Nesbitt Memorial Library Journal, Volume 9, Number 3, September, 1999 Page: 176
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Nesbitt Memorial Library Journal
Portraying with an artist's eye,
Scotia's majestic scenery.
And when with many a moral fraught,
Miss Edgeworth gently led,
To Springs where oft repeated draught,
Each childish grief allayed,
It seemed as 'twere my mother's breast,
Where I might lay my head and rest.
And Dickens thou the paradox,
How oft beyond belief,
Thy genius laughter now provokes.
Then melts the soul to grief;
How oft you've lured me with your wiles,
To mingle childhood's tears and smiles
And when arose that noble band,
Evoked by England's bard.
Great Shakespeare, whose conceptions grand
Earth's choicest souls have stirred,
How has my fancy wild been caught
With flashes from that master thought.
'Twere vain! I could not name each one,
The tender, and the true,
Whose music, like the harp's sweet tone
Enchantment o'er me threw:
But still above their silent lore,
Their presence hovers, as of yore.
25. The Old Brigade (published in Ida
Raymond, ed., Southland Writers. Biographical
and Critical Sketches of the Living Female Writ-
ers of the South (Philadelphia: Claxton,
Remsen & Haffelfinger 1870))
26. Rippling Waves (dated April 1870. pub-
lished in unknown newspaper, date unknown)
They sat beneath the lamp-light's glow,
He was dark and she was fair,
And chess was the game that they played, but O
Often a furtive glance he threw
At her rippling waves of hair.
And she, with looks bent on the game,
Seemed not to mark the roving glance,
But her cheek bore a blush of maiden shame,
And it told that treacherous "tell-tale" flame,
Her dream of soft romance.
Rippling waves of golden hair
Sparkled in the lamp-light's glow,
Around her forehead, without compare,
Over her shoulders, so snowy fair,
To her waist, in billowy flow.
Now on the board with eager look,
Where kings and queens, in mimic war,
With knights and bishops their lances broke,
They gazed, while not a word was spoke
By each would-be conqueror.
But Fate was there with mystic spell,
And silently her web she wove,
And the maid's bright hair as it waving fell
She knew would soon his heart impel
To her mesh, whose woof was love.
"Check-mate!" he cried, "you've lost at last."
But she, with meek, unconscious air,
Was smiling at Fate, who with wise forecast,
In her golden mesh had caught him fast,
Entangled by her hair.
27. The Prairie Plume (dated May 30, 1870,
published in unknown newspaper, date un-
Across the bright, green prairie wide,
Our car glides swiftly on
Towards the West, where calmly sinks
The slowly setting sun,
Which now with softest radiance glows,
As o'er the world his light he throws,
Then sinks into a long repose,
Here’s what’s next.
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Nesbitt Memorial Library. Nesbitt Memorial Library Journal, Volume 9, Number 3, September, 1999, periodical, September 1999; Columbus, Texas. (texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth151407/m1/48/?q=nesbitt%20memorial%20library%20journal: accessed August 17, 2017), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Nesbitt Memorial Library.