Wearing a crown, wreath'd by her phoenix-fires-
An empress of the hills. Drifted the smoke
Which erstwhile wrapt her ruins, serene the smile
Which peace has lit upon her beauteous brow.
Georgia's, a Kennesaw's twin peaks of fire,
A Chickamauga's Vale of Death-hers, too,
That swarth of blacken'd chimneys grimly cut
By Sherman to the sea, but now a chain,
Pearl-strung with splendid cities, grac'd,
With smiling farms, and not a ruin to tell
Where grim Attilla tarried with his torch.
Old Empire State of Dixie-Georgia, hail!
AIL, Arkansas!* Home of the peerless Pike,
Whose genius, on an eagle's pinion, soar'd
Into the realms of fancy, but whose sword
Unsheath'd for Dixie upon many a field
Flash'd like the lightning's bolt of fire,
When, o'er the Ozarks, bursts the thunder-storm.
Where sleeps the gallant Yell, whose glorious dust,
Borne by his comrades from the distant field
Of Buena Vista, upon which he fell,
Furiously fighting but in victory's arms.
A State, within whose charnels, sleep the bones
Of many a stalwart pioneer, where dream
The Conways and the Crittendens, where sleep
The Rectors and the Ashleys, where repose
The Johnsons and the Walkers, men who laid
The State's foundations, firm and broad and deep,
Nor spar'd themselves in willing sacrifice.
Pat Cleburne's home! Aye, in that fact alone,
Enough of honor to make Arkansas
Immortal among commonwealths. Behold,
* Arkansas was the ninth State to secede, following Virginia's example May 6, 1861.
The glow upon the Westerner's bronz'd face,
The gleam within his eyes, when Cleburne's name
Is sounded. But the long list bears
Full many a gem, for Churchill's name is there,
Yes, Hindman's, too, Fagan and Albert Rust,
Watie, that half-blood Indian, who bore
The Southland's colors with a bravery
Unequal'd by his ancestors whose bones
Lay sleeping in the forest-McIntosh,
Govan and Reynolds, Dockery and Roane.
Nor must we fail to name that splendid flow'r
Of Senates,-Garland, eloquent and wise,
Who, in the cabinet of Cleveland, sat
Beside the great Lamar. Fair Arkansas!
Peace be within her walls-prosperity
Within her palaces! O, may the oil
Of healing well within her soul, to match
The magic waters of her crystal springs-
Which, ever bubbling upward, fairly leap
From out her lap, to give a suffering world
The boon of health. Upon her coat-of-arms,
Fledg'd with two such wings,
What mountain-tops call to her from afar-
What heights serene to which she cannot soar!
THE ROLL CALL OF THE STATES-(Concluded)
AST, FLORIDA,* the Spaniard's "Land of Flowers,"
Upon whose sparkling sands at Tampa Bay
Press'd a DeSoto's feet; amid whose blooms
Luxuriant, lay conceal'd the fount
Of which a Ponce de Leon dream'd; whose fort
At old St. Augustine, gray with the moss
Of four long centuries, still grimly stands,
A continent's lone land-mark, link'd
To prehistoric days-once the proud seat
Of Spain's despotic power, but now a ruin
Whose dungeons tattle of forgotten times.
Land of the everglades, whose cypress glooms
Hold many a legend, ready to be spun
By some Sir Walter into marvelous tales
More fascinating even than the Cid.
Land of the evergreens, whose myriad bays
Recall the groves in which the ancients weav'd
The victor's laurel-wreath, whose pendant globes
Suggest the apples of the fam'd Hesperides.
Home of the Seminoles-her solitudes
Can ne'er forget an Osceola's fame,
Nor without sorrow contemplate the fate
Of that intrepid warrior, whose death
Has left upon our nation's flag a blot
Which time may soften but can never hide.
Florida, though she be now the sun-lit home
Of former foes-brave men who wore the Blue
Florida seceded from the Union January 10, 1861. It was the third State to withdraw, and is mentioned last only because of its detached position.
Cannot forget her own, who wore the Gray.
Hers an Olustee's field-an Ocean Pond-
Where Colquitt, fac'd by overwhelming odds-
His ammunition spent-by stratagem
Manag'd to hold his ground, till, panic-seiz'd,
Fled an outwitted foe. Loring's proud State
Guards lovingly the dust of him who fought
In the Egyptian wars-who made his name
A star to light two wondering hemispheres.
Sheats, too, is bivouack'd 'mid the orange groves,
And there, swept by the drooping moss, dreams Law.
She rock'd the cradle of a Kirby Smith.
The dust of Perry slumbers in her lap,
Finlay and Finnegan are there, at rest
Among her dreamers-waiting for the dawn.
Hers a Brevard, a Walker, and a French.
'Neath Tallahassee's cedars sleep the Calls.
On Pensacola's Bay, the Mallorys rest,
But where is Yulee? With the dead whose dust
Enriches the Potomac hills, his ashes lie
Not far from him who sang of "Home, Sweet Home".
For Florida, another day has dawn'd.
Thanks to her Flagler. His the fabl'd purse
Of Fortunatus made superbly real.
Prospero's wonder-working wand has touch'd
Her landscape into beauty, fill'd her groves
With golden marvels, and, on every hand,
Rear'd palaces meet for barbaric kings
Till lost, the spell cast by Arabian Nights
And gone, the magic of Aladdin's Lamp!
These are the Great Eleven-they who form'd
Our fair Confederate sisterhood of States,
Who wak'd that cluster of celestial gems
Upon our flag. But let us not forget
Those border commonwealths, who, though they fram'd
No fiat of Secession, help'd to swell
Our battling regiments, and two of which,
Wak'd star-beams on our banner's radiant bars-
Kentucky and Missouri-states which torn
By feuds domestic, felt War's deadliest shock.
From West Virginia came full many a knight
Who wore the gray, and ah, full many a grave,
Whose crumbling head-stone tells its tearful tale,
Is found among her mountains; and though carv'd
From old Virginia when the crisis came-
Aye, made the domain of the Unionists
'Twas her tall peaks that caught a Stonewall's eyes
When first they open'd to the light of day!
Yonder is Harper's Ferry, with whose name
Two hemispheres have rung. Serene those heights,
Where the Potomac meets the Shenandoah
But, ah, what memories do those waters wake?
From West Virginia came that matchless song,
"The Land Where We Were Dreaming"-whose refrain, Like some sweet echo caught from vesper chimes,
Still softly trembles on her twilight airs.
Kentucky,* in whose dark and bloody ground
Sleeps the heroic dust of Daniel Boone.
Where, guarding the Ohio, lies a Clark,
That grand old pioneer, who, from the wilds,
Wrested a splendid empire;-her proud soil
Holds in its velvet clasp a Henry Clay,
That glorious bugler of the Senate-halls-
A Breckinridge, whose silvery echoes still
Are ringing through the Blue Grass, aye, she holds
A Buckner of the battle-storms, nearby
The Confederate Congress passed an act admitting Kentucky. But sentiment was divided and in consequence, by a narrow margin, Kentucky remained in the Federal Union.
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