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January, 1891. Mr. O'Beirne's poetic productions are very dissimilar in theme and treatment; many of them are inlaid with a sympathy which is strongly characteristic of his nature. During the seventies he published two satires which, like the majority of such work, were doomed to premature oblivion. Mr. O'Beirne is an unmarried man. J. P.

To poesy I am a friend,

I go with fancy linking, And all my airy knowledge lend

To aid the poet's thinking.

Deem not these little eyes are dim

To ev'ry sense of duty;
We owe a certain debt to Him

Who clad this earth in beauty;


And therefore I am never sad,

A burden homeward bringing, But help to make the summer glad

In my own way of singing.

When idlers seek my honied wine,

In wantonness to drink it,
I sparkle from the Columbine

Like some forbidden trinket.

Some men are reason-proof, and Richard Brown
Was never yet convinced, nor argued down.
Conclusive to a fault, he did not choose
That any theory should change his views.
“If airth was round,” he said, “as some folks tell,
We'd fall off somew'eres-mebbe into hell.
That's all too thin; needn't tell Dick Brown
That us here people travels upside down.”
A learned friend, with most polite excuse
Presuming, offered to make known his views.
“Allow me to explain,” he said. “The cause
Is simply proven by attraction's laws;
An illustration see before you spread;
Yon house-fly on the ceiling overhead.
Behold the greater body draws the less.
Convincing logic, is it not? Confess.”
And thus his friend by force of reason tried
Full many proofs; when finished Dick replied:
“The proofs is good, I must allow you that;
But all the same I b’lieve the airth is flat."

Oh, thoughtless man! if all your tact

And power to me were given, I would not wound by word or act,

The things beloved of heaven.

That so I should not fear the close,

The final rest before me, But lay me 'neath some gorgeous rose

Its dewdrops weeping o'er me.


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They came to us as children come

To bless our lonely lives,
And blest is he who hath one hope

That all the rest survives.
For ah! the saddest gifts are they

That God did ever send,
When hopes that we have cherished long

Desert us in the end.

An end to all our plotting and scheming

And fighting hard against fate's decree; 'Twere better our lives were spent in dreaming 'Neath the marvellous moon by the murmuring

sea; 'Twere better thus as the seasons roll Than to feed the flesh and famish the soul. How Godlike the sun in its rising glory,

The earth how fair—but these sights grow old; Such themes are threadbare in song and story, Let us bow down and worship the God-head

gold. What a God! what a creed! sublimer far The heathen that worshippeth moon and star.


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Quoth Nelly “the will of the Lord be done,
And I shall therefore become a nun,
And bestow a life of wedded love
On Him who beckons to me from above.
The world is sown with seeds of care,
That blossom around us everywhere;
But I know that the dove of peace doth brood,
In the house of the Holy Sisterhood.
No-never a sigh shall my heart set free
When the doors of the world are closed on me,
And nothing is left to profane the eye,
But a rood of earth and a span of sky.
To the world's vain pleasures a long farewell;
Far dearer the chimes of the vesper bell
To the heart of the Bridegroom's chosen one;
So shall the will of the Lord be done.”

But a long farewell to familiar faces,

And now to experience a change of heart; To herd henceforth with barbaric races

A thousand miles from the cities mart. A lonely camp where the mustangs troop To the banks of the rolling Guadaloupe.

Here-here are the gifts of God's free giving

Inscribed upon Nature's liberal face; Yea! here is a life that is worth the living;

How the heart expands in the heat of the chase, While goring the ribs of the indolent plain With a fiery hoof and a reckless rein.

Now truly a happier man am I,

Though the hair be gray on my upper lip, And never a dollar as yet laid by,

Climbing the hills on some aimless trip; Aye! happier breathing this mountain air Than Wall Street's wealthiest millionaire.

The years flew on as they always fly,
The same green earth, and the same blue sky;
The same old seasons came 'round again
With light and shadow, with sun and rain;
The same soft feet of the summer showers
Went forth on their mission to heal the flowers,
(Like the gentle sisters who bring bright cheer
To the beds of the sick from year to year).
The same Creator above us bent,
Sprinkled our sorrows with sweet content,
And willed that his blessed peace should brood
O'er the house of the Holy Sisterhood.
The same sweet bell at the evening time
Rang out the beautiful vesper chime;
And the will of the Lord was duly done, -
But Nelly—she never became a nun.



Oh! let it never more be said, Our lives are far apart;

Despite the law, we two are wed Who claim a kindred heart.


By whom can we be dispossessed On earth-in heaven above;

Can aught divide us—we who rest Upon each other's love?

"Getting and spending we lay waste our lives."-Wordsworth. We lavish our lives in getting and spending

In reaching to rise or fearing to fall,
In years of losing and years of lending

And for the rest-care nothing at all.
A little remorse but we soon outgrow it
And the end comes on us before we know it.

Thou gav'st thine all without regard To self,—nor gave amiss;

The love that seeketh no reward There is no love like this.


Thou art beloved, and from this hour, Let peace perch on thy brow,

Misfortune hath no subtle power To separate us now.


Tho' far apart, we two are one, Our hearts are ever near;

The sorrows thou hast wooed and won, But make thee doubly dear.

If scorned by men, and lost to those, The loved of early days,

And left to pine unto the close, Or walk in darksome ways,

I'd share thy path. The chast'ning rod Would doubly prove me true;

If thou wer't lost to man and God. Then would I perish too.

If thou wer't in the gloomy grave, There also would I be

Low bending o'er thy form to crave, Love-room to lie with thee.

ENJAMIN F. SEE was born near Lebanon,

Ohio, on the farm where his father, who was from one of the old families of Virginia, had found a home among the first settlers of that locality, as early as 1808.

He had the early education which falls to boys in the country,

large knowledge of farm life and work, and a small knowledge of books; yet with the instinct of a student, he aspired to better things than the country school furnished, and at the age of twenty he found his way to the Ohio Wesleyan University. His work there was honorable to himself and satisfactory to his friends, and in 1856 he was graduated in the classical course.

Mr. See had aspired to a learned profession, but his overtaxed eyesight changed the course of his life, and instead of the law he entered into business vocations; first that of real estate, and then that of farming. From the old homestead in Warren county he moved in 1876 to Wood county, Ohio, where he has since resided, on a beautiful farm.

In 1860 he married Miss Melissa C. Priest, a lady of culture and a pupil in the Ladies' College, in Delaware, while Mr. See was pursuing his studies in the university, in the same town. His marriage has been eminently a happy one. A son and daughter were born from this union.

During the Civil War Mr. See's patriotism was shown in all loyal directions. He volunteered in the Sixty-ninth O. V. I., but was discharged at Camp Dennison on account of defective eyesight, and he was also one of the "Squirrel Hunters' who mustered in 1862 to save Cincinnati from the expected attack of the enemy.

Of this exciting time Mr. See has written a lengthy poem, which, however, has not been published.

W. G. W.

Living or dead,-beneath, above, By every right divine,

That's based upon the laws of loveI hold that thou art mine.

I care not whose the prior claim, Or in whose trust thou art;

No legal tie, nor change of name, Can counterfeit a heart.



To me all men are much the same,

Their aims and purposes alike; The good repute, the evil fame,

The brawny arm, that's wont to strike; The feebler hand that wields the pen, The homespun and the broadcloth men; All these are merely passers by;

But let one step from out the throng, The soul's flashed light'ning in his eye,

In very scorn for human wrong, And lo! I am beside my friend, Come life, come death until the end.

- The Wanderers in the West.


Freemen extol your Washington, Whose name adored still stands alone,

Entwined with Liberty! Who with a true and well-tried band Set free his own loved native land,

From threats of Tyranny.
Tho' ages long may pass away
And nations fall, “ Empires decay,"

While thrones turn into dust,
His name a watchword still will be,
Defender of our Liberty,

And cherished by the just.

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What tho’ye search thro' hidden love
Of by-gone years, the names of yore

Renowned, to view unfold! And then compare with Washington! “ His name will blend these names in one"

Of sages, heroes old!
He fought not for an honored name
Tho' on his brow were marks of Fame

As if from Nature's hand-
Ah no! he e'en refused a throne
Declaring that he fought alone

To free his native land.


Well may ye Freemen shout in songs
His name, one who avenged your wrongs

And gained the glorious day!
Then spread your starry banner high
The emblem of our Liberty

Now furled to every sky.

Then cherish well Mt. Vernon's tomb
The Freeman's shrine, where e're shall bloom

Fresh flowers of memory!
Where rests a Hero, Statesman, Sage,
Whose name will live thro' every age

Of Freedom's history!
A conqueror “unstained with blood”
His deeds were bold, and great as good,

He truth and wisdom loved;
In peace he lived a spotless life,
In war a Victor, and in strife,

Undaunted, and unmoved.

Each passing moment some frail mortal

To the Destroyer yields his breath, And enters the wide-open portal

To endless life, or endless death. Onward, still on the foe is coming,

Concealed by midnight's gloomy hour,
Or else abroad at noonday roaming,

Invisible, yet felt his pow'r;
No one can tell when it's approaching

With steps as silent as the grave;
Invading hut, palace, encroaching,

And laying low both king and slave. Onward, still on! the way make ready,

The fell Destroyer 'll soon be here; While stalwart men with steps yet steady,

Staring aghast, turn pale with fear; For when the cheek begins its paling,

The death-dews settle on the brow, And poisoned vapors still inhaling,

The weary frame soon is laid low. Onward, still on the deep, deep ocean

Must have its victims to enwave, While through the earth a wild commotion

Is made by marchers to the grave. The beaten path they still are treading,

Which all the dead have trod before, While pale disease her ruin spreading,

Makes desolate each fertile shore. Onward, still on! our days are fleeting,

Ah! fleeting as the passing cloud; The sum of life is e'er repeating,

“Man's days are few,” in accents loud. And yet mankind are busy seeking,

A shorter journey to the tomb, Though fate in thunder tones are speaking,

“They come, the rushing millions come!” Onward, still on! the dead and dying

Are scattered now from shore to shore, While in the East red war is crying,

Crying for human victims more. In every clime disease is raging,

And linked with war goes hand in hand, While famime some dire wrath presaging,

Threatens to devastate the land.

Posterity will speak his praise
While Poets sing in Epic lays

His deeds worthy of Fame;
His star of glory ne'er will set,
For Freemen never can forget

Their benefactor's name!
And long while yon proud banner waves
Her stars and stripes o'er hallowed graves

Where rest our Fathers now,
And ages still on ages roll
His name on Fame's long written scroll

Will brighter, brighter glow!


Onward, still on! yet never ceasing,

The eager multitudes still come, While every day is still increasing

The travelers to the open tomb! List then, and hear the mighty tramping,

Proclaiming that we all must die; For on the grave there's no encamping,

Each one must pass its threshold by.

ONWARD, still on the grave is yawning,

Aye, to receive earth's mighty dead; The day is come, the night is dawning,

When Death with millions must be fed.

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