The Hocking sentinel. [volume] (Logan, Ohio) 1871-1906, 1884-08-21
Some More Good Rich
Poetry.

sus another sup of poetry, ant
dispenses it to the public in the
columns of last weeks Gazette
1t provokes us to find such juic,
poetry in such arid columns, in
cites us TO cry, ''sour grapes" fig
uratively speaking.
This last outburst of the Ur
bana Maid is entitled the "Ol(
Bridge" written for the Republi
can Gazette. We submit a cou
pie of verses. The first reads:
The timbers. though blackened and crumb
ling
With many suns and rains,
Yet thrill at the passing OF rumbling
And heavily laden wains.
This is tolerable versification.
but is not according to the facts
The sun does not blacken, it
bleaehes, nor does the rain black
ell, it washes and cleanses. Tim
bers:: do not crumble; they may de-
cay, splinter. break. Bridge tim
bers do not crumble, a quality
that attaches 10 stone and clods.
Ii, indeed, poetic license permits
the term, crumbling timbers do
not 'thrill." Only sound and
seasoned wood thrills. as every
boy knows who hammers fence
rail or plays a fiddle. Young
girls don't do either; hence the
error Oh the part of our poetess
A "wain" is an old fashioned En-.
glish contrivance that went out
of use nearly one hundred years
ago, so that the Old Bridge thrill
ling with the crossing vain must
be visible only to the imagina-
ton of the poet or if seen by
the ''rapturous eye of the flesh: !"
she is older than our gallantry
permits us to conclude.
The second verse is poetry to
ty-te:
Upon 1t and midway delaying
One looks Oh the river below
where over the ripple's soft playing
A sail rocks 10 and frO.
This grasp of the imagination is
equalled in literature only by a
graphic description of Ash Cave
by the ,ate Col. Hoshor. The
Col. "sot, so he says in his pub
lication, upon the edge of the
projecting cliff, and imagined the
surprise of On Indian, WHO com
ing back, wonld see the white
sails of commerce Tapping in the
breeze on Queer Creek"
The idea gave the Col. poetic
Immortality IN the literature of
the l!aw- Eaters.
Miss Goodrich almost reaches
his intense ultimate. The idea |
of sail rocking to and fro over
a ripple is clutch at poetry that
us. and We pass "a num-
Der of verses until we are ATTEST
ed by the Artist:
The prospects So fair and so pleasing
4 painter may have locked on
Who, hiS brushes and cOlorS SeiZing,
riXcd them his CIR ..ss upon.
That is a weaving Of words be-
coming a spinster. but not worthy
If he painter, ii he is the usually
sad-eyed chap WHO stands on
bridges and seizing his brushes
and colors fixes the pleasing pros
poets OH his CANVASS. The verse
seems 20 be a plagerisni, or Ji
b. ST an imitation from Mother
InGse-
III you love me as love you,
You coulin't cut our love iu two with 6 |
knife"
We reserve for the last men
ion, not the last verse, but the
verse we love TO linger on long
EST -
M many the Iore,s that loitered
fter the Suin had Set,
md under the stars cOnnoitered
The lowell Des> there TO be met.
The sun had set-no mention
If the uprising of the yellow
noon. The rooted bridge shuts
,ut star light. The lovers then
for the beauties there
o be met. The black and crumb-
ing timbers. the sail on the rip
BE below, perhaps.
We are constrained TO dismiss
he poet and excuse ourselves
rom the reconnoitering lovers
ike the poetry, they evidently
would prefer to be let alone.
The Hooking Valley railroad
efuses to recognize Carbon Hill