HENRY C. WOOD
Reading edition
Henry Cleveland Wood, novelist and verse-maker, was born at Harrodsburg, Kentucky, in January, 1855. His mother was a writer of local reputation. In 1874 Mr. Wood's poems and stories began to appear in English and American magazines; and he has continued his work for them until this day. Seven of his novels have been serialized by the following publications: Pretty Jack and Ugly Carl (The Courier-Journal); Impress of Seal and Clay (New York Ledger, in collaboration with his uncle, Henry W. Cleveland, author of a biography of Alexander H. Stephens); The Kentucky Outlaw, and Love that Endured (New York Ledger); Faint Heart and Fair Lady (The Designer); The Night-Riders (Taylor-Trotwood Magazine); and Weed and War (The Home and Farm). Of these only one has been issued in book form, The Night Riders (Chicago, 1908). This was a tale of love and adventure, depicting the protest against the toll-gate system in Kentucky years ago, with a brief inclusion of the more recent tobacco troubles. Mr. Wood's verse has been printed in Harper's Weekly, Cosmopolitan, Ainslee's Magazine, The Smart Set, The Youth's Companion, and other periodicals. Two of his librettos, The Sultan's Gift and Amor, have been set to music; and at least one of his plays has been produced, entitled The Pretty Shakeress. Mr. Wood conducts a little bookshop in his native town of Harrodsburg.
Bibliography. Blades o' Blue Grass, by Fannie P. Dickey (Louisville, 1892); Illustrated Kentuckian (November, 1894).
THE WEAVER
[From The Quiver (London, England)]
The sun climbed up the eastern hills, And through the dewy land Shot gleams that fell athwart the rills That sang on every hand. Upon the wood and in the air There hung a mystic spell, And on the green sward, every where, Soft shadows lightly fell. And in a cottage where the bloom Of roses on the wall Filled all the air, there was a loom Well built of oak and tall. All through the fragrant summer day A maiden, blithe and fair, Sat at the loom and worked away, And hummed a simple air;— "Oh! idle not, ye leafy trees, Weave nets of yellow sun, And kiss me oft, O! balmy breeze, My task is but begun." Still higher in the hazy sky The sun climbed on and on, And autumn winds came rushing by, The summer's bloom was gone; Now sat a mother at the loom, The shuttle flew along, With whirr that filled the little room Together with her song;— "O! shuttle! faster, faster fly, For know ye not the sun Is climbing high across the sky, And yet my work's not done?" The sun shot gleams of amber light Along the barren ground, And shadows of the coming night Fell softly all around. And in the little cottage room From early dawn till night, A woman sat before the loom With hair of snowy white. The hands were palsied now that threw The shuttle to and fro, While as the fabric longer grew She sang both sweet and low;— "Half hidden in the rosy west I see the golden sun, And I shall soon begin my rest, My task is almost done!" The spring again brought joy and bloom, And kissed each vale and hill; But in the little cottage room The oaken beam was still. The swaying boughs with rays of gold Wove nets of yellow sun, And cast them where a headstone told— The weaver's task was done.