The Canton times. (Canton, Miss.) 1893-1906, 1900-09-21


such as these were an inspiration to
me as / grew to manhood. If | were
teaching school | would have the boys
and girls to recite them. What a
book of gems could be made of selec-
tions from the old authors, such
poems as have not been written in so
years and could not be written now.
What poet could approach such beau
ty of language and sentiment as that
verse from Gray:
Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathOmed caves of ocean
bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen
And waste it's sweetness on the desert
air"
or those two verses from Goldsmith be-
ginning,
"And what is friendship but name,
A charm that lulls to sleep"
or his sad warning to the weaker sex
when lovely woman stoops tofolly
And learns too late that men betray,
What art can soothe her melancholy,
What charm can drive her grief away;
The only art her grief can smother
And stife every burning sigh
And bring repentance to her lover
And wiring his bosom-is to die
Then there is Tom Hoods Song of the
Shirt" that awakened all London, and
his other sweet, sad poem: Il Remem-
Der, | Remember the House Where
Was Born" | would include those
heroic poems: The Burial of Sir Jo-
seph Moore" by Wolfe, and Marco
Bozaris," by Halleck. Never was
more sweetly sad and fearful verse
written on death than that of Halleck,
beginning
Come to the bridal chamber, death,
Come to the mother when she feels
For the first time her first-borns breath.
And there is Mrs. Heman's apostrophe
to death:
Leaves have their time to fall.
and Longfellow's Psalm of Life, and
Mrs. Smiths exquisite verses: IF /
Should Die Tonight and Tom Moore's
This World Is All a Fleeing Show,
and Mrs. Barbados unequaled lines on
Life"
Say not good night, but in some brighter
cline
Bid me good morning"
Horace Smiths "Ode to the Flowers"
and his Address to the Mummy" OF
course. should go in, and the Fisher
mans Prayer" by Jean Ingelow-bless
her sweet memory, and The Cotter's
Saturday Night" by uBrns, and "Abou
Ben Adhem," by Leigh Hunt, and that
verse by Langhorne that Walter Scott
wept over-that weeping mother hunt
ing over battlefield for her husband
slain
Bent DER her babe-her eyes dissolved In
dew,
The big drops mingling with the milk he
drew
Gave the sad presage of his future years
The child of misery baptized in tears.
| There was a painting of that sad pic
ture in an artists studio, and when Sir
Walter looked upon it and read the lines
underneath he was overcome, and Vept
like a child. Who does not love to weep
sometimes over such pictures or such
poems? My dear mother used to sing
to me The Exile of Erin" by Campbell,
and it did me good to cry-tears are the
embalmers of pity.
OF course | would not omit some
beautiful gems from Coleridge and
Wordsworth, Montgomery and New
ton, Cowper and Gray and many others,
but l would like to make up book that
would adorn the firesde of every good
family. There is one poem | have not
mentioned, for | do not know who
wrote it. nor do l remember but few
lines. Its title is: where Shall the
Soul Find Rest?" and the verse re-
call is:
And thou serenest moon that with such
holy face
Looks down upon the earth asleep in
nights embrace,
Dost thou not know some spot where
weary man may rest,
And free from care and pain be ever blest?
Behind cloud the moon withdrew in woe.
And in a sweet, sad voice she answered
No.
Faith. hope and love-best boons to mortals
given.
Plumed their bright wings and answered:
'Yes-in Heaven.
l would be pleased if some one would
send me all of that poem and tell me
who wrote it.-Bill Arp, in Atlanta Con-
stitution.
Makes n Big Differences.
Jinks-I hear that a hotel waiter was
discharged the other day for demand.
ing a tip.