pow'r devise;
No higher tribute to his name and fame
From us could rise.

POETICAL INTERPRETATIONS

By ELIZABETH FRY PAGE

TO MACDOWELL

Now, in the darkness, mute, from hour to hour,
Sits one who lov'd all life, and from the strings
Of well-tuned harp brought sounds of common things,
And sang of sea and wood and tree and flow'r.
His task all done, fled usefulness and pow'r,
Through the deep shade his uncurbed fancy wings,
While with his fame his proud land loudly rings,
And praise falls on his work in lavish show'r.

The rosemary we bring, and no rude hand
The laurel would withhold, the plaudits stay.
For him is seen the magic circled wand
That to creative genius points the way.
His music's bold, true note Time's test will stand.
His age in art begins with cloudless day.

A.D. 1620

Exiled from home, for sake of faith held dear,
To distant shores the Pilgrim Fathers turned.
Their grief-stung hearts for Freedom's blessing yearned,
Where persecution's lash they need not fear.
In stately ships they sailed the ocean drear,
And more of trial and of hardship learned;
But in their loyal bosoms still there burned
Religious zeal that lent heroic cheer.

One hundred souls from Mother England came,
And many days fared on a storm-tossed sea,
Men, women, children, to be known to Fame
For braving death for sacred Liberty.
To our bleak, shelt'ring port they gave a name,
And marked an epoch in our history.

SONG

A merry song the pilgrim sang
To check the sigh of pain,
At thought of leaving his dear home
He ne'er might see again.
'Twas o-ho-ho and ah-ha-ha,
He laughed and sang alway;
When comrades' eyes were filled with tears,
Or sad heads turned away.

A cheery song, a merry song,
As o'er Life's sea we sail,
Will send a thrill of courage new
To hearts about to fail.
So sound a note, oh singer brave,
Whate'er your own soul's pain;
When time repeats its echo sweet,
'Twill bless your life again.

IN DEEP WOODS

A solitary soul, I walk at eve
Without the village walls, and in the deep
And sacred hush of woods, where fairies sleep,
Calm Nature soothes my senses, and I live
In realms that only creatures can conceive,
Who with their holy guardian spirits keep
Firm faith, and into loving arms I creep,
And mundane cares no more my spirit grieve.

Cool breezes blow about m