The Arkansaw traveler., 1883-03-17

sit beef O. finer far Than fame or riches. are
 Nny
 Should 1
 Weep, wall or sigh
 What If luck has passed me by "aa; i: ;s; hopes afe dead My pleasures fed
 Haye not sti!!
 My Ill
 or right good cheer Cigars and beer
 Go whining youth
 Forsooth Go. weep and xa:i. Sigh and grow pale.
 Weave melancholy rhymes
 On the old times. Whose joys like seadowy ghosts appear But cave 10 me my beer
 Gold Is dross-
 Love Is loss So If guip my sorrows down,
 Or see them drown
 h foaniing draughts Of old nut brown
 Then do wear the crown
 Without the cross
 How many poor fellows have the con- solation found in poem like Beer carried 10 an early grave. .Cui Bono" breathes something of the same spirit as the foregoing and shows what the Bohe- milan became when he came in contact with Natsre. Youth and Age and The bduer;iy and the Toe" are trties, but they show the celicaie and fanciful spirit oi a poet. The Golden Fish" Ca M es, esal. Gold and Purple" Parting ana Then and Now are among Arnold shorter love poe ns. the shortest. but also the most dainty and pleasing, being The Golden Fish. In Loves Messens gers. We find the poet al his best la r,l.nsing with ainos, perfec, descriptions oi Nature. allusie ns ;o those surroundings which help to throw an ar oi romance around the master passion" The smp!e Rhyme" Meadow Sweet. farewell 10 Summer ..Sep- tember and The Hearts Rest are all devoted 10 Nature. Farewell to Sum- mer' and September are perfect trans crpts of Nature in the most beautiful and glorious seasons of the year ; every where they show the dainty finish which the poe; gave to all he did. Bu, the most pleasing of all the poems we have mentioned are Meadow Sweet and -rhe Hearts Rest" both carols pure and iCdOiCut Wtlu lilC QUOT O1 daisy. meadow sweet and perfume rose" Among The Siren of the Rose" In the Sands. "A Part" Al Dusk" and .Sere- nade,' the best are At Dusk" and "A Part. which are totally free from gloom and grief and nlled in strange, sad way with happiness and hope. Foul Weath- CT Is one of the mos, characteristic of Arnold short poems and is the plaint- i've song of world-weary soul which longs for release from pain and care:
 The rain upon lhe sodden grass
 Is beating, beating weari.y:
 Gray clouds oi mist, like phantoms. pass.
 And the salt, We, wInd walls drearily, As II brings 50 aie. from tue shore -afaF,-
 The d;.ec of the surf o the outer bar.
 Ny heart. within my fevcred breast
 is beating. beating weariiy.
 And memory, with T sad unrest
 Walls through its chambers creariiy
 Tili almost wish that the surf afar
 Were singing my dtrge or ,he outer bar. Eve both deserve 10 be classed among the very best of the lighter poems oi ,hem kind. Via Crucis' and 'lubiia,e'' are both gems. the one breathing a spiri; of resignation and peace, the other of joy and happiness. ''Matron Year" as d poem Of Nature is fully equal ;o Sep tember." while "Requiescam" is one ot the very best of the poets efforts. No where IS the poets inner being so fully reelected as in this piece. Love of all that was gentle, res,iul and good. and for all ,ha, was beanti.ul m Nature must have been strong in the man who could write:
 Give me. when aie
 grave an.o ng ih. ,o.u and e,oyer.
 Let me peaceful lie
 In some neld. with forests niyt Where thx blossoms bending over
 Aingle sigh for sigh
 Nith ever rust.ing isayrs
 Whispering 10 the rastling sheavss
 l-e, ihc tall grass wAsc
 Elgh above my grave.
 And stTeW, each taii, thei9 ires sGres . CT me.
 Leaves of ' Id. and brown
 Sofl!, t.o-ting down.
 Or driren wild ousard. when us trmy
 o, give me not atomh
 NAiie. and marble. cold and cary,
 In the church yards gloom Rather, when I'm weary,
 Let me he al rest
 Meth the clover, growing fair
 In the warm. sunsninv air, With it's thready tendriIs tSin,ng round
 my breast.
 So. tranquil be my sleep When the hay, slantng beams
 Res; on forest, vale and steep. Through long summer after moons
 Be my siumoer still and deep. Let the new and waning moons Come. and go, and bring me dreams It is pleasing to think that this was cue Of the last things that Arnold ever wrote and that he now rests among the beauti- Iul scenes he loved so well. The volume closes with the last poem that Arnold ever wrote "ln the Dark, which is so full of sadness, pathos and subdued res- lgnation, that in reading il one cannot help shedding tear for the gentle poe, who, in the singing of this song. passed into eternal silence: stretch my hands out into :he empty air. l strain my eyes into the heavy night. blaekness of darkness. Father, hear my