Adventure | Science Fiction | Ghost stories | Poetry | Children | History BookOpen Original Text Murray, if you insist upon your bitter Ösher simile, why shut
your eyes to the palpable analogy suggested? Naturalists assert that
the Solanum, or apple of Sodom, contains in its normal state neither
dust nor ashes; unless it is punctured by an insect, (the Tenthredo),
which converts the whole of the inside into dust, leaving nothing but
the rind entire, without any loss of color. Human life is as fair and
tempting as the fruit of 'Ain Jidy,' till stung and poisoned by the
Tenthredo of sin."
All conceivable _suaviter in modo_ characterized his mocking
countenance and tone, as he inclined his haughty head and asked:
"Will you favor me by lifting on the point of your dissecting knife
this stinging sin of mine to which you refer? The noxious brood swarm
so teasingly about my ears that they deprive me of your cool, clear,
philosophic discrimination. Which particular Tenthredo of the buzzing
swarm around my spoiled apple of life would you advise me to select
for my _anathema maranatha_?"
"Of your history, sir, I am entirely ignorant; and even if I were not,
I should not presume to levy a tax upon it in discussions with you;
for, however vulnerable you may possibly be, I regard an _argumentum
ad hominem_ as the weakest weapon in the armory of dialectics--a
weapon too often dipped in the venom of personal malevolence. I merely
gave expression to my belief that miserable useless lives are sinful
lives." . . .
FOOTNOTE:
[36] By permission of the author, and of the publisher, G. W.
Dillingham, N. Y.
DANIEL BEDINGER LUCAS.
~1836=----.~
DANIEL BEDINGER LUCAS is a native of Charlestown, West Virginia, and
has reputation as a lawyer, orator, and judge. He was a soldier in the
Confederate Army and wrote his fine and best known poem, "The Land
Where We Were Dreaming," in 1865. He has served in the State
Legislature. His sister was also a poet and her verses are included in
the "Wreath of Eglantine."
WORKS.
Memoir of John Yates Bell.
Maid of Northumberland.
Ballads and Madrigals.
Wreath of Eglantine, and other Poems.
THE LAND WHERE WE WERE DREAMING.
(_From The Land We Love._[37])
Fair were our nation's visions, and as grand
As ever floated out of fancy-land;
Children were we in simple faith,
But god like children, whom nor death
Nor threat of danger drove from honor's path--
In the land where we were dreaming.
Proud were our men as pride of birth could render,
As violets our women pure and tender;
And when they spoke, their voices' thrill
At evening hushed the whip poor-will,
At morn the mocking bird was mute and still,
In the land where we were dreaming.
And we had graves that covered more of glory
Than ever taxed the lips of ancient story;
And in our dream we wove the thread
Of principles for which had bled
And suffered long our own immortal dead,
In the land where we were dreaming.
. . . . . . .
Our sleep grew troubled, and our dreams grew wild;
Red meteors flashed across our heaven's field,
Crimson the moon, between the Twins
Barbed arrows flew in circling lanes
Of light, red comets tossed their fiery manes
O'er the land where we were dreaming.
. . . . . . .
A figure came among us as we slept--
At first he knelt, then slowly rose and wept;
Then gathering up a thousand spears,
He swept across the field of Mars,
Then bowed farewell, and walked among the start,
From the land where we were dreaming.
[Illustration: [Handwriting: T. J. Jackson, LtGnrl.]]
We looked again--another figure still
Gave hope, and nerved each individual will;
Erect he stood, as clothed with power,
Self-poised, he seemed to rule the hour
With firm, majestic sway--of strength a tower--
In the land where we were dreaming.
As, while great Jove, in bronze, a warder god,
Gazed eastward from the Forum where he stood,
Rome felt herself secure and free--
So, Richmond! we on guard for thee,
Beheld a bronzèd hero, god-like Lee,
In the land where we were dreaming.
. . . . . . .
Woe! woe is us! the startled mothers cried;
While we have slept, our noble sons have died.
Woe! woe is us! how strange and sad,
That all our glorious visions fled
Have left us nothing real but our dead
In the land where we were dreaming.
"And are they really dead, our martyred slain?"
No, dreamers! Morn shall bid them rise again
From every plain, from every height
On which they seemed to die for right;
Their gallant spirits shall renew the fight
In the land where we were dreaming.
. . . . . . .
FOOTNOTE:
[37] By permission of the author.
JAMES RYDER RANDALL.
~1839=----.~
JAMES RYDER RANDALL was born in Baltimore, and his fame rests upon his
stirring war-song, "Maryland, my Maryland," which has been called the
"Marseillaise of the Confederacy." It was written in 1861 and set by
Mrs. Burton Harrison to the tune of the old college song "Lauriger
Horatius," on the wings of which it quickly flew all over the South.
His profession is that of an editor, and his delicate health has
compelled his residence in a warmer latitude than his native city, in
Louisiana and Georgia.
WORKS.
Fugitive Poems:
Maryland, My Maryland,
Sole Sentry,
Arlington,
Cameo Bracelet, and others.
MY MARYLAND.
The despot's heel is on thy shore,
Maryland!
His torch is at thy temple door,
Maryland!
Avenge the patriotic gore
That flecked the streets of Baltimore,
And be the battle-queen of yore,
Maryland, my Maryland!
Hark to an exiled son's appeal,
Maryland!
My Mother-State, to thee I kneel,
Maryland!
For life and death, for woe and weal,
Thy peerless chivalry reveal,
And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,
Maryland, my Maryland!
Thou wilt not cower in the dust,
Maryland!
Thy beaming sword shall never rust,
Maryland!
Remember Carroll's sacred trust,
Remember Howard's warlike thrust,
And all thy slumberers with the just,
Maryland, my Maryland!
Come! 'tis the red dawn of the day,
Maryland!
Come with thy panoplied array,
Maryland!
With Ringgold's spirit for the fray,
With Watson's blood at Monterey,
With fearless Lowe and dashing May,
Maryland, my Maryland!
Dear Mother! burst the tyrant's chain,
Maryland!
Virginia should not call in vain,
Maryland!
She meets her sisters on the plain,--
"_Sic semper!_" 'tis the proud refrain,
That baffles minions back amain,
Maryland!
Arise in majesty again,
Maryland, my Maryland!
Come! for thy shield is bright and strong,
Maryland!
Come! for thy dalliance does thee wrong,
Maryland!
Come to thine own heroic throng
Walking with Liberty along,
And chant thy dauntless slogan-song,
Maryland, my Maryland!
I see the blush upon thy cheek,
Maryland!
For thou wast ever bravely meek,
Maryland!
But lo! there surges forth a shriek,
From hill to hill, from creek to creek,
Potomac calls to Chesapeake,
Maryland, my Maryland!
Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll,
Maryland!
Thou wilt not crook to his control,
Maryland!
Better the fire upon thee roll,
Better the shot, the blade, the bowl,
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