LATER PERIOD

HENRY VAN DYKE

1852

ONE of the most variously gifted literary men of the present day is Dr. Henry van Dyke. He was born in Germantown, Pennsylvania, and was graduated from Princeton. Afterward he studied theology both at the Princeton Theological Seminary and in Berlin. For many years he held the pastorate of the Brick Presbyterian Church in New York city, and he has been moderator of the Presbyterian General Assembly. Since 1899 he has held the Murray professorship of English literature at Princeton.

Sev

Dr. van Dyke's intellectual activity extends over many fields. eral volumes on religious subjects have come from his pen, and one of his earlier books is an appreciative study of the poetry of Tennyson. In very recent years he has devoted much time and attention to storytelling and to poetry. His verse always possesses sprightliness and delicacy of imagination and shows unusual skill in the handling of metrical forms. His stories are marked by a love of "God's blessed outof-doors," and by a refinement and warmth of feeling—always clothed in apt and musical language — which make them highly effective. Dr. van Dyke has an enviable reputation as a forceful pulpit orator and as an extremely pleasing lecturer on literary subjects.

IN LUCEM TRANSITUS, OCTOBER, 1892

FROM the misty shores of midnight, touched with splendors of the moon,

To the singing tides of heaven, and the light more clear than noon, Passed a soul that grew to music till it was with God in tune.

1 From The Builders and Other Poems. Copyright, 1897, by Charles Scribner's Sons.

Brother of the greatest poets, true to nature, true to art;

Lover of Immortal Love, uplifter of the human heart,

Who shall cheer us with high music, who shall sing, if thou depart?

Silence here for love is silent, gazing on the lessening sail; Silence here for grief is voiceless when the mighty minstrels fail;

Silence here — but, far beyond us, many voices crying, Hail!

AN ANGLER'S WISH1

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I

WHEN tulips bloom in Union Square,
And timid breaths of vernal air

Go wandering down the dusty town,
Like children lost in Vanity Fair;

When every long, unlovely row
Of westward houses stands aglow,

And leads the eyes towards sunset skies
Beyond the hills where green trees grow,

Then weary seems the street parade,
And weary books, and weary trade:

I'm only wishing to go a-fishing;
For this the month of May was made.

ΙΟ

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II

I guess the pussy willows now
Are creeping out on every bough

Along the brook; and robins look

For early worms behind the plow.

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1 From The Builders and Other Poems. Copyright, 1897, by Charles Scribner's

Sons.

The thistle birds have changed their dun
For yellow coats, to match the sun;

And in the same array of flame
The dandelion show's begun.

The flocks of young anemones

Are dancing round the budding trees:
Who can help wishing to go a-fishing
In days as full of joy as these?

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III

I think the meadow lark's clear sound
Leaks upward slowly from the ground,

While on the wing the bluebirds ring
Their wedding bells to woods around.

The flirting chewink calls his dear
Behind the bush; and very near,

Where water flows, where green grass grows,

Song sparrows gently sing, "Good cheer."

And, best of all, through twilight's calm
The hermit thrush repeats his psalm.

How much I'm wishing to go a-fishing
In days so sweet with music's balm!

ΙΟ

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IV

'Tis not a proud desire of mine; I ask for nothing superfine;

No heavy weight, no salmon great, To break the record- or my line:

Only an idle little stream,

Whose amber waters softly gleam,

Where I may wade, through woodland shade, And cast the fly, and loaf, and dream:

Only a trout or two, to dart

From foaming pools, and try my art:

No more I'm wishing - old-fashioned fishing,
And just a day on Nature's heart.

THE SONG SPARROW1

THERE is a bird I know so well,

It seems as if he must have sung
Beside my crib when I was young;
Before I knew the way to spell

The name of even the smallest bird,
His gentle-joyful song I heard.

Now see if you can tell, my dear,

What bird it is that, every year,

Sings "Sweet-sweet — sweet—very merry cheer."

He comes in March when winds are strong,

And snow returns to hide the earth;

But still he warms his heart with mirth,
And waits for May. He lingers long
While flowers fade; and every day
Repeats his small, contented lay;

As if to say, we need not fear
The season's change, if love is here
With "Sweet·

sweet- sweet — very merry cheer."

He does not wear a Joseph's coat

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Of many colors, smart and gay;

His suit is Quaker brown and gray,

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And yet of all the well-dressed throng

With darker patches at his throat.

Not one can sing so brave a song.

1 From The Builders and Other Poems. Copyright, 1897, by Charles Scribner's

Sons.

It makes the pride of looks appear
A vain and foolish thing, to hear

His "Sweet-sweet — sweet — very merry cheer."

EUGENE FIELD

1850-1895

AMERICA has produced no more popular writer of verse for children than Eugene Field. He was born in St. Louis, Missouri, of New England ancestry, and died at Chicago, in the prime of his powers. His education was received at Williams College and at the University of Missouri. His vocation was journalism. He did work for newspapers at St. Louis, Kansas City, and Denver, and during the last years of his life he was connected with the Chicago Daily News. He found time to write several volumes of charming stories and verse. His untimely death has been sincerely deplored. He was sunny in temper and possessed a nimble imagination and a facile pen.

WYNKEN, BLYNKEN, AND NOD1

WYNKEN, Blynken, and Nod one night

Sailed off in a wooden shoe,

Sailed on a river of crystal light

Into a sea of dew.

"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"

The old moon asked the three.

"We have come to fish for the herring-fish

That live in this beautiful sea;

Nets of silver and gold have we,”

Said Wynken
Blynken,

And Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,

As they rocked in the wooden shoe;

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1 From With Trumpet and Drum. Copyright, 1892, by Mary French Field. Published by Charles Scribner's Sons.