The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1896-01-04
A HANDFUL OF ROSES.
written for the Democratic Advocate
BY EDGAR T. READ.

shall think-and thought is sileneA-ShmiCe1R.
When Thomas Dunn English wrote Ben
Bolt in 1912, he little thought that fifty
wears later his song would have revival
before the world, and that its merit would
be praised and its beauty admired by the
second generation following his day. Such
has been the case since the advent of Du
Maurier's recent story. English was
physician, journalist, author Of several
novels, play-writer Of marked success
and poet of considerable merit. But of
all his varied pursuits and numerous pro-
auctions the foundation Of his fame rests
upon these reminiscent verses. Such
songs do not please the critics, who either
denounce the shallow depth Of their
thoughts or pass them coldly by, but the
public receive them joyfully and cherish
the humble sentiments as relics to be dearly
loved, Just as one far distant from his early
home will admire picture which recalls
the scenes of his boyhood. When the
dust of time does, after many seasons,
cover such songs, the recollection of their
words and the attunefulness Of their chords
linger as if reluctant to wholly depart.
Then it is that it takes but little wind
from the right quarter to scatter the dust
and reveal the poem and its hidden charms
once again to the world. 1t is even dearer
than before, heightened by few historic
associations, and we can truly say, know
ing that if it again takes its departure the
remembrance will still remain
Long, long be my heart with such memories dled,
Like the vase in which roses have once been dis
You may break, you may shatter the vase if you
But the scent of the roses viii cling to 1t still"
English was requested by friend, the
editor of magazine-who was acquainted
with his poetic powers, to write a poem Of
of sea life, or some little song of the sea.
The poet tells us that thinking over the
subject and realizing his own un6tness his
mind drifted into reminiscent mood and,
hardly knowing what he was doing, he
composed the song as it now is, with the
exception of the last four lines. Reach
ing this point he became conscious of his
promise to write a sea poem and of the
fact that it had not been done. Then, as
a closing, he added the verse
Twelve months twenty have passed, Ben Bolt,
Since fist we were friends-yet hail
Thy presence Il blessing, thy friendship truth,
Ben Bolt OF the salt sea gale
1t was finished now; but not satisfied Eng
lish sent it to his friend asking him to
destroy it if it did net please him as it was.
It is needless to say that the poets friend
was pleased, and that its publication imme-
diately followed Thus Ben Bolt is another
example, among thousands produced by
tongue or pen or research, of successes
attained when least expected.
REN BOLT.
Don't you remember sweet Alice Ben Bolt?
Sweet Alice whose hair so browu
Who wept with delight when you gave her a smile
And trembIed with fear at Your frown?
In the old ciititchyard in the valley, Ben Bolt,
In a corner obscure and alone,
They have fitted slab OF the gfpnite so gray
And Alice lies under the stone.
Under the hickory tree, Ben Rolf,
Which stood at the foot OF the hill,
Together we've lain in the MONDAY shade
And lstend to Appleton's mill.
The mill.wheel has fallen to pieces, Ben Bolt,
The rafters have tumbled in,
And quiet which erawls round lis walls as you
Has fofiow'd the olden din
Do you mind the cabin of logs Ben Bolt,
At the edge of the painless wood
And the bptton-ball tree with its motley limbs.
Which nigh by the door step stood?
The cabin to ruin has gone, Ben Bolt,
The tree you would seek in vain;
Aud where once the lords OF the forest waved,
"Efn@s gFass and the golden gain.
And don't you remember the school, Ben Bolt
With the master so cruel and grim,
And the shaded nook in the running brook,
Where the children went to swim?
Grass grows on the masters grave Ben Bolt,
The spring Of the brook is dry
And of all the boys who were schoolmates then,
There are only you and |.
There is change in the things l loved Ben Bolt
They have changed from the old to the new;
But feel in the deeps OF my spirit the truth,
There never was change in you.
Twelve months twenty have passed. Ben Bolt
Since first we were frends-yet hail
Thy presence a blessing, thy friendship a truth,
Ben Bolt Of the salt sea gale
Here IS another short poem by the same
authors quiet, charming picture in out
line, which may be filled in by the read
er's imagination
THE OLD MILL.
Here from the brow of the hill 1 look,
Through lattice of boughs and leaves
On the old gray mill with its gambrel roof
And moss on its rotting caves.
hear the clatter that jars its walls,
And the rushing waters sound,
And see the black floats rise and fall
As the wheel goes slowly round.
rode there often when was young,
With my grist on the horse before.
And talked with Nelly, the mfller's girl,
As waited MY turn at the door.
And while abe Tossed her ringlets brown,
The wheel might stop, Or the wheel might go,
" was all the same to me-
IT'S twenty years since last stood
On the spot where stand today,
And Nelly is wed, and the miller is dead,
And the mill and are gray.
But both till we fall into ruin and wreck,
To the fortune Of toll are bound;
And the man goes and the stream flows
And the wheel moves slowly round.
This impressive poem of Joaquin Miller
needs no introduction, except to remark
that it is one of the classics of American
poetry
COLUMBUS.
Behind him lay the gray Azores
Behind the gates OF Hercules;
Before him not the ghost OF shores
Before him only shoreless seas.
The good mate said: "Now must we pray,
For 10 the very stars are gone.
Brave Adm nal, speak what shall say
Why, say, san on sail on and on 7"
my men grow mutinous day by day;
MY men grow CHASTITY wan and weak.
The stout mate thought Of home; spray
OF salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.
What shall say, brave Admiral, say,
five sight naught but seas at dawn
''Why, you shall say at break Of day.
Sail on sail on sail on and onr"
They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow,
Until at last the blanched mate said
why, now not even God would know
Should and all my men fall dead.
These very winds forget their way,
For God from these dread seas is gone.
Natv Qnaak hrav Adm raj n saw
He said "Sail on | sail onl and on
They sailed. They sailed. Then spoke the mate :;
This mad sea shows its teeth tonight.
He curls his lip, he lies in wait
With lifted teeth as II to bite
Brave ral say but one COED word
What shall we do when hope Is gone?'
The words leaped as leaping sword
sail on sail on sail on and oni"
Then pale and wan he kept his deck,
And peered through darkness. All, that night
Ofall dark nights And then speck-
light light A light light
II grew, a starlit flag unfurled
II grew to be times burst of dawn;
He gained world; he gave that world
Its grandest lesson: ION and onp'
Many of Americas most celebrated and
endearing lyrics were written just before or