The Stark County Democrat. [volume] (Canton, Ohio) 1833-1912, 1891-02-19

Pays . Neat Tribute to the Late Samuel
j. Tilden at the Recent Y. M. d. g.
Celebration.
The following poem was written by
Prof. Burns, of the Canton Public Schools,
and read at the Tilden celebration given
by the Young Mems Democratic Club last
Monday evening: rr-..--,-. -...,
The first debt owe to this audience is
an excuse for standing before il at all
This somewhat awkward position is due
to an error on my part. When, but few
days ago | was invited to appear upon this
programme, it did not really strike me
with force that | should be expected to do
what is implied by that rash word set OPP
posite my name. And being fond of good
company, and having a potent desire to
please my friends | said yes.
Half fearing | ought not to consent, I consented;
Now knowing ought to repent, I've repented
My friends know that the source of
much of my bliss and none of my woe is
poetry, and they throw logic to the dogs
along with Macbeth's physic, cut loose
from the warnings of experience, and
reach the astonishing conclusion that !
am poet, because love poetry. Pardon
au illustration, for that habit is teacher g
second nature. -
My friend Is doubtless fond OF pumpkin pie,
Shall him as pumpkin classify?
His love for youthful beef he can't conceal,
Dare then quote him Ia the list as veal2
No, no, on his behalf,
do aIirm he's not calf.
The poet with his voice in a fine frenzy rolling,
Is said to sng-'tIs thus we speak of him.
An instrument in his hand, harp or lutte or Tyre;
And some prOfIne OOjectOrs still viii say It,
They think the last named s most appropriate
For him who sings polite strain.
| know that long words called political,
But this Is not time to be o'er critical,
In climbing up the sleeps OF pOesy's realm,
Sometimes necessity must take the helm;
Don't say we use not helms IN climbing heights -
That's only one Of my poetic flights.
I am no poet as McGregOr is
Or Sherwood, but as you know me all,
A man of prose, sometimes prOsy man,
Who loves his friends, and only speaks right on,
When he's anything to say, and, like his friends,
Speaks on, at times, when nothing's to be said,
And never In his lfe in earnest strOve to set aar
The humblest door In Rhymes great temple
Which CLEANS so bright afar
But somewhere at some time, some critic bad
Has said that poetry is prose run mad.
MethOught, with that description In my mind,
Defining poetry as there.dehned,
My reason, on the insane root I'd feed
The root that doth the reason captive lead,
Or else great Shakespeare knew not what he wrote
In that quotation which didn't quote,
And, forthwith, from my pen there would proceed
sort of lunatIc prose, or something worse,
Which only lacks, to be accounted verse
or q truer type, rhyl-m, and rhyme and reason,
But sure, TO call 1t poetTyls Is no treason
Against the thing defined by that bad critic,
Who somewhat fails In the great arc analytic,
Whose function Is, the difference TO decide,
OF split hair the north from northwest sdei
For wi m the vastly ii Inference does not know
Between what's poetry, and what's even nearly SO,
WoulG not be sure the wide, wide space to tell
Twixt lowest beaver and the highest
TO have rhymed Just then, 1t should have done as
we'll
And named spot within this earthly she'll
truce to preface-there's q time to come
Down to your subject.-in this case IT'S up
Ahouse that's all front porch would give scant
room
FSr guests who wish to breakfast, dine and sup.
These last two lines arewhat is called metaphor,
with intent that more clearly may set a-for
You my full meaning In the previous clause,
And not with show of rhetoric gain applause.
Now that I've proved to you l am no poet,
And, likewise that know enough TO know 1t;
Though sometimes when set my pen a-going
Where 1t will go there's scarcely any knowingi
Into what style OF verbal architecture
That this my Introduction be not oer protracted
And your kind patience be not o'er-distracted,
As can't find Just the right place to stop II,
Like hot pomme-de-terre. III simply drop 1t.
pomme de terres fruit we boil and mash,
Llk ewlse, we mix 1t In q dish called hash.
An address, an essay, and an grafton, do
not leave for me much, IL anything, in the
way of history, or constitutional law, or
politics, or even Of righteous indignation.
And these were not intended for me.
They were placed in better, practiced
hands.
was invited to beg drop of "that Cor
nelian inkr, that Lowell called for:
(which gave Agrioola dateless length Of days.
"To celebrate him htly. neither swerye
"To phras unkempt, nor pass dscretion's brink
with him so statue like In sad reserve
$50 difhdent to claim, so forward TO deserve"
Since my own narrow modest garden yields
Little but what is found IN common fields,
shall steal through the hedge round classic
bowers,
And gather there my simple gift OF flowers.
Which may exhale ut incense at shrine,
Whose worth is far beyound the best Of mine
"Hls" shrine say for tonight that pronoun
stands
For Just one name in all OF earth's broad lands;
Samuel J. Tilden may his tribe Increase
Samuel j. Tilden may he rest In peacel
Some lines the poet-laureate hath writ
OF OfEngland's iron Duke here seem most hti
''Yea, lot all good things await
"Iiim who cares not TO be great,
HBut as he saves or serves the state.
"Not once or twice, In our rough island story,
"The path OF duty was the way TO glory,