918 LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. M. WALLACE. THE poems of Mr. Wallace have appeared in numerous newspapers, and certainly contain merit. He is at present living in Texas at Huntsville. ON THE WING. While musing o'er the events of Time, But hark; what mean those childish raptures A cherub infant looking out, Hails a distant coming shout. Rising high o'er Heaven's headlands In emotion lost she clasps her child, And Poca and Joe had written, Mag and Nannie had penned sweet lines, And out from my package of letters shone a ray of brighest sunshine. But off to themselves were bundles tied with They were pink-tinted, cream and gold filled with eloquence and fun. Each line tells its own happy story, and I treasure them every one: Because, they were written by Walter, Forest, Tom, Johnnie, Bob and Phil, And last, but by no means least, my stanch friends, Frank and Will. HERBERT M. SYLVESTER. BORN: LOWELL, MASS., FEB. 20, 1840. AFTER practicing successfully the legal profession for thirteen years in Portland, Mr. Sylvester then removed his office to Boston. It was here he wrote his Prose Pastorals, which have been called by competent critics poems in prose. Although Mr. Sylvester has written numerous poems of beauty, he is best known as a prose writer. RAIN MUSIC. Hear the welcome of the rain! Patter, patter, Tuneful chatter, On the flashing fire-lit pane. Hear the honeysuckle creak As the winds its secrets seek, Twisting through its matted vines. And the windows how they rattle, bang, and batter! Pitter, patter, Dripping chatter, Tripping down the shingled roof, Filling up its liquid woof; How the notes each other throng, Making up their slumber-song, Full of softly drowsy lines, With their drip, and rush, and gush and clat ter! Pitter, patter, Dripping chatter, Hear the night-tide of the rain! A LARK SONG. A monkish group in sober garb, The weather-cock wakes with the wind; The meadow mists, like fleets Of ghostly ships sail by. Seaward, the ripples grow apace; Betrays with rosy grace Her sun-god lover by her face. From dewy nest and meadow bloom, The brown lark upward soars; His dusky-throated song Falls, sparkling down, now faint, now clear- Like drops of slanting, sunlit rain And breathless lies the earth To catch the wondrous strain, That woos the breaking day again. A MUTE PROPHECY. Aslant the threshold of the West Stretches a sombre reef Of gray; its low, uneven scarp, Outlined in sharp relief Against the sky, is roughly set With pinnacles that glow Like Norombega's mystery Of centuries ago. The hills, with ragged, rock-set domes, Their brightly polished topaz walls, Night comes; the Spirit of the Frost His shuttle swifter plies "Twixt Nature's warp, and swifter weaves For Earth its subtle guise; And down the river-path the pines Echo the dreary cry Of winds whose dying cadences Are Nature's lullaby. In the crisp air of growing dusk Night sets her cordon-line Thick with groups of glittering stars, That weirdly burn and shine, And come and go, as silently As lights that far at sea Are sailed o'er restless tides, by hands THE GREAT SCHOOL-ROOM. Life finds its meaning in its scope, As broad or na rrow as its aim, A poor, frail jest, if only hope Or untaught hand may feed its flame. Dame Nature's school keeps open door,Her novice needs no less, no more,Where long apprenticeship of thought is gain Of stouter brawn and larger thrift of brain. MRS. MARY C. KELSEY. BORN: LOGANSPORT, IND. THIS lady is the wife of J. S. Kelsey, M. D., and resides in Xenia, Ind. Mrs. Kelsey has a poetic style of her own, and has written poems occasionally from her girlhood, which have appeared from time to time in the local press. Mrs. Kelsey is the oldest daughter of Mrs. Julia M. Kautz of Cutler, Ind., who is represented elsewhere in this work. CHILDHOOD. EXTRACT. In the sunny days of childhood, 920 LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. MRS. ELIZABETH O. SMITH. BORN: NORTH YARMOUTH, ME., ABOUT 1807. MRS. SMITH has long stood before the public as essayist, poet, novelist, lecturer and preacher. Not only her own boys but several of her grandchildren are poets. She hopes to publish her works at an early date. UNATTAINED. Alone, we stand to solve the doubt Alone, to work salvation outCasting our helpless hands about. For human help for human cheer- The poet, in his highest flight, Sees ranged beyond him height o'er height, Visions, that mock his utmost might, And music borne by echo back Pines on a solitary track Till faint hearts sigh, alas, alack! And beauty, born of finest art, If but the heart will ask for more. MRS. SARAH M. KIMBALL. BORN: NEW BRUNSWICK, JUNE 25, 1833. IN 1884 appeared My Aunt Jeanette from the pen of this lady. She has written numerous short stories, and her poems have always been gladly received by the press. INDIAN SUMMER. Lapped in the glory of the autumn-time, Crimson and gold, russet and pearly rime! Like sunset splendors flushing orient skies, While lightly from below Soft floating folds of gauzy mists arise. Yea, earth is beautiful In vestments dyed so exquisitely fair; Of voices late upon the ambient air. Of harvest songs so gaily ringing here, With slumbrous melody the attent ear. Dear is the soft caress [now Of light winds warm from sunny south lands Lifting the auburn tress In playful coquetry from Nature's brow. Hath come the golden glory of thy prime! Far back 'mid bowers of beauty and delight. Hath come thine Indian Summer, and to-day Life's after-glow illumining my way! One backward glance, half sad, I give the beautiful, the vanished past, And lead me down with gentle, loving care Life's restful vale, 'tis beautiful down there! ELIZA ELLEN STARR. MISS STARR has written several works, notably Songs of a Life-Time, and Pilgrims and Shrines. This lady resides in Chicago, where she occasionally lectures on Art Literature at her Studio, 399 Huron St. EXTRACTS. Thou mindest me, by thy celestial dye, Of our most Virgin Lady's heavenly eye. Love strewed her couch with bloom; Laid rose and pansy on her breast; Who took so gently to that silent room White poppies? Dear one, rest! |