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Giving forth to the world its treasures rare,

As a sister, a mother, or wife, And leading man upward to mystic heights

Through the weary pathways of life. The gem of all worlds by the Deity wrought,

Woman's worth no man may know [harp 'Til he stirs the chords of her soul's sweet

When a song of true love will flow, And swell in music's low, rich tones

With harmonies grandly divine, Awakening his soul, bringing better thoughts:

O, woman such power is thine!

IN MY ROOM. 'Tis midnight hour, and in my room

The lights are burning soft and low, The tree that stands my window near

Its leafy boughs waves to and fro. A babe is sleeping sweetly nigh,

Its tiny arms thrown out in rest An image of pure innocence,

The truest and the very best. Alone I sit and think of one

With soft clear eyes and loving smile,
Whose accents linger still with me,

And many weary hours beguile.
I can but think how bleak and drear

My life would be without his love,
Which fills my soul with echoes sweet,

A faint resound from choirs above. I feel a love as strong and deep,

As full and vast as ocean's tides, Where every pulse but for him beats,

And all my bosum's faith abides. I've listened to his 'witching words,

I've listened and I have believed; Into my dreams a voice has come

And told me I am not deceived. But, oh! I feel that if, perchance,

Should come the hour, with his love fled, The world for me bad nothing left,

For all my cherished hopes were dead. But no! I've felt his dear heart's beat,

His strong arms firmly 'round me press'd, And when his eye's fond glance I meet

My doubting soul finds quiet rest. In this sweet faith I'll firmly trust,

Should glad joys shine or sorrows loom, And pray we be unparted when

Another life dawns through the tomb,

THE REVEL OF THE WINTER WINDS.
Hark! how the storm is raging without!

In the distance it clamoring swells!
All check and resistance it sternly defies,

Its voice the fierce contest foretells!
The trees shake bare branches in quivering

dread As they bow their tall forms to the blast, Or measure the earth with their tallen length

And with swift-drifting snows are o'ercast. Up from the depths of the darkness it comes

With a wail and a sobbing shout, Whispering, shrieking and sighing by turns

The wild spirits of air bave come out! With a gusty bound, a rush and a whirl,

It tears through the firs o'er the way, With the moanings that only sore anguish

might knowHoarse mutterings like giants in the fray. It piles up the snow in great, ghostly drifts;

The moon hides her face in despair; Not one starry beam through the wild-rifted

clouds Falls athwart the night's keen, cutting air! Now away in the distance it shuddering dies

Like the sound of a lost soul's woe; Then it gathers new impulse and violent

strength • On its errand to blast and o'erthrow. What way will it take on its long journey

hence To wander o'er lands distant far, With its lion-like roar, or its soft sleepy snore,

Or clangor of storm-gods at war? (wild, O'er mountain, and vale and dense forest

It hisses and sputters along, Sweeping the heights with impetuous force,

Or again sings a lullaby song. Although with the hoarsest of voices it speaks

Where the long roll beats on the drear shore, The wind blasts and waves croon a solemn re

frain Of eternity's vast Evermore.

(war, But still while the winds and the waves wage

And the snow king sweeps over the plain, We hear His clear voice 'mid the fiercest of

storms, Saying: -. Hope till the dawn comes again!" For to-morrow the snows from to-night's weird

storm Will sparkle and flash in sunlight, A soft, fleecy robe o'er the earth's cold breast,

All gone the mad dream of the night. And all will be peaceful -- fled fear and

alarm We'll hear but the sleigh-bells' sweet jingle, And inside the household all merry and

glad, Gathered 'round the bright, cheery home

ingle.

BIRDS.

EXTRACT. Birds, sweet birds, of lightsome wing,

How ye sport and spring! Skimming over bank and brook, Mossy marge and grassy nook,

Where you sit and sing.

JONAH L. ROBINSON. Ye'll doubt what I say, but I hope to die

Ef we dident spend all day a walkin',
Born: SPARTA, Wis., OCT. 19, 1856.

To some lots deown teown a fake hoped we'd AFTER receiving his education Mr. Robinson

buy, taught school for several terms. He was ad- An' we camped over night on a gumbo hill, mitted to the bar in 1882. Since 1883 he has Whar that boomer who took us for tender maintained a law office at Watertown, Dakota,

feet but has devoted much of his time to newspa Said .. Fellars fore long this very spot will per work and politics. He was editor of the

Be the busiest part of the principal street." Daily Courier in 1884, and has since been Cen.

But Johnny nor me want nary spring chicken,
To be ketched and picked by a fakir like him;
So we took the next train and next day was

kickin'
Round Huron the capital teown on the Jim,
Whar a smooth-muzzled covey soon got us in

tow,
An' he puffed up the town with amazin' good
skill

(go
As a place to invest, then proposed we should
To bis west site addition on Capital Hill.
Well we tramped out with him, while he kept

a showin'
t's objects of int'rest that we couldent see,
College and factory (in his mind, a growin'
An' broad acres of parks with nary a tree.
At last we climbed up on a big cradle knoll,
An' it was jolly good fun to hear that rustler

tell,
O'the picteresk beauty and magnificent roll,
O'them lots he so badly wanted to sell.
How the Capital-house of the future grand

state
Would be built on that very identical spot;
That the chance for investment wan't never

so great, An' he showed us all over the neighboring lot Where we found whar but lately had burned

a camp-fire,

An' the hull place to me looked familiarly tral Dakota editorial correspondent of the

queer: Minneapolis Tribune. Mr. Robinson was ap You can blast my tongue for a cussed liar pointed secretary of the Territorial Railroad If it wan't the same we had camped on in and Warehouse Commission in 1889 by the

Pierre. governor of Dakota. Both his prose and verse have appeared in the press since his youth,

ABRAHAM LINCOLN. generally under the name of Doane Robinson. Behold: the great, light-giving sun

Arose above the western hills,
A DAKOTA YARN.

While eastern skies, with stars bestud, Which this talk of a teown that you mean to No promise gave of breaking day. survey

Its glowing face dispelled the gloom All over the kentry for miles around here, And filled the land with light and life; Makes me rekerlect what I seed one day, And while its warm breath bathed the earth, When we struck the big Muddy at the town Rich harvests, planted in the morn, of Fort Pierre.

Were ripened at the midday bell. For Johnny and me with a big lot of rockets, But trait'rous weeds, grown rank and foul That's what we boys called the bright nuggets In the dank, dark, late-ended night, and knots,

Withered and dried beneath its heat. Distributed 'bout in our pantaloon's pockets And wben the well-spent day was done, Had come deown from the Hills to invest in The rankest weeds of treason slain, teown lots.

The rich sheaves safely garnered in, Big teown out there? Well now yer jes' talkin', The great sun found immortal rest.

[graphic]

JONAH L. ROBINSON.

378

LOCAL AND NATIONAL. POETS OF AMERICA.

MRS. JOSEPHINE B. CRUMP.

BORN: BLOUNT Co., TENN., SEPT. 13, 1841. THE poems of Mrs. Crump have appeared quite extensively in the local press. She was married in 1866 to Col. G. J. Crump, who now

And as the human soul communes

In silence with this courtly Guest, The baser self is ushered outThe message brings its promised rest.

THE GREAT REPUBLIC.
With its mission banner flying

In love's service to and fro,
This grand boat with prow uplifted,

Breaks the rippling waters flow
As it laves the Mississippi,

While the waves on either band Kiss the banks that dimly mirror,

Charm of shore or shining strand. On its track of mercy driving,

Sound of oar and splash of wave Blend in harmony with voices

Long immured in living grave,
As the spirits seeking Balşam,

That kind nature hides so well
In her shady haunts and woodlands,

Are relaxed by pleasure's spell.
On it bounds with freight and tonnage,

Gathered from life's lowliest ways, Steering to the goal where Freedom

Like a psalm is sung in praise, In the odor of the flowers,

In the witchery of the wood,
Where the trees in mock defiance

Have for ages grandly stood.
We who woo the morning zephyrs,

And with dewdrops glad our eyes,
Never dream how bare existence,

In brick wall and pavement lies, Where the chirp and song of warbler,

Where the leaping of the stream And the breath of nature's wildings

Fill alone the feverish dream. While we laud great deeds of power,

That have quelled the Giant Wrong, Let this mission of the hour

Swell with fullness every song, For the hands that dare to rescue

Victims from misfortune's blast, Stamp (by time not even canceled,

Records sealed by heaven at last.

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THE SECRET. When timid lips shrink back from words

That frame in prayer, the soul's desire, When utter weakness wards off speech

That interchange of thoughts require; When all we cannot understand,

The sudden grief, the staggering blow May just be left in the kind hand

That finds a blessing in our woe. The soothing sense of this dear way

Marked out by him who loves us best, Must needs be full of love and faith

In attitude of gracious rest. And the full value of this hush,

The confidence that baffles speech Is more of eloquence to him

Than human ken can ever reach. The unseen pulsings and heart throbs,

Are not disguised from divine eyes, But with his talismanic touch

Expand in more than speech implies,

A MOTHER'S SOLILOQUY.

EXTRACT.
Then I watched the bud of your spirit

Unfold, as hour by hour
It developed in beauty and sweetness,

And rich in the promise of flowers.
Then I caught your soft, soothing prattle,

And laughed at your claiming as right, With hands all dimpled and outstretched

Everything that came in your sight.

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380

LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA.

Thy swift wing's too somber to glow in the

sun, Yet thou art still peerless, thou musical one. With voice rich as thine not a hue can com

pare, As it gushes in song so bewild'ring and rare. Then come to the woodbine, 'twill make thee

a home So blooming and lovely thou'lt ne'er wish to

roan. Come on, sweet enchantress, no longer delay, The woodbine is beckoning this bright sum

mer day Just see how it spreads out its long, trailing

arms And offers a shelter abounding in charms. Then, when the bright May flowers in loveli

ness come, The clematis, too, will creep up to thy home. 'Twill twine with the woodbine full many a

bloom, And yield thee for incense the rarest per

fume. Then come to the woodbine that climbs by my

door, Come with thy gay carols, again I implore, Come sing 'mid the vine-leaves -- too long

you've been roaming, Come haste to my lattice and sing till the

gloaming, Then when the pale night queen in beauty

shall shine Thou'lt warble her praise from thy home in

the vine. Forever, sweet minstrel, I'd have thee here

sing, Forever I'd have thy wild melodies ring.

Watching there to ward off danger,

From her in the willows shade, Quick to pierce the daring ranger

Who her kingdom would invade. Rushes, such as guarded Moses

From the current of the Nile, As the thorns protect the roses

From the spoiler's crafty wile.
See behind her in the distance,

Basking on a floating log,
Quick to bring his queen assistance

'Gainst marauders from the bog, Basks a scaly alligator

Borne along above the flood, Fierce as Roman Gladiator

Thirsting for the sight of blood. In this monster we discern a

Likeness to the Hydra dire
Which, within the Marsh of Lerna,

Hercules destroyed with fire.
Or the Dragon who would grapple

With the hero in bis might,
When he stole the golden apple

From the daughters of the Night. 'Round her feet are fishes gliding

Through the liquid glassy waves, Who through all the night were hiding

In their silent, darksome caves.
How they make the wavelets quiver,

Bearing messages afar,
Flashing outward toward the river,

Flashing like a shooting star.
Butterfly with wings all glowing

With their spots of beauty bright, Comes while summer winds are blowing,

Glancing in the mellow light, Bearing words of love and greeting

From the blushing hill-side rose, Then some gay-hued comrade meeting

O'er the meadow green he goes. Hark! there came a southern minstrel,

Who, when winter's reign is o'er, Comes to praise in song his mistress,

Like some gallant troubadour; Clad in dazzling, glittering plumage

Borrowed from the southern sky, Rivaling in brilliant colors

E'en the rainbow's richest dye. Cloaked in green and crimson vested,

Came the love-struck humming bird, And upon her bosom rested

Breathing many a loving word. Telling her of all his travels,

Why he thus had tarried long, And his tales of love unravels

With his tireless wing of song. See the cow so sleek and glossy

Lowing homeward o'er the lea,

THE WATER LILY --- QUEEN OF THE

LAKE.
On the limpid glassy waters,

Sheltered in by many a brakelet,
Reigns the queen of Flora's daughters,

On a crystal inland lakelet,
Where the bending, weeping willow

Forms a canopy of green,
There on many a mimic billow

Floats the fairy water queen. Rules she in her waxen beauty

By the magic power of love; All her subjects pay their duty,

'Round about, beneath, above; Bend to her, who in the sunlight

Cheering them with beaming smile, Breathing fragrance through the dark night,

Does their slumber soft beguile. Where the babbling water gushes

By the damp and miry banks, Thickly 'round her stand her rushes

With their spears in serried ranks

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