Minnesota weekly times. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1854-1859, 1855-08-14
THURSDAY, AUGUST 9, 1866.
THE POET PERClyAL.

flee Of State Geologist, (Wisconsin) having
been appointed by Gov. Barstow, about yea
ago, since which he has resided there. Though
dressed shabbily, when you look at his face
you forget his apparel His nose is hooked
and thin, his eye is grey, his mouth closed, his
forehead high and broad, with the shade of un.
happy years and torturing thought upon it,
His timidity is unconquerable; he is now a:
bashful as a child-he is frightened at his own
voice in a strange circle, never speaks until he
is addressed, shns society, and seeks no friends
Devoted to his duties, he spends his days in min
eral holes and quarries, and his evenings in re.
cording his observations, and his nights in quie,
sleep. He is quite poor, depending upon his
profession as a geologist for his support. Mr..
Percival has a house in New Haven, where,
"when not employed abroad, he may enjoy -
says the New Haven Journal, ,''all the solitude Of
arecluse, and, shut up with his cherished books,
forget the world which so much regrets his own
seclusion from it. This is queer looking ed
ifice, fronting on Park Place, below George st.
the design and object of which would sadly
puzzle the inquisitive stranger. 1t is a succeed
house, of one story, apparently sixteen feet
between the joints, with three long windows on
the front, dead walls on each side, and no door
way visible. This queer structure is the resi-
dence of the poet James G. Percival, whose
morbid dread Of mortality, or rather the society
of his fellow men, has been gratifed in the
style of his mansion. The entrance is in the
rear Of the house, approachable by path which
his unfrequent footsteps have hardly worn in the
turf. The comforts of a home are apparently I'M
cidental to the safety of his library, and are pro-
vided in more restricted rooms in the rear Of
the house"
B9 Years ago we often met the
man whose poetry has been read, sung and ad-
mired throughout the Union. He wore glaz-
ed cap, which was usually drawn over his eyes,
and an old camblet cloak which hung loosely
on his rounded shoulders. He moved through
the streets slowly and thoughtfully, scarcely
ever raising his eyes, and then to gaze yacan-
tly upon whatever object or person they FELL
He studiously eschewed society, and rarely if
ever was seen walking with companion. In
conversation he was as mild and as gentle as
child. No one was permitted to enter his DOM
icil. 1t was as sacred as the inner temple of his
heart, and it was as impossible to reach one as
the other The door was invariably locked,
and he glided in and out Of it like a spirit
The cause of the Poets eccentrcities, is attrib-
uted to disappointment in love, and doubtless
this is so, for the sudden change in his demeanor
on meeting married lady in the city of New
Haven, tells the tale too plainly.
Many, in fact all, Of PercivaIs productions
breathe the true spirit Of poetry, whether his
subject be of the battle field OF Of the more
quiet walks of life. Who has not read his lines
on "Consumption," without feeling that the poet
has the key Of the human heart and can un-
lock it at his pleasure! Sweetly he sings:
"Thereis woman's decay,
When the light o beauty is fading away,
When the bright enchan,mcnt of youth is 6. ne,
And the that slowed and the eye that shone,
And darted around its glanceof power
And the lip that We'd with the sweetest flower
That in Pa.stum's garden blew,
Or stepped in fragrant dew,
when all that bright fair is fed
loveliness lingering round the dead.''
And then how affectionately he makes "The
Deserted Wife" watch for the coming of her
inebriate husband:
lie comes not. watched the so down, 81.
But yet he comes not. Once it was not so.
The he holds his riot in that town.
Yet will come, and chde, and l shall weep;
And will wake my infant from its sleep,
To blend its feeble wal'ngs with my tears."
But notwithstanding all this, she cannot hate
him, and exclaims:
"I woui, with kindness, all my wrongs repay,
Until the penitent should weep and say,
How injured and how faith ful had been'
Who does not recognize the picture as
true one? .a ia rla ot. s.. $3.50 -. 90.
But it is not simply with the feelings that the
Poet plays. The wings Of his muse are of al
most every hue. He loves "New England"
and hear what he says of those who died in
defending it:
g. Hail to the land whcreon We tread,
Our fondcst boast;
The sepuchre mighty dead, .s
The truest hearts that bled,
Who sleep Glory's brightest bed,
fearless host;
No slave is here; unclaimed feet ---. 1893 q
Walk freely as the that beat ,,.-r
Our coast. r
There is no other land like thee,
No dearcr shore;
Thou art tn. shelter Of the free; l-
The home, the post of Liberty, f.. ..-..
Thou hast been, and shalt ever be.
Till time Is o'er.
Ere forget to think upon
Ny land, shall mother the son
She bore.' -.....
In less bolder strain he says Of Genius
Slumbcring:"
- lie sleeps forgetiul of his once bright famej
lie has feeling of the glory gone;
lie has eye catch the mountain fame,
That once in transport drew spirit on; r
He lies in dull, oblvious dreams, q .,.
whothe thed laurel bcars.''
What vivid picture he brings to view in his
lines 6 TO Seneca Lake.:
thy fair bosom, silver lake,
The white swan spreads his snowy sail,
And round his breast the rpples brcak
As down he bears before the gale. b.
How sweet at set Of sun 10 view
Thy golden mirror spreading vide,
And see the mist Of mantling blue,
Float round distant mountain side.,
We have room but for one more extract
" The Flight of Time" and as beautifully and
sweetly does his versi6cation flow along as
does the " falling river," to which he alludes:
Family now thsu falling river,
Like dream that dies away;
Down o gliding ever.
Keep thy calm, mrufned way;