« PreviousContinue »
Is there a way to forget to think?
At your age, Sir, home, fortune, friends, A dear girl's love,– but I took to drink; -
The same old story; you know how it ends. If you could have seen these classic features,
You need n't laugh, Sir; they were not then Such a burning libel on God's creatures:
I was one of your handsome men!
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
She likewise lifted woman,
All labors pure and human.
Rear children, dance cotillons:
- The Cabin.
SIN. Turn back, turn back; it is not yet ioo late: Turn back, O youth! nor seek to expiate Bad deeds by worse, and save the hand from
shame By plunging all thy soul into the flame.
- The Book of Goli.
If you had seen HER, so fair and young,
Whose head was happy on this breast! If you could have heard the songs I sung When the wine went round, you wouldn't have
guessed That ever I, Sir, should be straying
From door to door, with fiddle and dog, Ragged and penniless, and playing
To you to-night for a glass of grog!
She's married since,- a parson's wife:
'T was better for her that we should part, Better the soberest, prosiest life
Than a blasted home and a broken heart.
When all is lost, one refuge yet remains,
The blessing lies, and new experience gained;
- Twoscore and Ten.
MOUNTAINS. As he breathes once more the mountain breeze, And looks from the hill-side far away, Over pasture and fallow and field of hay, To the hazy peaks of the azure range, Which change forever, yet never change.
- Tom's Come Home.
Heroic soul, in homely garb half hid,
Sincere, sagacious, melancholy, quaint, What he endured, no less than what he did, Has reared his monument and crowned him saint.
-Quatrains and Epigrams.
Like that false fay the legend tells us of,
-Ibid. MATERIALIST. He took a tawny handful from the strand: " What we can grasp," he said, we understand, And nothing more: when, lo! the laughing sand Slid swiftly from his vainly clutching hand.
- Ibid. OCEAN. Pulse of the world! hoarse sea with heaving
breath, Swaying some grief's great burden to and fro! Fierce heart that neither hears nor answereth,
Sounding its own eternal wail of woe! Punctual as day, unheeding life or death,
Wasting the ribs of earth with ceaseless throe; Remorseless, strong, resistless, resting never, The tides come in, the tides come in forever!
- The Wreck of the Fishing-Boat.
Each by each,
-A Home Idyl.
CHILDHOOD. Oid convulsions of the planet in the new earth
leave their trace, And the child's heart is an index to the story of his race.
Women can do with us what they will:
'Twas only a village girl, but she,
- Sheriff Thorne.
To look beyond his times;
To seek Truth's newer climes!
For only by the strong
- The Story of Columbus.
PATIENCE. Learn patience from the lesson'
Though the night be drear and long, To the darkest sorrow there comes a morrow, A right to every wrong.
- The Frozen Harbor.
The pewee of the loneliest woods,
Sole singer in these solitudes, Which never robin's whistle stirred,
Where never bluebird's plume intrudes.
But thou all day complainest here,-
- The Pewee.
T is very difficult to attempt to define the place
(And that thou canst, I trow); If thou canst make the Spring to dawn, Hawthorn to put her brav'ry on, Willow, her weeds of fine green lawn, Say why thou dost not so —
If thou canst chase the stormy rack,
And bid the soft winds blow
(And that thou canst, I trow); If thou canst call the thrushes back To give the groves the songs they lack, And wake the violet in thy track,Say why thou dost not so
fill in the gallery of American poets. She is already a conspicuous figure, and her poems have attracted much attention. Born in Chatham, Medina county, Ohio, of a family of Connecticut settlers, Miss Thomas at an early age developed strong literary proclivities. She was educated at the Normal School in Geneva, Ohio, where most of her life was spent up to eighteen months ago. While at school she contributed several poems of a sentimental nature to the leading Ohio newspapers, which poems were extensively copied by newspapers and magazines throughout the country. Helen Hunt Jackson, who was ever ready to assist the youthful literary aspirant struggling for fame, became very favorably impressed with many of these stray poems. She formed the acquaintance of Miss Thomas whom she introduced to the editors Atlantic Monthly and Century Magazines a few years before her death. Until her meeting with Mrs. Jackson, Miss Thomas was almost an unknown quantity, but with the aid and kindly counsel of “H. H." her success was only a question of time. She had the talent and only wanted an opportunity to develop it. Shortly afterwards the Century Magazine reprinted a page of her verse. Four years ago she published her first volume of poems entitled “ A New Year's Masque and other Poems." The book was at once successful. This volume was so immediately popular that it created a demand for another published work of the author. A year and a half later a series of prose papers entitled
The Round Year" appeared. Then followed, in 1887, another volume of poems —" Lyrics and Sonnets."
Miss Thomas is slight, and of medium height. Her face is an expressive one, and her brow is remarkably handsome. It is full, and indicative of intellectuality. Her hair is naturally curly, and is brushed back from her face with careless grace. In formation her head is very like Helen Hunt Jackson's, and there is a further resemblance to this great woman in her rare conversational gifts. She is modest, retiring and evidently not anxious to be praised. A little over a year ago she came to New York, and took up her residence at the Colonnade Hotel, where she still lives and performs most of her literary work. The demands upon her pen exclude the possibility of much social enjoyment. Her gifts are greater than she herself suspects.
J. W. G.
If thou canst make my Winter Spring,
With one word breathéd low
(And that thou canst, I know); If, in the closure of a ring, Thou canst to me such treasure bring, My state shall be above a king, Say why thou dost not so
THE STIRRUP CUP.
This is vintage of the ages,
I've known joy, and I've known sorrow,
If thou canst make the frost be gone,
And feet away the snow