Page images
[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]
[graphic][merged small]


O dearer far than song's divinest might

The aspiring voice that falters while it sings!
And lovelier than all lordliness of flight
The wingless impotence that yearns for wings!

-Attainment, PRECEDENT. Ah! no; the better lives thus vainly spent, Crush courage with their weight of precedent!

The Magic Flower.

Those long murky vaults that history's hand
Paves with the whitening bones of dead men's

-Alan Eliot.
And vaguely on his haughty heart there fell
Delicious realization of how love
Finds in humility its own best pride,
And from ecstatic self-abasement plucks
A purple dignity.

- Ibid.

WAR. From palm-plumed lands that tropic water laves To where the Atlantic hurls on rugged Maine The cold green turbulence of his massive waves, Alike to South and North the unnumbered slain Speak with soft eloquence of one common pain, In the mute pathos of their multitudinous graves!


HOPE. . You that are fair as a flower-stem is frangible Chaster than dawns with no shadow of night in

them, Filled with all graces intense though intangible, Having the eyes with the deep dreamy light in

them! More do I need you, my pure-browed, my beauti

ful, Than the star needs the blue fathoms it burns

within, More than the grove its bird-vassalage dutiful, Or the mossed mill-wheel the stream that it turns within!

-The Doubter,

Ah, me! what strange frustration of intent,

What dark elective secret, undescried,

Lives in this dreary failure, side by side
With opulence of full-orbed accomplishment!
O seeming mockery! O strange doubt wherein

The baffled reason gropes and cannot see!

If made at all, why only made to be
In irony for that which might have been?

- Waste.

ELEN MAUD MERRILL was born May 5th,

1865, in Bangor. Maine. Six years of her life, from 1881 to 1887, were passed in Bucksport, Maine. For nearly two years past she has resided in her native city. At an early age Miss Merrill evinced a talent for writing, but none of her productions appeared in print until 1882, since which time she has contributed articles, both in prose and poetry, to the newspaper press. Her humorous sketches, under the nom de plume of “Samantha Spriggins,” have attracted considerable notice and favorable comment. In 1885, she wrote and forwarded to the widow of the deceased a poem on the death of General Grant, receiving from Mrs. Grant a letter of grateful commendations.

She has written and read several poems for G. A. R. anniversaries and entertainments in Maine, which were always well received. In a recently published work, “Poets of Maine,” Miss Merrill received a flattering notice, and “The Angel in the Stone" was selected for insertion as a type of her original and graceful style of versification. She intends to publish a selection of her poems in book form at no distant date.

Personally Miss Merrill is about medium height, graceful in form and prepossessing in appearance. She is an easy, pleasing, and withal a fluent conversationalist. She will have a brilliant future in her chosen profession.

J. W. D.


By the dark and silent river, Where the rippling waves are ever Being drawn by mystic forces

To the ocean far away; In the twilight, brooding tender, There I watched the fading splendor Of the the opal-tinted sunset,

Making glad the dying day.

Naught to mar the wondrous beauty,
Love was law, and pleasure duty,
And I thought: Life would be heaven

If this peace might always last.
But the restless, rippling river
Seems to sing this song forever:

Life is like my changing wavelets,

And its pleasures soon are past.
“But beyond the sunset's splendor,
Far beyond the twilight tender,
Is the land from whence the glory

Dimly gleams o'er hills of earth;

« PreviousContinue »