The sun. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1833-1916, 1902-12-04
4 Master Of the Woodsey-BabbIy
school.

SSuoot'
We are proud OF the success Of our
efforts to encourage pastoral poetry
II the sweet effusions Of DITHYRAMB
DICK, the MOsCHCs Of Pilduzer Park.
are loved wherever there are hearts to
beat or cows TO milk, it was our hands
that first touched his purple song-coat
and guided the world to his sylvan pad
dock. We were the first to hear Gen.
SAMBo BowLEs, twittering feebly on his
nest in Agawam. Now every ear re-
joices in his full-throated song. And
there are and will be more poets yet.
Hartford. beloved Of sculptors and artists
az the temple Of those caryatides Of war,
the legs of the Putnam Phalanx, now
rings with echoes as Of doves Theocrit-
can and VIRGIL playing on the squash
vine pipe" The Hartford Times has the
good fortune to be the music hall of a
strong singer OF the field and farm, the
pigs and the old brown mare. Sunday
morning in Hartford opened on a" silver
gray fog, "a Cotton Wing fog, so to speak,
dense, soft and all pervading." The
poet, his minstrel boy, BILL, and the
old mare, Amaryllis, started early:
Yes the sun was up shining on the broad and
lofty red front OF the Old Peoples Home and on
the green grass which is getting a sharp tint OF
yellow. And on the distances that stilI were yelled
In slv.ry gray, and on the mountain sides that
looked as II drsped In red and orange SIX thIckI,
covered with transparent muslin. And the blue
sky spread out drlfted over with white Makes and
tender ravellings. And there was genial warmth
in the air. Thus We rolled along"
Merrily we rolled along, rolled along.
rolled along, to the foot Of the hill by
the creamery corner. There Amaryllis
yielded to the pastoral spirit and re-
fused to go any farther until she had
some grass. So the poet and WILLIAM
BARNES HOOKER, the Minstrel Boy. got
out, BILL tended to the boss and the
poet took little snack Of nature.
while the mare ate her grass. I feasted on the
dazzling glorles OF maple In the yard opposite
largely golden, with hcry touches OF scarlet he re
and there. and not a leaf missing. She was alone
In her glory. the trees around her bare or largely
so. But the mountain itself was a tangle OF thin
white birch stems, ana OF bare little trunks gray
green and brown, In ineStrcsbie confusion. Gray
was the prevailing tint, and the open tanele seemed
TO be miles deep. II was nov that pine spruce and
hemocs came TO their rights and their dark greens
and solid shape gave pleasant rest to the eye. Away
back on knoll opposite the Way house we had
paused while 90 gaze at tho vivid piumcs OF A
weeping willow. that stood braveiy aIof not leaf
missing or of color. and It had none OF the usua,
melancholy aspect. but looked triumphant and
naun,lng."
Thin white stems, bare little trunks,
The tenuity OF the woods as compared
with the pillared glory Of the Putnam
Phalanx, comes again and again to the
nature poets mind. The weeping will
low is the totem and favorite plant of
Sadness SAM Of Agawam
Amarylis is notional crittcr.
Vex not the poet soul. Amaryllis neighs
in hexameters and spondecs. The
nature poet brides in that struggling
muse in vain. at first:
AMER a few minutes grazing on the long grass.
put the bride on again. And that was very hard
she setS her mouth away from you and down on
the ground as quick as nash and you stand with
the bride. saying something under your breath.
Nor does coaxinE work. So the hoy, WILL, had
to help
Gedup! Git up! Huddup!
Now We slowly assembled through the tansie
Of dead trees and dried, shrunken leaves Even
the sun could no, wsken them and one had TO look
to the sky and the pines and the rocks for color.
Stlll the wood,ey smell about. and the silence
and peace OF indian summer envcopcd you. Pres.
entity we came to the spin; that runs into big
tub wish behby murmurs and here the mare
drank"
The Minstrel Boy took a swig Of
swcetened water Babbly murmurs came
from the windpipe OF chunky black