WILLIAM L. VISSCHER

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William Lightfoot Visscher, poet, was born at Owingsville, Kentucky, November 25, 1842. He was educated at the Bath Seminary, Owingsville, and graduated in law from the University of Louisville, but he never practiced. He was a soldier in the Civil War for four years. Colonel Visscher—which title he did not win upon the battlefield!—has been connected with more newspapers than he now cares to count; and he has written hundreds of verses which have appeared in periodicals and in book form. He is the author of five novels: Carlisle of Colorado; Way Out Yonder; Thou Art Peter; Fetch Over the Canoe (Chicago, 1908); and Amos Hudson's Motto. The first of these is the best known work he has done in prose fiction. His Thrilling and Truthful History of the Pony Express (Chicago, 1908), filled a small gap in American history. A little group of biographical sketches and newspaper reminiscences, called Ten Wise Men and Some More (Chicago, 1909), is interesting. Colonel Visscher has also published five books of verse: Black Mammy; Harp of the South; Blue Grass Ballads and Other Verse (Chicago, 1900); Chicago: an Epic, and his most recent volume, Poems of the South and Other Verses (Chicago, 1911). The colonel is also a popular lecturer; and he has actually put paint on his face and essayed acting. He is a poet of the Old South, one reading his verse would at once conclude that not to have been born in Kentucky before the war, one might as well never have lived at all. He is a versified, pocket-edition of Mr. Thomas Nelson Page; and while he has not reached the sublime heights of true poesy, he has written some delicious dialect and much pleasing verse. Proem, printed in two of his books, is certainly the best thing he has done hitherto.

Bibliography. The Century Magazine (July, 1902); Who's Who in America (1912-1913).

PROEM[30]

[From Poems of the South and Other Verse (Chicago, 1911)]

In the evening of a lifetime
While the shadows, growing long,
Fall eastward, and the gloaming
Brings the spell of vesper song,
Fond memory turns backward
To the bright light of the day,
Where joys, like troops of fairies,
Gaily dance along the way,
Full-armed with mirth and music,
Driving skirmishers of care
Howling, back into the forest,
And their dark, uncanny lair.
So the pastures of Kentucky,
And the fields of Tennessee,
The bloom of all the Southland
And the old-time melody;
The vales, and streams, and mountains;
The bay of trailing hounds;
The neigh of blooded horses
And the farm-yard's cheery sounds;
The smiles of wholesome women
And the hail of hearty men,
Come sweeping back, in fancy,
And, behold, I'm young again.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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