Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1878-11-12

An Unhnishsd Life.
Yesterday morning We received the following
despatch from DIR. Harlow, Superinten dent of the
Insane Hospital.
"Moses Owen died this morning at o'clock"
These few words chroncled the close Of = life
that was unfinished, incomplete Mr.. Owen was
brought to the hospital, from Bath, on the first
day of November. Why he was brought here
when near his end. we cannot tell. He was
then suffering from paralysis, and was in fail
ing condition with slim prospects Of life. He
was unable to talk, his mutterings being quite
incoherent. He was placed in private apart
ment, and had every care possible, but sank rapid
ly, being unconscious good deal Of the time.
until yesterday morning, at o'clock when he
died, at the age of SO years. He was the of
the late Capt. Charles Owen. a prominent master
mariner of Bath, and in his youth had all the
could afford. He graduated at Bowdoin College,
in the class Of 81, we believe, and gave promise
of brilliant attainments in the literary world But
in early life he acquired drinking habits, which
more especially in a genial, companionable ma
ture like his, were destined to prove his ruin !;
which indeed have shattered all his bright pros
poets in life, and brought him to . premature
death. Poor Nose he had q soul as white and
pure a. ever human breast covered. and by the
side of the unconscious clay we will remember
him only as the sweet poet, whose chaste and
beautiful lines have charmed us in hours Of med
itaton, brought comfort in times Of dependency,
and added Joy in seasons of sunshine. Con-
sdering his short life we think it is not too much
to say that he had no superior among our Maine
poets. He had something Of the style of Edgar
Allen Poe, though perhaps not quite so weird.
His lines on THE Returned Maine Battle Flags"
printed and hung in frames in the rstunda of the
capitol, have been reckosed among his hes.
specimens. We pity the man who can read them
unmoved. In 1873 he published . volume of po-
ems. entitled plymouth Church and other poems,"
which contained many of his fugitive pieces, but
not 1.-THE Of bis works, in that direction. He
was called several times to deliver poems on pub
lie occasions. But the silver cord is loosed. the
pitcher broken at the cistern. Something of the
sadness of his life is reflected in a little piece he
wrote several years ago, entitled cat Last"
which we quote:
Al last my short lived joys have sunk in sorrow,
And night and darkness have usurped their
Twas but a day that brought such gloomy NOR
row,
For one has gone who may not come again.
At last the pitcher carried oteu has been broken,
The silver chord 10 loosed. all hone has fed
Yet still linger. though the word he spoken
That bids me wander from the sanity dead.
At last knew that all earth's joys were heetIue.
Yet still fondly hoped twas not my fate
And life sped on with glad and merry greeting,--
day 90 golden could not longer wait.
NV thoHghts 70 back % that glad sunpv morning
When life was young, and earth and sky seemed
bright,
Oh happy day that brought such glorious dawn
ing
How could you leave me in such gloomy night
The crimson leaves now Autter from the trees
And Nature speaks cen In her very dying,
Go seek your ansver-it IL fonnd in these