Come then, in thought, if that alone may be, O friend! and bring with thee Thy calm assurance of transcendent Spheres, And the Eternal Years! OAK KNOLL, August 31, 1890. JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. -The Independent, November 27, 1890. TO THE SUNSET BREEZE. Ан, whispering something again, unseen, Where late this heated day thou enterest at my window, door, Thou, laving, tempering all, cool-freshing, gently vitalizing Me, old, alone, sick, weak-down, melted-worn with sweat; Thou, nestling, folding close and firm yet soft, companion better than talk, book, art, (Thou hast, O Nature! elements! utterance to my heart beyond the rest-and this is of them,) So sweet thy primitive taste to breathe within-thy soothing fingers on my face and hands, Thou, messenger-magical strange bringer to body and spirit of me, (Distances balked- occult medicines penetrating me from head to foot.) I feel the sky, the prairies vast-I feel the mighty northern lakes, I feel the ocean and the forest-somehow I feel the globe itself swift-swimming in space; Thou blown from lips so loved, now gone-haply from endless store, God-sent, (For thou art spiritual, Godly, most of all known to my sense,) Minister to speak to me, here and now, what word has never told, and cannot tell, Art thou not universal concrete's distillation? Law's, all Astronomy's last refinement? ' Hast thou no soul? Can I not know, identify thee? WALT WHITMAN. -Lippincott's Magazine, December, 1890. ELDER LAMB'S DONATION. GOOD old Elder Lamb had labored for a thousand nights and days, And had preached the blessed Bible in a multitude of ways; Had received a message daily over Faith's celestial wire, And had kept his little chapel full of flames of heavenly fire; He had raised a numerous family, straight and sturdy as he could, And his boys were all considered as unnaturally good; And his "slender salʼry” kept him till went forth the proclamation— "We will pay him up this season with a gen'rous, large donation." So they brought him hay and barley, and some corn upon the ear,— Straw enough to bed his pony for forever and a year; And they strewed him with potatoes of inconsequential size, And some onions whose completeness drew the moisture from his eyes; And some cider-more like water, in an inventory strict And some apples, pears and peaches, that the autumn gales had picked; And some strings of dried-up apples—mummies of the fruit creation Came to swell the doleful census of old Elder Lamb's Donation. Also radishes and turnips pressed the pumpkin's cheerful cheek, Likewise beans enough to furnish half of Boston for a week; And some butter that was worthy to have Sampson for a foe, And some eggs whose inner-nature held the legend -"Long Ago;" And some stove-wood, green and crooked, on his flower-beds was laid, Fit to furnish fire departments with the most substantial aid. All things unappreciated found this night their true vocation In the Museum of Relics, known as Elder Lamb's Donation. There were biscuits whose material was their own secure defense; There were sauces whose acuteness bore the sad pluperfect tense; There were jellies undissected, there were mysteryladen pies; There was bread that long had waited for the signal to arise. There were cookies tasting clearly of the drear and musty past; There were doughnuts that in justice 'mongst the metals might be classed; There were chickens, geese and turkeys, that had long been on probation, Now received in full connection at old Elder Lamb's Donation. Then they gave his wife a wrapper made for someone not so tall, And they brought him twenty slippers, every pair of which was small; And they covered him with sack-cloth, as it were, ⚫ in various bits, And they clothed his helpless children in a wardrobe of misfits; And they trimmed his house with "Welcome," and some bric-a-bracish trash, And one absent-minded brother brought five dollars all in cash! Which the good old pastor handled with a thrill of exultation, Wishing that in filthy lucre might have come his whole donation. Morning came at last, in splendor; but the Elder, wrapped in gloom, Knelt amid decaying produce and the ruins of his home; And his piety had never till that morning been so bright: For he prayed for those who brought him to that unexpected plight. But some worldly thoughts intruded; for he wondered o'er and o'er If they'd buy that day at auction, what they gave the night before; And his fervent prayer concluded with the natural exclamation: "Take me to Thyself in mercy, Lord, before my next donation!" WILL CARLETON. -The Ladies' Home Journal, November, 1890. CHRISTMAS. THERE is a time, on history's page, There is a star that shines more bright There is a Name that far excels All others ever heard; Of love and peace and joy it tells, And all good, in a word. (To the portrait of the late Emily Pfeiffer, in "The Magazine of Poetry.") BOTH young and fair, thy portrait speaks thee so; A smiling, yet withal a serious face; Thy whole expression one of rarest grace; But what a gentle archness still doth show! Thy fillet-banded head, as soft winds blow A flower, bends lightly to one side. A trace Of merry pleasantry lies here; erase This, and the half-smile on thy lips, and lo! What have we left? A brow intense with thought, Lips that in losing smiles, sweet pathos keep; Uplifted, questioning eyes, oh, had they caught Shadows from coming nights bereft of sleep? Grief smites us in thy sad and early graveGod rest thee, poet, gifted soul and brave! NORTHAMPTON, MASS., October 7, 1890. -Hartford Times. ELLA C. DRABBLE. JOHN HENRY NEWMAN. BORN IN 1801. DIED AUGUST 11, 1890. THE "Kindly Light" hath led the willing heart Beyond the "encircling gloom" and shades of Night, And now the far-off better Home made bright With "angel-faces loved and lost awhile," The "distant scene" no more lies far apart: For "moor and fen" with thorns and briars crost, "Torrent and crag," where oft the "will" roamed lost, The City, lighted by Love's winning smile, Gold paved, and with the gates of pearl set round, The "heart" found: no longer "ruled by pride" hath There, with the "Well done" ringing in his ears, His to rest, far removed from earth-born cares and "fears." JOHN FULLERton. -For The Magazine of Poetry. BEATRICE. (Written for the Sixth Centenary Celebration at Florence.) WHAT new notes to a minstrel may remain In praise of Beatrice? Or what words may tell How from her feet, far-gleaming, falls a spell Of glory, linking like a mystic chain Six ages, one to one; our own as fain To do her honor, as when first the knell That told her passing hence, on sad ears fell, Untaught as yet to follow Dante's strain. We seek with him that wondrous smile to see For which Love's loftiest bard no word could frame; We know that through all ages yet to be, -For The Magazine of Poetry. THE RAISING OF THE BAN. THERE is a fate that knows my heart, Its possibilities of bliss, And yet decrees that it shall miss Each joy, or gain a meagre part. Aye, just enough to tantalize To make it keenly feel the pain Of knowing that it shall not gain That which it would so fully prize. Poor heart, with none to bless or save! With vain imaginings sad as sweet; Ah! well she knew the subtle art And saw through all the hollow guise, The yearning, burning, haunted eyes, The stricken, bleeding, hopeless heart. She, ghoul-like, “cruel as the grave!” To know she'd wrought this misery, And yet to wish the world might see The markings of the blow she gave! And so she said, "Ah! even now, If I should deign, I have the power IBID. The Boss Girl: A Christmas Story and Other Sketches and Poems. Indianapolis, Ind.: The Bowen-Merrill Co., 1886. 12mo, pp. 263. IBID. Afterwhiles. Indianapolis, Ind.: The Bowen-Merrill Co., 1888. 12m0, pp. vi and 160. IBID. Pipes O'Pan at Zekesbury. Indianapolis, Ind.: The Bowen-Merrill Co., 1889. 12m0, pp. 245. IBID. Old-Fashioned Roses. London: Longmans, Green & Co., 1889. Indianapolis, Ind.: The Bowen-Merrill Co. 16mo, pp. ix and 145. |