Virginian Memories

ALL day we sat in the motor bus,
Tearing along the straight smooth Lee Highway,
Farther and farther going into Virginia.
As we went the North faded and faded,
And the South grew and grew as we went along.
And all the time I was singing to myself,
‘O Shenandoah, I long to hear you. . .’
We saw proud old Colonial houses
Of time-toned brick, with white wide porches and windows,
Set comfortably in the rolling Virginian land.
And all the towns and villages were full of black men;
And black men worked in the fields and on the roads;
And old black women and little children stood
In the doors of rotting wood houses, and at the corners
Of untidy wooden streets.
All along the road were cypresses;
And often we went by maples, budding red,
Making all of rich Virginia richer.
And I (full of the sad music of the name,
And feeling it strange to be near the place of the name)
Kept singing to myself, and sometimes out aloud,
‘O Shenandoah, I love your daughter....’

So we went onwards and onwards. The blue high hills
That ridge the Shenandoah Valley grew higher and bluer,
And higher and bluer. And still we went on and on.
Slow and wide,
The Shenandoah (O Shenandoah!)
Ran through the level countryside;
Through the level countryside The Shenandoah (O Shenandoah!)
Went its proud unhurried way.
(O Shenandoah!)
Its proud unhurried way it went,
By heavy-budded trees that bent
And touched the waters they had known
When the Shenandoah was all alone,
Was all alone (O Shenandoah!);
Before red men had crossed the hills,
And had come into the plain;
Before white men had crossed the hills,
And had driven them out again;

Before the land had been wild with guns
In the days of the Civil War.
(O Shenandoah!)
It knew what solitude was, once,
Did the Shenandoah.
And there we saw it, slow and wide,
Run quietly through the countryside;
Slow and wide;
Slow and proud.
(O Shenandoah! O Shenandoah!)

We traveled on until evening; and the mountains distant
Before us grew near, and passed, and grew distant behind us;
And I kept singing the song which had a new meaning:
‘O Shenandoah, I’ll not deceive you;
Away you rolling river!
O Shenandoah, I’ve got to leave you;
Away I’m bound to go. . . .’

I saw an ancient cherry tree
Scarredly and crookedly
Stand in a field that was also
Crooked and scarred with the scars of plough.
Bloom was misty upon the bough;
And the earth was red with the riches of earth;
And the wind that frolicked a thoughtless path
Would tremble the blossoms then and now —
Tremble the blossoms; and laugh; and go;
And the red earth would be flecked with snow.

That’s all. And yet it seemed to me
That the plough-scarred field and crooked tree
Were built in holy harmony.

And I saw also cypresses
Pricking the sky.

The ploughland stretched in rhythmic way
Between the hills and where I lay;
Rich brown, rich red it stretched. There was
A Negro sat astride a horse
That dragged a harrow;
In a certain course (that seemed
As rhythmic as the rounded land)

Across the ploughland, cracked with furrow,
They dragged a harrow.
The dust rose white at the horse’s tread;
Then blew; then mingled again with the red
Bold sweep of earth.
And then the trees,
Standing as sentinels, caught my eye;
And I saw also cypresses
Pricking the sky.

I hear the tramp of Confederates
March down the wind, and the hoofs of horse
Clatter upon the rocks. A pause . . .
And the wind is still. . . . And the army waits. . . .

This hill has rung with men like a town,
And a gun been dragged up its wooded slant.
The soldiers came, and the soldiers went;
And the soldiers went, and the gun fell down;

And now the hill has only the wind
That peoples its sides with a thousand feet,
And clatters with horse, and brings the beat
Of the drums of war to the lonely land.

In Virginia I met a man from Ohio
Who said: ‘I’ve been in Virginia for four years,
And if I stay here four years more I’ll be
As crazy about it as the Virginians are.’

Do you need eight years to lose your heart to this,
O stubborn man, O stubborn man from Ohio?