COL. JAMES GORDON 
 
THE 
 
 OLD PLANTATION 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 COLONEL JAMES GORDON 
 
 1909 
 
 TELL FARMER, PRINTER AND BINDER 
 
 MERIDIAN, MISS. 
 
"fSB'S'''^ 
 
 .on 
 
 OS- 
 
 Copyright, 1909, 
 By JAMES GORDON. 
 
 (library of CONGRESS^ 
 Two CoDies Received 
 
 JUN 1 WUii 
 
DEDICATION 
 
 To Col. E. L. Russell, 
 
 of Mobile y Alabama, 
 
 X DEDICATE this little book of poems to 
 you because I know you to be a typical 
 Southern gentleman, endowed with all the vir- 
 tues the term may signify. You have filled 
 every position of trust and honor that has fallen 
 to your lot with credit to yourself, the States 
 and people who delight to honor you for your 
 loyalty to duty as a soldier, citizen and railroad 
 oflficial. Your integrity and worth have won 
 the confidence and esteem of all who know you. 
 It is not alone for your' moral worth and the 
 success you have won in business life, for which 
 you have received the applause of men, that I 
 inscribe this testimonial of my regard for your 
 many virtues, but because you have been my 
 friend, and I love you. 
 
 James Gordon. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 HAVING been elected Poet by the Alumni 
 Association of the University of Missis- 
 sippi for its annual meeting at Commencement, 
 1909— where a large attendance of old students 
 is expected for the home-coming to our Alma 
 Mater — I have prepared a poem descriptive of 
 plantation life as it existed at the close of the 
 Civil War, which found the Southern planter 
 confronted by a race problem which threat- 
 ened a calamity more disastrous than war, 
 pestilence and famine combined — where every 
 obstacle was met by a courage and unselfish 
 devotion to principle only equaled by their 
 valor and endurance on many an ensanguined 
 field of battle. How nobly they met disasters 
 which destroyed the grandest civilization known 
 on earth, belongs to the history of the past 
 century. The unsolved problem still hangs 
 like the sword of Damocles over the destinies 
 of the South. For this occasion I have se- 
 
lected '*The Old Plantation' ' as a subject for 
 my verse, and one of greatest interest to the 
 people of the South, and for the enlightenment 
 of the nation. I have portrayed the Southern 
 plantation in each season's garb of beauty, and 
 the negro in his true character, as only South- 
 erners know him, stripped of the idealized 
 gauze and filigree the Northern mind has 
 painted him in a new civilization, in which he 
 has proved an ignominious failure and most 
 disastrous to the South. 
 
 The statesmen of today must leave to a 
 future generation the solution of a problem we 
 were not permitted to handle in the way we 
 thought best, and one, if tampered with by 
 ignorance and prejudice, may not only destroy 
 our civilization, but wreck our republic. 
 
 Besides the above-mentioned poem, I have 
 included some smaller poems, a number of which 
 were the effusions of boyish fancies in early 
 youth, and others of later date, which I hope 
 will interest the students of our Alma Mater, 
 as well as many friends scattered over our 
 Southland, and may even find an interested 
 reader in the North, who will not reject a few 
 wild flowers gathered from the fields of the 
 
South. We, the veterans of the old regime, 
 who are rapidly * 'passing over the dark river 
 to rest under the shade of the trees'* in the 
 great beyond, have left to posterity a legacy 
 that will emblazon the pages of history with 
 the splendor of achievement, with a chivalry 
 and devotion to the Lost Cause and **the land 
 we love," that will live in song and story in 
 ages yet to come, when the proudest boast of 
 the Southern youth will be that he bears in his 
 veins the blood of a Confederate soldier. A 
 people who have no pride of ancestry can never 
 achieve greatness. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 The Old Plantation 9 
 
 Christmas 11 
 
 Song 21 
 
 Banjo Solo 24 
 
 Spring . 26 
 
 Summer 28 
 
 The Old Black Mammy __ 34 
 
 The PROTRACTiiD Meeting 35 
 
 The Experience Meeting 42 
 
 Uncle Jesse 43 
 
 Oily Tonso „ __ 45 
 
 Sister Carline __ 46 
 
 Fiddler Horace 50 
 
 Banjo Isom 53 
 
 Negro Characteristics .__ 65 
 
 Negro Superstitions 68 
 
 The Farmer's Life 76 
 
 TomHolliday 83 
 
 Walthall 89 
 
 lochinvar 93 
 
 Where is My Wandering Boy To-Night? 95 
 
 Wine . 98 
 
 Long Ago _ _ 100 
 
Mercy's Gifts TO Man 105 
 
 The Only Sinner Left 110 
 
 Dreamland 113 
 
 Minta-Ho-Yah 118 
 
 The Prodigal Raven 122 
 
 He is Fallen 125 
 
 Death OF THE Old Hunter 128 
 
 Acrostic 130 
 
 Moon Lake 132 
 
 Something Wanting __ 135 
 
 Farewell 139 
 
 A Star 140 
 
 Decoration Day 143 
 
 My Friend 148 
 
 Queen OF THE Antilles 156 
 
 A Love Letter 158 
 
 The Wedding Feast of Peleus 161 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION. 
 
 (WEET land of cotton, corn and pine, 
 Long may your old red hills entwine 
 
 With passion flower and columbine 
 To give you pleasure, 
 
 And may the gods ever incline 
 To fill your treasure ! 
 
 Never more may war's alarms 
 Call your gallant sons to arms 
 Away from sweet home's happy charms, 
 
 To meet the foeman ; 
 But peaceful dwell upon your farms 
 
 Contented yoeman. 
 
 And as the years go circling round. 
 And crops are gathered from the ground. 
 When Christmas comes may you be found 
 
 In joyous meeting, 
 And hear again the jovial sound 
 
 Of friendly greeting. 
 
10 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHEK POEMS 
 
 We love to hear from all the places, 
 And see our neighbors' happy faces, 
 Where pretty girls, and flowers in vases, 
 
 In beauty bloom, 
 And happy youths greet nymphs and graces 
 
 Around the room. 
 
 The crops are gathered in the fall ; 
 The stock are feeding in each stall ; 
 The young folks dancing in the hall 
 
 In graceful measure ; 
 A prosperous year brings joy to all 
 
 With added treasure. 
 
 Merry Christmas now has come. 
 The eggs are beaten to a foam, 
 The egg-nog makes a jolly home; 
 
 Thus Christmas charms 
 The hearts of those who seldom roam 
 
 From oft their farms. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS U 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 With every kind of instrument 
 That human genius could invent, 
 The gathering clan of neighbor boys 
 Awake the hills around with noise; 
 And any mischief, for their fun, 
 They should not do is always done ; 
 For Christmas comes but once a year, 
 Bringing its merriment and cheer. 
 With bust-skull whiskey for the prog, 
 While gents and ladies sip egg-nog. 
 And down among the negro quarters, 
 All of Afric's sons and daughters 
 Are just as happy, bright and gay 
 In joyous greetings, Christmas day. 
 On Christmas eve the negroes gather 
 Regardless of the wind or weather. 
 There is something in the hands of Fate. 
 Important as affairs of state 
 Are weddings, like one of which we're told 
 Was held at Cana centuries old ; 
 For, Hymen's altars' sacred fires, 
 Still kindled by love's sweet desires, 
 
12. THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Burn in human hearts the same 
 
 As when God in Eden Ht the flame. 
 
 The latest from the old plantation, 
 
 By those who have an invitation, 
 
 A wedding is on hand this year, 
 
 And negroes come from far and near, 
 
 In haste to join the merry throng 
 
 With joyful shouts and gleeful song. 
 
 To me it always did seem strange — 
 
 In weddings there's so little change, 
 
 So common and with no variety — 
 
 Why they should so excite society. . 
 
 The oddest pair on the plantation — 
 
 A rather queer amalgamation — 
 
 The bride had Indian blood and white, 
 
 Which made the negro color light. 
 
 The bridegroom had the blackest face 
 
 Of any negro on the place. 
 
 He walked as if he faced a blizzard, 
 
 Because each foot contained a gizzard, 
 
 And where the hollow should be found 
 
 It made its imprint on the ground. 
 
 The parson, filled with Bible lore. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 13 
 
 Faced this couple on the floor, 
 
 And, while by all the guests surrounded, 
 
 A Scripture lecture there expounded 
 
 On marriage laws by church and state: 
 
 "An' by dese laws dat dey create 
 
 De preacher wuz der insterment 
 
 Lovers' confections ter cement. 
 
 An' by dese laws de state done make. 
 
 He ties er knot yer dar not break. 
 
 Dis couple now stands fur a 'spection. 
 
 If any one hez a rejection 
 
 Why dis couple, groom and bride, 
 
 Should not in marriage vows be tied 
 
 So tight dat dar is no release. 
 
 So speak or ever hoi' yer peace. 
 
 Dat means, while libin in de Souf, 
 
 You niggers had better keep yer mouf ! 
 
 Dars no dejection; I'll percede 
 
 In de performance uv de deed. 
 
 De gemman and lady 'ill jine right ban's, 
 
 I'll unite em den in holy bans. 
 
 Den ercordin to de ordination 
 
 Made by Almighty God's creation 
 
14 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Now I jes wants dis colored man 
 
 To know it is de Maker's plan, 
 
 An', when dis ceremony closes, 
 
 You'll find de law in book uv Moses. 
 
 Duz yer take dis gal dat by yer stands, 
 
 HoFin' togedder by de ban's, 
 
 Ter be yer lawful wedded wife, 
 
 An support her kindly all yer life? 
 
 You swar you'll never lub her less 
 
 In richesness or poorishness ? 
 
 You'll take dis woman ter yer heart 
 
 Till death or lawyers breaks yer erpart? 
 
 All tother women you will leabe. 
 
 An only unto her you'll clebe?" 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders, bowed his head, 
 
 And scarcely audibly he said: 
 
 "I duz!" 
 
 The negroes sniggered, all unheeded. 
 
 The parson with the bride proceeded : 
 
 **Do you take dis man whose hand yer hold. 
 
 An understan' dat you've been sold, 
 
 Dat dar license de state done granted 
 
 Gins him er rite can't be recanted? 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 15 
 
 Duz yer swar you'll neber leabe, 
 
 Forsakin' tothers, always cleabe 
 
 Ter him in poverty or wealth, 
 
 Ter be true in sickness or in health ? 
 
 Yer mus' forever bar his name. 
 
 In richesness or poorishness de same, 
 
 Lub an' obey wid all yer heart, 
 
 Which nuffin but death or law ken part. 
 
 Duz yer promise dis?" She said, "I will!" 
 
 The negroes sniggered, then stood still. 
 
 "I now pernounce yer man and wife. 
 
 Salute yer bride ; bewar of strife." 
 
 Then there was laughing, fun and fussing 
 
 Over the bride and bridegroom bussing. 
 
 After the ceremony, soon, 
 
 Old fiddler Horace struck a tune, 
 
 And Isom with his banjo thumping. 
 
 Set all the negroes' hearts to jumping. 
 
 Old Horace made the fiddle squeal. 
 
 As he shouted: '^Pardners fur a reel !" 
 
 The parson thought the vilest sin 
 
 Was dancing to the violin ; 
 
 And when he saw the bride and groom 
 
16 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Lead in the dance, he left the room. 
 This the youngsters Httle heeded ; 
 The parson was no longer needed; 
 They saw no sin while thus they stood 
 With merry hearts all feeling good. 
 Lord ! how those happy negroes danced 
 As up and down the floor they pranced, 
 Down the sides and up the middle, 
 Cheered by the banio and the fiddle ! 
 The dandy barber from the town, 
 Who was a dancer of renown, 
 Odorous with Macasser oil, 
 (But not the scent of sons of toil) 
 With shining locks behind his ears, 
 And fancy steps that brought him cheers 
 From the admiring boys and girls. 
 As round he spun in graceful twirls. 
 Jim Bones, star-dancer of the place, 
 Looked on the scene with frowning face. 
 Envy is a poisonous dart 
 That bears its venom to the heart 
 And turns the blood by a deflection 
 From every virtue and affection. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 17 
 
 Jim Bones, who felt himself berated, 
 In his heart the barber hated. 
 No leopard spots with bastard bleach 
 Could Bones' s pedigree impeach. 
 While the barber's yellow tan 
 . Betrayed the mixed blood in the man. 
 Which comes to light in form and graces 
 Often seen in mongrel races. 
 Bones then remarked: **A yellow horse 
 Had never won on a race-course; 
 While he might win a quarter race. 
 He could not go a four-mile pace." 
 This innuendo most unkind 
 Showed plain the bent of Bones's mind, 
 Madly there with envy haunted. 
 Unduly hurt by sneering taunted. 
 Which made him all the more excited, 
 A test of skill he then invited. 
 By stepping out on heel and toe — 
 While Horace louder scraped his bow — 
 With wire twist and double shuffle, 
 Bantered the barber to the scuffle. 
 The dancers stopped, tho' not to rest, 
 
18 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 But to view their favorites in the test 
 Of skill in Terpsichorean arts 
 On puncheon floor to act their parts. 
 '*Go it, Bones!'' ''Set to him, barberP' 
 The cheering made them dance the harder. 
 ''Hurrah, Bones, you beats creation!' 
 Arose a shout from the old plantation. 
 "Dat barber wid de highlan' fling 
 Can't tech a nigger's pigeon wing!" 
 Around they went, and o'er and o'er; 
 Bones' brogans shook the puncheon floor; 
 And, tho' the night was cold and bleak, 
 The oil ran down the barber's cheek; 
 From Bones fell drops of perspiration 
 As in summer on the old plantation! 
 It seemed that Bones must surely lose; 
 The barber had on dancing shoes, 
 And his steps were light and airy; 
 He touched the puncheons like a fairy. 
 Bones, equal to the great occasion. 
 The honor of the old plantation — 
 They did not understand his game — 
 Danced as if his feet were lame. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 19 
 
 This was a cunning scheme he plann'd— 
 
 He danced with one foot in his hand, 
 
 Thus his wily scheme to smother, 
 
 He dropped that foot, took up the other — 
 
 A strategic movement that he chose 
 
 Deftly to untie his shoes. 
 
 And when they thought that Bones was beat, 
 
 He came down heavy on both feet. 
 
 As if by magic then jumped out. 
 
 And kicked his great brogans about, 
 
 Both heel and toe like lightning rocking, 
 
 For Bones was dancing in his stocking! 
 
 Plantation boys now cut their jokes; 
 
 Bones' legs whirled round like buggy spokes, 
 
 And turning with such ease and grace, 
 
 Noiseless, as if he danced on space. 
 
 In varied evolution spun. 
 
 Till all declared Jim Bones had won! 
 
 It always made the parson grieve 
 
 When negroes met on Christmas Eve. 
 
 It mattered not how much he prayed, 
 
 His summer converts always strayed. 
 
 Horace, with Mephistophelian bow. 
 
20 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 And Isom, with his old banjo- 
 Each Christmas gave them such a chance 
 To entrap his members with the dance — 
 The wretches tempted them to sin 
 With banjo and the viohn. 
 He read a chapter, raised a hymn; 
 The elder sisters all chimed in, 
 Tho' some of them were much inclined 
 To loiter in the room behind; 
 While they could hear the music play 
 They did not think it time to pray. 
 The younger set, more loath to leave 
 Their comrades on a Christmas Eve, 
 While all the elders joined in prayers, 
 The younger knelt beside their chairs, 
 With eyes half closed, and hearts that long 
 To join the dancers' merry throng. 
 The parson, tho' he lectured well 
 And pictured how they'd fare in hell, 
 Yet there was longing for the revel; 
 They feared the parson, not the devil ! 
 Then, when a girl from th' old plantation 
 Cried, ''Let's play 'Twistification!' " 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 21 
 
 The parson saw, with much surprise, 
 He'd have to make a compromise, 
 Or the devil would win the whole 
 
 And he'd not save a single soul. 
 
 « 
 
 This was a play for Christian negroes — 
 
 They only sung and walked thro' figures; 
 
 It was no dance, no soul was lost. 
 
 Because their feet were never cross'd. 
 
 A tall, black negro then arose 
 
 And said, **Dis meetin' better close. 
 
 Ter help dese gals get up a faster motion, 
 
 I'll sing a song dat's better to my notion." 
 
 With that, he raised a most unearthly yell. 
 
 The scene that follow'd, no pen of mine can tell! 
 
 And all the watches seen by Tarn O'Shanter 
 
 Never got up one-half so wild a canter: 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Shake your foot, my own true love, 
 
 Twis' yer heel, my darlin'! 
 De ole cow died wid de whoopin-cough; 
 
 De calf it died a-starvin'. 
 An' Punkin Sail, de yaller gal— 
 
22 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 She was a preacher's daughter — 
 She wouldn't dance when she got a chance, 
 An' she died uv drinkin' water. 
 
 De sun is set in a yaller sky, 
 De moon on white clouds floatin', 
 
 De little stars in the waters shine. 
 While I my lub am courtin'. 
 
 We sot beneath de chestnut tree, 
 We heer'd de bees er hummin', 
 
 De woodpecker peck'd on a dead tree limb. 
 
 An' de turkey gobbler's drummin'. 
 
 Lean on my breast, my own true lub, 
 
 An' put yer han' in mine. 
 An' curl your arm in mine, my lub, 
 
 Like de gourd handle on de vine. 
 Lif yer feet from de puncheon floor 
 
 An' step, my lub, up higher; 
 Shake off dat mud dar, Gumbo Sam, 
 
 Like de steer shakes off de mire. 
 
 Then the parson, filled with anger, did arise, 
 Saying, the devil had beat his compromise. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 23 
 
 Perhaps the parson might have added more, 
 When the fiddler, Horace, entered in the door; 
 
 As the parson left the door he slammed it. 
 Shouting back: *'The fiddler would be 
 damned yet." 
 
 The devil had broken up his congregation, 
 
 And captured all upon the old plantation. 
 
 The "Twistification" negroes wildly pranced, 
 
 The fiddle only helped them as they danced, 
 ni stop my muse, for no encomium 
 
 I'd give to such a Pandemonium. 
 With dance and song the night wore on apace. 
 
 The parson's converts fallen, all, from grace, 
 Yet, strange to say, tho' some were growing 
 nappy, 
 
 Christmas ne'er dawned upon a group more 
 happy. 
 The last heard was the humming of a banjo 
 
 And Isom singing of a banjo solo: 
 
24 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 BANJO SOLO. 
 
 Ole Peter wuz a fisherman, 
 
 A-fishin' in de sea, 
 Ole Peter wuz a fisherman, 
 
 Way down in Galilee; 
 Ole Noah wuz a sailor 
 
 An' sailed upon de ark; 
 An' Jonah, de missionary, 
 
 Swallowed down de shark. 
 
 De wurl wuz made in six days 
 
 An' finished on de sebenth, 
 An' de apples an' de pears wur ripe 
 
 By January de lebenth. 
 De lions and de lambs, dey 
 
 All snuggled up tergedder 
 When de clouds begin to lower. 
 
 An' it looked like rainy wedder; 
 An' it rained forty days and nights 
 
 Perzactly by de countin', 
 An' landed Noah's ark upon 
 
 De Aleghany mountain. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 25 
 
 De sarpent was de wisest 
 
 Uv all ole Adam's beastes, 
 Kep er creepin' an' er crawlin' 
 
 Ter all de plays an' feastes, 
 Until he fooled ole Mudder Ebe 
 
 An' made her eat de apple. 
 Dat made de lion eat de lam' 
 
 An' de hawks de chickens grapple. 
 
 In de happy Ian' uv Canaan, 
 
 Ercross de ribber Jordan, 
 De Hebrew children squatted, 
 
 An' whipped de Injuns 'cordin' 
 Ter de promises uv Moses, 
 
 Who stole 'em from de Gypters, 
 Whar dey had ter work like niggers, 
 
 Ez dey tell us in de scripters. 
 
 Eber since de wurl begun, 
 
 Dars bin er lot uv trouble; 
 De poor folks haz ter work an' toil 
 
 Ter make de pot ter bubble, 
 An' de preachers all wud starve ter deat*x 
 
26 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 If twasn't fur de sinners; 
 De parsons mus' hab chicken pie 
 An' puddin' fur dar dinners. 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 See our beautiful farms when winter is over, 
 The forests in bud, the meadows in clover — 
 When the teams pull the plows the farmer is 
 
 bringing 
 His herd to the fields, where music is ringing 
 With carol of birds and humming of bees. 
 To iEolean harps that play in the breeze- 
 Where butterflies flit on bright golden wings. 
 And nature is full of earth's beautiful things. 
 With the sun, moon and stars a-shining above 
 On a beautiful world God gave us to love! 
 Yes, love the good world, love one another! 
 Man loves his family, his father and mother. 
 His sister and brother, his neighbor and friend — 
 He begins life with love — loves on to the end. 
 Faith, Hope and Love to mortals are given, 
 With a promise of life and a haven in Heaven. 
 When life's wintry season is over, we'll rest 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 27 
 
 Where we meet those we love, in the home of 
 
 the blest. 
 When springtime is gone and summer has 
 
 come, 
 Wp still can be happy in love of our home, 
 Where lovers can meet in cool, shady bowers. 
 Festooned all with vines and fragrant with 
 
 flowers. 
 Where woman's fair fingers bright garlands 
 
 entwine 
 To crown a brave hero or lay on a shrine. 
 Or give to a lover, because they refine. 
 The spirit of love in the heart is divine! 
 Bless'd be our Southland— its bright, sunny 
 
 hours ! 
 Rejoice in its sunshine, its loves, fruits and 
 
 flowers! 
 There is nothing so sad in this old world of ours 
 That cannot be cheered by love, music and 
 
 flowers. 
 We make our own sorrows, the evils of fate, 
 When we take in our hearts malice, envy, and 
 
 hate. 
 
28 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 There is good in the world, and we may be sure 
 That a heart full of love will keep the soul pure. 
 When we cross death's dark river, and reach 
 
 the bright shore, 
 Beloved ones will greet us and welcome us o'er. 
 And while it is given to dwell on this earth, 
 No matter where may be the land of our birth. 
 Our duty to God is to do all we can, 
 Be true to our country, love our fellow man. 
 
 SUMMER. 
 
 Sweet land of the South, when the summer sun 
 
 shines, 
 And soft breezes sing thro' the tall yellow pines. 
 Covering the earth with a carpet of tines, 
 Where the hard and soft wood together combine 
 And the song of the saw is, "God's gifts are 
 
 divine," 
 And it's folly to work and lay up earth's 
 
 treasures 
 If you do not enjoy it's God-given pleasures! 
 It is right to be happy, tho' sorrows may come 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 29 
 
 And spread their dark shadows over our home, 
 Over the Southland there is Ught from above, 
 And a Lethe to tears in God's promise of love. 
 When we leave this dear world for another on 
 
 high, 
 Tho' sleeping in death, the soul can not die. 
 Our bodies will rest in the ground like the 
 
 grain. 
 There is no death, for we know we will rise up 
 
 again. 
 The seed that the farmer plants in the ground 
 Will burst forth in glory when summer comes 
 
 round; 
 From one little grain will arise from its bed 
 A tall stalk of corn with a gold tasseled head, 
 Like the shower of gold by Jupiter poured 
 On the tresses of Danae in prison secured, 
 On the corn's silken tresses in a shower of gold 
 Falling from the tassel the polen, behold! 
 The shuck* on the cob like the Knights' visors 
 Cover white grains like infant incisors 
 Growing unseen, while they make from the 
 
 clods 
 
30 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Sweet roasting ears, a feast for the gods! 
 The Ambrosial nectar in cups Hebe fiird 
 Could never compare with our corn juice 
 
 distiird, 
 A most useful medicine properly used, 
 Yet, a bane to mankind whenever abused. 
 When corn fields are clad in rich verdure in 
 
 June, 
 The mocking bird sings all the night to the 
 
 moon; 
 The moon sheds her smiles on this sweet world 
 
 of ours, 
 When her beams kiss the dews and the dews 
 
 kiss the flowers. 
 When morning's bright sun drives the stars to 
 
 the shades, ' 
 
 The darkey's loud voice is heard in the glades; 
 When he reaches the field, to chopping he goes, 
 Keeping time with a song to the click of the 
 
 hoes. 
 Not singing alone, there are others before us 
 Who join in the song when he comes to the 
 
 chorus. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 31 
 
 The voices of singers in mournfulest strain 
 Fall soft on the ear in sweetest refrain. 
 Soon springtime is gone like a beautiful dream, 
 And summer comes in on a bright sunny beam. 
 While the North seems the fairest when cov- 
 ered with snow, 
 The South is most charming when soft zephyrs 
 
 blow, 
 The seasons that march in their annual round 
 Bring life in their sunbeams to seed in the 
 
 ground. 
 Happy the farmer who leans on his hoe, 
 Watching in summer the cotton plant grow! 
 Glorious cotton, that each season charms. 
 Changing to gardens of beauty our farms! 
 In the culture of art, and the science of peace, 
 Gives labor to thousands as factories increase 
 From the man in the yawl to the sail and 
 
 steamboat 
 Employs more men than all navies afloat. 
 All the troops that march under foreign kings' 
 flags 
 
32 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 As well as our own are clothed from our bags. 
 Conquering the world with a banner of peace, 
 Her victories in commerce never can cease! 
 With the strength of a giant it bursts from its 
 
 bed, 
 Casting the heavy clods off from its head; 
 Like a young quail that starts with its shell on 
 
 at birth, 
 It lifts the seed hull on its head from the earth, 
 Beginning life's battle with vermin and cold, 
 It struggles for life until gathered and sold. 
 Squares form like a chrysalis in their soft cells, 
 Where a lily-white flower in infancy dwells. 
 The first day it blooms arrayed all in white. 
 Then, closing its petals, retires for the night. 
 Rising next morning fresh from its bed. 
 Discarding its white robe, is dressed all in red, 
 Then, from the squares that gave it its birth. 
 It drops its dead blossom at eve to the earth, 
 While from its place in squares it enfolds 
 A fine textile fabric in egg-shapen bolls. 
 When frost-laden winds are beginning to blow, 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 33 
 
 The white cotton covers the fields like a snow, 
 The flowers in their beauty are nipped in their 
 
 bloom 
 When kissed by the North wind, and sent to 
 
 their doom! 
 Then comes the gold king, like a Turk in his 
 
 pride, 
 And bears her away like a Circassian bride. 
 Fair bride of the Southland, in a slave market 
 
 sold. 
 Comes back to her people in purple and gold! 
 When they forced her to wed the prince of the 
 
 loom. 
 She conquered the world as well as the groom! 
 Her beautiful hair, like Arachne's fair tresses. 
 Beat the Goddess of Wisdom in weaving of 
 
 dresses; 
 Tho' changed by the Goddess into a dark spider, 
 Still she weaves her white thread and there's 
 
 none to deride her. 
 No fabric from loom on this earth can compare 
 To her value when woven, her beautiful hair! 
 
34 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 THE OLD BLACK MAMMY. 
 
 'Tis easy to wander off from my theme 
 
 When traveUng over the ground; 
 Thro' evergreen pastures across the bright 
 stream 
 When in fancy I wander around, 
 And see in the picture which never grows older 
 Tho' age chills the blood which never grows 
 colder. 
 
 In fancy I see those good negroes again 
 
 I loved in the days long ago, 
 As they worked in the fields of cotton and grain 
 
 And sung as they chopped with the hoe; 
 I can never forget, wherever I roam 
 The scenes of my childhood and home. 
 
 The dear old Black Mammy, so gentle and 
 tender, 
 
 So faithful and true to her trust — 
 I loved her so well I dared not offend her; 
 
 She is gone, yet I honor her dust. 
 From the wells of my heart arise tears of regret; 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 35 
 
 The' she sleeps 'neath the sod, I can never 
 forget. 
 
 She was lovely to me in her colored bandanna 
 With which she turbaned her head, 
 
 Her songs were far sweeter than flute or piano 
 
 As she put me to sleep in my bed; 
 • Her soft crooning voice I can never forget, 
 
 Like an angel in dreams, she comes to me yet. 
 
 THE PROTRACTED MEETING. 
 
 The negroes sing through the long summer 
 
 days, 
 And the fields and the woods are filled with 
 
 their lays. 
 When summer is hottest in month of July, 
 The negroes are happy; their crops are laid by. 
 But time with the negro never is fleeting. 
 When summertime comes, his joy is a meeting. 
 Which, by the negroes, is called a protracted, 
 But, by the white folks, best known as 
 
 distracted. 
 In praying and shouting they cut such strange 
 
 antics, 
 
36 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 'Twould seem to a stranger the wildest of 
 
 frantics. 
 A rustic brush arbor made a shade 
 Under which long planks were laid, 
 Carpeted with straw beneath their feet, 
 These planks on logs were made to seat 
 The negroes from the old plantation, 
 And members of the congregation. 
 A pulpit of material crude. 
 Did not appear unseemly rude. 
 Before which a long bench they laid 
 Where mourning sinners knelt and prayed. 
 The minister then calmly rose. 
 Cleared his throat, assumed a pose, 
 Looked down upon the congregation. 
 There was a flutter of sensation 
 As he cast his glance around 
 To view the people on the ground. 
 He raised a hymn, the usual way, 
 Then had them all kneel down and pray. 
 Then read a chapter, took his text; 
 A glowing sermon followed next. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 37 
 
 He pictured all the joys of Heaven, 
 The shining gates, the peaceful haven, 
 Mansions of bliss, and joys eternal. 
 Compared them with the woes infernal. 
 His voice arose with force and ire 
 As he portrayed the liquid fire 
 Where imps and devils, in the middle. 
 Were dancing to old Satan's fiddle — 
 That all the dancers in the world 
 Would in this lake of fire be hurled. 
 The hottest place in hell below 
 Was where the fiddlers all would go. 
 The dancers would be doomed to waltz 
 In hell for dancing, and such faults; 
 Unless they prayed to be forgiven. 
 They'd never see the gates of Heaven ! 
 His voice rose to the highest pitch; 
 His eloquence was rare and rich. 
 With tone and gesture wild cavorting, 
 He thus continued his exhorting: 
 *'Com ter de altar, sinners; turn, 
 Ur in de fiah uv hell you'll burn! 
 
38 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 How duz yer sinners dar ter falter? 
 
 Git on yer knees erroun' dis altar! 
 
 When yer gits dar, we'll sing an' pray 
 
 De Lord ter wash yer sins away. 
 
 Sing louder, brudders, git up highar, 
 
 An' save dese sinful souls from fiah!" 
 
 And as they sung he louder talked, 
 
 As up and down the aisles he w^alked. 
 
 And thus he raised a great sensation 
 
 'Mong negroes from the old plantation. 
 
 And others, from the farms around, 
 
 Knelt at the bench upon the ground; 
 
 Brothers and sisters gathering there 
 
 Joined in singing and in prayer. 
 
 You'd have thought for truth the devil routed 
 
 When a woman jumped the bench and shouted. 
 
 At which the minister asserted: 
 
 ''Another sinful soul converted." 
 
 I can't remember now the song, 
 
 Although they sung it loud and long. 
 
 With negroes making such a fuss, 
 
 I remember it as running thus: 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 39 
 
 ^^Shout, shout, the deviFs about; 
 Glory hallelujah! 
 Open the door and kick him out! 
 Glory hallelujah!^' 
 One of the sisters, shouting loud, 
 Sprang from her seat among the crowd, 
 And, leaping over logs and benches, 
 Careless of corns on other wenches. 
 And kicking a^ she walked the floor, 
 She kicked the devil out the door. 
 Being no doorway in the arbor. 
 She missed the devil, kicked the barber, 
 Who fell among the mourners 'round. 
 Groveling in terror on the ground. 
 The devil of her imagination 
 Created another great sensation. 
 Some were shouting, others groaning 
 Around the altar of the mourning. 
 By this meeting long protracted. 
 The Christmas ills were counteracted: 
 The devil now had lost his stock; 
 The parson had regained his flock; 
 
40 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Of character and friends bereft, 
 Horace and Isom alone were left; 
 By priest and congregation scorned 
 The poor musicians were suborned, 
 Until they could nollonger falter, 
 Fell on their -knees around the altar. 
 Vice often comes from cowardice; 
 They had to make a sacrifice. 
 Scowled on by negroes on the place, 
 Like pariahs outcast from their race. 
 The parson wearing bran-new clothes, 
 With funds that from his hat arose, 
 x\nd they in rags of desolation, 
 Avoided by the whole plantation, 
 Horace his much loved fiddle smashed. 
 And by it Isom's banjo crashed. 
 Their fragments scattered on the ground 
 No more their dulcet tones to sound. 
 While at the sight they nearly fainted, 
 By converts they were almost sainted. 
 
 Policy may not always sin; 
 Yet, the partition's rather thin 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 41 
 
 Between our own avowed theocracy 
 And our brothers' weak democracy. 
 Intolerance, since the world began, 
 Has been a tyrant over man, 
 Ruling by force a small plantation 
 As in the courts of a great nation. 
 Democracy brings men on a level; 
 Intolerance drives them to the devil. 
 The history of the w^orld has taught, 
 It clips the pinions of free thought 
 That might have soared up to the skies, 
 Or made an earthly paradise. 
 The parson now no longer hurled 
 Anathema's against the w^orld— 
 His congregation all won back, 
 And Satan beaten off the track. 
 Then, he proudly there asserted, 
 Every sinner was converted. 
 The way was open to salvation 
 To all upon the old plantation. 
 
42 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 THE EXPERIENCE MEETING. 
 
 The parson now sends forth his greeting 
 
 With call for an experience meeting, 
 
 At church upon the Sabbath next, 
 
 He rose, but did not take a text, 
 
 And to the congregation said: 
 
 'Bruderin, I wuz sore erfraid, 
 
 Dat I wrastled and I prayed, 
 
 Fer my flock uv sheep had strayed! 
 
 The devil sure got up a ruction 
 
 Ter lead my people ter destruction. 
 
 Horace an' Isom sure wuz lost, 
 
 An' my soul wuz tempest tossed. 
 
 When by the mourners' bench I wept, 
 
 I wuz so tired dat I slept. 
 
 An', ez I wrastled in my prayer, 
 
 I saw two angels enter dare. 
 
 I. seed dem over mourners lean. 
 
 Dis wuz a wishan dat I seen — 
 
 Wut I tells you am no story — 
 
 Dey converted dem two souls ter glory. 
 
 Uncle Jesse, you're a man uv sense! 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 43 
 
 Just gin to US your 'sperience." 
 
 UNCLE JESSE. 
 
 With dignity old Jess arose, 
 
 Spit in his hat, and wiped his nose. 
 
 '^Brederen,'' said he, ''I'se had er tranch 
 
 One day when lying by de branch, 
 
 An', all alone, I pray'd erloud, 
 
 An\ ez I looked, I seed er cloud, 
 
 An', ez I cast my eyes up higher, 
 
 I seed a chariot ob fiah! 
 
 'T wuz Gabriel driv dem horses round 
 
 An' lit wid Jesus on de ground. 
 
 Den Jesus turn'd an' smilin' sweet, 
 
 Sez he, *Uncle, wont yer take a seat?' 
 
 Sez I, ^Scuse me mahsr; I'se er nigger. 
 
 An' my ole close wud cut a figger! 
 
 Dat coach an horses am too fine 
 
 Fer a nigger ter ride behine!' 
 
 Den Jesus sed, 'Ole man, git in! 
 
 I'se dun forgive yer all yer sin.' 
 
 Den I climb'd in very umble, 
 
 Kaze I'se erfeared dat I might tumble. 
 
44 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 An' dar sat Gabe, ez I'se erlive! 
 
 Dat angel cum erlong ter drive. 
 
 Den Jesus sed, *It's past erleben; 
 
 By twelve o'clock we'll be in Heben. 
 
 Drive up, Gabe, dusn't like de smell; 
 
 Dis place, hit seems too close ter hell!' 
 
 An, ez de horses dash'd erlong, 
 
 I raised my voice an sung dis song: 
 
 *0h, my soul mounted higher, 
 
 On a chariot of fire, 
 
 And the world it was under my feet.' 
 
 When we passed thro' de gate ez I'd been told, 
 
 De chariot roU'd over bricks uv gold, 
 
 I seed all de angels wid bright golden wings, 
 
 An' a world all a shinin' wid beautiful things! 
 
 I tuck oft my hat, ez I thought, but I found 
 
 My ole hat wuz changed to er bright golden 
 
 crown! 
 I stepped on de pavement so slick I fell down, 
 An' when I erriz, I wuz here on de groun!. 
 But, brederen, I know dat my sins ar forgiven, 
 Kaze de Lord Jesus tuck me in a tranch up 
 
 ter Heaven." 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 46 
 OILY TONSO. 
 
 Oily Tonso, the barber, was the next that arose, 
 Displaying the dude in the cut of his clothes, 
 Which showed to perfection his shape and his 
 
 figure; 
 For Oily was not altogether a nigger. 
 His nose, it was flat like a yellow tomato, 
 Which marked him a negro, although a mulatto. 
 His hair, long and cripsy, was tastefully laid. 
 Which smelt of Macassar, the oil of his trade. 
 He smiled as he rose with a look of decision 
 And said, ''My dear brudders, I, too's, had a 
 
 wizhan; 
 I drempt I had died an went ter de gate. 
 I was skeer'd when I knocked, for I thought I 
 
 wuz late. 
 Ole Peter, de keeper, hoUer'd, 'Whose dar?' 
 Sez I, 'Oily Tonso, de barber from far!' 
 Sez he, 'Wuz yer er Christian in de days uv 
 
 yer youth? 
 Wuz yer honest an' alers stuck ter de trufe?' 
 I answered 'I wuz, ez fer ez I know.' 
 
46 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS " 
 
 Jes den I heard an ole rooster crow. 
 Peter laffed ez he sed, *Yer miserable har! 
 My ole rooster says yer shud burn in hellfire! 
 Altho' de ole cock is two thousand years old, 
 He always would crow when he heard a lie told. 
 Now, Oily Tonso, for once tell de trufe. 
 Wasn't yer a liar an' thief from yer youth?' 
 'I'se pray 'dfer forgiveness, please, Mahsr Peter; 
 I knows dat I'se been de mos' sinfulest creeter.' 
 Des den a hen cackled, an' ole Peter said: 
 'When dat hen hears de trufe, a fresh egg is 
 
 laid.' 
 Den Peter sed, solemn: 'Dat gibs yer er chance, 
 Go back ter de wurl an' don't lie er dance; 
 Be er good Christian, ervoidin' all sin. 
 An' de gate will be open wen yer cums back 
 
 ergin.' 
 
 SISTER CARLINE. 
 
 Then Sister Carline took the floor, 
 Kick'd the sand-filled cuspidor. 
 Then laid aside her box of snuff, 
 PuU'd down her gown, roll'd up the cuff: 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 47 
 
 "Brederen an' sisters, I'se, too, had trances. 
 
 Since I jined de church, I'se quit de dances. 
 
 I'se gwine ter 'gin my testamentaries, 
 
 Togedder wid my sentamentaries. 
 
 I had er wizhan, it mout been er dream: 
 
 My spirit wuz floatin' away, it seem. 
 
 I had hearn much of Sodom iti the town of 
 
 Gomorra, 
 An' I thought I was leabin' dese low lands uv 
 
 sorrow. 
 I crossed de dark riber, an' had not ter wait, 
 De angels ter meet me cum out er de gate; 
 An' de fus' one I met, do, I didn't know 
 Wuz a plantation nigger — ole Uncle Joe! 
 We entered de city, dar wuz er great light; 
 An' lo an' behold! Uncle Joe had turn'd white! 
 Sez he: *Glad ter see yer. Sister Carline! 
 You's cum up ter Heaben lookin' so fine!' 
 Sez I: 'Uncle Joe, eberything seems so strange. 
 How cum yer so white, an' whut made de 
 
 change?' 
 Uncle Joe laffed an' sed, *Dat's er joke!' 
 
48 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 An' I know'd it wuz trufe, de word dat he 
 
 spoke. 
 Says he: 'Sister CarKne, I tells yer de fack, 
 De niggers ar white here, de white folks ar 
 
 black; 
 An' dars our ole Massar, he now drives my 
 
 carriage. 
 I drove for his wife soon arter dar marriage. 
 You'll see de ole missus; I wants yer ter look 
 An' see how she's changed since I took her ter 
 
 cook. 
 Wen dey cum ter de gate dey like not ter got in; 
 Fer dey thought at de big house dat dancin's 
 
 no sin. 
 I put in a word, an' it had de effeck 
 Uv 'em lookin' ter see if de books wur korreck; 
 Dey balanced de books, korrecked de figgers: 
 Do dancin' wuz wrong, dey wuz good ter de 
 
 niggers! 
 ^Whose dem yaller angels?' an' Uncle Joe sed: 
 'Dem's de good Injuns — dey's good wen dey's 
 
 ded! 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 49 
 
 Dey all changes color in Heaben's bright light: 
 De white folks ar black and de niggers ar 
 
 white. 
 Wen de nigger cums thro' de celestial gate, 
 His color turns white an' his har it gits straight. 
 Wen de white folks git in dey ar none de less 
 
 happy, 
 Do dar color is black, an' dar har it am nappy. 
 Since yer lef on de yearth yer folly an' pride. 
 Cum git in my carriage, an' we'll take a ride. 
 I rides in my carriage, I perfers it ter wings. 
 Do I's got 'em at home; dey is beautiful things! 
 I'll now show yer all de beauties of Heaven. 
 Dar's none wicked here, dar sins ar forgiven; 
 No sinners up here, dey ar sent ter de devil, 
 An' all uv us Christians am on de same level, 
 No title of generals, kernals, or chiefs, 
 No creeds to disturb us, we'ze de same in be- 
 liefs, 
 We'ze all uv us equals, jes sisters an' brudders. 
 In de mansion uv bliss, one ez good az de 
 
 tothers. 
 
50 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 De cushions so softwe's rode all erround, 
 It seemed like er dream, I wuz sleepin' so sound 
 Dat wen I woke up I wuz back here agin 
 Ter lib out my days in dis cold wurl uv sin." 
 
 FIDDLER HORACE. 
 
 J'iddler Horace got up when Carline had done. 
 *'Bruderin," he said, *'my dream wuz no fun! 
 My conscience wuz hurtin\ fur sins I suppose; 
 Fer dat haz grown seedy ez well as my clothes. 
 I don't kno de difference twixt wizhns an' 
 
 trances, 
 But I know it ar wicked ter fiddle fer dances. 
 It are no happy wizhn dat I hez ter tell; 
 I dreampt dat I died an' went down ter hell, 
 An' dar wuz ole Satan, his tail stickin' out. 
 Says he, *Come in Horace! wut yer been erbout? 
 Open wide de gate an' let de fiddler in; 
 He's a fine recruit jes from a world uv sin! 
 Preachers are gittin' too numerous to tell. 
 But fiddlers like Horace are very scarce in hell. 
 When Parson Johnson cums we're gwine ter 
 
 gin a ball; 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 51 
 
 He's de biggest liar an' hypocrite uv all.' 
 'He'll never cum', sez I, *nor be by God de- 
 serted, 
 For I ken testify by him I wuz converted.' 
 'Dat meetin',' said de debil, 'I, too, attended, 
 An' here's yer fiddle dat I picked up an' mended. 
 So tune it up and rub some rosin on yer bow. 
 Dars lots uv dancers here I'd like fer you ter 
 
 know.' 
 *Git behind me, Satan,' I answered pat an' 
 
 quick. 
 An' he sure did git behind, an' gin me sich a 
 
 kick 
 Wid his ole cloven foot dat I fell on de floor, 
 An' busted dat ole fiddle wus den it wuz before! 
 'Don't yer quote scripter here, an' its no use to 
 
 pray; 
 Now, here's another fiddle — jes take holt an' 
 
 play!' 
 De debil' s imps and dragons had all kum in fer 
 
 fun, 
 An' de all firedist racket yer eber hearn begun. 
 
52 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Jes den Lord Jesus entered, an' Satan he most 
 
 fainted, 
 Wen Jesus sez, *How dars yer, Satan, bother 
 
 one I've sainted?' 
 *Good Lord,' sez Satan, 'I thought dat all de 
 
 trade 
 Uv fiddlers fer hell erspecially wur made.' 
 ^Yer ole liar an' father uv all de liars! 
 Yer knows he's 'pinted harper uv all de heb- 
 
 enly choirs!' 
 Den he puU'd out a whip uv scoropins an' fell 
 On Satan an' his imps and lash'd em over hell; 
 Satan jump'd in de fiah an' kick'd up de ashes, 
 Tryin' ter git erway frum de Lord Jesus' 
 
 lashes; 
 Den de imps an' dragons each tuck ter his hole. 
 I seed de door lef open an' out uv dar I stole. 
 No race hoss eber made such time erpon a track 
 Ez fiddler Horace made on his way er gittin' 
 
 back. 
 I prays de Lord I'll never git in such a scrape. 
 I tells you, brudders, it wuz er mighty close 
 
 escape." 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 53 
 BANJO ISOM. 
 
 Banjo Isom arose. ^'Bruderin," said he, 
 *'Dars ben no such things as tranches fer me; 
 Fer I wuz born wid er caul on my face, 
 Which is not ertall common to one uv my race. 
 I haz er gif only natur ken make, 
 I ken see spirits wen I's erwake. 
 I haz de gif uv healin' erflictions 
 In sores er in wounds, dars no restrictions. 
 My daddy died erfore I wuz born'd erwhile 
 An' dat made me born'd er orphan chile. 
 I wuz de sebenth son uv er sebenth son. 
 De udder six am libin' all but one. 
 Dar's de greates' vartu in de number seben; 
 God made de wurl in six days an' went up ter 
 
 heaben. 
 An' dar He rested on de sebenth day. 
 De niggers hke it best de odder way: 
 Dey rest de sebenth, all de week dey play. 
 Dar wuz seben days and seben nights, 
 Seben candles an' seben lights, 
 Dar's de seben stars; yer sees but six uv dem; 
 
54 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 De odder showed de way ter Bethlehem, 
 
 An' dat's de way de wise men wuz able 
 
 Ter find de baby Savior in de stable. 
 
 Las' week er naber's chile fell in the flah, 
 
 We sebenth sons don't use our gifts fur hire! 
 
 I tended it, an' nex day, got er letter, 
 
 Its fader sed de chile wuz doin' better. 
 
 We sebenth sons don't eber keer fer wealth, 
 
 Dey only breathes on dem de breth uv health. 
 
 But den er doctor M. D. kum er long 
 
 An' sed dat I wuz doin' mighty wrong. 
 
 He tole dem folks de banjo-picker lied; 
 
 Den gin de chile some phyic an' it died! 
 
 At night ez I walks out er trablin' roun', 
 
 I sees dem spirits creepin' on de groun', 
 
 I sees em kaze I wuz born'd wid er caul, 
 
 I sees wut tother folks can't see at all. 
 
 Sometimes dey cums erroun' erbout twilight; 
 
 I ken see em almost ebery night, 
 
 Ez specially in de darkness uv de moon, 
 
 Some cums erroun' errackin' like er coon, 
 
 Sum uv 'em bout ez tall ez er big dog. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 55 
 
 Dar's one I sees like a monsrous bull-frog, 
 
 An' ebery time dat evil spirit jumps, 
 
 He picks erpon er banjo an' he tumps. 
 
 His music wuz so bad, I thought I'd show 
 
 Dat debil how ter play on dat banjo; 
 
 Den I membered de parson tole ter me, 
 
 'Desist de debil an' from you he'll flee'. 
 
 I's quit de banjo an' its works uv evil; 
 
 Darfo Fs able ter desist de debil. 
 
 I sing no mo' de songs uv worldliness, 
 
 But only hymns dat de good Lord will bless. 
 
 I tells yer all dem music insterments 
 
 Ar devices de debil hisself invents; 
 
 An' his purpose you heard Brudder Johnson 
 
 - tell 
 Ar jes ter lead poor sinners down ter hell. 
 Yer ken not see dem spirits ez I does, 
 But you sometimes may hear dem devils buzz 
 A still small voice dat you may often hear, 
 Softly whisperin' evil in yer ear. 
 Perhaps you may believe its yer own self dat 
 thinks 
 
56 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 When tempted by dis debil ter take drinks, 
 
 An' you may think its your own heart dat longs 
 
 Ter dance ergin an' sing dose worldly songs; 
 
 But its dem spirits whisperin' very low, 
 
 As soft an' sweet ez Horace's fiddle bow. 
 
 An' dem deductive notes I play'd on de banjo. 
 
 I am myself by dem devils sorely tried, 
 
 But now I knows I's safe, for I's sanctified! 
 
 I know my callin' an election sho', 
 
 Since I denounced de devil and de banjo!" 
 
 The meeting closed with songs of praise. 
 As summer pass'd, those mournful lays, 
 And monotony of sacred songs 
 Were wearing on those youthful throngs 
 Who pick'd the white locks from the stalks, 
 Wearied of old folks' solemn talks. 
 Those youthful spirits full of glee. 
 Whose natures struggled to be free. 
 Felt a desire to break the chain 
 That link'd them to each sad refrain. 
 When autum winds began to moan, 
 And freshened with a livelier tone. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 57 
 
 The leaves were dancing in the trees, 
 To pinetop fiddles in the breeze, 
 Dressed in colors that would vie 
 With tints of beauty in the sky; 
 And everywhere the eye could range, 
 Dame Nature's self had seemed to change; 
 For, as the year was growing old. 
 The hickory trees were dressed in gold. 
 When forests changed their dress of green, 
 The gums put on a purple sheen; 
 To suit the season' s growing cold, 
 The oaks were clad in bronze and gold; 
 In varied shades of green and yellow, 
 There hung persimmons ripe and mellow; 
 The grape vine in rich festoons swung. 
 Where ripening grapes in clusters hung. 
 Rejoicing in the woodland's free 
 Carol of birds and song of bee; 
 The lark sang as he swung and swayed 
 On slender weed down in the glade; 
 The brown thrush singing loud and clear, 
 His every note a voice of cheer; 
 
58 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 The plaintive cooing of the dove 
 
 Had in its voice a tone of love. 
 
 The mockingbird, tho' plainly dressed, 
 
 Had, in its song, as if in jest, 
 
 A medley, stolen from all the rest, 
 
 Of songs that made the woodland gay, 
 
 From thrush and lark, from dove and jay, 
 
 And flocks of birds in every tree, 
 
 All singing loud their songs of glee 
 
 That filled the air with melody. 
 
 The wonder is why 'twas not given 
 
 To make our beauteous earth a heaven, 
 
 Since every tone in Nature's voice 
 
 Bids the creature, man, rejoice; 
 
 Since bird and bee and singing tree 
 
 Tell him how happy he might be 
 
 If Christian worship could be free 
 
 From creeds that shackle liberty! 
 
 The Creator' s plan did not intend 
 
 The negro's mind should comprehend 
 
 The lesson that our scriptures teach, 
 
 Which thro' his skull can never reach. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 59 
 
 The negro gives but little heed 
 
 To churches, laws, or Christian creed. 
 
 Born but to service and obey, 
 
 His nature bows to white man's sway. 
 
 Education only makes a fool 
 
 Of creatures never born to rule. 
 
 His mingling by amalgamation 
 
 Would soon destroy our civilization; 
 
 For, he becomes a beast of prey 
 
 When loos'nd from the white man's sway; 
 
 Nor has he made in all the ages 
 
 A monument on history's pages! 
 
 Those tropic isles that gem the sea 
 
 Were lost to lands that set them free. 
 
 The votaries of a God that's true 
 
 Bow to the Baal of Voudou, 
 
 Where only summer's zephyrs blow, 
 
 Where fruits and flowers in beauty grow. 
 
 Where sun and moon and starbeams shine 
 
 Upon a land that seems divine! 
 
 If Christian governments were wise, 
 
 They'd make those isles a paradise; 
 
60 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Teach them to own the just control 
 Of Christian nations with a soul. 
 These facts make many people doubt 
 If this dark beast be not without 
 The immortality that was given 
 When God created man in Eden. 
 The true worship of God is in deeds; 
 For, rehgion consists not in creeds. 
 The Christian Knight under shield, 
 Met Saracen Knight on the field. 
 The Crusades did nothing avail 
 In search of the myth Holy Grail. 
 The veil of the temple was rent 
 And the host of each army was spent. 
 Each called the other deceivers; 
 Neither one in the other believers. 
 Whatever men think or pray for, 
 Each thinks his own creed the safer. 
 The Catholic Church builds its hope 
 On their creed an infallible pope. 
 By protestants this is denied, 
 And each thinks that the other has lied; 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 61 
 
 Some sprinkle, some pour, some immerse, 
 And each thinks that the other is worse. 
 From the ranks of both Christian and Jew 
 The devil will sure get his duel 
 They all alike fail in their deeds, 
 Laid down in the laws of their creeds. 
 They repent of their past sins in sorrow, 
 And commit the same sins on to-morrow I 
 The Moslem, too, believes he is right; 
 For the same thing the Christian will fight! 
 Christ gave us a far better creed; 
 It was to help one another in need. 
 His commandment of **Love one another*' 
 Would make of the whole world a brother. 
 Our Savior's is the best of all creeds. 
 When foUow'd by Charity's deeds. 
 They must quit the idol they chase- 
 Not a calf, but a fair woman's face. 
 The idol they greedily follow, 
 Stamped on the Almighty dollar. 
 
 The sceptic may think that we dream 
 In wandering off from our theme. 
 
62 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 We'll T'eturn to the old plantation, 
 
 Where the negro is in his right station. 
 
 Without conscience for his evil deeds, 
 
 He comp'rehends no Christian creeds. 
 
 Unfitted for civilization. 
 
 His religion is but a sensation. 
 
 Even in this enlightened land. 
 
 No pang of conscience stays his hand; 
 
 His only care is to escape 
 
 The law for murder, theft, or rape. 
 
 When all are converted religion grows stale: 
 
 Satan is routed and no sins to bewail. 
 
 Down by a brook in a sweet flowery glade, 
 Where a gnarl'd sycamore spread its wide shade. 
 And the sun set in clouds of red, purple and dun. 
 While the young moon and stars dance in the run 
 Of the clear little brook, our musicians sat 
 On the soft mossy bank; and this was their 
 
 chat: 
 **Isom," said Horace, ''has yer seen gwine 
 
 erroun' 
 Dem spirits yer tole uv at de big meetin' 
 
 groun'?'' 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 63 
 
 **Wut fer yer ax dat?" said Isom, grinning; 
 **Dat's wen we boff ergreed ter quit sinning. 
 If yer sees one uv dem wid er new violin 
 Jis ax 'im ter try fiddler Horace ergin!" 
 **Horace, wuz yer lyin' wen we all hearn yer 
 
 tell 
 Erbout de wishn yer had wid de debil in hell?^' 
 '*I wuz jes like de res'. Whar's dem spirits 
 
 yer seed?'' 
 **I haint seen none since, kaze dar's bin no 
 
 need. 
 De parson, de champion Har uv us all. 
 When he sed he seed angels walk down de hall 
 An' convert you an' me, as he erserted, 
 Yer know mighty well we wuz never converted. 
 De parson had set all de niggers ergin us. 
 An' we had ter jine parson, devil, and sinners! 
 De fact 'twuz de fashion erbout dat erwhile. 
 But religion is thinner an' now's out uv style, 
 An' we, like two fools, bust in de middle 
 Uv dat dusty road our banjo an' fiddle! 
 Wut's we gwine ter do ter get us some udders? 
 
64 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Money is scarce 'mong us Christian brudders. 
 I've an ole sow an' pigs an' dem pigs will squeal, 
 But de money' 11 cum back wen we get's up a 
 
 reel. 
 Isom mus' hab a banjo an' dat Jarsy heifer 
 Will go fer er banjo ez soon ez I ketch her." 
 
 Softly the night wind sighs through the trees, 
 When voices of negroes are borne on the breeze, 
 Mournfully singing a sad lamentation 
 For the fiddle and banjo lost to the plantation. 
 
 Farewell ter de fiddle an' de bow! 
 
 Do we sing it sad an' low? 
 
 De bow am bent an' de fiddle am broke, 
 
 An' my heart is rent by de dreadful stroke! 
 
 Farewell ter de fiddle an' de bow! 
 
 My heart am tore, my feelin's sore, 
 
 For we'll neber hear dat fiddle no more. 
 
 Farewell ter de fiddle an' de bow, 
 
 Likewise de ole banjo! 
 
 No more you'll hear it hum 
 
 When de happy Christmas cum 
 
 For de preacher did say 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 65 
 
 Dat de debil gits erway 
 Wid de nigger if he play 
 Wid de fiddle an' de bow 
 An' de ole banjo. 
 
 A woodpecker settin' on a dead tree limb, 
 
 He looked at me an' I look'd at him, 
 
 He tapped it loud an' he tapped it low, 
 
 An' it 'minded me much uv de ole banjo! 
 
 Dar wus music in de tree 
 
 An' it seemed ter say ter me, 
 
 Dey tole me 'twus er sin 
 
 Fer ter play de violin; 
 
 An' Horace is lamentin' fer de fiddle an' de 
 
 bow. 
 An' Isom is er grieving for de ole banjo. 
 
 NEGRO CHARACTERISTICS. 
 
 The autum is coming; the summer is gone; 
 The brown leaves are falling upon the green 
 
 lawn; 
 The weeds in the meadows look seedy and sober, 
 Chill'd by the dews of cold nights in October. 
 
66 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Cotton's the trade that most negroes follow; 
 It's surest to bring in the Almighty dollar. 
 *'E Pluribus Unum" is stamp'd on its rim, 
 Meaning many in one, that is, three crops for 
 
 him. 
 The first crop that opens hangs low to the earth; 
 The second's the middle round stalks like a girth; 
 The third is the top, unless it grows fast 
 The frost King will kill it the first winter's 
 
 blast. 
 The frost-bitten boll turns dark and then sours; 
 It is wither'd and dead in a very few hours. 
 The negro by nature can never despair; 
 He lives in the present, gives the future no care; 
 The white man must feed him regardless of loss. 
 The burden of care always falls on '^the boss." 
 When the cotton bolls open early in fall, 
 The laborers gather, men, women, and all. 
 The boys and the girls with baskets in rows. 
 Gather the low locks while the top blossom 
 
 grows. 
 They are merry and happy, their voices are 
 
 ringing 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 67 
 
 With laughter and songs, they work best when 
 
 singing, 
 Not those long metre tunes, Oh, tell it not! 
 Parson Johnson will moan for those sad hymns 
 
 forgot. 
 The negroes by nature love notoriety; 
 They know nothing of caste in each other's 
 
 society. 
 When a negro's convicted, and serves out his 
 
 time, 
 No one seems to care for or remember his 
 
 crime; 
 When returning from prison a welcome he'll 
 
 find, 
 Not one of his race speaks a word that's unkind. 
 In slavery he was seldom^ if ever, insane; 
 Now the study of books is too much for his 
 
 brain. 
 His mind, through ages by ignorance shrouded, 
 Gives way to the pressure of learning, when 
 
 crowded. 
 Flattery fills his head with conceit; 
 Too ignorant to know when he meets with 
 
 defeat. 
 
68 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 If invited to speak it makes him feel proud, 
 Nor is he abash'd at facing a crowd 
 Of most cultured scholars. He's ready to prove 
 That the world's standing still, "an' de sun it 
 
 do move." 
 If he has a want he will not deny it, 
 He has but one thought, "Has he money to 
 
 buy it?" 
 If he goes on the market with products to sell, 
 What he's willing to take he never can tell; 
 Nor is he a miser, wise men have said it, 
 He'd buy up the state, if sold on a credit! 
 Let us back to the field, there is no use to 
 
 reason. 
 The negro is in his right place at this season. 
 Of his characteristics Southerners know it. 
 But the North will not list to a Southern born 
 
 poet. 
 
 NEGRO SUPERSTITIONS. 
 
 We'll change the scene, if not the theme; 
 Things are not always what they seem. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Aunt Mandy, in spite of daily cares, 
 
 The pickers frugal meal prepares. 
 
 She also invitations sends 
 
 To numbers of her color'd friends, 
 
 All whom she banters for a tilt 
 
 In sewing on a crazy quilt, 
 
 But fails to send an invitation 
 
 To Huldy, witch of the plantation. 
 
 The slight excited Huldy' s ire^ 
 
 Who threatened her with vengeance dire. 
 
 Uncle Jesse, coming with his load 
 
 Of cotton, met Huldy in the road; 
 
 Smiling, she offered him a cake*. 
 
 Saying 'twas best that she could bake. 
 
 Just then, a lizzard on the ground. 
 
 Made Uncle Jesse jump around. 
 
 He ate the cake and, laughing, said. 
 
 Of vermin he was much afraid. 
 
 Aunt Mandy' s supper was too rich. 
 
 Yet he insisted 'twas the witch 
 
 That gave him such a wracking pain, 
 
 'Gainst which he struggl'd all in vain; 
 
70 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 He swore it was old Huldy's cake, 
 
 Nor would he doctor's physic take. 
 
 After he' made a diagnosis, 
 
 The doctor tried by every process 
 
 To make him swallow pill or lotion. 
 
 Of which ole Jesse had no notion. 
 
 And told the doctor, when he died 
 
 He'd find a lizzard in his hide! 
 
 It was a serious condition, 
 
 Tho' only a negro super stitution. 
 
 The doctor left, and there they took 
 
 To nurse him back mammy Sukey, cook. 
 
 Who nursed arid physic'd white folk's babies, 
 
 But could not cure a case of rabies. 
 
 Uncle Jesse's case seemed very bad; 
 
 She fear'd that he was going mad; 
 
 She tried both lotion and massage. 
 
 But nothing could the pain assuage. 
 
 Aunt Sukey had a kindly face. 
 
 The gentlest nature on the place. 
 
 She always had the confidence 
 
 Of white folks; they had common sense. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 71 
 
 But with believers in witchcraft, 
 
 At which white folks only laughed, 
 
 Negroes are very superstitious 
 
 And of their race always suspicious, 
 
 So, Aunt Sukey call'd to see 
 
 What she could do with old Huldy. 
 
 Of witches Sukey had no fear. 
 
 Her voice was full of hope and cheer. 
 
 Her tone so kind none could resist her, 
 
 Greeting her, ''Good morning, sister! 
 
 Fse glad ter see yer! I hopes you'se well! 
 
 I've somethin' dat I want's ter tell. 
 
 I'se in much trouble 'bout er friend. 
 
 Whose life, I fear, mus' shortly end. 
 
 Jesse, my nabor, is like a brudder, 
 
 An' one good turn deserves anudder. 
 
 An' if Mandy haz yer slighted, 
 
 Dar is no wrong dat can't be righted; 
 
 Because he haz er foslish wife. 
 
 It should not cost a good man's life! 
 
 Huldy, I want's yer ter remember 
 
 How cold it wuz in last December, 
 
72 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Wen snow wuz beatin' in thro' de cracks 
 
 Uv dis ere house, I hearn an axe, 
 
 Ez on de white folks' porch I stood. 
 
 'Twas Uncle Jesse choppin' wood 
 
 Which he cut an' hauled ter you, 
 
 A favor no one else wud do. 
 
 Uncle Jesse haz a kindly heart. 
 
 An' alers takes a nabor's part. 
 
 I want's yer to go wid me ter night 
 
 An' see if we can't get him right." 
 
 In every thing in God's creation. 
 
 In man or beast, in every nation. 
 
 Even among the beasts of prey, 
 
 Call it instinct or what you may. 
 
 Even the wolf will howl, and groan. 
 
 And risk its life to help its own! 
 
 In every thing, in nature still. 
 
 There's something good as well as ill. 
 
 There is a Horeb in all hearts. 
 
 If touched by rods of kindness, starts, 
 
 And waters of affection flow. 
 
 Because God's love hath made them so. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 73 
 
 Aunt Sukey's voice was kind and cheerful, 
 While Huldy's eyes were sad and tearful. 
 A smile upon her stern face show'd 
 The rock was struck, the waters flowed. 
 Says she, *^Aunt Sukey, yee may tell 
 Uncle Jesse he will soon be well. 
 Den put a blister on his side 
 Jes whar he sez de lizzard hide, 
 Den I'll come meet yer dar ter ni^ht. 
 An' thinks us boff ken make him right." 
 Aunt Sukey returned to Uncle Jess 
 An' said, ^'T've news yer cannot guess. 
 Huldy sez she'll come an' cure you, 
 An' from all witchcraft secure you. 
 I'se been dar; she's got de stuff 
 Ter kill de lizzard, an' dat's enuff." 
 ^'Don't bring her here, she'll kill me sure! 
 Witches wuz neber known ter cure. 
 She kilt dat gal, Malindy Jane, 
 De white folks sed she wuz insane. 
 She had some hens settin' in kegs, 
 An' one wuz sot erpon duck eggs. 
 
74 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 She found 'em at Huldy's one month arter- 
 
 The ducklings paddlin' in some water. 
 
 She claimed de hen an' made a fuss, 
 
 An' dat is what kick'd up de muss. 
 
 She tole her dat 'fore long she'd see 
 
 Whut 'twuz ter be a busy bee, 
 
 She'd hear bees buzzin' in her head, 
 
 An' dey'd keep buzzin' till she's dead. 
 
 One night, de gal she dreampt er dream, 
 
 All' in it Huldy dar did seem 
 
 Ter be er standin' by her bed 
 
 An' put her han' beneath her head. 
 
 Dey zamin'd an' foun' a witches' ball. 
 
 But could'nt tell whut 'twuz er tall. 
 
 An' dey neber know'd jes whut it wuz, 
 
 But er bee flew roun' an' gan ter buzz; 
 
 An' fo de sun went down nex' day, 
 
 Malindy Jane had pass'd erway. 
 
 Den dar wuz good ole Uncle Jack 
 
 Whut ust ter walk wid er bent back. 
 
 He sot his dog on Hildy's cow. 
 
 An' dat's how dey begin de row. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 75 
 
 Huldy got mad an' tole ole Jack 
 She uz gwineter take erway his track. 
 Den his feet 'gan swelhn' an' gittin' cole, 
 An' he died jes eighty-two years ole. 
 Dey 'xamen'd whar he walk'd erroun', 
 An' not er track could dar be foun' . 
 When witches take erway de tracks, 
 Dey's not here long, now dem's de facts." 
 ^*I tells yer dar's nuffin' fer yer ter fear 
 From Huldy, an' when she comes here, 
 An' do de niggers calls her wizard, 
 She'll erleabe yer uv dat lizzard. 
 An' I'se er gwine ter assist her. 
 Be quiet, while I fix dis blister." 
 That night, some one knock'd at the door, 
 And Huldy stepp'd in on the floor. 
 An' bowing, said: *^How is yer all? 
 Uncle Jesse, I'se jes come ter call. 
 How is yer doin'? I'se yer friend. 
 An' wants ter make dis trouble end; 
 I only wants ter do yer good; 
 I hain't forgot yer fotch'd me wood. 
 
76 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 An* kaze Aunt Sukey calPd me sister, 
 I tole her how ter fix yer blister. 
 Then with a blade the blister prick'd, 
 She from his side the lizzard picked, 
 That all might see she held it high, 
 An' squeezed it till they saw it die. 
 Wriggling as it dying gasped 
 In the clutch her fingers clasped, 
 She threw it from her on the floor, 
 And passed in silence out the door. 
 This may seem a strange tale to tell. 
 But in a week ole Jess was well! 
 
 THE FARMER'S LIFE. 
 
 The winter has come; cold frosts of December 
 
 Have blighted the flowers that bloom'd in Sep- 
 tember; 
 
 The fruits are all gone that summer had 
 mellow' d; 
 
 The green woods are bronz'd by Autumn w^inds 
 yellow' d; 
 
 The corn crops are gathered, the stalks stand- 
 ing bare, 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 77 
 
 Stripp'd of their fodder, no longer a care; 
 
 The fields and the meadows by mowers are 
 
 cleaned, 
 And only the stubble shows where they were 
 
 glean'd. 
 With cribs full of corn and hay cut and ricked, 
 The crop is all safe when cotton is picked. 
 By springtime the stalks will be withered and 
 
 broken, 
 Entomb'd in the barn the seed will be taken 
 That, covered with earth, they will rise from 
 
 the tomb. 
 And in a new life in beauty will bloom. 
 All things in nature bring man the reflection. 
 He'll arise to new life at the great resurrection. 
 Tho' winds sweep the earth and snows cover 
 
 the plain. 
 The flowers will burst forth in beauty again! 
 Tho' no marble may mark the spot where he 
 
 lies. 
 The humblest from earth will in glory arise! 
 Tho' a poet's light fancies may be but a dream, 
 Kaleidoscope pictures are not what they seem, 
 
78 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Yet are useful as models to make illustrations 
 Or adorn a bright thought in a poet's creations, 
 In fancy, I see the old plantation clad 
 In Autumnal beauties, which now make me sad, 
 To think, no matter where on earth I roam, 
 I'll ne'er return to childhood's sweet home! 
 I see, in dreams, the home that once was mine; 
 I see the grapes in clusters on the vine; 
 I hear the pattering nuts and acorns fall. 
 And overhead I hear the wild fowl call. 
 From Artie regions, traveling night and day, 
 On wearied pinion wend their southward way; 
 I see again, upon this winter night. 
 The stars that never beamed elsewhere so 
 bright! 
 
 I wonder then in fancy's dreams — but hark! 
 
 I hear a sound so cheering — 'tis a bark 
 
 Of hunting dogs. Perhaps they've struck a 
 
 trail. 
 It's that same old coon with rings around his 
 
 tail. 
 I hear the shouts of hunters cheer the pack 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 79 
 
 As they cry in chorus on the track, 
 And voice of negroes in merry conversation, 
 With cheering shouts of wild anticipation. 
 How sweet the cry of swiftly running pack! 
 There's not a chord in music that they lack. 
 'Tis sweet to hear, when bowed before the 
 
 throne 
 Of God in worship, the organ's solemn tone! 
 'Tis sweet to hear the violin and lute. 
 When harsher instruments of bands are mute! 
 'Tis sweet to feel the thrill of the cornet 
 Mingled with trombone and clarinet! 
 The crash of a full orchestra is grand! 
 But, there's sweeter music yet that * 'beats the 
 
 band," 
 A more inspiring concord of sweet sounds— 
 'Tis the glad music of a pack of hounds! 
 Softer the cadence passing o'er hill and dells! 
 They are coming! How the rapturous music 
 
 swells! 
 The intonation of each voice is clear. 
 Hurrah! Old Mingo leads, they are coming near. 
 
80 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS' 
 
 The cries are hush'd; I fear he's got away! 
 Hark! boys! they've treed! I hear old Min- 
 go's bay. 
 We gather round the tree with shouts of joy. 
 Oh! would I were again a happy boy, 
 Coon hunting as in years of long ago, 
 Cutting the pigeon wing to Horace's fiddle bow, 
 Singing coon songs with Isom's old banjo! 
 How happy is the farmer' s daily life, 
 The pleasant home, bright children, and sweet 
 
 wife! 
 His cares are joys; he walks among the rows, 
 Watching with anxious eye each plant that 
 
 grows, 
 As it breaks through earth's harden'd crust, 
 Rising in beauty from a bed of dust, 
 A new and beauteous thing from birth, 
 A reminder of God's promiee to our earth, 
 When washed from sin his rainbow span'd 
 
 the space 
 'Twixt Heaven and earth, a promise to our race. 
 Yet from the curse of the primeval sin. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 81 
 
 Labor he must his daily bread to win. 
 
 Crops must be tilled with culture and with care, 
 
 His only hope for living well next year. 
 
 He must protect it from encroaching vines. 
 
 Even the morning gfory which entwines 
 
 Its tendils round it in its early hours, 
 
 Is sacrified with its bright purple flowers. 
 
 The plow and hoe must kill the grass and weed 
 
 That otherwise would choke the fruitful seed, 
 
 By taking from the cultivated soil 
 
 Its nourishment, the farmer's care and toil. 
 
 But, when the cares of day are over. 
 
 The sweet wife greets the husband lover. 
 
 The purest joy that Heaven can bless 
 
 A man with is a wife's caress! 
 
 And when the moon and stars at night 
 
 Feed the growing plants with light, 
 
 The trilling notes of the mocking bird 
 
 In songs around the house are heard. 
 
 When sleep has closed his tired lids 
 
 To the lullaby of katydids. 
 
 The fragrant breath of bulbs and roses 
 
 Perfumes the air, while he reposes. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS 
 POEMS 
 
TOM HOLLIDAY 
 
 CAPT. Thomas C. HoUiday, of Aberdeen, 
 Miss., a staff officer in Gen. Joe Davis' 
 Brigade, was killed while bearing a message 
 across the battlefield during the desperate en- 
 gagement in the Wilderness of Virginia, May 
 6, 1864. Gen. Davis being absent on a visit to 
 Richmond, Col. John M. Stone commanded the 
 brigade and retook, on the second day of the 
 battle, a position from which he had been driven 
 before. The Second Mississippi Regiment 
 (Stone's) commanded by Capt. Thos. J. Craw- 
 ford, of Pontotoc, lost over half its numbers, 
 and Colonel Stone himself, although severely 
 wounded, refused to leave the field, and 'tis said 
 that he burst into tears as he looked over the 
 field on the bodies of his fallen comrades. 
 
 Capt. Tom Holliday was conspicuous for 
 gallantry during the entire engagement, and his 
 fall was deeply regretted by all who knew him, 
 as he was a general favorite. He delivered a 
 
84 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 message as he fell from his horse in the man- 
 ner described in the lines below. Inspired by 
 his subline couTage, those brave soldiers again 
 rushed into battle, reinforcing the right and 
 driving the enemy before them as they shouted, 
 *^Tom HoUiday!" 
 
 After the battle Gen. Hill rode up and saluted 
 Col. Stone, saying: **Col. Stone, you have won 
 laurels enough to cover the entire army, and I 
 hope soon to see you rewarded with a major- 
 general' s wreath which you so well deserve to 
 wear;" to which the modest soldier replied: 
 **Gen. Hill, I have only done my duty, and if 
 you have any compliments to bestow, give 
 them to those men standing there and their 
 comrades left on the field; they did the fighting 
 and deserve the laurels." 
 
 The battle was raging; the shot and shell 
 Were shrieking and tearing through thickets 
 of pines, 
 
 While the hail of minnie in death's carnival made 
 Havoc along the Confederate lines. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 85 
 
 ''Close up!" came the order; the soldiers obeyed 
 as they 
 Stepped over the bodies of comrades just slain; 
 ''Close up!" cried the Colonel, regardless of 
 numbers, 
 "The order has come, we must charge them 
 again. 
 They are turning our flank, and the fate of the 
 battle 
 Depends on retaking the ground we have lost." 
 Well the brave Colonel knew, as he issued the 
 order, 
 What taking his former position would cost. 
 Then those veterans bold, marching shoulder 
 to shoulder. 
 Went back to the field where the grape and 
 the shrapnel 
 Were tearing the earth with ten thousand death 
 missiles, 
 Yet, forward they moved with a wild South- 
 ern yell. 
 From out the dark pines, like the rush of a 
 torrent, 
 
86 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 They gallantly charged where the enemy 
 stood, 
 Right over the breast^^orks in face of the 
 cannon, 
 Driving treble their number pell mell thro' 
 the wood; 
 Tho' they oft tried to rally, giving volley for 
 volley, 
 Until their vast columns, tottering reel'd, 
 Their serried ranks, broken in wildest disorder. 
 Were swept by our bayonets off from the 
 field. 
 Those brave Mississippians retook the breast- 
 works. 
 Then sunk down to rest, exhausted and sore. 
 While the foemen w^ere flying in rout and con- 
 fusion. 
 Leaving many behind there to welter in gore. 
 Begrimed with smoke and dust, sat the Colonel 
 On his dark steed, and his breast heaved a 
 groan 
 As he viewed the sad field, spotted, blue, gray 
 and gory 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 87 
 
 Where the best and the bravest by hundreds 
 were strown, 
 When up rushed a rider in haste, and his steed 
 Was covered with foam and his nostrils all 
 wide 
 Show'd how he's been ridden for bottom and 
 speed 
 By dashing Tom HoUiday well had been tried. 
 He halted a moment, saluted the men, 
 
 Who listened to hear what Tom had to tell: 
 **We are pressed on the right and need help," 
 He exclaimed, then reeled in his saddle and 
 fell, 
 Fell dead in the arms of those brave Missis- 
 sippians. 
 Shot thro' the body, yet, with his last breath. 
 True to his duty, this gallant young soldier 
 
 Delivered his General's order ere death 
 Could conquer a spirit that cared not for danger 
 Nor halted a moment, e'en for a death wound, 
 With a smile on his face as he looked up to 
 Heaven 
 
88 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 The hero lay dead where he fell on the ground. 
 No time to rest, boys, weVe heard Tom's last 
 order; 
 Attention, battalion! fall in! make haste! 
 Right about, doubleqnick, march! we are press- 
 ed on 
 The right, and there's no time to waste. 
 Sadly they turned from the scene of the con- 
 flict, 
 But late in the evening, afar on the right 
 They shouted his name as they drove back the 
 foemen. 
 Tom HoUiday's spirit still led in the fight. 
 
 [The steed ridden by Capt. Tom HolUday, a 
 sorrel with a blaze in his face, w^as the same on 
 which Gen. Bee was killed in the first great 
 battle at Manassas. He survived the war, and 
 was tenderly cared for by the HoUiday family 
 for a number of years, until his death.] 
 
WALTHALL. 
 
 THE HERO OF THE ROSE. 
 
 o 
 
 N Missionary's fateful ridge 
 
 Where death's shots thickest poured, 
 And cannon, massed upon our front. 
 
 In thunderous volleys roared, 
 The half-starved soldiers of the South 
 
 Closed their depleted ranks 
 Until the wasted columns reeled, 
 Pressed on the front and flanks. 
 
 Borne backward by a mighty tide, 
 
 Like ocean's heaving swell. 
 They yet carved on scroll of fame 
 
 Heroic deeds to tell. 
 On came the foe's relentless charge 
 
 Upon our wavering lines; 
 With victory flushed, their wild huzzas 
 
 Rang through the whispering pines. 
 
 A general riding to the front 
 Upon the mountain side. 
 
90 THE OLB PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Sat like a statue 'mid the hail 
 
 Of death, which he defied. 
 Around him fierce the battle raged, 
 
 Yet in his ungloved hand 
 He held no sword or weapon bright, 
 
 But waved to his command 
 
 A rose, and held it to his face 
 
 To taste its fragrant breath, 
 A contrast to the sulphurous fumes 
 
 Upon that field of death. 
 Then shouting to his men, "Come on!" 
 
 He spurred towards his foes, 
 And calmly rode 'mid hurtling shells. 
 
 Kissing the fragrant rose. 
 
 Thrilled by the sight, the men in gray 
 
 Closed ranks and faced the blue. 
 While loud above the battle's roar 
 
 There burst a yell that drew 
 Its inspiration from the rose. 
 
 Which, hke Navarre's white plume. 
 The Knightly Walthall waved aloft, 
 
 Refreshed_by its perfume. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 91 
 
 In vain the foemen charged his lines 
 
 With overwhelming force, 
 In vain they left their valor's proof 
 
 In many a bleeding corse. 
 The army's safety was assured, 
 
 His veterans slowly drag 
 Their wearied footsteps to the rear. 
 
 A rose saved General Bragg! 
 
 Many years have passed and gone 
 
 Since that eventful day, 
 ^ While civic laurels thick and fast 
 
 Had crowned his head with gray. 
 Beside the ones who loved him best 
 
 He sleeps beneath the sod. 
 He lives within his people's hearts; 
 
 His spirit's with its God. 
 
 [At the battle of Missionary Ridge Walthall's 
 Brigade was left as a forlorn hope to hold the 
 divide and cover the retreat of the Confederate 
 army against the massed force of 80,000 Federal 
 troops. This they accomplished by feats of 
 
92 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 daring scarcely paralleled in the annals of 
 modern warfare. WalthalFs gallantry was 
 conspicuous during the fight, holding a rose to 
 his face, seemingly regardless of personal 
 danger. His heroic bearing stimulated his 
 brigade to hold their position against fearful 
 odds and perform the miraculous feat of saving 
 Bragg' s army and securing their own retreat. 
 Walthall, although severely wounded, never left 
 the field.] 
 
LOCHINVAR. 
 
 O 
 
 LD Lochinvar, Old Lochinvar, 
 Thou dearest spot on earth to me, 
 Tho' I may roam in lands afar 
 My heart will fondly turn to thee. 
 
 Old Lochinvar, loved are thy hills, 
 Thy fields and meadows ever dear, 
 
 Dear to my heart thy sparkling rills. 
 Thy gushing fountains bright and clear. 
 
 Oh! for a breath from Lochinvar 
 I've sighed when in a prison cell, 
 
 A Lethe to the prison bar, 
 Would be a draft from thy sweet well. 
 
 Old Lochinvar, sweet are the flowers 
 That cluster 'round thy walls so gay. 
 
 There I have played in childhood's hours, 
 And dreamed my boyhood years away. 
 
 Old Lochinvar, Old Lochinvar, 
 Thy song-birds sing the sweetest lay; 
 
94 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Never shone sun or moon or star 
 Elsewhere with half so bright a ray. 
 
 Old Lochinvar, Old Lochinvar, 
 
 Long may thy tall oaks o'er me wave, 
 
 And may the smiling vesper star 
 Peep through thy shadows on my grave. 
 
WHERE IS MY WANDERING 
 BOY TO-NIGHT? 
 
 ^y^HERE is my wandering boy to-night? 
 
 VAx An old man sits alone to think 
 
 Of cheerful news of home to write; 
 While dipping pen in stand of ink, 
 With tearful eye and throbbing heart, 
 The question comes with fearful start. 
 
 Where is my wandering boy to-night? 
 
 Is he in pleasure's joyous throng 
 Where woman's eyes are sparkling bright, 
 Listening to some Syren's song 
 That may lead my boy astray 
 From virtue's path and honor's way? 
 
 Where is my wandering boy to-night? 
 
 I hear the bacchanalian songs, 
 And fancy paints the halls alight 
 Where youth and beauty's gathering throngs 
 Move in accord to music sweet 
 With measured steps of dancers' feet. 
 
96 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Where is my wandering boy to-night? 
 Would I could know if at this hour 
 Some tender eyes w^ere beaming bright 
 As whispers low in love's sweet bower 
 Tells the same story often told 
 In love's soft accents never old. 
 
 Where is my wandering boy to-night? 
 Has he forgot his mother's prayer 
 E'er her pure spirit took its flight 
 From this sad earth of sordid care? 
 She could not feel in heaven a joy 
 If guilt and sorrow touch'd our boy. 
 
 Where is my wandering boy to-night? 
 
 I sit in silence wondering why 
 My boy forgets of late to write; 
 I try to smother back the sigh 
 That heaves and struggles in my breast 
 With cares that will not let me rest. 
 
 Where is my wandering boy to-night? 
 
 Perhaps, with duties done, now dreaming 
 Of happy days and scenes so bright, 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 97 
 
 That once were ours and always seeming 
 In happy dreams that they will come 
 Again and bring our lov'd ones home. 
 
 Where is my wandering boy to-night? 
 
 Paternal love, no matter where, 
 In good or ill, in wrong or right, 
 Whatever fate, whatever care. 
 Fall to his lot, in grief or joy, 
 ' His father's heart is with his boy. 
 
WINE. 
 
 iy^INE, wine, wine! Soul-inspiring wine, 
 VA>/ A ruby gem. 
 
 From the purple stem. 
 Culled on the beautiful Rhine. 
 
 Wine, wine, wine! Wine of those good old days. 
 
 When love was young. 
 
 When Sappho sung. 
 And Olympus rang with thy praise. 
 
 Wine, wine, wine! The nectar deities quaffed, 
 When Orpheus sung. 
 And the sweet lyre rung. 
 
 And the nymphs in Arcadia laughed. 
 
 Wine, wine, wine! Come to the festive hall 
 When the fair young bride 
 And the groom by her side 
 
 Drink health and pleasure to all. 
 
 Wine, wine, wine! Thou art ever good and fine, 
 Whether sparkling Hock, 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 99 
 
 Or imported stock, 
 Or the wild wood Muscadine. 
 
 Wine, wine, wine! The Hygeian nectar sip, 
 
 And feel in thy heart 
 
 The young blood start, 
 Tho' age hath withered thy lip. 
 
 Wine, wine, wine! To mortals a gift divine! 
 
 'Tis no unclean thing 
 
 Of which we sfng, 
 For Christ turned water to wine. 
 
LONG AGO. 
 
 Inscribed to Mrs. S. D. Pinson, of Memphis. 
 
 XN the good old days of the long, long ago, 
 When our eyes were bright and our 
 cheeks were fair. 
 And on our heads no frost or snow 
 Of wintry cares had painted there 
 Memorial marks of fleeting years, 
 
 And eyes that beamed with youthful fires, 
 Grown dim in quenching with scalding tears. 
 
 The flames of love and youth's desires. 
 Time footed and winged like a bird as it flies 
 
 To life's pleasures and beauties a scorner, 
 Drinketh the lustre from youth's beaming eyes, 
 Leaving foot-prints, crow-tracks, in each 
 corner. 
 In the long, long ago, thro' the vista of years, 
 As I open the book and turn o'er life's pages, 
 The record is blotted with sorrowful tears. 
 And the pleasures of youth are squandered 
 life's wages. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 101 
 
 In the long, long ago, we were so happy then: 
 Little we thought on the cares of the morrow, 
 When the laughter that rang o'er hilltop and 
 glen 
 Soon should be turned to a wailing of sorrow, 
 When all seem'd so peaceful, and hope prom- 
 ised bright. 
 The future seen thro' a kaleidoscope fair. 
 When the prism of fate turned the ambient light, 
 Changing rainbow-hued beauties to clouds 
 of despair. 
 
 The storm which had gathered so dark in 
 our sky, 
 Like a cyclone that sweeps from ocean to 
 strand. 
 Swept over our homes, and a heart-broken sigh 
 And wailing and anguish were heard in the 
 land. 
 
 When the drums beat to arms and the war 
 tocsin peaFd, 
 We marched forth to battle with proud, 
 waving crest; 
 
102 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 But we left, with the dying and dead on the*" 
 field, 
 The flower of our country, our bravest and 
 best. 
 
 In the long, long ago, I remember so well 
 One fair maiden form with blonde tresses 
 sheen, 
 And her voice like a bird's so enchantingly fell 
 On the hearts of our boys that we dubbed 
 her the queen. 
 Queen of hearts, queen of love, queen of song, 
 queen of grace. 
 So queenly her gait and so queenly her mien, 
 No sculptor could chisel, no limner could trace 
 An image of beauty more fair than our queen. 
 
 'Tis long, long ago, like a beautiful dream. 
 Her features so fair still in memory lingers; 
 
 May Time, with his needle of care, stitch no seam 
 On her face, while mine is scar'd by his 
 fingers. 
 
 May her heart be as tender and warm as of 
 yore, 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 103 
 
 May none of life's sorrows and cares more 
 
 distress her. 
 There are feeUngs so pure and sincere at the core 
 Of her true woman' s heart, that men say, 
 
 '*God bless her.'' 
 
 In the long, long ago, so happy was I, 
 
 My heart long'd to set this merry old w^orld 
 To music so sweet that it never could die. 
 
 But onward through space as it laughingly 
 whirl'd, 
 Mingling with chords of the musical spheres, 
 
 As it echo'd thro' realms in the worlds afar, 
 'Till it reached in high Heaven the angels' ears, 
 
 As they listen'd to songs of the morning star. 
 
 'Tis long, long ago, the world has much changed, 
 The new years come in as the old years 
 depart. 
 And some we have loved are sadly estranged, 
 And tne world's chilly breath hangs like 
 frost 'round the heart. 
 Our Pandora of passions are scattered and 
 flown. 
 
104 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 And as we turn back in sad retrospection, 
 The flowers that hope on our pathway had 
 thrown 
 Only bloom in the garden of fond recollection 
 
MERCY^S GIFTS TO MAN. 
 
 eOD said let there be light, and there was 
 light." 
 From chaos then arose a new-made world 
 Over which smiled the sunbeams bright, 
 Which round in luminous splendor whirFd 
 ''When the morning stars sang together in 
 
 those days 
 And all the sons of God shouted for joy" 
 and praise. 
 
 Then God made from the finest of earth's clay 
 
 A form more beautiful than all the rest 
 Of his creation: and while inanimate it lay 
 He called His angels round to view the best 
 Of all his work: and said, "Shall I give this 
 
 a soul, 
 And make man in mine own image to 
 crown the whole?" 
 
 Justice sternly said: **Make him not, O God, 
 For he will trample on Thy righteous laws." 
 
106 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Truth said: '*0 God, make not from this sod 
 A being who will rebel against thy cause, 
 To violate Thy altar and Thy fane, 
 Whose impious tongue will take Thy name 
 in vain.'' 
 
 Then gentle Mercy humbly kneeling pray'd: 
 
 ''Make him, God, and it shall be my care 
 To watch the path on which he'll tread. 
 That he may fall in no deceitful snare; 
 And should he err, e'en to the bitter end 
 Let Justice be his judge, and Mercy be his 
 friend." 
 
 Then God gave man with hfe a God-like soul, 
 
 An immortal spirit cased in clay, 
 And over earth and sea gave him control, 
 That he by power of intellect might sway 
 The animals, the fish, the fowls of air. 
 And over all maintain a sovereign care. 
 
 Eden was lonely, e'en the Seraph's song 
 Failed to cheer the solitary dells, 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 107 
 
 The murmuring streams that gently swept 
 along 
 O'er golden sands pearl lined with shells, 
 Scarce broke the silence of the wilderness, 
 Till woman came with love the earth to 
 bless. 
 
 God gave to man the woman for a wife. 
 
 And bade them live on fruits of Paradise, 
 Except one tree, and they should forfeit life 
 If they dared eat the fruit that made them 
 wise. 
 Then love first entered human hearts in 
 
 Eden, 
 God's holiest gift to man from heaven. 
 
 How long they dwelt in those sweet bowers 
 of bliss 
 We know not if 'twere days, or months, or 
 years, 
 >Death had not come to chill the lovers' kiss, 
 Or fill the humaTi hearts with doubts and 
 fears. 
 
108 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 We only know the great Creator's plan 
 Was peace to all on earth, good will to man. 
 
 Joy reigned in Eden 'till the tempter came 
 
 To fill the woman's heart with vain desires, 
 Fair Hymen's torch burnt with a holy flame 
 That lingers yet around love's altar's fires, 
 The sparks that kindled from the lights above 
 Eternal burn in hearts that truly love. 
 
 Man fell and by God's wrath in justice driven 
 
 From Eden's bowers into earth's desert wild, 
 
 Then Mercy kneeling at the court of Heaven 
 
 Still pray'd for blessings onGod's erring child. 
 
 Begging for him some gifts from Eden's 
 
 bowers 
 To soothe his heart in sorrow's lonely hours. 
 
 God said to Mercy: **Give if you can find 
 Among things indestructible some gift 
 That brings relief unto the troubled mind. 
 And from despondency and care to lift 
 His thoughts to God and fill his soul with 
 hope, 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 109 
 
 That through God's Mercy Heaven's gate 
 may ope." 
 
 Then Mercy gave him Music, Love and Flowers. 
 
 Music, intangible to human touch. 
 Yet soothes the heart and mind in sadest hours, 
 Unseen, tho' felt, and yet beyond the clutch 
 Of his destroying hand, the Music given 
 By Mercy from the treasure stores of 
 Heaven. 
 
 With Music she gave Love, undying Love, 
 
 To dwell eternal in the human heart. 
 The most abused of all gifts from above, 
 Yet, of man's life by far the nobler part 
 Of his existence, which, after his last breath, 
 Will live in Heaven triumphant over death. 
 
 Then to delight with sweet perfume she gave 
 
 Flowers of every brilliant shape and hue 
 To decorate the altar and the grave, 
 
 Or sparkle in the sunlight gemmed with dew. 
 Tho' crushed and trampled on the earth 
 
 they lie. 
 Their fragrance lives, their odors never die. 
 
THE ONLY SINNER LEFT. 
 
 X STOOD alone amid the throng, 
 The melancholy organ's tone 
 Filled hearts and aisles; while passed along 
 The vast assemblage, I alone, 
 
 Of all the crowd with heavy heart, 
 From friends and neighbors stood apart. 
 
 For I was sad that Sabbath day, 
 
 One face that alvi^ays scowled on me, 
 Was flushed with smiles, so bright, so gay; 
 He was my hated enemy. 
 
 Gazing on him, the thought of wrongs 
 Closed ear and heart to prayers and songs. 
 
 *^The meeting's over," some one said; 
 
 ''Only one sinner left," and laughingly 
 Went on, while o'er me came a dread. 
 An awful thought of sad eternity. 
 The crowd passed on, I stood alone, 
 The sinner left — the only one. 
 
 I wandered through the silent wood 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS Ul 
 
 Beside a stream I oft had sought, 
 To watch the beauty of its flood; 
 
 Pondering there, while thought on thought 
 Weighed down my heart, around me fell 
 The woodland songs I loved so well. 
 
 The voice of birds, the murmuring stream. 
 
 The busy hum of buzzing bee. 
 I stooped to catch the sunny beam, 
 My mother's face looked up at me; 
 'Twas but my own reflected there. 
 But I had heard my mother's prayer. 
 
 Quickly I rose with sudden start, 
 The forest seemed so still again, 
 The blood seemed chilled around my heart. 
 While through it shot an aching pain; 
 The winds swept by, a mocking tone 
 In weird song sang — *^One Alone.'' 
 
 Evening came on, the stars of heaven 
 
 Sat each upon its golden throne; 
 In fancy I saw the gates of Eden, 
 
 When a veil of cloud, over them thrown. 
 
112 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Shut out the hght, I stood alone, 
 In darkness still, the only one. 
 
 Alone I sat me down and wept. 
 
 The bitter scalding tears fell back 
 Upon my heart, the hot stream swept 
 Like lava-floods that burn and crack 
 The hardest rocks in molten glow 
 And mark with ashes where they flow. 
 
 I looked up at the darkened heaven, 
 
 One little star I now could see. 
 My enemy I had forgiven. 
 Oh! God of mercy, pity me. 
 The fiend went off with mocking groan, 
 But I was left alone, alone. 
 
DREAMLAND. 
 
 Written in Boyhood. 
 
 ^^si^HERE is a realm of beauty in a land 
 ^^y Unknown to plodding mortals on this 
 
 earth, 
 Where power creative, with its master hand. 
 Ne'er yet hath given it form or hour of birth, 
 Fairer than the lost one of the seven,'^ 
 A realm of bliss, the sister land of Heaven. 
 
 It knows no touch of nature or of art; 
 
 It knows no form elliptical or sphere. 
 No monarch knows, except the poet's heart; 
 ' No soul but his can ever enter there, 
 
 And only then, when night her mantle flings 
 O'er earth and sea, o'er plebeian and kings. 
 
 There heavenly music's mellov^ witching strain 
 Falls enchanting on the enraptured ear, 
 
 A sweet oblivious draught to every pain 
 To which man's mind is subject on this sphere; 
 There no rude blast of sorrow can o'erwhelm 
 
114 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 The soul that roams amid this beauteous 
 realm. 
 
 There innocence, as in her pristine hour, 
 Walks hand in hand with virtue, truth and 
 love; 
 There happiness hath built her blissful bower 
 Within the shade of beauty's joyous grove; 
 There music's voice pours forth her Cir- 
 
 cean lays, 
 And echoes fill the air with a song of praise. 
 
 There streams of joy their hygean waters pour 
 
 O'er fields elysian and o'er vales of bliss; 
 There flowers of love begem its purple shore 
 And bathe their blushing beauties in its kiss; 
 There dancing Peris wing along its streams. 
 And poets call this land, the land of dreams. 
 
 And would you in this land of pleasure roam, 
 Where beauty in its rich profusion teems? 
 Ask Morpheus to lead you to his home. 
 
 And ope for you the golden gate of dreams; 
 And would you all its joys appreciate? 
 Drink of Pieria, ere you ope the gate. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 115 
 
 And would you know this land of purity, 
 And would you enter in its portals fair? 
 Then ask Imagination for the key; 
 
 Ask fleet-winged Fancy to transport you there; 
 Ask Poesy to lend her magic spell, 
 The ''open sesame" to this glorious realm. 
 
 There my freed soul, in sweet clairvoyance, oft. 
 Loosed from its heavy prison-house of clay, 
 On Fancy's wing dehghts to soar aloft. 
 
 And through those realms of love and beauty 
 stray; 
 And oft I frown to see the morning beams. 
 Because they bring a lethe to my dreams. 
 
 And when the golden god of day on high 
 Drives to the shades night's bright and starry 
 train, 
 I watch his trackless path along the sky 
 And sigh to greet the vesper star again. 
 And when my soul with life's dull cares are 
 
 prest, 
 I long to see the night that brings me rest. 
 
116 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 'Twas but last night, on Fancy's golden wings 
 
 My spirit wandered through the land of 
 
 dreams, 
 
 And chanced to meet, while in its wanderings, 
 
 Thine own bright spirit by love's crystal 
 
 streams. 
 
 And while through those bright realms of 
 
 bliss we roved, 
 I told how fondly I on earth had loved. 
 
 And then methought I saw the timid tears 
 Steal trembling from thine eyes, and thy 
 sweet voice. 
 Far sweeter than the music of the spheres, 
 Fell on my heart and bade my soul reioice, 
 While thy dear head reclined upon my 
 
 breast, 
 And thy loved form my fond warm bosom 
 prest. 
 
 Oh! blissful dream! why should I e'er awake? 
 
 Why is not Hfe but one long summer's dream? 
 Why must sleep fly if but Aurora shake 
 
 Her dewy tresses in the morning's beam? 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 117 
 
 Why are life's jo^^s so transient and so 
 
 seeraing? 
 Oh! why cannot our souls be ever dreaming? 
 
 1 know not now how long we lingered there 
 
 When morning o'er my sleeping vision fell, 
 Ushering in the day with all its cares, 
 
 But still my heart is haunted with the spell 
 Of that bright dream, and still in memory 
 Will live and flourish ever bright for thee. 
 
 Now, rest my muse, since I have done my 
 theme, 
 I care not now what storms may gather o'er. 
 If thou wilt but be with me when I dream 
 And waft my spirit to that blissful shore 
 Where I can taste of love's bright crystal 
 
 streams. 
 While my soul revels in the Land of Dreams. 
 
 *Lost Pleiad. 
 
MINTA-HO-YAH. 
 
 (EE that hound? Now ain't she a beauty? 
 
 Eyes soft as a doe's and full of affection! 
 Look at her well; she's my pet, and admits of 
 
 the closest inspection. 
 Just fancy her leading the pack; what music 
 
 they make, too, in crying! 
 Tally-ho! whoop! how^ they go! and Minta-ho- 
 
 yah is flying. 
 
 Minta-ho-yah v/as named for a girl in the Chick- 
 asaw Nation— 
 
 The sweetest wild rose on the plain, with lips 
 as red as carnation. 
 
 In English, **Come, let's hunt together" (Min- 
 ta-ho-yah) in Chickasaw tongue. 
 
 You bet. I was once sweet upon her — quite 
 spoony, but then I was young. 
 
 Besides, she was a chief's daughter. Old Itta- 
 
 wamba, her sire. 
 Was the biggest chief in the Nation, but rather 
 
 addicted to fire — 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 119 
 
 Fire-water, I mean, that the pale faces ^ave to 
 
 the red, 
 Then cheated them out of the land for which 
 
 their forefathers bled. 
 
 But Minta-ho-yah, the beauty— Minta-ho-yah, 
 
 lovers morning star — 
 That beamed on my heart in my boyhood, my 
 
 boyhood at old Lochinvar. 
 ^^Oostook Kabawpha'' (broken pumpkin) was 
 
 the Indian name for the place, 
 Which my father changed > into ^'Lochinvar," 
 
 the ancient home of tLe'race. 
 
 His race that dwelt on the Solway where the 
 
 young laird *'came out of the West'' 
 To the Netherby Hall, on his swift steed, and 
 
 bore off the bride to his nest. 
 With such an ancestor to boast of, no wonder 
 
 the old Scotchman frowned 
 When he saw his heir sweet on an Injun; so 
 
 he bought up the old chieftain's ground 
 
 And sent Ittawamba to Westward, the chief 
 and little brown maid, 
 
120 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTIIEK POEMS 
 
 And I, like a fickle, false lover, forgot every 
 
 promise I'd made; 
 But often, when weary and careworn, and my 
 
 heart with its burdens o'erteems, 
 Minta-ho-yah,,the love of my boj^'hood, comes 
 
 to me in my dreams. 
 
 Off my text and dreaming, am I? Old memo- 
 
 ries will often rise out 
 From the cinders of the dead past, when you 
 
 stir the cold ashes about; 
 And a voice ^olian whispers a lonely, far away 
 
 knell, 
 Echoing through the heart's chambers — Min- 
 
 ta-ho-yah, my first love, farewell ! 
 
 Sentimental ! Well, rather, I guess, for one 
 
 gray-beard and old; 
 But Minta-ho-yah, the hound — I tell you there's 
 
 not enough gold 
 Or greenback in the county to buy her; just 
 
 feel of her hair. 
 Soft as silk, black as jet, and her ear, thin as a 
 
 wafer, I swear. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 121 
 
 She's the finest thing out, with the coldest nose 
 
 in the pack — 
 And all good ones; you just ought to see them 
 
 once settle down on a track, 
 On a cold, frosty morning, where a cunning 
 
 old fox had passed in the night — 
 Every nose to the ground, but watch Minta- 
 
 ho-yah — she'll hit it off right. 
 
 There's trigonometry for you — sines, cosines! 
 
 She's off at a tangent! 
 You bet! Old Reynard was there last night, 
 
 tho' his visit was transient. 
 Music? It beats the finest orchestra in concord 
 
 of musical sounds; 
 And Minta-ho-yah, my darling, is the Neilson 
 
 of musical hounds. 
 
THE PRODIGAL RAVEN. 
 
 XN a cypress top by the ocean's side 
 A raven sat in his downy nest, 
 And, wooed by the voice of the murmuring tide, 
 He longed to skim o'er the purple crest, 
 And he flew from his nest in the cypress tree 
 To sport with the waves of the deep blue sea. 
 
 He arose aloft on the floating cloud, 
 
 He tipped the waves in his sportive glee, 
 
 And with delight he shrieked aloud: 
 
 **Ah! who could dwell on you, lonesome tree? 
 
 Who could ride on the fleecy clouds so bright 
 
 And sport in the realms of the ether light?" 
 
 He gazed with deUght on the rising sun 
 As he shook from his golden locks the spray 
 And clothed the sky in purple and dun 
 And decked the sea in his saffron ray; 
 **There!'' cried the raven, ' Vith joy will I fly 
 And revel amid yon beautiful sky." 
 
 With gleeful song he quickly sped 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 123 
 
 On rapid wing to that realm of light; 
 
 Yet still it seemed far, far ahead 
 
 And fast was fading from his sight; 
 
 But he persevering still had flown 
 
 Till the world beneath but a speck had grown. 
 
 But onward still he faster flew 
 Till the earth and sea were lost to sight, 
 And his wings were wet with the frozen dew, 
 And his way was lost in the realm of light; 
 Fierce hunger's pangs now pierced his breast 
 As he turned to seek his downy nest. 
 
 But alas! vain bird, thy wearied wings 
 Have borne thee far from the cypress tree, 
 And the thunder's deep-toned mutte rings 
 Give warning now of a storm at sea, 
 And the winds as they howl o'er the billowy 
 
 wave 
 Are threatening thee with a watery grave. 
 
 In vain thy endeavor to buffet the wind! 
 In vain is thy cry, for no succor is nigh; 
 Thy home in the woodland is left far behind, 
 
124 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 And the windsintheirangerwill toss theeonhigh; 
 In vain is the cry for thy nest by the shore, 
 Thy wailing is lost in the wild tempest's roar. 
 
 The storm fiend is hushed, the tempest is o'er, 
 The sun is declining beneath the deep sea; 
 Speed quickly, raven, thy home by the shore 
 Soon will be hidden by darkness from thee: 
 The winds and the tempests thou bravely hast 
 
 passed, 
 Thy pinions are weary, thou canst not fly fast. 
 
 The darkness comes on, the stars' gentle light 
 Brightens the deep and bejewels the strand. 
 And although the haven you seek is in sight, 
 Scarce will thy weary wings bear thee to land. 
 He falters, despairing, but one effort more 
 Will bear him in safety upon the green shore. 
 
 He struggles now faintly, hope rises once more 
 As he catches a sight of the old cypress tree; 
 He shrieks with delight as he touches the shore. 
 The danger is past, he's escaped from the sea; 
 With plumage all ruffled, and, panting for rest, 
 With sad, drooping pinions he reaches his nest. 
 
HE IS FALLEN. 
 
 n 
 
 E is fallen, he is fallen, 
 Yet he fills no hero's grave, 
 Still his glory has departed 
 From the Banner of the Brave. 
 
 Pray God, his noble mother 
 May have slept her last on earth 
 
 Ere she heard her son called Traitor 
 To the land that gave him birth. 
 
 He is fallen, he is fallen, 
 
 And his comrades curse his name. 
 Which, dishonored, they have stricken 
 
 From the muster roll of fame. 
 
 Not with anger they upbraid him, 
 But with bitter tears of woe. 
 
 They bewail the fallen traitor 
 As his country's vilest foe. 
 
 They remember when in bivouac 
 Beside the camp fire's light 
 
126 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 How he talked of home and country 
 And the cause for which we fight. 
 
 They remember when in battle 
 How his gallant soldier band 
 
 When he shouted, '* Comrades, onward!*' 
 Faced death at his command. 
 
 How gallantly he bore himself 
 
 In presence of the foe, 
 No mortal dared go farther 
 
 Than their leader dared to go. 
 
 How devotedly they loved him 
 
 As his dying comrades lay, 
 From the ground looked up to bless him 
 
 Ere their spirits passed away. 
 
 The cause is lost for which they fought, 
 
 A despot rules the land. 
 Who could believe that officer 
 
 Would now desert his band? 
 
 He is fallen, he is fallen, 
 From the pinnacle of fame; 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 127 
 
 On the future page of glory 
 With an Arnold write his name. 
 
 Name him not with Lee or Johnston, 
 
 Nor with Stuart or Stonewall, 
 But blot the page of history 
 
 That records our hero's fall. 
 
DEATH OF THE OLD HUNTER. 
 
 ^^5^HE old hunter's gone; in death he now 
 ^^^ slumbers. 
 
 Disturb not his ashes; all calmly he rests, 
 While sadly I wake my harp's lowly numbers, 
 
 To call forth a lay for the purest and best. 
 
 No pearl ever lay in its rosy-lipped shell 
 
 More pure than the life that forever has fled; 
 
 No diamond e'er glittered in Golconda's dell 
 More bright than the honor of him who is 
 dead. 
 
 In vain do we list, on the bright, frosty morn. 
 For the tramp of the steed and the hunter's 
 wild cheer. 
 
 Instead of the notes of the soft, mellow horn, 
 'Tis the funeral dirge that falls sad on the ear. 
 
 He is dead, yet we know that in heaven he 
 liveth. 
 We would not recall him to earth if we could; 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 129 
 
 He has met his reward from the Giver who 
 giveth 
 A mansion of bhss to the pious and good. 
 
 But why do we weep? Tears cannot recall him; 
 
 He has gone to the land of the pure and the 
 
 blest, 
 
 Earth's troubles and sorrows no more can 
 
 appall him; 
 
 He has found in yon heaven a haven of rest. 
 
ACROSTIC. 
 
 e 
 
 fVENING dews fall on the flowers, 
 Love light falls on the dew, 
 Little stars are smiling sweet 
 As I waft a kiss to you. 
 
 Now listen while I whisper soft 
 A word of love while stellar 
 Rays whose beams only can 
 Compare with thy bright eyes, my Ella. 
 I love you dear with all my heart, 
 Soul, body, life and mind. 
 Search the world from pole to pole 
 And none like thee I'd find. 
 
 Now are you thinking, dear, of me, 
 
 Ella, my darling love? 
 
 Is it a sin to worship thee 
 
 Like a gift from heaven above? 
 
 So, if 'tis sin to idolize, 
 
 O Lord, 'twould be distressing. 
 
 Now, I would humbly kneel and pray, 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 131 
 
 God grant to her His blessing; 
 
 Or, if the future brings a care, 
 
 Remember me, God. 
 
 Do not let her my judgments share. 
 
 On me let fall Thy rod. 
 
 Now I pray, bless her, God. 
 
MOON LAKE. 
 
 X STOOD alone upon the yellow sand, 
 The Mississippi rolhng at my feet, 
 Waiting to grasp with an impatient hand 
 
 The hands of those whom I had come to meet; 
 But they came not, and as I saw the smoke 
 The steamers left in their receding wake, 
 I check'd the rising tear and had to choke 
 Down bitter feelings, as I sought Moon Lake. 
 
 Moon Lake! I gaze upon thy crested wave 
 
 And ponder o'er the days of long ago. 
 When thy bosom opened as a grave 
 
 To hide the bold DeSoto from his foe. 
 Thou wert the channel of the river then, 
 
 No voice of commerce echo'd from thy shore. 
 The light canoe of those wild, savage men 
 
 Was all the weight thy mighty bosom bore. 
 
 Upon this spot the forest children play'd 
 In sunny days beside the turbid water; 
 Here, too, perchance, the painted warrior stay'd 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 133 
 
 To wait the coming of some chieftain's daugh- 
 ter. 
 But they are gone and left no trace behind — 
 
 Those mighty heroes of the bow and quiver; 
 We look in vain along thy shore to find 
 
 Some trace of those who once dwelt by the 
 river. 
 
 No storied urn, no sculptured stone, 
 
 No marble record of their fame 
 Tells of their deeds; but not unknown 
 
 Have passed away without a name 
 Those heroes bold, for every stream 
 
 That murmurs by with scarce a motion. 
 Like the sweet memory of a dream, 
 
 Bears a soft Indian name to ocean. 
 
 But hark! from far across the lake is borne 
 A soft and mellow tone of pleasing sounds; 
 
 It is a signal of a hunter's horn. 
 With the glad baying of rejoicing hounds. 
 
 With quickening pulse I rise and seize my horn, 
 As from my quiet dreaming I awake. 
 
134 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 I am no longer lonely and forlorn, 
 My notes of joy re-echo on the lake. 
 
 And soon I see, pulling with lusty oar, 
 
 A stalwart hunter without hat or coat, 
 And now my friend, Joe P., leaps on the shore, 
 
 Followed by nine staunch deer hounds from 
 his boat. 
 I will not say 'how many a foaming glass 
 
 We drank to sportsmen not here to partake 
 Of our good cheer, whom we had hoped, alas, 
 
 But all in vain, to meet upon Moon Lake. 
 
 Now farewell, S., you failed to meet me here, 
 
 And I was sad because you did not come; 
 But oft, in the wild chase of the deer, 
 
 I thought of you in your dull city home. 
 Our happy days come only now and then; 
 
 Pleasures, like angels' visits are but few. 
 We had full fun enough for forty men, 
 
 And only Joe and I. Dear S., adieu! 
 
SOMETHING WANTING. 
 
 In Memoriam. 
 
 ^^^HROUGH woods and vine-clad valleys 
 ^^ I wandered 'neath the bowers 
 Where woodbine hung in rich festoons 
 And hills were decked with flowers. 
 Tho' scarlet tints and golden hues 
 
 Of leaves, in sunsets glare,. 
 Shone bright, there was something wanting- 
 My loved one was not there. 
 
 A quail piped loud on the prairie, 
 
 "Bob White," the sad refrain. 
 No call came from his dusky mate 
 
 To cheer his heart again. 
 On whirring wing o'er ridge and dell 
 
 As quick as wing could bear 
 He flew — something yet was wanting — 
 
 The loved one was not there. 
 
 A red bird on a maple tree 
 Caroled a wildwood lay. 
 
136 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 All else was silent in the grove — 
 
 His mate was far away. 
 I whistled soft a note of love, 
 
 Red wings flashed thro' the air; 
 But something yet was wanting — 
 
 The loved one was not there. 
 
 I heard afar a mou^^nful voice — 
 
 The cooing of a dove. 
 Sadly the notes fell on my ear; 
 
 It, too, had lost its love. 
 The winds sighed lonely through the trees, 
 
 The wood seemed full of care. 
 There is always something wanting — 
 
 When the loved one is not there. 
 
 As twilight came a whip-poor-will 
 
 Began its plaintive wail. 
 I left the wood, my heart was sad, 
 
 No joy was in the vale. 
 Tho' the sweet elusive perfume 
 
 Of autumn filled the air. 
 Something dearer yet was wanting — 
 My loved one was not there. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 137 
 
 A mocking bird at midnight hour 
 
 Awoke me with a song, 
 A medley of the joys and griefs 
 
 That to the woods belong. 
 The hawk's shrill cry, the dove's low moan, 
 
 The forest filled with care, 
 There is always something wanting — 
 
 When the loved one is not there. 
 
 I mingled in the marts of trade 
 
 And in the hall of pleasure. 
 No flattering tongues can bring me joy, 
 
 And less I care for treasure. 
 Honors or wealth cannot allure. 
 
 No charm the world has given 
 Can ever heal a broken heart 
 
 Wanting a love in heaven. 
 
 The days are filled with busy hours, 
 
 The months will go and come, 
 And when the vesper stars arise 
 
 I seek my dreary home. 
 The kiss of love, the winsome smile, 
 
138 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 The face so bright and fair 
 Are gone — something dear is wanting — 
 My loved one is not there. 
 
 We laugh and jest tho' hearts may bleed, 
 
 Through life we play our part, 
 The tears that laughing eyes would shed 
 
 Fall back and scald the heart. 
 I must with patience bear my cross — 
 
 **To pass under the rod," 
 For the promise is not wanting 
 
 To meet my love with God. 
 
FAREWELL. 
 
 E 
 
 AREWELL is ever a sad word 
 When loving ones must part. 
 It fills the heart with grief and pain 
 
 And bids the tear-drop start. 
 To say "Good-bye" to those we love 
 
 There is a mournful knell 
 That echoes through our spirits' halls 
 And haunts the word Farewell! 
 
 The spot where once a garden grew, 
 
 Tho* now a desert wild, 
 Will still retain some friendly rose 
 
 To tell where Beauty smiled. 
 Thus in the garden of my heart 
 
 Some green spot will remain, 
 Nor time nor absence ne'er can break 
 
 One link from Memory's chain. 
 
A STAR. 
 
 TO MRS. JOSIE FRAZEE CAPPLEMAN. 
 
 [Written for the ladies of the Electa Chapter of the Eastern 
 Star, of Okolona, on presenting a jewelled star.] 
 
 ^^s^HO' far away from friends who love you, 
 ^^^ And mighty rivers roll between, 
 Tho' thick and dark the clouds above you, 
 
 Through darkest drifts there is a sheen 
 Of sunlight for the coming morrow 
 
 Rising o'er hills and vales afar; 
 As if to bring surcease of sorrow, 
 
 The evening sends its vesper star. 
 
 It was a night in Herod's reign. 
 
 When many hearts were full of fear, 
 The lonely shepherds on the plain 
 
 Looked up and saw a star appear 
 In the far east. It led them on 
 
 Where Magi with their caravan 
 Worshipped the Babe, the Blessed One, 
 
 With ''Peace on earth, good will to man/' 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHEK POEMS 141 
 
 They knelt beside the humble manger, 
 
 And many a costly gift they gave 
 While worshipping the little stranger 
 
 That God had sent the world to save — 
 The gifts of love and pure affection 
 
 The Magi brought from lands afar. 
 We, too, in love and recollection, 
 
 Know what your many virtues are. 
 
 And though no kind word can be spoken 
 
 Across the hills and streams so far, 
 We send to you, as a love token, 
 
 Emblem of faith and love — a star. 
 Wear it with honor on your breast, 
 
 An amulet to soothe each care. 
 And may the God who bringeth rest 
 
 To the afflicted hear our prayer 
 
 And bless you through the coming years 
 With all the joys to mortals given, 
 
 And wipe away in smiles your tears 
 With every gift of earth and heaven; 
 
 And when the time comes, soon or late — 
 
142 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 For all must lie beneath the sod — 
 May angels watch you from the gate 
 On a stair of stars ascend to God. 
 
DECORATION DAY. 
 
 QO roll of the drum or pickets alarm 
 Can awake from their slumbers the 
 brave who lie here, 
 They quietly sleep secure from all harm — 
 Heroes who knew not the feeling of fear. 
 
 No foeman is near; amongst friends they now 
 slumber. 
 
 Disturb not their ashes, all calmly they rest, 
 While sadly I wake my harp's lowly number 
 
 To call forth a lay for the bravest and best. 
 
 Those mounds are a garden of honor and glory. 
 There have we planted the flower of our land 
 
 To bloom forth in beauty of song and story. 
 Their deeds have made sacred the spot where 
 we stand. 
 
 Immortal their fame! Shall their names be 
 forgot 
 And only their deeds live in songs of our 
 braves? 
 
144 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 While a soldier survives, comrades, let not 
 It be said we neglected to honor their graves. 
 
 Fair maidens of Southland, bright garlands 
 
 entwine 
 
 To lay on the earth now a brave soldier's bed. 
 
 Ye sons of our heroes, may you ever enshrine 
 
 In your hearts' warmest chambers a love for 
 
 our dead. 
 
 Oh! where are my comrades, those bold cava- 
 liers. 
 Those dashing young fellows who cared for 
 no dangers? 
 My bosom heaves proudly, my eyes fill with 
 tears, 
 As fondly I think of the Chickasaw Rangers. 
 
 On fields they made brilliant by heroic daring, 
 Now gloomy with graves where unshrouded 
 they lie, 
 Will their comrades forget them, unmindful, 
 uncarmg. 
 Nor tell, in proud marble, how heroes can 
 die? 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 145 
 
 The Chickasaw Guards and Prairie Rifles, 
 Whose volleys so often rang out the death 
 knell 
 Of many a foeman, will friends longer stifle 
 Their feelings and leave them unknown 
 where they fell? 
 
 Chickasaw heroes for cause and opinion 
 Fought from the Potomac to Mexic Gulf's 
 waves — 
 
 Shall we now neglect to secure from oblivion 
 The names of so many of Chickasaw's braves? 
 
 Shall the Chickasaw rose, that little wild flower, 
 Alone mark the spot where a hero lies dead? 
 
 Shall we leave him alone without a bright 
 bower 
 Of love-cultured roses to smile on his bed? 
 
 In commemoration of dead that we slew. 
 At Vicksburg and Corinth tall monuments 
 
 stand. 
 In honoring their dead, they honor the few 
 Brave Southrons who fought in defense of our 
 
 land. 
 
146 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 The fortunes of war cannot change our beUef . 
 Our cause it was just, and we knew it was 
 right. 
 We lament our defeat, but more bitter the grief 
 For the brave men who fell in our just cause 
 of fight. 
 
 Now, comrades and friends, let us build out of 
 stone 
 A shaft that will point to their spirits on high, 
 And when they look down from heaven's white 
 throne 
 They will see they are honored wherever they 
 he. 
 
 Then let them sleep on, they are free from all 
 sorrow; 
 The wild rose will bloom again o'er the green 
 sod 
 That hides them forever till on that bright 
 morrow 
 They'll march forth in glory in presence of 
 God. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 147 
 
 We will honor the graves of the gray and the 
 
 blue, 
 
 We will try to forgive, and we'll try to forget, 
 
 But there is something so warm, so sincere 
 
 and so true, 
 
 In an old rebel's heart that love him best yet. 
 
MY FRIEND. 
 
 XHAD a friend I dearly loved in youth's 
 bright morning, 
 Of all the comrades of that day I loved him 
 best. 
 The first thought in the waking hour of 
 dawning 
 Was of the friend the day would make my 
 guest. 
 
 Hand in hand and heart to heart we together 
 grew. 
 
 I was rich and he was poor which made no 
 
 difference. 
 All I had was naught to me unless he shared 
 
 it too. 
 I was happy, for his smile was more than 
 
 recompense. 
 
 Years rolled on. War's fiery car with hostile 
 legions left behind 
 A charred and cindered track, the mark of 
 fate. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 149 
 
 From ensanguined fields of carnage I came 
 to find 
 My fortune wrecked, my home made desolate. 
 
 Then with stout heart I gathered what was left 
 to start anew 
 Upon lifers journey. On my frame wounds 
 and disease 
 Had left their mark. A shattered constitu- 
 tion too 
 Had made an invalid of me. I longed for ease, 
 
 Yet gave no time to sad repining; my heart 
 arose 
 From out the depths of its despair, each care 
 defying. 
 I laid my warrior weapons by, but did not seek 
 repose, 
 Nor wasted time in hopeless tears o'er losses 
 sighing. 
 
 All my energies I gave to build my country up 
 again— 
 To help my people in this sad day of their 
 distress, 
 
150 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 With generous hand to aid the weak, sympa- 
 thizing with their pain, 
 I clothed the naked, fed the poor, with no 
 thought of selfishness. 
 
 For this I asked for no reward, and if I had I 
 should have met 
 What always follows sacrifice, the basest in- 
 gratitude. 
 The world goes round, and with each day men 
 will forget 
 The hand that yesterday was stretched to 
 give them food. 
 
 Men change their gods in every age and wor- 
 ship idols, calves of gold 
 Are set on Sinai's awful peak and all the 
 mountains of the world. 
 Hindu temples, Christian shrines, are marts 
 where hearts and minds are sold; 
 Virtue changes into vice, Mammon's flag is 
 never furled. 
 
 The only thing that does not change, is change, 
 that's always changing— 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 151 
 
 A paradox, and yet not strange, man him- 
 self's a contradiction, 
 An image of a God, the devil his soul's sanct- 
 uary ranging. 
 
 Spoils the great Creator's plan by making 
 real life a fiction. 
 
 What is in life worth living for in constant 
 dread of death? 
 What is in death so fearful which brings with 
 it new life? 
 The infant man, helpless and weak, scarce has 
 drawn its breath 
 When it begins life's struggle and lives and 
 grows in strife. 
 
 As all things in nature do, the strong devour 
 the weak on land and seas. 
 Large fish kill small fish— so with beast and 
 birds and men. 
 Many lives must perish for one that lives; the 
 bees 
 Gather sweets from roses a few days and die, 
 and then 
 
152 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 A new swarm eats the honey left; men spend 
 lives in toil 
 To accumulate great wealth, then like bees 
 they die, 
 Leaving heirs to spend in litigation and turmoil 
 Until all is gone— the working sire laid by. 
 
 Yet there is no change. History repeats itself 
 in every age. 
 The seasons regularly walk their splendid 
 round. 
 December kills the flowers of May — likewise 
 the sage 
 With years of wisdom returns into the ground. 
 
 Men come and go, yet none are missed from earth. 
 
 Passions exist in those who live as in those 
 
 who die. 
 
 Is death reality? Do men die? What then is 
 
 birth? 
 
 Whence come Hfe and soul? Is spirit deified? 
 
 Is there anything eternal or anything ex- 
 tinguished 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 153 
 
 That ever lived on earth? How do we know 
 
 a soul 
 Is born within a frame of clay? Are men, 
 
 distinguished 
 By immortal names, annihilated in a hole? 
 
 Theories are dreams. Life is real — and my 
 friend, 
 Like fortune always fickle, capriciously had 
 left; 
 Our friendship rudely broken came to a bit- 
 ter end. 
 With loss of fortune, I was of my friend 
 bereft. 
 
 Always busy, he ''passed me on the other side," 
 If by chance we met he looked the other way. 
 
 No friendly glance met mine, and often he 
 would ride 
 By me and would pass without a word to say. 
 
 He shunned me as a leper, now that I was poor. 
 As if there was contagion in an empty purse. 
 
151 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Which in its healthy fullness was ever wont to 
 pour 
 Its treasures in his hand; but now the fatal 
 curse 
 
 Of poverty was mine, which he treated as a 
 crime — 
 By him a grievous sin— one not to be for- 
 given. 
 A false friend and hypocrite, he lived out his 
 time: 
 A grave stone now records he's ''gone to 
 heaven." 
 
 I did not lose my trust in God, or faith in man's 
 humanity- 
 Society like water will always find its level — 
 I still retained my self-respect and faith in 
 Christianity: 
 The more I love my fellowman, the less I fear 
 the devil. 
 
 God heard my prayers and gave me health, 
 strength and will 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 155 
 
 To labor for others' happiness, but not for 
 treasure; 
 The wheel of fortune, which is never standing 
 
 still, 
 Turned up for all my wants sufficient measure. 
 
QUEEN OF THE ANTILLES. 
 
 QUEEN of the Antilles, fairest of all isles! 
 There the sunshine of summer unceas- 
 ingly smiles; 
 There the orange and lemon perennial bloom, 
 Filling the air with their fragrant perfume. 
 Nowhere on earth do the sun's gentle rays 
 Fall brighter or softer than on thy green cays. 
 
 Queen of the Antilles, beautiful isle! 
 
 There the sun-kissed sea breezes the winters 
 
 beguile; 
 There the gulf stream that mirrors the tropical 
 
 moon 
 Changes December to a climate of June, 
 Where bright golden fruits, on evergreen trees, 
 Shine like the apples of Hesperides. 
 
 Queen of the Antilles, pearl of the ocean! 
 Thy people are fighting with loyal devotion, 
 Shedding their blood as freely as wine, 
 
T!HE old plantation and other poems 157 
 
 Cutting their way through the trocha's dark 
 
 Hne; 
 Using machetes for want of a gun, 
 They shout **Cuba Libre" o'er victories won. 
 
 Queen of the Antilles, beautiful isle! 
 Thy soldiers are guarding each mountain defile. 
 Like eagles they swoop to the foe on the plain, 
 And strike the invader, vile tyrants of Spain, 
 Fighting the Spaniard from mountain to sea, 
 Happy in dying for Cuba Libre. 
 
 Queen of the Antilles, bright gem of the sea! 
 Fight on, brave hearts, we are coming to thee. 
 The spirits of heroes who died on the Maine 
 Are crying for vengeance on treacherous Spain. 
 We are coming. Fair Cuba, across the blue sea, 
 To join you in battle for Cuba Libre. 
 
A LOVE LETTER. 
 
 m 
 
 [Y DEAR, it is Sunday; I scarce can do 
 better 
 
 In passing the time than in writing a letter — 
 It can't be called labor in writing a few 
 Pleasant things I remember when thinking of 
 
 you. 
 Last Sabbath morning I reached your good 
 
 city— 
 But it's not of the town I am writing a ditty — 
 I went to the church and now I am vexed, 
 For thinking of you I've forgotten the text. 
 I've the greatest respect for the parson's the- 
 ology, 
 But thought he would never get to the doxology. 
 I had traveled all night, over many a mile. 
 But was doubly refreshed by a beautiful smile 
 From the woman I love; as she turned to the 
 
 door 
 For a moment I stood transfixed to the floor, 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 159 
 
 Then shook the priest's hand as I passed down 
 
 the aisle, 
 With a hope that was built on that beautiful 
 
 smile. 
 That evening we met in my charmer's sweet 
 
 home, 
 And I vowed in my heart ne'er again would I 
 
 roam 
 If I only could win that sweet maid for my wife. 
 For whom I'd devote all the rest of my life. 
 Next morning I called and told her the story 
 Of dangers I'd passed on the red fields of glory. 
 When my tales had been told my warfare was 
 
 done, 
 But the greatest of all of my battles was won— 
 I tendered my love, with my heart and my hand, 
 And now I'm the happiest man in the land. 
 She accepted my hand and my pen loves to 
 
 linger, 
 As I gaze with delight at the ring on my finger. 
 I wait with impatience the day that will come, 
 
160 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 When I lead from the altar my bride to my 
 home. 
 
 I'm not given to rhyming, tho' it might have 
 been worse, 
 
 Were not the love going with it far better than 
 verse; 
 
 But the kind words you gave me forever will 
 dwell 
 
 In my hearths warmest chambers. Dear sweet- 
 heart, farewell! 
 
THE WEDDING FEAST OF 
 PELEUS. 
 
 ^^=^HE Gods of the Heathens made a descen- 
 
 ^^X sion 
 
 On Mount Olympus, to hold a convention. 
 
 By order of Zeus they came to consult, 
 
 On the marriage of Thetis, what would result 
 
 If the predictions of Themis came true. 
 
 It was something to make celestials blue, 
 
 Thetis, the grand-daughter of Poseidon, 
 
 Destined to be mother of a great son. 
 
 The thing that seemed the Gods now to bother, 
 
 The son would be more renowned than his 
 
 father. 
 The Gods then decreed that Thetis' son, 
 Descended from God of the sea, Poseidon, 
 Must have a king of the earth for his sire. 
 What more could mortal of this earth desire? 
 Had not the island of Delos arose, 
 A birthplace for Gods and Latona's repose? 
 For a God and a Goddess were there given birth, 
 
162 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHEK POEMS 
 
 Immortal themselves, tho' born upon earth, 
 With the royal ichor of Gods in their veins, 
 Untainted by blood of mortality strains. 
 No fate had decreed they should be greater 
 Than Zeus, King of Gods, their sire and cre- 
 ator. 
 It was different when a nymph of the sea 
 Might mother a son that was greater than he. 
 When Zeus, a young God to maturity grown. 
 Had driven his father, Kronos, from his throne. 
 So Peleus, a Grecian King, was selected; 
 Nor could the decree of Gods be rejected. 
 To the wedding feast all the Gods were invited. 
 Except Eris (Discord), she had been slighted. 
 With the reign of Kronos the golden age 
 Had passed to Grecian history's page. 
 In religion then it it was the fashion 
 To have a God for every passion, 
 When Gods and mortals, on a level. 
 Joined in the pleasures of the revel. 
 And here I scarcely need to mention 
 It was not thought a condescension. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 163 
 
 No God presumed upon his station 
 
 After this marital relation 
 
 Had brought about amalgamation. 
 
 Nor did they raise the question whether 
 
 The Gods and men should eat together. 
 
 One thing that helped their pride to smother, 
 
 The guests were all of the same color. 
 
 No racial marks of black-and-tan — 
 
 The Gods were white and so was man. 
 
 The tables groaned with every sweet 
 
 That Gods and men desired to eat. 
 
 The lakes and streams supplied the fish, 
 
 Each served upon a golden dish; 
 
 The bear, the deer, wild duck and quails 
 
 And plates with tongues of nightingales, 
 
 Cakes with honey of Hymettian bees, 
 
 Apples from garden of Hesperides, 
 
 With plum and peach, and pears and cherries. 
 
 Clusters of grapes black, and strawberries. 
 
 Ambrosial nectar by Hebe filled. 
 
 Sparkling wines, Bacchus distilled; 
 
 Flowers of every hue were there. 
 
164 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Whose fragrant odors filled the air. 
 Comus, the god of Mirth and Pleasure, 
 Poured out the wine in generous measure. 
 Euterpe played her double flute, 
 Accompanied by Apollo's lute, 
 Resounding through the festive hall^ 
 For pleasure of the Bacchinals. 
 To the delight of the Divines, 
 Polymnia sung of loves and wines. 
 After the wedding feast was done, 
 The music pealed — the fun begun. 
 The sandal-footed Terpsichore 
 Led in the dance as told in story 
 Of the gayest scene e'er known on earth 
 Where Comus led the throngs in mirth. 
 But joy is brief e'en when the Gods 
 Have joined with mortals on earth's sods. 
 When merriment was at its height, 
 Eris, ill natured child of Night, 
 With vengeance her wicked heart incited, 
 Came to the wedding uninvited. 
 Angered for what she deemed a wrong. 
 
THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 165 
 
 Threw a golden apple in the throng, 
 Worded, '*For the most beautiful." 
 Each Goddess thought herself most suitable 
 To receive Eris' golden prize, 
 Which caused a quarrel to arise 
 With Hera, Aphrodite and Athena 
 Far better suited for the arena. 
 To me it seems, to say the least. 
 It ill became a wedding feast. 
 I like not e'en in verse to chide 
 Goddesses, but sympathy for the bride, 
 Who could but doubt Athena's sanity. 
 In developing such mortal vanity. 
 No wonder if it seemed to Zeus 
 Plutonian fiends had broken loose. 
 With strife among immortal ladies, 
 Making a scene more fit for hades. 
 Olympian code, no law provided 
 How such dispi'tes could be decided, 
 For immortals' law made no provision; 
 So 'twas left for mortal courts' decision. 
 The court of Paris has been described. 
 
166 THE OLD PLANTATION AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Like human courts with judges bribed, 
 Which only shows that courts in ancient days, 
 Like modern courts, ahke in evil ways, 
 Judges have been bribed in every nation. 
 They are apt to smile on a great corporation. 
 Princes and powers, e'en the church itself, 
 Bow submissive to the God of Wealth. 
 To Paris' credit, we find he was above 
 Accepting wealth or honors. He took love. 
 Hera offered him ''all Asia's throne;" 
 Athena, ''fame immortal for his own." 
 The Grecian Helen for his bride 
 Made him for Aphrodite's gift decide. 
 By a woman's quarrel over a trifling toy 
 Eris brought on the direful woes of Troy. 
 
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