676 LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. WILLIAM R. JACOBS. BORN: ELIZABETH, PA., JAN. 2, 1868. MR. JACOBS follows the occupation of a printer, and is connected with the Observer publishing house of Suffolk, Va. He publish The fish have th' fount - the flow'rs th' beeThen why not th' forest be mine? THE JAMES! THE NOBLE JAMES! As the James! the noble James! See the gallant barks that glide The James! the noble James! Its shores are white with pearly shells- WILLIAM R. JACOBS. ed a monthly periodical, The Rosewood Library, for about one year. The poems of Mr. Jacobs have appeared quite extensively in the periodical press of Virginia. THE HUNTED FAWN. O, why doth th' hunter so follow my trail That I cannot but stumble when run. I have th' lone wood for my cumberless lair, And my bed - it is cold and so damp,While Nimrod has homes and luxuriant fare, And th' Shawnee a fire at his camp. They slaughtered my mother but yester' at morn, And have left me with awe and no aid, And now they are hunting thro' meadow and corn To be-cripple her innocent babe. The sea-gull has homes on th' fathomless sea, And th' eagle its nest in th' pine; THE SYLVAN ALTAR. O summer winds and autumn sighs blow here, "Twill sing a louder song - much sweeter still, When passing by this rustic altar hill. This Oak hath kept th' dew from off the brow LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. MRS. ABBIE H. RICHARDS. BORN: EAST UNITY, N. H., SEPT. 18, 1851. FOR nearly a quarter of a century this lady has resided in south-eastern Nebraska, and while there she has been connected with newspaper work. She is a strong temperance 677 I am weary, weary, mother, Of this ceaseless, endless strife, I'll go back to you, dear mother, I remember once you told me- I have learned since then, dear mother, It is said our Heavenly Father, Fold her tired wings to rest - DREAM VISIONS. To-day my mind is filled with recollections, row, And mocking visions seem to fill my brain. Full well I know, why now I link together The dead past, and the shadowy yet to be; Because in dreams last night, you came back, darling, For bitter tears to-day will come unbidden, And dim my eyes, as memories sad but sweet Come back across the years of lonely waiting, And nearer bring the day when we shall meet. For we will meet, I know it, in the future, And we are nearing close, the other shore; But ere the summons comes to call me over, I'll see your face, and clasp your hand once more. Though morning banished all my fond dreams, darling, And visions of the cherished long ago Must give their place again, to life's stern duty, And years go on in ceaseless ebb and flow; And though the days are filled with passionate longings, The night of mocking dreams, and bitter tears; I wait the time when I shall meet you, darl ling, And live again the love of buried years. CHARLES N. WOOD. BORN: BROOME, N. Y., JULY 1, 1839. THE poems of Mr. Wood have appeared in the Waverly Magazine and other publications. WHERE WE LIVE MATTERS LITTLE. If we search the lowly valleys, Break the stillness of the air. If we search the hills or mountains, If the wheat we bring is good; Or if brought by public road. Thus 'twill be at God's tribunal When we're judged at the Last Day: Where we've lived we'll not be questioned, All that matters is the way. If we've only done our duty, All with us will then be well; ALLEN R. DARROW. BORN: NEW LONDON, CONN., APRIL 20, 1826. ALLEN R. DARROW, the author of Iphigenia and Other Poems has gained quite a reputation as a poet. Although now and for many years actively engaged in business pursuits But over the graves of stranger ones, No more from him comes a kiss to bless, Within this little one's heart there came, Sweet memories of his love; At that shrine anew there burned a flame And then she gathered from lane and field. Until her apron was more than filled, And with starry daisies too. Her flowers so bright into many a link She wrought with many a tear; And she said, Maybe that God will think My papa is buried here." ALLEN R. DARROW. he has, nevertheless, found time to cultivate a natural taste for authorship, furnishing from time to time acceptable contributions to various journals and magazines. Mr. Darrow is now a resident of Buffalo. A DECORATION DAY INCIDENT. And the sun shone fair o'er field and wold, With muffled music, with speech and song, From their homes went forth the old and young To enwreath each hero's tomb. With solemn mien and reverent tread, And memory all aglow; Garlands were strewn o'er the graves of their dead Amid voicings soft and low. Not only for brothers and noble sons, Were the tributes so lovingly paid; FEBRUARY GEMS. To wandering children in the ages old, ers There fell from heaven pure crystal gems in showers. Well, I believe, and so I think must you For going forth upon a winter morn o'er, Prodigal alike to all the rich and poor Had scattered rivals to the Khoinoor. ENVOY. O youth's first love, fresh, ardent, pure, 680 LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. MRS. EMMA F. CARPENTER. BORN: HALIFAX, PA., JAN. 28, 1844. THE poems of Mrs. Carpenter have appeared in the Harrisburg Patriot, Telegram and oth MRS. EMMA F. CARPENTER. er publications. She was married in 1862 to Thos. B. Carpenter, and resides at Benvenue. INVOCATION. Oh, speak unto me kindly, To forget is vain to try; My soul will hover 'round thee As the stars in the azure sky. I long to draw anear thee, If I perhaps might cheer thee, I blest indeed would be; Forever thou hast blest me, Though distance hath oppressed me, When far away from thee. With power supreme you drew me, Your glances piercing through me, Immersed my soul in joy; With ecstacy you bound me, In fervent prayer to heaven, My plea ascends for thee. I pray the darkness 'round thee, That like a pall hath bound thee, May rent to atoms be, That the sweet light of heaven To guide thee may be given, And I thy joy may see. God bless thee now and ever, And keep thee safe forever, While I am far from thee; May all thy grief and sadness Be soon transformed to gladness, Then I will happy be. THE DAWNING. One more beautiful dream In which my soul doth seem Very near to heaven; My heart with fevered throbbing Amidst earth's dull leaven; Peace is marred by passion's gleam, Let me pour my soul away, And the sun is shining; Seek the cloud's bright lining; Clouds obscure the sunbeam's play, Let me look where'er I may, For more light I'm pining. Do I pine without a hope, With an untold yearning. When earth's pleasures cease to draw, |