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“Say not good-bye! say but good-night:
A word that blesses in its flight,
In leaving hope of many a kind,
Sweet day like this we leave behind.
Say but good-night! Oh never say
A word that taketh thee away!
Say but good-night!



A fountain warbled, more it seemed

In weariness than play;
The birds sang loud, but not as in
The forest depths sing they.

-God's Singer.

My mother! she to whom I read my earliest rude

essays, Who pinned my verses in her gown, and on her

household ways, As she kept moving, to herself she said them over

soft; I had a True-love afterwards that read them not so oft!

- Without and Within.


Oft have I bent my gaze Adown our Life's steep edge with eyeballs dim

And thirsting soul. aweary of the day's Hot parching dust and glare; this well is deep.

Too seldom rise the waters to its brim, And I had nought to draw with!


We broke no piece of gold, We took no pledge of lock nor picture slid

Within the breast; our faith was not so cold That it should ask for any sign! We date

Our marriage from our meeting day, and hold These spousals of the soul inviolate As they are secret; for no friends were bid

To grace our banquet, yet a guest Divine Was there, who from that hour did consecrate Life's water, turning it for us to wine.

- Ibid. ORGAN.

I saw thee kneel
Afar; the organ, as it were the Soul
Of many human souls, that did revcal

Their secrets, sighed, as on its stormy roll It gathered them.

- lbid. SILENCE.

Speech is but a part
Of Life's deep poverty, whereof the heart
Is conscious, striving in its vague unrest
To fill its void; but when the measure pressed

And running over, to its clasp is given,
It seeketh nothing more, and Earth is blest
With Silence - even such as in Heaven!

-- To a Long-parted Friend.


I praised thee not while living; what to thee
Was praise of mine? I mourned thee not when

I only loved thee, - love thee! oh thou fled
Fair spirit, free at last where all are free,
I only love thee, bless thee, that to me

For ever thou hast made the rose more red,

More sweet each word by olden singers said In sadness, or by children in their glee.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

We do but guess
At one another darkly, 'mid the stir
That thickens round us; in this life of ours
We are like players, knowing not the powers
Nor compass of the instruments we vex,
And by our rash, unskilful touch perplex
To seek, and all our being heedfully
To tune to one another's.

-Old Letters.

Love's great charity Hath taught this lesson, as beside her knee I stand, and child-like con it o'er and o'er, Through loving one so much love all the more."


Soon or late
Come all things to a calm;— I do but wait.

- Ibid.

While sunshine slid Adown the will's steep side, and overtook And meshed within its golden net, each nook O'ershadowed with dark growths, and filled each

cleft And thunder-splintered chasm storms had left.

-Seorsum. SOLITUDE.

I thirsted not to hear The voice of any friend, nor wished for dear Companion's hand firm clasped in mine; I knew, Had such been with me, they had been less near.


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But the people have no eyes,
And they hear with wild surprise,
With a measureless delight,
When I speak to them of sight,
Press to learn the wondrous thing,
Clasp me, crown me, hail me king;
Me! that in the Land of Seeing,
Have but half a scanty being,
Am despised and scorned of men,-
But in Blindman's-Land, ah! then,
You should hear of my renown,
You should see my robe and crown!

R. KOOPMAN, ( the name pronounced like

its English cognate, Copeman), was born in Freeport, a ship-building town near Portland, Me., July 1, 1860. He was educated in the public schools of the town and entered Colby University, Waterville, Me., at the age of sixteen and was graduated in 1880. Since that time he has supported himself chiefly with his pen, but in library work rather than in literature. He acquired his training in the Astor Library, New York, and has subsequently been connected with several college libraries. He is at present engaged in preparing a catalogue of the library of George P. Marsh, which is in the possession of the University of Vermont, at Burlington.

He began writing verse at the age of fourteen. His first printed poem appeared in December, 1876. He has, however, contributed but rarely to periodicals. His publications in book form are: “ The Great Admiral," 1883; “ Ellen Statira Koopman; a Tribute to Her Memory," 1885; “Orestes, a Dramatic Sketch,and Other Poems," 1888; and “Woman's Will, a Love-Play in Five Acts, with Other Poems," 1888. The latest product of his pen is entitled “ The Sin of the Culprit Fay," and forms an introductory companion-piece to Drake's “ Culprit Fay." From the contributions which Mr. Koopman has already made to literature, one is able to forecast to some extent the lines of further work and to judge to some degree of its probable characteristics. It is easily seen that Mr. Koopman has a strong penchant for dramatic verse. The most of his work in this line is as yet, however, more an outline and sketch than fully developed dramatic poetry. The incidents and situations are clear and interesting, but often abrupt and crowded together, demanding development and expansion. Yet Mr. Koopman has the dramatic sense and understands the requirements of a dramatic situation, as is shown in several instances. Mr. Koopman's powers have reached their greatest perfection in lyric verse. The last published work of Mr. Koopman, * Woman's Will," is founded upon a mediæval story which Chaucer retold in the Wife of Bath's Tale.” Gower has the same story in his “Confessio Amantis," but the story as dramatized is of a far purer tone and teaches a higher lesson.

F. E. D.

DAY-RED. LIGHT, and the fading of night;

Light, and the glory of dawn; Life the indwelling of light,

And death when the light is withdrawn! A glory that feeling can see,

A glory that seeing can feel; A gleam of the glory to be,

That earth cannot wholly conceal. Light, and the fleeing of night,

Light, and the onset of day; — But the dark fees not always with light,

Nor waits for the night-time alway.

CA IRA. Haste not, halt not; it will go; Truth cannot be hindered so. Without pain was never birth. Drops the seed in April earth, And above it, fierce and white, Suns of summer blasting smite. Waves the brown September mead, Gleams the corn where fell the seed. They alone, 'twas ever so, Overcome, that undergo. Flinch not; faint not; time will tell; Heaven keeps its reckoning well. Into childhood's laughing eyes Rush the tears of toil's surprise. Striving on from sun to sun, Nothing ever find we done, Toil of hand and toil of brain, Task and toil, but all in vain; Faileth heart and fadeth hope, As the shadows eastward slope. Last the uproar dies away; Then like music: “ Only they (God in wisdom willed it so), Overcome, that undergo!”


In the Kingdom of the Blind,
Softness, harmony I find,
Fragrance, flavors ne'er excelled, -
All that pleases unbeheld.

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