Arizona miner., 1866-05-09
MY RIVAL

And the feet Of the dancers fall light
 Yet Death crouches low in the room. One stands him, all smiling and bland.
 Just there where the tapestries fail The wine-cup he holds in his hand
 Throws dabble of red on the wall Ills fool-face hot flushes with love.
 And he whispers name in his wine The white moon that looked from above
 And the stars know the woman Is mine. It were better he said him prayer:
 We're the man not a fool he would feel shuddcr of death in the air,
 And the sharp, sudden tinge of steel. Sec he smiles to himself as he sips
 Of his wine in the alcove apart {;
 VIII he smile when my dagger's thin lips
 s,iraii GriuK the req wine Of his heart Waiting for the Rain,n by Annie A. Fitzgerald, and Tom Darling.1 humorous poem full of puns, by L. F. Wells, are worthy ot notice, and the same may be said of Chas. W. Stod1ard's lines entitled
 Now Mars steals over the water
 He is marching down from the sky Great Mars, with his golden helmet
 And the golden flame in his eye The sea Is still, for the ripples
 Are hushed at the gods slow tread And line of light Is trailing
 The wave, like a burning thread Sad Mars he Is wearied with marching
 And wandering of is he,
 While he mods his yellow helmet
 And thrusts his lance in the sea Faltering Mars with his marching
 Wearied he seems 10 be
 While he tips his helmet and mergcs
 Ills golden lance in the sea. |. ;s n s;,,o,,ior f,.. .h.. d. .---.- z. Al. = volume contains scarcely anything character istic of California. Most of the stanzas could just as well have been written in New York. or Massachusetts, or England. The coInpil- CT, in this connection, remarks in the preface :: alt might be expected that country whose scenery is remarkable for sublimity and grandeur would have inspired some suitable expression here. But the attempts at de- scriptiye and pastoral poetry have not been generally successful. Perhaps Inonotonous climate, lacking those vicissitudes of seasons which elsewhere inspire the imagination has obliged the poet to look Oftener in his own heart for that spring and autumn from which much imagery is supposed to flow. or in the fortunes of his fellow men, which are us- ually exempt from this climatic infiuencen g We would add that Mrs A. NJ. Shutz is the only poet represented in this book who seems to be awakened to enthusiasm by the seen cry of California Her lines. "The Song of the Plume, " are So spirited that we caano. deprive crr readers of their dashing melody alss rhsSAa;
 fHH SONG OF THE PLUME. Anaka. aeAke, for the flaming east
 L ksG s.th ille coming day NY struggling breast disdains its rest, And haste OCT the hills away. Up from the valley-up from the plain, Up from the rivers side; For come with gush, and torrents rush, And there's wealth in my swelling tide. I am fed by the melting rills that start Where the startling snow peaks glsam; My course Is free, and with greatest glee leap in the suns broad beam Though torn from the channels deep and old l have worn through the craggy hill, Yet flow in pride my waters glide, And there's mirth in my music still sought the shore of the sounding sea From the far Sierras height, With a starry breast and spcw-eapped crest, loaned in path of light; hlt they bore me thence In a winding Way- They fettefed me like slave And as serfs of old were sold for gold So they bartered my sOii-stalned wave. Through the dim tunnel, down the dark shaft Search for the shining ore; Hoist II away tO the light of day,
 Which it never has seen before Spade and shovel mattock and pick Ply them with eager haste For my golden shower Is sold by the hour, And the drops are too dear to waste. Lin me aloi to the mountain brow,
 kathom the deep blue vein, And I'll sin the soil for the shining spoil As sink Co the valley again; The swell Of my swarthy breast shall bear Pebble and rock away
 Though they brave my strength, they shall yield at length, But the glfttering gold shall stay; Mine Is no stern and warrior march, Nor stormy trump and drum. No banners gleam in my darkened stream As with conquering step come But touch the tributary earth
 Till it owes mOnarch's sway And with eager hand, from a conquered land, bear it's wealth away.
 Awake, awake,-there are loving hearts In the land you leit afar
 There are tearful eyes in the homes you prize As they gaze on the western star Then up from the yalley,-up from the hlll,-- Up from the rivers side
 For come with gush, and torrents rush, And there's wealth in my swelling tide.
 N r Ereaiug p0sf