Poems of Henry Timrod [44]
Ripley
Rich in red honors, that upon him lie As lightly as the Summer dews Fall where he won his fame beneath the sky Of tropic Vera Cruz;
Bold scorner of the cant that has its birth In feeble or in failing powers; A lover of all frank and genial mirth That wreathes the sword with flowers;
He moves amid the warriors of the day, Just such a soldier as the art That builds its trophies upon human clay Moulds of a cheerful heart.
I see him in the battle that shall shake, Ere long, old Sumter's haughty crown, And from their dreams of peaceful traffic wake The wharves of yonder town;
As calm as one would greet a pleasant guest, And quaff a cup to love and life, He hurls his deadliest thunders with a jest, And laughs amid the strife.
Yet not the gravest soldier of them all Surveys a field with broader scope; And who behind that sea-encircled wall Fights with a loftier hope?
Gay Chieftain! on the crimson rolls of Fame Thy deeds are written with the sword; But there are gentler thoughts which, with thy name, Thy country's page shall hoard.
A nature of that rare and happy cast Which looks, unsteeled, on murder's face; Through what dark scenes of bloodshed hast thou passed, Yet lost no social grace?
So, when the bard depicts thee, thou shalt wield The weapon of a tyrant's doom, Round which, inscribed with many a well-fought field, The rose of joy shall bloom.
Ethnogenesis
Written During the Meeting of the First Southern Congress, at Montgomery, February, 1861
I
Hath not the morning dawned with added light? And shall not evening call another star Out of the infinite regions of the night, To mark this day in Heaven? At last, we are A nation among nations; and the world Shall soon behold in many a distant port Another flag unfurled! Now, come what may, whose favor need we court? And, under God, whose thunder need we fear? Thank Him who placed us here Beneath so kind a sky -- the very sun Takes part with us; and on our errands run All breezes of the ocean; dew and rain Do noiseless battle for us; and the Year, And all the gentle daughters in her train, March in our ranks, and in our service wield Long spears of golden grain! A yellow blossom as her fairy shield, June flings her azure banner to the wind, While in the order of their birth Her sisters pass, and many an ample field Grows white beneath their steps, till now, behold, Its endless sheets unfold THE SNOW OF SOUTHERN SUMMERS! Let the earth Rejoice! beneath those fleeces soft and warm Our happy land shall sleep In a repose as deep As if we lay intrenched behind Whole leagues of Russian ice and Arctic storm!
II
And what if, mad with wrongs themselves have wrought, In their own treachery caught, By their own fears made bold, And leagued with him of old, Who long since in the limits of the North Set up his evil throne, and warred with God -- What if, both mad and blinded in their rage, Our foes should fling us down their mortal gage, And with a hostile step profane our sod! We shall not shrink, my brothers, but go forth To meet them, marshaled by the Lord of Hosts, And overshadowed by the mighty ghosts Of Moultrie and of Eutaw -- who shall foil Auxiliars such as these? Nor these alone, But every stock and stone Shall help us; but the very soil, And all the generous wealth it gives to toil, And all for which we love our noble land, Shall fight beside, and through us; sea and strand, The heart of woman, and her hand, Tree, fruit, and flower, and every influence, Gentle, or grave, or grand; The winds in our defence Shall seem to blow; to us the hills shall lend Their firmness and their calm; And in our stiffened sinews we shall blend The strength of pine and palm!
III
Nor would we shun the battle-ground, Though weak as we are strong; Call up the clashing elements around, And test the right and wrong! On one side, creeds that dare to teach What Christ and Paul refrained to preach; Codes built upon a broken