Carolina Chansons | Page 4

River
114
Dusk
117
Prose Notes and Bibliography
On the Chimes
121
On the Pirates
122
On the Sewee Indians
124
On La Fayette
125
On Theodosia Burr
126
On "The Last Crew"
127
On Edgar Allan Poe
128
On "Marsh Tackies"
130
Bibliography
131
CAROLINA CHANSONS

LEGENDS OF THE LOW COUNTRY
SÉANCE AT SUNRISE
Place the new hands
In the old hands
Of the old generation,
And
let us tilt tables
In the high room
Of our imagination.
Let the thick veil glow thin,
At sunrise--at sunrise--
Let the strange
eyes peer in,
The red, the black, and the white faces
Of the still
living dead
Of the three races.
Let a quaint voice begin:
Voice of an Indian
"Gone from the land,
We leave the music of our
names,
As pleasant as the sound of waters;
Gone is the log-lodge
and the skin tepee,
And moons ago the ghost-canoe brought home

The latest of our sons and daughters--
Yet still we linger in tobacco
smoke
And in the rustling fields of maize;
Faint are the tracks our
moccasins have left,
But they are there, down all your ways."
Voice of a Slave
"We do not talk
Of hours in the rice
When days
were long,
Nor of old masters
Who are with us here
Beyond all
right or wrong.
Only white afternoons come back,
When in the
fields
We reached the Mercy Seat
On wings of song."
Voice of a