A Toad's Favourite Poem (Margaret)

"Cutting the Rice" by Alice R. Huger Smith, early 1930's

It is my turn, Margaret Bednar, to share a favorite poem and what a challenge this is for me as I am fairly new to poetry.  So instead of selecting an old favorite I go to time and again, I will share a poet who has currently captured my attention and heart.  (FYI:  A "modern" poet I have enjoyed getting to know is Linda Pastan - her style couldn't be more different than the three men I mention below)

The paintings on this post were done by a Charleston artist, Alice R. Huger Smith (1876-1958).  Her artwork can be viewed at the Gibbes Museum in Charleston, SC.   I believe painting and poetry are closely linked, and upon researching for this post I found a blog sharing a poem written by Alice R. Huger Smith entitled "Piscatorial Sport".  

The watercolor paintings I have posted here are on display at the Charleston Museum.  Photography is allowed and I think this means it is OK to post them here.  

Recently I have visited numerous southern plantations and have the Civil War, the South, and slavery on my mind.  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, John Greenleaf Whittier, and Walt Whitman all wrote poetry on the unjustness of slavery.  Whitman wrote beautifully on Lincoln and the Civil War,  Longfellow wrote many as well and one I particularly like is "The Slave's Dream", which I almost chose. 

I did choose Whittier's "The Farewell" - of a Virginia slave mother to her daughters sold into southern bondage.

Slave cabin from Magnolia Plantation, Charleston, SC

The Farewell

John Greenleaf Whittier - 1838

    Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,

    To the rice-swamp dank and lone.

Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings,

Where the noisome insect stings,

Where the fever demon strews

Poison with the falling dews,

Where the sickly sunbeams glare

Through the hot and misty air;

    Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,

    To the rice-swamp dank and lone,

    From Virginia's hills and waters;

    Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

    Gone, gone -- sold and gone

    To the rice-swamp dank and lone.

There no mother's eye is near them,

There no mother's ear can hear them;

Never, when the torturing lash

Seams their back with many a gash,

Shall a mother's kindness bless them,

Or a mother's arms caress them.

    Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,

    To the rice-swamp dank and lone,

    From Virginia's hills and waters;

    Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

    Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,

    To the rice-swamp dank and lone.

Oh, when weary, sad, and slow,

From the fields at night they go,

Faint with toil, and racked with pain,

To their cheerless homes again,

There no brother's voice shall greet them,

There no father's welcome meet them.

    Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,

    To the rice-swamp dank and lone,

    From Virginia's hills and waters;

    Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

    Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,

    To the rice-swamp dank and lone.

 From the tree whose shadow lay

On their childhood's place of play;

From the cool spring where they drank;

Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank;

From the solemn house of prayer,

And the holy counsels there;

    Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,

    To the rice-swamp dank and lone,

    From Virginia's hills and waters;

    Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

    Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,

    To the rice-swamp dank and lone.

Toiling through the weary day,

And at night the spoiler's prey.

Oh, that they had earlier died,

Sleeping calmly, side by side,

Where the tyrant's power is o'er,

And the fetter galls no more!

    Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,

    To the rice-swamp dank and lone,

    From Virginia's hills and waters;

    Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

    Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,

    To the rice-swamp dank and lone.

By the holy love He beareth;

By the bruised reed He spareth;

Oh, may He, to whom alone

All their cruel wrongs are known,

Still their hope and refuge prove,

With a more than mother's love.

    Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,

    To the rice-swamp dank and lone,

    From Virginia's hills and waters;

    Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

"Fields Prepared for the Planting" by Alice R. Huger Smith, early 1930's