Touch'd into flame by Liberty's own fire,
Became the Revolution's kindling torch.
Henry A. Wise, that prince of orators
Whose tongue was rival'd only by his sword,
Moses D. Hoge, whose pulpit was a throne
Of scepter'd eloquence, from which he roll'd
Virginia's sweetest thunders on her Sabbath air,
Spotswood, the founder of the Horseshoe Knights.
Maury, the great path-finder of the deep.
Marshall, the Constitution's living voice.
Mason, the father of the Bill of Rights,
The great John Randolph, Madison and Scott,
Monroe and Tyler! What a glorious host!
Their snow-white tents, in every vale, are spread,
Their bones lie bivouack'd upon every stream,
Their folded banners sleep on every height-
Where can you match these dreamers who await
Life's mystic morning, in Virginia's lap!
OUTH Carolina!* Hear the opening guns
Boom from Fort Sumter! There, beside the waves,
Sits Charleston, underneath her far-fam'd spires,
St. Philip's and St. Michael's. The sun
Now gilds her battlements with summer's gold,
Its touch, soft as a maiden's kiss. The sea
Today is calm, and calm the murmuring flow
Of her majestic waters, where repose
The ashes of the great Calhoun, where rest
The Pinckneys and the Rutledges, where dream
The Sumters and the Marions, and where-
Sweet with the dews, in many a lowly bed,
Lull'd by the siren whispers of the sea,
And shelter'd by the live-oak's guardian shade,
* South Carolina was the first State to secede from the Union, adopting her famous Ordinance, December 20, 1860.
The Huguenots are sleeping. On her hills
The Hamptons and the Butlers are encamp'd,
The Prestons and the Mannings. Sepulchr'd,
On Camden's bloody field, repose the bones
Of brave DeKalb. Stern Andrew Pickens lies
Near Pendleton. Touch'd by the ocean's tides
Is Moultrie's mold, and, in his island-tomb,
An Osceola dreams, far from the shades
That gloom above his kindred. Honor'd still-
Bright as a sunbeam, on her battle-rolls,
The name of Sergeant Jasper-he who fell
Before Savannah, in a leaden hail,
Clasping his glorious colors. Here it was
That Timrod sang his songs and Simms compos'd
His glowing narratives;—that matchless Hayne
First found his trumpet-tongue, whose lot it was
To wake the mighty Webster, aye, to rouse
Th' New England lion to his loudest roar;
Then, in a voice which lengthen'd out the spell,
To echo back his thunders, peal for peal.
McDuffie, the tornado of debate,
Legaré, the Orpheus of enchanting speech,
Preston, the Cicero of lofty thought,
DeSaussure-friend of Washington-who coin'd
The earliest eagles of our nation's mint-
South Carolinians were these god-like men.
In Memory's dream, they walk the earth again,
Haunting those halls, where many a golden chime
Still rings among the rafters-where the soul
Of eloquence still casts its burning spell!
Can the Palmetto State forget such sons?
Nay; love enshrin'd and steep'd in memory's musk-
A fond old mother folds them to her heart.
She clasps the dust of William Washington.
Hers, too, the martyr'd Bee, now world-renowned,
Who gave to Jackson the immortal name
Of "Stonewall". Capers-like another Polk-
Our soldier-bishop, who combin'd in one,
Mitre and sword, surplice and uniform.
Thornwell, the scholar and the man of God.
Barnwell and Rhett, Trescot and James L. Orr.
Pickens, the first War-Governor-Huger,
Kershaw and Elliott, Bonham and Gregg,
Preston and Manigault, Stevens and Jones!
"Twould tire the very bugles of the storm,
In Jove's own thunder, to proclaim the list!
We know where Laurens lies, but where is Lowndes?
Ask of the deep mid-ocean, wide and wild,
That long has held him in its clasp of pearls.
'Tis Memory's wand alone that now awakes
A troubl'd past. But here a Yancey's voice
Once stirr'd the boiling billows-here once rag'd
The fires of protest, when aggression rous'd
Her gallant Hotspurs, till she led the way
For all the States-upon her banner wrote
"Secession," and to War's grim god,
Gave her Palmetto flag, dipp'd in the blood
Of her expiring Butler, eloquent
Of her intrepid Hampton, and uprais'd
To ride the gale-a rainbow of the storm.
ORTH Carolina!* On a South-land's flag,
Behold the silvery star of Raleigh's State.
Whose gray battalions, stubborn to the last,
Fought like the highland clans; whose blood was
From gallant sires who fell at Alamance
Or sign'd the immortal scroll of Mecklenburg—
Aye, months before the freedom-fires were lit
In Philadelphia, and while yet the news
Was fresh from Concord and from Lexington.
Nurslings of Liberty, the Tar-heel troops,
Rush'd to the fray, with echoing shouts,
Which rous'd King's Mountain from its glorious dream
Of vanquish'd Tories, and bade Guilford's ground
Look to its laurels. What if all the rest
Were torn or blotted from the Book of Time,
Greensboro's field alone-a glorious lamp-
Would light the old North State, till morning dawns
To die no more upon Cape Hatteras.
Land of the sky! Her mountains form
Our Southern Switzerland, Mount Mitchell's peak,
The monarch of the Appalachian Alps.
Lake Toxaway, our placid Lake Lucerne,
O'er which Pilatus looms and Rigi smiles.
Five Secretaries of the Navy has she borne-
Three Presidents, for Tennessee to lift
Into a nation's seat of honor. O'er
The peaks of Buncombe, hovers still the shade
Of Vance, that great War Governor, whose voice
Rang like a bugle-horn among the crags;
Who later donn'd the toga; and who died
The best-belov'd of Tar-Heels. May he rest
In peace, where mountain eagles are at home!
In Fancy's dream, the glorious dead return:
North Carolina did not secede until May 20, 1861, but she furnished 125,000 men to the Confederate army, losing not less than 40,000 by casualties, and when the war ended nearly half the guns of the Confederacy were borne by North Carolinians.
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