The Poets and Poetry of Cecil County, Maryland Part 40

MRS. ROSALIENE ROMULA MURPHY.

Mrs. Rosaliene Romula Murphy, daughter of John and Hannah Mooney, was born in Philadelphia, May, 1, 1838, and married Thomas H.P. Murphy, son of John C. and Ann Rothwell Murphy, and grandson of Hyland Price, of Cecil county, on the 18th of May, 1858. Her education was obtained at a school taught by the Sisters of Mercy, and at the public schools of her native city.

Immediately after her marriage Mrs. Murphy came to Cecil county, and for ten years resided near the head of Bohemia river; subsequently she has resided in Middletown, Delaware, in Chester county, Pennsylvania, and for the last ten years in Philadelphia. Mr. and Mrs. Murphy are the parents of eight children, four of whom are now living.

From early childhood Mrs. Murphy has shown a remarkable apt.i.tude for literary work, and when quite a little girl at school, frequently took the highest average for composition. She commenced to write for the press at an early age and while in this county contributed poetry to the columns of the local newspapers and some of the journals of Wilmington and Philadelphia.

WOMAN'S RIGHTS.

Woman has certain rights I own, That none will dare deny; No king nor senate can destroy Her claims,--nor will they try.

'Tis hers to smooth the homeward path Of age,--her strength their stay; To guide their feeble footsteps here,-- To brush life's thorns away.

'Tis hers to make a sunny home, To cherish and support With love, the one who claims her heart, Through good and bad report.

To watch the tiny sleeping babe, Just nestling in her breast, To s.h.i.+eld it with her mother-love, And guard it in its rest.

To watch in vigils of the night, The fever-tossed frame; To cool the dry, and parched lips, And ease the racking pain.

To close the eyes when all is o'er, To weep with those who weep; To help the weary in their task, Keep guard whilst others sleep.

To love and cherish, guard, protect, Make home a sunny spot-- Keep ever pure her mother name, A name not soon forgot!

To win and wear her husband's love, As an honored, cherished crest; To hold her children's hearts, so "they Will rise and call her bless'd."

To n.o.bly share the widow's woe, To dry the orphan's tears, To pray for strength for hearts oppress'd, And help allay their fears; To reach a helping, loving hand, To those who go astray, And woo them back again to G.o.d, As they faint along the way.

She claims but loving trusting hearts!-- Let all their wealth be shown!-- No law can take, nor ballot give The jewels of her crown!

These, these, are all a woman's rights-- Quite easy to attain-- For most she governs, it is said, "When least she seems to reign."

ONLY A BABY.

My way was stopped, as I hurried on, A carriage pa.s.s'd--and again 'twas clear, But my glance took in the tiny box, And the mourners bending near.

"Only a baby"--was lightly said-- As I safely crossed the street, But my heart went with the little group, With their darling at their feet.

"Only a baby,"--G.o.d but knows The mother's bleeding heart; And the father's white, sad face would tell, How hard it is to part.

"Only a baby!" what a void, In a merry, cheery home; An empty cradle, a half worn shoe; And a mother's broken tone.

"Only a baby!" the aching eyes Look out on the busy street, And fall on other laughing babes, And the silent form at her feet.

"Only a baby!" a desolate home, Those stricken hearts will know, When they lay their darling down to rest, 'Neath the willows bending low.

"Only a baby!" how cold it seemed To speak of the angel near,-- My heart went after the snowy form.

For its parents I breathed a prayer: "Only a baby!" ah, the weary day And the sleepless night, The feverish longing--the aching heart-- For the baby gone from sight!

"Only a baby!" the heart sobs out, What hopes lie shatter'd here, The broken bud--the tiny frame, An angel hovering near.

"Only a baby!"--the years creep by-- 'Twill ever be, tho' locks be gray; Growing no older--only their babe; As years before it pa.s.sed away.

TO HELEN,

ON WRITING A SECOND TIME IN HER ALb.u.m.

You plucked a grey hair from my head, To-day, as you stood near me: There's plenty more, that are deftly hid By wavy crimps,--I fear me.

'Tis many years since last I wrote, With fun, and spirits plenty; But now my fourth son has a vote, And my babe's not far from twenty.

Ah! so it goes; old time strides on, Nor cares for years, and worries, But knocks us here; and hits us there, As past us quick he hurries; We still are friends, and have our fun, In spite of years, and trouble; We've planted, reaped, and had our day.

And now we're in the stubble.

RACHEL ELIZABETH PATTERSON.

Rachel Elizabeth Patterson, better known as Lizzie Patterson, is the daughter of William Patterson and Sarah (Catts) Patterson, and was born in Port Deposit, February 2, 1820. She is also the granddaughter of an Englishman who settled on Taylor's Island, in Chesapeake Bay, where he owned considerable property, which by some means seems to have been lost by his family.

Her father at one time kept a clothing store in Port Deposit, where he died when the subject of this sketch was quite young, leaving a family of helpless children, who were soon scattered among strangers. Elizabeth was placed in a family residing a short distance south of the village of Rising Sun. While in this family she was seized with a violent illness, which confined her to bed for many months and from which she arose a cripple and a sufferer for life.

Her poetic talent began to manifest itself in those early days of suffering, and during subsequent years of confinement she found solace and recreation by composing her "Songs in Affliction," which about thirty years ago, in accordance with the advice of her friends, she published in a small volume bearing that name. The first edition consisted of eight hundred, and was so well received as to warrant the publication of another one of five hundred copies. In 1872 she published another small volume, ent.i.tled "The Little Streamlet," which contained some poems written since the publication of the first volume. Miss Patterson at present and for many years past has resided in Baltimore.

"JUDGE NOT!"

How, poor frail and erring mortal, Darest thou judge thy fellow-man And with bitter words and feelings, All his faults and frailties scan?

Why rake out from time's dull ashes, And before the world display Deeds, it may be, long repented And forgiven, ere this day?

Canst thou search his secret feelings?

Canst thou read his inmost soul?

Canst thou tell the hidden motives Which his actions here control?

Is he erring? seek in kindness, Then, to win him back to peace; Is he weak? oh try to strengthen; Sad? then bid his sorrows cease!

Lay thou not a heavier burden By an unkind look or word, On a heart which may by anguish To its inmost depths be stirred.

O! forbear thy hasty judging!

Should thy righteous G.o.d demand Half the justice which thy brother Is receiving from thy hand,

What, oh what would be thy portion, Though more righteous thou than he, Would not the glad gates of mercy Soon their portals close on thee?

THE WISH.