The Winchester home journal. [volume] (Winchester, Tenn.) 1857-1858, 1858-03-06
Col. A. X. NIcCIumg-His Suicide.

There is not, we presume, a single
man in the South who has not heard
of Col. McClung. We picked up an
exchange this morning and found the
following Ode to Death by this great
man, which is certainly the noble
chant of manly sorrow. Col. Nc
Clung was known as a duelist, having
killed as many as four men, we be-
Iieve, in ducls. Notwithstanding his
chivalry and intrepidity he was gen
tie as u child. With the ferocity Of a
tiger, he combined the generosity Of
the lion; with the daring Of an eagle.
he united all that is great in man,
lie walked the earth like a Titan,
but left behind him many an able
characteristic. He wore q noble
heart full of tender generosity. His
whole life illustrated that
81 Tne brave are the tenderest,
The loving and the daring"
McClung had genius Of the first
order; was honored, loved, and almost
worshipped bysa host Of friends
Wearied of life, disappointed and
satia'ed, he wooed the embrace of
death, and, with the hope of being
slain, he enlisted in the Mexican war.
His gallantry on the bate field Of
Monterey is known to all. He was
seriously wounded. but death came
not to his relief At Buena Vista he
was carried on litter tothe battlefield
and exposed his life again; but death
still alluded him, and refused to recog-
nize his earnest votary. Despairing-
of finding death on the battle field, he
returned to Mississippi, and lived un-
til life becamy burden to him, and
then committed suicide by blowing
out his own brains. sHe deliberately
drank the fatal draught 1t is easy
to die in battle, when the spirit is
stirred to courageous madness by the
rushing sqadron, the roar of the can
non, and the clashing steel. Then all
the fierce instincts are aroused, and
the soldier seeks for death as the
bridegroom seeks for his bride-while
"Fame is there to tell who bleeds,
And honor's eyes on daring deeds
we say it is not hard on such occasions
to drink from the chalice of death,
but how man like Col. McClung,
full of genius, loved and, caressed,
can deliberately commit suicide is a
mystery which can never be revealed.
But we are keeping the reader from
Col. McClung's death song. He woos
the embrace of death in soft, beseech-
ing melody. A few months before
his death he wrote the following lines,
overaowing with vocal and rythmical
liquidity." 1t is the meledy Of despair
the last lay of the minstrel. As
has already been remarked by our
friend Posey, the swan under the in
stinctive prcsentiment of death, sings
its own dirge, and the vigor of death
lends inspiration and sweetness to its
song. Like the dying swan, poor
dying McClung sung his own sweet
and beautiful invocation:
Swiftly speed DER the waves of time, q q
Spirit of death I'd
In manhood's morn, in youthful prime, ~
-. | woo thy breath .'.,.5
for the fading hues Of hope have fed
Like the Dolphin's light,
And dark are the cloads above my head
As the starless night! -
oh yainly the voyager sings for the rest ,
a. OF the peaceful heaven
Inc pilgrim saint for the homes of the blest
-, And the calm Of Heaven; - - 2
The galley slave for the night winds breath
At the Burning noon
out more gladly I'd spring TO thy cold arms,
Death, come soon!