LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. MRS. S. L. B. MCFARLAND. BORN: HALIFAX, PA., APRIL 12, 1839. THE poems of Mrs. Mc Farland have appeared in the Harrisburg Patriot and Telegraph, and the periodical press generally. She was married in 1860 to C. E. McFarland, secretary of the 46th Pa. V. V. Infantry at Halifax, where MRS. SARAH L. B. M'FARLAND. she still resides. Personally Mrs. McFarland is rather small in stature, but a little robust, with black hair and brown eyes. She is well known and greatly admired for her many accomplishments among her many friends and acquaintances. SONG OF THE SPARROW. Unmindful all of ice or snow, From bough to bough they fluttering go, Sweet! sweet! Oh! winds of March, your biting blasts, Brown earth so cold and snow-clad hill, Oh! souls bowed down with earthly care, New buds spring forth fresh fruit to bear, New burdens take, new dangers dare. Sweet! sweet! 757 Each sorrow brings its strengthening grace, Oh! tiny bird with dark brown-wing, Sweet! sweet! WHEN THE EVENING SHADOWS LENGTHEN. When the evening shadows lengthen, And th' weary day is almost done; Then on the fainting soul to strengthen, So sweetly gleams the setting sun. Lights all the hills with gorgeous splendor, Aud makes earth-life like dreamland seem, While brilliant clouds reflect the grandeur That on the glowing waters beam. The gay world seems fading from our view All its cares and tempting pleasures; Eagerly we grasp with faith anew, The Master's heavenly treasures. Whilst heaven's portals widely open, As we thus stand in glad amaze; Behold of love divine the token Greets again our wandering gaze. No more by dread fear the spirits torn, MRS. S. J. STEVENS. BORN: BELFAST, ME., JULY 17, 1839. MRS. STEVENS has written quite a few poems for the Boston Morning Star. This lady resides in Troy, Me., where she is very popular. A REVERIE. She prayed for death's long dreamless sleep, 758 LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. FAY HEMPSTEAD. BORN: LITTLE ROCK, ARK., Nov. 24, 1847. FOR Some years this gentleman has been a constant contributor to numerous papers and Magazines, among which might be mentioned the Boston Transcript, New York Mail and Express, Richmond Dispatch, and the St. Louis Republican. The productions of Mr. FAY HEMPSTEAD. Hempstead have received special recognition from both press and public, and his poems have elicited a complimentary letter from the poet John G. Whittier. He is frequently called upon to read original poems on public occasions. In 1878 he published his first volume of poems which met with fair success, and now has a second volume which will be brought out in due season. Mr. Hempstead has become quite prominent as a public speaker, and is widely known as a prose writer. In 1889 he published Hempsteads School History of Arkansas, which has met with an enthusiastic reception. Mr. Hempstead was married in 1871 to Miss Gertrude B. O'Neal, by whom he has a family of four sons and three daughters. This lawyer, author and lecturer is grand secretary of the Free Masons for the state of Arkansas, in which state he is very popular. THE DEPARTED YEAR. Old year! old year! that liest here So cold and stark upon thy bier, I fold thy hands upon thy breast, Yet ere the rising of the dawn, .. The king is dead! Long live the king!" ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG GIRL. I stand where the maid with the pale cold face And her palms together pressed, Lies robed for her last abiding place, For her sleep of endless rest. And her marble cheek is as fair as the rose, That at her throat there lies; And death's unlovely presence shows Not the placid face, nor the shining hair, But the vacant gaze alone; And naught is left of the life that was there. Save the place where the brightness shown. For the light has gone from her bright blue eye, Where the soul was shining through; As a star fades out of a summer sky, And only leaves the blue. O earth in time bring forth the rose, To where she lies in soft repose HENRY TARRING ECKERT. BORN: NORTHUMBERLAND, PA., AUG. 20, 1842. THE poems of Mr. Eckert have appeared in the Detroit Free Press and other publications. He follows the occupation of a salesman. DAWN. Fly fair Aurora o'er the eastern hills, shore, Gild with thy wand eternal peaks of snow, And flood with light the grateful world below. JACOB W. GREENE. BORN: HARRISON CO., IND., JAN. 18, 1839. SINCE 1861 Mr. Greene has been following the profession of a dental surgeon, and is now located at Chillicothe, Mo. He was married in 1863 to Miss Annie Eliza Pitt, of New Al bany, Ind. Mr. Greene has written quite extensively for the periodical press; and in addition to his poems he has furnished prose writings on dental and other subjects. He has a work, Philosophies of Betsy Spoon, which he hopes to publish at an early date. IN MEMORIAM. What e'er be our portion in life, or its where, there, And center again at the home of our youth. And whether in mansion or hovel we dwelt, Companions' sweet faces and voices we found, Whose presence, like sunshine of summer, we felt, That star of the evening, still twinkling, reminds Of the hills and the valleys and playmates so fair; But one, of all others, like Venus, outshines In memory's sweetness, the rest that were there. Dear Orree La Faivrie, were yet he on earth, Would prize much this story (excuse and defend Its weakness of genius and beauty and worth) Because it was written by the hand of His Friend. HOPE TO THE RESCUE. Oh! tell me not this flitting life is all Is all there is in store for me; "Twere better, indeed, I'd never lived at all Than now that I should cease to be. Away down deep beyond the ken of man, The troubling where, the how, and the why Are details the Goddess of Hope passes by, As Supreme over reason she takes control, And proclaims the immortality of the soul. Yea: when the absurd creeds of men are rotten, And materialistic philosophies forgotten; When agnosticism is a hoary sage And rules over a knowledge-lacking age: Still, then will Hope to the rescue arise And claim the part that never dies. THE INDIAN FAIR. The scene: In early Southern Hoosierdom, Where 'possums, 'coons and hoop-poles grow, Amongst the clear Ohio's bluffs and glades, Where poets never were known to go. But why these musers always kept away Is difficult to understand; For, ever, witches, fairies, ghosts-and spooks Stood waiting 'round on every hand. "Twixt knobs and hills and mossy, rocky cliffs, Where panthers howled and hoo-owls hoo-ed, Brought halos of brightness and pleasures A weirdly strange, but lovely valley, hid, around. "Twas these gorgeous sunsets, with glamour afar. Lit up the round heavens to the zenith above, And through the soft azure one bright evening star [love. Beamed first in its beauty and twinkles of Where fairy lads and lasses wooed; Where numerous Indian graves and dead men's bones, And arrow-flints, and quaint old mounds, Were proof that there where fairies often danced Had once been known as battle grounds. 760 LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. ABBIE NELSIA PARTRIDGE. BORN: LEBANON, ME., SEPT. 15, 1857. UNDER the nom de plume of Nelsia Bird this lady has written both prose and poetry for ABBIE NELSIA PARTRIDGE. numerous newspapers and magazines. She resides with her parents at Greenfield, N. H., where she has become quite popular. CLOSED DOORS. How often we utter a careless remark .. They are odd or eccentric," is all that we say, For the thoughts of their hearts do not show. Perhaps there are reasons we never would dream, That have made their lives what they are; Slumbering pity might wake, if to us had been given, The door of their hearts to unbar. We see but the doing, and censure the deed, Without knowing the motive within. Could we see the true purpose, and fathom the why, We might find in our heart lay the sin. Speak lightly of no one; let God be the judge; Our mission be good will to all; Whatever we think, keeping guard o'er our lips, That no light, careless word from them fall. Though a kind word be lost, or a smile cast aside, "Tis but little to lose on our way, And if some heart grows true by our kind, earnest words, The one ransomed soul will repay. WHO KNOWS? Into grace, the lovely rose By a pure and noble mind; Vice and beauty never blend, Were the thoughts some hand had penned. Thoughtfully I turned away, Plucked it for its beauty rare, I had given it honor's place, But a friend, who knew the flowers' Looking on my new-found prize, THE TRAIN OF YEARS. I think a vision comes to me. LOCAL AND NATIONAL. POETS OF AMERICA. MARY ELLEN BLANCHARD. BORN: PEMBROKE, ME., MARCH 27, 1851. MISS Blanchard learned the trade of a typesetter in the office of Portland Advertiser, and has since worked in a number of Portland and MARY ELLEN BLANCHARD. Boston offices. Failing health obliged her to return to her father's home in Milltown, where she now resides. This writer is well known by her contributions to literary papers and magazines, and by A Story of Psyche and Other Poems, which appeared from her pen in 1885. SEA CHARMED. Sing thy song, O happy sea, Lift to light thy mighty waves, One there is, both deep and wide, My beloved doth sleep; - On her lily lids the light Never falis with pressure rude, Nor do restless winds at night Vex her solitude; Though with wizard charm they whirl Swiftly round her coral bed, 761 MY HEART GOES ROUND THE WORLD SAILING. My heart goes round the world sailing, However the winds may blow, And searches with tears from clime to clime For the love of long ago; Goes round the world, round the world sail ing, With passion its pulse to thrill, All round the world, round the world sailing, In quest of the old love still. My heart goes round the world sailing, As ever in days gone by Did Fancy sail in her airy ship To the realms where treasures lie: Goes searching the cold world o'er and o'er, Wherever fond wish may go, And calls through the length of desert years- Calls to the sea that's swept by storm, Yet a-sailing and a-sailing, Through storm and through suramer shine, Shall go my heart with a fearless trust Till that joy again is mine; All round the world, round the world sailing, And learn how idle are human hopes, My heart, around the world sailing, Will seek that love of the olden time Till death shall the dream fulfill; All round the world, round the world sailing, With patience that mocks at woe, All round the world, round the world sailing, However the winds may blow! |