Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, LENARE: A STORY OF THE SOUTHERN REVOLUTION: 10. NORTHERN CHIEF, by MARY HUNT MCCALEB ODOM


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

LENARE: A STORY OF THE SOUTHERN REVOLUTION: 10. NORTHERN CHIEF, by                    
First Line: Cold winter laid him down to rest
Last Line: "I'll even say farewell to-night."
Subject(s): American Civil War; Confederate States Of America; Death; Love; Plays & Playwrights; U.s. - History; Women; Confederacy; Dead, The


Cold winter laid him down to rest,
And gentle spring, with flowery crest,
With verdure crowned each hill and vale, --
Embalmed with fragrance every gale.
The heart of mother earth beat gay
Beneath the emerald foot of May.
Lenare's pale cheek still paler grew, --
Had lost the bright carnation hue
That bathed it in such kindling glow,
The same bright month one year ago.
In vain she prayed her Northern foe
To lift the burden of her woe;
When last she sought the haughty chief,
And at his feet implored relief,
A tear within his eye had stood --
He seemed to lose his fiercer mood.
Sweet thoughts of mercy seemed to roll
An instant o'er his heaving soul.
"Oh, maiden! in thy gentle breast,
Can Victor's image never rest!
And must I always feel the dart
Of disappointment in my heart?
Oh, God! 'tis worse than death!" he cried,
"Far better had I bravely died --
Had found, among the countless dead,
Sweet resting in a dreamless bed,
Than won the boasted laurel wreath,
To feel the piercing thorns beneath."
The chieftain paused before Lenare,
While, in his turn, he breathed a prayer.
"Lenare, within this heaving breast,
Thine image must forever rest!
I need not tell thee, maiden fair,
How fiercely I have held it there;
I could not, words would fail to prove
The boundless measure of my love.
Thou deemst him cruel, heartless, cold,
Who can thy father captive hold;
Whom all thy pleadings fail to move,
Yet still pursues thee with his love.
When thou hast sought me here before,
Thy father's pardon to implore,
One single answer did I give --
His oath -- thy hand -- and he shall live.
This hour, some softer feelings move
The heart that thrills for thee in love;
Before that soul-entrancing thrill,
I bend the fabric of my will --
Nay, speak not yet, till thou dost know
How much of mercy I shall show.
If I, Lenare, for love of thee,
Should set thy noble father free;
Recall my vow he should forswear
The sunny land to him so dear;
Couldst thou, to gain thy father's life,
Become a Northern chieftain's wife?"
"Oh, Victor, why with mercy seem
To mingle passion's darker stream?
Too well thou knowest my life would be
No sacrifice too great for me,
All youthful as I am, to give,
To bid my aged father live.
But long before mine eye met thine,
My love burned on another shrine;
I would not from my vows depart,
Or give my hand without my heart.
No, no! while Walter lives for me,
Still faithful I to him will be.
Though thou dost deem his spirit fled --
His heart now silent with the dead --
Kind heaven to my soul still gives
The darling hope that Walter lives.
Oh, chieftain! act the nobler part,
And seek no maid's unwilling heart;
But yield to mercy and to me,
And set my captive father free.
The God, to whom we bow in fear,
Blends mercy with his justice here.
We pray, as others we forgive,
That we may in that mercy live;
Then ask me not to be thy wife, --
I've sworn to bless another life."
"Lenare," the Northern chief replied,
"Think not to be a rebel's bride.
Thy lover coldly sleeps in death, --
He lies beneath the distant heath.
But still, if thou canst prove to me,
That Walter lives for love and thee;
If thou his life and truth canst prove,
Then Victor yields thee to his love.
But if I prove his certain death, --
The final yielding of his breath --
Then maiden, by the powers above,
I'll claim the right to win thy love."
Young Victor paused, with flashing eye,
To hear the Southern maid's reply.
A moment moved her lips in prayer
To heaven, in this her dark despair.
The maid then raised her dauntless eye,
And firmly gave him her reply:
"A something, I cannot define,
Within this beating heart of mine,
Breathes that I'll soon unbar to thee,
The golden gates of destiny.
Full soon my fate and thine thou'lt know,
The angels whisper it is so.
But still around my throbbing brow,
I'll bind no rash, or hasty vow.
For guidance, I will humbly bend
Before my God, my surest friend;
When thrice the dew has gemmed the lea,
I will return and answer thee."
"Fair maid, till then I must await
From thy fair hand, my coming fate."
Lenare passed slowly from the room,
Then swiftly sped toward her home.
Its portal gained, she sought a friend --
One true and faithful to the end --
Amid misfortune's wintry chill,
Her nurse was fond and constant still;
Still, to Lenare, she fondly gave
The love of a devoted slave.
In infancy, she lulled to rest
Her little nursling on her breast;
Then when the tiny feet could walk,
Had taught her baby lips to talk.
When childhood passed, she saw her flower
Bloom sweetly in her girlish bower;
And now, 'mid sorrows, dark and wild,
Lenare was still her "mammy's" child.
When first old Fleta met the foe,
They bade her from her shackles go.
They told her, they her freedom gave,
And bade her be no more a slave.
The old nurse answered, firm, but mild,
"I ne'er will leave Miss Ellen's child;
I'd not desert, my life to save,
The charge my dying mistress gave.
When thy accursed, unerring dart,
Transfixed her mother's gentle heart,
She turned on me her eye so mild,
And bade me guard her orphan child.
My hand upon her pallid brow,
I breathed to God a solemn vow,
That naught on earth should tempt my heart,
From those I love so well, to part.
Then go -- I ask no better fate --
Go, if thou wouldst not win my hate."
Lenare now sought this friend, to share
Her slender hope -- her great despair.
She soothed her darling's wretched fears,
Dried, for a time, her bitter tears;
Then bade the trembling, nervous maid,
To tell her all the chieftain said.
"'Tis then to save her father's life,
My child would be a Yankee's wife?
No, no! heart-broken little pet,
If Walter lives, I'll save thee yet.
In three days thou again wilt go
To seek the presence of the foe;
With policy upon thy shield,
Appear, at least, to him, to yield;
Then when thy words his heart shall move,
Ask some brief time to learn to love.
Around this fort, I know, full well,
Each secret path, through wood and dell.
With whisky fully drugged, I'll start,
And play, for once, the tempter's part.
A colored guard the picket keeps,
I'll pass the postern while he sleeps;
The foe I soon will leave behind --
Thy lover I will surely find --
And ere two moons shall wax and wane,
Thou'lt rest upon his heart again."
Lenare drew closer to her side,
"A thousand thanks, good nurse," she cried;
"Though when to Walter thou hast gone,
I'll be, alas! left all alone;
Alone, with no one, save the foe,
I still can calmly bid thee go.
A something whispers in my heart,
'Tis better thou shouldst soon depart;
The darkness now will aid thy flight,
I'll even say farewell to-night."





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