Chapter III

To put a good thought, a tender sentiment, a passionate emotion into faulty words is to defile it. Does a precious stone acquire an added value from a setting of brass? Is a rare and excellent wine better when drunk out of a gourd?

In Herman Scheffauer’s first book, _Of Both Worlds_, are two little poems of such naturalness, simplicity and beauty that I hardly know of anything better in their kind. My purpose in quoting them here is, partly, to bring them to the attention of those who may be unfamiliar with Mr. Scheffauer’s work, but chiefly to suggest to the “dialect poets” that they undertake to give them an added charm by rewriting them in their own manner.

THE SLEEPERS

The winds lie hushed in the hill
And the waves upon the seas;
The birds are mute and still,
Deep in their dreaming trees;
The earth lies dumb in night,
And the stars in their degrees
Sleep with the suns in space,
With angels, with seraphs bright,
In the light of God His face.

Softly lie the heads
Of the sleepers in their beds;
But the sleepers in the ground—
They alone sleep sweet and sound,
They alone know rest profound.
Fear not—soon a rest as deep
Comes to thee—thou, too, shalt sleep.

MISERERE

The last few prayers are done,
The pall and shroud are spread;
Seven tapers at thy feet
And seven at thy head.

Thy hands are crossed upon
Thy bosom white where now
Thy heart is stilled. O Death,
How beautiful art thou!

CRIME AND ITS CORRECTIVES