The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1893-06-11

Pope during the youth OF the latter. AZ
no one who is not oyerzealous in the pros
ecutlon OF such inquiries troubles himself
10 institute CON parsons between Dryden
and Pope. need not commit any such
folly $ TO the poetry of the two old friends
and neighbors. Rather should 10 be mat
ter both for surprise and congratulation
that q single Indiana town could produce
two such masters of the poetic art. VI
Riley IL isneedless to speak. His rare gifts
as public reader have made him and his
work familiar to all. but the elder poet 10
less widely known. and this book of Inter
ludes' Is the first collection of his poems
that has appeared. Heretofore his
verses have foated about in the newspa-
Ders and nestled down IN places assigned
TO choice and beautiful things in private
scrap books. For be has had the good sense to
place no reliance In magazine writing, ana
has probably not offered a line to u maya
zine In the last dozen years. and yet that
he IS one of the half dozen great poets now
living IN this country this little book
should be more than sufficient to establish.
In it's two hundred pages there Is not
poem not stanZa. that one would wish 20
change: not a sentiment nor thought tnat
Is otherwise than pure and Deautlful. he
Is an old acquaintance and friend or Dlrd
and bee and springing blossom. He has
laid his heart close to the heart OF nature.
and learned many of her secrets. Nor Is ne
more a stranger 10 the moods. passions and
hopes that distract or solace the human
modest or gentle dedication than this:
Though this he but an humble thing
To offer at the Muses. shrine,
Pray let your kindness give 1t grace
That il may Till some vacant place
Among the wreaths you twine. :
And. though its bloom may not endure.
will not mourn its swift decay,
Ii In your garlands can set
One sprig OF friendships mignonette
To blossom for a day.
Entering upon the body of the book. the
aDpreciativo reader will be charmed at
rare picture or wonderful tn0ught tnat
falls in naturally that he is momentarily
cheated into the belief that the
thoughts and the pictures are bis
leads ont in a series of tenderly sweet pio-
lures of the scenery and life along one Of
lndIana's little streams. But thcre are so
many OF these pictures In this little kaleld0-
u very few of them. In all the literature
of the world provoked by ''our feathered
friends" there il not prettier nor more
perfect song than The Benny Brown
Quail" Take single stanza. the third,
which is only IN equal merit with the other
four:
o bonny bird with the necklaced throat.
The song you sing is but brief and shrill,
And yet methinks there never was note
More sweetly tuned by a masters skill;
And. like the song OF a vanished day,
IL nils my heart with subtle JOY
Till. all forgetting my locks of grey,
mock yoar whistle. again boy:
80 oure right You're right.
Bob White Bob White"
The hair may whiten. the cheek may pale;
Time only mellowa the old delight
In the song or the bonny brown quail
Then We have that rare bit OF melody
'Jsqueline," beginning:
All. they say we're growing old,
But know not what they mean;
Has your heart yet felt the cold,
Jaquelne!
Nay read il in your eye
AIN answered we'll my queen;
Love hath given age the lie,
Jaquelne.
But the more enduring and loftier
thoughts are TO be found in snch poems rs
Roll Calf and waiting" four Of the
noblest poems in the language. My Ma
tive Valley" u tribute TO his childhoOd's
home on the SusQushaDna. IS a rare piece
of musical imagery. Burns never penned
@ stanza superior to this:
Long ago the rivers heart
Burst, ana rent the hills asunder
That its prison walls had been;
Then the mountains fell apart,
Shrinking back in startled wonder,
And the lovely vale crept in.
IN memory of the departed we have such
wond erfully musical dirges as Dead" and
Nora" the latter being the very melody of
sorrow:
Thou art dead, and / am lonely,
Oh, so lonely i'll my sorrow.
Anguish now, and anguish only,
When the sun shall rise Tomorrow
hise To mock the tears shed
larry. sun. for am hiding,
Grief and our vlgils keeping;
Stay. o night. for thy abiding
ShRmeth not my bitter weeping
Weeping for my dead.
Like the voices of the crickess in Coates
yis of 10
little poem are 'the very tears of music."
But must not pass that splendid tribute
to his old soldier cOmrade and friend, Tom
May" Surely. even the hero of many bat
ties might almost be willing TO yield up tho
remnant Of his years il he could know that
his passing would be so 10y ally celebrated.
prophet 10 not without honor In his
own land, but there is q beloved poet who
has the place of affection In the hearts of
his neighboIs, and deserves TO be known
ana honOred wherever the English lam
suage Is spoken. Like Longfellow his
songs are without spot or blemish. and.
while he IS In no sense an imitator or fol-
lower OF LongfeIlOw, but possesses flavor
and genius distinctively his own. no living
poet is 80 nearly the successor of the an.
thor of 'Evangeline" as he.
There Is q fault in this volumes: 1t fails
to contain number of the authors poems
enduring repository than book case draw
ers and old scrap books But perhaps the
failing may be remedied by future publica-
tlOns. l write il here as my long cherished
and deliberate opinion that. while the rest
OF Us Hooser rhymesters have been writing
verses. Lee y. Harris has written poetry.
He has drawn from the wells of pure En-
giish and pure poesY at one and the same
time. ] neither know nor care (excepJ for
the poets sake how the alleged critics may
may not receive this volume, but i do
know that IL Is one of the very finest gems
yet set in lDdianas crown. and that its
author has no need TO fear the verdict OF
those who love poetry for pOetry's sake, II