Democratic Northwest. [volume] (Napoleon, Ohio) 1869-1894, 1889-12-26

reason Of it is that nine hundred and
ninety-nine out Of every thousand Of
these alleged poems ought not TO have
survived. What they sought TO tell
was not told in way to make the ex-
preston immortal. In the numerous
collections of war poetry you may mark
every one that has become like house,
hold words to the people; and you can
readily count such on the fingers Of
one hand.
Even our best poets. such as Long
fellow, Whittier, and Holmes, dis
tinctly failed to sound anv high notes
in their war-lyrics. They wrote
verses, born of war subjects, that were
sad, solemn, and exalting; but none of
them thrilled the popular heart.
So few are the war poems that did
reach that difficult height that we shall
have no difficulty in naming them.
First and foremost must always stand
t. Buchanan's Reads %Sheridan's
Ride" So completely did this poet
render that episode into verse that he
occupied the ground to the exclusion
of all others; he would be indeed a
hardy rhymester who would try to write
upon that theme! In this instance,
for once, the popular verdict and the
merit of the performance were per-
fectly in accord; the poem was instant
ly successful, and has been, is, and will
continue to be better known to more
Americans than any other poetic effort
of the war. And it deserves its pre-
eminence. The mature person who
can readit aloud without thrill of the
nerves and stir of the blood cannot
be thrilled or stirred by anything in
print.
Next to this I unhesitatingly place
the fine lyric of E. G. Stedman, "Kear-
ney at Seven Pines, beginning:
So that soldierly legend is still on its journey,
The story of Kearney, who knew not to yield.
1t was first published eleven years
after the close of the war, and has
ever since been growing into favor. 1t
is destined to be widely known.
In my opinion, "The Man with the
Musket," by Comrade J. H. Taylor, of
Englewood, Illinois, should have the
third rating. 1t is but a few years
old, but it has taken strong hold on
public favor, and will grow, as it de-
serves; for it is the very best poetical
tribute to the private soldier ever print
ed.
Some of the poems of George H. Bo-
ker and of Richard Realf, which the
people have let die, seemed to me to
deserve q better fate. 'The Black
Regiment" by the former, was really
grand; yet nobody remembers it now.
And poor Realf, an erratic comrade,
finding peace in death which he new
er knew in life-his "Song of the
Sword" should have high place in
our war-poetry, yet it is forgotten.
Take the first verse as a specimen:
Day in, day out, through rthe long campaign,
l march in my place in the ranks,
And whether it shine or whether it rain,
My good sword cheerily clanks.
1t clangs and clanks in a loyal way,
Like the tread of an armed heel,
And this is the song, day after day,
l hear from its lips of steel.
There was during the war, and has
been since, much war-poetry of high
order published in the South, but not
a great deal of it has become familiar
to other parts of the land. I have
seen nothing of it superior to Father
Ryan's "Folded Banner" beginning,
Fold that banner, it is weary.
Paul FL. Hayne has written some
striking war poems, but most of them
are marred by bitterness of sectional
feeling that will not allow them to
live. A poem cannot be great that is
disfgured by this blemish.
1t may be that the real poetry Of the
great war is yet to be written. Yet I
am inclined to think that we have the
best we ever shall have. The further
we get away from the spirit and en-
thusiasm of the war period the more
difficult will it be to write good poetry,
or good romance, either, about it,
though we may humbly pray that the
war history may be improved in some
respects. For my part, I do not be-
ieve that it is possible to produce three
war poems equal in their several ways
to "Sheridan's Ride" "Kearney at
Seven Pines," and "The Man with the
Musket. "-ChicGgo Ledger.