilde, page 13. This song was translated into Greek by Anthony Barclay and announced as a newly discovered ode by Alcaeus. The trick, however, was soon detected by scholars, and the author of the poem received a due meed of praise.]

[Footnote 2: The brevity of life has been a favorite theme of poets ever since Job (vii. 6) declared, "Our days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle."]

[Footnote 3: The reference seems to be to the sh.o.r.e about the Bay of Tampa on the west coast of Florida.]

[Footnote 4: See page 13.]

[Footnote 5: It will be remembered that the poet was a native of Ireland.]