Poems of Henry Timrod [42]
like it best -- that sits at home And learns its lessons of a thoughtful ease. So come! a lonely house awaits thee! -- there Nor praise, nor blame shall reach us, save what love Of knowledge for itself shall wake at times In our own bosoms; come! and we will build A wall of quiet thought, and gentle books, Betwixt us and the hard and bitter world. Sometimes -- for we need not be anchorites -- A distant friend shall cheer us through the Post, Or some Gazette -- of course no partisan -- Shall bring us pleasant news of pleasant things; Then, twisted into graceful allumettes, Each ancient joke shall blaze with genuine flame To light our pipes and candles; but to wars, Whether of words or weapons, we shall be Deaf -- so we twain shall pass away the time Ev'n as a pair of happy lovers, who, Alone, within some quiet garden-nook, With a clear night of stars above their heads, Just hear, betwixt their kisses and their talk, The tumult of a tempest rolling through A chain of neighboring mountains; they awhile Pause to admire a flash that only shows The smile upon their faces, but, full soon, Turn with a quick, glad impulse, and perhaps A conscious wile that brings them closer yet, To dally with their own fond hearts, and play With the sweet flowers that blossom at their feet.
A Common Thought
Somewhere on this earthly planet In the dust of flowers to be, In the dewdrop, in the sunshine, Sleeps a solemn day for me.
At this wakeful hour of midnight I behold it dawn in mist, And I hear a sound of sobbing Through the darkness -- hist! oh, hist!
In a dim and murky chamber, I am breathing life away; Some one draws a curtain softly, And I watch the broadening day.
As it purples in the zenith, As it brightens on the lawn, There's a hush of death about me, And a whisper, "He is gone!"
Poems Written in War Times
Carolina
I
The despot treads thy sacred sands, Thy pines give shelter to his bands, Thy sons stand by with idle hands, Carolina! He breathes at ease thy airs of balm, He scorns the lances of thy palm; Oh! who shall break thy craven calm, Carolina! Thy ancient fame is growing dim, A spot is on thy garment's rim; Give to the winds thy battle hymn, Carolina!
II
Call on thy children of the hill, Wake swamp and river, coast and rill, Rouse all thy strength and all thy skill, Carolina! Cite wealth and science, trade and art, Touch with thy fire the cautious mart, And pour thee through the people's heart, Carolina! Till even the coward spurns his fears, And all thy fields and fens and meres Shall bristle like thy palm with spears, Carolina!
III
Hold up the glories of thy dead; Say how thy elder children bled, And point to Eutaw's battle-bed, Carolina! Tell how the patriot's soul was tried, And what his dauntless breast defied; How Rutledge ruled and Laurens died, Carolina! Cry! till thy summons, heard at last, Shall fall like Marion's bugle-blast Re-echoed from the haunted Past, Carolina!
IV
I hear a murmur as of waves That grope their way through sunless caves, Like bodies struggling in their graves, Carolina! And now it deepens; slow and grand It swells, as, rolling to the land, An ocean broke upon thy strand, Carolina! Shout! let it reach the startled Huns! And roar with all thy festal guns! It is the answer of thy sons, Carolina!
V
They will not wait to hear thee call; From Sachem's Head to Sumter's wall Resounds the voice of hut and hall, Carolina! No! thou hast not a stain, they say, Or none save what the battle-day Shall wash in seas of blood away, Carolina! Thy skirts indeed the foe may part, Thy robe be pierced with sword and dart, They shall not touch thy noble heart, Carolina!
VI
Ere thou shalt own the tyrant's thrall
A Common Thought
Somewhere on this earthly planet In the dust of flowers to be, In the dewdrop, in the sunshine, Sleeps a solemn day for me.
At this wakeful hour of midnight I behold it dawn in mist, And I hear a sound of sobbing Through the darkness -- hist! oh, hist!
In a dim and murky chamber, I am breathing life away; Some one draws a curtain softly, And I watch the broadening day.
As it purples in the zenith, As it brightens on the lawn, There's a hush of death about me, And a whisper, "He is gone!"
Poems Written in War Times
Carolina
I
The despot treads thy sacred sands, Thy pines give shelter to his bands, Thy sons stand by with idle hands, Carolina! He breathes at ease thy airs of balm, He scorns the lances of thy palm; Oh! who shall break thy craven calm, Carolina! Thy ancient fame is growing dim, A spot is on thy garment's rim; Give to the winds thy battle hymn, Carolina!
II
Call on thy children of the hill, Wake swamp and river, coast and rill, Rouse all thy strength and all thy skill, Carolina! Cite wealth and science, trade and art, Touch with thy fire the cautious mart, And pour thee through the people's heart, Carolina! Till even the coward spurns his fears, And all thy fields and fens and meres Shall bristle like thy palm with spears, Carolina!
III
Hold up the glories of thy dead; Say how thy elder children bled, And point to Eutaw's battle-bed, Carolina! Tell how the patriot's soul was tried, And what his dauntless breast defied; How Rutledge ruled and Laurens died, Carolina! Cry! till thy summons, heard at last, Shall fall like Marion's bugle-blast Re-echoed from the haunted Past, Carolina!
IV
I hear a murmur as of waves That grope their way through sunless caves, Like bodies struggling in their graves, Carolina! And now it deepens; slow and grand It swells, as, rolling to the land, An ocean broke upon thy strand, Carolina! Shout! let it reach the startled Huns! And roar with all thy festal guns! It is the answer of thy sons, Carolina!
V
They will not wait to hear thee call; From Sachem's Head to Sumter's wall Resounds the voice of hut and hall, Carolina! No! thou hast not a stain, they say, Or none save what the battle-day Shall wash in seas of blood away, Carolina! Thy skirts indeed the foe may part, Thy robe be pierced with sword and dart, They shall not touch thy noble heart, Carolina!
VI
Ere thou shalt own the tyrant's thrall