Burlington weekly free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1866-1928, 1910-01-27
vERMONT-s GIFTED PO1rrEsS.

vERMoNz~s GIFTED POIrrEss.
Not many months ago not rev
people were asking one another is
poetry a lost art?" The year recently
closed saw Vermont giving prompt AZ
we'll as convincing answer in the neg
alive. BY a coincidence as noteworthy
as II Is gratifying three famous writ
crs OF Vermont nativity eignalized the
closing months Of tho old year by
publishing volumes Of poetry OF nigh
order, and we have already reviewed
two Of them, the poems OF the Hon.
Wendell p. STAFFORD. justice OF the
Supreme Court OF the District OF CO.
lumbia. who stili retains his Vermont
residence. and OF the Hon. John II.
f'lagg Of New York who in spite of
his years Of pain retains love for tho
Green Mountain state as loyal az his
poetry Is grand and inspiring We
have also referred briefly to the work
Of Mrs. Julia c. X. Dorr. but a more
thorough reading OF her rich volume
can not he said of the work OF this
gifted authoress, particularly OF her
latest work. Beyond the Sunset"
Mrs. Dorr in previous years has
published many a brilliant product OF
the Muse but in this volume she gives
us the rich fruitase OF a long life OF
devotion at the shrine. The keynote
Is sounded IN the quotation on the
frontfsriece from Tennyson's Ulysses:
MY purpose holds
TO sail beyond the sunset and the
baths
OF all the Western stars until I die"
n one seeks hint OF the poetic
riches Of this splendid work. It Is to
be found in the Invocation. than which
nothing could be finer:
Sing thou my songs for me when I
am dead!
Soul Of my soul. some day thou wilt
To see the morning on the hilltops
| break.
And the far submits flame with rosy
| red
But shall wake not. though above
my head
Armies should thunder: nor for
Loves sweet sake.
| Though he the tenderest pilgrim
| age should make
! 1,.tr 4
l shall be silent, with my song hald
sung;
shall be dumb with half the
story told
shall be mute leaving the best
unsaid.
| Take though the harp ere yet IL be
| unstrung--
Wakes thou Cthe Tyre ere vet It's
| chords be cold
Sing thou my songs-and thine
when I am dead
Only a daughter OF the mountains
could sing like this. No poetess of
the boundless prairie could catch n.
spirit OF sunrise on Vremont hill
tops and breathe II forth in song or
picture the far SUBMITS sf,ame with
rosy red" What the Germans so apt
ly characterize az home longing IS
wildly portrayed in a poem which
runs in part an follows
O my garden! lying Whitley in the
moonlight and the dew.
Far across the leagues at distance
flies my heart tonight to you.
And I see your stately lilies In thei,
tender radiance CLEAN.
With dim. mysterious splendor.
like the angels OF a dream
can see the trelliscd arbor. and the
rosess crimson glow
I And the lances OF the larkspurs al
glittering row on row.
, And the wilderness OF holyhocks. whcr,
/: brown becs seek their spoil.
I And butterflies dance all day long.
In glad and gay turmoil.
} And turn from storied castle, hoar,
= fane and ruined shrine,
l To the dear, familiar pleasaunce.
where my own white lilies shin,
With vague. half startled wondel
" some night In Paradise.
From the battienents Of Heaven
shall turn my longing eyes
" All the dim. respiendent spaces and
the masy star-drifts through.
To my garden. lying whitley IN IN,
moonlight and tho dew.
/ And tho book ends with Mrs Dorr'
own glimpse into the future that de
clining years bring 80 near
Beyond the sunsets crimson bars.
Beyond the twilight and the stars
!. Beyond the midnight and the DARK
Sail on. sail on. o happy baraue.
c. Into the dawn Of that tomorrow
I Where hearts shall md the end D
A sorrow
Y And Love shall find Its own
goodly number OF other poem.
serious. pathetic. gladstone and free
- md a place in this volume and he'll
;. to prove that the age OF poesy is no
Y dead. hut Is still progressing an
bringing with Its revolving year
q generous sheaves OF ripened grain.
r MAINE CHECKER MAKERS.
II Frmo the Kennebec Journal.)
q /, seems inconceivable that two mel
II can be kept steadily employed the yea
round making checkers, Yet that
d what Is done In a mill at Bethel. Tn
| IN n ,,~l