Spectral Lovers...of the Great Dismal Swamp

"Lake Drummond in The Great Dismal Swamp
National Wildlife Refuge" photo by U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service
 Northeast Region via Wikimedia Commons

One of only two natural lakes in Virginia is surrounded by 100,000 acres of deep, dark wetlands straddling that state's southeastern border with its neighbor, North Carolina. Lake Drummond sits in the midst of the Great Dismal Swamp and, along with its mysterious swamplands, is the source of many ghostly tales. As this intriguing natural wonder is central to my latest work-in-progress (a middle-grade novel entitled Zephyr Stone, Ghost Charmer,) and as this is the romantic month of 
February, I am sharing one of the swamp's most famous stories.

"Thomas Moore" by Martin Archer Shee

One of the oldest tales of the Great Dismal Swamp is the enduring legend of the Lady of the Lake. The earliest people to populate the swamp were Native Americans who are thought to have first lived there 13,000 years into the past. It is not surprising, then, that this long-lived tale features those early inhabitants. It is said that a young Native American woman died just before her wedding day and her ghostly image can be seen paddling a white canoe through the dark waters of Lake Drummond. While visiting Norfolk, Virginia in 1803, Irish poet Thomas Moore immortalized the Lady and her distraught bridegroom in his poem, "A Ballad: The Lake of the Dismal Swamp." This was part of Moore's book, Epistles, Odes, and Other Poems, written in 1806 about his experiences and impressions during his visit to Bermuda and the eastern region of America. His introduction to the collection is a scathing criticism of the people he encountered in the young nation. His poem about the spectral lovers, however, is the height of romanticism.

From the Sheet Music Collection of
Samuel S. Levy at Johns Hopkins University

A Ballad: The Lake of the Dismal Swamp
by Thomas Moore

“They made her a grave, too cold and damp 

For a soul so warm and true; 

And she’s gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, 

Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp, 

She paddles her white canoe. 

“And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see, 

And her paddle I soon shall hear; 

Long and loving our life shall be, 

And I’ll hide the maid in a cypress tree,

When the footstep of death is near.” 

Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds— 

His path was rugged and sore, 

Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds,

Through many a fen where the serpent feeds, 

And man never trod before. 

And when on the earth he sunk to sleep, 

If slumber his eyelids knew, 

He lay where the deadly vine doth weep 

"Stained Glass of Dismal Swamp" photo by KL Wood

Its venomous tear and nightly steep 

The flesh with blistering dew! 

And near him the she-wolf stirr’d the brake, 

And the copper-snake breath’d in his ear, 

Till he starting cried, from his dream awake, 

“Oh! when shall I see the dusky Lake, 

And the white canoe of my dear?” 

He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright 

Quick over its surface play’d— 

“Welcome,” he said, “my dear one’s light!” 

And the dim shore echoed for many a night 

The name of the death-cold maid. 

"Beaver Dam, Dismal Swamp" photo by KL Wood

Till he hollow’d a boat of the birchen bark, 

Which carried him off from shore; 

Far, far he follow’d the meteor spark, 

The wind was high and the clouds were dark, 

And the boat return’d no more. 

But oft, from the Indian hunter’s camp, 

This lover and maid so true 

Are seen at the hour of midnight damp 

To cross the Lake by a fire-fly lamp, 

And paddle their white canoe!

    My husband and I visited the Great Dismal Swamp National Wildlife Refuge, today, with

"Tree in Road, Dismal Swamp" photo by KL Wood

the intention of driving to Lake Drummond. Unfortunately, a victim of this morning's wind storm blocked our path half-way, its long branches stretching across the narrow road, its large root base upended over the canal leading to the lake. Oh well. Another day. Who knows, perhaps the Lady of the Lake did not wish to be disturbed today.

Thanks for stopping by...y'all come back now.  And Happy Valentine's Day!
Kate

Passionate Words...timeless expression

The Kiss, 1907, by Gustav Klimt

In researching love poems of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, I ran across a passionate volume pulsing with the ardor of Belgian poet, Emile Verhaeren (1855-1916.) F. S. Flint wrote an English translation of his work which was published in 1916 by Constable and Company. So many of Verhaeren's poetic lines are suitable as the basis for Valentine cards, I can imagine many were springboards for World War I romantics on both sides of the Atlantic. Perhaps you will find a line or two with which to express your twenty-first century thoughts of love this Valentine's Day. Love, after all, is timeless.

In the spirit of true love, both freshly discovered and long lived, I present here a few of Verhaeren's poems as translated by Flint. To see the entire volume, visit: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/45470/45470-h/45470-h.htm 

From

The Love Poems of 

Emile Verhaeren

XIX

The Love Letter by Raimundo de Madrazo y Garreta (1841-1920)

May your bright eyes, your eyes of summer, be for me here on earth the images of goodness.

Let our enkindled souls clothe with gold each flame of our thoughts.

May my two hands against your heart be for you here on earth the emblems of gentleness.

Let us live like two frenzied prayers straining at all hours one towards the other.

May our kisses on our enraptured mouths be for us here on earth the symbols of our life.

XIII

And what matters the wherefores and the reasons, and who we were and who we are; all doubt is dead in this garden of blossoms that opens up in us and about us, so far from men.

I do not argue, and do not desire to know, and nothing will disturb what is but mystery and gentle raptures and involuntary fervour and tranquil soaring towards our heaven of hope.

I feel your brightness before understanding that you are so; and it is my gladness, infinitely, to perceive myself thus gently loving without asking why your voice calls me.

Let us be simple and good—and day be minister of light and affection to us; and let them say that life is not made for a love like ours.

VIII

Title Unknown, Henri-Jean Guillaume Martin,1860-1943

As in the simple ages, I have given you my heart, like a wide-spreading flower that opens pure and lovely in the dewy hours; within its moist petals my lips have rested.

The flower, I gathered it with fingers of flame; say nothing to it: for all words are perilous; it is through the eyes that soul listens to soul.

The flower that is my heart and my avowal confides in all simplicity to your lips that it is loyal, bright and good, and that we trust in virgin love as a child trusts in God.

Leave wit to flower on the hills in freakish paths of vanity; and let us give a simple welcome to the sincerity that holds our two true hearts within its crystalline hands;

Nothing is so lovely as a confession of souls one to the other, in the evening, when the flame of the uncountable diamonds burns like so many silent eyes the silence of the firmaments.

XII

At the time when I had long suffered and the hours were snares to me, you appeared to me as the welcoming light that shines from the windows on to the snow in the depths of winter evenings.

The brightness of your hospitable soul touched my heart lightly without wounding it, like a hand of tranquil warmth.

Then came a holy trust, and an open heart, and affection, and the union at last of our two loving hands, one evening of clear understanding and of gentle calm.

Illustration for Saturday Evening Post 
by Joseph Christian Leyendecker, 1874-1951 

Since then, although summer has followed frost both in ourselves and beneath the sky whose eternal flames deck with gold all the paths of our thoughts;

And although our love has become an immense flower, springing from proud desire, that ever begins anew within our heart, to grow yet better;

I still look back on the small light that was sweet to me, the first.

XVII

Because you came one day so simply along the paths of devotion and took my life into your beneficent hands, I love and praise and thank you with my senses, with my heart and brain, with my whole being stretched like a torch towards your unquenchable goodness and charity.

Since that day, I know what love, pure and bright as the dew, falls from you on to my calmed soul. I feel myself yours by all the burning ties that attach flames to their fire; all my body, all my soul mounts towards you with tireless ardour; I never cease to brood on your deep earnestness and your charm, so much so that suddenly I feel my eyes fill deliciously with unforgettable tears.

And I make towards you, happy and calm, with the proud desire to be for ever the most steadfast of joys to you. All our affection flames about us; every echo of my being responds to your call; the hour is unique and sanctified with ecstasy, and my fingers are tremulous at the mere touching of your forehead, as though they brushed the wing of your thoughts.

VIII

Title Unknown, 1910 per Wikimedia Commons

In the house chosen by our love as its birth-place, with its cherished furniture peopling the shadows and the nooks, where we live together, having as sole witnesses the roses that watch us through the windows,

Certain days stand out of so great a consolation, certain hours of summer so lovely in their silence, that sometimes I stop time that swings with its golden disc in the oaken clock.

Then the hour, the day, the night is so much ours that the happiness that hovers lightly over us hears nothing but the throbbing of your heart and mine that are brought close together by a sudden embrace.

Have a good couple weeks, dear Reader. Thanks for stopping by...y'all come back now! (And remember...all you need is love.)

Kate

What's Love Got To Do With It?...18th century courtship and marriage

"The Judicious Lover" 18th century after Hubert Gravelot

In the early 18^th century, whether you married for love or money was often a matter of socioeconomic class. As in ladies’ fashions, the higher your social status, the lower your ability to do as you pleased. For the upper class, marriage was an arrangement made by parents seeking to cement the foundations of their wealth and power in the community. Any notions of romance were seen as secondary and, in truth, detrimental to such pairings. It was a thoughtful business decision set apart from the mercurial passions of the young people. Love, as such, was something one might grow into as the couple lived out their respectable, marriage contract. (Or…attained outside the bonds of marriage.) Young women, especially, had little to say in the matter and knew, once they were married, any small amount of independence they currently enjoyed was put to an end as their husbands would have complete legal control over them. If a young man’s attention was independently drawn to a particular lady, he would first have to receive the permission of his own father who, if he approved of the potential match, would send a formal request to the young lady’s father. The two patriarchs would meet and discuss the financial arrangements and if a 

"Conversation in a Park" (1768) Thomas Gainsborough

satisfactory deal was made, the son was given permission to court the object of his affections prior to the agreed-upon marriage (whether or not the young lady had any interest at all.) If a young couple fell in love without the approval of their fathers, their only choice was to dissolve all financial ties and rights from their families, losing any inheritance they may have expected, and set out on their own. In today’s world of modern love and independence, that choice may seem a no-brainer but it was a very difficult move in the early 1700s. In some areas, the unapproved suitor could be sued by the young woman’s father for inveigling her affections, gaining her love through trickery. It was not until the mid to late 18^th century that parental control diminished and young people of the upper classes were freer to court and marry based on romantic love.

    

"Haymaker and Sleeping Girl" (1785) Thomas Gainsborough

Now of course, if you were born into a lower rung of the societal ladder, your choices for courtship and marriage were much broader since wealth and status were not part of the

equation. That did not mean, however, families felt no responsibility for their children's welfare. The practice of “bundling” in which a courting couple were allowed to sleep in the same bed, fully clothed with a bundling board or bolster between them in the young lady’s family home, served a dual purpose. In many lower income families, everyone slept in the same room, and it was a means in which not only the young lovers could get to know each other better but also as a way of proving the identity of the unborn baby’s father if things progressed, as they so often would, despite the physical barriers.

 In this more relaxed attitude toward courtship and marriage, there were varied forms of marriage agreements in the early 1700s, not all dependent upon a minister or magistrate. One of the more prevalent means was “handfasting” or “spousal” in which the young couple, with or without witnesses, simply held hands and promised love and loyalty, declaring themselves married. These personal ceremonies were held anywhere the couple chose and in Colonial America

"Young Girl Listening to Conversation Between Two Lovers"
(1789) by Michel Garnier

were often performed over an anvil in a blacksmith’s shop, symbolizing the strength of their bond. Some were held right in the bedroom just prior to conjugal bliss. Since a number of those husbands disappeared by morning’s light, the bride would sometimes hide her friends in the closet as witnesses to
the ceremony. For spousals that were sincere, the couple often gave each other the gift of a half a broken silver sixpence which each kept until death did them part. Another custom was called “spousal de futuro,” which was an announcement of engagement, but if a baby was conceived in the interim, the status was automatically elevated to “spousal.”

"The Joys of Motherhood" (1752) by Jean-Honore Fragonard

Remember this old chant from your childhood?  “First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes (insert name of choice) with a baby carriage.” As you can see, in the early 18^th century, the order of events could take any number of variations and, come to think of it, that’s not so different from today, after all!

Have a good week, dear Reader. Thanks for stopping by...Y'all come back now!

Love is in the Air...18th Century Valentine Wishes

"Happy Lovers" (1760-1765) by Jean-Honore Fragonard

"St. Valentine Baptizing St. Lucilla" (1575) by Jacopo Bassano

"The Lupercalian Festival in Rome" by the Circle of Adam Elsheimer (1578-1610)

Ah…’tis the week of love culminating in Valentine’s Day this Friday the 14th. Many’s the modern man who looks upon this day with disdain claiming it’s just a made-up day by the greeting card companies, a pernicious ploy to part the lover from his cash, to trap his heart in ransom until he buys his love a valentine. Oh, but he would be wrong, at least as far as the origins of the day are concerned. Celebrating February 14 as a day for proclamations of love goes waaaay back to ancient Roman times. Although more than one story exists as to how the saint, for which the day is named, became associated with romantic love, there are two likely scenarios. One, is that a priest named Valentine, who lived in 3^rd century Rome, defied Emperor Claudius II’s orders and performed secret wedding ceremonies for soldiers. The emperor had outlawed the marriage of his soldiers, deeming them less useful if they had wives and children to think of. When Claudius II learned of the priest’s actions, he had him imprisoned and sentenced to death. Another story has it that while in prison, Valentine fell in love with the jailer’s daughter who was kind to him and, before his death, penned her a letter reading “From your Valentine.” 

Long before Valentine, however, the Romans celebrated the festival of Lupercalia, a day in mid- February dedicated to the god of fertility, Faunus. In the 5^th century, in an effort to distract Christians from the pagan activities, the church deemed February 14 as

Saint Valentine’s Day, the day on which the saintly priest was martyred. In the middle ages, the good folk of England and France thought that February 14 was the day birds chose their mates for the season and in this mix of pagan fertility rites, loving saints, and love birds, the romantic notions of Saint Valentine’s Day came to full flower.

"Lovers in a Landscape" (1740) Pieter Jan van Reysschoot 

                    

" Helene Lambert de Thorigny" (1700) Portrait by Nicolas de Largillierre
Flowers by Jean-Baptiste Belin de Fontenay

Jumping ahead to the 18^th century, we find many poems flowing from romantic hearts and hand-written messages of love being exchanged on February 14. And if a love-struck Romeo of the late 18^th century found himself at a loss for words, he could refer to a book published in Great Britain in 1797 entitled, The Young Man’s Valentine Writer. Remember the old standard, “Roses are red, Violets are blue?” Well you will find the original is a Valentine message written in a collection of English nursery rhymes in 1784, 

Gammer Gurton’s Garland. 

Here, you see it in its original version:

The rose is red, the violet's blue,

The honey's sweet, and so are you.

Thou are my love and I am thine;

I drew thee to my Valentine:

The lot was cast and then I drew,

And Fortune said it shou'd be you.

"Mary Darby Robinson as 'Perdita' "(1782) by Joshua Reynolds 

For more adult verses, I give you a prolific female poet of the 18^th century, Mary Darby Robinson, whose life was short on years but long on romantic intrigue (including a bout with the teenaged Prince of Wales, but that’s for another day!) Here, I present one of her many poems touting the sweet pain love can inflict upon us:

“Sonnet XVII: Love Steals Unheeded”

Love steals unheeded o'er the tranquil mind,

As Summer breezes fan the sleeping main,

Slow through each fibre creeps the subtle pain,

'Till closely round the yielding bosom twin'd.

Vain is the hope the magic to unbind,

The potent mischief riots in the brain,

Grasps ev'ry thought, and burns in ev'ry vein,

'Till in the heart the Tyrant lives enshrin'd.

Oh! Victor strong! bending the vanquish'd frame;

Sweet is the thraldom that thou bid'st us prove!

And sacred is the tear thy victims claim,

For blest are those whom sighs of sorrow move!

Then nymphs beware how ye profane my name,

Nor blame my weakness, till like me ye love.

    

"Robert Burns" by Alexander Naysmith (1758-1840)

Turning to that 18^th century superstar of songs and poetry, I give you Scotland’s Robert Burns whose hundreds of verses are full of romantic notions. Here is one of his all-time favorites:

"A Red, Red Rose" 

O my Luve's like a red, red rose

That's newly sprung in June;

O my Luve's like the melodie

That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in luve am I;

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Till a' the seas gang dry:

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi' the sun;

I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve,

And fare thee weel awhile!

And I will come again, my Luve,

Tho' it ware ten thousand mile.

Yes, just give Robbie a lass’s name and he’ll pen her tribute. Here is a list of names I pulled from his long list of poems and songs (perhaps you’ll find your lady’s name!)

Lesley

Mary

Mary Ann

"The Swing" (1767) by Jean-Honore Fragonard

Bell

Nell

Eliza

Eppie

Nanie   

Polly

Sylvia

Bessie

Jessie

Meg

Peggy

Peg

Stella

Jean

Jeanie

Clarina

Clarinda

Ann

Anna

Phillis

Nancy

Jessie

Cholris

Philly

Leezie

Mally

Katie

"Lovers First Tiff" (1876 painting of an 18th century scene)
by Louis Haghe

A busy man was our Rrrobbie! Now, if you find a poem suitable for your love, you may want to do a little Scottish/modern English translation or you just might honor her with a line like this from one of his poetic ditties: “Johnie lad, cock up your beaver…”

Hmmm…well on that note, I think it’s time to draw this post to close!

Have a good week, dear Reader. Thanks for stopping by...Y'all come back now!  (And Happy Valentine's Day!)