William Hayes Ward wrote of this poem: "How naturally his large faith in God finds expression in his `Marshes of Glynn'."Edwin Mims, in his biography of Sidney Lanier, concludes by quoting this poem.
He writes:
"His best poems move to the cadence of a tune....Sometimes, as in the `Marshes of Glynn' and in the best parts of `Sunrise', there is a cosmic rhythm that is like unto the rhythmic beating of the heart of God, of which Poe and Lanier have written eloquently."And later continues:
"Indeed, if one had to rely upon one poem to keep alive the fame of Lanier, he could single out `The Marshes of Glynn' with assurance that there is something so individual and original about it, and that, at the same time, there is such a roll and range of verse in it, that it will surely live not only in American poetry but in English.
Here the imagination has taken the place of fancy, the effort to do great things ends in victory, and the melody of the poem corresponds to the exalted thought.It has all the strong points of `Sunrise', with but few of its limitations.There is something of Whitman's virile imagination and Emerson's high spirituality combined with the haunting melody of Poe's best work.Written in 1878, when Lanier was in the full exercise of all his powers, it is the best expression of his genius and one of the few great American poems.
"The background of the poem -- as of `Sunrise' -- is the forest, the coast and the marshes near Brunswick, Georgia.Early in life Lanier had been thrilled by this wonderful natural scenery, and later visits had the more powerfully impressed his imagination.
He is the poet of the marshes as surely as Bryant is of the forests, or Wordsworth of the mountains.
"The poet represents himself as having spent the day in the forest and coming at sunset into full view of the length and the breadth and the sweep of the marshes.The glooms of the live-oaks and the emerald twilights of the `dim sweet woods, of the dear dark woods,'
have been as a refuge from the riotous noon-day sun.More than that, in the wildwood privacies and closets of lone desire he has known the passionate pleasure of prayer and the joy of elevated thought.
His spirit is grown to a lordly great compass within, -- he is ready for what Wordsworth calls a `god-like hour'."Mr.Callaway also treats the poem in Part III of the `Introduction'.
RemonstranceOpinion, let me alone: I am not thine.[1]
Prim Creed, with categoric point, forbear To feature me my Lord by rule and line.
Thou canst not measure Mistress Nature's hair, Not one sweet inch: nay, if thy sight is sharp, Would'st count the strings upon an angel's harp?
Forbear, forbear.
Oh let me love my Lord more fathom deep Than there is line to sound with: let me love My fellow not as men that mandates keep:
Yea, all that's lovable, below, above, [11]
That let me love by heart, by heart, because (Free from the penal pressure of the laws)I find it fair.
The tears I weep by day and bitter night, Opinion! for thy sole salt vintage fall.
-- As morn by morn I rise with fresh delight, Time through my casement cheerily doth call, "Nature is new, 'tis birthday every day, Come feast with me, let no man say me nay, Whate'er befall." [21]
So fare I forth to feast: I sit beside Some brother bright: but, ere good-morrow's passed, Burly Opinion wedging in hath cried, "Thou shalt not sit by us, to break thy fast, Save to our Rubric thou subscribe and swear --`Religion hath blue eyes and yellow hair':
She's Saxon, all."
Then, hard a-hungered for my brother's grace Till well-nigh fain to swear his folly's true, In sad dissent I turn my longing face [31]
To him that sits on the left: "Brother, -- with you?"-- "Nay, not with me, save thou subscribe and swear `Religion hath black eyes and raven hair':
Nought else is true."
Debarred of banquets that my heart could make With every man on every day of life, I homeward turn, my fires of pain to slake In deep endearments of a worshiped wife.
"I love thee well, dear Love," quoth she, "and yet Would that thy creed with mine completely met, [41]
As one, not two."
Assassin! Thief! Opinion, 'tis thy work.
By Church, by throne, by hearth, by every good That's in the Town of Time, I see thee lurk, And e'er some shadow stays where thou hast stood.
Thou hand'st sweet Socrates his hemlock sour;Thou sav'st Barabbas in that hideous hour, And stabb'st the goodDeliverer Christ; thou rack'st the souls of men;Thou tossest girls to lions and boys to flames; [51]
Thou hew'st Crusader down by Saracen;
Thou buildest closets full of secret shames;Indifferent cruel, thou dost blow the blaze Round Ridley or Servetus; all thy days Smell scorched; I would-- Thou base-born Accident of time and place --Bigot Pretender unto Judgment's throne --Bastard, that claimest with a cunning face Those rights the true, true Son of Man doth own By Love's authority -- thou Rebel cold [61]
At head of civil wars and quarrels old --Thou Knife on a throne I would thou left'st me free, to live with love, And faith, that through the love of love doth find My Lord's dear presence in the stars above, The clods below, the flesh without, the mind Within, the bread, the tear, the smile.
Opinion, damned Intriguer, gray with guile, Let me alone.
____
Baltimore, 1878-9.
Notes: Remonstrance This is the first and the greatest of the `Street-cries':
see the introductory note to `Life and Song'.
For an interpretation of the poem see `Introduction', pp.xxix [Part III], xlv, xlvii [Part IV].
26, 33.Amusing illustrations of such intolerance may be found in `Jack-knife and Brambles' (Nashville, 1893), by Bishop Atticus G.Haygood, of the Methodist Church, South.One brother, we are told (p.278), objected to hearing Bishop Haygood in 1859 because of his wearing a beard;while another (p.281), along in the thirties, voted against licensing Bishop George F.Pierce because his hair was "combed back from his forehead"!
46.For an account of Socrates, the Greek philosopher, poisoned in 399 B.C., see Xenophon's `Memorabilia' and Plato's dialogues.
