Ah, who would couple thoughts of war and crime Than she shall rouse, for all her tranquil charms, 55 1862. And calling, with the voice of all her rills, To fall and crush the tyrants and the slaves 1862? I KNOW NOT WHY, BUT ALL THIS WEARY DAY I know not why, but all this weary day, Sad fancies have been flitting through my brain: Rounding a stormy headland; now a gray 65 5 IO . PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE THE MOCKING-BIRDS Oh, all day long they flood with song The forest shades, the fields of light; Heaven's heart is stilled and strangely thrilled By ecstasies of lyric might; From flower-crowned nooks of splendid dyes, Lone dells a shadowy quiet girds; Far echoes, wakening, gently rise, And o'er the woodland track send back The winds, in awe, no gusty flaw Dare breathe in rhythmic Beauty's face; Nearer the pale-gold cloudlets draw Above a charmed, melodious place: Entranced Nature listening knows No music set to mortal words, Nor nightingales that woo the rose, Can vie with these deep harmonies Poured from the minstrel mocking-birds. But, vaguely seen through gulfs of green, We glimpse the plumed and choral throng--Sole poets born whose instincts scorn 20 To do Song's lowliest utterance wrong: On each wild, wood-born note conferred, Aye-pause and hark-be still, and mark 25 30 These small, winged genii make their own: Fine lyric memories live again, From tuneful burial disinterred, To magnify the fiery strain Which quivering trills and smites the hills Aye pause and hark-be still, and mark How downward borne from Song's high clime (No loftier haunts the English lark) They revel, each a jocund mime: Their glad sides shake in bush and brake; 35 And farm-girls, bowed o'er cream and curd, 40 Glance up to smile, and think the while None match the jovial mocking-bird. When fun protrudes gay interludes Of blissful, glorious unrestraint, They run, all wild with motley moods, Thro' Mirth's rare gamut, sly and quaint: Humors grotesque and arabesque Flash up from spirits brightly stirred; Laughs with the loudest mocking-bird. Oh, all day long the world with song Pastures her stars in radiant herds; At last, fair boon, the summer moon Beyond the hazed horizon shines; Ah, soon through night they wing their flight A tremulous hush-then sweet and grand, Their love notes fill the enchanted land; Through leaf-wrought bars they storm the stars, A LITTLE WHILE I FAIN WOULD LINGER YET [Reprinted from the copyrighted 1882 edition of Hayne's poems, with the permission of Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co.] A little while (my life is almost set!) I fain would pause along the downward way, While, Sweet, our eyes with tender tears are wet: A little while I fain would linger yet, All for love's sake, for love that cannot tire; A little while I fain would linger yet. A little while I fain would linger here: Behold, who knows what strange, mysterious bars Nor can love deem the face of death is fair: 5 ΙΟ A little while I still would linger here. A little while I yearn to hold thee fast, Hand locked in hand, and loyal heart to heart (O pitying Christ, those woeful words "We part!"): So, ere the darkness fall, the light be past, A little while, when light and twilight meet: Behind, our broken years; before, the deep A little while I fain would linger here: Behold, who knows what soul-dividing bars A little while I still would linger here. 15 20 25 30 POEMS OF THE CIVIL WAR THE HEART OF LOUISIANA (BY HARRIET STANTON) Oh, let me weep, while o'er our land The flag no tyrant's power could bow! Trailed in the dust, inglorious laid, While one by one her stars retire, Aye, let me weep, for surely Heaven I cannot shout, I will not sing Loud pæans o'er a severed tie; Our State's new flag to greet the sky. I can but choose, while senseless zeal The bitter cup; but still I feel The sadness of this parting hour. I know that thousand hearts will bleed The thoughtless crowd will shout, "Secede!" Oh, let me weep, and prostrate lie Low at the footstool of my God; I cannot breathe one note of joy, Sure we have as a nation sinned: Let every heart its folly own, And sackcloth as a girdle bind, And mourn our glorious Union gone. 5 ΙΟ 15 20 25 330 |