Thursday, July 18, 1912.]
THE CABOLINA UNION FARMER
Page Nine
The Poets and Poetry of North Carolina
By HIGHT C. MOORE, Editor Biblical Recorder
IV.—MARY BAY^UtD CLARKE.
Mary Bayard Clarke, daughter of Thomas P.
Devereux, was born in Raleigh, N. C., May 12,
1829. She took at home under a governess the
same course pursued by her brother at Princeton
S'Hd was therefore highly educated. In 1848 she
^as married by her uncle Bishop Leonidas Poik,
at his home near New Orleans to Capt. William J.
Clarke, graduate of our State University, Con
federate officer, later judge and literatus in North
Carolina. She and her husband were close fiiends
of General and Mrs. Robert L. Lee. Her culture
^as enriched by travel, particularly wintering in
Cuba and six or seven years in Texas. Her later
fffe was spent in New' Bern where she died March
81, 1886, just two months after the death of her
f^usband.
What “Tenella” Wrote.
At sixteen she wrote her first poem— “Nemo
Semper Felix Est,’’ which her son (who left a
typewritten sketch of her life) considered rarely
Ofiualed by later and more studied composition
She herself considered “Under the Lava” her best
poem; it is truly a fine piece of work, but certainly
The Triumph of Spring” is its equal, many w'oulo
®ay superior. In 1845 Mrs. Clarke made the firsi
Compilation of State verse—“Wood Notes; or, Car-
cflna Carols: A Collection of North Carolina Po-
crty.” It appeared in tw'o volumes and contained
®he hundred and eighty-two poems by sixty vrrii-
“Tenella” herself in eight poems furnishing
the best work in the volumes. Her second work
appeared in 1866, contained sixty poems, and was
entitled “Mosses From a Rolling Stone: or, Idle
^foments of a Busy Woman.” The last of her
^orks was a long poem of sixty-five pages en
titled “Clytie and Zenobia; or, The Lily and the
^ulm.” It was published in 1871. : Though other
^omen have w'ritten, some of them well, no other
yet approached Mrs. Clarke in either quality
volume of work; “Tenella” still remains the
^heen among Carolina bards.
A Blossom Here and There.
Gleaning in the field of Mrs. Clarke s shortei
i'oems we gather but a flower here and there fpag-
J'^nt with thought of motherhood, sadness, pa
^iotism, love, and religion.
We note, first of all, the tender outpouring of
mother-soul. In “My Children” as a young
Mother she w'rote:
What clew is to the flowers.
The rainbow to the sky,
Are these darlings to my pathway
Which they cheer and beautify.
fn another poem the beautiful picture of the
pother leading her child in evening devotion Is
^^^rmingly presented;
Clasp thy little hands my child
For it is the close of day.
And yon star with lustre mild
Tells us it is time to pray.
domain of love we have
6 picture:
In the
littl
this faithfcil
Of
And oft in love a friendship ends
Though lovers rarely change to friends.
The complementary contrasts in the character
Cl
nian and woman are finely drawn by Mrs.
ny
s^rke. In her splendid poem on “The Triumph
, Spring” occurs this parenthetical reflection;
"J*!
thug that woman gains her end—In ^Teakness hnds her
strength,
yielding wins her way to power, and reigns a queen at
Svifp length;
®t is the music she can make, if with love’s touch she
Ana
chords will vibrate in his heart, who seemed her open
Chilling frost that round it clings her tender love can
It 1,. *^611,
Oft J breath of early spring, that love, unseen, is felt,
ny a word, a smile, a look, she prompts to generous
® than benignly smiles, and led—still faneies that he
leads.
Ijj^'^i’ther and fuller Illustration of this same
q^hie appears in some of the extracts which we
below from Clytie and Zenobia.
ig ^ fhe religious side Mrs. Clarke was not neg-
‘‘II “Oremus” embodies fine sentiment and
®*iglon” stresses the fundamental:
Creeds, dogmas, fables, myths and all
"Shall crumble and decay.
But Ijove—the k»rncl—lives when Faith
The husk, has passed away.
Clytie and Zenobia.
Cl
Tills is the longest and the greatest of Mrs.
Ills'poems. It contains a thrilling story in
Ion I*^i^l^ground and embodies a richer cluster of
Poetic thoughts.
”6 scene is laid in ancient Palmyra—“an
many victories and established the kingdom more
and more firmly and widely.
The story opens with a recital of events occur
ring in the Temple of the Sun on New Year morn
ing. The anxious priests are watching the sun’s
appearance as the forecast for the year. When, at
last, he appears above the eastern horizon there
are unfavorable portents which none can inter
pret; though shining clearly at first, he was soon/
obscured by a cloud freighted with thunder and
lightning; but after a time, the sun shone forth
again and a beautiful rainbow was set in the re
ceding cloud. No one could interpret the mean
ing; yet all felt that the kingdom was to pass
through a shadow before the year had worn away.
Upon the throne sat one of the best of kings
and one of the loveliest of queens. In both there
was a happy combination of Love and Ambition,
and upon these traits in woman and in man the
author dwells with flue discrimination:
...
^in ^ iB a sea of sand”—during the days of
^ Odenatus, who, with his wife Zenobia, won
Ambition Is a fearful dower
W’hen woman may not own Its power.
Though burning with Intense desire
To feed, not quench, Its latent fire;
Conscious of power to make a name.
Yet lacking strength to conquer fame;
Tied down by petty cares which bind
The body fast, yet leave the mind
To fret and struggle In despair
With greater Ills which It must bear;
When love though pure and unalloyed.
Still leaves an intellectual void,—
A void Its sweetness does not fill,
A longing want It cannot still.
Too often by the struggle torn,V
By many an Inward conflict worn,
A prey to doubt, the sport of fears.
The pearl of health dissolved In tears.
Too preud to yield, too weak to fight.
She longs at noontide for the night.
Love Is but of man’s life a part.
It does not fill both head and heart;
Its myrtles he would twine with bay.
And ’mid Its roses laurels lay.
At Intervals, fanned by its breeze.
He lies at rest In Capuan ease.
Then cheered and strengthened ior the strife.
Enters the battle-field of life.
And there are women, who, like men.
Need something more than love, and when
It is not of their life the whole.
And does not fill head, heart, and soul.
Leaving no wish that Is denied.
No longing want ungratlfled.
Laurels and bays they too would twine,—
Not idly sit and hopeless pine.
Though love Is sweet, the danger’s great
When eagles stoop with doves to mate;
They needs must soar to be content.
And if within a dove-cote pent.
E’en of their love they may grow weary.
And sigh for freedom and an aerie.
But she wko’s mated with her kind,
Who In her highest flights will find
Just o’er her head her king-bird rise.
Glorying In every flight she tries.
And urging her to fields still higher.
May feed with love ambition’s Are,
Yet make of home a peaceful nest.
With all love’s soft emotions blest.
One day Zenobia accompanies her husband with
’lis companions and attendants on a tiger hunt.
As she dashes through the forest with her power
ful steed, under complete control, she exhibits a
queenly instinct which outshines all the luxurious
ease of court-life:
In woman’s heart there ever lies
A queenly Instinct, which will rise
At times, however trodden down,
And claim Its right to wear a crown;
Then, for a moment, she will feel.
Her springy muscles turn to steel.
And boldly do, or bravely bear
.\11, all, that man himself may dare.
It will not stay, but while It lasts.
New beautf- o’er her face It casts;
Her head Is reared with conscious pride.
Her bfwom heaves beneath the tide
Of wakened feeling In It pent.
And longs to give its passion vent.
And never does this instinct rise
To flash more brightly from her eyes
Than when she feels her slender hand
Can In his might her steed command.
That ’tls her will alone that guides
The noble creature which she rides:
Then, over every fear supreme.
By Nature's hand she’s crowned a queen.
At last the chase is concluded and the hunters
close round the wearied tiger. In desperation he
leaps at Zenobia, but she repels him with a wound.
Just now the King appears and is on the point of
flinging his lance Into the beast, when the King’s
nephew, Maeonius, insolently took away the king’s
stroke by hurling his javelin first. It was a
breach of the huntsman’s etiquette and must he
punished by banishing the offender from the
chase, loss of weapons and steed, and confine
ment at court. Thus the edge of the shadow
came on.
A week passes. We are given a glimpse of the
royal court at the conclusion of the morning sport
and before a great entertainment at Palmyra In
the evening. A Grecian girl, Clytie, appears and
sings before the King and Queen to their great de
light. The King rewards her with a sapphire
ring; th® Queen says: “I’ll let her have her wo
man’s will Choose Zenobia’s gift.” At
once she asks her to intercede with the King for
the freedom and restoration to favor of her lover,
Maeonius. After she sings another song, it is
granted, the King observing that man can Inflame
love in woman as truly as she In him:
For by one glance a woman can
Inflame, we know, the heart of man.
And ’tls but fair that In return
Beneath his eye her own should burn.
Prometheus stole from heaven Its Are
To animate a senseless form;
Pygmalion prayed the powers divine
His Ivory beauty’s breast to warm;
But man, to melt a woman’s heart.
The aid of gods need not require.
If in himself he feels the warmth
Of passion’s pure, creative Are,—
That spark divine which always glows
When Heaven on him a soul bestows.
It seems to crop out that Clytie was really In
love with the King, though for the first time the
fact now was manifest. He was fond of her as he
was of other maidens, but far above them all
“Zenobia reigned, his heart’s true queen.” So
our poetess reflects on misdirected love:
’Tls sweet to love and know It not,—
Sweeter to give the heart away;
But sharp the pang when woman Ands
Unsought her love has gone astray.
And there are hearts—true, loyal hearts
Which to be given will not wait.
But give themselves most treaeh’rously
Nor know the gift until too late:
Too late the tendrils of their love
With gentle touches to untwine.
And they must wrench the branches from
The living body of the vine;
Break every tie, however strong.
Sever each clinging link so frail.
And tear the vine from Its support.
Though In the dust Its branches trail.
From his prison overlooking the court Maeonius
beheld “the speaking look” with which Clytie re
ceived^ the sapphire ring from the monarch. He
saw its meaning and—
It set his Arab blood on Are
With deadly Jealousy and Ire.
This leads our writer to give a fine paragraph
on jealousy:
The deadliest passion of the heart
At once may into being start.
And jealousy be born of Love,
As from the teeming brain of Jove
Minerva sprang In all her might.
Full grown and ready armed for Aght.
Anger with tenderest love Is felt.
Though into sorrow soon ’twill melt;
But jealousy can know no trust.
Is never generous, never just.
Hatred man turns against his foes.
But In his jealous rage he throws
His keenest, swiftest, deadliest dart
Against the Idol of his heart;
But if In woman’s breast It burns
Her wrath against her rival turns.
The prisoner determines upon revenge and in
vokes the aid of a traitorous priest. They deter
mine that on to-morrow when the King is in the
Temple he shall fall by the hand of Maeonius,
who shall then ascend the throne of Palmyra and,
said he, “Clytie, too, will be my own.”
The evening comes and the court glitters with
an unwonted splendor. Prior to the dance Maeon
ius appears before King Odenatus to receive his
lance. The King said it was Clytie’s right to again
arm her love.
To her, sir captive, you belong.
She won your freedom with a song.
And lips that ne’er can sue In vain
Have broken with a word your chain.
Of course the suing lips were those of Queen
Zenobia, not those of, the songful Clytie. But the
jealous Maeonius understood the latter and “again
his blood flowed liquid fire.” In the fury of the
moment he could not wait for the execution of the
plot to kill on the morrow. Like a tiger, he leap
ed upon the King, sheathed the murderous dag
ger in the royal heart, and just as Clytie sprang'
between them the dead King sank down from
his throne. Then the murderer designed to slay
the Queen, but was held back by two of her
courtiers. With remarkable presence of mind she
declared the King only wounded, summoned her
subjects to her aid, and demanded the instant
death of the traitor. But when Maeonius beheld
Clytie grief-stricken on her knees by the side of
the dead King, his heart was wrung with fiercest
rage—
To see her kneeling prostrate there
Abandoned unto love’s despair.
Then it was that “hope wRhin his bosom died”
and he welcome death, declaring: “No pang for
me so sharp as life.” Catching up the fatal dag
ger, he plunged It in his own side and fell dead
at Clytie’s feet. With Zenohia’s overmastering
grief and the death of the traitorous priest, the
tragic scene closed that night. But with a strong
heart and a steady hand she reigned for many
years the “Queen of the East,”—
Inscribed her napie on history’s page.
And shone, the woman of her age.
Alas, for poor Clytie! Love was essential to
her existence; so when her loved and lover were
both gone at the point of the same dagger “she
drooped from that fearful, fatal hour,” They
thought her dead at the time, but she survived
the shock only to yield up her life ere a month
had passed. And with this last scene Clytie’s fu
neral our poem closes as the tearful maidens are
round the bier—
singing. In voices sweet and low,
A solemn dirge of wailing woe.
■!f;
ii;i