CHARLESTON.
I.
An ancient house, thrice tiered its galleries
And sideways placed, its gardens tucked behind
High walls and iron gates, with taste designed,
Whence peeps are caught of palms and mossy trees;
The passion-flamed poinsettia at ease
With quiet pansy bloom, and jonquils lined
In stiff array, and rose that holds enshrined
Man's love, and English ivy trailing these.
Within the stately home such tales unfold
As flowers and weathered brick have writ without:
Adventure, proud success, war's agony,
And now the gentle calm that cloaks the old,
That stills the heart and gives a sense devout;
So, Charleston, thou reveal'st thyself to me.
II.
I've wandered much through Charleston's cobbled streets
And found each corner's turn a fresh delight;
Old churches, with their memories, invite,
Their yards, grave-strewn, suggestive, calm retreats.
A court, with one-time slave annex, completes
The tale of life gone by, while gardens bright
Make known a Southern town; whose homes unite
This land with charm of English country seats.
Gay cavaliers imprint their rank and mirth
And courage proven well; sad [[1]]Huguenots
Bequeath the virtue tried by terror's reign;
And Charleston folk are proud to trace their birth,
When forefathers such gracious gifts bestow;
Through changing times the days long past remain.
III.
Now hark! those slow-drawled cries: "Fine chucks, pecans!"
"Crabs, crabs!—live crabs!" then, "Cabage, cabagees!"
"Yes ma-am! raw shrimps, yes ma-am." Still further pleas:
"Sweet potats. I-rish´ potats!" "Banans."
And so each passing vendor stays and scans
Some friendly gate, whose ancient hinges wheeze;
There's soft-voiced bargaining 'neath spiky trees;
The turbaned cook and tempter—Africans.
Africans! nay, nay, Americans!
Their comeliness well suits this smiling clime;
Unwilling captives once, now citizens,
Whose hearts hold scarce a trace of savage clans;
If childlike still, so be! the hand of time
Is stretched past legacies to shape and cleanse.
[1]. Pronounced as in French.