And how gratifying has it been to all of Mr. Taylor’s friends to hear of the memorial gathering held in his native Kennett, where young and old vied with each other to do their townsman honor. With a modesty and sincerity characteristic of the quiet community, they assembled and talked of the virtues and achievements of their deceased neighbor.
One townsman (Edwin Brosius) referred to Mr. Taylor’s life, and in his remarks spoke thus:—
“Locating in Kennett Square about the time he returned from his first visit to Europe, I remember him as a bright, blushing, diffident youth, just entering manhood; and with him I always associate that gentle and beautiful girl, with matchless eyes, who inspired many of his early lyrics, and whose death ‘filled the nest of love with snow.’ He was the pride of the community then, and as years passed on his course was silently watched with a quiet joy, like that a parent feels for a child that seems to follow instinctively the true path. His appointment as Minister to Germany created a feeling that could be silent no longer, and here in this hall we gave him the first ovation. No one thought that when we said ‘Kennett rejoices that the world acknowledges her son,’ that it would so soon be meet to say that Kennett mourns that her son is dead. Yes, mourns with a grief like that which he felt when he wrote ‘Moan, ye wild winds! around the pane.’
“The weariness that oppressed him while being fêted on every hand, which he thought was only temporary, proved to be the shadow of the coming change. A few more months and a few more warnings, and all was over.
“The strings are silent: who shall dare to wake them;
Though later deeds demand their living powers?
Silent in other lands, what hand shall make them
Leap as of old to shape the songs of ours?”
“Perhaps I have now said enough; but permit me to speak briefly of one, still mentally bright under the weight of fourscore years, the mother of Bayard Taylor, to whom we must be indebted for much of the honor her son has given us. The latent genius of the mother was more fully developed in the son, and guarded, strengthened, and encouraged by her watchful mind, he became all that she could desire. When here at school, I remember how bright I thought she was, and my admiration was not lessened when she called me one of her boys. The voices of two of her sons are now silent in the tomb. One taken when full of hope, in the bloom of youth, while defending his country’s flag. The other in the full fruitage of mature life, bearing many honors, and the pillar of the family, a loss to her which she cannot tell. We may speak or write our grief, but no human pen or tongue can express hers; words cannot tell how nearly the light of hope goes out when such treasures are taken from a mother’s sight and heart.”