Random Lincoln Facts
Returning from New Orleans in 1828 by boat, Lincoln and a companion were attacked in their sleep by seven men, “with intent to kill and rob them.” As Lincoln emerged from a hatchway, an attacker “struck him a blow with a heavy stick … making a scar which he wore always”
Stephen Douglas called Lincoln “two-faced.” Lincoln responded: “I leave it to my audience. If I had another face, do you think I would wear this one?”
Lincoln had a high-pitched voice that could be heard over great distances. When excited, the pitch went higher still, and sometimes became unpleasant. Still, his voice was an asset because it could be heard by all the crowds that gathered outdoors to hear him speak. (Microphones did not yet exist.) For example, at least 15,000 people heard him give the Gettysburg Address and “acres of people” heard his first inaugural address
A dentist broke off part of Lincoln’s jaw bone while pulling a tooth — without anesthesia. The extraction may have taken place in Louisville, KY in Sept. 1841
Lincoln was several times the victim of domestic violence at the hands of his wife, Mary. (a) About 1860: Mary struck him “on [the] head with a piece of wood while reading paper in South Parlor — cut his nose — lawyers saw his face in Court next day but asked no questions” (b) Before 1861: Angry at his choice in meat for a guest, Mary “abused L. outrageously and finally was so mad she struck him in the face. Rubbing the blood off his face Lincoln and [the guest] left” (c) there are also records of Mary throwing coffee at him, throwing potatoes at him, chasing him down the street with a knife (once) or a broomstick (frequently), pulling out part of his beard, and of a strike to his face in his last weeks alive.
http://www.doctorzebra.com/prez/g16.htm#ref2
Sotos, John G. The Physical Lincoln Sourcebook. Mt. Vernon, VA: Mt. Vernon Book Systems, 2008
Boller, Paul F. Jr. Presidential Anecdotes. New York: Oxford University Press, 1981

Random Lincoln Facts

  • Returning from New Orleans in 1828 by boat, Lincoln and a companion were attacked in their sleep by seven men, “with intent to kill and rob them.” As Lincoln emerged from a hatchway, an attacker “struck him a blow with a heavy stick … making a scar which he wore always”
  • Stephen Douglas called Lincoln “two-faced.” Lincoln responded: “I leave it to my audience. If I had another face, do you think I would wear this one?”
  • Lincoln had a high-pitched voice that could be heard over great distances. When excited, the pitch went higher still, and sometimes became unpleasant. Still, his voice was an asset because it could be heard by all the crowds that gathered outdoors to hear him speak. (Microphones did not yet exist.) For example, at least 15,000 people heard him give the Gettysburg Address and “acres of people” heard his first inaugural address
  • A dentist broke off part of Lincoln’s jaw bone while pulling a tooth — without anesthesia. The extraction may have taken place in Louisville, KY in Sept. 1841
  • Lincoln was several times the victim of domestic violence at the hands of his wife, Mary. (a) About 1860: Mary struck him “on [the] head with a piece of wood while reading paper in South Parlor — cut his nose — lawyers saw his face in Court next day but asked no questions” (b) Before 1861: Angry at his choice in meat for a guest, Mary “abused L. outrageously and finally was so mad she struck him in the face. Rubbing the blood off his face Lincoln and [the guest] left” (c) there are also records of Mary throwing coffee at him, throwing potatoes at him, chasing him down the street with a knife (once) or a broomstick (frequently), pulling out part of his beard, and of a strike to his face in his last weeks alive.

http://www.doctorzebra.com/prez/g16.htm#ref2

Sotos, John G. The Physical Lincoln Sourcebook. Mt. Vernon, VA: Mt. Vernon Book Systems, 2008

Boller, Paul F. Jr. Presidential Anecdotes. New York: Oxford University Press, 1981

Mary Todd Lincoln
Mary Ann Todd Lincoln, the wife of the president was only 5′-2″ tall. With the President being 6 feet 3.75 inches tall, usually reported as an exact 6’4.. the difference between the two was a considerable 14 inches. That stovepipe hat just made him a whole lot taller. 
Photo National Archives
http://awesometalks.wordpress.com/did-you-know-abraham-lincoln-summary/

Mary Todd Lincoln

Mary Ann Todd Lincoln, the wife of the president was only 5′-2″ tall. With the President being 6 feet 3.75 inches tall, usually reported as an exact 6’4.. the difference between the two was a considerable 14 inches. That stovepipe hat just made him a whole lot taller.

Photo National Archives

http://awesometalks.wordpress.com/did-you-know-abraham-lincoln-summary/

Civil War Photographer - Mathew Brady -
Mathew B. Brady was one of the most celebrated 19th-century American photographers, best known for his portraits of celebrities and his documentation of the American Civil War. He is credited with being the father of photojournalism.
"My greatest aim has been to advance the art of photography and to make it what I think I have, a great and truthful medium of history." - Mathew B. Brady …
In 1861, when the Civil War began, Brady sent his Washington photographers out into the field, in part to acquire portraits of military leaders. Later, both Brady and Alexander Gardner claimed credit for photographing the war in all its phases. In fact, countless photographers followed the army, though most were only interested in the profits that came from making portraits for soldiers to send back home….
Photo National Archives http://www.npg.si.edu/exh/brady/war/civilpg.htm

Civil War Photographer - Mathew Brady -

Mathew B. Brady was one of the most celebrated 19th-century American photographers, best known for his portraits of celebrities and his documentation of the American Civil War. He is credited with being the father of photojournalism.

"My greatest aim has been to advance the art of photography and to make it what I think I have, a great and truthful medium of history." - Mathew B. Brady …

In 1861, when the Civil War began, Brady sent his Washington photographers out into the field, in part to acquire portraits of military leaders. Later, both Brady and Alexander Gardner claimed credit for photographing the war in all its phases. In fact, countless photographers followed the army, though most were only interested in the profits that came from making portraits for soldiers to send back home….

Photo National Archives http://www.npg.si.edu/exh/brady/war/civilpg.htm

 Luther “Yellowstone” Kelly- Fresh out of the Army in 1868, he embarked on a 12-year journey through the northern Plains that made him a legend in his own time.…
He joined the Union army at age 15 to fight in the Civil War. Before he was 20, he was a well-known scout, frontiersman, explorer and Indian fighter
In the spring of 1865, with the Civil War winding down, Kelly secured permission from his mother to join the Army. He traveled to Rochester NY, where he attempted to join the Fourth New York Cavalry but was turned down due his young age 15.  Later he joined the 10th Infantry by lying about his age. He was unaware that the 10th Infantry was not a volunteer corps and that he would be obliged to continue serving after the war.
After leaving the army, Kelly embarked on what The New York Times later called “the most adventurous period of his life”, establishing himself as “one of the greatest hunters, trappers, and Indian scouts” of the American West.
He guided two expeditions in Alaska and served as a captain of volunteers in the Philippines. His last assignment was as an agent on the San Carlos Indian Reservation and he later retired in California where he died. His last request was to be buried at the summit of Kelly Mountain in Billings Montana overlooking the land he scouted and loved.
Read more: http://billingsgazette.com/news/local/yellowstone-kelly-spent-his-youth-exploring-montana/article_22dc5f0f-c823-5a22-a965-7120005109eb.html#ixzz3BH04cHlz
https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thecivilwarparlor/new/photo
ColorbyS.Palmer@TheCivilWarParlor Tumblr

Luther “Yellowstone” Kelly- Fresh out of the Army in 1868, he embarked on a 12-year journey through the northern Plains that made him a legend in his own time.

He joined the Union army at age 15 to fight in the Civil War. Before he was 20, he was a well-known scout, frontiersman, explorer and Indian fighter

In the spring of 1865, with the Civil War winding down, Kelly secured permission from his mother to join the Army. He traveled to Rochester NY, where he attempted to join the Fourth New York Cavalry but was turned down due his young age 15.  Later he joined the 10th Infantry by lying about his age. He was unaware that the 10th Infantry was not a volunteer corps and that he would be obliged to continue serving after the war.

After leaving the army, Kelly embarked on what The New York Times later called “the most adventurous period of his life”, establishing himself as “one of the greatest hunters, trappers, and Indian scouts” of the American West.

He guided two expeditions in Alaska and served as a captain of volunteers in the Philippines. His last assignment was as an agent on the San Carlos Indian Reservation and he later retired in California where he died. His last request was to be buried at the summit of Kelly Mountain in Billings Montana overlooking the land he scouted and loved.

Read more: http://billingsgazette.com/news/local/yellowstone-kelly-spent-his-youth-exploring-montana/article_22dc5f0f-c823-5a22-a965-7120005109eb.html#ixzz3BH04cHlz

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thecivilwarparlor/new/photo

ColorbyS.Palmer@TheCivilWarParlor Tumblr


Thomas Issac Duvall & William Duvall- William Died Waving His Sword And Shouting “Victory”
Thomas Duvall (left) and William Duvall (right), along with brother Henderson, enlisted in Company C, 3rd Missouri Infantry on December 10, 1861, at Richmond, Missouri, after prior service in the Missouri State Guard. William was promoted to lieutenant on May 8, 1862.
The Duvalls fought at Carthage, Wilson’s Creek, Lexington, Pea Ridge, Farmington, Iuka and Corinth. On October 4, 1862, Lieutenant William Duvall was killed during the Confederate attack on Corinth, trying to plant the Confederate flag on the Union fortifications. Lieutenant Colonel Finley L. Hubbell, 3rd Missouri Infantry, recorded in his diary that William died waving his sword and shouting “Victory.”
Thomas Duvall and his brother Henderson were later killed at Champion Hill, Mississippi, on May 16, 1863.
Image Wilson’s Creek National Battlefield; WICR 30171


P.S. Alexander & S.W. Stone
This rare tintype features two Missouri State Guard soldiers. On the right is Private P. S. Alexander of the Moniteau County Rangers; his comrade is Private S. W. Stone of the California Guards. Both are dressed in civilian clothing, typical of the Missouri State Guard. Stone is wearing an elaborate tooled leather sheath with a Bowie knife and is holding a musket, while Alexander is holding a civilian half-stock rifle and has a large knife in his belt. A bouquet of flowers adorns his hat.
Image Wilson’s Creek National Battlefield; WICR 30025

Warrior-Poet William Haines Lytle- He Had A Major Reputation In The 1800’s Heyday Of Poetry. He died at Chickamauga, left behind on the battle field where Confederate soldiers actually protected his body 
Confederate officer, Colonel Wm. Miller Owen, in his reminiscences of the civil war, relates that, while riding over the battlefield of Chickamauga, on September 20, 1863, he came upon the body of General Lytle, which he recognized as that of an old friend. He says: “A confederate soldier was standing guard over the body. Dismounting, I asked the man his instructions, and he replied, ‘I am here to take charge of this body, and to allow no one to touch it.’
His poetry was loved by both Yankees and Southerners, especially “Antony and Cleopatra” They read his poetry aloud in a makeshift tribute. They found some of his latest verses on his body including these lines he had written for his sisters:“In vain for me the applause of men,The Laurel won by sword or pen,But for the hope, so dear and sweet,To lay my trophies at your feet.”


‘Tis Only Once We Love By William Haines


The heart that throbbed at Glory’s voice And followed in her train, Although in sloth it slumbers long, May wake to life again. But ah! when once true love has bloomed, As many a heart can prove, The fragrance wasted ne’er returns— ‘Tis only once we love.
I tread the sunny paths of life, ‘Mid beauty’s proud array, But the spell that lent a charm to all Has mist-like passed away. No more the thrill from mingled pulse The eloquent low sigh, Nor the unbidden tear of joy That trembled in the eye.
Yet ofttimes in my early dreams, From some enchanted isle, Comes one with her soft, winning voice And the old gladsome smile,
And hand in hand we wander on Through violet-bordered glades, Till with the night’s starred legions bright The joyous vision fades.
Ah! sadly pass the hours away When that sweet light departs, Which fair as dawn on Eden rose With rapture on our hearts. And many a blossom fair is culled As through the world we rove; But the fairest is the rarest flower. ‘Tis only once we love.
Lytle never married, and left no direct descendants.
Photo Brady National Photographic Art Gallery (Washington, D.C.) info wiki and http://myweb.wvnet.edu/~jelkins/lp-2001/lytle3.html

Warrior-Poet William Haines Lytle- He Had A Major Reputation In The 1800’s Heyday Of Poetry. He died at Chickamauga, left behind on the battle field where Confederate soldiers actually protected his body

Confederate officer, Colonel Wm. Miller Owen, in his reminiscences of the civil war, relates that, while riding over the battlefield of Chickamauga, on September 20, 1863, he came upon the body of General Lytle, which he recognized as that of an old friend. He says: “A confederate soldier was standing guard over the body. Dismounting, I asked the man his instructions, and he replied, ‘I am here to take charge of this body, and to allow no one to touch it.’

His poetry was loved by both Yankees and Southerners, especially “Antony and Cleopatra” They read his poetry aloud in a makeshift tribute. They found some of his latest verses on his body including these lines he had written for his sisters:

“In vain for me the applause of men,
The Laurel won by sword or pen,
But for the hope, so dear and sweet,
To lay my trophies at your feet.”

Tis Only Once We Love By William Haines

The heart that throbbed at Glory’s voice
And followed in her train,
Although in sloth it slumbers long,
May wake to life again.
But ah! when once true love has bloomed,
As many a heart can prove,
The fragrance wasted ne’er returns—
‘Tis only once we love.

I tread the sunny paths of life,
‘Mid beauty’s proud array,
But the spell that lent a charm to all
Has mist-like passed away.
No more the thrill from mingled pulse
The eloquent low sigh,
Nor the unbidden tear of joy
That trembled in the eye.

Yet ofttimes in my early dreams,
From some enchanted isle,
Comes one with her soft, winning voice
And the old gladsome smile,

And hand in hand we wander on
Through violet-bordered glades,
Till with the night’s starred legions bright
The joyous vision fades.

Ah! sadly pass the hours away
When that sweet light departs,
Which fair as dawn on Eden rose
With rapture on our hearts.
And many a blossom fair is culled
As through the world we rove;
But the fairest is the rarest flower.
‘Tis only once we love.

Lytle never married, and left no direct descendants.

Photo Brady National Photographic Art Gallery (Washington, D.C.) info wiki and http://myweb.wvnet.edu/~jelkins/lp-2001/lytle3.html

Poet Warrior - William Haines Lytle
Celebrated American poet before the Civil War. Lytle’s most famous poem, “Antony and Cleopatra” (published in 1857), was beloved by both North and South in antebellum America
He was a politician in Ohio, renowned poet, and military officer in the Army during both the Mexican American War and The Civil War, where he was killed in action as a brigadier general. 
Lytle was mortally wounded at the Battle of Chickamauga in Georgia while leading a counterattack on horseback. Once his identity was known, respectful Confederates placed a guard around his body, and many recited his poetry over their evening campfires.
His funeral was held in the early afternoon at Christ Church on Fourth Street in Cincinnati. So many people lined the streets that the funeral cortege did not reach Spring Grove Cemetery until dusk. Lytle’s monument, one of the most impressive ones there, is near the entrance to the cemetery. The alleged shooter of Lytle was never discovered, and to this day has never been discovered, all that is known is that the shooter was a Confederate sniper using a Whitworth .45 caliber percussion rifle.
According to history presented to The Daughters of The Confederacy, the shooter was Hillary Garrison Waldrep of Company B of the 16th Alabama Regiment of Infantry. In order to make the shot that was purportedly approved personally by General Bragg, Waldrep had to adjust the sights on his rifle for 200 yards beyond where they usually were. According to the account, once General Lytle fell to the ground, his horse was spooked and ran toward the Confederate soldiers. Bragg gave Hillary Garrison Waldrep General Lytle’s horse, bed-roll and equipment. Waldrep later sold the horse for $100.
Taken From Antony and Cleopatra-Lytle’s most famous poem, 1858:
I am dying, Egypt, dying;

Hark! the insulting foeman’s cry;

They are coming; quick, my falchion!

Let me front them ere I die.

Ah, no more amid the battle

Shall my heart exulting swell;

Isis and Osiris guard thee, —

Cleopatra, Rome, farewell!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Haines_Lytle
http://waroftherebellion.com/images/lyttle2.jpg

Poet Warrior - William Haines Lytle

Celebrated American poet before the Civil War. Lytle’s most famous poem, “Antony and Cleopatra” (published in 1857), was beloved by both North and South in antebellum America

He was a politician in Ohio, renowned poet, and military officer in the Army during both the Mexican American War and The Civil War, where he was killed in action as a brigadier general.

Lytle was mortally wounded at the Battle of Chickamauga in Georgia while leading a counterattack on horseback. Once his identity was known, respectful Confederates placed a guard around his body, and many recited his poetry over their evening campfires.

His funeral was held in the early afternoon at Christ Church on Fourth Street in Cincinnati. So many people lined the streets that the funeral cortege did not reach Spring Grove Cemetery until dusk. Lytle’s monument, one of the most impressive ones there, is near the entrance to the cemetery. The alleged shooter of Lytle was never discovered, and to this day has never been discovered, all that is known is that the shooter was a Confederate sniper using a Whitworth .45 caliber percussion rifle.

According to history presented to The Daughters of The Confederacy, the shooter was Hillary Garrison Waldrep of Company B of the 16th Alabama Regiment of Infantry. In order to make the shot that was purportedly approved personally by General Bragg, Waldrep had to adjust the sights on his rifle for 200 yards beyond where they usually were. According to the account, once General Lytle fell to the ground, his horse was spooked and ran toward the Confederate soldiers. Bragg gave Hillary Garrison Waldrep General Lytle’s horse, bed-roll and equipment. Waldrep later sold the horse for $100.

Taken From Antony and Cleopatra-Lytle’s most famous poem, 1858:

I am dying, Egypt, dying;

Hark! the insulting foeman’s cry;

They are coming; quick, my falchion!

Let me front them ere I die.

Ah, no more amid the battle

Shall my heart exulting swell;

Isis and Osiris guard thee, —

Cleopatra, Rome, farewell!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Haines_Lytle

http://waroftherebellion.com/images/lyttle2.jpg

Civil War-era wallet was discovered by Naval Historical Center archeologists during their excavation of the Confederate submarine H.L. Hunley
The archeologists stated that the wallet was in remarkably good condition. Hunley became the first submarine in history to sink a warship during the Civil War in 1863. Photo by Chris Ohm. (RELEASED) Photo WIKI
(CNN) — Born and built amid gray-cloaked secrecy during the American Civil War, the H.L. Hunley — the first submarine to sink an enemy ship — has held tight to its murky mysteries.

Civil War-era wallet was discovered by Naval Historical Center archeologists during their excavation of the Confederate submarine H.L. Hunley

The archeologists stated that the wallet was in remarkably good condition. Hunley became the first submarine in history to sink a warship during the Civil War in 1863. Photo by Chris Ohm. (RELEASED) Photo WIKI

(CNN) — Born and built amid gray-cloaked secrecy during the American Civil War, the H.L. Hunley — the first submarine to sink an enemy ship — has held tight to its murky mysteries.


Ode to the Confederate Dead




Allen Tate, 1899 - 1979







Row after row with strict impunity
The headstones yield their names to the element,
The wind whirrs without recollection;
In the riven troughs the splayed leaves
Pile up, of nature the casual sacrament
To the seasonal eternity of death;
Then driven by the fierce scrutiny
Of heaven to their election in the vast breath,
They sough the rumour of mortality.

Autumn is desolation in the plot
Of a thousand acres where these memories grow
From the inexhaustible bodies that are not 
Dead, but feed the grass row after rich row.
Think of the autumns that have come and gone!--
Ambitious November with the humors of the year,
With a particular zeal for every slab,
Staining the uncomfortable angels that rot
On the slabs, a wing chipped here, an arm there:
The brute curiosity of an angel’s stare
Turns you, like them, to stone,
Transforms the heaving air
Till plunged to a heavier world below
You shift your sea-space blindly
Heaving, turning like the blind crab.

     Dazed by the wind, only the wind
     The leaves flying, plunge

You know who have waited by the wall
The twilight certainty of an animal,
Those midnight restitutions of the blood
You know--the immitigable pines, the smoky frieze
Of the sky, the sudden call: you know the rage,
The cold pool left by the mounting flood,
Of muted Zeno and Parmenides.
You who have waited for the angry resolution
Of those desires that should be yours tomorrow,
You know the unimportant shrift of death
And praise the vision
And praise the arrogant circumstance
Of those who fall
Rank upon rank, hurried beyond decision--
Here by the sagging gate, stopped by the wall. 

     Seeing, seeing only the leaves
     Flying, plunge and expire

Turn your eyes to the immoderate past,
Turn to the inscrutable infantry rising
Demons out of the earth they will not last.
Stonewall, Stonewall, and the sunken fields of hemp,
Shiloh, Antietam, Malvern Hill, Bull Run.
Lost in that orient of the thick and fast
You will curse the setting sun.

     Cursing only the leaves crying
     Like an old man in a storm

You hear the shout, the crazy hemlocks point
With troubled fingers to the silence which
Smothers you, a mummy, in time.

                               The hound bitch
Toothless and dying, in a musty cellar
Hears the wind only.
     
                    Now that the salt of their blood
Stiffens the saltier oblivion of the sea,
Seals the malignant purity of the flood,
What shall we who count our days and bow
Our heads with a commemorial woe
In the ribboned coats of grim felicity,
What shall we say of the bones, unclean,
Whose verdurous anonymity will grow?
The ragged arms, the ragged heads and eyes
Lost in these acres of the insane green?
The gray lean spiders come, they come and go;
In a tangle of willows without light
The singular screech-owl’s tight
Invisible lyric seeds the mind
With the furious murmur of their chivalry.

     We shall say only the leaves
     Flying, plunge and expire

We shall say only the leaves whispering
In the improbable mist of nightfall
That flies on multiple wing:
Night is the beginning and the end
And in between the ends of distraction
Waits mute speculation, the patient curse
That stones the eyes, or like the jaguar leaps
For his own image in a jungle pool, his victim.

What shall we say who have knowledge 
Carried to the heart?  Shall we take the act
To the grave?  Shall we, more hopeful, set up the grave
In the house?  The ravenous grave?

                                   Leave now
The shut gate and the decomposing wall:
The gentle serpent, green in the mulberry bush, 
Riots with his tongue through the hush--
Sentinel of the grave who counts us all!




From Selected Poems by Allen Tate, published by Charles Scribner’s Sons.
http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/ode-confederate-dead
Zoom Info

Ode to the Confederate Dead




Allen Tate, 1899 - 1979







Row after row with strict impunity
The headstones yield their names to the element,
The wind whirrs without recollection;
In the riven troughs the splayed leaves
Pile up, of nature the casual sacrament
To the seasonal eternity of death;
Then driven by the fierce scrutiny
Of heaven to their election in the vast breath,
They sough the rumour of mortality.

Autumn is desolation in the plot
Of a thousand acres where these memories grow
From the inexhaustible bodies that are not 
Dead, but feed the grass row after rich row.
Think of the autumns that have come and gone!--
Ambitious November with the humors of the year,
With a particular zeal for every slab,
Staining the uncomfortable angels that rot
On the slabs, a wing chipped here, an arm there:
The brute curiosity of an angel’s stare
Turns you, like them, to stone,
Transforms the heaving air
Till plunged to a heavier world below
You shift your sea-space blindly
Heaving, turning like the blind crab.

     Dazed by the wind, only the wind
     The leaves flying, plunge

You know who have waited by the wall
The twilight certainty of an animal,
Those midnight restitutions of the blood
You know--the immitigable pines, the smoky frieze
Of the sky, the sudden call: you know the rage,
The cold pool left by the mounting flood,
Of muted Zeno and Parmenides.
You who have waited for the angry resolution
Of those desires that should be yours tomorrow,
You know the unimportant shrift of death
And praise the vision
And praise the arrogant circumstance
Of those who fall
Rank upon rank, hurried beyond decision--
Here by the sagging gate, stopped by the wall. 

     Seeing, seeing only the leaves
     Flying, plunge and expire

Turn your eyes to the immoderate past,
Turn to the inscrutable infantry rising
Demons out of the earth they will not last.
Stonewall, Stonewall, and the sunken fields of hemp,
Shiloh, Antietam, Malvern Hill, Bull Run.
Lost in that orient of the thick and fast
You will curse the setting sun.

     Cursing only the leaves crying
     Like an old man in a storm

You hear the shout, the crazy hemlocks point
With troubled fingers to the silence which
Smothers you, a mummy, in time.

                               The hound bitch
Toothless and dying, in a musty cellar
Hears the wind only.
     
                    Now that the salt of their blood
Stiffens the saltier oblivion of the sea,
Seals the malignant purity of the flood,
What shall we who count our days and bow
Our heads with a commemorial woe
In the ribboned coats of grim felicity,
What shall we say of the bones, unclean,
Whose verdurous anonymity will grow?
The ragged arms, the ragged heads and eyes
Lost in these acres of the insane green?
The gray lean spiders come, they come and go;
In a tangle of willows without light
The singular screech-owl’s tight
Invisible lyric seeds the mind
With the furious murmur of their chivalry.

     We shall say only the leaves
     Flying, plunge and expire

We shall say only the leaves whispering
In the improbable mist of nightfall
That flies on multiple wing:
Night is the beginning and the end
And in between the ends of distraction
Waits mute speculation, the patient curse
That stones the eyes, or like the jaguar leaps
For his own image in a jungle pool, his victim.

What shall we say who have knowledge 
Carried to the heart?  Shall we take the act
To the grave?  Shall we, more hopeful, set up the grave
In the house?  The ravenous grave?

                                   Leave now
The shut gate and the decomposing wall:
The gentle serpent, green in the mulberry bush, 
Riots with his tongue through the hush--
Sentinel of the grave who counts us all!




From Selected Poems by Allen Tate, published by Charles Scribner’s Sons.
http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/ode-confederate-dead
Zoom Info

Ode to the Confederate Dead

Allen Tate, 1899 - 1979
Row after row with strict impunity
The headstones yield their names to the element,
The wind whirrs without recollection;
In the riven troughs the splayed leaves
Pile up, of nature the casual sacrament
To the seasonal eternity of death;
Then driven by the fierce scrutiny
Of heaven to their election in the vast breath,
They sough the rumour of mortality.

Autumn is desolation in the plot
Of a thousand acres where these memories grow
From the inexhaustible bodies that are not 
Dead, but feed the grass row after rich row.
Think of the autumns that have come and gone!--
Ambitious November with the humors of the year,
With a particular zeal for every slab,
Staining the uncomfortable angels that rot
On the slabs, a wing chipped here, an arm there:
The brute curiosity of an angel’s stare
Turns you, like them, to stone,
Transforms the heaving air
Till plunged to a heavier world below
You shift your sea-space blindly
Heaving, turning like the blind crab.

     Dazed by the wind, only the wind
     The leaves flying, plunge

You know who have waited by the wall
The twilight certainty of an animal,
Those midnight restitutions of the blood
You know--the immitigable pines, the smoky frieze
Of the sky, the sudden call: you know the rage,
The cold pool left by the mounting flood,
Of muted Zeno and Parmenides.
You who have waited for the angry resolution
Of those desires that should be yours tomorrow,
You know the unimportant shrift of death
And praise the vision
And praise the arrogant circumstance
Of those who fall
Rank upon rank, hurried beyond decision--
Here by the sagging gate, stopped by the wall. 

     Seeing, seeing only the leaves
     Flying, plunge and expire

Turn your eyes to the immoderate past,
Turn to the inscrutable infantry rising
Demons out of the earth they will not last.
Stonewall, Stonewall, and the sunken fields of hemp,
Shiloh, Antietam, Malvern Hill, Bull Run.
Lost in that orient of the thick and fast
You will curse the setting sun.

     Cursing only the leaves crying
     Like an old man in a storm

You hear the shout, the crazy hemlocks point
With troubled fingers to the silence which
Smothers you, a mummy, in time.

                               The hound bitch
Toothless and dying, in a musty cellar
Hears the wind only.
     
                    Now that the salt of their blood
Stiffens the saltier oblivion of the sea,
Seals the malignant purity of the flood,
What shall we who count our days and bow
Our heads with a commemorial woe
In the ribboned coats of grim felicity,
What shall we say of the bones, unclean,
Whose verdurous anonymity will grow?
The ragged arms, the ragged heads and eyes
Lost in these acres of the insane green?
The gray lean spiders come, they come and go;
In a tangle of willows without light
The singular screech-owl’s tight
Invisible lyric seeds the mind
With the furious murmur of their chivalry.

     We shall say only the leaves
     Flying, plunge and expire

We shall say only the leaves whispering
In the improbable mist of nightfall
That flies on multiple wing:
Night is the beginning and the end
And in between the ends of distraction
Waits mute speculation, the patient curse
That stones the eyes, or like the jaguar leaps
For his own image in a jungle pool, his victim.

What shall we say who have knowledge 
Carried to the heart?  Shall we take the act
To the grave?  Shall we, more hopeful, set up the grave
In the house?  The ravenous grave?

                                   Leave now
The shut gate and the decomposing wall:
The gentle serpent, green in the mulberry bush, 
Riots with his tongue through the hush--
Sentinel of the grave who counts us all!

From Selected Poems by Allen Tate, published by Charles Scribner’s Sons.

http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/ode-confederate-dead

Shelby Foote-The Civil War (documentary) Episode 5: The Universe of Battle

William Faulkner, in Intruder in the Dust, says that for every Southern boy, it’s always in his reach to imagine it being 1:00 on an early July day in 1863. The guns are laid. The troops are lined up. The flags are already out of their cases and ready to be unfurled. But it hasn’t happened yet. And he can go back to the time before the war was going to be lost. And he can always have that moment for himself.

Remembering Civil War Historian Shelby Foote

A Compilation Of Sayings Of Shelby Foote  (1916 – 2005)

Foote was relatively unknown to the general public for most of his life until his appearance in Ken Burns's PBS documentary The Civil War in 1990, where he introduced a generation of Americans to a war that he believed was “central to all our lives.”

"It is very necessary if you’re going to understand the American character in the 20th Century, to learn about this enormous catastrophe in the mid-19th Century. It was the crossroads of our being and it was a hell of a crossroads".

Shelby Dade Foote, Jr. was an American historian and novelist who wrote The Civil War: A Narrative, a massive, three-volume history of the war.

Shelby Foote Interview –

As a Southerner I would say one of the main importances of the war is that Southerners have a sense of defeat which none of the rest of the country has. You see in the movie Patton, the actor who plays Patton saying, “We Americans have never lost a war.” That’s a rather amazing statement for him to make as Patton because Patton’s grandfather was in Lee’s army of Northern Virginia and he certainly lost a war.

Ken Burns’s The Civil War Deluxe eBook (Enhanced Edition)

Shelby Dade Foote, Jr. was an American historian and novelist who wrote The Civil War: A Narrative, a massive, three-volume history of the war.

Charles Longfellow- Son Of Poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
In 1863, he ran off to enlist as a private in the Union Army during the Civil War, and eventually received a commission as a lieutenant in a cavalry regiment. Miraculously, he survived a bout with malaria and what could have been a mortal gun shot wound to his back, which he received while on campaign in Virginia. The bullet traveled across his back, nicked his spine, and exited under his right shoulder. He missed being paralyzed by less than an inch.
He knew his father disapproved of him fighting, but went anyway. He wrote a letter to his father saying, “I have tried to resist the temptation of going without your leave but cannot any longer.”
Charles Longfellow went on to become one of the earliest American tourists in Japan. His journal offers a rare picture of the Asian nation opening up to the world after centuries of isolation. Charles was independently wealthy with inheritances from his grandfather, Nathan Appleton and his mother, and spent the rest of his life traveling the world. He died in 1893, in Cambridge from pneumonia and is buried in the family vault in Mt. Auburn Cemetery. The souvenirs of his travels and his uniforms and accoutrements from his service in the Union Army are at Longfellow House in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
http://www.friendsoflongfellowhouse.org/2008/12/charles-appleton-longfellow-twenty.html
http://www.nps.gov/long/historyculture/charles-longfellow.htm

Charles Longfellow- Son Of Poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

In 1863, he ran off to enlist as a private in the Union Army during the Civil War, and eventually received a commission as a lieutenant in a cavalry regiment. Miraculously, he survived a bout with malaria and what could have been a mortal gun shot wound to his back, which he received while on campaign in Virginia. The bullet traveled across his back, nicked his spine, and exited under his right shoulder. He missed being paralyzed by less than an inch.

He knew his father disapproved of him fighting, but went anyway. He wrote a letter to his father saying, “I have tried to resist the temptation of going without your leave but cannot any longer.”

Charles Longfellow went on to become one of the earliest American tourists in Japan. His journal offers a rare picture of the Asian nation opening up to the world after centuries of isolation. Charles was independently wealthy with inheritances from his grandfather, Nathan Appleton and his mother, and spent the rest of his life traveling the world. He died in 1893, in Cambridge from pneumonia and is buried in the family vault in Mt. Auburn Cemetery. The souvenirs of his travels and his uniforms and accoutrements from his service in the Union Army are at Longfellow House in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

http://www.friendsoflongfellowhouse.org/2008/12/charles-appleton-longfellow-twenty.html

http://www.nps.gov/long/historyculture/charles-longfellow.htm

Gettysburg Mystery
Poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow- Painting Of His Three Daughters Found On Gettysburg Battlefield
When the Civil War ended in 1865, the poet was 58. His poems were popular throughout the English-speaking world, and they were widely translated, making him the most famous American of his day. His admirers included Abraham Lincoln, Charles Dickens, and Charles Baudelaire. 
This copy, plus frame, of Thomas Buchanan Read’s painting of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s three daughters was found at Gettysburg after the July 1-3, 1863 battle. It was not found on, or close to, any soldier’s body, so no one knows who was carrying it. The three children are Alice (top), born September 22, 1850, Edith (left), born October 22, 1853, and Anne Allegra, born November 8, 1855.
Maine Historical Society-http://www.mainememory.net/artifact/10528/enlarge

Gettysburg Mystery

Poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow- Painting Of His Three Daughters Found On Gettysburg Battlefield

When the Civil War ended in 1865, the poet was 58. His poems were popular throughout the English-speaking world, and they were widely translated, making him the most famous American of his day. His admirers included Abraham Lincoln, Charles Dickens, and Charles Baudelaire.

This copy, plus frame, of Thomas Buchanan Read’s painting of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s three daughters was found at Gettysburg after the July 1-3, 1863 battle. It was not found on, or close to, any soldier’s body, so no one knows who was carrying it. The three children are Alice (top), born September 22, 1850, Edith (left), born October 22, 1853, and Anne Allegra, born November 8, 1855.

Maine Historical Society-http://www.mainememory.net/artifact/10528/enlarge