Rev. L. B. Gurley, D. D. 21
REV. L. B. GURLEY, D. D., Pioneer, Poet and Preacher.
BY N. B. C. LOVE, D. D. Rev. L. B. Gurley was born in Norwich Conn. He lived there seven and a half years, and learned his A B C's in the school |
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house where Lydia Sigourney, the poetess, conned her earliest lessons. His father was a silversmith and a Meth- odist local preacher. He worked in his fath- ear's shop and on the farm until he entered the ministry. During this time he had the advantages of winter schools, and a compre- hensive library of books of the very best Eng- lish literature, embracing history, biography, travels, romance, poetry and theology. He practiced a great deal in composition, both in prose and verse. He was the author of the |
first poem published in northwestern Ohio, in the fourth number of the "Sandusky Clarion." Dr. Gurley was a born poet. His talent evinced itself early. We do not know what his early advantages were. It is not the purpose of this article to narrate the incidents of his life. He was born of Irish parents. They came from Wexford county, Ireland, and were intelligent and possessed of considerable means. Of Mr. Gurley, as a poet, I write. Before me is a collection of his poems in manuscript, eighty in number. Only a few have been published. These are found in the "Ladies' Reposi- tory" of forty years ago, the "Western Christian Advocate," "Delaware Gazette" and other secular papers. They were writ- ten beginning in his early youth and the last one when over seventy years old. Several of the poems are epics of considerable length. There is continuity of thought in all his productions. His imagery is so true to nature that one continually recognizes it as something |
22 Ohio Arch. and His. Society Publications.
seen, heard, felt in the
observations and experiences of life. I
do not claim that his poems are
perfect, or that he is a great
poet, but a poet. I heard Bishop E.
Thompson speak of him
as the poet of nature, and regret that
he had given so little time
to the claims of the goddess of the
muses.
Judged by the arbitrary rules of English
versification he
may be open to adverse criticism, but by
the emotions awakened
in the soul as one reads his poems, he
will be honored as a
true poet of nature.
Had he given his life to literature he
would have been to
American poetry what William Wordsworth
was to the English,
bringing the infinite in nature within
the range of the vision of
the ordinary mind's grasp, and revealing
the ever varying beau-
ties of the visible world.
There is much real poetry not in verse,
and a vast deal
of verse that is not poetry. Indeed many
great poets have been
indifferent versifiers. There are
beautiful gems in his poems,
which awaken in the mind pleasing
emotions, and having read
them once, one wishes to read them
again.
He should rank with the poets who clothe
the common and
familiar with grace and beauty, and who
see the truth and
grandeur of things, although manifested
in common forms. Filled
with charity, benevolence and love, he
saw these continually in
his environment.
"His present mind was under
fascination, he beheld a vision
and adorned the thing he saw."
He was reared in northern Ohio, on the
Sandusky Bay,
and his eyes and ears were familiar with
the sights and sounds
of the lakes, rivers, forests and
prairies. The following, from
the poem, "To Sandusky
Plains," in pentameter, is full of truth
and beauty. We quote only a few lines.
It was the first poem
published in northwestern Ohio.
"Thy plains, Sandusky, and thy
green retreats,
Thy perfumed flowers and their opening
sweets;
How bright the scene to fancy's richest
glow,
As years shall roll and ages onward
flow,
And lofty groves in sweet suffusion
grow."
Rev. L. B. Gurley, D. D. 23
Then he described the "Winding
Stream Beneath the Leafy
Shade," on the bay:
"Thy Bay, Sandusky, lovely
murmuring deep,
Whose midnight rolling rocks thy sons to
sleep,
Thy waters pure our rock bound waters
lave,
And mingling join proud Erie's swelling
wave."
In the next stanza he speaks of the
proud steamers, and com-
pares them with the Indian's barque:
"Once was the light canoe thy only
pride,
Smoothe on the surface did it swiftly
glide,
Once did thy waves in heathen darkness
roar,
And thundering dash thy solitary
shore."
The concluding stanzas of the poem is a
prophecy of the
civilization that shall come to these
plains when men of a supe-
rior race shall "Improve these
wilds." His little poem entitled
"Erie" is very pretty:
"Bright lake roll on thy silvery
tide,
Thy voice is sweet to me,
How oft we've wandered by thy side,
And heard thy minstrelsy.
I love thy loudest thunderings,
When deepest tones are given,
Thou mighty harp of thousand strings,
Swept by the hand of Heaven.
Thy breezes fanned my youthful cheek,
Thy waters cooled my brow,
I've heard thee in anger speak,
And in thy murmurs low."
After describing the lake of a calm
summer evening he says:
"Thou mind'st me of that peaceful
rest,
The stormless scene of Heaven.
Here where my earliest prayers and vows,
First rose at evening,"
"I'll ne'er forget thy wave-worn
shore,
Where'er my feet may roam;
Thy sheltering rocks and midnight roar,
Close by my childhood home."
24 Ohio Arch. and His. Society Publications.
The spring he portrays with an artist's
hand.
He speaks of by-gone ages, of the
"Proud nations born and
passed away," over whom time
"has spread its pall of silence
o'er their fate, and left them wrapped
in mystery." Then he
tells of the Indians who were their
successors:
"Here plumed warriors from the
strife returned
Have gathered oft to cool their massive
brows;
Here wildwood maids in whose pure bosom
burned
Love's holy fire, have pledged their
solemn vows."
The following stanza is used preparatory
to a prophecy of
the future:
"MISSION OF THE SPRING."
Written by the side of the White Sulphur
Spring, Delaware, Ohio.
"The stars that watched thee in the
long ago,
Are nightly mirrored on thy bosom still,
Thus constantly thy pearly waters flow,
Thy heavenly appointed mission to
fulfill.
That mission now is linked with work
sublime
Of mental and moral culture high,
For faith and science here through
coming time
Shall light the lamp of true philosophy.
Full many a youth in manhood's early
prime,
Shall quaff delicious coolness from thy
breast,
And maidens fair at summer evening time,
Shall gather here in robes of beauty
dressed."
"Indian Summer on the Sandusky
Plains" is graphically
ortrayed; Tho. Buchanan Reed's
"Closing Scene" is not more
eautiful and true. I give only a few
lines:
"Now the Indian Summer reigns; that
autumn air
Is fanned by lazy winds. The yellow sun
Sheds soft and mellow light. The forest
now
Is draped in gorgeous robes of thousand
hues,
And wrapped in misty veils, and waves in
the breeze.
The noise of clattering blackbirds now
on wing
Is heard. The whirring pheasant echoes
from the grove.
The fattened squirrel leaps from limb to
limb,
And chatters saucily to passers-by;
While the proud woodcock with his crest
of flame,
Drums on the blasted tree; and deep and
far
The rattling echoes of the wood
resound."
Rev. L. B. Gurley, D. D. 25
He then tells of the "Graceful
swan" and the "Wild geese
which wedge-like cut the air," in
their southern flight, and the
wild pigeons which follow, "In long
and shadowy lines, for far
off climes."
Also of the various wild beasts, and
especially "The antlered
deer which leaps from the tangled
grass." As night comes over
this fine picture the pioneers are
startled; they see
"A sight terrific, beautiful and
sublime,
High towering smoke in darkened columns
whirle,
The flickering flashes of the fitful
flame,
Gild their black spirits with floods of
golden light."
He continues in this same strain,
delineating the prairie
fires, until one can see the
"Broad sheets of flame, borne on
the winged breeze,
Send forth their glazing rockets far and
wide around."
All hands are set to work firing the
prairie just outside the
fields where far out the
"Encountering billows meet in
conflict fierce-
As maddened by resistless height, they
leap,
And clash and tower and rush and wave on
high
Their fiery banners to the fitful
breeze."
After all is over the
"Field of conflict shows the naked
earth,
Like city sacked and burned, its glory
gone,
And not a withered blade or flower,
To wave the requiem of the pillaged
land."
"The Fair Fugitive" is a poem
of thirty-four stanzas. The
first verse is suggestive:
"Minnie was the lovely daughter,
Of a mother doomed to toil;
Where the white magnolia blossoms,
And the orange shades the soil."
Minnie was favored with a home in the
planter's family
where she was reared in luxury, and a
mind finely cultured re-
ceived all that art and science could
bestow. She had
26 Ohio Arch. and His. Society Publications.
"Auburn hair and lips of coral.
Afric's blood no eye could trace.
Sixteen summers had passed o'er her,
Girlhood's ripening charms were seen,
Passing lovely was the maiden,
Graceful form and gentle mien."
"Minnie's master was her
father." A lordly slaveholder with
plenty of money bought her, and when the
bill of her purchase
was given her, she for the first time
realized her sad fate. That
she was a slave
"As she read, a deathlike pallor,
Blanched her fair and virgin cheek,
Then one mighty soul-born struggle,
And she smiled submissive meek."
When the night came she sought the
fields and river, and
on its brink she left her jewels and her
best clothing, and hast-
ened on northward. The father, seeing
her clothes next day
supposed she was drowned, and filled
with remorse, threw the
money at the rich lordling's feet. For
many nights she traveled
onward and rested through the day,
"Till her weary limbs had borne her
From her native home afar."
"As she lay concealed one morning
A young sportsman passed that way,
And he spied the tall reeds waving
Where the trembling Minnie lay."
He fired into the "Wild Beasts'
lair" and wounded the
maiden. He carried her to his father's
house and after weeks
of careful nursing by mother and sisters
of the young man,
Minnie was well again, and became his
bride. Her father, hear-
ing of her, and of her marriage, sent
her freedom, and made
her his only heir. She was with him in
his dying hour, and
all her father's slaves were given her,
and then she freed them.
Afterward
"Happy Horace and his Minnie
Far from slavery, in their home;
Blest with children, wealth and honor,
Brightening joys around them
bloom."
Rev. L. B. Gurley, D. D. 27
No doubt during the first half of the
century Dr. Gurley
had seen and aided many slaves onward to
the land of freedom,
on the "underground railroad."
Perhaps the best descriptive poem is "Wapayana." This
maiden was the daughter of a chieftain
who dwelt on the San-
dusky. She was
"The fairest of the forest maidens,
With her tresses dark and long,
Peerless in her maiden beauty,
Child of genius and of song."
She would
"Sing the wild strains by minstrels
taught her,
Sing of deeds brave warriors wrought,
Sing of prairie flowers and forests,
Sing as whispering fancy taught,
And her tones were wild and witching,
Such as in sweet dreams we hear,
From the fairy isles of fancy
Softly floating on the ear."
A pioneer, formerly a man of wealth,
with his wife and only
daughter moved to the Sandusky. The
daughter was of rare
culture and excelled in singing and
playing the guitar. The
music of the guitar and singing of Orpha
attracted the atten-
tion of the Indian maiden as she
wandered along the Sandusky.
The two met and became fast friends, and
"Orpha taught the Indian maiden
How to touch the light guitar,
How to strike its sounding wires,
To sing of love and war."
After a while the Indian maiden,
Wapayana, became the
wife of a western chieftain. He took her
to his far off home,
in his bark canoe, to
"Rugged peaks where hemlocks tower,
Caverns vast and forests wild,
Where the eagle feeds his nestlings,
Where calm beauty never smiled."
28 Ohio Arch. and
His. Society Publications.
Two or three years had passed, and
Orpha, alone on a
summer evening with her guitar,
"Sought a lonely vineclad hawthorn,
Such as might have made the bower,
When the sinless pair of Eden
Lived their first and happiest
hour."
Then she sang the pioneer song:
"What though I have left the sweet
home of my childhood
Yet dear to my heart is its memory
still."
Ere she had completed this song there
sprang upon her
two warriors, and took her captive. They
captured her father
also, while her mother, left behind,
died of grief.
Reaching the far Indian settlement, the
father was doomed
to die, and as he laid his head on the
log, the daughter, wild
with despair, fell on her father's neck
and wept. Her father
asked her not to weep but to play and
sing once again for him.
This she did, the Indians meanwhile
gathering around:
"While she sang a grand procession
Came to join the sacred dance,
Came to see the pale face tortured-
All with solemn step advance."
The chieftain and his fair bride were in
the company, when
the latter recognized Orpha and her
father, and sprang to the
rescue. With tears she pleaded for the
pale faces, but the chief-
tains urged that they die. They
rehearsed the wrongs the In-
dians had suffered. While the council
was proceeding, the In-
dian bride took the guitar from Orpha, and
"Sang of deed renowned in story
When the tribe triumphant stood;
Sang of trophies won and glory,
Rousing all their martial blood."
Then she sang of the "Great
Spirit" who "Loves the braves
whose hearts can pity helpless captives
doomed to die."
Rev. L. B. Gurley, D. D. 29
The braves were moved. They were filled
with wonder,
they thought that the "Great
Spirit" had inspired her. A par-
don was granted;
"So the tones of Wapayana,
Hushed man's raging wrath to rest."
"Thus Orpha's death-doomed father,
Rescued by her light guitar."
Perhaps we have given enough of Dr.
Gurley's descriptive
poetry to indicate something of his
pictorial power in portraying
natural phenomena.
At a later period in his life, while
standing under Niagara
Falls, he wrote a poem on
"Music":
"When from the golden urn above,
God bid his richest blessings flow,
He sought one peerless gift of love,
To bless the new-born world below.
Then from her angel home on high,
He called the fairest goddess down,
And music came, child of the sky,
And bliss of Paradise to crown.
Sweet goddess of the harp and lyre,
The winding vale and sylvan grove
Have echoed to thy strains of fire
Stirring the pulse of war or love.
Where shines the sun or beams a star,
Thy voice is heard o'er the sad and
free,
On Alpine mountains bleak and bare,
And emerald islands of the sea.
She stands where mighty waters pour
Their paeans to the listening sky,
Niagara's eternal roar
Lifts up its deep-toned bass on
high."
Then he speaks of the music of the ocean
"roused by tempest
wrath," "while the echoing
thunder sings" in response.
30 Ohio Arch. and His. Society Publications.
The next verse tells us of the music
soft and low,
"Where streamlets flow in forests
deep
Where plumed birds and insects rove,
Where naiads dwell and wood nymphs
sleep,
She pours her cheery notes of
love."
From the forest he enters the home where
"She breathes her gentlest lullaby,
Her childhood sinks to rosy rest,
And cheers with softest harmony,
The care-worn mother's anxious
breast."
Even on the battle field he sees the
goddess Music,
"Where Freedom's banners wave she
stands,"
"But richer still her notes of
praise,
In churches of the living God."
And
"When death's pale angel shakes his
dart,
She waits beside the sufferer's bed,
And smooths with lofty strains the
heart,
As gently sinks the dying head."
The climax of the poem is reached
"When the eternal gates of light
Unfold to greet the rising soul,
Songs burst through all those regions
bright,
And loud the angel anthems roll."
Nor shall there be one silent tongue
In all the white-robed beings there;
But strains by saints and seraphs sung
Shall fill and sweeten all the
air."
A man who could in an hour write a poem
like this, when
under the exhilirating power of one of
nature's wonders could,
had he traveled abroad, and given his
time to poetical composi-
tion have added largely to the best
literature of the age in which
he lived. He had his admirers, and had
he listened to them,
he would even after he was fifty years
old have devoted his
talents to writing.
Rev. L. B. Gurley, D. D. 31
Bishop Ed. Thompson was one of these
admirers and inti-
mate friends, and after he was bishop,
and before his last mar-
riage, he was an inmate of Mr. Gurley's
home.
I quote two stanzas from a poem on the
death of Rev.
Uriah Heath, one of the pioneer
preachers of central and southern
Ohio:
"We know him when summer flowers
shall fade,
Or ripening harvests greet the sight,
When yellow leaves shall strew the
glade,
Or day decline to coming night.
But who can tell when at the door,
The noiseless step of death shall fall;
Or voices from the shining shore
The viewless spirit hence shall
call?"
He wrote many short poems. From some of
these I quote.
"To My Portrait" was written
no doubt in his declining years.
The portrait, an oil painting by the
brother of his first wife, is
the one he addresses. The same artist
executed the statue of
Commodore Perry in Cleveland.
"Thou image of my manhood years,
I gaze upon thee now;
And think how faded years have left
Their traces on my brow.
Art wrought thy form while one looked
on,
Who smiles on me no more;
Companion of my early toils -
She walks the shining shore.
Thou mind'st me of a thousand joys-
What precious memories rise!
The echoes of departed years
Like voices from the skies."
One of his best short poems, "Come
Sit Upon this Chair,
My Love," was written probably in
the vigor of his middle life:
32 Ohio Arch. and His. Society Publications.
"Come sit upon this chair, my love,
The hallowed past review,
And call to mind the happy hours
When this old chair was new.
For many a cherished hope has fled,
And heart friends dear and true
Like summer flowers have passed away,
Since this old chair was new.
When this old chair was new, my love,
Another was my bride,
Proudly swelled my throbbing heart,
As she stood by my side.
For me, she left her city home
So trustingly and true,
To bless with joy my wildwood cot
When this old chair was new.
The tangled grass now wraps the grave
Where sleeps her mouldering form,
And buried deep in silence now,
The heart that once was warm.
Thou art in her place, O my love,
As trustingly and true,
Thou art loved as loved was she,
When this old chair was new.
When this old chair was new, my love,
The stars in yonder sky
Shone brightly, and they still shine on,
As rolling years pass by.
So let the love that lingers in our
hearts
Gild all life's journey through;
And both be happy, as was I
When this old chair was new."
Dr. Gurley was always a happy man. I
never saw him
respondent. He always looked on the
bright side. This poem,
which I give here in part, is suggestive
of this trait in his charac-
ter. When he was an old man, and after
he had from choice retired
from
the active ministry, when in attendance at a session of
Central Ohio Conference, I met him one
day in the vestibule
alone and as I shook his hand, said to
him:
"Dr. Gurley, since you have left
the pastorate, how does it
look on the shady side?"
Rev. L. B. Gurley, D. D. 33
He replied: "My dear Brother Love,
you are mistaken, I
am on the bright side now, and you and
the younger brethren
are on the shady side. To me the evening
time is bright. It is
radiant all about me. I am in the land
of singing birds, bloom-
ing flowers and bright anticipations. My
sunset is golden, my
hope is for the morning, the night
cometh, a star-lit night, and
the morning of the eternal day. I am on
the bright side."
I give his thought and words as nearly
as possible. When
he was fifty-four years old, he wrote:
"The years flow on and the
snowflakes fall
Though silently upon my head,
But still my heart beats free and warm
Though many a cherished hope is
dead."
On his sixty-fourth birthday, he was
still the same hopeful,
cheerful Christian:
"Soft is the silent tread of time,
And noiseless are his restless wings;
Yet deep his footprints and sublime
His impress on all earthly things."
He then speaks of time's devastations
among the empires
of the world:
"His touch the hoary empires
shake," and he fills the ty-
rant's heart with dread, breaks off
chains, encourages Freedom
in her work, gives light to lands in
darkness while "Eternal
truth with potent sway has ushered in a
glorious morn."
In this poem he refers to himself only
in one stanza:
"Be hushed, my soul, nor start to
think
How far my weary feet have trod,
Away from life's bright rosy brink
Toward eternity and God."
"The Cottage Girl" is a little
gem of poetic description:
"Her form is free, her step is
light,
Her lucient eyes are soft and bright
And rich clustering curls that deck
Her glowing cheek and snowy neck;
And sweetly floats her silvery song
At morn the dewy flowers among.
Vol. X-3
34 Ohio Arch. and His. Society Publications.
The cottage girl, a stranger she
To pomp and pride and coquetry,
As free from care, as free from guile,
For grief a tear; for love a smile.
Ah, who could trade that humble home
For countly hall or castle dome?
These two stanzas are suggestive of the
tone of the others.
The last stanza of the poem, "The
Setting Stars," sounds famil-
iar, but it is original with Dr Gurley:
"For every golden star which sets
Beyond our view at even
Descends to rise on other worlds,
And gild a brighter heaven."
During the dark days of the Rebellion he
wrote "The De-
cisive Battle":
"A nation waits, and waits to shout
The long wild notes of victory won;
Or waits to hear with bated breath
The sad, sad wail of Freedom gone."
The whole poem is good, and portrays
well the uncertain
feeling that existed for a time all over
the north, when the best
and most helpful felt like saying:
"0, who can tell a nation's fate
Hanging in the balance; who can say
For glory or shame, we wait -
Our darkest or brightest day."
"Old John Brown" was written during the time appointed for
his execution, December 2, 1859.
In his mind Mr. Gurley saw the soldiers
waving plumes,
he heard the martial strains of music,
and saw the cavalcade
bearing the "Old honored veteran to
his fate," but casting a
glance over the whole land he saw
"Millions of sad hearts
weeping," and "Fair Freedom
gathering up his ashes for her
keeping." Then as years rolled by
he saw another sight, de-
scribed in the last stanza:
Rev. L. B. Gurley, D. D. 35
"And when o'er Afric's fettered
sons
Fair Freedom's Flag shall tower;
On its torn page thy name shall be
Illustrious in that hour."
There were not many at that time who
expected to live
to see such a prophecy fulfilled, and
yet how bitterly fulfilled
in a half a decade of years, and from
that date and to-day,
"While John Brown's body lies
mouldering in the grave,
His soul goes marching on."
"Dream Visits" contains some beautiful thoughts. He was
permitted to see into the borderland,
and in company:
"Is one among the shining band
Whose image lies within my breast."
'Oh she was pure and true and good,
With spirit kind and trusting
Through years of toil and care she stood
Heaven's richest, fairest gift to
me."
She was now among the angels, but in his
dream once again
"We walk beside the murmuring rill,
Or sit beneath our favorite tree,
Recalling precious memories still
Of those earth never more shall
see."
But it was a dream, and are not the
pleasures of earth that
are past only as dreams that vanish ever
more?
"Then come my dear departed love,
Come as I seek my nightly rest,
Not robed as those who shine above,
But in thy earthly beauty dressed.
The ruby lips bewitching smile
Thy silken tresses floating fair,
Thy gentle tones that knew no guile,
And every charm that lustered there.
36 Ohio Arch. and His. Society Publications.
But when is loosed the silken chord,
And broken is the golden bowl,
And at the Master's welcome word
I yield in death my trusting soul;
Then meet me on the shining shore
With robes as bright as God has given,
When earthly scenes are mine no more
My eyes can bear the light of
heaven."
Two patriotic poems, "Independence
Ode" and "A Free West,"
are full of loyalty and piety; for a
more patriotic citizen than
Mr. Gurley did not live during the
rebellion.
His poems to his daughter and wife are
fraught with poetic
beauty and feeling. The former commences
with:
"Be as the star whose steady light
Guides wanderers through the gloomy
night;
Or like the fragrant gale which brings
Ambrosial odor on its wings."
And latter ends:
"And when we heave the parting
sigh,
To seek a fairer home on high,
O may that hour of victory
Be evening's tranquil hour."
His poem on the death of "Dred
Scott" would bear record-
ing entire. His story is a history. The
victim of the odious
fugitive slave law and the cruel
decision of Judge Taney by
which slavery was made national.
"Thou art free at last, thy name is
known,
Child of the sable ones;
Where'er our flag in mockery waves
O'er Afric's fettered sons.
Though earthly courts man's dearest
rights,
May trample in the dust,
And perjured lips to justice sworn,
Pronounce decrees accursed.
Rev. L. B. Gurley, D. D. 37
No power above shall rectify
Such cruel Tyranny,
When man pronounces man a slave,
God writes that man is free.
Terrific thought that gifted minds
On earnest honored seat
Should cringe to power and basely seek
Man's sense of right to cheat.
Decrees by earthly senates passed,
Opposed to truth and love
Are stamped with God's veto seal
In Heaven's courts above.
If measure meeted out to man
Such measure brings again
What doom awaits the reckless hand,
That rivets slavery's chain.
Death placed his signet on thy brow,
Heaven called thy spirit home,
And thou canst well await the hour,
Till thy oppressors come."
The third and last lines are not as good
in thought as
the other parts of the poem.
The last short poem is on
"Life":
"My life has been a sunny stream
O'r beds of golden sand
Still flowing onward through the vale
Amid the flowering land.
The friends of youth were fair and true
Their names to memory dear,
Still linger far adown life's stream
And still thy spirit cheer.
To sow the golden grain of truth
And wait the sun and shower,
Has been the labor of my life
Through many a weary hour.
To reap the ever whitening fields
And shout the harvest home
Have filled with joy my manhood's prime
And shall for time to come."
Rev. L. B. Gurley, D. D. 21
REV. L. B. GURLEY, D. D., Pioneer, Poet and Preacher.
BY N. B. C. LOVE, D. D. Rev. L. B. Gurley was born in Norwich Conn. He lived there seven and a half years, and learned his A B C's in the school |
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house where Lydia Sigourney, the poetess, conned her earliest lessons. His father was a silversmith and a Meth- odist local preacher. He worked in his fath- ear's shop and on the farm until he entered the ministry. During this time he had the advantages of winter schools, and a compre- hensive library of books of the very best Eng- lish literature, embracing history, biography, travels, romance, poetry and theology. He practiced a great deal in composition, both in prose and verse. He was the author of the |
first poem published in northwestern Ohio, in the fourth number of the "Sandusky Clarion." Dr. Gurley was a born poet. His talent evinced itself early. We do not know what his early advantages were. It is not the purpose of this article to narrate the incidents of his life. He was born of Irish parents. They came from Wexford county, Ireland, and were intelligent and possessed of considerable means. Of Mr. Gurley, as a poet, I write. Before me is a collection of his poems in manuscript, eighty in number. Only a few have been published. These are found in the "Ladies' Reposi- tory" of forty years ago, the "Western Christian Advocate," "Delaware Gazette" and other secular papers. They were writ- ten beginning in his early youth and the last one when over seventy years old. Several of the poems are epics of considerable length. There is continuity of thought in all his productions. His imagery is so true to nature that one continually recognizes it as something |