322 LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. FURTHERMORE. We, that are held of you in narrow chains, Sought for our beauty, thro' our folly raised One moment to barren eminerce, To drop in dreary nothingness, amazed; We, dwarfed to suit the measure of our pride, The proudest of you lives not but he wrung We wait upon your fancies, watch your will, We touch the brim, where ye exhaust the bowl, They who mete and they who gather, counting out the shining spoil, Bade me stand and tarry reck'ning, show my toil, Comes a beggar to the banquet where the full in heart rehearse, He shall take his place in silence, he shall neither bless nor curse: We must cover his short-comings with a treasure of our own Meet it is, in spirit-council, men's possessions should be shown. Let me pass then, as a spendthrift, with a¦ single golden coin I shall never risk nor barter, for a kingdom or a mine: Not for bread would I exchange it, tho' the wolf should gnave my bones, Not for pearls of purest water, not for wealth of priceless stones. Nor the child I dearest cherish, shall inherit with my land This, my chiefest of resources, shut within a dying hand; Not too costly of the passage of the dark and silent sea, If but Love, star-crowned, immortal, shall afford me company. SUE. She was a freak of Nature's joy, As startling as a pansy found Black-leaved, and golden eyed. Her voice was borrowed from the choir That calmed itself in tears. Some nameless touch of God's delight Fell on her, as she lay An infant, dreaming heavenly dreams, Her laughter, many-voiced and full, She wore the radiance of her youth And while she held you with her speech, For soul to outward Beauty is The rosy drapery vanished Before the conquering ray. Twas hers to move in fearlessness, And throne herself at ease: Too royal were her gifts, that she Should condescend to please. LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. CHARLES W. LAFFERTY. BORN: MARTINSVILLE, ILL., Nov. 2, 1857. IN 1884 Mr. Lafferty was married, which he considers the happiest event of his life. In 1888 he built a beautiful home in Casey, Ill., CHARLES W. LAFFERTY. and there located the Casey Nursery. Mr.Lafferty has written poetry from his youth, and both his prose and verse have been widely published in the periodical press. THE STRANGER AND FRIEND. We all have our faults in this life, Some of them great and some are small, Deception will dazzle our eyes, And over life throw a pall. Yes we see it time and again, The untried face of a stranger, Dims the face of a tried true friend. Yes the life of a gilt saloon, Is to capture and fascinate, And often it will wind up, Inclosed in a cold prison grate, And a kind mother's help to lend. The untried faces of strangers, Dims the face of a tried true friend. Yes a kind mother's love you see, Treated with contempt, and with shame, And bringing disgrace upon son, And branding his mother's fair name. Yes, you see it time and again, The untried face of a stranger, Dims the face of a tried true friend. Yes a mother pleads for her child, Yes and turns to the world again. The face of a tried and true friend, 323 THE CRY OF THE POOR. Cramped by poverty and indigent's slave, Sorrow and trouble compelled here to brave, The home of the poor, wherever we go, The same song of sorrow, all of them know. We sometimes pass, with gentle remark, Never stopping to think, how sad and dark Are some hours to them, as sad want they see, Never stopping to say. If that was me." We see the children and light-clad are they, Hardly enough to keep warm in the day. As the winter blast brings ice,sleet and snow, Pain, grief and sorrow their little hearts know. They go to their bed, to seek there some rest, That should be as warm as the robin's nest, But poverty here makes his presence felt, And thoughts of a cold night makes one's heart melt. Yes, children of the poor go to their bed, Hungry and cold, they all lay down their head, While mothers of plenty sing lullaby songs, Yes unable to help and yet so kind. These kind parents have misfortune picked out, As over this earth he laid out his route, Yes, picked them out here to suffer and want, And all thoughts of plenty must come to naught. world Yes, the poor stand back and look at the [hurled, From luxury and plenty, they have been To go through this life with hearts as of lead, Poverty-stricken, and begging for bread. Now cheer up ye poor, and listen what is said, Cheer up your heart, and come hold up your head, We know it is hard to lead such a life, With suffering children and bosom wife. But the time will come and you will lie down With the rich and all that now wear the crown, [grave The green grass then will grow over your The same as over the rich or the brave. Your soul will pass to the infinite land, And the rich and poor will join hand in hand, And all that has been, none there will know, As time and years of eternity go. LEANDER COX HOWE. BORN: MAYSLICK, KY., Nov. 15, 1866. As a minister of the gospel, Mr. Howe has experienced fair success. He is very fond of literature, and hopes at no distant date to devote the greater part of his time to literary work. The Rev. Howe has written poetry from his youth, and will present a volume of his poems to the public in book-form at an early date. He is at present located at Poplar Plains, in his native state. STAR-THOUGHTS BY TWILIGHT. The purple glory of the dying day Reflects its luster on the sky above, While deep down in my heart their lies The precious gift-first love. O gift divine that thou art mine; I see afar a silver star, Bright jewel in the blue, As is its light true to old night,— My love is true to you. And so when we have paid the debt, And by decree eternal Its light can never die. O see a distant shining star! In life who was your all. Where starlight diamonds glisten, We love to look upon that star Its beauty that we miss. The stars look down from realms of blue Upon the lonely molds, Where long have slept the bodies Of many noble souls. I see another golden star Which smiles in fairy blue,"Tis sweet to think of her we love, Whose looking at it too; Its rays reflect the beauty That to her nature gave, O may that star forever shine O yonder is a fatal star One that we ought to hate; So well did Gloster's bastard youth That through the ages run. Dear reader please remember this, That stars are not responsible The meanest villain drawing breath- Fair Venus may have smiled upon The purest saint that ever lived, For ought we know, may have been born LAWRENCE S. MCDONALD. BORN: GLENDALE, PA., MAY 14, 1866. AT fourteen he attended a high school at Clearfield, Pa., where he now resides; beginning in the primary department and making such rapid progress that he graduated with the first honors four years afterward. His talents are comprehended in painting, music, oratory and poetry, and a faculty ef generali LAWRENCE S. M'DONALD. zation that amounts to genius. He is essentially an orator, and as such has made a wide reputation in his native state. Mr. DcDonald is now practicing law at the county seat of Clearfield, and has made a success of journalism, but finds the practice of law more lucrative. He stands reasonably high as a poet. EXTRACTS. My soul is sad to-day. I know not why Shadowy presentiments come and go, Though yet I roam the precincts of her hazel eye It is not well that mortal man should know The hidden destinies that, swinging to and fro, Cast their short shadowings across the page 1 sing. As if cast there by some strange bird on lofty wing. But the press of my lips to her marble cheek Is a sacrilegious touch; There is yet one thing that binds us, Though our throbbing hearts unheard, And that is the golden binding cord That is made of her truthful word. As true as death's our goal, From heath and highland purple all night long Two drowsy sentinels from starlit towers, Call to each other in the trembling silence, The passage of the hours. Faint streaks of violet from jasper capes In trembling splendor, as on wings of love, And some bright soul-deep-robed in spotless white, Delights me from above. Some rustling spirits move across the floor- Across my bed the curtain fringes flow, Kissed by the amorous zephyrs from above, To me they're like the presence of a loved one now In lands of light and love. I do believe our fathers' faith of old- As writ in light the pages of the skies. And the day that's far away Day that knows no noon, no night, Fast it breaks in purple streaksHow my eyes do drink the lightFast it breaks o'er hills and peaks, Jasper amber golden streaksThus that day streams on my sight. Since that hour I courted Nature's I am sitting, thinking, thinking 326 LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. DR. JOSEPH P. RUSSELL. BORN: BOURBON CO., KY., JULY 23, 1815. FOR thirty years Dr. Russell has practiced medicine in Waveland, Indiana. From his youth this gentleman has written poems DR. JOSEPH P. RUSSELL. from time to time, which have received publication. He contemplates the publication of his verse in book-form in the near future. TO A BUTTERFLY. Butterfly, butterfly Where are you wending? .. This a way, that a way," Whither now tending? With your gaudy rich tints, From darkness so drear, Of each op'ning flow'r, And zig-zag o'er hill, So crooked your course seemed Never intended, On roadside or dell, Your pleasures pursue? A world of sweet flowers That bloom all the year, A butterfly heaven, With no death to fear Or, doomed by the frost-king To death and decay, Will death be eternal, THE PERSECUTED RABBIT. Poor timid hare, and innocent as well, I would I could thy wrongs redress, and tell, Of persecutions meted out to you; Fain would I be thy friend and advocate, Hold up the horrors of thy bloody fate, Till man relenting, would not thee pursue. Thy graceful form and manners mild should A warrant for thy peace and liberty, That rest, sweet rest might be to thee secure; Those brownish mild benignant eyes of thine, Ought to repress the lawless hordes of crime, And hold inviolate a life so pure. [strife, [be No armor thine to shield from murd'rous dread. The heartless huntsman with his dog and gun, To lift them up o'er all the dead and maim'd, |