Savannah morning news. [volume] (Savannah) 1868-1887, 1884-02-14
A Lakeside Musing. .
~ Il

q want to see the poetry editor" said
young lady who stepped very briskly
into the rOOm-''the gentleman that puts
all those lovely pieces IN the paper every
Saturday. Don't you think they're
sweet?"
The horse reporter nodded acquiescence
in the saccharine character of the efforts
alluded to.
81 would like to see him personally"
continued the young lady, because it
would be so nice to talk with him about
( TennYsOn, and LOngfellow, and all those
other dear old things, wouldn't itT
The personal friend of Maud S. again in
clined his head.
"You don't think he'll be in again this
afternoon, do you? I'd like awfuIly to see
him. But perhaps you can help me. Pm
in an awful fix"
whats the matter?" asked the horse
reporter.
''Why," continued the young lady, ~
/ live over on the West Side, and we've got
a literary society, and at the next meet
/ ing l am down to read paper on Poetry
as an Art and"
"Is poetry an art?' asked the horse re-
/ porter. Il thought it was an affliction."
''Well, l don't know about that" said
| the young lady, ''but anyhow Pye got to
! get up this paper, and it occurred to me
that perhaps one of you editors could as
me. | want to get some extracts from the
works of our best known poets to illus
trate what shall say. Now there's Mr..
TennysOn, for instance; he's written some
fine poetry, hasn't hep
Eyes. ALI has occasionally shot some
pretty fair verse athwart the literary hori-
zOn.'
Gould you give me a specimen of his
styleY' eagerly asked the young lady. Il
never read line of those big poets in my
life-nothing but what the Tribune poets
write"
1--WE have got some daisies from Daisy
vile on our staff said the horse repor-
ter, ''but If you want a few gems from the
old masters | suppose you can have them.
TennysOn's May Queen is one of his most
popular poems. Want some of that?
|'Why, yes. | should think two or three
verses would be just the thing"
Well" said the horse reporter, sit
goes like this:
You must wake and call me early, call me
early, mother dear:
TO-mOrrOwll be the boss old day for pop and
ginger beer:
And when they strike the pie mother I'll say
my little say
For I'm to be Queen Of the May, mother, Pm
to be Queen Of the May.
There's many nifty girl, they say, but none
lays over me;
There's Margaret and Mary, and cross-eyed
Lucy Lee;
But you bet your life l take the cake and of
biscuit sweep the tray;
So I'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I'm to
be Queen of the May.
500 you think that is enough? ?" asked
the young lady.
80 yes; those verses will give 'em an
idea of Alf's gait. Variety is what they
want, you know. You ought to have
something from Bryant His Indian
GirPs Lament is pretty well thought OFF,
is it? Pm sure | don't know. L shall
leave it all to you.''
'Well, l can give you a chunk Of it,"
"Do, if you please"
This is the way it starts:'
An Indian c1rl was sitting where
Her lover, Walking Elea-Patch, lay;
Beside her stood a spawned horse
That sadly chewed some musty hay.
Upon a stump herself she flung,
And then this simple lay she sung:
i've placed the bottle at your head,
o Walking Flea Patch, so that when
You strike the town and paint it red,
You viii not miss your Laughing-Hen,
Who, sitting in the wigwam, will
Adore her noble warrior still.n
Snow, you see,'' said the horse reporter,
''thOse selections over the childish glee
and loving trustfulness rackets. What
you want to finish with is something pa
Understanding CnaJ Will make the
young women sniffle. Hoods Song of the
Shirt ought to do that nicely. Suppose
we sling 'em few lines of that"
every well,' said the young lady. "You
know L depend wholly on your judgment
in this matter"
"Well, here it is"
With fingers weary and worn,
In a little five-roOm Nat,
a woman sat with eyelids red
Trying TO trim a hat,
Rip, turn. twist,
Then give it a spiteful lirt,
While beside her lies like ghOstly thing
Her husbands buttOnless shirt.
girls, with brothers dear!
o girls who hope to be wives.
Remember that shirts with buttons are
The dream of mems hard lives!
Rip. turn, twist,
Till your hands are weary and worn
But the wind Will sweep with a wailng sigh
Through the pants that are ever torn.
you are very kind" said the young
lady, preparing to go.
"Don't mention it. Come in again when
YOU think we are all Out.'