Alone, while those faces look silently down From their antique frames in a grim repose-- Slight scholarly Ralph in his Oxford gown, And stanch Sir Alan, who died for Montrose.
There are gallants gay in crimson and gold, There are smiling beauties with powdered hair, But she sits there, fairer a thousand-fold, Leaning dreamily back in her low arm-chair.
And the roseate shadows of fading light Softly clear steal over the sweet young face, Where a woman"s tenderness blends to-night With the guileless pride of a haughty race.
Her hands lie clasped in a listless way On the old _Romance_--which she holds on her knee-- _Of Tristram_, the bravest of knights in the fray, _And Iseult_, who waits by the sounding sea.
And her proud, dark eyes wear a softened look As she watches the dying embers fall-- Perhaps she dreams of the knight in the book, Perhaps of the pictures that smile on the wall.
What fancies I wonder are thronging her brain, For her cheeks flush warm with a crimson glow!
Perhaps--ah! me, how foolish and vain!
But I"d give my life to believe it so!
Well, whether I ever march home again To offer my love and a stainless name, Or whether I die at the head of my men,-- I"ll be true to the end all the same.
_Petersburg Trenches, 1864._
FOOTNOTE:
[38] By permission of the author.
SIDNEY LANIER.
~1842=1881.~
SIDNEY LANIER was born in Macon, Georgia, descended from a line of artist ancestors, through whom he inherited great musical ability. He was educated at Oglethorpe College, being graduated in 1860. He and his brother Clifford entered the Confederate Army together in 1861 and served through the war; but the exposure and hardships and imprisonment developed consumption which finally caused his death.
After the war he lived for two years in Alabama as a clerk and a teacher; but his health failed and he was forced to return home where he practised law with his father till 1873. Then deciding to devote himself to music and poetry, he went to Baltimore where he was engaged as first flute in the Peabody Symphony Concerts and in 1879 as lecturer on English Literature in Johns Hopkins University. His dread disease never relaxed and he was often obliged to quit work and go to Florida, North Carolina, Georgia, and Pennsylvania in search of strength. His death occurred at Lynn, Polk County, North Carolina, on his last quest for strength and life with which to continue the work he so much loved.
His "Science of English Verse" is said to be a new and valuable addition to the study of poetry. His poems belong to the new order of thought and life. His "Tiger-Lilies" is a prose-poem, written in three weeks just after the war and laid in the mountains of Tennessee and on the eastern sh.o.r.e of Virginia where he was stationed. "Beauty is holiness, and holiness is beauty," was his favorite remark on the subject of Art. His work and influence are growing in importance in the regard of students.
In 1876 he was invited to write the poem for the Centennial Exposition; and the "Meditation of Columbia," composed with the musical expression always in mind,--and so too it should be read,--was the grand Ode that graced the opening day at Philadelphia. See under _Waitman Barbe_.
WORKS.
POEMS:
Edited by his wife, Mary Day Lanier, with a Memorial by William Hayes Ward.
Tiger Lilies, [novel].
Florida: its Scenery, Climate, and History.
English Novel and Principles of Its Development.
Science of English Verse.
Boy"s Froissart.
Boy"s King Arthur.
Boy"s Mabinogion.
Boy"s Percy.
SONG OF THE CHATTAHOOCHEE.
(_From Poems._[39])
Out of the hills of Habersham, Down the valleys of Hall, I hurry amain to reach the plain, Run the rapid and leap the fall, Split at the rock and together again, Accept my bed, or narrow or wide, And flee 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 though the valleys of Hall, The rushes cried, _Abide, abide_, The willful waterweeds held me thrall, The laving laurel turned my tide, The ferns and the fondling gra.s.s said _Stay_, The dewberry dipped for to work delay, And the little reeds sighed _Abide, abide, Here in the hills of Habersham, Here in the valleys of Hall_.
High o"er 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 Did bar me of pa.s.sage with friendly brawl, And many a luminous jewel lone, --Crystals clear or a-cloud with mist, Ruby, garnet, and amethyst-- Made lures with the lights of streaming stone 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 Avail: I am fain for to water the plain, 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 myriad flowers mortally yearn, And the lordly main from beyond the plain Calls o"er the hills of Habersham, Calls through the valleys of Hall.
1877.
WHAT IS MUSIC?
Music is Love in search of a word.
THE TIDE RISING IN THE MARSHES.
(_From The Marshes of Glynn._[40])
Ye marshes, how candid and simple and nothing-withholding and free Ye publish yourselves to the sky and offer yourselves to the sea!
Tolerant plains, that suffer the sea and the rains and the sun, Ye spread and span like the catholic man who hath mightily won G.o.d out of knowledge and good out of infinite pain And sight out of blindness and purity out of a stain.
As the marsh-hen secretly builds on the watery sod, Behold I will build me a nest on the greatness of G.o.d; I will fly in the greatness of G.o.d as the marsh-hen flies In the freedom that fills all the s.p.a.ce "twixt the marsh and the skies: By so many roots as the marsh-gra.s.s sends in the sod I will heartily lay me a-hold on the greatness of G.o.d: Oh, like to the greatness of G.o.d is the greatness within The range of the marshes, the liberal marshes of Glynn.
And the sea lends large, as the marsh: and lo, out of his plenty, the sea Pours fast: full soon the time of the flood-tide must be: Look how the grace of the sea doth go About and about through the intricate channels that flow Here and there, Everywhere, Till his waters have flooded the uttermost creeks and the low-lying lanes, And the marsh is meshed with a million veins, That like as with rosy and silvery essences flow In the rose-and-silver evening glow.
Farewell, my lord Sun!
The creeks overflow: a thousand rivulets run "Twixt the roots of the sod; the blades of the marsh-gra.s.s stir; Pa.s.seth a hurrying sound of wings that westward whirr; Pa.s.seth, and all is still; and the currents cease to run; And the sea and the marsh are one.
How still the plains of the waters be!
The tide is in his ecstasy.
The tide is at his highest height: And it is night.
And now from the Vast of the Lord will the waters of sleep Roll in on the souls of men, But who will reveal to our waking ken The forms that swim and the shapes that creep Under the waters of sleep?
And I would I could know what swimmeth below when the tide comes in On the length and the breadth of the marvellous marshes of Glynn.
1878.