Western Reserve chronicle. [volume] (Warren, Ohio) 1855-1921, 1873-02-12

Golden words of commendation are
being lavishly showered upon Mrs.
Benediet's volume of poems, "Vesta. u
The latest mention we have seen is
the following discriminating and ap-
preciative notice by the Louisville,
Kentucky, Courier Journal of Jan.
10th. We take great pleasure in
in transferring to the columns of the
DEMOCRAT so kind and just a notice
Of Portage eounty's gifted Poetess,
from distant journal, ald one of the
prominent, leading, and most able
papers in the country. The follow
ing is the Courier-Journal's critque :
l-RdUennd Dem.
VESTA.
A notable book of the holiday time
is one just issued by Claxton, Rem
son d HaffelingeT, of Philadelphia.
and containing, so far as ve know, the
first published poems of Mrs. Hester
A. Benedict, of that city. She has
called the book Vesta, after its first
and longest poem, as it certainly is
the best. The theme is a mothers
rejoicing over the coming of her first
born, and her mOnody over its early
death, to be laid away
Under the sheen of the pitiless snow"
The poem contains a pathos, is writ
ten with intensity of feeling, at times
rising into almost a sublimity of an
guish, which must bring it near to
the heart of every mother: She
writes:
o. happy mothers In all the land,
Weakened from slumber this Christmas
By the dancing of feet that are nimble and
feet,
By the elinging of kisses caresslng and
Or by loud Mamma, awake and see
What Santa Claus brought in the night to
In the greatening glow Of Christmas morns
Oh, white grows my face, like the face OF
waiIing for 'kis. es it claimed OF old;
AND my lips wall aloud OF a coffin and
AS I watch from the window the hurrying
And hear the glad shouting of girls and of
Down on the street with their gay Christ
For the eyes Of mn idol are calm and cold.
And shadows are locked in her locks Of gold.
The poem is something of a life
history in itself. Knowing but little
of its author, the story is probably
transcription of one episode in her
mothers experience. There are pas
sages in it-as the whole is very COM
plete and beautiful-which are word
pictures. The alterations in the feel |
ing of the mother are divided by chap |
ter marks, the eighth commencing:
The winds sweep southwark freightea with |
tears
From the sad sweet face Of the sea;
The night it is drear,and the night il Is cold !
And ah, ah me!
For the shiver of means in the lonesome
For sorrow of sIghs where the frosts are piled /
And ah. ah me.
That the black clouds floating under the
To the terrible time Of the tempests tune
Lean 10 my wildwood haunts; Tor 10,
All that worshfped is under the snow.
The next verse, although suggesting
the mt ter and something of the SEN
timent of Poeis "Annabel Lee" con- |
tains passages of great beauty and
force:
Into my life as sit tonight,
Face TO face with my sorrowful soul
Into my life, ah me, ah mel
The heak OF dolorous darkness dips,
nd the red rose vanishes out of my lips;
And while with alright
lean to the right
As the downs lean cold to the sea /
As the cold downs lean to the sea!
And the throb of voices deemed were dead,
Cries as the wind cries over my head,
And the heart in my bosom, ft lies like lead,
IS the dead lie deep IN the sea,
My heart my heart!
Drowned in the blood Of a murdered hope,
And bound and wound and sepulcbered up,
IN shroud and tomb OF silence sweet,
As the dead are folded from head TO feet
The drowned low down in the sea,
That lie so still in the sea,
The sobbing, sorrowful sea ..