WILLIAM HAINES LYTLE 1826-1863 GENERAL LYTLE was born at Cincinnati, Ohio, and fell at the battle of Chickamauga, in 1863. He had also served in the Mexican War. For gallant conduct in battle he was made brigadier general of volunteers. A volume of his poems was published after his death. ANTONY TO CLEOPATRA I AM dying, Egypt, dying! Gather on the evening blast; Thou, and thou alone, must hear. Though my scarred and veteran legions Prompt to do their master's will, I must perish like a Roman, Die the great Triumvir still. Let not Cæsar's servile minions 5 10 15 20 Should the base plebeian rabble Weeps within her widowed home, I am dying, Egypt, dying! Hark! the insulting foeman's cry; They are coming — quick, my falchion! TIMROD was born in Charleston, South Carolina, where his father was a bookbinder and a writer of verses. He studied for a time in the University of Georgia, and then began the study of law, but gave it up for teaching. During the Civil War he was war correspondent of the Charleston Mercury, and also wrote stirring war verses. After the war he fell a prey to poverty and disease, and died of consumption at Columbia. A volume of his poems appeared in 1860, and it was republished several years afterward, with a memoir of the author by Paul H. Hayne. CALM as that second summer which precedes The first fall of the snow, In the broad sunlight of heroic deeds, As yet, behind their ramparts, stern and proud, Dark Sumter, like a battlemented cloud, Looms o'er the solemn deep. No Calpe frowns from lofty cliff or scaur But Moultrie holds in leash her dogs of war And down the dunes a thousand guns lie couched, Like tigers in some Orient jungle crouched, That wait and watch for blood. Meanwhile, through streets still echoing with trade, Whose hands may one day wield the patriot's blade And maidens, with such eyes as would grow dim Seem each one to have caught the strength of him Whose sword she sadly bound. 1 This and the following poem are from the Memorial Edition of Timrod's Poems, B. F. Johnson Publishing Company, Richmond, Virginia. Thus girt without and garrisoned at home, Old Charleston looks from roof and spire and dome, Ships, through a hundred foes, from Saxon lands And spicy Indian ports, 5 Shall the spring dawn, and she, still clad in smiles, Rest in the strong arms of her palm-crowned isles, 15 As fair and free as now? We know not; in the temple of the Fates God has inscribed her doom: And, all untroubled in her faith, she waits AT MAGNOLIA CEMETERY SLEEP sweetly in your humble graves, Though yet no marble column craves In seeds of laurel in the earth The blossom of your fame is blown, 25 Meanwhile, behalf the tardy years Which keep in trust your storied tombs, And these memorial blooms. Small tributes! but your shades will smile Stoop, angels, hither from the skies! There is no holier spot of ground By mourning beauty crowned. - Charleston, 1867. PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE 1830-1886 HAYNE was born in Charleston, South Carolina. His father was a lieutenant in the United States Navy, and his uncle was Robert Y. Hayne, senator from South Carolina, one of whose speeches drew from Webster the famous "reply." Paul Hayne was graduated from Charleston College, studied law, but soon became the editor of Russell's Magazine at Charleston. During the war he served, with the rank of colonel, on the staff of Governor Pickens. He was also one of the favorite war-time poets on the Southern side. After the war, by which he lost his house and library, he removed to "Copse Hill," near Augusta, Georgia, where he lived simply and industriously until his death. He issued several volumes of poems during his lifetime. Of quiet temper and affable ways, he was greatly beloved by a large circle of literary friends in all parts of the country. A LITTLE WHILE I FAIN WOULD LINGER YET A LITTLE While (my life is almost set!) I fain would pause along the downward way, 15 |