Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/527

1850-60.] of the late Rufus W. Griswold. It embraced most of the compositions named above, and others of very decided merit. "Azlea, a Tragedy," the most lengthy of her productions, is a composition marked by the true dramatic instinct, which, while it carries along the thread of the story, with a firm hand, weaves in, with a subtle perception of the fitness of position and scene, the lights and shades of character, which awaken a living personal interest in the drama. It was written in 1846.

In the year 1853 Miss Fuller was married to Jackson Barritt, of Pontiac, Michigan, to which State she had removed in 1852. In 1855 Mrs. Barritt removed to the far West, in quest of that "New Atlantis" which speculators would fain have us believe lies west of the Missouri. In the excitement and hardships of a pioneer life the poet had little incentive to write; yet she was maturing in those experiences through which all must pass who truly and fully penetrate the great mysteries of character and life. We find in her later poems—among which we may mention "Passing by Helicon," "The Palace of Imagination," "Autumnalia," "Moonlight Memories"—a profound sense of circumstances and realities of existence, which shows how her mind has labored with itself.

Mrs. Barritt has been drawn into the great literary, as it is the great commercial, metropolis of the Union, New York City, like other leading writers, of whom the West has reason to be proud. Mrs. Barritt is engaged upon various literary labors, contributes to our leading magazines both prose and poetry, and, should her life be spared, will prove one of our most successful and serviceable authors.

THE POST-BOY'S SONG.

night is dark and the way is long,

And the clouds are flying fast;

The night-wind sings a dreary song,

And the trees creak in the blast:

The moon is down in the tossing sea,

And the stars shed not a ray;

The lightning flashes frightfully,

But I must on my way.

Full many a hundred times have I

Gone o'er it in the dark,

Till my faithful steeds can well descry

Each long familiar mark:

Withal, should peril come to-night,

God have us in his care!

For without help, and without light,

The boldest well beware.

Like a shuttle thrown by the hand of fate,

Forward and back I go:

Bearing a thread to the desolate

To darken their web of woe;

And a brighter thread to the glad of heart,

And a mingled one to all;

But the dark and the light I cannot part,

Nor alter their hues at all.

Now on, my steeds! the lightning's flash

An instant gilds our way;

But steady! by that dreadful crash

The heavens seemed rent away.

Soho! here comes the blast anew,

And a pelting flood of rain;

Steady! a sea seems bursting through

A rift in some upper main.

'Tis a terrible night, a dreary hour,

But who will remember to pray