92 
SOUTHERN CULTIVATOR. 
[F'/om the Ncio Orleans Sunday Delta.'\ 
SONG OF THE COTTON PLANT. 
BY JOHN ANTR0B08. 
I slept in the eye of the golden sun, 
Nursed by the breath of the tropic zone, 
I drank the dews from a million flowers, 
And fed on the balm from roses blown. 
I lay in the gray of the early spring, 
In the loamy banks of the parent stream ; 
And I heard it sing of the lands it knew. 
Where the frost-winds chant and the ice-lamps gleam. 
But soft and warm in the tropical soil, 
I lay till the yielding earth was green; 
And the air was thrilling with vernal sound, 
And odorous censors swung unseen. 
Tlien, awake with the sun at early dawn, 
I rose, and Raantled the genial mold; 
And over the tapestried plains of green, 
I scattered a bloom of burnished gold. 
At noon, I tinted each quivering cup, 
With rosy streaks from the solar ray ; 
And I kindled a blush of crimson flame. 
Which purpled the blosso.ms at close of day. 
I arose in pride, as the summer gleams 
Fell warm and fond on my emerald vest, 
And gladdened with life I lavishly hung 
Thick, clustering bolls about my breast. 
Oh! I smiled when the nipping autumn’s wind 
Withered my leaves in the dead of night, 
For close at my heart was the downy fruit, 
And mocked at the wandering midnight blight. 
But, ah! the triumph was mightier still. 
When the subtle frost came stern and black; 
I rose in might, with a banner of light, 
And flung my robes on his dreary track. 
And lo! when the sun, with misty eyes. 
Looked forth on the work of the sullen night, 
I met his gaze with a flood of rays 
From a thousand flowering fields of white. 
Ijeweled the banks of that mighty stream, 
Which ever rolls to the sounding sea, 
And its solemn floods, where’er they go, 
Bear forth some memory thereof me. 
I have crossed the deep, I have filled the isles, 
I have made proud Europe own my sway; 
And the anxious millions humbly wait 
To carry me on my regal way. 
But you deem it strange (to see me lie, 
A simple plant in a fertile land,) 
That I should stretch from coast to coast, 
And hold the balance in my hand. 
J hold the threads in the web of trade; 
Commerce is knit in the woof with me; 
Nations I hold with a simple braid, 
While 1 laugh a^ War’s artillery. 
I abide a while ’mid sullen walls, 
Dumb with the dinning of shaft and wheel, 
While shiv’rmg mortals grimly watch 
My panting throes on the burnished steeL 
There a million spindles whz and whirl, 
And torture my heart with whirring spoom ; 
But my silken veins revive again, 
In wond’rous forms from the heated loom. 
From cradle to grave I nurse and robe. 
And blazon with vestments lorldy man; 
I flutter among the bridal guests, 
And join with griefin the funeral train. 
I swathe the limbs of the royal babe. 
The serf, and the freeman lowly born ; 
While I make the cerements for the king, 
And the stinted shroud by the pauper worn. 
I cherish the thoughts of mighty men. 
From pen and press, on the snowy page; 
And lie in the broad and pregnant sheet 
Which chronicles lime from age to age. 
I have slaves at my back, who dress my fields, 
And gather me in my lusty prime; 
Who laugh at the jeers of Northern seers — 
Bubbles to break on the lip of Time ! 
The North may fume in its smoky looms, 
The West may hide in its fields of grain; 
But with wings as white as cygnet’s breast, 
I hie to the Sunny South again. 
I pillow her head on my breast of down. 
Strengthen and lengthen her bands of trade ; 
Where 1 stretch my wings her flii^ht may be, 
With banners of light and might arrayed. 
Once in the dawn of a Nation’s day, 
When struggling Freedom almost fell, 
I rose in her front with rampart-bales, 
And bared my breast to the shot and shell. 
Then freemen sped with a joyous shout. 
And placed their banners aloft with me ; 
While “Liberty,” with her sacred things. 
Twined me in her wreath of victory. 
Give hemp and flax to the grosser soil, 
China the nest of the silkcocoon, 
Give me the lands of the golden zone — 
I’m King, and the genial South my throne ( 
Chinese Sugar Cane.— One of our patrons in Texas, 
seeing a notice of the souring of the Chinese Sugar Cane 
Molasses, has addressed us a note, containing sugges- 
tions that may be profitable to tliose of our farmers en- 
gaged in the culture of this article : 
Ecleto, Karnes co. Texas, Dec. 18, 1858. 
Editor Knoxville Whig: — Dear Sir: — From a notice 
in one of your papers, I see there are complaints — in your 
section of the country — in regard to the Chinese Sugar 
Cane Molasses, fear of its souring, &c. 
I made some the last season which soured — the cause 
ofits souring I think was for the want of thorough boil- 
ing. T boiled it over, putting a little Sal Soda, say half 
an ounce to the gallon of syrup, and was well paid for 
the trouble, the Molasses being much better than when 
first made. You can make this public for the informatien 
of those whom it may concern. 
Respectfully yours, &c., 0. H, P. Scanland. 
[Knoxville IVhhg. 
What one Bean has done. — According to the Ban.' 
stable (Mass.) Patriot, Mr. Loring Crocker, of that vil- 
lage, raised last season on one stalk, and consequently 
from one bean, 106 pods, which yielded 453 beans! 
