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Poets of the South

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But Ticknor did not confine himself to war themes. He was a lover of
Nature; and its forms, and colors, and sounds--as seen in _April
Morning_, _Twilight_, _The Hills_, _Among the Birds_--appealed
to his sensitive nature. Shut out from literary centers and
literary companionship, he sang, like Burns, from the strong impulse
awakened by the presence of the heroic and the beautiful.


JOHN R. THOMPSON (1823-1873) has deserved well of the South both as
editor and author. He was born in Richmond, and educated at the
University of Virginia, where he received the degree of Bachelor of Arts
in 1845. Two years later he became editor of the _Southern Literary
Messenger_; and during the twelve years of his editorial management,
he not only maintained a high degree of literary excellence, but took
pains to lend encouragement to Southern letters. It is a misfortune to
our literature that his writings, particularly his poetry, have never
been collected.

The incidents of the Civil War called forth many a stirring lyric, the
best of which is his well-known _Music in Camp_:--

"Two armies covered hill and plain,
Where Rappahannock's waters
Ran deeply crimsoned with the stain
Of battle's recent slaughters."

The band had played "Dixie" and "Yankee Doodle," which in turn had been
greeted with shouts by "Rebels" and "Yanks."

"And yet once more the bugles sang
Above the stormy riot;
No shout upon the evening rang--
There reigned a holy quiet.

"The sad, slow stream its noiseless flood
Poured o'er the glistening pebbles;
All silent now the Yankees stood,
And silent stood the Rebels.

"No unresponsive soul had heard
That plaintive note's appealing,
So deeply 'Home, Sweet Home' had stirred
The hidden founts of feeling.

"Or Blue or Gray, the soldier sees,
As by the wand of fairy,
The cottage 'neath the live-oak trees,
The cabin by the prairie."

On account of failing health, Thompson made a visit to Europe, where he
spent several years, contributing from time to time to _Blackwood's
Magazine_ and other English periodicals. On his return to America, he
was engaged on the editorial staff of the _New York Evening Post_,
with which he was connected till his death, in 1873. He is buried in
Hollywood cemetery at Richmond.

"The city's hum drifts o'er his grave,
And green above the hollies wave
Their jagged leaves, as when a boy,
On blissful summer afternoons,
He came to sing the birds his runes,
And tell the river of his joy."

The verse of Mrs. MARGARET J. PRESTON (1820-1897) rises above the
commonplace both in sentiment and craftsmanship. She belongs, as some
critic has said, to the school of Mrs. Browning; and in range of subject
and purity of sentiment she is scarcely inferior to her great English
contemporary. She was the daughter of the Rev. George Junkin, D.D., the
founder of Lafayette College, Pennsylvania, and for many years president
of Washington College at Lexington, Virginia. In 1857 she married Colonel
J. T. L. Preston of the Virginia Military Institute.

For many years she was a contributor to the _Southern Literary
Messenger_, in which her earlier poems first made their appearance.
Though a native of Philadelphia, she was loyal to the South during the
Civil War, and found inspiration in its deeds of heroism. _Beechenbrook_
is a rhyme of the war; and though well-nigh forgotten now, it
was read, on its publication in 1865, from the Potomac to the Gulf. Among
her other writings are _Old Songs and New_ and _Cartoons_. Her
poetry is pervaded by a deeply religious spirit, and she repeatedly urges
the lesson of supreme resignation and trust, as in the following lines:--

"What will it matter by-and-by
Whether my path below was bright,
Whether it wound through dark or light,
Under a gray or golden sky,
When I look back on it, by-and-by?

"What will it matter by-and-by
Whether, unhelped, I toiled alone,
Dashing my foot against a stone,
Missing the charge of the angel nigh,
Bidding me think of the by-and-by?

* * * * *

"What will it matter? Naught, if I
Only am sure the way I've trod,
Gloomy or gladdened, leads to God,
Questioning not of the how, the why,
If I but reach Him by-and-by.

"What will I care for the unshared sigh,
If in my fear of lapse or fall,
Close I have clung to Christ through all,
Mindless how rough the road might lie,
Sure He will smoothen it by-and-by.

"What will it matter by-and-by?
_Nothing but this_: that Joy or Pain
Lifted me skyward,--helped me to gain,
Whether through rack, or smile, or sigh,
Heaven, home, all in all, by-and-by."

In this rapid sketch of the minor singers of the South, it has been
necessary to omit many names worthy of mention. It is beyond our scope to
speak of the newer race of poets. Here and there delicate notes are
heard, but there is no evidence that a great singer is present among us.
Yet there is no ground for discouragement; the changed conditions and the
new spirit that has come upon our people may reasonably be expected to
lead to higher poetic achievement.

In some respects the South affords a more promising field for literature
than any other part of our country. There is evident decadence in New
England. But the climate and scenery, the history and traditions, and the
chivalrous spirit and unexhausted intellectual energies of the South
contain the promise of an Augustan age in literature. In no insignificant
degree its rich-ored veins have been worked in prose. JOEL CHANDLER
HARRIS has successfully wrought in the mine of negro folk-lore; GEORGE W.
CABLE has portrayed the Creole life of Louisiana; CHARLES EGBERT CRADDOCK
has pictured the types of character found among the Tennessee mountains;
THOMAS NELSON PAGE has shown us the trials and triumphs of Reconstruction
days; and Miss MARY JOHNSTON has revived the picturesque scenes of
colonial times. There has been an obvious literary awakening in the
South; and sooner or later it will find utterance, let us hope, in some
strong-voiced, great-souled singer.

It is true that there are obstacles to be overcome. There are no literary
magazines in the South to encourage and develop our native talent as in
the days of the _Southern Literary Messenger_. Southern writers are
still dependent upon Northern periodicals, in which they can hardly be
said to find a cordial welcome. It seems that the South in a measure
suffers the obloquy that rested of old upon Nazareth, from which the
Pharisees of the metropolis maintained that no good thing could come.

But the most serious drawback of all is the disfavor into which poetry
has fallen, or rather which it has brought upon itself. In the remoteness
of its themes and sentiments, in its over-anxiety for a faultless or
striking technique, it has erected a barrier between itself and the
sanity of a practical, truth-loving people. Let us hope that this
aberration is not permanent. When poetry returns to simplicity,
sincerity, and truth; when it shall voice, as in the great English
singers, Tennyson and Browning, the deepest thought and aspirations of
our race; when once more, as in the prophetic days of old, it shall
resume its lofty, seer-like office,--then will it be restored to its
place of honor by a delighted and grateful people.




CHAPTER II

EDGAR ALLAN POE


Poe occupies a peculiar place in American literature. He has been called
our most interesting literary man. He stands alone for his intellectual
brilliancy and his lamentable failure to use it wisely. No one can read
his works intelligently without being impressed with his extraordinary
ability. Whether poetry, criticism, or fiction, he shows extraordinary
power in them all. But the moral element in life is the most important,
and in this Poe was lacking. With him truth was not the first necessity.
He allowed his judgment to be warped by friendship, and apparently
sacrificed sincerity to the vulgar desire of gaining popular applause.
Through intemperate habits, he was unable for any considerable length of
time to maintain himself in a responsible or lucrative position. Fortune
repeatedly opened to him an inviting door; but he constantly and
ruthlessly abused her kindness.

Edgar Allan Poe descended from an honorable ancestry. His grandfather,
David Poe, was a Revolutionary hero, over whose grave, as he kissed the
sod, Lafayette pronounced the words, "_Ici repose un coeur noble_."
His father, an impulsive and wayward youth, fell in love with an English
actress, and forsook the bar for the stage. The couple were duly married,
and acted with moderate success in the principal towns and cities of the
country. It was during an engagement at Boston that the future poet was
born, January 19, 1809. Two years later the wandering pair were again in
Richmond, where within a few weeks of each other they died in poverty.
They left three children, the second of whom, Edgar, was kindly received
into the home of Mr. John Allan, a wealthy merchant of the city.

[Illustration: EDGAR ALLAN POE.]

The early training of Poe was misguided and unfortunate. The boy was
remarkably pretty and precocious, and his foster-parents allowed no
opportunity to pass without showing him off. After dinner in this elegant
and hospitable home, he was frequently placed upon the table to drink to
the health of the guests, and to deliver short declamations, for which he
had inherited a decided talent. He was flattered and fondled and indulged
in every way. Is it strange that under this training he acquired a taste
for strong drink, and became opinionated and perverse?

In 1815 Mr. Allan went to England with his family to spend several years,
and there placed the young Edgar at school in an ancient and historic
town, which has since been swallowed up in the overflow of the great
metropolis. The venerable appearance and associations of the town, as may
be learned from the autobiographic tale of _William Wilson_, made a
deep and lasting impression on the imaginative boy.

After five years spent in this English school, where he learned to read
Latin and to speak French, he was brought back to America, and placed in
a Richmond academy. Without much diligence in study, his brilliancy
enabled him to take high rank in his classes. His skill in verse-making
and in debate made him prominent in the school. He excelled in athletic
exercises, but was not generally popular among his fellow-students.
Conscious of his superior intellectual endowments, he was disposed to
live apart and indulge in moody reverie. According to the testimony of
one who knew him well at this time, he was "self-willed, capricious,
inclined to be imperious, and though of generous impulses, not steadily
kind, or even amiable."

In 1826, at the age of seventeen, Poe matriculated at the University of
Virginia, and entered the schools of ancient and modern languages. Though
he attended his classes with a fair degree of regularity, he was not slow
in joining the fast set. Gambling seems to have become a passion with
him, and he lost heavily. His reckless expenditures led Mr. Allan to
visit Charlottesville for the purpose of inquiring into his habits. The
result appears not to have been satisfactory; and though his adopted son
won high honors in Latin and French, Mr. Allan refused to allow him to
return to the university after the close of his first session, and placed
him in his own counting-room.

It is not difficult to foresee the next step in the drama before us. Many
a genius of far greater self-restraint and moral earnestness has found
the routine of business almost intolerably irksome. With high notions of
his own ability, and with a temper rebellious to all restraint, Poe soon
broke away from his new duties, and started out to seek his fortune. He
went to Boston; and, in eager search for fame and money, he resorted to
the rather unpromising expedient of publishing, in 1827, a small volume
of poems. Viewed in the light of his subsequent career, the volume gives
here and there an intimation of the author's genius; but, as was to be
expected, it attracted but little attention. He was soon reduced to
financial straits, and in his pressing need he enlisted, under an assumed
name, in the United States army. He served at Fort Moultrie, and
afterward at Fortress Monroe. He rose to the rank of sergeant major; and,
according to the testimony of his superiors, he was "exemplary in his
deportment, prompt and faithful in the discharge of his duties."

In 1829, when his heart was softened by the death of his wife, Mr. Allan
became reconciled to his adopted but wayward son. Through his influence,
young Poe secured a discharge from the army, and obtained an appointment
as cadet at West Point. He entered the military academy July 1, 1830,
and, as usual, established a reputation for brilliancy and folly. He was
reserved, exclusive, discontented, and censorious. As described by a
classmate, "He was an accomplished French scholar, and had a wonderful
aptitude for mathematics, so that he had no difficulty in preparing his
recitations in his class, and in obtaining the highest marks in these
departments. He was a devourer of books; but his great fault was his
neglect of and apparent contempt for military duties. His wayward and
capricious temper made him at times utterly oblivious or indifferent to
the ordinary routine of roll call, drills, and guard duties. These habits
subjected him often to arrest and punishment, and effectually prevented
his learning or discharging the duties of a soldier." The final result
may be easily anticipated: at the end of six months, he was summoned
before a court-martial, tried, and expelled.

Before leaving West Point, Poe arranged for the publication of a volume
of poetry, which appeared in New York in 1831. This volume, to which the
students of the academy subscribed liberally in advance, is noteworthy in
several particulars. In a prefatory letter Poe lays down the poetic
principle to which he endeavored to conform his productions. It throws
much light on his poetry by exhibiting the ideal at which he aimed. "A
poem, in my opinion," he says, "is opposed to a work of science by having
for its _immediate_ object pleasure, not truth; to romance, by
having for its object an _indefinite_ instead of a definite
pleasure, being a poem only so far as this object is attained; romance
presenting perceptible images with definite, poetry with _in_
definite sensations, to which end music is an _essential_, since the
comprehension of sweet sound is our most indefinite conception. Music,
when combined with a pleasurable idea, is poetry; music without the idea
is simply music; the idea without the music is prose from its very
definiteness." Music embodied in a golden mist of thought and sentiment--
this is Poe's poetic ideal.

As illustrative of his musical rhythm, the following lines from _Al
Aaraaf_ may be given:--

"Ligeia! Ligeia!
My beautiful one!
Whose harshest idea
Will to melody run,
O! is it thy will
On the breezes to toss?
Or, capriciously still,
Like the lone Albatross,
Incumbent on night
(As she on the air)
To keep watch with delight
On the harmony there?"

Or take the last stanza of _Israfel:_--

"If I could dwell
Where Israfel
Hath dwelt, and he where I,
He might not sing so wildly well
A mortal melody,
While a bolder note than this might swell
From my lyre within the sky."

The two principal poems in the volume under consideration--_Al
Aaraaf_ and _Tamerlane_--are obvious imitations of Moore and
Byron. The beginning of _Al Aaraaf_, for example, might easily be
mistaken for an extract from _Lalla Rookh_, so similar are the
rhythm and rhyme:--

"O! nothing earthly save the ray
(Thrown back from flowers) of Beauty's eye,
As in those gardens where the day
Springs from the gems of Circassy--
O! nothing earthly save the thrill
Of melody in woodland rill--
Or (music of the passion-hearted)
Joy's voice so peacefully departed
That, like the murmur in the shell,
Its echo dwelleth and will dwell--
Oh, nothing of the dross of ours--
Yet all the beauty--all the flowers
That list our Love, and deck our bowers--
Adorn yon world afar, afar--
The wandering star."

After his expulsion from West Point, Poe appears to have gone to
Richmond; but the long-suffering of Mr. Allan, who had married again
after the death of his first wife, was at length exhausted. He refused to
extend any further recognition to one whom he had too much reason to
regard as unappreciative and undeserving. Accordingly Poe was thrown upon
his own resources for a livelihood. He settled in Baltimore, where he had
a few acquaintances and friends, and entered upon that literary career
which is without parallel in American literature for its achievements,
its vicissitudes, and its sorrows. With no qualification for the struggle
of life other than intellectual brilliancy, he bitterly atoned, through
disappointment and suffering, for his defects of temper, lack of
judgment, and habits of intemperance.

In 1833 the Baltimore _Saturday Visitor_ offered a prize of one
hundred dollars for the best prose story. This prize Poe won by his tale,
_A Ms. Found in a Bottle_. This success may be regarded as the first
step in his literary career. The ability displayed in this fantastic tale
brought him to the notice of John P. Kennedy, Esq., who at once
befriended him in his distress, and aided him in his literary projects.
He gave Poe, whom he found in extreme poverty, free access to his home
and, to use his own words, "brought him up from the very verge of
despair."

After a year or more of hack work in Baltimore, Poe, through the
influence of his kindly patron, obtained employment on the _Southern
Literary Messenger_, and removed to Richmond in 1835. Here he made a
brilliant start; life seemed to open before him full of promise. In a
short time he was promoted to the editorship of the _Messenger_, and
by his tales, poems, and especially his reviews, he made that periodical
very popular. In a twelve-month he increased its subscription list from
seven hundred to nearly five thousand, and made the magazine a rival of
the _Knickerbocker_ and the _New Englander_. He was loudly
praised by the Southern press, and was generally regarded as one of the
foremost writers of the day.

In the _Messenger_ Poe began his work as a critic. It is hardly
necessary to say that his criticism was of the slashing kind. He became
little short of a terror. With a great deal of critical acumen and a fine
artistic sense, he made relentless war on pretentious mediocrity, and
rendered good service to American letters by enforcing higher literary
standards. He was lavish in his charges of plagiarism; and he made use of
cheap, second-hand learning in order to ridicule the pretended
scholarship of others. He often affected an irritating and contemptuous
superiority. But with all his humbug and superciliousness, his critical
estimates, in the main, have been sustained.

The bright prospects before Poe were in a few months ruthlessly blighted.
Perhaps he relied too much on his genius and reputation. It is easy for
men of ability to overrate their importance. Regarding himself, perhaps,
as indispensable to the _Messenger_, he may have relaxed in vigilant
self-restraint. It has been claimed that he resigned the editorship in
order to accept a more lucrative offer in New York; but the sad truth
seems to be that he was dismissed on account of his irregular habits.

After eighteen months in Richmond, during which he had established a
brilliant literary reputation, Poe was again turned adrift. He went to
New York, where his story, _The Adventures of Arthur Gordon Pym_,
was published by the Harpers in 1838. It is a tale of the sea, written
with the simplicity of style and circumstantiality of detail that give
such charm to the works of Defoe. In spite of the fact that Cooper and
Marryat had created a taste for sea-tales, this story never became
popular. It is superabundant in horrors--a vein that had a fatal
fascination for the morbid genius of Poe.

The same year in which this story appeared, Poe removed to Philadelphia,
where he soon found work on the _Gentleman's Magazine_, recently
established by the comedian Burton. He soon rose to the position of
editor-in-chief, and his talents proved of great value to the magazine.
His tales and critiques rapidly increased its circulation. But the actor,
whose love of justice does him great credit, could not approve of his
editor's sensational criticism. In a letter written when their cordial
relations were interrupted for a time, Burton speaks very plainly and
positively: "I cannot permit the magazine to be made a vehicle for that
sort of severity which you think is so 'successful with the mob. I am
truly much less anxious about making a monthly 'sensation' than I am upon
the point of fairness.... You say the people love havoc. I think they
love justice." Poe did not profit by his experience at Richmond, and
after a few months he was dismissed for neglect of duty.

He was out of employment but a short time. In November, 1840, _Graham's
Magazine_ was established, and Poe appointed editor. At no other
period of his life did his genius appear to better advantage. Thrilling
stories and trenchant criticisms followed one another in rapid
succession. His articles on autography and cryptology attracted
widespread attention. In the former he attempted to illustrate character
by the handwriting; and in the latter he maintained that human ingenuity
cannot invent a cipher that human ingenuity cannot resolve. In the course
of a few months the circulation of the magazine (if its own statements
may be trusted) increased from eight thousand to forty thousand--a
remarkable circulation for that time.

His criticism was based on the rather violent assumption "that, as a
literary people, we are one vast perambulating humbug." In most cases, he
asserted, literary prominence was achieved "by the sole means of a
blustering arrogance, or of a busy wriggling conceit, or of the most
bare-faced plagiarism, or even through the simple immensity of its
assumptions." These fraudulent reputations he undertook, "with the help
of a hearty good will" (which no one will doubt) "to tumble down." He
admitted that there were a few who rose above absolute "idiocy." "Mr.
Bryant is not _all_ a fool. Mr. Willis is not _quite_ an ass.
Mr. Longfellow _will_ steal but, perhaps, he cannot help it (for we
have heard of such things), and then it must not be denied that _nil
tetigit quod non ornavit_." But, in spite of such reckless and
extravagant assertion, there was still too much acumen and force in his
reviews for them to be treated with indifference or contempt.

In about eighteen months Poe's connection with Graham was dissolved. The
reason has not been made perfectly clear; but from what we already know,
it is safe to charge it to Poe's infirmity of temper or of habit. His
protracted sojourn in Philadelphia was now drawing to a close. It had
been the most richly productive, as well as the happiest, period of his
life. For a time, sustained by appreciation and hope, he in a measure
overcame his intemperate habits. Griswold, his much-abused biographer,
has given us an interesting description of him and his home at this time:
"His manner, except during his fits of intoxication, was very quiet and
gentlemanly; he was usually dressed with simplicity and elegance; and
when once he sent for me to visit him, during a period of illness caused
by protracted and anxious watching at the side of his sick wife, I was
impressed by the singular neatness and the air of refinement in his home.
It was in a small house, in one of the pleasant and silent neighborhoods
far from the center of the town; and, though slightly and cheaply
furnished, everything in it was so tasteful and so fitly disposed that it
seemed altogether suitable for a man of genius."

It was during his residence in Philadelphia that Poe wrote his choicest
stories. Among the masterpieces of this period are to be mentioned _The
Fall of the House of Usher_, _Ligeia_, which he regarded as his
best tale _The Descent into the Maelstrom_, _The Murders in the
Rue Morgue_, and _The Mystery of Marie Roget_. The general
character of his tales may be inferred from their titles. Poe delighted
in the weird, fantastic, dismal, horrible. There is no warmth of human
sympathy, no moral consciousness, no lessons of practical wisdom. His
tales are the product of a morbid but powerful imagination. His style is
in perfect keeping with his peculiar gifts. He had a highly developed
artistic sense. By his air of perfect candor, his minuteness of detail,
and his power of graphic description, he gains complete mastery over the
soul, and leads us almost to believe the impossible. Within the limited
range of his imagination (for he was by no means the universal genius he
fancied himself to be) he is unsurpassed, perhaps, by any other American
writer.

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