The Arkansaw traveler., 1883-10-06
tfi-op some rosy even II dies wth sunlfGht blessing il: so he IranquiliY ho9aedto . southern sea.
 And walked into heaven,

We will not weep for him, who died SO
 well
 But we will gather round the hearth and
 tell
 The story of bis strife.
 Such homage suits him well
 Better than funeral pomp or passing bell What tales of peril and self-saerifce Prisoned amid the hoSling fasiness of ice. With hunger bowling o'er the wastes of Nigh, lengthening into months; the raven, crumhling the massive ships, as the white
 bear
 Crunches his prey the insufficient, share of
 loathsome food; The legarthy of famine the despair Urging to labor, nervously pursued Ioii done with skinny arms and faces Like pallid masks, while dolefully behind Glimmered ihe fading embers Of a mind. l hat awful hour. when thro' the prostrate
 band
 Deliriam stalked. laying his burning hand Upon the ghastly foreheads of the crew The whispers of rebellion, faint and few .tt nrs,. but deepening ever till they grew Into black thoughts of murder-such the
 ,hrong
 or horrors round the hero High the song should be that hymns the noble par; he
 played
 sinking himself. vel ministerine aid
 c a.. around hun. by mIghiy wiil Living defiant of the wants that kill Because his death would seal his cornrade.,
 fate
 Cheering Ni,h ceaseless and inventive skill Those polar lnters. dark and desoIate Equal to every ,Eial. every fate
 He stands antsl spriug. tardy with relief.
 nioeks the icy-gate. And tAe pale prisoners thread the world once
 more.
 To the steep cliffs of Greeniand's pastoral
 shore.
 Bearing their dying chief. lime "as when De should ~in his spurs of
 gold
 Fromroyal hands who wooed the knish,lv
 state:
 The kne.l of old foraalities is ,ollea. And the worlds knights are now se.f-con-
 seera,e.
 No grander episode doth chivalry hold h all is annals back to Charlemagne. Than that long vigil of unceasing pain. fai,hiIi!y kept through hunger and thro'
 cold.
 By the good christian kn,ght, Elisha Kane The poets other pieces are of a nature that enables them to be loosely classed under several heads. His. what may be called na,taki7,e poems, compose the larger portion and so will be firs, no- ;ieed:
 The Lost Steamship" "Mnot's Ledge and a When Come Back from Sea-. are sea poems. The Los, Steam ship very thrilling, gains from the way in which it is told .' Minot's Ledge" whose almost tragic import IS dispelled by the touching close. contains many positive lines of description; and When Come Back from Sea-, is story of bllghted love. sure to reach the hearts of all. The Fallen Star" gloomy piece of verse, is we'll rounded and finished, and will always win a second reading. However, the pleasing fancy in the las, verse which gives the poem iis title. is doubtless suggested by the passage in Longfellow's Hyperion" where. when sweet Emma of llmancan first yields to temptation, star fallen out of the evening heavens. The Tot of Cold" tells in quaint way of the immortal longing innate within the souls of all and of the youth who failing in his long search for the treasure hidden at the base of the rainbow. a, last finds the greatest of all ,reasures-God. Down in the Glen at ldlewiId." "The Wharf Rat" and :" The Demon of the Gibbet "-the latter probably being the crystalizng of some tale, which the poet, as a child, had heard at the feet of some grandame-are uncouth and weird. "Milly and |" and " The Skaters are in a similar vein, the latter being the most ringing and power ful of the two. Helen Lee, one of O'Brien's longest pieces, and ranks among his very best, is full of gladness, redolent of the mellow beauty of autumn, and reminds one pleasantly of Long, fellow. Johnny" is dainty bit of poetry, and contains an undercurrent of genial humor which the poet rarely cultivated elsewhere. The Man at the Door, shows him at his best as a story teller in verse. It IS ringing and free, but full of gloom: How joyous to-day is the little old town. With banners and streamers as cheery as
 spring They aaiier in turrets and ba,tlements brown. And the ancient cathedral IS fine as a king me sexton nosegay has put in his breast. And his face is as bright as a Jericho rose, hat after century's withering rest, Cn~rinkles its petals and suddenly blows.
 
 'Tis not without reason the old town is gay, And banners and ribbons are reckoning the !
 air. For beautiful Bertha will marry to-day With gallan, young Albert, the son of the i
 mayor. He IS brown a nu; from the hazels of Spain: Her face like the twilight is pensive and | sweet:
 Ns rNcy march hand in hand thro' the mur- muring lane, 1 Low blessings, like flowers. fall unseen a, ihe.r feet.
 While they sweep hse twin barks thro' the |
 waves oi he crowd
 A story is falling from many tongue. Oi the young Gypsy prince who, year ago, 1.
 bowed A, the shrine where a hundred their pas
 sions had sung: And how Bertha heaped seorn on his love |
 and his race, How she flung in the street the rich jewels 1
 he sent, Until he, with the hatred of hell in his face, Went <pil~piy harL ,o bis ,v,b ,-., |