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GEORGE SANDYS

George Sandys—a faithful servant of the Virginia Company, a wealthy gentleman, a poet of no slight merit, who, in the forests of Virginia, amid the incursions and alarms of the year sixteen hundred and twenty-one, made his translation of Ovid's Metamorphosis,

The First Fruits Of Literature In North America.

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THE WRITERS OF VIRGINIA

Men die, but their deeds live after them enshrined in imperishable treasure-houses of minstrelsy, song and story, and so—

Here's to the men and women who have built for Virginia a treasure house of magic word and immemorial thought.

Who have searched the world for jewels for its adorning;

Who have contemplated life under many climes and conditions to put here the triumphs of such reveries;

Who have remembered the dreams that inspired Virginia's planting, the romance that enveloped her growth;

Who have held in heart the achievements of her great men, the valor of her soldiers, the beauty of her old life, the bravery of her new;

Who have immortalized the tragedy of her heart-break, the death-gloom of her sorrow, the splendor of her resurrection;

Who have lifted glad eyes to the place of her tree-clad mountains, her joyous fields and her sunny, wave-kissed shores;

And who, of all this, by the strength and witchery of record and rhyme, of history, romance and poem, have builded a myriad-windowed temple of letters, exquisite, luminous, enduring, a lasting memorial for all the world to see.

To The Writers Of Virginia. Richmond.

TO A TRIO OF VIRGINIA ARTISTS

Who have thrown upon glowing canvas the Old Dominion's past, and by artistic and vivid portrayal of life in the Olden Days have preserved to all time the chivalry and charm, the poetry and romance of Old Virginia. Who have added

Jewels To Virginia's Crown, and earned, besides word-fame, a deep and abiding place in the esteem and affections of all Virginians, while ennobling humanity by their lofty standards and high ideals. In the wine of the olden days let us drink

To Thomas Nelson Page!

To Ellen Glasgow!

To Mary Johnston!

Julia Wyatt Bullard.

VIRGINIA'S POET PRINCESS, AMELIE OF
ALBEMARLE

While the world is toasting the dusky princess of Jamestown,

The Virginia Princess Of Long Ago,

I lift my glass to the Princess of Castle Hill,

The Fair Virginia Princess Of Now.

Child of Genius! Ardent, beautiful, whose soul has sounded the mysteries of life, the deeps of passion; whose inner vision sweeps ever widening fields of thought, kens ever finer harmonies—Poet Princess—thy loved Virginia drinks to Thee.

To Thee and to that larger Fame the Future holds for Thee in store!

Julia Wyatt Bullard.

OUR MOTHER

"here's to the Union, both in song and in story;
May she never lack arms in defense of her glory;
Here's to each star, which stands for a State
In our Union so strong, in our nation so great;
But here's to our Mother, it is no more opinion,
She gave away States from the Ancient Dominion;
Here's to the birthplace of Washington and Lee,
The home of the brave and the land of the free;
Here's to the source of our purest emotion,
Here's to Virginia—from mountain to ocean."

CHaBtES T. LASSITEB.

Petersburg.

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