Aspiring Writers Magazine 2007 Autumn Edition
Veterans Day 2007
JOHN R. THOMPSON (1823-1873) has deserved well of the South both as
editor and author. He was born in Richmond, and educated at the
University of Virginia, where he received the degree of Bachelor of Arts
in 1845. Two years later he became editor of the _Southern Literary
Messenger_; and during the twelve years of his editorial management,
he not only maintained a high degree of literary excellence, but took
pains to lend encouragement to Southern letters. It is a misfortune to
our literature that his writings, particularly his poetry, have never
been collected.

The incidents of the Civil War called forth many a stirring lyric, the
best of which is his well-known _Music in Camp_:--

"Two armies covered hill and plain,
 Where Rappahannock's waters
Ran deeply crimsoned with the stain
 Of battle's recent slaughters."

The band had played "Dixie" and "Yankee Doodle," which in turn had been
greeted with shouts by "Rebels" and "Yanks."

"And yet once more the bugles sang
 Above the stormy riot;
No shout upon the evening rang--
 There reigned a holy quiet.

"The sad, slow stream its noiseless flood
 Poured o'er the glistening pebbles;
All silent now the Yankees stood,
 And silent stood the Rebels.

"No unresponsive soul had heard
 That plaintive note's appealing,
So deeply 'Home, Sweet Home' had stirred
 The hidden founts of feeling.

"Or Blue or Gray, the soldier sees,
 As by the wand of fairy,
The cottage 'neath the live-oak trees,
 The cabin by the prairie."

On account of failing health, Thompson made a visit to Europe, where he
spent several years, contributing from time to time to _Blackwood's
Magazine_ and other English periodicals. On his return to America, he
was engaged on the editorial staff of the _New York Evening Post_,
with which he was connected till his death, in 1873. He is buried in
Hollywood cemetery at Richmond.

"The city's hum drifts o'er his grave,
And green above the hollies wave
Their jagged leaves, as when a boy,
On blissful summer afternoons,
He came to sing the birds his runes,
And tell the river of his joy."
The above work is out of print.
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