The Salt Lake herald. [volume] (Salt Lake City [Utah]) 1870-1909, 1896-01-06
Like the fire that lives on the Parsee's


burning forever without a glare,
Burning forever. so still and deep,
A quenchiess flame in a dreamless sleep;
And Times broad ocean may roll its
While space hath room for the centuries
graves;
It hath not pillows to dim the shine
OF the wizard faggot that lights the mine.
Beware beware of the starless beaml
The nightmare spell of a piser's dream
Emotionless ever, its subtle art
Tugs at the strings Of the worlds strong
The stars of the earth at its bidding
stoop;
Awed by its menace. Hfe-roses droop.
And the fairest blossoms that earth can
Fade near the taper that lights the mine.
The Fallen looked on the world and
'T guesss he muttered, why God is
For eyes Of mortals are fain to shun
The midnight heaven, that hath no sun.
VIII stand on the height Of the hills and
Where he day goes out at the western
gate;
From its plumes of glory the brightest
With the stolen ray I will light the sod.
And turn the eyes of the world from
God
He stood on the height when the sun went
He tore one plume from the days bright
crown;
The proud orb stopped till he touched its
And the marks of that touch are on it
And the ltoT flush Of its anger forever more
Burns red when it passes the western
doorl
The broken feather above him whirled,
In flames of torture around him curled,
And he dashed it down from the snowy
In broken masses of quivering light.
All! more than terrible was the shock
Where the burning splinters struck wave
The green earth shuddered, and shrank,
and paled,
The waves sprang up and the mountain
Quailed.
ook on the hiIls-let the scars they bear
Measure the pain Of that hours despair.
The Feuen watched while the whirlwind
The puisi4s splinters that ploughed the
sullen he watched while the kissing
waves
Sullen he watched while the shining rills
Throbbed through the hearts of the rocky
Loudly he laughed: rs the world not
mine?
Proudlv The links of its chain shall shine;
lighted with gems shall its dungeons be;
But the pride of its beauty shall kneel
That sri,Htered light in the earth grew
And The sicti i of mOrtals hath called it
Dead" is so strikingly original in
conception and expression and shows
such remarkable insight that one feels
it to be the most unique. if not the
most pleasing, of Sarah Carmichael
poems:
DEAD.
Weep for the deadl Not those who gave
The dust that fills a patriots grave;
Not for the true arm still and cold;
Not for the breast that the grasses
Not for the bright form under the
Not for the heart that bled.
But weep, oh weep for the coward
Dead, for it had no pulse to drain;
Dead, for it could not feel pain,
Dead to the core-dead!
Dead as a souIless sentence spoke;
Dead as a useless promise broke;
Dead as a sightless eye awoke;
Dead!
Home by the stab of the traitor sent;
Not for the smile we see no more,
Not for the love on the Alden shore;
Not for the life whose pain is o er;
Not for the spirit fed.
Yet weep for the bosom numb and
Dead. for it felt no patriot thrill;
Dead, for it had no life to spill;
Dead 10 the cOre-deadi
Dead as the hate of an idiots glance;
Dead as the steel of a broken lance;
Dead as the last neglected chance;
Deadl
Weep for the dead! Not for those who
Immortal life on the scroll of Fame;
Not for the soul that feared but
Not for the life that reached its aim;
Not for the step that marked in flame
Print of a heros tread.
Weep for the dead that breathe and
Dead. with the life bloom on the
cheek!
Dead. for they have no aim to seek;
Dead to the core-dead!
Dead as the use of wasted hour;
Dead as the dew on a poison flower;
Dead as a souls crime-palsied power;
Dead
We can understand the clarion tones
of our national poet, Whittier, rallying
the people for humanity and freedom.
He was in the midst of the conflict
and could not be unmoved- But here
in this distant land out of touch with
the great issues of the hour, was a
lowly maiden with a soul on fire with
patriotic fervor and a heart beating
for all humanity She solves the prob
lem of the brotherhood of man in her
most dramatic poem, ashes to Ashes"
ASHES TO ASHES.
Dark and fair they slumbered there
New England boy, whose golden hair
Trailed on a forehead cold,
That glimmered through gold meshes
wet
With life-iewels framed in jet;
And many a shaggy Afric curl
Touched red life-jewels framed in pearl;
And the same wall of moonlight glow
Swept sable cheek and throat Of snow
With its pale shivering fold
Dark and fair, they slumhered there,
Young face serene and pure as prayer,
Where death could not eclipse
The beauty that more radiant beamed
Because its white enchantment seemed
To hold the smile that went and came
In life a bright but fitful flame,
Frozen upon the lips.
And a dark dull, .time-withered face,
Where feeling never left a trace,
Nor beauty shaped a curve
A narrow and unlovely brow,
Whose mold proclaimed it formed to
bow;
4 creature fit to serve
And there were fingers white as pearls,
And slight and dainty as a girls,
That with a rigid clasp caressed
Al sable hand that coldly pressed
And held them to frozen breast.
Still more wonderful is the young
woman's matchless lament on the final
tragedy of the Rebellion. The wife of
the martyred president in her sorrow
found nothing that was written on