Ernest Neal

Image: 1931, Winn

Ernest Neal

He was born in 1858 in Sparta, Georgia, U.S.. He graduated from Warrenton Academy. He earned a degree in 1881 from North Georgia Agricultural College (now the University of North Georgia) at Dahlonega, Georgia.

He taught at Chatsworth Elementary School in Murray County, Georgia. Neal became Georgia's 2nd Poet Laureate on August 20, 1927. He held the position until his death on January 7, 1943.

Neal wrote many poems about the city of Calhoun, and the historic place of New Echota. New Echota was the last standing capital of the Cherokee Indians before they were relocated to Oklahoma (i.e. "The Trail of Tears") from 1838 to 1839. (Wikipedia)

The Land of the Cherokees

Have you heard of the land of the Cherokees.

With its wonderful streams and beautiful trees?

Of its flowers abloom, and the wild perfume

That floats like a dream on the evening breeze?

Have you heard of Echota, the capital town.

And the brave old chief with featherly crown?

Of the warrior band and the pow-wow grand

In the light of the moon when the sun goes down?

Far away in the past this quaint land lies.

And around it the mists obscure arise:

It is only in dreams we may hear the shrill screams

Of its eagles afloat in their native skies.

But its rivers glide on in rhythmical flow

Through fields of today, from a weird long-ago

The cold Chickamauga, the slow Conasauga,

Like their musical names, gurgle soft and low.

From the gold-bearing hills comes the rich Chestatee,

Through the mountains to the north breaks the Hiawassee,

And the romping Ellijay joins the bouncing Cartekay

To frolic in the rapids of the Coosawattee.

h the laughing of the ripples of the sweet Salacoa.

In the tailing of the current of the silvery Toccoa,

In the roarings of Tallulah, and the splashings of Yahoola

Are the wild and varied volumes of a never-written lore.

And we listen to the song of the sad Etowah;

In his voice is a sob, a refrain from afar.

While the rough Chattahoochee makes love to Nacoochee

In the shade of the Vale of The Evening Star.

Than the moans of Oostanaula no dirge can sadder be.

For he heard the parting groans of the banished Cherokee.

Thus in music shall roll the Indian's proud soul

As long as his rivers flow into the sea.