Classic and Contemporary Poetry
STONEWALL JACKSON, by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: The fashions and the forms of men decay Last Line: To know the long fruition of the just! Subject(s): American Civil War; Jackson, Thomas (stonewall) (1824-1863); United States - History | ||||||||
THE fashions and the forms of men decay, The seasons perish, the calm sunsets die, Ne'er with the same bright pomp of cloud or ray To flush the golden pathways of the sky; All things are lost in dread eternity, -- States, empires, creeds, the lay Of master poets, even the shapes of love, Bear ever with them an invisible shade, Whose name is Death; we cannot breathe nor move, But that we touch the darkness, till dismayed, We feel the imperious shadow freeze our hearts, And mortal hope grows pale and fluttering life departs. All things are lost in dread eternity, Save that majestic virtue which is given Once, twice, perchance beneath our earthly heaven, To some great soul in ages: O! the lie, The base, incarnate lie we call the world, Shakes at his coming, as the forest shakes, When mountain storms, with bannered clouds unfurled, Rush down and rend it; sleek convention drops Its glittering mass, and hoary, cobwebbed rules Of petty charlatans or insolent fools Shrink to annihilation, -- Truth awakes, A morning splendor in her fearless eyes, Touching the delicate stops Of some rare lute which breathes of promise fair, Or pouring on the covenanted air A trumpet blast which startles, but makes strong, While ancient Wrong, Driven like a beast from his deep-caverned lair, Grows gaunt, and inly quakes, Knowing that retribution draws so near! Whether with blade or pen Toil these immortal men, Theirs is the light supreme, which genius wed To a clear spiritual dower. Hath ever o'er the aroused nations shed Joy, faith, and power; Whether from wrestling with the godlike thought, They launch a noiseless blessing on mankind, Or through wild streams of terrible carnage brought, No longer crushed and blind, Trampled, dishevelled, gored, They proudly lift, where kindling soul and eye May feast upon her beauty as she stands (Girt by the strength of her invincible bands), And freed through keen redemption of the sword, Thy worn, but radiant form, victorious Liberty! We bow before this grandeur of the spirit; We worship, and adore God's image burning through it evermore; And thus, in awed humility to-night, As those who at some vast cathedral door Pause with hushed faces, purified desires, We contemplate his merit, Who lifted failure to the heights of fame, And by the side of fainting, dying right, Stood, as Sir Galahad pure, Sir Lancelot brave, The quick, indignant fires Flushing his pale brow from the passionate mind No strength could quell, no sophistry could bind, Until that moment, big with mystic doom (Whose issue sent O'er the long wastes of half a continent Electric shudders through the deepening gloom), When in his knightly glory "Stonewall" fell, And all our hearts sank with him; for we knew Our staff, our bulwark broken, the fine clew To freedom snapped, his hands had held alone, Through all the storms of battle overblown, -- Lost, buried, mouldering in our hero's grave. O soul! so simple, yet sublime! With faith as large, and mild As that of some benignant, trustful child, Who mounts to heaven on bright, ethereal stairs Of tender-worded prayers, -- Yet strong as if a Titan's force were there To rise, to act, to suffer, and to dare, -- O soul! that on our time Wrought, in the calm magnificence of power To ends so noble, that an antique light Of grace and virtue streamed along thy way, Until the direst hour Of carnage caught from that immaculate ray A consecration, and a sanctity! Thou art not dead, thou nevermore canst die, But wide and far, Where'er on Christian realms the morning star Flames round the spires that tower towards the sky, -- Thy name, a household word, In cottage homes, by palace walls, is heard, Breathed with low murmurs, reverentially! Even as I raise this faltering song to one, Who now beyond the empires of the sun, Looks down perchance upon our mournful sphere, With the deep pity of seraphic eyes, Fancy unveils the future, and I see Millions on millions, as year follows year, Gather around our warrior's place of rest In the green shadows of Virginian hills; Not with the glow of martial blazonry, With trump and muffled drum, Those pilgrim millions come, But with bowed heads, and measured footsteps slow, As those who near the presence of a shrine, And feel an air divine, All round about them blandly, sweetly blow, While like dream-music the faint fall of rills, Lapsing from steep to steep, The wood-dove 'plaining in her covert deep, And the long whisperings of the ghostly pine (Like ocean-breathings borne from tides of sleep), With every varied melody expressed In Nature's score of solemn harmonies, Blends with a feeling in the reverent breast Which cannot find a voice in mortal speech, So deep, so deep it lies beyond the reach Of stammering words, -- the pilgrims only know That slumbering, O! so calmly there, below The dewy grass, the melancholy trees, Moulders the dust of him, By whose crystalline fame, earth's scarlet pomps grow dim, The crowned heir Of two majestic immortalities, That which is earthly, and yet scarce of earth, Whose fruitful seeds Were his own grand, self-sacrificing deeds, And that whose awful birth Flowered into instant perfectness sublime, When done with toil and time, He shook from off the raiments of his soul, The weary conflict's desecrating dust, For stern reveilles, heard the angels sing, For battle turmoils found eternal calm, Laid down his sinless sword to clasp the palm, And where vast heavenly organ-notes outroll Melodious thunders, 'mid the rush of wing, And flash of plume celestial, paused in peace, A rapture of ineffable release To know the long fruition of the just! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A VISIT TO GETTYSBURG by LUCILLE CLIFTON AFTER SPOTSYLVANIA COURT HOUSE by DAVID FERRY ACROSS THE LONG DARK BORDER by EDWARD HIRSCH WALT WHITMAN IN THE CIVIL WAR HOSPITALS by DAVID IGNATOW THE DAY OF THE DEAD SOLDIERS; MARY 30, 1869 by EMMA LAZARUS MANHATTAN, 1609 by EDWIN MARKHAM THE DECISION (APRIL 14, 1861) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE SPARROW HARK IN THE RAIN (ALEXANDER STEPHENS HEARS NEWS) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS A STORM IN THE DISTANCE (AMONG THE GEORGIAN HILLS) by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE |
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