102 LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. RAY RICHMOND. RAY RICHMOND is hardly more than a school girl, and is at present finishing in music and painting at the Boston N. E. conservatory. RAY RICHMOND. She has already edited the juvenile department of two monthly publications, and is a paid contributor of short stories for two or three other publications. MORNING. The purple mists of morning DAWN. Blushing morning is at hand; Distant hills against the gray -- A REVERIE. Faintly, softly fades the light Of the chill November day, Slowly, surely creeps the night O'er the hill-tops far away. Grayer, darker grow the clouds, All, at last, dies from the sight IN ANSWER. A little message comes to me But light of heart I'll strive to be, A SONNET. As the sweet warm days of summer, I gazed long, and long upon her Afterward we met together, And our looks said more than aye. Deep into her heart I gazed, 'till Blushing red, she turned away. May perhaps, my looks meant nothing, Would I change for their's, my lot? But by looks I know so well. How I love my darling sweetheart, Who is always wondrous fair. TO THE MEMORY OF A RUSTIC. Dear old rustic, famous rustic, Oft I've on thy lap reclined While I read the works of DickensCopperfield and Old Hard Times; Many a peaceful hour I've lingered With thee, 'neath the cooling shade Of that old grape vine, so precious, When its fruit red-ripe is made. Day by day I've kept thee company, Heeding not the flight of time; Hour by hour I lingered with thee, Musing o'er some pleasant rhyme. Heat and sun were all forgotten, 'Neath thy cool and balmy shades As the downy breeze came rustling Through thy green inviting blades. How I grieve to know that early You and I are doomed to part, But I'll always cherish fondly Sweetest memories in my heart. Other friends will hover 'round thee, Seek thy shade with calm delight, While I court another's shadow, Lingering 'neath its folds 'till night. Then it is I'll fondly cherish Sweetest thoughts of olden times Spent in calm communion with thee And some poet's pleasant rhymes. Lovers fondly seek thy shelter, Seal their vows beneath thy shade; For no one will ever shun thee "Till thy vines are all decayed. Now, I leave thee, lovely rustic, To thy future friends and fates But I'll ne'er forget thy friendship, Though I roam in other states. Time may leave its marks upon me, Turn my locks to aged white, But I'll never cease to love thee While my eyes have earthly sight. MOONLIGHT MUSINGS. I love to sit on a calm, clear night, When the moon is hid and the stars are bright; And ponder the depth and power of love MAY DAY. Oh! the chattering children, with faces so bright; [delight! How they frolic and ramble, with childish The time has seemed ages, as day after day, They looked for the coming of the merry spring May. The mind and the heart are the soul of a man, Which recks not of sin in its beautiful plan; But the body is human, and wars with the soul; As it passes through time to eternity's goal. We dream of the future, we dream of the past; The one we have blasted, the other we blast. We hope while we live if we die in despair, And trust all the future to mercy, through prayer. 104 LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. PHIL HOFFMANN. BORN: OSKALOOSA, IOWA, AUG. 16, 1868. IN 1885 Phil Hoffmann entered the field of journalism; he also about this time tended the Penn college for several terms. In 1887-8 he acted as correspondent of the Oskaloosa Daily Herald, during the session of the legislature at Des Moines. So thoroughly pleased were the proprietors of the Herald that he was installed upon the editorial staff, a position he still retains with merit. He is a fre PHIL HOFFMANN. quent contributor to numerous periodicals, including the Chicago Herald and Burlington Hawkeye, and is one of the editorial staff of the Midland Monthly. His prospects for a bright future are very encouraging, considering the fact that he has only just attained his majority. Mr. Hoffmann is orderly sergeant of the military company of his native city, and in business and social circles he is a general favorite. A MR.'S NOT ALWAYS A MAN. As I sat in my room one bright afternoon With the shades of my window thrown high, And watched far below midst the dust and the din The crowd as it hurried fast by, I caught from the breeze that silently stole On angelic wings o'er the throng, These words from the lips of a poor ballad boy, As he poured out his heart in a song: To honor in life your neighbor and friend You may struggle the best that you can, Yet you'll find in the hour of trouble and need A Mr.'s not always a man." Though years have sped by since that afternoon, And time wrought her changes below, But why should I marvel if into my mind To honor in life your neighbor and friend, You may struggle the best that you can, Yet you'll find in the hour of trouble and need A Mr.'s not always a man." IN REVERENCE. Last night in the beautiful moonlight, I sat by my window alone, And peered with an awful pleasure, Far into the great unknown. And each little constellation, With its thousand, thousand skies, Seemed bursting with laughter in basking Before my wistful eyes. While Venus, the star of the evening, That beautiful gem of gems, Seemed singing in tones that resounded Through all the heavenly realm. And I thought of He who created With movements so silent, so perfect, With a gentle and lenient hand He who upon worlds without number me, Each atom seemed laden with joy! As loudly I cried in my musings With a feeling that knew no alloy. Vain spirit of mortal polluted Look up at the heavens above And tell me, Oh! how canst thou battle, Against yon fountain of love? LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. MRS. M. ALEXANDER. BORN: POSEY CO., IND., JUNE 14, 1842. MRS. ALEXANDER married in 1863, and three years later she was left a widow with one child, since that time she has devoted her 105 Compared with the woes which arise and ap paling, Scatter destruction abroad in our land. Impotent man oft his reverence concealeth, And lifting our hearts above grief and repining We follow the Father, and trust evermore. While down through the darkness, the valley, the shadow, The bright ray of promise illumines our night; Beyond death and flood and earth's awful sorrow There gleams in its radiance a heavenly light. WELCOME. Welcome, yes welcome, to our shore, And gladly bids the stranger come. Beneath its floating stripes and stars, Of our own homes, earth's dearest spot To civilize and Christianize, We open wide our doors to-day, Tho statutes of our law doth teach. Lifts up its anthem to our God. 106 LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. WILLIAM ROBERT FISHER. BORN: JEFFERSON CO., IOWA, JULY 12, 1865. WILLIAM commenced writing poetry at the age of sixteen, and two years later published a volume of poems in pamphlet form. At the age of twenty he wrote a poem of one thou WILLIAM ROBERT FISHER. sand lines, and has written ten times as much more since that time, of which there are a number of translations from German, Danish and Norwegian authors. Mr. Fisher has high aspirations, and his literary career has yet but just begun. EQUALITY. Our fathers told us long ago, And pledged to die for what we know, And shout that message to the sky To scorn the despot on his throne, The triumpher o'er innocence, SIGHT. The eyelids cannot dim the sight, — Nay when they're closed 'tis far more bright, Both in day dreams and dreams of night. In dreams of day mine eyes may see, In dreams of night a thousand things, TOO LATE. O mock me not with glorious eye, Too late, too late; Nor pity to a soul deny Accursed of fate. Thou'rt victor, let thy slave forbid Thou be elate, I cannot hope as once I did, Too late, too late. THE SONG OF YOUTH AND AGE. There's potency in youthful dreams, As Keats, and White, and Drake attest, Who dared to touch immortal themes Ere their frail beings sank to rest. Yet highest glory is for him Who like old Milton sings with power, The song which Meditation grim, Has given in life's silver hour. THE DWELLING PLACE. ..A dwelling place," my love replied, |