We feel that the names of some of these courageous and happy pioneers should be given in this volume, together with brief selections from some of their works. Some of the verses here given will show sure sense of rhyme and pleasing balance and reserve. Some have, it is true, little to commend them but the evident longing to express the song that was in the soul rather than on the lips. But who can say how much the more successful ones, who have won deserved fame and plaudits, owe to the more obscure who sought, with more meagre measure of success, to show that there is poetry and song and story in Wisconsin? POEMS OF A DAY. A Collection of Fugitive Poems Written Among the Cares and Labors of Daily Journalism. By A. M. THOMSON. (Then Editor of the Sentinel), Milwaukee, 1873. DEATH OF GOVERNOR HARVEY Bow down thy head, O Commonwealth, 'Tis fitting now for thee to weep; Thy hopes lie buried in the grave, In which our chieftain is asleep. The flags at half mast sadly droop, The bells toll out a solemn wail, As on the southern breeze there comes, With lightning speed, the sick'ning tale! O, dreadful night! O, fatal step! O, rushing river's angry tide! Was there no quick, omniscient arm To save a life so true and tried? Breathe, lofty Pines, his requiem; Sing paeans in thy forest gloom; And ye, ye Prairies, that he loved, Bring Flora's gems to deck his tomb. O, State, bereft of him you loved, O, Mother, from thy loving breast, Our friend and brother, statesman, chief, At noon, sinks calmly to his rest! We cannot hide these scalding tears, But kiss in trust this chast'ning rod; Though reason sleeps, faith is not blind, But sees in all the hand of God. BALLADS OF WAR AND PEACE. By J. H. WHITNEY, Baraboo, Wisconsin. THE MUSTER ROLLS When treason, veiled in fair disguise, And clad in robes of state, Invoked the sword to cut the ties That made a nation great, Wisconsin sounded the alarm, And beat the battle-drum: Men heard from office, mill and farm, And answered, "Lo! we come." Down from the rugged northern pines, Up from the eastern coast; From riverside and southern mines, Comes forth the loyal host. From Gainesville thru the wilderness They march with fearless tread, And leave behind, as on they press, An army of the dead. * * * Beneath the blue--above the green, Mid flowers of fairest hue, We honor now with reverent mien, The men who wore the blue. The story of the rolls is told. The records, worn and gray, Like veterans, are growing old, And soon shall pass away.