FRANK JOSEPH MARION.

F FRANK JOSEPH MARION fulfills the promise of his early manhood, his name will appear on the title pages of fascinating volumes of dainty verse and fanciful descriptive prose. He is but twenty-four years old and has already written much that an older author might be proud to claim as his literary offspring. His lifetime since infancy has been passed in Syracuse, where he was educated in the grammar and high school and Syracuse University, from which he was graduated with '90, at the age of twenty years, in the classical course, "the youngest and stupidest member of the class," to quote his own language. He took honors in rhetoric and literature, however, and during his college course was editor in turn of the Syracusan and the Onon-i dagan, the Junior periodical. He is a member of the Delta Kappa Epsilon fraternity and has been made prominent in its councils. Of direct French lineage, his family a branch of the house of De Forest, Mr. Marion was naturally attracted to the French forms of verse in rondeaux, triolets and villanelles. His vagrant verse has been copied quite extensively in the college and newspaper press. Since leaving college he has filled the position of art and music reviewer for the Syracuse Standard, and his critiques are generally recognized for their fairness and ability. M. T. F.

AT DREAMY DAWN.
(BALLADE).

AT dreamy dawn, to you,
My love; at dawn, I say,
When drooping eyelids rue
The onset of the day;
Across the long array

Of hills decked white with frost (Thou couldst not say me nay)

A kiss in air I tossed.

I watched it as it flew.
It fluttered like a fay
And drifted lightly through
The air. Twas like a ray
Of sunlight out at play.

And once I thought it lost, Far in the morning's gray, The kiss in air I tossed.

But out it burst anew, Blithsome, merry and gay. It skimmed along the blue Of space, then, as in May

A butterfly doth stay

On fields by blooms embossed,

To thee it made its way,

The kiss in air I tossed.

ENVOY.

Love, at dreamy dawn of day A kiss the hilltops crossed. And did you get it, pray,

The kiss in the air I tossed?

IF SUNNY BLUE WERE ONLY GOLD. (Villanelle).

IF sunny blue were only gold,

What treasure rare would soon be mine! Ah, then my wealth would be untold.

When April violets first unfold,

A fortune then my hedge would line, If sunny blue were only gold.

From skies of May cloud curtains rolled

Deep azure show and glad sunshine. Ah, then my wealth would be untold.

My very songster's cage would hold Such plenty count could ne'er define, If sunny blue were only gold.

O sweetheart mine, were I so bold,

Could they be mine, those eyes of thine, Ah, then my wealth would be untold.

And in my arms could I enfold

Thy slender form, were thine eyes mine,

If sunny blue were only gold,

Ah, then my wealth would be untold.

THE TRICKSTER.

A youngster stopped me as I strolled
In June along a sandy shore.
All sad and sighing low, he told
To me as pitiful a tale, I hold,

As e'er was ever told to man before.

And I believed the little scamp!

His curled lip and downcast eye

Had each a semblance and a stamp

Of truth upon them, and his cheek was damp With recent tears, I knew not why.

R

Caressingly I caught his arm

And drew him up upon my knee. What cause had I to feel alarm?

Ah me, that I had only known the harm He did. It seemed a scratch to me.

But e'er a week had passed away,

Where once to weep the boy was trying,

Now ran he on ahead as gay

And merrily as any maid in May,

But I was sad and sighing.

THE ROSE.

(TRIOLET).

To me t'was a rose,

But to her t'was a token. Was it cruel? who knows?

To me t'was a rose,
With soft petals close

O'er a secret unspoken.

To me t'was a rose,

But to her t'was a token.

-)(

JAMES BENJAMIN KENYON.

EV. JAMES B. KENYON was born in Frankfort, Herkimer county, N. Y., April 26th, 1858. He was graduated from Hungerford Collegiate Institute, Adams, N. Y., in 1874. He entered the ministry of the Methodist Episcopal Church in 1878. His recent pastorates have been in Watertown and Oswego N. Y., and he now presides over the First M. E. Church of Syracuse, N. Y. In 1892 Syracuse University conferred upon him the degree of Doctor of Letters (Lit. D.). He has published five volumes of poetry. A biographical sketch of Mr. Kenyon will be found in THE MAGAZINE of POETRY for April, 1889.

AT SUNSET.

NOT now, not now, not of this veiled sun

Editor.

Nor tenuous shade our tremulous love was born, But when the sheer night feathered toward the morn,

And the faint stars, like tapers, one by one Died in the dawn, and the chill night was done. 'Twas when the light wind o'er the breathing corn Winnowed his vans, and from each gossamered thorn

Billowed the dew-pearled gonfalons day had won. Then had our love its birth, a fluttering thing,

That scarce knew if the fire-fledged morn had come,

Or if to swell its moon-white throat and sing,

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Or bid, 'mid twilight leaves, its voice be dumb. But now day wanes. Dear, doth desire take wing? Doth the grasshopper e'en grow burdensome?

THE MILK-MAID.

HER ankles brush the dew-wet grass;
The birds are blithe to see her pass;
Along the daisies, golden-bright,
Run little shivers of delight.

Her shining pail swings on her arm;
Within her hair the sun lies warm;
No cloud is in the morning skies;
No shadow veils her April eyes;
Songs gurgle from her heart and lips,
As o'er the field she lightly trips,

To where beside the smooth-worn gate
Her swollen-uddered cattle wait.
Yet ere her task she shall essay,
She will not start and turn away
If suddenly her cheek be pressed
To happy Colin's lusty breast,
The while upon her tender mouth
He slakes love's oft-recurring drouth.
Ah, who would not gray wisdom miss,
To feel again the velvet kiss

That thrilled the lyric heart of yore?
Who, who would not be young once more?