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to deliver an original poem at their annual commencement. An enthusiastic gentleman, in a notice of the "Commencement," says:
"It was the privilege of the large audience to listen to a poem from Miss Annie R. Blount, of Augusta. Her subject seemed to be, 'The Power of Woman.' The reading elicited extraordinary interest. It is impossible for me to give any just idea of the poem, and I will conclude by saying, if I am ever called to the battle-field, I want the fair author to be there to read the concluding lines at the head of my column."
The next summer, Miss Blount delivered a poem at the "College Temple" Commencement, Newnan, Ga. After the reading of the poem, the faculty of College Temple conferred on her the degree of "Mistress of Arts."
In 1860, Miss Blount collected her poems and printed them in a book. The volume was dedicated to Hon. Alexander H. Stephens, under whose kindly auspices it was published. Considering the unsettled state of the times, the book sold well, and was highly complimented by the press. The following notice of the volume is from the pen of that graceful writer, Miss C. W. Barber, then editress of the "Southern Literary Companion":
"While looking over some book-shelves in our new home, the other day, we came, unexpectedly, across a volume of Miss Blount's poems. We had never seen the book before, and sat down at once 'to read, to ponder, and to dream.' Annie Blount has, in this unassuming volume, established her right to the laurel-wreath. She may now lay her hand confidently upon it, and few will dispute her right to its possession. We were not prepared to find so many gems in so small a casket; we did not know that so sweet a bird carolled amid the magnolia groves of the South.
"Letitia E. Landon won for herself a deathless fame in England and America. Wherein are her poems so greatly superior to Miss Blount's? Both have dwelt much upon the varied emotions of the human heart; sometimes it is hopeful, sometimes disappointed love that they sing about. At Annie Blount's age, Letitia Landon had certainly written nothing sweeter, deeper, or in any respect better than this volume of poems contains. Before she died upon the coast of Africa, she had, of course, gone through a wider range of experience than Annie Blount has yet done, and every phase of human life develops in us all some latent power. But, even in her last poem an address to the 'North Star,' written only a few hours before her death there is nothing superior to the following, which we copy from Miss Blount's Poem entitled, 'The Evening Star':
"Where dwellest thou, my young heart's chosen one?
Sweet Evening Star, brighter than all the rest,
That it may quell this wild and vague unrest,
And though from native land I wander far,
Miss Blount was devoted to the Southern cause, and did all she could for the soldiers. She was exceedingly anxious to go to Richmond as a nurse; all of her male relatives were in the Virginia army, but her health was so delicate her friends dissuaded her, and she tried to do all the good she could at home.
The hospitals at Augusta, as the war progressed, became crowded with the sick and suffering, and every patriotic woman had ample opportunity to do good. Miss Blount, followed closely by her old nurse (a faithful “maumer") with a basket of delicacies, went daily from ward to ward with tender, pitying words and gentle ministrations. One word for the faithful "Maumer" Rachael, who, although an humble colored woman, was a second mother to Annie Blount, left motherless at that trying age when she most needed a mother's counsel. "Faithful to the last" should be her epitaph. She would not accept freedom, laughed at the idea of leaving "her children," as she termed them, and labored for them as untiringly and devotedly after the freedom of her race as before, until, one mild September evening, death wrote "Finis" to her earthly work, and the faithful, devoted creature breathed her last, amid the gentle ministrations and bitter tears of the "children" she had served so faithfully and loved so tenderly.
Miss Blount resides in Augusta, with her brother and family.
Some that morrow
Ne'er shall live to see.
Which of all this crowd shall God
Summon to his court to-night?
Which of these many feet have trod
These streets their last? Who first shall press
The bitter lot,
Altar, and priest;
Some from a den of crime, and some
Some bowed down with age and woe,
Others - whose friends and honor are gone-
Be found in the morning a suicide.
On the heels of wealth;
Near robust health.
Its weary head;
Crime skulks on