The Richmond palladium. [volume] (Richmond, Ind.) 1855-1875, 1873-11-29
THE WORKS OF PRENTICE.


A correspondent in the Indianapo-
lis Sentinel Of the oath, writing from
Greencastle, introduces his communi.
cation by noticing the death of Clar-
ence Prentice, and allndes to the works
of his distinguished father as follows:
clarence Prentice, only surviving
son of GAOrge d. Prentice, while re.
turning, on the night of November Is,
from Louisville to his home, q few,
miles in the country, was thrown from
his buggy and almost instantly kill
ed" s.
The above paragraph, going the
rounds OF the press, calls to my mind
the following:
On the death of George D. Prentice,
in 1869, it was stated on unquestion-
ed authority that his son Clarence
would compile and publish at an early
day his principal contributions of lit
erature as q wit, journalist and poet.
For more than four years have been
anxiously awaiting the appearance of
this work, but SO far as seeing any no.
tice Of it as in preparation, or other
wise, is concerned, l have been disap-
pointed: Has the work been pub.
lished? IF not, has any action been
taken at all with regard to its publica-
ton, either presently or ultimately?
There is no question as to Mr.. Prem
tees literary merit. He was eminent
as wit and journalist, but as poet
he was more universally known, and
will be longer remembered. His po-
ems are read wherever the English
language is spoken. ''The Closing
Year" has been published in volumes
of select reading and in the period
icals Of the press, ,recited by the school
boy declaimer, and the imprisoned
orator, until it has become. part OF the
national thought. English literature
can scarcely afford poem of equal
length in which breyIty and force Of
expression, and beauty and grandeur
of thought meet and commingle. The
following extract is fair sample:
..Revolutions sweep
Ger earth, like troubled visions DER the
breast ss
OF dreaming sorrow; cities rise and sink
Like bubbles on the water; fiery isles
Spring blazing from the ocean, and go back
To their mysterious caverns; mountains
rear
To heaven their bold and blackened cliffs,
and bow
Their tall heads to the plain; and empires
rise, fls
Gathering the strength Of hoary centuries,
And rush down, like the Alpine avalanche,
Startling the nations; and the very stars,
Yon bright and glorious blazonry Of God,
Glitter awhile in their eternal depths,
And, like the Pleiad. loveliest OF their train,
Shoot from their glorious spheres, aud pass
To darkle in the trackless void; yet Time.
Time, the tomb builder, holds his fierce ce-
Dark, stern, all-pitiless, and pauses not
Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his
To sit and muse, like other conquerors,
Upon the fearful ruin he hath wrought"
The verses on his mothers grave,
pronounced by the London Quarterly,
the truest American. poem, belongs to
this same class, and indicates, as do
the majority of his poems, the high
est order of poetic genius. AS a
sketch writer, he was equally gifted.
Into euch as THE Prairie Fire.
The Broken Heart" The Thunder
Storm" and others, he breathed the
same poets soul-the same fascinat-
ing expression and thought.
Has there not been some negligence
in this matter? Is posterity to be de-
prived of the writings of one of
Americas most gifted poets-one,
too, so peculiarly characterized by
Thoughts that breath, and words that
burn?" Shall the poems and golden
sayings of Prentice be left to wan
der as waits through a country to
which they lend credit? Certainly
there is a demand for his writings in
book form, and an apology to his many
admirers for negligence. We conclude
these remarks by subjoining, though
not one Of the best, yet one of his
earliest productions:
THE DEAD MARINER.
Sleep on, sleep on. above thy corse
The winds their Sabbath keep,
The wave is round thee, and thy breast
Heaves with the heaving deep.
Ger thee wild eve her beauty fiings
And there the white gull lifts ber wings,
And the blue halcyon loves to leave
Her plumage in the holy grave
Sleep on, no willow or thee bends
With melancholy air;
No violet springs, no dewy rose
Its soul of love lays bare;
But there the sea flower bright and young
Is sweetly DER thy slumbers flung,
And, like q weeping mourner fair,
The pail flag hangs it's tresses there.
Sleep on, sleep on, the glittering depths
OF oceans coral graves
Arc thy bright urn' thy requiem
The music of its waves:
The purple gems forever burn
In fadeless beauty round thy urn;
And pure and deep as early love
The blue sea rolls its waves above
Sleep on, sleep on, the fearful wrath
or mingling cloud and deep,
May leave its dark and stormy track
Above thy place of sleep;
But when the wave has sunk to rest
AS now Z murmur DER thy breast;
And the bright victim OF the sea ~
Perchance will make her home with thee
Sleep on, thy corse is far away,
But love bewails thee yet;
For thee the heart-rung Sigh Is breathed
And lovely eyes are wet:
And she, thy young and beauteous bride.
Her thoughts are lowering near thy side:
And oft she turns to view through tears
Her Eden Of departed years."
Spain willing To Comply.
Washington, Nov. 19.-The I'm
preston is general in official and othe
circles here to-day that the Spanis
government is disposed to make ever
effort to settle impending difficulties
and gentlemen who hold intimate per
sonal relations with the President as
sert their belief that war will not aris
from the present complications, mas
much as Spain, through CASTELAR,, ha
given assurances that all proper de
mands from this government will b
~ "AAs ~