St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1888-01-15
ANOTHER NEW POET.
Marion Manville, a Product Oh
WiscOnsin---A Tribute to Her
Genius by the Well Known

Marion Manville, a Product Oh
WiscOnsin---A Tribute to Her
Genius by the Well Known
James G. Clark.
To the Editor of the Globe.
The future has no use for the poet
who, in this generation, can give to the
world volume Of verse in which moth
ing can be found that voices the expert
ence OF the tOiling masses and awakens
and quickens sympathy for the worthy
yes, even the unworthy poor.
The poet who remembers in song that
| moves the great human heart to tears
ana inspires 1t to feel and work for the
freedom and elevation of the oppressed
and the lOwly, Is, like mercy. twice
blessed" and as certain of Immortality
as though specially named and told i'm
SO many words to "cone up higher'' by
Him who said, ''As We did It
We did it unto me-" In Marion Man
ville's ''Over the Divide" volume of
poems lately issued by j. b. LippincOtt
company, find wide range of subject
and evidence of thOughtfulness and of
genius and heart that will surely place
the author in one of the foremost ranks
OF native singers. if she fulfills the
promise found in this, her first book.
Among the ballads contained in the
volume select the following story in
rhyme as production that is marked
by simplicity, sincerity and strength of
expression which, when combined. dis
tingulsh the real poet from the cackling
rhymsters whose every line reveals an
EFFORT at an effect that is never reached
because self is forever In the Way. /
nave read the poem number Of times.
and each time with new interest.
i do not envy the man or woman who
can read 1T from beginning to end with
out being drawn into more close and
tender sympathy with our ill-paid and
unappreciated tOilerS and Wage-WOrkers
all over our land.
JAMES G. CLARK.
st. Paul, Jan. II.
CoLLTERY jim.
In the Shenandoah valley, when the wears
that make us old
Were yet drifting in that country whence no
future time is told,
/ once knew an ancient miner in the mines AT
Raven Run,
Who hastold me many story when his daily
work was done
He was gray with time and labor blackened
with the colliery's mark
With that patient look men carry ALWAYS
working in the dark
have wondered as watched them going out
of sight and sound
OF the sunlight and the bird-song. and the
summer OVer-ground,
At what risk We gather treasures at what
peril men must earn
Bread to feed the little children, should the
father not return.
Down the shaft, the daylight growing TO
tiny square of white,
Ever DINNER, DINNER, now gone wholly out
of sight,
Down the shaft, the darkness creeping from
the sha1oxrc doau hai
And the dizzy, damp air sWirling past theiF
faces as they go.
Going down into the darkness as the sun
comes into sight,
Coming up into the darkness as the sun goes
down at night.
One day out of seven spending where the
blessed sunlight falls,
Six days out or seven tOiling in the dark al
hidden walls.
Colliery Jim was but a miner, delving in the
But the darkness of his labors left no stain
upon his soul.
Like giant he was fashioned-limbs Of iron
and muscles steel;
Heart as tender as Woman's for the woeG
that others feel;
Strong, yet gentle, true and kind, with
record clean and white
For the years and years he labored where the
day is always night;
Quick to act where others faltered. Quick to
see where sight was dim
And the gray old world was careless; faithful,
noble Colliery Jim.
In the Shenandoah valley. where the sun
come first in sight,
And shone brightest through the daytime,
and stayed latest into night,
Stood a cottage on the hillside, with little
vine wreathed door,
And lilac at the window, and baby on the
floor:
Ever grasping at the sunlight with its little
dimpled hands,
Reaching vainly for the treasure that was
blessing many lands.
Who shall say the baby's fancy. reaching for
the fleeting spark,
Was not somehow dumb compassion for the
father in the dark?
For the father who was thinking OF his dar.
hng's happy play,
Up above him in the sunshine and the blessed
light of day
Of the baby, and the mother with her tender,
loving eyes,
Thinking as we think Of angels who are
happy in the skies.
If sigh into the darkness of the mine was
ever heard,
That l know not; busy people have scant
time for idle word.
Day by day the time sped onward in that
summer long ago;
Years must pass and seasons vanish: roses
die, vet roses blow;
Evening dusk began TO gather and the cottage
lamps grew bright;
Men were coming from the shadows up into
the shades of night.
All the stars came out in silence and the new
morn climbed the hill
Where the whippoOrwill was singing to the
evening, dusk and still;
But a dull and muffled rumble in the noun
tain-side was heard,
And men stopped, aghast and breathless,
listening for that awful word,
Fire. a mp in the minesl message fraught
with ruin swift and dire;
Then voice walled through the darkness,
"God of love, the mines on tire!'
oh, that sudden, horrid danger in the dark
ness there a-lurk!
With white lips the women whisper, Had
the last shift come from work.
mo; one gang is at the bottom" huskily the
men reply.
Does God hear the women wailing and the
new-made orphans cTyf
How can all those stars stay shining in their
distances so dim,
Making not one sign Of pity when these
voices cry TO Him?
How can one fair summer evening hold the
flower breaths of the day.
When these human hearts are breaking for
the dear ones gone away?
In the mines the men were driven, fainting,
stifed. without hope,
Dumbly fleeing from the foeman whom no
human strength could cope
Till the final passage nearing where the air
shaft gave them breath,
Silently they stood awaiting the appro ach Of
that red death.
AT the passage way boulder, one huge mass
of solid rock,
Years ago had sealed the chamber with it's
prison-lock.
Suddenly whisper sounded, and their dull
ears caught the word,
Like the voices of the angels-promlsed life
the miners heard.
IF that boulder could be lifted from its bed
nNNAr Nlln ~,