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About Southern literary gazette. (Athens, Ga.) 1848-1849 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 2, 1848)
SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETT^ an Jllustratcir tUcckln Journal of I3cllcs~£cttres, Science anl> tljc £lrts. W M. €. RICHARDS, EDITOR. ©riginal jpoetrn. For the Southern Literary Gazette. SKETCHES AMONG THE ALLEGIIANIES4 BY HENRY R. JACKSON. I. THE OCEAN VIEW NEAR TALLULAH FALLS. I hi! I have reached at length a glorious height! Behold! on every side the mountains rise; Their summits roll beneath the giddy sight, Like ocean billows heaved among the skies. [n wild magnificence upon them lies The primal forest—kindling in the glow Os this mild Autumn sun with goldeu dyes, While, in his slanting ray, their shadows grow, Broad o’er the paradise of vale and wood below. 11. flow beautiful! though ftesh from Nature’s God, They show no footstep of an elder race; \'o human hand has ever turned their sod, Or heaved their massive granite from its place ; The green banks of their floods bear not a trace )f pomp and power, which have come and gone, And left their crumbling ruins to deface The virgin earth—here Nature rules alone ; The beauty of the hill and valley is her own. 111. Nor might the future generations know Aught of the simple people, who have made Their habitations by the streams that flow So fresh and stainless from the forest shade, Who built their council fires on hill and glade, And in yon pleasant valleys, by the fall Os crystal founts, perchance, their dead have laid, But for the names of mountain, river, cataract ail Significant of thought and sweetly musical. IV. MOUNT YONAH—VALE OF NACOOCHEE. Before me, as I stand, his broad, round head Mount Yonah lifts tho neighboring hills above, While, at his foot, all pleasantly is spread Nao > mjhee’s vale, sweet as a dream-of love. Cradle of Peace ! mild, gentle as the dove Whose tender accents from yon woodlands swell, Must she have been who thus has interwove Her name with thee, and thy soft, holy spell, And all of peace which on this troubled globe may dwell! V. Nacoochek —in tradition, thy sweet queen — Has vanished with her maidens: not again Along thy meadows shall their forms be seen ; The mountain echoes catch no more the strain Os their wild Indian lays at evening’s wane ; No more, where rumbling branches interwine, They pluck the jasmine flowers, or break the cane Beside the marshy stream, or from the vine Shake down, in purple showers, the luscious musca dine. VI. Yet round thee hangs the same sweet spirit still! Thou art among these hills a sacred spot, As if shut out from all the clouds of ill That gloom so darkly o’er the human lot. On thy green breast the world I quite forgot— Its stern contentions —its dark grief and care, And I breathed freer, deeper, and blushed not At old emotions long, long stifled there, Which sprang once more to life in thy calm, loving air. VII. 1 saw the last bright gleam of sunse t play On Yonah’s lofty head ; all quiet grew 1 hy bosom, which beneath the shadows lay <lf the surrounding mountains; deeper blue Fell on their mighty summits ; evening throw Her veil o’er all, and on her azure brow A bright star shone ; a trusting form I drew et closer to my side ; above, below, V ithin were peace and hope life may not often know ! VIII. f hou loveliest of earth’s vallies ! fare thee well! Nor is the parting pangless to my soul. outh, hope and happiness with thee shall dwell, 1 nsullied Nature hold o’er thee control. And years still leave thee beauteous as they roll. ’ ‘h ■ I could linger with thee ! yet this spell Must break, e’en as upon my heart it stole, ‘Vnd found a weakness there I may not tell — An anxious life, a troubled future claim me ! fare thee well! *The first six stanzas of this poem appeared in the “ Geor '"''here the author first designed to publish the • nole, but subsequently altered his mind and withheld he rest.—[Ed. Gazette. ATHENS, GEORGIA, SATCRDAV, SEPTEMBER 2, 1848. IX. TOCCOA. Embosomed in the primal forest shades, And singing gaily through the day and night; Dashing thy waters into myriad braids Os diamond spray that sparkles down the height, And changes hue beneath the shifting light ; Laughing away the hours in childish mirth, And gently dallying with the ear and sight, Scarce calls thy murmuring voice an echo forth, Toccoa! merriest water-fall of all the earth ! X. Toccoa ! or the beautiful ! this name L’o thee was given by the tawny Indian girls When, with the summer’s sultry noon, they came To bathe their bosoms where thy water curls, Around the mossy rocks in countless pearls; Or when, in Autumn, seeking o’er the hill From which thy eddying current lightly whirls, Brown nuts, their baskets of light reed to fill, They loved to pause and gaze upon thy beauties still. XI. Thou liad’st been holy in the classic land Os ancient Hellas; smiling spirits, deemed Os birth celestial, by thy rocky strand, To whisper with a various voice had seemed To him who in the cadence of thy music dreamed ; The steps of poets had been printed on Thy sparkling sand, and eager eyes had beamed Above thy waters, while the lay was spun, Which made thee famous for all time, like Helicon ! XII. Here shall the fevered soul of him who roams Among these mountains, who has left behind, Cares, troubles, sufferings, ceaseless toil, and -comes To seek refreshment for the wearied mind, In thy soft music, gentle solace find. Youth seems to livs in thee—thy happy mood, The fetters of the spirit shall unbind ; Joy, dead for years, again shall be renewed, And Hope rebuild her bark from wrecks at random strewed! XIII. TALLULAH. But hark ! beneath yon hoary precipice, The rush of mightier waters, as they pour In foaming torrents through the dark abyss Which echoes back the thunders of their roar. Approach the frightful gorge ! and gazing o’er, What mad emotions through their bosom thrill! Hast ever seen so dread a sight before 1 ? Tallulah ! by that name we hail thee still, And own that thou art rightly called the terrible ! XIV. In vain o’er thee shall glow with wild delight, The painter’s eye, and voiceless still shall be The poet’s tongue, who from this giddy height Shall kindle in thine awful minstrelsy ! Thou art too mighty in thy grandeur—we Too weak to give fit utterance to the soul! Thy billows mock us with their tempest glee, As thundering on, while countless ages roll, Thou scornest man’s applause alike with man’s con. trol! XV. Yet standing here where mountain eagles soar, Among these toppling crags, to plant their nest, I catch an inspiration from thy roar, Which will not let my spirit be at rest. I cast me down upon the massive breast Os this huge rock, that lifts to meet the blast, Far, far above thy foam, his granite crest, And eager thoughts come gathering thick and fast, The voices of the future blending with the past! XVI. I gaze across the yawning gorge and seem Once more to see upon yon heights that rear Their summits up to catch the sunset gleam, The red man of the wilderness appear, With bounding step, and bosom broad and bare. And painted face, and figure lithe and tall, Wild as surrounding nature ; and I hear From yonder precipice his whoop and call, That mingle fiercely with the roaring water-fall! XVII. But lo ? he pauses, for he sees thee now, Dread cataract!—he stands entranced—his yell Is hushed ; appalled he looks where far below, Thy waters boil with a tumultuous swell. Thou glorious orator of Nature ! well May his rude bosom own the majesty Os thy dread eloqnonee ; he hears the knell Os human things—ho bends the suppliant knee, • To the Great Spirit of the terrible in thee. XVIII. Once more I look ! —tho dusky form has gone— Passed with the onward course of time, and passed To come no more; perhaps a king upon Yon height lie sleeps, rocked by the winter’s blast In couch all regal, where dead hands have cast His glorious bones the nearest to the stars, And left him there to rest in peace at last, Forgetful of his glory, scalps and scars — The unsung Hector of a hundred bloody wars. XIX. Again I gaze, and other forms appear, Os milder mien and far more gentle grace, And softer tones are falling on my ear ; And yet, methinks, less kindred with the place, Another, and (it may be) nobler race Have made these hills their own, and they draw uear With kindling spirits, yet with cautious pace; Youth, age and wisdom, with her brow of care, And joyous beauty, that has never wept a tear. XX. And through the lapse of many ages they Shall come; year after year to thee shall bring The thoughtful searcher after knowledge, and the gay Who sport through life as though a morn in spring; And tears shall fall, and the light laugh shall ring Beside thee, and the lonely heart shall seek Relief from its eternal sorrowing— And all shall feel upon their spirits break, Thoughts wonderful; emotions which they may not speak. XXI. I turn towards tho coming time and hear The voice of a great people which shall dwell Among these mountains, free as their own air, And chainless as thy current’s ceaseless swell. Behold them growing into power ! They fell The old primeval forests which have stood For ages in the valleys; they dispel The shades from Nature’s face, and, thickly strewed, Their villages spring up amid the solitude. XXII. I look again, and I behold them not; Silence resumes once more her ancient reign. A solitary form stands on the spot, Where mine had stood ; around on hill and plain, The palace crumbles, and the gorgeous sane Sinks into dust; he weeps above the tomb Os human pride, and feels that it is vain ; Yet shall thy voice arise amid the gloom Os silent hearths and cities, scornful of their doom. XXIII. I look once more : bohold ’tis changed again, And yet ’tis unchanged! Earth has upward shot Her twigs from naked mountain, vale and plain ; How rankly have they'grown above the spot, Where cities crumble, and their builders rot! Again the forest moans beneath the blast, The eagle finds on mountain cliff and grot, Once more his eyrie undisturbed; the vast And melancholy wilderness o’er all is cast. XXIV. And lo! upon the spot where I had stood, A second form—how like to mine! has ta’en His lonely place, and hears the solitude Return thy stunning anthem back again, Like distant roarings of some mighty main ; The earth around lies in her primal dress ; And far above, just entering on her wane, The full round moon with not a ray the less, Looks calmly forth as now, upon the wilderness. XXV. He treads the earth, nor dreams that he has trod On human dust. The oak that o’er him waves So proudly, tells him not how, through the sod, Its roots sucked nourishment from human graves. The renovated stream its channel laves Beside hi3 feet as freshly as of old ; Its moist bank not a lingering record saves, Os those who dried its sources ; flowers unfold Their tints, nor tell how they have fed on human mould. XXVI. Now from the broad expanse his eye surveys, Ambition ! summon forth thy votaries ! Whose eagle vision drank the noontide blaze, Whose eagle pinions fanned the highest breeze. Power! thou that gloried’st in the bending knees Or million’s of God’s humbled creatures —seek Thy favorites now, who strode through bloody seas To thrones, it may be, and upon the weak. Bade human passion all her vengeance wreak ! VOLUME It—NUMBER 17. XXVII. Bid them arise ! stand forth ! each in his place From the broad waste, to greet the gazer’s sight, With bright insignia, which in life did grace Tho brow, or give the bounding heart delight. Arise ! each to the stature of his might, And tell of how he lived and how he died! 18ay ! comes a single voice upon the night 1 Rises a single form above the common tide 1 Ambition! Glory ! Power! oh ! where do ye abide ? XXVIII. Speak, Suffering! call thy pallid sons! And Poverty! thy millions marshal forth! Thy starving millions, with their rags and groans, Who knew hell’s tortures on God’s smiling earth ? Name o’er thy thoughtless legions, reckless Mirth ? And Disappointment! with thy sable brow, Summon thy slaves of great or little worth! And Suicide ! t hou child of darkest woe, Speak to thy bleeding victims, thou, who laid’st them low! XXIX. Behold they come not! Still he stands alone — He gazes upward to the midi ightsky, The same dim vault where orbs as brightly shone, When watched by the Chaldean’s wakeful eye. As now they shine ; his dreamings are of high And holy things ; to him the earth is young— The heavens are young; in joyous infancy A nation buds around—to whom belong No past, no memories,but a future bright and strong. Savannah, 1848. (Original Sales. For the Southern Literary Gazette. MARIAN GREY. OR THE WIFE'S DEVOTION. “Dear mother, in mercy forbear; your en treaties are in vain; no earthly consideration, can sepai ate me from my husband.” k ‘ Marian, pause, reflect, weigh well your position; the wife of an inebriate husband; reviled, persecuted, and despised by him, who of all others should shield you, even to the sacrifice of hi sown life; your days and nights, passed in continual toil, earning a scanty sus tenance for yourself and little ones, and for one, who is a disgrace to all connected with him.” u Mother, Oh ! mother!” “ Cease, girl, I have not yet done. Once before you slighted my entreaties, you turned the love of a doting mother, almost into hate; that mother is again before you ; her arm/, extended to receive you; for your helpless babes she implores; if totally regardless of self, let some consideration regarding their fu • ture welfare bias your decision : once more my home is open to you ; a moth r’s love shall be lavished upon your precious babes, and aiJ care for the future banished from yourmimf, but the name of Harry Grey must be as one numbered with the dead. Your children mupl he fatherless, and you a widow, at least in name.” “ Forbear, mother, it is impossible. Harry, though deeply transgressing, is still my hus band. When, bowed before the sacred altar, in the presence of an All-seeing God, I sol emnly pledged myself to leave all others, cleav ing only unto him. fervently, and truly, did ) determine come weal or woe, to adhere faith fully to my promise. His dereliction from the path of duty, can be no excuse for mine Once, he was all my fond heart most delight ed in ; his fortune, love and care, were freely lavished on me; trials most hard to bear, and a total loss of fortune, combined with the in fluence of miscalled friends, has created a ma mentary madness, no other name can I giye his present career, and fervently do I trust and believe, that my assiduous attention to all hir>
