Various
mints, the gleaming gold of numerous compositae making the place
rich in floral beauty, while an ever-fragrant breeze stirred the
grain into golden billows and the meadows into slight undulating
waves like an emerald sea.
Slow indeed was our progress through these glorious places and
each stop we made on the high ridges overlooking the valleys
unfolded a view more beautiful than the last we beheld.
Cultivation had been here many years, yet this only served to
enhance the loveliness of the scene; and we wandered enchanted
from place to place in long wavering curves, knowing that each
new turn held a vision of delight. Wander where you will in this
valley the Blue Ridge mountains are always in sight wearing
those misty blue veils on their graceful forest crowned ridges.
Harper's Ferry was not only of great strategic importance as a
gateway for the armies but it will ever be associated with the
memory of John Brown, that impulsive but noble soul for whom
Freedom was a passion. What matter though he was hanged, the
nation shall ever honor his memory. There is a monument marking
the site of the old John Brown fort near the railroad station
which may he seen from the high-way intersecting the valley.
As we looked at the monument we thought of this poem which, in
its majestic sweep of thought, is as stately as the Potomac:
John Brown of Ossawatomie spoke on his dying day:
"I will not have to shrive my soul a priest in Slavery's pay,
But let some poor slave-mother whom I have striven to free,
With her children, from the gallows stair put up a prayer
for me."
John Brown of Ossawatomie, they led him out to die;
And lo! a poor slave mother with her little child pressed nigh.
Then the bold blue eye grew tender, and the old harsh face
grew mild
As he stooped between the jeering ranks and kissed the Negro's
child.
The shadows of his stormy life that moment fell apart,
And they who blamed the bloody hand forgave the loving heart,
That kiss from all its guilty means redeemed the good intent,
And around the grisly fighter's hair the martyr's aureole bent!
Perish with him the folly that seeks through evil good!
Long live the generous purpose unstained by human blood!
Not the raid of midnight terror, but the thought which
underlies;
Not the borderer's pride of daring, but the Christian's
sacrifice.
Nevermore may yon Blue Ridges the northern rifle hear,
Nor see the light of blazing homes flash on the Negro's
spear,
But let the free-winged angel Truth their guarded passes
scale,
To teach that right is more than might, and justice more
than mail!
So vainly shall Virginia set her battle in array;
In vain her trampling squadrons knead the winter snows
with clay.
She may strike the pouncing eagle, but she dares not
harm the dove;
And every gate she bars to Hate shall open wide to Love.
