Edward Rowland Sill was born at Windsor, Connecticut, in 1841. In 1861 he was graduated from Yale and shortly thereafter his poor health compelled him West. After various unsuccessful experiments, he drifted into teaching, first in the high schools in Ohio, later in the English department of the University of California. The Hermitage, his first volume, was published in 1867, a later edition (including later poems) appearing in 1889. His two posthumous books are Poems (1887) and Hermione and Other Poems (1899). Sill died, after bringing something of the Eastern culture to the West, in 1887. OPPORTUNITY This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream:- A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords And thought, "Had I a sword of keener steel- And ran and snatched it, and with battle-shout And saved a great cause that heroic day. Sidney Lanier Sidney Lanier was born at Macon, Georgia, February 3, 1842. His was a family of musicians (Lanier himself was a skilful performer on various instruments), and it is not surprising that his verse emphasizes-even overstresses-the influence of music on poetry. He attended Oglethorpe College, graduating at the age of eighteen (1860), and, a year later, volunteered as a private in the Confederate army. After several months' imprisonment (he had been captured while acting as signal officer on a blockade-runner), Lanier was released in February, 1865. After studying and abandoning the practise of law, he became a flute-player in the Peabody Symphony Orchestra in 1873 in Baltimore, where he had free access to the music and literature he craved. Here he wrote all of his best poetry. In 1879, he was made lecturer on English in Johns Hopkins University, and it was for his courses there that he wrote his chief prose work, a brilliant if not conclusive study, The Science of English Verse. Besides his poetry, he wrote several books for boys, the two most popular being The Boy's Froissart (1878) and The Boy's King Arthur (1880). Lanier ranks high among our minor poets. Such a vigorous ballad as "The Song of the Chattahoochee," lyrics like "The Stirrup Cup" and parts of the symphonic "Hymns of the Marshes" are sure of a place in American literature. Lanier died, a victim of tuberculosis in the mountains of North Carolina, September 7, 1881. SONG OF THE CHATTAHOOCHEE1 Out of the hills of Habersham, I hurry amain to reach the plain, Split at the rock and together again, Far from the valleys of Hall. 1 From Poems of Sidney Lanier. Copyright, 1884, 1891, 1916, by Mary D. Lanier; published by Charles Scribner's Sons. By permission of the publishers. All down the hills of Habersham, High o'er the hills of Habersham, The hickory told me manifold Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall Deep shades of the hills of Habersham, And oft in the hills of Habersham, The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook-stone And many a luminous jewel lone -Crystals clear or acloud with mist, Ruby, garnet and amethyst Made lures with the lights of streaming stone In the beds of the valleys of Hall. But oh, not the hills of Habersham, Avail: I am fain for to water the plain. Downward, to toil and be mixed with the main, And the lordly main from beyond the plain Charles Edward Carryl Charles Edward Carryl, father of the gifted Guy Wetmore Carryl (see page 92), was born in New York City, December 30, 1842. He was an officer and director in various railroads but found leisure to write two of the few worthy rivals of the immortal Alice in Wonderland. These two, Davy and the Goblin (1884), and The Admiral's Caravan (1891), contain many lively and diverting ballads as well as inspired nonsense verses in the manner of his famous model. C. E. Carryl lived the greater part of his life in New York but, on retiring from business, removed to Boston and lived there until his death, which occurred in the summer of 1920. ROBINSON CRUSOE'S STORY The night was thick and hazy Carried down the crew and captain in the sea; For they never, never found 'em And I know they didn't come ashore with me. Oh! 'twas very sad and lonely When I found myself the only Population on this cultivated shore; But I've made a little tavern In a rocky little cavern, And I sit and watch for people at the door. I spent no time in looking For a girl to do my cooking, As I'm quite a clever hand at making stews; Just to keep the tavern tidy, I have a little garden That I'm cultivating lard in, As the things I eat are rather tough and dry; Prickly pears, and parrot gizzards, The clothes I had were furry, And it made me fret and worry When I found the moths were eating off the hair; And I had to scrape and sand 'em And I boiled 'em and I tanned 'em, Till I got the fine morocco suit I wear. I sometimes seek diversion In a family excursion With the few domestic animals you see; And we take along a carrot As refreshment for the parrot And a little can of jungleberry tea. |