M

ARTHUR W. AUSTIN.

R. ARTHUR W. AUSTIN was born in Surbiton, Kingston-on-Thames, England, February 9th, 1853. His family came to America in 1863. Arthur lived for some time on the farm of his uncle, John Whittaker, in the town of Wales, Erie co., N. Y. He went to Buffalo in 1866. After leaving school, he was employed in the circulating department of the Buffalo Commercial and .in 1872 became a reporter on the staff of that paper. In 1878 he was appointed city editor, which position he still holds. Mr. Austin has written considerable verse for newspapers and periodicals. Some of his fugitive pieces have been widely copied in American and English journals.

B. L. E.

THE EXILE OF DAMASCUS-A. D. 634. DAMASCUS, Empress of the East, stained with her richest blood,

The Caliph's fierce beleaguering host for seventy days withstood;

But now the mighty "sword of God" in victory's light had gleamed,

And from the conquered city's towers Arabia's banners streamed.

What moved the lovely maid to kneel in attitude of prayer,

As near and clear the victors' shouts of triumph rent the air?

Ah! calm and steadfast, in her woe unmoved by dread of death,

Eudocia knelt and strongly vowed to keep the Christian faith.

But he to whom her pledge was given, he whom she loved so well,

Whose words of promise in her soul had left

a magic spell,

Low at the haughty conqueror's feet, in abject fear and shame,

Abjured the teachings of his youth, renounced the Christian name.

And when she knew the tidings true of that base, traitorous deed,

Love left its throne within her breast, for hatred to succeed,

That burned with strong and potent force, as, with the exiled band,

She journeyed forth to seek a home in some far distant land.

47

THE Soul of Schumann, wandering in a maze
Of dreamful melody, made music so
Express emotions deep which all may know,
When memory leads the mind through devious
ways

Of joy or grief, and scenes of other days,

Strange, varied pictures of the long ago,
Glide into view, now rapidly, now slow,
While each a separate influence conveys.
This was my thought when first my listening soul
Heard with delight the “Träumerei's" tender
strain,

And still its wondrous melodies remain,
Holding a sure, unchangeable control.
The Träumerei! tone picture of a dream
Drawn with a skill that glorifies the theme!

THEODORE FRANCIS MCMANUS.

Buffalo, N. Y., twenty-three years ago, where

R. THEODORE F. McMANUS was born in

his early boyhood was spent in attendence at the public schools. Upon leaving school, he filled the position of office boy. Later he entered the ranks of journalism, to which he has devoted himself ever since. Mr. McManus is at present city editor on the Morning Commercial, Toledo, Ohio. As a writer of verse his productions have been limited. There is a certain bondage in newspaper work which precludes many flights into dreamland. However, he has written enough verse to attract favorable notice. L. E. B.

GUARD WELL THY HEART. GUARD well thy heart, lest passion sweep The chords, and God's sweet melody Be lost, lest from the ruins leap The spirit of unrest set free, And o'er thy life dark chaos fall.

Guard well thy heart! Rest not content

With visions fair. Unwearied seek Till thou hast found the true love sent

By Him who watcheth o'er the weak, Who heeds the suppliant's call.

Guard well thy heart! Its throbbing life
Protect with jealous care.
Be not
Afraid, though bitter grow the strife,
And fierce contention mark thy lot.
Courage! God ruleth over all!

CHURCHYARD SENTINELS.

SEE how they writhe and twist and moan: "When will the earth give up its own?"

Scourged by the wind, all black and dry,
Outlined, etched on a waste of sky,
Gnarled and beaten and shorn of dress,
Watchers still in their dreariness,
Wrapped and coiled in a shroud of snow,
Boughs spread over the mounds below,
That God may set his sleepers free,
The trees are telling a rosary.

THE PASSING OF THE BEAUTIFUL. QUIVERING water and throbbing air, Vanishing beauty everywhere, Grass grown gray from a frosty touch, Flowers that tremble and droop too much.

Oh! foolish fear,

Oh! idle tear,

Why mourn the death of so fair a year!

Shivering sheen and golden haze,
Delicate tints in woodland ways,
Leaves that flutter, and boughs that bend,
Beauteous birth, and peaceful end.

If this be sleep,

Then long and deep,

Oh! Nature, drink, ere the shadows creep!

THE LAST GOOD-BYE.

I LAUGHED as I stood in the roadway,
Half turning to glance once more,
Where a glint of vagrant sunshine,

Stole in through the open door;

I laughed, but my lips were trembling,
And deep in my heart I knew
That my other self, old school-house,
I had left behind with you.

I laughed, as I stood in the roadway,
Chiding myself for the tears

That hid the world with a cloud of mist,
Like the wraiths of coming years.
I laughed and the ghost of childhood
Fled from the empty mirth;
The spirit of strife had risen,
Though I knew not of its birth.

I laughed as I stood in the roadway,
And flung my cap in the air;

The woods, I thought, and the drowsy town
Had never looked half so fair.

I laughed, but the mocking echo
Wavered and changed to a sigh;
I cried, I'm afraid, old school-house,
When I bade you a last good-bye.

RECOLLECTIONS.

A SIMPLE word, a pleading look,
The turned-down page of a musty book,
A throb of loneliness, a sigh-
The forms of the past go trooping by.

Through the gray mist of distant years,
Silent they come in a veil of tears,
Come unsummoned-the holy dead.
Come and go ere the heartache's fled.

A song, a strain of music sweet,

A glow where sunlight and shadow meet; Our hearts are instruments turned by fate, Love strikes a chord, and the strings vibrate.

ROWLAND B. MAHANY.

HON. ROWLAND

51

BLENNERHASSETT MAHANY was born in Buffalo, N. Y. September 28th, 1864. For a biographical sketch of Mr. Mahany by James Fraser Gluck see THE MAGAZINE OF POETRY, Vol. II, No. 1, January, 1890. Mr. Mahany was appointed Secretary of Legation to Chili, 1890; U. S. Minister to Ecuador, 1892; and was the Republican candidate for Congress in the 32nd New York District in 1892. Editor.

TO A FISHER GIRL.
(FROM HEINE.)

O LOVELY fishermaiden,
Thy shallop speed to land;
Come hither, sit beside me,
We'll dally hand in hand.

Lay on my heart thy tresses,
Nor startle so with fright,
For fearlessly thou bravest
The tameless ocean's might!
My heart is like the ocean,
Hath storm and ebb and flow;
Yet many a pearl of beauty
Sleeps in the depths below.

THE FERRY OF THE NECKAR. (A BALLAD OF Uhland.)

O'ER this stream, in days of yore,

I was ferried once before;

Here, the castle sun-lit glows,

Yon, the weir, still rushing, flows,

And within this wherry's bound
Comrades twain were with me found;

One a friend, more like a sire,
And a youth with hopes like fire.

One in peace wrought here below,
And in peace departed so;
But that eager, restless form
Fell in battle and in storm.

Ah, if to the days long fled,-
Happier hours,—my thoughts be led,
Then I ever yearn to see

Those dear friends, death reft from me.

Yet what keeps all friendship whole
Is when soul communes with soul.
Soulful were the hours we passed,
Soulful ties still bind me fast.