What Robert Burns did for the Scottish cotter and the Reverend William Barnes has done for the English farmer, Will Carleton has done for the American--touched with the glamour of poetry the simple and monotonous events of daily life, and shown that all circumstances of life, however trivial they
may appear, possess those alternations of the comic and pathetic, the good and bad, the joyful and sorrowful, which go to make up the days and nights, the summers and winters, of this perplexing world. Like his prototypes, he infuses into his work the most eloquent and touching pathos, constantly relieved by irresistible touches of jocularity, and twines the mingled thread of mirth and sorrow with a dexterity that enthralls the reader.
There are few modern poetical productions that show by their well-thumbed pages and shabby covers that they have moved the hearts by their pathos, or stirred them as the trumpet-like lines of Macaulay and Aytoun did a generation
since. One of these few is Carleton--who sprung suddenly into popularity and took his place at a bound in the front rank of those writers who have achieved success by their sympathetic treatment of the homeliest subjects.
He was born in 1845, near Hudson, Michigan, where his father,--one of the pioneers of Lenawee County,--had cleared a farm, on which five children were born to him and reared in the usual pursuits of farm life. Under the wise guidance of his parents Will developed an amazing appetite for learning and plodded daily five miles to obtain tuition at the nearest high school. At the age of sixteen he utilized his attainments in teaching others, and thus secured the means of defraying his expenses at Hillsdale College, whence he graduated June 17, 1869, delivering on that occasion his exquisite poem "Rifts in the Cloud," republished in "Farm Legends," which is well worthy committal to memory by aspiring students. He had previously acquired considerable popularity by the production of a political poem entitled "Fax," and some other stirring poems, notably one, "Forward," in which occurs the line
"A million men have lived good corses all their lives,"
published under the nom de plume of "Paul Pillow"; he added to his reputation by the production of the beautiful lines, "Cover them Over," which has ever since been a favorite recital on Decoration days. "How Betsey and I Made Up" confirmed the popularity obtained by "Betsey and I Are Out," since which time Mr. Carleton's pen has been industriously engaged in the production of
"Farm Ballads" (1873), "Farm Legends" (1875),
"Farm Festivals" (1881), "Young Folks' Centennial
Rhymes" (1876), his last production (1885) being
"City Ballads," most probably the result of his residence in Chicago and Brooklyn. This book is dedicated "to
Adora, friend, comrade, lover, wife."
In 1871 the poet's corner of the "Toledo Blade" contained a poem on which the diffident author had not ventured to set a price, modestly supplying it as a gratuitous contribution. Its success was phenomenal. The vigilant eye of George William Curtis saw at once the merit of the poem, and "Harper's Weekly" promptly republished "Betsey and I Are Out," with numerous characteristic illustrations. The authorship, which had been claimed by scores of pretenders, was by this definitely attributed to Will Carleton, then only about twenty-five, and employed as editor of the "Detroit Weekly Tribune."
Mr. Carleton's writings are more varied than many would anticipate from the homely tone of the verses which have made him famous. The poem,
"Three Links of a Life," is full of dramatic power and abounds in rare and felicitous descriptive word-painting. For example:
"When the rough-clad room was still as sleek,
Save the deaf old nurse's needle-click,
The best of the grave clock in its place,
With its ball-tipped tail and owl-like face,
And the fron tea-kettle's droning song
Through its Roman nose so black and long
The mother lifted her baby's head,
And gave it a clinging kiss and said:
* * * * * *
"Although thou be not Riches' flower
Thou nest one,
Yet thou hast come from Beauty's bower
Thou sweet one!
Thy every smile's as warm and bright
As if a diamond mocked its light;
Thy every tear's as pure a pearl
As if thy father was an earl,
Thou nest one, thou sweet one!"
* * * * * *
"The midnight rested its heavy arm
Upon the grief-encumbered farm;
And hoarse-voiced Sorrow wandered at will,
Like a moan when the summer's night is still;
And the spotted cows, with bellies of white,
And well-filled teats all crowded awry,
Stood in the black stalls of the night,
Nor herded nor milked, and wondered why.
And the house was gloomy, still, and cold;
And the hard-palmed farmer, newly old,
Sat in an unfrequented place,
Hiding e'en from the dark his face;
And a solemn silence rested long
On all, save the cricket's dismal song."
A good example of his pathetic power is afforded by his poems,
"The Good of the Future" and "The Joys that Are
Left." They possess the merit of being free from vagueness and obscurity affected by most metaphysical verse-makers.
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