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Las diagrammes suivants illustrent la m^thode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 MiCRocorr rssolution test chart (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) I.I 4.5 ■ 50 2.8 liill T O I 5 6 J. it 3.6 ^ m 2.5 Z2 2.0 !.8 1.25 !.4 ^ APPLIED ,..^^GE Inc 1653 East Moin Street Rochester, New York 14609 (716) 482 0300 - Phone (716) 288 - 5989 - Fax USA u^^T'i^^f / cy^^^w ^^a U/yUA/TKy / m ^ i \ J i ,^^9. ^ /?^. ^ 'f. **t- ^^W-H^s6 , ^~M«..4C^ t»/»-^l M^^ 4j f tf-i-*-»'->i- A^; / je. ^c^ £-^ r /^p ***^ ^^ ^y^» *-^ <^C^e-.-^^..M^^ <--*' «;», "y *^-e^v*^t.0^ ^/n ^ ^ .:^., /:>^y iiiK u . J. v>ivv.., Uie year one thousand eight hun.lred and nniety-hve. It ^ I PREFACE. ice of the mited), in This edition (,f Select Poems of Coleridge, Wordsworth Campbell, and Longfellow is designed as an aid to the study of literature in High Schools, more especially the Literature prescribed for Matriculation and Departmental Examina- tions, ISfHi, in Ontario and Manitoba. The present volume like Its predecessor, the Select Poems of Tennyson, endea- vours, by bringing together from many quarters whatever critical apparatus elementary students will require, to make possible for such as use it the thorough study of the poetry it contains. -^ The text of these Selections has been drawn in every case from the authoritative editions issued by the authors them- selves. Wherever possible, each poem has been followed from earliest edition till latest, in the hope that the text might be made trustworthy in every detail. The variant readings have been carefully noted, and will be found of interest to readers as well as useful for instruction in liter- ary expression. For similar reasons, care has been taken to cite the sources of poetical passages, not only that a clearer sense of poetic excellence may be attained, but also that an insight may be afforded into some phases of poetical com- position. _ The Appendix contains many poems that furnish interest- ing comparisons with the prescribed Selections, but in the main it is designed merely as a collection of poetry suitable lor literary study without the aid of notes or other critical apparatus. iv PREFACE. It is a pleasure to ackuowlcdge hero the kindness of the Librarian of Harvar.l University in giving the editor oppor- tunity to photograph from its MS. collections tlie letters of Coleri.lge and Cami,l>ell and the original draft nl Longlel- low's ixMoT, facsimiles of which fin.l place in tins vohime . To Dr Fred. Robinson, of Harvard, the editor is like- wise indebted for the use of his precious 1798 edition ot Liirical Ballads, which has associations not possessed by Mr. Dowdcn's reprint. Now on thy mission, haply of usefulness, go, Little Book . iNT Te.^ . Ol the oppor- fcters of (ongfel- ,'oltimo. is likc- tion of . by Mr. CONTENTS. G Book ! Intkoi>l'(jtions : Coloridgo . . Wordsworth. . Campbell . . Longfellow . . Texts I'A(}E ix XX . xxvii xxxiv Coleridge, Ancient Mariner Youth and Aye Wordsworth, Three Year. SheOr^o fE,U,l„Uo^of Mature j ..... . ■ Written in London. 1S02 "O Friend, I know not wliich wny I niiist look."" ' London^ 1S02 "Milton ! thou shouklst ho livin,^ at Vhi.s i.our."'" " " To the Daisy . . The Small Celandine [ A Lesson 1 " To Sleep _ _ "' " " " ' " A Hock of sheep that leisurely nass hy/"' Inside o/ King's College Chapel, Cam- bridge " Tax not tlie royal Saint with vain expense. '' ' To a Skylark Why art thou Silent ? '[To a "Distant rriend] 1 29 31 83 31 35 37 38 39 40 41 y. , CONTENTS. 7 42 Campbell, IlohenJinden • Ye Mariners of Enfjland '^^ Battle of the Baltic .. ■■ ■• •• ^' A TkoufjIU Surjfjested hj/ the Xew Year [ The River of Life ] ^^ Longfellow, A Psalm of Life A Gleam of Sunshine "^ The Daij is Done ^ The Old Clark on the Stairs 5' The Fire of Drift-Wood «0 Jlesif/nation The Builders ^^ TheLadder of St. Augustine .. •• 67 The Warden of the Cinque Ports . . 69 71 Evangeline 177 N^^"^' .. 331 AlTENDIX II 1 r ear 12 11 Hi 49 50 52 55 57 60 62 65 67 69 71 177 331 INTRODUCTIONS. U\ • II Hi Pi mi do an inc Mc die a s ofi pas the felt . hea Gra new unn: wor Se calli your •f 4 INTRODUCTIONS. COLERIDGE. ■'ud S,n,Ue„ .■ Traill. ColeJ,Ti:'A^L°'cT'''Tr' "•' "'""""" mn,„„.s, rm. ,„„,. vols! a„„ J. dZ c,:i„,',on.:,t,1::'^"' "" *•"• The Romantic Movement, whicl, has given us all the «jeat .teraturo of this century, has two names tl a Johnitey mark the beginning- of its glory, WoXwoth and Coler,dge. Otl^ers prepared the way ,• others reveaj -ore or less tentatively son>e of the chirLcter sticrof the aiea in 17 <1, and whose Journal in fho T ni^.. a'\ a spirit kindred to that of the poet^of^:;::^:, ^S of >t may be found in Burns, in whom tender feel ng and p..ss,on join with appreciation of the beauty no ib,o in oi: "^ZtmT ^"' ''' ''"'"'"^^' '^'^- ^-f^^ o lelt the thrill of communion with Nature nnrl i\^ .°w lif! b^';,! "^T'/''^"' "" '^" *>"= ™lH,iseof a iiew iiie but this new life was manifested clearlv -m^ — akably first in two names, Coleridge :!:;w'o,ds Samuel Taylor Ccleridon q qi n i ' calling himself, waslrr^.'iL'.^srof'oeX'-'n^:' youngest son of a kindly pedantic man, priest and ^. X iNTi^onrcT/oNs. fto<:uo in Ottcry St. Man- Dcvonsliiro, on whom the scrip- tural blessing' of many ''' '^I'ot i.uid uhTady been bestowed. The future poei ««'! ro* ., ^ichin wa^ remarkable even in boyhood. His Mit^ had no ^'ildhood, and nofiP of the sports of children The sj)irit of the boy was withdrawn into readiuf^ or meditation, 'driven from life in motion to life in thoui^yiit and sensation,' as ho himself says. He be^an writinj^ ^-((f.fi 7 before lie was ten jt^.ars old. When the death of his fa 'her broke his liome liCS, the hoy passed to Christ's Hospital (School), London, to bo clad in blue coat and yellow stockings, and turned loose among some hundreds of boys dressed in similar coats and stockings, underfed, overflogged. Coleridge made his mark as a scholar, and yet, tradition says, had many an extra lash from the lieadmaster 'because he was so ugly.' The discipline was severe and the life unsym- pathetic, to an extent that the boy was once tempted to escape and learn sliocmaking from a friendly cobbler. Yet ''.e school could not restrain tlie spirit- On the Ictaden roof Of that wide edifice, thy school and home, Wert used to lie and gaze upon the clouds Moving in heaven ; or, of tliat pleasure tired, To shut thine eyes, and hy internal light See trees, and meadows, and thy native stream. Here are six lines wa-itten before Coleridge was fifteen years old, the last one especially noteworthy as showing how early the gift of imaginative expression had come to him. O fair is love's first hope to gentle mind ! As Eve's first star through fleecy cloudlet peeping ; And sweeter than the gentle south-west wind O'er willowy meads, and shadowed waters creeping ; And Ceres' golden fields s—the sultry hind Meets it with brow uplift, and stays his reaping. B scrip- ;towed. le oven of the idrawn motion f says, irs old. iCS, tho I, to bo ed looso ir coats ;e made is, had 1 he was unsym- npted to cobbler. 3 fifteen showing ad come i;\ \ COLEK/nCE, In 1788 he wrote Timf Jioni ^^a .- : Pl.ic turn that even at !h ,. T T' "'"' P''"°»°- (jei.oral aJmhation of ),is fellnu- f ' '■'"'"'''^'' ""^ I'loportio,, between the speech an, ' "= "'•■'«''«1 'l-e .lis- '>"l'^)- 'o hea,- thee unfoH 'th-' i"'"""'' '''''•""• 'ions the nn-storie. o'l', , " " ""' '"^"" '"'"n"- - "•"-years thw„r;r' T '''""""^ ^'"^ ^^ '''■^'ft«), or reciting Ho,neH,.ThJp ,"'""'' '"'"°^°'*- tho walls of „|,. arev pZ "'°,^'''""^- '"■ Pindar, wlule "- "'.v,«>.<, e„«W^;,!;:r "■^'^"-'' «■'•"• 'he accents Of pIl;'r:cT-oua';;: tr"'r- -^ ■"-'- ^^ ™-'o- finning his p^t LTe IThl ' '^"'"?^"' '"«-"-- -n. ary movement. I s in l. A^''"""^'''^ °' '^' ™^- '"or- wonh likewise, as e .; asl'^'' '" I^T "'■'' ^''''^■ and that Southey toot l^im Ja moZ ^'''"'' ^°"''^'«' In Febniarv 1791 n^^ -j a» Wordswonh was leav£ 'His"'""' '''"''"'"'' ^-' a success. He won a melTf ^';,'">'^«sity life was not -Oat pleased him m sTwa to fi^ hi "' °'" '" '^ "■™' -' enthusia.,tic over the Je t t ^ ''°°'»^ with students ■"..'oHousiy .,pon ;';;';"",:' r;™" ^" "^^™- -t .eneral renaissance oftt h^ri, Xr "^' xii INTRODUCTIONS. Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, But to be yoiinpr was heaven ! The^^Q were the topics that then fired young men's minds, and were the themes of the rapt monologue of the under- graduate Coleridge. Suddenly, no one knows why, the enthusiast disappeared. When he was discovered, or when his Latinity betrayed him, he was Silas Titus Comberback, trooper in the awkward squad of Elliott's Light Dragoons. Returning to Cambridge, Coleridge found a new object for his enthusiasm in Wordsworth's Dcfivriptive Sketches, which had just been published and which he alone was able to appreciate. "Seldom, if ever," he said, "was the emergence of an original poetic genius above the horizon more evidently announced." Then a vacation ramble gave him the company and friendship of Southey, the most heterodox and republican spirit in Oxford. When Coleridge returned from a trip to Wales, the two friends met at Bristol, and in Bristol their scheme to bring about a regenerate world w^as debated, planned, and— not car- ried out. They were to found a society in America on conditions of ideal equality, Pantisocracy. The Miss Frickers were willing to go, and as Lovell had married one, and Southey was about to marry another, Coleridge concluded it was but proper to engage himself to a third. Burnet proposed to a fourth, but she concluded to wait. Wives, however, were easier to procure than money, and they needed £2,000 to realize their ideal. Cottle, the warm-hearted bookseller, offered Coleridge thirty guineas for his poems, and made the same offer to Southey. The Pantisocrats immediately married, and Southey, having a tempting chance to go to Portugal, departed for Lisbon ; Lovell left for a longer journey; while Coleridge, with I t 's minds, he under- wliy, the vered, or las Titns f Elliott's lew object ' Sketches, alone was "was the lie horizon 3n raniLle iithey, the •d. When wo friends ring about —not car- 1 America The Miss id married , Coleridge to a third. }d to wait, noney, and Cottlo, the [•ty guineas they. Tlie Y, having a 'or Lisbon ; I'idge, with COLERIDGE. ^^xx the mists of pantisocracy vanishing in tlie past, .settled down in a £.>a-yoar cottage at Clevedon, near Bristol to enjoy his married life ;--send me a riddle slice, a candle- box, two glasses for the wash-hand stand, one dustpan one small tin tea-kettle, one pair of candlesticks, a Bible' , a keg of porter,"— ' I Writing for periodicals, lectures, tutoring, foundin- of a new magazine, whose weekly numbers should ' cry \he state of the political atmosphere,' but which the servant used for starting the editor's fire,- ' La. Sir, why it's only H7z^.//;>*e;.."-such were the labours of these early years of married life. A first volume of Poem, on Various Subjects was published in 179(5, but secured no special attention. It was immediately followed by the Ode to the Departing Year. Early in the following summer Coleridge removed to Nether Stowey, Somersetshire, where he had a rich friend and patron in Thomas Poole and where Charles Lloyd became his lodger. Nether Stowey lies at the foot of the Quantocks, a few mdes from the Bristol Channel, in a country of clear brooks and wooded hills. At Racedown, in the neioh- bounng shire of Dorset, Wordsworth and his sister had found a home, and there the two poets read their compo- sitions to each other, -Coleridge his tragedy of Osorio^ and Wordsworth his tragedy of The Borderers. Thus began the friendship of these two men, a friendship that meant much for themselves, much for English literature Charmed by the scenery of the Quantocks and the oppor- tunity of being near Coleridge, Wordsworth took up his abode in Alfoxden, not three miles distant from Stowey ihe period of companionship and mutual stimulus thai ensued was marked by the production of poems that a^e XIV INTKOD UC TIONS. ■% the e.arliest iinmistakeablo manifestations of tlio i>resence of a new spirit of poetry that was to dominate the first half of the century to come. The origin and publication of lAjvical Ballads have been spoken of elsewhere (see p. ITTff,). Its immediate influence was very slight. The JMontldy licvmv considered the Ancient Mariner the strangest cock and bull story, a rapsody of unintelligible wildness and incoherence,, though admitting exquisite poetical touches, and in general called upon the author of the volume to write on more elevated subjects and in a more cheerful disposition. Cottle parted with most of his five hundred copies at a loss, and on going out of business returned the copyright to Wordsworth as valueless. De Quincey and John Wilson were perhaps alone in recognizing the value of the volume. Originality, it is said, must create the taste by which it is to be appre- ciated, and it was some years before taste for the new poetry was created. The close of the eighteenth century was a period of fer- ment and uncertain impulse. "Monk" Lewis and Mrs. Radcliffe were producing their tales of mystery, spectral romances where the imagination revels in midnight, wild heaths, lonely towers, groans and the tolling of castle-bell, muffled strangers, spectre bridegrooms, blue flames, death's heads, where The worms crept in, .and the worms crept out, And sported his eyes and his temples ahout. In strange disaccord existed, side by side with this ten- dency to the grotesque and supernatural, a strong ten- dency to realism, in which the daily life of common folk was depicted with the fidelity of Dutch art, as in Crabbe's Village. The \ XV le presence e the first lads have immediate considered dl story, a ice,, though leral called re elevated >ttle parted id on going [Isworth as re perhaps )riginality, o he appi'e- )r the new riod of fer- and Mrs. -y, spectral night, wild castle-bell, ties, death's ;h this ten- strong ten- mimon folk in Crabhe's i COIEA'JOGE. I triK'c 1 lic^ ]«>.■ liiiiorldiis iiadvcs i,l' I h,. |,h,|.e And soo the iiil,|.,l,,y s„„, „.i,|, n,|,,.j,, ' 0.1 tliin- l.nru liKuls and dtwy lemi.lis |,i.iy. TI.ero was also a .steady and increasing atten.ion paid to 1.0 Oder writers chiotly Spenser, and to tl,o traditional ba ad poetry of England and Scotland. Collections of tl.is ballad poetry were issued and e,aeerly read, Percy's lMi,u,s ofAn,■^ent IC,u,U.k Poct,y, 17(15, being tl,e ,„ost inflt.ential Fn.ally a growmg sympathy with Nature as well in it^ »i Gtay, Burns, and Cowper. But all this lay for the n>ost part below an obdtu-ate literary tradition that lacked sons, jveness of ear at.d tenderness of cnotion, and idol- -ed the hero.c couplet, set phrases, and polished ant- theses. AVhat Lyrical Ballad, did was to show tl.4 ..nagu,at.on free frotn grotes.ueness could join wit a real. s,n free f,...m triteness; that the literature of the ast could affora inspiration and models to all who soug use fro,n d.e monotony of the accepted litera.y form tha for man, long pent in dusty towns, there was a new spirit of communion,— v^-isanew A vnscm-e tluit distnrlM itic witli llic iov <'. elevated lli„u!ila.s ; a sc.ise s„l,li„,„ O. .soi,„.tlil„K f„rmo,c deeply i,ileil„sed, W,,«.d,v.lIi,,,.i,M,eli^.|,t„f,,.,,,,,„,„,,,, And tlio roinid oeca.i ,iiid il„, livi,,}; ,,1,. And ti.e Wue sky, and hi llic ndn.l of man .eces n wh d, the ....agination deals with the su„er„a- t..ra 1 the chief being the Ancient Marinn- T\271 -^^am^ ...iiioi, by sheer effort of ima- XVI INTR OD UC TIONS. gination, rises into regions of subtlest feeling and tliouglit ; scene after scene flashes past in ever-changing heanty ; the whole range of human emotion is gone through : it is tlie world and human life in miniature, and as it unrolls be- fore our eyes, an undercurrrent of tender feeling charms the heart, and an undertone of music, with cadences subtle as of a hidden brook in sleeping woods, takes captive the ear. The other poems of the Nether Stowoy i)eriod are scarcely less remarkable than the Anvumt Mariner. Chrlstahd, a fragment, was composed in part there, and is a most effective union of beauty with the fascination of terror and mystery. Kubla Khcm, likewise a fragment, recollected from a dream, is characterized by an almost un- eijualled rhythm, while the Odd to France has the lofty organ-music that at times brings Coleridge within reach of Milton. Before the Lyrical Ballads were actually issued, Cole- ridge had sought occupation as a Unitarian preacher in Shrewsbury. There the Wedgwoods, sons of the great potter, came to his aid, gave him an annuity, and enabled the poet to carry out a long-cherished project of a pilgrim- age to Germany. Through the same benevolent source, Wordswortb and his sister drew the means of accom- panying him. Coleridge parted company with the Wordsworth s on their arrival in Germany, passed on to Eatzeburg, where for five months he studied German ; then went to Gottin- gen to attend lectures in philosophy and metaphysics. He returned to London in November, 1779, with a com- mand of German that enabled him in six weeks to produce his translation of Schiller's WalUmtein. It is the great- M ;d tlioiip;lit ; leanty ; tlio h : it is tlio unrolls be- ing charms ences subtle captive the period are t Marinar. t tliere, and fascination a fragment, 1 almost im- las the lofty rithin reach ssned, Cole- preacher in 3f the great and enabled )f a pilgrim- ilent soiu'ce, 3 of accom- Isworths on sbiirg, where nt to Gottin- netaphysics. with a com- es to prodnce is the great- COLERIDGE. XVII est translation in English, but German literature was still of doubtful market value, and the copies sold as waste paper. From translating he passed to journalism, in wluch he was decidedly successful ; then threw up iliitter- ing offers, and left London for Greta Hall, Keswick twelve miles from Grasmere. ' From this time, with trifling exceptions, Colorido-e ceased to write poetry. The Ode to Dejection in l.SO-> and a few pathetic lyrics of the later years of his life' ;jsuch as Youth and Afje, Work wittiout Hope, which are for the most part laments over lost opportunities and talents ill spent, virtually complete his poetic career. I Coleridge arrived in Keswick i.. 1800. Four years later I he left England for Malta, wrecked in body and spirit .Exposure in a Scottish outing brought on rheumatism. |io relieve this he had recourse to a mysterious black drop which he learnt later, when under its power, consisted ^chieily of opium, and like other great Englishmen of his |time he became a slave to the drug. He drifted about from London to Malta, to Sicily, to Home, back to Eng- land, and Keswick. Ah ! piteous sig'lit was it to see tiiis innii, When he came ))ack to us a witlioivd fioivor, Or, like a siiififl creature, pale and wan. Down would he sit; and without streuMth and power i^ook at the common ft-rass from hour t(^ liour. Coleridge went back to London in 180(5 to write for The ^'^^v^^r. He lectured likewise at the Royal Listitution, till ins health and his audience failed him. Li 1809 he etarted The Friend, which was mismanaged and after twenty-seven numbers collapsed. Li 1811-12 ho lectured agani with wonderful interpretative insight on Shakspere and Milton. There was a gleam of success when his old -^-ii^^y of Osorio was acted, but his new Zapolyta was xviii f^TJWDUCTlONS. w % rofi.sed by the j.hiyers In iRir r, , ., under tJio care of Ur Gill,, .„, , *^°''"'«'«« l'"t himself London, and .slowly wo„i";:' ° "f «™™' H«h«ate, only a s.nallpart of thjf n't / ' T°'^ '>°^™™'- ^''o ■■i<'«o, chieii; V hL„:^ ]::«:""':"- -'-" ^o.e. rorary t,,o„«,u. Ti.e ™;; ^f , Hr "J T"""- opinionsliGijatheredinMi.- r^- ° '^"^^ literary wia. the ;uh,i:irf'i^xri''f "■'''■'•''■'«"• world bo«an to appreciate 1 „e„S!'"".' ''''' «- sa«e of Highgate became the orac^: / ^""'"'' ""'' "'" Halla,n, and even Carry e;„Ni ,'"'" '"'■'' ^''''"'"'' ■'■•« -, was approachin^,X ^^Saph?!: ""'•"^' Slop, CIi,-i,stia„ Passev-ltv t ot Anrt ,c„oct lies, or tl,at , hi , ■•■"""'" """ S"" om;o,,et,,o,,:;:;,r-:'r;rrrTT'';.''f'- i^ :;,:,";7;r^^"-;''''''°"onVc„.h Mercy Ion ^ ^ ;™;; ""I" «"" Wo i" doati, , On the 25th of Jtdy 1834 , v. ''» "- "'o ,a™o. death, but it was toL hte ' ' '"'• ^""^ P™'-ression ; but it sneak= ovl •'' ""'' ""' ''""'^s' ■"■■-1. it has more of h !1'"°'"" °' ''- -""a.oa '■ol'ine' than I over wit, eslr^r T "\ " ""^ ^'-^'-^ and a„ overhangi,,, fo,eC;'!- "" ''"•^ ""'•'^ ^^-^-vs, Wordsworth's description, ' is proverbial '"""■'"""" '•'"""-«"-->•-, Colericlffe's nopf-vir ;„ • work be w-rote w th „ ," 'T "T' '^^^-'-T. The ■P'-'-nted, it has been s/m o"™' ? '" *^""'"^ ^°"'^' "^o be bound in p„re gol, H,sVf ""«''' ''"' " should -!"' »o other En gkh rC" s" ','■ "■'"^'^ ''^ ^"-- si'intual imagination in the v! ''°'™'' °* "'^^r ;-hich he is still able Z h^ t " t ''" ^"''--'"™'' Lake School in their snbHe ,. "'"' ""'= ^'''b the "'^Pects of nature, and had t.'""" '"'" "'^ ^i'-"™' worth of giving expression to th T" ""•™^ "^ ^-'■^■ emotion. " '" 'bo finest shades of loftiest m XX TNTROnUCTIONS. WORDSWOIITH. jVVor,lsm..tl,'s /v,/,,,,,,,,| Auiohio,rlnr, C. Wonlsworth, Memoir, l.tt F.. .^ .l (U„rA.), Pater {Aj,j,reciaUo».s), Sarrazin rA'«m«-«sa„ce ./e la ^^ «,^«^;, Scl,e,.r (tr. Saiutsbury). Shairp, etc! Ti,e best^itt. : rey,oV.etL,Sr ' ' '''''''''' ''""'^'"' '''''' "^^•^•' ^«'--^' *I"r- William Wordswortli was born at Cockennoiith, Cum- berland, April 7tli, 1770, tlio second son of John Words- worth, solicitor to Sir James Lowther, and of Anne Wordsworth, daughter of William Cookson, mercer of Penrith. His childhood truly showed that in him at least the boy was father to the man. Cockermouth is near the Derwent, that blent A murmur with my nurse's son??, ^^"'l .... sent a voice Tliat flowed along my dreams. Batliing in the mill-race, plundering the raven's nest, skating, nutting, fishing, such were the golden days of happy boyhood ; and the activities of boyhood lived on in the man. Wordsworth, Elizabeth Words- worth says, could cut his name in the ice when quite an elderly man. The effect on his spirits of this free open life, lighted by a passion for the open air, may be read in his early Lines on Leaving School. His schooldays at Hawkeshead, Lancashire, were happy, I' ivoRDsivoirnr, thougli lie describes xxi li . , limself as bein- 'of a stiff, moodv v.olont ten,por.; Fioiai„«, Cervantes, Lo ,S,.«e, ^^L h., firs favounte uutl.o.s. His fatl.er interestod hin.solf m I'i^ tra,„,„s and through his guidance Wordsworth Tpere la Tr'', "'"■^' '^ '""■' '""<='' "' ^^•--'■- «''"'- opere, ana iMilton. His father having died in 1783, Wordsworth was sent to Cambndge by his uncles. He entered St. John's cS 10.C ,n Oetobe, 1787, and graduated in January, 179 On the whole he took little interest in academic pursuits 3 read classics diligently, studied Italian and he oh^ Eighsh poets, and 'sauntered, played, or rioted' wth 1^- ellow^-students. His vacations were spent in the country; ,n one of them he traversed on foot F 11 Switzerland, and Northern Italy ' During another of these vacation rambles, returnino- ,t earl3 dawn from some frolic, "^ The .nur„i„- ro.se, in memorable pomp ; The sea lay laughinf, at a distaneo ; near The solm mom.taius shone, hri.^M.t as the clouds • And .n the meadow, and the loner ^rounds ' U as all the su-eetness of a common dawn- i)ens, vapours, and the melodies of birds And labourers sroin^ forth to till the fields. Ah need I say, dear Friend ! that to the brim S:T/"' ''''' ?'" ' ^ "^^^^^ "« vows, but von-r ^V e e then made for me ; bond unknown to mo ^V as ^iven that I should be, else sinning, ^^-eatlv A dedicated si)irit. On I walkod •- "'^'"'y. In thanktul blessedness, wliich yet survives. Wordsworth's first long poem. An Evening Walk 1789 sho^ws^the spirit of nature striving against thf b^S x.ovemijci, l^Jl, vvnere he stayed thirteen '^'"'' INTRODUCTIONS, montl.s studyin^^ French and watclxin^. witli beating heart the emancipation of lunnan life and spirit in the Kevolut.on. He returned to England vvitli his choice of a profession yet unmade, an«-/ Gra,, and the poems of Lucy (s'e , o TT'e", ! '" J"Iy. 179!). In the autumn the broU r and sL^ '," excursions through Cumberland and Wes'mo a d"'"^ iney settled m Grasmere, December, 179>1 ceft'he Wo' T"""'f "" ""'""""-^ ^^^""-y -'1 De Q""- cey the Wordsworth cottao-P— n litfU i -. T . ^'-'LLcij^e — a little white cnftnon t.i,^i the low promontory on which rests the villa..e with ! en,bow.ered hou.ses : all about the encircling eern hi, and ,n their bosom, in those days, c,uiet peace ^' Uurmg 1800 the poet wrote Poev,^ on th. K ■ Placfi Th« n..,sts say , face of a squ..irisb shape and decidedly longish ^9« prle and scholarships as well as an enviable reputation or his Vhlu » ^ ^''T '™'''' ^°l*' »™J'. and Goldsmith Their influence and the influence of his admired ctes cs ^^h,l, u secured hau an immediate popularity with his im^ri m I': 4 xxviii INT ROD UCTIONS, age, cut him off from the new movement that was to shatter the idol he worshipi^ed. His father fell into financial difficulties. Campbell spent his last college vacation as tutor at Mull, in the house of Mrs. Campbell of Sunipol. On graduation in 1795 he became tutor in the family of General Napier of Downie, on the Sound of Jura. At Sunipol he had been within reach of lona and Staffa and the wild scenes of the Hebrides ; at Downie there was a milder but still beautiful scenery : memories of these places were to pass later into his poems of Gertrude of Wyoming and the Pilgrim of Glencoe. In 1797 he was back in Glasgow, with nothing to do. Not the Church, he was resolved, nor tutoring. Not law he concluded, after a few months in an Edinburgh law- office, nor medicine, after a slighter experience in Glasgow. He would have 'gone to America' probably, as a solution to the difficulty of bread-and-butter, but some hack-work for an Edinburgh publisher, and his own literary tastes kept him hanging on. His main present capital was Hope, and with some drafts on that and some classical translations, he V7ent again to Edinburgh. Dr. Anderson, one of the literary chiefs of the city, gave the young poet encouragement, advice, admonition. Under his severe judgment he rewrote, revised, cut away, extended, pol- ished, till some four hundred lines-the number was soon ■ doubled- took shape in the Pleasures of Hope, which was published in 1799. ^ Burns had been tliree years dead. Scott was not for six years to begin his wonderful series of romantic epics. The times were propitious for a new poet, and Campbell] who had the good fortune to charm the taste of all ortho- ^fl CAMPBELL. ,^i^ dox i-eader«, was the literary l.ero ot the hour. Not yet twen y.two, hauUsome, genial, ho was carried evt ,•- wen oi;"-""'^' ""'/'"""" ^""- '=<''"°" °f h- poem whole readme puhlic that a year before neglected or dehght at the splend.d phrases and polished eloquence ot the Pto,„-.. of Hop,. Fourteen years later Mme do Stael could wnte to its author that his poem had never lef her and that parts o" it she could read twenty times without weakening their impression. To-day the I'lmmre. of Hope has ceased to please Its abstract and formal elements, its didactic te. den ces us stated heroics do not take hold on ou m- pa h,es, while the historical allusions that a^pe. M w, h hvjng force to contemporaries have to us be me amt and unimpressive. Lines of it have attained a just ' immortality of quotation,- sucli as those referring to 1 e riwToir^""- --'-''^' andthepastage*!^ Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! Ye that at Maratlion and Leuctra bled • Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man- Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van ' Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone, And make her arm as puissant as your own ! Oh ! once again to Freedom's cause return The patriot TELL-the Bruck of Bannockdurn. Histoncally the poem is memorable as the last sunset g ow of the correct and elegant versification that was the glory of the school of Pope. The literary influence of Germany was, as we have seen at this time in the first blush of its ^np,~ ,•- - f "' . 1 1 XXX INTRODUCTIONS. Campbell longed to make the customary literary pilgrim- age, to see its famous authors and to gather the liter, ary material that he felt sure of finding abundantly on the Contment. He set off in 1801 hoping to visit Hamburg, Gottmgen, and Weimar where dwelt the deities of Par- nassus Goethe and Schiller. He saw Klopstock in Ham- burg^, but had no sooner reached Ratisbon in Bavaria than the i rench invested and captured the city. There was a g nnpse of war for him when the Klenau's Austrian cav- alry met Grenier French horse without the city walls, iiut Rat.sbon was too near the scene of hostilities, and the poet returned in October to Altona (on the Elbe, near Hamburg). There he found Irish refugees of 1798, whom he commemorates in the Ex of Erin. There too the daily talk was of the imminent war of England and the Wthern Neutral League. Campbell's patriotism beat iiigh at the prospect, and its inspiration bore him on to complete a song he had already in part composed, Ye Marimr, of Erujland. These lyrics, the Beech Tre^s letUion and the Ode to WhUer ^^ the only permanent friuts of his Continental trip. He wrote much else, how- ever, and vainly agonized over a Queen of the North, an epic of Edinburgh. On the appearance of an English fleet in the Baltic Campbell went home. Lord Minto gave him quarters as a sort of private secretary, and in the patron's home the poet wrote two of his best poems, Hohenlinden and Lochiel. settled at Sydenham Common, near London, where h^ dwelt for seventeen following years. In the early years of his married life he composed Lord UlHrVs Daughter, The Soldter^s Dream, The Battle of the Baltic, and the CAMP BELL XXXI ologiao love poems. "' "" ''"'''^'■'^**' "^ poem, and that it ,. too ,2:,: f U oo f"'" '^ '"? Campben felt tha't ^1:^:1^ t:rTTT Pyoauctions, while the public agreed l^t By J .hu'"' ^.ppocrene was somewlut drouthy. Ho d d o ' British Pods etc Hi. ull ^^''^ Specimens of the J. u<,t», tiio. uis last effort in i.ootrv Thn v -i o/Glencoe, 1842, found no readers, ^'"^ ^''ll/nm Honours, however, did not fnil ti,„ r< 1805 gave lum first £200 then £«0 '^°™™'"'^"t i" In 1827, the sfd™tt nf A, ''''"• "■' " P™«''°n- of tl>e Uni™,itv . 1 °7 '''^""' '"■"' ^°'-^ K-'o.. " tiiat occamc gioiy, wiien it 4l' ^y ' xxxn INTRO D UCTIONS. was twice repeated. When he died, on the 18th of June, 1844, it was amidst a large concourse of sincere mourners that his remains were interred in the Poet's Corner of Westminster Abbey. No mourners were there more sin- cere than the Poles, who in Campbell's death had lost a steadfast friend. It was on their behalf that with the words "dust to dust," Colonel Szyrma sprinkled into the grave a handful of earth from the tomb of Kosciusko. Byron has left a description of Campbell as he was in 1813 :_He "looks well, seems pleased, and dressed to spicery. A blue coat becomes him, so does his new wig. He really looks as if Apollo has sent him a birthday suit or a wedding garmen^t ; and was witty and lively." Long- fellow, who met him the year before his death, notedli great change: "Campbell's outward man disappointed me. He is small and shrunken, frost-nipped by unkindly age, and wears a fancy wig. But I liked his inner man exceedingly. He is simple, frank, cordial, and withal very sociable. " Campbell's popularity as a poet has forever passed. It depended in the main on a literary taste that is now extinct and on temporal causes that no longer exist. With the poets who felt the rising life of a new poetry, Campbell had little communion. "In avoiding tinsel," he wrote, in 1805 of his Copenhagen lyric, " I do not mean inten- tionally to get foul of those lyrical balladists, those detestable heretics against orthodox taste, who, if they durst would turn the temple of Apollo into the temple of Cloacina." He mellowed a little, no doubt, as his later poems show, but never thoroughly abandoned his early principles. Unfortunately for Campbell, the heretics were right, and with the robust romanticism of Scott, the ^y ' CAMrHEl.I.. melancholy heroics of Byron, aufl the xxxiii ,,r , „ , - ' - growing popularity - Wordsworth, the star of Ga.Ppboll's glory rapidly waned. It did not and probably ,v.n not, go out Zj He has ac lueved the immortality of quotation and of the tonrl'T .'■■ ? ■ ?'' " *'"'""'■"'' 'y"<=''^ eift, the trumpet- one that stirs the blood in every nmn that has a country 1 nT , '""■ ''"'■ '""'' '^■'■'"'^ ^^ ^' ^^"'•"""■•v and the Batm of m Baltic, we may, with Woore, think grate- fully of Thomas Campbell, as '"Kgiate " one wb.ost hand Hath shed a new and doatliless ray Around the lyre of tliis ^reat huid ; In whose sea-odes— as in those sliells Where Ocean 's voice of majesty Seems still to sonnd— immortal dwells Old Albion's Spirit of the Sea." !}., ?!■ xxxiv llj 111 INTRODUCTIONS. LONGFELLOW. Journal), rnua M.nuu-lnU o' ) y'f^;:^^''^^'^ ""''""^^^ '••"'" ''»« />"''«/W/0RM88->; Kennedy Jf ir / /^'''^""' Undorwood, //. jp. IHH..; H,.,K.r,son, V.;.. cte^KH,/^ Ir^f' n'r' '''V ''''"''' '''^'' '•'-• elc3V(.n v<,J«., uoston. I8s.;. The be tct l v "■'"" V\'""'^ lu.l.li.slH.I i„ Caml.ridKe ed., IJoston, iH-io.]; ""«^ ""^' ^''''- <<1- "i his puerns istho visa o-c.(l Mil «n 'PI ^ °^ tbislantern- wmr. hi 1 , ^'^'''''^ ^^ ^'^^- "^^t^'^'-^l ^^-t is hidden with the broad mantle of o-odliness «« ,.,i *; ""^° l-iler Of the Ba, P.al.. Bo^lC^^, 'l^'.'Z ."r "'"" uot alwayos so smooth unci elegaut 1 son e .naTf "'' and expect; let them consider that Go 1'^, ^ 1 '" our i)olIishin« In the long sleeplcs., walclies ot tlio nigl.t d.ul and the cross of snow that her death laid upon his breast. n 1880, Vlti,„a Thule announce., that the po 24th, 1882, he died, with these words fresh from his pen: Out, of the shadow of night The world rolls into light ; It is daybreak evcrj'where Jt is tlds spirit of light that pervades all Longfellow's Tostie nf" Z" 'T'""^ '° interpretative genius, the apostle of o d-worid culture preaching in the midst 1":"VT°"'' "" "" ""^ """"' """'"'"-' -™- Diun.tj. Ui h,s translations, exquisite as thev are, his J -« {' s t ei xxxviii INTKODUCTIOm. books of travel, sunny as the lands they depict, are only the most evident part of his mission. More than any other poet he has made the thoughts and feelings born of a wide acquaintance with literature the daily possession of most English readers. The people found in Longfellow one who reached their hearts by appeals to a common elemental nature. For these Longfellow has written poems which inspire and console, and throuo-h the power of tender sympathy help to refine and elevat'e and temper. Most readers have found a peculiar charm in those poems of Longfellow's that take hold of the commonplace and raise it, idealize it, and with a fancy skyborn yet shining about them, present it in a new light, beautiful with a beauty not too fine for simple and good hearts. To difTuse and popularize the truths of poetry, to bring strength, sunshine, and the stirrino-s of a better life to multitudes of men and women, thTs is Longfellow's mission. His honoured place amono- lyric poets is incontestable, and by at least one extensive poem he has found a place among our best descriptive poets The succession of lovely pictures, -the peaceful villa-e the primeval forest, the autumnal landscape, the silent aisles of Southern bayous, the limitless prairies, the inaccessible mountains where sing the silver cords of mighty torrents, the ocean moaning hoarsely among its rocky caverns,-these will be held in loving memory while Time with unfading laurel crowns the idyll of Evangeline. are than lings [laily 3und Deals T has 1 the and arm the mcy new nplc IS of 3 of } is j^ric )eni ets. ent the of its ory of t>Oe cuJL^U vov 'iW ikcM^M J^^^:^Qi ^U!" S^eJLl >cov 0. \J^K/i Oww unx4 yjixi X '.> w *^^ )L Oi. I If. t-o>^ . I I 4,1 »/tu^ 1 JL \CU, ^^c-*- Cs. S,l^lA.^*'*~ »»j»-# c r^" -L ix* ' (1 *M^^ " ^^"^ "^ k-i^ »< — %^ Xa. JU iif Ji^^_^^ ,y_c ifiY «AX^^y%^cr\f 1, j d^ m-^9^. VK u. 4 sfcx_hJf!, ^ «-rv>v^c^ cv^v^*.^ tliuJL .tJL- v^"t: cv:^ -AJTi LijL. cwi^^ 'iicXj i^cc^ .jH, IS ! OXjUa_c ^4i4--»vv ^ ■^ ~lr nm'i I J14 t Inzr ffU.^^^ E^^.^ L U 1- .A — , <»yw ^ ^<-^ - -^b^t^g^ylLcr jL^ 1 I I- 'f^^^'^T 5^Ml \\^ Y^^ S o'Xol^Z^ Av^ v»v et 111 qt irr CO in a 1 It Ar li No AlK Tiie Ma: i-'V COLERIDGE, THE RniE OP THE ANCIENT MARINEll. IN SEVEN PAUTS. ot gradus et eo^natiJ;^ Z-rif *'"'''"" ^"'« -^'- -—a,.! :Wuuy ,,i,^ joca, habitantV A' ■V*'''"^'">'''-^"»''H,noray Quid in«:eiuLnn l.umanum. nun.^.uu a 1 "t'" '1"''"'"'" ''""J"^'' •'^""'ivit '•"'Wneniconteniplari: no nu' ,..;!;' ! ";'-";.'"'^ ^* '"^"'"•is mundi oontrahat nimis, et tota siU. d i " m ' '^""'""^ ^■'^''" ^""'"^''« «« ^"terea invi^ilandtnn est, .n-. :^' ,^ ' "^ I!' ^^'^"^^'•""^«' ««« voritati a noeto, distin.uau.us.-T. Bn.:^^ a^^' ^; ^^ ^ --'"tis. clion. An ancient Mariner moetetli three jral- PAUT I. It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. ''By thy long ^ay beard and glitterin.^ eye f-^^i^l^n Now wherefore stopp'st thou me ^ « ' ^l^a^Sl'"^" detainetli The briaegroom's doors are opened wide, 5 " '" And I am next of kin • The guests are met, the feast is set ; Xvlay'st hear the merry din. " Thfi wp(1- (liii;.'-(,'-iicst is spcll-ltouiul l»y tlin (•>'(( ot tilt! (lid Hca- fariiij,'- man, and I'oii- straiiu'd to liear Ilia tale. COLERIDGE, He hokls him with his skinny hand, ' ' There was a slii]), " q uoth lie. lo "Hold off ! unhand me, gray -beard loon ! " Eftsoons his hand dropt he. Ho holds him with his glittering eye— The wcdding-gucst stood still, And listens like a three years' child ; 15 The Mariner hatli his will. The wedding-guest sat on a stone : He cannbt choose but hear ; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-e3'ed Mariner. The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, Merrily did we drop Below the kirk, below the hill, Below the lighthouse top. S KthJ T^^° s^"^ c^»i« "P "Pon the left. Out of tlie sea came he ! And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the sea. 20 ship sailed southward with aj^'ood wind and fair weather, till it reached the line. 25 Higher and higher every day, Till over the mast at noon— The wedding-guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud bassoon. 30 10 t " 15 20 2r, 30 T//£ RIME OF THE ANCIENT The bride hath paced into tlio hall, Red as a rose is she ; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry minstrels}'. The wedding-guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot choose but hoar ; And thus spake on the ancient man, The briglit-eyed Mariner. And now tlie storm-blast came, and he Was tyrannous and strong : He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased us south along. With sloping mast and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow ' Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bonds his head. The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And south ward aye we fled. And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold : And ice, mast-high, came floating by, As green as emerald. And through the drifts the snowy clifts Bid send a dismal sheen : Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken- The ice was all between. MA/UNER, Tho worl- diii^'fnicst lu\'irctli tlie ••ridiil music; 35 l>ut tlu! iiia- I'iiior coii- tiiuicth Ilia tule. 40 Tho ship (Ir.awn by a storm to'wiM'd tho soutli pole. 45 50 The land of ice aiid of fearful sounds, where no ilviiifr thing was to be seen. n Till a prreat 8^?-7. That bring the fog and bi iUS LU 5 Jay, His ship- mates cry flit nfi-ainst the aiK'ieiit Marnier for K.''''»ff the bird of good luclc. 95 100 Hut when the foff p't^ared off th«y justify the same, and thus make them- selves ;u-- i'oritpiif,..,in mist. thee niuo. I i 1 11 ;■ 6 The fnir l)l'L't!ZO t'(»ll. tiiUH'H; tlio ship«(iit('r» tlu! I'aciHc sails iKirtli- wjinl, even till it r(!aihc8 till! Line. Tho ship hat I) l)ct!ii siiddriily bceulmeU. And the al- batross i)U- Pfiiis to bo avenged. COLERIDGE, Tho fair broGiio blow, tho white foam llcw, TJio furrow followed free ; We were tho fii-.st that ever burst 105 Into tliat silent sea. Down dropt tho breeze, tho sails dropt down, 'Twas sad as sad could bo ; And wo did speak on >- to break The silence of tho sea ! j^^ All in a liot and copper sky, The bloody sun, at noon, Right up above tlie mast did stand, No bigger than the moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion ; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. Water, water, ever3^ wliere. And all the boards did shrink ; Water, water, every where Nor any drop to drink. lift 120 The very deep did rot : Christ ! That ever this should be ! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea. 125 ^, 105 3wn, 110 115 THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. About, a])ouf, in ro.^l and rout Tlio dcatli-fires (Lmccd at night ; Tho water, like a witcli's oils, Burnt green and Idt.c and white. 130 And some in dreams assured woro Of tlie spirit tliat plagued us so ; Nino fathom deep he had followed us From tiio land of mist and snow. A spirit had f<»lin\Vc(| thciii ; ii|it> <(»• tile lii\ isil)!,. inhahilMiiis ofdiisplaiipt, iiciiliirdt'. p.'M-tid Houl.S is .10 clnnato. .„• oleuifut uitl.ulit diie ur niurL '^ "»»»t-rous. u.ld there' And every tongue, tlirougli utter drought 13.5 Was withered at tho i-oot ; Wo could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot. ! -i 120 Ah ! well a-day \ what evil looks Had I from old and 3'oung ! Instead of the cross, the albatross About my neck was hung. Tlio sliip. mates, ill tlicir sore distress, 140 Would tain tlirow the whole guilt on the ancient Mariner: in 8i«-ii niiereof they hang th(! dfiui s«a- hird round Ilia ueck. 125 m 8 COLE K I DC E. TIio ancient Milliner |»e- lioidctii ,1 sijrn in tii(> element alar off. 150 PART III. There passed a weary tlnio. Each throat Was par.>lu>.l, and ghiml oach eyo. A \V(vary time ! a weary time ! How ^laxed oacli weary eye, When looking westward, I behold A something- in the sky. At first it seemed a little speck, And tlien it seemed a inist ; It moved and moved, and took at last A certain shajjc, I wist. A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist ! And still it neared and neared : As if it dodged a water-sprite. It plunged and tacked and veered. At Its noaror \\r\^\ n , , ^'■nSh'Wn, V '^ ^'"-I'^ked, with black lips baked, to lie a ship ; We could nor laugh nor wail ; E'ii'ijf *" ^^"'^^'-h utter drought all dumb we stood ! ?l"' inliu/s'uf ^ ^'^ '"^^ ^^^"' I «"<^M the blood, i,„ ti'i'-«t. ^ And cried, A sail ! a sail ! With throats un.: .ked, with black lips baked, Agape they heard mo call : 145 155 at 115 IfjO 155 ed, i(» Kl., mE KnrE o, tue ancient ma kinek. 1G5 A flash of 170 And liorror follows. For <'>>n it Ih! a sliip that t'onics on- ward without wind or tide ? G^^-amercy! they for joy did grin, And all at once their breath drew in As they were drinking all. See? see! (I cried) she tacks no more! Hitlier to work us weal ; Without a breeze, without a tide. She steadies with upright keel ! ' The western wave was all a-flamo. The day was well nigh done ! Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad briglu sun • When that strange shape drc^ve suddenly ^5 ■Betwixt us and the sun. And straight the sun was flecked with bars (Heaven's Mother send us grace ') As if through a dungeon-grate he peered With broad and burning face. Xo(} Ahas ! ^-thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she nears and nears ' Are those her sails that glance in the sun J-ike restless gossameres? And its ril)3 Ai-o those her ribs through which the sua ,,. F"'"'''"» Did peer, as through a grato ? S,^ i^,. And is that woman all her crew ? K'f ' V;"''' ' Is that a Death ? and are there two ? S!''^"'' Is Death that woman's mate ? akSo',^." ship. It soenieth him hut the skciotou of a ship. r \ i\\ 10 COLERIDGE. liki^clwf'' H^^' l'P« ^^crc red, lier looks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold : Her skin was as white as leprosy, The Night-mare Life-iii-Deaih was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold. 100 Dontli and Lifc-iu- I)(!iith liavn (lircd for the shin's crew, Jiiid she the liittor) wiii- iicth the iiiK'i(>iit Mnriucf. No twjliirlit within \\w courts ul' the sun. The naked hulk alongside came, i;*-, And tlio twain were casting dice; "The game is done ! I've won ! I've won ! " Quoth she, and whistles thrice. Tlie snn'.^ rim dips ; the stars rush out ; At one stride comes the dai-k ; 200 With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea. Off shot the spectre-bark. ^tll'trS"^ ^^'^^ listened and looked sideways up ! Fear at my heart, as at a cup, My life-blood seemed to sip ! 205 Tlie stars were dim, and thick the night, The steerman's face by his lamp gleamed white ; From the sails the dew did drip- Till clomb above the eastern bar The horned moon, with one bright star 210 Within the nether tip. ?nuther7 ^""^ ""^^^^ °"''' ^^ *^^ s^ar-doggcd moon, Too qnick for groan or sigh, 190 I'Ja 200 205 Cd ?1() THE KIME OF THE ANCIENl^ MARINEK. II Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, And cursed me with his eye. Four times fifty living men, (And I heard nor sigh nor groan) With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, They dropped down one hy one. The souls did from their bodies fly,— They fled to bliss or woe ! And every soul, it passed me bv. Like the whizz of my cross-bow ! " 215 His s|)in. Ill atfs (Iron down (Iciul. ^-'O Jiut LitV-in- Dcatli liciritis Iicr work (HI tllO iUK'ifllt Muriiior. PART IV. "I FEAR thee, ancient Mariner ! I fear thy skinny hand ! And thou are long, and lank, and brown, As is the ..-ibbed sea-sand. * I fear thee and thy glittering eye. And thy skinny hand, so browi.."— Fear not, fear not, thou wedding-guest ! This bod^ dropt not down. 225 The wf'd- diiiK' truest fearetli that asniiit is talkiiif,' to lihii. oqn nut the an- *'^' fh'iit Mnri- ner assiirellj hlin of his —____ Ixxiiiy I if,., "For he last two lines of this stanza. I am indehted f1''.'" '''l"/" Nether Stowoy to Dulvcrton, with him and his sister in ^^ COLERIDGE. Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea ! And never a saint took rity on My soul in agony. SeSr^ The many men, so beautiful! Of the calm. And they all dead did lie : And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on ; and so did I. ffl rK«"^ I looked upon the rotting sea, slioiild llva, A „ J J ' and so many "^"^ arew my eyes awav • lie dcjid. Till 1 looked upon the rotting deck, And there the dead men lay. I looked to heaven, and tried to pray ; But or ever a prayer had gusht, A wicked whisper came, and made My heart as dry as dust. 235 240 S45 I Closed my lids, and kept them close, And the balls like pulses beat ; For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky ' 250 Lay like a load on my weary eye And the dead were at my feet. c?u"rH?iivcth "^^^ ^^^^ ^'^^^'^ "lelted from their limbs, for him in Nor rot nor reek did they : 7-//^ A'fME OP THE ACCENT m,am,. The look with wluch they looked on „e .» .-» ov. „r Jiad never passed cawav *''« ^'^^ ''^ • naeu. An orphan's curse would drag to hell A spirit from on liigh • But oh ! more horrible than thafc Is the curse in a dead man's eye ! Seven days, seven nights I saw fl.of 's."Ls, i saw that curse And yet I could not die. 1.3 2% The moving moon went up the sky, And no wliero did abide : Softly she was going up, And a star or two beside— In his loneli- »ic8s and I'-xediicss he 2G5 y«anieth to- wards the joiirnoyini,' "loon, and yet still move onwir,7 • n.. i *^.i«| 310 f'l'"'!!! slr.niyi> flijrhls imkI foiiiiritiiiiis ill rlif skv niKi the e'le- iiieiit. 315 820 1; - ^^m~ - i w/mk ' ^- ^Bf ^ns ^ aife'' ' 1 1 ^k|- 1 ^^^K i- ill ^hV 16 COLERIDGE. M The bofUps of the sliip's crow are inspired, and tlie sliip moves on. The tliick black cloiul w.as cleft, and still The moon was at its side : Like waters shot from some high crag, The lightning fell with never a jag, 825 A river steep and wide. The loud wind never reached the ship, Yet now the sliip moved on ! Beneath the lightning and the moon The dead men gave a groan. 330 They groa,ned, they stirred, they all uprose, Nor spake, nor moved their ej'es ; It had been strange, even in a dream, To have seen those dead men rise. The helmsman steered, the si. ., moved on ; 335 Yet never a breeze up blow ; The mariners all 'gan work the ropes. Where they were wont to do ; They raised their limbs like lifeless tools— We were a ghastly crew. 340 The body of my brother's son Stood by me, knee to knee : The body and I pulled at one rope. But he said nought to me. But not by the aouls of - "I fear thee, ancient Mariner ! " tno men, not ^ . , uydemoii9 -t*© calm, tho" irorlrlliifv r^n/^^* • 845 325 TffE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 'Tvvas not thoso souls that fled in pain, Whicli to their corses came again, But a troop of spirits blest ; 17 of cirtlj or ini(l(||(; iiir, Imt by ;i l)l('ss('(J trodp ot .'uii,'-«'|ic' spirits, sent T-i , . down |)v (iip 1 or wiien it dawned— thev dronnnrl +!,«• iiivociti.,!, ..r . , , "^^3^ ^"opperl their arms, tii" f,'uardiau And clns(-firnr7 v.^,Tv,.i i.1,- saint. 355 And clustered round the mast ; 3,1 Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, And from their bodies passed. Around, around, flew each sweet sound. Then darted to the sun ; Slowly the sounds came back again, Now mixed, now one by one. Sometimes a-dropping from the sky I heard the sky-lark sing ; Sometimes all little birds that are. How they seemed to fill the sea and air With their sweet jarg oning ! And now 'twas like all instruments. Now like .1 lonely flute ; And now it is an angel's song, That makes the heavens be mute. It ceased ; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook 111 the leafy month of June, 3W 365 I. i^ I I S 18 *lf Tlio lono" soino spirit from tli(! 8outll-|x»lo carries on tile sliip as far as tlie line, in obe- dience to the an^'elic trooi). |)ut still re- <|iiiretli vengeance. 880 Tho Polar spirit's fel- low (lemons, tile iiivi3i!)le iiilml)itiints of tlic COLEAVDGE. That to the sleeping woods aU night Singeth a quiet tune. Till noon we quietly sailed on, Yet never a breeze did breathe : Slowly and smoothly went the ship, .•j;^ Moved onward from beneath. Under the keel nine fathom deep, From the land of mist and snow, Tho spirit slid : and it was ho That made the ship to go. The sails at noon left off th.ir tune, And the ship stood still alsc. The sun, right up above the mast, Had fixed her to the ocean : But in a minute sho'^gan stir. With a short uneasy motion- Backwards and forwards half her ' ngth With a short uneasy motion. Then like a pawing horse let go. She made a sudden bound • It flung the blood into my head, And I fell down in a swound. How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to declare ; But ore my livlnir lifo r«Hivp..fi S85 300 a7ft 380 THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 10 I heard, and in my soul discerned Two voices in the air. "Is it he?" quofh one, "Is this the man? By Him who died on cross, With his cruel bow he laid full low 400 The harmless Albatross. "The spirit who bideth by himself In the land of mist and snow, He loved the bird that loved the man Who shot him with his bow." The other was a softer voice, As soft as honey -dew : Quoth he, "The man hath penance done, And penance more will do. " cicmoiif. tii part ill Ills wroiip-: njKl twonf tlit-m n-lato, one to the other, that penance loiiK and heavy for tht! aiu'ieiit Mariner luitll lii'i'll aceorded to the Pol.ir spirit, w lio retiinieth soiitliward. 405 \ M 385 300 395 PART VI. FIRST VOICK. But tell mo, tell me ! speak again. Thy soft response renewing— What makes that ship drive on so fast ? "^hat is the ocean doing ? SECONI) vorcE, Still as a slave before his lord, The o eau hath no blast ; 410 415 20 *'S- The Mariner liath hoon east into a trance ; for till! aiierellc I>o\V('r f.nis- t!tli the vessel to drive nortinvanl fnatertiiaii liinnan life C5ould endure. The snpor- •III t lira I mo- tif)n is ns tnrded ; the Mariner awalips. and his penance COLERIDGE, His great bright eye most silently Up to the moon is cast If he may know which way to go ; For she guides him smooth or grim. See, brother, see ! how graciously She looketh down on him. PinsT vorcR. But why drives on that ship so f.st, Without or wave or wind ? SECOND VOICE. The air is cut away iM^foro, And closes from behind. Fly, brother, fly ! more high, more high ! Or we shall be belated : For slow and slow that ship will go, When the Mariner's trance is abated. I woke, and wo were sailing on 430 As in a gentle weather : 'Twas night, calm night, the moon was high ; oo 425 hiflnenance oii. i 1 i>eKin8 anew. 1 ne dead men stood together. All stood together on the deck. For a charnel -dungeon fitter : All fixed on mo their stony eyes. That in the moon did glitter. 48ft 420 i.'.'i rm s-u,B OF TUE ancient M^.^t^s, Tl.ora„«, the e„..se, wi.l. which thoy die,,, Hiul novor ],as3od away • f could aot draw my oyes from theirs, ,„ Nor turn thorn up to ,,r,.y. 21 Ana "ow this spoil wa. snapt : once more 1 viewetl tho ocoan njrcci, And lookoa far forth, yet little saw Of what hud else been seen- I^iko one, that on a lonesonio road . ^°^^ ^V'^^k in fear and dread, And having once turned rotmd walks on, And turns no more his lieud • Because he knows a frightful' fiend Doth close behind hini tread. But soon there breathed a wind on me Nor sound nor motion made: Its path was not upon tho sea, In ripple or in shade. It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek I^iko a meadow-gale of spring- It mingled strangely with my fears Yet it felt like a welcoming. Swiftly, swiftly flew tho ship, if- si.„ oaiicd aoiuy too ; Tho oiirsn is finally exnl. atcU. 455 4ao ( « 22 Ami the •' • ticiit Mart lUT Im'I|(i|(|. •'th liis native country. COLERIDGE. Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze- On mo alone it blew. Oh ! (Irciun of joy ! is this indeed The li«:ht-hoiiso top I see ? Is this the hill? is ihis the kirk? Is this mine own countreo? We drifted o'er the harbour-bar, And I with sobs did pray— O let mo bo awake, my God ! Or let mo sleep alway. Tho harbour-l)ay was clear as glass, So smootlily it was strewn ! And on the bay the moonlight lay, And the shadow of the moon. Tho rock shone briglit, the kirk no less, That stands above tlio rock ; The moonlight stooped in silentness The steady weathercock. 466 470 475 And the bay was wliito Vv'itli silent light Till rising from tho same, ?niriKJm, ^"" '"'•^">' «^^^1^«' ^liat shadows were, tlHMh'ati T„ . . Ixxlies, In crimson colours camo. And aniM'ai 111 tlit'fr ^^o, , Laughed loud and long, and all the while His eyes went to and fro. "Ila ! ha !" quoth he, "full plain I see. The devil knows how to row." in Tho ancient Mariner earnestly t'iitreat(Mh tin' lierniit to sliri('V(( liini; and the penanci; of'iiCe fails 01) liiin. 670 And now, all in my own countree, I stood on the firm land ! The hermit stepped forth from the boat, And ^jcarcely he could stand. " shrievo me, slirieve me. holy man ! " The hermit crossed his brow. 573 "Say quick," .iuoth lie, ''I bid thee say— What manner of man art thou ?" Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched With a woful agony, 6fiO 5C5 70 rilE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER, 2^ Which forced mo to begin my tale ; And tlien it left nio free. Since then, at an uncertain liour That agony returns : And till ray ghastly tale is told, This heart within me burns. I pass, like night, from land to land ; I have strange power of speech ; The moment that liis face I see, I know the man that must hear mo : To him my tale I teach. 580 585 And over mid anon tlinm^rhdiit his fnturt! lift' and iv;rony con- «traiiu.tliliim to travel i'roux land to land ; 5yo What loud uproar l)ursts from that door ! Tlie wedding-guests are tliero ; But in tlio garden-bower the bride And bride-maids singing arc ; And liark the little vesper bell, ^^ Which biddeth mo to prayer ! wedding-guest ! tliis soul hatli l^een Alone on a wide wide sea : So lonely 'twas, that Go so 85 40 40 »5 WORDSWORTH. 80 35 40 45 THREE YEARS SIIR riREW IN SUN AND SHOWER. [TirR EDUCATIOX OP NATURE.] Tfiree years she grow in sun an.! sl.owor, Then Nature said, " A lovelier flower On earth was never sown ; This Child I to myself will take, She shall be mine, and I will nuiko « A Lady of my own. Myself will to my darling bo Both law and impulse : and with mo The Girl, in rock and j)lain, In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, ,o Shall feel an overseeing power To kindle or restrain. She shall bo sportive as the fav/n That wild with glee across the lawn Or up the mountain springs ; And hor's shall be the breathing balm, And hor>^ the silence and the calm Of mute insensate things. 15 [J . I .J :,; Hi! 32 WORDSWORTfl. The floating clouds thoir state shall lend To her ; for her the willow bend ; to Nor shall she fail to see Even in the motion of the Storm Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form By silent sympathy. The stars of midnight shall be dear To her ; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, / And beauty born of murmuring sound \ Shall pass into her face. And vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height, ^Her virgin bosom swell ; Such thoughts to Lucy J will give While she and I together live Here in this happy dell." tft 80 35 Thus Nature spake-The work was done— How soon my Lucy's race was run ! She died, and left to mo This heath, this calm, and quiet scene ; 40 The memory of what has been. And never more will be. WKITIEN I.V LONDON, HEPTLMBHK, . W. S3 20 25 80 35 WKITTEN I.V LONDON. SEPTEMBER IW OFriexoI I know not which way I nn.st look For coniforr, bcin^^ us I an., opprest, To think that now our lif,. is only drest For^how; mean hundy-wurk of craftsman, . ook, Or ^^room !^Wo must nm glittering liko a brook 5 III tho open sunshine, or wo are unbL-st : The woahhiost nam among us V the best : Ko grandeur uuw in nature or in book IX^lights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, Tliis is idohitry : and those we adore: ' Plain living and high thinking are no more The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone ; our iH3ace, our fearful innocence. And pure religion breathing household la ' vvs. 10 40 MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) ■^ Ilia ■ 5.0 '""= ^6 163 1^ tuuu M 3.6 m Z5 22 2.0 1.8 ^ APPLIED IM/1GE inc '653 East Moin Street Rochester, New York 14609 USA (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone (716) 288- 5989 -Fax 34 WORDSWORTH, LONDON, 1802. \. i'M [i.*l Milton ! thou shonld'st bo living at this hour : Enghind hath need of thee : siio is a fen Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen. Fireside, , the heroic wealth of hall and bower, 'h^-^^y^ Have forfeited their ancient English dower 5 Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart : Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea : 10 Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart Tlie lowliest duties on herself did lay. ro THE DAISY, 35 TO THE DAISY. 'p\ ^Vn^W f" 1 : 10 "With little here to do or seo Of things that in the great world be, Sweet Da!S3^ ! oft I talk to thee, For thou art worthy, Thou unassuming Common-pJace Of Nature, with that homely face. And yet with soinething of a grace, Which Love makes for thee ! Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes. Loose types of things through all degrees. Thoughts of thy raising ; And many a fond and idle name I give to thee, for praise or blame, As is the humour of the game, While I am gazing. A nun demure, of lowly port • Or sprightly maiden, of Love's court, In thy simplicity the sport Of all temptations; A queen in crown of rubies drest ; A starveling in a scanty vest j 10 15 *1 36 WORDSWORTH, I if: Are all, as seems to suit thee best, Thy appellations. A little Cyclops, with one eye 26 Staring to threaten and defy. That thought comes next— and instantly The freak is over, The shape will vanish— and behold A silver shield with boss of gold, ao That spreads itself some faery bold i In fight to cover ! I see thee glittering from afar— And then thou irt a pretty star, Not quite so fair as many are 35 In heaven above thee ! Yet like a star, with glittering crest, Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest;— May peace come never to his nest Who shall reprove thee ! 40 Bright Floioer I for by that name at last, Wlien all my reveries are past, I call thee, and to that cleave fast, Sweet silent creature ! That breath'st with me in sun and air, 45 Do thou, as thou art wont, repair My heart with gladness, and a share Of thy meek nature ! 25 •M 35 40 45 7'//£ SMALL CELANDLNE, 37 THE SMALL CELANDINE. [a lesson. ] There is a Flower, the lesser Celandine, That shrinks, like many more, from cold and rain ; And, the first moment that the sim may shine, Bright as the sun himself, 'tis out again ! When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm, 5 Or olasts the green field and the trees distrest. Oft have I seen it muffled up from harm, In close self-shelter, like a Thing at rest. But lately, one rough day, this Flower I passeJ, And recognized it, thougli an altered form, lo Now standing forth an offering to the blast, And buffeted at will by rain and storin. I stopped, and said with inly-muttered voice, "It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold ; This neither is its courage nor its choice, 15 But its necessity in being old. The sunshine may not cheer it, nor the dew ; It cannot help itself in its decay ; Stiff in its members, withered, changed of hue." And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was grey. 20 To be a Prodigal's Favourite-then, worse truth, A Miser's Pensioner— behold our lot ! O Man, that from thy fair and shining youth Age might but take the things Youth needed not ! \' i n % l.'ll «f 38 IVOKDSIVOI^ITII. TO SLEEP. A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by, Ono after one ; the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring ; the fall of rivers, winds^and seas. Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky; I have thought of all by turns, and yet do lie 6 Sleepless ! and soon the small birds' melodies Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees ; And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry. Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep ! by any stealth : lo So do not let me wear to-night away : Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth ? Come, bless'^d barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health ! INSIDE OF KINCS COLLEGE CHAPEL, 39 10 INSIDE OF KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, CAMBRIDGE. \^Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense, ^^ With ill-matched aims tlio Architect who planncd- ';;^^' Albeit labourin- for a scanty band ■• Of white-robed Scholars only-this immense And glorious Work of fine intelligence ! ., Give .^jhou canst ; higli Heaven rejects the lore Of nicely-calculated less or more ; So deemed the man who fashioned for the sense These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells, lo Where light and shade repose, where music dwells Lingering, and wandering on as loth to die ; Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof That they were born for immortality. I ii 40 WORDSWORTH, TO A SKYLARK. Ethereal minstrel ! pilftTim of the sky ! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound ? Or, while the wings aspire, are licart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground ? Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, 5 Those quivering wings composed, that music still! [To the last point of vision, and heyond, Mount, daring warbler ! that love-prompted strain, ('Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond) Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain : 10 Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege ! to sing All independent of the leafy spring. ] Leave to the nightingale her shady wood ; A privacy of glorious light is thine ; Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood 15 Of harmony, with instinct more divine : Type of the wise who soar, but never roam ; True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home ! ^1 \ IVHY ART THOU SILENT i IS THY LOVE. 41 WHY ART. THOU SILENT? IS THY LOVE A PLANT. !1! in, 10 15 [to a distant friend.] Why art thou silent ? Is thy love a plant Of such weak fibre tliat the treaclierous air Of absence withers what was once so fair ? Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant? Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant- 5 Bound to thy service with unceasing care, The mind's least generous wish a mendicant For nought but what thy happiness could spare. Speak-though this soft warm heart, once free to hold A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine, 1 . Be left more desolate, more dreary cold Than a forsaken bird's-nest filled with snow 'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine- Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may it CAMPBELL. HOHENLINDEN. On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat, at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery. By torch and trumpet fast array'd, Each horseman drew his battle-blade, And furious every charger neigh'd. To join the dreadful revelry. Then shook the hills with thunder riven Then rush'd the steed, to battle driven. And louder than the bolts of heaven, Far flash'd the red artillery. 10 15 nOHENLINDEN. But refldcr yot tliat light shall glow On Linclon's liiUs of stained snow, And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rai)idly. 'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce tlio war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Fraiik, and licry Hun, ' Shout in their sulph'rous canoi)y. The combat deepens. On, ye bravo, Who rush to glor3', or the grave ! Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry ! Few, few, shall part, where many meet ! The snow shall be their winding sheet. And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. 43 so 25 80 V. ?■:,# tf 44 CAMPliELL. YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. A NAVAI, ODK. 1. Ye Manners of En^^land ! That guard our native seas ; Wliose flag has braved, a tliousand years, Tlio battle and the breeze ! Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe ! And sweep through the deep, While the Stormy winds do blow ; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. 10 II. The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave ! For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave : Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep, 15 y£ MAA'/N£/^S OF ENGLAND, Whro tho stormy winds do blow ; Wliilo tlio battle nigos loud and long, And tho stormy winds do blow. 4r> so III. Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep ; Her marcli is o'er tho mountain-waves, Her homo is on tho deep. Witli tlmnders from her native oak, * She quells the floods below,— As they roar on the shore, Wiien the stormy winds do ])Iow : When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. 25 .ft if 80 IV. The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn ; Till danger's troubled night depart. And the star of peace return. Then, then, ye ocean-warriors ! Our song and feast shall flow To tho fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow ; When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm Ima ponc..%.l ►^ M- S5 40 M. > I 'I ! * 46 ''■J ,'Aivt* CAMPBELL. BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. I. Of Nelson and the North, Sing tliG glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth All the might of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone ; By each gun the lighted brand, In a bold determined hand. And the Prince of all the land Led them on. — II. Like leviathans afloat, ' Lay their bulwarks on the brine ; While the sign of battle flew On the lofty British line : It was ten of April morn by the chime ; As they drifted on their path, There was silence deep as death ; And the boldest held his breath. For a time. — III. But the might of England flush'd To anticipate the scene ; And her van the fleeter rush'd O'er the deadly space between. t^Mrtyar^J 'Hearts of oak!' our captains cried ; when each gun ■ ' ".< J I J 10 15 80 10 15 20 m BATTLE OF THE BALTIC, From its adamantine lips . Spread a death-shade round the ships, Like the hurricane eclipse Of the sun. — IV. Again! again! again! And the havoc did not slack, Till a feeble cheer the Dane To our cheering sent us back ;— Their shots along the deep slowly boom Then ceased— and all is wail, As they strike the shatter'd sail; Or, in conflagration pale, Light the gloom. -- V. Out spoke the victor then, As he hail'd them o'er the wave ; * Ye are brothers ! ye are men ! And we conquer but to save :— So peace instead of death let us bring ; But yield, proud foe, thy fleet. With the crews, at England's feet. And make submission meet To our King. '-^ VI. Then Denmark blest our chief That he gave her wounds repose ; 47 25 SO flit 35 40 45 48 CAMPBELL. W57j!. And the sounds of joy and grief From her people wildly rose, As death withdrew his shades from the day. r^o While the sim look'd smiling bright O'er a wide and woful sight, Where the fires of funeral light Died away. — VII. Now joy, old England, raise ! 55 For the tidings of thy might, By the festal cities' blaze. Whilst the wine cup shines in light ; And yet amidst that joy and uproar. Let us think of them that sleep, eo Full many a fathom deep, By thy wild and stormy steep, Elsinore ! — VIII. Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride Once so faithful and so true, 65 On the deck of fame that died, With the gallant good Riou : Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave ! While the billow mournful rolls. And the mermaid's song condoles, 70 Singing glciy to the souls Of the brave !— 3#i 50 55 TO 65 70 ' . ' A THOUGHT SUGGESTED BY THE NEIV YEAK. 40 i THOUGHT SUGGESTED BY THE NEW YEAR. [t T=3 RIVER OF LIFE.] The more -3 live, more brief appear Our life's succeeding stages : A day to childhood seems a year, And years like passing ages. The gladsome current of our youth, 5 Ere passion yet disorders. Steals, lingering like a river smooth Along its grassy borders. But, as the care-worn cheek grows wan, And sorrow's shafts fly thicker. Ye stars, that measure life to man, Why seem your courses quicker? When joys have lost their bloom and breath, And life itself is vapid, Why, as we reach the Falls of death, Feel we its tide more rapid ? It may be strange-yet who would change Time's course to slower speeding ; When one by one our friends have gone, And left our bosoms bleeding ? Heaven gives our years of fading strength Indemnifying fleetness; And those of youth, a seeming length, Proportioned to their sweetness. 10 15 20 \ \\ LONGFELLOW. m A PSALM OF LIFE. WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNCr MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST. Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 6 And the grave is not its goal ; Dust thou art, lu dust returnest, "Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way ; lo But to act, that each to-morro vv Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating 15 Funeral marches to the grave. I A PSALM OF LIFE. In the world's broad field of battle, In tlie bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattlr. ! Be a hero in the strife ! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! Let the dead Past bury its dead ! Act, —act in the living Present ! Heart within, and God o'erhead ! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time ; - Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, "With a heart for any fate • Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait. 51 20 25 30 85 % 62 LONGFELLOW. A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE. This is the place. Stand still, my steed, Let me review the scene, And summon from the shadowy Past The forms tliat once have been. The Past and Present here unite Beneath Time's flowing tide, Like footprints hidden by a brook. But seen on either side. Here runs the hi^^hway to the town ; There the green lane descends, Through which I walked to church with thee, O gentlest of my friends ! The shadow of the linden-trees Lay moving on the grass ; Between them and the moving boughs, A shadow, thou didst pass. .< 10 ifl Thy dress was like the lilies, And thy heart as pure as they One of God's holy messengers Did walk with me that day. 20 10 A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE. i 1.1 20 .r v^ m I saw the branches of the trees Bend down thy toucli to me^t, The clover-blossoms in the grass Rise up to kiss thy feet. "Sleep, sleep to-day, tormenting cares, ^ Of eartli and folly born ! " Solemnly sang the village choir On that sweet Sabbath morn. ^Through the closed blinds the golden sun .-^>"-^ 'Poured in a dusty beam, Like the celestial ladder seen By Jacob in his dream. And ever and anon, the wind, Sweet-scented with the hay, Turned o'er the hymn-book's fluttering leaves That on the window lay. ' « .1 Long was the good man's sermon, Yet it seemed not so to me • ^-^ ' For he spake of Ruth the beautiful ^ I And still I thought of thee. Long was the prayer he uttered, ,r^ .^.^^ Yet it seemed not so to me ; For in my heart I prayed with him, And still I thought of thee. 53 25 SO 35 l^ ,:W^- 40 M I' t i I 54 •J I LONGFELLOW. But now, alas ! tlio place seems changed ; Thou art no longer here : Part of the sunshine of the scene AVith thee did disappear. Though thoughts, deep-rooted in my heart. Like pine-trees dark and high, Subdue the light of noon, and breathe A low and ceaseless sigh ; This memory briglitens o'er the past, As when the sun, concealed Behind some cloud that near us hangs, Shines on a distant field. ■■1 ■ 45 60 56 7. 'X. 'f.\ ;. ' (ij>> ■J yui \rt-'^ if 46 THE DA Y /S DONE, 66 so 55 THE DAY IS DONE. The (lay is done, and tho darkness Falls from tlio wings of Night, As a featlior is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I sec the lights of the village Gleam tlirough the rain and tlio mist, And a fooling of sadness comes o'er me ' That my soul cannot resist : A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain. Come, read to me some poem. Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day. Not from the grand old masters, Not from the bards sublime. Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time. mil 10 15 SO I 56 LONGFELLOW, For, like strains of martial music, Their mi^lity tlioughta suggest Life's endless toil and endeavoi-; And to-night I long for rest. Head from some humbler poet, Whose songs gusliod from his heart, As showers froui the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start ; Who, through long days of labor, And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music. And the cares, that infest the day. Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away. 2S 80 Sf) 40 THE OLD CLOCK ON TJIE S7AIKS, 67 li 2S 80 Sfi 40 THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. ^^^^^^^^^^^^l:^^ ^'^ e^ -m .ns ee.e Jamais! Jamais! toujours!" '" "^'^ to,nJ,oau.x : "Toujour^! Jacquks Uwiiuink. Somewhat back from the villafio street Stands the old-fashioned country-seat. Across its antique portico Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw ; And from its station in the hall An ancient timepiece says to all, -^ " Forever— never I Never— forever ! " Half-way up the stairs it stands, And points and beckons with its hands From its case of massive oak, Like a monk, who, under his'cloak, Crosses himself, and sighs, alas ! With sorrowful voice to all who pass,^ " Forever- never ! Never — forever 1 " By day its voice is low and light ; But in the silent dead of night, Distinct as a passing footstep's fall, 10 15 58 LONGFELLOW. It ochoos nlonqj tho vacant hall, Alo//^ > Unjr, ttlo,,^. tho floor. ^"*H< s say, ateachclmmbul•-(loor,— "Fol.dVe^— never! Never— forever ! " Tbroiiffh days of soiiuw and of mirtli, Thioiij^h (*nys of doatli and days uf birth, Through every swift vicissitude m ji^'w' Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood, And as if, like God, it all things snv, It calmly repeats those words of awe,— "Forever— never ! Never— forever ! " In that mansion used to be Free-hearted Hospitality ; His great fires up the chimney roared • The stranger feasted at his board ; But, like the skeleton at the feast, That warning timepiece never ceased,— "Forever— never! Never— forever ! " There groups of merry children played. There youths and maidens dreaming strayed ; O precious hours ! O golden prime, And affluence of love and time ! Even as a miser counts his gold. so 15 U(\ ^f( 80 86 J ft 40 45 20 25 "T 80 35 J 40 4.') THE OLD CLOCK ON 'I HE S/J/A'S. Those hours tlio ancfrnt timupiuce told, ''Forovor— nuverl Never— fore vor!" From that chuniher, c lothed in Nvhlfo, T}io bride came fortli on ]ier wedding night Tliuro, in tliat silent room below, Tiio dead lay in his shroud of snow • And in the hush that followed the prayer Was heard the old clock on the stair,- ' " Forever— never ! Never— forever ! " All are sen ♦ tered now and fled. Some are married, some are dead ; And when I ask, with throbs of p'ain. "Ah ! when sluill they all meet again ?'" As in the days long since gone by, The ancient timepiece makes reply,— " Forever— never ! Never— forever ! " Never here, forever there, Where all parting, pain, and care. And death, and time shall disappear,- For ever tliore, but never here ! The horologe of Eternity Sayeth this incessantly,— " Forever— never ! Never— forever ! " 60 (k) 85 C( C5 70 f «» ■ •' 60 LONGFELLOW. 'I; THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD. DEVEREUX FARM, NEAR MARBLEIIEAD. We sat within the farm-house old, Whose windows, looking o'er the bay, Gave to the sea-breeze, damp and cold, An easy entrance, night and day. Not far away we saw the port, The strange, old-fashioned, silent town, The lighthouse, the dismantled fort, The wooden houses, quaint and brown. We sat and talked until the night, Descending, filled the little room ; Our faces faded from the sight. Our voices only broke the gloom. We spake of many a vanished scene, Of what we once had thought and said, Of what had been, and might have been And who wa- changed, and who was dead ; And all that fills the hearts of friends When first they feel, with secret pain. Their lives thenceforth have separate ends, And never can be one again ; The first slight swerving of the heart. That words are powerless to express, 10 IS 80 i 10 15 20 THE FIRE OF DRIFT- WOOD, And leave it still unsaid in part. Or say it in too great excess. The very tones in which we spake Had something- strange, I could but mark ; Ihe leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark. Oft died tlie words upon our lips, As suddenly, from out the fire Built of the wreck of stranded ships, The flames would leap and then expire. And, as their splendor flashed and failed We thought of wrecks upon the main ' Of ships dismasted, that were hailed And sent no answer back again. The windows, rattling in their frames, The ocean, roaring up the beach The gusty blast, the bickering flames, AU mingled vaguely in our speech ; Until they made themselves a part Of fancies floating through the brain The long-lost ventures of the heart, That send no answers back again. O flames that glowed !0 hearts that yearned I .. They were indeed too much akin The drift-wood firo without that burned The thoughts that burned and glowed within. Gl 25 80 35 <0 'i 62 LONGFELLOW. RESIGNATION. There is no flock, howcvor watched and tended, But Olio dead lamb is iLoro ! There is no iiresido, liowsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead ; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted ! Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions Not from the ground arise, But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly through the mists and vapors ; Amid these earthly damps What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps. 10 15 bil There is no Death ! What seems so is transition ; Tliis life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death. 20 10 15 20 'i RESIGNAl'ION. S1.0 is not dead, -the chiU of om- affection - But gone luito tl.at sdiool Who,.e.,.e no longer need, o.., 00.. ...otection. And Clirist Jiimself dotli rule. 1.1 that great cloister's stillness an.l seclusion ■oy guardian an«els Jod, 't 'T '""'"'""' ^^'^ '-'-^ «-'^ l-""tion, blie lives, whom we call dead. Day after day we think what she is doing iu tliose bright realms of air • Year after year, her tender step! pursuing, -Behold her grown more fair. Thus do wo walk wifl. i.r>,. ^ i '^''^'^^^^^^^^'■' and keep unbroken The bond which nature givog Tl^ang tl.t our remembranc; though unspoken, . May reach her where she lives. Not as a child shall we again behold her • For wlicn with raptures wild In our embraces we again enfold her, She will not be a child ; 63 25 30 40 B.it a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, Clothed with celestial grace ; And beantiful with all the soul's expansiou Shall WG behold Jier face. It I' i Bi:; 64 LONGFELLOW. And though at times impetuous with emotion ' - ■'45 And anguish long suppressed, The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean, That cannot be at rest, — We will be patient, and assuage the feeling We may not wholly stay ; By silence sanctifying, not concealing, The grief that must have way. 50 1 a .*-■ y45 THE BUILDERS. 65 i r M) THE BUILDERS. All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time ; Some with massive deeds and great Some with ornaments of rhyme. Nothing useless is, or low ; Each thing in its place is best ; And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest. For the structure that we raise, Time is with materials filled ; Our to-days and yesterdays Are the blocks with which we build. Truly shape and fashion these ; Leave no yawning gaps between ; Think not, because no man sees, Such things will remain unseen. In the elder days of Art, Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part ; For the Gods see everywhere. '■' ■^ U.C 10 15 20 66 LONGFELLOW, Let us do our work as well, Both the unseen and the seen ; Make the house, where Gods may dwell, Beautiful, enth^e, and clean. I . Else our lives are incomplete, ^i'^ Standin^^ in these walls of Time, Broken stairways, where the feet Stumble as they seek to climb. ) Build to-day, then, strong and sure. With a firm and ample base ; And ascending and secure Shall to-morrow find its place. Thus alone can we attain To those turrets, where the eye Sees the world as one vast plain, And one boundless reach of sky. 25 30 35 I THE LADDER OF ST. AUGUSTINE. 67 THE LADDER OF ST. AUGUSTINE. ^ //"^ U 25 80 S5 Saint Auoustine ! well hast thou said, That of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of shamo ! All common things, each day's events, That v/ith the hour begin and end, Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we may ascend. The low desire, the base design, That makes another's virtues less ; The revel of the ruddy wine, And all occasions of excess ; The longing for ignoble things ; The strife for triumph more than truth ; The hardening of the heart, that brings Irreverence for the dreams of youth ; All thoughts of ill ; all evil deeds. That have their root in thoughts of ill ; Whatever hinders or impedes The action of the nobler will ,•_ All these must first be trampled down Beneath our feet, if we would gain 10 15 20 ■Ilk v\ t; It 08 LONGFELLOW. In the bright fields of fair renown The right of eminent domain. We have not wings, we cannot soar ; But we have feet to scale and climb By slow degrees, hx more and more, The cloudy summits of our time. The mighty pyramids of stone That wedge-like cleave the desert airs. When nearer seen, and better known. Are but gigantic flights of stairs. The distant mountains, that uprear Their solid bastions to the skies, Are crossed by pathways, that appear As we to higher levels rise. The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night. Standing on what too long we bore With shoulders bent and downcast eyes, We may discern— unseen before— A path to higher destinies, Nor deem the irrevocable Past As wholly wasted, wholly vain, If, rising on its wrecks, at last, To something nobler we attain. 25 30 Sf 40 45 S I A Ei A] THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS. 69 25 SO sr 40 45 THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS. A MIST was driving down the British Channel, The day was just begun, And through the window-panes, on floor and panel, Streamed the red autumn sun. It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pennon, And the white sails of ships • And, from the frowning rampart, the black cannon Hailed it with feverish lips. Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, Hythe, and Dover "Were all alert that day, ' To see the French war-steamers speeding over, When the fog cleared away. Sullen and silent, and like couchant lions, Their cannon, through the night, Holding their breath, had watched, in grim defiance. The sea-coast opposite. And now they roared at drum-beat from their stations On every citadel j Each answering each, with morning salutations, That all was well. And down the coast, nil fnl-Jtip. ,.,rv ^v- ^,- ■• Replied the distant forts, r r 10 15 20 !, A Ax.kA.'^' 70 LONGFELLOW. >«-^/v*VM As if to summon from his sleep the Warden And Lord of the Cinquo Ports. Him shall no sunshine from the fields of azure, 26 No drum-beat from the wall, No morning gun from the black fort's embrasure, Awaken with its call ! No more, surveying with an eye impartial The long line of the coast, go Shall the gaunt figure of the old Field Marshal Be seen u^on his post ! For in the night, unseen, a single warrior. In sombre harness mailed. Dreaded of men, and surnamed the Destroyer, 85 The rampart wall had scaled. He passed into the chamber of the sleeper, The dark and silent room. And as he entered, darker grew, and deeper. The silence and the gloom. 40 He did not pause to parley or dissemble. But smote the Warden hoar ; Ah ! what a blow ! that made all England tremble And groan from shore to shore. Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon waited, 45 The sun rose bright o'erhead ; Nothing in Nature's aspect intimated That a great man was dead. EVANGELINE, 71 86 EVANGELINE. 80 85 40 46 A TALE OP ACADIE. Tins is the forest primeval. Tho murmurinf,^ pines and tho hemlocks. Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their ' bosoms. Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neigh- .' boring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the waU of tho forest. This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman ? Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Aca- dian farmers, — Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the lo vp'oodlands, Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven ? /•..-, ^ i i { 1 i i i . 1 72 LONGFELLOW. ilfl '!li Waste are thoso pleasant farms, and tho farn?or3 for- ever departed ! Scattered like dust and leaves, when tho mighty blasts of Octoljcr Seize them, and wliirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean. Naught but tradition remains of tho beautiful village is of Grand-Pre. I S't** Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient, Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion, List to the mournful tradition, still sung by the pines of the forest ; List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of tho happy. ,1 f, I , PART THE FIRST. I. In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of 20 Minas, Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward. 1 73 20 ( EVANGELINE. Giving the yiUago its name, and pasture to flocks without nuruljer. Dikes, that the han.ls of tl.e farmora had raised with labor inr<\ssant, Shut out the -urhulent tides; hut at stated seasons « the flood-^-ates Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows. West and south there were fields or flax, and orchards and cornfields Spreading afar and „.,r„„eed o'er the plain ; and away to the northward Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains Sea-fogs pitehed their tents, and mist, from the mighty » Atlantic Looked on the happy valley, hat ne'er from their Station descended. There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Aeadian village. strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock, Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries. Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and 35 gables projecting Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway. W \ i m : _ i '* S ■ I ^^H^H k y, ^^I^^H 74 LONGFELLOW. There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chimneys, Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the 40 golden Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors Mingled their sounds with the whir of the wheels and the songs of the maidens. Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the children Paused in their play to kiss the .and he extended to bless them. Reverend walked he among them ; and up rose 45 matrons and maidens, Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome. Then came tho laborers home from the field, and serenely the sun sank Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the belfry Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the village Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense so ascandinrr. EVANGELINE, 75 peace man. Alike were fiose from a hundred hearths, the homes of and contentment. Thus dw^lt together in love these simple Acadian farmers, — Dwelt in the love of God and of they free from Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics. Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their .» windows ; But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the owners ; There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance. : !i ■]i Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the Basin of Minas, Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand- Pre, Dwelt on his goodly acres ; and with him, directing his household, Gentle Evangeline lived, his chUd, and the pride of the village. Stalworth and stately in form was the man of seventy winters ; Hearty and hale was he, an oak that i« r.nv«ro^ ^:.u snow-flakes ; CO 5 i t, ' 76 LONGFELLOW. White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as brown as the oiik-Ieaves. Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen 65 summers. Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn by the wayside, Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown shade of her tresses ! Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that feed in the meadows. When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at noontide Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah ! fair in sooth was the 7o maiden. Fair^ was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell from its turret Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with his hyssop Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon them, Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet of beads and her missal, Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, and « the ear-rings. Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as an heirloom. Handed down from mother to child, through long generations. I EVANGELINE. But a celestial brieht„ess-» more ethereal beauty- ' Shone on her face and encircled her for», when, after confession, Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction so upon her. When she had passed, it seemed like the exquisite music. ceasing of the house of the and a Firmly bailded with rafters of oak, farmer stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea ,• shady Sycamore grew by the door witl, « ji.. J le Qooi, with a woodbme wreath- ing around it. Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath ; and S5 a footpath Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the meadow. Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a penthouse. Such as the traveUer sees in regions remote by tb. roadside, Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of Mary. Farther down, on the slope of the hill, with its moss-grown Bucket, fastened with iron, and the horses. ', was the well ao ', C4,iiu near it a trough for y I M 78 LC "^G FELLOW. Shielding the honse from storms, on the north, were the barns and the farm-yard. There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the antique ploughs and the harrows ; There were the folds for the sheep ; and there, in his feathered seraglio, Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with 95 the selfsame Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent Peter. Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a vil- age. In each one Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch ; and a staircase. Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous corn- loft. There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and inno- lOO I. cent inmates Murmuring ever of love ; while above in the variant breezes Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation. Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of Grand-Pre Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his household. I EVANGELINE, 79 95 i Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and opened los his missal, Fixed his eyes upon her as the saint of his deepest devotion ; Happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem of her garment ! Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness befriended, And, as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of her footsteps. Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the no knocker of iron ; Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the village, Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he whispered Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the music. But, among all who came, young Gabriel only was welcome ; Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the black- ii5 smith, Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored of all men ; For, since the birth of time, throughout all ages and nations. Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the people. f ! 80 LONGFELLOW. I %t 4' uaitKSBX Basil was Benedict's friend. Their cliildren froni earliest childhood Grew up together as brother and sister ; and Father 120 Felician, Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught them their letters Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the church and the plain-song. But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson completed. Swiftly they hurried away to the forgu of Basil the bL '':sinith. There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to 125 behold him Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a plaything, Nailing the shoe in its place ; while near him the tiro of the cart-wheel Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of cinders. Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gatheriiig darkness Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every 130 cranny and crevice, Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring bellows, And as its panting ''eased, and the sparks expired in the ashes, tf! EVANGELINE. 81 Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the chapel. Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the eagle, Down the hillside bounding, they glided away o'er the 135 meadow. Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on the rafters, Seeking with eager eye i that wondrous stone, which the swallow Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight of its fledglings ; Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the swalluw ! Thus passed few swift years, and they no longer 140 were children. ^ He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face of the mornmg. Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened thought into action. She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a woman. " Sunshine of Saint Eulalie " was she called ; for that was the sunshine Which, as the farmers believed, would load their 145 orcharas with ap],.]es ; She too would bring to her husband's house delight and abundance, Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of children. 'i'li ltln ■fj \/ If !. 1 1 ■ ii 82 LONGFELLOW. II. Now had tlie season returned, when the nights grow colder and longer, And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters. ' Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from ico the ice-bound, Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical islands. Harvests were gathered in ; and wild with the winds of September Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with the angel. All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement. Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded i55 their honey Till the hives overflowed ; and the Indian hunters asserted Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the foxes. Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that beautiful season, Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of All-Saints ! Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light ; ico and the landscape Lay as if new-created in ail the freshness of childhood. (I ICO • J EVANGELINE. 83 Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and ttio restless heart r>f the ocean Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in harmony blended. Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the farm-yards, Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of ig5 pigeons, All wore suhdued and low as the murmurs of love, and the great sun Looked with the eye of love through the golden vapors around him ; While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet and yellow, Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree of the forest Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with no mantles and jewels. Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection and stillness. Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twi- light descending Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the homestead. Pawing the ground they came, and resting thoir necks on each other, i 84 Hi I ' i' lljlJll LONGFELLOW. And with their nostrils distended inlialing the fresh- 175 ness of evening. Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful heifer, Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that waved from her collar. Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affection. Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the seaside, Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them 180 followed the watch-dog, Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his instinct. Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and superbly Waving his bushy tail, and urging forvv'ard the stragglers ; Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept' their protector. When from the forest at night, through the starry 185 silence, the wolves howled. Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from the marshes. Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odor. Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks, EVANGELINE. 85 h. While aloft on tlieir sliouMors the wooden and pon- derous saddles, Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels loo of crimson, Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with blossoms. Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their ndders Unto the milkmaid's hand ; whilst loud and in regular cadence Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended. Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in 195 the farm-yard, Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into stillness ; Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the barn-doors, Rattled the wooden bars, and aU for a season was silent. In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, idly the farmer Sat in his elbow-chair, and watched how the flames 200 and the smoke-wreaths Struggled together like foes in a burning city. Behind him, 86 T.ONGFEIJ.OW, ;*-! I Nodding and mocking along tho wall, with gestures fantastic, Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into darkness. Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on tho back of his arm- chair Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter plates m*) on the dresser Caught and reflected the ffamo, as shields of armies the sunshine. Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of Christmas, Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers before him Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Burgundian vineyards. Close at her father's side was tho gentle Evangeline 210 seatod, Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the corner behind her. Silent awhile ware its treadles, at rest was its diligent shuttle. While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the drone of a bagpipe, Followed the old man's song, and united the fragments together. As in a church, when the chant of the choir at inter- 215 vals ceases. i EVANGELINE, Footfalls aro hoard in tlio aisles, or words of the priest at the altar, So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion the clock clicked. 87 h Thus as they sat, there were foot.jtops heard, and, suddenly lifted, Sounded the wooden latch, and tho door swung back on its hinges. Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil m the blacksmith. And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was with him. " Welcome ! " the farmer exclaimed, as their footsteps paused on the threshold, " Welcome, Basil, my friend ! Come, take thy place on the settle Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty without thee ; Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of 225 tobacco ; Never so much thyself art thou as when through the curling Smoke of the pipe or the forge, thy friendly and jovial face gleams Round and red as the harvest moon through the mist QI f.riQ in €>»•/> ViQo " >i i 88 « m LONGFEf.r.OlV. saa Then, witli a smile of content, thus answered Basil the blacksmith, Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the fire- 230 side : — "Benedict Bcllefontaine, thou has ever thy jest and thy ballad ! Ever in cheerful lest mood art thou, when others are filled with Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before them. Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe. " Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evangeline 235 brought him, And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he slowly continued : — "Four days now are passed since the English ships at their anchors Kide in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed against us. What their design may be is unknown ; but all are commanded On the morrow to meet in the church, where his 24o Majesty's mandate Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas ! in the mean time Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the people. " EVANGELINE. 89 Thon made answer the farmer: "Perhaps some friendlier purpose Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the har- vests in Enghand By untimely rains or untimelier heat have been 215 blighted, And from our bursting barns they would feed their cattle and children." "Not so thinketh the folk in the village," said, warmly, the blacksmith, Shaking his head, as in doubt; then, heaving a sigh, he continued : — '•Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Sejour, nor Port Royal. Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on its 250 outskirts, Waiting with anxious heart the dubious fate of to- morrow. Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weapons of all kinds ; Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and the scythe of the mower." Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial farnier : — "Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks 255 and our cornfields, Safer within these peaceful dikes, besieged by the ocean, \ li 90 LONGFELLOW. \ I it J'" i Than our fathers in forts, besieged by the ouemy's cannon. Fear no evil, ray friend, and to-night may no shadow of sorrow Fall on this house and liearth ; for this is the night of the contract. Built are the housa and the barn. The merry lads of 200 the village Strongly have built them and well ; and, breaking the glebe round about them. Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food for a twelvemonth. Rene Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers and inkhorn. Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy of our children ? " As apart by the window she stood, with her hand in 265 her lover's, Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her father had spoken. And, as they died on his lips, the worthy notary entered. III. Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean, Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public; i EVANGELINE. 91 Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the 270 maize, hung Over his shoulders ; his forohead was high ; and glasses with horn bows Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernal. Father of twenty children was he, and more than a hundred Children's children rode on his knee, and heard his great watch tick. Four long years in the times of the war had he 275 languished a captive. Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the Englibii. Now, though warier grown, without all guile or susr' 'on, Ripe in T, . , .■ =ai was he, but patient, and simple, and childlike. He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children ; For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the 280 forest, And of the goblin that came in the night to water the horses, And of the white L^tiche, the ghost of a child who unchristened Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers JA ;l 'i J It ir 92 LONGFELLOW. lli ' "IT And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable, And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in a 285 nutshell. And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover and horseshoes, With whatsoever Ise was writ in the lore of the village. Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the blacksmith, Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending his rigiit hand, ''Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, "thou hast heard 290 the talk in the village, And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships and their errand." Then with modest demeanor made answer the notary public, — *♦ Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never the wiser ; And what their errand may be I know not better than others. Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil inten- 2i)5 tion Brings them here, for we are at peace ; and why then molest us ? " "God's name!" shouted the hasty and somewhat J n.i- i,i__i .ji < EVANGELINE. 93 "Must we in aU things look for the liow, and the why, and the wherefore ? Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the strongest ! " But, without heeding his warmth, continued the .oo notary public, — ''Man is unjust, but God is just ; and finally justice Triumphs ; and well I remember a story, that often consoled me. When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Royal." This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved to repeat it When his neighbors complained that any injustice 305 was done them. "Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember, Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice Stood in the public square, upliolding the scales in its left hand, And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice presided Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes 3io of the people. Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the balance. Having no fear of the «word that flashed in the sun- shine above them. i 94 LONGFELLOW. ili' But in the course of time the laws of the land were corrupted ; Might took the place of right, and the weak were oppressed, and the mighty Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a noble- sis man's palace That a necklace of pearls was lost, and ere long a suspicion Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the house- hold. She, after foi^m of trial condemned to die on the scaffold, Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Justice. As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit 320 ascended, Lo ! o'er the city a tempest rose ; and the bolts of the thunder Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its left hand Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance, And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie. Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was 325 inwoven." Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blacksmith i ! EVANGELINE, n-. stood like a m,u, ,vho fain wo„M spoak, but (indeii, no language ; Ail his thctglus wore con^-oulea into lines on his face, > as the vapors Prcczo in fantastic shapes on the winaow-panos in the winter. .'!(» Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the .t« table, Filled, till it ovornowed, the pewter tankard wi.l, home-brewed Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the Village of Grand-Pre ; While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and inkhorn, Wrote with a steady hand tho date and the age of the parties, Nanring the dowc;- of the bride in flocks of sheep and M in cattle. Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were completed. And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on the margin. Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the table Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver • And tho notary rising, and blessing the bride and the .,o bridegroom, J h ,1 iii= H 1 96 LONGFELLOIV. K Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their welfare. Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and departed, Wliile in silence the others sat and mused by the fire- side, Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its corner. Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the 345 old men Laughed at eacli lucky liit, or unsuccessful manoeuvre, Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made in the king-row. Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure. Sat the lovors, and whispered together, beholding the moon rise Over the pallid sea and the silvery mists of the 350 meadows. Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. Thus was the evening passed. Anon the bell from the belfry Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and straightway EVANGELINE. „, Rose the Kuest. and departed; and silence reigned in 3,« tJio householtl. Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the door-step Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with fe'ladness. Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed on the hearth-stone, And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the farmer. Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline 8» followed. Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the dark- ness, Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the maiden. Silent she passed the hall, and entered the door of her chamber. Simple that cliamber was, with its curtains of white, and its clothes-press Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were care.3G5 fully folded Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline woven. This was the precious dower she would bring to her husband in marriage, Better tJian flocks and herds, being proofs of her skill as a housewife. u 'Mi 08 LONGFELLOW. Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and radiant moonlight Streamed through the windows, and lighted the room, 37o till the heart of the maiden Swelled and obeyed its i^ower, like the tremulous tides of the ocean. Ah ! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she stood with Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of her chamber ! Little she dreamed that below, among l he trees of the orchard, Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her 375 lamp and her shadow. Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling of sadness Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds in the moonlight Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for a moment. And, as she gazed from the window, she saw serenely the moon pass Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow 380 her footsteps, As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered with Hagar I EVANGELINE. 99 IV. Pleasantly rose next morn the cun on the vilhif^o of Grand-Pre. Pleasantly ^deamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin of Minas, Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, were riding at anchor. Life had long been astir in tho village, and clamorous 385 labor Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates of the morning. Now from the country around, from the farms and neighboring hamlets. Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peasants. Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh from the young folk Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous m meadows, Wliere no path could be seen but the track of wheels in the greensward, Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed on the highway. Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor were silenced. Thronged uere the streets with people; and noisy groups at the house-doors 100 LONGFELLOW, Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and ^oa.sijxjd 3!»R together. Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted : For with this simple people, who lived like brothers together, All things were held in common, and what one had was uiother's. Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed more abundant: For Evangeline stood among the guests of her father : 400 Bright was her face with smiles, and words of wel- come and gladness Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup as she gave it. Under the o;^en sky, in the odorous air of rlie orchard, Stript of its golden fruit, was spread the feast of be- trothal. There in the shade of the porch were the priest and the 405 notary seated ; There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the black- smith. Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press and the beehives, Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of hearts and of waistcoats. 'BVANGF.fJNE. 101 Shadow and Il,.ht fro.n the leaves alternately played on his snow-white the fiddler GlowocI like a living coal whon the ashes «.o blown from the embers. Oayly the oM m„„ .s„„« to the vil„a,„ »ou„d of hi« fiddle, VW, U. nourroh de Ckartrcs, and /.„ CariHon Uo And ano,. with his wooden shoes beat time to the music. Merrily n.errily whirled the wheels -f the dixzyin. .r, dances Under the orchard-trees and dc.n the path to the meadows ; Old folk and youns together, and children mingled amon^^ them. Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's daughter ! Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the blacksmith ! ';J| \ ^H So passed the morning away. And lo ! w summons sonorous Sounded the bell from its tower, and a drum beat. ith a 120 over the meadows ^i 102 LONGFELLOW. fiU. r Tlironged erelong was the church with men. With- out, in tlie churchyard, Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the headstones Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest. Then came the guard from the ships, and marching 425 proudly among them Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceiling and casement, — Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers. Then uprose their commander, and spake from the 480 steps of the altar, Holding aloft in his hands, with Its seals, the royal commission. "You are convened this day," he said, "by his Maj- esty's orders. Clement and kind has he been ; but how you have answered his kindneas, Let your own hearts reply ! To my natural make and my te^nper Pail ''. 1 the task is I do, which to you I know must be 488 ^riSVQUS- EVANGELINE, 103 Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our monarch ; Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds Forfeited be to the crown ; and that you yourselves from this province Be transported to other lands. God grant you may dwell tliero Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable «o people ! Prisoners now I declare you ; for such is liis Mar ity's pleasure ! " As, when the air is serene in sultry solstice of summer, Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sliiig of the hailstones Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and shatters his windows, Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch 4.5 from the house-roofs, Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break tlieir en- closures ; So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the speaker. Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, and then rose Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger, 104 LONGFELLOW. I «• And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to 4.V) the door-way. Vain was the hope of escape; and cries and fierce imprecations Rang through the house of prayer ; and high o'er the heads of the otliers Rose, with his arms uplifted, tlio figure of Basil the blacksmith, As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billow.i. Flushed was his face and distorted with passion : and \h^ wildly he shouted, — "Down with the tyrants of England! we never have sworn tliem allegiance ! Deuth to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our harvests ! " More ho fain would have said, but the merciless liand of a soldier Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to the pavement. In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry con- 460 tention, Lo ! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of the altar. Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into silence EVANGELINE. 105 460 All that clamorous throng ; and thus \o spake to his people ; Deep were his tones and solemn ; in accents measured 4.!5 and mournful Spake ho, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the clock strikes. " What is this that yo do, my children? what mad- ness has seized you ? Forty years of my life have I lahorod among you, and taught you, Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one an- otlier ! Is this the fruit of my toils, of my^ vigils and prayers 170 and privations? Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and for- giveness ? This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowinir with hatred? Lo! where the crucified Christ from His cross is gazing upon you ! See ! in tho ,e sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy 475 compassion ! Hark! how those lips still repeat tho prayer, 'O Father, forgive them ! ' Let us repeat that prayer in tho hour when the wicked assail us, 'f*l 106 LONGFELLOIV. Let us repeat it now, and say, ' Father, forgive them!'»' Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of his people Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the pas- 480 sionate outbreak, While they repeated his prayer, and said, "0 Father, forgive them ! " Then came the evening service. The tapers gleamed from the altar. Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and the people responded^ Not with their lips alone, but their hearts ; and the Ave Maria Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their souls, 485 with devotion translated. Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending to heaven. Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings of ill, and oa all sides Wandered, wailing, from house to horse the women and children. Long at her father's door Evangeline stood, with her right hand Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun, that, eoplG,— EVANGELINE. nj "Let us b„ry him l.ero by tho sea. Wl.en a happier season Brings us again to our homes from tho unknown land of our exile, Tl.on shall his .acrcl dust be piously laid in the churcliyard." Such were the words of ,l,e priest. And there in ,»5 haste by the soa-sido. Having tho glare of tho burning viUago for funeral torches, But wi.hout bell or book, they buried the farmer of Grand-Pre. And as .he voice of the priest repeated tho service of sorrow, Lo ! with a mournful sound, like the voice of a vast conf^reft:atioi), Sole„,nly answered the sea, and mingled its roar with ™ the dirges. 'T was the returninc- tido fTmf ..r t ""If, ciae, that afiir from the waste of the ocean. With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and hurrying landward. Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of embark illy; • And with the ebb of the tide the .ships .sailed out of ,he harbor, L.'"v,ng behind them the dead on the shore, and the ,«s villaiio in ruins. ■i i I 1l 120 LONGFELLOW. PART THE SECOND. Sla'if i'4'J. % I. Many a weary year had passed since tlie burning of Grand-Pre, When on the falling? tide the frei.t?hted vessels departed, Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into exile, Exile without an end, and without an example in story. Far asunder, on separate coasts, t}>e Acadians landed ; 070 Scattered were they, like flakes of snowv when the wind from the northeast Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the Banks of Newfoundland. Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from city to city, From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern savannas, — From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands where m the Father of Waters Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down to the ocean, Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of tlu« mammoth. EVANGELINE. 121 Friends thoy sought a,„. l.on.os ; and n,any, dcspai,. mg, heart-broken, Asked of the earth but a B-avo, and no longer a friend nor a fireside. Written their history stand, on tablets of s.one in the .«, Churchyards. Long amon,. them was seen a maiden who waited and wandered, Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently sulTering all things. Fair was she and young ; bt.t, alas ! before her e:.- tended. Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with its pathway Marked by the grave, of those who had sorroweeless grave, and thought that perhaps in its bosom He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber beside him. Sometimes .-, rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate whisper Came with its airy hand to point and beckon her for! ,00 ward. Sometimes she spake with those who had seen her beloved and known him, But it was long ago, in some far-olt place or forgotten "Gabriel Lajcunesse!" they said, ''Oh yes! we have seen him. He was w,th Basil the blacksu.ith, and boll, have gone to the prairies ; Coureurs-dos-Bois are they, and famous hunters and m trappers. " "Gabriel Lajeunesse I " said others; - Oh yes! we have seen him. He is a Voyage, in the lowlands cf Louisiana." 123 EVANGELINE, Thon would they „ay. -Doar chilj ! why dream and wait for him longer? Are there .ot other youths as fair as (fabrici ? others Who have hearts as tender and true, and spirits as ,.o loyal ? Here is Baptisto I^blanc, the notary's son, who has loved thee Many a tedious year ; come, give hin, thy hand and be happy ! Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catherine's tresses. " Then wotdd Evangeline answer, serenely but sadly, *' I cannot ! Whither ,„y heart has gone, there follows n,y hand, m and not elsewliere. for when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and illu- mines tlie pathway, Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in darkness. " Thereupon the priest, her friend and father-confessor, Sa.d, wnh a smile, -O daughter- thy God thus speaketh within thee ! Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was 7» wasted ; If it e„r,ch not the heart of another, its waters returning o their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full Back t ' ^ 4. (1 xf ,...* Oi itiicshmeiit 124 LONGFELLOW. m •f\ '<■ That which tho fountain sg'.rIs forth returns again to the fountain. Patience ; accomi)Iish thy hibor ; accomplish thy work of iiToction ! Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance 72a is godlike. Therefore accomplisli thy labor of love, till the heart is made godlike, Purified, stioji-thoned, perfected, and rendered more worthy of heaven ! " Cheered by the good man's words, Evangeline labored and waitedi Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of the ocean, But with its sound there was mingled a voice that 730 whispered, "Despair not ! " Thus did that poor soul wander in want and cheerless discomfort, Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and thorns of existence. I^t me essay, Muse ! to follow the wanderer's foot- steps ; — Not through each devious path, each changeful year of existence ; But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course through 735 the valley : Far from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam of its water EVANGELINE. jor, Hero and there, in some open space, and at intervals only ; TJien drawing nearer its banks, througli sylvan glooms that conceal it, Though ho behold it not, he can hoar its continuous murmur ; Happy, at length, if he find the spot whore it reaches 7 an outlet. 10 n. It was the month of May. Far down the Beautiful River, Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the "Wabash, Into the golden stream of the broad and swift Missis- sippi, Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by Acadian boatmen. It was a band of exiles : a ratt, as it wore, from the T« shipwrecked Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating to- gether. Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a common misfortune ; Men and women and children, who, guided by hope or by licarsay, ;■ I 126 ^4-. LONGFELLOW. Sougl.t for their kith und thoir kin .mong the few On the acred fanners coast lousas. and tho prairies of fair Ope- VJi guide, tl With them Evangeline went, aul her Father Felician. Onward o'er sunken sands, through a wilderness sombre with forests, Day after day they glided udown the turbulent river ; Night after night, by their blazing fa-es, encamped on its borders. Now through rushing chutes, among green islands, tm where plumelike Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they swept with tho current, Then emerged into broad lagoons, where silvery sand- bars Lay in the stream, and along iho wimpling waves of their margin. Shining with snow-white |4raues, large Hocks of pelicans waded. Level the landscape grew, and along tho shores of the 76o river. Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant gardens, Stood the houses of planters, with negro-cabins and dove-cots. *# EVAN(;Rf JNE, 127 Thoy were api.oachin,. t).c .o,.on where roi.^ns per- P« tual siiinmor, Wliu-o throu^^h the rJoKlen Coast, and ^^rov . oranj^e and citron, Swoops with ■„ajes.,c ,„.ve .he rive, .way ,o ,l,e o, s,. :,« ward. They, too, swervoil fiom ti,,.;,. r«niir«n . i lu UK II couiso; and, onterin^' the Bayuu of Pla-memino, Soon were lost in a maze of sln.^.i.i. and devious waters, Which, l,u a network of sto,.], extend..,! i ,.„ direction. Over their heads ,ho toworins and teneb.oua b.^^hs of the cypress Met in a dusky nvch, and trailin;; mosses in n,id. rro air W.vod like banners that han^ on tho wa!l., of ancient cathedrals. noathlike the silonee seemed, and unbroken, save by the herons -ome to their roosts in the cedar-trees returning at sunset. Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with do„,oni„c hiughter. Lovely the moonlisbt was as it glanced and gleamed v., on the water, ed on the cohimns of cypress and cedar sustain- Gleam $ <% 'i \r\lr fl./\ „^„ ---S t,"v ait; liua, MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I 1.25 i^ 2.8 2.5 y^ Illll 1^ 3.2 2.2 1^ 3.6 y; 4.0 2.0 l£. ^ u biuu 1.8 1.4 1.6 M APPLIED IIVMGE Inc =^ 1653 East Main Street r-= Rochester, New York 14609 USA ^= (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone ^ (716) 288 - 5989 - Fox ■■ • • r? '■ 128 LONGFELLOW. so Down through whose broken vaults it fell as through chinks in a ruin. Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all things around them ; And o'er their spirits there came a feeling of wonder and sadness, — Strange forebodings of ill, unseen and that cannot be 7 compassed. As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf of the prairies, Far in advance are closed the leaves of the shrinkinf>- mimosa, So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebodings of evil, Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of doom has attained it. But Evangeline's heart was sustained by a vision, that 78.5 faintly Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on through the moonlight. It was the thought of her brain that assumed tlie shape of a phantom. Through those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wandered before her, And every stroke of the oar now brought him nearer and nearer. » I EVANGELINE. jgg Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose one too of the oarsmen, And, as a signal sound, if others like them perrd ven- ture Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew a blast on his bugle. Wild tlirough the dark colonnades and corridors leafy the blast rang. Breaking the seal of silence and giving tongues to the forest. Soundless above them the banners of moss just stirred 705 to the music. Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance. Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverl^erant branches ; But not a voice replied ; no answer came from the darkness ; And, when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence. Then Evangeline slept; but the boatinen rowed 80o through the midnight, Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian boat- songs. Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian rivers, While through the night were heard the mysterious sounds of the desert, Far off, -indistinct, —as of wave or wind in the forest, If i! ' y] 130 LONGFELLOW. . %\ i if Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the roar of the 805 grim alligator. Thus ere another noon they emerged from the shades ; and before them Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atchafalaya. Wate-lilies in myriad* rocked on the slight undula- tions Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in beauty, the lotus Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the boat- 810 men. Faint was the air with the odorous breath of magnolia blossoms, And with the heat of noon ; and numberless sylvan islands. Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossoming hedges of roses, Near to whose shores they glided along, invited to slumber. Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were «. suspended. Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew by the margin. Safely their boat was moored ; and scattered about on the greensward, Tired with their midnight toil, the woary travellers slumbered. EVANGELINE. 131 Over them vast and high extended the cope of a cedar. Sw,ng,n8 fro,„ its great ar.ns, the trn^pot-flower and « tile grapevine Hang their ladder „£ ropes aloft like the ladder of Jacob, On whose pendulous stairs the angels . scending. Were t'le svWft humming-birds, that flitted sum to blossom. Such was the v.sion Evangeline saw as she shnnbered beneath it. Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an «. opening heaven Lighted her soul in sleep with the g^ celestial. ascending, de- from blos- g?cry of regions Nej away o'er the sinewy arms of hunters and 3arer, and ever ne.rer, among the numberless islands, Darted a light, swift boat, that sped water, Urged on its course by the trappers. Northward its prow was turned, to the land of the » bison and beaver. At the helm sat a youth, with countenance thoughtful and careworn. Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, and 9- saduesg m i 1 ■ % ■ 1 '■ I \ H i ^iii 132 S( LONGFELLOW, Ills years on liis was icwhat beyond hi written. Gabriel was it, who, weary wi'h waiting, unhappy and restless, Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and of s;55 sorrov/. Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of the island, But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen of palmettos, ; So that they saw not the boat, where it lay concealed in the willows ; All undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and unseen, were the sleepers. Angel of God was there none to awaken the slumber- k.o ing maiden. Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud on the prairie. After the sound of their oars on the tholes had died in the distance. As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and tlie maiden Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, "0 Father Felician ! Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel hio wanders. Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague supersti- tion ? EVANGELINE. 13:? Then, with a blush, she aMed, "Alas for ,„y e.-ech,. lous fancy ! Unto ears like thine such words as these have o meaning." 13ut n.ade answer the reverend man, and he smiled as a.. he answered,— '•daughter, thy words are not idle; nor are they to me without meaning. Fodin, is deep and still;' and the word that floats on the surface I« as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor IS hidden. Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions. aabriel truly is near thee; for not far away to the «5. southward, On the banks of the TppTia q,.o ^.i ^ r tne leche, are the towns of St. Maur and St. Martin. There the long-wandering bride shill Ko o.- fe "^^ue snail be given again to her bridegroom. There the long-absent pastor regain his flock and his sheepfold. Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forest^ of fruit-trees ; Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest of™ iieavens If 134 LONGFELLOW. Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls of the forest. They who dwell there have named it the Eden of Louisiana ! " iSi With these words of cheer they arose and continued their journey. Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon Like a magician extended his golden wand o'er the 865 landscape ; Twinkling vapors arose ; and sky and water and forest Seemed all on fire at tlie touch, and melted and mingled together. Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges of silver, Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the mo- tionless water. Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible 870 sweetness. Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains of feeling Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and waters around her. Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers, Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water, M fl EVANGEUNE. ,35 Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious «7. music, TJmt the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen. Plaintive at first were the tones and sad ; then soaring to madness Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of fren.ied Bacchantes. Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamen- tation ; Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad m in derision. As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree-tops Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on the branches. With such a prelude as this, and hearts that throbbed with emotion, Slowly they entered the T6che, where it flows through the green Opelousas, And, through the amber air, above the crest of the 8S5 woodland, Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neighbor- ing dwelling ;— Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant lowing of cattle. ■\: 136 H I . LONGFELLOW. in. Near to the bank of the river, o'trjliadowecl by oaks, from whose branches Garlands of Spanish n.oss and of mystic mistletoe flaunted, Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatchets at 8!K) Yule-tide, Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herdsman. A garden Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant blos- soms, Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself was of timbers Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fitted to- gether. Large and low was the roof ; and on slender columns m supported, Rose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spacious veranda, Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extended around it. At each end of the house, amid the flowers of the garden. Stationed the dove-cots were, as love's perpetual symbol. Scenes of endless wooing, and endless contentions of 900 rivals. EVANGELINE. 137 Silenco roigncd o'er the place. Tlie line of sluulow and sunshine Ran near the tops of the trees; but tlio house itself was in shadow, And from its chininey-top, ascending and slowly ex- panding Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke rose. In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, ran a m, pathway Through the great groves of oak to the skirts of the limitless prairie. Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly de- scending. Full in his track of light, like ships with shadowy canvas Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless calm in the tropics, Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage of grape- m vines. v\ Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf of the prairie. Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and stirrups. Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet of deerskin. I 1 138 LONCFEr.LOlV, l?h I Broad and brown was the face that from .nidor tho Spanish sombrero Gazed on the peaceful scene, witli tlie lordly look of its m master. Round about him were numberless herds of kine, that were grazing Quietly in tho meadows, and breathing the vapory fresliness That uprose from the river, and spread itself over the landscape. Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, .nd expanding Fully his broad, deep chest, lie blew a blast, that m resounded Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp air of the evening. Suddenly out of the grass the long white horns of the cattle Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse currents of ocean. Silent a moment they gazed, thjn bellowing rushed o'er the prairie, And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade in the 925 distance. Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, through the gate of the garden Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden advanc- ing to meet him. EVANGELINE. ,30 S.ul,lonly down from his horso he sprang in ama^o- ment, and forward H..sl.od with oxtcided arms and exola.nations of wonder ; When they hoheld his face, thoy reco«nizod Basil tl,o »:,o blacksmith. Hearty his w. Icomo was, as he led his guests to the ^'arden. There in an arbor of roses with endless qt,estion and answer Gave thoy vent to their hearts, and renewed their friendly embraces, Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting silent and thoughtful. TLoughtftU, for Gahviel came not ; and now dark 035 doubts and misgivings Stole o'er the maiden'» heart; and Basil, somewhat embarrassed, Broke the silence and said, -If you came by the Atchafalaya, How have you nowhere encountered my Gabriel's boat on the bayous ? " Over Evangeline's face ab the words of Basil a shade passsed. Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a tremu- 940 lous accent, "Gone? is Gabriel gone?" and, concealing her face on his shoulder, 140 LONGFELLOW. Bart gave way, and she wept voice grew blithe All her o'erbnrdened hea and lamented. Then the good Basil said,— and his as he said it, — "Be of good cheer, my child; it is only to-day he departed. Foolish boy ! he has left me alone with my herds and 945 my horses. Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, his spirit Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet exist- ence. Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful ever. Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his troubles, He at length had become so tedious to men and to oso maidens. Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought me, and sent him Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with the Spaniards. Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the Ozark Mountains, Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trapping the beaver. Therefore be of good cheer ; we will follow the fugitive 955 lover ; He is not far on his way, and the Fates and the streams are against him. 11 EVANGELINE. Up and away to-morrow, and through the red dew of the morning We will follow him fast, and bring him back to his prison. " 141 Then glad voices were hoard, and up from tlie banks of the river, Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, came Michael the »go fiddler. Long under Basil's roof had he lived like a god on Olympus, Having no other care than dispensing music to mor- tals. Far renowned was he for his silver locks and his fiddle. "Long live Michael," they cried, " our brave Acadian minstrel ! " As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession ; and 005 straiglitway Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greeting the old man Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while Basil, enraptured, Hailed with with hilarious joy his old companions and gossips, Laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers and daughters. 142 LONGFELLOW. Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the ci-devant 970 blacksmith, All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal demeanor ; Much they marvelled to hear his tales of the soil and the climate, And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were his who would take them ; Each one thought in his heart, that he, too^ would go and do likewise. Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the breezy 975 veranda, Entered the hall of the house, where already the supper of Basil Waited his late return ; and they rested and feasted together. I Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness de- scended. All was silent without, and, illuming the landscape with silver, Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars ; but oso within doors, Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in the glimmering lamplight. Then from his station aloft, at the head of the table, the herdsman EVANGELINE. 143 Poured forth his heart and his wine together in end- less profusion. Lighting his pipe, tlu vas filled wi^h sweet Natchi- toches tobaccc, Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and smiled 985 as they listened : — "Welcome once more, my friends, who long have been friendless and homeless, Welcome once more to a home, that is better per- chance than the old one ! Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like the rivers ; Here no stony ground provokes ^he wrath of the farmer. Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the soil, as a ooo keel through the water. All the year round the orange-groves are in blossom ; and grass grows More in a single night than a whole Canadian sum- mer. Here, too, numberless herds run wild and unclaimed in the prairies ; Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, and forests of timber With a few blows of the axe are hewn and framed 995 into houses. After your houses are built, and your fields are yellow with harvests, '< (, if , i' i , 1 ' 144 LONGFELLOW. H No King George of England shall drive you away from your homesteads^ Burning your dwellings and harns, and stealing your farms and your cattle. " Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud from his nostrils, While his huge, brown hand came thundering down looo on the table. So that the guests all started ; and Father Felician, astounded, Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuff half-way to his nostrils. But the brave Basil resumed, and his words were milder and gayer : — "Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware of the fever ! For it is not like that of our cold Acadian cli- 1005 mate, Cured by wearing a spider hung round one's neck in in a nutshell ! " Then there were voices heard at the door, and foot- steps approaching Sounded upon the stairs and the floor of the breezy veranda. It was the neighboring Creoles and small Acadian planters, Who had been summoned all to the house of Basil 1010 I Diie j:Leruumuxi. EVANGELINE. 145 Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades and neighbors : Friend clasped friend in his arms; anl tliey who before were as strangers, Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends to each other. Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country together. But in the neighboring hall a strahi of music, pro- lois ceeding From the accordant strings of Michael's melodious fiddle, Broke up all further speech. Away, like children delighted. All things forgotten beside, they gave themselves to the maddening Whirl of the giddy dance, as it swept and swayed to the music, Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of flutter- io.>o ing garments. Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, the priest and the herdsman Sat, conversing together of past and present and future ; While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for within her ■■ i. 146 LONGFELLOW. Im- Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of the music Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepressible 1025 sadness Came o'er her heart, and unseen she stole forth into the garden. Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall of the forest, Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. On the river Fell here and there through the branches a tremulous gleam of the moonlight, Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and loso devious spirit. Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers of the garden Poured out their souls in odors, that were their prayers and confessions Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent Carthusian. Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with shadows and night-dews, Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the 1035 magical moonlight Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable long- ings. As, through the garden gate, and beneath the shade of the oak-trees, EVANGELINE. 147 Passed she along the path to the edge of the measure- less prairie. Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire- flies Gleamed and floated away in mingled and infinite loio numbers. Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in the heavens, Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceised to marvel and worship, Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls of that temple, As if a hand had appeared and written upon them, "Upharsin." And the soul of the maiden, between the stars and 1045 the fire-flies, Wandered alone, and she cried, "0 Gabriel! O my beloved ! Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot behold thee ? Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not reach me? Ah ! how often thy feet have trod this path to the prairie ! Ah ! how often thine eyes have looked on the wood- i05o lauds around me ! Ah! how often beneath this oak, returning from 1„T ' ' 1 ' ' 1 'ill! i ; 148 LONGFELLOW. II ' 1* Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in thy slumbers ! When shall these eyes behold, these arms be folded about thee?" Loud and sudden and near the notes of the whippoor- will sounded Like a flute in the woods; and anon, through the 1055 neighboring thickets, Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into silence. "Patience!" whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of darkness : And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded ' ' To-morrow ! " I Bright rose the sun next day ; and all the flowers of the garden Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and an- 106O nointed his tresses "With the delicious balm that they bore in their vases of crystal. ♦'Farewell!" said the priest, as he stood at the shadowy threshold ; "See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from his fasting and famine, And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when the bridegroom was coming." EVANCELINE. 149 "Farewc:!:" answorcl tl.c nuiden, and, smiliut;, ,„„. with Basil desccndocl Down to tlie river's brink, wliero tlie boatmen already were waiting. Thus beginnino; their journey with morning, and sun- shine, and gLadncss, Swiftly they follow the flight of Iiim who was speed- ing before them, Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf over the desert. Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that sue- io7o ceeded, Found they the trace of his course, in lake or forest or river, Nor, after many, days, had they found him ; but vague and uncertain Rumors alone were their guides through a wild and desolate country ; Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of Adayes, Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from the 1075 garrulous landlord, That on the day before, with horses and guides and companions, Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the prairies. '1 if H^niii 150 LONGFELLOW, IV. 4\ Far in tho West thero lies a desert luntl, where tlio mountains Lift, tlirougli perpetual snows, their lofty anil lumin- ous summits. Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the 108O gorge, like a gateway, Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emigrant's wagon, Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway and . Owyhee. Eastward, with devious course, among the Wind-river Mountains, Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate leaps the Nebraska ; And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and the 1085 Spanish sierras, Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the wind of the desert, Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, descend to the ocean, Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and solemn vibrations. Spreading between these streams are the wondrous, beautiful prairies , Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and sun- 1090 shine. I EVANGELINE. \h\ y I Bii^^ht with luxm-innt clusters of roses and purple amorphas. Over them wandeiea the buffalo herds, and the elk and the roebuck ; Over them wandered tlie wolves, and herds of rider- less horses ; Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are weary with travel ; Over them wander tlio scattered tribes of Ishmacl's io),5 children, Staining the desert with blood ; and above their ter- rible war-trails Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the vul- ture, Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered in battle. By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the heavens. Here and there rise smokes from the camps of these iioo savage marauders ; Here and there rise groves from the margins of swift- running rivers ; And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk of the desert. Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots by the brook-side. And over alJ is the sky, the clear and crystalline heaven, Like the protecting hand of God inverted above them. 1105 m fj i ! ' I 152 LONG I' EI. I. O IV. Into this wonJorful luiul, ut the bu.so of tho 0/ark MoiH/t(u» , Gabrid ^n- l.a ,ud, with hunters antl trappers beliMnJ him. Day \xim v\ay, with their Indian guides, tho maiden ftiid BasiJ Followed }m flying steps, and tliougjii: each day to o'ertuke him Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the smoke iiio of his camp-fire Rise in the morning air from tho distant plain; but at nightfall, When they had reached the place, they found only embers and ashes. And, though their hearts were sad at times and their bodies were weary, Hop'* still guided them on, as the magic Fata ^lorgana Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated and ins vanished before them. Once, as tliey sat by their evening fire, there silently entered Into their little camp an Indian woman, whose features Wore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as great as her sorrow. She was a Shawnee woman returning home to her people, EVANGELINE, 153 From the far-off lumting-^.rounds of the cruol Ca- 1120 manclies, Where her Canadian husbanu, a Courenr.(los-i.ols, had been mirdcred. Touclied wore their hearts at her stor3 .nd warmest and friendliest welcome Gave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and feasted among them On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on the embers. But when they meal was done, and Basil and all his 1125 companions. Worn with the long day's march and the chase of the deer and the bison, Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept whore the quivering fire-light Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms v^rrapped up in their blankets, Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and repeated Slowly, with soft, low voice, and the charm of her 1130 Indian accent, All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and pains, and reverses. Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know that another Hapless heart like her own had loved and had been I I 154 LONGFELLOW. Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and woman's compassion, Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suffered 1135 was near her, Slie in turn related her love and all its disasters. Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when she had ended Still was mute ; but at length, as if a mysterious horror Passed through her brain, she spake, and repeated the tale of the Mo wis ; Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and luo wedded a maiden, But, when the morning came, arose and passed from the wigwam. Fading and melting away and dissolving into the sunshine. Till she beheld him no more, though she followed far into the forest. Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a weird incantation. Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was wooed 1145 by a phantom. That, through the pines o'er her father's lodge, in the hush of the twilight. Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered love to the maiden, Till she followed his green and waving plume through the forest. EVANGELINE. 165 And nevermore returned, no- was seen again by her people. Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evangeline ii50 listened To the soft flow of her magical words, till the region around her Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swarthy guest the enchantress. Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains the moon rose. Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious splendor Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and fill- 1155 ing the woodland. With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and the branches Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible whispers. Filled with the thoughts of love was Evangeline's heart, but a secret. Subtle sense crept in of pain and indefinite terror, As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest of 1160 the swallow. It was no earthly fear. A breath from the region of spirits Seemed to flnnf. in fh'» °'^ '■^^ ^:~Vi. . _ -i -i . 1, . moment EP" 156 LONGFELLOW. 'JiJ ffl: hi ^I'lfflifWT ■IP That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing a phantom. With this thought she slept, and the fear and the phantom had vanished. Early upon the morrow the march was resumed ; iig5 and the Shawnee Said, as they journeyed along, "On the western slope of these mountains Dwells in his little village the Black Robe chief of the Mission. ' Much he teaches the people, and tells them of Mary and Jesus. Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep wuth pain, as they hear him." Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evangeline ii70 answered, "Let us go to the Mission, for there good tidings await us ! " Thither they turned their steeds ; and behind a spur of the mountains. Just as the sun went down, they heard a murmiw of voices. And in a meadow green and broad, by the bank of a river, Saw the tents of the Christians, the tents of the 1175 Jesuit Mission. li EVANGELINE. 157 Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of the village, Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. A crucifix fastened High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed by grapevines, Looked with its agonized face on the multitude kneeling beneath it. This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through the iiso intricate arches i Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their ves- pers. Mingled its notes with the soft susurrus and sighs of the branches. Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, nearer approaching. Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the evening devotions. But when the service was done, and the benediction ii85 had fallen Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed from the hands of the sower, Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers, and bade them Welcome; and when they replied, he smiled with benignant expression. Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother-tongue in the forest, ' i t ! "A 1; 1 : ii 158 LONGFELLOW, ^1 i ^1' And, with words of kindness, conducted them into 1190 his wigwam. There upon mats and skins they reposed, and on cakes of the maize-ear Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the water-gourd of the teacher. Soon was their story told ; and the priest with solemnity answered : — "Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel seated On this mat by my side, where now the maiden 1195 reposes, Told me this same sad tale ; then arose and continued his journey ! " Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake with an accent of kindness ; But on Evangeline's heart fell his words as in winter the snow-flakes Fall into some lone nest from which the birds have departed. ' ' Far to the north he has gone, " continued the priest ; 1200 ' ' but in autumn, When the chase is done, will return again to the Mission." Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek and submissive, * ' Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad and afflicted." EVANGELINE. J59 So seemed it wise aua well unto all; and betimes on the morrow, Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian guides 1. and companions, Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed , the Mission. 1205 at 31owly,^ slowly, slowly the days succeeded each other, — Days and weeks and months ; and the fields of maize that wee springing Green from the ground when a stranger she came, now waving above her. Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, 1210 and forming Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries pillaged by squirrels. Then in the golden weather the maize was husked, and the maidens Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that betokened a lover, But at the crooked laughed, and called it a thief in the corn-field. Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought not her 1215 lover. ''Patience!" the priest would say ; -have faith, and thy prayer will be answered ' i h ill: I !1 'Pi * ** ■iki' 160 LONGFELLOW. Look at this vigorous plant that lifts its head from the meadow, See how its leaves are turned to the north, as true as the magnet ; This is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has planted Here in the houseless wild, to direct the traveller's 1220 journey Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the desert. Such in *he soul of man is faith. The blossoms of T. -idsion, ., Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller of fragrance, But they beguile uS; and lead us astray, and their odor is deadly. Only this humble plant can guide us here, and hero- 1225 after Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet with the dews of nepenthe. " So came the autumn, and passed, and the winter, — yet Gabriel came not ; Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes of the robin and bluebird Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel came not. 'nsfl 161 summer winds a rumor was 1280 iy:an ^aginaw EVANGELINE. But on the breath of the wafted Sweeter than song of bird, or h„e or odor of blossom. Far to the north and east, it said, in the Michi^. forests, Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of tlic Sr River. And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes of St. Lawrence, Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from the 1235 Mission. When over weary ways, by long and perilous marches. She had attained at length the depths of the Michigan forests, Found she the hunter's lodge deserted and fallen to ruin ! Thus did the long sad years glide on, and in seasons and places Divers and distant far was seen the wandering 1240 maiden ; — Now in the Tents of Grace of the meek Moravian Missions, Now in the noisy camps and the battle-fields of the army, Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and populous wties. I' '! I si is ■•> \ ■ w; i«a LONGFELLOW. \,r |t> ' % Like a phantom she came, and passed away unre- membered. Fair was she and young, when in hope began the long 1245 journey ; Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it ended. Each succeeding year stole something away from her beauty, Leavijng behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom and the shadow. Then there appeared and spread faint streaks of gray o'er her forehead. Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her earthly 1250 horizon. As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the morning. i'il •!,'•, V. In that delightful land which is washed by the Dela- ware's waters, Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the apostle, Stands on the banks of- its beautiful stream the city he founded. There all the air is balm, and the peach is the emblem 1265 of beauty* EVANGELINE. 163 And the streets still regcho the names of the trees of the forest, As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose haunts they molested. There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, an exile, Finding among the children of Penn a home and a country. There old Een6 Leblanc had died ; and when he de- 1260 parted, Saw at his side only one of all his hundred descendants. * Something at least there was in the friendly streets of the city, Something that spake to her heart, and made her no longer a stranger ; And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou of the Quakers, For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country, i265 Where all men were equal, and all were brothers and sisters. So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed en- deavor^ Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, uncom- plaining, •Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her thoughts and her footsteps. As from the mountain's top the rainy mists of the 1270 morning 11 [ 1 1 i ■ 'f \ t m \ I 164 LONGFELLOW. Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape l^elow us, Sun-illumined, wiLh shining rivers and cities and hamlets. So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw tlie world far below her. Dark no longer, but all illumined with love ; and the pathway Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and fair 1-7:. in the distance. Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was his image, • Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last she beheld him. Only more beautiful made by his death-like silence and absence. Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for it was not. Over him years had no power; he was not changed, vm. but transfigured ; He had become to her heart as one who is dead, and not absent ; Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to others, This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had taught her. So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous EVANGEUNE. 155 Suffered no waste nor loss, thougli filling the aire's witli aroma. Other hope hud she none, nor wish in life, but to follow Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her Saviour. Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy ; frequenting Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of the city, Where distress and want concealed themselves from 1290 the sunlight, Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished neglected. Night after night, when the world was asleep, as the watchman repeated Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well in the city, High at some lonely window he saw the light of her taper. Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow 1295 through the suburbs Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and fruits for the market. Met he that meek, pale face, returning home from its watchings. !i; I M^ [6^ LONGFELLOIV. r ri -I i r?i Then it came to |)ass that a pestilence fell on the city, Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks of wild pigeons, Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught in their isoo craws but an acorn. And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of September, Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a lake in the meadow, So death flooded life, and, o'erflowing its natural margin, * Spread to a brackish lake, the silver stream of ex- istence. Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm, isos the oppressor ; But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his anger; — Only, alas ! the poor, who had neither friends nor attendants. Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the homeless. Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of mead- ows and woodlands ; — Now the city surrounds it ; but still, with its gate- isio way and wicket Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble walls seem to echo » EVANGELINE. 1305 167 Softly tho words of the Lord :-- The poor ye always have with you." Thither by night and by day, cume the Sister of Mercy. The dying Looked up into hor face, and thought, indeed, to be- hold there Gleams of celcsiial light encircle her forehead with I815 splendor, Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints and apostles. Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a dis- tance. Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city celestial. Into whoso shining gates erelong their spirits would enter. •fl Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, de- is20 serted and silent. Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of the almshouse. Sweet on the summer air was the odor of flowers in the garden ; And she paused on her way to gather the fairest among them, That the dying once more might rejoice in their fragrance and beauty. 'Jk t't • « v. rii If 168 LONGFELLOW. Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, 1325 cooled by the east-wind, Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from the belfry of Christ Church, While, intermingled with these, across the meadows were wafted Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the Swedes in their church at Wicaco. Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hour on her spirit : Something within her said, "At length thy trials are 1330 ended " ; i And, with light in her looks, she entered the cham- bers of sickness. Noiselessly moved about the assiduor careful at- tendants, Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, and in silence Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and conceal- ing their faces, Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow 1335 by the roadside. Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline en- tered, Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed, for her presence Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the walls of a prison. 1325 I EVANGELINE. 169 And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the consoler, Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it i34o forever. Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night time ; Vacant their places were, or filled already hy strangers. Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of wonder, Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, while a shudder Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flowerets 13.5 dropped from her fingers. And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of the morning. Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terrible anguish, That the dying heard it, and started up from tlieir pillows. On the pallet before her was stretched the form of an old man. Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that shaded 1350 his temples ; But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a moment Seemed to assume once more the forms of its earlier manhood ; S f I :.....) }• \ 170 LONGFELLOW, 1 ji % \ SI So are wont to be changed the faces of those who are dying. Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of the fever, As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had be- 1355 sprinkled its portals, That the Angel of Death might see the .^ign, and pass over. Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit exhausted Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths in the darkness,* Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and sinking. Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied iseo reverberations. Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that succeeded Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint-like, < "Gabriel! my beloved!" and died away into silence. Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of his childhood ; Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among 1S65 them, Village, and mountain, and woodlands ; and, walking under their shadow, EVANGELINE, 171 1355 % As in the days of her youth, Ev ngeline rose in his vision. Tears came into his eyes ; and as slowly he lifted his eyelids, Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by his bedside. Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the ac- i37o cents unuttered Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what his tongue would liave spoken. Vainly he strove to rise ; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him, Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom. Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly sank into darkness. As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at a 1375 casement. All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow. All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing. All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish oi patience ! And, as she pressed once more the Hfeleas head to her bosom, ■'Nil i ■'li ]72 LONGFELLOW, Meekly she bowed her ovv a, and murniured, "Father, 1380 I thank thee ! " Still stands the forest primeval ; but far away from its shadow, Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping. Under the humble walls of the little Catholic church- yard. In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and un- noticed. ! Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them, Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and forever. Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy. Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased froni their labors, Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have com- pleted their journey ! 1385 Stiil stands the forest primeval; but under the S:;hade of its branches Dwells another race, with other customs and lan- guage. 1390 EVANGELINE. 173 Only along the shore of the mournful and misty Atlantic Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from exile Wandered back to their native land to die in its bosom. In the fisherman's cot the wheel and the loom are still 1395 busy ; Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles of homespun. And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's story, While from its rocky caverns tlie deep- voiced neigh- boring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. ! i| : I i •\\ « .Hi liH NOTES. m, M ■'|: ■;-'i. . 't NOTES. COLERIDGE. THE ANCIENT MARINER. Circumstances of composition and publication. -In Nov- ombez^ 1.9G, Coleridge had taken up his resi.lenco in Som- orsetshiro m (ho villago of Nether Stowey. Thither in July of the following year camo Wordsworth to settle in Alfox- den, three miles distant, to be within reach of Colerido-e's society. There the Ancient Mariner (A.M.) was planned detail by Wordsworth in a note to We are Seven, dictated to Miss Jb en wick : — "In the autumn of 1797 (spring of 1798, Knight) ho [Colo- ridge], my sister, and myself started from Alfoxden pretty ate in the afternoon, with a vieu^ to visiting Linton (Len- ton, Ivnight) and the Valley of Stones near to it ; and as our united funds w^ere very small, we agreed to pay 'the expense of the tour by writing a poem, to be sent to the New Monthly Magazine," set up by Phillips, the bookseller, and edited l,y Dr. Aikin. Accordingly we set off, and pro' ceeded along the Quantock Hills [near Nether Stowlyl, towards Watchet; and in the course of this walk /a planned the poem of tlie Anrlent Mariner, founded on a dream as Mr. Coleridge said, of his friend Mr. Cv.ik.h.nk [a neighbour of the poet's]. Much the greater parto/'the 178 NOTES. 4«.l !ii Btory wa. Mr. Coleridge', invention ; l.ut certain parts I myself siig-este.l : for example, some crime wan to bo com- mitted which Hhould l.riug upon the Old Navigator, as Col- eridge afterwards delighted to call him, the spectral perse- cution, an a conseiiuenco of that crime, and his own wanderings. I had been reading in Shelvock's Voya'^es a day or two bof.n-e, that, wliilo doubliiig Capo Horn°th'ey fre(iuently saw albatrwsses in that latitude, the largest sort of sea-fowl, some extending their wings twelve or "thirteen (fifteen, Knight) feet: " Suppose," said I, "you rei.resent him as having killed one of these l)ir.ls on entering the South Sea, and that the tutelary spirits of these regions take upon tliem to revenge the crime." The incident was thought fit for the purpose, and adopted accordingly. I also su-o-c'sted the navigation of the ship by the dead men, but do not recollect that I had anything more to do with the scheme ot the poem. Tho gloss with which it was subsequently accompanied was not thought of by either of us at the time at least not a hint of it was given to me, and I have no doubt It was a gratuitous after-thought. Wo be"-an tho composition together, on that to me memorable evenino- I furnished two or three lines at tho beginning of tho poem in particular : ' •And listen 'd like a throe years' child ; The Mariner had his will.' Theso trifling contributions all but one, which Mr. C has with unnecessary scrupulosity recorded, slipjied out of his mmd, as they well might. As we endeavoured to pro- ceed conjointly (I speak of the same evening), our respective' manners proved so widely different, that it would have been quite presumptuous in me to do anything but separate from an undertaking upon which I could only have been a clog. -VVo returned after a few days.... by Dulverton to Alfoxden. The Ancient Mariner grew and grew till it bo- camo too important for our first object, which was limited COLERIDGE: THE AA'C/EXr A/, t A' AVE A' a 179 to our oxpoctations of flvo pounds; aiul av.. ]^o:^an to think of a xohvnv.-Memolrs of Wtl/lam Wonhirori/,^ l.y Christo- pher Wonlswortli, i. U)7; Kniglit, i.lOM f. Colurid-i^'rf account sliows tlio i)liil(.s..i.hio sid.". IJU con- versation, ho said, Avith Wordsuortli often turned on "two cardinal points of poetry, tlio power of exciting the sympa- thy of tlio reader by a faithful adhennieo to tho truth of nature, and tho ])ower of giving tlio interest of novelty hy tho modifying colours of imagination. . . . The thought sug- g(!stod itself that a series of poems might bo composed of two sorts. In tho ono tho incidents and agents ^vero to be, in part at least, supernatural; and tho oxcudlence arrive.! at was to consist in tho interesting of tho alfeetions by tho dramatic truth of such emotions as would naturally ac- company such situations, suj.posing them real.... For tho second class, subjects wiu-o to ])o chosen fi-om ordin- ary life. . . . Jn this i.lea originated tho plan of tho Lyrical Ballads ; in which it was agree.l that my endeavours should bo directed to poems and characters supernatural, or at least to romantic; yet so as to transfer from our inwarr Poems. By William Wordsworth, London, 1802 (Hrd edition), i. 143-189. (3) 1805, tho same (1th ed.) (4) 1817, Si' yllino Leaves : A Collection of Poems. By S. T. Coleridge, Esq., London, 1817. pp. 1-89. (5) 1829, Tho Poetical Works of S. T. Coleridge .... Lon- don, 1829. ii. 1-38. (G) 1835, tho same. London and Boston, 1835. ii. 1-27. The gloss.— Tho marginal glo;s, which is at times a summary, at times a commentary of tho text, was, as we noted, entirely absent in the editions previous to 1817. On the other hand the earlier editions bad tlie followin"- \ro-u- ment preceding the poem, which was afterwards incorpor- ated into the gloss : — How a Ship having passed the Linn was driven by Storms to tho cold Country towards the South Pole ; and how from COLERIDGE: 7'1/E ANCIEXT .VAhWXEA'. 181 thcro sho nia.li' her ooiir«o to tho tvoyu'^\ Latltu.lo of tho Orcat Pacific Oroan ; and of tho atrang(3 thin-s fliat befell ; and in wluit nuuiner tho Ancycnt Marinoro camo back to his own country. 1708 ed., p. 3. Tho Gloss, Hko tho numerous archaisms of vocabulary, phrase, and ccmstruction contained in tho poem, adds to its archaic character, making it a closer imitation of tho oUler literature, in which marginal glosses abound. Sources. As already noted, the kernel of the story-tho voyage, and spectral persecution for killing the albatross - are Wordsworth's sugg,>stion, duo to Shelvocko's Voyaye (see A. M. 68n.). Cruikshank's dream, already referred to, supplied the notion of a skeleton ship, manned by skele- ton figures, though tlio l(>gend of the Phantom Ship {A. M Kiln.) suggests many details. For tho description of the Sea of Ice, and of tho Pacific, C. drew on his readin- - Crantz's History of Greenland, etc. The power of fascTna- tion possessed by tlio Mariner was not unknown to the poet himself in his own conversation {Table Talk, i. 234n.). Tho Wedding Guest is tho usual object of ghostly apparitions in the English and German literature of horrors contemporary With Coleridge, by which, especially in the A. M. 17UH ho was not a little influenced. It has also been suggested (Brandl) that the witch in Macbeth, i. iii., who would sail in a sieve to persecute a mariner. Shall he dwindlf k ami pine : Though liis bark ciuinot be lost, Yet it shall be tempest-tost,— has kinship with Life-in-Death. Also that the navigation of tho ship by the lonely Mariner, tho aid of th.- angelic host, tho arrival inro port, and welcome by tho boatmen are all parallelled by the story that Paulinus of Nora told to Vicarius, Vi .e-Perfect of Rome (latter half of 4th cent.). Influences much stronger and more certain than these last came from tho ballad literature of Britain, in which Colo- ridge took a deep interest, along with most of his -ontem- I J 182 NOTES. i n porarics in England and Hermany. No more striking proof of the part taken in the rise of the Eomantic Movement (see Introd.) by such collections as Percy's lieliques can be adduced than the way in which the phraseology and constructions and general style of the ballads are preserved in the A.M. , one of the greatest products of the movement (see A. M. nn. for details). To the ballad literature we owe likewise the metro of the poem. Only, where the ballads were irregular by careless- ness, C. was irregular by art, using his variations to accord with the mood and substance of his subject. His use of sectional rime, too, while not unknown in the latest ballads, shows the exquisite metrist rather than the writer of popular ballads. Page I. Title. The i^lime, etc. In 1800-5, The Ancient Mariner, a Poet's Reverie. The use of Rime with the meaning of tale in verse is archaic. Other tales certos can [know] I noon [none] But of a ryme I Icrnocl longo aj^oon [aj,'o]. —Chaucer, C. T., Sir TUnpaa, Prol. (AS. rhn, number, OFr. rime, verse, rime.) The motto. Facile credo. Added in 1817. " I can easily believe, that there are more Invisible than Visible beings in the Universe ; but who will declare to us the family of all these, and acquaint us with the Agreements, DilTerences, and peculiar Talents whicli are to be found among them ? [What is their work '? Where are their dwelling-places ?] It is true. Human Wit has always desired a Knowledge of these Things, tlioiigh it has never yet attained it I will own that it is very profitable, sometimes to contemplate in the Mind, as in a Draught, the Image of the greater and better World ; lest the Soul being accustomed to the Trifles of this present Life, sliould contract itself too much, and altogether rest in mean Cogitations ; but, in the mean Time, we must take Cure to keep to the Truth, and observe Moderation. m COLERIDGE: THE ANCIENT MARINER. 183 that wo may distinguish Certain from Uncertain Thin-s and Day from Night." Tr. of 2nd ed, by Mr. Mead and Mr. Foxton, Lond., 178G, p. 8G f. Thomas Burnet (1G35?-1715), from whoso Archc^oloyic, I htlosophirm-^ treatise on the Origin of Things-the ox- tract IS drawn, was Master of the Charter-house School and Chaplain to William 111. ; author likewise of other Latin works,-r/i. Savred Tkeory of the Earth, The Faith and Duties of Christians, etc. PART I. 1. l.-It is an ancient Mariner. This archaism is imi- tated from tlie ballads. It was a Friar of orders pray Walkt fortli to tell his beades. -The Friar of Orders Grai,, 1. i. (Percy's lieliques.) It was a Knight in Scotland borne, etc. -The Fair Flower of Northumberland, 1. 1. (Child's Ballads, i. iia.) ancient. Suggesting not only aged but also belonging to olden times. "It was a delicate thought to put the weird tale not into the author's own mouth, but into that of an ancient mariner, who relates it with dreamy recollection "— Brandl, p. 202. 1. 3.— By thy long gray beard. Swearing by the beard is not rare in older literature. Touch. Swear by your beards that I am a knave. Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art.-Shakspere, As You IjXKQ Itn 1. II, Cf. Itichard of Almaigne, 11. 32, 88. (Percy's lieliques). Bu^ here it is more than an explitive. It gives pictur- esque suggestion of the appearance of the Mariner with- out the effort of description. ilMji 1i M 184 NOTES. 1. 3.— and glittering: eye . 1798-1805, and thy glittering oye . The glitter of the oyo characterizes some kinds of insanity. 1. 4.— stopp'st thou me ? 1798-1805, Stoppest mo? 1. a— May'st hear. This omission of "thou" is some- what frequent in older literature in questions, and not unknown in statements. (Abl)ott, Hhaks. Gr. §§211, 401.) It was she First told me thou wast mad ; then [thuuj cam'st in sinilinf,'. — Tiuelfth Night, ii. iii. 121 f. Page 2. L 9. He holds him, etc. The 1798 ed. reads : But still lie holds the wedding--f,'ue3t— There was a Ship, quoth he— "Nay, if thou's «-ot a iauf,'h3oine tale, " Marinerc ! come with me." He holds him with his skinny liand. Quoth he, there was a Ship— " Now get thee hence, thou grey-beard Loon ! Or my staff shall make thee skip." 11. 9, 13.— He holds him. . . . He holds him. The repeti- tion here and throughout the poem (see 11. 23 f, 25 f, 29, 59 f , G8, etc.) should bo noted as a leading stylistic peculiar- ity of the A. M. Though used by C. with infinitely greater effect and variety than it was used in the ballads, it has still its source in the ballad literature. Compare, for ex- ample, And when the(y) came to Kyng Adlands lialls, Of red gold shone their weeds [garments]. And when they came to Kyng Adlands hall Before the goodlye gate. etc. —King EstmereX 31 ff. (Percy's Reliques.) Now ChrJste thee save, thou little foot-page, Now Christ thee save and see [protect] ! And here shee sends thee a silken scarfo.... And here shee sends thee a ring of gold.... -Tlie Child of EUe, 11. 13, 14, 21, 25. (Percy's Heliquen.; u m COLERIDGE: THE ANCIENT MARINER, 185 Mak hast, mak hast, my Late hite yestrooii [ycstorulay) cvoii] mirry inon all. 3a\v new moone. rooii iycsior{(lay; cvoi., O lang, laiiK. may thair ladies sit. . /. O lanfe', lang, may the ladies stand. -Sir Patrick Spence, 11. 21, i>-,, 3;), 37. (Percy's Reliqms.) 1. 11.— gray-beard loon. The loon is a water-fowl that affords, from its behaviour when frightened, a stock com- parison for oddly behavin- people. Cf . "crazy as a loon." Away, away, tliou thriftless loone ; — The Heir of Lin tie, 1. C',i. ( I'crcy 's lieliquea. ) The devil damn thee black, tliou cream- faced loon. — Shakspcre, Macbeth, v. iii. li. 1. 12.— eftsoons. A compound of eft, AS. ceft, (cf. after), again, after; and soon, AS. sme, soon, with adverbial suffix s (cf. while, whiles) :-soon after; or here, at once, ' lorthwith.' An archaism from Spenser and the ballads : Eftsooncs he gan apply relief Of 8;i'' es and med'cines. —Spenser, F.Q., i. x. xxiv. And eke the stout St. George eftsoon He made the dragon follow. - V. George for England, 1. 2'M f. (Percy's Reliquen.) 1. 15.— Ti^ree years' child.— 1798, three year's child" 1817, 1829, three years child : ' 1. 22.— drop. Put to sea with the ebl)ing tide. 1. 23.— kirk— The Scotch and Northern English form of church (AS. cyric), preserving the c's hard, while Mid- land and Southern English assibilated them. The touches of Northern dialect in A.M. are significant proof of the influence of Northern ballad poetry. " There is scarcely," says Percy, " an old historical song or ballad, wherein a minstrel or harper appears but he is characterized by way of eminence to have been ' of tiie north countryo.' " 1. 32.— bassoon. A reed-instrument, keyed like a clari- net, but blown from the side by a bent metal mouthpiece. It furnishes the bass for the wood wind-instruments, such 186 NOTES. ^H, .as the flutes, clarinets, etc. (Ital. hassone, augmentativo of basso, low.) Page 3. 1. 34.— Red as a rose. A st»ck comparison in the ballads. Her cheeks wore like the roses red, —Dowsubell, 1. 92. (Percy's Reliques.) 1. 35.— goes. 1805, go . I. 37.— The wedding-guest he beat. The repetition of the subject is frequent I i the ballads. Then Sir George i3owes lie str.iif,'litw;);!fl'. (Swanwick). Ills .s\vonl....scoiii,.(l i' the air to stick: So, as apaiiitfd tyrant, I'.yn-hiis stood. And like a neutral to his w-ill and matter l^id nothing. — Shakspere, Hamlet, ii. ii. mir. So like a painted battle the war stood Silenced. —Tennyson, The Coming of Arthur. So saying, from the pavement lie half ruse, Slowly, with pain, reeliniiif,' on liis arm. And looking: wistfully witli wide hlue eyes As in a picture. —Tennyson, 3Iorle d' Arthur. ^^ 1. 120.-And all the boards. "And" in the si^nso of and yet." Cf., for many instances, Edward's speech be- ginning, Have I a tongue to doom my Itrother's death. And sluill that tongue give pardon to a slave? —liidtard III., ill 1. 123.— The very deep. 1798-1805, The very deeps . 1. 125.-- Yea, slimy things, etc. There is a first sketch of this description in an earlier poem. What time after long and postful calms. With slimy shapes and miscreated life Poisoning the vast Pacitic. -Coleridge, The Destiny of Nations. Page 7. 1. 127.-About, about, etc. There is a trace hero of the Witches' song in Macbeth. The weird sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Tlius do go about, about, etc. —Shakspere, Macbeth, i. ii|. 32 ff. 1. 127- in rppl anri rn.,%*- Tiri, : -.1 • ^ -. \ . . . . -i .vu-.. rTiiiiiiii^ iibouc m uouiusion. • I I %.-■ I 102 NOTES. I. 12S. — death-fires. A Inminons appearance hovering ovt r i)utrosc('nt bodies, as in graveyards, is called a dcath-fire, or dead-light, corpse-light, corpse-candle. Mighty lumies (if tlui dcJul Dance, like death-liros, iouihI her tomb. —Coleridge, Ode to the Departing Year. The appearance of these lights at sua portended drown- ing, or indicated the presence of drowned sailors. VVlioro lights, like charnel nietoors, burned the distant wave, Hlucly as o'er some seaman's grave, And (ier> darts at intervals Flew up all sparkling from the main. —Siiuthey, Lly from Burton. An- atomy of Melancholy, i. ii. mom. 1, subs. 2. 1. i;Jf).— Well a-day. In 1798, wol-a-day ! 1802, 1805, well-a-day ! Tho ballad pootry is fond of this interjection. * Now wolliuliy ! ' saytli Joan o' the Scales : ' Now wc'lladay I and woo to my life ! ' — Tlie Ikir of Linne, 11. 1l'1-2. (Percy's lieliqueA). It is an ar'hatc intorjoction of grief, corrupted in f(jrm from wellaiiay under tho influence of day. But wclaway ! to fee be they to fecclio. —Chaucer, Anelidn and Arcite, 1. 338. Welaway=AS. wu la wJ I literally, woo lo woo, alas. PART III. Page 8. 11. 143-149. — There passed a weary time. First ap- pears in 1817 ed. 1708. I saw a somethinp in the Sky No bif^ger than my fist ; At first it scem'd a little speck, etc. 1802, 1805, " So past a weary time, each throat Was parch'd, and Klaz'd each eye, When, looking M'cstward, I beheld A something in the sky. At first, etc. I. 152. I wist Indeed, certainly. The AS. gewias, cer- tainly, surely, became Mid. Eng. ywiss, i-icisis. I-wiss was confused with icit (AS. tvitan, to know), past teuso n-id, and hence was written as here / tviat, or more frequently, Itviiis. 1. 155. — As if it, etc. 1798. And, an it dodg'd a water-sprite, water-sprite. Sprite, a second form of spirit Tho water-sprites aro COLERIDGE: THE ANCIENT MARINER. 195 Spirits that Imvt! o'rc water Koiivornmont, Aro to Maiiklrido aliko inalrvolcrit : Tl.oy tn.ul.lc Soas. Flouds. KiverM. Urockos. and Wcls. Meeres, Lakes, and lovo f enhabit \vat«ry Cels -Hoywood, Hi,u'archie of the IJhismU Amjeln, i)k. vlil. p. .i07. «oo Scott, /yonier .Wins^r././/. hitrod. tc, n^ Foa^^ Tam- lane. 1. 155. -tacked and veered. TJio vessel pursuod an er- ratic course, advanchii. now in zig-zag co.ir.o. against the wind, and again running before it, with thu wind now on one side, now on the other. 1. 157.-with black lips baked. Cf. - Our skin wa« Mack like an ov.m because of the tru-riblo fauiino."-Z,am.n/. of Jereviiah, v. 10. "^ 1. 15y.— Through utter drought. ; • 1798. Then while thro' drouth all dim.b re stood. 1. lOL-A sail I a sail I The ^c ,npti. n of the skeleton .ship constantly .suggests the Plmri,uu Ship of ruaritiuie superstition. Marryat's version in the Phanto>n Ship is well known. Tho original story is that of a Dutcdi Cap- tain who swore he would round Cape Horn against a head- gale The st(;rin increased ; ho swore the louder ; threw overboard those who tried to dissuade him ; cursed God and was condemned to sail on for ever without hope of port or respite. Bochstein, Bentches Sauenhah, gives a different version, which has features in common with the AM. Falkenberg. f„r munler of his brother, is con.lemned to sail a spectral bark, attended only by his good and his ^QP ^^^ll'^'^^l^'^^y dice for his soul. Playing dice (cf. 1. 196) with Death, or the Devil, for a man's soul, is a super- stition that often figures in medieval art. The notion that the ship could sail in spite of wind and tide (II. loo, 169, 175) is common to all accounts of the Phan- tom ISliip. Or of that l'I)antoin Sio],, wlmso fcrin tihoota like a meteor through tht; .ntorin ; ' II I9G NOTES. l'..Ff1 tA^Sb. When the dark scud comos driviuir hnrd, And lowered is every toi^ail yard, And canvas, wove in eartlily looms, No more to brave the storm prestiincs I Then, 'mid tlie war ot sea and sky, Top and topf^allant hoisted hif,'h, Full spread and crowded every sail, The Demon Frigate braves tlic f,'ale ; And well the doom'd spectators kiujw The harbinger of wreck and woe. —Scott, liokcbij, ii. 11. The appoaranco of the phantom sliip in tho A.M. is Hko- wiso followed ])y disaster, 1, 212fT. See also Longfellow, Tales of a Waynide Inn, " The Ballad of Carmilhan "; Bas- sott, Leyeiuh. . .of the Sea and Sailors. Page 9. 1. IGt.— Gramercy. Mid. Eng. gravierct/, grant mercy, from Fr. grant vicrri, groat thanks. Originally an expression of thanks, mingled with surprise. Hero it be- comes a mere interjection of surprise. In tho hallads,— . Oramercy, Christopher, my sonne. Thy ccunseil well it liketh mee. Gramercy now. my children deare -The Uisimj in the Norlk, 11. (il. (12, 7;i, (I'ercy's Udiquea). 1. 104.— They for joy did grin. " 1 took tho thought of grinning for Joy.... from poor Burnett's :a Fnitarian l)reachor) remark to me, wlien wo had climbed to the top of Plinlimmon, and were nearly dead with thirst. Wo could not s])oak from the constriction, till we found a little puddle under a stone. He said to me, ' You grinni'd like an idiot ! ' He had done the same."— Coleridge, Tahle Talk. May iilat, ISiW. 1. 107.— See I See ! etc. 171)8. She doth not tack from side to side— 1. J —Without a breeze, etc. 1798. Witlioufen wind, withoiilen tide 1. 170.— Steadies with upright keel. Moves on steadily, \ COr.EKWGE : THE ANCIENT AfAIUNER. ,97 Z'th"" " w'n '''' "■'?''• " "''"«''* " ''«-"'"- 'ho ko,.r» l.m.-a-flame. 1708-1805, a flamo, ' twccn. (AS. Jrf„«;„, 4rt„..^^, b„t,,^„ /«,+(,;«,^ uLiwoen, Ab. betweonum.) ^f^;)!^v~"^*''^"'^ ^°^^''"- ^"^ «f t^« "^any names of ofthe\.rgm. See 1. 208 note. Kjaculations o^" thTsort are not rare in the ballads. " 1. 183 her sails. 1798-1817, Ker sail.. So A.r in 1. 185. 1. 181 -gossameres. Gossamers, filmy cobwebs of small spulers, found on low bushes or floating fn Ion. hr ^ •" the a.r, especially in autumn. (Mid.^Eng. /o/.oL" , t goose-summer, the down of summer.) 1. 185 ff.— Are those her ribs. 1788. Are those her naked ribs, whidi fleok'd The sun that did behind them peer ? And ore those two all, all her crew, That woman and her fleshlesa Ph'eero ? l.SOa-5 have the reading of the text, save that 11. 188, 189 read And are those two all, all her crew. Ihat Woman, and her Mate ? 1798 then continue, with the following stanza, whi.-h is Th:;;:;" :*"" """ "■« -' "-■ "—; -"«;: His bones were black with many a crack. All black and bare, I ween ; Jet-black and bare, save wherewith rust Ot mouldy damps and charnel crust They're patch'd with purple and green. 1. l^.-a Death. A skeleton endued with life. (Named from Its symb(,lizing death.) U^amea f„,!;r'~l!^'f^^'/''- ^*'»«^'ing this stanza there is "' *'' ^^"' v^^^ haiid on a copy of the 1798 198 NOTES. .iffi 1. I ed., the following stanza, which was first printed in Mac- millan's ed., 1880. This Ship it was a plankless thing, A bare Anatomy ! A plankless Spectre— and it moved Like a BeinR of the Sea ! Tlie woman and a fleshless man Therein sat merrily. Page 10. 1. 1901T. — Her lips were red, etc. 1798 uses present tenses, are, are, is, in 11. 190-192. Iler in 1. 190, in all edd. 1798-1829. 1. 193.— The Night-mare, etc. 1798. And she is (lH()2-5, was) far liker Death than he ; Her flesh' makes (1S02-.5, made) the still air cold. Night-mare. Conceived as an incubus or demon oppress- ing sleepers. (AS. mare, hence not connected with Mod. Eng. mare, AS. mearh, horse, steed.) 1. 193.— Life-in-Death. Cf. C.'s own epitaph : That he who many a year >\ ith toil of breath Found death in life, may hero find life in death. C. had his own fate in mind when he added in the 1817 ed. this idea of Life-in-Deatli. The living death comes only on the Mariner (1. 197), who feels its approach, with fear at his heart (1. 204). 1. 196.— the twain. Archaic, couple, two. (AS. tn^gm is the masc. corresponding to nout. twa, two, which has been generalized. casting. 1798-1805, playing. 1. 197.— I've, I've won. So in 1817, 1829, 1835. The edi- tions 1798-1805, read "The game is done ! I've won, I've won ! " It is therefore quite certain that the more usual reading, de- pending only on the early (>ditions, 179S-1805, is not what Coleridge finally approved The reading " I've, I've won " has, moreover, tho merit of throwing the accent where it COLERIDGE : THE ANCIENT MARINER. 199 1. 198.— and whistles thrice. 1798-1805, whistlod . Not without meaning to the superstitious sailor. Except in a calm, whistling is ominous work, likely to bring on a storm. And a whistling woman — A whistling woman and a crowinf,' hen Are neitlier fit for GimI nor men. " Our sailors, I am told, at this very day (I mean tho vul- gar sort) have a strange opinion of the devil's power and agency in stirring up winds, and that is the reason they so seldom wliistle on shipboard, esteeming it to be a mockery, and consequently an enraging of the devil"— Dr. Peggo, Gentle niayi's Mar/., 17()8. It will be noticed (11. 2, 70, 198, 201) that C. uses numbers, as they are used in the l)iliIo, in tho classii»s and in popu- lar superstition, for the sake of mysterious suggestion. Cf. Tlie night-birdes scream 'd a cry of dreado, The death-belle thrice did rlnj? ; And thrice at Arthur's window bars A raven flapp'd its wing. — Tho Murder of Prince Arthur, Evans, iv. 118. She had three lilies in her hand And the stars in her hair were seven. — Rossetti, The Blessed Damozel. 11. 199-211.— The sun's rip dips, etc. Night in the Tro- pics descending without twilight is here matchlessly de- picted. These stanzas are represent^jd in 1798 by the following :— A gust of wind .sterte up behind And wliistleu thro' his bones ; Thro' the holes of his eyes and the liole of his mouth Half whistles and half-groans. With never a whisper in the Sea Off darts the Spectre-ship ; While dombe above tlie Eastern bar The horned Moon, with one briglit Star Almost atween the tips. So in 1802-5, with slight changes,— tho hole of his eyes, M '5 III If 200 NOTES. Errata, tho poot asks the erasure of the stanza, A gust of wind. 1. 200. — clomb. An archaism. Tho verb is strong in AS., usually strong in Mid. Eng., but weak in Mod. Eng. 1. 210 —moon, with one bright star. A MS. note of C.'s to this line is first printed in Macmillan's ed., 1880 :— " It is a common superstition among sailors that something dire is about to happen whenever a star dogs the moon." 1.211. — nether. (AS. neothera, lower.) Lower; under. 1. 212f.— One after one, etc. ITJtS-lSO.'}. One after one by the horned Moon (Listen, O Stranger ! to nie) Each turn'd his face with a f,'liastly panj,' And t'urs'd me with his ec. 1. 213.— quick. This has been explained as living, as in '• the quick and the dead." This stanza, however, has close relation with tho following, the two depicting tlie death of tho crew, as one by one they curse tho Mariner and drop down. It is possible that " quick " has its usual meaning. Death and Life-in-Doath at once seize on their own, and the crew have time only to curse him with a glance as they die. Page II. 1. 217.— And I heard, etc. 171)8-1802. With never a aij^h or groan. 1. 223.— like the whizz. Remorse makes each death reminder of hi , crime. Imitations of tho !ine are The Rlooiny brewer's [Cromwell] soul Went by me, like a stork. —Tennyson, The Talking Oak. And the souls mounting up to God Went by her like thin flames. — Rossettl, The Blessed Damosel. a PART IV. I. 227.— the ribbed sea sand. C.'s note to this line ap- pears in tho 1817 ed., when first tho poem was published COLERIDGE: THE ANCIENT MARINER. 201 under hi« own name. Nothor Stowoy and Dulverton are in Somerset ; soo p. 177f. The figure is in tlie hallad.s,— Ribb'd like tlio sand at mark of sea. —Lord Soiilis. ( Border Minatrelay.) Page 12. 1.231.— And never a saint, etc. 17a8..l805. And Christ would take no pity on 1. 288.— And a thousa.id, etc. 17t>8-l80o. And a million million slimy tliinf?s 1. 212. -rotting:. 1708, ehlritrh, weird, gha.tly, hideous, -a connnon balla.l word, see Sir Caufine (Per.'y's lieliqnes.) 1. 2 15. -or ever. Before ever, ere. Archaic;' see Daniel VI. 21 ; bed. xii. (], and the ballads. 1- 217. — heart as dry as dust. The ^o(n\ die first, But they whose hearts are dry iis summer dust Burn to the socket. —Wordsworth, Kxcuriion, i. 1. 251._Like a load. 1817, like a cloud, but corrected ^n ii.rrata : tor cloud road load . 1. 252.— the dead were at my feet. Have owre [half over], h.ive ovver to Abcrdour It's li f tie fadom del p: ' And thair lies ^ud Sir Patrick Spence, VVi' the Scots lords at his feit [fect|. ' -Sir Patrick Spence. 1. mr. (Percy's Reliques.) 1. 25l.-reek. AS. rican, to smoke; hero, a secon.lary sense, to smell. "^ Page 13. 1. 2r,7f.-bemocked the sultry main. etc. The cold rays of moonlight, spread lik.' hoar-frost, were a mockin-^ contrast to the sultriness of the ocean. ° 1. 208.— Like April hoar-frost spread. 1798. Like morninK frosts yspread ; 1. 270.-alway. Archaic,— always. 1. 270.-charmed water. As if undor magical iufluonco lij. carnien. mean ta til >t2^ • of 1 loq iJ ti! 202 NOTES. M ! m ill i^t 1. 27B.— water-snakes. 0. spoms to havo consnltecl vari- ous zoological works; for tho note- book of this date con- tains hmg paragri. j '53 upon alligators, boas and crocodiles of antediluvian \'v .( s/' (Brandl, p. 202.) 1. 274.— tracks of shining white. See 1. 120f.n. Eofer- ring to the phosjihoresccnt gleam of the sea (or more pro- perly tho animalculsB in the sea) ]>articularly noticeable when tho surface is disturbed, Scotf. imitates C. in, Awaked before tho rusiiin^'' prow, The miniie lires or ocean glow, Those llglitinga of the wave; Wilfl sparkles crest the broken tiii'es, Avid, flashing round, the vessel',^ -lidca With elvisli lustre lave, etc. —Lord of the Isles, i. xxi. remarking in a note ■--" Tho plumomenon called by sailory Sea-fire. . . . Ai tini^: llio ocean appears entirely illumin- ated around the vessel, axul ; iviiig travn of lambent corus- cations are perpetually Irn.'^tijjg from tho sides of tho vessel, or pursuing her wf',v?fc through tho darkness." At times the whole soa burn'd, at times With wakes of fire we tore the dark. —Tennyson. The Voyage. 1. 282IT.— O happy living things ! etc. C, in making tho Ma.'';?Mir find through love of the loww animals a partial releast from ])unishincnt for his wanton cruelty to a bird is here in close touch with his age. Cowper, Burns, Wordsworch, all show keen sympathy for the sufferings of tho humblest animals. C. in his early career addressed a poem even to a Young Ass, — Innocent Fool ! Thou poor, despised forlorn, I hail thee brother, spite of the fool's scorn. " The more the landscape poets of what may be called the century of humanity penetrated into the secrets of earth and air, the more they sympathized with the lower crea- tures of nature, and demanded for all and each a fitting lot." (Brandl, p. 97.) COLERIDGE : THE ANCIENT MARINER. 203 Page 14. 1. 2HSfF.-I could pray. This is tho morHoval notion that prayer wrought roleaso from curses and from tho power of demons. But hero humanity, love, alono mako prayer possible and efficacious— a very modern notion. paut v. 1. 202f.-Oh sleep ! it is a gentle thing. See Wordsworth, To Sleep, Introd. Notes. Cf. For she belike hatli (hainkcn deep Of all the blessedness of sleep. — Colerldi^p, Christahpl. 1. 204.— To Mary Queen, etc. So printed in edd. 18l7ff. 1798. To Mary-queeii the praise be yeven [arch., pivenj. Mary Queen (of heaven), cf. O Mary Mother, be not loth To listen.— thou whinn the stars clothe, Who sc6st and mayst not be ? ei ! Hear us at last, O Mary Queeu ! Into our shadow IkmkI thy face, Bowing thee from the secret place, O Mary Virgin, full of grace. — Rossetti, Ave. 1. 296.— sleep .... that slid. Older English literature abounds in a related notion,— that of sliding into sleep. 1. 207. -the silly buckets. " Silly " has here its original meaning of blessed, fortunate, AS. ncetig, Mid. Eng. seelt/. Tho epithet shows the gash of love that has filled the Mariner's heart. Some explain ii as weak, frail, in imita- tion of, After long 'Storms With which my silly bark was toss'd, —Spenser. Page 15. 1. 302.— dank. (Swed. dank, marshy ground.) Damp and cold. ]. 303.— drunken. Archaic in its participial use. 1. 308.— blessed. Enjoying the happiness of heaven. I! ^ If Mr' 204 NOTES. *?; 1. 309. -And soon I heard, etc. 179a The roariiiK wind ! It roar'd far off, 1. 310.— anear. Near. A form of near, possibly imi- tated from afar:=on (of) fnr. This instance of its use (= near) is the earliest given in the Nexc En;j. DUt. I. 311f.— sails, That were so thin and sere. So in Shel- vocko's Voj/age. When the Captain reached California, he found " at best our sails an,(e). From 15()0 p be- gan to be sounded. This pronunciation finally prevailed making vorse. archaic and poetic. ' l..^o9^the sky. ark sing:. 1798, the lavrock sing. (Uv- rock :s Northern dialect for lark.) Brandl remarks (p. 2.. 2) on the introduction of these touches of nature :-"Coli ridge also repeats ideas from his own songs, as he makes he contrite singer hear the song of the skylark, an.l tho noise of a hidden brook' ; all is apparently only access! sory, but It gives the ballad its chief charm " For tho epithet " a-dropping from the sky," see intro- ductory notes to Wordsworth's Skylark 1. 362.-jargoning. OFr. jargon is precisely tho singw mg of birds. ° 1. BGl.-like a lonely flute. Cf. Evangeline, 1. 1055. ""'^V' ^- ^72-TS'"fi:eth a quiet tune. Between this line and the following are found in the 1708 od. those stan.as :- Listen, O listen, thou U'i-(ldin>,'-f,'iu..st • " Mnrinere ! thou hast my will • " *^Mv*,'"\' "■''^■'' 'T'' ""* "*■ *''*"^ «•>•«' 'i»t»> make My body and soul to be still. " Never sadder tale was told To a man of woman Iwrn : Sadder and wiser thou wedding Kuest I Tliou'lt rise to morrow morn. Never sadder tale was heard By a man of woman bori; : The Marineros all return 'd to work As silent as Itcforno. Tho Marineres all 'gan pull the ropes, But look at me they n'old [would notl • Thought I, I am as thin as air- They cannot uis>. hc)!<>ld. ■fi, 206 NOTES. ^Aum 1. n88f. 1. H79.-sHd. Cf. 1. 291. Frequently usod of passing smoothly, OMpocinlly hy Tonnyson :— Fair ia her c-ottapo in its pinii'. Where yon broad water slowly (?lido9. It sees itself from thatcii to base Dream in '!.•' slldliitr tides. '11, Jleijuiescat. -The sun right up bove f ' ast The sliip has roachuil the equator, an'l tho power of the Polar Spirit ceases. Tho ship tosses tlj. m till tho demand of tho Sj'irit for vengeance is appea-iod, when, freed from his power, it darts northward. 1. 302.— down in. 1798-1805, into. 1. 391. — I have not to declare. I have not tho knowledge to enable me to declare. 1.395. — living, ('mscious. Page IQ. 1. 399.— By Him who died, etc. Au oath of the bal- lads, — This is a iicry morniiifr, seid Litiill John, lie liym that dyed on tre [erossj. —liobin Hood and the Mo.ik, 1. 13f. 1. 407.— honey-dew. A sugary substance f.iund on tho loaves of trees in drops like dew, exuded from i)lant-lice, or from leaves during h-.t, weather, sometimes dripping from them as '■ luanna " ; much liked by bees and ants. Cl(jsft your eyes with lioly (h-ead, For he on lioney-uew liath tV(l, And drimk tiie milk of Paradise. —Coleridge, Kiihla Kha„. I K.* 1 TAirr \x. Page 20. 1. 116.— his great bright ey ? Cf. The broad, open eye of the S'^Mtary sky. —Wordsworth, Straff IHeasnr^g, 1. 423. — Without or wave or wind ? 1798. Withouten wave or wind ? 'Hi cor. ERIDGR : TUB ANCIENT MARINER. 207 I^t. .an,a/. from ..r»-o., flosb), a chapel or hou^e for the dead:-" Facing this (Paul's) cross stiod the chan. n.hieh the bodies of the dead .ere .... piled toleth" '^ ; nngoon ' a vault or dungeon for dead ladies Mi In J: charnel-vaults and sepulchres," Comvs, .J71. Cf. Ghosts that to the clmrnel-dnnRcon thn.np. -licattlc, Minatrel, i. x.xxil. Page 21. I. UO.~eyes. 1708, een. 1. 4i2.— And now this speH, etc. im And in its time the 8,„- vas snapt. And I cniild move my een : I look 'd, etc. 1 SOof ~;^''*'^'^ ^ ""'"^ °" "^"- ^«^*rast the wind in I. 30nff. Kven uds one, sweet and gentl(> as it i. r ,. the horror of the earlier scene (see l.^ ''' '"'"^'^ 1. ^55 -in shade. An earthly wind darkens the water b' < t.ng up npples that break the reflection of the Il^ht' Little breezes dusk and.shivt'r. -Te.u.yson, T/ie Lady q/' Shalott. Page 2. 1 46. countree. In edd. 1798-l.s .^ the accent U marked m tin my and in 11 'iift ^7.. ''"^ ^^^^nt is " ^^' '^^'5) '^'", countree Tlii" noT, (11. ro»/Ke), it is r-ommon in oMer poetry and characterizes as well the archaic ballads. This L accent even alfectod at times .1 .. nr-rentuation If v\-ords. ntuation of nauvo Despralse her not to mo, Foi liotter I lovt yonr littl. fjii^.er Tliaii r dolh'i- wliolc Ijodv'. —Lord Thomasiiie and Fair Fih.L. /Th-.». m *¥' 20S NOTES. '%4 ilMi m Hut none wnH so<« mrnclyo nn pretty Hcsadc. —Jhgqnr'B Daughter of Hednalia reev, I, 4. (I'croy'B IMuiima.) 1. 473.— strewn. Outsproad. 1. 475.— And the shadow of the moon. Shadow, i-efloc- tion. 1708 horo contains a numluT of stanzas of interest as affording some explanation of I. 1H2. Th»( mf)f(nHf,'lit bay was uhln- nil o'er, Till lifliuK fnmi the shiim'. Full miiuy shnpcs, that si ,ulow« were, Like aa of torches came, A little (listaiK from the prow These dark-nd shadows were ; But soon I saw that my own fletli Was red Of- In a ^Inre. I turii'd my head In fear and dread, And liy the holy nxKl, The iMxlies had ndvanc'd, and now Before the m.i»t they stood. They lifted up their stiff ri^ht arms, They held them .strait and t t^ht ; And each right-arm burnt like a torch, A torch that's borne uprlglit. Their stony eye balls Rlitter'd on In the red and smoky light. I pray'd and turn'd my head away Forth looking as before. There waa no breeze ujmju the bay, No wave against the shore. The rock shone bright, etc. 1. 482. — shadows. Shades, spirits. Page 23. 1. 487.— Oh, Christ I etc. Cf. O Clirlst I It was a griefe to sec. —Chevy C/»a«c(Mos roBfi anew : With HiU-ni pact", iMoh to hLs place, Cuiiie hack tlie Kha.stly crew. The wind, tliat hM.uI.! nor motion made, On nic alrmi! It hlfW. Hut in a copy of tho 17I.H od., this stanxa is crossed out and tho following substituted on th(3 niaigin,- Thcti vaiii.sh'd all tlu; lovely llf,'hts, The spirits of til,; air, No souls of mortal men were they, liut spirits hrifrht and fair. (First |)ul)lish(,| in Mactnlllan's cd., 1880.) 1. 509.-the hermit. Tlie picturesciuo personag,* of tho hermit is frequently founl in the ballads. (Seo Evan. vol. IV.) ' Page 24. 1. .512.-shrieve. An obso'oto f(,rm of shrive (As scnjan, to prescribe penance). To hear confession i-u- poso penance, and grant absolution of .in. In Spender Shepncarn that thore wen- two faults in it.~it was irMprolnttde,' and had a moral. As fur tho improbability, [ owned that tbat might admit some question; I,:;! .- to tl„. want of a moral, I told her that in my judgmont tlu, p ..,,. had too much ; and that the only, or cdiief fault, il \ might say so was the obtrusion of tho moral sentiment so oponly on tho reader as a principle or cause of action in a work of sueh pure imagination. It ought to have no more uioral than tho Arabian Nights' tale/'-CoLridgo, Table Talk, May oi, 18;{(». "^ Tn tho.7ou;•/^ o/^Sf/'e.«7«/nv /Vu7.,tl.327fT.,rjertrudorJar. ngues endoavours to allego.i/.o tlio A. M., as depictin-. t,ho loss of the innocence of igm-r mce, and tho return, throu-h the medium «f gia and duubi, to cunscious virtue aCd 1- '•• i'p 212 NOTES. belief :— ' IFe stoppoth one of three', Many are called, Imt few are chosen. ' The ship was chcererl ', .^lan eominonces the voyage of life. ' And now the storm-Llast catnu,' The world, with its buffets, confronts him, etc., etc. In tlio light of C.'s own statement ^11 this theorizing happily vanishes. 1. 028,— forlorn. Deprived, bereft. Archaic and poetical in this sense. (Forlorn -/or/omi, past part, of forleomn, to lose utterly.) 1. 624.— sadder. Made uunw serious by liis experience of depths of human life hitherto unsuspected. YOUTH AND AGE. Composition and publication. Sara Coleridge in a note to ed. 1852 was of the oi)ini(m that the first stanza (11. 1-17) was written as lato as 1821, an.l prefixed to the second stanza, comj-osed many years before. These two stanzas were published in that order in The. llljoa and in The Literary Souvenir, literary annuals of 1.S28, and were included with slight verbalchanges in U.'s collected works, 1828. A memorandum of CnU.iirlg,.'s (ed. 18.72, notes) shows that II. ;W-l;} were writti>n by 1827. 'J he whole of this third stanza appeared in Jl/arkicuod'n, June. i8;J2. con- taining 11. 39-19 and two concluding lines, not in the final revision : — O! might Life coasc ! and Stilfli'ss Mind, Whose total Ileiiij,' is Act, alone remain holiind ! 1. 12f., however, read :— That only serves to make as H'rieve In our old iiKo, Whose bruised wiiiR-s quarrel witlj the bars of tlie still narrowinj,' cajjre. The whole stanza, as printed in Blackwood' ^ , thus made up COr.EKIDCE: YOUin AND AGE, 211 fourteen linos, and wa« ontitle.l The Old Man's Sigh, A a 1, tlu3 poot speaks of it a. an -Out-slongh, c,r l.ypertro itso f, an.l ,lro,,f, olT fr.-n. tl.e py cni-v, ,.u,d hnrno „„..„ n,v bior. — Tn William H'ontsH'nrth. S™ Tntro,luctio„, Carlylo, ,vl,o k„o,v ),;,„ „,.|l i„ thee n,sl,g.at<; days, doscrilii.s him tluis :_ n,M.',,!!'" ^"°\"""'- '"> "■■" ■"»' ff"tH";,- "l.I, towards sixty PMl.a ,s, and gave yu„ tlu, id™ of a lifo that had been fuU of s.„r™nu<; a liio hoavy-lad...,. half-vanquishod /tm «.".nu„g painfully iu «„„, „f ,„„„if,^,,, ^ ^h°'^; =«_^ "tiun- U.ud .n,K.ut. Bnnv and h.ad wore round a„d„ ^^^s.v„ we,ght but .h. faco was „aM,y and irrZu^ i hs d,.,.,> eyes, of a light hazel, ,vo,v ,„ full „r „„„ow as oi ..-l...-a.,„n; confused ,,„in h.ohod .nildiv from Zn " ... .. k,n of mild ast,.nishu„.„t. The whole (igurea,>d 'air good and anueablo otherwise, might 1„. eulleS flabby and stKiigth He hnug l„„,.,iy on his limbs, «ith i^necs Wnt andstooiunsatlitude; ■„ walking he ra her shuffled th. I decswely ».opt . . .. A h,..vy.lade„, high-as,,i "„ "^j surely „,uch-suiroring man."_i.-/i of SUrlina ^Cyki Other „oen,s of C.'sof similar tone and .u.ta .I-/).. 214 NOTES, jection, To WiUlam Worginnin"- There's not a. joy the world can glvu like that it takoa away. 1. 1.— Verse. C. wrote scarcely any poetry after 1802, while tho years 1791-18<)0 are ri.h with almo.t overythinff hisiJootic fame is asioeiated with. Six years, from .«d.xty saved ! Yet kindHnff 8ki"8 Own them, a heaeon to onr ecntiiilos. -1). G. Kussotti, ThvtMi Etmlisk Poets, HI. 1. 2.— clung-, liijoii^ v\'n\'^9, . I. 8.-Life went a maying. Lit., cehd.rated t1,o be.-in- ningof .Alay by gathering flowers of the hawthorn °tc and afterward dancing around (ho May-polo. Bettor' a-maying. ' I. H. -This breathing: house. Bljon, This house of clay rot built with hands. C'l. Mark xiv. 58; Avt, vii A8 xvii. 21; ^1 Corinth, v. 1 , etc. 1. 10.— O'er aery cliffs, etc. Bijou. O'er hill and dale and .soundfni? sands, 1. 12 -those trim skiffs, etc. Fur skills, Bijou has boats. Steamboats were still a wonder. Symmington built tho hr«t practical steamboat, a tug, in 1802. Fulton on tho Ilud.son, 1807, and Hell on tho Clyde, 1812, followed with passenger-boats. Five years later stoan.-navigation spread throughout the three Jvingdoms. Jn J810 the Atlantic was crossed, and in 1825 an Engli.L steamship roachod Calcutta. 1. 17.— Nought cared this body, etc. COI.ERinCE: YOUTH AND AGE. 215 O Kiiiii ! witli vdur dull fwo-fni,! Sdinul, 'I'll.! olu«!i iiani l.y. j.iid (lie iiiuniiiir all' round I You know, if y,,u know nii^.'ht, that we, M'th nl;.'litiinddny,l.iit ilhif,'rc<': Furday.^ and niuntli.-^. and almost year??, Havi' liniii'd on ilin.iifrli this vali- of t.ars, SiiH'c body of mine, and rainy wcatlnr, Mavi! lived on casiy ti-ruis toKctlitr. — Colfiid-,'.-, An o.ie to the Rain. 1. 21.— Of Friendship, oto. 1*.*0. Of Hcauty, Truth, and LlbtM'fy Page 30. 1. 2;}. -Ah woful ere. Literary Souvenir, Ah mournful tii>. 1. -a. — so many. Bijou, so merry. 1. 27. -a fond conceit. Bijou, a false poneoit. " Fond " nnd " conceit" arc us, -1 in ol.I sonsos,-a foolish fancy. 1. 8i.-This drooping gate. Bijou, tliis dragging gate. 1. 30.— tears take sunshine, etc. Tli(-n> waH tl„. tin... nvIi.-m. tlioutrli my path wns roUK'h Thi.s joy within nio dalliid with di'^tn s^, And all misfortunes wort; hut ns lii.' snur ' \Vlu'nc-(; fancy iriadr ni.- divains of |,ap|,inc<*'^ : For Hope grew round mo lilic a twinin;; vim;, vw. — CidoridKC Dfjix'tion. 1. f;7.-Life is but thought. A touch of C.'s philosophic Idealism ; porliajjs also of .shakspero. There is nothing tdther good or bud, but thinking makes It so. , , — Hamlet, ii.U. I. U. Where no hope is. And I, the wliilc, the m\e unhnsy thing. Nor honey niake, nor pair, nor hnilri nor sing.... Work without liope draws neo'ar in a .sieve, And hope without an object cannot live. — yyork nithout, Ifo2i«,lft27. Page 30. 1. -18. -hath outsfay'd his welcom- while. While time, (AS. hwil, apucr u. rim.:,.) ',A\ Nil »•; W\ 216 f;| NO'JES. ** This great man was dying with the clear consciousness that the vorM had denied him liis due. Long ago lifo had lost its charm of hopr for him, and where no hope was, lifo was no hotter than the stern lamp of a ship tliat lights only the patli that U past. The time had been when ho had fretted under the sense of work witliout hope, and ta- lents that lie was compelled to waste. But that time was gono by. The fiery column tluvt rose before his youth was the dark ].ill;ir that stood behind his age. lie was recon- ciled to his dismissal ; ho told the jost without tho smile." —Hall Caino, Life o/Co/cridye, p. lolf. IVOKD^nola-H: TIJKEE YEARS SHE CKEIK 217 WORDSWORTH. !lii TirREIC YI3ARS SHE GEKW IN SQX ANO RHOWI:];. Composition and Publicalion.-Aftor „ y,.,-,r ,.t Alf„x,l„„ n tho ,,o,sh,,o,„.I„.o,I „f CCori.igo, the t,v.; poets and 1.. r (No I. „„I., VM,,,,, colori.lg. wont on t„ Rutzel.ur- to torth' :;:h ?,';"'°"r' •*""^""'-^' """ '""■ ">« ^^-'^ worths iKiuLvl ti,.,n,solv«a i„ (Joslar, ,.n tho cdiro nf th„ Hart. Fo,.o,t, W.,.,U>vonh got Htti'o „I.a, ,- fTo^Vo" man «„.„.,,- ,,r IHoraturo or cH,n„to-tho wintor was w. from hs Aifoxdon hlo pron,.,tod him to ono of the ,„o.t productn-o period, of his life. r,. Ooslar ho wrote .C " "'fo,^' t:,"l.',K rkcFou.tain, Tno A,n-ll Iton.Z lluth l„.„-an ne I'reMe, a„,, composed ( 7!)») the Z-' ous Lu,-„ poems. Those l,.st are tho lyrics beginning - (I.) Str.iiit-c Ills of pa,.,l,.ii hnvc I kiimvii. ° ( . She dwelt amung tile Inilr.uld,!!! ways, on.) I tnivellMl ninnnt' iinkiKraii men Z'\ f '",''" -!'"'' "'"' "■'■""■ '" ""' »'"! 'hewer. (V.) A ahniilier illd ley sphil steal. They form au interesting gronp of poems of ideal love and should lo read iu oouuoction with ono otln-r Iho iioy poems wero first published in tho now onlar<-ed Xhtost ' ™"'"'"°' '" "'° *^"" ■"•" "f '•>« The subject of the poems of Lucy. " The fl,«lar poom, mclude thoso addressed to Luo.y. Some have „uH=osTd ftat there was an aotual Lucy, known to Wordswor Hn Torkshue, ' aU.uttho spring, of Dovo,' to whom he iv^ 218 JVOV'ES. Sfj'' attachoc], vlM, ,li,..l oarly, ...ul ^vlwHo lovo nn.U.oatity ho coin,nmnc.mtc.s in tl.rso five i.uM.M.rial ,.u..,„s. Thoro IH no douht that tho int.-nsity of th. lines, tho ullu- tono half hiJden from tho .yo' to tho • honors when, Lucy played/ to tho 'heath, the calm, and q,.iot scone ' all Hugpst a roal J.orson. Wo only .1,]. there were 'evi- dence that it had I.oen so. But there i. nosuch evidence." —Kniyht, IX. 187. Tho Baroness von Stoekhansen, nevertheless, has writ- ten a ta e called Veihhendu/t (Violet-fragrance), .vhieh weaves about Wordsuorth tho incidents suggostei in tho L.iu'y })ooms. Critical cornments. Coleridge recognized tho beauty of ho poem with ungrudging admiration. " I would rather have written Ruth, and Nature's Lady [^m' Year, etc 1 - hetold Sir H. Davy (Oct. 9, 18)0), "than a million such pooms [as CUr.staheiy^ W. A. Hoard says of it : '' Nature speaks to our minds, but her sounds and music also afTect body as well as soul. Wordsworth does not separate the physical and the spiritual ; nothing is scdely physical in Its efTect, everything has a spiritual result. This com- bmation of physical and spirit.ial teaching in nature is tho Idea embodied in Three years she grew. One stan/a is specially apposite : « And she shall lean her oar,' etc This 18 not only true poetry, but it has a Platonic felicitottsness of languago as tho expression of a philosophy."-]|'on/*- worth Soc. Proc, vi. 55. Ruskin's ai.proeiation of the poem is marked with liis usual wonderful insight. In Sesame ami Lilies (Of (Queens' Gardens), ho quotes most of this poem in tho following context : =" -The first of our duties to her [woman]. .. .is to secure her such physical training and exorcise as may confirm her health, and perfect her beauty ; the highest refine- ment of beauty being unattainable without splendour of lyOA'DSiroj^TIf: THREE YEARS SHE GREW. 219 I say and mcroaso its power; it cannot bo too powerful norshclit. sacrod hVht too far; onlv n.n.ernl.r th a U ~l /'■^^;'^'"; '- ^''^'" *'' ^'^'"'^-^ '-"^y without a col r. , ond.n.^ freedon, of l.eu... Thoro aro two passages of that poet who is disHu,.u . d, it seems to n. , fZal others not by power, but by ox^uisito ri.htne s - hich aides, the co,np]et,on of Womanly beauty [stt. I, 2, 4 of tins p,,em are qnotedl. . . .This for thn mLr, tbn oiui 'P.. I r , "^ moans: now noto he end I ako from the san^e poet, in two lines, a perfect descnpti„n of womanly beauty :- ^ ' A cuiiiit(!iiatu"e In wliiclnlld meet Sweet records, pn.mis.s ;is sweet,'" etc Tho whole of Queens' Gardens is indeed a beautiful com- mentary on this poem. ^ 'nuii com- Page 31. -The title. Tlio poem is indexed in Lvrical Uaflad, rhreo years .ho grow in sun and shuw... fn ed.I ,H ' 18 ^etc. ,t :s indexed and paged, Lucy. Otherwise U Trn.nnj invents the sub-title giv^n ..n p. lU. 1. ^f.- Myself will .... with me. In 1802 tho noot changed tho lines to : ^ Her Tonolior I myself will he, Sli.-isinydnrlinf,'; am] with mo but wisely returned to tho original text in 1805 1. Kjf.-fn earth and heaven an overseeing power J he plHlosophy ol this bears illustration from ovcu/liuuo £iHlern Ahhcy, as from tho following :- Nafuie never did l.elniy The heart that l„ve.lh..r; 'lis h.T prlvlle^'o. ll«r..„Kh all the years ..f this our life, to lead *r.mij.,ytoj.)y: for she ean so infunu The mind that is wlthMM.s. so hnpress \Mth quieinoss and heauly. and so fee not think you eun make a girl lovely, if yo,i do not make lier iKil'Py. i'hero is not ono restraint you ean put on a good girl s naturo-thero is not (.no ehe.dc you givo to hw in- stmets of affectiou or of uffort-whieh will nnt ho indelildy written on her features, v^'-^h ,- hardness whieh is uU the more painful because it ■ .... away the brightness from tho oyes^of mnocenco, and tho eiiarm from tho brow of vir- tuo."-~ll-uskin, Scmiiir and Lliivn, ii. § 71. 1. H(5.-Here :n this happy dell. " Observe, it is « Nature ' who IS speakin. thrungho.it. and who says, ' while sho and I together live.' "— Euskin, ib. and colorless ^aturo, without Human Life pivsent, 1 ecomes to the 1 oot, wo gather from tho chnclusion of Three yoars she grew. -.Tamos Eussell Lowell, ir.>r,/.v,r.r/A.S,r Tr "viii 70 1. 4i).-this calm, and quiet scene. Culm, is the auth.' <.ntativo reading (IS)o, 'l:5, 'hi, etc.); yet 1802. Morley. anc other recent editions read, " calm and quiet scene " ■T - vc.,lt and g,v,.n „v,.r t„ tl,„ i ,,t,i„, ,,,i,it, ..T,,;, P<.-.n • 1,„ ,,,y,, „,,„ „,itt„„ i,„„„„mt„| ^„;,,. ,^ r,„n Franco t„ l.„n,l„n, «I„m, Ic„„l., not .,ut 1,„ stn.ok Is h», dc.sori,,cd with tUe vanity and paradn „f "twn nuntry, espoc.My in «r.at t„wn. an,l citi,,,, a, ecnfaZ 1 htho ,,„u.t, and I may ,:,y ,|„s,dati„n. that thu K„v„|.,. t.«n had produced in Franc,.. Xhi. must ho h.rno in mi, , ..r obo tho reader may think tln.t in this „„d the s, coco 1^ ...^Sonnets I havo o..,.,..,.,, tho mischief o,;;;,T,:!, andk«t..rel amen- us l,y nndisturhed wealth. U ,v„„M not ho easy t,. conceive with what a d..|.t'. of feelin- I entered int., tho stru-lo carried ,m hy the Spaniard.s for the. d.dn_eraneo from t,,e u.ar.K,, power of tL F™ c I,". etc.— Jo Jhss leinnek (Ivni;ht. ii. inn) To thi, wo may add tho his,,,, l.u.'s aeeonnt :-" Althon..h tho deht had nson from 211 n,illi„„, ^ 50,,, tho de,i>^ f^r pcaco sprang irom no sonse of national exhaustion. Ou the contrary weath had never increased so fast. «to„m and c.u,„ls, with tl.e inventions of Arkw,i,l,t and Cronl „ wcro producing tl.oir otfect in a r.,pU d.volopmont of Cade ' i '1 MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I 1.25 ■^ 3.2 ■ 63 2.5 2.2 IS. KUbu |2.0 1.8 1.4 1.6 ^ x^PPLlED IM/1GE inc 1653 East Main Street Rochester, New York 14609 (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone (716) 288-5989 -Fax USA ^i 222 NOTES. and manufactures, and cummorco fcnind now outlets in the colonies gained by the war."— Green, Sliort Hid., c. 1832. This poem was first published in the volume of Poems, by William Wordsworth, London, 1807. The form of the Sonnet*. Tlie word sonnet is derived, as is the best form of the thing itsolf, from the Italian,— sonetto, a short strain, abbreviation of mono, sound. The first Englishmen to learn to use tlie sonnet structure were Wjatt (15 »a -1512) and Surrey (1517-1547), poets steeped in Italian literature. Among the Elizabethans, .SpL'nscr and Shakspere were preeminent as writers of sonnets, as at a later day Milton was among the Caroline poets. Shaksper^'s sonnets, however, differ essentially in struc- tural character from the sonnets of Milton. The Shakes- pearian SONX:rr arranges its rimes abab cdcd efef gg^ and the whole rhythm progresses with almost even force through its fourteen lines till clinched and ended in the concLuling couplet. The MiLTONiu SONWEt agrees with the Shakespearian in preserving an unbroken continuity of rhythm throughout, but diil'ers from it in rime-structure. Its rimes are arranged abha abha^ l)ut the last six lines rime with great freedom, always however avoiding a final couplet. The normal Italian or Petrakcan soxni:t, while similar to the Alilttuilc sonnet in rime-order, differs from it and the Shakespearian sonnet in the peculiar movement of its rhythm. The poem is broken into a " octave " (first eight lines) and a " sestet" (last six lines), and the melody rising with the major part, subsides and dies away in the minor ; so that it may be described : A soiiDot is a wave of nicIod.v : From lieaving' waters of llie impassioned soul A billow of tidal music one and wliole Flows in tlie "octave," then returning free, ♦See Theodore Watts, Ency. Britt.\ William Sharp, Sonnets of this Century^ Introduction, etc. IVORDSWORrrT: WRITTEN IN LONDON. 223 lis oblji'iirr snrp-efs in tlie "sestet " roll Back to the deeps of Life's tiimuituous sea. — Thendorc Taffa. These throe forms-tho Shakespearian, the Miltonie, and the Petrarcan Ronnet-aro tlie standard forms of English sonnets. WJ.dle they have formal d-frorcnces, they agive in requiring tliat the poem ho of fourteen decasvnahie lines .the evolution of one single thought or emotion, iaovitahlo in Its progress, full of thought, dignity, repose, and splend- idly sonoi'ous. '■ '^welliiiir loudly L'p to Its climax, and then <1.\ .nir proudiy." Examples of the three kinds will ho found in the Appen- dix. W.'s, it will be seen, bears a close relationship to Milton's. Page 33. 1. l.-O Friend ! etc. ISnS ed. alone reads, O thou proud city 1 which way shall I look, which seems to show that the established reading " Friend " has no particular personal reference. h 2.— Plain living:, etc. These words are not vain on the poet's part. He and his sister (see Intro.I.) in 179;} had set about living their best life on an income of one hun- dred pounds. I note that a recent magazine poet borrows this line in the following form. Hardy with abstinence, with lu"f,-li thon-lits divine. — Marrion Wilcox, LiL'e the Good Qcd. 1. 8.— No grandeur now in nature. Eead and compare the sonnet (see Appendix) beginning, The world is too much witli us, Ir, cc and soon. 1. 13.— fearful. Anxiously watchful lest evil should pre- vail. 1. 11.— pure religion breathing, etc. Eeligion, a gentle force aaim.ating and guiding ail family life. i I ^\»^*' 224 NOTES. ilili if III i! i LONDON, 1802. Composition and puoUcation, Tliis sonnet was wr'Lu.n and published in the same cinMni:, stances as the preceding. Pagfe 34. 1. 1. -Milton. .Tuhn Milton (1608-1074). W. had el pecLilly in his mind .-Milton's strenuous efforts in the cause of Punt mism and just ft-ovcrnmont, on behalf of the Vau- dois, and for the liberty of the press ; his conception of the high calling- of the poet, his intense moral strength, and intellectual greatness ; the magnificence of his stylo and the rich music of his verse ; tlio utter loneliness of his life, when, blind and poor, he meditated his lofty epic while around him echoed the shouts of Royalists triumphing over the cause to wliich he had sacrificed his best years" See Gredn, Short Hist., 451 IT., olOfP., 575, 5821T. There is a special appropriateness also in addressing Milton in a sonnet. From :\lilton's sonnets W. first lu irnt many of the groit qualities of his own. Elsevhero he abundantly shows his reverence for his master :— Wc must he free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake ; the faith and morals hold Whieli Milton liekl. —It 18 not to he thought of. Tliat mio'hty orb of song, The divine Milton. — The Excursion, i. 2t!)f. I. 2.— England.... is a fen. For the other side of the picture, see such poems as The IJirkenhead. And when they tell you ' England is a iv .. Corrupt, a kingdom tottering to decay. Her nerveless burghers lying an oasv prey For tlie first corner,' tell how the oiher day A crew of half a tliouaand l-^nglishmen Went down into the deep in Simon's Bay ! etc. —Sir Henry Yule (1820-1889.) 1. 4.-the heroic wealth of hall and bower. Hall and bower are frequently conjoined in old literature • the former the characteristic place of tl^e men, the latter of I WORDSWORTH: LONDON, 1S02. 225 fllil tlio women. Thus " the heroic wealth of hall and bower " moans, knightly men and gentle women, riclily endowed with the spirit of chivalry, are no more, and their de- scendants have lost the right to inward happiness. 1. 1.— dower. This inward hai)piness was the gift and result of nohle action, as a dinver comes hy established, even inherent riglit. I. 5.— inward happiness. Notice W.'s insistence on the inward iit'e. It porvadc^s his poetry. That inward oye Which is tile Ijiiss of solitude. — / luandered lonely as a cloud. Tlie liarvest of a quiet eye Tliat i)ruod3 and sleeps uii his own heart. —^■1 Poet'n Epitaph. With a eye made ((uiet by tlie power Of harmony, and tlie icc;* i)ower of joy, Weseeinto the lite of lliin7 on itself. ii I 226 NOTES. TO THE DAISY. Composition and publication. VV. wrote in all four poems addressed to the Daisy. They begin : (i.) Ii. youth from rock to rock I went, (ii.) With little here to do or see. (iii.) Brl^'lit Flower ! whose home ig evcrvwhere. (iv.) Sweet Flower ! belike one day to have. Except the last, wliich as an ele^y ou the poet's bro- ther John stands apart (18)5) from the otiiers, these poems were written in 1802, in the orchard of Town- end, Grasmere, shortly after W. took up his residence there. , The second and third poems " were overflowiuo's of the mind in composing the one which stands first."— W. in ed. 1807. The first three poems were published in 18 J7. Tliey have much in common and should be read tcjgether. The third poem is reprinted in the Api^endix. Page 35. 1. 1.— here. AV. and las sister in Dec. 21, 1799. settled in Grasmere, Cumberland, in Dove Cottage, at tliat extremity of the village called Town-end, and lived there till 1808. W.'s finest poetry was there written. (See In- trod.) 1. 3.— Sweet Daisy 1 oft. This is the reading of edd. 1807-1827, but variants arc,— - 1836-1843. Yet once af^ain I talk to thee, 184G-1819. Daisy ! again I talk to thee, The changes are chiefly intended to make a better con- nection with the first poem, To the Daisy. 1. 10.— I sit and play, etc. Such is the reading from 1820; but 1807 Oft do I sit by thee at ease, And weave a web of similies (sic). IVORDSWORTII: THE SMALL CEL.ANDLNE, 227 Pagre 36 1. 25.-cyclop. {u'hlopsl From Lat. cycJops, Ok -«W ht. ' round-eycl ' (.v.Ao.. circlo, ui^. cvo.) In classicai mythology, a giant having one eye, shaped like a circle sot m the middle of his forehead. 1. 30. -boss The convex projection in tlie centre of the shield. • ^•^^^•-^'-'^^t Flower. Bright is substituted for Sweet in Joob ed. 1.43 -fast The editions have u.Jformly a comma after fast, but it would better be a semicolon, to permit the close association of 1. 44 with 1. 45. TIIE SMALL CELANDINE. Composition and publication. W. has three poems on the Celandine, the first written April 30th, 1802, beginning, Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, Let them live upon their praises ; the second, composed May 1st, 1802, beginning, Pleasures newly found aro sweet When they lie about our feet ; the third, our present poem, composed in 1804. All were published in the volume of 1807. They stand therefore among the beautiful lyrics of the Town-end, Grasmero period. W. classed this poem among "Poems referring to the Period of Old Age." ° Subject of the poem. "It is remarkable," says W in the Feinvick note, " that this flower coming outso early in the Spring as it does, and so bright and beautiful, and in such profusion, should not have been noticed earlier in Iti I i'^ '4_ 228 NOTES. Enn;h,h vorso. Wl,at ar, it is to ho hoped, will find that tho pictun-s aro often so chisely cnnnocU'd as to liavo jointly the e.Tect of passages of a p.;eni in a f..rm of stanza to which there is m> objection r)ut ono that l^ears upon tho r.iet only— its difficulty."— rref., ed. 1S22. The sonnei-scquonco was published in 1822, entitled Ec cJedastical SkvtchcH. It contained 102 Sonnets, of which lusiJe Kiuffs Collvrjc Chapel is No. xxxiii. of Pt. HI. Ad- ditional poems made tho total numl)er 1^2, of wliich our Sonnet is III. xliii. It foUows a general sonnet on Cathe- drals, celebrating the beauty of the Everlasting Pih-s, an.l precedes a second sonnet on King's C.llogo Cliapol, depicting especially tho oll'ect of its organ-music. The subject of the sonnet. King's College, Cambridge, and tlio magnificent Chapel, the glory of tho Univorsityi were founded in lUl by Henry VI. (1121-1472). The work of building tho Chapel, intcrniplcd by tho murder of the king, was continued with intermissions by Edward IV., Eichard HI., and Henry VII., ^vho was chiefly instru- mental in bringing it to completion. It was finished shortly after 1527. Tiio Chapel stands on the n^rth side of tho court, facing tho great Gothic hall of the College ; tho Cam, spanned by a single arched bridge, runs past on tho west. Its dimen- sions aro noble,-in length 31G ft., breadth 81 ft., extreme height, I'lG ft. Towers rise at each angle. On either side eleven buttresses, crowned with lofty pinnacles, separate twelve magnifir. ■ *-, windows. "Tho interior has a riclily vaulted roof of .welve divisions or severios, of tho pattern called fan tracery. In tho centre of each division is a pendant keystone, faced with a rose. . . . Tho spaces between the windows aro filled with niches and with roses, portcul- lises, and flour-de-lis, . . .Throughout tho building thostono fl I H 232 JVOV'/iS. ^aarici^ carvings aro of aMtonishin:, l.UUu.., um.I in tho fir.f, sf.ylo of art." (Soo Cor.ru.,. Mr„or!ah of (Unnh-ih/c, f. 171fr whore splou.li.l on,n-aviu.^s of the Coll.go and Chapol arc to 1)0 ioiukI.) W., it will 1,0 romom1...r.Ml. uns a st,i, in order that 1 might in the same compass present more cost and more tliought."-.-Euskin, Seven Lamps of Architecture, chap i I. 171 fr., lapel aro till! pro- ilicr and 71, that liim to with iu- vrou«3^]it g;ut liiiji rcliitoo- >r only loon in- luinhor [logo. white •vice in :'st tliat simj/ly to tlio fic3 of stance, lo and 'Vas so, would )r that I mure hap. i. . iroKnsiroKm.- to .i sat/.ia'a: 233 I. n._lorty pillars, strictly ,|„,,.,„v „„ |,i||,,.. ; j,,t „,„ V tt„.ss,.sYtl-w,,ll,„r,.f„,l,i,,,,,.,|i,>si,i.,|iU,,,i',,f„,. .ns.....„„s st„,nt,„.o [,!,„ i,„„ ,■ ,„„f „r .t, n,.] i. so <.! ....tl„, „l„.lu „,.,gl,t„r tl„. ,.„„f l„,i„,, .„,,,„„,„„, ,,,.„„. butlro»«.s „„,, tuwc.fs „l,.„.....s,„.l, „ o„nl,i„„,i,:„ , mgonu.ty with l.auty, „l li,.h,n,.s „ i,l, „„,,i|i„, „;„ , w^ ,o„t „ ,„>,.alW ,„ „„y ,,„t„f tho..m."-LcJ. oriilfje GuiiJc, p. 77. scooped into ten thousand cells Tl,„ vaultod roof i, 'm :L Tl" T '""■'^ "' ""'■"' '"•'="'■ =>■"• -<=•> vault L , H. ^^ f "-nvorg.ng (" that l.ra,u-hi„g roof") at tho buttros.. that s,„,p„rt it ; ,l„.so li„.,, aro ajaiu cu hv :;z ""'"' ""' '^'^'"'■'"" ^*""" t-cor/iius :;v;y 1. 11.— where music dwells. But from tl.o arms of silonce-list ! O list i 1)10 miisif hiirstcth into second life • The notes iuxnriato, evory st. .110 is l^issrd By sound, or f,'liost of sound, in mazy strife ; Heart-thriilinf,' strains. ' -Iu»!j's CaUeje Chapel, (second sonnet). TO A SKYLARK. Composition ai.d publication. This lyric is one of th,> ^: r ^:f liT-'^ ?r vr^' -"^-^^'^ ^"^ " ^^^ wiofiom of this period, while the earlier lvrir> nn ^k„ subject (1805) shows his passionate ioyi f atl uZ wntton at Kydal .Mount, Grassrao'Lf wl,™ w' kWr il' 'I " f F „ t ' ■ 1 ' m 234 NOTES. The subject of the poem. " The bird that occupies tlic second place to tlio liightingalo in British poetical litera- ture is the skylark, a pastoral bird as the PJiilomel is an arboreal,-a creature of light and air and m.^tion, the com- panion of the plowman, the shepherd, the liarvester,— whose nest is in the stubble and whose tryst is in the clouds. Its life aflords that kind of contrast wliich the imagination loves— one moment a plain pedestrian-bird hardly distinguisliable from tlie ground, the next a soaring' untiring songster, reveling in tlie upper air, challenn-i,r.' the eye to follow liim and the ear to sopnrato his notes ° "^ The lark's song is not especially melodious, but litlie- some, sibilant, and unceasing. Its type is the grass, where the bird makes its home, abounding, multitudinous, the notes nearly all alike and all in the same key, but rapid, swarming, prodigal, showering down [cf. Coleridge, A.M., 1.' 358] thick an: fast as drops of rain in a summer shower.'"' —John Burroughs, Birds and Poets. 0th 3r poems on the Lark. The Elizabethans first gave fit oxpression to the charm of the Lark's song. What is't now we hear ? None but tlio lark so shrill atid clear \ Now at heaven's gates she claps her wings, The morn not waking till she sings. —John Lyly, Campaspe.v. i. Lyiy Avas imitated by Shakspere in Hark, hark, the lark at heaven's gate sings. —Oymbelme, iii, ii. James Hogg (1772-1835) led tlie way to the modern lyrics. (His Lark is reprinted in the Appendix.) In 1805 W 's first lyric To a Skijlark, ' Up with me ! up with me into the clouds ! was written. Then came Slielley's wonderful Ode to the Skylark, 1820, and in 1825 the present poem was composed Wilham Watson's now poem (see Appendix) is justly admired. *^ Page 40. 1 WORDSWORTH 5f.— Or, while TO A SKYLARK:. 235 So constant with thy do thy wing-s aspire, etc. Yet, in agrial singleness, so f, wnwarileyeoflove, ee. — A ]il07 rning Exercise. The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest And cliinbinR: sliakes hi," dewy wings, n 7 10 T- — Davenant. In a\"~: '*" P"'"'' '■'°' ^'''i' ''"n^^- ivhich 1)0. Z I '■"" *""'^^'' ""^ '" 1«J" tonsforrolto°l OH r4,tr's '°rr"' ''''^'■°* -wchitb.can.o , ci^iitji stanza. See iiual note. 1. 13.— her shady wood. Tliou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In Pome melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, bmgest of summer in full-throated ease. 1.16.-with instinct less divine. -Instinct" took the place of " rapture " in 1827. 1. 18.— True to the kindred points, etc. Cf. Thy lay is in . .ven, thy love is on earth. -Hogg, The Lark, Speaking of A Morning Ea^ercUe, W., i„ a „oto to iliss Fe. nek, remarked: "I could ,vish the last five sta„.as of tlus o be read with the poem addressed to the Skylark " iiieso stanzas are : ji^ixit. Hail, blest above all kinds !-Sui,remely skilled. Restless wUh fixed to balance, high with low, * Thou leav's the halcyon free her hopes to build On such forbearance as the deep may show ; Perpetual flight, unchecked by earthly ties Leav'st to the wandering bird of paradise. ' vJfl"'^'''; ?°"^"' ''"''^^ ^^ lishtning, the meek dove; Yet more hath nature reconciled in thee • So constant with thy downward eye of love xet, in aerial singleness, so free ; So humble, yet so ready to rejoice In power of wing and never-wearied voice. To the last point of view, etc. fM 1 ^ } I } '' I 236 NOTES. How wo„id it please old Ocean to partake r harmony tliy notes most Kladlv make ^V here earth reson.hU-s n.ost his o vn ,on nin I Uran.a's self mi.^ht weleonu. with pi a e" ' • These matjns mounting towards Z „X Sphere. Weit thou arnonf, them, sin^inj, as they shine ! WHY ART THOU SILEXT 9 puhS;;:"-;.!!:;"'?";"; '--'-'' - -^^ ana January ,vl,o„ Dora Jl I wore Xi7. f fn""""'" °' Ora.more, across the Valo, slow ^^'T ''"'T''^' espied, in the thick though leafll L * '" f™'"'' "'" filled ivith snow. Out of tliirr V .,' ' "' '^ "''"' '>■''" this Sonnet, wh ch ,', i f "'"^"'.■"•^"'^ ••.Ppoaranco arose reference to any nd vW„n T' 7?"°" ""'"'"* *'"^ 1*'^''' myself that I e,™l , 1 1 „: ffi '"' .f^"'^ *° ^^^ '" Poets have been !o.,l ^f 21^1^*^ ^.^ ''"'"*''■■'* -e year, „y daughter, ^.^IJ^''::^ ^^T ^^^f.^"'— ™«' The poem is indo:;ed in the edd IS^-', . Wiiy art thou silent. The title " To n n / . ^ .' "*"" found in the Golden Trea^urTis Mr P.t f ^™'"''" 1. 6.-Bound to thy service etc TlT '"™°*'""- mum-, ■. ■>""""«• o'«- llie reading of 18K 183MS.3. A, would my deed, have heo,„ with „„„,„ ,„,„ CAMPBELL : HOHENLINDEN. CAMPBELL. 237 HOIIEXLIXDEX. r.-ance with Austria and b'v L W *''" "" °' battle. r„t,s„t noa- HatUbontl, „ :„,,Hdtt:'"""', *"" he never fr^r-ot Rnf f, ,,^^^ ^ ^|o"i^taclt, scenes \vh eh Two yoar. later, 1802 whill .H °' Hohonlindon. Thee ho printed an^Z 2'^^;; 'f;:'',''''''^"'"'*"- Eov. Archibald Ali.on ^' '^'''''"'"'^'l *" ''is friend the Historical basis of the nnon, a- Moroau into Bavaria o otK^.?: '""™'' '''■"• "'^''Patchod inn forces. Ho was 'dv ' °^"'"* """ Austro-Bavar- the Alps into the Danube when on t rr'plf'^'^'-S 1830, he was attacked hy tho A,.? f' ?' »«<='^'nbiu a small cluster nf-,nri''l^''^^''''t, :i ! J^i 238 NOTES. ifjf S I i«f space which lies between the Inn and the Isor, which is from twelve to fifteen leagues in breadth, is intersected in Its centre by this forest. Tarallel to the course of the two rivers its woods form a natural barrier or stockade, six or seven leagues long, and from a league to a league and a iialf broad. Two grea. roads only, that from Munich to Wasserburg, and that from Munich to Miihldorf traverse that thick and gloomy forest, where the pine-trees ap- proach each other so closely as in most places to render the passage of cavalry, excepting in the great roads, im- possible.^ a ho village of Hohenlind.n is at the entrance of the Munich side of the one defile, that of Mattenpott, at its mouth, leading to Muhldorf."-Alison. HUory of Europe, The Austrian and Bavarian forces had crossed the Inn which flows^from the Tyrol into the Danube, had advanced nt Bavaria, and had obtained some slight successes that threw the irench army under Moreau back upon Hohcn- linden, where a decisive battle was expected. When the Austrian army advanced unsuspectingly through the dan- gerous roads of the forest, Moreau prepared to attack them as hey issued from the defiles, and also to fall upon them on the flank. The Imperial columns began their march two hours before dawn in the midst of a blinding snow-storm that obliterated all road-marks and prevented the inter- communication of the columns. The Austrian centre ap- proached Hohenlinden about nine o'clock, but they were met by Grouchy. The darkness of the storm hid the rank! from each other only the flashing of the guns revealinc. the presence of the enemy. Driven back into the for- est, the Austrians fought bravely, and "the contending, armies broken in single file, fought, man to man, witS invincible resolution." Meanwhile the other divisions were crushed by Ney and Grenier, while Eichepanse fell on the rear No words can paint the confusion that ensued in the Austrian columns. The artillery drivers cut their CAMPBELL: HOflENLLXDEN. .nuUucs .,„„„,,,„ „ ,t .^'^ -V,,,,,- n,she,l in t„. .vhatevcr op,,„so„ th,.i,. L t,,*' '^,l;''''f -;''- f-' of cannon and foiirto..,, >C , ' " '"''"''■"'l P^'cos stream i„ eontn.t „ Lh it. sn,,;;, ',;,!!;: ""'■'"'°^' °^ *"° Innsbrfiok, entering b;.;: it i'"" '" "'"Tyrol, bolo;v to F,.ei.i„. t„™s°,f ;. ^ ,l7:;: f- 7- P-tAr„„ich voneyin,,iru,ti:at;t;t::::, -"r:;* ■t^*---'' '- presume " volleying like";' is!:;:!-''"^""'' '^ "'"• '''" Pag-e 4,. 1. 21.— level ^ well skdled in tho figure of bathos- ' Tlien slioolt ili.^ hills will, tliini.lc,- riven Then flew the slew! to hatllc ihlvcii I ' ' Oh what a falling off was there!" '.How could I help It? replied the poet, somewhat moved. -The battle be^ gan by a general discharge of artillery alon~ the whoL Ime; and then, amidst tho obscurity of the'sn k , t cavalry made their attack on the broken ranks of he tnfos tlio ^ai'ia, on accurate S't'i" lino. h is still f Carnp- "iurely," enemy." ..Well, parried," returnod I, ..fbut] M.lto„ ahye I think he n,ight aceuse y^u onhiftl- "■"" ^^""."""W,. all ,l,y ,,,,„„„,„,„,„ Oh I know to what you allude," interrupted he - ^°"'-'»"".yeptnc.,ln,,;,°„,„,,.„„p,™„., wards,, an'd what ;;?trrr:hr.^:!i; 'r"'^™- them, for you say- ^'^^ ^^^"^^ covered 'And every turf beneath his feet .,- Shall be a soldier's sepulchre'" 1 can stand this no loncrpr ^' p,.,v,i ., , , and, starting to his feet nTo ' .'^''''^^^^ ^^adgored Poet; vhethcr a most ; ff you ;jt have does it Jits of S(jine- ou aro I help ;le he- whole 0. the >f the YE MAEINERS OP ENGLAND. Composition and publication. "Mrs Irp-.^,^ i, much of Camphell at this time UiVvtl' ''^" "''^'^ mentions that it was in L ^ Y'\^'^'''^^^^^^ in 1799J ther's home, that "e app .rt. ZT '""^"^^^ ^* ^^^ «- At these soir.. his f a v^ [^t , ^^^^^^ ieffentlemen of England AhnV^. H^'^,'^**'^""^'^tease, A I little do you think upon Ihe dangers of the seas Give ear unto the mariners And they will nhunlvsleW *YE GENTLEMExX OF ENGLAND All \\r\ ^'■'■•■^^ iiiiu me le Whl'''/,™''' "''"iistlo blow. When the stormy, etc. If enemies oppose us When En-land is at war U ith any toreif,'n nation, we tear not wound or scar: Our roaring guns shall teach 'em \v?i'i'L^?^"''^«'"toknow, ^V f t t'ley reel on the l^eel — Martyn Parker, itiao. i '. I in 242 J\rorEs. struck, and dotorminod to writo new word, fnr it Tr his noble and hoart-stirring lyric o "y, M • . England," part of which if not .11 y, ?""'" "' oun-rosod after o„o of it^iZ^'^ X ^' 7 i. 204. ^' "'° '^'"'"'"S '•■''■•''ni»lo."-Bcattio, an iiS::;; :: i^ii- i:r';:;-%r::''-t:;,:;rr -ell to join the Neutral Loare\vitrr """" ""'^ "' ^Pring „f 1801. it was P-.if the'flltf X'Set^ .one to the ContiL^t^L ■^.-o w rZ::; f^ B^t isbon m October by the war between Austria an p^ and forced to return to Altona (near bZ^^: ^"2 group of strangers at Altona the prospect of fte N„,l war was the topic of daily conversation VndtV ^."*.''™ tion that bore him on to tC ! ?■ ° '"'l""^"- patriotic lyric. l" was sen to M ' P °' '"' ^'^'™^id in the "Morning ChZicle"': d*;h^°;r "ir'"-'^' "A-:ltrdaJ--«--4C^.rst3 harmony with the original song U'rso";!^ ,^4" Tins applies to other instances of the refraL 11. W.is'ao; it. Ilonce r.iriners of i'l to havo h was n(jt, n, and felt ^ war with Hid sent it — Boattio, ' song was 3leon had 'e and the unounced liout this 10 British ready as ng of the Northern strike at who had ''om Rat- France, In the s^rthorn inspira- splendid Liblished erations J signed ow, was 'ised in n 1840. 18, 20, • ^5— Blake and mighty Nelsnn t "jurago .an,lj,at,.i„tiH,„. Rober B?»i, T?"' "' •''"'^''■"us Do With aiKl Do Eiivtor nt .,"•''", ^'"mpmtho Downs, PY*-Uy victorious, ov.r Trot' '' .1" "'■'-• "° ™' when ho wa, dangoro,,,,^ ,.t„°™', '",,''," f""'"""^ y""^- anni,,i,ato the Spa i Ho ^.rs: T n""* ''"'"^ "■«» *° •"to this last victory Ho 1 ,"■ ^™^' "i'mff shortly AM.oy till tho E,.stor;ti™ t„ T ""'' '» ^estminstor "•Voreevon than l.y li Wo.^ t T,-"'" "" '^'' '"'"«^' ory of Blako is ,,o,fr to ^.^ ^ '" ""■"''^■^' "•» "'»■»- d'fons of his chivalrous charac, T^" ^^ ""^ '™- patriotism,"-/,;,,,. .v.. yj-^ ''"'^■'' ""'' "f '•« unselfish battrAho^hir;,:^ ,'.:::,.';;f->*-=^). ^-^ious i„ tho and famo are housch 1 , Zt'Z ^ f*"^- ^is name -«, a worthy tribute to a gr at hto ? l"^'' ^'^' ''■^«- Til, feit^ao nero, for dctmia Wh.cre Blake, the boast Of freedom, fen, Pa^e 45. 1. 21. -bulwarks. Before 1ft lo J, io^..vrX:-5o;, hole, tree-trnnV ; ' ^^^^™k. But. >-;-;,-o;o,rar;-::!;j^---of sentec. a feature .^^'u ";' ^ ' ^""' -^'-tel.o towers, p.^! poet l.„„w won how to take advaSr-^r t^'"'' *■"« 1- 25f._with thunders ,^ „ ~ ' '^ '''• Phrasis for, she rules the stormy soa"'"'^! "1^. ^ P"^'" «-s .s much more fearful tha/tC J::;,*^:^ ''" li ili.^ Ss i i»i 244 NOTES. native oak. Native merely as a characteristic tree of Eiiglunfl. The periplirasia is a favourite one for old British warships. 1. 31f.— meteor flag; terrific burn. The language im- plies the olden belief tliat appearances of meteors portend disaster to individuals or the world. Comets, importing change of times and states. — Shakspcre, /. Henry V/., i. When beggars die, there are no comets seen ; The heavens themselves blaze fortli the dcatli of princes. —Julius Caesar, li. 11. 1. 83.— danger's troubled night depart. Fee Introductory Note. The poem vcjices the sentiment of England during the Napoleonic struggle. Campbell, it is said, helped greatly by his lyric to win Trafalgar. 1. 34. — Star of peace. Star that bringest home tlie bee, And sett'st the weary labonror free ! If any star sIukI peace, 'tis tliou, That scnd'st it from above, Appearing wlien lieaven's lircath and brow Are sweet as her's we love, —Campbell, To the Evening Star. tree of or old 2:c im- ortond uctory luring helped CAMPBELL: BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. 245 BATTLE OF TlIE BALTIC. First draft of the poem. In a letter to Sir Walter Scott, March 27th, 1805, Camj.bt.ll enclosed the first draft of the BalUe of the Baltic. It contained twenty-seven G-1. stan- zas, as against the eight 9-1. stanzas of the published form. This earlier draft, preserved and printed in Beattic's Life, li. 42tf. i9 a distinctly weak version, and the cutting down and revising gave wonderful vigour to thought, expression and rythmical swing. The mode of condensation may bo judged by comparing the first stanza of our poem with the first two stanzas of the original. Of Nelson and thu north, Sing the day ; When, their haughty powers to vex, He engaged the Danish docks And with twenty floating wrecks Crowned the fray. All briglit, in April's sun, Slione the day ; When a British fleet came down, Tlirouglj the Islands of the crown, And by Copenhagen's town Took tlieir stay. The weakness of much of this first draft may bo judged from such a stanza as this :— Clicer 1 cheer ! from park and tower, London town I When the King shall ride in state From St. James's royal gate, And to all his peers relate Our renown ! Yet an occasional good line has disappeared with the bad •— Of Nelson,— For to him 'twas all the same- Sport and war. Of the sailors, — You might know them for the kings Of the deep. Revision and publication. This first draft was "com- „„..-. „.. .,„,..„ ,nvCi vtti= uuiiii^ i,ae winter and finished in liii 'hi 246 NOTES, April " [1 805]. Condensed and thoroughly revised, it np- powr- ii' jinpitny witli Girlrade of Wyoming^ in the volui ^ :ju'f^ and Wft» immediately sot to music and sung tterywhen Historical note. Reference has already been made (Ye Mariners, Introd. note) to the Northfrn Neutral League. The British govern 'nent, knowing that this League pro- posed to hand over thilr fleets at Copenhagen, Revel, and C'ion««afU to the French, soi; * Sir Hyde Parker, with Nelson svcond in command, into the Baltic. Full dutails of the operations, which resulted in the destruction of the Danish fleet, may be read in Southey's Life of Nehon, Clarke and McArthur's Life of Lord Nelson, and Nicolas, Letters and Despatches of Lord Nelson. On the night of the Uth of April, 1801, after success- fully passing Kronborg Castle, which guards the Sound, the British fleet anchored oil" iJraco Point, within two miles of the enemy's fleet and the defences of Coi)enhagen. The next morning Nelson joined battle with the Danish ships and batteries. In five hours fifteen of the sevenkien Danish vessels were taken or sunk. The victory resulted in an armistice with Denmark, which gave the British fleet the opportunity to advance against the Swedes and Russians. However the death ul the Czar Paul and the consequent dissolution of the Northern League made this last step unnecessary. Page 46. L I.— Nelson and the North .... day's renown. Camp- bell has not the classic accuracy of language of Words- worth and Coleridge. Much must be interpreted kindly. ]. 8.— the Prince of all the land. Frederick, afterwards the VL (1768-1838), regent for his father, Christian VU., and nephew of George III. of England. 1. 10.— leviathans. Late Lat. ceviathan, from Hob. .-^r.. ydthan, an aquatic monster ; in the Scriptures, pofoiuly a crocodile : hence any colossal aquatic animal ; hence, ^-^o, ZtM' ' I'uo, CAMPBELL: LiATTLE OF THE nALTIC. 247 any colossal structure. Byron refers as w-ll to " the oak leviathans."-67a7f/« //« -old, iv. clxxxi. 1. r2.-sign of battle. J [is Lordship caiied. . . . ' Is No. 10 (the ^-iiiil for actioji) still Ixoi.stod?' The lic«utonnnt answering in the aflirmutivu, Lord Ndson said, ' Mind y.,-' keep itso.'"-('„l. Stou rt. in CUuko and McArthur's Lij\ . 1. 14.— ten of April morn. "The action b.-an at live minutes past ten. In about ],, If an hour afterwards the first half of our Fleet was engaged, and before half-past eleven tlio HattU; became general."— Col. Stewart. 1. 19f.-fiush'd To anticipate. The courage of the Bntish sailors glowud in ant icii.ation of tlie fight. 1. 21.— her van. '-A t half-past nine the signal was given to weigh in succession. This vvas (luickly obeyed by the p:dgar." ^J'hen camo the Polyidiemus, followed by tho Iris, Bellona and Russell, etc.— Col. Stewart. Page 47. 1. 24.-adamantine. (From OFr. wJamauvt, Lat. mlamas,) Like adamant, a real or iniaginarv n.otal of excessive hardness. 1. 35.— in conflagration pale. "On our smoke cle rin"- away, the Dannebrog was found to be drifting in fl.anes before tho wind, spreading terror throughout the enemy's line."— Col. Stewart. 1. 39.— As he hail'd them. Interpret freely. Nelson, at half-past two o'clock, when most of the Danish ships hul ceased firing, sent the following message with a fla"- i truce : — ° "To tho brothers of Englishmen, the Danes. Lor' Nelson has directions to spare Denmark, when no longei resisting, but if the firing is continued on the part of Den- mark, Lord Nelson will be obliged to set on fire all tho Floating-batteries he has taken, without having the power of saving the brave Danes who have defended them." Tho Prince Regent asked tho precise meaning of the despatch, and Nelson answered : " Lord Nelson's object in 248 NOTES. sending on shore a Flag of Truce is humanity : he, there- fore, consents that hostilities shall cease till Lord Nelson can take his i)risonors out of the Prizes, and he consents to land all the wounded Danes, and to burn or remove his prizes. Lord Nelson, with humble duty to His Eoyal High- ness, begs leave to say that he will ever esteem it the great- est victory he ever gained, if this Flag of Truce may be the forerunner of a lasting and happy union between my most gracious Sovereign and his Majesty the King of Denmark." An armistice of fourteen weeks was thereupon concluded. 1. 45.— our King. George HI., who reigned from 17G0 till 1820. 1. 4Glf.— Denmark bless'd our chief. This was the cur- rent notion in England. "Lord Nelson in consequence went on shore, and was receive d by a brave and generous people with the loudest and most general acclama- tions."— Speech of Mr. Addington, Chancellor of the Ex- chequer, in the House of Commons, April 16th. But Southey says, " There were neither acclamations nor mur- murs. 11 y^HPHi Page 48. 1. Glf.— stormy steep, Elsinore. Dan. Helsingcr, a town in Denmark on the island of Zealand, at a point near- est (two-and-a-half miles) the coast of Sweden, twenty-four miles from Copenhagen ; the scene of Shakspere's Ham- let. Kronborg Castle is near by. " Here, again, I must find fault with Campbell, splendid lyrist, as he is. We should have been sailing ' By thy wild and stormy steep, Elsinore ! ' only that the level shore, with its fair gardens and groves wouldn't admit the possibility of such a thing. The music of the line remains the same, but you must not read it on the spot."— Bayard Taylor, Northern Travel, chap. xix. 1. 67.— the gallant good Riou (re do'). Campbell added a Note to his line : " Captain Eiou, justly entitled the gaUant CAMrRELL: A THOUGHT SUGGESTED. 249 m the battle, and endoavouml with thorn to take the ;iace °4 unoc'!;:. 1 •: ""V'"' '"^'' "■■ ^S^™-'' ^s Leo r ">T ' ''°'* "'"^ =""°'J o'f- As the Amazon "hII •:'• ™ '° theTrolu-oner a raWngshot killed him \^l T " ',"? °1'' S™ encouraging his men, and had treat h"e t "" *'f ''T' ''^ "^ ^•"''^*^^- • • -OW'S^d *o re- treat he observed, 'What «.ill Nelson think of us?' His Clerk ,vas killed by his side ; and by another hot several of the Marines shared the same fite. Eiou then exelam.ed, Come, then, my boys, let us die toge- shot ;„v ^'\\™"^^ ^^--o ^^'-^ely uttered, when tho fatal shot severed h™ m two .... A eharaeter of singular worth resembling the heroes of romance" (Col. Stewart) NeU ^ons despatch t« Sir Hyde Parker, the 8rd of April refet cood C^,;^ p ''^'"'^ ""'''■'I'l'i'y threw the gallant and good Captain Eiou. .. .under a heavy flro. The eonse- queneo was the death of Captain Eiou, and many brav^ officers and men " (Nicolas, iv. 813ft) ^ ; A THOUGHT SUGGE.STED BY THE NEW YEAR. Composition and publication. This poem is not, I believe in any edition published in the poefs lifetime. It ap- Th? ',?t .^°^°"''"' ""■ "' '^''' -'th the title as abov The sub- itle on p 49 is that of the Golden Trea.ur,,-ul Palgrave's invention. ^Xal 'ior T~^° ""'• "'^' ""^'"" '"'■ ^ l«>^>'titul peri- tto stl n^ ' "frr^hy the apparent revolution of line stars. One recalls the line ^. ^ And every sphere Ibat gems the starry girjle of the year. -Campbtill, Pleasures of Uope. .! t V 250 NOTES. LONGFELLOW. ''•i ■ f 'A \-% A PSALM OF LIFE. Composition and publication. Longfellow's Journal, July 26, 1838, reads : " I sit at an open window this bright morning, and am also hafpy, though alone. Wrote a 'Psalm of Life' which I suppose will soon go into the Knickerbocker or taae other magazine." Later he wrote : " I kept it some time in manuscript, unwilling to show it to anyone, it bein^ a voice from my inmost heart at a time when I was rallying from depression." It was read to his college class in Harvard after a lecture on Goethe, and published in the Knickerbocker Magazine, N.Y., Sept., 1838. Originally it bore under the title a motto from Crashaw (1616-1650),— ' Life that shall send A challeiif^e to its end, And when it comes, say, Welcome, friend.' This motto, however, does not appear in Voices of the Night, 1839, where L. first gathered together his magazine waifs. The text of the Psalm in this 1839 ed. has under- gone no alteration. Its reception. "It . . . . at once attracted attention. Here was evidently a new strain in American poetry. It has perhaps grown too familiar for us to read it as it was first read. But if the ideas have become commonplace, it has been well said that it is tliis poem that has made them so. Those who remember its first appearance know what wonderful freshness it had. It was copied far and wide. Young men read it with delight ; their hearts were stirred by it as by a bugle summons. It roused them to high re- solve, and wakened them to a new sense of the meaning and LONGFELLOW: A PSALM OF LIFE. 251 and worth of life. They did not stop to ask critically whether or not it passed the line which separates poetry from preaching, or whether its didactic merit was a poetic defect It was enough that it inspired them and enlarged their hves.''-Samuel Longfellow, Life, etc., i. 271. ^T-?" 7!*^ *'"^- ^ ^^^'"^ °^ ^'^^' ^' PuWished in the Kmckerhorher Magazine, from Sept. 1838 till Oct. 1839 five poems designated as Psalms .-A Psahn of Life, Sept. 1838 ; A Psahn of Death (afterwards called simply, The Reaper and the t^oicers) and A Second Psalm of Life (afterwards simply, The Light of Stars), Jan. 1839 ; Voices of the Night, A Third Psalm of Life (Footsteps of Angels) Mav im- The Fifth Psalm, A Midnight MafsfortheDyTng Year, Oct. 1839. Of these only the first and prototype has retained its title. From the application of the word Psalm to the various poems mentioned, it is clear that the word IS used very generally, like ode, sonnet, etc., and indicates only a lyrical poem of a meditative or philosophic cast on certain sober phases of human life. Sub-title. The Psalmist. "The question has some- times been asked, Who is the ' Psalmist ' to whom the heart of the young man ' responds ? As none of the He- brew Psalms, iis remembered as containing the combated expression, it has been supposed that the word should have been ' Preacher,' in reference to Ecclesiastes. But we have the author's own word, written in after years, that ' the Psalmist was neither David nor Solomon, but simply iJAe writer of this psalm. It was the young man's better heart answering and refuting his own mood of despondency "J Samuel Longfellow, Life, i. 272f. 1. 1. -mournful numbers. Numbers for verses, from the regular number of the syllables ; hence, as here, any chant or song. "Mournful numbers" would well describe the f^^^Irae or^other mournful chant of the emptiness and transiency ox liumiiii life. !i i. 252 NOTES. \% 1.2.-Life.... an empty dream. Not an oxacfc biblical phrase, yet reminiscent of " vanity of vanities " oi Ecde,, 1.1 : xu. 8; " all flesh is grass," h. xl. G ; and of P.. ex. 4rr., etc. _ 1. 3.-slumbers. Note the aptness of the word in describ- ing people to whom life is a dream. Tliis is the sleep of death when we grow indifferent to the high purpose of life -Prospero has a wider philosophic view before him when he says,— We arc such stuff As dreams arc made on ; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. —Tempest, iv. i. 1. 4.— things are; not what they seem. Non semper ea sunt, quae videntur. -Phredrus (c. n.c. 30-44 a.d.), Fables, iv. 2. 1. 5. -real. Note the dissyllable, the proper pronuncia- tion. 1.7.-Dust thou art, etc. Gen. iii. 19; Burial Service, liook of Common Prayer; but especially Eccles. xii. 7. 1. 9.— Not enjoyment, and not sorrow. Cf. Prov. xxx. 8. 1. lO.-end or way. The object of life or the means by which the goal of life may be obtained. 1. n.-act. Knickerbocker italicizes, showing the poet's desire of emphasis. Cf. Eccles. ix. 10. _ 1. 13.-Art islongr, etc. Progress to perfection in art IS slow, but time goes fast,-a favourite aphorism of Long- fellow. " o ^toS ^paxv's, 17 Se Te'^vrj ii.aKpr, —Hippocrates (B.C. 460-357), Aphorism I. Vltam brevem esse, lonj?am artem. —Seneca, de Brev. Vitae, i. The lyfe so short, the craft to long to lerne. -Chaucer, Pari, of Foules, 1. 1. if. ex. LONGFELLOW: A PSALM OF LIFE. 2o3 I. Hff. -hearts.... like muffled drums ?ravP n. cloth the vibration of the strings across Iho dru.nLrd Our lives are but our marches to the f,^rave -Beaumont and Fletcher, Tke Humorous Lieuteuant, iii. 5. But hark ! my pulse, like a soft drum, Beats my approach, tells thee I come • And sloNv howe'er my marches be. . I shall at last sit down by thee. -Henry Kin^ (l.Wi-lGGO), B. of Chichester, Elegy. coZnlv^nof f T ""• ?' ''''^' '^° ^^^^^P'^ P-- -as certainly not in his mind when he wrote even if h. h.A tTh- "'■'"' '",\"'^ *''™«^" -™» -"» eSLshnos to him.-Samuel Lon-follow, L>/e, i. 273 n. ^T.^'lu' ^^— ''^^^"^c of Life. Pronounce Mv' 00 ah Re- peats the preceding line with the added su^cestion of fht short duration of life, the necessity of vigilarce against tl enemies of sloth and indifference. "" ^^ 1. 22.-Let the dead past, etc. Cf. Lt^he ix 60 Pn«f Tf ^ ^°^ ^°* mournfully into the -Last. It comes not baoV ofyo,-v. ^T7■• 1 . Present Tt .•« fK ^ack again. Wisely improve the m my own sphere .... This alono 13 Life. " II 254 NOTES. ^ the living: Present. As distinguished from the Pcast that is dead and gone, and the Future that is but fancy. 11. 28, 29.— Footprints. Knicherhorker reads. Footsteps . The construction is faulty. Lit. , the voyager, shipwrecked, beholds, from his vessel on the high sea, footprints on the shore. But the real meaning is clear and powerful. In the Journal, March 9th, 1855, we learn that Lady Byron has written to say "a dying soldier on tao field before Sebastopool was heard repeating the line- Footprints on the sands of time. "How brave is the world after all! Its toiling mul ti- ■!.es gladly take for their own a song that promises no rest, but only cheers them on to bo up and doing. "—Rob- ertson. 1. 34.— A heart for any fate. Here's a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate ; And, whatever sky's above me, Here's a heart for every fate. —Byron, To Thomas Moore. L 35.— still achieving .... pursuing. Ever accomplishing something,, yet ever ceaselessly pressing forward to new achievements. 1. 36. — and to wait. They also serve who only stand and wait. —Milton, On his Blindnat, LONGFELLOW: A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE. 256 A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE. Composition and publication.-" The last day of sun,- In tho afternoon a delicious drive with P. and 0. [hi w!fe Frances and hxs first child] through Brooldine, by tho church and ' the green-lane,' and homeward tiroLh a loveUer lane, with barberries and wild vine, clustering over the old stone wa,ls."-Longfe„ow, Jonrn.^7^^, 1816. This reference to " the green lane." 1. 10, associates the poem therefore with Brook.ine, the rich beautiful ^si fan "hur?h" "°'"*''""* "' ''"''°''' ^"^ "^ "■>""- The poen. was written before tho time of the entry in tho Jou-rnal One would fancy it recalled days of courtehio wife m 1843, is not improbable. It was published in tho volume called TheBelfry of Bruges and otlr Foent Cam bri ge, 1846, pp. 19^22. There are no changes f^mtht first printed version. Pagre 52. 1. 9._the highway to the town. Apparently West- ern Avenue, a splendid roadway, built in 1821 1. 12-0 gentlest of my friends I This seems to sus<-est de'Lri :'d " H^ f"''t°/™«'°"°-- '"^^-/-»-t described.- Her face had a wonderful fascination in it It was such a calm, quiet face, with the light of th rising soul shining so peacefully through it. It times it wor! an expression of seriousness - of sorrow even ■ and Z seemed to make the very air bright with whTt'the It > poets so beautifully can the ,a.,;,,w .X;'j: t^'!:: -he lightning of the angelic smile. And 0, those eyes- those deep unutterable eyes, with ' down-falling^JX.s ull of dreams and slumber,' and within them a cold Uvi g light, as in mountain lakes at evening .... Every step ' i Ij 4 256 NOTES. 'j ' kU every attitude, was graceful, and yet lofty, as if inspired by the soul witliin. And what a soul was hers ! A temple dedicated to heaven, and, like the Pantheon at Rome, lighted only from above. And eurthjy passions in the forms of gods were no longer there, but the sweet and thoughtful faces of Cl^rist and the Virgin Mary, and tlie Saints. — Ihjperlon^ iii. iv. 1. 13.— linden trees. TIio American linden-tree, or bass- wood, sweet in spring with odorous yellow blossoms. Page S3. 1. 21ff.— I saw the branches of the trees, etc. Lines worthy of a place with, A foot more li^-ht, a step more true, Ne'er from; tin; heath-Howcr daslied the dew ; E'en the li^-ht hare-bell raised its head, Elastic from her airy tread. —Scott, The Lady of the Lake, i. xvlil. For her feet have touched the meadows And left the daisies rosy. —Tennyson, Maud, xli. 1. 25f.~«« Sleep, sleep to-day, tormenting cares," etc. Quoted from a favourite hymn of the Unitarian church in America, written by an English poetess :— Sleep, sleep to-day, tormenting- cares Of earth and folly born ! Ye shall not dim the li^'ht that streams From this celestial morn,* To--morrow will be time enough To feel your harsli controul ; Ye shall not violate this day, The sabbath of my soul. Sleep, sleep forever, guilty thought ! Let lires of vengeance die ; And, purged from sin, may I behold A God of purity ! —Anna Lajtitia Barbauld (1743-1825). 1. 81 — Like the celestial ladder. Cf. Evang.^ 1. 821 The poet was fond to a fault of certain comparisons Lines LONGFELLOW: THE DA V IS DONE. 257 very a^t! '^ ''''''''''' ^^■^^^'^'^^-^ ^^^^ ^ho compariron I. 39f.-For he spake of Ruth .... I thought of thee. They sang: of love, and not of fame ; Forgot wns Rritaln'a plory • Ei.ch heart recalled a dlfrerer,"t name, But all sang "Annie Lawrie." Ruth the beautiful. See Buth, i-iv. Pagre 54. 1. 49ff.-thoughts .... like pine trees etc Thn • f-gery is sombre here, su^^estin- tL tW ^'. . '""" n./^.cAr,,.r., that dim all present joys yZ V ^ ^\u cloud is the Gleam of Sunshine fcf 1 Tyt f ^ ""^ '^'' presence, shining on the^!;;:;^plt ''^ ^^ ^^^ ^--^-<^ THE DAY IS DONE. Composition and publication. On Nov 2fi i«u t wrote to his father "Ih.v«n7 • ' ■^^^^' ^• iciLiin, I nave also in press n Qmuii , i of pooms.-a selection morels of f,-/ ! '"""' called the Waif with an hitr^^! f P«oos,-to be Waif, „ o»..,-r";x:: t" tu, r"r^"^""'' ^'-^ Christmas of 1814 d.tedl Jf P""'?''"! "' Cambridge, flo.ti,,,piecesai„„::ru:trmt'ofH:rfrgh:rw"r^-- ~«tle. .remthesee^SrCtlSel-n— ! Balfo's pretty music for this song was written in 185a 258 NOTES. Koat's sonnet, The Day is Gone^ is a treatment of the samo thcmo in a very difTcront spirit. Page 56. 1. 5.— the lights of the village. Caml)ri: It I 2G0 NOTES. 1. 37.— skeleton at the feast. " In social mcotinga among tho rich, whoa tlio banquofc 13 ouded, a servant carrica round t() tho Huvoral guests a codln, in which there is a Avooden imago of a corpse, carved and pnintod to resembhi nature as nearly as possible, alx.ut a cul)it or two in length. A3 ho shows it to each guest in turn, tho servant says, 'Gazolioro, and drink nnd bo merry; for when you dio, such nill you be."'- Herodotus, i. 78, speaking of the Egyptians (tr. llaN\ linson). I'ho same feature of banquets is described in Potr(,nius. Safi/riron, 31 ; Plutarch, etc. Nu- merous references are in the Bible likewise,— 2. Corinth. XV. 32, etc. 1. 43f.— golden prime time ! That cropped tlic golden prime of tliis sweet prfiicc. — Shakspere, liichard III., i. li. 2I8. In sooth It was a goodly time, For it was in the goldeii prime Of good Haroun Alrasehid. — Tennys.)n, Recollections nf the Arabian Nights. prime. Fr. prime, Lat. ^jr/ma, tho first hour; henco, here, youth in its highest development. Page 59. 1. 61.— long: since. 18 IG, long-since . 1. GG.— Where ail parting. Bcvd. xxi. 4. 1. 69.— horologe {hor'o iGclge). Time-piece. (OFr. horo- loge, Mod. Fr. horloge, clock; L. horologium; Gk. hdra, hour, lego, I speak.) LONGFET.r.niV: THE IJKE OF DKU'IVVOOD, 261 THE FIRE OF DK [FT- WOOD. Composition and publication. J.'s Journal ronds under SepternU.r .0 1840: ''A .IHicion. drive witl. F. tln-o„gl. Makleu a. T.ynn to MnrMci-oad, to visit E. W. at th. Deverenv iurm by tl.o seu-side. Dmve ucron. the l,eauti- ful sand. What a delicious seone ! The ocean in the sun- shine changmo; from the silvr.y hue of the thin waves upon the h,, ,.:h, through the lighter and the deeper green to a n.h purple „n the horizon. We recalled the times past, and the daj's when we were at Xahant. Tlio Dove- roux Farni i. by the sea, some miles from Lynn. An old- fashioued larm-house, with ).w rooms and narrow windows ratting in the sea-bree.e. After dinner we drove to Marblehead, - a strange old place on a rocky promontory with narrow streets, and strange, ugly houses scattered at random, crner-wiso and every -wise, thrusting their Hhoulders into the streets and elbowing the passers out of their way. A dismantled fort looks seaward. We ram- bled along the breast-works, which are now a public walk and askod in vain for the reef of Norman's Woe, which is' nevertheless, in this neighborhood. On returning to tlie )evereux Farm we sat on the rocks and listened to ' the liellowmg of the savage sea.' " ,/^l^^r'';'''''' '^ *''^' ^'""^^ '"^' *^° P°«'^ ^^*« Fire of Drift.\\ood, v^Ich appeared in Seadde and Fireside, 1850. Page 60 -Sub-title, Marblehead. - Marblehead is a back- bone of granite, a vertebra of syenite aiul prophyry thrust out into Massachusetts Bay, in the direction of Capo Ann and hedged about with rocky islets. It is somewhat shel^ tered fv^m the weight of north-east storms by the sweep of the cape which launches itself out to sea, and gallantly receives the first buffetings of the Atlantic. The promon- tory of Marblehead may once have been a prolongation of 1 1 *., ^ 262 NOTES. b ^N m. mm ii Cape Ann, the whole c ast heroabont?? looldng as if the ocean had licked out the softer parts, leaving nothing that was digestible behind. This rock, on which a settlement was begun two hundred and fifty odd years ago, performs its part by making Salem Harbor on one hand, and another for its own shipping on the east, whore an appendage known as Marblehead Nock is joined to it by a ligature of sand and shingle. The port [1. 5] is open to the north- east, and vessels are sometimes blown from their anchor- age upon the sand banks at the head of the harbor, though the water is generally deep and the shores bold. At the entrance a light-house [1. 7] is built on the entrance point of the Neck ; and on a tongue of land opposite is Fort Se- wall [1. 7] a beckoning finger and a clenched fist "The beach is the mall of :\Iarblehead. It opens upon Nahant Bay, and is much exposed to the force of south-east gales. Over this beach a causeway is built The Neck is the peculiar domain of a tr siont population of care- worn fugitives from the city .Uoston lies 18 miles to the south west]."— Drake, New EurjJaml Coast, p. 228ff. 1. 5.— we saw the port. Of IMarblehead. " In a letter in 1879 to a correspondent who had raised a matter-of-fact objection, Mr. L. readily admitted that the harbor and the lighthouse could not be seen from the windows of the farm-house."— Note in Eivorside ed. 1. 6.— old-fashioned, silent town. " I began to have some notion oi the maze of rocky lanes, alleys, and courts. Cap- rice seems to have governed the locality of a majority of the houses by the water-side, and the streets to have ad- justed themselves to the wooden anarchy or else the houses must have been stranded here by the flood."— Drake, p. 238. The town has taken to making shoes, and is losing in part its silent antique character. 1. 7.— dismantled fort. Fort Sewall, built in 1742, re- built during the American Civil War. 1. 81.— the wreck of stranded ships. The fire of ocean ; i LONGFELLOW- RESIGNATION: 263 drift-wood is the most beautiful of all open fires. No other wood has such clear, pale, many-coloured flames to mark its burning. 1. 43. —long-lost ventures. Venture was formerly often used with the special sense of something sent over seas in trade. My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, Nor to one place. — Shakspere, Merchant of Venice, i. i. Here it is used of tlie ship itself. w RESIGNATION. Autobiographical signifiance. designation, while repre- senting to us the chastened feelings of fathers and mothers in general on the loss of beloved children, acquires addi- tional interest from its connection with the poet's own life. This poem is the expression of Longfellow's feelings on the death of liis infant daughter Frances. In his jour- nal he chronicles the incidents of her short life. " Oct. 80, 1847. Fanny was christened. .. .She looked charmingly.' and behaved well throughout. Sept. 4, 1848. Fanny very weak and miserable. Which way will the balance of life and death turn ? 10th. A day of agony; the physicians no longer have any hope ; I cannot yet abandon it. Mo- tionless she lies; only a little moan now and then. 11th. Lower and lower. Throughout the silent desolate room the clocks tick loud. At half-past four this afternoon she died.... Her breathing grew fainter, fainter, then ceased without a sigh, without a flutter— perfectly quiet, perfectly painless. The sweetest expression on her face. The room was full of angels where she lay ; And when they had departed she was gone. 12th. Our little child was buried to-day. From her nur- serv. down the front, stnira thrnn"'^ n- *^"-\ 4 • t. ii, " ' - ; »-'uvi.^n xiij auuuy iiuu into the ■ifll If 264 NOTES. library, she was borne in the arms of her old nurse. And thence, after prayer, throiigli the long hall to her coffin and grave. For a long time, I sat by her alone in the darkened library. The twilight fell softly on her placid face and the white flowers she hold in her little hands, f n the deep silence, the bird sang from the hall, a sad strain, a melancholy requiem. It touclied and soothed me. Nov. 12th. I feel very sad to-day. I miss very much my dear little Fanny. An unappeasable longing to see her comes over me at times, which I can liardly cr ntrol." In the autumn of the year 1818, Ilenignation was written, and appeared as the first poem of the part By the Fireside in the volume, Seaside and Fireside, Boston, 1850. No changes have beeSi made in this earliest text. The poem bears a close relationship in phrase and in thouglit to Vaughan's poem, Thejj are all Gone, quoted in the Appendix, with which it should be compared. Page 62. 1. 7.— The heart of Rachel. Rachel stands hero as a type of the bereaved mother. See Jerem. xxxi. 15 and Matth. ii. 18. 1. 9.— Let us be patient. One of the poet's favourite virtues is patience. Cf. Ps. ofL., \. 36 ; Fvano.,\. 725, etc. 1. 10. —not from the ground arise. Like noxious exhala- tions, born of earth. "Although affliction comcth not forth of the dust, neither doth trouble spring out of the ground." Job v. 6. L 14.— We see but dimly, etc. Cf. 1. Corinth, xiii. 12. Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of eternity, Until death tramples it to fragments. —Shelley, Adonais. 1. 15.— funereal tapers. Used as typical of all outward signs of sorrow and death. It is customary with the So- man Catholics to surround the coffined dead with burning- candles. *^ 265 LONGFELLOW RESLGNATION. funereal. Suitable to a funeral, dismal, mournful. 1. 17.^There is no Death .... transition. Life, which, in its wealtness or excess, Is still a R-lcam of God's omnipotoiice, Or death, wliich, sceminj? darkness, is no less The self-same lif,'hr, although averted hence. -Longfellow, Birds of Killingtoorth. 1. 19.-the life elysian. Elysium or the Elysian Fields represented paradise to the Greeks. Amidst its groves and on Its meadows set with asphodel, wander the blessed dead, heroes who died in battle, the no>le poets, the bene- mctors of humanity. Page 6z. 1. 22.-school. Not a diunified word in this con- nection, but_ elevated by the following description- a great cloister "-into something massive, antique, in- spiring: awe and veneration. 1. 25. -cloister. Strictly, a covered walk adjoining the cells of a monastery, usually alongside the inner silent quadrangle ; here, the monastery or convent itself 1. SBf.-we walk v^ith her, etc. Accompany her day by day m thought, keeping close the bond of love with which nature unites parents and child cf./lrxtv.'r ^'""•■■^ '"^"^'°"- '^ ""'-' p"--; Page 64. 1.47.-Iike the ocean, etc. Ci. Evang. 1 182 ,^!' ""IT^^ '"r" ,'^"^t^^yi"g:' etc. The progress of bought throughout the poem should be clearly studied, so that the culminatiug eftect of the final stanza may be c early realized. Death, however it appears, is the work ot heaven not earth ; it really moans a fuller life in Para- dise ; to mourn is therefore to be rebellious against God • yettlie impulse of grief is at times too strong to be wholly repressed ; there re^mains for us, then, only to purify and sanctify this gnef through patience and silence. f 1 ,"■ .)l! r.".', .i'!> 2G6 , NOTES. THE BUILDEES. Composition and publication. " Finished a poem called 'The Builders.'"— Longfellow's Journal, May 9th, 1846. It was published in Seaside and Fireside, Second Part, pp. 55-57, and has remained without change throughout all subsequent editions. The interpretation of the poem. The poem stands in close relation of thought to the Ladder of St. Augustine, yet there is a difference. Tlio one is inspired preaching on the necessity of doing each day our best, so that we may attain the heiglits of intellectual and spiritual being. The latte^-, how^ever, is in the first place devoted to the spiritual life, to tlie rise of moral being, consequent on our living down our faults, our mistakes, our vices growing in moral strength by the struggle. In tlie closing stanzas of the poem the thought reverts to the tlieme of The Builders, the need of doing our utmost. The two poems and the Psalm of Life are eminent instances of Longfellow's didactic poetry, which is conscious preach- ing, yet so fraught with genuine right feeling and touched with such grace of expression and delicacy of allusion, that it achieves the almost impossible task of being, in addition to preacliing, poetry of inspiration. The allege, ry that pervades this poem is that of a great temple reared by humanity with its achievements. If we are true builders our deeds will enter as perfect parts into this temple, which will then be fit as for the dwelling of the gods; if we are negligent, then our lives will bo'but as *' blocks of stumbling " to ourselves and to our successors. If our deeds to-day are wise and good, they will amply sustain our deeds of to-morroAv, and we rising with our ris- ing deeds at last shall attain the fullest perfection of which life is capable. The reader of this poem, as with many of the poems of Longfellow, must be satisfied with the truth pp. LONGFELLOW: THE BUILDERS. 267 of general impression, not striving to find minute truth in every detail of the allegory. Page 65. I. 1. -architects of Fate. In the sense of the old poet who wrote,— Man is his own star, and the soul that can Kender an honest and apcrfoet ni.in Commands all Ji-lit, all influence, all fate Nothing to him falls early, or too hUe, Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, Our fatal shadows that walk by us still. —Fletcher, Iloneat Man's Fortune. Each man makes his own stature, builds himself. -Young, Nujht Thoughts, vi. Pap 65. 1. 2 -walls of Time. The achievements of Imman- ity through all ages, symbolized as a temple or palace of Time ever m course of erection, ever finishing, yet ever unbuilt again ; or, like Artliur's Camolot, The city is built To music, therefore never l)uilt at all, And therefore built fur ever. —Tennyson, Gareth and Lynette. 1. lO.-Time is with materials filled. Our deeds \m within the "walls of Time " hnf ... ^ fi,. A-4X 7''"'^ ^^ -^1"^^. but are a useless cumber to the edifice tm we employ them to build up our life and the life of humanity. \. 18.-shape and fashion these. Using the knowledge and ho experience wo have gained to help u.,, while we ceaselessly do tlie duties the present lays upon us. ^T-.^t '•^f-7''°."^\'">ere Gods may dwell. A suggestion o Your body is the temple of tho Holy Ghost ''l. Cor. Ti. IJ. Yet also a suggestion from 1. 20. This star,^^ strengthened by the refere„ce to the perfection of atcS bu.ld.ng, resumes the thought of 1. 16. Imperfections may pass unno faced with men, but the great structure of^u"^ man.ty wUl have to bear the scrutiny of the god., 4o 268 NOTES. may sometimes xnhalnt it. As .nv Lodios are tomples of the Holy Sp,nt, so tlu. mi^l.ty sj.iritu.l woH.l ,,r temple of art, science, civili.atiou, created by „„„ through all the ages,^may at last become fit haldtatiou for the g.^ls them! 1. 25 -Else our lives are incomplete. Cf. - The building upof ife with sohd Idocks of idlo.ess, as I do here is a TJo" ;^r''''^'"""-'- -^---""^ Aug. 27th, 'isSl from L~.!" t ^^' "'"' ^^''' *''' P^'^"^ ^^^^"^ *" 'J^P'--* from Its main theme to speak of each individual life no longer a part of the temple of humanity, but, as it werl Jectln. "'''"'' ''^^^'^^ '' completeness and per! 1. 3.1 -turrets. 'Suggesting completion of building as well as iieight of attainment. ^ 1. aS.-Sees the world, etc. The imaginery of the last lines IS a picturesque delineation of the attainment of the highest Compare the allegory of the youth climbin. the mountain in Ea;ce7s?;or. '"^"o tne THE LADDEE OF ST. AUGUSTmE. Composition and publication. A poem from Birch of Passage Fhght the First, published in The Courtship o/ Ahles Stand^.k, and Other Poems, 1858, and written some years before. The only change from the text of this earTy date IS m the punctuation of 1. 44. Page 67. 1. l._Saint Augustine I well hast thou said Pro- nounce a V us ten. St. Aurclius Augustinus (354-430), the greatest and most influential of the Latin fathers of the Church. After year, of study, not free from vice, Auo-us- tme was converted at Milan by St. Ambrose, and l^eturned to his home m Tagaste, Numidia, to organise a reUgiouB IS a LOtfGFltLLOW: THE LADDER. 269 T^^'^\ .""""" "''" " "' "'"P"' h" Savo himself up to cea.oles, labours, taking a chief p„rt in the great reli-n ou, controversies „£ the time, and leaving b,.hln4 h[m an .m™"- ""f "' controversial literaturerietters, serins and commentaries, Longfellow in a note, ed. 18G4, snys : " The words of St A^^ne ^e, Be vitiis n. stris s^lam .0^:^:;:^^; vitia ipsa ca camus."-Serm< n III., Be As.-en.ione. TI.e re- ference IS, 1 1 olieve, inexact. thought m the opening lines of In Meworiam,— I held it truth, with him %vho sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That nien may rise on stopping-gtones Of their dead selves to higlier things. He is thought to refer here to Goethe, wliose life and writ- ngs are a ^reat exemplar of the prineiple. It is intcresti^t In contemplation of created things By steps we may ascend to God. —Paradise Lost, v. 611 f. 1. 16.-Irreverence for the dreams of youth. Heaven li,..s about us in our infancy ! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing Boy, But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, He sees it in his joy ; The You^h, who daily further from the east Mu.n travel, still is Nature's Priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended ; At length the man perceives it die awav. And fade into the light of common day' -Wordswortli, Ode on Intimations of Immortality. ^T^.f\\^^'~''^^'' °^ '"^^"^"^ ^°^"^^"- I^i<^-. the supreme right of the sovereign or state ov.. private property? by Ml 270 NOTES. virtue of which it can, with cortain restrictions, take pos- session of sucli proj^erty f , r pul.lic purposes on payin- compensation. As used here figuratively, it denotes not more than an indisputahlo ri-ht to fame. 1. 29fT.-pyrainids .... flights of stairs. The smooth outer casings of the pyrami.ls liave in many cases been removed revealing the massive layers of square-cut stones, risin- stair-like to the apex. ° 1. 34.-bastion. Lit., "A mass of earth faced with sods, brick, or stones, standing out from a rampart, of which It IS a principal part." It consists of two flanks which command the wall lying between two bastions. The poet picturesquely palls up by the word the greatest moun- tains of the mountain-chain. 1. 37if.— The heights by great men, etc. Fame is the spur tliat the clear spirit dotli raise (That last iiiMrmity of noble mind) To scorn deli^'hts, and live laborious (^ lys. —Milton, Lycidas. 1. 44.— to higher destinies. Editions as late as 1864 have a period at the end of the stanza. 1. 47.-rising on its wrecks. Cf. The Builders, 1. 11, n. THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS. Composition and publication. "Copied a poem I have just wrifcten,-The Warden of the Cinque Ports "-L Journal 1852, Oct. 14th. It formed one of the po;ms o^ Birds of Passage in the volume of The Courtship of Miles i>lQ7idtsh, and Other Boems, 1858, pp. 131-134. t>ns- LONGFELLOW: THE WARDEN. 271 row-t'* t -n' /'.?■"• '"''■' >"""" " » "">* of that so,, row n. 1 thrillc* tho Knslish-spoaking world when tho great l.yuro of thoDukoo,' Wdlington .^.s.,! away Aft year, of vc orie, in I„,lia, th„ IVnin'^ia, an,I B >sT, ^ and years ot sorvioo as a minister of the Crown \ZZi on 8ep,eml.r Llth, J8,V>, at the age of eighty-thre . "• in o eryoar ,,:„,e ''y 'he side ot Nel- exceptlustrr ''■■■■"• -'" *° """""^ "' Europe, except Austria, were represented at his grave ; and as the organ peals eeased and the n.ighty „„,?titud ! parlt^^ ended hut that a groat eaptain and a supremely dutiful honest man leaving hehind him a stain Ls record had gone from them for ever. "-Hooper, WMUu.lon^Z^M rJ^!2r^ S-''t poem, 0.,. on Ike n^atk of the Duke of WeUmaton, lends additional interest to this poem. fare 69. Title. The Warden of the Cinque Ports Th, Cinque Ports (pronounced ,ink, prescrvin- tho VS;. t nunciation, are tho chief coa^Wo^rimmediatei; 'oT posite France-Sandwich, Dover, Hy the, Eorne^t KenT querertr; ^""T-- '''"'' ^™" --ted ,.^'th?Co"n': quorcr into a separate jurisdiction and endowed with special privileges in return for furnishing the ki„. w h shrp, for the royal service. Tho admini'stration-c vU or lorTw Z"""'-"' *^ ^°^'^ -- ^^'--l in a Wa den' or Lord- Warden. The Municipal Reform Act did awa^ with the special privileges of tho Cinque Torts reduciZ them to the condition of other municipalities. ^ •' The Lord- Warden's jurisdiction, in relation to civil suits and proceedings, was abolislied in 1833; but he stm presides in the court of Shopway, and appointsTusUcos o tho peace withm tho jurisdiction of the c'Lquo Per' 7 H^ \\ 272 NOTES. official resulenco is Walmcr Castlo, near Deal, a structure of Henry VlII.'s time; and hero, as Marrlcn, the Duke of Wellington lived every autumn from 1829 till his death at It in 1852" (Chambers). 1. 13.-couchant {cow' tshant). Crouching, ready to sjinng. -^ 1. 21.-the burden. The refrain, repetition of the 'all's well.' Page 70. 1. 27.-embrasure. The sloping or Levelled open- ing in a parapet, or wall. In fortifications it permits the easy firing of the guns. 1. 31.-Field-Marshal.-The highest military officer un- ^« , o''w°ir°"'"''''''^'"^'''^'^^'^' ^^'^^ ^'^ ^i^to^y «f Vitoria, 1812, Wellington received the baton of Field-Marshal from the Prince-Eegent. On tlie death of the Duke of York, lb^7, he was made Commander-in-Chief. ^ 1. 47.-intimated. The justification of this prosaic word m this passage is the poet's desire to indicate the impas- sive matter-of-fact of nature, and thus by contrast to* deepen the shade of the preceding thought. LONGFELLOW: EVANGELLNE. 273 EVANGELINE. Historical note.* Tho question of the justice of the r. moval of the Acadians has boon d.cidod a^ th .^ n 1 .; history, and the necessity of that cruel proceedin-^ C t'f:Tt T '" ''T'-'"' ^^ '''- hL.anitar^r^ : It IS well therefore at the outset to clear our historic consciences on the subject, so that we may enjoy ti.e ast ing memorial that Lono-fellow's fancy has raised to hat unfortunate people undisturbed by its historic xlin.. rin,- ,. . ,, ^ v^^'^^^i^'t'Oiicaiinaccuracv rhed blot on that Govornmont Ml,o.e rolicv nf ,.„1 /• throughout the ,™,a has hoo.. „ pot^tit -t:!::' ™ Cadie, Aoadio, ,s the Frond, corruption of the Micmao Indian ™rd s.guifying „l„co, corruptod likowi.o hi The' J.ngl.sh into ,„oMu, as in Passamaciuoddy. It do,i naW roughly tho region in ,vlnch in Kiul De Monts ll ,! it the first Frc.ch coh.ny ol Port Koyal. This cX t:lZ A ad"f Itr L V"/r *'" '•="^"* """^ Po»fossion Acadia, which they had long claimed hy virtue of Cabof, discoveries of 1.197. A Scotch colony (hence Nova S^o t ook the place ,, a French colony at Port Eoyal in 10^2 however, Charles I. gave the country into French hand, and the same year De Razilly, ,o the dismay o "he i-ngli h colonists of Massachusetts, resumed the lork of £rendi_coWa^i»^h time at La Have. In 1612 tonad. (aid StatiHucU Accounf nr iVn,.:. J ^^ l'/*v^I;ili burton. His- PuUlic Documents of tSs^i^ {m'^^u^i^f^'^'l' ]T-^ ' ^k^''*^ cujd- The Arclnves of Nova Sc,ta-''nr //)J ^'^"i"' ■^^•("'ffetine" HL^tori,, Trans. Lit. nnd Hist Snr ' of ^n f ^'fj'^ ^''«y --W t.-'I- the oath of allegiance ; they refused But there was left this body of eight thousand people, all secretly some openly hostile to the Government How could the Province be made safe from these Law! rence resolved that the Acadian trouble should end. tL oath was sternly required of the Acadian deputies. They refused to take it " On the one side was the full enjoyment of their lands, the free exercise of their religion and ho that they would become liritish subjects ; on the other side was exile and poverty. They chose the latter." Monckton was given charge of the Acadians of the Isthmus, Wins! low of those of Mmns (Grand Pre), Han.lfield, t Lose of LONGFELLOW: EVANGELINE. 277 Annapclis (Port Royal). Of the throe, only Col. Winslow wa. completely successful. However 3,000 Acadian wZ taken pnsoners l,y the New England troops, safely and care to fhr 1 •' ^V;""^^°^'^' '-^^^^ -^^^ - - P-^lic chZe to the colonies of Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, Mar^y! and, Virguna, the Carolinas, and even tlfe Briti h West ndies. Some of the exiles, tempted by the French popi . tion on the Mississippi made thoir way to Louisiana! where Ple Most of the Acadians, after great hardships, returned to the.r brethren in Nova Scotia who had esc' ;ed trlnt portation or had not emigrated to Canada, and eventually became a prosperous, loyal population, as their hundnd thousand descendants to-day are, a bulwark of our s att the 1 ,ht of the documentary evidence. Those who would a tach odium to Nova Scotia thatordered. or New EngTand* that executed the expulsion should weigh the words of a great soldier and a hun.ane man, fully cogni.Lro tllle facts,-^^^/.o.^A ^^ ^s a disarjreeahle part of duty we areZ upon, 1 am sensible it is a necessary one.i ^ The composition and publication of '• Evangeline." Haw- thornein his American Note-books, Oct 24 IS'^O ^T this entry :-UH. ^. qonolly] heard iLX''^^7^^^ dian [Mr s. Halib^irtH the story of a young coupieTn setts frovernur wJx, flovised t e sH mo ''« ree. It wag a Mussachu- sachiigetta that dn.ve tu' French Von ihlw''^ "'^ soldiers of Mas- territurv heyond the MisseouaVh it vn<. \i L*^'\^''^^^^ i» our Massacf.usetts soldiers. uZ Sried ouf thfni^'^i'^'^^l^ ^^^^^rs, and the heart and contro of the Sdian se tl«^m^^^^^^ "' Pre which the poet has made a househ.,.! wnr^^^^ chusetts vcsso s. cliartored frnm Mn^;wli ,^yoid. It was Massa- and manned l>v MasSh nsitt'? ?a?ta f i ^n';'."^"' merchants, officered poor Acadians- into exil^ It iVcK Vho- ? ^•"^.T'''.*/!.^* ^^'"'^^^ the scutcheon snunchcd hy the t aSsVction if /^'»"''''*, ^.^ "'^^''^ ^^ «"y country and home of id poet."-rcldbal'd. iV.S. 'Sist^. V^.l°^ "»^ '"^. :l^K-9.1/gt" ,^iH'«^ to Lieut-Gov. Lawren S32; N.8, If O-, - J 1 J K3XJt,. In OOJ. 278 NOTES. Acadia. On their raarriago-day all the men of the pro- vince were summoned to assemble in the church to hear a proclamation. When assembled, they were aU seized and shipped off to be distributed through New England, among them the new bridegroom. His bride set off in search of him; wandered about New England all her lifetime ; and at last, when she was old, she found her bridegroom on his death-bed. The shock was so great that it killed her like- wise.'l Once when Hawthorne and Mr. Conolly dined at Craigie House, Mr. Conolly told the story, and expressed his regret that he had vainly endeavoured to interest Haw- thorne in It. Longfellow remarked to Hawthorne, " If you really don't want this incident for a tale, let me have it for a poem." And Hawthorne consented. It is easy by the help of Longfellow's Journal to follow the composition of the poem :-184B, Nov. 2Sth.-Set about Gabnelle,' my idyl in hexameters, in earnest. I do not mean to let a day go by without adding something to it, If it be but a line. F. and Sumner are both doubtful of the 7ZfT ^? ^' '' ''''^' '^' °^^y °^^ f°^ ^^<^^ a poem. 1845, Dec. 7th.-I know not what name to give to-not my new baby, but my new poem. Shall it be * Gabrielle ' or ' Celestine,' or 'Evangeline'? 1846, Jan. 12th -The vacation is at hand. I hope before its close to get far on in Evangeline. Two cantos are now done, which IS a good beginning. Ap. 5th.-Aitev a month's cessa- tion resumed Evangeline, the sister of mercy. I hope now to carry it on to its close without a break Dec 10th, 1846.-Made an effort, and commenced the second part of Evangeline. Dec. 17th. -Finished this mornin- and copied the first canto of the second part of Evan- geline. The portions of the poem which I write in the morning, I write quickly, standing at my desk here [by the window], so as to need no copying. What I write at other times is scrawled with a pencil on my ki'ee in the dark, and has to be written out afterwards. 1847, Jan, LONGFELLOW: EVANGELJNE. 279 2tf//i.-rinishod second canto of Part n. of EvangoHne (seo ^vang. 1. 873n.). Feh. lsL~Wov^ed busily and pleasantly on Evangehne,-canto third of Part 11. It is nearly finished. ^eb 2ord-Eyansehne is nearly finished. I shall com- plete It this week with my fortieth year. Feb. 27th.~Evan- geline is ended. I wrote the last lines this morning.. Evangeline was published in lSi7. The text of the poem was constantly under the poet's eye, and received slight polishing touches from edition to edition. The present text IS that of the Quarto Illustrated Edition, the last issued under the poet's hand. I have examined numerous editions, 1st, Gth, 9th, etc., and give all the variations in the notes. Sources The general theme of the poem is, we have seen, founded on a traditional story. For the liistorical setting the poet had recourse to Haliburton, Ilhforical and Stalls u:al Acr n,t of Nova Scotia, Halifax, 1829. The Arcadian picture of the inhabitants of Grand Pre ro.e from the fanciful political sketch of the Abbe Eaynal. Watson s Annah of Philadelphia, the Pennsylvania His- torical ■ ,:,tions, Darby's Geographical Description of Lomsu „, Oayarre's Ilistorg of Louisiana, and Kipp's Earljj Jesmt Missions in North America, and even a Pano- rama of the .Mississippi {Journal, Dec. 17, 19, 181G) hel,)ed the poet through the last part, at least "so far as facts and local coloring go." {Journal, Jan. 7, 1817) Metre The classical hexameter (Gk. hex, six, metron, measure), the metre of the ancient epics, the Iliad, the Odyssey ^nd the .F.neid^ means an unrimed line of six feet, the first four of which are dactyls {- ^ ^ i ^ ion- syllable followed by two short syllables) or spondees (* ) the fifth almost invariably a dactyl, and the sixth usually a spondee. For example the opening line c f the .Eneid - ■ Anna virumque cai;0, TrOjac qui primus ab Oris ' would be read / i t 280 NOTES. '^Mm- The ending of a word within the foot, cuts the measure, and the one chief cutting (me.j.m) has a cecsural pause (ll). Ihe general formula for tJie classical hexameter is then ' Imitations of this metre have not been lacking in any modern literature. The most famous of German hexame- ters IS Goethe's I-vely idyll of Hermann und Dorothea le- ginning : — ' Hab' ich den Markt and die Straszcn docli nie so elnsam gesehen • 1st dodi d,e Stadt wie gokcl,rt ! wie aus^. storben ! iucht funfzig" Daucbt mu-, bleiben ziu U.k von alien unseni Bewohnern. In English, Coleridge, Southey, Clough, Kingsley, to mention only writers of tliis century, were all writers of hexameters. A few lines from two of these are not out of place as comparisons with Longfellow's manner. Thcreis a stream (I name not its name, lest inquisitive tourist Hunt It, and make it a lion, and f,^et it at last into f,nn-de- books), Springing far off from a loch unexplored in the folds of great mountains. Falling two miles througli rowan and stunted alder, enveloped 1 hen for four more in a forest of pine, where broad and ample ' B.oad and fair the stream, with oceasJonal falls and narrows • But, where the glen of its course approaches tlio vale of the river Met and blocked hy a huge int rposing mass of granite Scarce by a channel deep-cut, raging up, and raging onn-ard Forces its flood through a passage so narrow a lady would step it -Clough, The Dothie (Hut) of Tobcr-na- ViioUch, 1848. Over the sea, past Crete, on the Syrian shore to the soutlnvard Dwells n. the well-tilled lowland a dark-haired .i:thiop people ' SkiUul with neodle and loom, and the arts of tbe dyer and carver. — Ki'if^sley, Andromeda. It is not hard to see that the effect of the English hexa- meter is decidedly different from the effect of the classical hexameter. English words are never perfect spondees and even fairly perfect spondees are rare. Metre in Eng- lish is primarily a relation of accented and unaccented LONGFELLOW: EVANGELINE. 281 syllables, and accent need not imply a long syllable. Hence m any lengthy work English hexameters are but a translated cl. .sical hexameter-a substitution of accented syllables for long syllables, of English iambic (' x) for spondee.* ^ ' In seeking a metre for a poem on the expulsion A the Acadians, Longfellow naturally took as a model the metre of that idyU which depicts the sun'erings of the Lutherans expelled from Salzburg,-i/er»m«n und. Dorothea It is no slight testimony to his metrical genus that he has used the hexameter with such delicate modulations, such sweet- ne.^ and vanety of rhythm, such harmony of theme and expression that one may say that, by a poem as widely read as any of this age, he has enriched English poetry wita a now instrument of expression. Translations. No better proof of the charm of Evangc hne could be given than the numerous translations that have been made. Germany has at least six versions bu-eden three, Prance three, Italy two, Portugal two, in addition to versions in Danish, Spanisli, and Polish. In LoMay s translation we have a national interest. From it and from a German version I draw these few lines. Salut, vioille foi-et ! Noy^s dans la p^nombre Et drapes lidren.ent dans l<-i.i- *eiiillat,'e sombre, los sapins resiueux et tes ccdres altiera Qui se berco.it au vent sur le bord des sentiers, Jetant b. chaque brise, une plainte saiiva-c Ressemblent aux chanieins qu-cntendait''un autre ft-^e Aux Driudcs aneiens dont la Ingubre voix S'dlevait proph«5!iQiie au fund d'immenses bois • Et Toenail plaintif vers ses rives brumcuses li^lin2Si?aSSKS{;^f;;"^^!^^!^f 'fter vorse.the En^- whosep^Tetry is IbunSod on iKt n^,] p h.dl's^'^::^ wIh^''.^'''''^« pross S(.l(M-{sni, exactly imitate the rl v Imi nf n' uf. ' "^**^"»'' ">"«t is founded on the rules ar i .'u./i ;V /■ , ^^ ''''r'''"'^?^^'iosep(jetry Bufflcient lunnl.erof pure^^^^^^^^^ ''"^ there arei.ot a lai.Kuage i • make tirrimi atl m noin ^l'.''!^^^^^ Homer, and Spcddinff. Revdwa and K>u-.-4'- " ' ^" ^ ><^n,latmg 282 NOTES. S'avance en af?itant ses vagues eciimeuses, Et de profond soupirs s' dlevfercnt do s( s flotg Pour r6poiidre, O forfit, h tcs tristes sanglota. — L. Pamphile Le May, Evangeline, 2me ed., Quebec, 1870. Dies ist des Urwaldes Tracht! Die wispernden Tannen und Fioh- ten, Moosigcn Bartes, im Kleid, dag g.tin, and verschwommen in Zwielicht, Stehcn Druiden gleicli sie, mit dtlstor proplietischen Stimmon Stelien wie Ilarfner sie gran, mit lilirten tlber die Bnist Inn. Laut aus dem Abgrunde rauschet die wilde See in der Naiie Und im Eclio verliallet des Waldes Jammer mid Klage. ^Evangeline, Ubersetzt von Karl Knortz, Leipzig, 1872. Page 71. 1. 1.— This is the forest primeval. Already the words have come to have .no suggostivonoss of the opening phrase of the Iliador the ^neid (Holmes j. 1. 2— garments green. The absence of rime throws the poet upon subtler devices of musical undertone. These fall, it will be noticed, into three chief classes, instances of which constantly recur, givin- rise to the characteristic style of the poem. They are :-first, Alliteration, the riming of initial sounds, as here ; second, liepetition of words and phrases, often in the form of anaphoras, as in 11. 3, 4 ; 7. 9- 16, 17, etc.; and third, Refrain, or the recu..'once, tim'e and again, of particular modes of thought or strains of melody. This last lyrical characteristic constitutes one of the great- est charms of the poem. 1. 3.— Druids. Priests of the Celtic peoples of Gaul and Britain. Cf. Evang., 1. 890. " The Druids-for that is the name they give their magicians-hold nothing more sacred than the mistletoe and the tree that bears it. .. .It is ver^ probable that the priests may have received their name from the Greek name for that tree {drus, oak]. The mis- tletoe, however, is rarely found upon the robur [oak] ; and when found is gathered with rites replete with religious awe. . . .On the fifth day of the moon. . . .clad in a white robe, the priest ascends the tree, and cuts the mistletoe I 1 LONGFELLOW: EVANGELINE. 283 with a -olden side, which is received by others in a white cloak."— Pliny, xvi. (Bohn). eld. Here, olden times, antiquity (AS. addu, age). An archaic word favoured by Spenser and Thomson, in the sense however of old age. O cursed Eld : The cankerworm of writs. —Spenser, F. Q, iv. II. xxxIII. The whitening snows Of venerable eld. —Thomson, Castle of Indolence, il. txxl. 1. 5. -its rocky caverns. An imaginative touch. Hali- burton says of the coast of Nova Scotia : " The appearance of the sea coast is generally inhospitable, presenting a bold rocky shore. . .The southern margin is rugged and broken, with very prominent features, deep indents and cragg; islands, and ledges insr-.ted into the sea. . . .The features of tlie northern coast are soft and free from rocks " (ii 3) 1. 6.-ansv.ers the v.ail. Inversions for emphasis and metre are so frequent in Evangeline as to form a marked characteristic of the poem. '.^^7.^?^"^ ^'^r ^^' '°'- ^ ^^^^^^^1 comparison. Behold, he Cometh leaping upon the mountains. .. .Mv beloved IS like a roe," Song of Solomon ii. 8f. This simile IS thought to anticipate the tragedy of the story. Page 72. 1. 15.-nought but tradition remains .... Grand-Pr6 Pronounce gronig)' prcV. The village was situated on the Minas Basin, near the east bank of the estuary of the Gas pereau - No traces of it are now to be seen, except the eel- lars of the house., a few aged orchards, and willows »- Hahburton, ii. 115. These still mark the ancient sit^ near the present village of Grand Pre. In the outskirts at the cross-roads the credulous stranger is now shown the site of Basil s forge. The men of the village were only nine in number in Winslow's lict (N.S. Hist. Coll iii 122) 1 18.-sung by the pines. The first touch of'refrain ;' CI. i. 1 and 1. 2, n. ' L 19.— Acadie (ah ca de'). See Historical Note. \n\ 284 NOTES. LI ! PART THE FIRST. 1. 20.— the Acadian land. Tlie liulo which surrounds the memory of the Acadians, who rcprchont, us it wore, a re- turn of the golden ao;e, is entirely duo to the AhU (iuil- laume Raynal (171B-179()). An ardent supporter of the people in the times preceding the French Revolution, Ray- nal deepened the impression of the miserable condition of the French peasantry under Louis XVf. by his picture of Arcadian happiness of the French cob nists in the Now World. His work, Histoire philosophique des Eriro})rens dans lea deux Indes, was published in 1770. His description of Acadia is transferred bodily into Haliburton's history, and is used as pootic material by Longfellow. History has shown the Acadians to have been supersti- tious, quarrelsome, litigious,— by no means the qualities attributed to them by the Abbe aud the poet. Basin of Minas. Tronounce me'nas. The eastern arm of the Bay of Fundy. The tides rise with tror lendous current at the entrance (see 1. 29, n.), where the dangerous tidal wave is called the bore. 1. 22f.— Vast meadows, etc. "The settlement of the Acadians extended from the mouth of the Gaspereau river to within two miles of Kentville. Satisfied with the abun- dant crops which were gathered from their diked fields, they gave themselves but little trouble in the cultivation of the upland, and seldom extended their clearings beyond the view of the meadows. They had enclosed and culti- vated {ill the Great Prairie [i.e. Grand Fr6l which then contained 2,100 acres, besides smaller marshes in the Gas- pereau, and the Horton river."— Halibur ton, ii. 116. Page 73. 1. 23.— Givinr the villagfe its name, and pasture. Notice the constri; lion with two senses of "give" (zeugma). Other u tances (11. 173, 408, etc.) sIldw this to be a stylistic peculiarity of the poem. the LONGI'ELLOIV: EVANGELINE. 285 flocks without number. '« Those immense meadows were covered with numerous flocks. They computed as many as sixty thousand heid of horned c.tttle."-Haliburton, i. 171 (from Eaynal). 1. 2-l.-dikes. "Their method was to plant five or six rows of largo trees in the places where the sea enters tho marshes, and between each row to lay down other trees lengthwise on top of each other, and fill up the vacant spaces witli clay, so well beaten down that the tide could not pass through it. In tho middle they adjusted a flood- gate m such a way as to allow tho water from the marsh to flow out at low tide."— Ilannoy, p. 283. 1. 29.-Blomidon. Ifaliburton, ii. 4, speaks of the " hi-h lands, known hy tho name of tho North mountain, which IS washed by tho waters of the Bay of Fundy [south shore]. Cape Blomedon, which terminates this chain of liilh pre- sents a grand an ^.<-- . -^^t-ncn ketflnv^ fi.« • . notice, especially on mar- ine t days, the picturesque muslin head-ear of thp Jn^ elaborate, starched, pure white. " ''^"''"' kirtle. Either an upper or lower outer garment • usuall v however, the outer petticoat. ^ ' ^^^^Wj, 1. 40f._spinning the golden Flax. " Their usuil clnfl,,'. was in general the produce of their own fla^ or h fle Z of their own sheep; with these they made common Hnen and coarse cloths. "—Haliburton i m\ (t '""^o" ^men 1 4q xi,« fl . -"'"^""^^on, 1. 171 (from Eaynal). 1.49 -The Angelus. J^orthe Angelus-bell ; cf ^aL 1 508. An,.lu. donini nuntia.it M.ri.^ etc.', is fhe ZtiJi n. and LOJVGFELIOIV: EVANGELINE. 287 rondori'nn: of Lulcc \ 9« rvx. n , namooflshortt; ;i!o in '1 "' """■ " ""'^" «»*'"' nation, ,vhich is s ^^ r 3 "ur,-" <'?'■•"-"- noon, n„,l s„nxot. Th„ 1,cll r un" tf «"' "" '"""■°"'^' indicate the timn 'Ke"^:"* .''-^J^P '«>'» ^ 'h-" , 41L j..ie.^,r. =i.xxaiiiU3 the congregation i ^1, ■ll i4 288 NOTES. with holy water. Tho exact nature of the acriptural hyssop (see Hchr. ix. 19) is not known. The modern hyssop, growing frooly in ganlcns, is an aromatic plant, with blue purple flowors {hyasopua offivinalis). 1. 71.— chaplet. " Tho rosary is divided into three parts, each consisting of five decades [groups of ton], and known as a corona or chaplet."— C'a^/t. Divt. But pop- ularly tho word is taken as the name of tho whole rosary or string of beads used by Rf^man Catholics in coiintin'»- their pnyors. missai. (OFr. missal^ Late Lat. missaJig, of the missa, mass.) Tho book containing tho various prayers, collects, epistles, gospels, etc., necessary in tho service of tho mass. Page 77. 1. 84.— Sycamore. In America, the button wood or plano-troo, the largest deciduous tree of the United States ; it abounds on the banks of th ■ great rivers of tho middle states sometimes called the Cdtton Tree, f'om tho wool which covers the underside of the young loaves (Chambers). It is not a Nova Scotia tree (Michaux, N. A. Sylva.) wood-bine. Honeysuckle, called wood-bino or wood-bind from its habit of twining about trees. 1- 87. — penthouse. ' Shed with sloping roof and usually open sides. The word is corrui)ted from jjentice, OPr. appentis, from Lat. appendicinm, appcndao-e. Page 78. 1.93. — wain. AS. wavy??, honcn the same word, now archaic, as wagon. (Cf., for a similar vocalization of flf, AS. f eager, fair.) antique. See Old Clock on the Stairs, 1. 3, n. 1. 94.— seraglio (ser al' yo). Lit., the palace of the Sul- tan, of which the harem or women's palace forms a part. Tho allusion is of course to the latter. " They reared a great deal of poultry of all kinds, which made a variety in their fuod at once wholesome and plenti- ful."— Ilaliburton, i. 171 (from Raynal). Pi Pa "' 'R LONGFELLOW: EVANGEL.LNE. 289 1. nn.-the penitent Peter. }.htih. xxvi. 71f ; soo A Gleam of Sunnhine, 1. iU, „. Tho i.urp. so of an allusion in to deopon the irnpn-ssion of tho thought l.y aj.t and harmo- nious, suggestion of woll-kuown scono.s or in.-i.lents It is neco8.sary that these contain ek-ments of a similar, and yet much more impressive nature, otherwise tho allusion will either seem far-fetched or add nothing to tlio impressivom-ss of the thouglit. The story of Peter has no harmonious connection with tho thought of 1. 95. 1. lUO.— dove-cot .... with its meek innocent inmates. Tho picture of tho d(.ve as tho symbol of faithfuliu-ss in love is au ' amiable error ' of the early fathers, continued by tho curious medieval bestiaries, without alas ! any warrant in science. 1. 102.— noisy weathercoci- Compare tho lovely pic- turo of silence suggestet? \,y .\o silent weathercock," A.M., 1. 479. ' Jr ^^'^•""^°"^^ ""^^^ ^e»'' ^^ her ^-arment. See Luke viii. Page 79. 1. Ul.-Patron Saint. During the middle ages it camo to bo believed that particular saints were speciallv watchful over particular trades, or places, or persons ; thov wore accordingly designated patron saints. 1. 115.— Gabriel Lajeunesse. Pronounce ^a' brcel lah' zhu nea . 1. 118 -the craft of the smith. . ..in repute. Especivlly was It held in repute among warlike nations, as the myths o Vulcan, Weland, etc., show. Lor,gfellow sings the glory of the smith s calling in The VUlage Blacksmith and scatters references to it tJu-ough many other poems, Nuremherg, To a Child, etc. The poet's great-great-grand- father was a blacksmith, but ho might well on other grounds praiso this noblo craft of workers in iron. Page 80. 1. 120.— Father Rplirian / at /;..;,/__ x rp, «s -- v./- t tcr.-j an j. ino name I 200 NOTES. \ V i (from 1j. ftlix, hnpj)y) is suggestive of his character and influence. " Wo are now happy to recognize in Fatlier Feliciun the faithful niinistcr of tlio Miistcr. . . .the apostle of peace and good-will among men, and who was the type of such i)riests as M. Bailly whom the English delighted to honor."— Anderson, jj. 2()f. 1. 122.— Plain-song:. Simjjle music sung in unison, used in the Christian church from very early times. " 'J his body of melodies includes a great variety of mat^'rial a.lapted not only to every part of the liturgy, hut to the several seasons of the Christian year. Plain-song melo- dies are distinguished by adherence to the modieval*modes, by independence of rhythmical and metrical harmony.' Their effect is strikingly individual, dignified ami devo- tional. The styl^ as such is obligatory in the service of the Eoman Catholic Church " {Cent Diet.). 1. 128.— Lay like a fiery snake. A reference to the tiro which must bo expanded by heat before being placed on the wheel. Page 8i. 1. 133.— nuns going into the chapel. Other French sayings of a like kind are,-" They are guests going to a wedding. Soldiers going to war."— Malfroy, Pormes cfe L. 1. 137.— wondrous stone, l.ongfellow drew his many references to tho superstitions of the Acadians chiefly fro.ii ContvH popn/airos, prrjufji's, patois, prove rhes, noms de lieux, de rarrondh,nnent de Unz/eux [Normamly]. . . . par Fixi' deric riu.iuet, Houen (1825), 2nd ed. 18iii. I translate the extracts. Concerning tho swallow, Pluquet writes :— " Swallow. If tho eye of one of tho young ones is put out, she (tho swallow) seeks on the sea-shore a little stone with which she restores its sight. lie who is f.,rtunate enough to find tho stonu in tho nest possesses a miraculous remedy."-- 's, from Confea, etc., p. 12. i. 112.— ripened thought into iction. Those who ciimo LONGFELLOW: EVANGELINE. 291 in cout^r,t with him were stimuhitod to undertake what else had remaincfl a fliought. 1. i.y._.. Sunshine of st Eulalie." St. R.daHo, a yotm-- Spanish maiden (290-nnB) who died a martyr dtirin-^ the persecutions of Diocletian. See the third f:r..wn-.,.n./<,f 7h "1 tr* . V"^ ^"^^"^'"' """^^^ concerning hor foa.t-day -the 12th of February-is preserved l.y Tluquot. "Sainte-Eiilalii.- Si le soloil rit le j-nir dc saiiifc Rulalie. I' .V fiuia poinincs et cidro i iolio cwl'r'i ,',"::„z;„',:;i;" "" "■ '^'"•^""'' ""^^ ""^^ -"' "« "»■"- •"" -riuquet, C'o?< • 1. 159.-Summer of AU-Saints Various French names f(.r Indian summer are derive.l from the saint's .lays near wxiich the fine days come ^-VeU de la TonssahU, the sum- mer of AU-Saints (feast-day, Nov. 1st); r.,r,fe/a Saint- Dents, (feast-day, Oct. 9th) ; r^te de fa Saint-Martin (feast- day, Nov. nth). ^ Page 83. 1. 102. -restless heart of the ocean. A refrain from 1. i). 1. ir.n.— sheen. Cf. A.M., 1. 50, n. 1. 170. -the plane-tree the Persian adorned. " Whore it quits Phrygia and enters Lydia the road separa/.es • fhe 292 NOTES. i, i way on the left leads into Caria, while '.hat on tlio ri-ht conducts to Sardia.... Xerxes, who chose this way, found here a plane-tree so beautiful, that he presented it with golden ornaments, and put it under the care of one of his Immortals.-Herodotus, vii. 31 (RawHnson). The story is commented on by yElian, Various Stories, ii. 14. Page 85. 1. 19i.-Into the sounding: pails, etc. Notice the onomatopoetic eHect. The following lino has been com- pared as depicting the same subject, And you came and kissed me milking the cow. —Tennyson, Queen Mary, \h. v. 1. 197.— valves. Leaves of a folding door. Page 86. 1. 20G.— A? shields of armies the sunshine. The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flamed upon the Imazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. —Tennyson. The Lady of Shalott. 1. 207.— carols of Christmas. The no'^h of French peas- ants are a distinct order oi composition, some of oreat antiquity and beauty. ^ 1. 209.-Their Norman orchards .... Burgundian vine- yards. Normandy is the country of apples as Burgundy (Central Eastern Franco) is of the grape. " In Normandy the young people almost always sing while at their wc rk- In Burgundy the grape gatherers make the slop, s resound with their joyous sungs."-Malfr(.y, Po-^nies de Long fellow. The Acadians however, were nuitlier Normans nor Bur- gundians. "The people of Acadia are mainly descen- dants of the colonists who were brought out to La Have and Port Royal by Isaac de Razilly and Charisay lu'tweon the years nm and K5H8. The former brought out some forty families of colonists, and the latter twenty families, most of whom appear to have remained in Acadia, and commenced the cultivai.uu of the soil. 'J'hese colonists Pj LONCFELLOW: EVANGELINE. 293 camo from KochoUe, Sainlongo ana Poitc.u, ,0 that they woro drawn from a very li,„ito,l area in the wost coa,t ^ Pianco, covored l,y tho modorn departments ,.f Vendee and U,arento Inf.Vieure, . . . Tl.ey came f,-om a country o andtr' ?"'''/*° r ""' ■'"•" °"' by artificial diL. and thoy found m Acadia similar n.arsl.os whici, the; dealt w.th ,n the same way."_Ila„uay, p. im. Add t,. this that sixty individuals from Roehello in 1G7I and sixtv Pa..s, 108C-171U, jomed tho earlier eolonisto. Ilannay, p. 1. 211 -Spinning flax, etc. Cf. 1. 40(T. Tho simclest form of sp nning is that hy tho use of the distI7lnd .pn.dlo A bunch of flax is held on a staff, one end J winch .s stuck .n the belt. Tho spindle, a smaller pieeo o ^»o«l, having tho thread attached, is m.ide to rovolvo and remove from tho spinner, thus drawing out a twisted thread from the flax. In the spinning-rteel the spi, Sle ^fTheTani'"''^"' "' '' "■'"^"' ■""^*"' "^ -' oceasionafpush Cf. Old ClocU on the Page 87. 1. 217.-The clock clicked. Stairs, 1. 17f. 1. 223.— Basil. Pronounco, baz' U. son tho moon, when nearly full, risos for .sevoral cunso- outive nrghts at about tho 8arno.hour."-(7e»^ Diet. Page 88. i. 231.-a horseshoe. "Horseshoe fnnn^ i,- happiness."-Plu,uct, Conte., p. ^tZ^V::::!l IS a siiro protection against witches. 1. 237.— the English ships. Seo i. 524, n. 1. 238 -the Gaspereau. Pronounce gas' j^r 6 In Kings County, entering the Minas Basin on the uost of the peninsular site of Grand IV^. it ri.«H in lX '^1 2U4 NOTES. Gaspcroau, flows tlirough grand and heautiful scenery till "alluvial meadows f(irm tho peaceful valley .... through which.... the river meanders with a gentle current until within a short distance of the post road, wluui salt marsh is formed by the mingling of its waters with the returning tide."— Haliburton, ii. 120. 1. 239fr.— commanded to meet. . . .in the church. This do- vice was preferred to hunting the ])eople into captivity. "At a consultation held between Colonel Winslow and Captain Murray, it was agreed that a proclamation should bo issued at the different settlements, requiring the attond- nnco of the people, at the respective posts o°n the same day ; which proclamation should be so ambiguous in its nature, that the obji^ct for which they were^to assemble could not bo disc^n-ned ; and so pL'remi)tory in its terms as to ensure implicit obedience,"— Haliburton, i. 175. Winslow's proclamation callc.l the assoniLliige of the people of (Jrand Pre, Minas, lliver Canard, etc.: -"liis Excellency being desirous that each should be satisfied of his Majesty's intentions. ... Wo order all.... to attend at the church at Grand Pr6, on Friday, the fifth instant [of September, 1775' at three o'clock in the afternoon "—/A i 17G. ■ ■ • 1. 210,— his Majesty. George II,, who reigned 1727-lVGO. 1. 219.-Louisburg. In Cnj.e Breton, on the south-east coast. When Acadia became English by the treaty of Utrecht, 1718, the French built this town as a military and naval station. It -was taken by the New England forces in 1715, restored by the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, 1718 ; finally besieged and won by the English in 1758. Beau Sejour, Pronounce h,\ m zhr,ur'\ lit,, Fair Abode. A powerful French fort built at the head of Cumber- land Basin, on the north bank of the Misseguash, the present bo-ndary of the provinces of Nova Scotia ' and New Brunswick. Its erection was begun in 1750, and was intended, with smaller forts at Bale Verte, Pout a Buot, LONGFELLOW: EVANGELINE. 295 etc., to aflford a comploto line of dofenco for tho Isthmus LaLoutro made it the headquarters of his intrigues with French, Acadians, and Indians. In 17M, the colonial forces (see Introductory Historical Note) laid siege to Beau f^jour. Verger surrendered tlie pla.-e in a few days, and its capitulation was accompanied l.y the fall of Tout a Buot Fort Gaspereau. etc. Tho expedition was tiiereioro a com' plete success. Beau Sejour was renamed Cnn- .^rland iVday the traveller sees "a ruined u.aga/.ine and tho ramj.artsand embrasures of an ancient fortress they represent the last effort of France to h.dd on to a portion of that Province, which was once all her own. "-Hannav p. 8G9. ^' "About three hundred Acadians were found in Fort Beau Sejour when it was surrendered, and a number of others came in afterwards and yielded up their arms Ihey were offered free pardon .... provided they would take tho oath of allegiance ; but they all refused. "-Han- nay, p. 881. Port Royal. Tlie noble harbor at the mouth c' tho Annapolis Eivor caused Champlain who discovered it (lOUl) to name it Port Royal. The ancient capital of Acadia was founded there in ir,(.l. (See Introductory His- t<,rical Note.) It was finally lost by the French in 1710, and was renamed by tho English Annapolis K„yul, in honour of Ciueen Anne. After 1719 Halifax was made the capital. 1. 2o'2.— Arms have been taken from us. "Durin- tho Spring and Summer of 1755 a deuuind was made on the Acadians to deliver up their guns to the English cr.m- mandants of tho respective forts. This demand was pretty generally complied with."-Hannay, p. 389 ; of. Halibur- ton, i. 192. Page 90. 1. 259.-ni8:ht of the contract. The necessary pre- aminary of marriage was the drawing up of the marriago contract, stipulating tho dower of the bride, etc. \ : |!:t it •■■ |« 296 NOTES. \. n I. 2G0.-Built are the house, etc. " As soon us u young man arrived at tho proper ago, the community built him a house, broke up the lands about it, and supplied him with all '».o necessaries of life for a twelvemonth. There ho rec ved tho partner whom ho had chosen, and who brought him her portion in iiocks."— Haliburton i 172 (from Eaynal). 1. 261.-g:lebe. (OFr. rjlehe, glebe.) Strictly, farmii:g land belonging to the par.sii church ; hence, as h^re, any far.ning land (an archaic sense) ; cf. " the stubborn glebo " of Gray's Elegu. ' 1. 2fi3. -Ren6 Leblanc (re na' ,?, hlon{fj)). This char- acter is partly historical. In the petition of tb. exiled Acadians of Pentisyivanin to the King, they allege as proof of their fia two youngest children, in an infirm state of health, from whence he joined three more of his children in Philadelphia, where ho died without any more notice being taken of him than any of us, notwithstanding his many years labour and deep sufferings for your MaJrsty'a service."— i6. i. 194 f. LONGFELLOW: EVANGELINE, 297 "Evangulino in. 1. 2G9.-notary public. In Franco, a public ofRcor who receives and draws up contracts, wills, and other U-ul obhgations,-a function not quite the same as that of Jur notaries-public. Page 91. 1. 271.-Children's children, etc. contains one line, — Chanting the hmulrcdth Psalm-that grr.nd old Puritan Anthem which is metrically perfect; but this is an isolated in- stance.... Children's children sat on his knee, and hoard hia great watch is almost as bad as can be."-Zo/^rfon Daily News, in Km- 'Ifyj.^y'^ ^*^' '^^^'^ P^'^^^ct li»^ i% l^owever, from MUes btanduk, and incorrectly quoted. his great watch tick. Cf. Evanrj. ]. 217, n. 1. 27G.-in an old French fort. Seo 1. 20:i, n and 1. 303. 1. 28 ).-Loup-garou. Pronounce lOo gah too'. {Loup^. varan- Lat hcpus, and Germanic, ver, man, hence wolf- man.) I he loup-rjarou, varou or warou, which appears to bo the werwolj of northern peoples, is a man changed into a wolf by the power of some sorcerer. This trans formation lasts thn,e or s.v.n years; ho runs princi,KtlIv at night, and he can be freed from his enchantment only by wounding him with a key till the blood comes. The old Norman laws, speaking ...f certain crimes and their punishments, add : Let the guilty be wolf ' warqus esto ' that is to say, lot him bo pursued, and killed like a wolf Ihat perliaps is the origin of the /oM^j-^aruu. "-Tr from Pluquet, Contes, p. 15. " * The notion of the wer-wolf (A.S. wer-u^oJf) is however much older than the Norman laws. Cf. the story of Lycaon, the Arcadian king, and that of Niceros, in Pot- ronius, Sat., 61. See Dr. Smith, The Wer-Wolf Puf^ u,.; IH 298 NOTES. Lang. Ahhoc, 1891. Transformation was oithor voluntary for tho iudulgonco of bestial dosiros, or involuntary undor the influence of magic. 1. 281.— goblin. . . .to water their horses. " Tho gobelin, a kind of familiar genius or spirit inhabiting farms, who leads horses to water, feeds them, protects some of them specially, awakens tho lazy >orvants, overturns furniture, puts it out of place and gives vent to bursts of laughter. Almost always lie is invisible ; only sometimes he takes tho form (jf a fine black horse, presenting liimself all saddled and bridled on tlie highway ; but woe to the rider wlio bestrides the unlucky aninuil ! he kicks up his lieels, wheels about, carried olT his rider and disappears at last in a pool or quagmire."— Tr. from Pluquet, Contea^ p. Mf. 1. 282.— Letiche.' Tho Letiches. says Plu.iuet, j). 13, aro " animals of a gleaming whiteness, which appear only at night, disappear as soon as you try to touch them, and do no harm. They aro, people say, tho souls of children who have died unbaptized. I tliink they are nothing else than the ermine of ( ur regions, a little animal of surjjrising agility." The e.mine is also called tho white martin. Page 92. 1. 284.— on Christmas eve the oxen talked. Sou- vestro relates among his Breton tales one that involves this 8uperstiti(;n. A beggar lying in a stable, one mid- night on Christmas eve, overheard tho ass saying, " Wcdl cousin, how have things gone with thee since I spoke to thee last Christmas '? " The ox responded in a surly tone, — " Was it worth while for the Trinity to give us speech on Christmas eve to recompense us for our ancestors' presence at the birth of Christ, if we are to havo a hearer like this vagabond." Tho talk then passed to tho magic powers of five-leaved clover, etc., which the beggar endeavoured later to turn to account.— Le Foyer hreton^ Leu Pierres de Plou- hinec. ii. ISUf. " A belief was long current in Devon and Cornwall, and u. ,\ LONGFELLOW: EVANGELTNE. 299 l^crliiips still lingers hoth thoro and in oth of thu country, that at midnight, on Christ cattlo in thoir stalh fall d fi' ronuito pjirts mas eve. the of tho Infant Saviour, in th own on their knoos in adoration e same niannur as the kwnd reports them to have done in the stable at B Bees \\ Hook of Da ere said also to sing in their h 'thl eJiem, ■i3(J ivos."— Cluuuhors' oj nauH, ii. iij<,i. 'il.o same stij.erstitmn is in Lan- cashiro. except that the bees hum the Hundredth Psaln.. — Harland, Lancashire Fulk-lore, p. 228. etc. 1.285.-fever was cured by a 'spider. ''Fever. People cure It by wearing for nine days on the breast a livin-^ spider, shut up in a nut-shell."-Tr. from Plu.,uet, Conte'^, 1. 28f3.-four.leaved clover. "Four-leaved clover ren- ders one invisilde."— riu(iuct, Contes, p. -Jo ^' f^CZ^^^^' ^^^'^"^- ^^^^ technical title as a notary would bo Master, Maitre ; but see 1. 2(33, n. He had ' cent raisons ' to be called father (cf . 1. 273). 1. 2!)7.-God's name. Nom de Dieu is still a common Frcmch exclamation, -an abbreviation of «u ^^acri) nan, de Lfieu 1 in God's name. Page 93. 1. 30Gff.-Once in an ancient city. What follows is the substance of an old Florentine story that has been employed m the Pie voleme, a melodrama by Caigniez -.nd Daubigne (1815), which ends happily, however, and in th Gazza ladra ('Thievish Magpie'), an opera of Eossini (1817) Has digression is technically an Episode, or subordinate, narrative, arising from the main action but not essential to It. It IS a favourite device of the classical poets to lend variety to their story. Page 94. 1. 3l5.-R„ied with an iron rod. Rev ii 27 1. 321.-magpie A bird very like a crow, but usually blue in colour with bars of black and white (hence the word "pied"). Itsnest iwu-iiv'-nf • ' • ^ ^"ence tno i- -X ;. n(.sr., usually ;,uilt in nigh trees, is made " 800 NOTES of sticks plastorod inaido with earth and lined with grass. The bird's prop.uisity to carry off glittering articles has given rise to many stories, of which the present is the moat famous. Page 96. 1. 3i3.— window's embrasure. See Warden of the Cinque Ports, 1. 27. n. 1. 354.— nine, the village 'Fr. courfxi, fur cou- vre/eii, ' cover-firo.') ' ■ , . of ringing a bell at eight or nine at niglit to signify that lights and fires are to bo put out. appea.-i to have been general in Europe, even before the tim.- <>{ William the Conqueror, and to survive oven to-day in a modified form '*^ " , 'ng of the boll) in parts of France and America. Page 97. 1. 867.— the precious dower. A French girl rarely marries without a dowry suitable tu her class of life. It is therefore an o!)joct of the greatest forethought and care. Page 98. 1. 371. -like the tremulous tides. Cf. A.M., ]. li7ff. 1. 381.— out of Abraham's tent. Gen. xxi. 14. Cf. A Gleam 0/ Sunn/iuie, 1. 31, n. IV. Page 99. 1. 384,— wavering shadows. Among , le lonf?, black rafters The waverinj> shadows lay. —Longfellow, 77/c Dridtfc. 1. 386.— golden gates of the mornin[i See how the morning opes her golden gatea, And takes her farewell ol the glorious f m. — Sh (ksperf , ///. B nry VI. |i 1. gj. Page 100. 1. 397.— simple people, who lived like brothers. See 1. 52, n. 1. 404.— stnpt of its golden fruit. 1st ed. Oth, Bending with golden fruit; but changed to present n uding about 1867. ^ LONGFELLOW: EVANGEirtfE. 301 Pag-e loi. 1. I ,;, _Tou, le, Bou, oi, de Charlres, ,.tc, Pru- nounco t.,„ U (,r,r,r zhwM dl .f tre ; lit., „11 tho ..iti. zo,« of (lurt,™ fin tho do,,,.rtmoat of Eure-ot-I.oir fifty n„c,., s. w. „f Pari,,. Tho name of a s„„,, comno" Hcry IV . It Ims tho following words. Tho Kn-lish m::^rF ";■ ■""' "'° '""""-= p-- „ro fro™ th itivorside I'- van gel im. Vou3 cotiiiaissfiz Cyhfile Qui 8ut lixor Itj Tiiiips ; On la disaft fort hcile, Mfiine dans ses vicux ana. Cette divinity, quolque d(5j& prrand'mfere Avaltlcs yeuxdoux, lo teint frafs, Avait mfime certains atti ;dt8 Ferine comine laTerre. YmircmomberCyhcie, \\\m^. the sea.snng to unfold ; Very fair, safd men, was she, Even when her years fe'rewold. A sraiidame, yet by goddess l.irth She kept sweet eyes, a color warm. And held throu},'h every- thing a charm I Fast like the earth. Aiv and w.rd, aro to be found in U CU du Oaveau, Korro CapcUe, Paris, 1847. ••■•, iiorro d,dun M'r. A special tuno playod hy tho ohin.ingSl of Dunkirk i also tho »ong sung to that tuno. T "o^mu ic •■:..d words aro prmtod in tho Cle ,,u Ca.eau, citod abovo In ^rudeIlt, tdm^raire ^ '- !n3tant,jeresp6ro Dans m( iuste courroux, Tu vas to> sous mes coups ! — Je brave ta menaoc. — £ire moi I quelle audacc I Avance dene, poltron I Tu trembles V non, non, non. -J'dtouffcde col6reI — Je ris de ta colore. K«K'kI»!83 and ra.sh, Tako heed fur the flash Of nmic anger, 'tis Just To lay thee with my blows in the dust. —Your threats I defy. -What ! you would be I ! Come, coward ! I'll slwnv— You tremble ? No. -I'm choking with 1,. gel —A tig for your rage. ;' Looked over the Recueil de Cantiquos A I'usago dea Mlssiohs, etc., Quebec. 1833. . . .OM.nr 2. t .^"f^^ ?^ 302 1^0 rss. M Mi do Dunqnorqiio ; Charmanto aal.riolle, Tous loa Bour-oois fin Chartrofl/'—L., Journal, Ap. 20, 1820. 1. U I.-wooden shoes. The sahot» of thu Fronch i.oaa- untry. ' Page 102 1. lao.-their commander. Lioutonant-Clonel John Winslow, born in riyrnouth. Afass., 17()2, difd 1774- aftor (iviu-ni\ Peppordl, "the niont distinguished .uilitan; loader in Now Kn^Hand of that period." I. lM2.-««You are convene^? this day," otc. C(,l. Win=.. low 8 address is preserved i. his MS. Lotter-l.nok {Muhh Hiat. Snc, Boston*), and ineorp.r.tod in Halihurton of which L. makes n fr. o poetical rendering. It reads :— '•fientlemon,— I havo received from His P'.xecdloncy Oo- vornor Lawrence, The King'>, Commission, which I have in my h:,n I, an.l by his orders you are convened torrethor to manifest to you, his Majesty's final resolution to the French inliabitants of his Province of x\ova Scotia • who for almost half a century, havo had more indul-enco granted them than any of his subjects in any part of his d(munions; what use you havo made of it you yourselves best know. The part of duty I am now upon, thou-^h necessary, is very disagreeable to my natural make ami tomi)er, as I know it must be grievous to vou, who are of the same species ; but it is not my busine.. to animndvort but to obey such orders as I receive, and therefore, without hesitation, shall deliver you his Majesty's orders and instructions, namely-that your lands and tenements cattle of all kinds and live stock of all sorts, are forfeited to the Crown ; with all other your effects, savin.r your money and household goods, and you yourselves to" bo re- moved from this his Province. " Thus it is peremptorily his Majesty's orders, that tho whole French i nhabi tants of these Districts bo removed ; n1. /C'coi/^rtiLSit'"'*'^"'^^^' ^venu:,:z^a vi^::^ouio fli ami I am thruuKh lu. Majesty's goc.ln.s.. ciin-.t..! r<, allow you hluTty to carry ofF your rnon.y an.l hons.-h M guorls, aH many a« you ran u ItJ.out di.romm. .lin.- th.. v..- -s^ycmgoin. Ishalldoov..ytl.ln^iun.ypo..;,h,tall h.so e:uo.h bo _H..,u.n..l to you, an.l that you an- „ot mo- estod m airryin. them o,T; al.o. tl.at wholo f.nnili., «f.all go in tho Hau.o voss.l, anrt.d romNova-Scotia.... The volumes .,f smoke whieh t"h 'of ihf ' '"!"? '"^""'' "^^^^" '''^y '"--k^'J tho Z 1 ^« P^^^an-^'B humble cottage., bore testi.nony to tho extent of tho work of destruction. For several suoee; «ivo evenings the cattle assembled round the sn.oulderin.; rums, as if in anxious expectation of the return of their masters; while all night long the faithful watchdogs o the Neutrals howled over the scene of desolation , and n ounied alike the hand that f.d, and the h<.use tha h sheltered tliem."-HaIiburton, i. ITOff. Pagre III. 1 552 -voices of spirits. Always assoeiated with music, as m the pictures of Paradise in tli. .Scriptures Pagre 112. I 5Gf).-in the confusion. - The hurry, confusion an.l excitement connected with the embarkation. "~Il' burton, i. 180. ^ Parens. 1.570 wives were torn. "Parents we,v senar- ated from children and husbands from wiv.s, some of whom have not U> this day met again."-/V,/ /,, Z^ I eansyhama Acadians, Tfaliburton, i. 194 1. •>^7.--;celp. The largest and coarsest sea-weeds. 1. o<.).— leaguer. Archaic. Tiie eunn nf o n • • army. ^ ^ "• (^'"^'''gmg) 1. 582. -its nethermost caves. See 1. 5, w. Page 114. 1. 589.-Silence reigned, etc. Kefrain fr,>m I Am L 507. -shipwrecked Paul, .b/,, xxvii. 22fT ; xxvii l Mehta («. ' ^t «). r,^.. m..... the ancient n^me o Ue island of Malta. A ba> near I.a V.i ..:.. ' ^''^ ~ ^« =<-*" uuara Uio I'* 30G NOTES. \\ M % fir name of St Paul, commomorating the tradition that he was shipwrocked there. 1. 601.— face of a clock. Cf. 1. 466, n. 1. 605.— Benedicite (6en e dh' it e). The imporativo 2nd pi. of benedicere, to bless. The beginning of the Latin benediction of tlie Roman Catholic Church. 1. 607.— on a threshold. Quarto edition, on the thres- hold. 1. 610.— Raising his tearful eyes. Until 1867, Raising his eyes, full of tears. Page ii6. 1. 615.— Titan-like. The Titans were fabled to bo the children of Uranus and (hva. They waged war against Chrunos and Zous wlioso thunderbolts finally subdued them. In attempting to »cale Heaven they piled mountain upon mountain,— Pelion on Ossa (cf. "piling huge shadows," 1. 616). They were not hundred-handed, which properly applies to their relative Briar'eus, who fought against them. 1. 621.— gleeda. (AS. gUd, a glowing coal.) Burning coals. Page 117. 1. 631.— or forests. Frequently misprinted, ot forests. Nebraska. Or Platto River, formed from two streams rising in Colorado, which meet in Nebraska. It joins the Missouri below Omaha. Page 118. 1. 645.— woke from her trance. Only the Quarto ed. has, awoke. Page 119. 1. 651.— without bell or book. Without the funeral bell or burial service from the missal. And oach St. Clair wns burled tliero. With candle, with htM)k. and with l... -Father of Waters. Mississippi; Ind. iiv/.« ^^ Great River, Father of Waters. '^' 1. G7G.— Seizes the hills ocean. The moanioKS of the homeless sea. The Bounrl ofatreaina that Hwiit or siair Drawdown .Koiifaii hlllg. andsow The dust dCcunt iiiciits to be. -Teiinysuii, /„ M-moriam, xxxv A Uivial land forms a very large portion <,f Louisiana Darby constantly speaks of tho ,ivors washing aw^ay the bluffs, of immense tracts of land made by alluvfon 1. <577. mammoth. rJiganticM-xtinct species of Hephant remains of whioh .,0 found in PJurope and in No"h 308 NOTES. f- America. The burial of bonos in the alluvial deposits of great rivers is scicntificully accurate. Page 122. 1. 705.— Coureurs-des-Bois. Pronounce coo r^r' da hwah'; lit., Runners of tlie Woods. Bush-rnngers, men engaged in trading in furs witli the natives ; for the most part of French or Froncli and Indian origin. 1. 707.— Voyageur. l*r(;nounco vvnh yah zhfr' . The name given to men who transported tlie furs and supjilies from one trailing post to another (from voi/agcr, to travel). Louisiana. At the time of the expulsion of the A radians Louisiana was a colony of Franco, settled by the French, who discovered it, in 1(509. All the land west of the Miss- issippi passed by the French cession of Louisiana in 17()2 entirely into the hands of Spain. Of this irumenso region Louisiana, then extending from thofiulf and the ancient Spanish possessions on tlio Mexican frontier north- ward to the 'lOtli parallel (that is, to the present British possessions) became again French in 1801, and was s(.ld in 1803 to the Tnited States. The jirice paid, something like sixttien million dollars, shows how unjiopulated and un- known was this iiniiiense region, the acquisition of which doubled the don^ain of the, I'nited States. Page 123. I. 711.— Baptiste. Pronounce Aa.^r.v<'. 1. 71'.].— to braid St. Catherine's tresses. St. Catherine is the name esjjecially of two favourite virgin saints, tho one who lived in Alexandria at the beginning of the fourth century, the other at Sienna, Italy, 1:}17-1H80. Both were britlcs of ("lirist. Tho origin of the expression coiffer saint Catlurine, to remain unmiirried, is obscure. One suggestion is that it was believed that bridesmaids who prranged tlio brilo's hair would soon nuirry. Hence to remain to dress St. Catherimrs tresses (who never married) would bo equiva- lent to nut marrying at all. A more probable solution ia ti51^5^SiI „5^Ep>if>:ai*^A LOmrEUMr: EVANGEUNE. ^ -int,. i,„„,,,, in ' L eh ;r ^,''™';' "■" '— "' *« •iot ,„arry it was sai.l w , "'"''" "■'"'° " B'--' dH Larou88o, 7;,V^ XlXu,e Sidde. "Quitai^d, m I. 720.~affection never was wasted. I Iioldit tni... whut'er befall ; 1 A^elit.u (,,.,, I sornnv most; l/8bett<.rf„lu,velovodan(llr,st Thannevutolmvelov(,.dataIl. ~'^'*''" ">'»""• ^« ^remoriam, xxvil Ic ' habe ^^onosson ,la.s inHsohe GlUok Icl. hube Kolebt und Koliebet. ->Scliiller, PiccoUmu.i, Ji U Page «4. 1. 725.-Sorro„ a„d silence are strong-. Ob fear m.t in u world like tbis Ami tiiou.sball know ere Ion-' Know bmv sublime a tbin^ it,;' lo8uirerandbe.s«n)ni,r titiuat«(l here. -^ntia. It suoms an- i. 7a5fr.— a streamlet's course oto \ • . """' ■■' '-""" y w..H.sw,,"C ;,„•",,"'"■;•;?""« i'"- «"uud or sight of whoso ,S.l ""'""' ""<"■ >'l"> -h-h was st„.oti„„sr„ ,: ::,,7,^;:;f ' -' -."^-is; ■ns'.nd; then came .h.,hin^,l i ''""■""'"'-•"'">'•' '"»' «vo„ «he„ it t,K,k a tun w !r' '""' '"'""^' ' "'"» y«t you alway.. folt anTLTow that T.'*" """''' ■••" ''■"""■ - i^. part, ana th.. . .J tlot „ ^ 'i::,?' " """""-- M 310 NOTES. n. m>; ■ il I!;- Page 125. 1. 741.— The Beautiful River. The Oln t'kh 01 no. W Ind. B Stream, perhaps in allusion to the white waves raised hy the wind. I.ongfellow translates the French name of the river. Tn Bonne's map, 1717, in GayarW- the stream is iiiarkerl Ohio oula IM/e R. the Wabash. A large tributary of the Ohio, onteiing it on the north bank, not far above latter's juncti( n v\"ith the Mississippi, 1. 713.— g^olden stream. The Mississippi is tinged yellow with the muddy waters of the Missouri. Page 126. 1. 749.^kith. (AS. cyth, acquaintance.) In the phrase ' kith and kin,' one's own people, one's kindred. few-acred. If. 1. 991. 1.750.— Opelousas {op g loo' sas). The caj)ital of the parish of St. Lamiry, La., sixty miles west from 13at«»n Rouge. It is situated in the midst of immense meadows,— the prairies of Opelousas, (h-and Prairie, Mamon, Calcasin, etc., several million acres in extent (Darby, p. 97 ff.), the Acadian Coast. "Between the 1st of January and the 13th of May, 17G5, about six hundred and fifty Aca- dians liad arrived at Now Orleans, and from that town had been sent to form settlements in Attakapas and Ope- lousas.— Gayarr6, Hhtory of Louisiana, p. 122. In the n )uth of February, 21G Acadiuns arrived in Louisiana. Implements of husbandry were distributed to tl.om at the cost of the (Jovernment. and they were authorized to form sottlomonts on both sides of the Mississipi)i, from the Gei- man Coast up to Baton Eouge, and oven as high aa Point Coup6o. Hence the name of Acadia Coast, which a portion of the banks of the rivor still benrs."— /(f., p. 132. 1. ^'"'..—chutes (»/iooO. (Fr. rAtt<«, fall, cataract, etc.) On the h)wer Mississippi, a narrow channel with free current. plume-like Cotton-trees. The cotton-wood, any Ameri-' r.ONCFEI.LOW: EVANCEUNE. 3,, can poplar. The seeds crow in r.nfH»,a «ppe„a.,c„ , the p„p,„. „,, „f^„ ,„„ :;2tf ">=-'""' or„an,o,,t. „f n,any of tho *,,«.„, ;,. „„ ^.^^h; .^ '"«'' " «'« «-..<«-, which ,I,.plet, the aJ;:;'! if it • """' "°""- , , stnj.pod of Its -oLlon folia.-o and Vonf l.nf •, npenod berries with fl,n ,.«i i- i "o ' /*"" Kept but it.s /- a« mm . A b.iyou 18 a stagnant or alu,r„iai, „),„„„„, ' mlot ,,r outlet of a lake or ri^r, 6t<=. " """"' "" twe„t^!twr,:;;„rt:;:;:BVT' "-' ""^'""""" -«•■ r:hXrouu:t:;::r""r;;^ ^- •-- ^^^^^ p. 50. "»ousas, and .... the Mississippi. " -Darby, 312 NOTES. <. j»!; 1. 7r.8._I,ke a net-work of steel. " Tho infinite number of natural mnal.H, that ov.ryuli.ro porvado tho state of Louisiana, noar tho soa coast an.l tho nmr^nn of tl,o lar^o nvors, running into each othor liko not work."-Darby p. I'll. ■^ ' Chapo m Wostnnnstnr .^bboy. .-ALng tho si.loLf tho chapol arc tho lofty stalls of tho Knights of tho Bath, abovo thoso aro suspondo.l their banner., omblazonod with armon.l boanng., and contrasting tho splendour of g.dd nnd purp o and crinn.n, with tho cold gray fretwork of tho roof. "-Irving, SkvU-h hook. 1. 772.-Death-Iike the silence. " To have an idea of tho dead silence, the awful lonosomoness, the dreary asj-ect of ll.is region, it is necessary to visit the spot. Animated nature is Invn.shod ; scarce a bird flits along to enliven tho scenery. ISatural beauty is not wanting, the varied wind- ings and intncato bendings of the lakes relieve the same- ness whilst the rich green of the luxuriant growth of forest trees, tho long lino of woods melting into the dis- tant sky, the multifarious tints of tho willow, cotton, and other fluviat trees, rendered venerable by tho long trains of waving moss, amuse tho fancy. "-Darby, p. 13(j (near Atchafalaya). \ v«,i 1. 7 75. the moonlight. Tho strain of pathos enters here, making a refrain from 1. .S lOfF. Page 128. 1. 782.-mimosa {ml mr/ sa). A large genus of ,. ants (some 280 species), son.e of which have leaves that Ch,«.> when touched. The best known of these is tho sen- «tiv«-plant, -a branching annual one or two feet in he^ht, having a great many small leallots, which aro nigMj sensitive when touched." Page 139. 1- m -Caaaditt boat-songrs. " Canadian" i» used LONGFELLOW: EVANGELINE. 313 While. Tho first nino edition, road, Anrl Pagre 130. I. 805.-whoop of the crane Thn v • TZ^^''""^ ^vintol^s in the Wh. ''^ ^''"^^''•^^'^ "^• 1. 8()7.-Atchafalaya. Pronounco, aU-h ah fa // « r. • a Choctaw word, moaning tho lon/rLr f ; V" river, n nd /«/a;y« Ion- r„i r • I . ' ^^"^ '"'^''«' p. 158. The chief of thllf' "' '^^^'^"'^raft, 0«.,r^a. f xiio cniot of the throe outlets of fl.o \r; • • west of tl,e terminal m„„t|„ or " pat, "It !"'''''' tho junction of tho Ro,l Eivor with !ho Afi ■ ?'"" '" 9outhttai-,lforO00n,il,., " ,. " ' ">» 'r.s,i,„pp, runs 1 K,^ I. '""'•'""'N- Anior.,iii. 2;-t9f.). ;-..it::;;;oX .1='.?^ 'sr;"-.::-'"^- '^^ hly in Southern water, ea,ilv ,- , ( .t''" J*^'"""' ""'"r. do,eripti,n. Sec //„.;:;nt ::^:'- ^^'""''^ ^--' seventy feet in hmVTif i « • "^''^^^'I'l'i- ^t is usually whit„,^sweet.:,ett^L ;r::f.,:;foH::'.' ';" t ""■' and of groat hoauty.l(„i,„„;,^;"X ^^^^ '-^e, ,r„ad, sissippi and Eod liivor, and , ? "."""' "'" '""»■ Wi„i„ippi."_Darl,y P ,2 W , '" """ ''°'"' "' ">o river-banks of l^ullL\Jr'}"T "° "''I"™'™ tho particular species S:;d:;'t,::'poot """°^""" "' '^° Lo„gfe.io.t h^tirri';:;; r,5: td a n' """•^'^' tru„,,„t-fl_r e,„,,o..H„, t,.e whol^"Vt oV: :^^^^^^ ^^ .^8...-th. Udder of Jacob. Cf. A a!ea„, „/5„„I:: t M '»t ^ •felt. 314 N'OTES. ^ P«?e 132. 1. 8:J7. -palmettos. NaT,.o of many stH.-iei o« palm hav.ng largo fan-HhajHul l«>avos. ^ 1.839.— All. Karly readings, An houses. "-Darby, p. I5a ^T f ?*«^" ^"''-^'^ 8^**'^^" ^^nd. The wand used in trac- ing the figures of magic by which the sorcerer effects his 1; 878.-mocking:.b:.d, wildest of singers. Longfellow song of the mocking-bird : Upon a spray that overhung the stream, The mocking-bird, awaltenlng from his dream tZI,?.'^ ^*'""""' '"""'^ '•••*^'" '»'« throat That all the air secmod listening to hia note. laintive at rtrst the song began, and slow ? It breathed of sadness, and of pain and wo.'; The multitudinous music from his tongue - As, after •bowers, a sudden gust again ' Upon the leaves shakes down the rattling rain » LONCJKI.LCW: EVANGF.riNE. sig Pag. .35 I. ► ,.v . i,h „„. org.,., the fo«„vaU of Bacchus, god of wf,„. '^^^ w,l,ny w,th ,tro„mi„« hair, singing „„„ „ ,„^ ^ " ,„ KouiKl ihout hJrn fair Bnochniitos, noarinK' «-.Vinl.al8. fliUo.s and thyrsea. u lid from Nuxfan (rrovps or Zante's VIneyorda, slug delirious vorsea. 1 SRI .1, TA u Longfellow. /)r,„W»^ .,^„^ l.8K4.-theT*che..8:reenOpelou8at. Seo 1. 75u n and 1. 85J>, n. The Opelou.aB prairie, peronniall^ .rc^! ^fo^er a nullmn acres, boginnin-^ thirfoon rnilo^ v/of Opolou as and extending south f r nearly sixty Th! L flows thro.^h p. ,,,..,. ^j^,, '^><>id'h;;j^: herds of cat lo which afTVrd «ubsistenco to the natives. .. . U^scertamly onoof the nu.st agreeable views in nature to behold from a point of elevation, thousan.ls of horse and COW8. .f all nizos mr-nff..,...^ ^i • '""^»«8 njoa. i„e,..,.n.uyr;iC:fii:;::. :j;;:;-:^^^^^ m. P&Re 136. 1. 88n.-Spanish moss. Or T,,.n^-moss iTllU. l • ..n.a.VM, "with gray filiform ^^^.JlltZZtr^^^^ dense pendulous tufts which drape the foresZf 'h "th^ ern United States " {(Jent. Diet.). 1. 890.— Druids.— See 1. 3 n. Yule-tide. Christmas-time. Oeol was tho A«? .. the heathen festival of the winter ! 1 . "'^"'^ °^ cha..ac.,.r. PHny aoos not say the llntiTsc t t et'L^ tc^^spccaliy at Ch..i.,t.as, Lo„gfen.,w confusos thTllt 1. Sm.-house of the herdsman. I Ascribing tho Acadian rr 3, Tun. i«*J, roads :— MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I 1.25 1^ ■ 6.3 2£ 12 14.0 1.4 2.5 2.2 2.0 1.8 1.6 A APPLIED IIVHGE Inc 1653 East Main Street Rochester, New York 14609 (716) 482 -0300 - Phone (716) 288-5989 -Fax USA ( 316 NOTES. Embowered in groves (,f dnna trees you will find corn- fortalile houses, which are always built in the same plain cottage style, weather-boarded without and j.lastered within, and with the inevitable ^«/.r*e or porch in front, ihey vary in nothing but size." 1. 809.— dove-cots .... love's perpetual symbol. See 1 100, n. Page 137. 1, 910.-Stood a cluster of trees, etc. 1st cd. stood a cluster of cotton-trees with cordaire of ffrane- Vines. II Timber along the rich margin of the Teche is .-ener- ally composed of hickory, sycamore. .. .oak. .. .elm, lin- den, laurel magnolia.... The muscadine grape-vine and smilax are found entwined round those largo forest trees " —Darby, p. 98. 1. 911.— Just where the woodlands meet, etc. See 1 881, n. 1. 912.-Spanish saddle. The saddle-tree is higher in bow and back than in the English saddle. The stirrups have likewise heavy leathern guards. Page 140. 1. 952._Adayes {ah da' es). "Adaes, Adai.e, a tribe of Indians, who formerly lived forty miles south- west from Natchitoches, in the area of country, which now constitutes a part of the republic of Texas.— Schoolcraft Onenta, p. 160. Among these Indians, missions were established by Spanish Jesuits from Mexico, which were abandoned in 1698. Twenty years later Spanish Fran- ciscans founded four stations in the same field. Of these San Miguel do Cuellar, called also San Miguel de los Adaes was situated on the Sabine Eiver (present boundary of Texas and Louisiana), forty miles south-west of Katchi- toches. Apparently a fort rose near by, for mention is made of the Presidio of Adaes (Bancroft). In Shea's Cathc he Missions m America, the station is termed Adayes I LONGFELLOW: EVANGELIATE. 317 J:J'^^'~.^T^ Mountains. They ritn north-east to south-west, through what is now Missouri, Arkansas, and lexas. In bchooleraft's Oner,,a there is a narrative Ad- ventures ^n the Ozark Mountains, which n..y have fur- nished some materials for 11. 1078ff. Page 141. 1. 960. -Michael the fiddler. See 1. 408 1. 901 -Olympus {Olhn' pu>.), A mountain on the bor- ders of Macedonia and Thessaly, fabled to be the favotirite nomo of the gods. Page 142. 1. 970. ci-devant (se de von[g)'). Fr., lit., here- before ; hence, former, of tlie past. 1. 97-1.— go and do likewise. Lnhe, x. 37 I. 980. -the dewy moon. Cf. Milton's " dewy eve." Here the retrain enters again from 1, 369. "^T'o?' ^;ff^-^^^^hitoches ^^aclc,tosk'). Originally a French settlement among the xNatchez Indians. It is in Louisiana, on the Eed Eiver. 1. 99i.-All the year round the orange-groves. The orange tree is remarkable in bearing at the same time blossoms, ripening and ripe fruit. Page 144. 1. 1001._the fever. Tl.o scuurgo of the South, the yellow-lever. -^utu, 1. 1006. -Cured by. . . .a spider. See I. •''Ho n 1. I009.-Creoles. Native-born inhabitants oi the West Indies or Spanish America, born of Spanish or French parents. Page MS. 1. 1019 -the giddy dance. Until tl>o Quarto cd this read, the dizzy dance. ^^ ^^. 01 the .ea enters aga.n, mingled ,vith the strain descrin- tu-e of he mooniight. Jlere too the continued su.pe o arrs.,g Irom the reader's interest in Evangeline', s a eh 318 NOTES. reaches its climax (11. 1023-1058) ; henceforth it will mod- erate with the growing certainty that the search will prove vain. Tlio whole passage may be regarded as the centre of the poem. Artistically it is very effective. 1. 1033.— Carthusian. The order of Carthusian monks was founded (1805) hy St. Bruno (1040-1101) at Chartreuse, near Grenoble, France. It enjoins a most austere life; monasteries to be built in isolated districts, the monks to live in almost perpetual silence, etc. 1. 1037.— the shade. Until 1867, the brown shade. Page 147. 1. 1041.— stars, the thoughts of God. Cf. 1. 352. 1. 1044. Upharsin. Lit. ' they are lacking ' : see Ban V. 5-28. \ Page 148. 1. 1057.— Patience, etc. A refrain in form from 1. 5f. oracular caverns of darkness. Allusion to the caves of the sibyl of Cumse and .he oracle of Apollo at Delphi, etc., as well as to the forest of oracular oaks of Dodona, Epirus! 1. 1060.— Bathed his shining feet. Adaptation of Luke vii. 38; John^ xii. 3. ' 1. 1063.— the Prodigal Son. Luke, xv. 11- 32. 1. 1064.— the Foolish Virgin. See 1. 800. Allusion to Matth. XXV. 1-13. Page 149. 1. 1068.— they follow. As late as 1876, th^- fol- lowed. 1. 1069.— like a dead leaf. Refrain from 1. 13. 1. 1071.-found they the trace. Until latest editions, Found they trace. 1. 1074.— Adayes. See 1. 952, n. i'f " "" IV. Page ISO. 1. I082.-Oregon. Or Columbia Eiver, 1400 miles m length, flowing from the Canadian Rockies through Washington and Oregon into the Pacihc. LONGFELLOW: EVANGELINE. 319 «nl)^^'}T^' ^^" ^°'* ^"^ "^'-^^'^^^^ tho name for the sake of the metre,- the Wallawalla, a small river r sin! -J^tho north border of Oregon, tributary to the Columb> is Us'ff'a' ^^ib";' ''^- ,t ^^^^*-^ -' *^« ^-ak.3 River, which IS itseit a tributary of the Oregon inVZ7nr°'""" ''°''"'""" ''"■' "' '"^ «°^'''-' N^bras^a ^y"™'"- <""> °f *<= "PPer branches of the ■ ihe Gushing P„u:itain.' Name of a stream tb.t nses :n Rke's Peak and flows into th« Arkansas Mexioo."'"' """" ^''' °' *« ^'™'^'-' ^••-'fly ■■» New Page 151. 1. lODl.-amorphas. Shrubs of the bean familv bearmg spikes of pnrple or violet flowers. Bastar* Idt; 13 another name for the plant ^ unHl' wrr"''"!''^ ^"'"^ ""^ '" *■>" '""o«i>=S line Tnto tb. ''"'* "i"^' ^™"^^^- T'^" *»"Se is slgnifi- Ozark r:rr'"rt"'''; ."^''° highland tracts of the uzark range look, in their natural state, more sterile ttan they actually are, from the effect of autumnal fi" feround fo, hunting, have had the effect, etc.-^<;M„(„„, '" ll'e Ozark Mountains, OncUu, J, nr, ^"'^'^'"••res Arabs ■ n J , '' *" '■"P"''^'! ancestor of the nomaVicTdir""' '"""'''""' "'^^^ *■>-'-"> '» *ho poLr;7m-itc:n:i:f'^tt i;:^?;:^?;^' "\ ^ slain by .Eneas. ° ' '^'^^^^^S: of Turnus. when ^^^ NOTES. Vitnque onm prcnitu fu^Mt indif,'nata sub uml.ras [And h,s .n,],,.nant soul fled lamentin^^ au.id tl.e'shades.] ■^'"ejV/, xii. 952. See Notes and Queries^ Gth Sor., vol. viii. (Feb. 23, im) Pa^e 152. 1. 1106 At the base of the Ozark Mountains ihatis bog:nn:ng at the n-.-thcrn an and as they landed they saw tho lost tirl with ^ "' plumes of her lover waving overt! ^ T , ^^ S''°™ glided through tho Pinel ^^cZdcr t r '^ ^^ *"^ N. Y., 1839, ii. 7711. '''■hoolcraft, At!„c Mesearche., Page 156. 1. UG7.-Black Robe chief. The cassoek( d priest. 'L' 322 NOTES. Tho French Catholic missions wcro begun on the Missis- sippi by Marquette, 1G73. (See Parkman, Jesuit, in North America.) Page 157. 1. U82.-susurrus. Lat. ,murrm, murmurinff, whispering, from msnrro, I whisper. Page 158. 1. llfll.-suns. Tho priest adopts the Indian mode or reckoning. 1. 1199._some lone nest. Cf. Wordsworth's Why art thou Silent, p. 41. Page 159. 1. 1213ff._BIushed at each blood-red ear, etc " If one of the young female buskers finds a re--. ">e „ai,. the n,arks of tl e '^nl'^ r"' ""''■ *''° """ '"'«'^" properties (1. 122.1) '^"""■' '"'™ ■""■«<"« " \ frutTn"^,?'!',' *"' """"'' ''• ("k. v„ not, ,..,0,, griof ) o, t^^Cri::: ";rotoXHr :r rf -' when it is min-led in tJ.n 7 , , ^^raught thereof, ^all no tear dotn Vi e T^noTt^^' ff '^ ^^""^^^ ^^^ mother diedJ'-0.^z/.,.v iv 210^ . o^^ ^"' father and asphodel-flowers it ??' ''* ^^^*^'^^" '-^"^ ^^^^g- with'a pale C oL t Irot fteeT "'^^' ^ ^°^^ ^^ ^^^^ as burial-grounds and soT ^ '"^ ''"''' P^"^^^' -^"^^ Rp,ffn ^"'?'' ''" ^^^«^a» valleys dwell Resting weary limbs at last on bedl oJlsphodel 1. 1220.-wold. (AS. W..) Open undulating country. Page i6i. 1. 1283.— Sas-inan, n.v., n, gan into Lake Huron ^'""'^ ""'''"S'' ™ehi. 1. 12Jl.-Tents of Grace. . . . Moravian Mission, u , urn ^T""""''' -""-•»--y with^JohnHu^s (13 s" hernia and Moravia iw,' "'^''"'"^ ""™S'> Bo- posod descendalof the Bretrer^' '" T' "■" ^P" S.axony, when they assumfd !^ """S^^^i in 1722 into Oor.any, Britain, and A.eS 'ItLriirt^tr 324 NOTES. still exist, wore ostaMishod at IJethlohem, Nazaroth, etc. in Pennsylvania, Salem in North Carolina, etc. Tents of Grace. The early editions have " tents of grace, as if a ffonoral name of the Moravian niianirjn sta- tions ; in 18'57 the reading is that of our text. The term translates Gnadenhutten, the name of a village on the lus^irawas River, Ohio, founded by the Moravian mis- sionaries in 1773 among the Mohican Indians. Burnt in 1782, It was again in 1797 made the centre of a Moravian settlement from Pemisylvania, whose descendants are still to bo found there. 1. 1212.-battle-fields of the army. The wars of the Indians and the United States troops. V. 1. 1253.-in sylvan shades the name of Penn. William Penn (1644-1718) was the most influential of the Quakers of his time. His reputation for enlightened philanthropy justifies the term -the Apostle." He founded Philadel- phia, the City of Brotherly Love, in 1682, on a bluff cov- ered with pines. " Penn laid out his capital as methodi- cally as the Romans did theirs, when they used to colo- nize. Ho rules his streets straight out towards the west naming them from the trees they displaced, such as cedar' spruce, and sassafras; not as Mr. Longfellow has it Ui appease the dryads whoso haunts he molested (1 1257) for he had a horror of the heathen mythology, but because ho meant his city to be a rural city, and to rustle eternally with the breath of trees and shrubbery. "-Stoddard A Century After, p. 10. ' Page 163 1. 1257-Dryads {drVad). (Fr. dryade, Lat. drya,, from Gk. 5p0s. a tree). In classical mythology, deities or nymphs of the woods. L 1260.— Ren6 Leblanc. See 1. 203, n. nr(/th, etc. " tonta of ianion ata- 1'ho term ?e on the vian mis- Burnt in Moravian bs are still rs of tho William Quakers mill ropy Pliiladel- luff cov- mothodi- to colo- he west, is cedar, las it, to 1. 1257), because ternally dard, A ''. dryaSf )ities or i.0.VGf--MU0,V: EVANGEUNE. 3,, tio "theo" has bccmn n ' .'^' ^"-''V. Ihiwovc,-, objoctivo c,«o, ° "'" "'"'J"-^"™ "» «-!' as tl,o I. 12B5.— It recalled the na^st p.. 1 ■ by tho use 0/ /„, tl,.„ ° ^ , '™'''' '^ <^l""aotorued friends, while .o,.,^' i:7:«°°" '■'■''«">- -"I close 1. 1206.-Where a^l ml ="''"■ 1. 397. """ ""' «1"»l Kofraiu frc,„ Page .64. 1. 128._L,ke to some odorous spices. Once Bit n.iiioMo' musk l„t„,,dro«. And It oltaK, „„,d like prcoerdcnLTn law. -Lowell, Ditjehic P„i,en Page 165. 1. 1288.-Sister of Mercv T},„ i- , of Mercy, was founded in ^yS^^^^T/""'' have for monastery the hous J of th : ^k '""'„ *" world. BraLhes :::^ cstabS ilT'^'^^..^ ^r' ''" some years after the time here described "' "' ""' '"' 1. ljy2. — the watchman «' n», i member those old-tirtatAmen H « "' "" "" *" ^"^ the lamps early i„ the eve IT „o "Th ."^"'"'' *° "«'" their boxes, on tho street-eoraers and , \"'1 '" ''* '" pipes. How they used to T^^t ' , "^" "'"''" "lay in the snow, in the rain -^ I ""' '"''^^'' ="' "'sht Ion/ singing, as ihey we„T The ..SZdTh e"" T" ='""«'''■ o'clock, andawindyni^htM-rhrl' ,?''''''' ' ^''•™" morning.' "_StK>ddard ^r. , ■^'"^!!:° °'°<=^' """'I a cloudy • J^'^-Jo-— The German farmer Th,. rv , about Philadelphia are v„rT German .settlements through Peuns vlvania GeLXwT^' '^ f T "'^^ "■■" of the city, records an eari;e2ny. """"' 326 NOTES. Page i66. 1. 129a— A pestilence fell on the city. The poHtil- oncoof yollow-fuvor iu 1793. It is tho thorno of Charles Brockdon Brown's novel of Arthur Mervyn, and of M. Carey's essay Yellow Fever in Philadtlphia in 17'JH(Easaua 1830). 1. 1299.— Presaged by wondrous signs. •' Among the country people largo (luaulitiiis of wild pigeons in tho spring are regarded as certain indications of an unhealthy summer. Whether or not this prognostication lias ever been verified, I cannot tell. But it is very certain that during the last spring the number of those birds brought to market was immense. Never, perhaps, were there so many before."— ^4 Memoir of the Yellow Fever in Philadel- phia in 1793. 1. 1308.— the almshouse. The place referred to is dis- puted. An explanation was once given by Longfellow and published in tho Now York TivieH : — "I got the climax of 'Evangeline' from Philadelphia, and it was singular how I happened to do so. I was pass- ing down Spruce street one day toward my hotel after a walk, when my attention was attracted to a largo buildin"- with beautiful trees about it inside of a high enclosure. I walked along until I came to a groat gate, and then stepped inside and looked carefully over the place. The charming picture of lawn, flower-beds, and shade which it presented made an impression which has never left me, and twenty- four years after, when I came to write ' Evano-eline ' I located tho final scene, tho meeting between Evan<'-elino and Gabriel, and the death, at this poor-house, and the burial in an old Catholic graveyard not far away, which I found by chance in another of my walks. It was purely a fancy sketch, and the name of Evangeline was coined to complete the story. The incident Mr. Hawthorne's friend gave me, and my visit to tho poor-house in Philadelphia gave me the ground- work of tho poem." The details suit admirably the Pennsylvania Hospital, I pOHtil- Charlea I of M. {Eaaaya^ ong the in tlio hcalfliy las over lin that broiiirlit hero so ^hiladel- • is dis- ow and loliihia, IS pass- after a uikliiig uro. I stej^ped arming esented wenty- ine,' I igeline nd the t'hich I irely a ned to friend lolphia spital, ( LONGFELLOW: EVANGEUNE g.,. Still it waVnot L .^, ,'" " "''''""' '"'«"''"■■■" associate t„: .^ : .h t'; r,-; -;;' 7™ «-..for„ longer .standing. " Tl,„ Frion U A^ 'Y"'»l'o"s,., „o,v „„ by a court fr..mV„,„,rst:;e:t ™;^: T!"' ■'""■■"'!'■'••"■ part of a elimtnr ,.f „ • \ "''' ^^ ^ remain ni; and jocularly ^^J^t^^ ^^^ Quakorosso,, cayed' Priond/aro "°|''""'^";\'^ ""'"''■>'; " '«>' ''le- rospoctability Its inff ♦'",'""""' '" ''^"'■'"'"» and thaUo. t2Ac::^;rx:: 'Tifhtr 'v"° ^""""■ as do.cril,od in .... • Kvan.rdino' •' ' A t„ ?• " '""''"' does not demand the vorvii,.; j^! •""•'"" '■"="™ the labors of the "e„ tic pf. , K '''"'■"■"■"^'^- " ■■<-' hero, ponded in a nei.°hborin. ! f ",""''"' '""'' '"'™ "">"» <="- Fourth and ^^;-^:^i^ "^^^I^;^ ^ Page ,67. 1. 1812.-the words of the Lord. Matt^.^, \, -:tCe:^s::ii:;~t£"r'!-^=- 1754, at a cost there of SoIm tort. t ,'" ^'""'; '" '" chimed on Sundavs »n,i i, . ,,''■••• ^™y aro alivuys and upon publ"c occastoL ?b "'''' '"'"™ ''""^ ^°"i^« i the first chimes in America and ^» . }^ """^ '''""'^' The church boastsof boTngthe '.ad tof tb T' '"^""°"' copal Church, and of sh.rCltmrlnlXrT'' ''"''■ renown that gathers about Vci^eTn^of'tfrK'"' f ° tionary movement. *^® Bovclu- 328 NOTES. 1. 1327.— while. First cd., and. « '• ^•''f;.-^'?''" •••■«' Wicaco { nr, UV U ). Tl,o slel hT? " *." ""'="' "'""■"'' '" riuladolphia. Tho K™ f w ™ a^l'-ntaof tto Delaware in their vil lage of Wicaco. now called Routhwark, a part of the oilv In 17ottr ''''• '" '"" "■^y "-'* -'"S oh« eh- r"^: LliT *: P^?^»' fl»« church took its plaee. "An inlet from the river led up to the building, and its shor^ wore Uned on the Sabbath days with th^ canoes "f the congregation, moored in the shades of tho great svca mores. . The stout old sanctuary, built soTL Took without interruption or obstacle on the Delaware, is long sinoo imprisoned in a mass of common-place build ngs if ^iTtuft^f "^° ''"'''•••• ^he beautiful orchard and tuft of sycamore trees have disappeared. . . and tha songs of tho garden-birds " (Stoddard). Pa|e 170. 1. 1855.-like the Hebrew. E^. xii. 7, 12f., 13, 1. 13G5.-Gfeen Acadian meadows. Eefrain from 1. 9ff. rag:ei7z 1- 1883.-the little Catholic churchyard. Seel 1808 n. A smal churchyard lying between the church of St S (founded 1703) and Fifth St. and containing gravesfones dated as early as 1757. A rather desolate uneared-te place with the staring briok walls and sign of the Qua ker aty Laundry and Taylor, Tin and Slate Eoofcr on th^ stroy all its sacred associations. The sexton, who knows not that the or ginal story told ol the death of the lovers in New England, guides the infrequent visitor to an un marked grassy space by the north wall where he says The two lovers le buried A clump of lilacs shades the pot ). The fi. Tho leir vil- le city, ih-fort. "An shores of the i syca- ;o look s long ffs. It rchard id the !f., 13, 1. 9fF. APPE.VDIX. , 1308, Mary i tones od-for Qua- il the h de- nows overs I un- s the spot, osaio 't APPEISTDIX. SIE PA THICK SPENGE.* The King sits in Dumferling toune, Drinking his blude-red wine : *' O whar will I get guid sailor' To sail this ship of mine ?" Up and spake an elderr' knioht* Sat at the kings richt kne : '* mu ^^^^ick Spence is the best sailor That sails upon the sea. " The king has written a braid letter* And signed it wi' his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence, Was walking on the sand. The first line that Sir Patrick red A loud lauch* lauched he : * The next line that Sir Patrick red, The teir blinded his ee. » (( O wha is this has don' this deid, This ill deid done to me ; To send me out this time o' the yeir To sail upon the se ? *• Mak haste, mak haste, my mirry men all. Our guid schip sails the morne." " O say na sae, my master deir, For I feir a deadlie storme. 10 15 20 • The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence! , . ^ „ ,, . . -Coleridge, Dejection. I Aged. 2 Knight. 3 Broad (open) letter. 4 Laugh. 5 Eye. 332 APPENDIX. " W^M /''*"' yestreen" I saw the new moone And' ^f/"^;'.'"^^"^ in hir arme ; "' iiiat we will com' to harme." Oour Scots nobles wer richt laith^ io wet their cork-heild schoone • But lang owre a' the play wer pLVd Thair hats they swam aboone.« ^ w"^;u'''"S,'"'''y.t^^ir ladies sit, Wi thair fans into their hand Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence Cum saihng to the land. Wi thair gold kerns' in their hair V '°.f ^'„*^^'^' ^^° "ieir lords. ' Jor they'll 86 thame na mair. ^ll'^« fiT/'V ",^^^'", °^^^ t° Aberdour. • » It 8 fifty fadom deip • ' And thair lies guid Sir Patrint Qr.^ Wi' fV.o Q^ .° , , " -raDricK bpenco Wi the Scots lords at his feit. —From Percy's ''Bdiques.'' fi 25 30 35 40 TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY. An Allegory. A sister and a brother » ' V«f n ""^ ^^y outstripp'd the other • And lont '""'i ','^' ^^^^ ^'^^^rted face! And looks and listens for the boy behind • For he, alas ! is blind ! U er rough and smooth with even sfpn ho r. .^ And knows not whether he is fir?t t^last^''' ^' — Coleridge. 10 II .^ ypsterday evening. 7 Loath. 11 A village on the Forth. 8 On the aurfaca- 9 Combsr^ 10 flalll^er i 25 n 30 35 40 APPENDIX. LIFE. ^ife ! I know not what thou art O wh .1 ""^^ then remains of ie. O whither, whither dost thoTflv Ini^T'T '"^y ^^-kS course Ah 'lei ^. *^^%«trange divorce, ^* Ah tell where I must seek this compound I ? Dost tho^ thy S ^h'j; '''''''' '^"^^ Life ! we've been long together Perhaps 't wiS^lfa dgh'^ t^ '''' '' Then steal away ?ivp nWl ' • J, ^ Choose thine^'wi^ ume ^^ ™"^"g' Say not good nishf hnf • ""^^ ', B'^d me g„ti'™;„'i"„g^.°"^ ''"ghter cH,™ —Mrs. Barhauld (1743-1S25). REQUIEM. Under the wide and starry sky And liM''^^' T^ Sladly die, And I laid me down with a will ^^He?e h? r'^'^'l^^" g^^^'e for me : And the hunter home from the hill —Hohert 'Louis'stevenson, 333 10 15 20 334 APPENDIX. WHA T IS A SONNET ? What is a sonnet ? 'T is a pearly shell That murmurs of the far-olF murmuring sea • A precious jewel carved most curiously ' It IS a little picture painted well. ' What is a sonnet ? 'Tis the tear that fell r b rom a great poet's ecstasy ; A two-edged sword, a star, a song-ah me f bometimes a heavy tolling funeral bell. TMs was the flame that shook with Dante's breath, A -^?^,^««H"''^ *^^g*" whereon Milton played. 10 And the cleur glass where Shakespeare's shadow falls ; A sea is this— beware who ventureth ' * or like a fiord the narrow flood is laid ' Deep as mid ocean to sheer mountain walls. —R. W. Gilder. MILTON, He left the upland lawns and serene air Wherefrom his soul her noble nurture drew, And reared his helm among the unquiet crew Battling beneath ; the morning radiance rare Of his young brow amid tho tumult there. Grew grim with sulphurous dust and sanguine dew • Yet through all soilure they who marked him knew Ihe signs of his life s dayspring, calm and fair. But when peace came, peace fouler far than war And mirtli more dissonant than battle's tone * He with a scornful laugh of his clear soul, ' Back to his mountain clomb, now bleak and frore And with the awful night, he dwelt alone ' In darkness, listening to the thunder's roll. — Ernest Meyera. 10 APPENDIX, 335 ,th, 10 falls ; r. 5 10 SLEEP. Of those fiercrdal V 1 1'°'" °,"' "•" V'"^' ^ Livelier tha/eSfre Stelk", "^""^^ '" '"^ --S'iV Philip Sidney ri55A%^pf' VT^^ '^^• SLEEP. Nature-s soft „„r::;Zw h^vsTfe^S' ttf'P' And in fl« , • •! ."^' ""Penous surge That, with thA„™T„;V--"''P"^ "'™''^' 5 10 10 15 20 1 Place of refroshnient. 336 APPENDIX. ■ — Shal'Hpere. 25 ' TO THE DAISY. Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity Oriven to no other flower I see -the forest thorough ! Is it that Man is soon deprest ' Does'lftler h"^'"^ ' ^^'« ^^ --'>lest. JJoes little on his memory rest A J r,,?^ °" ^^^ reason, And Ihou would'st teach him how to finri A shelter under every wind ^ A hope for times that are ukkind And every season. nn°i; "^'fry^^ ^^e wide world about Uncheck'd by pride or scrupulous doubt With friends to greet thee, ^or without, ' ^et pleased and willing ; A?? t//u '^'"^ to the occasion's call. And all thmgs suffering from all, ' Ihy function apostolical, In peace fulfilling. — Wordsworth, 5 10 15 20 25 APPENDIX. " ^^^^^ ^ MOUNTim SKYLARK SINGS.'^ ^^n?^^"'""?.^^^ Skylark sings In the sun-Iit summer morn I know that heaven is up on high And on earth are fields of coJn But when a nightingale sings m the moon-lit summer even —Ghristina Rossetti. 337 I" i| i| 10 15 THE LARK. Bird of the wilderness, iiiithesome and cumberleos ^a.rm the downy cloud vv nere, on thy dewy win^ T,,]^here art thou joumeyL^g. Thylayismheaven-thyli/i3o„earth. O'er fell and fountain sheen, n'o,. Vi,^'' "'i'^'' ^"^ mountain green Over the rainbow's rim. Musical cherub, soar, singing, away - 10 15 20 -.Tn^ l€S II ""JOi ■1836), 838 APPENDIX. FROM " THE FIIiST SKYLARK OF SPRING" Two worlds hast thou to dwell in, Sweet.- The virginal untroubled sky. ' And this vext region at my feet.- Alas, but one have I I The dul mg 8ha,le of mundane care. Thev amid mortal mists are made.- i. nine m immortal air. My heart is dashed with griefs and fears • My song comes fluttering, and is cone ' high above the home of tears ^ iliternal Joy, sing on ! ' ••♦♦»« Somewhat as thou, Man once could sine In porches of the lucent morn ^' Ere he had felt his lack of wing' Or cursed his iron bourn. The springtime bubbled in his throat, The sweet sky seemed not far above And young and lovesome came the note ;- Ah, thme is Youth and Love ! Thou singest of what he knew of old And dream-like from afar recalls ; In tiashes of forgotten gold An orient glory falls. And as he listens, one by one, Life s utmost splendours blaze more ni-h. Less inaccessible the sun, " ' Less alien grows the sky. For thou art native to the spheres. And of the courts of heaven art free And earnest to his temporal ears iVews from eternity ; ^"? ^^^^^'s,t him to the dizzy verge. And lur'st him o'er the dLzling ine Where mortal and immortal merge ' And human dies divine. ' — William Watson. 10 15 20 26 30 35 7." APPENDIX. 830 10 15 20 HOME THOUGHTS FROM A liliOA D. Oh, to be in England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England bees, some morning, unaware, And after April when May follows, And the whitethroat builds, and al the swallows- l^ans'to the'fie r""f^^ pear-troe in the Clge BToromsln^dfw-dX^^^^ That's the wise thrushTKnVs e,oh"o "^f^' '^^«'•- Thfr? f ^"^' th-k he nevt^ eruM rrpi;u?e"^^^' The first fine careless rapture '^t-^apture aS wnf K^*" *^^ ^^^'^^ ^°«k '•«"«h with hoary dew Thir /. ^ ^''^ '^?"" "««"t'^'« ^'^kes anew ^ ' The buttercups the little children's ,lowe7 Far brighter than this gaudy melon flower! — Browning, lU 15 20 25 30 35 HOME THOUGHTS FROM THE SEA. Nobly, nobly Cape St. Vincent to the Norfh w«.f a- i - Here and there did England help me : ho» can i help England V — Browning, 340 APPENDIX, n i iTAPif oy A JlCOniTF!. Courage au.. fdlth ; vain faith, and courage vain For hnn. I threw laiirlg, honours, w.alth aw^v And one dear hope, that was nmre prized tffihev IJo. him I languish. 1 in a foreign clhne '^• tehnTl '■'''^^- "''o"^'" •" "'>' ^'^"'xmd's prime ; IfPftrd m Lavernia, ScargiU'si * hispering trees And j„r ^-d by Arno for my lovehcr Ws f '''' Beheld, aoh night my homo in fevered a eep Kach morning started from the dream to wi^p ; Till God who saw me tried too sorely, gave 1 he resting-place I asked, an early gmv^e Froi?i;'f'^^°'",'^*"'" ^"^*^« to thi« nameless stone «v ?;. ^* P.T'^^V^^^^try which was once mine own Kv fhST^'^f '^^^' ^ ""^^''' '"«^^' '""^t see, • Forc,.?„n?' \^"g"T.^^'^'^ I «P*ke like thee, J orget all feuds. an(f shed one English tear er English dust. A broken heart lies here. —Macaulay (1800-1859). TO EVENING. If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song. May ho^e chaste Eve, to soothe thy Modest ear, Like thy own solemn springs, Thy springs, and dying gales ; O Nymph reserved, while now the bright-haired sun Sits m yon western tent, whose cloudy Ikirts, With brede etherial wove, O'erhang his wavy bed ; New air is hushed, save where the weak-eyed bat With short shril shriek, flits by on leathern wing'- Or where the beetle winds ^ * His small, but sullen horn, As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum • IJow teach me, maid composed, ' lo breathe some softened strain 5 10 15 10 15 1 In North Yorkshire ou the upper Teea. 10 15 10 15 APPENDIX. As, ..using slow, 1 hail Ihy gonial loved return I For when thy folding-star arising show. His paly circlet, at his warning la,„n rhe fragrant Hours and Klvcs W ho sleep in flowers the day, A^d Zwi iV'^P^ ^.^'' wreathes her brows with soduo And shnds the freshening dew, an.l, lovelier still ^ ' the pensive Pleasures sweet. 1 reparo thy shadowy car ; rh^?riH,l'i°*'V°Jr^''' ^^^«^« some sheety lake Reflect 1 . 8 last cool gleam. But when chill blustering winds or driving rain Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut. Ihat, from the mountain's side, Views wilds, and swelling floods, Aud hamlets brown, and dim-discovered spires • And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all' Ihy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil. Sl^fK"%' 'l^" PP^" ^'' showers, as oft he wont And bathe thy breath ng tresses, meekest Eve T ' While bummer loves to sport Beneath thy lingering light ; WhUe sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves ; Or Winter, yellmg through the troublous air, Attrights thy shrinking train And rudely rends thy robes ; ShJnn'"'^"^^"^]'!""^*^^ ^^^«>'I^an shed '''' 'tTS^^^^^^^^^^ Health, And hymn thy favourite name. —Collins (172Q-1756). 341 30 m 40 45 60 342 APPENDIX. FROM '* SEAWEED.** When descends on the Atlantic The gigantic Storm-wind of the equinox, Landward in his wrath he scourges The toiling surges, Laden with seaweed from the rocks : From Bermuda's reefs ; from edges Of sunken ledges, la some far-oflp, bright Azore ; From Bahama, and the dashing, Silver-flashing Surges of San Salvador ; From the tumbling surf, that buries The Orkneyan skerries. Answering the hoarse Hebrides ; And from wrecks of ships, and drifting Spars, uplifting On the desolate, rainy seas ; — » Ever drifting, drifting, drilling On the shifting Currents of the restless main ; Till in sheltered coves, and reaches Of sandy beaches, All have found repose again. 10 I i 15 20 Longfellow. THEY ARE ALL GONE. They are all gone into the world of Light, And I alone sit lingering here ! Their very memory is fair and bright, And my sad thoughts doth clear. It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast Like stars upon some gloomy grove, Or these faint beams in which this hill is dreat After the sun'a remove. 10 16 20 APPENDIX. I see them walking in an air of glory, Whose light doth trample on my days ; My days, which are at best but dull and hoary— xMere glimmerings and decays. holy Hope ! and high Humility, High as the heavens above ! These a,re your walks and you have showed them me lo kindle my cold love. Dear, beauteous Death ; the jewel of the just I bhming no where but in the dark ; What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust • Could man outlook that mark ! ' He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know At first sight if the birds be flown • ^ But what fair dell or grove he sings in now. inat 13 to him unknown. And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams, Uall to the soul, when man doth sleep, So some strange thoughts transcend ou? wonted themes And into glory peep. "lemes If a star were confined into a tomb Her captive flames must needs burn there • «?A J;?'^*^^^°^ that locked her up gives' room, She 11 shine through all the sphere. Father of eternal life, and all Created glories under Thee ! Resume Thy spirit from this world of thrall Into true liberty. Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill My perspective, still as they pass ; Ur else remove me hence unto that hill, Where I shall need no glass. — Vaughan (1G21-IG05), AFTER THE BURIAL. Yes, faith is a goodly anchor ; When skies are sweet as a psalm, At theJ)ows it lolls so stalwart, Au biuii, brottd-jjliouidered cabn. 343 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 344 APPENDIX. And when over breakers to leeward The tattered surges are hurled, It may keep our head to the tempest, With Its grip on the base of the world. But, after the shipwreck, tell me What help in its iron thews, Still true to the broken hawser, Deep down among sea-weed and ooze ? In the breaking gulfs of sorrow, V> hen the helpless feet stretch out, And find ]^ ihe deep* of darkness No footing so solid as doubt. Then bettter one spar of Memory, One broken plank of the Past, That our human heart may cling to, Though hopeless of shore at last ! To the spirit its splendid conjectures, To the flesh its sweet despair. Its tears o'er the thin-worn locket With its anguish of deathless hair I Immortal ? I feel it and know it. Who doubts it of such as she ? But that is the pang's very secret, Immortal away from me. There's a narrow ridge in the graveyard Would scarce stay a child in his race. But to me and my thought it is wider Than the star-sown vague of Space. Your logic, my friend, is perfect. Your morals most drearily true ; But, since the earth clashed on her coflSn, I keep hearing that, and not you. Console if you will, I can bear it ; 'T is a well meant alms of breath ; But not all the preaching since Adam Fas made Death other than Death. 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 10 15 APPENDIX. It is pagan ; but wait till vou feel it,— The jar of our earth— that dull shock When the ploughshare of deeper passion lears down to our primitive rock. Communion in spirit ? Forgive me, But I, who am earthly and weak. Would give all the incomes from dreamland lor a touch of her hand on my cheek. That little shoe in the corner, So worn and wrinkled and brown, With its emptiness confutes you, And argues your wisdom down. 345 45 60 — Lowell. 20 25 30 35 40 " THE WORLD IS TOO HUGH WITH US." The world is too much with us ; late and soon, C^ettmg and spending, we lay waste our powers : Little we see m Nature that is ours ; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon : The winds that will be howling at all hours. And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers • Sor these, for everything, we are out of tune ; ' It moves us not. -Great God ! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn ; bo might I, standing on this pleasant lea. Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn • Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea • Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. — Wordsworth, 1806. 5 10 346 APPENDIX, ''LET ME NOT TO THE MARRIAGE OF TRUE MINDS:* Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Ur bends with the remover to remove • Oh, no ! it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; It is the star to every wandering bark, W«^Tt^'' r5"T°i ''^^t°"g^ ^'^ height be taken. wllL^- ?""! ' ^°°' though rosy lips and cheeks Withm his bending sickle's compass come ; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out' even to the edge of doom. It this be error, and upon me prov'd, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.' — Shakspere. 5 10 TITE GROSS OF SNOW. In the long, sleepless watches of the night, A gentle face— the face of one long dead-1 Ti,o • Ifi™® ^''°"' th^wall, where round its head Ihe night-lamp casts a halo of pale light. Here in this room she died ; and soul more white l^eyer through martyrdom by fire was led lo Its repose ; nor can in books be read Ihe legend of a life more benedight. There is a mountain in the distant West I hat, sun-defying, in its deep ravines Displays a cross of snow upon its side, ouch IS the cross I wear upon my breast These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes And seasons, changeless since the day she died —Longfellow. 10 1 CJontinues steadfast APPENDIX. 347 ND8:* 10 DAYBREAK. A wind came up out of the sea, And said, "0 mists, make room for me." It hailed the ships, and ^ried, "Sail on, Ye mariners, the night is gone." And hurried landward far away, Crying, •' Awake ! it is the day." It said unto the forest, " Shout ! Hang all your leafy banners out ! " It touched the wood-bird's folded wing And said, " bird, awake and sing. " And o'er the farms, " chanticleer, Your clarion blow ; the day is near. " It whispered to the fields of corn, " Bow down, and hail the coming morn." It shouted through the belfry-tower, "Awake, bell ! proclaim the hour." It crossed the churchyard with a sigh. And said, "Not yet, in quiet lie." — Longfellow. 10 15 10 THE GREEN LINNET. Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Iheir snow-white blossoms on my head, VV ith brightest sunshine round me spread Of sprmg's unclouded weathei, In this sequester'd nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat ! And birds and flowers once more to greet, My laat year's friends together. 348 APPENDIX. One have I mark'd, the happiest guest In all this covert of the hlest : Hail to Thee, far above the rest In joy of voice and pinion ! Thou, Linnet ! in thy green array Presiding Spirit here to-day Dost lead the revels of the May ; And this is thy dominion. While birds, and butterflies, and flowers, Make all one band of paramours. Thou, ranging up and down the bowers, Art sole in thy employment : A Life, a Presence like the Air, Scattering thy gladness without care, Too blest with anyone to pair : Thyself thy own enjoyment. Amid yon tuft of hazel trees That twinkle to the gusty breeze Behold him perch'd in ecstacies, Yet seeming still to hover ; There ! where the flutter of his wings Upon his back and body flings Shadows and sunny glimmerings. That, cover him all over. My dazzled sight he oft deceives— A Brother of the dancing leaves ; Then Hits, and from the cottage-eaves Pours forth his song in gushes ; As if by that exulting strain He mock'd and treated with disdain The voiceless Form he chose to feign. While fluttering in the bushes. — William Wordsworth. 10 15 20 25 30 35 THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE. How happy is he born and taught. That serveth not another's will ; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill; 10 15 20 25 30 35 APPENDIX. Whose passions not his masters are • \\ hose soul is still prepar'd for deatli, Untied unto the world with care Of public fame or private breath ; Who envies none that chance doth raise Or vice ; hath ever understood ' How deepest wounds are given with praise, JNor rules of state, but rules of good ; Who hath his life from humours freed ; Whose conscience is his strong retreat • \V hose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great ; Who God doth late and early pray, More of his grace than gifts to le'nd ; And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend. This man is free from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands, And having nothing, yet hath all. ~8ir Henry Wotton (15G8-16.39). 349 5 10 20 FROM ''EXTREME UNCTION." Upon the hour when I was born, God said, "Another man shal'l be " Aiid the great Maker did not scorn Out of Himself to fashion me • A^"i"u'^ '»e with His ripening looks. Ami Heaven's rich instincts in me grew As effortless as woodland nooks Send violets up and paint them blue 5 i ! 350 APPENDIX. Yes, I who now, vith angry tears, Am exiled back to brutish clod, Have borne unquenched for four-score years A spark of the eternal God ; And to wJuit end ? How yield I back Ihe trust for such high uses given ? Heaven's light hatli but revealed a tiack VV hereby to cra\> 1 away from Heaven. Men think it is an awful sight To see a soul just set adrift On that drear voyage froui whose night The ominous shadows never lift ; But 'tis more awful to behold A helpless infant newly born, Whose little hands unconscious hold The keys of darkiiecs and of morn. Mine held them once ; I flung away Those keys that might have open set The golden sluices of the day, But clutch the keys of darkness yet ;— I hear the reapers surging go Into God's harvest ; I, that might #Vith them have chosen, here below Grope shuddering at the gates of night. glorious Youth, that once was mine I ^ O high Ideal ! all in vain Ye enter at this ruined shrine Whence worship ne'er shall rise again ; The bat and owl inhabit here. The snake nests in the altar-stone, The sacred vessels moulder near ; The image of the God is gone. — James Ritssell Loioell. 10 15 20 2.) 30 35 40 APPENDIX. 351 TO THE CUCKOO. blithe New-comer ! I have heard, 1 hear thee and rejoice Cuckoo ! shall I call thee Bird, ur but a wandering Voice? While I am lying on the grass, Ihy two-fold shout I hear ; From hill to hill it seems to pass, At once far off and near. Though babbling only to the vale, Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale t»i visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring ! JH.ven yet thou art to me ^ No Bird : but an invisible Thing. A voice, a mystery ; The same whom in my School-boy days I listened to . that Cry Which made me look a thousand ways ■In bush, and tree, and sky. To see thee did I often rove Ihrough woods and on the green : And thou wert still a hope, a love fetill longed for, never seen. And I can listen to thee yet : Can he upon the plain And listen till I do beget That golden time again. blessed Bird ! the earth we pace Agam appears to be An unsubstantial, faery place ; Ihat IS fit home for Thee : — William. Wonhworth. 10 15 20 25 30 302 APPENDIX. Jlr ! '.? h i 1 r//^ GLIMPSE. Just fur a (lay you crossed my life's dull track, I'ut my ignohler dreams to sudden shame, Went your bright way, and left me to fall back On my own world of poorer deed and aim ; To fall back on my meaner world, and feel 5 Like one who, dwellini,' 'mid some smoke-^'immed town, — In a brief pause of labour's sullen wheel, — 'Scaped fn.m the street's dead dust and factory's frown, — III stainless daylight saw the pure seas roll, Saw mountains pillaring tlie perfect sky : 10 Tlieii journeyed home, to carry in his aoul Tiio torment of the dillerence till he die. — William Watson. THE LAST WORD. Creep into thy narrow bed, Creep, and let no more be said I Vain thy onset ! all stands fast. Then thyself must break at last. Let the long contention cease ! Ceese are swans and swans are geese. Let them have it how they will ! Thou art tired ; best be still. They out-talk'd thee, hiss'd thee, tore thee? IJetter men fared thus before thee ; Fired tlieir ringing shot and pass'd. Hotly charged — and sank at last. Charge once more, then, and be dumb I Let the victors, when they come, When the forts of folly fall, Find thy body by the wall. — Matthew Arnold, 10 15 JPPENn/X. '^r)'.^ n,— n.— 10 5 PROSPICE. Fear death ?-to feci the fog in n.y throat. lliomiHt 111 my face, When tlie snows l)egin, and the bhista I am neaiing the phicc The power of the night, the press of th iliepost of the foe, ilenoto i storm, Whe. Yet tl For the in a visihlo forn stands, the Arch Fear strong man must go : journey is done and the summit attained. And the barriers fall, JO Though a battle's to light ere the guerdon be gained, 1 he reward of it all. I vvas ever a fighter, so— one fight more, Ihe Ijest and the last ! I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, lo And bade me cree]) past. No ! let mo taste the whole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old, * Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears KJi pain, darkness and cold. o() For sudden the worst turns the best to tl;e brave, J he black minute's at end. And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave. Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pafn "", 1 hen a light, then thy breast, thou soul of my soul ! I shall clasp thee a<'ain, And with God bo the rest ! — RoJitrt Browni)!;/, 10 15 ALL SAINTS. One feast, of holy days the crest, I, though no Churchman, love to keep, All-Saints,— tlie unknown good that rest In God's still memory .folded deep ; The bravely dumb that did their deed, And scorned to blot it with a name, Men of the plain heroic breed, That ioved Heaven's silence more than fame. 5 J54 J/'PIiN/y/X. .Such liv(Ml not in the past alone, IJut thread to-,lay tl.e unheodinM street And stairs to Sin and Kan.ine known Sing with the welcome of their teet ; J ho den they enter grows a shrine. Ihegnniy sashanoriel huriiH Iheir cup of M^ater warms like wine. I heir speech is filled from heavenly urns. Ahout their hrows to me appears An aureole traced in tenderest light. Ihe ra.nhow-gleam of smiles through tears In dying eyes by them ma.le bright. Of sou s that shivered on the edge" ' f hat chill ford repassed no more. And in their mercy felt the pledge And sweetness of the farther shore. James liusseU Lowell. 1(* 15 20 -WHEN. IN DISGRACE WITH FORTUNE AND MEN'S EYES." When in disgrace with fortune and men's eve. I al alone beweep my outcast state, ^''' And trmible deaf heaven with my bootless crie. And look upon myself, and curse my fate ' Wishing me like to one more rich iif 1 ope ieatur'd like him, ike him with fr.J, i^ ' D^iring this man's art anS tt ' nSLre"""^' With what I most enjoy contented least^^ ' Sfj" T lu ' f''^'^^^.^*« ^y^^'f '^I'^ost despisin. Haply I think on thee.— and then mv «f?lt ^' — Shakspere, 5 10 C F F 10 15 20 :U. VB 5 10 APPENDIX. 355 10 15 THE UEVERW OF Poor susAN. ^^^^ Poor Susan ha pa^scl L i\xTmot ITI^ /"' 'r^'" ^^'^'^ ? In the silence ^f n.ormng^ho^rg orihc'bllr"^ 'Tis a note of enchantment ; what ails hnr? ^iv A mountain anoencling, a virion o Jees? ''"' She looks, ami her heart is in heaven but thov fn i And the 0O.0U. ^^UX^ l^t^^i.. William Wordsivorth. O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! (On the death of Lincoln.) Captain \ my Captain ! our fearful trin i, .7nn« i he ship has weathered every rock ll.l^ ^ "''' The port is near, the bells I he.r .1, ^''T T «°"Sht is won. While follow ey^s the sttdy keel the^.?'^ "" •"'^"'^'"g' But O heart ! heart ! h Jart ! ^^ ^""^ ''^"^^ ^^^""fe' ? O tlie bleeding drops of red, ^ R£T,;i",-;"/„^X1h- ['17 ^";' •'-^ "■<= "ells ; crowding, wreacns— tor you the shores a- '°'' K'J?Jp?:!l;, ts;:;?,--' *"- -^er face. ..„,-„« , This arm beneath your head ' I ♦" la oy-i. •-».-» .™ .1 i \ It K. --nic diuam taut You've fall on the deck. en cold and dead. .356 APPENDIX. My Captain does not ai'swer, liis lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done, From fearful trip the victor ship comes it with object won ; 20 Exult shores, and ring bells ! But I with mournful tread. Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. — Walt Whitman. COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE SEPTEMBER 3, 1S02. Earth has not anything to show more fair : Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A siglit ^o touching in its majesty : This city now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning ; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky ; All bright and glittering ; the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill ; Never saw I, never felt, a calm so deep ! The river glideth at his own sweet will ; Dear Cod ! The very houses seem asleep. And all that mighty heart is lying still. — William Woi'dsK'orth. 5 10 ODE. How sleep the brave who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould. She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And Freedom shall a while repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there. 10 — Wil!ia.7n Oolliri.t, 1. ticl clone, )u ; 20 !E, 10 10 APPENDIX. IN MEMO HI AM, II. 01(1 Yew whicli graspest at the stones lliat name the under-lying dead Thy fibres net the dreamless head, Ihy roots are wrapt about the bones. The seasons bring the flower again And bring the firstling to the flock ■ And in the dusk of thee, the clock iJeats out the little lives of men. O not for thee the glow, the bloom, U ho changest not in any gale, A or branding summer suns avail io touch thy thousand years of gloom : And gazing on thee, sullen tree, 8ick for thy stubborn hardihood, 1 seem to fail from out my blood And grow incorporate into thee. — Alfred Tennyson. MEMORABILIA. Ah ! did you see Shelley plain. And did he stop and speak to you. And did you speak to him again ? How strange it seems and'new ! But you were living before that. And also you are living after ; And the memory I startled at— My startling moves your laughter ! I crossed a moor, with a name of its own And a certain use in the world, no doubt. ^J a hand s-breadth of it shines alone Mid the blank miles round about. For these I picked up on the heather And there I put inside my breast A moulted feather, an eagle-feather ! Wcl I, 1 lor get the rest. 357 10 15 10 —Robert Browning. '!! 3r)8 APPENDIX. ON HIS BLINDNESS. ^5®°,^ consider how my light is spent ^re half my days, in this dark world and wide And that one talent which is death to hide ' Lodged with me useless, though my t,onl more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He, returning chide ; T f. 1? God exact day-labour, light denied ? » I fondly ask ; but patience, to prevent That murmur soon replies, '« God doth not need Either man's work, or His own gifts ; who best Bear His mild yoke, they serve Hm best -His state Is Jungly; thousands at His biddincr speed ^'^^^^^^ And post o'er laild and ocean without rest- Ihey also serve who only stand and wait." —John Milton. 10 TO AUTUMN. Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness ! Olose bosom-friend of the maturing sun • Conspiring with him how to load and bless VVith fruit the vines that round the thatch-eivps rnn . To bend with apples the moss'd cottage- rees '"" ' And fill all fruit with ripeness to tl^ core •' lo swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells ^ ith a sweet kernel ; to set budding more And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store ' Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may lind Tliee sitting careless on a granary floor. Thy hair soft-lifted l)y the winnowing wind • Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, ' Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook An.1 / '?-*^',",^^* '^^^'^^'^ ^"^^ '-^^ its t^'ind^d flowers- Am sometime like a gleaner thou dost keep ' Steady thy laden head across a brook • Ur by a cider-press, with patient look! Ihou uatchest the last oozings. hours bv honr= 10 35 20 5 10 ate 10 15 20 Where are the songs of Sni itxr 9 a„ , Think not of them Thn ° I *i^' "^^^""^ '''■^' ^'»^y ^' While barre*] r.ln . 'i , " ^^''^* ^^'^^ "'"«»« too, *;., « "iSi'S . ;: Cat —■■ —John Keats, 359 25 30 10 ^//^ CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. This is the sliip of pearl, which, poets fei?m Sails the unshadowed main - ° ' The venturous bark that flim.3 Un the sweet summer wind itq nm^.u 7 • In gulfs enehanted, wherrth^E^Sj'"^ And coral reefs lie bare, ^ ' Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl • Wrecked is the ship of pearl • ' And every chambered cell. Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed J Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread its lustrous coil- atili, asthe spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new stretched io „i. last-fou/.c, „o™e, and knew the old „o ,„„,;" Cast from her lap forlorn ! ' Than * v-^- -' -^ ^'^'-^ ^^^'-^''^^ »°t« '•« I'o'-n ihan ever iriton blew from wreathed horn • ^^ 15 3G0 APPENDIX. While on mine ear it rings, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice thatsinfit — . -buiJct thee more stately mansions, my soul. As the swift seasons roll ! on Leave thy low-vaulted past ! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, bhut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, iill thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea ! —Oliver Wendell IMmca 35 r 't^?. ^f^A^ i V V f atshigfc; : — 30 ! 35 \ i \ li *1 11