502

With the boys in blue to the front, often times forsaken;

The war over, for better or worse, Nellie was taken.

The first name was appropriate to the very letter,

In search of another, and for the want of a better,

Since for a girl a royal name is difficult to find, Liza Ann given to Batchelder's arts much study in mind.

Clarinda Jane Bartlett appears along in the train,

Fraught with such a name, will ever work with might and main;

With a heart as broad as the name, Cupid from above

For a Sanborn filled with sweet nectar, the [sire, cup of love.

Records old and poets many, sage alike with Gleaning for names, the spell was broken, Laura Maria

Sounded forth, and before the last maiden corner passed,

Tailoress she was, a Taylor truly is at last. Exploring the realms of the dead, the living inspire,

Sir John Franklin, Jr., explored no farther than the choir,

Perchance, charmed with Helen, a fair daugher of these lands,

Has music enough, since they joined hearts and hands.

Giving many mechanics, the smith and the wheel-right,

But none skilled in oratory, nor teachers of the right,

To this sacradotal office was given George Henry,

Who associated with him in this portion, Jennie.

Charles Albert, a mighty prince over his house doth reign;

To Frankie, his idol joined, forever to remain,

Not to a heathen God, all hallowed blood offering,

But at liberty's altar, for freedom laboring. From the royal line of gubernatorial fame, Levi Woodbury, honest and true, derived his

name,

Wandering far and wide over western prairies vast, Roamed till satisfied, concluded to take Tillie at last.

The parents before the altar consecrate a teacher,

And christened a circuit rider, Holman Kelley, the preacher.

The writer, to exalted fame no high claims can lay,

But to parents and Phie, ever grateful tribute pay.

Myron Lincoln, from Abe's own bosom with genius full,

The thunder and roar of engine and throttle pull

His highest glory; and Maggie his fond admiration,

Now flying on his steed o'er plain, sweeping in rotation.

The seventh son in row, failing in a name more renowned,

Almon Curtis, for his Addie, much preference abound.

The Doctor most aptly and potently applies his skill,

The old homestead in Bristol town, ever dear, to till.

Dear parents, of all your long and respectable train,

Only four of your own in old New England remain;

Six are scattered thoughout the great west for a short time,

And one is abiding in Florida's sunny clime. In this world of conflict and change sundered must we be,

But God grant that all may be gathered beyond the sea.

With devout thankfulness, not one is counted

to-day,

With the sacred dead, consigned in mother earth to lay.

Sail on thou storm-rocked bark with thy silvered locks like sails

Floating in the autumnal breeze, borne from heaven's gales;

Thy knitted bows, dew bedecked and all wrinkled with age,

Gemmed with many stars; thy soul's eternal love engage.

May it never tempest-riven be, or caused to

strand

Till thy lives in snowy whiteness gain the glory land.

Thou hast almost gained the heavenly port: Sail on!

Night a little longer, then 'twill be eternal

morn.

Once more dear ones we turn and linger in the old home,

While our hearts and minds arise to heaven's dome,

That in this dear home your children you may often view,

Till this spot and each other on earth we bid adieu.

MRS. FANNY SPEAR YOUNG.

BORN: KEMPER CO., MISS., OCT. 6, 1844. THE poems of this lady appeared quite extensively in the periodical press. She was married in 1866 to Capt. W. F. Young. She has

When th' faith we trusted wags its head. From out that mouth, my lovely child, Speak words of wisdom, gentle, mild, O, brow! with intellect abeam,

May thought and act and effort teem With good, and thus commend the ways Of Him whom Heaven and angels praise. O, time! deal gently with my jewel, And safely through temptation's cruel And thorny pathway, lead my child; Oh! lead her past each wicked wild. I wonder now and strive to see

What in the future thou wilt be, O innocence! it can't be true,

That crime thy heart will e'er imbue, Forebodings vain. My prayer shall be, My God! I trust it all to thee.

TO MY BABY'S PICTURE.

O, image! dearer far to me
Than costliest gem in earth or sea,
Than diamonds, brighter, and aglow
With love, those eyes that glad me so.
Those lips of coral, bathed in love,

Breathe sweets that lift my heart aboveThis mother's heart such transports share That every care some bliss doth wear.

O, eyes! may never sorrow blight

The sweet young joy that makes your light. May naught e'er dim those eyes with tears, From wrong. O Fate! guard well her years. Alas! how bitter 'tis to feel

That woe to us is other's weal.

Oh! may'st thou ne'er have foes assail thee, And th' ties thou deem'dst could never fail thee

Prove broken faith. Our joy is fled,

A MOTHER'S LOVE.

EXTRACT.

A father looks upon his boy with pride,
With prospect bright the future lures his joy
And admiration. His intellect he prunes,
And with his own strong arm he leads him up
The rugged hill to manhood-gives the world
His second self, a noble scion, and then,
In quiet content, he hails the sweeter calm
Of life's adieu.

Old ocean wafts

No lullaby so sweet as mother's words,

The winds no language whisper half so pure, The brightest flower boasts no fadeless

bloom;

And yet a mother's love endures forever.
No cruelty, or absence, or frowning horde
Of ills can break this tie of adamant,

A mother's love is earth's one plant from
Heaven.

FAITH.

Faith soars aloft on eagle wing,
Undaunted e'er and sun-ward;
In triumphs thro' each fiery thing
In majesty 't moves onward.
With mighty stride o'er mountains rife
It mounts, the highest, the fleetest;
Beneath the boisterous storm of life
Faith finds a calm the sweetest.

With iron hand, faith grasps the throne
Of mighty God Jehovah,

And claiming heaven's sweets its own,
With joy it spreads earth over.

And faith will lead us home at last,
Where mind and soul are blended-
Where light and love are joined and blest
In wisdom's feast unended.

MRS. ANNIE H. MAGEE.

BORN: CANADA, DEC. 14, 1850. DURING a busy life Mrs. Magee has occasionally found time to court the muse, and her poems have frequently appeared in the local

MRS. ANNIE H. MAGEE.

press. She hopes to publish a book at no distant date. Mrs. Magee is now a resident of Michigan at Golden-Rod Place.

TIME. PART I.

Just merging from the simple walks of childhood's merry ways,

The youth and maiden, peering forth with allimpatient gaze,

The fields of man and womanhood, in glowing color see,

And long to pass the border line,- to solve their mystery.

Time passes all too slowly now, scarce seems to move at all,

While o'er the youthful senses, dreams of future blessings fall:

For that future in the distance, ever fair and tempting lies,

Youth fain would overleap all bounds and seize the glowing prize.

O, thou whose boyish mind is filled with visions fair to see!

Dream on for soon enough thou'lt wake to stern reality;

Be not impatient,-lagging time ere long will use his wings,

Then watch for only active hands can catch the good he brings!

And, little maid with beaming face and softly glowing eyes,

In which a child's unconscious grace and woman's power lies.

The path that thou art treading now is fair with budding flowers

Enjoy their bloom, they'll vanish soon with girlhood's care-free hours.

PART II.

Now time reveals the man's strong will,
Youth's radiant halo lingers still,

But life is growing real.

With busy hands and active brain,
The toiling man strives hard to gain
The dreaming youth's ideal.
The maid, her happy, girlish days
Half-hidden by time's misty haze,
In earnest, thoughtful mood,

At last within the threshold stands,
Takes up, with untaught, trembling hand,

The task of womanhood.

"Tis thus life's springtime slips away,

Till, flying fast, each summer day

To man and woman calls;

(Time's sands, how swiftly now they run!) "Let summer's work be quickly done, Before the autumn falls!"

PART III.

Softly now, with measured tread,
Trembling feet with snowy head,
All youth's glowing fire dead,
See the aged come!
Broken idols, severed bands,
Chastened hearts and patient hands,
Wide for them the portal stands,
They are almost home.

Through the changing scenes of life,
Fraught with joy with sadness rife,
Past the dreaming, past the strife,
Seed-time, harvest gone;
Backward turn the dimmed eyes,
Back to where the life-work lies,
Deeds of light or darkness rise,
Past recall, they're done!
Memories happy, memories sad,
Bright or gloomy, good or bad,
Noble acts or errors made-
Each and all abide;
While time's stream flows softly on,
Bearing to the land unknown,
Sage and infant,- every one,
On its ceaseless tide.

505

I AM LOOKING.

I am looking o'er the dreary mist,
Which, stretching far away,
Conceals the mountain's wooded brow
And the broad river's sparkling flow,
And dims the light of day,
Makes sad this fading light of day.
And now my busy fancy fills

That mist with richest dower
Of gorgeous scenes in eastern clime,
Palace, and dome, and vesper chime,
For this lone twilight hour,

This still, sad, dreamy hour.

Beyond it all I seem to hear

Old Ocean's murmurs come,

And see the white sails dimly glide
Far off on the receding tide,

Joyfully sailing home;

Bearing fond hearts toward home.

Would that it were not fancy's dream

And I were on that sea,

Rushing as swift as thought can fly

Through mist and foam and surging high

My home once more to see,

With my loved ones to be.

SHADOWS.

I am sitting in the moonlight

And looking o'er the snow,

Where shadows from the tree tops

Are gliding to and fro,

And I am thinking of the shadow
Of that Reaper cold and strong,
Who is gathering in his harvest
Night and day the whole year long.
To some he seems an angel,
With face of heavenly light;
To others grim and fearful,
With countenance of night;
But I have only seen his shadow
Fall o'er the loved ones gone,
And I've shuddered at his footsteps
As I've heard them stealing on.
And yet my heart oft prayeth,
Let the shadow fall on me;
'Tis not because so radiant

Is that changeless smile I see
On the still face stamped forever,
Of the pale earth-freed one,
"Tis not because the sorrowing
And toiling all are done.
No, 'tis a sweeter blessing,
My soul desires to win
From the shadow of the Reaper,
"Tis freedom from all sin;
For those who sleep in Jesus
Are free from earthly stain,
And when the shadow falleth
They'll know no sin again.