Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1903-04-18
VIM. {. amin, POET

Written for The Evening Star by II. Conquest
Clarke.
The many-sided character of the late
William E. Amin, who died at Phoenix,
Ariz on the 25th of March last, and who
has recently been laid away at Princeton,
is much discussed among his former news
paper associates here. His brilliant wit,
his attractive personality, his genial bon
homie all remember But there were hid
den depths in his nature which few faith
omed. With all his vital exuberance he
lived largely within himself, and few were
privileged to sound the inner resources of
his essentially sympathetic nature. He
had strong ideas and warm impulses. AS
great grandson of Jonathan Edwards, the
first president of Princeton, he was, of
course, related to Aaron Burr who lies
buried near his great grandfather's grave
and his own. Sometimes but only rarely,
he would discuss the career of the brilliant
Aaron Burr and insist, with apparent rea-
son. that much of the obloquy heaped upon
him since his death was undeserved But
these reminiscent moods of his were few
and fitful. More often he would startle
with his flashes of wit. 1t would not be
difficult to make a collection from his let
tiers and recorded sayings which would
ton. When the first effort was made to
launch the American liner st. Paul from
the Cramps shipyard at Philadelphia the
Grfdiron Club of Washington, Of which he
was then president, were invited guests
upon special steamer. From some de-
feet in the tallow Gas was afterward ex-
plaineO the vessel stuck on the ways and
the most violent efforts failed to start her.
Eight or ten Of the most powerful tugs in
Philadelphia harbor vainly strained their
hawsers In the effort to move her. For an
hour or more the tense excitement lasted,
every one watching for the first sign that
the launch could be effected that day.
When the tide began to fall and it was
| realized that the effort was hopeless Billy
Annin's high-keyed voice pierced the 81
lence. and. addressing Gen. Williams, the
personal representative of the Cramps, he
said: Williams. this is what you might
have expected from selecting such name
st. Paul! Wasn't that the fellow who said
in his epistle to Timothy, None Of these
things move me?' y
The laugh that followed went far to re-
lieve the depression occasioned by the
failure.
But 1t was of Annins poetical inspirations
that this sketch was intended to speak.
One verse of. poem he often reclted, and
which was read at his funeral at Prince
ton by his former classmate, the Rev. w.
M. Smith, an esteemed Episcopal clergy
man of New York. has been published in
The Star. The whole poem will bear pro-
duction. 1t is as follows
LET ME LIVE BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD"
There hermit souls that live withdrawn in the
place of their self-content
There souls like stars that dwell apart in
fellowless armament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their way where
highways never ran;
But let me live by the side Of the road and be
friend of man.
watch from my house by the side of the road, ty
the side Of the highway of life,
The men who press on with the ardor OF hope and
those who fall faint with the strife;
But turn not aside for their smiles their tears
both parts Of infinite plan,
Just let me live by the side Of the road and be
friend Of man.
Just let live by the side Of the road where the
race of men go by,
They good. they are bad they are weak, they
strong, wise. foolish, and SO am l.
Then why should sit in the scorners seat or hurl
Just let me live by the side Of the road, and be a
friend Of man.
Amin never directly laid claim to the
authorship of these lines. He always said
they had been printed anonymously. The
mere fact, however, that no one has ever
claimed, so far as known, to have written
them. lends strong probability to the sug-
gestion that they were his own. This sup
position receives weight from the fact that
another poem similar in sentiment and If
possible. even more beautiful in expression
was left by him in manuscript in his own
handwriting among his papers, as follows:
REST
Yes. I shall rest some coming day
When blossoms the wind are dancing
And children in their careless play
Heed not the solemn crowd advancing
Up through the long and narrow street
They II bear ME to nay last retreat
Or else-it matters not-may rave
The winds and storms Of wintry weather
Across the narrow new made grave
Where care and lie down together.
Enough that shall know It not,
Asleep in that lone hallowed spot.
| For shall sleep-as sweet sleep
As ever blest childs reposing
Awaits in the cell so deep:
Where l. my wesred eyelids closing
At last shall lay down to rest.
Needless of flowers above my breast.
Armies above my bed may tramp;
Twill not disturb one rigid muscle;
shall not heed their Iron stamp
More than a leafsss9nplainlng rustic.
Nay! Were the world. combined to break
| My leaden sleep, Tshonld not wake.
| And yet methinks If steps of those
I'd known and loved on earth were round
| 'TwouId break the might Of my repose,
| SILVER the iron chain that bound me,
Save that know this cannot be-
| For death disowns gil sympathy.
| So grieve not friends. when you shall lay
| The clot!s Of earth above my ashes:
Think what rest awaits my clay
| And smooth the turf with fearless lashes.
| Breathe the blest prayers above the sod
| And leave me to my rest-wtth God.
| When questioned as to the authorship of
! ascrfbed it to his father, a rigid Presby-
| terrain Of the kind as little likely to have
| written this as to shave composed a comic
/ opera Annin's closest friends and relatives
| are inclined to believe that he himself wrote
| both poems. H. CONQUEST CLARKE.