The Poems of Henry Timrod | Page 4

words renew and keep his own memory in his land's literature.
The earliest edition of Timrod's poems was a small volume by Ticknor
& Fields, of Boston, in 1860, just before the Civil War. This contained
only the poems of the first eight or nine years previous, and was
warmly welcomed North and South. The "New York Tribune" then

greeted this small first volume in these words: "These poems are
worthy of a wide audience, and they form a welcome offering to the
common literature of our country."
In this first volume was evinced the culture, the lively fancy, the
delicate and vigorous imagination, and the finished artistic power of his
mind, even then rejoicing in the fullness and freshness of its creations
and in the unwearied flow of its natural music. But it fell then on the
great world of letters almost unheeded, shut out by the war cloud that
soon broke upon the land,
enveloping all in darkness.
The edition of his complete poems was not issued until the South was
recovering from the ravage of war, and was entitled
"The Poems of
Henry Timrod, edited with a sketch of the Poet's life by Paul H. Hayne.
E. J. Hale & Son, publishers, New York, 1873." And immediately, in
1874, there followed a second edition of this volume, which contained
the noble series of war poems and other lyrics written since the edition
of 1860. In 1884 an illustrated edition of "Katie" was published by Hale
& Son, New York. All of these editions were long ago exhausted by an
admiring public.
The present edition contains the poems of all the former editions, and
also some earlier poems not heretofore published.
The name of Timrod has been closely identified with the history of
South Carolina for over a century. Before the Revolution, Henry
Timrod, of German birth, the founder of the family in America, was a
prominent citizen of Charleston, and the president of that historic
association, the German Friendly Society, still existing, a century and a
quarter old. We find his name first on the roll of the German Fusiliers
of Charleston, volunteers formed in May, 1775, for the defense of the
country, immediately on hearing of
the battle of Lexington. Again in
the succeeding generation, in the Seminole war and in the peril of St.
Augustine,
the German Fusiliers were commanded by his son,
Captain William Henry Timrod, who was the father of the poet, and
who himself published a volume of poems in the early part of the
century. He was the editor of a literary periodical published in

Charleston, to which he himself largely contributed. He was of strong
intellect and delicate feelings, and an ardent patriot.
Some of the more striking of the poems of the elder Timrod are the
following. Washington Irving said of these lines that Tom Moore had
written no finer lyric: --
To Time, the Old Traveler
They slander thee, Old Traveler,
Who say that thy delight
Is to
scatter ruin, far and wide,
In thy wantonness of might:
For not a
leaf that falleth
Before thy restless wings,
But in thy flight, thou
changest it
To a thousand brighter things.
Thou passest o'er the battlefield
Where the dead lie stiff and stark,

Where naught is heard save the vulture's scream,
And the gaunt
wolf's famished bark;
But thou hast caused the grain to spring
From
the blood-enrich|\ed clay,
And the waving corn-tops seem to dance

To the rustic's merry lay.
Thou hast strewed the lordly palace
In ruins on the ground,
And the
dismal screech of the owl is heard
Where the harp was wont to sound;

But the selfsame spot thou coverest
With the dwellings of the poor,

And a thousand happy hearts enjoy
What ONE usurped before.
'T is true thy progress layeth
Full many a loved one low,
And for
the brave and beautiful
Thou hast caused our tears to flow;
But
always near the couch of death
Nor thou, nor we can stay;
AND
THE BREATH OF THY DEPARTING WINGS,
DRIES ALL
OUR TEARS AWAY!
The Mocking-Bird
Nor did lack
Sweet music to the magic of the scene:
The little
crimson-breasted Nonpareil
Was there, his tiny feet scarce bending
down
The silken tendril that he lighted on
To pour his love notes;

and in russet coat,
Most homely, like true genius bursting forth
In
spite of adverse fortune, a full choir
Within himself, the merry Mock
Bird sate,
Filling the air with melody; and at times,
IN THE RAPT
FAVOR OF HIS SWEETEST SONG,
HIS QUIVERING FORM
WOULD SPRING INTO THE SKY,
IN SPIRAL CIRCLES, AS
IF HE WOULD CATCH
NEW POWERS FROM KINDRED
WARBLERS IN THE CLOUDS
WHO WOULD BEND DOWN
TO GREET HIM!
These lines, addressed to the poet by his father, have a pathetic interest:
--
To Harry
Harry, my little blue-eyed boy,
I love to have thee playing near;

There's music in thy shouts of joy
To a fond father's ear.
I love to see the lines of mirth
Mantle thy cheek and forehead fair,

As if all pleasures of the earth
Had met to