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The Legacy of the Civil War Poets: Henry Timrod, Paul Hamilton Hayne, and Sydney Lanier
The South has frequently been associated with high romance and pastoral scenes of nature. Common connotations are that southerners are a proud people and enjoy the finer things in life. They are polite and chivalrous. Writers and poets like Henry Timrod, Paul Hamilton Hayne, and Sydney Lanier propagated these notions. However, they fall short in the canonization of great American authors. Their poems have been lost, buried under the rubble of the Civil War. This, in part, is due to the fact that they never resolved the conflict of slavery in their writing. Not necessarily proponents of slavery, they wrote of the majestic landscapes of the South. They were southern poets by location, but nature poets in their writing. Of course, the catastrophic war inspired patriotism and allegiance to the Confederacy, but none of the three claimed that they were revolutionaries. They all tended to avoid the founding conflict of the war: human servitude. As a result, the war destroyed the careers and legacy of all three men, who were once ranked with the likes of Edgar Allan Poe. Now, because of their link with the Confederate South, they are buried under the confines of history. Of the three major southern poets, Henry Timrod was arguably the most substantial. This is not only due to his powerful ode to his home state “Carolina,” or his anthemic “Cry to Arms,” but also because of his theories on poetry and what they set forth to accomplish. Unlike Poe, who believed that poetry should always reflect beauty, Timrod understood poetry to be a combination of power and truth, in addition to beauty: “I think...when we recall the many and varied sources of poetry, we must, perforce, confess that it is wholly impossible to reduce them all to the simple element of beauty. Two other elements, at least, must be added, and these are power, when it is developed in some noble shape, and truth, whether abstract or not, when it affects the common heart of mankind” (Painter 72-73). Whereas power certainly played an important role in his war poems, beauty was evident throughout his work, especially in his nature poems. However, truth remains a source of inconsistency. While claiming the ruthlessness of the Northern army and the constitution of the Confederacy, not once does Timrod discuss the issues that started the war. As is the case with each of the three poets, the heroism of the South is trumpeted, but the immoral foundation of the culture is never discussed. Therefore, although Timrod’s concerns over poetry are valid and admirable, he fundamentally contradicts them in his own work. This discrepancy is a source of contention for all three poets, but the fundamental flaw of their theories should not detract from their abilities as poets and craftsmen. Even though Timrod’s argument may be flawed, he remains as a wonderful and competent technician in poetry. As far as the progress of literature is concerned, Timrod’s greatest poetic attempt is “A Vision of Poesy.” In it, he tries to put into practice what he theorizes about in his essay, “A Theory of Poetry.” Unsuccessful and uneven, it falls short of its goals, but contains some important passages that provide an early definition of the poet. Frequently thought to be biographical, the poem reveals the intellectual journey of a youth who encounters a spirit or angel named “Poesy.” This angel determines the true purpose of the young poet. He has been chosen as a vessel for God:
And so to knowledge, climbing grade by grade, Thou shalt attain whatever mortal can, And what thou mayst discover by my aid Thou shalt translate unto my brother man; And men shall bless the power the flings a ray Into their night from the diviner day. (Lloyd 87)
Although the poet is selected to be the voice of God, the responsibility is his alone. Poesy will not govern the poet. He has the freedom of will: “But the true bard is his own only Fate; I into thy soul my soul have I infused; Take care thy lofty powers be wisely used” (88). It remains the poet’s choice to accept this divine inspiration. Here, we see Timrod’s desire for morality, albeit a selective one. It comes as no surprise that the poet’s mother plays an important role in his intellectual and spiritual maturity. After all, Henry’s mother helped shape his poetic character through her passionate admiration of nature: “Her beautiful face and form, her purity and goodness, her delight in all the sights and sounds of the country, her childish rapture in wood and field, her love of flowers and trees, and all the mystery and gladness of nature, are among the cherished memories of all her children” (Lloyd xiii). Timrod devotes nine stanzas to the relationship between the poet and his mother, who suggests that this spirit is an “evil influence.” Rather quickly, the female figure of the mother is replaced by the angelic Poesy. It is a worthwhile theory to suppose that the poet’s mother, in essence, becomes Poesy, given the strong influence and perspective of Timrod’s actual mother. As with Poe, Timrod was successful in the manipulation of form and refrain. In “Carolina,” Timrod uses variations on a standard dactylic tetrameter with rhyming triplets and a consistent refrain. Written in traditional Anglo-Saxon prosody—poetic lines that utilize alliteration and stress—the poem turns on rhythm and rhyme scheme (Turco 94). In the first stanza alone, we see a traditional rhyme with two instances of alliteration: “sacred sands” and “sons stand.” In the second stanza, there is only one instance of alliteration: “craven calm.” In the third and final stanza of the section, there is none. It is curious to note that this sequence does not appear in the remainder of the poem, but it does establish a strict and pulsing rhythm on which the poem thrives. Due to the work’s heavy rhythm and resounding refrain, it acts as more of a chant than a poem. In addition to its Confederate spirit, the poem also contains strong use of nature. While mired in the death of “Ten times ten thousand men” and surrounded by the “mournful throngs” of women, Timrod also shows the beauty of nature in a striking juxtaposition with the swamp and the river. Beginning with section four, Timrod provides us with one of his most powerful and emotional stanzas: I hear a murmur as of waves/That grope their way through sunless caves,/Like bodies struggling in their graves,/Carolina!” Here, we have the absolute beauty of sunlight trying to invade the shadowy caves by an ocean coastline combined with the morbid horror of struggling corpses. Visually, this is a stunning example of zeugma. As fellow poet Paul Hamilton Hayne points out, “with scores of gulls and white sea-birds flying and shrieking round me, —those wild voices of Nature mingled strangely with the rhythmic roll and beat of the poet’s impassioned music” (Painter 76). In this stanza, Timrod presents us with the vitality of sunlight and nature, but contrasts it with the struggle of life as a result of warfare. As well as being known as the “Laureate of the Confederacy,” Henry Timrod made a substantial name for himself through his sonnets. With interesting and unique construction, Timrod chooses unconventional rhyme schemes in his work. “He admits the sonnet is artificial in structure; but [...] he distinguishes the moment of inspiration, from the subsequent labor of composition” (Painter 73). All of his sonnets are fourteen lines in length. One would automatically associate a fourteen-line sonnet with either Spencer, who uses an abab bcbc cdcd ee rhyme scheme or Shakespeare, who chooses the abab cdcd efef gg rhyming format (Preminger and Brogan 1168). However, only three out of fifteen of Timrod’s sonnets end in a traditional couplet. It is also of use to note that none of his sonnets are divided into stanzas. One of Henry Timrod’s most successful poems is Sonnet III. In it, Timrod employs a chaotic rhythm, full of enjambment. He begins with a headless iamb and then falls into a traditional iambic tetrameter pace. As Lewis Turco points out in his book on poetics, “Counterpoint—rhythm against the normative beat—is interesting. On the other hand, too much variation is disconcerting and awkward” (26). Timrod straddles this line. However, his rhythmic variations are clever enough to warrant the completion of the poem. The rhymes he chooses are often cliché and do little to promote the work itself, but the unsteady meter of the poem distracts the reader from the banality of the rhyme. The rhyme scheme of the poem keeps the reader off balance as well. Timrod’s third sonnet demonstrates the following: abbcddadeffefe. This particular poem has a strong sense of mysticism in nature, where Timrod is typically more precise. Again, we see the influence of his mother’s appreciation of nature. As F. V. N. Painter suggests, “With admirable maternal tenderness she taught her children to discern and appreciate the lovely sights and sounds of nature” (68). Evident in most of his writing, Sonnet III exemplifies this inspiration. In it, he discusses the perception of Life over “mountains of the past,” and the “Blue, misty hill or sweep of glimmering plain.” These grandiose images all point toward a better place: “God, haply, in this mystic mode, would fain Hint of a happier home, far, far away!” (Lloyd 171). It is the constant striving for improvement and the belief that paradise is on the horizon that Timrod is attempting to convey. Much like the “City on a Hill” motif of the Puritans, the poet was envisioning a type of heaven. However, his heaven exists on earth. As J. V. Ridgley suggests in his book Nineteenth Century Southern Literature, the South was creating its own notions of Manifest Destiny—which included human servitude (18). Another great success of Timrod was his poem “The Cotton Ball.” This is a lengthy work that emphasizes agriculture and the usefulness of nature, as well as the imposed heroism of the Civil War struggle or the mysticism of nature and spirituality. While the poem does contain a certain prejudice against the North, its themes focus more on the usefulness of the crop and its economic and societal importance: “Cotton will guard the new nation’s “hearth-stones as bulwark”; through its kindly power the “half-dead dream of universal peace” may be revived” (Parks 93). Fighting this costly war “that there is much even Victory must regret,” the poet displays a great deal of sympathy for his foes. Timrod even goes so far as to suggest that the Confederates will grant mercy to their Northern enemies and “dictate the lenient future” of their fate. His vision was that cotton would potentially save the South and enable it to achieve secession. Like most of his poems, he concludes it with the confidence that the South will be victorious and that peace will be restored. Although he was burdened with being the representative poet of the Confederacy, his poems remain optimistic. “Henry Timrod was The Poet of the Lost Cause, the finest interpreter of feelings and traditions and heroism of a brave people” (Orgain 177). However, those feelings are unresolved and that heroism remains tainted. Close friend, critic, and confident to Timrod was fellow poet Paul Hamilton Hayne. Unlike Timrod and his vague but inspirational reflections on nature and war, Hayne was the essence of refinement—owing a great deal to his English ancestry. The similarities between the two poets are numerous. Where Timrod was the “Laureate of the Confederacy,” Hayne was honored by the title of “Laureate of the South.” In addition, both poets had fathers who also practiced the craft. Finally, both poets were highly successful in writing sonnets, but Hamilton Hayne is historically the more respected of the two. Among his most famous works are “the Bonny Brown Hand,” “Aёthra,” and “Under the Pine.” Being a lifelong friend of Timrod, Hayne was greatly moved by his passing. In addition to coping with the brutal losses of the war in which both poets lost their homes, Hayne now lost his friend and partner as a southern poet. Not necessarily his best work, “Under the Pines,” is an elegy—defined by Turco as a “mournful song, a reflection on the passing of time or on death” (149)—for Timrod, and perhaps his most famous. In it, he pleads to the tree under which the two poets once sat to remember him, as he himself does. Hayne represents Timrod as a poet who immersed himself in the beauty of the natural world around him. In the poem, Hayne acknowledges that his friend knew where he stood in relation to the mysticism of nature, and appreciated it: “And he, with hand outstretched and eyes ablaze,/Looked forth with burning gaze,/And seemed to drink the sunset like strong wine,/Or, hushed in trance divine,/Hailed the first shy and timorous glance from afar/Of evening’s virgin star” (Lothrop 104). As demonstration of his craft as a poet, Hayne recognizes the power of this stanza and revisits the same theme later in the poem. As the attention of the poet shifts away from questioning the tree about his departed friend, he understands that his proddings are rhetorical. He then sets off to answer them by himself, returning to the scene of his friend’s earlier vibrancy: “No distant, flickering cone,/But speaks of him, and seems to bring sense once more/The joy, thy love of yore;/But most when breathed from out the sunset-land/The sunset airs are bland,/That blow between the twilight and the night,/Ere yet the stars are bright” (Lothrop 104). Where once the sunset was as rich as wine, it is now bland. Where once the stars were timid, now they are bright. Through this correlation, we see that Timrod has left the earthly world and entered into a celestial and heavenly one. Often criticized for his sentimentalism, this is a poem that thrives on it and establishes the sincerity of its author. Out of the three major southern poets, Hayne was by far the most prolific. Unlike Timrod or Lanier who both died at the age of thirty-nine, Paul Hamilton Hayne lived to the age of fifty-six. His body of work is extensive, having written nearly 400 poems. Part of Hayne’s appeal is that he wrote in several different prosodies. In addition to writing poems, he was a man of letters and legends. Hayne also wrote of the beauty of landscape and scenery, which many felt limited him greatly. “The general range of subjects [...] is limited to his southern environment and individual experience. This limitation is the severest charge that can be brought against his poetry, but, at the same time, it is an evidence of his sincerity and truth” (Painter 63). Nonetheless, Hayne has the ability to capture the essence of nature in his writings. His poem “Windless Rain” illustrates this very talent. Divided into two stanzas, the poem is rather short, with minimal line lengths. The longest line in the work consists of nine syllables in total. The meter is a variation on anapestic or iambic trimeter. However, the real schematic interest of the poem lies within the rhyming method. The first stanza consists of an ababcdceedcaaffaa blueprint. The final couplet of the stanza acts almost like a refrain, as Hayne repeats the word “rain” three times, two of which complete the line. The second stanza, while keeping within the loose confines of trimeter, is as follows: aggghgaaijijaaaa. In essence, Hamilton Hayne doubles the effect of the first stanza and utilizes the rhyme four times in a row. He begins the rhyme of the final quatrain with “pain.” The remaining three rhymes follow his earlier stanza and repeat “rain”:
And voices that melt in pain On the tide of the plaintive rain, The yearning, hopeless rain, The long, low whispering rain! (Blair et al 2006)
This technique is reminiscent of Poe’s “The Raven” or “Annabel Lee” in which both rhyme scheme and repetition enforce the description, obsession, and relentlessness of the poem (Poe). Perhaps even more than Timrod, Hayne was a student of great literature and poetry. As with his heritage, he was educated and inspired by recognized masters of writing and refined craftsmanship. As Rayburn S. Moore discusses in his work on Hayne, “His own work, both early and late, owes much to Spenser, Scott, Hunt, Shelley, Keats, Poe, and Tennyson. Shakespeare and Milton he acknowledges as masters, but their influence is less pervasive [...] After the Civil War, Chaucer, Wordsworth, Morris, and Longfellow provided certain standards and served as congenial guides” (166-167). The influence of these poets is evident in the meticulous technique of Hayne. As suggested above, one of Hayne’s most notable peers was Edgar Allan Poe. In many respects, their craftsmanship is similar (although Poe is much more adept). No where is this more evident than in a comparison between Hayne’s “Fire Pictures” and Poe’s “The Bells.” As noted by fellow poet Sydney Lanier, Hayne’s poem is “worthy of being placed beside “Edgar Poe’s Bells,” an experiment in onomatopoeia which it parallels in idea and movement if not actual rhythm or meter” (Moore 78). Each author uses relentless repetition in their work: Poe with “bells” and Hayne with “fire.” In addition, each poet selects precise adjectives and builds on them to capture the idea of their subject. As suggested by Preminger and Brogan, “onomatopoeia refers to words which imitate sounds, but other qualities such as size, motion, and even color may be suggested; and the term is most often used with wider reference, to denote any word whose sound is felt to have a “natural” or direct relation with its sense” (860). This is exactly the case with Hayne’s poem. In it, he uses words such as “wilder,” “blood-red,” and “blazoned.” However, Hayne’s “Fire Pictures” goes much further than Poe’s poem. Hayne’s work is far more ambitious, nearly tripling the length of Poe’s masterpiece. Unfortunately, the piece suffers for it. Poe’s poem is on the verge of ceaseless repetition, pressing the reader to his utmost level of sanity. Hayne’s poem falls short of this effect. Although sparked by incredible lines such as “Ah! The fire!/Gently glowing,/Fairly flowing,/Like a rivulet rippling deep/Through the meadow-lands of sleep,” the rhythm of the work digresses and fails to retain the reader’s interest. The repetition of Poe’s work propels the reader to the conclusion of the work. Hayne begins this way, but does not commit the way Poe does. In the first four stanzas of Hayne’s work, “fire” is included at least twice in each section. On over two hundred of the remaining lines, the word is written no more than ten more times. Although one should applaud his attempts, Hayne never attains the respect or admiration of Poe, nor should he. This is his legacy. We see a similar method in Hayne’s crafting of his more successful “The Wife of Brittany.” Instead of using inspiration from his peers, this poem derives its foundation from Chaucer. Written in three parts and entirely in couplets, the work is an ambitious renewal of Chaucer’s “Frankeleine’s Tale.” In fact, he credits the medieval work in a subtitle. Acknowledged by Moore, this was a dangerous undertaking for Hayne—as it was thought to be an archaic and out of date mode of writing (60). With such an unconventional piece, Hayne received large amounts of both criticism and praise. Overall, the response to the dramatic poem was positive, as many of Hayne’s peers commended him on altering the medieval work and making it his own. Francis Child, Harvard Chaucerian, offered such a criticism: “You have made the story your own, much as Chaucer did his originals, and have retold it with great sweetness and tenderness” (Moore 61). The fact that Hayne attempted to reinvent Chaucer in the nineteenth century alone should solidify him a place in the list of great American poets. Hayne also took inspiration from legend. Like “The Wife of Brittany,” Hayne retells the legend of “The Vengeance of the Goddess Diana.” Once again, the poem was met with mixed reviews. However, it deals with questions that were important to Hayne, namely the difference between beauty and goodness (89). The hero, Avolio, breaks the curse placed on a hideous and evil serpent, transforming her into a loving bride. Although entertaining in its own regard, a poem that contains wizards, goblins, dragons, witches, and a fairy princess would not be popular in the nineteenth century, during an era of civil war. Consequently, his peers were the only ones to recognize the effort. In contrast to Timrod, Hayne did actually write about slavery and the treatment of Negroes. His ballad, “The Hanging of Black Cudjo” is such an example. Written in 1780—fifteen years after the South had lost—it is a “dialectic ballad,” in which Hayne boldly takes on the character of Cudjo, a black slave who is tortured in an attempt to capture his master. Although this may be a “true” account, Cudjo’s voice is not reflective of the pains and horrors of slavery. It is merely a white male’s perception of how Negroes should think. According to Paul Hamilton Hayne, this slave does not want freedom. He only wishes to be a good servant under the care and protection of his master:
And when de war was ober, Boss, Mass Tom, he come to me, And say, I sabe he life dat time, and so he meck me free; ‘I’ll gib you house and lan’ (sez he) and wid dem plough and mule,’ I tenk him kind, ‘but Boss (says I), wha’ meck you tink me fool?’
‘If you, Mass Tom, was like, (sez I,) some buckra dat I know, Cudjo bin run and hug de swamp—Laws bless you!—long ago, But I got all dat I want, wid not one tax to pay; Now go long, Maussa! Why you wish for dribe ole Cuj away?
‘I never see free nigger yet, but what he lie and steal. Lie to ’e boss, ’e wife, ’e chile, in de cabin, and de fiel’— And as for tiefflin’, dem free cuss is all like ‘lightfoot Jack,’ Who carry de lass blanket off from he sick mudder back!
‘I stay wid you, (sez I again) I meck de nigger wuck, I wuck myself, and may be, Boss, we’ll bring back de ole luck; But don’t you pizen me no more wid talk ob “freedom sweet,” But sabe dat gab to stiff de years of de next fool you meet! (Lathrop 280)
There are several theories at work within the last four stanzas of Hayne’s ballad. As previously noted, the South had already lost the war, and slavery was outlawed by President Abraham Lincoln’s proclamation: “And by virtue of the power, and for the purpose aforesaid, I do order and declare that all persons held as slaves within said designated States, and parts of States, are, and henceforth shall be free” (Adams et al 2006). This sheds a great deal of light on the motivations of Cudjo’s master. Although he may have felt grateful for the slave saving his life by protecting him from Tories in the antebellum South, Hayne understood the ramifications of the Northern victory and rather than admitting to the human servitude that the proclamation abolished, Hayne has his white master willingly grant Cudjo his freedom. By doing this, Hayne (as a Confederate) never admits to the guilt and immorality of slavery. In addition to this, Cudjo refuses to accept the gift of freedom from his master. Like a prisoner who is finally released after a long jail term, Cudjo would not know what to do without the structure provided by his master. As he even states, Cudjo has everything he wants, under the protection and structure of his master. It is entirely believable that a number of masters treated their slaves well. However, it is suspect that Hayne chooses such a situation as a representation of hardship, in a field where the perspective of the slave is virtually absent. Cudjo makes a point to separate himself from other slaves (or “niggers”), as he is their Overseer. He even supports the prejudice of his master and other white males, stating that slaves, if given freedom, will steal and cheat. Morally, they are despicable—stealing a blanket from their sick mother. Cudjo refers to them as “a lazy pack” and whips them just as one would an animal (278). In no way does Hayne discuss the immorality of slavery. If anything, when he deals with the subject, he almost glorifies it as a working system. This plausibility of slavery is not limited to Hayne alone. As Moor points out, Cudjo’s loyalty to his master is “like that of the faithful servant of Simm’s Captain Porgy before him and of many loyal fictional “darkies” after him” (122). This issue, one that engaged the country in war pitting brother against brother, is all but ignored by the southern writers of the time. The last of the three poets of the South is Sydney Lanier, who was born some twenty years after Henry Timrod and ten years after Hamilton Hayne. This fact is reflected in his writing. When compared to the prior two poets, Lanier was the most socially conscious. Timrod wrapped himself up in supporting the war cause. Hayne, for all intensive purposes, abandoned society for the anonymity of the pine forests of Georgia. Lanier strove to educate the conflicted culture. While all three had a deep affection for nature, Lanier sought to answer the social and political questions of the South through his fondness of it. This is most evident in his poem “The Marshes of the Glynn.” Simply put, it is a journey of intellectual, religious, and physical freedom. This freedom is symbolized by the marsh-hen who “flies in the freedom that fills all the space ‘twixt the marsh and the skies” and “how the grace of the sea doth do about and about through the intricate channels that flow here and there, everywhere” (Web books 2006). Although he is speaking of his own freedom from imprisonment during the Civil War, the poem can easily be interpreted through the eyes of the emancipation of slaves. Similar to many southerners, Lanier was against slavery, but did not disturb what was perceived to be the general public sentiment: “Like an old, comfortable shoe reluctantly discarded, the institution of slavery was too expansive and too integral a part of the culture to be painlessly effaced, although many southerners despised or otherwise disapproved of slavery or many of its aspects” (Sword 16). Lanier subversively protested against slavery, but never proclaimed it. More than politics, Sydney Lanier is remembered for the music of his poetry. From an early age, Lanier had a strong appreciation and an undeniable talent for music. He was acclaimed as “The Wagner of American music”—but was driven to a higher calling (De Bellis 3). This ambition would lead him to the world of the poet. However, his ear for music would solidify his status as possibly the most popular and acclaimed poet of the South (aside from Poe, who was never truly considered a southern poet). The poet frequently accompanied verse with song, as in his memorable piece “The Song of the Chattahoochee.” This poem, with variants on two refrains throughout three stanzas, can easily be adapted to music and sung. It is so cleverly crafted that it is often associated with Tennyson’s “The Brook” (Fish 14). The poem is designed in a way that one might compose a piece of music. The words that were chosen both reflect the movement of the river and the fluidity and “music” of the phrase. The very last line of the poem—which is revealed as the refrain—has a pace that virtually asks for a melody: “Out of the hills of Habersham, Down the valley of the Hall.” In each stanza, the poem turns on three rhymes, with the refrain of “valley of the Hall” marking one of them. As Jack De Bellis discusses in great depth, “Lanier’s rhymes show great ingenuity. The refrains that form opening and closing couplets of each stanza are naturally perfect rhymes” (107). He goes on to reveal how each rhyme brings the entire work together, and in addition to that variations on meter with the use of onomatopoeia, Lanier creates a musical dimension to an otherwise visual poem. Often criticized for devotion in his writing, Sydney Lanier was a man with strong religious conviction. Along with his appreciation of nature, God plays an important role in most of his work. “With all of Lanier’s development—whether in science and scholarship, or in music and literature—he retained a vital faith in the Christian religion” (Mims 317). This is a peculiarity in Lanier. The more he gained knowledge, the deeper his faith grew. What was tantamount to this correlation was his ability to differentiate religion and the rigid structure of the church. This is a logical chain of events, given that the concept of the church typically is outdated and strives for the continuation of “old ways.” Lanier was a champion for growth and new frontiers. Lanier often used the model of Jesus Christ in both his poetry and lifestyle. This is evident in his famous allegory, “A Ballad of Trees and the Master.” In it, Lanier demonstrates both his love for nature and the ugliness of mankind. As Hayne felt before him, nature provides sanctuary. Once man is divorced from nature, he is subject to evil:
Into the woods my Master went, Clean forspent, forspent. Into the woods my Master came, Forspent with love and shame. But the olives they were not blind to Him, The little gray leaves were kind to Him: The thorn-tree had a mind to Him When into the woods He came. (Fish 13)
We see in the first stanza, the “Master” entering into nature. He is exhausted with “love and shame.” This line is somewhat troubling, given who the “Master” is. Why would Jesus be shameful? It is interesting to interpret this poem from the perspective of a slave. This would explain the difficulty of that line. For example, an Overseer such as Cudjo from Hayne’s poem would fulfill this role. He is capable of love, and knows of its joy, but is also mired in the shame of being a slave and of being African American. The figure enters into the wilderness, weary from the dealings of society. He is welcomed by olives, which accept him and what he represents. The “little gray leaves” are next to greet him. Again, the slave perspective offers a unique take on Lanier’s poem. The color choices are worthy of note here. First, we have the olive—both a fruit and a color. Granted, the olive sprouts from a tree, but it is a rather odd choice for the first encounter in a forest. As a color, the olive is a hybrid between green and brown and is often associated with mulatto. If we are to take the perspective of someone like Cudjo, the olive is an appropriate choice. Such a person, while African American, controls the lower slaves. He is a theoretical mix between the white master and the Negro slave. The blending is reflected in the olive color. Another connotation of the olive is that its branch is offered as a sign of peace and good will. In this regard, it is again an appropriate choice in greeting the burdened subject. Keeping within color scheme, the gray of the leaves may also be seen as a blending between light and dark. A typical description of leaves contains reds, oranges, yellows, and greens, but never grays. This transitional color may also suggest Lanier’s attempt to bring his fellow man out of the Old South and into a new one: “The term “New South,’ used by Lanier and others is meant in no way as a reproach to the Old South, —it is simply the recognition of a changed social life due to one of the greatest catastrophes in history” (Mims 276). Lanier was one of the champions of this change and his choice of color may be significant the blending of races. In the second stanza of the poem, the figure emerges out of the wood. His confidence and energies have been restored, and he sets forth to brave the perils of mankind:
Out of the woods my Master went, And He was well content. Out of the woods my Master came, Content with death and shame. From Death and Shame would woe Him last, From under the trees they drew him last: ‘Twas on a tree the slew Him—last When out of the woods he came. (Fish 13)
In this stanza, we see the willingness of sacrifice. The Christ parallel that was initially presented in the first stanza with “the thorn-tree” having a “mind to Him,” is clarified with the supposed crucifixion of the figure on the tree. Lanier tells the narrative as if the “Master” voluntarily emerged from the sanctuary of the wood with the full knowledge of his impending sentence. Shame plays a role in both stanzas, but Lanier places a much greater emphasis on it in the second stanza. Not only do we see the repetition of both shame and death, but the poet goes one step further in his emphasis and personifies them with capitalization, as if a proper name. Death and Shame become active and embody the prosecution of the Christ-like figure. However, the final stanza can also be interpreted from a Negro perspective, as was the case with the first stanza. It would be appropriate for a Negro slave to fall to the mercy of Death and Shame. Obviously, both concepts were an aspect of their daily life. In addition to the possibility of Death and Shame being attributed to a Negro, crucifixion may not be the means of the death for the subject. Lanier’s poem is ambiguous enough to warrant the interpretation of a hanging from the tree where “the slew Him.” Although the unearthing of the “three southern poets” has shed light on a commitment to beauty and majesty of nature, stunning examples of form and craftsmanship, and admirable if not high poetics, Timrod, Hayne, and Lanier remain as side notes in the canonization of American poets. During their height, these poets were in league with literary giants such as Longfellow, Tennyson, Wordsworth, and Carlyle (Painter 54, 85). There were idolized in the South and respected in the North. These three poets painted the image of a majestic South, one that continues to this day. As American poets, they were refined artists, utilizing poetic devices with cleverness and ease. Yet, their legacy remains incomplete. In a land wrought with the harshness and brutality of slavery, they remained as silent as their apathetic public. Slavery was not thought to be a moral decision, but an economic one. Negro slaves were not understood to be human with emotion and feeling, but property that determine wealth and status. Timrod and Hayne, older than Lanier, wrote powerful ballads that served as rallying cries for the soldiers of the Confederacy. They were members of that very army until injury or disease removed them from service. Their commitment was strong—and that commitment was to retaining the southern culture and promoting its independence, with slavery being a prominent aspect of the economy of that culture. Lanier, a prisoner of war, felt the plight of the slave more than his two earlier counterparts. He understood the value of freedom and sought to bring the South into a new era. His poems, while offering a true and sincere vision do not speak so loud as they should against the human servitude that led to the fall of his culture. These poets should be admired and studied for their craftsmanship and skill. They offer a unique perspective on American history—one that is all but lost under the destruction of America’s most costly war. Regardless of talent or technique, they will never be in league with the established great American poets. When they had the opportunity, these men did not change the culture or country when inspiration was most needed. They were presented with every chance to write the “Howl” of the “Song of Myself” for their era. They could have changed the course of history, but ultimately fell short of what poets should be, given the chance.
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