Part 9
A jungle there, a cave here, bred six And a million years, Sure and strong, mate for mate, such Love as culture fears; I gave you clear the oil and wine; You saved me your hob and hearth-- See how _even_ life may be ere the Sickle comes and leaves a swath.
But I can wait the seven of moons, Or years I spare, Hoarding the heart's plenty, nor spend A drop, nor share-- So long but outlives a smile and A silken gown; Then gaily I reach up from my shroud, And you, glory-clad, reach down.
TRANSLATION
We trekked into a far country, My friend and I. Our deeper content was never spoken, But each knew all the other said. He told me how calm his soul was laid By the lack of anvil and strife. "The wooing kestrel," I said, "mutes his mating-note To please the harmony of this sweet silence." And when at the day's end We laid tired bodies 'gainst The loose warm sands, And the air fleeced its particles for a coverlet; When star after star came out To guard their lovers in oblivion-- My soul so leapt that my evening prayer Stole my morning song!
DUNBAR
Ah, how poets sing and die! Make one song and Heaven takes it; Have one heart and Beauty breaks it; Chatterton, Shelley, Keats and I-- Ah, how poets sing and die!
Alex Rogers
WHY ADAM SINNED
"I heeard da ole folks talkin' in our house da other night 'Bout Adam in da scripchuh long ago. Da lady folks all 'bused him, sed, he knowed it wus'n right An' 'cose da men folks dey all sed, "Dat's so." I felt sorry fuh Mistuh Adam, an' I felt like puttin' in, 'Cause I knows mo' dan dey do, all 'bout whut made Adam sin:
Adam nevuh had no Mammy, fuh to take him on her knee An' teach him right fum wrong an' show him Things he ought to see. I knows down in my heart--he'd-a let dat apple be But Adam nevuh had no dear old Ma-am-my.
He nevuh knowed no chilehood roun' da ole log cabin do', He nevuh knowed no pickaninny life. He started in a great big grown up man, an' whut is mo', He nevuh had da right kind uf a wife. Jes s'pose he'd had a Mammy when dat temptin' did begin An' she'd a come an' tole him "Son, don' eat dat--dat's a sin."
But, Adam nevuh had no Mammy fuh to take him on her knee An' teach him right fum wrong an' show him Things he ought to see. I knows down in my heart he'd a let dat apple be, But Adam nevuh had no dear old Ma-am-my.
THE RAIN SONG
_Bro. Simmons_
"Walk right in Brother Wilson--how you feelin' today?"
_Bro. Wilson_
"Jes Mod'rate, Brother Simmons, but den I ginnerly feels dat way."
_Bro. Simmons_
"Here's White an' Black an' Brown an' Green; how's all you gent'men's been?",
_Bro. White_
"My health is good but my bus'ness slack."
_Bro. Black_
"I'se been suff'rin' lots wid pains in my back."
_Bro. Brown_
"My ole 'ooman's sick, but I'se alright--"
_Bro. Green_
"Yes, I went aftuh Doctuh fuh her 'tuther night--"
_Bro. Simmons_
"Here's Sandy Turner, as I live!"
_Bro. Turner_
"Yes, I didn' 'spect to git here--but here I is!"
_Bro. Simmons_
"Now, gent'mens, make yo'selves to home, Dare's nothin' to fear--my ole 'ooman's gone-- My stars; da weather's pow'ful warm-- I wouldn' be s'prised ef we had a storm."
_Bro. Brown_
"No, Brother Simmons, we kin safely say-- 'Tain't gwine to be no storm to-day Kase here am facts dat's mighty plain An' any time you sees 'em you kin look fuh rain: Any time you hears da cheers an' tables crack An' da folks wid rheumatics--dare jints is on da rack--"
_All_
"Lookout fuh rain, rain, rain.
"When da ducks quack loud an' da peacocks cry, An' da far off hills seems to be right nigh, Prepare fuh rain, rain, rain!
"When da ole cat on da hearth wid her velvet paws 'Gins to wipin' over her whiskered jaws, Sho' sign o' rain, rain, rain!
"When da frog's done changed his yaller vest, An' in his brown suit he is dressed, Mo' rain, an' still mo' rain!
"When you notice da air it Stan's stock still, An' da blackbird's voice it gits so awful shrill, Dat am da time fuh rain.
"When yo' dog quits bones an' begins to fas', An' when you see him eatin'; he's eatin' grass: Shoes', trues', cert'nes sign ob rain!"
_Refrain_
"No, Brother Simmons, we kin safely say, 'Tain't gwine tuh be no rain to-day, Kase da sut ain't fallin' an' da dogs ain't sleep, An' you ain't seen no spiders fum dare cobwebs creep; Las' night da sun went bright to bed, An' da moon ain't nevah once been seen to hang her head; If you'se watched all dis, den you kin safely say, Dat dare ain't a-gwine to be no rain to-day."
Waverley Turner Carmichael
KEEP ME, JESUS, KEEP ME
Keep me 'neath Thy mighty wing, Keep me, Jesus, keep me; Help me praise Thy Holy name, Keep me, Jesus, keep me. O my Lamb, come, my Lamb, O my good Lamb, Save me, Jesus, save me.
Hear me as I cry to Thee; Keep me, Jesus, keep me; May I that bright glory see; Keep me, Jesus, keep me. O my Lamb, my good Lamb, O my good Lamb, Keep me, Jesus, keep me.
WINTER IS COMING
De winter days are drawin' nigh An' by the fire I sets an' sigh; De nothe'n win' is blowin' cold, Like it done in days of old.
De yaller leafs are fallin' fas', Fur summer days is been an' pas'; The air is blowin' mighty cold, Like it done in days of old.
De frost is fallin' on de gras' An' seem to say "Dis is yo' las'"-- De air is blowin' mighty cold Like it done in days of old.
Alice Dunbar-Nelson
SONNET
I had no thought of violets of late, The wild, shy kind that spring beneath your feet In wistful April days, when lovers mate And wander through the fields in raptures sweet. The thought of violets meant florists' shops, And bows and pins, and perfumed papers fine; And garish lights, and mincing little fops And cabarets and songs, and deadening wine. So far from sweet real things my thoughts had strayed, I had forgot wide fields, and clear brown streams; The perfect loveliness that God has made,-- Wild violets shy and Heaven-mounting dreams. And now--unwittingly, you've made me dream Of violets, and my soul's forgotten gleam.
Charles Bertram Johnson
A LITTLE CABIN
Des a little cabin Big ernuff fur two. Des awaitin', honey, Cozy fixt fur you; Down dah by de road, Not ve'y far from town, Waitin' fur de missis, When she's ready to come down.
Des a little cabin, An' er acre o' groun', Vines agrowin' on it, Fruit trees all aroun', Hollyhawks a-bloomin' In de gyahden plot-- Honey, would you like to Own dat little spot?
Make dat little cabin Cheery, clean an' bright, With an' angel in it Like a ray of light? Make dat little palace Somethin' fine an' gran', Make it like an Eden, Fur a lonely man?
Des you listen, Honey, While I 'splain it all, How some lady's go'nter Boss dat little hall; Des you take my ban' Dat's de way it's writ, Des you take my heart, Dat's de deed to it.
NEGRO POETS
Full many lift and sing Their sweet imagining; Not yet the Lyric Seer, The one bard of the throng, With highest gift of song, Breaks on our sentient ear.
Not yet the gifted child, With notes enraptured, wild, That storm and throng the heart, To make his rage our own, Our hearts his lyric throne; Hard won by cosmic art.
I hear the sad refrain, Of slavery's sorrow-strain; The broken half-lispt speech Of freedom's twilit hour; The greater growing reach Of larger latent power.
Here and there a growing note Swells from a conscious throat; Thrilled with a message fraught The pregnant hour is near; We wait our Lyric Seer, By whom our wills are caught.
Who makes our cause and wrong The motif of his song; Who sings our racial good, Bestows us honor's place, The cosmic brotherhood Of genius--not of race.
Blind Homer, Greek or Jew, Of fame's immortal few Would still be deathless born; Frail Dunbar, black or white, In Fame's eternal light, Would shine a Star of Morn.
An unhorizoned range, Our hour of doubt and change, Gives song a nightless day, Whose pen with pregnant mirth Will give our longings birth, And point our souls the way?
Otto Leland Bohanan
THE DAWN'S AWAKE!
The Dawn's awake! A flash of smoldering flame and fire Ignites the East. Then, higher, higher, O'er all the sky so gray, forlorn, The torch of gold is borne.
The Dawn's awake! The dawn of a thousand dreams and thrills. And music singing in the hills A paean of eternal spring Voices the new awakening.
The Dawn's awake! Whispers of pent-up harmonies, With the mingled fragrance of the trees; Faint snatches of half-forgotten song-- Fathers! torn and numb,-- The boon of light we craved, awaited long, Has come, has come!
THE WASHER-WOMAN
A great swart cheek and the gleam of tears, The flutter of hopes and the shadow of fears, And all day long the rub and scrub With only a breath betwixt tub and tub. Fool! Thou hast toiled for fifty years And what hast thou now but thy dusty tears? In silence she rubbed... But her face I had seen, Where the light of her soul fell shining and clean.
Theodore Henry Shackelford
THE BIG BELL IN ZION
Come, children, hear the joyful sound, Ding, Dong, Ding. Go spread the glad news all around, Ding, Dong, Ding.
_Chorus_ Oh, the big bell's tollin' up in Zion, The big bell's tollin' up in Zion, The big bell's tollin' up in Zion, Ding, Dong, Ding.
I've been abused and tossed about, Ding, Dong, Ding. But glory to the Lamb, I shout! Ding, Dong, Ding.
My bruthah jus' sent word to me, Ding, Dong, Ding. That he'd done set his own self free. Ding, Dong, Ding.
Ole massa said he could not go, Ding, Dong, Ding. But he's done reached Ohio sho'. Ding, Dong, Ding.
Ise gwine to be real nice an' meek, Ding, Dong, Ding. Den I'll run away myself nex' week. Ding, Dong, Ding.
_Chorus_
Oh, the big bell's tollin' up in Zion, The big bell's tollin' up in Zion, The big bell's tollin' up in Zion, Ding, Dong Ding.
Lucian B. Watkins
STAR OF ETHIOPIA
Out in the Night thou art the sun Toward which thy soul-charmed children run, The faith-high height whereon they see The glory of their Day To Be-- The peace at last when all is done.
The night is dark but, one by one, Thy signals, ever and anon, Smile beacon answers to their plea, Out in the Night.
Ah, Life! thy storms these cannot shun; Give them a hope to rest upon, A dream to dream eternally, The strength of men who would be free And win the battle race begun, Out in the Night!
TWO POINTS OF VIEW
From this low-lying valley; Oh, how sweet And cool and calm and great is life, I ween, There on yon mountain-throne--that sun-gold crest!
From this uplifted, mighty mountain-seat: How bright and still and warm and soft and green Seems yon low lily-vale of peace and rest!
TO OUR FRIENDS
We've kept the faith. Our souls' high dreams Untouched by bondage and its rod, Burn on! and on! and on! It seems We shall have FRIENDS--while God is God!
Benjamin Brawley
MY HERO
(_To Robert Gould Shaw_)
Flushed with the hope of high desire, He buckled on his sword, To dare the rampart ranged with fire, Or where the thunder roared; Into the smoke and flame he went, For God's great cause to die-- A youth of heaven's element, The flower of chivalry.
This was the gallant faith, I trow, Of which the sages tell; On such devotion long ago The benediction fell; And never nobler martyr burned, Or braver hero died, Than he who worldly honor spurned To serve the Crucified.
And Lancelot and Sir Bedivere May pass beyond the pale, And wander over moor and mere To find the Holy Grail;
But ever yet the prize forsooth My hero holds in fee; And he is Blameless Knight in truth, And Galahad to me.
CHAUCER
Gone are the sensuous stars, and manifold, Clear sunbeams burst upon the front of night; Ten thousand swords of azure and of gold Give darkness to the dark and welcome light; Across the night of ages strike the gleams, And leading on the gilded host appears An old man writing in a book of dreams, And telling tales of lovers for the years; Still Troilus hears a voice that whispers, Stay; In Nature's garden what a mad rout sings! Let's hear these motley pilgrims wile away The tedious hours with stories of old things; Or might some shining eagle claim These lowly numbers for the House of Fame!
Joshua Henry Jones, Jr.
TO A SKULL
Ghastly, ghoulish, grinning skull, Toothless, eyeless, hollow, dull, Why your smirk and empty smile As the hours away you wile? Has the earth become such bore That it pleases nevermore? Whence your joy through sun and rain? Is 't because of loss of pain? Have you learned what men learn not That earth's substance turns to rot? After learning now you scan Vain endeavors man by man? Do you mind that you as they Once was held by mystic sway; Dreamed and struggled, hoped and prayed, Lolled and with the minutes played? Sighed for honors; battles planned; Sipped of cups that wisdom banned But would please the weak frail flesh; Suffered, fell, 'rose, struggled fresh? Now that you are but a skull Glimpse you life as life is, full Of beauties that we miss Till time withers with his kiss? Do you laugh in cynic vein Since you cannot try again? And you know that we, like you, Will too late our failings rue? Tell me, ghoulish, grinning skull What deep broodings, o'er you mull? Tell me why you smirk and smile Ere I pass life's sunset stile.
APPENDIX
PLÁCIDO'S SONNET TO HIS MOTHER
DESPIDA A MI MADRE
_(En La Capilla)_
Si la suerte fatal que me ha cabido, Y el triste fin de mi sangrienta historia, Al salir de esta vida transitoria Deja tu corazon de muerte herido; Baste de Ilanto: el ánimo afligido Recobre su quietud; moro en la gloria, Y mi plácida lira á tu memoria Lanza en la tumba su postrer sonido.
Sonido dulce, melodioso y santo, Glorioso, espiritual, puro y divino, Inocente, espontáneo como el llanto Que vertiera al nacer: ya el cuello inclino! Ya de la religion me cubre el manto! Adios, mi madre! adios--El Peligrino.
FAREWELL TO MY MOTHER
_(In the Chapel)_
The appointed lot has come upon me, mother, The mournful ending of my years of strife, This changing world I leave, and to another In blood and terror goes my spirit's life. But thou, grief-smitten, cease thy mortal weeping And let thy soul her wonted peace regain; I fall for right, and thoughts of thee are sweeping Across my lyre to wake its dying strains. A strain of joy and gladness, free, unfailing All glorious and holy, pure, divine, And innocent, unconscious as the wailing I uttered on my birth; and I resign Even now, my life, even now descending slowly, Faith's mantle folds me to my slumbers holy. Mother, farewell! God keep thee--and forever!
_Translated by William Cullen Bryant._
PLÁCIDO'S FAREWELL TO HIS MOTHER
(_Written in the Chapel of the Hospital de Santa Cristina on the Night Before His Execution_)
If the unfortunate fate engulfing me, The ending of my history of grief, The closing of my span of years so brief, Mother, should wake a single pang in thee, Weep not. No saddening thought to me devote; I calmly go to a death that is glory-filled, My lyre before it is forever stilled Breathes out to thee its last and dying note.
A note scarce more than a burden-easing sigh, Tender and sacred, innocent, sincere-- Spontaneous and instinctive as the cry I gave at birth--And now the hour is here-- O God, thy mantle of mercy o'er my sins! Mother, farewell! The pilgrimage begins.
_Translated by James Weldon Johnson_.
BIOGRAPHICAL INDEX OF AUTHORS
BOHANAN, OTTO LELAND. Born in Washington, D.C. Educated in the public schools in Washington. He is a graduate of Howard University, School of Liberal Arts, Washington, D.C., and did special work in English at the Catholic University in that city. At present he is engaged in the musical profession in New York.
BRAITHWAITE, WILLIAM STANLEY. Born in Boston, 1878. Mainly self-educated. A critic of poetry and the friend of poets. Author of _Lyrics-of Life, The House of Falling Leaves, The Poetic Year, The Story of the Great War,_ etc. Editor and compiler of _The Book of Elizabethan Verse, The Book of Georgian Verse, The Book of Restoration Verse_ and a series of yearly anthologies of magazine verse. One of the literary editors of the Boston _Transcript_.
BRAWLEY, BENJAMIN. Born at Columbia, S.C., 1882. Educated at the Atlanta Baptist College, the University of Chicago and Harvard University. For two years he was professor of English at Howard University, Washington, D.C. Later he became dean of Morehouse College, Atlanta, Ga. Author of _A Short History of the American Negro, The Negro in Literature and Art, A Short History of the English Drama, A Social History of the American Negro_, etc. Now living in Boston and engaged in research and writing.
CAMPBELL, JAMES EDWIN. Was born at Pomeroy, Ohio, in the early sixties. His early life was somewhat shrouded in mystery; he never referred to it even to his closest associates. He was educated in the public schools of his native city. Later he spent a while at Miami College. In the late eighties and early nineties he was engaged in newspaper work in Chicago. He wrote regularly on the various dailies of that city. He was also one of a group that issued the _Four O'Clock Magazine_, a literary publication which flourished for several years. He died, perhaps, twenty years ago. He was the author of _Echoes from The Cabin and Elsewhere_, a volume of poems.
CARMICHAEL, WAVERLEY TURNER. A young man who had never been out of his native state of Alabama until several years ago when he entered one of the summer courses at Harvard University. His education to that time had been very limited and he had endured poverty and hard work. His verses came to the attention of one of the Harvard professors. He has since published a volume, _From the Heart of a Folk_. He served with the 367th Regiment, "The Buffaloes," during the World War and saw active service in France. At present he is employed as a postal clerk in Boston, Mass.
CORROTHERS, JAMES D., 1869-1919. Born in Cass County, Michigan. Student in Northwestern University, minister and poet. Many of his poems appeared in _The Century Magazine_.
COTTER, JOSEPH S., JR., 1895-1919. Born at Louisville, Kentucky, in the room in which Paul Laurence Dunbar first read his dialect poems in the South. He was precocious as a child, having read a number of books before he was six years old. All through his boyhood he had the advantage and inspiration of the full library of poetic books belonging to his father, himself a poet of considerable talent. Young Cotter attended Fisk University but left in his second year because he had developed tuberculosis. A volume of verse, _The Band of Gideon_, and a number of unpublished poems were written during the six years in which he was an invalid.
DANDRIDGE, RAY G. Born at Cincinnati, Ohio, 1882. Educated in the grammar and high school of his native city. In 1912, as the result of illness, he lost the use of both legs and his right arm. He does most of his writing lying flat in bed and using his left hand. He is the author of _The Poet and Other Poems_.
DAVIS, DANIEL WEBSTER. Born in Virginia, near Richmond. For a number of years he was a minister and principal of the largest public school in Richmond. He died in that city some years ago. He was the author of _'Weh Down Souf_, a volume of verse. He was very popular as an orator and a reader of his own poems.
DETT, R. NATHANIEL. Born at Drummondville, Canada, 1882. Graduate of the Oberlin Conservatory of Music. He is a composer, most of his compositions being based on themes from the old "slave songs." His "Listen to de Lambs" is widely used by choral societies. He is director of music at Hampton Institute. He is also the author of _The Album of a Heart_, a volume of verse.
DU BOIS, W. E. BURGHARDT. Born at Great Barrington, Mass., 1868. Educated at Fisk University, Harvard University and the University of Berlin. For a number of years professor of economics and history at Atlanta University. Author of the _Suppression of the Slave Trade, The Philadelphia Negro, The Souls of Black Folk, John Brown, Darkwater_, etc. He is the editor of _The Crisis_.
DUNBAR, PAUL LAURENCE. Born at Dayton, Ohio, 1872; died 1906. Dunbar was educated in the public schools. He wrote his early poems while working as an elevator boy. His first volume of poems, _Oak and Ivy_, was published in 1893 and sold largely through his own efforts. This was followed by _Majors and Minors, Lyrics of Lowly Life, Lyrics of the Hearthside, Lyrics of Love and Laughter, Lyrics of Sunshine and Shadow_ and _Howdy, Honey, Howdy_. _Lyrics of Lowly Life_, published in New York in 1896 with an introduction written by William Dean Howells, gained national recognition for Dunbar. In addition to poetical works, Dunbar was the author of four novels, _The Uncalled, The Love of Landry, The Sport of the Gods_, and _The Fanatics_. He also published several volumes of short stories. Partly because of his magnificent voice and refined manners, he was a very successful reader of his own poems and was able to add greatly to their popularity.
FAUSET, JESSIE REDMON. Born at Snow Hill, New Jersey. She was educated in the public schools of Philadelphia, at Cornell University and the University of Pennsylvania. For a while she was teacher of French in the Dunbar High School, Washington, D.C. Author of a number of uncollected poems and several short stories. She is literary editor of _The Crisis_.
HILL, LESLIE PINCKNEY. Born at Lynchburg, Va., 1880. He was educated in the public schools at Lynchburg and at Harvard University. On graduation he became a teacher of English and methods at Tuskegee. Author of the _Wings of Oppression_, a volume of verse. He is principal of the Cheyney Training School for Teachers at Cheyney, Pa.
HOLLOWAY, JOHN WESLEY. Born in Merriweather County, Ga, 1865. His father, who learned to read and write in slavery, became one of the first colored teachers in Georgia after the Civil War. Mr. Holloway was educated at Clark University, Atlanta, Ga., and at Fisk University, Nashville, Tenn. He was for a while a member of the Fisk Jubilee Singers. Has been a teacher and is now a preacher. He is the author of _From the Desert_, a volume of verse.
JAMISON, ROSCOE C. Born at Winchester, Tenn., 1888; died 1918. He was a graduate of Fisk University.