A POETICAL CONVICT.

Hawera & Normanby Star, Volume LXVIII, Issue LXVIII, 22 June 1912, Page 10

A POETICAL CONVICT.

SINGS HIMSELF OUT OF GAOL

James Stell, life convict in the lowa penitentiary at Fort Madison, states the New York Herald, is to be liberated soon by the State Board of Parole. It may be truthfully said this young man has sung himself out of prison. He is a poet, one whose verse has attracted the attention of music-lovers throughout the I State, and the board have been importuned from many sides to open the cage door for the young singer. But he will not go forth merely as a dreamer. Besides being equipped with a trade in the workshop of the prison, he has been taught to play the cornet by a warder, who is a musician of ability. Plunged into prison under a life sentence, Stell did not surrender to remorse and be*come sullen.

THE UNPAID DEBT. He felt the pathos of it and eried — I know the awful chill of stone, the convict's tears; How blood—yes, life—may not atone for sins of years. Full well I know, and would forget, the price of sin, And, oh, how sweet to know the debt is nearly in. But, hold! The debt is never paid; the record stands. The sins of life can never fade as mankind plans. The hate, the tears, the walls and blood —can Time efface? Can Hope and Love again rebuild where thrived disgrace? Cheered by his own songs, he later reveals his wakening of hope in poetry that has touched the hearts of board members. He writes: , The new morn's sun, across the way, Had turned night's tears to gold, Had blazed a path for blushing day Across the dew-wet mould. When I, with prison bars between My earth, heaven, and hell, Gazed out upon the rise of green That lies beyond my cell. A fair-haired boy of tender years Romped o'er the velvet sod, And as I gazed, forbidden tears Welled in my eyes—and, God — The morn, the child, the slope of green, The sunlight's mellow glow, Recalled to me a memoried scene. And joys I used to know." The memoried scene was of my youth, My childhood, and my play, When all my paths were paved with truth, When life was ever gay; When I, a child, unspoiled, unstained, Dreamed life was but a song— But now, ah, now, by sin profaned, I know the price of wrong. I steeled my heart (the night I came Within the prison gate), To pay my debt with voiceless shame. To stifle love with hate; To still my sobs, my hopes, my fears— But when I saw this child, I welcomed back love, hopes, and tears, , I mourned, and, mourning, smiled. THE RISE OF HOPE. In between his hopes and tears Stell has written a volume of poetry. Philosophically he received the final breaking of love-ties without the prison, and did not deign to grieve for the lost. To the faithless woman he sent response :— Your love is vain and dead ? Ah, well Go, dear, along your way; Forgetful of the woven spell Which was —for but a day. I will not lie and say I weep For love of yours, the dead. May silence close around its sleep, Deserted be its bed. The qtiickened sense that droops and dies, Be it of love or hate, But proves it was a worthless prize— Why should I mourn its fate? For love or hate with death a-wing, Or dead for days or years. Was, living, but a tortured thing; And dead, not worth my tears. And now he is approaching the time when he can sing a song of freedom. James Stell is yet a young man. He has signified to members of the board his willingness to try to "again rebuild where thrived disgrace."