LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. MRS. LUCIE A. MOORE. [MRS. A. ELMORE.] BORN IN W. VA., MARCH 29, 1839. THIS lady has several nom de plumes. She has edited various newspapers and magazines and contributed largely from time to time to MRS. LUCIE A. MOORE. the leading periodicals. Her husband died in 1868, and she now resides at White Rose Cottage, Nordhoff, N. J. Her poems have attracted much attention, and A Beautiful City Set Down by the Sea is considered a very fine one. MY BABY'S LITTLE SATIN SHOES. That darkens all the mountain's side As that a drouth must bring to earth, To come, and cool and ease the pain. "Tis Baby's little satin shoes That tap the clouds, and bring the rain. And looking at the dainty things I wonder if her pretty feet 57 Have grown too large for these wee Or keep they still their wondrous charms Woke gleams of wonder in her eyes? I live once more in that far time, The sheen and ease-of satin shoes. And then-there came dark days in June Of months, till then, the fairest one, And she-her sister angels joined And ceased the stepping scarce begun. No shadows came to her sweet face, Nor heart, nor hand, nor foot had bruise When I gave back the treasure loaned And kept her little satin shoes. A BEAUTIFUL CITY SET DOWN BY THE The waves are laughing in summer-time glee, And murmur of waters all the day long; Where weary ones come, once more to grow strong, Where gladness supreme pervadeth the throng, A beautiful city set down by the sea. From pinnacled roof, to sunbeams a snare, Banners and banners are fanning the air; And flag of the land all people may share, Guardeth this city in summer-time fair; This beautiful city, set down by the sea. Gay pleasuring groups from every land Are strolling about on the silvery sand, And Babel" of tongues is heard on the strand 66 Where reigneth this city in summer-time grand, This beautiful city, set down by the sea. The home-coming sailor voiceth a cheer, As the good ship draws her harbor anear. Outgoing-he left but the winter-time drear; Incoming-behold, a city is here A beautiful city set down by the sea. 58 LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. The mermaids that here once basked in the light, And monsters that claimed the island so white, Fled far to the main in ceaseless affright, When the city came down in conquering might; The beautiful city, set down by the sea. With ambient flame all gilt in the morn, Where orient splendors at night-time adorn, The shade of the woodlands thou laughest to scorn; For pleasure, and sunlight, alone- -thou wert born. O beautiful city, set down by the sea. No orient scene, fresh-kissed by the sun, Near foreign-land bay where silver-rifts run, No city by conquering hero begun, Rivals in beauty this magic-made one; This beautiful city, set down by the sea. Not far, her hovering wings are outspread, No echo is here of bartering tread; Nor ever comes here the pestilence dread. Dethroned is all care, and far from thee fled, O beautiful city, set down by the sea. From far 'neath the sky, blue-vaulted and clear, The sailor's hearty ..Yo-ho" seemeth near, And throb of work-a-day city we hear, Like far away chimes for eventime cheer, O beautiful city, set down by the sea. When reigneth the moon in azure array, And purple of twilight is fading away, And lovers enchanted, still lingering stray, Thou makest the scene e'en fairer than day, O beautiful city, set down by the sea. Then Cupid is near with quiver and bow, Nor misses a chance an arrow to throw, And kindle a flame; forever -- to glow Or die as thou dost, when falleth the snow, O beautiful city, set down by the sea. The hem of the tide, with fringing of spray, Is trailing the shore, in coquettish way, And ever the sands will shift with the sway And creeping of waves, that near to thee play, O beautiful city, set down by the sea. Awe of the sea o'er the spirit holds sway, Through ages so long the whisper doth stray, ..Hither thou comest, and here thou shalt stay, The mandate --doth guard thee even to-day, O beautiful city, set down by the sea. Of ships it hath sent to fathomless grave, Of sailors it conquered though they were brave. This swell of the sea, this swift-rolling wave, A view of a city, set on a hill," And the wanderer knoweth a joyous thrill; From temple of music floats harmonic tune; And Venus appears, and flame-tinted Mars, And the blue is gemmed with gold of the stars, Thou seemest at sea with silver-tipped spars, O beautiful city, set down by the sea. When the winter-time storms beat on the shore, And laugh of the waves is drowned in their roar, And feet are turned homeward, their wanderings o'er, We'll mourn the city that bideth no more, West, O who will return for pleasure, and rest; And who will have found still kindlier breast, And who give greeting to incoming guest? O beautiful city, set down by the sea. AT THE GATE. Hard by the gates that bar from sight Of curious mortal eyes The glories of the land of souls, A loved one waiting lies. Or strength to say with smiles, farewell, I see her winsome baby ways, Take me instead, if one thou wilt LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. WILLIAM TAYLOR. BORN IN SCOTLAND, FEB. 7, 1850. IN 1867 Mr. Taylor lost the sight of his left eye through a piece of the gun cap penetrating the pupil. The same year he sailed for America. In 1872 he married; two years later a sliver of steel from the head of a tool he was using pierced the ball of his right eye, ushering him into lifelong darkness. It was a hard trial, but to one of his disposition he soon be WILLIAM TAYLOR. came reconciled to his loss. This blind poet is called the Milton of the West, and he gives recitations of his own original poems to churches, Sunday schools, and other organizations, which have met with universal approval. Mr. Taylor has a wide circle of admirers, and we predict that his journey through life will be comparatively a smooth one. AMI A SCOT, OR AM I NOT? If I should bring a wagon o'er From Scotland to Columbia's shore, And by successive wear and tear, The wagon soon should need repair; Thus, when the tires are worn through, Columbia's iron doth renew; Likewise the fellies, hubs and spokes Should be replaced by western oaks; In course of time down goes the bed, But here's one like it in its stead, So bit by bit, in seven years, All things are changed in bed and gears, I came a Scotchman, understand, My body has been changing too; I wonder if I'm now a Scot? Since all that came across the sea STERLING WORTH. What is there in the garb of man, A coat, by honest labor torn, May wrap a heart as true as steel, 69 59 Where seldom dwells a worthy thought, While countless noble thoughts are bred, Neath hats of straw that's roughly wrought. What signifies our place of birth, The length of purse, or place we fill? Is passing through the fanning mill. THE ARTISAN. To slight the artisan, By men of genius wrought, [sweat, MRS. HELEN A. RAINS. BORN: ROME, O., DEC. 16, 1838. AMONG the many publications to which this lady has contributed might be mentioned Peterson's Magazine, Cincinnati Weekly, La MRS. HELEN A. RAINS. dies' Repository, and the Christian Standard. This lady was married in 1870 to George W. Rains. She follows the profession of a journalist, and now resides in Mt. Ayr, Iowa. JUNE PICTURES. Framed in my window? what a bit of sky (Of that peculiar shade that June full And flush with all her rarities has found To beautify the earth, which ebb and flow As with the tide. The country roads' decline O'er distant hills the eye can scarce define. MY BABY. Fold her hands tightly Over her breast, Close her lids lightly, Lay her to rest. Smooth the dark tresses Over her brow, All my caresses Availeth not, now. APRIL. And so the spring is here, with memories Blue and empyreal. I wonder much If in the land where my young days were spent These things in old-time loveliness, have lent Hue to the streams, and on the dewy air Apple-bloom diffusion. The dell, whose soil In spring, was rank with yellow cowslips, where We mired at every step, and hours of toil Rewarded us with prize--the very bestA pail of greens"-do little children test With cheeks abloom, through labyrinthine ways Its grape-vine swings, the roots and spicy bark If sassafras, these lovely April days? Has modern culture stolen ev'ry spark Of interest in woodland haunts, from those Whose life's expanding, like the morning rose, Promise of vigor in the bud, should hold. Do blooms, perfumes, and healthful airs bespeak To young hearts now, the same delights that told In days agone, on childhood's lip and cheek? Of what avail the knowledge of to-day, If youth has lost her happy, care-free way? Do books impart, one-half the wisdom caught From running brooks and feathered song sters' lays? Have lessons learned (the Harmonies have taught That Nature blends sublimely in her days, GOING FOR THE COWS. Of rankest weeds and grasses, His way toward the dingle, The mocking-bird is rend'ring. LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. LAURA J. RITTENHOUSE. BORN: GRAND CHAIN, ILL., 1841. THIS lady has given a great deal of her time to the temperance cause, being one of its most fervent supporters. She has published two books - Out of the Depths, a poem, and LAURA J. RITTENHOUSE. a book of temperance stories for young children. She has also contributed to the leading periodicals of America. Mrs. Rittenhouse has a splendid family of five children, and now resides at Cairo, Ill. WEIGHING BABY. Baby's weight! how much it means, How much does the darling weigh? Can one weigh the baby's wiles, 'Round her while our lives shall last? Can you weigh the fair young soul, Op'ning like a spotless scroll? Only God's unerring gaze, Sees how much our darling weighs. MARGARET. When you passed me yesterday, Did you see the roses white, Are your hot-house flowers as sweet 61 |