]> <emph>Morven and Linda; or The Token Star. A Tale of a Soldier's Faithful Love:</emph> Electronic Edition. Mangum, Adolphus Williamson, 1834-1890 Funding from the Institute of Museum and Library Services supported the electronic publication of this title. Text scanned (OCR) by Laura Button Image scanned by Laura Button Text encoded by Patricia L. Walker and Natalia Smith First edition, 1999 ca. 50K Academic Affairs Library, UNC-CH University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, 1999.

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 Call number VCp811 M27m c.2 1863 (North Carolina Collection, UNC-CH) Morven and Linda; or The Token Star. A tale of a Soldier's Faithful Love. [Adolphus Williamson Mangum] Raleigh, N. C. Branson, Farrar & Co. 1863

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 Library of Congress Subject Headings, 21st edition, 1998 Confederate States of America -- Poetry. United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Poetry. 1999-07-22, Celine Noel and Wanda Gunther revised TEIHeader and created catalog record for the electronic edition. 1999-06-14, Natalia Smith, project manager, finished TEI-conformant encoding and final proofing. 1999-06-09, Patricia L. Walker finished TEI/SGML encoding 1999-05-27, Laura Button finished scanning (OCR) and proofing.

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 MORVEN AND LINDA; OR THE TOKEN STAR. A tale of a Soldier's faithful Love. THIS POEM IS AN EXTRACT FROM A POPULAR BOOK CALLED MYRTLE LEAVES, THE SECOND AND MUCH ENLARGED EDITION OF WHICH IS NOW IN PRESS. [By A. W. Mangum] “A beam that was set returns.” —Ossian. RALEIGH: BRANSON, FARRAR & CO. 1863. MORVEN AND LINDA; OR THE TOKEN STAR. 'Twas eve, and nature slept in peace— The sky, her covering, gemmed with stars— While 'long the West bright, blushing hues Still lingered like a fringe of gold: She slept like one who sweetly knows She's loved and loves the loving one, And dreams while sleeping he is near, And smiles and gives his love a tongue. Beneath a broad and shadowy elm A soldier and his fair betrothed In quiet sat, and dreamed and loved. They long had shared those sacred joys Which kindred hearts each other give When deep affection makes them one. The noble youth with soul of fire, Alive to duty's thrilling cry, Had come to breathe a long adieu, And give a pledge of changeless love. The wid'ning visions of his soul, In dreams—in fancy—all were stained With tears of weeping innocence— With smoke from robbed and burning homes— With blood besprinkled hills and plains— And on each fleeting wing of air Was borne to him the loud appeal Of struggling friends and countrymen For help against his country's foe. And she who by him sat, possessed A heart too faithful to oppose The zeal magnanimous, which led To sacrifice and strife and pain, For home and liberty and Heaven. He spoke with trembling voice and low: “To-morrow, Linda, I must haste To scenes of strife, in distant fields; To share with comrades, brave and true, The dangers of a soldier's life; And struggle with a dauntless soul For truth and right and native land. I hate this war and every war: I have no cruel thirst for blood, Nor wish, impelled by dark revenge, To stand beside a fallen foe, And hear him groan and see him writhe. Such feelings suit a demon's breast. I want no wreath bestained with blood— No praise by dread destruction won. I follow only duty's call, And battle only for the cause That all the good and Heaven approve. 'Twould be life's Eden, could I spend My days at home with peace and thee. Thou knowest this, and yet I'm sure Thy heart would love me less, should love Prevail to conquer virtue's power And make me sheathe the sword of Right. I'm here once more—but gone again; E'en years may pass ere I return. With me, remember, life itself And memory of thee are one. But ere I go I'd give to thee A souvenir which shall recall, With angel tongue, my name, in hours When precious memory's most dear, And hallowed thoughts most hallowed are. For this I will not leave a flower; Though flowers are pure and beautiful, And speak a language full of love; They, Linda, early droop and fade: They change with every beam and breeze; And cannot emblem well a heart, Which beats, like mine, forever true. I will not leave the sparkling gem— The golden gewgaw or the pearl— For though they have a magic tongue, That speaks with potent charms to some, Yet gold and diamond tongues are dumb To hearts so excellent as thine. I will not leave on gilded page The painted vows which poets dream, Nor aught of all the wierd pen Has written to reveal the heart. Books are not bosoms! They are born Too oft where only thought prevails; And simple types can never tell The faithful fervor of a soul Which glows and thrills with ceaseless love. And books! Man made them; saving one, And that I gave thee years agone. I will not leave the spoken vow; For as I speak the echo dies Forever to the mortal ear. I will not leave my miniature; It does not smile—I smile for thee; It does not pray—I pray for thee; It does not look with burning beam The living energy of soul: 'Twould seem to be myself, and still 'Twould be a mockery of me. Behold yon richly radiant Star! 'Tis there all seasons of all years; While others often disappear To shed their beams in other skies, That always looks and is the same, And never wearies of its home. The clouds may overshadow it The sun's unfriendly splendor hide; Yet when the veiling cloud is gone— Or when the dazzling day is done— It shines all loveliness again. It is a tenant of the sky; Its rays are pure—no earthly stain Makes aught of its soft brilliancy. It shines by night—to guide the dews On visits to refresh the flowers. It shines by night—like one who loves Tranquillity and sacred peace. It shines by night—as faithful hearts Seek kindly for the scenes of gloom. It shines by night—while nature sleeps, Thus blessing earth—when earth knows not— As angels bring their heavenly gifts, And breathe sweet messages on souls That never see the hands that give, Nor know the precious lips that speak. It shines by night—directing those Who wander over pathless hills, Or ride the waves with compass lost; An emblem of the spirit light Our Father sends, to guide the heart Through moral wilderness and storm. That Star, and that alone, I leave. My love is pure as starlight's pure; 'Tis changeless as perennial beam; 'Twill be the same though parting clouds Should lower long and dark between. Behold it, then, and call it thine! To me it shall a beacon be, Commanding every deed of life; Not that I'd serve thee more than Heaven, But that I know thy will to be That I should only Heaven serve. As did the star of Bethlehem, It shall proclaim with every ray The language of eternal hope; And tell us of that higher home, Where forms like stars shall live to shine— And souls like stars be high in Heaven. 'Twill lead us to look up to Him Who made the stars to make us blessed. 'Twill tell us of the love, the power, The wisdom and the grace of Him Who deigns to be our Father God. Then, dearest Linda, we can pray; And constant hope, despite all fate, That He will lead us once again To happy union, either here, Or in the purer light of Heaven!” Here Linda wept—and weeping smiled; Nor was it strange; for in a world Where shade and sunshine often join, The hearts are few, that feel not oft Deep cause to mingle tears with smiles. Then Linda, weeping, smiling said; “Oh, Morven! ever be thyself! I'll think of thee—I'll cherish thee, I'll pray for thee—I'll love but thee; Be sure to think of this and me! Remember me each fleeting hour! Aye, every moment think of me! And be each thought of me, a call To struggle for the right and Heaven! I shall not change—I'm thine forever. Good bye! We seek the same bright Home, We'll meet again, I hope, on earth; If not on earth—still shall we meet.” Months fled apace. Each dusky eve, Would Linda wander to the spot Where she and Morven wept “adieu.” When there she'd cast a tearful glance To greet the gentle little Star— Then meekly bend the suppliant knee, And breathe to glory prayers like this: “Oh, Father! show him yonder Star! When in his blanket wrapped he lays His wearied form upon the ground— Or walks the sentry's lonely beat— Or stands on outpost dark and drear— Then Father, show him yonder Star! And give its every beam a tongue To speak with power to his soul! Oh, may he ever faithful be, As that is faithful in its sphere! Bestow on him a cheerful heart 'Mid all the trials he must bear! When sick in crowded hospital, Upon his little bed of straw, He thinks of distant home and friends, And sighs for tender hands and hearts To bless him in his suffering— But sighs in vain, All present One! Be thou his Friend and Comforter! When on the field 'mid serried ranks, He fronts the battle's storm, Oh God! Be round about him! Be his shield! Oh, be his great deliverer! He loves me, Father; make that love A sweet Evangel to proclaim His duty and his troth to Thee. Guide all his footsteps! Make his life A holy Marathon for truth! Oh may he always trust in Thee, Receive and feel thy boundless love! I pray for peace! oh Lord, how long!” Anon the beauteous Linda pined; The lustre of her noble eye Grew dim—the roses on her cheek Were faded by despondency. The heart was sick—and when a heart Like hers, is filled with gloom or pain, The power's felt through form and soul. No more in gracefulness she tripped, In evening shades, through woody bower. 'Twas seen her life was waning fast, And friends were shedding secret tears. One sunny day her mother sat, And gazed on her with heart of grief, As drooping on her couch she lay, The mother thought her slumbering. She was asleep to all around— Her soul was living far away. She thought with fervid hopes of him Who “loved and loves, if yet he lives.” She prayed for union, but not here— Her spirit looked beyond the skies. Believing death was almost come, She oped her eyes and cast a glance Of melting tenderness, and said: “Dear mother! come and kiss thy child! I'd feel thy sweet embrace once more, The last time hear thy tender voice. I'm dying, mother, but I feel No fear. All's well. Bid all my friends Draw near and take this last adieu.” With streaming eyes and swelling hearts, They gathered round the snow white couch, Received the dying pledge of love— Caught sacred warnings from her lips, Then warmly pressed her little hand And sighed a lingering “farewell.” Again she spoke—they listened all; “Dear friends, I ask one last kind pledge; Soon I shall sleep in silent death;— Prepare my grave beneath yon elm, And bury me at eventide, When stars are shining in the sky; Place over me a marble block; Engrave no name—but cut a Star Upon the surface—then a hand, With finger pointing to the Star; And mark! Should Morven e'er return, Pray tell him that I begged you this. I die—but oh! beyond all dreams Of joy that soul e'er dreamed below, The real ecstacy of Heaven Steals richly on my winging soul. I die—but only die to live. We part—but only part to meet, Where those who meet shall part no more.” This day not far from Malvern Hill, Within a bloody hospital, Young Morven lay, with two deep wounds; From loss of blood and want of bread, And dread fatigue, his face was pale— His voice was tremulous and faint, And yet to comrades lying near, And writhing in their blood and pain, He often spoke consoling words And strove to calm their aching hearts. With feeble hand he'd hold the cup To dying comrade's fevered lips, And sigh for strength to help them more He talked to them of holy trust In Him who promises to heed The humblest cry that's raised to Him, For help and mercy, through his Son: He spoke of blissful rest and peace, Within the Beautiful of Lands, Where war's alarms are never felt, And cruel foes are never feared. While speaking, sweet serenity Was on his features, and a smile Would often play upon them, like The ripple from a gentle breeze Upon the bosom of a lake That rests in sunny peacefulness. But soon night came, and o'er his weak And wearied frame, soft slumber fell. Then fancy rose and ruled the mind, Creating freshly vanished hours, And lading them with pleasures gone. So faithful was she to the past, He seemed to live it all again. Fair Linda rose in visions bright, And joined him in a thousand scenes Of youthful hope and happiness. Her voice was love's own melody— Her every glance a pledge of love. How beat his heart with gladness then! 'Twas feasting on the sacred joys Of dearest memory, combined With other joys he'd hoped for long, And oft had viewed with ardent eye, In scenes that coming days should bring. But blissful as this dream, so dark The cloud of gloom which soon should wrap Its dismal folds around his heart. He wakes and finds beside him one, Who knew him in his distant home. They'd long been friends with mutual trust— Were kind and true as brothers are. They loved to bless each other still. He held a candle in one hand— And gave a letter, which he said Contained perchance some news from home; Their homes were captured by the foe The month they left, and not a line Had they received from home and friends. With eager hand he opened it, But found no name. 'Twas written by Some cruel one to torture him, And blight his love and happiness. By one who had a traitor turned To all that's noble in the heart— To friendship—native land and Heaven, And who still sought the lovely hand Of faithful Morven's sweet betrothed. This letter told him startling things. It taught him that he was forgot— That Linda loved another now. It gave him all her cruel words, When she renounced her olden vow And to another pledged her all. This news was strange—'twas terrible— And gained dominion over him. He strove to doubt it—think it false, But all in vain; it would seem true. He begged his friend to lend his arm And lead him to a neighboring grove— There sadly sinking to the ground, He gave the letter to that friend And begged, “now leave me all alone.” Oh, what a burden pressed his heart! He leaned his head upon his hand And mused awhile and deeply sighed; Then with a doleful, anguished voice, He uttered this soliloquy: “Oh Linda! Linda! can it be! What is there left to comfort me? The past I love, but that is gone. The present is a soldier's lot— Privation, suffering and pain; The future looks all pleasureless, Save what of joy may gladden it, By her fidelity and love. And if she's false—the world is false— For she was truest of the world. If she be false—life's light is fled. And oh! to think, I'm so deceived, By one I loved with such a love! I should have deemed her pledged to me Without the fervent pledges given. She smiled sometimes when we would meet, With gentleness enough to quell The raging of a breaking heart. She spoke sometimes with angel tongue, Such words as linger sweetly yet, Like music from the vales of Peace. Ten thousand little favors done, Proclaimed a loving woman's love. These smiles, and words, and favors all, Or each would make it treachery And deep deception, were she false; But add to these the plighted vows, So oft repeated—and at last Embalmed in holy parting tears! Oh love! oh treachery! can it be? How base the crime of dark deceit! It was the primal fount of sin; It withered all of Eden's bowers, And stained her every crystal stream. It is the darkest trophy-gem, Whose lurid sparkling crowns the brow Of him who reigns—the Prince of woe. If I would be on earth a fiend, Deception first should fill my soul; And if a fiend I'd ever be, I'd wed deceiving to my life. It is the antithesis of truth— Then is it black as truth is bright, And truth is bright enough for Heaven, And can a crime like this be born, And fostered in the pious breast Of Linda—whom we ever thought The child of purity and truth? If false—her fall is one that's less Alone than that which angels fell.” O'er-whelmed with thoughts like these, he paused, And soon his words were changed to tears. Then sweetly on the silent air— Soft melting strains of music came. The notes were those of “Home, sweet Home;” They shed enchantment o'er his soul. Unwittingly he looked away To where the Token Star still shone. A beam of beauty kissed his soul, And waked it from its reverie. As swift as morning shadows fly, When waves of sunlight flood the sky— So swift his painful doubtings fled And all his heart was trust again. “No, Linda! I'll believe thee true, Till thine own lips declare thee false. No nameless letter can destroy The trust of this unchanging heart. Thy faithfulness is written high Upon the bosom of the sky, In changeless characters of light. That record's worthier far of faith Than all that erring man can write. I will not—cannot doubt thee more.” Long, changeful months of strife passed o'er; But not one fear or doubt arose To trouble Morven's hopes again. At length he learned with grateful heart, The foe were driven from his home; Just then, most fortunate, there came A leave of absence from his corps, That he might visit home once more. How buoyant was his noble breast! Alone he sped his hopeful way To those who love and know they're loved, How sweet anticipation is When blessed reunion is at hand! His journey done—at last he came By starlight to the cherished elm. When near, he gazed and saw the shaft— His heart beat fast—he thought 'twas she. Love could not wait; it instant spoke: “Oh Linda! Linda, loved and dear!” He listened—not a sound he heard. Still gazing, to himself he said: “It must be Linda, and she fears; Methinks I see her tremble now.” Again he cried with voice of love; “Sweet Linda! I am home again!” No word he caught—no motion saw. He drew him near—descried the shaft; His hopes were faint—he quaked with dread; He stooped—he saw the marble Star— He shrieked: “Oh Heaven! 'Tis Linda's tomb! And is she dead? Oh, is she dead? Is this the home of hallowed joy, Become the dreary scene of death? But there's some comfort even here. This means that she was true till death. Oh, that I could have present been, To hear her dying words and prayers! For they, I know, were treasures dear, That even angels love to prize She's gone—and with her all I loved, And cherished most this side of Heaven. She's gone—to fadeless glory gone, She waits me on yon peaceful shore. Up there, if we should meet again, Eternal union would be ours; For this sweet thought I thank kind Heaven. Thrice blessed they who meet on high! Their lives and blessings never end. Oh, what a boon it were to die, And hie me to her better home! But nay; the Father's will be done! I'll weep no more—instead of tears, Her memory shall waken prayers. Thou breaking heart! go feel for those Who need and bleed in wretchedness! There's something left to live for still! Go, guide these hands to scatter peace In every hapless heart and home! Then smiles from thy Redeemer still Shall gently gather over thee, And cheer thee on thy lonely way. Thus beat away thy fleeting days, And soon thy liberty shall come. This block proves Linda was herself As long as change was possible; She's truer now—she's glorified— She lives where hearts can never change.” “Oh Morven! Morven! Is it thou? Thy Linda lives! We've met again” The voice was hers—he knew it well. He sprang, excited, to his feet. He looked and lo! all beautiful, Came Linda rushing to his arms! He pressed her to his bounding heart, And cried with fervid, trembling voice; “Oh Linda! Is this all a dream? Can such a glory real be? What means it? Tell me—quickly tell!” 'Twas long before a word she spoke, But sobbing, quivering, she lay Enfolded in his loving arms. When joy's first thrilling shock was passed, She smiled with glowing love and said: “Dear Morven! just ten months ago, I almost slept the sleep of death. When I believed my end was near, I begged my friends to build a tomb Of marble, and engrave it thus. But Heaven graciously prolonged My life, and gave me health again. Anon we heard the bloody news Of battles round our Capital. You do not know the dread suspense, The trembling, tearful anxiousness That those at home experience, When they have learned a battle's fought, And cannot hear the fate of friends. It clothes all countenances in gloom. By day and night the heart is sad, And though so eager, dreads to hear. I never shall forget the day A paper came, in which were given The names of all our Southern slain. How tremblingly I read that list! I hurried almost madly on, Till, oh! my eye beheld thy name! I cannot tell thee what I felt— I can't remember what I felt; For 'twas a shock which rent my heart As lightning rends the stricken tree. Then with a love that could not die, I straight resolved to raise this tomb To thy most precious memory.”