537 1 Clt Coxington ^ plemorial ^oem ^» ^^nfamin ^Utfif AT LEXINGTON A MEMORIAL POEM BY BENJAMIN SLEDD Published and Copyrighted, August, 1913 MUTUAL VI/PUBLISHINQ >!/ ay ooMPAHY ib ISi RALEIQH lii [This poem is selected from Mr. Sledd's forthcoming volume "Old South Idylls"] Iii E.KCliange Univ. of North Carolina SEP 2 7 1M3 TO CLARENCE POE CRITIC, FRIEND WHO IS HIMSELF DOING MUCH TO BRING ABOUT THAT FINAL TRIUMPH OF THE SOUTH SO CONFIDENTLY FORETOLD AT THE CLOSE OF THIS POEM NOTE It was at the close of the seventies in Virginia that I gave up the struggle with sassafras bushes and crabgrass, worn-out soils and hopeless negro labor; sold a big slice of my world of useless land for the princely sum of three hundred dollars ; and one fine September morning, with books and clothing packed in a pair of saddlebags, rode away on old Frank (nomen carum et venerabile!) across the counties to the Washington and Lee University. At that time, with the James River Canal abandoned and the railroad still in the making, — there was only the highway from the north and from the south to bring stu- dents and cadets into Lexington. As I approached the town, therefore, I found the road full of pilgrims, bound for the University or for the Military Institute, — wealthy boys from the far south, whirling past behind gaily decorated teams ; farmer lads with their fathers jogging along in rusty buggies ; but old Frank and I had the prize until we overtook a sturdy fellow who had walked from southwest Virginia and was now trudging along bare- footed, with his only pair of shoes slung over his shoulders. Of many such was the kingdom of learning in those days. My first hours in Lexington were spent largely at the grave of Jackson and the tomb of Lee. Mine had been indeed not a journey but a pilgrimage. B. S. AT LEXINGTON All day a pilgrim had I gone Across Virginia's storied land, The lure of " Lexington ! " Leading me ever on. What though the land in ruins lay ? The autumn fields cropless and gray ?— From far and near that day Undaunted mid defeat and shame, The South's young manhood came, No more at war's, but duty's proud command. But night was now at hand. And weary, travel-stained I stood And from a hilltop's fringe of wood On straggling spires and homes looked down. And could it be, this little town, The goal of life's dream-years ? Almost it moved to bitter tears Such close should be to youth's glad quest. And still I lingered by the way. While fancy yearned to make the best Of all that eye could see : Close round the guardian mountains pressed ; Northward, the river darkling flowed ; And near, in cloistral quiet, showed Those dreamed-of pillared walls, aglow With the last light of day ; And there below. Shadowed by many a tree, The tomb of Lee. O river, hills, and town, — that name Has crowned you with a crown of flame ! To doubt and linger more what need ? Now to your longings give all speed, O pilgrim. Yet 'twere meet To go with naked feet. For sacred is the ground you tread. Around you are the mighty dead ; And where yon clustering marble gleams Faint in the rising moon's first beams, Great Stonewall sleeps his victor sleep. But wander past and let him keep His glory still a while unsung. Blest was he that he died so young, — So young the cause he glorified. What if defeat had tried That stern sad soul's unyielding pride ? — Victor he lived, victor he died. Some day, O Muses, hither bring Poet worthy his deeds to sing. Yet victory Alone makes not the great ; But victor over fate Itself was Lee, Who made defeat his perfect fame. And taught us what the great may be. Oh, holy are this hill and wood. For here perhaps it was he stood. When on that August day he came. And gazed with kingly eyes upon His little realm of Lexington. And he whose hand had hurled The thunderbolt and all but riven The land in twain and given Another nation to the world — Put on the scholar's cap and gown : Not worn as martyr's robe and crown But with a high humility Which taught us what the great can be. But hasten down ; and leave the throng To their own boyish ways, of song And laughter. What have you, O pilgrim, yet with these to do ! Still is your pilgrimage undone. Each roving band of comrades shun ; Down the dim street untended make, Till from its lordly hilltop, bright As a vision in the moon's full light, The wide old pillared front shall break Right on your startled gaze : At last! At last! Oh, not in vain The yearnings of those unblest days Forever now behind you cast ! For to a boy's untutored dreams As grand the humble vision seems As when of old a festal train From far off isle amid the main, Landing at holy Marathon, Over Pentelicus all day have gone. At sunset gain Hymettus and the Attic plain. And silently look down upon The Parthenon ! The Parthenon ! Oh, not in vain The waiting of those patient days, When from the jeering world apart, Wandering in lonely ways, You nursed the promise in your heart ! Deep in untroubled haunts of pine, On fragrant needles stretched supine, Reading the tales all but divine As that divinest tale of long ago Of Hector's might and Ilion's woe, — Time's latest page of chivalry : Grim Stonewall and his Ironsides, Pickett's charge, and Stuart's rides, And everywhere the soul of Lee. But linger not, for nigh at hand Moonlit and ivy-mantled stand The chapel walls, and on the floor. From oriel windows silvered o'er With moonlight's unstained glory, see The tomb of Lee. Your pilgrimage at last is done : The goal of life's dream-years is won ! Is it enough, enough, to stand With duly folded hand And reverent-bended head ! Kneel down and to the marble lay Your lips and humbly pay Meet reverence to the dead. Good is it to be here. O pilgrim, what have you to fear? Though slowly hence the moonbeams glide And all grows dark, and at your side An awful presence stands. Fear not, but mutely lift Your suppliant hands And beg the longed-for gift :— Some day to come and lay Tribute of deathless song — Voiced alike by friends and foes — Upon his tomb and somewhat pay The debt a nation owes. — (Oh, Chieftain, it was long, So long ago, the gift I prayed, And daily have my lips essayed To keep the vow which then they made ; But toil and time work grievous wrong, Stealing away the poet fire And leaving but unquenched desire. My chieftain, on your tomb today Tribute of song I lay : Not what I would but what I may.) But now a waking bird has cried " The dawn ! the dawn ! " O pilgrim, rise And hasten forth and take your place Your toiling brother-man beside, A new day's radiance on your face, A new day's promise in your eyes. And leave your Chieftain to his sleep : His very name Time's self will keep In sacred trust. Out of war's ruin, wrong, and shame, — Just or unjust, — The work of peace that here he wrought, The patient, far-off ends he sought, His ever-brightening star of fame. In the long years to be, — Our stern, high task before us set, Our hands in love and duty met, — Will lead his people yet To victory. 015 988 882