Strange grew the common sky, the wonted strand, And wrought life's past, and present, and to be, -Scribner's Magazine, November, 1889. AMERICA! at this thy Golden Gate, By generous joy, all men may learn of thee SYMPTOMS. WHEN persons treat me with respect Must I, perforce, at last reflect More embonpoint; shall I conclude, It 's just because my health is goodOr am I growing old? When staler, simpler, year by year, Youth's sportive pranks I hold, When youngsters check each joyous sound, I must be growing old. When I, a homely woman, in A crowded car am told To take a seat, 't were half a sin But when old maids seem young-nay, fresh I run the white flag up-my flesh JULIA H. THAYER. -America, October 10, 1889. SUNSET. LIKE Some huge bird that sinks to rest, It lays a scarlet, outstretched wing. HERBERT BASHFORD. -The Independent, December 5, 1889. LOSS. THE beauty-cup that held my Joy was frail, MORTIS DIGNITAS. HERE lies a common man. His horny hands, While shouting multitudes beset the way, A FAIRY VOYAGER. AFLOAT in the azure space A careless voyager Through a pathless waste, It might be a bird in the sky, It yieldeth itself in trust The king of the air is its slave. It is borne to the destined place Where the earth has a cradle at need: And the universe is pledged To nourish the thistle-seed. -Wide Awake, October, 1889. IF. MARY F. BUTTS. IF YOU were safe in heaven, For then I might hope, by waiting Sometime to enter there, Where the lowest may look highest, I know I can never reach you, MARY AINGE De Vere. -Lippincott's Magazine, October, 1889. TO WILL CARLETON. HE LOVES his kind, and lends a brother's hand. This is his highest praise-that he does us good. This is his best reward-that our hearts respond to his, like deep calling unto deep. Bard of the common hearth and heart, Our laughter and our tears attest. The People's Poet! Thou hast been The martyrdoms of lowly life. Quaint counselor of rich and poor, Know'st thou the good thy songs have done? The latch-string out at every door Proves the wide welcome thou hast won. Thy blameless "Ballads," undefiled, And father, mother, wife and child Sing on, O songster of the soul! For lays like thine are full of cheer; Sweet as, above the breakers' roll, The chimes which show the harbor near. BENJAMIN COPELAND. ONE WORD. "WRITE me an epic," the warrior said— "Victory, valor and glory wed." “Prithee, a ballad," exclaimed the knight— "Prowess, adventure and faith unite." "An ode to freedom," the patriot cried"Liberty won, and wrong defied." "Give me a drama," the scholar asked"The inner world in the outer masked." "Frame me a sonnet," the artist prayed— "Power and passion in harmony played." "Sing me a lyric," the maiden sighed"A lark-note waking the morning wide." "Nay, all too long," said the busy Age, "Write me a line instead of a page." The swift years spoke, the poet heard, "Your poem write in a single word." He looked in the maiden's glowing eyes, A moment glanced at the starlit skies From the lights below to the lights above— And wrote the one-word poem-Love. WALLACE BRUCE. -Blackwood's Magazine, November, 1889. QUATRAINS. I. THE lictor slow unties his rod, Lest the doomed man repent, But slower moves the will of God Unto man's punishment. II. For pleasure do not swerve He who sings never makes All comes to him that waits, V. Question not, but enjoy; The charm of sympathy. MATTHEW RICHEY KNIGHT. -The Toronto Week, August 2, 1889. "SIMPLE SIMON WENT A-FISHING." A BOY named Simon sojourned in a dale; Ah! little boy, timid, composed, demure,- -St. Nicholas, October, 1889. NOTES. BOKER. Since the printing of the first forms of this magazine, and just as the last form goes to | press, the announcement is made of the death of George H. Boker, at his home in Philadelphia, Pa. IBID. Major-General Philip Kearney, U. S. V., was killed at Chantilly, Va., Sept. 1, 1862. Edmund Clarence Stedman has written a famous poem on the same subject, entitled, "Kearney at Seven Pines." WATTS. The "Ode to Mother Carey's Chicken" | and all, or nearly all, the sonnets given, appeared originally in the London Athenæum. UTTER. "The poem, 'The King's Daughter,' was written in October, 1870, and first published in the same year, in 'The Christmas Locket,' a Christmas supplement to Dr. Edward Everett Hale's magazine, Old and New, since discontinued. This, as you see, was long before the charitable organization of the same name was established. I think it was in May, 1886, that I received a letter from Mrs. Mary Lowe Dickinson, saying that having accidentally come upon the poem, and being struck with its suitableness for such use, they were glad to succeed at last in their efforts to find the author, and obtain permission to use it as a leaflet. Of course the permission was gladly granted, and I was very happy to learn that my verses were doing so good service. The same spring I received letters from several sources, telling of strength and courage for benevolent enterprises which had been inspired by the poem, and of good uses which it had served. I wrote it with a strong feeling in my mind that though in one sense it might be a castle in the air, in its ideal picture of the heights that human nature might attain, it yet has a solid foundation; it is the logical outcome of the doctrines of liberal Christianity-the fatherhood of God, and the brotherhood of man. With these doctrines I am very thoroughly identified, being the wife, daughter and grand-daughter of Unitarian ministers." R. P. U. HIGGINSON. "Heirs of Time" was first published in The Nationalist, and is inscribed to Edward Bellamy MACKELLAR. A young man from Maine, hale and ruddy from his native hills, was seized by the yellow fever in New Orleans, and the tender care and nursing of the Howard Association failed to save his life. When the coffin was about being closed, "stop," cried an aged woman who was present, “let me kiss him for his mother." T. M. ALLMOND. "Deal Gently, Lord!" was written for the funeral of Dr. James P. Boyce, Louisville, Ky., January 20, 1889. |