mKmiiwm^^ Ivison, Slakeman, Taylor & Co. 's (Publications. THE AMERICAN EDUCATIONAL SERIES THIS justly mirable gradat a full and the Mathematical : READE The bo UNION' PICTOR lustra ted. The same. ] thography. UNION PRI.MAK UNION SPELLEF UNION READER Si Eight nt SAN RO The most thorc PROGRESSIVE T PROGRESSIVE P FIRST LESSONS ARITHMETI PROGRESSIVE I> RUDIMENTS OF PROGRESSIVE P PROGRESSIVE H ARITHMETICAL NEW ELEMENT UNIVERSITV AL NEW GEOMFTR t^~ KEY for the use of t J. Henry Senger 7/7 Sness, ad- coraprises advanced HER. RBADER. and jublished. ONIC SEC- L CALCU- pubUshed New editions of the Primary, Common School, High School, Academic and Counting House Dictionaries have recently been issued, all of which are numerously illustrated Websiei Webster s PRIMARY SCHOOL DICTIONARY. s COMMON SCHOOL DICTIONARY. Wtbster s HIGH SCHOOL DICTIONARY. Webster s ACADEMIC DICTIONARY. Webster s COUNTING-HOUSE AND FAMILY DIC- TIONARY. Also: Webster's POCKET DICTIONARY. A pictorial abridgment of the quarto. Webster s ARMY AND NAVY DICTIONARY. By Captain E. C. BOYNTON, of West Point Military Academy. Ivison, 33lakeman, Taylor <& Co. 's ^Publications. KEEL'S STANDARD ENGLISH GRAMMARS. For more of originality, practicality, and completeness, KERL'S GRAMMARS are recommended over others. KERL'S FIRST LESSONS IN GRAMMAR. KERL'S COMMON SCHOOL GRAMMAR. KERL'S COMPREHENSIVE GRAMMAR. Rece ntly issued : KERL'S COMPOSITION AND RHETORIC. A simple, concise, progressive, thorough, and prac- tical work on a new plan. KERL'S SHORTER COURSE IN ENGLISH GRAMMAR. Designed for Schools where only one text- book is used. We also publish : SILL'S NEW SYNTHESIS ; or, Elementary Grammar. SILL'S BLANK PARSING BOOK. To accompany above. WELLS' (W. H.) SCHOOL GRAMMAR. WELLS' ELEMENTARY GRAMMAR. GRAY'S BOTANICAL TEXT-BOOKS. These standard text-books are recognized throughout this country and Europe as the most complete and accurate of any similar works published. They are more extensively used than all otkers combined. Gray's " How PLANTS GROW." Gray's LESSONS IN BOTANY. 302 Drawings. Gray's SCHOOL AND FIELD BOOK OF BOTANY. Gray's MANUAL OF BOTANY. 20 Plates. Gray's LESSONS AND MANUAL. Gray's BOTANIST'S MICROSCOPE. Gray's MANUAL WITH MOSSES, &c. Illustrat- ed. Gray's FIELD. FOREST AND GARDEN BOTANY. Gray's STRUCTURAL AND SYSTEMATIC BOTANY. FLORA OF THE SOUTHERN STATES. 2 Lenses. 3 " WILLSON'S HISTORIES. Famous as being the most perfectly graded of any before the public. PRIMARY AMERICAN HISTORY. HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES. AMERICAN HISTORY. School Edition. OUTLINES OF GENERAL HISTORY. School Edi- tion. OUTLINES OF GENERAL HISTORY. University Edition. WILLSON'S CHART OF AMERICAN HISTORY. PARLEY'S UNIVERSAL HISTORY. WELLS' SCIENTIFIC SERIES. Containing the latest researches in Physical science, and their practical application to every-day life, and is still the best SCIENCE OF COMMON THINGS. NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. PRINCIPLES OF CHEMISTRY. FIRST PRINCIPLES OF GEOLOGY Also: Hitchcock's ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY. Hitchcock's ELEMENTARY GEOLOGY. Eliot &* Storers CHEMISTRY, FASQUELLE'S FRENCH COURSE. Has had a success unrivaled in this country, having passed through more than fifty editions, and is still the best. Fasquellis Introductory French Course. Fasquelle's Dumas' Napoleon. Fasquelle's Larger French Course. Revised. Fasquelle's Racine. Fasque lie's Key to the Above. Fasque lie's Manual of French Conversation. Fasquel'es Colloquial French Reader Howard's Aid to French Composition. Fasquelle's Telemaque. Talbofs French Pronunciation. LITERATURE ENGLISH LANGUAGE; COMPRISING ifoe Selections from ALSO LISTS OF CONTEMPORANEOUS WEITEES AND THEIE PEINCIPAL WOBKS. BY E. HUNT, LL.D., HEAD MASTER GIRLS' HIGH AND NORMAL SCHOOL, BOSTON. NEW YORK: IVISON, BLAKEMAN, TAYLOR, & COMPANY, 138 & 140 GRAND STREET. CHICAGO: 133 & 135 STATE STREET. 1872. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, BY EPHRAIM HUNT, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. MEMORIAM BOSTON : ELECTROTYPED AND'PRJNTED BY RAND, AVHRY, & FRYE. PEEFAOE. WE believe no man should make a new text-book without sufficient ex- cuse. The object of this book is to illustrate the power and growth of the English language by representative selections from some of the most suc- cessful authors, and to introduce the student to those whose contributions to its literature are worthy his attention. It is believed, that by carefully studying and thoroughly committing to memory these selections, and other gems of thought and expression by the same authors, or others named, and of easy access, the pupil will not only make acquisitions of lifelong value, but by the daily repetition and frequent imitation of them in his own compositions, in the class-room, and out of it, he will also/orrn habits of expressing his own thoughts with greater force and elegance. In no branch of modern education is economy of time more important than in the study of English literature. The heterogeneous character of the language ; its wonderful flexibility ; its rapid assimilation of foreign elements ; its almost perfect reproduction of what is excellent in other languages, ancient and modern; the activity of the English-speaking mind in finding out all kinds of knowledge, or in appropriating it when found out by others, all conspire to make our literature a vast storehouse of the treasures of the past, and of the infinitely-diversified products of the present. To enable the student to enter this storehouse with pleas- ure, to distinguish the valuable from the worthless and indifferent, to economize his intellectual forces in the acquisition of knowledge, to re- fine his taste, to increase his love for all that is good, beautiful, and true, are the proper aims for school-discipline in the study of English litera- ture. To attain them, it must not be forgotten that all study is exhaus- tive of mental energy ; that the brain works best by habit, like any other organ ; and, to develop *a healthy activity of the faculties of the mind, they must not be burdened with superfluous weights. Learning the names and biographies of many authors whose complex relations with society he can not yet appreciate; committing flippant, prejudiced, or partial criticisms of them and their works, of which he knows little or iv PREFACE. nothing, tend to give the student a certain dazzling affectation of literary culture at the expense of an amount ^ of brain-work, that, properly util- ized, would put him in possession of well-defined ideas of excellence of style, and enable him to form an intelligent and just estimate of an author's merit for himself, a substantial attainment as valuable as it is rare. In the other great departments of learning, the student is not re- quired at first to learn the history of them, or of their patrons and suc- cessful promoters : on the contrary, his intellectual forces are at once employed in learning the general results already obtained in them, and the best methods of modern analysis and investigation. In chemistry, we do not begin with alchemy and the alchemists ; in astronomy, we do not begin with astrology and the absurd pretensions and aims of astrologers; neither do we stop at every short poem in mathematics, or grand epic in celestial mechanics, to learn the biography of the author, his relations to society and to science. In a similar manner, and mindful of the great influence of American thought and institutions upon the language, we believe it advisable to introduce the pupil to our most distinguished mod- ern authors first, and, while putting him in possession of the power and spirit of the literature of to-day, lead him back to the classical period, exciting his curiosity by the way to pursue its earlier history at liis leisure. A few authors carefully studied would undoubtedly produce the most valuable results ; but, since tastes differ as to which ones should be so studied, it is thought a greater number, of unquestioned merit, ought to find a place in a text-book designed for drill in acquiring the best style of which the student is capable. The success of the plan, the selections and arrangement, is left to the judgment of my fellow-teachers, whose suggestions as to modifications in either will be gratefully acknowledged in any future edition. The want of a proper text-book to carry out the plan above indicated of teaching English literature is the only excuse for making thij. Notes and criticisms are in the main omitted, since these selections are to be studied critically, the pupil using the dictionary and encyclopaedias with an industry equal to that given to the study of Greek and Latin. Our thanks are due to Messrs. Fields, Osgood, & Co., for special permission to select from their copyright editions of the works of Longfellow, Whittier, Lowell, Holmes, Emerson, Hawthorne, and Bry- ant's translation of Homer's Iliad ; also to Messrs- Harper & Bros., D. Appleton & Co., George P. Putnam & Son, for extracts from Motley, Bryant, and Irving, whose works they publish. THE COMPILER. CONTENTS. THEORY OF BEAUTY PAGE. 1 THE PHILOSOPHY OF STYLE... 16 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT: Thanatopsis 40 The Conqueror's Grave 42 The Past 43 The Evening Wind 45 The Battle-Field ' 46 The Antiquity of Freedom 47 Homer 48 HENRY W. LONGFELLOW: A Psalm of Life 54 The Reaper and the Flowers 55 Footsteps of Angels 56 The Beleagured City 57 Maidenhood 58 Excelsior 59 The Building of the Ship 60 Hiawatha's Wooing 63 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.. 67 The Eternal Goodness 68 The Angels of Buena Vista 70 The Barefoot Boy 72 Snowbound 74 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES: Extract from Poetry: A Metrical Essay 77 The Last Leaf 78 Extract from the Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table 79 NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS: The Dying Alchemist 86 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL: Notices of an Independent Press. . 89 A Second Letter from B. Sawin, EDGAR ALLAN POE : The Raven... .. 100 PAGE. HENRY WARD BEECHER: The Months.. 104 A Discourse of Flowers 107 Norwood. Stories for Children . . 114 The Anxious Leaf 116 The Fairy Flower 117 Coming and Going 120 A New-England Sunday 122 RALPH WALDO EMERSON: Napoleon, or the Man of the World, 131 WASHINGTON IRVING 147 Rip Van Winkle 143 The Widow's Retinue 161 Biography of Oliver Goldsmith . . . 163 History of New York 170 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE : A Rill from the Town-Pump 175 A Select Party 178 WRITERS ON RELIGION, &c 189 SCHOLARS, ESSAYISTS, AND CRITICS 190 JAMES FENIMORE COOPER: The Capture of a Whale 192 The Wreck of " The Ariel 196 AMERICAN NOVELISTS 200 WRITERS ON PHILOSOPHY AND SCIENCE 201 HISTORIANS, LAWYERS, POLITI- CIANS, AND BIOGRAPHERS, 202 CHARLES DICKENS: Old Curiosity Shop 203 Pickwick. The Dilemma 209 Speech of Serjeant Buzfuz 213 VI CONTENTS. WILLIAM M. THACKERAY 215 Charity and Humor 216 EMIXEXT EXGLISH NOVELISTS, 225 ALFRED TENNYSON: In Memoriam 227 The Charge of the Light Brigade. . 235 Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington 236 "WILLIAM WORDSWORTH: Milton 242 Despondency Corrected 243 Thoughts on revisiting the Wye . . . 250 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWX- IXG: Mother and Poet 251 Aurora Leigh 254 EXGLISH POETS AXD DRAMA- TISTS '. 264 JOHX LOTHROP MOTLEY: William of Orange 266 CHARLES SUMXER: Finger-Point from Plymouth Rock, 275 Expenses of War and Education compared 279 Judicial Tribunals 280 EDWARD EVERETT: Dudley Observatory 281 Address before the New- York Ag- ricultural Society 283 DAXTEL WEBSTER: Eloquence 286 Bunker-hill Monument 286 Crime revealed by Conscience 288 Reply to Hayne 289 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner . 293 Hymn, before Sunrise, in the Vale of Chamounix 301 THOMAS HOOD: The Song of the Shirt 303 The Bridge of Sighs 3C5 A Parental Ode to my Infant Son. . 308 THOMAS CAMPBELL: Pleasures of Hope. . . . THOMAS BABIXGTON MACAU- LAY: The Prophecy of Capys 321 Milton 328 HISTORIAXS, BIOGRAPHERS, AXD TRAVELERS 343 THEOLOGIAXS AXD SCHOLARS, 345 ESSAYISTS AXD CRITICS 345 WRITERS OX SCIEXCE 346 THOMAS CARLYLE: Oliver Cromwell 347 THOMAS DE QUTXCEY: The Palimpsest 361 CHARLES LAMB: A Quakers' Meeting 338 The Two Races of Men 372 Modern Gallantry 374 ESSAYISTS AXD CRITICS 378 SCIEXTTFIC WRITERS AXD SCHOLARS 378 GEORGE GORDOX, LORD BYRON : The Dying Gladiator 379 Apostrophe to the Ocean 380 Lake Geneva 381 Destruction of Sennacherib 382 Darkness 383 SIR WALTER SCOTT: The Lady of the Lake 385 IHSTORIAXS AXD TRAVELERS. 397 XOVELISTS 398 WILLIAM COWPER: The Timepiece 399 ROBERT BURNS: The Cotter's Saturday Xight 407 To a Mountain Daisy 411 To Mary in Heaven 413 CONTENTS. VI 1 PAOE. POETS AND DRAMATISTS 413 EDMUND BURKE: Character of Junius 415 Terror a Source of the Sublime. . . . 417 Sympathy a Source of the Sublime, 418 Uncertainty a Source of the Sub- lime 418 Of Words 419 The Common Effect of Poetry, not by raising Ideas of Things 419 General Words before Ideas 421 The Effects of Words 422 JUNTUS: To the English Nation 423 To the Duke of Bedford 424 Encomium on Lord Chatham 426 To Lord Camden 427 From his Letter to the King 428 SAMUEL. JOHNSON: Letter to Lord Chesterfield 431 Extract from Preface to the Dic- tionary 432 The Voyage of Life 433 The Right Improvement of Time . . 437 The Duty of Forgiveness 438 Parallel between Dryden and Pope, 440 Shakspeare 442 DAVID HUME: Of the Standard of Taste 445 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN: The Way to Wealth 452 A Parable against Persecution 455 The Whistle 456 Turning the Grindstone 458 OLIVER GOLDSMITH 458 The Deserted Village 459 THOMAS GRAY: Elegy written in a Country Church- yard 467 POETS AND PROSE WRITERS... 470 ALEXANDER POPE: Essay on Man 472 JONATHAN SWIFT 483 Gulliver's Travels to Brobdingnag. 484 PAOE. DANIEL DEFOE: Robinson Crusoe 408 Robinson Crusoe discovers the Footprint 502 JOSEPH ADDISON: Bickerstaff learning Fencing 506 On the Use of the Fan 507 The Lover's Leap 510 Dissection of a Bcaii's Head 512 Dissection of a Coquette's Heart.. . 514 Visit to Sir Roger in the Country. . 516 Sir Roger at Church 518 DISTINGUISHED WRITERS 520 JOHN DRYDEN: Translation of Virgil. 521 JOHN BUNYAN: Valiant's Story 532 SAMUEL BUTLER: Description of Huclibras 543 DISTINGUISHED WRITERS 547 JOHN MILTON: Paradise Lost . . . DISTINGUISHED WRITERS. 548 558 FRANCIS BACON: Studies 559 Of Boldness 560 Of Goodness, and Goodness of Na- ture 501 THE BIBLE: David 563 Isaiah 563 St. Paul 564 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE 565 Julius Caesar 566 EDMUND SPENSER: The Knight and the Lady 619 DISTINGUISHED WRITERS 622 GEOFFREY CHAUCER: The Parson . . 625 Vlll CONTENTS. EARLY WRITERS. (i'JG SIR JOHN DE MANDEVILLE 628 The Prologue 629 SOURCES OF THE ENGLISH LAN- GUAGE 629 SOURCES OF ENGLISH LITERA- TURE.. . .. 633 ENGLISH LITERATURE. THEORY OF BEAUTY. Edinburgh Review, May, 1811. I. OBJECTIONS against the notion of beauty being a simple sen- sation or the object of a separate and peculiar faculty : 1. The first is the want of agreement as to the presence and existence of beauty in particular objects among men whose organ- ization is perfect, and who are plainly possessed of the faculty, whatever it may be, by which beauty is discerned. Now, no such thing happens, we imagine, or can be conceived to happen, in the case of any other simple sensation, or the exercise of any other distinct faculty. Where one man sees light, all men who have eyes see light also. All men allow grass to be green, and sugar to be sweet, and ice to be cold; and the unavoidable inference from any apparent disagreement in such matters necessarily is, that the party is insane, or entirely destitute of the sense or organ concerned in the perception. With regard to beauty, how- ever, it is obvious at first sight that the case is entirely different. One man sees it perpetually, where to another it is quite invisible, or even where its reverse seems to be conspicuous. How can we believe, then, that beauty is the object of a peculiar sense or faculty, when persons undoubtedly possessed of the faculty, and even in an eminent degree, can discover nothing of it in objects where it is distinctly felt and perceived by others with the same use of the faculty ? This one consideration appears to us conclusive against the supposition of beauty being a real property of objects, addressing itself to the power of taste as a separate sense or faculty ; and it seems to point irresistibly to the conclusion, that our sense of it is the result of other more elementary feelings, into which it may be analyzed or resolved. 2 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 2. A second objection, however, if possible of still greater force, is suggested by c^sjdjj^hig the prodigious and almost infinite vark-ty of things to which this property of beauty is ascribed, and the iii[)o>si;>ility of imagining any one inherent quality which can belong to them all, and yet at the same time p- so much unity as to pass universally by the same name, a:,. I he recognized as the peculiar object of a separate sense or faculty. The form of a fine tree is beautiful, and the form of a fine wo- man, and the form of a column, and a vase, and a chandelier. Yet how can it be said that the form of a woman has any thing in common with that of a tree or a temple ? or to which of the senses by which forms are distinguished can it be supposed to appear that they have any resemblance or affinity ? 3. The matter, however, becomes still more inextricable when we recollect that beauty does not belong merely to forms or colors, but to sounds, and perhaps to the objects of other senses ; nay, that, in all languages and in all nations, it is not supposed to reside exclusively in material objects, but to belong also to senti- ments and ideas, and intellectual and moral existences. Not only is a tree beautiful, as well as a palace or a waterfall ; but a poem is beautiful, and a theorem in mathematics, and a contri- vance in mechanics. But, if things intellectual and totally segre- gated from matter may thus possess beauty, how can it possibly be a quality of material objects ? or what sense or faculty can that be whose proper office it is to intimate to us the existence of some property which is common to a flower and a demonstration, a valley and an eloquent discourse ? 4. It may be said, then, in answer to the questions we have suggested above, that all these objects, however various and dis- similar, agree at least in being agreeable; and that this agreeable- ness, which is the only quality they possess in common, may probably be the beauty which is ascribed to them all. Now, to those who are accustomed to such discussions, it would be quite enough to reply, that, though the agreeableness of such objects depends plainly enough upon their beauty, it by no means follows, but quite the contrary, that their beauty depends upon their agreeableness ; the latter being the more comprehensive or generic term, under which beauty must rank as one of the species. Its nature, therefore, is no more explained, nor is less absurdity sub- stantially committed, by saying that things are beautiful because they are agreeable, than if we were to give the same explanation of the sweetness of sugar; for no one, we suppose, will dispute, that, though it be very true that sugar is agreeable because it is sweet, it would be manifestly preposterous to say that it was sweet because it was agreeable. 5. In the first place, then, it seems evident that agreeableness THEORY OF BEAUTY. 3 in general can not be the same with beauty, because there are very many things in the highest degree agreeable that can in no sense be called beautiful. Moderate heat, and savory food, and rest and exercise, are agreeable to the body ; but none of these can be called beautiful: and, among objects of a higher class, the love and esteem of others, and fame, and a good conscience, and health and riches and wisdom, are all eminently, agreeable, but none at all beautiful according to any intelligible use of the word. It is plainly quite absurd, therefore, to say that beauty consists in agreeableness, without specifying in consequence of what it is agreeable ; or to hold that any thing whatever is taught as to its nature by merely classing it among our pleasura- ble emotions. 6. In the second place, however, we may remark, that among all the objects that are agreeable, whether they are also beautiful or not, scarcely any two are agreeable on account of the same quali- ties, or even suggest their agreeableness to the same faculty or organ. Most certainly there is no resemblance or affinity what- ever between the qualities which make a peach agreeable to the palate, and a beautiful statue to the eye ; which soothe us in an easy-chair by the fire, or delight us in a philosophical discovery. The truth is, that agreeableness is not properly a quality of any object whatsoever, but the effect or result of certain qualities, the nature of which, in every particular instance, we can generally define pretty exactly, or of which we know at least with certainty that they manifest themselves respectively to some one particular sense or faculty, and to no other ; and, consequently, it would be just as obviously ridiculous to suppose a faculty or organ whose office it was to perceive agreeableness in general, as to suppose that agreeableness was a distinct quality that could thus be perceived. 7. The words "beauty" and "beautiful," in short, do and must mean something, and are universally felt to mean something, much more definite than agreeableness or gratification in general ; and, while it is confessedly by no means easy to describe or define what that something is, the force and clearness of our perception of it is demonstrated by the readiness with which we determine, in any particular instance, whether the object of a given pleas- urable emotion is or is not properly described as beautj 7 . 8. In our opinion, our sense of beauty depends entirely on our previous experience of simpler pleasures or emotions, and con- sists in the suggestion of agreeable or interesting sensations with which we had formerly been made familiar by the direct and intelligible agency of our common sensibilities; and that vast variety of objects to which we give the common name of beauti- ful become entitled to that appellation merely because they all 4 ENGLISH LITERATURE. possess the power of recalling or reflecting those sensations of which they have been the accompaniments, or with which they have been associated in our imagination by any other more casual bond of connection. According to this view of the matter, there- fore, beauty is not an inherent property or quality of objects at all, but the result of the accidental relations in which they may stand to our experience of pleasures or emotions ; and does not depend upon any particular configuration of parts, proportions, or colors, in external things, nor upon the unity, coherence, or sim- plicity of intellectual creations, but merely upon the associations, which, in the case of every individual, may enable these inherent and otherwise indifferent qualities to suggest or recall to the mind emotions of a pleasurable or interesting description. It follows, therefore, that no object is beautiful in itself, or could appear so antecedent to our experience of direct pleasures or emo- tions ; and that, as an infinite variety of objects may thus reflect interesting ideas, so all of them may acquire the title of beauti- ful, although utterly diverse and disparate in their nature, and possessing nothing in common but this accidental power of re- minding us of other emotions. 9. This theory, which, we believe, is now very generally adopted, though under many needless qualifications, shall be further de- veloped and illustrated in the sequel: but at present we shall only remark, that it serves, at least, to solve the great problem involved in the discussion, by rendering it easily conceivable how objects which have no inherent resemblance, nor, indeed, any one quality in common, should yet be united in one common relation, and consequently acquire one common name ; just as all the things that belonged to a beloved individual may serve to remind us of him, and thus to awake a kindred class of emotions, though just as unlike each other as any of the objects that are classed under the general name of Beautiful. By the help of the same consideration, we get rid of all the mystery of a peculiar sense or faculty, imagined for the express purpose of perceiving beauty; and discover that the power of taste is nothing more than the habit of tracing those associations by which almost all objects may be connected with interesting emotions. 10. The beauty which we impute to outward objects is nothing more than the reflection of our own inward emotions, and is made up entirely of certain little portions of love, pity, or other affections, which have been connected with these objects, and still adhere, as it were, to them, and move us anew whenever they are presented to our observation. Before proceeding to bring any proof of the truth of this proposition, there are two things that it may be proper to explain a little more distinctly : First, what THEORY OF BEAUTY. 5 are the primary affections, by the suggestion of which we think the sense of beauty is produced ? and, secondly, What is the nature of the connection by which we suppose that the objects we call beautiful are enabled to suggest these affections ? 11. With regard to the first of these points, it fortunately is not necessary either to enter into any tedious details, or to have* recourse to any nice distinctions. All sensations that are not absolutely indifferent, and are, at the same time, either agreeable when experienced by ourselves, or attractive when contemplated in others, may form the foundation of the emotions of sublimity or beauty. The sum of the whole is, that every feeling which it is agree- able to experience, to recall, or to witness, may become the source of beauty in external objects when it is so connected with them as that their appearance reminds us of that feeling. 12. Our proposition, then, is, that these emotions are not origi- nal emotions, nor produced directly by any material qualities in the objects which excite them, but are reflections, or images, of the more radical and familiar emotions to which we have already alluded ; and are occasioned, not by any inherent virtue in the objects before us, but by the accidents, if we may so express our- selves, by ivhich these may have been enabled to suggest or recall to us our own past sensations or sympathies. 13. We might almost venture, indeed, to lay it down as an axiom, that, except in the plain and palpable case of bodily pain or pleasure, we can never be interested in any thing but the for- tunes of sentient beings; and that every thing partaking of the nature of mental emotion must have for its object the feelings, past, present, or possible, of something capable of sensation. In- dependent, therefore, of all evidence, and without the help of any explanation, we should have been apt to conclude that the emo- tions of beauty and sublimity must have for their objects the sufferings or enjoyments of sentient beings ; and to reject as in- trinsically absurd and incredible the supposition that material objects, which obviously do neither hurt nor delight the body, should yet excite, by their mere physical qualities, the very pow- erful emotions which are sometimes excited by the spectacle of beauty. II. 14. It appears to us, then, that objects are sublime or beautiful, first, when they are the natural signs and perpetual concomitants of pleasurable sensations, or, at any rate, of some lively feeling or emotion in ourselves or in some other sentient beings ; or, secondly, when they are the arbitrary or accidental concomitants of such feelings ; or, thirdly, when they bear some analogy or fanciful 6 ENGLISH LITERATURE. resemblance to things with which these emotions are necessarily connected. 15. The most obvious and the strongest -association that can be established between inward feelings and external objects is where the object is necessarily and universally connected with the feeling by the law of Nature, so that it is always presented to the senses when the feeling is impressed upon the mind : as the sight or the sound of laughter with the feeling of gayety 5 of weeping, witli distress; of the sound of thunder, with ideas of danger and power. Let us dwell for a moment on the last instance. Noth- ing, perhaps, in the whole range of Nature, is more strikingly and universally sublime than the sound we have just mentioned ; yet it seems obvious that the sense of sublimity is produced, not by any quality that is perceived by the ear, but altogether by the impression of power and of danger that is necessarily made upon the mind whenever that sound is heard. That it is not produced by any peculiarity in the sound itself is certain, from the mistakes that are frequently made with regard to it. The noise of a cart rattling over the stones is often mistaken for thunder; and, as long as the mistake lasts, this very vulgar and insignificant noise is actually felt to be prodigiously sublime. It is so felt, however, it is perfectly plain, merely because it is then associated with ideas of prodigious power and undefined danger; and the sublimity is accordingly destroyed the moment the association is dissolved, though the sound itself, and its effect on the organ, continue exactly the same. This, therefore, is an instance in which sub- limity is distinctly proved to consist, not in any physical quality of the object to which it is ascribed, but in its necessary connec- tion with that vast and uncontrolled Power which is the natural object of awe and veneration. 16. We may now take an example a little less plain and element- ary. The most beautiful object in Nature, perhaps, is the counte- nance of a young and beautiful woman ; and we are apt at first to imagine, that, independent of all associations, the form and colors which it displays are in themselves lovely and engaging, and would appear charming to all beholders, with whatever other qualities or impressions they might happen to be connected. A very little reflection, however, will probably be sufficient to con- vince us of the fallacy of this impression, and to satisfy us that what we admire is not a combination of forms and colors (which could never excite any mental emotion), but a collection of signs and tokens of certain mental feelings and affections, which are universally recognized as the proper objects of love and sympathy. Laying aside the emotions arising from difference of sex, and sup- posing female beauty to be contemplated by the pure and unen- vying eye of a female, it seems quite obvious, that, among its THEORY OF BEAUTY. 7 ingredients, we should trace the signs of two different sets of qualities, that are neither of them the object of sight, but of a far higher faculty, in the first place, of youth and health ; and, in the second place, of innocence, gayety, sensibility, intelligence, delicacy, or vivacity. 17. That the beauty of a living and sentient creature should de- pend, in a great degree, upon qualities peculiar to such a creature, rather than upon the mere physical attributes which it may pos- sess in common with the inert matter around it, can not, indeed, appear a very improbable supposition to any one. But it may be more difficult for some persons to understand how the beauty of mere dead matter should be derived from the feelings and sym- pathies of sentient beings. It is absolutely necessary, therefore, that we should give an instance or two of this derivation also. 18. It is easy enough to understand how the sight of a picture or statue should affect us nearly in the same way as the sight of the original ; nor is it much more difficult to conceive how the sight of a cottage should give us something of the same feeling as the sight of a peasant's family, and the aspect of a town raise many of the same ideas as the appearance of a multitude of persons. We may begin, therefore, with an example a little more compli- cated. Take, for instance, the case of a common English land- scape, green meadows, with grazing and ruminating cattle ; canals or navigable rivers; well-fenced, well-cultivated fields; neat, clean, scattered cottages ; humble antique churches, with churchyard elms and crossing hedgerows, all seen under bright skies and in good weather. There is much beauty, as every one will acknowledge, in such a scene. But in what does the beauty consist ? Not certainly in the mere mixture of colors and forms, for colors more^pleasing, and lines more graceful (according to any theory of grace that may be preferred), might be spread upon a board or a painter's palette, without engaging the eye to a second glance, or raising the least emotion in the mind, but in the pic- ture of human happiness that is presented to our imaginations and affections; in the visible and unequivocal signs of comfort, and cheerful and peaceful enjoyment, and of that secure and successful industry that insures its continuance ; and of the piety by which it is exalted ; and of the simplicity by which it is con- trasted with the guilt and the fever of a city life ; in the images of health and temperance and plenty which it exhibits to every eye ; and in the glimpses which it affords, to warmer imaginations, of those primitive or fabulous times when man was uncorrupted by luxury and ambition ; and of those humble retreats in which we still delight to imagine that love and philosophy may find an unpolluted asylum. At all events, however, it is human feeling that excites our sympathy, and forms the true object of our enio- 8 ENGLISH LITERATURE. \ tions. It is. man, and man alone, that we see in the beauties of the earth which he inhabits ; or, if ,a more sensitive and extended sympathy connect us with the lower families of animated nature, and make us rejoice with the lambs that bleat on the uplands, or the cattle that repose in the valley, or even with the living plants that drink the bright sun and the balmy air beside them, it is still the idea of enjoyment of feelings that animate the exist- ence of sentient beings that calls forth all our emotions, and is the parent of all the beauty with which we proceed to invest the inanimate creation around us. 19. Instead of this quiet and tame English landscape, let us now take a Welsh or a Highland scene, and see whether its beauties will admit of being explained on the same principle. Here we shall have lofty mountains, and rocky and lonely recesses; tufted woods hung over precipices ; lakes intersected with castled prom- ontories ; ample solitudes of unplowed and untrodden valleys ; nameless and gigantic ruins ; and mountain-echoes repeating the scream of the eagle and the roar of the cataract. This, too, is beautiful ; and, to those who can interpret the language it speaks, far more beautiful than the prosperous scene with which we have contrasted it. Yet, lonely as it is, it is to the recollection of man and the suggestion of human feelings that its beauty also is owing. The mere forms and colors that compose its visible appearance are no more capable of exciting any emotion in the mind than the forms and colors of a Turkey carpet. It is sym- pathy with the present or the past, or the imaginary inhabitants of such a region, that alone gives it either interest or beauty ; and the delight of those who behold it will always be found to be in exact proportion to the force of their imaginations and the warmth of their social affections. The leading impressions here are those of romantic seclusion and primeval simplicity, lovers sequestered in these blissful solitudes, "from towns and toils remote ; " and rustic poets and philosophers communing with Nature, and at a distance from the low pursuits and selfish malig- nity of ordinary mortals. Then there is the sublime impression of the mighty Power which piled the massive cliffs upon each other, and rent the mountains asunder, and scattered their giant fragments at their base ; and all the images connected with the monuments of ancient magnificence and extinguished hostility, the feuds and the combats and the triumphs of its wild and primitive inhabitants, contrasted with the stillness and desolation of the scenes where they lie interred ; and the romantic ideas attached to their ancient traditions, and the peculiarities of the actual life of their descendants, their wild and enthusiastic poetry, their gloomy superstitions, their attachment to their chiefs, the dangers and the hardships and enjoyments of their THEORY OF BEAUTY. 9 lonely huntings and fishings, their pastoral shielings on the mountains in summer, and the tales and the sports that amuse the little groups that are frozen into their vast and trackless valleys in the winter. 20. Kindred conceptions constitute all the beauty of childhood. Tli* forms and colors that are peculiar to that age are not neces- sarily or absolutely beautiful in themselves; for, in a grown person, the same forms and colors would be either ludicrous or disgusting. It is their indestructible connection with the engaging ideas of innocence, of careless gayety, of unsuspecting confidence ; made still more tender and attractive by the recollection of help- lessness and blameless and happ}^ ignorance, of the anxious affection that watches over all their ways, and of the hopes and fears that seek to pierce futurity for those who have neither fears nor cares nor anxieties for themselves. 21. The general theory must be very greatly confirmed by the slightest consideration of the second class of cases, or those in which the external object is not the natural and necessary, but only the occasional or accidental, concomitant of the emotion which it recalls. In the former instances, some conception of beauty seems to be inseparable from the appearance of the objects; and being impressed, in some degree, upon all persons to whom they are presented, there is evidently room for insinuating that it is an independent and intrinsic quality of their nature, and does not arise from association with any thing else. In the instances, however, to which we are now to allude, this perception of beauty is not universal, but entirely dependent upon- the oppor- tunities which each individual has had to associate ideas of emotion with the object to which it is ascribed; the same thing appearing beautiful to those who have been exposed to the influence of such associations, and indifferent to those who have not. Such instances, therefore, really afford an experimentum crucis* as to the truth of the theory in question ; nor is it easy to conceive any more complete evidence, both that there is no such thing as absolute or intrinsic beauty, and that it depends altogether on those associations with which it is thus found to come and to disappear. 22. The accidental or arbitrary relations that may thus be established between natural sympathies or emotions and external objects may be either such as occur to whole classes of men, or are confined to particular individuals. Among the former, those that apply to different nations or races of men are the most important and remarkable, and constitute the basis of those peculiarities by which national tastes are distinguished. Take * " A decisive experiment." 10 ENGLISH LITERATURE. again, for. example, the instance of female beauty, and think what different and inconsistent standards would be fixed for it in the different regions of the world, in Africa, in Asia, and in Europe ; in Tartary and in Greece ; in Lapland, Patagonia, and Circassia. If there was any thing absolutely or intrinsically beautiful in any of the forms thus distinguished, it is inconceiv- able that men should differ so outrageously in their conceptions of it. If beauty were a real and independent quality, it seems impossible that it should be distinctly and clearly felt by one set of persons, where another set, altogether as sensitive, could see nothing but its opposite ; and if it were actually and inseparably attached to certain forms, colors, or proportions, it must appear utterly inexplicable that it should be felt and perceived in the most opposite forms and proportion in objects of the same description. On the other hand, if all beauty consist in reminding us of certain natural sympathies and objects of emotion with which they have been habitually connected, it is easy to perceive how the most different forms should be felt to be equally beautiful. If female beauty, for instance, consist in the visible signs and expressions of youth and health, and of gentleness, vivacity, and kindness, then it will necessarily happen that the forms and colors and proportions which Nature may have connected with those qualities, in the different climates or regions of the world, will all appear equally beautiful to those who have been accustomed to recognize them as the signs of such qualities ; while they will be respectively indifferent to those who have not learned to inter- Eret them in this sense, and displeasing to those whom experience as led to consider them as the signs of opposite qualities. 23. The case is the same, though perhaps to a smaller degree, as to the peculiarity of national taste in other particulars. The style of dress and architecture in every nation, if not adopted from mere want of skill, or penury of materials, always appears beautiful to the natives, and somewhat monstrous and absurd to foreigners; and the general character and aspect of their landscape, in like manner, if not associated with substantial evils and inconveni- ences, always appears more beautiful and enchanting than the scenery of any other region. The fact is still more striking, perhaps, in the case of music, in the effects of those national airs with which even the most uncultivated imaginations have connected so many interesting recollections, and in the delight with which a 1 .! persons of sensibility catch the strains of their native melodies in strange or in distant lands. It is owing chiefly to the same sort of arbitrary and national association that white is thought a gay color in Europe, where it is used at weddings, and a dismal color in China, where it is used for mourning ; that we think yew-trees gloomy because they are planted in church- THEORY OF BEAUTY. 11 yards, and large masses of powdered horse-hair majestic because we see them on the heads of judges and bishops. 24. Next to those curious instances of arbitrary or limited as- sociations that are exemplified in the diversities of national taste are those that are produced by the differences of instruction or edu- cation. If external objects were sublime and beautiful in them- selves, it is plain that they would appear equally so to those who were acquainted with their origin arid to those to whom it was unknown. Yet it is not easy, perhaps, to calculate the degree to which our notions of beauty and sublimity are now influenced, over all Europe, by the study of classical literature ; or the number of impressions of this sort which the well-educated consequently receive from objects that are utterly indifferent to uninstructed persons of the same natural sensibility. 25. The influences of the same studies may be traced, indeed, through almost all our impressions of beauty, and especially in the feelings which we receive from the contemplation of rural scenery, where the images and recollections which have been associated with such objects in the enchanting strains of the poets are perpetually recalled by their appearance, and give an interest and a beauty to the prospect of which the uninstructed can not have the slightest perception. Upon this subject, also, Mr. Alison has expressed himself with his usual warmth and elegance. After observing, that, in childhood, the beauties of Nature have scarcely any existence for those who have as yet but little general sym- pathy with mankind, he proceeds to state that they are usually first recommended to notice by the poets, to whom we are intro- duced in the course of education, and who, in a manner, create them for us by the associations which they enable us to form with their visible appearance.* 26. Before entirely leaving this branch of the subject, however, let us pause for a moment on the familiar but very striking and decisive instance of our varying and contradictory judgments as to the beauty of the successive fashions of dress that have existed within our own remembrance. All persons who still continue to find amusement in society, and are not old enough to enjoy only the recollections of their youth, think the prevailing fashions becoming and graceful, and the fashions of twenty or twenty-live years old intolerably ugly and ridiculous. The younger they are, and the more they mix in society, the stronger is this impression : and the fact is worth noticing; because there is really' no one thing as to which persons judging merely from their feelings, and therefore less likely to be misled by any systems or theories, are so very positive and decided, as that established fashions are * See Alison on T^sto. 12 ENGLISH LITERATURE. beautiful in themselves, and that exploded fashions are intrinsic- ally and beyond all question preposterous and ugly. We have never yet met a young lady or gentleman, who spoke from their hearts and without reserve, who had the least doubt on the sub- ject, or could conceive how any person could be so stupid as not to see the intrinsic elegance of the reigning mode, or not to be struck with the ludicrous awkwardness of the habits in which their mothers were disguised. 27. In all the cases we have hitherto considered, the external object is supposed to have acquired its beauty by being actually connected with the causes of our natural emotions, either as a constant sign of their existence, or as being casually present on the ordinary occasions of their excitement. There is a relation, however, of another kind, to which also it is necessary to attend, both to elucidate the general grounds of the theory, and to explain several appearances that might otherwise expose it to objections. This is the relation which external objects may bear to our internal feelings, and the power they may consequently acquire of suggesting them, in consequence of a sort of resem- blance or analogy which they seem to have to their natural and appropriate objects. The language of poetry is founded, in a great degree, upon this analogy ; and all language, indeed, is full of it, and attests, by its structure, both the extent to which it is spontaneously pursued, and the effects that are produced by its suggestion. 28. The great charm indeed, and the great secret, of poetical diction, consists in thus lending life and emotion to all the objects it embraces; and the enchanting beaut} T which we sometimes rec- ognize in descriptions of very ordinary phenomena will be found to arise from the force of imagination, by which the poet has con- nected with human emotions a variety of objects to which com- mon minds could not discover such a relation. What the poet does for his readers, however, by his original similes and meta- phors, in these higher cases, even the dullest of those readers do, in some degree, every day, for themselves ; and the beauty which is perceived, when natural objects are unexpectedly vivified by the glowing fancy of the former, is precisely of the same kind that is felt when the closeness of the analogy enables them to force human feelings upon the recollection of all mankind. As the poet sees more of beauty in Nature than ordinary mortals, just because he perceives more of those analogies and relations to social emotion in which all beauty consists; so other men see more or less of this beauty exactly as they happen to possess that fancy, or those habits, which enable them readily to trace out these relations.. 29. Poems, and other compositions in vy T ords, are beautiful in pro- THEORY OF BEAUTY. 13 portion as they are conversant with beautiful objects, or as they suggest to us, in a more direct way, the moral and social emotions on which the beauty of all objects depends. Theorems and demonstrations, again, are beautiful according as they excite in us emotions of admiration for the genius and intellectual power of their inventors, and images of the magnificent and beneficial ends to which such discoveries may be applied; and mechanical contrivances are beautiful when they remind us of similar talents and ingenuity, and at the same time impress us with a more direct sense of their vast utility to mankind, and of tlie great additional conveniences with which life is consequently adorned. In all cases, therefore, there is the/suggestion of some interesting conception or emotion associated with a present per- ception, in which it is apparently confounded and embodied ; and this, according to the whole of the preceding deduction, is the distinguishing characteristic of beauty. CONCLUSIONS. 30. In the first place, then, we conceive that this theory estab- lishes the substantial identity of the Sublime, the Beautiful, and the Picturesque; and, consequently, puts a*i end to all controversy that is not purely verbal as to the difference of those several quali- ties. Every material object that interests us, without actually hurting or gratifying our bodily feelings, must do so, according to this theory, in one and the same manner; that is, by suggesting or recalling some emotion or affection of ourselves or some other sentient being, and presenting, to our imagination at least, some natural object of love, pity, admiration, or awe. The interest of material objects, therefore, is always the same, and arises in every case, not from any physical qualities they may possess, but from their association with some idea of emotion. But, though material objects have but one means of exciting emotion, the emotions they do excite are infinite. They are mirrors that may reflect all shades and all colors ; and, in point of fact, do seldom reflect the same hues twice. No two interesting objects, perhaps whether known by the name of Beautiful, Sublime, or Pictu- resque, ever produced exactly the same emotion in the beholder ; and no one object, it is most probable, ever moved any two per- sons to the very same conceptions. 31. The only other advantage which we shall specify as likely to result from the general adoption of the theory we have been endeavoring to illustrate is, that it seems calculated to put an end to all those perplexing and vexatious questions about the stand- ard of taste which have given occasion to so much impertinent and so much elaborate discussion. If things are not beautiful in 14 ENGLISH LITERATURE. themselves, but only as they serve to suggest interesting concep- tions to the mind, then every thing which does in point of fact suggest such a conception to any individual is beautiful to that individual ; and it is not only quite true that there is no room for disputing ahout tastes, but that all tastes are equally just and correct in so far as each individual speaks only of his own emo- tions. All tastes, then, are equally just and true in so far as concerns the individual whose taste is in question ; and what a man feels distinctly to be beautiful is beautiful to him, whatever other people may think of it. All this follows clearly from the theory no\v in question ; but it does not follow from it that all tastes are equally good or desirable, or that there is an} 7 difficulty in de- scribing that which is really the best, and the most to be envied. The only use of the faculty of taste is to afford an innocent delight, and to assist in the cultivation of a finer morality ; and that man certainly will have the most delight from this faculty who has the most numerous and the most powerful perceptions of beauty. But if beauty consist in the reflection of our affec- tions and sympathies, it is plain that he will always see the most beauty whose affections are the warmest and most exercised, whose imagination is tne most powerful, and who has most accus- tomed himself to attend to the objects by which he is surrounded. In so far as mere feeling and enjoyment are concerned, therefore, it seems evident that the best taste must be that which belongs to the best affections, the most active fancy, and the most atten- tive habits of observation. It will follow pretty exactly, too, that all men's perceptions of beauty will be nearly in proportion to the degree of their sensibility and social sympathies; and that those who have no affections towards sentient beings will be as certainly insensible to beauty in external objects as he who can not hear the sound of his friend's voice must be deaf to its echo. In so far as the sense of beauty is regarded as a mere source of enjoyment, this seems to be the only distinction that deserves to be attended to ; and the only cultivation that taste should ever receive, with a view to the gratification of the individual, should be through the indirect channel of cultivating the affections, and powers of observation. If we aspire, however, to be creators as well as observers of beaut} T , and place any part of our happiness in ministering to the gratification of others, as artists, or poets, or authors of any sort, then, indeed, a new distinction of tastes, and a far more laborious system of cultivation, will be necessary. A man who pursues only his own delight will be as much charmed with objects that suggest powerful emotions in conse- quence of personal and accidental associations as with those that THEOKY OF BEAUTY. 15 introduce similar emotions by means of associations that are universal and indestructible. To him, all objects of the former class are really as beautiful as those of the latter ; and, for his own gratification, the creation of that sort of beauty is just as important an occupation. But, if he conceive the ambition of creating beauties for the admiration of others, he must be cau- tious to employ only such objects as are the natural signs or the inseparable concomitants of emotions of which the greater part of mankind are susceptible ; and his taste will then deserve to be called bad and false if he obtrude upon the public, as beautiful, objects that are not likely to be associated in common minds with airy interesting impressions. For a man himself, then, there is no taste that is either bad or false ; and the only difference worthy of being attended to is that between a great deal and a very little. Some, who have cold affections, sluggish imaginations, and no habits of observa- tion, can with difficulty discern beauty in any thing ; while oth- ers, who are full of kindness and sensibility, and who have been accustomed to attend to all the objects around them, feel it almost in every thing. It is no matter what other people may think of the objects of their admiration ; nor ought it to be any concern of theirs that the public would be astonished or offended if they were called upon to join in that admiration. So long as no such call is made, this anticipated discrepancy of feeling need give them no uneasiness ; and the suspicion of it should produce no contempt in any other persons. It is a strange aberration, indeed, of vanity, that makes us despise persons for being happj r , for having sources of enjoyment in which we can not share ; and yet this is the true source of the ridicule which is so generally poured upon individuals who seek only to enjoy their peculiar tastes unmolested. For, if there be any truth in the theory we have been expounding, no taste is bad for any other reason than because it is peculiar ; as the objects in which it delights must actually serve to suggest to the individual those common emotions and universal affections upon which the sense of beauty is every- where founded. NOTE. [Whether he accept the foregoing views of Beauty or not, the critical study of them can not fVul to improve the pupil. The same may be said of the next selection, " The Philosophy of Style."] 16 ENGLISH LITERATURE. THE PHILOSOPHY OF STYLE. Westminster Review, 1852. 1. COMMENTING on the seeming incongruity between his father's argumentative powers and his ignorance of formal logic, Tristram Shandy says, " It was a matter of just wonder with my worthy tutor, and two or three fellows of that learned society, that a man who knew not so much as the names of his tools should be able to work after that fashion with them." Sterne's intended implication, that a knowledge of the principles of reasoning nei- ther makes nor is essential to a good reasoner, is doubtless true. Thus, too, is it with grammar. As Dr. Latham, condemning the usual school-drill in Lindley Murray, rightly remarks, " Gross vulgarity is a fault to be prevented ; but the proper prevention is to be got from habit, not rules:" similarly there can be little ques- tion that good composition is far less dependent upon acquaint- ance with its laws than upon practice and natural aptitude. A clear head, a quick imagination, and a sensitive ear, will go far towards making all rhetorical precepts needless. He who daily hears and reads well-framed sentences will naturally more or less tend to use similar ones. And where there exists tiny mental idiosyncrasy, where there is a deficient verbal memory, or but little perception of order, or a lack of constructive ingenuity, no amount of instruction will remedy the defect. Nevertheless, some practical result may be expected from a familiarity with the principles of style. The endeavor to conform to rules will tell, though slowly; and if in no other way, yet as facilitating re- vision, a knowledge of the thing to be achieved a clear idea of what constitutes a beauty and what a blemish can not fail to be of service. 2. No general theory of expression seems yet to have been enunciated. The maxims contained in works on composition and rhetoric are presented in an unorganized form. Standing as isolated dogmas, as empirical generalizations, they are neither so clearly apprehended nor so much respected as they would be were they deduced from some simple first principle. We are told that " brevity is the soul of wit." We hear styles condemned as verbose or involved. Blair says that every needless part of a sentence " interrupts the description, and clogs the image ; " and again, that "long sentences fatigue the reader's attention." It is remarked by Lord Kaimes, that, " to give the utmost force to a period, it ought, if possible, to be closed with the word that THE PHILOSOPHY OF STYLE. 17 makes the greatest figure." That parentheses should be avoided, and that Saxon words should be used in preference to those of Latin origin, are established precepts. But, however influential the truths thus dogmatically embodied, they would be much more influential if reduced to something like scientific ordination. In this, as in other cases, conviction will be greatly strengthened when we understand the why. And we may be sure that a per- ception of the general principle of which the rules of composi- tion are partial expressions will not only bring them home to us with greater force, but will discover to us other rules of like origin. 3. On seeking for some clew to the law underlying these current maxims, we may see shadowed forth in many of them the impor- tance of economizing the reader's or hearer's attention. To so present ideas that they may be apprehended with the least pos- sible mental effort is the desideratum towards which most of the rules above quoted point. When we condemn writing that is wordy or confused or intricate ; when we praise this style as easy, and blame that as fatiguing, we consciously or unconsciously assume this desideratum as our standard of judgment. Regard- ing language as an apparatus of symbols for the conveyance of thought, we may say, that, as in a mechanical apparatus, the more simple and the better arranged its parts, the greater will be the effect produced. In either case, whatever force is absorbed by the machine is deducted from the result. A reader or listener has at each moment but a limited amount of mental power avail- able. To recognize and interpret the symbols presented to him requires part of this power ; to arrange and combine the images suggested requires a further part; and only that part which remains can be used for the realization of the thought conveyed. Hence the more time and attention it takes to receive and under- stand each sentence, the less time and attention can be given to the contained idea, and the less vividly will that idea be conceived. 4. How truly language must be regarded as a hindrance to thought, though the necessary instrument of it, we shall clearly perceive on remembering the comparative force with which simple ideas are communicated by mimetic signs. To say " Leave the room" is less expressive than to point to the door. Placing a finger on the lips is more forcible than whispering, " Do not speak." A beck of the hand is better than " Come here." No phrase can convey the idea of surprise so vividly as opening the eyes and raising the eyebrows. A shrug of the shoulders would lose much by translation into words. Again : it may be re- marked, that, when oral language is employed, the strongest effects are produced by interjections, which condense entire sen- tences into syllables. And in other cases, where custom allows 2 18 ENGLISH LITERATURE. us to express thoughts by single words, as in " beware," "heigho," ''fudge," much force would be lost by expanding them into specific verbal propositions. Hence, carrying out the metaphor that language is the vehicle of thought, there seems reason to think, that, in all cases, the friction and inertia of the vehicle deduct from its efficiency ; and that, in composition, the chief if not the sole thing to be done is to reduce this friction and inertia to the smallest possible amount. Let us, then, in- quire whether economy of the recipient's attention is not the secret of effect, alike in the right choice and collocation of words, in the best arrangement of clauses in a sentence, in the proper order of its principal and subordinate propositions, in the judi- cious use of simile, metaphor, and other figures of speech, and even in the rhythmical sequence of syllables. CHOICE OF WORDS. 5. The superior forcibleness of Saxon English, or rather non- Latin English, first claims our attention. The several special rea- sons assignable for this may all be reduced to the general reason, ECONOMY. The most important of them is early association. A child's vocabulary is almost wholly Saxon, He says, " I have," not " I possess ; " "I wish," not " I desire : " he does not " reflect," he " thinks ; " he does not beg for " amusement," but for " play ; " he calls things "nice "or "nasty," not "pleasant" or "disagree- able." The synonyms which he learns in after-years never become so closely, so organically connected with the ideas signified as do these original words used in childhood ; and hence the association remains less powerful. But in what does a powerful association between a word and an idea differ from a weak one ? Simply in the greater ease and rapidity of the suggestive action. It can be in nothing else. Both of two words, if they be strictly synonymous, eventually call up the same image. The expres- sion, "It is acid" must, in the end, give rise to the same thought as "It is sour;" but because the term "acid" was learnt later in life, and has not been so often followed by the thought symbolized, it does not so readily arouse that thought as the term "sour."-. If we remember how slowly and with what labor the appropriate ideas follow unfamiliar words in another lan- guage, and how increasing familiarity with such words brings greater rapidity and ease of comprehension, until, from its hav- ing been a conscious effort to realize their meanings, their meanings ultimately come without any effort at all ; and if we consider that the same process must have gone on with the words of our mother-tongue from childhood upwards, we shall clearly see that the earliest learnt and oftenest used words will, other THE PHILOSOPHY OF STYLE. 19 tilings equal, call up images with less loss of time and energy than their later learnt synonyms. 6. The further superiority possessed by Saxon English in its comparative brevity obviously comes under the same generaliza- tion. If it be an advantage to express an idea in the smallest num- ber of words, then will it be an advantage to express it in the smallest number of syllables. If circuitous phrases and needless expletives distract the attention, arid diminish the strength of the impression produced, then do surplus articulations do so. A certain effort, though commonly an inappreciable one, must be required to recognize every vowel and consonant. If, as we so commonly find, the mind soon becomes fatigued when we listen to an indis- tinct or far-removed speaker, or when we read a badly-written manuscript ; and if, as we can not doubt, the fatigue is a cumula- tive result of the attention required to catch successive syllables, it obviously follows that attention is in such cases absorbed by each syllable. And, if this be true when the syllables are difficult of recognition, it will also be true, though in a less degree, when the recognition of them is easy. Hence the shortness of Saxon words becomes a reason for their greater force, as involving a saving of the articulations to be received. 7. Again : that frequent cause of strength in Saxon and other primitive words their imitative character may be similarly resolved into the more general cause. Both those directly imita- tive, as splash, bang, whiz, roar, &c., and those analogically imi- tative, as rough, smooth, keen, blunt, thin, hard, crag, &c., by presenting to the perceptions symbols having direct resemblance to 'the things to be imagined, or some kinship to them, save part of the effort needed to call up the intended ideas, and leave more attention for the ideas themselves. 8. The economy of the recipient's mental energy into which we thus find the several causes of the strength of Saxon English resolvable may equally be traced in the superiority of specific over generic words. That concrete terms produce more vivid im- pressions than abstract ones, and should, when possible, be used instead, is a current maxim of composition. As Dr. Campbell says, " The more general the terms are, the picture is the fainter : the more special they are, the brighter." We should avoid such a sentence as, " In proportion as the manners, customs, and amusements of a nation are cruel and barbarous, the regulations of their penal code will be severe." And in place of it we should write, " In proportion as men delight in battles, tourneys, bull-fights, and combats of gladiators, will they punish by hanging, behead- ing, burning, and the rack." 20 ENGLISH LITERATURE. This superiority of specific expressions is clearly due to a saving of the effort required to translate words into thoughts. As we do not think in generals, but in particulars ; as, whenever any class of things is referred to, we represent it to ourselves by calling to mind individual members of it, it follows, that, when an abstract word is used, the hearer or reader has to choose, from among his stock of images, one or more by which he may figure to himself the genus mentioned. In doing this, some delay must arise, some force be expended; and if, by employing a specific term, an appropriate image can be at once suggested, an economy is achieved, and a more vivid impression produced. COLLOCATION OF WORDS. 9. Turning now from the choice of words to their sequence, we shall find the same general principle hold good. We have, a priori, reason for believing that there is usually some one order of words in a sentence more effective than every other, and that this order is the one which presents the elements of the proposi- tion in the succession in which they may be most readily put together. As, in a narrative, the events should be stated in such sequence that the mind may not have to go backwards and for- wards in order to rightly connect them ; as, in a group of sen- tences, the arrangement adopted should be such that each of them may be understood as it conies, without waiting for subsequent ones : so, in every sentence, the sequence of words should be that which suggests the component parts of the thought conveyed, in the order most convenient for the building up that thought. To duly enforce this truth, and to prepare the way for applica- tions of it, we must briefly inquire into the mental process by which the meaning of a series of words is apprehended. 10. We can not more simply do this than by considering the proper collocation of the substantive and adjective. Is it better to place the adjective before the substantive, or the substantive before the adjective ? Ought we to say, with the French, " Un cheval Hoi,- " ? or to say, as we do, " A black horse " ? Probably most per- sons of culture would decide that one order is as good as the other. Alive to the bias produced by habit, they would ascribe to that the preference they feel for our own form of expression. They would suspect those educated in the use of the opposite form of having an equal preference for that. And thus they would con- clude that neither of these instinctive judgments is of any worth. There is, however, a philosophical ground for deciding in favor of the English custom. If " a horse black " be the arrangement used, immediately on the utterance of the word "horse," there arises, or tends to arise, in the mind, a picture answering to that THE PHILOSOPHY OF STYLE. 21 word ; and, as there has been nothing to indicate what kind of horse, any image of a horse suggests itself. Very likely, how- ever, the image will be that of a brown horse ; brown horses being equally or more familiar. The result is, that, when the word " black " is added, a check is given to the process of thought. Either the picture of a brown horse already present in the imagi- nation has to be suppressed, and the picture of a black one summoned in its place ; or else, if the picture of a brown horse be yet unformed, the tendency to form it has to be stopped. Whichever be the case, a certain amount of hindrance results. But if, on the other hand, " a black horse " be the expression used, no such mistake can be made. The word " black," indicating an abstract quality, arouses no definite idea. It simply prepares the mind for conceiving some object of that color; and the attention is kept suspended until that object is known. If, then, by the precedence of the adjective, the idea is conveyed without the possibility of error, whereas the precedence of the substantive is liable to produce a. misconception, it follows that the one gives the mind less trouble than the other, and is, therefore, more forcible. 11. Possibly it will be objected that the adjective and substantive come so close together, that, practically, they may be considered as uttered at the same moment ; and that, on hearing the phrase, " A horse black," there is not time to imagine a wrongly-colored horse before the word " black " follows to prevent it. It must be owned that it is not easy to decide by introspection whether this be so or not. But there are facts collaterally implying that it is not. Our ability to anticipate the words yet unspoken is one of them. If the ideas of the hearer kept considerably behind the expressions of the speaker, as the objection assumes, he could hardly foresee the end of a sentence by the time it was half de- livered ; yet this constantly happens. Were the supposition true, the mind, instead of anticipating, would be continually falling more and more, in arrear. If the meanings of words are not realized as fast as the words are uttered, then the loss of time over each word must entail such an accumulation of delays as to leave a hearer entirely behind. But, whether the force of these replies be or be not admitted, it will scarcely be denied that the right formation of a picture will be facilitated by presenting its elements in the order in which they are wanted ; and that, as in forming the image answering to a red flower the notion of red- ness is one of the components that must be used in the construc- tion of the image, the mind, if put in possession of this notion before the specific image to be formed out of it is suggested, will more easily form it than if the order be reversed, even though it should do nothing until it has received both symbols. 22 ENGLISH LITERATURE. What is here said respecting the succession of the adjective and substantive is obviously applicable, by change of terms, to the adverb and verb. And, without further explanation, it will be at once perceived, that, in the use. of prepositions and other particles, most languages spontaneously conform, with more or less completeness, to this law. ARRANGEMENT OF CLAUSES. 12. On applying a like analysis to the larger divisions of a sentence, we find not only that the same principle holds good, but that the advantage respecting it becomes marked. In the arrangement of predicate and subject, for example, we are at once shown, that, as the predicate determines the aspect under which the subject is to be conceived, it should be placed first ; and the striking effect produced by so placing it becomes comprehensible. Take the often-quoted contrast between " Great is Diana of the Ephesians " and " Diana of the Ephesians is great." When the first arrangement is used, the utterance of the word " great " arouses those vague associations of an impressive nature with which it has been habitually connected; -the imagination is pre- pared to clothe with high attributes whatever follows : and when the words, "Diana of the Ephesians," are heard, all the appro- priate imagery which can on the instant be summoned is used in the formation of the picture ; the mind being thus led directly, and without error, to the intended impression. When, on the contrary, the reverse order is followed, the idea, " Diana of the Ephesians," is conceived in any ordinary way, with no special reference to greatness ; and, when the words " is great " are added, the conception has to be entirely remodeled : whence arises a manifest loss of mental energy, and a corresponding diminution of effect. The following verse from Coleridge's " Ancient Mari- ner," though somewhat irregular in structure, well illustrates the same truth : " Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a ici'Ie, wide sen! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony." 13. Of course, the principle equally applies when the predicate ig a verb or a participle. And as effect is gained by placing first all words indicating the quality, conduct, or condition of the subject, it follows that the copula also should have precedence. It is true, that the general habit of our language resists this arrange- ment of predicate, copula, and subject ; but we may readily find instances of the additional force gained by conforming to it. Thus in the line from " Julius Caesar," " Then burst this mighty heart," THE PHILOSOPHY OF STYLE. 23 priority is given to a word embodying both predicate and copula. In a passage contained in " The Battle of Flodden Field," the like order is systematically employed with great effect : " The Border slogan rent the sky ! 1 A Home ! a Gordon! ' ions the cry; Loud were the clanging blows: Advanced, forced back, nt>w low, now high, The pennon sunk and rose. As bends the bark's mast in the gale, When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail, It wavered 'mid the foes." 14. Pursuing the principle yet further, it is obvious, that, for producing the greatest effect, not only should the main divisions of a sentence observe this sequence, but the subdivisions of these should be similarly arranged. In nearly all cases, the predicate is accompanied by some limit or qualification, called its comple- ment : commonly, also, the circumstances of the subject which form its complement have to be specified ; and, as these qualifi- cations and circumstances must determine the mode in which the ideas they belong to shall be conceived, precedence should be given to them. Lord Kaimes notices the fact, that this order is preferable, though without giving the reason. He says, " When a circumstance is placed at the beginning of the period, or near the beginning, the transition from it to the principal subject is agreeable, is like ascending or going upwards." A sentence arranged in illustration of this may be desirable. Perhaps the following will serve : " Whatever it may be in theory, it is clear, that, in practice, the French idea of liberty is, the right of every man to be master of the rest." In this case, were the first two clauses, up to the word " practice " inclusive, which qualify the subject, to be placed at the end instead of the beginning, much of the force would be lost ; as thus : " The French idea of liberty is, the right of every man to be master of the rest, in practice at least, if not in theory." The effect of giving priority to the complement of the pr&di- cate, as well as the predicate itself, is finely displayed in the opening of " Hyperion : " " Deep in the shady sndness of a vale. Far-sunken from fhe healthy breath of morn, Far from tne Jiery noon and eve's one star, Sat gray-haired Saturn, quiet as a stone." Here it will be observed, not only that the predicate " sat " pre- cedes the subject "Saturn," and that the three lines in Italics, 24 ENGLISH LITERATURE. constituting the complement of the predicate, come before it, but that, in the structure of that complement also, the same order is followed ; each line being so arranged that the qualifying words are placed before the words suggesting concrete images. SUCCESSION OF PROPOSITIONS. 15. The right succession of the principal and subordinate prop- ositions in a sentence will manifestly be regulated by the same law. Regard for economy of the recipient's attention, which, as we find, determines the best order for the subject, copula, predicate, and their complements, dictates that the subordinate proposition shall precede the principal one when the sentence includes two. Containing, as the subordinate proposition does, some qualifying or explanatory idea, its priority must clearfy prevent misconcep- tion of the principal one, and must therefore save the mental effort needed to correct such misconception. This will be clearly seen in the annexed example : " Those who weekly go to church, and there have doled out to them a quantum of belief which the}' have not energy to work out for themselves, are simply spiritual paupers." The subordinate proposition, or rather the two subordinate propositions, contained between the first and second commas in this sentence, almost wholly determine the meaning of the principal proposition with which it ends ; and the effect would be destroyed were they placed last instead of first. 16. The general principle of right arrangement in sentences, which we have traced in its application to the leading divisions of them, equally determines the normal order of their minor divisions. The several clauses of which the complements to the subject and predicate generally consist may conform more or less completely to the law of easy apprehension. Of course, with these, as with the larger members, the succession should be from the abstract to the concrete. Now, however, we must notice a further condition to be ful- filled in the proper combination of the elements of a sentence, but still a condition dictated by the same general principle with the other; the condition, namely, that the words and expressions most nearly related in thought shall be brought the closest together. Evidently the single words, the minor clauses, and the leading divisions, of every proposition, severally qualify each other. The longer the time that elapses between the mention of any qualifying member and the member qualified, the longer must the mind be exerted in carrying forward the qualifying member ready for use; and, the more numerous the qualifica- tions to be simultaneously remembered and rightly applied, the THE PHILOSOPHY OF STYLE. 25 greater will be the mental power expended, and the smaller the effect produced. Hence, other things equal, force will be gained by so arranging the members of a sentence that these suspensions shall at any moment be the fewest in number, and shall also be of the shortest duration. The following is an instance of defec- tive combination : " A modern newspaper-statement, though probably true, would be laughed at if quoted in a book as testimony ; but the letter of a court-gossip is thought good historical evidence, if written some centuries ago." A re-arrangement of this, in accordance with the principle indicated above, will be found to increase the effect. Thus : " Though probably true, a modern newspaper-statement quoted in a book Us testimony would be laughed at ; but the letter of a court-gossip, if written some centuries ago, is thought good historical evidence." By making this change, some of the suspensions are avoided, and others shortened; whilst there is less liability to produce premature conceptions. The passage quoted below from " Para- dise Lost " affords a fine instance of sentences well arranged, alike in the priority of the subordinate members, in the avoidance of long and numerous suspensions, and in the correspondence between the order of the clauses and the sequence of the phe- nomena described ; which, by the way, is a further prerequisite to easy comprehension, and therefore to effect : " As when a prowling wolf, Whom hunger drives to seek new haunt for prey, Watching where shepherds pen their flocks at eve In hurdled cotes amid the field secure, Leaps o'er the fence with ease into the fold; Or as a thief bent to unhoard the cash Of some rich burgher, whose substantial doors, Cross-barred and bolted fast, fear no assault, In at the window climbs, or o'er the tiles: So clomb the first grand thief into God's fold; So since into his Church lewd hirelings climb." 17. The habitual use of sentences in which all or most of the 'descriptive and limiting elements precede those described and limited gives rise to what is called the inverted style, a title which is, however, by no means confined to this structure, but is often used where the order of the words is simply unusual. A more appropriate title would be the " direct style : " as contrasted with the other, or "indirect style:" the peculiarity of the one being, that it conveys each thought into the mind step by step, with little liability to error ; and of the other, that it gets the right thought conceived by a series of approximations. 18. The superiority of the direct over the indirect form of sen- 26 ENGLISH LITERATURE. tence, implied by the several conclusions that have been drawn, must not, however, be affirmed without limitation. Though up to a certain point it is well for all the qualifying clauses of a period to precede those qualified, yet, as carrying forward each qualifying clause costs some mental effort, it follows, that, when the number of them and the time they are carried become great, we reach a limit beyond which more is lost than is gained. Other things equal, the arrangement should be such, that no concrete image shall be suggested until the materials out of which it is to be made have been presented. And yet, as lately pointed out, other things equal, the fewer the materials to be held at once, and the shorter the distance they have to be borne, the better. Hence in some cases it becomes a question, whether most mental effort will be entailed by the many and long suspensions, or by the correction of successive misconceptions. 19. This question may sometimes be decided by considering the capacity of the persons addressed. A greater grasp of mind is required for the ready comprehension of thoughts expressed in the direct manner, where the sentences are anywise intricate. To recollect a number of preliminaries stated in elucidation of a coming image, and to apply them all to the formation of it when suggested, demands a considerable power of concentration, and a tolerably vigorous imagination. To one possessing these, the direct method will mostly seem the best ; whilst to one deficient in them it will seem the worst. Just as it may cost a strong man less effort to carry a hundred-weight from place to place at once than by a stone at a time ; so to an active mind it may be easier to bear along all the qualifications of an idea, and at once rightly form it when named, than to first imperfectly conceive such idea, and then carry back to it, one by one, the details and limitations afterwards mentioned. Whilst, conversely, as for a boy the only possible mode of transferring a hundred- weight is that of taking it in portions ; so, for a weak mind, the only possible mode of forming a compound conception may be that of building it up by carrying separately its several parts. 20. That the indirect method the method of conveying the meaning by a series of approximations is best fitted for the uncultivated, may indeed be inferred from their habitual use of it. The form of expression adopted by the savage, as in "Water give me," is the simplest type of the approximative arrangement. In pleonasms, which are comparatively prevalent among the uneducated, the same essential structure is seen ; as, for instance, in " The men, they were there." Again : the old possessive case, "The king, his crown," conforms to the like order of thought. Moreover, the fact that the indirect mode is called THE PHILOSOPHY OF STYLE. 27 the natural one implies that it is the one spontaneously employed by the common people ; that is, the one easiest for undisciplined minds. 21. Before dismissing this branch of our subject, it should be remarked, that, even when addressing the most vigorous intellects, the direct style is unfit for communicating thoughts of a complex or abstract character. So long as the mind has not much to do, it may be well able to grasp all the preparatory clauses of a sen- tence, and to use them effectively ; but if some subtlety in the argument absorb the attention, if every faculty be strained in endeavoring to catch the speaker's or writer's drift, it may hap- pen that the mind, unable to carry on both processes at once, will break down, and allow all its ideas to lapse into confusion. FIGURES OF SPEECH. 22. Turning now to consider figures of speech, we may equally discern the same general law of effect. Underlying all the rules that may be given for the choice and right use of them, we shall find the same fundamental requirement, economy of attention. It is indeed chiefly because of their great ability to subserve this requirement that figures of speech are employed. To bring the mind more easily to the desired conception, is in many cases solely, and in all cases mainly, their object. 23. Let us begin with the figure called Synecdoche. The ad- vantage sometimes gained by putting a part for the whole is due to the more convenient or more accurate presentation of the idea thus secured. If, instead of saying, " A fleet of ten ships," we say, " A fleet of ten sail" the picture of a group of vessels at sea is more readily suggested, and is so because the sails constitute the most conspicuous part of vessels so circumstanced ; whereas the word "ships" would very likely remind us of vessels in dock. Again, to say, "All hands to the pumps! " is better than to say, " All men to the pumps ! " as it suggests the men in the special attitude intended, and so saves effort. Bringing " gray hairs with sorrow to the grave" is another expression, the effect of which has the same cause. 24. The occasional increase of force produced by Metonymy may be similarly accounted for. "The low morality of the bar" is a phrase both briefer and more significant than the literal one it stands for. A belief in the ultimate supremacy of intelligence over brute force is conveyed in a more concrete, and therefore more realizable form, if we substitute " the pen " and " the sword " for the two abstract terms. To say, " Beware of drink- ing!" is less effective than to say "Beware the bottle!" and is so, clearly, because it calls up a less specific image. 28 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 25. The Simile, though in many cases employed chiefly with a view to ornament, yet, whenever it increases the force of a pas- sage, does so by being an economy. Here is an instance : " The illusion, that great men and great events came oftener in early times than now, is partly due to historical perspective. As, in a range of equidistant columns, the farthest off look the closest, so the conspicuous objects of the past seem more thickly clustered the more remote they are." To construct, by a process of literal explanation, the thought thus conveyed, would take many sentences; and the first ele- ments of the picture would become faint whilst the imagination was busy in adding the others. But, by the help of a compari- son, all effort is saved : the picture is instantly realized, and its full effect produced. 26. Of the position of the Simile,* it needs only to remark, that what has been said respecting the order of the adjective and sub- stantive, predicate and subject, principal and subordinate proposi- tions, &c., is applicable here. As whatever qualifies should precede whatever is qualified, force will generally be gained by placing the simile before the object to which it is applied. That this arrangement is the best, may be seen in the following pas- sage from " The Lady of the Lake : " "As wreath of snow, on mountain breast, Slides from the rock that gave it rest, Poor Ellen glided from her stay, And at the monarch's feet she lay." Inverting these couplets will be found to diminish the effect con- siderably. There are cases, however, even where the simile is a simple one, in which it may with advantage be placed last ; as in these lines from Alexander Smith's " Life Drama : " . " I see the future stretch All dark and barren as a rainy sea." The reason for this seems to be, that so abstract an idea as that attaching to the "future" does not present itself to the mind in any definite form ; and hence the subsequent arrival at the simile entails no reconstruction of the thought. 27. Nor are such the only cases in which this order is the most forcible. As the advantage of putting the simile before the object depends on its being carried forward in the mind to assist in forming an image of the object, it must happen, that if, from length or complexity, it can not be so carried forward, the advan- * Properly the term " simile " is applicable only to the entire figure, inclusive of the two things compared and the comparison drawn between them. But, as there exists no name for the illustrative member of the figure, there seems no alternative but to employ " simile " to express this also. The context will in each case show in which sense the word is used. THE PHILOSOPHY OF STYLE. 29 tage is not gained. The annexed sonnet by Coleridge is defec- tive from this cause : " As when a child, on some long winter's night, Affrighted, clinging to its grandam's knees With eager wondering and perturbed delight Listens strange tales of fearful, dark decrees, Muttered to wretch by necromantic spell; Or of those hags who at the witching time Of murky midnight ride the air sublime, And mingle foul embrace with fiends of hell; Cold horror drinks its blood ! anon the tear More gentle starts to hear the beldam tell Of pretty babes that loved each other dear, Murdered by cruel uncle's mandate fell: Even such the shivering joys thy tones impart; Even so, thou, Siddons, meitest my sad heart." Here, from the lapse of time and accumulation of circum- stances, the first part of the comparison becomes more or less dim before its application is reached, and requires re-reading. Had the main idea been first mentioned, less effort would have been required to retain it, and to modify the conception of it in con- formity with the comparison, than to retain the comparison, and refer back to the recollection of its successive features for help in forming the final image. 28. The superiority of the Metaphor to the Simile is ascribed by Dr. Whately to the fact that "all men are more gratified at catching the resemblance for themselves than in having it pointed out to them." But, after what has been said, the great economy it achieves will seem the more probable cause. If, drawing an analog} 7 between mental and physical phenomena, we say, " As, in passing through the crystal, beams of white light are decomposed into the colors of the rainbow; so, in traversing the soul of the poet, the colorless rays of truth are transformed into brightly-tinted poetry," it is clear, that, in receiving the double set of words expressing the two portions of the compari- son, and in carrying the one portion to the other, a considerable amount of attention is absorbed. Most of this is saved, however, by putting the comparison in a metaphorical form, thus : " The white light of truth, in traversing the many-sided, transparent soul of the poet, is refracted into iris-hued poetry." 29. How much is conveyed in a few words by the help of the Metaphor, and how vivid the effect consequently produced, may be abundantly exemplified. From "A Life Drama" may be quoted the phrase, " I speared him with a jest," as a fine instance among the many which that poem contains. A passage in the " Prometheus Unbound " of Shelley displays the power of the Metaphor to great advantage : 28 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 25. The Simile, though in many cases employed chiefly with a view to ornament, yet, whenever it increases the force of a pas- sage, does so by being an economy. Here is an instance : " The illusion, that great men and great events came oftener in early times than now, is partly due to historical perspective. As, in a range of equidistant columns, the farthest off look the closest, so the conspicuous objects of the past seem more thickly clustered the more remote they are." To construct, by a process of literal explanation, the thought thus conveyed, would take many sentences; and the first ele- ments of the picture would become faint whilst the imagination was busy in adding the others. But, by the help of a compari- son, all effort is saved : the picture is instantly realized, and its full effect produced. 26. Of the position of the Simile,* it needs only to remark, that what has been said respecting the order of the adjective and sub- stantive, predicate and subject, principal and subordinate proposi- tions, &c., is applicable here. As whatever qualifies should precede whatever is qualified, force will generally be gained by placing the simile before the object to which it is applied. That this arrangement is the best, may be seen in the following pas- sage from "The Lady of the Lake : " "As wreath of snow, on mountain breast, Slides from the rock that gave it rest, Poor Ellen glided from her stay, And at the monarch's feet she'lay." Inverting these couplets will be found to diminish the effect con- siderably. There are cases, however, even where the simile is a simple one, in which it may with advantage be placed last ; as in these lines from Alexander Smith's " Life Drama : " - " I see the future stretch All dark and barren as a rainy sea." The reason for this seems to be, that so abstract an idea as that attaching to the "future" does not present itself to the mind in any definite form ; and hence the subsequent arrival at the simile entails no reconstruction of the thought. 27. Nor are such the only cases in which this order is the most forcible. As the advantage of putting the simile before the object depends on its being carried forward in the mind to assist in forming an image of the object, it must happen, that if, from length or complexity, it can not be so carried forward, the advan- * Properly the term " simile " is applicable only to the entire figure, inclusive of the two things compared and the comparison drawn between them. But, as there exists no name for the illustrative member of the figure, there seems no alternative but to employ " simile " to express this also. The context will in each case show in which sense the word is used. THE PHILOSOPHY OF STYLE. 29 tage is not gained. The annexed sonnet by Coleridge is defec- tive from this cause : " As when a child, on some long winter's night, Affrighted, clinging to its grandam's knees With eager wondering and perturbed delight Listens strange tales of fearful, dark decrees, Muttered to wretch by necromantic spell; Or of those hags who at the witching time Of murky midnight ride the air sublime, And mingle foul embrace with fiends of hell; Cold horror drinks its blood ! anon the tear More gentle starts to hear the beldam tell Of pretty babes that loved each other dear, Murdered by cruel uncle's mandate fell: Even such the shivering joys thy tones impart; Even so, thou, Siddons, meltest my sad heart." Here, from the lapse of time and accumulation of circum- stances, the first part of the comparison becomes more or less dim before its application is reached, and requires re-reading. Had the main idea been first mentioned, less effort would have been required to retain it, and to modify the conception of it in con- formity witli the comparison, than to retain the comparison, and refer back to the recollection of its successive features for help in forming the final image. 28. The superiority of the Metaphor to the Simile is ascribed by Dr. Whately to the fact that " all men are more gratified at catching the resemblance for themselves than in having it pointed out to them." But, after what has been said, the great economy it achieves will seem the more probable cause. If, drawing an analogy between mental and physical phenomena, we say, " As, in passing through the crystal, beams of white light are decomposed into the colors of the rainbow ; so, in traversing the soul of the poet, the colorless rays of truth are transformed into brightly-tinted poetry," it is clear, that, in receiving the double set of words expressing the two portions of the compari- son, and in carrying the one portion to the other, a considerable amount of attention is absorbed. Most of this is saved, however, by putting the comparison in a metaphorical form, thus : " The white light of truth, in traversing the many-sided, transparent soul of the poet, is refracted into iris-hued poetry." 29. How much is conveyed in a few words by the help of the Metaphor, and how vivid the effect consequently produced, may be abundantly exemplified. From "A Life Drama" may be quoted the phrase, "I speared him with a jest," as a fine instance among the many which that poem contains. A passage in the " Prometheus Unbound " of Shelley displays the power of the Metaphor to great advantage : 32 ENGLISH LITERATURE. nobility is ' not transferable/ " besides the one idea expressed, several are implied ; and, as these can be thought much sooner than they can be put in words, there is gain in omitting them. How the mind may be lad to construct a complete picture by the presentation of a few parts, an extract from Tennyson's " Mari- ana " will show : " All day, within the dreamy house, The door upon the hinges creaked ; The blue fly sung i' the pane ; the mouse Behind the moldering wainscot shrieked, Or from the crevice peered about." The several circumstances here specified bring with them hosts of appropriate associations. Our attention is rarely drawn by the buzzing of a fly in the window, save when every thing is still. Whilst the inmates are moving about the house, mice usually keep silence ; and it is only when extreme quietness reigns that they peep from their retreats. Hence each of the facts men- tioned, presupposing numerous others, calls up these with more or less distinctness, and revives the feeling of dull solitude with which they are connected in our experience. Were all these facts detailed instead of suggested, the attention would be so frittered away, that little impression of dreariness would be pro- duced. And here, without further explanation, it will be seen, that, be the nature of the sentiment conveyed what it may, this skillful selection of a few particulars which imply the rest is the key to success. In the choice of component ideas, as in the choice of expressions, the aim must be to convey the greatest quantity of thoughts with the smallest quantity of words. 34. Before inquiring whether the law of effect, thus far traced, will account for the superiority of poetry to prose, it will be need- ful to notice some supplementary causes of force in expression that have not yet been mentioned. These are not, properly speaking, additional causes, but rather secondary ones, origi- nating from those already specified, reflex manifestations of them. In the first place, then, we may remark, that mental ex- citement spontaneously prompts the use of those forms of speech which have been pointed out as the most effective. " Out with him!" "Away with him!" are the natural utterances of angry citizens at a disturbed meeting. A voyager, describing a terrible storm he had witnessed, would rise to some such climax as, " Crack went the ropes, and down carne the mast!" Astonish- ment maybe heard expressed in the phrase, "Never was there such a sight ! " All of which sentences are, it will be observed, constructed after the direct type. Again : every one will recog* nize the fact that excited persons are given to figures of speech. The vituperation of the vulgar abounds with them ; often, in- THE PHILOSOPHY OF STYLE. 33 deed, consists of little else. " Beast," " brute," " gallows-rogue," " cut-throat villain," these, and other like metaphors and meta- phorical epithets, at once call to mind a street-quarrel. Further : it may be remarked that extreme brevity is one of the character- istics of passionate language. The sentences are generally in- complete ; the particles are omitted; and frequently important words are left to be gathered from the context. Great admira- tion does not vent itself in a precise proposition, as " It is beauti- ful," but in a simple exclamation, "Beautiful!" He who, when reading a lawyer's letter, should say, " Vile rascal ! " would be thought angry; whilst "He is a vile rascal" would imply com- parative coolness. Thus we see, that, alike in the order of the words, in the frequent use of figures, and in extreme conciseness, the natural utterances of excitement conform to the theoretical conditions of forcible expression. 35. Hence, then, the higher forms of speech acquire a secondary strength from association. Having, in actual life, habitually found them in connection with vivid mental impressions, and having been accustomed to meet with them in the most powerful writing, they come to have in themselves a species of force. The emotions that have from time to time been produced by the strong thoughts wrapped up in these forms are partially aroused by the forms themselves. They create a certain degree of ani- mation ; they induce a preparatory sympathy ; and, when the striking ideas looked for are reached, they are the more vividly realized. POETRY. 36. The continuous use of those modes of expression that are alike forcible in themselves and forcible from their associations produces the peculiarly impressive species of composition which we call poetry. Poetry, we shall find, habitually adopts those sym- bols of thought, and those methods of using them, which instinct and analysis agree in choosing as most effective, and becomes poetry by virtue of doing this. On turning back to the various specimens that have been quoted, it will be seen that the direct or inverted form of sentence predominates in them, and that to a degree quite inadmissible in prose. And not only in the fre- quency, but in what is termed the violence, of the inversions, will this distinction be remarked. In the abundant use of figures, again, we may recognize the same truth. Metaphors, similes, hyperboles, and personifications are the poet's colors, which he has liberty to employ almost without limit. We characterize as "poetical" the prose which repeats these appliances of Language with any frequency, and condemn it as "over-florid" or "af- fected " long* before they occur with the profusion allowed in 3 34 ENGLISH LITERATURE. verse. Further : let it be remarked, that, in brevity, the other requisite of forcible expression which theory points out, and emotion spontaneously fulfills, poetical phraseology similarly dif- fers from ordinary phraseology. Imperfect periods are frequent ; elisions are perpetual; and many of the minor words, which would be deemed essential in prose, are dispensed with. 37. Thus poetry, regarded as a vehicle of thought, is especially impressive, partly because it obeys all the laws of effective speech, and partly because in so doing it imitates the natural utterances of excitement. Whilst the matter embodied is idealized emotion, the vehicle is the idealized language of emotion. As the musical composer catches the cadences in which our feelings of joy and sympathy, grief and despair, vent themselves, and out of these germs evolves melodies suggesting higher phases of these feel- ings^ so the poet develops, from the typical expressions in which men utter passion and sentiment, those choice forms of verbal combination in which concentrated passion and sentiment may be fitly presented. 38. There is one peculiarity of poetry, conducing much to its effect, the peculiarity which is indeed usually thought its char- acteristic one, still remaining to be considered : we mean its rhythmical structure. This, unexpected as it may be, will be found to come under the same generalization with the others. Like each of them, it is an idealization of the natural language of emotion, which is known to be more or less metrical if the emotion be not violent; and, like each of them, it is an economy of the reader's or hearer's attention. In the peculiar tone and manner we adopt in uttering versified language may be discerned its rela- tionship to the feelings ; and the pleasure which its measured move- ment gives us is ascribable to the comparative ease with which words metrically arranged can be recognized. This last position will scarcely be at once admitted ; but a little explanation will show its reasonableness. For if, as we have seen, there is an expendi- ture of mental energy in the mere act of* listening to verbal artic- ulations, or in that silent repetition of them which goes on in reading ; if the perceptive faculties must be in active exercise to identify every s}'llable, then any mode of combining words so as to present a regular recurrence of certain traits which the mind can anticipate will diminish that strain upon the atten- tion required by the total irregularity of prose. In the same manner that the body in receiving a series of varying concussions must keep the muscles ready to meet the most violent of them, as not knowing when such may come ; so the mind, in receiv- ing unarranged articulations, must keep its perceptives active enough to recognize the least easily caught sounds. And as, if the concussions recur in a definite order, the body "may husband THE PHILOSOPHY OF STYLE. 35 its forces by adjusting the resistance needful for each concussion ; so, if the syllables be rhythmically arranged, the mind may economize its energies by anticipating the attention required for each syllable. Far-fetched as this idea will perhaps be thought, a little introspection will countenance it. That we do take ad- vantage of metrical language to adjust our perceptive faculties to the force of the expected articulations, is clear from the fact that we are balked by halting versification. Much as, at the bottom of a flight of stairs, a step more or less than we counted upon gives us a shock; so, too, does a misplaced accent or a super- numerary syllable. In the one case, we know that there is an erroneous p re-adjustment ; and we can scarcely doubt that there is one in the other. But, if we habitually pre-adjust our perceptions to the measured movement of verse, the physical analogy lately given renders it probable that by so doing we economize atten- tion; and hence that metrical language is more effective than prose, simply because it enables us to do this. Were there space, it might be worth while to inquire whether the pleasure we take in rhyme, and also that which we take in euphony, are not partly ascribable to the same general cause. ECONOMY OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 39. A few paragraphs only can be devoted to a second division of our subject that here presents itself. To pursue in detail the laws of effect, as seen in the larger features of composition, would exceed both our limits and our purpose ; but we may fitly indi- cate some further aspect of the general principle hitherto traced out, and hint a few of its wider applications. Thus far, then, we have considered only those causes of force in language which depend upon economy of the mental energies : we hav r e now briefly to glance at those which depend upon econ- omy of the mental sensibilities. Indefensible though this diver- sion may be as a psychological one, it will yet serve roughly to indicate the remaining field of investigation. It will suggest, that, besides considering the extent to which any faculty, or group of faculties, is taken in receiving a form .of words, and realizing its contained idea, we have to consider the state in which this faculty, or group of faculties, is left, and how the reception of subsequent sentences and images will be influenced by that state. Without going at length into so wide a topic as the exercise of faculties, and its re-active effects, it will be sufficient here to call to mind that every faculty (when in a state of normal activity) is most capable at the outset; and that the change in its condition which ends in what we term exhaustion begins simultaneously with its exercise. This generalization, with which we are all 36 ENGLISH LITERATURE. familiar in our bodily experiences, and which our daily language recognizes as true of the mind as a whole, is equally true of each mental power, from the simplest of the senses to the most com- plex of the sentiments. If we hold a flower to the nose for a long time, we become insensible to its scent. We say of a very brilliant flash of lightning, that it blinds us; which means that our eyes have for a time lost their ability to appreciate light. After eat- ing a quantity of honey, we are apt to think our tea is without sugar. The phrase, "A deafening roar/' implies that men find a very loud sound temporarily incapacitates them for hearing faint ones. Xow, the truth which we at once recognize in these, its extreme manifestations, may be traced throughout; and it may be shown, that alike in the reflective faculties, in the imagina- tion, in the perceptions of the beautiful, the ludicrous, the sub- lime, in the sentiments, the instincts, in all the mental powers, however we may classify them, action exhausts; and that, in proportion as the action is violent, the subsequent prostration is great. 40. Equally, throughout the whole nature, may be traced the law, that exercised faculties are ever tending to resume their original state. Not only, after continued rest, do they regain their full power, not only do brief cessations partially re-invigorate them, but, even whilst they are in action, the resulting exhaustion is ever being neutralized. The two processes of waste and repair go on together. Hence, with faculties habitually exercised, as the senses in all or the muscles in a laborer, it happens, that, during modern activity, the repair is so nearly equal to the waste, that the diminution of power is scarcely appreciable; and it is only when the activity has been long continued, or has been very violent, that the repair becomes so far in arrear of the waste as to produce a perceptible prostration. In all cases, however, when, by the action of a faculty, waste has been incurred, some lapse of time must take place before full efficiency can be re-acquired ; and this time must be long in proportion as the waste has been great. 41. Keeping in mind these general truths, we shall be in a con- dition to understand certain causes of effect in composition now to be considered. Every perception received, and every conception realized, entailing some amount of waste, or, as Liebig would say. some change of matter in the brain, and the efficiency of the faculties subject to this waste being thereby temporarily, though often but momentarily, diminished, the resulting partial inability must aftect the acts of perception and conception that immediately succeed. And hence we may expect that the vivid- ness with which images are realized will in many cases depend on the order of their presentation, even when one order is as convenient to the understanding as the other. _ We shall find THE PHILOSOPHY OF STYLE. 37 sundry facts which alike illustrate this, and are explained by it. Climax is one of them. The marked effect obtained by placing last the most striking of any series of images, and the weakness often ludicrous weakness produced by revers- ing this arrangement, depend on the general law indicated. As, immediately after looking at the sun, we can not perceive the light of a fire, whilst by looking at the fire first, and the sun afterwards, we can perceive both; so, after receiving a brilliant or weighty or terrible thought, we can not appreciate a less brilliant, less weighty, or less terrible one, whilst, by revers- ing the order, we can appreciate each. 42. In Antithesis, again, we may recognize the same general truth. The opposition of two thoughts that are the reverse of each other in some prominent trait insures an impressive effect, and does this by giving a momentary relaxation of the faculties addressed. If, after a series of images of an ordinary character, appealing in a moderate degree to the sentiment of reverence or approbation or beauty, the mind has presented to it a very insig- nificant, a very unworthy, or a very ugly image, the faculty of reverence or approbation or beauty, as the case may be, having for the time nothing to do, tends to resume its full power, and will immediately afterwards appreciate a vast, admirable, or beau- tiful image better than it would otherwise do. Improbable as these momentary variations in susceptibility will seem to many, we can not doubt their occurrence when we contemplate the analo- gous variations in the susceptibility of the senses. Keferring once more to phenomena of vision, every one knows that a patch of black on a white ground looks blacker, and a patch of white on a black ground looks whiter, than elsewhere. As the blackness arid the whiteness must really be the same, the only assignable cause for this is a difference in their action upon us, dependent upon the different states of our faculties. It is simply a visual antithesis. 43. But this extension of the general principle of economy, this further condition of effect in composition, that the power of the faculties must be continuously husbanded, includes much more than has been yet hinted. It implies, not only that certain arrangements and certain juxtapositions of connected ideas are best, but that some modes of dividing and presenting the subject will be more effective than others, and that, too, irrespective of its logical cohesion. It shows why we must progress from the less interesting to the more interesting; and why not only the composition as a whole, but each of its successive portions, should tend towards a climax. At the same time, it forbids long con- tinuity of the same species of thought, or repeated production of the same effects. It warns us against the error committed both 38 ENGLISH LITERATURE. by Pope in his poems and by Bacon in his essays, the error, namely, of constantly employing the most effective forms of ex- ion ; and it points out, that as the easiest posture by and by becomes fatiguing, and is with pleasure exchanged for one less easy, so the most perfectly constructed sentences will soon weary, and relief will be given by using those of an inferior kind. Fur- ther, it involves that not only should we avoid generally com- bining our words in one manner, however good, or working out our figures and illustrations in one way, however telling, but we should avoid any thing like uniform adherence even to the wider conditions of effect. We should not make every section of our subject progress in interest ; we should not always rise to a cli- max. As we say, that, in single sentences, it is but rarely allow- able to fulfill all the conditions of strength ; so, in the larger portions of a composition, we must not often conform entirely to the law indicated. We must subordinate the component effects to the total effect. 44. In deciding how practically to carry out the principles of artistic composition, we may derive help by bearing in mind a fact already pointed out, the fitness of certain verbal arrangements for certain kinds of thought. That constant variety in the mode of presenting ideas which the theory demands will in a great degree result from a skillful adaptation of the form to the matter. W? saw how the direct or inverted sentence is spontaneously used by excited people, and how their language is also characterized by figures of speech and by extreme brevity. Hence these may with advantage predominate in emotional passages, and HKiy increase as the emotion rises. On the other hand, for complex ideas, the indirect sentence seems the best vehicle. In conversa- tion, the excitement produced by the near approach to a desired conclusion will often show itself in a series of short, sharp sen- tences; whilst, in impressing a view already enunciated, we gen- erally make our periods voluminous by piling thought upon thought. These natural .modes of procedure may serve as guides in writing. Keen observation and skillful analysis would, in like manner, detect many other peculiarities of expression produced by other attitudes of mind ; and, by paying due attention to all such traits, a writer possessed of sufficient versatility might make some approach to a completely organized work. 45. This species of composition, which the law of effect points out as the perfect one, is the one which high genius tends naturally to produce. As we found that the kinds of sentence which are theoretically best are those generally employed by superior minds, and by inferior minds when excitement has raised them ; so we shall find that the ideal form for a poem, essay, or fiction, is that which the ideal writer would evolve spontaneously. One iu THE PHILOSOPHY OF STYLE. 39 whom the powers of expression fully responded to the state of mind would unconsciously use that variety in the mode of pre- senting his thoughts which Art demands. This constant employ- ment of one species of phraseology, which all have now to strive against, implies an undeveloped faculty of language. To have a specific style is to be poor in speech. If we glance back at the past, and remember that men had once only nouns and verbs to convey their ideas with, and that from then to now the growth has been towards a greater number of implements of thought, and, consequently, towards a greater complexity and variety in their combinations, we may infer that we are now, in our use of sentences, much what the primitive man was in his use of words ; and that a continuance of the process that has hitherto gone on must produce increasing heterogeneity in our modes of expression. 46. As, now, in a fine nature, the play of the features, the tones of the voice and its cadences, vary in harmony with every thought uttered ; so, in one possessed of a fully-developed power of speech, the mold in which combination of words is cast will similarly vary with, and be appropriate to, the sentiment. That a perfectly endowed man must unconsciously write in all styles, we may infer from considering how styles originate. Why is Arldison diffuse, Johnson pompous, Goldsmith simple ? Why is one author abrupt, another rhythmical, another concise ? Evi- dently, in each case, the habitual mode of utterance must depend upon the habitual balance of the nature. The predominant feel- ings have by use trained the intellect to represent them. But, whilst long though unconscious discipline has made it do this efficiently, it remains, from lack of practice, incapable of doing the same for the less powerful feelings; and, when these are ex- cited, the usual modes of expression undergo but a slight modifi- cation. Let the powers of speech be fully developed, however, let the ability of the intellect to convey the emotions be complete, and this fixity of style will disappear. The perfect writer will express himself as Junius, when in the Junius frame of mind ; when he feels as Lamb felt, will use a like familiar speech ; and will fall into the ruggedness of Carlyle when in a Carlylean mood. Now he will be rhythmical, and now irregular ; here his language will be plain, and there ornate ; sometimes his sentences will be balanced, and at other times unsymmetrical; for a while there will be considerable sameness, and then, again, great variety. From his mode of expression naturally responding to his state of feeling, there will flow from his pen a composition changing to the same degree that the aspects of his subject change. He will thus, without effort, conform to what we have seen to be the laws of effect. And, whilst his work presents to the reader that variety 40 ENGLISH LITERATURE. needful to prevent continuous exertion of the same faculties, it will also answer to the description of all highly-organized prod- ucts both of man and of nature : it will be, not a series of like parts simply placed in juxtaposition, but one whole made up of unlike parts that are mutually dependent. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. BORN Nov. 3, 1794, CCMMINGTON, MASS. It is eminently fitting for us to begin the study of English literature with the name of this veteran poet and most accomplished master of pure English. From 1808, the date of his first published literary effort, to the present time, 1870, a period of more than sixty years, the power and beauty of the language have been almost continuously illustrated by his genius. Combining in the rarest manner in himself the true poet, the careful critic, and the political philosopher, it would be difficult to say in which character he has performed the most distinguished services to humanity. * For beauty and purity of thought and expression, his poems, and for sound logic, and lucidity of style, his political writings, place him in the front rank of modern authors. PRINCIPAL PRODUCTIONS. " Thanatopsis ; " "Inscription for an Entrance into a Wood;" " Letters of a Traveler;" Second Series of " Letters of a Traveler;" " The Waterfowl ;" u The Ages;" three volumes of Poems; Contributions as editor and correspondent of "The New- York Evening Post" since 1826; "Translation of Homer," 1870. THANATOPSia. To him who, in the love of Nature, holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language : for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides Into his darker musings with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals awny Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, M ike thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart, Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings ; while from all around Earth and her waters, and the depths of air Comes a still voice : " Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 41 In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground Where thy pale form was laid with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again : And lost each human trace, surrendering up Thine individual being, shalt thou go To mix for ever with the elements ; To be a brother to the insensible rock, And to the sluggish clod which the rude swain Turns with his share and treads upon. The oak Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold. Yet not to thine eternal resting-place Shalt thou retire alone ; nor couldst thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world, with kings, The powerful of the earth, the wise, the good, Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, All in one mighty sepulcher. The hills, Kock-ribbed and ancient as the sun ; the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between ; The venerable woods ; rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste, Are but the solemn decorations, all, Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning ; traverse Barca's desert sands ; Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save its own dashings : yet the dead are there ; And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep : the dead reign there alone. So shalt thou rest. And what if thou withdraw In silence from the living, and no friend Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone ;* the solemn brood of care Plod on ; and each one, as before, will chase His favorite phantom : yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee. As the long train Of ages glides away, the sons of men, The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes In the full strength of years, matron and maid, And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man, 42 ENGLISH LITERATURE. Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side By those who in their turn shall follow them. So live, that, when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan which moves To that mysterious realm where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night Scourged to his dungeon ; but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams." THE CONQUEROR'S GRAVE. WITHIX this lowly grave a conqueror lies ; And yet the monument proclaims it not, Nor round the sleeper's name hath chisel wrought The emblems of a fame that never dies, Ivy and amaranth in a graceful sheaf, Twined with the laurel's fair, imperial leaf. A simple name alone, To the great world unknown, . Is graven here ; and wild-flowers rising round Meek meadow-sweet and violets of the ground Lean lovingly against the humble stone. Here, in the quiet earth, they laid apart No man of iron mold and bloody hands, AVho sought to wreak upon the cowering lands The passions that consumed his restless heart ; But one of tender spirit and delicate frame, Gentlest in mien and mind Of gentle womankind, Timidly shrinking from the breath of blarno ; One in whose eyes the smile of kindness made Its haunt, like flowers by sunny brooks in May ; Yet, at the thought of others' pain, a shade Of sweeter sadness chased the smile away. Nor deem, that, when the hand that molders here Was raised in menace, realms were chilled with fear, And armies mustered at the sign, as when Clouds rise on clouds before the rainy east, Gray captains leading bands of veteran men And fiery youths to be the vultures' feast. Not thus were waged the mighty wars that gave The victory to her who fills this irrave. Alone her task was wrought ; Alone the battle fought : Through that long strife her constant hope was stayed On God alone, nor looked for other aid. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 43 She met the hosts of sorrow with a look That altere'd not beneath the frown they wore ; And soon the lowering brood were tamed, and took Meekly her gentle rule, and frowned no more. Her soft hand put aside the assaults of wrath, And calmly broke in twain The fiery shafts of pain, And rent the nets of passion from her path ; By that victorious hand despair was slain. With love she vanquished hate, and overcame Evil with good in her Great Master's name. Her glory is not of this shadowy state, Glory that with the fleeting season dies ; But, when she entered at the sapphire gate, What joy was radiant in celestial eyes ! How heaven's bright depths with sounding welcomes rung, And flowers of heaven by shining hands were flung ! And He who, long before, Pain, scorn, and .sorrow bore, The mighty Sufferer, with aspect sweet, Smiled on the timid stranger from his seat ; He who, returning glorious from the grave, Dragged Death, disarmed, in chains, a crouching slave. See ! as I linger here, the sun grows low ; Cool airs are murmuring that the night is near. O gentle sleeper ! from thy grave 1 go Consoled, though sad, in hope, and yet in fear. Brief is the time, I know, The warfare scarce begun ; Yet all may win the triumphs thou hast won : Still flows the fount whose waters strengthened thee. The victors' names are yet too few to fill Heaven's mighty roll; the glorious armory That ministered to thee is opened still. THE PA S T. THOU unrelenting Past ! Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain, And fetters sure and fast Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign. Far in thy realm withdrawn, Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom ; And glorious ages gone Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb. 44 ENGLISH L1TEEATUKE. Childhood with all its mirth, Youth, manhood, age that draws us to'the ground, And, last, man's life on earth, Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound. Thou hast my better years ; Thou hast my earlier friends, the good, the kind, Yielded to thee with tears ; The venerable form, the exalted mind. My spirit yearns to bring The lost ones back, yearns with desire intense, And struggles hard to wring Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence. In vain : thy gates deny All passage save to those who hence depart ; Nor to the streaming eye Thou giv'st them back, nor to the broken heart. In thy abysses hide Beauty and excellence unknown : to thee Earth's wonder and her pride Are gathered as the waters to the sea, Labors of good to man ; Unpublished charity ; unbroken faith ; Love that 'midst grief began, And grew with years, and faltered not in death. Full many a mighty name Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered : With thee are silent fame, Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappeared. Thine for a space are they : Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last ; Thy gates shall yet give way, Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past ! All that of good and fair Has gone into thy womb from earliest time Shall then come forth to wear The glory and the beauty of its prime. They have not perished : no ! Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet, Smiles radiant long ago, And features the great soul's apparent seat, All shall come back ; each tie Of pure affection shall be knit again : Alone shall Evil die, And Sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 45 And then shall I behold Him by whose kind, paternal side I sprung ; And her who, still and cold, Fills the next grave, the beautiful and young. THE EVENING WIND. SPIRIT that breathest through my lattice, thou That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day ! Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow : Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray, And swelling the white sail. I welcome Jthee To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea ! Nor I alone : a thousand bosoms round Inhale thee in the fullness of delight ; And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound Livelier, at coming of the wind of night ; And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound, Lies the vast inland, stretched beyond the sight. Go forth into the gathering shade ; go forth, God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth ! Go rock the little wood-bird in his nest ; Curl the still waters bright with stars ; and rouse The wide old wood from his majestic rest, Summoning from the innumerable boughs The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast : Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the grass. The faint old man shall lean his silver head To feel thee ; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, And dry the moistened curls that overspread His temples, while his breathing grows more deep ; And they who stand about the sick man's bed Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep, And softly part his curtains to allow Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow. Go : but the circle of eternal change, Which is the life of Nature, shall restore, With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range, Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more ; 46 ENGLISH LITERATURE. Sweet odors in the sea-air, sweet and strange, Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore ; And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem He hears the rustling leaf and running stream. THE BATTLE-FIELD. ONCE this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, Were trampled by a hurrying crowd ; And fiery hearts and armed hands Encountered in the battle-cloud. Ah ! never shall the land forget How gushed the life-blood of her brave, Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet, Upon the soil they fought to save ! Now all is calm and fresh and still : Alone the chirp of flitting bird, And talk of children on the hill, And bell of wandering kine, are heard. No solemn host goes trailing by The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain; Men start not at the battle-cry : Oh, be it never heard again ! Soon rested those who fought ; but thou Who minglest in the harder strife For truths which men receive not now, Thy warfare only ends with life, A friendless warfare, lingering long Through weary day and weary year : A wild and many-weaponed throng Hang on thy front and flank and rear. Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, And blench not at thy chosen lot. The timid good may stand aloof ; The sage may frown : yet faint thou not, Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, The foul and hissing bolt of scorn ; For with thy side shall dwell, at last, The victory of endurance born. Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; The eternal years of God are hers : But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, And dies among his worshipers. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 47 Yea, though thou lie upon the dust When they who helped thee flee in fear, Die full of hope and manly trust Like those who fell in battle here. Another hand thy sword shall wield, Another hand the standard wave, Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed The blast of triumph o'er thy grave. THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM. O FREEDOM ! thou art not, as poets dream, A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs, And wavy tresses gushing from the cap With which the Roman master crowned his slave When he took off the gyves. A bearded man, Armed to the teeth, art thou : one mailed hand Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword ; thy brow, Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred With tokens of old wars; thy massive limbs Are strong with struggling. Power at thee has launched His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee : They could not quench the life thou hast from Heaven. Merciless power has dug thy dungeon deep ; And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires, Have forged thy chain : yet, while he deems thee bound, The links are shivered, and the prison-walls Fall outward. Terribly thou springest forth, As springs the flame above a burning pile, And shoutest to the nations, who return Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies. Thy birthright was not given by human hands : Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant fields, While yet our race was few, thou sat'st with him To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars, And teach the reed to utter simple airs. Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood, Didst war upon the panther and the wolf, His only foes ; and thou with him didst draw The earliest furrow on the mountain-side Soft with the Deluge. Tyranny himself, Thy enemy, although of reverend look, Hoary with many years, and far obeyed, Is later born than thou ; and, as he meets The grave defiance of thine elder eye, The usurper trembles in his fastnesses. Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years ; But he shall fade into a feebler age, 48 ENGLISH LITERATURE. Feebler, yet subtler. He shall weave his snares, And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap His withered hands, and from their ambush call His hordes to fall upon thee. He shall send Quaint maskers, wearing fair and gallant forms, To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words To charm thy ear ; while his sly imps, bv stealth, Twine round" thee threads of steel, light thread on thread, That grow to fetters ; or bind down thy arms With chains concealed in chaplets. Oh ! not yet Mayst thou unbrace thy corselet, nor lay by Thy sword ; nor yet. O Freedom ! close thy lids In slumber : for thine enemy never sleeps ; And thou must watch and combat till the day Of the new earth and heaven. HOSIER. O GODDESS ! sing the wrath of Peleus' son, Achilles ; sing the deadly wrath that brought Woes numberless upon the Greeks, and swept To Hades many a valiant soul, and gave Their limbs a prey to dogs, and birds of air : For so had Jove appointed, from the time When the two chiefs Atrides, king of men, And great Achilles parted first as toes. Which of the gods put strife between the chiefs, That they should thus contend ? Latona's son, And Jove's. Incensed against the king, he bade A deadly pestilence appear among The army ; and the men were perishing. For Atreus' son, with insult, had received Chryses, the priest, who to the Grecian fleet Came to redeem his daughter, offering Uncounted ransom. In his hand he bore The fillets of Apollo, archer-god, Upon the golden scepter ; and he sued To all the Greeks, but chiefly to the sons Of Atreus, the two leaders of the host : " Ye sons of Atreus, and ye other chiefs, Well-greaved Achaians. may the gods who dwell Upon Olympus give you to o'erthrow The city of Priam, and in safety reach Your homes ! But give me my beloved child, And take her ransom; honoring him who sends His arrows far, Apollo, son of Jove." Then all the other Greeks, applauding, bade Revere the priest, and take the liberal gifts WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 49 He offered. But the counsel did not please Atrides Agamemnon : he dismissed The priest with scorn, and added threatening words : *' Old man, let me not find thee loitering here Beside the roomy ships, or coming back Hereafter, lest the fillet thou dost bear, And scepter of thy god, protect thee not This maiden I release not till old age Shall overtake her in my Argive home, Far from her native country, where her hand Shall throw the shuttle and shall dress my couch. Go ! chafe me not, if thou wouldst safely go." He spake : the a^ed man in fear obeyed The mandate, and in silence walked apart Along the many-sounding ocean-side ; And fervently he prayed the monarch-god, Apollo, golden-haired Latona's son : " Hear me, thou bearer of the silver bow, Who jruardest Chrysa and the holy isle Of Cilia, and art lord in Tenedos I O Smintheus ! if I ever helped to deck Thy glorious temple, if I ever burned Upon thy altar the fat thighs of goats And bullocks, grant my prayer, and let thy shafts Avenge upon the Greeks the tears I shed." So spake he, supplicating ; and to him Phoebus Apollo hearkened. Down he came, Down from the summit of the Olympian mount, Wrathful in heart. His shoulders bore the bow And hollow quiver : there the arrows rang Upon the shoulders of the angry god, As on he moved. He came as comes the night ; And, seated from the ships aloof, sent forth An arrow : terrible was heard the clang Of that resplendent bow. At first he smote The mules and the swift dogs ; and then on man He turned the deadly arrow. All around Glared evermore the frequent funeral-piles. Nine days already had his shafts been showered Among the host ; and now, upon the tenth, Achilles called the people of the camp To council. Juno, of the snow-white arms, Had moved his mind to this ; for she beheld With sorrow that the men were perishing. And when the assembly met, and now was full, Stood swift Achilles in the midst, and said, " To me it seems, Atrides, that 'twere well, Since now our aim is baffled, to return 4 50 EXGLISH LITERATURE. Homeward, if death o'ertake us not ; for war And pestilence at once destroy the Greeks. But let us first consult some seer or priest Or dream-interpreter, for even dreams Are sent by Jove, and ask him by what cause Phoebus Apollo has been angered thus, If by neglected vows or hecatombs ; And whether savor of fat bulls and goats May move the god to stay the pestilence." He spake, and took again his seat. And next Rose Calchas, son of Thestor, and the chief Of augurs, one to whom were known things past And present and to come. He, through the art Of divination which Apollo gave, Had guided Ilium-ward the ships of Greece. With words well ordered warily he spake : " Achilles, loved of Jove, thou biddest me Explain the wrath of Phoebus, monarch-god, Who sends afar his arrows. Willingly Will I make known the cause : but covenant thou, And swear to stand prepared, by word and hand, To bring me succor; for my mind misgives That he who rules the Argives, and to whom The Achaian race are subject, will be wroth. A sovereign is too strong for humbler men ; And, though he keep his choler down a while, It rankles, till he sate it, in his heart. And now consider : wilt thou hold me safe ? " Achilles, the swift-footed, answered thus : " Fear nothing, but speak boldly out whate'er Thou knowest, and declare the will of Heaven ; For by Apollo, dear to Jove, whom thou, Calchas, dost pray to when thou givest forth The sacred oracles to men of Greece, No man, while yet I live, and see the light Of day, shall lay a violent hand on thee Among our roomy ships ; no man of all The Grecian armies, though thou name the name Of Agamemnon, whose high boast it is To stand in power and rank above them all." Encouraged thus, the blameless seer went on : " 'Tis not neglected vows or hecatombs That move him , but the insult shown his priest, . Whom Agamemnon spurned when he refused To set his daughter free, and to receive Her ransom. Therefore sends the archer-god These woes upon us, and will send them still, Nor ever will withdraw his heavy hand From our destruction, till the dark-eyed maid, WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 51 Freely, and without ransom, be restored To her beloved father, and with her A sacred hecatomb to Chrysa sent : So may we haply pacify the god." Thus having said, the augur took his seat. And then the hero-son of Atreus rose, Wide-ruling Agamemnon, greatly chafed. His gloomy heart was full of wrath ; his eyes Sparkled like fire. He fixed a menacing look Full on the augur Calchas, and began : " Prophet of evil, never hadst thou yet A cheerful word for me. To mark the signs Of coming mischief is thy great delight. Good dost thou ne'er foretell, nor bring to pass. And now thou pratest, in thine auguries Before the Greeks, how that the archer-god Afflicts us thus because I would not take The costly ransom offered to redeem The virgin-child of Chryses. 'Twas my choice To keep her with me ; for I prize her more Than Clytemnestra, bride of my young years, And deem her not less nobly graced than she, In form and feature, mind, and pleasing arts. Yet will I give her back if that be best ; For gladly would I see my people saved From this destruction. Let meet recompense, Meantime, be ready, that I be not left Alone of all the Greeks without my prize : That were not seemly. All of you perceive That now my share of spoil has passed from me." To him the great Achilles, swift of foot, Replied, " Renowned Atrides, greediest Of men, where wilt thou that our noble Greeks Find other spoil for thee, since none is set Apart, a common store V The trophies brought From towns which we have sacked have all been shared Among us ; and we could not without shame Bid every warrior bring his portion back. Yield, then, the maiden to the god, and we, The Achaians, freely will appoint for thee Threefold and fourfold recompense when Jove Gives up to sack this well-defended Troy." Then the king Agamemnon answered thus : " Nay, use no craft, all valiant as thou art, Godlike Achilles : thou hast not the power To circumvent nor to persuade me thus. Think'st thou, that, while thou keepest safe thy prize, I shall sit idly down, deprived of mine V Thou bid'st me give the maiden back. 'Tis well 52 ENGLISH LITERATURE. If to my hands the noble Greeks shall bring The worth of what I lose, and in a shape That pleases me : else will 1 come myself, And seize and bear away thy prize, or that Of Ajax or Ulysses ; leaving him. From whom I take his share to ra<*e at will. Another time we will confer of this. Now come, and forth into the great salt sea Launch a black ship, and muster on the deck Men skilled to row ; and put a hecatomb On board ; and let the fair-cheeked maid embark, Chryseis. Send a prince to bear command, Ajax, Idomeneus, or the divine Ulysses, or thyself, Pelides, thou Most terrible of men, that with due rites Thou soothe the anger of the archer-god." Achilles, the swift-footed, with stern look Thus answered : " Ha ! thou mailed in impudence And bent on lucre ! Who of all the Greeks Can willingly obey thee on the march, Or bravely battling with the enemy ? I came not to this war because of wrong Done to me by the valiant sons of Troy. No feud had I with them : they never took My beeves or horses ; nor in Phthia's realm, Deep-soiled and populous, spoiled my harvest-fields. For many a shadowy mount between us lies, And waters of the wide-resounding sea. Man unabashed ! we follow thee, that thou Mayst glory in avenging upon Troy The grudge of Menelaus and thy own. Thou shameless one ! and yet thou hast for this Nor thanks nor care. Thou threatenest now to take From me the prize for which I bore long toils In battle ; and the Greeks decreed it mine. I never take an equal share with thee Of booty when the Grecian host has sacked Some populous Trojan town. My hands perform The harder labors of the fields in all The tumult of the fight : but, when the spoil Is shared, the largest share of all is thine ; While I, content with little, see my ships Weary with combat. I shall now go home To Phthia : better were it to be there With my beaked ships. But here, where I am held In little honor, thou wilt fail, I think, To gather, in large measure, spoil and wealth." Him answered Agamemnon, king of men : " Desert, then, if thou wilt : I ask thee not To stay for me. There will be others left WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 53 To do me honor yet ; and, best of all, The all-providing Jove is with me still. Thee I detest the most of all the men Ordained by him to govern. Thy delight Is in contention, war, and bloody frays. If thou art brave, some deity, no doubt, Hath thus endowed thee. Hence, then, to thy home, With all thy ships and men ! there domineer Over thy myrmidons. I heed thee not, Nor care I tor thy fury. Thus, in turn, I threaten thee : Since Phoebus takes away Chryseis, I will send her in my ship, And with my friends ; and, coming to thy tent, Will bear away the fair-cheeked maid, thy prize, Briseis, that thou learn how far I stand Above thee, and that other chiefs may fear To measure strength with me and brave my power." The rage of Peleus' son, as thus he spake, Grew fiercer : in that shaggy breast his heart Took counsel, whether from his thigh to draw The trenchant sword, and, thrusting back the rest, Smite down Atrides ; or subdue his wrath, And master his own spirit. While he thus Debated with himself, and half unsheathed The ponderous blade, Pallas Athene came, Sent from on high by Juno the white-armed, Who loved both warriors, and watched over both. Behind Pelides, where he stood, she came, And plucked his yellow hair. The hero turned In wonder ; and at once he knew the look Of Pallas, and the awful-gleaming eye, And thus accosted her with winged words : " Why com'st thou hither, daughter of the god Who bears the aegis ? Art thou here to see The insolence of Agamemnon, son Of Atreus ? Let me tell thee what I deem Will be the event. That man may lose his life, And quickly, too, for arrogance like this." Book 1. 1-267. 54 ENGLISH LITERATURE. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. BORN FEB. 27, 1807, PORTLAND, ME. As Professor of Modern Languages and Belles-Lettres in Bowdoin College from 1829 to 1835, and in Harvard University from 1835 to 1854, Mr. Longfellow has done much to refine and polish the literary taste of his time, both as critic and poet. It is superfluous to speak in praise of 'his numerous literary productions, since they are sought with equal eagerness at home and abroad. A thorough student in the polite literature of all nations, a welcome guest and intelligent observer in American and European society, a poet of purest thought and expression, he ennobles life with so much generous human sympathy in all his writings, that they are read and admired as the thoughts of a cherished friend. PRINCIPAL PRODUCTIONS. "Outre Mer," 1835; "Hyperion," and "Voices of the Night," 1839; " Evan- geline," 1847; "The Spanish Student," 1843; "The Golden Legend," 1845; "Ballads and Poems," 1841; " Kavanagh." 1848; many minor Poems. "Poets and Poetry of Europe," 1845; " Belfry of Bruges; " " Seaside and Fireside," 1849; " The Song of Hiawatha," 1855; " The Courtship of Miles Standish," 1858. A PSALM OF LIFE. What the heart of the young 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 ; And the grave is not its goal : " Dust thou art, to dust returnest," Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way ; But to act, that each to-morrow 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 Funeral-marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle : Be a hero in the strife. HENRY WADSWOKTH LONGFELLOW. 55 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. THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS, THERE is a Reaper whose name is Death ; And with his sickle keen He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between. " Shall I have naught that is fair ? " saith he ; " Have naught but the bearded grain V Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes ; He kissed their drooping leaves : It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. " My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," The Reaper said, and smiled : " Dear tokens of the earth are they, Where he was once a child. They shall all bloom in fields of light, Transplanted by my care ; And saints upon their garments white These sacred blossoms wear." And the mother gave, in tears and pain, The flowers she most did love : She knew she should find them all again In the fields of light above. ENGLISH LITERATURE. Oh ! not in cruelty, not in wrath, The Reaper came that day : 'Twas an angel visited tfye green earth, And took the flowers away. FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS, WHEN the hours of day are numbered^ And the voices of the night Wake the better soul, that slumbered, To a holy, calm delight; Ere the evening lamps are lighted, And, like phantoms grim and tall, Shadows from the fitful fire-light Dance upon the parlor-wall, Then the forms of the departed Enter at the open door : The beloved, the true-hearted, Come to visit me once more. He, the young and strong, who cherished Noble longings for the strife, By the roadside fell and perished, Weary with the march of life. They, the holy ones and weakly, Who the cross of suffering bore, Folded their pale hands so meekly ! Spake with us on earth no more t And with them the being beauteous, Who unto my youth was given More than all things else to love me, And is now a saint in heaven. With a slow and noiseless footstep Comes that messenger divine, T \es the vacant chair beside me, Lays her gentle hand in mine. And she sits and gazes at me With those deep and tender eyes,. lake the stars, so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies. tittered not, yet comprehended, Is the spirit's voiceless prayer ; Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, Breathing from her lips of air. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 57 Oh ! though oft depressed and lonely, All my lears are laid aside If I but remember only, Such as these have lived and died. THE BELEAGUERED CITY. I HAVE read, in some old, marvelous tale, Some legend strange and vague-, That a midnight host of specters pale Beleaguered the walls of Prague. Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, With the wan moon overhead, There stood, as in an awful dream, The army of the dead. White as a sea-fog landward bound, The spectral camp was seen ; And with a sorrowful, deep sound, The river flowed between. No other voice nor sound was there, , No drum, nor sentry's pace : The mist-like banners clasped the air As clouds with clouds embrace. But, when the old cathedral-bell Proclaimed the morning prayer, The white pavilions rose and fell On the alarmed air. Down the broad valley fast and far The troubled army fled : Up rose the glorious morning-star ; The ghastly host was dead. I have read, in the marvelous heart of man, That strange and mystic scroll, That an army of phantoms vast and wan Beleaguer the human soul. Encamped beside Life's rushing stream, In Fancy's misty light, Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam Portentous through the night. 58 ENGLISH LITERATURE. Upon its midnight battle-ground The spectral camp is seen ; And with a sorrowful, deep sound, Flows the River of Lite between. No other voice nor sound is there In the army of the grave ; No other challenge breaks the air But the rushing of Life's wave. And, when the solemn and deep church-bell Entreats the soul to pray, The midnight phantoms feel the spell, The shadows sweep away. Down the broad Vale of Tears afar The spectral camp is fled : Faith shineth as a morning-star ; Our ghastly fears are dead. MAIDENHOOD. MAIDEN with the meek, brown eyes, In whose orbs a shadow lies Like the dusk in evening skies ! Thou whose locks outshine the sun, Golden tresses, wreathed in one, As the braided streamlets run ! Standing with reluctant feet Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet ! Gazing with a timid glance On the brooklet's swift advance, On the river's broad expanse ! Deep and still, that gliding stream Beautiful to thee must seem As the river of a dream. Then why pause with indecision, When bright angels in thy vision Beckon thee to fields Elysian ? Seest thou shadows sailing by, A? the dove, with startled eye, Sees the falcon's shadow fly'? HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 59 Hear'st thou voices on the shore, That our ears perceive no more, Deafened by the cataract's roar ? O thou child of many prayers ! Lii'e hath quicksands, life hath snares : Care and age come unawares. Like the swell of some sweet tune, Morning rises into noon, May glides onward into June, Childhood is the bough where slumbered Birds and blossoms many-numbered ; Age, that bough with snows encumbered. Gather, then, each flower that grows When the young heart overflows, To embalm that tent of snows, Bear a lily in thy hand : Gates of brass can not withstand One touch of that magic wand. Bear, through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, In thy heart the dew of youth, On thy lips the smile of truth. Oh! that dew, like balm, shall steal Into wounds that can not heal, Even as sleep our eyes doth seal ; And that smile, like sunshine, dart Into many a sunless heart : For a smile of God thou art. EXCELSIOR. THE shades of night were falling fast As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, " Excelsior ! " His brow was sad ; his eye beneath Flashed like a falchion from its sheath ; And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, * " Excelsior ! " GO ENGLISH LITERATURE. In happy homes he saw the light Of household-fires gleam warm and bright ; Above, the spectral glaciers shone ; And from his lips escaped a groan, " Excelsior ! " ** Try not the pass ! " the old man said ; " Dark lowers the tempest overhead ; The roaring torrent is deep and wide ! " And loud that clarion voice replied, " Excelsior ! " " Oh, stay/' the maiden said, " and rest Thy weary head upon this breast ! " A tear stood in his bright blue eye ; But still he answered with a sigh, " Excelsior ! " " Beware the pine-tree's withered branch ! Beware the awful avalanche ! " This was the peasant's last good-night : A voice replied, far up the hight, " Excelsior ! " At break of day, as heavenward The pious monks of Saint Bernard Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried through the startled air, " Excelsior ! " A traveler by the faithful hound Half buried in the snow was found, Still grasping in his hand of ice That banner with the strange device, u Excelsior ! " There in the twilight cold and gray, Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay ; And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell, like a falling star, "Excelsior!" THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. ALL is finished ; and at length Has come the bridal day Of beauty and of strength. To-day the vessel shall be launched ! With fleecy clouds the sky is blanched ; And o'er the bay, HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 61 Slowly, in all his splendors dight, The great sun rises to behold the sight. The ocean old, Centuries old, Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled, Paces restless to and fro Up and down the sands of gold. His beating heart is not at rest ; And far and wide, With ceaseless flow, His beard of snow Heaves with the heaving of his breast. He waits impatient for his bride. There she stands, With her foot upon the sands, Decked with flags and streamers gay, In honor of her marriage-day ; Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending, Kound her like a vail descending, Ready to be The bride of the gray old sea. On the deck another bride Is standing by her lover's side. Shadows from the flags and shrouds, Like the shadows cast by clouds, Broken by many a sunny fleck, Fall around them on the deck. The prayer is said, The service read ; The joyous bridegroom bows his head ; And in tears the good old master Shakes the brown hand of his son, Kisses his daughter's glowing cheek In silence, for he can not speak ; And ever faster Down his own the tears begin to run. The worthy pastor The shepherd of that wandering flock That has the ocean for its wold, That has the vessel for its fold, Leaping ever from rock to rock Spake, with accents mild and clear, Words of warning, words of cheer, But tedious to the bridegroom's ear. He knew the chart Of the sailor's heart, All its pleasures and its griefs ; All its shallows and rocky reefs ; All those secret currents that flow With such resistless undertow, C2 ENGLISH LITERATURE. And lift and drift, with terrible force, The will from its moorings and its course. Therefore he spake, and fhus said he : " Like unto ships far off at sea, Outward or homeward bound, are we. Before, behind, and all around, . Floats and swings the horizon's bound ; Seems at its distant rim to rise And climb the crystal wall of the skies, And then again to turn and sink, As if we could slide from its outer brink. Ah ! it is not the sea, It is not the sea, that sinks and shelves, But ourselves That rock and rise With endless and uneasy motion, Now touching the very skies, Now sinking into the depths of ocean. Ah! if our souls but poise and swing Like the compass in its brazen ring, Ever level and ever true To the toil and the task we have to do, We shall sail securely, and safely reach The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach The sights we see and the sounds we hear Will be those of joy, and not of fear. " Then the master, With a trc-slnre of command, Waved his hand ; And, at the word, Loud and sudden there was heard, All around them and below, The sound of hammers, blow on blow, Knocking away the shores and spurs. And see 1 she stirs ! She starts 1 she moves ! she seems to feel The thrill of life along her keel ! And, spurning with her foot the ground, With one exulting, joyous bound She leaps into the ocean's arms ! And, lo ! from the assembled crowd There rose a shout prolonged and loud, That to the ocean seemed to say, " Take her, O bridegroom old and gray, Take her to thy protecting arms, With all her youth and all her charms ! " How beautiful she is ! How fair She lies within those arms that press Her form with many a soft caress Of tenderness and watchful care ! HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 63 Sail forth into the sea, O ship ! Through wind and wave right onwar,d steer 1 The moistened eye, the trembling lip, Are not the signs of doubt or fear. Sail forth into the sea of life, O gentle, loving, trusting wife ! And safe from all adversity Upon the bosom of that sea Thy comings and thy goings be ! For gentleness and love and trust Prevail o'er angry wave and gust ; And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives. Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State I Sail on, O UNION strong and great 1 Humanity with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate. We know what master laid thy keel ; What workmen wrought thy ribs of steel ; Who made each mast and sail and rope ; What anvils rang, what hammers beat ; In what a forge and what a heat Were shaped the anchors of thy hope. Fear not each sudden sound and shock : 'Tis of the wave, and not the rock ; 'Tis but the flapping of the sail, And not a rent made by the gale. In spite of rock, and tempest's roar, In spite of false lights on the shore, Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea : Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee ; Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, Are all with thee, are all with thee ! HI A WA TEA ' S WO OING. " As unto the bow the cord is, So unto the man is woman : Though she bends him, she obeys him ; Though she draws him, yet she follows: Useless each without the other." Thus the youthful Hiawatha Said within himself, and pondered, Much perplexed by various feelings ; Listless, longing, hoping, fearing, Dreaming still of Minnehaha, 64 ENGLISH LITERATURE. Of the lovely Laughing Water, In the land of the Dakotahs. " AVed a maiden of your people," Warning said the old Nokomis : " Go not eastward, go not westward, For a stranger whom we know not. Like a fire upon the hearth-stone Is a neighbor's homely daughter ; Like the starlight or the moonlight Is the handsomest of strangers." Thus dissuading spake Nokomis ; And my Hiawatha answered Only this : " Dear old Nokomis, Very pleasant is the firelight ; But I like the starlight better, Better do I like the moonlight." Gravely then said old Nokomis, " Bring not here an idle maiden, Bring not here a useless woman, Hands unskillful, feet unwilling : Bring a wife with nimble fingers, Heart and hand that move together, Feet that run on willing errands." Smiling answered Hiawatha, " In the land of the Dakotahs Lives the arrow-maker's daughter, Minnehaha, Laughing Water, Handsomest of all the women. I will bring her to your wigwam : She shall run upon your errands, Be your starlight, moonlight, firelight, Be the sunlight of my people." Still dissuading said Nokomis, " Bring not to my lodge a stranger From the land of the Dacotahs. Very fierce are the Dacotahs ; Often is there war between us : There are feuds yet unforgotten, Wounds that ache, and still may open." Laughing answered Hiawatha, " For that reason, if no other, Would I wed the fair Dacotah, That our tribes might be united, That old feuds might be forgotten, And old wounds be healed for ever." Thus departed Hiawatha To the land of the Dacotahs, To the land of handsome women ; Striding over moor and meadow, Through interminable forests, Through uninterrupted silence. With his moccasins of magic, HENKY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 65 At each stroke a mile he measured : Yet the way seemed long before him, And his heart outran his footsteps ; And he journeyed without resting, Till he heard the cataract's laughter, Heard the Falls of Minnehaha Calling to him through the silence. " Pleasant is the sound," he murmured ; " Pleasant is the voice that calls me." On the outskirts of the forest, 'Twixt the shadow and the sunshine, Herds of fallow-deer were feeding ; But they saw not Hiawatha. To his bow he whispered, " Fail not ! " To his arrow whispered, " Swerve not 1 " Sent it singing on its errand To the red heart of the roebuck ; Threw the deer across his shoulder, And sped forward without pausing. At the doorway of his wigwam Sat the ancient arrow-maker, In the land of the Dacotahs, Making arrow-heads of jasper, Arrow-heads of chalcedony. At his side, in all her beauty, Sat the lovely Minnehaha, Sat his daughter, Laughing Water, Plaiting mats of flags and rushes : Of the past the old man's thoughts were; And the maiden's, of the future. He was thinking, as he sat there, Of the days when with such arrows He had struck the deer and bison On the Muskoday, the meadow ; Shot the wild-goose flying southward, On the wing, the clamorous Wawa ; Thinking of the great war-parties, How they came to buy his arrows, Could not fight without his arrows. Ah ! no more such noble warriors Could be found on earth as they were : Now the men were all like women, Only used their tongues for weapons ! She was thinking of a hunter From another tribe and country, Young and tall and very handsome, Who one morning, in the springtime, Came to buy her father's arrows, Sat and rested in the wigwam, Lingered long about the doorway, Looking back as he departed. She had heard her lather praise him, 5 * 66 ENGLISH LITERATURE. Praise his courage and his wisdom : Would he come again for arrows To the falls of Minnehaha? On the mat her hands lay idle, And her eyes were very dreamy. Through their thoughts they heard a footstep, Heard a rustling in the branches ; And with glowing cheek and forehead, With the deer across his shoulders, Suddenly from out the woodlands Hiawatha stood before them. Straight the ancient arrow-maker Looked up gravely from his labor, Laid aside the unfinished arrow, Bade him enter at the doorway ; Saying, as he rose to meet him, " Hiawatha, you are welcome ! " At the feet of Laughing Water Hiawatha laid his burden, Threw the red deer from his shoulders ; And the maiden looked up at him, Looked up from her mat of rushes, Said with gentle look and accent, " You are welcome, Hiawatha ! " Very spacious was the wigwam, Made of deer-skin dressed and whitened, With the gods of the Dacotahs Drawn and painted on its curtains ; And so tall the doorway, hardly Hiawatha stooped to enter, Hardly touched his eagle feathers As he entered at the doorway. Then uprose the Laughing Water, From the ground fair Minnehaha, Laid aside her mat unfinished, Brought forth food and set before them, Water brought them from the brooklet, Gave them food in earthen vessels, Gave them drink in bowls of bass-wood, Listened while the guest was speaking, Listened while her father answered ; But not once her lips she opened, Not a single word she uttered. Yes, as in a dream she listened To the words of Hiawatha, As he talked of old Nokomis, Who had nursed him in his childhood, As he told of his companions, Chibiabos the musician, And the very strong man, Kwasind, And of happiness and plenty In the land of the Ojibways, In the pleasant land and peaceful. JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 67 " After many years of warfare, Many years of strife and bloodshed, There is peace between the Ojibways And the tribe of the Dacotahs." Thus continued Hiawatha ; And then added, speaking slowly, " That this peace may last for ever, And our hands be clasped more closely, And our hearts be more united, Give me as my wife this maiden, Minnehaha, Laughing Water, Loveliest of Dacotah women." And the ancient arrow-maker Paused a moment ere he answered, Smoked a little while in silence, Looked at Hiawatha proudly, Fondly looked at Laughing Water, And made answer very gravely : " Yes, if Minnehaha wishes : Let your heart speak, Minnehaha." And the lovely Laughing Water Seemed more lovely as she stood there, Neither willing nor reluctant, As she went to Hiawatha, Softly took the seat beside him, While she said, and blushed to say it, " I will follow you, my husband." This was Hiawatha's wooing : Thus it was he won the daughter Of the ancient arrow-maker, In the land of the Dacotahs. JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER BORN 1808, NEAR HAVERHIIX, MASS. Mr. Whittier, the Quaker Poet, has lived in Amesbury since 1840. As editor of " The New-England Weekly Review," " Pennsylvania Review," and contributor to " The National Era " and "' The Atlantic Monthly," he has everywhere devoted him- self to the cause of truth and justice. No poet has spoken with more tenderness for humanity, or waged war more constantly and more defiantly with error and oppression. His intense hatred of wrong, and inexhaustible sympathy for struggling manhood, are always expressed with remarkable force and beauty in his prose and poetry. PRINCIPAL PRODUCTIONS. " Mogg Megom," 1836 ; " Tent on the Beach ; " " Voices of Freedom ; " Barefoot Bov; " " Old Portraits and Modern Sketches; " " Songs of Labor, and Other Poems; " " Snowbound." Poems in three volumes, or complete in one. 68 ENGLISH LITERATURE. THE ETERNAL GOODNESS. FRIENDS with whom my feet have trod The quiet aisles of prayer ! Glad witness to your zeal for God And love of man I bear. 1 trace your lines of argument : Your logic, linked and strong, I weigh as one who dreads dissent, And fears a doubt as wrong. But still my human hands are weak To hold your iron creeds : Against the words ye bid me speak My heart within me pleads. Who fathoms the Eternal Thought ? Who talks of scheme and plan ? The Lord is God : he needeth not The poor device of man. I walk, with bare, hushed feet, the ground Ye tread with boldness shod : I dare not fix with mete and bound The love and power of God. Ye praise his justice : even such His pitying love I deem. Ye seek a king : I fain would touch The robe that hath no seam. Ye see the curse which overbroods A world of pain and loss : I hear our Lord's beatitudes, And prayer upon the cross. More than your schoolmen teach, within Myself, alas ! I know : Too dark ye can not paint the sin, Too small the merit show. I bow my forehead to the dust ; I vail mine eyes for shame ; And urge, in trembling self