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Poems of Sidney Lanier.

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Poems of Sidney Lanier.

[Sidney Lanier; (Amer.) Georgian poet and scholar. 1842-1881.]

Etext by A. Light, alight@mercury.interpath.net

Special thanks to Oliver Darmstaedter, Wiebke Schuck, and Thomas Schaich
for their help deciphering the old German font used for the poem (in German),
`An Frau Nannette Falk-Auerbach'.

Special thanks also to Sibyl Tyson, at The Springs Inn in Ponce de Leon, Fla.,
for assistance in making this etext possible.



[Note on text: Italicized words or phrases are capitalized,
if the italics were used for emphasis, or put in quotation marks,
if the italics indicated a quotation. In one case,
an italicized and indented paragraph has been indented 10 spaces
to set it apart. Lines longer than 78 characters are broken,
and the continuation is indented two spaces.]





Poems of Sidney Lanier.

Edited by his wife (Mary D. Lanier)

With a Memorial by William Hayes Ward.



---- "Go, trembling song,
And stay not long; oh stay not long;
Thou'rt only a gray and sober dove,
But thine eye is faith and thy wing is love."






Contents.



Memorial.


Hymns of the Marshes.

I. Sunrise.
(published December, 1882.)
II. Individuality.
(published January, 1882.)
III. Marsh Song -- At Sunset.
(published February, 1882.)
IV. The Marshes of Glynn.
(published 1879.)

Clover.
(published 1876.)

The Waving of the Corn.
(1877.)

The Song of the Chattahoochee.
(1877.)

From the Flats.
(1877.)

The Mocking-Bird.
(August, 1877.)

Tampa Robins.
(1877.)

The Crystal.
(1880.)

The Revenge of Hamish.
(1878.)

To Bayard Taylor.
(March, 1879.)

A Dedication. To Charlotte Cushman.
(`Earliest Collected Poems', 1876.)

To Charlotte Cushman.
(March, 1876.)

The Stirrup-Cup.
(1877.)

A Song of Eternity in Time.
(1880.)

Owl against Robin.
(August, 1880.)

A Song of the Future.
(1877-78.)

Opposition.
(1879-80.)

Rose-Morals.
(May, 1876.)

Corn.
(February, 1875.)

The Symphony.
(June, 1875.)

My Springs.
(October, 1882.)

In Absence.
(September, 1875.)

Acknowledgment.
(November, 1876.)

Laus Mariae.
(1876.)

Special Pleading.
(January, 1876.)

The Bee.
(October, 1877.)

The Harlequin of Dreams.
(April, 1878.)

Street Cries.

I. Remonstrance.
(April, 1883.)
II. The Ship of Earth.
III. How Love Looked for Hell.
(March, 1884.)
IV. Tyranny.
(February, 1868.)
V. Life and Song.
(September, 1868.)
VI. To Richard Wagner.
(November, 1877.)
VII. A Song of Love.
(January, 1884.)

To Beethoven.
(March, 1877.)

An Frau Nannette Falk-Auerbach.
(1878.)

To Nannette Falk-Auerbach.
(1878.)

To Our Mocking-Bird.
(1878.)

The Dove.
(May, 1878.)

To ----, with a Rose.
(December, 1876.)

On Huntingdon's "Miranda".
(1874.)

Ode to the Johns Hopkins University.
(1880.)

To Dr. Thomas Shearer.

Martha Washington.
(1876.)

Psalm of the West.
(June, 1876.)

At First. To Charlotte Cushman.
(1883.)

A Ballad of Trees and the Master.
(1880-81.)

A Florida Sunday.
(1877.)

To My Class: On Certain Fruits and Flowers Sent Me in Sickness.
(October, 1884.)

On Violet's Wafers, Sent Me When I Was Ill.
(October, 1884.)

Ireland.
(1880.)

Under the Cedarcroft Chestnut.
(1877-78.)

An Evening Song.
(January, 1877.)

A Sunrise Song.

On a Palmetto.

Struggle.

Control.

To J. D. H.

Marsh Hymns.

Thou and I.

The Hard Times in Elfland.
(Baltimore, 1877.)


Dialect Poems.


A Florida Ghost.
(1877-78.)

Uncle Jim's Baptist Revival Hymn.
(Sidney and Clifford Lanier). (1876.)

"Nine from Eight".
(March, 1884.)

"Thar's more in the Man than thar is in the Land".
(1869.)

Jones's Private Argyment.

The Power of Prayer; or, The First Steamboat up the Alabama.
(Sidney and Clifford Lanier). (1875-76.)


Unrevised Early Poems.


The Jacquerie. A Fragment.

The Golden Wedding of Sterling and Sarah Lanier, September 27, 1868.

Strange Jokes.
(1883.)

Nirvana.
(1871.)

The Raven Days.

Our Hills.

Laughter in the Senate.

Baby Charley.
(January, 1883.)

A Sea-Shore Grave. To M. J. L.
(Sidney and Clifford Lanier). (July, 1871.)

Souls and Rain-Drops.
(1883.)

Nilsson.
(April, 1883.)

Night and Day.
(July, 1884.)

A Birthday Song. To S. G.
(1867.)

Resurrection.
(October, 1868.)

To ----.

The Wedding.
(August, 1884.)

The Palm and the Pine.

Spring Greeting.

The Tournament.
(1867.)

The Dying Words of Stonewall Jackson.

To Wilhelmina.
(September, 1884.)

Wedding-Hymn.
(August, 1884.)

In the Foam.
(1867.)

Barnacles.
(1867.)

Night.
(May, 1884.)

June Dreams, in January.
(September, 1884.)


Notes to Poems.


The Centennial Meditation of Columbia. 1776-1876. A Cantata.

Note to the Cantata.






Memorial.



Because I believe that Sidney Lanier was much more than a clever artisan
in rhyme and metre; because he will, I think, take his final rank
with the first princes of American song, I am glad to provide
this slight memorial. There is sufficient material in his letters
for an extremely interesting biography, which could be properly prepared
only by his wife. These pages can give but a sketch of his life and work.

Sidney Lanier was born at Macon, Ga., on the third of February, 1842.
His earliest known ancestor of the name was Jerome Lanier,
a Huguenot refugee, who was attached to the court of Queen Elizabeth,
very likely as a musical composer; and whose son, Nicholas,
was in high favor with James I. and Charles I., as director of music,
painter, and political envoy; and whose grandson, Nicholas,
held a similar position in the court of Charles II. A portrait
of the elder Nicholas Lanier, by his friend Van Dyck, was sold,
with other pictures belonging to Charles I., after his execution.
The younger Nicholas was the first Marshal, or presiding officer,
of the Society of Musicians, incorporated at the Restoration,
"for the improvement of the science and the interest of its professors;"
and it is remarkable that four others of the name of Lanier
were among the few incorporators, one of them, John Lanier,
very likely father of the Sir John Lanier who fought as Major-General
at the Battle of the Boyne, and fell gloriously at Steinkirk
along with the brave Douglas.

The American branch of the family originated as early as 1716
with the immigration of Thomas Lanier, who settled with other colonists
on a grant of land ten miles square, which includes the present city
of Richmond, Va. One of the family, a Thomas Lanier, married an aunt
of George Washington. The family is somewhat widely scattered,
chiefly in the Southern States.

The father of our poet was Robert S. Lanier, a lawyer still living
in Macon, Ga. His mother was Mary Anderson, a Virginian of Scotch descent,
from a family that supplied members of the House of Burgesses of Virginia
for many years and in more than one generation, and was gifted in poetry,
music, and oratory.

His earliest passion was for music. As a child he learned to play,
almost without instruction, on every kind of instrument he could find;
and while yet a boy he played the flute, organ, piano, violin, guitar,
and banjo, especially devoting himself to the flute in deference to
his father, who feared for him the powerful fascination of the violin.
For it was the violin-voice that, above all others, commanded his soul.
He has related that during his college days it would sometimes so exalt him
in rapture, that presently he would sink from his solitary music-worship
into a deep trance, thence to awake, alone, on the floor of his room,
sorely shaken in nerve.

In after years more than one listener remarked the strange violin effects
which he conquered from the flute. His devotion to music
rather alarmed than pleased his friends, and while it was here
that he first discovered that he possessed decided genius,
he for some time shared the early notion of his parents,
that it was an unworthy pursuit, and he rather repressed his taste.
He did not then know by what inheritance it had come to him,
nor how worthy is the art.

At the age of fourteen he entered the sophomore class of Oglethorpe College,
an institution under Presbyterian control near Midway, Ga.,
which had not vitality enough to survive the war. He graduated in 1860,
at the age of eighteen, with the first honors of his class,
having lost a year during which he took a clerkship in the Macon post-office.
At least one genuine impulse was received in this college life,
and that proceeded from Professor James Woodrow, who was then
one of Sidney's teachers, and who has since been connected with
the University and Theological Seminary in Columbia, S. C.
During the last weeks of his life Mr. Lanier stated
that he owed to Professor Woodrow the strongest and most valuable stimulus
of his youth. Immediately on his graduation he was called to a tutorship
in the college, which position he held until the outbreak of the war.

And here, with some hesitation, I record, as a true biography requires,
the development of his consciousness of possessing real genius.
One with this gift has a right to know it, just as others know if they possess
talent or shiftiness of resource. While we do not talk so much of genius now
as we did a generation ago, we can yet recognize the difference between
the fervor of that divine birth and the cantering of the livery Pegasus
forth and back, along the vulgar boulevards over which facile talent
rides his daily hack. Only once or twice, in his own private note-book,
or in a letter to his wife when it was needful, in sickness and loneliness,
to strengthen her will and his by testifying his own deepest consciousness
of power, did he whisper the assurance of his strength.
But he knew it, and she knew it, and it gave his will a peace in toil,
a sun-lit peace, notwithstanding sickness, or want, or misapprehension,
calm above the zone of clouds.

As I have said, his genius he first fully discovered in music.
I copy from his pencilled college note-book what cannot have been written
after he was eighteen years old. The boy had been discussing
the question with himself how far his inclinations were to be regarded
as indicating his best capacities and his duties. He says:

==
"The point which I wish to settle is merely, by what method shall I ascertain
what I am fit for, as preliminary to ascertaining God's will
with reference to me; or what my inclinations are, as preliminary
to ascertaining what my capacities are, that is, what I am fit for.
I am more than all perplexed by this fact, that the prime inclination,
that is, natural bent (which I have checked, though) of my nature is to music;
and for that I have the greatest talent; indeed, not boasting,
for God gave it me, I have an extraordinary musical talent,
and feel it within me plainly that I could rise as high as any composer.
But I cannot bring myself to believe that I was intended for a musician,
because it seems so small a business in comparison with other things which,
it seems to me, I might do. Question here, What is the province of music
in the economy of the world?"
==

Similar aspirations he felt at this early age, probably eighteen,
for grand literary labor, as the same note-book would bear witness.
We see here the boy talking to himself, a boy who had found in himself
a standard above anything in his fellows.

The breaking out of the war summoned Sidney Lanier from books to arms.
In April, 1861, he enlisted in the Confederate Army,
with the Macon Volunteers of the Second Georgia Battalion,
the first military organization which left Georgia for Virginia.
From his childhood he had had a military taste. Even as a small boy
he had raised a company of boys armed with bows and arrows,
and so well did he drill them that an honored place was granted them
in the military parades of their elders. Having volunteered as a private
at the age of nineteen, he remained a private till the last year of the war.
Three times he was offered promotion and refused it because
it would separate him from his younger brother, who was his companion in arms,
as their singularly tender devotion would not allow them to be parted.
The first year of service in Virginia was easy and pleasant,
and he spent his abundant leisure in music and the study of German,
French, and Spanish. He was in the battles of Seven Pines,
Drewry's Bluffs, and the seven days' fighting about Richmond,
culminating in the terrible struggle of Malvern Hill. After this campaign
he was transferred, with his brother, to the signal service,
the joke among his less fortunate companions being that he was selected
because he could play the flute. His headquarters were now
for a short period at Petersburg, where he had the advantage
of a small local library, but where he began to feel the premonitions
of that fatal disease, consumption, against which he battled
for fifteen years. The regular full inspirations required by the flute
probably prolonged his life. In 1863 his detachment was mounted
and did service in Virginia and North Carolina. At last the two brothers
were separated, it coming in the duty of each to take charge of a vessel
which was to run the blockade. Sidney's vessel was captured,
and he was for five months in Point Lookout prison, until he was exchanged
(with his flute, for he never lost it), near the close of the war.
Those were very hard days for him, and a picture of them is given
in his "Tiger Lilies", the novel which he wrote two years afterward.
It is a luxuriant, unpruned work, written in haste for the press
within the space of three weeks, but one which gave rich promise of the poet.
A chapter in the middle of the book, introducing the scenes
of those four years of struggle, is wholly devoted to a remarkable metaphor,
which becomes an allegory and a sermon, in which war is pictured
as "a strange, enormous, terrible flower," which "the early spring of 1861
brought to bloom besides innumerable violets and jessamines."
He tells how the plant is grown; what arguments the horticulturists give
for cultivating it; how Christ inveighed against it,
and how its shades are damp and its odors unhealthy;
and what a fine specimen was grown the other day in North America
by "two wealthy landed proprietors, who combined all their resources
of money, of blood, of bones, of tears, of sulphur, and what not,
to make this the grandest specimen of modern horticulture."
"It is supposed by some," says he, "that seed of this American specimen
(now dead) yet remains in the land; but as for this author
(who, with many friends, suffered from the unhealthy odors of the plant),
he could find it in his heart to wish fervently that this seed,
if there be verily any, might perish in the germ, utterly out of sight
and life and memory, and out of the remote hope of resurrection,
forever and ever, no matter in whose granary they are cherished!"
Through those four years, though earnestly devoted to the cause,
and fulfilling his duties with zeal, his horror of war grew to the end.
He had entered it in a "crack" regiment, with a dandy uniform,
and was first encamped near Norfolk, where the gardens,
with the Northern market hopelessly cut off, were given freely
to the soldiers, who lived in every luxury; and every man had his sweetheart
in Norfolk. But the tyranny and Christlessness of war oppressed him,
though he loved the free life in the saddle and under the stars.

In February, 1865, he was released from Point Lookout
and undertook the weary return on foot to his home in Georgia,
with the twenty-dollar gold piece which he had in his pocket when captured,
and which was returned to him, with his other little effects, when he
was released. Of course he had the flute, which he had hidden in his sleeve
when he entered the prison, and which had earned him some comforts.
He reached home March 15th, with his strength utterly exhausted.
There followed six weeks of desperate illness, and just as he began
to recover from it his beloved mother died of consumption.
He himself arose from his sick-bed with pronounced congestion of one lung,
but found relief in two months of out-of-door life with an uncle
at Point Clear, Mobile Bay. From December, 1865, to April, 1867,
he filled a clerkship in Montgomery, Ala., and in the next month
made his first visit to New York on the business of publishing
his "Tiger Lilies", written in April. In September, 1867, he took charge
of a country academy of nearly a hundred pupils in Prattville, Ala.,
and was married in December of the same year to Miss Mary Day,
daughter of Charles Day, of Macon.

To the years before Mr. Lanier's marriage belong a dozen poems
included in this volume. Two of them are translations from the German
made during the war; the others are songs and miscellaneous poems,
full of flush and force, but not yet moulded by those laws of art
of whose authority he had hardly become conscious. His access to books
was limited, and he expressed himself more with music than with literature,
taking down the notes of birds, and writing music to his own songs
or those of Tennyson.

In January, 1868, the next month after his marriage,
he suffered his first hemorrhage from the lungs, and returned in May to Macon,
in very low health. Here he remained, studying and afterward practising law
with his father, until December, 1872. During this period there came,
in the spring and summer of 1870, a more alarming decline with settled cough.
He went for treatment to New York, where he remained two months,
returning in October greatly improved and strong in hope;
but again at home he lost ground steadily. He was now fairly engaged
in the brave struggle against consumption, which could have but one end.
So precarious already was his health that a change of residence
was determined on, and in December, 1872, he went to San Antonio, Texas,
in search of a permanent home there, leaving his wife and children meanwhile
at Macon. But the climate did not prove favorable and he returned
in April, 1873.

During these five years a sense of holy obligation, based on the conviction
that special talents had been given him, and that the time might be short,
rested upon Lanier, until it was impossible to resist it longer.
He felt himself called to something other than a country attorney's practice.
It was the compulsion of waiting utterance, not yet enfranchised.
From Texas he wrote to his wife:

==
"Were it not for some circumstances which make such a proposition
seem absurd in the highest degree, I would think that I am shortly to die,
and that my spirit hath been singing its swan-song before dissolution.
All day my soul hath been cutting swiftly into the great space of the subtle,
unspeakable deep, driven by wind after wind of heavenly melody.
The very inner spirit and essence of all wind-songs, bird-songs,
passion-songs, folk-songs, country-songs, sex-songs, soul-songs and body-songs
hath blown upon me in quick gusts like the breath of passion,
and sailed me into a sea of vast dreams, whereof each wave is at once
a vision and a melody."
==

Now fully determined to give himself to music and literature so long
as he could keep death at bay, he sought a land of books. Taking his flute
and his pen for sword and staff, he turned his face northward.
After visiting New York he made his home in Baltimore, December, 1873,
under engagement as first flute for the Peabody Symphony Concerts.

With his settlement in Baltimore begins a story of as brave and sad a struggle
as the history of genius records. On the one hand was the opportunity
for study, and the full consciousness of power, and a will never subdued;
and on the other a body wasting with consumption, that must be forced
to task beyond its strength not merely to express the thoughts of beauty
which strove for utterance, but from the necessity of providing bread
for his babes. His father would have had him return to Macon,
and settle down with him in business and share his income,
but that would have been the suicide of every duty and ambition.
So he wrote from Baltimore to his father, November 29, 1873:

==
"I have given your last letter the fullest and most careful consideration.
After doing so I feel sure that Macon is not the place for me.
If you could taste the delicious crystalline air, and the champagne breeze
that I've just been rushing about in, I am equally sure
that in point of climate you would agree with me that my chance for life
is ten times as great here as in Macon. Then, as to business, why should I,
nay, how CAN I, settle myself down to be a third-rate struggling lawyer
for the balance of my little life, as long as there is a certainty
almost absolute that I can do some other thing so much better?
Several persons, from whose judgment in such matters there can be no appeal,
have told me, for instance, that I am the greatest flute-player in the world;
and several others, of equally authoritative judgment,
have given me an almost equal encouragement to work with my pen.
(Of course I protest against the necessity which makes me write
such things about myself. I only do so because I so appreciate
the love and tenderness which prompt you to desire me with you
that I will make the fullest explanation possible of my course,
out of reciprocal honor and respect for the motives which lead you
to think differently from me.) My dear father, think how, for twenty years,
through poverty, through pain, through weariness, through sickness,
through the uncongenial atmosphere of a farcical college and of a bare army
and then of an exacting business life, through all the discouragement
of being wholly unacquainted with literary people and literary ways --
I say, think how, in spite of all these depressing circumstances,
and of a thousand more which I could enumerate, these two figures
of music and of poetry have steadily kept in my heart
so that I could not banish them. Does it not seem to you as to me,
that I begin to have the right to enroll myself among the devotees
of these two sublime arts, after having followed them so long and so humbly,
and through so much bitterness?"
==

What could his father do but yield? And what could he do
during the following years of his son's fight for standing-room on the planet
but help? But for that help, generously given by his father and brother,
as their ability allowed, at the critical times of utter prostration,
the end would not have been long delayed. For the little
that was necessary to give his household a humble support
it was not easy for the most strenuous young author to win by his pen
in the intervals between his hemorrhages. He asked for very little,
only the supply of absolute necessities, what it would be easy
for a well man to earn, but what it was very hard for a man to earn
scarce able to leave his bed, dependent on the chance income had
from poems and articles in magazines that would take them, or from courses
of lectures in schools. Often for months together he could do no work.
He was driven to Texas, to Florida, to Pennsylvania, to North Carolina,
to try to recover health from pine breaths and clover blossoms.
Supported by the implicit faith of one heart, which fully believed
in his genius, and was willing to wait if he could only find his opportunity,
his courage never failed. He still kept before himself first his ideal
and his mission, and he longed to live that he might accomplish them.
It must have been in such a mood that, soon after coming to Baltimore,
he wrote to his wife, who was detained in the South:

==
"So many great ideas for Art are born to me each day, I am swept away
into the land of All-Delight by their strenuous sweet whirlwind;
and I find within myself such entire, yet humble, confidence
of possessing every single element of power to carry them all out,
save the little paltry sum of money that would suffice to keep us
clothed and fed in the meantime.

"I do not understand this."
==

Lanier's was an unknown name, and he would write only in obedience
to his own sense of art, and he did not fit his wares
to the taste of those who buy verse. It was to comfort his wife,
in this period of greatest uncertainty whether he had not erred
in launching in the sea of literature, that he wrote again
a letter of frankest confession:

==
"I will make to thee a little confession of faith, telling thee,
my dearer self, in words, what I do not say to my not-so-dear-self
except in more modest feeling.

"Know, then, that disappointments were inevitable, and will still come
until I have fought the battle which every great artist has had to fight
since time began. This -- dimly felt while I was doubtful
of my own vocation and powers -- is clear as the sun to me now that I KNOW,
through the fiercest tests of life, that I am in soul, and shall be
in life and utterance, a great poet.

"The philosophy of my disappointments is, that there is so much CLEVERNESS
standing betwixt me and the public . . . Richard Wagner is
sixty years old and over, and one-half of the most cultivated artists
of the most cultivated art-land, quoad music, still think him an absurdity.
Says Schumann in one of his letters: `The publishers will not listen to me
for a moment'; and dost thou not remember Schubert, and Richter,
and John Keats, and a sweet host more?

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