Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, DAISY SWAIN, THE FLOWER OF SHENANDOAH; A TALE OF THE REBELLION: 9, by JOHN M. DAGNALL



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

DAISY SWAIN, THE FLOWER OF SHENANDOAH; A TALE OF THE REBELLION: 9, by                    
First Line: Not till their victims charr'd remains exhaled
Last Line: "but never from your wicked conscience.[""]"
Subject(s): American Civil War; Beauty; Death; Love; Soldiers; United States - History; Women; Dead, The


Not till their victims' charr'd remains exhaled,
Through murky wreathes of smoke, a pestilence
Most baleful, did the rebels quit the hut
In search of injured Daisy, whom they found
Much convulsed and with all her sense night fled.

Through dark desert ways and rugged paths they,
Unmindful of her piteous cries, her sobs,
Her plaints and bitter wailings, brought her to
A cavern deep, scoop'd out between two hills,
And laid her in a dark recess wherein
Her fate should be determin'd by their chief,
Who'd not, as yet return'd.

So, round a blazing fire,
The murd'ring crew caroused. Some the weed fum'd.
Some sang ribald songs by turns and smutty jokes
Got off, whilst others quaffed and pass'd around
A vile inebriant distillation.

"Drink, comrades, drink," more loquacious than
The rest, cried one. "Drain your canteens to the dregs.
'Tis the most potent of all drinks, to rouse
Our sluggish blood to life and fortify
Us 'gainst dangerous night damps. Besides, it is
Our chieftain's birthday night. Then let us all
Be merry, jocund, gay, and laugh at folly
As it flies on pleasure's wing. For, why should
We work our own annoy, when now we have
A chance to pass a lucid interval
From a life attended with so many
Dangers? True, to lead this wild course has been
Our own choice; or, rather, we were all forced
Into it by the roving propensities
Of our natures, and ungovernable wills
That could not bear restraints, nor drudgeries,
Nor the enervating dull routines of
The regular soldier. No, my comrades; among
These hills we are free to do what we please.
Here we can and do despise the outer world.
Where glaring vice and luxury prevail;
Where laws are made most stringently to force
City villains into decency.
But here, full of adventurous love, among
These mountain passes, we simply practise
The ancient virtues of our ancestors,
With a valiant chief whose freeborn soul nought
Can turn from perilous ways; aye, one who spurns
The niggard Yankees' selfish yoke and hates
Their clannish, over-jealous natures. Still,
Sometimes when he's not aware, I notice
That his high-toned spirits are much dejected,
So much so, in fact, he seems to struggle
Against some opposing fate, the cause of
Which I opine I know. So, if you'll cease
Your drowsy murmurs, and open your ears,
I'll breathe into them, the sad incident
Of his life which yet preys upon his mind.

"Two years have scarce elapsed since he was smitten
With the peerless charms of a Yankee maiden
Whose father, a Puritan born and bred,
Lavish'd on her with unsparing hands,
The wealth he'd gain'd running niggers from
Africa into the Isle of Cuba,
Hoping, thereby, that his gifts of fortune,
Along with her accomplishments, would add
Great dignity to his high lineage;
Grace the pious stock from which she sprang,
And draw around her swarms of wealthy suitors."

"Our noble chief, a Virginian by birth,
Was always at her father's house a welcome guest;
For he thither often went to interchange
With her father mutual thoughts concerning
Their clandestine interests in the slave trade.
So, whilst in social converse, the father learnt
That Agar was descended from one of the
Eldest and most distinguished families
Of old Virginia. Then coupling this news
With the proud notions of himself, he saw
That such high blood, with wealth united, would
Confer much honor on his house, and offer'd
Agar his daughter's hand in marriage,
With vested rights in estates as portion
Of her marriage dower. Agar consented,
And promised to solemnize the nuptials
When he'd returned from Paris, where he'd gone
Some months before the war broke out.

"But in
That gay city, where vice and shame strut round
Enrob'd in meek-sainted guise, wine and women
Soon his youthful bosom fired. Held spell-bound
By the charming witch'ries of the gay lorettes,
Who hold their bacchanals at the Chateaux
Des Fleurs and Mabille, soon his unthinking
And blind reason brought him down deep into
The gulf of dissipation, which soon made
Him needy; for, amid his orgies, he thought
Not of the ruin he was bringing
On himself, but, to relieve his pressing wants,
Continued to make frequent demands
For means from her father, and gave his lands
In Virginia to him as surety
For supplies.

"At last the day of reck'ning
Came. The Yankee complain'd of tardy payment;
Felt touch'd to the quick in consequence,
And vouchsafed to lend our chief no more funds.

"So, one bright morning, the captain awoke
To the consciousness that shadowy ills
Obscur'd his stores at home; and once more steer'd
His shatter'd barque across the ocean wave.
On arriving home he found his domains
Were laid waste by the war which fiercely raged
Upon his native soil, his slaves set free;
In short, his happy home, and what remain'd
Of his once fair realms, confiscated were
By the Federal jackals.

"But yet his cup of
Mis'ry was not full: one drop it lack'd
More turgid still. Adverse fate deign'd to add
Poignancy to his misfortunes: for with
Harsh disdain the maiden's father on him
Fix'd an eye malignant, and with anger
Bade him never more to cross his threshold.

"Struck with such unkindness, our chieftain took
It in his heart to loath forever more
The Yankees, and swore he'd hold dread reverence
O'er their heads, joined our cause, then took these hills
To --"

Awe-struck, they him beheld. He came with
Hurried tread. Amazed, he stood awhile as
If some boding ill gleam'd through his eyes.
Soon his abject crew bent to his pride, and quit
The bivouac his wishes to fulfill:
To forage round and ransack spots, which, in
Open day, their footsteps fear'd to tread.

When gone, the ingrate bold the weak maid eyed
O'er and o'er; gave her many a wishful look;
And urg'd by lust, the leafy couch approach'd
On which she slumbering lay. She started up
As from a trance, with hair dishevell'd much,
And features fix'd in stern expression wild,
And on him threw the keenest dart of scorn.

Barb'rously severe he her accused of
Trait'rous complicity, and, indignant,
Said: "Haughty fair one, now thy doom's decreed.
Thou shalt have but one hour more to linger here,
If now thou dost not to my wishes lend
A gracious ear."

Down on her knees Daisy
Look'd up at him with mild, imploring eyes,
And with anguish in her bosom, wailing,
Said: "Alas! he's thought severe who thus condemns
The innocent and unhappy. Hast thou
Not one friend to whom the sacred heart relies
For truth and honor? If not, then such have
I -- one ardent, noble, kind: In faith and hope
Unfaltering we are bound."

But her soft pleadings
Could not move his harden'd heart: It was bereft
Of all that's meek and tender. He heeded not
Her tears, her firm faith, nor virtue proud,
But said: "You'll never see your lover more.
In prison he now wears his chains. P'rhaps ere
Now, the Yankee's rotten carcase has been
To the buzzards thrown." "Then if Athol is
To me forever lost," she cried, "God bless
His soul. His image so dear to my sight shall
In my heart be firmly fixed, nor ever
From my cherish'd memory fade. But thou,
Vile minion of all that's mean and great,
The willing tool of that vain man whose pride
Is phrenzy, whose ambition's but despair,
Whose heart is void of ev'ry spark divine,
The curse of orphans and the cause of
Many a widow's tear, know that you may
Glitter in your infamy awhile;
But the potent grasp of might shall be soon
Wrested from you: The majesty of pow'r
Is in the avenging sword held in the hand
Of Heav'n: 'twill yet descend upon and burst
Your vaunted bubble to the sun, aye, blast
Your lauded greatness: Deeds of retribution
Deal unto the mean and base ambitious fools
Upon the gibbet; and righteous justice
Yet shall hurl upon thee its avenging ire,
For the wrongs which thou hast cruelly brought
Upon my Athol's hapless head: Aye, you
Who came into that happy home where dwelt
In blessed peace the innocent whose ears
Were strangers to the blast and din of war,
And vilely brought, therein, much misery,
Wretchedness and mourning. My father's name
Blasphem'd with curses foul, then reft him from
Me, and in a dungeon dire, him thrust, to pine,
To starve, and die: my aged mother caused
Through pining grief to sink into her grave
Ere she'd time to don a widow's mourning weeds;
And me an outcast orphan made for life.
But remember, yours is but a weak boast
Of transitory power. Successful guilt
Can but triumph awhile: For soon before
The keen, relentless weapons of the North,
Both your stuck-up pride and cause shall
Tumble: 'tis to them alone revenge is
Given. Beware."

At this, in drunken fury,
The chieftain laugh'd outright, and said: "Murmur
Not, my dear, fond bird. Do you think I'd injure
A bosom so fair. Beauty like thine was
Form'd for joy; and you must own I'm now
Your lawful lord."

Then he strove with eager arms
To grasp her. As quick she from his touch recoil'd.
"Shrink not," he angrily cried. "Succumb
To my power thou must, or, in this dense wood
Unseen by mortal eye, from life to death
Thou soon shalt pass; for, longer my mind
Thy indiff'rence can't bear, thy peevish censures
Endure: nought but thy consent to be my bride
Can satisfy my burning soul." Saying which,
He grasped her by her long dishevell'd hair.
"Swear," he cried, "ere this dagger's keen edge shall
In your heart's blood be imbrued."

"No, no," she said,
"Fate will ne'er permit me to touch thy hand,
It hath the stain of murder'd blood; and such love
As thine, the tender-hearted would defile:
Forever unhappy she'd be whose bosom
Hath therein sincere passion glowing. No,
My honor lives for one most dear to my heart.
Therefore, if my ardent troth for him I love
Can't kindle in thy breast compassion's warmth,
Why longer the sacrifice delay? Why
Tantalize your victim like a cat ere
You destroy? or like the venom'd adder
Coil your folds around ere you sting to death
Your prey? For well I know he who would not
Spare my father's life will not spare my own;
And death would end the tortures which now rack
My beating heart. But beware. He yet lives
For whom my soul with sacred fervor burns.
He whom thy bold hands hath sway'd with cruelty,
But who will yet thy proud triumph guilt
Avenge."

Then reviving wrath the chieftain's soul
Inflam'd. The name of Athol moved his heart
To hate; and black as night he frown'd and spent
His rage on helpless Daisy, who struggled
At his feet. Her clasp'd hands clinging round his knees;
With dripping eyes to Heav'n raised and crying,
"Oh! God of mercy! is there no friend nigh?"
"There is a friend," a deep gruff voice behind
A rock exclaim'd. "Arrogant knave, forbear."
The rebel heard the voice. It rived his heart.
His stern determined look he took from off
The mortal place, and quick with fright he started
Back, recoil'd and dropt unstain'd upon the ground
His sheathless dirk, which high above her head
He held.

Again he heard the voice upon
The midnight blast exclaim, "Outcast of earth
Is searching among these hills, to ravish
Helpless women, then to thrust them from you
As in scorn, to murder in cold blood
Thy vaunted chivalry? The crimes which you've
Already done, now cry aloud to Heaven
For vengeance. Therefore, thou rebel reprobate!
Beware. If you murder her nigh strangled
At your feet, hell's furies, that now thirst
Unceasing for your blood, will pursue you
Everywhere. Horrid sounds will rise on
Ev'ry wind and in your blood-stained conscience
Howl these words: 'Seducer, coward, murderer.'"

Pale turned the chieftain's cheeks: His joints trembled
As if by an intermittent ague shook.
Then he quickly, like a fleeting shadow,
Vanish'd through the gloom, whilst the voice, meantime,
Hard on his trail, cried: "Thou curst, abandon'd wretch,
Well may'st thou fly from guilt's alarms,
But never from your wicked conscience.["]





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