urn ,S' I ' CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE Cornell University Library PS 551.L69 ^Vibrary of southern literature: 3 1924 021 970 466 All books are subject to recall after two weeks Olin/Kroch Library DATE DUE jMianaaMHiMKt ^J^^^ .!»3I— fJH»iM«t>K» GAYLORD PRINTED IN U.S.A. Cornell University Library The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021970466 Joel Chandler Harris »iJiH[RN umm >-> '»o^■> e>^ Compiled under the direct super- visioai of southern men of letters^ Edwin Ander&o/»j Alderman Joel Cmandler Harr.is EDITORS IN CHIEF Charles William Kent LITERARY EDITOR ILLUSTRATED PUBLISHED UNDER THE APPROVAL AND PATRONAGE OF DISTINGUISHED CITIZENS OP THE SOUTH J>-yo The Maktin © Hoyt Company NEW ORLEANS ATLANTA DALLAS 73 ^e/ fjinitbmj J^ritf^o^t^ Edifor- ill - GAief irtQuuuufijitoniomoirH LIBRARY OF SOUTHERN LITERATURE VOLUME I Copyright, 1907, by The Martin and Hoyt Company, Atlanta, Georgia Copyright, 1909, by The Martin and Hoyt Company, Atlanta, Georgia. EXECUTIVE BOARD Editors In Chief. EDWIN ANDERSON ALDERMAN, LL.D., President University of Virginia. JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS, Litt. D., Editor Uncle Remus' s Magazine , Atlanta, Georgia, LiTEitARY Editor. CHARLES WILLIAM KENT, M.A., Ph.D., LL.D., University of Virginia,. Associate Literary Editor. CHARLES ALPHONSO SMITH, A.M., Ph.D., LL.D., University of North Carolina. Assistant Literary Editors. MORGAN CALLAWAY, Jr., A.M., Ph.D., University of Texas. FRANKLIN L. RILEY, A.M., Ph.D., University of Mississippi. GEORGE A. WAUCHOPE, A.M., Ph.D., University of South Carolina. Executive Editor. F. P. GAMBLE, Atlanta. Georgia. CONSULTING EDITORS JOHN W. ABERCROMBIE, LL.D., President University of Alabama. RICHARD H. JESSE, LL.D., President University of Missouri. BROWN AYRES, Ph.D., LL.D., President University of Tennessee. A. A. KINCANNON, LL.D., Chancellor University of Mississippi J. H. KIRKLAND, A.M., Ph.D., LL.D.. DAVID C. BARROW, C. and M.E., LL.D., Chancellor Vanderbilt University, Chancellor University of Georgia. Tennessee. THOMAS D. BOYD, A.M., LL.D., President Louisiana State University. E. B. CRAIGHEAD, A.M., LL.D., President Tulane University, Louisiana. F. V. N. PAINTER, A.M.. D.D., Roanoke College, Virginia. R. N. ROARK, M.A., Ph.D., President Kentucky State Normal School. ANDREW SLEDD, Ph.D., LL.D., GEORGE H. DENNY, M.A., Ph.D., LL.D., President University of Florida. President Washington and Lee Uni- versity. HENRY N. SNYDER, A.M., LL.D., President Wofford College, South Carolina. BASIL L. GILDERSLEEVE. A.M., Ph.D., LL.D., L.H.D., .^.,x, ,>t -nTTT,,«xT ttt^ Johns Hopkins University, Maryland. ^0"^ N. T LLMAN. LLD President University of Arkansas. DAVID F. HOUSTON, A.M., LL.D., President University of Texas. FRANCIS P. VENABLE, Ph.D.. LL.D., President University of North Carolina. ADVISORY COUNCIL CHARLES B. AYCOCK, Ex-Governor, North Carolina. RICHMOND P. HOBSON, Congressman, Alabama. WILLIAM D. BLOXHAM, Ex-Governor, Florida. BENJAMIN J. KEILEY, D.D., Resident Catholic Bishop of Georgia. EDWARD W. CARMACK, Ex-U. S. Senator, T. ennessee. STEPHEN D. LEE, General Commanding U.C.V., Mississippi. HENRY COHEN, Rabbi, Texas. CHARLES A. CULBERSON, U.S. Senator, Texas. DAVID R. FRANCIS, Publicist, Missouri. THOMAS R GAILOR, D.D., LL.D., Protestant Episcopal Bishop, Tennessee. CHARLES B. GALLOWAY, D.D., LL.D., Bishop M.E. Church, South, Mississippi. JOHN TEMPLE GRAVES, Editor and Lecturer, Georgia. W. W. MOORE, D.D., LL.D., President Union Theological Seminary, Virginia. EDGAR Y. MULLINS, D.D., LL.D., President Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, Kentucky. FRANCIS T. NICHOLS, Supreme Court of Louisiana. ISIDOR RAYNER, U.S. Senator, Maryland. II. M. ROSE, Ex-President American Bar Association. Arkansas. DUNCAN C. HEYWARD, Ex-Governor, South Carolina. HOKE SMITH, Governor of Georgia. A NOTE OF ACKNOWLEDGMENT Deeply grateful to all who by encouragen ;nt have lightened our task or by assistance have furthered it, the editors, not unmindful of the significant helpfulness of the Advisory Council and the substantial aid of the Consulting Editors, devote this page of the series to that large body of unselfish contributors without whose generous cooperation the following pages would have been impossible. The names of these contributors recorded hereafter will evoke from readers of the intervening volumes the unstinted praise which in profound gratitude the editors now accord in fullest measure. TABLE OF CONTENTS VOLUME I TAGS Preface ------- --xv Introduction -------- xix Adams, Thomas Albert Smith (1839-1888) - - i BY DABNEY LIPSCOMB Bury Him In The Sea While We May Growing Gray Invocation The Court of Death AiNSLiE, Hew (1792-1878) 21 BY ALEXANDER ST. CLAIR MACKENZIE The Rover o' Lochryan The Lads o' Lendalfit The Rover's Sang The Hint o' Hairst The Bourocks o' Bargeny The Ingle Side Sir Arthur Lady Ellen's Last Night Sighings for the Sea The Great West The Haughs o' Auld Kentuck The Pilgrim's Return to Louisville The Pleasant Past Allen, James Lane (1849 — ) 41 by isaac f. marcosson Two Gentlemen of Kentucky Uncle Tom at Home The Gleaming Red-Coat The Explanation Hemp vU viii SOUTHERN LITERATURE rACi Allston, Washington (1779-1849) - . - 87 by ludwig lewisohn The Sylph of Autumn The Power of Song The Young Troubadour America to Great Britain Rosalie The French Revolution Art On the Late S. T. Coleridge Audubon, John James (1780-1851) - - - 103 by charles w. kent Wild Swan Shooting The Earthquake Early Settlers The Return to Bayou Sara The Tale of a "Live Oaker" The Florida Wreckers The Panther Hunt A Visit to President Houston Avery, Isaac Erwin (1871-1904) - - - - 131 BY C. ALPHONSO smith The Simple Style Kid Sloan Gabriel the Midget Happiness in the Madhouse A Baby's First Ride Types of the Old South Outflanked Violets Bagby, George William (1828- 1883) - - - 141 BY CHURCHILL GIBSON CHAMBERLAYNE The Sacred Furniture Warerooms The Old Virginia Gentleman Meekinses Twinses Rubenstein's Playing Baldwin, Joseph Glover (1815-1864) - - - 175 by george f. mellen Jackson and Clay A Charcoal Sketch of Flush Times My First Appearance at the Bar CONTENTS ijj Basse, Waitman (1864 — ) 207 by c. e. ha worth The Comrade Hills The Winds Eternal Silences Thy Name A Tragedy of the Hills Finis At the Wood's Edge The River o' Dreams O Ye of Little Faith Nature's Triumph The Beatitudes The Preacher of the Three Churches Hafed Ben Hafed Barr, Amelia E. (1831 — )--.-_ 231 by clara driscoll sevier Builders of Commonwealth The Fall of the Alamo Baskett, James Newton (1849 — ) - - - 247 by walter williams With Gun and Dog Cradle in the Rushes What Trim Said as he Hunted Indian Summer Battle, Kemp Plummer (1831 — ) - - - 269 by henry g. connor Social Life of Early Raleigh Governor's Reception Public Balls Duels La Fayette's Visit Old Newspapers Baylor, Frances Courtenay (1845 — J - ~ 281 BY HENRY CLINTON FORD In the Old Dominion S SOUTHERN LITERATURE PAGE Benjamin, Judah P. (1811-1884) - - . 303 BY PIERCE BUTLER Education the Foundation-Stone of Republican Government Farewell Address to the U. S. Senate Bennett, John (1865 — ).---- 323 by ellison a. smyth, jr. The Magnificat of the Hills In a Rose Garden The Song Before the Queen The Fight of the Yawl Facing Poverty Benton, Thomas Hart (i 782-1858) - - » 345 by champ clark Preface to 'Thirty Years View' Retirement and Death of General Jackson Address to Colonel Doniphan and His Men Eulogy on Senator Linn Beverly, Robert (1675-1716) - _ _ . 375 by j. d. eggleston, jr. Supposed Discovery of Gold An Expedition Into New Territory The First Pirate Taken Servants and Slaves The Fishing-Hawk Early Settlers Recreations and Pastimes Bledsoe, Albert Taylor (1809- 1877) - - - 395 by sophia bledsoe herrick The Origin of the Late War Boner, John Henry (1845-1903) - - . . 415 by henry jerome stockard Poe's Cottage at Fordham Midsummer Noon Immortality I Would That I Could Quite Forget CONTENTS x= rxoi Boner, John Henry — Continued. Remembrance Time Brings Roses The Wanderer Back Home Moonrise in the Pines Crismus Times is Come America A Christmas Toast Autumnal Hunting Muscadines Two Friends A Prayerful Trust The Light 'ood Fire Bonner, Sherwood (1849-1883) - • 430 by alexander l. bondurant Gran'mammy Gran'mammy's Last Gifts Hieronymus Pop and the Bahy The Hoodoo Dance Yariba LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Joel Chandler Harris Frontispiece Edwin Anderson Alderman .... Facing page xix John James Audubon Facing page 103 JuDAH P. Benjamin Facing page 303 PREFACE T N presenting to the public this first effort to represent com- prehensively and in adequate amount the literary life of the Southern people of the United States, the editors deem it wise to make clear, if may be, the purpose and plan of this pioneer work. This they do without any apology for the task they voluntarily assumed and with no plea save that the book be re- ceived, not as a manifestation of any vainglorious or sinister sectionalism, but as a direct and serviceable contribution to the history of our national literature. It will have served one large purpose, if it induce those who write of our American litera- ture to revise their perspective and do ampler justice to a part of our Union too little given to exploiting its own achieve- ments. But this is not the purpose of the series. It is designed rather to present frankly and as fully as convenient the literary Hfe of the whole South throughout its entire history and to leave the general reader or special student to draw such con- clusions as he may see fit. In a word, the series is not intended to prove anything but to set forth much. It is to cover an imperial territory and, in sheer time, the total existence of our American people. Certainly no easy task confronts him who would traverse this three hundred years and one, taking note of the men who have uttered the thought and feeling of this majestic domain. Such a task could not have been essayed by any small group of men unless they had known beforehand of the confidence with which they could rely on the efficient help of hundreds of others, willing and even eager to do their part in this labor of love and patriotism. The contributor of each biographical and critical sketch has been selected with reference to his peculiar fitness for treating the author assigned him and, within certain necessary restric- tions, mainly of space, has been left at full liberty to make his sketch what he would. While it is obvious that in this method there has been a loss in uniformity and perhaps in soberness and reserve of judgment, there has been a marked gain in t) xvi SOUTHERN LITERATURE freshness and variety of treatment, in personal and vital esti- mates, and in individuality. This individuality exonerates, too, the editors from solemn responsibility for judgments of men and books that have not commanded their close and im- partial scrutiny. The plan adopted has created its ovfn difficulties. Mature thought led us to disregard both the chronological and geo- graphical divisions and to use the simpler and lucid alpha- betical arrangement. This order has been maintained in pre- senting not only the individual authors, about three hundred in number discussed in thirteen volumes, but also the separate articles on Folk-Lore in the South, French Literature in the South, Southern Literature, etc., which will be found in their appropriate places in the several volumes. But in rejecting the historical divisions we have not ignored the authors who best represented them, even when their writ- ings, as of necessity in the earlier periods, lack somewhat of that immediate interest and artistic fashion discovered in pro- ductions of a more modern day. The historical significance of a given selection may make it of incalculable value in spite of its inherent literary crudities — emphasized as the crudities of these selections may be by contrast with artistic selections thrown near them by the fortunes of the alphabet. But as our aim is to represent the literary life of the South with all its inequalities, and not to create arbitrary standards to which all the selections must be subjected, it would seem that these very irregularities may be recognized as a merit of the book. Further, in rejecting as our principle of division geograph- ical boundaries, we have not lost sight of the claims of each state to fair recognition. Indeed, such careful attention has been given to this that occasionally an author condemned to exclusion by some arbitrary standard of excellence has been willingly included because of his importance in life and work to the literary development of his own state. In general, how- ever, little has been made of state lines, for the South is a single, homogeneous people. Within its ample territory our authors have moved with such easy freedom and with such a vivid sense of being at home everywhere that any effort to credit them to any one state would have proved futile and fruitless. PREFACE xvil After all, the chief consideration in selecting this alpha- betical arrangement was its convenience for reference and study. That the books will prove attractive to the general reader, will minister to his pride in his Nation and to his per- sonal pleasure and consequent profit, need not detract from their constant and increasing value to the student of Southern life, letters, and conditions. To aid the student in his investi- gations there will be various indispensable helps. First : There is a general bibliography of Southern liter- ature, far more complete and accurate than any so far com- piled, and indicating, as its author has said, that this Library is rather a culmination than a beginning of interest in South- ern literature. Second: While this general bibliography, without other references, would probably prove a sufficient guide to a com- prehensive study of this subject, the student more closely con- cerned with the study of any particular author will find incor- porated in the individual sketches, or more frequently ap- pended to them, special bibliographies of distinct service. These bibliographies have been prepared by the authors of the sketches, with varying degrees of completeness and with in- dividual differences of presentation. Third: Without these aids to fuller investigation the reader will find the selections from any author sufficient in length and completeness to give a just idea of the author's power, and sufficient in number and variety to establish in some cases marked versatility. Generalizations as to the tenor and trend of Southern literature will be found in the historical sketch given in its appropriate volume. Fourth : The fifteenth volume will contain a biographical dictionary of Southern authors and a classified index of the whole series. The biographical dictionary will be more than a mere finding list, it will consist of brief notices of the life and works of about twenty-five hundred Southern authors. In small compass will be given enough information to make further study of these authors comparatively easy. The classi- fied index will enable the thoughtful reader to see at a glance in what proportion the different types of literature — such as lyric poems, dramas, essays, short stories, etc. — ^have been pro- duced bv Southern writers. It will enable him, also, to turn xviii SOUTHERN LITERATURE at once to any of the authors represented, to any of the several hundred contributors, and to any article or topic included in the preceding fourteen volumes. Notice of the fourteenth volume has been reserved for the last. Under the directing editorship of Dr. C. Alphonso Smith it will prove of indispensable value and fascinating interest. It will not be devoted to individual authors but to anonymous and fugitive poems, to single poems of merit from authors not generally renowned, to editorials of historic import, to notable epitaphs and inscriptions, to significant letters, to legends and traditions, to historical data, to famous sayings and apt quotations, to myths and folk-lore tales, to anecdotes, and, in general, to rare material illustrative of Southern Hfe and character. COPYRIGHT ACKNOWLEDGMENT Whenever a selection has been used that required copyright per- mission, credit has been duly given ; but, in addition, general and grateful acknowledgment for highly appreciated courtesies is here made to the following owners and publishers represented in this volume : Mrs. Susan S. Adams; Avery Publishing Company; Mrs. George W. Bagby; A. S. Barnes and Company; Mrs. Lottie A. Boner; Century Publishing Company; Dodd, Mead and Company; Edwards and Broughton; W. M. Gardner; Harper and Brothers; E. R. Her- rlck and Company; Houghton, Mifflin Company; Mr. A. E. Kenney; J. B. Lippincott and Company; Little, Brown and Company; Mac- millan Company; Neale Publishing Company; New York Inde- pendent; Werner and Company; W. A. Wilde Company. Throughout this work titles of books are put in single quota- tion marks, titles of separate items, such as essays, poems, etc., in double quotation marks, and names of periodicals in italics. INTRODUCTION THE LIBRARY OF SOUTHERN LITERATURE is given to the country in the belief that it will enrich the national spirit by the light it throws upon the life of a sincere and distinctive section of the republic. Its primary purpose, therefore, is national enrichment and not sectional glorification, though the makers of the work hold the belief that it is a de- sirable thing that the dwellers in so distinctly marked a section as the South should have special knowledge of their own writers, and should develop such pride in them as their work may deserve. Perhaps, too, it is well to dififerentiate between a true and a false sectionalism, in view of the stubborn con- fusion of thought in the use of these terms. Sectionalism is naive and even sinister when its votaries merely distrust those who do not live where they do; when they measure everything by local and, therefore, narrow stand- ards, and when they refuse to see beyond local barriers, or to realize the commonness and kinship of all life. The merely sectional idea reaches a climax of folly and hurtfulness when it exalts complaisancy and self-satisfaction above open-mind- edness and constant analysis. Thoughtfully considered, force, and fruitfulness, and beauty inhere in the sectional idea, and it is very superficial not to perceive these qualities and very stupid not to reckon with them. The story of our country is the story of great sections developing individual characteristics under the pressure of social and economic conditions, and then, by the strength of sheer local pride and distinctiveness, react- ing upon other sections, and thus shaping into unity that com- plex result which we call national character. Let us put aside, then, all thought of sinister sectionalism in thinking of the work here undertaken, and center our thought upon sectionalism considered simply as love of home, and interest and affection for one's neighbors. The great lit- eratures of the world have been the work of those who loved their home lands, and who saw so deeply and so accurately into the meaning of life just about them, that they uttered their XX SOUTHERN LITERATURE experiences in forms of such simple beauty and truth as to touch the universal heart, and so attained cosmopolitanism and sometimes immortality. Burns upturned the modest violet in rude Scottish earth, but its fate and its fragrance have filled the wrorld. One cannot imagine Homer and the great Greeks traveling abroad for inspiration. It is not strange to our quieter thought that England was the crystal drop in which Shakespeare mirrored the world's experience ; nor do the quiet lakes seem too narrow a theatre to body forth to Wordsworth's mind his interpretative vision of Nature. Christ needed only the sights and sounds of Judean by-ways to furnish Him with material for the pictures which, hanging forever in our minds, excel all others in wisdom and in beauty. Indeed, an essential condition of all true literature is that it shall have birth out of individual experience and in an in- tensely local atmosphere; but there is also the other essential condition that it shall be so charged with sympathy and broad- ened by understanding as to have universal application. The South has been called a sincere and distinctive sec- tion of the republic. It is all that and more. Of all our well- defined sections it seems to be the richest in romanticism and idealism, in tragedy and suffering, and in pride of region and love of home. English civilization began on its water courses, and for nearly three hundred years it has lived under an or- dered government. It is difficult to imagine how the Nation could have been fostered into maturity without the influences that came from the South. Under the play of great historic forces this region developed so strong a sense of unity within itself as to issue in a claim of separate nationality, which it was wiUing to defend in a great war. No other section of our country has ever known in its fullest sense so complete a disci- pline of war and defeat ; nor has any group of men or states ever mastered new conditions and reconquered peace and pros- perity with more dignity and self-reliance. Here then would seem to be all the elements for the making of a great literature — experiences of triumph and suffering, achievement and de- feat. The Library of Southern Literature does not set itself the task of exploiting any theory, or of justifying any boast. It desires simply to lay before men for their study and reflection the record of life as revealed in literature. INTRODUCTION xrf The literature of all America was dismissed with a sneer until nearly a third of the last century had passed. Great ora- tions, great state papers, great manifestos about human liberty, had indeed come from this land, and from this Southern land in particular; but a literature of analysis, of description, of interpretation, of vast human sympathy, could not come forth from a people occupied so objectively in the work of building and pioneering. Unquestionably, certain great forces at work in the South minimized the career of the man or woman who felt the impulse to utter the experiences of life in literary forms. It is not necessary to summarize or marshal for con- sideration these various forces. Much comfort and pride are to be found in the knowledge that no circumstances, however inhospitable, could wholly stifle this large impulse for utter- ance. A just appraisement of human values will place the makers of literature in the South, during the decades stretch- ing between 1840 and 1870, alongside, if not above, our mar- tial heroes, as souls of very rare quality from whose eyes no veil could hide the vision of things human and spiritual. It is just here that The Library of Southern Literature de- rives its chiefest justification. There is revealed, through its pages, a passion for self-expression and interpretation, of men and women who had no proper audience, and, hence, no strengthening sympathy. Men like Poe and Simms and Tim- rod and Hayne and Kennedy and Gayarre, and a half score others of the ante-bellum writers, belong of right to this in- spiring company. One other thing, at least, this Work will do in addition to its larger human and national purpose. It will make clear that the literary barrenness of the South has been overstated, and its contributions to American literature undervalued, both as to quantity and quality. A new day has come, and with it a new literature marked by new energy, new freedom and self-analysis, and descrip- tive power. Democracy has made up its mind at last to care for its children with persistence and intelligence. The growth of urban pride and responsibility, the determination to increase the attractiveness and charm of country life ; the transforming of illiterate masses into reading constituencies, promise a more sympathetic era for those who write books for their fellow men to read xxii SOUTHERN LITERATURE In the summer of 1881, I saw Sidney Lanier in the moun- tains of North Carolina, vainly seeking strength to work on at his task. "The Marshes of Glynn" and "Corn" were new and beautiful songs to my ears. Some years later, under the trees of my old college, I read "Marse Chan," with a new compre- hension of the wealth and fullness of the unvoiced life of the land, which those of us born here love so well. Southern liter- ature had, to that period, largely meant to me orations, pole- mics, threnodies, defenses. A dim hint of the beauty and power of the unworked fields came into my mind, and with it a hope that the land itself would give birth to the voices fit to break the silences. The Library of Southern Literature sets forth the story of how these voices appeared in due time and did their work, and the bare recital should be itself a stim- ulant to pride, and an encouragement to those who shall here- after seek to find and express truth in life. THOMAS ALBERT SMITH ADAMS [1839— 18S8] DABNEY LIPSCOMB THE great-grandparents of T. A. S. Adams, as he was generally called, were Welsh-Irish Presbyterians, who emigrated from Ireland to South Carolina in 1766. Abram Adams, his father, moved with his wife and five children, in 1834, to Noxubee County, Missis- sippi, and bought a tract of land from the Indians. Ten out of the fourteen children in this thrifty, intelligent, religious family lived to the age of twenty-one. Among them was T. A. S. Adams, born February 5, 1839, and named for a general under whom his father served in the War of 1812. From the neighborhood school he en- tered, with marked literary proclivities, the University of Mississippi and completed the Junior year, graduating with honors at Emory and Henry College, Virginia, in i860. The same year he married, and entered the Methodist ministry. He was chaplain of the lith Mississippi Volunteers in the Confederate Army. Transferring in 1871 from the Mobile Conference, which he had joined, to the North Mississippi Conference, formed that year, he soon ranked among the leaders in the Conference, filling important stations and at in- tervals appointed to the presidency of several church schools. He was among the first, and one of the ablest and most earnest, advo- cates of a Mississippi Methodist College. His remarkable epic poem, 'Enscotidion; or, Shadow of Death,' was published in 1876. 'Aunt Peggy and Other Poems' appeared in 1882, in which year he was a delegate from his Conference to the General Conference of the Southern Methodist Church. The degree of Doctor of Divinity was conferred on him by his alma mater in 1884. In 1886 he became president of Centenary College, Louisiana, but resigned the next year and moved to Jackson, Mississippi, where he established a school with the design of having it become the State Methodist Col- lege. But his plans miscarried, and he reentered the itinerant min- istry in the North Mississippi Conference. At the annual Confer- ence in December, 1888, he preached with great power, to the de- light and edification of his hearers. He died suddenly, from a stroke of apoplexy, December 21, 1888, in the railway station at Jackson, Mississippi, while preparing to leave for his new appoint- ment at Oxford, Mississippi. The following day, after eloquent 1 2 SOUTHERN LITERATURE tributes to his memory by Bishop C. B. Galloway and Dr. W. B. Murrah, his remains were laid to rest in the city cemetery. As a learned, and at times brilliant and profound preacher, Dr. Adams was perhaps best known. Poetical and philosophical, spir- itual and logical, scholarly and original — it is not surprising that he came to eminence. But as a man of letters more than as an educator and preacher is he entitled to distinction. Considering his opportunities, his scholarship was extraordinary, as his carefully kept ledger notebooks as well as his publications abundantly attest. He was master of Greek, Latin, and Hebrew; and he could read with ease in three or four modern languages besides his own. To various church papers he was a frequent and versatile contributor. In controversy he was skilful, ready, formidable. Fiction, in vari- ous forms, he essayed in his later years, leaving five incomplete stories and several legends among his manuscripts. But poetry was his passion and his luxury, even from boyhood; and his place and rank as a poet may be appraised by the two volumes which he contributed to Southern literature. The author himself culled his poems carefully for the volume published in 1882, entitled 'Aunt Peggy and Other Poems.' "Aunt Peggy" is a narrative poem of about thirty-one hundred lines, broken into ten chapters. Written in short iambic couplets, discursively narrative, the poem as a whole is disappointing. The pictures of a simple, hardy country life in Mississippi seventy or eighty years ago are interesting; the old field-school, in chapter seven, especially so, because of its graphic and humorous portrayal. The tenth chap- ter is the longest and as poetry the best. In it there are richer, softer tints, and the poet sings to the flute, rather than to the harp. The flickerings of youthful sentiment in "Aunt Peggy's" aged, widowed heart are revealed with tender grace, and the closing apos- trophe to Memory is a noble utterance. The twenty-seven other poems in the volume with "Aunt Peggy" are mostly of a personal and religious nature. "Bury Him in the Sea," on the burial of Dr. Coke at sea, is a spirited poem with fine imagery and lofty sentiments. "Growing Gray," "Never so Much as Now," "While we May," "Hie Jacet," and several others in the minor key attest, in contemplative mood, genuine inspiration and artistic execution. "Old Papers" and "Even with the World" are fanciful and have a note of humor with a serious undertone. But the measure of Dr. Adams as a poet should be taken by his first volume 'Enscotidion ; or, Shadow of Death,' published in 1876, with an Introduction by Rev. R. A. Young, D.D. In youth the author had versified a negro's grotesque dream of a visit to the THOMAS ALBERT SMITH ADAMS 3 lower world, and called it "Cuffy's Dream." Fascinated, apparently, by the mysterious theme, for years he continued more seriously his efforts to fathom its depths and light its darkness. The result is ' Enscotidion ; or. Shadow of Death,' an epic of six hundred and fifty- two Spenserian stanzas and seven lyrics, divided into five cantos of nearly equal length. Self-reliant and intrepid indeed is the spirit that would attempt to wake new music on the mighty harp from which "The Inferno" and "Paradise Lost" were evoked. It is not the orchestral music of the old masters, very truly; for in scope, machinery, and measure 'Enscotidion' differs widely from their great epics. Yet in places there are suggestions of Miltonic sweep and grandeur; elsewhere are approaches to Dantesque realism in the vivid conjunction of things earthly and unearthly; again, in versi- fication and tendency to allegory Spenserian traces are easily dis- cernible. No Satan and Michael, Virgil and Beatrice, or Archimago and Duessa appear in 'Enscotidion.' Time, Death, Disease, Night, Solitude, Reason, Hope, Faith, Fiends, and Furies, and a youth from Earth guided by Despair, are the chief acquaintances to be formed in this realm of phantoms and of horrors. Through all this "strange, wild dream" a serious purpose runs, which is, to show that this side of death, however steeped in sin the soul may be, there is yet hope of heaven. Applause from high sources was bestowed on the new poet. Dr. Young begins his Introduction with the prediction that "the author of 'Enscotidion' is destined to take a high rank among the poets of America" ; and Bishop J. C. Keener is credited with the remark that Dr. Adams ought to have time and means to give a poetical interpre- tation to the Apocalypse, being the only man he knew able to do this. But, owing to its nature and more perhaps to the unpropitious times in the South for the favorable reception of poetry of the kind, the work did not receive generally the attention that it deserved. A slight revision with a brief prefatory argument to each canto would doubtless have increased the number of its readers. Only one edition of the poem has been published. Unequal, admittedly, 'Enscotidion' is; but what poem of six thousand lines is not? At times even Homer nods, Milton proses, and Dante is repulsively gruesome or grotesque. The epilogue stan- zas addressed to the muse or to the reader, and the touches of mor- bid humor or satire, which might have been omitted in a revision, are the most serious defects of the poem. That to such amazing depths and agonizing distances, to so good purpose and with so few artistic lapses, the poet in imagination or phantasy carries Azan, -5 SOUTHERN LITERATURE is a feat no less than wonderful, an achievement almost unparalleled in American literature. Among the manuscripts of Dr. Adams is the fragment of an- other epic, 'The Lost Restored.' The argument for five books is complete. A lyric invocation and most of the first book in blank verse have been written. Heaven and illimitable space, saints and angels, Christ and God are the objects and personages in this pro- jected epic. Men and devils do not appear, for the Judgment with its momentous issues has long since passed. Twelve legions of angels dispatched ten thousand years before to a universe millions and mil- lions of miles distant have not returned. A council is held in heaven. How they were lost and how restored is the theme of this well-nigh celestial tragedy. It is referred to only to show more fully the ardent poetic nature and the lofty literary aspirations of Dr. Adams. BIBLIOGRAPHY For fuller information of the life and writings of this poet, preacher and scholarly teacher, the reader is referred to the ap- pended bibliography. His manuscripts in excellent state of preser- vation are in the hands of his widow, Mrs. Susan S. Adams, who now lives at Emory, Virginia, her paternal home. Enscotidion; or, Shadow of Death. By the Rev. T. A. S. Adams, A.M.; With an Introduction by R. A. Young, D.D. ; Edited by Thomas O. Summers, D.D. Nashville, Tennessee, Southern Methodist Publishing House, 1876. Aunt Peggy and Other Poems. By Rev. T. A. S. Adams; Cincin- nati, Walden and Stowe, Printers, 1882. Memoir of T. A. S. Adams, D.D. By W. T. J. Sullivan, D.D.; North Mississippi Conference Annual, 1889. T. A. S. Adams, Poet, Educator, and Pulpit Orator. By Dabney Lipscomb ; Publications of the Mississippi Historical Society; Vol. IV., 1901. THOMAS ALBERT SMITH ADAMS BURY HIM IN THE SEA Lines Suggested by the Burial of Dr. Coke. From 'Aunt Peggy -md Other Poems.' All selections are used by kind permission of Mrs. Susan S. Adams. Bury him in the sea ! What earthly mausoleum half so grand ? Too narrow any other grave, for he Belongs to every land. His world-embracing heart Gives to the ocean pulse-beat something more Than the dull splash of waves that strike and part Upon the rock-bound shore. His is no dull repose 'Neath turf and evergreen and chiseled stone; But out o'er all the world his spirit goes To every clime and zone. E'en where the icy floes Lock in the islands of the Arctic bleak, Tongues have been taught 'mid everlasting snows His mission grand to speak. And where the whip-poor-will In dark savannahs tunes her nightly strain, The joyful hallelujah echoes still, And Nature shouts. Amen! And where the cocoa isles So beautifully dot the Southern seas. Soft voices lute-like grown 'neath Heaven's smiles Float out upon the breeze. Along the rugged coast Where growls the hoarse Atlantic to the gale. There let the thundering billows wake the host With many a loud "All hail!" SOUTHERN LITERATURE Let every hollow roar Recall his earnest voice, persuasive still To teach the sons of men to sin no more, But learn their Maker's will. Yes! By the Ganges flood Let India's mothers listen, while its flow Less turbid grows with sacrificial blood And tears of hopeless woe. Far back to Thibet's crags Let the cry ring along its winding tide. Waking from out its fens of reeds and flags Mortals of light denied. Till from the broad Amoor And Lena's ice-clogged mouth the new-made song Full, free, and ceaseless as their floods shall pour Their swelling notes along. Yes ! Lay him in the sea ! Too small the coffin, far too small the grave ! Fitting it is his resting-place should be The ocean's boundless wave. Lower the lifeless clod! Down, down in grottoes where Leviathan Sleeps in the solitude of his abode, Lower the holy man! Bury and leave alone ! Speed on, O ship, an Eye is in the skies ! Speed on! The Master only said, "Well done! Enter my Paradise!" Roll on, O sea; a day Is coming when a more resplendent sun Shall shine upon thy billows. Then shall say That voice again, "Well done!" THOMAS ALBERT SMITH ADAMS And as from shore to shore Wave gleams on wave o'er all the boundless sea. Thou shalt give up thy charge, who never more Shall know mortality. WHILE WE MAY From 'Aunt Peggy and Other Poems.' While we may the morning dews Catch with all their gorgeous hues ; While in clear auroral light Nature smiles away the night. And the breezes from the blooms Steal the richest of perfumes, Let us from the blushing day Borrow sweetness while we may. While the day clouds dot the sky Piled like snowy mountains high ; Ere the thunder peals afar Notes of elemental war; While as yet the murmuring breeze Gently fans the drowsy trees. And the storm is far away. Let us labor while we may. While the twilight's crimson glow, Floods the sleepy world below, As through rifted clouds the sun Smiles good-night when day is done ; While o'er field and wood and stream Half awake and half in dream. Falls the sunlight's golden spray. Let us catch it while we may. While we may! Time lingers not, Fast he flies on noiseless foot. Wisdom's counsel is to seize Passing opportunities. SOUTHERN LITERATURE Deeds to-day ! To-morrow's scheme Is a vain, delusive dream. Fortune, like the potter's clay, Should be molded while it may. There are roads of mortal life, Easy some, but full of strife Others; but the patient soul Reaches at the end a goal, Where in honor or in shame It beholds in lines of flame Woe or joy without decay ; Choose the road while yet you may ! While we may, a stainless mind, Feed with heavenly food refined ; While the wings of hope are strong. Mounting high and soaring long ; While our faith, with steady eye, Sees, beyond a changing sky. Glories born of cloudless day. Let us seek them while we may. While we may, on tables write Names imperishably bright; While we may, e'en from the tomb. Give the world a sweet perfume ; While we may a starry throne Gain where sorrow is unknown, And its mighty scepter sway, Let us win it while we may. GROWING GRAY From 'Aunt Peggy and Other Poems.' Growing gray! A silver line Clotho spins me day by day. And as through the black they shine I am growing old, they say ! THOMAS ALBERT SMITH ADAMS But I'm on the sunny slope Of the hills of middle life; Who would say to mar my hope, "Atropos whets up her knife?" Yes, she whets as Clotho spins. Clips a fiber here and there ; Day by day the lock she thins Of each smoothest, blackest hair — Black ones that will come no more After they have dropt away ; iWhile the wrinkles tell me o'er I am growing old and gray. And is age so very nigh? Yesterdaiy my heart was light. Now a film is on my eye. But 'tis ten o'clock at night, I am growing gray — that's all ; 'Tis an easy thing to read When the letters are not small; But this type is bad indeed. I've a stiffness in my knee — 'Twas not there a year ago— 'Tis the climate's work, you see. And the lot of man below. There's a dullness at the heart. Labor brought that on to-day ; Rest will cause it to depart, Though it leaves me still more gray. Growing gray and grayer still 1 Looking in the glass I see Some one hobbling down the hill. Seeming to be hunting me. Bent his form, and dim his eye. How he prates of days agone I Begging of his memory One fresh picture— only one. Only orie where Love and Hope iWeave a fadeless wreath to crown 10 SOUTHERN LITERATURE Youth's fair brow, whose pathway up Ne'er shall know a going down. But I look again, — I see Into night he fades away; Does he think while hunting me That I'm growing old and gray? Can the Future's ghost grow old? Toothless and of faltering speech, Howsoe'er the past may scold Its young grandchild, out of reach. Hides behind the curtains bright In its games of hide and seek ; Let me play with it to-night Ere the roses leave my cheek. Down, ye bitter memories ! Down, ye dark forebodings, down ! In the blissful future rise Brightest visions ever known. Be they false or be they true. What is that, since you disdain Giving back the locks that grew Glossy on my brow in vain? O ye cares that on my track Hover like a beast of prey! I'll not try to drive you back. Though I'm growing old and gray. Growing gray ! Beyond the sun Sinking slow o'er western slopes, Streams perennially run. Sparkling with immortal hopes. And as on those streams I look. Glossy shine the locks as ever; Life is still the purling brook — Not the noisy, turbid river. Care is but a phantom grim, Drawn with charcoal on the wall. Who would be afraid of him, Whether seeming great or small ? THOMAS ALBERT SMITH ADAMS U Faith sits calmly in the shade Laughing foolish fears away; And I smile to hear it said, "He is growing old and gray." Go, thou spinster sister, go! Spin for love or spin for spite! Let the locks still thinner grow ! Let the threads grow still more white. Clip, thou scowling sister, clip! Clip it short, or clip it long; I'll not let the moment slip For a glad and hopeful song. For the Graces, too, can spin. They can weave 'mid clouds and snows Veils of spotless white as thin As those that on the mount repose. When the angel of the night Stoops to change with that of day, And with its departing light Blends the golden with the gray. INVOCATION From 'Enscotidion; or Shadow of Death' Canto First Muse of the heavenly strain and stainless wing. May I invoke thee? Would a seraph lay Aside the golden harp, and cease to sing The anthems of the shining court of day, And on a lonely mission speed away To catch the discord of a world of night? Thou sportest where the yellow sunbeams play Wanton with human hopes and fancies bright. Till e'en the blackest clouds swarm with the hosts of light There, with such beauties ever wont to dwell, Thou weavest harp-strings of their golden hair. Stoop, heavenly muse, upon us, and beguile The woe of some unfriended child of care; Or wilt thou never quit celestial air? i2 SOUTHERN LITERATURE Fair daughter of those happy realms, in vain Eyes from the prison windows of despair Their tearful, woe-beclouded vision strain To catch the sight of thee, who com'st to break their chain. If, then, to thee, through scenes of woe and night. The privilege to rove at will be given, Descend with me to Erebus, and light Its darkness for awhile with beams from heaven. Upon the ear of hopeless spirits even Let fall some note of heavenly harmony. By which the howling furies may be driven Awhile to deeper shades; and hell may be A land not tumult all, while occupied by thee. But if, in shadows deep enveloped, still This God-forsaken land must ever groan — If o'er this gulf no angel pinion will Essay to pass — may mortal dare alone To grope amid the darkness of th' unknown? May I, then, unattended seek the shades? Shall I, so unacquainted with my own, Explore a world where none but spirit treads. Chasing a fatuus light o'er its dark everglades? Ye restless demons, that are doomed to stay The denizens of darkness evermore. May I invoke you, and attune my lay To sound more horrid than the angry roar Of clashing islands off the Thracian shore? May I with you infernal lightnings dare, And o'er obstructions, never passed before, Successful toil, and reach a region where The unfrequented isles the golden fleeces bear? THOMAS ALBERT SMITH ADAMS 13 THE COURT OF DEATH Frem 'Enscotidion; or Shadow o{ Death' Canto Third. But now his car is at the audience-hall, And all his somber train, with measured tread, Move through the silent streets. How sadly all The people of this city of the dead Look on the solemn pomp! All hope has fled Full many a heart — yet on the pageant goes; And Azan, by his guardian-spirit led, Follows, with heart oppressed, he scarcely knows Whither, while thus a fury seems to mock his woes : "Hail, mortal, whatever thy landl Though visions of Eden were thine, Though zephyrs have hitherto fanned Thy forehead and temples divine, Come hither, and sit by the waves as they roll. Now sinking abysmal, now reaching the pole. And answer in wailings each sorrowful note, That breaks o'er the roar of the sea, From mariners wrecked, who hopelessly float Down on the rough billows to thee. * * * * * in "Now gather, ye servants of Death; Quit, quit your dark, narrow confine. Nor waste in sad wailing your breath. Thus shaming your title divine. Come, mortal, thou pilgrim from over the sea. Attend to the summons, and visit with me The court of the monarch who gloomily sits Enthroned in the Hall of the Dead, And bear to the earth from its numberless sprites The story of wonder and dread." Then rose a little cloud of sordid dust From every hillock on that beach so vast ; The ocean also rendered back its trust, And millions crowded o'er its boiling waste. It seemed that there would never come the last ; 14 SOUTHERN LITERATURE For still they came, and denser grew the cloud, Which on the wing of tempest hurried past, And into the dark hall began to crowd. Which hardly room enough for one in ten allowed. Yet on they pressed, until assembled; all Bowed to the haughty monarch on his throne. Which rose within the center of the hall, And with the beams of light infernal shone. Then from the throng arose a hollow moan, Which echoed o'er the city loud and long; And Azan answered with a stifled groan. Which found no echo but the fury's song. Still ringing in his ears above the wailing throng. Then rose a specter of unsightly mien. And long in contemplation looked around. The vast assemblage was no longer seen, And silence reigned oppressively profound. Each cloud had settled to a little mound. Scarce noticeable to a careless eye. Yet, trodden on, gave forth a hollow sound. That seemed to say to Azan, "Here we lie; Tread softly over us, for thou must also die." The tyrant summoned then the silent host To rise, and from the little mounds of dust Rose every spirit to his wonted post. The first of these in honor and in trust, A prince of many names, but known as Lust, His bloated image placed before the throne. With self-approving dignity he thrust His loathsome company on every one. And e'en on Death, who thus began, in haughty tone : "Thou, first to answer to my royal call. Whose name is Legion, and whose honors are As numerous — one name must serve for all; Then I will call thee Lust. Come, thou, prepare To tell me of thy service rendered. Where THOMAS ALBERT SMITH ADAMS 15 Are the rich spoils won by ignoble life? Where are the fruits of diligence and care In sowing seeds with death and sorrow rife? Go, call them from thy halls of lechery and strife." "Most worthy monarch," then the imp replied, "Behold the good which I have turned to ill. Here stand the proofs before thee at my side, And half this mighty audience-chamber fill. How I have sought the pious domicile, And talked of heaven and eternity, Let these attest, as thousands surely will; And none can have assurance to deny That none has done a work so damnable as I. "Pure love is banished from the human breast. And chastity lives only as the dead — A saintly nothing in a land of rest. To which a beggared race of crones has fled. Rapine and Rage rave riotous and red With blood of innocents; Crime stalks at noon, Shameless and fearless, to the wanton's bed; And beasts stand wonder-stricken, that so soon Their guiltless blood must flow for crimes which man has done. "Thrones, palaces, and kingdoms I have won; Earth'? proudest princes worship at my shrine; And Beauty lays its richest gifts upon The altars consecrate to lust and wine. Youth, hopeful youth, of countenance divine, Besotted, see, with wan and burning cheek. Belie his Maker's blessing and design; While furies on his guilty conscience wreak Dire vengeance that extorts full many a hopeless shriek. "Here premature old age, on weary feet. Totters to thy embrace, and groans and dies ; Here parents wrap their babe in burial-sheet. Which envious Heaven to their prayers denies ; Here ghastly Want, with haggard visage, tries 16 SOUTHERN LITERATURE To welcome thee, sweet harbinger of rest ; And here dark Melancholy sits and sighs, Debating sadly whether it were best To wait thy summons or to leap into thy breast. "Ten thousand vices, and for every vice Ten thousand slaves, attest thy services. Until the blooming bowers of paradise Not half so many leaves and flowers possess. On, on to thee, with eager haste they press, To fill the far-extended bounds of hell With their prolific brood of wretchedness. Look o'er this vast array, O Death, and tell If I, thy servant, have not done my duty well." Then answered Death: "How short must glory last. E'en to a servant who has been most true! But these will hardly serve to break my fast; And from them must I turn to fast anew ? Are these the mightiest deeds that thou canst do To keep thy honored post of trust with me? This scanty tithe of being? Go, pursue Some shorter path across the sullen sea. By which to bring the ruined sons of Deity. "For couldst thou call from this unsounded deep The countless generations buried there; Couldst thou through heaven's ethereal regions sweep. And gather all the hosts of its pure air; Couldst thou send blight and wailing everywhere. Till all earth's fields and islands evergreen Grew pestilential with thy breath ; though there The flowers grew tainted, and the sons of men Made earth a place more foul than hell has ever been — "What were it all to me, thou bloated beast, Who eatest up the flesh, and dost but throw The wasted skeleton to me, to feast Upon — a dog of thine, so mean and low That I must eat thy crumbs, or starving go! THOMAS ALBERT SMITH ADAMS 17 Give! Give! a universal holocaust, To gorge me with the last expiring woe Of all creation! Less than this, the most But whets my appetite. Lo, I am but a ghost! "Ambition! Come, thou art a courtier here; Come, tell me what is by thy service brought. Thou dost in armor bright and wreaths appear; Is this to shield thee, and that other sought Through vanity? Thou tremblest, dost thou not. To look upon me? Lo, this shaft of mine — The strongest that hell's forge has ever wrought — Can cleave that Liliputian mail of thine, And thee and all thy trophies to the dust consign." "And art thou ignorant," Ambition said, "Of all my mighty deeds, despotic Death? Go ask yon spectral armies of the dead Who sent them hither. Yes, I wear a wreath, In winning which I dared thee to thy teeth ; And having won, I wear. No boasting vain Has ever once been uttered by my breath. To truckle to the proudest I disdain, And here hurl back defiance to thy teeth again." At this the monarch smiled a ghastly smile. And, in cajoling accents, thus replied: "Hold, noble spirit! but reflect awhile How honors scatter in a storm of pride. Pause now, and all resentment lay aside, And say not what thou wilt, but what thou hast Accomplished. Mark, thy worth is not denied; But show thy trophies of achievements past. And let all know the worth of them, from first to last." Pleased at this speech. Ambition took his crown Of flowers from his brow, and, bending low Beside the monarch's throne, he laid it down; Then next his armor proffered to bestow. He then proceeded pompously to show 18 SOUTHERN LITERATURE What meant the various marks and scars it bore; These served to let a race of dastards know The matchless prowess of the man that wore, And those were made by fools who ne'er should battle more. "And, lo!" said he, "where I have been and hurled Princes and palaces together down. And wrought the ruin of a peaceful world, To build a temple or confirm a crown. Are nations haughty or luxurious grown? I give them up to war, rapine, and sack; The people's household gods are overthrown; Their pillaged homes and temples, charred and black. Are guide-posts to Disease and Famine on my track. "My trophies thou wouldst see? Lo, yonder lie Ten thousand putrefying carcasses ! Breathe their sweet odor, reeking to the sky, And feel the gnawing of thy hunger less! Go to that mother, in her deep distress. And mark her tears, as I have often done; Go heal her broken heart, her wrongs redress, By telling of the valor of that son Whose face divine she never more shall look upon. "Ask yonder wretch, whom unrelenting Fate Has dragged from wealth to utter penury, Why now he wanders homeless, desolate. Begging his bread of earth's cold charity. Ask of that broken-hearted maid if he She loved returned, but, base, betrayed her trust. Her sobs will answer, 'No,' most bitterly; He fell a victim to Ambition's lust. And in a nameless grave he molders back to dust. "Ask of the sorrowing father, whom rude Time Has left but hoary locks, and furrowed cheek. And tottering step, and withered hopes, behind Aspiring manhood's miserable wreck; And if he heave a sigh, and fail to speak. THOMAS ALBERT SMITH ADAMS 19 Ask of that pale-faced widow why that child Ne'er looks for father now; and she will break Her silence with the voice of wailing wild — The wail of heart once happy in a land that smiled. "The ruthless steel my right hand steeps in blood. The left the fagot brandishes on high; With one I pour on earth a crimson flood, And with the other light the midnight sky With horrid conflagration. Hark! a cry Rises amid yon ruins, as they fall; It is a hopeless people there that die To leave a niche within some temple's wall For such as Alexander, Caesar, Hannibal. "The blooming earth becomes a wilderness Where'er I tread. Behold yon distant skies, Where Lucifer, disdaining to be less, Dared e'en against Omnipotence to rise ! There first confusion in the symphonies Of seraph-harps I made, and angels fell; Down came the host, and, passing paradise. Dragged man along, with all his seed, to swell The mighty avalanche, upon its way to hell. "Mercy weeps sadly o'er her daughter, Peace, Who, murdered by my hand, before her lies; Love the last rite performs at her decease, Then lifts the dewy curtains of her eyes Cerulean, drops a tear, and heavenward flies, To join her sisters in that region where No bitter enmities, nor tears, nor sighs, Nor blasted hopes, nor comfortless despair. Waits on the wretched race whose heritage is care." He ceased and proudly waved his hand, and War Called up his millions in a serried host ; And Famine led a train extending far O'er many a weary league of that drear coast; Murder came up ; and then the pallid ghost 20 SOUTHERN LITERATURE Of Pestilence breathed foulest odors o'er The moving multitude. "These I can boast As mine, O Death ! If thou demandest more, My honors and my sword I here to thee restore." "Are these enough?" said Death, on looking round; "Away, ye braggarts, with your worthless train!" His voice was answered by the rumbling sound Of hell beneath. And Azan looked again, But only saw the far-extended plain Dotted with little mounds; the gloomy sea Was chanting all alone its sad refrain ; Death sat upon his throne, and sullenly Gnashed his huge teeth and died, a gaunt nonentity. Vanished! a vision full of strangest whims! Magnificently terrible! Yet all Upon the tablet of the memory dims, And leaves us musing in the vacant hall. Come, let us mount his throne, and mock his call ; For there was melody e'en in the groans ; There was a line of beauty where the pall Most darkly folded o'er the putrid bones; And what a matchless grandeur in those empty thrones I HEW AINSLIE [1792—1878] ALEXANDER ST. CLAIR MACKENZIE "But the canty hearth where cronies meet. An' the darling o' our ee — That makes to us a warl' complete, Oh! the ingle side for me." CARVED over many a fireplace in America is this vignette of the cosy ingle or fire-side. In Cave Hill Cemetery, Louisville, these lines are chiseled on an upright shaft of red Scots granite, at the base of which sleeps Hew Ainslie, who for nearly half a century was cherished on Kentucky's bosom. As he rests in her arms his foster-mother is proud of him, and well may she count him worthy of a place among the writers of Southern literature. If once you saw Ainslie, how could you forget him, — six feet four inches in height, and erect as an athlete? Blue eyes cheerily glistened under a lofty forehead. Until near the gloaming of his earthly career dark-brown locks crowned a head whose symmetry hinted at mental poise and ideality. You could neither gaze upon that kindly face nor pass that stately figure without looking back and saying, "Who is he?" Have you ever fished in the Girvan water? That river of south- western Scotland could tell some thrilling stories of Robert the Bruce and of the Covenanters. Here it runs close to the oaks and firs of Bargany, an old estate of the Kennedys, afterwards bought by the Hamiltons^ under one of whom, Sir Hew D. Hamilton, Ainslie's father, saw military service in Austria. At the cottage on the laurel-crested hillock near the bridge Hew Ainslie was born in 1792. A more appropriate name could scarcely have been chosen for the lad. Hew is from the Cymric Hu, which originally signifies the sun-god, and then means mental radiance or thought. Ainslie is a name found in both Scotland and England. In the borderland it is of Gaelic origin, and probably comes from Aen-laech, unique hero, the s of Ainslie being intrusive. A private tutor prepared Hew to enter the parish school of Ballantrae, where he first listened to the message of the sea as he mingled with fishermen, sailors, and former smugglers. He next 21 22 SOUTHERN LITERATURE entered Ayr Academy, but in his fourteenth year the mother called him home. For three more years he found employment in the Bargany gardens, a training that helped to develop his love of nature. The diversions of the growing lad were innocent enough. On the boards of a granary, which was converted into a sort of theatre, he played the part of Anna in Home's "Douglas" and of Jenny in Ramsay's "Gentle Shepherd." For years Ainslie's cultured mother had been accustomed to sing the lyrics scattered through Ramsay's pastoral, and this was the only form of poetry that appealed to his boyish nature. It was the mother, whose maiden name was Grahame Steel, that crooned the old ballads and unforgettable folk-songs, or recited stirring tales of romance. In 1809 his father, George Ainslie, went east from Bargany to Roslin, and the lad was apprenticed to a Glasgow lawyer. As he found legal study distasteful, he secured a clerkship in the Register House, Edinburgh. At times he escaped the monotony of the desk by writing ballads and songs, some of the former finding their way into Chambers's collection of 'Scottish Ballads.' Ainslie obtained another respite from his daily drudgery when in 1817 Professor Dugald Stewart engaged him as amanuensis. Here he met Maria Edgeworth, Lord Palmerston, and other celebrities of the day. Gradually the clouds of Ainslie's tobacco smoke began to curl into seven letters which looked like America. The poet was thirty years of age when he sailed from Liverpool for New York, leaving his wife and three children among relatives until he could send for them with safety. The first three years on a farm in New York and the following year in Indiana convinced him that the plough was not for him. In 1829 he engaged in com- merce at Louisville, to which city he brought his family. Three years later a flood swept his Louisville property into the Ohio river, and in 1834 a fire ruined his business venture in New Albany, Indiana. With the versatile courage of his race he became a contractor, and he supervised the erection of many a mill and factory, lightening his toil by composing occasional songs and poems. Forty years after he had left the motherland, he recrossed the Atlantic and was cordially received. It was in 1865 that he returned to Louisville, welcomed by hundreds of his Kentucky friends. It was at a Louisville banquet in 1871 that he humorously confessed having once kissed the widow of Robert Burns. Until his death in 1878 he resided with his eldest son,* George. A fall shattered Hew Ainslie's excellent health and eventually caused his death. Every man's work, literary or otherwise, is inevitably the result •To the daughter of George Ainslie, Mrs. L. A. Staib, the writer is under obligation for assistance in preparing this sketcli. HEW AINSLIE 23 of what he thinks, and every man's thoughts are to some extent ruled by the kind of blood that runs in his veins. Why is it that Scotland possesses at least eight thousand melodies? Why is it that no other nation has such a rich heritage of folk-song? Partly by reason of its history, partly by reason of the predominating Celtic element in almost every section of Scotland. As denoted by sur- names, the Celticity of its population is about eighty per cent., and Ainslie was born in the Carrick district, where his forefathers spoke Gaelic as late as the Seventeenth century. All through his life and its reflection in his poetry Hew Ainslie shows that in nature as in name he is an Anglo-Celt. Outside of Gaelic literature it is certain that Ainslie has caught the lift and lilt of the sea waves better than any Scot of modem times. From Homer to Kipling not many men have tried to chant the secrets of the ever-changing waters. Among these singers Ainslie has a place that is not overshadowed even by Thomas Camp- bell. The sailor-man swears by the chanteys of the forecastle, yet even he will admit that no sane man would hurl into the lee-scuppers verses such as "The Rover o' Lochryan" (accent on the ry), "The Lads o' Lendalfit," "The Rover's Song," "Sighings for the Sea," and "A Man Before the Mast." The first is an exquisite snatch of sea music, rhythmic as the schooner's heave in a stiffening breeze and magnetic as the mermaids of mythic lore. Blessed is Ainslie with the virility of the sea surge, and twice blessed with eyes that often see into the very heart of man. A glimpse of his vision brings wholesome tears or smiles. He speaks when you and I neither dare nor can. If "The Rover o' Lochryan" is the type of a spirited marine narrative, "It's Dowie in the Hint o' Hairst" (It's dreary in the end [lit. behind] of harvest) is a typical lyric of grief. Ainslie never penned lines so simple, so direct, so heart-reaching. The elliptical style leaves much, but not too much to the imagination of the reader, and we feel the universal appeal which stamps a literary effort with genius. Through the medium of a vivid diction we can see the burns grow bold as the autumn rains swell their current, and we are caught by the Hellenic antithesis which portrays the shining eye that darkens the world. Heaven is impersonal when linked with human sorrow, "an' we maun bear what it likes to sen'." We almost hear the speechless sob that introduces the last line with its yearning cry of soul for soul. Of morbidness there is not a trace. "The Bourocks o' Bargeny," "The Ingle Side," "The Gowan o' the West," and "Fair Marion o* Kilkerran" are graceful lyrics, the second of which is especially popular; yet some students will continue to prefer "The Hint o' Hairst." Ainslie believes in the philosophy of optimism. He is convinced 24 SOUTHERN LITERATURE that whining is unmanly and worse than useless. He smiles oftener than he laughs, and he usually laughs quietly, like a gentleman. His humor is at times as sly as it is irrepressible. Many an example might be culled from poems such as "The Dogs o' Drumachreen," "The Troker," "Taking the Warld," "The Tinkler's Sang," "The Bachellor's Advice," and "The Fishwife's Advice." The ballads are in a class by themselves. Some of Ainslie's ballads, are so brilliantly executed that they might readily be mistaken for Scots folk-songs. He has caught some of the traditional phrases, and with his admirable knowledge of history and letters he repre- sents the robust primal elements of human nature. His choicest ballads are "The Knight of Ellerslie," "Willy and Helen," "Sir Arthur and Lady Ann," "Lady Ellen's Last Night," and "Sir Ringan." Of these perhaps "Sir Arthur and Lady Ann" has the highest literary merit. When a man grows older he cannot be expected to retain the fire of youth. The poems that Ainslie composed upon American themes are usually cheerful enough, but at times they lack the glamour and the spontaneity of earlier efforts. Some of the more characteristic of these are "Harvest Home in America," "Come Awa' to the West," "The Great West," "The Haughs (river meadows) o' Auld Ken- tuck," "The Pilgrim's Return to Louisville," and "The Pleasant Past." Orientals generally tell us how many thousand verses were written by their poets. They admire Firdusi largely because he has written 50,000 couplets, exclusive of his "Joseph and Zulaika"; but while Ainslie's verses are not inconsiderable in quantity, it is their quality that commands our supreme interest. As one of the unobtrusive interpreters of the Nineteenth century, the world will gratefully re- member him. As Lloyd Mifflin is America's greatest sonneteer, so Hew Ainslie, the adopted Kentuckian, may perhaps be ranked as America's most ardent singer of the sea. (X . ^ . lliuJkwi^^ HEW AINSLIE 25 BIBLIOGRAPHY r. A Pilgrimage to the Land of Burns: Deptfordj 1822. (This English edition was published anonymously by Ainslie, and is a prose narrative intermingled with some of his most popular poems. The only issue that is preserved is in the British Museum and in the Advocates' Library.) 2. Scottish Songs, Ballads, and Poems by Hew Ainslie; New York, 1855. (The only American edition. Very rare and long out of print.) 3. A Pilgrimage to the Land of Burns, and Poems, by Hew Ainslie, with a memoir of the author by Thomas C. Latto: W. M. Gardner, Publisher, Paisley, Scotland, and London, 1892. (This Scot- tish edition is the most comprehensive.) Besides the bibliography given by Thomas Bayne in Leslie Stephen's 'Dictionary of National Biography,' the following reviews are worthy of notice : 1. Veitch, John: The Feeling for Nature in Scottish Poetry, Edinburgh, 1887, vol. ii. 317. 2. Hew Ainslie's Centenary, in the Scotsman, Edinburgh, April 5, 1892. 3. Hew Ainslie, in the Saturday Review, London, October i, 1892. 4. Dougall, C. S.: The Burns Country, London, 1904, 83-86. In Latto's edition of Ainslie's works are cited the opinions of brother poets, such as Scott and Campbell, opinions which may inter- est even if they fail to inform the reader. THE ROVER O' LOCHRYAN All selections are from 'A Pilgrimage to the Land of Burns and Poems.' Copyright, 1892, by W. M. Gardner, Publisher, Paisley, Scotland. By kind permission of the publisher. The Rover o' Lochryan he's gane, Wi' his merry men sae brave ; Their hearts are o' steel, an' a better keel Ne'er bowl'd owre the back o' a wave. It's no when the loch lies dead in its trough, When naething disturbs it ava, t*' ■"' But the rack an' the ride o' the restless tide. An' the splash o' the grey sea-maw. iseimewj 26 SOUTHERN LITERATURE It's no when the yawl an' the light skiffs crawl Owre the breast o' the siller sea, [silver] That I look to the west for the bark I lo'e best An' the Rover that's dear to me ; But when that the clud lays its cheek to the flood ["'""''J An' the sea lays its shouther to the shore ; [shoulder] When the win' sings heigh, an' the sea-whaups screigh. As they rise frae the deafening roar. ^™^'^*' """■"' It's then that I look thro' the thickening rook, l""" An' watch by the midnight tide; I ken the win' brings my Rover hame. An' the sea that he glories to ride. O merry he sits 'mang his jovial crew, Wi' the helm heft in his hand, ""^'^ An' he sings aloud, to his boys in blue. As his e'e's upon Galloway's land : ^*^' "' "Unstent an' slack each reef and tack, [untie] Gi'e her sail, boys, while it may sit; She has roar'd through a heavier sea before, An' she'll roar through a heavier yet. "When landsmen drouse, or trembling, rouse To the tempest's angry moan. We dash through the drift, an' sing to the lift O' the wave that heaves us on. "It's braw, boys, to see the morn's blythe e'e, When the night's been dark and drear ; But it's better far to lie, wi' our storm locks dry, In the bosom o' her that is dear. "Gi'e her sail, gi'e her sail, till she buries her wale, Gi'e her sail, boys, while it may sit ; She has roar'd thro' a heavier sea afore. An' she'll roar thro' a heavier yet." HEW AINSLIE 27 THE LADS O' LENDALFIT "The boat rides south o' Ailsa Craig In the doupin' o' the night ; [dropping] There's thretty men at Lendalfit, To make her burden light. "There's thretty naigs in Hazel-holm, Wi' the halter on their head, Will cadg't this night ayont yon height, ^K'^ndi If wind an' water speed. "Fy, reek ye out the pat an' spit, I""'' <"^ '"^'"ri For the roast but an' the boil; For wave-worn wight, it is nae meet. Spare feeding an' sair toil." "O, Mungo, ye've a cosy bield, thoiue] Wi' a but ay an' a ben ; [outer and an inner room] Can ye no live a lawfu' life. An' lig wi' lawfu' men?" [league] "Gae blaw your win' aneath your pat, It's blawn av/a' on me; For bag and bark shall be my wark Until the day I die. "Maun I baud by our hameart gudes, '*iS^e^good«j An' foreign gear sae fine ? Maun I drink at the water wan An' France sae rife o' wine? "I wouldna wrang an honest man The worth o' a siller crown; I couldna hurt a yirthly thing, C««rtfci7? Except a gauger loun. "I'll underlie a rightfu' law That pairs wi' heav'n's decree; But acts and deeds o' wicked men Shall ne'er get grace from me 28 SOUTHERN LITERATURE "O, weel I like to see thee, Kate, Wi' the bairnie on thy knee; But my heart is noo wi' yon gallant crew That drive through the angry sea. "The jauping weet, the stentit sheet, [splashing wet] The sou'-west's stiffest gowl, On a moonless night, if the timmer's tight, Are the joys o' a smuggler's sowl." C'™' l THE ROVER'S SANG Come launch the big brimmer, my boys, Wi' the brandy and wine we will spice it. And if night is too short for our joys, Wi' the best o' to-morrow we'll splice it. When broad moons are sailing on high, Your Rover he's swinging at anchor; When black winds are sweeping the sky, Then hurrah for the boom and the spanker! Who'd live a dull landlubber's life. When there's money and mirth o'er the waters? Who'd hitch to one wearisome wife, When France hath such frolicsome daughters? Ay, gi'e me the beauties o' Brest — They're the darlings for fun and for freedom. What's sweeter, when lovingly prest. Than the frauleins that waltz it in Schiedam? Bale, bale then the brimmer to-night. While we tell o' our cruising an' kissing; How press-gangs were shov'd out o' sight. And gaugers were found 'mong the missing; Ay, roar up some jolly old runs. When the sea was a-scouring our scuppers. How we dodged the old Commodore's guns. And bedevil'd His Majesty's cutters. HEW AINSLIE 29 Then here's to our roving marine, He's the jolliest mate that's a-going; Right end up, wherever he's seen, Be't the wave or the wine cup that's flowing, All flags but his lost country's own, With a rousing hurrah he can hail her ; And his motto, wherever he's known, Is, Free trade and the rights o' the sailor. THE HINT O* HAIRST It's dowie in the hint o' hairst, [dreary; end; harvest] At the wa'-gang o' the swallow, [awaygoingj When the wind blows cauld an' the burns grow bauld, An' the wuds are hingin' yellow; f"*'**' But oh! it's dowier far to see The wa'-gang o' her the heart gangs wi' — The deid-set o' a shining e'e That darkens the weary warld on thee. There was muckle love atween us twa — Oh! twa could ne'er been fonder; An' the thing on yird was never made [earth] That could ha'e gart us sunder. [caused] But the way of Heaven's aboon a' ken, t**""' »" •'"""'"bI And we maun bear what it likes to sen' — [mu»t] It's comfort, though, to weary men, That the warst o' this warld's waes maun en'. There's mony things that come and gae, Just kent and syne forgotten; The flow'rs that busk a bonnie brae W*'"" "'"p*' Gin anither year lie rotten. But the last look o' that lovin' e'e. An' the dying grip she gied to me. They're settled like eternitie — O Mary! that I were with thee. 30 SOUTHERN LITERATURE THE BOUROCKS O' BARGENY I left ye, Jeanie, blcMDming fair, 'Mang the bourocks o' Bargeny; I've found ye on the banks o' Ayr, But sair ye're altered, Jeanie. I left ye 'mang the woods sae green, In rustic weed befitting; I've found ye buskit like a queen. In painted chaumers sitting. I left ye like the wanton lamb That plays 'mang Hadyed's heather; I've found ye noo a sober dame, A wife and eke a mither. Ye're fairer, statelier, I can see, Ye're wiser, nae dou't, Jeanie; But ah! I'd rather met wi thee 'Mang the bourocks o' Bargeny. [bowers] [ attired 1 [chambers] THE INGLE SIDE It's rare to see the morning bleeze. Like a bonfire frae the sea; It's fair to see the burnie kiss The lip o' the flowery lea; An' fine it is on green hillside, When hums the hinny bee; But rarer, fairer, finer far, Is the ingle side to me. Glens may be gilt wi' gowans rare The birds may fill the tree. An' haughs hae a' the scented ware That simmer's growth can gie ; But the canty hearth where cronies meet. An' the darling o' our e'e — That makes to us a warl' complete, Oh! the ingle side for me. [blaze] [streamlet] [firej [daisies] [river meadows] [cheerful] HEW AINSLIE 31 SIR ARTHUR Sir Arthur's foot is on the sand, His boat wears in the wind; An' he's turned him to a fair foot page Who was standing him behind. "Gae hame, gae hame, my bonny boy. An' glad your mither's e'e; I hae left anew to weep an' rue, (enough i Sae nane maun weep for thee. f""'*^ "Take this unto my father's ha', i^^^ An' tell him I maun speed; There's fifty men in chase o' me, An' a price upon my head. "An' bear this to Dunellie's towers, Where my love Annie's gane ; It is a lock o' my brown hair, Girt wi' the diamond stane." "Dunellie he has daughters five. An' some o' them are fair, Sae, how will I ken thy true love l>»»w] Amang sae mony there?" "Ye'll ken her by her stately step As she gaes up the ha'; Ye'll ken her by the look o' love That peers out owre them a' ; "Ye'll ken her by the braid o' goud That spreads owre her e'e bree ; Ye'll ken her by the red, red cheek When ye name the name o' me. "That cheek should lain on this breast-bane, Her hame should been my ha' ; Our tree is bow'd — our flower is dow'd — twiUtrU) Sir Arthur's an outlaw !" (foldl fejtbrow] 32 SOUTHERN LITERATURE He sighed, an' turned him right about, Where the sea lay braid an' wide: It's no to see his bonny boat, But a watery cheek to hide. The page has doff'd his feather'd cap. But an' his raven hair ; An' out there came the yellow locks. Like swirls o' the gouden wair. [doth of gold] Syne he's undone his doublet clasp, Was o' the grass-green hue, When, like a lily frae its leaf, A lady burst in view. "Tell out thy errand now. Sir Knight, Wi' thy love tokens a'; If I e'er rin against my will, 'Twill be at a lover's ca'." [call] Sir Arthur's turned him round about. E'en as the lady spak'; An' thrice he dighted his dim e'e, An' thrice he steppit back. [wiped] But ae blink o* her bonny e'e. Outspoke his Lady Ann; An' he's catch'd her by the waist sae sma* Wi' the grip o' a drowning man. "O Lady Ann! thy bed's been hard, When I thought it the down; O Lady Ann ! thy love's been deep. When I thought it was flown. "I've met my love in the greenwood, My foe on the brown hill; But I ne'er met wi' aught before I liked sae weel, an' ill. HEW AINSLIE 33 "Oh ! I could make a Queen o' thee, An' it would be my pride; But, Lady Ann, it's no for thee To be an outlaw's bride." "Hae I left kith an' kin, Sir Knight, To turn about and rue? Hae I shar'd win' an' weet wi' thee, That I should leave thee noo? "There's gowd an' siller in this han' f^"''': '"'"' Will buy us mony a rigg; tridge] There's pearlings in this other han' A stately tower to bigg. [build] "Tho' thou'rt an outlaw frae this Ian', The warl's braid an' wide : Make room, make room, my merry men. For young Sir Arthur's bride!" LADY ELLEN'S LAST NIGHT There leem'd a light frae yon high tower, Hoomed] When the sun had sought the sea ; There came a sang frae Ellen's bower. When the bird had clos'd his e'e. An' first it sweet and blithely rang. Like the chirm to the early light; teWrpi But ah! it grew a dowie sang, Like the bird that sings o' night. "Gae busk my bower wi' roses white, Pu' lilies frae the rill; Sir Richard he'll be here this night. Ere the moon has left the hill. "My father's gone for stern Lord John, An' says I'll be his bride, But Richard he has Ellen's vow — Her vow, and heart beside." 34 SOUTHERN LITERATURE The moon swam up the cludless lift ; Night's lonesome hour has rung; While sad and sadder grew the sang Fair Lady Ellen sung. "Oh! what can stay my wandering Knight? Can love so soon grow cold? — Or thinks he Ellen's heart is light Without her father's gold?" It's lang she sobb'd an' sorrow'd there; The moon in clouds has set; The kerchief o' her bridal robe Wi' many a tear is wet. When hark! there comes a heavy step. Fair Ellen rais'd her head, — Sir Richard stands in her bower door. His cheek like the sheeted dead. "O Richard, ye hae tarried lang, See, yonder breaks the day; My father's gone for stern Lord John— Away, my love! away!" "I've met thy father and Lord John, We met in yonder howe; [hoUow] And I hae come my bride to claim. They cannot follow now." "Here, Lady, we hae often met. An' here we twa maun part; tmust] Oh! there's a wound in this left breast That dries up Richard's heart. "Oh ! bed me in thy bower, Ellen, An' make thy maidens speed. An' hap me wi' thy hand, Ellen, [eover] The last that e'er I'll need." HEW AINSLIE 35 They've made a bed, he's laid him down, Nor word again he spak'; An' she has sat an' sobbit there Until her young heart brak'. An' there they lay, in other's arms— Oh! 'twas a waesome sight — A pair o' Simmer's blighted blooms, The red rose and the white. SIGHINGS FOR THE SEA At the stent of my string, C«r*tcfci When a fourth o' the earth Lay 'tween me and Scotland, Dear land o' my birth — iWi' the richest o' valleys. And waters as bright As the sun in midsummer Illumes wi' his light; And surrounded wi' a' That the heart or the head. The mou' or the body O' mortal could need — I hae pined in this plenty And paused in my track. As a tug f rae my tether Would make me look back- Look back to auld hills In their red heather bloom, To glens wi' their burnies ittrMmieu] And hillocks o' broom, To some loop in the loch Where the wave gaes to sleep, Or the black craggy headlands That bulwark the deep; 36 SOUTHERN LITERATURE Wi' the sea lashing in Wi' the wind and the tide — Aye, 'twas then that I sicken'd, 'Twas then that I cried: O, gi'e me a sough o' the auld saut sea, ^*'"*^ A scent o' his brine again, To stiffen the wilt that this wilderness Has brought on this bosom and brain. Let me hear his roar on the rocky shore, His thud on the shelly sand, For my spirit's bow'd and my heart is dow'd (withered] Wi' the gloom o' this forest land. Your waving woods and your sweeping floods Look brave in the suns o' June, But the breath o' the swamp brews a sickly damp And there's death in the dark lagoon. Aye, gi'e me the jaup o' the dear auld saut, l»pi«sh] A scent o' his brine again, To stiffen the wilt that this wilderness Has brought on this bosom and brain. THE GREAT WEST Ye vales of this wide western land ^ moiTceUndicfi May be richer than those gave us birth; Your rivers majestic and grand, The bravest that water the earth. And the blossoms your May can awake, May outrival Albion's rose; Your mornings more lovely may break. And softer your twilights may close. But the heart hath a time when it fills, And the spots where our infancy pass'd, In the glen, or the wild heathy hills, The memory will part with them last. HEW AINSLIE 37 Thus we miss, when Spring tenderly throws On the brown earth her first cheering look, The brown furze and white-coated sloes. Unpacking their buds by the brook. While the daisy comes forth like a bride. As the woodbine is thatching the bower. And the meek primrose shoulders aside Withered leaflets, to hang out her flower. And when day breaks away from the night, Where's the birds used to pipe it aloud? Where's the lark, that blythe herald of light. Pouring melody down from his cloud? It is vain. — But the heart still will roam To the sweets of its own native plain, Tho' reason hath found it a home Where Right and Equality reign. THE HAUGHS O' AULD KENTUCK Welcome, Edie, owre the sea, Welcome to this Ian' an' me, Welcome from the warl' whaur we Hae whistled owre the lave o't. l""^ Come, gie your banes anither hitch, Up Hudson's stream, thro' Clinton's ditch, An' see our watlin meadows rich teane-brake] Wi' corn an' a' the lave o't. l»» *^' «»' °' "^ We've hizzies here baith swank and sweet ^""^^Ifei An' birkies that can stan' a heat ^^°'"'^ ""J O' barley bree, or aqua vit, I''"'" "»'" »* '""^ Syne whistle owre the lave o't. Gude kens, I want nae better luck tGoodne,, knows] Than just to see ye, like a buck. Spanking the haughs o' auld Kentuck, ttr^Ufdo^] An' whistling owre the lave o't.* •The foregoing song has a refrain which is frankly borrowed from Robert Burn& "Whistle owre the lave o't" means "Don't whine. Whistle over unavoidable trials vid they will cease to be a burden." 38 SOUTtlERN LITERATURE THE PILGRIM'S RETURN TO LOUISVILLE The Exile will be wearying — His spirit aften greens lyeariM To see the brave auld fatherland, Some dear remembered frien's; But wander east, or wander west. He'll wander far an' wide, Ere he forget his happy home An' canty ingle side. We've pu'd the heather on the hill, The gowan in the dale; ^^^^ We've seen the rose o' England blow. We've heard her nightingale ; We've wandered east, we've wandered west, We've wandered far an' wide. But ne'er forgot our happy hame An' canty ingle side. We've fed on Scotia's wale o' food, ^"=''""' Her crowdy an' her kale; I"***** '='"**• ''™*^ We've dined on Johnny's boasted beef An' swigged his nappy ale ; ^^""'^'' ^"°«J But wine an' wassail, meat an' maut, ^"''" In raxin' routh beside, '""'"'« p'^'^J We ne'er forgot our happy hame An' canty ingle side. We've gazed on mighty monuments, The pride o' priestly days; We've marked the splendour o' the prince. Seen crowns an' coronets blaze ; In holy wa's an' lordly ha's I'*"'! ^^^ Been stunned wi' pomp an' pride. But ne'er forgot our happy hame An' canty ingle side. HEW AINSLIE 39 The welcome warm o' former f rien's, The kindness o' the new. May freshen up the dowie heart I