The Tiffin tribune. (Tiffin, Ohio) 1868-1887, 1871-04-13
Bona Fide Circulation, 1.S5,


large circulation, and Is read by thrifty
energetic class Of people. Advertisement
inserted as low as in any hrst-class paper.
AFEW TOUCHES O1 THE HARP.
The voices OF the minor poets are heard il
the land. Nor let Us close our ears but lis
ten. Some Of the songs are full, if not @
art, at least Of heart. The human sympath.
and ethical purity OF our current poetry ar
It's two best qualities. This refinement i
due, In great measure, TO the intrOdu .tion O
womens pen as a gentle but potent force fl
modern literature. The Golden Age seems 4
have already become a fsvorite Journal witt
such writers. We could MI our whole shee
every week with original verse-andaevel
then it would have sufficient prose. Our ia
bic sparhles at this moment with a grea
number Of manuscripts, which, partly gOlt
and partly tinseI, are not quite good enough
to print, and not quite bad enough to throw
away. We sometimes wonder what IS to b.
the future and immortal state OF these effus
lons-seeing that they belOngtO heaven O
he'll. Without giving any specimens o
these, we will unload our table a little by
gracefully yielding TO the requests Of fev
friends who have sent US verses, not OF thei
own, but OF other friends.
Mr.. Bayard Taylor communicates to III
from The Tribune ODice the following stan
zas, "written by lady in "the South, OF
hearing Of the death OF Alice Cary, ant
''reading one Of her last poems called The
Flight ofthe Birds:"
IS HEAVEN IT'S ALWAYS MAY.
hear the birds, who in this cline
OF endless spring are dwelling.
Their happy thoughts, in artless rhyme
To one another telling;
Though sweet each silyery-nOted voice.
breathe sigh as they rejoice.
When ON the blossom-Iaden trees
a moment they are Swaying,
or with the balmy southern breeze
Among the roses playing,
or resting in the em'rald shade
The eedars cast across the glade; -
Ever their Joyons songs peal forth,
With bright and gladsOme pTesagei
Yet wOuld send them TO the North,
To bear q soothing message,
And, % the hearts that mourn there, say
ain Heaven above It's always May"
For know, dear birds, the poet friend
Who loved you end your singing,
Who longed for winters reign TO end,
That May might hasten, bringing
The feathered truants in her train,
To charm away long hours Of PAIN
Know ye. that while yo1 linger here
Mid scenes OF SCmmeF gladness,
That friend has sought a brighter sphere
Afar from care and sadness
The Nay she Ionged on earth 10 SEE,
Her soul has found eternaIIy.
Aye! loving hands have laid her down
Beneath the snow TO slumber;
But far above, a starry crown,
And Joys no tongue can number,
OF eeaseless song, and fadeless flowers,
Are hers within the angel bowers.
Yet go, ye birds; although No pers
She hears your chorus lender;
seek ye the hearts with sorrow sore,
And comfort strive to render,
BY singing, all the dreary day,
ain heaven above It's always AaF,'
Mr.. T. C.E-ans, Of The World, favors Us
with the following verses written by his ac-
sister, Mrs. Almeda Evans Mae
Donald, author OF a volume which Is criti-
ally noticed IN another column:
TIE BoRTN,
Thou black-eyed bird, thou sgluged courier
OF happy days of summer cheer,
Who tBllSthee that the roots are stirred
Within the mould, thou merry pirdg
Who Is thy leader, who thy guide,
Who taught thy.warble TO divide
The changeful days that roll between
The days OF snow and days OF green.
The snow that beats pale April's face
Finds our gsy warbler out Of place
In all the storm he does nat knoT
Where for his daily fare to 60,
But that sweet sympathy that binds
Chlldrea to birds, poor robin finds;
For many little fingers throw
Crumbs TO poor birdie through the snow.
Not undIsturbed his homely joys;
Sometimes audacious elfin boys
Shut mp within GarroE Cggl
Springs rOmping, pert, and merry page.
And selfish men and sordid quite
Hints at the Robins appetite.
How can this pensiOner Of the land
Mans narrow boundary understand?
Bobby has trials wise men say,
He sIaFs, sHd dees not go away.
But ali, gay Robin, It's not So
You stretch youriwings away from snow,
And go where endless roses blow;
Thy paths the wise men do not know;
You come and go a winged page,
Fearing the snow, scorning the cage
Mrs. Elizabeth n, Miller, daughterOf Mr..
3errit SMITH, sends 10 rs fran Geneva, N
/ >, - manuscript written as she says, "by
my dear friend Mrs. Booth, who died in
New York several years go:-alittle poem
which, to me, is exquisitely beautiful -
SHALL. BE WITH THEE.
! hear e footstep in the hall,
] sec Q shadow on the we'll
4 moving shadoY dark and tall
\ YOiceless shadoW-that is all.
No gentle football near the door
IurlllS 10 my ueaft across Lne nOoIf
And am weary, thinking Ger
That music 1 shall hear no more
That tender music, soft and sweet
The melody of coming feet;
l cry, and echo sends the call
Back to my heart-and this is all.
: feel a soft hand on my head,
A hand whose touch seems Overspread
With balm like that the lilies shed
Ger the white bosoms Of the dead,
And am chill while memories fall
Like odors DER me-this is all.
] feel the rythmand the rhyme
OfthY dear life keep sweetest time
With Gods sweet sounds, and Overclimb
All sounds with which they interchime
see thee-hear thee-feel thy breath,
In the still air which answereth
With llghtest kiss whene'er / call,
MID tears for thee-and this is all.
/ cannot hear thee in the hall,
Nor see thy shadow on the wall
Yet shall hear an angel call
My name Rdogn tie jasper wall
For when the leaves Of autumn fall,
/ shall be with thee-this is all.