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Images from Eulalie's original book:
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California's First
Published Woman Poet
Mary Eulalie Shannon (Fee), the 'Auburn Poetess', was born on February 9, 1824, in Flemingsburg, Kentucky. She is recognized as the California's first
woman poet.Her father was a native of Scott
County, Kentucky. Her mother, Elizabeth Dutten Carver, was a native
of Castleton, Rutland County, Vermont, and a seventh generation descendant
of John Carver, first Governor of Plymouth.Orphaned by age eleven,
she was privately tutored while living in Cincinnati. Later she lived at 'Dove
cottage' in New Richmond, Ohio.She married John Shannon, Jr., in
January 31,
1854 in New Richmond, Ohio. Shortly thereafter they moved west and
settled in
Auburn, California. It was while living in California during 1854
that
her book Buds, Blossoms, and Leaves was published by the firm of
Moore, Wilstach & Keys in Cincinnati. No earlier
work of poetry by a California woman has ever been found. It is
believed that all of the poems in her little book were
written after her arrival in California during the spring of 1854.
She also wrote several poems that were published in her husband's
Auburn newspaper, The Placer Democrat, published
between April and September of 1854.The couple lived at
the Junction House,
a hotel near
where the present day Raley's grocery store sits, just off the Foresthill Road in East
Auburn.Her frequent public readings of her
poetry were eagerly attended and she was held in high esteem by
the miners in the area.
Mary Eulalie Shannon died in Auburn
on December 26, 1854 during child birth. She was buried in an old
cemetery on East Street. Years later her remains were relocated to Auburn's
main cemetery on Fulweiler Street.
Singing Tree Press is actively working to reissue Eulalie's book, Buds,
Blossoms, and Leaves. |
The Miner's Burial
One, mid the forests of the west, By a dark stream was laid, The Indian knows this place of rest, Far in the cedar shade.
In his log cabin by the lone hill side, The miner took sick & suddenly died. They found him alone, with his coarse garments on, And naught but the breathing spirit gone.
Then they wrapt his corpse in a coarse mackinaw, While one went for the much-used saw; And they made him a coffin from a tree which stood Close by his cabin in the dense pine wood.
No steeds with their gaudy trappings were there, No polished hearse with its sable bier, To convey, mid-splendor and grief, away, The miner to sleep with his kindred clay.
But the little group from the valley through, With their toil worn hands and tawny hue, Stood silent round 'till a portion was read From that "Sacred Book which speaks of the dead.
They bore his remains to the cold grave side And lowered him down at eventide. A few shovels of earth and all was o'er, And they returned to their toil as before.
Oh! in some deep canyon or some lonely dell, The miner shall sleep as calmly , as well, As if laid mid the splendor of Laurel Hill tombs, Where the flowers yield up their fragrant perfumes.
Nor forgotten shall be his humble grave Though it is alone where the pine boughs wave, When the trump of the angel sounds with dread, And Mount Auburn and Laurel Hill yield up their dead.
---------------------------------------------- A contemporary on being requested to publish some poetry written on a similar occasion, reportedly said "it was a sufficient misfortune for the poor man to die, without being afterwards damned by such poetry." |