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That it seems as if he said,
. They are gone!" The mossy marbles rest On the lips that he has prest
In their bloom; And the names he loved to hear Have been carved for many a year
On the tomb.
My grandmamma has said
Poor old lady! she is dead
Loug ago That he had a Roman nose, And his cheek was like a rose
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 wiil remember me by the Chambered Nautilus, your memory will be a monument I shallthink 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 wanis 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.
ALBERT CLYMER. BORN: FAIRFIELD CO., 0., DEC. 10, 1827. In 1890 Mr. Clymer removed from his farm in Morley to Olin, Iowa. He has issued a volume of poems entitled Echoes of the Woods, consisting of songs, ballads and lyrics which in a charming manner carry the author back to the days of boyhood and young manhood in
In rhyming verse, we've measured time,
dull. We hope from time to time, as shall appear most meet,
(repeat. To give you fruit; who taste it will the taste Though it holds meat all ready to your hand, It's taste who'd judge, should skill to taste
command. This fruit may, then, be cracked, and tasted too, all round,
(sound. And cracked again; remaining fresh and
EVOLUTION. Wonderfully long, indeed, Haeckel's chain, Which gave the moneron two legs and a
brain, From the depth of the sea the moneron
came;-Haeckel the scientist gave it a name;--As small as a pin's head, a globular cell; After ages to crawl, snail-like, from a shell.
An infusory, neither male nor female, Acquires a back-bone, and fins, and a tail. A thing without nerve, or muscle, or wish, Is changed to a polyp, a mollusk, a fish. Hatched by the sun from the spawn of the frog,
(wog. Reigns queen in a mud-puddle, Miss PolliA tortoise, a monkey, four legs recollect; A man with two hands and a mind walks
erect. Some millions of years requiring to span
The chasm between the monkey and man. The billions betwixt his first and last state And the number of times he did transmi
grate No man from such data can calculate.
The existance of man, how brought about,
They ne'er can explain if God is left out. So scientists fail, with all their great skill, To solve the great problem; aye fail thus they
will. God says he made man;---of the ground 'tis
confessed As good, when first formed, as is Haeckel's
best. Those naturalists sure have been to great
pains, To prove that they sprang from a race minus
ALBERT CLYMER. his Ohio home. The true spirit of the muse pervades the entire volume. He has had a strong partiality for poetry from his earliest recollection. Mr. Clymer has several volumes of verse ready for publication, and devotes his time mainly to writing and doing light farm work.
POETRY AS COMPARED TO PROSE. True poetry of thought, if it is well expressed, In prose, blank verse, or rhyme, as suits men
best. Dull nature wakes from lethargy and sleep; To contemplation, laughter, chance to weep. It - heaven-born - the soul of man inspires With rapture, and his zeal it fires. It thrills the soul with beauty's vital charm; To noble deeds it nerves the palsied arm; It cultivates the heart; incites to love, And elevates the thoughts to things above. Since prose is deemed sufficiently complete, Devoid of rhythm, of rhyme, and of poetic
HENRY H. BROWNELL.
BORN: PROVIDENCE, R. I., FEB. 6, 1820. AFTER receiving a collegiate education he became a school teacher, began the study of law and admitted to the bar in 1844. In 1849 he gave up the practice of law and thenceforth devot. ed himself to authorship; he has published several volumes of verse besides many works
Such teachers as they should exit the hive;
By nature's great law - the fittest survive." Since they from the spawn of the rena were
hatched, And by them the bull-frogs as croakers are
matched, - From the form of the arm, and the length
of the thigh," They sprang from the species the gentry
would fry. They judge of the class, order and strain, By range of vision and compass of brain. From grinders, and molars, and curve of
the jaw, And spinal column, they inference draw. The texture of muscle, the form of the bone, The order of teeth, and the organs of tone;
The size of the skull, the brain caliber, The pedigree and habits infer. Whence a class sprang, thro' which line they
descend, When they went crawling, or stood upon end.
The reptile, the grub, the molecule source; They draw their conclusions from data of
Course; If valves or bivalves; we're told that those
CHARITY. Hast thou no angel-charity, no kindness to ful
fill For those on whom this winter storm beats
down more naked still?
Calculate back for a billion of years;
man, Without a creative intelligent plan. Infidels madly the Bible have spurned: 'Tis only the present in which they're con
cerned: Trusting their reason they're going astray,
As others will do who take the same way. "Tis clear, quite clear, very clear to my mind, Those men, as the frogs, to leap are inclined;
Equally good at the game of leap-frog,
THE EAGLE OF CORINTH. 'Tis many a stormy day,
Since, out of the cold, bleak North,
Our great War-Eagle sailed forth
O'er charge and storm hath he wheeled,
Tramp, and voiley, and rattle!--
Over climbing clouds of surf,
(A thousand field of battle?
A million leagues of foam!
He shall soar to his Eyrie-Home-
On the Nation's loftiest Dome.
For those who fell at his side-
For him who might have died, Who might have lain, as Harold lay,
A king, and in state enow -Or slept with bis peers like Roland
In the Straits of Roncesvaux.
WE HAVE HAD ENOUGH.
Of poison drugs and watering;
Of feeing men for slaughtering;
Tili Liberty is tottering:
Of shilly shally pottering, We've had enough! The above jingle may be read from top to bottom, an wice versa.
SOLITUDE. This narrow room, -- this narrow room, Sad image of a future doom; Silence, where all around is loud.. And loneliness amid a crowd. On the free mountain could I stand, Nor mark one trace of human hand, Or steer my bark, where none might be, Save mine old playmates of the Sea, The winds and waves —'twould ne'er impress This sense of utter loneliness
JOHN JACOB DICKSON.
BORN: SCOTT CO., IND., SEPT. 8, 1826. WORKING on the farm when young at six dollars per month, Mr. Dickson afterward learned the cooper trade. In 1850 he removed to West Grove, Iowa, where he now resides, buying his farm from the government. In 1864
Where Freedom feels no license or restraint, Who fears a wrong more than the public ban, Yet feels unworthy to be called a saint, Though on the highest mount, serene, above
complaint. But I am under law e'er since my birth So that I cannot soar on angel wings From care and the discordant sounds of Earth Far up away from these to fairer things That Faith has pictured, where the dweller
sings; For love has no opposing foe above To mar its Eden joy from which there springs A peace that Earth's contending sects approve, Then take the sword and disobey the Lord of
JOHN J. DICKSON. he was with Sherman's army on its famous march to the sea. Judge W. M. Dickson, of Cincinnati, is the only brother of the subject of this sketch. John J. Dickson has been a member of the Presbyterian church for the past thirty years, but now favors the Friends
YOUTH AND AGE. In memory I recall my hopeful days (There was a buoyant spirit once within , And brood o'er youth's contented, cheerful
ways, So full of joy and innocent of sin; For then the world, with its eternal din Of creeds, oppression, strife for pelf,and war, Had not made me lose faith in all but HimHad not impelled a course my peace to mar; And now I sigh for days in memory afar, And yet there is a recompense for Age. The purpose of a wise Creator's plan Is found recorded in the Sacred Page, And bappiness is for the aged man Who yields a willing soul, whose inind can
TO A BUDDING POETICAL GENIU'S.
Was once a bud unseen,
The world's admiring theme.
(If you will read my story, I'll try to act the critic's part,
And help you on to glory.
No rule can be your bar,
And Bonaparte of war.
From Custom's iron rule.
Or be esteemed a fool.
Whose great inventions show
In things it does not know. As Webster said, there's room above,"
Where lawyers great may go,
There is a crowd below.
And laurels crown your brow,
The lines we send you now.
According to the rules,
The text book of the schools.
On Fancy's wings away
Where all the muses play.
Pathetic or sublime,
Nor wink at public crime.
Write from your heart – you'll not cater
To kings or reigning wrongsLike Milton, Burns, or Whittier,
Breathe freedom in your songs.
To party lines contined;
Upon a narrow mind.
The favor of the nine,
A thousand of mere rhyme.
This praying, fighting, brightest star
Was shot the danger braving.
Halos the old flag waving.
Their deed of martial glory,
Nor read in hist’ry's story.
Is where the lead is flying.
Among the dead or dying. *John Bright, England's Quaker Statesman), resigned his place in Gladstone's mins. istry, because of his war in Africa, but held that our war for liberty and union was justifiable. The law is a terror to evil doers," and must have power to enforce it. Our war was a police force, to enforce the law, and prevent anarchy.
THREE HUNDRED HEROES. The sunset's glow shines o'er the trees, The pine leaves rustle to the breeze,
The feathered warblers prattle; But man is vile, the evening star Looks on a crimson scene of war
The carnage of a battle. On come the legions of the Gray(..The Union must be shot away"
All Howard's corps is broken. The Babel noise proclaims the tale, Which through the pines the evening
gale The fearful news has spoken. 0, for ten minutes more of time To get the cannon into line,
And stop by rapid shelling,
Of fugitives, are yelling.
But Stonewall's corps is nearing.
To Death the Union cheering.
He said; be quick and steady.
Our batteries are ready."
For yon pine woods are gory.
Until the guns were sighted;
And Jackson's charge was blighted.
- PUT UP THY SWORD." There is a field where just men work,
A high untrodden plain,
That strive for present gain.
Go forth to work and die,
A dwelling 'neath the sky.
On issues past and gone.
And truth goes marching on.
And let the dead past" go?
O who will meet this foe?
So loud, so clear, so strong,
Against this giant wrong.
On dogmas' worthless food,
Tossed by the passion's flood. Ye. Five and twenty” chosen men,*
Will ye prepare a creed Defining sin, proclaiming war
To be the devil's deed? Make no more creeds in Jesus' name
While ye are slaying men,