Magaz Ne of Poetry - Forgotten Books

CONTENTS OF.

VOLUME l l.

JANUARY — OCTO BER ,

CARLETON , WILL . Portrait engraved on’

steel by Arthu r R ice. irom a photograph by Sarony . 1

Bos s R , Gs onos HEN RY . With penand ink sketch by Dar row George Parsons Lathrap . 3

Song. Cavalry Sheridan. Rather . My People.

"I Have a Cottage. To England Dirge io r a So ldier The Awak

inr o i th e Poetical Faculty H ow Cani t l'hou Call ? Why Shall I Chide . I Have B eenMo unted onLiie'

s

Topmost Wave.

LINTON , WILLIAM J w as . Charles Wells Mou lton.

H arry Marteu’

s DungeonThoughts . A H omily . Iphigenia at Au lis . Real and Tru e B ridal Song Two .

Love. Adonis .

ATTS, THEODO R E . With penc il sketch by Sumner . H . T. ilfackenzieOde to Mother Carey

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s Ch icken. The First Kiss . The Sonnet's Voice . The H eavenThat Was . O liver Madox- B rown

B AR NES, MAR Y MATHEWS. With portrait by F redricks . N ew York . Lau ra C. H ol loway .

Epithalamium . The B ird inthe B eliry . Scars . Washington. Linco ln

UTTE R , Ransom PALF R EY . Mrs . C. Willar d.Motherhood. Noth ing but Leaves . The King'

s Daughter . Wh ite Underneath .

M AB ANW, ROWLAND B . With portt by Pach B ro s , Cambridge . Mas s J ames Frazer (r'

Im-k. 2 7Nepenthe. To the Wind F lower . Love Imprisoned . To a Loved One. To Harvard Co llege. A ll inA ll . Quo tation.

BCBDETTE Ronsn'

r J O NES. Mrs . Geo rge Archibald.

Bari maius . WhenMy Ship Comes In. Alone . At F orty - F ive . Teamster J im .

BOYNTO N , J UL l A P . Jnlm ii illis Kemp sball . 32The So le Good . Introdu ctionior a B ook oi Poems . Alter Rea ding a Vo lume o iContemporary Verse The Tragedyoi a F ield . Divided . I .i .mited Wild Tiger - Lily . At Mo unt Deser t. Qu o tations .

CO LLIE R , THO MAS S. w ith po rtrait. Wi lier Learne d.Sac rilege. Cleopatra Dying. The ForgottenB ooks . Whenthe Roses Come . Accurs t. Qu otations .

AVE R ILL , AN N A B O YN'

rO N . F rances LaughtonMace.

B irch Stream . Swal low Song. B reaking Camp . Quo tation.

PE R RY , CAR LOTTA . Sarah 0 . H obart.

Enchantment. I i I H ad Known. Ani Wiedersehen. 3‘ ModernM inerva. Wisdom. H er Eyes and M ine.Qu otations .

Am is'

r itONo , GEO RG E F RANCIS . With penand ink sketch hy os arrow . T. W. R o lles ton. 47The Living and the Dead . Inthe Mountain Land -Song o i the G reeks . Lo ve oi Natu re . A u tumnMemories . A Diiflcu lty . Byron. Tu rkey . Qu o tations .

CLO UGH ,A RTHUR H ue s . J ames is lic roft Noble. 51

Q ua Gu rsum Ventu s . With Whom is no Variableness . Neither aw o i Tu rning.“ Ona G ondo la. As I Sat a t theCaié. Saynotthe Struggle NaughtAvaileth . Q u i Laborat. firs t: Througmau lass Darkly . I’esch iera Q uotatio

VE NAB LE . WILLIAM HE .

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B Y . With portrait. Comes K inney.

The Teacher'

s Dream . The Salu tato rian. The Coming Man. The Venal Vo te To My Wile . Qu o tations .

R i'r'rs NRm'

s I-z. LAURA JAi‘ lNTA . With portait by Sloan. Cairo . I ll . M . B . Harre ll .IntheCountry . AnOctober Morning. I Know . Quotations .

H IGG INSON ,THOMAS Ws N

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rwon'

rn. William Crans tonLawton. 64v The Sou l oi a Bu tte rfly . P relude. H eirs oi Time. A Song oi Days . I Wo u ld Arise and G o Unto My Father . Pan

theism and Theism . The H ope oi Man. Quo tations .

H ILnR s 'rnCHA RLES Lo '

riN .With portrait by Kelly Edgar Fe w er-t. 69

The Masque oi Death . Ghosts . F rost. The Ch imes . Among the Mountains . I !“ o ¢ atiou . Mu tability . Qu otations .

MACKELLAR , THOMAS.With portrait Rev. W. Stitt. 72

Let Me Kiss H im ior H is Mother . The Hymns My Mother Sung. There is a Land Immo rtal . AnEvening Sto rm atthe Seas ide. Sometimes inQu iet Revery . A Poet and H is Song. The B rotherhood o i Man.

B ROW\ E , LEWIS C. Ir ving B rowne.

Threesco re and Ten. B riers and B erries . Teaching Schoo l and B oarding R ound . Quo tation.

ALLIiioN I i , Masses B LAKEY .With portrait Nettie Leila Michel.

InQu iet Cave H il l . A Consolation. Deal G ently . Lo rd . Quo tations .

CARLE 'm N WILL . Re i BenjaminFopeland . 83Betsey and I Are Ou t. Thanksgiving Hymn. The March o i the Children. Death oi the R ic hes t Man. O \ er the H illto the Poor - H ou se . The New Chu rch O rgan. Legend Song. The Vestal .

iv CO N T E N T S .

PIE RCE , GRACE ADELE . With portrait by Taylor . Randolph . N . Y . Emma A . Edwards . 91Indu ctionto anAntle

r

s

!“s

Wedding Song . Like to Some Storm B elated B ird . Walking Villageward at E vening. B lindEyes . A Woman’

s

STRL'THE RS , WILLIAM . J osep h Whitton.

The Tarn. At End oi Twil ight. InQuest oi Love. F orce oi Habit.

MACHAR , AIIN Es MAULE . T. G . Marqu is .

Christmas inthe H ospital . Two V isions . Driiting Among the Thousand Islands. Quotations .

SM ITH ,WILLIAM WYE . With po rtrait . J ohnIm r ie.

Fair Lelia . The Sheep-Wash ing. The B airnie. Qu otation.

SM ITH , LUE LLA Down.With portrait . Alice M . Dowd .

One Step . The Sea. Gainwith Loss . Across the Years . Stranded . Quotation.

SHEA , J O HN CHAR LEs .With pencil sketch by B radley . S. S. I ’omroy .

E choes irom anO ld Key- B ugle . m Mother’

s Vo ice. F oot- P rints inthe Snow .

EGAN , MAUR ICE FR ANCIS . DuncanMar l I he r . 1 03The O ld Vio lin. Theoc r itu s . Mau rice de G uerin. F raAngelico OnReading

“ The Poet and H is Master . Oi F lowers .

The Chrysalis oi a B ook-Worm . Like a Lilac . The Anxious Lover . Cyfl ow to Galatea . Sleep ing Song.

CLEO PATRA .— SELECT PO EMS . 1 06

Antony to Cleopatra. Wil liam H aines Lytle Cleopatra. WilliamWetmo re Sto ry . Cleo patra Embarking ontheCydnu s .

Thomas Kibbie H ervey . Cleopatra. William Shakespeare .

“ Since Cleopatra Died . Thomas Wentwo rth H igginson.

Cleo patra'

s Dream. J . J . Owens . Cleopatra'

s Soliloquy . Mary B ayard Clark. Cleopatra to Antony . M rs . Sarah D.

Clarke.

SING LE PO E MS. I . 1 1 3B e a Woman. Edward B rooks Su pp lication. F rederic Dan H untington The N inety and N ine. E lizabeth Clephane .

A Marri e Hymn. M rs . E lizabeth R undle Char les . EvelynH ope. R obert B rowning A Child'

s Laugh . L. inco lnClear the ay. Charles Mackay . As under . H ugh Conway . F lorence Vane. Ph ilip PendletonCooke .

CUR R ENT PO EMS . I . 1 1 7R . B Died December Walter Storrs B igelow . Perdita . F lo rence Ear le Coates The Th rostle . A l lred . Lo rdTennyson F rom the H eigh ts , Jo hnB oyle O '

R eil ly . Str ike. Strike Thy H arp . Wil liam Cartwright Newsam .- I Am

the B eginning and the End . the F irst and the Last, M rs Annie F ields To JohnM Scott. Vio la V P rice Sonnet.Sir E dwinArnold Symptoms . J u lia H . Thayer . Sunset. H erbert B ashio rd Loss . W. Wilsey Martin. Mortis

Dignitas . R ichard E . B u rton A F airy Voyager . Mary F . B u tts . l i. Mary A inge De Vere To Will Car leton. B enjam inCopeland . One W .ord Wal lace B ru ce Quatrains . Matthew R ichey Knight. Simple Simon Went A - flshing.

"

H arriet S Mo rgridge.

NoTE s .

B IS LIl .O (l l lA l ’HY

MACKAY , CHAR LE s ; A I sT IN ,\LF R E II ; and B i i L , H . T . M .

Portraits by Walery . and E llio tt 6: F ry London. England. and medallionby A lexander M unro .

AusT IN , ALF RE D. Charles Wells Mon/ton. 1 2 9O ii Mes o longi A Wild R o se . The G rave- Digger

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s So .ng.

Love'

s B lindness Love'

s Wisdom . The Dregs oi Love.Unseasonable Snows . WhenA co rns F all . Qu otations .

PETE RSO N , HE N R Y . With penand ink sketc h by Darrow . Sarah IV. Peters on. 1 35E lo h im (the gods ) . The Glover Leai. Odes io t M ora

tmnDay . Lyon. The Op .al Bayard Tay lor . To AbrahamLinco ln. Quo tation.

3z" g

SMITH , HA Rm B . With flora-

al t°

t'

3 SlasonThomps on.

Love. the Warrior . A Mau so leum: At the Church Doo r . Thenand Now .

LATHRO P , Ross with ihk’

lketc’

nby B radley . Thomas S. Co llier . 1 43The Wo r ld . The Ghosts oi evefe A Song B eio re G riei. Zest. Inlet and Shore . TheLost B attle . ClosingChords . B rokenWaves . . LIie't i-yiafiqm d .

.Q . Q Q . .

ROLLsTo N , AIILLAmE DAY . mm: caveman; 1 : ea} : by B radley . Char les J . O’

Malley .

At the Last. ( i I H ad Known. Some Day . “Song A Promise . Qu otation.

LIPPMANN , JULIE M . R ichard E . B ur ton.

I t Seems bu t Yesterday . My Lady Jacqueminot E cho . Stone Wal ls . Tokens .

SAVAG E , M INOT J UDSON . With po rtrait by H o lland. B oston. Mass . Nettie Lei/8 1 53Light onthe Clou d . The Coming Sh ip. The Weed- G rownPath . InB ud. A B lock oi Marble. Evening . P u rsu it.The O ld P roblem The Mystic H ope . Qu otations .

MACKAY , CHARLEs . 1 . Arthu r King 1 56.E o lianM us ic . The Vo ice oi the Time . What M ight B e Done To theWest ! To the West ! Cheer , B oyni Cheer !Tu bal iCain Who Shall B e Fairest? The Good T ime Coming. Let Us A lone. Qu otations .

K INGSLEY CHAR LES With portrait. Thomas H umphrey liard . 1 60The Th ree F ishers The Watchman. A Farewell . The Sands oi Dee . B aby Sings Not onI ts Mother

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s B reast. Youngand O ld . Dr iiting Away . The Tide R iver . Lo rraine . Quotations .

B ELL , H . T . MACKE NZIE . Alexander H . J app . 1 65The Keeping o i the Vow . Waiting io r the Dentist InMemoriam W E . F oster . O ld Year Leaves . The G rave oiDante Gabr iel R ossetti Uniniiilled Yearnings . P assion

PHELPS, CHAR LES H EN IH . J ohnVance Chenc i' . 1 69Mojave Desert. A t the O rch id Show Song oi the Mou ths . Under the Stars . At the Summit. Maid oi St. Helena.

J ON Iizs , I . EDG AR . With po rtrait by Lawson. M u skegon. M ich . R ichard H eu r r Lee. 1 73A Natu re Prayer . Veiled H armonies . N ebu lou s Ph ilosophy . B rownEyes . Quotation.

CO N T E N T S . v

B R ISTO L, AUGUSTA COOPE R . Louise V. B oyd. 1 76The Pixie. H eart Azaleas . The B ird- Song.

NAsoN ,E NINI A HUNT INGTO N . Kate Vannah .

The B ishop’

s Visit. G lendare. The Tower . ‘Vh ite Sails ., Qu otation.

MAXWELL ,11 0 . With portrait by Taber . SanF rancisco . Cal . A . W. F rederick,

The Conquest. Cal lioru ia. B uena V ista. Quotation.

CONINIE LIN ,AN NA OLCO TT . M . W. Olcott. 1 85

Spirits Twain. WhenSpring- Time Cometh On. F aces . Mu rillo ’

s Magdalene . Quotation.

SM ITH , MARY B AR R Y With portrait by Stoorger . St. Johu . N . B . A , H , Eaton,

Elswitha. Afterward . My B oss . Sunset. Quotation.

CR AN DALL , CHAR LEs H . F rances IV. Williams . 1 9 1Waiting Writtenina Vo lume oi Shakespeare . Sunset onthe Palisades . Mu sic . The Little M issionary . Looking

/I F o rward . P lowing. At F irst Sight.

THOM PSON ,CHAR LES LE NIUEL . With po rtrait. William C. Gray . 1 95

A Song oi the Camp . The Crypt and the Cathedral . Mont B lanc . Aiter the Rain. Qu otation.

RE N F R EW, CAR R IE .With portralt by Townsend. H astlns

's . Nob . J ames G . Clark.

Poetry . Liie . M issing.

"B eio re a Mummy . A Refrain.

FAULHNE R ,H AR RY CHARLEs . A . StrattonThayer . 2 02

Poets . The B allet G irl . St. E lise . B al lade oi Teasing. Ad Ghiocu . E tat. X LV: Qu otations .

B R OWNING , R O B E RT . With portrait. Walter Storrs B igelow . 2 04My Star . H ow They B rought the oad N ews irom Ghent to Aix . Incident oi the F rench Camp . The Lost Leader .

The Last R ide Together . One W y o i Love. Quotations .

ALDR II 'H , AN NE R E E V E .

.N’

ew Eden. Love'

s Change . Two Songs oi Singing. A Wanderer . InN ovember . Ignls Fatu u s .

SPAL'

LDING , H AR R IET MAHE L .With portrait by H orton. Albany . N . Y F rank Woodworth H oyt. 2 1 4

Completion. A Song o i Awakening. G oing B errying. Quotation.

BUMSTE A ,h E L

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DO RA . N . K . Griggs . 2 1 8The Co rn Saith My H eart . The Quest. Blow . IVind. B low . Qu otation.

LO VE J O N , G EO RG E N EWE L I H ezekiah B utter ivorth .

A R eco llec tion. The O ld H iii Path. Disappointment. G roupings . Quatrains . My F adeless R ose . Childhood .

LetKHART ,ARTHUR J OHN . W ith portrait. B urton lV. Lockhar t.

Silent Speec h . Angels . A R oundy Cheer ior the F armer . A Fantasy . Sing On. Little B ird.

CRAWF O R D, M RS . JOHN .With po rtrait by Lee . R ochester . N . Y . W. R . Climie.

B u t Yesterday . The Sailor’

s Wile. Ina Lily’

s Cu p .

KA YE,JO HN B RAN sHAn.

With portrait by Oyloe. Ou lan. I owa . F . Lewis George.

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i he H umming- B ird. Aiter the Sleet . Inthe Deep. Tangled F orest. Qu otation.

COOL IDG E , SUsAN . H enry A . Thurman.

Influence. When‘

I Inthe M ist. N ew E very Morning. B enedicam Domino . Quotations .

PR IZE SO N NETs LIF E . 2 32B y Virna Woods . M iss Caro line Spencer . J as er B arnett Cowdin. Ralph G . Utter . M rs . S . R . Allen. Mary W . P lummer .

J . Wal ler H enry . Aubrey DeVere . Marion iii. JohnR B enson. Maria Lou ise E ve. H . S. Webster . Christopher PearceCranch . F rances L. Mace. E lla H igginson. H arriet S . Mo rgridge.

HELE N o r TROY . SELECT PoENIs . 2 37H elen; Aiter Troy. H enry P eterson. R ondeau to H elen. Lou is B elrose. J r . H elenoi Troy . F lorence Peacock . AiterThe Fal l oi Troy. F lo rence P eacock H elenonthe Rampart. Geo rge Chapman. H elen’

s E pithalamion. Sir EdwardDyer . H elenoi Troy. F red Shelley Ryman.

SINGLE POEMS. I I . 2 40B allade oi QueenClytie . G raham R . Tomson.

.

To H im Who Waits . E dith Sessions Tupper . Songs Unsung. E rnestM cGaiiey . The F ated B ride. Walter Crane. B ettina Mau l . E dward Irena'u s Stevenson. H eredity . F rederick K .

Peterson. B econtre. Thomas B ailey A ldrich .

CranE NT POEMS. II . 2 43The Sonnet. Eugene Lee H amilton. Time and E ternity . Caroline D . Swan. The SunCu p . A rch ibald Lampman. TheF unera l inV enice. Constance E . Dixon T o Vio la V . P r ice. Charles Sou thernMo rehead . To I . W . Sanbo rn.

Sen- Revelation. Ida A . Ah lbo rn Time and Thee. PlavciScott M ines . The Shadow - B ird and H is Shadow . M rs . S. M . B .

P iatt . NonSine Lac rymis. H enry B ernard Ca enter . Liie’

s Galley Slave . Robert R exdale . At Th irty- F ou r. W. WPirimmer . A Winter Sunset. Sidney A . A lexan er . Perhaps . JohnW . B ell .

BLACKIE , JOHN STUART , and LATHROP , GEOR GE PAR sO Ns .

Portraits by D . Macara. Edinbu rgh . and Cox . New Yo rk .LAN' lE R

, SIDNE Y .With portrait by Cummins . B altimore . Clifl

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ord A . Lanier .

The Marshes oi G lynn. Song oi th e Chattahoochee . Qu otations .

LIOULTON , LoUIsE CHANDLE R .With portrait by K u rtz . New York. Mrs . George Amhibald. 2 60

Come B ack . Dear Days . Inthe Ranks . InB ohemia . My Saint. Now and Then. The Spring is Late . A lone by theB ay . G randmama s Warning. Thistle- Down. InWinter . InTime to Come. H ic J acot Leit B ehind . R oses atSea . H elp Thou My Unbel isi.

CLARK,JAMES Gownv ,

With portrait by Taber . SanF rancisco . Abraham Perr v Miller . 2 65Innovation. The Infinite Mother . The Vo ice oi the People. The Mountains

.

o i Lile. Mar ionMoo re .

vi CO N T E N T S .

B AXLE Y,ISAAc R .

With po rtrait by R eed . Santa Barbara. Cal . Char les Wells Mo u lton. 2 71Absence. The B allad o i Sir Raymond. The R iver Xeu il . Time. Waiting. The Women. R ealization. Songs oi theSpirit. Qu o tation.

B ENTON ,MYRON B . With portrait by F redericks . New York . J ohnB u rr oughs .

The Mowers . Song. My Stream . The Sorrow . Quotations .

NOE L , RODE N . Emily H . H ickey . 2 80Suspirla. Lost. Ah ! Love Ye One Another Wel l . To a Ch ild Who Asked Me ior a Poem . Lament. Qu o tations .

PF E IF F E R , EM ILY .With pencil sketch by B radley Caro la B lacker . 2 87

B rokenLight To Natu re. The Gospel o i Dread Tidings . E volu tion Watchman. What o i the N igh t .

"

UnknownLove. Qu otations .

LATHR O P , GEO RGE PARSONS. Thomas S. Collier .

Keenan’

s Charge. The Song Sparrow . The Sunsh ine o i Thine Eyes . The Voice o i the Vo id . Qu otationHORN E R ,

HATTIE . Clara H . Hazelrigg.

Kansas : 1874—1884. Maple Leaves . Contrast. N o Ou tlet.

DAY ,R ICHARD EDWIN . With po rtrait by H ater . Syracu se. N Y . J ohnT. R oberts .

The Wall oi the Temple . Shells . Dandelions . Silence . The Poppy . Quotations .

P INKLE Y , VIR G IL A . J ohnMar tinCrawford.

The Model AmericanG irl . B etter ThanGo ld . Seed - So wing Qu otation.

WE ATHE RLY , F REDE R Ic E . William Cartwright Nee ii sam . 302Pou r F orth the Wine ! LondonB r idge Star oi B eth lehem The B ells 0 ! Lynn. The B est E state . The Sea

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s Love.

WAR R IN E R ,R E V . E . A . With po rtrait by Doo little. Montro se. Pa . Samuel D. Warr iner .

The Infinite . Qu otations .

SM ITH ,JEAN IE OLIVE R . Obadiah Cyr us Auringrer . 309

The G iit oi Day Lilies . Geo rge E liot.

AnExotic . Earth’

s Secret. Sidney Lanier . T rowbridge. Ferdinand F reili

grath . Qu otationsBAE R , LIB R IE C. With portrait by Immke . P r inceton. I l l . F red E , Pond.

Love. My Enemy . A lone. Su bdued . Inthe Land oi Fancy . What is Love? A N ew Year’

s Wish . Qu ota tionCUB R IE R , MOODY . H enry M . P u tney .

June. The E ternal One . The Old Mano i the Mountain

H ILL ,MARY E ,

With portrait by Mo tes . Atlanta . Ga Irene Farrar .

The R iver . Going. My B ird . Tears Spir it o i Song.

HAR R ISON ,N ARN IE . W. L . B ringhurs t.

Earth Love. The Sense oi B eing Owned . Charity . Two Mothers .

MORTON . ELIzA H . With portrait by Lamson. P o rtland . Me J . Alber t Libby .

Weakness . Jeru salem . Inthe Sunligh t Song T riumphant

RAYM OND, GEO R G E LANSING . Margaret B . Peeke.

Whatever the M issioninLite May B e. The Destiny- Maker . A F ish Sto ry . My Ideal . Quo tations .

WE ED, EM ILY STUART .With portrait by Waterbu ry . G reenwich . Conn.

Ii We Only Knew . B eyond the Sunset. My Sailor . Au rora . Char ity . Transmu ted . F idus A chates . Quo tations .

B LACKIE ,JOHN STUART . H . E . B ranch . 333

The Jung- F rau oi the Lu rlei. B eautiiu lWo rld .

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Sow not InSorrow . Some B ook Worms Will Bit and Will Stu dy .

Moonlight.

HAR R Y , LE E C. With portrait by Pach B ros . N ew .York . F rank S. B urke.

Daphne. V i Amorie. My B oy. InVernal Shades .

WHITE ,JAM ES T . Wltb por trait Emelie Tracy Y. Parkhurs t.

Orange B lossoms . Clematis . Platystemon. Ceanothu s . Lu llaby . To A rcady .

LAN IE R , CLI FF O R D A . William H . H ayne . 343The Spirit oi A rt. Time. Tireless Tramp . Cou rage ! Some Remain. A cknowledgment. Love

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s Reserve. ('

argoes oiLove . Pueila Lau reate .

EDMONDs , ELIZAB ETH MAYHEW. H enry A . Thurman. 346The Poet

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s Wiis . H es eras . O . B eau teous Death Athens Sad . The ByronCentenary . The Akropo lis Owl . TheSuddenCloud . The rystlng Tree .

SCHOLE S . ADAM . With portrait by A rthu r I. Philbric . Detroit. M ich . W. E , J obnson,

B lind. Thanksgiving. E rin. Poetry .

IR ELAND, MAR Y E .With portrait. Martha F inley . 351

At the Par ty . Mother and Son. Transition. The Answer . Sympathy .

PRIzE RONDE AUN . 3g,3F or My Dear Love. Margaret A . Logan. You Loved Me Once. Ju lia Ditto Young. Where Tiber F lows . May Lennox .

InWhately G len. M rs . J u l la Tafit Bayne. B eneath the Elms . J A . R itch ie'

Tis Almost N ight. Fannie P . Mc l l arg.

I i I Were You . Selma Paine. A F ericet H eart . Charles H . Crandall . This Yel low R ose . Lo u ise 8 . Cogswell .

N IAGARA .— SELEC‘TED POEMS .

N iagara. Craven Langstroth B ette N iagara. R ichard E . Day . N iagara. Emily P ieiiier . Niagara.

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H enry HowardB rownel l . N iagara. Thomas G o ld App leton. N iagara. Lydia H untley Sigou rney . The Fal ls o i N iagara. JohnlGlardn

ler Calkins B rainard . N iagara. José Mar ia H eredia. N iagara Falls . Lo rd Mo rpeth . N iagara. G eo rge W . W.

ong ton.

CO N T E N T S . vii

SI .’

GLE POEMS. I I I . 362A Croon onH ennaciiif. R obert StephenHawker . Lynched. F . L . Stanton. The Demonof the G ibbet. F its - JamesO

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B rien Corpu s Delicti. E . Hough . The B ody of anUnknownMan. A . E Watrou s . The Ancient Lady ofSo rrow. H enry M . A lden. In the Dark. George Arno ld . The R oyal Abbess . Margaret J . P reston. Are A ll theCh ildrenIn SusanTeali Perry.

CURR E NT PoEMs . II I . 366The Pos t

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s Apo logy . Andrew Lang. The B lackbird . Alfred Percival G raves . E xpectation. Ida Whipple B enham .

A Foolish Wish . Edward Rowland Sil l . What Is a R ondelet?L il la N . Cushman. Where Summer B ides . Lu cy E .

T il ley . Mater Do loroea. Maggie G rimnNoble. The H ired Man. R obert J . Bu rdette . B eatrice. AlgernonCharlesSwinburne. Beatrice. Theodore Watts. The Wonderfu l Passionof Love. H omer G reene. Man. F lorence Ear leCoates . Discipline. Mary A . Mason. Life. M rs . B . C. R ude.

DO BsON , AusTIN . With penand ink sketch by B radley . J ohnUnderhill . 375B efore Sedan. My B ooks . The Child- Musician. The Street Singer . The Cradle . OnLondonStones .

"The Prodi

gals . More Posts Yet i “ F arewell . Renown!" WhenF inis Comes . Quotations .

WILBO N' , RO B ERT BURNS. Portrait by Mattern. F rankfort. Ky . M . A . B urnley . 381Ii One Cou ld Ease anAching Heart. The Days Are Few . The Summer Rain. The Passing of March . The Death ofWinter . Sunrise and Sunset. Wou ld We Retu rn? Quotations .

SPALDING, SusAN MAR R . With portrait. H enry D. Nell . 387

F ate . AWinter Rose . My Famil iar . My B rother'

s Keeper The Singers . A Desire. AnAntique Intaglio . A Victory .

Storm Signals. Two Singers . Death’

s F irst Lesson. Quotation.

THAYE R, STEPHE N HE N RY . Char les H enry Phelps . 389

The H ome oi The Pocantico . Midsummer Ode to Indo lence F aith . Indu lto . N ightWatches .

BU’I‘TE RWO RTH , HEZE E IAH . With portrait . Charles Wells Moulton. 393Linco ln’

s Last Dream . InB ay Chaleur . The B ird That Sang to Co lumbu s . The Cypress Gates .

H IGG IN BO N, ELLA . With Dortrait. C. B . Mo an. 399

Winter onPuget Sound . B ellingham B ay . H er Way. M idsummer N ight. The Angel inH ell . Where t e DiiierenceLies . A Fancy . Life and Death . The O ld Sto ry. R egret.

COLEMAN , CHAR LEs WAsHINGTON . H ugh Stochdell B ird. 402The Passing of the Singer . Love

'

s Going. A B ru ised R ose . June Cometh . Inthe German.

KIM BALL , HAR RIET MCEWEN . With portrait. M . L. B . Wells . 404Ali

'

s Well . The Cr ickets . The Guest. When I Awake. Summer - Time Good - By . White Azaleas . My Namesake.

My F ield . Quotations . e

ALLE N , LYM AN WHITNEY . With portrait by F ox . St.Lou is . Mo . H enry A . Thurman.

The Coming of H is Feet . Submission. B eethoven’

s Seventh Symphony . The B irds BingyH alf the Year .

Orchard . To a Water- Lily .

CAN TON ,WILLIAM .

With portrait by'r . s . n. Annan. G lasgow . I . Arthur Kil l . 41 2

TheWaters. B lossom and Babe . Tw-o Lives . Morning. Dav- Dreams . Birth and Death . Lau e infant um .

April G rist. Quotation.

COLLIE R , ADA LANGWORTHY . Mrs . Cymantha C. Shoup . 41 5H igh . H igh. B old Eagle. Soar . Ah . Linger No Longer . Lilies . A Country Garden. Qu otations .

AncmnALD, Mas . GEORG E . Wit-b portraitby H owe. E lmira. N . Y Ausburn7"

owner . 41 9A Vision. The O ld Hymn. The O ld Mill . To My Daughter

'

s Lips . Tru e E conomy . AnAppreciative Widower . The

Idea . A ModernSu ccess . Epitaph Ona Lawyer .

f

WILBON , Mas . E . V . With portrait Mrs . Edward J . B rown.

H is Mother'

s Songs . The One I Wou ld Rather Meet. A Requ iem . OneWord . Spring Beau ties . I reland .

J E F F E RY , Mas . IsADORE GILB E RT . E va MansonSmith . 42 7The Ch ristianLife. Slste Viator . Incognito . Quotation.

P ANG BOR N . F REDE R lc WE RDEN . With po rtrait by G ubelmsn. New York . H orace C. Wait. 431God B less

'

i’

hee. Gentle Sleeper . What Shal l I Tel l My Ch ild ? Lu llaby . Divided B lessing. Intelligent Love.

Belinda. Lust. Quotation.

GmEs . ELLA A . With portrait by l os ses . Madison. Wis Mary L . B u t-dick. 433Oh. Ye B eauteous H il ls oi F rankfort. Ah . Me l Though F ree. Inthe F u llness oi Time. To Avoid F ru stration.

G au ss , ALF R ED PE RCIVAL . With portrait by Lafayette . Dublin. I reland. Katharine Tynan. 437Father 0

’

F lynn. The Rejected Lo ver . TheWillow Tree. I rish Lul laby . FanF itsgerl . TheWreck of the A ideen.

N EWBAM ,WILLIAM CARTWR IGHT. With portrait by Donovan. B righton. Eng. Alexander H . J app . 440

WhenN igh t Comes On. WhenThou Wort N igh . Seaside F ancies . Quotations .

H OLLAND, J OSIAH G ILB E RT . With portraitdrawnbyWyatt Eaton. engraved byT . Co le . Nettie LeilaMichel . 443Threnody . Words . Alone. Quotations .

“d oom , DAV IDWILLIAM . With portrait. J ohnTalman. 449'

Tiath‘

e

rgounWhenDews Descending. Minnehaha The Popu lar Creed . TheWomanInthe Case. The Patriot

'

s

W

SWETT ,EME LIE TRACY Y . With po rtrait. Callie B onney Marble. 45 1

A Ch ris tmas Ch ime from the O ld M issionDo lores . The Country Workshop . B etween Two Wal ls . A G uest Unbldden.

hy 7 B irth and Death . God'

s Acre. The Chant- R oyal of the P ine- Trees .

H AM ILTON , ANNA J .With portrait by Doerr . Lou isville. Ky Lizzie B . Walsh .

Pray H ow . At Set of Sun. Lines to the Memory of Father Ryan. A PerfectWoman.

viii CO N T E N T S .

BOYESE N , HJALMAR HJORTH . Talcott Williams . 456The Lost H eilas . Egll Scald

’s Lament. H ow CanI Lightly Speak Thy Wondrous Name ? Withinthe R ose I F ound a

Trembling Tear .

WOOLFO RD,BESSIE H . With portrait by Gorgas. Madison. Ind . LinC. J ones 461

Pu rple Asters and Golden- Rod. WhenLilacs B loom. Pretty and Dirty. Sigh Soft and Low. Oh l Summer B reeze .Quotation.

WETHE RALD, AGNEs ETHELWYN . G . Mercer Adam .

To the F irst CanadianWild F lower . The B reath of Love. The Deep Tide. To M A B irthday Wish .

Parting. Repentance. Love’s Phases . Sometime. I Fear .

CO F F INB E B RY , SALATHIE L C. With portrait Char les WashingtonH enry .

E cho . Count Not the H ou rs . The Coquette. Quotation.

ROSSETTI , Miss CHRIsTLNA G . J ohnWa .lker 468Dream Land . The Sixteenth of May . Aitsr Death . To -Day for Me . At H ome . WhenI Am Dead ? Uri- H il l .Weary . A B irthday . The World Remember . Vanity of Vanities . Rest. Love Lies B leeding. AnApple Gathering. Quotations .

SINGLE POEMs . IV . 472Tacking Shi Off Shore. Walter Mitchell . New England

’s Chevy Chase. Edward Everett H ale. By -and By . Lewis J .

Bates . G i . Mary Thacher H igginson. One Day . Lewis Morris . B eating Into the H arbor . MelonyChase . Afterward .

E lisabeth Stuart Phelps .

CURRENT POEMS. IV . 476Outcast. Solomon Solis -Cohen. Gu llelmus Rex . Thomas B ailey Aldrich . The G ift of the Sea. R udyard Ki

pling.

Noctu rne. Wil liam E rnest Henley . To anO ld App le T ree.Coatee Kinney . To a Poet inExile. Mau rice F rancis man.

A Message. Lo la Marshal l Dean. Out of the South . Mau rice Thompson.

'

Tis H ome Where '

er Ou r F lag Is . O liveLogan.

PR IZE QUOTATIONS.

TH E N EW YORK

PUBLICLIBRARY

mm m m

AG AZ IN E O F O ET RY .

V OL . I I .

GEORGE HENRY BOKER.

GEORGE H . BOKER was borninPh iladelphia,in 1 82 3. His ancesto rs were Dutc h and

French (the family name having been, or iginal ly,B oc her ) ; and his father was a r ich and prosperou sbanker , who held a high rank amongPhiladelph iafinanc iers in the first half of this centu ry . Grad

u ating at Nassau Hall , Pr inceton(now Pr incetonCo l lege ) , at the age of nineteen, Mr . B oker beingfree from the need of fixing u ponany bus iness or

profess ion for the pu rpose of making money,reso lved to devote himself to l iterature . He was

prospectively r ich , and his social pos itionwas of thebest ; but inthose days it was general ly thoughtto be analmost fatal mistake for a young manwith pro spects so br i ll iant to choose the pu rsu it ofliteratu re, instead ofgo ing into commerce, manu

factu re , or banking, or adopting one of the

learned profes s ions inwhich he m ight add to hiswealth . It requ ired cou rage onthe part of B okerto set himself against the prevalent soc ial prejudice inPhiladelphia soc iety towards the l iterarypro fess ion. He pers isted, however , and beganhiscareer w ith a volume of poems entitled “ The

Lesson of Life,” which was published in 1 847,

whenhe was twenty- fou r . The next year , he published a tragedy “Calaynos ,

”which was ac ted in

England w ith great su ccess , and had a long run

there ; be ing afterwards played in Philadelphiaior many nights . In rapid success ion, he pro

duced fou r other plays , The Betrothal ,” F ran

cesca da R im ini ,” “Leonor de Gu zman, and

“Anne B o leyn.

” The first two were acted and he

came popu lar onthe stage, br inging to their eu

thor a su bstantial pecuniary reward. F rancescada R im ini ” was revived, abou t 1 883, by the distingu ished Amer icantragedian,Lawrence Barrett,and was p layed by him for several seasons, soeur

inga br i ll iant and popu lar success . These p layswere wr itteninblank verse, ofwhich Mr . B oker isanunquestioned master . It will be noticed thathis dramatic themes were all suggested by Eu ro

peanhistory, or Eu ropeanpoetry, romance and

No . 1 .

l ife. B ut inhis shorter poems B Oker was not slowto reflect the life Ofhis owncountry and of his owntime . The per iod was rapidly approac hing whenhe was to demonstrate his power as anAmer icanpoet, dealingwith Amer icansubjec ts of immediateand vital interest.

In1 862,whenthe c ivil war inthe United States

was under way, and the Unionwas inserious per il,Mr . B oker took a leading and ac tivepart infounding, with a number Of other loyal men, the UnionLeague Of Philadelph ia, which led to the form ingof s imilar organizations throughout. the NorthernStates , and contributed the equ ipment of

menand large sums oimoney to the Unioncau se.

Mr . B oker was the sec retary of the League dur ingthe war , and afterwards served as its pres ident forseveral years . Dur ing this time he wrote a number of poems on the war and on the nationals ituation, which gained w ide cu r rency and had agreat effec t in stimu lating Union sentiment.

Among the most notable of these were The

B lack Regiment,” the “Dirge for a So ldier , and

Cavalry Sheridan.

”

In1 872 Mr . B oker was appo inted by Pres . GrantUnited States minister at Constantinople, andfrom thence promoted to represent this country atSt. Petersliu rg. Inboth these offic ial pos itions berendered valuable services , and from them he re

tu rned to Philadelphia with fresh and endu ringhonors won du ring his eight years of brilliantdiplomatic work .

Bes ides the vo lumes mentioned above, he has

pu blished several other books , among which are

Kdnigsmark a tragedy, w ith additional poems Poems Of the War

”and

The Book Of the Dead H is skill inthesonnet caused Le igh Hunt, many years ago , to

place him inthe foremost line of the wor ld’s son

neteers ; and his sonnet to England, beginning“Lear and Cordelia,

”was a favor ite with Daniel

Webster , who u sed to rec ite it from memory .

Mr . Boker lives inPhiladelphia, inthe luxu rioushou se onWalnut street wh ich has long been hishome. There, su rrounded by an ample library

4 TH E M A GAZI N E OF P OE TR Y.

containing many c lass ic and rare books , he stillwr ites occasionally , and continues to observe public affairs with the same ac tive and patriotic interest which distingu ished him du r ing the war .

Thoroughly conversant with the wor ld, he fre

quently appears in soc iety and is a good publicspeaker . He also cherishes a dec ided taste for

mechanics , and makes a prac tice of to il ing inthelittle mac hine- shop which he maintains in his

house, where he performs the labor of a skilledmetal - worker , s imply for pleas u re a nd exerc ise .

H is poetry is characterized by great dignity,earnestness , and depth of insight and feel ing,

united w ith a r ich fervor of express ion, and a re

markable command of sonorou s rhythm ic har

monies . H is“Countess Lau ra ”

and “ The IvoryCarver illustrate the qual ities inwhich he excels .

G . P . L .

SONG.

B R EATHE , violets , breathe! blow , pr imrose beds ,A long the gl iding streams !

B reathe low ,blow meekly , modest heads

F low ,brooks , ins ilent dreams !

She comes , the sweetest, fairest flower ,The l ightest mov inggrac e ,

To perfume heaven, to bloom anhou rWithinou r trysting- place .

O violet sweet, and pr imrose br ight,And softly fal l ing tide,

Where are you r charms , that wonmy s ight,Now she is by my s ide

CAVALRY SHERIDAN .

Sep tember 1 9 . 1864.

SHE R IDAN , Sher idan, Cavalry Sher idan!Him of the horses and sabres I s ing.

Look , how he drove them !Look , how he c love them !

Sabred, belabored , confu sed and confounded

Where is the firenow,

Showing thy irenow ,

B lazing, while gazing with fear and ama zement,As onit crept sw iftly from door -

post to casement,Weepingw ith pale dismay ,Stood maids and matrons gray ?

Has itnot spread to thy end of the valley?Did it not fol low thee inthy grand sallySher idan, Sher idan, Cavalry Sher idan.

0 Ear ly , mad Ear ly , thou ruthless invader ,Where are the troopers who fo llowed thy raid?

Look at the ir corses l

So ldiers and horsesWhitenand br ighten, w ith bones shininggrimly ,Onall the w ide plains they rode over so tr imly .

What has the ravensaidWhere has the red fox preyed?

What is the high- sail ing buzzard dec laring,

InR ichmond’

s white u ptu rned face, of thy warfarmg,

Sheridan, Sher idan, Cavalry Sher idan?

Sher idan, Sher idan, Cavalry Sher idan,Whenthou shalt come to thy people again,

Crowns we shal l twine for thee ;And the r ipe w ine for thee ,

F las hing and splas hing from goblet and beaker ,Shall whir l round the lips of the eloquent speaker ,

As he essays invainHomage to make it plain

How the great heart ofthe jubilantnationThe who le rebel P0“ ; 08 they fel l bac k astounded Swells towards thy owninits fu ll admiration,

At the fierce stride and swingOf ou r mengalloping,

Shouting with vengeance, roar ingwith laughter ,Cheer ing with victo ry as they plunged afterSheridan, Sher idan, Cavalry Sher idan!

Ah , fair Shenandoah , thou nest ofthe robber ,How stands the count with thy people to-day?

Sher idan, Sher idan, Cavalry Sher idan!

RATHER, MY PEOPLE .

RATHE R , my people, let thy you ths paradeTheir woo lly flocks before the r is ing sun;With cu rds andoat—cakes , whentheir work is done,

Chambersbu rg,Chambersbu rg, smou lder ingChambersbu rg,

Sit inthy ru ins , content w ith thy lot !Lo , thy despo iler ,Snared by the toiler ,

Retreated defeated— torn, pierced , slashed w ithgashes

And what thy homes were, now their bodies are

— as hes !0 , be thy gr iefs forgot ;Every br ight lau reled Spot

Onthy fair hill - s ides wait matronand maidenWith chaplets ofglory , to welcome and ladenSheridan, Sheridan, Cavalry Sher idan!

GE OR GE H E N R Y B OKE R .5

By frugal handmaids let the board be laid ;Let them refresh their vigor inthe shade,Or deem their straw as down to lie upon.

E re the greatnationwh ich ou r s ires begunB e rent asunder by hel l 's m inion, Trade !

If jarr ing interests and the greed ofgo ld,The co rn- r ick '

s envy ofthe m ined h ill ,The steamer

’

s grudge against the spindlc’

s skill

If things so meanou r country '

s fate canmou ld0 let. me hear againthe shepherds tr ill

Their reedy mus ic to the drows ing fo ld !

I HAVE A COTTAGE .

I HAVE a cottage wher e the sunbeams lu rk,Peeping around its gables all day long,

B rimm ing the butter - c ups until they dr ipWith mo ltengo ld, like o

'

ercharged cru c ibles .

H ere, wonder ing why the mo rning-

glor ies c loseT heir crumpled edges ere the dew is dry,

G reat l ilies stand, and stretc h their langu id budsInthe fu l l blaze ofnoon, until its heatH as pierced them to their centers . Here the rose

l s larger , redder , sweeter , longer - live d,Less thorny, thanthe rose of other lands .

I have a cottage where the south w ind comes ,

('

ool from the spicy pines , o r with a breathO f the mid- oceansalt uponits lips ,And a low , lu ll ing, dreamy sound ofwaves .

T o breathe uponme. as I lie alongOnmy white violets , marvel ing at the beesT hat to il but to be plundered, or the martO f str ivingmen, whose bells I sometimes hearWhen they will toss their brazen throats at

heaven,And how! to vex me . B ut the townis far ;And all its no ises , ere they trouble me,Mu st take a. convoy ofthe scent ed breeze,And c limb the hil ls , and cross the bloomy dales ,And catc h a whisper inthe swayinggrain,

And bear unfaithfu l echoes from the wood,

And mix with birds , and streams , and flutter ingleaves ,

And ano ld ballad which the shepherd bums,

Stray ing inthought behind his brows ing flock .

I have a cottage where the wi ld bee comesTo hug the thyme

, and woo its dainties forth ;Where humming- birds , plashed with the rainbow ’

s

dyes ,Poise ontheir whirringw ings before the door ,And drainmy honeysu ckles at a draught.

Ah , giddy sensual ist, how thy blazing throatF lashes and throbs , while thou dost pil lage meOfall my virginflowers ! And then, awayWhat eye may follow ! B ut yonconstant robinSpr ing,

summer,winter , still the same c lear song

At mornand eve, still the contented hop ,

And low ,sly whistle, whenthe crumbs are thrown

Yet he is jealou s ofmy tawny thru sh,And drives him off

,ere a faint symphony

Ushers the carol warming inhis breast.

I have a cottage where the brook runs by ,Making faint mu s ic from the rugged stones

O’

er which it s lides ; and at the height ofPr ime,When snows are melting onthe misty hillsThat front the south

,this brook comes stealing

up

To was h my door - stone. Oft it bears along,Sad s ight, a funeral of pr imroses

Was hed from the treacherou s bank to wh ich theygrew

With to o fond faith— all trouping, one by one,With nodding heads inse emly order ranged,

Downits du ll cu rrent towards the endless sea .

0 ,brook , hear me

, with su ch a holy calm ,

To the vas t oceanthat awaits for me,

And I know one whose mou rnfu l melodyShal l make your name immortal as my love.

I have a cottage inthe c lovenhills ;Through yonder peaks the flow of sunlight comes ,Dragging its sluggish tide across the pathOfthe r elu ctant stars wh ich si lentlyAre bu r ied init. Through yonwesterngap

I have a cottage where the w inter w indsWreck their rude pass ions on the neighbor inghills ,

And c rawl down, shattered by the edged rocks ,To hide themselves among the stalac titesThat roo f my frosty cave , againstmidsummer ;Or inthe bosom ofthe s tream they creep ,Numbing the gu rgling cu rrent till it liesSta rk , frozen, lifeless , silent as the moon;Or wrestle with the cataracts ; o r glide,B u stling c lose down, among the c risp dead gras s ,To chase the awkwar d rabbits from their haunts ;Or beat my roo f with its ownsheltering boughsYetnever daunt me ! For my flaming logsPou r u p the chimney a defiant roar ,While Shakespeare and a flas k of southernwine,B rownw ith the tanofSpain, or red Bordeaux ,Char mme

, until the crocu s says to me,Inits ownway, Come forth : I ’

ve brought thespr ing!"


Day ebbs away, leavinga marginround,Of sky and c loud, drowned inits sinking flood,Till Venu s shimmers through the r is ing blue,And lights her sisters up . Here lie the moon

beams ,H ou r after hou r , becalmed inthe stil l trees ;Or onthe weltering leaves ofthe younggras sRest, half as leep , rocked by some errant w ind.

Here aremore l ittle stars , onw inter nights ,

Thansages reckonintheir heavenly charts ;F or the brainwanders , and the dizzy eyeAches at their sum, and du lls , and w inks with

them .

The NorthernLights come downto greet me here,P laying fantas tic tr icks above my head,With their long tongu es of fire, that dart and

catc h ,From po int to po int, across the firmament,As if the face of heavenwere pas sing off

Inlow combu stion; or the kindlingnightWere slowly flaming to a fatal dawn,Wide spread and sunless as the day of doom .

I have a cottage cowering inthe trees ,And seeming to shr ink lower day by day .

Sometimes I fancy that the growing boughsHave dwarfed my dwell ing : bu t the so lemnoaks ,That hang above my roof so lovingly ,They , too , have shrunk . I know not how it isFor whenmy mother led me by the handAround ou r pale, it seemed a weary walkAnd then, as now , the sharp roof nestled there,Among the trees , and they prepped heaven. Alas !Who leads menow around the bushy pale ?Who shows the birds ’

nests in the twi light leaves ?Who catc hes me withinher fair round arms

,

Whenautumnshakes the ac orns onou r roofTo startle me? I know not how it isThe house has shrunk , perhaps , as ou r poor

hearts ,

Whenthey both broke at parting,and m ine c losedUpona memory , shutting ou t the wo r ldLike a sad anchor ite .

— Ah ! thatgu sty morn!B ut here she l ived, here died, and so wi ll I .

I have a cottage— mar inar , if ye w ill ,

Yemenwhos e l ips are prison- doors to thoughtsB orn, w ith myst eriou s struggles , inthe heart.

And maidens , letyou r sto re of hoarded smi les ,B reak from their dimples , like the spread ing r ingsThat skim a lake, whensome stray blossom fal lsWarm inits bosom . Ah , you cannot te llWhy violets choosenot aneighboring bank,Why cowsl ips blow u ponthe self- same bed,Why year by year the swallow seeks onenest,

Why the brownwrenrebu ilds her hairy home.

0 , sightless cavilers , you do not knowH ow deep roots str ike, nor w ith what tender care

The soft downl ining warms thenest within.

Think as you will , mu rmu r and sm ile apacwI have a cottage where my days shall close,Calm as the s etting of a feeble star .

TO ENGLAND.

DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER .

(Inmemory of General Pbmp K earney . )

CLOSE his eyes , his work is done !What to him is fr iend or foeman

,

R ise ofmoon, or set of sun,Hand ofman, or kiss ofwoman?

LEAR and Cordelia ! ’t was ananc ient tale

Before thy Shakespeare gave it deat-hless fameThe times have change d, the moral is the same .

So like anou tc as t, dower less and pale,Thy daughter went ; and ina for eigngaleSpread her young banner , till its sway became

A wonder to the nations . Days of shameAre c lose u ponthe» : prophets raise their wail .Whenthe ru de Cossack with anou tstretc hed handPo ints his long spear across the narrow sea,

Lo ! there is England whenthy destinyStorms onthy straw - c rowned head, and thou dost

stand

Weak , helpless , mad , a by-word inthe land,God grant thy daughter a Cordelia be !

1852 .

STAND, thou great bu lwark ofmans l iberty !Thou rock of shelte r ris ing from the wave ,

Sole refuge to the overwear ie dbraveWho planned , arose, and battled to be free ,Fel l , undeterred, thensadly tu rned to thee ;Saved the free spir it from their country '

s grave,

To r ise again, and animate the slave,WhenGod shal l r ipenal l things . B ritons , ye

Who guard the sac re doutpost, not invainH old you r proud per il ! Freemenundefiled

,

Keep watc h and ward ! Let battlements be piledAround you r cl iffs fleets marshalled, til l the mainSink under them ; and if you r cou rage wane,Through force or fraud, look westward to you r

child !1853.

https://www.forgottenbooks.com/join

1 0 TH EW A G AZI N E OF P OE TR Y.

WILLIAM JAMES LINTON .

ILLIAM JAMES LINTON , the poet and

artist, was born in London, England, in1 81 2 . H e is anartist of no meanability, is wellknownas anengraver , and is a recognized authority onhistory of wood engraving. He has beenc onnected w ith a number of illu strated jou rnals ,among others the I llus trate d LondonNews . He

was one of the founders of the LondonLeader

and was a manager of Pen and Pencil

He removed to New York in 1 867 ; bu t

s ubsequently founded a large engraving establishment inNew Haven, Conn. , wh ich is his presentaddress . He frequently vis its England,

and manyo fhis works are brought ou t inthat country .

In 1 858 Mr . Linton marr ied E l iza Lynn, who

has s ince bec ome a well - known and su ccessfu lnovel ist.

H is l iterary work inc ludes the “H istory ofWood

Engraving,

"with illu strations by himself;

and other Poems"

(London,“The F lower

and the Star (B oston, i llu strated,

“Some

Prac tical H ints on Wood EngravingA Manual ofWood Engraving Poems

and Trans lations ”and a number of

poetical works privately pr inted . H e has editedRare Poems of the Sixteenth and SeventeenthCentu r ies and, w ith R . H . Stoddard,“English Verse (5 vo ls .

,

As a poet Mr . Lintonhas a vigo rou s command

o f language, and exqu isite fancy . He has not re

ceived the recognitiondue his geniu s .

C. W. M .

HARRY MARTEN ’

S DUNGEON THOUGHTS.

T s ou flowest, Stream ! beside o ld Chepstow’

s wal lsHence to the Severn, and the SevernfallsTo the wide ocean. I have ceased to flow .

And yet thou listenest to the stagnant Woe

That overhangs thy banks , like some vainweedR ooted inChepstow

’

s hoar iness . Indeed,

Save that the veriest weed its hope may flingUponthe w inds , there , as oncertainwing,

B orne to the mainland,— I bu t weed- like seem .

And yet my memory loves to watc h the dreamOf Harry Marten’

s triumphs ,— those brave daysWhenVane ou tshone me w ith his steady rays ,Whengravest M iltonscorn

’

d not Harry’s wit,And flerce- will ’d Cromwell had some heed of it;

Whenwe stood inthe breac h against the world,And from his folly’s wal l the Stuart hur l ’d

Into the tide of ru in. By this tower ,Ifall those gloriou s days were inmy power ,I wou ld not recons ider them again,

B ut shout my battle- song to the same high strain,Take the same odds , the samegay, daring str ife.

And the same forfeit ofa prison'

d l ife,Past eventhenatu ral r iddance of the grave.

Not for himself, 0 F reedom ! wou ld thy knaveAsk some poor wages . Let my life be shent,And this worntomb be all my monument.

Dear F reedom ! have we vainly toil 'd for thee .

Ou r Rachel lost— and ou r apprentice feeThis Leah

,the evil - favo r ’

d . Shal l I laugh ,Wr ite onher l ips my jesting epitaph ,And hugMisfortune for another termAlas ! if hope m ight set the s lowest germInthese o ld chinks . B ut England

'

s so il is deadAs

'

f‘

hepsto w stones . The blue sky overheadIs all the prisoner

’

s hope inthese wall'

d years .

I need no t wet this dungeon- mou ld w ith tears :I will not tame my spir it to its cage ;

As l ittle wou ld I sto op me to assu age

(‘

aptivit-y w ith foo lish queru lonsness .

And yet my cou rage mou rneth none the lessOu r rain’

d cau se, and that nor sword nor vo iceOfm ine may lead the time to wo rtlner choiceWhile I rest here l ike a forgottenblade,And Scot. and Vane inbloody tombs are laid .

And yet, not so ,fr iend Scot — thy better doom ,

To wait by God until new chance may bloomOut of the barrenland mencal l thy grave ,That England which thy virtues cou ld not save,Nor piou s Vane l ift heavenward from the s lough .

Fo r me,hard penance but atoneth now

My many a youthfu l fo lly : though the worstLeft me a patr iot. Wassai ls quench

'

d no thirstFo r the fu ll c up ofEngland

’

s liberty .

I never squandered my great love for thee :And though mencall

’

d me loose of life and speech ,There was no public ac t they cou ld impeach :And my loose tongu e was first which dared to say,

What hinderance ’twas sto od inthe nation'

s way.

Or loose or not, it wagg’

d to no ill tuneNor out of time.

’Troth , I ’

ll forswear no boonOf this

'

frank l ife ; and now , inlivinggrave,Am thankfu l that I bad. And that I have:

While memory traces back the flow ofmirth ,F rom here where it is drivenunder earthAs if theWye had dived ’neath Chepstow

'

s base .

God give the stream some outlet, ofhis graceThere is some reac h of joy inlooking backOnthe lost r iver ’

s cu rrent. I cantrack

WILLI AM j AM E S LI N TON . 1 1

Its merry , laughinggush among the reeds ,And how its rippl ings lipp ’

d the blossomy weedsInshallow passages ; its songfu l strifeSwift bounding o

’

er the rocks ofactive life ;And see againthe gloriou s forms whose worthIts sometime deeper water imaged forth .

idle image was reflected there:Not inthe stream , but onthe rock , I bearThe impress of the gods who stood by me .

was I al l unmeriting to b e

The ir chosencompanion. Arrows may hang looseThe bowmanyet be staunch and mind their use.

My England ! never one ofall thy braveWhose love o ’

erpass’dmy love . I cou ld be grave,

Whene'

er thy need requ ired a so lem brow .

What was my task To give thee room to grow :

To give thee sober freedom, godly growthFreedom and sanctifying worship, both .

Miltonand Vane and Scot and I , at one,Were inthis work . And I am here, alone.

And Mi ltoninhis darkness — if he l ives .

0 Engl ish hearts ! are ye bu t Danaid s ieves ,Where- through , l ike water ,noblest blood is pou r

’

d

0 Engl ish sense ! what is this word Res tored?Restore Hero ic Virtue, Ho ly Strength ,Now , Agonistes - l ike

, through all the lengthOf this grea t England prostrate ! Gyved you lie,Moek

'

d at by Dal ila, yo ur R oyalty .

I set this dungeon-

gloom against the MayOfall you r Resto ration. I w ill say.

Against it. I , a pleas u re- lovingman,Place every pleasu re under honor ’

s ban,And bid you give you r country life, and death ,Rather thanfou l the land with slavish breath .

Am I a pr isoner ? Difference betweenChepstow and England is notmu ch , I ween.

'

T is bu t a cell a few more paces wide.

0

Year after year ; and under Chepstow ’s s ide

The muddiedWye still flows . My hair is grey ;Myold bones c ramp ’

d; my heart, this many a day,

O'

er -mose’

d w ith sorrow,l ike ananc ient tomb .

Now the o ld manis harm less , he may roam

So far as fal ls the shadow of his jail .Jail 'd fo r his life. I have not learn’

d to quail .

Thou askest me— “Were it to do again.

I tell thee— Yes ! the tyrant shou ld be s lain.

Scot'

s word is mine: “Not only was my handButmy heart init.

”Here I take my stand;

twenty years of sol itude canmove

My conscience from its keep . And so this love,

The twenty years have pas s ’

d evenas a m istAndnow the dying pr isoner

’

s brow is kiss ’d

By his o ld comrades : Hampden, Pym , and Vane,Fairfax , and Scot, and Ludlow , Cromwell fainTo hide old scars and ho ldingMilton’

s hand,

B radshaw and Ireton. At my side they stand,And the old cheerfu l smile il lumes my cell .There is no death nor bondage: we, who dwellInhigher realms of faith , assu re thee this .

F riends !ye say sooth : this cell no long er is

A prison; England only is my bound,Th is coward England all unworthy found.

Still you cansmi le . The resu rrec tionmornR iseth o ’

er England’s grave ; and we, forlorn,

Shal l be tr iumphant. Look thou forth and seeOu r merry England, kingless , bo ld and free.

We havenot l ived,we have not died, for nought.

The victory we have lost shal l yet be wrought:We have not sownhigh deeds and hopes invain.

B r ight lightning- flas h ofdeath ! speed through mybrain,

And sink into the grave my sacr ifice:A grave unhonor

’

d unti l England rise

To avenge the Regic ideO Martyr Tomb !

Thou hear’st the seed ofTriumph inthy womb .

A HOMILY.

WHY hath God led thynoble beauty hither?To lay uponmy heart a gather ’

d flower ,Thro ugh the brief time of pass ion; thento wither ,And drop away uponmy coffln’

d hou r ?

You r pity proffer ’d me, mu st be w ithdrawn?

Well , Harry Martennever cared to fawn.

I am alone again, onmy grave’

s edge .

And my long- su ffer ing shall be as a wedgeTo rive this tyranny . I c l imb thy height,Old feudal fastness ! with my feeble might ;And see from thee, for all my age is dim ,

The beautifu l r ich woods beyond the rimOfWye and Severn, and themeadows fairStretc hing into the distance; and the airIs charged w ith fragrance; and the uncaged birdsSay blithely inthe suntheir liberal words ,Which yet shall wake the tillers ofthe ground.

And, 10 ! the harvestmenare gather ing round

The banner ofGod. They pu t their s ickles in;The day ofanew tr ial doth begin.

Thou saidst aright,my Vane ! it had to be.

Nor jail nor scaffo ld stays futu r ity .

1 2 TH E M AG AZI N E OF P OE TR Y.

I s humanlifenought bu t a lu sty living, There is no need ofwords ; from me replyA day ofpleas u re nighted by the grave, As little requ is ite : thy lightest handWith no hereafter dawning,

no forgiving Gu ideth me , as the helm the ship ; thine eyeOfall the eternal hopes our spir its c rave? Doth more thanall the Atrida» cou ld command.

I s love the mere lamp ofa wantonchamber .Thou “ft“and for G reece and R ight

Whose walls are grave- stones , ne’

er so finely hid? I will stand b." thee 191“th0 11 “110 11 1t be weak

I s all the height wher e Loveand Hopc canc lamber , N0 ! weak Of”0 0 13— 1 W!"but“O ld ins ight

Alas ! no higher thanou r coffin- lid Thy marvelou s beau ty .

— Here is She you seek .

I s Love a fool for all its fu tu re yearning?

Wise only inthe drunkenness ofbliss ?I s there no flame divine w ithinu s bu rning?

Is hOpe betray’

d so cheaply with a kiss

Why hath God led thy noble beau ty hither ?

Why doth celestial light inform thine eyes ?

'

Is it to gu ide the lone wayfarer?Whither ?

The Star ofthe Eas t hangs not o'

er Paradise .

Some gir l w ith del icate skinand goldentresses ,And eyes that float intheir voluptu ou s l ight,

Holding her boy- adorer inthe jessesOfher capr ice, staying his spir it

'

s fl ight,

Smoothing his fo lded pinions w ith light fingers ,Kiss ing his vigor to a pleas ant swoon,

Until the God sunk inthe Dr eamer lingersFondly bes ide her for the frailest bo on.

I s this the highest end ofall thy beauty ?

O noble woman?artthou but a girlH ast thou no thought of all the scope ofdu ty — all are one !

No aim beyond the finger ing of a cu rl ?

Why hath God made thee beautifu l and loving?

Only to bear the bac chanal cu p of l ife ?

Cup- bear ing Hebe ! seek thou J ove'

s approving0 Beau tv ! be thou Strength

'

s diviner w ife .

IPHIGENIA AT AULIS.

BRIDA1 m Achilles . Thou wast hither brought

L SONG

To be my wife ; not for a sac rifice .

B LE SSED Hou rs ! approach hp"gently

G reece and her kings may stand as ide as nought Peac e !“mil“0“ her excel lently

To what thou art inmy expectant eyes .

Midnight Stars ! attend h?"pleas u re ;Veil thy splendou r , N ight

O r kings or gods : I , too , am heaven- born.Not evenLove

’

s owneyes shou ld measureI trample ontheir augu r ies and needs .

Love'

s del ight.

Where the fo reboding dares to front my scorn,

Or break the promise from my heart proceeds ? TWO

B u t thou ,Beloved ! smilest downmy wrath Two there were inthe meadow lying,

So able to protect thee. Who shou ld harm Under the shade ofthe blossoming trees ;A chilles ’

B r ide — Thou pointes t to the path Kiss to kiss gave close replyingOf sac r ifice, yet leaning onmy arm . Sought else heard but the honey -bees .

REAL AND TRUE .

OSLY the Beautifu l is r eal !All things ofwhich ou r life is fu ll ,All myster ies that life inwreathe,B irth , life, and death ,

All that we dread o r darkly fee lAll are but shadows , and the Beau tifu l

Alone is real .

Nothing bu t love is true !Earth ’s many lies , w lu r led uponTime

’s

whee l,

Shift and repeat their state .

B irth , life , and death ,And all that they bequeath

Of ll Ope or memory thu s do alte rnateContinu al ly :

Love doth anneal .l) oth beauteou s ly imbu eThe w ine- c ups ofthe archetypal Fate .

Love , Tru th , and Beau tvlf l ife may expiate

The w ilderings of its dil l l l l l ‘fls , death be knownB ut as the m ighty , ever - livinggateInto the Beautifu l

All things flow on

Into one Heart, into one MelodyEternally .

TH E OD OR E WA TTS.

Two were s itting inSorrow'

s shadow ;Dead inthe cradle their love’

s fru it layDid they think ofthe sunny meadow

And the honey ofyesterday?

Two are there inthe graveyard lyingUnder the roots ofthe blossoming trees ;

Love with love, butno replyingNaught is heard but the honey - bees .

YOUNG LOVE .

So youngwere we that whenwe kiss ’d

We had no other thought :The joy thatfirst love brought

Naught farther miss ’d.

To watch the dawning ofa maidensmileWas worth one’

s while.

Inthose young days , what though we kiss ’

d,We kiss

’

d without a thoughtThat tender of love sought

Did hope ass ist,’T was bu t as hope helps ina morningdream,

Whenthings scarce seem .

B utnow ,0 Love ! when

'

er we kiss(Be dumb , my thought ! )The joy by her kiss brought

Yetmore doth miss .

0 love ! thou was t su ffic ient inyoung daysFor innocent praise.

O Love— Des ire ! renew the kissThat had no farther thought ;Or lead to the Besought

Whom now we missThee , Hymen,— Love no more enough for u s

Growncu rious .

ADONIS.

I s vain! invain! I mu st refu seThe love so freely proffer

'

d me

I maynot love but where I choose,Though Venus

'

self the wooer be .

Hadst thou bu t waited, who cantellWhat happy gatherer might pas s ?

The fru it that of its ownweight fellIs left to wither onthe grass .

Invainthy love- r ipe l ips , thy armsTwined round me to compel my stay

Were but reserve among thy charms ,Perhaps I hadnot tu ru

’d away .

15

THEODORE WATTS.

S ONE who has influenced those who have influenced the wor ld,” Mr . Theodore Watts

’

s

place in contemporary letters is admittedly un

iqu e. Withinthe space ofa few weeks , the second

and most important vo lume of Dante Rossetti ’spoems (Ballads and Sonnets ) and one ofthe most

notable vo lumes of Mr . Sw inbu rne’

s (“Tr istram

of Lyonesse") were dedicated to him interms of

affectionate adm iration su ch as arenot oftensu rpas sed, and about the same time his ownbirthdaysonnet to Lord Tennyson showed how intimatewas his fr iendshipw ith the venerable poet ofwhomwe are all proud

— Engl ishmen and Amer icansalike. Mr . Hall Caine, in his “ Reco llections of

Rossetti ,” says , “Throughout the period of myac quaintance with R ossetti he seemed to me to be

always pec u liar ly , and, if I may be permitted to

say so withou t offence, strangely liable to Mr .

Wette’

e influence ‘

inhis cr itical estimates . And

thenhe goes onto te ll how Rossetti shrank frompr inting anadditional stanza to his poem Cloud

Conflnes ”which he himself approved and Mr .

Watts did not ; be cau se “ina questionof gainor

loss to a poem I feel that Watts mu st be r ight.

”

Mr . J oseph Knight, also ,inhis pleasant mono

graph ou the same poet, qu otes a letter fr om him

inwhich he defends a certainadditionto “Sister

H elen”onthe ground that it “ has qu ite secu red

Watts’

s su ffrage.

”The widespread cu rios ity

about Mr . Watts and his work is therefore qu iteinevitable . B u t al l those who read the fol lowingextracts w il l , I think , agree with Mr . Stedman,that profoundly as he has influ enced others hisown individual ity has remained invio lable. As a

cr itic he has no dou bt shownhimself to be famil iarenough with the work of his contemporar ies ; andyet, as far as his ownverses show ,

he mightneverhave read a l ine of any living poet except Tennyson.

Though moving now at the very center of art

and poetry , Mr . Watts’s ear ly su rroundings seem

to have been sc ientific rather than l iterary . Ac

cording to the biography of his father in Mr .

Norris’

s“ H istory of St. Ives , that gentleman

was a lawyer who had a pass ion for natu ral

sc ience, and who,downto his death inhis 76th

year , was wr iting papers on sc ientific subjects .

In pre- Darwinian days and afterwards , a well

known figure in the sc ientific c irc les of London,Mr . Watts , senior , was anactive member of manylearned soc ieties , and among the founders of

several . Therefore the people who inhis boyhoodwere knownto the subjec t ofthis notice werenot

16 TH E M A GAZIN E OF P OE TR Y.

the great poets with whom his name is now

assoc iated ,bu t geo logists and geographers such

as Mu rchison, Lyell and Liv ingstone. This ac

counts for the intimate knowledge of the processesof natu re which has often beencommented on in

connec tionwith his poetry , and also for the ire

quent allu sions inhis prose writings to the latestsc ientific researches . Although it was as abrilliantconversationalist inc irc les more or less sc ientificthat he first attracted attention, his desk was

eventhen “choke- fu l l of songs , sonnets , and su ch

war es . And soon, at his chambers in St. Clem

ents Danes where he u sed to give those recep

tions which have bec ome almost c lass ic on

account of the people who congregated there,poets and l iterary men began to preponderate

over all others . And suddenly he appeared as a

wr iter of pass ionate verse and also as a l ite rarycritic — the chief l iterary cr itic of the Examiner .

For R ossetti had read his sonnets and wou ld notrest till he saw them in type , while Pro fessorM into (then edito r of the Exmniner ) had heardhim review books in talk and wou ld not rest til lhe indu ced his fr iend to review books inprint. It

became evident at once that a new vo ice was

speaking both inpoetry and pro se , and Mr . Watts

was immediately inv ited to write inthe Athemenm .

Before a year had passed he became the chiefpoetical and l iterary cr itic onthat jo u rnal and hasremained so ever s ince . It is here , and inthe nintheditionof the

“ Encyc lopaedia B r itannica,

”that

his vo ice is heard at its strongest, though he haswritten in other publications , su ch as Mr . H um

phrey Ward’

s“ Engl ish Poets , The Nineteenth

Centurv,“ Chamber ’

s Encyc lopiedia , and the

Academy . On what he cal ls the R enascence of

Wonder— his definition,now permanently accepted ,of the neo - R omantic movement— he has wr itteninhis artic le on R os setti in the

“Encyc lopaedia

B r itannica ”w ith mo re learning and more autho r

ity thanany one else . B u t it was his treatise onPoetry ” in the same wo rk that gave him ,

who

had never published a book , a Eu ropean repu ta

tion. As a reviewer said of this now celebratedessay , it “

contains enough suggestive matter tomake the reputationofa dozencr itics .

It is , however , as a poet I have espec ially tospeak of him here. R ossetti said.

“ He is a fine

cr itic becau se he was first a finer poet," and Mr .

Swinbu rne has aflirmed that inthe sonnet he hasno su rviving equal ; and, although somethingmustbe discounted from the critic ism of a hou se-mate

and constant as soc iate, it might be per i lou s tochallenge the dictum . Inone of the extrac ts fromMr . Watta

’s poems hereinafter given (

“ The Son

net’s Vo ice he expounds for the first time his

now wel l knowntheory of the flow and ebb of the

octave and sestet of a certain form of the sonnet,though he has always , both by practice and pre

cept, indicated that this form is but one var iety of

the Petrarcansonnet and notnecessarily the best.

The longes t poem he has yet printed is “The Ar

mada,

"and it bids fair to becomethemost famous .

This poem is too long to be givenhere, but theOde to Mother Carey ’s Chicken” (Mr . R ider Hag

gard’

s favor ite poem ,which he has public ly s ingled

ou t as one of thethree poems which have “touched

and influ enced him above all others ”) is of man

ageable length .

I have contented myself mainly by giving theOpinions of other wr iters uponMr . Watts and his

work , becau se , from anintimate friend, warmth ofpraise may be eas ily m isunderstood ; otherw ise Icou ld have wished to have spoken freely of the

charm and versatility of his conversationand of

his personal kindl iness always corrected and

balanced by his unflinching honesty incr itic is ingthe literary work of even his CIOBG -Jt fr iends ,anhonesty so great in its des ire fo r tru th , as tooverleap and even to be unconsc iou s of thatexces sive though false cou rtesy which sometimes

renders diffic u lt, o r evenimposs ible, the express ionof genu ine Opinionamong men of letters as to

eac h others '

produ ctions . H . T . M . B .

ODE TO MOTHER CAREY’

S CHICKEN .

(Onseeing a storm-petrol ona cottage wall and releasing“)

Gazanot atme, my poor unhappy birdThat sorrow is more thanhumaninthine eye ;

Too deep already is my spirit stirredTo see thee here. child of the sea and sky,

Cooped ina cage with food thou cans tnot eat,Thy snow - flake

”so iled, and so iled tho se con

qu ering feet,That walked the billows , while thy “Sweet- sweet

sweet

Proc laimed the tempes tnigh .

B ird whom I welcomed while the sailors cu rsed,F riend whom I blessed wherever keels may roam ,

Prince of my childish dreams , whom mermaidsnu rsed

Inpu rple ofbillows— s ilver of oceanfoam ,

Abashed I stand before the m ighty griefThat quells all other : Sorrow

’

s king and chiefTo r ide the w ind and hold the sea infief,

Thenfind a cage for home !

18 TH E AI A GAZI N E OF P OE TR Y.

Yea, lift thine eyes , my owncanhear them now :

Thou ’rt free ! thou ’

rt freeb ah , su rely a bird cansmile !

Dost know me, Petr el Dost remember howI fed thee inthe wake for many a m ile,Whilst thou wou ldst pat the waves , then, ris ing,

takeThe morsel u p and wheel abou t the wake ?Thou ’

rt free, thou ’

rt free , but for thine owndear

sakeI keep thee caged awhile.

Away to sea ! no matter where the coas t ;The road that tu rns to home tu rns never wrong :Where waves runhigh my bird w i ll not be lo st.

H is home I know :'

t is where the winds are

strong ;Where

, onher throne of billow s , ro ll ing hoaryAnd greenand blu e and sp las hed w ith sunnyglo ry ,Far , far from shore— from farthest promontoryThe mighty Mother s ings the tr iumphs of her

sto ry ,Sings to my bird the song !

THE FIRST KISS.

IF only indreams may Manbe fu lly blest,Is heav

’na dream Is she I c las pt a dreamOr stood she here even now where dew - drops

gleamAndmiles of fu rze shine go ldendowntheWest

?

I seem to c las p her still — still onmy breastHer bosom beats — I see the blue eyes beamI think she kisa’

d these lips , fo r now they seem

Scarce mine so hallow ’

d of the lips they press'

d !

Yonthicket’s breath — canthat beThose birds — canthey be Morning

'

s chor isters ?

Canthis be Earth Canthese he banks of fu rze?Like bu rning bu shes fired ofGod they shine !I seem to know them ,

though this body ofm inePass

’

d into spirit at the tou ch of hers !

THE SONNET’

S VOICE .

(A metrical lessonby the seashore. )

YON silvery billows breaking onthe beac hFall bac k infoam beneath the star - shine c lear ,Thewhile my rhymes are mu rmu ringinyou r ear ,

A restless lore l ike that the billows teac h ;For onthese sonnet- waves my sou l wou ld reac hF rom its owndepths , and rest withinyo u , dear ,

As through the billowy voices yearning here,Greatnatu re strives to find a humanspeech .

A sonnet is a wave ofmelodyF rom heavingwaters of the impass ioned sou l

A billow of tidal music one and who leF lows inthe “

octave”; thenretu rning free,

Its ebbing su rges inthe sestet”roll

Bac k to the (leeps ofLife’

s tumu ltu ou s sea.

THE HEAVEN THAT WAS.

(A s leep less nigh t inVenice. )

all the heaventhat was .

OLIVER MADOX- BROWN .

(Ina graveyard . )

Lastnight we mou rned thee , cu rsingeyeless Death ,Who ,

sparing sons of Baal and Ashtoreth ,Must needs s lay thee w ith al l thewor ld to slay ;B ut round this grave the winds ofwinter sayOnearth what bath the poet? Analienbreath .

Night holds the keys that ope thedoors ot'

Day .

Ws s x hope l ies dead— Ah,when ’

t is death tol ive

And wrongs remembered make the heart stillbleed,

Better are Sleep ’

s kind lies for Life’

s blindneedThantru th , if l ies a little peac e cangive ;A l ittle peace !

’

t is thy prerogative,0 Sleep to lend it ; thine to quel l or feedThis lo ve t hat starves — this starving sou l ’s long

greed ,

And bid Regret, the queenof hell , forgive.

Yonmoonthat mo cks me thro ’the uncu rtained

glas sRec alls that other night, that other moon,Two Engl ish lover s ona grey lagoon,

The vo ices from the lantern’

d gondo las ,

The kiss , the breath , the flashing eyes , and,soon,

The throbbing stillness

F Aa s LL to thee and to ou r dreams farewellDrea ms of high deeds and go ldendays of thine,Where once againshou ld Arts

’tw inpowers com

biasThe painter

'

s w izard- wand, the poet’

s spell !

Though Death str ikes free, careless of heavenand

hellCareless ofMan— oi Love

’s most lovely shr ine

Yetmu st Manspeak— mu staskofheavena signThat this w ild world is God s and all is well .

M AR Y M A TH E WS B AR N E S. 2 1

MARY MATHEWS BARNES.

HE warm cu rrent of friendly partiality for thepoems of Mary Mathews Barnes long ago

flowed out over a w ider and ever - widening c irc leofapprec iative readers , and had there beenany incentive through necess ity or stimu lu s from ambitionto induce the author to publish her wr itings ,her name wou ld have become a familiar one to thereading wor ld. B u t for the sens itiveness and

shr inking natu re of the poet, it wou ld have beenborne onthe tide ofapproval to thepopu lar heart,for Mrs . Barnes has commanded inone unbrokensequence of commendation, the apprec iation of

cu ltivated critics— those whose trainingfittedthemto detec t readily the characteristics of genius as

distinct from the qualities ofta lent.

For many years Mrs . Barnes has wr ittenverses

inthe leisure of her happy life. F irst her hymnssang themselves from her heartand thenher poemscaro led their way from her sou l as natu rally asthe melody floats from the robin’

s throat,and she

has reverently treasu red them as a faithfu l guardian of a Heaven-entru sted gift. They have beenpreserved until their per fected notes cou ld be givento the wor ld, a boonnot always , nor indeed veryoften, vou chsafed to verses .

Mrs . Barnes has the true poetical aspiration,andher motive for wr iting has been unsordid andunselfish . Her sonnets and lyr ics answer to

Matthew Arnold’

s definition of poetry , which is ,“The best poss ible thing said inthe bes t poss ibleway.

”There is a spontaneou s owning of and

response to the poetic power which lays its handupon the heart as some beau tifu l symphony inmus ic enchants the ear by a spel l ofmelody .

It is to the harmoniou s blending of the individual natu re and the poetic power that is due therarity of highest excellence found inthewritings ofMrs . Barnes . Few ofher c lassmates inPacker Institute , where she was for the most part edu cated,

knew that the popu lar Mary Mathews was not

Amer icanbornand a B rooklyngir l . Her birthplace was Ireland and her ancestry Ir ish .

From a c lever student she became a competentteacher ; andfor manyyears her l ifewas devoted toinspir ing the young with a love of study and a

true apprec iationof know ledge.

All ied to her broad cu ltu re is a manner grac iou sand refined ; one ca nnot be inher presence withoutspeedi ly detecting that su btle grace which belongsto anatu re pu r ified by love and sanctified by sor

row . The indefinable charm she exhibits inherpoems , she manifests inher dai ly living, and her

existence is a benefaction. While the outward

events ofher fortunate career have beenvariedandp leas ing, the enchantment of her l ife has come to

her th rough her noble spir it. Everygooddeed hasbeen outdone by the do ing. She loses not thes implest occas ionto throw the spel l of love over

the common, practical concerns of the day or the

hou r ; and inall that she does,she impresses one

w ith the ass u rance of her belief that the essence of

life is divine, and divinity canbe reac hed by r ight

EPITHALAMIUM.

Mrs . Barnes is a student ofShakespeare who hasnot beencontent to enjoy her r ipe scholarshipselfishly . For years she has had a large c las s of

ladies who have met week ly at her hou se for thepu rpose of l istening to her interpretations of the

master poet, and of read ing under her able gu idance his immorta l del ineations of character .

She is the au thor of thirty or more wellknownhymns , many ofthem incorporated insongbooks ; of a sc ore or mo re songs and bal lads , several of which have been set to mu s ic , and are

fami l iar favor ites , and ofmany lyr ics and sonnets .

Of her songs the most popu lar are “ The B irds inthe Belfry ,

"

Songs thatWo rds canNeverKnow ,

”

and “The Spr ingWil l Soonbe Here Again.

The poem“ E pithalamium ,

”has beenpublished

ina vo lume w ith illu strations by DoraWheeler .

Since the death of her hu sband,Mr . Alfred S.

Barnes , theeminentbook publisher and the belovedc itizen of B rooklyn, Mrs . Barnes has tu rned her

attentionto her penas a refuge and comfort, andher later poems exhibit anadde dstrength , beau tyand dignity pleas ing to note . She is onthe thresho ld oi her popu lar ity as a poet and before her liesa flowery mead . from which s he w il l cau se to springmany a r ipene d blossom of po etry inthe time tocome. The demand fo r her writings has led to thepreparationof a volume which is to appear ear lyin the comingyear .

0 Sex ,

F rom o ut whose grac iou s raysCame fo rth the day ofdays ,Whenmy dear love was bo rn,

Shine ou t !And w ith yo u r br ightest rayB ringgift divine to mark her wedding day .

A gift, a go ldengleam ,

A prophecy ofgood inevery beam .

Rejo ic e w ith so mu ch of you rself that in her

l ives .

Which she with loving joy to others freely gives .

2 2 TH E M A GAZI N E OF P OE TR Y.

0 Moon,F rom out whose peacefu l life,A portioncame to guard her ownfrom str ife,

Shine ou t!And with you r so ftest l ight,Make happyPeace to r u le her weddingnight;Let all you r rays ins i lvery sheen,Whisper ofcomingnights serene.

Rejo ice w ith so much ofyou rself that inher l ives ,Which she with lov ing joy to others freely gives .

0 Stars ,

F rom out whose tw inkling beamsCame radiant gleamsTo dwell ,

‘

and find w ithinher sou l anaddedglow ,

A sunnier warmth thanever stars do know ,

Catc h from unsetting suns to -nightA r uddier tint— a hint ofHeavenly light.

Reflect her eyesAnd makenew beau ty inthe skies .

Rejoice w ith so much ofyo u rself that inher lives ,Wh ich she with loving joyto others freely gives .

0 F lowers ,Whose censers , sw inging s low ,

Exhaled rare perfumes drenched in morningdew

To touch the breath that first she drew ,

Lift loyally yo u r heads and gayly smile“

'

ith J oy the whileHer br idal blossoms bloom .

Cu ll sweet perfectionfrom her face ,And thengive bac k you r bo rrowe dgrace .

Rejo ice with so mu ch ofyo u rself that inher lives ,Wh ich she with loving joy to others freely gives .

0 Mu sic ,Bornuponcelestial lyres .

And thri lling ’mid angel ic cho irs ,Come nearer earth to - day,

Whisper inmy lay;Repeat the melody you sent,Whento the wor ld her vo ice you lent.

Swell inthe air that tellsThe echoes ofthe bells ;

Be l ike her Lover '

s heart,Of her owna part.

Rejo ice with so mu ch ofyou rself that inher l ives ,Which she with loving joy to others freely gives

0 Love,From ou t whose very heart she came,B ornfr om thy glowingflame,

Look down,And inthy glor iou s wayCrownthou her wedding day .

Oh , nearer come— make thou her br idal bed,Close by her s ide all future pathways tr ead ,

Help her to see thy faceInevery c l ime and place ;

Rejo ice with so much of thyself that inher l ives ,Which she w ith lovingjoy to others freely gives .

THE BlRD IN THE BELFRY.

O bird inthe belfryNot l ike thecb not l ike thee,

Does my heart inits mu s icAsk to be— ask to be;

Its notes mu st smile, if others are glad ,

Its notes must weep if others are sad ;And sooner far wou ld I keep w ith thecrowdThans ing alone onthe fairest c loud.

SCARS.

Sm: sought her dead onbattle field,Her King, ofmany wars ;

And, finding him , she c ried,’T is he ;

I know him by his scars .

And ye,O favored ones and blest,Whose hearts have beenher rest

Since life began.

Ye listennow— and hear , w ith all Love’

s pain,Her marr iage vow :

G iving, where most ye long to keep ,Sm il ing. where most ye long to weep ;

Repress yo u r tears ,B anish you r fears ,

Rejo ice w ith so mu ch ofyou rs elves that inher lives ,Which she w ith loving joy to others freely gives .

A maninthe belfrySoars and s ings— soars and s ings ,While the bell inthe belfryR ings and sw ings — r ings and swings .

(‘

beer ily now from his tiny throatH is notes ina bu rst of raptu re float ;F o r the bird so high inthe belfry towerSeems to feel a joy inthe pas s ing hou r .

The bird inthe belfrySoars and s ings— soars and s ings ,

B ut the bell inthe belfryTolls and sw ings— to lls and swings .

Andnow I know this birdlinggaySings for himself the l ivelong day ;A hermit is he inhis lonely tower ,B r idal or bier have o '

er him no power .

R E B E CCA P ALF R E Y UT TE R .

0 ,rec ord of a so ldier ’

s fate,Whose light outs hines the stars !

Whenshe who loved him best cansay,“ I know him by his scars .

"

’T is thu s the Chr istianknows the KingWhose glory noth ingmars ;

Gazing at hands , and feet, and s ide,We know H im by H is scars .

0 ,happy we, if, serving H im’Till death lets downthe bars ,

We mer it then, from lips div ine,I know thee by thy scars .

”

WASHINGTON .

Ix ALL the land one object I beho ld ;A lofty height with pu re and spotless crest,

Always snow - c rowned— yet too near Heaven

for co ldThe sunlight ever finding there its rest.

Within its great heart mighty streams are

born,And onward flow , through valleys hu shedfrom str ife,

Their touch awakening flowers that adornWide, fertile p lains , where all things tell of life.

Toward it the weak may tu rnand learnar ightThe strength and cou rage thatcanfear less beInface of storm severe, by day, by night,Serene and strong

’mid all advers ity .

0 Good and Great ! the Mount is type of thee,Who l ived and taught the F reedom thatmakes

free .

LINCOLN .

Ix ALL the Heavenone object holds my gaze,Compellingw itness ofa reverent heart.

And ever , as I look , inc reased amaze

Thatmighty sou l does to my sou l impart.

It bids me see inevery c l ime and race

Thecommonbond thatmakes thewor ldakin.

To find the fatherhood inevery face ;To feel the love that brotherhood shou ldwin.

With mal ice none— with char ity for all,It led a nationinits darkest hou r ,As though ins ilence it heard but the cal lOfH im who sent H is own, divinest power .

0, SunofSons ! all timeto come wil l scanThywondrou s sou l , andcry, BeholdtheMan.

2 3

REBECCA PALFREY UTTER .

HE subject of this sketc h is Mrs . Rebecca Palfrey Utter , the w ife of Rev . David Utter , and

the au thor of a vo lume recently pu blished inB oston, entitled ,

“The King’s Daughter ; and

Other Poems .

Mrs . Utter is the daughter of Rev . Cazneau

Palfrey , a graduate of Harvard'

Co l lege and a manwell known in the c ler ical wor ld— a rec ognizedauthor ity uponall matters of B iblical lore and aperfect master of the Engl ish language. as thoseknow well who remember his beautifu l sermons .

Dr . Palfrey was settled for some years inBarnstable, Mass , , and in 1 847 removed to Belfast,Maine, where he was the devoted and belovedpastor of the Unitarian chu rch . The del icatestate of his health rendered itnecessary for him tores ignhis pastorate in1 870, and he was su cceeded

by Rev . David Utter . He afterward removed to

Cambr idge, Mas s , and there the remainder of his

life was spent.

Mrs . Utter , his second daughter , was born inBarnstable in 1 844 , bu t as the fam ily soon re»

moved to Belfast, her childhood and gir lhood werespent inthat c ity . The educational advantageswere of cou rse of a somewhat l imited o rder

, but

she inher ited a tas te for letters from both s ides ofher family , and the cu ltivated atmosphere of the

p leasant parsonage was always one to inspire a

fondness and tas te for books — and for books of

the very best sort. One who remembers tender lyand fondly that br ight, sunny, cheerfu l home

,has

said, “ It seemed to me that noth ing but peace

and happiness ever prevai led there . In 1 870

Mrs . Utte r'

s poem ,The King

’

s Daughter” (fromwhich her vo lume takes its name) ,was published ina magazine ju st thenestablished inB ostoncal led01d and New , and edited by Rev . Edward Everett

Hale . It attrac te da great deal of attentionfromits strength and be auty and suggestiveness and

was not only qu oted and copied far and wide innewspapers , bu t not long ago became the motto

and the sentiment for a beau tifu l char ity whosegreat and widespread bless ings are penetrating all

over the country . Gradually her poems were

wr itten, as fancy or occas iondictated, unti l lastyear she was indu ced by some apprec iative fr iendsto have them co llected ina vo lume and pu blished.

Many of them are of a sweet and ser ious natu re,and others fu ll ofdeep religious fee ling.

“Dwel lersin Tents ,

”and “White Underneath , are both

very beautifu l intheir tender and ser ious sentiment, and there are some others which show notonly the fac i le penand delicate thought but a deep


under lying tender ness , indicating the strong wo

manly andmothcr lynatu re which dictated the lines .

Mrs . Utter was marr ied in1 872 , and after a fewyears res idence inBelfast her hu sband receive dacal l to Olympia, thenano ther to Kansas City , inboth of which places they res ided before their re

moval to Chicago , their present home ; Mr . l'

tte r

being pastor of the Unitar ian('

hu rch whose pu lpitwas previou s ly occupied by Rev. B rooke Herford,now ofArlingtonStreet Chu rch ,

Boston.

Mus . W

MOTHERHOOD.

MY thought goes back to that first (‘

hristmas day

‘Vhenthe youngmother inthe manger lay,

Weary and pale, bu t fu ll of pr ide and joy,

While press ing to her side her baby boy.

Ah , s ister Mary , time and place are strange,

B ut centu r ies br ing the mother heart no change .

We know , to whom a child is givennow ,

You r thoughts ,while gazing onthat baby brow .

The hope that filled each J ew ish woman'

s breastInevery mother ’

s heart is still a gu est ;That through this life a glor iou s light may shineLifting the wor ld to levels more divine .

We know not how God’

s poets , prOphets ,come ;

Itmay be one is here, w ithinou r home .

So reverently we gu ide the little feet,And wait the first uncertainac c ents sweet.

We ponder inou r hearts their sayings w ise ,Reading betweenthe lines w ith mother eyes .

We see the wise mengold and incense br ing,

“'hile inou r hearts the heavenly angels s ing

0 Mary , lying inyou r manger low ,

The thoughts that fil led you r heart we also know .

Distance and time may make all else seem strange,

B ut mother love has never knowna change .

NOTHING BUT LEAVES.

THE R E stood a young plant ina gardenfair ,Where the spr ing sunshine was most fair andbr ight.

The mo ist earth nou r ished it ; the breathingairTook from its fo lde dleaves a fragrance rare,And com ing summer seemed one long del ight.

It felt the beauty ofall outward things ;Rejoiced insunand breeze w ith gratefu l heart.

Yet thought, “My greatest joy the summer brings ,When from green buds unsheathing their bright

wingsThe c lustered blossom frommy stem shall start.

’T was loved and sought and prized the country

through ,

And one among whose br idal flowers it layThe stem from o ut the fading roses drew

,

Planted , and cared for it, until it grewA l iving memory of her wedding- day .

And sometimes hearts oppressed w ith loss and

griefA suddenc omfort from its presence drew .

It seemed a mes sage sent to them ; as ifThere came a wh isper from each ru stling leaf,

Shall henot, therefore,mu chmore carefor you

At las t, whenthe flowers had c losed their eyes ,To its long rest it lay downthankfu lly ,

Thinking,Another summer w ill arise :

Perhaps beneath its so ft and sunny skiesThe flower ofmy l ife I yet shall see .

THE KING’

S DAUGHTER .

SHE wears no jewels u ponhand or brow ;No badge by which she may be knownofmen.

B u t though she walk inplainattire now ,

She is a daughter ofthe King ; and whenH er Father calls her at his throne to wait,She wil l be c lothed as doth beflt her state .

Her Father sent her inhis land to dwell ,Giving to her a work which must bedone.

And since the King loves al l his people wel l ,Therefore, she, to o ,

cares for them every one.

Thu s whenshe sto ops to l ift from want or sin,

The brighter shines her royalty therein.

She walks erect through dangers manifo ld,Wh ile many sink and fail oneither hand.

She dreads not summer'

s heatnor w inter ’

s cold,

For both are subject to the K ing’s command.

It knew not that its worth and beauty layInthe sweet perfume of its grow ing leaf ;

And whenthe gardener , pas s ingby one day,

Cu t from its stem the buds , and went his way,

Its heart withinit heavy grew with gr ief .

Then, w ith all patience lifting u p its head,Its m iss ionit fu lfilled unconsc iou sly ,

Once more abroad its drooping branches spread ;For

,Though I may not blossom"

(so it said) ,At leastmy leaves shall greenand per fec t be .

Dai ly and nightly from that still retreatIts fragrance w idened through the summer air ;

And the good gardener thought no wreath complete

Unti l a spray of leaves so wondrou s sweetWas tw ined among the flowers

,however fair .

R OWLAND B . M AH AN Y.

Sheneed not be afraid ofanything,

Becau se she is a daughter ofthe King.

Evenwhenthe angel comes thatmencal l Death ,Andname with terror , it appal ls not her .

She tu rns to look at him with qu ickened breath ,Thinking, It is the royal messenger .

”

Her heart rejo ices that her Father callsHer bac k, to live withinthe palace walls .

For though the land she dwells inis most fair ,Set round with streams , l ike p ictu re inits frame,Yet o fteninher 'heart deep longings areFor that imper ial palace whence she came.

Not perfect qu ite seems any earthly thing,Becau se she is a daughter ofthe King.

WHITE UNDERNEATH.

Inc a c ity street,Narrow and no isome, chance had led my feet ;Poisonous to every sense ; and the sun

'

s raysLoved not the unc leanplace.

It seemed thatno pu re th ingIts whiteness here wou ld ever dare to br ing;Yet eveninto this dark place and lowGod had sent downhis snow .

Here , too , a l ittle childPlayed with the dr ifts now blac kened and defiled,And with his rosy hands , inearnest play,Scraped the dark cru st away .

Checkingmy hu rr ied pace,To note the bu sy hands and eager face,I heard him laugh aloud inpu re delight,That underneath ’

t was white.

Then, through a brokenpane,Awoman’

s vo ice summoned him inagain,With softened mother - tones , that half excusedThe unc leanwords she u sed.

And as I l ingered near ,His baby ac cents fell uponmy ear

“See, I canmake the snow againfor youAll cleanand white andnew.

”

Ah, surely , God knows best.

Our s ight is short ; faith trusts to him the rest.

Sometimes we know he gives to humanhandsTo work ou t his commands .

Perhaps he ho lds apartBybaby fingers , inthatmother ’s heart,One fair c leanspot thatyet shall spread andgrow ,

Till all be white as snow.

2 7

ROWLAND B.

’

MAHANY .

OWLAND BLENNERHASSETT MAHANY,

the subject of the present sketch , was borninB uffalo , 1 864,Sept. 2 8 . Hewas educated inthepub

lic schools ofthat c ity andwas graduated from the

Central or H igh Schoo l with highesthonors in1 881In1 882 hematr ic u lated at Hobar t Co llege and re

mained two years , du r ingwhich hesto odatthe headofhis c lass . HeenteredHarvardCo llege in1 884andwas one of the “Detu r pr ize menof his freshmanyear ; sec retary and treasu rer , and three times vicepres ident of the Harvard Union (the Univers ityDebatingClub) ; vicepres ident and pres ident ofSt.

Pau l ’s Soc iety. the Episcopal ian Organizationof

Harvard College; elec ted in1 887 to the Phi B etaKappa Soc iety inthe first eight of a c lass of 2 38members ; first marshal of the Phi B eta Kappa inthesameyear ; B oylstonPr izeman,1 887 and 1 888su ch are someofthedistinctions ofhis co llegecou rse.

He was graduated, 1 888 (Summa Cum Laude) ,with honors and double honorable mention inH isto ry , and honorable mentioninLatin.

Immediately after graduation he was chosenpoet by the N inth VeteranRegiment of New YorkVo lunteers , atthe dedicationoftheir monument atGettysbu rg, J u ly 1 , 1 888 , the occas ion of the celebrationof the Quarter Centenary of the battle .

Mr . Mahany owes his attainment of a col legecourse larg ely to his ownefforts , wil l and perseverance. H is su cces s inthis respect, however , heattributes to the influ ence and encou ragement of his

mother . H is u ltimateambitionis the law ,butitis

onewhichmany of his friends will begrudge hisgratifying. G ifted with keenpoetic sensibi lity , refinedtaste, anexqu is ite poetic dictionand a rare dis

cr iminationinthe u se of language, he shows inthetrans lations from German, Latinand Greek poetswhich he has thu s far attempted a potency andpower of express ion, anexactness and skill intherenditionof poetic thought which remind one of

Longfellow’s and Bayard Taylor '

s efforts in thisdirection. Nothing he has yet produ ced indicatesthe power of sustained effort ; bu t the ear ly songsof the real poetic natu re are chiefly lyr ic , and suchare Mr . Mahany

’s . The poetic gift is all too rare

to be made a s lave inthe trammels ofthe law ; andwhile. the pec uniary rewards of a l iterary l ife are

seldom muniflcent, it yields rich returns inwhatare the substantial tr iumphs of lifw oldm Opinions oi those, select though few ,

whom the sou lpr izes . Mr . Mahany we believe wi ll yetfind his wayto the l iterary life, resu lting inrenownto h imselfand abiding pleasu re to his fr iends , many ofwhombelieve inhis futu re as one of unu sual br illiancyandsuccess . J . F . G .

2 8 TH E M AGAZIN E OF P OE TR Y.

NEPENTHE ,I dumbly watch youth ’s rosy years ,As each , ’

twixt meteo r hopes and fears ,COME , Sorrow , smooth my brow and kiss my lips , Tremblee and fades and disappearsAnd lay thy gentle hand u ponmy heart, Inleadensky.

And onmy bosom pillow thy sweet head ;For inthy silent fac e and lo ving eyes B u t e

’

enuponthy tender leaf,I trace the memories of long fled years . I spy a dew -drop tear of gr ief ;Ay l thou art kind as thou art bl ’fl l l tll l l f. “'

ou ld humansorrows wen as br ief,

And never joy, inits su premest hou r . And, ah , as few !

Gave aught ofhappiness as dear as thou ! Yet oft what spelneth gruesomePOP thou , the winsome shadow O fmy hope, Is bu t the dew ou r so u ls distil lThe swe et Ideal of the vanished years

, To keep u s against ou r wi ll ,Art still animage of the loved and lo st. “1d fair to view .

E'

enthough oneveningw ings the Real hath fled.

Yea , Sorrow , I wil l kiss thy pens ive mo u th ,And cal l thee steadfast fr iend, and love the e well ,

For thou wert constant whenall else were false .

B u t, 10 ! the while my eyes with blinding tearsAre wet, I see thy sable raiment fall .And inmy ar ms I have, unconsc iou s , c laspedThe sm il ing,

white winged angel of the Lo rd .

LOVE IMPRISONED.

Lovs o ffende dme one dayWith his rogu ish , teas ing play ,So I took the c u lpr it fair ,And

,des pite his tearfu l prayer ,

Ina dungeon, co ld and bare,Ofmy heart immu red him .

TO THE WIND FLOWER .

SWE ET , Wins ome flower that decks the woldDespite the snowdr ift

'

s chill ing co ld,

Dost thou to March '

s kiss unfo ldThy petals pu re

Or hast thou wakened at the songThe Redbreas t tr i lls , as , bo ld and strong,

Through ear ly groves he wings along,

Of summer su re ?

Round his pr isondoor I placedPr ide and Anger , dragon- faced,

Warned them not to heed his moan,Not to list sweet pity

'

s tone,B ut to leave him there alone ,Ti ll his so rrow c u red him .

ThenI sternly went away ;B u t eftsoons his laughter gayOnmy sou l like mu s ic fell

,

Fo r his gao lers , ’neath his spell ,Were his humble s laves

, and— well ,I Ie ru led all the c itadel .

Nay, soft as is thy per fume thrown,So is thy mystic com ing known;Thou bloomest whenthe w inds have blown,

A beauteo u s thing !That we may know whenstorms are r ife .

And tawdry joys fade intheir str ife,The sweetest flowers of humanlife To A LOVED ONE.

From trouble spr ing.

TIM E,onjocund w ing, speeds fas t

Thu s thou withinthis tangled dell , With the treas u res ofthe pas t ;Where wildl ing,

woodsy spir its dwell , Love alone defies his w i ll ,Has cast the magic of thy spel l Mother , thou art with me still .

O’

er all the scene :

Like some fair maid w ith face demu re, Sweet the dreams that round thee c lung,

YetWitc hing glance from eye-depths pu re Whenthe bloom ofhope was young;Whose every aspect doth allure Fair the castles that we bu ilt,

With grace serene . E re the w ine of life was spi lt.

Su re, blest, sweet flower , is lot ofthine, Now ambition’s earthly fire

And doubly blest compared with mine ; Pu rer glows infaith ’s des ire,Thou seest content eac h sundec line, That ou r partingmay butmean

Nor as kest why ; A few, rushingyears between.

R OB ER T [ ON E S B UR D E TTE .

And these years of joy and painShall to me be. not invain;For the painwill cleanse the dross ,And the joy support the cross .

Never year shall come or go ,

Whenthy thoughts I shall not know ;And the love- light inthy face,Wil l bec ome a means ofgrace .

Oh , my Mother thou and I

Still l ive inthe years gone by ;Though our wishes now are fled ,

They shall blossom , Christ has said.

TO HARVARD COLLEGE .

Ox a'romsnheights ofKnowledge thou dost stand

0 Mother -Queen, who from thy throne of fameShedst light of learning’

s sou l - exalting flameO

'

er many realms , but chief uponthat landWhose burning hopes ideals high demand ;The young Republic , stainless yet of shame,Comes , as Prometheus to o ld Gaia came,To find them mofTruth inthy fair hand ;

As high thy state , so be thy high em'

pr ise !faiths outworn, nor dreams ofthings agone,

Find ceaseless habitationinthy halls !Morn- fronted Progress mirrored inthine eyes ,

ls but the presage ofthy greater dawn,

Ifthou art true whentrump ofac tioncalls !

ALL IN ALL.

Wao strangles fear , and puts hope from his throne,Yet seats thereona si lent, tireless will ,To be not conquered, but to conquer still

,

Thatmancancal l the go ldenworld his own!

T H E D A Y S O F Y O U T H .

Across the light and shadow comes

The visionof a perfect day,A dream of thought inGrec ianyears ,WhenWinsome Apr i l drie dher tearsTo kiss the smilingmouth of May .

For inthe beauty of the Spr ing,

With Lo vel iness ,— to me more sweet,I wandered o

’er a flowery lea

To go lden-misted Amady ,With s inging heart and tripping feet.

—’

I’

o my Lafly inAready.

2 9

ROBERT JONES BURDETTE .

HE kindly humor ist may or may not put his

poetry into verse, but he is always a poet.

Yet themerry laughter ofthe world as it listens tohis jests , oftendrowns the music ofthe sweet songsof his ser ious moods . This is notably true of

R obert Jones B u rdette ; whom everybody knows ,yet who is not commonly called a poet. Thesto ry

ofMr .

‘

B u rdette’s life is not anew one. It has been

modestly and delightfu lly to ld by himself in“The

('

onfessions of a Reformed Humorist,” and edmiringly wr ittenby more thanone fr iend.

Mr . B urdette was borninPennsylvania, thoughwe are apt to think of him as a Westernmanbe

cause as edito r of The H awkeye of B ur lington,

Iowa, he was first introdu ced to the world byfame. Indeed he was aWesternman; s ince inthewest he grew to manhood. At

'

the age of two

years he departed with his parents from Greens

boro , Pa . , where he was born Ju ly 30, 1 844,

to take up his abode in Cinc innati . Six yearslater another move brought the boy to Peo ria,

I ll . Here he entered schoo l , graduating from the

H igh Schoo l in 1 861 , to enter the army in 1 862brief, as to age and statu re, but valiant as to

heart. He served through the war w ith bravery,was in more than one important battle and

espec ial ly disting uished himself atCorinth . At the

end ofthe war he marched bac k to peacefu l scenes— a pr ivate of Co . C, 47th Regiment, Ill ino is Vo lnatsere.

In1 869 Mr . Bu rdette became one ofthe editorsofthe Peor ia Transcrip t and afterward, inconnec

tionwith others established the Peor ia Review, an

eveningpaper which was unsuccessfu l . In1 874 he

removed to B u rlington, Iowa, and beganwork onThe Hawkeye, which sooncame to have a nationalreputationbecau se of his w itty and phi losophicalcontr ibutions .

In 1 877 Mr . B urdette, encou raged by his wiseand gentle w ife, essayed the lec tu re field. Everybody knows how he has taught patience , honor ,charity— e very Chr istianvirtue, while his laughingaudiences perhaps only realized what so l id foodthey had got when they ha d gone home anddigested it.

For some years Mr . B u rdette has not beencon

nected with TheHau 'keye, but does his work mainlyfor the B rooklyn Eagle. H is wit is still as freshand his laughter as spontaneou s as at first. And

he enjoys this rare distinction He has never

sto oped to coarseness nor provoked the laughterof foo ls . The pu rest mother canread to her ia

nocent daughter all his funwithout hes itationor

regret.

30 TH E MAGAZIN E OF P OE TR Y.

Personal ly , few men win you so qu ickly . H is

frank . unaffected kindness , his ready helpfu lnessand his u tter lack of egotism are plainto all . He

calls h imself a “ little nonparei l lion”and takes

his repu tation as if it were the gift. of hosts of

generou s fr iends — something to be thankfu l forbutnot half deserve d. Any notice ofMr . B u rdette

is incomplete w ithout a reference to his w ife,Her

Little Serene. H ighnes s , whose beau tifu l l ife wasear ly done and who se death he has so deeplymou rned. H e has so honored her by wo rd and

deed that the fragrance o fher tender influence hasfloated far . Mr . B u rdette has one son— a youngR obert of abou t twelve years , mu ch l ike his father .

The col lections of humoro u s wr itings made byMr . B u rdette have not, he says

,been em inently

successfu l . Shou ld he some day see fit to pu t intobook form his soberer attempts , many a lover of

tender poems, faithfu l to every - day , human ex

perience and fu ll of the genu ine insights of the

reverent lover of natu re and mankind,wou ld be

glad . It wou ld certainly not take the penof the

partial adm irer to c ommend it to the homes of

Americans ,no r wo u ld the penof the c ritical keep it.out. Indee d, the cr itic ’

s pen will be long unem

ployed before it wr ites anadver se line of Robert J .

B u rdette . Mus . G . A .

BARTIMIEUS.

And Jes u s answered and said unto h im , What w ilt thouthat I shou ld do unto thee ? The blind mansaid unto h im .

Lo rd. that I migh t receive my s ight.

I WOULD rec eive my s ight my c louded eyes

M iss the glad radiance of the mo rning sun,The changing tints that glo r ify the skiesWith roseate splendors whenthe day is done,

The shadows so ft and gray , the pearly l ightOf summer twil ight deep ’ning into night.

I cannot see to keep the nar row way ,

And so I blindly wander here and there,Groping amidst the tombs , or helples s strayThrough pathless , tangled deserts , bleak andbar e

;

Weeping I seek the way I cannotfind :Openmy eyes , dear Lo rd, for I am blind.

And oft I laugh w ith some light, thoughtlessjest,

Nor see how angu ish lines some face most

dear ;

And wr ite my m irth— a mocking palimpsest( )nblotted sc rol ls of h umanpainand fear ;

And never see the heartac he under lined :I ’ity, 0 SonofDavid ! I am blind.

I do not see the painmy l ight words give,The qu iver ing, shrinking heart I cannot 309 ;

So , light of thought, midst hiddengriefs I live,And mock the cypres sed tombs with sightless

Openm ine eyes , l ight—bles sedways to findJes us , have mercy onme — I am blind.

My u seless eyes are reservo irs of tears ,Doomed for their blind mistakes to over

flow ,

To weep for thoughtless ways of wanderingyear s ,

B ecau se I c ou ld not see— I did not know ;These s ightless eyes

, thanangr iest glance lesskind :

Light of theWo r ld, have pity ! I am blind.

WHEN MY SHIP COMES IN.

Oh , I have watc hed till my eyes were ac hing,

Day after weary day ;Oh . I have hoped till my heart was breaking,

Wh i le the longnights ebbed away ;Cou ld I bu t know where. the waves havetossed her ,Cou ld I bu t know what storms have crossed her ,Cou ld I bu t know where the w inds have lost her ,

Out inthe twil ight gray !

B ut, tho ugh the storms her cou rse have altered,Su rely the port she

'

ll win;Never my faith inmy ship has faltered,

I know she is com ing in;Fo r through the restless ways ofher roaming,

Through the mad ru sh of the w ild waves foaming,Through the white c rest of the billows combing,

My ship is coming in.

B reasting the tides where the gu l ls are flying,Swiftly she ’

s coming in;Shal lows and deeps and rocks defying,

B ravely she ’

s coming in;Prec iou s the love she w ill br ing to bless me,Snowy the arms she wi ll br ing to caress me,Inthe proud pu rp le of kings she wi ll dress me,

My ship that is coming in.

SOM EWH E R E,o u t onthe blue s eas sail ing,

“'here the w inds dance and spin,Beyond the reac h ofmy eager hailing,

Over the breakers ’

din,Ou t where the dark sto rm - c louds are lifting,

Out where the blinding fog is dr ifting,

Out where the treacherou s sand is shifting,

My ship is c oming in.

R OB E R T j oN E S B URDE TTE .31

White inthe sunshine her sails will be gleaming, For all its promise, morning brought us care,See , where my ship comes in; For soonits songs and pleasantshadows passed;

At mast- head and peak her colors streaming, Ou r ambu shed foes lu rked ineach woodland fair ;Proudly she ’

s sailing in: Onevery smil ing plainwe saw them massed.

Love, hope and joy onher dec ks are cheering,

Mu s ic will welcome her glad appear ing,

And my heart wi ll sing at her stately near ing,Whenmy ship comes in.

Ou r standards gay, war’

s br ight heraldic pageOu r uniform ,

with gold and s i lver drest,Are rent and tor ninbattle's fu riou s rage,B lood- stained and marredwith dust each glitter

ALONE .

ing crest.

SINCE she went homeThe evening shadows linger longer here,The w inter days fil l so mu ch of the year ,And evensummer winds are chill and drear ,

Since she went home .

The l ight young hearts thatmade a jest of lifeAnd laughed at death, whenwe broke camp at

dawn,Changed are their merry songs for shou ts of str ife,Or hu shed where Valor mou rns a comrade gone.

Since she went hompAnd lo itering here awhile at Rest at eas e ,

Thp robin’

s note has tou ched a minor strain, 1 note the shadows fall ingto the east ;The old glad songs breathe bu t a sad refrain, Behind me

, plume- c rowned ,looms the hill , whose

And laughter sobs w ith hidden, bitter pain, “993 ,

Since she went homp .

Promised us glory , wealth and love and peace,

Since she went home Be ckoned u s on, whenmorning time was br ight,How stil l the empty rooms her presence blessed ; To certainty ofvictory and rest

Unto u ched the pillow that her'

dear headpressed ; And now —’

tis afternoon; ’tw ill soonbe night ;

My lonely heart hath nowhere for its rest, And I have pas sed the green hill ’s waving crest.

Since she went home .

Forward ! the bugles call : ready am I ;Since shewent home For , though my step hath lost its spr inginggait,

The 10 0 8 , 10 118 days have c rept away like years ; I am more prompt to mar ch , qu ick to obey ,The sunl ight has beendimmed w ith dou bt and Less apt to qumtionor to hes itate .

fears ,And the dark nights have rained inlonely tears , Yt‘t, whensome belted trooper gallops by ,

Since she went 110 1119 ,I l iftmy 05T H, warned by bhP Sw ift hO O ffl

’

tramp ;And hai l him with the infantryman’

s cry

AT FORTY- FIVE.

Ho , comrade, tel l me, how far is ’

t to camp?

HALT . crythebugles , downthe co lumn’

s length

And nothing loth to halt and rest am I , TEAMSTER J IMFor summer

’

s heat hath somewhat taxed mystrength ,

And long the dusty ways before me lie.

The dew that glittered whenthe ec ho ing hornCalled m veille to greet the waking day ;The coo l sweet shadows of the cheery morn,The birds that tr il led , the bugle

'

s roundelay ;The scented violets w ith eyes ofblu e,That breathed sweet incense whenwe trod them

downThe wi ld- wood buds and blooms of br ightes t hue,Fair prophecy of Honor ’

s rad iant c rown

B ut then, it ’s a sto ry that happened, an’

everyword of it

’

s tr ue,

An’sometimes we can’

t help talkin’

of the thingsthat we sometimes do .

And all that made the earl ier marching l ight, An’though good soc iety co ldly shets its doors ou

Have passed l ike incense of the rosy hours ; to Teamste r J im ,

”

Andmany a beatenfield of fiercest fight I’

m thinkin'

there '

s lots worse people thet’

e bette rLies betweennoonday and au roral flowers . knownthanhim .

I 'r ain’

t jest the story , parson, to tell ina crowd

like this ,Weth the virtu ou s matrona- frownin’

an’

chidin’

the gigglin’

miss ,An

'

the good o ld deacona noddin’

intime weth hispatient snores ,

An’the shocked aleet of the Capital stalkin’

awaythrough the doors .


I mind the day he was marr ied, an'

I danced at the

weddin’

, too ,

An’I kissed the bride, sweet Maggieh daughter of

BenMcGrew ;

I mind how they set up hou sekeepin’

, two young,

po or , happy foo ls ;WhenJ im ’

s only stock was a heavy tru ck an’ fou rKentu cky mu les .

Well , they lived along contente d, weth their littlejoys an’

cares ,

An’

every year a baby come, an

'

twice they c ome

inpairs ;’Til l the hou se was fu l l of children, weth the ir

shou tin’and playia

'

and squalls ,An’

their s ingin’

and laughin’an’

c ryin’

made Bed

lam wethinits walls .

An’J im , he seemed to l ike it, an’

he spent all his

evenin’s at home :

He said it was fu ll of mu sic an’ l ight, an'

peace

from pit to dome.

He joined the chu rch , an’

he u sed to pray that hisheartmight be kept from sin

The stumblin’

est prayin'

— bu t heads and heartsu sed to how whenhe ’

d begin.

So , they lived along inthat way, the same from

day to day,

With plenty of time for drivin’

work . and a littletime for play .

An’

growin’around ’

em the sweetest girls and thelivel iest, ma-nliest boys ,

’Ti ll the old gray heads of the two o ld folks was

crowned with the homeliest joys .

Eh ? Come to my story?Well , that'

s al l . They '

re

l ivin’ just like I said.

Only two ofthe girls is marr ied, an'

oneof theboysis dead.

An’

they ’

re honest. an’dec ent an

' happy , an'

the

very bestChristians I know ,

Though I reckoninbr i lliant comp’

ny they '

d be

vote da leetle slow .

Oh, you’

re pressed for time— excu se you ? Su re,I

’

m so rry I keptyou so long ;Good by . Now he looked kind 0 ’ bored- l ike, an

’

I

reckonthat I was wrongTo tel l sec h a commonplac e story oftwo sech com

monplace l ives ;But we can

'

t all git drunk an'

gamble an’

fight,an’

r unoffwith other men’

s sires

THE SOLE GOOD.

Le seal bfenquame res te anmonde

E s t d'avo lr quelqueibis pleura.

— A . n: Mossr r .

NOT to have won renown,to have loved and

laughed,

JULIA P. BOYNTON .

T IS rare, indeed , that a l ife which has but justbegunto realize its potentiality , inwhich hope

has not beenexchanged for disappo inting fr u ition,and whose dreams may yet prove su bstantial ver ities . shou ld have already won its way to publicrec ognition.

Miss Boyntonfirst looked uponthe fields over

which she has cast the garment of her ownbeautifu l song scarcely more thana quarter centu ry ago .

In the little vi llage of South Byron, inWestern

New Yo rk , she and the sister Jean, to whomLines and lnter lines

"is insc r ibed, led a more

than ordinar ily free and happy childhood. At

fifte enMiss B oyntonand her elder s ister entered

Ingham Univers ity , at Le Roy, N . Y . , where theyboth remained a year , spending the subsequentoneinpreparationfor Wellesley College. The sistersentered this institution, only to besummoned homebecause of domestic bereavement. The educationso brokenwas again resumed for several years,mainly at Xy

'

ack- on- tlia fl udson. The greater

part of two winters was spent inNew York en

gage d at studies inart, for which M iss Boyntonhas marked aptitude ; then fo llowed a seas oninLondon, as a gu est inthe home of a popu larc lergyman. Plans were forming in the spr ing of

1 88 8 for anextendedto u r uponthe continent,whenshe was again summoned home

, because of the

serious illnes s of her mother , and her place s incethenhas beenmostly at the s ide of this loved and

loving parent.

Miss B oynton is possessed of fine, scholar lytastes , w ith that cr itical acumen which seldombelongs to you th . The conventional poetic temperament is not hers ; she is , happily, endowedw ithanevendispos ition, free from nervou s exaltationor depress ion, w ith prac tical abil ities which are amarvel to those who only think ofher as apoet. It

is inthe r ealm of nature that Miss Boynton ismost at home ; the vo ices she l istened to inchildhood, w ith their occ u ltmessages , have found rev

elationthrough the poet’

s song. The“Tragedy

of a F ield”is both pictu re and poem ; only one

who had looked with love and pity upon the

scene cou ld have so sympathetically reproduced itsinanimate woe . Miss Boynton is

, happi ly, so

situated that she is able to cu ltivat e the muse at

her leisu re. J . W. K.


Instead of s ilent eggs w ithinthenest, Yet o'

er the sunny tilth beyond my hedgesFour prec iou sfledgelings shou ld reward his quest. My eyes wi l l wander w ith a strong desire ;

A meadow - lark sang loud, and set his spray And, butmy Mas ter showed my so lemnpledges ,A- tremble w ith his pas sionate essay . I shou ld stray off, forgetfu l ofmy hire.

0 Q Q Q Q Q Q

A field lay wounded ; its embro idered weft F rom the br ight. pageant ofthe easternheavenRent ina thou sand rags ; outraged, bereft The lordly hO UPSr whereby 0 1" 2 93 1 is pent,

Ofbloom, its cher ished nests laid bare to theft ; B ush , With their glowing CO l l l‘

BPPS overdr iven,

All su ch gnlall SOCI’PTB hid go lovingly , Toward the late revel Of the occ ident.

To ld rudely to the far , unp itying sky ;

And every spray of fragrant c lover c left Ah ! never one 8 » moment stays 0 1‘ l ingers ,Asunder ,— not one c rimsoncockle left.

Though W9 do throng their path Withmad des ire ,

Grasp at their dizzy wheels with frenzied fingers ,Yet, field, chargenot the reaper

’

s handwith w rath , Was h w ith ou r bravest blood their ruthless tiresTo thy l ife

'

s pu rpose led no other path ,Seed- time and sunshine, sorrow and the swath . I think sometime my sou l w ill cas t this langou rStil l mercy waits inmany a suddenbu r st The bondagg bwd"and r ise with thunderings 3Of healing ram “POD tll et

‘

,fl th lmtv B u rst all the go ldenlinks innoble anger ,

And dying. Lo ,beyond the s lckle s scath

And fling the fragments from her liberate wings .

The chastened prom ise of the afte rmath .

I think sometime my sou l the cup w ill shatter ,

DlVlDEDImpatient of its hil ldrau ce,— by the force

Of pas s ionate tllirst,— and, as the c lay sherds

I caxxo 'r reach the e

; we are far , so far scatter ,

Apart who are tso dear ! Will pres s w ith bare lips to the very Sou rce.

Love, be it so ;

E lse we might press so c lose we shou ld no tgrow .

( lne doth deny eventhis so sweet a bar

For fear ou r sou is'

tru e shape shou ld su ffer mar .

WILD TIGER - LILY.

Ah , su r face- laundered, yet do we not know

A hiddenunioninthe deeps be low ?

Anintertwining where the strong roots are .

So hu sbandmenplant trees , Sweetheart, a space

B etween. Complete the figu re . H igh il l airAfter thetr ees aregrown,tll eir spreadingboughs

Reach forth and m ingle . Insome far glad place,Whenthou and I are straight and tall and fair ,We shall c lasp hands again,— ifGod allows .

LIMITED.

0 LOVE ,this cup ofmine is all too shal low ,

Whereinthy generou s vintage I must bear !0 Life , fu l l half thine acreage l ies fallowWhere I cannever drive my ardent share !

My eager hands so tremble that they spil l it,That pr iceless wine,— alas for haste ! but then,

Repentant tears rundownagainto fill it,Till all the scant-y chalice brilns again.

My ownsmal l plot yields blossoms inabundance,And wheat enough to serve my l ife- long leaven

I plough and prune, and check the weed’s redun

dance,And fu rnish timely drink denied ofheaven.

Isonx rs inher consc iou s grandeu r , c reatu re of a

royal blood,She doth ru le ,— the one unr ivaled Cleopatra of the

Wood .

Something il l her regal statu re,Inher fierce and fervid natu re,

B r ings to m ind a vivid vis ion of the Lady of the

Nile.

How the splendor of her presence, how her suddenfiashing smile

Glorifies the s lumbrou s spaces of the du sky forestaisle !

And a fac e of Or ient oval , o live browed , and

midnight- eyed ,

Looks from flow ing, fiame—hued draperies in

its dark , imperial pride .

While a figu re fancy fashions , fau ltless inits mold

and m ien,Supple, s inu ous , seductive as some tawny jungle

queen.

as though a gather ing tempest smote

athwart .E ol ianw iresAll a-thr il l with pr ide and pass ion, sad as death , a

vo ice inqu iresDo you wonder atmyRoman doyou marvelhow I died?

TH E N EW YO R K

PUBLICLIBRARY

m os . Ltnox AN.

TlLl a l Foo -con“ .

TH OM AS S. COLLI E R .

AT MOUNT DESERT.

Tungrasses with sweet hardihood have creptOnslow , so ft feet out to the very verge,All unaffrighted by the thundering serge ;

The mists havegathered, andthe fogs haveweptA thousand winters over them have s lept,Yet greener still and greener they emergeF rom every storm , and patiently they u rge

Their fond excuse. Onrocks below are sweptFragments of wreck . The wrathfu l waves recedeInto the su l lenbu lk of beryl br ine .

The storm is spent, beloved only heedThat glad break inthe lower ing sky! Ah , mineForever ! This means l ife to mH lifls , sea,

Surge, storm , brave gras ses , breaking sky

and thee !

M E M O R Y .

So tr ue, the matc hless rose that shedIts pass ionate fragrance yestem ight,Half- sensed, unvalued,— now, alas ,Seems doubly dear , since it is dead.

Andnever any equals qu iteThat perfect bloom which memory has .

— Absent To J

Z E N IT H .

The sunny summits beckon, wemust climbOne breath of heavenmakes braver lungs for aye.

Oneflash from the Eternal rends the c lay,lnd leaves trans for med the irk of flesh and time.

— Zenith .

LO V E .

I live don, not once foretastingTheglad moment toward me basting ;South

, the herald of salvationwas the faint lightof a star

Heaven'

s first cou rt onearth a manger ,Ah

, Beloved , is it strangerThatuponus , unforewarned, dawned love’

s dazzl ing

— Lionel to Lorain.

U N S U N G .

All . mydead songs , the songs I might have sung!Whatal ienservice c laimed my faithless tongu e?Theworld‘

s unworthy wage to me seemed gOOdrAll

,mydead songs , it was the price of blood.

Whoknows whatglor ious message God had sent,Hadhe found one devoted instrument !

THOMAS S. COLLIER.

37

HE name of Thomas S. Co llier can hardlyfai l to be fami liar to the reader , as his produc

tions both inprose and verse have during the pastfifteen years frequently appeared in the leadingper iodicals and papers of this country . While an

ingeniou s wr iter of short stor ies it is as apoetthatMr . Co llier has won his widest reputation. The

Atlantic , the Century Magazine, the You th’s Com

panion, and other publications of that ilk havegiven his fanc ies a pr inted form, and more

thanone ofhis poems , by constant repr inting and

by the fact offinding a place inco llections , has become one of those famil iar poems that everybodyknows . This is particu lar ly true of his CleopatraDying, which as a companion p iece to Lytie

’s

well - known“Anthony,” has fo llowed it s ide bys ide inmany co llections of verse . Sti ll anotherpoem of Mr . Co llier ’

s , entitled “Sacr ilege,” which

first appear ed inthe Youth’

s Companion, has beenso often reprinted that it might almost c laim a

continuou s publ icationinou r newspapers . He is

perhaps at his best insome poem of occas ion, like“ InPace , a memorial of the menwho fell inthemassacre inFort Griswold, GrotonHeights , Connecticu t, September 6 , 1 781 . To this c lass , anddisplaying the same conspicuous mer it, belongsthe poem which Mr . Co llier wrote fo r the unveil ingceremonies of the statue recently erected by theState of Connecticut to commemorate the hero icachievement of Major JohnMason and his com

rades . Somewhat different invein, perhaps not as

widely knownas the poems mentioned, but displaying to the best advantage the skil l and technique of the wr iter , is the exqu isite sonnet en

titled, “ Not Lost,"contr ibuted by Mr . Co l lier to

“A Masque of Poets ,

”a col lection of some few

years ago which inc luded all of ou r best knownpoets ; and inthis brief summing up of his most

familiar poems one wou ld not care to omit “The

ForgottenBooks ,” published in Mr . Matthews'

s

excellent col lectionentitled,

“ Ballads of Books .

”

Mr . Co l lier was born inNew York City Nov. 1 4,

1 842 . He went to sea whenhe was fifteenyearsold; entered the AmericanNavy at anearly age .

He was onthe ship that op ened theJapaneseportsto commerce, and on that which brought the

Japanese embas sy bac k . He ser ved inthe navyall through ou r c ivi l war and was r etired in1 883.

Since 1 866 he has made his home inNew London,Conn.

Mr . Co llier is the Secretary of the New London

County H istorical Soc iety, and has takena deep

interest inthe co llectionand preser vationofmany


valuable colonial documents , which , bu t for hiswatc hfu lness , wou ld have beenlost. He is a booklover and a book collector . H is library is a most

interesting and valuable one, containing manyrare and outof- the-way vo lumes . The co llector '

s

instinct has carr ied him ou ts ide of the field of

l iteratu re . He is a numismatistof repu tation, andpossesses a valuable co lle ctionof co ins and medals ,while the walls ofhis study are adorned w ith rare

bits of o ld China. Mr . Col lier has a vo lume of

poems prepared for the press wh ich wi ll be published soon.

SACRILEGE .

B ESIDE the wall, andnear the mass ive gateOf the great temple inJ eru salem ,

The legionary , Probu s , sto od, elate ,H is eager clas p c irc l ing a royal gem .

It was anoffer ingmade by some dead kingUnto the great Jehovah , whenthe sword

Amid his foes had mowna ghastly r ing,

Helped by the dreaded Angel of the Lord.

There, onhis rival’s crest, among the slain,

Through the red harvest it had c lear ly shone,Lighting the grimness of the sangu ine plainWith splendors that had glo r ified a throne.

Above the altar ofGod’s sacred place,

A wat chfu l star , it lit the pass ingyears ,"

With radiance falling oneach su ppl iant’s fac e,Gleaning al ike inlove

'

s and sorrow’

s tears .

T i ll swept the war - tide through the sunlit valesLeading from Jordan, and the westernsea,

And the fierce host ofTitu s fi lled the galesWith jubilant shou ts ,

and songs of victory .

Thencame the day whenover all the wallsThe Romans su rged, andDeath laughed loud andhigh ;

And there was wail ing inthe palace halls ,And sound of lamentations inthe sky.

Tornfrom its place, it lay w ith inthe handOfProbu s , whose keensword had rent a way,

With rapid blows , amid the pr iestly bandWhose piteou s prayers moaned through that

dreadfu l day.

And there, bes ide the wal l , he sto pped to gazeUponthe fortune that wou ld give his life

The home and rest that come w ith bounteous days ,And br ing reward for to il , and warl ike str ife.

There was no cloud inall heaven’

s lu strous blue,Yet suddenly a red flas h c left the air ,

And the dark shadow held a deeper hue,A dead man, with anempty hand, lay there.

CLEOPATRA DYING.

s xs the sunbelow the desert,Goldenglows the sluggish N ile ;

Pu rp le flame c rowns sphynx and temple,Lights up every anc ient pileWhere the old gods now are sleeping ;Isis and Os ir is great !

Guard me, help me, give me cou rageLike a Queento meetmy fate !

I am dying, Egypt, dying!”Let the Caesar

'

s army comeI wi ll cheat him ofhis glory,Though beyond the Styx I roam .

Shall he drag this beau ty with himWhile the crowd his tr iumph s ings?

No , no , never ! I w i ll show himWhat l ies inthe blood of kings .

Though he ho ld the goldenscepter ,R u le the Pharaohs ’

sunny land,

Where old N ilu s ro lls res istless ,Through the sweeps of silvery sand,

H e shall never say I met himFavming, abjec t, l ike a slave

I wi ll foi l him , though to do itI mu st c ross t he Stygianwave.

Oh , my hero ,s leeping, sleeping

Shall I meet you onthe shoreOfPlu tonianshadows? Shal l weIndeath meet, and love once more?

See, I fo l low inyou r footstepsScornthe Caesar and his m ight ;

Fo r you r lo ve I wi ll leap boldlyInto realms ofdeath andnight.

Downbelow the desert s inking,Fades Apo l lo

'

s br ill iant car ,And from o ut the distant azu reB reaks the br ight gleam ofa star ;Venus , QueenofLove and Beauty ,Welcomes me to death ’s embrace,

Dying free, proud and triumphant,The last sovereignofmy ra ce .

Dying ! dying ! I am coming,

Oh , my hero , to you r armsYou will welcome me

,I know it

Guard me from all rude alarms .

Hark ! I hear the legions coming,Hear their c r ies of triumph swell ;

But, proud Caesar , dead I scornyou ,Egypt— Antony— farewel l

TH OM AS S. COLLI E R .39

THE FORGOTTEN BOOKS,The yel low rose l ike a star shines out,The white rose sways likeawan sweetghost

H l l’ b."theW E ‘VE dust, and 10 8" The beetles boom , and the marshes shou t

Am id the cobwebs wreathed above . The joy of their living host.

They lie, these volumes that have costSu ch wrecks of hope, and was te of love.

The theo logian’

s garnered lore

O i‘

sc r iptu re text. and words divine ;And verse, that to some fair one bo reThoughts that l ike fadeless stars wou ld shine

The grand- wrought epics , that were bornFrom mighty throes of heart and brain,

Here rest, their covers all unworn,And all their pages free from stain.

Here lie the chronic les that toldOfman, and his hero ic deeds

Alas l The wo rds once wr it ingold,Are tarnished so thatno one reads .

And tracts that smote eac h other hard,While loadthefr iendly Plauditfi rang, The yel low rose, with its heavy breath ,

A“80 1111 08 11398 discard, Recalls w ide forests and dim lagoons ,Where 0 ld moth- eatengarments hang. Where the loathsome serpents watch for death

Inthe light of tropic moons ;And ru ins , mas s ive and gr im and vas t,

Ins ilent grandeu r a v igil keep ,Where the giant kings ofa mighty past

Lie co ld ina dreamless sleep .

The heroes that were made to stru t

Intinsel on“ life’

s” mimic stage,

Found, all too soonthe deepening ru t

Which kept them s lient inthe page :

And hero ines , whose loveless pl ightShou ld wake the sympathetic tear ,

Involumes somber as the nightSleep onthrough eac h su cceeding year .

The white r ose pictu res a visiondimOfaisle , and transept, and scu lptu red saint,Where the dying echoes of a hymn

Inthe far , coo l distance faint,Here Phill is languigheg forlorn,

And shining ou t, where the arc hes barAnd Strephonwaits bes ide his flocks ,

The pu rple gloom ofthe rounded dome,

And ear ly huntsmenwind the ho rn,

A fa“? thatglows l ike 8» glor ious SW ,

Withinthe boundar ies ofa box .

Set deep ina sea Of foam .

The red rose tosses its cr imsonspray ;The blu sh rose fal ls ina fragrant rain;

The mocking- bird, where the cool leaves sway ,

Here, by the irony of fate ,

Bes ide the “peasant

’s humble board,

The monarch flaunts his robes of state ,And spendthr ifts find the miser

'

s hoard.

Sings onWith his low refrainThe yellow rose with the dew is wet,

Days come and go , and sti ll we wr ite , The white rose— where has the white rose

And how for some far happier lot flownThanthat ou r work shou ld meet this blight : Ah

, yes , I made it a coronet

And yet, some books mu st be forgot. For a great love all my own.

WHEN THE ROSES coma. ACCURST

Tim red rose blooms by the tumbling wal l , s om of love , bereft ofhop e

,

The blush rose bends by the opengate Compamou ed by a gr im despair ,Themocking- bird, w ith his low ,

c lear call , He roams where blinded spirts gropeSings on, though the hou r is late ; O

'

er deserts hot and bare .

The red rose bu rns with a crimsonglow ,

Like winethatgleams whenthe bloodis warmAnd brings vagu e dreams ofthe long ago ,

Whenthe wo rld was w ild w ith sto rm ;Whena stalwart knight w ith lance at restDrove sw ift through the battle

’s angry tide,

With a red rose bound to his helmet’s crest,

And there inthe carnage died .

The blu sh rose tells ofa distant timeWhenthe Persiangroves were loudwith song;

And camel - bells made a merry chime,Where the desert paths grew long.

Whena love- lornmaidenlinger ingstr ayed,

Waiting for one who had growna- c old,Till the rose and she at rest were laid

Inthe garden’s soddenmou ld.

40 TH E M AGAZI N E OF P OE TR Y.

The narrow path is rough and hard,And desolate the dreary land

H i l ls gl itter ing with fiinty shard,

Plains swept by bu rning sand ;

Low c louds , o'

er which swift lightnings play ,F reighted with never fall ing rain,

Shro ud c ities cr umbl ing indecay ,Whose gates he cannot gain.

H is s low steps pass l ike throbs of fateWhere gr inning sku lls inthou sands lie ,

Mute records of remorseless hate ,

Star ing toward the sky ;

Through darksome valleys , to a shoreBestrewnw ith long forgottenwrec ks

Damp ,s l imy weeds the only sto re

Betweentheir rottendecks .

Downs ilent ho llows o f the sea

He floats , a horro r - haunted thing.

Tida swept o’

er many a wide degre e

,

Where long dank gras ses c l ing.

He feels the earthquake '

s mighty throeSweep ,

shudder ing,

'

niid the somber waves ,And drifts where langu id cu rrents flow ,

Through deep ,far - reac hing caves ;

Dim caves , where shapes gigantic loom ,

Through darkeneddepths of res tless green,And cast a weird and ghas tly gloom

The sunkenships between.

Thens lowly he revo lves again,Where

,w ith w ind- tossed, disheveled locks ,

Wild fac es , white from ceas eless pain,Fade downthe sloping rocks .

F lung far along a trackless space,Where lu r id stars with flames a- l ight,

Swing, thunder ing,inanendless race,

Through realms ofdo lefu l night ;

G rand vis ions where rare faces gleam,

F las h for a moment onhis sight,And thenred fires infierceness beam

Onsome demoniac fight.

There lu r ing phantoms,saintly fair ,

With pas s ionate, love throbbing zones ,Show

, as he c lasps their amber hair ,A mass of rattling bones ,

So through long days , and years that growB itter from loss of how and tru st,

And heavy with their load ofwoe ,

He seeks for death and du st ;

Bu t Time’

s decay is not for himThe ages , that res istless ro ll ,

Have no nepenthe that candimThe angu ish ofa sou l .

The countles s centu ries that ho ldDead worlds to their obliviontost.

Like short years , sw ift, yet drear and cold,

Speed by and leave him lost.

V E N U S .

Hymnto Venus .

L O V E .

You ask what love is ? It is this , my own,To ho ld all womenpu re becau se of you ,

Yetgive heart- reverence unto you alone ,

And foryo u r sake be steadfas t, brave, andtrue .

— Traveler’

s Record, 1 885 .

D I S A P P O I N T M E N T .

F rom dreary wastes of unfu lfilled desire.

We harvest dreams thatnever come to passThenpou r ou r w ine am id the dyingfire,And onthe co ld hearth break the empty glass .

tlantic Monthl y, 1 885 .

R E W A R D .

One, to iling through w ide wastes of sand,

Scorched by the high sun’

s to rr id heat,At evening saw the ferti le landCas t its coo l shadows to his feet .

— A Handful of Quatrains .

For thou art fairer thanall dreams , and hold'

st

w ithinthy handsThe gifts that. c onqu er death and tears , and

m ighty is the spo ilThy sm ile and kiss have won for the e

, and inthysunlit lands

The harvest time is rec ompense for all the daysof to il .

The new God’s temples tower aloft, H is fanes are

lo ud w ith song ;Along the anc ient mountain peaks thy ru ined

altars shine ;And oh the wo r ld is fierce and mad, and doth thee

gr ievou s w rong.

B ut time is ever lasting, and the years , the yearsare thine !

42 TH E M AGAZINE OF P OE TR Y.

Within, is neither blightnor death ;The fierce sunwoos with eager breath ,B ut cannot winthy sylvanheart ;

Only the child who loves thee long,

With faithfu l worship , pu re and strong,

Canknow how dear and sweet thou art.

So loved I thee indays gone by ,So love I yet, though leagues may lieBetweenu s , and the years divide.

A breath of coolness , dawn, and dew,

A joy forever fresh and tru e,Thy memory doth with me abide .

SWALLOW SONG.

0 , TO F EEL the w i ld thr ill ofthe swallow ,

The wonder of the w ing,

Onthe so ft, blue billows of air to fo llowThe summer , and soar to s ing !

To dr ink blue air and to feel it flow ingThrough every dainty p lume

,

Upl ifting, pil lowing, bear ing, blowing,

And the earth below inbloom .

Is it far to Heaven, 0 swallow , swal low?The heavy hearted sings ;

1 watch thy flight and I long to fo l low ,

The while I wait for wings .

BREAKING CAMP.

WE LE F T the pu rp le sho re at eve,The lonely , si lent forest shore ,

And sang, 0 summer land,we leave

Thy sylvanhaunts to come no more !”

And to ou r ears the night wind bo reNo mo re

Against the tender , saffronwest,The wooded peaks stood dark and high ,

And whenwe sang,O realm of rest,

0 summer dells , good bye, good bye !We heard the so lemnc l iffs reply

Good Bye !

L O N G I N G .

You th w ith its gladness is here,Time with its treasu res unto ld,

To i l with its promise and cheer ,Love that wil l never grow co ld.

Yet o ut of this sweetness and warmth ,I fade, and I fo llow afar

A voice that is vagu e as a dream,

A light that is faint as a star .

ENCHANTMENT.

THE sails we see onthe ocean

Are as white as white canbe ;B u tnever one inthe harbor ,As white as the sails at sea.

S. D. H .

CARLOTTA PERRY .

ARLOTTA PERRY is one of the few women

poets who do not disappo int one’s expecta

tions . She is attractive inappearance, has beau tiin] brown eyes that laugh and melt and sparklewith every change ofmood, anabundanceofwarmbrown hair , a well - developed and finely po isedhead and a s lender ,gracefu l figure,with a woman

’s

love for pretty gowns and ornaments and thatartistic skill intrifies which we Americans are apt

to call Frenchy . She candes igna wrap or knot ar ibbonas wel l as she canwr ite a poem . A most

magnetic conversational ist, she wins you w ith acharm ofmanner as frank and irres istible as it is

unconsc iou s ;— that is , if you please her . Therude,the haughty , the utter material ist may find

another side to her character : the falling las hes ,the express ive carr iage of the head, the s light compress ionof the l ips may show that, though a verycharming womanis before them, the poet is

“not

at home .

Inlife as inart, Miss Perry wins by her stronglymarked and satisfying qual ities of character . You

feel that she is genu ine, earnest, steadfast, with a.high apprec iationofand unconquerableasp irationtoward the good, the true and the beautifu l . She

is a most patient worker and stubbornly relentlessto wardher ownpoems whenthey dec l ineto approximate her standard . She has fine lite rary taste andis capable of meas u r ing the available worth of anartic le as well as its pu rely artistic qualities .

Miss Per ry has not beena pro lific writer but she

has done l ittle work that is not worthy of preservation in some permanent form. Her vo lume of

poems,issued las t year , is a carefu lly win

nowed pu blication; but it compr ises only a smallpart of her best poems . Her prose sketc hes and

stor ies , as well as her poems , find a ready marketinleading publications east and west. In fact she

enjoys the distinctionof receiving the bes t pr icesfor her work of any wr iter of the Northwest. She

is a favor ite contributo r to the Independent,Harper

'

s pu blications , Lipp incott’s Magazine,

the Youth’s Companion and other periodic als .

Miss Perry is a res ident of the beautifu l lake city ,Mi lwaukee . She is not a seeker afternotor ietyandconsiders that her work , rather thanher personal ity, is what belongs to the pu blic .

CAKLOTTA P E E R Y. 43

The c louds that crownthemountainsWith pu rple and goldenlight,

Tu rnto co ld gray mist and vapor ,

Ere ever we reach the height.

The mountains wear c rowns ofglory ,Only whenseenfrom afar ;

And the sai ls lose all their whiteness ,Ins ide ofthe harbor bar .

Oh , Distance, the dear enchanter ,Stil l hold inthe magic veil ,

The glory offar - offmountains ,The gleam of the far - off sail !

H ide inthy robes of splendor ,O , mountaingold and gray !

O , sai l inthy snowy whiteness ,Comenot into port, I pray .

IF I HAD KNOWN .

Ir I had knownone year ago to dayThe l ittle something that to - day I knowI wou ld have warded offthe heavy blowThat sent you onyou r sorrow- ladenway,

With all you r hopes laid low .

With saddest ofall hunger sore ac cu rst,We miss by just a step the healing streams ;

Miss the tr ue bread ofwhich the faint sou ldreams ;

Onhunger unappeased and uns lacked thirst,Too late the r ight path gleams .

What is so hard inall the bitte r years ,As to look back and see the c losed gateThat one dear day we might have Opened . Fate

Wrings frbm ou r eyes the saddest, saltest tears ,O

’

er wisdom wonto o late .

AUF WIEDERSEHEN .

b ar ofperfec t summer grace, wheregreenboughsmeet and inter lace,

A sky ofperfect summer blue, the yellow sunshinesifting through ;

And all above and all around, upris ing from the

teemingground,Pulsing uponthe happy breeze, onbillowy crests

ofgreenwheat seas ,Pouring from out the robin'

s throat, from fleecy

cloud and bill remote,Onshadows cool , and soft, and fleet, onwaves of

trembling, qu ivering heat,From over fields of c lover - blooms , from out the

dim wood’s fragrantglooms .

so Natu re

Au fWiederseh ’nl Whenwi ll that be? God knows ,dear one— God knows , not we ;

B u tOh ! till then, or soonor late , Faith ho lds ou r

hands and bids us wait ;B ethink you , dear , how it w i ll be whenthat day

comes to you and me ;

How exiled J oy wi ll come with hands ready to fill

ou r glad commands ,H ow car e and doubt wi ll flee away, and peace

abide with u s that day !How Love, the deathless , star ry- eyed, wi ll c lasp

and keep u s undenied ;H ow Life w ill tu rnuponits trac k, and Youth theblessed will come bac k.

A MODERN MINERVA.

’T wss the height ofthe gay season, and I cannot

tell the reason,Bu t, at a dinner party given by Mrs . Mayor

Thwing,

Such mirac les of color glow— s uch spicy, su btleodors flow ,

Such sounds , fine, deep , tumu ltuou s ;fills her cup for u s ,

And we, through every qu ickening sense, dr ink itwith gratefu l reverence ;

O, happy draught unmixed with bane ! This havewe, dear , Au fWiederseh ’n.

O , smiling skies ; O , shadows fleet ; 0 , day of daysso bitter sweet ;

0 , hungry hearts unsatisfied, the bread and wineof life denied ;

0 , kindling eye and glowing check! 0 ,longing lips

forbid to speak !0 , silence mightier far thanspeec h ! O , sou ls that

s ignal each to each !0 , sorrow sweet ! 0 , joy that stands bereft amid

the fru itfu l lands !0 , love pierced through and through with pain!

These are ou r ownAu fWiedemeh’n.

Whether the royal June shall ho ld the Earth withinits grac iou s fo ld,

Or Winter ’

s icy hand be pressed uponher mu te, ia

sensate breas t,Still al l ou r pu lses— O ,

my sweet— wil l thril l withSummer whenwe meet ;

And inthe raptu re so su preme, the pas t will vanishlike a dream .

0 ,faithfu l heart, in loss or pain, remember thisAu fWiederseh’n.

44 TH E M A GAZIN E or P OE TR Y.

It became my pleasant du ty to take out a famousbeau ty

The prettiest womanpresent— I was happy as a

king.

Her dress beyond a question, was anartist’s best

creation;A mirac le of lovel iness was she from c rownto toe.

Her sm ile was sweet as cou ld be, her vo ice justas itshou ld be,h

Not high , and sharp, and wiry , bu t mu sical andlow .

Her hair was soft and fiossy, go lden, plentifu l andglossy ;

Her eyes so blue and sunny , shone with every iaward grace .

I cou ld sec that every fellow inthe room was reallyyellow

With jealousy , and wished himself that momentinmy place.

As the tu rtle soup we tasted, l ike a gal lant man Ihasted r

To paysome pretty tribute/

to this mu s lin;s ilk

,

and gau ze ;But she tu rned and softly asked mc~and I ownthe

questiontas ked meWhat were my fixed opinions onthe present su f

frage laws .

I admired a lovely blossom , resting onher gentlebosom ;

The remark I thought a safe one— l cou ld hardlymake a worse ;

With a sm ile, l ike any Venu s , she gave me its nameand genus ,

And opened very calmly a botanical discou rse .

B ut I speedi ly recovered . As her taper fingershovered

Like a tender benedictiono ’

er a little bit of fish ,

F u rther to impair digestion, she brought up the

Easte rnQuestion.

By that time I fu lly echoed that other fellow ’

s

w ish .

And as su re as I’m a sinner , r ight through that

endless dinnerDid she talk ofmoral sc ience, ofpol itics and law ,

Ofnatu ral selection, of F ree Trade andProtection,Til l I came to look uponher w ith a so rt of sol

emu awe .

Just to hear that lovely woman,looking more

divine thanhuman,Talk with such discr iminationof Ingerso ll and

Cook,

With such a childish , w inning smile, quotingHuxley and Carlyle,

It was qu ite a revelation— it was better thana

book .

Never saw I daintymaidenso remarkably o ’erladen

F rom l‘

ip to tip of finger w ith the lore of booksand men;

Qu ite inconfidence I say it, and I tru st you ’l l notbetray it,

B u t I pray to grac iou s heaventhat I never mayagain.

And, as the cool ing spr ing,once found

,doth rise

With bounti fu l responsiveness to meet

And bless the patient digger , so , at length ,She doth her faithfu l fo llowers recognize ,And unto these alone yields up the sweetEternal beauty of her tru th and strength .

HER EYES AND MINE.

HE R eyes are qu icker thanmy ownto see

The one worm - eatenleaf u ponthe rose,Or the one flaw the diamond faintly shows ;

She says whenI have grownas wise as sheI will not prate of snowy sails , norbeDeceived by the delusive l ight thatglowsUponthe distant hills , she knows , she knows ,

And for'

my ignorance she pities me .

Chemistry and mathematics , agricu ltu re and ebrom atics ,

Mu s ic , painting, scu lptu re— she knew all thetr icksof speech

Bas—r elief and chiaroscu ro , and at last the IndianB u reau ,

She discu ssed it qu ite serenely as she trifled w itha peac h .

I have seensome dreadfu l c reatu res , with vinegaryfeatu res ,

With their fear fu l store of learning setting me insad ec lipse;

B u t I am ready qu ite to swear , if I have ever

heard the Tar iffOr the Eas ternQu estionsettled by su ch a pair ofl ips .

WISDOM.

SHE doth not flaunt her treas u res inthe face ,Nor th ru st them inthe undes ir ing hand ;Nor doth she at the imper ious command

Of swift, unthinking l ips , unveil her grace .

Who sees aright, the hiddenspr ing may trac eWhere du ll eyes see bu t waste s of barrenland ;So to the seeking sou ls that understand,

l loth she disc lose her blestabiding place.

TH E N EW r os x

PUBLIC LIBRARY

TILDEN FOUNDATIM .

48 TH E AI A GAZI N E OF P OE TR Y.

Engl ish press : and he appears to have ser iou s lyconsidered at the time the pos s ibility of revivingthe poetic drama of the stage . H is study of the

conditionof the drama . however . led him to aban

donthe ideaas , for the pres ent, impracticable : but.

happily . he did not abandonthe dramatic fo rm of

l ite ratu re , and betweenthe years 1 871 and 1 876

his magnum op us , the tr io logy entitled the

Tragedy of Israel ,"

was wr ittenand publ ished .

In1 871 , he hadbeenappo inted Pro fes so r of Engl ish Literatu re and H is to ry in the Qm-cn

'

s

of Cork , a post which he s til l ho lds . to the great

advantage of that ins titution. l le is also a Fellowof the Royal l '

nivc rs ity : and the Q ueen'

s l'

ni

vers ity , together with his ownUniver s ity o f Dub

lin, have acknowle dged his literary dis tinc tionbyhonorary degrees . In 1 8 79 he marr ied Miss Mar ieE lizabeth Wr ixon. A period ofContinental trave lfol lowed ,

ofwhich the most importantmemo rial ishis beautifu l vo lume

“A Garland from G reec e .

Bes ides this , his most substantial lite rary wo rkss ince the Tr io logy have beenthe “LIIQ' H IN ILette rs

"

of his brother Edmund (a deeply inter estingvo lume ) , the

“Sto r ies of Wicklow . in which hefu lfilled the cher ishes ] scheme which he and his

brother were to have exec uted in c ommon, and a

satire named Mephistophe les inB roadc loth . He

has also lately produ ced a wo rk of great antiquarian, histor ical , and, thro ugh the beau tifu ldrawings of Mrs . Arms trong. artistic interest— a

family history of the Ir ish branches o f the Savage

fam ily , whose blood has flowed inthe ve ins o f so

many Engl ish poets Tennyson, Lando r and

others . To these mu st be adde dArmstrong him

self,who (through his mother ) now repres ents the

G lastry branch ofthe Savages of the Ards .

I’rofessorArmstronglives inCo rk for the time that

his offic ial duties keep him there , but spends severalmonths of the summer in B ray,

W. Wick low ,

among sc enes in which , to this day. he finds the

strongest impu lse to his poetic fac u lty . I le has

takenno part inthe pass ionate politic s o f his dayand land, but is knownto ho ld dec idedly Unionistopinions . At the same time his interest inIre land

,

its sc enery , people and national history,is that of

a true patriot. H e is , indeed ,far too much of a

p0et, as well as of a patr iot,not to respect all thatgives his country an individual place and character inthe Emp ire ofwhich it forms a part.

.I . W. B .

THE LIVING AND THE DEAD.

OUR dead sleep on. Draw c loser to the fire ,And keep the poor life warm inthe lornbreastA l ittle longer— for the months or years .

I marvel which is wo rthier of des il‘thTheir lot who lie inthat co ld seeming- rest.

Or ou rs , with ac hinghearts andbu rstingtears ,Who mou rnfo r them , and stretch ou r hands and

To br ing them back to u s . o r start to findThe old s eats vacant and no dear one by

To learn the last br ight thought that flashesfrom the mind.

O, lo ve ly are the earth and the w ide heaven!Ho w fair a world to c lo s e the eyes upon

I“or ever' Thev who lo ved these breaking

Andthes e grw nwo ods . andyou pale tints of even,See them no mo re . The wander ing breeze of

dawn

Makes mu s ic inthe grasses of their gravesThe birds about the ir br ight homes tenantlessWarble to infant ears : the s unbeams creep

Into their chambers ’

u tter nakedness :The r ills bes ides the ir doo r s inl ight unheeded leap .

B ut we have still o u r Mo untains that we love,And the fu ll streams with all their melodies ,B oughs brightening w ith a promise of su re

spr ingI

'

the leve l beam that gilds the w inter grove,Stil l the qu ic k blo od that tingles inthe breeze,Warm s leep soe u rs of dawn

'

s awakening,

R eviving hope that reas se rts her swayEveninthe saddes t hear t, s o ft tw ilight hou rs

"Vhe reinto dream ou r weal'ines s away ,

Still the keen eye and still the m ind’

s navan

qu ishe dpowers .

(‘

omjwu sntes their co ld res t the loss of these ,

J oy of hale hearts , the raptu re of the strife,Imagination

’

s ec stasy , the flightOf ventu rou s tho ught. the meditative ease ,

The s ummer seas ons o f tempestou s life ?Or , find they larger bliss and lovelier light

B eyond the doors none enter save aloneWhether '

t were good to fo llow them and dare,As they have dared . the vo id of Death unknow n,Which of them shall ar ise from darkness and

dec lar e?

IN THE MOUNTAIN LAND.

Dns m Spirit, that, whate'

er the uncertaintongu eOf crude Conjectu re unto c re du lou s ears

May stammer , stil l to me,w ith heart yet young

To lear n, to feel , from out the meas u reless yearsSpeakest, and everywhere thro ugh earth , sky, sea,

Dost palpitate inceas eless energy ,

G E OR G E F R AN CIS A RM STR ON G . 49

Be itmine , while here these senses vibratingReveal Thee , life to l ife, to watch the play

Of Thine abo unding forces , and to s ingThy m ight, Thy love , Thy beau ty . day by day

Gather ing the tokens of Thy var iou s powerInm idnight storm or ir is of the shower .

And is this idleness .— to sit alone

Mor nafter mornabove the moving sea,

Bending the ear to every separate toneAm id its mu ltitudinou s har mony ,That comes from its great depths

'

unceas ing roar

Far off, or s ighs along its vo icefu l sho re :

To watc h its myriad motions hou r onhou r ,Eac h fleeting shadow and l ight that gleams and

fl ies ,Ondays of offshore w inds , whensunand showerAnd hu rrying c loud w ith ever - varying dyes

Parser across its breaker - whitene ddeepsWhere, l ight in gloom , the glimmer ing sea - bird

sweeps ;

And treasu re inthe inmost of the mindIts eve ry delicate co lor , sw irl and so und,

As some most prec iou s hint of Thee ; and findFit words whereinto ho ld their beau ty bo und?

Or he u ponthe mountains whenthe Spr ingAt las t has set the slow woods bu rgeoning,

And brood u ponthe valleys lov ingly ,Learning the tho u sand hu es that flame and glowOnevery br ightening bu sh and kindl ing tree ;Or whenglad tempes ts o

'

er the woodlands blow ,

Warm insome sheltered mos sy nook rec lined,

I'

ount every cadence of the wander ing wind ;

That so I may a.nearer commune ho ldWith Thee ,

who to deaf ears alone art dumb,And, bac k retu rning to a world grownco ldAmid Thy signs , to Thee from whom they come,Some unexpe cted sweetness I may hear

To wakenwonder o r to shame despair

NAVARINO.

XAvu u xo ! Xavarino

Where the s u rges sweep and roar,

O'

er Sphacteria'

s is let tower ingOnthy bare Mes senianshore .

As I glide bes ide thee , wonder ing,

Wave and wind thy name repeat.

And my pu lses bound and tingleWith a r aptu re s trange and sweet .

Navar ino ! Navar ino !Deeds o f l ight thy name recal ls .

England. Ru ss ia,F rance fo rgetnot

What they wrought beneath thy walls lBy thy rocks their fleets inthunderBattled for thy land

‘

s releas e .

There inval iant fight ou r warr iorsB roke the chainof trample dGreece.

WAR - SONG OF THE GREEKS.

What shall be saidIf pity. if pity, o r dread

Of death o r o f tortu re . have power to su bdueThe heart of the so ldier whose fathers of o ldThe ho sts of the Me de inthe battle- dust ro l led ,

The vangu ard of As ia at Marathons lew ?

By their blood for Hellas squandered .

What shall be the rude wor ld'

s gain?Earth w ithou t the star of HellasLinger ing o ver sea and plain

Had beendarknes s . Shal l hereafterEarth from Hellas find a new

Health and gladness , light and beauty ,I) r0 pping like the rainand dew?

IIers to mo u ld inrhythm ic orderSpo il of thought and board of truth

Heaved from ou t the Abyss and lyingShapeles s inou r palms uncouth ;

Hers to draw with hand PrometheanDownfrom heavena lovelier l ight ;

H ers to carve a co smic EdenFr om ou r chaos and thick night.

Navar ino ! Navar ino !Every wave thy name repeats

With a sweet prophetic mu s ic ,And my heart inraptu r

e beats ,As I sai l by sandy I’ylos .

Where the do lphins plunge and p lay ,R ound the rocks of weird Mothoni,Into Koroa

'

s gu lf of spray .

WA R to the knife !R ou se ye , aro u se fo r the s tr ife !

Letnot a tho ught of c ompass ionhave sway ,Repentance or pity take hold of the heart .

E very manbend with his hand onthe dart,Crouch like a leopard that waits fo r his prey .

Greeks , come ye forthF rom the south , from the no rth ,

Watch for the s ignal , abide and obey !


“'

ho shall deserveLife if we swerve

F rom the deeds we are handed to dare and to do?

Ages are gone

Since the glory , the glory that shoneF rom Hellas , has dropt. into darkness of night.

All that was left of her beau ty and powerRome inher ravine ha dspared to devou r ,

F rank or Venetianhad spu rned inhis might,Is trampled to du st,Inthe pr ide and the lu st

Of the Tu rk and his bastards whose breath is you rblight.

Athens , awake !Chio , thy lethargy break !

Is les , rend the chainthat vou r l iberty lo cks !Pou r down

,Olympu s , from valley and height.

Armato li and Klephts as a sto rm o f the night !Shepherds of I ’indu s , des c end from you r flocks !

ValiantMainote .

Hydr iote , Su liote .

Forth to the fight from yo u rmountains and rocks !

R ise’

inyou r ire,

“'

ith slaughter , w ith s laughter , w ith fire !

As a brood of fou l snakes from yo u r valleys expelMan. womanand c hi ld that inblasphemy howTo the Prophet o f Mec ca ,

w ith tu rbanonbrow !Sweep onthe knaves that ininfamy dwell

Inyou r fields they have s po iled .

Inyou r homes they have so iled

With their blood- dabbled feet and the ir o rgies of

He ll !

Earth w i ll adm ire,

As we fight. as we fight, and as pire ;F rance

,B r itain, R tis s ia . w ill c leave to o u r s ide

,

And across the rough oc eanAmerica'

s handStretc h to deliver the Light-

giving LandThe wor ld ever loV es , as a lo ver a br ide .

I’rate not of peac e !Strike ye for G reece !

Triumph , or die as yo u r fathers have die d!

LOVE OF NATURE.

Lovs nothing base, keep c leanthy heart,Thy senses c lear of sensual s lime

,

Live from the meaner str ifes apart,No r take the so ilu re of the time;

Thenloose thyse lf inGod’s fair earth ,

Taste all the ru ptu res of thy lot,Embrac e its boons , drink de e

p its m irth ,And let thy consc ience vex thee not.

AUTUMN MEMORIES.

A DIFFICULTY.

As Il eavcnno hate canbe ,tlr sco rnthat wo rketh dole,

And my hate of thee and my scornof theeNever canleave my sou l

,

It fo l loweth s u re that one ofu s twainInto the flame mu st go ;

And s ince thy c onsc ienc e hath no stainAnd all thy face doth glow

With a greasy , gleam ing r ighteou snessAnd anarchangelic dye,

If either it be , thou wilt confess ,It cannot but be I ;

So there cometh a qu estionof interest,Where were it good to dwell ?Which wou ld the rest cons ider the best,Thv Heaveno r my Hell?

BYRON .

Wat-2 s ru sset beec h - leaves dr ift inair ,And w ithering brac kengilds the l ing,

And red haws br ightenhedgerows bare,And only plaintive robins s ing,Whenau tumnwhir lwinds c u rl the sea.

And mo untain- tops are co ld with haze,Thensaddest thoughts revisitme

,

I sit and dream of the o ldendays .

Whenchestnut- leaves lie yellow onground,And brownnuts break the pr ickled hu sk,

And nests onnake dbo ughs are found,And swallows shr ill no more at dusk ,

And fo lks are glad inhou se to be,And u p the fine the faggots blaze,

Thenc l imb my l ittle boys my kneeTo hear me tel l of the o ldendays .

WAS it al l- glo r iou s , Byron. to have diedTo loose the despicable yoke that boundDegenerate G reece , to str ive onalienground

To break a mou lder ing chain, and yet der ideWith peevish lip the stern, the stubbornpr ide

Of thine ownEngland , hu rl ing from his placeF reedom

’

s Imper ial Foe infou l disgrace ?

Weask not. And for that pu re lovewhich wounThy ru ined heart like the greenivy- twine ,


Rome, one resu lt of which was his second long

poem . Amou r s de Voyage , his earliest vo lume of

verse , Ambervalia ,

” having been published du ring his res idence at Oxford. In 1 832 , he res ignedhis headship and went to Amer ica, settling at

Cambr idge, Mas sac hu setts ,wher e he engaged him

sel f ia literarv wo rk . and where he m ight have re

mained permanently . had henotbe entemptedhome

by the offer of an exam inership in the EducationO ffice

,wh ich wou ld sec u re him a small bu t reg ular

and permanent income,now o f some impo rtanc e

to him,as he was lo oking fo rward to unimmediate

marr iage . This event took plac e in1 854 , and fo r

the next sevenyears , du r ing whic h three childrenwere bornto him , he l ive dqu ietly athome . Itwas

a time of happy content, bu t also of unwearyinglabo r of many kinds , and at last the strainbegant o te ll . In 1 860,

he was compelled to take whatwas believed to be onl y a tempo rary leave of absence from his du ties . Malvern, the Is le of Wight,and the continent, were s u cces s ively vis ited, and in

September , 1 86 1 , on the ItalianLakes , he caught

a chil l,which by the time o f his ar rival inF lo rence .

du ring the fo llow ing month . had develo ped into a

malar ial fever . The fever wore itself o ut. but its

victim was wo rn o u t also . Paralys is,wh ich had

been threatening,stru ck him down,

and on the

1 3th of November , 1 8 6 1 . Arthu r H ugh ('

longh

passed away . H is body l ies in the little P rotes tant cemetery , ju st ou tside the walls oi F lorence ,u ponwhich the beautifu l Tu scanhills lo ok down.

Any attempt to antic ipate the verdic t of po ster ity u ponClough

'

s c ontribu tion to English poetrywo u ld be foo l ish and fu ti le . To the mo re ser iou sand thoughtfu l of his c ontempo raries it mu st have

a pec u liar inte rest, for it u tters— and u tters withs ingu lar clearness and adequacy

— their own as pirations , their owndou bts , and no t les s , their own

certainties . For (‘lo ugh . tho ugh in one sense a

poet of doubt, was in a deeper sense a poet of

faith— faith inthe Heart ofGoodness at the Heart

o f the Universe , which w il l make its warmth felt,and its beatings heard by Him who ,

inthe darkne s s , is No t disobedient to the heavenly vis ion.

QUA GURSUM VENTUS.

\s ships , becalme dat eve, that layWith canvas drooping, s ide by side,

Two towers of sail at dawnofday

Are sc arce long leag ues apart descr ie d;

Whenfell the night, upsprung the bre eze,

And all the darkling ho urs they plied,

No r dreamt but eac h the self- same seasBy eac h was c leaving,

s ide by s ide :

E'

enso— bu t why the tale revealOf those

,whom year by year unchanged,

B r ief absence jo ined anew to feel ,Asto unded , so u l from sou l estranged ?

At dead ofnight their sails were filled,

And onwar d each re jo ic ing steered

Ah, neither blame, fo r neither w il led ,

Or w ist, what first w ith dawnappeared !

To veer , how vain! On,onward strain,

B rave barks ! Inl ight, indarkness to o ,

Through winds and tides one compas sgu idesTo that, and yo u r ownselves , be tru e.

B u t O b lithe breeze ! and 0 great seas ,Tho ugh ne

'

er . that ear l iest parting past,Onyo u r w ide plainthey jo inagain,Together lead them home at last.

One po rt, methought. al ike they sought,One pu rpose ho ld where

'

er they fare,O bounding breeze . O ru shing seas !

At las t, at las t, unite them there !

WITH WHOM IS NO VARIABLENES

NEITHER SHADOW OF TURNING.

IT for tifies my so u l to knowThat, though 1 perish , Truth is so :That. howsoe

’

er l stray and range,Whate ’

er I do , Thou dost not change .

I steadier step whenI recallThat, if 1 s l ip , Thou dostnot fal l .

ON A GONDOLA.

AF LOAT ; we move. Del ic iou s . Ah,

What els eis l ike the gondola?This level floor of l iqu id glassB egins beneath u s swift to pass .

It goes as tho ugh it went aloneBy some impu ls ionof its own.

(How light it moves , how softly ! Ah ,Were all things like the gondo la ! )

H ow l ight it moves,how so ftly ! Ah ,

Cou ld l ife , as does o u r gondo la,

Unvexed w ith quarrels , aims and cares ,

And mo ral du ties and affairs ,Unswaying,

no iseless ,sw ift and strong,

For ever thu s— thu s glide along !(How l ight we move, how so ftly ! Ah ,

Were life bu t as the gondo la ! )

AR TH UR H UGH CLO UGH . 53

With no more motionthanshou ld bear The best of the tables and the best of the fareA freshness to the langu id air ; And as fo r the others the devil may care ;

With no more effort thanexprest It isn'

t o u r fau lt if they dare not affordThe need and naturalness of rest, To sup l ike a pr ince and be drunk as a lord.

Which we beneath a gratefu l shade So pleasant it is to have money , heigh ho !Shou ld take onpeacefu l p il lows laid ! So pleasant it is to have money .

(How l ight we move, how so ftly ! Ah ,

Were life bu t as the gondo la ! ) We sit at ou r tables and tipple champagneEre one bottle goes , comes another again:

Inone unbrokenpassage hom e The waiters they skip and they scuttle abou t.

To c los ingnight from Opening morn, And the landlord attends u s so c ivilly ou t.

Upl ift at whiles s low eyes to mark So pleasant it is to have money. heigh ho !Some palace front, some pass ing bark ,

So pleasant it is to have money .

Through windows catc h the varying shore,And hear the so ft turns of the oar ! It was bu t las t w inter I came u p to town,

(How light we move, how softlv ! B ut already I '

m getting a l ittle renown;Were life bu t as the gondo la ! ) I get to good hou ses w ithout mu ch ado ,

Am beginning to see the nobility too .

So pleasant it is to have money , heigh ho !AS I SAT AT THE CANE So pleasant it is to have money .

As I sat at the cafe, I said to myself,Thev may ta lk as thev please abou t what thevcall

O dear ! what a pity “I"? ever sho u ld 10 89 it !For they are the gentry that know how to use it :

pelf,Thev may sneer as thev like abo ut eating and 80 grand and so gracefu l such manners , su ch din

dr inking,

ners .

B ut yet, after all it is we are the w inners .

So pleasant it is to have money . heigh ho !So pleasant it is to have money .

But help it I cannot, I cannot help thinking,

How pleasant it is to have money , heigh ho !How p leasant it is to have money.

I sit at my table engrand seigneu r , Thu s I sat at my table engrand seigneur ,And whenI have done, throw a c ru st to the poo r ;

And “hp“ I had done threw a c ru st to the P00"

Not only the pleasu re , one’

s sel f, ofgood living, NOt the pleas u r e

, Of eating,

But also the pleasu re ofnow and thengiving.Bu t also the pleas u re ofnow and thentreating.

So pleasant it is to have money , heigh ho ! So pleasant it is to have money . heigh ho !So pleasant it is to have money .

SO pleasant It IS to have [110 11952

Itwas bu t last winter I came up to town,But already I ’m getting a little renown;Imake new acquaintance where

'

er I appear ;

I ainnot too shy, and have nothing to fear .

So p leasant it is to have money , heigh ho !So pleasant it is to have money .

I drive through the streets , and I care not a d— n;The people they stare, and they ask who I am ;And if I shou ld chance to runover a cad,

1 canpa). for the damage if ever so bad .

SAYNOTTHE STRUGGLE NAUGHT AVAILETH.

SO pleasant it is to have money , heigh ho ! SAY no t, the str uggle naught availeth ,So pleasant it is to have money . The labor and the wo unds are vain,

The enemy faints not, no r faileth ,We 811 0“to 0 0? box and l00k downonthe Pit, And as things have beenthey remain.

And if it weren’

t low shou ld be tempted to spit ;

We 1011 and we talk until people look u p . If hopes wer e du pes , fears may be l iarsAnd whenit ’

s half over we go out to su p . It may be , inyo u smoke conceale d,

So pleasant it is to have money , heigh ho ! You r comrades chas e e'

ennow the fliers ,

80 pleasant it is to have money . And,but for you possess the field.

They may talk as they please abou t what they cal lpelt.

And how one o ughtnever to think of one'

s self.And how pleas u res of thought su rpass eating and

drinkingMy pleas u re ofthought is the pleasu re of thinkingH ow pleasant it is to have money

,heigh ho

How pleasant it is to have money .

54

For while the tired waves , vainly br eaking,

Seem here no painfu l inch to gain,Far back , thr ough c reeks and inlets making,

Comes s ilent, flooding in, the main,

And not by easternw indows only,

Whendaylight comes , comes inthe l ight,Infront, the sunc l imbs slow , how s lowly ,B u t westward, look , the land is br ight.

QUI LABORAT, ORAT.

O O NLY Sou rce of all ou r light and l ife,Whom as ou r tru th , ou r strength , we see and

feel ,Bu t whom the hou rs o fmortal moral str ife

Alone ar ight reveal !

Mine inmost sou l , before The e inly brought,Thy presence owns ineffable, divine ;

Chastised eac h rebel self- eneentered thought,My w ill adoreth Thine .

With eye down- dropt, if thenthis earthly m indSpeechless remain, o r speech les s e

’

endepart ;Nor seek to see — fo r what of ear thly kind

Cansee Thee as Thou art?

Ifwell - assu red ’

t is bu t profanely boldInthought’s abstrac test fo rms to seem to see ,

It dare not dare the dread communionho ldInways unwo rthy Thee ,

0 not unowned,Thou shalt unnamed fo rgive ,

Inwor ldly walks the prayer less heart prepare ;And if inwork its l ife it seem to l ive ,

Shalt make that wo rk be prayer .

Nor times shall lac k , whenwhile the work it pl ies ,Unsummone d powers the blinding film shal l

part,

And scarce by happy tears made dim, the eyesInrecognitionstart.

B u t, as Thou w i llest, give or e’

enforbearThe beatific su persensu al s ight,So ,

with Thy bless ing blest, that humbler prayerApproac h Thee mornand night.

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY.

TH E MAGAZIN E OF P OE TR Y.

Must still believe, for sti ll we hopeThat ina wor ld of larger scope,What here is faithfu lly begunWill be completed, not undone.

My child, we still mu st think , whenweThat ampler l ife together see,Some tr ue resu lt wi ll yet appearOf what we are

, together , here.

PESCHIERA.

WHAT vo ice did onmy spir it fall ,Peschiera ,

whenthy br idge I crost?'

T is better to have fought and lost,Thannever to have fought at all .

The tr icolor — a trampled rag

Lies , dirt and du st ; the l ines I trac kBy sentry - boxes yel low - black

,

Lead up to no Ital ianflag.

I se e the (‘

roat so ldier stap dp onthe gras s ofyou r redoubts ;The eagle w ith his black wings flou ts

The breath and beauty ofyou r land.

Yetnot invain, although invain,0 meno fB resc ia, onthe dayOf los s past h0pe , I heard you say

You r welcome to the noble pain.

You say, Since so it is , good bye

Sweet life, high hope ; bu t whatsoe’er

May be , or mu st, no tongu e shal l dareTo tel l , The Lombard feared to die !

Yo u said (there shall be answer fit) ,“And if ou r childrenmu st obey ,They mu st ; but thinking onthis day

’T w il l less debase them to submit.

”

You said (Oh , not invainyou said) ,Has te , brothers , haste ,

while yet we may5The hou rs ebb fas t of this one dayWhenblood may yet benobly shed.

”

Ah , not for idle hatred, not

For honor , fame, nor self- applau se,

B u t for the glory of the cause,You did, what wi l l not he forgot.

As, yet, whenall is thought and said,

The heart still overru les the head ;Stil l what we hope we mu st be lieve,And what is givenu s receive ;

And though the stranger stand, ’t is true,

By force and fortune'

s r ight he stands ;By fortune which is inGod’

s hands ,And strength , which yet shall spr ing inyou .

IVI LLI AM H E N R Y VE N AB LE . 57

This vo ice did onmy spir it fall ,Peschiera,

whenthy br idge I crost,’

T is better to have fought and lost,Thannever to have fought at all .

S U B M ISS I O N .

Howe’er we tu rn, and pau se and tremble,

Howe'

er we shr ink , de ceive, dissemble,Whate '

er ou r doubting, gr ief, disgust,The hand is onu s , and we mu st.

"

I is commonsense, and humanwitCanfindno better name thanit.

Su bm it, submit !

S I N .

O wickedness , O shame and grief,And heavy load, andno rel ief !0 God, 0 God ! and which is worst,To be the cu rser or the cu rst,

The victim or the mu rderer?

I D L E N E SS .

Contaminationtaints the idler first

A CT IO N .

We ask action,And dream ofarms and confl ict ; and str ing u p

All self-devotion’s mu sc les ; and are set

To fo ld up papers .

V A G U E N E SS .

Prate thenofpass ions you have knownindreams ,Of huge exper iencegathered by the eye ;Be large of aspiration, pu re inh0pe,Sweet infond longings , but inall things vague.

— 1hid.

M O D E ST Y .

Ma idenreserve tornfrom off it, grows never againto rec lothe it ;

Modesty brokenth rough once, to immodesty fiiesfor protection.

— Tbe B otbie of Taber -na Vuolicb.

W ISH E S .

Wo u ld I cou ld Wish my wishes all to rest,

And know to wish the wish that were the best !

U N K I N D N E SS .

B ynature he to gentlest thoughts inclined,To most severe had disc iplined his mind ;H e held it duty to be half unkind.

WILLIAM HENRY VENABLE .

ILLLAM HENRY YENABLE , of Cinc innati,was borninWarrenCounty, Ohio , Apr il 2 9 ,

1 836 . H is father , ofwhom the sonsays ,H e was both meek and brave.

Not haughty and yet proud.

”

was a character exceptional inhis time and placehe was a manof books and fine tastes in the

country while it was yetnew , ona small farm thathe tilled with his ownhands . Inthe longer seasonhe worked onhis farm , and inthat shorter , co ldone inwhich the farmers ’ boys and gir ls got theirlearning he taught the distr ict- schoo l . He was a

scho lar ofcons iderable attainments and w ide reading, and the pu r ity, and s incerity, and s imple dignity ofhis life illustrated the pr imitive meaning of

the word gentleman: he was a gentle man. In

short, with his friendship fo r natu re and his loveofliteratu re, hewas such a manas his sonwel l mightc ite for proof that he is a poet born. And on

the mother ’s s ide, too , Dr . Venable comes from a

brainy stock of farmers w ith literary tas tes and

tendenc ies . Ina home fu ll of books , with such afather ’

s keenapprec iationof them for a cons tant

inspiration, young Venable very natural ly and

very ear ly became an enthu siastic reader and

ardent student.

He soonoutgrew the limits of learning inthecountry schoo l , and went to townfor the advan

tages of higher institutions . His c ircumstancesdid not permit him to take a cou rse at co llege ;but, with his academ ic pr ivi leges and his indu stryand ardor inavailing himself of them, he was not

s low incoming into notice as aneducatedmanandaneducato r . His inte llectual cu r ios ity had takenhim into Latin, Greek and German, bu t mu chmor e into sc ience, histo ry and lite ratu re ; whichlatter— notably the las t— are his specialties . To

the promotionof liberal education in these, byteac hing, and speaking, and wr iting, he. has givenhimself with anenergy that, but for his strong wi lland cheerfu l temperament, wou ld long ago havewrecked the delicate phys ical organization whichhe has inher ited .

Notwithstanding his natu re is under laid w ith astratum of intense melancho ly , and inspite of his

apparently s l ight ho ld on existence, he is an

optimist, a res o lu te and indefatigable worker , anda successfu l manof affairs . His labor has gainedhim a delightfu l home ona romantic bill at Tu s

cu lum (a subu rb of Cinc innati ) , where dwel ls a

charming family— a wife, as he truly charac terizesher inthe dedicationof one of his books of verse,

wise , noble, loved and loving, and half a dozenadmirable children.


His qu ick eye for character , his delic iou s humorand sw ift imagination, and his dramatic instinctof scene and situationmake him an interestingsto ryteller whether inspeaking or in wr iting ; aswitness his “Thomas Tadmore ,

”a narrative lec

tu re of the“ humor and pathos of boy- life, w ith

which he has del ighted so many audiences— not tomentionthe var iou s sho rt sto r ies of like characterwhich he has contr ibuted to per iodicals and news

papers .

B ut such work as this— and meas u rably , too , the

same may be said of his'

poetic utteranceh - has

beenbut the byplay of a career of earnest, to ilsome (o ftenirksome) endeavor . His l ife has beendevoted to the higher inte rests of his time

, espe

c ially the fu rtherance of l iberal edu cation and

l iterary cu lture. With tongue and pen he has

wrought incessantly for the diffu sionof “ sweetnes s

and light.

” He has wr itten innumerable artic lesfor the per iodical press , and has lectu red onelevat

ing subje cts hundreds of times to audiences inall

parts of the Ohio Valley and elsewhere . He has

done a great deal ofper iodical andnewspaper workinthe line of edito rial wr iting, and has made ex

tens ive or iginal research inlocal history and biography. Inthe yet obsc u re annals of the settlement and early growth ofthe No rthwes t Terr itory— north of theOhio and west oftheAlleghanies— heis anauthor ity . He is a member of numerou s so

cieties for the advancement of knowle dgeand c ivilization, and has beencompl imented w ith the co l

legiate degrees ofA .M . and LLJ ) .

Among Dr . Venable’

s first publications was a

l ine ofbooks for u se insc hools— a H isto ry of the

United States ," “ The Schoo l Stage,” “ The Ania

teu r Acto r ,”and “

Dramatic Scenes . Fo l lowingthese, “Chronic les of the Great Rebell ion,” PrizeE ssay onthe Use of the Dictionary , “ Facts and

Exper iments inChemistry," “ Sketc hes of Cinc in

nati Librar ies ,” A S eries ofStudies of the Literatu re of theWest,

" “ F ootpr ints of the P ioneers inthe Ohio Valley ," “ Sketch of the Life ofWm . D.

Gal lagher ,” DownSouth B efo re theWar, et c.

His first vo lume ofpoems ,“ J une ontheMiami ,

appeared in1 871 The Teacher ’s Dream , a gift

book , in 1 880 ; Melodies of the Heart, Songs

of F reedom , and Other Poems ,”in 1 884

, and“ Songs ofSchoo l - days , in1 889 .

OfVenable as a man, the distingu ished artist C.

T . Webber , ofCinc innati , writes : I know a great

many things about Venable which it wi ll not do totell here ; bu t he wi l l be takenoff one of thesedays ,and then those who remain can speak out, and

they wil l love to speak it, and the wor ld will be thebetter for the hearing of it ;

— and a dds that he is

as keenly al ive to the moral beau ty , to the ihte llectual and artistic harmony of his peers as he isto the mu s ic of the Mianns so ft waters , that flow ,

one mu st think, inthe more contented melody forhis praise:Another fr iend, inwr iting of him as a poet, saysMr . Venable is a poet bornand a poet by cu ltu re .

He has the fine poetical phys ique , and l ives andbreathes in the melody of natu re . All his tastes

,

all his aspirations , all his belongings , are coloredthrough and through with the ethereal blood of

song.

THE TEACHER'

S DREAM.

THE weary teacher sat aloneWhile tw il ight gathered on:

And not a sound was heard around :The boys and girls were gone.

The weary teacher sat alone,

i'

nnerved and pale was heBowed

’

neath a yoke ofcare. he spokeInsad so liloquy :

Ano ther round. another roundOf labor thrownaway .

Another chainof to i l and painDragged through a tediou s day.

Ofno avail is cons tant zeal ,Love

'

s sacrifice is loss .

The hopes ofmo rn, so go lden. tu rn,Each evening,

into dro s s .

'

l squander ona barr enfieldMy s trength , my life, my all :

The seeds I sow w i ll never grow .

They per ish where they fall ."

He s ighe d, and low u ponhis handsH is ac hing brow he pressed :

And o’

er his frame erelong there came

A soothing sense of rest.

And thenhe lifted up his fac e,B ut started back aghast,

The room by s trange and suddenchangeAssumed proportions vast.

It seemed a senate hall , and oneAddressed a listening throng :

Each bu rning wo rd all hosoms stirred ,

Applau se rose lo ud and long.

The’

wildere dteacher thought he knewThe speaker

'

s vo ice and look .

And for his name , said he,

Is inmy record book .

"

the same


Not knowledge only ente rs inthe planAnd consummationofthe ComingMan,And not bel iefalone , however tru e :The best is not to rest, it is to do ;

The ComingManshal l be a manofdeeds

Employing su bstance and supplyingneeds .

H is wisest word shal l bear a fitting-

act,

And all his spec u lationbloom to fac t :The goodness ofhis ethics he shall proveBy logical resu lts ofac tive love .

THE VENAL VOTE .

AN D thou didst sell thy vote , and tho u dids t buy '

Contempt disdains to po int at su ch as ye .

Sl ink from the s ight of freemen— s l ink ahd die .

Name no t the name of Ho ly Libe rty .

Stainno tyo u r flag by glanc ing at its stars .

Ye are po llu te dby a shamefu l c r ime :

Ye haveno right but r ight to pr isonbars :Go ! branded onthe fo rehead fo r all time .

TO MY WIFE .

Wls s, noble, loved and loving wife ,

These heart- bo rns ongs , a gift. I br ingTo thee ,

whose deeds , thy mu ses , s ingThe poem ofa perfec t. l ife .

E M E R S O N .

The Transc endental is t— he now tr anscends

The c loud ofdeath to jo inimmortal friends .

The Sau di oftheWest. the Saint, the Sage ,The no r th - sprung Plato ofanun- G reek age ,Hath changml his habitation. Lo ! the shoreOftine and matte r bears his fo rm no more .

Onearth he has bec ome that sac red thingOf living B ook for mankind

'

s bettering ;A Book immortal , yet his other ghostTakes note authentic of the unknowncoast

— The Concor dSeer .

G I R L H O O D .

A charm attends her everywhereA sense ofbeau ty :

Care sm iles to see her free o fcare :The hard heart loves her nnawarrAge pays he r duty .

She is protec ted by the skyGo od spir its tend he!

Her inno cenc e is panoply :G od

'

s w rath mu s t onthe m is c reant“

'

ho dares o ffend her .

The School Girl .

LAURA JACINTA RITTENHOUSE .

H E su bject of this sketc h , Mrs . Lau ra Jtenhou se, mfe Arte r . was born in 1 841 , inan

humble but wel l - provided home inPu las ki County,Il lino is , on the crest of forest- crowned hills over

looking the watem of the beautifu l and u suallyplac id Ohio river . The strong natu ral endow

ments of her parents (Dr . and Mrs . Daniel Arter )were transm itted to the child. Her opportunitiesto improve thes e qualities were few and poor , bu t

as good as the sparcely settled country afiorded.

OnDw ember 31,1 8 63

, Miss Arter was marr iedto Mr . Wo od R ittenho u se . a prosperou s merchantand hono red c itizenof Cairo ,

Ill . She has l ivedvery happily

'

w ith him, and is the mother o f a

bright gir l and fo u r s tudiou s , indu str ious and

promis ing boys .

For many years after he r mar riage , the cares of

home and the training of her children occupie dMrs . ltittenhou se

’

s time so fu lly that her l iterarywo rk was almo st abandoned,

bu t for the past tn! )o r three years she has had a few hou rs oc cas ionallyto de vo te to her pen, and that she improves theseinte rvals the co lumns of many magazines and

papers abundantly testify .

A woman pu re and fine of character , unfl inchinginprinc iple ,

s trong inher love of tr uth and ju stic e

,

genero u s . warm - heartml . magnetic , cheery and

gifted with large exec u tive power , she has beenanatu ral leader among her kind, first inall benevolent and so c ial enterpr ises , a tireless worker forhome and chu rch and fel low - kind . Her warmest

inte re st has , fo r years . been givento the work ofthe Woman

’

s ("

hristianTemperance Union, and forthat body and its great cau se she has worked andwr ittenunceas ingly .

Although Mrs . R ittenhou se is the author of a

number of poems her be st efforts are her sto r ies .

She po ssesses the pec u liar fac u lty of c lothing everyday and even c ommonplace inc idents in most

attractive garb . She never dr ifts into the unrea

sonably sensational . She inves ts all the tOpics w ithwh ich she deals and all the plots she constru ctsw ith rare interest to the reader , and her style is atonce healthfu l and elevating. M . B . H .

IN THE COUNTRY.

c oaGE o t'

s chaplets onthe tree s ,No longer flame- like leaves are hung.

And crystal ices flash ou t whereThe mellow fru its o f autumnc lung.

The ce dars droop their state ly heads .

B owed downw ith diamonds pu re and br ight,And fleecy robes have draped the earthWhere flowed the go ldensummer l ight.

LA UR A j AC/N TA R I TTE N H O USE .

The w ild- br iar twines its thorny lengthsThro ugh the rai l- fences , rough and o ld,

And inthe fields the dead stalks stand,

Where gleamed the au tumn'

s harvest gold.

Withinthe woods no more the birdsWith flu tt’

ring wings the greenleaves stir ,And

'

round the hives no more the beesAre bu zzing with theindrowsy whirr .

The royal l i ly pallid l ies ,The frost drank u p the roses

' blood,

And all the dainty flowers fle dBefore the winter ‘

s chilling flood.

c lover - breath makes sweet the air ,

The moss is co vered o'

er w ith snow ,

And only scar let berr ies flashWhere blu sh ing sweet- br iars u sed to grow .

The roads that wound ins ummer time,Like yel low ribbons thro ugh the shadeOf forest trees

, now seem to be

So many bands of ermine made ;And all athwart the wes ternskyThe rose - tinged c lo uds are thickly spread ;Fold afte r fold with silv '

ry fr inge ,ls drawninfesto ons overhead.

.ind inthe midst the old hou se stands ,The dear o ld house, my home no more ;

Andgir l ish forms flit thr ough the rooms , I KNOW.tnd childrenplay around the door .

Butnevermore beneath its roofShal l we who made and love it meetOur hungry hearts canonly yearnOver its memo ries

,old and sweet.

And though to others it may seem

queer , o ld- fashioned ho u s e at best,We know how many happy yearsItgave us shelter , peace and rest.

.And whenaround u s cares spr ing up ,

And Hope w ithho lds her che er ing ray,fl ur dr eary, gloomy thoughts tu rntoThe dear old home

, so far away .

AN OCTOBER MORNING.

u: ruby mornsprang from the c los e embrace ofnight,

Her soft w ings flutt r ing 0 er the drowsy earth ,v r bosom throbbingw ith tenthou sand gemsOf pearls and flas hing sapph ires . and the birth

o f loving kisses fall ing from her nectared lipsUp onthe slumber ing birds and flowers

hat slept. through all the weary , gloomy night,Thattheymightgreether inher youthfu l hours .

F l

Her rosy fingers shook with gentle chidingThe. lazy trees , til l every trembling leaf

Tu rned to the sunits many diamonds :She, taking from her heart a gleaming sheaf

Of sunl ight, darted inthe darkened woods ,And, p icking up the shadows pinned them high

Uponthe hills , inlines of so ftened blue,B idding the sunbeams intheir places lie .

Where the r ich , mellow fru it, go ldenand red,

Lay onthe hard, white ground, and whisperingTo them some kindly words , she onward sped,

Pau s ing to bathe her beau teou s formInevery gl itter ing,

l impid stneamBending her grace fu l head bu t ju st a momentTo se e her mirro red fac t~the gentle gl

That shone from ou t her eye s .— thenflying on

She skimme dabo ve the lusc iou s , du sky grapes,And dr ew her magic l ines of light and shade,And gave e

'

ento the fleecy c louds their shapes .

Thenas the noon- tidewaves ebbed o'

er thewor ld,Without a vainregret or parting s igh ,

She kissed her children,fo lded '

round her azurerobes ,

And inthe oceansank— c ontent to die.

I xxow just how my gir lhood‘

s homeIs beautifu l to - day :

Just how the spr ing- time sunsifts downI ts mystic , go ldenspray .

The orchard trees their snowy foamOf fragrant bloss oms toss :

And threads of l ight play through the leaves ,Like ve ins of s ilv'

ry floss .

I know ju st how the yard is fi lledWith roses swe et and rare ;

Ju st how the honeysu ckles spil lTheir incense onthe air ,

The l ilacs w ith their hearts of go ld.

The snow- balls pu re and white,

The stu rdy ce dars where the birdsF ind shelter inthe night.

The o ld sw ing inthe co o l ing shade.

Waves idly to and froThe swing where words of tru est love

,

Were spokenlong ago .

The maple where the mocking- birdAnd br ight—w inged robinl’ l 'l ll

And the wood- lark w ith its c lear . sweetnotes ,The leaves with rapture thr ill .


I know just how the l ittle room ,

That once was mine, appears ,The room that knew my sweetest joys ,

And saw my gir lish tears ;The dormer windows , qu eer and small ,

The pleasant lane inview ;Ah ! whenthat peac efu l home was m ine,

Few were the cares I knew .

My heart was filled with light and joy,

My l ife a go ldenglow ;Su ch light and careles s days for me

Cancome no more, I know .

And yet I know— 0h ,sweeter yet,A havenfar more blest :

Where I canfind, injoy or woe,A su re and happy restA home where I shal l ever reign,

Of its dear self a part ;Where prying eyes cannever gaze ;

Dear love , w ithinthy heart.

Swe et were those happy, gir lish days ,The present swe eter fat

My life is now bright as the sun,’

T was thena little star .

Fo r as each year steals sw iftly by ,I learnthy goodness more ;

Some gentle trait, some loving thought,I had not knownbefo re .

Dear love , true heart, dear kindly face ;Thank God for thatglad day,

Whenangels gave me this new l ifeAnd put the o ld way.

R E C O M P E N S E .

Some lives are c la dw ith darkness ,Through long and weary years ;Some eyes have lost. their br ightness ,Inunavailing tears ,

B u t c louds and tears shall vanishInradiant l ight above,Where sou ls that see more c lear ly ,Shal l know that God is love .

"

— Recompense.

W E A R I N E SS .

Life l ies before her blank and co ld,A sunless sky, a roadway dreary ;Alr eady travel - wo rnand faint,With aching limbs and feet a- weary .

— ou the Ferry.

THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON .

HOMAS WENTWORTH H IGGINSON was

born inCambr idge, Mas s . , December 2 2 , 1 82 3.

H e graduated at Harvard College in 1 841 , and atthe divinity schoo l in1 847 .

Mr . H ig ginsonwas first s ettled over a chu rch inNewbu rypo rt in1 847 , bu t preached himself ou t ofthat pu lpit w ithin three years by his vigorouschamp ionship of the anti - s lavery cause . In the

same year— 1 850— he was, through no des ire ofhis

own, the candidate of the F ree So il party for Congress from the third Massachu setts distr ict .

F rom 1 852 to 1 858 Mr . H igginsonwas inchargeof the Free (

‘

hnrch inWorc ester . His people wereinhearty acc ord w ith the anti - s lavery faith and

wo rks of their pastor . The or iginator of the planto save B u rns , Martin Sto well , was one of the

faithfu l abo litionist c irc le inWorcester . Mr . B ig

ginson, w ith Wendell Phillips and Theodore Parker , were indicted for mu rder shortly after theB u rns episode , onac count of the rather mysteriou s death of one of the defenders withinthe cou rt

hou se du ring the melee ,but the case was never

brought to tr ial .In1 8 56 this free pastor of a free chu rch worked

energ etically ino rganizing parties ofno rthernemigrants to aid insec u r ing po litical contro l of Kansas ,

spent some time inthe new state , and served

on the st aff of J ames H . Lane in the c ivi l warwh ich ens u ed . InKansas Mr . H igginsoncame to

know_J ohnB rown, of Osawatomie, w ith whom his

relations o f confidence and mutual regard contin

u ed until the latter '

s death .

To the c ivil war H igginson, as a philanthropist,looke d forward fear less ly and even confidently .

Like F rederi ck Douglas and so many others , hesaw

'

that s lavery , at any rate , mu st go down in

the snuggle . At once , in 1 861 , it was arranged

with Gov . Andrew that he shou ld raise a regiment,but ju st thenrec ru iting was stopped and nothingres u lted for the moment. In 1 862 , nevertheless ,Mr . H igginson rec ru ited two white companies inand about Worceste r , and was incamp as com

mander of one of them when he received a most

unexpected request to take command of the 1 st

regiment of South Caro l ina vo lunteers , then justorganizing. H ow be traine d and led to victorythese refugees , fr esh from slavery inSouth Caro l inaand F lor ida ,

has been modestly related by Col .H igginson himself in one of the most fascinatingand instructive books which ou r c ivil war produ ced— “

Army Life ina B lack Regiment.

"Onan

exc iting expedition u p the Edisto ,in 1 863, Co l .

H igginson received a wound which robbed him of

health and strength for several years . After a

TH OM AS WE N TWOR TH H I GG I N SON . 65

short fu r lough he attempted to resume activeduties , bu t inthe fo llow ingyear found it necessaryto resignhis commiss ion.

The most aggress ive of abol itionists , brave as

the bravest among so ldiers , Col . H igginson hasyet always continued to live inthe present. Untilall men and women are indeed equ al ly free , andenjoy equ al opportunity for happiness and selfimprovement, there will always be abundant ocenpatiou fo r a philanthropy as broad as his . He

himself wou ld, no doubt, pr ize most highly his fairfame as the ever faithfu l championof the weakersex . We canall honor his efforts for the elevationof women, whether we share or not his hope inthepur ificationofpo litics through their influence . His

outspo kensympathy for home ru le inIreland hasbeencharacter istic of the man, and, of cou rse, alsoperfectly s incere and unselfish .

Col . H igginsonis a scho lar ; a lover ofbooks’

and

of“div ine philosophy .

"He is none the less a fit

representative manof Cambr idge and Bostonfor

that. W. C. L .

THE SOUL OF A BUTTERFLY.

Oventhe field where the brownquails whistle,Over the ferns where the rabbits lie,Floats the tremu lous downof a thistle.

Is it the sou l of a butterfly

See ! how they scatter and thenassemble ;Fill ing the air while the blossoms fade,Delicate atoms , that whir l and trembleInthe s lanting sunlight that skirts the glade.

There goes the summer’

s inconstant lover,

Drifting and wander ing, faint and far ;Only bewai led by the upland plover ,Watched by only the twilight star .

Comenext August, whenthistles blossom ,

See how eac h is al ive with wings !Butterfl ies seek their sou ls inits bosom ,

Changed thenceforth to immorta l things .

PRELUDE.

I nnsxu sn one night that the calm hosts of

heavenHad lost their changeless paths ; and as I stoodBes ide the latticed window

, I cou ld watc hThose strange, fair pi lgrims wander ing fromtheir

shr ines .

Up to the zenith rose the moon, and pau sed ;Stars went and came, and waxed and waned

again.

Thenvanishe dinto nothing ; meteors paleSto le, soft as w ind - blown blossoms , down the

night ;Till I awoke to find the co ld gray mornHymning its lonely dirges through the pines .

Were itnot better that the planets fail ,And every heavenly orbit wander w ide,Thanthat this humanlife, its years like stars ,Shou ldm iss theaccustomed sequence of content?All times are good ; life’

s morning let u s s ing,

Its sunny noon, high noon, the who le wor ld’s

Life were monotonou s with its morning hou rs ,Came not the hu rryingyears to shift o u r mood,Unfold analtered heavenand spread its glowO

’er the changed landscape of time

'

s afternoon.

HEIRS OF TIME .

F R OM street and square, from hil l and glenOf this vast wor ld beyond my door ,

I hear the tread of marching men,The patient arm ies of the poor .

The halo of the c ity ’

s lampsHangs , a vas t torc h - light, inthe air ;I watc h it through the evening dampsThe mas ters of the world are there.

Not ermine-c lad or c lothed instate,Their title - deeds not yet made plain;

B ut waking ear ly, to iling late ,

The heirs of all the earth r emain.

Some day, by laws as fixed and fairAs g uide the planets intheir sweep ,

The childrenof eac h ou tc ast heirThe harvest- fru its of time shall reap .

The peasant brainshal l yet be wise,The untamed pu lse grow calm and still ;

The blind shall see , the lowly r ise,And work inpeace Time’

s wondrou s w ill .

Some day,without a trumpet

'

s call ,This news w ill o ’

er the world be blownThe heritage comes back to all !

The myr iad monarchs take their own!

A SONG OF DAYS.

0 R ADIANT summer day,

Whose air , sweet air , steals on from flower tofiower l

Cou ldst thou not yield one hou rWhenthe glad heart says , This alone is May?


O pass ionate earthly love,Whose tremu lou s pu lse beats onto life’

s bestboon!

Cou ldst thou notgive one noon,One noonof all noons , all other bliss above?

0 so lemnhumanl ife,Whose nobler longings bid all conflict cease !Grant us one day ’

s deep peace

Beyond the utmost r umor of all str ife .

For if no joy canstay ,Let it at leas t yield one consummate bloom ,

Or else there is no room

To find delight inlove , o r l ife , o r May.

l WOULDARISE ANDGO UNTO MY FATHER .

To 'rmNE eternal arms

,God,

Take u s , Thine erring children,in;

F rom dangerou s paths to o bo ldly trod,F rom wandering thoughts and dreams of sin.

Those arms were round ou r childish ways ,A guard through helples s years to be ;

Oh leavenot ou r matu rer days,

We still are help less w itho u t Thee .

We tr u sted hope and pr ide and strengthOu r strength proved false, ou r pr idewas vain

Ou r dreams have faded al l at leng th,

We come to Thee, O Lord, again!

A gu ide to trembling steps yet be !

G ive u s of Thine eternal powers !So shall all ou r paths lead to Thee ,

And l ife smile onlike childhood’

s hou rs .

PANTHEISM AND THEISM.

No HUM AN eyes Thy fac e may see,

No humanthought Thy form may know ;B u t all creationdwells inThee ,

AndThy great life through all doth flow !

And yet, 0 strange and wondrou s thought !Thou art a God who hearest prayer ,And every heart with sorrow fraughtTo seek Thy present aid may dare.

And though most weak ou r efforts seemInto one c reed these thoughts to bind,And vainthe inte llec tual dreamTo see and know the Eternal Mind

,

Yet Thou wi lt tu rnthem not as ideWho cannot solve Thy l ife divine,B u t wou ld give u p all reason

’

s pr ideTo know their hearts approved by Thine.

So, tho ugh we faint onlife

’

s dar k hill ,And thought grow weak , andknow ledgefiee,Yet faith shall teach u s cou rage sti ll ,And love shal l gu ide us onto Thee .

THE HOPE OF MAN.

TH E I’as t is dark w ith sinand shame,

The F utu re dim with dou bt and fear ;B ut, Father vet we praise Thy name

,

Whose gu ardianlove is always near .

F o r manhas str iven, ages long,

With falter ing steps to come to Thee,And ineac h pu rpose high and strongThe influ ence ofThy grace cou ld see .

He cou ld not breathe anearnest prayer ,B u t Thou was t kinder thanhe dreamed,

As age by age brought home more fair ,And nearer still Thy kingdom seemed .

B u tnever rose w ithinhis breastA tru st so calm anddeep as now ;

Shal l not the weary find a rest?

Father , Preserver , answer Thou !

’T is dark around, ’

t is dark above,B u t through the shadow streams the sun;We cannot doubt Thy certainlove ;A Man’

s true aim shal l yet be won!

CO U R A G E .

Cou rage is fir st and last ofwhat weneedTo mould a nationfo r tr iumphal sway :

All else is empty air ,A prom ise vainly fair ,

Like the br ight beau ty ofthe oceansprayTossed up toward heaven, butnever reac hingthere .

Not inthe pas t, but inthe fu tu re , weMust seek the mas te ry

Of fate and fo rtune, thought and word and deed .

— Memorfal Ode.

B E A U T Y .

What channel needs ou r faith except the eyesGod leaves no spot of earth unglorified ;

Pro fu se and was tefu l , lovel ines s r ise ;New beau ties dawnbefore the old have died .

— Poems fr om Thalatta .

”

CH A RLES LO TI N H I LDR E TH .69

CHARLES LOTIN HILDRETH .

EW young poets achieve distinctionby theirfirst books . Mr . H ildreth is a conspicuou s

exceptionto this ru le. Not only has he wonpraisefrom those cr itics who are most carefu l in the

distribu tion of it, but his poetry seems to havepleased m inds that are seldom swayed by eitherrhyme or rhythm . Mr . H i ldreth is a New Yorker ,was bornAugust 2 8th , 1 856 , and hence has ju stpassed his thirty- third year . He is related ,

through his father (who was of Pu r itanstock ) toPres ident Franklin Pierce, and also to DanielWebster , while Gen. BenjaminB utler is marr ied to

one of his near kinswomen. He was edu cated

at the College of the City of New York . He was

always noted for his des ire to obtain fresh andnovel exper iences , this tendency sometimes leading him into strange and evenperilous adventu res .

In 1 887 be dragged a man, his wife and his

child from a bu rning bu ilding inB rooklyn; andagain inNew York , du ring 1 889 ,

he performed a

like service for a girl .He beganto write verses at a very early age ,

though he has beenwise enough to destroy all theprodu cts of his youthfu l penf He published in

his nineteenth year , however , a novel entitledJudith ,

"and a novelette , The New Symphony ,"

these being fo llowed later by Damar'

s Revenge .

For a cons iderable time he suppo rted himself byliteratu r e

; wr iting stor ies , sketches , etc , and even

acqu itting himsel f of that most unu sual performance for a poet, anar ticle of sc ientific charact er .

He is pass ionate ly fond ofmus ic and is somethingof anamateu r mus ic ian. B oth onart and mus iche has wr ittenmany c ritical essays . F or a longtime he so dou bted concerning his poetry that heallowe d it to be seenonly by certain friendly eyes .

But hav ing once ente red the lists as a lyr ist fo rthe magazines , he contribu ted copiou s ly to

the Atlantic , Lipp incott’s , the O verland, the

American, the Manhattan,'

and Ou r Continent.

No t unti l this year were his co l lected poems published , and a few months ago the volume appearedunder the title of The Masque ofDeath , andOtherPoems . Its rec eptionhas beenalready referredto as almost unique for spontaneo u s cordial ity onthe part both of public and press . H is publishershave recently issued another work of his , entitled

a story of adventu re ; and he has a novelnearly complete d.The beauty of Mr . H ildreth ’s poetry cannot be

too highly commended inthis age of metrical flippaucica and calisthenics . H is chief qual ities are

anexquisite dignity and chastity of express ion, afine taste for the su btlist and sweetest melodies ,

and an admirable freedom from all the tr icks .

petty conce its and idle manner isms with which somuch Engl ish verse of thepresent centu ryabounds .

H undreds of lines co u ld be qu ote d inevidence of

these equ ipments . With his nervou s and s inewyhand, Mr . H ildreth shou ld give u s more in the

fu tu re. Let u s hop e they w ill (some of them , at

leas t) be pictu res painted ona large r canvas . No

one cou ld have acc omplis lu -d the po tent lyricaleffects w ith which we mu st ac credit him , and fail inmore su stained work . He has the r ight sense of

reserve, the true eye and sens itive ear,the patient

capac ity for chis eling and po l ishing. I canthinkof no young er Amer ican poet to

—day who muals

him except Miss Edith Thomas : and she, with all

her merit, is occas ionally given to dilettantearchaisms and unhappy imitations ofKeats whichMr . H i ldreth wou ld never al low his mu s e to dallywith . As for any young er Engl ish poet w ithwhom to compare him , I know ofnone whom su c hcompar isonwou ld not disparage . E . F .

THE MASQUE OF DEATH.

A r r xsnu . pas s ul me inthe stre et to - day

do loro l ls prw ess ionmoving s lowWith all the gr im respec table displayWhich makes a hideou s moc kery ofwoe .

Ah , bu t'

twas brave ! A spectac le so fine

M ight almost tempt anhumble w ight to die,Fo r once inpro ud prw 'minence to shineChief actor ina gris ly trage dy .

Intru th I tu rned away ins ick disgu stWith all the proud parade of plume and pall ,

And some smal l pity fo r the s enselms du st

(‘

onsig ned to earth with ghastly festival .

The savage past stil l c l ings to u s , we deem

It sac red du ty to display ou r woeInost entatiou s mummery , and dreamThe dead are hono red by the dreadfu l show .

The grave is very humble. and the pr ideThat foo ls u s her e the dead have all forgot ;

The king and s lave lie calmly s ide by s ide,Each wel l contented with his lowly lot.

Impartial earth receives into her breastThe varied brood she bears , the great and

small ,H igh - thoughted manand stolid bru te , the bes tAnd worst unfavored, for she loves them al l .


B utman, too consc iou s of himself, resentsThe pu re democ racy ofNatu re

’

s plan,And rears above his bones brief monuments

To hear the empty ta le : Here lies a Man!

Years wear serenely on, another ageTreads laughing onthe sorrows ofthe last,

Time wears the letters from the granite page.

And weeds grow onthe memories of the past.

And, rightly viewed, it is a grac iou s doom ;

The dead and their traditions pas s awayTo givenew life, new thought, new beauty room ,

A higher law of being to obey .

GHOSTS.

TWE LVE by the chime : from idle dreams awaking,

I tr im my lamp andmount the creaking stair ;The shadows through the carvenarches shaking,Seem mocking phantoms that pu rsu e me there.

The faded portraits inthe lamp- l ight’

s glamou rLook downwith co ld inqu is itorial gaze ;

The scu lptu red busts , the knights inru sted armor,

Loom large against the w indow’

s pictu red maze .

Thick dust falls from the time worn, tatteredhangings ,

Thick dust l ies onthe tessel lated floor ;My step sounds load, the door

'

s sepu lchral c langings

B oll far along the gusty corridor .

Ah me l amid my dwelling’

s desolationIt seems some fable thatmy brainrec alls ,

That once a glad and gal lant generationLoved, laughed, and feasted inthese lonely halls .

Silent the vo ice of song, and hu shed the laughter ,Cheer less and cold the empty banquet- room ;

The spider weaves ingilded gro inand rafter ,The shrill w ind whistles through the vau lted

gloom .

Vanished those dear ones , by what hidden highways ,

Inwhat far regions , o’

er what sto rmy waves ,I know not, nor inwhat oblivious byways ,The sere grass s ighs above theirnamelessgraves .

And yet, as if my sou l 's imper iou s longingWere as a spell unspokenyet supreme

,

Pale shapes seem through the hol low darknessthronging,

Like those wanvisitants which haunt a dream.

They gather round me through the silent spac es ,

Like c louds across the waning twil ight blown;Till all the room is filled with flicker ing faces ,And hovering hands that reac h to wring my

own.

With friendly greeting and famil iar gesture,Wearing the form and featu re that they woreWhenyou th and beau ty c lothed them like a ves

tu re,

They come, the unforgottenones ofyore.

Oncheek and brow I feel their chill caresses ,Like co ld, faint airs ofau tumns long ago ;

I hear the s ighing of their ghostly tresses ,And trail ing oftheir garments to and fro .

Up from the g ulfs oftime, the blind abysses ,

Those radiant phantoms ofthe past arise,And br ing againthe perfume of their kisses ,The peril and the splendor oftheir eyes .

B u t cold their lips , they breatheno warmaflection,And cold their breas ts as frozenshapes of snow ;

Their luminou s eyes are but a vagu e reflection;Stray sta rbeams inthe ice- bound stream below .

’T is well ; nay, if by spell or incantationThe loved and lost I might againbeho ld,

B reathing and warm in youth ’s br ight incarnation,

And glowing with the loveliness of old,

That word I wou ld w ithho ld, for their sakes onlyEstranged and changed as ina haggard dream,

Time tossed and tempes t- beaten, old and lonely ,To their young eyes what specters we shou ld

seem !

FROST.

Tanpane is etc hed with wondrou s trac ery ;Cu rve inter laced with c u rve and l ine with line,

Like subtle meas u res of sweet harmony ,Transformed to shapes of beauty crystalline.

Slim , grace fu l vines and tendr ils , of su ch sortAs never grew save insome fairy wor ld,Wind up from roots ofmisted silver wro ughtThrough tu l ip flowers and lil ies half unfu rled .

Shag firs and hemlocks blend with plumy palms ,Spiked cac ti spring from feathery ferns and

weeds ,

And sea - blooms , such as rock insoutherncalms ,M ingle their foamy fronds with sedge and reads .

CH AR LE S LO TI N H I LDR E TH . 71

And there are flights ofbirds with iris w ingsThat shed inmidqair many a br illiant plume,And scintillating shoals of sw imming thingsThat seem to float inclear greenoceangloom .

And there are diamond- cru sted diadems ,

And orbs of pear l and scepters ofpale go ld,Sto red up incrystal grottoes , lit w ith gems

And paved with emeralds of price unto ld.

And marvelous arch itecture of no name,

Facades and shafts of loveliest for mand hue,Keenpinnac les and turrets tipped with flame,And fretted domes ofpu rest sapphire blue.

All these the genii ofthe Frost lastnightWrought through the stil l co ld hou rs by charm

and rune ;Andnow , l ike dreams dispel led before the l ight,They float away invapo r onthe noon.

THE CRIMES.

Tm; night is stirred with l iqu id mu rmu r ings ,That r ipple so ftly thro ugh the s i lent hou r ,As ina plac id poo l the dimpled r ingsCurve round the bro kenpetals of a flower .

From the gray steeple po inting to the stars,Dim inthe darkling c lu ster of o ld trees ,Thego ldennotes pou r through the belfry barsAnd fil l the air with choral harmonies .

Over the moonlit hills they come and go ;Over the misty fields they melt and die ;Over the glimmer ing r iver , sweet and low ,

Floating and failing onthe night- Wind'

s s igh ;

Rea-moaning through the arches ofthe wood,

Like the last breathing; of the organ’

s tone,Wheninanold cathedral ’s so litudeA pilgr im l ingers there to pray alone ;

Mingl ing faint echoes w ith the bu bbling fallOfwaters indeep glens and lonely dells ,As at the close of some br ight fes tivalSoft strains ofmus ic blend w ith low farewells .

Whispering sweet dreams inmany a s leeper'

s

ear

Incarnatememor ies of other yearsSpeaking w ith vo ices he no mo re shall bear ,So that he starts and wakes inhappy tears .

AMONG THE MOUNTAINS.

Y: DONE , majestic silences that keepThe hoary secrets ofpr imeval time

MUTABlLlTY.

LIF E is a journey w ith bu t l ittle rest ;A cru is ing bark that anchors nowhere long ;A m igrato ry bird that bu ilds no nest,Seekingnew haunts onpinions sw ift and strong ;

Anendless longing, and a fru itless quest.

H O N E ST Y .

Ah,no ,

we lack the cou rage to be real ;Eac h inhis var iou s fo lly to ils and tries

To mou ld his natu re to some false ideal ,And walks a- tiptoe to increase his s ize ,Decked. out in borrowed plumage, jackdaw

wise .

Who dare say : I have neither go ld nor lands ,H igh heritage ofanc ient blood or name ;

Labor hath set its seal uponmy hands ;Sonof the sons of toil unknownto fameI am , and thereunto 1 takeno shame?

— Ins incerity .

F E A R .

And wail ing shril ly l ike a ehildless woman,The bleak w ind moane dand clamored fltfu lly ,

And l ike the stealthy step ofnothing human,The dead leaves seemed so ftly pu rs u ing me .

— Random Chords.

Titans , that w ith dark frontlets ponder deepOnunconjectu red mysteries su bl ime

,

Like minds of lofty mou ld that stand alone ,Wrapped inaw ilderness ofmighty thought

The shadow ofyou r so lemnpower is thrownOver the wor ld below

, and it has caughtAnd awed qu iet, somber yet serene,A grave repose . a co ld. au tumnal gleam _

While pas t you r firm feet, shod inr usset green,With joyou s mu rmu r flows the broad, bright

stream ,

As light and song and laughter m ight il lumeSome o ld cathedral 's immemorial gloom .

INVOCATION .

TAKE what thou wilt and leave me love, 0 Fate !

Take all I have— friends , honor and fair fame;

Tu rnme to laughter inthe eye of hate ,Clothe me w ith scorn and bind my brow with

shame,G ive me fo r bread the bitter fru it ofcare,G ive me to drink the po ison- w ine of pain.

Seal me w ith s leepless so rrow and despairTake all , change all , 0 Fate ! so love remain.

72 TH E M AGAZIN E OF P OE TR Y.

THOMAS MACKELLAR .

T IS hardly necessary to acquaint our readers

with the hymns of Thomas MacKeIlar ; theya re known far and wide to Chr istian exper ience.

B ut the manh imself is endeared, as Dr . Palmer

was , to many hearts that have beencomfortedand upl ifted by his power of sac red song, and

to such a sketc h of his l ife may not prove unwel

c ome.

He was bo rninNew York c ity Augu st 1 2 , 1 81 2 ,of a mixed stock , compounded of &otc h , Dutc h ,H uguenot and English . He began l ife’

s work atthe age of fo urteeninthe office of The New York

Spy . F ou r“sticks ” of so lid brevier was the first

day 's foundation of his wo rldw ide fame as a

master -

pr inter . At the age of seventeenwe find

him promoted to the matu re pos itionof proofreader inthe office of J . J . Harper

— a place that.stimu lated his greed for reading,

for the sake of

which he had preferred the pr inter'

s c raft to

others . He accepted onMay 1 st, 1 833, the pos ition of proo f- reader in the type and stereotypeo ffice of Messrs . J ohnson Smith , Philadelphia.

H is famil iar ity w ith all the var ied work of the

pr inting office , and his skill and taste with types ,cau sed his promotionto the foremanship of theestablishment. In 1 845 he was taken into the

house as a partner . ln1 856 he started The’

Ifrp o

graphic Advertiser . He also wrote a treatise on

practical printing,which has reached its fou rteenth

edition— a work which contains a great fund of

h istorical and practical information, and has its

u ses for the publisher and the anthor as wel l as thepractical pr inter . After the death of Mr . J ohnsonin1 860, Mr . MacKellar became the head of the

firm , in a hou se which may now be called the

largest type foundry inthe wor ld. In 1 834 Mr .

MacKellar marr ied, and tenchildrencame to blessand br ightenhis home. H is w ife and five childrenhave been taken in death . Mr . MacKellar

’

s

hymns reac h the heart of the bereaved and sor

r owfu l , becau se they are the produ ct of prayer inthe time of tears . Notwithstanding the inheri

tance ofanaching head, and t-he'

daily labors ofanexacting bu s iness , Mr . MacKellar was a to iler on

Sundays and atnights for the benefit ofhis fellows .

He started one of the first miss ion schoo ls in a

neglec ted sectionof the c ity . As anelder in theo ld Pine- streetChu rch , and afterwards inthe FirstPresbyter ianChu rch ofGermantown, he frequentlym inistered to the s ick and dying, to the poor , the

vicious , the struggling. He stil l retains members hip inthe H istorical Soc iety, the Academy of

Natu ral Sc iences , the Pennsylvania Museum of

Art, and inother organizations ; and bes ides his

Let me kiss him for his mother !Loving thought and loving (1d

Seek nor tear nor s igh to smother ,Gentle matrons , while ye read ;

Thank the God who made you human,Gave ye pitying tears to shed ;

Honou r ye the ChristianwomanBending o

’

er another ’s dead.

THE HYMNS MY MOTHER SUNG.

THE R E are to meno hymns more sweetThanthos emy mother sungWhenjoyou sly around her feetHer l ittle childrenc lung.

time and influence, he has beena generou s giver ofhis money to benevo lent objects .

And how, w ith al l this pressu re of bus iness , .did

the literary gift withinhim find time for expres

s ion? “The Amer icanPr inter ” was wr ittenandcompiled du r ing lu l ls in bu siness hou rs . The

volume ofpoetry entitled Rhymes Atweentimes

was made inthe dinner- hou r and atnight. Some

times the fifteenminutes ’walk homeward wou ld

give birth to a sonnet, or two or three verses .

Sometimes anhou r or two before bedtime wou ldhum with rhyming bees . W. C. S.

LET ME KlSSHIM FOR HIS MOTHER.

LET me kiss him for his mother !Ere ye lay him with the dead ;

Far away from home, anotherSu re may kiss him inher stead .

How that mother ’s lip wou ld kiss him

Till her heart shou ldnear ly break !H ow indays to come she ' ll miss him !Let me kiss him for her sake .

Let me kiss him for his mother !Letme kiss the wander ing boy

Itmay be there is no otherLeft behind to give her joy.

Whenthe news ofwoe the morrowB u rns her bosom like a coal ,

She may feel this kiss of sorrowFall as balm uponher sou l .

Letme kiss him for his mother !Heroes ye, who by his s ideWaited onhim as a brotherTill the Northernstranger died ;

Heedingnot the fou l infliction,B reathing inthe fever - breath

Letme, ofmy ownelection,G ive the mother ’

s kiss indeath .

TH E: N EW YOR K

PUBLIC LIBRARY

m os. Ll” ! A”

76

B u t seem l ike hymning angels broughtFrom Heaven, and left behind.

Themisty hills ofbygone gr ief,Once dark to look upon,

Stand out l ike bless ings inrel iefAgainst the setting sun.

The rainmay fal l , the w ind may blow ;The sou l unhindered s ings ,While, like the bird

’

neath shelter ing bough ,She sits with fo lded wings

A brief and pleasant resting space,

A glance at Beu lah land,Before she girds herself apac eFor work that waits the hand .

Thengiving thanks to H im who poured

Refreshments inher cup ,She hears the cal ling of her Lord,

And takes her labor up .

A POET AND HIS SONG.

HE WAS a manendow’

d l ike other men,With strange varieties ofthought and feel ing ;

His bread was earn’

d by daily to il ; yet whenA pleas ing fancy o

’

er his mind came stealing,

H e set a trap and snared it by his art,And hid it inthe bosom ofhis heart.

Henu rtu red it and loved it as his own,And it became obedient to his beck ;He flxed his name onits subm iss iveneck ,And graced it w ith all graces to him known,

And thenhe bade it lift its wing and flyOver the earth , and s ing inevery earSome soothing sound the s ighfu l sou l to cheer ,

Some lay of love to lu re it to the sky.

THE BROTHERHOOD OF MAN.

IfANY manmu st fall for me to rise,Thenseek I not to c l imb . Another 8 painI choose not fo r my good. A go ldenchain,A robe of honor is to o poor a prizeTo tempt my hasty hand to do a wrong

Unto a fellow man. This l ife hath woeSuffic ient, w rought by man’

s satanic foe ;And who that bath a heart wou lddarepro long

Or add a sorrow to a strickensou lThat seeks some healing balm to make itwhole?My bosom owns the brotherhood ofman;

From God and tru th a renegade is he

Who scorns a poor maninhis poverty,Or onhis fellow lays his superc iliou s ban.

TH E M A GAZI N E OF P OE TR Y.

Sc ience, invention, art and song,The l ife and progress ofthe age,

The warfare w ith the false and wrongThat patr iots and Christians wage,

LEWIS C . BROWNE .

EWIS CREBASA BROWNE was bornin1 81 0.

His early opportunities fo r education were

s lender . H is youth was passed in farm and c lerkwork and in teaching schoo l . At the age of

twenty- three he became a minister of the Uni

versalist denomination, and is now the o ldestl iving. representative of its clergy,

with two or

three exceptions . H is pr inc ipal parishes were at

Fort P lainand Troy, N . Y . , Nas hua, N . H ., Nor

w ich , Conn. , Hudson, Cantonand Newark , N . Y .

In 1 835 he wrote“B r iers and Berr ies ,” which

was or iginally published inthe Utica E vangelicalMagazine and Gospel Advocate, whence it foundits way all over this country and evento England.

Inm iddle l ife Mr . B rowne produced but few poems ,but almost half a centu ry later , with ser iou slyfailing eyes ight the poetic v isionseemed restored

to him ina remarkable manner , and after the age

of seventy he wrote “ Threescore and Ten,” “The

Model M inister ,” and “ Teac hing School andB oarding Around.

”He has wr itten l ittle beside

these, and has beentoo reticent, both inproducingand inpublishing. For someyears he has lived ona small farm at Honeoye Falls . N . Y . , some twentym iles from Rochester . He has perfect possess ionof his mental fac u lties , and has retained his physical vigor in large meas ure, except that his eye

sight has beenvery feeble for upwards of thirteenyears . He has preac hed but l ittle during this

per iod, but occas ional ly has offic iated by recitingthe sc r iptu re selections , and the hymns as wel l ashis sermonfrom memory . Those who have beenpr ivileged to hear these services descr ibe them as

exceedingly impress ive and affecting. I . B .

THREESCORE .AND’

TEN.

OUR age to seventy years is set ;’Twas so the sac red lyr ist sung.

I’ve crossed that boundary, and yet

My inner being seemeth young.

I feel no wr inkles onthe heart,Time has not chilled the social glow,

Mu sic and chastened m irth impartTheir pleas ing spell of long ago .

The birds that carol at the dawn,The bees that through the c lover swarm,

And childrenplaying onthe lawn,For me have lostno ear ly charm.

LE WI S C. B R OWH E .

All that promotes the weal ofmen,Or keeps them ontheir upward way,

Attracts me at threescore and tenAs under life’

s mer idianray.

And though my eye is doubly dim ,

Andnatural force begins to wane,Less strong ofarm and l ithe of l imb,Still thought andmemory remain.

But ear ly fr iends ofwhom I dreamAregrowing fewer year by year ,

And if I linger I shall seemA lone belated stranger here .

The friendly deference I meetFrom younger tr avelers near and far ,Whencross ing o

'

er the crowded street,

Or stepping from the halted car ,

Reminds me that the Alpine snowHas dr ifted over brow and beard ;

’Tis sweet to be beloved, I know ,

But solemnthu s to be revered.

Ittells me that the hou r is near ,Although the journey has beenlong,

WhenI from earth shall disappearAndmingle with the silent throng.

Butearth w ill smile as gay and greenAnd Heavenstil l shine ingo ld and blue,WhenI have vanished from the scene,And friends wil l soontheir calm renew .

How little good we canachieveWith all the fo ils encountered here lThenit were weak and vainto gr ieveWhenpass ing to a purer sphere.

New ranks will ,ru sh with deed and thought

To bear themoral standard high ;And the small good that I have wroughtHas takenroot and cannot die.

And onth is truth I restmy heartSince all to futu re l ife aspire,He who implanted will not thwartThis inborn, deathless , pure des ire.

As the long- voyaging GenoeseTo thenew wor ld he sought drew near ,The balm of flowers borne -

ou the breezeCame from the land his faith to cheer .

77

80 whenwenear the Edenshore, These words came home with keenrebukeBefore its hills of light are seen, To me, annoyed by petty jostles ,The fragrance of its peac e comes o

’er And brought to m ind the th ings that Luke

Thenarrowing sea that flows between. Has wr ittenofthe old Apostles

BRIERS AND BERRIES.

’Twas ona c loudy, gloomy day,

About the m iddle ofSeptemberIf r ightly I the date remember

For certainly I cannot sayWhenI , astr ide my pac inggray ,Was plodding onmy weary wayTo spend a night and preac h theWord

To people who had never heardThe Gospel , or , to say the least,Had never viewed it as a “ feast

Offat things fu l l ofmarrow .

Insilence as I rode alongAnd c rossed the s ilver Unadilla,

The robinsung his plaintive songAnd faintly drooped the fading l ily .

The smoky sky, no longer blue,Assumed a dim and dusky gray ,

And au tumno ’er my spirit threw

The co lor ing of its owndecay,And I almost forgot the wordsOf Him who preac hed of flowers and

The l ily and the sparrow .

I had beenponder ing o’

er and o ’er

The tr ials of the traveling preacher ;The heavy bu rdens that he boreIncarrying tru th to every creatu re ;

H is wear ied brainand frame worndown,Emac iated and dyspeptic ;

The hardened bigot’s ironfrown;The jest of scoffer and of skeptic ;

One mocking Revelation’s page,

Another r idicu l ing reason;With the rude storms he must engage

And all inc lemenc ies ofseason.

Inthis despondent, somber mood

I rode perhaps a mi le or two ,

When, 10 ! bes ide the way there sto odA little gir l with eyes ofblue,

Light hair and l ips as red as cher ries ;And through the br iers with mu ch ado

She wrought her way to pick the berr ies .

Quoth I , My l ittle girl , it seemsTo me you buy you r berr ies dear ,For downyou r hand the red blood streams ,

And downyou r cheek there rolls a tear .

”

Oh yes , said she, but then, you know,

There will be br iers where berr ies grow .

”

78

TEACHING SCHOOLAND BOARDING AROUND.


Who faced the world w ithou t a fear ,And counted evenl ife not dear .

And s ince, from that good hou r to this ,Insunny , dark , or sto rmy weather ,

I still reflect that wo eand blis sInl ife'

s deep cu p are found together .

Come smil ing fr iend or frowning foe :There wil l be br iers where berr ies grow .

My'rnouos '

rs go back to the ro sy prime,And memory paints anew the s cenes

Afar inthe bleak New England c l ime,

Though half a centu ry intervenes .

Ona highway corner the schoo l - ho u se stands

Under anelm - tree , broad and tal l ,And rol licking childreninlaugh ing bandsCome at the mas te r

'

s warning cal l .They pile together their s leds and skates ,Hang hats and hoods inthe entry - wey ,

And gathering penc ils , books and s lates ,Di ligent study succeeds to play .

A mountainstream tu rns a gray stone m il l ,That runs w ith a low and s lumberou s sound ;

And there infancy I wander still ,Teaching schoo l and boarding around.

Near by is a far m- hou se, large and square,With doors and casements of faded red ,

A sto op that shades from the summer glare,And wood well pi led inthe shelter ing shed .

There '

s ananc ient barnwith swallow - ho lesH igh inthe gable , three ina line .

The lithe bay co lt inthe deep snow ro lls ;F rom racks of hay feed the doc ile kine

Closely are huddled the tilu oro u s sheepAs the flails resound onthe threshing- floor ;

The pilfering pou ltry s tealthily c reepAnd si lently watc h at the Opendoor

For eac h stray kernel of shell inggrain.

Fu l l ofcontent. was the lot I fo undAmong the farm - fo lk , honest and plain,Teaching schoo l and boarding around.

The farmer '

s table. has lavish suppl iesChickenand sau sage of flavo r rare,

(‘ru llers and cookies and puddings and piesAre items r ich inthe bill of fare .

The teac her s leeps ina w ide soft b ed

Kept c leanfor g ues ts inthegreat spare room,

With gay chintz curta ins over his head,And blankets wove inthe old hand- loom .

The thr ifty wife, er e the break ofday,

Spr ings from her rest, though themornis cool ,And, breakfast ended, we haste awayO

’er the shining cru st to the distr ict school .

Here morals ar e

pure and manners s incereAndmeninchurch and instate renowned

Have made the first step ina grand careerTeaching school and boarding around.

Inthe moonl ight evening,long and still ,

The youth assemble from many a farm ;

Though the air witho u t is crisp and chill ,The re '

s a br ight wood tire and a welcome

E . H . C H A P I N .

0 0 0 l 0

H is work is done : and what shal l be the sequel?What r ipened fru itage shal l his miss ionyield

H is place is vacant, he has leftno equal ,So skille da reaper inthe whitened field.

Still as I read his words of l ight and splendor ,Intreas u red vo lumes from the ladenshelf,

I hear that vo ice, fu l l , round, clear , deepandtender ,His l iving sermons are so l ike himself.

— TbeModel Minis ter .

warm ,

Walnuts and apples are passed around,The hands of the c lock get a backward turn,

Innoc ent fro lic and mirth aboundTill low intheir sockets the candles bu rn.

Yo ung menand maidens ofartlcss waysAre drawntogether ingroups l ike this ;

There hands are jo ined inthe ru ral playsAnd sweet l ips meet inthe g uileless kiss .

Tw inhearts ar e linked w ith a go ldenchain,And love w ith marr iage is ear ly crowned.

How oft indreams I am ther e again,Teac hing s chool and boarding around.

Q Q Q Q O

No manco u ld blend so mu ch of force and beauty,Such radiant imagery w ith tones so grand,

Such s trong persu as ionto the. way ofduty ,Such skill to move, to so ftenand command .

Befo re the Father , meek and reverential ,I le bowed submiss ive as the feeble lamb ;

Bo ld as a lionwhenw ith arm potentialI le bravely battle dagainst fraud and sham .

Shrewd as the serpent, watc hfu l , w ise and wary ,Still l ike the dove he knew no stainofgu ile ;

He s corne dinspeech from his true thoughtto varyWhether the mu ltitude m ight frownor smile.

With manly strength , the tenderness ofwomanWas inhis textu re exqu is itely wrought ;

H is char ity enc irc led all that '

8 human;H is chiselle dbrow beame dwith electr ic thought.

Goodness and genius wer eso deftly blendedInthe broad countenance, so strong and kind ;

A heart so s imple w ith a mind so splendidInhim alone so happily combined .

TH E N EW YO R K

PUBLIC LIBRARY

ASTON. LEN ! A“TILDEN FOUNDAT“

M AR CUS B LAKE Y ALLA/ON O .

MARCUS BLAKEY ALLMOND.

T Augu st 1 7 , 1 851

bornMarcu s B lakey Allmond, son of AlfredD. Allmond and Jane Allen B lakey . Here , also ,

withina radiu s oftwenty - five miles were the homesofJames Madisonand Thomas Jefferson, and herealso is s ituatedthe Univers ity ofVirginia. Itwou ldseem that young Allmond was well - favored inthematte r of birth -

place, having the example of two

illu str ious menever before him , andthe pu re , strongbreath of the mountains from which to draw

inspiration.

The elderMr . Allmond was , before the war , a mer

chant inStanardsville, and owner of large landedes tates adjacent to the town, and of a numb er of

slaves . H e was also member of the magisterialcou rtandpostmaster . Mrs . Allmondwas ades cendant oi a captainin the Revo lutionary war , whowas also a large land- owner , leaving a largeamountofproperty to his heirs . But the Civil war came,home and fortune were swept away , and youngAllmond was obliged to depend u ponhis own re

sou rces for a livelihood ; first a farmer boy, thena

c lerk ina store, but through it all a c los e student.

Alternately attending and teaching schoo l until1 869 , he thenentered the University of Virginia,

where he remained two years . At the age of 2 1 he

became principal of the Par is , Mo . , H igh School ,w ith six assistants and 372 pupils . The fo llow ingyear he returned to the Univers ity of V irginia and

completed a fou r -year cou rse, winning the highhonor of magazine medal ist, and anaward of a

fifty-do llar gold medal for the best artic le inthemagazine for the entire session. Mr . Allmond was

also editor of the magazine and sec retary of the

JeffersonSoc iety. After leaving the Univers ity , hetaught schoo l inV irginia, until he was elected tothe chair of Ancient Languages inthe Male H ighSc hoo l , Lo u isville, Ky. While there he marr ie dM iss V irginia Carey Meade ofVirginia, daughter of“

' illiam WashingtonMeade, and niece of B ishopWilliam Meade, the talented lea der of the Episc opalc hu rc h . Miss Meade is a relative of the Washingtons , Rando lphs , Nelsons , Pages and Lees of Vir

ginia. She, too ,was a teacher , and is the r eal

hero ine of Professor Allmond'

s poem Estel le .

Two years later Professor Allmond took the chairo f Mental and Moral Science and Logic in the

South -WesternUnivers ity , Jackson, Tenn bu t be

ing againcalled to his chair inLou isvil le , be determined to retu rnthither and did so . Here be re

mained five years , receiving several calls to otherc o lleges du r ing that time, but being attac he d toLou isville he preferred to remain there. Du r ingh is professorship inthe H igh Schoo l “ Estelle " was

A heart that was tunedTo a song ever sweet

,

A hand that was warmTo welcome and gree t,

Are lying forever .

Where r ich and poo r meet,Inqu iet ('ave H ill .

The star and the c rown

I placed there, above ;The c ross of sweet flowersAnd l ily - white dove

B u t faintly fo reshadowedMy infinite love ,Inqu iet Cave H ill .

Bu t the star and the crown

Are faded and gone ,The dove and the c ross

Together have flown,

And the grave ofmy lovedIs there all alone,

Inqu iet Cave H il l .

81

publishe d. The first editionwas exhau sted infive

we eks . A sec ond editionwas soonpublishe dandso ld . Pro fesso r Allmond has also publishe d“Agr ico la, anEastern Idyl ," atnl fl ‘Ou tlines of LatinSyntax and R u les for Gender which havefound a ready sale . Many of Pro fessor Allmond’

s

wr itings are unpublished . becau se he has beenso

immu red inhis du ties as head master of the Uni

vers ity Schoo l at Lo u isville , Ky .

Pro fess o r A l lmond has lectu red onthe “Wrath ofAchil les , a nd his le ctu res are always wel l attendedby em inent l iterary people, and people of read

ing and research . He is anardent prohibit-ionistand has a vo lume ofpoems pertaining to thegreattemperanc e qu estionnearly ready for the press .

\I . L . M .

IN QUIET CAVE HILL.

MY HEART is so wearyWhenI pictu re today

The hopes I have bu riedForever away ,

Ina grave they have dugDeep downinthe c lay ,Inqu iet (‘ave H ill .

Oh ! the dreams I have dreamedThroughout the longyears

Have blossome dinsor rowAnd fru ited intears ,

And res tnow foreverBeyond my fond fears ,Inqu iet l ‘

ave H ill .

8 2 TH E M A GAZIN E OF P OE TR Y.

I taught the young flowers Deal gently, Lord ! Our dead shall beTo bloom by his head, New cau se to fill ou r hearts with love ;

The lily , all white, New peac e and joy inmanand Thee ;The rose, ever red ; New how and faith inHeavenabove .

But winter has comeAnd the flowers arezdead,

Inqu iet Cave H ill .V I R G I N U "

Oh ! what shall I do ?

My weary heart cries ;As slowly toward heavenI lift up my eyes ,

The archangel po intsHis hand to the skies ,Inqu ietCave H ill .

A CONSOLATION .

I F THE bird bu t sing its sweetestWhile it poises onthe w ing,

If the bud is the completestInthe rosy wreath ofspr ing,

I fthe dew - drop’

s pearly beautyGives new joy unto the leaf,

This is l ife, for this is duty ;This is life, though it be br ief.

Ina thousand thou sand morrows ,

Read it through you r blinding tears ,Twenty winters w ith their sorrowsAre a weary length ofyears ;

Twenty summers with their flowers ,With their birds and bees and brass ,

Are but one ofall the hoursInthe shortest ofthe days .

DEAL GENTLY, LORD.

DEAL gently , Lord ! Ou r sou ls are bowed

Ingr ief ; ou r hearts are fraughtwith tears ;Shed sunlight onthe pass ing c loud, M 1 5 1 N T E R P R ST A T IC“

And chase away our r ising fears . Hard was his lot, and bitter words

Deal'

gently, Lord ! Thy mighty waysWere oftenOfh'm Bald

Are not as ou rs O B lessed Name Not that he did so bad a th ingh

Teac h u s insorrow stil l to praiseThey m lflmtf-

‘

Pmed

Thyfgoodness and Thy love proc laim . F A IT H .

Onfaith bel ieving, their responseWas fresh and sweet, and pure and true.

Infaith bel ieving, manand wifeA r icher consolationknew .

— Quatrains .

Dealfgeutly, Lord l For we are weak ;The archer , Death , has smittenlow

Our leader , and we pray Thee speakAnd cheer u s inthis hou r ofwoe.

Deal 7gently, Lord ! Indarkness let F A l N ’

Thy fiery pil lar lead the way ; The ecstacy ofhis del ightB r ing u s , though foes withinbeset, Foreranthe ecstacy ofpain.

[Into the bright and b etter day.

Inthat fair land of lightand love,Where heroes sleep entombed inthrongs ,Where laughing skies are blue aboveAnd Natu re sings her sweetest songs

Inthat dear land we love, and hbldThe saintliest of the s isterhood,

The State of States , whose arms enfo ldYet hosts onhosts ofgreat and good,Whose virginso il bears virginname,Whose best ofpeople wear thegrace

Of heirship intheir fathers’ fame

With ease thatmarks a kindred race,Whose menlove honor as their soul ,And womenare Co rnelias all,Who count their jewels by the rollOf sons who heed their country’

s call

('lose nestling under mountains blueA streamlet r ises ina glen

And makes its way to broader viewAmid the bu sier haunts ofmen;

B ut ere it leaves its mountainhomeIt laughs along fair s loping hills

And catc hes w ith its whiter foamThe r ipples ofunnumbered rills ;

It passes hou ses , one by one,That, nestl ing ’mid their gro ves of tr ees ,

Escape the noon- heat of the sunWhenplays the fitfu l summer breeze ;

It passes scenes that wou ld delightThe painter

’

s or the poet’s eye

That breathe anew by day, bynight,The glor ies ofanArcady .

84 TH E xll A GAZ/N E OF P OE TR I’

.

N ot that we ’ve catc hed each other inany terr ible

cr ime ;We

’

t'e beena-

gather ing this fo r years , a l ittle at atime.

'

There was a stock of temper we both had for a

start,

A lthough we never su spec ted'

t wou ld take u s two

apart ;

I had my var iou s failings , bred inthe flesh andbone ;

And Betsey , like al l good women,had a temper of

her own.

The firstthing I remember whereonwe disagreedWas something concerning heaven— a difference in

ou r creed ;

We arg’

ed the thing at breakfast, we arg'

ed the

thing at tea,

And the more we arg’

ed the question, the more we

didn’t agree.

And thenext that I remember,was whenwe lost a

cow ;

She had kicked the bu cket for certain, the questionwas only— how ?

I held myownopinion, and Betsey another had ;And whenwe had done a- talkin'

,we both of u s

was mad .

And the next that I remember , it s tarte dina joke ;B ut fu ll for a week it las ted, and neither of u s

spoke.

And the next was whenI sc o lded becau se she brokea bowl ,

And she said I was meanand stingy , and had n’

t

any sou l .

And so that bowl kept pou rin'

dissens ions inou r

cup ;

And so that blamed cow - c r itter was always a- com

in’

u p ;

And so that heavenwe arg’

ed no nearer to u s got,

B ut it gave u s a tas te of somethin'

a thou sandtimes as hot.

And so the thing kept wo rkin'

. andall the self- same

way ;

A lways somethin'

to arg'

e, and somethin

’

sharp tosay ;

And downonu s came theneighbors , a coupledozenstrong,

And lent their kindes t su rvive fo r to help the thingalong.

And there has been days together— and many aweary week

“’

e was both of us c ross and spunky, and both tooproud to sp

eak ;

And I have beenthinkin’

and thinkin’

, the who le ofthe w inte r and fall ,

If I can'

t live kind with a woman, why, then Iwon

'

t at al l .

And so I have talked w ith Betsey, and Betsey hastalked w ith me ,

And we have agreed together that we can ’t never

agree ;

And what is hers shall be hers , and what is mineshal l be mine ;

And I'

ll put it inthe agreement and take it to her0 to s igh .

Ther is a little hard moneythat ’

s drawin’to l

’

rable

pay :

A couple of hundred dollars laid by for a rainyday.

Safe inthe hands ofgood men, and easy to get at ;Pu t inanother c lau se there, and give her half of

that.

Yes , I see you smile, sir , at my givin’her somuch ;

Yes , divorce is cheap , sir , bu t I take no stock insu ch !

True and fair I marr ied her , whenshe was blitheand young ;

And Betsey was al ’ays good to me exceptin’with

her tongue.

Once wheir I had a fever— I won’

t forget it soonI was hot as a basted tu rkey and crazy as a loon

Wr ite onthe paper , lawyer— the very first para

graph

Oi all the farm and live sto ck that she shall haveher half ;

For she has helped to earn it, through many aweary day,

And it'

s nothing more than justice that Betseyhas her pay .

G ive her the hou se and homestead— a mancan

thrive and roam ;

B u t womenare skeery cr itters unless they have a

home :

And I have always dete rmined, and never failed tosay,

That Betsey never shou ld want a home if I wastakenaway .

Once , whenI was youngas you , andnot so smart,

perhaps ,For me she m ittened a lawyer , and several otherchaps :

And all of them was fiu stered, and fair ly takendown,

And I fo r a time was counted the lu ckiest manintown.

WILL CAR LE TON .

Never anhou r went by me whenshe was out of

She nu rsed me tr ue and tender , and stuck to meday andnight.

And if ever a house was tidy , and ever a kitchenc lean,

Her house and kitc henwas tidy as any I ever seen;And I don’

t complainof Betsey , or any ofher acts ,

Exceptin’whenwe

’ve quarrelled, and to ld eac h

other facts .

So draw up the paper , lawyer , and I’Il go home

to night,And read the agreement to her , and see if it

’s all

r ight ;And theninthe mornin’

I’ll sell to a tradin’ man

I know ,

And kiss the ch ild that was left to us , and out in

the world I’

ll go .

And one thing put inthe paper , that at first to medidn’

t occur

That whenI am dead, at last, she ’ll bringme back

to her ;

And lay me under the maples I planted years ago ,

Whenshe and I was happy before we.quarrelledso .

And whenshe dies , I wish that she wou ld be laidbyme,

And, lyin’together in silence, perhaps we will

88 709 ;

And, ifever we meet inheaven, I wou ld at think itqueer

If we loved each other the better becau se we

quarrelled here .

THANKSGIVING HYMN .

Wem xx thee, 0 Father , for all that is bright,Thegleamaf the day, and the stars of thenight,The flowers of ou r youth and the fru its of ou r

pr ime,And blessings that march downthe pathway of

time.

We thank thee, 0 Father , for all that is drear ,The sob ofthe tempest, the flow ofthe tear ;

For never inblindness , andnever invain,Thymercy permitted a sorrow or pain.

We thank thee, 0 Father , for song and for feast,The harvest that glowed and the wealth that ia

For never a bless ing encompassed earth ’s child,But thou in thy mercy looked downward and

smiled.

We thank thee, 0 Father ofall , for the powerOiaiding each other , inlife

’

s darkest hou r ;

85

The generou s heart and the bountifu l hand,And all the sou l help that sad sou ls understand.

We thank thee, 0 Father , for days yet to be,For hopes that ou r futu re w ill call u s to Thee,That all ou r eternity form, through thy love,One ThanksgivingDay inthe mans ions above.

DEATH OF THE RICHEST MAN .

H r: OWNE D, to- dav a large and gleam ing share

Of this earth ‘

s narrow rim :

A s igh — a groan— a gmatme of despairThe earth owned him .

The r ichest one oi any c l ime or land.

The o ld- time les sontaught :A humanm ine ofgo ld — G od raised H is hand,

And he had naught.

THE MARCH OF THE CHILDREN .

Lls'

r to the sound of the drumming!Gai ly the childrenare coming ;Sweet as the smile ofa fairy ,F resh as the blossoms they carry ,Pr ide ofthe parents who love them ,

Pu re as the azu re above them ,

Fresh as the winds that caress them ,

B r ight as the sunbeams that bless them .

List to the vo ice- ec hoes r inging !Sweeter thanbirds they are s inging,

Thoughts that to virtu e invite them,

Wed unto airs that delight them ,

Truths that their fu tu re will cher ishSou l - planted,

never to per ish !Only to senses completer ,Heaven’

s cho icest mu s ic were sweeter .

Virtue, unconsc iou s and pretty ,Walks through the streets of the c ity ;See the gay bannerets flying,

Mottoes and titles undying :Truths dear ly hal lowed and o lden,B raided instrands that are go lden;Words for the spir it

'

s des ir ing.

Sentences sweetly inspir ing !

When, ina vo ice of caress ing,

Christ gave the childrenH is bless ing,

’

T was not for one generation,

B ut for eac h epoch and nation.

So through the present it l ing ers ,

Shed from H is bo untifu l fingers :So unto these it is given.

Types of the angels inHeaven.


OVER THE HILL TO THE POOR - HOUSE .

OVE R the hill to the poor - ho'use I ’m trudgin’ my

weary way

I , a womanof seventy , and only a tr ifle grayI , who am smart and chipper , for all the years I ’

ve

to ld,As many another womanthat ’

s only half as old.

Over the hil l to the poor - house— I can’t qu itemake

it c lear !

Over the hill to the poor - house— it seems so horridqueer !

Many a step I’ve taken, a-to ilin’

to and fro ,

B ut th is is a sort of journeyI never thoughtto go .

What is theuseofbes pin’onmea pauper

’s shame?

Am I lazy or crazy? Am I blind or lame?True, I am not so supple, nor yet so awfu l sto ut ;B utcharity ain

’tno favor , if one can live without.

I am wil lin’an’

anx iou s an’ready, airy day,

To work for a decent livin’

, an’

pay myhonestway.

For I canearnmy victuals , an’

more too , I’ll be

bound,If any body only is wil l in’

to have me ’round .

Once I was young an’ han’some— I was , uponmy

sou l

Once mycheekswas roses ,myeyes as black es coal °

And I can’t remember , in them days , of hear in

people say,

For any kind of a reason, that I was intheir way.

’T ain’

tno u se of boastin’

, or talkin’over free,

B ut many a house an’ home was openthento me ;Many a han’

some offer I had from likely men,Andnobody ever hinted that I was a bu rdenthen.

And whento J ohnI was marr ied,su re he was good

and smart,B ut he and all theneighbors wou ld ownI donemy

part ;

For l ife was all before me, an’

I was young an’

strong,

And I worked the best that I cou ld intryin’to get

along.

And so we worked together : and l ife was hard, butgay,

With now and thena baby for to cheer u s onou r

way ;

Till we had half a dozen, an’all growed c leanan’

neat,An’

went to school like others , an’had enough to

eat.

So weworked for the childern, and raised ’em , every

one ;Worked for ’

em summer and winter , ju st as weought to ’

ve done ;Only perhaps we humored ’

em, wh ich some good

folks condemn,B ut every couple

’

s childern’s a heap the best to

them .

Strange how much we th ink of our blessed littleones !

I’d have died for my daughters , 1 ’

d have died formy sons ;

And God he made that ru le of love ; but whenwe

’re old and gray

I’ve noticed it sometimes , somehow, fails to work

the other way.

She was somewhat dressy , an’

had n’

t a pleas antsmile

Shewas qu ite conceity, and carr ied a heap 0 ’style ;

B u t if ever I tr ied to be fr iends , I did with her , Iknow ;

B ut she was hard and proud, an’I cou ldn’

tmake

it go .

She had anedicat-ion, an’that was good for her ;

But whenshe twitted me onmine, ’t was carryin

’

things too fu r ;An’

I told her once,’fore company (an

’it almost

made her sick ) ,That I never swallowed a grammar , or e’

t a nth

metic .

80’twas onlya few days beforethethingwas done

Theywas a family ofthemselves , and I another one ;And a very little cottage one family wil l do ,B ut I never have seena house thatwas big enough

for two .

Strange, another thing: whenou r boys an’

girls

was grown,And when, exceptin’

Charley, they ’d left us there

alone ;WhenJohnhe nearer an’ nearer come, an

’dearer

seemed to be,

The Lord of Hosts he come one day an’took him

away from me.

Stil l I was bound to struggle, an’ never to cringeor fall

Still I worked for Charley, for Charley was now myall ;

And Charley was pretty good to me, with scarce a.

word or frown,Till at last he went a—cou rtin’

, and brought a wifefrom town.

WI LL CAR LE TON . 87

An’ I never cou ld speak to su it her , never cou ldplease her eye,

An’ it made me independent, an’

thenI did n’t try

But I was terr ibly staggered, an'

felt it like a blow ,

WhenChar ley tu rned ag’inme, an

'

to ld me I cou ldgo .

I went to l ive with Su san, but Susan’s house was

And she was always a-hintin’how snug it was for

u s all ;

And what with her husband’s sisters , and what

with'childernthree ,‘

Twas easy to discover that there was n'

t room

for me.

An’

thenI wenttoThomas , theo ldest sonI ’ve got,

For Thomas’s bu ildings ’d cover the half of an

acre lot ;

But all the childernwas onmen- I cou ldn’t stand

their sauce

And Thomas said I need n’t think I was comin’

there to boss .

An’

thenI wrote to Rebecca, my gir l who lives outWest,

An'

to Isaac , not far from her— some twenty milesatbest ;

And one of ’em said ’

t was too war mthere for anyone so old,

And t’ other had anopinionthe climate was toocold.

And so they have shirked and slighted me, an’

shifted me abo utSo they have well-nigh soured me, an’

wore my old

heart out ;

But still I ’ve hom e up pretty well , an’

was n’t

much put down,Till Char ley went to the poor -mas ter , an

’

put me

onthe town.

Over the hill to the poor - hou seb my childerndear ,

good- bye !

Many a night I ’ve watched you when only God

was nigh ;AndGod ’

11 judge betweenu s ; but I will al ’ays prayThat you shall never suffer the half I do to - day.

THE NEW CHURCH ORGAN .

Tmcv ’vs got a brand-new organ, Sue,

For all their fuss and search ;They

’

ve done just what they said they ’d do ,

And fetc hed it into chu rch .

They ’re bound the cr itter shall be seen,

And onthe preac her'

s r ightThey '

ve hoisted up their new machineIneverybody ’

s s ight.

They ’

ve got a chor ister and choir ,Ag

’in’

my vo ice and vote ;

For it was never my des ireTo praise the Lord by note .

I’ve beena s iste r good an’

true

For flve an’- thirty year ;

I’ve done what seemed my part to do ,

An’

prayed my duty c lear ;I

’ve sung the hymns both slow and qu ick ,Ju st as the preacher read,

And twice, whenDeac onTubbs was s ick ,I took the fork an’

led ;

And now , their bo ld, new - fangled waysIs comin’

all about ;And I , r ight inmy latter days ,Am fair ly crowded out !

Some wor ldly chaps was standin’ near ;An’

whenI see them gr in,I bid farewell to every fear ,And bo ldly waded in.

I thought I ’d chase their tune along,

An’

tr ied with all my might ;B u t though my vo ice is good an’

strong,I cou ldn'

t steer it r ight ;Whenthey was high , thenI was low ,

An'

also contra-w ise ;An

’

I too fas t, or they too slow ,

To mans ions inthe skies .

”

To—day the preacher , good old dear ,With tears all inhis eyes ,

Read, I canread my title c learTo mans ions inthe skies .

”

I al ’ays l iked that blessed hymnI s

’

pose I al’

ays wil lIt somehow gratifles my whim,

Ingood old OrtonvilleB u t whenthat cho ir got up to sing,

I cou ldn’t catch a word ;

They sung the most dog-

gondest thingA body ever heard !

An’after every verse, you know ,

They play a little tune ;I didn'

t understand, and so

I started intoo soon.

I pitc hed it pretty middlin’ high ,

I fetched a lu sty tone,B ut oh , alas ! I found that IWas singin’

there alone !


They laughed a little, I am told ;B ut I had done my best ;

And not a wave of trouble ro lledAcross my peac efu l breast.

And Sister B rown— I cou ld bu t lookShe s its right front ofme ;

She never was no s ingin'

- book,

An’ never went to be ;B ut thenshe al ’ays tried to doThe best she cou ld, she said ;

She understood the time r ight through ,An

'

kep'

it with her head ;B ut whenshe tr ied this mo rnin

’

,oh

,

I had to laugh , or cough !It kep

'

her head a- bobbin’so ,

It e’

ena’mos’

came off!

An’Deac onTubbs— he all broke down,

As one might wel l suppose ;He to ok one look at Sister B rown,And meekly sc ratc he dhis nose .

He looked his hymn- book through and

through ,And laid it onthe seat,

And thena pens ive sigh he drew ,

And looked completely beat.

And whenthey to ok another bout,He didn’

t evenr ise ;B u t drawed his red bandanner ou t,An

’

wiped his weepin’

eyes .

I’

ve beena s ister , good nu'

tr ue,

For flve—an’- thirty year ;

I’

ve done what seeme dmy part to do ,

An’

prayed my duty c lear ;B ut death w ill stop my vo ice

,I know

,

F or he is onmy track ;And some day I to chu rch w il l go ,

And never more come back ;And whenthe fo lks get up to s ingWhene'

r that time shal l behI do not wantno patent thingA- squ ealin

’

over me !

LEGEND SONG.

I .

Dns u n' legends of the pas t,

Somber - hu ed or pleasant,Though by sunor c loud o

’

ercast,

P lainyou show the present !

And the futu re you cansee ,

For what was again shal l be ;Shadows far ahead you cast,

Dreamy legends of the past !

Stirring legends of to -day,

Draped inmoderndresses ,How you light the darksome wayOf the past recesses !

Show ing, as the age goes on,What menwere indays agone ;For

,w ith inconsistence strange,

Times may change, bu t never change .

THE VESTAL.

INTO the hay— the great, wide, wealth - fr inged bay ,

Whose every tide sweeps hamlets to ou r shoresWhere king- slaves have their fetters struck awayWhence canbe read, onthe new nation’

s doors ,

Leave hOpelessness behind, who enters here !Harbor of hOpe !— invaded ,

w itho ut fear ,By ships of labor , sailed from rotting ports ,And to il whose plumage hadbeensto l

’nby cou rtsInto that buy a virgin-

g uest comes nigh ,And ho lds her lamp unto the star -

gemmed sky .

Stand, Vestal , with thy virginflame e’

er clear ,And guard ou r fu ture pilgr ims to their rest

Inthe great c ity, where, year after year ,Their march shal l feed ou r never - failingWest,

Til l those who hated greed, and hu rried thence,That honest toil hath here a recompense ;Say to the lawless— whoso

’er they be

Thatmenmu st live obedient, to live free ;And sing for us , o

’er the blue waves ’

expanse,With all our fau lts and thine, we love thee,

France !

They sent her from that empire oft he East,Whose “ king” hath dynas ty the same as ou rs ;

F rom the r ich harvest, and the vineyard- feast ;F rom gl istening domes , and ivy-mantled towers .

Peasants have to i led, throughou t the su ltry day,

The tribu tes ofher ocean- march to pay ;The artisanhas w rought, that she might riseAnd sm i le into his westernbrother ’

s eyes ;The tho ught- smith— he w ith bu sy heartandbrainHelped feed her to rch that gleams ac ross themain

She br ings to us a centu ry that is past ;The legend of a gift of long agone ;

A favor that l ike diamonds shal l last,Andgleam butbr ighter as the yearsgloom on.

Theygave u s go ldwhenrecompensewas doubt ;Per ish the greed that blots that memory out !Theygave u s hope, whenou r ownstar had set ;Maythe brainsoftenthatwou ld shunthe debt !They gave u s heroes , w ith a fame as br ightAs mountainwatc h - fires ona winter ’

s night.


We cannot see why we shou ld suffer so ,

Who havenot deeply s inned nor gone astray .

O blinded eyes , how canwe r ightly knowH ow far we wander from the blessed way !

Ou r finite vis ioncannot see above u sThe stretc hing shade of the Alm ighty w ing :We cannot know how tru ly God doth love u s ,

Nor how He str ives from painH is peaceto br ing.

We cannot know becau se ou r eyes are blind :We tu rnaway from His ano inting hand,

And, groping, seek that we cannever find,Until inperfect peace, we calmly stand

Content to wait till we shall plainly seeInthenew light ofaneternity .

A WOMAN ’

S TEARS.

A wow l x’

s tears ; ah , yes , a woman'

s tears !

You , inyou r manly strength , say.

“ '

T is not mu chThat stirs the fountainofher hopes and fearsA womanweeps e

’enat the slightest tou ch .

"

And yet, so little do you know , indeed !So little inyou r ownlife ’

s stirr ing part.

H ow deep that fountainis ; what c u rrents feedThat fountain'

s troubled sou rc e — a woman'

s

heart.

Whenyou are loved you take it bu t you r r ight,Saying,

“She loves to love me .

"Do you know

Aught ofthat inner heart- flood, who se sw ift m ightSweeps to her eyes their first warm overflow

Or whenyou prove, intenderness , to beNot all her love had thought yo u , do you take,

Inchiding to you r heart, th is comfo rt. she

H er tears and prayers w ill m ingle for you r sake ?

Or whenyou r child— her hard- earned treasu re— liesSafe onthe heart thatdared for itdeath ’s fears !

B ut thenyou wou ld not questionif those eyesThose weary, w istfu l eyes— were fil led with tears .

Why qu estionyou at all? Her tears are not

The idle things they seem ; they are the flowOfdarkly troubled waters , oft begotInhiddendepths that you cannever know .

Fo r woman’s l ife is strangch -

yes , strange indeed !And that wh ich canbu t l ittle time defer

The busy sc hemes ofmen, demands it’s meed

"l‘is thought and sm iles , ’

t is thought and tearsw ith her .

And so she weeps— sometimes she knows not why,

Save that her heart is fu ll . And God has givenThis safeguard for her natu re swept too high ,Lest init

'

s flood- tide shou ld the heart be riven.

WILLIAM STRUTHERS.

WILLIAM STRUTHERS was bornonOctober1 4, 1 854, inTuscarora, Schuylkil l County,

Pa. On the father ’

s side he is the grandsonof

John Struthers , he who made and presented to

the nationthe marble coffins inwhich now rest the

revered du st of General and Mrs . Was hington. On

his mother ’s s ide he is related to F itz- Greene Hal

leek, the late famous poet, who was a nephew of

Mr . Struthers ’

s great-grandfather , inwhose homeHalleck dwelt from the age oftento thatof twentyyears . Mr . Struthers is also related to the Beechers . Har r iet B eecher Stowe and his grandmother

being nieces of Harr iet Foote, after whom they

were both named . Mr . Stru thers ’

s father served inthe Rebell ion, first as a captain inthe Pennsylva

nia cavalry , and then, after a three months ’impris

onment in “Libby ,” as commander - inc hief of a

division of the“ Dismounted Camp ,

” near Wash

ington. Wh ile there, he had his w ife and childrenwith him ; and thu s the young Struthers had an

opportunity of studying the poetical s ide of a sol

dier ’

s camp l ife. After the war the fam ily moved

to Baltimore, and thence to Philadelphia, which isnow his permanent home. Mr . Stru thers had notwhatwe call a schoo l edu cation. Inhis ear ly yearshe was a del icate c reatu re, with too slender a ho ldu pon l ife for his father to think of tru sting him

w ith books ; and though he managed to weather

through the years to manhood, it was with thestruggle of an inval id, too power less evennow to

raise his vo ice above a whisper . Yet he is anac

complished scholar and l ingu ist. Var ious translations of his , prose from the F rench and Ital ian.

verse from the Spanish , have appeared in the leading magazines and newspapers ; while, as a wr iterof or iginal verse, his pleas ing poems , sonnets , rondeans , etc . , have made his name familiar . J . W.

THE TARN .

PELLUCID as you pu re, blue pu rple heightsOf welkin, now reposes this lone poo l ;

And yet its mirror o ftentimes delightsThe visions of black c louds , whose mad m isru le

Confu ses eagles intheir mid- air flights ,

Whentempests make these mountains their footstoo l .

Yes ; thenthis virgin-

gentle naiad'

s faceAssumes a shadow that all smiles doth tame

,

As round its brow it draws a fern- wrought laceInmeshed w ith dainty cress , and thence wou ld

c laimRelease from pictu ring the c louds

’

w ild race

Across the sky above its oval frame.

WI LLI AM STR UTH E R S. 93

Yet vainly dothit str ive ! The m isty mazeOfdarkness penetrates that fern- wrought shield ;The tarn doth glass both c louds and l ightning

'

s

blaze ,Whilst the great upland thunders l ift and w ieldTheir hammers huge , whose resonances dazeThe goats that browse on what these bleak

sIOpes yield.

Let joyous be thy dreams to - day. 0 spr ing!Thou maidendaughter of these martial hills ,To -day thou shalt see so ftest mists make c lingRare amber tints round scau rs

’

and crags’

rude

s il ls ,Or thou shalt image birds of pas sage swingTheir tireless pinions where gla d sunshine spills !

Yet, whether natu re str ive or be at peace,Deep, deep , lone tarn, withinthy deep of deeps ,

'

h-

auquillityhath charms thatnever cease ;And ’neath the su rface , whenthe storm u pleapsAnd lightning

’s gr isly clouds do sear and creas e,

Inpur ity thy heart of hearts she keeps !

AT END OF TWILIGHT.

Qu ad mm to crlp usc u le anthud d’

unval lonno lr .

H r oo .

Am r'

s l ight streaks yondu sky roa d,Winding away far up the hillTo meet the twi light heaven, stillFaint tinged with memor ies of day

Pale rose and beryl gleams astrayBelow dark c louds . where erst abode ,

Like a grand symbo l of love’

s bl iss ,The carmine of the dying sun

'

s last kiss .

Save for that lamp , the height is dimWith shadowed rocks and gloom ofwoods ,

Where leafless cheerfu l-sum fast broodsAbout the tangled throng of boughs :Haunt of the blasts . which there car ouse0

’

nights ,with mutters fierce and gr im :

Though onthis night awakenno sound

All, all is ina so lemnsilence bo und.

Sadpicture for the tired eye'

s fi s t,

Yetnot withou t a certaincharm ,

The lurking likelihood of harm

That so allure» the pensive mind :Sadpicture, yet the welkin

'

s breast

Greets the wanlamp'

s light with the far

Scintillant silver of the evening star .

IN QUEST OF LOVE.

Lam dreamed incrystal fountain.

Where song-birth woke rare delight .

FORCE OF HABIT.

Ifs rznto its show e rs . we wo u ld that spring might

s tay .

And r at-fu lly fo recas t the s umme r'

s heat .

“hen s um lner hath some time u s u rpe d spring'

s

sent.

OH: We . fo rge tting dread ,«Io s umme r pr av

To tarry . and whenmw ima c ome -n. we m y

:

Therefo gro u nu s e d : I tirne'

H I ha te the

Yet wontevl grownto a infe r . ent reat0 crystal beam (30 "Im ' l I N A

"

M ore I query if. whenthis I! m ySig - M at fiat of tho s e . 1 r e 0

Lo ve . she ques tioned. do s t thou linm'r

Inthis plac e . where beau ty'

s linge r(‘

dads the dell and gilds the he ightHear , oh h ear ! the l il ies . laughing.

Answered. mid their nm-tar -

qualllugF rom the mo rning

'

s go lden vase .

IIear,oh , hear ! the to as t. did murmur

Inlow speec h . who se tones grew llrmer

As they sought her blushing lace .

Minstrels played a dainty uu -us u re

While masked danc ers took their pleas u reIna hall- ro om , grandly gay.

Love ,”

she whisper-m l, art tho u hidingthis joyanc e , whose abidingShall scarce lus t till peep of day?

“ou r , oh , hear ! mad mus ic tinkled,

Whilst the c o stly hangings c r inkledAs the night. wind by did glance .

IIear , oh , hear ! faint. foo t- falls path -red,As the fes tive maskers s catte red,Weary of bo th tune

°

and dance .

Sat a gray- haired mother , knitting,Whom the sunset

'

s message , flitting,

G roc tc d'

neath a. farm- ho u se po rc h .

Love , breathed maid,

“where art. thou

beamingWhile the Day of N ight is dremning,

While the Sun lets pale his to rc h .

Herc , oh . here !" the needles sweetlyCl icke d forth , as the mo the r neatly

Tu rne d the stm 'king'

s woo lenhee l .iler e

, oh, here !" the Sunmade shimmer

Onthe mother his los t gl immer

‘ He re, maid, here Lo ve pu ts his seal .


AGNES MAULE MACHAR .

HERE is no name among the many that havestr ivento show the world that Canada, the

Ch ild of Nations ,” cou ld do good l iterary work ,more favorably known, thanthat of Agnes Mau leMac har . She has labored both at home and

abroad, both inthe magazines of the sisternation,and ino ld country per iodical s , to give her Fatherland a just report.

Her father , a h igh ly- c u ltu red man of broadlearning and sympath ies , was anative of Scotland,and for a time a c lergymaninthat country . Wh iles till a young manhe came to Amer ica,

and cont-inu ed his labors , both as pas tor of a chu rch inKingston, Ontar io , his daughte r

'

s birthplace , and as theefl‘lcient

'

principal of Queen'

s Univers ity . Althougha bu sy man, he found time to attend to his daugh

ter'

s edu cation, and instru cted her inboth the an

c ient and modernlanguag es . That his instru ction

was not. wasted was shownwhenhis pu pi l translated , at the age of

'

twelve, a story from Ovidinto English rhyme, and late r made a poeticaltrans lationof a portion of Antigone and E lectra .

From th is beginning she has never ceased wr iting,

but has worked incessantly , both inCanada under

the nom de p lume o i“Fidel is , wh ichno longer con

ceals her identity , and under her ownname in the

United States and England ,to do something to

u pl ift manand make him happier .

Her first real l iterary ventu re was a ju venilestory , entitled “Katie J ohnstone’

s Cross ," whichwas wr itten in six weeks

,and which wona first

pr ize offered by a Canadianpu blisher inToronto .

Lu cy Raymond, a sto ry publ ished inNew Yorkand Edinbu rgh , several rel igiou s books , bes ides twoc leverly wr ittennovels

,

“F or King and Country ,"

and “Lost andWon,”appeared inrapid su ccess ion.

M iss Mac har has beenanenergetic magazine writer .

Poems by her have now and thenappeared in TheCentury , St. Nicho las and Wide Awake.

It is a natu ral impu lse w ith her to help the weakand su ffering,

and she has done what she cou ld,by

her penand otherwise , to amel iorate the conditionof the poor , and to foster humanity towards thedumb bru te .

M iss Mac har , l ike P rofessor Roberts ,is heartand

sou l for (’

anada’s fronting the wor ld alone .

H owever , she pays but l ittle attention to th isqu estion, as she wiselv recognizes the fact thattime alone cansolve it.

She l ives inthe historic c ity of Kingstondu r ingthe w inte r months . H er summers are spent amongthe pleasanthaunts of theThou sand Islands

, wh ichhave had a good deal of influence onpoetic work .

T . J . M .

CHR ISTMAS IN THE HO!PITAL .

AN’is it Chr istmas mornin’

? I ’ve lost my count

of time,

B ut I thought it m us t he Chr istmas ,— by the bells’

sweet, solemnch ime ;An’

I had a dream 0’the home folks , just as the

mornin’ broke,May be

’

t was the bells that brought it,— ringin’

before I woke !An

’

is itChr istmasmornin’

?An’while I

’

m lyin’

here,

The folks to chu rch are goin’— the bells do r ing so

c learFathers an’

mothers an’

children, merr ily over thesnow

,

Ju st as we u sed to go ,— onChr istmas long ago

Oh, yes ! I know you ’

re good, nu rse, an’

1 do try

not to fret,B u t at (

‘

hristmas - time,— no wonder if my eyes w ith

tears are wet,

F o r I saw so plain, inmy dream , the brownhouseby the m i ll ,

An“

my father an’

my mother ,— ah , me ! are theythere s ti ll?

An'

, as they go to chu rch to - day,perchance they

th ink 0 '

me,

An’wonder where poor Katie is ,— ac ross the greatblu e sea .

An”

well it is they cannot tell ! an’may they never

know 9

F or su re'

t wou ld only break their hearts , to hear

my tale 0'

woe !

My mo ther mu st be gettin'

o ld, and she was never

strong :

B ut then, her spir it was so bright. nu'

swe et herdai ly song.

She s ings no more abou t the hou se , but su re she

prays fo r lne ,

An’w ipes away the drOppin

'

tear s,— for the ch ild

she ne'

er may see !

My father'

s bent w ith honest toil , an'

troublebravely borne ;

B utnever has he hadto bear awordor look of scorn,An’ never shall it come th rough me fo r al l 1 havebeenwi ld,

I ’d rather die a thou sand deaths , thanshame him

fo r his chi ld !I know I have been s infu l . bu t some were more toblame,

Who never th ink— becau se of that— to hang theirheads for shame !

Ah,well ! I mu stn

’

t. think of them ,but of myself

,

an’ prayThat He w ill take away the sin— who came on

Chr istmas day !


WILLIAM WYE SMITH .

EV . WILLIAM WYE SMITH was bo rn in

Jedbu rgh , S cotland,on the 1 8th of March ,

1 82 7 . H e was only three years of age whenhis

parents and their young family left Sc otland to

better their c irc umstances inthe New World. H is

father '

s intentionwas to sail for New York ; but,on account of delays in shipping, he and his

fam ily took passage for Baltimor e . where theyarrived safely , and soon afterwards pu she d fo rward to the sou thern part of Ohio . His father ,finding the

“rough and tumble l ife of a new

country somewhat distaste fu l , betook h imself tohis original destination, the c ity of New York ,where he remained,

doing bu s iness as a c lo thier , six

years , and here the subject of ou r sketc h receivedhis first pu blic - school tu ition. H is father ’

s healthsomewhat fai led , and having a fancy fo r farm ing,

he removed his fami ly to the neighborhoodof Gal t,Upper Canada ,

where he bought a c leared farm ,

and thu s was brought about a break of eightyears inthe educationof ou r young as pirant forlearning. With the exceptionof about six monthsina co untry school

, Mr . Smith had no means ofprac tical educationother thanhis own untiringdil igence after working- hou rs onhis father '

s farm .

H ow su ccessfu l he was may be judge d by the factthathe passed and obtaine da pos itionas schoolteac her inthe village of St. George , wh ich pos itionhe held for a year , and thu s earned funds for

futu re travels insearch of a higher edu cation. He

went to New York,and was greatly benefited by

industrious appl ication du r ing two terms inthe

c lass ical department of the Univers ity GrammarSchool of that c ity .

His first volume of poems was published in

Toronto in1 850 . The fol lowingyear he married ,and started bu s iness as a g eneral storekeeper inSt. George . Inthe spr ing of 1 855 he removed hisbu siness to Owen Sound

,on the Georgian Bay,

thena very isolated part of the country . A coupleof years afterward

,onbeing appo inted to a clerk

sh ip of one of the cou rts , he gave up his businessas storekeeper , and devoted h imself for the nextsix or sevenyears to the duties of his office. Du r

ing these years his spare time was spent incou rting the Mu se

, and as editor and pu blisher of theSunday Schoo l Dial, a monthly publication, thefirst i llustrated Sunday school paper in UpperCanada . The year 1 862 was spent inre- vis itingthe land of his birth . In1 863 he bought ou t theOwenSo und Times

, and continued to edit and publish it for a period of two years ; bu t in 1 865,being invited to bec ome the pastor of the Congregational chu rch inListowel , Ontar io , he sold out

the Times to the present proprieto r . F or abou ttwelve years he was the Canadian correspondentof the Edinburgh Daily Review, and acted as theirspec ial correspondent at the Centennial Exhibi~tion in 1 876 . A fter a pasto rate of four years inL istowel

,he accepted a call to the congregation

of Pine Grove, near Tomato , which positionheheld for nine years . Afterwards he served a Congregational chu rch for three years inthe eastern

townships of Quebec . near the Vermont border .

Retu rning to Ontario he became a res ident ofNewmarket. He now devotes his time to edito rialwork inconnec tion with the CanadianIndepend

ent, the organ of the Congregational body intheDominion. His last volume of poems

,from which

the follow ing se lections are taken, was publishedinToronto in 1 888 , and has met with a kindlyreception. J . I .

FAIR LEILA.

I WOULD that I were a floweret fair ,To be plu cked by her dainty hands ,

Or tw ined inthe maze of her goldenhair ,As l ike a sweet dream she stands .

So ,many might come and as many might go ,

Her pr ide and her beau ty to see ;

H ow soon she forgot them , I ’d car enot, nor

know ,

B ut I ’d know that she thought u ponme !

I wou ld that I were a warbling bird,With a song so sweet and c lear

That she needs must pau se on the banks ofOu s c

,

My caroling voice to hear !So , lovers cou ld ta lk or lovers be mu te,

Bu t this I cou ld plainly see ,

Thatshe tu rned from them allwith aweary look,To listeninsmiles to me !

I wou ld that I were a mu rmu ring stream ,

That steals through the woods s pace,To look inher eyes whenshe softly bendsTo m irror her lovely fac e.

So , who for a glance of love might sue,From under those lashes rare,I ’d mirror mysel f inLeila’

s eyes ,And dwell incontentment there !

B utneither a flower , a bird,nor stream ,

Am I ; nor ever canbe ;I

’m bu t a herd- boy,ina coat of gray,

And she’

s like a Queento see !

Bu t if it cou ld be it were hearts aloneThatmade u s to be or to do ,

Fair Lei la might yet be all my own,And all my dreams be true !

WILLIAM WYE SM I TII . 97

THE SHEEP- WASH ING.

MY heart is glad to -night

Too glad for a wink of s leep !For Jenny has promised to be my br ideAs soonas we wash the sheep !

And I don’

t care how soonI see themPlunging inand out the creek ;For a sweeter young wife for a farmer

ThanJenny I cou ldnot seek .

But some way, I do n’

t half like itItmay come either late or soon;

And a raw cold springmay pu t off the thingAway till the middle of June !I wish she had set a day

That we cou ld del ight to keep !Some old Saint’s day,

or the First of May,That had nothing to do w ith sheep !

But she set downher foot so firmly :“There was so much work to do ;

And my father ,” she knew ,

“cou ldn’

t sparethe team

Till all the spr ing- work was through !That I cou ld n’

t say much to her ,To shortenmy heart

'

s suspense,Espec ially as I lost my holdOf the stake- and- r ider fence !

And then, as I gained my feet(And she didn

'

t seem a bit scared ;She said, She knew I ’d fall soft,And the damage was easy repairedShe got the idea of wool - picking,

Perhaps , from the c lay inmy hair ;And she said, When ou rs was ready

sort,To tell the girls she

'

d be there!”

I can'

t change Jenny , I warrant :Nor wou ld I risk aught, l ike a fool ;So I ’m w ishing for first- rate weather ,And a r ise inthe pr ice of woo l !Butyou who have weddings inprospe ct.

Don'

t o’

er the arrangements s leep ;Nor ever let such a particu lar timeDepend onthe washing of sheep !

I '

11 make my father bel ieveHe

’

s los ing half of his wool ;That the bu shes have all begunto thieve ,And the thorns are hanging fu ll !I

'

ll hu rry the matter u p ,And give the cotswolds a steep !The hardy fellows — they '

ll stand it well !We sha

’n’

t be last with ou r sheep !

THE BAIRN IE.

WHE N I left Scotland'

s shore, I took a bonniebairn;

A toddlin’

,lau chin’

thing, ower young her love tolearn;

I row ’

t it in my plaidie, and pressed it to myheart,

And aft the whisper ’

tweenu s gaed , We twashal lnever part !

The Simmer rose and fell ; the years gaed stalkin’

by ;

And strength and vigor came, and hope allu redmy eye ;

B ut the bairnie in my bosom is a bairnie eversync ,

And what’

s the bairn’

s I canna tell , and what is

only m ine !

And aft the bairnie greets , at some au ld ballad ’

s

wail,And syne the bairnie smiles at the pawky S cottish

tale :Till I canonly say,

T is the bairn, it is not I ;

For I hae dignity eneu ch , were no the bairnie by !"

I’

ve tried to hae it think and speak in foreigntongu e ,

I’ve dune my vera u tmost, and beganthe lessonyoung ;

B ut the bairnis ju st as Scottish as the day it

crossed the seaYe tell me I shou ld ru le the bairn; the bairnis

r u l ingme !

I tell ’t it to my freend , and wad his wisdomlearn,

He said he was himsel ju st a mu ckle Scottishbairn!

And aye as I has speir'

t, I find the glamour cast,And the nu ns wrrmx THE MAN aye is Scottish to

the last !

0 bairns that are na bairns ! whate '

er the warld

may say,

Aye cher ish inyou r hearts the bloom that las tsfor aye !

For he gangs blithest through the war ld, and

leaves maist gu id behind,Where Country , Love and Childhood are in his

heart enshr ine d!

PE A CE .

The menof peace outlive the menof warThese for a day— but those forever are !

— The Vale of Tweed.


WILLIAM WYE SMITH .

EV . WILLIAM WYE SMITH was born inJedbu rgh , Scotland , on the 1 8th of March ,

1 82 7 . He was only three years of age whenhis

parents and their young family left Scotland to

better their c ircumstances inthe New World. His

father ’

s intentionwas to sail fo r New York ; but,on account of delays in shipping, he and his

family to ok passage fo r Baltimore , where theyarrived safely , and soon afterwards pu shed forward to the sou thern part of Ohio . His father ,finding the “

rough and tumb le " l ife of a new

country somewhat distastefu l , betook himsel f tohis original destination, the c ity of New York .where he remained, doing bus iness as a c lothier . six

years , and here the subject of ou r sketc h rec eivedhis first public - schoo l tu ition. H is father '

s healthsomewhat failed , and having a fancy for far ming,

he removed his family to the neighborhood of Gait,Upper Canada,

where he bought a c leared farm ,

and thus was brought about a br eak of eightyears inthe educationof ou r young as pirant fo rlearning. With the exceptionof abou t six monthsina country school , Mr . Smith had no means ofprac tical edu cationother thanhis own untiringdil igence after working- hou rs onhis father ’s farm .

H ow su ccessfu l he was may be judge d by the factthathe “ pas sed ”

and obtaine dapositionas sc hoo lteac her inthe vil lage of St. George ,

which positionhe held for a year , and thu s earned funds for

futu re travels in search of a higher edu cation. He

went to New York , and was greatly benefited byindu strious appl ication du ring two terms inthe

clas sical department of the Univers ity GrammarSchool of that c ity .


Toronto in1 850 . The following year he married ,and started bu siness as a g eneral storekeeper inSt. Georg e . Inthe spr ing of 1 855 he removed hisbu s iness to Owen Sound, on the Georgian Bay,

thena very isolated part of the country . A couple

of years afterward , onbeing appointed to a c lerkship of one of the cou rts , he gave up his bu s inessas sto rekeeper , and devoted h imself for the nextsix or sevenyears to the du ties of his office . Du r


, and as editor and publisher of the

Sunday Schoo l Dial, a monthly publication, thefirst illu strated Sunday school paper in UpperCanada. The year 1 862 was spent inre- vis itingthe land of his birth . In1 863 he bought out theOwenSo und Times , and continued to edit and publish it fo r a period of two years ; but in 1 865 ,being invited to bec ome the pastor of the Congregational chu rch inListowel , Ontar io , he sold out

the Times to the present proprietor . For abouttwelve years he was the Canadian correspondentof the Edinburgh DailyReview, and acted as theirspecial correspondent at the Centennial Exhibition in 1 876 . Afte r a pasto rate of fou r years inListowel , he ac cepted a cal l to the congregationof Pine Grove, near Toronto , which positionheheld for nine years . Afte rwar ds he served a Con

gregationa! chu rch for three years inthe easterntownships of Qu ebec , near the Vermont bo rder .

Retu rning to Ontario he became a resident of Newmarket. He now devotes his time to edito rialwork inconnection w ith the CanadianIndepend

ent, the organ of the Congregational body intheDom inion. His last volume of poems

,from which

the fol low ing selections are taken, was publishedinToronto in 1 888 , and has met with a kindlyreception. J . I .

FAIR LElLA.

I worm) that I were a fioweret fair ,To be plu cked by her dainty hands ,


So, many might come and as many might go ,Her pr ide and her beauty to see ;

H ow soonshe forgot them , I ’d carenot, nor

know,

B ut I ’

d know that she thought u ponme !I wou ld that I were a warbling bird ,With a song so sweet and c lear

That she needs mu st pau se on the banks of

Ou se ,My carol ing voice to hear !

So , lovers co u ld talk or lovers be mu te,Bu t this I cou ld plainly see

,

Thatshe tu rned fromthemallwith aweary look,To listeninsmi les to me !

I wou ld that I were a mu rmur ing stream,

That steal s through the woods apac e,To look inher eyes whenshe softly bendsTo mirror her lovely face .

So , who for a glance of love might sue,From under those lashes rare

,

I ’

d mirror mysel f inLeila’s eyes ,

And dwell incontentment there !

B utneither a flower , a bird,nor stream,


’m bu t a herd - boy,ina coat of gray,

And she’

s l ike a Queento see !

B u t i f it cou ld be it were hearts aloneThat made u s to be or to do ,

Fair L eila might yet be all my own,And all my dreams be true !


WILLIAM WYE SMITH .

EV . WILLIAM WYE SMITH was born in

Jedbu rgh, Scotland, on the 1 8th of March ,1 82 7 . H e was only three years of age whenhis

parents and their young fam ily left Scotland to

better their c irc umstances inthe New World . H is

father ’

s intentionwas to sail fo r New York ; bu t.on account of delays in shipping,

he and his

fam ily took pas sage for Baltimore , where theyarr ived safely , and soon afterwards pu she d forward to the sou thern part o f Ohio . H is father ,finding the

“rough and tumble life of a new

country somewhat distas tefu l , betook h imself tohis or iginal destination, the c ity of New York .where he remained , do ing bu s ines s as a c lothier , six

years , and here the s ubjec t of ou r sketc h rec e ivedhis first public - sc hool tu ition. H is father '

s health

somewhat failed, and having a fancy for farm ing,

he removed his family to the neighborhood of Gal t,Upper Canada

,where he bought a c leared farm ,

and thu s was brought abou t a break of eightyears inthe edu cation of ou r young aspirant fo rlearning. With the exceptionof abou t six monthsina country school , Mr . Sm ith had no means ofprac tical education other than his own untiringdiligence after working- hou rs onhis father ’

s farm .

H ow su ccessfu l he was may be judged by the factthathe “ passed ”

and obtained a positionas schoolteacher inthe vil lage of St. George , which pos itionhe held for a year , and thu s earned funds for

futu re travels in search of a h igher edu cation. He

went to New York , and was greatly benefite d byindustr iou s appl ication du r ing two terms ia the

c lass ical department of the University GrammarSchool of that c ity .


Toronto in1 850 . The follow ing year he marr ied,and started bu s ines s as a general storekeeper inSt. George . Inthe spr ing of 1 855 he removed hisbu siness to Owen Sound, on the Georgian Bay,

thena very isolated part of the country . A cou ple

of years afterward, on being appointed to a c lerksh ip of one of the cou rts , he gave up his bu s inessas storekeeper , and devoted himself for the nextsix or sevenyears to the duties of his office. Du r


,and as editor and publisher of the

Sunday Schoo l Dial , a monthly publication, thefirst il lu strated Sunday school paper in UpperCanada . The year 1 862 was spent in re vis itingthe land of his birth . In1 863 he bought ou t theOwenSo und Times

,and continu ed to edit and pub

l ish it fo r a per iod of two years ; bu t in 1 865 ,being invited to become the pas tor of the Congregational chu rch inListowel , Ontar io , he sold ou t

I wou ld that I were a mu rmu r ing stream ,

That steals through the woods apac e,To look inher eyes whenshe softly bendsTo m irror her lovely face.

So ,who for a glance of love m ight sue,From under those lashes rare,I ’

d m irror mysel f inLeila’s eyes ,

And dwell incontentment there !

the Times to the present propr ieto r . F or abouttwelve year s he was the Canadian correspondentof the Edinburgh Daily Review, and ac ted as theirspec ial cor respondent at the Centennial Exhibition in 1 876 . After a pasto rate of fou r years inListowel

,he ac cepted a cal l to the congregation

of P ine Grove, near Toronto , wh ich positionheheld for nine years . Afterwards he served a Con

gregational chu rch for three years inthe eastern

townships of Qu ebec , near the Vermont border .

Retu rning to Ontar io he bec ame a res ident of Newmarket. H e now devotes his time to editor ialwork inconnection w ith the CanadianIndepend

ent, the organof the Congregational body inthe

Dom inion. H is las t volume of poems , from whichthe fol low ing selections are taken, was publishedinToronto in 1 888 ,

and has met w ith a kindlyreception. J . I .

FAIR LEILA.

I worm) that I were a floweret fair ,To be plu cked by her dainty hands ,


So,many m ight come and as many m ight go ,

H er pride and her beauty to see ;

H ow soon she forgot them ,I ’

d carenot, nor

know,

B u t I’

d know that she thought u ponme !I wou ld that I were a warbling bird,With a song so sweet and c lear

That she needs mu st pau se on the banks ofOu se ,

My caroling voice to hear !So , lovers cou ld talk or lovers be mu te,B u t this I cou ld plainly see,

Thatshe tu rne dfrom them all w ith aweary look,To listeninsm iles to me !

B utneither a flower , a bird,nor stream,


’m but a herd- boy , ina coat of gray ,And she

'

s l ike a Queento see !

B u t i f it cou ld be it were hearts aloneThat made u s to be or to do ,

Fair L eila might yet be all my own,And al l my dr eams be true !

WILLI AM WYE SM ] TH 97

THE SHEEP- WASHING.

l lr heart is glad to -night

Too glad for a wink of s leep !For Jenny has promised to be my brideAs soonas we wash the sheep !

And I do u ’

t care how soonI see themPlunging inand out the creekFor a sweeter young wife for a farmerThanJenny I co ul d not seek.

But some way , I do n'

t half like itItmay come either late or soon:Anda raw cold spring may pu t off the th ingAway till the middle of June !I wish she had set a day

That we cou ld del ight to keep !Some old Saint

'

s day,or the First of May,

That had nothing to do with sheep !

Butshe set downher foot so firmly :“There was so mu ch work to do :

Andmy father ,"

she knew ,

“cou ld n'

t sparethe team

Till all the spr ing- work was throughThat I could n'

t say much to her ,To shortenmy heart

'

s su spense.

Espec ially as I lost my holdOf the stake- and- r ider fence !

And then, as I gained my feet(And she didn

'

t seem a bit scared :

She said , She knew I ’d fall so ft,And the damage was easy repairedShegot the idea of wool - picking,

Perhaps , from the c lay inmy hair :And she said, When ou rs was ready

sort,To tell the gir ls she

'

d be there .

I can’

t change Jenny , I warrant :wou ld I r isk aught, like a fool ;

So I '

m wishing for first- rate weather ,And a r ise inthe pr ice of wool !Butyou who have weddings inprospec t.

Don'

t o'

er the arrangements sleep :Nor ever let su ch a particu lar time

Depend onthe wash ing of sheep !

I ”

11make my father believeIle '

s los ing half of his wool ;That the bu shes have all begunto th ieve .

And the thorns are hanging fu ll !I

'

ll hurry the matter up,Andgive the cotswolds a steep !The hardy fellows — they '

11 stand it wel l !We sha’n’

t be last with ou r sheep !

THE BAIRN IE.

WHE N I left Scotland'

s shore. I took a bonniebairn:

A toddlin’

. lau chin'

thing. ower young her love to

I row '

t it in my plaidie and pressed it to myheart

And aft the whisper'

tweenu s gaed . We twa shal lnever part !

The Simmer rose and fell : the years gaed stalkiu'

bv ;

And strength and vigor came . and hope allu redmy eye :

Bu t the bairnie in my bosom is a bairnie eversyne .

And what'

s the bairn'

s I canna te ll . and what is

only m ine !

And aft the bairnie gree ts . at some au ld bal lad ’

s

wail .

And sync the bairnie sm iles at the pawky Sc ottishtale :

Til l I canonly say.

'

T is the bairn. it is not I :For I hae dignity eneu ch . were no the bairnie by !

I'

ve tr ie d to hae it th ink and speak in foreigntong ue ,

I’

ve dune my vera utmos t, and beganthe les sonyoung :

B u t the bairn is ju s t as Sc o ttish as the day it

crossed the sea !

Ye tell me I shou ld ru le the bairn: the bairn isru l ingme !

I tell °t it to my freend . and wad his w isdomlearn.

He said he was himsel ju st a mu ckle S cottishbairn!

And aye as I hae speir'

t. I find the glamou r east.

And the m mx wrrmx Tm: M AN aye is Scottish tothe last

O bairns that are na bairns ! whate '

er the war ld

may say.

Aye cherish inyou r hearts the bloom that las ts

fo r aye !

For he gangs blithest through the warld, and

leaves mais t gu id beh ind.

Where (‘

oantr v Love and Childhood are in his

heart enshr ined !

PE A CE .

The menof p eace ou tl ive the menof war :These for a day

— but those forever ar e !

- The Vale of Tweed .


They laughed a little , I am told ;B u t I had done my best ;

And not a wave of trouble rol ledAcross my peacefu l breast.

And Sister B rown— l cou ld bu t lookShc s its right front of me ;

She never was no singiu'

- book,

An’ never went to be ;

Bu t thenshe al ’ays tr ied to doThe best she cou ld , she said ;

She understood the time r ight through ,

An’kep

'

it w ith her head ;B ut whenshe tr ie dthis u io ruin’

,oh

,

I had to laugh ,o r cough !

It kep’her head a- bobbin'

so,

It e'

ena'

mos '

came off!

An’Deac onTu bbs— he all broke down.

As one might wel l s uppose ;He to ok one look at Sis ter B rown,And meekly sc ratc hed his nos e .

He looke d his hymn- book throughthrough ,

And laid it onthe seat,And thena pens ive s igh he drew ,

And looked completely beat.

And whenthey took another bou t,He didn'

t evenrise ;B ut drawed his red bandau u er out.

An’

wip ed his we e

pin’

eyes .

I'

ve beena sister , good an'

tr u e,

For five- an'

4 hirty year ;I ’

ve done what seeme dmy part to do ,

An' prayed my duty c lear :

But death wi ll stop my voice. I know ,

For he is onmy track ;And some day I to chu rch w ill go ,

Andnever more come backAnd whenthe folks get up to s ingWhene ’

r that time shall beI do not wantno patent thingA- squealin

’ over me !

LEGEND SONG.

I .

Dns u tv legends of the past,Somber - hued or pleasant

Though by sunor c loud 0 ercas t,

Plainyou show the present !And the fu tu re you cansee,

For what was againshal l be ;Shadows far ahead you cas t,

Dreamy legends of the past !

Stirr ing legends of to - day,

Draped inmoderndresses ,How you light the darksome wayOf the past recesses !

Showing, as the age goes on,What menwere indays agone ;For

,w ith incons istence strange ,

Times may change , bu t never change .

THE VESTAL .

Ix'

ro the bay— the great, w ide, wealth - fr inged bay,

Whose every tide sweeps hamlets to ou r shoresWhere king- s laves have their fetters stru ck awayWhence canbe read , onthe new nation’

s doors ,Leave hOpelessness behind , who enters here !”

Harbo r of hope — invaded ,without fear ,

By ships of labor , sailed from rot-ting ports ,And toil whose plumag e hadbeenstol ’nbycourtsInto that bay a virgin-

guest comes nigh ,And holds her lamp unto the star -gemmed sky .

She br ings to u s a centu ry that is past ;The leg end of a gift of long agone ;

A favor that like diamonds shal l last,Andgleam butbrighter as the yearsgloom on.

Theygave u s goldwhenrecompensewas doubt ;Per ish the greed that blots that memory ou t !Theygave u s hope,whenou r ownstar had set ;Maythe brainsoftenthatwou ld shunthe debt !They gave u s heroes , w ith a fame as brightAs mountainwatch - fires ona winter ’

s night.

Stand , Vestal , with thy virginflame e'

er c lear ,And guard ou r future pilgrims to their rest

Inthe great c ity, where, year after year ,Their march shall feed our never - failingWest,

Til l those who hated greed , and hu rr ied thence,That honest toil hath here a recompense ;Say to the lawless—whoso ’

er they beThatmenmu st l ive obedient, to l ive free ;And sing for u s , o

’

er the blue waves ’expanse,

With al l ou r fau lts and thine, we love thee,

France !

They sent her from that empire of the East,Whose k ing hath dynas ty the same as ou rs ;

F rom the rich harvest, and the vineyard - feas t ;F rom glistening domes , and ivy-mantled towers .

Peasants have to i led, throughout the su ltry day,

The tribu tes of her oc ean-marc h to pay ;The artisanhas w rought, that she might riseAnd sm i le into his westernbrother ’

s eyes ;The thought- sm ith— he w ith bu sy heartandbrainH elped feed her torch that gleams ac ross themain

GR ACE ADE LE P IE R CE . 91

GRACE ADELE PIERCE.

ISS GRACE ADELE PIERCE was born inRandolph , a beautifu l village inthe western

part of New York . The only child of devoted parents , her life has beenpassed inthe loving atmosphere of a pleasant home, among the qu iet sur

roundings of country life. The beauty of fertilefields and forestc overed hil ls ministered to the

poetic spirit of the child , and fed the pass ionatelove of nature that has always characterized her .

H er edu cationwas obtained at Chamberlain Institu te, a first—class seminary situated inher native

town. As a stu dent, shewas marked for intelligentacqu isition; the under lying princ iple was soughtand mastered. At anear ly age she commencedthe composition of poems and poetic dramas .

Whenher poems were first offered to the publicthey were accepted and more were called for . E u

couraged by this su ccess , she tried her peninproseessays . These met at once apprec iation and

response. Of late she has produ ced some charm

ing stories for the young. All of her work bearsthe impress of her own fervent, sensitive natu re.

The tenderness,of a warm , loving,

earnest spirit,deeply imbued with religious devotion, breathesthr ough her writings . Thesu ccess shebas ac hievedso ear ly inher career as anauthor is unu sual andfu l l of promise. E . A . E .

INDUCT ION TO AN ANT IQUE WEDDING SONG.

TH E sheep are inthe pastu re, and the shepherd’

s

gone away ;The sheep are inthe pastu re all this long, bright

summer day ;And they alone must tarry ,

For the shepherd ’

s gone to marry,And he ’l l not come bac k til l morning ; well - a- day,

well - a—day

The wedding bells are ringing,

The Trou badou r is s inging ;The orange blooms and dais iesDelight to frame her praises

Who wal ks with him she loveth best, today.

There is no thought of sorrow ,

No thought of sad to -morrow ;For the wedding bells are ringing,

The Trou badour is singing,And she doth walk with her best loved, to - day .

So while the sheep are waiting, and the shepherd ’

s

far away,

Come, let u s joinou r voices ina merry roundelay ;

Let u s sing to merry pipes all the long, bright,summer’s day.

Whi le we alone mu st tarry ,While youngCol lin’

s gone to marry,Come, let u s s ing his praises , wel l - a—day, well - a -day!

LIKE TO SOME STORM- RELATED BIRD.

LIKE to some storm- belated bird that l ingersFar from its mates u pona winter's night,B eating its tender w ings insad affright ;

So stands she now w ith soft unc las ping fingers ,And wistfu l eyes that, intheir strained sight,Peer far beyond the darknes s of thenight.

0 wistfu l eyes ! that, inyou r tender sadness ,So long have knownthe ministry of tears !O grac iou s mou th ! that to the heart endears

A mou rnfu l smile above all youthfu l gladness !O weary heart ! thatnever leaps with fearsNor home for joy through all the coming years !

Wou ld I might l i ft, one moment, thy du ll bu rden,

And,with my heart’

s deep sympathy, atoneF or all the sorrows thou hast ever known;Wou ld I m ight give thee some celestial guerdon,Some gift of love from God’

s eternal throne,To fi l l the dark hou rs whenthou art alone.

BL IND EYES.

SO MUCH . so mu ch , we cannot understand !So much that leaves the heart unsatisfied !

Ofttimes we tu rnbeneath God’s chast

'

ninghand,And, inthe pass ionof ou r humanpride,

F eel that ou r m ighty Maker is unk ind ,B ecau se we cannot seH u r eyes are blind .

WALK ING VILLAGEWARD AT EVENING.

LOUD,blu st

’

ring winds ac ross the pastu res sweep ,The meadows all are s i lent under snow ;The voiceless streams no longer , intheir flow,

B reak from the bondage of their icy s leep .

Far from the dri fting woodlands , shadowed deep,Smooth and untarnished onthe vale belowMid- w inter 's beauty lies— the glist

'

ning snow,

And all things seem their Sabbath peac e to keep .

H ow white it is , and beau tifu l— this earth !Yonfar - off vil lage seems enchanted qu ite ,Silent betweenthe chi l l earth and the stars .

And yet, 0 Vale ! how mu ch of painhath birthWithinthy seem ing qu iet th is fair nightH ow mu ch of tumu lt thy calm beauty mars !

9 2 TH E MAGAZIN E OF P OE TR Y.

We cannot see why we shou ld su ffer so ,

Who havenot deeply sinned nor gone astray .

O blinded eyes . how canwe rightly knowHow far we wander from the blessed way !

Ou r finite vis ioncannot see above u sThe stretc hing shade of the Almighty wingWe cannot know how tru ly God doth love u s ,

Nor howHe strives from painH is peaceto bring.

We cannot know becau se ou r eyes are blind :We tu rnaway from H is anointing hand,

And, groping, seek that we cannever find,

Unti l inperfec t peace , we calmly stand

Content to wait till we shal l plainly see

Inthenew light of aneter nity .

A WOMAN ’

S TEARS.

A “'

oq'

s tears ; ah , yes , a woman'

s tears !You , inyou rmanly strength , say,

“ '

Tis not muchThat stirs the fountainof her hopes and fearsA womanweeps e’

enat the s l ightest tou ch .

"

And yet, so little do you know . indeed !

So l ittle inyou r ownl ife’

s stirring part.

H ow deep that fountainis ; what c u rrents feedThat fountain'

s trou bled sou rce— a woman'

s

heart.

Whenyou are loved you take it but you r right,Saying,

“ She loves to love me .

"Do you know

Aught of that inner heart- flood,whose sw ift m ight

Sweeps to her eyes their first warm overflow ?

Or whenyou prove, intenderness , to beNot all her love had thought you , do you take,

Inchiding to you r heart. this comfort, sheHer tears and prayers w il l m ingle for you r sake ?

Or whenyou r child— her hard- earned treasu reh lies

Safe onthe heart thatdared for itdeath ’s fears !

Bu t thenyou wou ld not questionif those eyesThose weary , wistfu l eyes— were fi lled w ith tears .

Why questionyou at all ? H er tears are notThe idle things they seem : they are the flow

Ofdarkly trou bled waters , oft begotInhiddendepths that you cannever know .

For woman'

s l i fe is strange —yes , strange indeed !

And that which canbu t l ittle time deferThe bu sy schemes of men

, demands it'

s meed"

I‘is thought and sm iles ,

’

t is thought and tearswith her .

And so she weeps— sometimes she knows not why,Save that her heart is fu l l . And God has given

This safeguard for her natu re swept too high ,Lest init’s flood- tide shou ld the heart be riven.

W ILLIAM STRUTHERS .

ILLIAM STRUTHERS was bornonOctober1 4

,1 854 , inTu scarora, S chuylkill County ,

Pa . On the father’s side he is the grandsonofJohn Struthers , he who made and presented tothenationthe marble coffins inwhich now rest the

revered dust of General and Mrs . Washington. On

his mother ’s side he is related to Fitz- Greene Hal

lec k , the late famou s poet, who was a nephew ofMr . Stru thers '

s great-

grandfather , inwhose homeHalleck dwelt fr om the age oftento thatof twentyyears . Mr . Stru thers is also related to the Beechers . Harriet B eecher Stowe and his grandmotherbeing nieces of Harriet F oote, after whom theywere both named . Mr . Stru thers ’

s father served inthe Rebel lion, first as a captaininthe Pennsylvania cavalry , and then, after a three months’ imprisonment in “ Libby ,” as commander - inc hief of adivis ionof the “Dismounte dCamp,” near Washington. While there, he had his wife and childrenwith him ; and thu s the young Struthers had an

opportunity of stu dying the poetical side of a sol

dier 's camp l ife. After the war the family movedto Baltimore, and thence to Phi ladelphia, which isnow his permanent home. Mr . Stru thers hadnotwhatwe cal l a school edu cation. Inhis early year she was a del icate creatu re, with too slender a holdu pon l ife for his father to th ink of tru sting him

w ith books ; and though he managed to weatherthrough the years to manhood, it was with thestruggle of an invalid, too power less evennow to

raise his vo ice above a whisper. Yet he is anao

compl ished scholar and l ingu ist. Variou s translations of his , prose fr om the F rench and Ital ian.

verse from the Spanish , have appeared in the leading magazines and newspapers ; while, as a writerof original verse, his pleas ing poems , sonnets , rondeau s , etc . , have made his name familiar . J . W.

THE TARN .

F ELLL'

CID as you pu re, blu e- pu rple heightsOf welk in, now reposes this lone pool

And yet its mirror oftentimes del ightsThe visions of black c louds , whose mad m isru le

Confu ses eagles intheir mid- air flights ,

Whentempests make these mounta ins their footstool .

Yes : thenthis virgin-

gentlenaiad’s faceAssumes a shadow that all smiles doth tame

,

As round its brow it draws a fern- wr ought laceInmeshed with dainty cress , and thence wou ld

c laimReleas e from pictu ring the c louds ’

w ild rac eAcross the sky above its oval frame.


AGNES MAULE MACHAR .

HERE is no name among the many that havestr ivento show the world that Canada, the

Child of Nations ,” cou ld do good l iterary work ,more favorably known

, thanthat of Agnes Mau leMachar . She has labored both at home and

abroad ,both inthe magazines of the s isternation,

and inold country periodicals , to give her Fatherland a just report.

Her father , a highly- c u ltu red man of broadlearning and sympathies , was anative of Scotland,

and for a time a c lergymaninthat country . Whilesti ll a youngmanhe came to America, and continu ed his labors , both as pastor of a chu rch inK ingston, Ontario , his daughter

’

s birthplace , and as theeffic ient pr inc ipal of Q ueen’

s Uni vers ity . Althougha bu sy man, he found time to attend to h is daugh

ter’s edu cation, and instru cted her inboth the an

c ient and modernlangu ages . That his instru ctionwas not was ted was shownwhenh is pu pi l translated , at the age of

'

twelve, a story from Ovidinto Engl ish rhyme, and late r made a poeticaltranslationof a portion of Antigone and E lectra .

F rom this beginning she has never ceas ed wr iting,

but has worked incessantly ,both inCanada under

the nom de p lume of“F idel is

,whichno long cr con

ceals her identity , and under her ownname in the

United States and England, to do someth ing toUpliftmanand make him happier .Her first real literary ventu re was a ju veni le

story , entitled “Katie Johnstone ’

s Cross,

"which

was written in six we eks,and which won a fi r s t

prize offered by a Canadianpublisher inToronto .

Lu cy Raymond, a story published inNew Yorkand Edinbu rgh , several rel igiou s books , bes ides twoc leverly writtennovels , F o r K ing and Country

,

”

and “Lost andWon,”appeare dinrapid su cces s ion.

Miss Mac har has beenanenergetic magazinewriter .Poems by her have now and thenappeared in TheCentu ry,

A

'

t. N icholas and Wide Awake.

It is a natu ral impu lse w ith her to help the weakand su ffering,

and she has done what she cou ld, byher penand otherw ise, to amel iorate the conditionof the poor , and to foster humanity towards thedumb bru te .

M iss Mac har, like Professor R oberts , is heartandsou l for Canada’

s fronting the world alone .

H owever, she pays bu t l ittle attention to thisqu estion, as she w isely recognizes the fact thattime alone cansolve it.

She lives inthe historic c ity of Kingstondu ringthe w int er months . H er summers are spent amongthe pleasanthaunts of theThou sand Is lands

,which

have had a good deal of influence onpoetic work .

T . J . M .

CHRISTMAS IN THE Hosrm L.

AN’is it Christmas morain’

? I ’ve lost my count

of time,

B ut I thought it m us t be Christmas ,— by the bells ’sweet, solemnchime ;

An’ I had a dream 0’

the home folks , ju st as themornin’ broke,

May be’t was the bells that brought it,— r ingin’

before I woke !An

'

is itChristmasmornin’? An’

while I’m lyin

’ here,The folks to chu rch are go in’

— the bells do ring so

c learFathers an’

mothers an’children, merri ly over the

snow,

J u st as we u se dto go ,— onChristmas long ago

Oh , yes ! I know you ’re good, nu rse, an’

1 do try

not to fret,

B u t atf‘

hristmas - time,— no wonder ifmy eyes with

tears are wet,F or I saw so plain, inmy dream , the brownhouse

by the m i ll ,An

'

my father an’

my mother ,— ah , me ! ar e theythere s ti l l

An'

, as they go to chu rch to - day,perchance they

think 0’

me,

An’wonder where poor Katie is ,— ac ross the greatblu e sea .

An’

wel l it is they cannot te ll ! an’ may they neverknow

F o r su r e t wou ld only break their hearts , to hearmy tale 0

’

woe !

My mother mu st be gettin'

o ld, and she was never

strong :B u t then, her spirit was so bright, an’

sweet her

dai ly song.

She s ings no more abou t the hou se , but su re she

prays fo r me,

An’w ipes away the drOppin

'

tears ,— for the ch ildshe ne

’

er may see !

My father'

s bent w ith honest toil , an’

troublebravely borne ;

B utnever has he hadto bearawordor look of sc orn,

An’ never shall it come through me ; for al l 1 havebeenw i ld,

I ’d rather die a thou sand deaths , thanshame him

for his child !I know I have beens infu l , but some were more to

blame,

Who never think— becau se of that— to hang theirheads for shame !

Ah,wel l ! I mu st n

'

t think of them , but of myself,an’ pray

That He wi l l take away the sin— who came on

Ch ristmas day !

AGNES M A ULE M ACH AR .

An’

, thank you for the letter , nu rse, you say the

ladies brought ;’Twas kind 0 ’

them to think 0 ’ me ; I thank themfor the thought ;

The print is easy read,— but, oh what wou ldI give

to see

Just one small scrap o’writin’ from the old home

folk to me !But, nu rse,— those bells seem tellin’ o ’

the betterhome above

Where sinand sorrow cannot come, but all is peacean’ love ;

Where brokenhearts are healed at last, an’ darkness passed away

An’ He shall bid u s welcome home— who died onChristmas Day !

TWO V ISIONS.

WHE R E c lose the cu rvingmountains drewTo c lasp the stream intheir embrace,With every out-l ine, cu rve and hueReflected inits plac id face.

The ploughmansto ps his team to watc hThe train, as swift it thunders by ;Some distant glimpse of life to catc hHe strains his eager , w istfu l eye.

His glossy horses patient standWith wonder intheir gentle eyes ,As, through the tranqu i l mountainland,The snortingmonster onward flies !

The morning freshness lies onhimJust risenfrom his balmy dreams :The wayfarers— all soiled and dim

Think longingly of mountainstreams .

Oh, for the joyous mountainair ,The fresh , del ightfu l au tumndayAmongthe hills ! The ploughmanthereMust keep perpetual holiday !

And he, as , all day long,he gu ides

His steady plough , with patient hand,Thinks of the flyingtrainthatglidesInto some new , enchante dland,Where, day by day, no plodding roundWearies the frame and du lls the mindWhere life thr i lls keento s ight and sound,With ploughs and fu rrows left behind.

Evenso , to each , the untrod waysOi life are to uched by fancy ’

s glow ,

That ever sheds its brightest raysUponthe path we do not know !

95

DRIFTING AMONG THE THOUSAND ISLANDS.

NEvEna ripple onal l the r iverAs it lies like a mir ror beneath the moon;

Only the shadows tremble and qu iver’Neath the balmy breath of a night inJune.

All dark and silent— eac h shadowy islandLike a s i lhouette shows onits s ilver ground,While ju st above hangs a rocky highland,Du sky and grim , with its pine trees crowned .

Never a sound save the wave’

s soft plas hing,

As the boat drifts idly the shore along ;And dartingfire- flies , s i lently flas hing,Gleam— l iving diamonds— the woods among ;

And thenighthawk flits o’er the bay ’

s deepbosom ,

And the loon'

s laugh breaks through the midnight calm ,

And the lu sc iou s breath of the w i ld pine’s blossom

Waits from the rocks , ina tide of balm .

— Drifting ! Why cannot we drift forever?Let all the world and its worries go !

Let u s float and float w ith the flow ing river .Wh ither?We neither carenor know !

— Dreaming a dream— m ight we ne’

er awaken;There ’

s joy enough inthis passive bliss .

The wres tling c rowd and its cares forsaken,Was ever Nirvana more blest thanthis?

Nay ! B ut ou r hearts are ever liftingThe sc reenof the present, however fair ;

Not long, not longmay we go ondrifting,Not long enjoy su rcease from care !

Ou rs is a nobler task and guerdonThanaimless drifting, however blest ;

Only the hearts that canbear the bu rdenCanshare the joy of the V ictor 's rest !

A M E R ICA .

Nor North nor South it knows , nor EastnorWest,

Its mighty heart throbs w ith a s ingle beatWhile fal l its tears uponthe w inding- sheetThat wraps to - day its noblest and its best.

Nor North nor South ! All boundaries are fled,Where noble manhood falls for manhood'

s sake ;We know no frontier line onlaad or lake

,

Continent is mou rning for the dead !— F uneral Day ofPres ident Garfield.

B U R N S .

Andnever l ips thanhis have pleadMore tenderlv and pitifu l ly ,

To leave the erring heart w i th HimWho made it, and w i ll judge it tru ly ;

And yet,— it is not all a dreamThat we have heard a voice from H eaven

,

B eho ld this hear t hath Io w’

d m uch ,

And m uch to it shal l be forgiven!”

—. l Night with B ums .


W ILLIAM WYE SMITH .

EV . WILLIAM WYE SMITH was born inJ edbu rgh , S cotland, on the 1 8th of March ,

1 8 2 7 . He was only three years of age whenhisparents and their young family left Scotland to

better their c irc umstances inthe New World. His

father ’

s intentionwas to s ail for New York ; but,on account of delays in shipping, he and his

family to ok pas sage for Baltimore. where theyarrived safely , and soon afterwards pu she d forward to the sou thern part of Ohio . His father,finding the

“ rough and tumble l ife of a newcountry somewhat distastefu l , betook himse lf tohis original destination, the c ity of New York ,where he remained ,

doing bu s iness as a c lothier, sixyears , and here the subjec t. of o u r sketc h receivedhis first public - school tu ition. H is father ’

s healthsomewhat failed, and having a. fancy for farming,

he removed his family to the neighborhoodof Gait,Upper Canada, where he bought a c leared farm ,

and thus was brought abou t a break of eightyears inthe edu cationof ou r young as pirant forlearning. With the exceptionof abou t six monthsina country school , Mr . Smith had no means ofprac tical educationother than his mm untiringdil igence after work inghou rs onhis father ’

s farm .

H ow su ccessfu l he was may be judge d by the factthathe “ pas sed and obtaine dapos itionas schoo lteac her inthe vil lage of St. George , which pos itionhe held for a year , and thu s earned funds forfu ture travels insearch of a higher education. He

went to New York, and was gr eatly benefited byindu striou s application du ring two terms inthe

classical department of the Univers ity GrammarSchool of that c ity .

His fir st volume of poems was publ ishe d inToronto in1 850. The following year he married ,

and started business as a general storekeeper inSt. George. Inthe spring of 1 855 he removed hisbusiness to Owen Sound, on the Geo rgian Bay,

thena very isolated part of the country . A coupleof years afterward, on being appointed to a c lerkship of one of the cou rts , he gave up his businessas storekeeper

,and devoted himself for the next

six or sevenyears to the duties of his ofllce. Du r


,and as editor and publisher of the

Sunday Schoo l Dial , a monthly publication, thefirst i llu strated Sunday school paper in UpperCanada. The year 1 862 was spent inre visitingthe land of his birth . In1 863 he bought ou t theOwenSo und Times , and continue dto e dit and publish it for a period of two years ; but in 1 865 ,being invited to become the pas tor of the Congregational chu rch inListowel , Ontario , he sold out

the Times to the present proprieto r . For abouttwelve years he was the Canadian correspondentof the Edinburgh Daily Review, and acted as theirspecial correspondent at the Centennial Exhibition in 1 876 . After a pastorate of fou r years inListowel , he accepted a cal l to the congregationof Pine Grove, near Toronto , which po sitionheheld for nine years . Afterwar ds he served a Congregational chu rch for three years inthe eastern

townships of Quebec , near the Vermont border .

Retu rning to Ontario he became a resident of Newmarket. He now devotes his time to editorialwork in connection w ith the CanadianIndepend

ent, the organof the Congregational body intheDominion. His last volume of poems , from whichthe fol lowing selections are taken, was pu blishedinToronto in 1 888 , and has met with a kindlyreception. J . I .

FAIR LEILA.

I worm) that I were a floweret fair,To be plu cked by her dainty hands ,

Or twined inthe maze of her goldenhair ,As like a sweet dream she stands .

So , many might come and as many might go ,Her pride and her beau ty to see ;

How soon she forgot them , I ’

d care not, nor

know,

B u t I ’d know that she thought uponme !

I wou ld that I were a warbling bird ,With a song so sweet and c learThat she needs must pause on the banks of

Ou se ,My caroling voice to hear !

So, lovers cou ld ta lk or lovers be mu te ,

B u t this I cou ld plainly see,Thatshe tu rned from themallwith aweary look,To listeninsmiles to me !

I wou ld that I were a mu rmu ring stream ,

That steals through the woods apace,To look inher eyes whenshe so ftly bendsTo mirror her lovely face .

So ,who for a glance of love might su e,

From under those lashes rare,I ’

d mirror mysel f inLeila’s eyes ,

And dwel l incontentment there !

B utneither a flower, a bird,nor stream ,


’m but a herd- boy, ina coat of gray,And she

’

s like a Queento see !

B u t if it cou ld be it were hearts aloneThat made u s to be or to do

,

Fair Leila mightyet be all my own,And all my dreams be true !


LUELLA DOWD SM ITH .

LUELLA DOWD, the eldest of the fou r ch i l0 drenof Almeronand Em i ly Cu rtiss Dowd, was

born inSheffield,Mass , a beau tifu l village that

rests inthe shadow of the Berkshire H i lls . Whenshe was two years of age her parents removed to

West V irginia, where they remained nine years .

B oth of themwere teac hers , and she was instru ctedat home and intheir schools .

Ontheir retu rnto Massachu setts , her edu cationwas continued inthe South Egremont Academywhere sheafterward taught,— inthe H igh and Normal Schools of Westfleld, and inCharles F . Dowd’

s

Sem inary , now knownas Temple Grove Sem inary ,

of Saratoga Spr ings , N . Y . Fr 0m this las t institu tionshe graduated w ith the highest honor .F or several year s she was a su ccessfu l teacher .

She has always beenanearnest worker inSundayschools and inthe cau se of temperance .

In1 875 she married Henry H adley Smith ,M .

a phys ic ianwhose prac tice has beenmarked w ithunu sual su ccess . For nearly tenyears they res idedinSheffield

,Mass . In the au tumn of 1 884 they

went abroa d. On their retu rnDr . Sm ith re com

menced practice in H udson, N . Y .,where they now

l ive.

F rom an ear ly age Mrs . Sm ith has beena fre

quent wr iter of verse and prose, contribu ting tomany papers and magazines . In1 879 she made a

collectionof her scattered writings and'

publishedthem under the title of “Ways ide Leaves .

"In

1 887 her second volume appeared ,entitled Wind

F lowers .

”

Though her life has beena bu sy one, the impu lse

to wr ite has been strong enough to overcome all

obstac les , and inthe crowdedwalks of life she bearsand heeds the voices of the mu ses . She has writtenmany temperance sto ries for children, and theaim of all her writing, as of all her li fe, is to dogood— to cheer and comfort and help those whoare inneed. A . M . D.

ONE STEP.

Os ,REST notnow , thou toiler bold,Thou who hast c l imbed all day with pain,To pau se to -nightmakes labor vain.

One step , the summit to attain!

Thou toiler'

bold,Pau se not for ease or gold .

Oh , restnotnow , thou student deep ,Thou who hast studied through thenight,The sought- for goal is ju st ins ight.

Oh , do notm iss fair Learning’s height.

Thou student deep,Pau se not for idle sleep .

Oh , restnot now , thou val iant knight,Thou who has fought anunseenfoe ,Soonshalt thou lay the traitor low .

Thenseize thine arms and string thy bow .

Thou val iant knight,Pau se no t, but winthe fight.

Oh , restnotnow , thou pilgrim grayAlthough thy sunof youth is set,Stil l falter not, nor weary yet,One step w i ll lead beyond regret.

Thou pi lgrim gray ,

Pau se not, bu t keep thy way.

Oh, to i ler , student, knight and pilgrim grayOne step— the s umm it is thine own;One step— and w isdom '

s grac e is shownOne step— thy foes are overthrown;One step— thenrest before the throne.

0h,pi lgrim gray ,

F or su ch ach ievement pray !

THE SEA.

WHE N w ilt thou rest, 0 Sea !Thou of the restless heart,

G rand inthy majesty ,Wai l ing thy lost, apart?

Thy sorrows w i l l not cease,There is no rest for thee,

N0 one to speak thee peace,As Christ to Gal i lee .

Ah ! thou hast heard, whentimeShall be henceforth no more,

Inthe celestial c limeNo ocean- su rge will roar .

Thou,who artnow so fair,

With crested wave insun,Thou , with the heart of care,F orever more undone !

M ighty , and grand , and strong,Majestic , w i ld and free,

Cananeternal songBe perfect without thee?

GAIN WITH LOSS.

F or every doorThat opes before,The Fates , unkind,Close one behind .


How cheeringwas the bugle sound ,That sweetly rose and fell ;

N0 other mu s ic had a charm ,

Whencares of camp had fled,Like those pu re airs sent proudly forthBy stalwart Pu tty Ned .

”

A bugle, not of s i lver madeNor bu rnished bright and fine,

B ut, oh , its notes were heard with joyAlong the steady line

And then, atnight, beneath the stars ,Insilence deep , profound,

That old key- bugle charmed the campWith magic of its sound.

Yes , twenty years have flownsince thenAnd mu sic with its power

Has held u s rapt inmany a spell ,Bewitchingmany anhou r ;

B ut whenthe heart is thri lled the most,We rest the drooping head

To hear the faint est bugle- tonesF rom far - off Pu tty Ned .

Andmany times s ince then I ’ve thought,

Whenstirred by mem'

ry’

s sounds ,If soldiers form the night bivouacInheaven’

s camping-

grounds ,H ow qu ick , shou ld that o ld bugle thereSound forth all fu l l and free,Wou ld F letcher’s troopers , fr iendly still ,

“Fall in w ith “Company D "

!

MY MOTHER ’

S VOICE .

THE voice of her I love , how dear !

Tho ’far my wand

'

ring foots teps stray ,

It lingers onmy list'

ning ear ,

I t vibrates thro ’ each passing yearAnd, think ing of that vo ice to - day,

Remembrance c laims the wil ling tear .

Mymother’

s voice ! Its gentle powerHas tu rned temptation’

s face away ;And tho

’

the tempes t c louds may lower ,To darkenl i fe’

s most joyou s hour ,It comes , like sunsh ine onthe day,

To brightenfield, and wood , and bower.

That voice comes to me whenalone,Incheering ac cents , soft and sweet ;

Infesti ve hal ls I hear its tone :And whento m i lder scenes I '

ve fiown

Thro ' haunts of men, thro’ busy street

Its magic spell is round me thrown.

H ow sweet the voices are that blendInmu rmu ring ril l and fiow ’

ry lee ;

Inwhisperings that the south winds send ;Insighs from trees whenbranches head ;Inthrilling sounds from heaving sea,

And inthe echoes val leys lend !

Yetnaught has ever to uched my heartLike that sweet voice I long to hear

Anecho of the sou l thou art !

And from this revery I startTo feel my mother’s spir it near .

Sweet voice ! ah , we shal l never part!

FOOT - PRINTS IN THE SNOW.

h was morn! A virginmantleCovered all the somber town;I cou ld see the gl istening snowflakes ,

F rom my window , nestling down;And the shouts of truant scholarsWith their faces all aglow ,

Drew my eyes toward a maidenMaking footprints inthe snow.

B r ight and winsome little fairy !You have drawn, with magic art,

F rom the storehou se of remembranceTreas u red pictu res of the heart;

Once aga inI ’

m treading pathwaysThat I knew long, long ago ;

Once againI ’m by the roadside,Making footprints inthe snow .

Onward went the l ittle maiden,Looking there so very sweetThat the snow more brightly sparkled ,

’Neath the pressu re of her feet.

Happy chi ld ! serene and lovely,May you r life stream onward fiow,

And life- sorrows fade as qu icklyAs you r footprints inthe snow.

Where the drift lay smooth and tranqu il ,B right and pu re from Heavenbeguiled;

And eac h flake a diamond sparkled,Walked this lovely l ittle child ;

Never heeding tinkling school - bell ,Little fearing teac her’s blow ,

For her thoughts were only boundedBy her footprints inthe snow.

Pretty child ! H er hood seemed falling,

And her c loak was mu ch astray,While she raised her dress so lightly,Never heeding those at play ;Thu s with eyes intently watc hing,And with steps so very s low ,

Went this tiny maidenforwardMaking footprints inthe snow.

M A UR I CE F R AN CI S E GAN .

MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN .

AUR ICE FRANCIS EGAN , recently editor ofthe New York Fmenmn’

s J ournal , and at

present Professor of English Lit eratu re inthe University of Notre Dame, is one of those versatilewriters who have the defects of their qualities . Ifhe had beenless of a jou rnalist, he woul d haveproduced more poetr y ; ifhe was less of a ready writeronall subjects , he wou ldno doubt inthis be one ofthemost popu lar of Americanpoets .

This exquisite and rare talent has beenrecognixed by Longfellow , Cardinal Newman, Stedman,Gilder , and a host of critics , both here and inEngland, and yet he published abou t onanaverageone sonnet a year ! H is sonnets are technical lynear ly perfect And the little book , “

Songs andSonnets ,” printed in Londonin 1 886, from the

type, is very rare.

Mr . Eganwas borninPhiladelphia onMay 2 4,1 852 . After his college cou rse— GeorgetownCollegs is his alma mater ,— he studied law inthe officeofa well - knownlawyer inPhiladelphia . B ut journalism attracted him . He began with HenryPeterson’

s staff on the Saturday E vening Post,which then included Mrs . HodgsonB u rnett andhalts - dozenother celebrities theninembryo ,— and

continued inthe treadmill of newspaper work untilhe su cceeded to the editorship of the F reeman’

s

Journal . His poems “Like a Lilac ” and “Of

Flowers , are found inmany collections .

D. MAcI .

THE OLD V IOL IN .

THOUGH tuneless , stringless , it lies there indu st,Like some great thought ona forgottenpage ;The soul of music cannot fade or ru stThe voice withinit stronger grows with age ;[is str ings and bow are only trifl ing thingsAmaster - tou ch ! its sweet sou l wakes and sings .

THEOCRITUS.

DAPHNIS is mute , and hiddennymphs complain,And mou rningmingles with their founta ins ’

song ;Shepherds contend no more, as all day longThey watc h their sheep onthe wide Cypru s- plain;Themaster - voice is silent, songs are vain;Blithe Panis dead, and tales of anc ient wrong,Done by the gods whengods andmenwerestrong,Chanted to reeded pipes , no prize cangain0 sweetest singer of the oldendays ,Industy books your idyls rare seem dead ;The gods are gone, but poets never die ;

Though menmay tu rntheir ears to newer lays ,Siciliannightingales , enraptu red ,

Caughtall you r songs , andnightly thrill thesky.

103

MAUR ICE DE GUERIN .

Tm: old wine fi lled him , and he saw ,with eyes

Anoint of Nature, faunaand dryads fairUnseenby others ; to him maidenhair

And waxenlilac s and those birds that riseA- su ddenfrom ta l l reeds at slight su rpriseB rought charmed thoughts ; and inearth every

He,like sad Jacques , found unheard mu sic , rare

As t hat of Syr inx to o ld Grecians wise.

A paganheart, a Christianson! had he ;He followed Christ, yet for dead Panhe sighed ;Til l earth and heavenmet withinhis breast :

As if Theocritu s inSic i lyHad come uponthe Figu re cru c ified,

And lost his gods indeep, Christ-

givenrest.

ON READING “THE POET ANDHIS MASTER .

(To R ichard WatsonG lider . )

Inall you r songs the birds and trees are heard ,B ut through you r singingsounds anundertoneWind-message through the reeds ,not s ung, bu t

s ighedYour heart sings like a s i lver - throated bird,

You r sou l , remembering, sea like makes itmoan,Notfor the deadgods ,butthatChristhas died .

FRA ANGEL ICO.

An'

r is true ar t, whenart to God is tr ue,And only then. To copy Natu re’

s workWithout the chains that run the whole wor ld

throughGives u s the eye withou t the lights that lu rk

Inits c lear depths : no sou l , no truth is there.

Oh , praise your R u bens and his fieshly bru sh ,Oh , love you r Titianand his carnal air !G iveme the thr i l ling of a pura toned thru sh ,

And take you r crimsonparrots . Artist— saint!

O Fra Angelico , you r bru sh was dyedInhues of opal , not invu lgar paint ;You showed to u s pu re joys for which you s ighed .

Your heart was inyou r work , you never feigned ;You left u s here the Paradise you gained !

Com mthat sad voice , 0 Poet, from you r heart?That au stere voice that v ibrates onthe stringsOfyou r sweet lyre , and into blithe song brings

Notes solemn, as .iiChristianchants shou ld start

Into weird concord w ith the notes that dartF rom P lu to’

s br ide inexi le,whenshe s ings

Ofwoodland days when,near hermother'

s springs ,

To Syrinx -mu sic , she bade care depart

104

OF FLOWERS.

THE R E were no roses til l the first child died ,No violets , no balmy- breathed heart’

s- ease ,

No heliotrope, nor buds so dear to bees ,The honey- hearted woodbine, no gold- eyedAnd white las hed daisy- flower ,nor , stretchingwide,Clover and cows lip-c u ps , like r ival s eas ,Meeting and parting, as the young spring breeze

R uns giddy races playing seek and hide :F or all flowers died whenEve left Paradise,And all the world was fiowerless awhile,Unti l a l ittle child was laid inearth ;

Thenfrom its grave grew violets for its eyes ,And fr om its l ips rosa petals for its smile ,And so all flowers from that child'

s death tookbirth .

THE CHRYSALIS OF A BOOK - WORM.

I RE AD, 0 F riend, no pages of o ld lore ,Which I loved wel l ; and yet the flying days ,That softly passed as w ind through greenspring

waysAnd left a perfume

,sw ift fly as o fyore

,

T hough inc lear P lato'

s stream I look no more.

Neither with Moschu s s ing Sic i lianlavs ,Nor with bold Dante wander inamaze

,

Nor see ou r Wil l the GoldenAge res tore .

I read a book to wh ich o ld bo o ks are new ,

Andnew books o ld. A living ho ok is min:5Inage, three years : init I read no lies ,

Init to myr iad tru ths I find the elm

Atender little child ; bu t I divineThoughts high as Dante

'

s inher c lear blue eyes .

L IKE A LILAC .

LIKE a l ilac inthe SpringIs my love , my lady - love ;

Pu rple- white , the l i lac s fl ingScented blossoms from above :

So my love, my lady - love,Throws soft glances onmy heart :

Ah , my dainty lady - love,Every glance is (

‘

Upid'

s dart.

Like a pansy inthe SpringIs my love, my lady - love ;

For her velvet eyes oft bringGoldenfanc ies from above :

Ah,my heart is pansy - bound

By thos e eyes so tender- true ;Balmy heart’s- ease have I found,

Dainty lady- love, inyou .


Oh ! love, my love, canit, then, ever beThat thou or I may gaze u ponlove’

s death?That thou shalt some day,

sad and s i lently,Look onme dumb and cold and withou tbreath

Or shal l I see thee lying white and wan,Like yonder damsel inthe flower - bed ,

And only say,My lady sweet has gone ;

She’s lost to me ; she

'

s dead — what meanetlz

dead’I’”

Like the changefu l month of SpringIs my love, my lady- love ;

Sunshine comes and glad birds sing,

Thena rain- c lou d floats aboveSo you r moods change with the wind,April - tempered lady- love ;

All the sweete r , to my m ind .

You’

re a riddle, lady- love .

THE ANXIOUS LOVER .

I SAW a damsel ina somber room ,

Laid low inbeds of pu rple violet,And pale sweet roses , that perfumed the gloom ;

And thenI thought, This is a gray sunsetOf days of loving life . Shall he who standsBeside her bier , insorrow for his love,

Be first inH eavento c lasp her gentle hands ,To bow w ith her before the Lord above?

If love candie, let my heart be as coldAs Galatea ’

s was befor e the wordsOf the warm sc u lptor drew it from the mouldAnd made her hear the sound of s inging birds .

Love '

s s unshine and love '

s shadows , are they allLike Apri l s unand shadow onthe earth

If love candie at s ight of funeral - pal],Wou ld I had strangled it inits sad birth !

I know that the sweet Spring w il l su rely go ,

And leave no trace , except a blossom dryI know that l ife w i ll pas s as passes snowWhenMar ch w inds blow and ri ver- floods are highI know that all the maples onthe hillThat fire the air w ith flames

, to as hes burn;I know that all the s inging birds that fi llThe air w ith song, to s ilent dust wi ll tu rn.

If love candie, thenI wi ll no more lookInto thy eyes , and see thy pu re thoughts there,

Nor wil l I read inany po et’s bookOfall the things that poets make so fair .

If love candie, the poet’

s art is vain,And thy blue eyes m ight well be blossoms blue ,

And thy so ft tears be only senseless rain,If love candie, l ike flowers and sonless dew .


C L E O PA T R A .CLEOPATRA.

SE LECTI ONS .

ANTONY TO CLEOPATRA.

I AM dying, Egypt, dying!Ebbs the cr imsonli fe- tide fas t ;

And the dark , Plu tonianshadowsGather onthe evening blast.

Let thine arm , 0 Q ueen, support me,H u sh thy sobs and bow thine ear ;

Listento the great heart- sec rets ,Thou , and thou alone, mu st hear .

Though my scarred and vete ranlegionsBear their eagles high no more,Though my wrecked and scattered galleysStrew dark Actium ’

s fatal shore ;Though no glitteringguards su rround me,

Prompt to do their mas ter ’ s w i ll ,I must per ish like a R omanDie the great Tr iumvir sti l l . Scatter u ponme rose - leaves ,

Letnot Caesar ’s servi le m inions They 00 0 1 me after my sleep,

Mock the l ionthu s laid low ; And w ith sandal odors fanme"r was no foeman'

s hand that fel led him ,

Til l into my veins they creep ;’Twas his ownthat stru ck the blow ,

Reac h downthe lu te , and play meHis who , pil lowed onthy bosom ,

A melancholy tune,Tu rned as ide from glory ’

s ravTo rhymew ith the dream thathas vanished

,

H is who , drunk w ith thy caresses,

Andthe s lumber-ing afternoon.

Madly threw a world away .

Shou ld the base plebianrabble,

Dare as sail my fame at R ome,

Where the noble spou se, Octavia,

Weeps withinher w idowed home,

Seek her ; say the gods bear witnes sAltars , augu rs , c irc ling wingsThat her blood

,w ith m ine commingled,

Yet shal l mount the throne of kings .

And for thee, star- eyed Egyptian,G loriou s sorceress of the N ile

,

Light my path through StygiandarknessWith the Splendor of thy sm i le .

Give to Ca! sar thrones and kingdoms ;Let his brow and lau rel twine ;I canscornall meaner triumphs ,Triumphing inlove like thine .

Ah,me ! th is l ifeless natu re

Oppresses my heart and brain!Oh ! for a storm and thunderF or lightningand wild fierce rain!

I am dying, Egypt, dying ! F ling downthat lute— I hate it !Hark ! the insu lting foeman’

s cry ; Take rather his bu ckler and sword,

They are coming—qu ick , my falchion! And crash them and c las h them together

Let me front them ere I die . Till this s leeping world is stirred .

Ah ! no more amid the battleShal l my sou l exu lting swell ; Hark ! to my IndianbeautyIs is and Os iris guard thee My cockatoo , creamy white,Cleo patra— R ome— farewel l ! With roses under his feathers

WILLIAM Hu xs s LYTLE . That flas hes ac ross the light.

H E R E , Charm ian, take my bracelets ,

They bar , with a pu rple stain,My arms ; tu rnover my pillows ,They are not where I have lain;

Openthe lattice w ider ,A gauze onmy bosom throw,

And let me inh ale the odorsThat over the gardenblow .

I dreamed I was w ith my Antony,And inhis arms I lay ;

Ah,me ! the vis ionhas vanished

The mu s ic has died away .

The flame and the perfume have perished,As this spiced aromatic pastilleThat wound the blue smoke of its odorIs now bu t anas hy hill .

There,drows ing ingoldensunl ight,

Loiters the s low smooth N i le.

Through s lender papyri, that coverThe wary c rocodi le,

The lotu s lolls onthe water,And opens its heart of gold,

And over its broad leaf- pavementNever a r ipple is rolled.

The tw i light breeze is too lazyThose feathery palms to wave,

And you l ittle c loud is as motionlessAs a stone above a grave .

CLE OPA TR A . 107

Look ! listen! as , bac kward and forward, ThenI rou sed, and roared inanswer ,To his hoop of gold he c lings , And unsheathed from my cushioned feetHow he trembles , with c rest uplifted , My cu rving c laws , and stretc hed me,And shrieks as he madly swings ! And wandered my mate to greet.

O, cockatoo , shriek for Antony !Cry,

“Come, my love, come home !

Shriek , “Antony ! Antony ! Antony !

Till he hears you eveninRome.

There, leaveme, and take from my chamberThat stupid little gazel le,With its br ight blac k eyes so meaningless ,And its silly tinkling bell !Take him ; mynerves he vexesThe thing without blood or brain

Or , by the body of Isis ,I ’ll snap his thinneck intwain!

Leave me to gaze at the landscapeMistily stretching away,Where the afternoon'

s opaline tremorsO

’

er the mountains qu i vering play ;Til l the flercer splendor of sunsetPou rs from the west its flre,

And,melted as ina cru cible,

Their earthly forms expire ;And the bald blear sku ll of the desertWith glowingmountains is crowned,

That, bu rning like moltenjewels ,Circ le its temples round.

I wi l l lie and dream of the past time,.Eons of thought away,

And through the jungle of memoryLoosenmy fancy to play ;When, a smooth and velvety’

tiger ,Ribbed with yellow and black ,

Supple and cu shion- footedI wandered, where never the track

Ofa humancreatu re had ru stledThe s i lence of mighty woods ,

And, flerce ina tyrannou s freedom ,

I knew bu t the law of my moods .

The elephant, trumpeting, started ,

Whenhe heard my foots teps near,And the spotted giraffes fled w i ldlyIna yel low c loud of fear .I su cked inthe noontide splendor ,Qu ivering along the glade ,

Or yawning,panting, and dreaming,

Basked inthe tamarisk shade,Till I heard my w i ld mate roaring.

As the shadows of night came on,To brood inthe trees ’

thick branches ,And the shadow of sleep was gone ;

We toyed inthe amber moonlight,Uponthe warm flat sand,

And struck ateac h other ou r massivearmsHow powerfu l he was

, and grand !H is yellow eyes flas hed fiercelyAs he crou ched and gazed atme,

And his qu ivering tail , like a serpent,Twitched

,cu rv ingnervou s ly .

Thenlike a sto rm he seized me,

With a wi ld triumphant cry,And we met

,as two c louds inheaven

Whenthe thunders before them fly .

We grappled and struggled together ,F or his love like his rage was ru de ;

And his teeth inthe swellingfolds of mynec kAt times , inohr play, drew blood .

Oftenanother su itorF or I was flexile and fair

Fought for me inthe moonlight,While I lay crou ching there,Ti l l his blood was drained by the desert ;And, r uffled w ith triumph and power ,

He licked me and lay bes ide meTo breathe him a vast half- hour .

Thendownto the founta inwe loitered ,Where the antelopes came to drink ;Like a bolt we sprang uponthem

,

E re they had time to shrink,

We drank their blood and crushed themAnd to re from limb to l imb

,

And the hungr iest liondoubtedE re be dispu ted w ith him .

That was a l i fe to live for !Not this weak humanl ife,With its fri vo lou s bloodless pas sions ,Its poor and petty strife !

Come to my arms,my hero ,

The shadows of tw i light grow ,

And the tiger'

s anc ient flercenessInmy veins begins to flow .

Comenot cringing to sue me !

Take me w ith triumph and power,

As a warr ior storms a fortress !I wi l l not shrink or cower .

Come, as you came inthe desert,

E re we were womenand men,Whenthe tiger pass ions wer einu s ,And love as you loved me then!

‘VILLIAM Ws'm ons S'

ronv.


CLEOPATRA EMBARK ING ON THE CYDNUS.With divers -c oloredmils , Whose w ind did seemTo glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool ,

F LUTE S inthe sunny airA d h t th did, d d .

And harps inthe porphyry halls !n w a eynu

And a low , deep hum , l ike a people'

s prayer ,With its heart- breathed swells and fal ls !

And anec ho , like the desert s cal l ,Flung back to the shouting shores ;

And the r iver ’s ripple, heard through all ,As it plays with the s i lver oars

The sky is a gleam of gold,And the amber breezes float,

Like thoughts to be dreamed of, bu tuever to ld,Around the danc ing boat !

She has stepped onthe bu rning sand

And the thou sand tongues are mute ,

And the Syrianstrikes w ith a trembling hand,The str ings of his gilded lu te !

And Ethiope ’s heart throbs loud and high ,

Beneath his white symar,And the Lybiankneels, as he meets her eye,Like the flash o fanEasternstar !

The gales may not be heard,

Yet the s ilkenstreamers qu iver,And the vessel shoots likenbright- plumedbird,Away downthe goldenriver !

Away by the lofty mount,And away by the lonely shore

,

And away by the g ushing of many a fount,Where fountains gu sh no more

Oh ! for some warning v is ionthere ,Some voice that shou ld have spoken

Of c limes to be laid was te and bare,And glad young spirits broken!

Ofwaters dried away ,And hope and beau ty blas ted !That scenes so fair and hearts so gay

Shou ld be so ear ly was ted !Tsmms KIB B LE HE R VE Y .

CLEOPATRA.

THE barge she sat in, l ike a bu rnished throne,B u rnt onthe water : the poop was beatengold ,Pu rple the sails , and so perfumed thatThe

sis

l

'

i

v

x

fir

:were love- sick With them the oars s are CLEOPATRA'

S DREAM.

Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made Lo , by Nilus ’ langu id watersThe water which they beat to follow faster, Fades the dreamy summer day,

As amorou s of their strokes . For her ownperson, Where,oncou ch of gold and c rimson

,

It beggared all description: she d id lie Egypt’s royal daughter lay,

Inher pavi lion— c loth of gold , of tissue Dr eaming lay, while palm and pil larO

’erpicturing that Venu s , where we see Cast their lengthening shadows now

,

The fancy ou t- work natu re : oneach side her And the lotus- ladenzephyrsSto od pretty dimpled boys , like smilingCu pids, Lightly kissed her queenly brow .

H er gentlewomen, like the Nereides ,So many mermaids , tended her i’ the eyes ,And made their bends adornings : at the helmA seem ingmermaid steers ; the silkentac kleSwel l w ith the tou ches of those flower - soft hands ,That yarely frame the office. From the bargeA strange invis ible perfume hits the senseOf the adjac ent wharfs . The c ity cast

H er people out uponher ; and Antony ,Enthroned inthe market- place, did sit alone,Whistl ing to the air ; which , but for vacancy ,Had gone to gaze onCleopatra to o ,

And made a gap innatu re .

L'

ponher landing, Antony sent to her ,Invited her to su pper : she repl ie d.It shou ld be better he became her gu est ;

Wh ich she entr eated : Ou r cou rteou s Antony ,Whom ne '

er the word of “ No womanheard speak ,B eing barbered tentimes o

’

er , goes to the feas t ;And for his ordinary pays his heartFor what. his eyes cat only .

WiLLu M SHAKE SPEARE— F r om Antony and Cleopatra .

SINCE CLEOPATRA DIED .

SINCE (‘

leopatra died !” Long years are pas t,InAntony

'

s fancy , s ince the deed was done .

Love counts its epochs . not from sunto sun,B ut by the heart- throb . Merc iless ly fastT ime has swept onward s ince she looked her las tOnl i fe , a qu een. For him the sands have runWhole ages through theirglas s , and k ings havewonAnd lost their empires o '

er earth ’

s su rfaee vastSince died . Ah ! Love and PainMake their ownmeas u re of all things that be.

No c lock ’

s s low ticking marks their deathlessstrain;

The li fe they ownis not the l ife we see ;Love ’

s s ingle moment is ete rnity :Eternity , a thought inShakesp eare

'

s brain.

CLE OP A TR A . 1 1 1

Soft the evening steals uponher ,As behind the cu rtained west

Sinks the day-

god inhis splendow

Folds his wooing arms to rest.

Drowsy shades of du sky EgyptHomeward, slow , their bu rdens bear .

While the boatman’s lazy chal lenge

Fal ls u ponthe qu ivering air .

Dreams she of her R omanloverHe who cast a crownaway :

Co untry , k indred , fame. and honor ,Inher capti ve arms to lay

Aye ! of Antony , her hero ,Sharer ofher heart and throne,He whose ships , now homeward sailing,Bear her all of love alone.

Starts she inher s leepingglory ,

And her brownarms, jewel le d, bare ,

Round and r ich inqueenly beau ty ,

Wildly c leave the s lumberou s air .

Beads of perspirationgatherOnher matchless woman'

s brow ,

While her parted l ips inangu ishTell of heart- pangs none may know .

Su re some vis ion, dire and dreadfu l ,Palls u ponher eyes and brain,

Piercing to her being’

s centerWith a fiery shaft of pain.

Like a sea her fu l l - orbed bosomSwells and falls with pent- u p ire ;

Thenher spir it breaks its thral ldom ,

And she shrieks , inw i ld despair :

Charm ian, qu ick . unloose my girdle,G i ve me breath ! I faint ! I die !

Ho ! slaves , bring my royal galley ,

Let u s hence to Egypt Hy .

Oh for vengeanc e onthe traitor ,

And uponhis R omanbride !Let him never (larch - ah , (

’harm ian,Stand you c losely by my s ide .

Do I dream Is this my palac PYonmy sweetly flow ing Nile?

Ah , I see—O great Os iris ,How I thank thee for thy smile !Oh , I '

ve had such fearfu l vis ionHe, my Antony , untrue !

And my heartWas nigh to bu rstingWith its fearfu l weight of woe .

But'

t is ovei yet I trembleOu what brink of fate I stand :What prophetic bird of evi lHovers o '

e r this sac re dland !

What if true shou ldcome my dreaming,Andno more my love retu rns !

Ah . the thought my heart’

s blood freezes ,While my brainw ith madness bu rns .

"

Thenshe l istene d, gazing outwardToward a dim futu rity :

And the N i le forever onwardBears its bu rdens to the sea ;

And she catches from its whispers ,Echoing whispers inher sou lThat her reignof love is ended,

And her li fe is near its goal .J . J . Ows xs .

CLEOPATRA’

S SOLILOQUY .

WHAT care I for the tempest ? what care I for therain?

If it beat uponmy bosom ,wou ld it cool its bum

ing pain,This painthat ne'

er has leftme s ince onhis heartI lay ,

And sobbed my grief at parting as I’d sobmy sou l

away?0 Antony ! Antony ! Antony ! when inthy c irc l ing

arms

Shal l I sa crifice to Eros my gloriou s woman’s

charms ,

And bu rn l ife’s sweetest incense before his sacred

shr ine,With the l iving fire that flas hes from th ine eyes

into m ine?Oh , whenshall I feel thy k isses raindownu ponmy

face ,As . a queenof love and beauty, I lie inthine em

brace ,Melting, melting, melting, as a womanonly canWhen she

’

s a w i lling captive in the conquer ingarms of man,

As he towers , a god, above her ? — and to yield is

not defeat,F or love canownno victor i f love with love shal l

meet !

I still have regal splendor, I sti l l have queenlypower

,

And,more thanall , unfade d is woman

'

s glor iou sdower .

B ut what care I for pleasu re ?what ’

s beau ty tome now ,

Since Love no longer places his crownuponmybrow ?

I have tas ted its el ix ir, its fire has through meflashed,

Bu t whenthe w ineglowedbrightest, frommy eagerlips '

t was dashed .

1 1 2

And I wou ld give all Egypt, but once to feel thebliss

Which thri lls through all my being when'

er I meethis kiss .

The tempest w ildly rages , my hair is wet w ithrain,

B ut it does not sti ll my longing or coo l my bu rning pain.

For Natu re'

s storms are nothing to the raging ofmy sou l

Whenit bu rns w ith jealous frenzy beyondaqu een'

s

contr ol .I fearnotpaleOctavia thathaughty Romandame,

My lionof the desert, my Antony , cantame :

I fear no Pers ianbeauty , I fear no Grec ianmaid ;The world holds not the woman of whom I am

afraid.

Bu t I ’m jealou s of the raptu re I tas ted inhis kiss,

And I wou ld not that another shou ld share w ithme that bliss .

No joy wou ld I deny him ,let him c u l l it where he

wil l ,So mistress of his bosom is Cleopatra sti ll ,80 that he feels forever, when he Love’

s nectars ips ,

’T was sweeter , sweeter , sweeter whentasted onmylips ;

So that all other kisses , s ince he has drawninm ine,

Shal l be unto my loved, as water after wine .

Awhile letCaesar fancy Octavia'

s pal l id charmsCanhold R ome’

s proudest consu l a captive fromthese arms .

Her cold embrace but brightens the memory ofmine,

And for my warm caresses he in her arms shallpine.

’T was not for love he sought her , but for herprincely dowel

She brought him Cwsar’

s friendship, she broughthim kingly power .

I shou ld have bid him take her , had he my counselsought,

I’ve but to smile u ponhim, and all her charms arenought ;

For I wou ld scornto hold him by bu t a single hairSave his own longing for me when I m no longer

there ;And I w i ll show you ,

Roman, that for one kissfrom me

Wife, fame, and even honor to him shal l nothingbe !

Throw wide the w indow , Isis , fling perfumes o’er

me now ,

And bind the lotu s- blossoms againu ponmy brow.

TH E M A 9 .42 1 s 01? P OE TR Y.

0

H e comes upon the tempest to calm my jealousfears ;

He comes u ponthe tempest inanswer to my cal l ,Wife, fame , andevenhonor, for mehe leaves themall;And royally I ’

ll welcomemy lover to my s ide.

I have wonhim ,I have wonhim ,

from Cwsar andhis bride !

MARY BAYARD CLARK.

The rainhas ceased its weeping, the driving sto rm

is pas t,Andcalm areNatu re '

s pu lses that late ly beatso fas t.

Gone is my jealou s frenzy , and Eros reigns serene,The only god e

‘

er worshipped by Egypt’s haughtyqu een.

With Antony ,my loved , I ’ll kneel before his shrine

Till the loves of Mars and Venus are nought to hisl l l l fl tliiiic» ;

And downthrough comingages , inevery land andtongue,

With them shal l Cleopatra and Antony be sung.

B u rnsandal - wood and cas s ia ; let the vapor roundme wreathe,

And mingle w ith the incense the lotu s- blossomsbreathe ;

Let India’s spicy odors and Persia’

s perfumes rareBe waited onthe pinions of Egypt’s fragrant air .

With the s inging of the night breeze, the river ’s

rippl ing flow,

Let me hear the notes of mu s ic incadence soft andlow .

Draw round my cou ch its cu rtains ; I ’d bathe my

sou l insleep ;I fee l its gentle langu or u ponme slowly creep .

Oh , let me cheat my senses with dreams of futu rebliss ,

Infancy feel his presence, infancy taste his k iss ,Infancynestle c losely against his throbbing heart,And throw my arms around him

,nomore,no moreto part.

Hu sh ! hush ! his spir it’

s pinions are rustl ing inmyears

CLEOPATRA TO ANTONY .

SPR EAD a feast with choicest viaudsF riends ,

’

t wil l be my very last ;B r ingthe rarest flowers to grace itHaste , my sands of life flow fast!

P lace anasp beneath the lotu sThat shall light me to the graveWith its starry petals ’

splendor ;Weep not, let your hearts be brave.

Speed, Octavia, with thy minionsF ire thy heart with deadly hate !Thou wiltmiss the royal victimCleopatra ru les her fate !

1 14

For while the Resu rrectionwaves its s igns augu st,Like morning'

s dew- br ight banners ona c loudless sky,

My weak feet c l ing enamore dto the parching dust.

And the vainsands ' poor pebbles lu re my roving

By lonel iness or hunger tu rnand re c reate me !

Ordainwhatever mas ters inThy saving school .Let thewhole prosperou s host of Fashion'

s flatter

ers hate me ,

So Thou w ilt henceforth bles s me w ith Thy

grac iou s ru le .

I pray not to be saved . risenLord,from s o rro w

Redeem me only from m y fond and mean se lflove .

Let each longnight of wres tling bring a mo u rningmorrow ,

If thu s my heart as c end and dwe ll w ith Theeabove !

Vales of R epentance mount to h i lls o f high Des ire :Seventimes se ven su ffe ring

'

ymirs gainthe Sab

batic Rest ;Earth '

s fickle, cruel lap , alternate frost and fire .

Tempers beloveddisc iple s fo r the Maste r'

s breast .

Ou r work lies w ide ; menache and doubt and die :

Thy ArkShakes inou r hands : Reas onand Faith , God

'

s

son

And daughter , fight the ir fu tile battle inthe dark .

Ou r s luggish eyel ids s lumber w ith o u r tas k halfdone .

Oh, bleeding Pries t of s i lent. sad G e thsemane ,

That sec ond Edenwhere u p s pr ings the H eal ingVine,

Press from o u r care le s s fo reheads drops o f sw eat

for Thee !F il l u s w ith sac rific ial lo ve fo r s ou ls . l ike Thine .

Thou who didst prom ise c hee r along w ith tribu lation,

Hold u p ou r tru st and keep it firm bv mu ch eu

du r ing ;Feed fainting hearts w ith patient hopes of Thy sal

vation:Make gloriou s servic e , more than lu xu ry ’

s bed,

allu ring.

Hallow ou r wit with prayer ; ou r mastery ste ep inmeekness ;

Pou r on ou r stumbling studies Inspiration’

s

light ;H ew ou t for Thy dear Chu rch a F utu re without

weakness ,

Quarried from Thineeternal Order,Beauty,Might !


0 Way for al l that l i ve . winu s by painand loss !F i ll all o u r years w ith toi l— and comfort with

Thy rod !

Through Thy Asc ens ionc loud, beyond the Cross ,Lo om s ono u r s ight. inpeac e . the (

‘

ityof our God !Fnsnsmc DAN c '

rts o'ro x .

THE NINETY AND NINE .

Til l-IR E we re ninety and nine that safely layInthe shelter of the fold ,

B u t one was o u t onthe hil ls away ,

l’ar o ff from the gate s of goldAway onthe mountains w i ld and bare,Away from the tender Shepherd

’

s care .

Lo rd. tho u has here thy ninety and nine :Are they not enough for thee"

B u t the Shepherd made answer :Has wandered away from me ;

And although the road be rough and steepI go to the des ert to find my sheep .

”

Tis of mine

B u tnone o f the ransomed ever knewI l ow deep were the waters crossed ,

No r how dark was the night that the Lo rdpas sed through

E re he found his sheep that was lost.

O u t inthe desert he heard its c ry,

Sic k and helples s , and ready to die.

B u t all through the mountains , thunder - riven,And up from the rocky steep ,

There rose a cry to the gate of heaven,“ Rejoice ! I have found my sheep !”

And the angels echoed around the throne,Rejoice, for the Lord brings back his own!”

ELIZAB ETH (‘LEPa t-z.

Met there mankind'

s great B rotherhood of sou lsand powers ,

Raise Thou fu ll praises from its farthest cornersditn:

Pou r down, s teadfast Sun, thy beams onall itstOWe t's !

Ro l l through its worldw ide space Faith ’s B uchar

istic H vmn!

Lo rd,whenc e are those blood - drops all theway

Thatmark ou t the mountain'

s trac kThey were shed for one who had gone astrayE re the Shepherd cou ld br ing him bac k

Lo rd, whence are thy hands so rent and

to rn?

They are pierced to -night by many a thorn.

SIN GLE P OE M S.1 15

A MARRIAGE HYMN .

From henceforth no mom t’

wain,but one,

Yet: ever one th rough being twain;As self is ever lost and wonThro ugh love‘

s ownceaseless loss and gain;

Each grow ing the fu l l self through eac h .

Two inall worship, glad and high ,All promises to praise and prayer,Where two aregather ed , there am I

Gone half the weight from all ye bear ,Gained twice the force for all ye doThe ceaseless , sacred Chu rch oftwo .

One inall low ly ministry ,One inall priestly sac r ifice,Through love which makes all service free,And finds or makes all gifts o f price,

Al l love which made life rich before,Thro ugh th is great central love grownmore.

And so , together jou rneying on

To the Great Br idal of the Chr ist,Whenall the li fe His love has wonTo perfec t love is sac rifice d,And the New Song beyond the SunI’eals , Henceforth no more twain, bu t one.

And inthat per fec t Marriage DayAll earth '

s lost love shall l ive once more ;All lack and loss shall pas s away ,And all find all not found beforeTill all the worlds shall l ive and glowInthat great love

'

s great. overflow .

Mus . E u zans '

rs R es ume CHAR LES.

EVELYN HOPE .

Bai r Tn-‘ Ui. E velynH ow is dead

Sit and watch by her s ide anhou r .That. is her boo k -shel f. this her bed ;She plucked that. piece of geranium flower

,

Beginningto die, too inthe glas s .

Little has yet beenchanged thinkThe shutte rs are shut

, no ightmay pass ,

Savetwo long rays through the hinge’

s chink .

Sixteenyear s o ld whenshe died !Pehaps she had scar cly heard my namthtwas not her. time .to love ; bes ide,Her life hadmany a how and aim ,

Duties eno ugh and ittle cares ,

Andnow was qu iet, now wi ldfi

Till God ’

s hand beckoned unawares ,And the sweet white brow is all of her .

Rom-zirr Rno“xm

A CHILD 'S LAUGH .

Tm: merry laugh of the laughing child .

’T is mu s ic sweet to hea r,

De lights the sou l from mornti ll night.

Inac cents loud and c lear .

Is it too late , then, EvelynHope ?What, you r sou was pu re and tru e,

The good stars met inyour horoscope ,Made you of spirit, fire and dew

And ju st becau se I was thrice as o ld,

Andou r paths inthe world diverged so w ide ,Each was naught to each , mu st I be to id?We were fellow mortals , naught bes ide?

No , indeed ,for God above

Is great to grant as mighty to make .

And creates the love to reward the loveI c laim you sti ll , for my ownlove'

s sake !Delayed itmay be fo r more lives yet,Through worlds I shall t-raverse,not a few

Mu ch is to learnandmuch to forgetE re the time be come for takingyou .

But the time w i ll comch at last it w i l lWhen, EvelynHope , what mes u t, I shal l say ,

Inthe lower earth inthe years long sti ll .That body and so u l so pu re and gay :Whyyour hair was amber shal l divine ,And you r mou th of you r ow ngeranium

’

s

red

And what yo u wo u ld do w ith me , infine,

Inthe new l ife come inthe old one’

s stead .

I have l ived . I shall say. so mu ch s ince then,G ivenup myself so many times ,

Gained me the gains of variou s men,

Ransac ked the ages , spo iled the c l ime s :

Yet one thing, one , inmy sou l ' s fu l l sc ope .

E ither I missed or tsali m isse danAnd I wan 0 find yo u , EvelynHope !“

'

hat is the iss ue ? Let u s see :

I loved you . Eve lyn, all the wh ile :My heart seeme dfu ll as it cou ld holdThere was place and to spare for the frank

young sm i le ,And the red young mou th , and the hair ’s

yo unggold .

So ,hu sh

,I w i l l give you this leaf to keep :

See ,I shu t it ins ide the sweet, cold hand .

There,that is o u r sec ret go to s leep ;

Yo u w i ll wake , and remember , and understand.

TH E (MA GAZI N E OF P OE TR Y.

The parent loves the ch ildish laugh , ASUNDER.

It brings a flood of joyAnd fil ls the sou l w ith gladsome songsThat cheer whencares annoy .

ONCE ,whenthe sun; ins low ly dying splendor ,

Sank , sending c rimsonsm i les ac ross the sea :When, inthe tw i light, eyes lookedtrueand tender

The merry laugh of the laughing child Tell me you said.

“how great you r love for

The stranger’

s l ife- blood stirs ;And all the world the better isFor what its laugh confers .

F . A . L INCOLN .

CLEAR THE WAY.

Menof thought ! he Up and stirring,

N ight and day :

Sow the semi— withdraw the c u rtainClear the way !

Menof ac tion, aid and cheer them,

As ye mav

There '

s a fount abo u t to s tream,

There ’

s a l ight abou t to beam ,

There '

s a warmth abou t to glow ,

There ’

s a flower abou t to blow ;There ’

s a midnight blackness changingInto gray !

Menof thought and menofac tion.

Clear the way !

Once the welcome light has brokenWho shal l say

What the unimagined gloriesOf the day?

What the evil that shall perishInits ray

Aid the dawning, tongu e and pen;Aid it, hOpes of honest men;Aid it

, paper— aid it, typeAid it

,for the hou r is ripe ,

And ou r earnest mu stnot s lac kenInto play .

Menof thought and menof action,Clear the way !

Lo l the c loud ’

s about to vanishF rom the day ;

And a brazenwrongto crumbleInto c lay .

Lo ! the R ight’

s about to conquer ,(‘lear the way !

With the R ight shal l many moreEnter , sm i ling, at» the door ;With the giantWrong shal l fal lMany others , great and small ,That for ages long have held u s

For their prey .

Menof thought and menof action,Clear the way !

CHAR LES MACKAY .

0

me .

Darker and darker grew the s ea before u sTu rning, I saw a shadow at you r side ;

Mist fil led the sky and hid the pale stars o ’

er u s .

As those who speak indreams my lips replied :Some meas u re love by gold,

By endless time . by soundless sea ;B u t I— I [me you well enoughTo leave you , lo ve , itneeds mu st be .

Words . thoughtless words ! bu t breathing doubtforbidden

Fears . fool ish fears ! that love mu st lu l l to rest

No t yo u or I knew thenthe meaning hidden,Ve i led inthose words you deemed anidle jest ;

Now . lo ve ! w ith path s divided,hands asunder ,

No w we have learned the meaning, you and I ,H id inthe m isty sky . the dark s ea under ,H id inthose words I spoke , and knew not why

Some measu re love by gold,By endless time

, by soundless sea ;B ut l— I love you wel l enoughTo leave you ,

love, i f needs mu st be.

H ues Coxwav.

FLORENCE VANE .

I LO V E D thee long and dearly,

F lorence Vane .

My life’

s bright dream , and ear ly ,Hath come again

I renew inmy fond v isionMy heart’

s dear pain,My how , and thy derision,

F lorence Vane.

The ru inlone and hoary ,The ru ino ld

,

Where thou didst mark my sto ry ,At eventold,

That spot— the hues E lysianOf sky and plain

I treas u re inmy vis ion,F lorence Vane.

Thou wast lovelier thanthe rosesIntheir pr ime :

Thy voice excelled the c losesOf sweetest rhyme ;

Thy heart was as a r iverWithou t a main.

Wou ld I had love dthee never ,Florence Vane.

1 18

Sing the New Year inunder the blue,Las t year you sang it as gladly .

New , new, new , new !”Is it thenso new

That you shou ld carol so madly ?

Loveagain,songagain,nestagain,youngagainNever a prophet so crazy ,

And hardly a daisy as yet ; little fr iend,See, there is hardly a daisy .

Here again, here , here, here, happy year !”

0 warble, unbidden,unbidden.

Summer is coming,is coming, my dear ,

And al l the Winte rs are hidden.

ALrnsn, LonnTs xxvsox .

— The New Review ,October ,

FROM THE HEIGHTS.

(R ead at the opening banquet o f th e Amer icanCatho lic

('

nl versity . Washington. N o vember 10 [M y

Com -zto me for w isdom ,said the mountain;

“ Inthe val ley and the plainThere is Know ledge dimmed with sorrow in

the gain;There is Effort, w ith its hope l ike a fountain;There , the chained rebel , Pas s ion,LaboringStr ength and fleeting Fashion:There ,

Ambition'

s leaping flame ,

And the iris - c rownof Fame :

Bu t those gains are dear foreverWonfrom loss and painand fever .

Natu re’

s gospel never c hanges ;Every suddenforce derangms ;Bl ind endeavor is not w ise ;Wisdom enters through the eyes ;And the seer is the knower ,Is the door and the sower .

Come to me for riches , said the peak ;“ I am leafless , cold and calmB u t the treas u res of the li ly and the palm,

They are mine to bestow onthose who seek .

I am gift and I am giverTo the verdu red fields below ,

As the motherhood of snowDai ly gives the new - bornr i ver ,As a watc her ona. to wer ,Listening to the evening hou r ,Sees the roads diverge and blendSees the wandering c u rrents endWhere the moveless wate rs shineOnthe far horizonl ine.

A ll the sto r ie dPast is m ine,

All its strange bel iefs sti ll c l inging,

All its s ingers and their s inging :


All the paths that led astray,All the meteo rs once cal led day,

All the stars that rose to shine,Come to me ; for all are m ine I

Sing,if thou w ilt, a strainthat shal l inspire

The smou ldering embers , bu r ning inmy breast,To glow once more with all their wonted fire .

Or , if some gentle mood shou ld please thee best,Thenlet thy fingers to uch the tunefu l lyre,To some swe et song to soothe my sou l to rest.

WiLmAM CARTWR IGHT Nswsu r.

— F or The Magazine of Poetry .

I AM THE BEGINNING AND THE END,THE FIRST AND THE LAST .

"

Tm: tide ranlow , ranvery low , ranout ;Autumnhad settled downu ponthe land,AndWinter

'

s face , the face of death ,was sweet,For there was calm , anend of strife and dou bt.

Come to me for safety, said the height ;

Inthe futu re as the pas t,Road and river end at last

Like a raindrop inthe ever- c irc l ing sea.

Who shal l know by lessened sightWhere the gainand where the lossInthe desert they mu st cross ?G u ides who lead their charge from il ls ,Pas s ing soonfrom townto town,Through the forest and the down,Take direc tionfrom the hills ;Those who range a wider land,H igher c l imb unti l they stand

Where the past and futu r e swingLike a far blue ocean- r ing :Those who sail from land afarLeap from mounta in- top to star .H igher sti ll , from star to God,Have the spirit- pi lots trod,

Setting lights for m indand sou lThat the ships may reach the goal .They shal l safely steer who see :

Sight is w isdom . (‘

ome to me !

J onx BOYLE O '

R E ILLY .

The Pilo t, No vember 1 6,

STRIKE, STRIKE THY HARP .

S'

rmk s , strike thy harp and wake to life againThe long- lost songs that I have loved so well ,Whose sweet- linked numbers inmy mem ry dwell

Like ling‘

ring ec hoes of some soft refrain.

Some thri ll of pleas ure , or perchance of pain,Wi ll wake respons ive to thy potent spe ll ,And some mu te chord w ithinmy heart wil l tell ,That thy rich harp- string hath not stirred invain.

1 2 2 TH E M A GAZI N E OF P OE TR Y.

While shoutingmu ltitudes beset the way, TO WILL CARLETON .

With less of awe. The gap betweena kingAnd me, a nameless gazer inthe c rowd ,

HE LO\ E s hIs kind , and lends a brother’s hand .

Seemed not so wide as that wh ich stretches now at

?"if h

h

if’highest Prai

se—

Eh“ he good .

dBetwixt u s two , this dead one and myself. "5 "3 m 9“ rewar “ I at 9 8

Untitled,dumb , and deedless , yet he is 2

° h”, I“?deep “f"‘ng“I

f"deep

Transfigu red by a touch from ou t the skiesUntil he wears , with all- unconsc iou s mm Bard of the commonhearth and heart ,The strange and suddenDigni ty of Death .

ith equal Wit and w 1sdom blest ;“mu m, E . B URTox .

The genial geniu s of thine art— Scribner

’8 Magazine, N o vember , 1 889 .

Ou r laughter and ou r tears attest.

The Peop le'

s Poet .

’ Thou hast beenClose to their cares , and shared their s trife

,A FAIRY VOYAGER '

I’ortraying w ith thy patientpenAFLOAT inthe azu re spac e The martyrdoms of lowly life .

Is a fairy thingQuaint counselor of rich and poor ,Know

’

st thou the good thysongs have done?The latc h - string out at every doorProves the w ide welcome thou hast won.

Who steers this tiny c raftHath it sail or w ing?

A careless voyagerThrough a pat-bles s waste ,

It loiters h)‘

the W0 )? Thy blameless “Bal lads , undefiled,

“3makes “0 haste . H umanity ’

s best aims rehearse ;It might be a bird inthe sky,

And father, mother , m ic and c lu ld

It might be a ship onthe wave Seem dearer to “3 for th.""9 1139 .

It yieldeth itself intru st Sing on, O songsber of the sou l !The king Ofthe h i"is its 8h“ ? For lays like thine are fu ll of cheer °

It is borne to the destined D130e Sweet as , above the breakers ’ roll,

Where the earth has 8 c radle atneed : The chimes which show the harbor near .

And the universe is pledgedTo nou rish the thistlw seed .

MARY F . B UTTS.

WideAwake, Oc tober , 1 88 9 . ONE WORD .

WR ITE me anepic ," the warrior said\

'

icto ry, valor and glory wed .

"

B ENJAM IN CO PE LAND .

IF YOU were safe inheaven, Prithee , a ballad, exc laimed the knightAnd I at the outer gate , Prowess , adventu re and faith unite .

”

Wou ld ou r l i ves seem less even,Or mine be a harder fate? Anode to freedom , the patr I ot cried

Liberty won, and wrong defied .

For thenI might hope, by waitingInpenance and patient prayer,

Hou rly my grief relating,

Give me a drama, the scholar askedThe inner world inthe outer mas ked .

Sometime to enter there, F rame me a sonnet, the artIs°

t prayedWhere the lowest may look highest, Power and passionInharmony played .

High as a crowned king,

And the farthestmay comenighest,And the saddest beglad , and sing.

B ut here, though my sou l beseech you ,Though wemay meet and speak,

I know I cannever reac h you ,No matter how far I seek.

MARY AmenDE VE RE .

Lippincott’

s Magazine, October, 1 889 .

Singme a lyric , the maidensighedA lark-note waking the morning wide.

Nay, all too long, said the bu sy Age,Write me a line instead of a page.

The swift years spoke, the poet heard,You r poem write ina single wor

He looked inthe maiden’

s glowingeyes ,A momentglanced at the starlit skies

N O TE S.

From the l ights below to the l ights aboveAnd wrote the one -word poem— Love .

WALLACE B RUCE .

— Blackwoo d’

s Magazine, No vember , 1 889 .

Tm: lictor s low unties his rod,

Lest the doomed manrepent,But s lower moves the wi l l of Godl

'

nto man'

s punishment.

For pleasu r e do not swerveAs ide, inthine employ ;

Content i f thou deserve ,Let other menenjoy .

He who s ings never makesdiscord inhis song ;

He who speaks never speaksThe word that is no t wrong.

All comes to him that waits ,

If his des ire be pu re ;Mas te r he will all fates ,His victory is su re .

Qu estionnot, but enjoyScannot too cu rious ly ,

Lest thy c lose search destroyThe charm of sympathy .

MA '

rr m-zw Rws s vm u'r .

—The Toronto ll'

eek, Augus t 2 , ISM ) .

SIMPLE SIMON WENT A- F ISHING .

A BOY named Simonsojou rne dina dale :Some said that he was s imple, bu t I

'

m su reThat he was nothing less thans imonpu re ;

They thought him so becau se , forsooth , a whaleHe tr ied to catc h inM other 's water- pai l .Ah ! l ittle boy, tim id, composed, demu re,He had imagination. Yet endu re

De feat he cou ld, for he of cou rse did fai l .

But there are Simons ofa larg er growth ,

Who . too ,inshal low waters fish for whales ,

And whenthey fail they ar e unfortunate .

Ifthe small boy is s imple, thenare both .

And the big Simonmore , who oftenrails.\t what he calls ill- lu ck or unkind fate .

HA R R IET S. Monomno s .

- Sr. Nicho las , October , 1 88 9 .

1 2 3

NOTES .

Boxs a. Since the printing of the first forms of

this magazine , and ju st as the last form goes topress

, the announcement is made of the death of

Geo rge H . Boker , at his home inPhiladelphia, Pa .

Imp . Major- General Phi lip Kearney , U. S. V .,

was k i lled at Chantil ly , Va . , Sept. 1 , 1 862 . Ed

mund (‘larenc e Stedman has written a famou s

poem onthe same subject, entitled, “ Kearney at

SevenPines .

"

WAT'rs . The “Ode to Mother Carey ’

s Chickenand all , or nearly all , the sonnets gi ven, appearedoriginally inthe LondonAtbemeum .

I'

T'

r s a. The poem , The King’

s Daughter , ’waswritteninOctober, 1 870, and first published inthesame year, in ‘The Christmas Locket, ’ a Christmas supplement to Dr . Edward Everett Hale’

s

magaz ine , 01d and New ,since discontinued . This ,

as you see ,was long be fore the char itable organi

zationOf the same name was established . I thinkit was inMay,

1 886, that I received a letter from

Mrs . Mary Lowe Dick inson, saying that havingac c identally come u ponthe poem ,

and beingstru ckw ith its su it ableness for s uc h u se, they were gladto succeed at las t intheir efforts to findthe author ,and obtainperm iss ion to u se it as a leaflet. Of

cou rse the perm iss ion was gladly granted, and Iwas very happy to learnthat my verses weredoingso good service . The same spring I recei ve dlettersfrom several sou rces , tell ing of strength and cou rage for benevolent enterprises which had beeninspired by the poem , and of good u ses which it hadserved . I wrote it with a strong fee ling inmym ind that though inone sense it m ight be a castleinthe air , in its ideal pictu re of the heights thathuman natu re might attain, it yet has a solidfoundation; it is the logical ou tcome of the doctrines of liberal Christianity — the fatherhood ofGod, and the brotherhood of man. With thesedoctrines I am very thoroughly identifie d, beingthe w ife , daughter and grand- daughter of l

'

nita

rianm iniste rs .

"It. l

'

.

H loo lxsox. Heirs ofTime was firstpu blished in

TheNationalis t, and is insc ribe dto Edward Ilellamv

MAPKE LLA R . A young man from Maine , haloand ruddy from his native hills , was se ized by the

yellow fever inNew Orleans , and the tender careand nu rs ing of the Howard Ass oc iation fai le d tosave his l ife . When the coffin was about be ingc losed,

“s top , c r ied an aged woman who was

present, let me kiss him fo r his mother . T . M .

ALLMO ND . Deal Gently , Lord !" was writtenfor the funeral of Dr . J ames I’ . Boyce , Lou isvil le ,Ky J anuary 2 0, 1 889 .

1 24

CAR LE 'rox . The steel portrait of Mr . Carletonis

usedas the frontispieceof thisnumber of THE MAGAZINE O F Po s '

rm ' by the cou rtesy of Messrs . Car

son Simpson, Phi ladelphia ,Pa . , pu blishers of

“ The Class ical and the Beautifu l fr om the Literatu re of Three Thou sand Years . by theAu thors andOrato rs of all Countr ies , edited by Henry t'oppec ,LL .D.

, and is taken from that work . t‘

opy

right is reserved by the publishers .

1 8 10 . Du ring the early partof 1 871 I was muchimpressed by the great prevalence of divorces ,and wou ld often stray into o u r cou rt roomand hear the testimony in the var iou s cas es .

It was here that I heard and saw the domestictroubles of others , and they gave me the idea ofthe poem . The characters in the poem of Betsyand I representno one inpartic u lar , and are onlyintended to be typical of a c las s . I wrote thepoemand it was publ ished in the To ledo B lade . F romthis paper it was copied into hundreds of papers ,among them H arper

'

s l l'

eeklv, and I was s u rprise dat one day receiving from the IIarpers a request fora poem . The compliment was ,

of cou rse , a highone

, and I sat downand composed Over the H i llto the Poor- hou se , Out of the Old Hou se ,

’‘ Gonc

with a Han'

somer Man,’

‘

L'

nc le Sammy and a

number of others,which they pu blished in the

ll'

eeklv in the spring of 1 871 . Near the town of

H i l lsdale, M ich .,was the c ounty poorhou se . B e

tweenthe townproper and this plac e there was a

smal l bill . I often went to the poorho u se to see

and talk w ith the unfortunate people there . On

one of my vis its I became ac quainted w i th an o ld

couple, hu sband and w i fe , who had beensent thereby their children. They never chided their o ffspnngfor having sent them to the poorhou se, bu t it wasnot difficu lt to discover that they had not come

there of their own free w i ll . This cas e suggested

the poem to me, I su ppose , although ,

of cou rse ,its

story is different from the inc ident. B u t I had hecome impres sed w ith the aged cou ple and they hadfixed themselves onmy mind. Mr . S. S. Conant,formanyyears editor ofH arper

'

s Week]y , s entmea

check of $30 for it: Fo r ‘Betsy and I ’

Inever re ceiv

ed anything, as the B ladewas notadistinc tive literary paper and paid its contribu tors only ink indtreatment and editorial encou ragement. W. C.

B aoOKs . The l ittle poem , Be a Woman, was

writtenin 1 857 by Dr . Edward B rooks,who was

for many years pres ident of the firs t NormalSchool of Pennsylvania . One of the LiterarySoc ieties connec ted with the institutionpu blisheda weekly paper ca l led The Normal Review, to whichcontr ibutions were made by the students andteac hers . At one of these meetings a poem , Be a


HUNT INGTON . F rederic DanH untington, LL . D. ,

B ishop of Central New York , was born inHadley ,Mass ,

May 2 8 . 1 8 1 9 . He says the only verses

Man. was read, which attracted considerable attention. The follow ing week , in response to a

request of the editor for a contribution, the authorsat downand das hed offa companionto the poemof the previou s week , entitled “ Be a Woman,"

which was read at the following meeting. It had

been the cu stom to select some of the popu larp ieces of the Review for publicationina Lancas

ter newspaper called The E vening Exp ress .

This poem ,

“Be a Woman,” was among those

sele cted and published . The au thor thought nofu rther o f the poem unti l about two years after ,whena friend, who had heard the poem read inthesociety. bro ught him a copy of Wi ll ie'

s Home

J o u rna l c ontaining a copy of the poem and an

e ditorial note compl imenting it and inqu iring forthe au thor . The fr iend ask permiss ionto write to

Mr . Wi llis , giving the name of the au thor, but hepre ferred to let it float on the sea of l ite ratu re . ifit wo u ld , w ithout a sponsor . It did float, and

everv now and thenthe author wou ld meet it in

somenewspaper , or friends ou ld bring him a copyof it c u t ou t o f s ome public ation. Inthe cou rse ofa few years it c rossed the ocean and began to

appear inEnglish publications , always , so faras isknown, anonymou s ly . Several interestingincidentsassoc iated with itarenoted bythe author and some

of his friends , one of which may be mentioned . A

few years ago the au thor vis ited a school inJacksonville . F lo rida . As he entered one of the rooms

the teac her info rmed him they were just going tohave a l iterary exerc ise inwhich the young ladiesWere to read artic les of their own selec tion.

The third yo ung lady called uponbegan readingthe poem “ B e a Woman. The au thor inqu iredfrom what book she was reading and found thatshe had cu t the verses from some paper and pas tedthem in her l iteratu re book . It was a pleasantsu rprise to pu pi ls and teac her to be to ld that theau thor of the poem was their vis itor . Floatingaround through thenewspapers the poem natu rallybec ame somewhat modified and evenmuti lated

, so

that in 1 874 the au thor gave permiss ion to his

friend, Prof. J . Wi l lis Westlake, to make a publicacknowledgement of its authorship . While the

au thor is w idely knownas aneducato r and has

written many books which stand high in the

t eac hers ' profes s ion, yet it is understood that hehas a strong affection for this little poem

, so

has tily wr itteninanhou r of leisu re, realizing thatit may do more to perpetuate his memory thananything else he has done .

1 2 6

B OYN 'I‘ON , J ULIA P . Lines and Inter l ines . New

York : G . P . Putnam’

s Sons , 1 887 . 1 6mo , pp . 7+1 03.

Miscellaneo u s poems .

COLLIE R ,TR OMAs S. Miscel laneo u s poems .

AVE RILL , AN NA B O YNTO N . Miscel laneous poems .

PE R RY , CAR LOTTA . Poems .

Clarke and Co . , 1 888 . 1 2 mo .

ARMSTRO NG , GE OR GE F RANCIS. Poems : Lyr icaland Dramatic . A new edition. London: Longmans

,G reen, Reader and Dyer , 1 873. F cap 8yo ,

pp .

IB ID . Ugone : a Tragedy . A new edition. Lon

don: Longmans , Green, Reader and Dyer , 1 872 .

F cap 8vo , pp . 1 1 + 2 51 .

Inn) . The Tragedy of Is rael . Part I . KingSau l .

London: Longmans , Green, Reader and Dyer,

1 872 . F cap , 8vo , pp . 1 56 .

IB ID. The Tragedy of Israe l . Part II . KingDavid. London: Longmans , Green, Reader and

Dyer, 1 874 . F caps 8vo , pp . 2 74 .

The Tragedy of Israel . Part II I . KingSo lomon. London: Longmans . G reen, Reader and

Dyer , 1 876 . F cap 8vo , pp . 2 40.

A Gar land from Greec e . London: Longmans , Greenand Co . ,

1 88 2 . F cap 8vo , pp . 64- 36 1 .

IB I I) . Sto ries ofWicklow . Lo’

ndon: Longmans ,Greenand Co .

, 1 886 . F cap 8vo , pp .

CLovo s , ARTHUR H UG H . Poems . With a Me

mo ir . Third edition. Londonand New Yo rk : Mac

m illanand Co .,1 871 . 1 2 am , pp . 2 44- 350 .

VE NAB LE , W. H . Melodies of the Heart, Songs ofFreedom , and Other Poems . Cinc innati : R obertClarke and Co . ,

1 885 . 1 6mo, pp . 1 32 .

IB ID. June onthe Miam i and Other Poems . Sec

ond edition. Cinc innati : Robert Clarke and Co .

1 8mo .

The Teac her ’

s Dream and Other Songs of

Schoo l Days . Cinc innati : McDonald and E ick ,1 889 . 8vo .

R ITTE NHor ss ,LAUR A J . Miscellaneou s poems .

Out of the Depths . F rankE . Hou sh .

H Ioal ON , THOMAS WENTwoaTH . The AfternoonLandscape . Poems and Trans lations . New

York and London: Longmans , Green and Co

1 889 . 1 2 mo , pp . 1 06 .

H ILDRE TII , CHARLE s LOT IN . The Mas que of

Death , and Other Poems . New York : Belford,

Clarke and Co .,1 889 . 1 2 mo

, pp . 1 68 .

Chicago : Bellord

Brattlebo ro

TH E M A GAZI N E OF P OE T/( Y.

I B I I) . Farm Legends . I llu strated . New Yo rk :Harper and B rothers , 1 889 (c 8vo , pp . 1 87 .

Inn) . Young Fo lk '

s Centennial Rhymes . I l lu strate d. New York : Harper and B rothers , 1 889(c

Imp . Farm Festivals . Illu strated . New York :Harper and B rothers . 1 889 (c 8 vo , pp . 1 67 .

Ian) . ( Ity B allads . I llu strated . New York :Harper and B rothers . 1 88 9 8vo , pp . 1 80 .

IB ID . ( Ity Legends . Il lu strated . New York :Harper and B rothers , 1 890 .

8vo, pp . 1 70.

P IE IR '

E ,G RACE ADE LE . Miscel laneou s poems .

ST R I'THE R s , WILLIAM . Miscellaneo u s poems .

MACHAR ,AG N I-zs MAULE . Miscel laneou s poems .

SM ITH ,WILLLI M WyE . Poems . Toronto : Prin

ted by Dudley and B u rns , 1 888 . 1 2 mo , pp . 2 65 .

SM ITH , J . LUELLA Down. Wind- Flowers . Chicago : Char les H . Ker r and Co .

,1 887 . 1 6mo , pp . 2 35 .

Ways ide Leaves . New York : G . P . Pu t

nam’

s Sons , 1 879 . 1 6mo , pp .

SHEA ,JO HN J . Miscellaneo us poems .

EGAN ,MA I ' R ICE F RANCIs . Songs and Sonnets .

London: KeganPau l , Trench and Co .

IB ID. Preludes . Philadelphia : P . F . Cunningham .

STO R Y , WILLIAM WETMoR E . Parc hments and

Portraits . B oston: Houghton, Mitflin and Co . ,

1 886 .

SAR IIE NT ,E I’ES. Cyc lopaedia of B r itish and

Amer ican Poetry . New York : Harp er and B ro

thers , 1 88 2 .

CLE PHANE , ELIZA B ETH C. The N inety and N ine .

Des igns by Robert Lew is , engraved by Wil liam C.

Dana. Boston: D. Lothrop and Co .

MACKE LLAR , THOMAs . Rhymes Atween-Times .

Philadelphia : J . B . Lippincott and Co . , 1 872 .

1 6mo , pp . 336 .

Hymns and a Few Metrical Psalms . Philadelphia : Po rter and Coats , 1 883 . 1 6mo , pp . 1 69 .

B ROWNE , LEwIs C. Miscellaneou s poems .

ALLMO N D,MARCUS BLAKE Y . Estelle, an ldyl of

Old Virginia, and Other Poems . Second edition.

Lou isvi lle , Ky“ J ohn P . Morton and Co ., 1 884 .

1 6mo , pp . 79 .

I R ID . Agrico la . an Idyl . Lou isville, Ky . z J ohnP . Mortonand Co . , 1 885 . 1 8mo

, pp . 1 6 .

CA R LE TO N ,WILL . Farm Ballads . I l lu strated .

New Yo rk : Harper and B rothers , 1 889 . (c 1 873 )8vo

, pp . 1 59 .


xvm .

The fu tile prayer , the feeble tear , Who blindly fought his way from birth ,All that deform s the face ofdeath , Nor learned, till ’t was too late to heed,

You had to bear , whilst inyou r ear Not. all thenoblest, songs are worthH ummed battle’

s breath . One noble deed '

;

You begged the vu ltu re, not the wo rm , Who , with the doom ofglory cu rsed,Might feed uponyou r empty corse . Stil l played the athlete

’

s ho llow part,Invain! J u st Nemes is was firm And ’neath his bay-

greentemples nu rsed’Gainst late remorse . A withered heart.

Too much you asked,too little gave, On, s i lent keel , th rough s ilent sea,

The crownw ithou t the c ross of strife. I wi ll not land where he, alas !What is it earns a so ldier ’

s grave? Ju stmissed Fame’

s c rown. Enough fo r meA so ldier ’

s life. To gaze, and pas s .

A WILD ROSE .

Think not I come to taunt the dead.

My ear liestmas ter sti ll is dear ;And what few tears I have to shed,

THE first wild rose inwayside hedge,This year I wander ing see,

I plu ck , and send it as a pledge,A“ “then“ hem

My ownWild Rose, to thee.

xm '

Fo r whenmy gaze firstmet thy gaze,Behind me l ies Ulysses ’ isle, We were knee- deep inJune :The wanderer wise who pined for home .

The nights were only dmamier days ,B ut Byron! neither tear nor smile And all the hou rs intune.

Forbade you roam .

I found thee, like the eglantine,Sweet, s imple and apart ;

And, from that hou r , thy smile hath beenYou rs was that bitterest mortal fate , The flower that scents my heart.

No choice save thirst or swinish trough :Love

’

s self bu t offered sensu ou s bait, And, ever since, whentendr ils graceOr virtu ou s SCOff Young copse or weathered bole

With rosebuds , straight I see thy face,And gaze into thy sou l .

Yet was it well to wince, and cry

For angu ish , and at wrong to gird A natu ral bud of love thou art,Best,

— like you r gladiator , die Where, gazing down, I WOW:

Without a wo rd ! Deep hIddenInthy fragrant heart,A drop ofheavenly dew .

XVI .

0

Go , wild rose, to myWild Rose dear ;There be, who Inthat fau lt relo Ice, B id her come swift and soon.

Since “ be“ N i“?“8 sweetest 1839 : 0 would that she were always here !And yours remains the strongest voice It thenwere always June.

Of later days .

xvn.THE GRAVE- DIGGER ’

S SONG.

For me, I think ofyou as one THE crab, the bul lace and the 8109 ,Who vaguely pined for worthier lot They burgeoninthe Spring ;

Thanto be blinked at like the sun, And whenthe west wind melts the snow,

B ut found itnot. The redstarts bu ild and sing.

ALF R ED A USTI N . 131

ButDeath ’s at work inr ind and root,And loves the greenbuds best ;

And whenthe pair ingmu s ic ’

s mute ,

He spares the emptynest.

Death ! Death !Death is master of lord and c lown.

Close the coffin, and hammer it down.

Whennuts are brownand sore without,And white and plump within,

And ju icy gou rds are pas sed abou t,And tr ickle downthe chin;Whencomes the reaper w ith his scythe,And reaps and nothing leaves ,

0 thenit is that Death is blithe,And sups among the sheaves .

Death ! Death !Lower the coffinand s lip the co rdDeath is master of c lownand lord.

Whenlogs about the hou se are stac ked,

Andnext year ’s hose is knit,

And tales are to ld and jokes are cracked ,

And fagots blaze and spit ;Death sits downinthe ingle-nook ,Sits downand doth not speak :Bu thepu ts his arm roundthemaidthat’

s warm ,

And she tingles inthe cheek .

Death ! Death !Death is mas ter of lord and c lown:Shovel the c lay in. tread it down.

— F rom Pr ince Lucifer .

LOVE’S BLINDNESS.

Now do I know that Love is blind, fo r ICanseeno beau ty onthis beauteou s earth ,No life, no l ight, no hopefu lness , no mirth ,

Pleas u re nor pu rpose, whenthou artnot nigh .

Thy absence exiles sunshine from the sky

Seres Spr ing’

smatu rity , checks Summer 8 birth ,Leaves l innet’s pipe as sad as plover’s c ry,

And makes me inabundance find bu t dearth .

But whenthy feet flutter the dark , and thou ,

With orient eyes , dawnest onmy distress ,Suddenly sings a bird onevery bough ,The heavens expand, the earth grows less and

less ,The ground is bu oyant as the air , I vow,

And all looks lovely inthy loveliness .

LOVE’S WISDOM.

Now onthe summit of Love’

s topmost peakKiss we and part ; no farther canwe goAnd better death thanwe from high to low

Should dwindle or dec line from strong to weak.

UNSEASONABLE SNOWS.

THE leaves have not yet gone ; then why do ye

WHEN ACORNS FALL.

WHEN ac o rns fal l and swal lows tr oop fo r flight,And hop ematu red s low mellows to regret,

And Autumn, pressed by Winter for his debt,Drops leaf onleaf till she be beggared qu ite ;

We have found al l , there is no more to seek ;All have we proved, no more is there to know ;

And Time cou ld only tutor u s to eke

Out raptu re'

s warmth with cu stom’s after -

glow .

We cannot keep at such a height as this ;And evenstraining sou ls like ou rs inhal e

B u t once inlife so rar ified a bliss .

What i f we l ingered till love’s breath shou ld fail !

H eavenofmy Earth ! one more celestial kiss ,Thendownby separate pathways to the vale.

E DREGS OF LOVE .

THINK you that I will drainthe dregs ofLove,I who have quaffed the sweetness onits brink?

Now , by the steadfas t bu rning stars above,Better to faint of thirst thanthu swise dr ink .What ! shall we twain, who saw love’

s gloriousfires

F lame toward the sky and flu sh Heaven’

s selfw ith light,

Crouch by the embers as the glow expires ,And huddle c loser from mere dread ofnight?

No ! cas t Love’

s goblet inoblivion’

s well ,Scatter Love

’

s as hes o ’er the field of time !

Yet, ere we part, one kiss whereonto dwel lWhenlife sounds senseless as some feeble rhyme.

LO ! as lips to u ch , anew Love’

s c resset glows ,And Love

’

s sweet cu p refil ls and overflows .

come,

0 white flakes falling from a dusky c loud ?

B u t yesterday my garden-

plot was proudWith uncu t sheaves o f r ipe Ch rysanthemum .

Some trees the w inds have stripped ; bu t look on

some,’Neath dou ble load of snow and fo liage bowed,Unnatu ral Winte r fas hioning a shrou d

For Autumn'

s bu rial ere its pu lse b enumb .

Yet Natu re plays not aninhumanpart :Inher ou r ownvieiss itudes we trac e .

Do we not c l ing to ou r ac cu stomed plac e,Though jou rneying Death have beckone d us to

start

And faded smiles oft l inger inthe fare,While g

'

r ief’s first flakes fal l s ilent onthe heart !

132

Shou ld thenthe crescentmoon’s unselfish l ight

G leam u p the sky,ju st as the sundoth set,

Her brightening gaze , though day and darkhavemet,

Pro longs the gloaming and retards thenight.

So ,fair young life, new r isenuponmineJust as it owns the edict ofdecay ,And Fancy ’

s fires shou ld pale and pass away ,Mymenaced glory takes a glow from thine,And, inthe deepening sundownofmy day,

Thou with thy dawndelayestmy dec l ine.

S O N G .

Twas a song that rippled , and revelled , and ran

Ever back to the note whence it began;R is ing, and falling, and never did stay ,Like a fountainthat feeds onitself all day,

Wantingno answer , answer ingnone,B u t beginning againas each verse was done .

— B ro ther B ene dict.

T I M E .

Time? What is Time bu t a fictionvainTo him that o ’

erhcars the Eternal strain.

Ihid .

P R I M R O S E S .

F irstyo u come by ones and ones ,

Lastly inbattalionsSkirmish along hedge and bank ,Tu rno ldWinte r ’

s waver ing flank,

Round his flying footsteps hover ,Seize onho l low , r idge , and cover ,

h ave no s lope nor h ill unharr ied ,

Till , his snowy trenches car ried ,

(l’

er his sepu lcher you laughWinter ’

s joyo u s epitaph .

l ’rimroses .

L O V E .

See ! the earth through the infinite spaces goes

s i lently round and round,

And the moonmoveth on through the heavensandnever maketh a sound,

And the wheels of eternity traverse their jou rneyinstillness profound.

’Tis only the barrenbreakers that bellow onbarrenshore ;

’Tis only the braggart thunders that rumble and

rage and roar ;

Like a wave is the love that babbles ; but s ilentlove loves evermore .

— A Woman’

s Apo logy .


cowards from

L I F E .

G E O R O E E L I O T .

— G eorge E liot.

T H R I F T .

— Grandmotber’s Teaching.

H E A LT R .

All are bornwith a s i lver spoonintheir mouths

whose gums are sound and strong.

CO W A R D IC E .

Cowardice ? Yes , we are cowards ;

c radle to bier ,And the terro r of l ife grows uponus as we grow

year by yearOur smi les are bu t trembling r ipples , u rged

a sub- tide of fear .

And hence, or at su bstance or shadow we start,

though we scarce know why.

Life seems l ike a haunted wood, where we trembleand crouch and c ry .

Beast, or robber , or ghost,— ou r co u rage is stil l to

F rom callow youth to mellow age,

Mentu rnthe leaf and scanthe page ,And note ,

w ith smart of loss,

H ow wit to w isdom did matu re,

IIow duty bu rne dambitionpu re,And pu rged away the drone.

Yo u th is self- love ; ou r manhood lendsIts heart to pleas u re , mistress , fr iends ,So that whenage steals nigh ,

H ow few find any wo rthier aimThanto protract a fl icker ing flame,Who se oil hath long rundry !

AtH is Gra

Dead Never dead !

That this , man'

s ins ignificant domain,Which is no t boundary of space ,

shou ld beThe boundary of l ife, revolts the mind,Evenwhenbounded . lnto soar ing space

Soar , spac iou s spir it ! unembar rassed nowBy earthly boundar ies , and c irc le u pInto the Heavenof Heavens , and take thyWhere the Eternal Mo rning broadens ou tTo rec ognize thy com ing.

Mendo not reap inthe spr ing, my dear , nor are

granaries filled inMay,

Save it be with the harvest of fo rmer years , storedup for a rainy day .

The seas ons wi ll keep their owntrue time, you canhurry nor fu rrow nor sod :

It’

s honest labor and steadfast thrift that aloneare blest by God

136

swam (THE GODS) .

PE RHAPS the B ook is w iser thanmenread ;The mighty E lohim madeheavenandearth

And Sons ofGod,”agreat and heavenly breed,

Shouted for joy at the creation’

s birth .

Such beings must exist, if we bel ieveThe hallowed rec ords of the anc ient pas t :

Such beings mu st exist, if we conceiveWhat reasonteaches of creationvast.

And such , existing,wou ld not lounge supine

Inthe greenvales ofthe eternal land :With sou ls o ’

erflowed with energy divine,They , too ,

mu st be cr eators , strong ofha nd .

Where thenare their c reations ? Who cansayThis wondrou s universe shows not their skill ?

Per fec tions , imperfections— grand array ,B u t yetnot perfect,— o f their godlike will !

Pr imarily for them as well as man,For their development as well as ou rs

,

To try their m ighty skil l onsome vast plan, ,

Fit work fo r Cherubim and heavenlyPowers

”1

Not free from interfer ing plague and blightOfmighty evil sou ls , for Satancame

Among the Sons ofGod as if of right :He dweltnot thenindark abodes of flame .

Eventhe “Sons ofGod mu st wo rk and pray :See their plans baffled by anadverse host :

Lose inthenight what they have gaine dbyday ;Hear the good wail ing and the w icked boast.

The One Alm ighty ru les the eternal years 'Bu t are not Cherubs ,” free agents ,

too

They have dominionalso intheir spheres ,With power to leave undone and power to do .

How else shou ld they develop , also growTo mightier w isdom ,

intheir endless rangeNot only here the w inds o fevi l blow :

Not only here are constant flaw and change .

I saynot th is is certain; what I writeI know not if I write by power or w ill :Who knows whatmoves the spirit to inditeThe simplest l ines that penetrate and thr il l?

For me, I seek bu t Truth ; the mind ofman,

By reasonled, the Tr u th at lastmust see ;

For highestWisdom mu st have framed the planWh ich , inits whole , must highestGoodness be

— F rom ‘tDeus InNatura .


THE CLOVER LEAF.

THE Y wandered inthe meadow ,

The summer eve was br ief ;Betweenthe light and shadow ,

She gave to him a leaf ;No ruddy bloom of c loverTo him her faithfu l loverOnly a c lover leaf !

()h ! sweeter thanred c lover ,Toease a tru e love’

s smart,

The greenleaf to a lover ,The lea f which bears a heart !

The greenleaf ofthe c loverFit gift whenlove runs overhThe leaf that bears a hear t!

ODE FOR DECORATION DAY.

Alas ! how few came back ,From battle and from wrac k !Alas ! how many lieBeneath } . Southernsky,

Who never heard the fearfu l fight was done,And all they fought for won.

Sweeter , I th ink , their sleep ,More peac efu l and more deep ,

Cou ld they but know their wounds were not ivain,

Cou ldthey bu thear thegrand tr iumphal strait

B R IN G flowers to strew againWith fragrant pu rple rainOf l i lacs . and of roses white and red ,

The dwellings of ou r dead,ou r glor iou s dead !

Let the bells r ing a so lemnfuneral chime,And w ild war -mu s ic bring anew the timeWhenthey , who s leep beneath ,Were fu l l of vigorou s breath ,

And intheir lu sty manhood sal l ied forth ,

Ho lding instrong r ight handThe fo rtunes o fthe land,

The pr ide and power and safety oftheNorth !It seems bu t yesterdayThe long and proud arrayB u t yes terday, whenev

’

nthe so lid rockShook as w ith earthquake shock ,As North and South , l ike two huge icebergi

ground

Against each other with convu ls ive bound,

And the who le wor ld sto od stillTo view the mighty war ,And hear the thunderous roar ,While sheeted l ightnings wrapped each plai

and bill .

H E N R Y P E TE R SON .

And see their homes unmarred by hostile tread .

Ah ! let us tru st it is so with ou r dead

That they the thrilling joy of triumph feel ,And inthat joy disdainthe foeman

’s steel .

Wemou rnfor all , but each doth think ofoneMore precious to the heart thanaught bes ide

Some father , bro ther , hu sband, or some son

Who came not back , or , coming, sank and died .

Inhim the whole sad list is glor ified !He fel l ’fore Richmond, inthe sevenlongdaysWhen battle raged from morntill blood- dewed

eve,

And lies there, one pale, w idowed mou rner says ,And knows notmost to tr iumph or to gr ieve .

My boy fell at Fair Oaks , ano'

ther s ighs ;And mine at Gettysbu rg ! his neighbor cries ;And thatgreatname eac h sad- eyed listener thr i lls .

I think of one who vanished whenthe pressOfbattle su rged along theWi lderness ,And mourned the North uponher thou sand hills .

Oh ! gallant brothers ofthe generous South ,Foes for a day and brothers for all time,

[ charge you by the memor ies of ou r youth ,By Yorktown’

s field and Montezuma’s c lime,

Hold our dead sacred— let them gently rest

Inyou r unnumbered vales , where God thought

Your vines and flowers learned longsinceto forgive,And o

’er their graves a

’bro idered mantle weave ;Beyou as kind as they are, and the wordShall reach the No rthland with each summer bird,And thoughts as sweet as summer shall awakeResponsive to your kindness , and shal l makeOur peace the peace of brothers once again,And banish utter ly the days ofpain.

Andye, O Northmen! be ye not outdone

Ingenerous thonght and deed .

We all do need forgiveness , every one ;And they that give shall find it intheir need.

Spare ofybu r flowers to deck the stranger ’

s grave,

Who died for a lost causebA son] more dar ing, reso lute and braveNe

’er wona wor ld’

s applau se .

A braveman’s hatred pau ses at the tomb .

For him some Southernhome was robed ingloom,

Some wife or mother looked with longing eyesThrough the sad days and nights with tears and

Hope s lowly hardening into gauntDespThenlet your foeman

’

s grave remembrance share ;Pity a higher charm to Valor lends ,And inthe realms ofSorrow all are friends .

General , come lead u s ! loud the cryFrom a brave band was ringingLead us , and we wil l stop , or die,That battery’s awfu l singing.

”

137

Yes , br ing fresh flowers and straw the soldier ’s

grave,

Whether he proudly liesBeneath ou r Northernskies ,

O r where the Southernpalms their brancheswave.

Let the bells toll and wi ld war -mu sic swell ,And for one day the thoughtofall the pas tFu l l of those memor ies vast

Come back and haunt u s with its mighty spell .B r ing flowers , then, once again,And strew with fragrant rainOf lilacs , and of roses white and red,The dwellings ofou r dead !

LYON .

SING , bird, ongreenMissou r i ’s plain,Thy saddest song of sor row ;

Drop tears , oh c louds , ingentlest rainYe from the winds canborrow ;

B reathe out, ye winds , you r softest sigh ;Weep , flowers , indewy splendor ,

For him who well knew how to die,B u tnever to su rrender .

Uprose serene the August sun

Uponthat day of glory ;Upcu r led from mu sket and from gunThe war- cloud gray and hoary .

It gathered like a funeral pall ,Now brokenand now blended ,

Where rang the bugle’

s angry call ,And rank with rank contended .

Fou r thou sand men, as brave and trueAs e

’

er went forth indar ing,Uponthe foe that morning threwThe strength of their despair ing.

They feared not death — menbless the fieldThat patriot soldiers die ou

Fair F reedom’s cau se was swo rd and sh ield,

And at their head was Lyon!

Their leader ’

s troubled sou l looked forthF rom eyes of troubled brightness ;

Sad sou l ! the bu rdenof the NorthHad pressed ou t all its lightness .

He gazed u ponthe unequal fight,H is ranks all rent and gory ,

And saw the shadows c lose like nightRound his career of glory .


He spu rred to where his heroes stood, BAYARD TAYLOR ,

Twice wounded— no wound knowingThe fire of battle inhis blood I HAVE no tears to shed uponthygrave,And onhis forehead glowing.

For thou hast had of l ife a heaped- up meas u re,Gathering from every land and every wave

Oh ! cu rsed for aye the ru thless hand, Fresh stores of thought to add unto thy trem

And cu rsed that aim so deadly , u re.

Which smote the bravest of the land,And dyed his bosom redly I saw thee first inyou th , w ith eyes of l ight,

Serene he lay wh ile past him prest And heart all eager for the wor ld before theeThe battle’

s fu r ious billow ,I marked thy upward cou rse from height to height,

As calmly as a babe may rest Where thy strong w ill and gift of genius boreUponits mother ’s pillow .

thee .

So Lyondied ! and well may flowers Thencame the hou r when, r is ing inher pr ide,H is place of bu r ial cover , Thy country crowned with bays thy br ill iant

For never had this land of ou rs sto ry ,A more devoted lover . And sages gathered gladly to thy side,

Living, his country was his bride, To add their lau rels to thy wreath of glory .

His l ife he gave her dying ;Life

,fortune, love— he naught denied F inished at 188 17thy work beneath the

To her and to her sighing.R ipened the fru it for which this l ife is given,

I cannot weep , thy cou rse so nobly run,Rest, Patr iot, inthy hill - s ide grave, Thou takest a still higher fl ight to heaven.

Bes ide her form who bore thee !Longmay the land thou diedst to save

Her bannered sta rs wave o’er thee ! TO ABRAHAM LINCOLN .

Uponher history‘

s brightest page,And onFame

'

s glowing po rtal , “ONSET AND ACROSTK‘.

She ’ll write thy grand, hero ic rage ,And grave thyname immo rtal !

THE OPAL.

A P R OEM .

I HAD a gem — of priceless worth to meI wore it onmy s leeve ; the sky was lead.

What charm inthat base Opal canyou see .

A comrade cried, so cold and gray and dead !

Another day I wore that jewel strangeI'

ponmy sleeve ; the sky was br ight and clear .

Ah ,

”cr ied my friend, “you ’

ve made a fittingchange ;

This Opal wears the l ight of God’s ownsphere . G O O D N E SS .

Be good and you'

ll be happy ! endless chimesB ung uponthis . Pleasant to prosperou s sou ls ,Read bac kwards . Theyare happy, therefore good iBut all forgot the other equal truthBe greatly good, and you

’l l be cruc ified,

One night, beneath the gas - l ight’s dazzlinggleam ,

I wore my jewel ; soft eyes looked inmine.

A sweet vo ice said With what a c rimsonbeamThat Opal glows , as if of Love divine.

And here I wear the Opal of my sou l Inone way or another . Not so sweet

Uponmy sleeve, with al l its dark and bright. This latter tru th , but bitter to the taste.

Nor one hue is the Opal , but the who le ; Yet qu ite as who lesome, takeninits tu rn.

And that wholenothing, save as God gives l ight.

A MAN raised up by Heaven, Oh Chief ! ar t thouBoth bold and prudent, fitted for the hou r !Resolved to hold w ith ironhand the dower

And birthright of the F ree, and keep thy vow !

He who ne’

er bowed to kings to thee may bow ,

As unto one ano inted by God’

s power

Manof the People ! r is ing as a tower ,Like Sau l , among thy brethren! Oh , be now

Insou l ou r Samuel , hearkening to the Lord,Nor spare the cursed Agag of ou r land !

Cu t ou t that cancer w ith war ’

s su re-edg’

d sword !

Oh , merc ifu lly cru el be thy hand !Long centu ries hence thyname shall shine as oneNo blame canc loud— ou r secondWas hington!1 862 .

H AR E Y B . SM I TH .

HARRY B. SMITH .

B . HOLMES,in The Au tocrat,

"speaks of the

advantages gained by a boy who is able topass a share ofhis time tumbling aboutamongthe

books ina good library . It was bec ause of his

being able to do th is that the subject of thissketc h became interested inbooks and was led to

adopt the profession to which he has alwaysdevoted himself .Harry Bac he Smith was born in the City of

B uffalo , and has just passed his twenty-ninthbirthday. From his father he inherited mus icaltalent and from his mother l iterary tas te . To

these he added a gift for drawing and sketching.

His love for books , mu s ic and pictu res developedw henhe was tenor twelve years old, and much ofhis time was occupied at the piano , or inthe

l ibrary of rare and cu rious books owned by hisgrandfather . It was among these vo lumes thathebecame a booklover and grew to cher ish modest

literary aspirations . He began to write versesbefore he entered his teens and,doubtless , he wou ldhave tr ied to publ ish them , bu t for judic iou s parental interference.

His fami ly took up their res idence in Chicagos hortly before the greatfire of 1 871 , inwhich theirh ome and his father’s bu siness enterprises were

swept away . This calamity necess i tated anenti rec hange inthe plans that had been formed for hisfu tu re , and he was compelled to abandonthe ideao f a col legiate edu cation. He lost no opportunities for study, however , devoting himself to the

modern languages , mu s ic , art and belles - lettres ,

inadditionto the ordinary branches that may beacqu ired at a public high- school . At the age of

fifteen he entered a bus iness house and occupiedh is evenings and added to his income by writings ketc hes , verses for mu sic , and newspaper artic les .

In1 880 he gave up bus iness and entered jou rnalism profess ionally . H e has held pos itions on

the Chicago Tribune, Ch icago Herald and ChicagoB ail?News , ac ting as mu s ical and dramatic c ritic ,w riting humorou s ar tic les , spec ials, and do ing all

sorts of work . In the years 1 885 and 1 886 Mr .

Smith conducted The Rambler , a weekly paper ,from which his verses and humorous sketc heswere extens ively copied . Of late he has beenocen

p ied in writing fo r the stage. His comic opera

libretti have met with great success , as Mr . Smithnot only wr ites smooth , melodious verse, bu t hasthe fac u lty of putting together bright and livelyd ialogue . His principal successes in stage workhave been the following bu r lesques and comicoperas :

“The Begum,

” “ Boccac cio ,” Fatiu itza,

”

( 1

LOVE, THE WARRIOR .

Lovr: inpanoply of pr ideTossed his c rownof cu rls as ide,Rose and all the wor ld defied :

Where’s a foe who w ill not yield

To my glance — the sword I wield,And a tender s igh— my shield?

My fair standard ismy brow ,

Tru st and truth there shiningnow ;Andmy war- song is a vow .

I’

ve a promise fo r a spear ;

I’ve a love song for a cheer,And my armor is a tear .

Shou ld my weapons go amiss ,I canvanqu ish all inblissWith my coup

- degraceb a kiss .

Hatred dared my power to brave ;But I fac ed the vic iou s knave,Vanqu ished him and thenforgave.

Faithlessness my might deniedAndmy cou rage sorely tried;Faithlessness grew faint and died.

Doubt once fil led my heart with dread.

Eyes met eyes ; the traitor fled.

Sou l faced sou l , and Dou bt was dead.

141

The May Queen, Clover , and “CaptainFra

casse (all played success fu lly by the McCau ll

Opera Company ) , The Crystal Slipper, whichranfor fou rteenweeks inChicago , DonQuixote,

produced s imu ltaneo usly by the Bostonians OperaCompany and at the Prince of Wales Theater ,London, England. These pieces and a dozenmoreof anephemeral bu t entertaining character havebeenwr ittenby Mr . Smith while he continued hisregu lar newspaper work and kept up his contri

butions to several magaz ines and per iodicals .

It seems to me that the verse of Mr . Smithexhibits in a. remarkable degree the vivac ity ,happy conceit and c lever tu rns of language thatare necessary fo r a successfu l wr iter of ram de

société. His meter is always correct, his rhymes(except where pu rposely far - fetc hed) exceptionallyperfect. Wit, rather thanhumor ; conceits , ratherthansentiment, andpleasu re, rather thanemotionare the ru l ing motives of Mr . Smith ’s verse. He,

however , occas ionally, as in Love, theWarr io r ,”shows that he cando a very much higher c lass of

work thanthe light and vivac iou s verse by whichhe has wonrec ognitioninthe press ofAmer ica .

S. T.


Anger sought to do me ill ,Feltmy sword his sternheart thrill ,Saw my armor , and was still .

Jealou sy enraged drew near ;Bu t my standard and my spear

Bade the cravendisappear .

Mighty Death and I have met,And I tr iumphed, feel ingyetStronger for a sweet regret.

But a foe of power immense

Comes ,’

gainst whom is no defenwLeaden- eyed Indifference.

He with du ll , insensate stare,With no heart to feel and care,Heeds not steel nor standard fair ;

Scorns and spu rns my shield of s ighsAnd the sword w ithinmine eyesInthe du stmy standard l ies .

H e canneither feel nor fear .

For a sm ile he gives a sneer ,And a taunt for every tear .

Ifperchance my weaponbeVows of loyalty , thenheGrows by my fidel ity .

B lows that hopefu lly I aimG ive himglory , give me shame.

F lame l ike mine mu st fight with flame.

Gainst a foe that’s dead and coldWhat are weapons manifoldWhat is all the power I ho ld

A MAUSOLEUM.

IT is a crypt, this cabinet ;A love affair is bu ried here ;

Its requ iem a faint regret,And scented letter s for a bier .

Its wreaths , dead roses inter lacedWith memories of ball and fate,While for a headstone I have placedA potrait ina paper - weight.

Here, lies as as hes inanu rn,A verse or two I learned to qu ote,

Thenotes I hadno heart to bu rn,Ou r letters— what a lot we wrote !

A si lkentrees of sunny strands ,A ribbonthat I used to prize,

A glove— she had such tiny hands IA miniatu re with deep, dark eyes .

THEN AND NOW.

YN dayae yf olde if any fayre one provedA whyt unworthye bym she swore she loved,Ye wronged Sir Knyghte engaged his foe intiltsAnd strayghtewaye on ye swarde hys life-blood

spylte .

Thus whena mayde’s affections tooke a iou rneyeYnknyghtely style they settled by a tou rney.

Inmoderndays, if any fickle jadeDoth mangle into hits a promisemade,Forgettingwhere her hand lies , gives her heartTo one who inher life shou ld play no part,Theyneed no tilt to end a swain’

s life- jou rney,They haveno joust : they settle by attorney.

"l‘

is w ith a smi le I view to - day

The rel ics inthis cabinet.

Whenlove is dead and laid awayWe mou rna l ittle ; thenforget.

The verses qu ite have left my mind .

Her rose, her glove, her pictu red eyes ,I-Ier letters are to du st consigned ;Their fitting epitaph , Hereh lies .

AT THE CHURCH DOOR .

Amos has gone to confess ion.

What has the girl to confess ?What l ittle, idle transgress ionCau ses my sweetheart distress ?I s it her fondness for dress

Thatneeds a priest’s intercession,And brings that pens ive express ionInto her eyes ’ lovel iness?What has the maid to confess?

Is it some l ittle fl irtation,Ending perhaps ina kiss?

M ine be the sin’s expiation,

If I but shared inits bliss .

Is it a tr ifle l ike this ,Seeking its justificationWas it a ras h exc lamationSome one has takenamiss?Was it a trifle l ike this?

She who l ives always so pu relyCannot so gravely transgress .

One who cansm ile so demu relyCannot have much to confess .

Letme for pardonaddress ,For I am gu iltier , su rely .

Sinyou r small s ins , then, secu rely .

If it is I that they bless ,Mine be the task to confess .

1 44 TH E M AGAZI N E OF P OE TR Y.

Sorrow , my fr iend,

I owe my sou l to you .

And, if my life with any glory end,Of tenderness for others , and the words are true,

Said, honoring, whenI ’m dead,

Sorrow , to you , the mel low praise, the funeralwreath are due.

And yet, my friend,

Whenlove and joy are strong,

You r te rr ible visage from my s ight I rendWith glances to blue heaven. Hover ing along,

By mine you r shadow led,Away !” I shriek , nor dare to work my newsprungmerc ies wrong !

Sti ll you arenear ;Who canyou r care withstandWhendeep eternity shall look most clear ,Sending br ight waves to kiss the trembling land,

My joy shal l disappear ,A flaming torch thrown to the go lden sea byyou r pale hand.

ZEST.

LAB O R not inthe mu rky del l ,B u t til l you r harvest hill at morn

Stoop to no words that, rank and fell ,Grow faster thanthe r u stl ing co rn.

With gladdening eyes go greet the sun,Who lifts his brow invar ied l ight ;

B r ing light where ’

er you r feet may r un:

So br ing a day to sorrow’s night.

INLET AND SHORE .

H E R E is a world of changingglow ,

Where moods ro ll sw iftly far and w ide :Waves sadder thana funeral ' s pr ide,

Or bluer thanthe har ebell ’s blow l

The sunlightmakes the blac k hu lls castA fire- fly radiance downthe deep ;The inlet gleams , the long c louds sweep ,

The sails flit up , the sails drop pas t.

The far sea- l ine is hu shed and stil l ;Thenearer sea has l ife and vo ice ;Eac h sou l may take his fondest cho ice,

The s ilence or the restless thr ill .

O l ittle childrenof the deepThe s ingle sails , the br ight, fu ll sails ,Go ld inthe sun, dark whenit fai ls ,

Now you are smiling, thenyou weep !

O blue of heaven, and bluer sea,

And greenof wave, and go ld of sky,

And white of sand that stretc hes by ,Toward eas t and west away from me !

O shell - strewnshore, that s ilent hearsThe legend of the m ighty .

main,And tells to none the lore again,We catch one u tterance only : '

Years l

THE LOST BATTLE .

To ms heart it stru ck such terrorThat he laughed a laugh of scorn,

The maninthe so ldier '

s doublet,With the swo rd so bravely worn.

It stru ck his heart like the frost- w indTo find his comrades fied ,

While the battle field was guardedBy the heroes who lay dead .

He drew his sword inthe sunl ight,And cal led,

w ith a loud hal loo :

Dead men, there is one livingShal l stay it ou t w ith you

He raised a ragged standard,This lonely sou l inwar ,

And called the foe to onset,With shou ts they heard afar .

They gallo l) ed sw iftly toward him,

The banner floated wide ;It sank ; he sank bes ide it,Uponhis sword, and died .

CLOSlNG CHORDS.

nsA 'rn

’

s E LOQUE NCE .

Wat-1x I shall goInto the nar row home that leaves

No room for the wr inging of the hands and

hair ,And feel the pressing of the wal ls which bear

The heavy sod uponmy heart that gr ieves(As the weird earth rol ls on) ,

ThenI shal l knowWhat is the power of destiny . B ut still ,

Still while my l ife, however sad, be mine,I war with memory , str iving to divinePhantom to - morrows , to outr unthe past ;

For yet the tears of final , absolute ill ,And ru inou s knowledge ofmy fate I shun.

Evenas the frail , instinctive weedTries , through unending shade, to reach at

last

TH E N EW m ax

PUBLlCLIBRARY

ACTOR. Lt” ! A".Til-DEN rous-Am

148

Personally , Mrs . Rollstc n is a small , qu ietwoman. with little or no vanity , yet possess ing agreat deal of ambition, force and earnestness .

Having a strong individual ism , the real womanshows inher work — direct, ser iou s , capable, withan equal eye to the truth and the beauty of life,and their fashioning into mu s ical speech .

It is , perhaps , one ofthe strongest indications oftru e geniu s that its possessor instinctively repro

duces that landscape and its inc idents by whichhe is environed . The pictu resque scenery of southwest Kentu cky stands ou t inbo ld relief inMrs . Rollstoa

’

s poetry . Her verse is fu ll ofgraphic to uchesand natu ral colo r . Here are low , pas to ral valleys ,qu iet glades , gently sloping hills , wide pas tu res

w ith herds grazing throat deep u ponthem , bits of

woodland through wh ich the orio le wheels and

flashes like a. shuttle of flame, qu iet meadows ,

dew - br immed,elder - r immed , over which all day

the chew ink s ings his song of summer , and onthe

hills beyond gleam long,snug farm - hou ses , w ith

drowsy , shadowy yards , and w ithin their snow

wh ite walls human love and joy and sorrow haveanabiding-

place . C. J . O'

M .

AT THE LAST.

Law from thy wall ofm ist, O Roseleaf frail ,And lay thy white , despair ing face to mine ;

Let thy sad eyes , like stars that have grownpaleWith all the old- time love and gladness shine ;

Come to me now , befo re the tw ilight gray ,Darkens the reddening o r chard ’

s splendid sheen;Lay thy poor wasted hand inmine , and say :

We wi ll forget the years that lie between.

Sweetheart, ac ross the dreary was te ofyearsHope w ill retu rnto the e and me a gain;What tho ’

my eyes are dimmed w ith s uddentears ,And inmy heart the o ld. despairing pain!

O Rosc leaf, fading Roseleaf, long ago ,

The warm,red tint ofJ une was onthy fac e ;

Now ,l ike a brokenl ily , fair as snow ,

It haunts me with its strange and mou rnfu lgrace .

0

0 sweet sou th - wind, blow soft and low to -night,And kiss her shrouded eyes to dreamless rest !

0 lil ies , fold your petals co ld and white,Above her qu iet breas t !

IF I HAD KNOWN .

Sm; lay w ith l il ies onher pu lseless breast,Dim , woodland lil ies wet with silver dew .


Dear heart, he said,“ inlife she loved them best !

For her sweet sake the fragrant buds wereblown,For her inApr il - haunted nooks they grew

0 Oh , love, if I had known!

If I had knownwhenyesterday we walked ,

Her hand inmine, along the hedges fair ,That eventhen, the while we careless talked,The shadow ofa coming loss was there,And death ’s co ld hand was leading us apart

If I had knownthe bud she wou ld not wearNor tou ch , lest she shou ld mar its perfectgrac e,To - day wou ld press its dewy , goldenheart

Against her poor dead face !

Last year , whenApri l woods were all aglow ,

She said, ‘ If it be death to fall as leepAnd, bending, kissed the l ilies sweet and wet,A dream less sleep from which none waketo weepWhenI lie downto that long slumber , dear ,And l ife for you has dark and empty grown,Come to me then, and tho

’I shall not hear

,

Lay yo u r sad l ips to mine, and whisper lowIf I had known! lo ve, if ] had known

Thatyo u wo u ld not forget}

SONG.

On, Summer days ! fair Summer days !Whenthro '

dim woodlands straying,We heard along the upland ways ,The sound ofbrooklets playing ;

SOME DAY.

Bas ins the grave that hides my poor dead fac eSome day,

beloved, you w i ll come and wait,And, kneeling w ith the o ld- remembered grac e,With lips to du st will say : “

0 l ife growndesolate !

0 fond, tru e heart ! hear t that loved me so !(Bu t thenI shall not know . )

When, th ro ’

the stil lness oi the warm sweet air

Shall sweep the mu s ic of the Spr ing’s low call ,

You r l ips wil l c ry : 0 days so fair , so fair ,Poor dear , poor dear , that you shou ld lose them

all !

And I shou ld learn, at las t, to need you so !

(B u t, ah ! I shall not know . )

0 love ! 0 love ! 0 fair , fair yesterday !To - day we walk inbitterness apart!

And yet, though Hope and Youth be gone away ,Whatneed of tear s , O foo lish , doubting heart7

Since all the love that thr ills my pu lses soSome day,

some day you’ll know !

j ULIE M . LI P PM AN N .

Whenthrough soft aisles ofmisty greenMade sweet and cool with shadows ,

Came gleams ofyellow blooms betweenFrom distant, sunny meadows .

Oh, Summer days ! sweetSummer days !Whenover fields of clover ,We loitered by the shady ways,Or walked the greenpaths over ;Whenby the r iver’s s ilver sheenThe l il ies red were bu rning,

Like scarlet flames against the greenThat Summer w inds were tu rning.

Oh, Summer days ! lost Summer days !Too soonthe pu rple gloaming

Came. downand bid with drmmy hazeThe path where we were roaming ;

For inthe mists that l ingered longO

’er meadow,

wood and r iver ,We sti lled the pas s ionofLove’s song,And said good- bye forever .

A PROMISE.

ALL day againstmy w indow blu rred and dimThe rainhad dr ipped with drearymonotone,

And leaningmists , that hurrying winds had blownFrom o

’er the distantmountain’

s pu rple rim,

Made tw ilight pale withinthe leafless woods .

There, inthose bleak and dismal sol itudesNo budmade bright the branches du ll and gray,Nor bloom shone onthe withered vines thatshed

Their brokenstems along the windingway.

“The spr ingwill comeno more, no more,” I saidUnto my li fe made sad with loss and painWhen, 10 ! ac ross the c louds ofdr iving rain

The sunl ightbroke w ith splendor sweet andmild,And from the faded tu rf the first blue violet

smiled !

R E T R O S P E CT I O N .

Was it the echo dim of hiddenmountainbrooksPouring their frosty streams along the mistyvale,

Or but a withered weed that rustled’neath my

feet?I only know a sound, sad as the beat of rainOn long- forgotten graves , moved my heart

’s

depths with sweet

Andmou rnfu l longings , deeper far thanpain;And o

'

er the wasted years— swift as the swallows’

flight,My thoughts sped bac k across the bleak, drear

night.0 love, to home and thee !

— A Fragment.

149

JULIE M. LIPPMANN .

HE name ofJu l ieM . Lippmannis to be inc ludedin that band of younger wr iters , men and

women, who in this country are doing earnest

and artistic work inpoetry, and who are slowlybut su rely earning for themselves substantialrepu tation.

MissLippmann, though bornofGermanparents ,is thoroughly American, having l ived almost herentire l ife inB rooklyn, wh ich is her

'

present home.

Her educationhas beensomewhat eclectic , so far asdefinite and protrac ted cou rses of study are con

cerned ; but a discriminating taste inreading, asteady and high purpose, and perhaps more thanall elsethe influences ofacu ltu red home, have resu lted inadevelopmentwhich theschoo ls sometimes failto produce. Bes ides her devotion to literatu re,the cu ltivation of which she looks upon as her

serious life- work, Miss Lippmann is anenth u siastinmus ic and an amateu r pianist of no meanability .

For some years this poet has beena favoredcontr ibutor to the ch ildren’

s department of thatuniqu e pu blication, the You th ’

s Companion, andher child-

poems have also appeared insuch magazines and papers as St. Nicholas , Harper

’s

Young People, and many others . She has been,therefore, most distinctively knownas a writer of

child- verse . More recently, however , work bearingher name and addressed to children of a largergrowth has crept into The Century, The Atlantic,The Overland Monthlv, The Independent, ands imilar high - class jou rnals and per iodicals , and hasshownconc lusively that her field is not to be thusrestr icted.

“My Lady Jacqu eminot,” which ap

peared several years ago inThe Independent, hasbeen copied far and wide inthis country and inCanada, and is one of the most per fect anddainty examples of her lighter vein, though nothearing comparison w ith deeper and later work .

A recent poem inThe Atlantic , entitled “ ItSeems

B utYesterday,” may be referred to as one ofthoseproductions which cause the most captions cr iticto lay downthe scalpel and resignhimself to theluxury of unalloyed approval .In addition to her poetical productions, Miss

Lippmannhas turned her attentionto prose andwr ittenseveral stories , long and short, which arelikely to be heard from at anearly day. At the

age of twenty-five her health is qu ite uncertain,and she is obliged to pursue her studies and deveIOp her gift under limitations fitted to dis

courage and silence one possessing less of will,indomitablepluckandsingleness ofpurpose. That


she continues to say her say and s ing her song is aproof that she is indeed one of those tru ly calledto poetic u tterance, and fu rnishes anexample toyounger wr iters that shou ld be both stimu latingand suggestive. R . E . B .

IT SEEMS BUT YESTERDAY.

I 'r seems bu tyesterday that MayTr ipped lightly pas t, no r pau sed to stay

A moment longer than’

t wou ld takeTo set her signetnear and far ,I.

nfield and lane— the dais ies ’star ;

To set the grasses all as hake ;To kiss the world into a blu shOf briar - roses , pink and flu sh , F‘Cho l I wander , tO O , l ike thee,

For Summer’s sake.

InArcadie .

Like thine, my spirit wou ld rejo ice

It seems but yesterday that J une Cou ld it find V0 10?

Came piping sweet a medley - tune,Whereto the robinand the thru sh

Lent each his thrill ing throat, the whileThe loc ust there beside the sti le,

Deep hid intangled weed and bru sh ,Spunou t the seas on

’

s skeinof heat,With now a whir ”

of shuttle fleet,Andnow a bu sh .

It seems but yeste rday , and yetTo - day I found my gardenset

Ins ilver , and the ro iste rer windMade bo ld to pluckme by the gown,What time I wandered up and down

The path , to see if left behindWas one las t rose that I m ight. pressAgainst my w ithered cheek , and less

Feel time unkind.

MY LADY JACQUEMlNOT.

TOKENS‘

I WATCHE D the Shadows of the N ightMY LADY

’S cheek is 80“and red . Crush out the Day wit-h frowningmight,

My Lady holds her gracefu l head Till , with the birds' last linger ing croon,

Onhigh . The Shadows deepened and the moonAnd why Rose sad andwhite.

22:Ezlyw

ls

iv

n

ezt

tze

lfuo

dme

qxie ’

Rose sad and wh ite the moon, and pale ;About its head a misty veil ,Or , was it like a sainted Sou lB lessed with a heavenly au reo le,

Pu re, radiant, frail?

My foolish Lady Jacqueminot.

My Lady’s cheek ’

s less soft and red.

My Lady ’s bowed her weary head .

And why? Pu re, radiant, frail , the mist appears ;She

’s nigh

’T is rain, I thought- { Inafter years

A heart that once was l ight as snow ; I found that inou r life- time’s night

B ut hearts and flowers die, you know , Anaureole’

s faint, heavenly lightWhenbroken, Lady Jacqueminot. Betokens tears .

ECHO.

ALONG the woodland paths strays sheOf Arcadie,

Where dappled shadows shift and fal l ,And blithe birds ca ll .

Where inthe o ldentime there trodEac h nymph and god,

And where the brooks to mu s ic ranAt s ight of Pan.

B ut though her sou l be beau ty- filled,

H er vo ice is stilled,Save wheninecho she must r ing

What others s ing.

STONE WALLS.

ALoxo the country roadside, stone onst one,Past wavinggreenfield, and near brokenstile,The wal ls stretch onward, anunevenpile,With rankl ing vine and lichenovergrown.

So stand thy sentinels , unchanged , alone.

They ’

re left to watch the seasons pass ing s low ,

The Summer sunlight or theWinter ’s snow .

The Spr ing- time’

s birdl ing, or theAutumn’s mean.

Who plac ed the stones nowgray with many years?And did the rough hands tire, the poor hearts

ac he?The eyes grow dim with al l their weight of tears?Or did the work seem l ight for some dear sake?

Those lives are over . A ll their hopes and fearsAre lost like shadows inthe morning break .

M I N G T j UDSON SA VAGE .

MINOT JUDSON SAVAGE .

MONO the clergymenof this country who

have contributed largely to the literary interest of the people is Rev. Minot JudsonSavage, atpresent pastor ofthe Church of the Unity, Boston,Mass . Ina letter to a friend, Mr . Savage wr itesThere was no time inmyboyhood whenI didnotintend to become a minister .

” It wou ld, therefore,appear that his writings were made secondary to

o r dependent uponhis pro fess ion.

Mr . Savage was born June 1 0, 1 841 , at Norridgewock, Me. The greater part of his life was

passed there until he had atta ined manhood. At

thirteenhe becameamember of theCongregationalChurch , inwhich belief he was raised . He becamedissatisfied with that doctr ine and has filleda Unitarian pu lpit s ince 1 873. It was Mr . Sav

age’s intentionto enter BowdoinCollege, bu t ill

health prevented, and he was , therefore, compelledto take a theological course at the Bangor Sem inary. Pro f. Harris was at that time connec ted

with the school , and Mr . Savage has never forgottenhis strengthening influ ence. Mr . Savage gradus ted from the seminary in1 869 , and inSeptember

.of that year left his home to settle inSanMateo ,Cal . , having received a commissionfrom the Amer

icanHome Missionary Society of New York . One

and a half years later he was assigned to a chu rchin Grass Valley, Cal . , preaching there eighteenmonths . His duty to his parents called him homeatthis time. Shortlyafter retu rning east, a call to

a chu rch inFramingham was givenand ac cepted .

After staying there two years a call was receivedfrom Hannibal, Mo . , and another from Indianapolis , Ind. Owingto its closeproximity to abrother ,located at Jacksonville, Ill . , be dec ided to ac cept

the church at Hannibal . He remained there threeand a half years , and it was du r ing th is time heexper ienced his theological change. Hedeterminedto leave the orthodox faith and embrace Unitarianism. Mr . Savage next assumed the pastorate of

the Th ird Unitar ianChu rch of Ch icago . In the

spring of 1 874 he went to Bostonto attend the

May meetings , and, having a Sunday at his disposal , he suppl ied the pu lpit of the Church of theUnity. After his retu rntoChicago a call was givenhim from that church , and inSeptember , 1 874, hebeganhis work there, where he has s ince remained.

Du ring these years of c ler ical labor Mr . Savage’

s

penhas not been idle. He has contr ibuted to different per iodicals throughout the country , and haspublished numerou s vo lumes , chiefly prose. A

book of poems appeared in 1 88 2 . This volumedoesnot comprise all the poems he has written, as

153

many are scattered through different magazines .

Some of his best- knownprose works are : BeliefinGod,

”Beliefs About Man,” Bel iefs Abou t the

B ible,” “The Modern Sphinx ,

” “ The Morals of

Evo lution,” Talks Abou t Jesu s ,” Man, Woman

and Child, “Christianity the Science of Man

hood,” “The Rel igionof Evo lu tion,” and “LifeQuestions .

”N . L. M .

LIGHT ON THE CLOUD.

Tusns ’s never analways c loudless sky,

There’

s never a vale so fair ,B u t over it sometimes shadows lieIna chill and songless air .

B utnever a cloud o'

erhung the day,And flung its shadows down,

But onits heaven- s ide gleamed some ray,

Forming a sunshine crown.

It is dark ononlythe downs ard sideThough rage the tempes t loud,

And scatter its terrors far and wide,There’

s light uponthe c loud.

And oftenwhenit traileth low ,

Shu tting the landscape out,And only the ch illy east w inds blowF rom the foggy seas of doubt,

There’ll come a time, near the setting sun,

Whenthe joys of life seem few ,

A r ift will break inthe evening dun,And the goldenlight stream through .

And the sou l a glor iou s br idge will makeOu t of the goldenbars ,

And all its pr iceless treas u res takeWhere sh ine the eternal stars .

THE COMING SHIP.

I snow it is coming, my absent ship,Out somewhere over the seas unknown,

Though it wander afar where. the oceans dipBelow the round world’

s edge sloping down.

I havenever seenit except indreams ,Or

,like a mirage , inthe misty air ;

And yet it is coming. and oftenit seemsTo be rounding the point over there.

It is loaded downto the water ’s edge

With all that the heart of mandesiresR ich robes and fine gold inmany a wedge,And jewels that flas h with their hiddenfires .


It is freighted with all I have ever soughtWith the hopes that eluded my eager hand ;

The deeds I have dreamed , butnever wrought ;The perfect poems my thought has planned .

And there onthe deck , looking out o’er the main,

Are the forms of the lost ones who went away :I wait onthe c l iffs till I see them again,And count all the days of my weary delay .

And sometimes I fear they w i ll never come back ;F or , whenthewind r ises and all thewaves roar ,

I fancy them driveninpitiless w rackAnd tornonthe rocks of some deso late shore .

B u t, whenthe storm lu lls , I see it anew ,

Each spar standing ou t against a clear sky,

Her prow po inting homeward, her compas s stilltrue,

And c leaving thewaves as she tosses them by .

And so I wait on, day inand day out,

Till I look onmy home- com ing,beautifu l barge ,

Go ld- r igged inthe sun, with song andwith shou t,Gl ide up w ith wide w ings to the sandy marge.

THE WEED- GROWN PATH.

B rz'rws ax two hearts a pathway led ,

Oft trod injoyou s days ;And,

many a time, they each one said,So shall it be always !”

The mo rning ho u rs went s inging by ,And eve, w ith sunset

’

s go ld :While every joy or hope or s ighEach to the other to ld .

So near , that snatches of a songEac h from the other heard,

And subtle thoughts the who le day longPas sed swiftly w ithout word.

So smooth the pathway grew at last

That one wou ld swear the day

Cou ldnever come, whenno more pas sedSuch loving feet that way.

A whisper of suspic ionblewOne day, none knew from where ;

And each one c lose the casement drew ;A chill was inthe air .

Andnow the path with weeds is grown,The s inging birds are fled :

Ineach house s itteth one alone ;The happy past is dead.

IN BUD.

I nouninmy hand anoak as great

As storm ever wrenched at or chopper fell ;Gnarled trunk , w ide bough and leafy freight,All c losely pac ked inanac orn- shell .

My fingers c lasp a harvest sheaf,With heavy go ld head and twisted zone ;

Inthese kernels bare I see the leafAnd bending sta lks of grainfu l l grown.

I look out where the dr ifted snow

Lies cold and glist’ning ’neath the moon,And know there sleeps , the cru st below,

The blossom - browed , green- s lippered June .

Inyou dry pear - branch , stiff and cold,A bud lies hid away from s ight

That,

’neath the Spring’

s kiss , shall unfo ldDawn- tinted blossoms streaked with light.

The boughs that writhe inthe sighing storm ,

’

Neath frowning skies and pelting s leet,

Shall droop with sunny bu rdens warmWhenlong days w ith soft breezes meet.

I ho ld a home uponmy knee,A laughing child w ith sunny eyes :

She grows a maidenfair to see ,

And thena chastened matronwise .

A pr ince goes l imping past my door ,B u t find him no keencr itic can.

Theneighbors call him o ld and poor ,B u t he

’s God

’

s cou rtier , rough old man.

F rom ou t a life of work and care,

Of crosses heavy and bu rdens sore,A sou l may bloom to beau ty rareThat shal l not fade forevermore .

A BLOCK OF MARBLE .

WH ITE poss ibil ity ! Before thee now ,

With chisel and with mal let inmy hand,

A mu s ing artist, hes itant I stand,And wonder with what shape I ’

ll thee endow :

A grand Athene, with majestic brow ?

A raging F u ry , w ith her flaming brand ?

Diana, leading onher huntress band?Or sea-nymph sporting round some r ippl ing prowOr shall I carve ou t Aphrodite fair ,Who melte th with her eyes the hearts of men

Or , better yet, I ’ll make a Victory ,

Whose upward look shal l rou se men from despaii

Discou raged sou ls thr ill with new hope again,And give them strength to breathe anobler air .

156

CHARLES MACKAY .

HARLES MACKAY, LL. D. , member ofa H ighland family, was borninPerth , Scotland, in

1 81 4,and removed ininfancyto London. Whi le inBelgium, completinghis education, hewas awitnessofthe revo lutionof 1 830. In1 834 he pu blished asmall volumeofpoems which led to his introdu ctionto the editor of the Morning Chronicle, and he he

came connected with that paper . He remained on

the paper about nine years , inthe meantime publishing The H ope oftheWor ld,andOther Poems .

He was editor of the G lasgow Argus in1 844—47 .

In 1 846 the G lasgow Univers ity conferred the

degree of LL.D. upon him . Mr . Mackay wr otefo r the Daily News a ser ies of poems ,

“Vo icesF rom the Crowd,

”afterwards published insepa

rate form . He has always beenanactive wr iter ,publishing poems , novels , wo rks on language, etc .

For some years he contr ibu ted leading artic les tothe Illustrated LondonNews , and he establishedthe LondonReview in 1 860. Dr . Mac kay res idedinNewYork fr om 1 862 until 1 865, and always hada warm apprec iationof the Amer icanpeople. In

a letter to the editor ofTar: MAGAZINE or Pos 'rm '

,

writtena few weeks previou s to his death , he said :“The Americans apprec iate poetry more thantheEnglish , who are the most prosaic people under thesunand think that all verse mu st be poetry, anddeluge thenewspapers and magazines w ith rhymedrubbish , hatefu l to Gods and men. You r jou rnalwi ll be successfu l .” Mr . Mackay died last December at the age ofseventy- flve.

Mr . Eric Mackay , a sonof Charles Mac kay , is a

poetofmuch prom ise. H e is the author of Love

Letters ofa Violinist. I . A. K .

lEOLIAN MUSIC.

O'

E u the loose str ings of the .E o lianharpF loat the w ild melodies like straws onstreams ;

Songs without words , but fu ll of thought andmeanings ,

Though evanescent all as fancy’s dreams .

Songs of so ft sadness , as if sorrow ing angelsSighed for the woes of hapless humankind,

Foredoomed to sorrow and to hopeless error ,Perverse and wayward, obstinateah

‘

d bl ind.

I hear them atmy casement half as leep,And weave them to my fancy, as they skim

Lightly as breezes o ’er a plac id deep,

And fancy fashions them into a hymn,Half praise and half lament, and melting s lowlyInhappy thoughts and tender melancholy .


THE VOICE OF THE TIME .

DAY unto day utters speechBe wise, O , yenations ! and hearWhat yesterday telleth today,

What today to the morrow will preach .

A change cometh over our sphere,And the o ld goeth downto decay .

A new l ight hath dawned onthe darkness of yo re,And menshall be slaves and oppressors no more .

Hark to the throbbing of thoughtInthe breast ofthe wakeningworldOver land, over sea it hath come.

The serf that was yesterday bought,To -day his defiance hath hur led,No more inhis s lavery dumb,

to -morrow w il l break from the fettersbind,

l ift a bo ld arm for the r ights ofmankind.

The voice ofopinionhas grown’Twas yes terday changefu l and weak,Like the voice of a boy ere his pr ime ;

To- day it has takenthe toneOfanorato r worthy to speak,Who knows the demands of his time,

And to -morrow will sound inoppression’s co ld ear

Like the trump ofthe seraph to startle our sphere .

Hark to the vo ice ofthe time !The mu ltitude think for themselves ,And weigh their condition, each one.

The drudge has a spir it sublime,And

,whether he hammers or delves ,

H e reads whenhis labor is done,And learns , though he groanunder penu ry

’

s ban,That freedom to think is the birthright ofman.

Bu t yesterday thought was confined ;To breathe it was peril or death ,And it sank inthe breast where it rose ;

Now , free as the midsummer wind,It sports its adventu rou s breath ,And round the wide universe goes ;

mist and the c loud from its pathwaycu r led,

glimpses ofglory il lumine the wor ld.

Be wise, oh , ye ru lers of earth !And shu tnot you r ears to his vo ice,Nor allow it to warnyou invain:

Tru e Freedom ofyesterday’s birthWill march onits way and re jo ice,Andnever be conquered again.

The day has a tongue, aye , the hou rs utter speech ,Wise, wise will ye be i f ye learnwhat they teach .

CH ARLES M ACKA Y. 157

WHAT MlGHT BE DONE ,The bold independence that laborshall buy,

Shall strengthenou r hands and forbid u s to s igh .

WHAT might be done 'fmenwere wrseAway ! far away ! let u s h0pe for the best,Whatglor ious deeds , my suffer ing brother , And bu ild up new homes inthe Land oftheWest !

Would they uniteInLove and Right,

And cease their scornofone another ! CHEER, BOYS! CHEER !I .

Oppress ion’s heartm ight be imbued

With kindl ing drops of loving- kindness ,And Knowledge pou r ,From shore to shore,

Light onthe eyes ofmental bl indness .

All Slavery,Warfare, Lies andWrongs ,

All Vice and Cr ime might die together ;And wine and corn,To each manborn,

Be free as warmth insummer weather .

The meanest wretch that ever trod,

The deepest sunk ingu ilt and sorrow,

M ight stand erectInself- respec t,

And share the teeming world to -morrow .

Whatmight be done? This might be done,And more thanthis , my su ffer ing brother

More thanthe tongue

E’

er said or sung,

Ifmenwere wise and loved each other .

TO THE WEST! TO THE WEST!

To theWest ! to theWest ! to the land of the free,Where mighty St. Lawrence rol ls downto the sea,

Where a manis a man, if he’

s willing to to il ,And the humblestmay gather the fru its ofthe so il

,

Where childrenarebless ings , andhe who hathmost,Hath aid for his fortune and r iches to boast ;Where the youngmay exu lt,andtheagedmay rest,Away, far away, to the Land of the West ! — inthe new and happy

To theWest to theWest wherethe r ivers thatflowB unthousands ofmi les , spreading out as they go ; TUBAL CAIN .

Where the greenwaving forests , that evho ou r call ,Are wide as old England, and free to u s all

OLD Tu bal Ca mwas a man0 'mightWhere the prair ies , like seas where the billows have

I" the days M 19.

“earth was young ;ro lled,

By the fierce red light ofhis fu rnace brightThe strokes of his hammer rung ;

And he lifted high his brawny handOnthe ironglowing c lear ,

Till the sparks rushed ou t inscarlet showers ,

Are broad as the kingdoms and empires ofold ;And the lakes are like oceans instorm or inrest,Away,

far away, to the Land oftheWest!

To theWest ! to theWest ! there is wealth to bewon, As he fashioned the sword and spear .

The forest to clear is the work to be done : And he sang Hu r ra for my handiwork !We' ll try it, we’

ll do it, andnever despair , H u r ra for the Spear and Sword !

While there ’s light inthe sunshine and breath in H u rra for the hand thatshall wieldthemwell ,

the air . F or he shal l be King and Lord !

Cas es , boys ! cheer !no more of idle sorrow !Cou rage, tru e hearts , shal l hear u s onou r way !

Hope po ints before and shows the bright to

morrow ,

Let us forget the darkness of to day !So farewell , England ! Mu ch as we may love thee,We

’ll dry the tears that we have shed before ;

Why shou ld we weep to sail insearch of fortune?So farewell , England ! farewell evermore !

Cheer , boys ! cheer ! for England, mother England !

Cheer , boys ! cheer ! the w illing strong r ighthand !

Cheer, boys ! cheer ! there'

s work for hones tlabor

Cheer , boys ! cheer l— inthe new and happyland !

1 1 .

Cheer , boys ! cheer ! the steady bre eze is blowing,

To float u s freely o ’

er the ocean’

s breast ;The wo rld shall fol low inthe track we ’

re go ing,

The star of empire glitte rs inthe west.

Here we had to il and little to reward it,

B ut there shal l plenty smile u ponou r pain,And ou rs shal l be the mountainand the fore st,And boundles s prair ies ripe w ith go ldengrain.

Cheer , boys ! cheer ! for England, mother England !

Cheer , .hoys ! cheer ! united heart and hand !Cheer , boys ! cheer ! there ’

s wealth fo r honestlabo r

Cheer , boys ! cheer !land !


To Tubal Caincame many a one,As he wrought by his roar ingfire ,

And each one prayed for a strong steel bladeAs fire crownof his des ire ;

And he madethem weapons sharpand strong,

Till they shou ted loud for glee,And gave him gifts ofpear l and go ld,

And spo ils ofthe forest free .

And theysang Hu rra for Tubal Cain,Who hath givenu s strength anew !

Hu rra for the sm ith , - hu rra for the fire ,And hu rra fo r the metal true !”

B ut a suddenchange came o’

er his heartE re the setting of the sun,

And Tu bal Cainwas filled with painF or the evi l he had done ;

He saw thatmen,w ith rage and hate,

Made war upontheir kind,

That the landwas redwith the blood they she dIntheir lu st for carnage , blind.

And he said Alas ! that ever I made,

Or that skill ofmine shou ld plan,The spear and the sword fo r menwhose joyIs to s lay their fellow - man

And for many a day o ld Tubal CainSat brooding o

’er his wo e

;

And his hand forbore to smite the ore,And his fu rnace smou ldered low .

B u t he rose at las t w ith a cheer fu l fac e,And a br ight cou rageou s eye ,

And bared his strong r ight arm for work ,While the qu ick flames mounted high .

And he sang H u rra fo r my handiwork !”

And the red sparks lit the airNot alone for the blade was the br ight steel

made ;

And he fas hioned the F irs t P loughshare !

And men, taught wisdom from the Past,

Infriendship jo ined their hands ,

H ung the sword inthe hall , the spear onthe

wall ,And ploughed the willing lands ;

And sang Hu rra for Tubal Cain!Ou r stanch good fr iend is he ;

And for the ploughshare and the ploughTo him ou r praise shall be.

B ut while Oppressionlifts its head,

Or tyrant wou ld be lord,Though we may thank him for the P lough ,We

’ll not forget the Sword !

WHO SHALL BE FAIREST?

Wao shall be fairest?Who shall be rarest?

Who shall be first inthe songs that we s ing?She who is kindestWhenFortune is blindest,

Bear ing through w inter the blooms of th

spr ingCharm of ou r gladness ,F riend of ou r sadness ,

Angel ofLife, whenits pleas u res take w ing!She shall be fairest,She shall be rarest,

She shal l be first inthe songs that we s ing !

Who shal l be nearest,Noblest and dearest,

Named but w ith honor and pride evermore ?

He, the undaunted,

Whose banner is plantedOn G lory ’

s high ramparts and battlemem

hoarF earless ofdanger ,To falsehood a stranger ,

Lookingnot back wh ile there’

s Duty befo re !He shall be nearest,H e shal l be dearest,

He shal l be first inou r hearts evermore !

There'

s a good time coming, boys ,A good time coming

The penshal l supersede the sword,And B ight, notMight, shall be the lordInthe good time coming.

Worth , not B irth , shall ru le mankind,And be ac knowledged stronger ;

The proper impu lse has beengiven;Wait a l ittle longer .

There’s a good time coming, boys ,

A good time coming :War inall men

’

s eyes shall beA monster of iniqu ityInthe good time coming

THEpoop TIME commaTar-3113

’

s a good time coming, boys ,A go od time com ingWe may not l ive to see the day,

B ut earth shall glisteninthe rayOf the good time com ing.

Cannon- balls may aid the tru th ,B u t thought ’

s a weaponstronger ;We

’l l w inou r battle by its aidWait a l ittle longer .

160

Great are ou r destinies : ou r tas k ,Long s ince begun, shal l never endWh ile su fferinghas a boonto ask,

Or tru th needs spokesmento defend ;While vice or cr ime pollute the time,Whilenations bleed, or patriots groan.

Ru lers , be wise ! and, meddling fools ,Let us alone— let us alone,

SC I E N C E .

B less ings onsc ience ! Whenthe earth scem’d old,

Whenfaith grew doting, and the reas oncold,’T was she discover

’d that the wo rld was young,

And taught a lang uage to its lisping tongue .

’T was she disc losed a fu tu re to its view ,

And made old knowledge pale befo re the new .

0 0 Q QB less ings onSc ience and her handmaid, Steam !They make Utopia only half a dreamAnd show the fervent ofcapac iou s sou ls ,Who watch the ball of progress as it ro lls ,That all as yet completed o r begunIs but the dawning that precedes the sun.

— Railways .

S U N S E T .

The dying l ight,Ere it departed, swathed each mountainheightInrobes ofpu rple, and adownthe west,Where sea and sky seemed mingl ing, breas t to

breas t,Drew the dense barks of ponderou s c louds and

spread

A mantle o ’er them ofa royal red ,

Belted w ith pu rple, lined with amber , tingedWith fiery go ld, and blu shing-

pu rple fr inged .

Voices F rom the Mo untains and From the

Crowd,”Prologue.

T R U T H .

To-day abho rr’d, to- morrow adored,

80 round and mund we run

And ever the Tru th comes uppermost.

— E ternal J ustice.

W O M A N .

Womanmay err , womanmay give her mindTo evil thoughts , and lose her pu re estate ;

B ut for one womanwho atfronts her kindBy wicked pass ions and remorseless hate,

A thousand make amends inage and you th ,By heavenly pity , by sweet sympathy ,

'

By patient kindness , by endu ringtru th ,By love, supremest inadvers ity.

— Preise ofWomen.

TH E M AGAZI N E OF P OE TR Y.

N

THE THREE FlSHERS.

Tunas:fishers went sail ing away to the west,Away to the west as the sunwent down;

Eac h thought onthe womanwho loved him best,'

And the childrenstood watching them out ofthetown;

CHARLES KINGSLEY .

HARLES KINGSLEY was bornat HolmeVicarage, onthe borders ofDartmoor , Devon, Eng.

,

in1 81 9 , and was edu cated at home until the age offou rteen, whenhe became a pupil of Rev . Derwent

Coler idge, and afte rwards a student at King’s

College, London. From there he went to MagdalenCo l lege , Cambridge, where he was very succes s

fu l , and took his B . A . degree in1 842 , coming out

as a senior optime w ith a first - c las s in c lass ics .

At the end of the year he was ordained by Dr .

Sumner , B ishop ofWinchester , and became cu rateat Evers ley , a moorland parish inHampshire, and,that living becoming vacant, he was presented to

it by the patron, Sir John Cope, Bart.

ho lding that benefice for thirty years . He was

appo inted regiu s pro fessor of modernhistory atCambridge in 1 859 , bu t res igned that office tenyears late r on being appointed by the Crown,CanonofChester . He held that office for only fou ryears , as onthe death ofCanonNepeanin1 873 hewas named to theWestminster canonry . He was

Chaplain inOrdinary to the Queen one of

the chaplains to the Pr ince ofWales , and Domes ticChaplainto Lo rd Sydney.

Inear ly life he was aneager apostle of social ismand democracy , and was one of a small party ofyoung men who keenly and actively inte restedthemselves in the cau se of the working clas ses

after the co llapseofpo l itica l chartism in1 848 , andearned for himself the title of the

“Chartist Par~

son.

"They started a magazine cal led Po litics for

the Peop le, addressed meetings and set up the co l

lege inRed LionSquare.

To this period and its prevailing influences belong the first noteworthy wr itings oi Char lesKings ley, such as “Yeast, Alton Locke, Tailorand Poet,

” “ Hypatia, or New Foes With AnOldFace,

”and Two Years Ago .

"Among his other

works may be mentioned : Westward H o, a

stirr ing tale ofthe E lizabethansea- rovers ; Heree

Ward theWake,” a story of the struggles betweenthe Saxons inthe Fencountry and their Normanconqueror ; and “TheWater Babies , a story for

chi ldren. Some of his songs have takena permanent place inEnglish literatu re . He died in1 75 .

T . H . W.

TH E N EW YO RK

PUBLlCLIBRARY

ACTOR. LI N K AND

TiLQEN Fu lfil“ .

164

Thenhey for boot and horse, lad,And around the wor ld away ;

Young blood mu st have its cou rse, lad,And every dog his day.

Whenall the wor ld is old, lad,And all the trees are brown;

And all the sport is stale , lad,And all the wheels rundown;

Creep home and take you r plac e there,The spent and maimed among ;

God grantyou find one face ther e

You loved whenall was young.

DRIFTING AWAY.

THE Y drift away . Ah , God ! they dr ift forever .

I watch the stream sweep ownward to thesea,

Like some o ld battered bu oy upona roaring river ,

R ound whom the tide- waits hang, thendr ift tosea.

I watch them dr ift, the o ld fam iliar faces ,Who fished and rode w ith me

, by stream and

wo ld,Tillghosts ,not men, fill old beloved plac es ;And, ah ! the landis rank with chu rc hyard mou ld.

I watch them drift. the youthfu l aspirations ,Shores , landmarks , beacons , drift al ike .

Q Q Q Q Q

I watc h them drift, the poets and the statesmen;The very streams runu pward from the sea.

0 0 Q Q 0

Yet overhead the boundless arch of heavenStill fades to night, sti ll blazes into day .

0 Q Q Q 0

Ah , God ! My God ! Thou w iltnot dr ift away !November , 1 867.

THE TIDE swan.

CLEAR and coo l , c lear and coo l ,By laughing shallow and dre aming pool ;Coo l and c lear , cool and c lear ,Dy shining shingle and foaming weir ;Under the crag where the ou sel s ings ,And the ivied wal l where the chu rch - bell rings ,Undefiled, for the undefiled ;P lay by me, bathe inme,mother and child.

Dank and fou l , dank and fou l ,By the smoky towninits mu rky cowl ;Fou l and dank , fou l and dank ,By wharf and sewer and s limy bank ;Darker and darker the fu rther I go ,

Baser and baser the r icher I grow ;Who dare sport with the sin- defiled?

Shr ink from me,turnfromme,mother andchild.


Strongand free, strong and free,The flood-

gates are open, away to the sea .

F ree and strong, free and strong,

Cleans ingmy stre a ms as I hu rry alongTo the go ldensands and the leaping bar ,And the taintless tide that awaits me afar ,As I lose mysel f inthe infinite main,Like a s ou l that has s inned and is pardoned

again.

Undefiled, for the undefiled ;Play by me, bathe inme, mother and child.

LORRAINE .

She c las ped her new - born baby, poor Lorraine,Lor raine, Lorree ,

Barum , Barum ,Barum ,

Barum ,Barum

, Barum ,

Baree.

I cannot r ide Vindictive, as anymanmight899 ,

And [ will not ride Vindictive w ith this baby on

my knee ;He

’s killed a boy,

he’

s killed a man, and why mu sthe kill me?

Unless you r ide Vindictive, Lorraine, LorraineLor ree,

Unless you r ide Vindictive today atCou lter lee,

And land him safe ac ross the brook , and win theblank for me,

It’s you may keep you r baby, for you ’ll get nokeep from me.

”

That hu sbands cou ld be cruel , said Lorraine ,Lorraine, Lorree,

That hu sbands cou ld be cruel , I have knownforseasons three ;

But, oh ! to r ide Vindictive while a baby cries forme,

And to be kil led ac ross a fence at last, for all theworld to see l

I

Am: you ready fo r the steeple chase, Lorraine,Lorraine, Lorree?

Barum ,Barum,

Barum , Bar um , Barum ,Barum ,

B aree .

You’re booked to r ide you r capping race today at

Cou lterlee ,

You’

re booked to r ide indictive, for all the wo rldto see

,

To keep him straight, and keep him first and winthe runfor me.

Barum , Barum ,Barum

,Barum ,

Barum ,Barum ,


gave the title, was issued in 1 879 . Verses of

Var ied Life fol lowed in1 88 2 . Inthe au tumn of

1 883“Old Year Leaves appeared . It contains

some of his most finished work. In1 884 he pub

lished his biographical and cr itical monograph :“ A Fo rgotten Geniu s : Char les Wh itehead ”

— a

man of remarkable geniu s , admired by Dickensand Rossetti , bu t, like so many menof geniu s , thevictim of vices that at las t undid him . Mr . Be ll ’svo lume, disc r iminating and effective as it is . as

serts for him something of c las s ic pos ition, andwill do mu ch to preserve his memory and send

stu dents of l iteratu re to his books . It was veryfavo rably received by the most influential cr iticaljou rnals . Mr . Bel l has w r ittena book dealingw ith fictiondu ring the las t eighty years . In1 885

new editions of Mr . Bel l ' s poems were iss ued w ithc ons iderable re arrangement of contents

THE KEEPING OF THE VOW.

(A . D.

e c Robert B ru ce is dying, uncertain comm his

breath ,

And the last strife for fail ing l ife w ill soonbe wonby death

Around his coach the eo u rtiers stand and heavefu ll many a s igh ,

Indire dismay and grief are they to see theirmonarch die.

Sir J ames of Douglas ,c ome !

"he c ries , thou

ever wast my fr iend,

And though we part,’

tis well thou ar t w ith meunto the end.

Wheningreat straits , [vowed to God, i f He wou ldgrant to me

That war shou ld cease inperfec t peac e , and Scot

land shou ld be free ,H is blessed banner ] wou ld hear to sacred Pales

tine,

With arms to quell the infidel : su ch my supreme

des ign.

And grieved am I that here I lie, l ife ebbing fastaway ,

This gnaw ing painnow proving vainthe hope myvow to pay .

Thenprom ise me r ight faithfu l ly , whenI am laidat rest,

That with my heart thou w ilt depart to do my

last behest !I pledge my knightly word. my l iege , thy bidding

shall be done.And though so sad, yet am I glad su ch favor to

have won!

Safe inmy bosom shal l thytr ust abide with me forever ,

Unless perchance inperil ’s hou r ’twere best that we

shou ld sever .

The king smiles faintly inreply— thengently fal lshis head,

And on his grand old fol lower ’

s breast bo ldRobert B ru ce lies dead .

With pennons gay and pro ud array doth Douglasthendepart,

An'

d ina cas ket carefu lly he keeps the kingly heart.

(‘

ross ing the mainand s ighting Spain, he hears ofthat w ild war

Which Moo r and Chr istian long have waged with

ceaseless confiic t sore ;l’o rthwith he deems that here it seems his m iss ion

fi rst shou ld be,And w ith his host soonswel ls the boas t ofSpanish

chivalry .

The arm ies twain onTebas ’

plainextend, a splendid sight,

In armor (l ight with weapons br ight, impatientfor the fight ;

The summer sunbeams onthe shields of warr iorsbrave are glanc ing,

And o'

er the plainspu rsmany a manwith chargerproudly pranc ing,

Whose gal lant c res t, stirred by the breeze, fu llgaily now is danc ing,

While each Moslem there w ith sc imitar , uponhisArab ho rse ,

Moves w ith a calm ,cou rageou s mien, unswerving

inhis cou rse ;And thu s at length the stately strength the Cross

and Crescent w ield,

As deadly foes now darkly c lose upon this fatalfield.

The Spaniards’

stroke has bravely broke the

dense Opposing line !Yet none the less both armies press around their

standard- s ign,And though many a Paynim late so proud lies l i fe

less ou the plain,While good Cas til ianjennets seem ungu ided bythe

rein.

F irst in the van the Douglas r ides , with all hismen- at- arms

A val iant company they are, inu red to war’s

alarms ,The veterans of a hundred fields , for whom it had

its charms ;With spu r and rein they onward strain on the

retreating foe,And in the chase canscarcely trace the road by

which they go ,

H . T. M ACKE N ZI E B E LL .

Till, looking back upon their trac k , w ith horrornow they see

The ranks opposed once more have c losed— theyare injeopardy !

We find fu ll late the danger great, Sir Douglascr ies .

“Retu rn!

And charge the foe like Scots who know the rout

at Bannockburn;Su re ly the menwho vanqu ished then vain Ed

ward’

s vast array

No caitiff Moor cane’er e

’

erc ome on this vietoriou s dav

Thus speaking, sw ift he tu rns his steed and gal

lops to the rear ,

Mid battle’

s tide his dauntless ride as gallant dothappear

As the swimmer ’s strife who strives for life, yet

feels no cravenfear .

And as they passed the blows fell fast : sternwasthe conflict w i ld.

With steeds and men, who ne’

er againwou ld rise,

the field was piled .

YetDouglas tru e, and sti l l a few,have almost cut

their wayWith wondrou s force, res istless , straight through

the gr im array ,When, glancing qu ickly round, he sees , still str ug

gling inthe fight,The nobleWalter St. Clair , a very valiant knight.

They oft were nigh indays gone by , on many abloody field,

And oft had they intou rney gay their chargersswiftly wheeled ,

Ride to the resc ue ! Douglas shou ts ,

and do not spare,To save yonmatc hless comrade,which manofyou

will not dare !Urging his horse with headlong force , he rushes to

dash on,

to his aid,

And many a tunic '

s fold is c left by his res istlessblade ;

Yet he is left of fr iends ber eft, fierce foemenall

around,And mid the roar of mortal str ife of succor not a

sound.

Now snatches he the jeweled casque inwh ich theHeart reposes

(’Twas strange to see how lovingly his hand upon

it c loses ) ,And flings it forward ’

mong the foe around him,

with the cry,

Press on, brave Heart, as thou wert wont : I follow thee or die !

”

With lifted lance he makes advance to where his '

treasu re fel l ,

167

Each c ras h of blow ,now fast, now s low , l ike a rude

requ iem knell ,And left alone, yet ne

’

er o’erthrown, he grapples

w ith the foe,Unti l a sword- thru st pierc ing him at last doth lay

him low ;

Thengallantly he fights awhile, half kneeling on

the plain,And there, exhau sted by his wounds , he final ly is

slain.

So died this grand old hero ! InDouglas Ki rk hesleeps ,

While histo ry the record proud of his achievements keeps .

WAITING FOR THE DENTIST.

Taou cnmany dismal years I ’ve beenTo du l l old Care apprenticed,

The worst of the small woes I ’ve seenIs— waiting for the dentist !

H ow dreary is the cheerles s roomInwhich you bide his pleasu re !

The very chairs seem steeped ingloomAnd sorrow w ithou tmeas u re,

As i f so wi ld mu te -mo lar gr ief,So uncontro lled its swel ling,

That its fierc e tide had sought reliefBy deluging the dwel ling.

What though of literatu re a sto re

Is lying onthe table,You only think the books a bore ;To read you are unable.

What from the w indow , though , perchance.

You see forms fu l l ofgraces ,They merely make you look askance ,And think how sore you r face is .

Onmany chairs and sofas , too ,

More martyrs round you langu ish ,You glance at them , they glanc e at you ,

And give a groanofangu ish .

You deem it hard their tu rnarr ivesB efore you inrotation,

Or they wax wroth that you rs depr ivesTheir case of conso lation.

You mu se u ponthe ru thless wrenchWh ich buys a tooth ’

s departing,

Or how the stopping pangs to qu ench ,Inwh ich you may be starting.

1 68

Or haply onthese ivory chips ,Harsh Natu re may deny you ,

B u t which the “goldenkey equ ips

Man’

s geniu s to su pply you .

No words you r mood ofm ind express ,A mood devo id ofqu iet,

Inwhich pain, pleas u re and distressMingle inhopeless r iot.

Yes , though mu ch sor row one mu st know,

While to old Care apprenticed ,

The greatest unhero ic woeIs— waiting for the dentist.

IN MEMORIAM W. E . FOSTER .

(Obift. Ap r il 5 , L886 . )

Os , stalwart manand pu re, whose earnest faceMirro red thy fair - orbed - sou l ; whose every deedMade answer to thy word ; who gav

’

st no heedTo foolish babble or the lu st ofplace .

Who , grieved to see thy country ’

s hapless caseFor lack of knowledge, cam

’

st when great her

need ,

With su ccor just and meet ; whose c ivic creedWas not of party , but took inthe rac e .

A year has passed s ince thou wast laid to rest,

Yet fragrant is thy memory ; thy bequestA work whose scope and grandeu r Time shal l

gauge.

England some day— her daughter - lands apar tNo longer ,— will remember the e whose heartF ired hers to winher wo r ld- w ide heritage.

OLD YEAR LEAVES.

THE leaves which inthe autum ofthe yearFall aubu rn- tinted, leaving reft and bareTheir parent trees , inmany a sheltered lairWhereWinter waits and watc hes , cold, austere,

Wil l lie indr ifts ; and whenthe snowdrops cheerThe woodland shadows , stil l the leaves are there,

Though through the glades the balmy sou thernair

And birds and boughs proc laim that Spring ishere .

So lost hopes severed by the stress of lifeLie all unbu r ied yet before ou r eyes ,Though none bu t. u s regard their mu te decay ;

And ever amid this stir , and moi], and str ife,F resh aims and growing pu rposes ariseAbove the faded hopes ofyesterday .


PASSION .

B LIND pas s ionever proves a maddeningpowerEnthroned withinu s , a sin-

garnered dower

Ofquenchless loves and longings , a fierce sto rm

B reaking the beau teou s boughs,where, shelteredwarm ,

Repose, like unfledged nestlings , Life’

s chief joys .

Its wave sweeps o'

er the sou l and sw ift destroysOu r store ofpew what years of labor costPerchance by one false step for ever lost.

THE GRAVE OF DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI.(April 9th .

THE RE is a tomb, all monumentless yet,Hard by a moss -

grownchu rch ’s Gothic door ,Withinthe hear ing of the ocean’

s roar ,

Where l ies a manthe wor ld w il l not forget.

And here the wor ld’

s extremes are su rely met,

For round abou t him are the tombs of thoseWho led long l ives obsc u re until their c lose ,

And whentheir days were done their suns were set.

Wi ld thyme and vio lets grow uponhis grave,Summer

’

s fair heralds ; and a stranger now

Visits w ith reverence his resting-

plac e,A harbinger ofmany who w il l craveOneac h sad anniversary to avowTru e love '

s regret that ne’er they saw his face .

UNFULFILLED YEARNINGS.

WHE N Summer’

s sweetes t influenceIs shed o

’er plainand bill ,

And Natu re gains her recompenseF or workingWinter ’

s will,

We feel a vo id, a weary sense

Of something wanting still .

InAu tumn, wheneach sear ing leafWith sorrow aye is fraught,

And every garnere d goldensheafYields fr u it for saddest thought,We feel a vo id, o u r spir its ’

gr iefF or something vainly sought.

WhenWinter with his ice- c old handG rasps giant - like the ground,

And stiff and s ta rk l ies all the landInfrost’s firm fetters bo und,We feel a vo id,

we understand’T is something still unfound.

WhenSpring retu rns with fairest fac e,F ill ing the earth with song,

And gladness seems inevery place ,And love and l ife are strong,

Ah me ! eventhenwe fail to trac eThe dream for which we long.


Fame is ahead for us , Go forth and hear the tide of fateWork— by and by Which pu lses through the GoldenGate ,

Meanwhile l ips red for u s Wh ile far to seaward breaks themoan

Dare u s to try Ofbillows onsad Farallon.

Time enough , time enough ,Years are so long,

There yield thyself unto the spell ,Love mu st have rhyme enough , And let thy SOB I upl ift and dwell

You th mu st have song.

Beneath the searching, s ilent starsThat pierc e like s ilver sc imitars .

Theninthe unimpass ioned nightThy sou l shal l feel diviner light,Shall sit entranced as one who hearsThe su rginganthem ofthe spheres ,There dream of things of high estate ,Ofdeathless deeds which make mengreat,Ofbu rning words which flame l ike fireAnd rou se anation’

s deep des ire,Tr ibute from me ; Ofnoble thoughts which glor ify ,

I 8118“have Power Of fame and immortality .

All that I as kIs one br ief hou r , enough

Unto my task .

N OVEMB E R .

Rest enqugh , rest enough ,Age tires of to il

Life has not zest enoughFor its turmo il .

Time is all yesterdays ,Inits great deep

Age knows the bes t are daysG ivento sleep .

Death , thou swee t guest, enoughIs thy repose,

I shal l have rest enoughUnder the snows .

AUGUST .

Power enough , power enough ,Manhood is here ,

Crowd bu t this hou r enough ,Conquest is near .

Whenthe to- mor row breaks ,Wealth mine shall be ,

Thencarenor sor row t akes

UNDER THE STARS.

THE day is not for thought, but deeds ,And one who dreams atmidday needsHeneeds the th robbing pu lse which acts ,The wil l which changes dreams to facts ;Heneeds to know both r ight and wrong ;H eneeds to know menweak and strong ;To learnto think with healthfu l mind,With creed as broad as humankind ;He needs to feel that to il is great,The architect Ofevery fate . Here only, 0 , marvelou s mountains ,

Sublime, serene and unmoved,I dr ink anew faith from thy fountainsAnd feel my forebodings unproved.

The stars arenearer and kinder ,The air seems clearer to sight,

Go forth atnight by peacefu l seas , And worlds that await but the finderAnd catch their wondrou s melodies ; Are faint onthe verge ofthenight.

AT THE SUMMIT.

NOT to the sou thernsavanna

That pants for the c las p of the sea,

Nor yet to the peaks ofMontana,White mitered inchastity

But here, 0 , my fair Sierra,I come l ike a child to thy breas t,

Confess ingmy heart’

s bitter error ,Lamenting its bu rning unrest.

Bu t day is only half ou r lives ,And be half lives who always str ives ,Who takes no su rvey ofthe field,Who plants , butnever plans the yield.

0 ,it is grand to dream ,

— to playWith insp iration,— disarrayThe m ind so it may c leave the seaOfthought, w ith godlike po ise, sou l free !Like him who saw new wor lds inspac e,Thy finer visionnow shall traceA hint ofhigher myster ies ,A gl impse of poss ibilitiesWhich lie like undiscovered spheresWithindiviner atmospheres .

Thy mind shall ho ld a broader plan,Thy heart confess a truer man;And day, no more a weary roundOfto il ing hou rs , of jarr ing sound,Shall come to thee w ith new intent,Thy time ofgrand ac compl ishment.


schoo l , andno manever found inhim anything at

variance with the charac ter of the true Christiangentleman.

Mr . Jones is a bac helor , genial , qu iet, unassuming, active and athletic , emphatically one of thoseWell - balanced menwho have a sound mind ina

sound body, one who has it inhis power to takehigh rank among the literary workers of the age.

I know no better example of a thoroughlyequ ipped and entirely self-made Amer ican.

,R . H . L.

A NATURE PRAYER .

O ,smns , that sing su ch thankfu l psalmsRebuking humanfretting,

Teac h u s you r sec ret of content,Your sc ience of forgetting ;

For every life must have its ills ,You too have hou rs of sorrow ;

Teach us , l ike you , to lay them by ,And singagainto -mo rrow ;

For gems ofdarkest jetmay lieWithina goldensetting,

And he is wise who understands

The sc ience of forgetting.

O , palms , that how before the galeUntil its peacefu l ending,

Teac h u s you r yielding linked with strength ,You r grac efu l art ofbending ;

For every tree must meet thegale,Eac h heart encounter sorrow ;

Teach us , l ike you , to how , that weMay stand erect to-mo rrow .

For there is strength inhumble grac e,Its wise disc iples shielding ;

And he is wise who understands

The happy art ofyielding.

O ,brooks , which laugh all night, all day,Witlf voice of sweet sedu ction,

Teac h us you r art of laughing stil lAt every new obstru ction;

For every life has eddies deepAnd rapids fiercely dashing,

Sometimes through gloomy caverns forced,Sometimes insunlight flashing ;

Yet there is wisdom inyour way,

You r laughingwaves and wimplesTeach u s you r gospel ofcontent,The secret ofyou r dimples .

0 , trees , that stand inforest ranks ,Tal l , strong, erect and sightly ,

Your branches arched innoble grace,Your leaflets laughing lightly,

Nobler the landscapes unrevealedThanthose that have charmed ou r seeingGreater the things as yetunbornThanthose that have found a being ;

And the brightestglor ies bathed inlightAre theghosts ofgrander veiled from sight.

Sweet are the echoes so ft and clear ,B ut the sou l ofsound is sweeter ;

Glad are the joys which break insmiles,But the sealed ones are completer ;

And back of the loves our idols winAre the deep heart secrets sealed within.

Teac h us your firm and qu iet strength ,You r secret ofextrac tion

F rom slimy darkness inthe so ilThe grace of l ife and action;

For they are r ich who understand.

The secret of combiningThe good that’s hiddendeep inearthWith that where suns are shining.

O ,myr iad forms ofearth and air ,Of lake, and sea, and r iver ,Which make ou r landscapes glad andTo glor ify The G iver ,

Teach u s to learnthe lessons hidIneac h fami liar featu re,

The mystery which still perfectsEac h low or lofty creature ;

Fo r God is good, and life is sweet,And suns are brightly shining

To glad the gloom and thus rebukeThe fo l ly of repining.

Eac h night is followed by the day,

Eac h storm by fairer weather ,While all the works ofnatu re s ingTheir psalms of joy together .

Thenlearn, 0 , heart, the song of hope ;Ceas e, sou l , thy thankless sorrow ;

For though the clouds be dark to -dayjThe sunshall shine to-morrow .

Learnwell from bird, and tree, and rill ,The sinofdark resentment,

And know the greatest gift ofGodIs faith and sweet contentment.

YEILED HARMONIES.

Swsnr s a the songs forever unsungThanthe psalms which found their vo ices ;

Bac k ofthe thought which found a penA happier thought rejo ices ;

And the grandestwonders hide and s leepInthe space profound ofthe vo iceless deep .

1 . ED GAR j oN E S.

Never as good the pictu red sceneAs the harvest r ich and fruity ;

Never a view that charmed thy sou l ,But covered anobler beauty ;

And the scents which bu rdenthe evening hoursLeft a sweeter locked inthe sou l offlowers.

Never a kindword but concealedA love-thought stil l more tender ;

Never a sunset but reflectsThegold ofa greater splendor ;

And everything to amanrevealedIs the shade ofagrander thing concealed.

Some day shal l come from their deep retreats

Great thoughts which the years are screening ;Somedayshallbreak through thewordsand

o

songs

The'

sou l oftheir matchless meaning;And the shadows hiding the heavens from viewReveal the substance from which they grewGod

’

s marvelous secrets sh ining through .

NEBULOUS PHILOSdPHY.

SHE came fromConcord’s c las sic shades , onReason’

s

throne she sat,And wove intricate arguments to prove, inlan

8 08 89 pat,

TheWhichness of theWherefore, andtheThisness ofthe That.

Shescorned ignoblesubjects — eac h groveling hou seho ld care

B ut tuned her lofty sou l to prove the°Airiness of

And twisted skeins of logic ’round theWhatness of

theWhere.

To lower natures leaving the do llars andthesense,She soared above the level of commonplace pre

And mo lded treatises which proved the Thatnessofthe Thence.

Her glor iou s pu rpose to reveal the Thinkfu lness of

Thought,To trace each line by Somewhat onthe Somehow ’

s

su rface wrought,To pictu re forms ofWhynots from theWhatnot’s

meaningcaught.

To cultivate ou r spirits with theWhyfore'

s class ic

To benefit the Thereness with the highness oftheHow,

To flood the dark with radiance from the Thisness

175

What good has she accomplished? Oh , never

doubt her thus !Itmustbe usefu l to reveal thePlusness ofthe Plus.To il lustrate with corkscrew words theWhichness

Mock not, poor commonmortal , whenthoughtsl ike these appear ,

Il lumining ou r laborsw ith theB owness ofthe Here,And blazing like a comet through the Nowness of

the Near .

Some day in realms eternal such grand misthaunted sou ls

Inscr ibe the words ofWhichness onWherefore-antic

scrol ls,Inthat great wor ld of Muchness which through

the Maybe ro lls .

Thenshall we eac h ac knowledge theWhyness oftheWhence,

Eac h understands completely with Sensefu lness ofSense,

The Thu sness of the Therefore, the Thatness oftheThence.

BROWN EYES.

There are dark locks thatm ingle with mine inthegloam ing,

That grac efu lly wave atmy gentle caress ,And a true little heart that is tired of roam ing,Though sheltered by only a calico dress ;

For it came to me once, at the cal l ofaffection,And now finds its happiest home onmy breast ;

Nor danger exists there ofdoubt or defection,For the bird nestles safe inits love-guarded nest.

Her checks are as red as the br ightest June roses ,As roses seek sunshine tu rnthey unto me,

And she lists to the vo ice that del ights in h

praises ,Or talks ofa theme onwhich both canagrw

You may s ingme a song oftheeyes thatar ebluestOfgo ldenlocks catching the gleam ofthe sun,

And say that the blondes are the br ightest andtruest,

B ut prove ityou cannot,my fr iend, whenyou ’ve

done

For I know of browneyes that have love intheirembers ,

That look inmy ownwith a glance fonda nd trueAs any that shoot from a l ittle blondemaidenTheir arrows of love from the eyes that are blue.


For love flnds response inaffectionate phrases .Whilethe longlashes trembleandgently fall down,

Like cu rtains that guard with their fringed lids’

protection

The tru e love enshrined in the eyes that are

brown.

A country- bornmaiden, a little wood- blossom ,

I found from the dinofthe c ity afar ,And fate led me there to the shr ine ofaffection,Like wise menof old by the light ofa star ;

So, night after night, inthe calm ofthe twil ight,We watc hed it together and learned to be wise ,

For love looked atme as I watched its reflec tionDowndeep inthe depths of her beautifu l eyes .

Do you think that the azure is br ighter thanamber?

The love inits looks more endu r ing and true?So be it ; but give me the browneyes to gu ide me,Whose l ight inmy l ife- thoughts ec lipses theblu e ;

The heart that canc l ing to its chosencompanion,Whose eyes for my so r row w ith pity are pearled,Whose laugh wakes the sou l - songs asleep inmy

natu re“Whose arms form the bounds of my happiest

wofld.

So I place all my faith inthis little wild blossom ,

This flower that no fashionhath withered or

stirred,

And love with fond tru st the demu re l ittle maidenWho staked all her life ontheweightofmy wo rd ;

Nor care I for state and its shallow attractions,

The ho l low philosophy , heartless and co ld,

That l ives invainpomp and its evil distractions ,To plate w ith its pewter the genu ine go ld.

God grant that the futu re hath joyfor ou r reaping,

That. shadows of sorrows I never shall seeInthe beau tifu l eyes that ho ld fas t

.

intheir keepingThe faith and the fates ofthe fu tu re for me.

P O E T H Y .

To trac e a p ictu re graved insong, to balance andcombine

The homeliest things with links which join the

humanand divine :A per fec t grace inevery word, a sou l inevery line.

Tomake. of swiftly- changing things great thoughtswhich never change,

To fly from flower to flower fo r sweets throughNatu re

’s boundless range,

And o ut of treas u res c u lled to weave a pattern

r ich and s trange.

— The Task of the Poets .

AUGUSTA COOPER BRISTOL .

UGUSTA COOPER was bornin1 885 inCraydon, N . H . , and was the youngest of tenchil

dren. Her first verses were writtenat the age of

eight, and she had poems published when onlyfifteen. She was precocious inmathematics and

showed inher ear ly life anaptitude for logical andphilosophical re asoning. The better part of her

educationwas acquired at. a public schoo l, bu t shewas also a stu dent at Canaan Union Academyand K imball UnionAcademy . She beganteac hingat flfteenand was thu s employed summer and win

ter for sevenyears .

At twenty- two years of age Miss COOper marr ied G . H . Kimball , a pr inte r , from whom she was

divorced five years later . In 1 866 she marr iedLou is B r isto l , a lawyer of New Haven, Conn. , and

removed to southern I ll ino is . In 1 869 she pub

lished a vo lume of poems , and in th is year gaveher first public lec tu re, which latter circumstance

seems to have changed the cours e of her inte l lectual career .

In 1 872 she moved to Vineland, N . J . , her pres

ent res idence , from which date she has beencalledmore and more befo re the public as a platformspeaker . Fo r fou r years she was pres ident of theLadies ’

Soc ial Sc ience Class inVineland, N . J giv

ing lessons from Spencer and Carey every month .

Inthe winter of 1 880 she gave a cou rse of lectu resbefore the New York Pos itivist Soc iety on“ The

Evolu tion of Charac ter ,” fo llowed by anothercou rse under the au spices of the Woman’

s Soc ialSc ience Club of that c ity . In the fo llowing J uneshe was sent by parties inNew York to study theEqu itable Assoc iationofLabor and Capita l at theFamil istere, at Gu ise, in France, founded by M .

Godin. She was also commiss ioned to representthe New York Pos itivist Societry at an international conventionof l iberal thinkers at B russelsinSeptember . Remaining at the Fam ilis tere forthree months , and giving a lectu re onthe Sc ien

tiflc Bas is of Morality ” before the B ru ssels con

vention, she retu rned home and published the

R u les and Statutes ” of the assoc iationat Gu ise.

In 1 881 she was chosen state lectu rer of the Patrons oi Hu sbandry in New J ersey, and in the

au tumnof the fo llowing year was employed ona

national lectu re bu reau of that order .

Since her hu sband’s deceas e, which occu rred in

December , 1 88 2 , Mrs . B r isto l has appeared bu t

seldom onthe public platform . For the last twoyears she has beenthe national superintendent ofthe Labor andCapital Department intheWoman’

s

Chr istianTemperance Union.


1Of the heaventhat is coming, the one and the

other ,To Openfor aye inthe angel ic heart.

Crimsonazalea ! Snowy azalea !Love has no loss inthe angelic heart.

THE BIRD- SONG.

UPON the sou thernporch I sitAnd Sm i le to see the summer come ;

I cannot count the w ings that flitOr bees that bu rn.

I watc h the Ju ly blossom tu rn

Its sweet heart-center to the light,The sun- wrought secret inits u rnRevealed to s ight.

I hear the dr ip of woodland spr ings,Where the w ild roses leanac ross

To m ingle fragrant whisperingsAbove the moss .

I feel the fingers of the breezeCaressingly my hair entw ine ,

And think that to u ches su ch as theseAre half divine .

B utmost I marvel at a bird,That tr i lls a wild and wondrou s note ;

Tire sweetest sound that ever stirredA warbler ’

s throat.

He perches not inleafy nooks ,B ut seeks a tree top , gaunt and bare ,

That all the woodland over looks ,And warbles there .

Incarnate melody ! SereneHe bides uponthe summ it high ,Where not a leaf canintervene

’Twixt song and sky.

Perchance some angel , lovingme,H ides inthe plumage of the bird

And wins me with the sweetest pleaThat e

’e was heard,

And bids my humanheart foregoEarth ’s easy coverts , cool and green,

The long-drawnais les of pomp and show ,

Weal th ’s flower screen,And the poor words of worldly praise,So cheaply bought, yet held so dear ,

That I one song for Tru th may raiseDivinely c lear ,With not a lau re l leaf betweenThe sunlight and my lifted eye,

Or earthly shade to intervene’Twixt sou l and sky.

EMMA HUNTINGTON NASON .

RS. NASON is a native of Hallowell , Maine .

She is of stanch Pu ritandescent, her father ,Samuel H untington(a name not without distinguished representatives inother generations ) , beingdirectly descended from Simonand Margaret H unt

ington, who emigrated from Norwich , England, toMas sachusetts in 1 639 ; while the family of the

mother , Sal ly Mayo ,was founded inthis country

inthe same year by the Rev . JohnMayo , one of

the original settlers of B arnstable, Cape Cod, andfirst pas tor of the second chu rch , B oston.

Mrs . Nas onattended the Hallowel lAcademy for atime, and afterwards was gradntated from Kent

’

s

H il l ,Maine. Whenonly twelve years o ldshe beganto wr ite inverse, and her poems were publ ished inthe Portland Transcrip t. For Iseveral years she

wrote under the name of JohnG . Andrews , bu t

was finally persuaded to appear under her own

name. Since thenshe has beena frequent contr ibu tor to The Independent, The Ch u rchman, The

Commonwealth , etc . , although she has been espe

cially inte rested inwr iting for young people.

B efo re the publication of her volume, “WhiteSai ls ,” she was chosen one of tenpoets whose ballads , beautifu lly illu strated, appear ina vo lumeentitled, “

Children’s Ballads from H istory and

Fo lk Lore .

Mrs . Nason is an enthusiastic student of Ger

man literatu re, being very fond of that language .

Moreover she wields a br ush w ith almost as mu ch

grace as she does the pen. She has a face inwhichdo meet

“sweet records , and prom ises as sweet.

Inher dark eyes one sees“thought folded over

thought.

” Hers is a face which mu st be verygrave, indeed, in her ho urs of meditation when

wr iting su ch a poem as Simonthe Cyrene. Yet

she is an optimist, happily ; a woman, too , whoselightest word and movement are stamped by re

finement. K . V .

THE BISHOP'

S VISIT.

TE LL you about it? Of cou rse I will l

I thought ’twou ldbedreadfu l to havehim c ome

,

For mamma said I mu st be qu iet and sti ll ;And she put away my whistle and drum ,

And made me unharness the par lor chairs ,And pac ked my cannonand all the rest

Of mynoisiest playthings off up- stairs ,Onaccount of this very distingu ished guest.

Thenevery room was tu rned ups ide down,And all the carpets hung out to blow ;

For whenthe B ishop is coming to townThe house mu st be inorder , you know .

H UA’

TI N G 70 4V A’

ASO.

So out inthe kiu -henl madc my lair ,And started a game of hide and—ssek :

For the B ishop was ooming. to stay a week ;

And she mu stmake cookias, and cakes, and pies,And fill every c loset. and platter . and pan,

Till I thought th is B ishop , so great and wise,Must be anawfully hungry man.

Well, at last be came : and I do dec lare ,

Dear grandpapa, he looked ju st like you ,

With his gentle vo ice, and his silvery hair ,

And eyes with a smile a- shining through .

And whenever he read, or talked , or prayed

I unders tood every single word ,

And I wasn'

t the leastest bit afraid,

Though I never once spoke or stirred.

Till , al l ofa sudden, he laughed r ight ou tTo see me sit quietly listening so ;

And beganto tell us stories aboutSome qu eer little fellows inMex ico .

And all about Eg pt and Spain— and thenHe was n’

t distu rbed by a littleno ise,But said that the greatest and best of menOnce were ro llicking, healthy boys .

And he th inks it is no matter at al lIf a little boy runs , and jumps , and c limbs ;Andmamma shou ld be will ing to letme crawlThrough the banister - rails inthe hall some

times .

And B ridget, sir , made a greatmistakeInstir ring up such a bother , you see,

For the B ishop— he didn'

t care for cake,And real ly liked to play games with me.

But though he ’s so honored inword and ac t

(Stoop down, for this is a secret now)He could n’

t spell B oston! That s a fact!Butwhispered to me to tel l him how .

GLENDARE.

Tanwild torrents plunge o ’er the falls ofGlendare ;

The cliffs of Glendarock hang high with a frown;Andnight, from the hi ll - tops soddenand bare,In its gray, sleety c loak with the storm- wind

comes down.

Boy ofthe H ighlands , he hastes from the seas ,

But my Lady Glendare no longer canwait ;Like a wanspectral shape inthe shadow she flees ,While the wardensleeps soundatthesto utcastle

gate .

1 79

F aster . oh . faster ! my Ladv Glendale !

Thy black- hearted lover will c lose onthee soonlHe rideth behind onthe wings of the air ,As the black- hearted tempest rides after the

moon.

And faster . my lad. from the free H ighland hill !Let each sail to the winds ! Let each breath be a

praver !

For her life blood runs slow and her life blood runschill :

She hath beckoned to death— myLady Glendare l

She heareth the c langor ofarmor behind,The tramping ofhorsemenafar o'

er the land,Butnever the flapping ofsails inthe wind,Or the noise ofthe keel as itgrates onthe sand.

The wild torrents plunge o‘

er the falls ofGlendare ;There are horsemenabove, there are boatmen

below ;{tut the waters have tangledmy ladv

'

sbright hair ,And her bosom is cold as the winter ’

s whitesn

'

ow .

She heeds not the vo ice of the brave H ighland lad,She heeds not, she hears not his wail of despair ;Wrap her deftly , though late , inthe brightScottish

plaidMy sweet, winsome lady, my Lady Glendare l

THE TOWER.

l A ! the tower of Bolus— the tower ! yes , I !l

'

nder the r ifting l ines of the gloaming'

s tremu

lant sky ,

l'

nder the shifting s igns of the ages c irc lingby,I stand inthe might of the mighty— the tower of

Belus , l lWho are these atmy feet, l ike pigmies , scorched in

the sun

Who , bu t the petty hordes of a race that has justbegun?

Itmatters l ittle to me whether prince or Be dou instand,

Or the lizard creep at my feet, or the jackal upfrom the sand.

What does the time - bound traveler know of the

dim by-gone

What canhe tell of the glory that died with thewor ld’

s bright dawn,More thanthe sunof the desert the sl im, green,

creepingthings?Thenight-owl fast inhis crevice?the bat with his

ghostly w ings?

1 80

Each inhis own way imagines the past and the

yet-to - be ;

Each to himself is greatest : equal alike to me !I am the tower of Belus ; ages unnumbered are

mine ;M ightier I thanthe gods who dreamed themselves

divine l

Is this the grandest of r ivers , that rolled like a

king to the sea,

Crying, I am the great Euphrates ! br ing all yourtithes unto me”

H ow the ships with their treas u red freight wentdownto their rocky bed l

Are these ghou ls , insatiate stil l , with gr inningmouths to be fed,

Thatyou bu rst you r stony embankments , ravagingmeadow and fen,

Making drear-ior drear desolation, inscornfor thearts of men?

Ah ! Babylonia, where— ah ! where is thy fru itfu lplain

Spreading sea- like unto the oceanits billowy fieldsof grain?

Where now is the mighty c ity secu re w ith its brazengates

And walls onwhose tower ing fastness theAssyrianwarrior waits ,

His milk- white steeds in war -

gear , his blazonedflags unfu r led,

H ur ling ingr im deflancefhis chal lenge out to the

wor ld?Where are the toil ing mill ions who wrought with

their cunning skil lSweet dreams of a

'

fair ideal in forms that werefairer still?

Oh l Babylon’s looms are silent ; in s ilence dead

are the plains ;And dead are c ity and isoldier ; the tower alone

remains .

I am the tower of Belus l I stand inthe grasp of

fate !I and the Semitic pr incess , together we watc h and

wait,She for her lover ’

s coming, I for oblivion’s knell ;

Which with the greater longing the heavens alonecantel l .

Is there any joy in existence void of hope or of

fears ,Inpainless , s low dissolutionthrough thousands of

weary years?Or rest for the ghost of the maiden that alike inlife and indeath ,

While years into centur ies r ipen, and centuries

wane, keeps faith

TH E M AGAZIN E OF P OE TR Y.

She counts not night nor morning, but eac h newmoonto greet

She cometh with shadowy garments , whose su btleperfume sweet,

From balms forever forgotten, floats over the

secret bed

Where her lover , impatient, is sleeping the sleep of

the restless deadFor had he not said, “ Beloved, come at the mys

tical hou rWhen the young moon lightens with silver the

shade of the mighty towerHad he not sworn, Though I perish ! though B e.B

lu s lie inthe du st”

And the trust of a loving womanis blind and

unending tru st.

There were hope e’en yet for the tower , standing

stark and alone,Had the flames of analtar - fire e

’er burned inits

heart of stone ;Had the depths of its adamant bosom e

’er thrilled

with a love or a hate,

Three hands were jo ined at their parting, threevo ices breathing'love

’s breath ;

The vo ice of the third was ghostly, its hand was

the hand of deathAnd the white stone goddess had shivered while

the glow ing of the sunset dyesHad deepened in one broad blood - streak and

blazed inthe westernskies ;B ut the maiden, unheeding the omen, hears only

her lover ’

s las t oat-h ,

Nor dreams that her life has beenpu rchased withthis as he dieth for both ;

The grave that is reekingwith vengeance no taleof its mystery br ings

Gods — he was a Tyrianso ldier , she the daughterof kings !

And what but death canbe rec koned as price ofunequal love,

And what but the vow recorded by direfu l fatesabove

Cou ld save the l ife of the maiden — the vow thatnever again,

While the tower of mighty Belu s o’ershadows the

haunts of men

With its anc ient and sto r ied grandeu r— ay, more !

thatnever the whileOne u pr ight stone shall be standing al ight with

the youngmoon’s smile,

Shall body or ghostofthe so ldier under its shadowwait :

B ut death is longer than life - time, and love isstronger thanfate !

H U M AXWE LL.

Sterndestiny’s gr ip mu st have slackened sooner

or late .

I am the tower of Belus ! Canthe story be writ

ten,“ I was

”?

Shall the tide of anended existence flow bac k tothe primal cause

Which sent it first into being, and records of age

sublimeIn utter noth ingness vanish under the finger of

time?

Hist ! a jar inthe ragged br ickwork ! it totters ,andnow is still ;

I canfeel the sand slow tricklingwith a cold, nuearthly thr i ll ;

Perchance but a stone is fal l ing— perchance it isdeath ’s last throe

Ay l under the young moon’

s gl itter I catch theroseate glow

Of the maiden’s royal mantle ; the clang of a

mailed tread

Tel ls that the past has canceled its debt whichheld the dead.

H e cometh with step triumphant ! he readeth thefatefu l sign;

The last gr im arch is shattered which linked theirlot with mine.

Ah , fate, to the last relentless ! thy vassal allegiance owns

G o back to you r cities , 0 stranger ! write, “Belus ,a heap of stones .

”

WHITE SAlLS.

At dawntheysailed ! a dancing,white winged fleet;With freight ofch ildren’

s sou ls , sped to the sea,

The waves , ia-c oming, dipped and smiled to meetGlad ch ildish faces flushed with hope andglee ;

And soft winds blew, their untr ied sails to greet,While sea and air qu ivered with melody.

No swift God speed the happy voyagers lack ;F rom them a song sweeps shoreward on the

breeze ;

And we, whose eyes but yesterday tu rned back,Follow the wake ofwhite- sailed argosies .

N or cloud, nor storm, candim the shining trackAcross the harbor , left by ships like these.

H O M E .

Oh ! Love ofHome ! who clings to theeDrifts not astraynor far !

Be thou , for aye, uponLife’s seaThe children’

s gu iding star !— Tbe Returnof theNorthmen.

183

HU MAXWELL .

HE boyhood home ofE u Maxwell was far backamong the Allegheny mounta ins inWest Vir

ginia, where the water wells pu re from the earth ,and the sky is serene above, and thegreenness andthe freshness of the primeval woodlands whisperto the sou l of man, and “natu re speaks w ith amyr iad tongue that life is there.

”Beneath the

h ills , and among the forests , and by the brooksthat played through the shadows, he spent his

early years . It has beensaid of him that heneverhad any companions or playmates . He walkedby the r iver, and c l imbed the mountains , andstrolled through outof- way places , and alwaysalone. The rocks and rills , the leaves and trees ,and flowers , and the who le inanimate wor ld werehis companions . That love of nature and thatworship of the beautifu l grew into his characterand became himsel f. What he was as a boy he is

as aman.

H is progress at school was discou raging. Infac t there were few edu cational advantages inthatru ral country . At home he was surrounded bycu ltu re and refinement, for his parents were h ighlyeducated, but beyond his ownhome there was adeplorable ill iteracy . His mother took his educationunder her spec ial care, and .

instructed him inthe primary branches and inalgebra. and Latin.

A tu rn for mathematics was inher ited fr om his

Incou rse oftime the poet entered co llege and atnineteenyears ofage graduated at the head ofhisclass . He aspired to a cadet engineership inthenavy, but was rejected onaccount ofdefec tive eyesight. H e studied law, but soonsaw that it didnot su it him , and he qu it it. For a sho rt time hetaught Latinand Greek inthe St. Geo rge Acad

emy. Having pu rchased anewspaper , he spent atime as editor , and inthe meanwhile published ina vo lume of six hundred pages a histo ry of his

native county. This work has beenpronounced a'

model of what a local histo ry shou ld be. Beforehis twenty- first year he had lectu red onsubjects ofarchaeology. Twice before his twenty- fifth year hehad beenchosenpoet of theWest Virginia PressAssoc iation, and had been elected Mayor of his

town. Before that time he had seenmany partsof Amer ica, extending his travels to Mexico andCal ifornia. He followedno beatenpaths . His waywas through forests and deserts and/over mountains , and all the while his gu iding sp ir it was thatlove ofnatu re which developed inhis early years .

What to him as a boy was only a dream, he has

real ized ; and strange lands , and islands of the

184

Pac ific , and the forests of Spanish America, andthe mountains on the frontiers of Alaska, havetakenthe place ofthe brooks , and woods , and hil lsof his boyhood. He travels alone, often passesdays and weeks beyond the borders of c ivil ization,spendingthe day searching for new things , and at

night sleeping onthe seashore, o r inthe desert, orinthe crater of some extinct vo lcano, bu t alwaysfu ll of enthus iasm and hope. Sti l l under thirtyyears of age, and w ith a constitu tion capable of

withstanding any hardship or exposu re, and withan energy invinc ible, his ambitionto be a great

traveler may be real ized. To thosenot intimate lyacquainted w ith him he appears what he is notco ld and distant innatu re. H is chosenfr iends arenot many, but highly prized by him . H e is ania

tense student of books and carries with him alwayssome favorite author . Cons ider ing how much ofhis l ife has beenspent inac tivity, few menof his

years have read more extensively thanhe. He has

studied the literatu res ofmany languages , a few inthe or iginal , butmore intranslations .

He has wr ittenverse all his life and has con

tr ibuted to var ious newspapers . In 1 889 he

published “ Idyls of the Golden Shore, a smallvolume of poems , which was not well received bythe critics . The fau lts pointed out were those of

which he himself was consc ious , princ ipally due tohaste and a lack of condensation. He wr ites toomuch to wr ite the best. H is abil ity undoubtedlylies more inprose thaninverse, yet whenhe hastaken

'

time to.write with care, his poetry shows no

meanpower . A . W. F .

THE CONQUEST.

Wares you were alone this even,Ada May,

Did you hear the soft winds whisperIntheir play

Did you hear them sighing, s ighing,O

’er the withered roses lyingWhere the butterfl ies were flying

All the day

Zephyrs worship you and loveyouMore and more ;

As you pass the flowers are bendingTo adore.

B luestjblossoms bow beforeyou ,Orange blossoms qu iver o’

er you ,

Plead to kiss you and adore youEvermore.

Tr uly you will not be cruel,AdaMay !


You will letme hear you singingFar away?

You’ll not frownwhenI comenearer

So that I canhear you c learer ,If I

’m qu iet, dear and dearerAda May?

Ah, I know you will not chideme,For you know

That I came to hear you singingSoft and low.

And I came to sit bes ide you ,Where the manzanitas hide you ,

And the breezes sweetly chide youAs they blow .

Velvetfig- leaves c luster o ’er us ,

Ada May ;Cute blue quails are peepingat us

Intheir play ;And about u s shadows shiver ,B lossoms o

’

er u s quake and qu iverLike the sunlight ona r iver

Far away .

CALIFORNIA.

FAIR westernrealm that borders onthe sea,Kissed by the sun’

s las t ray at eventide,F all many a true, true heart has beat for thee,Adored and loved thee with devoted pr ide.

I , too , although a stranger onthy shore,Wou ld claim thee for a. seasonas my own;

'

l'hou dream- l ike country, radiant evermore,N0 sunonfairer land has ever shone.

And I have loved thy valleys calm and still ;I’veroamed at random o

’er thyboundless plains ;

l'

ve lingered long onmany andmany a hill ,Where natu re sleeps inpeace and silence reigns .

Thy snow- whitemountains rising to the skyHave thronged my spiritwith submissive dread,

'

l‘

hrilled with the panorama wild and high ,Among creation

’s tombs ofmighty dead.

And I have rested, there above the clouds ,Onrocky crags wrapped ineternal snow ,

Whilemists , l ike sai ling sh ips with silver shrouds ,

Swept white and wonderfu l afar below.

I’ve loved thy storms at times ; for inthe hourOf tempests and tornadoes I canfeel

A grandeur inthegloom ofdarkest power ,Whenthoughts

'

ru sh forth too mightyto conceal .

186

Yes , where have wenot beenOnland, onsea, onc loud or sunny skyWhat plac es dark , what spots so fair we’ve seen,

My thought, my thought and I !

WHEN SPRING- TIME COMETH ON.

WHE N Spr ing- time cometh on,Whenthe first wind- flower lifts its fragile head,And pu rple violets faintest perfume shed,

And earth her robe shall donOfemerald velvet sownw ith dots ofgo ld,

Shall I thy fac e behold

WhenSpr ing- time comes again,Whenfru it trees deck themselves inbr idal white ,

And bush and shrubw ith living bloom are br ight,And the soft, gentle rain

Falls onthe world and droppeth inthe mere,Wilt thou be here ?

WhenSummer shall retu rn,With wealth of chestnu t bloom and crownof

flowers ,With hum ofbee and bird and drowsy hou rs ,

Inher face shall I learn,Wh ile all her glow ing, r ipened charm I see,

Aught yet of thee?

WhenAutumnshall have sway ,Whengo lden- rod and pu rple aster showInbeauty where the maples deepest glow

And l ight with flame the ws v

And barber ries incoral shall appear ,Wilt thou be near ?

WhenWinter draweth nighAndwraps her ermine o ’

er earth 's c lay co ldbreastAnd every tree injeweled sheenis drest,

If I for thee shal l s igh ,Shall I , inhome’

s fam il iar fire- lit place,Beho ld thy face?

Through change of seasons to ld,Through Spr ing with ,

elm tree buds and tender

And lavish Summer'

s pageantry of scene,Through Au tumn’

s red and go ld,AndWinter ’

s frost and jeweled trac ery,’Twerevain, oh , Love, earth ’s fairest things to see

Afar from thee .

Oh, Love ! what gu ise soe'

er

Thou takest, and inwhom thy dwell ingplace,Albeit form unlovely , fair thy face !

Oh , gift ofheavenrare,I

”

I II'OI' thanl ight ofday, thanall things fairThou art beyond compare !


1

And the little children’s faces— ’mid their dimp les

are the traces

Of the maiden’s glowing beau ty and of man

hood’

s brow of care ;

And the prophecy of gladness , and the sl:adow of

the sadness ,To the thoughtfu l eye that gazeth , are they

lurking ever there.

B ut the fac es that are nearest, and the faces thatare dearest,

Are the true, the tender faces that ou r trust andlovingwin;

Then, whencomes to them the shading, whentheroses shall be fading,

Like the vase, w ith light illu rnined, shal l we see

the sou l within.

Methinks those eyes , which saw thy r isenLord,Have held the glory inthem everymore,

And high above all earthly thoughts they soarTo dwell inHeavenand see the things ofGod !

— A Woman’8 Choice.

FACES.

IN the eye that lights to meet u s and the face thatsmiles to greet u s

Are the shadow of the futu re and the impress ofthe past ;

And the cheek that inits dawning flu shed as rosy

as the morningShows the outl ine of its beauty as it fades away

at last.

MURILLO'

S MAGDALENE .

I GAZE u ponthy sou l - lit eyes uptu rned,

And oft I marvel thatMu r il lo ’

s grace,

Inho ly thought and ho ly mu sing learned,Conceived the wondrou s beauty ofthy face.

What glow of sac red genius inhim bu rned?No stainof earth uponthy brow I trace .

Was fac e of mo rtal ever seenso fair?Was face ofmortal ever seenso sweet?

Lies onthy neck , unbound, thy flow ing hair ,Which dried, w ith go ldenthreads , thy Master ’

s

G E O R G E E L I O T .

Back againacross the ocean, wander ing o’er the

B r itish Is les ,Through the fragrant Engl ish hedge- rows , where a

landscape fresh begu iles ,B ut we need not find her birthplace, yet to know

her honored name,Poet, author , wisest thinker ,wor ld- wide inher self

made fame.

TH E N EW YO RKPUBLIC LIBRARY


For Love hath gained inthe tilt w ith Fate , MY ROSE ,

And memoryneedeth nor namenor date,F or Memory knoweth her own!

Now has te thee, dame,for the fire is low ,

And thegood manwaits his tea !Back to their tombs do the phantoms go ,

And dark and deep do the shadows grow ,

B ut E lswitha smileth , her dreams to know , blows,Not a dream— but a prophecy !

AFTERWARD.

THE sea is cal ling the sea, Fo r her shal l the dew - drops shedWildly, fltful ly cal l ing, Their tr ibute of love by night,

And a vo ice inmy heart is calling thee, For her shal l the stars o ’

erhead

And the tears are falling, fal ling ! Shine out w ith a ho lier light,And ever amon the sweet,

Oh , the wild rose bends to the bee, Sweete stmyRose shall beAnd the shadow pales to the sun, And ever and ever where bright ones meet,

Andthestreamgrows dark ’neath thealder - tree , Pu rest and brightest she !And the stars blink , other to one !

And winds shall ec ho and waves repeatB utnever a word has t thou The fame of her name to me !

For the words of love I pou r ,And I pray the prayer , and I vow the vow ,

B ut thou answerestnone themo re !

Did I know the sunwas hot,And the wind’

s rude breath was strong?

Oh, mu st there be ever a “crook inthe lot,

13 it thatDeath has set And ever a break inthe song?Thy feet ona plane too high 7 Was it fate?Was it chance?Who knows?

Is it that eyes , w ith the mists all wet, The check is as pu rely br ight,Cannot look into eyes that are dry And the “9d 0 11 the lip 110 fading BhOWB ,

B u t the heart is touched with blight ;18 it that ever my vo ice She is lost to me, and I weep for my Rose,B reaks w ith the weight oftears? I weep for her day andnight !

Oh , blessed spir it, rejo ice, rejo ice,B utm ine are the sorrowfu l years !

SUNSET.

And the sorrowfu l years they stand,Like specters haunting thenight, IT WAS the sunset hou r, and Natu re lay

But the light that streams from that other H u shed ina stil lness solemnand sublime,land While the lastmoments ofthe dying day

Is caught ontheir garments white , Were gently dropping from the hand ofTime.

And I know at the last, the last,By a faith not over bo ld,

I shall find my joy ofa vanished pas t,The brightness faded, bu t a linger ing ray

Life’s w ine ofa vintage old !

Sti ll rested softly onthe tree- tops bright,A go ldenl ink betweenthe pass ing day

Oh , the kiss ofthe rose to the bee, And the Stil l beauty Of the comingnight !Or the brightening of shadow to sun,

Cannever be types ofthy greeting to me L O V E

Whenthe sorrowfu l years are done !There’

s a realm ofFaith , so pu reOh , not as the star to the star , The Sou ls grow pu re that winit ;Ofa differ ingglory and range, There’

s a realm ofLove where the heart is sureB ut sou l unto sou l as the Angels are, By the lieu oflove w ithinit!As the Angels , who fear not change !

I su n, My love is a rose,

A rose w ith never a thorn.A royal flower is the rose,And royally shall it be worn!

So I set her onhigh , my Rose,All out inthe wor ld’

s sunshine,F or I said to my heart, each breezeShal l gladdenher heart like w ine,

And fil l my cup ti ll it overflows ,For this flower is m ine, is m ine !

CH AR LE S H

CHARLESH . CRANDALL .

OVE is a moving theme w ith poets , you th theirchosenseason, and perhaps the lines inwhich

this particu lar young manfirst tried to approachpoetic excellence were words of admirationwr ittenina young lady’s album whenhewas but eighteen.

Since thenhe has givenwings to many and var iedfancies ,grave and gay ; yet the las t produced fromhis penwould indicate that the muse is as dear aswhenhe first fel l inlove w ith her .

A country- bred youth , throwninto busy mercantile life inthe great metropol is , but still thr illingand vibrating with the memor ies of woods and

fields , it was simply a question, it seemed to him,

whether he shou ld write poetry or su rrender to

melancholy. And it wou ldnot be strange if manya bit of ru ral sentiment or elu sive charm ofnatu re

inhis poems shou ld strike his readers as it came

to the writer , not with the photograph ic effect ofbeing

“taken on the spot, bu t with the softer ,

idealized coloring of a fondly remembered dream .

So mu ch dearer oftenis the country life after it isabandoned .

In 1 880 Mr . Crandall bade adieu to his com

mercial life, and obtained a pos itiononthe staff ofthe New York Daily Tribune

,where he served

steadily for five years invar ious capac ities , mainlyas a reporter and correspondent, bu t contr ibutingoccasional poems and editorials .

The Tribune has pr inted over a score of his

poems . Others have appeared in The Century,

Christian Union, The Independent, Lippincott’s

Magazine, and other high - c lass per iodicals .

As regards the form ofhis stanzas he appears to

like, generally, simple ones , and yet loves to workaninnovation. Wh ile he is strong and practicedinthe sonnet, he has perpetratedbutone rondeauno baHades . Neither ballads , epics nor the waterice so rt of soc iety verse appear to su it him . Poems

of the heart, of fr iendship, both playfu l and sin

cere ; nature, patr iotism and earnest suggestions ,the product of his graver moods , draw out his

best poems . As he is yet but thirty- one he may

gainmuch ingrasp, inthe power of elaborationand the dispos ition to do that irksome work of

poets , to“revise and po lish .

Mr . Crandall ’s birthplace, also the birthplace of

his mother , was a modest farm - house, amid thebeautifu l , divers ified regionaround the village of

Greenwich , N . Y . , and in his veins is perpetuatedthe blood ofthe hardy New England fami lies , English , Welsh and Scotch , that settled the region.

Scions of the paternal stock have filled not a fewresponsible and honored pos itions since the first

Crandall inAmerica, a Baptist preacher , followed

CR A N DALL. 191

the fortunes ofR oger Wi lliams into Rhode Island.

In 1 884 he marr ied “The Fair Copy Holder ” of

h is muse, then, as now , a valued writer for a NewYork dai ly paper . I ll health has withina few

years drivenhim to a qu iet life inthe country. If

he was already worthy to be termed , accordingtoLongfellow , a graduate of the field and street,

”

he is now taking his post-graduate course with

natu re, and produ c ing prose and verse as well aslive stock , fruit and vegetables . He now lives inSpriugdale, Fairfield county, Conn. F . W. W.

WAITING.

As e 'rns: ch ildrenina darkened hal lAtChr istmas - tide await the Openingdoor ,Eager to tread the fairy- haunted floor

A round the tree w ith goodly gifts for all ,And inthe dark unto each other call

'

l‘ryingto guess their happiness beforeOr knowing elders eagerly implore

To tell what fortune br ight to them wil l fallThus wait we inTime’

s dim andnarrow room ;Andwith strange fanc ies , or another ’

s thought,Try to divine, before the cu rtainr ise,

The wondrous scene ! Yet soonshall fly thegloom,

And we shal l see what patient ages sought,The Father ’s long- planned gift ofParadise.

WRITTEN IN A VOLUME or SHAKESPEAREWB ETWE E N these covers a fair country lies ,Which , though much traversed, always seemeth

new ;Far mountainpeaks ofThoughtreach to theblue,While plac id meadows please less dar ing eyes ,Deep glens and ivied walls where daylight diesTel l ofR omance, and lovers bru sh the dewBy moonl it stream and lake, whilenever few

Are the r ich bu rsts of songthat shake the skies .

This country’s king ho lds never -endingcou rt ;To him there come from all his w ide domain

Minstrels of love and spangled imps of sport,And messengers of, fancy , joy and .pain.

Ofmanandnatu re he has fu ll report ;He made his kingdom, none dispu te his reign.

SUNSET ON THE PALISADES.

Grvnme a go ldenframe for yonder skyAnd letme hang it onmy memory

’s walls,

That I may not forgethow sweetly fallThe mellow hues which seem to sanctifyThe purple cl iffs , the river , andmorenigh ,That old bare elm tree with its branches tall ,Etched onthe radiance, and you manor hall ,With gray stone wal ls whereonthe lichens lie.


Now pales the br ill iant zone the wor ld doth wear LOOKING FORWARD,

And fleck by fleck the cr imsontints retreat

From N ight’s grey robes that over me unro ll ;Across the hills the feet ofTwilight fare,Wh i le sounds ofvesper bells come soft and sweet,

As if from yonder evening star they sto le.

A Guncu s fr ieze ofgodlike formsMoves onand onbefore my gaze,

Their faces set for sunand sto rms ,

Hands c lasped, no traveler stops or stays .

What if these lives and thoughts and yearsMUSIC. Shou ld br ingthe race its goldenage

Whose beckoning promise onward cheers

YE T still my hear t, respons ive, beat,And glorifies the oldest page?

And With steps I marked the time ; Faces that Ph idias scarce had wrought,A 89!)t 1110l

.

movedmy feet Forms to make Spartans stop and gaze,

Like that which makes a poem rhyme. M inds bornto sovereignty of thought,

And so to sounds that swiftly fiew Hearts tempered “1 the 90 13? blaze !

Soldiers infight have forward pressed, Love onher throne and self her slave,Sti ll thinking their dead bugler blew A wil ling s lave, this life of ou rs ,Becau se his challenge fired eac h breast ! Art, sc ience borne onone great wave

To grander use, diviner powers !

The every morningmu sic brought, Clasp c loser hands , hero ic forms,

And Time with gladness stepped along ; Before, behind ! Who wou ld not fainNo Ariel thought escaped uncaught Set faces stem to sunand storms

And every sound was tu rned to song! To form a l ink insuch a chain?

It comes again, the glor iou s sound,Immortal , wonderfu l , and strange ; PLOWING

It wakes my pu lses with a boundAnd sets 8 step that shall “0 15change. You mu sn’

t think a pleasin’

thingIs lost oncountry people ;

The birds that inthatmaple singBeat chimes inany steeple.

Sweet, o’er the hills that h ide my youth ,

I hear the bells ofmo rning chime ;They r ing for honor , love and tru th ,And head and heart are keep ing time ! And as for good, fresh thinkin

’stu ff,

Paved streets can’

t be so given;THE LITTLE MISSIONARY. While this one field has got enough

To las t you while you ’re livin’

.

I HAVE met her many mormngs,With her basket onher arm,

And a certainsubtle charm,You

’d l ike to hold the plough awhile?

Comingnot from her adornings , All r ight, sir . I am wil lin’.

Bu t the modest light that l ies Whoa there, I say. Don’tgo amile !

Deep w ithinher shaded eyes .You ought to keep its bill in.

And she carr ies nought butblessing, nzytyrzelzglzrpigzsgout?hail , 8 stone.

(Iturn

As she jou rneys up and ownI guess I

’ll go it best aloneThrough thenever - heeding town,

With her looks theground caressing;Yet I know her steps are bentOnsome task ofgood intent.

You do well for a learner .

Maiden, though you do not ask it,And you r modest eyes may wink,I will tell you what I th ink :Queens mightgladly hear your basketIfthey cou ld appear as true

And as good and sweet as you .

Why, I have seenmenleanand tryTo push the plough before

’em l

’Twou ldmake a horse laugh till he’d cry ;B ut one fool makes a quorum .

I s’

pose they think thatKingdomComeD9pends onthem for motion;

B ut ofthe power that’s pu llin’

some

They haven’t the slightestnotion.

CH A RLES LEMUE L TH OM P SON .

It’

s like good times to plough sod loamTo hear the cu lter r ippin

'

,

And the so ft earth . like fall in'

foam ,

Into the furrer drippin'

.

But whenyou strike a stretc h 0 '

stone,It

'

s s ickness and low pr ices :The plough not only shakes eac h bone,But kinder wakes you r vices .

I tried a new plough at the fair'

Twas neat, bu t I refu sed it.

This Rough and Ready stands the tear .

And ou r fo lks allu s u sed it.

Old ploughs and o ld beliefs are strong.

And good yet if kept shinin’!

Things that have stood the strainso longKinstand some underminin

'

.

I like to watch before the ploughThe grass a- tumblin'

over :

The big and l ittle have to how ,

The June—grass and the c lover .

A plough rem inds me . then, ofTime .

Does'

t other fo lks , I wonder ?There goes a violet inits pr imeI hate to tu rnthem under .

But whenabove the bu r ied weedsThe yellow wheat is wavin’

,

'

Twill teac h that bu ried years and deedsStill l ive, if worth the sav in

'

.

I'

ve sometimes thought ifwe wou ld rangeOu r daily walk with Natu r '

,

Ou r lives w ith things thatnever change,We

’

d draw ou r fu r rer straighter .

AT FIRST SIGHT.

HAs '

r thou a heart, 0 , dark - eyed girl ,To match that glance of thine ?

Hast thou a love as rich and deep ,

And may I cal l it mine?

I have no hea rt, 0 . blu e- eye dboy,

I am a maid fo rlorn:For I dreamed ofyou and lost my heart,Long years ere I was bor n.

I have thy heart. 0 , deep- eyed gir l .And hard withinmy breast

It leaps to meet its owner sweet,That it may be at rest.

And I have thine, 0 ,fair - eyed lad

,

It flu tters like a feather .

Thens ince they may not be exchange dLets keep them c los e together !

195

CHARLES LEMUEL THOMPSON .

R . THOMPSON is a poet, because he has the

fac u lty of seeing, as E l isha’

s young manwasgiven to see , and when he saw . the rocky and

barrensides ofthe mountainwere set w ith squad

rons of w inged chariots . Dr . Thompson writes

with marked dire ctness and simpl ic ity . It is the

charm both ofhis essay and poetry w riting. One

does not see his crystal line words,but only the

thing which they reveal . H is work as a ministermakes him a mystic , and leads his eyes to

“the

hills from whence cometh mine aid,"to the

'scenery of that land whose l ight ou r mater ial eyescannot gather . The hopes , aspirations and pu repass ions of the sou l , its moods of exaltationor

res ignation, all that are infaith , hope and lovearefami liar to his vis ion. All the winds that blowfrom the upper or the lower hills and plains of

morta l and immortal life awakenthe chords of hisharp . H e has been

'

somewhat warped ou t of his

natu ral bent by his profess ion. The element of

humo r , which is insuch frequent effervescence inhissou l , shou ld be perm itted freer express ion in hispoems . H is unpu blished humorou s rhymes are

replete w ith the genu ine essence of laughter . As in

the o ld method of mi ll ing. the bes t part of the

wheat went with the bran, so it is very o ftenw it hthe produ cts ofgeniu s .

Dr . Thompson was bor nnear Allentown, Pa.

H is parents movingto Wiscons inwhenhe was tenyears ofage, his c lass ical e du cationwas received at

the Class ical Institu te, at Portage , Wis . , and at

Carro ll Co llege , at Waukesha,Wis . He received

theo logical training at Pr inceton, N . J . , and at

Chicago ,I ll . After a few years ofministe r ial work

inWisc onsin, he became pastor ofthe F irstChu rchof Cinc innati . While there, with a few fr iends , hefounded and edited Our Monthly , a rel igiou s and

literary magaz ine which atta ined a good deal ofprominence , and inwhich some of his best poems

were published. Subs equ ently , while pas to r in

Chicago , he was assoc iated w ith me inthe condu ct

of The Interior , w ith which jou rnal he has ever

s ince beenc onnected ,either as editor or e dito rial

wr ite r . Du r ing his res idence in Chicago he pub

lished a“H istory of Amer icanRevivals . Since

theninpastorates inPittsbu rgh . Kansas City andnow inNew York . he has found time to make manycontr ibu tions to the per iodical press inboth proseand poetry . He has often been u rged by his

fr iends to co llec t his scatte red poems into a

vo lume, and he has at length giventhe promisethat at anearly day he will revise them fo r thispu rpo se. The inc reas ing exac tions o f his m inis


teris l pos itioninthe metropolis , it is to be feared, Another wave to my idle feetwi ll so harness him downto the work ofhis pro Has flung a tinted shell ,tsas ion that he w il l

,not give to his delightsome B u rdened w ith mus ic sad and sweet,

pas time of poetry the attentionhis fr iends cou ld F rom a depth no line cantell .desire. It is to be hoped , however , that at least anoccasional spark may fly off from the anvi l to let It has no sound for other ears ,

u s know the fire still is bu rning. W. c . G .

1 PM ?it to my heart alone.

Where it sobs and sings of far - offyear sIna haunting undertone .

A SONG OF THE CAMP.

So I listenand dream ; and beneath the freeAs A LANCE ofsunrise over the hill Gro ined arches of the pines ,P ierces the mists , that lie The chu rch of the village comes to me

Dunand heavy onfield andn" With its square and modest l ines .

From the woods to the weste rnsky ;F rom its s ilent doors the ghost ofa hymn

SO the lance O I flrehght bl]P8138 to -night 00 111 93 quaver ing along,

The shadow -

gates Of the past, As if the dead, from their si lence dim,

And shows inthe glow ofits danc ing light Were keeping u p the song,

The years with their treas u res vast.

Though the parsonsle e

ps inhis grassy tent,I am rich , I think , inthis somber wood, The vo ice of his trembling prayer ,Witfh 831 01111988 pas

t compare Sweeter thansound ofaninstrument,F or time 18 not, and inmemory 5 flood Lingers uponthe air .

I am yester’s happy heir .

I am walking againinthe grasses deepWhat care I now for the str ife ofmenOfthe chu rc hyard’

s empty way,

Aidhc

iiih

srg’zr

gét t againI am reading the names of those who sleep

’N th th bl

The go ld that is m ine alway .

ea 9 mar 98 wornand gray

And they who have gone come back to meAs

'

I read each moss -grow'

nstone ;Heaven’

s goodly and shining company,

And I am no more alone.

What is it I hear ?Through the silence round

Comes , hom e ona cu rrent fleet,A laughing r ipple ofbaby soundAnd the patter ofbaby feet.

Is it the wind that s ighs inthe pines?Or the strange, sweetnoise ofwings?

A path offire through the wood that shines ?Or a vis ionof heavenly things?

I am strangled againinthe o ld arm- chair ,I am fast inthe meshes light

Ofthe cur ls thatnet me everywhere,Andmoistenmy eyes to-night.

For the lonelies t hou r , onseas o r lands Is this woodland temp le a Goth ic shrine,(Matc h itno s olitude can) , With its swaying lines and bands?

Or is it inshadow the r ise divineIs the day whenthe strangl ing baby handsOf the hou senotmade with handsUnc lasp from theneck of the man;

Whenthegame ofbo -

peep goes ou t of the hall , I cannot tell ; but the dream I dreamAs the game of the years c omes in, Ofthe fading days ofyore

And we play more alone, and care not at all Has a das h that, like a mountainstream,

Whether we lose or we win. Cu ts Openthe hills before.

I am counting over my pear ls . Ah, here My heart leaps out of the past with a bound

Is one which a mighty wave That requ ires somewhere shou ld be,From a mighty depth has brought, a tear Beyond the shadows that bind me round,Made crystal inits deep sea grave. A landing-

place for me.

I wr ung it ou t ona baby’

s fac e, So I rest awhile inthe shadow here,I das hed it away from me ; This tent ofGod’

s ownlove,Now it comes back , by its transformed grace Whilememory guards the darkening rear ,To lightmy eternity. And hope flies onabove.


CARRIE RENFREW.

ARR IE RENFREW resides in Hastings , Neb.

Her progress inliterary art and express ion,though rapid, if not phenomenal , is evidently butthemere promise ofwhat she is yet to accomplish ,for she is still in the very morning of l ife, su rrounded by every earthly comfort, a belovedmem

ber of a well - born, harmoniou s and happy family ,who sympathize with her aspirations and rejo iceinher su ccess . Her mother , a rare and excellentwoman, several sisters and a brother are stillliving,

but her father , the late honored SilvesterRenfrew,

one ofthe ear ly pioneers ofHastings , dieddu r ing the past year .

Miss Renfrew was from childhood a thinker ,dreamer and phi losopher , bu tnot, like most poets ,

anear ly rhymster . Her lack of training inthe artof rhyming, while plainly vis ible in some of her

first attempts , has its compensationinthe higherand more essential qualities that character izenear ly all her recent efforts . It is scarcely more

thanfive years since the advent of her first poems

inthe Inter Woman'

s Tribune and otherwesternpapers .

In temperament M iss Renfrew is a harmoniou sblending of the br unette and blonde types . She

is of about medium s ize ,has a gracefu l figu re, an

attractive manner and appearance , and a magnetic presence, and does not on acquaintance disapp

'

oint those who have learned to love and

admire her through her poetry . She has alreadyendeared herself to a host of personal fr iends andto thousands who knew her only through herwork . The wor ld at large w il l know her better inthenear futu re. J .

'

G . C.

POETRY.

Tm; bloom ofthought kiss ing eternity ;The light of loves immo rtal recognized ;

Thefireandsnow- bloom sprungfrom pass ion'

s sea ;

Their l ight, their warmth , their fragrance c rystallized.

LIFE .

I LOVE thee , love thee, life !I fainwou ld dwell w ith thee , thy much - loved guest.

Oh , fo ld me nearer to thy pu lsing breast,Thy I may fe el thy heart beats throb inmineSo ho lding it inunisonw ith thine .

I love thee, love thee , l ife !Oh , ho ld me c loser inthy strong embrace,Upl ift me

, hear me onward inthy race

Impart to me thy sou l ’s exu lting powerTo be my her itage fo revermore .

I love thee, love thee, l ife !I fainwou ld wear thy brightness inmy face !Oh , give to me thine animatinggrace,Inspire me, thr ill me, love me inretu rn;It is thy noblest gifts for wh ich I yearn.

I love thee, love thee , l ife !Bear not so swiftly to my jou rney’s end,For , oh ! I dread to part w ith thee, my fr iend .

Su rround me w ith thy warm , entranc ing breath ,

And leave me not to o soonalone w ith death .

MISSING.

MlSfllNG ! A voice !Its impas s ioned refrainIs gou c

h ie gone .

And I l isteninvain.

Its mu sic has varnished afar from me

Somewhere inthe lonely myste ry .

M iss ing ! Ah me !And I l isteninvainTo catc h one note

Ofa tender refrain.

Bu tyet, pitying Hope s ings low to meSometime, ay, somewhere inthat mystery.

BEFORE A MUMMY.

Am !) the ghastly relics of dead timeA shaft o fsunl ight fel l incareless play,

And jo ined intime’s derisionof the br ief ,

F rai l l ife ofmen, the moth - flame ofa day.

It spied ananc ient mummy as it fell ,And laughed about the thing insou lless glee ;

Ay, laughing atman'

s res istance to decay ,

Ending insuch a jeeringmockery .

Miss ing! A smile !And the sunshine ofhomeDoth lack— doth lack ;

And it harbors a gloom .

My heavenof joy has lost a star ,

This sm ile that mine eyes are yearning for .

Miss ing ! A face !And the fires ide of loveIs lone — is lone .

And wherever I roveThe lack of a something dear to meDoth fol low and l inger mou r nfu lly .

M issing ! Ah me !

The strange s ilence aroundDoth ache— doth ache ;

And the yearnings I sendEnflamed through the darksome mysteryCome back all unanswered to me.

TH E: N EW YO R K

PUBLlCLIBRARY

m os , LenoxTILDEN “ u su r ious .

2 02

HARRY CHARLESFAULKNER .

ABBY CHARLES FAULKNER was born inB oston, November 2 7, 1 863. H is mother

was a daughter ofJ osiah Abbott, Esq .,ofB oston,

and his paternal grandfather was Augu stu s Fau lkner , of Walpo le, N . H . , at one time governor of

New Hampshire. The blood of the Pu ritans isalmost undi lu ted in his veins . F or eight generations his ancesto rs have beenNew England peop le,direct descendants of the

“Mayflower”

pilgr ims ,and the ear liest settlers of Massachu setts Bay

Co lony inB ostonand also inAndover . It is some

what odd. inview of these facts , the direction hispr inc ipal literary work has taken. Nothing cou ldbe farther removed from the firm , au stere and

solemnNew England manner thanthe gayety andl ightness ofhis tou ch .

H is parents moved to New York City when he

was abou t fou r years o ld, and the metropo lis hasbeen his home ever since . H is educationbeganat five inthe public schoo ls , and at fou rteenheentered the Co llege of the City of New York ,graduating inthe year 1 88 2 , the youngest Bac helor of Arts ever sent ou t from its halls . Aftergraduation he was assoc iated w ith Co lonel C. L .

Norton, fo r some time edito r of The Continent, andin1 884 he became managing edito r of the Domes

tic Monthly, which pos itionhe still occu pies .

It is difficu lt to say when his l iterary workbegan. All through the co llege per iodicals are

scattered his verses . Since 1 883 his poems havebeen frequently seen in the leading jou rnals . In

1 884 he pu blished a valuable l ittle book , “Dic

tionary of Synonyms ," u pon an entirely newplan. In1 885 a “

Class ical and Mythological Dictionary

”edited by him was issued , and at present

he is bu sy w ith an important work for which he isparticu lar ly well equ ipped .

His range ofwork has not beengreat, but w ithinhis limits the resu lt is br i ll iant. Vers dc Société is

his field, and he stands inthe front rank of the fewAmer icans who have fo llowed su ccess fu lly whereHerrick and Pr ior , Praed and Thac keray, Dobsonand Lang have led .

Mr . Fau lkner is near ly six feet inheight, slender ,bu t muscu lar , and inhis co llege days excelled inathletic sports such as running, foot -bal l , etc . He

still reta ins the elastic step and qu ickness of the

athlete, but a sl ight droop inhis shou lders is thepenalty of his devotionto his desk . His eyes areblue, his nose large and prominent, and his haircu r ls away from his forehead, and is bru shed

'

back

w ithou t a parting. H e is unmarr ied . H is healthhas not been good for several years , and tr ips

TH E M A GAZIN E OF P OE TR Y.

abroad in 1 886 and 1 889 were the tonics thatwere prescr ibed . Mr . Fau lkner is popu lar insoc ietyand in the few artistic and l iterary c lu bs of w hichhe is a member .

of the wor ld, the two essential elements , ac cordingto F reder ick Locker , ofa poet of soc iety

He is both a scholar and a man

POETS.

I KNEW a poet, one with eyes of laughter ,A face like a sun- smile, eager as a boy,

Singing as the birds s ing, tru sting the hereafter :I knew a poet, and his name was Joy i

I knew a poet who had eyes for beautyP ierc ing the c loud-m ists ; infinite his scope ,

Sounding the world’s song, like a hymnofdu ty

I knew a poet, and his name was HOpe !

One there was also , gentle as a woman,Walking the sunless alleys ofthe c ity,

One all - c ompass ionate, eloquently humanI knew a poet, and his name was Pity !

B u t these with their loveless tissue of fair weaving;These with the joyless mu sical refrain;

These letting l ife go ,blind and unbelieving ;

These looking earthward only and invain;

These that have laininpoppy flowers waving,

Grownwhere the fields tu rnwi lderness and bare ;These with the look - back and the lotus craving ;These with the thin, self-echo ofdespair ;

These ever straining after days that were not,Thesew ith their reckless abandonment ofyou th ;

These that restrainnot, wonder not, revere not,These areno poets , or there is no tru th .

THE BALLET GIRL.

I .

Wrrs complexionlike the rose’Mid the snows ,

Du e to powder onher nose,I su ppose,

She tw ir ls uponher toesInabbreviated c lothesAnd exhibits spangled hoseTo the beaux .

Whencruel time bestowsAdipose,

Fairy parts and all thoseShe outgrows ,

H AR R Y CH AR LE S F A ULKN E R 2 03

And mu rmu ringly goes We havenot changed ; the shr ines of oldTo the very hindmost rows , Are inou r hearts , and there we ho ldTo pirouette and pose Animage ofyou ,

With the crows .

” Dear Saint E lise ! ah , yes , as su chWe worship you to—day as much

And momh we love you .

Whenl ife frayed and faded grows ,Like her bows ,

She ingarret sits and sews

Fu rbelowsTill her weary eyelids c loseInthe peace ofdeath ’s reposeIs she reap ing what she sows?Heavenknows .

ST. ELISE.

HE R faith makes worthy th ings ofworthless ,With all its promised powers .

Her hope makes joyous hearts ofm irthless ,With all the peace it showers .

Her love canwakenlovenow birthlessWou ld su ch a love were ou rs !

Ifyou had lived ino ldendays ,Whenmenwere to o devou t to praise

Anearthly beauty,They wou ld have canonized you saintAnd fas ted for you r sake inquaint

Excess ofdu ty.

They wou ld have called you good, divine,And raised for you a scu lptu red shr ine

Inanc ient fashion;A cross , a font- Labove, you r faceO

’erflowingwith symbol ic grace

And with compas sion. E NVOY .

There p iou s menofho ly c reeds Fates , did I ru le you r snake- haired crew,

Wou ld wh isper a res to their beads , I “'O ‘fld “0 17alter you r dec rees ,

Both monk and fr iar , I wou ldnot have her made anew,

And all wou ld kneel before your face, Clorindu is a charming tease

The beggar , yeoman, lord inlace,The knight and squ ire . ADCHLOEN, E TAT. XLV.

To-day our faith is mu ch the same ; CHLOE ,Time ’

s breath is harsh and rough ,Perhaps it is far more a name And you are su rely old enough

To l ive thandie for To be my mother .

Thaninthose days of cross and blade, That wr inkle certainly I see,Those days of to rtu re and cru sade, Half hidden’neath the p o udre do riz,

We mou rnand s igh for . Or something other .

But virtu e keeps its sacredness , You once , perhaps , were tru e and fair ,Our better selves have changed far less As sweet and pu re as mounta inair

Thanhave o u r manners ; That breathes of heaven;We reverence innocence and truth , B u tnow you

’re grow ing stout and gray ;

To the divinity ofyouth And what is worse, I heard you say,

We pledge ou r banners .

“ l’m twenty- seven.

BALLADE OF TEASING.

H E R letters come and I am glad,The heavens seem a br ighter blue ;

They fai l to come and I am sad,The skies are du l l and tear fu l too .

I s ing her songs , as poets do ,

She reads them , do they fail to please?She loves me—no , she hates me— pooh !

Clorinda is a charming teas e.

I call her angel , and I add

Some sentences , ah , far he s true,And she— it really is too badNeglects to wr ite a post or two .

And whenalarmed I sadly su eForgiveness onmy bended knees ,She laughs and says , ’

Twas only you .

Clor inda is a charmingteas e.

One day I am Sir Galahad,Devoted , gallant, tender , tru e,

Thenext she finds she has to add

That I am DonQu ixote too .

She vows to read my letters throughTo every other maid she sees .

Ofcou rse she may, but still a fewClorinda is a charm ing teas e.


Perhaps onsome one’s arm you strayed,

’Mid qu iet paths (’tis l ike a maidSee lovers ’ annals ) ,

Preferringmoonlight to the hop

B ut now the night air makes you stopAnd think offlannels .

Perhaps with s lender maidengraceYou led gay Love a pretty race,

And romped w ith Cupid.

Perhaps you r wit and beauty drewFu l l many a swain, before you grew

Both fat and stupid.

You were a blue, I have no dou btRead Greek , perhaps cou ld tell abou t

The swanand Leda ;B utnow you never read at al l ,Except the R obes ctModes J o u rnal,

Or Moths ,” by Ou ida .

Ah , madame, with you r pu rchased wiles ,You r painted blush , you r penc i led smiles

And vu lgar jewels ,You r time is u sually spentIngossip of unkind intent,

Or working crewels .

With simple faith fast girt abou t,You were as trusting, as devout

As any Quaker ;B utnow the god you most revereAnd worship , supplicate and fear ,

Is you r dressmaker .

Chloe, havenot the vanished yearsThat mock you th rough a m ist of tears

Left some sad traces ?

Or is you r heart a patent thingAdju sted by a hiddenspring

And bought at Macy '

s

A N A P O LO G Y .

Now , no one cou ld BethAnd her waist was so slender

What wonder that we ,As no one cou ld see,

Sat so long ’neath the treeInanattitude tender .

Really , no one cou ld see

And her waist was so s lender .

J A C Q U E M I N O T .

Rose , come you not ambassadorF rom Cupid

’s cou rt to letme know

Love yields at last? Speak , I implore !She loves me— rose, you tell me so .

ROBERT BROWNING.

OBERT BROWNING was bornat Camberwell ,England, May 7, 1 8 1 2 , and died at Venice,

December 1 2 , 1 889 . At 37 he married E lizabethBarrett, the greatest poet among English women.

Their wedded l ife was spent chiefly in F lorence, forMrs . Browning cou ldnotendure her native c limate .

After her death , in1 86 1 , B rowning never rev is itedF lorence ; but he abode much in Italy , though a.

famil iar and welcome presence inLondon du ringthe seas on.

”

To poetry he was wholly dedicated at anear lyage, and his zeal before her altar was unwearied .

H e wrote vastly more verse thanany other poet ofou r day. Inquality it is the most var ied , su btle,strongs since Shakespeare.

H is verse is var ied, because he wrote inmanymoods , yet in forms that were “

always dramaticinprinc iple ”

; plays and mono logues , idyls andromances . He wrote of many times and lands ; ofhuman charac ter in many phases ; of men fierce

and gentle ; ofwomenjealou s and confiding, warm

and winning,co ld and cruel . He dipped from the

wel l of self- devoted love and stirred the bitter poo lof hate. H e was h imsel f a painter and mus ic ian,and oftenfltly set forth the sister arts inthe language of the one he had chosenmainly to serve.

H is verse is su btle, for he wrote of the spr ings ofhumanac tionas revealed inathousand situations .

Shakespeare summoned all the wor ld to act u pon

his stage. B rowning tested eac h individual sou linhis cru c ible, and compelled it to del iver up su ch

sec rets ofthe inner life as no previou s analysis haddisc losed .

His verse is so strong that he may well be cal ledthe poet of energy. Though he wrote some stan

zas of su rpass ing grac e, the qual ity of strength

has made his fame, which wil l be lasting, for histheme was h igh . That the spir it of manis greatand immortal , becau se always capable of efforttowards an ideal beyond, is the tru th to whichhe was constant. Su ch was his philosophy .

Robert B rowning is an apostle of nineteenthcentu ry Chr istianity. At a time when imposedauthority is losing its power and superstitiousdogmas are inadequate, he makes u s feel spiritualtru th by his ownvir ile faith , bu rning l ike a beac onagainst a sto rmy sky.

There has beenmuch dispute over the questionwhether he is a great poet, which tu rns uponthe

mere definitionofart and opinions about thescopeof poetry . This has its proper place, but is sub

ordinate here . Menof a broadnature and womenof anoble mind, who value all that sends the soul

R OB E R T B R OWN I N G .2 07

alongwith livel ier step and a more cheerfu l aspect,will prize the poetry of R ober t B rowning.

W. S. B .

HY STAR .

ALL that I knowOf a certa instarIs, it canthrow(Like the angled spar )Now a dart of red ,

Now a dart of blue;Till my fr iends have saidThey wou ld fainsee, too ,

My star that dartles the red and the blu e !Thenit stOps like a bird ; l ike a flower , hangs

fu r led :They mu st so lac e themselves with the Satu rn

above it.

What matter to me if their star is a world?

Mine has opened its sou l to me ; therefore Ilove it.

HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWSFROM GHENT TO MK.

[1 6

I seru m to the stirru p , and Jor is , and he ;I galloped, Dirck gal loped, we galloped all three ;“Good speed !

”cr ied the watch , as the gate- bo lts

undrew ;Speed ! echoed thewal l to us galloping th rough ;Behind shu t the postern, the lights sank to rest,

And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

a word to each other ; we kept the greatpace

Neck by neck , str ide by str ide, never changing ou r

place ;I turned inmy saddle and made its girths tight,Then shortened each stirrup , and set the pique

r ight,Rebu ckled the cheek - strap , chained slac ker the

bit,

Nor galloped less steadily Ro land a whit.

’

T was moonset -at starting ; but, while we drewnear

Lockeren, the cooks crew , and tw il ight dawnedc lear ;

At Boom a great yel low star came ou t to see ;

AtDiiffeld’t was morning as plainas cou ld be ;

And from Mecheln chu rch steeple we heard the

half- c hime,So Joris broke silence with , Yet there is time !

At Aer-shot up leaped of a suddenthe sun,

And against him th e cattle sto od black every

one,To stare through the mist at u s ga l loping pastAnd I saw my fas tgalloper Ro land at last,With reso lute shou lders . eac h butting am v

The haze, as some bluff r iver head - land its apt-ar

— for one heard the qu ick

sank .

So we were leftgalloping, Jor is and I ,Pas t Looz and past Tongres , no c loud inthe sky;The broad sunabove laughed a pitiless laugh ,’Neath ou r feet broke the br ittle, bright, stubblel ike chaff

Til l over by Dalhem a dome- spire sprang white ,And Gal lop,

”

gasped Joris , for Aix is ins ight !

How they ’ll greet u s !

— and all ina moment his

roan

R o lled neck and c rou p over , lay dead as a stone :

And there was my Ro land to bear thewho leweightOf thenews which alone cou ld save Aix from her

fate,With his nostr ils like pits fu l l ofblood to the brim,

And with c irc les of red for his eye sockets’

rim .

ThenI cast loose my buffcoat. eac h holster let fall ,Shook off both my jac k - boots , let go belt and all ,Stood up inthe stirru p , leaned, patted his ear ,

Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse w ithoutpeer ;

Clapped my hands , laughed and sang, any no ise,bad or good,

Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

And his low head and onset, ju st one sharp ear bentbac k

For my vo ice, and the other pricked out onhis

track :And one eye'

s blac k intelligence— ever thatglanceO

'

er its white edge at me, his ownmas ter , askance !And the thick heavy spume flakes which ave and

anon

H is fierce lips shook upwards ingallo ping on.

By Hasselt, Dirck groaned ; and cried Joris , “ Stayspu r !

You r Roos gal loped bravely , the fau lt ’s not in

her ,

We’

ll remember at Aixwheeze

Of her chest, saw the stretc hed neck and stagger

ing knees ,And sunk tail , and horrible heave of the flank ,As down on her haunches she shuddered and

2 08 TH E M AGAZINE OF P OE TR Y.

And all I remember is , fr iends flocking roundAs I sat w ith his head ’

twixt my knees on the

ground ;Andno voice but was prais ingthis R o landofmine,As I pou red downhis throat ou r last meas u re of

wine,Wh ich (the bu rgesses voted by commonconsent)Was no more thanhis duewho brought goodnews

from Ghent.

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP.

You know we French stormed RatisbonA mi le or so away

Ona l ittle mound, NapoleonStood onou r storm ing- day ;

With neck out- thru st, you fancy how ,

Legs wide, arms locked behind,As if to balance the prone browOppressive w ith his mind.

Just as perhaps he mu sed,My plans

That soar to earth may fall ,Let once my army- leader LannesWaver at yonder wall ,”

Out’twixt the battery smokes there flew

A rider , bound onboundF ul l -galloping ; nor br idle drewUntil he reac hed the mound.

Thenoff there flung insmi ling joy,And held himself erec t

By ju st his horse’

s mane, a boyYou hardly cou ld suspect

(So tight he kept his lips compressedScarce any blood came through )

You looked twice ere you saw his breas tWas all bu t shot intwo .

Wel l , cr ied he, Emperor , by God’

s grac e

We’ve got you Ratisbon!

The Marshal ’s inthe market-

plac e,And you

’l l be there anon

To see you r flag- bird flap his vansWhere I , to heart’s des ire,

Perched him ! Thechief’s eyeflas hed ; his plansSoared up againlike fire.

The ch ief’s eye flas hed ; but pre sentlySoftened itself, as sheathes

A film the mother - eagle’s eye

Whenher bru ised eaglet breathes ;You

’re wounded ! “Nay, the so ldier ’

s

pr ideTou ched to the qu ick. he said,

I’m killed , sire ! And his chief beside,

Smi ling, the boy fell dead.

THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER .

I su n— Then, dearest, s ince ’t is so ,

Since'now at length my fate I know,

Since noth ingall my love avails ,Since all my life seemed meant for fails ,Since this was wr ittenandneeds must be

THE LOST LEADER .

Jan for a handfu l of si lver he left u s ,J u st for a ribbonto stick inhis coat

Found the one gift of which fortune bereft u s ,Lost all the others she lets u s devote ;

They , with the gold to give, doled him ou t

silver ,So much was theirs who so little allowed .

H ow all ou r copper had gone for his serv ice !Rags

— were they pu rple, his heart had beenproud !

We that had loved him so ,followed him ,

honoredhim ,

Lived inhis mild and magnificent eye,Learned his great language, caught his c lear

ac cents .

Made him ou r patternto l ive and to die !Shakespeare was of u s , Miltonwas for u s ,B u rns , Shelley , were with us— they watc h from

their graves !He alone breaks from the vanand the freemen,He alone s inks to the rear and the slaves !

We shal l march prospering— not through hispresence ;

Songs may inspirit us— not from his lyre ;Deeds w il l bedoneh - while he boasts his qu iescence,Stil l bidding crouch whom the rest badeaspire ;

B lot out his name, then, record one lost sou lmore,

One task more dec l ined, one more foot-

pathuntrod,

One more devi l ’s triumph and sor row for angels ,One wrong more to man, one more insu lt to

God !

Life’s night begins ; let him never come bac k

to u s !

There wou ld be dou bt, hesitationand pain,Forced praise onou r part

— the glimmer of twilight,

Never glad confldent morningagain!Best fight onwell , for we taught him— strike gal

lantly,Menace ou r heart ere we master his own;

Thenlet him receive thenew knowledge and waitu s ,

Pardoned inheaven, the first by the throne !


Changednot inkind but indegree,The instantmade eternityAnd heavenjust prove that I and sheR ide, ride together , forever r ide?

ONE WAY OF LOVE .

ALL June I bound the rose insheaves .

Now , rose by rose, I str ip the leavesAnd strew themwhere Paul inemay pas s .

She wil l no ttu rnaside? Alas !Let them lie . Suppose they die?The chance was they might take her eye.

How many a month I strove to su itThese stubbornfingers to the lute !To - day I ventu re all I know .

She w il l not hear my mu sic So !

Break the str ing ; fold mu sic ’

s wing ;Suppose Pau line had bade me s ing!

My who le life long I learned to love.

This hou r my utmost art I proveAnd speakmy pas s ion— heaveno r hel l?She wil l notgive me heaven? ’

T is well ILose who may I stil l cansay

Those who winheaven, bles tare they !

G O D .

Fresh births ofbeauty wakeFresh homage, every grade of love is pastWith every mode of loveliness ; thencas tInfer ior ido ls offtheir borrowed c rownBefore a comingglory . Up and downB uns arrowy flre, while earthly forms combineTo throb the secret forth a touch divine,And the scaled eyebal l owns the mystic rod ;Visibly through his gardenwalketh God.

LO V E .

From the beginning love is who leAnd tru e ; if su re ofnaught bes ide, most sureOf its owntruth at least nor may endureA crowd to see its face, that cannot knowH ow hot the pu lses th rob its heart belowWhile its ownhelplessness and u tter wantOfmeans to worthily be m inistrantTo what it worships , do but fanthe moreIts flame.

— Ibid.

IT A L Y .

Openmy heartand you w ill see,Graved ins ide of it, ItalySuch lovers old are I and she.

So it always was , so it still shall be.

— De Gus tibns .

M A Y .

And after April , whenMay follows ,And the white throat bu i lds , and all the swallows ,Hark ! where my blossomed pear- tree inthe hedgeLoans to the field and scatters onthe c loverB lossoms and dew-drops , at the bent spray

’

s edge ,

That’s the w ise thrush ; he sings each song tw iceover ,

Lest you shou ld think he never cou ld recaptu reThe first flne careless raptu re !

— H ome Tho ugh ts .

LO V E .

Love is the only good inthe wor ld.

Henceforth be loved as heart canlove,Or braindevise , o r hand approve.

— F ligbt of the Du chess .

P E R F E CT I O N .

Is this apparent,That admirationgrows as knowledge grows ?That imperfectionmeans perfectionhid,

Reserved inpart to grace the aftertime ?

G O O D .

P E R F E CT I O N .

Ah , but a man’s reach shou ld exceed his grasp,

Or what’s a heavenfor ?ndrendel Sarto .

B E A U T Y .

Ifyou get simple beauty andnaught else.

You get about the best thingGod inventsThat’s somewhat

,and you ’l l find the sou l you

havemissedWithinyou rself, whenyou retu rnhim thanks .

CH E E R F U L N E SS .

Thenwelcome each rebuffThat tu rns earth ’s smoothness rough,Each sting that bids nor sitnor stand, but go !Be ou r joys three- parts pain!

Str ive, and hold cheap the strain;Learn, nor ac count the pang ; dare, never grudge

the throe !— Rabbi BenEzra .

There shall never be one lost good ! What was ,shal l live as before .

The evil is nu ll , is naught, is silence implyingsound ;

What was good, shal l be good, with , for evi l , somu ch good mo re ;

On the earth the brokenarcs ; inthe heavena

perfect round.

R OB E R T B R OWN I N G .

s o rm o w

Everyw hereQ Q Q

Sorrow the heartmust bear ,Sits inthe home ofeach , conspicu ous there.

Many a circumstance, at least,Touches the very best,For thoseWhom any sent away, he knowsAnd inthe live man’

s stead,

Armor and ashes reac hThe house ofeac h .

—.4gamemnon.

P L E A S U R E .

Pleasu re must succeed to pleasu re, else past pleasure tu rns to pain.

La Saisiaz .

M U S IC .

Music (which is earnest ofa heaven,Seeingwe know emotions strange by it,Not else to be revealed) is as a vo iceA low vo ice calling fancy, as a friend,To the greenwoods inthe gay summer time ;And she fil ls all the way w ith danc ing shapes ,Which have made painters pale, and they go onWhile stars look at them , and winds ca ll to them,

As they leave life’s path for th ' twi light world

Where the dead gather .

— Pau line.

M I N D .

Measure you r mind’

s height by the shade it casts .

Pam eels us .

w I SD O M .

What profits br ingme w isdom never shownJust whenits showingwou ld from eac h rebuffShelter weak virtu e, thre atenback to boundsEncr oac hing vice, tread smooth each trac k too

roughFor you th

’s unsteady footstep, c l imb the rounds

Of l ife’s long ladder , one by s l ippery one,

Yetmakeno stumble?— J ochananHakkadosh .

N E V E R .

Never the time and the plac eAnd the loved one all together !This path— how soft to pace !This May— whatmagic weather !

— Never the Time and the Place.

W O M A N .

God be thanked, themeanest ofhis creatu resBoasts two sou l- s ides , one to face thewo rldwith ,One to show a womanwhenhe loves her .

— One Word More.

2 1 1

S U CC ESS .

Are therenot, dear Michal,Two po ints inthe adventu re of the dim ,

One— whena beggar , he prepares to plunge?One— whena pr ince, he rises with his pearlFestu s , I plunge.

A G E .

Grow old along with me !The best is yet to be,

The last of l ife, for which the first was made.

Ou r times are inHis handIVho saith , A whole I planned,

Youth shows but half ; trust God : see all , nor be

afraid !— Rabbi BenEh ra.

L O V E .

Oh, how but losing love does whose love succeedBy the death -

pang to the birth - throe, learningwhat is love indeed?

Only grantmy sou l may carry high through deathher cup unspi lled,

B r imming though it be with knowledge, l ife’

s lossdrop by drop distilled.

I shal l boast itmine, the balsam,bless each kindlywrench that wr ung

F rom life'

s tree its inmost virtue, tapped the

root whence pleasu re sprung,

Barked the hole, and broke the bough , andbru isedthe hem . left al l grace

Ashes indeath ’s sternalembic , loosed el ixir initsplace !

I N CO N ST A N C Y .

Was it someth ing said,Somethingdone,Vexed him?Was it touch ofhand,Tu rnofhead?

Strange ! that very wayLove begun,

I as little understandLove's decay .

M E M O R Y .

What follows onremembrance ofthe pas t?Fear ofthe futu re ! Life, from birth to death,Means either looking bac k onharm escaped,

Or looking forward to that harm’s retu rn

With tenfo ld power of harming.

— I"erishtah’

s Fas cias.

F A LS E H O O D .

Lied is a rough phrase : say he fell from tr uthInc limbing towards it !

2 1 2

B E A U T Y .

B u t had you— O , with the same perfect brow ,

And per fect eyes , and more thanper fectmouth ,And the low vo ice my sou l hears , as a birdThe fowler’s pipe, and fo l lows to the snare,Had you ,with thesethe same, but brought amind !Some womendo so . Had the month thenu rgedGod and the glory ! never care for gain!

’

I might have done it for you .

— Andrea deI Sarto .

E Q U A L IT Y .

All service is the same with God,With God, whose puppets , best and worst,Are we : there is no last nor first.

D U T Y .

Be su re that GodNe

’er dooms to waste strength he deigns impart.

A U T U M N .

Autumnwins you best by th is its mu teAppeal to sympathy for its decay .

— Ibid.

B U T T E R CU P S .

All will be gay whennoontide wakes anewThe buttercups , the little children’

s dower .

— H ome Tho ughts .

W O M A N .

A pretty woman'

s worth some pains to see,

Nor is she spo i led, I take it, if a crown

Complete the forehead pale and tresses pure.

— Colomhe’s B irthday .

S E C L U S I O N .

B ound u s the wild creatu res , overhead the trees ,Under foot the moss trac ks , life and love with

these !I to wear a fawnskin, thou to dress inflowers ;All the long lone Summer day, thatgreenwood life

of ou rs !

R ich pavil ioned, rather ,— still the wor ld without,Ins ide,go ld- roo fed si lk- walled s ilence round about !Queenit thou onpu rple, I at watc h and wardCouched beneath the co lumns , gaze, thy slave,

love’s guard !

80 ,for u s no world ! Let throngs press thee to me !

Up and downamidmen. heart by heart fare we !Welcome squalid vestu re, harsh vo ice, hatefu l face !God is sou l , sou ls I and thou ; w ith sou ls shou ld

sou ls have plac e.

— Perishtab’s Fas cias .


CO N T R A ST .

— Hell from heaven,Made tenfold hell by contras t !

L I G H T .

so soon all

— Ibid .

CO N SC I E N C E .

Ask thy lone sou l what laws are plainto thee,Thee and no other ,— stand or fall by them !That is the part for thee ; regard all elseF o r what itmay be — Time’

s illu sion. ThisBe su re of— ignorance that s ins , is safe.

No punishment l ike knowledge !— Ibid .

P O E T R Y .

Verse-making was least of my virtues . I viewedwith despair

Wealth thatnever yet was but might be— all that

verse making were .

Ifthe life wou ld but lengthento w ish , let the mindbe laid bare.

So I said To do little is bad , to do nothing isworse

”— And made verse.

— Ibid.

P R O V I D E N C E .

God smi les as He has always smiled ;Ere suns and moons

’

wou ld wax and wane,E re stars were thunder -

girt, or piled]The Heavens , God thought onme his chi ld ;Ordained a l ife for me

, arrayed

Its c ircumstances , every oneTo the minutest, ay, God saidTh is head this hand shou ld rest uponThu s , ere he fas hioned star or sun.

— Madhouse Cell .

You groped you r way across my room i ’ the deardark dead ofnight ;

At each:fresh step a stumble was : but, once you rlamp al ight,

Easy and plain you walked again

wronggrew right !What lay onfloor to trip your foot? Each object,

late awry ,Looked fltly placed,

nor proved offence to footingfr ee— for why

The lamp showed all , discordant late ,growns implesymmetry .

B e love you r light and tru st you r gu ide,w ith theseexplore my heart !

No obstac le to tr ip you then, str ike hands a nd

sou ls apart !Since rooms and hearts are fu rnished ao

,— l ight

shows you ,— needs love start?


Listening,I wept, with strange delic iou s angu ish ,

No r knew it was a bitter prophecy ,A dim foreshadowing to my trou bled spir itOf fu tu re tears that I mu st shed for thee.

AWANDERER .

THE snow l ies th ick around his door ,That door made fast by bar and lock ;

He will not heed thee , trembling,chilled ;

He w ill not heed thy piteou s knock .

Poor wander ing Heart, canst thou not seeThere is no welcome here for thee ?

The air is numb w ith fr ost and night.

0 , waitno longer inthe snow ,

For lo ! from yonder latticed paneFaintmu sic and the fire- l ight’s glow .

He hath another guest instate ,

And thou , poor H eart, thou art too late !

IN NOVEMBER .

B ROWN earth - line meets gray heaven,

And all the land looks sad,B ut love ’

s the little leavenThat works the whole wor ld glad.

Sigh , bitter wind ; lower , frore c louds of

My love and I are l ivingnow inMay.

lGNIS FATUUS.

COMPLETION .

FAR off inthe meadow the daisies wh iteWith bu ttercups glow inthe morning light,The tree blossoms shake from their cups thedew ,

And sm ile below to the vio lets ’ blu e ;For Spr ing has come, though she tarr ied long,

And filleth the air with her vo ice of song.

Tar: pathway led through marshy laud,

My weary feet sl ipped inthe ooze,The drench ing fog c lung c lose around,

Yetnever did my wil l refu seTo travel on, to cru sh the r is ingmoan,Nor questionwhy my way was set alone.

Ac ross the marshes came the sound,

Mistrmumed’ ofthe lonely sea.

The Summer comes from her coy retreat,

I passed the landmarks , one by one, And the roses bloom ’neath her danc ing feet,This sl imy stone, that rottingtree.

While the l ily leans o '

er the lake below ,

Nearing the end,”I to ld my fainting sou l , Dipping her hands inits crysta l fiow ,

Be brave ; we soonshall reach the jou rney’s

And the apple blossoms Ofear ly spr inggoal .” Fair globes ofgold inthe sunshine swing.

H ow cou ld I know ,whennight closed in, Thegrainis white onthe far - offhill

,

That ghastly light wou ld haunt the moor Though the May bird’s carol is hushed and stil l ;

To lead me bac k to whence I came, The reapers press through th e falling leaves ,Always ahead, a Dev il ’s lu re? And gather the weight ofthe harvest sheaves ,So Hell gave them the race, and left for me The Au tumnreaps from her go ldenstore,

The faint and mo cking laughter ofthe sea . The fru it the blossoms of spr ing- time bore.

HARRIET MABEL SPAULDING .

ARR IET MABEL SPAULDING was - borninGloversvil le, N . Y .

, and is the daughter of

Rev . N . G . Spau lding, a prominent Methodistc lergymanof the Troy Conference. Her ear l iestsu rroundings were of a cu ltivated natu re, both of

her parents possessing fine literary attainments .

H er father graduated with honor from UnionCo llege, and is a platfo rm orator of ability . H er

mother is anal umna of Mrs . Wil lard’s Sem inary

inTroy , and possesses skilled artistic ta lent. In

1 868 the family removed to Sc hodack Landing, a

spot calc u lated to inspire a poet of natu re , w iththe H udson ro l ling its serene cou rse on the one

s ide, and the Catskill Mountains onthe other . In

1 877 Miss Spau lding graduated from the AlbanyFemal e Academy. and inrapid success ionwonsix

go ld medals in var ious branches of compos ition,offered by the Alumnae. Miss Spau lding

’

s firstverses were wr ittenat the age of nine years . H er

poems breathe a keen sympathy with natu re’s

var ied moods . Mu ch of her verse is introspectiveand is inspi red by deep rel igious fervo r . Her

poems are founded onthe simpler models and ar e

chas te and melodiou s indiction.

Personally , Miss Spau lding is ta ll , gracefu l anddignified ,

w ith a clas s ically - formed head . She has

brilliant conversational and mu s ical abilities andis a soc ial favo rite . She is betweentwenty - fiveand

thirty years of age and res ides at Schodac k Landing,

N . Y . F . W. H .


has not already won for herself, in the wo r ld’

sEUDORA BUMSTEAD' heart, the title of “The Children’

s

.

Poet. K . G .

UDORA STONE BUMSTEAD is a native of

B edford, Michigan, and was bornAugust 2 6 , THE CORN .

1 860. H owever , she may well be cal led a daughter WH ILE Walter goes to plant his corn.

ofNebraska, as her parents removed to thatstate, Says M ina to the fair May morn,where she has s ince res ided, whenshe was but two H ow tall , and strong, and blithe is hp !years of age. Her ear liest reco l lections , therefore, 0 may the fertile grains ofgo ldare of the great“

'

est, w ith its billowy prairies and Yield him twice a hundredfo ld,seas of green, its grasshoppers , snow - sto rms and For he is all the wor ld to me !n

how l ing blizzards . Having for her monito r thevo ice ofthe winds and for inspirationthe magnificence of the

’ limitless plains , it is not to be won

dered at that she ear ly sung of natu re inpoeticnumbers . B ut she had more thanthese incentivesto l iterary tendency and growth . She had, in

addition, parents who , though not c ollege- bred,

The morning breeze is fresh and strong ;The com - bird s ings his planting song ;The robinanswers from the hill ;

B u tnot a note does Mina hearOfall the mu sic far and near ,SaveWalter ’

s whistle sweet and shr i l l .

were wel l edu cated and highly cu ltu red ,and by H is prair ie farm is new and w ide,

their own literary taste and force gave her every B ut he has naught onearth bes ide,poss ible encou ragement to make hers a l iterary And ina tiny bu t he dwells ;career . She beganwr iting rhymes in childhood, And so

,except insmiles and sighs ,

and whentenyears 9 1d was paid two do llars for a And gentle deeds and w istfu l eyes ,poem entitled, “ Signs of Spring,

which was pub H is love for her he never tel ls .

lished inOur Yo ung F o lks, thenedited by J . T .

Trowbr idge. Receiving a good common- schoo ledu cation she was for a time a su ccessfu l schoo l WI! t il dteac her . In 1 878 - 9 she attended the Nebraska .

a 3 9” “h?“""ght be ’So saith the maid, 0 gra ms ofgo ld,

StateUniversity , where , becom ing acquainted withYield him tw ice a bundredfold

Wi l liam T . Bumstead, ste became his w ife in1 880 .

Their only child, a bright boy of tw0 and- a- hal fF or he 18 all the wor ld to me !

B ut if the year shou ld go ar ight,Nor droughtnor hai l the cornshou ld blight,

years , left them , bu t the sadness occas ioned by his WhileWalter 8 099 to hu sk his cornloss has not beensung to the wor ld, as the mother He smi les u ponthe h‘

OStYmorn,

bel ieves that it is better to spread l ight and glad F 0 1‘ Mina, smil ing, sits bes ide.

1188 8 thanclouds and sadnes s ,Since first the stalks insummer spread

Devoted to her hu sband to a rare degree, Mrs .Their 1't greenblades above her head

B umstead is the very personification of content He c laims 8 prec iou s promised br ide .

ment. Living at Beatr ice ina s imple home over The spot is chosenwhere shal l standlooking the beautifu l B lu e R iver , she never seems The cottage, oft and gravely plannedto permit a care or trouble to c ross her thresho ld. Insummer noons and Sabbath eves ,A non- c onformist inmatters of rel igion. she finds And trees are named to shade the day,

fau ltw ithnone because of their convictions . B eing And charm the twil ight hou rs awayOf Quaker descent, she is the P9 149“ type. Of that With mystic mu rmu rs oftheir leaves .

people, having all their antipathy for show and

sham . Except to a congenial few , she is almost

as mu ch a stranger in her own c ity as abroad .

Remarkably well informed and having ananalyticmind, she is a keen, though kindly , dispu tant,acceptingnothing as provenwhich does not standthe test of reas on. Devoting but a small portion

Dear gir l , he says , before we knewWhat hail , or drought, or frostmight do ,

Ou r happy goal seemed far away ;B u tnow , so blest ou r fields have beenThat whenthe lastgreat load comes in

,

Oh , thenshou ld be ou r wedding day !”

of her time to l iterary work , she yet manages to And Mina answers soft and low ;keep up a continuou s publ ication of poetry and She hu sks w ith him the first long row

,

sto r ies inthe leading per iodicals of the country , The sweet, sere blades above her headchief amongwhich are the Yau th

’

s Companionand And if he stops her here and there,St. N icho las . As a writer of l ines for children she The cornitsel f gives license fair .

has but few equals , andw ill yetgain, if indeed she F or more thanonce the ear is red.

E UD OR A B UM STE AD . 2 19

SAITH MY HEART.So he traveled here and there,B utnever content was he.

moanThough he saw inlands most fairThe costliest home there be,

The Earth is weary , and dark , and lone.

He somethingmissed from the sea or sky(0 ’ and Earth , thy painI know . ) Ti ll he tu rned again, with a w is tfu l sigh ,

H is heart of sorrow Will not foreseeTo the l ittle brownhouse

H ow the white mooncometh , his br ide to be.

(And there is bu t one more fair thanshe,

WHILE the c louds hang low and the night-winds

The o ld brownhouse

Saith my heart inwhispers low . )I nder the apple tree.

Thenthe mother saw and smiled ,

The sto rm is ended ; the winds are whist ; While her heart ST9W glad and free .

B u t the moonis mas ked ina shiningm ist.Hast thou chosena home, my child?

(0 , fond Earth , thy dou bt I know . ) Ah , where shall we dwell?” qu oth she.

She parteth her veil— of s ilver spun And he said, Sweetmother , from eas t to west

And glory and joy the Earth 0 ’errun.

The lovel iest home and the dearest and best(0 , Love, behold what a sm i le hat-h done, 18 a l ittle brownhou se ,Saith my heart inwhispers low . ) Ano ld brownhou se

Under anapple tree .

”

(“

r ieth my sou l . 0 l ist ! O hear !She that I love is near— is near ! BLOW, WIND, BLOW.

(O, glad Earth , thy hope I know . )Ce lestial glory the sky hath spanned ;My lips are mute, but they to uch her hand. Now the snow is onthe ground,

(She that I love w ill understand, And the frost is onthe glass ;Saith my heart inwh ispers low . ) Now the brook inice is bound,

And the great storms r ise and pass ,Ah , that smile ! ’

Tis a si lent vow . B r ing the thick , gray c loud ;H er pure heart flameth up to her brow . Toss the flakes of snow :

(0 , strong Earth , thy bliss I know . ) Let you r vo ice be hoarse and loud,A ll that was bitter is tu rned to sweet ; And blow w ind blow !All that was lac king is made complete .

(Heavenhath fo l lowed my dar ling’s feet,

Saith my heart inwhispers low . )

THE QUEST.

Tunas once was a restless boyWho dwelt ina home by the sea,Where the water dance d for joy

1 9

And the w ind was glad and free ; You have sent the flowers to bed ;B ut he said, Good mother , oh , let me go ; C“ the leaves from 0“the tr09 8 i

For the du llest place inthe wor ld I know F rom you r blas t the birds have fled ;I f, this little brownhou se , ow you do what you may please .

This o ld brownhouse Yes ; hh h by and byUnder the apple tree.

Spr ing w ill come, we know ,

Sprea dyou r c louds then, wide and high ,I wi ll travel east and west ; And t w

iw ind

,N OW !

The lovel iest homes I ’ll see ;And whenI have found the best, I N T E M P E R A N C E

Dear mother , I ’ll come home for thee, They were drawnto a path of painand shame,

I ’ll come for thee ina year and a day,As the moth is drawnto the tortu r ingfiame,

And joy q y thenwe ’ll haste away Though they knew there wer e

pau pers , and men

From this l ittle brownhouse, insane,This old brownhou se And pr isons , and graves at the end of the lane .

Under the apple tree .

Whenou r day inschool is done,Ou t we come with you to play .

You are rough , but fu ll offun,And we boys have learned you r way .

All you r c u ffs and slapsMeanno harm ,

we know .

Try to snatc h o u r coats and caps ,And blow w ind blow !

2 2 0

GEORGE NEWELL LOVEJOY .

H IS wr iter of histor ic ballads and popu larsympathetic verse, whose name is famil iar to

Amer ican hearts and homes , is a descendant of

one of the ear liest New England fami lies — the

Massachu setts . Adams Lovejoy , themartyr to thecau se of emanc ipation, and the famou s OwenLove

joy were relatives onhis father '

s side ofthe fami ly .

H e was bornat R iga . Monroe county , New York .

Mu sic became his ear ly pass ion, and his song,0

,

Love in the West,”is the r ipe fru it of his ear ly

mu sical c u ltu re . At tenyears of age he became apupil at the Conservatory ,Lyons , N . Y .

, conducted

by Prof. H insdale Sherwood, father of the em inentpianist, Wm . H . Sherwood. In 1 858 Mr . Love

joy’s parents removed to AnnArbor , M ich .,where

the sonattended the public schoo ls ofthatUniversity town

, and later graduated from the law

department of the Univers ity before the age of

twenty - one.

H is father died suddenly in1 865, and the l ife of

Mr . Lovejoywas terr ibly saddenedfor months afterH e and his mother always lived together , eachbound u p inthe affectionof the other . She diednear Rochester inAugu st, 1 888 . Into his mother ’

s

grave went the joy of his life . For years he hasgiven his attention to mu s ic and literary work .

He has published several songs , has wr itt enfo r

Lippincott’s Magazine. St. N icholas , one of the

Harper pu blications , The Cu rrent, the American

Magazine, I’

auth’s Companion. and other promi

nent periodicals as wel l as newspapers . Disap

po intment,”a poem appear ing in Lipp incott

’s

Magazine in Apr il , 1 883, attrac ted mu ch atten

tion. He has spentmuch time onvaried occas ionsinthe larger eas tern c ities , buit he has a distas teforgreatcities and prefers a retired l ife. At present

he res ides inRochester , N . Y. H . B .

A RECOLLECTION .

THE rose looked fairer as it layOnher co ld breast that summer day,

And sweeter smel led its gu ileless breathAbove the heart so still indeath .

Beho lding her the eye cou ld traceA tender smile onher calm face,Wh ile onher l ips one cou ldnot miss ,As e

’en ii life, the waiting kiss !

She seemed as one fast fallenas leep ,Like one inbliss fu l dreamland deep,Or . l ike anangel inrepose,

B reathing the breath ofa white rose ;

TH E AI A G AZI N E OF P OE TR Y.

And yet her qu iet lovelinessA deeper meaning did express ,One fu l l ofthat mysterio us powerWhich makes one dumb insu ch anhou r !

THE OLD HILL- PATH.

’Tis tru e, it is as gracefu l as when, inother days ,It wound along inbeauty to the top ; bu t as I gazeThis mu s ing hou r u ponit, sad tears my eyelids fil l

,

For something’s gone forever from the o ld path

up the hill .

Wou ld ye might come again— again— oh, days so

dear to me,

And give me back the glory of my l ife’s sweet

Arcady !For , though summer reigns a goddess , inmy heartlives winter ’

s chill ,Since something’

s gone forever from the o ld pathup the hi ll .

We bended downand kissed the face80 white and sad, yet fu l l ofgrac e,And felt the li ly hands that pressed ,

As infond prayer, the si lent breas t,And dropped the tears of sad regret

O’

er one whose lovely bloom liad set

Inrarer hues and sweeter scent,InGod’

s blest gardenof content !

The sunl ight and the shadows rest upon it w iththe same

Dear benedictive presence as in the days whencame

No aching care to haunt me, from morntill eve atw il l

E re something passed fo rever from the old path upthe hill .

The breezes , as they lo iter , the old airs fondlyc roon,

The blithe birds inthe tree- tops s ing as inmy life'

s

lost June ;And, as then, the myr iad blossoms al l around

their wealth distillB u t something

’

s gone forever from the old pathup the hil l .

Something— a face— a touch of hand— a voick a

presence— lo !

A world that broughtme heaven, all vanished w iththe flow

Of pau seless time, and, slowly , along I wander

stillWith somethinggone fo rever from the old path u p

the hill .


ARTHUR JOHN LOCKHART .

RTHUR JOHN LOCKHART was bornMay 5 ,1 850, inthe village of Lockhart-ville, K ings

county. Nova Scotia. It is a very pictur esquecountry , over looking the yellow waters of Avon

r iver , and a little farther off M inas basin, w ithCape B lomidonand F ive Islands and the Cumberland sho re ins ight. Abou t fou r miles away liesthe val ley of the Gas pereau r iver , and beyond thatthe Grand-

pré, a beautifu l stretc h of level hayland, dyked infrom the tides ofM inas bas in. Thereis no more beautifu l scenery inNova Scotia thanthis . A good descriptionofthe char ming pas torallandscape of Gaspereau may be found inMr . Lockhart’s poem by thatname . How the loveofnatu regrew inhim and sought poetic express ionis told inthe same poem .

Mr . Lockhart is of Scotch descent onhis father ’

s

side, and of Hugu enot onhis mother ’

s . H is fatherwas a sbipmaster , and his long voyages and ah

sences gave a tou ch of pathos and romance to the

boy’s life. H e inher ited a deeply religiou s temperament, and after tryingfor some years the pr inter

‘

s

trade inCambr idge, Mass . ,he found his congenial

l ife- wo rk inthe Christian m inistry . For s ixteenyears he has been an ac ceptable preac her in the

Methodist Episcopal Chu rch of Maine . While stationed at Eas t Corinth , Penobscot county , he published a vo lume of poems entitled .

“The Mas k ofMinstrels .

”This vo lume was -

received with favor .

He has done some very ac ceptable essay- work inthe Portland Transcrip t, under the nom de p lume

of “Pastor Felix .

”Stray poems of his find their

way into var ious papers of the Dominion and of

the United States . He has had his fu ll share oflabor and sorrow ,

which ac counts for the minorstraininmany of his poems . A brother was lostat sea inear ly manhood, and it is inhis memoryhe writes the sweet elegy, “ To Thee, the Love ofWomanHath Gone Down. Mr . Lockhart’s bestwork has a s inging quality, a lyr ical spir it and anatural ease and charm which distingu ish it frommere rhetor ic , however cunningly devised . H is

poems havenumerou s qu otable l ines ,which are fu l lof the very fragrance and essence of beauty . It

w ill be found that many of them w ill bear c loseacquaintance and wil l yield more fragrance thec loser they are pressed. B . W. L.

SILENT SPEECH.

Tar: greenleaves twinkled overhead ,

And lightly onthe tur f beneathShe walked, butnot a word we said ;She braided me a daisy wreath ,

With c lover and grasses blent,Wh ile toward the sea we smiling went.

The glossy butter cups were there,Sprinkling the waysides w ith their gold ;

And inthe west hung splendors rareOf sunset that arenever to ld ;And, onwhite waters glor ified,The qu iet ships did br ightly r ide.

The charm of s ilence was not brokenWith words that softly fill the ear

Aflection’

s sweet, respons ive to kenAccents the spir it leaps to hear ;And as we walked I vainly soughtTo plume w ith speech my flutter ing tho ’

t.

We sat to rest bes ide the way ;She raised her sweet eyes up to mine ;

Her inmost sou l had risento say,

“And dost thou questionI am thine?No need that she or I shou ld speak ;F or love is strong whenwords are weak .

And though the fire- lit embers had not died,They madenot the sweet face my chair beside,The form of light

— and fair as Eden’s bride

Watching eac h sparkle with her qu iet sm ile.

ANGELS.

IN THE chill au tumnnight, whenlone winds gr ieve,I mu sing sat, where onmy c ottage wal lThe flicker ing shadows of the fire- light fall ,

Shu ttles that Fancy 's silver web doth weave ;Lonely and worn, I thought u ponthe dearthOf heavenly influence ; for ou r du ll earth

No longer may her plumy guests receiveF rom regions where divinestthings have birth .

Wander ing indream , I saw thenew - r isenEve,

Pr ime of all humanbeauty , humanwo rth ,Sitting u pona flower - bespr inkled moundOf Paradise ; and felt the charm , the grace,The pu re content that harmonized her face.

Shemovednot, bu t a tranqu il raptu re foundIngazing u pward, rapt w ith wondrou s viewOf go ld- winged angels softly breaking through ,Or melting inthe deep of evening blue

F leet cou r iers , messaged from a wor ld afarAnd onthe brow of each a lucent star !

Strange ! thought I , wonder ingat the things Isaw ,

Like him at Bethel , waking, filled w ith aweOf th is great vis ion “Su rely, I beholdThe angels tarryingwith us as of old I

AR TH UR [ GE N LOCKH AR T.

“ Dear fireside angel , who dost go and come

Like light and music thro ugh the halls of home !

And are there angels w ith ne yst? " I cr ied :“And come theystill who came to earth erewhile

There are,”

she said ; Though oft the world

seem co ld,And life seem disenchanted with du ll cares,

The heavenly m inistry cometh as of o ldWe wake to find ou r angels unawares .

"

A ROUNDY CHEER FOR THE PARKER .

H o !Ho ! letus cheer him, the hale and the tanned !With the brave of his heart and th e brawnof his

hand,Themerry brownfarmer is king inthe land.

The farmer forever ! Hu rrah !

Ho ! Ho ! he mnsmile at the pains of the great ;He maketh his fortune. and mendeth his fate,And keeps a calm hand onthe tiller of state .


He waves his wand over the mo ld o ’

the plain,He calls onthe sun, and he calls onthe rain,And they leap u p to life inthe beautifu l grain.


Let him sit inlife’s evening and dream at his ease,’Nw th the lush leafy boughs ofhis blossomy trees ,Till children’

s grandchildrenc limb up onhis knees .

The farmer forever ! Hu r rah !

Ho ! Ho ! for true heart, andfor rough , ready hand,The prompt to obey, and the firm to command,Themerry brownfarmer is king inthe land.


A FANTASY.

Pnoxm ona mossy bank inlanguor lying,’Mid the sun- beatenporch o ’

the afternoon,List

’ning a famish’d ril let’s lessening tune,

And the dark , jaded fir- tree’s faintest s ighing;

To half- c losed eyes some wander ing beams came

prying,And peered through branches — streamed their

go ld acrossDrowsed brainand stil ly eyel ids, with the flossOf locks il lum inate ; whensaw I flyingSwift wings, like qu ivering seraphim, qu ick plyingUnder a tr iple arch of rainbow ’

s- end

Of a long br idge of l ight ; and finest hintsOf song, a tiny aer ial mus ic , dying,And ris ingyet again, they seemed to send

While c lose bes ideme rose the Fairy Prince !

SING ON, LITTLE BIRD.

SIN G on, little bird, from the South - land suddenLvcome,

Sing on! Ou r woods wear green againto yieldthe a home :

Sl iding o'

er s lope and meadow , flitting from tree

to tree ,

Sing, fo r my heart leaps lightly , warmly to we!

come thee !

Sing on, l ittle bird, be ,thou blue bird, bobol ink,

th rush !Sing,

w ith the woodland, streamlet, the to rrent'

s

musical ru sh !People the nes t- hung elms ,ye bright-

plumed or iolecrew ,

And sport inyou r very dom inionof softlye him

mering blue !

Singon, littlebird ! formine ear has grown thirstyfor song !

Dumb the winter enchain‘

dme, but I to the summer belong ;

And it seems that I , too , a-flutte r , cou ld with thee

warble and fly ,WhenI hear the first faint cuckoo , or see Jack

Robina-nigh .

Sing on, l ittle bird ! for soonwill a s ilence fallOver the buddinggroves and the pine hills tall ,Whenthe woods wi ll blaze and blacken, till all bebare

Thenwhere will be the twitter and caro l , the sweeta nd sunny air ?

Sing on, little bird ! we’ll remember , insome otherland and spr ing,

Whenthese moor lands lie ins ilence, thatthou hastnot ceased to s ing ;

For away in the evergreen South - land thou ’ ltmingle w ith the bloom

Of orange and magnol ia, and thy sweet s ingingresume.

Sing on, little bird ! So cheery forever thy caro lingstrain;

Thou changest fo r woe no raptu re, thou hast notlearned to complain:

Thou fliest away from the w inter , speeding gleefu lalong,

And greetest the far - off fo rests w ith summer andsong.

Sing on, l ittle bird ! 0 ,s ing! till thy mu sic shall

counsel my heart ;Sing! fo r inthy s inging my spir it has jubilant part :Singing is better than s ighing, petu lant heart

ofm ine !Thon, to o , hast lo ve w ith s inging ; thenwherefore, O , wherefore repine?

— For TheMagazine ofPoetry .


MRS. JOHN CRAWFORD.

RS. JOHN CRAWFORD was bornnear Syracu se, N . Y . She is of Germandescent, her

maidenname being Quackenbu sh . At an ear lyage her family moved to Canada, and for severalyears res ided at Consecon, Ont. , where the sub

ject of this sketch attended grammar school .Qu ick to learn, at the age of twelve she sto od at

the head of her clas ses , but had never wr ittena

composition. G ifted w ith anac tive and retentivememory , each bit of poetry peru sed, the air and

words of eac h song once heard, were remembered,and whenbut a child she rec ited at one time thewhole of Goldsm ith ’s “Deserted Vi llage.

”She

l ived inMichigan for some time, and while there

she was engaged inteaching. It was at this time

that she commenced to contr ibute to the l iterarypress . In 1 868 she retu rned to Canada, locatingat Newtonvi l le, Ont. Wr iting for various CanadianandAmericannewspapers was here a pleasantpastime. In 1 870 she marr ied J ohnCrawford, ofClarke, Mich . F or a few years her literary effortswere rather desu ltory , owing to domestic cares .

She has two children, a boy and gir l . Three yearsago anentire summer

’

s illness afforded leisure forliterary work , and since that time more or lesswriting for the press has been indu lged

'

in, bu t

always under the assumed title, “Maude Moore.

”

A quantity offictionhas beenwr itten.

W. R .

“

C

BUT YESTERDAY.

’T was long ago !No , no ,

Love,’t was but yesterday I

And yet,-

so far away it seems ,So dimly comes to me indreams

,

That ages m ight have come and gone

Since lastyou leftme here, alone !

You loved me, then?Ab, when

Love,’t was but yesterday !

Loved? Now you loveno more !Hark ! H ear the lake’

s loud roar !’T is the su rf madly heatingThe rocks, and thenretreating.

Do the rocks yield Ah , never !

Rocks are but rocks, forever !

Dost seek to woundNo sound !

Love, ’

t was but yesterday,B ut love has wings and flies ,

And the heart wounded dies ;

And though I beat and beat against the rocks,My heart alone canfeel the cruel shocks !

Love,

’

t was but yesterday ,So sweet the dreams yet hold,More prec iou s thanfine go ld,

You wooed me and you wonme ! Vainregret !

Had you not wonme, you had wooed me yet !

The dream was sweet,

Though fleet.

Love, ’

t was bu t yesterdayYou held me instrong,

loving arms,

And, smi l ing,kissed away alarm s

,

And soothed my fears , and dr ied my tears .

Oh , the joy of the long- vanished years !CanI fo rget?Not yet !

THE SAILOR’

SWIFE .

B Y - LOW, my baby, by- low - by l

Thy father ’s ship

’

s at anchor nigh .

H ow gaily it r ides onthe glassy wavesThat covers so many poor sailors

’

graves !

H is heart is at anchor , his hopes are stayedOnhis home and thee, my little maid.

Sleep soft, my bird, w ithinyou r nest,Ou r hearts and hepes with the ship are at rest !

Be gay, my baby , brave and gay !You r father ’

s ship sails away to - day,

And he mu stnot see a saddened face,

F or that ’

s to a sailor ’

s w ife disgrace.

The sea he loves , and the ship so tr im ,

B ut, oh , my baby, we’ll pray for him !That he may come back to u s some day,

And so we wi ll both be brave and gay !

By- low,my baby ! H ush , my child !

Why start w ith terror , sudden, wi ld?H ear

’st thou the w ind’

s loud, angry roar ?The breaker thunder ing onthe shore?

O ,wifely heart, oppressed with care,

Seek refugenow inGod, inprayer !Sleep sweet, my bird, while c louds droop low,

And requ iem winds wail sad and low .

Awake, my baby ! Lift thy headFrom offthy dainty, white- robed bed !Thy father ’

s safe, mynestling dear !It is but joy that br ings this tear ;

H is clasp is holdingmother , child !What care I though the waves rol l wildNow slumber softly, s igh no more,

Ou r heart’s wild storm ofangu ish o ’er !

j og . B R A YSH A W K s r s .

IN A LILY'

S CUP.

A Lo s s , green stern c reeps o u t from the brown

ear th ,

And broad leaves , coarsely veined, come w ith itsbirth :

B u t at its topmost end a sheath ofwh ite[

'

nfo lding shows a bud of beauty bright.

F a ir . pu re and stainless , fed by warmth and glowWithin, though all w ithout be draped with snow .

A hothouse flower , preserved from sto rm or co ld,I t grows , l ives , blossom and thenwaxes old.

Its life is brief, bu t beautifu l . Look deepWithinits calyx as it l ies as leep :I

'

ll read you there a rhyme this dreary day,

B u t whether song or sermon you shall say.

0

H ear how the mad, weird Marc h winds rave and

roar !

See the su r f beating onthe rock- c rowned shore !Yo u cannot feel the cruel , biting blas t ;It shakes you r windows as it hu rr ies past,B u t you are housed and fed , and safe w ithinA lily '

s cup , stainless and free from sin.

I ts white walls ofpure influence c lose you round.

W ithinits sheltered heartyou love have found ;And passion

’s host that never brooked control ,

Xe'

er sto rms the c itadel ofsaintly sou l .You have felt pain, and who that l ives has not?

Such pa inas Natu re renders commonlot,B ut sor row for lost hopes , lost loves or sin,Has ne’

er your l ily portals entered in.

So rrow for others , for a wor ld sin- cu rsed,

Such of all sorrows seems to you the worst.

Look from you r window ,where you r li lies b loom ,

And hyac inth and hel iotrope scent the room,

And rags and w retc hedness may smite the eyeThat lights alone for beauty . You may s igh ,For pu rest pity pear ls the lily

'

s heart,And prompts the tear that from its eyelids start ;Butne

’er those eyes canweep su ch tears as flow

From those who know the depths ofwantandwoe ;Andne’

er the heart cancomprehend the sinThat to the lily never entered in.

The wor ld is s infu l , you may say ; and yet

O'

er far - ofl heathenyou may sigh and fret,But do not know or cannot understand,That there are worse thanheatheninthe land.

“Unto the pu re all things are pu re

”; and so

The li ly’s cu p is pu re as unsunned snow .

Its heart’s sweet innocence, its home of love,Its likeness here below to Heavenabove,Safe from rude winds , its sweetness fo lded up ,

Best ofall dwellings is a l ily’s cu p .

JOHN BRAYSHAW KAYE .

THE HUMMING- BIRD.

RAR E little bird of the bower !B ird of the mu sical w ing,

While hiding thy head insome flower ,Softly thy greenp inions sing ;

Sing like the harp of . l lolus ,

H um out each mu rmu r ingnoteWith a charm havingpower to control u s ,As we watch thee suspended afloat.

OHN BRAYSHAW KAYE was bo rn in Yorkshine. England. J une 1 0, 1 84 1 , the fou rth son

ofa fam ily of fou rteenchildren. al l yet living. He

came to America w ith his parents in1 842 , landingat Baltimore, Md. The family afterward movedto Pennsylvania, and went west in 1 848 , settl ingona farm near LakeGeneva.Wis . Ther ehepassed

the years of his you th . Therehismindappearedtoreceive remarkable impress ions from the w itcheryand beauty of the lake, and the splendid scenerywhich formed part of its assoc iations . To him it

was a r ich sou rce of phys ical and mental rec

reation. He received his education in the com

monand high schools of his native county . He

went to Nevada in 1 863 crossing the plains ina wagon, arr iving at Virginia City , and for a.

time was employed in the famou s Ophir mineonthe Comstock Lode . After four years of var iedexper iences , when, as it might be said, every mancarried his bed on his back , he retu rned to his

home. In1 869 he againwentto Nevada, theattraetionbeing the White Pine s ilver mining exc itement

of that per iod. After two years , satisfied w ith sixyears of roughing it. he retu rned to Wisconsinand commenced reading law w ith the Hon. JohnA . Smith , of Lake (leneva. Prior to this he hadstu died law in his hou rs of leisu re . In 1 872 he

mar r ied and removed to Decorah , Iowa, and was

adm itted to the bar . Shortly after this he movedto Calmar , Iowa,

and engaged inthe u sual practiceofhis pro fess ion. He was mayor ofCalmar one ortwo years , and rec order many years . In 1 886 he

was elected county attorney , and was re elec ted in1 888 . As a lawyer he is as remarkable for hishonesty as for his ability . His pos ition, onc e

taken, is held ; there is no retreat, no compromise .

H is first book was published in 1 874 , and was

called Fac ts and Fanc ies .

”H is secondco llection

was entitled “Songs of Lake Geneva,

”He has in

preparationtwo vo lumes,wh ich wil l be pu blished

at anear ly day. F . L. G .

Sweet little c loud ofvibration!B r ight little feathery fay lWee rainbow- hued animation,H umming the long hou rs away !

Sipping the dew from the blu e-bells ,Cu lling the sweets from the rose,

Whose heart, pear ly- pink , like the sea- shell ’s ,Yields pu rest ambrosia thatgrows .

H id from the du ll sight ofmortals ,Out ofthe reach of the bee,

Downthrough the l ily’s white portalsNectar

’s distil ling for thee.

Now at the thistle’s red tassel ,

Probingw ith needle- like bill ,Dr inking a sweet dreamy wassail ,H umm ingthy melody stil l .

Inthe br ight regionofblossoms

Where the gay bu tterfly flaunts ,Where Natu re her beau ty unbosoms ,These are thy favor ite haunts .

Where the wild honey- bee hoversInthe perfume- ladenair ,Whither stray light- hearted lovers ,Oftenthey meet with thee there.

Always thou dwellest ’mid beau ty ,B ird ofmelodio us w ing,

To seek it ’s thy l ife’

s only du ty,

And bas k inperpetual spr ing.

AFTER THE SLEET.

AFTE R the sleet, and the sunis beaming,And w inter is wear ing a br ill iant smile ;While the trees , intheir icy armor gleaming,

Are steel-c lad knights intheir martial seeming ;And l ikes ilvery plumes from their helmets streamingAre the drooping boughs meanwhile.

While the grac efu l shru bs infr inge arrayed,And bugles and lace ofthe finest grade,Stand motionless , their charms displayed,Like youthfu l maidens dreaming.

Ic icles now from the eaves are pending,

And the fences are grated with crystal bars ,Wh ile the flas hinggrove inthemaze seems blendingOf si lver , and gold, and l ight contendingWith glitter ing shafts , their rays outsendingLike a myriad fallenstars ;

And the loud, harsh note ofthe saucy jay,

Inhis'

shrill , discordant roundelay,Is the only sound that comes to - day

F r0m the grove’s still bowers wending.


IN THE DEEP, TANGLED FOREST.

IN THE deep , tangled forest I roamed whena boy,

Absorbed and enchanted by sol itude’s spell ,

Ti ll I grew a young hermit and found sweetest joyWhere Natu re, untrammeled, pr imeval , did dwell .

The shy,woodland denizens all seemed my fr iends,

And w ith cautious tim idity oft wou ld draw near ,Urged onby the power cu rios ity lends ,Inconfidence partly , and partly infear .

The coo ofthe pigeon, the morning dove’

s note

Were sounds that delighted my too pensive ear ;

And the pheas ant’s w ildtattoo , loudbeatenby roteTo the song ofthe thru sh , fu ll ofmu s ic andcheer .

The whisper ingbranches , whenstirredbythebreeze,Related a sto ry addressed to my sou l ;

And the autumn’s sere leaves , as they fell from the

trees ,

Awakened strange feelings I scarce cou ld control .

’T was a pleasure to climb upthesteep , juttingcliff,And stray ’long the smooth , pebbly beach of the

lake ;To launch onthe waters the miniatu re skiff,Or thread thewildmazeof thevine-tangled brake.

To gaze from the blu ff onthe c lear , p lac id bay,Where wild water - fowls swam, in su ch proud

grac e, along,

For naught seemed so free and so happy as they,Whose flight was a poem ,

whose floatinga song.

Ou t inthe barnyard, kine are lowingAnd locking horns inhalf- playfu l mood,

And the championbarn- fowl loudly crowing,

With pompou s vanity o ’erflowing,

Stru ts back and forth , advice bestowingOnall the barnyard brood ;

And inthe door - yard now there s ingMeek little snow - birds , twitteringInwhispers soft ofthe far - off spr ing,

And the seeds inthe w ild flowers growing.

F rom a great- trunked oak, allbranchless standing,

Standing dead where it sprung and grew ,

Like a woodenMemnon, a kno ll commanding,

Or a watc h - to wer, reared near anunsafe landing,

To warnof shoals or the chance of stranding,

Comes the ido l ’s vo ice ina long tatto o ;’Tis a woodpecker tapping the sounding wood IInhis cutaway coat and cr imsonhood

,

Drumming for meat, and a home so good

Inthe o ld oak ’

s heart demanding.


I do not think that I shou ld shr ink or falter , IN THE MIST,

B ut ju st go on,Do ingmy work , nor change, nor seek to alter Sr'r '

rrxs all day ina s ilver mist,Aught that is gone ; Ins ilver si lence al l the day,

B u t r ise rind 'move, and love, and sm ile and pray Save for the low , soft kiss of spray,

For one more day. And the lisp of sands by waters kissed,As the tide draws up the hay,

And, lying downatnight for a last sleeping,

Say inthat ear Little I hear andnothing I see,Which hearkens ever : “

Lord, w ithinThy keeping Wrapped inthat veil by fairies spun;H OW shou ld I fear ? The sol id earth is vanished for me,

And whento- mor row brings Theenearer still , And the shining hou rs speedno iseless ly ,Do Thou Thy wi ll . A web of shadow and sun.

I mightnot sleep for awe ; but peac efu l , tender , Suddenly ou t ofthe shifting veilMy 80 0 1 WOUId“0 A magical bark , by the sunbeams lit,

A ll thenight long ; and whenthemorningsplendor F lits l ike a dream ,o r seems to flit,

F lu shed o’er the sky, With a go ldenprow and a gossamer sail ,

I think that I cou ld sm ile, co u ld calmly sav And the waves make room for it.

“ It is H is day.

”

A fair , swift bark from some radiant realm ,

B ut, if instead a hand from the blu e yonderIts diamond cordage cu ts the sky

Held out 8» scro ll , Inglitter ing l ines ; all silentlyOnwhich my lrfe was wrrt, and wrth wonder A seem ing spirit holds the helm

Beheld unro llAnd steers ; w ill he pass me by?

To a long century 8 end rts mystic c lew ,

qWhat shou ld I doAh , not for me is the vessel here !

What cou ld I do , 0 , blessed Gu ide and Master ,and fast“

PBea' blfd

’fl fl'el‘t»

Other thanthis : She swerves and vanishes from my sight ;Sti ll go onas now , now slower , now faster ,

N ) flap O f sall , "0.

parting cheer ,Nor fear to m iss She has passed rnto the light.

The road, although so very long it be, 0

While led by Thee? Sitting some day ana deeper mrst,Si lent, alone, some other day,

Step after step , feel ingThee c lose bes ide me,

Anunknownbark from anunknownbay,

Although unseen, By unknownwaters lapped and kissed,

Through thorns , through flowers , whether the Shall near me through the spray .

tempest hide Thee ,Or heavens serene, h o flap of sarl , no scraping ofkeel ;

Assu red Thy faithfulness cannot betray , Shadowy, dim ,With a banner dark ,

Thy love decay .

It wi ll hover , w il l pau se, and I shall feelA hand which bec kons , and, shiver ing, steal

I may not know ,my God ; no hand revealeth TO the 00mstrand and embark .

Thy counsels w ise ;Along the path a deepening shadow stealeth , Embark for that far myster iou s realm ,

No vo ice repl ies Whence the fathomless , trackless watersflow .

To all my questioning thought, the time to tell , Shal l I 899 8 Presence dim, and knowAnd it is well . A Grac iou s Hand u ponthe helm,

Nor be afraid to go?Let me keep on, abiding and unfear ing

Thy w i ll always , And through black wave and stormy blast,Through a long centu ry ’s r ipening fru ition, And ou t of the fog- wreath dense and dun,

0"a short day’s . Gu ided and held, shal l the vessel run,Thou canstnot come too soon; and I canwait Gainthe fair haven, night being past,

Ifthou come late . And anchor inthe sun?

SUSAN COOLID GE . 2 31

NEW EVERY MORNING,Mu st be the earth

,fu l l of soft stir , and free

And warm ere dawns the rose uponits tree.

E VE R Y day 13 a“9311 beginning, F resh currents through my frozenpu lses run;Every mornis the wor ld made

,new .

My heart has tasted summer tasted sunYou are W93 1? Of sorrow and smmng, And I thank Thee, Lord, although not oneH ere is a beautifu l hope for you , Ofall the many roses blooms for me.

A hope for me and a hope for you .

A ll the past things are past and over ;The tasks are done and the tears are shed .

Y es terday’s errors let yesterday cover ;Yesterday ’

s wounds , which smarted and bled,And healed with the heal ingwhichnighthas shed .

Yesterday now is a part of forever ,B ound up ina sheaf, which God holds tight,W ith glad days, and sad days , and baddays , which

never

Shal l vis it u s more with their bloom and theirblight,

Their fu llness of sunshine or sorrowfu l night. S O R R O W .

Let them go , s ince we cannot re- live them ,

Cannot undo and cannot atone

G od inH is mercy receive, forgive them !Only the new days are our own;To—day is ou rs , and to - day alone.

H ere are the skies al l bu rnished br ightly,Here is the spent earth al l re- born,

H ere are the tired l imbs spr inging l ightlyTo face the sunand share with the morn M O R N I N G .

Inthe chrism ofdew and the cool ofdawn.

E very day is a fresh beginning ;Listen, my sou l , to the glad refrain,

And spite old sorrow and older s inning,

And puzzles forecasted and poss ible pain,Take heart with the day, and beginagain.

BENEDICAM DOMINO.

THANK God for life ! Life is not sweet always .

L A B O R

Hands may be heavy- laden, hearts care fu ll , Lo ! amid the press ,Unwelcome nights fo llow unwelcome days , The whirl , and hum , and pressu re ofmy day,

And dreams divine end inawakening du ll ; I hear Thy garment'

s sweep, Thy seamless dress ,Sti ll it is life, and life is cau se fo r praise. And c lose bes ide my work and wear inessThis ac he. this restlessness , this qu ickening sting,

DiscernThy grac iou s form , not far away,Prove meno torpid and inanimate thing,

B ut very near , 0 , Lord ! to help and bless .

P rove me ofHim who is of l ife the spr ing. The bu sy fingers fly, the eyes may see

I am alive, and that is beautifu l . Only the glanc ingneedle which they ho ld,B u t all my life is blossoming inwardly ,

Thank God for love ! Though love may hu rt and And every breath is l ike a l itany ;wound, While through eac h labor , like a thread of gold,

Though set with sharpest thorns its rose may be, Is woventhe sweet consc iousness ofThee !Roses are not ofw inter ; all attuned — Lahorare Es t Orare.

Thank God for death ! B right thingwith dreamyname,

We w rong with mou rnfu l flowers her pu re, stil lbrow

We heap her with reproaches and with blame,Her goodness and her fitness disallow ,

Questioning bitter ly onher why and how .

B u t calmly mid her c lamor and su rmiseShe touches each intu rn, and each grows w ise .

Taught by the l ight inher myster iou s eyes ,I shall be glad, and I am thankfu l now .

Mendie, but sorrow never dies .

The crowding years divide invain,And the wide wor ld is knit with tiesOfcommonbrotherhood inpain,

Ofcommonshare ingr ief and loss ,And her itage inthe immortal bloom

OfLove, which , flower ing round its cross ,Made beau tifu l a baby ’

s tomb .

— The Cradle Tomb.

To each , one dawning and one dew ,

One fresh young hou r is givenby fate,One rose flu sh onthe ear ly blue.

Be not impatient, then, but wait !Clasp the sweet peace onearth and sky

By midnight angels wovenand spun;B etter thanday its prophecy ,The morning comes before the sun.

— B efo re the


S P E C I A L M E N T I O N .

PRIZE SONNETS.

F I R ST P R I Z E .

1 .

This way he pas sed ; I saw his shadow fal l ,If shadow itm ight be that br ightness shedAdownthe tangled path , where lightly sped

H is glanc ing feet ; I heard his mellow call ,Thencaught a gl impse ofnymph and bac chanal(Or so they seemed) , from Arcady long fled ;

A glory lingered from his haloed head.

Through thymy dell and thorny- thicket wall,Lo ! I have fo llowed all the mazy way,

And overtake him , hid incovert deep ;The nymphs are gone, and see ! he l ies asleep ;Bu t oh , the pity ! he is o ld and gray,

H is cheeks are fu rrowed with tears he learned to“7999 ,

H is garments stained with travel of the day.

S E CO N D P R I Z E .

2 .

That life is br ief hath seemed a piteous thingSince the firstmortal watched it glide away .

And sad it is that flowers have but one day,

And sad that birds have little time to sing,And that a hint, a breath , is all ofSpring,That you th so seenis start-led from its play ,And love from its devotion, to essay

The o ld vainstruggle with the shadowy K ing.

B ut sadder far it is that life is long ;Ay, long enough for bliss to tu rnto bale,

For innocence to lose the dread of wrong,For hearts to harden, love itsel f to fail ,

And faith be wear ied out (0 , sad and strange !)Unless Death save us fr om the deathly change.

T H I R D P R I Z E .

3 .

The seed ofEdengrows , there’s no decay ;

Though bards may twang disc onso late , and menOf pess imistic outlook w ield the pen,

Fear not ; the age is not so far astray ,God

’s mighty wonders are upontheir way !

Old- time s incerity w ill call again;And some high sou ls have evennow inken

The dawning of the br ight supernal day .

Faith is al ive and stil l per forms the deed,

While seorners dally inanaimless quest.The waves of unbel ief mount and recede,And jar the centu ry with strong unrest ;

They ca rry back the sands ofmany a creed,

B ut only leave the R ock more manifest.

4

Silent uponthe sands ofEgypt standThe pyramids that centu ries have crowned ;

And,c lothed with mystery

, the sphinx has frownedUponthe sto r ied ru ins ofthe land,

Strangemonuments , thatfiniteminds have plannedAnd reared above the honored of their dead.

F orgetting likeis deathless , that, insteadOf crumbling as hes ina mummy’

s hand,The flower -

germ still su rvives to bloom anew

Inother lands ac ross the su rging sea.

So death mu st finish what he has to doEre life, divmely given, is set free .

H is hand bu t ho lds the dust, the son] passed

through .

While life is w idened through eternity.

5 .

Life seems almost a c irc le,its two ends

A little parted . Inthe spac e betweenLie flow

’ry cradle, narrow marge ofgreen.

Soonboth are left behind. The road ascends .

F rom are to are the rugged pathway trends ,On- leading to some fair and tranqu il scene,With goldenfields to harvest, or to glean,

As toward the central arch maneager wends .

Thenfrom that center downthe thither s lopeWith lessened strength hegropes , e’enas theblind,

Ti ll , taught by faith , and inher cou rage brave,Chastened by fear , yet tr iumphing inhope,

He stumbles to l ife’

s starting-

point to find

The c radle as hes , the greenmarge a grave.

6 .

We ho ld thee up against the infinite ,The mirror that reflects the great unseenInparted fragments , from thy shadows glean

The little that we know of love and light.

As ina chasmed lake are limned the heightOfmountains and the val ley- rifts between,0

’er thee the mysteries of being lean;

Across thy face l ike c louds the years take flight.

The brokenimages ofthought divine,The pr ism co lors of the eter nal flame,The myster ies we feel , bu tmaynotname,

Uponthy dark and w ind- stirred waters shine.

And over thee, ill imitably great,Bend the unfathomed deeps of Death and Fate.

7.

Life, we, thy children, c l ingabout thy kneesAnd pray for largess ; some are babes that turnSweet faces, su re ofanswer , yet to learnWhat suns may shine and they be left to freeze ;And some castfiercely at the words that burn,

2 34

Since life is bu t a dream and ends innight,Perhaps endless night, what know we more

E re feebling age shall waste ou r youthfu l might,Why may o ur to il- wornspir its not exploreThe secrets of some fair , enchanted shore,

And live one moment ofsupreme delight?

When, with slow , stealthy step , o ld age c reeps on,And shrouds the au tumn

’

s l inger ing flowers insnow

Whenl ife’s r ich verdu re is laid waste and low ,

And summer’s glories are forever gone,

What counterpo ise for youth canthenbe won?

Whenthrough bare boughs no sap of spr ing can

flow ,

And w inter w inds shall toss them to and fro ,

Thenfor such costly loss , what benisonSpir it of truth and beauty , let ou r feetPres s ever upward, though the skies may frown,

Groping ou r way through paths untried, yet su re,Thy worshipers ; to fame

’

s allu rements , sweet,Careless and of her chance awarded c rown,

So may we reach thy cl ime,serene and pu re .

Life is the mirac le of every day,

Wonder ofmo rning,mystery ofnight,

A beam reflected from anunseenlight,A tide that bears u s onanunknownway ;A dream of beau ty , whenthe ear ly rayOpens a new world to ou r wonder ing s ight,A to il and warfare as the ho u rs take flight,

A lonely watch inevening’

s so lemngray .

And every living thing shal l perish ,” saithThe vo ice ofSorrow ; Therefore, are we bl ind,And only know that we arebornto die .

”

This cannot he,” replies exu ltant Faith ,Life is divine l Indeath we leave behind

The mortal part of immortality .

”

I dreamed a ladder , bu ilt ofbars ofgo ld,Reached upward from the earth into’

the skies ,Lit by the midnight vau lts ’

eternal eyesAnd it was str ewnwith c limbers , timid, boldSome flushed with youth ’s su ccess, some hopeless ,

old.

And ever , as they c limbed, to my su rpr ise,I saw , whenever one fell , qu ick arise

Another to his place and shout, Behold !


Thu s , str iving, scheming for a brother ’

s place,Some mounted to Life '

s very topmost round,And stood a moment with exu lant face,

Heart throbbing fu ll and strong, triumphantbreath ,

Then, Dead Sea fr u it ! searching for new wor lds ,found

Only the dim, pale valley knownas Death .

P R I Z E: A W A R D .

F o r the best Sonnet (subject : Life) received bythe editor on or before September 1 , 1 889 , onehundred do llars . F irst pr ize, $50 : second pr ize,$30 ; third pr ize, $2 0.

F irst prize won by Miss Virna Woods , Sac ra

mento , Cal . Second pr ize won by M iss Caro l ineSpencer , Cats kill , N . Y . Third pr ize won byJ asper Barnett Cowdin, Brooklyn, N . Y .

J udges : Char les A . Dana, J ames Jeffrey R oche,Lou ise Chandler Mou lton, R ow land B . Mahany,Wil l Car leton, Kate UpsonClark , Al lenG . B igelowand RobertCameronRogers .

Number ofpoems sent incompetition370.

A U T H O R S .

1 . Miss VirnaWoods . 2 . Miss Caro line Spencer .

3. Jasper Barnett Cowdin. 4 . Ralph G . Utter .

5 . 6 . Miss V irnaWoods . 7. MaryW. P lummer . 8 . J . Waller Henry . 9 . Aubrey

Devere. 1 0. Miss Caroline Spencer . 1 1 . Marion

H il l . 1 2 . John R . Benson. 1 3. Maria Louise

Eve. 1 4 . H . S. Webster . 1 5 . Christopher Pearse

Cranch . 1 6 . Frances L . Mac e. 1 7. Ella H igginson. 1 8 . Harriet S. Morgridge.

Inyou th we think we ho ld the magic key,

The sesame to Eden’

s go ldengate ;What lies beyond, gratu ity of Fate,We canno tname, nor canwe c lear ly see,Is it i llu s ionor realitySecu re of it we are, and so we wait,Deferring still ou r c laim to the estate

Till steals uponu s deadlv apathy .

We once saw vis ions , now we bu t dream dreams

Once m the futu re Ined now inthe past ;Contented once , bu tnow are done with strife ;Darkness is c losing round, but faintly gleams

A lambent l ight inthe g r

eat vo id and vast,

Trembling ou t onthe farthest verge of l ife.

2 38

I might have droned on, Meneleaus’wife,

Sco lded mymaids , hadmany children, too ,And that beenall . B utnow I am aname !

I wonder shall I more adventures prove?I fear not ; for the prophet Proteus says,Nor I nor Menelau s e’

er shall die,B ut shall by the wise gods be led ere longTogether to E lys ium . Well , the godsHave a su re eye for beauty ; so who knowsWhat thenmay be? For one, I

’ll l ive my life,

And fil l its cup with nectar to the br im,

Be it inGreece or inE lys ium fair .

But here comes Menelau s ; du l l , good man.

He lacks the grace ofPar is , and his loveA tr ifle wearies me . B u t he is r ichAnd is al ive. Poor Paris ! he is dead !

SweetMenelau s, have you just retu rnedYou know how I have missed you . Kiss me, dear !

HE NR Y Ps 'ransos .

RONDEAUTO HELEN .

HELEN ofTroy was passing fairWith the light of love inher goldenhair ;B ut the l ight of love was tu rned to flame,

The vo ice of praise to a sound of shame,And the Grec iancurse to Troy’s despair .

This was she whose name you bear ,B ut something inyou r portrait thereMakes me think ofanother name,

H elenofTroy :

Andromache, whose heart cou ld shareG reat Hecto r

’s val iance , yet cou ld care

For all sweet things that make the fame

Ofwomansweetest, and proc laimThe Trojanwife more loved thane’

er

HelenofTroy .

Loms B E LROSE , Ja.

HELEN OF TROY.

LONG years ago he bore me to a land beyond thesea,

To a c ity fair and stately, that renowned mu st

ever be

Through all ages yet to follow ,for the light shed

there by me.

I am Helen; where is Tr oy?

They have to ld me not a roof- tree nor a wall isstandingnow ,

That o’erthrown is the great altar , where ten

thou sand once did bow ,

While onhigh to Aphrodite rose the solemnhymnand vow .

I am Helen; where is Troy?


Do they deem thus the story of my l ife will passaway?

Troy betrayed, and all who loved me slainu pon

that fatal day,

Shal l but make the memory of me evermore withmento stay .

I am Helen; where is Troy?

Fools ! to dream that time canever make the taleofTroy grow o ld ;

B u r ied now is every hero, and the grass green0 ’er

the mo ld,

B ut of her they fought and died for , every age

shall yet be to ld.

I am Helen; where is Troy?FLO RE NCE Pm cocx .

AFTER THE FALL OF TROY.

TR OY has fal len; and never wi ll beWar l ike the war that was waged for me.

Cou ld I bu t have those tenyears bac k againWith the love, and the glory, the pleasu re like pain,The c las h ofarms and the dinofthe fight,The feasting and mus ic , the co lor and l ight !Yet, mixed with it all , there sounded to me

Ever a moanfrom the far - off sea.

HELEN ON THE RAMPART.

THE Y reach’d the Scaeantowers ,

Where P riam sat, to see the fight, with all his

counselors :Panthous , Lampus , Clytius and stou t H icetaon,Thymoetes ; w ise Antenor and profound Uca legonAll grave old men; and so ldiers they had been, but

for age

Now left the wars ; yet counselors they were ex

ceedingly sage.

And as inwell -grownwoods , ontrees , co ld spinygrasshoppers

Sit chirping, and send voices ou t that scarce can

pierce our ears

There stil l remains this for all time to beThe war of the wor ld was fought for me.

G ive them no pity who died for me there,Mencannever more die for a - fac e so fair .

And what does it matter thatnow they lie,Qu iet and s ilent beneath the sky?Remember thatnone evermore canbe

B ack for those years inTroy with me.

FLO RE NCE PEACOCK.

H E LE N OF TR O Y.

For softness , and their weak faint sounds , so ,

talking onthe tower ,These seniors of the people sat ; who , whenthey

saw the power

Of beauty, inthe queen, ascend, even those co ldsp ir ited peers .

Those wise and almost wither ’d men, found th isheat intheir years ,

That they were fo rced (through whisper ing) tosay :

“WhatmancanblameThe Greeks and Tro jans to endu re, for so admired

a dame,So many miser ies and so long? Inher sweet coun

tenance shineLooks like the Godesses . And yet (though never

so divine)Before we boas t, unjustly still , of her enforced pr ize,And justly suffer for her sake, w ith all ou r prog

Labor and ruin, let her go ; the profit of ou r landMust pass the beau ty .

”Thu s , though these cou ld

bear so fit a hand

On their affec tions , yet, when all their gravestpowers were used,

Theycou ldnot choose but welcome her , and ratherthey accu sed

The gods thanbeauty.

- From I liad IH .

”GEO RGE CHAPMAN .

HELEN ’

S EPITHALAMION .

e E as the ris ing morning shows a gratefu l l ightening,

When sac red night is past and winter now letsloose the spr ing,

80 gl itter ing Helenshined among the maids , lu styand tall .

As is the fu rrow ina field thatfar outs tretcheth all,Or ina gardenis a Cypress tree, or ina traceA steed ofThessaly , so she to Sparta was a grac e .

No damsel with such works as she her baskets u sedto fill ,

Nor ina diverse colored web a woo f ofgreater skillDoth cu t from off the loom ; nor any hath such

songs and lays

Unto her dainty harp, in Dian’s and Minerva’

s

praise.

As Helenbath , inwhose bright eyes all loves and

grac es be.

0, fair , 0 , lovely maid ! A matronnow is made of

thee ;Butwewi ll every spring unto the leaves inmeadows

80

To gather gar lands sweet, and there, not w ith alittle woe,

2 39

Sn: EDWARD DYE B .

— From the Sixe IdiIIr’

a .

HELEN or TROY.

H ELE N,Helen, white- armed Helen,

F rom the shadows come again.

Leap from death and dust to being,

Tread againthe paths ofmen!Let me see thee, sweet enchanter ,From that life come back to this .

Clasp me c losely to thy bosom,

Which a god wou ld gladly kiss .

TrojanHelen, if thy spir itStill for love canyearnand bu rn,

If beyond thy peacefu l as hes ,Fondly treas u red inthe u rn,

Stil l thy sac red shade cancher ish ,Aught ofthought if thou canstgive,

Grant that hats at lastmay per ishAnd that love alone may l ive.

Star -eyed Helen, thou whose beautyCou ld charm evengods and Greeks ;

Thou whose pass ionwas perfection;Thou whose spirit evenspeaks !

Grant that, whenbeyond the shadow0 ! each earthly gr ief and joy,

I may see thee, br ight and beauteou s ,As thou wast ofo ld inTroy .

TrojanH elen, at thy story ,All my love bu rns br ight and free

Ifa god enthroned inglory,I wou ld leave a heavenfor thee !Wonby Greece’

s fairest woman,Dare we deem such love deflled

H e whose eyes had gazed onVenu s

Looked into thine ownand smiled .

Wil l oftenthink of thee , 0 , Helen, as the suckinglambs

Desire the strou ting bags and presence of theirtender dams .

We all betimes for th e a wreath of Melitoe willknit,

And ona shady plane for thee w ill safely fastenit,And all betimes for thee, under a shady plane

below ,

Out ofa silver box the sweetest ointment w i ll bestow ;

And letters shal l be wr itteninthe bark that menmay see

And read, DO humble reverence, for I am Helen’s


TrojanHelen, queenly Helen! SINGLE POEMS.

F ools have called thee“ fond and frail ,B ut thy beauty , soft and si lent,Cou ld bid mightiestmonarchs quai l . BALLADE OF QUEEN CLYTIE .

SternAchilles from his anger TE E ladys leans onthe dial 's rimWou ld have rested, and his arms (Clytie’

s flowersare go ld and brown) ,F rom his hands had fallenidle, Faint winds sigh , and the skies are dimHad he gazed u ponthy charms . (Ways grow dark as the sungoes down) .

Yeste rnight as I s lept, she said

(Sound the sweet, shu t dais ies sleep ) ,Go ld w ings ru stled around my bed(Go ldendreams for a slumber deep ) .

Stately Helen, fairer , fonderThanall Greek and Trojandames ,

Though for thee long years were wastedE re proud I lium fel l inflames ;

Though thy “ fatal gift of beautyCau sed brave blood to flow like wine,

Thou art sti ll the first and fairestInthe tale ofTroy divine.

"

Strange and sweet was my dream , saith she(Red -

gold rays for a br idal crown) ;Soon(be su re) he will come for me,

”

(Shining towers to my tru e- love’

s town) .

E ver tu rning and returning,

Knights andnobles from every landLike Ixiononthe wheel ; (Ways are w ide, and the sea spreads far )

Ever bu rning, ever yearning,

Seek her service and crave her handSome sti ll sweeter thri l l to feel . (COM and fair is the morning- star ) .

So I seem to see thee soar ingTo and fro inStygianshade,

Ever seeking for a passionInwhich thine may be allayed.

Comes a king from the far North - lands ,Steed and su rcoat as white as snow ;White stones flas h onhis charger

’

s bands

(Skies are white whenthenorth winds blow ) .

TrojanHelen, through the ages Next, 8 » Sti lt-O P O f scanty speed,Come thy state ly form and brow

,The king ofSou th - lands , ambles slow ,

Inthe dawnof history ’

s mo rning Half 85 199 13 ona yel low steed,

Thou was tnotmore fair thannow .Crowned w ith hyac inths all ablow .

I seem with thee inthe spirit,Seem to feel thy bu rning breath .

A ll the ages are as nothingLove canconquer Time and Death .

Speeds a king from the fierce East- land,R iding fast ona coal - black horse,

Red robes whir ling l ike desert sandNow the maidenshal l yield perforce !”

Side by s ide w ith go ldenVenu s R ides a king from the pu rpleWest,Ona dazzling diamond throne, Lord ofmany a goodly deed ;

Thou dost ru le the realms of beau ty Plates ofamethyst c las p his breast,As if death were al l unknown. R ich stufls cover her red- roansteed .

Ofthee sti ll , oh , stately Helen!Life mu st c laim the greater part,

Eac h one seeks her for Qu eenand br ideF or thy sou l was all affection, Swift she li fteth her eyes to them ,

All thy thoughts were of the heart.

Slow and s i lent she tu rns as ide,Veils her fac e w ith her mantle’

s hem .

Thou dost greet the growing pass ionWhich the happy heart conceals ,

And the joy ofglowinggeniu s ,

Where is he that shou ld come, saith she,

Where is the youth ofmy goodly dreamNone but him may I wed, pardie

Whencreating what it“39 1“ (Go ld that dazzles and locks that gleam ) .Thu s thy subtle spir it entersEvery gift that love wou ld give, Gold rays sto le through his shining hair

And thy life is thu s united (Clytie’s flowers are gold and brown) ;

Unto al l that love and l ive. 0 for the l ight ofhis face most fair !F RE D SHE LLE Y RYMAN . (Ways grow dark as the sungoes down) .

2 42 TH E M A GAZI N E OF F OE TR Y.

I shal l know you , dear , by you r go ldentresses ,Andgentle voice that is sweet and low,

And soft eyes shiningwith tendernesses ;Oh , love, my love, have I far to goWind, have you met with my sou l ’s ideal ,Intheglad sweet sou th you have wanderedo

’er

Shall I c lasp her , c lingto her , find her real ?B ut the wind ju st ru stles the leaves— no more.

Yet who is this by the ways ide s itting,

Where wate rs mu rmu r and gre enboughs meet,Where bass are humming and birds are flitting,And the scent ofa hundred flowers is sweet !

A gir l ’s lithe form that the leaves half cover ,A wavy shimmer of shining hair

That rolls , and ripples , and mantles overThe slender arms that are brownand bare .

A scant gown, tattered and to rn, and frayed inLong leagues of travel by mount and plain;

And the cou rtiers smi le at the beggar maiden,Who shr inks abashed from the dazzling train;

B u t the king leaps downfrom his charger lightly,With glad cheeks glowing and eyes onfire ;

Though her lot be low ly, her garb unsightly,He knows the fac e of his sou l ’s des ire .

My love ! he whispers . O , blest the woo ingThat’s br ief a doing whenhearts are kin.

The maidenlists to the monarch ’s su ing,F or a king is a goodly mate to win.

The sweet face flu shes , the faint lips murmur ,

B ut fall and qu iver and speak no word ;My wife !” he cr ies , whenher vo ice grows firmer ,And straight she answers , My king,

my lord l”

WALTE R CRANE .

BETTINA MAZZI.

Orr ! who will scale the belfry towerAnd cu t that banner down?

All brokenis the Au str ianpower ;They gallop from the town;

And surely ’tis anidle taunt,

With this day’s victory gained,To let you r painted falsehood flauntThe very sky seems stained !

So spoke the Du ke. Around heglancedTo see that each rank heard ;

B ut every eye was onthe ground,N0 single so ldier stir red ;

The shattered belfry timbers shakeThe highest spire ofall ,

Beneath a dove’s weightmight it break ,

And seven- score feet down- fall .

Eac h thought Cu t downby band that flagFoo lhardy were the deed,Whenone three-

pounder snaps its staff

As breaks a withered reed lB ut ju st as s ilence grew to shame,And none wou ld lift his face,

A sunbu rned child, her face afiame,Stood forth before his G race.

And now she sl ips up to the leads ;The crowd all ho ld their breath ;

H igher and higher slow she mounts ,One step

’

twixt her and death .

Along thatnarrow dormer’s edge,

Up to the brokenbal l ;Oh ,

shattered jo ist and spl intered beam ,

Letnot the brave ch ild fal l

Oh , then, what shoutings came from all,

To honor su ch a deed !Up the old street at the Duke’

s s ideShe r ides his pac ing steed,

She cou rtesied, gave a hasty glanceTo where the flagfiew high ,

Then, stammer ing, she said, My Lord,May I— have leave— to try

You, child? ”

hemocked . By Mars , you co l

To schoo l the veterans gr im !And you r reward Those two fair plumeThat shade you r beaver ’

s br im .

Loud rang his laugh So be it ! Climb !The plumes are you rs— ifwon.

"

She darts ac ross the street as fieet

As swallow inthe sun;The chu rch - doo r c las hes at her back ;She ru shes up the stair ,

Against the sky, inthe belfry high ,See , see her standing there !

And now she grasps the slender staff ;Thenslow ly, gently, see !

The flag begins to s ink . Good cord,

Do thy work faithfu lly !The pul ley tu rns— the rope runs smoothDown

, down, the gay folds gl ideAlongthe qu ivering pole, unti lThey hang her hand beside.

Close gathered, look ! she cuts their bond,Her sc issors flashing fair ;

Thenl ightly pu shed from where she clings ,They drop, plump , to the square ;

B utno manthought to raise his cheerUntil , oh , blessed chance !

They see her c lamber downand safeF rom the chu rch steps advance.

CUR R E N T P OEM S.

Her homespunapronfil led with crowns , CURRENT POEMS.

The Du ke’s plumes inher hair ;Whatmanshall say a l ittlemaidCannever do and dare?

EDWARD IRENE US S'rsvas sox.

HEREDITY.

I m u ponthe woodland waysAt morna lady fair ;Adownher slender shou lders strays

Her ravenhair ;

Andnone who looks into her eyesCanfail to feel and know

That inth is consciou s c lay there liesSome sou l aglow .

Bu t I , who meet her oft abou tThe woods inmorning song,

I see behind her far stretc h outA ghostly throng - LondonAcademy .

A pr iest, a pr ince, a lord, a maid,Faces ofgr ief and sin,

A high - bornlady and a jade,A har lequ in;

Two lines of ghosts inmasqu erade,Who push her where they wi ll ,

As if itwere the wind that swayedA daffodil .

She s ings , she weeps , she smiles , she sighs ,Looks cruel , sweet, or base ;

The featu res of her fathers r iseAnd haunt her face.

As if itwere the w ind that swayedSome stately daffodi l ,

Uponher face they mas queradeAnd work their will .

F REDE R ICK K . PETE RSON .

RECONTRE .

TO ILING across the Mer de G lace,I thought of, longed for thee ;What m iles betweenstretched, alas !What miles of land and sea !

My foe, undreamed of, at my s ideStood suddenly , like Fate .

For those who love, the wor ld is wide,Butnot for those who hate.

THOMAS B u u n'

ALDRxca.

THE SONNET.

FOURTE EN small , balefu l berries onthe hemOfCirce

’s mantle, all ofgreenestgo ld ;

Fou rteenof lone Calypso ’s tears that roll

’

d

Into the sea, for pear ls to come ofthem ;F ou rteensmall s igns of omeninthe gemWith which Medea humanfate foretold ;Fou rteensmal l drops , which Faustu s , growing

old,

Craved of the Fiend to water Li fe’s dry stem .

It is the pu re- white diamondDante broughtTo Beatr ice ; the sapphire Lau ra woreWhenPetrarch cut it sparkling out ofthought ;The ru by Shakespeare hewed from his heart’s

co re ;

The dark , deep emerald that Rossetti wroughtFor his ownsoul , to wear for evermore .

EUGENE LE E HAM ILTON .

TIME AND ETERNITY.

O , M IGHTY weariness ofyellow sands !

O , surging oceanofEternity !I bow abjectly at the thought of thee.

My tiny spanis naught. My aged handsQu iver , impatient ofdivine commandsAnd of this petty hou r -

glass misery .

Unwear ied one ! Thinemons yet to be !O , scythe ofpain! Alas ! the low marsh lands !So spake poor Father Time, and bowed his head,Spu ru ing inbitterness the race ofmen;A solemnfigu re onthat so lemnshore,

Gather ing sand, scorningEarth ’s qu ick anddeadA bad m istake ! For these beyond his kenShal l wed him to the mons evermore.

CARoniNE D. SWAN .

The Traveler ’s Record, January,1 890.

THE SUN CUP.

THE earth is the cup of the sun,That he filleth atmorning w ith w ine,With the strongwarm w ine of his migh t,F rom the vintage ofgo ld and of l ight,F i lls it and makes it div ine .

And atnight, whenhis jou rney is done,At the gate ofhis radiant hallHe setteth his lips to the br im ,

With a long last look of his eye,And tilts it, and draineth it dry,Drains ti ll he leaveth it allH ollow

, and empty, and dim .


And then, as he passes to sleep, Soono ’er the sea they br ing the Bard divine,

Still fu ll of the feats that he did Far from the scent Of rose, or song of bird,Long ago inOlymp ianwars, TO rest amid the great ofhis ownland.

H e closes it downw ith the sweep CO NSTANCE E . DIXON .

Of its slow- tu rning luminou s lid, — For The Magazine ofPoetry.

Its cover ofdarkness and stars ,

Wrought once by Hephaestu s of oldWith violet, and vastness , and gold.

ARCHIB ALD LAM PMAN .

H amer’s Magazine, February, 1 890.

THE FUNERAL IN VENICE .

(Sod ium )

GONE forth to jointhe mighty s i lent throng !H is sp irit fleeting from that sunny landWhence to ok long since from earth her heavenward

flightH is “Lyr ic - love, half angel and half bird,

When the mere mortal sheath struck down' byDeath

Silenced the song onl ips held hal f divine.

— Fo r

And they of Italy , to them of tru th , divineThe songs Of both ! And loving is the throngWho gaze insorrow onthe Barge ofDeath .Which glides to lay him inthe wel l - loved landF rom whence his spirit, 88 a soar ing bird, — For The Magazine ofPoetry .

Has takento the G lo ry - land its flight.

I . W. SAN B ORN .

B ut Time, who fells the mortal inhis flight,I s bu rnt to ashes by the spark divine.

The Poet- sou l , it soareth as a bird,And

,r ising deathless o ’

er the dying throng,

F loats u pward to the sunny song- filled Land

Which lies above the gloomy clouds ofDeath .

The Poet sleeps inthe coo l shade ofDeath ,

B eneath Italianskies , which saw the fligh tOfhappy years spent inthat happy land,

A l ife whose perfec tu ess was half divine !And al l abou t his bier br ight mem’

ries throng,

Sweet as the sunset song of some blithe bird.

The song is brokenof ou r English bird !And from the palac e where he met with DeathH is flowery barge is fo llowed by a throngOf sable gondolas , whose silent flightIs swift, though sad , to lay him intheir land,

The B r itish Poet, whom they name divine ”! TIME AND THEE .

Name well and w isely . Is not Tr u th divine? TIM E heals all wounds— bu t far more greater thou

Not every bard, who warbles as a bird Canst bid all angu ish vanish at a breath .

And wanders dream ing through a grac iou s land, Speak , and the pains will fade which bindme now ;

Wheninthe Val ley he shall fac e gr im Death , Be silent ; Time wi ll only be as Death .

Shall speed his sou l onsu ch a peacefu l night FLAVEL SOOTT MIN ES.

F rom pu rest teaching of the heedfu l throng! — Tbe American, January 2 5, 1 890.

TO VIOLA V . PRICE.

A RONDELET ,

The glory ofher heaven- deep eyes .

A rondelet,Her hair with bu rning jewels set,R ich gems l ike stars ofnorthernskiesDimmed by the beauty ofher eyes

,

A rondelet.

CHAR LES SOUTHE R N MO R E HEAD.

TheMagazine of Poetry .

TO

A RO NDE LET

Is ju st the glory Ofthe sky.

A rondelet,Treas ured memory ofa kissB or rowed from a winsomemiss ,

A coming thro ’the rye.

”

A rondelet.

SELF- REVELATION .

OR ! that inthy career wou ld come anhou rThat wou ld thyself to thine ownsel f reveal !Along the langu id pu lse of l ife wou ld steal

The consc iou sness of thy exceeding dower ;Thu s did Napo leondivine his power ,Whenhe beheld the Au str iancolumns reelFor him InLodi ’e battle smoke and pea]

There bu rst inbloom ambition'

s ruddy flower .

Oh ! fo r su ch moment,masterfu l , supreme

,

That wou ld the poss ible to the e betray ,And thou wou ld ’

st henceforth beand cease to seem

Thy spi rit, waking,wou ld sal u te the day,

Accept its chal lenge, not to be undone,Since having lived is ever to have won.

IDA A . AR LBO R N .

— The Cottage H earth , F ebr uary,1 890.

CUR R E N T P OE /V S. 2 47

THE SHADOW- BIRD AND HIS SHADOW.

TR ROCG R The Dark Land’

s reeds and ru shes ,

Downthe palm-

glooms , I have heard ,

Rose- lit with the sun’

s last - blu shes ,Comes the Shadow - bird .

And he leads his Shadow ! DimlyThrough the sands they two advance.

Thenhe bows and, somewhat gr imly ,They beginto dance.

Fair his Shadow is . Eac h featherOf her wi ld wings looks like lace,

And they whir l and float togetherWith unearthly grac e.

Onenight whenthe Sphinx was star ingAt them with an

.evi l eye,

And the black man’

s stars were flar ingInthe desert sky,

Thenthe Shadow - bird grew merry !My sweet Shadow ,

”whispered be,

You are looking lovely , very ,Wil l you dance w ith me?

No . she said,

“you hear me, do you ?

You cango and dance awhileWith those l ilies , nodding to you ,

There ac ross the N ile !

No , she said and off she started ,

There was not another word,

So it was his Shadow partedWith the Shadow - bird .

(She prefers another fellow ,

If the truth must he confessed,

Pictu resque ingreenand yellow ,

With a splendid c rest !)And the Shadow - birdnow muses ,Like a pr iest intemples dim ,

Just becau se his Shadow chooses

Not to dance with him .

Mas . S. M . B . P IA 'I‘T .

— St. N icho las ,F ebr uary, 1 890.

NON SINE LACRYMIS.

[r was that hou r whenvernal earthAnd sto rmy March prepare

To greet the day ofApr il ’s tear fu l birth ,That I , o

’

ercome with care,

Rose with the twi light from a fireless hearthTo take the fresh first air

And sm i le ofmorning ’

s m irth .

Tired w ith o ld grief ’s self- pityingmoan,A mi le I had not strayedEremy dim path grew dark w ith double zoneOfmenfu ll fair arrayed,

Wh ile, blent with sound of battle tr umpets blown,Came, as through light comes shade,

Cr ies like anundertone.

P lumed w ith tornc loud, March led the way,

With spear po int keenfo r thru st,And eage r eyes and harnessed form swathed grayWith dr ifts ofwind- blowndust.

R ound his bru ised bu ckler inbright letters layThis sc ro ll which to ilers tru st

Nonsine p u lvene.

Wet as fr om welter ing showers and seas ,April came afte r him .

He held a cup with saddest imager iesEngraven, and round the rim ,

Wornwith woe ’s lip , I spelt out words l ike these,

Though sorrow - stained and dim

Nonsine Iacrymis .

These pm ed like regal spir its crowned ,

StrongMarch and Apr il fair ;And thena sphere made mu s ic s low unwound

Its sou l u ponthe air ,And soft as exhalations from the ground,Or spr ing flowers here and there ,

These words rose through the sound

Manneeds these two inthis wor ld’s mo il ,

Earth ’

s drought and dew of spheres ,Gr ief ’s freshening rainto lay the du st ofto il ,To il ’s du st to dry the tears .

To all who r ise as wrestlers inl ife’s coi l

Time gives , w ith days and years ,The w restler ’

s sand and oil .

0 , Toi l invainwithout su rcease !O , Grief no hand canstay !

Think onthese words whenwork or woes increaseMan, made oftears and c lay,

Grows to fu ll statu re and God’

s perfect peace,Nonsine p u l vere,

Nonsine Iacrymis .

H E N R Y B E RNARD CAR PE NTE R .

— Hnrper’

s Magazine, January , 1 8 90.

LIFE’

SGALLEY SLAVE .

If thou cou ldst die to -night,And pu t the wo rld and all its gr iefs away ,As some lone child grownweary with the day,

I qu estionmuch if death were hard to bear .

For , tempest- tossed and haunted by despair ,The sou l rebels at this long leas e of pain.And plumes its elf for fl ight to other spheres .

Beyond the dim whatmysteries remainOr joy or woe, or so lace for our fears?These vex thee not— nor , coward- like, thine eyesAre veiled, lest some dread shape from out the

darkness rise .


Ifthou cou ldst die to -night,E re at thy door some greviou s sinis laid,’Twere better thus thatnatu re’

s debt be paid,Though like a s inger ofanear l ier layI plead for thee, O, dumb, unconsciou s c lay .

No worn-out dogmas ofa darkened ageNeed thenattend the spir it’s parting sighB ut truth might wr ite uponher glowing page,Sustained by faith , ’

tis glor iou s to die.

And thu s the cynic , dead to mortal view ,

Wou ld wake to grander life far out beyondblue.

Ifthou cou ldst die to-night,Andno heart ac he because thine ownwas stilled ,

H ow measureless the joy that wou ld have thr i lled !B ut, ah ! the morrow with its glad su rpr ise,The w ine cup ’

s cheer , the light inBeau ty’s eyesTheir charm will lu re thee from the shadow landBackto the gar ish splendor ofthe shore,And though wilt cringe beneath the scou rging

hand,Poor galley- slave at P leasu re’

s gilded oar ;

B utZone day, weary ofher s iren’s m

’

les ,

The soul wi ll wingitswaywhere l ift the restfu l is les .

R OB E RT RE XDALE .

The BostonTraveler, F eb. 2 1 , 1 890.

AT THIRTY- FOUR .

Whenlife fair ly had begun.

Looking bac k along the way,This is what I note to - day

Life has not beenall success ,Very o ftensomething less ;

Seldom have I lac ked for health .

Little have I cared for wealth .

Thought more ofthe glenand gladeThanofbu sy marts of trade ;

Thoughtmore of the wood and brookThanof bank or pocket- book .

H ave I wiser beenthantheyWho have hoarded every day?Wiser I have not been, tis tru e,

B ut, my fr iends , I say to you ,

Happiness is Ofttimes sold,B ut is never bought with go ld.

Wealth to o oftenbr ings the cu rse,Smal ler heart with larger pu rse.

H e is poor whose heartand mindBar out love ofhumankind.

H e is r ich whose days are spentInthe heavenofcontent.

Looking back tod ay, I findMany a dream I ’ve left behind ;Many a bud ofpromise liesWithered ’neath the summer skies ;

Many a fr iendship’s tie and tru st

Lie there brokeninthe du st ;Many a footpr int there to -day

Shows where fo l ly led the way.

Half, at least, of l ife is done,Half ! andnothing have I won.

B ut hope takes my hand and stillKeeps onpo inting up the hill .

SoonI ’ l l reach the high divideAnd start downthe other s ide.

Downthe s loping hil ls ide pathInto childhood’

s aftermath,And I ’ l l be content to say

Inthe ev’ning of that day,

Ju st as happy , ju st as poor ,As I was at thirty- fou r .

W. W. P l-‘ R IMME R .

— J anuary 2 7, 1 890.

A WINTER SUNSET.

A COLD m ist, motionless and gray,Sleeps onthe dark moors where the glow

Ofthe last sunl ight of the dayScarce str ikes a sparkle from the snow ;

The red suninthe mu rky westSinks to his rest.

The red suu s inks ; his ways grow dim .

F rom earth and heaven, east, south and nortAnd from the west that welcomed him

,

No vo ice or mu rmu r stealeth forthTo break the somber calm and tel l

His last farewell .

Nowhere is any life or sound ;Only , at times , far offyou hear ,

Across the dry and barrenground,Strange crac kings from the ice- blue mere.

The moor land like a dead thing l iesBeneath dead skies .

Yet evenhere qu ick fancy seesThe hiddengerms ofpatient Spr ing,

Watc hes amid the flowerless treesThe flashings out ofApr i l ’s wing,

And hears , incadence low and long,

AnEaster song!

SIDNE Y A . ALEXA NDER .

— Cassell’

s Family Magazine.

2 50

IB ID . Inter ludes . Edinbu rgh and London: Will iam B lac kwood and Sons , 1 872 . 1 6mo , pp . vi iiand 1 08 .

l aw . The H uman Tragedy . Edinbu rgh and

London: William B la ckwood and Sons , 1 876 .

1 2 mo , pp . 439 .

IR ID. Madonna’

s Child. Second edition. Edinbu rgh and London: William B lackwood andSons ,1 873. 8vo , pp . 80.

I R ID. R ome or Death ! Edinbu rgh andLondonWi l liam B lac kwood and Sons , 1 873 . 8vo , pp . xiand 1 84 .

IB ID . The Tower of Babel . A Poetical Drama.

Edinbu rgh and London: William B lackwood and

Sons , 1 874 . 8vo , pp . 2 56 .

I B ID. Savonaro la . A Tragedy . London: Mac

m illanand Co . ,1 881 . 1 2 mo , pp xxix and 306 .

IR ID . So liloqu ies inSong. London: Macmillanand Co . ,

1 882 . 1 2 mo , pp . xii and 1 58 .

I B ID . At the Gate of the Convent and OtherPoems . London: Macmillanand Co . , l 885 . 1 2 mo ,

pp . xi and 1 42 .

IB ID. Prince Luc ifer . Second edition. London:

Macmi llanand Co . ,1 887 . pp . xxi and 1 93

IDID . Love’

s Widowhood and Other Poems .

Londonand New York : Macmi l lanand Co . , 1 889 .

1 2 mo , pp . vi and 1 42 .

IH ID . Look Seaward, Sentinel .Allenand Co . , 8vo , pp . 1 5 .

PETE RsON , HE N RY.Poems . Philadelphia : J .

B . Lippincott and Co . , 1 863 . 1 2 mo, pp . 2 03 .

I R ID . Poems . Inc luding “The Modern J ob.

Second series . Philadelphia : J . B . LippincottCo .

,1 883. 1 2 mo , pp . 2 2 7 .

SM ITH ,IIAR RY B . Miscellaneou s poems .

LATHR O P ,B osE HAWTHO R NE . Along the Shore .

B oston: Ticknor Co . , 1 888 . 1 6mo, pp . 1 04 .

M iscellaneou s poems .

London: W. H .

R OLLsTON ,ADE LA IDE DA Y .

LIPPMAN N ,JUL IE M . Miscellaneou s poems .

SAVAGE ,MINOT J . Poems . B oston: George H .

E llis , 1 882 . 1 6mo , pp . 2 47 .

IH ID . Miscel laneou s poems .

MAGRAY , CHAR LEs . Selected Poems and Songs .

London: Wh ittaker and Co . ,1 888 . 1 6mo , pp .

xxx and 2 72 .

I R ID . Vo ices from the Crowd,” “Legends from

the Isles ,” Eger ia,

”etc . . andmiscellaneou s poems .

KIN GsLE Y ,CHARLES. Poems . Complete col lectededition. Londonand New York : Macmi llan&Co . ,

8vo.


BUMSTEAD, E l’

DO B A . Miscellaneou s poems .

LOVE JO Y , GEO R G E NEWE LL . Miscellaneou s poems .

LOCKIIART ,ARTHUR J . The Masque of M instrels

and Other Poems ,Chiefly inVerse. By Two B rothers . Bangor : B enjamin A . B u rr

,Pr inter , 1 887 .

1 2 mo , pp . iv and 361 .

CR AWF O RD, MRs . JOHN . Miscellaneous poems .

KAYE , J O HN BRAYsHAw . Songs of Lake Genevaand Other Poems . New York : G . P . Putnam’

s

Sons , 1 882 . 1 2 mo , pp . v and 2 00.

Boston: R obertsCOOL IDGE . SusAN , Verses .

B ros . ,1 880. 1 6mo

, pp . 1 81 .

IDID . A Few More Verses . Boston: R ober ts

B ros 1 889 , 1 6mo , pp . 2 57.

B E LL , H . T. MACKE NzIE . TheKeepingof theVow

and Other Verses . London: E lliot Stock , 1 879 .

1 2 mo .

IB ID. Verses of Varied Life. London: E lliotStock , 1 88 2 . 1 2 mo .

IB ID . Old Year Leaves . London: E l liott Sto ck ,1 883. 1 2 mo .

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vised . New edition. London: J . F isher Unwin,1 885 . 8vo , pp . xxiv and 308 .

PHELPS, CHAR LE s HE N R Y . M iscel laneous poems .

JONES, I . EDGAR . Miscellaneou s poems .

B R ISTOL ,AUGUSTA CO O PE R . Poems . B oston

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IR ID . Miscellaneo u s poems .

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s Son, 1 889 .

pp . vm and 2 33.

GOMM ELIN , ANN A OLCOTT . Poems . New YorkAnsonD. F . Rando lph Co .

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SM ITH ,MAR Y B A R R Y . Miscellaneou s poems .

CRANDALL , CHARLE s H . M iscellaneous poems .

THOM PSO N , CHARLES L . Miscellaneou s poems .

R E N E R Ew CAR R IE . Miscellaneou s poems .

FAULHN E R , H AR R Y C. Miscellaneou s poems .

B ROWN IN G ,R O B E RT . Poems . Complete col

lected edition. B oston: H oughton, Mifflin Co .

ALDR ICH ,ANNA R E E YE . The R ose of F lame and

Other Poems of Love . New York and London:

G . P . Pu tnam'

s Sons , 1 889 . 1 6mo , pp . iv and 92 .

SPAULDIN G ,HAR R IE T MAR E I Miscellaneou s

poems .


inPrattvi lle, Ala . ,where Sidney was pr incipal of a

flou rishing ac ademy . Hemorrhage from the lungscame to advance the red flag of warning, and he

retu rned to Mac onto undertake the prac ticeofthelaw . InDecember

,1 872 , he went to SanAntonio ,

Texas , searching for a c limate where he might l iveand work . He retu rned to Georgia inApr i l, 1 873.

H e determined to give the few years that remainedto him to mus ic and l iteratu re . In December ,1 873

, he is inBaltimore, his chief financ ial relianceuponanengagement as first flu te for the Peabodysymphony concerts and his pen. Doc tor Ward

’s

tou chingmemor ial , prefac ing Sc ribner’

s editionofhis poems , descr ibes sympathetical ly the str ugglethat now ensued for life and l iterary accompl ishment.

In1 875 he vis ited F lorida and wrote the read

able book descr iptive of that state . About thisper iod oftwo or three years he produ ced anumbero f his poems . Some lec tures inser ies are deliveredat inte rvals . He is againinF lorida in1 877, andretu rns with hope to his Baltimo re work . Some

studies inold Engl ish take shape as“ The Sc ience

o f English Verse,”— an epochal book concerningEnglish prosody . Lectu res on Shakespeare are

delivered in the hall of the Peabody Institu te .

These years of consecrated work pave the way forhis appointment as lectu rer onEngl ish Literatu refor the ensu ing year at Johns H opkins Univers ity .

Nowappear anumber ofhis longer and best poems .

In1 879 he flies for a breath of cool air to Virginiamountains ,but spends the summer inhard literarywork . InDecember , 1 880, feeble and fevered,

he

sings at sundownof his own l ife the noble hymn,“Sunr ise.

” H is heart and m ind and spiritual natu re grow tenderer and c learer and more potent as

the physical strength wanes . Camp- life near Ashville, N . C. , fails to heal the wounded lungs , and on

September 7, 1 881 , his unfalter ing w ill rendersits supreme submiss ionto the adoredwill of God.

”

His publishedworks are: Tiger Lil ies : ANovel ,1 867;

“ F lor ida : Scenery,Climate, H isto ry, 1 876 ;

Poems”(Corn and other ) , 1 877 ; “The Boy’s

Froissart, 1 878 ;“The Sc ience ofEnglish Verse,”

1 880 ;“The Boy’s King Arthu r , 1 880 ;

“The

B oy’s Mabinogion,” 1 881 ; The B oy’

s Percy,”

1 882 ; The Engl ish Novel, 1 883 ; Poems of

Sidney Lanier ”(edited by his wife) , 1 884 .

THE MARSHES OF GLYNN .

GLOOMS of the live - oaks , beau tifu l - braided and

woven

With intricate shades of the vines that myr iad

Clamber the forks of the mu ltiform boughs ,Emerald twilights ,Virginal shy lights ,

Wrought of the leaves to allu re to t he whisper ofvows ,

Whenlovers pace timidly downthrough the greenco lonnades

Of the dim sweet woods , of the dear dark woods ,Of the heavenly woods and glades ,

That run to the radiant marginal sand - beach

withinThe w ide sea- marshes of G lynn

Beau tifu l glooms , soft dusks inthenoon- dayfire,

Wildwood pr ivac ies , c losets of lone des ire,Chamber from chamber partedwith waver ingarras

of leaves ,Calls for the pas s ionate pleas u re of prayer to the

sou l that gr ieves ,Pu re w ith a sense of the pass ing of saints through

the wood,

Coo l fo r the dutifu l weighing of i ll with good

O ,braided du sks of the oak and wovenshades ofthe vine,

While the r iotou s noonday sunof the Junedaylong did shine

Ye held me fas t inyou r heart and I held you fastinmine ;

B u tnow whenthe noonis no more, and riotis rest,And the sunis a- wait at the ponderous gate of the

West,

And the slant yellow beam downthe wood-aisledoth seem

Like a lane into heaventhat leads from a dream,

Ay, now ,whenmy sou l all day hath drunken the

sou l of the oak,And my heart is at ease from men

, and the wear isome sound of the stroke

Of the scythe of time and the trowel of trade islow ,

And belief overmas ters doubt, and I know thatI know ,

And my spir it is grownto a lordly great compass within,

That the length and the breadth and the sweep ofthe marshes of Glynn

Will work meno fear l ike the fear they havewroughtme of yore

Whenlength was fatigue, and whenbreadth was

but bitterness sore,And whenterror and shrinking and dreary unnam

able painDrew over me out of the merc iless mi les of the

plain,

SIDN E Y LAN I E R .

oh, now, unafraid, I am fainto faceThe vast sweet visage of space.

To the edge of the wood I am drawn, I am drawn,

Where the gray beach glimmering runs , as a beltof the dawn,

For a mete and a mark

To the forest- dark

Affable live oak, leaning low ,

Thns— with your favor - s oft,with a reverent hand,(Not l ightly touching you r person, Lord of the

land I)Bending you r beauty aside, with a step I stand

Onthe firm-

packed sand,

By a wor ld of marsh that borders a wo rld of sea .

Sinuous sou thward and sinuou s northward theshimmering band

Of the sand- beach fastens the fr inge ofthe marshto the fo lds of the land.

Inward and ou tward to northward andsouthwardthe beach- lines linger and cu rl

As a silver - wrought garment that cl ings to and

follows the firm sweet l imbs of a girl .Vanishing, swerving,

evermore cu rving againintosight,

Softly the sand- beach wavers away to a dim gray100ping of l ight.

And what if behind me to westward the wal l ofthe woods stands high

The wor ld l ies east : how ample, the marsh and thesea and the sky !

A league and a league of marsh -grass , waist- high ,

broad inthe blade,Green, and all of a height, and unfiecked with alight or a shade,

Stretch leisu rely off, ina pleasant plain,To the terminal blue of themain.

Oh, what is abroad inthe marsh and the term inalsea?

Somehow my sou l seems suddenly freeFrom the weighing of fate and the sad discu ss ion

of sin,By the length and the breadth and the sweep of

the marshes of G lynn.

Yemarshes , how candid and s imple and nothingwithholding and free

Ye pu blish you rselves to the sky and offer you rselves to the sea l

Tolerant plains , that su ffer the sea and the rains

and the sun,Ye spread and spanl ike the catho licmanwho hath

might:i won

2 55

God outofknowledge and good outof infinite painAnd s ightoutofblindness and pur ityoutofastain.

And the sea lends large, as the marsh : lo, out ofhis plenty the sea

Pou rs fas t : fu ll soon the time of the flood- tide

mu st be :

Look how the grace of the sea doth goAbout and about through the intr icate channels

that flowHere and there,

Everywhere,Ti ll his waters have flooded the uttermost creeks

and the low- lying lanes ,And themarsh is meshed with amill ionveins ,That like as with rosy and silvery essences flow

Inthe rose- and- s ilver eveningglow .

Farewell , my lord Sun!The creeks overflow : a thou sand r ivu lets run’Twixt the roots of the sod ; the blades of the

marsh-grass stir ;

Passeth a hu rrying sound of wings that westwardwhirr ;

Passeth , and all is still ; and the currents cease to

run;And the sea and marsh are one.

How still the plains of the waters be !The tide is inhis ecstasy.

The tide is at his h ighest heightAnd it is night.

Andnow from theVas t of the Lord wil l the watersof sleep

Roll inonthe sou ls of men,Bu t who w ill reveal to ou r wakenkenThe forms that swim and the shapes that creep

Under the waters of sleep?

As themarsh- hensecretlybu ilds onthewaterysod,Behold I w ill bu ild me a nest onthe greatness of

God

I wil l fly inthe greatness of God as the marsh - henflies

Inthe freedom that fil ls all the spac e’twixt the

marsh and the skiesBy so many roots as the marsh -grass sends inthe

sod

I w ill heartily lay me a -hold onthe greatness ofGod :

Oh , like to the greatness of God is the greatnesswithin

The range of the marshes , the liberal marshes ofG lynn.

2 56

And I wou ld I cou ld know what swimmeth belowwhenthe tide comes in

Onthe length and the breadth of the marvelousmarshes of G lynn.

SONG OF THE CHATTAHOOCHEE .

OUT of the hills of H abersham ,

Downthe valleys of Hal l,I hu r ry amainto reach the plain,R unthe rapid and leap the fal l ,Split at the rock and together again,Accept my bed, or nar row or w ide,And flee from fo lly onevery s ideWith a lover ’

s painto attainthe plainFar from the hills of Habersham ,

Far from the val leys of Hall .

All downthe hills of Habersham ,

All through the valleys of Hall ,The ru shes cr ied Abide, abide,The w ill fu l water - weeds held me thral l ,The laving lau rel tu rned my tide ,

The ferns and fondl inggrass said Stay ,

The dewberry dipped for to work delay ,And the little reeds sighed Abide, abide,

H ere inthe hills of Habersham ,

H ere inthe valleys of H all .

H igh o ’er the hills of Habersham

,

Veil ing the valleys of H all ,The hickory to ld me manifo ldFair tales of shade, the poplar tal lWroughtme her shadowy self to ho ld

,

The chestnu t, the oak, the walnut, the pine,Over leaning, with flicker ing meaning and signSaid, Pass menot, so cold, these manifo ld

Deep shades of the hills of Habersham,

Theseglades inthe valleys of Hall .

And oft inthe hills of Habersham,

And oft inthe valleys of H all ,Thewhite quartz shone, and thesmooth brook

stone

Did bar me of passage with fr iendly braw l ,And many a lum inou s jewel lone— Crystals c lear or a -c loud with mist,R uby , garnet and amethystMade lu res with the lights of stream ing stone

Inthe clefts of the hil ls of Habersham,

Inthe beds of the val leys of Hall .

B u t oh , not the hills of Habersham ,

And oh , not the valleys of Hal lAvail : I am fainto water the plain.

l‘

ownward the vo ices of Du ty call


Downward, to to il and be m ixedwith the main,

The dry fields bu rn, and the mills are to tu rn,And a myr iad flowers mortally yearn,And the lordly mainfrom beyond the plain

Cal ls o ’

er the hills of Habersham ,

Cal ls through the valleys of Hall .

M A R S H .

Reverened Marsh , low - cou ched along the sea,

Old chemist, rapt inalchemy,Distilling s i lence .

— Sunrise.

D A W N .

And,lo

,inthe East ! Wi ll the Eas t unveil ?

The Eas t is unveiled the Eas t hath confessedA flu sh : ’

t is dead ; t is al ive : ’

tis dead, ere the

West

Was aware of it : nay,

’t is abiding,

’

t is unwith

drawn:

l lave a care, sweet Heaven!’T is Dawn.

— Ibid.

L E A V E S .

— Ibid.

M O O N .

Up the sky

The hesitatingmoons low trembles on,Faint as a new - washed sou l but lately upF rom ou t a bu ried body .

F L A T S .

Natu re hath no su rpr ise,No ambu scades of beauty ’

gainst mine eyesF rom brake, or lu rking dell , or deep defile ;No humors , fro l ic forms , this m ile, thatmile ;No rich reserves or happy- valley hopesB eyond the bend of roads , the distant s10pes .

H er fancy fai ls , her wild is al l runtame :Ever the same, the same.

— Fi'om the F lats .

Ye lispers , whisperers , s ingers instorms ,

Ye consc iences mu rmu ring faiths under forms ,Ye ministers meet fo r eac h pass ionthatgrieves ,Friendly

,s isterly , sweetheart leaves ;

( )h ! rainmedownfrom you r darks thatcontainmeWisdoms ye winnow from winds that painme ;

Sift downtremors of

That advise me of more thanthey br ing ; repeatMe the woods - smell that swiftly but now bro ughtbreath

From the heaven- s ide bank of the r iver of death ;Teach me the terms of si lence, preac h me

The pas s ionof patience, sift me, impeac h me,

And there, oh , thereAs ye hang with you r myr iad palms uptu rned in

the air ,

Pray me a myr iad prayer .

SIDN E Y LAN I E R . 2 59

H O M E R .

Father Homer , thee,Thee also I forgive thy sandy wastesOf prose and catalogue, thy drear haranguesThat tease the patience of the centu r ies ,Thy sleazy scrap of story— bu t a rogue

’

s

Rape of a light- o ’- love — too soi led a patc h

To bro ider with the gods .

CH R IST .

ButThee , bu t Thee, O ,sovereignSeer of time,

ButThee , O , poets’

Poet, Wisdom’

s Tongue,But Thee, O ,

man’

s bestMan, O, love’

s best Love,0, per fect l ife inperfect labor w rit,0, all men

’

s Comrade, Servant, King or Pr iest ;What if or yet, what mole, what flaw , what lapse,What least defect or shadow of defec t,What rumor , tattled by anenemy,Of inference loose, what lack of grac eEvenintorture

’

s grasp , or s leep ’

s , or death ’s ;Oh , what amiss may I forgive inThee,Jesu s , good Paragon, thou Crystal Christ

The Crystal .

D B A T H .

Death , thou ’rt a cordial o ld and rare ;

Look how compounded, with what care !Time got his wr inkles reaping theeSweet herbs from all antiqu ity .

W O O D S .

Dreaming ofgods ,men,nuns and brides , betweenOld companies of oaks that inward leanTo jo intheir radiant amplitudes of greenI s lowly move

,w ith ranging looks that pas s

Up from the matted mirac les of grassInto yonveined complex of spaceWhere sky and leafage inter lac eSo close, the heavenof blue is seenInwovenwith a heavenof green.

H A R V E ST .

There, while I pause, my fieldward- far ing eyesTake harvests , where the stately corn- ranks r ise,

Of inward dignitiesAnd large benignities , and insights wise,

Graces and modestmajesties .

Thu s , without theft, I reap another ’

s field ;Thus . without tilth . I hou se a wondrous yield,

Andheap myheart with qu intuple crops concealed.

— Ibid.

L O V E .

Sweet fr iends ,Man’

s love ascendsTo finer and diviner endsThanman’

s mere thought e’er comprehends .

— The Symphony .

M A R R I A G E .

Woe him thatcunning trades inhearts contrives lBase love good womento base loving dr ives .

If menloved larger , larger were ou r lives ;And wooed they nobler , wontheynobler wives .

— Ibid .

1 M P A T I E N CE .

Well , be it du sk - time or noon- time,I ask but one small boon, Time ;Come thou innight, come thou inday,

I carenot, I care not ; have thine ownway,

B ut only, but only come soon, Time.

O P I N I O N .

I wou ld thou left’stme free to live w ith love,And faith , that through the loveof love dothfind

My Lord’

s dear presence inthe stars above,The clods below, the flesh w ithout, the m indWithin, the bread, the tear , the smile.

Opinion, damned Intr iguer , gray with gu ile,Letme alone.

— Stmet Cries.

B E E T H O V E N .

— To B eetho ven.

F R E E D O M .

— Psalm of the Wes t.

W I N D .

O , short- breath ’

dWinds beneath thegrac iou smoonRunningmi ld errands for mild violets ,

Or carrying sighs from the red l ips of JuneWhat waver ing way the odor - c u rrent sets

O , Psalmist of the weak , the strong,0 , Troubadou r of love and str ife,

Co - Litanist of r ight and wrong,

So le Hymner of the whole of l ife,I know not how ,

I carenot why,Thy mu s ic sets my wor ld at eas e,

And melts my pass ion’s mortal c ry

Insatis fying symphonies

For Weakness , in freedom , grows stronger thanStrength w ith a chain;

And E r ror , infreedom ,wi ll come to lamenting his

stain,Till freely repeating he whitenhis spir it again;And F r iendship , infreedom ,

wil l blotoutthe bounding of race ;

And straight Law,in freedom ,

wil l cu rve to the

rounding of grace ;

And Fas hion, in freedom ,w ill die of the lie inher

face.

2 60

LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON .

QUISE CHANDLER MOULTON was the onlychild of her parents , and was bornat Pomfret,

Conn. , sixty years ago the 5th of last Apr i l . Her

educational advantages were good, her schoo l - l i febeingpartly spent at the famous seminary of M issEmma Willard, atTroy , N . Y . , though she was not

a graduate there. Bornw ith the lyrical gift, veryear ly the youngLou ise Chandler beganto put herthought into verse, and at the age of fifteenwaspr inting, under thename of E llenLou ise,” promisingpoems . While yetastudent atMissWillard

'

s

seminary, she sent some of her poems to the F lag

of Our Union, a paper thenpublished inB ostonbyWi lliam U.Mou lton. Mr . Mou ltonwas a bachelor ,and fr om a literary correspondence resu lted an

engagement of marr iage. This marr iage tookplace about three weeks after Miss Chandler le tschool ,and the pair immediately settled inB oston.

This c ity has ever since been the home of th

famous lady,whose present res idenceis onRu tlaml

Square. The young wife, who had already published one book , a volume of essays , poems and

stor ies , published anovel in 1 855 (the year of hermarr iage) , w ithholding her name. In 1 859 “My

Third Book ” was issued, and s ince then she has

been the author of a dozen more, appearing at

intervals oftwo or three years . Inadditionto herbooks , Mrs . Mou ltonhas done a vast amount of

newspaper work inthe form of letters onsoc ialandliterary topics . She was long foreigncorrespond

ent from Londonand Par is to prominent papersof the United States , the New York Tribune earlyu sing her work . For at least the las t ten yearsMrs . Mou ltonhas spent all her summers inEu rope .

She goes early inthe spr ing and retu rns late intheautumn. Whenat her home onR utland Square,in the early winter , she entertains at her recep

tions , which are highly popu lar , the literary lionsof her ownand other countr ies . Mrs . Mou ltonisextremely popu lar in England, where among

grac iou s and nobly-

gifted artists she holds her

gentle sway, beloved and loving. Her grac e and

gifts have brought her there, as well as at home,

the highest soc ial eminence.

Inpersonshe is a l ittle abovethemedium height,with afine complexion and a refined, intellectualface. Her eyes are mild and dreamy and her bearingthat of reposefu l , qu iet dignity. Indress she

is tastefu l and elegant.

As a poetMrs . Mou ltonhas charmed two wor lds ,and the English reviewers are as high inher praiseas are those of her own country . The vo lumes .

Swallow Flights ”and Ina GardenofDreams ,


espec ially stand as the work of one than whomno Amer icans inger has reac hed a higher , sweetertone. As a lyric artist, what Amer ican poet ex

cels her?An examination of Mrs . Mou lton’

s work wi llshow her not only a gifted poet, but a delightfulstory - te l ler , a lover of little children, a kindly butdiscr iminating c ritic , and one of the happiest of

humor ists . It is hard to real ize that the undertone of sadness inher poems and the laughter ofher humor proceed from the same individual ity.

As a reviewer of the art and poetry of othersshe seems to come into sympathywith their highestideas , apprec iates their good qual ities , and is neverunkind.

H er life is proof that intellectual gifts developbest and truest possibilities whenthey receive theservice of patient indu stry , and come to express

the heart and thought of tru e and ripe days thatknow the directionof disc ipline and the gu idanceof high ideals .

Mrs . Mou ltonhas one child, a marr ied daughter ,who l ives inWest Virginia . Mas . G . A .

COME BACK, DEAR DAYS.

Comebac k , dear days , from out the past !

I see you r gentle ghosts ar ise ;You look atme with mou rnfu l eyes ,

And thenthe nightgrows vague and vast ;You havegone bac k to Paradise .

Why did you fleet away, dear days?You were so welcome whenyou came ;

The morning skies were all aflame ;The birds sangmatins inyou r praise ;All else of life you pu t to shame.

Did I not honor you ar ight,I, who but l ived to see you shine,Who felt you r very paindivine;

Thanked God and warmed me inyou r light,Or quaffed you r tears as they were wine?

What wooed you to those stranger skies ,What love more fond, what dream more fair ,Whatmus ic whispered inthe air ?

What softdelight of smiles and sighsEnchanted you from otherwhere?

You leftno pledges whenyou went.

The years since thenare bleak and co ld ;No bursting buds the Junes unfo ld ;While you were here my all I spent ;Now I am poor , and sad, and old.


To them will come the fu llness of their time ;Their spring, though late, w i ll make the meadowfair ;

Shall I , who wait like them , l ike them be blest?I am his own; doth notmy Father care?”

ALONE BY THE BAY.

H E is gone. 0 , my heart, he is gone ;And the sea remains and the sky,

And the skiffs flit inand ou t,

And the whitewinged yachts go by .

The'

waves runpu rple and green,And the sunshine gl ints and glows .

And freshly across the bayThe breath of the mo rning blows .

I liked it better las tnight,Whenthe dark shu t downonthe main,

And the phantom fleet lay still ,And I heard the waves complain.

F or the sadness that dwells inmy heart.And the rune of their endless woe .

Their longing, and vo id, and despair ,Kept time intheir ebb and flow .

GRANDMAMA’

SWARNING.

Lovs is a fire,

she said. Love is a fire,

B eware of the madness of that w ild des ire !I know for I was young, andnow am o ld.

”

Oh , did you learnby what you r elders told

THISTLE - DOWN .

THISTLE - DOWN is a woman’

s loveThistle downw ith the w ind at play .

Let him who w ills th is tru th to prove,Thistla downis a woman

'

s love ,”

Seek her innermost heart to move .

Though the w ind shou ld blow lier vowsway,

Thistle- downis a woman'

s loveThistle- downw ith the w ind at play .

IN WINTER .

On, to go back to the days of J une,Ju st to be young and al ive again,

Hearkenagainto the mad, sweet tuneB irds were singingw ith might and main!

Sou th they flew at the summer’

s wane,Leaving their nests for sto rms to harry,

Since time was coming for wind and rainUnder the wintry skies to marry .

Now we chant bu t a desolate tuneOh , to be young and alive again!

B utnever Dec ember tu rns to J une,And length of l iving is length of pain.

Winds inthe nestless trees complain;Snows of w inter abou t u s tarry ;

And never the birds come back againUnder the wintry skies to marry .

E N VO I .

You ths and maidens , blithesome and vain,Time makes thru sts that you cannot parry

Mate inseason, for who is fainl

'

nder the w intry skies to marry ?

Wear i ly wander by dale and duneF ootsteps fettered w ith c lanking chain;

F ree they were inthe days of June ;Fms they never canbe again.

Fetters of age and fetters of pain,J oys that fly and sorrows that tarry ;

Youth is over , and h0pe were vainUnder the w intry skies to marry .

IN TIME TO COME .

THE time w il l come, fu ll soon, I shall be gone,And you sit s ilent inthe s ilent place,With the sad autumnsunlight onyou r face,

Remember ing the loves that were you r own,Haunted , perc liance, by some fam iliar tone ;You w ill grow weary thenfor the dead days ,And mindfu l of their sweet and bitter ways ,

Though pas sioninto memo ry shall have grown.

Thenshall I w ith you r other ghosts drawnigh ,And whisper , as I pass , some former word,

Some o ld endearment knownindays gone by,Some tendernes s that once you r pu lses stirred ;Which was it spoke to you , the wind or I ?

I think you ,mu s ing,

scarcely w il l have heard.

HlC JACET.

So Love is dead that has beenqu ick so long lClose, then, his eyes , and hear him to his rest,With eglantine and myrtle onhis breast,

And leavehim there, their pleas ant scents among;And chant a sweet and melancho ly songAbou t the char ms where of he was possessed,And how of all things he was loveliest,

And to compare w ith aught were him to wrong.

Leave him beneath the stil l and so lemnstars ,That gather and look

'

downfrom their far place,With their long calm ou r br ief woes to deride,

Unti l the sunthe morning’

s gate unbarsAndmocks , intu rn, ou r sorrows with his face ;And yet, had Love beenLove, hehadnotdied.


and aid societies . H is patr iotic songs stirred the

hearts of the people l ike a bugle blast. He did

more to arou se the Union sentiment than anyo ther singer of his day, and at the same time contr ibuted many thousand dollars to the cau se of hisc ountry . This per iod cal led forth his war lyr ics .

Since the war per iod the s ignof the ripe grainhas appeared inMr . Clark ’s whitening head and

beard, and his poems have showngreater richnessand depth . The greatest of his later poems , andprobably the most profound and finished effo rts ofh is life, are “The Mount of the H o ly Cross ”

and

The Infinite Mother .

”The latter is the first

worthy effort to express in song the idea of the

motherhood of God . And as su ch it is a forerunner and a prophecy , and is altogether the bestpoetic contr ibu tionyet made to the cau se of wo

man’

s enfranchisement and emanc ipation. It

s hou ld become as popu lar w ith all womeno rganizations as

“The Vo ice of the People ”is w ith the

labor assoc iations . And this Vo ice of the People”

is the greatest of Mr . Clark ’s reform lyr ics . It

catches and reprodu ces the thunder of the com ingstorm , and the roar and tramp of the great. hun

gry Army of the R ear .

As a poet, Mr . Clark’s gift is threefo ld. Natu re

gave him the who le gift of song— a favor she has

bestowed uponfew of any ageb viza the geniu s to

produ ce genu ine poems , the power to wed themto a high o rder of mu s ic , and the vo ice and presence to render them to delighted audiences .

B u t Mr . Clark is not only The Poet- Singer of

Amer ica ; he is also a wr iter of vigorou s proseand a reformer of cosmopo l itan sympathies . He

has a m iss ionand a call , and i f ever a manfoundh is vocationand kept himselftru e to beau ty andto truth ,

”thatmanis J ames G . Clark . H ism iss ion

has beento comfortand revivedepressed spir its , to

arou se humanityto progress and legitimate refo rmto s ing ou t the wrong and s ing inthe r ight.

Personally, he is abreast of his poetry . H is

manhood is as admirable as his song. Infact, themanis greater thanthe poet. He is a reformer inhis life, l iving what he s ings . He is as c leanas hiswork ; is w ith the people intheir struggle for a newand nobler birth . He caters to no c lass , sect or

party . Soc ially, po litically and rel igiou sly , he isan independent. In br ief, he is a man, and his

poetry , his s inging and l ife- long labo r inthe greatreforms of the country are the natu ral express iono f his manhood. A . P . M .

INNOVATION .

Tm. my wr ists w ith hempenstrands

While brazenforce around me stands !

You cannot with you r fetters bindThe dar ing impu lse of the mind,Nor quench the lightning sparks of thoughtThat upward from the scaffold leap,To l ive and wait through slavery’s years

Till Destiny ’s firm web is wrought,To hide their time while tyrants s leep,And pr isoners pass their cel ls and eep ,

Thenbu rst w ith power , inbo lt and flas h ,And roar ing flood and thunder cras hInanswer to the exile’

s tears !

To work their w i ll , above contro lOf humanc u stoms , cou rts and laws :So leaped the fires of Emmet’s sou l ,To bu rnanew inF reedom ’

s cau se

Wherever blades for F reedom r ise,

Wherever F reedom ’

s banners stream ,


s thunders ro l l ,Wherever F reedom ’

s l ightnings gleam ,

And manfor freedom strikes and dies !

Stil l my pu lse and ste p my breath !Who work w ith tru th may play with death .

H ang me qu ick and hangme high !So hung the form of Old J ohnB rown;And though they cut the body down,The shadow broader , higher grew ;It met the seas , it reac hed the sky,

And darkened mountain, lake and town!Wherever F reedom ’

s eagles flew ,


s breezes blew ,

F rom frigid North to fervid Sou th ,F rom Maine to broad Co lumbia’

s mou th ,The shadow towered above the wo rldWhere F reedom ’

s star s inshame were fu r led.

It tu rned the stars and sunto blood,And pou red onearth a c r imsonflood !The Nationqu affed the bloody rain,And al l her first- bornsons were slain.

Let me die ! My wo rk is done !The dying stars proc laim the. sun

The weaker eyes cou ld not beho ld,And lower lights had not foreto ld .

Thendie upona bed of gold,B ecau se the grander light is born!

The highland r ills that seaward gl ideMay vanish inthe mountainside

,

And, sinking through the vo iceless earth ,Withinthe cold, dark caves abide ;B u tnaught canstay their sec ond birth ,Or dim their resu rrec tionmorn.

Sometime, somewhere, instronger tide,

And warmer l ight and broader sweep ,They ru sh to swell the distant deep ,

That tu rns its awfu l palms to heaven,

j AM E S GOWD y CLARK . 2 67

Thatgirdles with its m ighty handsAll kingdoms , emp ires , realms and lands ,With inwhose al l -embrac ing rim

The fleets of nations s ink or swimLike fire flies inthe midst of even,And onwhose al l- receiving breastThe Ages lay their dead to rest.

Lead me for th ! I ’m ready now !Pu ll the black cap o

’er my brow !

You cannot blind my inner s ight ;I see the dawnbehind the night ;Beyond the dawnI see the day ;And through the day I see the TruthAris ing inimmo rtal you th !The sunbeams onher forehead play ;The cities inher tresses twine ;The peace of God dwells inher faceAnd rolls the c louds of war away ;Around her feet the roses growHer tender bosoms swell and flowWith healing for the strickenrace ,And inher eyes seraphic shineFaith , HOpe and Love, and every grace !The old recedes

, the New descends !

Earth c lasps the hand that Heavenextends ,The Lionand the Lamb are fr iends !

THE INFINITE MOTHER.

I AM mother of Life and companionof God !

I move ineach mo te from the suns to the sod,I brood inall darkness , I gleam inal l l ight,I fathom all depth and I crownevery height ;Withinme the globes of the universe ro ll ,And through meal l matter takes impress and sou l .Without me al l forms into chaos wou ld fal l ;I was under , within, and around, over all ,Ere the stars of the morning inharmony sung,Or the systems and suns from their grand arches

swung.

I loved you , O earth , inthose cyc les pro found,Whendarkness unbrokenencirc led you round,

And the fru it of c reation, the race of mankind,Was only a dream inthe Infinite Mind ;I nu rsed you , O earth , ere you r oceans were born,Or you r mountains rejo iced inthegladness ofmorn,Whennaked and helpless you came f

’

rom thewomb ,Ere the seasons had decked you w ith verdu re andbloom ,

And all that appeared of you r fo rm or you r faceWas a bare, lu r id bal l inthe vast wilds of space .

Whenyou r bosomwas shakenand rentwith alarms ,I calmed and caressed you to s leep inmy arms ,

I sung o’er you r pil low the song of the spheres

Ti ll the ham of its melody softened you r fears ,And the hot flames of pass ionbu rned low inyou rbreast,

As you lay onmy heart like a maidenat rest ;When fevered, I coo led you w ith mist and w ith

shower ,And kissed you with cloudlet, and rainbow , and

flower ,Til l you woke inthe heavens arrayed like a queen,Ingarments of pu rple, of go ld and of green,F rom fabr ics of glory my fingers had spunF or the mother of nations and br ide of the sun.

There was love inyou r face, and you r bosom rose

fair ,And the scent of you r l ilies made fragrant the air ,And you r blu sh inthe glanceofyo u r lover was rareAs you waltzed inthe lightofhis warm yel low hair ,Or lay inthe haze of his tropical noons ,Or s lept ’neath the gaze of the pass ionless moons ;And I stretc hed ou t my arms from the awfu l unknown,

Whose channels are swept by my r ivers alone,And held you sec u re inyou r youngmother - days ,And sung to you r offspring their lu llaby lays ,While races and nations came for th from you rbreast,

Lived, struggled and died, and retu rned to their

All c reatu res conceived at the Fountainof Cau seAre bornof my travail , controlled by my laws ;I throb intheir veins and I breathe intheir breath ,Combine them for effo rt, disperse them indeath ;No fo rm is too great or minu te for my care,

No p lace so remo te bu tmy presence is there .

I bend inthe grassess that whisper of spr ing,I leano ’

er the spaces to hear the stars s ing,

I laugh w ith the infant, I roar w ith the sea ,

I ro ll inthe thunder , I hum w ith theF rom the center of s uns to the flowers o f the sod

I am shu ttle and loom inthe pu rpose of (lod,

The ladder of actionall spir itmu st c l imbTo the c lear heights of Love from the lowlands of

Time

'

T is mine to protec t you , fair br ide of the sun,Ti ll the task of the br ide and the br idegroom is

done ;Till the roses that c rownyou shal l wither away,

And the bloom onyou r beautifu l cheek shall deeay ;Til l the soft go ldenlocks of you r lo ver tu rngray,And palsy shall fall onthe pu ls e of Day ;Till you cease to give birth to the childrenof men,And you r fo rms ar e absorbed inmy cu rrents again.


B ut you r sons and your daughters , unconqueredby strife,

Shall rise onmy pinions and bathe inmy l ife,While the fierce glowing splendors of suns cease to

bu rn,And br ight constellations to vapor retu r n,Andnew ones shall r ise from the graves of the old,

Shine, fade and dissolve l ike a tale that is told.

THE VOICE OF THE PEOPLE .

Swma inward, O, gates of the fu tu re !Swing outward, ye doo rs of the past !

For the sou l of the people is movingAnd r is ing from s lumber at last.

The black forms of night are retreating,

The white peaks have. s ignaled the davAnd freedom her long ro l l is beating,

And call ing her sons to the fray .

And woe to the ru le that has plunderedAnd trod downthe wounded and s lain.

While thewars of the Old Time have thundered,

And menpou red their l ife- tide invain.

The day of its tr iumph is ending,

.The evening draws near w ith its doom ,

And the star of its strength is descending,

To sleep indishonor and gloom .

Though the tall trees are crowned onthe highlands

With the first go ld of rainbow and sun,While far inthe distance below themThe r ivers indark shadows run,

They mu st fal l , and the wo rkmen shal l bu rnthenl

Where the lands and the low waters meet,And the steeds of the New Timeshal l spu rnthemWith the soles of their swift- flying feet.

Swing inward, O, gates ! til l the morningShall paint the brownmountains ingold,

Til l the life and the love of the New TimeShall conquer the hate of the Old.

Let the face and the hand of the Master

No longer be h iddenfrom view,

N or the lands He prepared for the manyBe trampled and robbed by the few .

The so i l tells the same fr u itfu l story,The seasons their bounties display,

And the flowers lift their faces in. gloryTo catc h the warm kiss of the day ;While ou r fellows are treated as cattleThat are muzzled whentreading the corn,

And m illions sink downinl ife '

s battleWith a sigh for the day they were born.

Mu st the Sea plead invainthat the R iverMay retu rnto its mother for rest,

And the Earth beg the rain- c louds to give herOf dews they have drawnfrom her breast?

Lo l the answer c omes bac k ina mu tterF rom domes where thequ ick l ightnings glow

And from heights where the mad waters utterTheir war ning to dwellers below .

And the throne of their god shall be crumbled,

And the sc epter be swept from his hand,And the heart of the haughty be humbled,And a servant be chief inthe land .

And the Tru th and the Power unitedShal l r ise from the graves of the Tru e,

And the wrongs of the Old Time be r ightedInthe might and the l ight of the New .

F or the Lord of the harvest hath said it,Whose lips never uttered a lie,

And his prophets and poets have read itInsymbo ls of ear th and of sky :

That to him who has reveled inplunderTil l the angel of consc ience is dumb,

The shock of the earthquake, and thunder ,And tempest, and torrent shall come.

Swing inward, O , gates of the fu tu re !Swing outward, ye doors of the past!

A giant is waking from slumberAnd reading his fetters at las t.

F rom the du st where his proud tyrants foundhim ,

Unhonored, and scorned, and betrayed,

He shall r ise w ith the sunl ight around him,

And ru le inthe realm he has made.

THE MOUNTAINS OF LIFE .

THE RE’s a land far away , ’mid the stars , we are

told,

Where they know not the sorrows of time,Where the pu re waters wander through val leys of

go ld,And life is a treas ure sublime ;

‘

T is the land of ou r God,’

tis the homeof the soul ,Where ages of splendor eternally ro ll ;

And woe to the robbers who gatherInfields where they never have sown,Who have stolenthe jewels from laborAnd bu i lded to Mammona throne ;

For the snow - king, as leep by the fountains,Shal l wake inthe summer

'

s hot breath ,And descend inhis rage from the mountains ,B earing terror , destructionand death .

ISAAC R . B AXLE Y.

W here the way- weary traveler reac hes his goalOnthe evergreenMounta ins of Life .

O u r gaze cannot soar to that beautifu l land,Bu t ou r vis ions have to ld of its bliss ,

And ou r sou ls by thegale of its gardens are fannedWhenwe faint inthe deserts of this ;

And we sometimes have longed for its ho ly repose,WVhenou r spir its were tornw ith temptations and

woes ,

And we ’ve drank from the tide of the r iver that

flowsF rom the evergreenMountains of Life.

Oh , the stars never treadtheblue heavens atnight,B ut we think where the ransomed have trod ;

And the day never smi les from his palac e of light,B ut we feel the br ight smi le of ou r God !We are travel ing homeward through changes and

gloomTo a kingdom where pleasu res unceas ingly bloom,

\nd ou r gu ide is the glory that shines through thetomb

Fr om the evergreenMountains of Life.

MARION MOORE.

Gos h: art thou , Mar ion, Mar ionMoore,Gone like the bird inthe au tumnthat singeth ,Gone l iketheflower by theways idethatspr ingeth,Gone l ike the leaf of the ivy that c lingethRound the lone rock ona storm - beatenshore.

Dear wast thou Marion, MarionMoore,

Dear as the tide inmybrokenheart throbbing,

Dear as the sou l o ’er thy memory sobbing ;

Sorrow my life of its roses is robbing,

Wasting is all the glad beauty of yore.

I shall remember thee, Mar ionMoore ,

I shal l remember , alas ! to regret theeI shall regret thee whenall others forget thee ;Deep inmy breas t wil l the hou r that I met theeLinger and bu rnti ll l ife

’

s fever is o ’

er .

Gone art thou ,Mar ion, Mar ionMoore,

Gone like the breeze o ’er the billow that bloweth ,

Gone l ike the r il l to the oceanthat floweth ,

Gone as the day from the gray mountaingoeth ,Darknes s behind thee, butglory before.

Peac e to thee , Mar ion, Mar ionMoore ,

Peac e which the queens of the earth cannot

borrow ,

Peace from a kingdom that c rowned thee withsorrow ;

O , to be happy with thee onthe morrow,

Who wou ldnot fly from th is deso late shore?

2 l

ISAAC R . BAXLEY .

ISAAC R . BANLEY, a tru e poet in aspirationand inexecution, was born inBaltimo re, Md. ,

in1 850. He was educated at the Catholic Co llegeof St. Ignatius de Layo la (although he is not aCathol ic himsel f) , and pas sed the bar before theage of twenty - one . Mr . B axley says this was hisfirst legal c rimeb but the age question was not

asked ofhim . H e practiced l ittle at the law , and

abandoned it becau s e he wished to wr ite, and onlywr ite poetry .

He commenced to wr ite very early , and no

amount of interference cou ld, at any time, haveprevented him from pu rsu ing anactionover whichhe had no abiding contro l . H is Opinion of poetryis that the old issues , cu stoms andmanners thereinw il l soonresignthemselves to the new movements

and aspirations discerned inall spiritual things ,and that the Geniu s of Poetry is ever the fu rthests ighted inall humaneyes ; and that her l ips are

already beginning to open, s inging the things she

sees . There is no death to Poetry— but those whocannot as yet see whither she is mov ing have saidso — bu t she does not listen to what they say ;they , intime

,w il l l istento her againand again.

Mr . Baxley has traveled a great deal , havingbeenin'

Eu rope twice, and has l ived permanently in(

‘

alifornia s ince 1 878 . H is home is in Santa

Barbara .

Mr . Baxley has published two books of poems ,

The Temple of Alanthu r , w ith Other Poems ,”

1 886 ; and “ The Prophet, and Other Poems,

1 888 . He has inpress a very remarkable bookof his , to be entitled “

Songs of the Spir it.

”

C. W. M .

ABSENCE .

Oxs stands uponthe wayward sands ,H is ho llow footing sways and shifts ,

Seaward his eyes— the wor ld expandsAnd settles as the sea- c loud drifts :

Shaken, unstable , and, profound,The seas and sho re do swaying spread ;

Dr ifting and l ifting— ahead, aground,Fal ls the white spray— w ild— whir ling— dead.

Stand tho u inMemory '

s changing shadesTo yearnand angu ish : c lear and high

Il ings ou t a vo ice— and sinks , evadesAnanswer— unpitying passes by :

Look ou t thine eyes— thy hands u praisedThe drift comes in. O sway and tu rn:

Sick inthe whirl ing, dece ive dand c razed

For rest— for s ight— yearntho u and yearn.


THE BALLAD OF SIR RAYMOND.

I .

Sm RAYMOND r ides afield to - day,

His charger is install ,Sir Raymond rides his dapple gray,He goeth not at allWith helm, or sword, or lance, or shield ;Sir Raymond simply rides afield.

H e hath not evenbugle- horn,Nor falconat his hand,

And tho ’ ’tis bu t the early mo rn

There fo lloweth no bandOfhaying hounds and hunting men;Alone he enters TethanGlen.

Uponhis cap a scarlet plume

B rushes the c l inging dew ;Uponhis cheeks the blood- red bloomOf vigor hath its hue ;

Bac k from his shou lders , folded w ide ,H is velvet c loak is thrownas ide .

And fu rther into Tethan’

s shadeHis dapple paces on,

And crosses brook , and travels glade,And winds the trees among ;

Sir Raymond sees the swe et wild- rose,

And thu s he singeth as he goes :

0 w i ld, wi ld- rose, a moment yet

You r che ck is w ith the dewdrop wet ,

Thenas it goes inanger byThe hot wind dr inks you r dew - drop dry,

And you , wild- rose,w i ll die .

0 listennot, wild- rose, to me,

The r ing- dove s its onyonder tree,And he w ill s ing whenday is highA song to mo istenyo u r co ld eye ;

0 weep and do no t die,0 sad, wild- rose, not die.

Maid Evelyns itteth with the sun

F or ear ly company :She inindcth not the window- stone

Is co ld, and careless lyShe leans her white arms onthe grayOld wal l, and looketh far away .

She looketh into TethanGlen,'

Tis fall a leag ue away ,Yet o ftentimes did EvelynkenSir Raymond

’

s dapple grayRes t by the anc ient sycamo re

F o r speed ac ross the level moo r .

To- day she watc heth wearily,As only lovers mayMischance, mischance, fly hastilyF rom Raymond’

s lord away ;Thou , Lady E l len, qu iet keep,Whenthou shalt wake thenI shall weep .

The wound is w ide, and none but he(‘

anbackward draw the darteI see him come across the lea,

Stand s til l , my bleeding heart !Stand still ! stand still ! my very bloodIs flowing from my Side

Bear Raymond onward, prec iou s flood,Whatever else betide

The livelongday the r ing- dove keptH is perch uponthe tree,

And all the day the w ild- rose wept

At. his sad melody :The l ivelong day Lo rd Raymond stayedB es ide the eager , blu shing maid.

Throughou t the day the porter oldLook

'

d o'

er the level plain;And well he watched lest IIugh the Bold,Retu rning with his train,

Might find the dapple inhis stall ,And Raymond'

s lord w ithinhis wal l .

True love not heedeth bol tnor bar ,B ut sad

’

tis ever so

Tru e love and fate do cons tant war ,Andne

’

er together go ;What little moments lovers smileTo the long days betweenthe while .

0 so ft, 0 softly summer rainComes blowinginthe glen,

And sweetly comes his kiss againI

'

nto Maid Evelyn;A breeze that r ises from the rose

Is his swee t vo ice to me,

B ut 0 ,how cold the sunl ightgrows

Whenhe goes o'

er the lea !

I s it and l is tento my heart,It s ingeth sad and low :

0 well I see the blood- red dart

Into my bosom go ;

Eac h day he cometh not to meAnarrow leaves the str ing,

My breast is ble eding terr ibly ,0 H eart, why str ive to s ing?


0 long, so long, my hou rs and l ife For there are inthe heart su ch things as comeI know but Time as mortals know Not over the sea, nor out of the night,

They say'

tis soon— they say the str ife And the unknownspeech of the Sou l is a tongu eShou ld shortenyears— O heart, is ’

t so? They may l istenand wait for infear and del ightThey say my steps are hard becau seThe hills I c limb look ou t so far ;

0 Lord of H eaven, they say Thy lawsTo u s , untaught, stupendou s are .

0 sou l and life— O distance, deathTo—day is keen— to - morr ow never :

I cal l and call— they say my breathShall pass— the meed remainforever .

I know bu t time as mortals know ;Alas , I know su ch painand fear ;

.o is the prom ise, the payment woe ,Yonder the guerdon— the pr ice is here .

The hills I c limb look o u t so far0 Lord ofHeavenlook downand s ign

Ifthese, my ways , so per ilou s ar e

,

G ive me the s ight and sound ofThine !

THE WOMEN .

WHY one, openly w ith a shininggem ,

Walks w ith the othe r , searc hing for a los s ,A hopeless loss and o ld,w ith thieves a- near ,

Trading respons ibility and cr ime ;Why one shou ld vainly go ,

I,watc hing, asked .

She w ith the jewel— fo r the other’

s eyesContinual ly searching. wavering fell ,Looked w ith mu ch answer and a low reply :My brother took the jewel from her breast.

"

REALIZATION .

IN all the ou t-spread plains ofafterwardsLove is a gainer , and his day ofTime ,IIowever sweet, fades ina flying dawn.

For Manis Space andWomanLight ; and they ,Inadaptationof simplic ity,Newly revealed do poss ibly combine.

Which formless glory sheds u ponto - day ’

s Y O U T H .

Eager advance beatitude and fl ight.

Sweet Influence , secu re ly intrenchedWith power to work her deeds , looks ou tand seesNearly th ’

approaching end : callingaloudAll s idelong avenues she presses on

Ia gazing over sees not things bes ide.

SONGS OF THE SPIRIT.

NOT only incavernou s homes of the sea

Are the quenchless stores of things divine,Nor does only the w illing stars

’ heraldryWith the l ight of their wonderfu l birth - right

shine ;

Itmay be there lieth inthe lips of a Sou lSome exqu is ite bless ingof peace unto them ,

Which spr ings where the ideal spac es ro l lThat their lum inou s pathway may not stem ;

For the Spir it is per fect, and they, enc losedInthe hiddenlife a thing aside,

May gather some joy from a Sou l transposedInthe mystical s ight of the glo rified.

May the Spir it from out of its elf and its LifeEver pou r onthe bosom of earth and of sea

Sueh beau ty — a how of the vanished str ifeOf the Sou l and themselves inEternity”

Shall it give from its viewless self impressOf the shining things no star may see,

And sail far ou t inits sweet excessTo retu rnwith the freight of its sanctity ?

O ! is there still ever inthe sm iles of earthOne sweeter thanany, and flas hing bright,

Await for the Sou ls who se holy birthIs where the number less lamps of night

Needless shine? And do they inpatience awaitWith all their glory ou ts pread to be

Ah se rvitors unto the radiant stateOf beatitude hear ingmortality ?

Ah is there remaining inc loud and inskyThe look of the measu reless eyes that pas sed

All the heavenly cou rses qu ietlyTill they fo und the rest fo r themselves at last?

Is there somewhere set inthe things which »bear

The tranqu i l steps of a Spirit’s paceIts messa ges

,left inthe shining air ,

And over the sea the l ight of its face?

So— so— merry and sinning,Round is the wor ld , and roundly itgoes ;

Ever the lover the lovely is w inning,

B eauty is bless ing, misshapenare woes .

So— se—greatly des ir ing

The eyes of the old ones fo llow the young;Money that’s hoarded is spent inacqu ir ingDainties that tru ly not thither belong.

So— ao— deep MelancholyH obbles with Age , bu t ever anew

Spr ings onthe byways every fo llyYouth candev ise. invent and pu rsue.


and shy things , historianand portrayer of big

trees , collecto r of local relics and seeker and cu ltivator of all that gives flavor and character to a

place,Mr . Bentonis the practical poet ofwhom the

country everywhereneeds many more. J . B .

THE MOWERS.

THE sunburntmowers are inthe swathSwing, sw ing, swing!

The towering l ilies loathTremble and totter and fall ;

Themeadow- rue

Dashes its tassels ofgo ldendew ;And the kcenblade sweeps o ’

er all

Swing, sw ing, swing !

The flowers , the berr ies , the feathered grass ,Are thrownina smothered mas s ;

Hastens away the butterfly ;With hal f their bu rdenthe brownbees hie ;

And the meadow - lark shrieks distrest,And leaves the poo r younglings all inthe nest.

The daisies c lasp and fall ;And totters the J ac ob's ladder tall .Weavingand winding and c u rving l ithe,O

’er plumy hillocks— through dewy ho l lows ,

H is su btle scytheThe noddingmower fo llows

Swing, swing, swing!

Anonthe chimingwhets tones ringTing- a- ling .

’ Ting- a- Iing!

And the mower now

Pau ses and w ipes his beaded brow .

A moment he scans the fie ckless sky ;

A moment, the fish - hawk soar ing high ;And watc hes the swallows dip and dive

Anear and far .

Theywhisk andgl immer , andchatter and str ive;What do they goss ip together?

Cunning fel lows they are,Wise prophets to him 1

H igher or lower they c ircle and skimFair or fou l to -morrow’

s hay- weather !

Tallest pr imroses , or loftiest dais ies ,Not a steel - blue featherOfs lim winggrates :

Fear not ! fear not ! cry the swallows .

Each mower tightens his snath - ring'

s wedge,

And his finger dainti ly fo llowsThe long blade’

s tickle edge ;Softly the whets tone’s last to uches r ing

Ting-a- ling! ting- a- ling!

Like a leaf-muffled bird inthe woodlandnigh ,Faintly the fading echoes reply

Ting- 8 4mg ! ting- a- Iing!

S O N G .

Ju ly is ju st inthe nick oftime !Hay- weather , hay- weather

Themidsummer month is the go ldenpr imeFor haycocks smel ling of c lover and thyme

(Swing al l together !)J u ly is ju st inthe nick of time !

J une is to o early for richest hay ;(Fair weather , fair weather

The cornstretches taller the l ivelong day ;B u tgras s is ever too sappy to lay ;

(Cl ip all together !)J une is too ear ly for r ichest hay.

Aug ust’

s a month that too far goes by ;(Late weather , late weather ; )

Grasshoppers are chipper and kick too h igh !

Perchance the swallows, that flit intheirgleeOfto -morrow’

s hay weather know little as we!’Says Farmer R u sset B e it hiddeninshowerOr sunshine, to -mor row we do not own

To - day is ours alone !Not a tw inkle we’ll was te of the goldenhou r .

Grasp tightly thenibs— giveheel andgivetoe !Lay a goodly swath , shaved smooth and low

Pr ime is the daySwing, swing, swing!”

Farmer R u sset is aged and grayGray as the frost, bu t fresh as the spr ing.

Straight is beAs the greenfir - tree ;

And with heartmost blithe, and s inews lithe,He leads the row with his mer ry scythe.

Come, boys ! str ike u p the old songWhile we c irc le around

The song we always inhaytime s ingAnd let the woods r ing,

And the echoes pro longThe merry sound

Chor us .

0 ,we

’ll make ou r hay while the good sunshineWe

’ll waste not a go ldenm inu te !No shadow of sto rm the blue arc h lines ;We

’ll waste not a minu te— not a minute !For the west- w ind is fair ;0 , the hay- day is rare !

The sky is without a brownc loud init !

M YR ON B . B E N TON .

And grass that’

s standing is fodder scorcheddry ; And round about the tree-to ps clasp inlove,(Pu l l all together !) And ho ld deep converse with all winds that rove ;

August’s a month that to o far goes by . While c louds pau se one by one, and envious look

Into the restfu lness of ou r greennook .

Ju ly is ju st inthenick of time !(Best weather , best weather ; )

The midsummer month is the go ldenprimeFor hayco cks smell ing of c lover and thyme ;

(Strike all together !)Ju ly is just inthe nick of time !

Stil l hiss the scythes ;Shudder the gras ses

’

defenceless bladesThe l ily - throng wr ithes ;

And, as a phalanx ofw ild-

geese streams ,Where the shore ofApr il

’

s c loudland gleams ,Ontheir dizzy way,

inserr ied gradesWing onw ing, wing onw ing

The mowers , each a step inadvance

Ofhis fellow , time their stroke w ith a glanceOf swerveless force

And far through the mea dow leads their cou rse ,Sw ing, swing, sw ing !

MY STREAM.

0,WE LL 1 know what thou was t seeking long,

B litheWebutuck,’

inall thy devious sall ies ,Past groves and meadows echo ing w ith song ;

’

Twas just this nook ! Ofall thy flowery valleys ,Countless greencoves no sweeter one, I ween,Thy waters find inall their path serene,h om the coo l spr ings of forest- c lad TaghkanicTo where they jo inthe troublou s Housatonic .

And now thou '

st found this shadowy repose,Thy bu bbles pause a moment here, and c loseThe drift leaves creep up to the grassy margeAnd the swiftwavelets fade inc irc les large,And here am I , my bonny l ittle r iver ,(l ose by theenow ! 0 ,

well thou knowest whitherWou ld tu rnere longmy pathway serpentine, THE SORROW.

o 0

r9

As devnou s as thme own1 11 Hogarth s hne .

CAME to my doo r and entered ,

A stranger inmeanestgu ise ;Shone inhis face no gladnessNo ho liday laughed inhis eyes .

There is a concou rse here of pleasant s ightsFor thee and me, my mer ry- hearted fellow ;

Glimpses , dear stream , of hemlock c rowned hights ,And sto lenpeeps at orchards waxingmel low ; Ah , chill was the greeting I gave himWhite hillsides beckoning to the harvesters ; The lone unwelcome guestAnd pas tu res fiecked with fleecy wanderem Who broke onmy thoughtless revels ;And evenhere three cu r iou s , whispering rows And I said w ith h itter zestFrom a w ide maize field, ser ried rank onrank ,

Shaking the gold dust of their nodding blows Shal l this wan, gloomy strang er

Ons ilkenfr inge, peep downthe grassy bank . Sit downinthe banquet hall ,Bu t underneath this shade is deep sec lus ion, Where my band ofw ild- hearted c omrades

Safe-nestled from theno isy wo rld '

s intrus ion; Are holding festival ?

Insu ch a spot did Shelley love to sever

All bonds ofthat harass ingworld which qu iteToo rudely elbowed him and ru ffled everThe humming- bird wings that spunhis spirit’s

flight ;Here wou ld have loved to lie long hours , soft

hu shed,

And set unnumbered paper boats to grope,As was his wont, where

’

er a wavelet ru shedWith bu sy kisses round a dimpled slope,

And spinthat lunar - rainbow gossamerWhich held ou r boyhood’

s fancy inits clear ,B r ightmeshes wovenabou t the tender brain;And as through sweet intoxicating pain,Strange realms with forms and light unearthly,

led.

O ,Webutuck ! from thee what coolness pressed,

What azu re calm u ponthy throbbing head,F illed with those fevered longings, thirst, unrest !

Perchance, the clear rose-

peta l film that wraptThe tender sou l abou t inyoung l ife’

s waysTwined soon to mai l ; threads of enchantment

eu apt,

And vis ions vanished l ike a morning haze.

There are regrets for tinge ofthose warm days ,And pens ive looks cast backward to that path .

B ut hou rs with thee have brought the sweeter

grac e,

And the deep sky a bluer glory hath .

M ids ummer months the r icher harvests hold.

0 stream ! the years as gently , silently ,Drop inmy heart as you first leaf ofgo ldAdornits spiral path wmgs unto thee .


() h , had 1 bu t knownthe angelWho so ughtme w ith loving caress

1 had embraced him tender lyl"oudly as Happiness !

T H E D I V E R .

A guest inthe palace of del ight,I speed at last onmy u pward flight

No pearl ofthe S ea- King'

s sto re inmy hand,

No gem from the palace’

s pavement fair ;And the covetou s th rong who bask onthe strandMock at the tinted trifles I hea r .

Tongue- tied, I tremble u ponthe shore,And cannot repeat the wonders o

'

er

Ofthe mystic sea and her treas u res rare °

Nor s ing the enchanting song againThat forever rings inmy throbbing brain.

— The Poet’s Fable.

W O O DS .

The locomotive’

s c lar ionthrough these treesDarts like the arrow from anIndian'

s bow ;

B ut hills and leafy woods transmu te its woe

To sweetest chords , and here itmu rmu rs peace.

And thus inthis embowered secu r itySo far the bu stlingworld

’

s r ude tu rmo ils seemOf remembrance softly tou ches meAs the faint-echo ingmu s ic ofa dream .

— Early Au tumnonthe Webu tuck.

R E V E R I E .

What is there more del ic iou s thanto lieOu ts tretched beneath thy shade, O ,

Lindentree,A long, longafternoonofmid- J u !yAnd spinthe gossamer of rever ie .

For there a fountaincoo l of incense bendsThy glossy boughs w ith a milliferou s rain,

As soft as heat ofwinged thoughts that flyTo r ise afar ondreamland c louds again.

'

nder the Linden.

V A L O R .

O radiant knight ! br ing to u s trephies rare

Forth from the c lash ofnobler battles fought ;Nor wield the royal sworld,

Excalibu r ,At spl itting hairs whenkingdoms shou ld be won.

— To D. A . W.

V I O L E T .

And here the doorstep’s vio let

Is praying with no prayer ’s regret ;

Adoring only , w ith mu te faceI

'

plifted ,over - fu ll ofgrace .

— R ue.

RODEN NOEL .

H E H onorable RodenNoel is the youngest son

of Char les Noel , Ear l of Gainsborough , by hismarr iage with Lady F ranCes Jocelyn, daughter ofthe Earl of Roden. He is thu s partly I rish ; theNorman J ocelyns having got their I rish estates

through,a marr iage with one of the Keltic Magen

nisca. By birth and early assoc iationanaristo

crat, and c losely connected with the cou rt, wherehis mother was Lady - inwaiting to the Q ueen, andhe himself fo r several years groom of the PrivyChamber , Mr . R oden Noel is a democrat in the

highest sense ofthe word ; andno English poethasmo re pass ionately hom e on l ife and song the

brotherhood of manand the wrongs of the op

pressed,espec ially the oppressed among children.

He was edu cated partly at Har row , and partlyunder a private tutor , the Rev . C. Harbin, whomhe remembe rs with affectionate gratitude as onetowhom he owes the development of his taste for

philosophy and o fhis deep and pass ionate love fornatu re . The firs t great poet by whom he was influenced was Byron; and for him the younger poethas always retained an intense and sympatheticaffection. Indeed there are resemblances betweenthe two

, personal as well as menta l . Mr . RodenNoe! has beenmu ch abroad, and is famil iar with agreat part of the continent ; he has also spentsometime in the Eas t, the influence of which u ponhiswork is very strongly marked . In 1 863 he marr ied Cel ice, daughter of Pau l de B ros , and is thefather of three children, two ofwhom are living, andthe youngest o f whom is commemorated in“A

Little Child’s Monument.

”

The poetry ofRodenNoel is the abso lute ly sincere utterance of a many - sided nature ; and thiss incer ity is at leas t one cau se, in the presentwriter ’

s Opinion, of its being so free from mannaism . He is philosopher and mystic , lover ofnatureand her interpreter ; one opento all the influenceof sensu ous beau ty ; one, too , whose being says ,

Oh ! I have su ffered with those that I saw su ffer .

”

He is original andmus ical , possess ing the not to ocommon power of so fu s ing thought, sense andimagination, that a magnificent harmony is theresu lt. Satire is inhis hands a weaponwhich heknows how powerfu l to u se for very noble ends .

After having pas t through var iou s phases of beliefand dou bt, traceable inhis work , which has alwaysbeenthe spontaneou s express ionof his thought,Mr . Noe! is a Chr istianinthe broadest sense of theword, and a strong bel iever inthe final triumph ofright over wr ong, as well as inthe u se of apparentwrong for the development ofac tu al rights .


R u inof love and youth , w ith all we have deemedimmorta l !

My child l ies dead inthe dark , and I begintofail !

Wonderfu l vis ions wane, tall towers of phantasytumble ;

I shr ink from the frown withou t me, there is nosm i le within;

I cower by the tireless hearth of an uninhabitedchamber ,

Alone with Deso lation, and the dumb ghost of

my sin.

I have conversed with the aged ; once their sou lswere a fu rnace ;

Now they are gleams inmou ldered vau lts of the

memo ry ;All the long sound of the Humanwanes to wails of

a shipwreck ,Drowned inthe terr ible roar of v io lent sons of

the sea l

Inthe immense storm - chant of w inds and wavesof the sea l

Arid if we have wonsome way inou r weary to i l tothe summ it,

Do we not s lidder ever back to the mou th of

the pit?

When I beho ld the random doom that engu lfs thec reatu re

,

I wonder , is the irony ofGod perchance. init?’

Tis a h ideou s spec tac le to shake the s ides of fiendswith laughter ,

Where inthe amphitheater of ou r red wo rldtheysit !

Yea, and the ros iest Loveina songfu l heart of a

lover,

Child ofAffinity , J oy, Occas ion, beaut ifu l May,

May sou r to a wr inkled Hate , may wear and wane

to Indifference .

Ah l Love, an

’

thou be mo rtal , all wi ll soon go

gray !0 wheno u r all onear th is w recked on re efs of dis

as ter,

May the loud night that whelms be found indeedGod

’

s day !

Ou r aims bu t half ou r own, we are dr ifted h itherand thither ;

The quarry so fiercely hunted rests unheedednow ,

And if we seized ou r bau ble, it is fallento as hes ,

Bu t a fresh il lus ionhaunts the ever - aching brow .

Is the wor ld a welter ofdream ,w ith ne’

er anend,nor anissu e,

Or doth One weave Dark N ight, w ith Morning’

s

go ldenstrand,

To a Har mony with su re hand

Thei r enthroned in

opening innermost

Ah ! for a visionofGod ! for a mighty grasp of the

real ,Feet based firm ongranite inplace of crumbling

sand !

Oh ! to be fac e to face, and hear t to heart with ou r

dearest,

Lost inmorta l mists ofthe unrevealing land !Oh ! were we disenthral led from cas ual moods of

the outward,

Slaves to the smi le o r frownof tyrant, mutableTime !

Might we abide unmoved incentral deeps of the

Spir it,Where the mystic jewel Calm glows evermore

su blime !The dizzying shows of the world, that fall and tum

ble to chaos ,Dwel l ir radiate there ineverlasting prime.

B u t the innermost spir it of man, who is one with

the Universal,

Yearns to exhau st, to prove the immense of Ex

perienee ,Exp lores , rec edes , makes way,

distil ls a food froma po ison,

F rom strife w ith Death w rings power , and sear

soned confidence .

O’

er the awakening infant, drows ing eld, and the

m indless ,individu al Spir it glowsHeaven,

Albeit at dawn, or eve’

n, or from confu sion of

c loudland,

Earth o f their fu l l radiancemay remainbereavenYea

,under G od

'

s grand eyes all sou ls liepu reandshr iven.

Nay ! friend beloved ! remember pu rple robes ofthecavern,

And all the wonderfu l dyes indu sky hal ls of the

sea,

Whena lu c id lapse of the water lent thr i l ls of ex

qu isite pleasu re,A tangle of living lights all o ver u s tender ly ,Wheno u r stilly bark lay floating, or we were lip

p ing the water ,B reast to breast w ith the glow ing, ardent heart

ofthe deep

That was a lovel ier hou r , whisper ing how to the

spirit,B reathing a halcyoncalm ,

that lu lled despair tos leep ;

Fairy flowers of the ocean,

wonder ,Kindle a rosy morn impear led in the water

R ODE N N OE L .

Amyriad tiny diamond founts arise inthe coral

line,Anemones love to be loved inlife of the chryso

prase

The happy heart of the water inmany unknown

Childly babbled , and free to glad companionsWe wil l be patient, fr iend, through all the moods

ofthe terror ,

Waiting inso lemnhope resu rrectionof ou r suns !

Cherish loves that are left, pathetic stars inthe

gloaming ;Howe

’er they may wax and wane, they are withu s to the end

The past is all sec u re, the happy hou rs and the

mou rnial

Involved i ’ the very tru th of God himself, myfriend !

It is well to wait inthe darkness for the Del iverer’smoment,

With a hand inthe hand of God, strong sire of

the universe ;It is well to work ou r work , w ith cheering tones for

a brother ,Whose poor bowed sou l , like ou rs

,the horr ible

gu lfs immerse ;

Thendare all gods to the battle ! Who ofthem all

may shame us ?The very shows of the world have fleeting formfrom thee ;

Discover bu t thy task , embrac e itfirm w ith a pu rPO BO ;

F ind, and ho ld by Love, for Love is Eternity .

LOST.

Wrrnevening hued l ike au tumnleavesThe porch is fair , still s leeps the air ;

She comes through yonder light and weavesF lowers as I loved them inher hair ,

This is her hou r , from yonder grovesShe comes to me

, uponmy kne e;

You’ll know her , fo r when

’

er she moves ,

For joy she s ings like bird or bee .

The bu tterfly inglory litWith pu ls ing wings onflower that ewings

Caught inher shadow will not fl it,So sweet the trou ble that she br ings .

The red- breast s idling shy to peek

Wee crumbs that fi ll the w indow s ill ,Who timorou s veers a tiny nec k ,F rom her pink palm s ips tame and still .

I only watc hed inchu rch with herThrough ivy stream the fl ickering beam,

Under her sweet s lim feet to stirAnd dally ina fond day-dream .

Her singingnever to ok by stormThe l istless ear , the stranger ’

s ear ,

Yet hymns of seraph cou ld not warmMy heart l ike her frail accents near .

I wou ld to all fair s ights that stirInearth and sky be blind for aye

For one more far - offgl impse ofher ,Scarce lovely to the loveless sky.

And whenamong the crowds I move,Some air or dress , some tone or trees

That savors ofmy ownlost loveWil l draw me doting through the press .

To find a stranger and dispel ,And make to fleet, the glamor sweet,

Fond glamor knownfor dream too well,

More dear thanall the friends I meet.

With whisper of her mellowinggrain,With treble ofbrook and bird and tree

,

Earth joys forever to su stainThe bass eternal of the sea .

And leaves flu shed o '

er with flowers ofblissDance every one from shade to sun,

F res h you ths and maidens yearnto kiss ,As we have done, 0 l ittle one .

Poor fool ! ’

tis bu t the mumbling w indThat talks like her , nor means to jeer

F or s ubtler w ind are love and mind,

And she but w ind who nes tled her e !

All ! LOVE YE ONE ANOTHER WELL.

AH ! love ye one another well ,Fo r the hou r will come

Whenone ofyou is lyingdumb ;Ye wo u ld give worlds thenfor a word,Thatnever may be heard ;Ye wou ld give wor lds thenfor a glance,Thatmay be yours by ne

’

er a chance ;Ah ! love ye one another well .

2 83

I lipped the joy,now yield my plac e,

F o r me no more kind years may pou rWho only want one meek - lit face,One face gone o ut fo r evermo re !

B ut why, ah ,why ! whenday bu rns low

Doth that swe et hum stil l faintly come,As of sweet talk that u sed to flow

Through her c losed door to my lone room?


F or if ye wrung a tear ,

Like mo ltenironit w ill sear ;The look that proved you were unkindWith hot remorse w ill blind ;And though you pray to be forgiven,

How wi ll ye know that you are shr ivenAh ! love ye one ano ther well .

TO A CHILDWHO ASKED ME FOR A POEM.

YOU ask me for a poem ,dear , S H E L L E Y .

You want fr om me a lay :

Who are a mu sic blithe and c lear ,Sung sweetly day by day !

You , child, have songs w ithinyo u r heart,More pu re thanaught ofm ine,

For l ife,my dear , is more thanart :

Who s ings you is divine !

LAMENT.

I AM lying inthe tomb , love,Lying inthe tomb ,

Tho’ I move w ithinthe gloom . lo ve,

B reathe withinthe gloom !Mendeem l ife notfied, dear ,Deem my l ifenot fled,

Tho’ I w ith thee am dead, dear ,

I w ith thee am dead,

0 my little child !

What is the gray wo r ld, dar ling,

What is the gray wor ld,Where the worm is cu r led

, dar ling,

The death - worm is c u rled

They tell me of the spr ing, dear ,

Do I want the spr ing?Will she waft uponher w ing,

dear,

L I V I N G ST O N E .

The joy-

pu lse of her wing, Who calls it failu re?Thy songs , thy blossoming, God fu lfils the prayer :

O mymap Child ! He is at home ; he rests ; the work is done.

He hath not failed ,who fai ls like Livingstone !

Radiant diadems all conquerors wea r

G leaming for awhile, love, Pale before his magnificent despair ;Gleam ing to begu ile l And whats oever kingdoms menhave won,

Replunged me inthe co ld, dear , H e triumphs dead, defeated, and alone,Who learned sublimely to endu re and dare !

For ho ly labo r is the very end,Duty man’

s crown, and his eternal friend ;Reas onfrom Chaos wards thewor ld’

sgrandwho le ;

For the hallow ing of thy sm ile, love,The rainbow of thy sm ile

,

Leaves me inthe co ld,And I feel so very old, dear ,Very , very old !

Wou ld they putme out ofpain, dear , All Natu re hath Love’s martyrdom for goal .

Ou t ofall my pain, Who nobly to ils , though none be nigh to see,

Since I maynot live again, dear . He only lives ,— he l ives eternally .

Never live again! — Tbe Death of Livingstone.

I am lying inthe grave , love,Inthy l ittle grave,

Yet I hear the wind rave, love,And the wild wave !

I wou ld lie as leep , dar l ing,

With thee lie as leep ,

l'

nbear ing the wor ld weep , dar ling,

Little childrenweep !O my little child !

Upona c loud- car , vaporou s alabas terSw ift, though the rider longs to travel fas ter ,Stood one, ethereal - l imbed l ike Ar iel ,Whose spear , the sunbeam of Ithuriel ,

Tou ched many a bu lk ofpompou s pu rp le pr ide,That lay impos ing, over

- swo llenbes ideHis chariot- c ou rse ; when10 ! aninfant’s bu bble,Eac h bu rsting freed the bu rdened air from tr ou ble.

H is car was w inged w ith plumes of sunny snow ,

Edgeless and downy ; bu t the front below,

Is led indeep azu re, wore a soft dove grey,

H eaved and recessed, w ith many a tender playOfhyac inth or harebell ; visionary changes ,As su btle- fancy

’

d amorou s wind arranges ;While white r ims of the rear , reso lved to spray,Evanish all inoceans ofdeep day.

One- half sun’

s rondu re the c loud- c har iot sto leF rom v is ion; half bu rned wheel - l ike ; aureo le,R el ieved onopaline, of slant slim ray,

Streamed u p aloft behind the angel form ,

Who se wi ld eyes ever yearned to where a storm

Ofominou s thunder hath a rainbow arch,

Shining from falling showers before his marchSu rely he held them rainof humantears ,Falling from founts of humanwoes and fears .

E M I L Y P F E I F F E R .

EMILY PFEIFFER .

N the recent death ofMrs . Emily Pfeiffer , Englandhas lost one of her leading poets . The child

h ood and early youth of Mrs . Pfeiffer , bo rnEm ilyDavis , were spent amidst the ru ral scenery of

O xfordshire, England . Natu re with her healthyinfluences , and ear ly contac t w ith the life and suf

faring of the cottagers into which she was broughtas her mother ’

s l ittle messenger of comfort, soondeveloped her imagination, as well as the humanesympathies which charac ter ize her w ritings .

It is from her father , who had many of the giftsand qual ities ofgenius , that she der ived her imaginative tendenc ies , as also the painter ’

s talent,wel l knownto those who have visited the exhibi

tionof the Royal Academy ..Living far away from

any town, the instructionand reading of EmilyDavis cou ld necessarily be but desu ltory ; thathighest kind of education, however , which cons istsin the influence of parents well - bred and nobleminded , never failed her .

Shortly before her mar riage Mrs . Pfeiffer fel l intoa state of physical prostration, which threatenedto become permanent, and which inpart las ted forabou t ten years after that event. Du r ing thistime every mental exertion, evenreading, was pro

hibited her . Whenat last— thanks to the tendercare of her husband— she recovered a degree of

health , it was c lear that this long time inwhichshe had lainfallow had, so far from being lost toher , ass isted the development of her powers . If

others wr ite before they live, she first l ived beforeshe wrote .

“ Gerard’s Monument,

”which thenap

peared (in at once secu red for Mrs . Pfeiffera place amongEngl ish poets .

A time of happy ac tivity now succeeded . Mrs .

Pfeiffer became anenthu siastic , though temperate,advocate ofwomen’

s c laims . She introdu ced intoLondon society her gracefu l “ Greek Dress .

”To

gether with her husband she gathered round her a

circle ofdistingu ished literary and artistic fr iends ,and produced her books in qu ick su ccess ion.

Though a most consc ientiou s worker , she wrote

with great facility. Her poems mostly formedthemselves inher mind before they were committedto paper ; and the manu scr ipts of her prose workswere frequently sent to the pr inter , with bu t fewcorrections , as they were first wr itten.

The book which followed Gerard’

s Monument

was a volume of Poems”containing some thirty

sonnets , which at once establ ished the reputationof the writer as a sonneteer . GlanAlark ”

suc

seeded, and after that “Quarterman

’s Grace. In

little more than a year appeared“Under the

2 87

BROKEN LIGHT.

h was c ruel ofthem to part

Two hearts inthe gladsome spr ing,Two lovers ’ hearts that had ju st bu rst forthWith each blithe and beau tifu l thing ;

Cruel , bu t only halfHad they knownhow to do u s wrong,

They had bar red the way ofthe odoro us May ,They had shut ou t the wild bird’

s song.

You r kisses were so embalmedWith spices of beec h and fir ,

That they haunt my lips inthe dead 0'

the night,If thenight- w inds do bu t stir .

WhenI r ise with the r is ing dawn,To let inthe dewy sou th,

Like a fountainspray , or the pr ide ofthe day,They fal l onmy th irsty month .

They shou ld never have let ou r loveAbroad inthe w ild free woods ,

If they meant it to slumber on, co ld and tame,As the locked - up winter floods ;

They shou ldnever have let it hide’Neath the beeches ’ lu cent shade,

Or the uptu rned arch ofthe tender larchThat blu shed as it heaved and swayed .

Aspens , shortly to be fol lowed by“ Songs and

Sounds . In 1 884 she issued “The R hyme of theLady of the R ock .

”B etween these vo lumes of

poetry Mrs . Pfeiffer wrote her book on“Women

andWork ,” var iou s essays onthis and other subjects , pu blished in the Contemporary Review, as

well as F lying Leaves from East andWest”; the

latte r , perhaps , ofal l her books the one bestknownto Amer icanreaders . The work which has sec u red

for Mrs . Pfeiffer her highest fame as a poet is the

volume of“Sonnets ,

”which came out in 1 887.

Mrs . Pfeiffer’s latest poems ,

“ F lowers of the

N ight, possess a deep pathetic interest, independent of their intr ins ic mer it. When waiting for the editorship of a loving hand

, the

working power of that hand here below was

stopped. Inthe loss of her hu sband the heaviestsorrow ina woman’

s life fel l on the poet. The

poems are the produ ct of nights of insomnia,

brought on by having continued anxiety , the

angu ish of which they insome meas u re rel ieved.

They are, however , different from what might be

expected from the conditions of their productions .

The width ofMrs . Pfeiffer'

s sympathies has openedvistas beyond the sphere ofher sorrow . C. B .


Now the youngand pass ionate yearIs no longer itself bu t yo u ,

Its connivingwoods , with their raptu res and thr ills ,You have leavened them th rough and through .

The troubadou r nightingaleAnd the dove that 0 ’

erb ende the bough ,Have both learnt, and tea ch the tr ick of you r

speech ,As they echo it vow fo r vow .

My heart is heavy w ith sc orn,My eyes with impatient tears ,

B u t the heaven looks blue through the cherryblooms

,

And preac hes away my fears !

F rom the bu rning bu sh of the gorse,Alive w ith mu rmu rou s sound,

I hear a vo ice , and it says , Rejo ice !”

I stand as onho ly ground .

0 flower of life ! 0 love !God

’

s love is at thy root ;

They may dim thy glory , bu t cannot blightOr hinder thy go ldenfru it.

Yet al l the same, I am mad,

However the end may fall ,That they dare to wr ing,

inthe gladsome spr ing,

Two hearts that wer e

gladdest of all .

TO NATURE.

(In her as cr ibed charac ter of unmeaning and all -performingforce . )

0 ,NATUR E ! thou whom I have tho ught to love,Seeing inthine the reflex ofGod’

s face,A loathed abstractionwou ld u su rp thy place,With H im they not dethrone, they but dis prove.

Weird Natu re ! canit be that joy is fled,

And bald unmeaning lu rks beneath thy smi le?That beau ty haunts the du st but to begu ile,And that with Order , Love and Hope are dead?

Pitiless Force, all -moving, all unmoved ;Dread mother of unfathered wor lds , assuage

Thy wrath onu s— be this w ild l ife reproved,And trampled into nothing inthy rage !

Vainprayer , although the las t of humankind,F orce is not w rath , but only deaf and blind.

Dread Force, inwhom of o ld we loved to see

A nu rs ingmother , c lothing w ith her li feThe seeds of love divine, w ith what sore str ifeWe ho ld or yield ou r thoughts of love and thee !

THE GOSPEL OF DREAD TlDlNGS.

IF that sad creed which honest menand trueAre floating inthe cheerfu l face ofDay ;Are teach ing inthe schoo ls . and, by the way

Tho’

only guesses ona brokenc lue,

Tho u artnot calm, bu t restless as the ocean,F ill ing with aimless to il the endless years ,Stumbling on thought, and throwing off the

spheres ,Chu rning the Universe with mindless motion.

Du ll fount of joy, unhal lowed sou rce of tears ,

Co ld motor of ou r fervid faith and song,

Dead, bu t engendering l ife, love, pangs and fears ,Thou c rownedst thy w ild work w ith fou lestwrongWhenfirst thou lightedat ona seem inggoalAnd darkly blundered onman’

s su ffer ing sou l .

B lind Cyc lop , hu rling stones ofdestiny ,And not infu ry— working bootless ill ,Inmere vacu ity ofm ind and will

Man'

s sou l revo lts against thy work and thee !Slaves of a despot, consc ienceless and nil],Slaves , by mad chance be fooled to think themfree

,

We sti ll m ight r ise and w ith one heart agreeTo mar the r u thless gr inding ofthy m ill !

Dead tyrant, tho'

ou r cr ies and groans pass bythee ,

Man, cu tting off from each new tree of l ifeH imsel f

,its fatal flower , cou ld still defy thee ,

lnwaging onthy wo rk eternal str ifehThe races come and coming ever more,

H eaping with hecatombs thy dead- sea shore.

Ifwe be foo ls of chance, indeed , and tend

No whither , thanthe blinder fools inthis ;That, lo vinggood, we l ive, insc ornof bl iss ,

Its wageles s servants to the evil end .

If,at the last, man

'

s thirst for h igher thingsB e qu enched indu st, the giver ofhis life,Why press w ith glowing zeal a hopeless strife ?Why,bo rnfo r c reeping, shou ld be dream ofw ings?

0 ,Mother Du st ! thou has t one law so m i ld,We call it sac red— all thy creatu res ownit

The tie which binds the parent and the child ;Why has man

’

s lov ing heart alone outgrown

it?

Why has t thou travailed so to be denied,So trampled by a wou ldbe matr ic ide?

2 90 TH E M A GAZI N E OF P OE T/( Y.

N A T U R E .

Du l l fount ofjoy,unhallowed sou rce oftears ,

Co ldmotor ofour fervid faith and song,

Dead, but engender ing l ife, love, pangs , and fears ,Thou crowned thy wild wo rk w ith fou lest wrongWhenfirst thou lighted ona seem inggoal ,And darkly blundered onman’

s su ffering so u l .— To Natune.

V V A G N E R .

We think , we to il , we hope, we love, we die,We know and wou ld fo reknow ,

wedoubtand fear ;Til l ’neath thy spel l, O Wagner ! we pu t byF utu re and Present too , and draw ingnear

The base of l ife , thy breath , like the w lld s ighOf some o nianpas t, steals onthe ear l— 0nH earing the Introdu c tionto Lohengrin.

N I G H T .

DrugDay with wo rk,for Day is loud and ho ld

Sing to the N ight, let so rrow make no signTill it ca nflu tter inthe s unsetgo ld ,

Or inthe s ilver moonl ight so ftly s h ine .

— Transfigum tion.

P O E T R Y .

Song ju stifies itself, ifsweet and strong.

Song ju stifies its elf, bu t they w ho s ing,

Raining ethereal mu s ic from a heightLonely and pu re, grownstrong u ponthe w ing,

And mo re and mo re enamo u red ofthe light ;B u t faint fo r any earthly jou rneying,

And fainto seek a low ly bed at nigh t.

— A P lea,1 .

A R T .

H e loves art best that lo ves l ike him o fyo re,Who cou ld not, as his song divinely says .

So love, if that he “ loved no t hono r mo re .

”

—. i P lea,

4 .

S E L F - L O V E .

The bar renlove that ho lds the so le self dear ,Which makes the hel l whereinit reigns alone .

CainRepentant.

M I D - C C E A N .

Wild fields of ocean, pil ing heap onheap ,The mountainou s wealth o fwater , but to fiingAbroad inspendthr ift haste , sti ll gather ing

And scattering to the w inds whatnonewo u ld keep ;Thou canstnot know so sweet a thing as sleepF or al l thy to il : nor hOpe whereto to c ling.

P lowed by the w inds inone unending spr ingWhat harvest of the sto rm has t thou to reap

?

My spi rit owns , bu t w il l not bend beforeThis du ll bru te might and pu rposeles s ,

of thine ;The sea- bird resting onthy wave is mo re

Thanthou ,by all its fac u lty divine

To su ffer ; pang is none inthis thy roar ,

And all the joy that l ifts thy wave is mine !—

.ll irI- Ocean.

GEORGE PARSONS LAT'

HROP.

fo llow a pu rely lite rary life has not been

givento many Americans ; in fact, it is doubtfu l if any of ou r wr iters canlay c laim to the honor ,for to many who have wr ought faithfu lly and

nobly with the pen, the editor ial desk has beena

refuge from the too ofteninadequate compensationgivenmer ito riou s work . Perhaps it wou ld be imposs ible fo r the true l iterary life to flou rish inour

bu stl ing land, as it fiou rishes inthe o lder c ivilizations of E u rope . We are a uniquem ph , and our

ways , ou r methods , and o u r thoughts are differentfrom those of the nations from which we hadbe ing. Thu s the l ife given u p to the qu iet of autho rs hip , pu re and s imple, is unknownamong u s .

t‘

las s ing jou rnal ism as a part of l iterature, and

the pro spec t broadens , and we find many who havepassed their l ives inthe harness . Of this number ,G eo rge Par sons Lathrop is , perhaps , the one who

mos t nearly approaches the honor we have men

tione d,fo r his li te rary life hasnot beenbrokenby

po l itical o r diplomatic episodes , nor has it beendistu rbed by the p erplexitiesofbu siness other thanjou rnalistic .

B o rn inH ono lu lu , on the island of Oahu ,Ha

waiian Is lands , Aug ust 2 5 ,1 851 , where his father

was a phys ic ianinac tive prac tice , and also served

as the cons u l fo r the United States , he remainedthere until whenhe came home to his nativeland . H is parents wer

e from No rthernNew York,ou tgrowth o f that s tu rdy manhood which peopledNew England, the Lathrops having landed in

Mas sac hu setts in1 634 , and aided inthe settlingofmany o f the o ld towns of that region, NewLondon,Connec tic u t, the present home of the poet, beingamong the number . Edu cated in New York Cityand Germanv Mr . Lathrop studied law in the

Co lumbia Law Sc hoo l du ring 1 870 and 1 871 , and

thenente r ed a law office, bu t tu rned to l iteratureimmediately , and has fo llowed the professionw itha faithfu lness that has brought him a wide and

well - deserved reputation.

With Mr . Lathrop , as w ith many other of our

l iterary men, the edito r ial desk has beenboth anexper ience and a help, fo r from 1 875 to 1 877 he

was ass istant edito r of the Atlantic Montv , and

from 1 877 to 1 879 , edito r of the Bos tonSunday

Co u rier . The know ledge gained in these placeswas invaluable , for it showed what the publ ic des ired ,

and this is a help that only comes to many'

afte r long years of endeavor .

Mr . Lathrop had bec ome the father of a bookbefo re his connection with the Atlantic Monthlywas severed, infact. of three, the first being Rose

G E OR GE P AR SON S LA TH R OP . 2 91

and Roof-Tree, a vo lume of poems pu blished in1875 . His only other book of poems is the fine

battle ode,“Gettysburg,” read before the Soc iety

of the Army of the Potomac , Ju ly 8d, l 888 . Thishas beenpu blished inpamphlet form . These arehis two books of poetry, but he is expecting tobring out a new and larger gathering du r ing thepresentyear . Innovels and stor ies ,Mr . Lathrop’

s

penhas beenmore pro lific . Beginning w ith “Af

terglow ,

”a novel pu blished in the No Name

Series”in 1 876 , he has published Somebody

Else,”a novelette 1 878 ;

“AnEcho of Pas s ion,

novelette , 1 882 ; InThe Distance,” novel , 1 882 ;“Newport,

” novel , 1 884 ; “True,

” novelette and

stories , 1 884 ;“Two Sides of a Sto ry short

stories , 1 889 ; and Wou ld You Ki l l H im novel ,1 889 . Of miscellaneou s works , M r . Lathrop hasproduced

“A Study ofHawthorne,” 1 876 ; “Span

ish Vistas , 1 883 ; and a“H istory of the Union

Leagu e of Philadelphia,

”1 883 . He also edited

“The Masque of Poets, published inthe “ No

Name Ser ies ” in 1 878 ,wr iting several poems fo r

the co llection.

These titles , however , represent bu t a portionof

Mr . Lathrop'

s l iterary wo rk , fo r he has beena frequent contr ibu tor ofvar ied and inte res tingessays ,cr itic isms, stories and editor ials to a large numberof magazines and newspapers ; and he has beendeeply interested inthe International Copyr ightLeague, which be virtual ly founded in 1 883, serv

ing as secretary for two years , and do ing mu chwork inits behal f ever s ince .

Thus it will be seen that Mr . Lathrop has

touched many branches of literatu re, and it is nottoo h igh praise to say that he has honored all of

these. Inprose, his style is strong,nervo us and

pleasing, possess ing a directness that avo ids thebewilderment of intr icate rhetor ic , and carryingthe reader forward w ith anexhilarating impetu sthatmakes the end of the book or artic le a regret.

Inpoetry, Mr . Lathrop is exceedingly happy inthecho ice of themes , and intheir handling, r is ing topatr iotic fire inthe noble lyric , Keenan

'

sCharge,”

and inthe fine battle ode of“ Gettysbu rg,

”and

running smoothly and mu s ically inhomlier paths .

But his muse is not lacking inthat su btle ins ightwhich conveys str iking pictu res , o r de e

p thr ills of

passioninthe few words that only the chosencanuse ; and while the compass ofhis po etry is not so

wide, nor so high - reach ing as is the work ofotherof ou r s ingers , it has the true r ing of the poeticgold, the echo ofthe bird- songs , of the w ind-notes

,

and the h idden inner vo ices of the sou l . T0 so

young a man, the fu ture holds only heights c rownedwith victo r ious ac hievement innoble and helpfu lendeavor . T . S.

KEENAN ’

S CHARGE.

(Chancellor-ar ms , May ,

Tan. sunhad set ;

The leaves with dew were wet ;

Downfell a bloody duskOnthe woods , that second ofMay,

Where Stonewall ’s corps , l ike a beast of prey,Tore through with angry tu sk .

They’ve trapped 11 8 , boysRose from ou r fiank a vo ice.

With a rush of stee l and smokeOncame the rebels straight,Eager as love and w ild as hat e :

And o u r l ine reeled and broke ;

B roke and fled.

No one staid— but the dead !

With cu rses , shr ieks and cr ies ,Horses and wagons and men

Tumbled back through the shudder ingglen,And above u s the fading skies .

There ’

s one hope, stillThose batter ies parked onthe h ill !Batte ry , wheel l (

’mid the roar )Pass pieces ; fix pro longe to fire

Retir ing. Trot !”Inthe panic direA bugle r ings , Trot — and no mo re .

The ho rses plunged ,

The cannonlu rche dand lunged,

To jo inthe hopeless rou t.

B u t suddenly rode a fo rm(‘

almly infront ofthe humanstorm ,

With a ste rn, commanding shou t :

Alignthose guns !(We knew it was Pleas onton'

s

The cannoneers bent to obey,And wo rked w ith a w il l at his word :And the blac k guns moved as if tbey hadheard .

B u t, ah , the dread delay !

To wait is crinuO God, for tenm inutes ’

time .

The General looked around .

There Keenansat,l ike a stone ,

With his three hundred ho rse aloneLess shakenthanthe ground .

Major , you r men

Are so ldiers , General . " Thent

‘

harge , Majo r ! Do yo u r be st :H o ld the enemy back at all cost,Ti ll my guns are placed : else the army is lostYou die to save the rest !


By the shrouded gleam of the westernskies ,B rave Keenanlooked inPleasonton’

s eyesF or aninstant— c lear , and coo l , and sti ll ;Then, w ith a smi le, he said : I will .

Cavalry , charg e l Not a manofthem shrank .

Their sharp ,fu ll cheer , from rank onrank ,

Rose joyou sly , w ith a willing breathRose l ike a greeting hail to death .

Then forward they sprang, and spu rred and

c lashed ;Shouted the officers c r imsonsash

’

d ;

Rode wel l the men,each brave as his fellow ,

Intheir faded coats of the blu e and yel low ;And above inthe air , w ith aninstinct true ,Like a bird ofwar their pennonflew .

With c lank of scabbards and thunder of steeds ,And blades that shine like su'nl it reeds ,And strong brownfac es bravely paleF or fear their pro ud attempt shal l fai l ,Three hundred Pennsylvanians c lo seOntw ice tenthou sand gallant foes .

Line after l ine the troopers came

To theedge ofthewood thatwas ring’

dw ith flame;

Rode inand sabered and shot— and fell ;

No r came one bac k his wounds to te ll .And fu ll inthe m ids t rose Keenan, tal lInthe gloom ,

l ike a martyr awaiting his fall ,While the c irc les stroke of his sabre , swungRoundhis head, likea halo there, lum inou s hung.

Line after line ; ay,who le platoons ,

Struck dead intheir saddles , ofbrave dragoons ,By the maddened ho rses were onward bo rneAnd into the vo rtex flung, trampled and torn;As Keenanfought w ith his mens ide by s ide .

So they rode , till there were no mo re to r ide.

B u t over them ,lying there, shatte red and mute,

What deep echo ro lls —’Tis a death salu te

F rom the cannoninplace ; for , heroes ,you bravedYou r fate not invain; the army was saved l

Over them now ,year fo llowing year

Over their graves the p ine- cones fall ,And the whip -

poor- wi ll chants his spectre

- call ;B ut they stir not again; they raise no cheer ;They have ceased . B ut their glory shall never

cease,

Nor their light be qu enched inthe l ight ofpeace.

The ru sh of their charge is reso unding stillThat saved the army at Chancellorsville.

THE SONG SPARROW.

GLIMM E RS gray the leafless thicketClose bes ide my gardengate,Where, so light, from post to picketH ops the spar row,

bl ithe, sedate ;Who , with meekly folded w ing,

Comes to sunhimselfand sing.

It was there, perhaps , last year ,That his l ittle hou se he bu ilt ;

For he seems to perk and peer ,And to tw itter , too , and ti lt

The bare branches inbetween,With a fond, familiar m ien.

Once, I know , there was a nest,H eld there by the s ideward thr u st

Oftho se tw igs that tou ch his breast ;Tho ugh ’

tis gone now . Some ru de gu st

Caught it, over - fu ll of snow ,

Beat the bu sh— and robbed it so .

Thu s o u r highes t ho lds ar e lost,By the ru thless w inter ’

s w ind,

When,w ith swiftr dismantling frost,

The greenwoods we dwelt in, thinnedOftheir leafage, grow to o co ldFor frai l hepes of summer

’

s mold.

B ut if we, w ith spr ing- days mellow,

Wake to woefu l wrecks of change,And the spar row

’

s r ito rnelloScaling sti ll its o ld sweet range ;

Canwe do a better thingThan

,w ith him , sti ll bu ild and sing?

Oh !my sparrow , tho u dost breedThought inme beyond all tell ing ;

Shootest th rough me sunl ight, seed ,

And fru itfu l bless ing,w ith that welling,

R ipple ofecstatic rest,Gu rgling ever from thy breas t !

And thy breezy caro l spu rsV ital motioninmy blood,

Su ch as inthe sapwood stirs ,Swel ls and shapes the po inted bud

Of the lilac ; and besetsThe hol lows thick with violets .

Yet I know not any charmThat canmake the fleetingtime

Ofthy sylvan, faint alarmSu it its elf to humanrhyme ;

And my yearning rythmic word

Does thee griev'

ous wrong, dear bird .


natu re, her char ity is ever ready to defend those Not a spot inall the prairiewhose fau lts others have laid bare. H er language That the spring- time has not blessed .

is br ight, sparkling and fasc inating, her poems Every field a sm il ing promise ,veined w ith a tender melancholy . C. H . H . Every home anEdenfair ,

And the angels , Peace and Plenty ,KANSAS: 1874- 1884.

Strew ing bless ings everywhere .

Ian— p er Aspens .

CHE E RLESS prairie stretc hing sou thward,Barrenprair ie stretc hingnorth ;

Not a greenherb, fresh and stu rdy ,F rom the hard earth springing fo rth .

Every tree bereft of fo l iage,Every sh ru b devo id of life

,

And the two great ills seemed blightingAll things intheir was ting str ife .

As the humanheart, inangu ish ,Sinks beneath the stroke of fate

,

So at las t, despai ring, weary ,B owed the great heart of ou r State .

She had seenher corn- blades wither’Neath the hot w ind’

s sco rching breath ;She had seenthe wheat- heads bendingTo the sting of c ru el death .

She had seenthe plagu e descendingThro ’

the darkened,stifling air ,

And she bent her head inso rrow ,

B reathing forth a fervent prayer .

And the fierce winds , growingfiercer,

Kissed to brownher forehead fair ,While the sunshone downunp ityingOnthe brownness of her hair .

Thenshe looked into the fu tu re,Saw the winter , r uthless , bold,

B r inging her disheartened peopleOnly hunger , want and co ld.

Looking, saw her barefoot childrenWalk where snow- spr ites shr ink to tread ;

Listening, heard their child- l ips u tterChildish prayers for daily bread.

Low she bowed her head, sti ll thinkingO

’er her people’

s woes and weal , MAPLE LEAVES.

And the ones anear her onlyHeard the words ofher appeal . h as , I mu st go . The end is come at last

Send that faint c ry onward, outward, Ofall this idle, dreamy, sweet repose.

Swift as wire wings canbear , H ow swift the days of spring- time glided past !Sisters , help me or I per ish How sure the summer bu rns toward its close !Heavenpity my despair !

Good- bye the haunts which idleness has known,The s ighingtrees , the drooping blades of corn,

l'

erdant wheat- fields stretching southward, The lately bu rdened fields now newly sown,F ru itfu l orchards eas tand west ; Thefiow

’rs that u sed to greet the light of morn.

1884— Ad As ta.

As the heart ofnatu re qu iversAt the tou ch of spring- time fair ,

So along the State ’s w ide being

Thr il led the answer to her prayer .

She had seenher dauntless peopleTentimes tu rnand sow the so il ;

She has se enthe same earth answerTentimes to their faithfu l to il .

She has felt the r ipe fru it fal lingInher lap from bended l imbs ;

She has heard her happy childrenSho u ting their thanksgiving hymns .

She has seentengo ldenharvests ;N ow

,w ith gratefu l joy complete ,

She has pou red the tenth , a guerdon,At her benefac to r ’

s feet.

Thou canst not forget, 0 Kansas ,All thine owndes pair and woe ;Who hath long and keenly su fferedCanthe tenderest pity show .

Not invainthe needy callethChar ity her ownrepays ,

And thy bread, cas t onthe waters ,Wil l retu rnere many days .

Peace, thine angel , pointeth upward,

Where the gray c louds break away ;And athwart the azu re heavensShineth fo rth H Ope’

s plac id ray.

Look to Heavenand to the fu tu re_Gr ieve no longer o ’

er the pas t ;

Through thy trials , God bless thee,KansasSee, the stars appear at las t.


contains theauthor ’

s matu restwork and has givenhim anac know ledged place among the poets ofto

day and to- morrow . Mr . Day is pre-eminently a

manof Opinion, and, while observationis not lacking inhis verses , he seldom wr ites anythingmerelydescriptive. Yet he is as far as poss ible from whatwe understand by the term didactic . He sees no

beau tifu l form withou t perc eiving init a spir it ofbeauty. Th is is particu larly character istic of his

flower and tree poems . While he begrudges nopains or skill inthe depictionofnatu ral aspects , itis doubtfu l whether he wou ld ever be moved byeventhe most fasc inating forms in natu re, werethere not a vo ice inthem .

Mr . Day delights inwalking, and has expressedhis thankfu lness that so large a part. of the wor ldwas created ou t of doors . H e has beentoo c loselyoccupied w ith wo rk to have traveled mu ch , and at

the time of wr iting his exqu is ite “Hymn to a

Mountain” he had never seena real mountain, no rthe sea. He is a most companionable man, a

pleas ingbut logical ta lker , r ich-

ih knowle dge and

suggestion, and a good listener w ithal . H e has no

wr iting “habits ," composes nothing perfunc to r ily ,and wr ites no poem “

to order .

”Few ofhis verses

have beensent to the per iodicals , but he has beenwelcomed insome ofthe best inthis country and inEngland. J . T . R .

THEWALL OF THE TEMPLE .

Fnonthis gray pi le ofc rumbling stone,With inwhose anc ient crevicesA re grasses wandering from the sun

This wal l that l ists to Is rael ’s moan

And vo ice ofplaintfu l l itaniesOnce soared the fans of So lomon;Hard by , Jehovah

'

s ho ly pr iestsSent cu rling upward to his throne

The smoke of feas ts .

Grand was the dwell ing ofou r God !

Instone from Tyr ianquarr ies brought,Cedar and fir from Lebanon;

Withnameless glory w inged and shod,

O’er twenty cubits ’

space were wroughtThe cheru bim ofSo lomon;Shrewd palm - trees of the scu lpto r to ld :

And all o ’erlaid from roof to sod

With Ophir’

ago ld .

Rare booty had the heathenhordeWhose char iots u p from Shinar ro lled ,

And wantonvale of Babylon.

Strange harvests w ith barbar ianswordFr uitag e ofprec io u s stones and go ld

Reaped char ioteer and myrmidon;And go ldenbowls of u se divine

Took Babylonia’s impiou s lord

For revel and w ine.

Shall wenot come ineager ranks ,As they who raised the prostrate shrine

Inthe world - o ld shadow of thy face,That through the Haram es—SherifCreeps bac kward from the prying sun,

Thy glor ies flit w ith ghostly pm ,

Or brood inappar itionbrief,O , desolate wall of Solomon:Evenas we kneel , w ith shoes put off,

Ou t of the c rannies at thy baseDo they not scoff

Withinthese stones 9. heart shou ld beat ;And from these gray - l ipped crevices ,To patience and to s ilence won,

A bre ath of grac iou s speech shou ld fleetAm id thy stony sanctities ,O ,desolate lane o fSolomon!Speak , scared wall , J ehovah ’

s w i ll !Ou r iathers

’ dust beneath ou r fe etIs notmore still .

F led all the effluence divine,Nor left

‘

one animating breathOne l inger ing, pitying benison

WhenJ udah saw her h il l- tops shineTo Moloch and to Ashtoreth,

The gods of dotingSolomon;Bowed her to alienteraph im,

And garnished the volu ptuou s shrineOi Baalim ?

The god of ironand of c lay ,Image of s i lver and of brass ,Idol of gold that dims the sun,

Still , J udah leads thy feet astrayThe same that w ithered up as grassThe noontide strength of Babylon.

Like dro ps ofwater through his handsThe kingdoms sl ip. or flow away

Like trickl ing sands .

Yet saw the seer uponthis rock ,Which Islam ’

s domes unhal lowed hem ,

The tabernac le’s wandering blaze,

While to thy risengates did flockNations with palms , J erusalem ,

B ringing like Sheba’s queentheir praise,

And Zion’s hou se from Lebanon

Reac hed downto where the bil lows mockSad Askelon.

R ICH AR D E D WI N D A Y.

With Ezra and Zerubbabel ,While psalteries ring exu ltant thanks ,And singers of a chosenlineRejoice the steps of Israel ,Faring from Danu be and from Don,

FromWesternBabels and the banksOfAmazon?

Here Canaan’s cornand v ineyards boon

A- ripening bu rnas whenunfu rledThe landscape lay inMoses ’

sight ;Or whenlong past thenight’s dread noonDid Josh ua smite the paganworld ,Scou rging the Amorites ’ leagued might,While pau sed onsolemnGibeon

Thecrimsonsun, and the white moonInAjalon.

No gift we bring but sou ls that tireDead altar of J eru salemBu ilding anew the l ivingwal l ;

The harp whose strings with jubilantfireLeaped whenthe psalmist spake to themHangs mute where its ownechos callAs , where E uphrates ’

waters run,Pu lseless and sti ll swung J udah’

s lyreInBabylon.

No sound starts from thy qu ivering l ips ,J u dea, seated inth is cou rt,With eyes that tu rn, and tu rninvain,

To where the he ights of Tarshish ’s ships ,

Rocking inTyre ’

s or Zidon’

s port,Wound inland o ’

er the northernplain,Save the lament H ilkiah '

s son

Chanted, with sack - c loth onhis hips ,InB abylon.

Not thine the lamentationdrearSharper thanthat sad prO phet’s wail ,Whose trumpet syllables had pealed

Onanunlisteningnation’s car ,

And rolled away downKedron’s vale

,

Were thy heart’s cry, were it unsealed ;Not thine this wailfu l orison,

Heard ere rang round thy ramparts hereR ome’

s clarion.

The ruthless steps of morning fal lAcross the Dead Sea’

s barriers ;F rom thegreat Kubbet se- Sukrah

Anhou r ago themuezzin’s call

Unto the Moslem worshipersStartled the sac red cou rt ; and, oh !Another paynim day beats on

The sanctuary and the wal lOfSolomon.

2 99

SHELLS.

THESE castaways some billow rolledAlong its sands, whenup the rocks

The young sunc lambered, flushed and bold,Or whenthemoonled downher flocks

Lone shepherdess with yellow locks .

O , fairy citadels of stone,Uponwhose darkly- winding stair,Like anuneasy ghost, a moanGoes up and downand everywhere,Have yeno legends dim and rare?

Where, inthe greenish dark , with coldAnd stony faces , drowned menpass

Amid a shipwreck’s s i lk and gold ,

And womenmade for beau ty’s glass

F loat intheir shrouds of tangled grass ,

They lay, w ith spoils of sw ir l and swel l ,Unti l the heart that rocks a fleet

And tu rns the spiral of a shell ,Clovenby some melodiou s beat,Squandered their beauty atmy feet.

DANDELIONS.

WHE N the first dandel ions tookOntheir broad d iscs the light and dew,

My heart rantruant, l ike the brook ,And had its solac e where they grew .

Twas good againto see them barsThe lavish glitter of their shields ;

Not one canperish but somewhereA l ight is blotted from the fields .

They shed the sunshine as I pass ,The sunshine sent them from above ;Their glow as ample as the gras s ,B utnotmore ample thanmy love.

Ah l ever- blended greenand gold ,Thatmantle all the summer land,I learnhow much the heart canhold ,How very little fills the hand .

SILENCE.

Wu'r minstrel heart did ever make

Language its bu rthen’

s fu llness take?Yet, though a visiongo unsung,The heart is greater thanthe tongue,

And l ife thansong.

LV’R

J,‘sf.


Wheneagles pierce the u pper sky,Mu te inthe mantling light they fly :A bluebird, onthe finger - tipsOfSpring, s ings to his mistress ’ l ips

The whole day long.

Love hath deep speech , bu t de eper isThe conve rse of its s ilences .

Worship its canticles doth ceas eWhenthe broad w ings of perfe ct peac e

Brood o ’er it strong.

Better thahtu rbid change is res t

Better to guard. unheard, unbles t,A tru th it wer e di vine to teac hThanw ith unkindlecl , earthy spec

-eh

The message wrong.

The fragrance o fa though t may ris eTo nobler l i fe and s ubtler gu is eAs still as violets by the brooksA thingtoo rare to s et inbooks ,

Or cage insong.

THE POPPY.

l s a of dreamless sleep, thou mu st have quaffed

At the earth ’

s drowsy breas twhattime she drewM idsummer langu or all her senses through

And drunk the sou l of s lumber— s u ch a draught

\s ne’

er compounded was w i th raino r dew .

T O A D .

’

l‘

hy kin, the frog, chirps a de l i r io u s s train,

() r mu tters su llenly his poet painIlu t thou repres sest

'

neath a sober jac ketUnasked confess ions and the rhyme r’s racket,Content, i f lac k ing anyth ing, to lack it ;

Nor quar relest w ith fate , whose pu rpose dimMade thee a l is tener , a s inger him .

S O R R O W .

’

l‘

o manhood is strength born of battle and

nou r ished by pain:And Patience doth teac h by her wonderfu l speech ,Disti lled onthe spir it l ike rainSorrow talks fac e to face unto manhood , and wise

is her vo ice ;Who has gazed inher eyes

, he only is wise ,He only canmou rnor rejoice .

A Reunion.

VIRGIL A . PINKLEY.

IRGIL A . PINKLEY was bo rnnear the vil lageof G irard, in I ll inois , February 1 8 , 1 852 .

His parents were well- to- do people, bu twitho u ttheabundant means necessary to give their chi ldrencollegiate edu cation. At the age of seventeenVirgil A . beganto prepare fo r his l ife profess ion,

for which he had already showna natu ral taste .

He ente red the G irard H igh School , and l ikemany other distingu ished men of ou r time, he

was obliged to pay his own way . Fou r yearslater he began a univers ity cou rse at Normal ,Il lino is . In 1 873- 4 , he was plac ed at the headof the ac ademy at Decatu r, I ll inois , where he wonhis first s ignal su cces s as a teacher . When he

was abou t to finish his uni vers ity cou rse at Normal , he was appointed superintendent of schoolsat New B os ton, Il linois , wh ich pos ition he fil ledw ith great fo r two years , whenhe res ignedhis office to accept the more lucrati ve s ituationo r the general agency of a Chicago pu blish inghou se .

In1 878 Mr . l ’inkley became a student at the

National Sc hool of E loc u tion and Oratory at

Phi lade lphia,Pa .

,and was graduated therefrom in

1 8 79 . The follow ingfive years hedevo ted his time

and attentionto the go ing from townto to wn, organizing and condu ctingeloc u tionary conventi ons ,and to the teaching of oratory in variou s state

and c o unty ins titu tes for the teachers of commonsc hools , and in giving pu blic exhibitions on his

favorite theme . In 1 883 he was called to the chairo f E loc u tionand Oratory at the Col legeof Mu sic ofCinc innati . In that pos itionMr . I ’inkley has met

w ith undoubted su cc es s . For many years he haspassed his summer vac ations inthe service of thevar iou s Chau tau qua Assemblies scatte red tbroughou t the country .

As a manof letters , Mr . Pinkley has ju st c laims

to s uccess . As a poet he met w ith his first pu blicrecognition in 1 883

, whenhis “ Model AmericanG irl sprang into notice and favor , being freely rt»

produ ced by the press o i the country andgeneral lyadmired . Th is poem was fo llowed by many othersscarce ly less worthy . Inthe opinionof the writerof this sketch , “

Seed- Sow ing”and Better Than

Gold,” are among his most poetic productions .

The l iterary repu tationof Mr . Pinkley,however,

may be ju stly said to rest upon his writings in

prose . They are mostly practical works w r itteninconnectionwith his chosenprofess ion.

Mr . Pinkley is stil l young, a hard worker , of excellent habits and methodical ways , and thereforea good teacher, prom is ing to remain long inthe


SEED - SOWING.

Sow the seed of soothing kindness ,To dispel the gloom and pain;

Sow bright words of warmth and welcome,That o ’

er earth good - wil l may reign

Sow upona soil prolificThat shall bear anhundred- fold ,

Choking ou t the thorns and briers ,Turning weeds to stalks of gold .

Scornthou not to sow,moreover ,

Onthe fields less ric h inloam ;

Shou ld it bear notmany meas u res ,

It will have its harves t- home.

If the sower will bu t hearken,He w i ll hear what God w ill keepWhether good o r whether evi l ,What ye sow thatye shall reap .

Though the soil be scant and sandy ,

And the rocks be th ick and keen,With the hand of faith sow broadlySome stray soil may lie unseen;This may nou rish seed su ffic ientTo bring harvestr time around ;

And the hand of thrift may garnerF rom the uninviting ground.

What though way- s ide fow ls fly over ,You cancover wel l the seed ;What though tares by SatanscatteredShou ld arise inevil greedWait, i f must be, ti l l the harvestR ipens grainand tares intu rn;Thenthe grainthou mayestgatherAnd the tares mays ’

t bind and bu rn.

Sow the seeds of love and mercy ,

Worthy work for angel hands !Sympathy , and tru th , and j u stice,F itting theme fo r heavenly bands !

Sow good- will among thyneighbors ,Reap reward for thee instore ;

Onthe Bower that is faithfu lB lessings be fo r evermore.

W O R K .

Good advice for everyone ;Work , work away ,

Soonthe rac e of life is r un;Work , work away .

Seize the moments as they fly,

Let you r hopes mount ever high ,Keep this motto always nighWork , work away .

Work, Work Away .

FREDERIC . E . WEATHERLY.

RE—EMINENT among the song writers of th e

present centu ry stands the name of F . E .

Weatherly, whose fertile pen has c lothed withbeau tifu l fanc ies every phase of human lifefrom the cradle to the grave, and has filledmany pleasant pages in ou r poetic literaturedu r ing a period of nearly twenty years . Mr .

Weatherly has led, as it were, two l ives str onglyin contras t w ith each other , but fu l l of intercet and varied exper iences . F or many years hehas beenengaged as a tutor or coac h at Ox ford,cramm ing undergraduates w ith law , logic , c lass ics , and pol itical economy , and is the author of awork onthe “ Ru diments of Logii which has en

joyed w ide c irc u lationas a univers ity text- book .

Yet, du ring all this period, we find him living a

dual l i fe— by day a bu sy toi ler indry, uninterest

ing drudgery ; and by night, and inhis intervalsof rest, a w riter of charm ing verse, expressed inlanguage exqu is ite inits s implic ity , and so rhyth

m ical and mu s ical in its flow that his lyrics havebec ome popu lar wherever the Engl ish language isspoken.

F rederic E . Weatherly is the sonof a su rgeon,and was born at I

’or tis head, a pleasant seas ide

plac e on the B ristol Channel , in the County ofSomerset, England, onthe 4th of October , 1 848 .

H e. received his early edu cationat Hereford Cathedral School , where be displayed cons iderable aptitu de and abil ity . In 1 867 he went, as a scholarand exhibitioner, to B ras enose Col lege, Oxford .

He took his degree as ILA . in 1 871 , and subse

quently that of M . A .

, be ing abou t the same timeelected I l u lmeianE xhibitioner . After spending a

year as amas te r inChrist Chu rch CathedralSchool ,he commenced pri vate tu ition, devoting aboutelevenhours daily to this work . It was inthe ia

tervals , between these labor iou s days , that Mr .

Weatherly employed his hou rs of rec reation— ifrecreation it may be cal led— ia wr iting many ofthose lyrics and poems which have s ince become so

famou s . H is first important contribu tion, “ GoneH ome onNew Year ’

s Eve,

”appeared ina now de

funct paper entitled Co llege Rhymes , and was oftenrec ited by the late Mr . Bel lew with great su ccess .

Onthe installationof the Marqu is of Salisbu ry as

Chancel lor of the Uni versity, in1 870, anode by

Mr . Weather ly was one of those selected for rec itationinthe theater ; and, inthe same year, he published his first volume of poems , entitled “Muriel ,

and Other Poems .

”

Among his best-knownsongs are, “Nancy Lee,LondonB ridge,” “ They all Love Jack ,” “Mid

FR ED E R I C E . WE A TH E R L Y.

shipmite, Old B r igade, Children’

s H ome,

“Auntie,

” LastWatch ,” Ou r LastWaltz,” Dar

by and Joan,” “ The Cho rister ,” “Maids of Lee ,”

Need les and Pins ,” My Lady’s B ower ,” and“ In

SweetSeptember .

” Thereare,however ,manyothers ,th e bare names of which wou ld be more than su ffi

cient to fill the whole space at my disposal . Inadditionto his prodigiou s work as a lyric au thor . hehas largely contribu ted dramatic and other poems

to cu rrent l iteratu re . In1 884 he wrotethe librettoof Hero and Leander ,” for theWorcester Mu s icalFestival ; in1 885, the Song of Baldu r ,” for theHere ford Festival ; in1 886 , Andromeda, for the

G lou cester Festival ; and am ongst his other writings are to be found “

Children’s B irthday B ook ,

“ Sixes and Sevens , Told in the Twil ight,Thr ough the Meadows ,” Punch and J udy,Out of Town,” “

Adventu res of Two Children,

Land of Little People,” “ Sunbeams ,” Nurseryland”

Honeymoon, etc . Inchildren’s lite ratu re

he has attained very distingu ished su ccess ; and.

indeed, the same may be sa id of every form ofpoetry that he has tou ched .

Du ring his labors as a tu tor he followed u p the

study of the law , and in1 887 was cal led to thebar ,and is at present inpractice as a barrister inLondon. In1 873 Mr . Weather ly married a daughterofthe late Mr . J ohnHardw ick , and is the father ofthree children; and to his happy married life maybe attributed mu ch of his su ccess as a wr iter ofdomestic and nu rsery literatu re . W. C. N .

POUR FORTH THE WINE I

POUR forth the wine ! the ru by w ine !And with thine eyes look into mine,Thou friend of oldendays i

Heap up the blazing logs . Not hereOnthis gray ridge of granite drear ,BoonApril spends her fiow ’

ry cheer,

To wake the poet’s lays .

The east wind , through the ungenial day .

B lows meagre, thinand chi ll ,And laggard winter

’

s freezing ray

Gleams from the snow- patched h ill .

Pou r forth the wine ! the ruby wine !And with thine eyes look into m ine,Thou friend of oldendays i

Cheer me with love and t r

uth ; for IOft seek invain, beneath the sky,

The true heart, from the openeyeThat looks with guileless gaze.

A cold and caution-c rusted race

Here fans few joys inme :

B ut whenI see a c lear, bright face,I flou r ish , and am free !

LONDON BRIDGE .

303

Pou r forth the wine ! the ruby wine !And w ith th ine eyes look into mine,Thou friend of oldendays l

Speak of devotion’

s fiery breath ,Ph'iendship and love more strong thandeath,And high resolve, and manly faith ,That walks inopenways .

Look as though dids ’

t longyears ago ,And read my heart with thine,That Love and Tru th may freely flow ,

To bless the ruby wine !

Paounand low ly , beggar and lord .Over the br idge they go

Rage and velvet, fetter and sword,

Poverty, pomp and woe .

Laughing,weeping,

h urrying ever ,Hou r by hou r they crowd along,

While, below , the m ighty riverSings them all a mocking song.

Hu rry along,sorrow and song,

All is vanity ’neath the sun;Velvet and rags , so the world wags,Until the river no more shall run.

Dainty, painted, powdered and gay,

Ro lleth my lady by ;Rags- and- tatters

, over the way,

Carr ies a heart as high .

F lowers and dreams from country meadows,

Du st and dinthro ’city skies

,

Old mencreeping w ith their shadows ,Childrenw ith their sunny eyes ,

H u rry along, sorrow and song,

All is vanity ’neath the sunVelvet and rags , so the wor ld wags ,Until the river no more shal l run.

Storm and sunshine, peace and str i fe ,

Over the bridge they go ;Float-ing oninthe tide of life,Whither no manshall know .

Who w i l l miss them there to -morrow,

Waifs that drift to the shade or sunGone away with their songs and sorrow ;Only the river still flows on.

Il u rry along, sorrow and song,All is vanity ’neath the sun;

Velvet and rags , so the world wags,Unti l the r iver no more shall run.

304

THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.

M was the eve of Christmas , the snow lay deepandwhite ,

I sat beside my window , and looked intothenight ;I heard the chu rch bells ringing, I saw the bright

stars shine,And ch ildhood came again to me, with all its

dreams divine.

Then, as I listened to the bel ls , and watched theskies afar ,

Ou t of the East majestica l there rose one radiantstar ;

And ev’ry other star grew palebefore thatheav ’

nly

gl ow ,

It seemed to bid me follow , and I cou ld not. choosebutgo .

F rom street to street it led me,by many a man

sionfair ,It shone thro ’ dingy casement onmany a. gar r etbare ;

From highway onto highway , through alleys darkand cold,

And when: it shone the darkness was flooded all

with gold .

Sad hearts forgot their sorrow , rough hearts grewsoft and mild,

And weary little childrentu rned intheir s leep andsmiled ;

Whilemany a homeless wanderer u pl ifted patienteyes ,

Seeming to see. a home at last beyond those starryskies .

And thenmethought earth faded : I ro se as borneonw ings

Beyond the waste of ru ined l ives , the press of humanthings ;

bove the to i l andshadow , above the wantandwoe ,My old self and its darkness seemed left onearthbelow .

Ah me !


And the fisher - folks arenear ,B ut I wis they never hear

The songs the far bells b ake for me, the bonnybells of Lynn.

0 ,I see him pu l l ing strong, pu ll ing o

'

er the bay to

me,

And I hear his jovial song, and his merry face Isee ;

Andnow he'

s at the pierMy bonny love and dear !

And he'

s coming u p the sea- washed steps w ithhands outstr etc hed to me .

O my love , your cheek is cold , and your hands arestark and thin!

O . hear you not the bells of old. the bonny bells o f

Lynn?

0 , have you naught to say

l lpono u r wedding- day?

Love . hear you not the wedding- bells ac ross thebay of Lynn"

O my lover , speak to me ! and hold me fast, m ineown!

For I fear this rising sea, and these winds and

waves that moan!0 Q 0

B u tnever a word he said !H e is dead, my love is dead !ah me ! I did bu t dream : and I am all

alone ,Alone, and old and gray : and the tide is rollingin:

And onward, upward shone thesta r , until itOseemed But my heart’

s “Wily , away , away, in the o ld

to me

It flashed u ponthe goldengates and o'

er the crystal sea ;

And thenthe gates rolled backward , I stood whereangels trod ;

It was the star of Bethlehem , had ledme up to God.

THE BELLS OF LYNN .

Ws sx the eve is grow inggray , and the tide is rol ling in,

I sit and look ac ross the bay to the bonny townofLynn

graveyard at Lynn!

THE BEST ESTATE .

An'r thou th ine ownheart'

s conquerorStr i ve ever thu s to be ;That is the fight that is most sore,The noblest victory .

Art thou beloved by one true heart?0 prize it ! it is rare ;There are so many inthe mart,So many false and fair .

The folks are chattinggay, and I hear their merrydin,

But I look and look ac ross the bay to the bonnytownof Lynn;

He told me to wait hereUponthe old brownpier ,

To wait and watc h him comingwhenthe tide wasroll ing in.

R E V.

Art thou alone?0 say not so !

The world is fu ll be su re ;There is so mu ch of want and woe,So mu ch that thou cans ’

t c u re .

Art thou inpoverty thysel f?Thou still cans’

t help a friend ;Kind words are more thanany pelf,Good deeds need never end.

Art thou content inyou th or age?

Thenlet who wil l be great ;Thou hast thenoblest heritage.Thou hast the best estate .

THE SEA’

S LOVE .

Owes: inthe days of old ,Inthe years of you th and m irth ,

The Sea was a lover bright and bold ,And be loved the goldenEar th .

The Sun, inhis royal raiment c lad,

Loved her and found her sweet,B u t the Sea was content and gladOnly to be at her feet.

Ah ! that the bards shou ld s ing,

E . A . WA R R I N E R .

And wail for the goldenyears !Love was and is but anidle thing,

’

Tis bu t a w ind that veers .

And Earth inher beau ty and pride,Held her lips to the wooing Sun;

He said , Thou art fair , 0 my br ide ,And she sang, I am thine alone .

”

The faith fu l Sea at her faithless feetRolled with a brokenmoan;0 Sunl ” he c ried,

“ bu t thy br ide is sweet,And I am alone, alone !

Ab ! that the bards shou ld sing,

And wail for the goldenyears lLove was and is but anidle thing,

’Tis but a wind that veers .

Oftwou ld the Sundepart,And his bride inher gloom made moan,

And the Sea wou ld c ry that her loving heartShou ld be left to pine alone.

And his voice is strange and sad and sweet,0 love, notmine ! notm ine !

I am content to lie at thy feet.

And love thee instorm and shine.

Ah ! that the bards shou ld s ing,And wail for the goldenyears !

Love was and is but anidle thing,

’

Tis bu ta wind that veers .

307

REV. E . A . WARRINER .

ITH no d istinctionas a popu lar writer , Mr .

Warriner has yetpublishedanumber of bookswhich are regarded by many thoughtfu l readers aspossessed of remarkable or iginality and merit

in the fields of fiction, poetry and specu lativephi losophy .

He was bornat Agawam, Mass . , in 1 82 9 , of o ldPu ritanstock ; a farmer’s boy, spending his earlyyears betweenthe fields insummer and the d istr ictschool in winter . Later he attended a c lass icalschool in Springfield for a number of winters ,boarding at home, and c rossing the r iver, oftenwith great difficu ltyand per il from fioatingice ; yet

never failing to be inhis seat at the opening ofschool . Paying his way mainly by teaching, he

entered Yale Co llege in 1 850 , but was compel led ,

by ser iou s illness . to abandon his stu d ies for a

year . Hegraduated fromUnionUnivers i ty in1 855,and inthe fol low ingyear was admitted to the bar

at Springfield,Mass . After an ac tive practice of

three years , his health againfai led, compel ling himto seek a warmer latitude, where, after an inte rvalof rest, atWashington. Ga.

, he taught anacademytill the second year of tlze Civil War . Beingunablefor a time to pass the l ines of the contendingarm ies , a period of enforced sec lu s ion fol lowed , inwhich

,havingno other books at hand, he began,

for thefirst time, a systematic study of the B ible,and became so impressed w ith its teac hings thathe determined to devote his li fe to the ministry .

Retu rning north the fol lowingyear , he taught theB rainerd Academy at Haddam ,

Conn.

, and eubeaquently the Yates Institu te at Lancas ter , Pa . In

the summer of 1 867 be was ordained , at Philadelphia, to the m inistry of the Episcopal Church .

In the fol lowing autumnhe became rec tor of St.Pau l 's Chu rch , Montrose, an idea l country parishlocatedamongthehills of Susqu ehannaCounty , Pa.

Here, w ith the exceptionof two years , inwhich hewas rector of Christ’s Chu rch (“Old Swedes near

Philadelphia,he has spent all the years of his

m inistry , having wonenviable distinction for hisliterary attainments and pu lpit ability ; yet nuwil l ing to accept a larger field— o r , as he says ,

unable to separate himsel f from the su rroundingforests and streams inwhich he has found healthand inspiration for his literary and profess ionalwork .

With the exceptionof occasional poems writteninhis ear l ier years and publ ished incu rrentperiodicels , his first l iterary productionwas Victor La

Tou rette , a Novel by a Broad Chu rchman” (Boston, It made some stir in theo logical

308

circ les , and may be regarded as . the beginning ofthe broad chu rch movement inAmer ica ; yet itsideas being novel and regarded w ith

‘

distru st, it

was received at the time with little popu lar favor .

His next ventu re was “Kear”(Philadelphia,

It was warmly received , and insome instances metwith enthusiastic commendation as a

“real and

original poem ,

"yet it was so fil led with moral and

specu lative philosophies that it cannot be re

garded as a popu lar work .

In1 887 he publ ished at B ostona small editionof his work— intended chiefiy for distribu tionamonghis personal friends— entitled , I Am That IAm .

”By the few who are interested in such

studies , it is regarded as a very great and important productionMr . Warriner is s lightly below middle height ;

and though slender is firmly knit and fond of allathletic sports , especially hunting and fishing,

to

which he devotes one day inseven. The likeness ,printed w ith this sketch , though anexcellent profile of his face, is yet untru e to its natu ral expressioninwhich there is no trace of au sterity . H e is

utter ly without pretens ion, and though soc iallyand profess ional ly a su ccess fu l man, is seeminglywholly indifferent to prominence and promotion,and though placinga high estimate uponthe valu eof his books , he has not made the s lightest effortto bring them to the publ ic attention.

S. D. W.

THE INFIN ITE .

A Tamrrv inall things there mu st be,For two straight lines cannot inc lose a space .

All things are one, and one is all inThee,Who doth all things withinHimself embrace .

Whether cond ition, matter , mind , or plac e,Triune must all things be, and all things one ;

And as the rainbow ’

s colors inter laceAnd blend inwhite, so Father , Spirit, Son

Apart, Truth , Life, and Light— when joined, areGod alone.

And as of every trinity eac h partA substance is , each also is threefold

And infinite . And so where’er we start,

Or whatsoe’er direc tionmove, behold

A limitless su ccessionis unrolledInincrease or decrease, ingreat or smal l ,

Intime or space, changes , forms new or old,Unseenor seen, mental or physical

Without a first or last, boundless , eternal all !


The Infinite ! Inthis all mysteriesAre swal lowed up . It is eac h reasonwhy,

Each sou rce and sequence. Question, dosu rprise,

Inits conceptionend. PhilosophyFounded thereinalone cansatisfyAl l queries , solve all problems , and inspire

The purpose, effort, hope thatnever die.

All things are poss ible, and ever higherMay sou ls ascend and grow in l imitless desire.

Things seem to end,indeed , but only change ;

For infinite are forms, conditions , too ;And those decompos itions that estrangeThe spirit from the body

, and undoOrganic forms , are meant but to renew

Or change them for the better or theworse,Accord ing to their state . Itmu st be trueThat all things are ete rnal , for their sou rce

Is inthe Infinite, and thitherward their cou rse.

There is no end and no beginning. Hence,Effects and cau ses we call u ltimate,

Or final , are bu t relative insense,Not pos itive, as th ings called smal l or grea

And differ only indegree or state .

They are no more inmystery involvedThancau ses and effec ts immediate.

Effec t and cause arenatu rally solvedAll things from precedent conditions areevolve

B ut while all parts are infinite inoneOr many qualities , as length , and height,

And breadth , or substance, time, and space,none

Is infinite inall th ings . Yet as whiteIs one and all the colors of the light,So of ex istences there is anAll

A One inwhom all trinities uniteThat comprehends eac h fra ction great

small ,And which Existence, God, Wisdom and L

we call .

The Infinite of infinites is he,The God of gods , the All inall , the Whole

Ofconsciousness inbeing, One inthree.

Natu re ofnatu res , Love of loves , the Sou lOf

‘

sou ls , the Life of lives . Inhis contro lIs every law or truth . Inhim alone

Is freedom l imitless— the unreached goal0! infinite progressions . All things own

H is power , passive, impass ive, consciou sunknown.

310

Thencame thy lil ies pure beyond compare,They came love- laden, and their freight was this :These flowers , so fragile that they cannot bearN ight’s finger - touch , nor zephyr ’

s gentlest k iss ,

By subtle fragrance may perchance al lu reF rom dust- drivenpath the weary pas ser - by,

And do their part to keep the world'

s heart pu re,Though w ith the very day of birth they die l

Then, strong of pu rpose, l ight of heart, I came,

And sought some blossoms which m ight hOpeimpart,

Though not of statel iest grace or proudestname,

And grouped them herch the li l ies of the heart.

GEORGE ELIOT .

O G IFTE D sou lAnd loyal humanheart ! We ownou r debtUncanceled by thy li fe’

s vic iss itudes ,Which some may mou rn

,and some perchance

condemn.

Though thou hast joined the cho ir invis ible ,Thy fancy leads u s forth by mount and mead ,

By mi ll and stream , along Ital ia'

s shore,

By Arno‘

s palac e, and by Severn'

s c ot.

With thy c lear eye, far philo sO plric heightsWe scan, walk w ith grave Sc ience , and exploreWith eager step Minerva ’

s c las s ic realm,

And yet through all these jo u rneyings o f thoughtGo arm- ia- arm w ith snow - whi te pu rrty .

They blindly say, that penhad lost no power,Had lostno tender pathos , ifmost s trongThe hand that held it had refu sed the c rownOf woman’

s l ife, ti ll , wornright royal ly ,

Itm ight have gleamed untarnis lred inthe blazeOf l ife '

s mer idiansun. B u t HeavenaloneCanweigh the “ hath been, by the “ might have

be en,Andknow how heartaim andmoti vemore thanact,Sink downthe scale. Hearts arenot stee lThat have the gift to melt the sou ls of men.

Perhaps no foot has cl imbed Castal ianheightsWithou t the aid of two angelic gu ides ,Whose royal names are Sympathy and Love.

B u t letno sordid sou l w ith earthly aimsRely onprecedent. Who shal l affirmThat at th is post’s hearth may not have dweltSome haunting, phantom shadow of regretThat heart had soughtnot counsel ing of ageBefore the former yielded to its fate !

B ut Lyra from her breast has lost the pear l ,And mournfu lly she walks amongthe train,

TH E AI A GAZI N E OF P OE TR Y.

I For royal Vega has no s ister s tar .'

Tis not as the lost Pleiad Merope,Faded from mortal s ight and leftno trace :There is a luster inthe afterglowBetokening immortality of fame .

EARTH'

S SECRET .

’

Twrx'r sunand earth there l ies anempty space ,

So cold and dark— so dreary , cold and darkThat naught canlive ; where the electric sparkWhich l ights all wor lds canfindno abiding place.

Science may write greatmu sty tomes to showHow far those orbs , how wide those spaces are :H ow l ightmay pass from farthest star to star ;

May gauge the heat of suns inheaventhatglow ;

May tell how su btle sun- rays penetrateAl l interstel lar depths , wh i le day by dayThis modest ear th , inher predestined way,

Rolls on, scarcenoticed by anorb so great.

F riendship is anexotic rarely foundInthis poo r so il . If one heaven- waited seed

Shou ld springto bir th to meet a heart’

s soreneed ,

Some tou ch profane may sweep it to the ground .

Like tender - veined m imosa,every breath

B ids shr ink and qu iver with foreboding fear ,Lest some su spected danger lu rk anear ,And fear of dying sweeps it do“nto death .

My heart ! be thou so lost inthatgreat LoveWhich blessed the wor ld through sac rific ial pain,

That sou l to sou l growndark , no more canmoveThannatu re

'

s silentnight that falls amain,No r think to se e the flowers of Heavenar iseIndig enou s beneath earth

’

s fitfu l skies .

l l

F riends hip is anexo tic . Once twas foundOnearthly soil . It chanced inHeavenone dayBeneath t..e Tree of Life anangel lay,

And cas t its healing fru its uponthe ground .

l'

ponthe earth there fel l and lay c oncealedBes ide a r iver ’

s bank , one tiny seed,Which sprang to l ife a beauteou s flower indeed .

With fragrance borrowed from celes tial field .

One c u lled the flower to wear u ponher breas t,B u t at her feet its snow - white petals fell .

She found too soonit wou ld not bear the tes t,So near a beating heart it cou ld not dwel l ;

The frost- breath of reser ve no sh ield m ight prove :The flower was F r iendship, bu t the fru itage— Love .

314 TH E M AGAZINE OF P OE TR Y.

Life is renewed with rosy glow , I shal l not see her cold, sweet face,

Nor feels the cold, nor heeds the snow ,Though hate isnot l Death spoke its doom

The spring has come. Remorse wil l make my life a waste,And love will weep above her tomb .

And roses rare !B ornout of time, onbu shes blownF rom which I thought all life had flown.

This strange s ight doth my vis ionmeet, ALONEOnbushes dead, with fragrance sweet, I Passsnwhere many were meeting,

Are roses rare.

And listless ly found there a place ;I hear a bird I heard friends ’ voices ingreeting,

A gladgome, sweet and thrill ingnote ; And kisses fel l cold onmy fac e.

Tho’ longago each feathered throat

m leaf- divested tree had fled ,

I smiled whenI saw others sml e ,

I laughed at the jestgivenfree ;Yet plainly 110" I o

’erhead Acknowledged new faces the wh ile,

The 80 08 Ofb‘rd Who friends inthe futu re must be.

And this is love !B ut the mus ic fell du l l onmy ear ,

Or rose ina discordant tone,And yet whi le so many were nearI felt that I walked there alone.

To wreathe w ith roses winter ’

s brow ;To wave a wand where sad hearts bow ;To bring delight whenjoy had fled ;To life renew ; to qu ickendead

Ah l th is is love.

SUBDUED .

MY ENEMY .IN thoughtless you th , fair Natu re’

s bowersWere filled w ith br ight and fragrant flowers ,

AND she is dead ! I loved her 0 0 13, Rejoic ings ec hoed from her h ills ,And wonder why my mind to - day And laughter r ippled inher r ills ;

D0“! 899k “11d linger ’POUUd the “90 13 Filled was the brook , and sky, and tree,

Where l ies so cold her senseless c lay . With r ivaling sounds ofm instrelsy ,

Inlater years , seems change dher mood ,H er laugh ing waters more subdued ;Invainthe red rose flaunts its bloom,

Its heart hath lost its r ich perfume

Tu rnwhere I may, there comes to me

And shou ld I go where she lies dead The sad plaint O fhumanity .

I wou ld not see the scornfu l sm ile ;The haughty lifting of the. head

I wou ldnot dare to ventu re nearTo look at that which once was she ;

And why is th is whatneed of fear ?I hated her , she hated me .

With which she greeted me, the wh ile . IN THE LAND OF FANCY.

She loved menot, nor I— and still NE VE R a c lou d to darkenthe blue ;Whatmad ’

aing thoughts ru sh to myhead, Never a flower to lose its hue ;What throbbing pains my heart doth fill, Never a fr iend to prove untrue,Becau se my enemy lies dead . Inthe beau tifu l land of fancy .

There was a time I loved her so ! Never a joy to turnto pain;I sometimes thought perchance again Never a boonwe may not gain;We wou ld be friends , and she shou ld know Never a hope to die or wane,That I was not alone to blame. Inthe beautifu l land of fancy .

Had I but spoken— she was kind Never a heart tu rns false or cold ;She wou ld have listened ; cru el fate l Never a face grows gray or old ;Why have I beenso mad , so blind ; Never a love we may not hold,Why waited till it was too late? Inthe beautifu l land of fancy .

M OOD Y CUR R I E R .

Al l of life that we crave and miss(The wor ld denies u s half its bliss ) ,Free, untrammeled, we have inthis ,Inthe beau tifu l land of fancy .

WHAT IS LOVE 7Lovnis joy, and love is sorrow ;Love is sweet, and bitter too ;Love is old as all creation,Yet is love forever new .

Love is deep and love is cruel ;Love is tender , love is kind ;Love will comenot at you r bidding,

Yetno place bu t love w ill find.

Love wil l die unflinching for you ;Love will kil l as qu ick as hate ;Love w ill brave the wrath of thunders ,

Yet will weep if barred by fate.

You that love, you have my pity ;You that have not loved at all ,I wil l hope, out of compas s ion,Love wi ll soongive you a call .

A NEWYEAR’S WlSH.

AND if magic ian, witch or seerShou ld come to me th is dawning year ,And say,

To you is giventhe powerTo make one wish at midnight hou r ,Which by ou r art shall granted be ;If by you r eyes I cou ld bu t seeWhatyou w ish for , by this decreeMy wish shou ld bring it, dear , to thee .

How I shou ld watch eac h thought expire ;The wish you r words or look expressed ,

Shou ld swiftly come, atmy behest,If fame, or wealth , or love

'

s desire .

And if I lingered yet a whileOne moment dear— tho ’

selfishly,

I’m su re thatyou wou ld grant to meWhat I shou ld pr ize the most— you r smi le.

A U T U M N .

'

I‘is creeping o ’er the meadows

Where’er I tu rnmy eye ;

I see its flaming bannersProc laim it to the sky,

That summer’s days are ended

And winter ’s gloom is nigh .

- Tbe Summer is Ended.

JUNE.

Tm: morning breaks with rosy light,Its goldenbeams lead inthe day,Wh ile swiftly fly the shades ofnight,And roll insu llenfolds away.

The air and earth and sunconspireTo wake inall the soft desire

315

MOODY CURRIER.

OODY CUBB IER , the banker - poet of NewHampshire, was bornin Boscawen, N . H . ,

April 2 2 , 1 806 . H is ear ly years were spent ona

farm ,where be u tilized every spare moment inthe

pu rsu it of knowledge and inpreparing himself forcollege. He graduated from Dartmouth Collegewith h igh honors in1 834, and has rec eived fromhis alma mater the honorary degree of LL. D.

After leaving college he was master of the high

school inLowel l , Mesa , about five years . Du ringth is period he employed the brokenfragments of

time inqualifying himself for the bar , which be en

tered in 1 841 . A few years later he became thecash ier of the Amoskeag Bank , and the treas u rerof the Amoskeag Savings Bank . These institutions under his management soonbecamethemost

successfu l banks inthe state. He is also prominently connec ted w ith many other financial andmanu factu r ing interes ts . Mr . Cu rr ier has won

high honors in publ ic life, having beencalled tonear ly all the important offices at the disposal ofhis fellow - c itizens , inc lu ding the Governo rsh ip ofNew Hampshire, to wh ich he was elec ted in 1 884 .

F rom his boyhood he has beena c lose and untir

ing student. To him standard books have alwaysbeenfami liar fr iends, and much of his leisure hasbeenpassed inhis library . He is anaccomplishedl ingu ist, is versed inph i losophy, science and art,and is a mas ter of compositioninprose and verse.

Ear ly in life he edited, fo r several years , a weeklyjou rnal , and was afterwards a contr ibutor toothers , but he is knownto the public as anauthormainly through occasional poems wr ittenfor hisownrecreation, and his unique, polished and elo

quent state papers wh ile he was Governor . A vol

ume of his poems was publ ished for privatecircu lationamong his friends a few years since.

Governor Cu rrier , while a firm believer in aninfinite and eternal intelligence, has discarded as

unworthy of ac ceptance the su perstitions anddogmas of theology, and rejected all such crceds asw il l not bear the analys is of reason and ju stifythemselves inthe pu rsu its and activities of humanlife . This stands out boldly inhis poems and inhis state papers . H . M . P .

316 TH E M A GAZI N E OF P O E TR Y.

Now love the genial cu rrent warms , Inevery part, inevery whole,Now l ife awakes inmyr iad forms , God is the l ife, th ’

Eternal Sou l .For al l that

’s dark and all that shine

Soonfeel the qu ick’ning power divine ;And every sleepinggerm of earthAwakes to life and springs to birth .

Unnumbered forms float inthe airAnd for their summer tas ks prepare.

Far up the streams and mountainbrooks ,To shelte red pools and shady nooks ,The flnny tr ibes instinctive move,To seek a h iding plac e of love.

The industriou s bee from flower to flowerSlow gathers u p her fragrant store,And stops not till the setting sun

Rem inds her that her tas k is done.

The feathered tenants of the groveNow cheer their mates with songs of love,The while

,impatient of delay,

They s ing the l ingering hou rs away .

Ongi lded w ing the insec t throngSport inthe air and float along,

Or through the drowsy shades of nightF rom s i lver shards display their light.

Now mother earth ,inplenty

,pou rs

The gathered wealth of all her sto res ,With all the buds that spring prepares ,With al l the robes that summer wears ,With al l the fru its and goldengrainThat au tumnrears along the plain.

Now oft the genial showers descend,And all the charms of natu re blendTo deck the earth inrich array ,And all of summer

’

s wealth display ;For every blush that paints the dawn,F or every tear that wets the lawn,For every glow of pu rple l ight,Thatwarms the westernsky atnight,Are but the tints ofnatu re’

s robe,Are but the smi les of natu re’

s God.

What is , you ask, that wondrou s power ,That spreads the leaf, that paints the flower ,That tips with gold the insect’s wing,

That tunes the warbling throats that sing,

That decks the field , that c lothes the grove,And warms the throbbing hearts with love?It is, 0 friend , that power d ivine,That fll ls with light the orbs that shine,That spreads the zephyr ’s silkenwing,And weaves with greenthe robes of spring,That scents the air with rich perfumes ,From every summer flower that blooms ,And shines ineverygoldengrainWhich autumnyields along the plain.

THE ETERNAL ONE.

0 TELL me, manof sac red lore,Where dwel ls theB eingyou adoreAnd where, 0 manof thought profound,Where canthe Eternal One be found?Throughout the realms of boundless spaceWe seek invainH is dwelling- place.

He dwells where’er the beams of light

Have pierced the primal gloom of nightBeyond the planet’s feeble rayB eyond the comet’s deviou s way ;Wher e’er amid the realms afarShines light of sunor twinkling star .

Above, below , and all around,Th

’enc i rc l ing arms of God are found .

Where'

er the pu lse of life may beatH is form ing hand and power we meet.

While every livinggerm of ear thThat s inks indeath or spr ings to birthIs bu t a part of that great wholeWhose l ife is God, and God the sou l ,From plant to man, below , above,The power divine stil l throbs inlove.

H e is the life that glows and warmsIntiniestmote of living forms

,

Wh ich qu ick’ningnatu re brings to birth ,To float inair , or s ink inear th .

And every shru b, and plant, and flower ,That lives anage or blooms anhou r ,H as ju s tas much of God withinAs humanl ife or seraphimF or all that bloom and al l that shineAre only forms of l ife divine.

And every ray that streaks the east,And every beam that paints the wes t,With every tremblinggleam of light,With every gloom that shades thenight,Are but the trailing robes divineOf one whose garments ever sh ine.

The humansou l may bend inloveAnd seek for blessings from above,As well inbu sy haunts of men,Inforest gloom ,

insilent glen,As inthe altar’s solemnshade,Beneath the domes thatmenhave made ;As well may seek a Father ’s love,And ask assistance from above,Amid the ocean’s so lemnroar ,Or onits barrenwaste ofshore,As insome distant promised land ,

M A R Y E . H I LL.

Where sacred fame and temples stand .

The so u l that beats insweet attuneFinds initself the Eternal One :Nor needs to seek for other shrineThanGod '

s great temples all divine.

THE OLD I AN OF THE I OUNTAIN.

Tar home is onthe mountain'

s brow ,

Where clou ds hang thick and tempests blow .

l'

nnumbered years, with silent tread,Have passed abo ve thy rocky head ;Whilst round these heights the beating stormHas worn, with rage , thy deathless form.

And yet thou sit'

st, unmoved , alone,Uponthis ancientmountainhome.

Long as these towering peaks shall stand ,80 wondrous great, so noblygrand ,Serene, onhigh, that face of thineShall mock the wasting hand of time.

Whilst all that live shall pass away ,And all the tribes of earth decay .

O ldman, thy face of rock sublimeLooks back, through years , to anc ient time,Whenfirst the form ing hand divineBeared up this rocky home of thine,And from the lowest depths of earthThese mountainforms had first their birth ;Whenonthese shaggy heights imprest,Thy changel form was doomed to rest.

Thentell me, manof s ilent tongue,How first the heavens and earth beguIf all this bright and shining frame,With all these wor lds , from nothing came ;If all these starry orbs of light,Thatglitter onthe robes ofnight,And fill creation’

s vast expanse,Beganat once their mystic dance.

Or,“from mists that dimly shine,

Worlds springto l ight by power d ivine,Til l all the rad iant fields afarShal l beam with light of sunand star .

And tel l me where, indepths profound ,The primal germs of earth were found ,Which , rising up from realms of death,Instinct with li fe and vital breath ,Have formed th is wondrou s orb we seeOf hill and plainand waste of sea,

Where bu sy life, with forming power ,Unfolds itself inplant and flower ,And upward still , with widening plan,Kindles the pu lse of beast and man.

And te l l me whence, from earth or heaven,That l iving spark to manwas given,Which shines inGod’

s eternal day,Whenall things else shall pass away .

MARY E . H ILL

3l9

RS. BENJAMIN H . H ILL, nee Mim Mary 8 .

Carter , whoseuntimeLv death occu rred inMarlast, was anative ofGeorgia. and the eldest daugh

ter ofMr . S. M. Carter . ofMu rray County .

She was of English and Scotch descent. Her

paternal grandfather was ofano ldV‘

uginiafamily,

and her great-grandfather was a distingui hcdso ldier of the Revo lutionary War . He was killed

while leading his men ina gallant chargemainst

the B ritish at the siege of Augusta. in 1 775 . The

paternal grandmother of Mrs . Hil l was Mill i McDonald , and was deswnded from a noble Scotchfamily ; her great- unc le. Hon. Charles J . McDon

aid, was Governor of Geo rgia in 1 830. Mrs. Hill ’smother was Miss Emily Co lqu itt, daughtcr ofHon.

Walter T. Co lqu itt. He was inthe l'

nited States

S enate in 1 845, and mos t ably repres ented the

State of Georgia. He was a brill iant and eloquentadvocate. H is son, Hon. Alfred H . Colqu itt— Mrs .

H il l 's only living unc le— has beenl'

nitedStates Sen

ator from Georgia for two terms . Thepeople ofhisstate had previous ly proventhe honor and love inwh ich theyheld him by twiceelectinghimtheirGoverno r . Mrs . H i ll ’s father - a tru e tr ps of southerngentleman— resides pr incipally onhis plantationinthebeau tifu lmountains ofnorth Geo rgia. His broadlands are now tenanted by a large number of hisex- s laves , who c ling to him with a devotionthat isa just and beau tifu l tribu te to his nobility . Her

mother died whenshe was a child .

Mrs . H ill spent most of her childhood onher

father’s plantation, and she loved the freedom of

the country .

“At nine years of age,” she laughfugly says , “ I was a fear less l ittle rider ; my homefollowed atmy heels l ike a dog, sometimes to theterror of the littlegir ls who came to play with meonthe lawn. She was under the instructionof

governesses until she went to college, wher e she

graduated at seventeenwith the firs t honors inalarge c lass .

She wasmarried to Mr . B . H . H ill , Jr . , eldest sonof Hon. BenjaminH . Hillwho died eight years agowh ile representing Georgia in the United StatesSenate . Itwas onthe occas ionof his sad and linger ing death that Mrs . l l ill wr ot e her first poem,

The R iver , which was at the time widely copied .

Mr . B . H . Hill , J r . , her hu sband , has held two important offices inGeo rgia. He was Solicitor-General for Atlanta du ring eight years , and was

appointed by Pres ident Cleveland to the offic e ofDistr ict Attorney, which office he held with equal

c redit and honor to himself .


The subtle power of Mrs . H ill ’s wr itings , both inprose and poetry , may be explained by the factthat she looks into her heartand writes . H er workis charac terized by exqu isite pu r ity and tenderness ,so that everywhere may be recognized the footprints ofa beautifu l sou l . Bu tthe fairest of all herpoems is the unwrittenone of her home life.

THE R IVER .

OH ,rugged river ! restless river !

0 R iver of years— r iver of tearsThou r iver of Life !

R iver of tears ! Yet o ’

er thy bosom Joy, as a bird,flashes its gaudy w ing,

And dr inks its draught of ec stasy from out thy

c rystal spring.

0h , sunl it r iver ! shadowy r iver !R iver of gladnes s— river of sadness

Thou r iver of Life !River of gladness ! Yet o

’

er the blu e of the beantifu l sky floats a c loud,

Ou t of whose fleecy whiteness the Loom of God isweaving a shroud .

Oh ,beautifu l r iver ! while the star of youth is glowing

Fr om the silver - spr inkled sky ;

R iver of Life ! whenhealth ’

s el ixir flowingPaints thy waters its rosy dye.

Sunlit r iver ! whenthe days are fu ll of peace,And the calm of the song the river sings ,And the qu iet joy the lu llaby br ings ,We feel wi ll never ceas e.

And while the waters glow and gl isten,Ah ! how seldom do we listenTo the tu rning of the ponderous wheel of Time,

Over whose granite sides are rushingThe waves of the r iver ina symphony sublime !

B ut whenthe waters are black and bleeding,Dyed with dread Disease’

s breath ,

And we feel the r iver leadingTo the fathomless sea of Death

Then, ah l then, inou r agony of sou lWe cry, Oh l wheel of Time ! one moment stay l

Tu rnbac k the river , and cease to roll ,For a l ife we love is passingaway .

”

B ut God is the mi ller , and the wheel is tu rning,Though Gr ief’s hot irons ou r hearts are bu rning,And the r iver ’

s song— is onlya moan,And the grindingwheel

— sounds a groan.

Q Q Q Q 0

B u t from out ou r midnightgloomLook up ! God knowest best,

See the life we love as it catc hes the bloom

Of Infinite radiance. and rest !Its waters have mingled w ith the crystal streamFlowing so c lose to the throne,

And the waves have caught the goldengleamAnd the r iver ’

s voice , God’

s tender tone .

And the r iver ia heaveninits crystal calmFound its way through the goldenbars ,Flow ing u pward— beyond the gardenof stars

To the feet of God and H is Lamb .

Oh , royal r iver ! radiant r iver !R iver of Light— r iver of Life

Thou r iver of God !

GOING.

Tm: s ilver latc h is l ifted, and I am goingFar , far beyond where the stars are growingL ike flowers of gold inmea dows blu eThe angels spr inkled inpas s ing through .

The s ilver latch is l ifted, and I am going ;I hear the sound of the r iver flowing,

And I catch its gl immer where the trees enlacl

As the leaves bru sh cool about my face .

The s ilver latch is l ifted, and I am going ;The flower- kissed breezes of Edenare blowingAnd balmy sweet is the perfumed breathThat floats to me like a wh isper of death .

The silver latc h is lifted, and I am going ;’

Tis the bloom of the dawnerethe sunis glowiAnd adownthe h ills hang the m ists of morniiLike the veil of lace a bride adorning.

The s ilver latch is l ifted, and I am going ;Aboutme the l il ies of God are snow ing.

They are draper ies wh ite of a winding- sheet,

And soonI ’l l sleep '

neath their petals sweet.

The silver latch is lifted, and I am going ;Yet fragrant the flowers the days are sow ingNot a worm atthe root, theblooms havc u u cu l

F or Love is the gardener of my beautifu l worThe silver latc h is lifted, and I am going ;There

’s a nightles s home of God’

s besto wing.

Good- bye ; 1 takethe invis ibleand immortal haAs he leads me gently into the mystic land.

MY BIRD .

CLOSE inmy breastShe bu ilt her nestWhere the l ight lingers longest,And love grows strongest

My beau tifu l bird.


The tender purple of the even,The Augustnoondays ’ yellow light.

All these— and smaller th ings are oursThe cricket’s chirp , the robin’

s breas t,The gold- dust inthe hearts of flowers ,The soft, low twitter inthenest.

Though th is possess ing all things fairShould meana happiness complete,

Yet, God, a creatu re dares dec lareTo be possessed, is far more sweet.

Whenheart, and sou l , and life belongTo One who c laims u s as His ownWhenHe says , “m ine !” ou r wi ld- bird’

s songHas not the sweetness of that tone .

The blessed twi light’s gift of restIs not so fu ll of per fect peace

As whenwe leanuponH is breastAnd pang, and pain, and yearning cease.

The l ight of star s , perfume of flowers ,Are fainter , du ller thanthis bliss ;

More gloriou s thanthe noonday hou rsIs ou r renunciationkiss .

All natu re’

s gifts arenothing worth ,Whenby that love we sit enthroned .

Hear me ! The owning ofthe ear thIs not so dear as being owned .

CHAR ITY.

’TIB lack of char ity that pu ts hear t-ac he inou r to

day.

And makes the r iver ’

s floating dead religiousmockery ;

That char ity, I plead, that makes the heart morewarmly human;

That charity— so sadly rare— oi woman unto

woman.

TWO MOTHERS .

A WEE bird ch irped inits lonely nest,And, 10 ! its mother heard ;With outstretchedwings andthrobingbreast,F lew to the baby bird .

A child cried inthe winter night,And through a revel wild,With fair round arms‘, and bosom white,A womandanced and smi led .

ELIZA H . MORTON.

H IS lady, of Deering,Maine, had her birthday

inthe year 1 855 , of parents who were teachersintheir earlier years , bu t afterward gave their timeto the gardens and green- hou ses o f Thu s

the child lived among the most beautifu l th ings ofnatu re and learned to love them fondly . She was

educated at Westbrook Seminary . By stu diou shabits she has s ince added greatly to her earlystore of know ledge . She commenced teaching at

the age of s ixteen, and at the same time w rotearticles for edu cational jou rnal s advocating newmethods of teach ing in ou r common schools ,espec ially inthe study of geography . Abou t thistime her first poem appeared inpr int, wh ich en

cou raged her to other efforts , and her name s incethenhas been found inmany publications , botheast and west.

In1 879 Miss Mortonengaged her services inthenormal department of Battle Creek Col lege, Mich .

,

giving her attentionfor three years mainly to thesc ience of geography . At this time she pu blis heda volume of verse entitled “Still Waters . Ou t

side oi th is volume many of the au thor '

s best productions maybe found. Hymns filled with rel igiou sfervor have been set to mu s ic by some of ou r bestcomposers and u sed in revival work by D. L .

Moody and others .

Retu rning from theWest, she conceived the ideaof prepar ing anelementary geography , expres s ingher advanced methods of teac hing th is impor tantbranch inedu cation, and after five years of earnestwork it was published . It is to be followed by anadvancebook to complete the ser ies . Miss Mortonhas several other important works under way .

J . A . L .

WEAKNESS .

IN weakness held by hands unseenI struggle w ith the strong,

And vainly str ive to rise, to work ,To mingle w ith the throng.

Life looks so br ight, so fu ll of joyTo those who daily feel

The glow of health withintheir veins ,Of strength to work with zeal .

The days and weeks and hou rs belowAre slipping from l ife

'

s str ingLike pear ls , and gliding from my graspLike summer birds onwing.

Like ghosts my wasted years ariseAnd haunt eac h pass ing hou r .

They lift to me their spectral handsAnd boas t of vanished power .

32 6 TH E M AGAZI N E OE P OE TR Y.

GEORGE LANSING RAYMOND.

T has been said that poets are like birds , ands ing becau se they must ; and of no one is this

more true thanof this Americanpoet, who gave toliteratu re, in the br ief space of three years , as

many volumes of vigorou s lyric and philosophicalpoetry . To imagine, however , that these were theresu lts of only three years of labor wou ld be to dohim a great inju stice . Some of them were written

many years ago and pu blished inthe o ld world ;some were writtenlater ino u r owncountry andnever pu blished, and all have beencarefu lly andpatiently rewr ittenand polished until they were asnear ly perfect as their au thor cou ld make them .

Mr . Raymond has l ived a very bu sy life fromthe time he left college until the present, and

as all readers are inte r ested inknow ing somewhat

of the manwhose works they enjoy , we quote fromWerner

’

s Directory of E loc u tionists,R eader s and

Lectu rers ,"

the following :

“G . L . Raymond, I I I . D.

,is Professor of ( ) ra

tory and Esthetic Critic ism inPrincetonCollege . Agraduate of Phi ll ips Academy at Andover

,“l l

l iams College, andPr incetonTheologic al Sem inary ,and a student for some time inB u rma»

, he went in

1 8 74 to take charge of the department of Rhetor icand Engl ish Literatu re inWill iams College . H ere

he so recognize d and emphas ized the ne ces s ity ofelocu t-ionary training,

wh ich had not before beengiveninthe college, that a year and a halflater , at.his suggestion, the tru stees divided the u o rk of hisdepartment and made him Professor of O ratory .

Professor Raymond'

s reputationas a

teacher led in1 88 1 to his being called toPr incetonCol leg e, where a new chair was c reat edfor him, which he still holds . Onthe rostrum Pro

fessor Raymond is said to be a‘ pleas ing and ex

tremely forc ible speaker , w ith a very mu s ical voiceand natu ral manner , fu ll o fqu iet eloquence, fu l l ofpithy sayings and inte resting illu s trations , holdingthe c loses t attentionof the audience from the first

word uttered !o the c lose .

’B u t it is knownby his

fr iends that he vastly prefers the l ibrary to the rostrum , and of late years has devoted most of hisspare time to writing.

"

Of the real man, the poet, but glimpses aregiven,and those only to the apprec iative friends whos ometimes are perm itted to ente r into his charmedwor ld of the ideal . At these times the sou l ’s fire iskindled by kind and sympathetic responses , andthere flash forth such rare h ints ofhiddenstores ofknowledge , humor and tenderness , that the des ireto penetrate deeper is suddenlymet and checked bya retu rnto the conventional profes sor , who is as

Help onno ways nor words that extolThe vise of a bias that binds the sou l ;No rank held u p by holding downTru e wor th as anunder lingstr ippedof his crown;

No cau se w ith a lieFor a party- c ry

To catch the low or to cou rt the high :

unl ike the poet as it is poss ible to conceive . Or

where, after a day ’

s hard work inthe lec tuxe room .

hethrows himself into thesaddle and gal lops off fornew inspiration fr om natu re '

s s ilences , we detectsometh ing of the poet

‘

s longing for boundless freedom inthe realm of his ownuniverse, that is at

other times h idden from s ight. To find the tru e

poet one mu st meet him here, or in the hushedhou rs of the day,

when, inhis ownlibrary , he givesh imself u p to the del ight of an objec tive existence,and loses all sense of ou ter belongings inthe transformationwr ought by his ownimagination. This

is the place and time that have givento the wor ldthese volumes that breathe of lofty pu rpose and

tender hope . All the poems he has wr ittenwer eborninmoments snatched from ardu ou s duties ofa bu sy life, which a less earnest or pers istent manwou ld have thoughtno more than he wou ld havea r ight to sp end in re

creation, or , i f indream ing,

indreams thatneed not be recorded .

To rightly enjoy Mr . Raymond’

s poems , it is wel lto read first his

“ Poetry as a Representative Art.

It seems,certainly to the present w r it er , the first

and only book that ever t aught and made practical the technique o i versification, as well as thetruedifference betweenprose and poetry .

Mr . Raymond'

s publ ished works,inaddition to

Poetry as a R e presentative Art.

"ar e A Life in

Song,

“ B al lads o f the Revolu tion, and OtherPoems , and Sketches inSong.

” M . B . P .

WHATEVER THE MISSION IN LIFE MAY' BE.

e s vsnthe miss ionof l ife may be,Let love keep true, and let thought keep free,Andnever , whatever may cau se the plan

,

Enlarge the call ing to lessenthe man.

The cut of a coat,Cant chattered by rote,

A pr iestly o r pr incely state remoteFrom the ties that bindA manto mankind,

Are a c log and a c u rse to spir it and mind ;For God, who made u s , made only a man,No arms ofa snob, no shield of a c lan.

Far better a fr iend that is friendly to God,Thana sycophant, kissing a r ibbonor rod.

GE OR GE LAN SIN G R A 32 7

l ife with a c reed The fish pressed ontil l the way grew c lear ;That ends all the need Thenplunged out under the spray ;

Of knowing or growing inthought or deed . And showered his fins ina wh ite-cap near

Weigh well their worth ; true dawnings of light That r ivaled the rays of the day.

Canabide you r waiting and grow more br ight. H o,ho , show ingoffto the sharks cr ied thefry ;

Weigh not, you prove the thought I am on: And look— a gu ll onthe shoal .You r so u l is a slave and you r manhood gone. You su rface- shiner had better be shy ;

The bird wil l swal low him whole .

"

THE DESTINY- MAKER .

SHE came ; and I who lingered there,I saw that she was very fair :And, w ith my s ighs that pr ide su ppressed ,

There rose a trembling w ish for rest.

B u t I , who had resolved to beThe maker of my destiny ,

I tu rned me to my tas k and wrought,And so forgot the pass ing thought.

She pau sed ; and I who questioned there , MY [DEALI heard she was as good as fair ;And inmy sou l a stil l , smal l voiceEnjoined menot to check my choice.

B ut I , who had resolved to beThe maker of my des tmv

SHE came : she went :’

t was all a dr eam ,A groundless hop e, a fru itless scheme ;And yet the dearest dream did se emThat e

’

er to mortal gaze was given.

She turned sweet mu s ic inmy breast,I bade the gentle guardiandown, Till every sad or joyou s guest,And tr ied to think abou t N DOWH That swayed it once , w ith wonder ing rest

She left ; and I who wander , fear Grew s ilent, as grow s ins inheaven.

There'

s noth ingmore to see o r hear ;

Those wal ls that ward my paradiseAre very h igh , no r opentwice .

And I , who had resolved to beThe maker of my des tiny,Canonly wait w ithou t the gateAnd sit and s igh Too late ! too late !

A FISH STORY.

A ST RANG E fish came from aninland homeOna jou rney o ut to the sea .

He spl it the r ipples , and ripped the foam ,

And danced and dived inglee .

Ho , ho l cried the fry whenthe sea grew near ,Hu rrah for a fresh - water fool !

One gu lp of ou r salt whenhe comes ou t hereWil l send him back to his pool . ”

She came : she went : I know I dreamed ,Nor dared to test fond hopes that gleamed ;B u t yet how dear the fu tu re seemed ,And, though it was the wor ld, how real !

Ah , wherefore did she leave so soon,And chang e to night what had beennoon!Did heavensuffic ient de em the boonTo grant to me a form ideal ?

The fish was fleet, but the bar was high ,And the low tide roiled and dim ;

And he groped as he s lowly passed the fry, These goss ips all are scavengersAnd to and fro wou ld sw im . Of nobler people ‘

s characters .

Ho , ho l c r ied they , as they shook their scales , And how canone of taste or sense

The muddled one misses his way ! B e made, and yet take no offenc e,Andthey fannedtheir fins , and slashedtheir tails The cess- pools of their confidence

Aha,he here wil l stay !” — A Life inSong.

The fish sped on,till the sea grew deep ,

Then, plunging downthrough the blue,A fiash came back from a parting leap,As at last he sank from view .

Ho , ho ,

”cr ied the fry,

we canall do that,If we only go ou t w ith the tide .

"

B u t the tide had gone, so , left onthe flat,They fr ied inthe sun, and died .

She came : she went : a beam sublimeThat, straying toward a sunless c l ime,Trembled alongthe edge of Time,And theninfr ight sped back again.

Ah ,wherefore came she if to go !

I had not knownthe hal f of woeHad I not felt that heavenly glow,

And, matched w ith it, found earth so vain.


P O E T .

He is all mankind’

s ,

Akinto both the humble and the high ,The weak and strong. Who most wou ld honor himMu stfind inhim a brother . He but strivesTo make the tru th that he wou ld speak supremeTruth strongest when’

tis s implest, need ingnotThe interventionof pretentiou s pomp,Plumed with its symbols of authorityTo makemenkeep their distance.

Life inSong.

A S P I R A T IO N .

He’s the happy manwho holds his head not higherthanhis home. Ibid .

G R A N D E U R .

Sti ll , a spr ing may beA good spr ing that makes things around itgrowYetnot a grand spring : no ; unti l , bank - free

,

Itmakes a public swamp the whole way to the sea !— Ibid .

F E L LO W SH IP .

As sweet as heavenly harps are heartsWhenlove her low th rob inthem sta rts

And sweet as sweetest songs , whensung,

Are harmonies of deed and tongu eWhere two together think as one.

Alas ! and what have my moods doneTo part me so from all my brothers ?

— Ibil l .

D ISCO N T E N T .

We arenot always cu rst whenbornBy throes of natu re '

s slight or scornWith moods abnormal and for lorn;We arenot cu rst ti ll we consentTo dam ou r owndevelopmentBy choking downou r discontent.

If tr uth be something sought and learned,

He mostmust gainwho most has yearnedTo fill a need he most discerned .

— Ibid.

F A IT H .

Believe me, there is faith so fu ll and deepThat all the doubts that o ’

er its su rface sweepAre fog- banks to its ocean— fill its skiesAmid inac tive hou rs , but shift and riseWith eac h new changethatbrings asunor storm .

Ibid.

C IR CU M ST A N CE .

Onearth mencannot choose their sou l ‘s relations ,B ut r idingtoward successmu stbridlecircumstance .

— Ibid.

T H E S E A .

Thou God inminiature, ete rnity intime .

— A Life inSong.

B E A U T Y .

Still beau ty inthis wor ld ranks next to du ty ,And those who make life lovely next to those wholove . Ibid.

D O U B T .

Doubt onempty nest s its brooding o’er the th ings

that have beendone . Ibid.

SU CCE SS .

And, oh , how many and many a tombOf a dead hope, bu ried and left ingloom ,

Mu stmark the path of the manwhose needIs taught through failu re how to succeed !

— L'

nveiling the Monument.

PR O V ID E N CE .

We war with P rovidence, who war with life .

We seek to mou ld ou r ownexistence ou t ;B ut life, best made, is mainly for us made.

Each pas s ing c irc umstance, a tool of heaven,Is sent to smooth some edge of character ,And model manhood into better shape.

— IdeaIs Made R eal .

F R E E D O M .

The stru ctu res fair of freedomMenrear beneath the sky,

Press downondeep foundations ,Where thousands bu r ied lie.

— Tbe LebanonB oys inB os ton.

L O V E .

True love has life eternal , infinite .

Complete withinitself, and c ravingnaught,Itneeds no futu re far , nor outlet vast,No r aught to feel o r to uch intime or space.

A sense within, its el f its ownreward .

It waits not onretu rn. F o r it, to loveIs better thanto be loved, better thu sTo be a God thanman.

W IT .

Wit heeds a hint ; ’tis fol ly qu estions it.

G IR L H OO D .

Somegir ls are giddy : they embrace a beau .

And some are gloomy : they beset the priest.

— 1bid

E M I L Y STUAR T IVE E D .

EMILY STUART WEED.

ISS EMILY STL'

ART WEED is a native ofGreenwic h , Conn. The large , o ld- fashioned

nsion, inwhich she now res ides and inwhich she

t saw the l ight, is fu ll of h is to r ic assoc iation.

s Weed’

s grandfather , Isaac Weed , held a lienant

’

s commission under Gen. Israel Putnam ,

Iwas one of th irteensent by that doughty heroneet him at the Swamps at the time he madefamou s dash downhill , and partic ipated intheagement which fo llowed at Portchester . Missed is of Engl ish parentage, and u ponthe maters ide is lineally descended from JohnAdams ,)nd Pres ident ofthe United States .

'

hen only an infant she met w ith an illnessch has cast a lengthened shadow of pain overl ife, and the abounding vitality , wh ich wou lde expended itself inordinary ac tivities , has , by'

cas ion and enforced sec lu s ion, been divertedi subjective exper iences . Whenthe avenues tosou l are broa dand many , joy a nd sor rowmean

h . Miss Weed has an ample natu re, which11d have made her quaff eager ly the brimm ingof life had there beenno bitte r drops w ithinit.

although it is now two years s ince she has

1 beyond her own threshold, her fine qu icklitions keep her in perfec t and sympatheticch with the great pu lsating world beyond , in

ts varied phases . A natu ral bu oyancy of tem1ment gives no chance for that oft rec u rr ingstion “

Is l ife worth l iv ing? ”

er first poem was wr ittenwhenshe was eleven,her first publishedwork was at the age of fou r1, since which time she has beena frequent conu tor to some of the most conspicuou s jou rnalshe country .

be following are random selections from a largeactionwh ichw ill shortly be re- published inbook1 in accordance with the u rgent advice ofads , who des ire to see them preserved inperma3 literary form . The volume w ill no doubt be a1ning and valuable additionto the lyric litera- oi the day. \f. P .

IF WE ONLY KNEW.

I F we only knew the heart- aches .

The struggles and the tears ,That follow l ike a phantomThe wake of humanyears .

Cou ld we have knownthe shadowsThat wou ld c loud l ife’

s little day ;

Knownthe c ru el thorns inambushA long the weary way :

How ou r tired feet wou ld l ingerInthe flu sh of early light

Ifwe knew at ear ly dawningWhat we learnso late atnight !

B ut the daylight wanes so qu ickly ,

And the gloaming fal ls so fas t,We are left with naught bu t shadows ,F lying backward with the Past.

80 with weary hearts and aching,

Reach ing out ou r sou ls have cr ied,

If we only knew at dawningQ "What we learnat eventide .

BEYOND THE SUNSET.

WE cannot know if, after death ,

Life ’

s babble through the goldenbarsShall fioat its do ubts to the Far Beyond,That l ies so dim beyond the stars .

331

Inthe After - Day,wheno u r dreams are proved ,

Beyond the sunset's goldenwall ,If all ou r dreams of after - lifeAre proved but shadows after all ,What dreary blank for all ou r love ,

So unfu lfilled , so long to wait,So l ike the Peri, doomed to droop,And trail its wings ou ts ide the gate !

What though ou r waiting patient be ,

If naught remains but shadows pale,Inthe Vast Beyond ," from which no lightCanpierce the Futu re’

s misty vail !

And yet at times there wanders nearThe porta l of ou r disc ontent

A whisper to ou r dreams of doubt,A benedic tionsweetly sent

To teach u s that ou r fairest dreams

Of all that l ies beyond the “ R iverAre bu t the faintest gleams of l ightThat tr us ting sou ls shal l know forever .

MY SAILOR.

How cou ld I know my sailor had lainFathoms deep inthe oceanblue?How cou ld I guess he had s lept so long,

Lu lled by the notes of the sea '

s low song?Onthe co ral bed of the oceanplain,How cou ld I know of my sai lor s lain


I had watched each day till the sun’

s low beamsTouched to gold the snowy sail ,As each came up from the under wor ldWith prow high set, and sheets unfu r led ,

Up from the sea, br inginggoldendreams ,Fair as the sunsets painted gleams .

Out onthe beach , I learned it late ,

Alone by the waves , inthe moonl ight pale,The ceaseless su rge that washed the shore,Sang of the days that cou ld comeno more ,

B ringinggoldendreams and a fairer freight,And my heart for its sailor forever must wait.

AURORA.

Mos s breaks inbeau ty from the cu rtained night,And throws her kisses back ,

And sends her silvery sm iles of lightAlong the easterntrack .

The pale stars h ide inc reepingm ist,And the fair young c rescent fades ;Fainter the twinkling trainappears ,As fly the ebonshades .

Across the threshold of the nightThe goldenglory fal ls ;Au rora kisses all the h illsWith rosy sh immering cal ls .

CHAR ITY.

LIVE not for self, but strive for other s ’

good ,And if l ife’

s ru e is dealt w ith hand unspar ing,Put not the cup inhaste, or wrath , away ,Nor droop beneath the cross that thou art

bear ing.

If for another ’

s woe thy heart shall ac he,One notes thy gr ief and marks the record tru e ;

And every tear that’s wept for other ’s sake

Is garnered to disti ll inheavenly dew .

Life’s darkened hou rs may find some ray of light

To shed u pon the sorrow ing hearts that share

them,

If we bu t bear each other ’s bu rdens well ,

And l ift the c louds of grief from sou ls that wearthem .

Let sunsh ine in; give all that thou can’st spare ;

And all thy bread uponthe waters castWill come againwith life’

s retu rning billows ,Ladenw ith bless ings from out the c louded Past.

Dear heart, you hold the magicThat makes December May :You r sou l tou ched mine w ith sleeping,

And tu rned the night to day !

SPR I N G

— Returned.

SO R R O W .

Wil l morning break all strangely pale for thee,And shadows hide thy heart away from dawn,

Becau se a presence loved has ceased to be,Becau se a someth ing out of life has gone?

— Good N ight.

TRANSMUTED .

WaA'

r set the days to mu sic?

What made the daylight fair ?What waked my heart to singingLove’

s melody unaware?

The yeste rdays lie hiddenBehind the glad to - day ;

The morrows seem to prom iseA love to last for aye.

The night is filled with sh iningOf star s unseenbefore ;

New beauty gi lds the morning,The shadows come no more .

FIDUS ACHATESWnA '

r gift from the mist and shadow ,

Inthe hu rry and bustle of life,Do we reac h for and long for most,Ou t of the du st and str ife?

Out of the com ing and going,Amid the losses and gains ,What do we ask as a rec ompenseFor a harvest of tears and pains ?

Only a hand to lead u s

Over the thorney way,Some patient heart to whisperWhenou r feet shal l go astray ;Only a rest by the ways ide,Whenwe’ve growna- weary of tears ,

A tendernessgleaned from the harvest of love,Best gift for ou r toilsome years .

The spring is near ; I know by the soundOf the softw ind through the trees ;I know by the scent of the meadow- landsThat is borne onthe morning breeze ;I know by the sound of the danc ing brookAs it leaps , and r ipples , and s ings ,

And hu rr ies along from the mountain- top

With the moistening life it brings


The virginof the Lu rlei rock , And held a string of amber beadsWe know not what she be Inher u pl ifted hand .

Shemay be of the Angel race ;She is no br ide for the e. And her the mellow- setting sun

Andmellow- r isingmoonOr anUndine she may be, Beshone, as moveless there she sate ,A daughter of the stream ; And sang her Witchingtune.

Rough morta l hand to tou ch a maidSo pu re maynot beseem .

Now , by high Heaven! thatgoldenharrThat eye of blue is mine !”

For O fttimes at calm eventide, SO spake, and sprangWith suddenleapAs native fishers tell , The young Count Palatine ;Whenmellow shines the parting light,And chimes the vesper bel l , B u t sprang too soon. H rs hasty step

Missed the deceiving shore ;She beckons w ith a friendly hand, The whirl ing eddy su cked him down;And, pointing to the flood

,”9 sank , and P0 89 11 0 more .

There, if you fish , she seems to say,

You r fishing wil l be good.

And whoso , with the ris ing sun, BEAUTIFUL WORLD .

fi rst casts where she hath shown,The choicest fish that Rhine canboast Beau tifu l wor ld !That day he calls his OWI I .

Tll O l lg‘ ll bigots condemnthee,

My tongu e finds no wordsI rede thee well , Count Palatine , F o r the grac es thatgem thee !

My heart m isgives me sore, Beaming with sunny light,I rede thee, tu rnfrom this Jnng- frau , Bountifu l ever ,And think onher no mo re .

"Streamingwith gay delight,Fu ll as a r iver !

B r ight world ! brave wor ld !Let cavilers blame thee !

Have thou no fear , my pilot tr ue,Thou know ’

st I meanno harm,

The maid shal l grac e my fes tal board, 1 bless thee, and bendShal l rest withinmy arm . To the God who did frame

And be she of Undine tr ibe ,Or of the Angel race,

The Heaventhat gave the heart to dare,Shall crownthe deed with grace !

And to his words a loud hallooH is merry comrades shou ted

The pilot strove to smi le invain;He shook his head and dou bted.

And plas h , and plash , and hallo - ho !

Still gai!y onit goesAdownthe stream , till to their viewThe Lu rlei rock uprose .

The bird inthe greenwoodAnd onthat rock there shone a sheen Hrs SW

?“hymn‘3 trolling,

Of mingled sunand moon, The fish "I.

bl“

And as they nigher came, they heard .

Is spoutingand ro lhngA strange unearth ly tune.

1 48“things on wing,Wild dances weaving,

B u t wondrou s sweet. The J ung- frau sate Clods with new earth inspr ingBeside the s ilver sand, Swell ingand heaving!

Beautifu l world !B u rsting around me,

Manifold, m i ll ion- hu edWonders confound me !

From earth , sea and starry sky,

Meadow and mountainEagerly gushesLife’

s magical fountain,B right world ! brave world !Though witlings may blameWonderfu l excel lenceOnly cou ld frame thee !

j OH IV STUAR T B LACK/E .

SOW NOT IN SORROW.

Sow not insorrow ,

F ling you r seed abroad, and knowGod sends to -morrowThe rainto make it grow !

A fool is he his woe who feeds ,And seeks the thornby which he bleeds ,While harmless cul led from bloomy meads

The rose comes to the wise .

The pas tno prayer canbring again,The fu tu re cheats the schem ing brain,The present with its goldengrain

Is garnered by the wise .

Let each to - morrowDo to - morrow '

s work with power ;B ut he soweth sorrowWho l ives beyond the hou r .

While mad ambitionstints his s leep ,To scale the skies and plumb the deep ,I tr im my l ittle plot, and reap

My roses w ith the w ise .

Dreams you may borrow,

From the vasty space around ;My work is thoroughInmynarrow bound .

PhrygianMidas praye dof o ldThat all be to u ched m ight tu rnto gold,

B ut thus his dinner, we ar e told,Was lost to him unwise .

He found a sorrowWhere he hoped a goldenjoy ;

F rom Midas borrow ,

And be a wis er boy .

Whenstorms with wintry mu ster come,And J ove beats loud his thunder drum ,

I sit bes ide the fire and humThe song that cheers the wise .

Fear bringeth sorrow ;’Mid the world 's confoundingdin,

Peace you may borrowFrom faith that’s strong within.

Whenfriends are false and patrons frown,And railway shares go sw i ftly down,Weep not ! the c ross becomes a c rown,

By magic of the wise !Nu rse not you r sorrow ;Though the c loud be dark to - day,

God sends to -morrowThe brigh tand cheering ray .

Whenjuggling statesmentrim their sailsTo catch a whiff from shiftinggales ,I wait the hou r whentruth prevai ls ,

And tr iumph w ith the wise .

Dream not to borrowPeace from faction'

s battling waves ;H e reapeth sorrow ,

Who tru sts infools and has ves .

Whenthings once stronggo to the wall ,And creeds decay , and chu rc hes fall ,What then God r eigns above them all ,

The Saivor of them all .

Why shou ld we sorrow ,

Whena sphere reels into nightGod canto-morrowMakenew wor lds more bright.

Thu s whena world a- war ringgoes .

No fretfu l thornmy fing er shows ,While onmy breast I we ar the rose,

The star that decks the wiseSow not insorrow ;F ling you r seed abroad. and know

God sends to morrow ,

The rainto make itgrow .

SOME BOOK - WORMS WILL SIT AND WILL

STUDY .

SOME book - worms will sit and w i ll studyAlone, with their dear s elves alone,Ti ll their brainl ike a mi ll - pond grows muddyAnd their heart is as co ld as a stone .

B u t l istento what I now say, boys ,Who knows the fine art to unbend

All labor w ithou t any play , boys ,Makes Jack a du ll boy inthe end.

There'

s Moodie, no doubt he’

s a fe llow() f heart, and of head has no lac k ,

B ut his cheek , l ike a lemon, is yel low ,

And he bends l ike a came! his back .

I tel l him the worst of al l evi lsIs cram and to l ive onthis plan

335

Whenhireling sc ribes retail their lies ,And keenthe shaft of s lander flies ,I see a cheru b inthe sk iesThat smiles u ponthe wise .

Spu r not you r sorrow ;Though the tempest rave to—day,

God sends to -morrowThe peacefu l beamingMay.


Is to nou r ish a host of blue devils ,To plagu e him whenhe is a man.

Su re Solomonknew what was fittingTo keep a manju icy and fresh ,

And he says there is nothing like sittingO

’er books to bringgrief to the flesh .

From quarto to fol io creeping,

Some record of folly to gain,He says that you r red eyes are keepingDu l l watc h o ’

er thenight oil invain.

I guess you have heard many sermonsNot wiser at all thanmy rhymes

,

B ut perhaps you don’

t know what determinesTheir sense to be nonsense sometimes .

Though br ight the great tru th may be beam ing,

Through dimness it struggles invainOfvapors from stomach u psteamingUnhealthy , that poisonthe brain.

Bes ide her o ld wheel when'

tis birring,A spinster may sit and may croon

,

B ut a mettlesome you th shou ld be stirring,

Like Hermes w ith wings to his shoon;With a c lub, or a hat, or a mal let,Mak ing sport with the bal l onthe green,

Or roaming abou t w ith a wal let,Where steamboats and tou rists are seen.

Thenrise from the lean- visaged study,

That drains all the sap from you r brains ;G i ve you r face to the bre eze and grow ruddyWith blood that exu lts inthe veins .

Tru st mch for I know what I say,boys

And u se the fine art to unbend,

All work , with no seas onof play , boys ,Makes J ack a du ll boy inthe end !

MOONLIGHT .

THOU mystic moonthat o ’

er the dim gray soundRay

’st forth a yel low stream of thin

,cold l ight,

If aught thou has t of knowledg e more profoundThat told m ight profit bring to mortal m

’

ght,

Tell me : i f not, why shou ld I rack my witTo shape me what thou art, or whither bound,

O r what strange sou ls , for fles hly coi l unfit,F ind a meet lodgment onthy spotted round ‘

3

Dream dreams who w il l beneath the gl immeringmoons ,

And with dim ghosts commune that flit about,I haveno brains to was te onhazy ru ins ,That being read but stir more doubtfu l dou bt ;

Shine onme,Sun! beneath thy c lear, strong ray

To live and work is al l the bliss I pray .

LEE C . HARBY.

RS. LEE C. HARBY, now a resident of N ew

York City , was bornin Charleston, Sou thCarolina, and is a lineal descendant of the B arbysof that state, many of whom have been distingu ished insouthern literatu re and in the navalservice of ou r country . H er father , Mr . Marx E .

Cohen, after graduating at the Uni versity of G lasgow , in Scotland, married Miss Armida Harby,

and settled intheir native city of Charleston,SouthCarolina,

where he bu ilt a residence, dividing histime betweenthat and his magnificent plantationof “Clear Spring, inherited from his father . Mr .

Cohen’s childrenwere one son, the eldest, and five

daughters , of whom the subject of this sketch wasthe youngest butone. The brother beinggeneral lyabsent from home

, at school , at college, and then

in the army of the Confederacy (where he finallymet his death near the close of the war ) , the

father’s domestic taste led him to his daughtersfor company . Young Lee, having more taste foro ut- door l ife than the occupations of the hou se,became his companion, walking, ridingand drivingw ith him wherever he went— o r , at other times ,fo llow ing the bent of her natu ral inc linations , shewandered alone through the woods which su r

rounded the plantations , and along the beau tifu lstreams which flowed through them . Thu s she

grew u p a veritable ch i ld of nat ure , imbibing w ithevery breath of her young days a love and apprec iation of God’

s work . She had not even thatknow ledge of the world which school ch ildrenacqu ire from each other , as she never attendedschool formore thanthreemonths . Her edu ca tionwas condu c ted at home by her father and a greataunt, a highly c u ltu red lady . who had raised herbrother's orphanchildren, of whom Mrs . B arby ’

s

another was one.

Mrs . Harby married her second cou s in, Mr . J . D.

Harby . a sonof Capt. L . C. Harby , l'

. S. N . Theyl ived inGalveston,Texas , until 1 879 . While l ivingin that c ity one of her first artic les , entitledCh ristmas Before the

.War , was pu blished .

In 1 879 M r . and Mrs Harby removed fromGalveston, Texas , to H ouston, Texas . Up to th istime Mrs . B arby ’

s poetical works had beenreserved for private distribution, writtenon su itable occas ions for her friends . H itherto she had

strenu ou sly Opposed giving her poetry to the

public , bu t abou t this time she was invited to wr itea poem of welcome to the Texas Press Association,which met inHou stondu ring the spring of 1 880.

The invitationwas accepted , and the piec e, thoughfar from her best, was so well received and so

338

And soongives birth unto the produ cts ofThe c irc ling year .”

With large embrac e she drewMe c lose w ithinher arms , infu sed my sou lWith raptu re, while my spir its rose to heightsB efore undreamed ; then, inthat hou r, to me

All things grew poss ible and I waxed strongImbued with forcefu l fire thro ’

strength of Love !

The scene has pas sed ; I know not if ’

twas livedOr dreamed . to stir mynatu re

’

s deepest depthAnd so evoke the gifts which s lumbered there .

But this I know , that su rely yet againWil l Love come to me ; then, w ith c l inging

hands ,

Draw me unto the heavenof her breas t,And say,

’tw ixt kisses .

“ Thou hast earned thismeed

MY BOY.

DO YOU know l havehad su ch awonderfu l dream!It was queer as a vis ioncou ld be ;

And I laughed inmy s leep as I saw all the thingsThat came downfrom the sk ies— ju st fo r me !

There were garments of lace, w ith soft socks andwee boots

J u st as cute as they ever were made ;There were caps , and su ch robes ! and a rattle of

bells ,With a handle all coral inlaid .

And they fell from a perfec tly c loudless blue skyF loating down just as though they had w ings ,While I puzzled my brainto discover some u se

For su ch very remarkable things .

I was su re they wou ld prove mu ch too smal l formyself

,

And that I , for the bells , was too old80 I pondered it over ; bu t soonsomething elseMy attentioncompletely contro lled.

With a laugh and a shou t there came two merryboys

,

Who betweenthem a casket upbore ;And they looked l ike the cu pids fami liar to u s

Whenwe conned mythological lore .

We have found out a u se fo r those garments ,they said

For those socks and that coraline toy ;Thenthey smi led , and the casket laid low at my

feetAnd, behold , inits depths— a wee boy !


Oh ! his sk inwas l ike pearl , and his eyes dark lybrown,

While his l ips seemed with strawber ries fed ;H is soft hair loosely cu rled and like vine- tendrils

c lung,

Bu t the shade— wou ld you think it — was red !

Yet his smile was so sweet my heart melted withlove

,

And I called him my life andmy pride,While I cradled him soft inmy covetou s arms

And nestled him c lose by my s ide.

Why ! you seem to imagine this cannot be so !Yet my dream is a truth and a joy ;Wou ld you prove it? Then look inthe crad le

and see

My magnificent aubu rn- haired boy .

IN VERNAL SHADES.

A'r rest u ponthe dewy lap of earth ,My fancy tu rns to mythic legends sweet ;

My dream ing thoughts to changefu l scenes give

birth ,Which , fair as visions . are as visions fleet.

Eac h s ight and sound recalls the fabled daysWhenru led great Pan o

’

er forest, stream andvale ;

Againfair Syrinx to the Naiad prays ,Then, changed to reeds , gives mu sic to the gale.

I feel the cooling touch uponmy lipOfpu rple grapes impearled with dews of morn,

And I , w ith Bacchu s , w ine delic ious sip ,Thenfol low Ceres thro ’

the ru stl ing corn.

InEnna’

s fields , a- sway onstately stem ,

The honeyed l il ies tempt the wild bees ’

kiss

Persephone, del ighted , gathers them ,

Bu t lets the flowers fal l whenseized by Dis .

A tangled mas s of c rimsonroses sweetDrops fragrant petals onthe verdant sodThere Love, to shield his mother ind iscreet ,With one fair blossom bribes the silent God .

At rest upona vernal couch of earth ,My senses steeped inspring’

s softecstasy,These phantasies inglowing dreams had birth ,

Which to Olympic heights transported me.


CLEMATIS.

TRUST .

IF hearts are du st, hearts ’ loves remain,And somewhere, far above the planeOi earthly thoughts beyond the seaThat bounds this l ife, they w ill meet thee

And hold thee face to face again.

And whenis done Life’

s restless reign,

If I hereafter bu t regainHeart's love, why shou ld I troubled be

If hearts are du st?

By Love'

s indissoluble chain,

I know the grave does no t detainHeart’s love. The very faith inme

Is pledge of anet ernity ,

Where I shall find heart'

s love again,

If hearts are du st.

PLATYSTEMON .

coxnzssmx .

THOU hast taught me , my beloved ;Thou hast taughtme :

Taught.me Life’

s profounder meaning ;Taught.me honor , virtu e— weaningMe from all ignoble th ings :OnImagination’

s w ingsTaughtme how to soar , and findRarest pleasu re inthe mind :Taught me Life

'

s du l l incompletenessWithou t Love ’

s renewing sweetness :F rom the height of thy pu re sou lTaught me pass ionto control ;

And hast brought me

At thy g entle feet to learn CEANOTHUSWhat thy c learer eyes discern.

Thou hast blessed me, my beloved,

A B SEM E '

Thou hast bles sed me : THE day is night u henthou artgone ; the nightB lessed me w ith thy tender gypfl’

Is long, and silence, l ike a roaring sea

Wh ich look onme with s uch a wise BY angry tempest driven. thunders 0 11My faint sou l grows strong agajn, My u tter lonel iness and sol itude.

As the flowers after rain: 0 , friend beloved, how canI part from thee !And they post me

,How canI say farewel l to those bright eyes ,

While they more and more enchain.

Those eyes which bless me with their tender lightThou hast blessed me with thy words : H OW canI say farewel l to those 50“hands ,Sweeter thanthe song of birds , Those hands wh ich hold me intheir l ight caress !They have soothed my weary brain, How canI say farewell to those soft lips ,138 038t every care and pain Those l ips which teac h me Love's divinest law !That distressed me, How canI say farewell to that dear heart,

And a new strength pu t withinme That heart which is to me my heaven, my all !To resist del ights that winme No , no , dear love, I cannot part from thee ;F rom the duty God commands . My heart onangel wings will follow thee,

Thou hast blessed me w ith thy hands ,Wh ich have ever shared my to il ,Heed ingneither achenor soil ,

And caressed me,

Mak ingall my bu rdens lighter ,And the sky of hope still brighter .

Dear hands— only made for smoothingR estless pi llows , and for soothingTired hearts— wou ld they were mineTo have and hold by right divine !

Dos t thou love me, my beloved ?Dost thou love me?

Thou whom I have from afarWatched and worshiped, like a star

That above meShines , and yetmay never knowThe bles s ings that its beams bestow ?

Thou hast taughtme, thou has t blessedme

And w ith happiest thoughts possessed meB ut to love me

Is the c rowning of all blessing ;Mak ingme by thy confessionR ich beyond all power to measu re ;R oyal— c rowned by thy sweet pleasu reSovereignof a fair domainI had never thought to gain.

B le ss ing, honor, rest thou art,

And w ith undivided hear t,Dear , I love thee

Love thee more thanwords cante l l :And I wou ld thatmy caress ingCou ld bring thee so r ich a bless ing,

And forever more compelLove’

s peace inthy heart to dwel l .

CLI F F OR D A . LA N I E R .

And find the ,wheresoe'

er thou art ; w ill holdThe still in sweet embrace, and whisper Love

’

s

Unwearied story to thy listening ear .

My thoughts insweet companionship will stillThygentle foots teps lead where sunniest skiesTheir azu re keep undimmed, and genial climesPerpetual fragrance shed . My thoughts , w ith

Love’

s

Transformingwand , wil l tou ch the w i ld flowers inThy path , and bid them yield a sweeter breathAnd wear for thee a brighter fac e and smi le.

They will sweet odors bring of home and friendsAnd dear remembering hou rs , ifhappily theyMaytempt a restless , wanderingthought, and tu rnRemembrance bac k to homel ier scenes and me.

Sweet heart, my thoughts thy guardianangels be,And bring thee safe to home, and love, and me !

LULLABY .

SLEE P ,baby , s leep, while softly I

Sing lu llaby, sweet lu llaby .

What sweeter song canminstrel singThanlu l laby, sweet lu l laby ?

For life’

s most tender memories clingTo lu llaby, sweet lu l laby .

With lu llaby onmother ’

s breastAre baby '

s bright eyes lu l led to res t :

With lu l laby is Ch ildhood stayed,

Its sorrows soothed, its fears al layed .

With lu llaby Love comes to YouthAnd wraps him indelic iou s dreams

Until a goldenlock , insoothThe only prize worth w inning seems

From Manhood’s brow all troubles flyWhenlov ing wife sings lu llaby

Old Agegains strength and comfortwhenHe hears this lul laby again.

TO ARCADY .

To Ancsnv hast thou ne’er been

Thenlet me give themystic keyThe pass- word that shall take thee in

To Arcady .

Love, love that worketh charity ;That holdeth all mankind as kin;That beareth humansympathy .

Love is the only door thereinAnd love, the opensesameWhereby thou may ’

st anentrance win

To Arcady .

343

CLIFFORD A . LANIER .

F CLIFFORD LAN [ER had never writtena lineof poetry , his l i fe wou ld have beenakinto that

of “The Dumb Poet," so beau tifu lly described byMrs . Margar et Preston. But, happily , Mr . Lanierhas not been content with the day- dream ofthoughts that never shape themselves into wordsfor others , bu t has givenu tterance from time to

time to high aspirations and or iginal fancies . Inhis supremely modest way he has al lied himselfwith those whose delight it is to ass ist inmaking,however humbly

,

Life. Death . and the Vast Forever

One grand. sweet song.

H is poems , as yet, are only “ birds of passagethrough the periodicals , bu t it is to be hoped thatthey wil l find their way into a volume some day.

Their chief characteristics are a blend ingofspirituality and ideal ity , a reverence for al l that is purein art and pass ion, a hopefu l ou tlook , and a

quaintness of thought that oftenc lothes itself inquaintness of expression.

There are some charming lines in“The Spirit ofAr t,

” “ Time, Tireless Tramp ,” Love’

s Reserve ”and Acknow ledgment,” and these pieces showMr . Lanier at his best ina lighter vein.

“The

Power of Prayer " (writtenincollaborationwithhis nobly endowed and distingu ished brother , Sydney) , is fu l l of humorou s realism , and is a brightaddition to ou r s lender stock of negro dialectpoetry, worthy of the name. Sydney and CliffordLanier were united insympathy, as wel l as throughthe bond of close relationship, and s ince the deeply lamented death of the former , the latter mustever feel that for him

“ There hath passed away a glory from the earth .

He is , however , blessed by the unfai l ing consolationof a happy married life. He was bornApril2 4, 1 844 , at Griffin, Ga. , and was christened Clifford AndersonLanier , after his maternal uncle, thepresentAttorney - General of Georgia. He was edu

cated at a private grammar schoo l until the ageofthirteen, after which he entered into a businessc lerkship for one year, fol lowed byacou rse ofstudyat Oglethorpe College. He left there, however ,whenhe was seventeen, andentered theConfederatearmy at eighteen. This was the second year of thewar , and he beganhis military career as a privateinthe infantry . He was thentransferred to signal

service, and the duty of a mounted scout inVirginia, until October , 1 864. After that he

became the signal officer on a blockade- run

ner from the port of Wilmington, N . C. The


ship was foundered at sea, January , 1 865 , andthe crew was rescued by the schooner Orville.

Clifford Lanier found his way back to joinhis command by proceeding to Cuba, and running theblockade into Galveston, Texas . There he heardof Lee’

s su rrender , andgavehimself upas aprisonerof war to Wilsonand Smith ’

s Federal Corps atMacon, Ga.

, May,1 865 . Afterwards he became a

hotel c lerk , a most uncongenial occu pationfor a

poet, and a manof the gentlest refinement, andkept at his post until 1 872 . He has s ince enteredinto general business in Montgomery, Ala. He

has only gratified his earnest delight in literatu reby stolensips ," as he aptly expresses it.

“until

recently .

”Some years ago he wrote “ Thorn

F ru it,”which he desc ribes as a sketch of a novel ,

you thfu l folly , literary w i ld oatsAmong his published short sto ries may be men

tioned, The Docto r 's Story,” and “The Mate

’s

Race With The Banshees .

”The latter has some

dramatic strength , and an eerie element thatwou ld have pleased Hawthorne. The story was

evidently suggested by the author ’

s exper ience asa blockade- runner .

W. H . H .

THE SPIRIT OF ART.

SHAPE LESS, yet with Ravana’

s twenty hands !Invisible weaver of the m ighty loom ,

Weaving the fabr ic of humanity’s doom ,

Whose broidered hem is bright with bord’ring

strandsOfcolor , tone and subtly patterned shapes !Teac h u s the secret of thy flngers

‘

skill,

Preach u s a tru th artgeniu s or self- willWeave u s a cloak reveal ing what it drapes !

Unl ike the patriarch , thou hastmuch w ineAnd artnot drunken, Shem, Japheth , weMu st backward grope intremblingmodesty

And c lothe this shiningnakedness of thine ;Fo r who so , son- wise, w ith a reverent heart,Wi l l strip himself to lend thee of his dressShal l know the bless ing ofthy tenderness

And dwell forever inthe tents of Art.

TIME, T IRELESS TRAMP.

0 TIM E , thou running tramp so fleet,If thou wou ldst only lag awhile !

I pause to ease my weary feetAnd thou has sped a mile.

IIow longa jou rney may I takeWith thee? Is l i fe but just one stage?

Ou r next inndeath New life the breakOf dawning age onage?

This globe thou sawest inthe prime,Whenmolten, candent from the handOf Jah and whenboar cosmic rimeEnglassed the glacial land .

H ow old wert thou whenAdam playedWith F lora and the Fauns and Pan?What time throned Jah from lu strou s shade,Spake mus ic unto man?

Did God exhale thee while he s lept,The very vapor of his breath ,That, B reath of Life, thou yet hast keptThe E lfin-ness of Death

COURAGE I SOME REMAIN .

To F ever H eroes

DAY’s timid winds have takenfl ight

And fluttered thro '

cloud lattices of l ight ;Delays one bolder breath of eve,

As loath to leave .

M i llennial eons round , like flowers ,Thou mu st have knowninbud and bloom ;And secu lar days from crescent powersWaning to sunless gloom.

Didst chat with Luna ere she grewSo chastely sad and ghostly cold,About her fairness ere she knewThe wrink le of growing old?

Art come to age’s memory yet?

Wiltgossip of thine earliest days?The midd le countless years forgetAnd sing us primal lays !

A hundred thousand springs eclipseInblank forgetfu lness . Retrace

Somemillionstades , and onthy lipsAnd around thy you thfu l face

Let speak the word , let shine the lightThat sang and shone whenstarswereWert thou Beginning’

s eremite

Unwed, alone, for lorn

B eyond do vaster oceans roll?H ow long canst thou expect to be?Time for body, Eternity for sou l ,Hast reac hed matu rity?

Thou seem’st a Jack- o

’- lanternthought,

E’

er dancing over fens of fern,F itfu l , afeared of getting caught,And dark whenthou shou ldst bu rn.

346

MRS . E . MAYHEW EDMONDS .

RS. ELIZABETH MAYHEW (WALLER )EDMONDS is chiefly knowninliteratu re for

her advocacy of the c laims of the modernGreeks tofu ll recognitioninthe world of letters . This interest inGreece has beenshownthrough variou s publications fromtime to time— in.

‘

lIacmillan’

s Maga

zine, The Academy,Woman’

s l l'

or lrl , etc — but

chiefly ina volume of translations inverse of thepoems of modernG reece. B efore the appearanceof “ Greek Lays ," however , M rs . Edmonds wrote asmall volume of poems cal led I lesperas .

”Inthe

Sonnets of Eu rope” she also represents G reec e inthe two sonnets by l ’rovilegios and Rhangabe . A

novel called “ Mary Myles " is her most rec entwork . The above, w ith the exceptionof some ia

gitive poems and sonnets , which are scattered indifferentmagazines , are at present the sum of Mrs .

Edmond'

s literary work,which did not commence

unti l the au tumnof her life ; which circ umstance,however , isnotto beascribed to a thenawakeningofthe facu lty of au thorship , bu t to the fact of its re

pression in you th and to other c ircumstances .

Almost-incar ly childhood a talent for verse -mak ingshowed itself, which , from many discou ragements ,seemed to have died ou t as womanhood ap

proac hed . She might almost be cons idered as selftaught, for the edu cationderived from the volantary tu torship of anelder brother was too ofteninterr upted to be taken mu ch into account. The

best part of her li fe was wholly absorbed bydomestic matters , brightened by her devotiontomany varied studies .

II . A . T .

THE POET'

SWIFE .

My head is weary with a sense of loss ,Although the summer tide is all aglow ;What e’

er I look uponseems tu rned to dross ,With thoughts that stifle, and with thoughts

that grow .

I knew it was my beau ty woke his theme,M ine eye thatmade his verse with passionflow ;

And I was proud and happy . Did I deemThat he wou ld .mount, whilst I was left below?

The years have made him famou s, and the year sHave weighed uponme with exceedingweight ;

Betwixt u s two , there day by day appear sA deeper val ley, and a steeper height.

Did I not see the looks of cold su rprise,Whenonhis arm amid the cou rtly hall?


The questioningglances and uplifted eyes ,As though they whispered, Does her face recal l

Aught that cou ld e’

er those glowing lines inspireWhich ona suddenmade the wor ld to pau se

And askwith raptu re, Whencecaughthethis flre?Who is the maid, and where, that is the cau se?

And so I go no more to c log his joyWith the sad thought I am no fittingmate

For his ripe years : he was bu t yet a boyWhenfor my “

starry eyes he tempted fate .

All day I s it alone , and onmy kneesH is poems lie open, and I str ive invainTo l ift my sou l to his , my wcak brainsees

Words , words , and only words , and words again.

B u t yet I w i ll not tell him I have grief,F or he wou ld se ek insome way to atone ;

I wou ldnot see , fo r my poor heart’

s relief,My eagle moping by the ingle stone.

HESPERAS.

O, BEAUTEOUS DEATH I

To B E beloved , we only need to die0 ,beau teou s Death ! that giveth u s this boon.

However long ou r hearts inbondage lie,Love inits warm embrace w i ll h old us soon;

H E SPE RAS— lnthe evening,

’

neath the archOf thick leaves stirred by the soft westernwind,Where the las tgold ray l ights the du sky larch ,And trembles through the beech arms low in

c lined,B etweenthe pau ses of the throstle'

s song,Betweenthe interchange of loving thought,

Ins imple rhymes some inner feel ings strong,

1 bring to ’

gu i le the hou r (yetnot unsought) ;While, c irc l ing round, the blithe bat

’

s filmy wingsWith qu ick erratic motionfanthe face,

Ineager hasting, ere sw ift darkness bringsThe time to seek its shrouded nesting- place .

WhenLove is speaking, Love wi l l l istenlong ;And deep- browed nighther dew - damp cloak drew

roundF u ll oft, whilstmy du ll pipe inl ingering songF rom ears indu lgent gratefu l welcome found .

e e s 0 0

E LIZAB E TH M A I'

H E H'

E DJ I OA'

DS

And they who know u s no or know u s w rong.

Wil l by degn-e-s come nea rer to o u r s idehWill see the things that unto u s be long.

And, as the shadow ing vei l is drawnas ideWill n0 te some fairnes s where they saw a s tainWi ll strive eac h tone and acc ent to meal]

And with a suddentendeniess w il l strainLove- longing eyes . thenhoping to know all .

Were this thy only gi ft. this wou ld be why.

0 . beauteous Deac me thinks .

'

tis wel l to die .

ATHENE SAD.

A baa- relic! of Athene lately disc o vered inAthens. e:hlblts inthe face of the goddess anexp re ss ionof sadness In

stead of the us ual type of intellec tu al calm .

A'

runxr-zw ith a c loud uponher brow !She who inmajesty serenk severe

We aye have seenw ith blue eyes gleam ing c learInall the calm of w isdom '

s strength and now

Out from the sc u lptu red marble which belowThe earth hath slumbered many anuntold year ,The goddess looks , bu t looks uponu s hereWith all the saddened lineaments of woe !Came there prOphetic vis ion

’ fore the eyeOf him who felt the joy of Art abound ,

That stayed the exnltant ch isel raised onhighAnd carved unwi lling record— see ingaroundPanes desolate , and hearing for resound

Of pecans— eu exceed ing bitter c ry?

THE BYRON CENTENARY .

J annary 2 2 .

LET not the heart of England grieve to - day

That by analienrace, inal ientongu e,The memory of her poet- sonwas sung

Alone. Thanhis loved Hel las who cou ld payA more befitting homage ? dimmed ray

Shines round his brow for her who sti ll hathc lung

To him so fondly . Dwells there u s amongA greater love thanhers?Who , who dare say

?

For him , then, who wou ld w ish a higher IotThanto be thu s remembered by herTo whom he gave the bes t things of his

heartThenoblest, pu rest? Who w i l l now aver

’Tis not enough that by this better part

He triumphs— that his Greece hath not forgot?

THE AKROPOLIS OWL.

THE SUDDEN CLOUD .

As sns '

r I looked up onmy dear love'

s br ow .

Where s hone the summer ofa swe et c ontent.

Amazed . I s aw a suddenshadow gr ow .

And all the sunlight ina moment silent.

Taking her hand , Nay, sweet. whence comes this

c lou d[

'

nheralded . that thu s doth bring alloy?"

IIer tear -g emmed eyes this ris ingthoughtavowedG rieftreadeth sti ll uponthe heels of joy .

THE TRYSTING TREE.

THR EE E I‘Ot‘

l lS .

Sor 'r is the wind that is stiring the grassWhere is s leeping the pale anemone :

I heed not the moments which sweetly pass .

Pink and white blossoms ar e c lust'

riug the tree .

B right is the sunthat is gild ing each bo ugh ,

B right are the smiles that are greeting me,Brigh t is the go ldenhair shading a brow .

Ruddy red apples hang thick onthe tree .

I have waited here ti ll the s hadows c ome ,

I have waite dlong whils t the hou rs flee .

I am waiting s til l inthe mist and the gloom.

One by one fall the dead leaves from the tree .

Tar: nigh tingfie s ings inthe r oyal c loakWhere amar anths are carpeting the gro und :

Although it doth not woo the mu shy ro se .

“ 0 3? fragrant canop ies With buds abo und.

Bu t hath its iaithfu l partner nestingnearThe s plashing founta ins . o r the fle shetmen.

The gardenis a sanc tuary : fear.‘Iaw not the joy which goes their love between.

Bu t onthe rough Akr op ol is aloneThe sm ‘kle d- breasta l ow l hath s till its home .

Mak ing the ru ine dParthenonits own.

Where nightly w ith so ft w inging it doth r oamInfreedom . yet indange r. and its cryInshri lly sadness

'plains for memories gone by.

348 TH E .l/A GAZI N E OF P OE TR Y .

ADAM SCHOLES.

DAM SCHOLES, of Detro it, Michigan, is a

str iking example of the graciou s workings of

a div ine creative power , that su bstitu tes , inretu rnfor some fac u lty removed, added delicacy or ih

creased tlneness ofthe sou l’s ou treac hings from thematerial man. Mr . Scho les , a gentlemanof stalwart bu ild and in superb health , when nearing the prime of life became bereft of vis ion;lostnot suddenly , but by slow degrees, that addedby irres istible encroac hments to the mental agonyof contemplating the darkened l ife awaiting him .

While ho lding a respons ible position ina leadingmanu factu r ing establishment of that c ity , his eyesight, strained at times by his work , began to

weaken, and he became totally blind, over thirteenyears ago . And yet his sightless orbs , dark blu eincolor , give less outward evidence ofhis affl ictionthanthe occas ional hes itating step that markshis advent insome unfam iliar spot. Inhis com

fortable home and the adjacent park and diverging avenu es , he walks w ith the assu rance of

fami l iar ity , but elsewhere this fails him , and the

sympathetic fr iend or stranger meeting him w il lfeel s incere regret for the noble appear ing man

'

s

irretr ievable misfortune .

With this untoward affl iction, there came to Mr .

Scholes a new gift ; an intu itive perceptionof the

inner l ife and its fu tu re poss ibil ities . Thoughts inrhythmical meas ur e were evo lved inharmony w iththe new life of the m ind that had suddenly developed. Incomposing,

Mr . Scho les mentally indites , revises and memorizes his produ ctions beforecalling inanamanuensis , and whenread to him

from pr int cannote even the displacement of a

punctuation mark as promptly as a competentproof- reader .

By birth , Mr . Scho les is Ir ish , a native of CountyWestmeath , first seeing the l ight about fifty years

This day ou r thanks we tender Thee !From slavish pass ionset u s free,Insu re the answer to ou r prayer ,By giving u s a heart s incere ;Lord of the harvest’

s bounteou s sto re,

We’

d praise Thee, now and evermore !

ago inthe l ittle vi llage of Moate, some fo rty m iles G iver of bless ings, all ou r daysfrom Dublin. From that c ity he reached Detro it Wi ll not su ffice to speak Thy praiseJtwenty- seven years ago . Reared in the strictest Ou r inability ’

s complete ;orthodox faith , he has , for many years , accepted We bow insilence at Thy feetthe more l iberal teachings of the times .

The heart by Thee is understoodW E J We mou rnou r past ingratitude.

BL IND .

ERIN .

On! canit be I ’m blind for l ife ?No more shal l gaze onfriends or wife,Or beau teo u s natu re all around,

Where lovel iness doth so abound

Er in, dear Er in, the land of our birth ,The loveliest isle onthe face of the earth ,How long shal l you groan’neath the weight of ti

rod,

Ah , yes.’tis so l I bow my head ! How long shall you r prayers be unanswered]!

I’m blind ti ll numbered with the dead, God?

Unti l released from earthly str ife,A spirit free, inspir it li fe.

It cheers me, though , to think the dayMay not be very far away,WhenI shall jo inthose gone before,And see the l ight of heavenonce more.

Whatnow to me seems dark and drear ,Incoming years may yet be c lear ,Qu icken, oh , God, my inner sight lHelp me to see thy ways are r ight !

THANKSG IV ING .

Wrru gratefu l hearts we’

d come to thee,O , thou All Potent Energy !A song of thanks to Thee we’

d sing ;Harvest has c rowned the toil of spr ing,

And plenty reigns o’

er al l the land,The gift of thy benignant hand .

The gifts of natu re all are thine lAccept ou r thanks , 0 God, divine ;For morning dew and evening rain,For verdant fields and go ldengrain,For countless bless ings Thou hast given,And for the hope at last— of Heaven.

Dear Lo rd, onthis Thanksgiving day,

May hate and anger pass away !And as we hope for Thy sweet Heaven,Forgive as we wou ld be fo rgiven,And strive to reach that peacefu l shore,Where jars and discord come no more.

J ! AR Y E . IKE LAN '

D . 351

And how long shal l it be b efore you wil l stand’

Mid the nations of earth , ou r dear native land !Oh

, Shades of the M artyrs , who died for the r ight,Pray with us ! Pray with u s for Er into -night!

Oh England, proudEngland ,now dareto do r ightBe ju st to poor Er in, be ju st inthy might,Thy powerfu l hand of Oppress ionnow stay ;You '

ve crushed her too long,ina merc i less way.

Let her make her own laws ! The demand is bu tinst,

And sooner or later , proud England, you mu st !A storm is brew ing that wil l break forth inwrath ,And woe to the tyrant itfinds inits path !

Thy epitaph , Emmet, the wor ld wi ll yet read !Regardless of country , of race, or of creed,All menshall be brothers , and all will uniteIndefending the weak and u pho ldingthe r ight.

All over the wor ld there is gather ing a c lou d !Oppressors and despots ,

it comes as you r shroud ;Whenit passes away the sunwill shine bright,Oppressors and despots all hu rried from sight.

Thencheer u p. old E rin, for you shal l yet stand’Mid thenations of earth , ou r dear native land !Oh ! Shades of the Martyrs , who died for the r ight,Pray w ith us ! Pray with u s for Erinto -night.

POETRY .

THE R E ’8 poetry inwinning ways ,

Inevery soft and tender tone ;There s poetry ins imple lays ,There ’

s poetry inlove of home.

There ’s poetry inr ippl ing brooks ,

And inthe oceanwild and w ide ;There ’

3 poetry inloving looks ,Whenthose we love are by ou r side.

It’s inthe soft, low whispering breeze,And inthe tempest’s fear fu l roar ,

That rend to shred the giant trees ,That dash the w ild waves to the shore.

There ’

s poetry inevery flowerDispens ing fragrance onthe air ;

And inthe calm , stil l twi light hou rWherenatu re seems ins ilent prayer .

All natu re is one var ied poem ,

Myster ious though the lines may seem ;Throughou t the universal domeThe wr itings ofa God are seen.

AT THE PARTY .

I GAV E her a rose, so sweet, so fair ;She picked it to pieces while standingthere.

I praised the deep blue ofher sta rry eyes ;She tu rned them uponme inco ld su rpr ise .

Her white hand I kissed ina transport of love ;My kiss she effaced w ith her snowy glove.

I touched a soft r inglet ofgoldenbrown,She rebuked my daringwith haughty frown.

I as ked her to dance inmost penitent toneOnthe arm ofa r ival she leftme alone .

MARY E . IRELAND.

RS. MARY E . IRELAND,whosemaidenname

was Haines , has lived fo r many years inBaltimore, where her hu sband , JohnM . Ireland,is in bu siness ; bu t her native place is in CecilCounty , Maryland. There, inthe old homestead ofher parents , she was born, grew to womanhood,was mar ried and l ived for some time afterward.

She has had three children, onewho died ininfancy,and a sonand daughter now grownto man’

s andwoman

’

s estate . Mrs . Ireland was educated at theLadies ’

Seminary of Jamaica , Long Is land . She

has talent for mu s ic , painting and the cu ltivationofflowers , bes ide that for literary work , of whichlast she has done qu ite a good deal inboth thewriting of original sto r ies and translating fromthe German. R ed Car ,

”recently publ ished , is

one of her translations ; others are"Lenchen’

s

Brother ," "The Platzbacker of Plauen,” andBetty’s Dec is ion. One of her ear ly efforts was

an artic le published inScribner’

s Magazine for

1 876 , entitled “The Defoe Fami ly in Amer ica.

”

It was qu ite a success , attrac ting a good deal ofattention. She has wr ittenmany other magazineartic les , short stor ies and serials , two ofher stor iestaking prizes . Benard Westerman,

”a ser ial ,

was recently published inthe New York Witness .

Her first book was a col lectionof her short storieswoven into a continuous narrative and entitled“Timothy : His Neighbors and H is Fr iends .

”An

other tr eating of miss ions has beenac cepted by aprominent Londonfirm . Shehas stil l another original work nearly ready for publication.

Mrs . Ireland is a bluaeyed, brown- haired ,pleasant- faced lady , very agreeable inmanner andconversation; is blessed w ith health and strength ,and leads a bu sy , happy, u sefu l life M . F

352

This gave me a hint ; I veered from my track ,And waltzed w ith anheiress to winmy loveback .

I carr ied her fanand indu lged ina s igh ,And whispered sweet things whenmy loved one

was nigh .

It worked l ike a charm oh , joy ofmy life !This stratagem w ins me a sweet little wife.

MOTHER AND SON.

POSTMAN , good postman, halt, I pray ,And leave a letter for me to - day ;

If it’s only a l ine from over the sea

To say thatmy Sandy remembers me .

I have waited and hoped by day and by night,I’ll watc h— ii spared— ’

till my locks grow white ;Have prayed , yet repent that my faith waxed dimWhen, pass ing, you left no message from him .

My proud arms cradled his infant head,My prayers arose by his boyhood’

s bed ;

To better ou r fortunes he traversed the main;God guard him and br ing him to me again.

The postmanhas passed midst the beating rain,And my heart is bowed w ith its weight of pain;This dark , dark day, I am tortu red with dreadThat Sandy, my boy,

may be ill o r dead .

But, hark ! there’

s a step ! my heart, be sti ll !A step at the gate, inthe path , onthe si l l :Did the postmanretu rn my letter forget ?Oh , ’

tis Sandy ! Thank God, he loves me yet !

TRANSIT ION .

SHE is lying instate , this fair J une day,

While the bee from the ro se its sweetness s ips ;Her heart thr i lls not at the lark '

s c lear lay,Though a sm i le il lumines her pall id l ips .

Whatglorified form did the Angel ofDeathAssume to her view , that it left the bright traceOf a ju bilant welcome? His icy breath

Froze the sunny smile onher fair young face.

Did angels w ith snow - white w ings come down

And hover about her dying bed?Did they bear a white robe and a starry crownTo place ontheir sainted comrade’

s head

Did her gaze rest onval leys and pastu res green,Where roses inbeauty su pernal bloomWhere l i lies insnowy and go ldensheenFill the air w ith their heavenly, rare perfume?


Did strains of sweet mu sic her senses entranceWhile Earth , w ith her loved ones , receded inair ?

Did fr iends who had left it, to greet her , advanceAnd joyfu lly lead her to dwell with them there ?

Did she cross the deep Jordanwithout any fears ,For all were now calmed onher dear Savior ’

s

breast?Onpinions of l ight did she mount to the spheresWhere all is contentment, and pleasu re, and

rest“

3

All this we may tru ly and humbly bel ieve,For Chr ist to the Bethany s isters did give

The comforting promise, which all may receiveHe that believeth , though dead, yet shal l l ive.

THE ANSWER .

Wor LD you l ive you r whole l ife over ,Grandma , dear

?”said I one day

To the sweet- faced aged Chr istianJou rneying onthe heavenward way.

Wo u ld you leave you r staff, you r bl indness,You r eighty years and ten,You r wr inkles and you r deafness ,To be a child again?”

With a tearfu l look of terrorAt the prospec t dark and drear ,Leave the very gate of Heaven,F or a sec ond sojou rnhere?

No ,my dar ling !” said she meekly ;

Inher vo ice a so lemnthrill ,Wor lds onwor lds cou ld never tempt me,Save it were my M aster ’

s w ill .

SYMPATHY .

WHY art thou troubled, oh , my cherished fr iend !Thy s imple pleasu res shadowed thy l ife thro ughBecau se the benefac tions thou wou ld ’

st do

Are not w ithinthy reach to give, nor lend,sanctuar ies found : no treasu re sendTo fo il gr im Poverty . Inthine ownviewArt helpless , u seless ; longinggood to do ,

Yet power less . Let Fr iendship thee defend .

Thy tender heartne’

er tu rns from humble needs ,And while thou toilest for the hou seho ld band

Dependent onthee, blmsings crownthy headFor l ight which thou onsomber paths hath shed .

Had God intended thee to do great deedsHe wou ld have placed themeans with inthyhand.


I w ill not look inupper airIf you rs is not beyond compare,Yetm inew ith yours wou ld fainbe bound,

’TIS ALMOST NIGHT .

’T 1s almostnight ; the shadows gray Perhaps the two , inunioncrowned ,Creep chill athwart the dying day.

May form that wonder - sweet and fairThe bird no more its sweet songtr ills , A perfect heart !And e

’

enthe mu sic - loving r illsWith mu rmu red s ighs glide ontheir way.

So intheWest, l ife'

s parting ray

B ut faintly glows , no r long canstay . THIS YELLOW ROSE .

I feebly whisper , As God w i lls ,’T is almostnight.

Tms yellow rose anhou r agoH e bartered for my jacqueminot.

Yet sings my son] withou t dismay , First time we'

d met, bu t inthe danceTheshadows 900“8h?“flee away . Friendships with rapid pace advance.

H is glory all my being thr ills , Now shall I keep this flower or no ?

And floods beyond the westernhil ls ,Where pal lid l ips no mo re shall say I care "Gt for him . L9t it 80

’T is almostnight.

Into the ruddy fire, althoughHe gave with tender word and glance

This yel low rose.

I ’ll keep it ! Ina year or soIF I WERE YOU. We may be lovers— who canknow ?

The fu tu re’

s long and fu l l of chancthThenwhat a lucky c ircumstance

To have his gift of long ago ,

This yel low rose !

IF I were you , i f I were you ,

My: little child with eyes so blue,So love- enfo lded. free from care,

Of evil yet so unaware

No tear shou ld e’er my eye bedew .

I’d dance and sing the daylight through , P R I Z E A W A R D .

And gather fiowerets where they grew ,

As i f I knew the time were rare,If I were you .

B ut yet my foolish tho ught I rue !The time were over i f you knew .

With childish years the heart mu st pair .

A shattered toy wou ld be despairTo break my heart w ith weeping, too ,

If I were you .

A PERFECT HEART .

A PE RF ECT heart! Ah , tell me whereIt lies , that I may winand wear !If inyou r breast it benot found A U T H O R S .

I wi ll not search inbas er ground,But yield me up to my despair .

1 . Margaret A . Logan. 2 . Ju lia Ditto Young.

3. M Le . 4 . M . l'

T ff BSo many hearts , the wor ld around,

Rfly

h,

nnox

F

r

;J“ 1a

“

a

H

t ayne 0 J

Yield to the touch a hol low sound,A ‘ no ’e’ 6 ° annie avey c “ 8 ° 7 ‘ Selma

A per fect heart. Cogswel l .

For the best Rondeau (onany subject) receivedby the editor onor before December 1

, 1 889 , one

hundred dollars . First prize, 350 ; sec ond prize,$30 ; third prize, $2 0.

First pr ize wonby Margaret A . Logan, Vicksbu rg, Miss . Second prize won by Ju lia DittoYoung, B u ffalo , N . Y . Third pr ize wonby MayLennox , Canastota,

N . Y .

Judges JohnBoyle O '

Reilly, Florence Ear leCoates , E lla A . G iles , Rev . Patrick Cronin, Char lesM . Dickinsonand N . Leila Michel .Number of poems sent incompetition, 2 61 .

N IA GAR A .

N I A GA R A .

SE LECTI ONS.

NIAGARA.

Tl 'rax ofwaters ! ever hastening on

Toward where increas ing dire confu sionbreeds ;Magnificent and dread to look u pon,

As some last charge ofbattle whengreat deedsGrow tr iumph— like the untamed pampas steeds .

Spurning the tu rf, and toss ing wild and freeTheir foam - decked manes , bounding thewh istling

And browngrass of the broad plateau — thou sea

Of thunder and tu rmoil , what power has earthlike thee !

Earth trembles ’neath the fu ry ofthy trac k .

Woe be to him who meets so fierce a foe !

How the impatient waves crowd bac k onbac k ,Trampling their comrades to the undertow lWhere onth ’

upsu rge the foam flies to and fro ,Scatter ingits pear ls all prodigal to air ,Sky - sto rm ingmists inbillowy squadrons go

R ioting along their br idge of rainbowed aiWhat earthly pageant canw ith thy dread might

compare !

How vainman’

s strength to thine ! With dauntedeyes

I watc h thy mob of white waves ’roar ing rout

Wrestl ing as though for some Olympianprize,And changing blows , l ike champions bold and

stou t,

Where the hoarse breakers thronging round

aboutSpume onthe sho re, andflaunttheir featheryspray ,The rough swar tbou lders stand indumb redou bt,

Shou lder ing the buffeting, seething waves awayThat leap and bound them round l ike do lphinsl ithe inplay !

Yet Ofttimes intheir prone, compu lsive flight,The hard- pressed billows l ift, and rally back

As white plumed warr iors , swept along a fight,Tu rn, l ion- wrathed, at foemenontheir track ,And the heaped field is heaped w ith wrath and

w rack’Till the round welkinr ings— so dauntless lyThey deal those fo llow ing many a doughty

thwack,

And, swoll’n with might, let their fierce prowess

free,Wild as the B erserk ’

s rage inhis death ecstasy !

Wel l art thou named N iagara ! for thouWear

’st onthy hou r and naked presence broad

The deep-graved s ignet ofa kingly brow ,

As that of some o ld heathenr iver -

god

Stretched by his fountainonthe upland sod,Indifferent as Time to mortal fareScorningman’

s might, which onthee never trod,Still onand onthou dost, increas ing, bearWithout a how , joy, love, ambition, fear or care !

Thou hast for mana lesson, cou ld he knowWhat thou art saying inthy thunder tones ,

For , like a prophet of impending woe,Thou preachest ever to the senseless stonesOne dread account of l ife ; and inthy moans

Thou seam'

st to wail and shadow forth thy fateWhenthy vexed waves have gnawed thy ruggedbones ,

And all thy grandeu r shall be ou t ofdate ,Spo iled of thy rainbow crown, thy robes , and thy

estate

Cns vnx Lasasrnor a B ETTE .

— F or TheMagazine of Poetry .

Bu t where the Island breaks thy sl ippery storm

Against its baredefence of gnar led rock.Along whose rampart throngs the frothing swarm

With w ildering clamor and tumu ltuous shock ,Around whose outposts li ft a frenzied fiock

Of toiling waves their fo iled defying hands .

Thentu rnindeadly str ife and fatal lock .And rage infu r ious and disordered bandsEventhere Heaven’

s how of peace its beauteousarch expands !

Thu s onward to the brink ! there sheer and deepThe black rock bastions , onewide mountainwal l ,

Around whose base and storm- confounded steepCloud-mingl ing terrors hold their carnival ,Straining their sinews inexpectant thral l .Fo rced inone straight, impetu ou s , final charge.

Thy waves ru sh headlong, with tremendousbrawl ,

Far o'

er the serr ied front and shelvingmarge,And thenare tossed inrou t and whelmed inru inlarge

So downuncounted ages , with a roar

Of whir lingchar iots and hard- trampl ing horse,Thou heav ’

st along thy breadth ofwatery war ,And bravest all things inthymaddening course.

And so thou speed’

st forever ! thy blind forceM oves always on, like Life to Death 's du ll chime,Streaming from some earth - wombed pr imeval

sou rce

To the broad ocean, rol l ing onsublime,Tireless as fate, the c irc l ing spheres , and time !

356

NIAGARA.

R IVE R that runnest w ith tempestuou s note,With r ioting eddies and tumu ltu ou s tide,

And maelstroms struggl ing inthe chasm ’

s throatA thousand tempests inthine onset r ide ;A thousand storms , whose thunders never diedWheno ’

er the misty meadows of the airThe volleying clouds were scattered far and w ide,Charge inmad wheel , like fu r iou s horsemen, whereTheir froth ing squadrons plunge around the em

battled square.

B ut, as thy waters throng the sheer dec l ine,What image inthe mind’

s fantastic wo r ldOfmighty cavalry downsome path mal ign,Unseen, unguessed, with trampl ing tu rmo il

whir led ;Or of innumerable bisonhu r led

Before the hunters to a cafion'

s deep ,And myr iads onru shing myriads sw irledOver the maddening and ho r r id steep

B u t s inks before thy unimaginable sweep !

Far other is the vis ionof thy strengthWhere the dire tumu lts fail inmu rmu rs low ;

Like level - lying lawns is thy greenlength ,Andmeadow- whitethegreat foam- blossoms blow .

Bes ide thy bank , which evergreens o’ergrow ,

Most like a flower - strewnTitanth ou dost dreamAfter some vast pr imeval labor ’

s throeAnd the far catarac t

’s snows gl ide and gleam

Thicker thanstar - foam onthe m ilky- way '

s darkstream .

Methinks , brave r iver , mutter ing inthy jarPonderou s syllables of anage- o ld tongue

Heir of some bo isterou s sea once billowing far ,Strength of the old wor ld’

s lo ins whentime was

young,

I hear thee faintlier chant a pteanflungAlongthy footpath , inEearth

’

s rugged pr ime,Whenfrom a grander steep thy challenge rung,

And vapors rose onpillars more sublime

To where the rainbow ’

s unsubstantial arches c limb .

Emblems ofyouth eternal , inwhose cou rseA thou sand years are as the vasty su rgeThat every moment crashes , loud and hoarse,Into the to rment ofthe whelminggu rge,Why do thy floods such march impetuou s urge?

No sovereignvo ice exhorts thy restless tideInone impatient hou r its life to merge,

Lest some unconqu ered good may yet abideWhenthy spent waters inthe solemnsea subside.

Thy lips do swallow up my tiny vo ice ;My thoughts lie baffled inthy torrent

’

s spell .


NIAGARA.

ALm Ga'

r r vo ice that cal les tme from sleep,Sleepless thyself through all the past of time,And stil l unspent, insc rutable, sublime,What answer canI make thee but to creepAnd hide my s ilence inthe all - shelter ing deepE

’

enof thy mu s ic ? Clas h of rhyme onrhyme

Offends mine car as t were a futile c rime,B reaking the peac e which reverence shou ld keep .

Yet for my wo rship lac king bette r way,

And seeing how thy strength is c rowned with

grace ,

And maddened w ith the beauty ofthy face,I am constrained to c ry as best I mayAnd te ll the w ith my faint, adoring breath ,That at thy hand I fainwou ld taste of death .

EM ILY Pr air ran.

NIAGARA.

Has aught like this descended since the fountainsOf the GreatDeep broke up, incataracts hu r led,

And c limbing lofty hills , eternal mountains ,Pou red waveonwave above a bu r ied wor ld?

Yontides are raging, as whenstorms have str iven,And the vexed seas , awaking from their s leep,

Are rough w ith foam , and Neptune’s flocks are

dr ivenInmyr iads o '

er the greenand azure deep .

Ere yet they fall ,mark (where thatmighty cu rrentComes l ike anarmy from its mountainhome)

H ow fiercely yonw ild steeds amid the torrent,With their dark flanks , and manes and crests of

foam ,

Speed to their doom—yet inthe awfu l center ,

Where the wild waves r u sh madliest to the steep ,Ju st ere that white unfathomed gu lf they enter ,R ear back inhorror from the headlong leap,

Then, maddening, plunge— a thou sand more suc

ceedingSweep onward, troop ontroop, againto u rge

Yet inthy shock and r iot I rejoice,Type of humanity whenl ife did wel lLavish and bu oyant as thy chanting swell .Whenall its days to sto rmy mus ic ran,Unconsc iou s of the sea-goal seaward fell ;When, laughter - like, thy spray flew inits van,And as thychainless flow was the free heartofman.

R ICHARD E . DAY .


As deepens the night, all is changed,

And the joy ofmy dream is extingu ished :I hear but a measu reless prayer ,As ofmu ltitudes wail ing inangu ish ;I see bu tone fluttering plunge,As if angels were fal ling from heaven.

Indistinctly , at times , I beholdCuthu llinand Ossian’

s old heroesLook at me w ith eyes sad with tears ,And a summons to follow their flying,Absorbed inwild eer ie rou t,Of wind- swept and desolate spec ters .

As deepens thenight, a clear cryAt times c leaves the boom of the waters ;

Comes w ith it a terr ible senseOf suffer ing extreme and forever .

The beautifu l rainbow is dead,

And gone are the birds which sang through it.

The incense so mounting is nowA stifling, su lphu rou s vapor .

The abyss is the hell ofthe lost,Hopeless fall ing to flres everlasting.

Tama s GOLD APPLE TON .

NIAGARA.

THE FALLS OF NIAGARA.

FLow onforever , inthy glor iou s robeOf terror and of beau ty . Yea ,

flow on

q athomed and resistless . God hath setH is rainbow onthy fo r ehead ; and the c loudMantles ar ound thy feet. And he doth giveThy voice of thunder power to speak ofH imEternal ly— bidding the lip ofmanKeep s ilence— and uponthy rocky altar pou rIncense ofawe- stru ck praise .

Ah ! who candare

To l ift the insect- trump ofearthly h0pe,Or love, or sorrow ,

mid the pea] su blime

Of thy tremendous hymn? EvenOceanshr inksBack from thy brotherhood, and all his wavesRetire abas hed. F or he doth sometimes seem

To sleep like a spent laborer , and recallH is wear ied billows from their vexing play,And lu ll them to a c radle calm ; bu t thou ,With ever lasting, undecaying tide,Dost restnot,night or day. The morning stars ,Whenfirst they sang o

’

er young Creation’

s birth ,Heardthydeep anthem ; and thosewreckingfires,That wait the archangel ’s signal to dissolveThis so lid earth , shal l find Jehovah

’

s name NIAGARA.

Graven, as with a thousand diamond spears,Onthine unending vo lume.

TR I-ms h'nous torrent ! for aninstant hu shEvery leaf The terrors ofthy vo ice, and cast as ide

That lifts itself withinthy wide domain Those wide involving shadows, that my eyesDoth gather greenness from the l iving spray, May see the fearfu l beau ty ofthy face !

Yet tremble at the baptism . Lo ! yonbirdsDo bo ldly ventu renear , and bathe their w ingAmid thy m ist and foam .

’

Tis meet for themTo to u ch thy garment’s hem, and l ightly stirThe snowy leaflets of thy vapor - wreath ,Fo r they may sport unharmed amid the c loud,Or l istenat the echo inggate of heaven,Withou t reproof . B ut as for u s , it seems

Scarce law fu l , wit-h ou r brokentones , to speakFaxniliar ly of thee . M ethinks , to tintThy glor iou s features with ou r penc il ’s point,Or woo thee to the tablet of a song,

Were profanation.

Thou dost make the sou lA wondering w itness of thy majesty ,B ut as it presses w ith del ir iou s joyTo pierce thy vestibu le, dost chainits stepAnd tame its raptu rew ith the humblingviewOf its ownnothingness , bidding it standInthe dread presence of the Invis ible,As if to answer to its God through thee .

LYDIA H UNTLE Y SIGOUR xnr .

Tu e: thoughts are strange that crowd into mybrain

,

While I look upward to thee . It wou ld seem

As if God pou red thee from His ho llow hand ,And hung IIis bow uponthine awfu l front ;And spoke inthat loud vo ice, which seemed to him

Who dwelt inPatmos fo r his Saviou r ’

s sake,The sound ofmany waters ; and had badeThy flood to ch ronicle the ages bac k ,And notc h H is centu r ies inthe eternal rocks .

Deep calleth unto deep . And what are we,

That hear the questionofthat vo ice su bl ime?

Oh ! what are all the notes that ever rungFrom war

‘

s vaintrumpet, by thythunder ing s ide?Yea,

what is all the r iot mancanmakeInhis short life to thy unceas ing roar ?

And yet, bo ld babbler , what art thou to H imWho drowned a wo rld, and heaped the waters far

Above its loftiestmountains — a l ight wave,That breaks , and whispers of its M aker ’s might.

Jou s GARDNE R CALKIN S B RAIN ARD .


Hundreds of smooth blue r ivers . flashing afar o ’er

the prair ies ,Darkening ’neath forests of pine, deep drowning

the reeds inthe marshes ,Cleavingwith no iseless sledgethe rocks , red- c ru sted

w ith copper ,Circle at las t to one commongoal . the Mighty SeaWater .

LO ! to the no rthward ou tlying,w ide gl immers the

stretc h ofthe Great Lake,

White-c apped and spr inkled w ith foam , that tumbles its bellowing breakers

Landward onbeac hes of sand, and inh iding- ho leshol low w ith th under ,

Landward where plovers frequent, w ith the wo l fand the wes ter ing bison.

Fou r su ch Sear-Waters as this , a chainof green

land- boundenoceans ,Pou r into one their tides , ever yearning to greet

the Atlantic ,Press to one narrow s lu ice, and pro ffering their

tr ibu te of silver ,Cry as they come : Receive u s

,N iagara,

Father ofWaters !

"

Such is the Iroquo is god, the symbo l ofmight and

ofplenty ,Shr ine of the untu to red brave, subdued by anun

fathomed longing,

Seeking in water and w ind,stil l seeking in star

glow and lightning.

Something to kneel to, something to pray: to ,

something to wo rship .

H erc , whenthe wo r ld was wreathed w ith the '

scar

let and go ld o fOc tober,

H ere, from far - scattered camps , came the mocca

s ined tr ibes o f the red- man,

Left intheir tents their bows . fo rgot their brawlsand dissens ions ,

R inged thee with peacefu l fires , and over their'

cal

umet-s pondered :

Chose from their fairest v irgins the fairest andpu rest among them ,

Ho llowed a birchencanoe, and fashioned a seat for

the virgin,

Clothe dher inwhite, and set her adr ift to whirlztothy bosom ,

Saying: Receive th is ou r vow , N iagara, Father ofWaters !

Q QG s onos W. W. Houon'

ros .

SINGLE POEMS.

A CROON ON HENNACLIFF.

TnUS said the ru shing raven

l'

nto his hungry mate,H o , goss ip ! for B ude Haven!There he corpses six or eight.

Cawk , cawk ! the c rew and skipperAre wallow ing inthe sea,

So there'

s a savory supperF o r mv o ld dame and me.

LYNCHED .

Tar: tramp of horse adowna shadowed glenDark forms of stem ,

unm'

erc ifu l , masked met

The clash ofarms , a c lovenprison- door ,And a man

'

s cry for mercy ! Then, high o’

er

(fawk ! gaffer ! thou art dreaming !The shore hath w reckers bold,

Wo u ld rend the yell ing seamen

F rom the c lu tching bil lows’ ho ld !

(fawk ! cawk they ’

d bound for bootyInto the dragon

'

s den,

And sho u t‘F o r death or duty !

If the prey were drowningmen.

Lo ud laughed the listening su rges

At the guess o u r grandam gave ;

You might call them Iloanerges

From the thunder of their wave !And mo ckery followed afterThe sea- bird'

s jeer ing broodThat fil led the skies w ith laughterFrom Lundy Light to B ude.

('

awk ! cawk . thensaid the raven;I am fo u r - score years and ten.

Yet never inB ude Haven

Did I c roak for res cued men.

They'

w i ll save the captain'

s girdleAnd s hirt, if shirt there be,

B u t leave the i r blood to cu rdleFo r my old dame and me.

"

So said the ru shing raven

Unto his hungry mate :H o

, go ss ip ! fo r B ude Haven!There he corpses six o r eight.

Cawk ! cawk ! the c rew and skipperAre wailowing inthe sea ;

Oh,what a dainty supper

For my o ld dame and me.

Ros s a'

r Sr s ras x s m

SI A’

GLE P OE JI S.

Thetrampled ground. dim ou tl ined inthe sto rm .

The swaying ofa lifeless humanfo rm .

F. L . St an-

o s .

THE DEHON OF THE GIEBEI’

.

Tana} : was no wes t, there was no east .

star abroad for eyes to see :

And Normanspurred his jaded beas tHard by the terr ible gal lows- tree .

0, No rman, haste ac ross this waste .

For something seems to fo llow me !

Cheer up , dear Maude, for thanked be GodWenigh have passed the gallow s- tree

He kissed her lip : then, spu r and whip ,

And fast they fled ac ross the lea :

But vainthe heel and rowel s tee l .For something leaped from the gallow s - tree !

Give me your c loak. you r kaightly c loak ,That wrapped you oft beyond the se a :

The wind is hold, my bones are o ld.

And I am cold onthe gallows - tree .

O, H oly God ! 0 ,dearest M aude .

Qu ick, qu ick , some praye r . the bes t that be !

A bony hand my nec k has spanned .

And tears my knightly c loak from me .

Give me you r wine, the red . red w ine ,That inyou r flask hangs by yo u r knee :

Tensummers bu rst onme ac c u rst,

And I'

m athirst onthe gallows - tree .

Oh, Maude, my life ! my loving w ife !Have you no power to set u s free

?

My belt unc las ps , a demongraspsAnd drags my wine- flask from my knee .

Give me you r br ide , yo u r bonny brideThat left her nest with you to fits

oh , she hath flownto be my own,For I

’m alone onthe gal lows - tree .

Cling c loser , Maude, and tru st inGod !Cling c lose ! Ah , heaven, she slips from me .

’

A prayer , a groan. and he aloneRode onthatnight from the gallows - tree .

Fm —J u ts s O'

Bms x .

CORPUS DEL ICTI .

Ll PPED by the oozy waters of the tide,Low inthe dank , l imp death - fringe of the sedge,

p

o

é

Ghostly and pu rple inthe fall ingnight :With ieatu res sw o llenbeyond all shape of lifeWith limbs that show death '

s horro rs in theirtw ists :

With hands that c lu tch . bu t ho ld naught intheir

With hai r that swims and fr inges to the wave.

And eyes that shine not. save inphosphor ou s fires .

Thro ugh life . through life ! It comes , and floats ,

and liesThu s ever , It. the Body of the Crime !

God ! G od ! I g aze . I canno t flee nor stir :And gazing . hark ! O ut inthe tw ilight dim .

O'

er the du l l s luggish flood ofe arthy waves .

So unds a hoan‘

e vo ice . and plashes a fa int oar !E . IIUCG H .

THE BODY OF AN UNKNOWN MAN.

I (“AM E at dawnfrom ou t the s ilent hou se .

(The las t night'

s kisses warm u ponmy l ips )Wear ie dthe dance . and s tille dthe re vel ' s ro u seDone the long joys . where these joys foundec l ipse .

(The las t night'

s kiss es warm u ponmy l ips ) .

I m ind the stree t : it runueth br oad and s tr aight.(The last night

’

s pres s uni warm uponmy throat)R iver to r iver . dawn

'

s to suns et’

s gate ;

Tr ees arche dit : one bird waked . I hear dits no te ,

(The las t night'

s prm su re warm u ponmy throat) .

I m ind the wharf . a wharf disu sed and lone .

(The last night'

s whispers s igh ing inmy ears )

G ray waters weltered ’

r ound e ach s l imy s tone ;Gray waters weltered through its c razy picm.

(The las t night'

s whispers s ighing inmy c um ) .

Small travai l m ine : long-

plannml and picked my

(The last night'

s kisses warm u ponmy lips )I stare atnoontide from the glas sy bay ;Beneath my head the long swel l lazy s l ips .

(The las tnight'

s kiss es frozenonmy l ips ) .

l'I.

The tide wm t ou t. i marked its vhh dm ist.

(The last night'

s glam-as gravm onmy br ain)I heard,

below . great ho rns sh riok irmn(hamis t .

Saw gho sts of ships dim dr ifting to i lw main.

(Thv las tnight’

s glances mavenonmy brain) .

The c ity woke . I hoard its ham and s tir .

(The las t night'

s odum inmy nos tr ils qu ir k )I said : Thank God. this is u p gr ioi ta her :This path sho lad shv atrowml a iih raptnwa thivk,

(The last night'

s u dnra inmy nos trils qu ir k ) .

364 TH E MAGAZIN E OF P OETR Y.

THE ANCIENT LADY OF SORROW.

H E R c los ing eyel ids mock the light ;H er co ld, pale l ips are sealed ; qu iteBefore her face of spotless white

A mystic vei l is drawn.

Ou r Lady hides hersel f innight ;Inshadows hath she her del ight ;

She wil l not see the dawn!

The mo rning leaps ac ross the plainItglor ies ina promise vain;Atnoonthe day begins to wane,

With its sad prophecy ;At eve the shadows come again:Ou r Lady finds no rest from pain,

No answer to her cry.

Inspring she doth her w inter wait :The au tumnshadoweth fo rth her fate ;Thu s , one by one, years iterate

H er so lemntragedy .

Before her pass insolemnstate

Al l shapes that come,or soono r late,

Of this wor ld’

s misery .

What is , or shal l be, o r hath been,This Lady is ; and she hath seen

,

Like frailest leaves , the tr ibes ofmenCome forth , and qu ickly die.

Therefo re ou r Lady hath no rest ;

For , close beneath her snow - white breast,Her weary childrenlie .

She taketh onher all ou r gr ief :Her passionpas seth all rel ief ;Invainshe ho lds the poppy leaf

Invainher lo tu s crown.

E venfabled Lethe hath no rest,

No solatw for her troubled breast,And no oblivion.

“Childhood and you th are vain, she saith ,Since all things r ipenunto death ;The flower is blasted by the breath

That calls it. from the earth .

And yet,”she saith , th is thing is su re

There is no life bu t shal l endu re,And death is only birth .

From death or birth no powers defend,And thu s from grade to grade we tend,By resu r rections w ithou t end,I 'nto some final peace .

B ut distant is that peace," she saith :Yet eager ly awaiteth death ,

Expecting her release .

0 Rest, she saith , that w i ll not come,Not evenwhenou r lips are dumb ,Not evenwhenou r limbs arenumb ,

And graves are growinggreen!

0 Death , that, coming onapace,Dos

’

t look so kindly inthe face,Thou wear ’

st a treach’

rous mien!

B ut still she gives the shadow plac eOu r Lady , w ith the saddestgrace,Doth yield her to his feigned embrac e,

And to his treachery !Ye mu st not draw as ide her vei l ;Ye mu stnot hear her dyingwail ;

Ye must not see her die !

B u t, hark ! from ou t the stillness riseLow - mu rmu red myths and pm phecies ,And chants that tremble to the skies

Misenere Domine!

They , trembling, lose themselves inrest,Soothing the angu ish of her breast

.lIisetere Domine!

a mr M . ALDEN

IN THE DARK.

moveless stand the anc ient cedar - trees

Along the dr ifted sand- hills where they grow ;And from the dark west comes a wander ing breeAnd waves them to and fro .

A mu rky darkness l ies along the sand,Where br ight the sunbeams ofthemorning sho

And the eye vainly seeks by sea and landSome l ight to res t upon.

No large, pale star its gl immer ing vigi l keeps ;No inky sea reflects aninky sky ;

And the dark r iver , l ike a serpent, creepsTo where its black piers lie.

Strange salty odors through the darkness steal ,And through the dark the ocean- thunders rol l

Thick darkness gathers , stifling, ti ll I feelIts weight u ponmy sou l .

I stretc h my hands out inthe empty air ;I strainmy eyes into the heavy night ;

B lac kness ofdarkness ! Father , hear my prayerGrant me to see the l ight !Gs onc s Anxonn

THE ROYAL ABBESS .

Ix the Abbey stall , with his vestments old,

And raveled and rent thro ugh stress oftil


CURRENT POEM5,

'

l‘

he blackbird golden- billedAs piping plain,Hope, hope, again!

THE POET ’S APOLOGY Till my heart’

s grief be sti lled .

No , the Mu se has gone away ,Does not haunt me much to - day ;

— The Spec tator .

E verything she had to say

Has beensaid !'Twas not mu ch at any time,All that she cou ld bitch inryme ;Never was the Mu se sublime

Who has fled !

Any one who takes her inMay observe she'

s rather thin:Little mo re thanbone and skin

Is the M u se ;Scanty sac rifice she wonWhenher Very best she ’

d done,And at her they poked thei r fun

InReviews .

Rhymes , intru th , are s tu bbo rnthings

And to Rhyme she c lung. and c l ings ;But whatever song she s ings

Scarcely sells .

If her tone be grave, they sayG ive u s something rather gayIf she '

s skittish, thenthey pray

“ Something e ls e !

So she '

s c ut the who le concernLute and Lyre, and Torch and L

'

rn,

Thoughts that breathe and wo rds that bu rn.

Joys or woes ;For Parnas us is to o steep

,

And the only M u se I keep ,

And that keeps me,wr ites a heap ,

B u t— it’

s Prose !Axnasw LANG .

THE BLACKB IRD .

(A Sp r ing Song

As I went up a woodland walkInTauntonI lene

,

WhenMay was green,I heard a bird so plainly talk

The tw inkling sprays between,That I stood still ,With r ight good w ill ,

To learnwhat he mightmean.

No yellow horned honeysu c kleHath e’

er distilledThe sweets he spilled

Inone long du lcet, dewy chu ckle

ALF RE D Peanu t. GnAvs s

EXPECTAT ION .

L'

snnnthe trees my Heartand I togetherAwait the step that nevermore w il l come ;Await the greeting wo rd forever dumb !I know not how— whether we dreamed or whether.\Iy Ileart and I , seeing the new - blownheather ,Took hope from its fu l l glory ; o r the sumOf earth '

s w ide joy,moving ou r pu lses numb,

Drew u s abroad into the sweet warm weather .

We conned the les sonwell , long,long ago ,

My Heart and I— we conned the lessonwel lInsummer heats , inwinter ’

s stubbornco ld !That he w ill come no mo re

,we know ,

we know ;Yet we expec t him mo re thantong ue cante l l ,And l istenfo r his com ing as of o ld !

IDA e rns B s snau .

The Independent, J une 2 6 , 1 8 90.

A FOOLISH WISH.

WHY need I seek some bu rdensmall to bearB efore I go .

Will not a host ofnobler so u ls be there,H eaven

'

s w i ll to doOi stronger hands . unfail ing, unafraidO s illy sou l ! what matters my smal l aid

Befo re I go ?

I tr ied to find, that I might show to them ,

Befo re I go ,

The path of pu rer l ives : the light was dimI do not know

If I had found some footpr ints of the way ;

It is too late their wandering feet to stay ,Befo re I go .

I wou ld have sung the rest some song of cheer ,Before I go ;

B ut still the co rds r ing false ; some jar of fear

Some jangl ing woe,And at the end I canno t weave one chordTo float into their hear ts my last warm word

Before I go .

I wou ld be satisfied if I m ight tellBefore I go ,

That one warm word,— how I have loved them well ,Cou ld they bu t know !

And wou ld have gained for them some gleam of

good ;

CUR R E N T P OEM S . 367

H ave sought it long : still seek— ifbu t I cou ld !Before I go .

’Tis a child’

s longing onthe beach at play :Before I go ,

H e begs the beckoningmother , “ letme stayOne shel l to throw !”

’Tis comingnight ; the greatsea climbs the shoreAh ,

Let me toss one little pebble moreB efore I go .

Bawh anRowu xnSILL .

The Hermitage.

WHAT IS A RONDELET?A Boyns Lt-rr

Is l ike a breath ofcoming spr ing ;A rondelet,

Whenw ild w inds ’

gainst the w indowsIs like the song which robins s ing ,

Or l ike the perfume vio lets fl ing ;A rondelet.

LILLA N . CusnMAx.

— Fo r THE MAGAZIN E or Pos '

rav.

WHERE SUMMER B IDES.

Dowx through the mountain’

s s ilver haze,Downthrough the song- th rilled wooded ways ,And

’

midst the meadow ’s drenched grass ,

The feet of summer swiftly pass .

Stay ! stay !" the yearningmountains c ry.

Stay ! stay !" the drowsy gras ses s igh .

B u t onand onthe sweetgu est fl ies ,With w ind- blownhair and w ide, sti ll eyes .

On, on, until her eager feetAbide amidst the yellow wheat.

Leer E . Tummy .

— Harper’

s ll'

eekly , J une 2 1 ,

MATER DOLOROSA.

(To M rs . J ohn T. Mygatt. )

SOR ROWFUL mother , w ith tear - wet face,Thinking perchance ofyou r boy to - day,

Seeing only his vacant place,Missing the form you have laid away,

Though friends are loving and kindred kind,What anempty wo rld he has left behind.

’Tis the houseo fmourning, the childrencallInvainfor the father that cannot come,

The c lou d ofsorrow hangs l ike a pal lOver you r beau tifu l , happy home,

So loved, so lovely, you r only son,God help you to say, Thy wi ll be done.

Look from the sorrow , the darkness and gloom,

Think of the Home where he is to -night,Not ofthe form inthe s ilent tomb,

B u t the glorified spir it, so happy and bright ;Sorrowfu l mother , you sti ll cansay'

Tis the Lo rd who has givenand takenaway .

Mamas GR IF F IN NanLn.

— BinghamtonRepnbh'

can.

— B rooklynEagle.

BEATRICE.

Basarmxo through twice thre e hundred yearsanair

Of memory fresh as M orning’s alte r - spice,

Thou , Star ofDantes S tar ofParadise,Hastmade the star ofwomanhood more fair :For , though thou artnow his loftyguardianthere,

THE HIRED MAN .

I mvs my time, my song, my life to To i l ,

My brow ofbronze,my arms ofbrawu , are hers ,

For her alone eac h w il ling mu sc le stirs :For her I gu ide the plow and delve the land ,Fo r her my brow is wet, my face is tanned.

Sweet labo r , brown- c heeked as the chestnut burs,

Thy lightest law my lagging spir it spu rs ,And under heat and bu rdenbids me stand.

80 , inthy name the o ld line~fence I scale,J ust whe re thewhispe r ingmaple shades theplace ;I mount the panel w ith the so ftest rail .And let the light w inds fanmy patient fac e ;

And there where birds and moments idly ditsit, and sit, and sit, and sit.

Ros s a'

r J . a ns '

r'

rs .

BEATRICE .

lu s‘

rz ,so le standing onthe heavenward height,

Beheld and heard one saying, B ehold me wel lI am , I am Beatrice .

"Heavenand hell

Kept s ilence, and the illimitable l ightOfall the stars was darkness inhis s ightWhose eyes b eheld her eyes again, and fel lShame s tr icken. Since her sou l took fl ight to

dwellInheaven, s ix hundred years have takenflight.

And now that heavenl iest part ofearth , whereonShines yet their shadow as once their presence

shoneTo her , bears w itness for his sake, as be

For hers bear witnes s whenher face was gone .

slave , no hospice now fo r gr ief— bu t freeFrom shore to mountainand from Alp to s ea .

ALu s itxox CHA R LEs w xs rnxs .

— The A thenzemn.


Victress o '

er jealou s Sin, who dared enticeHis feet from theth though now the highdevice

Oi wisdom l ights the wreath around thine hairThose eyes candim the angels ’

eyes aboveBecau se they tell what fl ight was thine belowNo eagle- flight pas t peaks offire and snow ,

Bu t through life'

s leaves the flu tter ofa doveWhose beat-ing w ings soothed Dante ’

s air withlove

Stru ck mu s ic from the w ind ofDante'

s woe .

TnEononE WATTS.

TheAthemeum.

THE WONDERFUL PASSION OF LOVE .

SHE is c lad ina. robe snowy white . l ike her pu r ity :M istily floats from her forhead her hair :

And her dreamy dark eyes , looking into fu tu r itvMirror the vis ionthat breaks fo r her there .

Inthe tint ofher faceAnd the tu rnO fher fo rm ,

Show ingnever a trace0 ! life'

s str uggle o r sto rm,

Inthe innocence veiling her eyesThe proo f of her maidenhe ad lies .

B u t the maidenly fanc ies that daintily playFrom her heart to her eyes and her lips ,

To a welcoming haventhey bear her awayAs the sai ls do the outgo ing sh ips .

More sweet thanthe o l ive- leaf joyfu lly carr ied byNoah ’s unchang eable dove .

They tel l of the rise of the land that is lit by thewonderfu l pass ionof lo ve.

Came a gu est whenthe sou l of the summer was

glisteningStayed whenthe birds of the summe r had flown:

At the door of her heart he stood knocking and

l istening,

Craving adm ittance w ith mu s ic and moan.

Ah ! the mischievous god,

With his weeping and mirth ,B l ighting l ives at a nod,

B r inging heavento earthHe prevaile d, and she opened he r heart,And he entered, alone and apar t ;

B u t animage he modeled from pass ionate l ife,And be placed it w ithinona throne ,

And she worshiped and c rowned it as maidenand

w ife,Til l its sou l was enwrapped with her own;

Till her heartwas fu lfilled w ith the radiant pass ionthat's bo r ninthe kingdom above

Humanity '

s glory , the bountifu l , beautifu l , wonderfu l pass ionof love .

—Kate F ield’

s l l'

ashington.

HOME R GRE ENE .

D ISCIPLINE.

TH E sou l that wou ld inbeauty bloom ,

Some so rrow mu st endu re.

It is the tho rnwh ich guards the bud,Thatmakes the rose more su re .

MAR Y A . Mason.

I o r THE M AGAZINE or POETRY .

LIFE .

Lir E'

s a panorama shifting, shifting,

Prelude ) B lackness laps ing into gray ,G rayness , fading, fading, dies away .

Rosy mo rnw ith c loudlets dr ifting, dr ifting,

Through which sunbeams softly sifting, s ifting,

G lint unti l the zenith of the day.

When, 10 ! A thunder - bo lt ! A flash ! Oh , stay !Too lat e ! A heart is rent ! (The curtain

’

s lilting)How changed the scene ! And e

’enwhilegazing, we

Scarcenote the change, ’tis done so dexterou s ly .

Beho ld ! A sweet submiss ive peabefu l haze,So l ike the shortening Indiansummer days ,

Andnow the end ! And if the l ife be true,A bank ofglory shows the sunset through .

Mas . B . C. RUDE .

— Fo r TnE MAGAZISE or POETRY .

I WAS bornas free as the silvery lightThat laughs ina southernfounta in;Free as the sea- fed bird thatnestsOna Scandinavianmountain;Free as the w ind thatmocks at the sway

And pinioning c lasp ofanother ;Yet inthe s lave they scou rged to dayI saw , and knew— my brother !

Vested inpu rple I sat apart,B u t the chord that smote him bru ised me ;I c losed my ears , bu t the sob that brokeFrom his savage breast ac cused me ;

No phrase of reasoning judgment justThe plaint ofmy sou l cou ld smother ,A c reatu re vi le, abased to the dust,I knew him stil l— my brother .

And the au tumnday that had sm iled so fairSeemed s uddenly o verc louded ;

A gloom, mo re dreadfu l thanNatu re owns,

M y humanm ind enshrouded ;I thought Of the power benignthatmade

And bound menone to the other ,And I felt inmy brother

'

s fear afraid,And as hamed inthe shame ofmy brother .

FLO REs CE EAR LE COATE S .

The Centu ry, J une, 1 8 90.

N O TE S— B I B LI OG RAP H Y.

NOTES.

LAN IE R . The Marshes of Glynn was Lanier ’s

most ambitiou s poem , and one which he intendedto fol low with a ser ies of Hymns to theMarshes ,”

which he left incomplete.

NOEL . The meters of“ Su spiria and “ Thal

atta”were suggested to me by the sounds of the

sea ; that of“Snspiria

”is of cou rse a modifica

tionofthe hexameter , with rhyme inthe alternatelines . To my car it appears that the hexameterought not to be wr ittenwith two single words inthe last (trochaic ) foot,bu t that inthis particu lar ,at least, the stru ctu re of the verse inits nativeso u rces shou ld be respected — R . N .

SM ITH . Thenoted poet, Ferdinand Freil igrath ,who died inGermany a few year s ago ,

was inhis

later days reduced almost to penury by the failu re\ fa German banking hou se . As soon as it be

came known that he was inneed, subsc riptionswere sent to him from the Germanpeople from all

parts ofthe wor ld, amounting to the sum of s ixtythousand thalers— a str iking il lustration of the

beau tifu l sentimentF or doth not songTo the whole wor ld belongWherever smiles may light or tears may fall ,A heritage to all ?

ALDEN . The worship ofthe Ma donna, or Mater

Dolorosa Ou r Lady ofSorrow — isnotconfinedto the R omanCatholic faith ; it was animportantfeature inall the anc ient pagansystems of rel igion, eventhem ost primitive. Inthe Sacred Mys

teries ofEgypt and ofGreece her worship was thedistinctive and prominent element. Inthe latterher name was Acbtheia, or Sorrow . Under the

name of Demeter , by which she was generallyknownamong the Greeks , she, like the EgyptianIs is , typifying the Earth , was represented as sym

pathizing with the sor rowing childrenof Earth ,both as a bountifu l mother , bestowing u ponthemher fru its and go ldenharvests , and inher more

gloomy aspects~ as in au tumnal decay , in tem

pests , and wintry desolation— as s ighing over hu

man frailty , and over the wintry deserts of the

humanheart. The worship connected w ith thistradition was vague and symbo l ical , having nowell - defined doc trine as to sin, salvation, or a tu

tu re l ife. Day and N ight, Summer and Winter ,B irth and Death , as showninNatu re, were seizeduponas symbo ls ofvaguely- understood tr u ths .

371

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1 35 .

Ian) . Songs of Rel igionand Life. Ed

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374 TH E AI A GAZIN E OF P OE TR Y.

N IAG ARA FALLS13 J USTLY conceded to be the most beau tifu l sight inthe wor l d . It is the crowning glory of ou r country and the American

c ontinent

A very mistakenidea p revails abou t N iagara F al ls . Many people think they cansee it by ar riving onone train. hurry

ing abou t the fal ls ina hack and departing onthe next train.

if this is all one cando . thenone cansay that N iagara has been looked at ; bu t su rely not that it has beenseen. com

prehended o r understood .

You cannot evenbeginto comp rehend the first element of its beau ty ina vis it of a day by ru shing madly abou t fromp lace to p lace .

A vis it of two weeks is the leas t that shou ld be thought of. H awtho rne says : N iagara is Indeed the wonder of theworld and time and tho ugh t mu st be emp loyed in comprehending it.

"H ar riet Martineau writes : There is noth ing like

patient watching and waiting ina p lace like th is . The gazer who sits fo r hou rs is su re to be rewarde d. M r . H owel ls says:“A ll

parts ofthe prodigiou s pageant of N iagara F al ls have aneterna l no velty . l iev . Andrew R eed writes Days shou ld be spenthere inhappy sec lu sion. regaled by lovely sc enes ofnatu re . the mu s ic o f the sweetes t waters . and infel lowship at will with thegreat fal ls

There is every indu cement to remainthat length of time

The c limate of N iagara is inthe h ighes t degree health fu l and invigo rating T he atmosphere constantly acted u ponbythe ru sh ing wat er and spray . is kept pu re . fresh and salu tary There areno t hear— as there are so o ftenonthe sea-shore— stagnant poo ls o r marshes near . to send abroad their noxio u s Iniasmas . po isoningthe air and p rodu cing disease . N o pestl lentialor epidemic comp laints ever infest th is spot ; it is sac red from their approach E ven the cho lera has kept aloof from it

raging waters .

No p lace onthe c ivilized earth O ffers su ch attrac tions as N iagara , and yet they cannever be fu l ly knownexcept to Mwho see them . from the utte r impos sibility of desc ribing su ch scenes . Whenmo tioncanbe expressed by co lor . then. and aonly. canN iagara be described .

The invalid may here find rest. refreshment. healthfu l exerc ise and pu re air . and that gentle exhilarationof a“spirits so des irab le inal l cases and s o nec es sary to a rec overy

The convalescent wil l here be reiieyed from the langu o r of weakness . and mu ch of the danger of relapse . by tinmab le excitement scenes of extreme beau ty and majes ty mu st produ ce . a,

The bu siness man. des irou s of escaping fo r a time the trou blou s round of toil and care inwhich he momenjoy his leisu re and dignity h is relaxation.

Themanof sc ience cannowhere else find su ch anample field for research . no r a su bjec t wh ich wou ld so mu chWgation; for . destined to be the wonder o f all time. N iagara is yet almost entirely unknown. though the world ie“ t h e.

What chronicles of past ages are nic hed inthose eternal walls ? What monuments of mighty changes sculpt“ “onehoary rocks ? Who has the skil l to divine its mystic lo re— to decipher its time traced pages— let h im come !

Every one. insho rt , who has aneye to perceive. a heart to fee l . and a sou l to realize the grandest exw '

fl - eatn’

e

energy . and the m ighties t manifesta tions of Omnipotent power . w ill here find ananswer to h is high.““ ion, a

favorab le response to h is des ire fo r the sp ir it- kind l ing ectasy of reverence and awe .

To any one who wil l bu t s tudy itaright. N iagara is a great mo ral tonic . it insp ires . it elevates, it I“ delights.

and sobers men. I t is sad that it sho u ld be s o . bu t. as a fac t, it is too o ften vies ed ina spirit of mere “ is . id iosity— ia

mu ch the same way as one wo u ld v iew any exceptional freak of au tarch s giant. a dwarf. o r the Sim ontwin. And this isthe exp lanationof one of the saddest s ights witnessed abou t the F al ls . the spec tac le of a party of a” refined and

cu ltivated peop le being drivenhastily abo u t this glo r io u s sh rine of the E ternal , by a dr iver whose count“ and languageind icate that a nob le thought o r a lo fty conceptionis as a l iento h is mind as dis intereste d benevo lence wou ld be to a hungryjackal . The u sual theme of al l su c h drivers are the s to ries o f su ic ides . ter rific acc idents . ho rrible deaths and foo lhardy adventu res . which desec rate N iagara T o evenal low onesel f to th ink of s u ch th ings is p ro fanation. destru ctive of al l reverenceandawe. I t is as if one sho u ld read the P o lic e G azette w h ile p retend ing to l is tento the O rato rio of the Creation.

To expec t the o rdinary backmanto ente r tainone while d riving abo u t N iagara . is like asking a Londoncabmantoaccompany one th ro ugh and comment u pon the h isto rica l events as soc iated w ith Wes tminster A bbey. o r to expect anItalianbrigand to define the distinctive e lements o f su bl im ity and beau ty o f St. Peter

’

s . at R ome . I f one is compel led byill health o r indispos itionto ride . s u rely s ilence is the only safegu ard .

Inno o ther p lace in the wo r ld shou l d the minds of persons of sensibility and cu ltu re experience fee lings of equal sublimity . be inspired with mo re exal ted ideas . be mo re pro fo undly imp ressed w ith the power lessness of manand the omnipotence of the E ternal Spirit. if the so u l is only al lowed a fair oppo rtunity to come into its own. At no other spot wil l one bemore inc lined to u tter a p rayer o f thankfu ines s that inh is l ittle day he has beenpermitted to beho ld this eternal image ofthe Creato r

’

s enemy H is power manifest inits terrific might H is goodness inits beau ty and sunlight and pe rpetual howof p romise . To tho se vi ho come to it aright, su ch thoughts w il l arise and bec ome a spring of refreshment forever inthe sou l .B u t to experience them the catarac t is not to be id ly glanced at or stu pidly stared at. bu t to be s tudied insilence. inrever

ence. inawe. and inlove , at leis u re and inpeace

Insummer . the great ho tel— the fines t at N iagara— is the Inte rnational . The magnificent summer home is wo rthy of a

visit for itsel f. it is fo u r sto ries high , bu ilt entirely o f stone. the kitchens . bakeries and fu rnaces are inanentirely distinctbu ilding. so that the odo r of cookery— to persons of delicate sensibil ity sometimes . insummer . very offens ive— is never pneent inthe very large. s pac iou s . wel l - ventilate dand r ichly - fu rnished apartments . The hotel faces the new park . and its lawnleads downdirectly to the rapids F rom its magnificent co lonnades and rooms anunrivaled view may be had of the Ameri

canR apids . and the is lands and the brink of the fal ls . Indeed . the lawn itself— interspersed with fine beds of beau tifu lflowers and with c lu sters ofmagnificent forest trees— may be fair ly prono unced one of the lo veliest spots inthe wor ld . It is

Openfrom the 15th of .inne to the 1 st of October . Its p rices fo r rooms and board onthe first fl oo r are $4 per dav per person;onthe second and onthe third flo or . 33. and is kept bo th u ponthe Americanand Europeanp lan. As the hotelis fire- proof. with fire- escapes from every room . th ree s tairways and two elevators . the rooms onthe third floor are almost

as des irable as those onthe first floo r .


Co ld, with his sightless face For the row that l prize is yonder ,Tu rned to the skies ; Away onthe unglazed shelves ,

’T is bu t another dead ; The bu lged and bru ised octam s ,

All you cansay is said. The dear and dumpy twelves ;

Carry his bOdY heuce Montaigne with his sheep skinblistered,

Kings mu st have slaves : And Howell the worse for wear ,Kings c limb to eminence And the worm- drilled Jesuit’s Horace,

Over men’

s graves . And the l ittle old cropped Mol iere ;So this man’

s eye is dim ;

Throw the earth o ’

er him . And the B urtonI bought for a fiorin,And the Rabelais foxed and fiea’

d .

What was the fl ute y0“ tou ched , For the others I never have opened,There, at his side? B u t those are the books I read .

Paper his hand had c lu tchedTight e’

er he died ;Message or wish , may be ; THE CHILD- MUSICIAN.

Smooth out the folds and see .

H E had played for his lordship’

s levee ,

Hardly the worst of u s He had played fo r her ladyship’

s whim ,

Here cou ld have smi led ! Till the poor little head was heavy,Only the tremu lou s And the poor little brainwou ld swim .

Words of a child ;Prattle that has for stops And the face grew peaked and eerie,Ju st a few ruddy drops .

And“1“large eyes strange and br ight,And they said, too late , He is weary !

L0 01“ Sh? is sad to miss , He shall rest for , at least, to -night !Morning and night,

His— her dead father ’

s— kiss ; Bu t at dawn, whenthe birds were waking,Tr ies to be bright, As they watched inthe s ilent room,

Good to mumma , and sweet. With the sound of a strained cord breaking,That is all Margu er ite .

”A someth ing snapped inthe gloom .

Ah , if beflidt' the dead ’

Twas the string of his V io loncello ,

Slu lnbered the pain! And they heard him stir inhis bed :

Ah , if the hearts that bled Make room for a tired l ittle fellow,

Slept With the slain! Kind God !” was the last that he said.

If the gr ief died - B utno ,

Death wi ll not have it so .

THE STR E ET SIN GE R .

l’

lllanellenow my window . )MY BOOKS.

H E stands at the kerb and s ings ,TH EY dwel l inthe odor of camphor , ’T is a dolefu l tune and low .

They stand ina Sheratonshr ine, Ah me, if I had but w ings !They are warranted ear ly editions ,These worshipfu l tomes of mine.

He bends to the co inone fiiugs ,But he never attempts to go

Intheir creamy OxfOPd vellum, He stands at the kerb, and sings .

Intheir redo lent crushed Levant,With their del icate watered l inings , The conju ror comes with his rings ,They are jewels of price, I grant. And the Punch - and- Judy show .

(Ah me, if I had but wings ! )B l ind- tooled and morocco - jointed,They have Zaehnsdorf’s daintiest dress , They pass l ike all fugitive things

They are gracefu l , attenuate, polished, They fade and they pas s, but 10 !B ut they gather the dust, no less . He stands at the kerb and sings .

A USTI N D OB SON . 377

All the magic that Music bringsIs lost whenhe mangles it so

Ah me, if I had but wings !

But the worst is a thought that stings !There is nothing at hand to throw !

He stands at the kerb and singsAh me, if I had but wings !

Damosels , dames , be piteou s !THE CRADLE(But thedames rode fast by theroadwaytrees . )

How steadfastly she’

d worked at it ! Hear u s , 0 knights magnanimou s !How lovingly had dressed (B u t the knights pricked onintheir panoplies . )With all her wou ldbe mother ’

s wit Nothing they get or of hope or ease,That l ittle rosy nest ! But only to beat onthe breast and say :

Life we drank to the dregs and less ;How lovingly she ’

d hung onit !Give os — ah ! give us — bu t Yeste rday !”

It sometimes seemed, she said,There lay beneath its coverlet Exvoy ,

A htfle sleeping head .

Youth , take heed to the prayer of these !He came at las t, the tiny guest, Many there be by the dusty way ;Ere bleak December fled ; Many that cry to the rocks and seas

That, rosy nest henever pressed4:Give us — ah ! give 118 — bl1t Yesterday I

Her coffinwas his bed .

MORE POETS YET!

MORE Poets yet ! I hear him say,

ON LONDON STONES.

ON Londonstones I sometimes sigh Arm ing his heavy hand to slay :

For wider greenand bluer sky ; Despite my skill and swashingblowToo oft the tremblingnote is drowned They seem to sprou t where

’er I go

Inthis huge city’s var ied sound ; I killed a host but yesterday !Pure son is country - born,” I cry.g

Slas h on, O Hercu les ! You may.

Thencomes the spr ing ; the months 80 by ; You r task ’

s , at best, a Hydra- fray ;The last stray SWGUOWS seaward fly And though you cut, not less w ill growAnd I — I

, too , no more am found More Poets yet !

OnLondonstones !Too arrogant ! For who shal l stay

Invain! the woods , the fields deny Thefirst blindmotions of the MayThat c learer strain1 fainW0 11“ try Who shall out- blot the morningglow?Mine is anu rbanMu se, and bound or stem the fu ll heart’s overflow?By some strange law tomm ground ; Who? There w il l r ise, til! Time decay ,

Abroad she pouts ; she is not shy More Poets yet !

OnLondonstones .

FAREWELL, RENOWN

FAR EWELL ,Renown! Too fleeting flower ,

Thatgrows a year to last anhour ;

THE PRODIGALS.

(Bal lade. I rregu lar . )

M CES — and you , most valorou s Pr ize of the race’s dust and heat,

Nobles l- and barons of all degrees ! Too oftentroddenunder feetHearkenawhile to the prayer Of “5 ‘ Why shou ld I court your bar rendower?Beggars that come from the over - seas !

Nothing we ask or of gold or fees ; Nay ; had I Dryden’

s angry power ,

Hurry u s not w ith the bounds we pray ; The thews of Ben, the wind of Gower ,

Lo !— for the su rcote’

s hem we seize Not less my voice shou ld still repeatGive u s— ah ! give u s — but Yesterday !” Farewel l , Renown

Dames most del icate , amorous !Damosels blithe as the belted bees !

H earkenawhile to the prayer of naBeggars that come from the over - seas !

Nothingwe ask of the th ings that please ;Weary are we, and worn, and grayLo — for we c lu tc h and we clasp you r knees

G ivena— ah ! give as — but Yesterday !”


Farewell ! Because the Muses’ bower

Is fi lled with rival brows that lower ;Becau se, howe

’

er his pipe be sweet,The hard, that pays ,

”mustpleasethestreet;But most because the grapes are sou r ,

Farewell , Renown!

WHEN FINIS COMES.

WHE N Finis comes , the B ook we c lose,And, somewhat sadly , Fancy goes ,With backward step, from stage to stage

Of that ac complished pilgr imageThe thornl ies thicker thanthe rose !

— Ad Rosam .

There is so much thatno one knowsSo much unreac hed thatnone suppo lse ,

Whatflaws ! what fau lts ! onevery page,WhenF inis comes .

Still , they must pass ! The swift tide flows ,Though not for all the lau rel grows ;

His proof lay

Perchance inthis beslandcred ageThe worker , mainly , w ins his wage ;

And Time will sweep both fr iends and foesWhenF inis comes !

K ISS E S .

Rose kissed me today.

Will she kiss me to

Let it be as itmay,

Rose kissed me tod ay .

B ut the pleasu re gives wayTo a savor of sor row ;

Rosek issed me to day ,Will she kiss me to -morrow

— R ose- Lea

P O E T R Y .

Inthe wo rk-a- day world,— for its needs and woes,There is place and enough for the pains of prose,B ut whenever the May- bells c lash and chime,

Thenhey — for the r ipple of laughing rhyme !— Tbe Ballad of Prose and R hyme.

W 1 8 8 5 3 .

Let others wish you mere good looks ,You r sex is always fair ;

Or to be wr it inFortune’

s books ,She ’

s r ich who has to spare :

I wish you bu t a heart that’s kind, CU P I D .

A head that ’

s sound and c lear ; H is wallet ’

s stuffed with blisses ,(Yet let the heartbenot too blind, With true- love knots and kisses ,The head not too severe !) With rings and rosy fetters ,

A joy of l ife, a frank delight ; And sugared vows and letters ;A moderate des ire ; He holds them ou t

And— ii you fai l to fil ld a Knight With boyish fiout,At leas t— a tru sty Squ ire. And bids me try the fetters .

Lo y E R s .

The words you r voiceneglected,Seemed wr itteninyour eyes ;

The thought you r heart protected,

You r cheek told, missal - wise ;I read the rubic plainlyAs any expert cou ld ;

Inshort, we dreamed,— insanely ,As only lovers shou ld.

P O SS I B I L I T Y .

So then— Caps off, my Masters , all ;Reserve you r final word,— recallYou r all- too - hasty strictu res ;

Caps o ff, -I say, for Wisdom sees

Potential poss ibilitiesInmost unhopefu l pictures .

— Lines to a Stup id P icture.

B R O W N I N G .

L ike B rowning?” “ Bu t so—so .

Too deep for her fr ivolou s mood,That preferred you r mere metr ical souflléTo the stronger poetical food ;

Yet at times he was good as a tonic .

— lncognita .

I N CO N ST A N C Y .

He may be true. Yet, Daisy, dear ,That evenyou th grows co lder

You’ll find is no new thing, I fear ;

And whenyou ’

re somewhat older ,You

’ll read of one Dardanianboy

Who wooed w ith gifts ”amaidencoy,

Thentook the morning trainfor Troy ,Inspite of all he

’

d to ld her .

F l E L D I N G .

Our Engl ish novel’

s pioneer !H is was the eye that first saw clearHow, not innatu res half-effacedBy cant of Fashionand of Tas te,

Not inthe c ir cles of the Great,Faint- blooded and exanimate ,Lay the true field of Jest andWhim,

Which we to - day reap after him .

No — he stepped lower downand tookThe piebald People for his Book !

— H enry F ielding.

R OB E R T B UR N S WI LSON . 381

ROBERT BURNSWILSON.

OBERT BURNSWILSON was bornnearWashington, Pa. , onthe farm ofhis paternal grand

father , but the family removed withina fewmonthsto West Virginia, where his childhood was passed .

His mother , from whom he, ina measu re , inheritedhis geniu s , and who seems to have beenthe idealmother of a poet and painter , was his inseparablecompanion; and her death , by consumption, whenhe was only tenyears old, was a bitter gr ief to thesensitive child, and changed his whole life.

H is affec tions were w ith the woods and fields ,

and when, a few years later , he was sent to Wheeling to school he felt so keenly the change fromthese beloved companions to the br ick andmortar , smoke and du st of a c ity, that to this day, hesays, the sound of bel ls , u sually so suggestive to a

poetic mind, is disagreeable to him from assoc iation w ith those first months of m isery . Aftersome years at schoo l inWheel ing, and afterwardsinPittsbu rgh , he settled inthe latter place, whenabou t nineteen years old, to begin his artisticlabors . Although he had beendrawing all his life,his first profess ional effort was a life- s ize crayonportrait, which proved a complete su ccess .

Abou t fourteen years ago he embarked with afr iend ona canoe voyage down the Ohio River .

After some weeks of this adventu re, they foundthemselves one morning stranded in a strange

land, near Caseyvil le, Ky. ,w ith their boat and all

their belongings stolen. Inthis unfortunate state

of affairs the fr iend retu rned to the East, and Mr .

Wilson, after some hes itation, cast inhis lot withKentucky . Hewentfirst to Louisville for a year ortwo , where he pu rsued his profess ionas a painter ,gainingmu ch reputation, also , by acrayonlikenessof Mr . Watte rson, editor of the Cou rier -J ournal .

Abou t twelve years ago he. went to Frankfort,Ky.

,on the invitation of a fr iend, and was so

pleased with its beau tifu l and romantic su rround

ings that he has ever s ince made it his home. He

painted a good many portraits inoil and watercolors for the first few years , much to the satisfac

tionofthe subjects . B u t. the s ister spiritofpoetryinhis natu re struggled for u tterance, and he began

to write the poems which have made his reputa

tion. H is first poem publishedwas “A Wild Violet

inNovember ,” which appeared inthe Chicago Current. This was followed by others , wh ich werepromptly accepted by the leading magazines , andhe at once took rank with the first poets of the

South .

Mr . Wilsonis most tru ly the poet of Natu re . He

has loved and studied her inall hermanifestations,

IF ONE COULD EASE AN ACHING HEART.

If one cou ld ease anaching heartBy breathing of the mountainair ,

Or woo the wary sou l to partA little from the path of care,

A little from the beatenroadTo tu rnaway— anhou r of grace

To lay as ide l ife’s dreary load

Insome forgetfu l resting place ;To tu rnand leave the du st and 'heat,The commonhighway of mankind,Where all the plodding,

weary feetTread downthe dust of death — to find,

But once, some dewy, coo l retreat,Inwh ich the fevered heart andmind

Might pu t their bu rdens down, and meetSome dream long lost, some hape resigned,

Some joy at once complete

If one cou ld lose Love’

s vainregretBy gazing onthe shining sea,

Or stil l the trembl ing chords that fret,By wandering onthe upland lea,

Or find some balm and comfort yetInhope of better things to be ;

If pale Remembrance didnot haltTo take eac h faded garland up,

Nor dropped her tears , remorsefu l salt,To mar the taste of Pleas ure’

s cup ;

If fickle Fortune’s lu r ing smile

Didnot foretell her darkening frown,And if her touch didnot begu ileThe temples with a tinsel crown

If there were never maddening sneer

OnFame’s proud- smiling l ips of scorn,

To mock the daring sou l with fear,And leave the brokenclay for lorn;

If sweet ReligiondidnotgrowTo be a blind and poisoned thing,

That taints with death the limpidfiow

inall seasons , and at all hours . His pen, l ike hisbrush , canreproduce not only the co lor , the l ight,the form, but the underlying spirit of truth andbeauty,which consecrates and animates the whole.

In person, Mr . Wilson is tal l , over six feet inheight, rather s lender, but muscu lar ; and hewou ldbenoticeableinanyassemblybyhismarked individuality. He is unmarried, but has hosts of fr iendsinthe l ittle c ity of his adoption, whose pr ide inhisfame was str ikingly evinced by the sale inFrankfort oi near ly three hundred copies of his first

book inthe first few days of its appearance.

M . A. B .


Of kindly Nature’

s crystal springThenlife werenot so sad a dream

B ut that the wakingmight be pain;ThenhOpe were not a transient gleamLike sunl ight onthe fall ing rain,

Nor cou ld dear Heaven’

s descending beamRest onthe earth invain.

THE DAYS ARE FEW.

Tar: days are few , the wor ld is wide ;The skies are fair , but fickle ;

Time stalks a- field ; Death , at his side,G leans w ith remorseless sickle.

Spr ing hastes to summer — summer pales ;The au tumn

’

s painted gloryFl ies with the winter ’s shudder inggales ;80 runs the endless story .

Why do we str ive for hopes — to be

Their kings — that we may kill themWhenall the goals are graves , and weThe dri fting fools that fill them ?

Why do we preach , and lie, and pray ,And fast, and hate eac h other ;

And weep , and fight— to reach the c lay ,And make the worm ou r brother ?

THE SUMMER RAIN .

SWEE T , blessed summer rain— ah me !

The dr ifting cloud- land spi llsGod

’

s mercy onthe dotted leaAnd onthe tented hills .

Yet is theremore thanshrouded sky,

Andmore thanfalling rain,Or swift- borne sou ls of flowers that flyB reeze- lifted from the plain.

Strange joy comes with the fresheninggu st,The whitening of the leaves ,

The smell of sprinkled summer dust,The dripping of the eaves .

The sou l stirs w ith the melting'

clod,

The drenched field’

s s ilent mirthWho does not feel his heart help GodTo bless the thirsting earth

Oh , rain— oh , blessed summer rain!Not onthe fields , alone,

Nor woodlands , fal l , nor fiowery plain,Bu t onthe heart of stone !

THE PASSING OF MARCH.

THE braggart March stood inthe season’s door

With his broad shou lders blocking up the way,

Shaking the snowflakes from the c loak he wo reAnd fr om the fringes of his kirtle gray .

Near by him Apr i l stood with tearfu l face,With violets inher hands , and inher hair

Pale w i ld anemones ; the fragt laceHalf- parted from her breast, which seemed likefair

Dawn- tinted mountain snow , smooth - dr iftedthere .

She onthe blu sterer ’

s arm laid one white hand,

B ut he wou ldnone of her soft blandishment ;Yet did she pleadwith tears none mightwithstand,For eventhe fiercest hearts at last relent.

And he, at last, inrufi‘lantenderness ,With one swift, cru shing kiss her lips did greet ;

Ah , poor starved hear t ! for that one r ude caressShe cast her vio lets underneath his feet.

THE DEATH OF WINTER .

Pmncsnby the sun’

s br ight arrows , Winter l iesWith dabbled robes uponthe blu rred hills ide ;

Fast runs the c lear , co ld blood ; invainhe triesWith coo ling breath to check the flowing tide.

He faintly hears the footsteps of fair Spr ingAdvanc ing through the woodland to the dell ;

Anonshe stOps to hear the waters sing,And cal l the flowers , that know her vo ice fu l l well .

Ah ! now she sm iles to see the glanc ing stream ;She stirs the dead leaves w ith her anxiou s feet ;

She stOOps to plant the first awakening beam ,

And woos the cold Earth with warm breathingssweet.

Ah ! gentle mistress , doth thy sou l rejo iceTo find me thu s laid low? So fair thou art !

Letme but hear the mu sic of thy voice ;Letme but die uponthy pitying heart.

Soonendeth life for me. Thou wilt be blessedThe flowering fields , the budding trees be thine.

Grantme the pillow of thy fragrant breas t ;Thencome, oblivion, I no more repine.

”

Thu s u rged the dyingWinter . She, the fair ,Whose heart hath love, and only love, to give,

Did qu ickly lay her fu ll , warm bosom bareFor his cold cheek , and fondlywhispered, Live.


L O V E Days whenthe spir it, w ith the vision, tu rnsLife is not bounded by fixed ru les of art ; F rom c loud to c loud, from changing tree to tr ee,If love hath vanished,what is worth thegaining? F rom field to forest, and the fu ll heart yearns

s o R R o w .

— 1bid For s

gznething, God knows what— that cannot

Do I remember? Ask menot again — InSep tember .

My heart hath but one pass ion— to forget.F A IT H

Oh ! is therenothing inthe w ide wor ld, then,To take away bu t once the sou l ’s regret !

Alas ! for love is ever more divine ;Immortal is the sorrow love mu st bring ;

The goldencup aches for withholdenw ine ;Of sun- kissed fiight stil l dreams the brokenw ing;

The bu ried jewel seeketh yet to shine,And music ’s spirit haunts the idle str ing ;

So doth the heart insadness ever tw ineSome fadingwreath that keeps hope lingering.

— Constance.

M E M O R Y .

Remember not, my sou l , remember not !There is amadness lu rks inmemory,

She hath her mu sic , and the strainonce caught,Forever must the s ilent w ings of thought

Bear to thine ears themou rnfu l threnody .

— lbid.

T H E B R O O K .

The brook, near - distant, sent its tinkling sound

From where it tu rned, embro idered like a hemAbou t the skirting of the slopingground.

JU N E .

N0 other days are like the days of J une ;They stand uponthe summit of the year ,

F illed up with sweet remembrance of the'

tune

That wooed the fresh spr ingfields ; they have atear

For violets dead ; they w il l engird, fu l l soon,— Chris tmas Time.

The sweet, fu ll breasts of Summer drawingnear .

A R T

— J uneDays .

Love is notArt.

E V E N I N G Bu t Art is love, which works and waits , th roughWhenevening cometh on, patient years of pain,

Across the dotted fields of gathered grain — Sbe Cometh .

The sou l of summer breathes a deep repose,O CT O B E R

Myster iou s mu rmu rings mingle onthe plain, The bright- robed days sitnow at feast, and supAnd from the blu rred and blended brake there From go ldenservice heaped with fru its divine.

flows The waningyear drains from October’s cu p

The undu lating echoes of some strain Themelancholy cheer ofAutumn’s w ine .

Once heard inparadise perchancth who knows A ruddier tide fil ls now the tingling veins ,B u tnow the whisperingmemory sadly strays And l ife takes ona stu rdier- hearted tone.

Along the dim rows of the ru stl ingmaize — Ia the October F ields .

Whenevening cometh on. R E G R E T .

— WbenE vening Cometh 00 °

All hearts have once their songs ,

S E P T E M B E R Though they be dead ;Oh, w istfu l days of melancholy joy, All sou ls have knowntheir wrongsThat breathe inmu s ic tones of sweet despair , There is no eye bu t longs

R ich with the beauty thatmustyet destroy, For somethingfied.

Bright with the darkness, langu ishingbut fair .— All Hearts Have Once Their Songs .

Cou ld I br ing back that faith , once mine,Which now my sou l hath not,

No more wou ld I thatgift res ignFor all this life hath brought.

B ut love and truth are all divineAnd faith remains unbought.

— Tbe Child and the B rook .

L O V E .

Love makes the sou l divine ;Love cheers the hear t like wine ;Love rears a palace inthe desert w ild ;

Love mocks misfortune’

s frown;Love bids the stars look downWith kindl ier eyes ;

Lovemakes the child a man, themana child ;Love paints the arching skiesWith tenderer hues ;

Love lights ou r pathway whenwe fear to chooseAmidst the gloom ;Lovemakes the brier to bloomWith roses sweet ;Love bindeth sandals onou r weary feet ;Thenfrom ou r wanderingken

Hate’s blindness fl ies ;

Love makes the foolish wise ;Love lifts u s— gifts u s— makes u s gods again

Leads u s to Paradise.

TH E N EW YO R K

PUBLlCLIBRARY

LenoxTitl es “us u r ious.

388

That brings thee neither love, nor gold, nor fame?The path to power and pleasu re lieth c lear ;

Leave this low work to meaner hands and aimFor loftier duties and a nobler sphere.

”

He to ok my hand, and where he bade I went,Till you th and strength and happiness were fied ;

And only whenmy years were nearly spentInrestless longings , and whenhope was deadI saw the wan, sad face of him who led,

And knew at las t his tru ename,Disc ontent.

MY BROTHER'

S KEEPER .

I CALLED him faint of heart, inspirit poor ;I said, O brother , fo r all such as theeThe wor ld is fu ll of snares and subtlety !

How l ittle art thou fitted to endu re

The ills thyweakness br ings ! Letmy strength beThy constant shield. My visionswift and su reShal l pierce the darkest depths of every lu reAbou t ou r paths . I

’

d lead thee ; leanonme !Bu t whenwith subtlest art temptationwoveRound ou r unwary sou ls her fairest spell ;Whenlu st of power and wealth , and love as well

Their keenest shafts against dear Hono r droveWheninher cau se I and my brother stroveBeho ld ! he conquered grandly— bu t I fell !

THE SINGERS.

ON E , blind,has taught how beau ty shou ld be sung ;

One, deaf, all silence tuned to mu s ic sweet ;F rom one who wandered homeless inthe street

A raptu rous , deathless song of home was wrung.

How many a paeanof victory has sprungF rom pallid lips , grownnerveless w ith defeat?How many empty hearts mu st sadly greet

Their ownlove- songs onhappier lovers ’

tongu e?

As some rare fabr ics are indarkness wroughtLest l ight shou ld mar the dainty web, so , too ,

The poet, with a goldenthread of thought,Weaves inthe shade his fanc ies fine and true .

So from his sorrow is you r pleasu re brought,The joy he hath not doth he give to you !

A DESIRE.

Ls '

r menot lay the lightest feather’

s weightOf du ty uponLove. Letnot my own,The breath of one relu ctant kiss be blown

Betwenou r hearts . I wou ld not be the gateThat bars , like some inexorable fate,The portals of thy l ife ; that says , AloneThrough me shall any joy to thee be known;

Rather the window , fragrant ear ly and late


With thy sweet c l inging thoughts , thatgrow and

tw ineAround me l ike some br ight and blooming vine ;

Through which the sunshall shed his wealth onthee

Ingoldenshowers ; through which thou may’stlook ou t,

Exu lting inall beau ty , w ithout doubtOr fear , or shadow of regret from me.

AN ANTIQUE INTAGLIO.

A VICTORY.

Funall l ife’s joys my proud heart uttereth

No vaindes ire . Fo r , since I am deniedThe one great bliss , I w ill have nought bes ide.

Yet I am fainto conquer life with death ;And so , 0 Love, whenI am done w ith pride,

Come thou and kiss to stillness my last breath ;Let the last vo ice I hear be thine, that saith

I love thee ! so shall I die satisfied .

Then, whenonmydead face some sad eyes dwell,Some loving hearts make bittermoan, and some,

More lovingyet, smile, saying,It is well !

”

How w ill all marvel at the sweetness comeSo strangely to my lips , not know ing this :It is the rad iance left by thy last kiss !

STORM SIGNALS.

GRAY c louds fiit to and fro above the sea,

Pale phantoms ofwrec ked ships that seek invainFo rgottenports . Back fromthe darkeningmain

A hundred white sails to the harbor fieeAs fr ightened chi ldrento their mother ’

s knee.

Deep cal leth unto deep with cr ies of pain;While the imprisoned billows strive and strainWildly against their rocky boundary.

Guu '

r c ities that defied Time’

s power are du st,

And mighty temples ru ins ; yet this gem ,

Seeminga fragile thing, ou tliveth them .

Its beau ty bears no trace of Time’

s keenthrust,L

'

ndimmed the marvelous luster that doth trustTo none its sec ret ; every del icate line(flows with immortal freshness and divine,

That fears no ravage of decay or ru st.

How infinite is art ! A magic glassThis tiny , chiseled disk becomes to me ;

Greece and her glories rise and shine and pas sBefore my dazzled eyes ; thenfade to wan

And spectral sho res , where the E geanSeaGuards the lone ru ins of the Parthenon.

STE PH EN H E N R Y TH A YE R .

The rising fog its mighty shadow flings,Quenching the last foam- light that marks the bar ;The wild winds rave ; the sto rm- flag from its sparWeaves a fierce menace to all l ivingthingsSave one undaunted bird, whose flickering wings

G leam through the darkness like a fal ling star .

TWO SINGERS.

Sou s 'rms s , dear Love, you murmu r ,

“0 , cou ld IB ut snare with words the thoughts that flu tter

throughThe thickets of my heart! Cou ld I , like you ,B ind with sweet speech the moods of earth and

sky ;

Or turnto song a smile, a tear , a sighAlas ! My springs of thought but serve to doThe mil l- stream’

s commonwork . I may bu t viewAfar the heights of song to which you fly .

”

For me, I shape from all my heart’

s bestgoldThese skill- less cups of verse . They have, I know ,

No grac e save this ,— unto you r l ips they holdLove’

s dearest draught. I hear you r praise,bu t, 10 !

One smile of you rs , one kiss all- eloquent,Shames my poor songs to silence. B e content!

DEATH’

S FIRST LESSON .

THREE sad, strange things already death hathshown

To me who l ived but yesterday. My love,Who loved to kiss my hands and l ips above

All other joys,— whose heart uponmy own80 oft has throbbed,— fears me, new l ife has flown,And shuddering tu rns away . The friend who

stroveMy trust to win, and al l my faith did prove,

Sees , inmy pale, still form, a bar o’erthrown

To some most dear des ire. While one who spakeNo fond and flattering word of love or praise,Who only cold and sternreproof wou ld give

To all my fool ish , uncons idered waysTh is one wou ld glad have died that I might l ive,

This heart alone l ies brokenfor my sake.

L O V E .

Inthe heart where Love doth dwell,Palace, cot or pr isoncell ,Every care w ith joy doth blend,Toil is welcomed as a friend.

Sorrow’s face a smile doth wear ,

Death thename of Peace doth bear .

Gr ief may come, but all is wel lInthe heart where Love doth dwel l .

- Love’s Presence.

389

STEPHEN HENRY THAYER .

PON a hi ll overlooking the Hudson, where itbroadens into the TappaanZee, stands an

E lizabethancottagewhich is ideal evenamong themany attrac tive homes on that noble river ; ahouse which fits,with a sense of homel ikeness , intothe serene beauty of its su rroundings . Around

l ies the landscape which Irving loved so well ,Sleepy Hollow, w ith its quaint Du tch chu rch andits drowsy,dreamy influencewhich seems to hangover the land, and to pervade the very atmos

phere ; the vil lage, stretching away towards

Sunnyside ; the pr imeval , undesec rated forest, andthePocantico , forever trolling its mysterious song.

It is not strange that the poet whose home thisis shou ld bend oftento l istento “

the murmuringlaughters , soft and low,

”which “

elude the al ienears ofmen.

”Bornat New Ipswich , inthe hills of

New Hampshire, December 1 6 , 1 839 , his heritagewas not alone the gift to feel the beauty of woodla nd, the sensu ous mus ic of the song bird,but alsothe Puritan instinct which sees in the leaf , andbears inthe note, the inspirationof him withoutwhom nothing is . Indeed , if I were to designatethat which seems to me the dominant impu lse pervading the poems of Stephen Henry Thayer , Ishou ld say it is a restfu l , religious feeling, or , perhaps more properly, as piration, rather thanthemore apparent affec tionfor natu re which usuallydictates the theme. The bells of Nyack . faintlytol ling ac ross the star - l ighted sea,

come ladenw itha hymn.

Songs of Sleepy Hollow, pu bl ished in1 886, isa selectionof poems which had appeared prior to

that date invar ious leading publications . It was

favorably received both inAmerica and England.

F requent contributions s ince that timenow aggre

gate enough for another vo lume. Nearly all

Thayer ’s poems are subjec tive, reflective, descrip

tive ; many are inthe minor key. They have a

qu iet restraint, a s imple lessonto tell , a messagefrom a sou l who loves the things that are good

and pu re and true. Var iou s cr itical artic les intheAndo ver Review and elsewhere have shown anability to handle prose as wel l as verse, and a

power ofdisc r iminatingand apprec iative analys is .

The old AppletonAcademy of New Ipswich wasa famou s schoo l in its day, and a typical NewEngland institu tion. Here , in 1 858 , Thayer wasthe valedictorianof his c lass . Fac ing the worldwith Yankee resolu teness , and w ith a businessacumennot lost inhis love for books , hecommenceda prel iminary c lerkship in a counting room in

Boston, bu t after two years went to New York ,


where he spent six years ina banking hou se . In

1 864 he was admitted to the New York StockExchange, and, in 1 865, in connection w ith hispresent partner , established the banking and

brokerage house which for a quarter of a centu ryhas enjoyed undiminished prosper ity, and is nowone of the oldest firms inWal l Street, if not theoldest. He removed to Tarrytownin1 867, wherehe has since l ived . A portionof each day is givento the detai ls ofa comp lex and successfu l bu siness ,and to the affairs of the corporations of which heis a director ; but itneeds no ghost to tell u s thathe counts as goldenonly those hou rs spent in‘

his

ample l ibrary or under the cathedral arches of theforest. He is a member , and treasu rer , of the

Authors '

Club of New York , and a member of thePlayers’

Clu b, lately founded by Edwin Booth .

He is also prominently identified with the F o rtnightly Club oi Tar rytown, an organization of

local renown. C. H . P .

THE HOME OF “THE POCANTICO.

DOWN from the c liffs of Oss ining,

Into the hollows below ,

Vexed as with alternate passionand pain,F lows the river Pocantico .

Su rging, eddying,veering invain,

It dances and delves , a thing of l ife ;It sleeps inpools , it bickers instr ife,

And tu rns onits elf againand againOver the c li ffs of Oss ining,

Into the ho llows below .

Far from the c l iffs of Oss ining,Out of the hol lows below ,

Downthrough fallow and glenitgl ides ,~Heavy with s ighs , as loth to go ;

Hushed inthe haunted wood it hides ,Lonesome for love of its spr ings afarUp inthe hills , where the evening star

DrOps hrs- threads over s ilvery sl idesDownonthe c liffs of Oss ining,

Downinthe ho llows below .

0 for the c l iffs of Oss ining!O for the hollows below !

The stones u prise inwatery gu ise,And bu ild their mimic bars arow ;

The drift wood rall ies , yeomanwise,As if to stay the helpless r iverThat downward flows forever and ever

That whispers , and moans , and faintly c r ies ,O for the c l iffs of Oss ining!0 for the ho l lows below !

MIDSUMMER ODE TO INDOLENCE .

Far from the c liffs of Oss ining,Far from the hollows below,

It lags through marshy meadow and leaWith leadenfeet, and heart as s low ,

As if indread of the thirsty seaThe sea that drinks and drinks for aye ,Through all the centu ries and a day

The waters that flow eternallyDownfrom the c l iffs of Ossining,Downfrom the ho llows below .

Sws s 'r lo iterer thou— O Indolence,

Becalmed g uest of sou l and sense !I c ro

'

wnthee as my happy chance,Thou easer of all c ircumstance.

Too lax art thou to laugh or sigh ,Too l istless w ith inert content

To ask the world for what, or why,

Or onwhose m iss ionthou art sent.

Unhappy qu estioners may has te,With tireless word and wi ll , to waste

Their prying c raft onstrange inquests ;Thou heedestnot su ch sternbehests

Or gr im philosophies , des ignedTo vex the cu rrent of the mind ;

Thou hastno heart of bitterness ,No r dost thou tax thee more or less

With yes or no ; w ise reasoners keepInsufference just ou ts ide thy gate ;

For sorrow thou might haply weep ,

Or l ightly mou rnat darker fate.

Still , still thou hastno po ignancy ,Nor passion, save inmild degree.

What’er betide, thou fainwou ld gazeWith hermit’

s eyes ontroubled ways ,Or stretch thy l imbs , or sleep, or eat,Or watch the trip of blithesome feet,

Or sit indrowsy ais les and dreamOnsummer days— entranced seem ,

And hear the laps ing brooklet singTo throstle onits wizard.wing,

And hear the au stere note replyF rom out the dizzy dome of sky,

Sufficed— though al l the wor ld be r i feWit h wakenings of death and l ife

To hush thy tongu e, to seal thine ear ,Or s ing a song of careless cheer

To lounge inscented fields , to c l imbThe lower hills , to roam the vale,Or watc h the sunsets pale and pale,

['

nmoved to spanthe heights su blime

H E ZEK I AH B UTTE R WOR TH . 393

Infal low thoughts to take thine ease,Nor envy others their degrees ,

B ut just to live, and breathe, and rest,And deem thyself supremely blest.

Sweet lo iterer thou— O Indolence,Becalmed guest of sou l and sense !

I crownthee as my happy chance,Thou easer of all c ircumstance.

FAITH.

ALONE she bears the mystic flame,A torch that like a star doth gleam ;

A leader , she, w ithou t a name ;Alone she bears the mystic flame.

A darkness falls across her way ;Her fac e is wrapt as ina dream .

Perc hance she mu rmu rs , Where is day?

She walks afar — none other near ,Yet by her s ide speed silent feet ;Strange voices fal l onher fine ear .

She leads the way that manshall tread,

Whose centu r ies time the ceaseless beatOf living follow ing the dead ;She leads the way thatmanshal l tread.

INFINITO.

CO ULD I but gras p the vision, make itmine,Inone fu ll master ly embrac e possess

The splendor of my dream ,its joy enshrine,

And hold it as some tr ophy- crown, to blessWith perfect calm and peace the conquest won;Or cou ld I c lear the mist, and fair ly face

The high beatitudes of radiant morn,That reach through infinite degrees of space ;What then— ah , what The heart wou ld s igh

more ;

The longings of a great unrest wou ld send

Swift -winged messengers far onbefore ;Su ch glory undefined cou ld only lend

A depth to height, a sadness to des ire,voice forever calling, Come up higher .

NIGHT WATCHES.

ONLY the shroudinggloom canunfoldThe skyey chart with its wor lds of go ld ;

Only the darkness canmake thenightA fathomless mirac le of light !

Only the shadow of night inthe heartReveals to the sou l the heavenly chart ;

Only the darkness that falls at ou r feetCanmake the meaning of God complete !

LINCOLN '

S LAST DREAM.

(P residentLinco ln. j ust before h is exam ination. is said to

have remarked to Mrs . Linco ln. Whenmy cares of State

are o ver . I wish to go to Pales tine

InArt’s temple there were greetings , gentle hu rryings of feet,

And tr iumphant strains of music rose amid the

numbers sweet.

HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH .

EZEKIAH . BUTTERWORTH was born in

Warren, R . I . , onDecember 2 2 , 1 839 . The

fami ly were among the founders of Rhode Island ;l iberal Baptists of the Roger Williams views . Inear ly life he began to contribu te to the leadingpapers , among them the New York Independent.

In1 870 hebecame connectedwith the You th ’

sCom

panion. He wrote“ Zig—Zag J ou rneys , twelve

volumes , for a B ostonpu blishing firm, which are

stor ies ofplac es , ofwhich some copies havebeenso ld. He wrote , in 1 875 , the Story of the

Hymns for the Amer icanTractSoc iety, and wonfor it the GeorgeWood Gold Medal . He has s inceprepared a companionvolume, called “

The Storyof the Tunes .

”He has prepared several cantatas

for Geo rge F . R oot’

s mu sic , and one of these,“Under the Palms

,

”has had a great popu larity

in England. He has written for the AtlanticMonthly,

Harper’

s publications , the Chris tianUnion, and other periodicals . Two volumes of hispoems have beenpublished, Poems forChr istmas ,Easter and New Year ’

s , and Songs ofH istory.

”

Mr . B utterworth is one of the editors of the

Yo u tb’s Companion, and one of the hardest

workers . He owns an old farm on the famou sMt. Hope Lands , B r isto l , R . I .

, and has a cottage

at Belleview ,F la. C. W. M .

I .

AP R IL flowers were inthe hol lows ; inthe air wereApr i l bells,

And the w ings of pu rple swallows rested on the

battle shells .

From the war’

s long scene of horror now the

nationfound release ;All the day the old war bugles blew the blessed

notes of peace.

’Thwart the twil ight’s damask cu rtainsFell thenight uponthe land,

Like God'

s sm ile of benedictionShadowed faintly by his hand.

Inthe twilight, inthe dusklight, inthe star light,everywhere,

Banners waved like gardened flowers inthe pa!pitatingair .

394

So ldiers gathered ,heroes gathered, womenbeauti

fu l were there :Will he come, the land’

s Beloved, there to - rest an

hou r from care?

Will he come who for the peopleLong the cross of painhas borne,

Prayed insilence, wept insilence,Held the hand of God alone?

Will he share the hou r of tr iumph , now his m ightywork is done?

Here receive the peeple’s plaudits , now the victory

is won

O’er thy dimpled waves , Potomac , softly now the

moonbeams creep ;O

’er far Arl ington’

s green meadows , where thebrave forever sleep .

’T is Good Fr iday ; bells are tol ling, bells of chapel

beat the air

Onthy qu iet waves , Potomac ; Ar l ington, sereneand fair .

And he comes, the nation’

s hero ,

F rom theWhite Hou se , wornwith care ;Hears thename of Linco lnl ringingInthe thronged streets , everywhere ;

Hears the bells , what memor ies bringing to his

long- uplifted heart !Hears the plaudits of the people as he gains the

Hall of Art.

Throbs the air with thrill ing mu sic , gayly onwardsweeps the play ;

B ut he little heeds the laughter , for his thoughtsare far away ;

Was it not that recent vis ion, whenhe saidForm I see ,

Walking calmly ’mid the people onthe shores of

Galilee ;Oft I

’ve wished his steps to follow ,

Whom all menas brothers met ;Whenthe cares of State are over ,Let me go to Olivet ;

And the paths the B lessed fol lowed 1 wil l walkfrom sea to sea,

Follow him who healed the people onthe shores ofGalilee.

”

Hung the flag of peace before him ; and his eyesw ith tears were dim ,

Though a thou sand eyes exu ltant l ifted oft theirsm iles to him .

Forms of statesmen, forms of heroes , women

beautifu l were there,


B u t it was another vis ion that had calmed his

brow of care

Was it Tabor glowed before him,

Carmel inthe evening sun;Faith ’s strong armies grandly marchingThrough the vale of Esdralon;

Or the sunlit H om e of Hu ttim onthe shores of

Galilee,Where the Sermonof the B lessed made the world

fore ver free

Now the breath of l ight applauses rose the templedarches through ,

Stirred the folds of si lkenbanners ,m ingled red and

white and blu e ;B uttheDreamer seemed to heed not : rose the past

his eye before,Armies guarding the Potomac , flas hing through

the Shenandoah ;Gather ing arm ies , darkeningnavies ;Heroes marching forth to die ;

Chickamauga, Chattanooga,

And the Battle of the Sky ;Silent prayers to free the bondmeninthe ordeal of

fire,

And God’

s angel ’s sword uplifted to fu lfill hisheart’s des ire.

Thought he of the streets of R ichmond onthe latetr iumphant day

Whenthe swords of vanqu ished leaders at his feetsu rrendered lay ;

When, amid the sweet bells ringing, all the sablemu ltitudes

Shouted forth thename of Lincoln!” like a ru sh

ing of the floods ;Thought of all his heart had su ffered ;All his struggles and renown;

Dreamingnot that ju st before himLifted was the martyr ’

s crown;Seeing not the dark form stealing through the

mu sic - haunted air ;Knowingnot thatmid the tr iumph the betrayer’s

form was there .

F lash ! what scymetar of fire lit the flagwith lu ridlight?

Hu sh ! what means that shudder ing silence, whatthat woman’

s shr iek of fright?Puff of smoke ! the call bell r inging! why has

stopped the airy p lay?Why the fixed looks of the players that a moment

past were gay


It was a treasure. Happy he who claimed it, Above these paradises of the sea.

A maidensaid, tis worthy of a br ide.

” Hark ! hear the birds .— A land bird sang to me

Another maid the ocean’s dowery named it ; Uponthe mast onthatmyster iou s morn

B utgently Alice, weeping, tu rned as ide, Before thenew world roseSad Bay Chaleur Sang, and was gone,

Who knows,And went to Hannah with thenew- found treasure, Padre?

And stood againbes ide the o ld arm - chair ;Themaidens stood around her , radiant w ith pleas Bflt he,

u re,That joyfu l bird,

And playfu l wove the gentians inher hair .Was sent by Heavento me

ThenHannah said, her feelings i ll dissembling, T0 sing the sweetest songmanever heard !Some sailor - lad this treas u re once possessed ; He came am id the mutiny and strife,

Andnow, perhaps , she added, pale and trembling, And sanghis song inthesenew airs of life“His form lies sleeping ’neath theocean’

s breast, Sang of the Edens of those glor ious seas ,InBay Chaleu r ! Thenwestward made his fl ight,

Onthe land breeze,Now onher knee the Openbox she places , F rom sight,~Her tr embling hand falls helpless onher breas t ; Padre .

Into her face look up two pictu red faces ,The faces that her sai lor -boy loved best.

One picture bears the wr itten words , THE CYPRESS GATES,

mother ,Old Hannah drops herWrinkled face inpain;

SLf’WLY ’ boatman, 8") l

Al ice,” sweetname, is wr it beneath the otherSM “the leafy cu rrents flow ,

Old Hannah’s tears fal l over it l ike rain.

"Pd I cannot 39°or know

Dark Bay Chaleu r ! hat beyond yondark wood waits ,Dr ifting toward the Cypress Gates

The spr ingwill come, thepu rple swallows bringing, Of the Ocklawaha.

The green leaves glitter where the gold leavesfen; We have passed funereal glooms

,

Butnevermore the time of flowers and singing caverns , haunted rooms ,Will hope revive inher poor heart to dwell . Halls Of gray 111088 starred With blooms

Lifene’er had broughtto her so dark a chal ice, Slowly BlOWIS

'

, inthese straits ,B ut from her lips escapedno bitter moan; Dr iftingtoward the Cypress Gates

They , ’mid the gentians , made thegrave of Al ice, Of the Ocklawaha.

And Hannah lives inher old cot alone,By Bay Chaleu r .

Inthe towers of greeno’erhead

Watch the vu ltu re for the dead,And below the egrets red

THE BIRD THAT SANG TO COLUMBUS. Eye the mossy pools l ike fates,Inthe shadowy Cypress Gates

As onwegamut,

Of the Ocklawaha.

Into the unknownsea,The morning splendors r ise and glow ,

Innew horizons still .— Padre, you know ,

They said inold Sevil le ’twou ldnot be so ;

They said black deeps and flamingair

Clouds of palm crowns lie behind,Clouds of gray moss inthe wind,Crumbling oaks with jessamines tw ined,Where the r ing- doves meet their mates ,Coo ing inthe Cypress Gates

Were ocean’s narrow bound ; Of the Ocklawaha.

Light everywhereWe

’ve found, H igh the silver ibis fl iesPadre.

Silver wings insilver skies ;Behold ! Inthe sunthe saurianlies ;The fronded palms Comes themocking- bird and pratesThat fanthe earth , and hold aloft To the boatmenat thegatesTheir mellowed fru it indusky arms Of the Ocklawaha.

400

Here sap runs r iot inthe proud fir ’s veins

And banks oftender greenslope to the sea ;Willows and wi ld rose- bushes bu rst to leaf,

And westernbirds peal forth their glad refrains ;Here is no snow , no frost, no frozenlea ;This is the sunset land— sweet past belief.

BELLINGHAM BAY.

ONE broad,blue sweep ofdanc ing, sunlit sea.

F leck’

d here and there with blownsails , white as

foam .

Here. warm l ights die and restless sea-

gu lls roam,

And winds steal infrom oceanwantonly .

Southward, the chas te Olympics , snow- was hed ,

free,Gleam th rough the pu rple mist ; eastward, the

dome

Ofall the Cascades gu ards ou r westernhome .

H ere, wild birds pou r their sou ls ou t, mad withglee,

And, downward dipping inthe blue wave’

s c rest,

F l ing opalescent drops from w ings and breast :F rom coo l , marsh -meadows , where lies dim the

light,Soft- toned frogs make sweet the solemnnightAnd violet—sc ented morn; and ebbs and flowsThe tide forever , w ith its joys and woes .

HER WAY.

THE R E is withina westernwood a placeWhere spring doth wantonas she da]lies by ,With many a warm ,

voluptu ou s kiss and s igh ;Her bare soft arms she tw ines w ith nameless graceAbou t the fir ’

s strong throat. Inhis embrace,With yielding bosom , she doth str ive to lie,With wiles the pas s ionof his l ife to buy.

At her soft to uch hot saps do leap and race

Along his swell ing veins ; his strong limbs thr i llBeneath the force of her sedu ctive wi ll ;

At first he but submits to her caress ,As one might sm ile at some sweet child at play

Then, pass ions , bu rsting into bloom , confessH is will is her ’

s— Spr ing has regained her sway .

MIDSUMMER NIGHT.

DOWN thro ’the field inthe fading light,

The milkmaid goes with her tinpails br ight ;StOOps by the spring underneath the pines ,

And pushing as ide the c luster ing vines ,Plunges them into the bubbling pool ,And holds them ,

waiting, til l drenched and cool ;


Thenr ises and goes thro ’

the long,wet, grass ,

By thenarrow path where the cattle pass ,Cheer ily cal ling, strong and free,So - ook- e l So- ook- e l So- ook- e- e l

Ou t to the barnyard the farmer goes ,Where the stream steals thro ’

and s ings as itflows,Wear ily plodding with so il - wornfeet,He yet finds something vagu ely sweet[11 the low

, softm u rm u r ofmyriad frogs ,And the no isy welcome ofwel l - kept hogs ;He co unts them— and one is away or lost lSo qu ick inthe trough the food is tossed ,

While the farmer calls loudly and anxiou sly ,Po - oo - e ! Po - oo- e l Po- oo - e- e l

THE ANGEL IN HELL.

I‘m; devil he stood at the gates ofhellAnd yearned for anangel above,

And he sighed Come down, sweet siren, andlearn

The lessonofpass ionand love !

Over the hill where the dying sun

Lingers a moment whenthe day is done,And flushes the west with a flood of light,The plowboy goes into the fragrantnight ;Singing and whistling r ightmerrily,Fo r his heart is c leanand his sou l is free ;Switc hing the flowers and takingno heedH ow far inthe distance the horses feed ;And they s idle away w ith a long, s low lope,Whenhe calls , Co

'

p , Fan! Co'

p, Bil l !Co’

p !Co’

p !

)u t to the o rchard the hou sew ife goes ,Where the dews fall thickly onpansy and rose,

Chas es the chickens from roos t onthe trees ,. lnd invites them into their coops , if they please ;Counts and re—c ounts them , bu t one is gone,She searches the orchard, the garden, the lawn,Eveninthe grass that is deep and wet,She looks for the p lace where Speckle has set;

Battling the wheat, she calls , coaxingly ,Oh - u ck- e ! Oh - u ek- e Ch - uek- e—e 3

”

Ina l ittle white chamber where all is still ,And the roses peep inat their ownsweet w i ll,The youngmother s its with a chi ld at her breast,Tenderly trying to In]! it to rest ;

Dimpled hands fondle her bosom of snow ,

And wet lips press kisses— while she sings low,

O— hu sh thee, dar l ing,— and go to s leep,

There’

s time enough— time, dear ie— left to weep ;O- hu sh thee— hu sh — she croons dreamilyH u sh thee— Hu sh thee— Hu sh thee-e- e !

”

ELLA H 1 GG I N SON . 401

The angel she leaned from thegates ofgo ld,

(The devil was fair inher eyes ) ,And she thought itwou ld be verynice if sheCou ld l ift him up to the skies .

My dear Mr . Devil , she softly repl iedMy home is ofcomfort and ease,

And I'

m very well satisfied where I emAnd so— ii you ’l l pardonme— please,

I hardly dare ventu re to go so far ;

Do you , sir , come up to me,Fo r I am anangel inheaven, while youAre only the devil , you see.

”

Too well I know that anangel you are,The devi l with cunning, repl ied :And that is the reasonI covet you ,

For a safe-

guard at my side.

You’ll find the atmosphere balmy and warm,

And a heart that is wholly thine ;H ere are red,

red roses , and pass ionate bliss ,And kisses , and maddeningwine.

0 , come ! angel , come ! I’

ll stretch out my arms ,And draw you to infinite rest,

And all the del ights ofthis beau tifu l hell ,Asleep , you shall dr ink onmy breast

The angel she leaned from the gates ofgo ld,And she c lasped him w ith arms ofsnow ;

B u t the while she was striving to draw him up,

The lower she. seemed to go .

Don’

t struggle, sweet angel , the devil he c ried,As he bore her onpas sion’

s swel lWhenanangel

’

s arms haveembracedmebu tonce,She belongs to the devil— and hell .”

WHERE THE DIFFERENCE LIES.

(“ SinIs no worse Inwomanthanin

I 'r may be ; yet I wou ldnot have it soThere are thoughts and pass ions inthe heart of

man

That I wou ld not have inhere ; for I knowWomanforgives each day whatno mancan.

Itmay be ; yet I feel it is not so ;Manloathes inher the sins he calls his own.

And I believe that eac h manlives to knowThat one pu re womanho lds his heart alone.

And sti ll they say Itmay be !—yet I know,

Thatmanmay sin, and r ise to honors great ;While God’

s unwr ittenlaw has made it so ,That she who sins forever yields to fate.

Tenthousand fu ries r ise to crash to earth ,Her hope of reformationinits birth ;And this is why I think it is God’

s will ,That she who yields mu st su ffer and be still .

A FANCY.

Tms thoughtmy fancy doth impart,As birds strange mu sic tro ll ;

The blossom is the thistle’s heart,

And the white downis its sou l .

LIFE AND DEATH,

As one may breathe w ithout a s igh ,Yet cannot s igh without a breath ,

So Love may life to pass ionbe,While Passionunto Love is— death .

THE OLD STORY.

A SP IR IT ,looking backward, s ighed,

How strange thatnow you findno fiaw

Inone whose fau lts , alone, you saw ,

Before she died .

”

REGRET.

I THOL’

HGT I didnot care till you had gone,And I heard thewind grievingthrough the leaves ,

And the plaintive rhythm of the soft raindrops ,As they dr ipped, dripped, dr ipped from the time

worneaves .

The while I danced w ith tireless feet, and light,You held no place withinmy care free m ind ;

Nor when, uponmy dappled mare, I rac ed,F lushed , tr iumphant, bu oyant, w ith the wind.

For then, my very sou l was fu ll of l ifeThat throbbed and pu lsed and raced my being

through ;And I was all- su ffic ient to myself,And gaveno lightest thought or care to you .

Bu t whenI c rossed a field, one winter’s day ,

And heard a little brook go singing by ;Whena pale, wet crocu s bloom looked up atme,Some vague remembrance moved my heart to

sigh .

And whenI hear the restless , w ind- vex'

d leaves ,And the soft rhythm ofthe winter rain,

Through all my being thr i lls the vaindes ireThat I might have you here with me again.

402

CHARLESWASHINGTON COLEMAN.

HE subject of this sketc h was bornNovember2 2 , 1 862 , at R ichmond, Va. , his father being

stationed there at that time as a su rgeoninthe

Confederate hospital . Mrs . Co lemanis a niece of

J ohn Rando lph , of Roanoke, and daughter of

Judge Bever ley Tu cker , sometime professor of

law atWilliam and Mary Col lege, anem inentman,distingu ished al ikeas ju ristand litterateu r . JudgeTucker ’s father was no less well and favorablyknown as author and ju r ist than his son, and

fought gallantly inthe R evo lution, attaining therank of Co lonel , and was afterwards J udge of the

United States Cou rt. The Co lemans and the

Tu ckers had, from the first, lived inor near Wil

liamsbu rg,Va . , that qu aint old town at which

for many years the soc ial, l iterary and politicall ife of the Old Dominioncentered .

Reared in a highly cu ltu red family , it is no

wonder that young Co leman shou ld prom ise toshine as brightly among his co - laborers inthenewSou thern l iteratu re as did his talented ancestors

inSou thernpol itics . Mr . Co leman'

s firsteffo rtwasthenatu ral resu ltofhis environmentand ancestry .

In1 881 while rummaging amongsome o ldpapers ,

he ca me a cross letters wr ittenby his great grandfather , St. George Tucker . The lette rs were

addressed to the Colonel’s wife, and, along w ithsparkling hon-mots , jests and bits of doggerel , containedmu ch valuable histo ric info r mationconcerning the events ju st preceding the su rrender at

Yorktown. These were put together into a perfec twhole, forwarded to Tbe Magazine of American

His tory and were accepted. Evenat this ear lyperiod the seventeen- year - o ld boy showed he hadinherited the poetic talent ofthe Tuckers .

The nextyear Mr . Co lemanwentto theUnivers ityofVirginia,

remainingthere three years , and inthemeantime contribu tingto the University Magazine

and, less frequently , to The Century and otherper iodicals . He studied law at the same institu

tion, and since his retu rn to Wi lliamsbu rg he

has devoted much time to l iterary work , con

tr ibuting to al l the prominent per iodicals .

Harper’

s Magazine for May, 1 887, contained an

artic le by Mr . Co leman entitled “The Recent

Movement in Sou thern Literatu re, which at

tracted mu ch attentionall over the country . The

only unfair part of the artic le consisted inthe factthat Mr . Coleman’

s writing it prevented his namefrom being p laced along w ith those of the otherr isingyoung southernwr iters , among whom he isprominent as a poet.


Although Mr . Co lemanhas produced somehighlycreditable prose, his talent, and a most decidedtalent it is , is inthe field ofpoetry. H . S. B .

So they didnot hear the mu sic ,They didnot tu rnto look ,

Save a womanworn, and a lover lorn,And a student over his book .

Menhadno time to l isten,And heno heart to wait ;

So he hu shed his song and pas sed alongOu t through the c ity gate .

He went alone, the pale singer ,’

Long the du sty road from the town;H is chec ks were thinand tears stood inH is eyes so w ide and brown.

And the woman’

s lip was trembling,

As she tu rned from her work to lookThe lover lornforgot to mou rn,And the student c losed his book .

Whenthe sunset gates'yvere opened ,

And the weste rnskies afiame,F rom over the hill to the c ity sti llA magical mu s ic came.

Menc ried, Do you hear themu sic?”

(They were restingafter the day) ,That s inger sweet to our c ity streetShal l come and dwell for aye !”

Far over the land they sought him,

Sought till the nightgrew late ;But the weary feet ofthe s inger sweetHad passed the sunsetgate .

Thenback to the streets of the c ity ,Back to its tire, they came ;

And eyes were wet w ith a vainregret,As they spoke the s inger ’

s fame.

THE PASSING OF THE SINGER .

HE came alone, the pale singer ,’Long the du sty road to the town;

His feet were wornand his heartwas torn,H is eyes were wide and brown.

He pau sed inthe street ofthe city ,And h0pe sprang u p amain;

To the surging throng that hurr ied alongHe sang a p laintive strain.

Bu t some had to buy inthe market,And others to sell inthe shop,

And many to play , and a few to pray ,Andnone had time to stop .


Sing load, 0 ye birds , of loving,

Ti ll all the world gives car ;For the sunis inlove inthe heavens above,And June, the queen, is here .

IN THE GERMAN .

SHE sto od uponthe polish’

d floor ,Amid the bal l- room ’

s blazing l ight,And slowly scan’

d the c irc le o '

er ,

That form ’d the dance that night.

(The walt z they play’

d was Woman’

s Love

She stood and stroked her long white glo ve .

The creamy s i lk her form caress'

d,

A bunch ofplumes hung o’

er her hear t,Her bosom by soft lace was press

’

d,

Her r ich red l ips apart.

(The Germanwas the dance thatnightOne h igh - heeled shoe was ju st ins ight,

She held a favo r inher handA dainty, per fumed

, painted thing,

A tiny hear t— yet he wou ld stand,Who wonthat prize, a king.

(The waltz they played was Woman'

s Love

How fas tmy throbbing heart did move !

Menwatched her there w ith eager eyes ,The l ight u ponher c u rls did shine ;

Thenw ith a look of swe et su rpr ise,Her great gray eyes met mine .

(The Germanwas the dance thatnightShe smiled— her sm ile was wondrous bright.

She waved her fancoquettishly ,And half inc l ined her wel l po ised head,

As , ina tone part coy, part shy,

Here take my heart,” she said .

(The waltz they play'

d was Woman'

s Love

Her hand inm ine lay l ike a dove.

I felt love inmy pu lses start,She was my ownfor that br ief space

Her heart was beating ’

gainst my heart,H er breath play’

d o’er my face.

(The Germanwas the dance thatnightThe dawnbroke slowly into l ight.

Has she who gave forgottenqu ite ?

I wear that heart my ownabove.

(The Germanwas the dance thatnight ;The waltz they p layed was Woman

’

s Love. )

HARRIET McEWEN KIMBALL .

ARR IET MCEWEN KIMBALL was born inPortsmou th , N . H . , in1 834, and to this day

her home has beenthe beautifu l old mans ionwhereshe first saw the l ight, and where, su rrounded by amost delightfu l atmosphere of cu ltu re, her life hasbeenpas sed . Not being, as a child, very robu st,her educationwas chiefly given her in her own

home, and by her mother , a lady of unu sual s equ irements and ac compl ishments . Miss Kimball ’sfather , Dr . David Kimbal l , was a gentlemanof theold schoo l , a manof great refinement of thoughtand feel ing ; and inthe midst of these rare homesu rroundings both the practical and poetical qualities ofhis daughter ’

s natu re were developed. F u llof interest, and helpfu l inall domestic cares and

responsibil ities , her years have been devoted to

good works inthe chu rch which she ardently loves ,and inchar ities , of which the Cottage Hosp ital "

inher native c ity is one of the crowningglor ies .

Literatu re has beenw ith Miss Kimbal l rather apastime thanapro fess ion, although shehas alwaysgivenher best thought and care. to whatever she

has written, and never allows anything to go fromher hand unless it is as well done as she is capableofdo ing it.

H er first. vo lume was solic ited by the publishers(E . P . Du tton Company ) in1 867 . Since thenshehas publ ished two others , and in November of

1 889 there appeared a fu l l and complete editionofher poems from the hou se of AnsonD. F . Ran

dolph Company .

Of her poems Mr . Edmund C. StedmansaysHer religiou s verse always displays . bes ides

great pu rity and feeling, the artistic grace whichmarks her sec u lar lyr ics . The lac k of su ch a gracehas oftenmade the poetry of faith seem ratherbarren; bu tMiss Kimbal l ’s songis the natu ral utterance of the poet, the womanand the saint.

"

Dr . Peabody , B ishop H untington, Mr . Stedman,Mr . Whittier and others ass ignM iss K imball auniqu e place among the poets of Amer ica . Manyof her longer devotional poems have been likenedto those ofFaber .

Extremely modest and unas suming, Miss Kimball possesses a most interesting personal ity , andhas the affectionand admirationofmany fr iends.

She has avo ided, as far as poss ible, all pu blic ity,shr inkingalways from anything that wou ld makeher conspicu ou s : but inher chu rch relations and

neighborhood she is knownand valued for her unselfish devotionto the interests ofsufferinghumanity,

for her poetical talent, and for her noble andgenerou s natu re. M . L . B . W.

H AR R I E T M CE WE N K IM B ALL .

ALL'

SWELL.

Tat-3day is ended. E re I sink to s leepMy weary spirit seeks repose inthine

Father ! forgive my trespasses , and keepThis l ittle life ofmine.

With loving kindness curtainThou my bedAnd cool inrestmy bu rning p ilgr im feet ;

Thy pardonbe the pil low for my head80 shal l my sleep be sweet.

At peace with al l theworld, dear Lord, and Thee,No fears my sou l ’s unwaveringfaith canshake ;

Al l ’s well , whichever side the grave for meThemorning light may break !

THE CRICKETS.

PIPE , l ittle minstrels ofthe waningyear ,Ingentle concertpipe !

Pipe the warm noons ; the mellow harvestnear ;The apples dropping r ipe ;

The tempered sunshine and the softened shade ;The thri ll ofa lonely bird ;

The sweet sad hush onNatu re’s gladness laid ;

The sounds through si lence heard.

Pipe tender ly the pass ing ofthe year ;The Summer

’

s brief reprieve ;The dry hu sk ru stl ing round the yellow ear ;

The chill ofmor nand eve !

Pipe the untrou bled trouble of the year ;Pipe low the painless pain;

P ipe you r unceas ingmelancholy cheerThe year is inthe wane.

THE GUEST.

B ehold. I stand at the door and knock : it any manhearmy vo les and openthe doo r. I come into h lm. and willcu p with him. and be. With tum— Rev. m. w .

Ses s cnnsss Sorrow sat with me ;I was s ighingweari ly ;Lamp and fire were out ; the rainWildly beat the window -

pane.

Inthe dark I heard a knock ,And a hand was onthe lock .

One inwaiting, spake to me,Saying sweetly,

I am come to sup with thee.

All my room was dark and damp ;So rrow,

”said I , tr im the lamp,

Light the fire, and cheer thy face,Set thegues t- chair inits place.

”

WHEN I AWAKE.

Ps . xvii. 15.

405

And againI heard the knock ;Inthe dark I found the lock :Enter I have tu rned the key,

Enter , Stranger,Who art come to sup with me.

”

Openingwide the door he came,B ut I co uldnot speak his name ;Intheguestc hair took his place,B ut I cou ldnot see his face.

Whenmy cheerfu l fire was beaming,

Whenmy little lamp was gleaming,

And the feast was spread for three,Lo , myMaster

Was theguest that su pped with me !

Wns x I awake shal l I Thine image bear ,0 Thou Adored?

The image lost, insome pu re OtherwhereOh, shall it be resto red?

Already stealeth o '

er my trembling sou lSome semblance sweet,

The wavering outl ine of the perfect wholeThy touch shall yet complete ?

WhenI awake shal l I indeed cast byAl l earthly ta int,

AndwalkwithThee inwhite,Thywhite, onhigh ,

As seraph walks and saint?Through endless , blessed ages shall I know

Thy wil l aloneIts all - pervading, perfec tmotions grow

More thanmine ownm ine ownThe glories thatno vis ioncanforestal l

With c rystal gleamThe peace, the raptu re, and the ho ly thral l

Of love that reigns supreme ;The death ofall thatmeaneth self and time ;

ThegainofThee,My Lord, my God the victory subl ime

Whenonly Thou shalt be,Thou , all inall,— all inThy fu l lness lost,

And all, all found

Dear beyond price, no aspi rationcrossed ;Thou , only Thou our bound

Shall I beho ld, receive, poem s, attain

All this andmore

At last unfoldThy face, Thy glory, whence all glory streams

Shal l I indeed behold


WhenI awake? Oh canit ever be,A ll joys beside,

That I shal l gaze and gaze, my God, onThee ?I shall be satisfied .

SUMMER - TIME.

Sunmsn’

s breath has kissed the lovely bloomFrom the apple- trees

Out offlower - cups , dripping with perfume,Sip the honey- bees .

Where the vines are strung with roses redDart the humming- birds ;

Winds l ike lovers , inthe boughs o'

er-head

Wh isper tender words .

Clover - crested are the waves ofgrass

Where the l ittle feetFrol ic , deep incoolness , as I pass

F rom the sunny street.

Whenat eve o ’

er field and fenand brakeMisty cu rtains fall,

F ire fl ies , intheir meteor dances , makeN ightly carnival .

MY NAMESAKE .

FROM si lvery c louds the si lvery showersGOOD ' BY Fel l o ’

er the earth ;

B ID me good- by l No sweete r salu tation Sto le Boggflg

o

glt

iiggfamt’ sweet flowers

Canfriendship c laim ;

Nor yet canany language, any nation AnApr i l babe, my namesake, cameA sweeter frame . One Apr il day ;

It is not final ; it fo rbodes no sor rowJ u st c laimed onearth her place, her name,

And fled away .

As some dec lareWho bornto fretting are so pr one to borrow A few soft sigbingaofthe breath

To -mor row'

s share. And it was spent ;Too frai l for l ife, too sweet for death ,

Good- by 18 bu t a prayer , a benediction She came and went.

F rom l ips s incere ;tnd breathed by thine it br ings a sweet con So brief a stay, so swift a fl ight,

viction0

Cou ld scarce be felt ;That GOG WIN hear . Thu s snowflakes fal ling l ight as light

Tou ch earth and melt.

“Good- by l”Yes

,God be with yo u ; prayer

and bless ing If, verily , she hath beenhereInsimplest phrase ; We hardly know ;

Alike o ur need and H is dear care confess ing The frai lest blossoms of the yearInall ou r ways . Her days outgrow .

However rare or frequ ent be our meeting, Sweetmonth of soft unsorrowing sighsHowever nigh And fragrant breath ;

The last long parting or the endless greeting, Oftender , showery, brooding skies ;B id me good- by l Of l ife, not death ;

WHITE AZALEAS.

AzALEAs— Whitest ofwhite !White as the dr ifted sn

'

ow

F lesh - fallenout ofthenight,Before the com ingglow

Tinges the morning light ;Whenthe light is l ike the snow ,

White ,And the si lence is like the light ;Light, and silence, and snow ,

Al l— white !

White ! not a hintOf the c reamy tintA rose w ill hold,The whitest rose , inits inmost fold ;

Not a possible blu sh ;White as anembodied hu sh ;A very raptu re ofwhite ;A wedlock of s ilence and l ight.

White, white as the wonder undeflledOfEve ju st wakened inParadise ;

Nay,white as the angel ofa child

That looks into God’

s owneyes !

L YMAN WH I TN E Y ALLE N . 409

Her faint, sweetmemory entomb LYMAN WHITNEY ALLEN .

Inv io lets ,The pathos ofwhose faint perfume

B reathes no regrets !

How strange to enter Paradise .

As she today,

With not one tear inthose sweet eyesTo w ipe away !

MY FIELD.

I mm. not w rong thee, O To- day,

With idle longing for To - morrow ;Bu t patient plough my field and sow

The seed of faith inevery fu rrow .

Enough for me the loving l ightThat melts the c loud’

s repellent edges ;The stil l unfolding, bud by bud,OfGod

’s most sweet and ho ly pledges .

I breathe His breath ; my l ife is His ;The hand He nerves knows no defrauding ;

The Lord will make this joyless wasteWave w ith the wheat ofH is rewarding.

Of His rewarding! Yes ; and yetNotmine a s ingle blade or kernel ;

The seed is H is ; the qu ickening His ;The care unchanging and eternal .

His , too , the harvest song shall beWhenHe who blessed the barrenfu rrow

Shall thru st His shining s ickle inAnd reap my l ittle field to -morrow .

CH R IST M A S .

0 happy earth , whose darkestnightThe angels fiood with song and l ight !0 happy shepherds , first to hearThe tidings meant» for every ear !0 happy night, 0 happy morn

,

A Savior , Chr ist, the Lo rd is born!0 happy heaven among whose spheresThe Chr ist-Child s blazing star appears !

0 happy magi , from afarLed by the Chr ist-Child’

s blazing star !

0 Bethlehem ! 0 spot most fair ,

Carol .

F A IT H . Ix the cr imsonof the morning, inthe whiteness ofThe Way, the Tr uth , the Life Thou art! thenoon.

This , this 1 know ; to this I cleave ; Inthe amber glory of the day ’s retreat.The sweetnew language ofmy heart Inthe midnight, robed indarkness , or the gleam

Lord, I bel ieve .

” ing Of themoon

I l istenfor the coming ofhis feet.

YMAN WHITNEY ALLEN is both poet and

preacher , and those who know him as a c lergymanw ill su rely aver that it has beenthe fire ofhispoetic natu re that has greatly heightened and intensified his discourses . He was borninSt. Lou is ,Mo . , in1 854 . F rom his father , anative of Bostonand of tru e Pu r itanstock , he inher ited his gift ofverse . From his mother , through a dou ble l ine ofancestors , the histor ic Thorntons of V irginia andthe well - known Whitneys of New England, hebecame possessed of those qual ities which haveplac ed him inthe front rank of the younger ministry of the chu rch . He pu rsued his collegiatestudies at Washington Univer s ity , graduatingthere in1 878 . He afterwards took a partial postgraduate cou rse at P rinceton Co llege, and pre

pared for the ministry at Princeton Theo logicalSem inary . He now res ides in Newark , N . J as

pastor of the Sou th Park P resbyter ianChurch,

one of the larges t and most impo rtant chu rches inthe vicinity ofNew York City .

F rom his ear ly years Mr . Allenhas manifested acreative as well as apprec iative love ofpoetry . Inlater l ife, inthe midst ofarduou s duties , he has notneglected his art, bu t has fo und time for its cu ltivation. Although constantly u rged by his friendsto publish inbook form ,

he has pu rposely r efrainedfrom do ing so

,waiting, as did Itosetti, that

thought and form might. be more tru ly wedded .

H is poems , however , have appeared from time totime invar iou s magazines and newspapers , mostnotably The Independent, of New Yo rk . One of

Mr . Allen’s poems

,

“ The Coming of His Feet,

or iginally published inThe Independent. has earnedanenviable popu larity and has had a wide c ircu lation in var iou s newspapers . It has gained for

itself a permanent place inthe sacred l itera l are ofthis country .

While M r . Allen is chiefly knownas a wr iter of

religiou s verse, he retains for fu tu re publicationmu ch that. has beenwr ittenpu rely for art

'

s sake .

H . A . T.

410

I have heard his weary footsteps onthe sands of

Galilee,Onthe temple

’

s marble pavement, onthe street,

Wornwithweight of sorrow , faltering up the flowsofCalvary

The sorrow ofthe coming ofhis feet.

Downthe minister - ais les of sp lendor , from betwixtthe cherubim ,

Through the wonder ing throng,w ith motion

strong and fleet,Sounds his victo r tread, approaching w ith a mu sic

far and dim

The mu s ic ofthe coming of his feet.

Comes he sandaled not with s ilver , girdled notwith wovengo ld,

Weightednot with shimmer inggems and odors

sweet,

B u t whitewinged and shodwith glory inthe Tabo rlight ofold

The glory ofthe coming of his feet.

He is com ing, 0 my sp irit! w ith his ever lastingpeace,

With his blessedness immortal and complete .

He is coming, 0 my spirt ! and his coming br ingsrelease

I listenfor the coming of his feet.

SUBMlSSION.

I CANNOT count the ways my sou l has tr iedTo slip the leash ofGod

’

s redeeminggrace ;Nor measu re His long su ffer ing, no r trace

His ways to draw menearer to H is s ide :By tender calls , by warnings amplified,

By sharp rebu ke inloud and sterner phrase,By chastenings dire, which time cannot efface,

By scou rgings w ith fierce thongs offire applied .

Thu s has the Lord made effort for my l ife,Andnever for one moment loosed his ho ld .

And now ,with brokenheart, wornou t w ith str ife ,

I lay myself downat H is feet contro l led,

And through glad tears , that will not cease to

flow ,

I thank my Father that He loved me so .

BEETHOVEN ’

S SEVENTH SYMPHONY.

(Paco Soatenu to . )

THE dead Chr ist starts , the shadows l ift, the lightLengthens ac ross the Galilean

’s face ;

Death fiees before impetu ous hosts that chaseWith swords of sunshine andwhite spears to smite


Gr im wraiths of agonies and l ingering s ightOf scarred Go lgotha indivine disgrace.

The l ight beats swift and swifter , and the space

Stirs w ith the passionof immortal might.

(A llegretto . )

The dead Christ ar ises ; the grave is defeated ; thestone

Is ro lled away by the angels . AnEas ter pec an!

The air is a tumu lt oftremu lou s wonder ings .

The sweet w inds are weighted w ith sp ir its fromParadise fiown.

Onone mighty billow ofsongthe strongGal ileanMoves into the light and the raptu re and fiut

ter ofw ings .

(Pm to i

Waking Easter l i lies l ift their eyesTo the weeping eyes ofMagdaleneSounds

,bew i lder ing, agitate between

Earth and sky, and all things seem to r ise.

Mystery casts off its dark disgu ise,Life and power leap from the Nazarene :

Earth and sky are fi lled w ith radiant sheen,Flash ofw ings and su rge of Paradise.

(F inale : A llegro conbr fo . )

THE BIRDS SING HALF THE YEAR.

(R ondel .

THE birds s ing half the year ;B u t love is never still ;Her tremu lous accents thr ill

The light from sphere to sphere.

O , wondrous messenger !

My sou l with raptu re fill .The birds s ing half the year ;B ut love is never stil l .

0 , sweet bewilderer !

Sing onw ith sirenskill ;My brainand heart and wi ll

Are all attent to hear .

The birds s ing half the year ;B u t love is never still .

Heavenis emptied of angels ; the jubilant legions ,Wild w ith tumu ltuou s raptu re and breathless

despair ,Whirl ing and swir ling, enc irc le w ith song and

w ith laughter .

Strong w ith the infinite strength to the infiniteregions ,

R ises the Cruc ified, sw ift onthe tides ofthe air ,Drawing theworshipingages inecstasy after .

41 2

WILLIAM CANTON .

R . CANTON was borninthe is land ofChusan,off the coast of China,

in 1 845, a spec ial ly

exc iting and interesting period of B r itish histo ryinthe East. To the psycho -

phys iologist we leaveit to conjectu re how mu ch of his futu re development was due to the c irc umstances ofthe time andto the strange scenes and stranger people asso

c is ted with this eastern birthplace. By a start

ling freak of fortune we find him , sti ll a child,

spir ited away from the far east to the far west.

The ear ly years of his boyhood were spent inthe

is land of J amaica, and among the most vivid of

his boyish rec o llec tions are v is ions of the B lueMountains— far away beyond which , he was to ld,

there was a dear o ld England,where the ground in

winter was covered with snow— and rambles Up

country ina tropical fo rest, beneath the high greenarches and among the gnarled roots o f wh ichfiowed a broad, shallow expanse of c lear water ,

whereinhe took his first rememberable bathe . H e

has s ince recognized with del ight the br ill iant pictu res of these and kindred scenes inMichael Scott'

s

admirablenovel , Tom Cr ingle’

s Log. lie - c ro ss

ing the Atlantic , he was edu cated inF rance, and

there he fell under the spell of that remote an

tiqu ity which has inspired some o fthe longest andmostoriginal ofhis poems . Theoccas ionwas a vis itto a so - called Dru idical cromlec h ina corn- field on

a hil l - top overlooking a chainof swampy lakelets .

The gloomy oak forests have vanished insmokeages ago , and the blond Gau l w ith his go ldentorque had beenreplaced by the peasant inhis blou se,bu t su ffic ient remained to set the you thfu l imaginationina blaze. As a ru le, a poet

'

s biography isdivided into two po rtions— the story of his boy

hood and the story of his poems ; and inthis instance it is only necessary to add that after some

years of l i terary and edu cational work inEnglandand Scotland he was appo inted editor of the G lasgow Weekly H erald, and this was followed by promotionto a sub- edito rship onthe G lasgow Daily

That Mr . Cantonis a prol ific w riter is shownbythe fact that, inaddi tionto fu rnishing avery largeand extended c irc le of the reading pu blic withco lumns of matter , evinc ing the application toevery subject of fu llness of knowledge , aptness of

illu stration, and felicity of quotation, he has contr ibuted to St. Pau l

’

s , Once a Week, Good Words ,Scottish Church , All the Year R ound, Cassell

’s

Magazine, New Quarterly , Contemporary Review,

etc . He is also the author ofa three -volumenoveland several novelettes that have appeared inthe


columns of the Glasgow Il'

eekly Herald and other

newspapers . His vo lume of prose entitled,

“The

ShiningWaifand Other Stories ,” was publ ished in1 879 , while in 1 887 Mr . Canton issued in handsome form the wo rk from which we take ou r

extracts , A Lost Epic and Other Poems

THE WATERS.

AR OUND the globe one wave from po le to po leRo lled on, and found no shore to break its ro l l .One awfu l water mir ro red everywhereThe s ilent, blue, i ll im itable air ,And glassed inone same hou r the midnight moon,Sunr ise and s unset and the sunatnoon.

Beneath the noontide s un'

twas still as death ,Withinthe dawnno living thing drew breath .

Beneath the co ld white moonthe co ld blue waveSealed w ith anicy hu sh the o ld wo rld

'

s grave.

!lu t hark ! Uponthe sunset'

s edge were heard,

Afar and faint, the c r ies of beast and bird.

Afar , betweenthe s unset and the dark .The l ions had awakened inthe Ark.

Ac ross the great red splendor white w ings fiew ,

Weary of wander ing where no gre enleaf grew ;Weary o f search ing for that unfound shoreFrom which the Ravenhad retu rned no mo re .

And as the white w ings labored s lowly back ,And downthe huge o rb sank , a speck of blackStood flu tter ing inthe c irc le of the sunWhile the long billows , pas s ing one by one,Lifted and lowered inthe c rimsonblazeA dead qu eenof the o ld and evil days .

One go ld- c lasped arm lay beau tifu l and bare :The go ld of power gleamed inher fioating hair :Her jeweled raiment inthe glas sy swel lGlittered ; and ever as she rose and fell ,And o

'

er his reddened c laws the r ipple broke,The ravenfluttered w ith uneasy c roak .

The fair young mother with her babe bes ide theshaded door .

BLOSSOM AND BABE .

0 HAPPY little Engl ish cot ! O ru stic - sweetvignetteOf red brick walls and thatched roof, in apple

blossom set !

0 happy Devonmeadows , how you come to me

again!

AndI am r idingas I rode along the coo l greenlane,A- dreaming and a- dreaming; and behold ! I see

once more

WI LLI AM CAN TON .

H ow br ight it was ! No blossom trembled inthehot blue noon,

And grasshoppers were thr illing all the drowsyheart ofJune !

0 babe uponthe bosom , O blossom onthe tree !

And as I passed, thestr idu lous incessant jangle ranA long the hedgerow following me, until my brain

beganTo mingle ina waking dream the baby at the

breast,Thewomanand the apple- bloom , the shrillysound

ing pest,To blend them w ith that great greenage of trees

which never shedA hell ofgo ld or pu rp le o r a petal of white or red ,

When all the mu sic of the wor ld— a wor ld too

young to s ingWas such a pierc ing r iot made by such an insect

w ing.

O babe uponthe bosom , O blossom onthe tree !

And thenI thought ofall the ages , all the waste ofpower ,

That went to tinge one pu lp; fru it, to flu sh onel ittle flower :

And ju st inthis same wise, I mu sed, theH umantoo

must grow

Through waste of l ife, through blood and tears ,

through centu r ies ofwoe,To reac h the perfec t flower and fru it : for Natu re

does not scan,Mo re thanthe individual tree, the individual man;A myr iad blossoms shall be lavished, if but one

shal l giveThe onward impu lse to the thought that Natu re

means to live.

0 babe aponthe bosom , O blossom onthe tree !

0 fair young mother , far removed from vis ions ofunrest.

Be happy in the baby blossom flushing at thy

breast !The blesseder condition thine, that thou canst

never see

The strife, the c ruel waste , the cycl ic growth inmanand tree ;

That thou canst tru st a heart, more kind thanever Natu re shows ,

Wil l gather each baby bloom that fal ls ,w ill cherisheach that blows ;

(‘

an’

stneed no so lace from the faith , that s ince thewor ld began

The B ru te had reached the H umanthrough themartyrdom ofman.

0 babe uponthe bosom, O blossom onthe tree !

MORNING.

Oh , glad and red, the mo rning shoneInhappy England far away ,Where knelt a br ight- haired l ittle oneBes ide her mother '

s knee to pray ;And prompting each fond falteringword,

The so ldier ’s w ife was glad and smiled

She knew not ’twas a w idow heard

The prattle ofanorphanchild.

.Oh , glad and red, oh , glad and red

The morning l ightglowed everywhere :And one beam tou ched the father dead,And one the child who knelt inprayer ;

And from the trampled cornand c layA skylark sprang with joyous breast

For shot and shell had spared that dayIts fou r browneggs and l ittle nest.

TWO LIVES.

AMO NO the lonely hills they played :

No other bairns they ever knew ;A little lad, a l ittle maid,Insweet companionship they grew .

They played among the ferns and rocksA childish comedy of lifeh

413

Kept hou se and milked the cr imsondocks ,And cal led eac h other manand wife.

They went to school ; they u sed to goWith arms about each other laid ;

Their fiaxenheads , inrainor snow ,

Were sheltered by a s ingle plaid.

And so , and so it came to pass

They loved each other ere they knew ;His heart was like a blade 0 ’

grass ,

And hers was like its drap o’

dew .

The years wentby ; the changefu l yearsB rought larger life and to il for life ;

They parted inthe dusk with tears ,They called each other manand wife.

On, glad and red, the l ight ofmornAcross the field ofbattle broke,

And showed the waste oftrampled cornAnd smou lder ing farmsteads wrapped

smoke :And cold and stark the so ldier lay,

Shot downbeside his shattered gun;And gr imly splashed with blood and c lay ,H is face looked ghastly inthe sun.


They married— she another man, And, oh ! we were a wretched pairAnd he intime another maid ; Inall the gladness and the glow ;

The story ends as it began And not a heart appeared to care,

Amongthe lonely hills - they p layed ! Andno one evenseemed to know .

DAY- DREAMS.

BnosnAugust burns inmilky skies ,The wor ld is blanched with hazy heat ;

The vastgreenpastu res , even, lies'

I‘

oo hot and br ight for eyes and feet.

Amid the gras sy levels rearsThe sycamore against the sun

The dark boughs ofa hundred years ,The emerald fo liage of one.

Lu lled ina dream of shade and sheen,Withinthe c lement tw i light thrown

By that great c loud offloatinggreen,A horse is standing stil l as stone.

He stirs nor head nor hoof, althoughThe grass is fresh beneath the branch ;

H is tai l alone swings to and fro

Ingracefu l cu rves from haunch to haunch .

He stands qu ite lost, indifferentTo rac k or pastu re , trace or reign;

He feels the vagu ely swe et content AN APRIL GRIEF,

Ofper fect sloth inl imb and brain.

Wrvs l ittle breast that w i ldly heaved ,

With stream ing eyes and hair uncu r led ,

She sat and sobbed, as if she gr ievedFor al l the woes ofall the wor ld.

BIRTH AND DEATH.

Sancame to us insto rm and snow

The littl e one we held so dear A suddenpau se ! She raised her head

And all the world was fu ll ofwoe, Inpu zzled thought, and Stil l a tear

And war and famine p lagu ed the year ; H ung, l ike a dewdrop , 8 8 She said :

And ships were wrecked and fields were drowned,

by was I c rying, mamma dear ?

And thou sands died for lack ofbread ; Becau se I took poor p umv'

8 part.

Insu ch a troubled tlme we fem“! Thenall the woes beneath the skiesThat sweet"1 00th to be kissed and fed Oncemore convu lsed that little heart

1

But oh , we were a happy pair ,And rained from those despair ing eyes

Through all the war and want and woe Oh , never inthe comingyears ,Though not a heart appeared to care, My darling, may it be you r lotAndno one evenseemed to know . To know a gr ief to o deep {or tears ,

th t t be fo ot !She left u s inthe bright increase

Or one a canno rg

Ofglowing fru it and r ipening corn,Whenall thenations were at peac e ,

A CT 1° N °

And plenty held a br imming horn Insatiable, we know not what we wou ld,

Whenwe at las t were well to do ,We wou ldnot what we know !

And l ife was sweet, and earth was gay ; The best of l ifeInthat glad time of c loudless blue Is action— not the dream ofac tion, thought.

Ou r little darlingpassed away .

— Comfo rt onPelion.

LAUS INFANTIUM.

Inpraise of l ittle childrenI will sayGod firstmade man, thenfound a better wayFor woman. but his third way was the best.

Ofall created things the lovel iestAnd most divine are children. Nothing hereCanbe to us more grac iou s or more dear .

And though whenGod saw all hisworks were good,There was no rosy flower of babyhood,’Twas said of childrenina later dayThatnone cou ld ente r heavensave su ch as they .

The earth which feels the floweringofa thorn,Was glad, 0 little child, whenyou were born;The earth , which thr il ls whenskylarks scale theblue,

Soared u p itsel f to God’

s ownheaveninyou ;And Heaven, which loves to leandownand to glassIts beau ty ineac h dewdrop onthe grass

Heavenlaughed to find you r fac e so pu re and fair ,And left, 0 little child,

its reflex there !

416

Art fr ighted, my babe? Nay, then, thy mother ,Low singing, enfo lds thee all safe from the snare ;

Afar flit the elf- babes ’mid gray , m isty shadows,Afar flees the temptress with yellow -

gold hai r .

Ah , heed not her songs inthe sti ll s lumbrou s airOh ! lu l laby, baby— oi Lilith beware !

— Lilith .

LILIES.

I mas s the s imple chi ldrenof the fieldLil ies w ith tawny cheeks all crimson-

pied ;The vagrant c lans , that thr iftless - seeming yieldTheir scented secrets to the w ind, yet hide

Indewy cups their subtler lore . More sweet

Thanred- breast robinp ipes , the strainthey singOf youth and ways ide lanes , where childish feetWentglanc ingmerr ily through somedead spring.

Glad is the gift I bring at Love’

s behest,The gypsy lilies of the w ide- eyed West.

Lilies I br ing— shy flowers thatnoddinggrewO

’er r iver - beds , whereto the night- w inds low

Cling odorou s . Still droop thes e bu ds of blueIntender dreams o f the coo l water '

s flow

Past gleaming crafts , among lone sunless nooks ;Of moonshine white athwart the bending trees :

Of scattered m ists above brown, mo ttled brooks ;Of spr ing- timeperfumes ; summer

’

s vanished bees .

A dawning hOpe beneath the starry c restOf trysting lil ies trembles onthy breast.

Lil ies I br ing that once by N ile ’

s s low tideF rom snowy censers ’neath a. l u cent moon

With faint, rare fragrance steeped the s i lence w ide .

0 stainless ones ! The night- bird’

s brokentuneFall s ’

mongthy pall id leaves . And fainter stillAnd sweeter thanco ld Dian'

s mu s ic c learThenight

’

s far , failingmu rmu rs , w ildly thr i llThy go ldenhearts . Love, pitying draw near !Anended dream , unuttered. unexpressed,With vestal lil ies , mocks my hopeless qu est.

Lil ies I br ing thee— langu orou s , pas s ionateNeglected odalisques that sc ornfu l standVoiceless and prou d, w ithou t the si lent gateThat bars the dawninsome dim morning land.

’

Gainst creamy chalices so ft dr ifts the airOf sun- kissed c limes ; and viola throb , and shine

The tw inkling feet of danc inggirls , l ithe, fair ,l rpbeating wafts of wasted yel low wine.

0 fated flowers to hot l ips fiercely pressed,The sirenlil ies of weird lands , unblessed.

Stoop down, 0 Loveh andnearer— for I bearThe phantom buds that 0pe for weary handsWhentoil is done. 0 fragrant blossoms , fairAs shadowy asphodels , ye leano

’

er lands


Far l ieth from covert cool where thou art hidingBeyond these mu sky beds . the grave of Dorothy .

With fragrance co ldly fine, sweet- c lover there ! andthyme :

And wall - flowers flecked w ith shimmer ing du st

Wrapped inunchanging du sk . O co ld and fra i l ,F rom brows more waxenthanyou r blooms , howl ight

Ye slip ! Yet low , sweet chimes through you r lipspale

Echo from heavenly shores . 0 flowers white ,Of realms celestial— Love’

s last gi ft and best !The c lu stered l il ies of perpetual rest.

A COUNTRY GARDEN .

J UST as of yo re ! Let me not think of that o ld

time ;Rather beho ld these mar igolds , all velvetf brown,

With cou rtly and o ld- fashioned grace , here lead ingdown

Instately minu etThe s lender mignonette.

And thronging groups of poppies , du sk- browed ,

cr imson- veined,Deep to their glow ing hearts , w ith love

’

s fel l po isonstained.

Fie ! flauntinghu ss ies ,fie ! For shame l With drooping th roats

O’

er bachelor - buttons bent, in shining greensu r

c oats

And bonnets plumed w ith blue !Dunbird ’neath wr inkled yew .

Cease ! Vo ice reiterant, eease thy ghost- l ike chidingOf one mo re sad, yea , sadder far thantho u . Ah

anear

The c lose- ranked ho llyhock ’

s u pthru sting brazenspear ;

O’er clumps ofgay heart

’

s- ease,

With c linging feet, sweet-

peas

Upc lambering to the sunflower’

s disc ofgo ld ;Insnowy dr ifts , faint flame streaked roses lie ; and

stoledIn azu re, aconite . Th

’cook ’s -c ombs blaze to

gether ;And o

’

er forget-me-note waves th’

gay pr ince’s

feather ;Shiningnas turtiums here ,Sleek Creo les ofthe year !

Oh bearded moth , c lose shutw ithinthe lily sheaves,Fu r l yet thy pu rple w ings . For if thou stay or

flee,

Thou sybar ite, the night beyond thee lies ; andgr ieves


There is a sincere re l igiou s veinrunning through That old, o ld hymn! Its sacred linesMrs . Archibald’

s character thatinflu ences strongly Had fal lenonmy childish ears ;her l ife and her works . Her only inher itance was a My l ife tu rned bac k , unhindered byScotc h stiffness ofpu rpose, and hergentlemother

’

s The stretc h of interveningyears ;influ ence, whose las t words to her were the simple Near me my little daughter smiled,

ones Be a good gir l . ” The as pirationhas been And yet I was againa child.

lite rally obeyed . Ear ly inher gir lhood Mrs . Archihald became a member of theMethodist Episcopal Outs ide , the wmds were fierce and rough

The w inter ’s chill was inthe air ;

Bu t I cou ld hear the bonny birds ,And humm ing insects everywhere,

And feel , inspite of frost and snow ,

Chu r ch , and has ever continued active inits workand consistent with its teachings inher l ife

A VISION .

A summer breeze from long ago .

Ps acru xcs my thought was w ide awake, To find the place, 1 took the book ,01‘ I was dreaming,

may be, And held it w ith a woman’s hand,

AS I sat rocking to and fro , While all my sou l was moved with thril lsMy arms around my baby . No other so u l cou ld understand ;

I felt alongmy cheek and throat For qu ite unseen, with love divine,H er rosy fingers playing, My mother ’

s fingers fo lded mine .

And stooped to kiss the s unny cu r ls ,About her forehead straying.

Andnot becau se the mu s ic roseExu ltingly , I held my breath ,

Lest I shou ld lose its sweet delightUponher l ips the hush ofdeath

For years has lain — and yet I heardMy mother ’

s vo ice inevery wo rd.

The foo l ish rhymes ofMother Goose

Intune and time came spr ingingTo lips , notmade for song— and yet

My childrenlike my s inging.

And as I sang a mystic spellChanged all the wor ld completely F u l l well I know the dead are dpad’

Another womans inging sat, B ut sometimes at a look or tone,And rocked her baby sweetly . With short relenting w ill the past

The woman’s fac e— a look it wo re One moment, give 0 8 back 0 11?

Like mine. and yet the rather , 011 . happy pain! too qu ickly done"I‘

was like my baby'

s larger grown, AS sw iftly ended 38 begun.

’Twas l ike my baby ’

s father .

Afld 88 she, swaying, softly sang, THE OLD MILL.

I saw some tear - drops fall ing ;I knew her thought, I knew her heart, Wanna blossoms bend and grasses sway,Her heart to mother cal ling. A s ilver stream comes singing down,

Along a w i ld and wooded way,

A suddenIla-88 10“fi lled my 9°“l’That shuns the tumu lt of the town,I longed t?soothe the weeping ; Nor pauses as it runs untilMy baby stirred uponmy breast,It finds the shadow ofthe mill

My baby g ently sleeping!The visionfled, yet W9“I know B ut there. it tarr ies inits cou rseThough 1 WG-8 dreaming, maybtb With slow and slower sweep , as though

Far downthe fu tu re s its my child It longed to lend its shining forceAnd POCRB my baby’s baby . Once more to make the oldmill go ;

But swift or slow beneath the hill ,THE OLD HYMN .

It cannotmove that s ilentmill .

To-nn'

, with qu iet heart I heard, For thereno more with cheerfu l strengthThe prayer , the anthem and the psalm , Comes bu sy labor , day by day,

Andgently , onmy spir it fell To gu ide alongthe shivering lengthThe sweetness ofthe Sunday calm ; Of logand plank the saw’

s rough way.

Til l , at the reading ofthe hymn, Henceforthno trembling sounds shall thrillWith suddentears my eyes were dim . To swift response the throbbingm ill .

.M R S. GE OR GE AR CH I B A LD .

F low on, your work is done, br ight stream !Like his , the master standing by

Ofttimes , to view you r water ’s gleam

With wi stfu l , retrospective eye ;This strongand secret w ish , to fill

Againwith life the l ifeless mill .

No more ! The smoke has floated farThat cu r led ar-c loud above you r sheen;

The trees no woodmen’s axes mar ;

No to iler has tens to the scene ;The master rests , while weird and stil l ,Deserted stands the ru ined mill .

TO MY DAUGHTER’

S LIPS.

Has any one done a good deed

To any ; ifyou know abou t it,That others may know ofit too ,

Go tell it, go sing it, go shou t it !Has any one yi elded to wrong?However the wor ld may defame him,

0 young and 0 red little l ips ,Speak never a word that shal l blame

Has any one tenderly stoppedTo comfort the weak and the wounded?Thenlet the sweet story of loveB e swiftly and cheer ily sounded .

Have any beenspitefu l to youHush , hu sh , lest ano ther shou ld hear it !Be su re that the wicked canhu rtBut slightly the generou s spirit.

The knowledge of sinor disgrace,Withinyou r ownbosom conceal it ;The shame ofyou r bitterest foe,0 never , 0 never reveal it.

Bu t anything sunny and glad,

Or gentle, i f you know abou t it,

That others may know of it too ,

Go tel l it, go sing it, go shout it !

TRUE ECONOMY.

A THR l l-‘

TY and most economical dameOwned a pair offine fowls whose fair qualities came

Th rough a l ine offine fowls ofaneggsellent fame.

And madam, the hen, had a mu s ical wayOfdu ly announc ing anegg every day,While Sir Cockolorum wo u ld jo ininthe lay.

And, once ona time, inthe co ld ofthe year ,Wheneggs they were scarce and wheneggs they

were dear ,

Stil l daily their cackle was truthfu l and c lear .

42 1

And ere their commendable labors did cease,A bountifu l basketfu l showed the increase,All fresh and all fair and worth fou r cents apiece.

Since eggs they were scarce and since eggs theywere high ,

The thri fty old dame, wi th a natu ral sigh ,(For she l iked a good egg) put the bas ketfu l by .

Inthe l ist ofmy s ins , w ith dec ision, said she,The sinofeggs travagance never shall behSuch eating is qu ite too eggspensive for me.

”

It chance‘

d whenthe far - away farmers had heardThe pr ice of good eggs , that their spirits were

stirredTo send inby car - loads the fru it ofthe bird.

And long ere their efforts for profit did ceaseAnoversto cked market had felt the increas e,And eggs , they were sell ing for one cent apiece.

The thri fty old dame, w ith a heart that was gay,B rought forth her fu l l basket withou t a delay ,F rom where she so lately had stowed it away .

The price has come downwhile the eggs are yet

sweet,”

She said, which wi ll give me a plenty to eat,

At twelve cents a dozen they ’re cheaper thanmeat.

”

AN APPRECIATIVE WIDOWER .

Tm: nronnyment’

s up , and it’s ohenmy mind,

As hantsome a stone as you ’ll commonly find ;What anornyment

’

tis to the berrial lot,

B ut Becky deserved oneh as good as she’

s got.

I can’

t help a-wishin’that B ecky cou ld see

It, standin’above her , as tal l as a tree ;

Fer sometimes she u s’t, whena - livin’

, to er r,

Consatin’I didn’

t apprec iate her .

An’

, yit, I don’t think ’

twou ld ’ave entered her

head,If

’twan’

t fer some things that her family said ;B ut all ofher fo lks was unfriendly to work ,Andmeddled w ith Becky to git her to shirk .

An’so it ain’

t strange’at she sometimes ’

ud say

Some things , ina fretfu l and womanish way,

That l ife it wan’tnothin’

but workin’to save,

Anwomanwa’n’tnothin’

but only a slave.

They ’s one thing I’

m glad of: that is , as a ru le,I never sassed back , bu t kep’ qu iet an’

coo l ;I

’

know’d she’

d git over it after a spel l ,An’

sense that I u sed her uncommonly well .


Fer alwuz I give her whatmoney she earnedF rom chickens she raised or from butter she

chu rned ,

An’u rged an

’ad vised her to lay it away

Incase ofbad lu ck or a fewcher wet day.

An’

, anxious she shou ldn’

t be caught by the banksThat fail , without leavin’

you eventheir thanks ,I took what she got, jest as fast as it come,An’

give her my personal note for the sum .

I paid her the int’

res’

, as all her fo lks knows ,Fer housekeepin

’things , eu

'

to keep her inc lo’

es ,

An’to ld her how rich she wu z gettin’

to be

By havin’a forehanded hu sbun‘ like me.

An’

, so I incou raged and helped her along,

An’

pu l lin’

together we pu lled pu rty strong,

An’

prospered unu sual inall that we tr ied,Exceptin

’

the children, that most of’em

,died.

What Becky’d a- done I am s u re I don

'

t knowIf twan

'

t for her workin’— she gr ieved fo r

'

em so ;

An’ku owin’

their weak constitu tions , of co u rse ;Wuz owin’

to her , mu st a~made her feel worse.

’‘7

WhenBecky w uz marr ied I wo u ldn'

t a- dreamed

She wa’n’t jest as strong as she allwu zhad seemed

Or that she wou ld be— as the preacher ’

ud say

Inthe midst ofher u sefu lness takenaway .

B ut sense she is dead I have done what I cou ldTo show how I mou rnfor a c reacher so good ;

An’most of the money she labo red to save

I’ve spent fer a stone to the head of her grave .

There ain'

t any hau tsomer nowheres around,

It shows from all parts of the berryingground.

'I‘hey

’s some wou ld a- thought that a cheaper ’

ud

do ,

B ut whenI am gone it’

ll answer fer two .

I can’

thelp a- wishia’

that B ecky cou ld seeIt, standin’

above her , as tall as a tree ;Fer sometimes she u s ’

t, whena- livin’

, to er r ,

Consatin’I didn’

t apprec iate her .

THE IDEA.

I ru nit a minute ago ,

Anidea, br illiant andnew ,

I hastened for paper and pen,Determined to wr ite it for you .

B ut when, all equ ipped for the work ,I sat here, rejo iced and alone,

I found, to my utter dismay,The beautifu l fancy had flown.

Disappo inted and vexed thenI tu rned,Unwill ingto lose it, and soughtWith a di ligence worthy reward,Up and down through the chambers

thought,’Mid countless forgottenreso lvesOfevery kind and degree ;

Intentions I ’venever fu lfilled,

And other and kindred debris .

’Tis gone— su ch a matchless conceit,So airy , so fairy , so br ightJu st ready to spring from my penAnd carry my name inits fl ight.

’Tis gone— yet its laughter and songStil l linger coquettishly near ,With ec hoes elu sive to teaseThe yearnings ofMemory ’s ear .

A MODERN SUCCESS.

THE editor retu rned my verse

And told me it was commonplace ;The th ing you say has beenremarkedF u l l many times w ith better grace ;Also , my fr iend, the thingyou say

Is far from c lever , anyway .

”

B ut being a pers istent sou l ,All undismayed ,

w ith judgment shrewd,I hit upona l ittle planTo c ircumventmy censor rude ;For well I knew he ’

d not objectTo lac k ofworth indialect.

And so again, wi th heart elate,I w rote inc loudy phras e and coarse,With su ch gymnastic spell ing asDisgu ised the want ofmental force,The self- same thoughts , if thoughts theybe,So cu rtly posted back to me.

Behold I ofpraise and other pay,

Henceforth I havenot any dearth ;The papers now qu ote all I say,

And send my spelling round the earth ;F or suddenfame, with due respect,Has wr itmy name— ia dialect.

EPITAPH ON A LAWYER .

Tars lawyer died l H ow br ief is life !And with a solemnface,

The undertaker gravely saidLie still and try my case.

M R S. E . V. WI LSON . 42 5

MRS. E . V. WILSON .

RS. E . V . WILSON ,whose maidenname was

J ane Delaplane. was born inHam ilton, O . ,

and edu cated at the young ladies academy theninex istence at that place . Marr ied very ear ly inlifeto E . V . Wilson, a r ising young lawyer , she re;

moved wi th him to Southeas t M issour i , where she

has since res ided . Her home is inEdina. Her hus

band rose rapidly ih his profess ion, and the nameof Judge Wilson soon became a familiar one

throughout his judic ial district. His amiable wi fewas no less favorably known. Her home dutiesnumerous and always faithfu lly performed— re

qu ired mu ch of her time. Soc iety had its c laimsu ponher , hence leisu re hou rs for the cu ltivationofa literary taste were few . This fondness for literary pu rsu its she developed inchildhood, and wr oteverses and stor ies at schoo l for the u sual “ compos itiou .

”Amid home and social duties mu ch read

ing was done, and occas ional wr iting, bu t a poem ,

finished and read, having served its pu rpose, waso ftendestroyed.

Abou t tenyears ago Mrs . Wilsonbegancontr ibu ting poems and short s tories to variou s maga

zines and papers under thenom de p lume of “Mrs .

Lawrence .

”This name, however , she u sed bu t a

short time, and has since wr ittenunder her hu s

band’

s initials . Mrs . Wilson’s prose wr itings are

marked by that strongest charac teristic ofAmerican womanhood— c ommon sense . Her style isnatu ral , and her pictu res ofwestern l ife are v ividand correct. Some ofher poems have beenwidelyc ircu lated by the press . Mas . E . J . B .

HIS MOTHER’

S SONGS.

B s xs x ru the hotmidsummer sun

The menhad marched all day,Andnow bes ide a r ippling stream

Uponthegras s they lay.

Tir ing ofgames and idle jests ,As swept the hou rs along,

They called to one who mu sed apart,

Come, fr iend, give u s a song.

He answered, Nay, I cannot p lease ;The only songs I know

Are those my mother u sed to singAt home, longyears ago .

”

Sing one ofthose, a rough vo ice cr ied,We all are tru e menhere,

And to each mother ’

s sonof u s

A mother ’s songs are dear .

”

Thensweetly sang the strong, c lear voiceAm id unwonted calm :

Am I a so ldier of the c ross ,A fo llower ofthe lamb .

"

The trees hushedall their whisper ing leaves ,The very stream was sti lled,

And hearts thatnever throbbed with fearWith tender memor ies thr illed.

Ended the song, the singer said,As to his feet he rose,Thanks to you al l ; goodnightmy fr iends ,God grant you sweet repose .

”

Ou t spoke the capta in Sing one more .

The so ldier bent his head,Thensmiling as he gla

'

nced around,You

’l l jo inwi th me," he said.

“ Ins inging this familiar air ,Sweet as a buglacall ,

All hai l the power ofJ esu s ’ name,Let angels prostrate fall

Wondrou s the spell the old tune wrought ;As onand onhe sang,

Manafter manfell into line,And loud their vo ices rang.

Thenight winds bore the grand refrainAbove the tree- tops tal l ,

T he “everlas ting hills called back ,

Inanswer Lord ofall ."

The songs are done, the camp is sti ll ,Naught bu t the stream is heard,

B u t ah ! the depth ofevery sou lBy those old hymns was stirred.

And u p from many a bearded lipR ises , inmu rmu rs low ,

The prayer the mother taught her boyAt home longyears ago .

THE ONE I WOULD RATHER MEET.

I '

rs rxx ofall the disc iples ,Who sat at the Master

’

s feet,Impetuou s , loving PeterIs the one I wou ld rather meet.

I mind how the stu rdy fisherOnstorm- tossed Gal ilee ,Whenhe saw the dear Lord coming,

Sprang into the raging sea.

42 6 TH E [PI A GAZIN E OE P OE TR Y.

I know how his spir it fainted B u tnow , alas ! the day herself is dead ;Whenhe felt the yielding wave, Before u s , pallid inthe dim tw ilight,

And I know whose hand was ready , She lies , forsakenby the fickle sun,The s inning sou l to save . And o

’

er her bends the du sky sexton, night,I know onthat las t, sad evening Cover ing her slowly with his sable pal],Whenthe Mas ter prayed and wep t, While the pale, trembling stars look sadly on,

He with the other disc iples , And Natu re’

s tears are fal ling s ilently,Instead ofwatching, s lept. Fo r the sweet day that is forever gone.

B ut oh ! when they all forsook H im ,

Evendearly beloved J ohn, ONE WORD.

It was Peter who“ followed afar off, How -h of r ief one word cantell !

To see where his Lord had gone .

mu c g

Ah me !my poo r heart knoweth well .I know that he denied H im And inthe elm tree by the gateWith a coward, lying tongue, Sitteth a bird disconsolate.

B ut I also know the angu ish I hear him cal lingmou rnfu lly,With which his heart was wr ung. Phebe ! Phebe !”

I know he cal ls his absent matePhebe ! Phebe !

Alas ! I too am desolate.

And I think the tender Savior ,Who knows ou r wo rst and best,

Loved reckless , headstrong PeterAs mu ch as he did the rest. H ow mu ch of joy one word cantel l !

Ah me ! my poor heart knoweth well .And inthe elm tree by the gateSitteth a bird w ith hear t elate .

I hear him mu rmu ring joyfu lly ,Phebe ! Phebe !”

SO Ofall the dear (“seiples I know beside him is his mateWho gathere dabout his feet, Phpbe ! Phebe !”

P00 1 3 s inning, repenting Peter Alas ! I yet am deso late .

Is the one I wou ld rather meet.

And reading how he questiondAnd talked with Peter apart,

I think the weakest who love HimIs nearest the Master

'

s heart.

A REQUIEM.

Tar-3day is gone, alas ! the lovely day,

That came among u s , as a blushing brideLed by her lover , the enamored sun,Whose goldenlargess fel l onevery side .

All natu re greeted her w ith raptu rou s joy,

The forest birds broke forth insweetest song,

And dainty buds , awaking from their s leep ,Bu rst into blossoms as she passed along.

And everywhere the childrenwelcomed her ,Incountry lanes , and inthe c ity street,

The mu sic oftheir laughter keptglad timeTo the sw iftmeas u re ofher flying feet. IRELAND.

The restless s ick mantoss ing onhis cou chBeheld her , and awhile forgot his pain;

Her presence cheered the laborer at his toil ,And brought to wrinkled age his you th again.

MAD w ith despair a wretched womanstandsLifting to heavenweak , implor ing hands ,Her childrenflee her , forced by famine’

s frown,Or staying, starve, clutching her ragged gown.

And, as she smi ling hu rried onher way, Menpass with s ilent scorno r jeering cry,E vensad mothers , weeping o

’er their dead, And white - sou led womengo unseeingby.

Looked upward to her c lear blue skies and felt, A queendisc rowned, a mother deso late,Somehow , their aching hearts were comforted . O Innisfall ! how piteou s thy fate !

SPRING BEAUTIES.

WHAT are these you ask these del icate thingsWith petals as airy as fancy

’

s w ings ,

And daintily pink as a maiden'

s cheekWhenshe thinks ofthe love she cannot speak .

Why, these— I’

ll whisper a sec ret to you .

Natu re is dreaming of flowers . It’s tru e,

These are her dreams . When she wakens and

showsHer marvelou s l ily , her perfec t rose,Do you think su ch thri lls to ou r hearts they’ll

bfingAs these little dream- flowers found inspr ing?

42 8

H u shed onthis nightof sharp , ofalmost conq’ring

pain,Ju stonthe unl it edge ofvas t realms unexplored,

Both qu iv ’ring flesh and unillum ined brain

Makedarkness , where the tangl ing shadows waita sword

Whose name is Dawn! What shal l the patientwatc her see ?

A rosy East look downwhere one shall slowly r ise,And yet go forth to u sefu l years ? Or shall it beTheall suflicingdayofGod sball light these eyes .

The dripping ice that onmy bu rning forehead l iesIs notmore gratefu l to the parched and ac hing

sense

Thanthese sou l -ministrings I faintly recognize ,Str iving to fill aninner thirst still more intense .

Once letme feel the pressu re ofthose shad’

wy lips ,Once letme,groping,

find thedear ,magnetic handAvant-cou r iers ofheav'

nly- sweet companionsh ips ,F lying from Heart, Home, Temple of the Better

Land.

My head, so tired, thought- tangled with the warring creeds ,

Here rests ! I only know and feel that God isju st

With pow’

r Omnipotent to fill all humanneeds ,Ou r needs , the only things that sometimes are

not du st.

Who is that other watcher waiting inmy room

I feel him , bu t I cannot see his shrouded face ;Is it the strange, myster iou s one they miscal l

Doom

The only earthly one maligned ofall ou r race ?

80 w ise, so patient,Death , who ,who so unreplying,

Who with su ch grand appeal to the event sub

lime?Death canbe tender , too ; if aught l ike this were

dying,’Tis pas sing sweet where ’

er Eternitynears Time .

INCOGNITO.

WE meet eac h other , fellow-

pr inces indisgu ise,Pas s coldly , with averted, unbelieving eyes

Ah me ! king’s childrenall ,

Despite the Edenfal l ,A Father withincall 1

And yet, our Father ’s image questionso , the while

H is royal road we meas u re with ou r dai ly mile.

We l ive u ponthe plain, there tend ou r flocks andherds ,

Walk wel l- wornpaths to daily ends , speak tr ivialwords .


Bu t, oh , a smi le divineBends o

’

er each humanshr ine,A presence, without s ign

To ou tward sense, a something that makes all

things sweet ;Leaves each day hallowed ground for bu s iest

earthly feet.

T H O U G H T .

Yetnatu re ho lds no su rer thingThanthat such thought shall l ive and grow ,

The waiting thought mates unfledged wing,

Thanthat tru th ’s w ing strong flight shall know.

B rood silently , O waiting Thought,A humansou l , thy God- bu iltnest !

Supremest love for both hath wroughtTo teac h thee of thy best.

And when, some grac iou s morn,Is born

The thought to living speech ,What gospels it shal l preach ,

And teach .

Su ch apostles v indicateTru th ’s long waiting at Life’

s gate.

Out onlife’

s transitionseas ,Bearers of sealed orders

”these .

— A Song of Wings .

No l ife is commonl ife, what seems so is becau seWe seenot deep, far , high enough . Greatnatu re

'

s

lawsF u lfill divine behests .

Each life or law hath c restsWhere eagles bu ild their nests .

Most solid crag is but a po int ofpoise for fl ight.

Not home ! Ou tc ome ofac t or law is beyond s ight.

The elements ofall to each of right belong,

The power to love, see beauty, hear the poet'

s

song,

The sou l that canadore,And toward its maker soarForever and forevermo re

This is the blessed wondrou s being that we singUncrowned Immortal , w ith thy pinioned wing.

A hiddenthought,That’

s fraughtWith value to mankind,Insome prophetic m ind

Invio lateMay wait.

It knows neither fear,no r haste,

It cannothing lose or waste.

432

No ; I wi ll take my dar l ing inmy arms ,And tel l her all the tru th ; and she shall knowWhy mother ’

s eyes so passionately bu rnWhenmother smiles , and why she loves her so .

I’ll tell her how , long,

weary days and monthsHer su ffer ingmother bo re her . How , infear

And sadness , dread and doubt, slow days went by ;And, intheir passing, brought my baby here.

I’ll te ll her ofa woman’

s gloomy hou rsOfangu ish , inthat sad Gethsemane ;

The w ild despair , the shadow as ofdeath ,The awfu l cost that made her dear to me .

For her , another su ffered m idnight pain,For her a womanbore a mother '

s woes ,

And sweatgreat drops of agony , that s he

Might l ive ; and counted naught c ruel Natu re’s

throes .

I’ll tel l her all a mother 's l ips cantellOfwitless babe and lovingmother ’

s care ,

That she may know the mother - heart is true,And p lace her childhood confidences there .

Why shou ld we str ive to cheat, where we may

tru st?

My loving child canlove me not the less ,To feel the fu llness ofher debt to me,

And know the cau se ofmother ’

s tenderness .

LULLABY.

SO FTLY the Dream God to rest is begu iling,

Softly the stars atmy dar l ing are smiling,

So ftly the tw il ight to s lumber is wiling,Rest, little happy heart, rest.

Close the white portals , and shut ou t the l ight,Visions wi ll ente r them by the dream l ight,Keeping sweet company all the longnightVisions thanday- dreams mo re blest.

Mother will sit w ith the angels , and keepLovingwatc h over thee ; so inthy sleep,

Angel - face, Mother - face,These andnone other face,

Thou shalt behold, and by these be caressed ;Angels and Mother , dear ,These andnone other near ,Rest, l ittle happy heart, rest.

DIVIDED BLESSING.

Os mother - heart, bowed downby sorrow’s load,

Gazenot so blankly onthis baby fac e ;Think not, l ike one condemned for willfu l sin,There is not, evenhere, some meed ofgrace.


But yester - year I knelt, like thee, inwoe,Bes ide aninfant’s coffin, l ike to th ine :With dr ipping eyes my blinded sight was dim ;I loved that baby, for it had beenm ine,

And was mine still , though thenI knew itnot,For hearts thu s hu rt are not to reasongiven;

It seemed that it cou ld never more be mine,That I was all ofearth and it ofheaven.

And thu s I mou rned, nor aught ofcom fort found,Ti ll , l ike a gentle shower from heavenabove,

There came the thought : though taken from myarms

,

Death cannot take my baby from my love.

I cannot feel his snowy , dimpled arms

Soft- pressed abou tmynec k , nor see his face.

B u t still , forever , inmy sec ret heart,This baby fills a love and has a place .

There is no sentiment inhumansou l ,Save one, which does not sometime find a death ;

Love only w ill ou tl ive the longest l ife ;Love is notmeas u red by the lease of breath .

And so’t w il l be whenTimehath wroughthis work,

WhenNatu re’s solemnlaw hath had its w ill ;

The tender memory w il l yet be mineIndeath 's last hou r , I ’ll love my baby still .

Oh , l ittle face , oh , calmly pallid brow !So fu l l of rest, from trouble'

s touch so free !There have beentimes

,when, inthis life ofmine,

My sou l has yearned that itmight rest like the .

Sweet rest the kindl iest boonofall ou r good,The only state unmarred by any blight ;

It comes to all , bu t whento su ch as thou ,

We see it inits fu ll , most perfect light.

See, mother - heart, how perfect is this rest,How l ike a l ily folded by Death ’s kiss ;

No pas t, no present, naught bu t perfect peace,And answer : cou ld you give him rest like this ?

Beho ld what justice, see what equ ity,The bless ings evenofthis great sorrow prove ;

liest for the tender nu rs ling ofyou r heart,For you a pure, undying holy love.

INTELLIGENT LOVE .

Tunas sat beneath a chu rch - yard treeThree idlers inthe shade,

Three youths , discou rs ing cheerilyOf love, and man, and maid.

ELLA A . G I LES. 433

I th ink , said Haro ld, waxing warm,

That love to be the best,Which gives its all, and asks fo r naught,Contented so to rest.

Thou’rt wrong, cr ied Hubert ; Love is best

When, like a val iant knight,It seizes hotly its des ires ,Nor cares for wrong or r ight !

To me, said Gerald, ofall loves ,That love most sweet wo u ld seem ,

Which gives and takes inignorant bliss ,The phantoms ofLove’

s dream .

Up rose the aged rector then,And, with extended hand :These be not Love at all , he said ;Love is to Understand.

TO BELINDA.

(Onm elvlng a p resent of a Turkish p lpe

Connuxrxc with my Hookah , Fool !” I cr ied,

To be enthralled by fair Belinda’

s smile ;Knowest thou not Narghileh doth su fficeThe sou l wi th perfumed phantoms to begu ile?

Vis ions of hou r is , sensu ou s storms , fair calmsItgiveth thee— and yet it seemeth tru e,

That fact and phantasy shou ld well combine,Like tas te and odor ina savory wine,Solutionsweet— so ,

wi thou t more ado ,

I’

ll love the Hookah and Bel inda too .

”

LUST.

This is a passionvo id ofname or sense ;It is not love— for love shou ld holy be,Andnever dare to harm the object dearOnwhich it fastens .

Su ch a thing as thisIs far from love . I t is a lu r id fireUngu arded, left to runits horrid cou rse ;Destroying inits madness all itself,And“ai l“? i“ it"

.

“ c“on, YE BEAUTEOUS HILLS or FRANKFORT.

As carbons , bu rning inthe elec tr ic lamp,

Consumed, leave bu t ashes , du st and night. On, ye beau teou s hills of F rankfort,H E R O IS M .

“'

iet y?Why tO ‘

fiay we

.

B ighA child fel l overboard into the sea,

Gentle“ms is“in“F""

iii

A sailor plunging from the prowTo t he ten er , eaning 8 y .

Saved“8 me' They gave him Shadowed hil ls , enlaced with sunshine,And with lau rels decked his brow .

Butno one thought of the s i lent man,Who ,

las hed at the helm all night,Had saved the l ives of all onboard,

Mist embosomed, silence clad ,

Do ye feel ou r yearning homage,Know why weno more areglad

As he watched at the binnac le light ’Tis becau se, amid you r forests ,And steadily gu ided the vessel ’s cou rse, Inthe hush of Arnold’

s wold.

Through the sleet which blu rred his sight. Walks a bard who speaks you r language .

— As SeenafMen. One to whom ye oft have to ld

ELLA A. GILES.

LLA A . GILESwas bornat a rural home nearMadison, Wiscons in, in1 851 , and ear ly gave

su ch promise ofmus ical ability that the famous instru ctor Hans Balatka gladly received her as a

pup il , and predicted for her a br ill iant success as avocalist. Ju st as her voice had reached the zenithof its power , health failed, and the wou ldbe songstress was compelled to abandonal l hope of the

expected career inmu sic . Du ring the iso lation i llness rendered necessary she wrote a romance en

titled Bachelor Ben.

”Hastily produ ced, and al

most immediately pu blished, the ventu re, as a

whole, seemed immature ; but the favor wi thwhich it was received gave much encou ragementto

the young author , and two other novels , “Ou t

From the Shadows ,” and “Maiden Rachel , fol

lowed the firstvo lume infar too rapidsuccess ionto qu ote their author ’s words . Aninter val of restthen ensued, after which Miss G iles ac cepted the

positionofl ibrar ianinthe public l ibrary of Mad

ison. She held this positionfive years , bu t wasagainfettered by fail ing strength from fu rther ser

vice ia this direction. Thenit was that she tu rnedto poetry as the safe refuge for the fanc ifu l brainand overflowing heart ; and with the publicationof the grac efu l , charming idyls came fr iends in

such numbers as to form from her home a resort

for the l ite rary people of the age .

Feel ing great interest in religiou s thought she

attended a cou rse of lectu res at the Meadvil le Theological School , and after the conc lus ionofa longsess ion there, qu ietly entered the lecture- field .

Shortly afterward she tu rned her attention to

journal ism , and here , perhaps , is found her greatest su ccess . She has beena spec ial correspondentof the Chicago Times , The Home J ournal , The

Pos t, The Nation, and other papers . M . L . B .

434 TH E M A GAZI N E OE P OE TR Y.

Sec rets of transcendent sadness , And so the weary years go by ,Which so freely forth he breathes And both are wonder ing vaguely why

That be low rebu kes our raptu re, We cannot happy be.

And to u s your sigh bequeaths . Ah me !

Though free ,Oh , wild- tangled wo ld, sou l - woo ing, We cannot happv beStretched insmi ling, careless grace’Neath the arch of c louds far distant,B ut for him uponyou r face IN THE FULNESS OF TIME .

We cou ld only read a sto ry I f you believe inF ate to yo ur harm . believe init a t leas t

F raught w ith radiant joy ’s deep thr ills ; for J'O '" 30 0“ — E M ”°N

B u t he l ives , and be you r vo ice is ,You r ownvo ice, ye once- mu te hills !

Gr iefs vicar iou s does he su ffer ,Till you r strength is the world

‘

s gain:Happy hil ls?Nay,

mounts transfigu red

By the Poet’

s steadfast pain.

AH ME ! THOUGH FREE .

IF I canonly show thee , dear ,The tru th my sou l perceives(Since los ing me so gr ieves ) ,

If I canbanish all thy fear ,And thou canst to thy God draw near;Withou t those s upers titions drear ,

H ow happy we may be !Ah me !

H ow freeAnd happy we may be.

If I canbreak the ties that holdThee to thy dim fai th , dear ,And show thee mine so c lear !

Ifnow , as we are grow ing o ld,

We share the blessings manifoldOf liberty , by Chr ist foretold,

H ow happy may we be . TO AVOID FRUSTRATION .

Ah me !

H ow freeAnd happy may we be.

liAh'

rs s all random th oughts that are not white ;Let dreams and fanc ies be so c leanand pu reThat, leaving themind

'

s shade, they canendu re

Alas ! I cannot show thee, dear , The test of instantaneou s searching l ight.

The truth my sou l perceives(No r tel l thee how itgr ieves ) .

Thou wi ltnot hear my words . Dost fear ,Lest, los ing some delu sions drear ,

Mend thou thy brokenspeech , and make it who le ;Let thy words be so worthy that if deathCome suddenly , shall be thy latest breath

Thou ’lt find that my bel ief cancheer ,A benedictionto some listening sou l .

And thine is heresy ? Before thy tas k is finished thou mayst tire ;Ah me ! Let thy plans be so noble and so highH ow free That deeds undone shall be thy legacy ,

Ought every mind to be. To toilers whom thy l ife has helped inspire .

And so ou r sou ls mu st part for aye ; Ho ld cheerfu l views ! Rest ever incontent !Eac h loyal to the wraith Bu t think, speak; act and live as if to dieOf reasonand of faith . This moment were thy body’

s destiny,

And so we sit and think and s igh , Immortal thou inl ife’s ac compl ishment.

FA '

rs’

s store holds happiness as well as woe,And whenyou questionher yo u cannotknowHow kind the answer is , how w ise

, how tru e,

Wh ich s lumbers dormant inher mind for you .

So let there be calm hope- days inyou r l ifeF u ll ofdivine content, devo id of str ife ;Hou rs whenyou r inner

, spir itual eyeDwells onthe law of final unity .

Ah, heart, believe it, yo u w ill have you r own!

Fatefu l Nemesis w il l not always frown,Smil ing she yet w ill br ingyou what is fitThough now the space betweenseems infinite .

That which belongs to you wi ll su rely come,

And inyou r waiting sou l find its tru e home.

That which great Zeu s withholds a cu rse wou ldbe,Seek not to aid all - powerfu l destiny .

0, be not faithless , though the coffin- lid

Of fate, you r living as you r dead hath hid,Moannot inlonel iness and grief and pain,F or su rely you shal l find you r ownagain.

God planneth for you r good, not to you r harmThere is no cau se fo r dou bt, distrust, alarm ,

Though dim the dawnof peace, let faith subl imeUnfold inthe fu ll , noonday light oftime.

ALF R E D P E R CI VAL GR A VE S.437

ALFRED PERCIVAL GRAVES.

R . GRAVES’song must have beenqu ite nat

u ral inhim ,for he was born into a l iterary

environment which was not likely to act uponhim

inthis direction. H is father is the Archbishop of

Limer ick . H is unc le, DeanGraves , the fr iend of

Wordsworth andMrs . Hemans ,was the biographerofSir William RowanHamilton. This uncle,morethanany one else, was the young poet’

s mentor .

How wise a one events have proved, but hewasnotlikely to direct his nephew ’

s mind towards the

thought and express ionhe has formed, the songhe

might have learned from the Limer ick thru sh?and blackbirds . The Graves family is a distingu ished one, anexample ofa group ing ofqual itiesofwhich we know two or threeexamples inI reland.

H is father wrote a good deal of distingu ishedverse , which , however , never asked for a publichearing. Another unc le was one of the most dis

tingu ished arc haeo logists we have had inIreland.

H is aunt, Clara G raves , who married the greathistorian, VonRanke, was also a wr iter of charm ingverses , and inher German l ife, a soc ial , po liticaland literary leader , with a charm and esp rit whichmade her the very worthy wife of her great hus

band. Farther back there are other poetical traditions , as , for example, that R ichard Graves , whowas Shenstone’

s fr iend, and a very accompl ishedwriter ofverse himself. The penis effectual inthehands of every member of this family . CharlesGraves , Mr . A . P . Graves

’

elder brother , is a br illiant London journalist, and has published “The FATHER O'FLYNNB larney Ballads ” and “ The Green Above the OP pr iests we canoffer a charmin’ var iety ,Bed,

”two sparkling volumes of satiric verse . Mr . Far renowned for larnin

’and piety ;

Arnold Graves , the remaining brother , and anar Still , p d advance ye, without impropriety ,dent worker inthe cause of technical education in 'Father O ’

F lynnas the flower ofthem al l .

Ireland, contr ibutes verses ofa s imilar kind to theSpectator and other reviews .

cnonus

Mr . Alfred Percival Graves wrote ear ly ; his firstpoem was published whenhe was bu t fou rteen. In

1 872 his first co llected volume, “ Songs of Kil larney, was pu blished . Three or fou r years later

'

came “ Ir ish Songs and Ballads .

”The names of

those qu ick to recognize this new and del ightfu lsinger wou ld be the names of the most eminent

poets in our generation. Mr . Graves’audience

has beenfit indeed— Tennysonand MatthewArnoldwere two of them— but it has not beenfew . His

collaborationwith Dr . Vilhers Stanford, the brilliant music ian, has brought his songs into every

part ofthe English speaking and English singingworld. Who has not heard of Father O ’

F lynn,and Foh ’s s inging of it? More lately he has col

laborated with A . C. Mackenzie, another greatmu

sician, and Miss Mary Carm ichael has set some of

his songs to mu s ic .

Since the eighties came he has published but onevo lume of poems . He has been a bu sy workerdur ing his forty- fou r years of life. After holdingvarious public pos itions under government, he isnow aninspector ofschoo ls , l iving inSomersetshire,England.

Though trained inanEnglish schoo l inthe Lakecountry, he is a DublinUnivers ityman, andretainsa warm love for his Alma Mater . H is universitycou rsewas abr i lliantone. Hetookfirst-c lass honorsin c lass ics and English l iteratu re, and came out

first of first- c lass at the degree examination, besides w inningmedals and prizes innumerable. He

was equally distingu ished as anathlete, being an

admirable player of cricket and football .Mr . Graves has been largely a contr ibuto r to pe

riodical l iteratu re : to F razer’s , The Spectator , TheAthenamm , P unch , The Gentleman, and a score

of other magazines . He was for some time thedramatic cr itic of the LondonExaminer .

Personal ly , Mr . Graves is exceedingly interesting.

Tal l and slight, he is far from lookmghis forty- fou ryears . The youth which is inhis songs overflowsfrom his handsome face. He is the kindest andwarmest of fr iends , the mostgenerou s appraiser ofthe work of others . He is very simple inmannerand tas tes , very manly and honest. No wonder

that one hears nothing spokenof him butaffectionate praise.

Here'

s a health to you , Father O ’

Flynn,Slainteand s lainteand slainteagin;

Powerfu lest preacher , andTinderest teacher , and

Kindl iest creatu re inou ld Donegal .

Don’t talk ofProvost and Fellows ofTr inity ,

Famou s for ever at Greek and Latinity,Dad and the divels and all atDivinity,

Father O'F lynn

’d make hares of them all !

Come, I vintu re to give ye my wordNever the likes of his logic was heard,

Downfrom mythologyInonto thayology,

Troth ! and concho logy if he’

d the cal l .


Och ! Father O ’F lynn, you ’ve a wonderfu l way wid She hears not, she cares not, but coldly keeps from

you , me,All the ou ld sinners are w ishfu l to pray wid you , Wh ile here I lie, alone to die, beneath the wil lowAll the young childer are w ild for to playwidyou ,

You’

ve su ch a way wid you , Father avick !Still for all you ’

ve so gentle a sou l ,Gad, you ’ve you r flock inthe grandestcontr o l .

Checking the crazy ones ,Coaxin’

onaisy ones ,Liftin’

the lazy ones onwid the stick .

(‘

hor us

And though qu ite avoidin’all foo lish fr ivolity ,

Stil l at all seasons of innocent jo ll ity ,Where was the play- boy cou ld c laim anequ al ityAt comical ity , Father , w id youOnce the B ishop looked grave at you r jest,Til l this remark set him offwid the rest :

Is it lave gaietyAll to the laity ?

(‘

annot the clargy be Ir ishmentoo

('

hor us

THE REJECTEDLOVER .

Ox Innisfallen’

s fairy is le,Amid the blooming bu shes ,We leant uponthe lover stile,And listened to the thru shes ;Whenfirst I sighed to see her smile,And smi led to see her blu shes .

Her hair was br ight as beatengo ld,And soft as spider

’

s spinning ;Her cheek ou t- bloomed the apple o ldThat set ou r parent sinning ;

And inher eyes you might beho ldMy joys and griefs ’

beginning.

InInnisfallen’s fairy grove

I hu shed my happy woo ing;To listento the brooding doveAmid the branches coo ing ;

B ut oh ! how short those hou rs of love,H ow longtheir bitter rueing!

Poor chishat, thy complaining breastWith woe l ike m ine is heaving.

With thee I moana fru itless guest,F or ah ! w ith art deceiving,

The cuckoo- bird has robbed mynest,And left me wi ldly grieving.

THEWILLOWTREE.

OH takeme to you r arms , love, for we alas mu stpart ;

Oh take me to you r arms , love, for the painis at

my heart.

My love has blooming beau ty, my cheek is deadlywan,

My love has countless r iches , my gallant fortune'

s

gone.

This r ibbonfair , that bound her hair , is al l that ’

s

left to me,While here I lie, alone to die, beneath the willow

tree .

I once had go ld and s ilver , I thought wou ld neverend,

I once had gold and si lver , and I thought I had a

fr iend.

My wealth is sped, my fr iend has fled , and sto lenmy love from me,

While here I lie, alone to die, beneath the w il lowtree .

IRISH LULLABY.

I’nrock my ownsweet childie to rest ina cradle of

go ld ona bough of the w il low ,

To the shoheenho ofthe wind of the west and theIu lla 10 ofthe soft sea billow .

Sleep, baby dear ,Sleep without fear .

Mother is here bes ide you r pillow .

I’

d pu t my own sweet childie to sleep ina s ilverboat onthe beau tifu l r iver ,

Where a shoheenwhisper the white cascades , and alu lla 10 the greenflags shiver .

Sleep , baby dear ,Sleep w ithout fear ,

Mother is here w ith you forever .

LuIIa 10 ! to the r ise and fal l of mother ’

s bosom’tis sleep has bound you ,

And 0 ,my child, what cosier nest for rosier rest

cou ld love have found youSleep , baby dear ,Sleep withou t fear ,

Mother ’

s two arms are clasped around you .

FAN FITZGERL.

m u , wirra, ologone !

Can’t ye leave a lad alone,

Til l he’s proved there’

s no tradition left of any

other gir lNot evenTro janHelen,Inbeauty all excellin’

,

Who’s beenup to half the divilment of FanFitz

ger l


WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT NEWSAM.

E who wr ites a true song is the benefactor ofthose yet unborn," says a famous writer .

If this be so , Mr . Newsam can pu t ina c laim to

praise, for he has wr itten some true songs . His

genius is lyr ical ; he seizes the aspec t of some com

mon exper ience available to his pu rpose, some

mood, some pass ing occu rrence, and trans lates itinto song. He does not aim too high ; he seldomshoots too low ; and his verses wed themselveseas ily to mu s ic . It is said that the au thor of thefamou sMarsei llaise composed both words and masic at the same time, as he sat wrapped in the

thought of the poss ibilities of his country . Mr .

Newsam weds his words with mu s ic , not only withfacility, but with grace, and has wonwide praisefor his companion efforts . He has also wr ittensome exqu is ite lyr ics inexotic forms , espec ially inthe rondeau form .

Mr . Newsam is come of a poetical race : bothhis grandfather and his father wr ote poetry, andattained to more than local reputation. The for

mer began“The Poets of Yorkshire ,” and, afterhis death in1 844 , it was takenup and finished in1 845 by John Holland, the Sheffield poet. The

Newsam fam i ly were long settled near R ichmond, in

Yorkshire, Eng.,where they gained good standing

and influence ; but though the subject of this notice has been, l ike his progenito rs , much connec tedw ith Yorkshire and the north , he was bornat Nottingham in1 861 . He was edu cated at the gram

mar schools oi Nottingham and Clitheroe . At an

ear ly age he became connec ted with the press inthe north ; and after some year s , as is the wontwith young menof energy and ambition, he migrated southward, and has beenfor some year sres ident at B righton,

where, bes ides working forthepress there, hemaintains relations w ith London.

He was marr ied in1 882 , and has two daughtersand one son. He lives a bu sy and ac tive life , bu tis far fr om unsoc ial or bu rdened w ith the shy retir

ingness sometimes found inassoc iationw ith thel iterary character — a congenial companion and

ste rl ing fr iend as wel l as an original wr iter and

versati le poet. Mr . Newsam has wr itten under

several disgu ises , the most familiar being that of“Claude Melville .

”A . H . I .

WHEN NIGHT COMES ON .

(R oudeau . )

WHEN night comes on, and from the sky

The last faint, cr imsonblu shes die,Whenday’s br ight orb, insplendor dressed,Has sought the shadows of the west,

The tranqu il stars shine out onhigh .

As inthe sylvanshades I lie.

I hear the gentle zephyrs s ighAcross the mu rmu ring r iver ’

s breast,Whennight comes on.

With inthe ivied tu rretnighIs heard the owlet’s drowsy cry ;The tunefu l lark has sought his nest,The blac kbird’

s song is hu shed to rest,

And soft the go ldenmoments fiy,

Whennight comes on.

SEASIDE FANCIES.

WHEN THOU WERT NIGH.

Tu t-z sunhad set ; the bells so softly pealingS carce broke the silence of the dying day ;Whilst thro ’

the air a song came sweetly steal ing,

That rose , and fel l, thenslowly died away .

And th ro ’

the gloom thy gentle face was beaming,I knew not, cared not, how the hou rs went by ;

Thy song had soothed me into blissfu l dreaming,And al l bes ide seemed nought if thou wertnigh .

That bliss fu l hou r still inmy mem ’ry lingers

Like some sweet vision, beau tifu l and fair ;I feel once more thy soft, caress ingfingers

Play w ith the waving tresses of my hair .

Againto me thy soft, sweet vo ice is s inging,

The same glad song is sounding inmine car .

I care not, heed not, how the hou rs are w inging,

’Tis all to me to know that thou artnear .

’

Tis night once more ; the summer breeze is s ighing,And inthe gloaming I am dreamingnow ;

Thy hand againw ithinmy ownis lying,

Thy sweet, so ft kisses soothe my fevered brow .

Thine eyes stil l shine inall their pr istine splendor,And fire my sou l as inthe days gone by ;

Til l love comes back , as pass ionate and tender ,As inthe bliss fu l hou rs whenthou wert nigh .

The rosy sunset’

s cr imsonrayAnd bars of amber l ight

Now fade from pu rple into grayAnd vanish into night ;

The blackbird’s mellow song is sung,

And evening shadows fal l ;The deep- toned vesper hell is rung,

Till darkness covers all ;Save where the lighthou se, tower ing highAbove yonfrowning steep,

F lings fitfu l flashes forth that flyFar o

'

er the darkened deep .


inthe Rep ublican, and in1 867 issued Kathr ina ;Her Life and Mine in a Poem .

”The following

year was spent inEuropeantravel .In1 870Doctor Ho llandassumedtheeditorship of

and helped to found Scribner’s Monthly Magazine.

A copartnership was formed with Roswel l Smithand Scr ibner, Armstrong Company,

bu t the

leadership fel l to Doctor Holland.

Du r ing his busy literary career Docto r Hollandpublishedascoreormoresuccessfu l books . He also

gained wide repu tationas a lectu rer . Hewasmu chinterested inthe subject ofeducation, and in 1 872was elected a member ofthe B oard ofEducationinNew York City, and afterwards was made pres ident oi the board. He held, bes ides , the chairmanship ofthe board of tru stees of the Co llege of the

City ofNew York .

Doctor Ho lland’

s was a bu sy life, and whenhisdeath occurred, October 1 2 , 1 881 , his loss was feltdeeply and a niche left vacant that cou ld not bereadily supplied . One has but to read his poems ,every l ine pregnant with meaning, to understandhow great and good was this man’

s heart. His

who le sou l abounded and teemed w ith love for hisfellow- creatu res . He was possessed of a broadm ind and a generou s natu re, as many who havebenefited by his generos ity cantestify .

N . L. M .

THRENODY.

Os , sweet are the scents and songs ofspr ingAnd brave are the summer flowers ;

And chill are the autumnwinds that bringThe w inter’s lingering hou rs .

And the world goes round and round,And the suns inks into the sea ;

And whether I ’m onor under the ground,The wor ld cares little for me .

The hawk sails over the sunny hill ;The brook trol ls oninthe shade ;

B u t the friends I have lost lie cold and stillWhere their strickenforms were laid.

And the wor ld goes round and round,And the sunglides into the sea ;

And whether I ’m onor under the ground,Theworld cares l ittle for me.

0 l ife, why art thou so br ight and boon!O breath , why art thou so sweet !

0 friends , how canye forget so soonThe loved ones who lie at you r feet !

B u t the wor ld goes round and round,And the sundrops into the sea ;

And whether I ’m onor under theground,The world cares l ittle for me.

The ways ofmenare busy and bright ;The eye ofwomanis kind ;

It is sweet for the eyes to behold the light,B u t the dying and dead are blind.

And the wor ld goes round and round,

And the sunfalls into the sea;And whether I ’m onor under theground,The wor ld cares l ittle for me.

B u t if l ife awake, and will never ceaseOnthe future’

s distant shore,And the rose of love and the lily ofpeaceShall bloom there for evermore ,

Let the wor ld go round and round,And the sunsink into the sea ;

For whether I ’m onor under the ground,Oh ! what will itmatter to me?

ALONE .

Am. alone inthe wor ld ! all al one!With a child onmy knee , or a wife onmy breast,

WORDS.

'

l'

s s robinrepeats his two mus ical words ,The meadow- lark whistles his one refrain;And steadily , over and over again,

The same song swells from a hundred birds .

l lobo link, chickadee, blackbird and jay,

Thrasher and woodpecker , cuckoo and wren,Each s ings its word, or its phrase, and then

It has nothing fu rther to sing or to say .

Into that word, or that sweet little phrase,All there may be of its l ife mu st crowd ;And lu l ling and l iqu id, or hoarse and loud,

It breathes ou t its bu rdenofjoy and praise.

A l ittle child s its inhis father ’s door ,

Chatting and singingw ith careless tongue ;A thousand beautifu l words are sung,

. lnd he holds unu ttered a thousandmore .

Words meas u re power , and they measu re thine ;Greater art thou inthy prattlingmoodsThanall the s ingers ofall the woods ;

They are brutes only , bu t thou art divine.

Words measu re destiny . Power to dec lare

Infinite ranges ofpas s ionand thoughtHolds w ith the infinite only its lot

Is ofeternity only the heir .

Words meas ure life, and they meas u re its joy!Thou hast more joy inthy childish yearsThanthe birds ofa hundred tunefu l spheres

So , singwith the beautifu l birds , my boy !

j oSIAH G ILB E R T H OLLAN D .

Or , sitting bes ideme, the beautifu l guestWhom my heart leaps to greet as its sweetest and

best,

Still alone inthe wor ld ! all alone !

With my visions ofbeau ty, alone !Too fair to be painted, too fleet to be scanned,Too regal to stay atmy feeble command,They pass from the grasp ofmy impotent hand ;

Still alone inthe wor ld all alone !

Alone with my consc ience, alone !Not aneye that cansee whenits finger offlamePo ints my sou l to its sin, or consumes it with

shame !

Not anear that canhear its low whisper of blame !Still alone inthe world ! all alone !

Inmy vis ions of self, all alone !The weakness , the meanness , the gu i lt that I see ,

The fool or the fiend I a mtempted to be,Canonly be seenand repented by me :

Stil l alone inthe wor ld ! all alone !

Alone inmy worship , alone !N0 hand inthe universe joining with mine,Canlift what it lays onthe altar divine,Or hear what it offers aloft to its shr ine

Still alone inthe world ! all alone !

Inthe valley ofdeath , all alone !The s ighs and the tears ofmy fr iends are invain,For mine is the passage, and m ine is the pain,Andm ine the sad sinking of bosom and brain:

Still alone inthe wor ld ! all alone !

Not alone ! never , never alone !There is one who is w ith me by day and by night,Who sees and inspires all my vis ions of light,And teac hes my consc ience its office ar ight :

Not alone inthe wor ld ! not alone !

Not alone ! never , never alone !He sees all my weakness w ith pitying eyes ,He helps me to l ift my faint heart to the skies ,And inmy last pas s ionhe su ffers and dies

Not alone ! never , never alone !

D O U B T .

The day is quenched, and the sunis fled ;God has forgottenthe wor ld !

The moonis gone, and the stars are dead

God has forgottenthe wor ld !Evi l has woninthe horr id feudOfages w ith the Throne ;

Evil stands onthe neck ofGood,

And ru les the world alone .

— Bitter -Sweet.

F A IT H .

Day wil l retu rnwith a fresher boon;God will remember the world !

N ight wil l come with anewer moon;God w ill remember the wor ld !

Evil is only the slave ofGood ;Sorrow the servant ofJ oy ;

And the sou l is mad that refu ses foodOfthe meanest inGod’

s employ .

The fountainof joy is fed by tears ,And love is lit by the breath of sighs ;

The deepestgriefs and the wildest fearsHave ho l iest ministries .

Stronggrows the oak inthe sweeping storm ;

Safely the flower sleeps under the snow ;And the farmer ’s hearth is never warmTil l the cold wind starts to blow .

Day w ill retu rnw ith a fresher boon;God wil l remember the wor ld !

N ight will come w ith a newer moon;God w ill remember the wor ld !

T H E O L O G Y .

Whenmenget loose intheir theo logy ,The screws are started up ineverything,

— Ibid.

A M B IT I O N .

The greed for gain, the thirst for power ,The lust that blackens while it bu rns

Ah ! these the whitest sou ls deflou r !And one, or all of these by tu rns ,

Rob manof his divinest dower !— Kathrina.

H A R V E ST .

Inrhythm ic motionthrough the dewy grassThe mowers swept, and onthe fragrant airWas hom e from far the soft, metallic c lashOfstones u ponthe steel .

- Ibifl .

There is no good ; there is no God ;And Faith is a heartless cheatWho bares the back for the Devil ’s rod,

And scatters thorns for the feet.

What are prayers inthe lips ofdeath ,Filling and chill ingwith hail ?What are prayers bu t the wasted breathBeatenback by the gale?

The day is qu enched, and the sunis fled ;God has forgottenthe wor ld !

The moonis gone, and the stars are dead ;God has forgottenthe world !


A N T IC I P A T I O N .

My thoughtB u i lt higher mountains thanI ever found ;Pou red wi lder cataracts thanI ever sawDrove grander storms thanever swept the sky ;Pu shed into loftier heavens and lower hellsThanthe abysmal reach of l ight and dark ;And entertained w ith diviner feas tsThanever met the appetite of sense,And pou red me wine of cho icer vintagesThanfire the hearts ofkings .

— Ibid.

I D E A L IT Y .

She was my peer

No weaklinggir l , who wou ld su rrender willAnd life and reason, w ith her loving heart,To her possessor ; no soft, c linging thingWho wou ld find breath alone w ithinthe armsOfa strongmas ter , and obedientlyWait onhis w il l as ins lavish carefu lness ;No fawning, cringing spaniel to attendH is royal pleasu re, and ac count herselfRewarded by his pats and pretty words ,B ut a sound woman, who ,

with ins ight keenHad wrought a scheme of life, and measu red wellH er womanhood ; had spread before her feetA fine philosophy to gu ide her steps ;Had wona faith to which her l ife was broughtInstrict adjustment— brainand heartmeanwhileWorking inconsc iou s harmony and rhythmWith the great scheme ofGod’

s great universe,Ontoward her being

'

s end.

G I R LH O O D .

0 eyes ofblue !0 lily throat and cheeks of faintest rose !0 brow serene, enthroned inho ly thought !0 soft brownsweeps of hair ! 0 shapely graceOfmaidenhood, enrobed invirginwhite !

S U N S E T .

Andnow the red sunflings his kissAcross its waves from flnger - tipsThat pau se, and grudgingly dismissThe one he loves to c loser l ips ,And moonl ight’s qu iet hou r ofbliss .

— The Mis tress of theManse.

M O R N I N G .

The brightnight brightened into dawn;The shadows downthe mountainpassed ;

The tree and shrub and sIOping lawn,With bending, beaded beau ty glassed

Inmyr iad suns the sunthat shone !

The robinfed her nested young ;The swallows bickered '

neath the eaves ;The hang- bird inher hammock swung,

And, tilting high among the leaves ,H er red mate sangalone, or flung

The dew-drops onher lifted head ;While onthe gras ses , white and far ,

The tents of fairy hosts were spreadThat, scared before themorning star ,

Had left their reeking camp, and fled.

R O S E S .

Oh , roses , roses ! Who shall s ingThe beau ty of the flowers of God?

Or thank the angel from whose wingThe seeds are scattered onthe sod

F rom which su ch bloom and perfume spr ing?

M O T H E R H O O D .

— Song and Silence.

H E A V E N .

Heavenis not reached at a single bound ;B u t we bu ild the ladder by which we riseF rom the lowly earth to the vau lted skies ,nd we mount to its summit round by round.

— G radatim.

B I R T H .

A feeble wail was heard atnight,And a stifled cry of joy ;

And whenthemom broke cool and lightThey bore to the mother ’

s tearfu l sightA fair and lovely boy.

There ’

s a bird’

s nest up there inthe oak,Onthe bough that hangs over the stream,

And las tnight the mother - bird brokeInto song inher dream .

This morning she woke, and was still ;Fo r she thought of the frail l ittle th ings

Thatneeded her mother ly bill ,Waiting under her wings .

And bu s ily all the day long,

She hunted and carr ied their food,And forgot both herself and her songInher care fo r her brood.

I sang inmy dream , and you heard ;I woke , and you wonder I ’m stil l ;

B ut a mother is always a birdWith a fly inits bill !

DA VID lV/LLI AM M CCO UR T.

DAVID WILLIAM MCCOURT .

O del ight and instruct does not constitute thesole missionofpoetry . The gift of songmay

properly and with effect be employed inthe practical , philanthropic , and often necessary, work of

expos ing soc ial shams , correcting abuses and numasking the evils ofthePecksniffs whosedetestablehypocr isies here and there fester uponthe bodypol itic . That Dr . McCou rt is impressed with thisview is evidenced by more thanone of his poems .

He cu ltivates the satir ic muse to good pu rpose,

and, although every conceivable veinof metr icalcompositionreceives attention at his hands , hisfavor ite l iterary pastime is the punctur ing of

soc iety’s fr ivo lities and the r idicu l ing of moralfo ibles in inspir ing, cau stic verse . His humor isalways r ich , bright and healthfu l .DavidWill iam McCou rt was borninthe townofWaukesha, Wisconsin, October 4, 1 859 . Both his

parents are Scotch , and from them he inher itsmany of the ster ling qual ities of the Scottish race.

At the age of s ixteenhe entered a denominationalcol lege at Battle Creek , Michigan, where he qual ifled himself for the professionof teaching. Afterspendingthree years as instru ctor invarious Wiscons inand Nebras ka schools , however , he becamedissatisfied with teach ing and studied dentistryw ith gratifying resu lts . In 1 884 he removed to

St. Pau l , Minn.,where he is inthe enjoyment of a

lucrativeprac tice. In1 880hemarriedanestimableyoung lady, and his is a sunny home. Dr . McCou rt

is the very embodiment of good natu re and con

tented cheerfu lness . Dark haired , tall and of ele

gant figu re, he wou ld attract attentioneveninacompany of notables , and as one looks into hissoft, honest, blue gray eyes , one can forget for amoment that su ch things as dupl icity and selfish

ness exist inthis wor ld. Dr . McCou rt is soonto

br ing out a vo lume of poems whose popu lar ity isas su red inadvance. J . T .

THE HOUR WHEN DEWS DESCENDING.

’Tis the hou r whendews , descending,Fal l to sleep onflower and tree ,

And bright Hesperu s is lendingRays to l ightmy steps to thee ;While the far cathedral bellSoftly chimes the c lose of day,

Keeping love’s dear promise well ,

To renewed delights I stray .

Inthe shadows of the vines ,Sweet the welcome that disc losesWhere expec tant love rec l ines ,H iddeninher bower of roses ;

THE POPULAR CREED.

We; l ive too much by line and ru le ;To o mu ch by cold and studied art,Andnarrow downthe generou s heart

By lessons inself’s sordid school .

449

Leafy vine and shadow ,screenu s

F rom unfriendly prying eyes !Guard u s well love’

s mother , Venu s ,Inthe dusk ofevening skies !

Softly pau se here, fleetingTime,

’Mid the fragrance of these flowers ,

Lovers deem it qu ite a cr imeWhenyou steal their prec iou s hou rs .

All too soonyou bid u s part,H ou r of bliss so qu ickly over ;

Mornmay cheer the sorrowing heart,B ut the tw il ight br ings the lover .

MINNEHAHA.

DANCIN G on, through shade and sun,Comes the r ippling laughing r iver ,

Leaps the bou lders one by one,Makes the hanging branches qu iver ;Whirls its eddies inthe pool ,Lingers inthe shadows coo l ,Onthe pebbly shallows chatter ing,Banks ofnodding flowers bespatter ing,

B reaks the silence with her ah , ha,

Laughing, s ingingMinnehaha !

Now she nears the rocky ledge,Hastens from her leafy cover ,

Trembles onthe bou lder ’

s edge,

Thengoes leap ing w ildly over ;G leaming inthe summer airLike a maiden’

s goldenhair ;Chatters onthe rocks beneath ,Weaves a rainbow for a wreath ,Wakes the echoes with her ha, ha !

No isy , mirthfu l M innehaha !

F rom the foamy poo l emerging,

Singing, onagainshe ru shes ,Through thenarrow channel su rging,

G leaming through the c lu stered bu shes ,Till she hears the wate rs falling,

Hears the Miss iss ippi call ing ;Has tens onher way to meet him ,

Sends a r ippling laugh to greet him ,

Falls u ponhis bosom s ighing,

And the echoes , still replying,

Whisper faint her smothered ha, ha !

Wild, coquettish Minnehaha !


Through selfish hopes our faith grows strong ;We worship where we think we gainA thornless pathway free from pain

A road to heavenbu i lt onsong.

Ou r hearts are steeled with hate and pr ideAgainst l ife’

s pu rer sympathies ;Invainsomenobler impu lse cries

To feelings self stands forth to chide.

We deem ou r lives are broad and good ;We show no love for meaner things ;We plainer hear whenchu rch bell r ings

Thanwhenthe beggar asks for food.

We see afar some pu rpose grand,Yet overlook life’

s duties near ;We cannot see the heathenhere,

B ut only ina foreignland.

We bow before the shrine ofpel f ;The light of the celestial shoreWe catch a glimpse of— nothingmore

Over the growingmountain, self .

Oh ! cou ld we learnou r l ives to schoo lInnoble, charitable arts ;Pu t self and pr ide from ou t ou r hear ts ,

And let the good w ithinu s ru le !

THE WOMAN IN THE CASE .

WHEN err ingmanfrom Edenfell ,And plunged insinthe humanrace,

He laid the blame, as you know well ,Uponthe womaninthe case .

And s ince that firstm isfortune cameOu r wrongs and evil lu ck we trace,

And like the first man, lay the blameUponthe womaninthe case.

Whenwise mener r or good menstray ,’

Tis the old tale — a pretty fac e ;Andno one sl ips but people say :

There was a womaninthe cas e.

Insoc ial quarrel , or fam ily jar ,The cau se the goss ips qu ick place ;

F or Helenstill engenders warThe modernwomaninthe case .

Whenbankers ’ c lerks as pire to shine,And l ive at qu ite a rapid pace,We learn, whenthey have crossed the line,There was a womaninthe case .

Ou r fr iends , the Mormons , break ou r laws’

Tis sad religionis so has?While ju r ies find the stumbling cau seIs still the womaninthe case.

Ifthere’s a saint without a stain

The devil hopes to winfrom grace,He seldom tempts by power or gain,B ut puts a womaninthe case .

For murder , duel , suic ide,The daily papers find mu ch space,

And other news must stand as ideTo show the womaninthe case.

Thu s it wou ld seem the subtle charmOfpretty form ins ilk and lace

Is held the cau se ofall our harm ,

Andnamed, The womaninthe case.

Life, though with bless ings it abounds ,Wou ld sti ll be like anempty vaseWere mancompelled to plod its roundsWithou t a womaninthe eas e .

THE PATRIOT’

S REWARD.

PROUD is his step as one who knowsThenoble pu rpose ofhis l ife,The ju stice of his cau se instr ife,

The hate artdweakness of his foes .

H is flashing eye with pr ide su rveysThe hills where liberty was born,And w ill retu rninafter days ,With m ightier arms her standards raise,

And for her fallenheroes mou rn;Thentu rns w ith noble hate and scornHis glance u ponhis foes , who stand

With sword at s ide and guninhandTo execu te the base command

Of tyrants who his land had torn.

Oh ! cou ld the hero ’

s blood atoneFor what the tyrant’s sword had done !

If from the blood- bought soil wou ld r ise,Engendered by the sangu ine stream ,

The tree of l iberty , the dreamOf sages realms might realize .

Ifto the lu ckless warr ior ’

s sonThebirthright ofa freemanfell ,Thenhad the sac r ifice beenwell

,

Although the meed were dearly won;Thenmight his l ife- blood wash awayThe cu rses ofthe tyrant’s sway ,And hallow to his name the sod

By futu re freemenproudly trod ;Nor shal l the darkness ofthe tombObsc ure the ray that w il l illumeThename of him who gave his hand,His heart, his l ife to save his land.

B ut valor all too oft has won,Its portionat the block or gun.


Rude was the first low adobe ; to - day there are

fairy- like mans ionsCrowding the one onthe other , like bees ina pros

perou s bee- hive.

Perilous thenwere the pathways , with red menandbeas ts of the forests ;

To—day there are broad winding roadways , shadowed by ta ll eu calypti.

Song birds and brooklets then; inplace of the

woods of sequ oiaCities and towns and homesteads throb intheir

once virginbosom .

The Miss ion bells stil l keep a -chiming a heartiestho liday greeting

To all the poor wander ing sou ls from every landunder the heavens .

Welcome, thrice welcome, they r ing, to this Wh l le through the garden

country of freedom unfetteredA cordial December salute to this land of abnud

ance unstintedStill stands the old Miss ionDolores , its rusty bells

pealing forth sweetlyOf Charity, Love and Compass ion, the first song

their infant l ips uttered .

Ay,Charity,Love and Compass ion! Let them s ingonforever unhindered, L

Till God inhis w isdom shall hu sh them w ith theseal ofa s ilence unending.

THE COUNTRY WORKSHOP.

THE cr isp and fragrant shavings fal l from'

neaththe s inging plane ;

The sawdust to the ground descends inceaseless ,no iseless rain;

A swal low beats the air with steady wing, as

through the doorIt swerves and c u rves its nest to find beneath the

hay- lo ft floor .

B ees hum without, and on the window- ledge thesleepy fl ies

Lie ina sluggish drowse, while inthe mu rmur ingwoods the cr ies

Of quail and thru sh and mou rning- dove thesongoflife complete .

A fu ll content the wor ld imbues , inaction, inre

treat ;

The menwho work , the menwho rest, the birds ,and e

’

enthe flowers ,All breathe the spir it of that peac e that sanctifles

the hou rsOfcountry life, where Time rebels against the r ush

ing pace

Ofcrowded towns— the home of vice and sor rowand the race

No sunso br ight and gay ; no nest so warm as

Between two c ity walls . How few wou ld thusrejo ice

At su ch a home as this— yet thankfu lness is hers .

Of pas s ions that cor rode. Here inthe wo rkshop’

s

qu iet realmThe bu zzing saws caress the ear ; the odoro u s

planks ofelmAnd p ine and cedar fil l the air with dreams o f

wood and glen,Where hearts are pure, and menbecome in tr u thlife’

s noblemen.

BETWEEN TWO WALLS.

A NAR ROW str ip ofgreenbetweentwo c ity walls ;A beam of morning sun one hour thereinthat

glows ;An English sparrow hopping

'

round, who so ftlycal ls

Unto his tim id mate ;blows

A gale ofdu st and dirt ; old papers flit and flir tThe thir sty leaflets droop for one wee drop o f

ra m.

Yet to a sweet, young gir l , through acc ident once

hu r t,So that of all the wor ld naught scarcely do th

remain

Save this one strip ofgreenbetweentwo c itywal ls ,This seems a paradise she sees not dirt and

du st,

Nor dreams of lovel ier flowers , nor sweeter birdsrecalls .

She greets ber flowers each day,and 0 , ou r God

is ju st !No bloom to her l ike hers ; no birds with tenderer

vo ice

A GUEST UNBIDDEN .

Acnoss the shadowed valleys ofthenightYou r spir it reaches forth ingreetings tender ;

You r eyes ’saddepths with fond regret grow br ight,

And strengthenme w ith comfort they engender .

I fainwou ld bl ind my weeping eyes to dreamsThat oft, l ike guests , unbidden come to haunt

me,For whenmy yearning arms reach ou t, it seems

As ifthe spir its only come to flauntme.

Cansp irit reach to spir it over spac e?

Are dreams a so lemnsu rety ofthe real?And every dream that shows your loving face,Tel l me, dear heart, is not this faith ’

s ideal ?

456

LINES TO THE MEMORY OF FATHER RYAN .


The heart’s soft twil ight creeps apace,The after mood of stormfu l day,

And hides withinits calm embrac eThe pr ide that held imperial sway,

At set of sun.

WANDE R ING downthe ais le ofyears ,Thou has t sighed for rest— sweet rest

And prayed with earnest vo ice, with tears ,For rest, sweet rest, 0 sou l oppressed !

Doubly noble ! Poet- Pr iest !Thy earnest, pleading vo ice was heard,

And thy sou l inheavendoth feast ;Gladder thy song thanthat of bird.

Thou has t thy rest, 0 noble sou l !Thy spiritfled , by earth oppressed ,

And found a br ight and welcome goal’Tis rest, sweet rest ;

’tis rest, sweet rest !

Dou bly noble ! Poet- Pr iest !Thy memory shall ever c l ing

Inhearts whom fortune favored leastOfthee they ’l l speak , thy praises sing.

As long as time shal l last, I ween,Thy l iving words shall ne

’er depart ;

Thyname shall be anevergreen

Inevery loyal Southernheart.

0 sou l oppressed ! almost divine !Now pu lseless is thy throbbing breas t ;

Thy work is done— reward is thine ;Oppressed no moreb thou has t sweet rest !

A PERFECT WOMAN .

A SCULPTO R to his fr iend did say,“ I

’I! lay a wager I canmake

F rom this hugemass of shapeless c layA perfect woman, sans m istake .

”

I’ll take you ,

was his fr iend’s reply ,

And soonthe sc u lptor ’s work was done.

H is fr iend gazed onwith earnest eye,And, with a smi le, said, I have won.

Womanwithou t a tongue, oh my !I think you ’

ll ownthat I have won.

The scu lptor , smi ling, made reply,perfect womanshou ld havenone.

HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN.

JALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN is one of those

acqu is itions from a foreign land by wh ichou r countryis all the r icher . He is a Scand inavianofthe Scandinavians , having beenbornonSeptember 2 3, 1 848 , at F redricksvern, a smal l seaport

townonthe sou therncoast of Norway , where hisfather , anarmy officer , was stationed at the time.

In1 854 h is father went abroad, leaving his fam ilyw ith the maternal grandfather , Judge H jorth , of

Systrand, by whom young Boyesenwas broughtup , his mother dyingwhenhe was elevenyears old.

His chief characteristic inhis boyhood days was alove of animals . He was the possessor of severalhundred pigeons , bes ides numerou s rabbits , dogs ,cows and horses . Whenhe first went to schoo l hewas extremely homes ick , and the constant remem

brance of his days of freedom inthe pictu resqueregion su rrounding his beau tifu l home on the

Sognefjord made it imposs ible for him to applyhimself dil igently to study , though his natu ralability saved him from anything approaching realfai lu re, and the praise he got for his compos itionsinstigated him intime to more earnest endeavorsinother directions . In his summer vacations heu sed to walk home, a distance ofnearly two hundred miles , stopping by the way at the hou ses of

the peasants , from whom he heard over againthelegends to which , as a child, he frequ ently l istened,whennarrated by his grandfather’s servants inhissto lenv isits to the kitchen. The observations hemade in these jou rneys , supplemented by theselegends . suppl ied the mater ial for the descr iptionofSaeter l ife in Gunnar .

Intime B oyesenentered the Univers ity of Christiania,

where his remarkable aptitude for learningforeign langu ages attracted the attentionof his

teac hers , who u rged him to devote himself to thestudy of philo logy . He was graduated in 1 868 ,and at his father ’

s earnest des ire came to Amer ica,

intending to retu rn ina year . He traveled for

about eight months through New England and

the western states , arr iving at Ch icago in the

beginning of 1 870, where he became assoc iate editor of a Norwegian paper , the F remad . In September of the same year Mr . Boyesenaccepted an

invitationto become instru ctor inLatinand GreekinUrbana College, Oh io , chiefly for the opportunityitgave him to better acqu ire the Engl ish language.

In1 873 he revis ited Eu rope, spending most of histime at Le ipsic inthe study of comparative philology, pass ing some time inNorway , France andEngland onhis way back to this countr y . After

his retu rnbe resumed his professorship of German

H j ALM AR 11 1 019771 B O YE SE A’.

l ite ratu re in Cornell Univers ity , to which chairhe had beenelected before leaving, and remainedthere until 1 880, whenhe accepted the corresponding chair at Co lumbia Col lege, which pos itionhestill dignifles and adorns . T. W.

THE LOST HELLAS.

0 ,F O R a breath ofmyrtle and ofbay,

And glints of sunny skies through dark leavesflashing,

And dimpling seas beneath a goldenday,Against the strand with soft susu rrus plas hing !And fair nude youths , with shouts and laughte r ,

dashingAlong the shining beach inmartial play ,

And rear ing ’

gainst theskytheir snowy porta ls ,The temples ofthe glor iou s immortals !

Thus oft thou risest, Hellas , from my sou lA vis ionofthe happy vernal ages ,Whenmenfir st strove to read li fe’

s mystic scro ll ,B ut with the to rch of joy lit up its pages ;Whenwith untr oubled front the cheer fu l sages

Serenely wandered toward their shadowy goal ,And praised the gods in dance of stately

measu re,

And stooped to plu ck the harmless bud of

pleasu re .

Ou t of the darkness of the pr imal night,Like as a dewy Delos from the ocean,

Thy glory rose— a birthplace for the br ightSun-

godofthought. And freedom , high devotionAnd song sprung from the fount ofpu re emotion,

B loomed inthe footsteps of the God of light.

And N ight shrank bac k before the joyous pmn,And flu shed with morning ro lled the blu e .Egean.

ThenonOlympu s reigned a beauteou s throng ;The heavens ’

w ide arch by wrathfu l Zeu s wasshaken;

Fair Phtebu s sped his radiant path along,

The darkling earth from happy sleep to wakenAndweptwhen,

by the timorou s nymph forsakin,His pas sionbreath ing incomplaining song ;And kindled inthe hard the sacred fire,

And lu red sweetmu sic from the silent lyre.

Thenteemed the earth w ith creatu res glad and

fair ,A calm and benignantgod dwelt ineach r iver ,

And through the r ippl ing stream a naiad'

s bareWhite limbs wou ld u pward faintly flash and

qu iver ;Through pr isoning bark the dryad

’

s sigh wou ldshiver ,

Expir ing softly onthe languoru s air ;

457

OnNatu re’s ample, warmly throbbing breast,

Both God, and man, and beast reposed secu rely ;And inone large embrace she c losely pressedThe sum of being, myr iad - shaped but su relyThe self- same life ; she saw the sou l r ise purely,

Forever upward inits groping questFor nobler forms ; and knew inall creationThe same divinely pass ionate pu lsation.

Thus rose the legends fair , which faintly lightThe misty centu r ies with their pall id gl immer ,

Of fauns who roam onMountCithairon’s height,

Where through the leaves their sunburnt facesshimmer ;

And incool copses , where the day is dimmer ,You hear the trampling oftheir herded flight ;And see the tree- tops wave their progress after ,And hear their shouts ofw ild, immortal laughter .

The vast and foaming life. the fierce des ireWhich pu lses hotly through the veins ofNatu re,

Creative raptu re and the breath offire

Which inexalting blight and slay the creatu re ;The forces seething ’neath eac h plac id featu re

OfNature’s visage which ou r awe inspire ,

All glow and throb with fervid hopeandgladnessInDionysu s and his sacredmadness .

Eac h year the lovely god with vine wreathed browIndreamy transport roves theyoungearth over .

The faunthat gayly swings the thyrsu s bough ,Thenymph , chased hotly by her satyr lover ,The rogu ish Cupids

’

mid the flowers that hover ,All jo inhis c lamorou s train. and upwardnow

Sweep storms of vo ices through the heavenssonorou s ,

With gusts of song and dithyrambic choru s .

B ut where great Natu re guards her sec ret sou l ,Where viewless fountains bum insylvanc loses ,

There, leaned against a rugged oak tree’

s bo le,Amid the rustling sedges , Panreposes ,And round about the s lumberou s sunshinedozes .

While from his pas toral pipe rise sounds ofdo!

And strange low notes , that scar ce the bluntsense seizes ,

Were zephyr vo ices whisper ing inthe breezes .

Chas te Artemis , who gu ides the lunar car ,The palenoctu rnal vigils ever keeping,

Sped through the si lent space from star to star ;

And, blushing, stoopedto kiss Endymionsleeping.

And Psyche, onthe lonely mountainweep ing,Was c las ped to Eros

’ heart and wandered farTo brave dread Cerberu s and the Stygianwater ,With that sweet, dauntless tru st her love had

taught her .


And through the stillness inthe forest reigning,

One hears afar the shr ill , sad notes complaining.

Thu s , inthe oldentime, while yet the worldA vale ofjoy was , and a lovely wonder ,

Menplu cked the bud w ithinits calyx cu rled,Revered the still, sweet l ife thats leptthereunder ;They didnot tear the delicate thingasunderTo see its beauty wantonly unfu r led,They sat at Natu re’

s feet with awed emotion,Like childrenl istening to the mighty ocean.

And thus they nobly grew to perfect bloom,

With gaze unclouded, inserene endeavor ,No fever - vis ionfrom beyond t he tombB roke o ’

er their br ight and sunlit pathway ever ,For gently as a kiss came death to sever

From spirit flesh , and to the realm ofgloomThe pal lid shades with fearles s brow descendedTo Hades , by the winged god attended.

Why sorrow, then, with vainpetitions seekThe lofty gods intheir abodes eternal ?

To live is pleasant, and to be a GreekTo see the earth ingarments fresh and vernal ,To watch the fair youths intheir sports diu rnal ,

To feel against your ownamaid’

s warm cheek ,To see from scu lptu red shrines the smokeascend

"18 3

And with the c louds and ether vaguely blending.

And sweet it is to hear thenoble tongue,Pu re Attic Greek with soft prec is ionspoken!

And ah ! to hear its liqu id mu s ic flung,Inrocking chords andmelodies unbroken,F rom Homer ’

s stormy harp, the deathless tokenThat Hel las ’

Titansou l is strongand young,

Young as the spr ing that’s past, whose nameas suages

The gloom and sorrow ofthe sunless ages .

Her fanes are shattered and her bards are dead,B ut, l ike a flame from ru ins , leaps her glory

Up from her sac red du st, its rays to shedOnalienskies of art and song and story .

Her spir it, r ising from her temples hoary,Through barrenc limes dispersed, has northward

fled ;

As , though the flower be dead, its breath mayhover ,

A homeless fragrance sweet, themeadows over .

EGIL SCALD'

S LAMENT.

STRANGELY , son, thou starest ;

And thy sight is sunken;Still thou art and silent,

As with s lumber drunken

Lo , thy lips are l ivid ;Loud erewhile their laughter !

Shal l I vainly listenFor thy voice hereafter?

Dumb thou art, and dampness ,Indark drops descending

F rom thy brow is breaking,With thy br ight beard blending.

Foam-flakes fleck thy forehead ;F ixed thine eyes and frigid ;

And thymighty frame isFaintw ith frost and rigid.

Swift spreads slumber ’s shadow !

Speak ere strength foresake thee !Woe ! my witless wail ing

Never more w i ll wake thee !Dead thou art, my darling;

Long thenight before thee.

Thou hast left thy fatherLonely to deplore thee .

Oft I stood inspirit,By strong sons su rrounded ;

Whose sonorou s sagaThrough my sou l resounded ;

Saw their fear less phalanxFame and fortune gather

Safe withintheir shield- bu rg1 , their happy father !

B odvar ! best beloved !Ofbo ld sons the boldest !

Inthyhaples s handmyLife’

s snapped thread thou boldest.

Swordless Death has sought theeMid the sea- waves swelling;

Fainthy father followsThee to Hela’

s dwelling.

F rom thy birth ’s br ight hou rB less ings bloomed around thee ;

Fast abou tmy heart- roots

Wound, each fresh year found thee ;Onthy brave young boy- face

G ladmy s ight wou ld linger ,As thou fedstme l ightlyWith thy baby finger .

Saw them swords unsheath ing ;Heard their ar mors’ rattle ;

Saw them sto rm ing, shou tingWith the joy ofbattle

B odvar foremost fighting,

Fair and fierce and glor iou s .And his falchionflashing

Inhis path victor iou s .

B E SS] E H . WOOLE OR D . 461

Of this dream , the dear one

Dastard gods bereftme.

O beloved Bodvar ,Why hast thou , too , leftme?

Feel’st thou not thy father ’

s

Fondl ing hands caress thee,And his kiss , the last one,

And his tears that bless thee?

Loath indeath ’s dim shadow ,

Dear dead son, I leave thee !Hark , thy bu ried brethren

Clamor to receive thee !I wi ll sit bes ide thee

Silent vigil keeping,Inthe cairnwhere N ight-Wolf’s

Royal race is sleeping.

HOW CAN I LIGHTLY SPEAK THYWONDROUS NAME?

How canI lightly speak thy wondrou s name,Which breathes the airy fragrance of thyself,As might, far straying from his flower , the elf

H old yet a breath w ithinhis fragile frameOf the flower

’s sou l , betrayingwhence he came?

I too , beloved , though we stray apart,Since inthe vestal temple of thy heart

I dwell secu re, glow with a sac red flame.

A breath ofthy sweet self unto me c l ingsA wondrou s vo ice , as of large unborndeeds , PURPLE ASTERS AND GOLDEN - ROD.

With deep resoundings through my being rings ,And unto w ider realms of vis ionleads .

And dead to me are sorrow, dou bt, and pain

The slumber inggod w ithinme wakes again.

OH, autumndays , with you r dreamy splendor .You r cr imsoning trees and withered sod ;

You r goldenhaze inthe sunset tender ,You r pu rple as ters and go lden- rod !

Where the grass grew greenalong the hedgesWITHIN THE ROSE I FOUND A TREMBLING The du st l ies thick onwi thered leaves ,

TEAR .The breeze loud- ru stles inthe sedges ,And thenest is empty beneath the eaves .

WrrHrN the rose I fo'

und a trembling tear ,Close cu rta ined ina gloom of cr imsonnight The air is r ife With a haunting sweetness ;By tender petals from the ou ter l ight.

A half- breathed s igh If)“the days Ofyore ;I plucked the flower and held it to my ear

,

A “90 89 Of the present 3 incompletenessAnd thought w ithinits fervid breas t to hear Regret for the dreams we candream "0 more.

A smothered heart- beat th robbing soft and low .

I heard its bu sy life- blood gently flow ,

Now far away andnow so strangely near .

Ah , thought I , ifthese s ilent l ips offlameCou ld be unsealed and fl ing u ponthe air

Dreams that are brokenand lost inthe dreaming,Good we wou ld do that we never have done ;

F r iendship so sweet(thatwas sweetbu tinseeming) ,Love we wou ld winthat wenever have won!

Their woe, their pass ion, and inspeech proc laim Ah ! so many roses bloom for someTheir warm intoxicationofdespair Who heedless ly throw them from their hands ;

Thenwou ld I give the rose into thy hand ; So many lips through painare dumb ;Thou cou ldst its vo ice, beloved, not withstand. The heart’s low cry, who understands?

BESSIE H . WOOLFORD.

RS. WOOLFORD was borninMadison, Ind.

Her father died inR ichmond, Va . , whenshewas but five years old. Immediately after her

father ’s death her mother removed to Jeflerson

County , Ky. , where her family res ided. Her first

poem was composed when she was but th irteenyears o ld, shortly after she entered the Science

H ill Female Academy at Shelbyvil le, Ky., then

one ofthe best boarding schools intheSouth . She

graduated from this institutionat theageofseventeen, taking the honors of her class . Mrs . Woolford, whose maiden name was Hu bbs , marr iedCo l . J . H . Woolford when she was nineteen yearsof age. The resu lt of this happy unionwas twosons , both ofwhom su rvive their lamented father ,who died May 1 4, 1 888 . Dur ing the life-time of

her husband, Mrs . Woolford did bu t little wr itingfor public pr int, butnow that her mainsupport is

gone, and although her ambitionis shadowed byanever lasting grief, she is resolved to make herpenas sist ineducating her gifted sons .

Mrs . Woolford is thirty years old and inappear

ance about medium height, has beautifu l, large,gray eyes and wavy brownhair ; intemperament,ardent and enthusiastic ; a devoted and lovingmother to her two sons ; loves home better thanfame, and, from a political stand-

po int, opposed towoman’

s r ights . L . C. J .


And his mother ’s to blame ; but oh ! to kissYou r owndirty boy is the height of bliss .

I lift the rogu e fr om off the ground ;His chubby arms myneck su rround,And as I smoothed his cu r ly head,

You are so pretty and dirty,” I said.

Perhaps at the end of some autumnday,Whenou r eyes are tu rned to the H ills of God,We shal l find by the du sty and leaf- strewnwayOur pu rple as ters and go lden- rod !

WHEN LILACS BLOOM.

A DRE AM ofthe pas t comes bac k to meWith the lilac ’

s pu rple bloom ;For a strongassoc iationlurksInits subtle and sweet perfume.

Came a fine lady call ing one day,

Insilk and satinand plumage gay ;R ichest of silk with lac e uponit,Diamonds br ight, and a charming bonnet.

My boy onthe floor soonleaves his book ,Drawnby the lady’s winning look ,And with his blu e eyes openwide,H e came and stood c lose by her side.

He looked at the dress and jewels rare ;The soft, browneyes and waving hair ,Thenw ith a nod ofhis sunny headYou is so pretty and dirty , he said .

I see the oldgray hou se once more

’Neath the shelter of stately trees ,

Whose branches bru sh the mossy roo fWith every pas s ing breeze.

B ut dearest ofall is the gardenold,With borders quaint and tr im ,

And the walk where the rows of lilac madeAnarchway coo l and dim .

SIGH SOFT ANDLOW, OH ! SUMMER BREEZE.

Slcnsoft and low , oh ! summer breeze,Woo with caress ing touch the roses ;

Sway the greenbranches ofthe treesWhose parted screena nest disc loses .

Catch the low note the wood- bird singsTo broodingmate with tender breast ;While c lose bes ide with fo lded wingsHe watches o ’

er her downy nest.

Dear memor ies wakenat you r breathThat long have s lept with inthe heart ;

Lips speak that we have kissed indeath ,And unrepres sed the tears w ill start.

Sigh soft and low , oh ! evening breeze ;R ifle the poppy of its power ,

Soothe thought’s sharp painto dreamfu l

There’s a mint ofgoldenjonqu ils there,

And thyme, and m ignonette ,And fragrant lilies of the vale,Inthe shade with the violet.

And the sweet- pea sc rambles ac ross the hedg e

Along with the eglantine ;Oh , gardenold ! cou ld hearts grow co ld

’Mid treas ures su ch as thine?

I hear myname ina fresh young vo iceThat was mu s ic to my ear ;

Ah ,’tis buta dream , for I know that vo ice

Has beensilent many a year .

B ut the lilacs will br ing these dreams to me,

Alongwith the sweet spr ing weather ;And my heart retu rns to the hallowed spot

Where, as children, we played together .

And I think if I only cou ld go bac kThrough the years of sorrow and pain,

With mystic charms from every flower .

Stir the l ight fr inge ofmaiden’s- hair ;

Steal where the water - li ly gleams ;B reathe the drowsy fragrance onthe air ,And br ing forgetfu lness indreams !

I shou ld findmy beau tifu l chi ldhood there,And live it all over again!

I M M O R T A L IT Y .

E ver near

H over the spirits of ou r loved and lost.

Though all unseen, they watch with eyes of loveThrough the thinvai l betwixt our sou l and theirs ,

Knowing ou r gr ief, which , to the unfette red mind,Seems but the pass ing of a troubled dream .

No love of earth so strong that it candimThe bliss of immortal ity .

PRETTY AND DIRTY.

I F OUND my boy before the door ,Ina to rnand tumbled pinafore,Mud onhis hands , mud onhis c lothes ,And a terr ible smudge onhis cunningnose .

Now another ’s boy insuch a plight,

I am free to own, is a dreadfu l sight — Afier Death .

464

TO M

DE AR other self, whose love is more to meThanto a fevered sou l are suddengleams,Indesertwastes , of swiftly flowing streams ;

Inthis drear land my spirit faints for thee .

Far 03 ac ross the empty miles I seeThy radiant face ; its tender yearning seemsA moonlit r iver , that withinmy dreams

Flows onand oninto eternity .

Myglad sou l has tens to the r iver ’s side,

And launches forth . Oh , joy beyond compar e !To fee l the heavenly winds that, blowingw ide,fi ll the white sai l with anethereal air ;

To see withinthe tremu lou s, deep tideThat all the stars ofGod are mirrored there.

A BIRTHDAY WISH.

I WOULDnotwish you always joyfu l— no ;For joy, l ike sunshine, as ks no sac rifices .

Whenevery fair and flowery path enticesWhatneed of Love

’s protecting c lasp? B ut, oh !

Whenthe black skies beginto overflow ,

A tender fac e bent roof- l ike all suffices ;From shelteringarms we smile uponthe crisis

Ofthegreat storm , whenall its loosed winds blow .

No other gifts have I for you thanlove,Andneed of love, though were you always gladMy love,myneedwou ld fail to come anear you .

Ah , dearest, there is las ting joy above,B ut onthis earth I wou ld you might be sad,Sometimes—a littlewhile— and letme cheer you .

AT PARTING.

Goon- B Y ! good- by l my sou l goes after thee,Qu ick as a bird that qu ickens onthe wing,

Softly as winter softens into spring,

And as the moonsways to the swaying sea

So is my spirit drawnres istlessly .

Good- by l yet closer roundmy l ife shal l clingThy tenderness , the pr iceless offering

That drifts through distance dai ly unto me.

Oh , eager sou l of mine, fly fas t, fly fas t!Take w ith thee h0pe and cou rage, thoughts that

thrillThe heart with gladness

’neath despondent

skies ;Oh , living tenderness , thatno sharp blastOf earthly fate or circumstance canchil l !My l ife with thine grows strong, or fails, or

dies .

TH E M AGAZINE OF P OE TR Y.

How cou ld I doubtyou , thru st you from my ho ldAnd hu rtyou nigh to death w ith suddenhate?Oh , tenderness that bore the test ofyears ,

Oh loyal , true great- heartedness , beholdYou r place is left unto me deso late !Dark w ith repentant, unavailing tears .

their

Hers is the raptu re ofthe martyred saint ;The exaltationofthe mother whenUponher breast her baby softly stirs

For the first time. And every mdrndoth paintOnevery rock , and tree, and stream, and glen,Some inextingu ishable look of hers .

SOMETIME, I FEAR .

Sonarmn, I fear , but God alone knows when,Mine eyes shall gaze onyour unseeing eyes ,Onyou r unheeding ears shal l fall my cr ies ,

You r clasp shal l cease, your sou l go from my kenYou r great heart be a fire bu rned out. Ah , then,What shall remainfor me beneath the skies ,Ofglad, or good, or beautifu l , or wise,

That canrelume and thr il l my l ife again

This shal l remain, a love that cannot fail ,A life that joys inyou r great joy, yetgr ievesInmemory of sweet days fled too soon;

Sadness divine ! as whenNovember paleSits broken- hearted ’mong her withered leaves ,And feels the wind about her warm as June.

REPENTANCE .

Onbruised at my hands , my wounded one,Who lay inthought long, longagainst my heart,”fill ofmy life you formed the dearest part ;

So close my arms of love enwrapped you , noneCou ld pierce you ti ll my shelter ingveins had r unInhot,«qu ick protest

’

gainst the po isoned dart.

Butnow my cruel hands have made the smartBy which I am undone ! I am undone !

LOVE'SPHASES.

Lon: has a thou sand phases : oftentimes.

For very joy ofher ownlife she weeps ;Or , like a tim id, w istfu l child, she creeps

To sheltering arms ; or , like a spir it, cl imbsThe white heights scaled by poets in

rhymesImagination’

s lone and splendid steepsOr drifts w ith idle oar u ponthe deeps

Ofher ownsou l to undiscovered cl imes .


Count the bright dawns insunlight awaking,

H ope’

s br ightest halo inbeauty appears ;Still jou rneying onward, life’

s bless ing partaking,We tru stinthe fu tu reandsmi lethrough ou r tears .

Bow not the head, we are not forsaken,Smi le at the dark c loud that passed away ;

More fair is the rose that the zephyr has shaken,Whose dewdrops have fallenwith the dawn of

the day.

THE COQUETTE.

LET Love weave her gar landsFor those who wi ll wear them ,

And s igh while they w ither away ;Let Love bind her fettersOnthose who w il l bear them ,

Let others sti ll wear them thatmay ;B ut I

’

ll laugh inLove’s face ,

I wil l ever be freeFrom the bonds that entangle the heart.

No lover ’

s soft sighing,

No Cupid fo r me,I

’ve brokenthe po int ofhis dart.

Let beauty lay tr ibu teOnhearts that are breaking,

And s igh while she makes them her game,Thenlaugh inLove’

s faceWhile her dupes are awaking

To the sense oftheir fo lly and shame.

I w ill ever be freeAnd preserve a whole heart,

Nor hazzard once Cupid’

s sharp stings ;I

’ve untw isted his bow - str ingAnd brokenhis dart,

And I ’ve c l ipped off both of his w ings .

C R E A T I O N .

At length the earth upheaved her rounded form ,

The oceansung his joy inthunders forth ,The sunbu rst from the w ild chaotic storm ,

The stars sm iled br ightly onthe buddingearth ,Amid glad songs the universe had birth ;Themountains shouted to the r is ing hills ,

The laughing r ivers gu rgled forth their mirth ,While, softly answer ing, sang the tiny ri lls .

The tall palms , hymning low , their so lemnmu s ic woke,

And proudly reared his monarch ’s crown, the

giant oak.

The World’

s Progress .

CHRISTINA G . ROSSETTI.

HRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI , who was

borninLondon,December , 1 830, is general lyacknowledged to be one of the greatest female

wr iters of the nineteenth centu ry . She is the

daughter of Gabr iele Rossetti and Frances Polidor i , daughter of Alfieri

’s secretary, and sister of

the young phys ic ian who traveled with Lord

Byron, ofwhom mentionis made inMoore’s bio

graphical notices . Gabriele R ossetti was a nativeofVasto ,

inthe distr ict of the Abru zzi, ex - kingdom

of Naples . He was a patr iotic poet of great distinction; and, as a po litic ian, took a part inextorting from Ferdinan'

d I the Constitutionof

1 82 0. Owing to the failu re of the Neapolitan insu rrection, Rossetti was compelled to seek refuge

inEngland, establishing himself inLondonabout

1 82 3, and marrying in1 82 6 . H ispresentpositioninItaly , as a poet and a patriot, is a high one, a

medal having beenstruck inhis honor . He spent

his best years inthe study of Dante, and his com

mentaries onthe great Ita l ianmaster are unique,exhibiting a pecu liar , personal view of Dante ’

s

conceptionofBeatrice.

It will be seen, therefore, that the father of the

subject of these lines was highly gifted w ith poeticaspiration, and those who hold the doctrine of

hereditary geniu s may find inthe Rossetti familya striking exempliflcation of their particu lar

theo ry . The collossal genius of the late DanteGabr iel Rossetti , the eldest brother of the poetess ,has left anineflaceable mark uponthe history of

ou r time ; and the biographical andcritical achievements of Will iam M ichael Rossetti are too well

knownto need more thanmere inc idental mentionhere. MariaF rancesca,Miss R ossetti’s gifted elders ister , whose “Shadow of Dante”

shows su ch a

brehdth and power of thought, plac ed uponreco rd,before her untimely death , the intense purity of

m ind and pu rpose inherited from her parents ,

c u lminating in the self- abnegation of Anglicanconventual l ife ; so that it will be c lear to all that

this talented group of sons and daughters hasdone, and still does , great honor to the wel lbeloved and accompl ished parents whose happymemory is ever - blossoming inthe minds of their

survivors .

Miss R ossettiis theau thor ofthe followingworksGoblinMarket and Other Poems ,” 1 862 ; “

The

Pr ince’s Progress and Other Poems ,

”1 866 ;

Commonplace and Other Short Stories inProse,”1 87O ; Sing-Song, aNu rsert ymeBook,

”1 872 ;

SpeakingLikenesses,”1 874 ;

“Annus Domini, a

Prayer for Each Day of the Year , Founded ona

CH R I STIN A G . R OSSE TTI .469

Text of Ho ly Scr iptu re, 1 874 ; Seek and Finda Double Ser ies ofShort Studies oftheBenedic ite ,1 879 ;

“A Pageant and Other Poems ,”1 88 1 ;

Called to be Saints ,” 1 881 ; Letter and Spirit,”1 883, and

“Time F lies , a Reading Diary, 1 885 .

Years ago , when the loving family c irc le was

unbroken, Miss Rossetti was wont to engage inexerc ises of sonnet- skill with her brothers , DanteGabr iel and William ; and the pleasu res of thiscontact and interchange of thought led to a lovefo r the finest of all forms of concise express ionwhich has hom e r ipe fru it. J . W.

DREAM- LAND.

WHE RE sunless r ivers weepTheir waves into the deep ,She sleeps a charmed sleep ;

Awake her not.

Led by a single star ,She came from very far

To seek where shadows areHer pleasant lot.

She left the rosy morn,She left the fields of corn,For twilight cold and lorn,

And water springs .

Through sleep, as through a veil ,She sees the sky look pale,And hears thenightingale

That sadly sings .

Rest, rest, a perfect rest,Shed over brow and breast ;Her face is toward the west,

The pu rple land.

She cannot see the grainR ipening onhill and plain,She cannot feel the rain

Uponher hand.

Rest, rest, for evermore

Upona mossy sho re ;Rest, rest at the heart

’

s core

Til l time shall cease ;Sleep thatno painshal l wake ;N ight thatno moonshall break ,Till joy shal l overtake

Her perfect peace.

THE SIXTEENTH OF MAY.

I F love is not worth loving, thenlife is not worthliving,

TO- DAY FOR ME.

SE E s itteth still who u sed to dance,She weepeth sore and more and more ;

Let us sit with thee weeping sore,

0 fair F rance.

She trembleth as the days advanceWho u sed to be so l ight of heart ;We inthy trembling bear a part,

Sister France.

Her eyes shine tearfu l as they glanceWho shall give back my s laughtered sons?

B ind u p,” she saith , my wounded ones .

”

Alas , France !

Nor aught is worth remember ing but well forgot,For store is not worth stor ing and gifts are not

worth giving,If love is not ;Anidly co ld is death -c old, and life heat idly hot,

And vainis any offer ing and vainer ou r receiving,

And vanity ofvanities is all ou r lot.

Better than life’

s heaving heart is death s heartunheaving,

Better than the opening leaves are the leavesthat rot,

For there is nothing left worth achieving or re

trieving,

If love is not.

AFTER DEATH.

THE curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept

And strewnwith rushes , rosemary andmayLay thick uponthe bed onwhich I lay,

Where through the lattice ivy- shadows crept.

He leaned above me, thinking that I sleptAnd cou ld not hear him ; but I heard him say

Poor child, poor child ! and as hetu rnedawayCame a deep s ilence, and I knew he wept.

He didnot touch the sh roud, or raise the foldThat hid my face, or take my hand inhis ,Or ru ffle the smooth pi llows for my head ;H e didnot loveme l iving ; but once dead

He pitied me ; and very sweet it is

To know he still is warm though I am cold.

She struggles ina deathly trance ,As ina dream her pu lses stir ,She hears thenations call ing her ,

fi ance, F rance, F rance.

Thou people ofthe l ifted lance,

Forbear her tears , forbear her blood ;Rol l back , rol l back , thy whelming flood ,

Back from France.


Eyenot her loveliness askance, Be the greengrass above meForgenot for her a gall ing chain; With showers and dewdrops wet ;Leave her at peac e to bloom again, And i f thou w ilt, remember ,

Vine- c lad F rance. And if thou wilt, forget.

A time there is for change and chance, I shall not see the shadows ,A time for passing orthe cup ; I shall not feel the rain;And One abides canyet bind up I shall not hear thenightingale

B rokenF rance. Sing onas if inpain.

A time there is for change and chance ; And, dreaming through the twilight,Who next shall dr ink the trembling cup, That doth not r isenor set,Wr ing ou t its dregs and su ck them up,

H eply I may remember ,After F rance? Haply I may forget.

AT HOME .

WHE N I was dead my spir it turned UP' HILL'

To seek the mu ch - frequ enteci house ; Dos s the road wind up- hill all the way?I passed the door , and saw my friends Yes , to the very end.

Feas ting beneath greenorange boughs . Will theday ’s jou rney take thewhole longday?F rom hand to hand they pu shed the wine ; F rom mom to night, my fr iend,

They sucked the pu lp ofplumb and peach ;They sang, they jested and they laughed,

B ut is there for thenight a resting-

place,

For eac h was loved by each . A roof for whenthe slow dark hours begin?May not the darkness h ide it from my face?h hI listened to t err honest c atYou cannotmiss that inn.

Said one, To—morrow we shall bePlod p lod along the featu reless sands ,And coastingm iles and miles of sea.

Said one, Before the tu rnoftideWe w ill achieve the eyr ie- seat.

Said one, To -morrow shall be l ike

Shall I meet other wayfarers atnight,Those who have gone before?

Then, mu st I knock , o r cal l whenju st ins ight?They wi ll not keep you standingat the door .

To - day,but mu ch more sweet.

”

Shal l I find comfo rt, travel- so re and weak?To -m0n0w , said they , strong With hope, OI labo r you shal l find the sum .

And dwelt u ponthe pleasant way : Will there be beds for me and all who seek ?

To -morrow c ried they,one and all ,

1 95,beds for all who come.

Whileno one spoke ofyesterday .

Their l ife stood fu ll at blessed noon;I , only I , had pas sed away . WEARY.

To - mor row and tod ay ,” they cr ied : h G d bI was ofyesterday .

I wor rn ave gone, 0 ads me stay ,

I wou ld have worked, God bade me rest.

I shivered comfo rtless , bu t cast Il e broke my w ill from day to dayNo chill across the table- c loth ; He read my yearnings unexpress d,

I,all forgotten, shivered, sad And said them nay.

To stay and yet to part how loth ;I passed from the fam iliar room

,Now I wou ld stay , GOd bids me 80 :

I,who from love had passed away , NOW I Wou ld POST», GOd bids me WO l 'k.

Like the remembrance ofa guest H 9 breaks my heart tossed to and fro ;

That tarrieth but a, day My 80 11 1 IS w rung With (lo lls that Ill I'kAnd vex it so !

WHEN 1 AM DEAD7 I go ,Lo rd, where Thou sendestme ;

WH EN I am dead, my dearest, Day after day I plod and mo i l ;Singno sad songs for me ; B u t, Chr istmy God, whenwill it be

Plant thou no roses at my head. That I may let alonemy to il ,Nor shady cypress tree. And rest w ith Thee ?

472

Wlth dangling basket all along the grass ,As I had come I went the sel f—same track ;Myneighbors mocked me while they saw me pass ,

So empty- handed, back .

Lil l ianand Lillias smiled intrudging by ,Their heaped- up basket teased me l ike a jeer ;

Sweet- vo iced they sang beneath the sunset skyTheir mother ’

s home was near .

P lump Gertru de passed me with her basket fu l l ,A stronger hand thanhere helped it along ;

A vo ice talked with her through the shadows coolMore sweet to me thansong.

Ah Wi l lie,Wil l ie, was my love less worthThanapples w ith their greenleaves piledabove

I counted ros iest apples onthe earthOi far less worth thanlove .

So once it was w ith me you sto pped to talk ,Laughing and listening inthis very lane ;

To think that by this way we u sed to walk ,We shal l not walk again!

I let myneighbors pass me, ones and twos

And groups ; the latest said the night grew

chill ,And hastened ; bu t I lo itered ,

while the dewsFell fast I lo itered stil l .

C L O U D S .

Clouds onthe wes terns ideGrow gray and grayer , hidingthe warm sun.

— Tn'iligbt Calm .

F L O W E R S .

F lowers preach to u s if we wi ll hear .

— Consider the Lilies of the F ield.

H O P E .

Hopenewbornone pleas antmornDied at even;

Hope dead lives nevermore,No , not inheaven.

— Dea(l H ope.

H U M I L IT Y .

Give me the lowest place ; or if for meThat lowest place to o high , make one more low

Where I may sit and see

My God and love Thee so .

— The Lowest Place.

S I L E N C E .

Silence more mu s ical thanany song


SINGLE POEMS.

TACKING SHIP OFF SHORE .

THE weather- leech ofthe top- sail shivers ,The bow- lines strainand the lee- ehronds slacken,

The braces are taut, the l ithe boom qu ivers ,And the waves with the coming squall - c loud

blacken.

Openone po int onthe weather bow ;Is the l ighthou se tall onF ire Island’

s head?There’

s a shade ofdoubt onthe captain’

s brow ,

And the p ilot watc hes the heaving lead.

I stand at the wheel , and w ith eager eyeTo sea and to sky and to shore I gaze,

Til l the muttered order of F ULL AN D B Y l

Is suddenly changed to FULL s ons u r e !

The ship bends lower before the breeze,As her broads ide fair to the blast she lays ;

And she swifter springs to the r is ing seas ,

As the pi lot calls , Su xnB Y F O R s'

rn'

s l

It is s ilence all, as each inhis plac e,With the gathered co ils inhis hardened hands ,

By tack and bow - line, by sheet and brass ,Waiting the watc hword, impatient stands .

And the l ight onF i re Is land head draws near ,As

, tr umpet- w inge d, the pilot’s shoutFrom his post onthe bowspr it

’

s heel I hear ,With the welcome cal l of R EADY

,AB OUT I

No time to spare ! It is to uch and go ,

And the capta ingrowls , “Dowx HELM I

Dows l”

As my weight onthe whir ling spokes I throw ,

While heavengrows black w ith the sto rm -c loud’

s

frown.

HARD

H igh o’

er the knight-heads fl ies the spray,As we meet the shock ofthe plunging sea ;

And my shou lder stiff to the wheel I lay,

As I answer , AY , AY ,s lnl H - A - R - D A- LE E I

With the swerving leap ofa startled steed

The ship fl ies fast inthe eye ofthe wind,The dangerous shoals onthe lee recede,And the headland white we have left behind.

The top- sails flu tter , the jl co l lapse,And belly and tug at the groaning c leats ;

The spanker slats , and the main- sail flaps ,And thunders the order , Tncxs AND ssnnr s l

SI N GLE

’Mid the rattle ofblocks and thetramp ofthe crew ,

H isses the rainof the rushing squal l ;The sails are aback from c lew to c lew ,

Andnow is the moment for MAIN - SAIL , HAUL l

And the heavy yards , l ike a baby’s toy,

By fifty strong arms are swiftly swung;She holds her way, and I look with joyFor the first white spray o ’

er the bu lwarks flung.

LET so AND HAUL l ’T is the last command,

And the head- sai ls fill to the blast once more ;Asternand to leeward lies the land,With its breakers white onthe shingly shore .

Whatmatters the reef, or the rain, or the squall ?I steady the helm for the Opensea ;

The firstmate c lamors , B ELAY THE R E , ALL I

And the captain’s breath once more comes free .

And so offshore let the good ship fly ;Little care I how the gu sts may b low ,

Inmy fo’castle bunk ina jacket dry,

E ight bells have stru ck , and my watch is below .

WALTE R MITCHELL .

NEW ENGLAND’

SCHEVYCHASE.

’T WAs the dead of the night.

red l ightB rooks lay, half as leep,whenhe heard the alarm ,

Only this , and no mo re , from a vo ice at the door“The Red Coats are out and have pas sed

Phipps ’s farm l

By the pine- knot’s

B rooks was booted and spu rred ; he said never a

word ;Took his bornfrom its peg, and his gunfrom the

rack ;To the co ld midnightair he led out his whitemare,Strapped the girths and the bridle and sprangto

her back .

Up the North Country Road at her fu ll pace she

strode,

Ti ll B rooks reined her up at JohnTarbell ’s tosay :

We have got the alarm— they have left Phipps ’s

farm ;You rouse the East Prec inct and I ’ll go this

way.

”

Johncalled his hired man, and they harnessed thespan;

They roused Abram Garfield, and Garfield calledme .

Tu rnout r ight away, let no minute-manstay

The Red Coats have landed at Phipps’s l

”says

he.

P OEM S. 473

By the Powder - House Greensevenothers fell in;At Nahum ’

s the men from the saw mill camedown;

So that whenJabez B land gave the word of com

mandAnd said, Forward, March !forward the town.

there marc hed

ParsonWilderspinstood by the side ofthe road,And he took off his hat, and he said, “Let u s

pray !O Lord, God ofMight, let thine Angels ofLightLead thy childrento -night to theG lories ofDay !

And letThy Stars fight all the Foes of the R ight,As the Stars fought ofold against Sisera.

And from heaven’s high arch those stars blessed

ou r march ,Till the last ofthem faded intwi light away,

And with morning’s bright beam,

by the bank of

the stream,

Half the country marched in, and we heard

Davis say

Onthe K ing’

s ownhighwayI may travel all day .

Andno manhath warrant to stop me,” says he.

I’veno manthat’s afraid, and I ’ll march at theirhead ;

Thenhe turned to the boys Forward, March !Fo llow me.

”

And we marched as he said, and the flfer , he

playedThe old White Cockade,

r ight well ;We saw Davis fall dead, but no manwas afraidThat br idge we’

d have had, though a thousandmenfell .

and he played it

This opened the play , and it las ted all day,We made Concord too hot for the Red Coats to

stay ;Down the Lexington way we stormed— black ,

white , and gray ;We were first at the feast, and were last inthefray .

They wou ld turnindismay, as red wolves turnat

bay.

They leveled, they fired, they charged up the

road ;

Cephas Wi llard fell dead ; he was shot inthe headAs he knelt by Aunt Prudence’

s wel l-sweep to

load.


JohnDanforth was hit ju st inLexingtonstreet,John B ridge, at that lane where you cross

Beaver Falls ;And Winch and the Snows ju st above John

Monroe’s ,

Swept away by one swoop of the big cannon

balls .

I took B ridge onmy knee , bu t he said Don’t

mind me,F ill your hornfrom m ine— letme lie where I be.

Our fathers,” says he, “that their sons might be

free.Left their king onhis throne and came over the

sea ;

And thatmanis a knave or a foo l who , to save

H is life, for a minu te wou ld live like a s lave.

”

Wel l ! all wou ld not do . There were mengood as

new ,

F rom R umford, from Sangu s , from towns far

away,Who filled up qu ick and wel l for each so ldier that

fell ,And we drove them , and drove them, and drove

them all day.

We knew , every one, it was war that begunWhenthatmorning’

s marchingwas only halfdone .

Inthe hazy twi l ight, at the coming ofnight,I crowded three buck - shot and one bu llet down,

’T was my last charge of lead, and I aimed her and

saidGood lu ck to you , lobsters , inold B ostontown.

In a barn at Milk Row ,Ephraim Bates and

Thoreau ,

And Baker and Abram and I made a bed ;We had m ighty sore feet, and we

’

dnothing to eat,

But we’d driven[the Red Coats , and Amos , he

saidIt

’

s the first time, says he, that it’s happenedto me

To march to the sea by this road where we’ve

come ;

B ut confound this who le day, bu t we’d al l of u s

88 !

We’d rather have spent it this way than to

home.

”

The hunt had begunw ith the dawnof the sun,Andnight saw the wol f dr ivenback to his den;

And never s ince then, inthe memory ofmen,Has the old B ay State seen such a hunting

again.

EDWARD EVE RETT HALE .

GIFTS.

A F LAWLESS pearl , snatc hed from anoceancaveR emote from light or air ,

And by themad caress of sto rmy waveMade bu tmore pu re and fair ;

BY- AND- BY.

UNDE R the snow are the roses ofJune,Co ld inou r bosoms the hopes ofou r you th ;

Gone are the wi ld- birds that warbled intune,Mu te are the lips that havepledgedu s their tr u th.

Wind ofthe w inter night, lonely as I ,Wait we the dawnofthe br ight by- and- by.

Roses shall bloom again,Sweet love wi l l come again

It w ill be summer time, by- and- by.

Patience and to il are the meed ofto - day

To il without recompense, patience invain;Darkness and terrror lie thick onour way,

Ou r footsteps keep time with the angel ofpain.

Wind ofthe winter night, far inthe sky,

Watch for the day- star ofdear by- and- by.

Parched lips shal l quaff again,Sad so u ls shal l laugh again;

Earth wi ll be happier , by- and- by.

Cru el and co ld is the judgment ofman,Cr uel as winter , and cold as the snow ;

B ut by- and- by w ill the deed and the planBe judged by the motive that l ieth below .

Wai l ofthe w inter wind, echo ou r cry,

Pray for the dawnofthe sweet by- and-by,

Whenhope shall spr ing again;Whenjoy shal l s ing again;

Tru th will be verified, by- and- by.

Weary and hearts ick we totter along,Feeble the back , though the bu rdenis large ;

B rokenthe pu rpose , and hu shed is the song :Why shou ld we l inger onl ife’

s littlemarge?Wind ofthe winter night, hu sh ! and reply :Is there, oh l is there a glad by- and- by?

Will dark grow br ight again,B u rdens grow l ight again,

And faith be ju stified, by- and- by?

Dreary and dark is the midnight ofwar ,Distant and dreamy the tr iumph of r ight ;

Homes that are deso late , hearts that are sore,Soonshall the mo rning star gladdenour sight.

Wail ofthe winter wind, so l ike a sigh ,Herald the dawnofthe blest by- and- by.

Freedom shall reignagain,Peace banish painagain;

R ight wi ll be glor ified, by- and- by.

LEWIS J . B u ss .


And the widow watc hed the dead,CURRENT POEMSAnd the candle gu ttered low

And she tried to singthe pass ing songThat bids the poor sou l go .

OUTCAST'

And Mary take you now , she sang,

WOMAN andman, cast ou t That lay againstmy heart,”

F rom the gardenof the Lord, And Mary smooth you r cr ib to -nightBefore them, danger and dou bt, B ut She cou ld 0 0 13say,

depart.

”

Behind them, the flaming sword, Thencame a cry from the sea,

B ut the storm laythick onthe glass ,And “ Heard yenothing,

mother , she said ;’T is the child that waits to pas s .

”

Gaze ineach other ’

s eyes ;Lo ! what ou tweighs the banWe have hope,” the womancr ies ,We have love, the word oftheman. And the noddingmother sighed

SOLOMON SOU S-COHE N ’T is a lambing ewe inthe whin;

— Lippincott’

s ”8871 2 30 9 , Sep tember , 1 890 For why shou ld the chr istened sou l cry out

Thatnever knew of sin

Oh , feet I have held inmy hand !GUUELMUS REX Oh , hands at my heart to catch !

H w can he knowTE E fo lk who l ived inShakespeare’

s day, ind hos; CZ“theyAnd saw that gentle figu re pass

By LondonB ridge— his frequent way They laid a sheet to the door ,They l ittle knew whatmanhe was ! With the l ittle qu iltatop,

That itmightnot hurt from the cold or dirt ;The po inted beard, the cou rteous mien, Bu t the c rying wou ldnot stop .

The equal port to high and low,

All this they saw , or might have seen, The Widow lifted the latc h

Butnot the light behind the brow ! And“m ine“her eye“”0 8995

And opened the door onthe bitter shore

The doublet’s modestgray or brown, To let the 80 free.

The slender sword- hilt’s plaindevice,What s ignhad these for prince or c lownFew tu rned, or none, to scanhim tw ice.

Yet’t was the king ofEngland’

s kings !The rest, with all their pomps and trains ,

Are mo ldered, half- remembered things"I‘

is he alone that lives and reigns !THOMAS BAILE Y ALDR ICH .

The Century, August, 1 890.

THE GIFT OF THE SEA.

TEE dead child lay inthe shroud,

And the widow watched bes ide ;And her mother slept and the channel sweptThe gale inthe teeth ofthe tide.

B ut the widow laughed at all .I have lost mymaninthe sea,

And the child is dead. B e sti ll ,” she said ; she said ;Whatmore canye do to me?

There was neither glimmer nor ghost ;There was neither spiritnor spark ,

And Heard yenothing, mother? she said ;’T is c rying for me inthe dark .

And thenoddingmother sighed’T is sorrow makes ye du ll ;

Have ye yet to learnthe cry ofthe tern,Or the wail ofthe w ind- blowngull

The terns are blowninland,The gray gu ll fo l lows the plow ;

’T was never a bird the voice I heard ;Oh , mother , I hear itnow !”

Lie sti ll , dear lamb, lie still ;The child is safe from harm .

'T is the ache inyou r breast that breaks your

rest,

And the feel ofanempty arm .

She put her mother aside ;

InMary’s name let be !

For the peace of my sou l I mu stgo,And she went to the call ing sea.

CUR R E N T P OEM S.

Inthe heel ofthe wind- bit pier ,Where the twisted weed was piled,

She came to the life she had missed by anhou r ,For she came to a little child.

She laid it into her breastAnd back to her mother she came ;

B u t it cou ldnot feed and it wou ldnot heed,Tho

’shegave it her ownchild’

s name .

And the dead child dr ipped onher breast,And her owninthe shroud lay stark ;

And God forgive u s , Mother ,” she said,We let it th e inthe dark .

”

— RUDYARD KiPLINo .

— Tbe Independent, J u ly 2 4 , 1 890.

NOCTURNE .

TR E E s and the menace ofnight ;Thenthe long, lonely, leadenmereBacked by the deso late fel lAs by a spectral battlement ; and thenLow brooding, impenetrating all ,A vast, gray, listless , inexpress ive skyWhere no l ive star canhave so much asSince life and death were one.

H ist ! inthe trees fu ll ofnight !Is it the hu rry of the rainOr ano ise ofa dr ive ofthe deadStreaming before the irres istableWillThrough the strange du st of this debatableland,

Betweentheir place and ours

Like the forgetfu lnessOfthe workaday world made visible,Amist falls from the melancholy sky,A messenger from some lost and loving sou l ,Hopeless , w ide wander ing, bewilderedHere inthe provinces of life,

A great white moth fades miserably by .

Thro ’the trees inthe strange dead night,

Under the vast dead sky,

Forgetting and forgot, a stream ofghostsSets inthe mystic mere, the phantom fell ,And dim, infinite s i lence beyond.

WiLLiAM E RN EsT HE NLE Y .

— Scott’s Obser ver .

TO AN OLD APPLE TREE .

TEosE maimed l imbs plead thy story ;The wounds uponthy body speak for theeThou ar ta veteransoldier scarred with glory ,

My brave old apple tree !

477

Oft hast thou borne u p underOnset ofsto rm ingwind and shot of hail ;And once a sword- lunge ofassailant thunder

Slashed downthy barkenmail .

Old age, disease, and battleHavescathedandcrookedandcr ippled al l thy formAnd thy Br iareanbare arms c lash and rattle,

Tost inthe wintry storm .

1 seem to feel thee shiver ,As onthynakedness hangs rags of snowMay char itable Spr ing, the grac ious giver ,

O’

er thee her mantle throw !

She will ; and sunshine spi llingIih-

om blue skies thou againshalt dr ink as wine,And feel afresh the ru sh ofyoung blood thr illing

Through that old heart ofth ine.

For inthe seas ondu lyEach year there r ises you th’s perennial powerWithinthee , and thou thenrejo icestnewly

Inrobes of leaf and flower .

Aye, though thy years are many,And sorrows heavy , yet from winter ’

s gloomThou issuest, with the young trees , glad as any,

As qu ick ofgreenand bloom .

The bluebird’s warble mellow

Returns like memory and calls thyname,And, as first love, the or iole’

s plumage yellowBu rns through thy shade like flame.

Thou qu iver ’st inth e sunny

Junemornings to the welcoming of song,

And bees about their bu s iness ofthe honeyWhisper thee all day long.

Thu s thou art blest and blessestThygrace ofblossoms fru iting into go ld ;And thu s , intou ch with natu re, thou possessest

The art ofgrowing old.

COATEs KIN NE Y .

— Harper’s Magazine, August, 1 890.

TO A POET lN EXlLE.

I CAN NOT sing! the gr ieving heart-harp sighed ;The breeze that tou ched me l ives beyond thefoam

A rough wind struck it, and its voice repliedInsweeter mu s ic thanitmade at home .


O Sorrow, Sister Sorrow , thou dostgive

A r icher tone to poets whenthey cro ss .

To seek Eurydice, from where joys l ive,And make them godl ike through thygift of loss .

MAUR ICE F R ANCis EGAN .

Lippincott’

s Magazine, Sep tember , 1 890.

A MESSAGE .

How l ittle the left hand knowethThe deeds that are done by the r ight,

H ow little thenight time showeth

Its sorrowfu l shades to the light !H ow few of the hearts that are brokenBetray to the breaker their grief ;

H ow many harsh words that are spokenAre the cru shed sou l ’s only relief !

Alas ! for the childl ike gladnessWenever may know again; The very bough that best

And alas , and alas , for the sadness Shall ho ld 8 139 1't nest

That broods l ike a spir it ofpain! Now bu rsts its buds and spills its keenperfumeLike some spirit ofpain, that w i ll hover And the Vi0 19t8 are inbloom ,

Still nearer whensunl ight is fled, Bes ide the bowlder , l ichengrownand gray,

Until youth , and youth ’s last changefu l lover Where I shall perch and pipe,Grow old, and grow co ld as the dead ! Till the dewberr ies are r ipe,

And ou r brood has flownaway,And the empty nest sw ings high

Betweenthe flowing tides ofgrass and the dreamyviolet sky .

It is strange that the hands thatm ight lead u sTo heaven, refu se u s their hold ;

That the dear l ips that wh isper God speed u s ,Are the lips that are first to grow co ld !

B ut love, we arenearer the dawning,

J u st there is the heavenly light,And how l ittle the glor iou s morningKnows the sorrowfu l shades of thenight !

LO LA MAR sR ALL DEAN .

Atlanta Cons titu tion.

OUT OF THE SOUTH.

A M IG RANT song- bird I,

Out of the blu e, betweenthe sea and the sky,

Landward blownonbr ight, untir ing wings ;Out ofthe Sou th I fly

,

Urged by some vague strange force ofDestiny ,To where the young wheat spr ings ,

And the maize begins to grow ,

And the c lover fields to blow .

I have sought,Infar w i ld groves below the tropic line,To lose o ld memories of this land ofmine ;

I have foughtThis vague, mysteriou s power that flings me forth

into the North ,But all invain. Whenflutes ofApr i l blow MAUR ICE THOMPSON .

The immemorial longing lu res me, and 1 go .— The Indep endent, August 7, 1 890.

I go ,I go ,

The sky above, the sea below ,

And I know not by what sense I keep my way,

Slow winnow ing the ether night and day ;Yet ever to the samegreen, fragrantmap legrove,Where I shal l swingand s ing bes ide my love ,

Some irres istible impu lse bears me on,Through starry dusks and rosy mists ofdawn,And flames ofnoonand pu rple films of rain;

And the strainOfmighty winds hu r led roar ing back and forth ,

Betweenthe caverns ofthe reeling earth ,Cannot bew ilder me.

I know that I shal l see ,Ju st at the appo inted time the dogwood blow ,

And hear the w il lows ru stle and the mill streamflow .

I come, I come !

B loom , O cher ry, peach and plum !

B ubble brook , and ru stle cornand rye !Falter not, 0 Natu re , nor w ill I .

G ive me thy flower and fru it,And I ’ll blow for thee my flu te ;

I’ll blow for thee my flute so sweet and c lear ,

This year ,Next year ,

And many and many a blooming coming year ,Ti l l this strange force

No more aloft shal l gu ide me inmy cou rse ,

H igh over weltering billows and dark woods ,Over M iss iss ippi ’s looped and tangled floods,

Over the hills ofTennessee,And o ld Kentu cky’s greenery ,

lnsun, innight, inc louds , and forthOu t ofthe South into the North ,

To the spot where first the ancestral nes t wasswung,

Where first the ancestral songwas sung,Whose shadowy strains stil l ravish meWith immemorial melody


IHID. Songs of H istory . Poems and Ballads PRIZE QUOTATIONS.

uponImportant E pisodes in Amer ican H istory .

Boston: New England PublishingCompany , 1 887. Qu otations w ill be found onpages 1 13, 2 41 , 370 andm of

1 2 mo , pp 1 83.

Volume I .

1 8 10 . Miscellaneou s Poems .

H IG G INSON ,ELLA . Miscellanou s Poems .

COLEM AN , CHAR LE s WAsHINOTON . M iscellaneou sPoems .

KIM B ALL , HAR R IETMcEWE N . Poems . CompleteEdition. New York : AnsonD. F . Randolph&CO .

,

1 889 . 1 2 mo .

ALLE N , LYMAN WH ITN E Y . Miscellaneo us Poems .

CANTON ,WILLIAM . A Lost Epic and Other

Poems . Edinbu rgh : William B lackwood Sons ,1 887 1 6mo , pp ix and 2 1 5 .

COLLIE R , ADA LAN GWO R TII Y . Lilith : the Legendofthe F irstWoman. B oston: D. Lothrop Co . ,

1 885 . 1 2 mo , pp 1 04 .

IB ID . Miscellaneou s Poems .

ARCHIB ALD,Mus . GEO R G E . M iscellaneou s Poems .

WILSON , Mas . E . V . M iscellaneou s Poems .

JE FF E RY ,MRB . IEADO RE G ILB E R T . Miscellaneou s

Poems .

PANGR ORN ,F REDE R IO WE RDE N . Miscellaneou s

Poems .

GiLEs , ELLA A. Miscellaneo us Poems .

GRAVES, ALF R ED PE RCIVAL . Father O ’F lynnand

Other Irish Lyrics . London: SwanSonnenscheinCo . , 1 889 . 1 2 mo , pp 1 2 8 .

Miscellaneou s Poems .

NEWSAM ,WILLIAM CARTwnIGnT . Miscel laneou s

Poems .

H OLLAND, J osiAH GILB E R T . Complete PoeticalWr itings . I l lu strated . New York : Char les Scribner ’

s Sons , 1 885 . 8vo , pp xi and 51 3 .

MCCOURT ,DAvID WILL IAM . Miscellaneou s Poems .

SWE ET , EM E LIE TRACY Y . Miscel laneou s Poems .

H AM ILTON , ANNA J . Miscel laneous Poems .

Bor s sEN , HJALMAR H J O R ’

I‘H . Idyls of Norway

and Other Poems . New York : Char les Scr ibner ’

s

Sons , 1 882 . 1 2 mo , pp vii and 1 85 .

WOOLF OR D, B Ess IE H . Miscellaneous Poems .

WETHE RALD, AGNES ETHE LYN . Miscellaneou sPoems .

RossETTI, CIIR IsTIN A G . Complete Poems .

Househo ld edition. B oston: Roberts B ros . 1 2 mo .

18 10 . Time F lies , a Reading Diary . Boston:

Roberts B ros .

InID. Miscellaneou s Poems .

Res ignation, Matthew Arno ld.

Vo ices of H istory, Mi lnes .

Festus , Bailey .

The Clos ingYear , G . D. Prentice.

B u rns and Byron, Joaqu inM il ler .

To Victor Hugo , Swinbu rne.

N ight Thoughts , Yo ung.

F orbearance, Emerson.

Song,Lowel l .

The B lessed Damozel , D. G . Rossetti.

J ocoseria : Never the Time and P lace,B rowning.

Ars Victr ix , Dobson.

Die Down, 0 Dismal Day, David Gray .

Vie Victr ix , Locker .

You th ’s Warning, Charles Mackay .

Mer l inand Vivien, Tennyson.

O Ye Tears , Char les Mac kay .

HeleninTroas ,Todhunter .

The Earthly Paradise, L’

Envoi, Wi lliamMo rr is .

I Wandered by the B rooks ide, Mi lnes .

Tell Me, MacdonaldGeo rge H ildebrand, Allingham .

Pandora,B lac kie.

A Cu rl , B u chanan.

The Cliambered Nau tilu s , Ho lmes .

Hymnto the F lowers , Horace Smith .

Faith , F rances Anne Kemble.

The Passionate Shepherd to H is Love,

Marlowe.

R uth , Thomas Hood.

Epigram , Robert Earl Nugent.

A N ice Cor respondent, Locker .

Ferishtah’

s Fanc ies , B rowning.

Maple Leaves , T . B . Aldrich .

You th and Age, R . H . Stoddard.

New Year'

s Eve, C. P . Cranch .

Farewell , Celia Thaxter .

Lars , Bayard Taylor .

Proud M iss Mac Br ide, J . G . Saxe.

B itter—Sweet, Ho lland.

P leas u re, Linton.

Mer idian, E . C. Stedman.

Two Women, C. F . Woolson.

Resolutionand Independence,Wordsworth .

JohnR eed’

s Thoughts , Bayard Taylor .

Thou and I , Tilton.

Love Stor ies , Mrs . S. M . B . P iatt.

Mau r ine, E llaWheeler Wilcox .

Esther , HelenHunt Jackson.

P R I ZE Q (1 0 TA TI ON S.

Two Sco re and Ten, J . T . Trowbr idge .

Indirection, R ichard Realf.Woodbines in October , Char lotte Fiske

Bates .

Forgetfu lness , Edgar Fawcett.

Ode, O

’shaughnessy .

One Day at a Time, HelenHunt Jackson.

G ladys and Her Island, Ingelow .

A Vis ionofPoets , Mrs . E . B . Browning.

TheCityofDreadfu l N ight, JamesThomson.

Sunlight and Star l ight, Mrs . A . D. T.

Whitney .

A Thought, Abram J . Ryan.

October , Pau l H . Hayne.

Nobil ity , Al ice Cary .

Epilogue to Less ing’s Laocoon, Mathew

Arnold.

The Ballade ofProse and Rhyme, Dobson.

Epigrams , Will iamWatson.

Song, Aubrey Thomas De Vere.

Seeds inthe Air , Newman.

Mirage, Er ic Mackay .

TheWoodland, Pau l H . Hayne.

Quatrains , J . W. DeForest.

F u lfil lment, Mary Clemmer Ames .

Not to Myself Alone,S. W. Partr idge.

Fessenden’s Garden, E lizabeth Akers Allen.

The Des ire ofNations, A . C. Coxe.

The Thrashers , E laine Goodale.

Lines , George H . Sas s .

TOO Late, Nora Perry .

Wo rk inHeaven, Lucy Larcom .

After LongYears , William Winter .

By and By, Margaret J . Preston.

Delay , Henry D. Thoreau .

A Reminiscence, J . F . Clarke.

Hesperu s , Char les de Kay.

The Laborer , Gallagher .

Sonnets , A . B . A lcott.

Hero and Leander , EdwinArnold.

The Boys Holmes .

The Twins , Henry D . Leigh .

The Kingdom , Lizzie Doten.

Literary Leisu re , Char les GavanDuffy.

Go When the Morning Shineth , Mrs . J . C.

Simpson.

Natu re’s Creed, Hal l .

The Rhyme of the Great R iver, Joaqu inMiller .

The Cry ofthe Dreamer , O’Reilly.

A Farewell , K ings ley.

AWet Sheet and a F lowing Sail, Cunningham .

Proverbial Philosophy, Tupper .

The Course ofTime, Pollok .

481

A Life Drama, Scene 7, Alexander Smith .

Tales ofthe Hal l , Book XL, Crabbe.

Essay onTranslated Verse. Roscommon.

Sp iritLove, J . H . Duganne.

Alma, Pr ior .

The Lovers , Phoebe Cary .

Epilogue to Cato , JonathanM . Sewal l .Spring, Thomson.

Love ina Cottage,Will is .

TheDays that are Pas t, Epes Sargent.

Lines , Whittier .

Insc riptions su pposed to be found inandnear a hermit’s cell , Wordsworth .

Tales ofthe Hall , Book XII I . , Crabbe.

The Grave, B lair .

Farewel l ! B utWhenever you Welcome theHou r , Moore .

Touch u s Gently, Time, B . W. Proctor .

The Beggar , Thomas Moss .

At the Church Gate , Thac keray .

F lorio , Hannah Moore .

Ode, Addison.

Afterward, E . S. Phelps .

Childhood, JohnB . Tabb .

M idsummer N ight’s Dream , Shakespeare .

The K ing’s Daughter , Utter .

AWeb ofLife, Clara J . Moore.

Knee Deep, RobertMcIntyre.

Ode in Imitationof Alcaaus , Sir WilliamJones .

E legy ina Country Churchyard, Gray.

Reproof, Co ler idge.

Whenthe Kye Comes Hame, Hogg.

A Retrospective Review , Thomas Hood.

Arguments for the Love of God Der ivedF rom Creation, Gerald Griflln.

Dirge for a Soldier , B oker .

The Orphan, Otway .

Onthe Feuds BetweenHandel and Bonac ina, Byr om .

Hal lo , My Fancie, Cleland.

A Wish , Rogers .

She Was a Phantom of Delight, Words

worth .

The Spanish Student, Longfellow .

Gentheness , Archibald Lampman.

The Bells ofShandon, Mahoney .

The Garden, Marvel l .The Poet

’s Epitaph , E ll iott.

Loves ofthe Planets , Darwin.

All Fools , Chapman.

Essay onTrans lated Verse, Roscommon.

Love and Mu tability, Drummond.

The way intheWood, CraigKnox .

The Shipwreck, Falconer .


Speech , Lee .

The Su ic ide, Sewell .The P ixies ofDevon, Carr ington.

The HonestWhore, Dekker .

A Survey oftheWor ld, Holyday .

Ossian’s Address to the Sun, Macpherson.

The RainUponthe Roof, Kinney .

TheWinds , Gou ld.

The Hermit, Parnell .B itter -Sweet, Ho lland.

A Dream ,Lang.

Suffrages , Lew is Morr is .

The Retirement, Cotton.

MyMind to Me a Kingdom Is , Dyer .

Epistle to Mrs H iggins , Lansdowne.

MyMinde to Me a Kingdom Is , Byrd.

The Re-Cu red Lover , Wyat.

The Choice, Pomfret.

Chrononhotonthologos , Henry Carey .

Good-night, F itzgerald.

The F unny Story, Josephine. Pol lard.

The Groves of B larney, Milliken,added verse by Mahoney .

TheUnder Dog inthe F ight, BarkerThe Mad Arithmetic ian, Char les J . Math

ews .

The Baby’s Debut, James Smith .

Old Gr imes , Greene.

The Land of theWest, Lover .

Speak Gently , David Bates ; also G . W;Langfod.

The B l ind Boy, Cibber .

Satan, Montgomery .

By- and- By, J . W. Barker .

Receipt for Salad, Sidney Smith .

Lines Wr ittenfor a School Dec lamation,David Ever itt.

Antony and Cleopatra, Lytle.

The Panel , J . P . Kemble.

OnGarth ’s Dispensary, Codrington.

A Death- Bed, James Aldrich .

TheMaidenCity , Tonna.

After Sixty Years , Aide.

The Monks of Old, G . P . R . James .

N inety-nine inthe Shade, Ross iter Johnson.

The Bu rial of Moses , Alexander .

The Mar iner ’s Dream ,

Diamond.

Ad Rosam ,Dobson.

Faith , Mrs . E . O . Smith .Their Angels , Mrs . A . D. T . Whitney .

AWoman’s Apo logy, Austin.

Apprehension, A . Mary F . Robinson.

Proverbial Philosophy, Tupper .

The Tr iumph of Time, Sw inbu rne.

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

The Land of Dreams, B ryant.

A Song of Faith . From B itter-Sweet,

Holland.

The ChristianInher itance, Keble.

The Deserted Village, Goldsmith .

Tam O’shanter , B urns .

A Poet’s Epitaph , Wordsworth .

Marmion, Scott.

Cain, Byron.

Aurora Leigh , Mrs . E . B . B rowning.

InMemor iam, Tennyson.

Pleas u res of Hope, Campbell .A Praise ofWomen, Chaucer .

Paradise Lost, B ook 9 , Milton.

She was a Phantom of Delight, Words

worth .

What is Woman?B . E . Wolfe.

Marmion, Scott.

Venice Preserved, Otway.

Lu c i le, Meredith .

Char ity , Joaqu inMi ller .

Au rora Le igh , Mrs . E . B . Browning.

GreenGrow the R u shes , B urns .

PRIZE QUOTATIONS.

The editors ofTHE MAGAzIN E or POETRY beg to

announce that they are now able to declare theprizes , amounting to three hundred dollars , oi

fered in connection with Prize Quotations .

”

The delay inmaking the proper award was causedby the amount of work necessary inorder to ex

am ine carefu lly eac h paper sent incompetition,near ly eight hundred inall . This has beendoneit is hoped to the satisfactionof all concerned.

The prize winners are

1 . Miss Cynthia G . Wescott

2 . James W. Wilson3. Mrs . Mary A . Lyons4 . Jennie D. Dewolfe5 . Mrs . Annie E . Smith and Mrs . Lizzie C.

484

B ru ised R ose, AB ud, InB uena Vista .

B u t Yesterday .

By and By.

Byron.

ByronCentenary , TheCalifornia.

Cargoes of Love.

Car leton, To Wil lCaval ry Sher idan.

Ceanothu s .

TH E M A GAZI N E O F P OE TR Y.

Chant- Royal of the P ine-Trees ,The

Char ity .

Char ity .

Cheer , Boys ! Cheer !Chfldhood.

Child Mu s ic ian, TheChild’

s Laugh , AChimes , TheChristianLife, TheChristmas Chime from the Old

Miss ionDolores , AChr istmas inthe Hos ital .Chrysal is Ofa B OOk

'

O rm , The

Chu rch Door , At theClear theWay.

Clematis .

Cleopatra.

Cleopatra.

Cleopatra Dying.

Cleopatra Embarking on the

Cydnu s .

Cleopatra’

s Dream .

Cleopatra’s So liloquy .

Cleopatra to Antony .

ClosingChords .

Clover Leaf, TheCome Bac k , Dear Days .

ComingMan, The

Coming ofH is Feet, The

ComingShip , TheCompletion.

Conquest, TheConso lation, AContrast.

Coqu ette , The

Corn, TheCorpu s Del icti .Count Not the H ou rs .

Country Garden, ACountry , IntheCountry Workshop ,

The

Cou rage ! Some Remain.

Cradle, TheCr ickets ,

The

CroononHennac liff, ACrypt and the Cathedral , The

Cyc lops to Galatea.

Cypress Gates TheDandel ions .

Daphne.

Day-Dreams .

Days Are Few , The

Deal Gently , Lord.

Death ofthe R ichest Man.

Death ofWinter , The

C. L. Thom son.

gan.

B uttermgth .

ay.

Harby .

Canton.

R . B . Wilson.

Al lmond.

Carleton.

R . B . Wilson.

Death ’s F irstLesson. 8 . M . Spalding.

Deep intheShade,WhereDrowsin Insects Drum.

”

Deep Ti e, TheDemonofthe G ibbet, TheDes ire . A

Destiny -Maker , TheDifficu lty , ADirge for a Soldier .

Disappo intment.

Disc i line.

Divi ed .

Divided B less ing.

Dream - Land.

Dregs ofLove, TheDr ifting Among the Thousand

Is lands .

Driftin Away .

Earth ove.

Earth ’s Secret.

Echo .

Ec ho .

Echoes F rom anOld Key- B ugle.

Egi l Scald’

s Lament.

E liot, Geo rge.

E lohim (The Gods ) .E lswitha.

Enchantment.

ngland, TOpitaph ona Lawyerpithalamium .

E r in.

Eternal One, TheEvelynH ope.

Evening.

Evening Storm at the Seaside, AnMacKellar .

Evo lution.

Exotic , AnExpectation.

Fac es .

Fai r Leila.

Fairy Voyager , AFaith .

Falls ofN iagara, TheFancy , AFanF itzgerl .Fantasy , AFarewell , AFarewel l, Renownl

Fate .

Fated B r ide, TheFather O ’

F lynn.

Fidu s Achates .

F irstKiss , TheF irst Sight, AtFish Stor A

F lorence ane.

Foo lish Wish , AFoot-pr ints inthe Snow .

Force ofHabit.

For ottenB ooks , TheFor y Dear Love.

Forty- F ive, AtFoster , InMemor iam ofW. E .

Fra Angel ico .

F rei ligrath , FerdinandF rom the Heights .

F rost.

I N D EX OF COM P LE TE P OEM S.

F uneral inVenice, The Dixon.

Gainwith Loss . L. D. Smith .

German, Inthe Co leman.

Ghosts . H ildreth .

Ghosts ofRevelers , The R . H . LathroG ift ofDay- Lil ies . The J . O . SmitG ift of the Sea, The KiplingG ifts . M. T. H igginsonGlendare. Nason.

God B less Thee, Gentle Sleeper . Pan born.

God’

s Acre. wett.

Go ing. M . E . H ill .Go ing Berrying. H . M . Spau lding.

Good- by. K imbal l .Good Time Com ing. The Mac kay .

Gospel ofDread Tidings , The Pfeiffer .

G randmama’

s Warning. Mou lton.

Grave- Digger ’

s Song, The Au stin.

Grave ofDante Gabr iel Rossetti, The Bell .Greater Wor ld, The R . H . Lathrop .

Grou pings . Lovejoy .

Guest, The Kimbal l .Guest Unbidden, A Swett.

Gu lielmus Rex . T. B . Aldr ich .

Had I Been Mas ter of thatFatefu l Bark .

” Webster .

Har ry Marten’s DungeonThoughts . Linton.

Harvard Co llege, To Mahany .

Heart Azaleas . B risto l .HeavenThatWas , The Watts .

Heirs ofTime. T. W. H igginson.

Helen; After Troy . H . Peterson.

HelenofTroy . Peacock .

HelenofTroy . Ryman.

Helenonthe Rampart. Chapman.

Helen’

s Epithalam ion. Dyer .

Help Thou My Unbel ief . Mou lton.

Heredity . F . K . Peterson.

Her Eyes and Mine. Perry .

Her Way. E . H igginson.

Hesperu s . Edmonds .

H ic Jacet. Mou lton.

H igh , H igh , B old Eagle, Soar . A . L. Col l ier .

H im Who Waits , To E . S. Tu Iper .

H ired Man, The Bu r ette.

H is Mother ’s Songs . Mrs . E . V . Wi lson.

Home,At C. G . Rossetti .

H ome of ThePocantico , The S. H . Thayer .

H omily, A Linton.

H ope ofMan, The T . W. H igginson.

H ow Can I Lightly Speak ThyWondrous Name?

How Canst Thou Call ?H ow They B rought the Good

News from Ghent to Aix . B rowning.

R ummin - B ird, The Kaye.

Hymns y Mother Sung, The MacKellar .

“ I Am the B eginning and the End,the F irst and the Last.

”

Ideal,My

Idea, The“ I Dreamed a Ladder Bu ilt of

Bars ofGold. E . H igginson.

If. M . A . Devere .

If I Had Known. Ho lleton.

If I Had Known. Perry .

If I Were You . Paine.

If One Cou ld Ease an AchingHeart. R . B . Wilson. 381

Weed .

A . R . Aldr ich .Boker .

Mou lton.

Morgr idge.

Linton.

Mrs . E . V . Wilson.

Graves .

Lippmann.

.

MacKellar .

485

331

2 1 4

5

2 34

42 64381 50

IfWe Only Knew .

I is Fatuu s .

I ave a Cottage.

I Have Been Mounted onLife’

s TopmostWave.

I Know .

Ina Lily’s Cu p .

InBayChaleur .

InB ohemia.

InB ud.

Inc ident ofthe French Camp .

Incognito .

Inductionto anAntique Weddin Song.

Infinite other , TheInfinite, TheInflnito .

Influ ence.

Inlet and Shore.

InMemo riamW. E . Foster .

Innovation.

InNovember .

InQ uest ofLove.

InQu ietCave H il l .Intell igent Love.

Inthe Country .

Inthe Dark .

Inthe Deep Tangled Forest.Inthe Fu l lness ofTime.

Inthe German.

Inthe Land ofFancy .

Inthe M ist.

Inthe MountainLand.

Inthe Orchard.

Inthe Ranks .

Inthe Sunlight.

InTime to Come.

Introdu ction for a Book of

Poems .

InVernal Shades .

Invocation.

InWhately Glen.

InWinter .

“ InYou th We Think We Holdthe Magic Key.

Iphigenia at Au lis .

Ireland.

Irish Lu llaby .

It Seems Bu t Yesterday .

I Wou ld Arise and Go Unto MyFather . T. W. H i

Jeru salem .

J une.

June Cometh .

J ung- Frau oi the Lurlei , TheKansas : 1 874— 1 884Keenan’

s Charge .

Keeping oi the Vow , The

King’s Daughter , The

Lament.

Land of Fancy, IntheLanier , Sidney.

IJ aSt, At thp

Last R ide Together , TheLau s Iniantium .

Left BPhind.

Legend Song.

Let MeKiss Him For H is Mother

486

Let Us Alone. Mac kay .

Life. Renfrew .

Liie. R ude.

Life and Death . E . H igginson.

Life is the Mirac le of EveryDay Mace.

Liie’s Bu ryin

g- Ground. R . H . Lathrop .

Liis’s Galley lave. Rexdale.

Life Seems Almost a Circle, ItsTwo Ends .

” Mrs . S. R . Allen.

Life, We, the Children, ClingAbout Thy Knees .

”

Light onthe Cloud.

Like a Li lac .

Like to Some Sto rm -belatedB ird.

Lil ies .

Limited .

Lincoln.

Lincoln’

s Last Dream .

Lincoln, To AbrahamLines to the Memory of Father

Ryan. Hamilton.

Little Miss ionary , The Crandall .Living and theDead,

The Armstrong.

LondonB r idge Weatherby .

Looking Forward. Crandall .Lorraine. Kings ley .

Loss . Martin.

Lost. Noel .Lost Battle, The R . H . Lathrop .

Lost Hellas , The Boyesen.

Lost Leader , The B rowning.

Love. Baer .

Loved One, To a Mahany .

Love Impr isoned . Mahany.

Love Lies B leeding. C. G . R ossetti .Love ofNatu re. Armstrong.

Love’8 B l indness . Austin.

Love’s .Change. A . R . Aldr ich .

Love’s Go ing. Co leman.

Love’

s Phases . Wetherald.

Love’s Reserve. C. A . Lanier .

Love’s Wisdom . Au stin.

Love, TheWarr ior . H . B . Sm ith .

Lu l laby. White .

Lu l laby. Pangbo rn.

Lu st. Pangborn.

Lynched. Stanton.

Lyon. H . Peterson.

Madox- B rown, Ol iver Watts .

Maid ofSt. Helena, The Phelps .

Man. Coates .

Maple Leaves . H orner .

March ofthe Children, The Car leton.

MarionMoore . J . G . Clark .

Marriage H mn, A Charles .

Marshes ofGlynn, The S. Lan1er .

Masque ofDeath , The H ildreth .

Mater Do lorosa . Noble.

Mau rice De Gu er in. Egan.

Mauso leum ,A H . B . Sm ith .

Message, A Dean.

M idsummer N ight. E . H igginson.

Midsummer Ode to Indolence. S. H . Thayer .

Minnehaha. McCou rt.

Miss ing. Renl'

rew .

Mist, Inthe Coo l idgeModel Amer icanG ir l , The


P inkley:

ModernMinerva, AModernSuccess , AMojave Desert.

Mont B lanc .

Moonli ht.More oebsYet.

Morning

.

Mortis ignites .

Mother and Son.

Motherhood.

MountainLand. IntheMountains ofLife, TheMountDesert, AtMowers , TheMu r il lo ’

s Magdalene.

Mus ic .

Mutability .

My B ird .

My B oy .

My B ooks .

My B rother ’s Keeper .

My Daughter ’

s Lips , ToMy Enemy .

My Fadeless Rose.

My Fam i l iar .

My F ield.

My Ideal .My Lady Jac ueminot.

My Mother ’

s oies .

My Namesake.

My Rose.

My Sai lor .

My Saint.

My Star .

Mystic Hope, TheMy Stream .

MyWife, ToNatu re. To

Natu re Prayer , ANavar ino .

Nebu lou s Philosophy .

Nepenthe .

New Chu rch Organ, TheNew Eden.

New England’

s Chevy Chase.

New Every Morning.

New Year’

s Wish , AN iagara .

N iagara.

N iagara.

N iagara.

N iagara.

N iagara.

N iagara.

N iagara.

N iagara Fal ls .

N ightWatches .

N inety and Nine, TheNoctu rne.

NonSine Lacrymis .

No Outlet.

Nothing B utLeavesNovember , Inow and Then.

Ona Gondola.

O Beau teou s Death 1October Morning, AnOde ior DecorationDay.

Ode to Mother Carey’s Chicken.


Song Before Grief, ASong ofAwakening, ASong ofDays , ASong oftheChattahoSong ofthe Camp, ASong ofthe Months .

SongSparrow , TheSongTr iumphant.

Songs ofthe Spirit.

Songs Unsung.

Sonnet.

Sonnet’s Voice, TheSonnet, TheSorrow , TheSou l ofa B utterfly , The T. W. H igginson.

Sow Not inSorrow . B lackie.

Sp irit ofArt, The C. A . Lanier .

Spir it ofSong. M . E . Hi ll .Spirits Twain. Gommelin.

Spring Beau ties . Mrs . E . V . Wilson.

Spring l s Late , The Mou lton.

Star of Bethlehem , The Weatherby .

St. E l ise. Fau lkner .

StoneWalls . Lippmann.

Stranded. L . D. Sm ith .

Street Singer , The Dobson.

Str ike, Strike Thy Harp . Newsam .

Sto rm Signals . S. M . Spalding.

Subdued. Baer .

Submiss ion. A llen.

SuddenCloud,The Edmonds .

Summer Rain, The R . B . Wi lson.

Summer - Time. K imball .Summ it, At the Phelps .

SunCup , The Lampman.

Sunr ise and Sunset. R . B . Wilson.

Sunset onthe Pal isades . Crandal l.Sunset. M . B . Smith .

Sunset. Bashfo rd.

Sunshine ofThine Eyes , The G . P . Lathrop .

Supplication. Huntington.

Susp ira. Noel .Swallow Song. Aver i ll .Sympathy . Ireland.

Symptoms . J . H . Thayer .

Tac kingShips OffShore. M itchell .Tarn,

'l he Stru thers .

Taylor , Bayard H . Peterson.

Teac her ’s Dream,

The Venable.

TeachingSchoo l and BoardingAround .

Teamster J im .

Tears .

Thanksgiving.

Thanks '

ving Hymn.

That .ife is B r ief Hath Seemeda P iteou s Thing.

There is a Land Immortal .Thenand Now .

Theocr itu s .

Thirty - fou r , AtThistle- down.

This Way He Passed ; I SawHis Shadow Fall . ”

This Yel low Rose.

Thought.

Three F ishers , TheThree- score and Ten.

Threnody .

ToTo Abraham Lincoln.

To Avo id Fr u stration.

To a ChildWho Asked Me for a Poem

Logan. 479

Thron h a Glass Darkly .

Thros e, TheTide River , TheTime.

Time and Eternity.

Time and Thee.

Time, Tireless Tramp.

Time to Come, In’T is Almost Ni ht.

T isIHomeW cre

’

er Our Flag

’T is the Hou r WhenDews De

scending.

To a Loved One.

To anO ld Apple Tree.

To a Poet inExile.

To Arcady .

To aWater - Lily .

To Belinda .

To—day for Me.

To England.

To Harvard Co llege.

To H im Who Waits .

Tokens .

To J ohnM . Scott.

To MTo My Daughter ’s Lips .

To myWife.

To Natu re .

To the F irst CanadianWildF lower .

To theWest ! To theWest l

To the Wind Flower .

To Vio la V . Pr ice.

Tower , The

To Wi ll Car leton.

Tragedy ofa F ield, TheTransmu ted.

Trans ition.

Trowbr 1dge.

Tru e Economy .

TrystingTree , TheTu bal Cain.

Tu rkey .

Two .

Two Lives .

Two Mothers .

Two Singers .

Two Songs ofSinging.

Two V isions .

Under the Stars .

Unfu lfilled Yearnings .

UnknownLove.

Unseasonable Snows .

Up H ill .Vanity ofVanities .

Veiled Harmonies .

Venal Note , The

Vestal , TheVex

’d Sea Murmu rs in theTinted Shell , The

Vi Amoris .

V ictory, AVis ion, A

I N D EX OF COM P LE TE P OEM S.

Vivien.

Voice of the People, TheVo ice ofthe Time, The

Voice ofthe Vo id, The E . H 1Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting for the Dentist.

WalkingVillageward at Evening.

Wal l of the Temple, TheWanderer , AWar -Song ofthe Greeks .

Was hington.

Water - Li ly , To a

Waters , TheWatc hman, TheWatc hman,What ofthe N ight?Weakness .

Weary .

Weed- GrownPath , TheWe Hold Thee Up Against the

Infinite .

” Woods .

Whatever the Mission in Life B oyesen.

May Be.

What Is aWhat Is Love?“'

hat Might Be Done .

What Shall I Tel l My Child?When?WhenAcorns Fal l .WhenF inis Comes .

WhenI Am Dead.

WhenI Awake.

WhenLi lacs B loom .

WhenMy Shi Comes In.

WhenN ightgomes On.

WhenShe, the Mother -MysteryofOld Days .

”

WhenSpr ing-T1me Cometh OnWhenthe Roses Come.

WhenThou Wert N igh .

I NDEX TIO NS.

Acc ident. Kingsley . Beethoven. S. Lanier . Dobson.

Action. Clough . B irth . Ho lland. Armstrong.

do Canton. B rook , The R . B . Wilson. S. Lanier .

Age. B rownin B rowning. Dobson. Newsam .

Ambition. Hol lan B urns . Machar . S. Lanier .

Amer ica. Mac har . B uttercu B rowning. Kings ley .

Ant1c ipation. Holland. Chapin, . .H B rowne. Dew . R . B . Wilson.

Apo logy . Fau lkner . Cheerfnlness . Browning. Disappo intment. Col lier .

Art. Pfeiffer . Chr is‘ . S. Lanier . do Savage.

do R . B . Wilson. Christmas . Kimball . do Warr iner .

Aspiration. Raymond. Circ umstance. Raymond. Discontent. Raymond.

Au rora Borealis . Clouds . Kingsle Diver , The Benton.

do J . O . Smit Doubt. Ra mond.

do C. G . Rossetti. do olland.

Consc ience. B rowning. Duty . B rowning.

Contentment. Kings ley. E liot, George Au stin.

Contrast. B rowning. do Commelin.

Cou rage. H igginson. Emerson. Venable.

Cowardice. Austin. Equal ity. B rowning.

489

When, With Slow, StealthyStep , Old Age Creeps On.

”

Where Summer B ides .

Where the Difference Lies .

Where Tiber F lows .

White Azaleas .

White Sails .

White Underneath .

Who Shal l Be Fairest?Why?Why Shal l I Chide?Wild Rose, AWild Tiger - Lily .

Willow Tree. TheWind F lower , To theWinter , InWinter onPuget Sound.

Winter Rose, AWinter Sunset, AWisdom .

Within the Rose I Found a

TremblingTear .

With Whom is no Var iablenessNeither Shadow ofTu rning. Clough .

Womaninthe Case, The McCou rt.

Woman’s Tears , A Pierce.

Women, The Baxley .

Wonderfu l Pass ionofLove, The G reens .

Words . H o lland.

Wor ld, The C. G . Rossetti.Worth Living? ’

NotTo Listless Sou ls Who Deem .

Wou ldWe Retu rnWreck ofthe A ideen, TheWrittenin8. Volume of Shake

speare .

You LovedMe Once.

Young and Old.

YoungLove.

Zest.

Evening. R . B . Wilson.

Faith . Allmond .

do mond.

do R . B . ilson.

do Kimball .do Ho lland.

Falsehood. B rowning.

Fate. Perryy .

Fear . H ildreth .

Fel lowship . Raymond.

F ielding. Dobson.

F lats . S. Lanier .

F lowers . C. G . Rossetti .Freedom . S. Lanier .

do Raymond.

G irlhood. Venable.

do Ra mond.

do olland.

God. B rowning.

Goodness . Peterson.

Good. B rowning.

Goss i Raymond.

Gran eu r Ra mond.

Greatness . feiffer .

Harvest. S. Lanier .

do Ho l land.

Happiness . R . B . Wilson.

Health . Au stin.

H o lland.

Help. Armstrongg.

Henoism Panlgborn.

Home. as on.

do J . O . Smith .

do A. L . Co ll ier .

Homer . S. Lanier .

Honesty . H i ldreth .

H ope. C. G . Rossetti .H umi l ity . C. G . R ossetti .Ideal ity . Ho lland.

Idleness . Clough .

Immortal ity . Woolford.

Impatience . S. Lanier .

Inconst ancy . B rowning.

do Dobson.

Instinct. Au istin.

Intemperance. B umstead.

Italy . B rowning.

Iacqueminot. Fau lkner .

June. L. D. Sm ith .

do R . B . Wilson.

K isses . Dobson.

Knowledge. Armstrong.

Labor . Coolidge.

Leaves . S. Lanier .

Life. Au stin.

do Kingsley .

Light. B rowning.

Livingstone. Noel .Longing. Averill .Love. Boynton.

do Col l ier .

do Austin.


1 60Love. M . B . Smith .do C. L . Thompson.

do B rowning.

do B rowning.

do B rowning.

do 8 . Lanier .

do Warr iner .

do Ra mond.

do R . B . ilson.

do R . B . Wilson.

do S alding.

Lovers . obson.

Maidenhood. Kaye.

Marr iage. S. Lanier .

Marsh . 8 . Lanier .

May. B rowning.

Memory . B oynton.

do B rowning.

do R . B . Wi lson.

Mid- Ocean. Pfeiffer .

Mind. B rowning.

Misinterpretaflon.

Al lmond.

Modesty . Clo ugh .

Morning. Coo lidge.

do H o lland.

Moon. S. Lanier .

Motherhood. Ho l land.

Mu s ic . B rowning.

Natu re . Pfeiffer .

Nature. A . L. Co llier .

Never . B rowning.

N ight. Pfeiffer .

Nobility . Kings ley .

October . R . B . Wilson.

Opinion. S. Lanier .

Pain. Allmond.

Peac e. W. W. Smith .

Perfection. B rowning.

do B rowning.

Phoebe - bird.

G . P . Lathrop .

Pleas u re . B rowning.

Poets . Au stin.

do Raymond.

Poetry . Perry .

do I . E . Jones .

do B rowning.

do Pfeiffer .

Poetry . Dobson.

Possibility . Dobson.

Pr imroses . Au stin.

do Au stin.

Progress . Armstrong.

Providence. B rownin

Recdo

RRay

lmons.ompense . itten ou se.

Regret. R . B . Wilson.

Retrospection. Ro llston.

Reverie. Benton.

Reward. Co llier .

R oses . Ho lland.

Sc ience. Mackay .

Seasons . Austin.

Sea, The Raymond.

Sec lus ion. B rowning.

Self- love. Pfeiffer .

September R . B . Wilson.

Shelley .

ShipwreckSilence.

Sin.

Skepticism .

Solitude .

Song.

Sorrow .

do

Submiss ion.

Success .

doSummer .

Sunset.

do

Sympathy .

Theo logy .

Thought.

Thr ift.

Thru sh .

Time.

Toad.

Trinity .

Tru th .

Unkindness .

Unsung.

Unrest.

Vagu enessValor .

Venu s .

Vio let

$rgin1a.

agner .

War .

Wear iness .

Wind.

Winter .

Wisdom .

Wishes .


Lampman, ArchibaldLang, Andrew“Lanier , Clifford A .

“iLanier , Sidney“iLathrop , Geo rge Parsons“‘

lLathrop, R ose HawthorneLee- Ham1 lton, E ugeneLennox , MayLinco ln, F . A .

“Linton, William James“Lip mann, Ju l ie M .

'Loc art, Arthu r JohnLogan, Ol iveLogan, Margaret A .

“Lovejoy , Geo r NewellLytle William aines“’rMcCou rt, DavidWilliamMcGaffey,

E rnestMacHarg,

Fannie Pavey“iMacKellar , ThomasMace, Frances L.

“Machar , A es Mau ls“’rMac kay,

‘har les“‘

lMahany,Row land B .

Martin,W Wilsey

Mas on, Mary A .

”Maxwel l,H u

Mines , F lavel ScottMitchell , WalterMorehead, Charles SouthernMorgri Harr ieMorr is , wis

Morpeth , Lord“Morton, E liza H .

i"lMou lton, Lou ise Chandler“Nas on, Emma H untington“iNewsam ,

Wil liam Cartwr ightNoble, Maggie Griffin“Noel , R odenO

'

Br ien, F itzJ amesO

’

Reilly, JohnBoyleOwens , J . J .

Paine, Selma“iPalmer , Mrs . George Archibald“’rPangbor n, F reder ic WerdenPeacock , F lo rence“Perry , Car lottaPerry , Su sanTeallPeterson, F reder ick K .

8 iPeterson, Henry“i eiffer

,Emily

Pfrimmer , W. W.

“Phelps , Char les HenryPhelps Ilizabeth Stuart

P iatt, Mrs . s . M . B .

“i l’ierce, G rac e Adele

“Pinkley , Virgi l A .

P lummer , Mary W.

Young, J u l ia Ditto

Preston, Margaret J .

Price, Vio la V .

“Raymond, George Lansing“l'Renfrew , Car r ieRexdale, R obertR itchie, J . A .

“fRittenhou se , Lau ra J acinta“iRo llston, Adelaide Day“Rossetti , Chr istina GR ude, Mrs . B . C.

Ryman, F red Shel leySanborn. I . W.

“fSavage, Minot Judson“lScho les , AdamShakes peare, Will iam“iShea, JohnChar lesSigou rney , Lydia H untleySill , Edward R ow land“lSmith , Harry B .

“Sm ith , Jeanie Oliver“m ith , Luella Dowd“Smith , Mary Bar ry“+S1nith , Wi lliam WyeSo lis -Cohen

,So lomon

“fSpalding, Su sanMarrit{Spau lding, Harr iet MabelSpencer ,

CarolineStanton, F . L.

Stevenson, Edward I renaeu sStory, Will iam Wetmore“Stru thers , WilliamSwan, Caroline D.

“fSwett, Emelie Tracy Y .

Swinbu rne, AlgernonChar lesTennyson, Alfred,

LordThayer , Ju lia II .

“Thayer , StephenH enryitfThompson, Char les L emuelThompson, Mau r iceTi lley , Lu cy E .

Tomson, Graham R .

'

I‘

u pper , Edith Sess ionsUtter , Ralph G .

“Utter , Rebecca Palfrey“H

’

enable, William H enryi“(Warr inemRev . E . A .

Watrou s , A . E .

Watts,Theodore

eatherby,F reder ic E .

Webster , H . S.

“’rWeed, Emily Stuart

“Wetherald , Agnes E thelwyn“Hi

'

hite, James T.

“+Wi lson, Mrs . E . V .

“1Wilson, Robert B u rnsWoods, Virna“lWoolford,

Bess ie H .

“Woolsey , Sarah Chauncey

INDEX OF AUTHORS OF PROSE SKETCHES.

Adam , G . Mercer

Archibald, Mrs . GeorgeAu r in r , Obadiah Cyru sBell , T . MackenzieB igelow, Walter StorrsB ird, E u h StockdellB lacker , aroloB oyd, Louise V .

B ranch , H . E .

B ringhu rst, W. L .

B rown, Mrs . Edward J.B rowne, IrvingB u rnley , M . A .

B u rdick , Mary L .

B u rke, Frank S.

B u rroughs , JohnB u rton, R ichard E .

B utterworth , HezekiahCheney , JohnVanceClark , James G .

Climie, W. R .

Co ll ier , Thomas S.

Copeland,Rev . B enjamin

Crawford, JohnMartinDowd, Alice M .

Eaton, A . H .

Edwards , Emma A.

Farrar , IreneFawcett, EdgarFinley , MarthaF reder ick , A . W.

George , F . LewisG lu ck , James Frazer

gray , Wi lliam C.

“888 ,Harrel l , M . B .

Hayne, Will iam H .

Hazelr igg, Clara H .

Henry , Char les Washington.

H ickey , Emily H .

H obart, Sarah D.

H ogg, M . A .

H o l loway , Lau ra C.

Hoyt, F rank WoodworthImrie, JohnJapp , Alexander H .

Io nson, W. E .

Jones , LinC.

Kempsball , Ju l iaWillisKing, I . ArthurKinney, Coates

Lanier , Cl ifford A .

Lathrop, George ParsonsLawton, Wi l liam CranstonLearned, WalterLee

,R ichard Henry

Libby , J . AlbertLockhart, B urtonW.

Mace, Frances LaughtonMac Ivhor , DuncanMarble, Cal lie BonneyMarqu is , T . GMichel , Nettie LeilaMiller , Abraham PerryMor an, C. B .

Mou ton, Char les WellsNell , Henry D.

Newsam , Wil l iam CartwrightN oble, James AshcroftOlcott, M . W.

O’

Malley, Char les J .

Parkhu rst, Emelie Tracy Y.

Parmelee, Mrs . M .

Peeks , Margaret R .

Peterson, Sarah W.

Phelps , Char les HenryPomroy , S. S.

Pond, Fred E .

Putney,Henry M .

Roberts , JohnT .

Ro lleston, T . W.

Shoup, Mrs . Cymantha C.

Sm ith . Eva MunsonStitt, Rev. W. C.

Talman, J ohnThayer , A . StrattonThompson, SlasonThu rman, Henry A .

Towner , AusburnTynan, Kathar ineUnderhill J ohnVannah ,KateWait, Horace C.

Walker , JohnWalsh , Lizzie B .

Ward, Thomas HumphreyWarriner , Samuel D.

Wells,M . L . B .

Whitton, Jose hWillard, Mrs . C.

Will iams , F rances W.

Wi lliams , Talcott

I NDEX o r F IRST LIN ES.

Abide with me, O gentle guest.

A bird inthe belfry .

About her l issome l imbs the sam ite c l ings .

A boynamed Simonsojou rned ina dale.

coldmist, motionless and ay.

Across the long, vine-oovere land.

Across the shadowed val leys ofthenight.

A day ofper fect summer grace.

A dream of the pas t comes back to me.

Aflawless ar l, snatched from anoceancaveAfloat int e azu re space .

Afloat; wemove. Delic iou s . Ah lAfter theno isy day, w ith ru sh and roar .

After the sleet, and the sunis beaming.

A funeral pas sed me inthe street tod ay .

AlGre

ciar

}fr ieze of

lgmike forms .

an 0 ove at en ap ars .

A hiddenthought.

pe

Ah , linger no longer ’mong blooms of themangoes .

Ah I love ye one another well .Ah me, I am a s inger , andno seer lAh , me l to l ive them o

’

er again.

Ah , no !not dead ! Thou only hast.

Ah , yet; whenal l is thought and said.

Ah, woe is me for pleas u re that is vain.

A lamp’s light streaks yondusky road .

Al ice has gone to confess ion.

All alone inthe world l all al one IAl l aroundme, menare s leeping.

All day againstmy w indow blurred and dim .

A ll day I heard a humming inmy ears .

All June I bound the rose ins heaves .

Almighty vo ice that callest me from sleep .

All moveless stands the anc ient cedar trees .

All souls are poets , wr iting for a pr ize.

All that I know .

Alone she bears themystic flame.

A long,grienstem creeps ou tfrom the brown

cart

Alongthe country roads ide stone onstone.

Alongthe woodland paths she.

A magh

raised up by Heaven, Oh Chiefl arton.

America ! at this thy GoldenGate.

Amid theghas tly relics ofdead timeA migrant song- bird I .

Among the lonely hills they p layed .

A narrg'lv

lv'

s

str ip of green between two c ityw

An 1s it Chr istmas mornin’? I

’ve lost my

count oftime.

And had you loved me then, my dear .

And if magic ian, witc h o r seer .

And she is dead ! I loved her not.

And thou didst sell thy vote, and thou didstbuy.

A per fect heart Ah , tel l me where.

A poet born, anartist.

A practical, plainyounggir l .Apr il flowers were inthe hollows .

Are you ready for the steeple-chase, Lor

raine, Lorraine, Lorres ?A rondelet is justthe fragrance of the rose.

A rondelet is ju st the glory ofthe sky.

A rondelet is like a breath of comi spr ing.

A rondelet, theglory ofher heaven esp eyes .

Art is tru e art, whenart to God is true.

Art thou thine ownheart’

s con ueror .

A rose says mildly , “I ’m sweet,’m sweet.

Around the lobe onewavefrom1Po

le to po le.

As a lance o sunr ise over the hiA scu lptor to his fr iend did say.

As erst I looked uponmy dear love’s brow .

As inHeavenno hate canbe.

As inou r planet-mockingglobe ofdew .

As I sat at the safe, I said to myself.As I went u a woodland walk .

As little chi drenina darkened hall .As ships , becalmed at eve, that lay.

As one may breath without a s igh .

A spirit, looking backward , s ighed .

A strange flsh came from aninland home.

At dawn they sailed ! a danc ing, whitewinged fleet.

Athens with a c loud u ponher brow .

A thrifty andmost economical dame.

At noon, withinthe du sty town.

At purple eves bes ide the grain.

At rest uponthe dewy lap ofearth .

A Tr inity inall things there mu st be

Awake, awake, oh, B uttercup !A wee bird chirped inits lonely nest.

A woman’s tears ; ah , yes , a woman

’s tears !

Azaleas— whitest ofwhite !Banish all random thoughts that are not

white .

Beating into the harbor .

B eau tifu l EvelynHOpe is dead .

Beautifu l wor ld !Becau se I seek thee not, oh , seek thou me !Beneath the elms one perfectnight.Beneath the hotm idsummer sun.

Bes idethegravethat hidesmypoordead face.

Bes ide the wall , andnear the mass ive gate .

Better thangold inthemiser’s grasp;Betweenthese covers a fair country

'

se.

Betweentwo hearts a pathway led.

B id me ood- by l No sweeter salutation.

B lessed ou rs ! approach her gently.

B l ind passionever provesamaddeningpowerB reathe, violets , breathe!blow ,

Erimrosebeds

B reathingthrough tw icethree undred yearsonair .

Bring flowers to strew again.

B road Augu st bu rns inmi lky skies .

B rownearth - line meets gray heaven.

Bu t doth not love.

By day she woes me, soft, exceeding fair .

By- low , my baby , by- low- by lCheer , boys ! cheer !no more of idle sorrow !Came to my door and entered.


If I had knownone year ago to - day.

If I were to ld that I mu st die to - morrow .

If I were you , if I were you .

If hearts are du st, heart’

s loves remain.

If love is not worth loving.

If only indreams may manbe fu lly blest.

I found my boy before the door .

If one cou ld case anac hing heart.

If I canonly show thee, dear .

If that sad creed which honest menand tr ue.

Ifthe bird bu t s ing its sweetest.

If thou cou ldst die to -night.

Ifwe only knew the hear t- aches .

Ifyou were safe inheaven.

I gave her a rose so sweet, so fair .

I gaze uponthy sou l - liteyes uptu rned.

I give my time, my song,

my his to to il .I hada gem

— o i pr iceless worth to me.

I had it a m inu te ago .

I have a cottage where the sunbeams lu rk .

I have beenmounted onhfe’

s t0 p 1nost wave.

I have met her many mornings .

I haveno tears to shed uponthy grave.

I hold inmy hand anoak as great.

I knew a post, one w ith eyes o f laughter .

I know it is coming, my absent ship .

I know just how my girlhood’

s home.

I know a land all r ich with pu rple bloom .

I loved thee long and dear ly .

I love thee, love thee, l ife !I meet uponthe woodland ways .

-I passed where many were meeting.

Inall the heavenone object ho lds my gaze.

Inal l the -land one object I beho ld.

Inall the ou tspread plains o fafterwards .

Ingorgeou s chaplets onthe tress .

Inpraise of l ittle childrenI w ill say.

Inthat first Eden, love gave bir th to shame.

Inthe Abbey stal l, with his vestments o ld.

Inthe chill autumnnight, when lone w indsgrieve.

Inthe cr imsonofthe mo rning.

Inthe deep, tangled forest I roamed whena boy .

Inthe eye that l ights to meet u s .

Inthoughtless yo u th , fair natur e’s bowers .

Insnowy lac e and satin.

Into a c ity street.

Into tge bay

— the great, wide, wealth - fringeday.

Invain! invain! I mu st refu se.

Inweakness held by hands unseen.

InWhately G lenthe maples glow .

Inyouth we think we ho ld the magic key.

I plucked pink apple blossoms from m ineap 11s tree .

I said hen,dearest, s ince ’

tis so .

I said, my love is a rose.

I saw a damsel ina sombre room .

I send you from me . and I have no cars .

I sit and mu se inthe sunl ight.

I s it cu re me, docther , dar linIsolate inher consc ious grandeu r .

I sprang to the stirr u p , and J oris , and he.

I spu r all day from dawntill dark .

I stood beneath the wal ls ofConstantine.

It ain’

t jest the sto ry, parson, to tell ina

crowd l ike this .

It fortiflss my sou l to know .

It happened inthe fabled days ofold.

I t is a c rypt, this cabinet.

Itmay be; yet I wou ld not have it so .

I think ofall the disc iples .

I thought I did not care till you had gone.

I throw one wild, longglance ac ross the sea.

It seems bu t yesterday thatMay.

It was cruel of them to part.

It was morn A virginmantle.

It was that hou r whenvernal earth .

It was the eve of Chr istmas , the snow laydeep and white.

It was the sunset hou r , andnatu re lay.

I read, 0 friend, no pages of old love .

I warn, like one drop o f rain.

I was bo rnas free as the si lvery light.

I watc hed the shadows of the night.

I went to diga grave for love.

I went to the show of o rchids .

I wou ld have gone, God bade me stay .

I wou ldnot wish you al ways joyfu l no .

I will not wrong thee , O to—day.

I wou ld receive my s ight ; my c louded eyes .

I wo u ld that l were a floweret fair .

J u st as of yore ! Let me not think o f thato ld time .

King Robert B ru ce is dying,uncertaincomes

his breath .

Labor no t inthe mu rky del l .Leanfrom thy wall ofmist, O roseleaf frail .Lear and Cordel ia ! ’

twas ananc ient tale .

Let Love weave her gar lands .

Let me kiss him for his mother .

Letmenot lay the lightest feather ’s weight.

Letnot the heartofEnglandgr ieve to - day.

Life has its barrenyears .

Life is a jo u rney w ith but l ittle rest.

Life is the mirac le of every day.

Life’

s a pano rama shifting,shifting.

Life seems almost a c irc le, its two ends .

Life, we , thy children, c ling abou t thy knees .

Like a lilac inthe spring.

Like as the r is ing morning shows a grate fu llightening.

Like some huge bird that s inks to rest.

Like to some sto rm - belated bird that l ingers .

Lil ies dreamed inc rystal fountain.

Lipped by the oozy waters ofthe tide.

Live not for self, bu tstrive for others ’

good.

Lo , by N i lu s ’ langu id waters .

Longyears ago he bore me to a land beyondthe sea.

Long years ago , ona go ldenday.

Loud, blu st'

ring winds ac ross the pastu re

sww p .

Lova childrenof the summer and the sun.

Love has a thousand phas es .

Love inpanoply ofpride .

Love is a fire , she said. Love is a fire .

Love is joy, and love is sorrow .

Love l ies a sleeping ; maidensoftly s ing.

Lovenothing base, keep c leanthy heart.

Love offended me one day.

Love that is dead and bu r ied, yesterday .

Mad with despair a wretched womanstands .

Maker ofnovels , drama and of song.

Many a castle I ’ve bu i lt inSpain.

Many , and yet ou r fate is one.

Menof thought ! be up and stir ring.

497I N D EX OF F I R ST LI N E S.

Mid shouts and songs and waving palmsof peace

Miss ing! A vows

More Posts yet! I hear him say.

Morn brgaks inbeauty from the cu rtained

ni t.

boy ood chas ed the bu tterfly .

My fairest child, I haveno songto give you .

My graveyard ho lds no once - loved humanfo rms .

My head is weary with a sense of loss .

heart is glad to -night.

My heart is like a singmg bird.

My heart is so weary .

My lady’s cheek is soft and red .

My l ips are s inging— my sou l is sad .

My littl

l

l

e, one- life power inthe great sum of

t ings .

My thoughts go back to the rosy prime.

My thought goes bac k to that flrst Christmas day.

Navarino l Navarino !Never a c loud to darkenthe blue.

Never a r ipple onall the r iver .

No humaneyes Thy face may see.

Not from the Vale ofChamouni .Not only incavernous homes ofthe sea.

No , the Muse has gone away .

Not to have wonrenown, to have loved andlaughed.

Not to the SouthernSavannaNow do I know that love is bl1nd, for I .

Now onthe summit of love 's topmost peak .

Now the snow is onthe ground.

0 Au tumndays , w ith you r dreamy splendor .

0 birds that s ing such thankfu l psalms .

O earth , !is heavily uponher eyes .

O’

er the loose str ings ofthe .E o lianharp .

O , for a breath ofmyrtle and o fbay.

0 , for the vo ice ofthe fo rest.

Ofpriests we canoffer a charm in’ variety .

O it I'

ve heard a gentle mother .

0 gifted sou l .0 , glo r iou s is the sight to see !

Oh bru ised atmy hands , my wounded one.

Oh ! canit be I'

m blind fo r l ife?Oh Er m, dear E r in, the land ofou r birth .

Oh, fai rest thing inthis great wor ld.

Oh , glad and red, the l ight of morn.

0 ,happy heads ofyellow , waving wheat !

0 happy l ittle English cot ! O ru stic - sweet

vignette .

Oh , long the weary vigils s ince you leftme.

Oh , mother - heart, bowed down by sorrow’s

load.

Oh , restnotnow , thou to iler bo ld.

Oh , r ugged river ! restless river !

Oh , sad est tears ! tears unshed.

) h stalwartmanandpu re,whoseearnestface.

Oh , summer days fair summer days .

0 h,sweet are the scents and songs of spring.

oh take me to you r arms , love, for we alasmu st part.

O h ! that inthy career wou ld come anhou r.( ) h

,to go back to the days ofJune.

() h ! who will scale the belfry tower .

( )h , ye beau teou s hills ofF rankfort.

O ld Tubal Cainwas a manofmight.0 LoveDivine! lay onmebu rdens ifThou wilt.

O lover bird, has te to thy woo ing.

0 Love, this c up ofmine is all too shallow .

0 ,Mary, go and cal l the cattle home .

0 mighty wear iness ofyellow sands !Once inthe days ofo ld.

Once whenthesun, inslowlydyingsplendor .

One, blind, has taught how beauty shou ld besun

nabroag, blue sweep ofdanc ing, sunl it sea.

na stands u nthe wayward sands .

ne day ou r ives shall seem.

nInnisfallen'

s fairy is le.

OnLondonstones I sometimes s igh .

0 , Natu re! thou whom I have thoughtto love.

Only the beau tifu l is real .Only the shroudinggloom canunfold.

nstor ied heights of knowledge thou doststand.

0 ,Winter Rose, by whatenchanting power .

only sou rw ofall ou r light and life.

radiant summer day.

0 Sun, from ou twhose grac ious rays !0 te ll me, manofsacred lore.

0 Time, thou running tramp so fleet.

O , to feel the w ild thr i ll ofthe swal low.

Our age to seventy years is set.

"

u r dead s leepon. Draw c loser to the fire.

ut ofthe hi! 9 ofHabersham .

Out ofthe sobs ofthe winter '

s storm .

Over the fieldwhere the brownquails whistleOver the bills to the poor - house I ’m trudgin

my weary way.

0 ,wel l I know what thou wast seeking long.

Padre, as onwego .

Perchance my thought was w ide awake.

Perhaps the Book is wiser thanmenread .

l ’ellucid as you pure , blue- pu rpled heights .

P ierced by thesun’s br ightarrows , w inter lies .

Pipe, l ittleminstrels of the waningyear .

Postman, good postman, halt, I pray.

Pou r forth the wine ! the ruby w ine.

r inces l— and you , most valorou s .

rons ona mossy bank inlangu o r lyingroud and lowly, beggar and lord.

roud is the step as one who knows .

Rather , my people, let thy you ths parade.

Rare little bird ofthe bower lRegret, Xenil, goes w ith thy tide.

Remember me whenI am gone away.

R iver that runnest w ith tempestuou s note .

Saynot, the strugglenaught availeth .

Scarce do we meet ere we are to ld.

Shapeless , yet w ith Ravana’

s twenty hands !She came ; and I who l ingered there .

She came from Concord '

s c lass ic shades .

She came : she went: ’t was al l a dream.

She came to me insu ch a way.

She came to us insto rm and snow .

She dances , and I seem to be .

She doth not plant her treasu res intheface .

had ju st one wee bird inher nest.is c lad ina robe snowy white .

is lying instate, this fair June day.

She lay with lilies onher pu lseless breas t.She sat ona low throne of bu rnished gold.

She s itteth stil l , who u sed to dance .

She sought her dead onbattle- deld.

She stood alone amidst the A '

l fields .

stood uponthe polished oor .

498 TH E M A GAZI N E OF P OE T} ?Y.

Sher idan, Sher idan, Cavalry Sher idan!She wears no jewels uponhand or browSi lent u ponthe sands o fEgypt stand.

i h soft and low, Oh ! Summer breeze.

inceCleopatra died !” Longyears are past.

Since she went home.

Sing, bird, ongreenMissou ri s plain.

Sing on, l ittle bird, from the Sou thland suddenly come.

Sing to me once again, till I forget.

Sinks the sunbelow the desert.

Sir Raymond r ides afield to - day.

itting al l day ina s ilver m ist.

Sleep , baby, sleep, while softly I .

Slowly, boatman, s lowly go .

Softer thanlambs and white r thanthec u rds .

So ft is the w ind that is stir ring thegrass .

Softly I sle t inthe greenofmy garden.

Softly theBream God to rest is begu iling.

So Love is dead that has beenqu ick so long !Some book- wo rms w il l sit and w i ll stu dy .

Some time, and who can say of when or

where?Sometimes , dear Love, you mu rmu r

,

cou ld I .

”

Sometime, I fear ,bu t God alone knows when.

Sometimes inqu iet reve. y.

Somelsnow- white blossoms from the u plandeas .

Somewhere, ou t onthe blue seas sail ing.

So much, so mu ch , we cannot understand.

Sor rowfu l mother , w ith tear - wet face.

Sorrow , my fr iend.

Sow not insorr ow .

Sow the seed ofsoothing kindness .

So young were we that whenwe kiss ’

d.

Speechless sorrow sat with me.

Spread a feast with cho ices t viands .

Strangely , son, thou sta r-est.

Str ike, strike thy harp andwake to l ife again.

Stones ofVenice ! a heart has tu rned co ld .

Summer is coming, Summer is coming !Summer

’

s breath has kissedthe lovely bloom .

Sweet, blessed s ummer rain— ah , me !

Sweet child ofApr il , I have foundthy place .

Sweeter the songs forever unsung.

Sweet lo iterer thou— O Indo lence.

Sweet the song ofthe th ru sh at dawning.

Sweet, winsome flower that decks the wo ld.

Sw ing inward, O gates of the fu tu re .

Take what tho u w ilt and leave me love, 0Fate !

Tell you abou t it? Ofcou rse I w ill .Tenmonths had pas sed s ince rosy Herakles .

Thank God for l ife ! Life is not sweet always .

That life is br ief hath seemed a p iteou s thing.

The baby s ings not onits mother ’

s breast.

The barge she sat in, l ike a bu rnished throne.

The beau ty - c u p that held my joy was frail .The birds no mo re indoor yard trees are

singing.

The birds s ing hal f the year .

The bloom of thought kiss ing eternity .

The b

é'

aggart March stood inthe season’s

oo r .

The cattlelwander home from the pu rple c lover

fie s .

TheComingManI s ing : The Com ingMan.

The c rab, the bu llace and the sloe .

The cr isp and fragrant shavings fall from’neath the s inging plane.

The cu rtains were half drawn, the floor wasswept.

The darkness fal ls , the w ind is high .

The day is ended. E re I s ink to s leep .

The day is gone, alas ! the lovely day.

The day is night, whenthou art one.

The day is not for thought, but eeds .

The days are few , the wor ld is w ide.

The dead child lay inthe shroud.

The dead Chr ist starts , the shadows l ift.The devil he sto od at the gates of hell .The earth is the cu p of the sun.

The editor retu rned my verse.

The first w ild rose inways ide hedge.

The fo lk who l ived inShakespeare'

s day.

The ghastly face of the accu s ingmoon.

The gras ses w ith sweet hardihood havec rept.

The eenleaves tw inkled overhead.

The adye leans onthe dial’

s rim .

The leaves havenot yetgone.

The leaves which inthe autumnof the year .

The licto r slow unties his rod.

The l ights ofMeso longxgleam .

The merry laugh ofthe laughing ch ild.

The monnyment ’s up , and its offenmy mind.

The morning breaks w ith r osy light.Thenightingale s ings inthe roya l c loseThe ni ht is stirred w ith l iqu id mu rmu r ings .

The 0 15, o ld tortu rer shakes his beard, andstrains .

The oldwine filled him , and he saw ,w ith eyes .

The ane is etc hed w ith wondro u s trac ery .

The as t is dark w ith sinand shame .

The pathway led thro ugh marshy land.

The p ile ofa great cathedral stood.

The poet raptu red , gazing w ifeward, said.

The rain- c lou d came from the pu rple west.

The red rose blo oms by the tumbling wal l .The revelry that fill 'd the night is done.

The rose looked fairer as it lay.

The ru bymo rnsprangfrom the c loseembraceof night.

The robinrepeats his two m u sical words .

The saddest dream which doth obtain.

The rosy sunset’s cr imsonray.

The sails we see onthe o cean.

The sea is cal ling the sea.

The seed ofEdengrows , there'

s no decayThe sheep are inthe pas tu re, and the shepherd’

s gone away .

The ships w ith s i lver sails go by .

The s ilver latch is lifted,and I am go ing.

The snow l ies thick around his door .

The sou l is provenevery day ; eac h hou r .

The sou l that wou ld inbeauty bloom .

The spring has come .

The sto rmy petrel skims the oceanfoam .

The sunbu rnt mowers are inthe swath .

The sunis lying onthe gardenwall .The sunhad set.

The sunshine ofthine eyes .

The soft’ning tw ilight creeps apace.

The sunhad set ; the bells so softly pealing.

The tide ranlow , ranvery low ,ranou t.

The time w ill come, fu l l soon, I shall be gone.

The thoughts are strange that c rowd intomy brain.


Whenpersons treatme with respect.

Whenrusset beech leaves drift inair .

Whenshe, themother -mystery ofold daysWhenSpring- time cometh on.

WhenSummer ’

s sweetest influence.

Whenthe eve is growinggray.

Whenthe first dandelions took .

Whenwilt thou rest, 0 Sea !When, with slow , stealthystep old age creeps

on.

Whenyou forget the beauty ofthe scene.

Whenyou were alone this even.

Where blossoms bend andgrasses sway.

Where c lose the curvingmountains drew .

Where sunless r ivers weep.

WhereTiber flows to meet the sea .

While the c louds hang low and the nightwinds moan.

WhileWalter goes to p lant his corn.

White possibihty ! Before theenow .

Who sails with penant wavinggay.

Who shal l be fairest.

Who strangles fear , and puts hope from his

throne.

Whygirt

ello“ troubled, oh , my cherished

onWhy hath God led thynoble beauty hither?Whyneed I seek some burdensmall to bear .

Why one, o u ly with a shininggem.

Why shall ch ide the hand ofwilfu l Time.

Wilt thou forgetme inthat other sphere.

Wirra, wirr 010 one !Wise,noble, ov and lovingwife.

With complexionlike the rose.

With evemng hued like autumnleaves .

With gratefu l hearts, we’

d come to thee.

Withinthe rose I found a trembling tear .

With little breast that wildly heaved.

Womanandmancas t out.

Worth living? Not to listless souls whodeem .

Wou ld we retu rn?Wou ldyou liveyou r who le life over .

Wr iteme anepic ,” the warrior said.

Ye lone, majestic s ilences that keep .

Yes , I must 0 . The end is come at last.Yet stil l my eart, responsive, beat.Ye summits ofSierras ! I am here.

You silvery billows breaking onthe beach .

You askme for a poem , dear .

You know we h ench stormed RatisboYou loved me once. Ah , yes ! and thoughYou may s ingme a song ofthe eyes thatbluest.

You mu sn’t think a pleasin’

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Yu dayse yf olde i f any fayre one proved.

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'

I‘

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