Although Russell did not take his poetry seriously and though the bulk of it is small, its influence has been large. Thomas Nelson Page and Joel Chandler Harris have acknowledged their indebtedness to him; the creator of Uncle Remus writing, “Irwin Russell was among the first—if not the very first—of Southern writers to appreciate the literary possibilities of the negro character.” He entered their life, appreciated their fresh turns of thought, saw things with that peculiar mixture of reverence and unconscious humor that is so integral a part of negro songs and spirituals. “Blessing the Dance” and “The Song of the Banjo” (from Russell’s operetta _Christmas-Night in the Quarters_, possibly his best known work) are excellent examples; faithful renderings of the mind of the old-fashioned, simple and sententious child of the plantation. In the latter poem the old story of Noah is told, with delightful additions, from the colorful angle of the darky; local in its setting, revealing in its quaint psychology.
A collection of his poems appeared, with an introduction by Joel Chandler Harris, in 1888. In 1917, a more inclusive volume, beautifully printed, with illustrations by E. W. Kemble, was published by The Century Co.; it was entitled _Christmas-Night in the Quarters_.
Russell died, in an obscure boarding house in New Orleans, December 23, 1879.
O Mahsr! let dis gath’rin fin’ a blessin’ in yo’ sight! Don’t jedge us hard fur what we does—yo’ know it’s Chrismus-night; An’ all de balunce ob de yeah we does as right’s we kin. Ef dancin’s wrong, O Mahsr! let de time excuse de sin!
We labors in de vin’ya’d, wukin’ hard an’ wukin’ true; Now, shorely yo’ won’t notus, ef we eats a grape or two, An’ takes a leetle holiday,—a leetle restin’-spell,— Bekase, nex’ week, we’ll start in fresh, an’ labor twicet as well.
Remember, Mahsr,—min’ dis now,—de sinfullness ob sin Is ’pendin’ ’pon de sperrit what we goes an’ does it in; An’ in a righchis frame ob min’ we’s gwine to dance an’ sing, A-feelin’ like King David, when he cut de pigeon-wing.
It seems to me—indeed it do—I mebbe mout be wrong— Dat people raly _ought_ to dance, when Chrismus comes along; Des dance bekase dey’s happy—like de birds hops in de trees, De pine-top fiddle soundin’ to be bowin’ ob de breeze.