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THE COUNTRYMAN..
92
TUR5W0LD, GA., FEBRUARY H, 1865.
“The Discovery of Sir John Franklin,
AND OTIIER POEMS.”
No. 2.
Id our last issue, we gave our subscribers
some severe criticisms upon our little book, en
titled as above. Since then, we have found
some more articles alter the same manner, and
here present them to our readers.
The following is taken from the Savannah
News of April 12th, 1858 :
“OUR BOOK TABLE.
•The Discovery of Sir John Franklin,’ and
other Poems. By J. A. Turner. Mobile and
New York: S. H. Goetzel <&.Co.; Athens,
Ga., Wm. N. White. For sale, in Savannah,
by W. T. Williams.
We should really like to be able to speak well
of this book. The writer is a Georgian, and
the publishers southerners—two good and suf
ficient reasons why we desire to speak of it fa
vorably. But a 4 decent regard ’ for truth com
pels us to say that Mr. Turner has made a mis
take. ‘Poeta nascitur non fit,’ is a maxim
quite as true as old, and we must be allowed to
indulge the belief that Mr. Turner was not born
a poet.
The first poem (!) in the book—‘ The Dicov-
ery of Sir John Franklin ’—is remarkable, more
for its want of any sort of merit, than for aught
else that we can see. There is no poetry in
such stuff as this :
All over the north, ’mid the icebergs,
Roamed my hero in search of Sir John,
’Mid the icebergs he steered his bark well,
To find where the lost one had gone.
He steered to the isles where the white bear
Growls over the prey for her young ;
He went to the place where the 6eal swims,
And men use a barbarous tongue.
He went to the home of the north light,
And he borrowed a taper to look
For the brave Sir John, near the north pole—
’Twas a hazardous journey he took.
We should like to know who 4 our hero ’ bor
rowed that taper from. If he could have man
aged to set the north pole on fire, it would have
afforded him a good light. But, our poet pro
ceeds :
And he called to the seal, as he passed him,
‘ Have you seen, in the caves of the sea,
The hero for whom I do seek well i*
But to tell him no seal would agree.
How impolite of the seals ! Wonder if they
were not 4 Unmannerly old sda-dogs,’ instead.
But we have no room to speak further of this
poem. We have given a fair sample of Sir
John, and the rest are like unto it, only ' more
so.’ Write prose, Mr. Turner, for your verses
are execrable, and not to be endured.”
The following is from the Savannah Republi
can of April 12th, 1858 ;
“NEW BOOKS.
* The Discovery of Sir John Franklin,’ and
other Poems. By J. A. Turner. Mobile and
New York : S. H. Goetzel & Co.; Athens:
Wm. N. White. For sale, in Savannah, by
Col. W. Thorne Williams.
We always like to speak favorably of a Geor
gia book—saying the very best for it that we
can, consistently with truth, and the responsi
bility of the press, to an enlightened public
opinion. The volume before us contains some
pleasing rhymes, on a variety of subjects, but
it is not, strictly speaking, a book of ‘ Poems,’
as is claimed for it, in the title page. It con
tains but few poetic thoughts, and is, for the
most part, the pleasant or quaint impressions
of the writer, clo'tned in the habiliments of,
generally, respectable verse. The rhythm of
many of the pieces is awkwaid, and selected
with little regard to good taste, while they are
all destitute ol the poetic ideas, and artistic
finish, that are indispensable elements of a truly
poetic composition. Many of the pieces a he
mere common-place doggerel, apparently writ
ten, by the author, for his own temporary grati
fication, or to fill up the corner of a village
weekly. They are unworthy of a place be
tween covers.
The best piece in the collection is the one
founded on the late eastern war, entitled :
4 Where the Danube Pours its Waters.’ Though
lacking completeness, it contains much graphic
description, and i3 entirely free from stiffness.
We append a few verses :
4 WHERE THE DANUBE POURS ITS WATERS.’
44 J. A. Turner’s Poems.—We have received,
from Messrs. Chaffin and Johnson, a copy of
Poems, by J. A. Turner. As it was written by
a Georgian, we would like very much, if we
could do so consistently with honesty, to give
it a rousing puff. As we caunot do this, all we
have to say is, buy a book, and read it, for we
doubt not it is a great deal better than a good
many people can do. Those who are fond ol
4 poetry run mad,’ can find a perfect gem, in
that line, in the opening piece, 4 The Discovery
of Sir John Franklin,’
The book is for sale at the book-store of
Messrs. Chaffin and Johnson.”
Where the Danube pours its waters,
Eastward to the Euxine Sea,
Where Circassia sells her daughters,
O’er the wave to Sinope—
In Wallaehia, and Moldavia,
Where no mosque, nor minaret,
Views Mahomet as its Savior,
Where the cross is Boating yet—
There the Russian lifts his banner,
There his colors streaming high,
And the Christian’s loud hosanna
Reaches even to the sky :
Floating cross, and floating crescent,
O’er contending hosts are raised,
Proud array, though evanescent—
God, of Allah—which be praised V
There the English lion’s roaring,
There the Cossack’s on his steed,
And the mountaineers are pouring,
With their banners, in the lead :
There the fluttering Gallic eagles,
Hover o’er the scene afar;
And Britannia’s thirsty beagles,
Snuff the breezes big with war.
The following is from the Griffin (Ga.) Ameri
can Union of April 9ih, 18581
“Poems, by J. A. Turner, is the title of a neat
little volume, just published, by French and
Wheat, 18 Ann street, N. Y., a copy of which
has just been handed us, by Messrs. Putnam
and Campbell, of the Griffin book-store.
The author of this work is a citizen of Put
nam county, Ga., and, from the hasty glance
we have been able to give it, we think it a
work of some merit, and, consequently, that
all the poets are not 4 dead, yet,’ nor is the art
poetical confined to the old countries.”
The Union was edited by A. G. Murray, the
man who turned Union, in Griffin, a year or
two ago.
The following two notices are from the little
Pendletons, Ned, and Phil, who, when they
wrote the paragraphs, April 14th, 1858, were
editors of the Central Georgian—Phil, of the
Sandersville department, and Ned, of the Sparta
department. We will let Ned speak first, aa
France is pouring in her legions,
England leading men to blood,
Russia, to the southern regions,
Pours her armies as a flood :
Thousands rushing to the battle,
Men, and nations, bite the dust:
What are these but human cattle,
Slaih to slake their tyrant’s lust {
* * * * * *
See the Danube’s crimson waters,
Hurrying to the dismal sea ;
Waters drunk with bloody slaughters
Of the men who would be free:
Caws the crow, and croaks the raven,
And the wolt, while feasting, howls,
Tearing hearts that ne’er were craven,
’Mid the gibberish of the ghouls.
Moan the sons, and weep the daughters,
Of the men in battle slain,
And the rivers, foul with slaughters,
Pour red waters to the main :
Bleach the bones of fallen millions,
Fester rotten corpses, where
Europe’s tyrants hold the billions,
And their lives, as light as air.
******
God ! direct (he storm that’s brewing,
Lay ambitious tyrants low,
Liberty to man accruing—
Teach their hosts thy will to know:
And while clouds, and tempests lower,
War’s black banner flaunts unfurled,
Let the nations feel thy power,
Freedom dawning on the world.”
In reply to the foregoing, we wrote a squib
(in versg) on brother Sneed, and Major Jones,
and sent them to Albert Lamar, Esq., then
editing the Savannah Georgian, for publication
in that journal. This squib did' not reach its
destination, as Mr. Lamar wrote us, or he would
certainly have published it. A copy of it now
lies among our papers, somewhere, ami we
will publish it, when we come across it. In
that squib, wc intimated that Messrs. Jones
and Sneed’s attainments, and past avocations,
were not the surest guarantees of their capaci
ty for writing essays on the poetic art.
The following is from the Columbus Sun of
April 14th, 1858 :
follows :
“Poems, by J. A. Turner.—A copy received
from another. They exhibit humor, sarcasm,
and a moderate degree of poetic taste, and dic-
tion. The democracy should patronize tho
work, as it contains a universal ode for the iu-
augur don of their president. One of the
stanzas winds up with, the doubtful rhyme,
‘Raise the shout, and boom tho cannon,
At the name ol James Buchanan.’
The anti-know-nothings, 4 furriners,’ and
Catholics, should be certain, each, to buy a copy,
as it contains the 4 Burial of Sam,’ a parody on
the ‘Burial of Sir John Moore,’ but how the
Americans can relish the democratic version
of the Louisville butcheries, put in ‘everlast
ing verse,’ we know not. We expect to keep
our copy, out of respect to the donor, but it
certainly must be under protest.
For sale by J. M. Stanford and Co.”
Now let Phil put in his jib. Brother Ned
had said so-and-so, and brother Ned, of course,
is a powerful man with Phil, and so Phil en*
dorsed what brother Ned said, without, ever
even seeing the book he pretended to criticise.
And Phil wrote ;
“ It seems thqt our old friend, and quondam
assistant editor of this paper, J. A. Turner,
Esq., of Eatonton, has put forth another volume
of poems. We have not seen it. But our
brother of the Savannah Morning News gives
it a rather scathing notice. Rather hard that,
for one Democrat to dig it under the fifth rib of
another of the faithful, in such style, especial
ly when the other has been singing the praises
of democracy, and democratic chiefs, until his
voice, according to the ‘new3,’ has become
cracked, and inharmonious. The News was
certainly notin a good humor, or it could have
Fouxn'soine better specimens of verse than that
it furnishes as a sample of the volume. The
volume is entitled ‘The Discovery of Sir John
Franklin, and other Poems.’ ”
It will be seen that Ned did not like the peal
of the Buchanan gun, that was fired for the in
auguration of the last president ol the United
States, and was somewhat 4 stirred up,’ on ac
count of the 4 Burial of Sam ’—he having been
a most devout kuow-notbing—God knows he
was entitled to be. And Phil, too, was more