Heroes, an inspiring work

Heroes

In rich Virginian woods,

The scarlet creeper reddens over graves,

Among the solemn trees enlooped with vines;

Heroic spirits haunt the solitudes,-

The noble souls of half a million braves,

Amid the murmurous pines.

Ah! who is left behind,

Earnest and eloquent, sincere and strong,

To consecrate their memories with words

Not all unmeet? with fitting dirge and song

To chant a requiem purer than the wind,

And sweeter than the birds?

Here, though all seems at peace,

The placid, measureless sky serenely fair,

The laughter of the breeze among the leaves,

The bars of sunlight slanting through the trees,

The reckless wild-flowers blooming everywhere,

The grasses' delicate sheaves,-

Nathless each breeze that blows,

Each tree that trembles to its leafy head

With nervous life, revives within our mind,

Tender as flowers of May, the thoughts of those

Who lie beneath the living beauty, dead,-

Beneath the sunshine, blind.

For brave dead soldiers, these:

Blessings and tears of aching thankfulness,

Soft flowers for the graves in wreaths enwove,

The odorous lilac of dear memories,

The heroic blossoms of the wilderness,

And the rich rose of love.

But who has sung their praise,

Not less illustrious, who are living yet?

Armies of heroes, satisfied to pass

Calmly, serenely from the whole world's gaze,

And cheerfully accept, without regret,

Their old life as it was,

With all its petty pain,

Its irritating littleness and care;

They who have scaled the mountain, with content

Sublime, descend to live upon the plain;

Steadfast as though they breathed the mountain-air

Still, wheresoe'er they went.

They who were brave to act,

And rich enough their action to forget;

Who, having filled their day with chivalry,

Withdraw and keep their simpleness intact,

And all unconscious add more lustre yet

Unto their victory.

On the broad Western plains

Their patriarchal life they live anew;

Hunters as mighty as the men of old,

Or harvesting the plenteous, yellow grains,

Gathering ripe vintage of dusk bunches blue,

Or working mines of gold;

Or toiling in the town,

Armed against hindrance, weariness, defeat,

With dauntless purpose not to serve or yield,

And calm, defiant, they struggle on,

As sturdy and as valiant in the street,

As in the camp and field.

And those condemned to live,

Maimed, helpless, lingering still through suffering years,

May they not envy now the restful sleep

Of the dear fellow-martyrs they survive?

Not o'er the dead, but over these, your tears,

O brothers, ye may weep!

New England fields I see,

The lovely, cultured landscape, waving grain,

Wide haughty rivers, and pale, English skies.

And lo! a farmer ploughing busily,

Who lifts a swart face, looks upon the plain,-

I see, in his frank eyes,

The hero's soul appear.

Thus in the common fields and streets they stand;

The light that on the past and distant gleams,

They cast upon the present and the near,

With antique virtues from some mystic land,

Of knightly deeds and dreams. 

                                                                           --Emma Lazarus

The poem is written by Emma Lazarus at the age of sixteen. The poem was written a few years later after the civil war when Abraham Lincoln was assassinated by John Wilkes Booth. This poem is considered to be the very first work that urged the people of America to stop fighting and accepting the normal American life.

The poem has a good message in it. In the first stanza Lazarus talks about how ‘half a million souls’ have fought in this war and now are lying surrounded by the pines. The poem first talks about the soldiers who fought in the civil war and leaving all behind for the military glory and how today they are being mourned and  praised by the people. She says that now that the war is over all seems to be quiet and peaceful. But there’s still fear in the minds of people and the thoughts of the people who have died bravely are still preoccupying them. There are tears of thankfulness as well as blessings for the brave dead soldiers and on their grave soft flowers, wreaths and lilacs are placed to honor their memories and their beloveds places roses of love.

The poem then takes a turn and the poet says that there is no one to praise the army of living people who have accepted their lives as it is. The people who accepted their old life as it was and without any regrets. She says that they only considered family life important and have always strived hard to make ends meet and fulfill the needs of their love ones. These are the people who left the rules of chivalry and thought about the well-being of their family. They are the people who remained happy in keeping their simplicity intact. Lazarus says that these people didn’t do all this consciously and all this adds more lustre to their work. She says these people were normal people like the miners, farmers, hunters etc. but their work is extra ordinary. These people have not armed against people but they have only armed themselves against weariness, hindrances and defeat. She says that people are crying for the soldiers who are dead but not for these actual heroes for whom the glory of life was the only thing. She says that the hero’s soul appears in these people’s eyes and according to me Emma Lazarus does a great job in this poem by explaining about the actual heroes.