Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, LENARE: A STORY OF THE SOUTHERN REVOLUTION: 5. RECOGNITION - APPEAL, by MARY HUNT MCCALEB ODOM


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

LENARE: A STORY OF THE SOUTHERN REVOLUTION: 5. RECOGNITION - APPEAL, by                    
First Line: Whiling the summer hours away
Last Line: But strength is given as we need.
Subject(s): American Civil War; Confederate States Of America; Death; Love; Plays & Playwrights; U.s. - History; Women; Confederacy; Dead, The


Whiling the summer hours away,
The Northern chief luxurious lay;
His vassals lingering at his side,
He care and trouble both defied.
One of his braves, his favorite knight,
With forehead high, and eye of light,
Thus to the Northern chieftain spoke:
"Say, Victor, wilt thou tell me now
About the maid with sunny brow,
Whose image is so fondly pressed
In slumber to thy doting breast?
Why still, with jealous care, conceal
A tale thou'st promised to reveal?
Lift now the veil from mystery --
Who can this hidden beauty be?"
"Thou't scarce believe me when I vow,
I just as little know as thou;
It is a trophy from a field,
Where Northern valor had to yield.
A paltry coward robbed the dead
Of this one priceless gem, and fled.
'Twas chance and gold that to me gave
The treasure of the fallen brave.
But since I gazed upon its face,
Where lingers beauty's softest trace,
My heart throbs with a passion true,
That other men ne'er felt or knew.
I tell thee, Gordon, I would sell
My soul to deepest, blackest hell,
If by the traffic I could buy
One tender beam from her dark eye."
"Why, Victor! by the gods, I vow,
I never knew thee weak till now,
To worship at a phantom's shrine,
When nations lowly bow at thine!"
Ere he could add a sentence more,
A menial stood within the door.
"What is it, Michael?" Victor said,
"What new plea is before me laid?"
"A lady, sir, with mournful brow,
Would beg to see thy lordship now."
"A lady! is she old or young?
Speak, sirrah! what hath bound thy tongue?"
"The lady, sir, is young, I'd swear,
By every lock of jetty hair;
I saw her face beneath her veil,
'Twas beautiful, but very pale."
"Then let her come, and nothing fear,
Go, tell her I await her here."
A moment passed, and, pale and fair,
Before him stood the young Lenare.
He raised his careless eye to seek
The beauty of her marble cheek,
Then flushed his brow with crimson dye,
As full he met her soft dark eye;
And her pale cheek grew paler still,
While both hearts felt a sudden thrill.
She saw, in his deep, restless eye,
His sunny locks of flaxen dye,
The Northman she had seen to pass
Across the future-telling glass;
While he beheld, with sudden start,
The image pressed against his heart --
A living, breathing maiden fair,
With flashing eye, and midnight hair.
"What wouldst thou, lady?" Victor said,
And lowly bowed his lordly head.
"What would I? oh! the boon I claim,
I scarce can find the words to name."
She clasped her hands in deep despair,
And urged her wild, heart-rending prayer.
"Victorious foe! behold me here,
In agonizing hope and fear;
'Tis for a father that I pray,
A father old, and weak, and gray;
In yonder cell he lies in chains,
Have pity for an old man's pains;
Or, if thy heart shouldst callous be,
Show mercy then to wretched me.
Of freedom, mother, all bereft,
Take not the only blessing left!
Oh, heed my heart's despairing cry,
If here thou wouldst not see me die!"
She sank imploring at his feet,
And raised her streaming eyes to meet
The glance of his, that she might read
Soft pity for her wretched need.
Young Victor's color went and came --
"Fair maiden, what thy father's name?"
"They call him Hargrave," low she said,
And bowed again her fair young head.
"Arise, and I will tell thee here,
All that thy father has to fear;
The power is thine alone to save
His grey head from the yawning grave.
Go, twine thine arms about him now;
Kiss each dark furrow on his brow;
Tell him thy young heart bleeds to see
Thy father in captivity.
Conjure him, with thy honeyed breath,
To leave the road that leads to death;
His loyal oath will set him free,
Fair maid, his fate depends on thee."
The maiden knelt no longer now,
But stood erect, with scornful brow.
"What! urge my father to forswear
His honor, country, all that's dear!
No, chieftain, I can see him die,
But can not hear him swear a lie."
She turned, with queenly step and mien,
To seek her wretched home again.
"Stay, maiden, stay!" the chieftain cried,
And hastened quickly to her side;
"Long have I worn thine image pressed,
With fond affection, to my breast.
It matters not from whence it came,
My love and purpose are the same;
Give but one glance of love to me,
And thou wilt set thy father free."
"In mercy, chieftain, tell me where
Was found the image of Lenare?
Oh, gracious heaven! can it be,
That Walter, too, is lost to me!
Oh, spare that crushing weight of woe --
In pity tell me 'tis not so!
By every blessing to thee given --
By all thy dearest hopes of heaven,
Do not confirm the pang I dread,
But tell me Walter is not dead!"
She stood, with wildly beating heart,
With eager eye, and lips apart,
Awaiting now, with doubt and fear,
The words she scarcely dared to hear.
Her melting, upward, beaming glance,
Seemed Victor's bosom to entrance;
Her wild, dark eye, veiled by a tear,
Her pale cheek, paler still with fear --
As like the bending lily flower,
That droops beneath the summer shower,
She bowed, in wretchedness and woe,
Before the deadly falling blow.
"Fair maiden, 'gainst my heart is pressed
An image from a soldier's breast;
Though not my hand that robbed the dead --
That crime rests on another's head.
"I --," "Give me proof!" the maiden cried,
"I'll bless thee still, if thou hast lied!"
The chieftain's brow grew dark with fire,
And paled his cheek with rising ire.
"Hold, maiden! thou art now the first
Of man, or womankind, who durst
Look Victor in his honest eye,
And dare to think that he could lie;
Still less to whisper, without fear,
That dark deceit could linger here."
Fiercely he smote his heaving chest,
And proudly raised his haughty crest.
"Chieftain, I have not known thee long,
Thy pardon if I do thee wrong;
But still the truth I'll dare to tell,
I think I know thee passing well.
When kneeling at thy feet, I plead
Thy pity on a father's head;
With tears, besought thy power to save
My last of kindred from the grave,
What came in answer to my prayer?
What mercy to my wild despair?
That freedom should be his again,
If he his spotless soul would stain,
Would wear upon his brow the brand
Of treason to his native land!
I tell thee, chieftain of the North,
The soul that gave that answer forth,
Would scarce perceive the lesser dye
That lingers in an added lie!
Aye, grasp thy sword with passion's hand,
And bid thy minions round thee stand;
I tell thee, chieftain, I would dare
To beard the lion in his lair!
I much have borne, and murmured not,
At what would seem a bitter lot
To one less gently reared than I --
For pleasures past I heave no sigh --
I've seen my country bathed in blood,
While foemen tread the reeking sod;
I've seen the crimson life-tide start,
Warm from my mother's gentle heart;
Received her last expiring sigh,
And closed myself her glazing eye,
As with a mortal wound she fell,
Slain by a hissing Northern shell.
It, too, is my unhappy fate,
To see my home made desolate;
To see my father, old and worn,
A prisoner from his portal borne,
While I must hush my bitter moan,
And bear my many griefs alone.
But now, I tell thee, chieftain, here,
By all that once to me was dear;
By every drop of Southern blood
That now bedews a Southern sod;
By every soldier's dying sigh,
By every orphan's tearful eye,
And by an all avenging God,
I pass to thee my solemn word,
My father's child shall never see
His honor sold for liberty;
But rather let him die in chains,
And let his conscience soothe his pains,
While I can stand, too, proudly by,
And see him for his honor die!"
Her hands were clasped tight o'er her heart,
While from her dark eye seemed to start
Her soul, with fiercely beaming ray,
As though it scorned its robe of clay.
The chieftain now all vainly strove
To curb his fast increasing love;
The more her Southern blood was fired,
The more her beauty he admired.
"Maid of the South, thou here hast dared
To do what all mankind have feared;
My power thou hast now defied,
Yea, thou hast told me that I lied;
A man could not speak thus and live,
A woman Victor can forgive.
I told thee once that naught could win
Thy father to his home again --
That thou wouldst never see him free,
Save through his oath of loyalty.
I told thee, too, that I possessed,
And to my throbbing bosom pressed,
An image that is wonderous [sic] fair,
And much resembles thee, Lenare.
Thine answer -- well, it boots not now
For Victor to repeat thy vow,
Still less should Victor deign to prove
His honest word -- his spoken love --
But here I hold," the chieftain cried,
"Strong proof, Lenare, I have not lied."
Young Victor from his bosom drew
A tiny case of magic blue,
Clasped by a simple golden band,
And placed it in the maiden's hand.
Lenare's brave heart seemed now to fail,
Her lip, and cheek, and brow grew pale,
As with a nervous, trembling grasp,
She soon undid the fatal clasp.
Ere Victor could her name repeat,
The maid lay senseless at his feet.
Oh! how can heaven look on and see
Such heartless inhumanity!
The ways of God are strange indeed,
But strength is given as we need.





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