Sidney Lanier: Chivalry and the South


Sidney Lanier—poet, musician, author, Confederate soldier—delivered the following words to veterans at the Confederate Memorial Address in Macon, GA, in 1870 (full text here). 



     Who in all the world needs tranquillity more than we? I know not a deeper question in our Southern life at this present time, than how we shall bear our load of wrong and injury with the calmness and tranquil dignity that become men and women who would be great in misfortune; and believe me, I know not where we will draw deeper inspirations of calm strength for this great emergency than in this place where we now stand, in the midst of departed heroes who fought against these things to death. Why, yonder lies my brave, brilliant friend, Lamar; and yonder, genial Robert Smith; and yonder, generous Tracy — gallant men, all; good knights and stainless gentlemen. How calmly they sleep in the midst of it! Unto this calmness shall we come, at last. If so, why should we disquiet our souls for the petty stings of our conquerors? There comes a time when conqueror and conquered shall alike descend into the grave. In that time, O my countrymen, in that time the conqueror shall be ashamed of his lash, and the conquered shall be proud of his calm endurance; in that time the conqueror shall hide his face, and the conquered shall lift his head with an exultation in his tranquil fortitude which God shall surely pardon! O happy Lamar, O happy Smith and Tracy, O happy heroes all! Ye who died whilst liberty was yet a hope in our bosoms, and whilst tyranny was yet only a possible speck on our future! If we may not envy you your death, we may at least solace ourselves in the tranquillity of your graves until we, too, shall join you in those regions

"Where beyond these voices there is peace !"

     For the contemplation of this tranquillity, my friends of this Association, in the name of a land stung half to madness, I thank you.

     I spoke next of the patient river. See there how it draws on steadily to where it shall mingle with the salt sea and be lost in it, through fair or foul weather, by night and by day, under snow or sunshine, by rugged hill or alluring valley, reckless of obstacle, patient of opposition, unhasting yet unresisting, it moves onward to destruction. Was it not like this that these soldiers walked their life of battle, patient through heat and cold, through rain and drought, through bullets and diseases, through hunger and nakedness, through rigor of discipline and laxity of morals, ay, through the very shards and pits of hell, down to the almost inevitable death that awaited them?

     For this, that you bring us to contemplate this vast patience, I commend you.

     And I spoke of the music of winds and leaves. I like to figure every event as a tone, and all events as one many-toned harmony that arises to the great music-master and composer, up yonder. That the tone of this day may be round and melodious, we come here without resentment, without scorn or hate or any vengeful feeling to mar our love for these dead. That we can do this — that we can contemplate these dead faces without unseemly revenges burning in our souls, is to me a most marvellous triumph of divine Christianity. I have had occasion once or twice to speak of certain antique virtues in which the ancients excelled us. Here now, we rise immeasurably above the classic people, on our new wings of divine faith in yonder great Forgiver and great Avenger. Listen to Mark Antony, when he looks upon dead Caesar's face, his murdered friend!

"O pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers I
. . . . .
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood!
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,
Which like dumb mouths do ope their ruby lips
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue, —
A curse shall light upon the limbs of men;
Domestic fury and fierce civil strife
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy;
Blood and destruction shall be so in use,
And dreadful objects so familiar
That mothers shall but smile, when they behold
Their infants quartered with the hands of war;
All pity choked with custom of fell deeds;
And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge,
With Ate by his side come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice
Cry Havoc, and let slip the dogs of war."

     So, Mark Antony; but not so gaze we upon our dead. To-day we are here for love and not for hate. To-day we are here for harmony and not for discord. To-day we are risen immeasurably above all vengeance. To-day, standing upon the serene heights of forgiveness, our souls choir together the enchanting music of harmonious Christian civilization. To-day we will not disturb the peaceful slumbers of these sleepers with music less sweet than the serenade of loving remembrances, breathing upon our hearts as the winds of heaven breathe upon these swaying leaves above us.

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