SITE UNDER CONSTRUCTION
but a few articles are posted from earlier times.
Please visit again later
or visit at
Hill Country of Monroe County, Mississippi
Sunday, July 27, 2008
SITE UNDER CONSTRUCTION
but a few articles are posted from earlier times.
Please visit again later
or visit at
Hill Country of Monroe County, Mississippi
The Magnolia by Mary Elizabeth McNeill Fenollosca (Sidney McCall)
A reader from Hatley, Mississippi (Monroe County), sent me a copy of the poem printed below, The Magnolia, by southern writer Mary McNeill Fenollosa. Thanks to Rita Thompson, painter, historian, and keeper-of-old-Southern flowers, for this poem.
Mary Elizabeth McNeill was born 1865 in Alabama; she spent her childhood in the Mobile area. She was married, according to one biography, three times --- once to a man named Chester, then to a Scott, and then to Fenollosa. Click here for a short biography of Mary McNeil Fenollosa and a photograph of her. Mary Fenollosa died in 1954.
She also wrote under a pen name, Sidney McCall --- and she shorted her McNeill surname to McNeil. Mary McNeil Fenollosa is a Southern poet/writer of whom I know little.
Thanks, Rita, for calling this gem of a poem to my attention.
THE MAGNOLIA
by Mary McNeil Fenollosa
O flowers of the garden, of skilled and human care,
Sweet heliotrope, and violet, and orchid frail and fair,
Pour out your love to happier hearts; the woodland flowers for me,
The pallid, creamy blossoms of the dark magnolia tree!
I close my eyes; my soul lifts up to float with their perfume,
And dull the body lying in this narrow city room.
Again I am a happy child. I leap and joy to see
The great curved petals wavering slip from out the gleaming tree.
As holy grail, or pearl inwrought, or carven ivory cup,
They stand on bronze and emerald bough, and brim their sweetness up;
And underneath a happy child! --- O days that used to be!
In distant land, the flowers still stand upon the dark green tree.
Fenollosa, Mary McNeil. The Magnolia. Out of the Nest: A Flight of Verses. Boston: Little, Brown, and Company. 1899. Pages 78 - 79. Available online at Google Fullview Books.
Mary Elizabeth McNeill was born 1865 in Alabama; she spent her childhood in the Mobile area. She was married, according to one biography, three times --- once to a man named Chester, then to a Scott, and then to Fenollosa. Click here for a short biography of Mary McNeil Fenollosa and a photograph of her. Mary Fenollosa died in 1954.
She also wrote under a pen name, Sidney McCall --- and she shorted her McNeill surname to McNeil. Mary McNeil Fenollosa is a Southern poet/writer of whom I know little.
Thanks, Rita, for calling this gem of a poem to my attention.
THE MAGNOLIA
by Mary McNeil Fenollosa
O flowers of the garden, of skilled and human care,
Sweet heliotrope, and violet, and orchid frail and fair,
Pour out your love to happier hearts; the woodland flowers for me,
The pallid, creamy blossoms of the dark magnolia tree!
I close my eyes; my soul lifts up to float with their perfume,
And dull the body lying in this narrow city room.
Again I am a happy child. I leap and joy to see
The great curved petals wavering slip from out the gleaming tree.
As holy grail, or pearl inwrought, or carven ivory cup,
They stand on bronze and emerald bough, and brim their sweetness up;
And underneath a happy child! --- O days that used to be!
In distant land, the flowers still stand upon the dark green tree.
Fenollosa, Mary McNeil. The Magnolia. Out of the Nest: A Flight of Verses. Boston: Little, Brown, and Company. 1899. Pages 78 - 79. Available online at Google Fullview Books.
Creation of Dixie: A poem
Creation of Dixie by Anon
Created by a nation's glee,
With jest and song and revelry,
We sang it in our early pride
Throughout our Southern borders wide,
While from the thousands' throats rang out
A promise in one glorious shout
"To live or die for Dixie."
How well that promise was redeemed,
Is witnessed by each field where gleamed
Victorious --- like the crest of Mars ---
The Banner of the Stars and Bars!
The canons lay our warriors low ---
We fill the ranks and onward go
"To live or die for Dixie!"
To die for Dixie! --- Oh, how blessed
Are those who early went to rest;
Nor knew the future's awful store,
But deemed the cause they fought for sure
As heaven itself, and so laid down,
The cross of earth for glory's crown,
And nobly died for Dixie.
"To Live for Dixie---harder part!
To stay the hand---to still the heart---
To seal the lips---enshroud the past---
To have no future---all o'ercast---
But knit life's broken threads again,
And keep her memory pure from stain---
This is---to Live for Dixie.
Beloved land! beloved song,
Your thrilling power shall last as long---
Enshrined within each Southern soul---
As Time's eternal ages roll;
Made holier by the test of years---
Baptised with our country's tears---
God and the right for Dixie!
Anonymous. Creation of Dixie. Cullings from the Confederacy: A Collection of Southern Poems, Original and Others, Popular During the War Between the States, and Incidents and Facts Worth Recalling, 1862 - 1866. Nora Fontaine M. Davidson. Washington: Rufus H. Darby Printing Company. 1903. Page 39.
Created by a nation's glee,
With jest and song and revelry,
We sang it in our early pride
Throughout our Southern borders wide,
While from the thousands' throats rang out
A promise in one glorious shout
"To live or die for Dixie."
How well that promise was redeemed,
Is witnessed by each field where gleamed
Victorious --- like the crest of Mars ---
The Banner of the Stars and Bars!
The canons lay our warriors low ---
We fill the ranks and onward go
"To live or die for Dixie!"
To die for Dixie! --- Oh, how blessed
Are those who early went to rest;
Nor knew the future's awful store,
But deemed the cause they fought for sure
As heaven itself, and so laid down,
The cross of earth for glory's crown,
And nobly died for Dixie.
"To Live for Dixie---harder part!
To stay the hand---to still the heart---
To seal the lips---enshroud the past---
To have no future---all o'ercast---
But knit life's broken threads again,
And keep her memory pure from stain---
This is---to Live for Dixie.
Beloved land! beloved song,
Your thrilling power shall last as long---
Enshrined within each Southern soul---
As Time's eternal ages roll;
Made holier by the test of years---
Baptised with our country's tears---
God and the right for Dixie!
Anonymous. Creation of Dixie. Cullings from the Confederacy: A Collection of Southern Poems, Original and Others, Popular During the War Between the States, and Incidents and Facts Worth Recalling, 1862 - 1866. Nora Fontaine M. Davidson. Washington: Rufus H. Darby Printing Company. 1903. Page 39.
The Mocking-Bird by Walter Malone
Mississippi . . . magnolia trees . . . and mocking birds. The three just seem to go together. And here is a gem of a poem written by a Mississippian, Walter Malone; the poem seems to make the linage between state, state tree, and state bird complete.
Malone, born in De Soto County, MS in 1866 graduated from Ole Miss in 1887. He was a lawyer in Memphis; there he became a Judge in 1905. He died in Memphis in 1915.
Take a look at Malone's tale of the mocking bird --- and learn about the Indian legend which explains why our state bird is constantly singing. I promise if you read this poem closely, you'll never see nor hear a mocking bird without thinking of this ancient legend. . .
The Mocking-Bird
by Walter Malone
(From an Indian Legend)
I.
I glazed at a mocking-bird high in a tree,
And this was the song he warbled to me:
II.
Thou wonderest, why, as aloft I soar,
I sing to thee not the same strains o'er,
And marvel much that the notes I pour
By other blithe birds were trilled before,
And every sound on the sea or shore
I mimic and mock for evermore.
III.
Far beyond the mystic mountains,
Far beyond the sunset's throne,
Where the crystal western fountains
Bubble through the forests lone,
Lived an Indian tribe now perished,
I their prince in days of old;
Yet a maiden sweet I cherished
In a neighboring nation's fold.
But our tribes were foemen ever,
So our love we dared not tell,
And I saw her sweet face never
Till the twilight shadows fell.
Then with stealthy steps I sought her
With a signal sharp and shrill,
Till the foeman chieftain's daughter
Joined me by the woodland rill.
I would mock the thrush in flying,
Or the katydid at night,
Hooting owl or panther crying,
So her steps were guided right.
Then we two would roam together,
Kissing in the friendly gloom,
Till the blooming stars would wither
And the night sink in the tomb.
But together once they found us,
And they doomed us both to die;
To the stake they dragged and bound us,
Where the cruel flames streamed high.
But the great God heard our sighing:
In the sky a storm upreared;
From the smoke two birds came flying,
And the lovers disappeared.
Yet we thoughtless twain had ever
Gazed but in each other's eyes,
Implous souls, had worshipped never
Him who rules within the skies.
So he saved us but to doom us
Through the moons to roam apart,
While despair seeks to consume us,
Reigning in each breaking heart.
I, a mock-bird, fondly singing,
Robed in sombre ashen gray,
She, with gorgeous plumage, winging
In some forest far away.
IV.
My tongue must twitter through all the hours,
Still mocking each sound in woodland bowers,
The wail of winds and the sobs of showers,
The cricket's shrill chirp in fading flowers,
The night-hawk's cry in her pine-tree towers,
The bark of the wolf when midnight lowers.
But then at last, in a dim, sweet year,
When gray with despair and gray with fear,
And mocking still at the sounds I hear,
I shall trill the true note that strikes mine ear,
The song that is sung by my long-lost dear,
And then her sweet face shall reappear.
Till then this song over forest wide
I sing as I seek my banished bride:
V.
I am seeking for thee ever through the emerald woods of May,
I am seeking for thee ever through October's fields of gray;
I am seeking for thee ever through the June-time's golden glory,
I am seeking for thee ever through December's twilight hoary;
I am seeking for thee ever where the morning buds are blooming,
I am seeking for thee ever where the vesper shades are looming;
I am seeking for thee ever through the dazzling tropic noons,
I am seeking for thee ever under wan and wasted moons;
I am striving still to find thee through the green magnolia-trees,
I am striving still to find thee by the misty northern seas;
I am striving still to find thee in the palmy Indian Islands,
I am striving still to find thee in the chill and trackless highlands;
I am striving still to find thee on the crimson cactus-blossoms,
I am striving still to find thee in the white lake-lilies' blosoms;
I am striving still to find thee with the Aztec meek and mild,
I am striving still to find thee with the Huron's savage child.
So I seek thee, always faithful, seek thee, sweetest, thus forever,
But I find thee in my roamings, banished, vanished darling, never.
VI.
Hear the blackbird, silver-throated, calling me to meet him in the breezy boughs,
Hear the bluejay, blithe and buoyant, bidding me to join him in his mad carouse;
Hear the redbird, wild and willful, teasing me to aid him in some curious quest,
Hear the bluebird, sweet and soothing, bidding me to come and see his happy nest;
Hear, amid pink-blossomed orchards, wooing, cooing of the fond enamoured dove,
And the oriole, her rival, begging me to bless her with my love.
But my heart is ever faithful; never shall another love be known to me;
Though the myriad ages wither, in my visions only one sweet face I see.
VII.
I burn,
I long, I yearn,
Through autumns chill and red,
Where blasted, burning deserts spread,
To see once more thy precious, loving face,
And hear once more thy wild, sweet, fawn-like tread of grace.
I've not
Thy love forgot;
Then wilt thou let me pine
Far from thy starry eyes divine?
Return, return! then like a blithesome boy
I'll sing forever for thee thrilling tunes of joy!
VIII.
Indian wigwams, Indian camp-fires from their ruthless pale-faced foes have vanished,
And the red-men, like the red leaves, on a hoary winter blast are banished.
All our sacred groves have fallen, all the trophies of our tribe have perished,
All our legends long forgotten, and our mother-tongue no longer cherished.
But amid the desolation, ever vainly for thy presence pining,
Never in my tearful visions have I seen thy glorious plummage shining.
Yet another love can never make me drink from out his bubbling chalice,
And no other maiden woo me to abide within her blissful palace.
I shall love thee till the spring-time thrilleth not the earth's breast with emotion,
I shall love thee till the dew-drops all have vanished from the desert ocean.
Though I find thee, beauteous being, not till all the mountains burst asunder,
And the judgment trumpet rouses all the earth's dead like a peal of thunder.
Malone, Walter. The Mocking-Bird. Poems. Memphis, Tennessee: Paul and Douglas and Company. 1904. Pages 324-29. Available online at Google Fullview Books.
Malone, born in De Soto County, MS in 1866 graduated from Ole Miss in 1887. He was a lawyer in Memphis; there he became a Judge in 1905. He died in Memphis in 1915.
Take a look at Malone's tale of the mocking bird --- and learn about the Indian legend which explains why our state bird is constantly singing. I promise if you read this poem closely, you'll never see nor hear a mocking bird without thinking of this ancient legend. . .
The Mocking-Bird
by Walter Malone
(From an Indian Legend)
I.
I glazed at a mocking-bird high in a tree,
And this was the song he warbled to me:
II.
Thou wonderest, why, as aloft I soar,
I sing to thee not the same strains o'er,
And marvel much that the notes I pour
By other blithe birds were trilled before,
And every sound on the sea or shore
I mimic and mock for evermore.
III.
Far beyond the mystic mountains,
Far beyond the sunset's throne,
Where the crystal western fountains
Bubble through the forests lone,
Lived an Indian tribe now perished,
I their prince in days of old;
Yet a maiden sweet I cherished
In a neighboring nation's fold.
But our tribes were foemen ever,
So our love we dared not tell,
And I saw her sweet face never
Till the twilight shadows fell.
Then with stealthy steps I sought her
With a signal sharp and shrill,
Till the foeman chieftain's daughter
Joined me by the woodland rill.
I would mock the thrush in flying,
Or the katydid at night,
Hooting owl or panther crying,
So her steps were guided right.
Then we two would roam together,
Kissing in the friendly gloom,
Till the blooming stars would wither
And the night sink in the tomb.
But together once they found us,
And they doomed us both to die;
To the stake they dragged and bound us,
Where the cruel flames streamed high.
But the great God heard our sighing:
In the sky a storm upreared;
From the smoke two birds came flying,
And the lovers disappeared.
Yet we thoughtless twain had ever
Gazed but in each other's eyes,
Implous souls, had worshipped never
Him who rules within the skies.
So he saved us but to doom us
Through the moons to roam apart,
While despair seeks to consume us,
Reigning in each breaking heart.
I, a mock-bird, fondly singing,
Robed in sombre ashen gray,
She, with gorgeous plumage, winging
In some forest far away.
IV.
My tongue must twitter through all the hours,
Still mocking each sound in woodland bowers,
The wail of winds and the sobs of showers,
The cricket's shrill chirp in fading flowers,
The night-hawk's cry in her pine-tree towers,
The bark of the wolf when midnight lowers.
But then at last, in a dim, sweet year,
When gray with despair and gray with fear,
And mocking still at the sounds I hear,
I shall trill the true note that strikes mine ear,
The song that is sung by my long-lost dear,
And then her sweet face shall reappear.
Till then this song over forest wide
I sing as I seek my banished bride:
V.
I am seeking for thee ever through the emerald woods of May,
I am seeking for thee ever through October's fields of gray;
I am seeking for thee ever through the June-time's golden glory,
I am seeking for thee ever through December's twilight hoary;
I am seeking for thee ever where the morning buds are blooming,
I am seeking for thee ever where the vesper shades are looming;
I am seeking for thee ever through the dazzling tropic noons,
I am seeking for thee ever under wan and wasted moons;
I am striving still to find thee through the green magnolia-trees,
I am striving still to find thee by the misty northern seas;
I am striving still to find thee in the palmy Indian Islands,
I am striving still to find thee in the chill and trackless highlands;
I am striving still to find thee on the crimson cactus-blossoms,
I am striving still to find thee in the white lake-lilies' blosoms;
I am striving still to find thee with the Aztec meek and mild,
I am striving still to find thee with the Huron's savage child.
So I seek thee, always faithful, seek thee, sweetest, thus forever,
But I find thee in my roamings, banished, vanished darling, never.
VI.
Hear the blackbird, silver-throated, calling me to meet him in the breezy boughs,
Hear the bluejay, blithe and buoyant, bidding me to join him in his mad carouse;
Hear the redbird, wild and willful, teasing me to aid him in some curious quest,
Hear the bluebird, sweet and soothing, bidding me to come and see his happy nest;
Hear, amid pink-blossomed orchards, wooing, cooing of the fond enamoured dove,
And the oriole, her rival, begging me to bless her with my love.
But my heart is ever faithful; never shall another love be known to me;
Though the myriad ages wither, in my visions only one sweet face I see.
VII.
I burn,
I long, I yearn,
Through autumns chill and red,
Where blasted, burning deserts spread,
To see once more thy precious, loving face,
And hear once more thy wild, sweet, fawn-like tread of grace.
I've not
Thy love forgot;
Then wilt thou let me pine
Far from thy starry eyes divine?
Return, return! then like a blithesome boy
I'll sing forever for thee thrilling tunes of joy!
VIII.
Indian wigwams, Indian camp-fires from their ruthless pale-faced foes have vanished,
And the red-men, like the red leaves, on a hoary winter blast are banished.
All our sacred groves have fallen, all the trophies of our tribe have perished,
All our legends long forgotten, and our mother-tongue no longer cherished.
But amid the desolation, ever vainly for thy presence pining,
Never in my tearful visions have I seen thy glorious plummage shining.
Yet another love can never make me drink from out his bubbling chalice,
And no other maiden woo me to abide within her blissful palace.
I shall love thee till the spring-time thrilleth not the earth's breast with emotion,
I shall love thee till the dew-drops all have vanished from the desert ocean.
Though I find thee, beauteous being, not till all the mountains burst asunder,
And the judgment trumpet rouses all the earth's dead like a peal of thunder.
Malone, Walter. The Mocking-Bird. Poems. Memphis, Tennessee: Paul and Douglas and Company. 1904. Pages 324-29. Available online at Google Fullview Books.
On a Magnolia Flower by Thomas Williams Parson
Thomas Williams Parsons 1819 - 1892, American poet born in Boston, Massachusetts, wrote this short poem.
ON A MAGNOLIA FLOWER
Memorial of my former days,
Magnolia, as I scent thy breath,
And on thy pallid beauty gaze,
I feel not far from death!
So much hath happened! and so much
The tomb hath claimed of what was mine!
Thy fragrance moves me with a touch
As from a hand divine!
So many dead! so many wed!
Since first, by this Magnolia's tree,
I pressed a gentle hand, and said
A Word no more for me!
Lady, who sendest from the South
This frail, pale token of the past,
I press the petals to my mouth,
And sign --- as 'twere my last.
Oh, love, we live, but many fell!
The world's a wreck, but we survive! ---
Say, rather, still on earth we dwell,
But gray at thirty-five!
Parsons, Thomas Williams. On a Magnolia Flower. The Magnolia. Cambridge, Massachusetts. Privately printed. 1866. Pages 1-2.
ON A MAGNOLIA FLOWER
Memorial of my former days,
Magnolia, as I scent thy breath,
And on thy pallid beauty gaze,
I feel not far from death!
So much hath happened! and so much
The tomb hath claimed of what was mine!
Thy fragrance moves me with a touch
As from a hand divine!
So many dead! so many wed!
Since first, by this Magnolia's tree,
I pressed a gentle hand, and said
A Word no more for me!
Lady, who sendest from the South
This frail, pale token of the past,
I press the petals to my mouth,
And sign --- as 'twere my last.
Oh, love, we live, but many fell!
The world's a wreck, but we survive! ---
Say, rather, still on earth we dwell,
But gray at thirty-five!
Parsons, Thomas Williams. On a Magnolia Flower. The Magnolia. Cambridge, Massachusetts. Privately printed. 1866. Pages 1-2.
Twenty-five ways to know you might have grown up behind the Magnolia Curtain
by Ann Allen Geoghegan
1. You can properly pronounce Oktibbeha, Neshoba, Chata, DeKalb, Kosciusko, Decatur, Yazoo, Pascagoula, Picayune, Scooba, and Tishomingo.
2. You know how many fish, collard greens, turnip greens, peas, beans, etc., make up "a mess."
3. A tornado warning siren is your signal to go out in the yard with a camcorder.
4. Your idea of a traffic jam is ten cars waiting to pass a tractor on the highway.
5. You've ever had to switch from "heat" to "A/C" and back to “heat” in the same day.
6. You know that the true value of a parking space is not determined by the distance to the door, but by the availability of shade.
7. Stores don't have bags, they have sacks and they are used to sort things for your next front porch sale.
8. You've seen people wear bib overalls at funerals and you have seen 40 log trucks line the road when a skidder driver was escorted to his final resting place.
9. You think everyone from a bigger city has an accent.
10. You measure distance in minutes. You also know a fur piece can be a mile or twenty miles down the road.
11. It doesn't bother you to use an airport named for a man who died in an airplane crash.
12. Your teacher calls you by your daddy’s or your older brother’s name.
13. You can follow directions like: “Go a little ways till you see where old man Turner’s store used to be and turn right and go a pretty fur piece to where the big oak tree that Katrina blew down was and it’s just a hop-skip further down on the left.”
14. You listen to the weather forecast before picking out an outfit.
15. You know "awhile back" is anywhere from last week to a few years ago, it doesn't matter, Mississippi time is different!
16. Someone you know has used a football or hunting schedule to plan their wedding date.
17. You take your tea with ice and lemon and not milk.
18. A bad traffic jam involves two cars staring each other down at a four-way stop, each determined to be the most polite and let the other go first.
19. You aren't surprised to find movie rental, ammunition, and bait all in the same store.
20. A Mercedes Benz isn't a status symbol, but a Chevy Silverado Extended Bed Crew Cab Dually is.
21. You know where grits come from and how to eat them.
22. You learned multiplication and shotgun gauge sizes at about the same age.
23. You can put 100 Mississippians in a room and half of them will discover they're related, even if only by marriage.
24. You are 100% Mississippian if you have ever heard or had this conversation:"You wanna coke?" "Yeah." "What kind?" "Dr. Pepper."
25. And for all ya’ll that are not from Mississippi but have lived here for a long time, all y'all need a sign to hang on y'alls front porch that reads "I ain't from Mississippi, but I got here fast as I could! "
Ann Allen Geoghegan is originally from Louisiana but now lives in Roxie, Franklin County, Mississippi. She maintains several web sites developed to history and genealogy which can be linked at Welcome to Annie's Place. There you will find links to about two dozen USGenWebProjects which Ann maintains as well as several personal web pages.
1. You can properly pronounce Oktibbeha, Neshoba, Chata, DeKalb, Kosciusko, Decatur, Yazoo, Pascagoula, Picayune, Scooba, and Tishomingo.
2. You know how many fish, collard greens, turnip greens, peas, beans, etc., make up "a mess."
3. A tornado warning siren is your signal to go out in the yard with a camcorder.
4. Your idea of a traffic jam is ten cars waiting to pass a tractor on the highway.
5. You've ever had to switch from "heat" to "A/C" and back to “heat” in the same day.
6. You know that the true value of a parking space is not determined by the distance to the door, but by the availability of shade.
7. Stores don't have bags, they have sacks and they are used to sort things for your next front porch sale.
8. You've seen people wear bib overalls at funerals and you have seen 40 log trucks line the road when a skidder driver was escorted to his final resting place.
9. You think everyone from a bigger city has an accent.
10. You measure distance in minutes. You also know a fur piece can be a mile or twenty miles down the road.
11. It doesn't bother you to use an airport named for a man who died in an airplane crash.
12. Your teacher calls you by your daddy’s or your older brother’s name.
13. You can follow directions like: “Go a little ways till you see where old man Turner’s store used to be and turn right and go a pretty fur piece to where the big oak tree that Katrina blew down was and it’s just a hop-skip further down on the left.”
14. You listen to the weather forecast before picking out an outfit.
15. You know "awhile back" is anywhere from last week to a few years ago, it doesn't matter, Mississippi time is different!
16. Someone you know has used a football or hunting schedule to plan their wedding date.
17. You take your tea with ice and lemon and not milk.
18. A bad traffic jam involves two cars staring each other down at a four-way stop, each determined to be the most polite and let the other go first.
19. You aren't surprised to find movie rental, ammunition, and bait all in the same store.
20. A Mercedes Benz isn't a status symbol, but a Chevy Silverado Extended Bed Crew Cab Dually is.
21. You know where grits come from and how to eat them.
22. You learned multiplication and shotgun gauge sizes at about the same age.
23. You can put 100 Mississippians in a room and half of them will discover they're related, even if only by marriage.
24. You are 100% Mississippian if you have ever heard or had this conversation:"You wanna coke?" "Yeah." "What kind?" "Dr. Pepper."
25. And for all ya’ll that are not from Mississippi but have lived here for a long time, all y'all need a sign to hang on y'alls front porch that reads "I ain't from Mississippi, but I got here fast as I could! "
Ann Allen Geoghegan is originally from Louisiana but now lives in Roxie, Franklin County, Mississippi. She maintains several web sites developed to history and genealogy which can be linked at Welcome to Annie's Place. There you will find links to about two dozen USGenWebProjects which Ann maintains as well as several personal web pages.
The Magnolia by Albert Pike
Albert Pike 1809 - 1891, American poet, Bostonian by birth and Southerner by choice, wrote The Magnolia. "Semper virens" below means always green.
The Magnolia
What, what is the true Southern Symbol,
The Symbol of Honor and right,
The Emblem that suits a brave people,
In arms against number and might?
"Tis the ever green stately Magnolia,
Its pearl-flowers pure as the Truth,
Defiant of tempest and lightning,
Its life a perpetual youth.
French blood stained with glory the Lilies,
While centuries marched to their grave;
And over bold Scot and gay Irish
The Thistle and Shamrock yet wave:
Ours, ours be the noble Magnolia,
That only on Southern soil grows
The Symbl of life everlasting:---
Dear to us as to England th Rose.
Paint the flower on a field blue as Heaven,
Let the broad leaves around it be seen,
"Semper virens" the eloquent motto,
Our colors the Blue, White and green.
Type of Chivalry, loyalty, virture,
In Winter and Summer the same,
Full of leaf, full of flower, full of vigor---
It befits those who fight for a name.
For a name among Earth's ancient Nations,
Yet more for the Truth and the Right,
For Freedom, for proud Independence,
The old strife of Darkness and Light.
Round the World bear the flag of our glory,
While the nations look on and admire,
And our stuggle immortal in story,
Shall the free of all ages inspire.
What though many fall in the conflict,
And our blood redden many a field?
The foe's on our soil, fellow-soldiers!
And God is our strength and our shield.
Ever on, while a fragment remains!
What though we are few and they many!
The Lord God of Armies still reigns.
Pike, Albert. The Magnolia. Library of Southern Literature. Volume 9. Editors: Edwin Anderson Alderman, Joel Chandler Harris, and Charles William Kent. Atlanta, Georgia: Martin and Holt Company. 1909. Available online, Google Full-view Books.
The Magnolia
What, what is the true Southern Symbol,
The Symbol of Honor and right,
The Emblem that suits a brave people,
In arms against number and might?
"Tis the ever green stately Magnolia,
Its pearl-flowers pure as the Truth,
Defiant of tempest and lightning,
Its life a perpetual youth.
French blood stained with glory the Lilies,
While centuries marched to their grave;
And over bold Scot and gay Irish
The Thistle and Shamrock yet wave:
Ours, ours be the noble Magnolia,
That only on Southern soil grows
The Symbl of life everlasting:---
Dear to us as to England th Rose.
Paint the flower on a field blue as Heaven,
Let the broad leaves around it be seen,
"Semper virens" the eloquent motto,
Our colors the Blue, White and green.
Type of Chivalry, loyalty, virture,
In Winter and Summer the same,
Full of leaf, full of flower, full of vigor---
It befits those who fight for a name.
For a name among Earth's ancient Nations,
Yet more for the Truth and the Right,
For Freedom, for proud Independence,
The old strife of Darkness and Light.
Round the World bear the flag of our glory,
While the nations look on and admire,
And our stuggle immortal in story,
Shall the free of all ages inspire.
What though many fall in the conflict,
And our blood redden many a field?
The foe's on our soil, fellow-soldiers!
And God is our strength and our shield.
Ever on, while a fragment remains!
What though we are few and they many!
The Lord God of Armies still reigns.
Pike, Albert. The Magnolia. Library of Southern Literature. Volume 9. Editors: Edwin Anderson Alderman, Joel Chandler Harris, and Charles William Kent. Atlanta, Georgia: Martin and Holt Company. 1909. Available online, Google Full-view Books.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
