: Kentucky in American Letters 1784-1912. Vol. 1 of 2 by Townsend John Wilson Allen James Lane Author Of Introduction Etc - American literature Kentucky Bio-bibliography; Authors American Homes and haunts Kentucky; American literature Kentucky; Kentucky Lite

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nati paper his account of the late elections in Kentucky. The production may be viewed as a fair specimen of his "fine literature, his drollery, strong powers of sarcasm," and, above all, his "poetical capacity." The respect and attachment he displays toward Kentucky , must be exquisitely gratifying to the respectable portion of Mr. Clay's friends in this city. To them we commend the letter of Mr. Prentice as an erudite, chaste, and veritable production, worthy of the "great editor" who is hereafter to figure as Mr. Clay's champion in the West. We may, moreover, congratulate them in consequence of the fair prospect before them; for with the aid of such an editor they cannot fail to effect miraculous revolutions or revulsions in the political world. The occupants of all our fish markets will be confirmed in their devotion to the opposition beyond redemption.

WILLIAM O. BUTLER

"Halcyon prophecies come to pass In the haunts of the bream and bass;"

and if the song of Butler, the soldier-poet of Kentucky--

"Oh, boatman, wind that horn again! For never did the joyous air Upon its lambent bosom bear So wild, so soft, so sweet a strain"--

THE BOATMAN'S HORN

Delighted, Nature drank the sound, Enchanted, Echo bore it round In whispers soft and softer still, From hill to plain and plain to hill, Till e'en the thoughtless frolic boy, Elate with hope and wild with joy, Who gambolled by the river's side And sported with the fretting tide, Feels something new pervade his breast, Change his light steps, repress his jest, Bends o'er the flood his eager ear, To catch the sounds far off, yet dear-- Drinks the sweet draught, but knows not why The tear of rapture fills his eye. And can he now, to manhood grown, Tell why those notes, simple and lone, As on the ravished ear they fell, Bind every sense in magic spell?

There is a tide of feeling given To all on earth, its fountains, heaven, Beginning with the dewy flower, Just ope'd in Flora's vernal bower, Rising creation's orders through, With louder murmur, brighter hue-- That tide is sympathy! its ebb and flow Give life its hue, its joy, and woe.

Music, the master-spirit that can move Its waves to war, or lull them into love-- Can cheer the sinking sailor 'mid the wave, And bid the warrior on! nor fear the grave, Inspire the fainting pilgrim on the road, And elevate his soul to claim his God.

Then, boatman, wind that horn again! Though much of sorrow mark its strain, Yet are its notes to sorrow dear; What though they wake fond memory's tear? Tears are sad memory's sacred feast, And rapture oft her chosen guest.

HEW AINSLIE

THE BOUROCKS O' BARGENY

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