The Arkansaw traveler., 1888-09-08

Her hair fell free in tawny fold.
 As if wound downward thro' the night From some far star of molten gold
 That raveled out It's threads of light.
 It curled with pliant tenderness
 About her forehead, wondrous fair,
 And touched with many coy caress
 Her sanctity of shoulders bare.
 Of graver character and fuller of reverence, is this, first published in the Southern BSUOudc, as was also the one immediately following it:
 TO CHILD. The stars untarnished gold gleams in the
 meshes of thy hair,
 The heavenly hue of April's blue lives in thy
 wondering eyes,
 The lips which kiss to crimson the pale clouds
 that flush the skies
 Have pressed thine own, and fingered lightly
 on thy cheeks so far;
 No wave of passion on thy heart hath sobbed
 in sensu us signs,
 Nor hath ambition brought to thy smooth
 brow one touch of care.
 The gods with gifts supernal and supreme
 have lowered thee;
 Youth, purity and beauty thine-a priceless
 legacy.
 The delicate, chaste imagery of this, it's tone and atmosphere, comparable only to the first fair oay in ,ring, with gleams of gild here, and glints of white cloud, feecy and pure overhead there, above the boughs, is peculiarly appropriate as framing for the pic ture of the blameless infant. If the atmosphere is trife cool and thin, it is appropriately so. As comparison in touch and quality see this, which has been widely republished
 DEATH
 Txu, al From paths of pain-now shrouded in the past; Two cold hands folded on colder breast From whence the soul hath taken flight at
 last;
 Two eyes from whose dark vacant cells the
 glow
 Of heavenly ght forever now hath fled; Two mute lips meeting like an unstrung bow From which the final arrow, Speech, hath
 sped
 Some @ cali it Death A others name It Peace.
 In 8 review of MT. O'Sullivan's poems, MT. Robert Burns Wilson, in The Current of July 31, 1886, after quoting this little poem, remarks: "These lines show growing power in the writer, tender appreciation of the sadness and beauty of life, agoodly part of which spirit has been caught and imprisoned here. The verse also is broad and stately as befits the idea" It is, moreover, dual picture ofdeath and it's aspects as they appear respect ively to the materialist and the plain thinking Christian. "It is death annihilation, complete and eternal" cries the agnostic, with his intellect filled with the fashionable Paganism of the day. "Ah, surely mo-" answers the believer, "it is but peace and 8 type of rest"-
 The rest supreme which He giveth To those who walk heath the palms and drink | the cool cup of His mercy.
 Here is another which possesses no small share of that high quality of imagination which distinguishes the poetry of Shelley and is seen in it's fnllness in "To Constantia, Singing" This was written, if my memory is not at fault, while MT. O'Sullivan was on the editorial staff of the New York World, and first published in that pa- per. Like "Death," it has been fre- quently recopied:
 TO ADELINA PATTI. 1 I've seen the empress of summer night Swinging her amber censer upand down, | And all so lavish was her regal light The diamond splendors of the stars did drown, l While shower on show CT of the moonlight rare Made every changing current of the air Rich with the treasures trem bling in it's hold i; As though the miser heavens had spilled their gold
 So have heard the priceless fount of song | Gush from thy golden throat so joyously 1 As if great Pan piped once more to the throng Of sheperds midst the meads of Already ........ l know the morning stars sang not more true Wren all the virgin world was sweet and new
 "And if you love me apologize for my poetry" MT. O'Sullivan once wrote to friend who had compli- mented him. think it is one of his faults to underrate his verse. It is no spirit of flattery which prompts the discriminating reader to say that "Margery" deserves place beside "Maud Muller" A very few touches would make it classic. cannot re- member anything in American litera- ture which just exactly fills it's spe- cial place, although there may be. Certainly there is nothing so striking. Artistically considered, the "Invoca- tion" is strange poem, singular and powerful in conception and execution. It may not be quite orthodox, in a theological sense, but there is surely nothing mediocre about it. It's ele- ment is strongly human but the hu- manity has a world-embracing ten derness, strength and pity in 1t that amounts to reverence.
 The artistic vigor of the poet is typical of the man. Very few young men in the state, or out of 1t, have struggled 80 hard against difficulties, or risen so rapidly. The fighting qual- ities of a man prove his genius as we'll as his strength. MT. OSullivan was born with the strong, unquAiling soul of gladiator. Perhaps 1t Is in his race. Those familiar with Irish his tory cannot fAil to remember the stout, wsrlike chieftain, O'Sullivan, earl of Beare and Bantry, who was assassi-