Poems: Patriotic, Religious, Miscellaneous | Page 7

heavens or cast its peaceful shadow over the South. Dark
clouds loomed up over that fair and sunny land, portentous of evil; for
they were surcharged with the lightning of passion. The chariot wheel
of the conqueror had laid waste and desolate the land. No one knew
precisely what would follow; for passion's dark spirit was abroad and
ruling in high places. To make matters worse and intensify the
sufferings of the people still more, they were debarred from
participating in the political affairs of their own States. Non-residents,
and aliens in sympathy and common interest,
were appointed to rule
over them, if not to oppress them.
Is it to be wondered at if some
refused to bow and kiss the hands that were uplifted against them?
Among such was Father Ryan. All honor to the man and those who
stood by him! Instead of attempting to cast obloquy upon their memory,
we should do them honor
for having maintained in its integrity the
dignity of the manhood with which heaven had blessed them, when
earth had deprived them of all else that was dear and sacred to brave
and honorable men! But how differently Father Ryan acted when the

oppressed people of the South were restored to their rights, and when
the great heart of the North went out in sympathy towards them in their
dire affliction
during the awful visitation of the yellow fever, when
death reaped a rich harvest in Memphis and elsewhere, and a
sorrow-stricken land was once more buried in ruin and desolation! It
was then, indeed, that Father Ryan and all good men beheld the grand
spectacle of the whole North coming to the rescue of the afflicted South
with intense and sublime admiration. He then saw for certain the
rainbow of peace span the heavens; and though his section was wailing
under the hand of affliction, he yet took down his harp, which for years
had hung on the weeping willows of his much-loved South, and, with
renewed vigor and strength of heart, again touched its chords and drew
forth in rich tones and glorious melodies his grand poem, "Reunited".
Then it was that the star of peace shone out in the heavens, resplendent
with the brightness and purity of love,
and dispelled the dark and foul
spirit of hate which had poisoned the air and polluted the soil of free
Columbia. Then, too,
the angel of affliction and the angel of charity
joined hands together and pronounced the benediction over a restored
Union and a reunited people.
Before proceeding to speak of Father Ryan's poems, a few observations
upon poets and poetry in general may not be deemed inappropriate. To
speak of poets and their merits is by no means an easy matter, even
where one is in every respect fitted to pronounce critical judgment. It
requires rare qualifications for such a task; a wide range of information;
extensive knowledge of the various authors; a keen sense of justice; a
fine sense of appreciation of the merits and demerits of each, and a rare
power of discrimination. These are qualifications seldom combined in a
single person. Hence so few competent critics are to be found. The
writer does not claim to possess all or any one of these powers in as
eminent degree as would fit him for the work of passing judicious
criticism upon the various authors and their works -- or, indeed, any
single one of them. What he will venture to say, therefore, is by way of
preface to the remarks which he is called upon to offer upon the merits
of the particular poet whose productions
he is specially called upon to
consider.

Of poets it may be said, that they are not like other men,
though
invested with similar qualities and characteristics. They differ in this:
That they are not cold and calculating in their speech; they do not
analyze and weigh their words with the same precision; nor are they
always master of their feelings. Possessed of the subtle power of genius,
which no mortal can describe,
though all may experience its potent
influence, they cannot be confined within the narrow limits assigned to
others less gifted,
nor subjected to fixed methods or unvarying
processes of mental action. No; poets must roam in broader fields,
amidst brighter prospects and more elevated surroundings. They must
be left to themselves, to go where they choose, and evolve their
thoughts according to their own ways and fancies; for ways and fancies
they have
which are peculiar to themselves and must be indulged.
Genius is ever wont to be odd, in the sense that it does not and cannot
be made to move in common ruts and channels. This is especially true
of poetic genius, whose life may be said to depend upon the purity of
its inspirations and the breadth and character