  A TALE OF MARION'S MEN.BY MRS. MARY G. HORSFORD.—"Mightier far Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway Of magic potent over sun or star Is Love, though oft to agony distrest, And though his favorite seat be feeble woman's breast." I.Night o'er the Santee! up the sky The pale moon went with misty eye; And in the west a brooding cloud— Departed day's wind-lifted shroud— Waved slowly in the depths of blue, While now and then a world looked through The broken edge, as from above Steals down a seraph's glance of love, Through sorrow's cloud and mortal air, On breaking hearts or tearful prayer. II.Within the recess of the wood That on the river's margin stood, Encamped beneath the shade Of solemn pine and cypress tree, And tulip soaring high and free, A patriot band had made Their pillows of the moss and leaves, Through which the moaning south-wind grieves When day forsakes the glade. And all save one slept hushed as night Beneath the starry Infinite— That one a boy in years, Whose daring arm and flashing eye, When death and danger hovered nigh, Belied the trembling fears And shrinking dread that seemed to speak, From quivering lip and pallid cheek At sight of war's array; The first the fearful strife to bide, Forever at his captain's side, Was Lennard in the fray; Yet strange to tell, though oft beside That captain's form he dared to bide The cannon's fiery blast, His hand no human blood had shed, Beneath his steel no foe had bled, When in the battle cast. So said his comrades tried and cold, Who marveled that a heart so bold, Should beat in pitying breast. And now beside the smouldering fire, He marked its flickering flames expire, And watched his leader's rest. III.That leader—in the civil strife Then waged for Liberty and Life, No braver spirit stood, Between his country and the chain, Mistaken tyranny would fain Have cast o'er lake and wood; And though in manhood's early morn, Young Huon led through strife and scorn A trusty troop and free, Who left their homes his lot to share, For Freedom sworn to live and dare, Or die—at Fate's decree; And from the covert solitude Of dark morass and thicket rude Guerilla warfare waged, On Tory band, unwary foe, And struck full many a dauntless blow, While hate and conflict raged. IV.One hour from midnight and the sleep That wrapped the stalwart frame so deep, Was woke by guard and sign; The forest sounded with the tramp Of rushing steeds, until the camp Was reached by foremost line Of the brigade of fearless men, Who rode through wood, and brake, and fen, As speeds the red deer to his glen. No gorgeous suit of war array, No uniform of red or gray In that rude band were seen; The ploughman's dress, but coarse and plain, And marred by toil with many a stain, Betrayed no gilded sheen; Their only badge the white cockade, No dagger's point or glittering blade Was worn with martial pride, But sabre hilt and rifle true, Oftimes of dark, ensanguined hue, Were ever at the side. They hailed their comrades in the fight, With blazing fires illumed the night, And waged with jest and smile, As toward the lurid torches' light Rode up their chief the while. No pert gallant or Conrad he, With gay plume waving haughtily; Nor donned he aught his troopers o'er, Save that the leathern cap he wore In front a silver crescent bore, Inscribed with "Death or Liberty." Of stature low, the piercing eye, And forehead broad, and full, and high, And lined with lofty thought; Were all that marked from his compeers, The man who through long, gloomy years With tireless vigor wrought, Nerved by defeat for loftier aim, To build his country's Hope and Fame, And win for her a seat divine Beneath bright Freedom's hallowed shrine; And few, though rashly brave, would dare, To start the Swamp Fox Or in his fastness wild and dun, Cope with the rebel Marion. V.Soon Huon by the river's tide Sought out his brave commander's side, And listened with respectful air, To learn what new emprise to share, What lurking foe to shun or brave. Short was their conference and grave, Ere Huon bade a trooper call His page, young Lennard, to his aid; And passing 'neath the cedar tall, And giant oaks' far spreading shade, The boy with graceful step and light, Stood quickly in his captain's sight, And Marion thus, in kindly tone, Spoke with a frankness all his own. "'T is said, my boy, thy heart is brave, Thy courage sure, and caution grave; This night, then, we will task thy power. Seek, ere the closing of the hour, The village inn that stands below, Embowered within the coppice glade, And learn the bearings of the foe— Their force in camp, and field, and shade; But ere the silver moon again O'er Carolina's hills shall wane, Meet us beside the deep lagoon Beyond, that knows no scorching noon." VI.Anon, far down the silent wood, Undaunted by its solitude, Sped Lennard on his way; Until beneath a blasted pine, Beyond the forest gray, That tall, and bald, and hoary white, Gleamed through the dusky veil of night, As through Life's mist on human sight Gleams vital truth divine, He paused, and from a whistle clear, Drew notes that thrilled the valley near. VII.Within the rebel camp, meanwhile, No slumbers winning smiles beguile, From care to dreams away; The troop who view with fearless heart The coming strife and battle's mart; And thus with blithesome song, though rude, Awake the echoes of the wood: Though dark the night, And fierce the fight, We fear no living foe; The swamp our home, The sky our dome, Our bed the turf below; We hail the strife, And prize not life, Unblessed by Freedom's smile; And Age and Youth, To patriot Truth, Pledge hopefully the while. Our Country's name Must sink in shame, Or sound in triumph free; Then, brothers, on! For Marion, Our homes and liberty. VIII.'T was morning—from the golden sky Night fled before day's burning eye, As flies the minister of sin From souls that kneel to God, to win Courage to meet the tempter's wile, And strength upon the strife to smile. Scarce had the cloudless sun betrayed, The flowers that bloomed in meadows low, Ere toward a thickly shaded glade, An armed horseman traveled slow; And paused beside a gushing spring, Whose gentle murmurs thrilled the air, As thrills an angel's unseen wing The distant blue when mounting there. The dark trees hung above its wave, A tapestry of green, And arching o'er the waters, gave A softness to the sheen Of mellow light that darted through The dewy leaves of richest hue; While round the huge trunks many a vine, Had bade its graceful tendrils twine; The blossoming grape and jessamine pale, Loading with sweets the summer gale. Not long with hasty step he trod The narrow path and flowery sod, Ere gently o'er the sere leaves' bed A maiden passed with faltering tread. IX.Oh! light was the step of the blooming girl, And glossy the hue of the raven curl, And joyous the glance of the dark eye's play, When the pride of the village was Morna Grey. But ruthless war to her dwelling came, Her brothers slept on the field of fame, Her father's blood on his hearth was shed; And the desolate orphan in anguish fled To the cottage of one who her childhood nursed, And who soothed the spirit that grief had cursed; And now in the depths of that speaking eye There slumbered a sadness still and high, But veiled with a clear and mellow light, Like the softened glow of a moonlit night; And the rose on her cheek that came and went, Like the hues of the West when day is spent, Told how the chords of the heart below, Quivered and shrunk at the breath of wo. But why did a presage of coming ill, With a fiercer pang her bosom thrill, And pale her cheek to a deadlier hue, As she sought the spring where the jessamine grew? She had come to meet for a moment there, Ere he sought the field in the strife to share, One who her father had blessed in death, As she pledged her faith with faltering breath; And Huon with joyous smile and gay, Welcomed the presence of Morna Grey. X.But the words they spoke were short and few— A soldier must be to his duty true; And ere a half hour had hastened by, She watched his steed as it hurried nigh, O'er the verdant plain to the cedars tall, Where his men were waiting their leader's call. As she dashed the drops that dimmed her sight, From the dark-fringed lids where they trembled bright, A rustling was heard in the brushwood near, And a crone, whose wild and fantastic gear Betrayed the erring of mind within, Stood in her presence with mocking grin. "Said I not sorrows in dark array, Crowded the future of Morna Grey? Why from the cheek do the roses fly? Where is the light of the flashing eye? Where has the rounded lips, ruby red, Gone, since we parted beside the dead? The white owl entered the casement high, O'er the brow of the dying I saw it fly; Presager of death! I hailed its wing, She scorned the omen but felt the sting Of bitter grief, when another day Bore her angel Mother from earth away. I warned her, when on the coming blast I saw the phantom-like shades flit past; She smiled on my words as idle play, But wept when her sire, in the midnight fray, Felled to the dust by the Tory's blade, Died in the home where his bones are laid; When the cold drops stood on the forehead fair, And the curdling blood on the thin, gray hair. But the dead in silence forgotten sleep; She is weaving on earth a vision deep, Of joyous hopes that must fade and die, Like the bow that smiles when the tempests fly, In vain the strength of her youth is shed, In a path where she trembles and fears to tread; In vain—in vain would the fragile form, Brave the hot breath of the cannon's storm; The bullet speeds on its mission free— A broken heart and a grave I see." "Though dark my way, I fear it not; Speed, woman, to thy sheltered cot, Lest thou, with no protector nigh, Should catch some hostile wanderer's eye. My trust is in that mighty Power, Who rules the battle's wildest hour; And woman's love is like the flower That bloometh not in sunny bower; But when the dark and solemn night, Has gathered round with storm and blight, Unfolds its petals bright and rare, And sheds its fragrance on the air; And if it dare and peril all, Asks only to preserve or fall, His bleeding land requires his arm— God will protect the brave from harm." "Behold!" and Morna turned to gaze Upon the huge tree, dark and lone, The withered finger of the crone Marked out, and glancing in the rays Of morn, beheld a serpent coil Its glossy length, with easy toil, Up the brown trunk, till close it hung Above the wild bird's nest and young; While round and round, with scream of dread, The frighted bird in anguish fled; And vainly sought to drive the foe From his dark aim again below. XI.Moments there are when Reason's control, Yieldeth to Fancy in heart and soul; When the spirit views with prescient eye, The common light and shaded sky, An omen finds in the falling leaf, And symbols in all things of joy or grief. And this was one, for on that failing strife Had Morna cast her dearest hope in life. Must she behold with power as vain to shield, Earth's only blessing from her presence torn? Was there a fiercer pang for her revealed In that short conflict than she yet had known? Her dark eyes grew more wildly bright, And gleamed with an intenser light, As closer drew the venomed fang, And shrill the lone bird's accents rang. But, hark! a shot—a rustling fall— Approaching steps—a sportman's call— The parent bird is in the dust; And o'er the path that homeward led, With fleeting step fair Morna fled, And breathed a prayer of thanks and trust. Though sweet to live, more blest to die, For those that strong affections tie Has fettered to the clinging heart, With links not Death can wholly part. XII.The day wore on, and down the West, The sun had rolled in his unrest; While gorgeous clouds of gold and red, Reflected back the splendor fled; And twilight—pensive nun, to pray, In silence drew her veil of gray. The last bright gleam was waxing pale, And low night winds began their wail, When near a ruined house, that stood Within a grove of tulip wood, Young Lennard paused and gazed awhile, With clouded brow and saddened smile, On trampled flowers, and shrubs, and vine, Torn from the pillar it would twine With verdant bloom, and casting round Its scarlet blossoms on the ground. A waste of weeds the garden lay, And grass grew in the carriage way; Cold desolation, like a pall, Had spread its mantle over all; Yet not the creeping touch of Time, Had wrecked that dwelling in its prime. The fierce and unrelenting wrath Of human war had crossed that path, And left its trace on all things near, Save the blue sky above our sphere. Anon, with hurried step and free, He crossed the ruined balcony, And passing by the fallen door, Stood on the dark hall's oaken floor. Lighting the pine-torch that he bore, He watched its lurid beams explore The gloomy precincts, and passed on, As one who knew each winding well, To a low room that lay beyond, And echoed to the south wind's knell. Upon the threshold crushed and lone, By rude marauder's hand o'erthrown, He raised it from its station there, And smoothed the crumpled leaves with care, Then sadly turned away To gaze upon a portrait near, Whose thoughtful eyes, so calm and clear, And chastened look and lofty mien, And forehead noble and serene, Told of a spirit touched by time Only to soften and sublime; Of woman's earnest faith and love Surmounting earth to soar above. XIII.With quivering lip the boy gazed long; Unheeded and unmarked a throng Might there have met, so fixed his soul On Memory's unfolding scroll. He knew not that the hours crept by, And sullen grew the deepening night; Again he met his mother's eye, As erst in joyous days and bright, And heard the accents clear and mild, Now hushed in death, breathe o'er her child A fervent blessing and a prayer; Again his father's silver hair Gleamed on his sight, although the tomb Had closed him in its rayless gloom. XIV.His leathern cap aside was flung, And o'er his brow the dark locks hung In wild confusion, as he stood Amid that haunted solitude, Raising the blazing torch to throw Upon the pictured face its glow. In him a careless eye might see A semblance of that face in life; With more of fire and energy To brave the storm and strife; With more of earthly hope to claim, And less of Heaven—yet still the same. XV.But suddenly the mystic spell That bound him to the Past was rent; The vivid lightning, forked and red, Flashed through the broken casement, blent With the loud thunder's awful roar, Prolonged and echoing o'er and o'er. The warring of the world without Offended not the struggling heart; Roused from the apathy of thought He sought the casement with a start, And watched the raging storm sweep by With kindling cheek and flashing eye. XVI.On! on! it came with fiery breath, Instinct with rage and winged with death, As downward swept, ere Time begun His swift and varied race to run, Through realms chaotic and sublime, With wing of light and forehead pale, Immortal in remorse and crime, Thrilling the Infinite with wail, The apostate troops from lands of light To darkness, shame and withering blight. On! on! it came, and in its path The tall trees bent beneath its wrath, And fell with hollow, crashing sound, Torn and uprooted, to the ground. Still nearer grew the lightning flash, And heavier broke the thunder crash; And as, with almost blinded gaze, Watched Lennard the electric blaze, He saw through rain and densest night A thin, pale line of waving light Speed to a lofty oak, whose head Sunk powerless to its parent bed. XVII.The hours passed on—the storm had spent The fury to its madness lent, And wild and sullen clouds on high In broken masses swept the sky, As Lennard left the ruined hall, And, bounding o'er the garden wall, Walked swiftly o'er the lonely plain, Till 'neath the blasted pine again He paused, and blew the whistle low; Soon from a clump of firs below An aged servant slowly led A saddled steed: the pale moon shed Its fitful gleam as Lennard sprung Light to his seat, then fearless flung The bridle loose, and spurring, soon Drew up beside a deep lagoon, Whose stagnant waters 'neath the moon Glimmered through bush and hanging vine, And cypress bald and ragged pine. Concealed within the spectral gloom, Of wide morass and forest tomb, His comrades there he found; By many a devious winding led, Where the pale fire-flies' torches shed A fitful gleam around, He paused at length where Huon stood, Amid his faithful band, though rude, And thus his errand told: "Where bends the Santee in the plain Has Tarleton's troop encamped again, With careless movement bold; One half his men will march to-night To join the troop on Charleston height, The guard will be both dull and light; A few short hours, with speed and care, Must lead us to the station there." XVIII.His mission o'er, with thoughtful look, The boy sought out a shaded nook, Apart from all—yet near The opening where the men had laid Their rations on the mossy glade, Beside the swamp-marsh drear. Silent was he, reserved and shy, Seldom raising cap or eye; Not many days since first his hand Had joined him to that patriot band; Yet none more truly did fulfill, The duties of his arm required, Though slight withal, and often still When the loud signal-gun was fired, The herald of the coming fight, His cheek would pale like flowers at night Beneath the autumn's chilling blight; None knew his residence or name, Save that of Lennard, which he told The morn when to the camp he came, And begged that he might be enrolled In Huon's corps, to serve with those Who bled to heal their country's woes; Of late his arm had bolder grown When in the rout and skirmish thrown, And stronger, too, and Huon loved The slender boy who at his side Stood nobly when o'er War's red tide The fiery death-shot moved. XIX.'Twas midnight, as with silent tread, Like one who bears the coffined dead, His valiant troopers Marion led Through long and dark defile; And on they marched till morning light With streaks of crimson touched the night; Then, unannounced by trumpet-clang, Fell on the slumb'ring foe; Swift to his post each warrior sprang, Above, around, below; And soon in close and eager strife, As o'er the tomb meet Death and Life, The hostile forces stood; The sabre flashed in day's bright eye, The whizzing shot, death-winged, swept by, The turf grew red with blood; And where the charge was hottest made, Where boldest fell the flashing blade, Was Huon foremost there; And ever near his daring hand The youngest, gentlest of his band, Stood Lennard on that day; Fierce raged the conflict o'er the dead, Until, o'erpowered, the vanquished fled; Yet ere they left the fray One aimed the bloody lance he bore At Huon's heart—a moment more, And Lennard fell, his life-blood o'er The green turf welling fast; The blade that sought his leader's breast His hand aside had cast; Swift to his aid his comrades prest; The death-hue on his forehead lay As Huon flung both sword and lance With quivering lip away, And met in Lennard's dying glance The smile of Morna Grey. XX.Beside the Santee's murmuring wave, They made the early dead a grave; And sometimes on its borders green The passing traveler has seen A spot where pale wild roses blow The lofty oaks and firs below— The turf is verdant with the spray— There sleeps the dust of Morna Grey. And Huon?—Still his daring arm Was lifted in his country's aid, Though life had lost its sunniest charm, And o'er the future hung a shade; And time would fail me now to tell Of all the deeds his valor wrought, How, when Fort Moultrie's color fell, He mounted 'mid the flames and shot The merlon height, and fixed on high The starry banner 'mid the sky. Nor how he died—the nobly slain, In bearing from the battle-plain The flag intrusted to his care. But deeds like these were common then As life, and light, and air; Brave deeds that shall forever round Our nation's annals cling; Perchance some louder harp shall sound, Some bolder spirit sing. For me—the first pale star on high Herald's the night with beaming eye, And down the west has rolled the sun— My song is o'er—my task is done. NOTE.During the Revolution, a young girl plighted to an officer of Marion's corps, followed him without being discovered to the camp, where, dressed in male attire, and unknown to him, she enrolled in the service. A few days after, during a fierce conflict that occurred, she stood by his side in the thickest of the fight, and in turning away a lance aimed at his heart received it in her own, and fell bleeding at his feet. She was buried on the banks of the Santee. He was afterward distinguished in the service at Fort Moultrie, and at Savannah, where he received his death-wound in carrying off the flag which was intrusted to him.
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