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ARTHUR W. AUSTIN.
ARTHUR W. AUSTIN.
R. ARTHUR W. AUSTIN was born in Sur
biton, 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.
Fast on the hapless Christians' track the turbaned
horsemen pressed, Maddened with wild, fanatic zeal, that glowed in
every breast, Until, defenseless to their sight, spread in a pleas
ant vale, They saw the weary exiles' camp-how should
their purpose fail ?
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
I REJOICE, O, beloved of my heart,
That you are a music-lover, Nor fail in the glorious art
New beauties and charms to discover; For thus may our spirits combine
In the love of the beautiful truly, 1, loving the rhythmical line,
You, the bar of sweet music as duly;
The soul of Schumann, wandering in a maze
Of dreamsul 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,
See how they writhe and twist and moan:
THE PASSING OF THE BEAUTIFUL.
QUIVERING water and throbbing air,
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.
I LAUGHED as I stood in the roadway,
Half turning to glance once more,
Stole in through the open door;
And deep in my heart I knew
I had left behind with you.
Chiding myself for the tears
Like the wraiths of coming years.
Fled from the empty mirth;
Though I knew not of its birth.
And flung my cap in the air;
Had never looked half so fair.
Wavered and changed to a sigh;
When I bade you a last good-bye.
A SIMPLE word, a pleading look,
Ah, if to the days long fled, -
A song, a strain of music sweet,
Yet what keeps all friendship whole Is when ul communes with soul. Soulful were the hours we passed, Soulful ties still bind me fast.