Adri. Upon this finger be the first tax raised. [Draws off a ring, which she gives him. Now what shall I receive? Arter. The like from mine. I had forgot-I have it not to-day: But in its stead wear this around thy neck. GREATNESS AND SUCCESS. FROM "PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE." He was one Of many thousand such that die betimes, Bear yet a temperate will and keep the peace,- ARTEVELDE'S SOLILOQUY. FROM "PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE." To bring a cloud upon the summer day I know not that the circumstance of life So that the gust wherewith the one is kindled To rest beside the fount beneath the tree, Whose form was light and graceful as the palm, And loth I am to take my staff again. A form that midmost in the circle sits -Yes, I have wasted half a summer's night. Have me a gallows built upon the mount, Maria Jane (Jewsbury) Fletcher. Miss Jewsbury (1800-1833) was a native of Warwickshire, England. She was married (1833) to the Rev. William Fletcher, missionary to India, and died soon after arriving in Bombay. She wrote "Lays of Leisure Hours" and "Letters to the Young." Her poetical vein was delicate and genuine. She was an amiable, accomplished woman. BIRTH-DAY BALLAD. Thou art plucking spring roses, Genie, Another bright leaf, I trow: But the roses will live and die, Genie, Ere thou hast unfolded quite, Genie- Thou art looking now at the birds, Genie; Thou art building towers of pebbles, Genie, And leave them to follow a bee, Genie, Thy hand is in a bright boy's, Genie, And he calls thee his sweet wee wife, But let not thy little heart think, Genie, Childhood the prophet of life; It may be life's minstrel, Genie, And sing sweet songs and clear, But minstrel and prophet now, Genie, Are not united here. What will thy future fate be, Genie, For thou art scarcely a sapling, Genie, I am shedding life's leaves fast, Genie, James Gordon Brooks. AMERICAN. Brooks (1801-1841), the son of a Revolutionary officer, was a native of Claverack, N. Y., on the Hudson. He was graduated at Union College in 1819, studied law, and began to write poetry under the signature of "Florio." He removed in 1823 to the city of New York, where he became connected as editor with various journals. In 1828 he married Mary Elizabeth Akin, of Poughkeepsie, N. Y., who wrote under the signature of "Norna," and shared the poetical gift, as the following lines from her pen attest: PSALM CXXXVII. "Come, sweep the harp! one thrilling rush Of all that warmed its chords to song, And then the strains forever hush That oft have breathed its wires along! The ray is quenched that lit our mirth, The shrine is gone that claimed the prayer, And exiles o'er the distant earth, How can we wake the carol there? "One sigh, my harp, and then to sleep! For all that loved thy song have flown: And thus we sever:-fare thee well!" In 1829 the Messrs. Harper published "The Rivals of Este, and other Poems," by Mr. and Mrs. Brooks. In 1830 husband and wife removed to Winchester, Va., to take charge of a newspaper; but in 1839 they took up their residence in Albany, N. Y., where Mr. Brooks died. He was esteemed for his many good qualities, and held a high social position, though hardly favored by fortune in his various editorial enterprises. GREECE:-1822. Land of the brave! where lie inurned The shrouded forms of mortal clay, In whom the fire of valor burned And blazed upon the battle's fray;— Land where the gallant Spartan few Bled at Thermopyla of yore, When death his purple garment threw On Helle's consecrated shore; Land of the Muse! within thy bowers Land of dead heroes! living slaves! Shall glory gild thy clime no more? Her banner float above thy waves, Where proudly it hath swept before? Hath not remembrance then a charm To break the fetters and the chain, To bid thy children nerve the arm, And strike for freedom once again? No! coward souls! the light which shone Hath lost its splendor, ceased to play: And thou art but a shadow now, With helmet shattered, spear in rust: Thy honor but a dream--and thou Despised, degraded-in the dust! Where sleeps the spirit, that of old Dashed down to earth the Persian plume, When the loud chant of triumph told How fatal was the despot's doom?The bold three hundred-where are they, Who died on battle's gory breast? Tyrants have trampled on the clay Where death has hushed them into rest. Yet, Ida, yet upon thy hill A glory shines of ages fled; And fame her light is pouring still, Which sheds a faint and feeble ray, When tempests sweep upon their way. Greece! yet awake thee from thy trance! Behold, thy banner waves afar; Behold, the glittering weapons glance Along the gleaming front of war! A gallant chief, of high emprise, Is urging foremost in the field, Who calls upon thee, Greece, to rise In might, in majesty revealed. In vain, in vain the hero calls In vain he sounds the trumpet loud! His banner totters-see! it falls In ruin, freedom's battle-shroud! Thy children have no soul to dare Such deeds as glorified their sires; Their valor's but a meteor's glare Which flames a moment, and expires. Lost land! where genius made his reign, And reared his golden arch on high,— Where science raised her sacred fane, Its summits peering to the sky,Upon thy clime the midnight deep Of ignorance hath brooded long, And in the tomb, forgotten, sleep The sous of science and of song. Thy sun hath set-the evening storm And spread its pall upon the sky! And Freedom never more shall cease To pour her mournful requiem O'er blighted, lost, degraded Greece! Mrs. Archer (Wigley) Clive. Miss Wigley (1801-1873), author of the novel of "Paul Ferroll" (1855), was a native of England. She became Mrs. Clive, and published, under the signature of V, poems which were collected in a volume in 1872. While sitting before the fire at Whitfield her dress caught, and, before help could be rendered, she was so burnt that she died of her injuries in a few hours. Her poems were highly praised by Lockhart. But he could not accord his approval to the "spirit which animates" the following lines. Is not the spirit, however, that of one confident of the future? The lines are remarkable as foreshadowing the actual manner of her death. William Wilson. Wilson (1801-1860) was a native of Crieff, Scotland. While yet a child, he lost his father, a respectable merchant, and thenceforward was obliged to rely chiefly on his own efforts for education and advancement. He became an editor at twenty-two; moved to Edinburgh, and wrote for the leading periodicals. In 1833 he emigrated to the United States, settled at Poughkeepsie, and established himself in the bookselling and publishing business. It was not till after his death that his poems were collected and published. General James Grant Wilson, of New York, born (1832) in Edinburgh, author of a "Life of Halleck" and other works, also editor of "The Poets and Poetry of Scotland" (Harper & Brothers), in two elegant volumes, was his son. Faint sounds of hallelujahs sweet Were choiring here their matin hymn. God of all nature! here I feel Like him by Bethel's stone of yore;- Samuel Carter Hall. A native of England, Hall (1801-18..) was editor of the London Art Journal, and of several illustrated works of a high character: "The Book of Gems," "The Book of British Ballads," etc. He has also written, both in prose and verse, in behalf of the temperance and other great reforms. The poem we quote is from "Hereafter," produced in his eightieth year, and prefaced with the following passage from the "Life of the Prince Consort" by Theodore Martin: "Death in his view was but the portal to a further life, in which he might hope for a continuance, under happier conditions, of all that was best in himself and in those he loved, unclogged by the weaknesses, and unsaddened by the failures, the misunderstandings, and the sorrows of earthly existence." Hall was married in 1824 to Miss Fielding, a native of Wexford, Ireland (1804), who, as Mrs. S. C. Hall, won reputation by her "Lights and Shadows of Irish Life," and other successful works. May soothe the aching heart, and weary head, In pain, in toil, in sorrow, and in strife. That is the pith of every natural creed,- And there are many ways to Heaven that lead: Woe to the "prophets," foul and false, who teach The narrow, cruel, cold, and selfish creed, That there are souls His voice can never reach. In tortuous, tangled paths we tread; but trust One Guide to lead us forth and set us free; Give us, Lord God All Mighty and All Just! The Faith that is but Confidence in thee! NATURE'S CREED. Science may sneer at Faith; and Reason frown; May prove there are no souls-to live or die! May scorn and scout the creed they argue down, And give the Great Omnipotent the lie: They limit Him-who made all worlds-to acts That Science calls "the possible;" and thus, Bounding the Infinite by rules and facts, Explain the "fable of the soul" to us. Ten thousand thousand things exist, we know, By Science tested and by Reason tried, With no conclusive issue: save to show How much we need a better light and guide! Can Science gauge the influence that draws In spite of Science and its five poor tests, It may be but a part of "Nature's" plan To people other spheres with other guests, Ascending (as descending) up from man. And beings not of earth, or mortal birth, "A cloud of witnesses," though yet unseen: And those we call "the dead" (who are not deadDeath was their herald to Celestial Life!) John Henry Newman. The son of a banker, Newman (1801-18..) was a native of London. He graduated at Trinity College, Oxford, in 1820. Seceding from the Established Church, he became a priest of the Oratory of St. Philip Neri, and in 1878 was made a Cardinal. His collected works form twenty-two volumes. His poems appeared in 1868, under the title of "Verses on various Occasions." They are mostly on religious topics, though some are playful in tone. His brother, Francis William Newman, born in 1805, resigned an Oxford fellowship because he could not subscribe the Thirty-nine Articles for his Master's degree. His ethical and theological writings have been very numerous, and his religious faith would seem to be that of a pure theism, free from the adulteration of any historical creed. The two brothers appear to have been diametrically opposed in their religious notions. FLOWERS WITHOUT FRUIT. Prune thou thy words, the thoughts control But he who lets his feelings run Faith's meanest deed more favor bears, Where hearts and wills are weighed, Than brightest transports, choicest prayers, Which bloom their hour and fade. |