New Orleans Republican. [volume] (New Orleans, La) 1867-1878, 1870-06-26
Written for the New Orleans Republican
POETKY.

There are but few who do not possess tn,
finest of all instincts-the poetic sense. W
all indulge in visions which bestow raptur
on passing hours; we all weave fancies whicl
are as varied as the clouds at sunset; we al
revel in dreams which, aurora-like, throy
kindling CLEANS of pleasure on our ever
pathway. Years have waned since mythol
Ogists created poetry. Centuries have passe,
since Bible was given rs the highest typ
OF poetry-highest, because divine. Tn
shores of time have been covered with tn
wrecks Of Empires, and yet poets have beer
born, whose names, like the amaranth, vii
be surrounded with eternal bloom. Through
poetry have been transmitted legends
which, like Egyptian pyramids, are herald!
of plains which long since ceased to echo
the footsteps Of their voiceless thousands
At poetry's bidding, we linger in the sun.
beams at Calypso's isle or stand with hushed
breath at Thermopyla. At one sweep O
her wings we recall days of tyranny OF
dreams of youth. With her we traverse the
woodland glades of the far West, bend in
reverence in forest temples, through whose
aisles Faiths pure hymns are borne by the
winds to the tree tops; there to take part in
the chorus of praise, breathed by the rust
ling leaves.
The deeds of our forefathers live in poeti-
cal tales. The poets genius leaves the
beaten tracks of every day prosaic life, and
in tracing human passions, BIDS US read
pages varied with thoughts, which, indi-
genous to no climate, are types of souls as
widely apart as are the SHOWS of Greenland
and 1ndia's scorching breath. The poet is as
. magic mirror. We hear with him the
thrill of triumph, the widows moan, the
orphans cries. We see the funereal torch.
lights, the festal lights. We gather with
him the lovely wild flowers, the sea shore
pebbles. With him, we hear the sentry's
call, see his cleaning bayonet. With heroes,
we tread the battlefield, hear the bugle-
Call, advance at his bidding, faint on the
weary retreat, or toss our banners high in
triumph.
Music owes much of her grace to poetry.
The artist is indebted to her for the tints
which beautify his canvas. TITS poetry,
which guides the scuIptor's hand, as he
makes out of the rough marble, living,
speaking image.
AAcTc IS uO btuIlmcuL WHICH may not De
expressed by poetry, no path she has not
trod. With her torch she has lighted the
dim caverns of science with her rays she
has illumined the ''path that leads t.. God :"
with her warmth she scatters the snow from
the graves of loved ones, lays bare the ten
der blades below.
With her lullaby, she rocks the cradle of
the darling babe, with her clarion notes
rouses the multitudes, to bid them battle
for their homes and their affairs. With
imagination's tread, she peoples the rain.
bow, furnishes songs for the mermaids.
Her home may be the gray rock, on which
the lchen lives, or the garden, fragrant
With the breath of the jasmine. She is
found in the, flowers which brighten the
sick room; the jungles where the lion and
hunted misery alike fly detection.
The love of poetry should be cultivated
in the minds of our children, for in the
solace of declining age, no heart, respon.
sive to her purest teachings, can be
thoroughly hardened. The sentenced con.
vict remembers the hymn taught at his
mothers knee; the angels strike their harps
In measured melody.