  [Paul Hamilton Hayne, Sidney Lanier and Robert Burns Wilson] THREE noble friends the South has given me, Two biding now beyond the farthest gate, One living still, great-hearted, soul elate, From trammeling passions free. The twain now unbeholden to our eyes, Were soldiers for a cause they thought was right— They were such men as set the torch alight That marks our destinies; Yet, with a song that rings above the din Of battle, and with brows where there might rest The victor’s crown, or singer’s wreath, more blest, Through hymns of peace to win. I read one morning, in a day long gone, The songs of Hayne, all odorous of the pines; The heart of Nature throbbed along the lines— Her joy was in his dawn. The hills and streams to him were never dumb, They gave their secrets to his own heart’s keeping; Grand music in the oaks and pines was sleeping Waiting for him to come! And you, Lanier, cut down like some tall tree By an insidious foe—upright and strong Until the last, and with your parting song From Deathland floating free! Sweet dawns were yours, bright noons and starry nights; Your heart lay on the bosoms of the hills— Clear was your soul as dew that God distills Upon His sacred heights! And you are gone, and only one remains Of the three Southern singers loved so well; To-night the wind in sympathy would quell The grief of woods and plains— Saying: “They were our friends, they understood The messages we spoke into their ears; Now they have passed beyond our hopes and fears Unto a higher Good.” But he who still is here, he well has caught The spirit that is Nature’s, and is hers Only for her most loved interpreters— Ah, nobly he has wrought! And Southern winds that to the northward roam, And misty stars that shine above us dim, Each evening bring me utterance of him To my far Northern home! |
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