Poets of the South | Page 7

_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,