Southern Literature From 1579-1895 Part 13

Poems, with a sketch by Chief-Justice Taney.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ~Star-Spangled Banner.~]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Obverse Reverse ~Seal of the United States.~]

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.

Oh! say can you see by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?

Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the clouds of the fight O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming!

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there; O, say, does that Star-Spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?

On that sh.o.r.e dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses?

Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected now s.h.i.+nes on the stream; 'Tis the Star-Spangled banner; O, long may it wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion A home and a country should leave us no more?

Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.

No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave; And the Star-Spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between their loved home and the war's desolation!

Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation!

Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, And this be our motto--"_In G.o.d is our trust_"-- And the Star-Spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

JOHN JAMES AUDUBON.

~1780=1851.~

[Ill.u.s.tration: ~Scene in Louisiana.~]

JOHN JAMES AUDUBON was born near New Orleans and educated in France where he studied painting under David. While still a young man, his father put him in charge of a country estate in Pennsylvania.

Afterwards he engaged in mercantile persuits in Philadelphia, Louisville, New Orleans, and Henderson, Kentucky, but unsuccessfully; for he knew and cared much more about the birds, flowers, and beasts around him than about the kinds and prices of goods that his neighbors needed.

His great literary and artistic work is "The Birds of America,"

consisting of five volumes of Ornithological Biographies and four volumes of exquisite portraits of birds, life-size, in natural colors, and surrounded by the plants which each one most likes. "Quadrupeds of America" was prepared mainly by his sons and Rev. John Bachman of South Carolina. These works gave him a European reputation. He died at Minniesland, now Audubon Park, New York City.

His style in writing is pure, vivid, and so clear as to place before us the very thing or event described. The accounts of his travels and of the adventures he met with in his search for his birds and animals are very natural and picturesque; and they show also his own fine nature and attractive character.

A biography arranged from his diary by Mrs. Audubon was published in New York, 1868. See also Samuel Smiles' "Brief Biographies." The State Library of North Carolina possesses a set of Audubon's invaluable works, of which there are only eight sets in America.

THE MOCKING-BIRD.

It is where the great magnolia shoots up its majestic trunk, crowned with evergreen leaves, and decorated with a thousand beautiful flowers, that perfume the air around; where the forests and the fields are adorned with blossoms of every hue; where the golden orange ornaments the gardens and groves; where bignonias of various kinds interlace their climbing stems around the white-flowered Stuartia, and, mounting still higher, cover the summits of the lofty trees around, accompanied with innumerable vines, that here and there festoon the dense foliage of the magnificent woods, lending to the vernal breeze a slight portion of the perfume of their cl.u.s.tered flowers; where a genial warmth seldom forsakes the atmosphere; where berries and fruits of all descriptions are met with at every step; in a word, kind reader, it is where Nature seems to have paused, as she pa.s.sed over the earth, and, opening her stores, to have strewed with unsparing hand the diversified seeds from which have sprung all the beautiful and splendid forms which I should in vain attempt to describe, that the mocking-bird should have fixed his abode, there only that its wondrous song should be heard.

But where is that favored land? It is in that great continent to whose distant sh.o.r.es Europe has sent forth her adventurous sons, to wrest for themselves a habitation from the wild inhabitants of the forest, and to convert the neglected soil into fields of exuberant fertility.

It is, reader, in Louisiana that these bounties of nature are in the greatest perfection. It is there that you should listen to the love-song of the mocking-bird, as I at this moment do. See how he flies round his mate, with motions as light as those of the b.u.t.terfly!

His tail is widely expanded, he mounts in the air to a small distance, describes a circle, and, again alighting, approaches his beloved one, his eyes gleaming with delight, for she has already promised to be his and his only. His beautiful wings are gently raised, he bows to his love, and, again bouncing upwards, opens his bill and pours forth his melody, full of exultation at the conquest which he has made.

They are not the soft sounds of the flute or of the hautboy that I hear, but the sweeter notes of Nature's own music. The mellowness of the song, the varied modulations and gradations, the extent of its compa.s.s, the great brilliancy of execution, are unrivalled. There is probably no bird in the world that possesses all the musical qualifications of this king of song, who has derived all from Nature's self. Yes, reader, all!

No sooner has he again alighted, and the conjugal contract has been sealed, than, as if his breast was about to be rent with delight, he again pours forth his notes with more softness and richness than before. He now soars higher, glancing around with a vigilant eye to a.s.sure himself that none has witnessed his bliss. When these love-scenes, visible only to the ardent lover of nature, are over, he dances through the air, full of animation and delight, and as if to convince his lovely mate that to enrich her hopes he has much more love in store, he that moment begins anew and imitates all the notes which Nature has imparted to the other songsters of the grove.

THE HUMMING-BIRD.

No sooner has the returning sun again introduced the vernal season, and caused millions of plants to expand their leaves and blossoms to his genial beams, than the little Humming-Bird is seen advancing on fairy wings, carefully visiting every opening flower-cup, and, like a curious florist, removing from each the injurious insects that otherwise would ere long cause their beauteous petals to droop and decay. Poised in the air, it is observed peeping cautiously, and with sparkling eyes, into their innermost recesses, while the ethereal motions of its pinions, so rapid and so light, appear to fan and cool the flower, without injuring its fragile texture, and produce a delightful murmuring sound, well adapted for lulling the insects to repose. Then is the moment for the Humming-Bird to secure them. Its long delicate bill enters the cup of the flower, and the protruded double-tubed tongue, delicately sensible, and imbued with a glutinous saliva, touches each insect in succession, and draws it from its lurking place, to be instantly swallowed. All this is done in a moment, and the bird, as it leaves the flower, sips so small a portion of its liquid honey, that the theft, we may suppose, is looked upon with a grateful feeling by the flower, which is thus kindly relieved from the attacks of her destroyers. . . . . . . . Its gorgeous throat in beauty and brilliancy baffles all compet.i.tion. Now it glows with a fiery hue, and again it is changed to the deepest velvety black. The upper parts of its delicate body are of resplendent changing green; and it throws itself through the air with a swiftness and vivacity hardly conceivable. It moves from one flower to another like a gleam of light, upwards, downwards, to the right, and to the left.

THOMAS HART BENTON.

~1782=1858.~

THOMAS HART BENTON was born in Hillsboro, North Carolina, and was partly educated at the State University. He left before graduation, however, and removed with his widowed mother to Tennessee, where twenty-five miles south of Nashville they made a home, around which a settlement called Bentontown gradually grew up.

He studied law with St. George Tucker, began to practice in Nashville, and was elected to the State Legislature in 1811. In 1815 he removed to St. Louis, and was elected United States Senator in 1820 on the admission of Missouri to the Union. He worked heartily and successfully in the interests of settlers in the West. His t.i.tle "Old Bullion" was derived from his famous speeches on the currency, during Jackson's administration, and they gained him a European reputation.

He and Calhoun were opposed to each other on almost every question, and they carried on a ferocious warfare in the Senate. He was a Senator for thirty years, 1820-50, and his great work gives an account of men and measures during that very exciting and intensely interesting period, in which he was himself one of the most prominent actors.

A fine statue was erected to him in the park at St. Louis.

WORKS.

Thirty Years' View of the Workings of Our Government.

Abridgment of the Debates of Congress.

Examination of the Dred Scott Case.

Benton's style as an orator was easy, full, and strong, showing him well acquainted with his subject and confident of his powers.

The "Thirty Years' View" is noted for its excellent arrangement and for a style easy and fluent yet not diffuse. "It is a succession of historical tableaux," of which the following extract presents one of the most famous.

THE DUEL BETWEEN RANDOLPH AND CLAY.

(_From Thirty Years' View._[7])

Sat.u.r.day, the 8th of April (1826)--the day for the duel--had come, and almost the hour. It was noon, and the meeting was to take place at 4 o'clock. I had gone to see Mr. Randolph before the hour, and for a purpose; and, besides, it was so far on the way, as he lived half-way to Georgetown, and we had to pa.s.s through that place to cross the Potomac into Virginia at the Little Falls Bridge. I had heard nothing from him on the point of not returning the fire since the first communication to that effect, eight days before. I had no reason to doubt the steadiness of his determination, but felt a desire to have fresh a.s.surance of it after so many days' delay, and so near approach of the trying moment. I knew it would not do to ask him the question--any question which would imply a doubt of his word. His sensitive feelings would be hurt and annoyed at it. So I fell upon a scheme to get at the inquiry without seeming to make it. I told him of my visit to Mr. Clay the night before--of the late sitting--the child asleep--the unconscious tranquillity of Mrs. Clay; and added, I could not help reflecting how different all that might be the next night. He understood me perfectly, and immediately said, with a quietude of look and expression which seemed to rebuke an unworthy doubt, _I shall do nothing to disturb the sleep of the child or the repose of the mother_, and went on with his employment . . . . which was, making codicils to his will, all in the way of remembrance to friends. . . . . . . . . . . . I withdrew a little way into the woods, and kept my eyes fixed on Mr. Randolph, who I then knew to be the only one in danger. I saw him receive the fire of Mr.

Clay, saw the gravel knocked up in the same place, saw Mr. Randolph raise his pistol--discharge it in the air; heard him say, _I do not fire at you, Mr. Clay_; and immediately advancing and offering his hand. He was met in the same spirit. They met halfway, shook hands, Mr. Randolph saying, jocosely, _You owe me a coat, Mr. Clay_--(the bullet had pa.s.sed through the skirt of the coat, very near the hip)--to which Mr. Clay promptly and happily replied, _I am glad the debt is no greater_. I had come up and was prompt to proclaim what I had been obliged to keep secret for eight days. The joy of all was extreme at this happy termination of a most critical affair: and we immediately left, with lighter hearts than we brought. . . . . . .

On Monday the parties exchanged cards, and social relations were formally and courteously restored. It was about the last high-toned duel that I have witnessed, and among the highest-toned that I have ever witnessed; and so happily conducted to a fortunate issue--a result due to the n.o.ble character of the seconds as well as to the generous and heroic spirit of the princ.i.p.als. Certainly, duelling is bad, and has been put down, but not quite so bad as its subst.i.tute--revolvers, bowie-knives, blackguarding, and street-a.s.sa.s.sinations under the pretext of self-defence.