Mineral Point tribune. (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1869-1938, 1892-08-06

villages was the best known in New Eng
land for its tranquil pa-hos, which found
expression in the placid flow Of the YER
si6cation II ran ike this:
THE TWO VILLAGES.
Over the river, on the hin,
Lieth q village white and still;
All around II the forest trees
Shiyered and whispered In the breeze;
Over il sailing shadows 90
Of soaring hawk aud screaming crow,
And mountain grasses, low and sweet
Grow IN the middle OF the street.
Over the river, under the hill,
Another village Ieth still,
There | see IN The cloudy night
TWinkling stars of household light,
Fires that CLEAN from the smithys door;
Mists that curl on the river suOre3
And In the road no grasses grow,
For the wheels that hasten 10 ara fro.
In that village on the hill
Never Is sound of smlthy or mill,
The houses are thAlChed with grass and
flowers,
Never a ock 90 tell the hours;
The marble doors are always shut,
Nou cannot enter either hall or hut;
All the villagers lie asleep,
Never grain to SOW OF reap;
Never in dreams to moan or sigh,
Silent and idle and low they lie.
In that village under the hill,
When the night is starry and still,
Many weary soul In prayer
Looks TO the other village there,
And weeping and signing, longs to go
Up to that home from this below;
longs to sleep In ne forest wild,
Whittier have vanished wife and child,
And heareth, praying, answer fall;
"PatenCel that village shall hold ye allI'
A touch of human experience was EN-
bodied by her in these impressive lines:
EN- BsPAsNE,
built a palace, white and high,
With sweeping purple tapesried;
No dusty highway ran thereby,
But guarded alleys TO II led;
And suayen lawns abont were spread
Where bird and moth danced daiatils.
So era ions were its portals wide;
So light and fair the turrets stood,
No flaw mine eager eyes espied,
I fashioned IT, aud called IL good;
And lavished on lts solitude
All furnishings Of pomp and pride.
That was in golded summer-tlme-
The winter wind is bowling now,
MY palace has passed out OF time
The sward is only sheeted snow,
Its hanging with the dead leaves blow,
There comes an end 10 mortal prime.
And l. who laid il stone by stone,
Stone after stone do take IL Gown.
What if Il king, whose state had hown,
Should pull apart bis regal crOwnt
For kugly hearts no fate eau trown,
They rule forever o er their own.
In a different vein is the following arch
effasion, betraying a subtle humor which
sometimes interaces the grayer lmagina-
tons of the poetess:
- ONCE BEFORE.
Sole she sat beside her window,
Hearing only raindrops pour,
Looking only on the shore,
When outside the little easement
Weeping 10 a reigned AMUSEMENT,
Love stood knocking
Knocking az her boiled door
Slow she swuugthe little easement
Where the autumn roses giowed
sweet and FAD her deep eyes gowed
And her voice, IN geutiest measure,
Said aloud, "NOr Love nor Pleasure
Can come in here any more
Never any mOre
"Buf I am not Love nor Pleasure
am but an orphan baby;
Lost my my mother is, or maybe
Dead she lies wble am weeping,
SObhed be child, HE soft lie creeping
SOFTLY through the bOlted door
Through the mHldeu's door.
Low, she said in accents lonely:
"Once let him in before,
Once I opened wide my door,
Ever since my life is dreary,
All my prayers are vague and weary;
once ! let him IN before,
Now u double lock the door,
In the rain be stands imporiug;
Tears aud kisses storm the door,
here she lrii him in before
Will -he never snow repeuringf
VIII she ever late reieutug,
Lei him lu as once DntOref
viii she double-lCck The door,
Among Other poems written by Rose
Terry Cooke, which IS interesting { those
who read them before as well as to new
readers, are as follows:
IN rnE HOSPITAL.
Ho the wind yeis on the Gulf and prairie
How it rattles iH the windows widsl
And the rats squeak Ike our old ships rigging
/ shall die with The tufn Of tide
I've had a rough life on the ocean,
And tough life on the and:
Now I'm Ike the broken hulk Ia q doCkyRrd-
] can't stir foot nor hand.
There are green tiees ia the Salem graveyard
b. the meeting house steps they grows
And here hey puf my poor old mother,
The third 10 tue leaward row
There's the low red house on The corner,
With q slant roof and a wind sweep behind,
And yellow-headed feuuel in the garden
How zee II when 60 blind
wish had q mug Of cold water
From the battom Of old carb-well,
wizh my mothers face vas here alongside
While hear that tOiiing b-lil