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We write some PAïnes, verse at line

Which seeking no, the araise a at

Shal make a cleste fath and manhood shine
In the uutored hest,

Eis very a2zəməlishmeris made it difficult for him to reach this sim, since his poetry does not move the uzaqPOROČ so readly as does that of hongelow or Whitdier. It is, on the whole, too deeply bardoned wak learning and toc individual in expression to full his highest desire. Of bi eary poems the most generally known is probably "74 Vision of Sir Launia.. in which a strong morai purYRONO combined with lines of beautifal nature deseridion :

"And what is so rare as a 3e în June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days.

Two works by which he will be permanently romombered show a deeper and more oflective Lowell. »The Bigion Papers" are the most successful of all the American poems which attempt to improve conditions by means of humor Although they refer in the main to the situation at the time of the Mexican War, they deal with such universal political traits that they may be applied to almost any age. They are written in a Yankee dialect which, it is asserted, was never spoken, but which enhances the humor, as in "What Mr. Robins Thinks." Lowell's tribute to Lincoln occurs in the Ode which he wrote to commemorate the Harvard students who enlisted in the Civil War. After dwelling on the search for

turns to the delineation of Lincoln's character in a eulogy of great beauty. Clear in analysis, far-sighted in judgment, and loving in sentiment, he expresses that opinion of Lincoln which has become a part of the web of American thought. His is no hurried judgment, but the calm statement of opinion which is to-day accepted by the world:

"They all are gone, and, standing like a tower,
Our children shall behold his fame,

The kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing man,
Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame,
New birth of our new soil, the first American."

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With Oliver Wendell Holmes comes the last of this brief American list of honor. No other American has so combined delicacy with New England humor. We should be poorer by many a smile without "My Aunt" and "The Deacon's Masterpiece.' But this is not his entire gift. "The Chambered Nautilus" strikes the chord of noble sentiment sounded in the last stanza of "Thanatopsis" and it will continue to sing in our hearts "As the swift seasons roll." There is in his poems the smile and the sigh of the well-loved stanza,

"And if I should live to be
The last leaf upon the tree
In the Spring.

Let them smile; as I do now,
At the old forsaken bough
Where I cling."

And is this all? Around these few names does all the fragrance of American poetry hover? In the hurry, prosperity, and luxury of modern life is the care of the flower of poetry lost? Surely not. The last half of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth have brought many beautiful flowers of poetry and hints of more perfect

blossoms. Lanier has sung of the life of the south he loved; Whitman and Miller have stirred us with enthusiasm for the progress of the nation; Field and Riley have made us laugh and cry in sympathy; Aldrich, Sill, Van Dyke, Burroughs, and Thoreau have shared with us their hoard of beauty. Among the present generation may there appear many men and women whose devotion to the delicate flower shall be repaid by the gratitude of posterity!

SELECTIONS FROM AMERICAN

POETRY

ANNE BRADSTREET

CONTEMPLATIONS°

SOME time now past in the Autumnal Tide,
When Phoebus wanted but one hour to bed,
The trees all richly clad, yet void of pride,
Were gilded o'er by his rich golden head.

Their leaves and fruits seem'd painted, but was true
Of green, of red, of yellow, mixed hue,

Rapt were my senses at this delectable view.

I wist not what to wish, yet sure, thought I,
If so much excellence abide below,

How excellent is He that dwells on high!

Whose power and beauty by his works we know;

Sure he is goodness, wisdom, glory, light,

That hath this underworld so richly dight":

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More Heaven than Earth was here, no winter and no night.

Then on a stately oak I cast mine eye,

Whose ruffling top the clouds seem'd to aspire; How long since thou wast in thine infancy?

Thy strength, and stature, more thy years admire;

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