1878II Indiana Poets 



poem "Bereaved,"^ with the remark that he thought 

 it "perhaps the best of his brood." In 191 5 I visited 

 him "in Lockerbie Street," already the Mecca of 

 Indiana poets. He was then about sixty-two years 

 old, unable to rise from bed and near his end; but 

 his friendly personal interest and kindly relation to 

 the world he was leaving had in no degree abated. 



Another Indiana poet, not of Indianapolis, how- Thompson 

 ever, was Maurice Thompson, a man of force and 

 scholarship but less personal charm than the inimi- 

 table Riley. Once at my request he also wrote out 

 for us two stanzas from the best of bis brood — 

 "To the Grand Army of the Republic." 2 



Poets of various grades seem to spring up spon- 

 taneously in Indiana. Alvin Heiney, a student of 

 mine, in a bit of verse asked for no wings or harp 



1 Let me come in where you sit weeping, — ay, 

 Let me, who have not any child to die, 

 Weep with you for the Httle one whose love 

 I have known nothing of. 



The little arms that slowly, slowly loosed 

 Their pressure round your neck; the hands you used 

 To kiss. — Such arms — such hands I never knew. 

 May I not weep with you.' 



Fain would I be of service — say something, 

 Between the tears, that would be comforting, — 

 But ah! so sadder than yourselves am I, 

 Who have no child to die. 



* I am a Southerner, 

 I loved the South and dared for her 

 To fight from Lookout to the sea 

 With her proud banner over me. 



But from my lips thanksgiving broke 

 When God in battle thunder spoke, 

 With that black demon breeding drouth 

 And dearth of human sympathy, 

 Blown hellward from the cannon's mouth. 

 While Freedom cheered before its stroke. 



C 137 1 



