PS 3523 .E856 H4 1899 Copy 1 t^^- LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. Chap. Copyright No. Shelf..£li.^V\4 m5 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. HEART ECHOES BY / GEORGE EDWARD LEWIS. ILLUSTRATED BY MARIE JEWELL CLARK. 'Go thou forth; and fortune play upon thy prosperous he PRESS OF TRADESMAN COMPANY. Grand Rapids. Mich. e sr-, "3 TWO COPIES BECE-i V x.^. Library of Congressj Office f th« Register of Copyrights. 47638 Entered according to act of Congress, in the year I8S)fi. by George Edward Lewis, in the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. SECOND COP^ GEORGE EDWARD LEWIS. "Poetry is itself ;i thing of God. He made his prophets poets; and the more we feel of poesy do we lieeome like tJod in love and power." Biodf^Pbtcal Preface. THE AUTHOR of " Heart Echoes " is a native of Michigan. His grandfather, James Otto Lewis, was a poet and artist and a friend of the early pioneers of Michigan, Louis and Antoine Campau and others. He accompanied General Lewis Cass on the "birch bark canoe trip," famous in history, and on his return published and illustrated, in 1834, "The American Aboriginal Portfolio," containing pictures and sketches of some forty chieftains. His son, William, father of George Edward, journeyed through all the states in the Union, meeting with both success and misfortune, at last settling down with his good wife to rear their large family of children in the northern part of his native State, Michigan, which was then a region wild. Here the childhood and youth of George Edward were spent among the nestling hills cov- ered with forests and farms, roaming through the dark pines, fishing in the bough-hidden streams, picking blueberries on the plains, studying Nature at her best, toiling on the farm, working in the lumber camp, but ever weaving into rhyme the pictures of Nature's own which, with later ones redolent of his city life, have been gathered into "Heart Echoes," with the wish that it may help others to while away a leisure hour. M. J. C. £otitctit$. PAGE A Studio, ------- jy The Closing Century and Dawn of the Twentieth, - - 25 'Tis Only a Rose, - - - _ _ . ,3 This Country of Ours, - - - - . -35 The Flag of Columbia, ------ 29 My Faithless Harp, ----- . ^^ Bartholdi Statue, ------ ^^ Polished Originals, ----- _ - ^y A Mountain Romance, -----. 49 To the Star, ""'"'"" 59 Michigan's Capitol, ---__- gj Around Little Traverse Bay, - - - - - 67 Fife Lake, ------- y. The Robin's First Song, ----- . y^ The Birch Tree, ------ yg The Country Schoolhouse, ------ 80 We Drank From the Same Dipper Then, . - . g^ Mary Maxwell, ------- 88 The Humblest Birth, ------ g2 The City on the Grand, ------ gy The Old Parish Church, ----- jqj Her Spirit Still Lives, ----__ jq2 There Is a Time, ----._ jq^ Autumn Days, ------_ jq^ Morning, -----._ jQg The Springtime, - - - - - - -in The Tragedy of Mackinac Island, - - - - 115 Reflection, -------- 121 Along the Looking Glass, - - - - . ^23 The Bridal Eve, ------- J26 Contentment ------- J29 From Saint-Cloud to Malmaison, ----- ^^j The Home of My Youth, - - - - - 135 Our Lives Are Like Our Quiet Walks, - - - - j^g Her Sister, ------- j^q The Brook and the Child, ------ j^^ The Dream Maiden, ------ j^^ Dreamland, -------- j^y Memories of Charlevoix, - - - - - 151 Our Throne, -----._ j^^ The Picture of a Flower, ----- j^^ Roll Call of Poets, ------- 156 The River Road, - - - - - - 159 PAGE The Old Wheel and the New, . . . . . jQq I Have Only One Wish to Make, . . . - 163 October Days, _.--..- jgg "The Banjo's Strain," ------ 167 Our Public Schools, . - - - - i5g The Old Bard, ------- 173 The Fall of the Pueblo Nation, ----- J76 " Heart Echoes," ----- jgj Tllusfrations. PAGE Portrait of Author, - - - - - - - 6 -^ The Old Homestead at Eventide, - - - - 16^ A Scene Upon the Rhine, - - - - - -IS*^ An Old Mill, ------- 20^ Autumn by the Lake, - - - - - - 22 ^ Type of the Twentieth Century, - - - - 24 — The Capitol at Washington, - - - - - 34^' The Flag of Columbia, - - - - - - 381^ Statue of Liberty, - - - - - - -44** Among the Mountains, - - - - - 48 "^ Michigan's Capitol, - - - - - 6o"** C. A. Gower's Residence, Lansing, - - - - 64 *" Imperial Hotel, Petoskey, ------ 66'^ A Steamer on the Ba}-, - - - - - - 68*^ Fishing in the Stream, - - - - - - 70 -^ Fife Lake, - - - - - - - 72^ The Robin's First Song, ------ yg^ The Robin's Last Song, - - - - - 77-^ Birch Trees, - - - - - - -78-" The City of Grand Rapids, ----- g5-. An Old English Church, - - - - _ 100— Autumn Days, - ------ 106 — Springtime, - - - - - - - -no" The Grand, Mackinac Island, ----- ^^ — The Looking Glass, ------ 122"" A Rustic Bridge, -__--_ 130 — A Quiet Walk, - - - - - - - 138 -- The Brook, -._--.- j^2 — Charlevoix, the Beautiful, ------ 150 — A Quiet Nook, ------- 152- The River Road, ------- 158 " October Days, ------ jQ^ The Old Bard, - - - - - - - 172 - ''The luuiusUad of iiiv childhood, the sliade of olhor doy. B Studio. [Dedicated to Marie Jewell Clark. I sit this summer morning Within a quiet room Filled up with varied pictures Of love and joy and gloom. Around are masterpieces From far across the sea Caught by a skillful pencil, Transfigured here for me. Here is a modern picture, Here one of olden time: One shows the winding Arno And one the castled Rhine. This picture comes from Venice — We see it at a glance — And here is one from Holland And this one came from France. 'And one tlie castled Rhine. Thei'e are yellow roses, Enough a vase to fill, And here are velvet meadows And there a ruined mill. See, here the cows are drinking From a cool and lowly stream Bordered with crimson maples Ablaze with autumn's sheen. But this one tho' more sombre Still more attracts my eye, With gentle sloping meadows. With evening painted sky. I see in this dear picture, As deep and long I gaze, The homestead of my childhood. The shade of other davs. I hear my father's whistle. Again the night winds moan: I see my darling mother Within that dear old home. 'And til ere a ruined miii." But another loves this picture, That true and sombre shade, And often gazes fondly — She who that picture niade. The reason why she loves it This calm and peaceful scene Because it is the symbol And echo of a dream. The winding road leads westward. The skies and forest blend And join with one another To reach some peaceful end. And who knows what that artist Can read between the lines Untold with brush and pencil In pictures or in rhymes? Such hearts have noble feelings, Sublime, serene and dear. Who can with earthly fingers Transcribe such beauty here. "See here Ihe cows are driuking from a cool and lowly sij-< While gazing on this picture — The leaves and grasses green- We read a quiet undertone That few have ever seen. Oh, dumb the pen of poets Confined in solemn hush And words are idle dreamers Beside the artist's brush. And tho' the artist's pencil Transcends the poet's art Yet neither pen or pencil Reveals the inmost heart. Mdvin Jewell Clarl;. The daicn of the twentietli century. Cbc Closing Century and Dawn of tbe Cwentietb They soon shall live in history, Those rapid passing years That hlled this busy centnry With all its toils and tears; Soon time with magic fingers Shall heap the moulding clay Above its fallen ruins And slowly sink away. But can we leave in silence This grand old centur}' here, The period of our fathers And to our children dear? It gave us every pleasure, The hours of happy health, And heaped beside our doorway Great shining hoards of wealth. Come, let us travel backward With the wrinkled, hoary sage And view the radiant pictures That live on history's page: Amid the virgin forest A rugged babe was born; 'Twas softly dressed in doeskin And reared on yellow corn. And in those same dark forests Dwelt many a stranger man; To crush this hardy infant They summoned every plan. In spite of warriors' cunning He up to childhood sprung And garnered woodsy flowers When the century was young. He hastened into manhood And threw the flowers down And seized a battered hammer To shape his native town; He chose a mammoth boulder Of prairie, lake and trees. Of rock and wave-kissed islands Abloom with sun and breeze. He wiped away the mildew And smoothed the corners tough And shaped the future figure Of our nation in the rough; He laid the fading Redman Down to eternal rest Far in his native forest, With his quiver on his breast. Through winter and through summer His hammer clove the air, And as each blow rebounded The margin was more fair; He drained the muddy morass, Nations left at his command; They never more shall trespass Our free, unsullied land. The village turns to city. The country's changed to town; Large steamers plow the rivers As his hammer thunders down: Through sunshine and in shadow His ponderous blows do fall And leave at last a nation That towers over all. 27 We love the grand old sculptor Whose heart so soon must break, Who made this gallant Union For all his children's sake; And when his head is covered And another takes his place May each soul prove as noble Through all the human race. The sculptor is the century, His blows the falling years That dressed the mighty boulder On all its wild frontiers; He smoothed the jagged mountain And tilled the barren plain And left behind him waving Great fields of golden grain. The old sculptor is dying And by his patient bed W^e lean and softly listen The words in life he said: " Go forth to fields of battle With victory in your breast, So every star may twinkle In the banner of the West. "And, farmers, plow your meadows And, statesmen, use your brain, And all who claim this countr}' Help garner in its grain; If faithful are the reapers A prize each one shall hold Who values home and country More precious yet than gold. "In time man bridles lightning And drives his steed afar: His iron hoofs go pounding Beneath the rattling car. He drives him up the mountain And o'er the ocean's breast — Around the world he travels And never sighs for rest. "And friend and friend converse Though many miles apart; Soft tears fall in affection. Heart knows another heart; Sweet tales the Past related And songs the dead have sung We hear today repeated By Lightning's wizard tongue. "The ship that rode the billow According to the wind, Sometimes in rapid movement And often far behind, Has conquered wind and weather Without a sail or mast, Now rides in grace and beauty Through calm and wind and blast. "The tired, footsore traveler The path no longer feels, But sits on velvet cushions, Borne off on rapid wheels; Take all this world's improvements. Invention, love and lore. Through all the backward ages, What century hath done more?" So close the Book of Ages Yet keep it in our view Now raise the sable curtain And welcome in the new With shout and laugh and glory To cheer the famous morn; May every soul be ready When the banner year is born. And in its fair white forehead May noble thoughts arise To lead us bravely onward In journeys true and wise, And may our magic fingers And hearts of purer mould Aspire to greater labors Than all the Past has told. May every purpose noble be And loyal every course And above our great forefathers Arise our righteous laws; We want no idle dreamer To lead us through the strife, But a young and faithful doer Holding country dear as life. We have before our vision The portrait of a child With a grand and brilliant future, So brave and yet so mild, And in his quiet bosom From stain of passion free Is the type of passing actions In the century 3'et to be. Fair child, behold that tower That lives in freedom's air; It took sad, patient hours To plant those columns there; 'Tis built of blood and sorrow, Many a sad, deserted home, And life and love of heroes Shine from its massive dome. But you must build one greater, Without carnage, strife or groan, And Freedom be the motto 'Graved on the corner stone; In all historic ages, As transient hours flee. May your greatness live forever In the centuries yet to be. (k^\ 'Ci$ Only a Rose. 'Tis only a rose, withered and faded, Its beauty has fled with the time and the tide; Its ordor for rankness grim Time has traded, But it once decked the breast of my bhishing bride. On our wedding eve both Nature did cherish, 'Neath trophies and robes her dear bosom did heave; But 'neath the stroke of the Harvester both aHke perished, And I keep it in memory of our wedding-eve. 33 .-'^^'••liri fitrr" ^ *v, .J *'''i&Jf ?S*vJ« '■Ho'v dear to my heart is this country of ours.'''' Cbt$ Country of Ours. How dear to my heart is this country of ours! Protected by love and garnished with flowers, She arises to-night the highest in fame; Not a cloud o'er her brow, not a blot on her name — I love every acre from East unto West, The North and the South are as fair as the rest. I love the bright East where the Puritans trod And knelt on the Sabbath to worship their God; Oh, Ocean Atlantic, in rolling you boast Of hamlets and cities that border thy coast; In pride thy blue waves kiss the sands of the West As our rivers refresh thy bosom of rest. Oh, stately old Boston, abreast with the tide, While the waves of the moon o'er thy mansions do ride; As in fancy I wander there arises to me The city of Charleston that stands by the sea; The hills of Columbia and the blue waters meet. As the spirits unite when our hearts are complete. I love the dear South where lemons do grow And the odor of orange daily falls from the bio'; Where gay mocking birds are ever in tune And the flowers of March are the blossoms of June; Where the broad Mississippi rolls down to the sea Thro' a land just as pure as her waters are free. I love the great West with its prairies so wide, The hunter's delight and the Indian's pride; Where the Yellowstone flows from dark caves far away, Thro' the night of the forest to the prairie of day; Wliere the peaceful Pacific on its shimmering breast Bears the mariner's barque sailing into the west. I love the lone North, the rock and the vine, The deep bay of cedars, the whispering pine, The crimson hedged lake, the green bordered rill. The moss covered valle}^ the leaf buried hill Where trails the wild myrtle and adder tongues grow. Oh, how can you blame me for loving it so? The plains are all covered with bushes and flowers. The thrush and the robin sing sweet in their bowers; The green ever tender, the brake curleth low, The trailing arbutus blooms under the snow; The barefooted boys in cold brooklets play, Where the trout and the grayling are restless as they. On the banks of a lake so calm and so clear The maples are yellow its margin so near; The wanderer sits on Traverse Bay shore And lists to the lake in its September roar; The lapsing waves splash close, close by his feet. Oil. blest be my country so tranquil and sweet. Master Earl Clarence Lewis. ' The starry flag that floats ahtn't Is iovc;d by one and al/.'" Cbe Flag of Columbia* The starry flag that floats above Is loved by one and all, The rich and great from every state And they of lowly call. The woods were heavy, damp and darl> Sad closed the stormy day, When 'mid the tall and rocking trees A hero knelt to pray: 'Our Father, Thou hast made men free In other lands and days; If Thou wilt hear our voice We shall give Thee all the praise. We soon shall hold aloft a sign To follow day and night Until we gain the victory Or perish in the fight. 39 " A piece of soil we truly love Is named for every star; We read the meaning o'er our hearth, We prove the rest in war. We shall hold our banner in our hand. While dawns the nation's birth, And look across a burdened land WHiere grape shot plows the earth. " No spirit cheers the youth who falls Along his native stream; No ensign marks our council halls W^here greatest statesmen dream;" And then our noble Washington The old world much amazed When the Stars and Stripes, red, white and blue, In Freedom's cause was raised. The soldiers bore it through the fight, They loved its starry breast; It climbed the hill at Bunker, It conquered all the West; It floats above the noble dead That gazed on it and smiled. For Independence gave up earth, Then passed it to his child. No tongue can tell where it shall wave, So distant floats it now. Oh, who can guess how many gems Shall crown the banner's brow; It floats among united hills, It binds us true and fast; It waved at old Manila Bay, It streamed from Dewey's mast. But this we know, where'er they are, No nation looks with scorn. For not an idle moment marked The da}' that flag was born. It floats around the chapel arch Where aged parsons pray; It floats above the belfry tower Where merry children play. The stripes are as our fathers made, Their rows we would not mar. And as we add a noble state We add a brilliant star Too noble for the dust to stain, And ah! too pure and free To ever mould in prison walls Bound down by lock and key. The old flag floats in every state, Across the sea it flies, Held by the arm of Freedom, Transplanted in the skies; They who bear it on foreign shores Among the noble slain Are strong and bold as they march on That justice still may reign. Emblems on all other flags, The notches and the bars, Hang low, submissive and in fear Beneath the Stripes and Stars. Columbia! oh, the land of all, We love each hill and dell, May our people never cease to praise The flag we love so well. my Taitble$$ fyarp. Ah, Music, twin of inner man, Ancestor of all song I Could I but hear my harp vibrate That has been silent long. And as I spoke my thirsty ear Drank its refreshing strain; Each word and deed, both good and bad, It brought to mind again. Oh, faithless harp and blighted tune That cheered me in my youth, If thou would cheer me in old age Thou must not tell the truth. Can the mirror hanging on the wall Reflect our smiles for tears, Or show a face of youth and bloom For wrinkles and for years? Ah, no, and thus my harp's sweet voice Is locked in its proud heart; It could not sing of perfect life That had a bitter part. 43 'A beautiful gift in this country rve hax Bartboldi Statue. A beautiful gift in this country have we From our sister republic just over the sea, And our gratitude flows frona each habitation To the bosom of those who have honored our Nation: Great Goddess of Liberty on the rim of the sea In the ha\en that leads to the Land of the Free; A type of our union on thy brow we behold When the sunset has crowned it with crimson and gold. Columbia is there representing our land; As unwilling we wander she gives us her hand; Her lips seem to say, ''Whene'er you return, The red lamp of welcome bright as ever shall burn." And when we have walked on another strange shore And return to this beautiful haven once more, She welcomes us back with her outstretching arm And whispers, "Come in, I will shield thee from harm.' Just as patient she waits for our ships to return, Just as genial in peace her red torch does burn, She's as dauntless in war, just as noble and shrewd; She stands warning all nations to "never intrude." When the dark pall of night o'er the waves settles down The harbor is lit b\' the stars of her crown, And the sailor once lost in the trough of the sea Is ushered by light to the Home of the Free. In sunshine and shade, through trials and tears, As the centuries cast their small handful of years, Though bloodstained and weary be Columbia's fair brow, Through all may this statue be graceful as now. No pen can e'er reach it nor flattery charm A wrong smile on thy lips or false gift from thy arm. But undaunted and brave be the figure of thee In the haven that leads to the Land of the Free. Suggested by Mrs. Loraiue Immen. Polished Oriditials* There grew a wealtli of iron Under a bed of cla}', In the bosom of a mountain Far from the light of day. The miner has found the iron, The furnace has done its part. The smith has tempered the metal That slept in the mountain's heart. It is shaped to nimble fingers And placed in a stately tower O'er a white and lettered dial To show each passing hour. In a wild untutored bosom. Mingled with right and wrong, Far from the gaze of. mortals, There slumbered the words of song! But the miner-printer has found it, The type has done its part: Now the whole world reads the titles That slept in the poet's heart. Where tJte brooks zvash tin rocks and the mountaineers drearn. J1 mountain Romance. In a far-away state where the gray eagles scream, Where brooks wash the rocks and the mountanieers dream, A cabin once stood on the fah^ mountain side, Where sycamores grew in the height of their pride. Around this old cabin two small children played, A beautiful boy and a neighbor's sweet maid; 'Mong caves and the cliffs they playei without fears And Time touched them light as he measured their years. Far over the vale round the gray mountain's horn Dwelt a rich haughty farmer with sections of corn. He had only one sou, who loved this sweet maid That round tUe old cabin in sum.nier-time plaved. 49 At twenty both loved the same little girl, Whose eyes shone as bright as a Galilee pearl; Each fondly adored her alone in the wild, The same gentle lass they had known since a child. The maiden was kind as a maiden could be, With a breast full of love deep and pure as the sea; She knew how to choose from Nature's own heart, But knew not the feelings of manhood apart. The son of the rich man very often would stray To the home of the maiden that stood far away Where the low shady ash and the red sumac grew Around the old cabin half hidden from view. He would tell her sweet stories of valor and lore. Of maidens and lovers he had read of before. Of soldiers and sailors, of battle and strife, But never once uttered the sweetness of wife. The maiden she looked at his visage so fair — His azure blue eyes and heavy dark hair; As she looked at the skies so majestic above So she looked in his face in wonder, not love. But when the still shade of evening stole down And spread out her curtain so somber and brown The mountaineer's boy sweet tales would relate To the maid who awaited his step at the gate. They talked of the birds and their own mountain flowers, The buzzing of bees and the passing of hours; They talked till the stars shone dimly above, Then alone in the darkness they whispered their love. Not alone, for a villain near by them had laid; Like a viper he crouched with pistol and blade And trembling awaited for the lovers to part So the sword in his hand might rust in a heart. The son of the rich man was concealed by the road Where the other must pass to his humble abode, And Jealousy drove a wild thought in his breast — Till he gained the fair maiden he never could rest. The sky it grows cloudy, the moon sinks from sight, The murmuring lovers then whisper goodnight; The mountaineer's son then travels the road That leads o'er the hill to his father's abode. But ere he has walked very far on his way A villain confronts him and holds him at bay: He makes a wild lunge at the mountaineer's heart; But Fate bars the blow and that bosom apart. Oh, could you have seen the bright flash of his eye As he looked on the forest, the mountain and sky. You would have known in a moment, as it glanced above. That conquer he would — he was fighting for love. He grappled the villain and downed him at length, Placed his knee on his breast with his ponderous strength; Then blow after blow — soon lifeless he lay; Then the mountaineer stole to his cabin away. Next morning the sheriffs in marshal array Surrounded the cabin, took William away To a far-away prison across the great plain. With a sentence for life — "wear the ball and the chain." In darkness for ages the weary years pass; Oh, what would he give to see one blade of grass. Take a look at the damsel he used to adore; 'Twould be heaven to see the old cabin once more. The winters pass by and tlie beauties of May Till twenty long years haye gone to decay; The children all flock to the edge of the town — Old autumn has come and the chestnuts are brown. All alone and in prison, in secret and strife, W'itli a sentence that reads, "just as long as your life," Sits the poor mountaineer all haggard and pale, While his Mazie grows old as she weeps by the vale. One eve as December spread out her sad gloom, With his viol in his lap which was always in tune, Again and again it repeats words of truth. And in them he saw the sweet visions of youth. It alone had consoled all his sorrow and tears; Its voice had called back his earlier years; Many times had he sank to his sad, pensive rest, While the old-fashioned fiddle to his bosom was pressed. And to-night as he sat so weary and lone His viol repeated the sweetness of home; It brought tears of repentance from the soul of his eyes Like a shower of rain as it falls from the skies. He had heard that the Governor of the state could play well And make any fiddle its sweet music tell: So at last he resolved he would write at his best And send the old fiddle to tell him the rest. The Governor was idle, his fire was bright, His clerks were all gone, it was late in the night; He was partially drowsy, when before him he spied A coffin-shaped package ver}' awkwardly tied. He tore off the wrapper and to his delight An old-fashioned fiddle was ushered in sight; And a poorly scrawled note lay under the chords; He walked to the light and he read these sad words: " I am sorry, Sir Governor, that I killed that poor man; I have always repented as much as I can: I was young and hot-headed and sorely afraid Of the look in his face and the flash of his blade. •'I meant not to kill him, I never once dreamed He would die from those blows, so lightly they seemed, But some wild, mad passion which was fighting inside Added strength to the blows else he never would died. " But if you'll let uie go back to the cliffs and the caves Where the mountains are tall and the sycamore waves, Far away from this prison that stands on the plain, I never will harm anybody again. " My parents are old and now need me there; The maid of ni}' choice has given them care, And lists for my step and knock at the door. That strangers oft tell her will echo no more. " I have heard you could play by note and by ear As beautiful strains as ever we hear: So I'll send my old fiddle along with the note — Let the song of my heart freely gush from its throat. "It is old like myself. I made it one day When the flowers were in bloom in the sweetness of May; The breath of the mountains was breathed on its strain; With a touch of the finger it echoes again. "It played to my sweetheart in fair harvest-time The love of my bosom in crudest of rhyme; And father and mother laughed loud in their joy At the untutored skill of the poor mountain boy. " If you don't understand my meaning full soon Put the viol in position — it is always in tune — And draw the old bow o'er its sensitive breast — In the sweetest of language it will tell you the rest." There were tears in the eyes of the Governor so keen And a look in his face that seldom w^as seen, A cloud o'er his brow, a lump in his throat, A throb in his heart as he finished the note. He took the old fiddle, on the grate placed his feet, And touched the old strings and they vibrated sweet: For the Governor was once but a poor mountain boy And its echoing voices they filled him with joy. He saw the old cabin and the sky overhead. The daisies they bloomed and the sumac was red; The birds loudly chirped in the joy of their tune — The viol showed the mountains from June until June. Now he sits with the boy at the feet of the maid While he plays to his love in the summer-night shade; Then he strays thro' the woods in barefooted flight And gathers the berries from morning till night. 56 In wintt-r he sits by tht logwood fire, And smiles at the tunes as he plays to his sire; In a musical rhyme he follows the boy Thro' all of his beautiful pastures of joy. While the old fiddle talked all its beautiful tune And showed him the mountains froni June until June There stole one small strain more pure than the rest From the soul of the chords to the Governor's breast. The music then ceased — it haci "told him the rest." In the fair tone of voice the richest and best, And the gem that had given the Governor great joy Had been caught from the heart of the poor mountain boy. Then the Governor arose and sent for the boy, \\'ho received the great message with wonderful joy; And ere many days had traveled them o'er The mountaineer stood at the Governor's door. He saw the old viol in a favorite place, Anci he read the kind smile in the Governor's face, And he felt an old spirit that had thrilled in his youth And he whispered, " Dear Governor, did it tell you the truth? " "Yes, sir, it has told, in the purest of tale, All the beautiful past from mountain to vale; From the source of its heart, in one lovely strain, It has said, ' You may go to the mountains again.' " "Thank God for this instrument I made in my youth! Thank God for a leader who listens to truth!" The prisoner exclaimed, amid his alarms. Then around the great Governor threw both of his arms. " You may go to your home — take the fiddle with you. Let it lean on your breast, it is perfect and true. Go back to the mountains, and never more stray From the maid of your youth and thy parents so gray." One press of the hand and the prisoner was gone. The Governor sat in his office alone; Now the viol's sweet chords lend a beautiful strain As it breathes the pure air of the mountains again. Co Cbe Star. Oh, brilliant star to shine So high up in your sphere, Thou helps me to incline To Christ my wayward ear. Could mv soul be as pure As the sky where thou doth dwell, I then could feel quite sure My lifetime would be well. Your twinkling pale beam Lights a land that I know not, A feeble sparkling stream Of youth that I forgot. Oh. when my last life's sand Is sparkling in the glass. By my Master's kind command To thee on white wings may I pass. Itlicbigan's Capitol. There stands a graceful city that Grand River does divide And among the many steeples one looks aloft in pride To the Capitol's tall tower that arises firm and great And speaks in benediction as the mother of the state. I climbed the winding stairway among a noisy crowd That shouted through the corridors with accents free and loud: High in the massive dome I stood, and a purer love in creased As I gazed upon the gravel that wandered to the East; And as I gaze more steady in fancy I see now The capitol at Washington that crowns Columbia's brow; And many are the sights of fame and many the tears of woe As on the Eastern journey our people come and go. Another road leads southward where shines a scorching sun And sings the thrilling mockingbird when labors all are done; And once upon this roadway there marched a massive line Of men with noble purpose in youth and hearty prime. The clerk laid down his pencil, the farmer left his hoe,- With love and might and gift of right to quell our brethren foe: And legions after legions then marched this gravel o'er, And some came back with victory and some came back no more. Our Michigan was strong in war and stood in grand array; Full well the Southron soldier knew 'twould be no chil- dren's play: Like mountain eagles forth they dashed, tore Southron banners down And picked the deathly laurels to strew their native town. How dear to those their city, how pure the country air, For floods of blood have saved it from ruin and despair; And those that sleep so far away where Southron waters pour We shall cover them with flowers and love forevermore. Another road of somber shade leads to the distant West, W'here men all worn with cares of life go forth to quiet rest; They cross the tranquil prairie and by the mountains dream. They gaze upon the landscape and linger by the stream. Who would not love to wander far o'er the Western sphere, Where skip in pride o'er the divide the antelope and deer? Oh, tall and ragged mountain and oh, deep gorge and glen, You hold in mvstic wonder the minds of able men. Another road strays northward, where mossy lowland lies, Where flow the icy brooklets through the Indian's paradise. The trees are trimmed in beauty by Nature's magic palm, The lakes in peace do slumber with bosom soft and calm. Here snow falls deep in winter and sleighbells loudly ring When o'er the route men gayly shout from fall till early spring; And as the lily decks the woods the farmers deck the hills. And smoke does rise up to the skies from many scattered mills. And o'er this road the farmers come in blessed harvest time With golden sheaves and yellow corn and fruit from tree and vine; Unto our college come their sons as young and brave as they When first they hewed the yellow oak or plowed the virgin clay. 63 C. A. Ginvers'' Residence. And near our stately capitol within its massive shade Does stand a noble statue that some gifted sculptor made; But more gifted than that sculptor and twice beloved and dear Is the true, devoted statesman he has carved in marble here That hero looked beyond the toil with hopes serene and great; While he loved his home and nation he idolized his state; He smiled upon the cities and rural homes of rest And for the gallant soldier boy soft heaved his tender breast. 64 While gazing in his visage our eyes we can't control, For the love of state and country liows from our inner soul: Each message that is chiseled is earnest, true and just: Thev echo through the ages while he moulders in the dust. The sire and his children through all the future years Will look with admiration and turn away in tears. Oh. Blair, so true and gallant! No pen can ever praise The man who gave his labor to make our peaceful days. There are fair and pleasant mansions around the stately square Filled with those who labored to plant those pillars there; And may the happy children be true and strong of mind And take the high positions their parents leave behind. Oh, fair, fair is the city and silent is the stream That thrills the pulse of statesman and paints the poet's dream. Mav \outh and charming maiden feel noble, wise and great When falls the benediction from the mother of the state. Jlrcund Cittic Craverse Bay. I know a pretty city on a bay not far away, Petoskey fair and quiet, the travelers always say: Around its shores at midnight we hear the shout of mirth And close by, almost, a river arises from the earth. There strays the pleasure seeker from office, store and school, To breathe the cleansing breezes and drink its waters cool; Here rich and noble people from many mansions stray To spend in Nature's bosom the sultry summer day. There mighty pine are tossing and cool is the cedar shade And straight the brown old tamarack and all is Nature made; How loath we are in leaving when autumn settles gray O'er the crimson hills that shelter Petoskey on the bay. ' The bay is so majestic in soft and quiet rest. The bav is so majestic in soft and quiet rest And kissed by golden sunbeams that come there from the west: And man\' brooklets empty into its waters clear, Where swims the duck so graceful and drinks tlie nimble deer. Around this pretty city is a wilderness of joy For man of age and reason and little maid or boy; The hunter lights his fire, the fisher baits his hook. There sit the happv lovers and watch the flowing brook. And nestled on the bay where sinks the golden sun between Charlevoix and Harbor Point Ba}' View is easy seen, Where men and women gather in Nature's cool retreat In the auditorium to listen to lectures rare and sweet; And there on Sabbath mornings their sacred voices blend, When every leaf around them nods a soft amen. Oh, lecturers so welcome and ministers so kind, May all who hear your voices some golden lesson hnd. Some wander thro' the forest until the day is spent, Then in a moisty valley they pitch their little tent; And just as day is breaking the first May morning beam Behold the early tourist is fishing in the stream. '■Behold the early touidst is fishing in the stream.^'' ^^'llo would not call this pastime to play with Nature-s child Through all the woodsy valleys in pleasures strange and wild, To follow up the river as curves it in and out, To pick the fat young partridge and fry the speckleti trout? A faithful child of Nature could never wander there, Behold its woods and waters so placid and so fair, But some deep inspiration does thrill him night and day Which shows a living picture of summer cities on the bay.