Gallipolis journal. [volume] (Gallipolis, Ohio) 1837-1919, 1851-09-18
'Bayard TayIer.

Of the river Niger, in Africa. Th
following, from the New York Da
Book, gives touching episode in th
life Of this young man, which show
the pure stuff his heart is made o
and which cannot fail TO enlist in hi
behalf the best sympathies Of ever
noble nature:
There is a little episode in the lif
oI Bayard Taylor which, perhap:
should not be written OF by a stran
ger, or for stranger eyes. We hav
not the happiness 10 be oil the circl
OF his friends, though these para
graphs evince our appreciation o
his character; and this passage o
his history we learned but casually
in one Of those subdued conversation
in which society recognizes such sa
cred events in the histories of IFS bes
loved members.
In his boyhood, Bayard Taylor
discovered in fair young angel o
the place where he was born, tha'
portion OF himself which, according
to the old mystery, should crown
each nature with perfection anc
happiness. When he !aspired, she
was at the far-away end of the high
reaching vista, holding in her hand
the hoped-fo crown. In a letter
which he sent from Rome, we see
what substance his dreams were Of
while hundred ages hovered about
his Ued TO bind his soul:
IN ITALY.
Dear Lillian, all wished is woni
sit beneath Itulia's sun,
Where olive orchards gleam and culver
Along the banks of Arno's river
Through laurel leaves the dim gresn light
Falls on my forehead as write,
And the sweet chimes Of vespers, ringing,
Blend with the contadina's singing.
Rich is the soil with Fancy's gold
The stirring memories of old
Rise tbronging in my haunted vision,
And wake my spirits young ambition.
But as the radient sunsets close
Above Val d' Amos bowers of rose,
My soul furgets the oldeu glory
And deems our love dearer story.
Thy words, in Memory's ear outchime
The music of the Tuscan rhyme;
Thou stlndest here-the gentle heartfelt
Amid the shades Of bards Departed
Their garlands of immortal bay,
! see before thee fade away,
And turn from Petrarch's passion glances,
To my own dearer heart.romances!
Sad is the opal glow that fires
The midnight of the cypress spires,
And cold the scented wind that closes
The hearts Of bright Etruscan roses.
The fair italian dream chascS,
single thought OF thee effaeed;
For the true cline of song and sun
Lies in the heart which mine hath won!
1915
There are a thousand evil things
that mar each plan OF joy; the mar
rage was deferred, perhaps for the
poet to make his way in The world :;
and when he came back from Cali
ornia there was perceived another
.ause for deferring it she was in i'll
leslth, and all that could be done for
ler was OF no avail; and the sugges-
ion came, the doubt, and finally the
errible conviction that she had the
consumption, and was dying. He
her suffering day BY day,
md when hope was quite dead, that
le might make little journeys with
Ter, and minister to her gently as
zone could but one whose light came
rom her eyes, he married her; while
er sun was setting he placed his
and in hers, that he might go with
Ter down into the night. There are
Iot many such marriages there
we're never any holier since the
ather Of mankind looked up into the
ace of our mother.
She lived a few days. a few weeks
and then he came back to
is occupations, and it was never
mentioned that there had been anv
uch event ia bis life.
Have we done wrong in mention
ng such incidents? AS we have
aid, Bayard TavIor is stranger to
IS, except as an author; it is TO ex-
Iibit his character as an author that
We have suffered ourselves to invade
hese privacies. Ii is agreed that his
conduct in all the circumstances was
worthy OF the knights OF old. Those
nights would have felt the succeed
ng impulse, which guides Bayard
Taylor to the bold enterprisein which
o many have perished, OF finding out
he secret OF a continent, so that he
nay redeem it from ghouls and offer
t for the occupation and dominion OF
nen.
We repeat that ode Of the great
Roman,