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Then straightway say me,
'Twixt happiness and bleak despair
You tantalize and hold me there-

Why will you tease me so ?

The day is sure to come, proud maid,

Yes sure, indeed, to come,

When those who slight love's proffered feast
Shall languish for a crumb;
When each will sigh, "How sad am I,
Since Love and Joy have passed me by!"
That day will surely come.

And so be warned in time, my dear,

This warning heed in time,
Lest you, as years go swiftly by-

'Tis reason well as rhyme

May one day lack the chance to choose;
The maid who plays at fast and loose
Must needs be warned in time.

She decks her generous breast with garlands gay That early Autumn sees spread o'er the landA wealth of Goldenrod.

Glad Goldenrod!

When some pure maiden, copying Mother Earth, Above her spotless bosom lets thee rest; Culled though thou art-what pain is it not worth A brief hour there to lie! Thou'rt truly blest, Contented Goldenrod!

Sad Goldenrod!

Leaning storm-beaten o'er a lonely grave,
With heart as sere and dead as his who walks
Beside it vainly striving to be brave,

While cold blasts whistle 'mongst the rattling


Heartbroken Goldenrod!


FOUR holy sisters after matin song

In somber garb go down the city street;
Three stern, austere, the gay world's glances meet;
The other, slight and beautiful and young,
Like some sweet wild-flower withered leaves among,
Her girlish pleasures all too soon resigned,
In duty's path leaves coquetry behind.
And yet-Ah, well! she scarce can deem it wrong,
So pure is she and so devoid of guile,

When, as we pass, she gives me smile for smile.
But this I see, with downcast, blushing face,
She signs the cross and walks with quickened pace.
Cheered by that smile, I gladly go my way
And she-to penance all the dreary day!


HERE'S Goldenrod!

Filling the corners of the zigzag rails, Gilding the borders of the dreary way, Spread in profusion over hills and dales, Dear to the sight as to glad Earth the day; Bright, yellow Goldenrod!

Fair Goldenrod!

The waving feather-fronds on stalks of green
Rise out of sterile and forbidding soil;
As, with the sweetest heart and purest mien
Unsullied grows some child of sin and toil
Fair as the Goldenrod.

Bright Goldenrod!

The untold treasures Earth holds hid away Are far surpassed when, with a lavish hand,


An airy wish

For a dainty maid:
Laces and silks

For her dress parade,

Matinee tickets, caramels,

Hearts by the score at her small feet laid, Silver tongues for her wedding bellsThere is a wish for a dainty maid.

A serious wish

For a matron staid;

A tiny baby

In white arrayed;

Dimpled cheeks, roguish eyes,

To her yielding breast warm, soft lips laid, Sorrows to soothe with lullabies

There is a wish for a matron staid.


THE germ of poesy within his breast
To active life from latent being springs,
Lifts up its voice in melody and sings
The songs of life and love at his behest.

The wars and conquest of great heroes old,
The annals of the gay and festive town,
The fulsome praise of men who buy renown,
All these by other lips than his are told.


Though while he live no voice than his hath sung
His songs, and though no kindly eye hath read,
Yet he shall live when all the rest are dead
And in men's hearts shall be forever young.



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R. MCGRATH was born in Syracuse twentyone years ago. After leaving behind him the life of a student, he traveled extensively, and on returning home, began his journalistic career on the Syracuse Standard. Here he soon became well known through his humorous sketches, and verse de société. On leaving the Standard he published a humorous weekly after the style of Life. He disposed of this soon, and went to Chicago where he joined the editorial staff of the Chicago Evening Mail. His poems and short stories in this breezy sheet were soon looked for by the exchange editors throughout the country. Through this work he received offers to go to New York, and for a time wrote literary letters to Chicago papers from that city. Literary and telegraph editor of the Albany Times-Union, was his next venture, and after nearly two years at that, he drifted back to his native town and became connected with the Syracuse Journal. He started a column in the Saturday edition under the caption of "the Idler's Corner," which met with instant success. Beside this work Mr. McGrath occupies the position of sporting and dramatic editor of the Journal. .Mr. McGrath is a very unassuming, genial young man, well liked by all who know him.

A. J. W.

I'll ask her, by the stars above me,

If all is well or lack-a-day;

And if she whispers this: "I love thee!"Adorable Penelope!


THE veil of twilight settles low
And all the world hath gone to rest;
The moon flings down its silvered glow,
And purple lines the hazy west.

Soon Heaven's ether swarms with light,
Gleaming from each tranquil star,
And twilight bows to mystic night,
Fair Dian threads the woods afar.

And yet while thou art near to me,

How dim is night, its glories, ah, how small! And when thou sayest I am dear to thee,

Thou art a light, a star above them all!

Whose hand hath gentler touch than thine?

Who hath in heart a love so strong and pure? Though Heaven's light shall fail, thy light will shine And will through all eternity endure!

Good-night! Rest thou upon the poppy's breast
As like the mortal that thou art, and more,
Thy slumbers soft should be thrice blest
Since Love and I guard at thy door.


PENELOPE, O witching maiden!
So partial to the meadow lanes,
Her pouting lips are richly laden

With kisses dipped in berry stains;

She laughs and frowns-there's nothing in it!— Uncertain as an April day,

Her moods they change 'most every minute, Adorable Penelope!

Penelope, O witching maiden!

She roams beneath the rural skies, Amid the woods all violet laden,

Reflections of her azure eyes!

A careless swing she gives her basket,
When from her lips a kiss I pray,

And mocks me thus: "Why do you ask it?”
Adorable Penelope!

Penelope is very heartless,

Of sighing swains she has a score; And yet she is so very artless

I can not scorn-I must adore!



GOOD-NIGHT! Good-night, you rogue! Away

To lands of dreams where tiresome day

Is known to none. Away with thee!

Go dream of dolls, of sweets (and me)! For peace I've none while you're at play.

Your song is shrill, your laugh is gay; You romp the house in disarray

From morn till night, you busy bee! Good-night! Good-night!

My muse and I, in vain we pray
For solitude; thoughts go astray
With you awake and on my knee.
I have a thought, you have a plea-
But what care you for thoughts, you ray?
Good-night! Good-night!

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HELD. A translation of Tennyson's poem, "To Sleep," into German was made by Prof. Ernst Held and sent to the laureate. Mr. Held also wrote that he was about setting the poem to music, and enclosed copies of several of his compositions. By return mail Prof. Held received the following acknowledgment:


Lord Tennyson begs to thank Mr. Ernst Held for what appears to him-a good translation of "To Sleep"-also for his musical compositions. MARCH 3rd. 1891.

"Awake, awake! was written as a counterpart to Tennyson's "To Sleep, to sleep," which is herewith given.


To sleep, to sleep! The long bright day is done And darkness rises from the fallen sun.

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DAY. Mr. Day's first venture in book form was "Lines in the Sand," published in 1878. In 1880 he issued "Thor: a Lyrical Drama," in 1883, "Lyrics and Satires," and "Poems" in 1888.

HARLOW. In 1884 Mr. Harlow published a work entitled "Early English Literature, from the day of Beowulf to Edmund Spencer," and in 1890 a book of poems, "Songs of Syracuse." He has just issued from the press of Charles Wells Moulton, Buffalo. "Columbia Redeemed from Slavery; The Story of America's Civil War."


THE MAGAZINE OF POETRY, Buffalo, N. Y., offered a Prize of $50.00 for the best Quatrain, subject Music, submitted for publication on or before March 1 st, 1894. All subscribers in good standing were eligible to compete.

In response to the above offer over 500 quatrains. were submitted. A literary committee, of which Henry A. Van Fredenberg was the chairman, selected the forty-five quatrains printed. Each of our subscribers were earnestly requested to elect, in the form of a vote, the quatrain he considered the best, and forward votes to this office on or before May 10th.

Quatrain Number seven, by Charles E. Markham, of San Francisco, Calif., received the greatest number of votes, 76 being cast for it.


1. Margaret A. Logan. 2. George W. Wakefield. 3. Jasper Barnett Cowdin. 4. Clara H. Mountcastle. 5. Mary Woodward Weatherbee. 6. John C. Ochiltree. 7. Charles Edwin Markham. 8. Florence Earl Coates. 9. N. W. Rand. 10. James B. Kenyon. II. Sara Groenevelt. 12. Edith Willis Linn. 13. I. Arthur King. 14. Kate Goode. 15. Alice Hamilton Rich. 16. Libbie C. Baer. 17. Mrs. B. C. Rude. 18. J. W. Chace. 19. George Bancroft Griffeth. 20. Mary H. Leonard. 21. Lucy Creemer Peckham. 22. Mrs. C. C. Bateman. 23. H. Augusta Howard. 24. Sarah Louise Morris. 25. Juliette A. Owen. 26. Clara Hapgood Nash. 27. Lettie C. Bigelow. 28. Sarah Stokes Walton. 29. N. F. Carter. 30. Kathleen Kavnaugh. 31. Matthias Sheeleigh. 32. Henry O. Sibley. 33. M. T. Bailey. 34. T. Berry Smith. 35. Howard Carleton Tripp. 36. J. V. H. Koons. 37. J. Barnett. 38. Emma B. Dunham. 39. John R. Benson. 40. Laura Rosamond White. 41. Frances M. O. Smith. 42. Fanny H. Fowler. 43. M. M. Teagar. 44. Albert B. Wilcox. 45. Mrs. M. P. A. Crozier.

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