320 CATHERINE A. WARFIELD, [1840-50. A friend, personally acquainted with Mrs. Warfield, to whom we wrote for infor- mation concerning her literary efforts and accomplishments, concludes his reply with the following remarks, which both the writer and the subject of them must excuse us for incorporating in our sketch in full : Although the larger portion of the two volumes published jointly by the two sisters, belonged to Mrs. Warfield, her best writings have not yet appeared in book form. Within the last two years, at the special request of the editor of the Louisville Journal, she has published in the columns of that widely-known and ably-conducted paper, quite a number of poems, manifesting a higher art. pervaded by a loftier spirit and moved by a deeper feeling, than most of her previous productions. One of the pieces of this period is the " Atlantic Telegraph, which has been extensively republished and justly admired; another, the graceful and beautiful verses entitled " Thunder in Spring," and a third, a touching monody on the death of a youthful and beautiful relative. But with the privilege of an old friend, I have had the pleasure of looking into the escritoire of Mrs. W., and it affords me great pleasure to say that the best productions of all which have yet come from her pen, are still in manuscript. The poems that speak most of her inner life, and do the most credit to her genius, are yet held sacred from the intrusion of the common eye. They breathe the spirit of a subdued will, a chastened imagination, and a beautiful repose. Thoy throb with feeling, arouse with energy, swell with emotion, and subdue by their pathos. A poem of much length, upon which I may take the liberty of saying that Mrs. Warfield has been engaged at times for the past two or three years, will, when published, establish her reputa- tion among the writers of our country who stand highest in the department of poetry. It is a well- constructed story, of a simple but effective plot, filled with passages of strength and beauty, re- markable for its condensed vigor, and giving ample evidence of the possession by its author of dramatic talent, and sustaining power. THE RETURN TO ASHLAND. Unfold the silent gates, The Lord of Ashland waits Patient without, to enter his domain ; Tell not who sits within, With sad and stricken mien, That he, her soul's beloved, hath come again. Long hath she watched for him, Till hope itself grew dim, And sorrow ceased to wake the frequent tears ; But let these griefs depart. Like shadows from her lieart — Tell her, the long expected host is here. He comes — but not alone, For darkly pressing on, The people pass beneath his bending trees, Not as they came of yore, When torch and banner bore Their part amid exultmg harmonies. But still and sad they sweep Amid the foliage deep, Even to the threshold of that mansion gray, Whither from life's unrest, As an Eagle seeks his nest. It ever was his wont to flee away. And he once more hath come To that accustomed home, To taste a calm life never offered yet ; To know a rest so deep, That they who watch and weep. In this vain world may well its peace regret. O never more his hall Shall echo to the fall
