To Rodolphe

---

While in Richmond, Ellen Dowdell was a frequent contributor to local papers.  

A contemporary writer, John Esten Cooke, writing under the pen name of "Rodolphe," would sometimes write in answer.  

These two poems were part of this poetic correspondence in the "The Enquirer." *

* From the Military Order of the Stars and Bars 

To the tune of "Bonnie Boat"     

       Oh, Nannie Grey,

       'Tis many a day, 

Since last we heard from thee;

       We've waited long

       To hear thy song

Ring out, so wild and free.

       Then sing again

       Thy sweetest strain,

And cheer us with its notes,

       For music's charm

       Our cares disarm,

As on the breeze it floats.

       Oh, Nannie Grey,

       Reflect - "tis fair,

The rose and lily fair,

       The violets, neat,

       And lilacs, sweet,

Are blooming everywhere!

       The balmy breeze,

       The sighing trees

And flowers that round us throng -

       The birds that sing,

       And joyous Spring,

Will welcome thy sweet song.

       Oh, Nannie Grey!

       Oh, list - pray -

Thy harp, so bright and true,

       waits but for thee

       To touch the key,

And all its powers renew.

       Then sing again

Thy rich refrain -

Aye, like the birds of May -

       Tho' we ne'er met

       Yet who'd forget

The songs of Nannie Grey?

       Oh, Nannie Grey,

       You're far away,

And we may never meet,

       Yet here's a wreath

       We've woven 'neath

Our vine-thatched arbor, sweet; -

       The off'ring's poor

       yet we've no more,

Oh, do accept - we pray!

       And bind it now

       Around thy brow,

Oh, charming Nannie Grey.

By Rodolphe

Richmond, Virginia

May 12, 1860    

Picture: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Esten_Cooke#/media/File:John_Esten_Cooke_wmm.jpg

The wreath you wove, so fair and fine,

     I've placed in Memory's bowers,

Where, ever fadeless as the light,

     Shall bloom its brilliant flowers.

Oh! could I think, some song of mine,

     All humble though it be,

Could thrill a heart oppressed by care

     How happy 't would make me.

I know 'tis spring  --  for roses bright

     Are clustering 'round my door;

And hide and seek the sun-beams play,

     All day long o'er the floor.

I know the breeze, among the trees, 

      Is sighing soft and sweet;

I know the blue-eyed violet

      Is springing 'neath my feet.

I know, within the forest green,

     The wild-bird seeks the shade;

 I know the rippling shadows fall,

     Refreshing every glade; ---

I also know, had I the power

     To sweep the minstrel's strings,

I'd sing in strains of sweetest notes,

     Of all these beauteous things.

But, Ah! how vain attempt it is,

     For wingless bird to fly;

Thus I lie groveling on the earth,

     While pinioned birds soar by,

Yet 'tis a fond and pleasant thought,

      To feel that song of mine,

Should prompt a hand to cull a flower,

     To lay on Friendship's shrine.

Then, ever, on my grateful brow,

     In all its pristine green,

Shall this bright wreath, of fairy flowers,

     In beauty, bright, to be seen;

And when these dark-hued locks of mine,

     "Old Time" shall touch with snow,

Its clustering leaflets, green and fresh,

     Shall pleasant thoughts bestow. 

By Nannie Grey

Richmond, Virginia

June 9, 1860

       John Cooke was born in Winchester, Virginia in 1830.  He was the son of Maria Pendleton and John Roger Cooke.  His family moved to Richmond, Virginia in 1840. 

He became a noted author for his writing about Virginia's life and history. 

John died in 1886 at the age of 55.   

      The John Esten Cooke Fiction Award is given "annually to encourage writers of fiction to portray characters and events dealing with the War Between the States, Confederate heritage, or Southern history in a historically accurate fashion." *

 *Military Order of the Stars and Bars 

I saw a fair and lovely maid,

      Some sixteen year, I ween,

Who stood amid a smiling group,

      Their blushing May Day queen.

Her eyes were of the violet hue,

      E’er changing with the light –

The rose-bud on her downy cheek,

      Was budding purely bright!

Her lips were tinted coral-red;

      Her brow was high and fair – 

And twining flowers of blended bloom,

      Were wreathed around her hair.

‘Twas evening, and the glorious sun, 

      As slowly he went down,

A golden halo seemed to cast

      Around her flowery crown.

Two years had passed! – I stood beside

     That lovely maiden’s bed, 

And wiped the dewy damps that death

     Had spread about her head.

For Azareal on darkened wing, 

     Had entered her fair home,

And angels bright, with golden harps,

     Had whispered, “Mary! Come!”

Her mother, weeping, stood around;

     But Mary clasped her hand,

And said, in voice of lute-like tone,

      “There is a better land!”

“Oh! Mother, dear, have you forgot, 

     This day, two years ago;

When health was dancing in my veins,

     And my cheeks were all aglow;

I stood upon the verdant bank,

     And wore the May Day crown,

Upon this head (now struck with death,)

    Just as the sun went down.

“It seemed, then, in the rippling breeze,

     That whispered in mine ear,

I saw what none could see, and heard

     A voice that none could hear.

Me thought, I saw an angel band,

     Down from the realms of light,

Come floating on the sunset clouds,

     With a golden crown so bright

“It seemed, they placed it on my head,

     And in voice of sweetest swell,

Said ‘Earth has held thee long enough,

      In Heaven thou soon must dwell.'

It might have been a brilliant dream,

      That floated through my brain;

But, yet, I know it filled my heart,

      And poured my tears like rain.

“Weep not for me, sweet mother dear;

     But when in death I’m laid,

Oh! plant the flowers that bloom in May,

     About by slumbering head;

And often, in the dewy eve, 

     When the sun goes lingering down,

Think – Mary with the saints in Heaven,

     Now wears a golden crown!”

By Nannie Grey

Richmond, Virginia

Researching to find information about this Mary. 

Picture:  https://pixabay.com/en/girl-woman-beautiful-vintage-2228780/

Oh, sweet and fair and all aglow,

With the silvery radiance of long ago,

Are these autumn days, with their skies serene,

And the earth a picture in amber and green;

While nature makes a pause in the hush of noon

With a lapse of waves in a rhythmic tune,

And over all comes the musical swell,

The beating pulse of a silver bell.

The night is a dream of silvery light,

Where stars and waves in beauty unite,

And the kiss of the rose on the fragrant seas

Is borne o’er the hills by the Southern breeze;

While under the vines by the light wind stirred

The mockingbird’s “silvery song” is heard,

And swinging and ringing in musical swell

Comes the silver sound of a wedding bell.

Sweet silver bells, so soft and clear,

What a tale you tell to the listening ear –

The wonderful story that never grows old,

Of wonderful love that shall never grow cold;

The fountains flash up their silvery rain,

As the nightingales join in a glad refrain,

And chant on the air, whence the dewdrops fell,

While they echo the song of the silver bell.

How the song of the bell brings the past again

Its sorrows and joys, its gladness and pain,

Its twenty-five years of shadow and shine,

Its glorified years of beauty divine;

Through the coming years of storm and of sun,

When silver sands to golden have run,

When gazing up to those heights sublime

That marks the border land of time,

May fondest love still guide the way 

Which brings you to the perfect day,

And perfect love which can only be told

By heavenly harps of silver and gold.

With congratulations and good wishes, 

Very Sincerely Yours,

 E. D. Hundley

19 Jul 1887

Inscribed to Mr. and Mrs. Beall on the 25th anniversary of their wedding day. 

Jane Elizabeth Alexander and Benjamin Leander Beall were married on 19 Jul 1862. (Related through the Gilmers)

Picture:   
https://images.pexels.com/photos/89559/pexels-photo-89559.jpeg 

Oh! a beautiful stream is the river of Time

As it softly flows, like a Runic* rhyme,

Gliding through meads of verdant haze,

Sparkling and bright in the noon-tide blaze;

Darkling and sad when tempests lower

A thing of light and shadowy power.

Now thirty years, down History's tide

In the life of this church, calmly, side by side

Pastor and people have floated on

Loving and loved in the days that are gone

As the billows of Time have borne away

From the star-lit dawn, to the golden day.

And now we stand by the river's brim

Where waves are singing, a festival hymn -

A solemn hymn, for the glorified years

That shine through the past of smiles and tears

Like a rainbow of Peace, in the flooded skies,

Rich with the tints of Heavenly dyes.

A little "isle" in this stream is found,

Where blossoms and buds are scattered around;

Where we rest today 'neath the waving trees

And breathe in the blessings of fragrance breeze.

Oh! rest thee here, in this emerald land

While the tide rolls by over silvery sand.

In this thirtieth year, we will anchor awhile

With love freighted hearts, in this amethyst isle

And sing of the past - of its hopes and its fears,

Of the course of Time and its ceaseless years

Of the blessed years that have floated by

And left no cloud in the brilliant sky;

Of the sorrowful years, whenwhen joy had fled,

And the willows wept o'er the early dead;

Of our faithful friend, who in storm and in shine

Ever pointed us up to the Light Devine,

And bade us look from these scenes, away

To an endless real of unfading day.

Oh! this wonderful, wonderful river of Time

With its grandeur and glory and voice sublime!

How it speaks to the heart, recalling the hours,

The songs of the birds, the bloom of the flowers-

The splenders of morn, the gloom of the night,

The shadowy ways and the places of light.

How it speaks of the future, of visions so bright,

Delectable mountains, empurpled in light-

Of the glory revealed, when shadows shall flee

As we joyfully sail toward the crystalline sea.

Near the jasper tide when our perils are past

In the harbor of Heaven, may we anchor at last.

This appears to be in 1889.  The 38th anniversary poem was written in 1997 to Pastor J. Henry Smith.

Picture:

Photo of a Pacifica sunset from our back yard.

We’ve wandered through the dewy fields,

By hills and valleys wide,

In search of buds and blossoms rare,

In the  glorious Easter-tide.

From garden wall, from hot-house green,

From open mead and plain,

Glad tribute to the spring, we find,

Born of the April rain.

The sunshine sparkles in each flower,

Whose cups are bright with dew,

Pairs snow-drops and anemones,

And hyacinths of blue,

Bright roses and geraniums

With violets, sweet untold,

And over all, the lily fair,

With shining heart of gold.

So through the years, of light and shade

The bond has strongly grown,

Like wreaths of amethystine flowers

Cementing into one.

Our loving heats, our checkered lives,

Our days of cloud and shine,

Pastor and people, wisely led

Beneath the smile, Divine.

And gracious Father, who has blessed

And crowned these lengthened years,

With all their precious fruits of faith,

Their mingled hopes and fears.

Grant that this bond, no severance find,

But that in fields above,

‘Mid radiant and immortal blooms,

We’ll meet to sing thy love.

By Mrs. E. D. Hundley

To our Pastor Smith, on the 38th anniversary of his pastorate, from the appreciative and loving members of the First Presbyterian Church of Greensboro, North Carolina.

He Makes Grateful Acknowledgment of the Visit of Some of His Congregation.

To the Editor, 

Greensboro, North Carolina, 

April 22, 1897

      Allow me to thank you for your kind and flattering words and good wishes expressed in your paper of the 20th and 21st of April, in reference to my 38 years’ pastorate of the First Presbyterian Church. 

      I wish also to express my sincere and grateful appreciation of the visit of many of my dear members who came on Tuesday evening, with loving words and congratulations for their senior pastor and laden with exquisitely beautiful flowers which were presented to him in fitting and heartfelt utterances by Mr. Thomas J Shaw.

      No ordinary words, then spoken by the pastor (or now recalled), can adequately utter the deep and grateful feelings of his heart for these tokens and assurances of their abiding love and confidence. God bless them – one and all – for time and eternity. 

      I beg to append to this note, the following lines handed in the evening to the senior pastor – which will be recognized as from the graceful pen and loving heart of Mrs. E. D. Hundley.

Yours Truly,

J. Henry Smith

 (The above poem was included in this letter to the editor.)

Picture:

https://www.pexels.com/photo/beautiful-bloom-blooming-blossom-531499/

How soft and sweet upon the air,

The golden bells ring everywhere;

With gentle and melodious chime

Upon the listening ear of Time;

Tinging, singing, ringing,

Like a prayer to Heaven up-springing,

These wedding bells, glad, golden bells –

What a song of love their music tells.

A psalm of life for fifty years,

As hand in hand, through smiles and tears,

Through shine and shade, through dark and light.

These two have made their pathway bright.

And now, upon the hill's decline

Where morning glories cease to shine;

Where noontide rays have softer grown,

A sweeter, better hour they own.

Where sunset beams of golden hue

Blend pearl and amber with the blue,

And music-birds, in vesper song

The strains of melody prolong.

Dear sunset hours, so calm and still,

When memory flows like a silver rill,

And the rainbow of Hope, on the restful eye

Bends overhead from the Heavenly sky.

And the world is aflood with a golden glow,

A wintry world of December snow –

The month of Christ! The crowning time,

When the star of love touched the heights sublime.

Fifty beautiful years, like apples of gold,

In pictures of silver, heart-riches untold,

Filled to the brim, with love and with duty,

Golden the sheaves in autumn-like beauty.

The mellow bells, the golden bells,

High overhead their melody swells;

Let them ring thus, ‘till the quarter is past,

And the diamond bells ring out at the last.

Affectionately inscribed to:  Dr. and Mrs. Philip B. Pendleton, of Cuckoo, Louisa, Virginia, on the Fiftieth Anniversary of their Marriage, by their friend, 

E. D. Hundley

December 1897

Jane Kimbough Holladay and Phillip Barbour Pendleton were married on December 13, 1847 in Cuckoo, Louisa, Virginia.  They actually got to celebrate their 60th, before Phillip died.

Ellen's son, Vivian Grey Hundley, lived next door to the Pendleton family in 1870. Information was obtained from the 1870 US Census in the Northern District, Louisa, Virginia.

Picture: https://www.pexels.com/photo/street-lights-during-sunset-156451

Dear little Jean, so sweet and fair,

With sparkling eyes and silken hair

With rosy cheeks and dimpled face

Aglow with childhood’s matchless grace.

I see thee now, on mother’s knee

All full of laughter, fun and glee

While father stands with love-lit eyes

Agaze on thee, with glad surprise.

Sweet little consolation, come

To light with joy a happy home

To scatter grief and banish care

A messenger, like angles, rare.

Thy bubbling, baby cooing wells

Sweet as the chime of silver bells,

Ringing the song of peace and love

Like some soft echo from above.

When shadows fall at eventide

And earth shines like a fairy bride

Bright Luna, in her silver boat

Amid the pearly clouds, afloat

Looks down, in beauty, from afar

While near her gleams the twilight star.

All these are beautiful, I ween*

But not so fair as “little Jean.”

When morning breaks at call of day,

Mid clouds of amethyst and gray

And gay birds twitter in the trees

Rejoicing in the freshening breeze.

How sweet the sounds, how bright the skies

Like opening views of Paradise.

But better than each joyous scene

The rippling laugh of “baby Jean.”

Ah! Baby, may the coming years

Bring more of laughter, less of tears.

May angels guard thee, night and day

Adown the path of life’s long way

And shield thee from each chilling blast

Where’er thy lot on earth be cast.

May love and light and skies serene

Beam evermore on “little Jean.”

E. D. Hundley

Greensboro, North Carolina

December 31, 1901

*See Glossary

I could not find a Jean in her family, but maybe this Jean was a neighbor or a church acquaintance.

Picture:  Photo of my granddaughter, Selva Smithson, at age 3.

Oh, pretty boy with brilliant eyes

In whose brown depths such sweetness lies

Your picture is before me now –

With silken locks and snowy brow –

With ruby lips and beaming face

Aglow with childhood’s artless grace 

Where love and beauty rest, combined

With promise of a brilliant mind.

When on the far horizon’s rim

The morning stars grow pale and dim

And rippling waves of roseate light

Break on the pearly clouds of night –

How beautiful, the blushing moon

Dapples the silvery crest of dawn –

But brighter far, my pretty boy

Your sparkling eyes of love and joy.

How fair, when o’er the mountains blue

The sunset gold plays softly through

And Luna hangs her silver bow

Athwart* the twilights afterglow

Where crystal waters meander by – 

Beneath the over-arching sky - 

Better than these – the Heavenly love

That hears our baby’s thoughts above.

With all your loving baby talk

And all your springy baby walk

You “airy, fairy” living joy

You darling, precious baby boy

What shall I wish in life for thee?

To sail o’er Time’s unruffled sea?

Where summer winds and waves of gold

Thy bounding mark with light enfold?

Or, that adown the primrose* way

Your path leads through a sunny day

Where bright birds sing and roses bloom

And Araby* sends spiced perfume?

And lapping waters, idle swell

Enwrap you in a dreamy spell?

Ah! No, but that along thy way 

The fragrance of good deeds may play

And virtuous actions, nobly done

May crown your life at set of sun.

        By E. D. Hundley

* See Glossary

There is no reference to whom HTP was.

Picture:  Photo of  my grandson, Daniel Otero, at age 2.