New-York daily tribune. [volume] (New-York [N.Y.]) 1842-1866, 1864-07-20
n Western Pset IN . German Gnrh'
JYc, The n. T. TIibuDo.]

sIsh printed in foreign type and with foreign pecu-
sarites and with not few foreign printers erats
IN Darmstadt, and published in Heidelberg, Ger
many, aud IN Milwaukee, Wisconsin Quite
enough to excite ones curiosity; and well did the
YORK repay IL .r.r..
About two-thirls Of the volume are TRANSACTIONS
fssm the German, the rest some twenty odd brief
original pieces; "Wayside Blossoms" they are
called by the author, and she gives her name ian
unknown one as Maty II. c. Booth-from WILSON,
SIN probably, from the West certainly, as some OF
tAs poems indicate; and having claims, II would
scsm, such as few can put FORTH to native American
sigin. . .. ...
The TRANSACTIONS are good; the original pieces
nneh better. II these last, few and brief as they
are, be fair specimens of the poetic genius which,
h more sustained efforts, the author may hereafter
put forth, ID would be rash to say 10 what rank
Mary Booth may not some day attain among
he poets Of country 1t is certain that there Is
10 poet now living in this or in any other country
Who need have been ashamed Of the authorship OF
some Of these pieces. IL this seem high praise take
tvo three examples in proof that it is not undo
served.
The first connects Itself with the great topic OF
the aay-the nations struggle for existence;
THE VOLUNTEERS VISION.
LAST night, as lay in the rain,
And looked up to heaven through the mght
A vision came Ger me, aud lighted my BRAIN
With o glory that never will flood II again
This side Of the River OF Light.
And l heard a sweet sound as il came
Like the futter OF feathery wings,
And tha of a
And her breath in my tTesses went playing, the
same
As the cir in an instruments strings.
I told my wild heart to be still,
That the vision was naught but dreami
For knew not that over the amethyst hill
The feet Of my darling had wandered at viii,
On the banks of Eternity's stream.
said to the seraph.winged bird;
"Oh why have you come from the West 7"
And she told how the leaves Of the forest were
stned
BY the feet of the angels who brought her the
word
OK o land where the weary may rest.
She said she was weary and faint
And her heart was all covered with snOv;
The angels they heard her unuttered complaint,
They called her and brought her the robes OF a
saint,
And she said she was ready to 60.
told her the blossoms were sweet
In the meadows the same as OF yore;
Bat she showed me the dew on her sparkling
They had caught of the lilies that bOrdered the
street ..r.r .... S....
BY the sands Of the Paradise shore.
asked her how long must wait
Before should meet her aiar;
And / prayed her unfold me the book Of roy
fate; -
But she vanished away through the crystalline
gate
She had left in her coming aiar.
Dear Hugh, there's a battle to-day,
And perchance may happen to falls
Him not at the call Of the roll, you may say
A good by to the boys in my name; for may
Have said "Aye" to an angels call.
How melodious all this, and how admirable the
toach, simple and familiar are the words, In the
last stanzal
Here ia an idea not new; bu.vas IT ever as grHce-
ssYy expressed
THE UHwRrTTEN POEMS.
THERE are poems unwritten and songs unsung.
Sweeter than any that ever were heard
Poems that wait for an angel tongue,
Songs that but long for Paradise bird.
Poems that ripple through lowliest lives 1.s
Poems unnoted and hidden away
Down in the souls where the beautiful thrives,
Sweetly as flowers in the airs of the May.
Poems that only the angels above US,
Looking down deep in our hearts may behold
Felt, though unseen, by the beings who love ne,
Written on lives, all in letters of gold.
Sing TO my soul the sweet song that thou livest
Read me the poem that never was penned-
The wonderful idyl of life that thou giyest
Fresh from thy spirit, y beautiful friend!
more remarkable poem, of rare power, quite
original, and with grand ring THAI stirs hike 8
Axnpet-call, is the following:
KISGLY HERITAGE.
IBAvE little drop of blood
Whose course is wild and feet,
Sometimes feel it in my soul,
And sometimes in my feet.
sometimes it courses like rll
And sometimes like food,
Aud eften am deuged with
This little drop Of blood.
know from whence the HERITAGE
From ont the hearts of kings;
Sometimes IL grows ethereal
And spreads itself in wings:
Apd then feel the souls of winds
60 bearing me away,
Back TO the high ancestral halls
Where jewelcd fountains play.
Within the royal temples sisles
Divinest singers sing,
And at the holy altar shrines