Although Dunbar is remembered largely for his dialect verse, it was never his intention to concentrate on dialect. His poems in pure English constitute the greater bulk of his verse, and that to which he was most passionately devoted. The tragedy of his life was that the world “turned to praise the jingle in a broken tongue.” His friendship for Booker Washington and a visit to Tuskegee inspired him to write the Tuskegee School Song, which is sung to the tune of “Fair Harvard.” The famous criticism of _Majors and Minors_ by William Dean Howells in _Harper’s Weekly_, June 27, 1897 established Dunbar’s prestige as an important figure in American literature. From that time his success was assured. He was married to Alice Ruth Moore of New Orleans, a teacher in Brooklyn, N. Y., in March, 1898. He was as indefatigable a writer of prose as of poetry; short stories, novels, criticism, essays and some short plays poured from his pen. His published works, exclusive of the two volumes of verse mentioned above, are: _Lyrics of Lowly Life_, _Lyrics of the Hearthside_, _Lyrics of Sunshine and Shadow_; several smaller volumes, illustrated editions of poems in the preceding volumes; short stories, _Folks from Dixie_, _The Strength of Gideon_; novels, _The Uncalled_, _The Fanatics_, _The Love of Landry_, _The Sport of the Gods_. He died in Dayton, Ohio, February 9, 1906. _Alice Dunbar Nelson._ ERE SLEEP COMES DOWN TO SOOTHE THE WEARY EYES[1] Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes, Which all the day with ceaseless care have sought The magic gold which from the seeker flies; Ere dreams put on the gown and cap of thought, And make the waking world a world of lies,-- Of lies most palpable, uncouth, forlorn, That say life’s full of aches and tears and sighs,-- Oh, how with more than dreams the soul is torn, Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes. Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes, How all the griefs and heartaches we have known Come up like pois’nous vapors that arise From some base witch’s caldron, when the crone, To work some potent spell, her magic plies. The past which held its share of bitter pain, Whose ghost we prayed that Time might exorcise, Comes up, is lived and suffered o’er again, Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes. Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes, What phantoms fill the dimly lighted room; What ghostly shades in awe-creating guise Are bodied forth within the teeming gloom. What echoes faint of sad and soul-sick cries, And pangs of vague inexplicable pain That pay the spirit’s ceaseless enterprise, Come thronging through the chambers of the brain, Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.