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MRS. LUCIE A. MOORE.
[MRS. A. ELMORE.1 BORN IN W, VA., MARCH 29, 1839. Turs lady has several nom de plumes. She has edited various newspapers and magazines and contributed largely from time to time to
And looking at the dainty things
I wonder if her pretty feet Have grown too large for these - wee
shoon" Since they have walked - the golden
street," Or keep they still their wondrous charms
Of rosy hue, and fairy size, That, as I held them in my palm,
Woke gleams of wonder in her eyes? I live once more in that far time,
When she in crowing, witching glee, Looked down upon her untried feet,
These satin shoes, just laced, to see. And then I prayed, with wisdom's dower
She might the better pathway choose. For all her steps I longed to keep
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.
MY BABY'S LITTLE SATIN SHOES. There's rain without and rain within. Without-from host of black-browed
clouds. That darkens all the mountain's side
And all the river's valley shrouds. Within-are teardrops flowing swift
From their mysterious fountain-head. As I sit thinking of the past,
O'er naming graces of my dead. A heartache first, as hot and keen
As that a drouth must bring to earth, While this and that" of treasures stored.
I lift, and muse on vanished worth, And wish for luxury of tears
To come, and cool and ease the pain. 'Tis Baby's little satin shoes
That tap the clouds, and bring the rain.
A BEAUTIFUL CITY SET DOWN BY THE
SEA. The waves are laughing in summer-time glee,
Sunbeams are shifting and falling so free; And pure is the breeze that seeketh the lea, Where reigneth a city as fair as can be,
A beautiful city, set down by the sea. With fountains, with flowers, with art and
with song, 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 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.
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-bo" 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.
Nor misses a chance an arrow to throw,
O beautiful city, set down by the sea.
Is trailing the shore, in coquettish way,
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
brare. This swell of the sea, this swift-rolling wave, Speaks not as it comes thy borders to lave, O beautiful city, set down bythe sea.
A view of a city, set on a hill,”
Awaketh a song in happiest trill,
O beautiful city, set down by the sea.
From temple of music floats harmonic tune; It seemeth a dream, these fair days of June, That wane, like thy glory, ever too soon,
O beautiful city, set down by the sea. When out goes the day through golden gilt
bars, 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 wander
ings o'er, We'll mourn the city that bideth no more,
The beautiful city, set down by the sea. The spring will ever her coming-time keep.
And the true fairy wand of June will sweep Over the isle, and in answer will leap The city in beauty, from winter-time sleep;
The beautiful city, set down by the sea. From groves of the South, and plans of the
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.
Of curious mortal eyes --
A loved one waiting lies.
From earth a full release,
I go in perfect peace?
I see her winsome baby ways,
And hear her ready tongue: And note the bloom of maiden days,
And list to songs she sung, And then, I say, we can not part,
Oh death, but go thy way,
And let her longer stay!
From out the sister band,
Oh death, stay thou thine hand!
STERLING WORTH. What is there in the garb of man,
That we should honor or despise? To judge of grain, are we to scan,
The husks wherein the kernel lies? A coat, by honest labor torn,
May wrap a heart as true as steel, And so may husks, all weather worn,
A perfect grain of wheat conceal. A crown may rest upon a head
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? The only real test of worth,
Is passing through the fanning mill.
Alike upon the rich and poor.
Are equal on the threshing floor.
That chaff and wheat doth separate, Will favor not the garb of man,
The grain must be of standard weight.
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 steal, So bit by bit, in seven years,
To slight the artisan,
He's nature's nobleman:
By men of genius wrought,
Though humble be his lot.
All my caresses
Availeth not, now.
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
That cling to ev'ry thing with loving touch The fields afresh with kindling green--the
skies 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 best
A 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, With unison of chords in sweetness wrought Not molded characters, where books were
Of azure blue-a snowy cloud afloat
With tiny sails, so like a fairy boat, Suspended in mid-air, as by the eye Reflected in the mirage we can see Objects transcribed with perfect symmetry. Waves upon waves of greenness just below, (Of that peculiar shade that June full
crowned And flush with all her rarities has found To beautify the earth, which etb and flow As with the tide. The country roads' de
cline 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,
GOING FOR THE COWS. Adown the lane a tangle
Of rankest weeds and grasses, Starred here and there with spangle
Of dogwood bloom in masses That overhanging dangle
Upon the head that passes. His way toward the dingle,
The barefoot boy is wending, Where comes the faint commingle
Of cow-bell rhythm, blending With melodrama, single
The mocking-bird is rend'ring.
LAURA J. RITTENHOUSE. I
BORN: GRAND CHAIX, ILL., 1841. This lady has given a great deal of her time to the temperance cause, being one of its most fervent supporters. Sbe has published two books - Out of the Depths, a poem, and
Can one weigh the baby's wiles,
MARGARET. When you passed me yesterday, Deigning not to look that way, Did you know that I was near, And with all your coldness, fear Just to meet my earnest gaze, Lest some thought of other days Should defy you to forget What we have been, Margaret ? Did your memory like a dream, Bring before you then a gleam Of a farm-house white and small, Where the brightest sunbeams fall; Where the woodbine clambers up, Holding many a dainty cup Filled with incense sweeter yet, Than all others, Margaret? Did you see the roses white, And the red ones, where one night 'Neath the solemn light of stars, Shadows held us in their bars, And the soft wind floating by, Heard us vowing -- you and I, That our love's sun should not set, While life lasted, Margaret ? Are your hot-house flowers as sweet As the ones that kissed your feet ? Do your prisoned birds e'er sing Like the wild ones on the wing? Will your wealth and station pay For the true heart cast a way ? Does no wild remorse, regret, Prey upon you, Margaret? Turn your head away in scorn, Rich in gold – in heart forlorn; Mingle with the heartless, gay; Laugh and jest and ne'er betray Through your mask of calm, cold pride, How your aching heart is tried; Yet through all life's tangled net, You shall love me, Margaret.
WEIGHING BABY. Baby's weight! how much it means, When the children's angel” leans From God's door through cloud-rift sails, Holding Love's own shining scales Weighing baby as she lies, With her open, deep-blue eyes Filled with wonder, while she swings, Like an angel without wings. How much does the darling weigh? None but heavenly scales can say; None but heavenly tongues can tell, All the precious things that dwell In this body warm and small, Making it out-weigh them all All the dimpler, crowing throng, That in other homes belong.