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Slumbering in the summer heat.
EVENING SONG. Farewell, sweet day,
Thy thoughts and mine in perfect tune; And rhyme have blent this day of June,
And ere the rapture of thy spell Dissolves, I turn to thee and say,
Sweet day, farewell. Farewell, sweet day,
For I would rather part from thee With every chord in harmony
Than meet thee in the cold, gray light
The thrush's song is sweet, so sweet; The river lies, a flame of blue,
The morn is golden and complete.
Alike no other melody;
A HARMONY. The dawn's unfolding wings the breeze fret, Kissing the gentian's slumbrous eyelids
swift: Her silk-fringed lashes with the dewdrops wet, Quivering 'neath the sun's bright glance,
uplift. The bee, hid in the trumpet-blossom's spire,
Reels to the chimes within its nodding cells. The trembling hollyhock's red chalices of fire
Rock with the unseen ringer of their bells. O'er purple clematis the butterfly
Hovers to taste the sweetness from its lips: And all the opal tints of sun and sky
Are drank in rainbow colors that he sips. The reeds that grow down by the crystal
spring, Meeting the morning breezes from the sea, Their matutinal lays are offering
In notes that might awake sad Niobe. The ripples from the brook, where bluedragons
Upon its bosom clear reflected float, Are like the soft-voiced ring-dove's carillons, Or silvery laughter from a young girl's
throat. And every swaying stem keeps time complete,
To fill its part in nature's melody Of rhythmic cadence to the low wind's beat
Song without words-a voiceless symphony.
LEANDER S. KEYSER. BORN: TUSCARAWAS CO., O., MARCH 13, 1857. Ar the age of sixteen Mr. Keyser first taught school; and later combined teaching and educating himself with the money he thus earned. Having taken a theological course, he took charge of the English Lutheran church at Elkhart, Ind., where he remained for nearly six years. Rev. Keyser has always had an intense love for literature, and many poetic
And you, dear Judith, shall be my own.
colors upon the sight, The melody of the frost as it forms upon
of the grass and the growing grain,
THE AESTHETIC SEARCH.
With hope and strong desire; for I thought:
. Surely among the flowers she will be!" effusions emanated from his pen from time I saw her form and ran to bend the knee, to time. He has also written many stories,
To worship at her shrine; but quick the maid and in 1886 his first serial, The Only Way Out, Fled wildly from my clasp as if afraid was published, which was followed two years My touch were vile; and then I turned away, later by another one entitled Epochs of a Life. And fairest flowers were nauseous that day. Mr. Keyser now resides at Springfield, Ohio, And then I scanned the heavens; but every where he is well known as a clergyman of
star good standing.
Shimmered at once: Thy quest is much too
And all the constellations chorused thus: Judith, that glove is much too tight;
Thou wilt not find the Virgin here with us!" It presses your hand so pure and white. And then among the master men of song If I should press your band for you
I made my search and tarried with them long, As that kid glove, what would you do?
And thought the damsel was in my embrace, Dear Judith, let us go to the woodland to-day, Feeling her luscious breath upon my face And sit on the bank of the lonesome rill; As o'er the rythmic page we bent and read. And Pan, the god of those shadows gay, Alas! e'en as the minstrels sang she fled, Shall rule our hearts at his own sweet will. And from the verse that erst had thrilled me so We will need no book of jingles and rhymes, I turned with loathing and with hopeless woe. For love will sing in her sweetest tone,
I ne'er shall find my sweet ideal bride, And the birds will warble their liquid chimes | My Mistress of the Beautiful!" I cried.
Upon my knees I plead until the dawn: . ( heaven! whither hath the Virgin gone? "Where shall I find, how may I ever win The counterpart of longings here within?" Long while I knelt and waited for reply, Until at last a voice broke from the sky: .. First cleanse thy soul, thy thought, oh man
from sin, Then seek the object of thy quest witi in. ..Ne'er in external things is found the goal Till moral beauty reigns within the soul.
And if thou keep her there, she e'er will be A holy, sweet companion unto thee. "And then in song,and flower,and leaf, and sky Her image fair thy vision shall descry," And thus I sought-I need no more repine, I found her, wooed her, won her, she is mine.
The picture is a woodland With large and sprcading oaks, Just like the trees I loved so well When we were little folks. A little creek comes out to view Beneath an old gray rock; It winds along and curves about A green and grassy plot. My picture done I love to gaze On what to me seems real, Although it's but a fancy sketch To me it is ideal.
ADELAIDE A. RANDALL.
BORN: MERRIMACK, WIS., AUG. 6, 1853. Miss RANDALL is desirous of becoming anartist, and with that end in view, occasionally takes lessons in painting as her slender means
That lady dressed so fine ?
Nor wronged a kin of mine;
That was struggling her way thro' life,
And filled her life with strife.
With her lofty head on high,
THE CHOICE OF FLOWERS.
Cried the children all in glee; And now we'll gather flowers
From off the grassy lee.
Cried little Anna Dade,
From off the mossy glade.
'Cause I forgot it's name, But it is very beautiful,
And grows down in our lane.
Its face is shining gold;
And shall, when I am old.
Cried little Rosa Chalk,
And we have them by our walk.
Cried little Daisy Due,
And I know they're pretty too.
Are very handsome flowers;
Cried little Alice Roe;
ADELAIDE A. RANDALL, will allow. She has written numerous poems from time to time for the local press. She is the daughter of a farmer and is residing in her native town.
MY PICTURE. As I sit before my easel, My picture in full view, I wander back in fancy To the oaks of long ago.
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES | lege periodical. Dr. Holmes was one of the
founders of the Atlantic Monthly magazine, to BORN: CAMBRIDGE, Mass., AUG. 29, 1809.
which he contributed from time to time; and This great scholar is equally noted as a poet, in the pages of this periodical first appeared novelist, essayist, and physician. He is con- The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table. His sidered one of the most witty, originai and bril- lyrics, such as Old Ironsides, Union and Liberliant writers of the present day. Educated ty, Welcome to the Nations, and others, are partly at Phillips academy, he graduated at not only spirited, but also the most beautiful Harvard when twenty years of age. Young in our language, and his humorous poems, inOliver then spent a vear in studying law: but, cluding The One-Hoss Shay, Lending an Old
Punch-Bowl, My Aunt, The Boys, and many others, are characterized by a vivacious and sparkling wit which makes their drollery irresistible. His prose works are greatly admired, the best of which are The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, The Professor at the Breakfast Table, The Poet of the Breakfast Table, and the novels Elsie Venner, and the Guardian Angel.
Dr. Holmes," says John G. Whittier, - has been likened to Thomas Hood; but there is little in common between them, save the power of combining fancy and sentiment with grotesque drollery and humor. Hood, under all his whims and oddities, conceals the vehement intensity of a reformer. The iron of the world's wrongs has entered into his soul. There is an undertone of sorrow in his lyrics. His Sarcasm, directed against oppression and bigotry, at times betrays the earnestness of one whose own withers have been wrung. Holmes writes simply for the amusement of himself and his readers. He deals only with the vanities, the foibles, and the minor faults of mankind, goodnaturedly and almost sympathizingly suggesting excuses for folly, which he tosses about on the horns of his ridicule. Long may he live to
make broader the face of our care-ridden genOLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
eration, and to realize for himself the truth of his father being a physician, he soon abandon- the wise man's declaration, that · A merry ed the law in order to enter upon the study of heart is a continual feast!'' medicine, which course he pursued in Europe, chiefly in Paris.
THE LAST LEAF. In 1838 Mr. Holmes returned to America, took the degree of M. D., and two years later he
I saw him once before became professor of anatomy and physiology
As he passed by the door; in Dartinouth college, which position he held
And again until the time of his marriage, in 1840, when he
The pavement-stones resound removed to Boston, and there won much suc
As he totters o'er the ground Cess as a practicing physician. In 1847 he was
With his cane. appointed to the chair of anatomy and physio
They say, that in his prime, logy in Harvard - the seat of the medical de
Ere the pruning-knife of Time partment of this university being in Boston-a
Cut him down, post which he has filled with honor ever since.
Not a better man was found While Dr. Holmes has won distinction not
By the crier on his round only as a professional man and a writer on sub
Through the town. jects related to his profession, he is best known to the public by his purely literary produc
But now he walks the streets, tions.
And he looks at all he meets, During the year 1830, while studying law, he
Sad and wan; contributed a number of witty poems to a col
And he shakes his feeble head,
That it seems as if he said,
- They are gone!"
The mossy marbles rest
In their bloom;
On the tomb.
Poor old lady! she is dead
In the snow.
Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway
through, Built us its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the
old no more. Thanks for the heavenly message brought by
Cast from her lap forlorn!
While on mine ear it rings, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a
voice that sings: Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,
As the swift seasons roll!
Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,
Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unrest
But now his nose is thin,
Like a staff;
In his laugh.
At him here;
Are so queer!
In the spring,
Where I cling.
EXTRACTS. The simple lessons which the nursery taught Fell soft and stainless on the buds of thought, And the full blossom owes its fairest hue To those sweet tear-drops of affection's dew.
Where go the poet's lines?
Answer, ye evening tapers! Ye auburn locks, ye golden curls,
Speak from your folded papers!
We count the broken lyres that rest
Where the sweet wailing singers slumber, But o'er their silent sister's breast
The wild flowers, who will stoop to number? A few can touch the magic string,
And noisy Fame is proud to win them; Alas for those that never sing,
But die with all their music in them!
THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. NOTE.--Dr. Holmes has said of this poem, . If you will remember me by the Chambered Nautilus. your memory will be a monument u shall think more of than any bronze or marble." | This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,
Sails the unshadowed main.
The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings,
And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their
streaming hair. Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl,
Wrecked is the ship of pearl!
And every chambered cell, Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,
Before thee lies revealed, Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt un
sealed! Year after year beheld the silent toil
That spread his lustrous coil;
Old Time, in whose bank we deposit our notes, Is a miser who always wants guineas for
groats; He keeps all his customers still in arrears By lending them minutes and charging them
You hear that boy laughing? You think he's
all fun; But the angels laugh, too, at the good he has
done; The children laugh loud as they troop at his
call, And the poor man that knows him laughs
loudest of all.