The weekly clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1863-1882, 1874-08-20
PAsCAGOGILA BAH.
/ From the seashore Republican.

LIE tile OcdS&aOF6 RcpuOIcAn.
| The following beautiful poem, founde
on beautiful Indian tradition of Missis
sippi, is from The pen of an old friend
long since dead. 1t appeared original
in the New Orleans Picayune, with whici
poor Mat. Field was for years editorial,
connected. 1t was written in 1912, Will
"Phazma, which was the nom de plum
of Mr.. Field, was Willing away the no
summer months on the beautiful bay ht
describes. The incident on which tn,
poem is founded Is thus related:
An ancient tradition tells how ono,
stately and powerful tribe, many Thousand
moons ago, was gradually reduced by
confederated enemies, until the last fugi
tive remnant came to the shore of thii
beautiful bay, and uniting in the death
song, flung themselves en- masse, in des.
pair, into its waters. Their wall is still
heard on calm summer evenings, softened
into tone as faint and low as sigh"
Moonlight is sleeping on the wave.
\ on sandy beach shines in the ray,
And silver are the sands that pave
Fair Pascagoula Bay.
1On isles of green seem spirit bound,
While spell-like silence floats around,
And yOn mysterious object, mark!
Far Der the grassy surface, see
The branching loot of some dead tree
Peep out above the shallow sea,
Like water spirit, dark.
Like some lone spirit of the water
Gazing upon the fair moonlight,
Or signing for some earthly daughter,
In silence and in night.
Does sorrow dwell beneath the wave?
In coral grot and crystal cave?
And do the nymphs and naiads know
To weep? Does some fair Undine,
Beneath yOn ray OF silver sheen,
Hiding her face in tresses green,
Drop amber tears of woe?
All! sorrow ever DER the earth
With joy goes almost hand in hand,
Changing and mingling joy and mirth,
Thick as-y on silver sand.
The songScers on their summer wings,
The fareSt aud the best of things
Find mirih still mingled with alloy.
All sadness dwtleth everywhere
Upon the earth and in the air,
And meath the waves, yes, even there
Grief miBgIes still with joy.
Harkl listen! doth my music, lone
And dismal. lift my lancy high?
Or whence this sad and signing tone
OF music floating by?
Now swells il over leaf and bough,
Beneath, along the water now,
And. ah how very sad it seems,
MoufhIul As solemn tolllng bells,
Echoes of by-gOne funeral knels,
Like spirits signing their farewells,
Or music heard in dreams.
And Ills not fancy, for they tell
How long ago was heard the sound
How here brave men fought and fell,
And in the bay were drowned.
They say il is spirit band
Mourning in Pascag"ula's sand:
The bones of many tribes are there:
Their means LIT echoes on the waves
That roll DER their eternal graves,
And as the beach the water laVes,
Sad music fills the air.
Againi how strange! it cannot be
The night wind, for the night is still.
And not Leaf stirS on the tree,
Or blade upon the hill;
Now. deep. now distant, now so near,
GU start and smile at your own fear.
And all so mOu nful swells along
The sound, it thrills your feelings deep,
You long to steapfway and weep,
You sigh to listen-and to sleep,
Lulled by this spirit song.
Not when the tempest whips the wave,
Not when the storm -fiend's stirred,
But when tits silent as the grave,
Then is the music heard:
Then wildly, sweetly, from the lake,
The spirit song is heard to break,
And DER the CLASSY wave to play;
The war sony of the Indian brave
Comes from his deep and watery grave,
And floats upon the silver wave
o. PascagOula BAY.