SOME men are reason-proof, and Richard Brown "If airth was round," he said, "as some folks tell, THE WILD BEE. I COME at morn when dewdrops bright I swarm with many lithesome wings Of heath and hawthorn bramble And languidly amidst the sedge When noontide is most stilly, I loll besides the water's edge And climb into the lily. I fly throughout the clover crops Before the evening closes, Or swoon amid the amber drops That swell the pink moss roses. To poesy I am a friend, I go with fancy linking, And all my airy knowledge lend To aid the poet's thinking. Deem not these little eyes are dim And therefore I am never sad, A burden homeward bringing, But help to make the summer glad In my own way of singing. When idlers seek my honied wine, I sparkle from the Columbine Oh, thoughtless man! if all your tact And power to me were given, I would not wound by word or act, The things beloved of heaven. That so I should not fear the close, OUR HOPES. WE nurse our hopes as mothers do And as they grow we long to find Fulfillment of their youth, And laugh to see them loiter round The blossom-fields of truth. Devoted parents, while we watch Not so, when sorry seasons come, When smiles and tears are vain, To lure the lovely truant ones Back to the heart again. Ah! then the light of life dies out, They came to us as children come To bless our lonely lives, For ah! the saddest gifts are they That God did ever send, When hopes that we have cherished long Desert us in the end. NELLY. Quoth Nelly "the will of the Lord be done, On Him who beckons to me from above. But I know that the dove of peace doth brood, The years flew on as they always fly, The same green earth, and the same blue sky; MART AND MOUNTAIN. "Getting and spending we lay waste our lives."-Wordsworth. WE lavish our lives in getting and spending A little remorse but we soon outgrow it An end to all our plotting and scheming And fighting hard against fate's decree; 'Twere better our lives were spent in dreaming 'Neath the marvellous moon by the murmuring sea; 'Twere better thus as the seasons roll Than to feed the flesh and famish the soul. How Godlike the sun in its rising glory, The earth how fair-but these sights grow old; What a God! what a creed! sublimer far * But a long farewell to familiar faces, And now to experience a change of heart; To herd henceforth with barbaric races A thousand miles from the cities mart. Here-here are the gifts of God's free giving Now truly a happier man am I, Though the hair be gray on my upper lip, And never a dollar as yet laid by, Climbing the hills on some aimless trip; Aye! happier breathing this mountain air Than Wall Street's wealthiest millionaire. "WE TWO ARE ONE." RESPONSE TO A BEAUTIFUL POEM. Oh! let it never more be said, Our lives are far apart; Despite the law, we two are wed Who claim a kindred heart. By whom can we be dispossessed On earth-in heaven above; Can aught divide us-we who rest Upon each other's love? Thou gav'st thine all without regard To self,-nor gave amiss; The love that seeketh no reward There is no love like this. Thou art beloved, and from this hour, Let peace perch on thy brow, Misfortune hath no subtle power To separate us now. Tho' far apart, we two are one,— Our hearts are ever near; The sorrows thou hast wooed and won, But make thee doubly dear. If scorned by men, and lost to those, The loved of early days, And left to pine unto the close, Or walk in darksome ways, I'd share thy path. The chast'ning rod Would doubly prove me true; If thou wer't lost to man and God. Then would I perish too. If thou wer't in the gloomy grave, There also would I be Low bending o'er thy form to crave, Love-room to lie with thee. Living or dead,-beneath, above, By every right divine, That's based upon the laws of loveI hold that thou art mine. I care not whose the prior claim, Or in whose trust thou art; No legal tie, nor change of name, Can counterfeit a heart. FRIEND. To me all men are much the same, The brawny arm, that's wont to strike; The feebler hand that wields the pen, The homespun and the broadcloth men; All these are merely passers by; But let one step from out the throng, The soul's flashed light'ning in his eye, In very scorn for human wrong, And lo! I am beside my friend, Come life, come death until the end. -The Wanderers in the West. LOVE. Alas that love, so sweet a thing, Should ever work such woe. -Ibid. BENJAMIN F. SEE. BENJAMIN F. SEE was born near Lebanon, Ohio, on the farm where his father, who was from one of the old families of Virginia, had found a home among the first settlers of that locality, as early as 1808. He had the early education which falls to boys in the country, a large knowledge of farm life and work, and a small knowledge of books; yet with the instinct of a student, he aspired to better things than the country school furnished, and at the age of twenty he found his way to the Ohio Wesleyan University. His work there was honorable to himself and satisfactory to his friends, and in 1856 he was graduated in the classical course. Mr. See had aspired to a learned profession, but his overtaxed eyesight changed the course of his life, and instead of the law he entered into business vocations; first that of real estate, and then that of farming. From the old homestead in Warren county he moved in 1876 to Wood county, Ohio, where he has since resided, on a beautiful farm. In 1860 he married Miss Melissa C. Priest, a lady of culture and a pupil in the Ladies' College, in Delaware, while Mr. See was pursuing his studies in the university, in the same town. His marriage has been eminently a happy one. A son and daughter were born from this union. During the Civil War Mr. See's patriotism was shown in all loyal directions. He volunteered in the Sixty-ninth O. V. I., but was discharged at Camp Dennison on account of defective eyesight, and he was also one of the Squirrel Hunters" who mustered in 1862 to save Cincinnati from the expected attack of the enemy. Of this exciting time Mr. See has written a lengthy poem, which, however, has not been published. W. G. W. WASHINGTON. PATER PATRIE. Freemen extol your Washington, Who with a true and well-tried band And cherished by the just. |