Superstitions of Virginia: the Whippoorwill [pp. 715]

1845.] ttpersti1ions of Varginia-The Whippoorwill. 715
The stiff limb is growing more palsied and numb,
While the ear gets deaf and the tongue grows dumb;
For the Whippoorwill sings on the lintel tree,
In low, sad strains, Death's Prophecy.
Waning and weak is the lingering breath;
Nearer and nearer approaches hushed death;
Dimrnmer and dimmer the glazing eye grows,
And quivers each limb in the last mortal throes;
WhiletheWhippoorwill sings on thelintel tree,
In low, sad strains, Death's Prophecy.
Pallid the cheek grows, and damp is the brow;
Few are the broken words muttered and low,
Parted the blue lips in anguish and pain,
Writhed is each feature by agony's strain;
While the Whippoorwill sings on the lintel tree,
In low, sad strains, Death's Prophecy.
Shadows of death before his eye float;
Fearfully rattles the breath in his throat;
Clo s e is t he De a th grapple-weary and weak,
Struggles and strives he in vain now to speak;
For the Whippoorwill sings on the lintel tree,
In low, sad strains, Death's Prophecy.
SUPERSTITIONS OF VIRGINIA.
Why has no one moulded into verse, Mr. Editor, the
strange and beautifill superstitions of our own Virginia?
I have hoped that some better hand would attempt it, but no
worthier appearing, shall I venture upon the task? I have
sent you one;-Shall I send you more?-ALBA.
Lo uder and louder the death rattlings sound;
Closer his weeping friends gather around:All now is hushed. The spirit seems fled,
And the body that lies there is still as th' dead;
Yet the Whippoorwill sings from the lintel tree,
In low, sad strains, Death's Prophecy.
By all means, my unknown Alba. Your own efforts will
do more to waken the impulses of song, in the hearts of
others, than all your waiting,-to say nothing of your modesty in having left so rich a theme to be attempted by worthlier bards.-[Ed.;ess.
Still is that chamber! In sorrow and gloom,
Have weeping friends waited the hour of his doom;
Have looked on his struggles with sob and with sigh,
And strove to believe hlie was not yet to die;
Tho' the Whippoorwill sung from the lintel tree,
In low, sad strains, Death's Prophecy.
The Whippoorwill is said to perch itself on or near the
rooftree of the dying, and give out, at intervals, its mournful cry, until the breath leaves the body, when it hushes its
notes and again betakes itself to the swamps. Such, at
least, is a popular superstition in Lower Virginia.-Sketches
of Southern States.
Closer, still closer comes each weeping friend,
Low o'er the dying, distracted they bend,
To search if the body of life is bereft,
Or even a glimmer of faint hope be left;
Tho' the Whippoorwill sines on the lintel tree,
In low, sad strains, Death's Prophecy.
Such is the drear song, and mournful the tone,
Like sorrowing wail of the widow lone,
That is plainted forth in a death-boding cry,
At the home of the sick who are doomed to die,
As the Whippoorwill sings on the lintel tree,
In slow, sad strains, Death's Prophecy.
Now comes a faint groan —a flickering breath,Life's latest struggle with conquering death.
Then all is over. The spirit has flown,
And the grave claims the clay that is left as its own;
While the Whippoorwill sings on the lintel tree,
Its last, sad strains-Death's Victory.
A manly form lies in that chamber now,The stamp of death written plain on his brow,
The fevered lip open, and trembling with pain,
Thebrightsparkof lifeseeming loth toremain;
For the Whippoorwill sings on the lintel tree,
In low, sad strains, Deatth's Prophecy.
Silent is all but the groan and the sigh,
The wail of the widow-the orphan babe's cry.
The Whippoorwill has hushed its plainting and gone,
For its mission is o'er, and its mournful task done,
And no more will it sit on that lintel tree,
Till it sines again Death's Prophecy.
Richmond.
Strong tho' the hand was,'tis losing its power,
And the bright eye fades like a withered flower;
1845.1
Stiperstitions of Vt?-ginia-The Whippoo2-will.
715
Would that I were like yon wave,
Dancin,o- through a sunny de]],
Where the streamiet's waters lave
Mossy banks, where Elfins dwell.
All is joyous, all is gay,
Birds and flowers, wavelets, all,On my ear. their minoled lay
As a fairy song doth fall!
Ah! to mortals these but seem
Wand'ring fancies of a dream;
For in sorrow, sadness, strife,
Pass the troubled hours of life.
H.
Cliarlestown, Va.
THE WHIPPOORWILL.