The Sedalia weekly bazoo. [volume] (Sedalia, Mo.) 187?-1904, 1891-04-14
GOLDEN GEMS.
From the Productions of Buel
Blair and William Hub
bard Herman.
An Evening in The Company of
Buel Blair, the Poet Who
Wrote 'Viyian," "The
Whip-pO0r-will," "D0om
of Man," and
Other Poems.

Yesterday evening it was the pleas
ure of a BAzos reporter to spend an
hour or so IL the company of Buel
Blair, the young journalist who wrote
the poem "Vivian," which was origi
nally published about three year;
ago in the Montgomery Gala. Adver
tiser, and which was 1T the time much
admired, and is still to be seen in
print floating around over the coua
try in stereotype articles and patent
insides. Buel Blair is printer by
trade, and like a great many of the
s'black art" he has dabbled to con
siderable extent in literature. Quite
a number IF his original stories and
poems have won their way into pub
lie notice and general appreciation.
He is twenty-nine years old, master
of books, and a passionate lover OF
poetry, music and flowers.
"Will you tell me how you came
to write "Vivian ?" the BAzoo re
porter asked him, and as the question
was asked the face of the poet grew
sad, his eyes changed to melancholy
expression.
$50 you have read the poem ~
Mr.. Blair continued, and his voice
was low and pathetic.
eyes, | read it at the time it was
published / believe in the Kansas
City Journal, which paper, with q
great many others, reprinted the pro-
duction. 1 greatly admired it, and
would be pleased to know what were
the circumstances under which it was
composed, unless for personal reasons
you do not prefer to make them
known"
"Oh, no, not at all only it always
brings up sad and bitter memories
when think of or speak about this
poem, Vivian, let me tell from the
start, is not mere phantom of the i'm
agination /; no, net a myth; but q
reality, reality cruel, relentless
does it refer to my own life, my per.
sonal experience? Well, no matter,
tits reality, that much l know. |
composed the poem about six years
ago. L had passed through terrible
sorrow, and the burden of bitterness:
seemed more than ] could bear. l
poured out my soul in this poem.
Perhaps / made it too gloomy, toe
dark, but when man feels like Pro,
metheus-"No pause, no change nc
nope; vet l endure is not likely
to be in a very pleasant mental mood,
and if in that condition he attempts
to write poetry what can you expect
but pessimism?" Seeing that i
panied him to dwell upon the history
of the poem, the BAzoo reporter con
cluded the subject by saying no more
about it.
"WOuld you like to have copy o
the poem ?"
eyes, indeed" and he took from
his coat pocket a well-worn manu-
script, which he generously presented
to the BAzoo reporter. The poem j
given in full below:
VIVIAN.
Vivian, Vivian, where are you now?
Oh, where are you now?
The soft golden hair has turned gray OF
my brow,
NV heart is no longer in trsncefulest tun
With the roses and rsptures OF lubilsn
June;
This wonderful world holds Heaven an
Twixt the christening foun. and the tuner
al bell;
Aud my heaven was lost, when you lett m
that morn,
In the pride of your passion, the strength
Of your scorn.
Vivian, Vivian, where are you now?
Oh, where are you now?
La the dust of desire you trampled you
VOW,
The ear of an adder you turned to m
For the kiss of his lips and the light of hi
In the tingle of triumph you hurled me I
hell,
For the pleasure that lay in his passion
ate spell:
Heart broken forever you left me tina
morn,
. In the pride of your passion the strength
of your scorn.
Vivian, Vivian, where are you now?
Oh, where are you now?
know that the cere-cloth is chill on you
brow;
Altar where the floods of the Arkansa,
flow.
In the wild, mornful forest you slumber
know,
In the deep, tangled forest and ferns wher
you fed
When you knew that the heart of you
darling was dead,
When he turned in his weakness, q traffic