Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/668

 GHANYILLE M. BALLAE.D. Granville Mellen Ballard was born at Westport, Oldham county, Kentucky, on the thirtieth day of March, 1833. His father was a physician. Granville enjoyed excellent opportunities for education in boyhood, and graduated in the scientific de- partment of Asbury University, at Greencastle, Indiana, in July, 1851. He has courted the Muses since his boyhood, and has contributed poems to Eastern, Southern and Western magazines and newspapers. His poems are all carefully constructed, and some of them are distinguished for mellifluous rhythm. The poems selected for this volume find place here, not because they are his best poems, but because they possess local interest as well as poetic merit. The " Ballad of Gnarlwood Tree " is an original contribution to this work. Mr. Ballard is now the principal teacher in the Institution for the Deaf and Dumb at Indianapolis. He gives his leisure to a poem entitled " The Village Politician," which he proposes to publish before the expiration of the present year. WHERE? — HERE. Where doth the sunlight linger latest ? Where ? Where doth Diana smiling meet us ? Where doth Delphinus nightly greet us ? Where ? Where doth the early primrose bloom ? Where doth the pink exhale perfume ? Where do the shadows bring no gloom ? Oh! Where? Where hath the sky the softest blue ? Where hath the grass the greenest hue ? Where doth the night distil her dew, Into the lap of the sullen yew ? Where? Where? Where do the waters murmuring low, Reflect the sunset's golden glow ? Where do the springs forever flow ? Where do the winds most softly blow ? Where doth moss on the hill-sides grow ? Where? oh! Where? ( 652 ) Where do ivy and woodbine cling, To the twisted trunk of the forest king ? Where doth the blue-jay loudly sing? Where is the lark first on the Aving ? Where doth the robin early bring Her brood of young in the vernal spring ? Where ? Where ? Not in the cold and dreary North, Whence Boreas sends her children forth ; Nor yet beneath those Southern skies, Where withered flowers shut their eyes ; Nor in the old and fobled East, Where adders in the palace feast. But here, oh soul that panteth, rest Beneath the blue skies of the West; Here find that ocean deep and wide O'er which the bark of life may glide — Nor wind, nor wave, nor aught beside Can give to hope an ebb or tide — Here.