Puslapio vaizdai

With Ezra and Zerubbabel,
While psalteries ring exultant thanks,
And singers of a chosen line
Rejoice the steps of Israel,

Faring from Danube and from Don,
From Western Babels and the banks
Of Amazon?

Here Canaan's corn and vineyards boon
A-ripening burn as when unfurled

The landscape lay in Moses' sight;
Or when long past the night's dread noon
Did Joshua smite the pagan world,
Scourging the Amorites' leaguèd might,
While paused on solemn Gibeon
The crimson sun, and the white moon
In Ajalon.

No gift we bring but souls that tire-
Dead altar of Jerusalem,—

Building anew the living wall;
The harp whose strings with jubilant fire
Leaped when the psalmist spake to them
Hangs mute where its own echos call-
As, where Euphrates' waters run,
Pulseless and still swung Judah's lyre
In Babylon.

No sound starts from thy quivering lips,
Judea, seated in this court,

With eyes that turn, and turn in vain, To where the freights of Tarshish's ships, Rocking in Tyre's or Zidon's port,

Wound inland o'er the northern plain,
Save the lament Hilkiah's son
Chanted, with sack-cloth on his hips,
In Babylon.

Not thine the lamentation drear;
Sharper than that sad prophet's wail,
Whose trumpet syllables had pealed

On an unlistening nation's ear,

And rolled away down Kedron's vale,
Were thy heart's cry, were it unsealed;
Not thine this wailful orison,
Heard ere rang round thy ramparts here
Rome's clarion.

The ruthless steps of morning fall
Across the Dead Sea's barriers;
From the great Kubbet es-Sukrah
An hour ago the muezzin's call

Unto the Moslem worshipers
Startled the sacred court; and, ah!
Another paynim day beats on

The sanctuary and the wall

Of Solomon.


THESE Castaways some billow rolled
Along its sands, when up the rocks
The young sun clambered, flushed and bold,
Or when the moon led down her flocks-
Lone shepherdess with yellow locks.

O, fairy citadels of stone,
Upon whose darkly-winding stair,
Like an uneasy ghost, a moan
Goes up and down and everywhere,
Have ye no legends dim and rare?

Where, in the greenish dark, with cold
And stony faces, drowned men pass
Amid a shipwreck's silk and gold,

And women made for beauty's glass
Float in their shrouds of tangled grass,

They lay, with spoils of swirl and swell,
Until the heart that rocks a fleet
And turns the spiral of a shell,

Cloven by some melodious beat,
Squandered their beauty at my feet.


WHEN the first dandelions took

On their broad discs the light and dew, My heart ran truant, like the brook,

And had its solace where they grew.

'Twas good again to see them bare
The lavish glitter of their shields;
Not one can perish but somewhere
A light is blotted from the fields.
They shed the sunshine as I pass,

The sunshine sent them from above;
Their glow as ample as the grass,

But not more ample than my love.

Ah! ever-blended green and gold, That mantle all the summer land,

I learn how much the heart can hold, How very little fills the hand.


WHAT minstrel heart did ever make
Language its burthen's fullness take?
Yet, though a vision go unsung,
The heart is greater than the tongue,
And life than song.

[blocks in formation]


'IRGIL A. PINKLEY was born near the village

Girard, in Illinois, February 18, 1852.

His parents were well-to-do people, but without the abundant means necessary to give their children collegiate education. At the age of seventeen Virgil A. began to prepare for his life profession, for which he had already shown a natural taste. He entered the Girard High School, and like many other distinguished men of our time, he was obliged to pay his own way. Four years later he began a university course at Normal, Illinois. In 1873-4, he was placed at the head of the academy at Decatur, Illinois, where he won his first signal success as a teacher. When he was about to finish his university course at Normal, he was appointed superintendent of schools at New Boston, Illinois, which position he filled with great credit for two years, when he resigned his office to accept the more lucrative situation of the general agency of a Chicago publishing house.

In 1878 Mr. Pinkley became a student at the National School of Elocution and Oratory at Philadelphia, Pa., and was graduated therefrom in 1879. The following five years he devoted his time and attention to the going from town to town, organizing and conducting elocutionary conventions, and to the teaching of oratory in various state and county institutes for the teachers of common schools, and in giving public exhibitions on his

favorite theme. In 1883 he was called to the chair of Elocution and Oratory at the College of Music of Cincinnati. In that position Mr. Pinkley has met with undoubted success. For many years he has passed his summer vacations in the service of the various Chautauqua Assemblies scattered throughout the country.

As a man of letters, Mr. Pinkley has just claims to success. As a poet he met with his first public recognition in 1883, when his "Model American Girl" sprang into notice and favor, being freely reproduced by the press of the country and generally admired. This poem was followed by many others scarcely less worthy. In the opinion of the writer of this sketch, "Seed-Sowing" and "Better Than Gold," are among his most poetic productions. The literary reputation of Mr. Pinkley, however, may be justly said to rest upon his writings in prose. They are mostly practical works written in connection with his chosen profession.

Mr. Pinkley is still young, a hard worker, of excellent habits and methodical ways, and therefore a good teacher, promising to remain long in the

important and useful position he now holds; and the public may confidently expect much more that is useful and instructive from his facile pen.

J. M. C.


A PRACTICAL, plain young girl;
Not-afraid-of-the-rain young girl;
A poetical posy,

A ruddy and rosy,

A helper-of-self young girl.

At-home-in-her-place young girl;
A never-will-lace young girl;
A toiler serene,

A life that is clean,

A princess-of-peace young girl.

A wear-her-own-hair young girl;
A free-from-a-stare young girl;

No pale parlor flower,
A picture-of-health young girl.

Plenty room in her shoes-this girl;
A free-from-the-blues-this girl;

Not a bang on her brow,
No fraud will allow,

She's just what she seems-this girl.
Not a-reader-of-trash young girl;
Not a cheap-jewel-flash young girl;

Not a sipper of rum,
Not a chewer of gum-
Remarkably sensible girl!

At-ten-in-her-bed young girl;
An active, aspiring young girl;
An early ariser,

A dandy-despiser,

We honor this lovable girl.

A lover-of-prose young girl;
Not a turn-up-the-nose young girl;
Not given to splutter,
Not "utterly utter,"

A matter-of-fact young girl.
A rightly ambitious young girl;
Red-lips-so-delicious young girl;
A clear, sparkling eye
That says "I will try

A sure-to-succeed young girl;

An honestly courting young girl; A never-seen-flirting young girl;

A quiet, demure,

A modest and pure

A fit-for-a-wife young girl.

A sought-everywhere young girl;
A future-most-fair young girl;
An ever-discreet,

We too seldom meet-
This queen-of-the-queens young girl.


BETTER than gold in the miser's grasp;
Better than gold in the mean man's clasp;
Better than gold which the rich man hords;
Better than perishing gold affords,-
Is charity with open hand,
Extending aid throughout the land;
Yea, better than the miser's gold
Is charity-a thousand-fold.

Better than gold is the word of cheer,
Banishing far from the heart the tear;
Better than gold is a kindly deed,
Bettering man in the hour of need.

And better far a cheerful life
Than gold obtained through toil and strife;
A word of cheer is wealth untold,

And better than the miser's gold.

Better than gold is the wealth we reap,
Garnered from knowledge that's broad and deep;
Better than gold is a cultured mien,
Sweetening life from a source unseen.

And better far than gold refined

Is wisdom gleaned to bless mankind;
A knowledge deep is wealth untold,
And better far than miser's gold.

Better than gold is a conscience clear,
Knowing not sorrow, remorse or fear;
Coming to few as a happy lot,

Oftener found in the poor man's cot

Than in the homes of the rich and great,
Or in the halls of high estate.
A conscience clear is joy untold,
And better than the miser's gold.

Better than all that is born of gold,
Better is health by a thousand fold;
Better is virtue, and hope, and rest,
Better is love, as a faithful guest.

To have a heart that's warm within;
To live a life unstained by sin;
To dare the right with courage bold,
Is better far than hoarding gold.


Sow the seed of soothing kindness,

To dispel the gloom and pain; Sow bright words of warmth and welcome, That o'er earth good-will may reign; Sow upon a soil prolific

That shall bear an hundred-fold, Choking out the thorns and briers, Turning weeds to stalks of gold. Scorn thou not to sow, moreover, On the fields less rich in loam; Should it bear not many measures, It will have its harvest-home.

If the sower will but hearken,

He will hear what God will keepWhether good or whether evil,

What ye sow that ye shall reap. Though the soil be scant and sandy, And the rocks be thick and keen, With the hand of faith sow broadlySome stray soil may lie unseen; This may nourish seed sufficient

To bring harvest-time around; And the hand of thrift may garner

From the uninviting ground.

What though way-side fowls fly over,
You can cover well the seed;
What though tares by Satan scattered
Should arise in evil greed!-
Wait, if must be, till the harvest

Ripens grain and tares in turn;
Then the grain thou mayest gather
And the tares mays't bind and burn.

Sow the seeds of love and mercy,

Worthy work for angel hands!
Sympathy, and truth, and justice,
Fitting theme for heavenly bands!
Sow good-will among thy neighbors,
Reap reward for thee in store;
On the sower that is faithful
Blessings be for evermore.


Good advice for everyone;
Work, work away,

Soon the race of life is run;

Work, work away.

Seize the moments as they fly,
Let your hopes mount ever high,
Keep this motto always nigh:
Work, work away.

-Work, Work Away.



RE-EMINENT among the song writers of the present century stands the name of F. E. Weatherly, whose fertile pen has clothed with beautiful fancies every phase of human life from the cradle to the grave, and has filled many pleasant pages in our poetic literature during a period of nearly twenty years. Mr. Weatherly has led, as it were, two lives strongly in contrast with each other, but full of interest and varied experiences. For many years he has been engaged as a tutor or coach at Oxford, cramming undergraduates with law, logic, classics, and political economy, and is the author of a work on the "Rudiments of Logic," which has enjoyed wide circulation as a university text-book. Yet, during all this period, we find him living a dual life-by day a busy toiler in dry, uninteresting drudgery; and by night, and in his intervals of rest, a writer of charming verse, expressed in language exquisite in its simplicity, and so rhythmical and musical in its flow that his lyrics have become popular wherever the English language is spoken.

Frederic E. Weatherly is the son of a surgeon, and was born at Portishead, a pleasant seaside place on the Bristol Channel, in the County of Somerset, England, on the 4th of October, 1848. He received his early education at Hereford Cathedral School, where he displayed considerable aptitude and ability. In 1867 he went, as a scholar and exhibitioner, to Brasenose College, Oxford. He took his degree as B. A. in 1871, and subsequently that of M. A., being about the same time elected Hulmeian Exhibitioner. After spending a year as a master in Christ Church Cathedral School, he commenced private tuition, devoting about eleven hours daily to this work. It was in the intervals, between these laborious days, that Mr. Weatherly employed his hours of recreation—if recreation it may be called-in writing many of those lyrics and poems which have since become so famous. His first important contribution, "Gone Home on New Year's Eve," appeared in a now defunct paper entitled College Rhymes, and was often recited by the late Mr. Bellew with great success. On the installation of the Marquis of Salisbury as Chancellor of the University, in 1870, an ode by Mr. Weatherly was one of those selected for recitation in the theater; and, in the same year, he published his first volume of poems, entitled "Muriel, and Other Poems."

Among his best-known songs are, "Nancy Lee," "London Bridge," "They all Love Jack," "Mid


shipmite," "Old Brigade," "Children's Home," "Auntie," "Last Watch,' ""Our Last Waltz," "Darby and Joan," "The Chorister," "Maids of Lee," "Needles and Pins," "My Lady's Bower," and "In Sweet September." There are, however, many others, the bare names of which would be more than sufficient to fill the whole space at my disposal. In addition to his prodigious work as a lyric author, he has largely contributed dramatic and other poems to current literature. In 1884 he wrote the libretto of "Hero and Leander," for the Worcester Musical Festival; in 1885, the "Song of Baldur," for the Hereford Festival; in 1886, "Andromeda," for the Gloucester Festival; and amongst his other writings are to be found "Children's Birthday Book," "Sixes and Sevens," "Told in the Twilight," "Through the Meadows," "Punch and Judy," "Out of Town," "Adventures of Two Children," "Land of Little People," "Sunbeams," "Nursery land" ""Honeymoon," etc. In children's literature he has attained very distinguished success; and, indeed, the same may be said of every form of poetry that he has touched.

During his labors as a tutor he followed up the study of the law, and in 1887 was called to the bar, and is at present in practice as a barrister in London. In 1873 Mr. Weatherly married a daughter of the late Mr. John Hardwick, and is the father of three children; and to his happy married life may be attributed much of his success as a writer of domestic and nursery literature. W. C. N.

POUR forth the wine! the ruby wine!
And with thine eyes look into mine,
Thou friend of olden days!
Heap up the blazing logs. Not here
On this gray ridge of granite drear,
Boon April spends her flow'ry cheer,

To wake the poet's lays..

The east wind, through the ungenial day,
Blows meagre, thin and chill,
And laggard winter's freezing ray

Gleams from the snow-patched hill.
Pour forth the wine! the ruby wine!
And with thine eyes look into mine,

Thou friend of olden days!
Cheer me with love and truth; for I
Oft seek in vain, beneath the sky,
The true heart, from the open eye
That looks with guileless gaze.
A cold and caution-crusted race
Here fans few joys in me:

But when I see a clear, bright face,
I flourish, and am free!

Pour forth the wine! the ruby wine!
And with thine eyes look into mine,
Thou friend of olden days!
Speak of devotion's fiery breath,
Friendship and love more strong than death,
And high resolve, and manly faith,
That walks in open ways.
Look as though dids't long years ago,
And read my heart with thine,
That Love and Truth may freely flow,
To bless the ruby wine!


PROUD and lowly, beggar and lord,
Over the bridge they go;
Rags and velvet, fetter and sword,
Poverty, pomp and woe.
Laughing, weeping, hurrying ever,

Hour by hour they crowd along,
While, below, the mighty river
Sings them all a mocking song.
Hurry along, sorrow and song,
All is vanity 'neath the sun;
Velvet and rags, so the world wags,
Until the river no more shall run.

Dainty, painted, powdered and gay,
Rolleth my lady by;

Rags-and-tatters, over the way,

Carries a heart as high.

Flowers and dreams from country meadows,

Dust and din thro' city skies,

Old men creeping with their shadows,
Children with their sunny eyes,-
Hurry along, sorrow and song,
All is vanity 'neath the sun;
Velvet and rags, so the world wags,
Until the river no more shall run.

Storm and sunshine, peace and strife,
Over the bridge they go;
Floating on in the tide of life,
Whither no man shall know.
Who will miss them there to-morrow,

Waifs that drift to the shade or sun?
Gone away with their songs and sorrow;
Only the river still flows on.

Hurry along, sorrow and song,

All is vanity 'neath the sun;
Velvet and rags, so the world wags,
Until the river no more shall run.

« AnkstesnisTęsti »