LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. 62 IDA MAY DAVIS. BORN: LA FAYETTE, IND., 1858. MRS. DAVIS has written for many leading magazines and newspapers, among which might be mentioned the Chicago Inter Ocean, On wings of wind is borne to me. I reach out -ah! my rose-red dream! Gray shreds of gauze in ochre light Spread slow along the water's trail, Into the olive veil of night. It must have been the friendly breeze, With magic touch upon my brain. With voice soft soughing thro' the trees, That brought me thee, O love, again. THE ROSE. I, the rose, am glad to-day, Slumbering in the summer heat. I heard my lady, joyous say, "I'll wear this rose of fragrance sweet, When I, my guests invited meet." And she will place me, soft caressed, Strange fingers plucked me yester night, They said an uninvited guest, With smiling lips. Thro' pale moonlight, They measured steps, with sound supprest, And laid me softly on her breast, 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, X 63 LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. 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 LEANDER S. KEYSER. effusions emanated from his pen from time to time. He has also written many stories, and in 1886 his first serial, The Only Way Out, was published, which was followed two years later by another one entitled Epochs of a Life. Mr. Keyser now resides at Springfield, Ohio, where he is well known as a clergyman of good standing. BRIC-A-BRAC. Judith, that glove is much too tight; And you, dear Judith, shall be my own. I'd like to hear the jingle of atoms in a wave of light, Or the sonnet of roses as they throw their colors upon the sight, The melody of the frost as it forms upon the window-pane, And the song of the sap as it courses the veins THE AESTHETIC SEARCH. Somewhere I knew she was, for I had caught Amid ambrosial gardens then I sought Shimmered at once: Thy quest is much too far!" And all the constellations chorused thus: I made my search and tarried with them long, Upon my knees I plead until the dawn: 64 O 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. "And then in song, and flower, and leaf, and sky ADELAIDE A. RANDALL. BORN: MERRIMACK, WIS., AUG. 6, 1853. MISS RANDALL is desirous of becoming an artist, and with that end in view, occasionally takes lessons in painting as her slender means 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. The picture is a woodland A little creek comes out to view It winds along and curves about My picture done I love to gaze JUST WHY! That lady dressed so fine? Nor wronged a kin of mine; That was struggling her way thro' life, And filled her life with strife. THE CHOICE OF FLOWERS. The spring has come, the spring has come, Cried the children all in glee; And now we'll gather flowers From off the grassy lee. My choice of all the flowers, Cried little Daisy Due, And I get them from the meadow, The daisy and the wild rose Are very handsome flowers; But the pinks would be my choice LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. BORN: CAMBRIDGE, MASS., AUG. 29, 1809. THIS great scholar is equally noted as a poet, novelist, essayist, and physician. He is considered one of the most witty, originai and brilliant writers of the present day. Educated partly at Phillips academy, he graduated at Harvard when twenty years of age. Young Oliver then spent a vear in studying law: but, OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. his father being a physician, he soon abandoned the law in order to enter upon the study of medicine, which course he pursued in Europe, chiefly in Paris. In 1836 Mr. Holmes returned to America, took the degree of M. D., and two years later he became professor of anatomy and physiology in Dartmouth college, which position he held until the time of his marriage, in 1840, when he removed to Boston, and there won much success as a practicing physician. In 1847 he was appointed to the chair of anatomy and physiology in Harvard - the seat of the medical department of this university being in Boston-a post which he has filled with honor ever since. While Dr. Holmes has won distinction not only as a professional man and a writer on subjects related to his profession, he is best known to the public by his purely literary productions. During the year 1830, while studying law, he contributed a number of witty poems to a col 65 His lege periodical. Dr. Holmes was one of the founders of the Atlantic Monthly magazine, to which he contributed from time to time; and in the pages of this periodical first appeared The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table. lyrics, such as Old Ironsides, Union and Liberty, Welcome to the Nations, and others, are not only spirited, but also the most beautiful in our language; and his humorous poems, including 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. 46 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 generation, and to realize for himself the truth of the wise man's declaration, that A merry heart is a continual feast!'' THE LAST LEAF. I saw him once before The pavement-stones resound They say, that in his prime, Not a better man was found But now he walks the streets, Sad and wan; And he shakes his feeble head, 66 LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. That it seems as if he said, The mossy marbles rest On the lips that he has prest And the names he loved to hear My grandmamma has said Poor old lady! she is dead That he had a Roman nose, But now his nose is thin, And a crook is in his back, I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin At him here; But the old three-cornered hat, And if I should live to be Let them smile, as I do now, 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 I 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,— Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed! Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea! EXTRACTS. The simple lessons which the nursery taught Where go the poet's lines? Answer, ye evening tapers! 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! 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 years. 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. |