FORTUNATUS COSBY, Jr.
Reading edition
Fortunatus Cosby, Junior, poet and editor, the son of a distinguished lawyer, was born near Louisville, Kentucky, May 2, 1801. He was educated at Yale and Transylvania, then studied law, but, like so many literary men have done, never practiced. Cosby was a passionate lover of books, and most of his life was spent among his collection. He was wealthy and well able to indulge his taste to any extreme. His kinsman, President Thomas Jefferson, offered to make him secretary of the legation at London, but he declined. Cosby was some years later superintendent of the Philadelphia public schools, and a contributor to Graham's Magazine, as well as to other high-class periodicals. In 1846 he was editor of the Louisville Examiner, the first Kentucky paper devoted to emancipation of the slaves. In 1860 Cosby was appointed consul to Geneva, and the next eight years of his life were devoted to his diplomatic duties and to traveling. He returned to the United States in 1868, and to his old home near Louisville. There death found him in June, 1871. Several of his friends, which included William Cullen Bryant, Rufus W. Griswold, and George D. Prentice, often urged Cosby to collect his verse and bring it together in a volume, but he was "too careless of his fame to do it;" and "many waifs he from time to time contributed to the periodicals," are now lost to the general public. He is, of course, well represented in all of the anthologies of American poetry, but a collection of his writings should be made. Cosby's best work is to be seen in his Fireside Fancies, Ode to the Mocking Bird, The Traveler in the Desert, and A Dream of Long Ago. He has often been pronounced the best song writer this country has produced; and that he was a man of fine culture, an ardent lover of books and Nature, and a maker of charming and exquisite verse can be readily proved.
Bibliography. The Poets and Poetry of the West, by W. T. Coggeshall (Columbus, Ohio, 1860); Blades o' Bluegrass, by Fannie P. Dickey (Louisville, Kentucky, 1892).
FIRESIDE FANCIES
[From The Poets and Poetry of the West, edited by W. T. Coggeshall (Columbus, Ohio, 1860)]
By the dim and fitful firelight Musing all alone, Memories of old companions Dead, or strangers grown;— Books that we have read together, Rambles in sweet summer weather, Thoughts released from earthly tether— Fancy made my own. In my cushioned arm-chair sitting Far into the night, Sleep, with leaden wings extinguished All the flickering light; But, the thoughts that soothed me waking, Care, and grief, and pain forsaking, Still the self-same path were taking— Pilgrims, still in sight. Indistinct and shadowy phantoms Of the sacred dead, Absent faces bending fondly O'er my drooping head, In my dreams were woven quaintly, Dim at first, but calm and saintly, As the stars that glimmer faintly From their misty bed. Presently a lustrous brightness Eye could scarce behold, Gave to my enchanted vision Looks no longer cold, Features that no clouds encumber, Forms refreshed by sweetest slumber, And, of all that blessed number, Only one was old. Graceful were they as the willow By the zephyr stirred! Bright as childhood when expecting An approving word! Fair as when from earth they faded, Ere the burnished brow was shaded, Or, the hair with silver braided, Or lament was heard. Roundabout in silence moving Slowly to and fro— Life-like as I knew and loved them In their spring-time glow;— Beaming with a loving luster, Close, and closer still they cluster Round my chair that radiant muster, Just as long ago. Once, the aged, breathing comfort O'er my fainting cheek, Whispered words of precious meaning Only she could speak; Scarce could I my rapture smother, For I knew it was my mother, And to me there was no other Saint-like and so meek! Then the pent-up fount of feeling Stirred its inmost deep— Brimming o'er its frozen surface From its guarded keep, On my heart its drops descending, And for one glad moment lending Dreams of Joy's ecstatic blending, Blessed my charmèd sleep. Bright and brighter grew the vision With each gathering tear, Till the past was all before me In its radiance clear; And again we read at even— Hoped, beneath the summer heaven, Hopes that had no bitter leaven, No disturbing fear. All so real seemed each presence, That one word I spoke— Only one of old endearment That dead silence broke. But the angels who were keeping Stillest watch while I was sleeping, Left me o'er the embers weeping— Fled when I awoke. But, as ivy clings the greenest On abandoned walls; And as echo lingers sweetest In deserted halls:— Thus, the sunlight that we borrow From the past to gild our sorrow, On the dark and dreaded morrow Like a blessing falls.