  William F. Marvin, "the latter-day drunken poet of Danville," was born at Leicestershire, England, in 1804. He emigrated to America when a young man, and made his home in the little town of Danville, Kentucky. Marvin was a shoemaker by trade, but verse-making and bacchanalian nights were his heart's delight and perfect pleasures. He was a well-known character in Danville and the surrounding country, and many are the old wives' tales they tell on the old poet to this day. On one occasion, while in his cups, of course, he attempted suicide, using his shoe knife on his throat, but he was finally persuaded that a shoe knife could be put to far better purposes. Marvin served in the Mexican War, and on his return home, he published his first and only book of verse, The Battle of Monterey and Other Poems (Danville, Kentucky, 1851). The title-poem, The Battle of Monterey, is a rather lengthy metrical romance of some forty or more pages; but the "other poems," called also "miscellaneous poems," extend the book to its 219 pages. A few of these are worthy of preservation, especially the shorter lyrics. Marvin's book is now extremely rare. The writer has located not more than six copies, though a large edition was printed by the poet's publisher, Captain A. S. McGrorty, who is still in the land of the living. During the closing years of his life Marvin contributed occasional poems to the old Kentucky Advocate, the Danville newspaper, his last poem having appeared in that paper, called The Beauty, Breadth, and Depth of Love. William F. Marvin died at Danville, Kentucky, July 12, 1879, and was buried in the cemetery of the town. To-day his grave may be identified, but it is unmarked by a monument. His verse certainly shows decided improvement over the rhymes of Thomas Johnson, but both of them were imperfect
EPIGRAM [From The Battle of Monterey and Other Poems (Danville, Kentucky, 1851)] A bee, while hovering round a lip, Where wit and beauty hung, Mistook its bloom, and flew to sip, But ah, the bee got stung. THE FIRST ROSES OF SPRING [From the same] Ye are come my sad heart to beguile, In the blush of your beautiful hue; The fairest and welcomest flowers that smile, Within the wide arch of the blue. From Araby odors ye bring, And ye steal the warm tints from the sky, And scatter your pearly bright beauties in spring, As if nature ne'er meant you to die. The soft crimson blush of each lip, 'Mong the green leaves and buds that abound Seems pouting in richness, and parted to sip The dew that is falling around. Ye bow to the breath of the Morn, And cover his wings with perfume; And woo the gay bee in the earliest dawn, Ye have brought back the passion of love, For a moment to warm my lone breast, And pointed to undying roses above, That smile through eternity's rest. SONG [From the same] Air—Here's a health to One I love dear. Here's a bumper brimful for our friends, And a frown and a fig for our foes; And may he who stoops meanly to gain his own ends, Never know the sweets of repose. Though folly and ignorance join, To blight the young buds of our fame, Their slander a moment may injure the vine, But its fruits will be blushing the same. Then here is a bumper to truth, May its banners wave wide as the world, And a fig for the mortal in age or in youth Who has not its banner unfurl'd. |
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