The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1891-11-16
woMEN's LITERARY UNION.
Celebration Of Lowell Day at Bos-
worth Post HALL.

The Women's Literary Union held its
first winter meeting at Bosworth Post hall,
Saturday afternoon. Subject: "Lowell."
There was very full attendance. The
hall was prettily decorated with ported
ferns and yellow chrysanthemums. A fine
engraving of Lowell in his early manhood
stood on an easel just at the right of the
presidents chair. One Of the souvenirs
was cut of Lowell. taken from the cele-
brated crayon made during his ministry at
the Court of st. James. The meeting was
called to order by the president, Mrs.
George @. Frye, who used for that purpose
| the handsome new gavel of native wood,
which bears on its silver band the i1scrip-
tion. Presented to the Women's Literary
Union by Mrs. George G. Frye" The pro-
gramme was excellent. Miss Mollie Cobb
played "Di Walkure," from Wagner, with
fine effect. An interesting sketch, "Low-
ell as l remember him." written by Rev.
DR.. Dalton, was read by the president.
Mrs. Justina Rea Worcester read care
fully prepared paper on Lowell. the Poet
and Reformer;" Mrs. N. s. Gardeners re-
citation, THE Vision of Sir Launfal,"
would have done credit to professional,
Mrs. George b. Bagley gave resume of
| the Bigelow Papers, which showed keen
| insight into the deeper meaning of the poet
| as well as appreciation of his humor. The
paper was illustrated with apt quotations.
Mrs. M. f. Butts, honorary member of the
Beecher Club, contributed the following
beautiful poem, which was read by Mrs.
E. N. Webb, vice president of the Wom-
ems Literary Union:
Brmful of poetry the world appears
To poets-rlch material to mould
"a thing of beauty"
The sky that holds the heaven we dream about;
Deep-rooted hills that climb to meet the dawn;
And wales like great cups full of violets,
Mists pink with soft reflections of the sun,
And purple vapor heaped upon the rim
OF vast horizons when the storm is near.
GREAT wallowing waves tnat open emerald
depths,
For sailors graves, and ships that speed by
night
Or day on errands for the world;
Tall pines that upward Sprinh In airy line;
The wind that loves to rock itself to sleep
Among their fragrant bows;
Films dropping low,
With weight Of fringes woven in a loom
No man hath even seen; and ancient oaks,
Each leaf OF all their millions shaped to match
A plan Of beauty; willows all day long,
In grieving, bent above their mirror brooks;
The lesser growths that press each other close
rs ie May
Yet long for loving eyes to find them out
All these the poet weaves into his song.
And richer far than these brave hum N deeds
That consecrate man aud prove him kin
To the divine; the love of patriots
For native land; OF strong hearts for the weak;
The love that saves, though self meet utter
loss;
The love Of mothers-crown of earthly love;
OF human beauty, too. the poet sings;
VI 1.-the young limbs, $50 rounded and so fair)
No sculptor, be he priest OF antique art,
| Or king of modernS, can with utmost skill
Make live again in marble; girlish brows
Whose clustering curls are fair to hide the
OF thought, soft hands with tender rosy palms
sEn ea work aad ns
The sick, lift up the fallen, ay fulfil
A thousand uses where the rougher grasp
OF little children, angels Of our homes,
Whose trustful looks shine with joyous light
Not all of earth; whose helpless clingiDg hands
Thrill through the rind of pride and touch the
hearts
Deep core;
OF baby lips that hold within their curves
The sweetness of world of flowers distilled
To one rare drop; and threads of sllken hair
Stronger for holding of an Grant soul
Than mighty cables; cheeks, with dimples
To hold our kisses, rounding sweetly off
TO necks as white as lilies, An, the pen
Would gladly stay among these baby charms
And poem, writ by God 10 rosy flesh
And given to earth's mothers as charge
From Him direct,
Dost not remember how the wistful eyes
Ofchildren look In wonder on the world
With ready love for all?-make little mates
OF bug or worm; or any humble thing,
Regarding them as neighbors having rights,
To home and care.
The blossoms all speak audibly to these
New corners, innocent themselves as flowers.
The silver showers OF rain in summer time
Are dear to them and quarrieS OF bright snow
As good for carving as the costliest stone.
They ind their gold along the common conway way,
They dine on wlding fruits and drink from
brooks.
In the same field with colts and calves they
snatch
| noontide sleep and dream of angels near
| All, let us listei to these little ones,
The baby poets Of our homes. the seerS
| In pinafores, and never spoil their world
| With unbelief. They have the key to JOY
The poets key-for poetry is truth
| 1t hath its roots in the invisible.
1t is the fair sweet blossom of belief.
| The poet knows that form is but the mask
To hide the soul; he ever seeks the soul
| Behind the form-the Maker 10 his work,
| And when upon the border Of the known
He presses close, there come to him across
The mystic line, the thoughts that mould them
selves
In poetry.
Thus form and spirit must tue poe n have;
And in two worlds the poet finds his theme.
Mrs. Annie M. l.. Halves, an honorary
member of the Travellers Club, read a
critical review of Lowell, the Diplomat, and
tender sketch Of his latter days at beau
tiful Elmwood.
Mrs. E. Orr Williams of Boston, the
guest of Mrs. Caroline Dana Howe. well
known in art circles as successful lectur-
er on art pottery of the ancient and mod
ern ceramics, gave pleasing informal
talk on Lowell, the lover of nature.
| The literary exercises closed by singing
Lowell's hymn, "True Life,'A set to the
| tune of Stockwell.
| 1t was voted to send Longfellow spoon
to Master Merrill. the 10 days old son of
Mrs. E. M. II. Merrill, president of the
New England Woman's Press Club. who
was the guest of the club field day.
Mrs. Alice Freeman Palmer will lecture
before the club at Kotzschmar Hall, De-