UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES
 

 
 AMERICAN POEMS 
 
 LONGFELLOW: WHITTIER: BRYANT 
 HOLMES: LOWELL: EMERSON 
 
 WITH BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES AND NOTES 
 BY HORACE E. SCUDDER 
 
 REVISED EDITION 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO DALLAS 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO 
 Wyt l\iUersifce Press Cambridge
 
 Copyright, 1879, 
 Br HOUGHTON, OSGOOD & CO. 
 
 Copyright, 1892, 
 BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & Ctt 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
 PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
 
 VG 
 6of 
 
 S43 
 
 PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION. 
 *0 
 
 THE general use which has followed the first publi 
 cation of American Poems confirms the editor in his 
 belief that such a book has a real place in our educa 
 tional system, and he is gratified by the wide and cor 
 dial recognition which it has received. The few criti 
 cisms which have been offered seem mainly to have 
 sprung from a hasty consideration of its intention. 
 It does not profess to be a representative volume of 
 American poetry, nor, in a comprehensive way, of the 
 poets whose works are included in it, but, because the 
 
 _9 poems are of themselves worthy and the group is 
 American in origin and tone, the book has a signifi 
 cance which justifies its title. The brief sketches of 
 
 > the authors contained in it were necessarily limited to 
 the main facts of their literary life, but the editor, in 
 reviewing his work under the more favorable condi 
 tions of a completed book and lapse of time, perceives 
 with renewed and stronger feeling how pure and ad 
 mirable is the spirit in which these American poets 
 have wrought, how high an ideal has been before them, 
 and with what grace and beauty their lives have rein 
 forced their poems ! Surely, the poets have given
 
 IV PREFACE. 
 
 America no greater gift than their own characters and 
 lofty lives. 
 
 Scarcely any attempt at criticism was made of our 
 writers in this volume ; in the companion volume of 
 American Prose, where all but one of the poets ap 
 pear again, the opportunity has been taken to call at* 
 tention more specifically to the art, as here to the 
 biographic details. The two volumes will be found to 
 complement each other. 
 January, 1880. 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 THIS volume of American Poems has been prepared 
 with special reference to the interests of young people, 
 both at sehool and at home. Reading-books and 
 popular collections of poetry contain many of the 
 shorter and well-known poems of the authors repre 
 sented in this book, but the scope of such collections 
 does not generally permit the introduction of the 
 longer poems. It is these poems, and, with a slight 
 exception, these only, that make up this volume. The 
 power to read and enjoy poetry is one of the finest re 
 sults of education, but it cannot be attained by exclu 
 sive attention to short poems ; there is involved in this 
 power the capacity for sustained attention, the remain 
 ing with the poet upon a long flight of imagination,
 
 PREFACE. V 
 
 the exercise of the mind in bolder sweep of thought. 
 Moreover, the familiarity with long poems produces 
 greater power of appreciation when the shorter ones 
 are taken up. It is much to take deep breaths of the 
 upper air, to fill the lungs with a good draught of 
 poetry, and unless one accompanies the poet in his 
 longer reaches, he fails to know what poetry can give 
 him. 
 
 In making the selection for this volume a very sim 
 ple principle has been followed. It was desired to 
 make the book an agreeable introduction to the pleas 
 ures of poetry, and, by confining it to American poetry 
 of the highest order, to give young people in America 
 the most natural acquaintance with literature. These 
 poets are our interpreters. All but one are still living, 
 so that the poetry is contemporaneous and appeals 
 through familiar forms ; as far as possible narrative 
 poems have been chosen, and, in the arrangement of 
 authors, regard has been had to degrees of difficulty, 
 the more involved and subtle forms of poetry following 
 the simpler and more direct. Throughout, the book 
 has been conceived in a spirit which welcomes poetry 
 as a noble delight, not as a grammatical exercise or 
 elocutionary task. 
 
 With the same intention the critical apparatus has 
 been treated in a literary rather than in a pedagogical 
 way. The editor has imagined himself reading aloud, 
 and stopping now and then to explain a phrase, to 
 clear an allusion, or to give a suggestion as to similar 
 forms in literature. Since several of the poems are
 
 Vl PREFACE. 
 
 semi - historical in character, the historic basis has 
 been carefully pointed out, and hints have been given 
 for further pursuit of the subjects treated. Words, 
 though obsolete or archaic, are not explained when 
 the dictionary account is sufficient. A brief sketch 
 of the author precedes each section. 
 
 It is strongly hoped that the book will be accepted 
 by schools as a contribution to that very important 
 work in which teachers are engaged, of giving to their 
 pupils an interest in the best literature, a love for pure 
 and engaging forms of art. If, with all our drill and 
 practice in reading during the years of school-life, chil 
 dren leave their schools with no taste for good reading, 
 and no familiarity with those higher forms of litera 
 ture that have grown out of the very life which they 
 are living, it must be questioned whether the time 
 given to reading has been most wisely employed. 
 August, 1879.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH ....... 1 
 
 EVANGELINE: A TALE OF ACADIB ... 4 
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH . . . 101 
 
 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP .... 172 
 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH ....... 189 
 
 SNOW-BOUND : A WINTER IDYL .... 192 
 AMONG THE HILLS ....... 219 
 
 MABEL MARTIN . 237 
 
 COBBLER KEEZAR'S VISION 250 
 
 BARCLAY OF URY 257 
 
 THE Two RABBIS 262 
 
 THE GIFT OF TRITEMIUS 265 
 
 THE BROTHER OF MERCY 267 
 
 THE PROPHECY OF SAMUEL SEW ALL . . . 271 
 
 MAUD MULLBR 277 
 
 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH ...... 283 
 
 SELLA 287 
 
 THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW . . . 304 
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 317 
 
 GRANDMOTHER'S STORY 320 
 
 THE SCHOOL-BOY 332 
 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH ...... 347 
 
 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL .... 351 
 
 UNDER THE WILLOWS 364
 
 viii CONTENTS. 
 
 UNDER THE OLD ET.M 3^ 
 
 AOASSIZ ....,. 392 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH . . . . 415 
 
 THE ADIRONDACS ..... . 418 
 
 THE TITMOUSE 430 
 
 MONADNOO . . . 433 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 IN THE LABOKATOBT WITH AGASSIZ . . 449
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 HENRY "WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW was born in Portland, 
 Maine, February 27, 1807. He was a classmate of Haw 
 thorne at Bowdoin College, graduating there in the class of 
 1825. He began the study of law in the office of his father, 
 Hon. Stephen Longfellow ; but receiving shortly the ap 
 pointment of professor of modern languages at Bowdoin, 
 he devoted himself after that to literature, and to teaching 
 in connection with literature. Before beginning his work 
 at Bowdoin he increased his qualifications by travel and 
 study in Europe, where he stayed three years. Upon his 
 return he gave his lectures on modern languages and litera 
 ture at the college, and wrote occasionally for the North 
 American Review and other periodicals. The first volume 
 which he published, exclusive of text-books, was Coplas de 
 Manrique, a translation of Spanish verse, introduced by an 
 Essay on the Moral and Devotional Poetry of Spain. 
 This was issued in 1833, but has not been kept in print as 
 a separate work. The introduction appears as a chapter 
 in Outre-Mer, a reflection of his European life and travel, 
 the first of his prose writings. In 1835 he was invited to 
 succeed Mr. George Ticknor as professor of modern lan 
 guages and literature at Harvard College, and again went 
 to Europe for preparatory study, giving especial attention 
 to Germany and the Scandinavian countries. He held 
 his professorship until 1854, but continued to live in Cam 
 bridge until his death, March 24, 1882, occupying a house 
 known from a former occupant as the Craigie house, and
 
 2 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 also as Washington's headquarters, that general having so 
 used it while organizing the army that held Boston in siege 
 at the beginning of the Revolution. Everett, Sparks, and 
 Worcester, the lexicographer, at one time or another lived 
 in this house, and here Longfellow wrote most of his works. 
 In 1839 appeared Hyperion, a Romance, which, with 
 more narrative form than Outre-Mer, like that gave the 
 results of a poet's entrance into the riches of the Old World 
 life. In the same year was published Voices of the Night, 
 a little volume containing chiefly poems and translations 
 which had been printed separately in periodicals. The 
 Psalm of Life, perhaps the best known of Longfellow's 
 short poems, was in this volume, and here too were The 
 Beleaguered City and Footsteps of Angels. Ballads and 
 other Poems appeared at the close of 1841 and Poems on 
 Slavery in 1842 ; The Spanish Student, a play in three acts, 
 in 1843 ; The Belfry of Bruges and other Poems in 1846 ; 
 Evangeline in 1847 ; Kavanagh, a Tale, in prose, in 1849. 
 Besides the various volumes comprising short poems, the list 
 of Mr. Longfellow's works includes The Golden Legend, The 
 Song of Hiawatha, The Courtship of Miles Standish, Tales 
 of a Wayside Inn, The New England Tragedies, and a 
 translation of Dante's Divina Commedia. Mr. Longfellow's 
 literary life began in his college days, and he wrote poems 
 almost to the day of his death. A classification of his poems 
 and longer works would be an interesting task, and would 
 help to disclose the wide range of his sympathy and taste ; 
 a collection of the metres which he has used would show 
 the versatility of his art, and similar studies would lead one 
 to discover the many countries and ages to which he went 
 for subjects. It would not be difficult to gather from the 
 volume of Longfellow's poems hints of personal experience, 
 that biography of the heart which is of more worth to us 
 than any record, however full, of external change and adven 
 ture. Such hints may be found, for example, in the early 
 lines, To the River Charles, which may be compared with
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 8 
 
 his recent Three Friends of Mine, rv., v. ; in A Gleam of 
 Sunshine, To a Child, The Day is Done, The Fire of 
 Driftwood, Resignation, The Open Window, The Ladder 
 of St. Augustine, My Lost Youth, The Children's Hour, 
 Weariness, and other poems ; not that we are to take all 
 sentiments and statements made in the first person as the 
 poet's, for often the form of the poem is so far dramatic 
 that the poet is assuming a character not necessarily his own, 
 but the recurrence of certain strains, joined with personal 
 allusions, helps one to penetrate the slight veil with which 
 the poet, here as elsewhere, half conceals and half reveals 
 himself. The friendly associations of the poet may also be 
 discovered in several poems directly addressed to persons or 
 distinctively alluding to them, and the reader will find it 
 pleasant to construct the companionship of the poet out of 
 such poems as The Herons of Elmwood, To William E. 
 CJianning, The Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz, To Charles 
 Sumner, the Prelude to Tales of a Wayside Inn, Haw 
 thorne, and other poems. 
 
 The most complete biography of the poet is that in three 
 volumes by his brother Samuel Longfellow ; this work con 
 tains extracts from Journals and Correspondence, a biblio 
 graphy, portraits, facsimiles, and other illustrations, and a 
 very full index. The fullest edition of his writings is the 
 Riverside Edition in eleven volumes, two being prose writ 
 ings, six poetical, and three the translation of Dante. These 
 volumes are fully furnished with introductions, notes, and 
 indexes. The most comprehensive single volume edition 
 of the poetical works is the Cambridge Edition, which is 
 equipped with notes and indexes. All of these works are 
 issued by the publishers of this volume.
 
 EVANGELINE: A TALE OF ACADLE. 
 
 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 [THE country now known as Nova Scotia, and called 
 formerly Acadie by the French, was in the hands of the 
 French and English by turns until the year 1713, when, by 
 the Peace of Utrecht, it was ceded by France to Great Brit 
 ain, and has ever since remained in the possession of the 
 English. But in 1713 the inhabitants of the peninsula were 
 mostly French farmers and fishermen, living about Minas 
 Basin and on Annapolis River, and the English government 
 exercised only a nominal control over them. It was not till 
 1749 that the English themselves began to make settlements 
 in the country, and that year they laid the foundations of 
 the town of Halifax. A jealousy soon sprang up between 
 the English and French settlers, which was deepened by the 
 great conflict which was impending between the two mother 
 countries ; for the treaty of peace at Aix-la-Chapelle in 
 1748, which confirmed the English title to Nova Scotia, was 
 scarcely more than a truce between the two powers which 
 had been struggling for ascendency during the beginning 
 of the century. The French engaged in a long controversy 
 with the English respecting the boundaries of Acadie, which 
 had been defined by the treaties in somewhat general terms, 
 and intrigues were carried on with the Indians, who were 
 generally in sympathy with the French, for the annoyance 
 of the English settlers. The Acadians were allied to the 
 French by blood and by religion, but they claimed to have 
 the rights of neutrals, and that these rights had been
 
 EVANGELINE. 5 
 
 granted to them by previous English officers of the crown. 
 The one point of special dispute was the oath of allegiance 
 demanded of the Acadians by the English. This they re 
 fused to take, except in a form modified to excuse them 
 from bearing arms against the French. The demand was 
 repeatedly made, and evaded with constant ingenuity and 
 persistency. Most of the Acadians were probably simple- 
 minded and peaceful people, who desired only to live undis 
 turbed upon their farms ; but there were some restless spir 
 its, especially among the young men, who compromised the 
 reputation of the community, and all were very much under 
 the influence of their priests, some of whom made no secret 
 of their bitter hostility to the English, and of their deter 
 mination to use every means to be rid of them. 
 
 As the English interests grew and the critical relations 
 between the two countries approached open warfare, the 
 question of how to deal with the Acadian problem became 
 the commanding one of the colony. There were some who 
 coveted the rich farms of the Acadians ; there were some 
 who were inspired by religious hatred ; but the prevailing 
 spirit was one of fear for themselves from the near presence 
 of a community which, calling itself neutral, might at any 
 time offer a convenient ground for hostile attack. Yet to 
 require these people to withdraw to Canada or Louisburg 
 would be to strengthen the hands of the French, and make 
 these neutrals determined enemies. The colony finally re 
 solved, without consulting the home government, to remove 
 the Acadians to other parts of North America, distributing 
 them through the colonies in such a way as to preclude any 
 concert amongst the scattered families by which they should 
 return to Acadia. To do this required quick and secret 
 preparations. There were at the service of the English 
 governor a number of New England troops, brought thither 
 for the capture of the forts lying in the debatable land about 
 the head of the Bay of Fundy. These were under the com 
 mand of Lieutenant-Colonel John Winslow, of Massachu-
 
 6 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Betts, a great-grandson of Governor Edward Winslow, of 
 Plymouth, and to this gentleman and Captain Alexander 
 Murray was intrusted the task of removal. They were in 
 structed to use stratagem, if possible, to bring together the 
 various families, but to prevent any from escaping to the 
 woods. On the 2d of September, 1755, Winslow issued a 
 written order, addressed to the inhabitants of Grand-Pre', 
 Minas, River Canard, etc., " as well ancient as young men 
 and lads," a proclamation summoning all the males to 
 attend him in the church at Grand-Pr^ on the 5th instant, 
 to hear a communication which the governor had sent. As 
 there had been negotiations respecting the oath of allegiance, 
 and much discussion as to the withdrawal of the Acadians 
 from the country, though none as to their removal and dis 
 persal, it was understood that this was an important meet 
 ing, and upon the day named four hundred and eighteen 
 men and boys assembled in the church. Winslow, attended 
 by his officers and men, caused a guard to be placed round 
 the church, and then announced to the people his majesty's 
 decision that they were to be removed with their families 
 out of the country. The church became at once a guard 
 house, and all the prisoners were under strict surveillance. 
 At the same time similar plans had been carried out at Pisi- 
 quid under Captain Murray, and less successfully at Chig- 
 necto. Meanwhile there were whispers of a rising among 
 the prisoners, and although the transports which had been 
 ordered from Boston had not yet arrived, it was determined 
 to make use of the vessels which had conveyed the troops, 
 and remove the men to these for safer keeping. This was 
 done on the 10th of September, and the men remained on 
 the vessels in the harbor until the arrival of the transports, 
 when these were made use of, and about three thousand 
 souls sent out of the country to North Carolina, Virginia, 
 Maryland, Pennsylvania, New York, Connecticut, and Mas 
 sachusetts. In the haste and confusion of sending them off, 
 a haste which was increased by the anxiety of the offi-
 
 EVANGELINE. 7 
 
 cers to be rid of the distasteful business, and a confusion 
 which was greater from the difference of tongues, many 
 families were separated, and some at least never came to 
 re ther again. 
 
 The story of Evangeline is the story of such a separation. 
 The removal of the Acadians was a blot upon the govern 
 ment of Nova Scotia and upon that of Great Britain, which 
 never disowned the deed, although it was probably done 
 without direct permission or command from England. It 
 proved to be unnecessary, but it must also be remembered 
 that to many men at that time the English power seemed 
 trembling before France, and that the colony at Halifax 
 regarded the act as one of self-preservation. 
 
 The authorities for an historical inquiry into this subject 
 are best seen in a volume published by the government of 
 Nova Scotia at Halifax in 1869, entitled Selections from 
 the Public Documents of the Province of Nova Scotia, 
 edited by Thomas B. Akins, D. C. L., Commissioner of 
 Public Records ; and in a manuscript journal kept by Col 
 onel Winslow, now in the cabinet of the Massachusetts His 
 torical Society in Boston. At the State House in Boston 
 are t\vo volumes of records, entitled French Neutrals, which 
 contain voluminous papers relating to the treatment of the 
 Acadians who were sent to Massachusetts. Probably the 
 work used by the poet in writing Evangeline was An His 
 torical and Statistical Account of Nova Scotia, by Thomas 
 C. Haliburton, who is best known as the author of The Clock- 
 Maker, or The Sayings and Doings of Samuel Slick of 
 Slickville, a book which, written apparently to prick the 
 Nova Scotians into more enterprise, was for a long while the 
 chief representative of Yankee smartness. Judge Halibur- 
 ton's history was published in 1829. A later history, which 
 takes advantage more freely of historical documents, is A 
 History of Nova Scotia, or Acadie, by Beamish Murdock, 
 Esq., Q. C., Halifax, 1866. Still more recent is a smaller, 
 well-written work, entitled The History of Acadiafrom its
 
 8 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 First Discovery to its Surrender to England by the Treaty 
 of Paris, by James Hannay, St. John, N. B., 1879. W. J. 
 Anderson published a paper in the Transactions of the Lit 
 erary and Historical Society of Quebec, New Series, part 7, 
 1870, entitled Evangeline and the Archives of Nova Sco 
 tia, in which he examines the poem by the light of the vol 
 ume of Nova Scotia Archives, edited by T. B. Akins. The 
 sketches of travellers in Nova Scotia, as Acadia, or a Month 
 among the Blue Noses, by F. S. Cozzens, and Baddeck, by 
 C. D. Warner, give the present appearance of the country 
 and inhabitants. 
 
 The measure of Evangeline is what is commonly known 
 as English dactylic hexameter. The hexameter is the mea 
 sure used by Homer in the Iliad and the Odyssey, and by 
 Virgil in the jEneid, but the difference between the Eng 
 lish language and the Latin or Greek is so great, especially 
 when wo consider that in English poetry every word must 
 be accented according to its customary pronounciation, 
 while in scanning Greek and Latin verse accent follows the 
 quantity of the vowels, that in applying this term of hexa 
 meter to Evangeline it must not be supposed by the reader 
 that he is getting the effect of Greek hexameters. It is the 
 Greek hexameter translated into English use, and some 
 have maintained that the verse of the Iliad is better repre 
 sented in the English by the trochaic measure of fifteen syl 
 lables, of which an excellent illustration is in Tennyson's 
 Locksley Hall ; others have compared the Greek hexameter 
 to the ballad metre of fourteen syllables, used notably by 
 Chapman in his translation of Homer's Iliad. The mea 
 sure adopted by Mr. Longfellow has never become very 
 popular in English poetry, but has repeatedly been at 
 tempted by other poets. The reader will find the subject 
 of hexameters discussed by Matthew Arnold in his lectures 
 On Translating Homer ; by James Spedding in English 
 '.--. in his recent volume, Iferieirs rind I>isnts- 
 eions, Literary, Political and Historical, not relating to
 
 EVANGELINE. 9 
 
 Bacon ; and by John Stuart Blackie in Remarks on Eng 
 lish Hexameters, contained in his volume Horce Hell& 
 niece. 
 
 The measure leuds itself easily to the lingering melan 
 choly which marks the greater part of the poem, and the 
 poet's fine sense of harmony between subject and form \i 
 rarely better shown than in this poem. The fall of the 
 verse at the end of the line and the sharp recovery at the 
 beginning of the next will be snares to the reader, who 
 must beware of a jerking style of delivery. The voice nat 
 urally seeks a rest in the middle of the line, and this rest, 
 or csesural pause, should be carefully regarded ; a little 
 practice will enable one to acquire that habit of reading the 
 hexameter, which we may liken, roughly, to the climbing of 
 a hill, resting a moment on the summit, and then descend 
 ing the other side. The charm in reading Evangelim 
 aloud, after a clear understanding of the sense, which is the 
 essential in all good reading, is found in this gentle labor of 
 the former half of the line, and gentle acceleration of the 
 latter half.] 
 
 THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines 
 and the hemlocks, 
 
 Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct 
 in the twilight, 
 
 Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and pro 
 phetic, 
 
 1. A primeval forest is, strictly speaking, one which has never 
 been disturbed by the axe. 
 
 3. Druids were priests of the Celtic inhabitants of ancient 
 G aul and Britain. The name was probably of Celtic origin, but 
 its form may have been determined by the Greek word drua, an 
 oak, since their places of worship were consecrated groves of 
 oak. Perhaps the choice of the image was governed by the 
 vualo^y of a religion and tribe that were to disappear before a 
 stronger power.
 
 10 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their 
 bosoms. 
 
 Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neigh 
 boring ocean 5 
 
 Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail 
 of the forest. 
 
 This is the forest primeval; but where are the 
 hearts that beneath it 
 
 Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland 
 the voice of the huntsman ? 
 
 Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Aca 
 dian farmers, 
 
 Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the 
 woodlands. 10 
 
 Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image 
 of heaven ? 
 
 Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers for 
 ever departed ! 
 
 Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts 
 of October 
 
 Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them 
 far o'er the ocean. 
 
 Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village 
 of Grand-Pre. w 
 
 Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, 
 and is patient, 
 
 4. A poetical description of an ancient harper will be found 
 in the Introduction to the Lay of the Last Minstrel, by Sir Walter 
 Scott. 
 
 8. Observe how the tragedy of the story is anticipated by this 
 picture of the startled roe.
 
 EVANGELINE. 11 
 
 Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's 
 
 devotion, 
 List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines 
 
 of the forest ; 
 List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy. 
 
 PART THE FIRST. 
 
 I. 
 
 IN the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of 
 
 Minas, 20 
 
 Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre 
 Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched 
 
 to the eastward, 
 Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks 
 
 without number. 
 Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with 
 
 labor incessant, 
 
 19. In the earliest records Acadie is called Cadie ; it after 
 wards was called Arcadia, Accadia, or L' Acadie. The name is 
 probably a French adaptation of a word common among the 
 Micmac Indians living there, signifying place or region, and used 
 as an affix to other words as indicating the place where various 
 things, as cranberries, eels, seals, were found in abundance. The 
 French turned this Indian term into Cadie or Acadie ; the Eng 
 lish into Quoddy, in which form it remains when applied to the 
 Quoddy Indians, to Quoddy Head, the last point of the United 
 States next to Acadia, and in the compound Passamaquoddy, or 
 Pollock-Ground. 
 
 21. Compare, for effect, the first line of Goldsmith's The 
 Traveller. Grand-Pre" will be found on the map as part of the 
 township of Horton. 
 
 24. The people of Acadia are mainly the descendants of the 
 colonists who were brought out to La Have and Port Royal by 
 Isaae de Razilly and Charuisay between the years 1633 and 1633.
 
 12 ifENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Shut out the turbulent tides ; but at stated seasons the 
 
 flood-gates 25 
 
 Opened and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er 
 
 the meadows. 
 West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards 
 
 and cornfields 
 Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain ; and away 
 
 to the northward 
 Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the 
 
 mountains 
 Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty 
 
 Atlantic so 
 
 Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their sta 
 tion descended. 
 There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian 
 
 village. 
 Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and 
 
 of hemlock, 
 Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign 
 
 of the Henries. 
 
 These colonists came from Rochelle, Saintonge, and Poitou, so 
 that they were drawn from a very limited area on the west coast 
 of France, covered by the modern departments of Vende'e and 
 Charente Infe'rieure. This circumstance had some influence on 
 their mode of settling the lands of Acadia, for they came from a 
 country of marshes, where the sea was kept out by artificial 
 dikes, and they found in Acadia similar marshes, which they dealt 
 with in the same way that they had been accustomed to practise 
 in France. Hannay's History of Acadia, pp. 282, 283. An excel 
 lent account of dikes and the flooding of lowlands, as practised 
 in Holland, may be found in A Farmer's Vacation, by George E. 
 Waring, Jr. 
 
 29. Blomidon is a mountainous headland of red sandstone, sur 
 mounted by a perpendicular wall of basaltic trap, the whole about 
 four hundred feet in height, at the entrance of the Basin of 
 Mings.
 
 EVANGELINE. 13 
 
 Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and 
 gables projecting 35 
 
 Over the basement below protected and shaded the 
 doorway. 
 
 There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when 
 brightly the sunset 
 
 Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the 
 chimneys, 
 
 Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in 
 kirtles 
 
 Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the 
 golden 40 
 
 Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles 
 within doors 
 
 Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels and 
 the songs of the maidens. 
 
 Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and 
 the children 
 
 Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to 
 bless them. 
 
 Reverend walked he among them ; and up rose ma 
 trons and maidens, 45 
 
 Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate 
 welcome. 
 
 Then came the laborers home from the field, and se 
 renely the sun sank 
 
 36. The characteristics of a Normandy village may be further 
 learned by reference to a pleasant little sketch-book, published 
 a few years since, called Normandy Picturesque, by Henry Black 
 burn, and to Through Normandy, by Katharine S. Macquoid. 
 
 39. The term kirtle was sometimes applied to the jacket only, 
 sometimes to the train or upper petticoat attached to it. A full 
 kirtle was alwaj's both ; a half kirtle was a term applied to 
 either. A man's jacket was sometimes called a kirtle ; here the 
 reference is apparently to the full kirtle worn by women.
 
 14 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon 
 
 the belfry 
 Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the 
 
 village 
 Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense 
 
 ascending, si 
 
 Kose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and 
 
 contentment. 
 Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian 
 
 farmers, 
 Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were 
 
 they free from 
 Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice 
 
 of republics. 
 Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their 
 
 windows ; 55 
 
 But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts 
 
 of the owners ; 
 There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in 
 
 abundance. 
 
 Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the 
 
 Basin of Minas, 
 Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of 
 
 Grand-Pre, 
 Dwelt on his goodly acres ; and with him, directing 
 
 his household, e 
 
 Gentle Erangeline lived, his child, and the pride o 
 
 the village. 
 
 49. Angelus Domini is the full name given to the bell which, a* 
 morning, noon, and night, called the people to prayer, in com' 
 memoration of the visit of the angel of the Lord to the Virgin 
 Mary. It was introduced into France iu its modern form in the 
 sixteenth century.
 
 EVANGELINE. 15 
 
 Stalworth and stately in form was the man of seventy 
 
 winters ; 
 Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with 
 
 snow-flakes ; 
 White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as 
 
 brown as the oak-leaves. 
 
 Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen sum 
 mers ; es 
 Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the 
 
 thorn by the wayside, 
 Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown 
 
 shade of her tresses ! 
 Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that feed 
 
 in the meadows. 
 When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at 
 
 noontide 
 Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah ! fair in sooth was the 
 
 maiden. TO 
 
 Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell 
 
 from its turret 
 Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with 
 
 his hyssop 
 Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon 
 
 them, 
 Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet of 
 
 beads and her missal, 
 Wearing her Norman cap and her kirtle of blue, and 
 
 the ear-rings 75 
 
 Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as 
 
 an heirloom, 
 Handed down from mother to child, through long gen- 
 
 erations. 
 
 But a celestial brightness a more ethereal beauty 
 Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, after 
 
 confession,
 
 16 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Homeward serenely she walked with God's benedic 
 tion upon her. so 
 
 When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of 
 exquisite music. 
 
 Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of 
 
 the farmer 
 Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea ; and 
 
 a shady 
 
 Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreath 
 ing around it. 
 Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath ; and 
 
 a footpath ss 
 
 Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the 
 
 meadow. 
 Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a 
 
 penthouse, 
 Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by the 
 
 roadside, 
 Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of 
 
 Mary. 
 Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well 
 
 with its moss-grown 99 
 
 Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for 
 
 the horses. 
 Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were 
 
 the barns and the farm-yard ; 
 There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the antique 
 
 ploughs and the harrows ; 
 There were the folds for the sheep ; and there, in his 
 
 feathered seraglio, 
 
 93. The accent is on the first syllable of antique, where it re 
 mains in the form antic, which once had the same general mean 
 ing.
 
 EVANGELINE. 17 
 
 Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with 
 the selfsame 95 
 
 Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent 
 Peter. 
 
 Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a vil 
 lage. In each one 
 
 Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch ; and a 
 staircase, 
 
 Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous corn- 
 loft. 
 
 There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and inno 
 cent inmates 100 
 
 Murmuring ever of love ; while above in the variant 
 breezes 
 
 Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of 
 mutation. 
 
 Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer 
 
 of Grand-Pre 
 Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed 
 
 his household. 
 Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and opened 
 
 his missal, 105 
 
 Fixed his eyes upon her as the saint of his deepest 
 
 devotion ; 
 
 99. Odorous. The accent here, as well as iii line 403, is upon 
 the first syllable, where it is commonly placed ; but Milton, who 
 of all poets had the most refined ear, writes 
 
 " So from the root 
 
 Springs lighter the green stalk, from thence the leaves 
 More airy, last the bright consummate flower 
 Spirits odorous breathes." 
 
 Par Lost, Book V., lines 479-482. 
 
 But he also uses the more familiar accent in other passages, 
 as, " An amber scent of odorous perfume," in Samson AgonisteSf 
 line 720.
 
 18 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem 
 of her garment ! 
 
 Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness he- 
 friended, 
 
 And, as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of 
 her footsteps, 
 
 Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the 
 knocker of iron ; no 
 
 Or, at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the vil 
 lage, 
 
 Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he 
 whispered 
 
 Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the 
 music. 
 
 But among all who came young Gabriel only was 
 welcome ; 
 
 Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the black 
 smith, 115 
 
 Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored 
 of all men ; 
 
 For since the birth of time, throughout all ages and 
 nations, 
 
 Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the 
 people. 
 
 Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from 
 earliest childhood 
 
 Grew up together as brother and sister ; and Father 
 Felician, 120 
 
 Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught 
 them their letters 
 
 Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the 
 
 church and the plain-song. 
 122. The plain-song is a monotonic recitative of the collects.
 
 EVANGELINE. 19 
 
 But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson 
 
 completed, 
 Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the 
 
 blacksmith. 
 There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to 
 
 behold him 125 
 
 Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a 
 
 plaything, 
 Nailing the shoe in its place ; while near him the tire 
 
 of the cart-wheel 
 Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of 
 
 cinders. 
 Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering 
 
 darkness 
 Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every 
 
 cranny and crevice, iso 
 
 Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring 
 
 bellows, 
 And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in 
 
 the ashes, 
 Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into 
 
 the chapel. 
 Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the 
 
 eagle, 
 Down the hillside bounding, they glided away o'er the 
 
 meadow. 135 
 
 Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests 
 
 on the rafters, 
 Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which 
 
 the swallow 
 Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight 
 
 of its fledglings ; 
 
 133. The French have another saying similar to this, that they 
 were guests going in to the wedding.
 
 20 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the 
 
 swallow ! 
 Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer 
 
 were children. no 
 
 He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face of 
 
 the morning, 
 Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened 
 
 thought into action. 
 She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a 
 
 woman. 
 *' Sunshine of Saint Eulalie " was she called ; for that 
 
 was the sunshine 
 Which, as the farmers believed, would load their 
 
 orchards with apples ; i 
 
 She too would bring to her husband's house delight 
 
 and abundance, 
 Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of children. 
 
 II. 
 
 Now had the season returned, when the nights gro\r 
 
 colder and longer, 
 
 And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion en 
 ters. 
 
 139. In Pluquet's Contes Populaires we are told that if one of 
 a swallow's young is blind the mother bird seeks on the shore of 
 the ocean a little stone, with which she restores its sight ; and 
 he adds, " He who is fortunate enough to find that stone in a 
 swallow's nest holds a wonderful remedy." Pluquet's book 
 treats of Norman superstitions and popular traits. 
 
 144. Pluquet also gives this proverbial saying : 
 
 " Si le soleil rit le jour Sainte-Etilalie, 
 U y aura pommes et cidre a folie." 
 
 (If the sun smiles on Saint Eulalie's day, there will be plenty 
 of apples, and cider enough.) 
 
 Saint Eulalie's day is the 12th of February.
 
 EVANGELINE. 21 
 
 Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from 
 the ice-bound, 150 
 
 Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical is 
 lands. 
 
 Harvests were gathered in ; and wild with the wind? 
 of September 
 
 Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with 
 the angel. 
 
 All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement. 
 
 Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded 
 their honey 155 
 
 Till the hives overflowed ; and the Indian hunters as 
 serted 
 
 Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the 
 foxes. 
 
 Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that 
 beautiful season, 
 
 Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of 
 All- Saints ! 
 
 Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light ; 
 and the landscape iso 
 
 Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of child 
 hood. 
 
 Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless 
 heart of the ocean 
 
 Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in 
 harmony blended. 
 
 Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the 
 farm-yards, 
 
 159. The Summer of All-Saints is our Indian Summer, All- 
 Saints Day being November 1st. The French also give this sea 
 son the name of Saint Martin's Summer, Saint Martin's Day 
 being November llth.
 
 22 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of 
 pigeons, 155 
 
 All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, 
 and the great sun 
 
 Looked with the eye of love through the golden va 
 pors around him ; 
 
 While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet and 
 yellow, 
 
 Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree 
 of the forest 
 
 Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with 
 mantles and jewels. no 
 
 Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection 
 and stillness. 
 
 Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twi 
 light descending 
 
 Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the 
 herds to the homestead. 
 
 Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks 
 on each other, 
 
 And with their nostrils distended inhaling the fresh 
 ness of evening. ITS 
 
 Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful 
 heifer, 
 
 Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that 
 waved from her collar, 
 
 Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human 
 affection. 
 
 170. Herodotus, in his account of Xerxes' expedition against 
 Greece, tells of a beautiful plane-tree which Xerxes found, and 
 was so enamored with that he dressed it as one might a woman, 
 and placed it under the care of a guardsman (vii. 31). Another 
 writer, JElian, improving on this, says he adorned it with a neck 
 lace and bracelets.
 
 EVANGELINE. 23 
 
 Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks 
 from the seaside, 
 
 Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them fol 
 lowed the watch-dog, iso 
 
 Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of 
 his instinct, 
 
 Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and 
 superbly 
 
 Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the strag 
 glers; 
 
 Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept; 
 their protector, 
 
 When from the forest at night, through the starry 
 silence, the wolves howled. iw 
 
 Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from 
 the marshes, 
 
 Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odor. 
 
 Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes 
 and their fetlocks, 
 
 While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and pon 
 derous saddles, 
 
 Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels 
 of crimson, 190 
 
 Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with 
 blossoms. 
 
 Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their 
 udders 
 
 Unto the milkmaid's hand ; whilst loud and in regular 
 cadence 
 
 193. There is a charming milkmaid's song in Tennyson's drama 
 of Queen Mary, Act III., Scene 5, where the streaming of the 
 milk into the sounding pails is caught in the tinkling k's of such 
 lines as 
 
 " And you came and kissed me, milking the cow."
 
 24 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets de 
 scended. 
 
 Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in 
 the farm-yard, 195 
 
 Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into 
 stillness ; 
 
 Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the 
 barn-doors, 
 
 Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent. 
 
 In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, idly 
 the farmer 
 
 Sat in his elbow-chair, and watched how the flames 
 and the smoke-wreaths 200 
 
 Struggled together like foes in a burning city. Be 
 hind him, 
 
 Nodding and mocking along the wall with gestures 
 fantastic, 
 
 Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into 
 darkness. 
 
 Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his arm 
 chair 
 
 Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter plates 
 on the dresser 205 
 
 Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies 
 the sunshine. 
 
 Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of 
 Christmas, 
 
 Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers before 
 him 
 
 Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Burgundian 
 vineyards. 
 
 Close at her father's side was the gentle Evangeline 
 seated, ao
 
 EVANGEL1NE. 25 
 
 Spinning flax for the loom that stood in the corner 
 
 behind her. 
 Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its diligent 
 
 shuttle, 
 While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the 
 
 drone of a bagpipe, 
 Followed the old man's song, and united the fragments 
 
 together. 
 
 As in a church, when the chant of the choir at inter 
 vals ceases, 215 
 Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the priest 
 
 at the altar, 
 So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion 
 
 the clock clicked. 
 
 Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and, 
 
 suddenly lifted, 
 Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung back 
 
 on its hinges. 
 Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil 
 
 the blacksmith, 220 
 
 And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was 
 
 with him. 
 " Welcome ! " the farmer exclaimed, as their footsteps 
 
 paused on the threshold, 
 " Welcome, Basil, my friend ! Come, take thy place 
 
 on the settle 
 Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty 
 
 without thee ; 
 Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of 
 
 tobacco ; 225 
 
 Never so much thyself art thou as when, through the 
 
 curling 
 Smoke of the pipe or the forge, thy friendly and jovial 
 
 face gleams
 
 26 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Round and red as the harvest moon through the mist 
 
 of the marshes." 
 Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil the 
 
 blacksmith, 
 
 Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the fire 
 side : 230 
 
 " Benedict Belief ontaine, thou hast ever thy jest and 
 
 thy ballad ! 
 Ever in cheerfullest mood art thou, when others are 
 
 filled with 
 Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before 
 
 them. 
 Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up 
 
 a horseshoe." 
 Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evangeline 
 
 brought him, 235 
 
 And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he 
 
 slowly continued : 
 " Four days now are passed since the English ships 
 
 at their anchors 
 Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon 
 
 pointed against us. 
 What their design may be is unknown ; but all are 
 
 commanded 
 On the morrow to meet in the church, where his 
 
 Majesty's mandate 240 
 
 Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas ! in the 
 
 mean time 
 
 Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the peo 
 ple." 
 Then made answer the farmer : " Perhaps some 
 
 friendlier purpose 
 
 239. The text of Colonel Winslow's proclamation will be found 
 in Haliburton, i. 175.
 
 EVANGEIINE. 27 
 
 Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the har 
 vests in England 
 
 By untimely rains or untimelier heat have been 
 blighted, 245 
 
 And from our bursting barns they would feed their 
 cattle and children." 
 
 " Not so thinketh the folk in the village," said warmly 
 the blacksmith, 
 
 Shaking his head as in doubt ; then, heaving a sigh, 
 he continued : 
 
 " Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Sejour, nor 
 Port Royal. 
 
 Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on its 
 outskirts, 259 
 
 Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of to 
 morrow. 
 
 Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weapons 
 of all kinds ; 
 
 Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and the 
 scythe of the mower." 
 
 Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial 
 farmer : 
 
 249. Louisburg, on Cape Breton, was built by the French as a 
 military and naval station early in the eighteenth century, but 
 was taken by an expedition from Massachusetts under General 
 Pepperell in 1745. It was restored by England to France in the 
 treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, and recaptured by the English in 
 1757. Beau Se"jour was a French fort upon the neck of land 
 connecting Acadia with the mainland which had just been cap 
 tured by Winslow's forces. Port Royal, afterwards called Anna 
 polis Royal, at the outlet of Annapolis River into the Bay of 
 Fundy, had been disputed ground, being occupied alternately by 
 French and English, but in 1710 was attacked by an expedition 
 from New England, and after that held by the English govern- 
 ineiit and made a fortified place.
 
 28 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 " Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks 
 
 and our cornfields, 255 
 
 Safer within these peaceful dikes besieged by the ocean, 
 Than our fathers in forts, besieged by the enemy's 
 
 cannon. 
 Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no shadow 
 
 of sorrow 
 Fall on this house and hearth ; for this is the night 
 
 of the contract. 
 Built are the house and the barn. The merry lads of 
 
 the village ?eo 
 
 Strongly have built them and well ; and, breaking the 
 
 glebe round about them, 
 Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food for 
 
 a twelvemonth. 
 Rene" Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers and 
 
 inkhorn. 
 Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy of 
 
 our children ? " 
 As apart by the window she stood, with her hand in 
 
 her lover's, 265 
 
 Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her father 
 
 had spoken, 
 
 And, as they died on his lips, the worthy notary en 
 tered. 
 
 m. 
 
 Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of 
 the ocean, 
 
 267. A notary is an officer authorized to attest contracts or 
 writings of any kind. His authority varies in different coun 
 tries ; in France he is the necessary maker of all contracts where 
 the subject-matter exceeds 150 francs, and his instruments, 
 which are preserved and registered by himself, are the origi 
 nals, the parties preserving only copies.
 
 EVANGELINE. 29 
 
 Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the no 
 tary public ; 
 
 Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the 
 maize, hung 270 
 
 Over his shoulders ; his forehead was high ; and 
 glasses with horn bows 
 
 Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernaL 
 
 Father of twenty children was he, and more than a 
 hundred 
 
 Children's children rode on his knee, and heard his 
 great watch tick. 
 
 Four long years in the times of the war had he lan 
 guished a captive, 275 
 
 Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of 
 the English. 
 
 Now, though warier grown, without all guile or sus 
 picion, 
 
 Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and 
 childlike. 
 
 He was beloved by all., and most of all by the chil 
 dren ; 
 
 For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the for 
 est, 280 
 
 275. King George's War. which broke out in 1744 in Cape 
 Breton, in an attack by the French upon an English garrison, 
 and closed with the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle in 1748 ; or, the 
 reference may possibly be to Queen Anne's war, 1702-1713, 
 when the French aided the Indians in their warfare with the col 
 onists. 
 
 280. The Loup-garou, or were-wolf, is, according to an old su 
 perstition especially prevalent in France, a man with power to 
 turn himself into a wolf, which he does that he may devour chil 
 dren. In later times the superstition passed into the more inno 
 cent one of men having a power to charm wolves.
 
 30 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 And of the goblin that came in the night to water the 
 
 horses, 
 And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child who 
 
 unchristened 
 Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers 
 
 of children ; 
 And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the 
 
 stable, 
 And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in 
 
 a nutshell, 235 
 
 And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover 
 
 and horseshoes, 
 
 "With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the village. 
 Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the 
 
 blacksmith, 
 
 Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extend 
 ing his right hand, 
 " Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, " thou hast heard 
 
 the talk in the village, 290 
 
 And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships 
 
 and their errand." 
 Then with modest demeanor made answer the notary 
 
 public, 
 " Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never 
 
 the wiser ; 
 
 282. Pluquet relates this superstition, and conjectures that the 
 white, fleet ermine gave rise to it. 
 
 284. A belief still lingers among the peasantry of England, as 
 well as on the Continent, that at midnight, on Christmas eve, the 
 cattle in the stalls fall down on their knees in adoration of the 
 infant Saviour, as the old legend says was done in the stable at 
 Bethlehem. 
 
 285. In like manner a popular superstition prevailed in Eng 
 land that ague could be cured by sealing a spider in a goose* 
 quill and hanging it about the neck.
 
 EVANGELINE. 31 
 
 And what their errand may be I know no better than 
 others. 
 
 Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil inten 
 tion 295 
 
 Brings them here, for we are at peace ; and why then 
 molest us ? " 
 
 " God's name ! " shouted the hasty and somewhat iras 
 cible blacksmith ; 
 
 " Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, 
 and the wherefore ? 
 
 Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the 
 strongest ! " 
 
 But, without heeding his warmth, continued the notary 
 public, 300 
 
 " Man is unjust, but God is just ; and finally justice 
 
 Triumphs ; and well I remember a story, that often 
 consoled me, 
 
 When as a captive I lay in the old French fort ai 
 Port Royal." 
 
 This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved to 
 repeat it 
 
 When his neighbors complained that any injustice was 
 done them. 305 
 
 " Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer re 
 member, 
 
 Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice 
 
 Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its 
 left hand, 
 
 And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice 
 presided 
 
 Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes 
 of the people. sic 
 
 302. This is an old Florentine story ; in an altered form it Is 
 the theme of Rossini's opera of La Gazza Ladra.
 
 32 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of 
 the balance, 
 
 Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sun 
 shine above them. 
 
 But in the course of time the laws of the land were 
 corrupted ; 
 
 Might took the place of right, and the weak were 
 oppressed, and the mighty 
 
 Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a noble 
 man's palace 315 
 
 That a necklace of pearls was lost, and ere long a sus 
 picion 
 
 Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the house 
 hold. 
 
 She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaf 
 fold, 
 
 Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of 
 Justice. 
 
 As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit as 
 cended, 320 
 
 Lo ! o'er the city a tempest rose ; and the bolts of the 
 thunder 
 
 Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from 
 its left hand 
 
 Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of 
 the balance, 
 
 And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a 
 magpie, 
 
 Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was 
 inwoven." 325 
 
 Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, 
 the blacksmith 
 
 Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth 
 no language ;
 
 EVANGELINE. 33 
 
 All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his face, 
 
 as the vapors 
 Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in the 
 
 winter. 
 
 Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the 
 table, 330 
 
 Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with 
 home-brewed 
 
 Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the 
 village of Grand-Pre ; 
 
 While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and 
 inkhorn, 
 
 Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the 
 parties, 
 
 Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and 
 in cattle. 335 
 
 Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were 
 completed, 
 
 And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on 
 the margin. 
 
 Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the 
 table 
 
 Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of sil 
 ver; 
 
 And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and 
 bridegroom, 340 
 
 Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their 
 welfare. 
 
 Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and 
 departed, 
 
 While in silence the others sat and mused by the fire 
 side,
 
 34 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its 
 
 corner. 
 Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention 
 
 the old men 345 
 
 Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuvre, 
 Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was 
 
 made in the king-row. 
 Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's 
 
 embrasure, 
 Sat the lovers and whispered together, beholding the 
 
 moon rise 
 
 Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the mead 
 ows. 350 
 Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, 
 Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the 
 
 angels. 
 
 Thus was the evening passed. Anon the bell from 
 
 the belfry 
 Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and 
 
 straightway 
 Rose the guests and departed ; and silence reigned in 
 
 the household. 355 
 
 344. The word draughts is derived from the circumstance of 
 drawing the men from one square to another. 
 
 354. Curfew is a corruption of couvre-feu, or cover fire. In 
 the Middle Ages, when police patrol at night was almost un 
 known, it was attempted to lessen the chances of crime by mak 
 ing it an offence against the laws to be found in the streets in 
 the night, and the curfew bell was tolled, at various hours, ac 
 cording to the custom of the place, from seven to nine o'clock in 
 the evening. It warned honest people to lock their doors, cover 
 their fires, and go to bed. The custom still lingers in many 
 places, even in America, of ringing a bell at nine o'clock in the 
 evening.
 
 EVANGELINE. 35 
 
 Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the 
 door-step 
 
 Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with 
 gladness. 
 
 Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed 
 on the hearth-stone, 
 
 And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the 
 farmer. 
 
 Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline fol 
 lowed. 360 
 
 Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the dark 
 ness, 
 
 Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the 
 maiden. 
 
 Silent she passed through the hall, and entered the 
 door of her chamber. 
 
 Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white, 
 and its clothes-press 
 
 Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were care 
 fully folded 365 
 
 Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline 
 woven. 
 
 This was the precious dower she would bring to her 
 husband in marriage, 
 
 Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her skill 
 as a housewife. 
 
 Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and 
 radiant moonlight 
 
 Streamed through the windows, and lighted the room, 
 till the heart of the maiden 370 
 
 Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides 
 of the ocean. 
 
 Ah! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she 
 stood with
 
 36 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of her 
 
 chamber ! 
 Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of the 
 
 orchard, 
 Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her 
 
 lamp and her shadow. STS 
 
 Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling 
 
 of sadness 
 Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds in 
 
 the moonlight 
 Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for a 
 
 moment. 
 And, as she gazed from the window, she saw serenely 
 
 the moon pass 
 Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow 
 
 her footsteps, 38 
 
 As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered 
 
 with Hagar. 
 
 TV. 
 
 Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on the village 
 
 of Grand-Pre*. 
 Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin of 
 
 Minas, 
 Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, were; 
 
 riding at anchor. 
 Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous 
 
 labor sss 
 
 Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates 
 
 of the morning. 
 Now from the country around, from the farms and 
 
 neighboring hamlets, 
 Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian 
 
 peasants.
 
 EVANGELINE. 37 
 
 Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh from the 
 young folk 
 
 Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numer 
 ous meadows, 390 
 
 Where no path could be seen but the track of wheels 
 in the greensward, 
 
 Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed on 
 the highway. 
 
 Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor were 
 silenced. 
 
 Thronged were the streets with people; and noisy 
 groups at the house-doors 
 
 Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped to 
 gether. 395 
 
 Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and 
 feasted ; 
 
 For with this simple people, who lived like brothers 
 together, 
 
 All things were held in common, and what one had 
 was another's. 
 
 Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed more 
 abundant : 
 
 396. " Real misery was wholly unknown, and benevolence 
 anticipated the demands of poverty. Every misfortune was re 
 lieved as it were before it could be felt, without ostentation on 
 the one hand, and without meanness on the other. It was, in 
 short, a society of brethren, every individual of which was 
 equally ready to give and to receive what he thought the com 
 mon right of mankind." From the Abbe' Raynal's account of 
 the Acadians. The Abbd Guillaume Thomas Francis Raynal 
 was a French writer (1711-179G), who published A Philosophi 
 cal History of the Settlements and Trade of the Europeans in the 
 East and West Indies, in which he included also some account of 
 Canada and Nova Scotia. His picture of life among the Aca 
 dians, somewhat highly colored, is the source from \vhich after 
 writers have drawn their knowledge of Acadian manners.
 
 88 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 For Evangeline stood among the guests of her 
 father ; 4og 
 
 Bright was her face with smiles, and words of wel 
 come and gladness 
 
 Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup as 
 she gave it. 
 
 Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the 
 orchard, 
 
 Stript of its golden fruit, was spread the feast of be 
 trothal. 
 
 There in the shade of the porch were the priest and 
 the notary seated ; 405 
 
 There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the black 
 smith. 
 
 Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press and 
 the beehives, 
 
 Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of 
 hearts and of waistcoats. 
 
 Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played 
 on his snow-white 
 
 Hair, as it waved in the wind ; and the jolly face of 
 the fiddler 410 
 
 Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown 
 from the embers. 
 
 Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his 
 fiddle, 
 
 Tons les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon de 
 Dunkerque, 
 
 413. Tous les Bourgeois de Chartres was a song written by 
 Ducauroi, maitre de chapelle of Henri IV., the words of which 
 are ; 
 
 Vous connaissez Cybele, 
 Qui sut flier le Temps ; 
 On la disait fort belle, 
 Meme daiis S6s vieux &DJS.
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 39 
 
 And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the 
 
 music. 
 Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying 
 
 dances *is 
 
 Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the 
 
 meadows ; 
 Old folk and young together, and children mingled 
 
 among them. 
 Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's 
 
 daughter ! 
 Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the 
 
 blacksmith ! 
 
 So passed the morning away. And lo ! with a sum 
 mons sonorous 420 
 
 Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the mead 
 ows a drum beat. 
 
 Thronged ere long was the church with men. With 
 out, in the churchyard, 
 
 CHORDS. 
 
 Cette divinit^, quoique deji grand'mere 
 Avait lea yeux doux, le teint frais, 
 Avait nieme certains attraita 
 Fermes coimne la Terre. 
 
 A grandame, yet by goddess birth 
 She kept sweet eyes, a color warm, 
 And held through everything a charm 
 Fast like the earth. 
 
 Le Carillon de Dunkerque was a popular song to a tune played 
 on the Dunkirk chimes. The words are: 
 
 Le Carillon de Dunkerque. 
 
 Imprudent, te'm^raire 
 A 1'instant, je 1'espere 
 Dana mon juste courroui, 
 Tu vas tomber sous mes coups ! 
 
 Je brave ta menace. 
 
 Etre moi ! quelle audace I 
 Avance done, poltron ! 
 
 Tu trembles ? non, non, non. 
 
 J'tStouffe de olere ! 
 
 Je ris de ta colere. 
 
 The Carillon of Dunkirk. 
 
 Reckless and rash, 
 Take heed for the flash 
 Of mine anger, 't is just 
 To lay thee with its blows in the dust. 
 
 Tour threat I defy. 
 
 What ! You would be I ! 
 Come, coward ! I '11 show 
 You tremble ? No, no ! 
 
 I 'm choking with rage ! 
 
 A fig for your rage I 
 
 The music to which the old man san these songs will be found 
 in La Cle du Caveau, by Pierre Capelle, Nos. 564 and 73ft 
 Paris: A. Cotelle.
 
 40 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and 
 
 hung on the headstones 
 Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh from 
 
 the forest. 
 Then came the guard from the ships, and marching 
 
 proudly among them 425 
 
 Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant 
 
 clangor 
 Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceiling 
 
 and casement, 
 
 Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous por 
 tal 
 Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of 
 
 the soldiers. 
 Then uprose their commander, and spake from the 
 
 steps of the altar, 430 
 
 Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal 
 
 commission. 
 
 " You are convened this day," he said, " by his Maj 
 esty's orders. 
 Clement and kind has he been ; but how you have 
 
 answered his kindness 
 Let your own hearts reply ! To my natural make and 
 
 my temper 
 Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must 
 
 be grievous. 435 
 
 Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our 
 
 monarch : 
 Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle 
 
 of all kinds 
 Forfeited be to the crown ; and that you yourselves 
 
 from this province 
 
 432. Colonel Winslow has preserved in his Diary the speech 
 which he delivered to the assembled Acadians, and it is copied 
 by Halibnrton in his History of Nova Scotia, i. 1GG, 167.
 
 EVANGELINE. 41 
 
 Be transported to other lands. God grant you may 
 
 dwell there 
 
 Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable peo 
 ple ! o 
 Prisoners now I declare you, for such is his Majesty's 
 
 pleasure ! " 
 As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of 
 
 summer, 
 Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the 
 
 hailstones 
 Beats down the farmer's corn in the field, and shatters 
 
 his windows, 
 Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch 
 
 from the house-roofs, 445 
 
 Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their en 
 closures ; 
 So on the hearts of the people descended the words of 
 
 the speaker. 
 Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, and 
 
 then rose 
 
 Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger, 
 And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the 
 
 door-way. 450 
 
 Vain was the hope of escape; and cries and fierce 
 
 imprecations 
 Rang through the house of prayer ; and high o'er the 
 
 heads of the others 
 Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the 
 
 blacksmith, 
 
 As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows. 
 Flushed was his face and distorted with passion ; and 
 
 wildly he shouted, 455 
 
 " Down with the tyrants of England I we never have 
 
 sworn them allegiance 1
 
 42 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 
 
 Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our 
 
 homes and our harvests ! " 
 More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand 
 
 of a soldier 
 Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to 
 
 the pavement. 
 
 In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry con 
 tention, 460 
 Lo ! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Feli- 
 
 cian 
 Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of 
 
 the altar. 
 Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed 
 
 into silence 
 All that clamorous throng ; and thus he spake to his 
 
 people ; 
 Deep were his tones and solemn ; in accents measured 
 
 and mournful 465 
 
 Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the 
 
 clock strikes. 
 " What is this that ye do, my children ? what madness 
 
 has seized you ? 
 Forty years of my life have I labored among you, and 
 
 taught you, 
 
 Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another ! 
 Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers 
 
 and privations? 470 
 
 Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and 
 
 forgiveness ? 
 This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would 
 
 you profane it 
 Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with 
 
 hatred ?
 
 EVANGELINE. 43 
 
 Lo! where the crucified Christ from His cross is gaz 
 ing upon you ! 
 
 See ! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy 
 compassion ! 475 
 
 Hark ! how those lips still repeat the prayer, * O 
 Father, forgive them ! ' 
 
 Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked 
 assail us, 
 
 Let us repeat it now, and say, ' O Father, forgive 
 them!'" 
 
 Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts 
 of his people 
 
 Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the pas 
 sionate outbreak, 430 
 
 While they repeated his prayer, and said, " O Father, 
 forgive them ! " 
 
 Then came the evening service. The tapers gleamed 
 
 from the altar ; 
 Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and the 
 
 people responded, 
 Not with their lips alone, but their hearts ; and the 
 
 Ave Maria 
 Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their souls, 
 
 with devotion translated, 4sa 
 
 Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending to 
 
 heaven. 
 
 Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings of 
 
 ill, and on all sides 
 Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women 
 
 and children. 
 Long at her father's door Evangeline stood, with her 
 
 right hand
 
 44 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun, 
 that, descending, 49* 
 
 Lighted the village street with mysterious splendor, 
 and roofed each 
 
 Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and emblazoned 
 its windows. 
 
 Long within had been spread the snow-white cloth or, 
 the table ; 
 
 There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey fragrant 
 with wild flowers ; 
 
 There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese fresh 
 brought from the dairy ; 495 
 
 And at the head of the board the great arm-chair of 
 the farmer. 
 
 Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, as the 
 sunset 
 
 Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad am 
 brosial meadows. 
 
 Ah I on her spirit within a deeper shadow had fallen, 
 
 And from the fields of her soul a fragrance celestial 
 ascended, so 
 
 Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, 
 and patience ! 
 
 Then, all forgetful of self, she wandered into the vil 
 lage, 
 
 Cheering with looks and words the mournful hearts of 
 the women, 
 
 As o'er the darkening fields with lingering steps they 
 departed, 
 
 Urged by their household cares, and the weary feet of 
 their children. sos 
 
 492. To emblazon is literally to adorn anything with ensigns 
 armorial. It was often the custom to work these ensigns intc 
 the design of painted windows.
 
 EVANGELINE. 45 
 
 Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmer 
 ing vapors 
 
 Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descend 
 ing from Sinai. 
 
 Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelas 
 sounded. 
 
 Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church Evange 
 
 line lingered. 
 AH was silent within ; and in vain at the door and the 
 
 windows 510 
 
 Stood she, and listened and looked, until, overcome by 
 
 emotion, 
 " Gabriel ! " cried she aloud with tremulous voice ; 
 
 but no answer 
 Came from the graves of the dead, nor the gloomier 
 
 grave of the living. 
 Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless house 
 
 of her father. 
 Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board was 
 
 the supper untasted. MS 
 
 Empty and drear was each room, and haunted with 
 
 phantoms of terror. 
 Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor of her 
 
 chamber. 
 In the dead of the night she heard the disconsolate 
 
 rain fall 
 Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree by 
 
 the window. 
 Keenly the lightning flashed ; and the voice of the 
 
 echoing thunder 520 
 
 Told her that God was in heaven, and governed the 
 
 world He created!
 
 46 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Then she remembered the tale she had heard of the 
 
 justice of Heaven ; 
 Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peacefully 
 
 slumbered till morning. 
 
 v. 
 
 Four times the sun had risen and set ; and now on 
 the fifth day 
 
 Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the 
 farm-house. 525 
 
 Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful pro 
 cession, 
 
 Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms the 
 Acadian women, 
 
 Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to 
 the sea-shore, 
 
 Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their 
 dwellings, 
 
 Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road and 
 the woodland. 530 
 
 Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on 
 the oxen, 
 
 While in their little hands they clasped some frag 
 ments of playthings. 
 
 Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried; and 
 
 there on the sea-beach 
 Piled in confusion lay the household goods of the 
 
 peasants. 
 All day long between the shore and the ships did the 
 
 boats ply ; 535 
 
 All day long the wains came laboring down from the 
 
 village. 
 Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his 
 
 setting,
 
 EVANGELINE. 47 
 
 Echoed far o'er the fields came the roll of drums from 
 the churchyard. 
 
 Thither the women and children thronged. On a sud 
 den the church-doors 
 
 Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching in 
 gloomy procession 540 
 
 Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Acadian 
 farmers. 
 
 Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their homes 
 and their country, 
 
 Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are weary 
 and wayworn, 
 
 So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants de 
 scended 
 
 Down from the church to the shore, amid their wives 
 and their daughters. 545 
 
 Foremost the young men came ; and, raising together 
 their voices, 
 
 Sang with tremulous lips a chant of the Catholic 
 Missions : 
 
 ** Sacred heart of the Saviour ! O inexhaustible foun 
 tain! 
 
 Fill our hearts this day with strength and submission 
 and patience ! " 
 
 Then the old men, as they marched, and the women 
 that stood by the wayside 550 
 
 Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the sun 
 shine above them 
 
 Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spirits 
 departed. 
 
 Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited in 
 
 silence, 
 
 Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour of 
 affliction,
 
 48 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Calmly and sadly she waited, until the procession ap 
 proached her, 555 
 
 And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with emotion. 
 
 Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running to 
 meet him, 
 
 Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his 
 shoulder, and whispered, 
 
 "Gabriel! be of good cheer! for if we love one 
 another 
 
 Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances 
 may happen ! " seo 
 
 Smiling she spake these words ; then suddenly paused, 
 for her father 
 
 Saw she, slowly advancing. Alas ! how changed was 
 his aspect ! 
 
 Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire from 
 his eye, and his footstep 
 
 Heavier seemed with the weight of the heavy heart 
 in his bosom. 
 
 But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his neck and 
 embraced him, ses 
 
 Speaking words of endearment where words of com 
 fort availed not. 
 
 Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that mourn 
 ful procession. 
 
 There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of 
 
 embarking. 
 
 Busily plied the freighted boats ; and in the confusion 
 Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, 
 
 too late, saw their children 570 
 
 Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest 
 
 entreaties. 
 So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried,
 
 EVANGELINE. 49 
 
 While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood with 
 
 her father. 
 Half the task was not done 'vhen the sun went down, 
 
 and the twilight 
 Deepened and darkened around; and in haste the 
 
 refluent ocean 575 
 
 Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the 
 
 sand-beach 
 Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and the slip- 
 
 pery sea-weed. 
 Farther back in the midst of the household goods and 
 
 the wagons, 
 
 Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer after a battle, 
 All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels near 
 
 them, sso 
 
 Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian 
 
 farmers. 
 Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellowing 
 
 ocean, 
 Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, and 
 
 leaving 
 Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats of the 
 
 sailors. 
 Then, as the night descended, the herds returned from 
 
 their pastures ; 535 
 
 Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of milk 
 
 from their udders ; 
 Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known bars 
 
 of the farm-yard, 
 Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the hand 
 
 of the milkmaid. 
 Silence reigned in the streets; from the church no 
 
 Angelus sounded, 
 Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no lights 
 
 from the windows.
 
 50 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires had 
 
 been kindled, 
 Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from 
 
 wrecks in the tempest. 
 Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces were 
 
 gathered, 
 Voices of women were heard, and of men, and the 
 
 crying of children. 
 Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth in 
 
 his parish, 595 
 
 Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and blessing 
 
 and cheering, 
 
 Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita's desolate sea 
 shore. 
 Thus he approached the place where Evangeline sat 
 
 with her father, 
 And in the flickering light beheld the face of the old 
 
 man, 
 Haggard and hollow and wan, and without either 
 
 thought or emotion, eoo 
 
 E'en as the face of a clock from which the hands have 
 
 been taken. 
 Vainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses to 
 
 cheer him, 
 Vainly offered him food ; yet he moved not, he looked 
 
 not, he spake not, 
 But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flickering 
 
 fire-light. 
 
 " Beneditite ! " murmured the priest, in tones of com 
 passion. 605 
 More he fain would have said, but his heart was full, 
 
 and his accents 
 Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a child 
 
 on a threshold,
 
 EVANGELINE. 51 
 
 Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful pres 
 ence of sorrow. 
 
 Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head of the 
 maiden, 
 
 Raising his tearful eyes to the silent stars that above 
 them MO 
 
 Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs and 
 sorrows of mortals. 
 
 Then sat he down at her side, and they wept together 
 in silence. 
 
 Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in autumn 
 
 the blood-red 
 Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o'er the 
 
 horizon 
 Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon mountain 
 
 and meadow, eis 
 
 Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge 
 
 shadows together. 
 Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs of 
 
 the village, 
 Gleamed on the sky and the sea, and the ships that 
 
 lay in the roadstead. 
 Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of 
 
 flame were 
 Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like the 
 
 quivering hands of a martyr. 620 
 
 615. The Titans were giant deities in Greek mythology who 
 attempted to deprive Saturn of the sovereignty of heaven, and 
 were driven down into Tartarus by Jupiter, the son of Saturn, 
 who hurled thunderbolts at them. Briareus, the hundred- handed 
 giant, was in mythology of the same parentage as the Titans, 
 but was not classed with them.
 
 52 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the burning 
 thatch, and, uplifting, 
 
 Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a 
 hundred house-tops 
 
 Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame inter 
 mingled. 
 
 These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the 
 shore and on shipboard. 
 
 Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in their 
 anguish, 625 
 
 " TV e shall behold no more our homes in the village of 
 Grand-Pre ! " 
 
 Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the farm 
 yards, 
 
 Thinking the day had dawned ; and anon the lowing 
 of cattle 
 
 Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of dogs 
 interrupted. 
 
 Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the sleep 
 ing encampments wo 
 
 Far in the western prairies of forests that skirt the 
 Nebraska, 
 
 When the wild horses affrighted sweep by with the 
 speed of the whirlwind, 
 
 621. Gleeds. Hot, buruing coals ; a Chaucerian word : 
 
 "And wafres piping hoct out of the gleede." 
 
 Canterbury Tales, 1. 3379. 
 
 The burning of the houses was in accordance with the instruc 
 tions of the Governor to Colonel Winslow, in case he should fail 
 in collecting all the inhabitants : " You must proceed by the most 
 vigorous measures possible, not only in compelling them to em 
 bark, but in depriving those who shall escape of all means of 
 shelter or support, by burning their houses and by destroying 
 everything that may afford them the means of subsistence in the 
 country."
 
 EVANGELINE. 53 
 
 Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to the 
 
 river. 
 Such was the sound that arose on the night, as the 
 
 herds and the horses 
 Broke through their folds and fences, and madly 
 
 rushed o'er the meadows. ess 
 
 Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, the 
 priest and the maiden 
 
 Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and 
 widened before them ; 
 
 And as they turned at length to speak to their silent 
 companion, 
 
 Lo ! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched abroad 
 on the seashore 
 
 Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had de 
 parted. 640 
 
 Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and the 
 maiden 
 
 Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in her 
 terror. 
 
 Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head on 
 his bosom. 
 
 Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious 
 slumber ; 
 
 And when she woke from the trance, she beheld a 
 multitude near her. 645 
 
 Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully gaz 
 ing upon her, 
 
 Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest com 
 passion. 
 
 Still the blaze of the burning village illumined the 
 landscape,
 
 54 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the faces 
 
 around her, 
 And like the day of doom it seemed to her wavering 
 
 senses. eso 
 
 Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the peo 
 ple, - 
 " Let us bury him here by the sea. When a happier 
 
 season 
 Brings us again to our homes from the unknown land 
 
 of our exile, 
 Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the 
 
 churchyard." 
 Such were the words of the priest. And there in 
 
 haste by the sea-side, ess 
 
 Having the glare of the burning village for funeral 
 
 torches, 
 But without bell or book, they buried the farmer of 
 
 Grand-Pre. 
 And as the voice of the priest repeated the service of 
 
 sorrow, 
 Lo ! with a mournful sound like the voice of a vast 
 
 congregation, 
 Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar with 
 
 the dirges. eeo 
 
 'T was the returning tide, that afar from the waste of 
 
 the ocean, 
 
 With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and hur 
 rying landward. 
 Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of 
 
 embarking ; 
 
 657. The bell was tolled to mark the passage of the soul into 
 the other world ; the book was the service book. The phrase 
 " bell, book, or candle " was used in referring to excoruinunica- 
 tion.
 
 EVANGELINE. 55 
 
 And with the ebb of the tide the ships sailed out of 
 
 the harbor, 
 Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and the 
 
 village in ruins. 665 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 I. 
 
 MANY a weary year had passed since the burning of 
 
 Grand-Pre, 
 
 When on the falling tide the freighted vessels de 
 parted, 
 Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into 
 
 exile, 
 Exile without an end, and without an example in 
 
 story. 
 Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians 
 
 landed ; ero 
 
 Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when the 
 
 wind from the northeast 
 Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the Banks 
 
 of Newfoundland. 
 Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from 
 
 city to city, 
 From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern 
 
 savannas, 
 From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands where 
 
 the Father of Waters evs 
 
 Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down to 
 
 the ocean, 
 Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of the 
 
 mammoth. 
 677. Bones of the mastodon, or mammoth, have been found
 
 56 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Friends they sought and homes ; and many, despairing, 
 heart-broken, 
 
 Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a friend 
 nor a fireside. 
 
 Written their history stands on tablets of stone in the 
 churchyards. eso 
 
 Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and 
 wandered, 
 
 Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all 
 things. 
 
 Fair was she and young ; but, alas ! before her ex 
 tended, 
 
 Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with its 
 pathway 
 
 Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed and 
 suffered before her, 635 
 
 Passions long extinguished, and hopes long dead and 
 abandoned, 
 
 As the emigrant's way o'er the Western desert is 
 marked by 
 
 Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach in 
 the sunshine. 
 
 Something there was in her life incomplete, imperfect, 
 unfinished ; 
 
 As if a morning of June, with all its music and sun 
 shine, 690 
 
 Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly de 
 scended 
 
 Into the east again, from whence it late had arisen. 
 
 Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by the 
 fever within her, 
 
 scattered all over the territory of the United States and Canada, 
 but the greatest number have been collected in the Salt Licks of 
 Kentucky, and in the States of Ohio, Mississippi, Missouri, and 
 Alabama.
 
 EVANGELINE. 57 
 
 Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst of 
 the spirit, 
 
 She would commence again her endless search and en 
 deavor ; 695 
 
 Sometimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed on the 
 crosses and tombstones, 
 
 Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that perhaps 
 in its bosom 
 
 He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber be 
 side him. 
 
 Sometimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate whis 
 per, 
 
 Came with its airy hand to point and beckon her for 
 ward. 700 
 
 Sometimes she spake with those who had seen her be 
 loved and known him, 
 
 But it was long ago, in some far-off place or forgot 
 ten. 
 
 " Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " they said ; " Oh, yes ! we have 
 seen him. 
 
 He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have gone 
 to the prairies ; 
 
 Coureurs-des-bois are they, and famous hunters and 
 trappers." 705 
 
 699. Observe the diminution in this line, by which one is led 
 to the airy hand in the next. 
 
 705. The coureurs-des-bois formed a class of men, very early in 
 Canadian history, produced by the exigencies of the fur-trade. 
 They were French by birth, but by long affiliation with the In 
 dians and adoption of their customs had become half-civilized 
 vagrants, whose chief vocation was conducting the canoes of the 
 traders along the lakes and rivers of the interior. Bushrangers 
 is the English equivalent. They played an important part in the 
 Indian wars, but were nearly as lawless as the Indians them 
 selves. The reader will find them frequently referred to in
 
 58 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 " Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " said others ; " Oh, yes ! we 
 
 have seen him. 
 
 He is a voyageur in the lowlands of Louisiana." 
 Then would they say, " Dear child ! why dream and 
 
 wait for him longer ? 
 
 Are there not other youths as fair as Gabriel ? others 
 Who have hearts as tender and true, and spirits as 
 
 loyal ? Tio 
 
 Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's son, who has 
 
 loved thee 
 Many a tedious year ; come, give him thy hand and be 
 
 happy ! 
 Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catherine's 
 
 tresses." 
 Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but sadly, 
 
 " I cannot ! 
 Whither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, 
 
 and not elsewhere. 7is 
 
 For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and 
 
 illumines the pathway, 
 Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden ID 
 
 darkness." 
 
 Thereupon the priest, her friend and father confessor 
 Said, with a smile, " O daughter ! thy God thus 
 
 speaketh within thee ! 
 Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was 
 
 wasted ; 720 
 
 Parkman's histories, especially in The Conspiracy of Pontiac, 
 The Discovery of the Great West, and Frontenac and New France 
 under Louis XI V. 
 
 707. A voyageur is a river boatman, and is a term applied 
 usually to Canadians. 
 
 713. St. Catherine of Alexandria and St. Catherine of Siena 
 were both celebrated for their vows of virginity. Hence the say 
 ing to braid St. Catherine's tresses, of one devoted to a single life.
 
 EVANGELINE. 59 
 
 If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, re 
 turning 
 
 Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full 
 of refreshment ; 
 
 That which the fountain sends forth returns again to 
 the fountain. 
 
 Patience ; accomplish thy labor ; accomplish thy work 
 of affection ! 
 
 Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance 
 is godlike. 725 
 
 Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the heart 
 is made godlike, 
 
 Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered more 
 worthy of heaven ! " 
 
 Cheered by the good man's words, Evangeline labored 
 and waited. 
 
 Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of the 
 ocean, 
 
 But with its sound there was mingled a voice that 
 whispered, " Despair not ! " 730 
 
 Thus did that poor soul wander in want and cheer 
 less discomfort, 
 
 Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and thorns of 
 existence. 
 
 Let me essay, O Muse ! to follow the wanderer's foot 
 steps ; 
 
 Not through each devious path, each changeful year 
 of existence ; 
 
 But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course through 
 the valley : 735 
 
 Far from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam of 
 its water 
 
 Here and there, in some open space, and at intervals 
 only;
 
 60 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan glooms 
 
 that conceal it, 
 Though he behold it not, he can hear its continuous 
 
 murmur ; 
 Happy, at length, if he find a spot where it reaches 
 
 an outlet. 7*0 
 
 n. 
 
 It was the month of May. Far down the Beautiful 
 
 River, 
 Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the Wa- 
 
 bash, 
 Into the golden stream of the broad and swift Mis 
 
 sissippi, 
 Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by Acadian 
 
 boatmen. 
 It was a band of exiles : a raft, as it were, from the 
 
 shipwrecked 745 
 
 Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating to 
 
 gether, 
 Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a com 
 
 mon misfortune ; 
 Men and women and children, who, guided by hope 
 
 or by hearsay, 
 Sought for their kith and their kin among the few- 
 
 acred farmers 
 On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair Ope- 
 
 750 
 
 741. The Iroquois gave to this river the name of Ohio, or the 
 Beautiful River, and La Salle, who was the first European to 
 discover it, preserved the name, so that it was transferred to 
 maps very early. 
 
 750. Between the 1st of January and the 13th of May, 1765, 
 about six hundred and fifty Acadians had arrived at New Or-
 
 EVANGELINE. 61 
 
 With them Evangeline went, and her guide, the 
 Father Felician. 
 
 Onward o'er sunken sands, through a wilderness 
 sombre with forests, 
 
 Day after day they glided adown the turbulent river ; 
 
 Night after night, by their blazing fires, encamped on 
 its borders. 
 
 Now through rushing chutes, among green islands, 
 where plumelike 755 
 
 Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they swept 
 with the current, 
 
 Then emerged into broad lagoons, where silvery sand 
 bars 
 
 Lay in the stream, and along the wimpling waves of 
 their margin, 
 
 Shining with snow-white plumes, large flocks of pel 
 icans waded. 
 
 Level the landscape grew, and along the shores of the 
 river, 760 
 
 Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant gar 
 dens, 
 
 Stood the houses of planters, with negro cabins and 
 dove-cots. 
 
 They were approaching the region where reigns per 
 petual summer, 
 
 leans. Louisiana had been ceded by France to Spain in 1762, 
 but did not really pass under the control of the Spanish until 
 1769. The existence of a French population attracted the wan 
 dering Acadians, and they were sent by the authorities to form 
 settlements in Attakapas and Opelousas. They afterward formed 
 settlements on both sides of the Mississippi from the German 
 Coast up to Baton Rouge, and even as high as Pointe Coupe'e. 
 Hence the name of Acadian Coast, which a portion of the banks 
 of the river still bears. See Gayarre"s History of Louisiana : 
 The French Dominion, vol. ii.
 
 62 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Where through the Golden Coast, and groves of 
 orange and citron, 
 
 Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to the east 
 ward. 765 
 
 They, too, swerved from their course ; and, entering 
 the Bayou of Plaquemine, 
 
 Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devious 
 waters, 
 
 Which, like a network of steel, extended in every 
 direction. 
 
 Over their heads the towering and tenebrous boughs 
 of the cypress 
 
 Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in mid 
 air 770 
 
 Waved like banners that hang on the walls of ancient 
 cathedrals. 
 
 Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, save by 
 the herons 
 
 Home to their roosts in the cedar-trees returning at 
 sunset, 
 
 Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with demoniac 
 laughter. 
 
 Lovely the moonlight was as i't glanced and gleamed 
 on the water, 775 
 
 Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar sustain 
 ing the arches, 
 
 Down through whose broken vaults it fell as through 
 chinks in a ruin. 
 
 Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all things 
 around them ; 
 
 And o'er their spirits there came a feeling of wonder 
 and sadness, 
 
 Sfarange forebodings of ill, unseen and that cannot be 
 compassed. rao
 
 EVANGELINE. 63 
 
 As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf of the 
 
 prairies, 
 Far in advance are closed the leaves of the shrinking 
 
 mimosa, 
 So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebodings of 
 
 evil, 
 Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of doom 
 
 has attained it. 
 But Evangeline's heart was sustained by a vision, that 
 
 faintly 785 
 
 Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on through 
 
 the moonlight. 
 It was the thought of her brain that assumed the 
 
 shape of a phantom. 
 Through those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wandered 
 
 before her, 
 And every stroke of the oar now brought him nearer 
 
 and nearer. 
 
 Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose one 
 
 of the oarsmen, 790 
 
 And, as a signal sound, if others like them peradven- 
 
 ture 
 Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew a 
 
 blast on his bugle. 
 Wild through the dark colonnades and corridors leafy 
 
 the blast rang, 
 Breaking the seal of silence and giving tongues to the 
 
 forest. 
 Soundless above them the banners of moss just stirred 
 
 to the music. 795 
 
 Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance, 
 Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant 
 
 branches ;
 
 64 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 But not a voice replied ; no answer came from the 
 
 darkness ; 
 And when the echoes had cersed, like a sense of pain 
 
 was the silence. 
 Then Evangeline slept ; but the boatmen rowed 
 
 through the midnight, soo 
 
 Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian boat 
 
 songs, 
 
 Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian rivers, 
 While through the night were heard the mysterious 
 
 sounds of the desert, 
 Far off, indistinct, as of wave or wind in the 
 
 forest, 
 Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the roar of 
 
 the grim alligator. s 
 
 Thus ere another noon they emerged from the 
 shades ; and before them 
 
 Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atchafalaya. 
 
 Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undula 
 tions 
 
 Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in beauty, 
 the lotus 
 
 Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the boat 
 men. 810 
 
 Faint was the air with the odorous breath of magno 
 lia blossoms, 
 
 And with the heat of noon ; and numberless sylvan 
 islands, \ 
 
 Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossoming 
 hedges of roses, 
 
 Near to whose shores they glided along, invited to 
 slumber. 
 
 Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were sus 
 pended. 815
 
 EVANGELINE. 65 
 
 Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew by 
 the margin, 
 
 Safely their boat was moored ; and scattered about on 
 the greensward, 
 
 Tired with their midnight toil, the weary travellers 
 slumbered. 
 
 Over them vast and high extended the cope of a 
 cedar. 
 
 Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet-flower and 
 the grapevine MO 
 
 Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder of 
 Jacob, 
 
 On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, de 
 scending, 
 
 Were the swift humming-birds., that flitted from blos 
 som to blossom. 
 
 Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she slumbered 
 beneath it. 
 
 Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an 
 opening heaven 325 
 
 Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of regions 
 celestial. 
 
 Nearer, ever nearer, among the numberless islands, 
 Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o'er the 
 
 water, 
 Urged on its course by the sinewy arms of hunters 
 
 and trappers. 
 Northward its prow was turned, to the land of the 
 
 bison and beaver. m 
 
 At the helm sat a youth, with countenance thoughtful 
 
 and careworn. 
 Park and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, and 
 
 a sadness
 
 66 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Somewhat beyond his years on his face was legibly 
 written. 
 
 Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, unhappy and 
 restless, 
 
 Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and of 
 sorrow. sss 
 
 Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of the 
 island, 
 
 But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen of pal 
 mettos ; 
 
 So that they saw not the boat, where it lay concealed 
 in the willows ; 
 
 All undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and unseen, 
 were the sleepers ; 
 
 Angel of God was there none to awaken the slumber 
 ing maiden. 840 
 
 Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud on 
 the prairie. 
 
 After the sound of their oars on the tholes had died 
 in the distance, 
 
 As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and the 
 maiden 
 
 Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, "O Father 
 Felician ! 
 
 Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel 
 wanders. 845 
 
 Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague superstition ? 
 
 Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to my 
 spirit ? " 
 
 Then, with a blush, she added, " Alas for my credu 
 lous fancy ! 
 
 Unto ears like thine such words as these have no 
 meaning." 
 
 But made answer the reverend man, and he smiled as 
 he answered, sso
 
 EVANGELINE. 67 
 
 " Daughter, thy words are not idle ; nor are they to 
 
 me without meaning, 
 Feeling is deep and still ; and the word that floats on 
 
 the surface 
 Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor 
 
 is hidden. 
 Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world 
 
 calls illusions. 
 Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away to the 
 
 southward, sss 
 
 On the banks of the Teche, are the towns of St. Maur 
 
 and St. Martin. 
 There the long-wandering bride shall be given again 
 
 to her bridegroom, 
 There the long-absent pastor regain his flock and his 
 
 sheepfold. 
 Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests of 
 
 fruit-trees ; 
 Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest of 
 
 heavens seo 
 
 Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls of 
 
 the forest. 
 They who dwell there have named it the Eden of 
 
 Louisiana." 
 
 With these words of cheer they arose and continued 
 their journey. 
 
 Softly the evening came. The sun from the western 
 horizon 
 
 Like a magician extended his golden wand o'er the 
 landscape ; ses 
 
 Twinkling vapors arose ; and sky and water and forest 
 
 Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and min 
 gled together.
 
 68 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges of 
 silver, 
 
 Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the mo 
 tionless water. 
 
 Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible sweet 
 ness. 870 
 
 Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains of 
 feeling 
 
 Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and waters 
 around her. 
 
 Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, 
 wildest of singers, 
 
 Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the 
 water, 
 
 Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious 
 
 music, 875 
 
 That the whole air and the woods and the waves 
 
 seemed silent to listen. 
 Plaintive at first were the tones and sad ; then soaring 
 
 to madness 
 Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied 
 
 Bacchantes. 
 
 Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lam 
 entation ; 
 Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad 
 
 in derision, t 
 
 As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through tht 
 
 tree-tops 
 Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on 
 
 the branches. 
 
 878. The Bacchantes were worshippers of the god Bacchus, 
 who in Greek mythology presided over the vine and its fruits. 
 They gave themselves up to all manner of excess, and theil 
 songs and dances were to wild, intoxicating measures.
 
 EVANGELINE. 69 
 
 With such a prelude as this, and hearts that throbbed 
 with emotion, 
 
 Slowly they entered the Teche, where it flows through 
 the green Opelousas, 
 
 And, through the amber air, above the crest of the 
 woodland, sss 
 
 Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neighbor 
 ing dwelling ; 
 
 Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant lowing 
 of cattle. 
 
 in. 
 
 Near to the bank of the river, o'ershadowed by oaks 
 from whose branches 
 
 Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mistletoe 
 flaunted, 
 
 Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatchets at 
 Yule-tide, sae 
 
 Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herdsman. 
 A garden 
 
 Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant blos 
 soms, 
 
 Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself was 
 of timbers 
 
 Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fitted to 
 gether. 
 
 Large and low was the roof ; and on slender columns 
 supported, 89* 
 
 Rose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spacious 
 veranda, 
 
 Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extended 
 around it. 
 
 At each end of the house, amid the flowers of the 
 garden,
 
 70 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Stationed the dove-cots were, as love's perpetual sym 
 bol, 
 
 Scenes of endless wooing, and endless contentions of 
 rivals. 900 
 
 Silence reigned o'er the place. The line of shadow 
 and sunshine 
 
 Kan near the tops of the trees ; but the house itsell 
 was in shadow, 
 
 And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly ex 
 panding 
 
 Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke 
 rose. 
 
 In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, ran a 
 pathway 905 
 
 Through the great groves of oak to the skirts of the 
 limitless prairie, 
 
 Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly descend 
 ing.. 
 
 Full in his track of light, like ships with shadowy 
 canvas 
 
 Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless calm 
 in the tropics, 
 
 Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage of 
 grapevines. 910 
 
 Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf of 
 
 the prairie, 
 Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and 
 
 stirrups, 
 Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet of 
 
 deerskin. 
 Broad and brown was the face that from under the 
 
 Spanish sombrero 
 Grazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look of 
 
 its master. w
 
 EVANGELINE. 71 
 
 Round about him were numberless herds of kine that 
 were grazing 
 
 Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the vapory 
 freshness 
 
 That uprose from the river, and spread itself over the 
 landscape. 
 
 Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, and ex 
 panding 
 
 Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that re 
 sounded 920 
 
 Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp air 
 of the evening. 
 
 Suddenly out of the grass the long white horns of the 
 cattle 
 
 Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse currents of 
 ocean. 
 
 Silent a moment they gazed, then bellowing rushed 
 o'er the prairie, 
 
 And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade in the 
 distance. 925 
 
 Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, through 
 the gate of the garden 
 
 Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden ad 
 vancing to meet him. 
 
 Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in amaze 
 ment, and forward 
 
 Pushed with extended arms and exclamations of won 
 der ; 
 
 When they beheld his face, they recognized Basil the 
 blacksmith. 930 
 
 Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests to the 
 garden. 
 
 There in an arbor of roses with endless question and 
 answer
 
 72 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed their 
 
 friendly embraces, 
 Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting silent and 
 
 thoughtful. 
 Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not ; and now dark 
 
 doubts and misgivings 9K 
 
 Stole o'er the maiden's heart ; and Basil, somewhat 
 
 embarrassed, 
 Broke the silence and said, "If you came by the 
 
 Atchafalaya, 
 How have you nowhere encountered my Gabriel's 
 
 boat on the bayous ? " 
 Over Evangeline's face at the words of Basil a shade 
 
 passed. 
 
 Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a trem 
 ulous accent, 940 
 " Gone ? is Gabriel gone ? " and, concealing her face 
 
 on his shoulder, 
 All her o'erburdened heart gave way, and she wept 
 
 and lamented. 
 Then the good Basil said, and his voice grew blithe 
 
 as he said it, 
 " Be of good cheer, my child ; it is only to-day he 
 
 departed. 
 Foolish boy ! he has left me alone with my herds and 
 
 my horses. 945 
 
 Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, his 
 
 spirit 
 
 Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet exis 
 tence. 
 
 Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful ever, 
 Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his troubles, 
 He at length had become so tedious to men and to 
 
 maidens, %v\
 
 EVANGELINE. 73 
 
 Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought me, and 
 
 sent him 
 Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with the 
 
 Spaniards. 
 Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the Ozark 
 
 Mountains, 
 Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trapping the 
 
 beaver. 
 
 Therefore be of good cheer ; we will follow the fugi 
 tive lover; 955 
 He is not far on his way, and the Fates and tbe 
 
 streams are against him. 
 Up and away to-morrow, and through the red dew of 
 
 the morning, 
 We will follow him fast, and bring him back to his 
 
 prison." 
 
 Then glad voices were heard, and up from the 
 
 banks of the river, 
 Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, came Michael the 
 
 fiddler. 960 
 
 Long under Basil's roof had he lived, like a god on 
 
 Olympus, 
 
 Having no other care than dispensing music to mor 
 tals. 
 Far renowned was he for his silver locks and his 
 
 fiddle. 
 " Long live Michael," they cried, " our brave Acadian 
 
 minstrel ! " 
 As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession ; and 
 
 straightway aes 
 
 Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greeting 
 
 the old man 
 Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while Basil, 
 
 enraptured,
 
 74 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 
 
 Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and gos 
 sips, 
 Laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers and 
 
 daughters. 
 Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the ci-devant 
 
 blacksmith, 974 
 
 All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal 
 
 demeanor ; 
 Much they marvelled to hear his tales of the soil and 
 
 the climate, 
 And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were his 
 
 who would take them ; 
 Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would go 
 
 and do likewise. 
 Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the breezy 
 
 veranda, 973 
 
 Entered the hall of the house, where already the sup 
 
 per of Basil 
 Waited his late return ; and they rested and feasted 
 
 together. 
 
 Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness de 
 scended. 
 All was silent without, and, illuming the landscape 
 
 with silver, 
 Fair rose the dewy moon and the myr'ad stars ; but 
 
 within doors, 98 
 
 Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in the 
 
 glimmering lamplight. 
 Then from his station aloft, at the head of the table, 
 
 the herdsman 
 Poured forth his heart and his wine together in endler ^ 
 
 profusion. 
 Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet Natchi 
 
 toches tobacco.
 
 EVANGELINE. 75 
 
 Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and smiled 
 
 as they listened : 985 
 
 " Welcome once more, my friends, who long have been 
 
 friendless and homeless, 
 
 Welcome once more to a home, that is better per 
 chance than the old one ! 
 Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like the 
 
 rivers ; 
 Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of the 
 
 farmer ; 
 Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the soil, as a 
 
 keel through the water. 990 
 
 All the year round the orange-groves are in blossom ; 
 
 and grass grows 
 
 More in a single night than a whole Canadian summer. 
 Here, too, numberless herds run wild and unclaimed 
 
 in the prairies ; 
 Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, and 
 
 forests of timber 
 With a few blows of the axe are hewn and framed 
 
 into houses. 99* 
 
 After your houses are built, and your fields are yello^ 
 
 with harvests, 
 No King George of England shall drive you away frotf 
 
 your homesteads, 
 Burning your dwellings and barns, and stealing youl 
 
 farms and your cattle." 
 Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud from 
 
 his nostrils, 
 While his huge, brown hand came thundering down 
 
 on the table, 1000 
 
 So that the guests all started ; and Father Felician, 
 
 astounded, 
 Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuff half-way to 
 
 his nostrils.
 
 76* HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 But the brave Basil resumed, and his words were 
 
 milder and gayer : 
 *' Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware of the 
 
 fever ! 
 
 For it is not like that of our cold Acadian climate, ioos 
 Cured by wearing a spider hung round one's neck in a 
 
 nutshell!" 
 Then there were voices heard at the door, and foot- 
 
 steps approaching 
 Sounded upon the stairs and the floor of the breezy 
 
 veranda. 
 It was the neighboring Creoles and small Acadian 
 
 planters, 
 Who had been summoned all to the house of Basil the 
 
 herdsman. 1010 
 
 Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades and 
 
 neighbors : 
 Friend clasped friend in his arms ; and they who 
 
 before were as strangers, 
 Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends to each 
 
 other, 
 Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country 
 
 together. 
 
 But in the neighboring hall a strain of music, pro 
 ceeding 1015 
 From the accordant strings of Michael's melodious 
 
 fiddle, 
 Broke up all further speech. Away, like children 
 
 delighted, 
 All things forgotten beside, they gave themselves to 
 
 the maddening 
 Whirl of the dizzy dance, as it swept and swayed to 
 
 the music, 
 
 Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of flutter 
 ing garments. 1021
 
 EVANGELINE. 77 
 
 Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, the priest 
 
 and the herdsman 
 Sat, conversing together of past and present and 
 
 future ; 
 While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for within 
 
 her 
 Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of the 
 
 music 
 
 Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepres 
 sible sadness 1025 
 Came o'er her heart, and unseen she stole forth into 
 
 the garden. 
 Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall of 
 
 the forest, 
 Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. On 
 
 the river 
 Fell here and there through the branches a tremulous 
 
 gleam of the moonlight, 
 Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and 
 
 devious spirit. io 
 
 Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers 
 
 of the garden 
 Poured out their souls in odors, that were their prayers 
 
 and confessions 
 Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent 
 
 Carthusian. 
 
 1033. The Carthusians are a monastic order founded in the 
 twelfth century, perhaps the most severe in its rules of all reli 
 gious societies. Almost perpetual silence is one of the vows; the 
 monks can talk together but once a week ; the labor required of 
 them is unremitting and the discipline exceedingly rigid. The 
 first monastery was established at Chartreux near Grenoble in 
 France, and the Latinized form of the name has given us the 
 word Carthusian.
 
 78 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with 
 shadows and night-dews, 
 
 Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm a::J tLs 
 magical moonlight IOM 
 
 Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable long 
 ings, 
 
 As, through the garden gate, and beneath the shade 
 of the oak-trees, 
 
 Passed she along the path to the edge of the measure 
 less prairie. 
 
 Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire-flies 
 
 Gleaming and floating away in mingled and infinite 
 numbers. 1010 
 
 Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in the 
 heavens, 
 
 Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to marvel 
 and worship, 
 
 Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls of 
 that temple, 
 
 As if a hand had appeared and written upon them, 
 "Upharsin." 
 
 And the soul of the maiden, between the stars and 
 the fire-flies, IMS 
 
 Wandered alone, and she cried, " O Gabriel ! O my 
 beloved ! 
 
 Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot behold 
 thee? 
 
 Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not 
 reach me? 
 
 Ah ! how often thy feet have trod this path to the 
 prairie ! 
 
 Ah ! how often thine eyes have looked on the wood 
 lands around me ! i<w 
 
 Ah ! how often beneath this oak, returning from labor,
 
 EVANGELINE. 79 
 
 Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in 
 
 thy slumbers ! 
 When shall these eyes behold, these arms be folded 
 
 about thee ? " 
 Loud and sudden and near the note of a whippoor- 
 
 will sounded 
 Like a flute in the woods ; and anon, through the 
 
 neighboring thickets, 1055 
 
 Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into 
 
 silence. 
 
 " Patience ! " whispered the oaks from oracular cav 
 erns of darkness ; 
 And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, 
 
 " To-morrow ! " 
 
 Bright rose the sun next day ; and all the flowers 
 of the garden 
 
 Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and anointed 
 his tresses ioeo 
 
 With the delicious balm that they bore in their vases 
 of crystal. 
 
 "Farewell!" said the priest, as he stood at the 
 shadowy threshold ; 
 
 " See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from his 
 fasting and famine, 
 
 And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when the 
 bridegroom was coming." 
 
 " Farewell! " answered the maiden, and, smiling, with 
 Basil descended ices 
 
 Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen already 
 were waiting. 
 
 Thus beginning their journey with morning, and sun 
 shine, and gladness, 
 
 Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was speed 
 ing before them,
 
 80 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf over the 
 
 desert. 
 
 Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that suc 
 ceeded, 1070 
 Found they trace of his course, in lake or forest or 
 
 river, 
 Nor, after many days, had they found him ; but vague 
 
 and uncertain 
 Rumors alone were their guides through a wild and 
 
 desolate country ; 
 
 Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of Adayes, 
 Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from the 
 
 garrulous landlord IOTS 
 
 That on the day before, with horses and guides and 
 
 companions, 
 Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the 
 
 prairies. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Far in the West there lies a desert land, where the 
 
 mountains 
 
 Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and lumi 
 nous summits. 
 Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the 
 
 gorge, like a gateway, loso 
 
 Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emigrant's 
 
 wagon, 
 Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway and 
 
 Owyhee. 
 Eastward, with devious course, among the Wind-river 
 
 Mountains, 
 Through the Sweet- water Valley precipitate leaps the 
 
 Nebraska ; 
 And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and the 
 
 Spanish sierras, IOM
 
 EVANGELINE. 8i 
 
 Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the wind 
 of the desert, 
 
 Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, descend to 
 the ocean, 
 
 Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and solemn 
 vibrations. 
 
 Spreading between these streams are the wondrous, 
 beautiful prairies, 
 
 Billowy bays of grass ever rolling m shadow and sun 
 shine, 1090 
 
 Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple 
 amorphas. 
 
 Over them wandered the buffalo herds, and the elk 
 and the roebuck ; 
 
 Over them wandered the wolves, and herds of rider 
 less horses ; 
 
 Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are weary 
 with travel ; 
 
 Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael's 
 children, 1095 
 
 Staining the desert with blood ; and above their terri 
 ble war-trails 
 
 Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the vul 
 ture, 
 
 Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered 
 in battle, 
 
 By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the heav 
 ens. 
 
 Here and there rise smokes from the camps of these 
 savage marauders ; 1100 
 
 Here and there rise groves from the margins of swift- 
 running rivers ; 
 
 And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk of 
 the desert,
 
 82 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots by 
 
 the brook-side, 
 And over all is the sky, the clear and crystalline 
 
 heaven, 
 Like the protecting hand of God inverted above 
 
 them. 1105 
 
 Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark 
 
 Mountains, 
 Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers 
 
 behind him. 
 Day after day, with their Indian guides, the maiden 
 
 and Basil 
 Followed his flying steps, and thought each day to 
 
 o'ertake him. 
 Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the smoke 
 
 of his camp-fire mo 
 
 Rise in the morning air from the distant plain ; but 
 
 at nightfall, 
 When they had reached the place, they found only 
 
 embers and ashes. 
 And, though their hearts were sad at times and their 
 
 bodies were weary, 
 
 Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata Morgana 
 Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated and 
 
 vanished before them. ms 
 
 1114. The Italian name for a meteoric phenomenon nearly 
 allied to a mirage, witnessed in the Straits of Messina, and less 
 frequently elsewhei-e, and consisting in the appearance in the 
 air over the sea of the objects which are upon the neighboring 
 coasts. In the southwest of our own country, the mirage is very 
 common, of lakes which stretch before the tired traveller, and 
 the deception is so great that parties have sometimes beckoned 
 to other travellers, who seemed to be wading knee-deep, to come 
 ever to them where dry land was.
 
 EVANGELINE. 83 
 
 Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there silently 
 
 entered 
 
 Into the little camp an Indian woman, whose features 
 Wore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as great as 
 
 her sorrow. 
 She was a Shawnee woman returning home to her 
 
 people, 
 From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel Ca- 
 
 manches, mo 
 
 Where her Canadian husband, a coureur-des-bois, 
 
 had been murdered. 
 Touched were their hearts at her story, and warmest 
 
 and friendliest welcome 
 Gave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and 
 
 feasted among them 
 On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on the 
 
 embers. 
 But when their meal was done, and Basil and all his 
 
 companions, 1125 
 
 Worn with the long day's march and the chase of the 
 
 deer and the bison, 
 Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept where 
 
 the quivering fire-light 
 Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms 
 
 wrapped up in their blankets, 
 
 Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and re 
 peated 
 
 Slowly, with soft, low voice, and the charm of her In 
 dian accent, 1130 
 All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and pains, 
 
 and reverses. 
 Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know that 
 
 another 
 Hapless heart like her own had loved and had been 
 
 disappointed.
 
 84 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and woman's 
 
 compassion, 
 Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suffered 
 
 was near her, 1134 
 
 She in turn related her love and all its disasters. 
 Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when she had 
 
 ended 
 
 Still was mute ; but at length, as if a mysterious hor 
 ror 
 Passed through her brain, she spake, and repeated the 
 
 tale of the Mowis ; 
 Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and wedded 
 
 a maiden, luo 
 
 But, when the morning came, arose and passed from 
 
 the wigwam, 
 
 Fading and melting away and dissolving into the sun 
 shine, 
 Till she beheld him no more, though she followed far 
 
 into the forest. 
 Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a 
 
 weird incantation, 
 Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was wooed 
 
 by a phantom, u 
 
 That, through the pines o'er her father's lodge, in the 
 
 hush of the twilight, 
 Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered love to 
 
 the maiden, 
 Till she followed his green and waving plume through 
 
 the forest, 
 And nevermore returned, nor was seen again by her 
 
 people. 
 
 1145. The story of Lilinau and other Indian legends will be 
 found in H. R. Schoolcraft's Algic Researches.
 
 EVANGELINE. 85 
 
 Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evangeline 
 listened 1150 
 
 To the soft flow of her magical words, till the region 
 around her 
 
 Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swarthy guest 
 the enchantress. 
 
 Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains the 
 moon rose, 
 
 Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious splen 
 dor 
 
 Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and filling 
 the woodland. 1135 
 
 With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and the 
 branches 
 
 Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible whis 
 pers. 
 
 Filled with the thoughts of love was Evangeline's 
 heart, but a secret, 
 
 Subtile sense crept in of pain and indefinite terror, 
 
 As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest of 
 the swallow. neo 
 
 It was no earthly fear. A breath from the region of 
 spirits 
 
 Seemed to float in the air of night ; and she felt for a 
 moment 
 
 That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing a 
 phantom. 
 
 With this thought she slept, and the fear and the 
 phantom had vanished. 
 
 Early upon the morrow the march was resumed, and 
 the Shawnee n 
 
 Said, as they journeyed along, " On the western 
 slope of these mountains
 
 86 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Dwells in his little village the Black Robe chief of 
 
 the Mission. 
 Much he teaches the people, and tells them of Mary 
 
 and Jesus ; 
 Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep with pain. 
 
 as they hear him." 
 Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evangeline 
 
 answered, 1171 
 
 " Let us go to the Mission, for there good tidings 
 
 await us ! " 
 Thither they turned their steeds ; and behind a spur 
 
 of the mountains, 
 Just as the sun went down, they heard a murmur of 
 
 voices, 
 And in a meadow green and broad, by the bank of a 
 
 river, 
 Saw the tents of the Christians, the tents of the Jesuit 
 
 Mission. ins 
 
 Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of the 
 
 village, 
 Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. A 
 
 crucifix fastened 
 High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed by 
 
 grapevines, 
 
 Looked with its agonized face on the multitude kneel 
 ing beneath it. 
 
 This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through the intri 
 cate arches use 
 Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their vespers, 
 Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and sighs of 
 
 the branches. 
 Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, nearer 
 
 approaching, 
 Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the evening 
 
 devotions.
 
 EVANGELINE. 87 
 
 But when the service was done, and the benediction 
 had fallen HM 
 
 Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed from the 
 hands of the sower, 
 
 Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers, 
 and bade them . 
 
 Welcome ; and when they replied, he smiled with be 
 nignant expression, 
 
 Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother-tongue in. 
 the forest, 
 
 And, with words of kindness, conducted them into his 
 wigwam. 1190 
 
 There upon mats and skins they reposed, and on cakes 
 of the maize-ear 
 
 Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the water-gourd 
 of the teacher. 
 
 Soon was their story told ; and the priest with solem 
 nity answered : 
 
 *' Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, seated 
 
 On this mat by my side, where now the maiden re 
 poses, 1195 
 
 Told me this same sad tale ; then arose and continued 
 his journey ! " 
 
 Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake with an 
 accent of kindness ; 
 
 But on Evangeline's heart fell his words as in winter 
 the snow-flakes 
 
 Fall into some lone nest from which the birds have 
 departed. 
 
 " Far to the north he has gone," continued the priest ; 
 " but in autumn, 1200 
 
 When the chase is done, will return again to the Mis 
 sion." 
 
 Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek and 
 submissive,
 
 88 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 " Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad and af 
 flicted." 
 
 So seemed it wise and well unto all ; and betimes on 
 the morrow, 
 
 Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian guides 
 and companions, 1205 
 
 Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed at 
 the Mission. 
 
 Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded each 
 
 other, 
 Days and weeks and months ; and the fields of maize 
 
 that were springing 
 Green from the ground when a stranger she came, 
 
 now waving about her, 
 Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, 
 
 and forming 1210 
 
 Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries pillaged 
 
 by squirrels. 
 Then in the golden weather the maize was husked, 
 
 and the maidens 
 Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that betokened a 
 
 lover, 
 But at the crooked laughed, and called it a thief in 
 
 the corn-field. 
 Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought not her 
 
 lover. 1215 
 
 " Patience ! " the priest would say ; " have faith, and 
 
 thy prayer will be answered ! 
 Look at this vigorous plant that lifts its head from 
 
 the meadow, 
 See how its leaves are turned to the rorth. as true as 
 
 the magnet ;
 
 EVANGELINE. 89 
 
 It is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has 
 
 planted 
 Here in the houseless wild, to direct the traveller's 
 
 journey 1220 
 
 Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the 
 
 desert. 
 Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms of 
 
 passion, 
 Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller of 
 
 fragrance, 
 But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and their 
 
 odor is deadly. 
 
 Only this humble plant can guide us here, and here 
 after 1225 
 Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet with the 
 
 dews of nepenthe." 
 
 So came the autumn, and passed, and the winter 
 
 yet Gabriel came not ; 
 Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes of the 
 
 robin and bluebird 
 Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel 
 
 came not. 
 But on the breath of the summer winds a rumor was 
 
 wafted 1230 
 
 1219. Silphium laciniatum or compass-plant is found on the 
 prairies of Michigan and Wisconsin and to the south and west, 
 and is said to present the edges of the lower leaves due north 
 and south. 
 
 1226. In early Greek poetry the asphodel meadows were 
 haunted by the shades of heroes. See Homer's Odyssey, xxiv. 
 13, where Pope translates : 
 
 " In ever flowering meads of Asphodel." 
 
 The asphodel is of the lily family, and is known also by the 
 name king's spear.
 
 90 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odor of blos 
 som. 
 
 Far to the north and east, it said, in the Michigar 
 forests, 
 
 Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the Saginaw 
 River. 
 
 And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes of 
 St. Lawrence, 
 
 Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from the Mis 
 sion. 1235 
 
 When over weary ways, by long and perilous 
 marches, 
 
 She had attained at length the depths of the Michigan 
 forests, 
 
 Found she the hunter's lodge deserted and fallen to 
 ruin ! 
 
 Thus did the long sad years glide on, and in sea 
 sons and places 
 Divers and distant far was seen the wandering 
 
 maiden ; 1211) 
 
 Now in the Tents of Grace of the meek Moravian 
 
 Missions, 
 Now in the noisy camps and the battle-fields of the 
 
 army, 
 Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and populous 
 
 cities. 
 Like a phantom she came, and passed away unremem- 
 
 bered. 
 Fair was she and young, when in hope began the long 
 
 journey ; 1245 
 
 Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it 
 
 ended. 
 1241. A rendering of the Moravian Gnadenhiitten.
 
 EVANGELINE. 91 
 
 Each succeeding year stole something away from her 
 beauty, 
 
 Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom and 
 the shadow. 
 
 Then there appeared and spread faint streaks of gray 
 o'er her forehead, 
 
 Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her earthly hor 
 izon, 1256 
 
 As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the 
 morning. 
 
 v. 
 
 In that delightful land which is washed by the Dela 
 ware's waters, 
 
 Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the 
 apostle, 
 
 Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city 
 he founded. 
 
 There all the air is balm, and the peach is the emblem 
 of beauty, 1255 
 
 And the streets still reecho the names of the trees of 
 the forest, 
 
 As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose 
 haunts they molested. 
 
 There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, 
 an exile, 
 
 Finding among the children of Penn a home and a 
 country. 
 
 There old Rene Leblanc had died ; and when he 
 departed, 1200 
 
 Saw at his side only one of all his hundred descend 
 ants. 
 
 1256. The streets of Philadelphia, as is well known, are many 
 of them, especially those running east and west, named for trees, 
 as Chestnut, Walnut, Locust, Spruce, Pine, eto.
 
 92 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Something at least there was in the friendly streets of 
 the city, 
 
 Something that spake to her heart, and made her no 
 longer a stranger ; 
 
 And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou of 
 the Quakers, 
 
 For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country, 1255 
 
 Where all men were equal, and all were brothers and 
 sisters. 
 
 So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed en 
 deavor, 
 
 Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, uncom 
 plaining, 
 
 Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her 
 thoughts and her footsteps. 
 
 As from a mountain's top the rainy mists of the morn 
 ing 1270 
 
 Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape below us, 
 Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and ham 
 lets, 
 So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the 
 
 world far below her, 
 Dark no longer, but all illumined with love ; and the 
 
 pathway 
 Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and fair 
 
 in the distance. 1275 
 
 Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was his 
 
 image, 
 Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last she 
 
 beheld him, 
 Only more beautiful made by his deathlike sileuce and 
 
 absence. 
 Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for it was 
 
 not.
 
 EVANGELINE. 93 
 
 Over him years had no power ; he was not changed, 
 
 but transfigured ; izso 
 
 He had become to her heart as one who is dead, and 
 
 not absent ; 
 
 Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to others, 
 This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had 
 
 taught her. 
 So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous 
 
 spices, 
 Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air with 
 
 aroina. 1235 
 
 Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to follow, 
 Meekly with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her 
 
 Saviour. 
 
 Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy ; fre 
 quenting 
 Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of 
 
 the city, 
 Where distress and want concealed themselves from. 
 
 the sunlight, i2sa 
 
 Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished neg 
 lected. 
 Night after night when the world was asleep, as the 
 
 watchman repeated 
 Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well in 
 
 the city, 
 High at some lonely window he saw the light of her 
 
 taper. 
 Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow 
 
 through the suburbs 1295 
 
 Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and fruits 
 
 for the market, 
 Met he that meek, pale face, returning home from its 
 
 watchings.
 
 94 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the 
 city, 
 
 Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks of 
 wild pigeons, 
 
 Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught in their 
 craws but an acorn. isoo 
 
 And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of Sep 
 tember, 
 
 Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a lake 
 in the meadow, 
 
 So death flooded life, and, o'erflowing its natural mar 
 gin, 
 
 Spread to a brackish lake the silver stream of ex 
 istence. 
 
 Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm, 
 the oppressor ; isos 
 
 But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his 
 anger ; 
 
 Only, alas ! the poor, who had neither friends nor at 
 tendants, 
 
 Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the 
 homeless. 
 
 Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of meadows 
 and woodlands ; 
 
 1298. The year 1793 was long remembered as the year when 
 yellow fever was a terrible pestilence in Philadelphia. Charles 
 Brockden Brown made his novel of Arthur Mervyn turn largely 
 upon the incidents of the plague, which drove Brown away from 
 home for a time. 
 
 1308. Philadelphians have identified the old Friends' alms- 
 house on Walnut Street, now no longer standing, as that in which 
 Evangeline ministered to Gabriel, and so real was the story that 
 some even ventured to point out the graves of the two lovers. 
 See Westcott's The Historic Mansions of Philadelphia, pp. 101, 
 102.
 
 EVANGELINE. 95 
 
 Now the city surrounds it ; but still, with its gateway 
 and wicket mo 
 
 Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble walls seem 
 to echo 
 
 Softly the words of the Lord : " The poor ye al 
 ways have with you." 
 
 Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister of 
 Mercy. The dying 
 
 Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to be 
 hold there 
 
 Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead with 
 splendor, isis 
 
 Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints and 
 apostles, 
 
 Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a distance. 
 
 Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city celes 
 tial, 
 
 Into whose shining gates erelong their spirits would 
 enter. 
 
 Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, de 
 serted and silent, 1320 
 
 Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of the 
 almshouse. 
 
 Sweet on the summer air was the odor of flowers in 
 the garden, 
 
 And she paused on her way to gather the fairest 
 among them, 
 
 That the dying once more might rejoice in their fra 
 grance and beauty. 
 
 Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, 
 cooled by the east-wind, 1225 
 
 Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from the 
 belfry of Christ Church,
 
 96 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 While, intermingled with these, across the meadows 
 
 were wafted 
 Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the Swedes in 
 
 their church at Wicaco. 
 Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hour on 
 
 her spirit ; 
 Something within her said, " At length thy trials are 
 
 ended ; " isso 
 
 And, with light in her looks, she entered the cham 
 bers of sickness. 
 
 Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful attend 
 ants, 
 Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, and 
 
 in silence 
 Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and concealing 
 
 their faces, 
 Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow 
 
 by the roadside. 1334 
 
 Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline entered, 
 Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed, 
 
 for her presence 
 Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the walls 
 
 of a prison. 
 And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the 
 
 consoler, 
 Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it 
 
 forever. 1341 
 
 1328. The Swedes' church at Wicaco is still standing, the 
 oldest in the city of Philadelphia, having been begun in 1698. 
 Wicaco is within the city, on the banks of the Delaware River. 
 An interesting account of the old church and its historic associa 
 tions will be found in Westcott's book just mentioned, pp. 56-07. 
 Wilson the ornithologist lies buried in the churchyard adjoining 
 the church.
 
 EVANGEL1NE. 97 
 
 Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night 
 
 time ; 
 Vacant their places were, or filled already by strangers. 
 
 Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of 
 
 wonder, 
 Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, while a 
 
 shudder 
 Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flowerets 
 
 dropped from her fingers, isis 
 
 And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of 
 
 the morning. 
 
 Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terri 
 ble anguish, 
 That the dying heard it, and started up from their 
 
 pillows. 
 On the pallet before her was stretched the form of an 
 
 old man. 
 Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that shaded 
 
 his temples ; ISM 
 
 But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a 
 
 moment 
 Seemed to assume once more the forms of its earlier 
 
 manhood ; 
 So are wont to be changed the faces of those who are 
 
 dying. 
 Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of the 
 
 fever, 
 As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had besprinkled 
 
 its portals, is 
 
 That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and pass 
 
 over. 
 Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit 
 
 exhausted
 
 98 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths in 
 
 the darkness, 
 Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and 
 
 sinking. 
 Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied 
 
 reverberations, iseo 
 
 Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that 
 
 succeeded 
 
 Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint 
 like, 
 
 " Gabriel ! O my beloved ! " and died away into si 
 lence. 
 Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of 
 
 his childhood ; 
 Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among 
 
 them, 1365 
 
 Village, and mountain, and woodlands ; and, walking 
 
 under their shadow, 
 As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his 
 
 vision. 
 Tears came into his eyes ; and as slowly he lifted his 
 
 eyelids, 
 Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by his 
 
 bedside. 
 Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents 
 
 unuttered 137* 
 
 Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what his 
 
 tongue would have spoken. 
 Vainly he strove to rise; and Evangeline, kneeling 
 
 beside him, 
 
 Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom. 
 Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly sank 
 
 into darkness, 
 As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at a 
 
 casement. 1375
 
 EVANGELINE. 99 
 
 All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the 
 
 sorrow, 
 All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied 
 
 longing, 
 All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of 
 
 patience ! 
 And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her 
 
 bosom, 
 Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured. <l Father, 
 
 I thank thee ! " issc 
 
 Still stands the forest primeval ; but far away from 
 its shadow, 
 
 Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are 
 sleeping. 
 
 Under the humble walls of the little Catholic church 
 yard, 
 
 In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and un 
 noticed. 
 
 Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside 
 them, ISM 
 
 Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at 
 rest and forever, 
 
 Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer 
 are busy, 
 
 Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased 
 from their labors, 
 
 Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed 
 their journey I 
 
 Still stands the forest primeval; but under the 
 
 shade of its branches isoo 
 
 Dwells another race, with other customs and language,
 
 100 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Only along the shore of the mournful and misty 
 
 Atlantic 
 Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from 
 
 exile 
 Wandered back to their native land to die in its 
 
 bosom. 
 In the fisherman's cot the wheel and the loom are still 
 
 busy ; 1395 
 
 Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles 
 
 of homespun, 
 
 And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's story, 
 While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, neigh 
 boring ocean 
 Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the waiJ 
 
 of the forest.
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 [THIS poem, also written in hexameters, has yet a lighter, 
 quicker movement, due to the more playful character of the nar 
 rative. A slight change of accent in the first line prepares one 
 for this livelier pace, and the reader will find that the lights and 
 shades of the story use whatever elasticity there is in the hex 
 ameter, crisp, varying lines alternating with the steady pulse of 
 the dactyl. The poet has built upon a slight tradition which has 
 come down to us from the days of the Plymouth settlement, a 
 story which depicts in a succession of scenes the life of the Old 
 Colony. In doing this he has not cared to follow explicitly the 
 succession of events, but has been true to the general history of 
 the time, and has iu each picture copied faithfully the essential 
 characteristics of the original. He has taken the somewhat dry 
 and unimaginative chronicles of the time, and touched them with 
 a poetic light and warmth, and the reader of this poem who re 
 sumes such a book as Dr. Young's " Chronicles of the Pilgrims " 
 will find the simple story of the early settlers to have gained ui 
 beauty. The poem was published in 1858.] 
 
 I. 
 
 MILES STANDISH. 
 
 IN the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the 
 
 Pilgrims, 
 To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive 
 
 dwelling, 
 
 1. The Old Colony is the name which has long been applied to 
 that part of Massachusetts which was occupied by the Plymouth 
 colonists whose first settlement was in 1620. Massachusetts Bay 
 was the name by which was known the later collection of settle 
 ments made about Boston and Salem. 
 
 2. The first houses of the Pilgrims were of logs filled in with 
 mortar and covered with thatch.
 
 102 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan 
 
 leather, 
 Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan 
 
 Captain. 
 Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind 
 
 him, and pausing t 
 
 Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of 
 
 warfare, 
 
 Hanging in shining array along the walls of the cham 
 ber, 
 Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of 
 
 Damascus, 
 Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical 
 
 Arabic sentence, 
 While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, 
 
 musket, and matchlock. 10 
 
 3. Cordova in Spain was celebrated for a preparation of goat 
 skin which took the name of Cordovan. Hence came cord wain, 
 or Spanish tanned goat-skin, and in England shoemakers are still 
 often called cordwainers. In France, too, the same word gave 
 cordonnier. 
 
 8. The corselet was a light breastplate of armor. One of 
 Standish's grandsons is said to have been in possession of his coat- 
 of-mail. His sword is in the cabinet of the Massachusetts Histori 
 cal Society. As "the identical sword-blade used by Miles Stan- 
 dish " is also in possession of the Pilgrim Society of Plymouth, 
 the antiquary may take his choice between them, or credit Stan- 
 dish with a change of weapons. Damascus blades are swords or 
 cimeters presenting upon their surface a variegated appearance 
 of watering, as white, silvery, or black veins in fine lines and fil 
 lets. Such engraved blades were common in the East, and the 
 most famous came from Damascus ; the exact secret of the work 
 manship has never been fully discovered in the West. 
 
 10. A fowling-piece is a light gun for shooting birds ; a match 
 lock was a musket, the lock of which held a match or piece of 
 twisted rope prepared to retain fire. As late as 1687 match 
 locks were used instead of flint-locks, which had then come into
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAN DISH. 103 
 
 Short of stature lie was, but strongly built and ath 
 letic, 
 
 Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and 
 sinews of iron ; 
 
 Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was 
 already 
 
 Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in 
 November. 
 
 Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and house 
 hold companion, is 
 
 Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the 
 window ; 
 
 Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complex 
 ion, 
 
 Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, 
 as the captives 
 
 general use. In Bradford and Winslow's Journal (Young's 
 Chronicles of the Pilgrims, p. 125), we are told of a party setting 
 out " with every man his musket, sword, and corselet, under the 
 conduct of Captain Miles Standish." That these muskets were 
 matchlocks, appears from another passage in the same journal 
 (p. 142) : " Then we lighted all our matches and prepared our 
 selves, concluding that we were near their dwellings." 
 
 15. Bradford, the historian of the Plymouth Plantation, says 
 that John Alden, who was one of the Mayflower company, " was 
 hired for a cooper at Southampton, where the ship victualled ; and 
 being a hopeful young man, was much desired, but left to his own 
 liking to go or stay when he came here [to Plymouth, that is] i 
 but he stayed and married here." In this picture of Miles Stan- 
 dish and John Alden, some have professed to see a miniature 
 likeness to Oliver Cromwell and John Milton. 
 
 18. The story of the first mission to heathen England is referred 
 to here. A monk named Gregory, in the sixth century, passed 
 through the slave-market at Rome, and there amongst other cap 
 tives he saw three fair-complexioned and fair-haired boys, in 
 striking contrast to the dusky captives about them. He asked 
 whence they came, and was answered, " From Britain," and that
 
 104 
 
 Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, " Not An 
 gles but Angels." 
 
 Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the 
 Mayflower. 29 
 
 Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe 
 
 interrupting, 
 Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the 
 
 Captain of Plymouth. 
 " Look at these arms," he said, " the warlike weapons 
 
 that hang here 
 Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or 
 
 inspection ! 
 This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flan- 
 
 o 
 
 ders ; this breastplate, 2* 
 
 Well I remember the day ! once saved my life in a 
 
 skirmish ; 
 Here in front you can see the very dint of the 
 
 bullet 
 Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabu- 
 
 cero. 
 
 they were called Angli, which was the Latin form of the name 
 by which they called themselves, and from which Anglo, England* 
 and English are derived. " Non Angli sed Angeli," replied Greg 
 ory ; " they have the face of angels, not of Angles, and they 
 ought to be fellow heirs of heaven." Years afterward, the story 
 runs, when Gregory was pope, he remembered the fair captives, 
 and sent St. Augustine to carry Christianity to them. The story 
 will be found at length in E. A. Freeman's Old English History 
 for Children, p. 44. 
 
 25. The history of Miles Standish is not clearly known, but he 
 was a soldier in the Low Countries during the defence of the 
 Netherlands against the Spanish power, and the poet has made 
 much of this little knowledge that we have. 
 
 28. Arcabucero is Spanish for archer, and the same term passed 
 over, as weapons changed, into a musketeer and gunsmith.
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 105 
 
 Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of 
 
 Miles Standish 
 Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the 
 
 Flemish morasses." so 
 
 Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up 
 
 from his writing : 
 " Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the 
 
 speed of the bullet ; 
 He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and 
 
 our weapon ! " 
 Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of 
 
 the stripling : 
 " See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an 
 
 arsenal hanging ; at 
 
 That is because I have done it myself, and not left it 
 
 to others. 
 
 Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excel 
 lent adage ; 
 So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and 
 
 your inkhorn. 
 Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible 
 
 army, 
 Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and 
 
 his matchlock, 48 
 
 38. There is some uncertainty about the derivation of the word 
 inkhorn. The usual interpretation refers to the custom of scribes 
 carrying ink in a horn attached to their dress, but some etymol 
 ogists make it a corruption from inkern, the terminations erne 
 and eron coming from the Saxon ern, earn, a secret place to put 
 anything in, inkern being thus a little vessel into which we put 
 ink. 
 
 39. The formation of the military company was due chiefly to 
 the serious losses that befel the Pilgrims during the first winter, 
 leading them to make careful provision against surprises and at 
 tacks from the Indians.
 
 108 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and 
 
 pillage, 
 
 And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my sol 
 diers!" 
 This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as 
 
 the sunbeams 
 Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a 
 
 moment. 
 Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain 
 
 continued : 45 
 
 " Look ! you can see from this window my brazen how 
 itzer planted 
 High on the roof of the church, a preacher who speaks 
 
 to the purpose, 
 Steady, straightforward, and strong, with irresistible 
 
 logic, 
 Orthodox, flashing conviction right into the hearts of 
 
 the heathen. 
 Now we are ready, I think, for any assault of the 
 
 Indians : 50 
 
 Let them come, if they like, and the sooner they try it 
 
 the better, 
 Let them come if they like, be it sagamore, sachem, or 
 
 pow-wow, 
 Aspinet, Samoset, Corbitant, Squanto, or Tokamaha- 
 
 mon ! " 
 
 47. One of the earliest structures raised by the Pilgrims was 
 a platform upon the hill overlooking the settlement, where they 
 mounted five guns. They had also a common house for ren 
 dezvous, nineteen feet square, but the planting of guns upon the 
 log-built meeting-house belongs to a later date. 
 
 52. The sagamore was an Indian chief of the subordinate 
 class ; the sachem a principal chief ; the pow-wow a medicine 
 man or conjurer. 
 
 53. Names of Indians who are mentioned in the early chroni* 
 cles.
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 107 
 
 Long at the window he stood, and wistfully gazed 
 
 on the landscape, 
 
 Washed with a cold gray mist, the vapory breath 
 of the east-wind, K 
 
 Forest and meadow and hill, and the steel-blue rim of 
 
 the ocean, 
 
 Lying silent and sad, in the afternoon shadows and 
 sunshine. 
 
 Over his countenance flitted a shadow like those on 
 the landscape, 
 
 Gloom intermingled with light ; and his voice was sub 
 dued with emotion, 
 
 Tenderness, pity, regret, as after a pause he pro 
 ceeded : eo 
 
 " Yonder there, on the hill by the sea, lies buried 
 Rose Standish ; 
 
 Beautiful rose of love, that bloomed for me by the 
 wayside ! 
 
 She was the first to die of all who came in the May 
 flower ! 
 
 Green above her is growing the field of wheat we have 
 sown there, 
 
 Better to hide from* the Indian scouts the graves of 
 our people, 66 
 
 Lest they should count them and see how many 
 already have perished ! " 
 
 Sadly his face he averted, and strode up and down, 
 and was thoughtful. 
 
 Fixed to the opposite wall was a shelf of books, 
 and among them 
 
 64. The dead were buried on a bluff by the water-side during 
 that first terrible winter, and the marks of burial were carefully 
 effaced, lest the Indians should discover how the colony had been 
 weakened. The tradition is preserved in Holmes's Annals.
 
 108 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Prominent three, distinguished alike for bulk and for 
 binding ; 
 
 Barriffe's Artillery Guide, and the Commentaries 
 of Caesar, 70 
 
 Out of the Latin translated by Arthur Goldinge of 
 London, 
 
 And, as if guarded by these, between them was stand 
 ing the Bible. 
 
 Musing a moment before them, Miles Standish paused, 
 as if doubtful 
 
 Which of the three he should choose for his consola 
 tion and comfort, 
 
 Whether the wars of the Hebrews, the famous cam 
 paigns of the Romans, 75 
 
 Or the Artillery practice, designed for belligerent 
 Christians. 
 
 Finally down from its shelf he dragged the ponder 
 ous Roman, 
 
 Seated himself at the window, and opened the book, 
 and in silence 
 
 70. The elaborate title of Standish's military book was : 
 " Militarie Discipline : or the Young Artillery Man, Wherein is 
 Discoursed and Shown the Postures both of Musket and Pike, 
 the Exactest way, &c., Together with the Exercise of the Foot 
 in their Motions, with much variety : As also, diverse and sev 
 eral Forms for the Imbatteling small or great Bodies demon 
 strated by the number of a single Company with their Reduce- 
 ments. Very necessary for all such as are Studious in the Art 
 Military. Whereunto is also added the Postures and Beneficial! 
 Use of the Halfe-Pike joyned with the Musket. With the 
 way to draw up the Swedish Brigade. By Colonel William 
 Barriffe." Barriffe was a Puritan, and added to his title-page : 
 " Psalmes 144 : 1. Blessed be the Lord my Strength which 
 teacheth my hands to warre and my fingers to fight." 
 
 71. Goldinge was a voluminous translator, and his translation 
 of Ovid's Metamorphoses was highly regarded. He was patron 
 bed by Sir Philip Sidney.
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAN DISH. 109 
 
 Turned o'er the well-worn leaves, where thumb-marks 
 
 thick on the margin, 
 Like the trample of feet, proclaimed the battle was 
 
 hottest. so 
 
 Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen 
 
 of the stripling, 
 
 Busily writing epistles important, to go by the May 
 flower, 
 Ready to sail on the morrow, or next day at latest, 
 
 God willing ! 
 Homeward bound with the tidings of all that terrible 
 
 winter, 
 Letters written by Alden, and full of the name of 
 
 Priscilla, as 
 
 Full of the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden 
 
 Priscilla ! 
 
 H. 
 
 LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen 
 
 of the stripling, 
 Or an occasional sigh from the laboring heart of the 
 
 Captain, 
 Reading the marvellous words and achievements of 
 
 Julius Caesar. 
 After a while he exclaimed, as he smote with his hand, 
 
 palm downwards, so 
 
 82. The Mayflower began her return voyage April 5, 1621. 
 Not a single one of the emigrants returned in her, in spite of the 
 " terrible winter." 
 
 85. Among the names of the Mayflower company are those of 
 " Mr. William Mulliues and his wife, and 2 children, Joseph and 
 Priscila ; and a servant, Robart Carter."
 
 110 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Heavily on the page : " A wonderful man was this 
 Csesar ! 
 
 You are a writer, and I am a fighter, but here is a fel 
 low 
 
 Who could both write and fight, and in both was 
 equally skilful ! " 
 
 Straightway answered and spake John Alden, the 
 comely, the youthful : 
 
 " Yes, he was equally skilled, as you say, with his pen 
 and his weapons. 95 
 
 Somewhere have I read, but where I forget, he could 
 dictate 
 
 Seven letters at once, at the same time writing his 
 memoirs." 
 
 " Truly," continued the Captain, not heeding or hear 
 ing the other, 
 
 *' Truly a wonderful man was Caius Julius Caesar ! 
 
 Better be first, he said, in a little Iberian village, 100 
 
 Than be second in Rome, and I think he was right 
 when he said it. 
 
 Twice was he married before he was twenty, and many 
 times after ; 
 
 Battles five hundred he fought, and a thousand cities 
 he conquered ; 
 
 He, too, fought in Flanders, as he himself has re 
 corded ; 
 
 100. " In his journey, as he was crossing the Alps and passing 
 by a small village of the barbarians with but few inhabitants, and 
 those wretchedly poor, his companions asked the question among 
 themselves by way of mockery if there were any canvassing for 
 offices there ; any contention which should be uppermost, or feuds 
 of great men one against another. To which Ca?sar made an 
 swer seriously, ' For my part I had rather be the first man among 
 these fellows, than the second man in Rome.' " Plutarch's Lift 
 tf Ccesar, A. H. C lough's translation.
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. Ill 
 
 Finally he was stabbed by his friend, the orator Bru 
 tus ! 1M 
 Now, do you know what he did on a certain occasion 
 
 in Flanders, 
 When the rear-guard of his army retreated, the front 
 
 giving way too, 
 And the immortal Twelfth Legion was crowded so 
 
 closely together 
 There was no room for their swords ? Why, he seized 
 
 a shield from a soldier, 
 Put himself straight at the head of his troops, and 
 
 commanded the captains, no 
 
 Calling on each by his name, to order forward the 
 
 ensigns ; 
 Then to widen the ranks, and give more room for 
 
 their weapons ; 
 
 So he won the day, the battle of something-or-other. 
 That 's what I always say ; if you wish a thing to be 
 
 well done, 
 You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to 
 
 others ! " 115 
 
 All was silent again ; the Captain continued his 
 reading. 
 
 Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen 
 of the stripling 
 
 Writing epistles important to go next day by the 
 Mayflower, 
 
 Filled with the name and the fame of the Puritan 
 maiden Priscilla ; 
 
 Every sentence began or closed with the name of Pris 
 cilla, I-'* 
 
 113. The account of this battle will be found in Caesar's Com' 
 mentaries, book II. ch. 10.
 
 112 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Till the treacherous pen, to which he confided the 
 secret, 
 
 Strove to betray it by singing and shouting the name 
 of Priscilla ! 
 
 Finally closing his book, with a bang of the ponderous 
 cover, 
 
 Sudden and loud as the sound of a soldier grounding 
 his musket, 
 
 Thus to the young man spake Miles Standish the Cap 
 tain of Plymouth : 125 
 
 " When you have finished your work, I have something 
 important to tell you. 
 
 Be not however in haste ; I can wait ; I shall not be 
 impatient ! " 
 
 Straightway Alden replied, as he folded the last of his 
 letters, 
 
 Pushing his papers aside, and giving respectful atten 
 tion: 
 
 " Speak ; for whenever you speak, I am always ready 
 to listen, iso 
 
 Always ready to hear whatever pertains to Miles 
 Standish." 
 
 Thereupon answered the Captain, embarrassed, and 
 culling his phrases : 
 
 " 'T is not good for a man to be alone, say the Scrip 
 tures. 
 
 This I have said before, and again and again I repeat 
 it; 
 
 Every hour in the day, I think it, and feel it, and say 
 
 it. 135 
 
 Since Rose Standish died, my life has been weary and 
 
 dreary ; 
 Sick at heart have I been, beyond the healing of f riend 
 
 ship.
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 113 
 
 Oft in my lonely hours have I thought of the maiden 
 
 Priscilla. 
 She is alone in the world ; her father and mother and 
 
 brother 
 
 Died in the winter together ; I saw her going and com 
 ing, i 
 Now to the grave of the dead, and now to the bed of 
 
 the dying, 
 Patient, courageous, and strong, and said to myself, 
 
 that if ever 
 There were angels on earth, as there are angels in 
 
 heaven, 
 Two have I seen and known ; and the angel whose 
 
 name is Priscilla 
 Holds in my desolate life the place which the other 
 
 abandoned. i 
 
 Long have I cherished the thought, but never have 
 
 dared to reveal it, 
 Being a coward in this, though valiant enough for the 
 
 most part. 
 Go to the damsel Priscilla, the loveliest maiden of 
 
 Plymouth, 
 Say that a blunt old Captain, a man not of words but 
 
 of actions, 
 Offers his hand and his heart, the hand and heart 
 
 of a soldier. is 
 
 Not in these words, you know, but this in short is my 
 
 meaning ; 
 I am a maker of war, and not a maker of phrases. 
 
 139. " Mr. Molines, and his wife, his sone and his servant, dyed 
 the first winter. Only his daughter Priscila survived and mar 
 ried with John Alden, who are both living and have 11 chil 
 dren." Bradford's History of Plymouth Plantation, p. 452.
 
 114 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 You, who are bred as a scholar, can say it in elegant 
 
 language, 
 Such as you read in your books of the pleadings and 
 
 wooings of lovers, 
 Such as you think best adapted to win the heart 
 
 of a maiden." 155 
 
 When he had spoken, John Alden, the fair-haired, 
 
 taciturn stripling, 
 
 All aghast at his words, surprised, embarrassed, bewil 
 dered, 
 Trying to mask his dismay by treating the subject 
 
 with lightness, 
 Trying to smile, and yet feeling his heart stand still 
 
 in his bosom, 
 Just as a timepiece stops in a house that is stricken by 
 
 lightning, lea 
 
 Thus made answer and spake, or rather stammered 
 
 than answered : 
 " Such a message as that, I am sure I should mangle 
 
 and mar it ; 
 If you would have it well done, I am only repeating 
 
 your maxim, 
 You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to 
 
 others ! " 
 But with the air of a man whom nothing can turn 
 
 from his purpose, 165 
 
 Gravely shaking his head, made answer the Captain 
 
 of Plymouth : 
 
 " Truly the maxim is good, and I do not mean to gain 
 say it ; 
 But we must use it discreetly, and not waste powder 
 
 for nothing.
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 115 
 
 Now, as I said before, I was never a maker of 
 
 phrases. 
 I can march up to a fortress and summon the place to 
 
 surrender, ITO 
 
 But march up to a woman with such a proposal, I dare 
 
 not. 
 I 'm not afraid of bullets, nor shot from the mouth of 
 
 a cannon, 
 But of a thundering * No ! ' point-blank from the 
 
 mouth of a woman, 
 That I confess I 'm afraid of, nor am I ashamed to 
 
 confess it ! 
 
 So you must grant my request, for you are an ele 
 gant scholar, 175 
 Having the graces of speech, and skill in the turning 
 
 of phrases." 
 Taking the hand of his friend, who still was reluctant 
 
 and doubtful, 
 Holding it long in his own, and pressing it kindly, he 
 
 added : 
 " Though I have spoken thus lightly, yet deep is the 
 
 feeling that prompts me ; 
 Surely you cannot refuse what I ask in the name of 
 
 our friendship ! " iso 
 
 Then made answer John Alden: "The name of 
 
 friendship is sacred ; 
 What you demand in that name, I have not the power 
 
 to deny you ! " 
 So the strong will prevailed, subduing and moulding 
 
 the gentler, 
 Friendship prevailed over love, and Alden went on 
 
 his errand.
 
 116 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 in. 
 
 THE LOVER'S ERRAND. 
 
 So the strong will prevailed, and Alden went on his 
 errand, is* 
 
 Out of the street of the village, and into the paths of 
 the forest, 
 
 Into the tranquil woods, where bluebirds and robins 
 were building 
 
 Towns in the populous trees, with hanging gardens of 
 verdure, 
 
 Peaceful, aerial cities of joy and affection and free 
 dom. 
 
 All around him was calm, but within him commotion 
 and conflict, IM 
 
 Love contending with friendship, and self with each 
 generous impulse. 
 
 To and fro in his breast his thoughts were heaving 
 and dashing, 
 
 As in a foundering ship, with every roll of the vessel, 
 
 Washes the bitter sea, the merciless surge of the 
 ocean ! 
 
 "Must I relinquish it all," he cried with a wild 
 lamentation, 195 
 
 " Must I relinquish it all, the joy, the hope, the illu 
 sion? 
 
 Was it for this I have loved, and waited, and wor 
 shipped in silence ? 
 
 Was it for this I have followed the flying feet and the 
 shadow 
 
 188. Compare the populous nests in Evangeline, 1. 136. In 
 the hanging gardens of verdure there is reference to the famous 
 hanging gardens of Babylon.
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 117 
 
 Over the wintry sea, to the desolate shores of New 
 
 England ? 
 Truly the heart is deceitful, and out of its depths of 
 
 corruption 200 
 
 Rise, like an exhalation, the misty phantoms of passion ; 
 Angels of light they seem, but are only delusions of 
 
 Satan. 
 
 All is clear to me now ; I feel it, I see it distinctly ! 
 This is the hand of the Lord ; it is laid upon me in 
 
 anger, 
 For I have followed too much the heart's desires and 
 
 devices, 201 
 
 Worshipping Astaroth blindly, and impious idols of 
 
 Baal. 
 This is the cross I must bear ; the sin and the swift 
 
 retribution. " 
 
 So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went 
 
 on his errand ; 
 Crossing the brook at the ford, where it brawled over 
 
 pebble and shallow, 
 Gathering still, as he went, the Mayflowers blooming 
 
 around him, 210 
 
 Fragrant, filling the air with a strange and wonderful 
 
 sweetness, 
 
 206. Astaroth, in the Old Testament Scripture, is the form 
 used for the principal female divinity, as Baal of the principal 
 male divinity of the Phcenicians. 
 
 210. The Mayflower is the well-known Epigcea repens, some 
 times also called the Trailing Arbutus. The name Mayflower 
 was familiar in England, as the application of it to the historic 
 ship shows, but it was applied by the English, and is still, to the 
 hawthorn. Its use here in connection with Rpitjcea repens dati-s 
 from a very early day, some claiming that the first Pilgrims 
 so used it, in affectionate memory of the vessel and its English 
 flower associations.
 
 118 HENRY WADSW DRTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Children lost in the woods, and covered with leaves in 
 
 their slumber. 
 " Puritan flowers," he said, " and the type of Puritan 
 
 maidens, 
 Modest and simple and sweet, the very type of Pris- 
 
 cilla ! 
 So I will take them to her ; to Priscilla the Mayflower 
 
 of Plymouth, 215 
 
 Modest and simple and sweet, as a parting gift will I 
 
 take them ; 
 Breathing their silent farewells, as they fade and 
 
 wither and perish, 
 
 Soon to be thrown away as is the heart of the giver." 
 So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on 
 
 his errand ; 
 Came to an open space, and saw the disk of the 
 
 ocean, 220 
 
 Sailless, sombre and cold with the comfortless breath 
 
 of the east-wind ; 
 Saw the new-built house, and people at work in a 
 
 meadow ; 
 Heard, as he drew near the door, the musical voice of 
 
 Priscilla 
 Singing the hundredth Psalm, the grand old Puritan 
 
 anthem, 
 
 224. The words in the version which Priscilla used sound some 
 what rude to modern ears, but the music is substantially what we 
 know as Old Hundred. The poet tells us (1. 231) that it was 
 Ainsworth's translation which she used. Ainsworth became a 
 Brownist in 1590, suffered persecution, and found refuge in Hol 
 land, where he published learned commentaries and translations. 
 His version of Psalm c. is as follows : 
 
 1. Bow to Jehovah all the earth. 
 
 2. Serve ye Jehovah with gladness ; before him come with singing mirth. 
 
 3. Know that Jehovah he God is. It 's he that made us and not we, his flock and 
 
 sheep of his feeding.
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 119 
 
 Music that Luther sang to the sacred words of the 
 Psalmist, 225 
 
 Full of the breath of the Lord, consoling and comfort 
 ing many. 
 
 Then, as he opened the door, he beheld the form of 
 the maiden 
 
 Seated beside her wheel, and the carded wool like a 
 snow-drift 
 
 Piled at her knee, her white hands feeding the raven 
 ous spindle, 
 
 While with her foot on the treadle she guided the 
 wheel in its motion. 231 
 
 Open wide on her lap lay the well-worn psalm-book of 
 Ainsworth, 
 
 Printed in Amsterdam, the words and the music to 
 gether, 
 
 Rough-hewn, angular notes, like stones in the wall of 
 a churchyard, 
 
 Darkened and overhung by the running vine of the 
 verses. 
 
 Such was the book from whose pages she sang the old 
 Puritan anthem, 235 
 
 She, the Puritan girl, in the solitude of the forest, 
 
 Making the humble house and the modest apparel of 
 homespun 
 
 Beautiful with her beauty, and rich with the wealth of 
 her being ! 
 
 Over him rushed, like a wind that is keen and cold 
 and relentless, 
 
 Thoughts of what might have been, and the weight 
 and woe of his errand ; z 
 
 4. Oh, with confession enter ye his gates, his courtyard with praising. Confess 
 
 to him, bless ye his name. 
 
 5. Because Jehovah he good is ; his mercy ever is the same, and his faith unto 
 
 all ages.
 
 120 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 All the dreams that had faded, and all the hopes that 
 had vanished, 
 
 All his life henceforth a dreary and tenantless man 
 sion, 
 
 Haunted by vain regrets, and pallid, sorrowful faces. 
 
 Still he said to himself, and almost fiercely he said it, 
 
 " Let not him that putteth his hand to the plough look 
 backwards ; 245 
 
 Though the ploughshare cut through the flowers of 
 life to its fountains, 
 
 Though it pass o'er the graves of the dead and the 
 hearths of the living, 
 
 It is the will of the Lord ; and his mercy endureth for 
 ever ! " 
 
 So he entered the house ; and the hum of the wheel 
 
 and the singing 
 Suddenly ceased ; for Priscilla, aroused by his step on 
 
 the threshold, 250 
 
 Rose as he entered and gave him her hand, in signal 
 
 of welcome, 
 Saying, " I knew it was you, when I heard your step 
 
 in the passage ; 
 For I was thinking of you, as I sat there singing and 
 
 spinning." 
 Awkward and dumb with delight, that a thought of 
 
 him had been mingled 
 Thus in the sacred psalm, that came from the heart cf 
 
 the maiden, 255 
 
 Silent before her he stood, and gave her the flowers for 
 
 an answer, 
 Finding no words for his thought. He remembered 
 
 that day in the winter, 
 After the first great snow, when he broke a path from 
 
 the village,
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAN DISH. 121 
 
 Reeling and plunging along through the drifts that 
 
 encumbered the doorway, 
 Stamping the snow from his feet as he entered the 
 
 house, and Priscilla 2eo 
 
 Laughed at his snowy locks, and gave him a seat by 
 
 the fireside, 
 Grateful and pleased to know he had thought of her 
 
 in the snow-storm. 
 Had he but spoken then ! perhaps not in vain had he 
 
 spoken ; 
 
 Now it was all too late ; the golden moment had van 
 ished ! 
 So he stood there abashed, and gave her the flowers 
 
 for an answer. 265 
 
 Then they sat down and talked of the birds and the 
 beautiful Spring-time ; 
 
 Talked of their friends at home, and the Mayflower 
 that sailed on the morrow. 
 
 " I have been thinking all day, " said gently the Pu 
 ritan maiden, 
 
 " Dreaming all night, and thinking all day, of the 
 hedge-rows of England, 
 
 They are in blossom now, and the country is all like 
 a garden ; 270 
 
 Thinking of lanes and fields, and the song of the lark 
 and the linnet, 
 
 Seeing the village street, and familiar faces of neigh 
 bors 
 
 Going about as of old, and stopping to gossip to 
 gether, 
 
 And, at the end of the street, the village church, 
 with the ivy 
 
 Climbing the old gray tower, and the quiet graves in 
 the churchyard. 275
 
 122 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Kind are the people I live with, and dear to me my 
 
 religion ; 
 Still my heart is so sad, that I wish myself back in 
 
 Old England. 
 You will say it is wrong, but I cannot help it : I 
 
 almost 
 Wish myself back in Old England, I feel so lonely 
 
 and wretched." 
 
 Thereupon answered the youth : " Indeed I do not 
 
 condemn you ; 230 
 
 Stouter hearts than a woman's have quailed in this 
 
 terrible winter. 
 Yours is tender and trusting, and needs a stronger to 
 
 lean on ; 
 So I have come to you now, with an offer and proffer 
 
 of marriage 
 Made by a good man and true, Miles Standish the 
 
 Captain of Plymouth ! " 
 
 Thus he delivered his message, the dexterous writer 
 of letters, ass 
 
 Did not embellish the theme, nor array it in beautiful 
 phrases, 
 
 But came straight to the point, and blurted it out like 
 a school-boy ; 
 
 Even the Captain himself could hardly have said it 
 more bluntly. 
 
 Mute with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla the Puri 
 tan maiden 
 
 Looked into Alden's face, her eyes dilated with won 
 der, 291 
 
 Feeling his words like a blow, that stunned her and 
 rendered her speechless ;
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 123 
 
 at length she exclaimed, interrupting the ominous 
 
 silence : 
 " If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very eager to 
 
 wed me, 
 Why does he not come himself, and take the trouble 
 
 to woo me ? 
 If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth 
 
 the winning ! " 295 
 
 Then John Alden began explaining and smoothing 
 
 the matter, 
 Making it worse as he went, by saying the Captain 
 
 was busy, 
 Had no time for such things ; such things ! the 
 
 words grating harshly 
 Fell on the ear of Priscilla ; and swift as a flash she 
 
 made answer : 
 "Has he no time for such things, as you call it, 
 
 before he is married, soo 
 
 Would he be likely to find it, or make it, after the 
 
 wedding ? 
 That is the way with you men ; you don't understand 
 
 us, you cannot. 
 When you have made up your minds, after thinking 
 
 of this one and that one, 
 Choosing, selecting, rejecting, comparing one with 
 
 another, 
 Then you make known your desire, with abrupt and 
 
 sudden avowal, sos 
 
 And are offended and hurt, and indignant perhaps, 
 
 that a woman 
 
 Does not respond at once to a love that she never sus 
 pected, 
 Does not attain at a bound the height to which you 
 
 have been climbing.
 
 124 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 This is not right nor just ; for surely a woman's af 
 fection 
 
 Is not a thing to be asked for, and had for only the 
 asking. si 
 
 When one is truly in love, one not only says it, but 
 shows it. 
 
 Had he but waited awhile, had he only showed that 
 he loved me, 
 
 Even this Captain of yours who knows ? at last 
 might have won me, 
 
 Old and rough as he is ; but now it never can hap 
 pen." 
 
 Still John Alden went on, unheeding the words of 
 Priscilla, sis 
 
 Urging the suit of his friend, explaining, persuading, 
 expanding ; 
 
 Spoke of his courage and skill, and of all his battles 
 in Flanders, 
 
 How with the people of God he had chosen to suffer 
 affliction, 
 
 How, in return for his zeal, they had made him Cap 
 tain of Plymouth ; 
 
 He was a gentleman born, could trace his pedigree 
 plainly 320 
 
 Back to Hugh Standish of Duxbury Hall, in Lanca 
 shire, England, 
 
 321. " There are at this time in England two ancient families 
 of the name, one of Standish Hall, and the other of Duxbury 
 Park, both in Lancashire, who trace their descent from a com 
 mon ancestor, Ralph de Standish, living in 1221. There seems 
 always to have been a military spirit in the family. Froissart, 
 relating in his Chronicles the memorable meeting between Rich 
 ard II. and Wat Tyler, says that after the rebel was struck from
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 125 
 
 Who was the son of Ralph, and the grandson of 
 Thurston de Standish ; 
 
 Heir unto vast estates, of which he was basely de 
 frauded, 
 
 Still bore the family arms, and had for his crest a 
 cock argent 
 
 Combed and wattled gules, and all the rest of the 
 blazon. 325 
 
 He was a man of honor, of noble and generous na 
 ture ; 
 
 Though he was rough, he was kindly ; she knew how 
 during the winter 
 
 He had attended the sick, with a hand as gentle as 
 woman's ; 
 
 Somewhat hasty and hot, he could not deny it, and 
 headstrong, 
 
 Stern as a soldier might be, but hearty, and placable 
 always, 330 
 
 Not to be laughed at and scorned, because he was little 
 of stature ; 
 
 For he was great of heart, magnanimous, courtly, 
 courageous ; 
 
 Any woman in Plymouth, nay, any woman in Eng 
 land, 
 
 his horse by William Walworth, ' then a squyer of the kynges 
 alyted, called John Staudysshe, and he drewe out his sworde, 
 and put into Wat Tyler's belye, and so he dyed.' For this act 
 Standish was knighted. In 1415 another Sir John Standish 
 fought at the battle of Agincourt. From his giving the name of 
 Duxbury to the town where he settled, near Plymouth, and call 
 ing his eldest son Alexander (a common name in the Standish 
 family), I have no doubt that Miles was a scion from this ancient 
 and warlike stock." Young's Chronicles of the Pilgrims, foot 
 note, p. 125. 
 
 325. Terms Of heraldry. Argent is silver and gules red.
 
 126 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Might be happy and proud to be called the wife of 
 Miles Standish ! 
 
 But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple and 
 
 eloquent language, 333 
 
 Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of his 
 
 rival, 
 Archly the maiden smiled, and, with eyes overrunning 
 
 with laughter, 
 Said, in a tremulous voice, " Why don't you speak for 
 
 yourself, John ? " 
 
 IV. 
 
 JOHN ALDEN. 
 
 Into the open air John Alden, perplexed and bewil 
 dered, 
 
 Rushed like a man insane, and wandered alone by the 
 sea-side ; 340 
 
 Paced up and down the sands, and bared his head to 
 the east-wind, 
 
 Cooling his heated brow, and the fire and fever within 
 him. 
 
 Slowly, as out of the heavens, with apocalyptical splen 
 dors, 
 
 Sank the City of God, in the vision of John the Apos 
 tle, 
 
 So, with its cloudy walls of chrysolite, jasper, and 
 sapphire, 345 
 
 Sank the broad red sun, and over its turrets uplifted 
 
 Glimmered the golden reed of the angel who measured 
 
 the city. 
 344. See the last chapter of the Book of Revelation.
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 127 
 
 " Welcome, O wind of the East ! " he exclaimed in 
 his wild exultation, 
 
 * Welcome, O wind of the East, from the caves of the 
 misty Atlantic ! 
 
 Blowing o'er fields of dulse, and measureless meadows 
 of sea-grass, 359 
 
 Blowing o'er rocky wastes, and the grottos and gardens 
 of ocean ! 
 
 Lay thy cold, moist hand on my burning forehead, 
 and wrap me 
 
 Close in thy garments of mist, to allay the fever with 
 in me ! " 
 
 Like an awakened conscience, the sea was moaning 
 
 and tossing, 
 Beating remorseful and loud the mutable sands of the 
 
 sea-shore. 355 
 
 Fierce in his soul was the struggle and tumult of pas 
 sions contending ; 
 Love triumphant and crowned, and friendship wounded 
 
 and bleeding, 
 Passionate cries of desire, and importunate pleadings 
 
 of duty ! 
 " Is it my fault," he said, " that the maiden has chosen 
 
 between us ? 
 Is it my fault that he failed, my fault that I am the 
 
 victor ? " 360 
 
 Then within him there thundered a voice, like the 
 
 voice of the Prophet : 
 " It hath displeased the Lord ! " and he thought of 
 
 David's transgression, 
 Bathsheba's beautiful face, and his friend in the front 
 
 of the battle I
 
 128 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Shame and confusion of guilt, and abasement and selfc 
 condemnation, 
 
 Overwhelmed him at once ; and he cried in the deep 
 est contrition : sea 
 
 " It hath displeased the Lord ! It is the temptation 
 of Satan ! " 
 
 Then, uplifting his head, he looked at the sea, and 
 
 beheld there 
 Dimly the shadowy form of the Mayflower riding at 
 
 anchor, 
 Rocked on the rising tide, and ready to sail on the 
 
 morrow ; 
 Heard the voices of men through the mist, the rattle 
 
 of cordage 370 
 
 Thrown on the deck, the shouts of the mate, and the 
 
 sailors' " Ay, ay, Sir ! " 
 Clear and distinct, but not loud, in the dripping air of 
 
 the twilight. 
 Still for a moment he stood, and listened, and stared 
 
 at the vessel, 
 
 Then went hurriedly on, as one who, seeing a phantom, 
 Stops, then quickens his pace, and follows the beckon 
 ing shadow. 375 
 " Yes, it is plain to me now," he murmured ; " the 
 
 hand of the Lord is 
 Leading me out of the land of darkness, the bondage 
 
 of error, 
 Through the sea, that shall lift the walls of its waters 
 
 around me, 
 Hiding me, cutting me off, from the cruel thoughts 
 
 that pursue me. 
 Back will I go o'er the ocean, this dreary land will 
 
 abandon, aw
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 129 
 
 Her whom I may not love, and him whom my heart 
 
 has offended. 
 Better to be in my grave in the green old churchyard 
 
 in England, 
 Close by my mother's side, and among the dust of my 
 
 kindred ; 
 Better be dead and forgotten, than living in shame 
 
 and dishonor ! 
 Sacred and safe and unseen, in the dark of the narrow 
 
 chamber sss 
 
 With me my secret shall lie, like a buried jewel that 
 
 glimmers 
 Bright on the hand that is dust, in the chambers of 
 
 silence and darkness, 
 
 Yes, as the marriage ring of the great espousal here 
 after ! " 
 
 Thus as he spake, he turned, in the strength of his 
 
 strong resolution, 
 Leaving behind him the shore, and hurried along in 
 
 the twilight, 390 
 
 Through the congenial gloom of the forest silent and 
 
 sombre, 
 Till he beheld the lights in the seven houses of 
 
 Plymouth, 
 Shining like seven stars in the dusk and mist of the 
 
 evening. 
 Soon he entered his door, and found the redoubtable 
 
 Captain 
 
 392. In a letter written by Edward Winslow, December 11, 
 1621, to a friend in England, he says : " You shall understand 
 that in this little time that a few of us have been here, we have 
 built seven dwelling-houses and four for the use of the plantar 
 tion." Young's Chronicles, p. 230.
 
 130 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Sitting alone, and absorbed in the martial pages of 
 Ca3sar, 395 
 
 Fighting some great campaign in Hainault or Brabant 
 or Flanders. 
 
 " Long have you been on your errand," he said with a 
 cheery demeanor, 
 
 Even as one who is waiting an answer, and fears not 
 the issue. 
 
 " Not far off is the house, although the woods are be 
 tween us; 
 
 But you have lingered so long, that while you were 
 going and coining 400 
 
 I have fought ten battles and sacked and demolished a 
 city. 
 
 Come, sit down, and in order relate to me all that has 
 happened." 
 
 Then John Alden spake, and related the wondrous 
 adventure 
 
 From beginning to end, minutely, just as it hap 
 pened ; 
 
 How he had seen Priscilla, and how he had sped in 
 his courtship, 405 
 
 Only smoothing a little, and softening down her re 
 fusal. 
 
 But when he came at length to the words Priscilla had 
 spoken, 
 
 Words so tender and cruel, " Why don't you speak 
 for yourself, John ? " 
 
 Up leaped the Captain of Plymouth, and stamped on 
 the floor, till his armor 
 
 Clanged on the wall, where it hung, with a sound of 
 sinister omen. 410 
 
 All his pent-up wrath burst forth in a sudden explo 
 sion.
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 131 
 
 E'en as a hand-grenade, that scatters destruction 
 
 around it. 
 Wildly he shouted, and loud : " John Alden ! you 
 
 have betrayed me ! 
 Me, Miles Standish, your friend! have supplanted, 
 
 defrauded, betrayed me ! 
 One of my ancestors ran his sword through the heart 
 
 of Wat Tyler ; 415 
 
 Who shall prevent me from running my own through 
 
 the heart of a traitor ? 
 Yours is the greater treason, for yours is a treason to 
 
 friendship ! 
 You, who lived under my roof, whom I cherished and 
 
 loved as a brother ; 
 You, who have fed at my board, and drunk at my cup, 
 
 to whose keeping 
 I have intrusted my honor, my thoughts the most 
 
 sacred and secret, 420 
 
 You too, Brutus ! ah, woe to the name of friendship 
 
 hereafter ! 
 Brutus was Caesar's friend, and you were mine, but 
 
 henceforward 
 
 Let there be nothing between us save war, and impla 
 cable hatred ! " 
 
 So spake the Captain of Plymouth, and strode about 
 in the chamber, 
 
 Chafing and choking with rage ; like cords were the 
 veins on his temples. 425 
 
 But in the midst of his anger a man appeared at the 
 doorway, 
 
 Bringing in uttermost haste a message of urgent im 
 portance, 
 
 Rumors of danger and war and hostile incursions of 
 Indians !
 
 132 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Straightway the Captain paused, and, without further 
 
 question or parley, 
 Took from the nail on the wall his sword with its 
 
 scabbard of iron, 439 
 
 Buckled the belt round his waist, and, frowning 
 
 fiercely, departed. 
 Alden was left alone. He heard the clank of the 
 
 scabbard 
 Growing fainter and fainter, and dying away in the 
 
 distance. 
 Then he arose from his seat, and looked forth into the 
 
 darkness, 
 Felt the cool air blow on his cheek, that was hot with 
 
 the insult, 435 
 
 Lifted his eyes to the heavens, and, folding his hands 
 
 as in childhood, 
 Prayed in the silence of night to the Father who seeth 
 
 in secret. 
 
 Meanwhile the choleric Captain strode wrathful 
 away to the council, 
 
 Found it already assembled, impatiently waiting his 
 coming ; 
 
 Men in the middle of life, austere and grave in de 
 portment, 440 
 
 Only one of them old, the hill that was nearest to 
 heaven, 
 
 Covered with snow, but erect, the excellent Elder of 
 Plymouth. 
 
 442. Elder William Brewster. The elder of the Pilgrim 
 Church was the minister who taught and administered the sac 
 raments. He was assisted also by an officer named the ruling 
 elder, whose function was much the same as that of the deacon in 
 Congregational churches at the present day. The teaching elder
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 133 
 
 trod had sifted three kingdoms to find the wheat for 
 
 this planting, 
 Then had sifted the wheat, as the living seed of a 
 
 nation ; 
 So say the chronicles old, and such is the faith of the 
 
 people ! 44.0 
 
 Near them was standing an Indian, in attitude stern 
 
 and defiant, 
 Naked down to the waist, and grim and ferocious in 
 
 aspect ; 
 While on the table before them was lying unopened a 
 
 Bible, 
 Ponderous, bound in leather, brass-studded, printed in 
 
 Holland, 
 And beside it outstretched the skin of a rattlesnake 
 
 glittered, 450 
 
 included ruling among his duties ; the ruling elder sometimes 
 taught in the absence of his superior ; the teaching elder was 
 maintained by the people ; the ruling elder was not withdrawn 
 from other occupations, and maintained himself. Brewster was 
 the ruling elder in the little Plymouth Church, but in the absence 
 of Robinson was also their teacher. 
 
 443. In Stoughton's election sermon of 1668 occurs the first 
 use, apparently, of this oft-quoted phrase : " God sifted a whole 
 nation that he might send a choice grain over into this wilder 
 ness." 
 
 449. The Genevan Bible was the favorite version of the Puri 
 tans, and was clung to long after the King James version had 
 been issued. Owing to obstacles in England, the Bible was fre 
 quently printed on the Continent, once at any rate at Amster 
 dam. 
 
 450. As a matter of history, the first recorded instance of the 
 rattlesnake skin challenge was in January, 1622, when Tisquan- 
 tum the Indian brought a defiance from Canonicus, and the gov 
 ernor returned the skin stuffed with bullets. Holmes, in hia 
 Annals (i. 177), reminds the reader : " There is a remarkable co 
 incidence in the form of this challenge given by the Scythian
 
 134 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Filled, like a quiver, with arrows : a signal and chal 
 lenge of warfare, 
 Brought by the Indian, and speaking with arrowy 
 
 tongues of defiance. 
 This Miles Standish beheld, as he entered, and heard 
 
 them debating 
 What were an answer befitting the hostile message 
 
 and menace, 
 Talking of this and of that, contriving, suggesting, 
 
 objecting ; 455 
 
 One voice only for peace, and that the voice of the 
 
 Elder, 
 
 Judging it wise and well that some at least were con 
 verted, 
 Kather than any were slain, for this was but Christian 
 
 behavior ! 
 Then out spake Miles Standish, the stalwart Captain 
 
 of Plymouth, 
 Muttering deep in his throat, for his voice was husky 
 
 with anger, 4eo 
 
 " What ! do you mean to make war with milk and the 
 
 water of roses ? 
 Is it to shoot red squirrels you have your howitzer 
 
 planted 
 There on the roof of the church, or is it to shoot red 
 
 devils ? 
 Truly the only tongue that is understood by a savage 
 
 prince to Darius. Five arrows made a part of the present sent 
 by his herald to the Persian king. The manner of declaring war 
 by the Aracaunian Indians of South America was by sending 
 from town to town an arrow clinched in a dead man's hand." 
 
 457. The poet here has used the words of John Robinson to 
 the colonists after the first encounter with the Indians : " Oh, 
 how happy a thing had it been, if you had converted some be 
 fore you had killed any ! "
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 135 
 
 Must be the tongue of fire that speaks from the mouth 
 of the canuon ! " 465 
 
 Thereupon answered and said the excellent Elder of 
 Plymouth, 
 
 Somewhat amazed and alarmed at this irreverent lan 
 guage: 
 
 " Not so thought Saint Paul, nor yet the other Apos 
 tles ; 
 
 Not from the cannon's mouth were the tongues of fire 
 they spake with ! " 
 
 But unheeded fell this mild rebuke on the Captain, 470 
 
 Who had advanced to the table, and thus continued 
 discoursing : 
 
 " Leave this matter to me, for to me by right it per- 
 taineth. 
 
 War is a terrible trade; but in the cause that is 
 righteous, 
 
 Sweet is the smell of powder ; and thus I answer the 
 challenge!" 
 
 Then from the rattlesnake's skin, with a sudden, 
 contemptuous gesture, 475 
 
 Jerking the Indian arrows, he filled it with powder 
 and bullets 
 
 Full to the very jaws, and handed it back to the sav 
 age, 
 
 Saying, in thundering tones : " Here, take it ! this is 
 your answer ! " 
 
 Silently out of the room then glided the glistening 
 savage, 
 
 Bearing the serpent's skin, and seeming himself like a 
 serpent, <s 
 
 Winding his sinuous way in the dark to the depths of 
 the forest.
 
 136 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 V. 
 
 THE SAILING OF THE MAYFLOWER. 
 
 Just in the gray of the dawn, as the mists uprose 
 
 from the meadows, 
 There was a stir and a sound in the slumbering village 
 
 of Plymouth ; 
 
 Clanging and clicking of arms, and the order impera 
 tive, " Forward ! " 
 Given in tone suppressed, a tramp of feet, and then 
 
 silence. 485 
 
 Figures ten, in the mist, marched slowly out of the 
 
 village. 
 Standish the stalwart it was, with eight of his valorous 
 
 army, 
 Led by their Indian guide, by Hobomok, friend of the 
 
 white men, 
 Northward marching to quell the sudden revolt of the 
 
 savage. 
 Giants they seemed in the .mist, or the mighty men of 
 
 King David ; 490 
 
 Giants in heart they were, who believed in God and 
 
 the Bible, 
 Ay, who believed in the smiting of Midianites and 
 
 Philistines. 
 Over them gleamed far off the crimson banners of 
 
 morning ; 
 
 Under them loud on the sands, the serried billows, ad 
 vancing, 
 Fired along the line, and in regular order retreated. 495 
 
 Many a mile had they marched, when at length the 
 village of Plymouth
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAN DISH. 137 
 
 Woke from its sleep, and arose, intent on its manifold 
 labors. 
 
 Sweet was the air and soft ; and slowly the smoke 
 from the chimneys 
 
 Rose over roofs of thatch, and pointed steadily east 
 ward ; 
 
 Men came forth from the doors, and paused and talked 
 of the weather, 500 
 
 Said that the wind had changed, and was blowing fair 
 for the Mayflower ; 
 
 Talked of their Captain's departure, and all the dan 
 gers that menaced, 
 
 He being gone, the town, and what should be done in 
 his absence. 
 
 Merrily sang the birds, and the tender voices of 
 women 
 
 Consecrated with hymns the common cares of the 
 household. so> 
 
 Out of the sea rose the sun, and the billows rejoiced 
 at his coming ; 
 
 Beautiful were his feet on the purple tops of the moun 
 tains ; 
 
 Beautiful on the sails of the Mayflower riding at 
 anchor, 
 
 Battered and blackened and worn by all the storms of 
 the winter. 
 
 Loosely against her masts was hanging and flapping 
 her canvas, 510 
 
 Rent by so many gales, and patched by the hands of 
 the sailors. 
 
 Suddenly from her side, as the sun rose over the 
 ocean, 
 
 Darted a puff of smoke, and floated seaward ; anon rang 
 
 Loud over field and forest the cannon's roar, and the 
 echoes
 
 138 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Heard and repeated the sound, the signal-gun of de- 
 parture ! sis 
 
 Ah ! but with louder echoes replied the hearts of the 
 people ! 
 
 Meekly, in voices subdued, the chapter was read from 
 the Bible, 
 
 Meekly the prayer was begun, but ended in fervent 
 entreaty ! 
 
 Then from their houses in haste came forth the Pil 
 grims of Plymouth, 
 
 Men and women and children, all hurrying down to the 
 sea-shore, 520 
 
 Eager, with tearful eyes, to say farewell to the May 
 flower, 
 
 Homeward bound o'er the sea, and leaving them here 
 in the desert. 
 
 Foremost among them was Alden. All night he 
 
 had lain without slumber, 
 Turning and tossing about in the heat and unrest of 
 
 his fever. 
 He had beheld Miles Standish, who came back late 
 
 from the council, 525 
 
 Stalking into the room, and heard him mutter and 
 
 murmur, 
 Sometimes it seemed a prayer, and sometimes it 
 
 sounded like swearing. 
 
 Once he had come to the bed, and stood there a mo 
 ment in silence ; 
 Then he had turned away, and said : " I will not 
 
 awake him ; 
 Let him sleep on, it is best ; for what is the use of 
 
 more talking ! " 53 
 
 Then he extinguished the light, and threw himself 
 
 down on his pallet,
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 139 
 
 Dressed as he was, and ready to start at the break of 
 
 the morning, 
 Covered himself with the cloak he had worn in his 
 
 campaigns in Flanders, 
 Slept as a soldier sleeps in his bivouac, ready for 
 
 action. 
 But with the dawn he arose ; in the twilight Alden 
 
 beheld him 535 
 
 Put on his corselet of steel, and all the rest of his 
 
 armor, 
 
 Buckle about his waist his trusty blade of Damascus, 
 Take from the corner his musket, and so stride out of 
 
 the chamber. 
 Often the heart of the youth had burned and yearned 
 
 to embrace him, 
 Often his lips had essayed to speak, imploring for 
 
 pardon ; M 
 
 All the old friendship came back with its tender and 
 
 grateful emotions ; 
 But his pride overmastered the nobler nature within 
 
 him, 
 Pride, and the sense of his wrong, and the burning 
 
 fire of the insult. 
 So he beheld his friend departing in anger, but spake 
 
 not, 
 Saw him go forth to danger, perhaps to death, and he 
 
 spake not ! MS 
 
 Then he arose from his bed, and heard what the peo 
 ple were saying, 
 Joined in the talk at the door, with Stephen and 
 
 Richard and Gilbert, 
 
 547. The names are not taken at random. Stephen Hopkins, 
 Richard Warren, and Gilbert Winslow were all among the May 
 flower passengers, and were alive at this time.
 
 140 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Joined in the morning prayer, and in the reading of 
 
 Scripture, 
 And, with the others, in haste went hurrying down to 
 
 the sea-shore, 
 Pown to the Plymouth Rock, that had been to their 
 
 feet as a doorstep 550 
 
 Into a world unknown, the corner-stone of a nation ! 
 
 There with his boat was the Master, already a little 
 
 impatient 
 Lest he should lose the tide, or the wind might shift 
 
 to the eastward, 
 Square-built, hearty, and strong, with an odor of ocean 
 
 about him, 
 Speaking with this one and that, and cramming letters 
 
 and parcels MS 
 
 Into his pockets capacious, and messages mingled to 
 gether 
 
 Into his narrow brain, till at last he was wholly bewil 
 dered. 
 Nearer the boat stood Alden, with one foot placed on 
 
 the gunwale, 
 One still firm on the rock, and talking at times with 
 
 the sailors, 
 Seated erect on the thwarts, all ready and eager for 
 
 starting. seo 
 
 He too was eager to go, and thus put an end to his 
 
 anguish, 
 Thinking to fly from despair, that swifter than keel is 
 
 or canvas, 
 Thinking to drown in the sea the ghost that would rise 
 
 and pursue him. 
 But as he gazed on the crowd, he beheld the form of 
 
 Priscilla
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 141 
 
 Standing dejected among them, unconscious of all that 
 was passing. ses 
 
 Fixed were her eyes upon his, as if she divined his in 
 tention, 
 
 Fixed with a look so sad, so reproachful, imploring, 
 and patient, 
 
 That with a sudden revulsion his heart recoiled from 
 its purpose, 
 
 As from the verge of a crag, where one step more is 
 destruction. 
 
 Strange is the heart of man, with its quick, mysteri 
 ous instincts ! 571 
 
 Strange is the life of man, and fatal or fated are mo 
 ments, 
 
 Whereupon turn, as on hinges, the gates of the wall 
 adamantine ! 
 
 " Here I remain ! " he exclaimed, as he looked at the 
 heavens above him, 
 
 Thanking the Lord whose breath had scattered the 
 mist and the madness, 
 
 Wherein, blind and lost, to death he was staggering 
 headlong. 575 
 
 "Yonder snow-white cloud, that floats in the ether 
 above me, 
 
 Seems like a hand that is pointing and beckoning over 
 the ocean. 
 
 There is another hand, that is not so spectral and 
 ghost-like, 
 
 Holding me, drawing me back, and clasping mine for 
 protection. 
 
 Float, O hand of cloud, and vanish away in the 
 ether ! wo 
 
 Roll thyself up like a fist, to threaten and daunt me ; 
 I heed not
 
 142 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Either your warning or menace, or any omen of evil! 
 There is no land so sacred, no air so pure and so 
 
 wholesome, 
 As is the air she breathes, and the soil that is pressed 
 
 by her footsteps. 
 Here for her sake will I stay, and like an invisible 
 
 presence 535 
 
 Hover around her forever, protecting, supporting her 
 
 weakness ; 
 Yes ! as my foot was the first that stepped on this 
 
 rock at the landing, 
 So, with the blessing of God, shall it be the last at the 
 
 leaving ! " 
 
 Meanwhile the Master alert, but with dignified air 
 
 and important, 
 Scanning with watchful eye the tide and the wind and 
 
 the weather, 590 
 
 Walked about on the sands, and the people crowded 
 
 around him 
 
 Saying a few last words, and enforcing his careful re 
 membrance. 
 Then, taking each by the hand, as if he were grasping 
 
 a tiller, 
 Into the boat he sprang, and in haste shoved off to his 
 
 vessel, 
 Glad in his heart to get rid of all this worry and 
 
 flurry, 595 
 
 Glad to be gone from a land of sand and sickness and 
 
 sorrow, 
 Short allowance of victual, and plenty of nothing but 
 
 Gospel ! 
 Lost in the sound of the oars was the last farewell of 
 
 the Pilgrims.
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAN DISH. 143 
 
 strong hearts and true ! not one went back in the 
 
 Mayflower ! 
 No, not one looked back, who had set his hand to this 
 
 ploughing ! eoo 
 
 Soon were heard on board the shouts and songs of 
 
 the sailors 
 
 Heaving the windlass round, and hoisting the ponder 
 ous anchor. 
 Then the yards were braced, and all sails set to the 
 
 west-wind, 
 Blowing steady and strong ; and the Mayflower sailed 
 
 from the harbor, 
 Rounded the point of the Gurnet, and leaving far to 
 
 the southward eos 
 
 Island and cape of sand, and the Field of the First 
 
 Encounter, 
 Took the wind on her quarter, and stood for the open 
 
 Atlantic, 
 Borne on the send of the sea, and the swelling hearts 
 
 of the Pilgrims. 
 
 Long in silence they watched the receding sail of 
 the vessel, 
 
 605. The Gurnet, or Gurnet's Nose, is a headland connecting 
 with Marshfield by a beach about seven miles long. On its 
 southern extremity are two light-houses which light the entrance 
 to Plymouth Harbor. 
 
 606. " So after we had given God thanks for our deliverance, 
 we took our shallop and went on our journey, and called this 
 place The First Encounter." Bradford and Winslow's Journal 
 in Young's Chronicles, p. 159. The place on the Eastham shore 
 marked the spot where the Pilgrims had their first encounter 
 with the Indians, December 8, 1620. A party under Miles 
 Standish was exploring the country while the Mayflower was at 
 anchor in Provincetown Harbor.
 
 144 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Much endeared to them all, as something living and 
 
 human ; eio 
 
 Then, as if filled with the spirit, and wrapt in a vis 
 ion prophetic, 
 
 Baring his hoary head, the excellent Elder of Ply 
 mouth 
 Said, " Let us pray ! " and they prayed, and thanked 
 
 the Lord and took courage. 
 Mournfully sobbed the waves at the base of the rock, 
 
 and above them 
 Bowed and whispered the wheat on the hill of death, 
 
 and their kindred eis 
 
 Seemed to awake in their graves, and to join in the 
 
 prayer that they uttered. 
 Sun-illumined and white, on the eastern verge of the 
 
 ocean 
 Gleamed the departing sail, like a marble slab in a 
 
 graveyard ; 
 
 Buried beneath it lay forever all hope of escaping. 
 Lo ! as they turned to depart, they saw the form of an 
 
 Indian, 620 
 
 Watching them from the hill ; but while they spake 
 
 with each other, 
 Pointing with outstretched hands, and saying, 
 
 " Look ! " he had vanished. 
 So they returned to their homes ; but Alden lingered 
 
 a little, 
 Musing alone on the shore, and watching the wash of 
 
 the billows 
 Round the base of the rock, and the sparkle and flash 
 
 of the sunshine, sa 
 
 Like the spirit of God, moving visibly over the 
 
 waters. 
 
 626. See Genesis i. 2.
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 VI. 
 
 PRISCILLA. 
 
 Thus for a while he stood, and mused by the shore 
 of the ocean, 
 
 Thinking of many things, and most of all of Pris- 
 cilla ; 
 
 And as if thought had the power to draw to itself, like 
 the loadstone, 
 
 Whatsoever it touches, by subtile laws of its na 
 ture, 630 
 
 Lo ! as he turned to depart, Priscilla was standing 
 beside him. 
 
 " Are you so much offended, you will not speak to 
 
 me ? " said she. 
 " Am I so much to blame, that yesterday, when you 
 
 were pleading 
 Warmly the cause of another, my heart, impulsive 
 
 and wayward, 
 Pleaded your own, and spake out, forgetful perhaps 
 
 of decorum ? ess 
 
 Certainly you can forgive me for speaking so frankly, 
 
 for saying 
 What I ought not to have said, yet now I can never 
 
 unsay it ; 
 For there are moments in life, when the heart is so 
 
 full of emotion, 
 That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like 
 
 a pebble 
 
 Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its se 
 cret, a
 
 146 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered 
 
 together. 
 Yesterday I was shocked, when I heard you speak of 
 
 Miles Standish, 
 Praising his virtues, transforming his very defects into 
 
 virtues, 
 Praising his courage and strength, and even his fight- 
 
 ing in Flanders, 
 As if by fighting alone you could win the heart of a 
 
 woman, MS 
 
 Quite overlooking yourself and the rest, in exalting 
 
 your hero. 
 
 Therefore I spake as 1 did, by an irresistible im 
 pulse. 
 
 You will forgive me, I hope, for the sake of the friend 
 ship between us, 
 Which is too true and too sacred to be so easily 
 
 broken ! " 
 Thereupon answered John Alden, the scholar, the 
 
 friend of Miles Standish : 6oo 
 
 " I was not angry with you, with myself alone I was 
 
 angry, 
 Seeing how badly I managed the matter I had in my 
 
 keeping." 
 " No ! " interrupted the maiden, with answer prompt 
 
 and decisive ; 
 " No ; you were angry with me, for speaking so 
 
 frankly and freely. 
 It was wrong, I acknowledge ; for it is the fate of a 
 
 woman ess 
 
 Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a ghost 
 
 that is speechless, 
 Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell of its 
 
 silence.
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAN DISH. 147 
 
 Hence is the inner life of so many suffering women 
 Sunless and silent and deep, like subterranean rivers 
 .Running through caverns of darkness, unheard, un 
 seen, and unfruitful, eeo 
 'Chafing their channels of stone, with endless and pro 
 fitless murmurs." 
 Thereupon answered John Alden. the young man, the 
 
 lover of women : 
 " Heaven forbid it, Priscilla ; and truly they seem to 
 
 me always 
 More like the beautiful rivers that watered the garden 
 
 of Eden, 
 More like the river Euphrates, through deserts of 
 
 Havilah flowing, 665 
 
 Filling the land with delight, and memories sweet of 
 
 the garden ! " 
 " Ah, by these words, I can see," again interrupted 
 
 the maiden, 
 " How very little you prize me, or care for what I am 
 
 saying. 
 When from the depths of my heart, in pain and with 
 
 secret misgiving, 
 Frankly I speak to you, asking for sympathy only and 
 
 kindness, ero 
 
 Straightway you take up my words, that are plain and 
 
 direct and in earnest, 
 Turn them away from their meaning, and answer with 
 
 flattering phrases. 
 This is not right, is not just, is not true to the best 
 
 that is in you ; 
 
 659. Compare Coleridge, 
 
 " Where Alph, the sacred river, ran 
 Through caverns measureless to man, 
 Down to a sunless sea." 
 
 Vision ofKubla Khan,
 
 148 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 For I know and esteem you, and feel that your nature 
 is noble, 
 
 Lifting mine up to a higher, a more ethereal level. 675 
 
 Therefore I value your friendship, and feel it perhaps 
 the more keenly 
 
 If you say aught that implies I am only as one among 
 many, 
 
 If you make use of those common and complimentary 
 phrases 
 
 Most men think so fine, in dealing and speaking with 
 women, 
 
 But which women reject as insipid, if not as insult 
 ing." 680 
 
 Mute and amazed was Alden ; and listened and 
 looked at Priscilla, 
 
 Thinking he never had seen her more fair, more di 
 vine in her beauty. 
 
 He who but yesterday pleaded so glibly the cause of 
 another, 
 
 Stood there embarrassed ^,nd silent, and seeking in 
 vain for an answer. 
 
 So the maiden went on, and little divined or im 
 agined 635 
 
 What was at work in his heart, that made him so 
 awkward and speechless. 
 
 * Let us, then, be what we are, and speak what we 
 think, and in all things 
 
 Keep ourselves loyal to truth, and the sacred profes 
 sions of friendship. 
 
 It is no secret I tell you, nor am I ashamed to declare 
 it: 
 
 I have liked to be with you, to see you, to speak with 
 you always.
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 149 
 
 So I was hurt at your words, and a little affronted to 
 
 hear you 
 Urge me to marry your friend, though he were the 
 
 Captain Miles Standish. 
 For I must tell you the truth : much more to me is 
 
 your friendship 
 Than all the love he could give, were he twice the 
 
 hero you think him." 
 Then she extended her hand, and Alden, who eagerly 
 
 grasped it, ess 
 
 Felt all the wounds in his heart, that were aching and 
 
 bleeding so sorely, 
 Healed by the touch of that hand, and he said, with 
 
 a voice full of feeling : 
 " Yes, we must ever be friends ; and of all who offer 
 
 you friendship 
 Let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and 
 
 dearest ! " 
 
 Casting a farewell look at the glimmering sail of 
 the Mayflower TOO 
 
 Distant, but still in sight, and sinking below the hori 
 zon, 
 
 Homeward together they walked, with a strange, in 
 definite feeling, 
 
 That all the rest had departed and left them alone in 
 the desert. 
 
 But, as they went through the fields in the blessing 
 and smile of the sunshine, 
 
 Lighter grew their hearts, and Priscilla said very 
 archly : IK 
 
 " Now that our terrible Captain has gone in pursuit 
 of the Indians, 
 
 Where he is happier far than he would be command 
 ing a household,
 
 150 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 You may speak boldly, and tell me of all that hap. 
 pened between you, 
 
 When you returned last night, and said how ungrate 
 ful you found me." 
 
 Thereupon answered John Alden, and told her the 
 whole of the story, 7i 
 
 Told her his own despair, and the direful wrath of 
 Miles Standish. 
 
 Whereat the maiden smiled, and said between laugh 
 ing and earnest, 
 
 " He is a little chimney, and heated hot in a moment I " 
 
 But as he gently rebuked her, and told her how he had 
 suffered, 
 
 How he had even determined to sail that day in the 
 Mayflower, 715 
 
 And had remained for her sake, on hearing the dangers 
 that threatened, 
 
 All her manner was changed, and she said with a fal 
 tering accent, 
 
 " Truly I thank you for this : how good you have been 
 to me always ! " 
 
 Thus, as a pilgrim devout, who toward Jerusalem 
 journeys, 
 
 Taking three steps in advance, and one reluctantly 
 backward, 721 
 
 Urged by importunate zeal, and withheld by pangs of 
 contrition ; 
 
 Slowly but steadily onward, receding yet ever advan 
 cing, 
 
 Journeyed this Puritan youth to the Holy Land of his 
 longings, 
 
 Urged by the fervor of love, and withheld by remorse- 
 ful misgivings.
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAN DISH. 151 
 
 VII. 
 THE MARCH OF MILES STANDISH. 
 
 Meanwhile the stalwart Miles Standish was marching 
 
 steadily northward, 725 
 
 Winding through forest and swamp, and along the 
 
 trend of the sea-shore, 
 
 All day long, with hardly a halt, the fire of his anger 
 Burning and crackling within, and the sulphurous 
 
 odor of powder 
 Seeming more sweet to his nostrils than all the scents 
 
 of the forest. 
 Silent and moody he went, and much he revolved his 
 
 discomfort ; TM 
 
 He who was used to success, and to easy victories 
 
 always, 
 Thus to be flouted, rejected, and laughed to scorn by 
 
 a maiden, 
 Thus to be mocked and betrayed by the friend whom 
 
 most he had trusted ! 
 Ah ! 't was too much to be borne, and he fretted and 
 
 chafed in his armor ! 
 
 " I alone am to blame," he muttered, " for mine was 
 
 the folly. 735 
 
 What has a rough old soldier, grown grim and gray 
 
 in the harness, 
 Used to the camp and its ways, to do with the wooing 
 
 of maidens ? 
 T was but a dream, let it pass, let it vanish like 
 
 so many others ! 
 What I thought was a flower, is only a weed, and is 
 
 worthless j
 
 152 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Out of my heart will I pluck it, and throw it away, 
 and henceforward 7 
 
 Be but a fighter of battles, a lover and wooer of dan 
 gers." 
 
 Thus he revolved in his mind his sorry defeat and dis 
 comfort, 
 
 While he was marching by day or lying at night in 
 the forest, 
 
 Looking up at the trees and the constellations beyond 
 them. 
 
 After a three days' march he came to an Indian 
 encampment 745 
 
 Pitched on the edge of a meadow, between the sea and 
 the forest ; 
 
 Women at work by the tents, and warriors, horrid 
 with war-paint, 
 
 Seated about a fire, and smoking and talking to 
 gether ; 
 
 Who, when they saw from afar the sudden approach 
 of the white men, 
 
 Saw the flash of the sun on breastplate and sabre and 
 musket, 750 
 
 Straightway leaped to their feet, and two, from among 
 them advancing, 
 
 Came to parley with Standish, and offer him furs as 
 a present ; 
 
 Friendship was in their looks, but in their hearts there 
 was hatred. 
 
 745. The poet has taken his material for this expedition of 
 Standish's from the report in Winslow's Relation of Standish' 's 
 Expedition against the Indians of Weymouth, and the breaking up 
 of Weston's Colony at that place, in March, 1623, as given in Dr. 
 Young's Chronicles.
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 153 
 
 Braves of the tribe were these, and brothers, gigantic 
 
 in stature, 
 Huge as Goliath of Gath, or the terrible Og, king of 
 
 Bashan ; 755 
 
 One was Pecksuot named, and the other was called 
 
 Wattawamat. 
 Round their necks were suspended their knives in 
 
 scabbards of wampum, 
 Two-edged, trenchant knives, with points as sharp as 
 
 a needle. 
 Other arms had they none, for they were cunning and 
 
 crafty. 
 " Welcome, English ! " they said, these words they 
 
 had learned from the traders veu 
 
 Touching at times on the coast, to barter and chaffer 
 
 for peltries. 
 Then in their native tongue they began to parley with 
 
 Standish, 
 Through his guide and interpreter, Hobomok, friend 
 
 of the white man, 
 
 Begging for blankets and knives, but mostly for mus 
 kets and powder, 
 Kept by the white man, they said, concealed, with the 
 
 plague, in his cellars, vcs 
 
 Eeady to be let loose, and destroy his brother the red 
 
 man ! 
 But when Standish refused, &nd said he would give 
 
 them the Bible, 
 Suddenly changing their tone, they began to boast and 
 
 to bluster. 
 Then Wattawamat advanced with a stride in front of 
 
 the other, 
 And, with a lofty demeanor, thus vauntingly spake to 
 
 the Captain : 771
 
 154 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 " Now Wattawamat can see, by the fiery eyes of the 
 
 Captain, 
 Angry is he in his heart ; but the heart of the brave 
 
 Wattawamat 
 
 Is not afraid at the sight. He was not born of a wo 
 man, 
 But on a mountain, at night, from an oak-tree riven 
 
 by lightning, 
 Forth he sprang at a bound, with all his weapons 
 
 about him, 775 
 
 Shouting, ' Who is there here to fight with the brave 
 
 Wattawamat?'" 
 Then he unsheathed his knife, and, whetting the blade 
 
 on his left hand, 
 Held it aloft and displayed a woman's face on the 
 
 handle, 
 Saying, with bitter expression and look of sinister 
 
 meaning : 
 " I have another at home, with the face of a man on 
 
 the handle ; 7so 
 
 By and by they shall marry ; and there will be plenty 
 
 of children ! " 
 
 775. " Among the rest Wituwamat bragged of the excellency 
 of his knife. On the end of the handle there was pictured a 
 woman's face ; 'but,' said he, ' I have another at home where 
 with I have killed both French and English, and that hath a 
 man's face on it, and by and by these two must marry.' Fur 
 ther he said of that knife he there had, Hinnaim namen, hinnaim 
 michen, matta cuts ; that is to say, By and by it should see, and 
 by and by it should eat, but not speak. Also Pecksuot, being a 
 man of greater stature than the captain, told him, though he 
 were a great captain, yet he was but a little man ; and, said he, 
 though I be no sachem, yet I am a man of great strength and 
 courage." Winslow's Relation. The poet turns the whole inci 
 dent of Standish's parley and killing of the Indians into a more 
 open and brave piece of conduct than the chronicle admits.
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 155 
 
 Then stood Pecksuot forth, self-vaunting, insulting 
 
 Miles Standish ; 
 While with his fingers he patted the knife that hung 
 
 at his bosom, 
 Drawing it half from its sheath, and plunging it back, 
 
 as he muttered, 
 " By and by it shall see ; it shall eat ; ah, ha ! but 
 
 shall speak not ! 785 
 
 This is the mighty Captain the white men have sent 
 
 to destroy us ! 
 He is a little man ; let him go and work with the 
 
 women ! " 
 
 Meanwhile Standish had noted the faces and figures 
 
 of Indians 
 Peeping and creeping about from bush to tree in the 
 
 forest, 
 Feigning to look for game, with arrows set on their 
 
 bow-strings, 790 
 
 Drawing about him still closer and closer the net of 
 
 their ambush. 
 But undaunted he stood, and dissembled and treated 
 
 them smoothly ; 
 So the old chronicles say, that were writ in the days 
 
 of the fathers. 
 But when he heard their defiance, the boast, the taunt 
 
 and the insult, 
 All the hot blood of his race, of Sir Hugh and of 
 
 Thurston de Standish, 795 
 
 Boiled and beat in his heart, and swelled in the veins 
 
 of his temples. 
 Headlong he leaped on the boaster, and, snatching his 
 
 knife from its scabbard, 
 Plunged it into his heart, and, reeling backward, the 
 
 savage
 
 156 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Fell with his face to the sky, and a fiendlike fierceness 
 
 upon it. 
 Straight there arose from the forest the awful sound 
 
 of the war-whoop, soo 
 
 And, like a flurry of snow on the whistling wind of 
 
 December, 
 Swift and sudden and keen came a flight of feathery 
 
 arrows. 
 Then came a cloud of smoke, and out of the cloud 
 
 came the lightning, 
 Out of the lightning thunder ; and death unseen ran 
 
 before it. 
 Frightened the savages fled for shelter in swamp and 
 
 in thicket, sos 
 
 Hotly pursued and beset ; but their sachem, the brave 
 
 Wattawamat, 
 Fled not ; he was dead. Unswerving and swift had 
 
 a bullet 
 Passed through his brain, and he fell with both hands 
 
 clutching the greensward, 
 Seeming in death to hold back from his foe the land of 
 
 his fathers. 
 
 There on the flowers of the meadow the warriors 
 lay, and above them, sie 
 
 Silent, with folded arms, stood Hobomok, friend of 
 the white man. 
 
 811. " Hobbamock stood by all this time as a spectator, and 
 meddled not, observing how our men demeaned themselves in 
 this action. All being here ended, smiling, he brake forth into 
 these speeches to the Captain : ' Yesterday Pecksuot, bragging 
 of his own strength and stature, said, though you were a great 
 captain, yet you were but a little man ; but to-day I see you are 
 big enough to lay him on the ground.' " Winslow's Relation.
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAN DISH. 157 
 
 Smiling at length he exclaimed to the stalwart Captain 
 
 of Plymouth : 
 " Pecksuot bragged very loud, of his courage, his 
 
 strength and his stature, 
 Mocked the great Captain, and called him a little 
 
 man ; but I see now 
 Big enough have you been to lay him speechless before 
 
 you ! " sis 
 
 Thus the first battle was fought and won by the 
 
 stalwart Miles Standish. 
 When the tidings thereof were brought to the village 
 
 of Plymouth, 
 And as a trophy of war the head of the brave Wat- 
 
 tawamat 
 Scowled from the roof of the fort, which at once 
 
 was a church and a fortress, 
 All who beheld it rejoiced, and praised the Lord, and 
 
 took courage. 820 
 
 Only Priscilla averted her face from this spectre of 
 
 terror, 
 Thanking God in her heart that she had not married 
 
 Miles Standish ; 
 Shrinking, fearing almost, lest, coming home from his 
 
 battles, 
 
 He should lay claim to her hand, as the prize and re 
 ward of his valor. 
 
 818. " Now was the Captain returned and received with joy, 
 the head being brought to the fort, and there set up." Wins- 
 low's Relation. The custom of exposing the heads of offenders 
 in this way was familiar enough to the Plymouth people before 
 they left England. As late as the year 1747 the heads of the 
 lords who were concerned in the Scot's Rebellion were set up 
 over Temple Bar, hi London.
 
 158 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 VIII. 
 THE SPINNING WHEEL. 
 
 Month after month passed away, and in autumn the 
 
 ships of the merchants 82s 
 
 Came with kindred and friends, with cattle and corn 
 
 for the Pilgrims. 
 All in the village was peace ; the men were intent on 
 
 their labors, 
 Busy with hewing and building, with garden-plot and 
 
 with merestead, 
 Busy with breaking the glebe, and mowing the grass 
 
 in the meadows, 
 Searching the sea for its fish, and hunting the deer in 
 
 the forest. sso 
 
 All in the village was peace ; but at times the rumor 
 
 of warfare 
 Filled the air with alarm, and the apprehension of 
 
 danger. 
 Bravely the stalwart Standish was scouring the land 
 
 with his forces, 
 
 Waxing valiant in fight and defeating the alien ar 
 mies, 
 Till his name had become a sound of fear to the 
 
 nations. sss 
 
 825. The poet again has moved the narrative forward, taking 
 Standish's return from his expedition as the date from which 
 after events are measured. The Anne and the Little James 
 came at the beginning of August, 1623. 
 
 828. Mere or meare in Old English is boundary, and mere- 
 stead becomes the bounded lot. The first entry in the records 
 of Plymouth Colony is an incomplete list of " The Meersteads 
 and Garden-plotes of those which came first, layed out, 1620."
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 159 
 
 Anger was still in his heart, but at times the remorse 
 
 and contrition 
 Which in all noble natures succeed the passionate out 
 
 break, 
 Came like a rising tide, that encounters the rush of a 
 
 river, 
 Staying its current awhile, but making it bitter and 
 
 brackish. 
 
 Meanwhile Alden at home had built him a new 
 
 habitation, 540 
 
 Solid, substantial, of timber rough-hewn from the firs 
 
 of the forest. 
 Wooden-barred was the door, and the roof was covered 
 
 with rushes ; 
 Latticed the windows were, and the window-panes were 
 
 of paper, 
 
 Oiled to admit the light, while wind and rain were ex 
 cluded. 
 
 There too he dug a well, and around it planted an 
 
 orchard : 845 
 
 Still may be seen to this day some trace of the well 
 
 and the orchard. 
 
 843. When the Fortune, which visited the colony in Novem 
 ber, 1621, returned to England, Edward Winslow wrote by it a 
 letter of advice to those who were thinking of emigrating to 
 America, in which he says, " Bring paper and linseed oil for 
 your windows." Glass windows were long considered a great 
 luxury. When the Duke of Northumberland, in Elizabeth's 
 time, left Alnwick Castle to come to London for the winter, 
 the few glass windows which formed one of the luxuries of the 
 castle were carefully taken out and laid away, perhaps carried 
 to London to adorn the city residence. 
 
 846. The Alden family still retain John Alden's homestead 
 in Duxbury, and the present house is said to stand oil the site 
 of the one originally built there.
 
 160 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Close to the house was the stall, where, safe and 
 secure from annoyance, 
 
 Raghorn, the snow-white brll, that had fallen to Al- 
 den's allotment 
 
 In the division of cattle, might ruminate in the night 
 time 
 
 Over the pastures he cropped, made fragrant by sweet 
 pennyroyal. sso 
 
 Oft when his labor was finished, with eager feet 
 
 would the dreamer 
 Follow the pathway that ran through the woods to the 
 
 house of Priscilla, 
 Led by illusions romantic &nd subtile deceptions of 
 
 fancy, 
 Pleasure disguised as duiy, and love in the semblance 
 
 of friendship. 
 Ever of her he thought, when he fashioned the walls 
 
 of his dwelling ; sss 
 
 Ever of her he thought, when he delved in the soil of 
 
 his garden ; 
 Ever of her he thought, when he read in his Bible on 
 
 Sunday 
 Praise of the virtuous woman, as she is described in 
 
 the Proverbs, 
 How the heart of her husband doth safely trust in her 
 
 always, 
 How all the days of her life she will do him good, and 
 
 not evil, seo 
 
 How she seeketh the wool and the flax and worketh 
 
 with gladness, 
 How she layeth her hand to the spindle and holdeth 
 
 the distaff,
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAN DISH. 161 
 
 How she is not afraid of the snow for herself or her 
 
 household, 
 Knowing her household are clothed with the scarlet 
 
 cloth of her weaving ! 
 
 So as she sat at her wheel one afternoon in the 
 Autumn, 865 
 
 Alden, who opposite sat, and was watching her dexter 
 ous fingers, 
 
 As if the thread she was spinning were that of his life 
 and his fortune, 
 
 After a pause in their talk, thus spake to the sound of 
 the spindle. 
 
 *' Truly, Priscilla," he said, " when I see you spinning 
 and spinning, 
 
 Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of 
 others, sro 
 
 Suddenly you are transformed, are visibly changed in 
 a moment ; 
 
 You are no longer Priscilla, but Bertha the Beautiful 
 Spinner." 
 
 Here the light foot on the treadle grew swifter and 
 swifter ; the spindle 
 
 Uttered an angry snarl, and the thread snapped short 
 in her fingers ; 
 
 While the impetuous speaker, not heeding the mis 
 chief, continued : STS 
 
 " You are the beautiful Bertha, the spinner, the queen 
 of Helvetia ; 
 
 She whose story I read at a stall in the streets of 
 Southampton, 
 
 872. The legend of Bertha is given with various learning re 
 garding it in a monograph entitled, Bertha die Spinnerin, by Karl 
 Joseph Simrock, Frankfurt, 1853.
 
 162 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Who, as she rode on her palfrey, o'er valley and 
 
 meadow and mountain, 
 Ever was spinning her thread from a distaff fixed to 
 
 her saddle. 
 She was so thrifty and good, that her name passed 
 
 into a proverb. sso 
 
 So shall it be with your own, when the spinning-wheel 
 
 shall no longer 
 Hum in the house of the farmer, and fill its chambers 
 
 with music. 
 Then shall the mothers, reproving, relate how it was 
 
 in their childhood, 
 Praising the good old times, and the days of Priscilla 
 
 the spinner ! " 
 Straight uprose from her wlteel the beautiful Puritan 
 
 maiden, sss 
 
 Pleased with the praise of her thrift from him whose 
 
 praise was the sweetest, 
 Drew from the reel on the table a snowy skein of her 
 
 spinning, 
 Thus making answer, meanwhile, to the flattering 
 
 phrases of Alden : 
 " Come, you must not be idle ; if I am a pattern for 
 
 housewives, 
 Show yourself equally worthy of being the model of 
 
 husbands. sso 
 
 Hold this skein on your hands, while I wind it, ready 
 
 for knitting ; 
 Then who knows but hereafter, when fashions have 
 
 changed and the manners, 
 Fathers may talk to their sons of the good old times 
 
 of John Alden ! " 
 Thus, with a jest and a laugh, the skein on his handa 
 
 she adjusted,
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 163 
 
 He sitting awkwardly there, with his arms extended 
 before him, 895 
 
 She standing graceful, erect, and winding the thread 
 from his fingers, 
 
 Sometimes chiding a little his clumsy manner of hold- 
 
 Sometimes touching his hands, as she disentangled 
 
 expertly 
 Twist or knot in the yarn, unawares for how could 
 
 she help it ? 
 Sending electrical thrills through every nerve in his 
 
 body. wo 
 
 Lo ! in the midst of this scene, a breathless messen 
 
 ger entered, 
 Bringing in hurry and heat the terrible news from the 
 
 village. 
 Yes ; Miles Standish was dead ! an Indian had 
 
 brought them the tidings, 
 Slain by a poisoned arrow, shot down in the front of 
 
 the battle, 
 Into an ambush beguiled, cut off with the whole of 
 
 his forces ; sos 
 
 All the town would be burned, and all the people be 
 
 murdered ! 
 Such were the tidings of evil that burst on the hearts 
 
 of the hearers. 
 Silent and statue-like stood Priscilla, her face looking 
 
 backward 
 Still at the face of the speaker, her arms uplifted in 
 
 horror ; 
 But John Alden, upstarting, as if the barb of the ar 
 
 row 9M
 
 164 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Piercing the heart of his friend had struck his own, 
 
 and had sundered 
 Once and forever the bonds that held him bound as a 
 
 captive, 
 Wild with excess of sensation, the awful delight of 
 
 his freedom, 
 Mingled with pain and regret, unconscious of what he 
 
 was doing, 
 Clasped, almost with a groan, the motionless form of 
 
 Priscilla, 915 
 
 Pressing her close to his heart, as forever his own, 
 
 and exclaiming : 
 " Those whom the Lord hath united, let no man put 
 
 them asunder ! " 
 
 Even as rivulets twain, from distant and separate 
 
 sources, 
 Seeing each other afar, as they leap from the rocks, 
 
 and pursuing 
 Each one its devious path, but drawing nearer and 
 
 nearer, 920 
 
 Rush together at last, at their trysting-place in the 
 
 forest ; 
 
 So these lives that had run thus far in separate chan 
 nels, 
 Coming in sight of each other, then swerving and 
 
 flowing asunder, 
 Parted by barriers strong, but drawing nearer and 
 
 nearer, 
 Rushed together at last, and one was lost in the 
 
 other. 92>
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 165 
 
 IX. 
 THE WEDDING-DAY. 
 
 Forth from the curtain of clouds, from the tent of 
 purple and scarlet, 
 
 Issued the sun, the great High-Priest, in his garments 
 resplendent, 
 
 Holiness unto the Lord, in letters of light, on his fore 
 head, 
 
 Round the hem of his robe the golden bells and pome 
 granates. 
 
 Blessing the world he came, and the bars of vapor 
 beneath him 930 
 
 Gleamed like a grate of brass, and the sea at his feet 
 was a laver ! 
 
 This was the wedding morn of Priscilla the Puri 
 tan maiden. 
 
 Friends were assembled together ; the Elder and 
 Magistrate also 
 
 Graced the scene with their presence, and stood like 
 the Law and the Gospel, 
 
 One with the sanction of earth and one with the bless 
 ing of heaven. 935 
 
 Simple and brief was the wedding, as that of Ruth 
 and of Boaz. 
 
 Softly the youth and the maiden repeated the words 
 of betrothal, 
 
 Taking each other for husband and wife in the Magis 
 trate's presence, 
 
 927. For a description of the Jewish high-priest and his 
 dress, see Exodus, chapter xxviii.
 
 166 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 After the Puritan way, and the laudable custom of 
 
 Holland. 
 Fervently then and devoutly, the excellent Elder of 
 
 Plymouth 940 
 
 Prayed for the hearth and the home, that were founded 
 
 that day in affection, 
 Speaking of life and of death, and imploring Divine 
 
 benedictions. 
 
 Lo ! when the service was ended, a form appeared 
 on the threshold, 
 
 Clad in armor of steel, a sombre and sorrowful 
 figure ! 
 
 Why does the bridegroom start and stare at the 
 strange apparition ? 945 
 
 Why does the bride turn pale, and hide her face on 
 his shoulder ? 
 
 Is it a phantom of air, a bodiless, spectral illu 
 sion? 
 
 Is it a ghost from the grave, that has come to forbid 
 the betrothal ? 
 
 Long had it stood there unseen, a guest uninvited, un- 
 welcomed ; 
 
 Over its clouded eyes there had passed at times an ex 
 pression 950 
 
 Softening the gloom and revealing the warm heart 
 hidden beneath them, 
 
 939. " May 12 was the first marriage in this place, which, 
 according to the laudable custome of the Low-Cuntries, in which 
 they had lived, was thought most requisite to be performed by 
 the magistrate, as being a civill thing, upon which many ques 
 tions aboute inheritances doe depende, with other things most 
 proper to their cognizans, and most consonante to the scripture, 
 Kuth 4, and no wher found in the gospell to be layed on the 
 ministers as a part of their office." Bradford's History, p. 10L
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 167 
 
 As when across the sky the driving rack of the rain 
 cloud 
 
 Grows for a moment thin, and betrays the sun by its 
 brightness. 
 
 Once it had lifted its hand, and moved its lips, but 
 was silent, 
 
 As if an iron will had mastered the fleeting inten 
 tion. 955 
 
 But when were ended the troth and the prayer and 
 the last benediction, 
 
 Into the room it strode, and the people beheld with 
 amazement 
 
 Bodily there in his armor Miles Standish, the Captain 
 of Plymouth! 
 
 Grasping the bridegroom's hand, he said with emotion, 
 " Forgive me ! 
 
 I have been angry and hurt, too long have I cher 
 ished the feeling ; 960 
 
 I have been cruel and hard, but now, thank God ! it 
 is ended. 
 
 Mine is the same hot blood that leaped in the veins of 
 Hugh Staudish, 
 
 Sensitive, swift to resent, but as swift in atoning for 
 error. 
 
 952. Rack, a Shaksperian word, used possibly in two senses, 
 either as vapor, as in the thirty-third sonnet, 
 
 " Anon permit the basest clouds to ride 
 With ugly rack on his celestial face," 
 
 which is plainly the meaning here, or as a light, cirrus cloud, as 
 in the Tempest, Act IV. Scene 1 : 
 
 " And like this insubstantial pageant faded, 
 Leave not a rack behind," 
 
 although here, also, the meaning of vapor might be admissible. 
 Bacon has defined rack : "The winds, which wave the clouds 
 above, which we call the rack, and are not perceived below, pass 
 without noise."
 
 168 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Never so much as now was Miles Standish the friend 
 
 of John Alden." 
 Thereupon answered the bridegroom : " Let all be 
 
 forgotten between us, 96? 
 
 All save the dear old friendship, and that shall grow 
 
 older and dearer ! " 
 Then the Captain advanced, and, bowing, saluted Pris- 
 
 cilla, 
 Gravely, and after the manner of old-fashioned gentry 
 
 in England, 
 Something of camp and of court, of town and of 
 
 country, commingled, 
 Wishing her joy of her wedding, and loudly lauding 
 
 her husband. 979 
 
 Then he said with a smile : " I should have remem 
 bered the adage, 
 If you would be well served, you must serve yourself ; 
 
 and moreover, 
 No man can gather cherries in Kent at the season of 
 
 Christmas ! " 
 
 Great was the people's amazement, and greater yet 
 their rejoicing, 
 
 Thus to behold once more the sunburnt face of their 
 Captain, 975 
 
 Whom they had mourned as dead ; and they gathered 
 and crowded about him, 
 
 Eager to see him and hear him, forgetful of bride and 
 of bridegroom, 
 
 Questioning, answering, laughing, and each interrupt, 
 ing the other, 
 
 Till the good Captain declared, being quite overpow 
 ered and bewildered,
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 169 
 
 He had rather by far break into an Indian encamp 
 ment, 980 
 
 Than come again to a wedding to which he had not 
 been invited. 
 
 Meanwhile the bridegroom went forth and stood 
 with the bride at the doorway, 
 
 Breathing the perfumed air of that warm and beauti 
 ful morning. 
 
 Touched with autumnal tints, but lonely and sad in 
 the sunshine, 
 
 Lay extended before them the land of toil and priva 
 tion ; 985 
 
 There were the graves of the dead, and the barren 
 waste of the sea-shore, 
 
 There the familiar fields, the groves of pine, and the 
 meadows ; 
 
 But to their eyes transfigured, it seemed as the Gar 
 den of Eden, 
 
 Filled with the presence of God, whose voice was the 
 sound of the ocean. 
 
 Soon was their vision disturbed by the noise and 
 
 stir of departure, 990 
 
 Friends coming forth from the house, and impatient 
 
 of longer delaying, 
 Each with his plan for the day, and the work that was 
 
 left uncompleted. 
 Then from a stall near at hand, amid exclamations of 
 
 wonder, 
 Alden the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so proud 
 
 of Priscilla, 
 Brought out his snow-white bull, obeying the hand of 
 
 its mastei, wi
 
 170 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Led by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in its nos 
 trils, 
 
 Covered with crimson cloth, and a cushion placed for 
 a saddle. 
 
 She should not walk, he said, through the dust and 
 heat of the noonday ; 
 
 Nay, she should ride like a queen, not plod along like 
 a peasant. 
 
 Somewhat alarmed at first, but reassured by the 
 others, ioo 
 
 Placing her hand on the cushion, her foot in the hand 
 of her husband, 
 
 Gayly, with joyous laugh, Priscilla mounted her pal 
 frey. 
 
 " Nothing is wanting now," he said with a smile, " but 
 the distaff ; 
 
 Then you would be in truth my queen, my beautiful 
 Bertha ! " 
 
 Onward the bridal procession now moved to their 
 new habitation, 1005 
 
 Happy husband and wife, and friends conversing to 
 gether. 
 
 Pleasantly murmured the brook, as they crossed the 
 ford in the forest, 
 
 Pleased with the image that passed, like a dream of 
 love through its bosom, 
 
 Tremulous, floating in air, o'er the depths of the 
 azure abysses. 
 
 Down through the golden leaves the sun was pouring 
 his splendors, 1010 
 
 Gleaming on purple grapes, that, from branches above 
 them suspended, 
 
 Mingled their odorous breath with the balm of the 
 pine and the fir-tree,
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 171 
 
 Wild and sweet as the clusters that grew in the valley 
 of Eshcol. 
 
 Like a picture it seemed of the primitive, pastoral 
 ages, 
 
 Fresh with the youth of the world, and recalling Re 
 becca and Isaac, iws 
 
 Old and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful 
 always, 
 
 Love immortal and young in the endless succession of 
 lovers. 
 
 So through the Plymouth woods passed onward the 
 bridal procession. 
 
 [Miles Standish was not inconsolable. In the Fortune came a 
 certain Barbara, whose last name is unknown, whom Standish 
 married. He had six children, and many of his descendants are 
 living.]
 
 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 
 
 [THE form of this poem was perhaps suggested by Schiller's 
 Song of the Bell, which, tracing the history of a bell from the 
 first finding of the metal to the hanging of the bell in the tower, 
 so mingles the history of human life with it that the Bell be 
 comes the symbol of humanity. Schiller's poem introduced a 
 new artistic form which has since been copied more than once, 
 but nowhere so successfully as in The Building of the Ship. The 
 changes in the measure mark the quickening or retarding of the 
 thought. The reader will be interested in watching these changes 
 and observing the fitness with which the short Hues express the 
 quicker, more sudden, or hurried action, while the longer ones 
 indicate lingering, moderate action or reflection. The Building 
 of the Ship is the first in a series of poems collected under the 
 general title, By the Seaside, and published in a volume entitled, 
 The Seaside and the Fireside, Boston, 1850.] 
 
 " BUILD me straight, O worthy Master ! 
 
 Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel, 
 That shall laugh at all disaster, 
 
 And with wave and whirlwind wrestle I " 
 
 The merchant's word 
 
 Delighted the Master heard; 
 
 For his heart was in his work, and the heart 
 
 Giveth grace unto every Art. 
 
 A quiet smile played round his lips, 
 As the eddies and dimples of the tide 
 Play round the bows of ships,
 
 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 173 
 
 That steadily at anchor ride. 
 
 And with a voice that was full of glee, 
 
 He answered, " Ere long we will launch 
 
 A vessel as goodly, and strong, and stanch, is 
 
 As ever weathered a wintry sea! " 
 
 And first with nicest skill and art, 
 
 Perfect and finished in every part, 
 
 A little model the Master wrought, 
 
 Which should be to the larger plan 
 
 What the child is to the man, 
 
 Its counterpart in miniature ; 
 
 That with a hand more swift and sure 
 
 The greater labor might be brought 
 
 To answer to his inward thought. 25 
 
 And as he labored, his mind ran o'er 
 
 The various ships that were built of yore, 
 
 And above them all, and strangest of all, 
 
 Towered the Great Harry, crank and tall, 
 
 29. The Great Harry was a famous ship built for the English 
 navy in the reign of King Henry VII. Henry found the small 
 navy left by Edward IV. in a very weak condition, and he under 
 took to reconstruct it. The most famous ship in Edward's navy 
 was named Grace a Dieu and Henry named his Harry Grace a 
 Dieu, but she was more generally known as the Great Harry. 
 On the accession of Henry VIII. her name was changed to the 
 Regent, but when a. few years afterward she was burnt in an 
 engagement with the French, the ship built in her place resumed 
 the old name and became a second Great Harry. It was this 
 ship that the poet describes. She was a thousand tons burden, 
 which was regarded as an immense size in those days, and her 
 crew and armanent were out of all proportion, as we should think 
 now. She carried seven hundred men, and a hundred and twenty- 
 two guns, but of these most were very small. Thirty-four were 
 eighteen pounders, and were called culverins. There were also 
 demi-culverius, or nine pounders, while the rest only carried one 
 or two pounds and were variously named falcons, falconets, ser 
 pentines, sabinets.
 
 174 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Whose picture was hanging on the wall, 39 
 
 With bows and stern raised high in air, 
 
 And balconies hanging here and there, 
 
 And signal lanterns and flags afloat, 
 
 And eight round towers, like those that frown 
 
 From some old castle, looking down 35 
 
 Upon the drawbridge and the moat. 
 
 And he said with a smile, " Our ship, I wis, 
 
 Shall be of another form than this ! " 
 
 It was of another form, indeed ; 
 
 Built for freight, and yet for speed, 
 
 A beautiful and gallant craft ; 
 
 Broad in the beam, that the stress of the blast, 
 
 Pressing down upon sail and mast, 
 
 Might not the sharp bows overwhelm ; 
 
 Broad in the beam, but sloping aft 45 
 
 With graceful curve and slow degrees, 
 
 That she might be docile to the helm, 
 
 And that the currents of parted seas, 
 
 Closing behind, with mighty force, 
 
 Might aid and not impede her course. 
 
 In the ship-yard stood the Master, 
 
 With the model of the vessel, 
 That should laugh at all disaster, 
 
 And with wave and whirlwind wrestle ! 
 
 Covering many a rood of ground, 55 
 
 Lay the timber piled around ; 
 
 Timber of chestnut, and elm, and oak, 
 
 And scattered here and there, with these, 
 
 The knarred and crooked cedar knees ; 
 
 Brought from regions far away,
 
 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 175 
 
 From Pascagoula's sunny bay, 
 
 And the banks of the roaring Roanoke ! 
 
 Ah ! what a wondrous thing it is 
 
 To note how many wheels of toil 
 
 One thought, one word, can set in motion ! 
 
 There 's not a ship that sails the ocean, 
 
 But every climate, every soil, 
 
 Must bring its tribute, great or small, 
 
 And help to build the wooden wall ! 
 
 The sun was rising o'er the sea, TO 
 
 And long the level shadows lay, 
 
 As if they, too, the beams would be 
 
 Of some great, airy argosy, 
 
 Framed and launched in a single day. 
 
 That silent architect, the sun, 75 
 
 Had hewn and laid them every one, 
 
 69. The wooden watt is of course the ship. The reference is 
 to a proverbial expression of very ancient date. When the 
 Greeks sent to Delphi to ask how they were to defend them 
 selves against Xerxes, who had invaded their country, the oracle 
 replied : 
 
 " Pallas hath urged, and Zeus the sire of all 
 Hath safety promised in a wooden wall ; 
 Seed-time and harvest, weeping sires shall tell 
 How thousands fought at Salamis and fell." 
 
 The Greeks interpreted this as a caution to trust in their navy, 
 and the battle at Salamis resulted in the overthrow of the Per 
 sians and discomfiture of their fleet. 
 
 73. A richly freighted ship. The word is formed from Argo, 
 the name of the fabled ship which brought back the golden fleece 
 from Colchis. Shakespeare uses the word : as in The Taming 
 
 \>f the Shrew : 
 
 " That she shall have ; besides an argosy 
 That now is lying in Marseilles' road." 
 
 Act n. Scene 1. 
 And in The Merchant of Venice : 
 
 " He hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies ; I understand 
 Moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for Enfrlaiul." 
 
 Act I. Scene 3.
 
 176 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Ere the work of man was yet begun. 
 
 Beside the Master, when he spoke, 
 
 A youth, against an anchor leaning, 
 
 Listened, to catch his slightest meaning. 
 
 Only the long waves, as they broke 
 
 In ripples on the pebbly beach, 
 
 Interrupted the old man's speech. 
 
 Beautiful they were, in sooth, 
 
 The old man and the fiery youth ! 8* 
 
 The old man, in whose busy brain 
 Many a ship that sailed the main 
 Was modelled o'er and o'er again ; 
 The fiery youth, who was to be 
 The heir of his dexterity, so 
 
 The heir of his house, and his daughter's hand, 
 When he had built and launched from land 
 What the elder head had planned. 
 4 ' Thus," said he, " will we build this ship ! 
 Lay square the blocks upon the slip, 95 
 
 And follow well this plan of mine. 
 
 87. The main is the great ocean as distinguished from the 
 bays, gulfs, and inlets. Curiously enough, it means also the 
 main-land, and was used in both senses by Elizabethan writers. 
 In King Lear, Act III. Scene 1 : 
 
 " Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, 
 Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main " 
 
 some commentators take main to be the main-land, but a better 
 sense seems to refer it to the open sea when a storm is raging. 
 Yet the name of Spanish Main was givpn to the northern coast 
 of South America when that country was taken possession of by 
 Spain. 
 
 95. The slip is the inclined bank on which the ship is built. A 
 similar meaning attaches to the use of the word locally in Xew 
 York, where Peck Slip, Coenties Slip, Burling Slip, originally 
 denoted the inclined openings between wharves.
 
 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 177 
 
 Choose the timbers with greatest care ; 
 
 Of all that is unsound beware ; 
 
 For only what is sound and strong 
 
 To this vessel shall belong. io 
 
 Cedar of Maine and Georgia pine 
 
 Here together shall combine. 
 
 A goodly frame, and a goodly fame, 
 
 And the UNION be her name ! 
 
 For the day that gives her to the sea 103 
 
 Shall give my daughter unto thee ! " 
 
 The Master's word 
 
 Enraptured the young man heard ; 
 
 And as he turned his face aside, 
 
 With a look of joy and a thrill of pride, n 
 
 Standing before 
 
 Her father's door, 
 
 He saw the form of his promised bride. 
 
 The sun shone on her golden hair, 
 
 And her cheek was glowing fresh and fair, us 
 
 With the breath of morn and tho soft sea air. 
 
 Like a beauteous barge was she, 
 
 Still at rest on the sandy beach, 
 
 Just beyond the billow's reach ; 
 
 But he i2fl 
 
 Was the restless, seething, stormy sea ! 
 
 Ah, how skilful grows the hand 
 That obeyeth Love's command ! 
 
 101. Here, as was noted in Schiller's Song of the Bell, Hie poet 
 touches the ship with a special human interest, and, by his refer 
 ence to Maine cedar and Georgia pine, half reveals the larger 
 and wider sense of the building of the ship, which is disclosed at 
 the end of the poem.
 
 178 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 It is the heart, and not the brain, 
 
 That to the highest doth attain, in 
 
 And he who followeth Love's behest 
 
 Far excelleth all the rest ! 
 
 Thus with the rising of the sun 
 
 Was the noble task begun, 
 
 And soon throughout the ship-yard's bounds 130 
 
 Were heard the intermingled sounds 
 
 Of axes and of mallets, plied 
 
 With vigorous arms on every side ; 
 
 Plied so deftly and so well, 
 
 That, ere the shadows of evening fell, its 
 
 The keel of oak for a noble ship, 
 
 Scarfed and bolted, straight and strong, 
 
 Was lying ready, and stretched along 
 
 The blocks, well placed upon the slip. 
 
 Happy, thrice happy, every one ui 
 
 Who sees his labor well begun, 
 
 And not perplexed and multiplied, 
 
 By idly waiting for time and tide ! 
 
 And when the hot, long day was o'er, 
 
 The young man at the Master's door i 
 
 Sat with the maiden calm and still. 
 
 And within the porch, a little more 
 
 Removed beyond the evening chill, 
 
 The father sat, and told them tales 
 
 Of wrecks in the great September gales, w* 
 
 Of pirates coasting the Spanish Main, 
 
 And ships that never came back again, 
 
 151. See note to line 87. Here the Spanish Main is tised, 
 as was most anciently the custom, of the northern coast of South
 
 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 
 
 The chance and change of a sailor's life, 
 
 Want and plenty, rest and strife, 
 
 His roving fancy, like the wind, i& 
 
 That nothing can stay and nothing can bind, 
 
 And the .magic charm of foreign lands, 
 
 With shadows of palms, and shining sands, 
 
 Where the tumbling surf, 
 
 O'er the coral reefs of Madagascar, lee 
 
 Washes the feet of the swarthy Lascar, 
 
 As he lies alone and asleep on the turf. 
 
 And the trembling maiden held her breath 
 
 At the tales of that awful, pitiless sea, 
 
 With all its terror and mystery, 165 
 
 The dim, dark sea, so like unto Death, 
 
 That divides and yet unites mankind ! 
 
 And whenever the old man paused, a gleam 
 
 From the bowl of his pipe would awhile illume 
 
 The silent group in the twilight gloom, i?c 
 
 And thoughtful faces, as in a dream ; 
 
 And for a moment one might mark 
 
 What had been hidden by the dark, 
 
 That the head of the maiden lay at rest, 
 
 Tenderly, on the young man's breast ! m 
 
 Day by day the vessel grew, 
 
 With timbers fashioned strong and true, 
 
 America. This is probably also the sense in The Wreck of tin 
 
 Hesperus : 
 
 " Then up and spake an old Sailor, 
 Had sailed to the Spanish Main, 
 1 1 pray thee put into yonder port, 
 For I fear a hurricane.' " 
 
 153. " That among all the changes and chances of this mortal 
 life, they may ever be defended by Thy most gracious and ready 
 help." From a Collect in the Communion office, Book of Com 
 mon Prayer.
 
 180 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW- 
 
 Stemson and keelson and sternson-knee, 
 
 Till, framed with perfect symmetry, 
 
 A skeleton ship rose up to view ! ia 
 
 And around the bows and along the side 
 
 The heavy hammers and mallets plied, 
 
 Till after many a week, at length, 
 
 Wonderful for form and strength, 
 
 Sublime in its enormous bulk, IBS 
 
 Loomed aloft the shadowy hulk ! 
 
 And around it columns of smoke, upwreathing, 
 
 Rose from the boiling, bubbling, seething 
 
 Cauldron, that glowed, 
 
 And overflowed 131 
 
 With the black tar, heated for the sheathing. 
 
 And amid the clamors 
 
 Of clattering hammers, 
 
 He who listened heard now and then 
 
 The song of the Master and his men : m 
 
 " Build me straight, O worthy Master, 
 Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel, 
 That shall laugh at all disaster, 
 
 And with wave and whirlwind wrestle ! " 
 
 With oaken brace and copper band, 201 
 
 Lay the rudder on the sand, 
 
 That, like a thought, should have control 
 
 Over the movement of the whole ; 
 
 And near it the anchor, whose giant hand 
 
 Would reach down and grapple with the land, aos 
 
 And immovable and fast 
 
 Hold the great ship against the bellowing blast 1 
 
 And at the bows an image stood, 
 
 By a cunning artist carved in wood,
 
 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 181 
 
 With robes of white, that far behind 210 
 
 Seemed to be fluttering in the wind. 
 
 It was not shaped in a classic mould, 
 
 Not like a Nymph or Goddess of old, 
 
 Or Naiad rising from the water, 
 
 But modelled from the Master's daughter ! 215 
 
 On many a dreary and misty night, 
 
 'T will be seen by the rays of the signal light, 
 
 Speeding along through the rain and the dark, 
 
 Like a ghost in its snow-white sark, 
 
 The pilot of some phantom bark, 220 
 
 Guiding the vessel, in its flight, 
 
 By a path none other knows aright ! 
 
 Behold, at last, 
 
 Each tall and tapering mast 
 
 Is swung into its place ; 225 
 
 214. Strictly speaking, the Naiad was a nymph, the nymphs 
 being the inferior order of deities that were supposed to reside 
 in different parts of nature, naiads in the sea, dryads in trees, 
 oreads in mountains. 
 
 215. Hawthorne has a charming story upon the romance of a 
 figure-head in Drowne's Wooden Image, in Mosses from an Old 
 Manse. 
 
 219. Sarks or shifts were made first of silk, whence the name, 
 derived from the Latin sericum, silk. 
 
 225. Mr. Longfellow prints the following note to this and the 
 two preceding lines : " I wish to anticipate a criticism on this 
 passage by stating that sometimes, though not usually, vessels 
 are launched fully rigged and sparred. I have availed myself 
 of the exception, as better suited to my purposes than the gen 
 eral rule ; but the reader will see that it is neither a blunder nor 
 a poetic license. On this subject a friend in Portland, Maine, 
 writes me thus : ' In this State, and also, I am told, in New 
 York, ships are sometimes rigged upon the stocks, in order to 
 save time, or to make a show. There was a fine, large ship 
 launched last summer at Ellsworth, fully rigged and sparred. 
 Borne years ago a ship was launched here, with her rigging,
 
 182 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Shrouds and stays 
 Holding it firm and fast ! 
 
 Long ago, 
 
 In the deer-haunted forests of Maine, 
 
 When upon mountain and plain ss 
 
 Lay the snow, 
 
 They fell, those lordly pines ! 
 
 Those grand, majestic pines! 
 
 'Mid shouts and cheers 
 
 The jaded steers, zss 
 
 Panting beneath the goad, 
 
 Dragged down the weary, winding road 
 
 Those captive kings so straight and tall, 
 
 To be shorn of their streaming hair, 
 
 And, naked and bare, t 
 
 To feel the stress and the strain 
 
 Of the wind and the reeling main, 
 
 Whose roar 
 
 Would remind them forevermore 
 
 Of their native forests they should not see again. 245 
 
 And everywhere 
 
 The slender, graceful spars 
 
 Poise aloft in the air, 
 
 And at the mast-head, 
 
 White, blue, and red, 2s 
 
 A flag unrolls the stripes and stars. 
 
 Ah ! when the wanderer, lonely, friendless, 
 
 In foreign harbors shall behold 
 
 That flag unrolled, 
 
 'T will be as a friendly hand 25* 
 
 spars, sails, and cargo aboard. She sailed the next day and was 
 never heard of again ! I hope this will not be the fate of your 
 poem ! ' "
 
 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 183 
 
 Stretched out from his native land, 
 
 Filling his heart with memories sweet and endless t 
 
 All is finished ! and at length 
 
 Has come the bridal day 
 
 Of beauty and of strength. tw 
 
 To-day the vessel shall be launched ! 
 
 With fleecy clouds the sky is blanched, 
 
 And o'er the bay, 
 
 Slowly, in all his splendors dight, 
 
 The great sun rises to behold the sight. w 
 
 The ocean old, 
 
 Centuries old, 
 
 Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled, 
 
 Paces restless to and fro, 
 
 Up and down the sands of gold. *n 
 
 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, aao 
 
 Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending, 
 
 Round her like a veil descending, 
 
 Ready to be 
 
 The bride of the gray old sea. 
 
 266. This and the next eighteen lines illustrate well the skill 
 with which the poet changes the length of the lines to denote an 
 impatient, abrupt, and as it were short breathing movement.
 
 184 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 On the deck another bride 28i 
 
 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. o 
 
 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, 295 
 
 Kisses his daughter's glowing cheek 
 In silence, for he cannot speak, 
 And ever faster 
 
 Down his own the tears begin to run. 
 The worthy pastor soo 
 
 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, sos 
 
 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, 310 
 
 All its shallows and rocky reefs, 
 All those secret currents, that flow 
 With such resistless undertow, 
 And lift and drift, with terrible force, 
 The will from its moorings and its course. sis 
 
 Therefore he spake, and thus said he : 
 '* Like unto ships far off at sea,
 
 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 185 
 
 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, 225 
 
 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, ass 
 
 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, MO 
 
 With a gesture of command, 
 
 Waved his hand ; 
 
 And at the word, 
 
 Loud and sudden there was heard, 
 
 All around them and below, MS 
 
 The sound of hammers, blow on blow, 
 
 337. The Fortunate Isles, or Isles of the Blest, were imagi 
 nary islands in the West, in classic mythology, set in a sea 
 which was warmed by the rays of the declining sun. Thither 
 the favorites of the gods were borne, to dwell in endless joy.
 
 186 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
 
 Knocking away the shores and spurs. 
 
 And see ! she stirs ! 
 
 She starts, she moves, she seems to feel 
 
 The thrill of life aloug 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, SM 
 
 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 m 
 
 She lies within those arms, that press 
 
 Her form with many a soft caress 
 
 Of tenderness and watchful care ! 
 
 Sail forth into the sea, O ship ! 
 
 Through wind and wave, right onward steer ! ^ 
 
 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 n 
 
 Something immortal still survives J
 
 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 187 
 
 Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State ! 
 
 Sail on, O UNION, strong and great ! 
 
 Humanity with all its fears, 
 
 With all the hopes of future years, sso 
 
 Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! 
 
 We know what Master laid thy keel, 
 
 What Workman wrought thy ribs of steel, 
 
 Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, 
 
 What anvils rang, what hammers beat, sas 
 
 In what a forge and what a heat 
 
 Were shaped the anchors of thy hope ! 
 
 Fear not each sudden sound and shock, 
 
 'T is of the wave and not the rock ; 
 
 'T is but the flapping of the sail, 390 
 
 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, s 
 
 Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, 
 
 Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, 
 
 Are all with thee, are all with thee ! 
 
 393. The reference is to the treacherous display, by wreck 
 ers, of lights upon a dangerous coast, to attract vessels in a 
 storm, that they may be wrecked and become the spoil of the 
 thieves. 
 
 398. The closing lines gather into strong verses, like a choral, 
 the cumulative meaning of the poem, which builds upon the ma 
 terial structure of the ship, the fancy of the bridal of sea and 
 ship, the domestic life of man and the national life. 
 
 [Mr. Noah Brooks, in his paper on Lincoln's Imagination 
 (Scribner's Monthly, August, 1879), mentions that he found the 
 President one day attracted by these closing stanzas, which were
 
 188 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 quoted in a political speech : " Knowing the whole poem," he 
 adds, " as one of my early exercises in recitation, I began, at his 
 request, with the description of the launch of the ship, and re 
 peated it to the end. As he listened to the last lines [395-398], 
 his eyes filled with tears, and his cheeks were wet. He did not 
 speak for some minutes, but finally said, with simplicity : ' It 
 is a wonderful gift to be able to stir men like that.' "J
 
 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 JOHN GREENLEAF "WHITTIER, of Quaker birth in Puri 
 tan surroundings, was born at the homestead near Haver- 
 hill, Massachusetts, December 17, 1807. Until his eigh 
 teenth year he lived at home, working upon the farm and in 
 the little shoemaker's shop which nearly every farm then had 
 as a resource in the otherwise idle hours of winter. The 
 manual, homely labor upon which he was employed was in 
 part the foundation of that deep interest which the poet 
 never has ceased to take in the toil and plain fortunes of the 
 people. Throughout his poetry runs this golden thread of 
 sympathy with honorable labor and enforced poverty, and 
 many poems are directly inspired by it. While at work 
 with his father he sent poems to the Haverh ill Gazette, and 
 that he was not in subjection to his work is very evident by 
 the fact that he translated it and similar occupations into 
 Songs of Labor. He had two years' academic training, and 
 in 1829 became editor in Boston of the American Manu 
 facturer, a piper published in the interest of the tariff. In 
 1831 he published his Legends of New England, prose 
 sketches in a department of literature which has always 
 had strong claims upon his interest. No American writer, 
 unless Irving be excepted, has done so much to throw a 
 graceful veil of poetry and legend over the country of his 
 daily life. Essex County, in Massachusetts, and the beaches 
 fying between Newburyport and Portsmouth blossom with 
 flowers of Whittier's planting. He has made rare use of
 
 190 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 the homely stories which he had heard in his childhood, and 
 learned afterward from familiar intercourse with country 
 people, and he has himself used invention delicately and in 
 harmony with the spirit of the New England coast. Al 
 though of a body of men who in earlier days had been perse 
 cuted by the Puritans of New England, his generous mind 
 has not failed to detect all the good that was in the stern 
 creed and life of the persecutors, and to bring it forward into 
 the light of his poetry. 
 
 In 1836 he published Mogg Megone, a poem which stood 
 first in the collected edition of his poems issued in 1857, and 
 was admitted there with some reluctance by the author, who 
 placed it in an appendix when he made his final Riverside 
 edition in 1888. In that and the Bridal of Pennacook he 
 draws his material from the relation held between the Indi 
 ans and the settlers. His sympathy was always with the 
 persecuted and oppressed, and while historically he found 
 an object of pity and self-reproach in the Indian, his pro- 
 foundest compassion and most stirring indignation were 
 called out by African slavery. From the earliest he was 
 upon the side of the abolition party. Year after year 
 poems fell from his pen in which with all the eloquence of 
 his nature he sought to enlist his countrymen upon the side 
 of emancipation and freedom. It is not too much to say 
 that in the slow development of public sentiment Whittier's 
 steady song was one of the most powerful advocates that 
 the slave had, all the more powerful that it was free from 
 malignity or unjust accusation. 
 
 Whittier's poems have been issued in a number of small 
 volumes, and collected into single larger volumes. Besides 
 those already indicated, there are a number which owe their 
 origin to his tender regard for domestic life and the simple 
 experience of the men and women about him. Of these 
 Snow-Boimd is the most memorable. Then his fondness for 
 a story has led him to use the ballad form in many cases, 
 and Mabel Martin is one of a number, in which the narra 
 tive is blended with a fine and strong charity. The catholic
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 191 
 
 mind of this writer and his instinct for discovering the pure 
 moral in human action are disclosed by a number of poems, 
 drawn from a wide range of historical fact, dealing with a 
 great variety of religious faiths and circumstances of life, 
 but always pointing to some sweet and strong truth of the 
 divine life. Of such are The Brother of Mercy, The Gift of 
 Tritemius, The Two Rabbis, and others. "Whittier's Prose 
 Works are comprised in three volumes, and consist mainly 
 of his contributions to journals and of Leaves from Mar 
 garet Smith's Journal, a fictitious diary of a visitor to New- 
 England in 1678. His complete works are published in 
 seven volumes, four devoted to poetry and three to prose. 
 A convenient edition of the complete poetical works is the 
 Cambridge Edition in one volume. 
 
 Whittier died at Hampton Falls, New Hampshire, in the 
 heart of the country of which he had sung, September 7, 
 1892, in the eighty -fifth year of his age.
 
 SNOW-BOUND. 
 
 A WINTER IDYL. 
 
 " As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so good 
 Spirits which be Angels of Light are augmented not only by the 
 Divine light of the Sun, but also by our common Wood fire : 
 and as the Celestial Fire drives away dark spirits, so also this 
 our Fire of Wood doth the same." Con. AGKIPPA, Occult 
 Philosophy, Book I. ch. v. 
 
 " Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, 
 Arrives the snow ; and, driving o'er the fields, 
 Seems nowhere to alight ; the whited air 
 Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven, 
 And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. 
 The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet 
 Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit 
 Around the radiant fireplace, inclosed 
 In a tumultuous privacy of storm." 
 
 EMEBSON, The Snow-Storm. 
 
 THE sun that brief December day 
 
 Rose cheerless over hills of gray, 
 
 And, darkly circled, gave at noon 
 
 A sadder light than waning moon. 
 
 Slow tracing down the thickening sky 
 
 Its mute and ominous prophecy, 
 
 A portent seeming less than threat, 
 
 It sank from sight before it set. 
 
 A chill no coat, however stout, 
 
 Of homespun stuff could quite shut out,
 
 SNOW-BOUND. 193 
 
 A hard, dull bitterness of cold, 
 
 That checked, mid-vein, the circling race 
 Of life-blood in the sharpened face, 
 
 The coming of the snow-storm told. 
 
 The wind blew east ; we heard the roar 
 
 Of Ocean on his wintry shore, 
 
 And felt the strong pulse throbbing there 
 
 Beat with low rhythm our inland air. 
 
 Meanwhile we did our nightly chores, 
 
 Brought in the wood from out of doors, ao 
 
 Littered the stalls, and from the mows 
 
 Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows : 
 
 Heard the horse whinnying for his corn; 
 
 And, sharply clashing horn on horn, 
 
 Impatient down the stanchion rows 
 
 The cattle shake their walnut bows ; 
 
 While, peering from his early perch 
 
 Upon the scaffold's pole of birch, 
 
 The cock his crested helmet bent 
 
 And down his querulous challenge sent. * 
 
 Unwarmed by any sunset light 
 
 The gray day darkened into night, 
 
 A night made hoary with the swarm 
 
 And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, 
 
 As zigzag wavering to and fro is 
 
 Crossed and recrossed the winged snow: 
 
 And ere the early bedtime came 
 
 The white drift piled the window-frame, 
 
 And through the glass the clothes-line posts 
 
 Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. 
 
 So all night long the storm roared on : 
 The morning broke without a sun;
 
 194 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 In tiny spherule traced with lines 
 
 Of Nature's geometric signs, 
 
 In starry flake and pellicle it 
 
 All day the hoary meteor fell ; 
 
 And, when the second morning shone, 
 
 We looked upon a world unknown, 
 
 On nothing we could call our own. 
 
 Around the glistening wonder bent 6* 
 
 The blue walls of the firmament, 
 
 No cloud above, no earth below, 
 
 A universe of sky and snow ! 
 
 The old familiar sights of ours 
 
 Took marvellous shapes ; strange domes and towers 
 
 Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, 66 
 
 Or garden-wall, or belt of wood ; 
 
 A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, 
 
 A fenceless drift what once was road ; 
 
 The bridle-post an old man sat eo 
 
 With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat ; 
 
 The well-curb had a Chinese roof ; 
 
 And even the long sweep, high aloof, 
 
 In its slant splendor, seemed to tell 
 
 Of Pisa's leaning miracle. & 
 
 A prompt, decisive man, no breath 
 Our father wasted : " Boys, a path ! " 
 
 65. The Leaning Tower of Pisa, in Italy, which inclines from 
 the perpendicular a little more than six feet in eighty, is a cam 
 panile, or bell-tower, built of white marble, very beautiful, but 
 so famous for its singular deflection from perpendicularity as to 
 be known almost wholly as a curiosity. Opinions differ as to 
 the leaning being the result of accident or design, but the better 
 judgment makes it an effect of the character of the soil on 
 which it is built. The Cathedral to which it belongs has suf- 
 furcd so much from a similar cause that there is not a vertical 
 line in it
 
 SNOW-BOUND. 195 
 
 Well pleased, (for when did farmer boy 
 
 Count such a summons less than joy ?) 
 
 Our buskins on our feet we drew ; 70 
 
 With mittened hands, and caps drawn low 
 To guard our necks and ears from snow, 
 
 We cut the solid whiteness through. 
 
 And, where the drift was deepest, made 
 
 A tunnel walled and overlaid 
 
 With dazzling crystal : we had read 
 
 Of rare Aladdin's wondrous cave, 
 
 And to our own his name we gave, 
 
 With many a wish the luck were ours 
 
 To test his lamp's supernal powers. > 
 
 We reached the barn with merry din, 
 
 And roused the prisoned brutes within. 
 
 The old horse thrust his long head out, 
 
 And grave with wonder gazed about ; 
 
 The cock his lusty greeting said, 
 
 And forth his speckled harem led ; 
 
 The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked, 
 
 And mild reproach of hunger looked ; 
 
 The horned patriarch of the sheep, 
 
 Like Egypt's Amun roused from sleep, w 
 
 Shook his sage head with gesture mute, 
 
 And emphasized with stamp of foot. 
 
 All day the gusty north-wind bore 
 
 The loosening drift its breath before ; 
 
 Low circling round its southern zone, 95 
 
 The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. 
 
 No church-bell lent its Christian tone 
 
 90. Amun, or Ammon, was an Egyptian being, representing 
 i attribute of Deity under tne form of a ram.
 
 196 JOHN GREEN LEAF WHIT TIER. 
 
 To the savage air, no social smoke 
 
 Curled over woods of snow-hung oak. 
 
 A solitude made more intense KM 
 
 By dreary- voiced elements, 
 
 The shrieking of the mindless wind, 
 
 The moaning tree-boughs swaying blind, 
 
 And on the glass the unmeaning beat 
 
 Of ghostly finger-tips of sleet. /W5 
 
 Beyond the circle of our hearth 
 
 No welcome sound of toil or mirth 
 
 Unbound the spell, and testified 
 
 Of human life and thought outside. 
 
 We minded that the sharpest ear 110 
 
 The buried brooklet could not hear, 
 
 The music of whose liquid lip 
 
 Had been to us companionship, 
 
 And, in our lonely life, had grown 
 
 To have an almost human tone. ns 
 
 As night drew on, and, from the crest 
 
 Of wooded knolls that ridged the west, 
 
 The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank 
 
 From sight beneath the smothering bank, 
 
 "We piled with care our nightly stack 120 
 
 Of wood against the chimney-back, 
 
 The oaken log, green, huge, and thick, 
 
 And on its top the stout back-stick ; 
 
 The knottj 7 forestick laid apart, 
 
 And filled between with curious art ia 
 
 The ragged brush ; then, hovering near, 
 
 We watched the first red blaze appear, 
 
 Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam 
 
 On whitewashed wall and sagging beam, 
 
 Until the old, rude-furnished room m
 
 SNOW-BOUND. 197 
 
 Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom ; 
 
 While radiant with a mimic flame 
 
 Outside the sparkling drift became, 
 
 And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree 
 
 Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free. w 
 
 The crane and pendent trammels showed, 
 
 The Turk's heads on the andirons glowed ; 
 
 While childish fancy, prompt to tell 
 
 The meaning of the miracle, 
 
 Whispered the old rhyme : " Under the tree i 
 
 When fire outdoors burns merrily ', 
 
 There the witches are making tea" 
 
 The moon above the eastern wood 
 
 Shone at its full ; the hill-range stood 
 
 Transfigured in the silver flood, itt 
 
 Its blown snows flashing cold and keen, 
 
 Dead white, save where some sharp ravine 
 
 Took shadow, or the sombre green 
 
 Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black 
 
 Against the whiteness at their back. i 
 
 For such a world and such a night 
 
 Most fitting that unwarming light, 
 
 Which only seemed where'er it fell 
 
 To make the coldness visible. 
 
 Shut in from all the world without, 1* 
 
 We sat the clean-winged hearth about, 
 
 Content to let the north-wind roar 
 
 In baffled rage at pane and door, 
 
 While the red logs before us beat 
 
 The frost-line back with tropic heat ; MB 
 
 And ever, when a louder blast 
 
 Shook beam and rafter as it passed,
 
 198 JOHN GREENLEAF WHIT TIER. 
 
 The merrier up its roaring draught 
 
 The great throat of the chimney laughed, 
 
 The house-dog on his paws outspread ttfc 
 
 Laid to the fire his drowsy head, 
 
 The cat's dark silhouette on the wall 
 
 A couchant tiger's seemed to fall ; 
 
 And, for the winter fireside meet, 
 
 Between the andirons' straddling feet, tn 
 
 The mug of cider simmered slow, 
 
 The apples sputtered in a row, 
 
 And, close at hand, the basket stood 
 
 With nuts from brown October's wood. 
 
 What matter how the night behaved ? n& 
 
 What matter how the north-wind raved ? 
 
 Blow high, blow low, not all its snow 
 
 Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow. 
 
 O Time and Change ! with hair as gray 
 
 As was my sire's that winter day, ist 
 
 How strange it seems, with so much gone 
 
 Of life and love, to still live on ! 
 
 Ah, brother ! only I and thou 
 
 Are left of all that circle now, 
 
 The dear home faces whereupon iss 
 
 That fitful firelight paled and shone. 
 
 Henceforward, listen as we will, 
 
 The voices of that hearth are still ; 
 
 Look where we may, the wide earth o'er, 
 
 Those lighted faces smile no more. 19 
 
 We tread the paths their feet have worn, 
 We sit beneath their orchard trees, 
 We hear, like them, the hum of bees 
 
 And rustle of the bladed corn ; 
 
 We turn the pages that they read, l
 
 SNOW-BOUND. 19& 
 
 Their written words we linger o'er, 
 But in the sun they cast no shade, 
 No voice is heard, no sign is made, 
 
 No step is on the conscious floor ! 
 Yet Love will dream and Faith will trust m 
 
 (Since He who knows our need is just) 
 That somehow, somewhere, meet we must. 
 Alas for him who never sees 
 The stars shine through his cypress-trees I 
 Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, aoa 
 
 Nor looks to see the breaking day 
 Across the mournful marbles play ! 
 Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, 
 
 The truth to flesh and sense unknown, 
 That^Life is ever lord of Death, no 
 
 And Love can never lose its own ! 
 
 We sped the time with stories old, 
 
 Wrought puzzles out, and riddles told, 
 
 Or stammered from our school-book lore 
 
 '" The chief of Gambia's golden shore.'* tu 
 
 How often since, when all the land 
 
 Was clay in Slavery's shaping hand, 
 
 As if a far-blown trumpet stirred 
 
 The languorous sin-sick air, I heard : 
 
 "Does not the voice of reason cry, 
 
 Claim the first right which Nature gave, 
 from the red scourge of bondage fly, 
 
 Nor deign to live a burdened slave ! " 
 Our father rode again his ride 
 
 215. The first line of one of the stanzas in a poem entitled 
 The African Chief, written by Mrs. Sarah Wentworth Morton, 
 wife of a former attorney-general of Massachusetts. The school- 
 book in which it was printed was Caleb Bingham's The Amen- 
 tan Preceptor.
 
 200 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 On Mernphremagog's wooded side ; i 
 
 Sat down again to moose and samp 
 
 In trapper's hut and Indian camp ; 
 
 Lived o'er the old idyllic ease 
 
 Beneath St. Francois' hemlock-trees; 
 
 Again for him the moonlight shone 280 
 
 On Norman cap and bodiced zone ; 
 
 Again he heard the violin play 
 
 Which led the village dance away, 
 
 And mingled in its merry whirl 
 
 The grandain and the laughing girl. 233 
 
 Or, nearer home, our steps he led 
 
 Where Salisbury's level marshes spread 
 
 Mile-wide as flies the laden bee ; 
 
 Where merry mowers, hale and strong, 
 
 Swept, scythe on scythe, their swaths along a 
 
 The low green prairies of the sea. 
 
 We shared the fishing off Boar's Head, 
 And round the rocky Isles of Shoals 
 The hake-broil on the driftwood coals ; 
 
 The chowder on the sand-beach made, *r 
 
 Dipped by the hungry, steaming hot, 
 
 With spoons of clam-shell from the pot. 
 
 We heard the tales of witchcraft old, 
 
 And dream and sign and marvel told 
 
 To sleepy listeners as they lay a 
 
 Stretched idly on the salted hay, 
 
 Adrift along the winding shores, 
 
 When favoring breezes deigned to blow 
 The square sail of the gundelow, 
 
 And idle lay the useless oars. 25* 
 
 Our mother, while she turned her wheel 
 Or run the new-knit stocking heel,
 
 SNOW-BOUND. 201 
 
 Told how the Indian hordes came down 
 
 At midnight on Cochecho town, 
 
 And how her own great-uncle bore ra 
 
 His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore. 
 
 Recalling, in her fitting phrase, 
 
 So rich and picturesque and free 
 
 (The common unrhymed poetry 
 Of simple life and country ways), 265 
 
 The story of her early days, 
 She made us welcome to her home ; 
 Old hearths grew wide to give us room ; 
 We stole with her a frightened look 
 At the gray wizard's conjuring-book, 870 
 
 The fame whereof went far and wide 
 Through all the simple country-side ; 
 We heard the hawks at twilight play, 
 The boat-horn on Piscataqua, 
 
 The loon's weird laughter far away ; 275 
 
 We fished her little trout-brook, knew 
 What flowers in wood and meadow grew, 
 What sunny hillsides autumn-brown 
 She climbed to shake the ripe nuts down, 
 Saw where in sheltered cove and bay 280 
 
 The duck's black squadron anchored lay, 
 And heard the wild geese calling loud 
 Beneath the gray November cloud. 
 Then, haply, with a look more grave, 
 And soberer tone, some tale she gave ass 
 
 From painful Sewel's ancient tome, 
 
 259. Dover in New Hampshire. 
 
 286. William Sewel was the historian of the Quakers. Charles 
 4*imb seemed to have as good an opinion of the book as Whit- 
 tier. In his essay A Quakers' Meeting, in Essays of Elia, he says : 
 " Reader, if you are not acquainted with it, 1 would recommend
 
 202 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 Beloved in every Quaker home, 
 
 Of faith fire-winged by martyrdom, 
 
 Or Chalkley's Journal, old and quaint, 
 
 Gentlest of skippers, rare sea-saint ! 29* 
 
 Who, when the dreary calms prevailed, 
 
 And water-butt and bread-cask failed, 
 
 And cruel, hungry eyes pursued 
 
 His portly presence, mad for food, 
 
 With dark hints muttered under breath 298 
 
 Of casting lots for life or death, 
 
 to you, above all church-narratives, to read Sewel's History of the 
 Quakers. ... It is far more edifying and affecting than any 
 thing you will read of Wesley or his colleagues." 
 
 289. Thomas Chalkley was an Englishman of Quaker parent 
 age, born in 1675, who travelled extensively as a preacher, and 
 finally made his home in Philadelphia. He died in 1749 ; his 
 Journal was first published in 1747. His own narrative of the 
 incident which the poet relates is as follows : " To stop their mur 
 muring, I told them they should not need to cast lots, which was 
 usual in such cases, which of us should die first, for I would freely 
 offer up my life to do them good. One said, ' God bless you ! 
 I will not eat any of you.' Another said, ' He would rather die 
 before he would eat any of me ; ' and so said several. I can 
 truly say, on that occasion, at that time, my life was not dear to 
 me, and that I was serious and ingenuous in my proposition : and 
 as I was leaning over the side of the vessel, thoughtfully consid 
 ering my proposal to the company, and looking in my mind to 
 Him that made me, a very large dolphin came up towards the 
 top or surface of the water, and looked me in the face ; and I 
 called the people to put a hook into the sea, and take him, for 
 here is one come to redeem me (I said to them). And they put 
 a hook into the sea, and the fish readily took it, and they caught 
 him. He was longer than myself. I think he was about six 
 feet long, and the largest that ever I saw. This plainly showed 
 us that we ought not to distrust the providence of the Almighty. 
 The people were quieted by this act of Providence, and mur 
 mured no more. We caught enough to eat plentifully of, till we 
 got into the capes of Delaware."
 
 SNOW-BOUND. 203 
 
 Offered, if Heaven withheld supplies, 
 
 To be himself the sacrifice. 
 
 Then, suddenly, as if to save 
 
 The good man from his living grave, wo 
 
 A ripple on the water grew, 
 
 A school of porpoise flashed in view. 
 
 "Take, eat," he said, "and be content; 
 
 These fishes in my stead are sent 
 
 By Him who gave the tangled ram m 
 
 To spare the child of Abraham." 
 
 Our uncle, innocent of books, 
 
 Was rich in lore of fields and brooks, 
 
 The ancient teachers never dumb 
 
 Of Nature's unhoused lyceum. sit 
 
 In moons and tides and weather wise, 
 
 He read the clouds as prophecies, 
 
 And foul or fair could well divine, 
 
 By many an occult hint and sign, 
 
 Holding the cunning-warded keys su 
 
 To all the woodcraft mysteries ; 
 
 Himself to Nature's heart so near 
 
 That all her voices in his ear 
 
 Of beast or bird had meanings clear, 
 
 Like Apollonius of old, ao 
 
 Who knew the tales the sparrows told, 
 
 Or Hermes, who interpreted 
 
 310. The measure requires the accent ly'ceum, but in stricter 
 use the accent is lyce'um. 
 
 320. A philosopher born in the first century of the Christian 
 era, of whom many strange stories were told, especially regard 
 ing his converse with birds and animals. 
 
 322. Hermes Trismegistus, a celebrated Egyptian priest and 
 philosopher, to whom was attributed the revival of geometry, 
 arithmetic, and art among the Egyptians. He was little later 
 than Apollonius.
 
 204 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 What the sage cranes of Nilus said ; 
 
 Content to live where life began ; 
 
 A simple, guileless, childlike man, aa 
 
 Strong only on his native grounds, 
 
 The little world of sights and sounds 
 
 Whose girdle was the parish bounds, 
 
 Whereof his fondly partial pride 
 
 The common features magnified, tao 
 
 As Surrey hills to mountains grew 
 
 In White of Selborne's loving view, - 
 
 He told how teal and loon he shot, 
 
 And how the eagle's eggs he got, 
 
 The feats on pond and river done, SK 
 
 The prodigies of rod and gun ; 
 
 Till, warming with the tales he told, 
 
 Forgotten was the outside cold, 
 
 The bitter wind unheeded blew, 
 
 From ripening corn the pigeons flew, sw 
 
 The partridge drummed i' the wood, the mink 
 
 Went fishing down the river-brink. 
 
 In fields with bean or clover gay, 
 
 The woodchuck, like a hermit gray, 
 
 Peered from the doorway of his cell ; us 
 
 The muskrat plied the mason's trade, 
 And tier by tier his mud-walls laid ; 
 And from the shagbark overhead 
 
 The grizzled squirrel dropped his sheD. 
 
 Next, the dear aunt, whose smile of cheer sso 
 
 And voice in dreams I see and hear, 
 
 332. Gilbert White, of Selborue, England, was a clergyman 
 who wrote the Natural History of Selborne, a minute, affection 
 ate, and charming description of what could be seen, as it were, 
 from his own doorstep. The accuracy of his observation and the 
 delightf ulness of his manner have kept the book a classic.
 
 SNOW-BOUND. 205 
 
 The sweetest woman ever Fate 
 
 Perverse denied a household mate, 
 
 Who, lonely, homeless, not the less 
 
 Found peace in love's unselfishness, m 
 
 And welcome whereso'er she went, 
 
 A calm and gracious element, 
 
 Whose presence seemed the sweet income 
 
 And womanly atmosphere of home, 
 
 Called up her girlhood memories, asa 
 
 The huskings and the apple-bees, 
 
 The sleigh-rides and the summer sails, 
 
 Weaving through all the poor details 
 
 And homespun warp of circumstance 
 
 A golden woof-thread of romance. 
 
 For well she kept her genial mood 
 
 And simple faith of maidenhood ; 
 
 Before her still a cloud-land lay, 
 
 The mirage loomed across her way ; 
 
 The morning dew, that dries so soon m 
 
 With others, glistened at her noon ; 
 
 Through years of toil and soil and care, 
 
 From glossy tress to thin gray hair, 
 
 All unprofaned she held apart 
 
 The virgin fancies of the heart. JOT 
 
 Be shame to him of woman born 
 
 Who hath for such but thought of scorn. 
 
 There, too, our elder sister plied 
 
 Her evening task the stand beside ; 
 
 A full, rich nature, free to trust, 
 
 Truthful and almost sternly just, 
 
 Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act, 
 
 And make her generous thought a fact, 
 
 Keeping with many a light disguise
 
 206 JOHN GEEENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 The secret of self-sacrifice. w 
 
 heart sore-tried ! thou hast the best 
 That Heaven itself could give thee, rest, 
 Rest from all bitter thoughts and things 1 
 
 How many a poor one's blessing went 
 With thee beneath the low green tent 390 
 
 Whose curtain never outward swings ! 
 
 As one who held herself a part 
 Of all she saw, and let her heart 
 
 Against the household bosom lean, 
 Upon the motley-braided mat aw 
 
 Our youngest and our dearest sat, 
 Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes, 
 
 Now bathed in the unfading green 
 And holy peace of Paradise. 
 Oh, looking from some heavenly hill, 400 
 
 Or from the shade of saintly palms, 
 
 Or silver reach of river calms, 
 Do those large eyes behold me still? 
 With me one little year ago : 
 The chill weight of the winter snow 405 
 
 For months upon her grave has lain ; 
 And now, when summer south-winds blow 
 
 And brier and harebell bloom again, 
 
 1 tread the pleasant paths we trod, 
 
 I see the violet-sprinkled sod, flf 
 
 Whereon she leaned, too frail and weak 
 
 The hillside flowers she loved to seek, 
 
 Yet following me where'er I went 
 
 With dark eyes full of love's content. 
 
 The birds are glad ; the brier-rose fills <w 
 
 396. Elizabeth H. Whittier, a number of whose poems were 
 Collected by her brother and added to one of his own volumes.
 
 SNOW-BOUND. 207 
 
 The air with sweetness ; all the hills 
 
 Stretch green to June's unclouded sky ; 
 
 But still I wait with ear and eye 
 
 For something gone which should be nigh, 
 
 A loss in all familiar things, v 
 
 In flower that blooms, and bird that sings. 
 
 And yet, dear heart ! remembering thee, 
 
 Am I not richer than of old ? 
 Safe in thy immortality, 
 
 What change can reach the wealth I hold ? 425 
 
 What chance can mar the pearl and gold 
 Thy love hath left in trust with me ? 
 And while in life's late afternoon, 
 
 Where cool and long the shadows grow, 
 I walk to meet the night that soon <M 
 
 Shall shape and shadow overflow, 
 I cannot feel that thou art far, 
 Since near at need the angels are $ 
 And when the sunset gates unbar, 
 
 Shall I not see thee waiting stand, 4 
 
 And, white against the evening star, 
 
 The welcome of thy beckoning hand? 
 
 Brisk wielder of the birch and rule, 
 
 The master of the district school 
 
 Held at the fire his favored place ; 
 
 Its warm glow lit a laughing face 
 
 Fresh-hued and fair, where scarce appeared 
 
 The uncertain prophecy of beard. 
 
 He teased the mitten-blinded cat, 
 
 Played cross-pins on my uncle's hat, < 
 
 Sang songs, and told us what befalls 
 
 In classic Dartmouth's college halls. 
 
 Born the wild Northern hills among,
 
 208 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 From whence his yeoman father wrung 
 
 By patient toil subsistence scant, 4st 
 
 Not competence and yet not want, 
 
 He early gained the power to pay 
 
 His cheerful, self-reliant way ; 
 
 Could doff at ease his scholar's gown 
 
 To peddle wares from town to town ; tfs 
 
 Or through the long vacation's reach 
 
 In lonely lowland districts teach, 
 
 Where all the droll experience found 
 
 At stranger hearths in boarding round, 
 
 The moonlit skater's keen delight, 4#> 
 
 The sleigh-drive through the frosty night, 
 
 The rustic party, with its rough 
 
 Accompaniment of blind-man's-buff, 
 
 And whirling plate, and forfeits paid. 
 
 His winter task a pastime made. us 
 
 Happy the snow-locked homes wherein 
 
 He tuned his merry violin, 
 
 Or played the athlete in the barn, 
 
 Or held the good dame's winding yarn, 
 
 Or mirth-provoking versions told o 
 
 Of classic legends rare and old, 
 
 Wherein the scenes of Greece and Rome 
 
 Had all the commonplace of home, 
 
 And little seemed at best the odds 
 
 'Twixt Yankee pedlers and old gods ; 5 
 
 Where Pindus-born Arachthus took 
 
 The guise of any grist-mill brook, 
 
 And dread Olympus at his will 
 
 476. Pindus is the mountain chain which, running from north 
 to south, nearly bisects Greece. Five rivers take their rise from 
 the central peak, the Aous, the Arachthus, the Haliacmon, the 
 Peneus, and the Achelous.
 
 SNOW-BOUND. 209 
 
 Became a huckleberry hill. 
 
 A careless boy that night he seemed ; *# 
 
 But at his desk he had the look 
 And air of one who wisely schemed, 
 
 And hostage from the future took 
 
 In trained thought and lore of book. 
 Large-brained, clear-eyed, of such as he 485 
 
 Shall Freedom's young apostles be, 
 Who, following in War's bloody trail, 
 Shall every lingering wrong assail ; 
 All chains from limb and spirit strike, 
 Uplift the black and white alike ; 490 
 
 Scatter before their swift advance 
 The darkness and the ignorance, 
 The pride, the lust, the squalid sloth, 
 Which nurtured Treason's monstrous growth, 
 Made murder pastime, and the hell 495 
 
 Of prison-torture possible ; 
 The cruel lie of caste refute, 
 Old forms remould, and substitute 
 For Slavery's lash the freeman's will, 
 For blind routine, wise-handed skill ; ' BOO 
 
 A school-house plant on every hill, 
 Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence 
 The quick wires of intelligence ; 
 Till North and South together brought 
 Shall own the same electric thought, 80S 
 
 In peace a common flag salute, 
 
 And, side by side in labor's free 
 
 And unresentful rivalry, 
 Harvest the fields wherein they fought. 
 
 Another guest that winter night ftt 
 
 Flashed back from lustrous eyes the light.
 
 210 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 Unmarked by time, and yet not youug, 
 
 The honeyed music of her tongue 
 
 And words of meekness scarcely told 
 
 A nature passionate and bold, su 
 
 Strong, self-concentred, spurning guide, 
 
 Its milder features dwarfed beside 
 
 Her unbent will's majestic pride. 
 
 She sat among us, at the best, 
 
 A not unf eared, half- welcome guest, KO 
 
 Rebuking with her cultured phrase 
 
 Our homeliness of words and ways. 
 
 A certain pard-like, treacherous grace 
 
 Swayed the lithe limbs and dropped the lash, 
 Lent the white teeth their dazzling flash ; 525 
 
 And under low brows, black with night, 
 Rayed out at times a dangerous light ; 
 
 The sharp heat-lightnings of her face 
 
 Presaging ill to him whom Fate 
 
 Condemned to share her love or hate. wo 
 
 A woman tropical, intense 
 In thought and act, in soul and sense, 
 She blended in a like degree 
 The vixen and the devotee, 
 Revealing with each freak or feint 535 
 
 The temper of Petruchio's Kate, 
 The raptures of Siena's saint. 
 
 Her tapering hand and rounded wrist 
 
 Had facile power to form a fist ; 
 
 The warm, dark languish of her eyes 541 
 
 Was never safe from wrath's surprise. 
 
 Brows saintly calm and lips devout 
 
 636. See Shakespeare's comedy of the Taming of the Shrew. 
 
 637. St. Catherine of Siena, who is represented as having 
 wonderful visions. She made a vow of silence for three years.
 
 SNOW-BOUND. 211 
 
 Knew every change of scowl and pout ; 
 
 And the sweet voice had notes more high 
 
 And shrill for social battle-cry. 545 
 
 Since then what old cathedral town 
 
 Has missed her pilgrim staff and gown, 
 
 What convent-gate has held its lock 
 
 Against the challenge of her knock! 
 
 Through Smyrna's plague-hushed thoroughfares, w 
 
 Up sea-set Malta's rocky stairs, 
 
 Gray olive slopes of hills that hem 
 
 Thy tombs and shrines, Jerusalem, 
 
 Or startling on her desert throne 
 
 The crazy Queen of Lebanon j 
 
 With claims fantastic as her own, 
 
 Her tireless feet have held their way ; 
 
 And still, unrestful, bowed, and gray, 
 
 She watches under Eastern skies, 
 
 With hope each day renewed and fresh, o 
 
 The Lord's quick coming in the flesh, 
 
 Whereof she dreams and prophesies! 
 
 655. An interesting account of Lady Hester Stanhope, an 
 English gentlewoman who led a singular life on Mount Lebanon 
 in Syria, will be found in Kinglake's Eothen, chapter viii. 
 
 562. This not unfeared, half-welcome guest was Miss Harriet 
 Livermore, daughter of Judge Livermore of New Hampshire. 
 She was a woman of fine powers, but wayward, wild, and enthu 
 siastic. She went on an independent mission to the Western 
 Indians, whom she, in common with some others, believed to be 
 remnants of the lost tribes of Israel. At the time of this narra 
 tive she was about twenty-eight years old, but much of her life 
 afterward was spent in the Orient. She was at one time the 
 companion and friend of Lady Hester Stanhope, but finally 
 quarrelled with her about the use of the holy horses kept in the 
 stable in waiting for the Lord's ride to Jerusalem at the second 
 advent.
 
 212 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 Where'er her troubled path may be, 
 
 The Lord's sweet pity with her go I 
 The outward wayward life we see, MI 
 
 The hidden springs we may not know. 
 Nor is it given us to discern 
 
 What threads the fatal sisters spun, 
 
 Through what ancestral years has run 
 The sorrow with the woman born, sro 
 
 What forged her cruel chain of moods, 
 What set her feet in solitudes, 
 
 And held the love within her mute, 
 What mingled madness in the blood, 
 
 A lifelong discord and annoy, sn 
 
 Water of tears with oil of joy, 
 And hid within the folded bud 
 
 Perversities of flower and fruit. 
 It is not ours to separate 
 
 The tangled skein of will and fate, SBO 
 
 To show what metes and bounds should stand 
 Upon the soul's debatable land, 
 And between choice and Providence 
 Divide the circle of events ; 
 
 But He who knows our frame is just, 585 
 
 Merciful and compassionate, 
 And full of sweet assurances 
 And hope for all the language is, 
 
 That He remembereth we are dust I 
 
 At last the great logs, crumbling low, oat 
 
 Sent out a dull and duller glow, 
 
 The bull's-eye watch that hung in view, 
 
 Ticking its weary circuit through, 
 
 Pointed with mutely-warning sign 
 
 Its black hand to the hour of nine. M
 
 SNOW-BOUND. 213 
 
 That sign the pleasant circle broke : 
 
 My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke, 
 
 Knocked from its bowl the refuse gray, 
 
 And laid it tenderly away, 
 
 Then roused himself to safely cover eec 
 
 The dull red brands with ashes over. 
 
 And while, with care, our mother laid 
 
 The work aside, her steps she stayed 
 
 One moment, seeking to express 
 
 Her grateful sense of happiness cos 
 
 For food and shelter, warmth and health, 
 
 And love's contentment more than wealth, 
 
 With simple wishes (not the weak, 
 
 Vain prayers which no fulfilment seek, 
 
 But such as warm the generous heart, no 
 
 O'er-prompt to do with Heaven its part) 
 
 That none might lack, that bitter night, 
 
 For bread and clothing, warmth and light. 
 
 Within our beds awhile we heard 
 
 The wind that round the gables roared, as 
 
 With now and then a ruder shock, 
 
 Which made our very bedsteads rock. 
 
 We heard the loosened clapboards tost, 
 
 The board-nails snapping in the frost ; 
 
 And on us, through the unplastered wall, co 
 
 Felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall. 
 
 But sleep stole on, as sleep will do 
 
 When hearts are light and life is new ; 
 
 Faint and more faint the murmurs grew, 
 
 Till in the summer-land of dreams 625 
 
 They softened to the sound of streams, 
 
 Low stir of leaves, and dip of oars, 
 
 And lapsing waves on quiet shores.
 
 214 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 Next morn we wakened with the shout 
 
 Of merry voices high and clear ; ex 
 
 And saw the teamsters drawing near 
 
 To break the drifted highways out. 
 
 Down the long hillside treading slow 
 
 We saw the half-buried oxen go, 
 
 Shaking the snow from heads uptost, s 
 
 Their straining nostrils white with frost. 
 
 Before our door the straggling train 
 
 Drew up, an added team to gain. 
 
 The elders threshed their hands a-cold, 
 
 Passed, with the cider-mug, their jokes wo 
 
 From lip to lip ; the younger folks 
 
 Down the loose snow-banks, wrestling, rolled, 
 
 Then toiled again the cavalcade 
 
 O'er windy hill, through clogged ravine, 
 
 And woodland paths that wound between e 
 
 Low drooping pine-boughs winter-weighed. 
 
 From every barn a team afoot, 
 
 At every house a new recruit, 
 
 Where, drawn by Nature's subtlest law, 
 
 Haply the watchful young men saw cse 
 
 Sweet doorway pictures of the curls 
 
 And curious eyes of merry girls, 
 
 Lifting their hands in mock defence 
 
 Against the snow-balls' compliments, 
 
 And reading in each missive tost, ew 
 
 The charm with Eden never lost. 
 
 We heard once more the sleigh-bells' sound ; 
 
 And, following where the teamsters led, 
 The wise old Doctor went his round, 
 
 659. The wise old Doctor was Dr. Weld of Haverhill, an able 
 man, who died at the age of ninety-six.
 
 SNOW-BOUND. 215 
 
 Just pausing at our door to say 
 
 In the brief autocratic way 
 
 Of one who, prompt at Duty's call, 
 
 Was free to urge her claim on all, 
 
 That some poor neighbor sick abed 
 At night our mother's aid would need. ees 
 
 For, one in generous thought and deed, 
 
 What mattered in the sufferer's sight 
 
 The Quaker matron's inward light, 
 The Doctor's mail of Calvin's creed ? 
 All hearts confess the saints elect e 
 
 Who, twain in faith, in love agree, 
 And melt not in an acid sect 
 
 The Christian pearl of charity ! 
 
 So days went on : a week had passed 
 
 Since the great world was heard from last. 
 
 The Almanac we studied o'er, 
 
 Bead and reread our little store 
 
 Of books and pamphlets, scarce a score ; 
 
 One harmless novel, mostly hid 
 
 From younger eyes, a book forbid, te 
 
 And poetry, (or good or bad, 
 
 A single book was all we had,) 
 
 Where Ellwood's meek, drab-skirted Muse, 
 
 A stranger to the heathen Nine, 
 
 Sang, with a somewhat nasal whine, e 
 
 683. Thomas Ellwood, one of the Society of Friends, a con 
 temporary and friend of Milton, and the suggestor of Paradise 
 Regained, wrote an epic poem in five books, called Davideis, the 
 life of King David of Israel. He wrote the book, we are told, 
 for his own diversion, so it was not necessary that others should 
 be diverted by it. Ellwood's autobiography, a quaint and de 
 lightful hook, is included in Howells's series of Choice Autobuf 
 graphics.
 
 516 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 The wars of David and the Jews. 
 
 At last the floundering carrier bore 
 
 The village paper to our door. 
 
 Lo ! broadening outward as we read, 
 
 To warmer zones the horizon spread ; eat 
 
 In panoramic length unrolled 
 
 We saw the marvels that it told. 
 
 Before us passed the painted Creeks, 
 
 And daft McGregor on his raids 
 
 In Costa Rica's everglades. 696 
 
 And up Taygetus winding slow 
 Rode Ypsilanti's Mainote Greeks, 
 
 A Turk's head at each saddle bow I 
 Welcome to us its week old news, 
 Its corner for the rustic Muse, TOO 
 
 Its monthly gauge of snow and rain, 
 Its record, mingling in a breath 
 The wedding knell and dirge of death ; 
 Jest, anecdote, and love-lorn tale, 
 The latest culprit sent to jail ; ?os 
 
 Its hue and cry of stolen and lost, 
 Its vendue sales and goods at cost, 
 
 And traffic calling loud for gain. 
 We felt the stir of hall and street, 
 The pulse of life that round us beat ; TW 
 
 The chill embargo of the snow 
 
 693. Referring to the removal of the Creek Indians from 
 Georgia to beyond the Mississippi. 
 
 694. In 1822 Sir Gregor McGregor, a Scotchman, began an 
 ineffectual attempt to establish a colony in Costa Rica. 
 
 697. Taygetus is a mountain on the Gulf of Messenia in 
 Greece, and near by is the district of Maina, noted for its rob 
 bers and pirates. It was from these mountaineers that Ypsilanti, 
 a Greek patriot, drew his cavalry in the struggle with Turkey 
 which resulted in the independence of Greece.
 
 SNOW-BOUND. 217 
 
 Was melted in the genial glow ; 
 Wide swung again our ice-locked door, 
 And all the world was ours once more ! 
 
 Clasp, Angel of the backward look flfi 
 
 And folded wings of ashen gray 
 
 And voice of echoes far away, 
 The brazen covers of thy book ; 
 The weird palimpsest old and vast, 
 Wherein thou hid'st the spectral past ; w 
 
 Where, closely mingling, pale and glow 
 The characters of joy and woe ; 
 The monographs of outlived years, 
 Or smile-illumed or dim with tears, 
 Green hills of life that slope to death, m 
 
 And haunts of home, whose vistaed trees 
 
 Shade off to mournful cypresses 
 With the white amaranths underneath. 
 Even while I look, I can but heed 
 
 The restless sands' incessant fall, 7 
 
 Importunate hours that hours succeed, 
 Each clamorous with its own sharp need, 
 
 And duty keeping pace with all. 
 Shut down and clasp the heavy lids ; 
 I hear again the voice that bids 795 
 
 The dreamer leave his dream midway 
 
 For larger hopes and graver fears : 
 
 Life greatens in these later years, 
 The century's aloe flowers to-day I 
 
 Yet, haply, in some lull of life, ? 
 
 Some Truce of God which breaks its strife, 
 
 741. The name is drawn from a historic compact in 1040, 
 when the Church forbade barons to make ai-y attack on each
 
 218 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 The worldling's eyes shall gather dew, 
 
 Dreaming in throngf ul city ways 
 Of winter joys his boyhood knew ; 
 And dear and early friends the few 745 
 
 Who yet remain shall pause to view 
 
 These Flemish pictures of old days ; 
 Sit with me by the homestead hearth, 
 And stretch the hands of memory forth 
 
 To warm them at the wood-fire's blaze ! TSO 
 
 And thanks untraced to lips unknown 
 Shall greet me like the odors blown 
 From unseen meadows newly mown, 
 Or lilies floating in some pond, 
 Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond ; 755 
 
 The traveller owns the grateful sense 
 Of sweetness near, he knows not whence, 
 And, pausing, takes with forehead bare 
 The benediction of the air. 
 
 other between sunset on Wednesday and sunrise on the following 
 Monday, or upon any ecclesiastical fast or feast day. It also 
 provided that no man was to molest a laborer working in the 
 fields, or to lay hands on any implement of husbandry, on paiii 
 of excommunication. 
 
 747. The Flemish school of painting was chiefly occupied with 
 homely interiors.
 
 AMONG THE HILLS. 219 
 
 AMONG THE HILLS. 
 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 ALONG the roadside, like the flowers of gold 
 
 That tawny Incas for their gardens wrought, 
 
 Heavy with sunshine droops the golden-rod, 
 
 And the red pennons of the cardinal-flowers 
 
 Hang motionless upon their upright staves. t 
 
 The sky is hot and hazy, and the wind, 
 
 Wing-weary with its long flight from the south, 
 
 TJnf elt ; yet, closely scanned, yon maple leaf 
 
 With faintest motion, as one stirs in dreams, 
 
 Confesses it. The locust by the wall 10 
 
 Stabs the noon-silence with his sharp alarm. 
 
 A single hay-cart down the dusty road 
 
 Creaks slowly, with its driver fast asleep 
 
 On the load's top. Against the neighboring hill, 
 
 Huddled along the stone wall's shady side, is 
 
 The sheep show white, as if a snowdrift still 
 
 Defied the dog-star. Through the open door 
 
 A drowsy smell of flowers gray heliotrope, 
 
 And white sweet clover, and shy mignonette 
 
 Comes faintly in, and silent chorus lends a 
 
 To the pervading symphony of peace. 
 
 No time is this for hands long over-worn 
 
 To task their strength : and (unto Him be praise 
 
 2. The Incas were the kings of the ancient Pemvians. At 
 Yucay, their favorite residence, the gardens, according to Pres- 
 cott, contained "forms of vegetable life skilfully imitated in 
 gold and silver." See History of the Conquest of Peru, i. 130.
 
 220 JOHN GREEN LEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 Who giveth quietness !) the stress and strain 
 
 Of years that did the work of centuries x 
 
 Have ceased, and we can draw our breath once more 
 
 Freely and full. So, as yon harvesters 
 
 Make glad their nooning underneath the elms 
 
 With tale and riddle and old snatch of song, 
 
 I lay aside grave themes, and idly turn at 
 
 The leaves of memory's sketch-book, dreaming o'er 
 
 Old summer pictures of the quiet hills, 
 
 And human life, as quiet, at their feet. 
 
 And yet not idly all. A farmer's son, 
 
 Proud of field-lore and harvest craft, and feeling 35 
 
 All their fine possibilities, how rich 
 
 And restful even poverty and toil 
 
 Become when beauty, harmony, and love 
 
 Sit at their humble hearth as angels sat 
 
 At evening in the patriarch's tent, when man 
 
 Makes labor noble, and his farmer's frock 
 
 The symbol of a Christian chivalry 
 
 Tender and just and generous to her 
 
 Who clothes with grace all duty ; still, I know 
 
 Too well the picture has another side, 
 
 How wearily the grind of toil goes on 
 
 Where love is wanting, how the eye and ear 
 
 And heart are starved amidst the plenitude 
 
 Of nature, and how hard and colorless 
 
 Is life without an atmosphere. I look M 
 
 Across the lapse of half a century, 
 
 And call to mind old homesteads, where no flower 
 
 Told that the spring had come, but evil weeds, 
 
 Nightshade and rough-leaved burdock in the place 
 
 26. The volume in which this poem stands first, and to 
 which it gives the name, was published in the fall of 1868.
 
 AMONG THE HILLS. 221 
 
 Of the sweet doorway greeting of the rose 55 
 
 And honeysuckle, where the house walls seemed 
 
 Blistering in sun, without a tree or vine 
 
 To cast the tremulous shadow of its leaves 
 
 Across the curtainless windows, from whose panes 
 
 Fluttered the signal rags of shiftlessness. eo 
 
 Within, the cluttered kitchen-floor, unwashed 
 
 (Broom-clean I think they called it) ; the best room 
 
 Stifling with cellar damp, shut from the air 
 
 In hot midsummer, bookless, pictureless 
 
 Save the inevitable sampler hung 65 
 
 Over the fireplace, or a mourning piece, 
 
 A green-haired woman, peony-cheeked, beneath 
 
 Impossible willows ; the wide-throated hearth 
 
 Bristling with faded pine-boughs half concealing 
 
 The piled-up rubbish at the chimney's back ; ?o 
 
 And, in sad keeping with all things about them, 
 
 Shrill, querulous women, sour and sullen men, 
 
 Untidy, loveless, old before their time, 
 
 With scarce a human interest save their own 
 
 Monotonous round of small economies, 75 
 
 Or the poor scandal of the neighborhood ; 
 
 Blind to the beauty everywhere revealed, 
 
 Treading the May-flowers with regardless feet ; 
 
 For them the song-sparrow and the bobolink 
 
 Sang not, nor winds made music in the leaves ; so 
 
 For them in vain October's holocaust 
 
 Burned, gold and crimson, over all the hills, 
 
 The sacramental mystery of the woods. 
 
 Church-goers, fearful of the unseen Powers, 
 
 But grumbling over pulpit-tax and pew-rent, 81 
 
 Saving, as shrewd economists, their souls 
 
 And winter pork with the least possible outlay 
 
 Of salt and sanctity ; in daily life
 
 222 
 
 Showing as little actual comprehension 
 
 Of Christian charity and love and duty, M 
 
 As if the Sermon on the Mount had been 
 
 Outdated like a last year's almanac : 
 
 Rich in broad woodlands and in half-tilled fields, 
 
 And yet so pinched and bare and comfortless, 
 
 The veriest straggler limping on his rounds, 95 
 
 The sun and air his sole inheritance, 
 
 Laughed at a poverty that paid its taxes, 
 
 And hugged his rags in self-complacency ! 
 
 Not such should be the homesteads of a land 
 
 Where whoso wisely wills and acts may dwell lot 
 
 As king and lawgiver, in broad-acred state, 
 
 With beauty, art, taste, culture, books, to make 
 
 His hour of leisure richer than a life 
 
 Of fourscore to the barons of old time, 
 
 Our yeoman should be equal to his home i5 
 
 Set in the fair, green valleys, purple walled, 
 
 A man to match his mountains, not to creep 
 
 Dwarfed and abased below them. I would fain 
 
 In this light way (of which I needs must own 
 
 With the knife-grinder of whom Canning sings, ne 
 
 '' Story, God bless you ! I have none to tell you I ") 
 
 Invite the eye to see and heart to feel 
 
 The beauty and the joy within their reach, 
 
 Home, and home loves, and the beatitudes 
 
 110. The Anti-Jacobin was a periodical published in England 
 in 1797-98, to ridicule democratic opinions, and in it Canning, 
 who afterward became premier of England, wrote many light 
 verses and jeux d' esprit, among them a humorous poem called the 
 Needy Knife-Grinder, in burlesque of a poem by Southey. The 
 knife-grinder is anxiously appealed to to tell his story of wrong 
 and injustice, but answers as here : 
 
 " Story, God bless you ! I 've none to telL"
 
 AMONG THE HILLS. 223 
 
 Of nature free to all. Haply in years 115 
 
 That wait to take the places of our own, 
 
 Heard where some breezy balcony looks down 
 
 On happy homes, or where the lake in the moon 
 
 Sleeps dreaming of the mountains, fair as Ruth, 
 
 In the old Hebrew pastoral, at the feet i 
 
 Of Boaz, even this simple lay of mine 
 
 May seem the burden of a prophecy, 
 
 Finding its late fulfilment in a change 
 
 Slow as the oak's growth, lifting manhood up 
 
 Through broader culture, finer manners, love, 125 
 
 And reverence, to the level of the hills. 
 
 O Golden Age, whose light is of the dawn, 
 
 And not of sunset, forward, not behind, 
 
 Flood the new heavens and earth, and with thee bring 
 
 All the old virtues, whatsoever things iso 
 
 Are pure and honest and of good repute, 
 
 But add thereto whatever bard has sung 
 
 Or seer has told of when in trance and dream 
 
 They saw the Happy Isles of prophecy ! 
 
 Let Justice hold her scale, and Truth divide i 
 
 Between the right and wrong, but give the heart 
 
 The freedom of its fair inheritance ; 
 
 Let the poor prisoner, cramped and starved so long, 
 
 At Nature's table feast his ear and eye 
 
 With joy and wonder ; let all harmonies uo 
 
 Of sound, form, color, motion, wait upon 
 
 The princely guest, whether in soft attire 
 
 Of leisure clad, or the coarse frock of toil, 
 
 And, lending life to the dead form of faith, 
 
 Give human nature reverence for the sake ui 
 
 Of One who bore it, making it divine 
 
 134. See note to 1. 337, p. 185.
 
 224 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 With the ineffable tenderness of God ; 
 
 Let common need, the brotherhood of prayer, 
 
 The heirship of an unknown destiny, 
 
 The unsolved mystery round about us, make ia 
 
 A man more precious than the gold of Ophir. 
 
 Sacred, inviolate, unto whom all things 
 
 Should minister, as outward types and signs , 
 
 Of the eternal beauty which fulfils 
 
 The one great purpose of creation, Love, ift 
 
 The sole necessity of Earth and Heaven ! 
 
 AMONG THE HILLS. 
 
 For weeks the clouds had raked the hills 
 And vexed the vales with raining, 
 
 And all the woods were sad with mist, 
 
 And all the brooks complaining. i 
 
 At last, a sudden night-storm tore 
 
 The mountain veils asunder, 
 And swept the valleys clean before 
 
 The besom of the thunder. 
 
 Through Sandwich notch the west-wind sang i&s 
 
 Good morrow to the cotter ; 
 And once again Chocorua's horn 
 
 Of shadow pierced the water. 
 
 165. Sandwich Notch, Chocorua Mountain, Ossipee Lake, and 
 the Bearcamp River are all striking features of the scenery in 
 that part of New Hampshire which lies just at the entrance of 
 the White Mountain region. Many of Whittier's most graceful 
 poems are drawn from the suggestions of this country, long a 
 favorite summer resort of his, and a mountain near West Ossi 
 pee has received his name.
 
 AMONG THE HILLS. 225 
 
 Above his broad lake Ossipee, 
 
 Once more the sunshine wearing, ITO 
 
 Stooped, tracing on that silver shield 
 
 His grim armorial bearing. 
 
 Clear drawn against the hard blue sky, 
 
 The peaks had winter's keenness ; 
 And, close on autumn's frost, the vales na 
 
 Had more than June's fresh greenness. 
 
 Again the sodden forest floors 
 
 With golden lights were checkered, 
 
 Once more rejoicing leaves in wind 
 
 And sunshine danced and flickered. s 
 
 It was as if the summer's late 
 
 Atoning for its sadness 
 Had borrowed every season's charm 
 
 To end its days in gladness. 
 
 I call to mind those banded vales w 
 
 Of shadow and of shining, 
 Through which, my hostess at my side, 
 
 I drove in day's declining. 
 
 We held our sideling way above 
 
 The river's whitening shallows, IM 
 
 By homesteads old, with wide-flung barns 
 
 Swept through and through by swallows ; 
 
 By maple orchards, belts of pine 
 
 And larches climbing darkly 
 The mountain slopes, and, over all, l 
 
 The great peaks rising starkly.
 
 226 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 You should have seen that long hill-range 
 With gaps of brightness riven, 
 
 How through each pass and hollow streamed 
 The purpling lights of heaven, 201 
 
 Rivers of gold-mist flowing down 
 
 From far celestial fountains, 
 The great sun flaming through the rifts 
 
 Beyond the wall of mountains ! 
 
 We paused at last where home-bound cows 203 
 Brought down the pasture's treasure, 
 
 And in the barn the rhythmic flails 
 Beat out a harvest measure. 
 
 We heard the night-hawk's sullen plunge, 
 
 The crow his tree-mates calling : 218 
 
 The shadows lengthening down the slopes 
 About our feet were falling. 
 
 And through them smote the level sun 
 
 In broken lines of splendor, 
 Touched the gray rocks and made the green 215 
 
 Of the shorn grass more tender. 
 
 The maples bending o'er the gate, 
 
 Their arch of leaves just tinted 
 With yellow warmth, the golden glow 
 
 Of coming autumn hinted. 22* 
 
 Keen white between the farm-house showed, 
 
 And smiled on porch and trellis, 
 The fair democracy of flowers 
 
 That equals cot and palace.
 
 AMONG THE HILLS. 227 
 
 And weaving garlands for her dog, as 
 
 'Twixt chidings and caresses, 
 A human flower of childhood shook 
 
 The sunshine from her tresses. 
 
 On either hand we saw the signs 
 
 Of fancy and of shrewdness, MI 
 
 Where taste had wound its arms of vines 
 
 Round thrift's uncomely rudeness. 
 
 The sun-brown farmer in his frock 
 Shook hands, and called to Mary : 
 
 Bare-armed, as Juno might, she came, 235 
 
 White-aproned from her dairy. 
 
 Her air, her smile, her motions, told 
 
 Of womanly completeness ; 
 A music as of household songs 
 
 Was in her voice of sweetness. 240 
 
 Not fair alone in curve and line, 
 
 But something more and better, 
 The secret charm eluding art, 
 
 Its spirit, not its letter ; 
 
 An inborn grace that nothing lacked MS 
 
 Of culture or appliance, 
 The warmth of genial courtesy, 
 
 The calm of self-reliance. 
 
 Before her queenly womanhood 
 
 How dared our hostess utter MI 
 
 The paltry errand of her need 
 
 To buy her fresh-churned butter ?
 
 228 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 She led the way with housewife pride, 
 
 Her goodly store disclosing, 
 Full tenderly the golden balls 251 
 
 With practised hands disposing. 
 
 Then, while along the western hills 
 
 We watched the changeful glory 
 Of sunset, on our homeward way, 
 
 I heard her simple story. 2 
 
 The early crickets sang ; the stream 
 Plashed through my friend's narration : 
 
 Her rustic patois of the hills 
 Lost in my free translation. 
 
 64 More wise," she said, " than those who swarm zes 
 
 Our hills in middle summer, 
 She came, when June's first roses blow, 
 To greet the early comer. 
 
 " From school and ball and rout she came, 
 
 The city's fair, pale daughter, 271 
 
 To drink the wine of mountain air 
 Beside the Bearcamp Water. 
 
 " Her step grew firmer on the hills 
 
 That watch our homesteads over ; 
 On cheek and lip, from summer fields, 275 
 
 She caught the bloom of clover. 
 
 " For health comes sparkling in the streams 
 
 From cool Chocorua stealing : 
 There 's iron in our Northern winds ; 
 
 Our pines are trees of healing. aai
 
 AMONG THE HILLS. 229 
 
 " She sat beneath the broad-armed elms 
 
 That skirt the mowing-meadow, 
 And watched the gentle west-wind weave 
 The grass with shine and shadow. 
 
 " Beside her, from the summer heat 
 
 To share her grateful screening, 
 With forehead bared, the farmer stood, 
 Upon his pitchfork leaning. 
 
 " Framed in its damp, dark locks, his face 
 
 Had nothing mean or common, 290 
 
 Strong, manly, true, the tenderness 
 And pride beloved of woman. 
 
 " She looked up, glowing with the health 
 
 The country air had brought her, 
 And, laughing, said : ' You lack a wife, 295 
 
 Your mother lacks a daughter. 
 
 " ' To mend your frock and bake your bread 
 
 You do not need a lady : 
 Be sure among these brown old homes 
 
 Is some one waiting ready, * 
 
 " ' Some fair, sweet girl with skilful hand 
 
 And cheerful heart for treasure, 
 Who never played with ivory keys, 
 Or danced the polka's measure.' 
 
 14 He bent his black brows to a frown, soi 
 
 He set his white teeth tightly. 
 ' 'T is well,' he said, * for one like you 
 
 To choose for me so lightly.
 
 230 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 " ' You think, because my life is rude 
 
 I take no note of sweetness : an 
 
 I tell you love has naught to do 
 With meetness or unmeetness. 
 
 " ' Itself its best excuse, it asks 
 
 No leave of pride or fashion 
 When silken zone or homespun frock sis 
 
 It stirs with throbs of passion. 
 
 " ' You think me deaf and blind : you bring 
 
 Your winning graces hither 
 As free as if from cradle-time 
 
 We two had played together. sai 
 
 " ' You tempt me with your laughing eyes, 
 
 Your cheek of sundown's blushes, 
 A motion as of waving grain, 
 A music as of thrushes. 
 
 " ' The plaything of your summer sport, sz 
 
 The spells you weave around me 
 You cannot at your will undo, 
 Nor leave me as you found me. 
 
 M ' You go as lightly as you came, 
 
 Your life is well without me ; ssc 
 
 What care you that these hills will close 
 Like prison-walls about me ? 
 
 *' ' No mood is mine to seek a wife, 
 
 Or daughter for my mother : 
 Who loves you loses in that love sss 
 
 All power to love another I
 
 AMONG THE HILLS. 231 
 
 ** * I dare your pity or your scorn, 
 
 With pride your own exceeding ; 
 I fling my heart into your lap 
 
 Without a word of pleading.' M 
 
 " She looked up in his face of pain 
 
 So archly, yet so tender : 
 * And if I lend you mine,' she said, 
 4 Will you forgive the lender ? 
 
 44 * Nor frock nor tan can hide the man ; MS 
 
 And see you not, my farmer, 
 How weak and fond a woman waits 
 Behind this silken armor ? 
 
 44 * I love you : on that love alone, 
 
 And not my worth, presuming, 
 
 Will you not trust for summer fruit 
 The tree in May-day blooming ? * 
 
 ** Alone the hangbird overhead, 
 
 His hair-swung cradle straining, 
 Looked down to see love's miracle, 
 
 The giving that is gaining. 
 
 44 And so the farmer found a wife, 
 His mother found a daughter : 
 There looks no happier home than hers 
 
 On pleasant Bearcamp Water. * 
 
 44 Flowers spring to blossom where she walks 
 
 The careful ways of duty ; 
 Our hard, stiff lines of life with her 
 Are flowing curves of beauty.
 
 232 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 " Our homes are cheerier for her sake, *a 
 
 Our door-yards brighter blooming, 
 And all about the social air 
 Is sweeter for her coming. 
 
 ** Unspoken homilies of peace 
 
 Her daily life is preaching ; s?i 
 
 The still refreshment of the dew 
 Is her unconscious teaching. 
 
 '* And never tenderer hand than hers 
 
 Unknits the brow of ailing ; 
 Her garments to the sick man's ear * 
 
 Have music in their trailing. 
 
 " And when, in pleasant harvest moons, 
 
 The youthful huskers gather, 
 Or sleigh-drives on the mountain ways 
 
 Defy the winter weather, w 
 
 ** In sugar-camps, when south and warm 
 
 The winds of March are blowing, 
 And sweetly from its thawing veins 
 The maple's blood is flowing, 
 
 " In summer, where some lilied pond sss 
 
 Its virgin zone is baring, 
 Or where the ruddy autumn fire 
 Lights up the apple-paring, 
 
 84 The coarseness of a ruder time 
 
 Her finer mirth displaces, 391 
 
 A subtler sense of pleasure fills 
 Each rustic sport she graces.
 
 AMONG THE HILLS. 233 
 
 ** Her presence lends its warmth and health 
 
 To all who come before it. 
 
 If woman lost us Eden, such * 
 
 As she alone restore it. 
 
 " For larger life and wiser aims 
 
 The farmer is her debtor ; 
 Who holds to his another's heart 
 
 Must needs be worse or better. 400 
 
 " Through her his civic service shows 
 
 A purer-toned ambition ; 
 No double consciousness divides 
 The man and politician. 
 
 " In party's doubtful ways he trusts 4 
 
 Her instincts to determine ; 
 At the loud polls, the thought of her 
 Recalls Christ's Mountain Sermon. 
 
 " He owns her logic of the heart, 
 
 And wisdom of unreason, 410 
 
 Supplying, while he doubts and weighs, 
 The needed word in season. 
 
 " He sees with pride her richer thought, 
 
 Her fancy's freer ranges ; 
 
 And love thus deepened to respect ca 
 
 Is proof against all changes. 
 
 " And if she walks at ease in ways 
 
 His feet are slow to travel, 
 And if she reads with cultured eyes 
 
 What his may scarce unravel, e
 
 234 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 " Still clearer, for her keener sight 
 
 Of beauty and of wonder, 
 He learns the meaning of the hills 
 He dwelt from childhood under. 
 
 " And higher, warmed with summer lights, in 
 
 Or winter-crowned and hoary, 
 The ridged horizon lifts for him 
 Its inner veils of glory. 
 
 " He has his own free, bookless lore, 
 
 The lessons nature taught him, 431 
 
 The wisdom which the woods and hills 
 And toiling men have brought him : 
 
 *' The steady force of will whereby 
 
 Her flexile grace seems sweeter ; 
 The sturdy counterpoise which makes 43a 
 
 Her woman's life completer ; 
 
 " A latent fire of soul which lacks 
 
 No breath of love to fan it ; 
 And wit, that, like his native brooks, 
 
 Plays over solid granite. 44 
 
 " How dwarfed against his manliness 
 
 She sees the poor pretension, 
 The wants, the aims, the follies, born 
 Of fashion and convention ! 
 
 " How life behind its accidents w 
 
 Stands strong and self-sustaining, 
 The human fact transcending all 
 The losing and the gaining.
 
 AMONG THE HILLS. 235 
 
 44 And so in grateful interchange 
 
 Of teacher and of hearer, o 
 
 Their lives their true distinctness keep 
 While daily drawing nearer. 
 
 " And if the husband or the wife 
 
 In home's strong light discovers 
 Such slight defaults as failed to meet 5 
 
 The blinded eyes of lovers, 
 
 " Why need we care to ask ? who dreams 
 
 Without their thorns of roses, 
 Or wonders that the truest steel 
 
 The readiest spark discloses ? o 
 
 " For still in mutual sufferance lies 
 
 The secret of true living ; 
 Love scarce is love that never knows 
 The sweetness of forgiving. 
 
 " We send the Squire to General Court, 465 
 
 He takes his young wife thither ; 
 No prouder man election day 
 
 Rides through the sweet June weather. 
 
 " He sees with eyes of manly trust 
 
 All hearts to her inclining ; ITO 
 
 Not less for him his household light 
 That others share its shining." 
 
 Thus, while my hostess spake, there grew 
 
 Before me, warmer tinted 
 And outlined with a tenderer grace, ra 
 
 The picture that she hinted.
 
 236 JOHN GREEN LEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 The sunset smouldered as we drove 
 
 Beneath the deep hill-shadows. 
 Below us wreaths of white fog walked 
 
 Like ghosts the haunted meadows. 
 
 Sounding the summer night, the stars 
 Dropped down their golden plummets ; 
 
 The pale arc of the Northern lights 
 Rose o'er the mountain summits, 
 
 Until, at last, beneath its bridge, 485 
 
 We heard the Bearcanip flowing, 
 And saw across the maple lawn 
 
 The welcome home-lights glowing. 
 
 And, musing on the tale I heard, 
 
 'T were well, thought I, if often 494 
 
 To rugged farm-life came the gift 
 
 To harmonize and soften ; 
 
 If more and more we found the troth 
 
 Of fact and fancy plighted, 
 And culture's charm and labor's strength <*> 
 
 In rural homes united, 
 
 The simple life, the homely hearth, 
 With beauty's sphere surrounding, 
 
 And blessing toil where toil abounds 
 
 With graces more abounding. soi
 
 MABEL MARTIN. 237 
 
 MABEL MARTIN. 
 
 THis poem was published in 1875, but it had already appeared 
 in an earlier version in 1860 under the title of The Witch's 
 Daughter, in Home Ballads and other Poems. Mabel Martin is 
 in the same measure as The Witch's Daughter, and many of the 
 verses are the same, but the poet has taken the first draft as a 
 sketch, filled it out, adding verses here and there, altering lines 
 and making an introduction, so that the new version is a third 
 longer than the old. The reader will find it interesting to com 
 pare the two poems. The scene is laid on the Merrimack, as 
 Deer Island and Hawkswood near Newburyport intimate. A 
 fruitful comparison might be drawn between the treatment of 
 such subjects by Whittier and by Hawthorne.] 
 
 PART I. 
 THE RIVER VALLEY. 
 
 ACROSS the level table-land, 
 A grassy, rarely trodden way, 
 With thinnest skirt of birchen spray 
 
 And stunted growth of cedar, leads 
 
 To where you see the dull plain fall I 
 
 Sheer off, steep-slanted, ploughed by all 
 
 The seasons' rainfalls. On its brink 
 The over-leaning harebells swing ; 
 With roots half bare the pine-trees cling ; 
 
 And, through the shadow looking west, M 
 
 You see the wavering river flow 
 Along a vale, that far below
 
 238 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 Holds to the sun, the sheltering hills 
 And glimmering water-line between, 
 Broad fields of corn and meadows green, u 
 
 And fruit-bent orchards grouped around 
 The low brown roofs and painted eaves, 
 And chimney-tops half hid in leaves. 
 
 No warmer valley hides behind 
 
 Yon wind-scourged sand-dunes, cold and bleak; 20 
 No fairer river comes to seek 
 
 The wave-sung welcome of the sea, 
 Or mark the northmost border line 
 Of sun-loved growths of nut and vine. 
 
 Here, ground-fast in their native fields, u 
 
 Untempted by the city's gain, 
 The quiet farmer folk remain 
 
 Who bear the pleasant name of Friends, 
 And keep their fathers' gentle ways 
 And simple speech of Bible days ; 
 
 In whose neat homesteads woman holds 
 With modest ease her equal place, 
 And wears upon her tranquil face 
 
 The look of one who, merging not 
 
 Her self-hood in another's will, s 
 
 Is love's and duty's handmaid still. 
 
 Pass with me down the path that winds 
 Through birches to the open land, 
 Where, close upon the river strand,
 
 MABEL MARTIN. 239 
 
 You mark a cellar, vine o'errun, 
 
 Above whose wall of loosened stones 
 The sumach lifts its reddening cones, 
 
 And the black nightshade's berries shine, 
 And broad, unsightly burdocks fold 
 The household ruin, century-old. tt 
 
 Here, in the dim colonial time 
 
 Of sterner lives and gloomier faith, 
 A woman lived, tradition saith, 
 
 Who wrought her neighbors foul annoy, 
 
 And witched and plagued the country-side, *o 
 Till at the hangman's hand she died. 
 
 Sit with me while the westering day 
 Falls slantwise down the quiet vale, 
 And, haply, ere yon loitering sail, 
 
 That rounds the upper headland, falls w 
 
 Below Deer Island's pines, or sees 
 Behind it Hawkswood's belt of trees 
 
 Rise black against the sinking sun, 
 My idyl of its days of old, 
 The valley's legend, shall be told. ei 
 
 PART II. 
 THE HUSKING. 
 
 It was the pleasant harvest-time, 
 When cellar-bins are closely stowed, 
 And garrets bend beneath their load,
 
 240 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 And the old swallow-haunted barns, 
 
 Brown-gabled, long, and full of seams es 
 
 Through which the moted sunlight streams, 
 
 And winds blow freshly in, to shake 
 The red plumes of the roosted cocks, 
 And the loose hay-mow's scented locks, 
 
 Are filled with summer's ripened stores, 71 
 
 Its odorous grass and barley sheaves, 
 From their low scaffolds to their eaves. 
 
 On Esek Harden's oaken floor, 
 
 With many an autumn threshing worn, 
 
 Lay the heaped ears of unhusked corn. is 
 
 And thither came young men and maids, 
 Beneath a moon that, large and low, 
 Lit that sweet eve of long ago. 
 
 They took their places ; some by chance, 
 
 And others by a merry voice M 
 
 Or sweet smile guided to their choice. 
 
 How pleasantly the rising moon, 
 Between the shadow of the mows, 
 Looked on them through the great elm-boughs ! 
 
 On sturdy boyhood, sun-embrowned, si 
 
 On girlhood with its solid curves 
 Of healthful strength and painless nerves ! 
 
 And jests went round, and laughs that made 
 The house-dog answer with his howl, 
 And kept astir the barn-yard fowl ; 9
 
 MABEL MARTIN. 241 
 
 And quaint old songs their fathers sung 
 In Derby dales and Yorkshire moors, 
 Ere Norman William trod their shores ; 
 
 And tales, whose merry license shook 
 
 The fat sides of the Saxon thane, * 
 
 Forgetful of the hovering Dane, 
 
 Rude plays to Celt and Cimbri known, 
 The charms and riddles that beguiled 
 On Oxus' banks the young world's child, 
 
 That primal picture-speech wherein ux 
 
 Have youth and maid the story told, 
 So new in each, so dateless old, 
 
 Recalling pastoral Ruth in her 
 
 Who waited, blushing and demure, 
 
 The red-ear's kiss of forfeiture. i 
 
 PART III. 
 THE WITCH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 But still the sweetest voice was mute 
 That river-valley ever heard 
 From lips of maid or throat of bird ; 
 
 99. The Oxus, which was the great river of Upper Asia, 
 flowed past what has been regarded as the birthplace of West 
 ern people, who emigrated from that centre. Some of the rid 
 dles and plays which we have are of great antiquity, and may 
 have been handed down from the time when our ancestors were 
 still
 
 242 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 For Mabel Martin sat apart, 
 
 And let the hay-mow's shadow fall m 
 
 Upon the loveliest face of all. 
 
 She sat apart, as one forbid, 
 
 Who knew that none would condescend 
 To own the Witch-wife's child a friend. 
 
 The seasons scarce had gone their round, iw 
 
 Since curious thousands thronged to see 
 Her mother at the gallows-tree ; 
 
 And mocked the prison-palsied limbs 
 That faltered on the fatal stairs, 
 And wan lip trembling with its prayers ! 124 
 
 Few questioned of the sorrowing child, 
 Or, when they saw the mother die, 
 Dreamed of the daughter's agony. 
 
 They went up to their homes that day, 
 
 As men and Christians justified : 121 
 
 God willed it, and the wretch had died ! 
 
 Dear God and Father of us all, 
 Forgive our faith in cruel lies, 
 Forgive the blindness that denies ! 
 
 Forgive Thy creature when he takes, isi 
 
 For the all-perfect love Thou art, 
 Some grim creation of his heart. 
 
 117. In Upham's History of Salem Witchcraft will be found 
 an account of the trial and execution of Susanna Martin for 
 witchcraft.
 
 MABEL MARTIN. 243 
 
 Cast down our idols, overturn 
 Our bloody altars ; let us see 
 Thyself in Thy humanity ! i 
 
 Young Mabel from her mother's grave 
 Crept to her desolate hearth-stone, 
 And wrestled with her fate alone ; 
 
 With love, and anger, and despair, 
 
 The phantoms of disordered sense, Mt 
 
 The awful doubts of Providence ! 
 
 Oh, dreary broke the winter days, 
 And dreary fell the winter nights 
 TV hen, one by one, the neighboring lights 
 
 Went out, and human sounds grew still, us 
 
 And all the phantom-peopled dark 
 Closed round her hearth-fire's dying spark. 
 
 And summer days were sad and long, 
 And sad the uncompanioned eves, 
 And sadder sunset-tinted leaves, IM 
 
 And Indian Summer's airs of balm ; 
 She scarcely felt the soft caress, 
 The beauty died of loneliness ! 
 
 The school-boys jeered her as they passed, 
 
 And, when she sought the house of prayer, IM 
 Her mother's curse pursued her there. 
 
 And still o'er many a neighboring door 
 She saw the horseshoe's curved charm, 
 To guard against her mother's harm :
 
 244 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 That mother, poor and sick and lame, iw 
 
 Who daily, by the old arm-chair, 
 Folded her withered hands in prayer ; 
 
 Who turned, in Salem's dreary jail, 
 Her worn old Bible o'er and o'er, 
 When her dim eyes could read no more ! ies 
 
 Sore tried and pained, the poor girl kept 
 Her faith, and trusted that her way, 
 So dark, would somewhere meet the day. 
 
 And still her weary wheel went round 
 
 Day after day, with no relief : rro 
 
 Small leisure have the poor for grief. 
 
 PART IV. 
 THE CHAMPION. 
 
 So in the shadow Mabel sits ; 
 
 Untouched by mirth she sees and hears, 
 Her smile is sadder than her tears. 
 
 But cruel eyes have found her out, 
 And cruel lips repeat her name, 
 And taunt her with her mother's shame. 
 
 She answered not with railing words, 
 But drew her apron o'er her face, 
 And, sobbing, glided from the place. 
 
 And only pausing at the door, 
 
 Her sad eyes met the troubled gaze 
 Of one who, in her better days,
 
 MABEL MARTIN. 245 
 
 Had been her warm and steady friend, 
 
 Ere yet her mother's doom had made IM 
 
 Even Esek Harden half afraid. 
 
 He felt that mute appeal of tears, 
 And, starting, with an angry frown, 
 Hushed all the wicked murmurs down. 
 
 " Good neighbors mine," he sternly said, w 
 
 ** This passes harmless mirth or jest ; 
 I brook no insult to my guest. 
 
 " She is indeed her mother's child ; 
 But God's sweet pity ministers 
 Unto no whiter soul than hers. ws 
 
 " Let Goody Martin rest in peace ; 
 I never knew her harm a fly, 
 And witch or not, God knows not I. 
 
 * 4 1 know who swore her life away ; 
 
 And as God lives, I 'd not condemn 
 An Indian dog on word of them." 
 
 The broadest lands in all the town, 
 The skill to guide, the power to awe, 
 Were Harden's ; and his word was law. 
 
 None dared withstand him to his face, ae 
 
 But one sly maiden spake aside : 
 " The little witch is evil-eyed ! 
 
 K Her mother only killed a cow, 
 
 Or witched a churn or dairy-pan ; 
 
 But she, forsooth, must charm a man ! " 211
 
 246 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 PART V. 
 IN THE SHADOW. 
 
 Poor Mabel, homeward turning, passed 
 The nameless terrors of the wood, 
 And saw, as if a ghost pursued, 
 
 Her shadow gliding in the moon : 
 
 The soft breath of the west-wind gave ais 
 
 A chill as from her mother's grave. 
 
 How dreary seemed the silent house ! 
 Wide in the moonbeams' ghastly glare 
 Its windows had a dead man's stare ! 
 
 And, like a gaunt and spectral hand, 
 
 The tremulous shadow of a birch 
 Reached out and touched the door's low porch, 
 
 As if to lift its latch ; hard by, 
 A sudden warning call she heard, 
 The night-cry of a brooding bird. 22* 
 
 She leaned against the door ; her face, 
 So fair, so young, so full of pain, 
 White in the moonlight's silver rain. 
 
 The river, on its pebbled rim, 
 
 Made music such as childhood knew ; 23 
 
 The door-yard tree was whispered through 
 
 By voices such as childhood's ear 
 Had heard in moonlights long ago ; 
 And through the willow-boughs below
 
 MABEL MARTIN. 247 
 
 She saw the rippled waters shine ; 2 
 
 Beyond, in waves of shade and light, 
 The hills rolled off into the night. 
 
 She saw and heard, but over all 
 
 A sense of some transforming spell, 
 
 The shadow of her sick heart fell. 2 
 
 And still across the wooded space 
 The harvest lights of Harden shone, 
 And song and jest and laugh went on. 
 
 And he, so gentle, true, and strong, 
 
 Of men the bravest and the best, a*J 
 
 Had he, too, scorned her with the rest? 
 
 She strove to drown her sense of wrong, 
 And, in her old and simple way, 
 To teach her bitter heart to pray. 
 
 Poor child ! the prayer, begun in faith, 2 
 
 Grew to a low, despairing cry 
 Of utter misery : " Let me die ! 
 
 w Oh, take me from the scornful eyes, 
 
 And hide me where the cruel speech 
 
 And mocking finger may not reach ! 255 
 
 " I dare not breathe my mother's name : 
 A daughter's right I dare not crave 
 To weep above her unblest grave ! 
 
 44 Let me not live until my heart, 
 
 With few to pity, and with none aw 
 
 To love me, hardens into stone.
 
 248 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 " O God 1 have mercy on Thy child, 
 
 Whose faith in Thee grows weak and small, 
 And take me ere I lose it all ! " 
 
 A shadow on the moonlight fell, 2 
 
 And murmuring wind and wave became 
 A voice whose burden was her name. 
 
 PART VI. 
 THE BETROTHAL. 
 
 Had then God heard her ? Had He sent 
 His angel down? In flesh and blood, 
 Before her Esek Harden stood ! 2? 
 
 He laid his hand upon her arm : 
 
 " Dear Mabel, this no more shall be ; 
 Who scoffs at you must scoff at me. 
 
 * You know rough Esek Harden well ; 
 
 And if he seems no suitor gay, tfs 
 
 And if his hair is touched with gray, 
 
 44 The maiden grown shall never find 
 
 His heart less warm than when she smiled, 
 Upon his knees, a little child ! " 
 
 Her tears of grief were tears of joy, 28 
 
 As, folded in his strong embrace, 
 She looked in Esek Harden's face. 
 
 "* Oh, truest friend of all ! " she said, 
 
 " God bless you for your kindly thought, 
 And make me worthy of my lot ! " 2 s *
 
 MABEL MARTIN. 249 
 
 He led her forth, and, blent in one, 
 Beside their happy pathway ran 
 The shadows of the maid and man. 
 
 He led her through his dewy fields, 
 
 To where the swinging lanterns glowed, 2* 
 
 And through the doors the huskers showed. 
 
 " Good friends and neighbors ! " Esek said, 
 " I 'm weary of this lonely life ; 
 In Mabel see my chosen wife! 
 
 " She greets you kindly, one and all ; xa 
 
 The past is past, and all offence 
 Falls harmless from her innocence. 
 
 " Henceforth she stands no more alone ; 
 You know what Esek Harden is ; 
 He brooks no wrong to him or his. soo 
 
 " Now let the merriest tales be told, 
 And let the sweetest songs be sung 
 That ever made the old heart young! 
 
 " For now the lost has found a home ; 
 
 And a lone hearth shall brighter burn, * 
 
 As all the household joys return ! " 
 
 Oh, pleasantly the harvest-moon, 
 Between the shadow of the mows, 
 Looked on them through the great elm-boughs ! 
 
 On Mabel's curls of golden hair, ai 
 
 On Esek's shaggy strength it fell ; 
 And the wind whispered. " It is well I "
 
 250 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 COBBLER KEEZAR'S VISION. 
 
 [" THIS ballad was written,' ' Mr. Whittier says, " on the occa 
 sion of a Horticultural Festival. Cobbler Keezar was a noted 
 character among the first settlers in the valley of the Merri- 
 mack."] 
 
 THE beaver cut his timber 
 
 With patient teeth that day, 
 The minks were fish-wards, and the crows 
 
 Surveyors of highway, 
 
 When Keezar sat on the hillside s 
 
 Upon his cobbler's form, 
 With a pan of coals on either hand 
 
 To keep his waxed-ends warm. 
 
 And there, in the golden weather, 
 
 He stitched and hammered and sung ; w 
 
 In the brook he moistened his leather, 
 In the pewter mug his tongue. 
 
 Well knew the tough old Teuton 
 
 Who brewed the stoutest ale, 
 And he paid the good wife's reckoning is 
 
 In the coin of song and tale. 
 
 The songs they still are singing 
 
 Who dress the hills of vine, 
 The tales that haunt the Brocken 
 
 And whisper down the Rhine. 20 
 
 19. The Brocken is the highest summit of the Hartz range in 
 Germany, and a great body of superstitions has gathered about
 
 COBBLER KEEZAR'S VISION. 
 
 Woodsy and wild and lonesome, 
 
 The swift stream wound away, 
 Through birches and scarlet maples 
 
 Flashing in foam and spray, 
 
 Down on the sharp-horned ledges 
 
 Plunging in steep cascade, 
 Tossing its white-maned waters 
 
 Against the hemlock's shade. 
 
 Woodsy and wild and lonesome, 
 
 East and west and north and south; so 
 
 Only the village of fishers 
 
 Down at the river's mouth ; 
 
 Only here and there a clearing, 
 
 With its farm-house rude and new, 
 
 And tree-stumps, swart as Indians, as 
 
 Where the scanty harvest grew. 
 
 No shout of home-bound reapers, 
 
 No vintage-song he heard, 
 And on the green no dancing feet 
 
 The merry violin stirred. <o 
 
 " Why should folk be glum," said Keezar, 
 
 " When Nature herself is glad, 
 
 And the painted woods are laughing 
 
 At the faces so sour and sad ? " 
 
 Small heed had the careless cobbler 
 
 What sorrow of heart was theirs 
 
 the whole range. May-day night, called Walpurgis Night, is 
 held to be the time of a great witch festival ou the Crocken.
 
 252 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 Who travailed in pain with the births of God 5 
 And planted a state with prayers, 
 
 Hunting of witches and warlocks, 
 
 Smiting the heathen horde, so 
 
 One hand on the mason's trowel, 
 
 And one on the soldier's sword ! 
 
 But give him his ale and cider, 
 
 Give him his pipe and song, 
 Little he cared for Church or State, M 
 
 Or the balance of right and wrong. 
 
 "'T is work, work, work," he muttered, 
 
 " And for rest a snuffle of psalms ! " 
 He smote on his leathern apron 
 
 With his brown and waxen palms. eo 
 
 " Oh for the purple harvests 
 
 Of the days when I was young ! 
 For the merry grape-stained maidens, 
 And the pleasant songs they sung I 
 
 " Oh for the breath of vineyards, 
 
 Of apples and nuts and wine ! 
 For an oar to row and a breeze to blow 
 Down the grand old river Rhine ! " 
 
 A tear in his blue eye glistened, 
 
 And dropped on his beai^d so gray. 
 
 " Old, old am I," said Keezar, 
 
 " And the Rhine flows far away ! " 
 
 But a cunning man was the cobbler ; 
 He could call the birds from the trees,
 
 COBBLER KEEZAR'S VISION. 253 
 
 Charm the black snake out of the ledges, 75 
 And bring back the swarming bees. 
 
 All the virtues of herbs and metals, 
 All the lore of the woods, he knew, 
 
 And the arts of the Old World mingled 
 
 With the marvels of the New. so 
 
 Well he knew the tricks of magic, 
 
 And the lapstone on his knee 
 Had the gift of the Mormon's goggles, 
 
 Or the stone of Doctor Dee. 
 
 For the mighty master Agrippa 85 
 
 Wrought it with spell and rhyme 
 
 From a fragment of mystic moonstone 
 In the tower of Nettesheim. 
 
 To a cobbler Minnesinger 
 
 The marvellous stone gave he, 
 
 And he gave it, in turn, to Keezar, 
 
 Who brought it over the sea. 
 
 He held up that mystic lapstone, 
 
 He held it up like a lens, 
 And he counted the long years coming 96 
 
 By twenties and by tens. 
 
 84. Dr. John Dee was a man of vast knowledge, who had an 
 extensive museum, library, and apparatus ; he claimed to be an 
 astrologer, and had acquired the reputation of having dealings 
 with evil spirits, and a mob was raised which destroyed the 
 greater part of his possessions. He professed to raise the dead 
 and had a magic crystal. He died a pauper in 1608. 
 
 85. Henry Cornelius Agrippa (1486-1535) was an alchemist.
 
 254 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 " One hundred years," quoth Keezar, 
 
 " And fifty have I told : 
 Now open the new before me, 
 
 And shut me out the old ! " io 
 
 Like a cloud of mist, the blackness 
 
 Rolled from the magic stone, 
 And a marvellous picture mingled 
 
 The unknown and the known. 
 
 Still ran the stream to the river, 105 
 
 And river and ocean joined ; 
 And there were the bluffs and the blue sea-line 
 
 And cold north hills behind. 
 
 But the mighty forest was broken . 
 
 By many a steepled town, 110 
 
 By many a white-walled farm-house, 
 
 And many a garner brown. 
 
 Turning a score of mill-wheels, 
 
 The stream no more ran free ; 
 White sails on the winding river, us 
 
 White sails on the far-off sea. 
 
 Below in the noisy village 
 
 The flags were floating gay, 
 And shone on a thousand faces 
 
 The light of a holiday. 12* 
 
 Swiftly the rival ploughmen 
 
 Turned the brown earth from their shares ; 
 Here were the farmer's treasures, 
 
 There were the craftsman's wares.
 
 COBBLER KEEZAR'S VISION. 255 
 
 Golden the goodwife's butter, 125 
 
 Ruby her currant-wine ; 
 Grand were the strutting turkeys, 
 
 Fat were the beeves and swine. 
 
 Yellow and red were the apples, 
 
 And the ripe pears russet-brown, i 
 
 And the peaches had stolen blushes 
 
 From the girls who shook them down. 
 
 And with blooms of hill and wild-wood, 
 
 That shame the toil of art, 
 Mingled the gorgeous blossoms i 
 
 Of the garden's tropic heart. 
 
 " What is it I see ? " said Keezar : 
 " Am I here, or am I there ? 
 Is it a fete at Bingen ? 
 
 Do I look on Frankfort fair ? i 
 
 ** But where are the clowns and puppets, 
 
 And imps with horns and tail? 
 
 And where are the Rhenish flagons ? 
 
 And where is the foaming ale ? 
 
 " Strange things, I know, will happen, i 
 
 Strange things the Lord permits ; 
 But that droughty folk should be jolly 
 Puzzles my poor old wits. 
 
 " Here are smiling manly faces, 
 
 And the maiden's step is gay ; IH 
 
 Nor sad by thinking, nor mad by drinking, 
 Nor mopes, nor fools, are they.
 
 256 JOHN GREEN LEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 " Here 's pleasure without regretting, 
 
 And good without abuse, 
 
 The holiday and the bridal is* 
 
 Of beauty and of use. 
 
 " Here 's a priest and there is a Quaker, 
 
 Do the cat and dog agree ? 
 Have they burned the stocks for oven-wood? 
 Have they cut down the gallows-tree ? iso 
 
 " Would the old folk know their children ? 
 
 Would they own the graceless town, 
 With never a ranter to worry 
 And never a witch to drown ? " 
 
 Loud laughed the cobbler Keezar, IBS 
 
 Laughed like a school-boy gay ; 
 Tossing his arms above him, 
 
 The lapstone rolled away. 
 
 It rolled down the rugged hillside, 
 
 It spun like a wheel bewitched, ro 
 
 It plunged through the leaning willows, 
 
 And into the river pitched. 
 
 There, in the deep, dark water, 
 
 The magic stone lies still, 
 Under the leaning willows ITI 
 
 In the shadow of the hill. 
 
 But oft the idle fisher 
 
 Sits on the shadowy bank, 
 And his dreams make marvellous pictures 
 
 Where the wizard's lapstone sank. IB
 
 BARCLAY OF URY. 257 
 
 And still, in the summer twilights, 
 
 When the river seems to run 
 Out from the inner glory, 
 
 Warm with the melted sun, 
 
 The weary mill-girl lingers IM 
 
 Beside the charmed stream 
 And the sky and the golden water 
 
 Shape and color her dream. 
 
 Fair wave the sunset gardens, 
 
 The rosy signals fly ; wo 
 
 Her homestead beckons from the cloud, 
 
 And love goes sailing by 1 
 
 BARCLAY OF URY. 
 
 AMONG the earliest converts to the doctrines of Friends in 
 Scotland was Barclay of Ury, an old and distinguished soldier, 
 who had fought under Gustavus Adolphus in Germany. As a 
 Quaker, he became the object of persecution and abuse at the 
 hands of the magistrates and the populace. None bore the in 
 dignities of the mob with greater patience and nobleness of soul 
 than this once proud gentleman and soldier. One of his friends, 
 on an occasion of uncommon rudeness, lamented that he should 
 be treated so harshly in his old age who had been so honored 
 before. "I find more satisfaction," said Barclay, "as well as 
 honor, in being thus insulted for my religious principles, than 
 when, a few years ago, it was usual for the magistrates, as I 
 passed the city of Aberdeen, to meet me on the road and con 
 duct me to public entertainment in their hall, and then escort 
 me out again, to gain my favor." - Whittier.]
 
 258 JOHN GREENLEAF WHIT TIER. 
 
 UP the streets of Aberdeen, 
 By the kirk and college green, 
 
 Rode the Laird of Ury ; 
 Close behind him, close beside, 
 Foul of mouth and evil-eyed, 
 
 Pressed the mob in fury. 
 
 Flouted him the drunken churl, 
 Jeered at him the serving-girl, 
 
 Prompt to please her master ; 
 And the begging carlin, late 
 Fed and clothed at Ury's gate, 
 
 Cursed him as he passed her. 
 
 Yet, with calm and stately mien, 
 Up the streets of Aberdeen 
 
 Came he slowly riding ; 
 And, to all he saw and heard 
 Answering not with bitter word, 
 
 Turning not for chiding. 
 
 Came a troop with broadswords swinging, 
 Bits and bridles sharply ringing, 
 
 Loose and free and froward ; 
 Quoth the foremost, " Ride him down ! 
 Push him ! prick him ! through the town 
 
 Drive the Quaker coward ! " 
 
 But from out the thickening crowd 
 Cried a sudden voice and loud : 
 
 "Barclay! Ho! a Barclay!" 
 And the old man at his side 
 Saw a comrade, battle tried, 
 
 Scarred and sunburned darkly ;
 
 BARCLAY OF URY. 259 
 
 Who with ready weapon bare, 
 Fronting to the troopers there, 
 
 Cried aloud : " God save us, 
 Call ye coward him who stood 
 Ankle deep in Liitzen's blood, 
 
 With the brave Gustavus ? " 
 
 M Nay, I do not need thy sword, 
 Comrade mine," said Ury's lord; 
 
 " Put it up, I pray thee : 
 Passive to His holy will, 
 
 Trust I in my Master still, 
 
 Even though He slay me. 
 
 " Pledges of thy love and faith, 
 Proved on many a field of death, 
 
 Not by me are needed." 
 
 Marvelled much that henchman bold, 
 That his laird, so stout of old, 
 
 Now so meekly pleaded. 
 
 w Woe 's the day ! " he sadly said, 
 With a slowly shaking head, K 
 
 And a look of pity ; 
 "Ury's honest lord reviled, 
 Mock of knave and sport of child, 
 In his own good city ! 
 
 " Speak the word, and, master mine, M 
 
 As we charged on Tilly's line, 
 And his Walloon lancers, 
 
 35. It was at Liitzen, near Leipzig, that Gustavus Adolphus 
 fell in 1632. He was the hero of Schiller's Wallenstein, which 
 Carlyle calls " the greatest tragedy of the eighteenth century." 
 
 56. Count de Tilly was a fierce soldier under Wallenstein, who
 
 260 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 Smiting through their midst we '11 teach 
 Civil look and decent speech 
 
 To these boyish prancers ! " ee 
 
 *' Marvel not, mine ancient friend, 
 Like beginning, like the end," 
 
 Quoth the Laird of Ury ; 
 " Is the sinful servant more 
 Than his gracious Lord who bore es 
 
 Bonds and stripes in Jewry ? 
 
 " Give me joy that in His name 
 I can bear, with patient frame, 
 
 All these vain ones offer ; 
 While for them He suffereth long, n 
 
 Shall I answer wrong with wrong, 
 
 Scoffing with the scoffer? 
 
 " Happier I, with loss of all, 
 Hunted, outlawed, held in thrall, 
 
 With few friends to greet me, 75 
 
 Than when reeva and squire were seen, 
 Riding out from Aberdeen, 
 With bared heads to meet me. 
 
 " When each goodwife, o'er and o'er, 
 Blessed me as I passed her door ; & 
 
 And the snooded daughter, 
 Through her casement glancing down, 
 Smiled on him who bore renown 
 
 From red fields of slaughter. 
 
 in the Thirty Years' War laid siege to Magdeburg, and after 
 two years took it and displayed great barbarity toward the in 
 habitants. The phrase, " like old Tilly," is still heard some- 
 times in New England of any piece of special ferocity.
 
 BARCLAY OF URY. 261 
 
 " Hard to feel the stranger's scoff, as 
 
 Hard the old friend's falling off, 
 
 Hard to learn forgiving ; 
 But the Lord His own rewards, 
 And His love with theirs accords, 
 
 Warm and fresh and living. 90 
 
 " Through this dark and stormy night 
 Faith beholds a feeble light 
 
 Up the blackness streaking ; 
 Knowing God's own tune is best, 
 In a patient hope I rest 95 
 
 For the full day-breaking ! " 
 
 So the Laird of Ury said, 
 Turning slow his horse's head 
 
 Towards the Tolbooth prison, 
 Where, through iron grates, he heard 100 
 Poor disciples of the Word 
 
 Preach of Christ arisen ! 
 
 Not in vain, Confessor old, 
 Unto us the tale is told 
 
 Of thy day of trial ; los 
 
 Every age on him who strays 
 From its broad and beaten ways 
 
 Pours its sevenfold vial. 
 
 Happy he whose inward ear 
 
 Angel comfortings can hear, m 
 
 O'er the rabble's laughter ; 
 And while Hatred's fagots burn, 
 Glimpses through the smoke discern 
 
 Of the good hereafter.
 
 262 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 Knowing this, that never yet 111 
 
 Share of Truth was vainly set 
 
 In the world's wide fallow ; 
 After hands shall sow the seed, 
 After hands from hill and mead 
 
 Reap the harvests yellow. 121 
 
 Thus, with somewhat of the Seer, 
 Must the moral pioneer 
 
 From the Future borrow ; 
 Clothe the waste with dreams of grain, 
 And, on midnight's sky of rain, 125 
 
 Paint the golden morrow ! 
 
 THE TWO RABBIS. 
 
 THE Rabbi Nathan, twoscore years and ten, 
 Walked blameless through the evil world, and then, 
 Just as the almond blossomed in his hair, 
 Met a temptation all too strong to bear, 
 And miserably sinned. So, adding not i 
 
 Falsehood to guilt, he left his seat, and taught 
 No more among the elders, but went out 
 From the great congregation, girt about 
 With sackcloth, and with ashes on his head, 
 Making his gray locks grayer. Long he prayed, u 
 Smiting his breast ; then, as the Book he laid 
 Open before him for the Bath-Col's choice, 
 
 12. Daughter of the Voice is the meaning of Bath-Col, which 
 was a sort of divination practised by the Jews when the gift of
 
 THE TWO RABBIS. 263 
 
 Pausing to hear that Daughter of a Voice, 
 
 Behold the royal preacher's words : " A friend 
 
 Loveth at all times, yea, unto the end ; is 
 
 And for the evil day thy brother lives." 
 
 Marvelling, he said : " It is the Lord who gives 
 
 Counsel in need. At Ecbatana dwells 
 
 Rabbi Ben Isaac, who all men excels 
 
 In righteousness and wisdom, as the trees 21 
 
 Of Lebanon the small weeds that the bees 
 
 Bow with their weight. I will arise, and lay 
 
 My sins before him." 
 
 And he went his way 
 
 Barefooted, fasting long, with many prayers ; 
 But even as one who, followed unawares, 25 
 
 Suddenly in the darkness feels a hand 
 Thrill with its touch his own, and his cheek fanned 
 By odors subtly sweet, and whispers near 
 Of words he loathes, yet cannot choose but hear, 
 So, while the Rabbi journeyed, chanting low so 
 
 The wail of David's penitential woe, 
 Before him still the old temptation came, 
 And mocked him with the motion and the shame 
 Of such desires that, shuddering, he abhorred 
 Himself ; and, crying mightily to the Lord a< 
 
 To free his soul and cast the demon out, 
 Smote with his staff the blankness round about. 
 
 At length, in the low light of a spent day, 
 The towers of Ecbatana far away 
 
 prophecy had died out. Something of the same sort of divina 
 tion has been used amongst Christians when the Bible has been 
 opened at hap-hazard and some answer expected to a question 
 in the first passage that meets the eye.
 
 264 JOHN GREEN LEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 Rose on the desert's rim ; and Nathan, faint 
 
 And footsore, pausing where for some dead saint 
 The faith of Islam reared a dome"d tomb, 
 Saw some one kneeling in the shadow, whom 
 He greeted kindly : " May the Holy One 
 Answer thy prayers, O stranger ! " Whereupon 4s 
 The shape stood up with a loud cry, and then, 
 Clasped in each other's arms, the two gray men 
 Wept, praising Him whose gracious providence 
 Made their paths one. But straightway, as the sense 
 Of his transgression smote him, Nathan tore s 
 
 Himself away : " O friend beloved, no more 
 Worthy am I to touch thee, for I came, 
 Foul from my sins, to tell thee all my shame. 
 Haply thy prayers, since naught availeth mine, 
 May purge my soul, and make it white like thine. 55 
 Pity me, O Ben Isaac, I have sinned I " 
 
 Awestruck Ben Isaac stood. The desert wind 
 
 Blew his long mantle backward, laying bare 
 
 The mournful secret of his shirt of hair. 
 
 " I too, O friend, if not in act," he said, eo 
 
 " In thought have verily sinned. Hast thou not 
 
 read, 
 
 * Better the eye should see than that desire 
 Should wander ' ? Burning with a hidden fire 
 That tears and prayers quench not, I come to thee 
 For pity and for help, as thou to me. es 
 
 Pray for me, O my friend ! " But Nathan cried 
 " Pray thou for me, Ben Isaac ! " 
 
 Side by side 
 In the low sunshine by the turban stone 
 
 59. Which he wore as a mortification of the flesh.
 
 THE GIFT OF TRITEMIUS. 265 
 
 They knelt ; each made his brother's woe his own, 
 Forgetting, in the agony and stress TO 
 
 Of pitying love, his claim of selfishness ; 
 Peace, for his friend besought, his own became ; 
 His prayers were answered in another's name ; 
 And, when at last they rose up to embrace, 
 Each saw God's pardon in his brother's face ! 75 
 
 Long after, when his headstone gathered moss, 
 Traced on the targum-marge of Onkelos 
 In Rabbi Nathan's hand these words we read : 
 "Hope not the cure of sin till Self is dead ; 
 Forget it in love's service, and the debt so 
 
 Thou canst not pay the angels shall forget ; 
 Heaven 's gate is shut to him who comes alone ; 
 Save thou a soul, and it shall save thy own I " 
 
 THE GIFT OF TRITEMIUS. 
 
 TRITEMIUS of Herbipolis, one day, 
 
 While kneeling at the altar's foot to'pray, 
 
 Alone with God, as was his pious choice, 
 
 Heard from without a miserable voice, 
 
 A sound which seemed of all sad things to tell, 5 
 
 As of a lost soul crying out of hell. 
 
 Thereat the Abbot paused : the chain whereby 
 His thoughts went upward broken by that cry ; 
 
 77. The targumwas a paraphrase of some portion of Scripture 
 .n the Chaldee language. It was on the margin of the most an 
 cient targum that of Onkelos that Rabbi Nathan wrote Y~ 
 words.
 
 266 JOHN GREENLEAF WHIT TIER. 
 
 And, looking from the casement, saw below 
 A wretched woman, with gray hair aflow, it 
 
 And withered hands held up to him, who cried 
 For alms as one who might not be denied. 
 
 She cried, " For the dear love of Him who gave 
 His life for ours, my child from bondage save, 
 My beautiful, brave first-born, chained with slaves is 
 In the Moor's galley, where the sun-smit waves 
 Lap the white walls of Tunis ! " " What I can 
 I give," Tritemius said : " my prayers." " O 
 
 man 
 
 Of God ! " she cried, for grief had made her bold- 
 " Mock me not thus ; I ask not prayers, but gold. 29 
 Words will not serve me, alms alone suffice ; 
 Even while I speak perchance my first-born dies." 
 
 " Woman ! " Tritemius answered, " from our door 
 None go unfed ; hence are we always poor : 
 A single soldo is our only store. 2s 
 
 Thou hast our prayers ; what can we give thee 
 more ? " 
 
 " Give me," she said, " the silver candlesticks 
 
 On either side of the great crucifix. 
 
 God well may spare them on His errands sped, 
 
 Or He can give you golden ones instead." so 
 
 Then spake Tritemius, " Even as thy word, 
 
 Woman, so be it ! (Our most gracious Lord, 
 
 Who loveth mercy more than sacrifice, 
 
 Pardon me if a human soul I prize 
 
 Above the gifts upon His altar piled !) M 
 
 Take what thou askest, and redeem thy child."
 
 THE BROTHER OF MERCY. 267 
 
 But his hand trembled as the holy alms 
 
 He placed within the beggar's eager palms ; 
 
 And as she vanished down the linden shade, 
 
 He bowed his head and for forgiveness prayed. 
 
 So the day passed, and when the twilight came 
 He woke to find the chapel all aflame, 
 And, dumb with grateful wonder, to behold 
 Upon the altar candlesticks of gold. 
 
 THE BROTHER OF MERCY. 
 
 PIERO LUCA, known of all the town 
 
 As the gray porter by the Pitti wall 
 
 Where the noon shadows of the gardens fall, 
 
 Sick and in dolor, waited to lay down 
 
 His last sad burden, and beside his mat 
 
 The barefoot monk of La Certosa sat. 
 
 Unseen, in square and blossoming garden drifted, 
 Soft sunset lights through green Val d'Arno sifted ; 
 Unheard, below the living shuttles shifted 
 Backward and forth, and wove, in love or strife, 1~ 
 In mirth or pain, the mottled web of life : 
 But when at last came upward from the street 
 Tinkle of bell and tread of measured feet, 
 The sick man started, strove to rise in vain, 
 Sinking back heavily with a moan of pain. is 
 
 6. The monastery of La Certosa is about four miles distant 
 from Florence, the scene of this little poem. 
 
 8. The Val d'Aruo is the valley of the river Arno, upon which 
 Florence lies.
 
 268 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 And the monk said, " 'T is but the Brotherhood 
 
 Of Mercy going on some errand good : 
 
 Their black masks by the palace- wall I see." 
 
 Piero answered faintly, " Woe is me ! 
 
 This day for the first time in forty years a 
 
 In vain the bell hath sounded in my ears, 
 
 Calling me with my brethren of the mask, 
 
 Beggar and prince alike, to some new task 
 
 Of love or pity, haply from the street 
 
 To bear a wretch plague-stricken, or, with feet 23 
 
 Hushed to the quickened ear and feverish brain, 
 
 To tread the crowded lazaretto's floors, 
 
 Down the long twilight of the corridors, 
 
 Midst tossing arms and faces full of pain. 
 
 I loved the work : it was its own reward. ac 
 
 I never counted on it to offset 
 
 My sins, which are many, or make less my debt 
 
 To the free grace and mercy of our Lord ; 
 
 But somehow, father, it has come to be 
 
 In these long years so much a part of me, 35 
 
 I should not know myself, if lacking it, 
 
 But with the work the worker too would die, 
 
 And in my place some other self would sit 
 
 16. The Brethren of the Misericordia, an association which 
 had its origin in the thirteenth century, is composed mainly of 
 the wealthy and prosperous, whose duty it is to nurse the sick, 
 to aid those who have been injured by accident, and to secure 
 decent burial to the poor and friendless. They are summoned 
 by the sound of a bell, and, when it is heard, the member slips 
 away from ball-room, or dinner party, or wherever he may be; 
 puts on the black robe and hood, entirely concealing his face, 
 slit openings being provided for the eyes, and performs the 
 duty assigned to him. This thorough concealment is to aid in 
 securing the perfect equality enjoined by the Order.
 
 THE BROTHER OF MERCY. 269 
 
 Joyful or sad, what matters, if not I ? 
 And now all 's over. Woe is me ! " 
 
 " My son," 
 
 The monk said soothingly, " thy work is done ; 
 And no more as a servant, but the guest 
 Of God thou enterest thy eternal rest. 
 No toil, no tears, no sorrow for the lost 
 Shall mar thy perfect bliss. Thou shalt sit down 45 
 Clad in white robes, and wear a golden crown 
 Forever and forever." Piero tossed 
 On his sick-pillow : " Miserable me ! 
 I am too poor for such grand company ; 
 The crown would be too heavy for this gray so 
 
 Old head ; and God forgive me if I say 
 It would be hard to sit there night and day, 
 Like an image in the Tribune, doing naught 
 With these hard hands, that all my life have wrought, 
 Not for bread only, but for pity's sake. 55 
 
 I 'm dull at prayers : I could not keep awake, 
 Counting my beads. Mine 's but a crazy head, 
 Scarce worth the saving, if all else be dead 
 And if one goes to heaven without a heart, 
 God knows he leaves behind his better part. eo 
 
 I love my fellow-men : the worst I know 
 I would do good to. Will death change me so 
 That I shall sit among the lazy saints, 
 Turning a deaf ear to the sore complaints 
 Of souls that suffer ? Why, I never yet 
 
 Left a poor dog in the strada hard beset, 
 
 53. The Tribune is a hall in the Uffizi Palace in Florence, 
 where are assembled some of the most world-renowned statues, 
 including the Venus de' Medici. 
 
 66. Strada, street.
 
 270 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 Or ass o'erladen ! Must I rate man less 
 
 Than dog or ass, in holy selfishness ? 
 
 Methinks (Lord, pardon, if the thought be sin !) 
 
 The world of pain were better, if therein 79 
 
 One's heart might still be human, and desires 
 
 Of natural pity drop upon its fires 
 
 Some cooling tears." 
 
 Thereat the pale monk crossed 
 
 His brow, and, muttering, " Madman ! thou art lost ! * 
 Took up his pyx and fled ; and left alone, 75 
 
 The sick man closed his eyes with a great groan 
 That sank into a prayer, " Thy will be done ! " 
 
 Then was he made aware, by soul or ear, 
 Of somewhat pure and holy bending o'er him, 
 And of a voice like that of her who bore him, so 
 
 Tender and most compassionate : u Never fear ! 
 For heaven is love, as God himself is love ; 
 Thy work below shall be thy work above." 
 And when he looked, lo ! in the stern monk's place 
 He saw the shining of an angel's face ! K 
 
 The Traveller broke the pause. " I 've seen 
 The Brothers down the long street steal, 
 
 Black, silent, masked, the crowd between, 
 And felt to doff wy hat and kneel 
 
 With heart, if not with knee, in prayer, w 
 
 For blessings on their pious care." 
 
 86. The poem of The Brother of Mercy forms a part of The 
 Tent on the Beach, in which Whittier pictures himself, the Trav 
 eller (Bayard Taylor), and the Man of Books (J. T. Fields), 
 camping upon Salisbury beach and telling stories.
 
 THE PROPHECY OF SAMUEL SEW ALL. 271 
 
 THE PROPHECY OF SAMUEL SEWALL. 
 1697. 
 
 [SAMUEL SEWALL was one of a family notable in New Eng 
 land annals, and himself an eminent man in his generation. He 
 was born in England in 1652, and was brought by his father to 
 this country in 1661 ; but his father and grandfather were both 
 pioneers in New England, and the family home was in New- 
 bury, Massachusetts. Here Sewall spent his boyhood, but after 
 graduating at Harvard he first essayed preaching, and then en 
 tered upon secular pursuits, becoming a member of the govern 
 ment and finally chief justice. He presided at the sad trial of 
 witches, and afterward made public confession of his error in a 
 noble paper which was read in church before the congregation 
 and assented to by the judge, who stood alone as it was read 
 and bowed at its conclusion. The paper is preserved in the first 
 volume of the Diary of Samuel Sewall, published by the Massa 
 chusetts Historical Society. He was an upright man, of tender 
 conscience and reverent mind. His character is well drawn by 
 the poet in lines 13-20.] 
 
 UP and down the village streets 
 
 Strange are the forms my fancy meets, 
 
 For the thoughts and things of to-day are hid, 
 
 And through the veil of a closed lid 
 
 The ancient worthies I see again : * 
 
 I hear the tap of the elder's cane, 
 
 And his awful periwig I see, 
 
 And the silver buckles of shoe and knee. 
 
 Stately and slow, with thoughtful air, 
 
 His black cap hiding his whitened hair, ifl 
 
 Walks the Judge of the great Assize, 
 
 Samuel Sewall the good and wise. 
 
 His face with lines of firmness wrought,
 
 272 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 He wears the look of a man unbought, 
 
 Who swears to his hurt and changes not ; a 
 
 Yet, touched and softened nevertheless, 
 
 With the grace of Christian gentleness, 
 
 The face that a child would climb to kiss ! 
 
 True and tender and brave and just, 
 
 That man might honor and woman trust. v 
 
 Touching and sad, a tale is told, 
 
 Like a penitent hymn of the Psalmist old, 
 
 Of the fast which the good man lifelong kept 
 
 With a haunting sorrow that never slept, 
 
 As the circling year brought round the time 2s 
 
 Of an error that left the sting of crime, 
 
 When he sat on the bench of the witchcraft courts 
 
 With the laws of Moses and Hale's Reports, 
 
 And spake, in the name of both, the word 
 
 That gave the witch's neck to the cord, so 
 
 And piled the oaken planks that pressed 
 
 15. See Psalm xv. 4. 
 
 23. It was the custom in Se wall's time for churches and indi 
 viduals to hold fasts whenever any public or private need sug 
 gested the fitness ; and as state and church were very closely 
 connected, the General Court sometimes ordered a fast ; out of 
 this custom sprang the annual fast in spring, now observed, but 
 it is of comparatively recent date. Such a fast was ordered on 
 the 14th of January, 1697, when Sewall made his special con 
 fession. He is said to have observed the day privately on each 
 annual return thereafter. The custom still holds for churches 
 to appoint their own fasts. 
 
 28. Sir Matthew Hale, the great English judge, was a devout 
 believer in the existence of witchcraft, and in 1G45 a great num 
 ber of trials were held before him. The reports of those trials 
 furnished precedents for Sewall and his court, not unassisted by 
 the records in the Old Testament.
 
 THE PROPHECY OF SAMUEL SEWALL. 273 
 
 The feeble life from the warlock's breast ! 
 
 All the day long, from dawn to dawn, 
 
 His door was bolted, his curtain drawn ; 
 
 No foot on his silent threshold trod, 
 
 No eye looked on him save that of God, 
 
 As he baffled the ghosts of the dead with charms 
 
 Of penitent tears, and prayers, and psalms, 
 
 And, with precious proofs from the sacred word 
 
 Of the boundless pity and love of the Lord, 40 
 
 His faith confirmed and his trust renewed 
 
 That the sin of his ignorance, sorely rued, 
 
 Might be washed away in the mingled flood 
 
 Of his human sorrow and Christ's dear blood I 
 
 Green forever the memory be a 
 
 Of the Judge of the old Theocracy, 
 Whom even his errors glorified, 
 Like a far-seen, sunlit mountain-side 
 By the cloudy shadows which o'er it glide ! 
 Honor and praise to the Puritan M 
 
 Who the halting step of his age outran, 
 And, seeing the infinite worth of man 
 In the priceless gift the Father gave, 
 In the infinite love that stooped to save, 
 Dared not brand his brother a slave ! 55 
 
 " Who doth such wrong," he was wont to say, 
 In his own quaint, picture-loving way, 
 
 55. In 1700 Sewall wrote a little tract of three pages on The 
 Selling of Joseph, which has been characterized as " an acute, 
 compact, powerful statement of the case against American slav 
 ery, leaving, indeed, almost nothing new to be said a century and 
 a half afterward, when the sad thing came up for final adjust 
 ment." Reprinted in Mass. Hist. Society's Proceedings for 1863- 
 1864, pp. 161-165.
 
 274 JOHN GREEN LEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 " Flings up to Heaven a hand-grenade 
 Which God shall cast down upon his head ! " 
 
 Widely as heaven and hell, contrast 
 
 That brave old jurist of the past 
 And the cunning trickster and knave of courts 
 Who the holy features of Truth distorts, 
 Ruling as right the will of the strong, 
 Poverty, crime, and weakness wrong ; 65 
 
 Wide-eared to power, to the wronged and weak 
 Deaf as Egypt's gods of leek ; 
 Scoffing aside at party's nod 
 Order of nature and law of God ; 
 For whose dabbled ermine respect were waste, TO 
 Reverence folly, and awe misplaced ; 
 Justice of whom 't were vain to seek 
 As from Koordish robber or Syrian Sheik. 
 Oh, leave the wretch to his bribes and sins ; 
 Let him rot in the web of lies he spins ! 75 
 
 To the saintly soul of the early day, 
 To the Christian judge, let us turn and say : 
 w Praise and thanks for an honest man ! 
 Glory to God for the Puritan ! " 
 
 I see, far southward, this quiet day, 81 
 
 The hills of Newbury rolling away, 
 
 With the many tints of the season gay, 
 
 Dreamily blending in autumn mist 
 
 Crimson, and gold, and amethyst. 
 
 Long and low, with dwarf trees crowned, ss 
 
 67. There was an early belief that the Egyptians worshipped 
 gods of leek, but it has been shown that the belief rose from cer 
 tain restrictions in the use of onions laid upon the priests, and 
 from the offering of them as a part of sacrifice.
 
 THE PROPHECY OF SAMUEL SEW ALL. 275 
 
 Plum Island lies, like a whale aground, 
 
 A stone's toss over the narrow sound. 
 
 Inland, as far as the eye can go, 
 
 The hills curve round like a bended bow; 
 
 A silver arrow from out them sprung, 90 
 
 I see the shine of the Quasycung ; 
 
 And, round and round, over valley and hill, 
 
 Old roads winding, as old roads will, 
 
 Here to a ferry, and there to a mill ; 
 
 And glimpses of chimneys and gabled eaves, 95 
 
 Through green elm arches and maple leaves, 
 
 Old homesteads sacred to all that can 
 
 Gladden or sadden the heart of man, 
 
 Over whose threshold of oak and stone 
 
 Life and Death have come and gone ! 100 
 
 There pictured tiles in the fireplace show, 
 
 Great beams sag from the ceiling low, 
 
 The dresser glitters with polished wares, 
 
 The long clock ticks on the foot-worn stairs, 
 
 And the low, broad chimney shows the crack ios 
 
 By the earthquake made a century back. 
 
 Up from their midst springs the village spire 
 
 With the crest of its cock in the sun afire ; 
 
 Beyond are orchards and planting lands, 
 
 And great salt marshes and glimmering sands, no 
 
 And, where north and south the coastlines run, 
 
 The blink of the sea in breeze and sun ! 
 
 I see it all like a chart unrolled, 
 
 But my thoughts are full of the past and old, 
 
 I hear the tales of my boyhood told ; 111 
 
 And the shadows and shapes of early days 
 
 Flit dimly by in the veiling haze, 
 
 With measured movement and rhythmic chime
 
 276 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 Weaving like shuttles my web of rhyme. 
 
 I think of the old man wise and good 121 
 
 Who once on yon misty hillsides stood, 
 
 (A poet who never measured rhyme, 
 
 A seer unknown to his dull-eared time,) 
 
 And, propped on his staff of age, looked down, 
 
 With his boyhood's love, on his native town, 125 
 
 Where, written, as if on its hills and plains, 
 
 His burden of prophecy yet remains, 
 
 For the voices of wood, and wave, and wind 
 
 To read in the ear of the musing mind : 
 
 " As long as Plum Island, to guard the coast is 
 
 As God appointed, shall keep its post ; 
 As long as salmon shall haunt the deep 
 Of Merrimack River, or sturgeon leap ; 
 As long as pickerel swift and slim, 
 Or red-backed perch, in Crane Pond swim ; iss 
 
 As long as the annual sea-fowl know 
 Their time to come and their time to go ; 
 As long as cattle shall roam at will 
 The green, grass meadows by Turkey Hill ; 
 As long as sheep shall look from the side i 
 
 Of Oldtown Hill on marishes wide, 
 And Parker River, and salt-sea tide ; 
 As long as a wandering pigeon shall search 
 The fields below from his white-oak perch, 
 When the barley-harvest is ripe and shorn, 145 
 
 124. As a matter of fact Sewall was forty-five years old when 
 he uttered his prophecy. 
 
 130. This prophecy in very rhythmic prose was first published 
 in Se wall's Phenomena Qucedam Apocalyptica. It will be found 
 in Coffin's History of Neivburyport, and in The Bodleys on Wheels^ 
 pp. 207, 208.
 
 THE PROPHECY OF SAMUEL SEW ALL. 277 
 
 And the dry husks fall from the standing corn ; 
 
 As long as Nature shall not grow old, 
 
 Nor drop her work from her doting hold, 
 
 And her care for the Indian corn forget, 
 
 And the yellow rows in pairs to set ; iso 
 
 So long shall Christians here be born, 
 
 Grow up and ripen as God's sweet corn ! 
 
 By the beak of bird, by the breath of frost, 
 
 Shall never a holy ear be lost, 
 
 But, husked by Death in the Planter's sight, IK. 
 
 Be sown again in the fields of light ! " 
 
 The Island still is purple with plums, 
 
 Up the river the salmon comes, 
 
 The sturgeon leaps, and the wild-fowl feeds 
 
 On hillside berries and marish seeds, ieo 
 
 All the beautiful signs remain, 
 
 From spring-time sowing to autumn rain 
 
 The good man's vision returns again ! 
 
 And let us hope, as well we can, 
 
 That the Silent Angel who garners man K> 
 
 May find some grain as of old he found 
 
 In the human cornfield ripe and sound, 
 
 And the Lord of the Harvest deign to own 
 
 The precious seed by the fathers sown ! 
 
 MAUD MULLER. 
 
 MAUD MULLER, on a summer's day, 
 Raked the meadow sweet with hay. 
 
 Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth 
 Of simple beauty and rustic health.
 
 878 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee i 
 
 The mock-bird echoed from his tree. 
 
 But when she glanced to the far-off town, 
 White from its hill-slope looking down, 
 
 The sweet song died, and a vague unrest 
 
 And a nameless longing filled her breast, 1 
 
 A wish, that she hardly dared to own, 
 For something better than she had known. 
 
 The Judge rode slowly down the lane, 
 Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. 
 
 He drew his bridle in the shade l 
 
 Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, 
 
 And asked a draught from the spring that flowed 
 Through the meadow across the road. 
 
 She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, 
 And filled for him her small tin cup, ; 
 
 And blushed as she gave it, looking down 
 On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. 
 
 '' Thanks ! " said the Judge ; " a sweeter draught 
 From a fairer hand was never quaffed." 
 
 He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, : 
 
 Of the singing birds and the humming bees ; 
 
 Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether 
 The cloud in the west would brine: foul weather.
 
 MAUD MULLER. 279 
 
 And Maud forgot her Jbrier-torn gown, 
 
 And her graceful ankles bare and brown ; 
 
 And listened, while a pleased surprise 
 Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. 
 
 At last, like one who for delay 
 Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. 
 
 Maud Muller looked and sighed : " Ah me ! as 
 
 That I the Judge's bride might be ! 
 
 w He would dress me up in silks so fine, 
 And praise and toast me at his wine. 
 
 " My father should wear a broadcloth coat ; 
 My brother should sail a painted boat. 
 
 " I 'd dress my mother so grand and gay, 
 And the baby should have a new toy each day. 
 
 '* And I 'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor, 
 And all should bless me who left our door." 
 
 The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, 
 And saw Maud Muller standing still. 
 
 " A form more fair, a face more sweet, 
 Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. 
 
 " And her modest answer and graceful air 
 Show her wise and good as she is fair. n 
 
 " Would she were mine, and I to-day, 
 Like her, a harvester of hay ;
 
 280 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 " No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, 
 Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues, 
 
 " But low of cattle and song of birds, 55 
 
 And health and quiet and loving words." 
 
 But he thought of his sisters, proud and cold, 
 And his mother, vain of her rank and gold. 
 
 So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, 
 
 And Maud was left in the field alone. w 
 
 But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, 
 When he hummed in court an old love-tune; 
 
 And the young girl mused beside the well 
 Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. 
 
 He wedded a wife of richest dower, 
 
 Who lived for fashion, as he for power. 
 
 Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, 
 He watched a picture come and go ; 
 
 And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes 
 
 Looked out in their innocent surprise. 70 
 
 Oft, when the wine in his glass was red, 
 He longed for the wayside well instead ; 
 
 And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms 
 To dream of meadows and clover -blooms. 
 
 And the proud man sighed, with a secret pain, 75 
 44 Ah, that I were free again !
 
 MAUD MULLER. 281 
 
 Free as when I rode that day, 
 
 Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay." 
 
 She wedded a man unlearned and poor, 
 
 And many children played round her door. so 
 
 But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain, 
 Left their traces on heart and brain. 
 
 And oft, when the summer sun shone hot 
 On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot, 
 
 And she heard the little spring brook fall 84 
 
 Over the roadside, through the wall, 
 
 In the shade of the apple-tree again 
 She saw a rider draw his rein. 
 
 And, gazing down with timid grace, 
 
 She felt his pleased eyes read her face. M 
 
 Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls 
 Stretched away into stately halls ; 
 
 The weary wheel to a spinnet turned, 
 The tallow candle an astral burned, 
 
 And for him who sat by the chimney lug, w 
 
 Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, 
 
 A manly form at her side she saw, 
 And joy was duty and love was law. 
 
 Then she took up her burden of life again, 
 
 Saying only, " It might have been." 101
 
 282 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, 
 
 For rich repiner and household drudge ! 
 
 God pity them both ! and pity us all, 
 Who vainly the dreams of youth recall. 
 
 For of all sad words of tongue or pen, los 
 
 The saddest are these : " It might have been / " 
 
 Ah, well ! for us all some sweet hope lies 
 Deeply buried from human eyes ; 
 
 And, in the hereafter, angels may 
 
 Roll the stone from its grave away ! m 
 
 106. The exigencies of rhyme have a heavy burden to bear 
 In this line.
 
 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 WILLIAM CDLLEN BRYANT was born at Cummington, 
 Massachusetts, November 3, 1794 ; he died in New York, 
 June 12, 1878. His first poem, The Embargo, was pub 
 lished in Boston in 1809, and was written when he was but 
 thirteen years old ; his last poem, Our Fellow Worshippers, 
 was published in 1878. His long life thus was a long 
 career as a writer, and his first published poem prefigured 
 the twofold character of his literary life, for while it was in 
 poetic form it was more distinctly a political article. He 
 showed very early a taste for poetry, and was encouraged 
 to read and write verse by his father, Dr. Peter Bryant, a 
 country physician of strong character and cultivated tastes. 
 He was sent to Williams College in the fall of 1810, where 
 he remained two terms, when he decided to leave and enter 
 Yale College; but pecuniary troubles interfered with his 
 plans, and he never completed his college course. He pur 
 sued his literary studies at home, then began the study of 
 law and was admitted to the bar in 1815. Meantime he 
 had been continuing to write, and during this period wrote 
 with many corrections and changes the poem by which he 
 is still perhaps best known, Thanatopsis. It was published 
 in the North American Review for September, 1817, and 
 the same periodical published a few months afterward his 
 lines To a Waterfowl, one of the most characteristic and 
 lovely of Bryant's poems. Literature divided his attention 
 with law, but evidently had his heart. In 1821 he was
 
 284 WILLIAM CULLEN BEY ANT. 
 
 invited to read a poem before the Phi Beta Kappa Society 
 of Harvard College, and he read The Ages, a grave st^teiy 
 poem which shows his own poetic power, his familiarity 
 with the great masters of literature, and his lofty, philoso 
 phic nature. Shortly after this he issued a small volume of 
 poems, and his name began to be known as that of the first 
 American who had written poetry that could take its place 
 in universal literature. His own decided preference for lit 
 erature, and the encouragement of friends, led to his aban 
 donment of the law in 1825, and his removal to New York, 
 where he undertook the associate editorship of The New 
 York Review and Athenceum Magazine. Poetic genius is 
 not caused or controlled by circumstance, but a purely liter 
 ary life in a country not yet 'educated in literature was 
 impossible to a man of no other means of support, and in a 
 few months, after the Review had vainly tried to maintain 
 life by a frequent change of name, Bryant accepted an 
 appointment as assistant editor of the Evening Post. From 
 1826, then, until his death, Bryant was a journalist by pro 
 fession. One effect of this change in his life was to elimi 
 nate from his poetry that political character .which was dis 
 played in his first published poem and had several times since 
 shown itself. Thenceafter he threw into his journalistic 
 occupation all those thoughts and experiences which made 
 him by nature a patriot and political thinker ; he reserved 
 for poetry the calm reflection, love of nature, and purity o 
 aspiration which made him a poet. His editorial writing 
 was made strong and pure by his cultivated taste and lofty 
 ideals, but he presented the rare combination of a poet who 
 never sacrificed his love of high literature and his devotion 
 to art, and of a publicist who retained a sound judgment 
 and pursued the most practical ends. 
 
 His life outwardly was uneventful. He made four jour, 
 neys to Europe, in 1834, 1845, 1852, 1857, and he made 
 frequent tours in his own country. His observations on his 
 travels were published in Letters from a Traveller, Letters
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 285 
 
 from the East, and Letters from Spain and other Coun 
 tries. He never held public office, except that in 1860 be 
 was a presidential elector, but he was connected intimately 
 with important movements in society, literature, and politics, 
 and was repeatedly called upon to deliver addresses com 
 memorative of eminent citizens, as of Washington Irving, 
 and James Fenimore Cooper, and at the unveiling of the 
 bust of Mazzini in the Central Park. His Orations and 
 Addresses have been gathered into a volume. 
 
 The bulk of his poetry apart from hit; poetic translations 
 is not considerable, and is made up almost wholly of short 
 poems which are chiefly inspired by his love of nature. R. 
 H. Dana in his preface to TJie Idle Man says : " I shall 
 never forget with what feeling my friend Bryant some 
 years ago 1 described to me the effect produced upon him by 
 his meeting for the first time with Wordsworth's Ballads. 
 He lived, when quite young, where but few works of poetry 
 were to be had ; at a period, too, when Pope was still the 
 great idol of the Temple of Art. He said that upon open 
 ing Wordsworth a thousand springs seemed to gush up at 
 once in his heart, and the face of nature of a sudden to 
 change into a strange freshness and life." 
 
 This was the interpreting power of Wordsworth suddenly 
 disclosing to Bryant, not the secrets of nature, but his own 
 powers of perception and interpretation. Bryant is in no 
 sense an imitator of Wordsworth, but a comparison of the 
 two poets would be of great interest as showing how indi 
 vidually each pursued the same general poetic end. Words 
 worth's Three Years She Grew in Sun and Shower and 
 Bryant's Fairest of the Rural Maids offer an admirable 
 opportunity for disclosing the separate treatment of similar 
 subjects. In Bryant's lines, musical and full of a gentle rev- 
 ery, the poet seems to go deeper and deeper into the forest, 
 almost forgetful of the " fairest of the rural maids ; " in 
 Wordsworth's lines, with what simple yet profound feeling 
 
 1 This was -written in 1833.
 
 286 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 the poet, after delicately disclosing the interchange of nature 
 and human life, returns into those depths of human sympa 
 thy where nature must forever remain as a remote shadow. 
 
 Bryant translated many short poems from the Spanish, 
 but his largest literary undertaking was the translation of 
 the Iliad and Odyssey of Homer. He brought to this task 
 great requisite powers, and if there is any failure it is in the 
 absence of Homer's lightness and rapidity, qualities which 
 the elasticity of the Greek language especially favored. 
 
 A pleasant touch of a simple humor appeared in some of 
 his social addresses, and occasionally is found in his poems, 
 as in Robert of Lincoln. Suggestions of personal experi 
 ence will be read in such poems as The Cloud on the Way, 
 The Life that Is, and in the half-autobiographic poem, A
 
 SELLA. 
 
 [SELLA is the name given by the Vulgate to one of the 
 wives of Lamech, mentioned in the fourth chapter of the 
 Book of Genesis, and called Zillah in the common English 
 version of the Bible. The meaning of the name is Shadow, 
 and in choosing it the poet seems to have had no reference 
 to the Biblical fact, but to the significance of the name, since 
 he was telling of a creature who had the form without the 
 substance of human kind. The story naturally suggests 
 Fouqu^'s Undine, and is in some respects a complement to 
 that lovely romance. Undine is a water-nymph without a 
 soul, who gains one only by marrying a human being, and 
 in marrying tastes of the sorrows of life. Sella is of the 
 human race, gifted with a soul, but having a longing for 
 life among the water-nymphs. That life withdraws her 
 from the troubles and cares of the world, and she loses more 
 and more her interest in them ; when at last she is rudely 
 cut off from sharing in the water-nymphs' life, is awakened 
 as it were from a dream of beauty, she returns to the world 
 after a brief struggle, mingles with it, and makes the know 
 ledge gained among the water-nymphs minister to the needs 
 of men. 
 
 The story must not be probed too ingeniously for its 
 moral ; it is an exquisite fairy tale, but like many of such 
 tales it involves a gentle parable, which has been hinted at 
 above. If a more explicit interpretation is desired, we may 
 say that the passion for ideals, gradually withdrawing one 
 from human sympathy, is made finally to ennoble and lift 
 real life. The poet has not locali/ed the poem nor given it 
 a specific time, but left himself and the reader free by using 
 the large terms of nature and human life, and referring the
 
 288 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 action to the early, formative period of the world. Observe 
 Bryant's delicate and accurate transcriptions of faint charac 
 teristics of nature, as in lines 8, 12, 30, 35, 41, 215, 238, 
 389.] 
 
 HEAR now a legend of the days of old 
 The days when there were goodly marvels yet, 
 When man to man gave willing faith, and loved 
 A. tale the better that 't was wild and strange. 
 
 Beside a pleasant dwelling ran a brook s 
 
 Scudding along a narrow channel, paved 
 With green and yellow pebbles ; yet full clear 
 Its waters were, and colorless and cool, 
 As fresh from granite rocks. A maiden oft 
 Stood at the open window, leaning out, it 
 
 And listening to the sound the water made, 
 A sweet, eternal murmur, still the same, 
 And not the same ; and oft, as spring came on, 
 She gathered violets from its fresh moist bank, 
 To place within her bower, and when the herbs is 
 
 Of summer drooped beneath the mid-day sun, 
 She sat within the shade of a great rock, 
 Dreamily listening to the streamlet's song. 
 
 Ripe were the maiden's years ; her stature showed 
 Womanly beauty, and her clear, calm eye 20 
 
 Was bright with venturous spirit, yet her face 
 Was passionless, like those by sculptor graved 
 For niches in a temple. Lovers oft 
 Had wooed her, but she only laughed at love, 
 And wondered at the silly things they said. zs 
 
 T was her delight to wander where wild vines 
 O'erhang the river's brim, to climb the path 
 
 11. Observe the various suggestions in the early lines of the 
 poem of Sella's sympathy with water life.
 
 SELL A. 289 
 
 Of woodland streamlet to its mountain springs, 
 To sit bv <jleamin wells and mark below 
 
 / O 
 
 The image of the rushes on its edge, si 
 
 And, deep beyond, the trailing clouds that slid 
 
 Across the fair blue space. No little fount 
 
 Stole forth from hanging rock, or in the side 
 
 Of hollow dell, or under roots of oak, 
 
 No rill came trickling, with a stripe of green, ss 
 
 Down the bare hill, that to this maiden's eyes 
 
 Was not familiar. Often did the banks 
 
 Of river or of sylvan lakelet hear 
 
 The dip of oars with which the maiden rowed 
 
 Her shallop, pushing ever from the prow <o 
 
 A crowd of long, light ripples toward the shore. 
 
 Two brothers had the maiden, and she thought, 
 Within herself : " I would I were like them ; 
 For then I might go forth alone, to trace 
 The mighty rivers downward to the sea, 
 
 And upward to the brooks that, through the year, 
 Prattle to the cool valleys. I would know 
 What races drink their waters ; how their chiefs 
 Bear rule, and how men worship there, and how 
 They build, and to what quaint device they frame, s 
 Where sea and river meet, their stately ships ; 
 What flowers are in their gardens, and what trees 
 Bear fruit within their orchards ; in what garb 
 Their bowmen meet on holidays, and how 
 Their maidens bind the waist and braid the hair. M 
 Here, on these hills, my father's house o'erlooks 
 Broad pastures grazed by flocks and herds, but there 
 I hear they sprinkle the great plains with corn 
 
 31. The clouds which she sees deep beyond are of course the 
 reflection of the clouds passing over the well, as it is not the 
 rushes but the imajre of the rushes which she sees in the water.
 
 290 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 And watch its springing up, and when the green 
 
 Is changed to gold, they cut the stems and bring 
 
 The harvest in, and give the nations bread. 
 
 And there they hew the quarry into shafts, , 
 
 And pile up glorious temples from the rock, 
 
 And chisel the rude stones to shapes of men. 
 
 All this I pine to see, and would have seen, es 
 
 But that I am a woman, long ago." 
 
 Thus in her wanderings did the maiden dream, 
 Until, at length, one morn in early spring, 
 When all the glistening fields lay white with frost, 
 She came half breathless where her mother sat : " 
 " See, mother dear," said she, " what I have found, 
 Upon our rivulet's bank ; two slippers, white 
 As the mid-winter snow, and spangled o'er 
 With twinkling points, like stars, and on the edge 
 My name is wrought in silver ; read, I pray, ?s 
 
 Sella, the name thy mother, now in heaven, 
 Gave at my birth ; and sure, they fit my feet ! " 
 " A dainty pair," the prudent matron said, 
 " But thine they are not. We must lay them by 
 For those whose careless hands have left them here ; s 
 Or haply they were placed beside the brook 
 To be a snare. I cannot see thy name 
 
 72. The reader will recall instances of the magical or trans 
 forming character of slippers and the like : Mercury with his 
 winged sandals, Cinderella with her glass slippers, the seven 
 leagued boots, Puss in boots. A covering for the head is con 
 nected with the power of command and the power of invisibil 
 ity : a covering for the foot with magical power of motion. 
 
 82. In the mother's inability to read Sella's name on the slip 
 per is suggested that unimaginative nature which is so often rep 
 resented in fairy tales for a foil to the imagination. Hawthorne 
 has used this open-eyed blindness with excellent effect in hii 
 story of the Snow Image.
 
 SELLA. 291 
 
 Upon the border, only characters 
 
 Of mystic look and dim are there, like signs 
 
 Of some strange art ; nay, daughter, wear them 
 
 not." 85 
 
 Then Sella hung the slippers in the porch 
 Of that broad rustic lodge, and all who passed 
 Admired their fair contexture, but none knew 
 Who left them by the brook. And now, at length, 
 May, with her flowers and singing birds, had goue, 90 
 And on bright streams and into deep wells shone 
 The high, mid-summer sun. One day, at noon, 
 Sella was missed from the accustomed meal. 
 They sought her in her favorite haunts, they looked 
 By the great rock, and far along the stream, 95 
 
 And shouted in the sounding woods her name. 
 Night came, and forth the sorrowing household went 
 With torches over the wide pasture-grounds 
 To pool and thicket, marsh and briery dell, 
 And solitary valley far away. 100 
 
 The morning came, and Sella was not found. 
 The sun climbed high ; they sought her still ; tho 
 
 noon, 
 
 The hot and silent noon, heard Sella's name, 
 Uttered with a despairing cry, to wastes 
 O'er which the eagle hovered. As the sun ios 
 
 Stooped toward the amber west to bring the close 
 Of that sad second day, and, with red eyes, 
 The mother sat within her home alone, 
 Sella was at her side. A shriek of joy 
 Broke the sad silence ; glad, warm tears were shed, in 
 And words of gladness uttered. " Oh, forgive," 
 The maiden said, " that I could e'er forget 
 
 O 
 
 Thy wishes for a moment. I just tried 
 The slippers on, amazed to see them shaped
 
 292 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 So fairly to my feet, when, all at once, us 
 
 I felt my steps upborne and hurried on 
 
 Almost as if with wings. A strange delight, 
 
 Blent with a thrill of fear, o'ermastered me, 
 
 And, ere I knew, my plashing steps were set 
 
 Within the rivulet's pebbly bed, and I we 
 
 Was rushing down the current. By my side 
 
 Tripped one as beautiful as ever looked 
 
 From white clouds in a dream : and, as we ran, 
 
 She talked with musical voice and sweetly laughed. 
 
 Gayly we leaped the crag and swam the pool, 125 
 
 And swept with dimpling eddies round the rock, 
 
 And glided between shady meadow banks. 
 
 The streamlet, broadening as we went, became 
 
 A swelling river, and we shot along 
 
 By stately towns, and under leaning masts isa 
 
 Of gallant barks, nor lingered by the shore 
 
 Of blooming gardens ; onward, onward still, 
 
 The same strong impulse bore me till, at last, 
 
 We entered the great deep, and passed below 
 
 His billows, into boundless spaces, lit 135 
 
 With a green sunshine. Here were mighty groves 
 
 Far down the ocean valleys, and between 
 
 Lay what might seem fair meadows, softly tinged 
 
 With orange and with crimson. Here arose 
 
 Tall stems, that, rooted in the depths below, i 
 
 Swung idly with the motions of the sea ; 
 
 And here were shrubberies in whose mazy screen 
 
 The creatures of the deep made haunt. My friend 
 
 Named the strange growths, the pretty coralline, 
 
 The dulse with crimson leaves, and streaming far, itf 
 
 Sea-thong and sea-lace. Here the tangle spread 
 
 Its broad, thick fronds, with pleasant bowers beneath; 
 
 And oft we trod a waste of pearly sands,
 
 SELLA. 295 
 
 Spotted with rosy shells, and thence looked in 
 
 At caverns of the sea whose rock-roofed halls ist 
 
 Lay in blue twilight. As we moved along, 
 
 The dwellers of the deep, in mighty herds, 
 
 Passed by us, reverently they passed us by, 
 
 Long trains of dolphins rolling through the brine, 
 
 Huge whales, that drew the waters after them, IK 
 
 A torrent stream, and hideous hammer-sharks, 
 
 Chasing their prey. I shuddered as they came ; 
 
 Gently they turned aside and gave us room." 
 
 Hereat broke in the mother, " Sella, dear, 
 This is a dream, the idlest, vainest dream." iei 
 
 u Nay, mother, nay ; behold this sea-green scarf, 
 Woven of such threads as never human hand 
 Twined from the distaff. She who led my way 
 Through the great waters bade me wear it home, 
 A token that my tale is true. ' And keep,' IK 
 
 She said, ' the slippers thou hast found, for thou, 
 When shod with them, shalt be like one of us, 
 With power to walk at will the ocean-floor, 
 Among its monstrous creatures, unafraid, 
 And feel no longing for the air of heaven in 
 
 To fill thy lungs, and send the warm, red blood 
 Along thy veins. But thou shalt pass the hours 
 In dances with the sea-nymphs, or go forth, 
 To look into the mysteries of the abyss 
 Where never plummet reached. And thou shalt sleep 
 Thy weariness away on downy banks m 
 
 Of sea-moss, where the pulses of the tide 
 Shall gently lift thy hair, or thou shalt float 
 On the soft currents that go forth and wind 
 From isle to isle, and wander through the sea.' MI 
 
 " So spake my fellow-voyager, her words 
 Sounding like wavelets on a summer shore,
 
 294 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 And then we stopped beside a hanging rock 
 With a smooth beach of white sands at its foot, 
 Where three fair creatures like herself were set isi 
 At their sea-banquet, crisp and juicy stalks, 
 Culled from the ocean's meadows, and the sweet 
 Midrib of pleasant leaves, and golden fruits, 
 Dropped from the trees that edge the southern isles, 
 And gathered on the waves. Kindly they prayed w 
 That I would share their meal, and I partook 
 With eager appetite, for long had been 
 My journey, and I left the spot refreshed. 
 
 " And then we wandered off amid the groves 
 Of coral loftier than the growths of earth ; MS 
 
 The mightiest cedar lifts no trunk like theirs, 
 So huge, so high, toward heaven, nor overhangs 
 Alleys and bowers so dim. We moved between 
 Pinnacles of black rock, which, from beneath, 
 Molten by inner fires, so said my guide, 200 
 
 Gushed long ago into the hissing brine, 
 That quenched and hardened them, and now they 
 
 stand 
 
 Motionless in the currents of the sea 
 That part and flow around them. As we went, 
 We looked into the hollows of the abyss, 20: 
 
 To which the never-resting waters sweep 
 The skeletons of sharks, the long white spines 
 Of narwhale and of dolphin, bones of men 
 Shipwrecked, and mighty ribs of foundered barks. 
 Down the blue pits we looked, and hastened on. 211 
 
 " But beautiful the fountains of the sea 
 Sprang upward from its bed ; the silvery jets 
 Shot branching far into the azure brine, 
 And where they mingled with it, the great deep 
 Quivered and shook, as shakes the glimmering air as
 
 SELL A. 295 
 
 Above a furnace. So we wandered through 
 The mighty world of waters, till at length 
 I wearied of its wonders, and my heart 
 Began to yearn for my dear mountain home. 
 I prayed my gentle guide to lead me back se 
 
 To the upper air. ' A glorious realm,' I said, 
 ' Is this thou openest to me ; but I stray 
 Bewildered in its vastness ; these strange sights 
 And this strange light oppress me. I must see 
 The faces that I love, or I shall die.' 225 
 
 " She took my hand, and, darting through the 
 
 waves, 
 
 Brought me to where the stream, by which we came, 
 Rushed into the main ocean. Then began 
 A slower journey upward. Wearily 
 We breasted the strong current, climbing through 230 
 The rapids tossing high their foam. The night 
 Came down, and, in the clear depth of a pool, 
 Edged with o'erhanging rock, we took our rest 
 Till morning ; and I slept, and dreamed of home 
 And thee. A pleasant sight the morning showed ; 23$ 
 The green fields of this upper world, the herds 
 That grazed the bank, the light on the red clouds, 
 The trees, with all their host of trembling leaves, 
 Lifting and lowering to the restless wind 
 Their branches. As I awoke I saw them all m 
 
 From the clear stream ; yet strangely was my heart 
 Parted between the watery world and this, 
 And as we journeyed upward, oft I thought 
 Of marvels I had seen, and stopped and turned, 
 
 224. How very often in fairy tales the human being has bnt 
 to exercise the will to attain or to renounce the fairy power ! It 
 is only when one is under a spell, in the classic fairy tales, that 
 the will is not recognized as the supreme authority.
 
 296 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 And lingered, till I thought of thee again ; w 
 
 And then again I turned and clambered up 
 
 The rivulet's murmuring path, until we came 
 
 Beside this cottage door. There tenderly 
 
 My fair conductor kissed me, and I saw 
 
 Her face no more. I took the slippers off. 2&v 
 
 Oh ! with what deep delight my lungs drew in 
 
 The air of heaven again, and with what joy 
 
 I felt my blood bound with its former glow ; 
 
 And now I never leave thy side again." 
 
 So spoke the maiden Sella, with large tears m 
 
 Standing in her mild eyes, and in the porch 
 Replaced the slippers. Autumn came and went ; 
 The winter passed ; another summer warmed 
 The quiet pools ; another autumn tinged 
 The grape with red, yet while it hung unplucked, 260 
 The mother ere her time was carried forth 
 To sleep among the solitary hills. 
 
 A long still sadness settled on that home 
 Among the mountains. The stern father there 
 Wept with his children, and grew soft of heart, 2--. 
 And Sella, and the brothers twain, and one 
 Younger than they, a sister fair and shy, 
 Strewed the new grave with flowers, and round it set 
 Shrubs that all winter held their lively green. 
 Time passed ; the grief with which their hearts were 
 wrung art 
 
 Waned to a gentle sorrow. Sella, now, 
 Was often absent from the patriarch's board; 
 The slippers hung no longer in the porch ; 
 And sometimes after summer nights her couch 
 
 245. The humanizing of the character of Sella is effected bj 
 Buck touches as this.
 
 SELLA. 297 
 
 Was found impressed at dawn, and well they knew 275 
 
 That she was wandering with the race who make 
 
 Their dwelling in the waters. Oft her looks 
 
 Fixed on blank space, and oft the ill-suited word 
 
 Told that her thoughts were far away. In vain 
 
 Her brothers reasoned with her tenderly. ssc 
 
 " Oh leave not thus thy kindred ; " so they prayed : 
 
 " Dear Sella, now that she who gave us birth 
 
 Is in her grave, oh go not hence, to seek 
 
 Companions in that strange cold realm below, 
 
 For which God made not us nor thee, but stay 2s 
 
 To be the grace and glory of our home." 
 
 She looked at them with those mild eyes and wept, 
 
 But said no word in answer, nor refrained 
 
 From those mysterious wanderings that filled 
 
 Their loving hearts with a perpetual pain. 290 
 
 And now the younger sister, fair and shy, 
 Had grown to early womanhood, and one 
 Who loved her well had wooed her for his bride, 
 And she had named the wedding day. The herd 
 Had given its fatlings for the marriage feast ; 293 
 
 The roadside garden and the secret glen 
 Were rifled of their sweetest flowers to twine 
 The door posts, and to lie among the locks 
 Of maids, the wedding guests ; and from the boughs 
 Of mountain orchards had the fairest fruit 300 
 
 Been plucked to glisten in the canisters. 
 
 Then, trooping over hill and valley, came 
 Matron and maid, grave men and smiling youths, 
 Like swallows gathering for their autumn flight. 
 In costumes of that simpler age they came, sos 
 
 That gave the limbs large play, and wrapt the form 
 In easy folds, yet bright with glowing hues 
 As suited holidays. All hastened on
 
 298 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 To that glad bridal. There already stood 
 
 The priest prepared to say the spousal rite, w 
 
 And there the harpers in due order sat, 
 
 And there the singers. Sella, midst them all, 
 
 Moved strangely and serenely beautiful, 
 
 With clear blue eyes, fair locks, and brow and cheek 
 
 Colorless as the lily of the lakes, sis 
 
 Yet moulded to such shape as artists give 
 
 To beings of immortal youth. Her hands 
 
 Had decked her sister for the bridal hour 
 
 With chosen flowers, and lawn whose delicate threads 
 
 Vied with the spider's spinning. There she stood 320 
 
 With such a gentle pleasure in her looks 
 
 As might beseem a river-nymph's soft eyes 
 
 Gracing a bridal of the race whose flocks 
 
 Were pastured on the borders of her stream. 
 
 She smiled, but from that calm sweet face the 
 smile 32 
 
 Was soon to pass away. That very morn 
 The elder of the brothers, as he stood 
 Upon the hillside, had beheld the maid, 
 Emerging from the channel of the brook, 
 With three fresh water lilies in her hand, 33* 
 
 AVring dry her dripping locks, and in a cleft 
 Of hanging rock, beside a screen of boughs, 
 Bestow the spangled slippers. None before 
 Had known where Sella hid them. Then she laid 
 The light brown tresses smooth, and in them twined s 
 The lily buds, and hastily drew forth 
 And threw across her shoulders a light robe 
 
 322. The gentle turning-point of the poem. For a moment 
 the Sella of her dreams stands before us ; the idealizing of the 
 human creature has been carried to its finest limit, and is ar 
 tested now just short of the disappearance of the human soul.
 
 SELLA. 299 
 
 Wrought for the bridal, and with bounding steps 
 Ran toward the lodge. The youth beheld and marked 
 The spot and slowly followed from afar. s 
 
 Now had the marriage rite been said ; the bride 
 Stood in the blush that from her burning cheek 
 Glowed down the alabaster neck, as morn 
 Crimsons the pearly heaven halfway to the west. 
 At once the harpers struck their chords ; a gush MS 
 Of music broke upon the air ; the youths 
 All started to the dance. Among them moved 
 The queenly Sella with a grace that seemed 
 Caught from the swaying of the summer sea. 
 The young drew forth the elders to the dance, 350 
 
 Who joined it half abashed, but when they felt 
 The joyous music tingling in their veins, 
 They called for quaint old measures, which they trod 
 As gayly as in youth, and far abroad 
 Came through the open windows cheerful shouts 355 
 And bursts of laughter. They who heard the sound 
 Upon the mountain footpaths paused and said, 
 " A merry wedding." Lovers stole away 
 That sunny afternoon to bowers that edged 
 The garden walks, and what was whispered there sw 
 The lovers of these later times can guess. 
 
 Meanwhile the brothers, when the merry din 
 Was loudest, stole to where the slippers lay, 
 And took them thence, and followed down the brook 
 To where a little rapid rushed between sa 
 
 Its borders of smooth rock, and dropped them in. 
 The rivulet, as they touched its face, flung up 
 Its small bright waves like hands, and seemed to take 
 The prize with eagerness and draw it down. 
 They, gleaming through the waters as they went, 37 
 And striking with light sound the shining stones,
 
 300 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 Slid down the stream. The brothers looked and 
 
 watched 
 
 And listened with full beating hearts, till now 
 The sight and sound had passed, and silently 
 And half repentant hastened to the lodge. 375 
 
 The sun was near his set ; the music rang 
 Within the dwelling still, but the mirth waned ; 
 For groups of guests were sauntering toward their 
 
 homes 
 
 Across the fields, and far, on hillside paths, 
 Gleamed the white robes of maidens. Sella grew ssa 
 Weary of the long merriment ; she thought 
 Of her still haunts beneath the soundless sea, 
 And all unseen withdrew and sought the cleft 
 Where she had laid the slippers. They were gone. 
 She searched the brookside near, yet found them not. 
 Then her heart sank within her, and she ran sso 
 
 Wildly from place to place, and once again 
 She searched the secret cleft, and next she stooped 
 And with spread palms felt carefully beneath 
 The tufted herbs and bushes, and again, soo 
 
 And yet again she searched the rocky cleft. 
 'Who could have taken them?" That question 
 
 cleared 
 
 The mystery. She remembered suddenly 
 That when the dance was in its gayest whirl, 
 Her brothers were not seen, and when, at length, ssi 
 They reappeared, the elder joined the sports 
 With shouts of boisterous mirth, and from her eye 
 The younger shrank in silence. " Now, I know 
 The guilty ones," she said, and left the spot, 
 And stood before the youths with such a look 4o 
 
 Of anguish and reproach that well they knew 
 Her thought, and almost wished the deed undone.
 
 SELLA. 301 
 
 Frankly they owned the charge : " And pardon us ; 
 We did it all in love ; we could not bear 
 That the cold world of waters and the strange <os 
 
 Beings that dwell within it should beguile 
 Our sister from us." Then they told her all ; 
 How they had seen her stealthily bestow 
 The slippers in the cleft, and how by stealth 
 They took them thence and bore them down the broo^.c, 
 And dropped them in, and how the eager waves 411 
 Gathered and drew them down : but at that word 
 The maiden shrieked a broken-hearted shriek 
 And all who heard it shuddered and turned pale 
 At the despairing cry, and " They are gone," 415 
 
 She said, " gone gone forever. Cruel ones ! 
 'T is you who shut me out eternally 
 From that serener world which I had learned 
 To love so well. Why took ye not my life ? 
 Ye cannot know what ye have done." She spake, 420 
 And hurried to her chamber, and the guests 
 Who yet had lingered silently withdrew. 
 
 The brothers followed to the maiden's bower, 
 But with a calm demeanor, as they came, 
 She met them at the door. " The wrong is great," <25 
 She said, " that ye have done me, but no power 
 Have ye to make it less, nor yet to soothe 
 My sorrow ; I shall bear it as I may, 
 The better for the hours that I have passed 
 In the calm region of the middle sea. o 
 
 Go, then. I need you not." They, overawed, 
 Withdrew from that grave presence. Then her tears 
 Broke forth a flood, as when the August cloud, 
 Darkening beside the mountain, suddenly 
 Melts into streams of rain. That weary night <3i 
 She paced her chamber, murmuring as she walked,
 
 302 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 " O peaceful region of the middle sea ! 
 
 azure bowers and grots, in which I loved 
 To roam and rest ! Am I to long for you, 
 
 And think how strangely beautiful ye are, 
 
 Yet never see you more ? And dearer yet, 
 Ye gentle ones in whose sweet company 
 
 1 trod the shelly pavements of the deep, 
 
 And swam its currents, creatures with calm eyes 
 
 Looking the tenderest love, and voices soft 445 
 
 As ripple of light waves along the shore, 
 
 Uttering the tenderest words ! Oh ! ne'er again 
 
 Shall I, in your mild aspects, read the peace 
 
 That dwells within, and vainly shall I pine 
 
 To hear your sweet low voices. Haply now 450 
 
 Ye miss me in your deep-sea home, and think 
 
 Of me with pity, as of one condemned 
 
 To haunt this upper world, with its harsh sounds 
 
 And glaring lights, its withering heats, its frosts, 
 
 Cruel and killing, its delirious strifes, 455 
 
 And all its feverish passions, till I die." 
 
 So mourned she the long night, and when the morn 
 Brightened the mountains, from her lattice looked 
 The maiden on a world that was to her 
 A desolate and dreary waste. That day 4ua 
 
 She passed in wandering by the brook that oft 
 Had been her pathway to the sea, and still 
 Seemed, with its cheerful murmur, to invite 
 Her footsteps thither. " Well may'st thou rejoice, 
 Fortunate stream ! " she said, " and dance along < 
 Thy bed, and make thy course one ceaseless strain 
 Of music, for thou journeyest toward the deep, 
 To which I shall return no more." The night 
 Brought her to her lone chamber, and she knelt 
 And prayed, with many tears, to Him whose hand i
 
 SELL A. 303 
 
 Touches the wounded heart and it is healed. 
 With prayer there came new thoughts and new de 
 sires. 
 
 She asked for patience and a deeper love 
 For those with whom her lot was henceforth cast, 
 And that in acts of mercy she might lose E 
 
 The sense of her own sorrow. When she rose 
 A weight was lifted from her heart. She sought 
 Her couch, and slept a long and peaceful sleep. 
 At morn she woke to a new life. Her days 
 Henceforth were given to quiet tasks of good *s 
 
 In the great world. Men hearkened to her words, 
 And wondered at their wisdom and obeyed, 
 And saw how beautiful the law of love 
 Can make the cares and toils of daily life. 
 
 Still did she love to haunt the springs and brooks, 
 As in her cheerful childhood, and she taught e 
 
 The skill to pierce the soil and meet the veins 
 Of clear cold water winding underneath, 
 And call them forth to daylight. From afar 
 She bade men bring the rivers on long rows * 
 
 Of pillared arches to the sultry town, 
 And on the hot air of the summer fling 
 The spray of dashing fountains. To relieve 
 Their weary hands, she showed them how to tame u 
 The rushing stream, and make him drive the wheel 
 That whirls the humming millstone and that wields 
 The ponderous sledge. The waters of the cloud, 
 That drench the hillside in the time of rains, 
 Were gathered at her bidding into pools, 
 
 479. In the new life to which Sella awakes, one notes that it 
 is the old world in which she had lived endowed now with those 
 gifts which her ripened soul brought from the ideal world in 
 which she had hoped to lose herself.
 
 304 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 And in the months of drought led forth again, sot 
 In glimmering rivulets, to refresh the vales, 
 Till the sky darkened with returning showers. 
 So passed her life, a long and blameless life, 
 And far and near her name was named with love 
 And reverence. Still she kept, as age came on, 505 
 Her stately presence ; still her eyes looked forth 
 From under their calm brows as brightly clear 
 As the transparent wells by which she sat 
 So oft in childhood. Still she kept her fair 
 Unwrinkled features, though her locks were white, su 
 A hundred times had summer, since her birth, 
 Opened the water lily on the lakes, 
 So old traditions tell, before she died. 
 A hundred cities mourned her, and her death 
 Saddened the pastoral valleys. By the brook, sis 
 
 That bickering ran beside the cottage door 
 Where she was born, they reared her monument. 
 Ere long the current parted and flowed round 
 The marble base, forming a little isle, 
 And there the flowers that love the running stream, 52 
 Iris and orchis, and the cardinal flower, 
 Crowded and hung caressingly around 
 The stone engraved with Sella's honored name. 
 
 THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 
 
 [In this tender fancy Bryant has treated the personality 
 of the snow with a kinder, more sympathetic touch than 
 poets have been wont to give it. With many the cruelty of 
 cold or its treacherous nature is most significant. Hans 
 Christian Andersen, for example, in the story of The Ice 
 Maiden has taken a similar theme, but has emphasized the
 
 THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 305 
 
 seductive treachery of the Spirit of Cold. Here Bryant has 
 given the true fairy, innocent of evil purpose, yet inflicting 
 grievous wrong through its nature ; sorrowing over the dead 
 Eva, hut without the remorse of human heings. The time 
 of the story is placed in legendary antiquity hy the exclu 
 sion of historic times in lines 35-41, and the antiquity is 
 still more positively affirmed by the lines at the close ac 
 counting for our not now seeing the Little People of the 
 Snow. The children had asked for a fairy tale, and it is 
 made more real by being placed at so ethereal a distance. | 
 
 Alice. One of your old world stories, Uncle John, 
 Such as you tell us by the winter fire, 
 Till we all wonder it has grown so late. 
 
 Uncle John. The story of the witch that ground 
 
 to death 
 
 Two children in her mill, or will you have 5 
 
 The tale of Goody Cutpurse ? 
 
 Alice. Nay now, nay ; 
 
 Those stories are too childish, Uncle John, 
 Too childish even for little Willy here, 
 And I am older, two good years, than he ; 
 No, let us have a tale of elves that ride 10 
 
 By night with jingling reins, or gnomes of the mine, 
 Or water-fairies, such as you know how 
 To spin, till Willy's eyes forget to wink, 
 And good Aunt Mary, busy as she is, 
 Lays down her knitting. 
 
 Uncle John. Listen to me, then. is 
 
 'T was in the olden time, long, long ago, 
 And long before the great oak at our door 
 
 6. Goody Cut-purse, or Moll Cut-purse, was a famous high 
 way woman of Shakspere's time who robbed people as auda 
 ciously as did Jack Sheppard.
 
 306 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 Was yet an acorn, on a mountain's side 
 Lived, with his wife, a cottager. They dwelt 
 Beside a glen and near a dashing brook, 2t 
 
 A pleasant spot in spring, where first the wren 
 Was heard to chatter, and, among the grass, 
 Flowers opened earliest ; but, when winter came, 
 That little brook was fringed with other flowers, 
 White flowers, with crystal leaf and stem, that grew 
 In clear November nights. And, later still, 2e 
 
 That mountain glen was filled with drifted snows 
 From side to side, that one might walk across, 
 While, many a fathom deep, below, the brook 
 Sang to itself, and leapt and trotted on so 
 
 Unfrozen, o'er its pebbles, toward the vale. 
 
 Alice. A mountain's side, you said ; the Alps, per. 
 
 haps, 
 Or our own Alleghanies. 
 
 Uncle John. Not so fast, 
 
 My young geographer, for then the Alps, 
 With their broad pastures, haply were untrod 35 
 
 Of herdsman's foot, and never human voice 
 Had sounded in the woods that overhang 
 Our AUeghany's streams. I think it was 
 Upon the slopes of the great Caucasus, 
 Or where the rivulets of Ararat 40 
 
 Seek the Armenian vales. That mountain rose 
 So high, that, on its top, the winter snow 
 Was never melted, and the cottagers 
 Among the summer blossoms, far below, 
 Saw its white peaks in August from their door. 
 
 One little maiden, in that cottage home, 
 Dwelt with her parents, light of heart and limb, 
 Bright, restless, thoughtless, flitting here and there 
 Like sunshine on the uneasy ocean waves,
 
 THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 307 
 
 And sometimes she forgot what she was bid, so 
 
 As Alice does. 
 
 Alice. Or Willy, quite as oft. 
 
 Uncle John. But you are older, Alice, two good 
 
 years, 
 
 And should be wiser. Eva was the name 
 Of this young maiden, now twelve summers old. 
 
 Now you must know that, in those early times, & 
 When autumn days grew pale, there came a troop 
 Of childlike forms from that cold mountain top ; 
 AVith trailing garments through the air they came, 
 Or walked the ground with girded loins, and threw 
 Spangles of silvery frost upon the grass, eo 
 
 And edged the brook with glistening parapets, 
 And built it crystal bridges, touched the pool, 
 And turned its face to glass, or, rising thence, 
 They shook, from their full laps, the soft, light snow, 
 And buried the great earth, as autumn winds es 
 
 Bury the forest floor in heaps of leaves. 
 
 A beautiful race were they, with baby brows, 
 And fair, bright locks, and voices like the sound 
 Of steps on the crisp snow, in which they talked 
 With man, as friend with friend. A merry sight TO 
 It was, when, crowding round the traveller, 
 They smote him with their heaviest snow-flakes, flung 
 Needles of frost in handfuls at his cheeks, 
 And, of the light wreaths of his smoking breath, 
 Wove a white fringe for his brown beard, and 
 laughed 75 
 
 Their slender laugh to see him wink and grin 
 And make grim faces as he floundered on. 
 
 But, when the spring came on, what terror reigned 
 Among these Little People of the Snow ! 
 To them the sun's warm beams were shafts of fire, so
 
 308 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 And the soft south-wind was the wind of death. 
 
 Away they flew, all with a pretty scowl 
 
 Upon their childish faces, to the north, 
 
 Or scampered upward to the mountain's top, 
 
 And there defied their enemy, the Spring ; ea 
 
 Skipping and dancing on the frozen peaks, 
 
 And moulding little snow-balls in their palms, 
 
 And rolling them, to crush her flowers below, 
 
 Down the steep snow-fields. 
 
 Alice. That, too, must have been 
 
 A merry sight to look at. 
 
 Uncle John. You are right, 90 
 
 But I must speak of graver matters now. 
 
 Mid-winter was the time, and Eva stood 
 Within the cottage, all prepared to dare 
 The outer cold, with ample furry robe 
 Close belted round her waist, and boots of fur, 95 
 
 And a broad kerchief, which her mother's hand 
 Had closely drawn about her ruddy cheek. 
 " Now, stay not long abroad," said the good dame, 
 " For sharp is the outer air, and, mark me well, 
 Go not upon the snow beyond the spot 100 
 
 Where the great linden bounds the neighboring 
 field." 
 
 The little maiden promised, and went forth, 
 And climbed the rounded snow-swells firm with frost 
 Beneath her feet, and slid, with balancing arms, 
 Into the hollows. Once, as up a drift ios 
 
 She slowly rose, before her, in the way, 
 She saw a little creature lily-cheeked, 
 With flowing flaxen locks, and faint blue eyes, 
 That gleamed like ice, and robe that only seemed 
 Of a more shadowy whiteness than her cheek. in 
 
 On a smooth bank she sat.
 
 THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 309 
 
 Alice. She must have been 
 
 One of your Little People of the Snow. 
 
 Uncle John. She was so, and, as Eva now drew 
 
 near, 
 
 The tiny creature bounded from her seat ; 
 " And come," she said, " my pretty friend ; to-day ii 
 We will be playmates. I have watched thee long, 
 And seen how well thou lov'st to walk these drifts, 
 And scoop their fair sides into little cells, 
 And carve them with quaint figures, huge-limbed men, 
 Lions, and griffins. We will have, to-day, 12* 
 
 A merry ramble over these bright fields, 
 And thou shalt see what thou hast never seen." 
 
 On went the pair, until they reached the bound 
 Where the great linden stood, set deep in snow, 
 Up to the lower branches. " Here we stop," 125 
 
 Said Eva, " for my mother has my word 
 That I will go no farther than this tree." 
 Then the snow-maiden laughed ; " And what is this ? 
 This fear of the pure snow, the innocent snow, 
 That never harmed aught living ? Thou may'st 
 roam ia 
 
 For leagues beyond this garden, and return 
 In safety ; here the grim wolf never prowls, 
 And here the eagle of our mountain crags 
 Preys not in winter. I will show the way 
 And bring thee safely home. Thy mother, sure, i 
 Counselled thee thus because thou hadst no guide." 
 
 By such smooth words was Eva won to break 
 
 137. The idea of sin is very lightly touched in the poem, and 
 there is no conscious temptation to evil on the part of the Snow- 
 maiden. The absence of a moral sense in the Little People of 
 the Snow is verv delicately assumed here. It is with fairies 
 that the poet is dealing, and not with diminutive human beings.
 
 310 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 Her promise, and went on with her new friend, 
 Over the glistening snow and down a bank 
 Where a white shelf, wrought by the eddying 
 wind, i 
 
 Like to a billow's crest in the great sea, 
 Curtained an opening. " Look, we enter here." 
 And straight, beneath the fair o'erhanging fold, 
 Entered the little pair that hill of snow, 
 Walking along a passage with white walls, i 
 
 And a white vault above where snow-stars shed 
 A wintry twilight. Eva moved in awe, 
 And held her peace, but the snow-maiden smiled, 
 And talked and tripped along, as, down the way, 
 Deeper they went into that mountainous drift. iw 
 
 And now the white walls widened, and the vault 
 Swelled upward, like some vast cathedral dome, 
 Such as the Florentine, who bore the name 
 Of Heaven's most potent angel, reared, long since, 
 Or the unknown builder of that wondrous fane, IM 
 The glory of Burgos. Here a garden lay, 
 In which the Little People of the Snow 
 Were wont to take their pastime when their tasks 
 Upon the mountain's side and in the clouds 
 Were ended. Here they taught the silent frost iec 
 To mock, in stem and spray, and leaf and flower, 
 The growths of summer. Here the palm upreared 
 Its white columnar trunk and spotless sheaf 
 Of plume-like leaves ; here cedars, huge as those 
 
 146. The star form of the snow-crystal gives a peculiar truth 
 fulness to the poet's fancy. 
 
 154. Michael Angelo, the great Florentine architect, sculptor, 
 and painter. 
 
 156. In Bryant's Letters of a Traveller, second series, will b 
 found an account of Burgos Cathedral.
 
 THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 311 
 
 Of Lebanon, stretched far their level boughs, 165 
 
 Yet pale and shadowless ; the sturdy oak 
 Stood, with its huge gnarled roots of seeming strength, 
 Fast anchored in the glistening bank ; light sprays 
 Of myrtle, roses in their bud and bloom, 
 Drooped by the winding walks ; yet all seemed 
 wrought ire 
 
 Of stainless alabaster ; up the trees 
 Ran the lithe jessamine, with stalk and leaf 
 Colorless as her flowers. " Go softly on," 
 Said the snow-maiden ; " touch not, with thy hand, 
 The frail creation round thee, and beware ws 
 
 To sweep it with thy skirts. Now look above. 
 How sumptuously these bowers are lighted up 
 With shifting gleams that softly come and go ! 
 These are the northern lights, such as thou seest 
 In the midwinter nights, cold, wandering flames, IM 
 That float, with our processions, through the air ; 
 And, here within our winter palaces, 
 Mimic the glorious daybreak." Then she told 
 How, when the wind, in the long winter nights, 
 Swept the light snows into the hollow dell, iss 
 
 She and her comrades guided to its place 
 Each wandering flake, and piled them quaintly up, 
 In shapely colonnade and glistening arch, 
 With shadowy aisles between, or bade them grow 
 Beneath their little hands, to bowery walks we 
 
 In gardens such as these, and, o'er them all, 
 Built the broad roof. " But thou hast yet to see 
 A fairer sight," she said, and led the way 
 To where a window of pellucid ice 
 Stood in the wall of snow, beside their path. i* 
 
 " Look, but thou may'st not enter." Eva looked, 
 And lo ! a glorious hall, from whose high vault
 
 312 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 Stripes of soft light, ruddy, and delicate green, 
 And tender blue, flowed downward to the floor 
 And far around, as if the aerial hosts, 201 
 
 That march on high by night, with beamy spears, 
 And streaming banners, to that place had brought 
 Their radiant flags to grace a festival. 
 And in that hall a joyous multitude 
 Of those by whom its glistening walls were reared, 205 
 Whirled in a merry dance to silvery sounds, 
 That rang from cymbals of transparent ice, 
 And ice-cups, quivering to the skilful touch 
 Of little fingers. Round and round they flew, 
 As when, in spring, about a chimney top, 210 
 
 A cloud of twittering swallows, just returned, 
 Wheel round and round, and turn and wheel again, 
 Unwinding their swift track. So rapidly 
 Flowed the meandering stream of that fair dance, 
 Beneath that dome of light. Bright eyes that 
 looked 21* 
 
 From under lily brows, and gauzy scarfs 
 Sparkling like snow-wreaths in the early sun, 
 Shot by the window in their mazy whirl. 
 And there stood Eva, wondering at the sight 
 Of those bright revellers and that graceful sweep 224 
 Of motion as they passed her; long she gazed, 
 And listened long to the sweet sounds that thrilled 
 The frosty air, till now the encroaching cold 
 Recalled her to herself. " Too long, too long 
 I linger here," she said, and then she sprang 22* 
 
 Into the path, and with a hurried step 
 Followed it upward. Ever by her side 
 Her little guide kept pace. As on they went 
 Eva bemoaned her fault : " What must they think 
 The dear ones in the cottage, while so long, 231
 
 THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 313 
 
 Hour after hour, I stay without ? I know 
 
 That they will seek me far and near, and weep 
 
 To find me not. How could I, wickedly, 
 
 Neglect the charge they gave me ? " As she spoke, 
 
 The hot tears started to her eyes ; she knelt 235 
 
 In the mid path. " Father ! forgive this sin ; 
 
 Forgive myself I cannot " thus she prayed, 
 
 And rose and hastened onward. When, at last, 
 
 They reached the outer air, the clear north breathed 
 
 A bitter cold, from which she shrank with dread, 240 
 
 But the snow-maiden bounded as she felt 
 
 The cutting blast, and uttered shouts of joy, 
 
 And skipped, with boundless glee, from drift to drift, 
 
 And danced round Eva, as she labored up 
 
 The mounds of snow. " Ah me ! I feel my eyes 245 
 
 Grow heavy," Eva said ; " they swim with sleep ; 
 
 I cannot walk for utter weariness, 
 
 And I must rest a moment on this bank, 
 
 But let it not be long." As thus she spoke, 
 
 In half-formed words, she sank on the smooth snow, 
 
 With closing lids. Her guide composed the robe 251 
 
 About her limbs, and said, " A pleasant spot 
 
 Is this to slumber in ; on such a couch 
 
 Oft have I slept away the winter night, 
 
 And had the sweetest dreams." So Eva slept, 250 
 
 But slept in death ; for when the power of frost 
 
 Locks up the motions of the living frame, 
 
 The victim passes to the realm of Death 
 
 Through the dim porch of Sleep. The little guide, 
 
 Watching beside her, saw the hues of life 26 
 
 Fade from the fair smooth brow and rounded cheek, 
 
 As fades the crimson from a morning cloud, 
 
 Till they were white as marble, and the breath 
 
 Had ceased to come and go, yet knew she not
 
 314 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 At first that this was death. But when she marked 2 
 
 How deep the paleness was, how motionless 
 
 That ouce lithe form, a fear came over her. 
 
 She strove to wake the sleeper, plucked her robe, 
 
 And shouted in her ear, but all in vain ; 
 
 The life had passed away from those young limbs. 270 
 
 Then the snow-maiden raised a wailing cry, 
 
 Such as the dweller in some lonely wild, 
 
 Sleepless through all the long December night, 
 
 Hears when the mournful East begins to blow. 
 
 But suddenly was heard the sound of steps, 275 
 
 Grating on the crisp snow ; the cottagers 
 Were seeking Eva ; from afar they saw 
 The twain, and hurried toward them. As they came, 
 With gentle chidings ready on their lips, 
 And marked that deathlike sleep, and heard the 
 tale 2SU 
 
 Of the snow-maiden, mortal anguish fell 
 Upon their hearts, and bitter words of grief 
 And blame were uttered : " Cruel, cruel one, 
 To tempt our daughter thus, and cruel we, 
 Who suffered her to wander forth alone zss 
 
 In this fierce cold." They lifted the dear child, 
 And bore her home and chafed her tender limbs, 
 And strove, by all the simple arts they knew, 
 To make the chilled blood move, and win the breath 
 Back to her bosom ; fruitlessly they strove. 29 
 
 The little maid was dead. In blank despair 
 They stood, and gazed at her who never more 
 Should look on them. " Why die we not with her ? " 
 They said ; " without her, life is bitterness." 
 
 Now came the funeral-day; the simple folk am 
 
 Of all that pastoral region gathered round, 
 To share the sorrow of the cottagers.
 
 THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. 315 
 
 They carved a way into the mound of snow 
 
 To the glen's side, and dug a little grave 
 
 In the smooth slope, and, following the bier, M 
 
 In long procession from the -silent door, 
 
 Chanted a sad and solemn melody : 
 
 " Lay her away to rest within the ground. 
 Yea, lay her down whose pure and innocent life 
 Was spotless as/ these snows ; for she was reared sos 
 In love, and passed in love life's pleasant spring, 
 And all that now our tenderest love can do 
 Is to give burial to her lifeless limbs." 
 
 They paused. A thousand slender voices round, 
 Like echoes softly flung from rock and hill, sii 
 
 Took up the strain, and all the hollow air 
 Seemed mourning for the dead ; for, on that day, 
 The Little People of the Snow had come, 
 From mountain peak, and cloud, and icy hall, 
 To Eva's burial. As the murmur died, 213 
 
 The funeral-train renewed the solemn chant. 
 
 " Thou, Lord, hast taken her to be with Eve, 
 Whose gentle name was given her. Even so, 
 For so Thy wisdom saw that it was best 
 For her and us. We bring our bleeding hearts, 320 
 And ask the touch of healing from Thy hand, 
 As, with submissive tears, we render back 
 The lovely and beloved to Him who gave." 
 
 They ceased. Again the plaintive murmur rose. 
 From shadowy skirts of low-hung cloud it came, 325 
 And wide white fields, and fir-trees capped with snow, 
 Shivering to the sad sounds. They sank away 
 To silence in the dim-seen distant woods. 
 
 The little grave was closed ; the funeral-train 
 Departed ; winter wore away ; the spring w 
 
 Steeped, with her quickening rains, the violet tufts,
 
 316 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 By fond hands planted where the maiden slept. 
 
 But, after Eva's burial, never more 
 
 The Little People of the Snow were seen 
 
 By human eye, nor ever human ear 
 
 Heard from their lips articulate speech again ; 
 
 For a decree went forth to cut them off, 
 
 Forever, from communion with mankind. 
 
 The winter clouds, along the mountain-side 
 
 Rolled downward toward the vale, but no fair form 
 
 Leaned from their folds, and, in the icy glens, 
 
 And aged woods, under snow-loaded pines, 
 
 Where once they made their haunt, was emptiness. 
 
 But ever, when the wintry days drew near, 
 Around that little grave, in the long night, 
 Frost-wreaths were laid, and tufts of silvery rime 
 In shape like blades and blossoms of the field, 
 As one would scatter flowers upon a bier.
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES was born at Cambridge, 
 Massachusetts, August 29, 1809. The house in which, lie 
 was born stood between the sites now occupied by the Hem- 
 enway Gymnasium and the Law School of Harvard Uni 
 versity, and was of historic interest as having been the head 
 quarters of General Artemas Ward, and of the Committee 
 of Safety in the days just before the Revolution. Upon 
 the steps of the house stood President Langdon, of Har 
 vard College, tradition says, and prayed for the men who, 
 halting there a few moments, marched forward under Colo 
 nel Prescott's lead to throw up intrenchments on Bunker 
 Hill on the night of June 16, 1775. Dr. Holmes's father 
 carried forward the traditions of the old house, for he was 
 Rev. Dr. Abiel Holmes, whose American Annals was the 
 first careful record of American history written after the 
 Revolution. 
 
 Born and bred in the midst of historic associations, 
 Holmes had from the first a lively interest in American his 
 tory and politics, and though possessed of strong humorous 
 gifts, has often turned his song into patriotic channels, while 
 the current of his literary life has been distinctly American. 
 
 He began to write poetry when in college at Cambridge, 
 and some of his best^known early pieces, like Evening, by a 
 Tailor, The Meeting of the Dryads, The Spectre Pig, were 
 contributed to the Collegian, an undergraduate journal, while 
 he was studying law the year after his graduation. At the
 
 318 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 same time he wrote the well-known poem Old Ironsides, a 
 protest against the proposed breaking up of the frigate Con 
 stitution; the poem was printed in the Boston Daily Adver 
 tiser, and its indignation and fervor carried it through the 
 country, and raised such a popular feeling that the ship -was 
 saved from an ignominious destruction. Holmes shortly 
 gave up the study of law, went abroad to study medicine, 
 and returned to take his degree at Harvard in 1836. At 
 the same time he delivered a poem, Poetry : a Metrical 
 Essay, before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard, and 
 ever since his profession of medicine and his love of litera 
 ture have received his united care and thought. In 183& 
 he was appointed Professor of Anatomy and Physiology at 
 Dartmouth College, but remained there only a year or two,, 
 when he returned to Boston, married, and practised medi 
 cine. In 1847 he was made Parkman Professor of Anat 
 omy and Physiology in the Medical School of Harvard Col 
 lege, a position which he retained until the close of 1882, 
 when he retired, to devote himself more exclusively to liter 
 ature. 
 
 In 1857, when the Atlantic Monthly was established, 
 Professor Lowell, who was asked to be editor, consented on 
 condition that Dr. Holmes should be a regular contributor. 
 Dr. Holmes at that time was known as the author of a num 
 ber of poems of grace, life, and wit, and he had published 
 several professional papers and books, but his brilliancy as a 
 talker gave him a strong local reputation, and Lowell 
 shrewdly guessed that he would bring to the new magazine 
 a singularly fresh and unusual power. He was right, for 
 The Autocrat of the Breakfast- Table, beginning in the 
 first number, unquestionably insured the Atlantic its early 
 success. The readers of the day had forgotten that Holmes, 
 twenty-five years before, had begun a series with the same 
 title in Buckingham's New England Magazine, a periodi 
 cal of short life, so they did not at first understand why he 
 should begin his first article, " I was just going to say when
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 319 
 
 I was interrupted." From that time Dr. Holmes was a 
 frequent contributor to the magazine, and in it appeared 
 successively, The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table, The Pro 
 fessor at the Breakfast- Table, The Professor's Story (after 
 ward called Elsie Venner), The Guardian Angel, The Poet 
 at the Breakfast- Table, The New Portfolio (afterward called 
 A Mortal Antipathy}, Our Hundred Days in Europe, and 
 Over the Teacups, prose papers and stories with occa 
 sional insertion of verse ; here also have been printed the 
 many poems which he has so freely and happily written for 
 festivals and public occasions, including the frequent poema 
 at the yearly meetings of his college class. The wit and 
 humor which have made his poetry so well known would 
 never have given him his high rank had they not been asso 
 ciated with an admirable art which makes every word ne 
 cessary and felicitous, and a generous nature which is quick 
 to seize upon what touches a common li+'e. 
 
 He died suddenly in his home in Boston, while talking 
 with his son, Sunday afternoon, October 7, 1894. His Life 
 and Letters, written and edited by John T. Morse, Jr., a 
 nephew of Mrs. Holmes, was published about two years 
 afterward. 
 
 Dr. Holmes's writings have been gathered into fourteen 
 uniform volumes, known as the Riverside Edition, of which 
 three are devoted to poetry, ten to prose, and one contains 
 the two memoirs which he wrote of Emerson and Motley. 
 His complete poetical works are contained in the one-volume 
 Cambridge Edition.
 
 GRANDMOTHER'S STORY OF BUNKER HILL 
 BATTLE. 
 
 AS SHE SAW IT FROM THE BELFBY. 
 
 [This poem was first published in 1875, in connection 
 with the centenary of the battle of Bunker Hill. The bel 
 fry could hardly have been that of Christ Church, since tra 
 dition says that General Gage was stationed there watching 
 the battle, and we may make it to be what was known as 
 the New Brick Church, built in 1721, on Hanover, corner 
 of Richmond Street, Boston, rebuilt of stone in 1845, and 
 pulled down at the widening of Hanover Street in 1871. 
 There are many narratives of the battle of Bunker Hill. 
 Frothingham's History of the Siege of Boston is one of the 
 most comprehensive accounts, and has furnished material 
 for many popular narratives. The centennial celebration 
 of the battle called out magazine and newspaper articles, 
 which give the story with little variation. There are not 
 many disputed points in connection with the event, the prin 
 cipal one being the discussion as to who was the chief 
 officer.] 
 
 'T is like stirring living embers when, at eighty, one 
 
 remembers 
 All the achings and the quakings of " the times that 
 
 tried men's souls ; " 
 
 2. In December, 1776, Thomas Paine, whose Common Sense had 
 so remarkable a popularity as the first homely expression of 
 public opinion on Independence, began issuing a series of tracts 
 called The Crisis, eighteen numbers of which appeared. The fa 
 miliar words quoted by the grandmother must often have been
 
 GRANDMOTHER'S STORY. 321 
 
 When I talk of Whig and Tory, when I tell the Rebd 
 story, 
 
 To you the words are ashes, but to me they 're burn 
 ing coals. 
 
 1 had heard the muskets' rattle of the April running 
 
 battle ; s 
 
 Lord Percy's hunted soldiers, I can see their red coats 
 
 still ; 
 But a deadly chill comes o'er me, as the day looms up 
 
 before me, 
 When a thousand men lay bleeding on the slopes of 
 
 Bunker's Hill. 
 
 heard and used by her. They begin the first number of The 
 Crisis : " These are the times that try men's souls : the summer 
 soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from 
 the service of his country ; but he that stands it NOW deserves 
 the love and thanks of man and woman." 
 
 3. The terms Whig and Tory were applied to the two parties 
 in England who represented, respectively, the Whigs political 
 and religious liberty, the Tories royal prerogative and ecclesias 
 tical authority. The names first came into use in 1679 in the 
 struggles at the close of Charles II. 's reign, and continued in use 
 until a generation or so ago, when they gave place to somewhat 
 corresponding terms of Liberal and Conservative. At the break 
 ing out of the war for Independence, the Whigs in England op 
 posed the measures taken by the crown in the management of 
 the American colonies, while the Tories supported the crown. 
 The names were naturally applied in America to the patriotic 
 party, who were termed Whigs, and the loyalist party, termed 
 Tories. The Tories in turn called the patriots rebels. 
 
 5. The Lexington and Concord affair of April 19, 1775, when 
 Lord Percy's soldiers retreated in a disorderly manner to 
 Charlestown, annoyed on the way by the Americans who fol 
 lowed and accompanied them.
 
 322 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 'T was a peaceful summer's morning, when the first 
 
 thing gave us warning 
 Was the booming of the cannon from the river and 
 
 the shore : 10 
 
 " Child," says grandma, " what 's the matter, what is 
 
 all this noise and clatter ? 
 Have those scalping Indian devils come to murder us 
 
 once more ? " 
 
 Poor old soul ! my sides were shaking in the midst of 
 all my quaking, 
 
 To hear her talk of Indians when the guns began to 
 roar: 
 
 She had seen the burning village, and the slaughter 
 and the pillage, is 
 
 When the Mohawks killed her father with their bul 
 lets through his door. 
 
 Then I said, " Now, dear old granny, don't you fret 
 
 and worry any, 
 For I '11 soon come back and tell you whether this is 
 
 work or play ; 
 There can't be mischief in it, so I won't be gone a 
 
 minute " 
 For a minute then I started. I was gone the livelong 
 
 day. 29 
 
 No time for bodice-lacing or for looking glass grima 
 cing ; 
 
 16. The Mohawks, a formidable part of the Six Nations, were 
 held in great dread, as they were the most cruel and warlike of 
 all the tribes. In connection with the French they fell upon the 
 frontier settlements during Queen Anne's war, early in the 
 eighteenth century, and committed terrible deeds, long remeiii- 
 bered in New England households.
 
 GRANDMOTHER'S STORY. 323 
 
 Down tny hair went as I hurried, tumbling half-way 
 to my heels ; 
 
 God forbid your ever knowing, when there 's blood 
 around her flowing, 
 
 How the lonely, helpless daughter of a quiet house 
 hold feels ! 
 
 In the street I heard a thumping ; and I knew it was 
 
 the stumping 25 
 
 Of the Corporal, our old neighbor, on the wooden leg 
 
 he wore, 
 With a knot of women round him, it was lucky I 
 
 had found him, 
 So I followed with the others, and the Corporal 
 
 marched before. 
 
 They were making for the steeple, the old soldier 
 and his people ; 
 
 The pigeons circled round us as we climbed the creak 
 ing stair, 39 
 
 Just across the narrow river Oh, so close it made 
 me shiver ! 
 
 Stood a fortress on the hill-top that but yesterday was 
 bare. 
 
 Not slow our eyes to find it ; well we knew who stood 
 behind it, 
 
 Though the earthwork hid them from us, and the stub 
 born walls were dumb : 
 
 Here were sister, wife, and mother, looking wild upon 
 each other, 
 
 And their lips were white with terror as they said, 
 THE HOUR HAS COME!
 
 324 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 The morning slowly wasted, not a morsel had we 
 
 tasted, 
 And our heads were almost splitting with the cannons' 
 
 deafening thrill, 
 When a figure tall and stately round the rampart 
 
 strode sedately ; 
 It was PRESCOTT, one since told me ; he commanded 
 
 on the hill. 40 
 
 Every woman's heart grew bigger when we saw his 
 
 manly figure, 
 With the banyan buckled round it, standing up so 
 
 straight and tall ; 
 Like a gentleman of leisure who is strolling out for 
 
 pleasure, 
 Through the storm of shells and cannon-shot he 
 
 walked around the wall. 
 
 At eleven the streets were swarming, for the red-coats' 
 
 ranks were forming ; 45 
 
 At noon in marching order they were moving to the 
 
 piers ; 
 How the bayonets gleamed and glistened, as we looked 
 
 far down, and listened 
 To the trampling and the drum-beat of the belted 
 
 grenadiers ! 
 
 40. Colonel William Prescott, who commanded the detach 
 ment which marched from Cambridge, June 16, 1775, to fortify 
 Breed's Hill, was the grandfather of William Hickling Prescott, 
 the historian. He was in the field during the entire battle of 
 the 17th, in command of the redoubt. 
 
 42. Banyan a flowered morning gown which Prescott is said 
 to have worn during the hot day, a good illustration of the un- 
 military appearance of the soldiers engaged. His nonchalant 
 walk upon the parapets is also a historic fact, and was for the 
 encouragement of the troops within the redoubt.
 
 GRANDMOTHER'S STORY. 325 
 
 At length the men have started, with a cheer (it 
 seemed faint-hearted), 
 
 In their scarlet regimentals, with their knapsacks or. 
 their backs, so 
 
 And the reddening, rippling water, as after a sea- 
 fight's slaughter, 
 
 Round the barges gliding onward blushed like blood 
 along their tracks. 
 
 So they crossed to the other border, and again they 
 formed in order ; 
 
 And the boats came back for soldiers, came for sol 
 diers, soldiers still : 
 
 The time seemed everlasting to us women faint and 
 fasting, 55 
 
 At last they 're moving, marching, marching proudly 
 up the hill. 
 
 We can see the bright steel glancing all along the 
 
 lines advancing 
 Now the front rank fires a volley they have thrown 
 
 away their shot ; 
 For behind their earthwork lying, all the balls above 
 
 them flying, 
 Our people need not hurry ; so they wait and answer 
 
 not. ec 
 
 Then the Corporal, our old cripple (he would swear 
 
 sometimes and tipple), 
 He had heard the bullets whistle (in the old French 
 
 war) before, 
 
 62. Many of the officers as well as men on the American side 
 had become familiarized with service through the old French 
 war, which caiue to an eud in 1763.
 
 326 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 Calls out in words of jeering, just as if they all were 
 hearing, 
 
 And his wooden leg thumps fiercely on the dusty bel 
 fry floor : 
 
 " Oh ! fire away, ye villains, and earn King George's 
 shillin's, es 
 
 But ye '11 waste a ton of powder afore a ' rebel ' falls ; 
 
 You may bang the dirt and welcome, they 're as safe 
 as Dan'l Malcolm 
 
 Ten foot beneath the gravestone that you've splin 
 tered with your balls ! " 
 
 In the hush of expectation, in the awe and trepidation 
 
 Of the dread approaching moment, we are well-nigh 
 breathless all ; TO 
 
 Though the rotten bars are failing on the rickety bel 
 fry railing, 
 
 We are crowding up against them like the waves 
 against a wall. 
 
 67. Dr. Holmes makes the following note to this line : " The 
 following epitaph is still to be read on a tall gravestone, stand 
 ing as yet undisturbed among the transplanted monuments of the 
 dead in Copp's Hill Burial Ground, one of the tiiree city [Boston] 
 cemeteries which have been desecrated and ruined within my 
 own remembrance : 
 
 " Here lies buried in a 
 
 Stone Grave 10 feet deep 
 Capt. DANIEL MALCOLM Mercht 
 "Who departed this Life 
 October 23, 1769, 
 Aged 44 years, 
 A true son of Liberty, 
 A Friend to the Publick, 
 An Enemy to oppression, 
 And one of the foremost 
 In opposing the Revenue Act* 
 On America."
 
 GRANDMOTHER'S STORY. 327 
 
 Just a glimpse (the air is clearer), they are nearer, 
 
 nearer, nearer, 
 When a flash a curling smoke-wreath then a 
 
 crash the steeple shakes 
 The deadly truce is ended ; the tempest's shroud is 
 
 rended ; 75 
 
 Like a morning mist it gathered, like a thunder-cloud 
 
 it breaks ! 
 
 O the sight our eyes discover as the blue-black smoke 
 
 blows over ! 
 The red-coats stretched in windrows as a mower rakes 
 
 his hay ; 
 Here a scarlet heap is lying, there a headlong crowd 
 
 is flying 
 Like a billow that has broken and is shivered into 
 
 spray. sc 
 
 Then we cried, " The troops are routed ! they are 
 
 beat it can't be doubted ! 
 God be thanked, the fight is over ! " Ah ! the grim 
 
 old soldier's smile ! 
 *' Tell us, tell us why you look so ? " (we could hardly 
 
 speak we shook so), 
 " Are they beaten ? Are they beaten ? ARE they 
 
 beaten ? " " Wait a while." 
 
 O the trembling and the terror ! for too soon we saw 
 
 our error : as 
 
 They are baffled, not defeated ; we have driven them 
 
 back in vain ; 
 And the columns that were scattered, round the colors 
 
 that were tattered, 
 Toward the sullen silent fortress turn their belted 
 
 breasts again.
 
 328 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 All at once, as we were gazing, lo ! the roofs of Charles- 
 
 town blazing ! 
 They have fired the harmless village ; in an hour it 
 
 will be down ! 90 
 
 The Lord in Heaven confound them, rain his fire and 
 
 brimstone round them, 
 The robbing, murdering red-coats, that would burn a 
 
 peaceful town ! 
 
 They are marching, stern and solemn; we can see 
 
 each massive column 
 As they near the naked earth-mound with the slanting 
 
 walls so steep. 
 Have our soldiers got faint-hearted, and in noiseless 
 
 haste departed ? & 
 
 Are they panic-struck and helpless ? Are they palsied 
 
 or asleep ? 
 
 Now ! the walls they 're almost under ! scarce a rod 
 
 the foes asunder ! 
 Not a firelock flashed against them ! up the earthwork 
 
 they will swarm ! 
 But the words have scarce been spoken when the 
 
 ominous calm is broken, 
 And a bellowing crash has emptied all the vengeance 
 
 of the storm ! 100 
 
 So again, with murderous slaughter, pelted backwards 
 
 to the water, 
 Fly Pigot's running heroes and the frightened braves 
 
 of Howe; 
 
 102. The generals on the British side were Howe, Clinton, 
 and Pigot.
 
 GRANDMOTHER'S STORY. 329 
 
 And we shout, " At last they 're done for, it 's their 
 
 barges they have run for : 
 They are beaten, beaten, beaten ; and the battle 's over 
 
 now!" 
 
 A.nd we looked, poor timid creatures, on the rough 
 
 old soldier's features, 105 
 
 Our lips afraid to question, but he knew what \va 
 
 would ask : 
 "Not sure," he said; "keep quiet, once more, I 
 
 guess, they '11 try it 
 Here 's damnation to the cut-throats ! " then he 
 
 handed me his flask, 
 
 Saying, " Gal, you 're looking shaky ; have a drop of 
 
 Old Jamaiky ; 
 I 'ni af eard there '11 be more trouble afore the job is 
 
 done ; " no 
 
 So I took one scorching swallow ; dreadful faint I felt 
 
 and hollow, 
 Standing there from early morning when the firing 
 
 was begun. 
 
 All through those hours of trial I had watched a calm 
 
 clock dial, 
 As the hands kept creeping, creeping, they were 
 
 creeping round to four, 
 When the old man said, " They 're forming with their 
 
 bagonets fixed for storming : m 
 
 It 's the death-grip that 's a coming, they will try 
 
 the works once more." 
 
 With brazen trumpets blaring, the flames behind them 
 glaring,
 
 330 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 The deadly wall before them, in close array they 
 come ; 
 
 Still onward, upward toiling, like a dragon's fold un 
 coiling, 
 
 Like the rattlesnake's shrill warning the reverberating 
 drum ! 120 
 
 Over heaps all torn and gory shall I tell the fearful 
 story, 
 
 How they surged above the breastwork, as a sea 
 breaks over a deck ; 
 
 How, driven, yet scarce defeated, our worn-out men 
 retreated, 
 
 With their powder-horns all emptied, like the swim 
 mers from a wreck ? 
 
 It has all been told and painted ; as for me, they say 
 
 I fainted, 125 
 
 And the wooden-legged old Corporal stumped with 
 
 me down the stair : 
 When I woke from dreams affrighted the evening 
 
 lamps were lighted, 
 On the floor a youth was lying ; his bleeding breast 
 
 was bare. 
 
 And I heard through all the flurry, " Send for WAB- 
 
 EEN ! hurry ! hurry ! 
 Tell him here 's a soldier bleeding, and he '11 come 
 
 and dress his wound ! " iso 
 
 Ah, we knew not till the morrow told its tale of death 
 
 and sorrow, 
 
 129. Dr. Joseph Warren, of equal note at the time as a medi 
 cal man and a patriot. He was a volunteer in the battle, and 
 fell there, the most serious loss on the American side.
 
 GRANDMOTHER'S STORY. 331 
 
 How the starlight found him stiffened on the dark 
 and bloody ground. 
 
 Who the youth was, what his name was, where the 
 
 place from which he came was, 
 Who had brought him from the battle, and had left 
 
 him at our door, 
 He could not speak to tell us ; but 't was one of our 
 
 brave fellows, iss 
 
 As the homespun plainly showed us which the dying 
 
 soldier wore. 
 
 For they all thought he was dying, as they gathered 
 
 round him crying, 
 And they said, " Oh, how they '11 miss him I " and, 
 
 " What will his mother do ? " 
 Then, his eyelids just unclosing like a child's that has 
 
 been dozing, 
 He faintly murmured, " Mother ! " and I saw 
 
 his eyes were blue. MO 
 
 " Why grandma, how you 're winking ! " Ah, my 
 
 child, it sets me thinking 
 Of a story not like this one. Well, he somehow lived 
 
 along ; 
 So we came to know each other, and I nursed him like 
 
 a mother, 
 Till at last he stood before me, tall, and rosy-cheeked, 
 
 and strong. 
 
 And we sometimes walked together in the pleasant 
 summer weather ; 145 
 
 "Please to tell us what his name was?" Jusfe 
 
 your own, my little dear,
 
 332 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 There 's his picture Copley painted : we became so 
 
 well acquainted, 
 That in short, that 's why I 'm grandma, and you 
 
 children all are here ! " 
 
 THE SCHOOL-BOY. 
 
 [PHILLIPS ACADEMY at And over,, Massachusetts, was founded 
 iu 1778, by Judge Samuel Phillips, assisted by two uncles, who 
 also established nearly at the time Phillips Exeter Academy, at 
 Exeter, New Hampshire. The centennial anniversary of the 
 founding of Phillips Academy was celebrated at Andover, in 
 June, 1878, and Dr. Holmes, who had been a boy in the school 
 more than fifty years before, read the following poem.] 
 
 THESE hallowed precincts, long to memory dear, 
 Smile with fresh welcome as our feet draw near ; 
 With softer gales the opening leaves are fanned, 
 With fairer hues the kindling flowers expand, 
 The rose-bush reddens with the blush of June, s 
 
 The groves are vocal with their minstrel's tune, 
 The mighty elm beneath whose arching shade, 
 The wandering children of the forest strayed, 
 Greets the glad morning in its bridal dress, 
 And spreads its arms the gladsome dawn to bless. IG 
 
 Is it an idle dream that nature shares 
 Our joys, our griefs, our pastimes, and our cares ? 
 
 147. John Singleton Copley was a portrait painter of celebrity 
 who was born in America in 1737 and painted many famous por 
 traits, which hang in private and public galleries in Boston and 
 vicinity chiefly. He lived in England the latter half of his life, 
 dying there in 1815.
 
 THE SCHOOL-BOY. 333 
 
 Is there no summons, when at morning's call 
 
 The sable vestments of the darkness fall ? 
 
 Does not meek evening's low-voiced Ave blend is 
 
 With the soft vesper as its notes ascend ? 
 
 Is there no whisper in the perfumed air, 
 
 When the sweet bosom of the rose is bare ? 
 
 Does not the sunshine call us to rejoice ? 
 
 Is there no meaning in the storm-cloud's voice ? w 
 
 No silent message when from midnight skies 
 
 Heaven looks upon us with its myriad eyes? 
 
 Or shift the mirror ; say our dreams diffuse 
 O'er life's pale landscape their celestial hues, 
 Lend heaven the rainbow it has never known, 
 
 And robe the earth in glories not its own, 
 Sing their own music in the summer breeze, 
 With fresher foliage clothe the stately trees, 
 Stain the June blossoms with a livelier dye 
 And spread a bluer azure on the sky, 
 
 Blest be the power that works its lawless will 
 And finds the weediest patch an Eden still ; 
 No walls so fair as those our fancies build, 
 No views so bright as those our visions gild ! 
 
 So ran my lines, as pen and paper met, 35 
 
 The truant goose-quill travelling like Planchette ; 
 Too ready servant, whose deceitful ways 
 Full many a slipshod line, alas ! betrays ; 
 Hence of the rhyming thousand not a few 
 
 15. The vesper bells of the church-call to the prayers which 
 begin Ave Maria, Hail, Mary. 
 
 36. Planchette was a toy in the shape of a spherical triangle 
 mounted upon three legs, which was greatly in vogue a few 
 years before this poem was written, on account of its supposed 
 property of guiding the hand that rested upon it to write in 
 obedience to another power.
 
 834 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 Have builded worse a great deal than they 
 knew. 
 
 What need of idle fancy to adorn 
 Our mother's birthplace on her birthday morn ? 
 Hers are the blossoms of eternal spring, 
 From these green boughs her new-fledged birds take 
 
 wing, 
 
 These echoes hear their earliest carols sung, K 
 
 In this old nest the brood is ever young. 
 If some tired wanderer, resting from his flight, 
 Amid the gay young choristers alight, 
 These gather round him, mark his faded plumes 
 That faintly still the far-off grove perfumes, so 
 
 And listen, wondering if some feeble note 
 Yet lingers, quavering in his weary throat : 
 I, whose fresh voice yon red-faced temple knew, 
 What tune is left me, fit to sing to you ? 
 Ask not the grandeurs of a labored song, ss 
 
 But let my easy couplets slide along ; 
 Much I could tell you that you know too well ; 
 Much I remember, but I will not tell ; 
 Age brings experience ; graybeards oft are wise, 
 But oh ! how sharp a youngster's ears and eyes ! 
 
 My cheek was bare of adolescent down 
 When first I sought the Academic town : 
 40. In playful travesty of Emerson's line in The Problem : 
 
 " The hand that rounded Peter's dome, 
 And groined the aisles of Christian Rome, 
 Wrought in a sad sincerity ; 
 Himself from God he could not free ; 
 He builded better than he knew ; 
 The conscious stone to beauty grew." 
 
 50. That the far-off grove still faintly perfumes. 
 63. The old Phillips Academy building, now used for a gyn* 
 nasium, is of red brick.
 
 THE SCHOOL-BOY. 335 
 
 Slow rolls the coach along the dusty road, 
 
 Big with its filial and parental load ; 
 
 The frequent hills, the lonely woods are past, 65 
 
 The school-boy's chosen home is reached at last. 
 
 I see it now, the same unchanging spot, 
 
 The swinging gate, the little garden-plot, 
 
 The narrow yard, the rock that made its floor, 
 
 The flat, pale house, the knocker-garnished door, 79 
 
 The small, trim parlor, neat, decorous, chill, 
 
 The strange, new faces, kind, but grave and still, 
 
 Two, creased with age, or what I then called age, 
 
 Life's volume open at its fiftieth page ; 
 
 One a shy maiden's, pallid, placid, sweet 75 
 
 As the first snow-drop which the sunbeams greet ; 
 
 One the last nursling's ; slight she was, and fair, 
 
 Her smooth white forehead warmed with auburn 
 
 hair; 
 
 Last came the virgin Hymen long had spared, 
 Whose daily cares the grateful household shared, w 
 Strong, patient, humble ; her substantial frame 
 Stretched the chaste draperies I forbear to name. 
 Brave, but with effort, had the school-boy come 
 To the cold comfort of a stranger's home : 
 How like a dagger to my sinking heart w 
 
 Came the dry summons, " It is time to part ; 
 " Good-by ! " " Goo-ood-by ! " one fond maternal 
 
 kiss. . . . 
 
 Homesick as death ! Was ever pang like this ? . . . 
 Too young as yet with willing feet to stray 
 From the tame fireside, glad to get away, 90 
 
 Too old to let my watery grief appear, 
 And what so bitter as a swallowed tear ! 
 
 71. The rhythm shows the true pronunciation of decorous. An 
 analogous word is sonorous. See note to p. 17, 1. 99.
 
 336 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 One figure still my vagrant thoughts pursue ; 
 First boy to greet me, Ariel, where are you ? 
 Imp of all mischief, heaven alone knows how 95 
 
 You learned it all, are you an angel now, 
 Or tottering gently down the slope of years, 
 Your face grown sober in the vale of tears ? 
 Forgive my freedom if you are breathing still ; 
 If in a happier world, I know you will. 10* 
 
 You were a school-boy what beneath the sun 
 So like a monkey ? I was also one. 
 
 Strange, sure enough, to see what curious shoots 
 The nursery raises from the study's roots ! 
 In those old days the very, very good los 
 
 Took up more room a little than they should ; 
 Something too much one's eyes encountered then 
 Of serious youth and f uneral-visaged men ; 
 The solemn elders saw life's mournful half, 
 Heaven sent this boy, whose mission was to laugh, in 
 Drollest of buffos, Nature's odd protest, 
 A catbird squealing in a blackbird's nest. 
 
 Kind, faithful Nature ! While the sour-eyed Scot, 
 Her cheerful smiles forbidden or forgot, 
 Talks only of his preacher and his kirk, 111 
 
 Hears five-hour sermons for his Sunday work, 
 Praying and fasting till his meagre face 
 Gains its due length, the genuine sign of grace, 
 An Ayrshire mother in the land of Knox 
 Her embryo poet in his cradle rocks ; 121 
 
 Nature, long shivering in her dim eclipse, 
 Steals in a sunbeam to those baby lips ; 
 
 94. Ariel is a tricksy sprite in Shakespeare's The Tempest. 
 The reference is to a son of James Murdock, with whom 
 Holmes lived when he first went to Andover.
 
 THE SCHOOL-BOY. 337 
 
 So to its home her banished smile returns, 
 And Scotland sweetens with the song of Burns ! 
 
 The morning came ; I reached the classic hall, 12.5 
 A clock-face eyed me, staring from the wall ; 
 Beneath its hands a printed line I read : 
 YOUTH is LIFE'S SEED-TIME ; so the clock-face said : 
 Some took its counsel, as the sequel showed, 
 Sowed their wild oats and reaped as they had 
 sowed. iso 
 
 How all comes back I the upward slanting floor, 
 The masters' thrones that flank the central door, 
 The long, outstretching alleys that divide 
 The rows of desks that stand on either side, 
 The staring boys, a face to every desk, 135 
 
 Bright, dull, pale, blooming, common, picturesque. 
 
 Grave is the Master's look ; his forehead wears 
 Thick rows of wrinkles, prints of worrying cares ; 
 Uneasy lie the heads of all that rule, 
 His most of all whose kingdom is a school. i 
 
 Supreme he sits ; before the awful frown 
 That bends his brows the boldest eye goes down : 
 Not more submissive Israel heard and saw 
 At Sinai's foot the Giver of the Law. 
 
 Less stern he seems, who sits in equal state i 
 
 On the twin throne and shares the empire's weight ; 
 Around his lips the subtle life that plays 
 
 137. The master of Dr. Holmes's day was Dr. John Adams. 
 139. An echo of Shakespeare's line: 
 
 " Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown." 
 
 King Henry IV. Pt. II. Act III. Scene 1. 
 
 145. Rev. Jonathan Clement, D. D., of Norwich, Vt.; for- 
 pierly of Woodstock. He married one of the Phillips family. 
 
 146. There were two master's desks in little iuclosured, facing 
 the school and at equal distances from the centre.
 
 338 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 Steals quaintly forth in many a jesting phrase ; 
 
 A lightsome nature, not so hard to chafe, 
 
 Pleasant when pleased ; rough-handled, not so safe ; isi 
 
 Some tingling memories vaguely I recall, 
 
 But to forgive him. God forgive us all ! 
 
 One yet remains, whose well-remembered name 
 Pleads in my grateful heart its tender claim ; 
 His was the charm magnetic, the bright look iss 
 
 That sheds its sunshine on the dreariest book ; 
 A loving soul to every task he brought 
 That sweetly mingled with the lore he taught ; 
 Sprung from a saintly race that never could 
 From youth to age be anything but good, iei 
 
 His few brief years in holiest labors spent. 
 Earth lost too soon the treasure heaven had lent. 
 Kindest of teachers, studious to divine 
 Some hint of promise in my earliest line, 
 These faint and faltering words thou canst not hear IBS 
 Throb from a heart that holds thy memory dear. 
 
 As to the traveller's eye the varied plain 
 Shows through the window of the flying train, 
 A mingled landscape, rather felt than seen, 
 A gravelly bank, a sudden flash of green, ITO 
 
 A tangled wood, a glittering stream that flows 
 Through the cleft summit where the cliff once rose, 
 All strangely blended in a hurried gleam, 
 Rock, wood, waste, meadow, village, hillside, stream, 
 So, as we look behind us, life appears, ns 
 
 Seen through the vista of our bygone years. 
 
 Yet in the dead past's shadow-filled domain, 
 
 153. Rev. Samuel H. Stearns, at one time pastor of the Old 
 South Church, Boston. He was a brother of President Steams 
 of Amherst College, and the family, in various members, was 
 very intimately connected with Phillips Academy.
 
 THE SCHOOL-BOY. 339 
 
 Some vanished shapes the hues of life retain ; 
 
 Unbidden, oft, before our dreaming eyes 
 
 From the vague mists in memory's path they rise, iso 
 
 So comes his blooming image to my view, 
 
 The friend of joyous days when life was new, 
 
 Hope yet untamed, the blood of youth unchilled, 
 
 No blank arrear of promise unfulfilled, 
 
 Life's flower yet hidden in its sheltering fold, *ss 
 
 Its pictured canvas yet to be unrolled. 
 
 His the frank smile I vainly look to greet, 
 
 His the warm grasp my clasping hand should meet ; 
 
 How would our lips renew their school-boy talk, 
 
 Our feet retrace the old familiar walk ! wo 
 
 For thee no more earth's cheerful morning shines 
 
 Through the green fringes of thy tented pines ; 
 
 Ah me ! is heaven so far thou canst not hear, 
 
 Or is thy viewless spirit hovering near, 
 
 A fair young presence, bright with morning's glow, i> 
 
 The fresh-cheeked boy of fifty years ago ? 
 
 Yes, fifty years, with all their circling suns, 
 Behind them all my glance reverted runs ; 
 Where now that time remote, its griefs, its joys, 
 Where are its gray-haired men, its bright-haired 
 boys ? 2o 
 
 Where is the patriarch time could hardly tire, 
 The good old, wrinkled, immemorial " squire " ? 
 (An honest treasurer, like a black-plumed swan, 
 Not every day our eyes may look upon.) 
 Where the tough champion who, with Calvin's sword, 205 
 In wordy conflicts battled for the Lord ? 
 
 182. Judge Phinehas Barnes, of Portland, Maine. 
 202. Squire Farrar. 
 
 205. Rev. Leonard Woods, D. D., then Professor of Theology 
 in the Seminary.
 
 340 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 Where the grave scholar, lonely, calm, austere, 
 
 Whose voice like music charmed the listening ear, 
 
 Whose light rekindled, like the morning star, 
 
 Still shines upon us through the gates ajar? 211 
 
 Where the still, solemn, weary, sad-eyed man, 
 
 Whose care-worn face my wondering eyes would scan, 
 
 His features wasted in the lingering strife 
 
 With the pale foe that drains the student's life ? 
 
 Where my old friend, the scholar, teacher, saint, 215 
 
 Whose creed, some hinted, showed a speck of taint, 
 
 He broached his own opinion, which is not 
 
 Lightly to be forgiven or forgot ; 
 
 Some riddle's point, I scarce remember now, 
 
 Homoi-, perhaps, where they said homo-ou. 221 
 
 (If the unlettered greatly wish to know 
 
 Where lies the difference betwixt oi and o, 
 
 Those of the curious who have time may search 
 
 Among the stale conundrums of their church.) 
 
 Beneath his roof his peaceful life I shared, 221 
 
 And for his modes of faith I little cared, 
 
 I, taught to judge men's dogmas by their deeds, 
 
 Long ere the days of india-rubber creeds. 
 
 Why should we look one common faith to find, 
 Where one in every score is color-blind ? 239 
 
 207. The reference is to Moses Stuart, who was Professor in 
 the Theological School, and grandfather to Miss Elizabeth Stuart 
 Phelps. 
 
 211. Ebenezer Porter. 
 
 215. James Murdock. 
 
 222. There was an old doctrinal dispute, turning upon a diver 
 gence in meaning between two Greek words which differed only 
 by the vowels oi and o ; two parties sprang up, called respect 
 ively Homoiousians and Homoousians. 
 
 230. Dr. B. Joy Jeffries in his work on Color- Blindness takes 
 lines 229-232 for his motto.
 
 THE SCHOOL-BOY. 341 
 
 If here on earth they know not red from green, 
 Will they see better into things unseen ? 
 
 Once more to time's old grave-yard I return 
 And scrape the moss from memory's pictured urn. 
 Who, in these days when all things go by steam, 235 
 Recalls the stage-coach with its four-horse team ? 
 Its sturdy driver, who remembers him ? 
 Or the old landlord, saturnine and grim, 
 Who left our hill-top for a new abode 
 And reared his sign-post farther down the road ? 2w 
 Still in the waters of the dark Shawshine 
 Do the young bathers splash and think they 're clean ? 
 Do pilgrims find their way to Indian Ridge, 
 Or journey onward to the far-off bridge, 
 And bring to younger ears the story back 243 
 
 Of the broad stream, the mighty Merrimack? 
 Are there still truant feet that stray beyond 
 These circling bounds to Pomp's or Haggett's pond, 
 Or where the legendary name recalls 
 The forest's earlier tenant " Deer-jump Falls " ? 250 
 
 Yes, every nook these youthful feet explore, 
 Just as our sires and grandsires did of yore ; 
 So all life's opening paths, where nature led 
 Their fathers' feet, the children's children tread. 
 Iloll the round century's fivescore years away, 255 
 
 Call from our storied past that earliest day 
 When great Eliphalet (I can see him now, 
 Big name, big frame, big voice, and beetling brow), 
 Then young Eliphalet, ruled the rows of boys 
 In homespun gray or old-world corduroys, 26i 
 
 243. A singular formation like an embankment running for 
 Borne distance through the woods near Andover. 
 
 257. Eliphalet Pearson, the first principal of the school, and, 
 in later life, professor in the Theological Seminary.
 
 342 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 And, save for fashion's whims, the benches show 
 The self-same youths, the very boys we know. 
 
 Time works strange marvels ; since I trod the green 
 And swung the gates, what wonders I have seen ! 
 But come what will, the sky itself may fall, 2 
 As things of course the boy accepts them all. 
 The prophet's chariot, drawn by steeds of flame, 
 For daily use our travelling millions claim ; 
 The face we love a sunbeam makes our own ; 
 No more the surgeon hears the sufferer's groan ; 271 
 What unwrit histories wrapped in darkness lay 
 Till shovelling Schliemann bared them to the day 1 
 Your Richelieu says, and says it well, my lord, 
 The pen is (sometimes) mightier than the sword ; 
 Great is the goosequill, say we all ; Amen ! 274 
 
 Sometimes the spade is mightier than the pen ; 
 It shows where Babel's terraced walls were raised, 
 The slabs that cracked when Nimrod's palace blazed, 
 Unearths Mycenae, rediscovers Troy, 
 Calmly he listens, that immortal boy. aw 
 
 A new Prometheus tips our wands with fire, 
 A mightier Orpheus strains the whispering wire, 
 
 274. " Beneath the rule of men entirely great 
 
 The pen is mightier than the sword." 
 Edward Bulwer Lytton's Richelieu, Act II. Scene 2. 
 277. Layard between 1845 and 1850 unearthed Nineveh. The 
 results of his excavations are published in the very interesting 
 work, Nineveh and its Remains, 
 
 279. Mycence, the ancient royal city of Argos, and Troy, tlie 
 scene of the Iliad, have been uncovered by " shovelling Schlie- 
 manu." 
 
 281. Prometheus in Greek mythology made men of clay and 
 animated them by means of fire which he stole from heaven. 
 The reference is to the electric light. 
 
 282. Orpheus's skill in music was so wonderful that he could
 
 THE SCHOOL-BOY. 343 
 
 Whose lightning thrills the lazy winds outrun 
 
 And hold the hours as Joshua stayed the sun, 
 
 So swift, in truth, we hardly find a place zsr 
 
 For those dim fictions known as time and space. 
 
 Still a new miracle each year supplies, 
 
 See at his work the chemist of the skies, 
 
 Who questions Sirius in his tortured rays 
 
 And steals the secret of the solar blaze. 
 
 Hush ! while the window-rattling bugles play 
 
 The nation's airs a hundred miles away ! 
 
 That wicked phonograph ! hark ! how it swears ! 
 
 Turn it again and make it say its prayers ! 
 
 And was it true, then, what the story said aw 
 
 Of Oxford's friar and his brazen head ? 
 
 While wondering science stands, herself perplexed 
 
 At each day's miracle, and asks " what next? " 
 
 The immortal boy, the coming heir of all, 
 
 Springs from his desk to " urge the flying ball," 3o 
 
 make even trees and rocks follow him. The telephone and pho 
 nograph were just coming into common use when the poem was 
 read. 
 
 290. In the spectroscope. 
 
 296. Friar Roger Bacon, who lived in the latter half of the 
 thirteenth century, was a scientific investigator, whom popular 
 ignorance made to be a magician. He was said to have con 
 structed a brazen head, from which great things were to be ex 
 pected when it should speak, but the exact moment could not be 
 known. While Bacon and another friar were asleep and an at 
 tendant was keeping watch, the brazen head spoke the words, 
 Time is. The attendant thought that too commonplace a state 
 ment to make it worth while to wake his master. Time was, 
 said the head, and then Time is past, and with that fell to the 
 ground with a crash and never could be set up again. 
 
 300. See Thomas Gray's On a Distant Prospect of Eton College! 
 
 " Who foremost now delight to cleave, 
 With pliant arm, thy glassy wave ? 
 The captive linnet which enthral ?
 
 344 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 Cleaves with his bending oar the glassy waves, 
 With sinewy arm the clashing current braves, 
 The same bright creature in these haunts of ours 
 That Eton shadowed with her " antique towers." 
 
 Boy ! Where is he ? the long-limbed youth in 
 quires, 30i 
 Whom his rough chin with manly pride inspires ; 
 Ah, when the ruddy cheek no longer glows, 
 When the bright hair is white as winter snows, 
 When the dim eye has lost its lambent flame, 
 Sweet to his ear will be his school-boy name ! 310 
 Nor think the difference mighty as it seems 
 Between life's morning and its evening dreams ; 
 Fourscore, like twenty, has its tasks and toys ; 
 In earth's wide school-house all are girls and boys. 
 
 Brothers, forgive my wayward fancy. Who sis 
 Can guess beforehand what his pen will do ? 
 Too light my strain for listeners such as these, 
 Whom graver thoughts and soberer speech shall please. 
 Is he not here whose breath of holy song 
 Has raised the downcast eyes of faith so long? 320 
 
 Are they not here, the strangers in your gates, 
 For whom the wearied ear impatient waits, 
 The large-brained scholars whom their toils release, 
 The bannered heralds of the Prince of Peace ? 
 
 What idle progeny succeed 
 To chase the rolling circle's speed, 
 Or urge the flying ball ? " 
 
 304. See the ode just cited and beginning : 
 
 " Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, 
 That crown the watery glade, 
 Where grateful Science still adores 
 Her Henry's holy shade." 
 
 319. One of the visitors present was the Rev. Dr. Ray Palmer, 
 author of the well-known hymn, beginning : 
 " My faith looks up to Thee."
 
 THE SCHOOL-BOY. 345 
 
 Such was the gentle friend whose youth un- 
 blamed 325 
 
 In years long past our student-benches claimed ; 
 Whose name, illumined on the sacred page, 
 Lives in the labors of his riper age ; 
 Such he whose record Time's destroying march 
 Leaves uneffaced on Zion's springing arch : ssc 
 
 Not to the scanty phrase of measured song, 
 Cramped in its fetters, names like these belong ; 
 One ray they lend to gild my slender line, 
 Their praise I leave to sweeter lips than mine. 
 
 Home of our sires, where learning's temple rose, SM 
 While yet they struggled with their banded foes, 
 As in the west thy century's sun descends, 
 One parting gleam its dying radiance lends. 
 Darker and deeper though the shadows fall 
 From the gray towers on Doubting Castle's wall, MO 
 Though Pope and Pagan re-array their hosts, 
 And her new armor youthful Science boasts, 
 Truth, for whose altar rose this holy shrine, 
 Shall fly for refuge to these bowers of thine ; 
 No past shall chain her with its rusted vow, 345 
 
 No Jew's phylactery bind her Christian brow, 
 But Faith shall smile to find her sister free, 
 And nobler manhood draw its life from thee. 
 
 325. Dr. Holmes in a pleasant paper of reminiscences, Cin 
 ders from the Ashes, has dwelt at length on his boyish recollec 
 tions of Horatio Balch Hackett, a schoolmate, and known later 
 as the learned Biblical scholar and student of Palestine explora 
 tions. 
 
 329. The reference is to Edward Robinson, the pioneer of sci 
 entific travel in the Holy Land, one of whose best known discov 
 eries was of the remains of an arch of an ancient bridge, there 
 after called " Robinson's Arch."
 
 346 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 Long as the arching skies above thee spread, 
 As on thy groves the dews of heaven are shed, 350 
 
 With currents widening still from year to year, 
 And deepening channels, calm, untroubled, clear, 
 Flow the twin streamlets from thy sacred hill 
 Pieria's fount and Siloam's shaded rill ! 
 
 354. Pieria was the fabled home of the Muses and the birth 
 place of Orpheus ; Siloam, a pool near Jerusalem ofteu men 
 tioned by the prophets and in the New Testament, has passed 
 into poetry through Milton's lines : 
 
 " Or if Sion-hill 
 
 Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook, that flowed 
 Fast by the oracle of God." 
 
 Paradise Lost, Book I., 1. 10. 
 
 And through the first two lines of Reginald Heber's hymn : 
 
 " By cool Siloam's shady rill 
 How sweet the lily grows."
 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL died August 12, 1891, at Elm- 
 wood, Cambridge, Massachusetts, in the house where he was 
 born February 22, 1819. His early life was spent in Cam 
 bridge, and he has sketched many of the scenes in it very 
 delightfully in Cambridge Thirty Years Ago, in his volume 
 of Fireside Travels, as well as in his early poem, An Indian 
 Summer Reverie. His father was a Congregationalist min 
 ister of Boston, and the family to which he belonged has had 
 a strong representation in Massachusetts. His grandfather, 
 John Lowell, was an eminent jurist, the Lowell Institute of 
 Boston owes its endowment to John Lowell, a cousin of the 
 poet, and the city of Lowell was named after Francis Cabot 
 Lowell, an uncle, who was one of the first to begin the man 
 ufacture of cotton in New England. 
 
 Lowell was a student at Harvard, and was graduated in 
 1838, when he gave a class poem, and in 1841 his first vol 
 ume of poems, A Year's Life, was published. His bent 
 from the beginning was more decidedly literary than that of 
 any contemporary American poet. That is to say, the his 
 tory and art of literature divided his interest with the pro 
 duction of literature, and he carries the unusual gift of rare 
 critical power, joined to hearty, spontaneous creation. It 
 may indeed be guessed that the keenness of judgment and 
 incisiveness of wit which characterized his examination of 
 literature sometimes interfered with his poetic power, and
 
 348 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 made him liable to question his art when he would rather 
 have expressed it unchecked. In connection with Robert 
 Carter, a litterateur who died in 1879, he began, in 1843, 
 the publication of The Pioneer, a Literary and Critical 
 Magazine, which lived a brilliant life of three months. A 
 volume of poetry followed in 1844, and the next year he 
 published Conversations on Some of the Old Poets, - a 
 book which is now out of print, but interesting as marking 
 the enthusiasm of a young scholar, treading a way then 
 almost wholly neglected in America, and intimating a line 
 of thought and study in which he afterward made most 
 noteworthy ventures. Another series of poems followed 
 in 1848, and in the same year The Vision of Sir Launfal. 
 Perhaps it was in reaction from the marked sentiment of 
 his poetry that he issued now a jeu d'esprit, A Fable for 
 Critics, in which he hit off, with a rough and ready wit, 
 the characteristics of the writers cf the day, not forgetting 
 himself in these lines : 
 
 " There is Lowell, who *s striving Parnassus to climb 
 With a whole bale of isms tied together with rhyme ; 
 He might get on alone, spite of brambles and boulders, 
 But he can't with that bundle he has on his shoulders ; 
 The top of the hill he will ne'er come nigh reaching 
 Till he learns the distinction 'twixt singing and preaching ; 
 His lyre has some chords that would ring pretty well, 
 But he 'd rather by half make a drum of the shell, 
 And rattle away till he 's old as Methusalem, 
 At the head of a march to the last new Jerusalem." 
 
 This, of course, is but a half serious portrait of himself, 
 and it touches but a single feature ; others can say better 
 that Lowell's ardent nature showed itself in the series of 
 satirical poems which made him famous, The Bigloiv Pa 
 pers, written in a spirit of indignation and fine scorn, when 
 the Mexican War was causing many Americans to blush 
 with shame at the use of the country by a class for its own 
 ignoble ends. The true patriotism which marked these and
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 849 
 
 other of his early poems burned with a steady glow in after 
 years, and illumined poems of which we shall speak pres 
 ently. 
 
 After a year and a half spent in travel, Lowell was ap 
 pointed in 1855 to the Belles Lettres professorship at Har 
 vard, previously held by Longfellow. When the Atlantic 
 Monthly was established in 1857 he became its editor, and 
 soon after relinquishing that post he assumed part editorship 
 of the North American Review. In these two magazines, 
 as also in Putnam's Monthly, he published poems, essays, 
 and critical papers, which have been gathered into vol 
 umes. His prose writings, besides the volumes already 
 mentioned, include two series of Among my Books, histori 
 cal and critical studies, chiefly in English literature ; and 
 My Study Windows, including, with similar subjects, obser 
 vations of nature and contemporary life. During the war 
 for the Union he published a second series of the Biglow 
 Papers, in which, with the wit and fun of the earlier series, 
 there was mingled a deeper strain of feeling and a larger 
 tone of patriotism. The limitations of his style in these sa 
 tires forbade the fullest expression of his thought and emo 
 tion ; but afterward in a succession of poems, occasioned by 
 the honors paid to student-soldiers in Cambridge, the death 
 of Agassiz, and the celebration of national anniversaries 
 during tha years 1875 and 1876, he sang in loftier, more 
 ardent strains. The interest which readers have in Lowell 
 is still divided between his rich, abundant prose, and his 
 thoughtful, often passionate verse. The sentiment of his 
 early poetry, always humane, was greatly enriched by larger 
 experience ; so that the themes which he chose for his later 
 work demanded and received a broad treatment, full of 
 sympathy with the most generous instincts of their time, 
 and built upon historic foundations. 
 
 In 1877 he went to Spain as Minister Plenipotentiary. 
 In 1880 he was transferred to England as Minister Pleni 
 potentiary near the Court of St. James. His duties as
 
 350 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 American Minister did not prevent him from producing oc 
 casional writings, chiefly in connection with public events. 
 Notable among these are his address at the unveiling of a 
 statue of Fielding, and his address on Democracy. 
 
 Mr. Lowell returned to the United States in 1885, and 
 was not afterward engaged in public affairs, but passed the 
 rest of his life quietly in his Cambridge home, prevented 
 by failing health from doing much literary work. He made 
 a collection of his later poems in 1888, under the title 
 Heartsease and Rue, and carefully revised his complete 
 works, published in ten volumes in 1890. Since his death 
 this collection has been enriched by Latest Literary Essays 
 and Addresses and Lectures on the Old English Drama 
 tists.
 
 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. 
 
 [AUTHOR'S NOTE. According to the mythology of the Ro 
 mancers, the San Greal, or Holy Grail, was the cup out of which 
 Jesus Christ partook of the last supper with his disciples. It was 
 brought into England by Joseph of Arimathea, and remained 
 there, an object of pilgrimage and adoration, for many years, in 
 the keeping of his lineal descendants. It was incumbent upon 
 those who had charge of it to be chaste in thought, word, and 
 deed ; but one of the keepers having broken this condition, the 
 Holy Grail disappeared. From that time it was a favorite en 
 terprise of the Knights of Arthur's court to go in search of it. 
 Sir Galahad was at last successful in finding it, as may be read 
 in the seventeenth book of the Romance of King Arthur. Ten 
 nyson has made Sir Galahad the subject of one of the most ex 
 quisite of his poems. 
 
 The plot (if I may give that name to anything so slight) of 
 the following poem is my own, and, to serve its purposes, I 
 have enlarged the circle of competition in search of the miracu 
 lous cup in such a manner as to include not only other persons 
 than the heroes of the Round Table, but also a period of time 
 subsequent to the supposed date of King Arthur's reign.] 
 
 PRELUDE TO PART FIRST. 
 
 OVER his keys the musing organist, 
 
 Beginning doubtfully and far away, 
 First lets his fingers wander as they list, 
 
 And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his 
 
 lay: 
 Then, as the touch of his loved instrument s 
 
 Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme,
 
 352 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent 
 Along the wavering vista of his dream. 
 
 Not only around our infancy 
 
 Doth heaven with all its splendors lie ; 13 
 
 Daily, with souls that cringe and plot, 
 
 We Sinais climb and know it not. 
 
 Over our manhood bend the skies ; 
 
 Against our fallen and traitor lives 
 The great winds utter prophecies ; 15 
 
 With our faint hearts the mountain strives ; 
 Its arms outstretched, the druid wood 
 
 Waits with its benedicite ; 
 And to our age's drowsy blood 
 
 Still shouts the inspiring sea. 20 
 
 Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us ; 
 
 The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in, 
 The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us, 
 
 We bargain for the graves we lie in ; 
 At the Devil's booth are all things sold, 25 
 
 Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold ; 
 
 For a cap and bells our lives we pay, 
 
 9. In allusion to Wordsworth's 
 
 " Heaven lies about us in our infancy," 
 
 in his ode, Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early 
 Childhood. 
 
 27. In the Middle Ages kings and noblemen had in their 
 courts jesters to make sport for the company ; as every one then 
 wore a dress indicating his rank or occupation, so the jester wore 
 a cap hung- with bells. The fool of Shakespeare's plays is the 
 king's jester at his best.
 
 THE VISION OF SIR LA UN FA L. 353 
 
 Bubbles we buy with a whole soul's tasking : 
 
 'T is heaven alone that is given away, 
 'T is only God may be hud for the asking ; so 
 
 No price is set on the lavish summer ; 
 June may be had by the poorest comer. 
 
 And what is so rare as a day in June ? 
 
 Then, if ever, come perfect days ; 
 Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, 
 
 And over it softly her warm ear lays : 
 Whether we look, or whether we listen, 
 We hear life murmur, or see it glisten ; 
 Every clod feels a stir of might, 
 
 An instinct within it that reaches and towers, 40 
 And, groping blindly above it for light, 
 
 Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers ; 
 The flush of life may well be seen 
 
 Thrilling back over hills and valleys ; 
 The cowslip startles in meadows green, 45 
 
 The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, 
 And there 's never a leaf nor a blade too mean 
 
 To be some happy creature's palace ; 
 The little bird sits at his door in the sun, 
 
 Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, M 
 
 And lets his illumined being o'errun 
 
 With the deluge of summer it receives ; 
 His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, 
 And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and 
 
 sings ; 
 He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest, M 
 
 In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best ? 
 
 % 
 
 Now is the high-tide of the year, 
 
 And whatever of life hath ebbed away
 
 354 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer, 
 
 Into every bare inlet and creek and bay ; 
 Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, 
 We are happy now because God wills it ; 
 No matter how barren the past may have been, 
 'T is enough for us now that the leaves are green ; 
 We sit in the warm shade and feel right well es 
 
 How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell ; 
 We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing 
 That skies are clear and grass is growing ; 
 The breeze comes whispering in our ear, 
 That dandelions are blossoming near, vo 
 
 That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, 
 That the river is bluer than the sky, 
 That the robin is plastering his house hard by ; 
 And if the breeze kept the good news back, 
 For other couriers we should not lack ; 75 
 
 We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing, 
 And hark ! how clear bold chanticleer, 
 Warmed with the new wine of the year, 
 
 Tells all in his lusty crowing ! 
 
 Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how ; so 
 
 Everything is happy now, 
 
 Everything is upward striving ; 
 'T is as easy now for the heart to be true 
 As for grass to be green or skies to be blue, 
 
 'T is the natural way of living : M 
 
 Who knows whither the clouds have fled ? 
 
 In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake ; 
 And the eyes forget the tears they have shed, 
 
 The heart forgets its sorrow and ache \ 
 The soul partakes of the season's youth, 9 
 
 And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe
 
 THE VISION OF SIR LA UNFA L. 355 
 
 Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth, 
 Like burnt-out craters healed with snow. 
 What wonder if Sir Launfal now 
 Remembered the keeping of his vow ? 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 I. 
 
 " My golden spurs now bring to me, 
 
 And bring to me my richest mail, 
 For to-morrow I go over land and sea 
 
 In search of the Holy Grail ; 
 
 Shall never a bed for me be spread, ** 
 
 Nor shall a pillow be under my head, 
 Till I begin my vow to keep ; 
 Here on the rushes will I sleep, 
 And perchance there may come a vision true 
 Ere day create the world anew." IDS 
 
 Slowly Sir Launfal's eyes grew dim, 
 
 Slumber fell like a cloud on him, 
 And into his soul the vision flew. 
 
 XL 
 
 The crows flapped over by twos and threes, 
 
 In the pool drowsed the cattle up to their knees, nc 
 The little birds sang as if it were 
 The one day of summer in all the year, 
 
 And the very leaves seemed to sing on the trees : 
 
 The castle alone in the landscape lay 
 
 Like an outpost of winter, dull and gray ; us 
 
 'T was the proudest hall in the North Countree, 
 
 And never its gates might opened be, 
 
 Save to lord or lady of high degree ;
 
 B56 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 Summer besieged it on every side, 
 
 But the churlish stone her assaults defied, i 
 
 She could not scale the chilly wall, 
 
 Though around it for leagues her pavilions tall 
 
 Stretched left and right, 
 
 Over the hills and out of sight ; 
 
 Green and broad was every tent, la 
 
 And out of each a murmur went 
 Till the breeze fell off at night. 
 
 m. 
 
 The drawbridge dropped with a surly clang, 
 And through the dark arch a charger sprang, 
 Bearing Sir Launfal, the maiden knight, isa 
 
 In his gilded mail, that flamed so bright 
 It seemed the dark castle had gathered all 
 Those shafts the fierce sun had shot over its wall 
 
 In his siege of three hundred summers long, 
 And, binding them all in one blazing sheaf, w 
 
 Had cast them forth : so, young and strong, 
 And lightsome as a locust-leaf, 
 Sir Launfal flashed forth in his maiden mail, 
 To seek in all climes for the Holy Grail. 
 
 IV. 
 
 It was morning on hill and stream and tree, i 
 
 And morning in the young knight's heart ; 
 
 Only the castle moodily 
 
 Rebuffed the gifts of the sunshine free, 
 And gloomed by itself apart ; 
 
 The season brimmed all other things up i 
 
 Full as the rain fills the pitcher-plant's cup.
 
 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. 357 
 
 V. 
 
 As Sir Launfal made morn through the darksome gate, 
 
 He was 'ware of a leper, crouched by the same, 
 Who begged with his hand and moaned as he sate ; 
 
 And a loathing over Sir Launfal came ; 150 
 
 The sunshine went out of his soul with a thrill, 
 
 The flesh 'neath his armor 'gan shrink and crawl, 
 And midway its leap his heart stood still 
 
 Like a frozen waterfall ; 
 
 For this man, so foul and bent of stature, 155 
 
 Rasped harshly against his dainty nature, 
 And seemed the one blot on the summer morn, 
 So he tossed him a piece of gold in scorn. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The leper raised not the gold from the dust: 
 
 *' Better to me the poor man's crust, IM 
 
 Better the blessing of the poor, 
 
 Though I turn me empty from his door ; 
 
 That is no true alms which the hand can hold ; 
 
 He gives only the worthless gold 
 
 Who gives from a sense of duty ; IM 
 
 But he who gives but a slender mite, 
 And gives to that which is out of sight, 
 
 That thread of the all-sustaining Beauty 
 Which runs through all and doth all unite, 
 The hand cannot clasp the whole of his alms, IT 
 
 The heart outstretches its eager palms, 
 For a god goes with it and makes it store 
 To the soul that was starving in darkness before."
 
 358 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 PRELUDE TO PAST SECOND. 
 
 Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak, 
 From the snow five thousand summers old ; wi 
 
 On open wold and hill-top bleak 
 It had gathered all the cold, 
 
 And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek ; 
 
 It carried a shiver everywhere 
 
 From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare ; iso 
 
 The little brook heard it and built a roof 
 
 'Neath which he could house him, winter-proof ; 
 
 All night by the white stars' frosty gleams 
 
 He groined his arches and matched his beams ; 
 
 Slender and clear were his crystal spars IK 
 
 As the lashes of light that trim the stars ; 
 
 He sculptured every summer delight 
 
 In his halls and chambers out of sight ; 
 
 Sometimes his tinkling waters slipt 
 
 Down through a frost-leaved forest-crypt, we 
 
 Long, sparkling aisles of steel-stemmed trees 
 
 Bending to counterfeit a breeze ; 
 
 Sometimes the roof no fretwork knew 
 
 But silvery mosses that downward grew ; 
 
 Sometimes it was carved in sharp relief MS 
 
 With quaint arabesques of ice-fern leaf ; 
 
 Sometimes it was simply smooth and clear 
 
 For the gladness of heaven to shine through, and here 
 
 He had caught the nodding bulrush-tops 
 
 And hung them thickly with diamond drops, 20* 
 
 174. Note the different moods that are indicated by the two 
 preludes. The one is of June, the other of snow and winter. 
 By these preludes the poet, like an organist, strikes a key which 
 he holds in the subsequent part.
 
 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. 359 
 
 That crystalled the beams of moon and sun, 
 
 And made a star of every one : 
 
 No mortal builder's most rare device 
 
 Could match this winter-palace of ice ; 
 
 'T was as if every image that mirrored lay we 
 
 In his depths serene through the summer day, 
 
 Each fleeting shadow of earth and sky, 
 
 Lest the happy model should be lost, 
 Had been mimicked in fairy masonry 
 
 By the elfin builders of the frost. ai 
 
 Within the hall are song and laughter, 
 
 The cheeks of Christmas glow red and jolly, 
 And sprouting is every corbel and rafter 
 
 With lightsome green of ivy and holly ; 
 Through the deep gulf of the chimney wide as 
 
 Wallows the Yule-log's roaring tide ; 
 The broad flame-pennons droop and flap 
 
 And belly and tug as a flag in the wind ; 
 Like a locust shrills the imprisoned sap, 
 
 Hunted to death in its galleries blind ; a* 
 
 And swift little troops of silent sparks, 
 
 Now pausing, now scattering away as in fear, 
 Go threading the soot-forest's tangled darks 
 
 Like herds of startled deer. 
 
 204. The Empress of Russia, Catherine II., in a magnificent 
 freak, built a palace of ice, which was a nine-days' wonder. 
 Cowper has given a poetical description of it in The Task, Book 
 V. lines 131-176. 
 
 216. The Yule-log was anciently a huge log burned at the feast 
 of Juul by our Scandinavian ancestors in honor of the god Thor. 
 Juul-tid corresponded in time to Christmas tide, and when Chris 
 tian festivities took the place of pagan, many ceremonies re 
 mained. The great log, still called the Yule-log, was dragged 
 in and burned in the fireplace after Thor had been forgotten.
 
 360 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 But the wind without was eager and sharp, 221 
 
 Of Sir Launfal's gray hair it makes a harp, 
 And rattles and wrings 
 The icy strings, 
 Singing, in dreary monotone, 
 
 A Christmas carol of its own, 230 
 
 Whose burden still, as he might guess, 
 Was " Shelterless, shelterless, shelterless ! " 
 The voice of the seneschal flared like a torch 
 As he shouted the wanderer away from the porch, 
 And he sat in the gateway and saw all night 235 
 
 The great hall-fire, so cheery aixd bold, 
 Through the window-slits of the castle old, 
 Build out its piers of ruddy light 
 Against the drift of the cold. 
 
 PAST SECOND. 
 
 There was never a leaf on bush or tree, 240 
 
 The bare boughs rattled shudderingly ; 
 The river was dumb and could not speak, 
 
 For the weaver Winter its shroud had spun ; 
 A single crow on the tree-top bleak 
 
 From his shining feathers shed off the cold sun ; 245 
 Again it was morning, but shrunk and cold, 
 As if her veins were sapless and old, 
 And she rose up decrepitly 
 For a last dim look at earth and sea. 
 
 u. 
 
 Sir Launfal turned from his own hard gate, 25* 
 
 For another heir in the earldom sate ;
 
 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. 361 
 
 An old, bent man, worn out and frail, 
 
 He came back from seeking the Holy Grail ; 
 
 Little he recked of his earldom's loss, 
 
 No more on his surcoat was blazoned the cross, 
 
 But deep in his soul the sign he wore, 
 
 The badge of the suffering and the poor. 
 
 in. 
 
 Sir Launfal's raiment thin and spare 
 
 Was idle mail 'gainst the barbed air, 
 
 For it was just at the Christmas time ; a 
 
 So he mused, as he sat, of a sunnier clime, 
 
 And sought for a shelter from cold and snow 
 
 In the light and warmth of long-ago ; 
 
 He sees the snake-like caravan crawl 
 
 O'er the edge of the desert, black and small, sw 
 
 Then nearer and nearer, till, one by one, 
 
 He can count the camels in the sun, 
 
 As over the red-hot sands they pass 
 
 To where, in its slender necklace of grass, 
 
 The little spring laughed and leapt in the shade, 270 
 
 And with its own self like an infant played, 
 
 And waved its signal of palms. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " For Christ's sweet sake, I beg an alms ; " 
 
 The happy camels may reach the spring, 
 
 But Sir Launfal sees only the grewsome thing, 271 
 
 The leper, lank as the rain-blanched bone, 
 
 That cowers beside him, a thing as lone 
 
 And white as the ice-isles of Northern seas, 
 
 In the desolate horror of his disease.
 
 362 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 V. 
 
 And Sir Launfal said, "I behold in thee 28* 
 
 An image of Him who died on the tree ; 
 
 Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns, 
 
 Thou also hast had the world's buffets and scorns, 
 
 And to thy life were not denied 
 
 The wounds in the hands and feet and side : 2ss 
 
 Mild Mary's Son, acknowledge me; 
 
 Behold, through him, I give to Thee ! " 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then the soul of the leper stood up in his eyes 
 
 And looked at Sir Launfal, and straightway he 
 Remembered in what a haughtier guise 290 
 
 He had flung an alms to leprosie, 
 When he girt his young life up in gilded mail 
 And set forth in search of the Holy Grail. 
 The heart within him was ashes and dust ; 
 He parted in twain his single crust, 295 
 
 He broke the ice on the streamlet's brink, 
 And gave the leper to eat and drink, 
 'T was a mouldy crust of coarse brown bread, 
 
 'T was water out of a wooden bowl, 
 Yet with fine wheaten bread was^the leper fed, aoo 
 
 And 't was red wine he drank with his thirsty 
 soul. 
 
 vn. 
 
 As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face, 
 
 A light shone round about the place ; 
 
 The leper no longer crouched at his side, 
 
 But stood before him glorified, sos 
 
 Shining and tall and fair and straight 
 
 As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate,
 
 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. 363 
 
 Himself the Gate whereby men can 
 Enter the temple of God in Man. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 His words were shed softer than leaves from the 
 pine, sio 
 
 And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine, 
 That mingle their softness and quiet in one 
 With the shaggy unrest they float down upon ; 
 And the voice that was softer than silence said, 
 " Lo, it is I, be not afraid ! sis 
 
 In many climes, without avail, 
 Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail ; 
 Behold, it is here, this cup which thou 
 Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now ; 
 This crust is my body broken for thee, si 
 
 This water His blood that died on the tree ; 
 The Holy Supper is kept, indeed, 
 In whatso we share with another's need : 
 Not what we give, but what we share, 
 For the gift without the giver is bare ; 
 
 Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, 
 Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me." 
 
 IX. 
 
 Sir Launfal awoke as from a swound : 
 
 " The Grail in my castle here is found I 
 
 Hang my idle armor up on the wall, 
 
 Let it be the spider's banquet hall ; 
 
 He must be fenced with stronger mail 
 
 Who would seek and find the Holy Grail." 
 
 x. 
 
 The castle gate stands open now, 
 
 And the wanderer is welcome to the hall *
 
 364 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 As the hangbird is to the elm-tree bough j 
 
 No longer scowl the turrets tall, 
 The Summer's long siege at last is o'er ; 
 When the first poor outcast went in at the door, 
 She entered with him in disguise, 341 
 
 And mastered the fortress by surprise ; 
 There is no spot she loves so well on ground, 
 She lingers and smiles there the whole year round ; 
 The meanest serf on Sir Launfal's land 
 Has hall and bower at his command ; 34* 
 
 And there 's no poor man in the North Countree 
 But is lord of the earldom as much as he. 
 
 UNDER THE WILLOWS. 
 
 FRANK-HEARTED hostess of the field and wood, 
 
 Gypsy, whose roof is every spreading tree, 
 
 June is the pearl of our New England year. 
 
 Still a surprisal, though expected long, 
 
 Her coming startles. Long she lies in wait, s 
 
 Makes many a feint, peeps forth, draws co} 7 ly back, 
 
 Then, from some southern ambush in the sky, 
 
 With one great gush of blossom storms the world. 
 
 A week ago the sparrow was divine ; 
 
 The bluebird, shifting his light load of song i 
 
 From post to post along the cheerless fence, 
 
 "W as as a rhymer ere the poet come ; 
 
 But now, oh rapture ! sunshine winged and voiced, 
 
 Pipe blown through by the warm wild breath of the 
 
 West 
 
 Shepherding his soft droves of fleecy cloud, is 
 
 Gladness of woods, skies, waters, all in one,
 
 UNDER THE WILLOWS. 365 
 
 The bobolink lias come, and, like the soul 
 Of the sweet season vocal in a bird, 
 Gurgles in ecstasy we know not what 
 Save June ! Dear June ! flow God be praised for 
 June. 20 
 
 May is a pious fraud of the almanac, 
 
 A ghastly parody of real Spring 
 
 Shaped out of snow and breathed with eastern 
 
 wind ; 
 
 Or if, o'er-confident, she trust the date, 
 And, with her handful of anemones, 
 
 Herself as shivery, steal into the sun, 
 The season need but turn his hour-glass round, 
 And Winter suddenly, like crazy Lear, 
 Reels back, and brings the dead May in his arms, 
 Her budding breasts and wan dislustred front so 
 
 With frosty streaks and drifts of his white beard 
 All overblown. Then, warmly walled with books, 
 While my wood-fire supplies the sun's defect, 
 Whispering old forest-sagas in its dreams, 
 I take my May down from the happy shelf K 
 
 Where perch the world's rare song-birds in a row, 
 
 17. Bryant has a charming poem, Robert of Lincoln, in which 
 the light-hearted song of the bird gets a homelier but no less de 
 lightful interpretation. See, also, Lowell's lines in Sunthin' in 
 the Pastoral Line, No. VI. of the second series of The Biglow 
 Papers : 
 
 " 'Nuff sed, June's bridesman, poet o' the year, 
 Gladness on wings, the bobolink, is here ; 
 Half-hid in tip-top apple-blooms he swings, 
 Or climbs aginst the breeze with quiver-in' wings, 
 Or, givin' way to 't in a mock despair, 
 Runs down, a brook o' laughter, thru the air." 
 
 28. In the fifth act of Shakespeare's King Lear, Lear enters 
 with Cordelia dead in his arms.
 
 366 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 Waiting my choice to open with full breast, 
 And beg an alms of spring-time, ne'er denied 
 In-doors by vernal Chaucer, whose fresh woods 
 Throb thick with merle and mavis all the year. 
 
 July breathes hot, sallows the crispy fields, 
 Curls up the wan leaves of the lilac-hedge, 
 And every eve cheats us with show of clouds 
 That braze the horizon's western rim, or hang 
 Motionless, with heaped canvas drooping idly, 45 
 
 Like a dim fleet by starving men besieged, 
 Conjectured half, and half descried afar, 
 Helpless of wind, and seeming to slip back 
 Adown the smooth curve of the oily sea. 
 
 But June is full of invitations sweet, so 
 
 Forth from the chimney's yawn and thrice - read 
 
 tomes 
 
 To leisurely delights and sauntering thoughts 
 That brook no ceiling narrower than the blue. 
 The cherry, drest for bridal, at my pane 
 Brushes, then listens, Will he come ? The bee, 55 
 All dusty as a miller, takes his toll 
 Of powdery gold, and grumbles. What a day 
 To sun me and do nothing ! Nay, I think 
 Merely to bask and ripen is sometimes 
 The student's wiser business ; the brain eo 
 
 That forages all climes to line its cells, 
 Ranging both worlds on lightest wings of wish, 
 W r ill not distil the juices it has sucked 
 To the sweet substance of pellucid thought, 
 Except for him who hath the secret learned es 
 
 44. That is, that give a brazen hue and hardness to the west* 
 era sky at sunset.
 
 UNDER THE WILLOWS. 367 
 
 To mix his blood with sunshine, and to take 
 
 The winds into his pulses. Hush ! 't is he ! 
 
 My oriole, my glance of summer fire, 
 
 Is come at last, and, ever on the watch, 
 
 Twitches the pack-thread I had lightly wound 7i 
 
 About the bough to help his housekeeping, 
 
 Twitches and scouts by turns, blessing his luck, 
 
 Yet fearing me who laid it in his way, 
 
 Nor, more than wiser we in our affairs, 
 
 Divines the providence that hides and helps. 75 
 
 Heave, ho ! Heave, ho ! he whistles as the twine 
 
 Slackens its hold ; once more, now ! and a flash 
 
 Lightens across the sunlight to the elm 
 
 Where his mate dangles at her cup of felt. 
 
 Nor all his booty is the thread ; he trails & 
 
 My loosened thought with it along the air, 
 
 And I must follow, would I ever find 
 
 The inward rhyme to all this wealth of life. 
 
 I care not how men trace their ancestry, 
 
 To ape or Adam ; let them please their whim ; 85 
 
 But I in June am midway to believe 
 
 A tree among my far progenitors, 
 
 Such sympathy is mine with all the race, 
 
 Such mutual recognition vaguely sweet 
 
 There is between us. Surely there are times M 
 
 When they consent to own me of their kin, 
 
 And condescend to me, and call me cousin, 
 
 Murmuring faint lullabies of eldest time, 
 
 Forgotten, and yet dumbly felt with thrills 
 
 Moving the lips, though fruitless of all words. M 
 
 And I have many a life-long leafy friend, 
 
 Never estranged nor careful of my soul, 
 
 That knows I hate the axe, and welcomes me
 
 368 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 "Within his tent as if I were a bird, 
 
 Or other free companion of the earth, 2<x 
 
 Yet undegenerate to the shifts of men. 
 
 Among them one, an ancient willow, spreads 
 
 Eight balanced limbs, springing at once all round 
 
 His deep-ridged trunk with upward slant diverse, 
 
 In outline like enormous beaker, fit iw 
 
 For hand of Jotun, where 'mid snow and mist 
 
 He holds unwieldy revel. This tree, spared, 
 
 I know not by what grace, for in the blood 
 
 Of our New World subduers lingers yet 
 
 Hereditary feud with trees, they being no 
 
 (They and the red-man most) our father's foes, 
 
 Is one of six, a willow Pleiades, 
 
 The seventh fallen, that lean along the brink 
 
 Where the steep upland dips into the marsh, 
 
 Their roots, like molten metal cooled in flowing, us 
 
 Stiffened in coils and runnels down the bank. 
 
 The friend of all the winds, wide-armed he towers 
 
 And glints his steely aglets in the sun, 
 
 Or whitens fitfully with sudden bloom 
 
 Of leaves breeze-lifted, much as when a shoal ra 
 
 Of devious minnows wheel from where a pike 
 
 Lurks balanced 'neath the lily-pads, and whirl 
 
 A rood of silver bellies to the day. 
 
 Alas ! no acorn from the British oak 
 'Neath which slim fairies tripping wrought those 
 rings 125 
 
 106. Jotun is a giant in the Scandinavian mythology. 
 
 112. The Pleiades were seven daughters of Atlas and Pleione ; 
 to escape the hunter Orion, they begged to be changed in form, 
 and were made a constellation in the heavens. Only six were 
 visible to the naked eye, so the seventh was held to be a lost 
 Pleiad, and several stories were told to account for the loss.
 
 UNDER THE WILLOWS. 369 
 
 Of greenest emerald, wherewith fireside life 
 
 Did with the invisible spirit of Nature wed, 
 
 Was ever planted here ! No darnel fancy 
 
 Might choke one useful blade in Puritan fields ; 
 
 With horn and hoof the good old Devil came, iso 
 
 The witch's broomstick was not contraband, 
 
 But all that superstition had of fair, 
 
 Or piety of native sweet, was doomed. 
 
 And if there be who nurse unholy faiths, 
 
 Fearing their god as if he were a wolf 135 
 
 That snuffed round every home and was not seen, 
 
 There should be some to watch and keep alive 
 
 All beautiful beliefs. And such was that, 
 
 By solitary shepherd first surmised 
 
 Under Thessalian oaks, loved by some maid MO 
 
 Of royal stirp, that silent came and vanished, 
 
 As near her nest the hermit thrush, nor dared 
 
 Confess a mortal name, that faith which gave 
 
 A Hamadryad to each tree; and I 
 
 Will hold it true that in this willow dwells J 
 
 The open-handed spirit, frank and blithe, 
 
 Of ancient Hospitality, long since, 
 
 With ceremonious thrift, bowed out of doors. 
 
 In June 't is good to lie beneath a tree 
 
 While the blithe season comforts every sense, 15 
 
 Steeps all the brain in rest, and heals the heart, 
 
 Brimming it o'er with sweetness unawares, 
 
 Fragrant and silent as that rosy snow 
 
 Wherewith the pitying apple-tree fills up 
 
 And tenderly lines some last-year robin's nest. iss 
 
 There muse I of old times, old hopes, old friends, 
 
 Old friends ! The writing of those words has borne 
 
 My fancy backward to the gracious past,
 
 370 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 The generous past, when all was possible, 
 
 For all was then untried ; the years between ie 
 
 Have taught some sweet, some bitter lessons, none 
 
 Wiser than this, to spend in all things else, 
 
 But of old friends to be most miserly. 
 
 Each year to ancient friendships adds a ring, 
 
 As to an oak, and precious more and more, IBS 
 
 Without deservingness or help of ours, 
 
 They grow, and, silent, wider spread, each year, 
 
 Their unbought ring of shelter or of shade. 
 
 Sacred to me the lichens on the bark, 
 
 Which Nature's milliners would scrape away ; no 
 
 Most dear and sacred every withered limb ! 
 
 'T is good to set them early, for our faith 
 
 Pines as we age, and, after wrinkles come, 
 
 Few plant, but water dead ones with vain tears. 
 
 This willow is as old to me as life ; ns 
 
 And under it full often have I stretched, 
 
 Feeling the warm earth like a thing alive, 
 
 And gathering virtue in at every pore 
 
 Till it possessed me wholly, and thought ceased, 
 
 Or was transfused in something to which thought iso 
 
 Is coarse and dull of sense. Myself was lost, 
 
 Gone from me like an ache, and what remained 
 
 Become a part of the universal joy. 
 
 My soul went forth, and, mingling with the tree, 
 
 Danced in the leaves ; or, floating in the cloud, isa 
 
 Saw its white double in the stream below ; 
 
 Or else, sublimed to purer ecstasy, 
 
 Dilated in the broad blue over all. 
 
 I was the wind that dappled the lush grass, 
 
 The tide that crept with coolness to its roots, w 
 
 The thin-winged swallow skating on the air ; 
 
 The life that gladdened everything was mine.
 
 UNDER THE WILLOWS. 371 
 
 Was I then truly all that I beheld ? 
 
 Or is this stream of being but a glass 
 
 Where the mind sees its visionary self, IM 
 
 As, when the kingfisher flits o'er his bay, 
 
 Across the river's hollow heaven below, 
 
 His picture flits, another, yet the same ? 
 
 But suddenly the sound of human voice 
 
 Or footfall, like the drop a chemist pours, aw 
 
 Doth in opacous cloud precipitate 
 
 The consciousness that seemed but now dissolved 
 
 Into an essence rarer than its own, 
 
 And I am narrowed to myself once more. 
 
 For here not long is solitude secure, 205 
 
 Nor Fantasy left vacant to her spell. 
 Here, sometimes, in this paradise of shade, 
 Rippled with western winds, the dusty Tramp, 
 Seeing the treeless causey burn beyond, 
 Halts to unroll his bundle of strange food 210 
 
 And munch an unearned meal. I cannot help 
 Liking this creature, lavish Summer's bedesman, 
 W r ho from the almshouse steals when nights grow 
 
 warm, 
 
 Himself his large estate and only charge, 
 To be the guest of haystack or of hedge, as 
 
 Nobly superior to the household gear 
 That forfeits us our privilege of nature. 
 I bait him with my match-box and my pouch, 
 Nor grudge the uncostly sympathy of smoke, 
 His equal now, divinely unemployed. 221 
 
 Some smack of Robin Hood is in the man, 
 Some secret league with wild wood-wandering things ; 
 He is our ragged Duke, our barefoot Earl, 
 By right of birth exonerate from toil,
 
 372 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 Who levies rent from us his tenants all, 2* 
 
 And serves the state by merely being. Here, 
 
 The Scissors-grinder, pausing, doffs his hat, 
 
 And lets the kind breeze, with its delicate fan, 
 
 Winnow the heat from out his dank gray hair, 
 
 A grimy Ulysses, a much-wandered man, 220 
 
 Whose feet are known to all the populous ways. 
 
 And many men and manners he hath seen, 
 
 Not without fruit of solitary thought. 
 
 He, as the habit is of lonely men, 
 
 Unused to try the temper of their mind 235 
 
 In fence with others, positive and shy, 
 
 Yet knows to put au edge upon his speech, 
 
 Pithily Saxon in unwilling talk. 
 
 Him I entrap with my long-suffering knife, 
 
 And, while its poor blade hums away in sparks, 240 
 
 Sharpen my wit upon his gritty mind, 
 
 In motion set obsequious to his wheel, 
 
 And in its quality not much unlike. 
 
 Nor wants my tree more punctual visitors. 
 
 The children, they who are the only rich, 245 
 
 Creating for the moment, and possessing 
 
 Whate'er they choose to feign, for still with them 
 
 Kind Fancy plays the fairy godmother, 
 
 Strewing their lives with cheap material 
 
 For winged horses and Aladdin's lamps, 250 
 
 Pure elfin-gold, by manhood's touch profane 
 
 To dead leaves disenchanted, long ago 
 
 Between the branches of the tree fixed seats, 
 
 230. Ulysses, the hero of Homer's Odyssey, receives the epithet 
 much-wandered in the first line of that poem, an epithet often re 
 peated, and is described as one who had seen many cities of men, 
 and known many minds.
 
 UNDER THE WILLOWS. 373 
 
 Making an o'erturned box their table. Oft 
 
 The shrilling girls sit here between school hours, 255 
 
 And play at What 's my thought like ? while the boys, 
 
 With whom the age chivalric ever bides, 
 
 Pricked on by knightly spur of female eyes, 
 
 Climb high to swing and shout on perilous boughs, 
 
 Or, from the willow's armory equipped 2ei 
 
 With musket dumb, green banner, edgeless sword, 
 
 Make good the rampart of their tree-redoubt 
 
 'Gainst eager British storming from below, 
 
 And keep alive the tale of Bunker's Hill. 
 
 Here, too, the men that mend our village ways, 265 
 
 Vexing Macadam's ghost with pounded slate, 
 
 Their nooning take ; much noisy talk they spend 
 
 On horses and their ills ; and, as John Bull 
 
 Tells of Lord This or That, who was his friend, 
 
 So these make boast of intimacies long TT 
 
 With famous teams, and add large estimates, 
 
 By competition swelled from mouth to mouth, 
 
 Of how much they could draw, till one, ill pleased 
 
 To have his legend overbid, retorts : 
 
 " You take and stretch truck-horses in a string 275 
 
 From here to Long Wharf end, one thing I know, 
 
 Not heavy neither, they could never draw, 
 
 Ensign's long bow ! " Then laughter loud and long. 
 
 So they in their leaf-shadowed microcosm 
 
 Image the larger world ; for wheresoe'er ss 
 
 Ten men are gathered, the observant eye 
 
 Will find mankind in little, as the stars 
 
 Glide up and set, and all the heavens revolve 
 
 266. Macadamized roads have kept alive the name of Sir John 
 Loudon Macadam, who introduced them at the beginning of 
 this century.
 
 374 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 In the small welkin of a drop of dew. 
 
 I love to enter pleasure by a postern, zs 
 
 Not the broad popular gate that gulps the mob ; 
 
 To find my theatres in roadside nooks, 
 
 Where men are actors, and suspect it not ; 
 
 Where Nature all unconscious works her will, 
 
 And every passion moves with easy gait, 294 
 
 Unhampered by the buskin or the train. 
 
 Hating the crowd, where we gregarious men 
 
 Lead lonely lives, I love society, 
 
 Nor seldom find the best with simple souls 
 
 Unswerved by culture from their native bent, 295 
 
 The ground we meet on being primal man 
 
 And nearer the deep bases of our lives. 
 
 But oh, half heavenly, earthly half, my soul, 
 Canst thou from those late ecstasies descend, 
 Thy lips still wet with the miraculous wine sc* 
 
 That transubstantiates all thy baser stuff 
 To such divinity that soul and sense, 
 Once more commingled in their source, are lost, 
 Canst thou descend to quench a vulgar thirst 
 With the mere dregs and rinsings of the world ? a-js 
 Well, if my nature find her pleasure so, 
 I am content, nor need to blush ; I take 
 My little gift of being clean from God, 
 Not haggling for a better, holding it 
 Good as was ever any in the world, ni 
 
 My days as good and full of miracle. 
 I pluck my nutriment from any bush, 
 Finding out poison as the first men did 
 By tasting and then suffering, if I must. 
 Sometimes my bush burns, and sometimes it is ai* 
 
 315. As did Moses's bush.
 
 UNDER THE WILLOWS. 375 
 
 A leafless wilding shivering by the wall ; 
 But I have known when winter barberries 
 Pricked the effeminate palate with surprise 
 Of savor whose mere harshness seemed divine. 
 
 Oh, benediction of the higher mood 321 
 
 And human-kindness of the lower ! for both 
 
 I will be grateful while I live, nor question 
 
 The wisdom that hath made us what we are, 
 
 With such large range as from the ale-house bench 
 
 Can reach the stars and be with both at home. 325 
 
 They tell us we have fallen on prosy days, 
 
 Condemned to glean the leavings of earth's feast 
 
 Where gods and heroes took delight of old ; 
 
 But though our lives, moving in one dull round 
 
 Of repetition infinite, become 330 
 
 Stale as a newspaper once read, and though 
 
 History herself, seen in her workshop, seem 
 
 To have lost the art that dyed those glorious panes 
 
 Rich with memorial shapes of saint and sage, 
 
 That pave with splendor the Past's dusky aisles, 335 
 
 Panes that enchant the light of common day 
 
 With colors costly as the blood of kings, 
 
 Till with ideal hues it edge our thought, 
 
 Yet while the world is left, while nature lasts, 
 
 And man the best of nature, there shall be wo 
 
 Somewhere contentment for these human hearts, 
 
 Some freshness, some unused material 
 
 For wonder and for song. I lose myself 
 
 In other ways where solemn guide-posts say, 
 
 This way to Knowledge, this way to Repose, s 
 
 But here, here only, I am ne'er betrayed, 
 
 For every by-path leads me to my love.
 
 376 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 God's passionless reformers, influences, 
 
 That purify and heal and are not seen, 
 
 Shall man say whence your virtue is, or how w 
 
 Ye make medicinal the wayside weed ? 
 
 I know that sunshine, through whatever rift 
 
 How shaped it matters not, upon my walls 
 
 Paints discs as perfect-rounded as its source, 
 
 And, like its antitype, the ray divine, sw 
 
 However finding entrance, perfect still, 
 
 Repeats the image unimpaired of God. 
 
 We, who by shipwreck only find the shores 
 
 Of divine wisdom, can but kneel at first ; 
 
 Can but exult to feel beneath our feet, set* 
 
 That long stretched vainly down the yielding deeps, 
 
 The shock and sustenance of solid earth ; 
 
 Inland afar we see what temples gleam 
 
 Through immemorial stems of sacred groves, 
 
 And we conjecture shining shapes therein ; 3 
 
 Yet for a space we love to wonder here 
 
 Among the shells and sea-weed of the beach. 
 
 So mused I once within my willow-tent 
 One brave June morning, when the bhiff northwest, 
 Thrusting aside a dank and snuffling day 3? 
 
 That made us bitter at our neighbors' sins, 
 Brimmed the great cup of heaven with sparkling cheer 
 And roared a lusty stave ; the sliding Charles, 
 Blue toward the west, and bluer and more blue, 
 Living and lustrous as a woman's eyes srs 
 
 Look once and look no more, with southward curve 
 Ran crinkling suiininess, like Helen's hair 
 Glimpsed in Elysium, insubstantial gold ; 
 From blossom-clouded orchards, far away
 
 UNDER THE OLD ELM. 377 
 
 The bobolink tinkled ; the deep meadows flowed sen 
 With multitudinous pulse of light and shade 
 Against the bases of the southern hills, 
 While here and there a drowsy island rick 
 Slept and its shadow slept ; the wooden bridge 
 Thundered, and then was silent ; on the roofs i 
 
 The sun-warped shingles rippled with the heat ; 
 Summer on field and hill, in heart and brain, 
 All life washed clean in this high tide of June. 
 
 UNDER THE OLD ELM. 
 
 [NEAR Cambridge Common stands an old elm, having at its 
 base a stone with the inscription, " Under this tree Washington 
 first took command of the American Army, July 3d, 1775." 
 Upon the one hundredth anniversary of this day the citizens of 
 Cambridge held a celebration under the tree, and Mr. Lowell 
 read the following poem.] 
 
 I. 
 
 1. 
 
 WORDS pass as wind, but where great deeds were done 
 A power abides transfused from sire to son : 
 The boy feels deeper meanings thrill his ear, 
 That tingling through his pulse life-long shall run, 
 With sure impulsion to keep honor clear, s 
 
 When, pointing down, his father whispers, " Here, 
 Here, where we stand, stood he, the purely Great, 
 W r hose soul no siren passion could unsphere, 
 Then nameless, now a power and mixed with fate." 
 Historic town, thou boldest sacred dust, if 
 
 Once known to men as pious, learned, just,
 
 378 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 And one memorial pile that dares to last ; 
 
 But Memory greets with reverential kiss 
 
 No spot in all thy circuit sweet as this, 
 
 Touched by that modest glory as it past, u 
 
 O'er which yon elm hath piously displayed 
 
 These hundred years its monumental shade. 
 
 2. 
 
 Of our swift passage through this scenery 
 
 Of life and death, more durable than we, 
 
 What landmark so congenial as a tree 29 
 
 Repeating its green legend every spring, 
 
 And, with a yearly ring, 
 
 Recording the fair seasons as they flee, 
 
 Type of our brief but still-renewed mortality ? 
 
 We fall as leaves : the immortal trunk remains, 25 
 
 Builded with costly juice of hearts and brains 
 
 Gone to the mould now, whither all that be 
 
 Vanish returnless, yet are procreant still 
 
 In human lives to come of good or ill, 
 
 And feed unseen the roots of Destiny. so 
 
 n. 
 
 1. 
 
 Men's monuments, grown old, forget their names 
 They should eternize, but the place 
 Where shining souls have passed imbibes a grace 
 Beyond mere earth ; some sweetness of their fames 
 
 12. Memorial Hall, built by the alumni of Harvard, in memory 
 of those who fell in the war for union, a structure embodying 
 more serious thought than any other in Cambridge, and among 
 the few in the country built to endure.
 
 UNDER THE OLD ELM. 379 
 
 Leaves in the soil its unextinguished trace, 35 
 
 Pungent, patbetic, sad with nobler aims, 
 
 That penetrates our lives and heightens them or 
 
 shames. 
 
 This insubstantial world and fleet 
 Seems solid for a moment when we stand 
 On dust ennobled by heroic feet 
 
 Once mighty to sustain a tottering land, 
 And mighty still such burthen to upbear, 
 Nor doomed to tread the path of things that merely 
 
 were : 
 
 Our sense, refined with virtue of the spot, 
 Across the mists of Lethe's sleepy stream 45 
 
 Recalls him, the sole chief without a blot, 
 No more a pallid image and a dream, 
 But as he dwelt with men decorously supreme. 
 
 2. 
 
 Our grosser minds need this terrestrial hint 
 
 To raise long-buried days from tombs of print : s 
 
 " Here stood he," softly we repeat, 
 
 And lo, the statue shrined and still, 
 
 In that gray minster-front we call the Past, 
 
 Feels in its frozen veins our pulses thrill, 
 
 Breathes living air and mocks at Death's deceit. 
 
 It warms, it stirs, comes down to us at last, 
 
 Its features human with familiar light, 
 
 A man, beyond the historian's art to kill, 
 
 Or sculptor's to efface with patient chisel-blight. 
 
 3. 
 
 Sure the dumb earth hath memory, nor for naught e 
 Was Fancy given, on whose enchanted loom 
 Present and Past commingle, fruit and bloom
 
 380 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 Of one fair bough, inseparably wrought 
 
 Into the seamless tapestry of thought. 
 
 So charmed, with undeluded eye we see 
 
 In history's fragmentary tale 
 
 Bright clews of continuity, 
 
 Learn that high natures over Time prevail, 
 
 And feel ourselves a link in that entail 
 
 That binds all ages past with all that are to be. 
 
 in. 
 
 1. 
 
 Beneath our consecrated elm 
 A century ago he stood, 
 
 Famed vaguely for that old fight in the wood 
 Whose red surge sought, but could not overwhelm 
 The life foredoomed to wield our rough - hewn 
 helm : "5 
 
 From colleges, where now the gown 
 To arms had yielded, from the town, 
 Our rude self-summoned levies flocked to see 
 The new-come chiefs and wonder which was he. 
 No need to question long ; close-lipped and tall, so 
 Long trained in murder-brooding forests lone 
 To bridle others' clamors and his own, 
 Firmly erect, he towered above them all, 
 
 73. Referring to Braddock's defeat, when Washington wrote 
 to his brother : " By the all-powerful dispensations of Providence 
 I have been protected beyond all human probability or expecta 
 tion ; for I had four bullets through my coat, and two horses 
 shot under me, yet I escaped unhurt, although death was levelling 
 my companions on every side of me." 
 
 76. Study in Cambridge was suspended, the college buildings 
 were used as barracks, and the students were sent to Concord.
 
 UNDER THE OLD ELM. 381 
 
 The incarnate discipline that was to free 
 
 AVith iron curb that armed democracy. 83 
 
 2. 
 
 A motley rout was that which came to stare, 
 In raiment tanned by years of sun and storm, 
 Of every shape that was not uniform, 
 Dotted with regimentals here and there ; 
 An army all of captains, used to pray ** 
 
 And stiff in fight, but serious drill's despair, 
 Skilled to debate their orders, not obey ; 
 Deacons were there, selectmen, men of note 
 In half-tamed hamlets ambushed round with woods, 
 Ready to settle Freewill by a vote, 
 
 But largely liberal to its private moods ; 
 Prompt to assert by manners, voice, or pen, 
 Or ruder arms, their rights as Englishmen, 
 Nor much fastidious as to how and when : 
 Yet seasoned stuff and fittest to create i<* 
 
 A thought-staid army or a lasting state : 
 Haughty they said he was, at first ; severe ; 
 But owned, as all men own, the steady hand 
 Upon the bridle patient to command, 
 Prized, as all prize, the justice pure from fear, ios 
 And learned to honor first, then love him, then re 
 vere. 
 
 Such power there is in clear-eyed self-restraint 
 And purpose clean as light from every selfish taint. 
 
 86. The letters of Washington and of other generals in the 
 early part of the Revolutionary war bear repeated witness to the 
 undisciplined character of the troops. " I found a mixed multi 
 tude of people here," writes Washington, July 27th, " under 
 rery little discipline, order, or government."
 
 382 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 3. 
 
 Musing beneath the legendary tree, 
 
 The years between furl off : I seem to see 111 
 
 The sun-flecks, shaken the stirred foliage through, 
 
 Dapple with gold his sober buff and blue 
 
 And weave prophetic aureoles round the head 
 
 That shines our beacon now nor darkens with the dead. 
 
 O man of silent mood, 115 
 
 A stranger among strangers then, 
 
 Plow art thou since renowned the Great, the Good, 
 
 Familiar as the day in all the homes of men ! 
 
 The winged years, that winnow praise and blame, 
 
 Blow many names out : they but fan to flame 129 
 
 The self-renewing splendors of thy fame. 
 
 IV. 
 
 1. 
 
 How many subtlest influences unite, 
 
 "With spiritual touch of joy or pain, 
 
 Invisible as air and soft as light, 
 
 To body forth that image of the brain 125 
 
 We call our Country, visionary shape, 
 
 Loved more than woman, fuller of fire than wine, 
 
 Whose charm can none define, 
 
 Nor any, though he flee it, can escape ! 
 
 All party-colored threads the weaver Time iso 
 
 Sets in his web, now trivial, now sublime, 
 
 112. The American colors in the Revolution were buff and 
 blue. Fox wore them in Parliament, as did Burke also on occa 
 sion. There is discussion as to the origin of the colors, for which 
 see Stanhope's Miscellanies, First Series, pp. 116-122, and Pro 
 ceedings Massachusetts Historical Society, January, 1859, pp. 
 149-154.
 
 UNDER THE OLD ELM. 383 
 
 All memories, all forebodings, hopes and fears, 
 
 Mountain and river, forest, prairie, sea, 
 
 A hill, a rock, a homestead, field, or tree, 
 
 The casual gleanings of unreckoned years, i 
 
 Take goddess-shape at last and there is She, 
 
 Old at our birth, new as the springing hours, 
 
 Shrine of our weakness, fortress of our powers, 
 
 Consoler, kindler, peerless 'mid her peers, 
 
 A force that 'neath our conscious being stirs, u 
 
 A life to give ours permanence, when we 
 
 Are borne to mingle our poor earth with hers, 
 
 And all this glowing world goes with us on our biers. 
 
 2. 
 
 Nations are long results, by ruder ways 
 
 Gathering the might that warrants length of days ; i 
 
 They may be pieced of half -reluctant shares 
 
 Welded by hammer-strokes of broad-brained kings, 
 
 Or from a doughty people grow, the heirs 
 
 Of wise traditions widening cautious rings ; 
 
 At best they are computable things, u* 
 
 A strength behind us making us feel bold 
 
 In right, or, as may chance, in wrong ; 
 
 Whose force by figures may be summed and told, 
 
 So many soldiers, ships, and dollars strong, 
 
 And we but drops that bear compulsory part IM 
 
 In the dumb throb of a irechanic heart ; 
 
 But Country is a shape of each man's mind 
 
 Sacred from definition, unconfined 
 
 By the cramped walls where daily drudgeries grind ; 
 
 An inward vision, yet an outward birth iw 
 
 Of sweet familiar heaven and earth ; 
 
 A brooding Presence that stirs motions blind 
 
 Of wings within our embryo being's shell
 
 384 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 That wait but her completer spell 
 
 To make us eagle-uatured, fit to dare i 
 
 Life's nobler spaces and untarnished air. 
 
 3. 
 
 You, who hold dear this self-conceived ideal, 
 Whose faith and works alone can make it real, 
 Bring all your fairest gifts to deck her shrine 
 Who lifts our lives away from Thine and Mine no 
 And feeds the lamp of manhood more divine 
 With fragrant oils of quenchless constancy. 
 When all have done their utmost, surely he 
 Hath given the best who gives a character 
 Erect and constant, which nor any shock 175 
 
 Of loosened elements, nor the forceful sea 
 Of flowing or of ebbing fates, can stir 
 From its deep bases in the living rock 
 Of ancient manhood's sweet security : 
 And this he gave, serenely far from pride is 
 
 As baseness, born with prosperous stars allied, 
 Part of what nobler seed shall in our loins abide. 
 
 4. 
 
 No bond of men as common pride so strong, 
 
 In names time-filtered for the lips of song, 
 
 Still operant, with the primal Forces bound, m 
 
 Whose currents, on their spiritual round, 
 
 Transfuse our mortal will nor are gainsaid : 
 
 These are their arsenals, these the exhaustless mines 
 
 That give a constant heart in great designs ; 
 
 These are the stuff whereof such dreams are made i9 
 
 190. A reminiscence of Shakespeare's lines : 
 
 " We are such stuff 
 
 As dreams are made on, and our little life 
 la rounded with a sleep." 
 
 The Tempett, Act IV. Scene 1.
 
 UNDER THE OLD ELM. 385 
 
 As make heroic men : thus surely he 
 
 Still holds in place the massy blocks he laid 
 
 'Neath our new frame, enforcing soberly 
 
 The self-control that makes and keeps a people free. 
 
 v. 
 
 1. 
 
 Oh for a drop of that Cornelian ink 195 
 
 Which gave Agricola dateless length of days, 
 
 To celebrate him fitly, neither swerve 
 
 To phrase unkempt, nor pass discretion's brink, 
 
 With him so statue-like in sad reserve, 
 
 So diffident to claim, so forward to deserve ! 20 
 
 Nor need I shun due influence of his fame 
 
 Who, mortal among mortals, seemed as now 
 
 The equestrian shape with unimpassioned brow, 
 
 That paces silent on through vistas of acclaim. 
 
 2. 
 
 What figure more immovably august 205 
 
 Than that grave strength so patient and so pure, 
 
 Calm in good fortune, when it wavered, sure, 
 
 That mind serene, impenetrably just, 
 
 Modelled on classic lines so simple they endure ? 
 
 That soul so softly radiant and so white *w 
 
 The track it left seems less of fire than light, 
 
 Cold but to such as love distemperature ? 
 
 And if pure light, as some deem, be the force 
 
 That drives rejoicing planets on their course, 
 
 Why for his power benign seek an impurer source ? 215 
 
 195. It was Caius Cornelius Tacitus who wrote in imperishable 
 words the life of Agricola.
 
 386 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 His was the true enthusiasm that burns long, 
 
 Domestically bright, 
 
 Fed from itself and shy of human sight, 
 
 The hidden force that makes a lifetime strong, 
 
 And not the short-lived fuel of a song. 121 
 
 Passionless, say you ? What is passion for 
 
 But to sublime our natures and control 
 
 To front heroic toils with late return, 
 
 Or none, or such as shames the conqueror ? 
 
 That fire was fed with substance of the soul 225 
 
 And not with holiday stubble, that could burn, 
 
 Unpraised of men who after bonfires run, 
 
 Through seven slow years of unadvancing war, 
 
 Equal when fields were lost or fields were won, 
 
 With breath of popular applause or blame, 230 
 
 Nor fanned nor damped, unquenchably the same, 
 
 Too inward to be reached by flaws of idle fame. 
 
 3. 
 
 Soldier and statesman, rarest unison ; 
 High-poised example of great duties done 
 Simply as breathing, a world's honors worn sss 
 
 As life's indifferent gifts to all men born ; 
 Dumb for himself, unless it were to God, 
 But for his barefoot soldiers eloquent, 
 Tramping the snow to coral where they trod, 
 Held by his awe in hollow-eyed content ; 2 
 
 Modest, yet firm as Nature's self ; unblamed 
 Save by the men his nobler temper shamed ; 
 Never seduced through show of present good 
 By other than unsetting lights to steer 
 
 -trimmed in Heaven, nor than his steadfast 
 mood 2u 
 
 239. At Valley Forge.
 
 UNDER THE OLD ELM. 387 
 
 More steadfast, far from rashness as from fear ; 
 Rigid, but with himself first, grasping still 
 In swerveless poise the wave-beat helm of will ; 
 Not honored then or now because he wooed 
 The popular voice, but that he still withstood ; 250 
 
 Broad-minded, higher-souled, there is but one 
 Who was all this and ours, and all men's, WASH 
 INGTON. 
 
 4. 
 
 Minds strong by fits, irregularly great, 
 That flash and darken like revolving lights, 
 Catch more the vulgar eye unschooled to wait 255 
 
 On the long curve of patient days and nights 
 Rounding a whole life to the circle fair 
 Of orbed fulfilment ; and this balanced soul, 
 So simple in its grandeur, coldly bare 
 Of draperies theatric, standing there 2e 
 
 In perfect symmetry of self-control, 
 Seems not so great at first, but greater grows 
 Still as we look, and by experience learn 
 How grand this quiet is, how nobly stern 
 The discipline that wrought through lifelong throes 265 
 That energetic passion of repose. 
 
 5. 
 
 A nature too decorous and severe, 
 Too self-respectful in its griefs and joys, 
 For ardent girls and boys 
 
 Who find no genius in a mind so clear 2:0 
 
 That its grave depths seem obvious and near, 
 Nor a soul great that made so little noise. 
 They feel no force in that calm-cadenced phrase, 
 2G7. See note to The School-Boy, p. 335, 1. 71.
 
 388 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 The habitual full-dress of his well-bred mind, 
 
 That seems to pace the minuet's courtly maze 275 
 
 And tell of ampler leisures, roomier length of days. 
 
 His firm-based brain, to self so little kind 
 
 That no tumultuary blood could blind, 
 
 Formed to control men, not amaze, 
 
 Looms not like those that borrow height of haze : 2sc 
 
 It was a world of statelier movement then 
 
 Than this we fret in, he a denizen 
 
 Of that ideal Rome that made a man for men. 
 
 VI. 
 
 1. 
 
 The longer on this earth we live 
 
 And weigh the various qualities of men, zss 
 
 Seeing how most are fugitive, 
 
 Or fitful gifts, at best, of now and then, 
 
 Wind-wavered corpse-lights, daughters of the fen, 
 
 The more we feel the high stern-featured beauty 
 
 Of plain devotedness to duty, 290 
 
 Steadfast and still, nor paid with mortal praise, 
 
 But finding amplest recompense 
 
 For life's ungarlanded expense 
 
 In work done squarely and unwasted days. 
 
 For this we honor him, that he could know 2M 
 
 How sweet the service and how free 
 
 Of her, God's eldest daughter here below, 
 
 And choose in meanest raiment which was she. 
 
 288. Daughters of the fen, will - o' - the - wisps. The Welsh 
 call the same phenomenon corpse-lights, because it was supposed 
 to forbode death, and to show the road that the corpse would 
 take.
 
 UNDER THE OLD ELM. 389 
 
 2. 
 
 Placid completeness, life without a fall 
 From faith or highest aims, truth's breachless wall, oa 
 Surely if any fame can bear the touch, 
 His will say '.' Here ! " at the last trumpet's call, 
 The unexpressive man whose life expressed so much. 
 
 vn. 
 
 1. 
 
 Never to see a nation born 
 
 Hath been given to mortal man, MS 
 
 Unless to those who, on that summer morn, 
 
 Gazed silent when the great Virginian 
 
 Unsheathed the sword whose fatal flash 
 
 Shot union through the incoherent clash 
 
 Of our loose atoms, crystallizing them nc 
 
 Around a single will's unpliant stem, 
 
 And making purpose of emotion rash. 
 
 Out of that scabbard sprang, as from its womb, 
 
 Nebulous at first but hardening to a star, 
 
 Through mutual share of sunburst and of gloom, siz 
 
 The common faith that made us what we are- 
 
 2. 
 
 That lifted blade transformed our jangling clans, 
 Till then provincial, to Americans, 
 And made a unity of wildering plans ; 
 Here was the doom fixed : here is marked the date SH 
 When the New World awoke to man's estate, 
 Burnt its last ship and ceased to look behind : 
 Nor thoughtless was the choice ; no love or hate 
 Could from its poise move that deliberate mind,
 
 390 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 Weighing between too early and too late 32* 
 
 Those pitfalls of the man refused by Fate : 
 His was the impartial vision of the great 
 Who see not as they wish, but as they find. 
 He saw the dangers of defeat, nor less 
 The incomputable perils of success ; w* 
 
 The sacred past thrown by, an empty rind ; 
 The future, cloud-land, snare of prophets blind ; 
 The waste of war, the ignominy of peace ; 
 On either hand a sullen rear of woes, 
 Whose garnered lightnings none could guess, 3a-> 
 
 Piling its thunder-heads and muttering " Cease ! " 
 Yet drew not back his hand, but bravely chose 
 The seeming-desperate task whence our new nation 
 rose. 
 
 3. 
 
 A noble choice and of immortal seed ! 
 
 Nor deem that acts heroic wait on chance MO 
 
 Or easy were as in a boy's romance ; 
 
 The man's whole life preludes the single deed 
 
 That shall decide if his inheritance 
 
 Be with the sifted few of matchless breed, 
 
 Our race's sap and sustenance, 345 
 
 Or with the unmotived herd that only sleep and 
 
 feed. 
 
 Choice seems a thing indifferent ; thus or so, 
 What matters it? The Fates with mocking face 
 Look on inexorable, nor seem to know 
 Where the lot lurks that gives life's foremost place. ss 
 Yet Duty's leaden casket holds it still, 
 
 351. See Shakespeare's play of The Merchant of Venice, with 
 its three caskets of gold, silver, and lead, from which the suitors 
 f Portia were to choose fate.
 
 UNDER THE OLD ELM. 391 
 
 And but two ways are offered to our will, 
 
 Toil with rare triumph, ease with safe disgrace, 
 
 The problem still for us and all of human race. 
 
 He chose, as men choose, where most danger showed, 355 
 
 Nor ever faltered 'neath the load 
 
 Of petty cares, that gall great hearts the most, 
 
 But kept right on the strenuous up-hill road, 
 
 Strong to the end, above complaint or boast : 
 
 The popular tempest on his rock-mailed coast seo 
 
 Wasted its wind-borne spray, 
 
 The noisy marvel of a day ; 
 
 His soul sate still in its unstormed abode. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Virginia gave us this imperial man 
 
 Cast in the massive mould 365 
 
 Of those high-statured ages old 
 
 Which into grander forms our mortal metal ran ; 
 
 She gave us this unblemished gentleman : 
 
 What shall we give her back but love and praise 
 
 As in the dear old unestranged days 370 
 
 Before the inevitable wrong began ? 
 
 Mother of States and undiminished men, 
 
 Thou gavest us a country, giving him, 
 
 And we owe alway what we owed thee then : 
 
 The boon thou wouldst have snatched from us agen 375 
 
 Shines as before with no abatement dim. 
 
 A great man's memory is the only thing 
 
 With influence to outlast the present whim 
 
 And bind us as when here he knit our golden ring. 
 
 All of him that was subject to the hours * 
 
 Lies in thy soil and makes it part of ours :
 
 392 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 Across more recent graves, 
 
 Where unresentful Nature waves 
 
 Her pennons o'er the shot-ploughed sod, 
 
 Proclaiming the sweet Truce of God, sss 
 
 We from this consecrated plain stretch out 
 
 Our hands as free from afterthought or doubt 
 
 As here the united North 
 
 Poured her embrowned manhood forth 
 
 In welcome of our saviour and thy son. 390 
 
 Through battle we have better learned thy worth, 
 
 The long-breathed valor and undaunted will, 
 
 Which, like his own, the day's disaster done, 
 
 Coidd, safe in manhood, suffer and be still. 
 
 Both thine and ours the victory hardly won ; 395 
 
 If ever with distempered voice or pen 
 
 We have misdeemed thee, here we take it back, 
 
 And for the dead of both don common black. 
 
 Be to us evermore as thou wast then, 
 
 As we forget thou hast not always been, 400 
 
 Mother of States and unpolluted men, 
 
 Virginia, fitly named from England's manly queen. 
 
 AGASSIZ. 
 
 [JEAN Lours RODOLPHE AGASSIZ was of Swiss birth, having 
 been born in Canton Vaud, Switzerland, in 1807 (see Longfellow's 
 pleasing poem, The Fiftieth Birthday ofAgassiz), and had already 
 made a name as a naturalist when he caine to this country to 
 pursue investigations in 1846. Here he was persuaded to re 
 main, and after that identified himself with American life and 
 learning. He was a masterly teacher, and by his personal enthu 
 siasm and influence did more than any other man in America to 
 
 385. See note to p. 217, 1. 741.
 
 AGASSIZ. 393 
 
 stimulate study in natural history (see Appendix). Through his 
 influence a great institution, the Museum of Comparative Zool 
 ogy, was established at Cambridge, in association with Harvard 
 University, and he remained at the head of it until his death in 
 1873. His home was in Cambridge, and he endeared himself to 
 all with whom he was associated by the unselfishness of his am 
 bition, the generosity of his affection, and the liberality of his 
 nature. Lowell was in Florence at the time of Agassiz's death, 
 and sent home this poem, which was published in The Atlantic 
 Monthly for May, 1874. Longfellow, besides in the poem men 
 tioned above, has written of Agassiz in his sonnets, Three Friends 
 of Mine, m., and Whittier wrote The Prayer of Agassiz. These 
 poems are well worth comparing, as indicating characteristic 
 strains of the three poets.] 
 
 Come 
 
 Dicesti egli ebbe t non viv' egli ancora ? 
 Non flere gli occhi suoi lo dolce loine ? 
 
 Dante, Inferno, Canto X. lines 67-69. 
 
 [How 
 
 Baidst thou, he had ? Is he not still alive ? 
 Does not the sweet light strike upon his eye ? 
 
 Longfellow, Translation.'] 
 
 I. 
 
 THE electric nerve, whose instantaneous thrill 
 Makes next-door gossips of the antipodes, 
 Confutes poor Hope's last fallacy of ease, 
 The distance that divided her from ill : 
 Earth sentient seems again as when of old 
 
 The horny foot of Pan 
 
 6. Since Pan was the deity supposed to pervade all nature, the 
 mysterious noises which issued from rocks or caves in mountain 
 ous regions were ascribed to him, and an unreasonable fear 
 springing from sudden or unexplained causes came to be called a 
 panic.
 
 394 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 Stamped, and the conscious horror ran 
 Beneath men's feet through all her fibres cold : 
 Space's blue walls are mined ; we feel the throe 
 From underground of our night-mantled foe : i 
 
 The flame-winged feet 
 
 Of Trade's new Mercury, that dry-shod run 
 Through briny abysses dreamless of the sun, 
 
 Are mercilessly fleet, 
 
 And at a bound annihilate i 
 
 Ocean's prerogative of short reprieve ; 
 
 Surely ill news might wait, 
 And man be patient of delay to grieve. 
 
 Letters have sympathies 
 
 And tell-tale faces that reveal, M 
 
 To senses finer than the eyes, 
 Their errand's purport ere we break the seal ; 
 They wind a sorrow round with circumstance 
 To stay its feet, nor all unwarned displace 
 The veil that darkened from our sidelong glance 25 
 
 The inexorable face : 
 But now Fate stuns as with a mace ; 
 The savage of the skies, that men have caught 
 And some scant use of language taught, 
 
 Tells only what he must, a 
 
 The steel-cold fact in one laconic thrust. 
 
 2. 
 
 ho thought I, as, with vague, mechanic eyes, 
 
 I scanned the festering news we half despise 
 
 Yet scramble for no less, 
 
 12. Mercury, the messenger of the gods, and fabled to have 
 winged sandals, was the tutelar divinity of merchants, so that in 
 a double way the modern application to the spirit of the electric 
 telegraph becomes fit.
 
 AGASSIZ. 395 
 
 And read of public scandal, private fraud, 35 
 
 Crime flaunting scot-free while the mob applaud, 
 Office made vile to bribe unworthiness, 
 
 And all the unwholesome mess 
 The Land of Honest Abraham serves of late 
 
 To teach the Old World how to wait, 
 
 When suddenly, 
 As happens if the brain, from overweight 
 
 Of blood, infect the eye, 
 Three tiny words grew lurid as I read, 
 And reeled commingling : Agassiz is dead. 
 
 As when, beneath the street's familiar jar, 
 
 An earthquake's alien omen rumbles far, 
 
 39. At the time when this poem was written there was a suc 
 cession of terrible disclosures in America of public and private 
 corruption ; loud vaunts were made of dishonoring the national 
 word in financial matters, and there were few who did not look 
 almost with despair upon the condition of public affairs. The 
 aspect was even more sharply denned to those Americans who, 
 travelling in Europe, found themselves openly or silently regarded 
 as representatives of a nation that seemed to be disgracing itself. 
 Lowell's bitter words were part of the goadings of conscience 
 which worked so sharply in America in the years immediately 
 following. He was reproached by some for such words as this 
 line contains, and, when he published his Three Memorial Poems, 
 made this noble self-defence which stands in the front of that 
 little book : 
 
 " If I let fall a word of bitter mirth 
 "When public shames more shameful pardon won, 
 Some have misjudged me, and my service done, 
 If small, yet faithful, deemed of little worth : 
 Through veins that drew their life from Western earth 
 Two hundred years and more my blood hath run 
 In no polluted course from sire to son ; 
 And thus was I predestined ere my birth 
 To love the soil wherewith my fibres own 
 Instinctive sympathies ; yet love it so 
 As honor would, nor lightly to dethrone 
 Judgment, the stamp of manhood, nor forego 
 The son's right to a mother dearer grown 
 With growing knowledge and more chaste than enow."
 
 396 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 Men listen and forebode, I hung my head, 
 
 And strove the present to recall, 
 
 As if the blow that stunned were yet to fall. at 
 
 3. 
 
 Uprooted is our mountain oak, 
 That promised long security of shade 
 And brooding-place for many a winged thought ; 
 
 Not by Time's sof tly-cadenced stroked 
 With pauses of relenting pity stayed, 
 
 But ere a root seemed sapt, a bough decayed, 
 From sudden ambush by the whirlwind caught 
 And in his broad maturity betrayed ! 
 
 4. 
 
 Well might I, as of old, appeal to you, 
 
 O mountains, woods, and streams, eo 
 
 To help us mourn him, for ye loved him too ; 
 
 But simpler moods befit our modern themes, 
 And no less perfect birth of nature can, 
 Though they yearn tow'rd him, sympathize with man, 
 Save as dumb fellow-prisoners through a wall ; K 
 
 69. In classical mythology Adonis was fabled as a lovely youth, 
 killed by a boar, and lamented long by Venus, who was inconsol 
 able for his loss. The poets used this story for a symbol of grief, 
 and when mourning the loss of a human being were wont to call 
 on nature to join in the lamentation. This classic form of mourn 
 ing descended in literature and at different times has found very 
 beautiful expression, as in Milton's Lycidas and Shelley's Adonais, 
 which is a lament over the dead poet Keats. Here the poet 
 might justly call on nature to lament the death of her great stu 
 dent, but he turns from the form as too classic and artificial and 
 remote from his warmer sympathy. In his own strong sense of 
 human life he demands a fellowship of grief from no lower order 
 of nature than man himself.
 
 AGASSIZ. 397 
 
 Answer ye rather to my call, 
 Strong poets of a more unconscious day, 
 When Nature spake nor sought nice reasons why, 
 Too much for softer arts forgotten since 
 That teach our forthright tongue to lisp and mince, ?o 
 And drown in music the heart's bitter cry ! 
 Lead me some steps in your directer way, 
 Teach me those words that strike a solid root 
 
 Within the ears of men ; 
 
 Ye chiefly, virile both to think and feel, 7 
 
 Deep-chested Chapman and firm-footed Ben, 
 For he was masculine from head to heel. 
 Nay, let himself stand undiminished by 
 With those clear parts of him that will not die. 
 Himself from out the recent dark I claim se 
 
 To hear, and, if I flatter him, to blame ; 
 To show himself, as still I seem to see, 
 A mortal, built upon the antique plan, 
 Brimful of lusty blood as ever ran, 
 And taking life as simply as a tree ! 85 
 
 To claim my foiled good-by let him appear, 
 Large-limbed and human as I saw him near, 
 Loosed from the stiffening uniform of fame : 
 And let me treat him largely : I should fear, 
 (If with too prying lens I chanced to err, so 
 
 Mistaking catalogue for character,) 
 His wise forefinger raised in smiling blame. 
 
 76. Chapman and Ben Jonson were contemporaries of Shake 
 speare. The former is best known by his rich, picturesque trans 
 lation of Homer. Lowell may easily have had in mind, among 
 Jonson's Elegies, his majestic ode, On the Death of Sir Lucius 
 Cary and Sir H. Morison. He rightly claims for the poets of 
 the Elizabethan age a frankness and largeness of speech rarely 
 heard in our more refined and restrained time. 
 
 86. Since the poet could not be by Agassiz at the last.
 
 398 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 Nor would I scant him with judicial breath 
 
 And turn mere critic in an epitaph ; 
 
 I choose the wheat, incurious of the chaff M 
 
 That swells fame living, chokes it after death, 
 
 And would but memorize the shining half 
 
 Of his large nature that was turned to me : 
 
 Fain had I joined with those that honored him 
 
 With eyes that darkened because his were dim, 100 
 
 And now been silent : but it might not be. 
 
 n. 
 
 1. 
 
 In some the genius is a thing apart, 
 A pillared hermit of the brain, 
 Hoarding with incommunicable art 
 
 Its intellectual gain ; iw 
 
 Man's web of circumstance and fate 
 They from their perch of self observe, 
 indifferent as the figures on a slate 
 
 Are to the planet's sun-swung curve 
 Whose bright returns they calculate ; 11* 
 
 Their nice adjustment, part to part, 
 Were shaken from its serviceable mood 
 By unpremeditated stirs of heart 
 
 Or jar of human neighborhood : 
 Some find their natural selves, and only then, us 
 In furloughs of divine escape from men, 
 And when, by that brief ecstasy left bare, 
 
 Driven by some instinct of desire, 
 They wander worldward, 't is to blink and stare, 
 Like wild things of the wood about a fire, 121 
 
 120. Travellers in the wilderness find their camp-fires the at 
 traction of the beasts that prowl about the camp.
 
 AGASSI Z. 399 
 
 Dazed by the social glow they cannot share ; 
 
 His nature brooked no lonely lair, 
 But basked and bourgeoned in copartnery, 
 Companionship, and open-windowed glee : 
 
 He knew, for he had tried, 125 
 
 Those speculative heights that lure 
 The unpractised foot, impatient of a guide, 
 
 Tow'rd ether too attenuately pure 
 For sweet unconscious breath, though dear to pride, 
 
 But better loved the foothold sure is 
 
 Of paths that wind by old abodes of men 
 Who hope at last the churchyard's peace secure, 
 And follow time-worn rules, that them suffice, 
 Learned from their sires, traditionally wise, 
 Careful of honest custom's how and when ; iss 
 
 His mind, too brave to look on Truth askance, 
 No more those habitudes of faith could share, 
 But, tinged with sweetness of the old Swiss manse, 
 Lingered around them still and fain would spare. 
 Patient to spy a sullen egg for weeks, i 
 
 The enigma of creation to surprise, 
 His truer instinct sought the life that speaks 
 Without a mystery from kindly eyes ; 
 In no self-spun cocoon of prudence wound, 
 He by the touch of men was best inspired, i 
 
 And caught his native greatness at rebound 
 From generosities itself had fired ; 
 Then how the heat through every fibre ran, 
 
 125. " Agassiz was a born metaphysician, and moreover had 
 pursued severe studies in philosophy. Those who knew him well 
 were constantly surprised at the ease with which he handled 
 the more intricate problems of thought." Theodore Lyman, iu 
 Recollections of Agassiz, Atlantic Monthly, February, 1874.
 
 400 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 Felt in the gathering presence of the man, 
 
 While the apt word and gesture came unhid ! i 
 
 Virtues and faults it to one metal wrought, 
 
 Fined all his blood to thought, 
 And ran the molten man in all he said or did. 
 All Tully's rules and all Quintilian's too 
 He by the light of listening faces knew, 1&: 
 
 And his rapt audience all unconscious lent 
 Their own roused force to make him eloquent ; 
 Persuasion fondled in his look and tone ; 
 Our speech (with strangers prudish) he could bring 
 To find new charms in accents not her own ; IM 
 
 Her coy constraints and icy hindrances 
 Melted upon his lips to natural ease, 
 As a brook's fetters swell the dance of spring. 
 Nor yet all sweetness : not in vain he wore, 
 Nor in the sheath of ceremony, controlled IBS 
 
 By velvet courtesy or caution cold, 
 That sword of honest anger prized of old, 
 
 But, with two-handed wrath, 
 If baseness or pretension crossed his path, 
 
 Struck once nor needed to strike more. n 
 
 2. 
 
 His magic was not far to seek, 
 He was so human ! whether strong or weak, 
 Far from his kind he neither sank nor soared, 
 But sate an equal guest at every board : 
 No beggar ever felt him condescend, ITS 
 
 154. Tully is the now somewhat old-fashioned English way of 
 referring to Marcus Tullius Cicero, whose book De Oratore and 
 Quiutiliaii's Institutiones Oratorice were the most celebrated an 
 cient works on rhetoric.
 
 AGASSI Z. 401 
 
 No prince presume ; for still himself he bare 
 
 At manhood's simple level, and where'er 
 
 He met a stranger, there he left a friend. 
 
 How large an aspect ! nobly unsevere, 
 
 With freshness round him of Oympian cheer, iso 
 
 Like visits of those earthly gods he came ; 
 
 His look, wherever its good-fortune fell, 
 
 Doubled the feast without a miracle, 
 
 And on the hearthstone danced a happier flame ; 
 
 Philemon's crabbed vintage grew benign ; IM 
 
 Amphitryon's gold-juice humanized to wine. 
 
 m. 
 
 1. 
 
 The garrulous memories 
 Gather again from all their far-flown nooks, 
 Singly at first, and then by twos and threes, 
 Then in a throng innumerable, as the rooks i* 
 
 Thicken their twilight files 
 
 Tow'rds Tintern's gray repose of roofless aisles : 
 Once more I see him at the table's head 
 When Saturday her monthly banquet spread 
 
 To scholars, poets, wits, 195 
 
 All choice, some famous, loving things, not names, 
 And so without a twinge at others' fames, 
 
 185. For the stories of Philemon and A mphitryon, see Ovid'a 
 Metamorphoses, viii. 631 and vi. 112. 
 
 192. Tintern Abbey on the river Wye is one of the most fa 
 mous ruins in England. About this, as about pther ruins and 
 shaded buildings, the rooks make their home. 
 
 194. A club known as the Saturday Club has for many years 
 met in Boston, and some of the prominent members are inii- 
 mated in the following lines.
 
 402 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 Such company as wisest moods befits, 
 Yet with no pedant blindness to the worth 
 
 Of undeliberate mirth, 201 
 
 Natures benignly mixed of air and earth, 
 Now with the stars and now with equal zest 
 Tracing the eccentric orbit of a jest. 
 
 2. 
 
 I see in vision the warm-lighted hall, 
 
 The living and the dead I see again, 205 
 
 And but my chair is empty ; 'mid them all 
 
 'T is I that seem the dead : they all remain 
 
 Immortal, changeless creatures of the brain : 
 
 Well-nigh I doubt which world is real most, 
 
 Of sense or spirit, to the truly sane ; 210 
 
 In this abstraction it were light to deem 
 
 Myself the figment of some stronger dream ; 
 
 They are the real things, and I the ghost 
 
 That glide unhindered through the solid door, 
 
 Vainly for recognition seek from chair to chair, 215 
 
 And strive to speak and am but futile air, 
 
 As truly most of us are little more. 
 
 3. 
 
 Him most I see whom we most dearly miss, 
 
 The latest parted thence, 
 
 His features poised in genial armistice 220 
 
 And armed neutrality of self-defence 
 Beneath the forehead's walled preeminence, 
 While Tyro, plucking facts with careless reach, 
 Settles off-hand our human how and whence ; 
 The long-trained veteran scarcely wincing hears 225 
 The infallible strategy of volunteers 
 218. Agassiz himself.
 
 AGASSI Z. 403 
 
 Making through Nature's walls its easy breach, 
 And seems to learn where he alone could teach. 
 Ample and ruddy, the board's end he fills 
 As he our fireside were, our light and heat, 23 
 
 Centre where minds diverse and various skills 
 Find their warm nook and stretch unhampered feet ; 
 I see the firm benignity of face, 
 Wide-smiling champaign, without tameness sweet, 
 The mass Teutonic toned to Gallic grace, tss 
 
 The eyes whose sunshine runs before the lips 
 While Holmes's rockets curve their long ellipse, 
 And burst in seeds of fire that burst again 
 To drop in scintillating rain. 
 
 4. 
 
 There too the face half-rustic, half-divine, HI 
 
 Self-poised, sagacious, freaked with humor fine, 
 Of him who taught us not to mow and mope 
 About our fancied selves, but seek our scope 
 In Nature's world and Man's, nor fade to hollow 
 
 trope, 
 
 Content with our New World and timely bold 24? 
 To challenge the o'ermastery of the old ; 
 Listening with eyes averse I see him sit 
 Pricked with the cider of the Judge's wit 
 
 240. Ralph Waldo Emerson. The words half-rustic, half- 
 divine, recall Lowell's earlier characterization in his Fable for 
 Critics : 
 
 " A Greek head on right Yankoe shoulders, whose range 
 Has Olympus for one pole, for t' other the Exchange ; 
 He seems, to my thinking (although I 'in afraid 
 The comparison must, long ere this, have been made), 
 A Plotinus Montaigne, where the Egyptian's gold mist 
 And the Gascon's shrewd wit cheek by jowl coexist." 
 
 248. Judge E. R. Hoar.
 
 404 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 (Ripe-hearted homebrew, fresh and fresh again), 
 While the wise nose's firm-built aquiline 2.3< 
 
 Curves sharper to restrain 
 The merriment whose most unruly moods 
 Pass not the dumb laugh learned in listening woods 
 
 Of silence-shedding pine : 
 
 Hard by is he whose art's consoling spell 255 
 
 Has given both worlds a whiff of asphodel, 
 His look still vernal 'mid the wintry ring 
 Of petals that remember, not foretell, 
 The paler primrose of a second spring. 
 
 5. 
 
 And more there are : but other forms arise ZGO 
 
 And seen as clear, albeit with dimmer eyes: 
 
 First he from sympathy still held apart 
 
 By shrinking over-eagerness of heart, 
 
 Cloud charged with searching fire, whose shadow's 
 
 sweep 
 
 Heightened mean things with sense of brooding ill, 265 
 And steeped in doom familiar field and hill, 
 New England's poet, soul reserved and deep, 
 November nature with a name of May, 
 Whom high o'er Concord plains we laid to sleep, 
 While the orchards mocked us in their white array, 279 
 And building robins wondered at our tears, 
 Snatched in his prime, the shape august 
 That should have stood unbent 'neath fourscore years, 
 The noble head, the eyes of furtive trust, 
 
 All gone to speechless dust ; 274 
 
 255. Longfellow. 
 
 262. Nathaniel Hawthorne. He was buried in Concord, May 
 23, 1864.
 
 AGASSI Z. 405 
 
 And he our passing guest, 
 Shy nature, too, and stung with life's unrest, 
 Whom we too briefly had but could not hold, 
 Who brought ripe Oxford's culture to our board, 
 
 The Past's incalculable hoard, 231 
 
 Mellowed by scutcheoned panes in cloisters old, 
 Seclusions ivy-hushed, and pavements sweet 
 With immemorial lisp of musing feet ; 
 Young head time-tonsured smoother than a friar's, 
 Boy face, but grave with answerless desires, 235 
 
 Poet in all that poets have of best, 
 But foiled with riddles dark and cloudy aims, 
 
 "Who now hath found sure rest, 
 Not by still Isis or historic Thames, 
 Nor by the Charles he tried to love with me, a 
 But, not misplaced, by Arno's hallowed brim, 
 Nor scorned by Santa Croce's neighboring fames, 
 
 Haply not mindless, wheresoe'er he be, 
 Of violets that to-day I scattered over him ; 
 
 He, too, is there, 295 
 
 After the good centurion fitly named, 
 
 276. Arthur Hugh Clough, an English poet, author of the 
 Bothie of Tober-na- Vuolich, and editor of Dryden's Translation 
 of Plutarch's Lives, who came to this country in 1852 with some 
 purpose of making it his home, but returned to England in less 
 than a year. He lived while here in Cambridge, and strong 
 attachments grew up between him and the men of letters in 
 Cambridge and Concord. 
 
 291. Clough died in his forty-third year, November 13, 1861, 
 and was buried in the little Protestant cemetery outside the 
 walls of Florence. 
 
 292. Santa Croce is the church in Florence where many illus 
 trious dead are buried, among them Michelangelo, Machiavelli, 
 Galileo, Alfieri. 
 
 296. Cornelius Conway Felton, Professor of Grer-k Language 
 and Literature in Harvard College, and afterward President 
 until his death in 1862.
 
 406 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 Whom learning dulled not, nor convention tamed, 
 Shaking with burly mirth his hyacinthine hair, 
 Our hearty Grecian of Homeric ways, 
 Still found the surer friend where least he hoped the 
 praise. sot 
 
 6. 
 
 Yea truly, as the sallowing years 
 Fall from us faster, like frost-loosened leaves 
 Pushed by the misty touch of shortening days, 
 
 And that unwakened winter nears, 
 'T is the void chair our surest guest receives, aot 
 
 'T is lips long cold that give the warmest kiss, 
 'T is the lost voice comes of tenest to our ears ; 
 We count our rosary by the beads we miss : 
 
 To me, at least, it seemeth so, 
 An exile in the land once found divine, at 
 
 While my starved fire burns low, 
 And homeless winds at the loose casement whine 
 Shrill ditties of the snow-roofed Apennine. 
 
 IV. 
 
 1. 
 
 Now forth into the darkness all are gone, 
 But memory, still unsated, follows on, 
 Retracing step by step our homeward walk, 
 With many a laugh among our serious talk, 
 Across the bridge where, on the dimpling tide, 
 The long red streamers from the windows glide, 
 
 319. In walking over West Boston bridge at night one sees 
 the lights from the houses on Beacon Street reflected in the
 
 AGASSI Z. 407 
 
 Or the dim western moon 321 
 
 Rocks her skiff's image on the broad lagoon, 
 And Boston shows a soft Venetian side 
 In that Arcadian light when roof and tree, 
 Hard prose by daylight, dream in Italy ; 
 Or haply in the sky's cold chambers wide 5 
 
 Shivered the winter stars, while all below, 
 As if an end were come of human ill, 
 The world was wrapt in innocence of snow 
 And the cast-iron bay was blind and still ; 
 These were our poetry ; in him perhaps M 
 
 Science had barred the gate that lets in dream, 
 And he would rather count the perch and bream 
 Than with the current's idle fancy lapse ; 
 And yet he had the poet's open eye 
 That takes a frank delight in all it sees, 
 
 Nor was earth voiceless, nor the mystic sky, 
 To him the life-long friend of fields and trees : 
 Then came the prose of the suburban street, 
 Its silence deepened by our echoing feet, 
 And converse such as rambling hazard finds ; MI 
 
 Then he who many cities knew and many minds 
 And men once world-noised, now mere Ossian forms 
 Of misty memory, bade them live anew 
 As when they shared earth's manifold delight, 
 In shape, in gait, in voice, in gesture true, 345 
 
 water below and seeming to make one long light where flame 
 and reflection join. 
 
 341. See note to p. 372, 1. 230. 
 
 342. Ossian was a fabulous Celtic warrior poet known chiefly 
 through the pretended poems of Ossian of James Macpherson, 
 who lived in Scotland the latter half of the eighteenth century. 
 There has been much controversy over the exact relation of 
 Macpherson to the poems, which are Scotch crags looming out 
 of Scotch mists.
 
 408 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 And, with an accent heightening as he warms, 
 Would stop forgetful of the shortening night, 
 Drop my confining arm, and pour profuse 
 Much wordly wisdom kept for others' use, 
 Not for his own, for he was rash and free, ast 
 
 His purse or knowledge all men's, like the sea. 
 Still can I hear his voice's shrilling might 
 (With pauses broken, while the fitful spark 
 He blew more hotly rounded on the dark 
 To hint his features with a Rembrandt light) 355 
 
 Call Oken back, or Humboldt, or Lamarck, 
 Or Cuvier's taller shade, and many more 
 Whom he had seen, or knew from others' sight, 
 And make them men to me as ne'er before : 
 Not seldom, as the undeadened fibre stirred seo 
 
 Of noble friendships knit beyond the sea, 
 German or French thrust by the lagging word, 
 For a good leash of mother-tongues had he. 
 At last, arrived at where our paths divide, 
 *' Good night ! " and, ere the distance grew too 
 wide, 365 
 
 " Good night ! " again ; and now with cheated ear 
 I half hear his who mine shall never hear. 
 
 2. 
 
 Sometimes it seemed as if New England air 
 
 For his large lungs too parsimonious were, 
 
 As if those empty rooms of dogma drear m 
 
 356. Naturalists of renown. Oken was a remarkable and 
 eccentric Swiss naturalist, 1779-1851; Humboldt a great natur 
 alist and traveller, known by his Kosmos, 1769-1859; Lamarck, 
 1744-1829 ; Cuvier, in some respects the father of modern 
 classification, and Agassiz's teacher, 1769-1832; all these were 
 personally known to Agassiz.
 
 AGASSI Z. 409 
 
 Where the ghost shivers of a faith austere 
 
 Counting the horns o'er of the Beast, 
 Still scaring those whose faith in it is least, 
 As if those snaps o' th' moral atmosphere 
 That sharpen all the needles of the East, tf* 
 
 Had been to him like death, 
 Accustomed to draw Europe's freer breath 
 
 In a more stable element ; 
 Nay, even our landscape, half the year morose, 
 Our practical horizon grimly pent, sso 
 
 Our air, sincere of ceremonious haze, 
 Forcing hard outlines mercilessly close, 
 Our social monotone of level days, 
 
 Might make our best seem banishment ; 
 
 But it was nothing so ; asi 
 
 Haply his instinct might divine, 
 Beneath our drift of puritanic snow, 
 
 The marvel sensitive and fine 
 Of sanguinaria over-rash to blow 
 And trust its shyness to an air malign ; 390 
 
 Well might he prize truth's warranty and pledge 
 In the grim outcrop of our granite edge, 
 Or Hebrew fervor flashing forth at need 
 In the gaunt sons of Calvin's iron breed, 
 As prompt to give as skilled to win and keep ; 395 
 But, though such intuitions might not cheer, 
 Yet life was good to him, and, there or here, 
 With that sufficing joy, the day was never cheap ; 
 Thereto his mind was its own ample sphere, 
 And, like those buildings great that through the 
 
 year N 
 
 Carry one temperature, his nature large 
 Made its own climate, nor could any marge 
 401. This is said of St. Peter's in Rome.
 
 410 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 Traced by convention stay him from his bent : 
 
 He had a habitude of mountain air ; 
 
 He brought wide outlook where he went, < 
 
 And could on sunny uplands dwell 
 Of prospect sweeter than the pastures fair 
 High-hung of viny Neufchatel, 
 Nor, surely, did he miss 
 Some pale, imaginary bliss i 
 
 Of earlier sights whose inner landscape still was 
 Swiss. 
 
 V. 
 
 1. 
 
 I cannot think he wished so soon to die 
 
 With all his senses full of eager heat, 
 
 And rosy years that stood expectant by 
 
 To buckle the winged sandals on their feet, <n 
 
 He that was friends with earth, and all her sweet 
 
 Took with both hands unsparingly : 
 
 Truly this life is precious to the root, 
 
 And good the feel of grass beneath the foot ; 
 
 To lie in buttercups and clover-bloom, 420 
 
 Tenants in common with the bees, 
 And watch the white clouds drift through gulfs of 
 
 trees, 
 Is better than long waiting in the tomb ; 
 
 Only once more to feel the coming spring 
 As the birds feel it when it makes them sing, 4L 
 Only once more to see the moon 
 Through leaf-fringed abbey-arches of the elms 
 
 Curve her mild sickle in the West 
 Sweet with the breath of hay-cocks, were a boon 
 415. See note to p. 394, 1. 12.
 
 AGASSIZ. 411 
 
 Worth any promise of soothsayer realms 43 
 
 Or casual hope of being elsewhere blest : 
 
 To take December by the beard 
 And crush the creaking snow with springy foot, 
 While overhead the North's dumb streamers shoot 
 Till Winter fawn upon the cheek endeared ; 435 
 
 Then the long evening- ends 
 
 Lingered by cozy chimney-nooks, 
 
 With high companionship of books, 
 Or slippered talk of friends 
 And sweet habitual looks, 440 
 
 Is better than to stop the ears with dust. 
 Too soon the spectre comes to say, " Thou must ! " 
 
 2. 
 
 When toil-crooked hands are crost upon the breast, 
 
 They comfort us with sense of rest ; 
 They must be glad to lie forever still ; 445 
 
 Their work is ended with their day ; 
 Another fills their room ; 't is the World's ancient 
 way, 
 
 Whether for good or ill ; 
 But the deft spinners of the brain, 
 Who love each added day and find it gain, 
 
 Them overtakes the doom 
 To snap the half-grown flower upon the loom 
 (Trophy that was to be of life-long pain), 
 The thread no other skill can ever knit again. 
 
 'T was so with him, for he was glad to live, 4M 
 'T was doubly so, for he left work begun ; 
 Could not this eagerness of Fate forgive 
 Till all the allotted flax were spun ? 
 It matters not ; for, go at night or noon, 
 A friend, whene'er he dies, has died too soon, 4
 
 412 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 And, once we hear the hopeless He is dead, 
 So far as flesh hath knowledge, all is said. 
 
 VI. 
 
 1. 
 
 I seem to see the black procession go : 
 That crawling prose of death too well I know, 
 The vulgar paraphrase of glorious woe ; 461 
 
 I see it wind through that unsightly grove, 
 Once beautiful, but long defaced 
 With granite permanence of cockney taste 
 And all those grim disfigurements we love : 
 There, then, we leave him : Him ? such costly 
 waste 47fl 
 
 Nature rebels at : and it is not true 
 Of those most precious parts of him we knew : 
 Could we be conscious but as dreamers be, 
 'T were sweet to leave this shifting life of tents 
 Sunk in the changeless calm of Deity ; 471 
 
 Nay, to be mingled with the elements, 
 The fellow-servant of creative powers, 
 Partaker in the solemn year's events, 
 To share the work of busy-fingered hours, 
 To be night's silent almoner of dew, 48i 
 
 To rise again in plants and breathe and grow, 
 To stream as tides the ocean cavern through, 
 Or with the rapture of great winds to blow 
 About earth's shaken coignes, were not a fate 
 
 To leave us all-disconsolate ; 4ss 
 
 Even endless slumber in the sweetening sod 
 Of charitable earth 
 
 466. Mount Auburn cemetery in Cambridge, where Agassi* 
 lies.
 
 AGASSI Z. 413 
 
 That takes out all our mortal stains, 
 
 And makes us clearlier neighbors of the clod, 
 
 Methinks were better worth 491 
 
 Than the poor fruit of most men's wakeful pains, 
 The heart's insatiable ache : 
 But such was not his faith, 
 Nor mine : it may be he had trod 
 Outside the plain old path of God thus spake, i 
 But God to him was very God, 
 And not a visionary wraith 
 Skulking in murky corners of the mind, 
 
 And he was sure to be 
 
 Somehow, somewhere, imperishable as He, a* 
 
 Not with His essence mystically combined, 
 As some high spirits long, but whole and free, 
 
 A perfected and conscious Agassiz. 
 And such I figure him : the wise of old 
 Welcome and own him of their peaceful fold, 
 
 Not truly with the guild enrolled 
 Of him who seeking inward guessed 
 Diviner riddles than the rest, 
 And groping in the darks of thought 
 Touched the Great Hand and knew it not ; sio 
 Rather he shares the daily light, 
 From reason's charier fountains won, 
 Of his great chief, the slow-paced Stagyrite, 
 And Cuvier clasps once more his long-lost son. 
 
 2. 
 
 The shape erect is prone : forever stilled sis 
 
 The winning tongue ; the forehead's high-piled heap, 
 
 607. Plato. 
 
 613. Aristotle, so called from his birthplace, Stagira in Mace* 
 doiiia.
 
 414 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
 
 A cairn which every science helped to build, 
 
 Unvalued will its golden secrets keep : 
 
 He knows at last if Life or Death be best : 
 
 Wherever he be flown, whatever vest 52* 
 
 The being hath put on which lately here 
 
 So many-friended was, so full of cheer 
 
 To make men feel the Seeker's noble zest, 
 
 We have not lost him all ; he is not gone 
 
 To the dumb herd of them that wholly die ; 525 
 
 The beauty of his better self lives on 
 
 In minds he touched with fire, in many an eye 
 
 He trained to Truth's exact severity ; 
 
 He was a Teacher : why be grieved for him 
 
 Whose living word still stimulates the air? 53* 
 
 In endless files shall loving scholars come 
 
 The glow of his transmitted touch to share, 
 
 And trace his features with an eye less dim 
 
 Than ours whose sense familiar wont makes numb. 
 
 FLORENCE, ITALY, February, 1874.
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 To jnany readers the name of Emerson is that of a phi 
 losopLical prose writer, hard to be understood ; in time to 
 come it will perhaps be wondered at that the introduction of 
 his name in a volume of American Poems should seem to 
 require an explanation or shadow of an apology ; it is likely 
 even that his philosophy will be read and welcomed chiefly 
 for those elements which it has in common with his poe 
 try. His life may be called uneventful as regards external 
 change or adventure. It was passed mainly in Boston and 
 Concord, Massachusetts. He was born in Boston, May 25, 
 1803. His father, his grandfather, and his great-grand 
 father were all ministers, and, indeed, on both his father's 
 and mother's side he belonged to a continuous line of ministe 
 rial descent from the seventeenth century. At the time of 
 his birth, his father, the Rev. William Emerson, was minis 
 ter of the First Church congregation, but on his death a few 
 years afterward, Ralph Waldo Emerson, a boy of seven, 
 went to live in the old manse at Concord, where his grand 
 father had lived when the Concord fight occurred. The old 
 manse was afterward the home at one time of Hawthorne, 
 who wrote there the stories which he gathered into the vol 
 umes, Mosses from, an Old Manse. 
 
 Emerson was graduated at Harvard in 1821, and after 
 teaching a year or two gave himself to the study of divinity. 
 From 1827 to 1832 he preached in Unitarian churches, and 
 was for four years a colleague pastor in the Second Church
 
 416 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 in Boston. He then left the ministry and afterward de 
 voted himself to literature. He travelled abroad in 1<S33, 
 in 1847, and again in 1872, making friends among the lead 
 ing thinkers during his first journey, and confirming the 
 friendships when again in Europe ; with the exception of 
 these three journeys and occasional lecturing tours in the 
 United States, he lived quietly at Concord until his death, 
 April 27, 1882. 
 
 He had delivered several special addresses, and in his 
 early manhood was an important lecturer in the Lyceum 
 courses which were so popular, especially in New England, 
 forty years ago, but his first published book was Nature, in 
 1839. Subsequent prose writings were his Essays, under 
 that title, and in several volumes with specific titles, Repre 
 sentative Men and English Traits, which last embodies the 
 results of his first two visits to England. 
 
 He wrote poems when in college, but his first publication 
 was through The Dial, a magazine established in 1840, and 
 the representative of a knot of men and women of whom 
 Emerson was the acknowledged or unacknowledged leader. 
 The first volume of his poems was published in 1847, and 
 included those by which he is best known, as Tlie Problem, 
 The Sphinx, The Rhodora, The Humble Bee, Hymn Sung 
 at the Completion of the Concord Monument. After the 
 establishment of The Atlantic Monthly in 1857 he contrib 
 uted to it both prose and poetry, and verses published in 
 the early numbers, mere enigmas to some, profound revela 
 tions to others, were fruitful of discussion and thought ; his 
 second volume of poems, May Day and other Pieces, was 
 not issued until 1867. Later, a volume of his collected 
 poems appeared, containing most of those published in 
 the two volumes, and a few in addition. We are told, 
 however, that the published writings of Emerson bear but 
 small proportion to the unpublished. Many lectures have 
 been delivered, but not printed ; many poems written, and 
 a few read, which have never been published. The in-
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 417 
 
 ference from this, borne out by the marks upon what has 
 been published, is that Mr. Emerson set a high value upon 
 literature, and was jealous of the prerogative of the poet. 
 He is frequently called a seer, and this old word, indicating 
 etymologically its original intention, is applied well to a poet 
 who saw into nature and human life with a spiritual power 
 which made him a marked man in his own time, and one 
 destined to an unrivalled place in literature. He fulfilled 
 Wordsworth's lines, 
 
 " With an eye made quiet by the power 
 Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, 
 We see into the life of things." 
 
 His literary executor, Mr. J. Elliot Cabot, collected 
 Emerson's writings in twelve volumes, one containing his 
 poetry, the remainder his prose, and also published a life 
 of Emerson in two volumes.
 
 t 
 
 THE ADIRONDACK 
 A JOURNAL. 
 
 DEDICATED TO MT FELLOW-TRAVELLERS IN AUGUST, 
 
 1858. 
 
 Wise and polite, and if I drew 
 Their several portraits, you would own 
 Chaucer had no such worthy crew, 
 Nor Boccace in Decameron. 
 
 WE crossed Cham plain to Keeseville with our friends, 
 
 Thence, in strong country carts, rode up the forks 
 
 Of the Ausable stream, intent to reach 
 
 The Adirondac lakes. At Martin's Beach 
 
 We chose our boats ; each man a boat and guide, 5 
 
 Ten men, ten guides, our company all told. 
 
 Next morn, we swept with oars the Saranac, 
 With skies of benediction, to Round Lake, 
 Where all the sacred mountains drew around us, 
 Tahawus, Seward, Maclntyre, Baldhead, 10 
 
 And other Titans without muse or name. 
 Pleased with these grand companions, we glide on, 
 Instead of flowers, crowned with a wreath of hills. 
 We made our distance wider, boat from boat, 
 As each would hear the oracle alone. u 
 
 By the bright morn the gay flotilla slid 
 Through files of flags that gleamed like bayonets,
 
 THE ADIRONDACS. 419 
 
 Through gold-moth-haunted beds of pickerel-flower, 
 
 Through scented banks of lilies white and gold, 
 
 Where the deer feeds at night, the teal by day, 20 
 
 On through the Upper Saranac, and up 
 
 Pere Raquette stream, to a small tortuous pass 
 
 Winding through grassy shallows in and out, 
 
 Two creeping miles of rushes, pads, and sponge, 
 
 To Follansbee Water and the Lake of Loons. 25 
 
 Northward the length of Follansbee we rowed, 
 Under low mountains, whose unbroken ridge 
 Ponderous with beechen forest sloped the shore. 
 A pause and council : then, where near the head 
 Due east a bay makes inward to the land 
 
 Between two rocky arms, we climb the bank, 
 And in the twilight of the forest noon 
 Wield the first axe these echoes ever heard. 
 We cut young trees to make our poles and thwarts, 
 Barked the white spruce to weatherfend the roof, 35 
 Then struck a light, and kindled the camp-fire. 
 
 The wood was sovran with centennial trees, 
 Oak, cedar, maple, poplar, beech and fir, 
 Linden and spruce. In strict society 
 Three conifers, white, pitch, and Norway pine, 
 
 Five-leaved, three-leaved, and two-leaved, grew thereby. 
 Our patron pine was fifteen feet in girth, 
 The maple eight, beneath its shapely tower. 
 
 " Welcome ! " the wood-god murmured through the 
 leaves, 
 
 37. Milton frequently employed the form sovran for sover 
 eign, although in many editions the spelling has been changed 
 to the longer form.
 
 420 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 * Welcome, though late, unknowing, yet known to 
 me.' 4.1 
 
 Evening drew on ; stars peeped through maple-boughs, 
 Which o'erhung, like a cloud, our camping fire. 
 Decayed millennial trunks, like moonlight flecks, 
 Lit with phosphoric crumbs the forest floor. 
 
 Ten scholars, wonted to lie warm and soft so 
 
 In well-hung chambers daintily bestowed, 
 Lie here on hemlock boughs, like Sacs and Sioux, 
 And greet unanimous the joyful change. 
 So fast will Nature acclimate her sons, 
 Though late returning to her pristine ways. & 
 
 Off soundings, seamen do not suffer cold ; 
 And, in the forest, delicate clerks, unbrowned, 
 Sleep on the fragrant brush as on down-beds. 
 Up with the dawn, they fancied the light air 
 That circled freshly in their forest dress ei 
 
 Made them to boys again. Happier that they 
 Slipped off their pack of duties, leagues behind, 
 At the first mounting of the giant stairs. 
 No placard on these rocks warned to the polls, 
 No door-bell heralded a visitor, es 
 
 No courier waits, no letter came or went, 
 Nothing was ploughed, or reaped, or bought, or sold ; 
 The frost might glitter, it would blight no crop, 
 The falling rain will spoil no holiday. 
 We were made freemen of the forest laws, 7i 
 
 All dressed, like Nature, fit for her own ends, 
 Essaying nothing she cannot perform. 
 
 In Adirondac lakes, 
 
 At morn or noon, the guide rows bareheaded ; 
 Shoes, flannel shirt, and kersey trousers make 75
 
 THE ADIRONDACS. 421 
 
 His brief toilette : at night, or in the rain, 
 
 He dons a surcoat which he doffs at morn : 
 
 A paddle in the right hand, or an oar, 
 
 And in the left, a gun, his needful arms. 
 
 By turns we praised the stature of our guides, se 
 
 Their rival strength and suppleness, their skill 
 
 To row, to swim, to shoot, to build a camp, 
 
 To cliuib a lofty stem, clean without boughs 
 
 Full fifty feet, and bring the eaglet down : 
 
 Temper to face wolf, bear, or catamount, 85 
 
 And wit to trap or take him in his lair. 
 
 Sound, ruddy men, frolic and innocent, 
 
 In winter, lumberers ; in summer, guides ; 
 
 Their sinewy arms pull at the oar untired 
 
 Three times ten thousand strokes, from morn to eve. M 
 
 Look to yourselves, ye polished gentlemen ! 
 No city airs or arts pass current here. 
 Your rank is all reversed ; let men of cloth 
 Bow to the stalwart churls in overalls : 
 Tfiey are the doctors of the wilderness, 95 
 
 And we the low-prized laymen. 
 In sooth, red flannel is a saucy test 
 Which few can put on with impunity. 
 What make you, master, fumbling at the oar? 
 Will you catch crabs ? Truth tries pretension here. 100 
 The sallow knows the basket-maker's thumb ; 
 The oar, the guide's. Dare you accept the tasks 
 He shall impose, to find a spring, trap foxes, 
 Tell the sun's time, determine the true north, 
 Or stumbling on through vast self-similar woods IN 
 To thread by night the nearest way to camp? 
 
 Ask you, how went the hours? 
 All day we swept the lake, searched every cove,
 
 422 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 North from Camp Maple, south to Osprey Bay, 
 
 Watching when the loud dogs should drive in deer, u< 
 
 Or whipping its rough surface for a trout ; 
 
 Or, bathers, diving from the rock at noon ; 
 
 Challenging Echo by our guns and cries ; 
 
 Or listening to the laughter of the loon ; 
 
 Or, in the evening twilight's latest red, us 
 
 Beholding the procession of the pines ; 
 
 Or, later yet, beneath a lighted jack, 
 
 In the boat's bows, a silent night-hunter 
 
 Stealing with paddle to the feeding-grounds 
 
 Of the red deer, to aim at a square mist. i2c 
 
 Hark to that muffled roar ! a tree in the woods 
 
 Is fallen : but hush ! it has not scared the buck 
 
 Who stands astonished at the meteor light, 
 
 Then turns to bound away, is it too late ? 
 
 Our heroes tried their rifles at a mark, 125 
 
 Six rods, sixteen, twenty, or forty-five ; 
 Sometimes their wits at sally and retort, 
 
 114. Thoreau, in Walden, has an admirable account of the 
 loon and its habits. " His usual note was this demoniac laugh 
 ter, yet somewhat like that of a water- fowl ; but occasionally, 
 when he had balked me most successfully and come up a long 
 way off, he uttered a long drawn, unearthly howl, probably 
 more like that of a wolf than any bird ; as when a beast puts 
 his muzzle to the ground and deliberately howls. This was his 
 looning, perhaps the wildest sound that is ever heard here, 
 making the woods ring far and wide. I concluded that he 
 laughed in derision at my efforts, confident of his own re 
 sources." Page 254. 
 
 116. One of Mr. Emerson's companions in this excursion, 
 Stillman the artist, painted The Procession of the Pines, the as 
 pect, so familiar to the woodman, of a line of pines upon a hill 
 top outlined against the evening sky and seeming to be marching 
 solemnly.
 
 THE ADIRONDACS. 423 
 
 With laughter sudden as the crack of rifle ; 
 
 Or parties scaled the near acclivities 
 
 Competing seekers of a rumored lake, w 
 
 Whose unauthenticated waves we named 
 
 Lake Probability, our carbuncle, 
 
 Long sought, not found. 
 
 Two Doctors in the camp 
 
 Dissected the slain deer, weighed the trout's brain, 
 Captured the lizard, salamander, shrew, iss 
 
 Crab, mice, snail, dragon-fly, minnow, and moth ; 
 Insatiate skill in water or in air 
 Waved the scoop-net, and nothing came amiss ; 
 The while, one leaden pot of alcohol 
 Gave an impartial tomb to all the kinds. _ 
 Not less the ambitious botanist sought plants, 
 Orchis and gentian, fern and long whip-scirpus, 
 Rosy polygonum, lake-margin's pride, 
 Hypnmn and hydnum, mushroom, sponge, and moss, 
 Or harebell nodding in the gorge of falls. 145 
 
 Above, the eagle flew, the osprey screamed, 
 The raven croaked, owls hooted, the woodpecker 
 Loud hammered, and the heron rose in the swamp. 
 As water poured through hollows of the hills 
 To feed this wealth of lakes and rivulets, IM 
 
 So Nature shed all beauty lavishly 
 From her redundant horn. 
 
 Lords of this realm, 
 
 Bounded by dawn and sunset, and the day 
 Rounded by hours where each outdid the last 
 In miracles of pomp, we must be proud, ia 
 
 As if associates of the sylvan gods. 
 We seemed the dwellers of the zodiac, 
 
 132. See Hawthorne's story of The Great Carbuncle.
 
 424 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 So pure the Alpine element we breathed, 
 
 So light, so lofty pictures came and went. 
 
 We trode on air, contemned the distant town, 101 
 
 Its timorous ways, big trifles, and we planned 
 
 That we should build, hard-by, a spacious lodge, 
 
 And how we should come hither with our sons, 
 
 Hereafter, willing they, and more adroit. 
 
 Hard fare, hard bed, and comic misery, IBS 
 
 The midge, the blue-fly, and the mosquito 
 Painted our necks, hands, ankles, with red bands : 
 But, on the second day, we heed them not, 
 Nay, we saluted them Auxiliaries, 
 Whom earlier we had chid with spiteful names. no 
 For who defends our leafy tabernacle 
 From bold intrusion of the travelling crowd, 
 Who but the midge, mosquito, and the fly, 
 Which past endurance sting the tender cit, 
 But which we learn to scatter with a smudge, ns 
 
 Or baffle by a veil, or slight by scoru ? 
 
 Our foaming ale we drank from hunters' pans, 
 Ale, and a sup of wine. Our steward gave 
 Venison and trout, potatoes, beans, wheat-bread ; 
 All ate like abbots, and, if any missed iso 
 
 Their wonted convenance, cheerly hid the loss 
 With hunters' appetite and peals of mirth. 
 And Stillman, our guides' guide, and Commodore, 
 Crusoe, Crusader, Pius -5neas, said aloud, 
 " Chronic dyspepsia never came from eating IBS 
 
 183. Stillman left his own record of this excursion in a prose 
 paper, The Subjective of It, published in The Atlantic Monthly 
 for December, 1858. In that paper he speaks of the procession 
 of the pines.
 
 THE ADIRONDACS. 425 
 
 Food indigestible : " then murmured some, 
 Others applauded him who spoke the truth. 
 
 Nor doubt but visitings of graver thought 
 Checked in these souls the turbulent heyday 
 'Mid all the hints and glories of the home. IM 
 
 For who can tell what sudden privacies 
 Were sought and found, amid the hue and cry 
 Of scholars furloughed from their tasks, and let 
 Into this Oreads' fended Paradise, 
 As chapels in the city's thoroughfares, 195 
 
 Whither gaunt Labor slips to wipe his brow, 
 And meditate a moment on Heaven's rest. 
 Judge with what sweet surprises Nature spoke 
 To each apart, lifting her lovely shows 
 To spiritual lessons pointed home, 200 
 
 And as through dreams in watches of the night, 
 So through all creatures in their form and ways 
 Some mystic hint accosts the vigilant, 
 Not clearly voiced, but waking a new sense 
 Inviting to new knowledge, one with old. 205 
 
 Hark to that petulant chirp ! what ails the warbler ? 
 Mark his capricious ways to draw the eye. 
 Xo\v soar again. What wilt thou, restless bird, 
 Seeking in that chaste blue a bluer light, 
 Thirsting in that pure for a purer sky ? 210 
 
 And presently the sky is changed ; O world ! 
 What pictures and what harmonies are thine I 
 The clouds are rich and dark, the air serene, 
 So like the soul of me, what if 't were me ? 
 A melancholy better than all mirth. m 
 
 Comes the sweet sadness at the retrospect, 
 Or at the foresight of obscurer years ?
 
 426 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 Like yon slow-sailing cloudy promontory, 
 
 Whereon the purple iris dwells in beauty 
 
 Superior to all its gaudy skirts. 22* 
 
 And, that no day of life may lack romance, 
 
 The spiritual stars rise nightly, shedding down 
 
 A private beam into each several heart. 
 
 Daily the bending skies solicit man, 
 
 The seasons chariot him from this exile, 22* 
 
 The rainbow hours bedeck his glowing chair, 
 
 The storm-winds urge the heavy weeks along, 
 
 Suns haste to set, that so remoter lights 
 
 Beckon the wanderer to his vaster home. 
 
 With a vermilion pencil mark the day 230 
 
 When of our little fleet three cruising skiffs 
 Entering Big Tupper, bound for the foaming Falls 
 Of loud Bog River, suddenly confront 
 Two of our mates returning with swift oars. 
 One held a printed journal waving high 235 
 
 Caught from a late-arriving traveller, 
 Big with great news, and shouted the report 
 For which the world had waited, now firm fact, 
 Of the wire-cable laid beneath the sea, 
 And landed on our coast, and pulsating 24 
 
 With ductile fire. Loud, exulting cries 
 From boat to boat, and to the echoes round, 
 Greet the glad miracle. Thought's new-found path 
 Shall supplement henceforth all trodden ways, 
 Match God's equator with a zone of art, 245 
 
 And lift man's public action to a height 
 
 239. It will be remembered that it was in August, 1858, when 
 the first Atlantic Cable was laid and the first message transmitted, 
 proving the feasibility of the connection, though the cable was 
 imperfect, and a second one became necessary.
 
 THE ADIRONDACS. 427 
 
 Worthy the enormous cloud of witnesses, 
 
 When linked hemispheres attest his deed. 
 
 We have few moments in the longest life 
 
 Of such delight and wonder as there grew, w 
 
 Nor yet unsuited to that solitude : 
 
 A burst of joy, as if we told the fact 
 
 To ears intelligent ; as if gray rock 
 
 And cedar grove and cliff and lake should know 
 
 This feat of wit, this triumph of mankind ; 255 
 
 As if we men were talking in a vein 
 
 Of sympathy so large, that ours was theirs, 
 
 And a prime end of the most subtle element 
 
 Were fairly reached at last. Wake, echoing caves ! 
 
 Bend nearer, faint day-moon ! Yon thundertops, 26 
 
 Let them hear well ! 't is theirs as much as ours. 
 
 A spasm throbbing through the pedestals 
 Of Alp and Andes, isle and continent, 
 Urging astonished Chaos with a thrill 
 To be a brain, or serve the brain of man. zes 
 
 The lightning has run masterless too long ; 
 He must to school, and learn his verb and noun, 
 And teach his nimbleness to earn his wage, 
 Spelling with guided tongue man's messages 
 Shot through the weltering pit of the salt sea. 270 
 
 And yet I marked, even in the manly joy 
 Of our great-hearted Doctor in his boat, 
 (Perchance I erred,) a shade of discontent ; 
 Or was it for mankind a generous shame, 
 As of a luck not quite legitimate, zw 
 
 Since fortune snatched from wit the lion's part ? 
 Was it a college pique of town and gown, 
 As one within whose memory it burned 
 That not academicians, but some lout,
 
 428 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 Found ten years since the Californian gold ? 28 
 
 And now, again, a hungry company 
 
 Of traders, led by corporate sons of trade, 
 
 Perversely borrowing from the shop the tools 
 
 Of science, not from the philosophers, 
 
 Had won the brightest laurel of all time. 285 
 
 'T was always thus, and will be ; hand and head 
 
 Are ever rivals : but, though this be swift, 
 
 The other slow, this the Prometheus, 
 
 And that the Jove, yet, howsoever hid, 
 
 It was from Jove the other stole his fire, 29 
 
 And, without Jove, the good had never been. 
 
 It is not Iroquois or cannibals, 
 
 But ever the free race with front sublime, 
 
 And these instructed by their wisest too, 
 
 Who do the feat, and lift humanity. 295 
 
 Let not him mourn who best entitled was, 
 
 Nay, mourn not one : let him exult, 
 
 Yea, plant the tree that bears best apples, plant, 
 
 And water it with wine, nor watch askance 
 
 Whether thy sons or strangers eat the fruit : aw 
 
 Enough that mankind eat, and are refreshed. 
 
 We flee away from cities, but we bring 
 The best of cities with us, these learned classifiers, 
 Men knowing what they seek, armed eyes of experts. 
 We praise the guide, we praise the forest life : sos 
 
 But will we sacrifice our dear-bought lore 
 Of books and arts and trained experiment, 
 Or count the Sioux a match for Agassiz ? 
 Oh no, not we ! Witness the shout that shook 
 Wild Tupper Lake ; witness the mute all-hail su 
 
 The joyful traveller gives, when on the verge 
 Of craggy Indian wilderness he hears
 
 THE ADIRONDACS. 429 
 
 From a log-cabin stream Beethoven's notes 
 
 On the piano, played with master's hand. 
 
 ' Well done ! ' he cries : ' the bear is kept at bay, si 
 
 The lynx, the rattlesnake, the flood, the fire ; 
 
 All the fierce enemies, ague, hunger, cold, 
 
 This thin spruce roof, this clayed log-wall, 
 
 This wild plantation will suffice to chase. 
 
 Now speed the gay celerities of art, no 
 
 What in the desert was impossible 
 
 Within four walls is possible again, 
 
 Culture and libraries, mysteries of skill, 
 
 Traditioned fame of masters, eager strife 
 
 Of keen competing youths, joined or alone x 
 
 To outdo each other and extort applause. 
 
 Mind wakes a new-born giant from her sleep. 
 
 Twirl the old wheels ! Time takes fresh start again 
 
 On for a thousand years of genius more.' 
 
 The holidays were fruitful, but must end ; 
 
 One August evening had a cooler breath ; 
 Into each mind intruding duties crept ; 
 Under the cinders burned the fires of home ; 
 Nay, letters found us in our paradise : 
 So in the gladness of the new event 
 
 We struck our camp, and left the happy hills. 
 The fortiinate star that rose on us sank not ; 
 The prodigal sunshine rested on the land, 
 The rivers gambolled onward to the sea, 
 And Nature, the inscrutable and mute, wt 
 
 Permitted on her infinite repose 
 Almost a smile to steal to cheer her sons, 
 As if one riddle of the Sphinx were guessed. 
 
 343. The Sphinx in classical mythology was a monster having 
 a human head, a lion's body, and sometimes fabled as winged.
 
 430 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 THE TITMOUSE. 
 
 You shall not be overbold 
 
 When you deal with arctic cold, 
 
 As late I found my lukewarm blood 
 
 Chilled wading in the snow-choked wood. 
 
 How should I fight ? my foeraan fine s 
 
 Has million arms to one of mine : 
 
 East, west, for aid I looked in vain, 
 
 East, west, north, south, are his domain. 
 
 Miles off, three dangerous miles, is home ; 
 
 Must borrow his winds who there would come. 
 
 Up and away for life ! be fleet ! 
 
 The frost-king ties my fumbling feet, 
 
 Sings in my ears, my hands are stones, 
 
 Curdles the blood to the marble bones, 
 
 Tugs at the heart-strings, numbs the sense, is 
 
 And hems in life with narrowing fence. 
 
 Well, in this broad bed lie and sleep, 
 
 The punctual stars will vigil keep, 
 
 Embalmed by purifying cold ; 
 
 The winds shall sing their dead-march old, 20 
 
 The snow is no ignoble shroud, 
 
 The moon thy mourner, and the cloud. 
 
 It used to propose a question to the Thebans and murder all who 
 could not guess it. The riddle was, 
 
 " What goes on four feet, on two feet, and three, 
 But the more feet it goes on the weaker it be ? " 
 
 (Edipns gave the answer that it was man, going on four feet as 
 a child, and when old using a staff which made the third foot. 
 But the Sphinx's riddle in the old poetry and in the serious 
 modern acceptation is nothing less than the whwle problem of 
 human life.
 
 THE TITMOUSE. 431 
 
 Softly, but this way fate was pointing, 
 T was coming fast to such anointing, 
 When piped a tiny voice hard by, 
 
 Gay and polite, a cheerful cry, 
 Chic-chic-a-dee-dee ! saucy note 
 Out of sound heart and merry throat, 
 As if it said, ' Good day, good sir ! 
 Fine afternoon, old passenger ! so 
 
 Happy to meet you in these places, 
 Where January brings few faces.' 
 
 This poet, though he live apart, 
 Moved by his hospitable heart, 
 Sped, when I passed his sylvan fort, 
 
 To do the honors of his court, 
 As fits a feathered lord of land ; 
 Flew near, with soft wing grazed my hand, 
 Hopped on the bough, then, darting low, 
 Prints his small impress on the snow, 
 
 Shows feats of his gymnastic play, 
 Head downward, clinging to the spray. 
 
 Here was this atom in full breath, 
 Hurling defiance at vast death ; 
 This scrap of valor just for play 
 
 Fronts the north-wind in waistcoat gray, 
 As if to shame my weak behavior ; 
 I greeted loud my little saviour, 
 * You pet ! what dost here ? and what for ? 
 In these woods, thy small Labrador, M 
 
 At this pinch, wee San Salvador ! 
 What fire burns in that little chest 
 So frolic, stout and self-possest ? 
 Henceforth I wear no stripe but thine ;
 
 432 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 Ashes and jet all hues outshine. M 
 
 Why are not diamonds black and gray, 
 
 To ape thy dare-devil array ? 
 
 And I affirm, the spacious North 
 
 Exists to draw thy virtue forth. 
 
 I think no virtue goes with size ; w 
 
 The reason of all cowardice 
 
 Is, that men are overgrown, 
 
 And, to be valiant, must come down 
 
 To the titmouse dimension.' 
 
 'T is good-will makes intelligence, 65 
 
 And I began to catch the sense 
 Of my bird's song : ' Live out of doors 
 In the great woods, on prairie floors. 
 I dine in the sun ; when he sinks in the sea, 
 I too have a hole in a hollow tree ; 70 
 
 And I like less when Summer beats 
 With stifling beams on these retreats, 
 Than noontide twilights which snow makes 
 With tempest of the blinding flakes. 
 For well the soul, if stout within, 75 
 
 Can arm impregnably the skin ; 
 And polar frost my frame defied, 
 Made of the air that blows outside.' 
 
 With glad remembrance of my debt, 
 I homeward turn ; farewell, my pet ! se 
 
 When here again thy pilgrim comes, 
 He shall bring store of seeds and crumbs. 
 Doubt not, so long as earth has bread, 
 Thou first and foremost shalt be fed ; 
 
 18. The titmouse's frame, made of the outer air to his fancy,* 
 so light, free, and strong as it is, can well defy polar frost.
 
 MONADNOC. 433 
 
 The Providence that is most large 
 
 Takes hearts like thine in special charge, 
 
 Helps who for their own need are strong, 
 
 And the sky dotes on cheerful song. 
 
 Henceforth I prize thy wiry chant 
 
 O'er all that mass and minster vaunt ; so 
 
 For men mis-hear thy call in Spring, 
 
 As 't would accost some frivolous wing, 
 
 Crying out of the hazel copse, Phe-be I 
 
 And, in winter, Chic-a-dee-dee ! 
 
 I think old Caesar must have heard M 
 
 In northern Gaul my dauntless bird, 
 
 And, echoed in some frosty wold, 
 
 Borrowed thy battle-numbers bold. 
 
 And I will write our annals new, 
 
 And thank thee for a better clew, i 
 
 I, who dreamed not when I came here 
 
 To find the antidote of fear, 
 
 Now hear thee say in Roman key, 
 
 Pcean I Veni, vidi, vici. 
 
 MONADNOC. 
 
 THOUSAND minstrels woke within me, 
 * Our music 's in the hills ; ' 
 
 Gayest pictures rose to win me, 
 Leopard-colored rills. 
 
 104. Plutarch, in his Life of Julius Ccesar, relates that, after 
 Csesar's victory over Pharnaces at Zela in Asia Minor, " when 
 he gave a friend of his at Rome an account of this action, to ex 
 press the promptness and rapidity of it, he used three words, I 
 came, saw, and conquered, which in Latin having all the same 
 cadence, carry with them a very suitable air of brevity."
 
 434 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 4 Up ! If thou knew'st who calls i 
 
 To twilight parks of beech and pine, 
 High over the river intervals, 
 Above the ploughman's highest line, 
 Over the owner's farthest walls ! 
 Up ! where the airy citadel 10 
 
 O'erlooks the surging landscape's swell ! 
 Let not unto the stones the Day 
 Her lily and rose, her sea and land display. 
 Read the celestial sign ! 
 
 Lo ! the south answers to the north ; is 
 
 Bookworm, break this sloth urbane ; 
 A greater spirit bids thee forth 
 Than the gray dreams which thee detain. 
 Mark how the climbing Oreads 
 Beckon thee to their arcades ! 20 
 
 Youth, for a moment free as they, 
 Teach thy feet to feel the ground, 
 Ere yet arrives the wintry day 
 When Time thy feet has bound. 
 Take the bounty of thy birth, 25 
 
 Taste the lordship of the earth.' 
 
 10. Any one who has stood upon the summit of Monadnoc, in 
 Cheshire County, southern New Hampshire, would feel the sig 
 nificance not only of the surging landscape's swell, but of the airy 
 citadel, since the crest of the mountain is a pinnacle of stone, 
 built up almost like a fortress. 
 
 12. That is, let not the insensate stones be the only recipients 
 of the splendors which the light reveals. 
 
 16. The use of urbane is a recall of the first meaning of the 
 word, which is more distinct in urban. As a city (urbs) gives 
 politeness, urbanity, and the country (rus) gives rusticity, here 
 the sloth urbane is the indolence as regards nature which clings 
 to a person too confined within city limits of interest.
 
 MONADNOC. 435 
 
 I heard, and I obeyed, 
 Assured that he who made the claim, 
 Well known, but loving not a name, 
 
 Was not to be gainsaid. * 
 
 Ere yet the summoning voice was still, 
 
 I turned to Cheshire's haughty hill. 
 
 From the fixed cone the cloud-rack flowed 
 
 Like ample banner flung abroad 
 
 To all the dwellers in the plains 
 
 Round about, a hundred miles, 
 
 With salutation to the sea, and to the bordering isles. 
 
 In his own loom's garment dressed, 
 
 By his proper bounty blessed, 
 
 Fast abides this constant giver, 
 
 Pouring many a cheerful river ; 
 
 To far eyes, an aerial isle 
 
 Unploughed, which finer spirits pile, 
 
 Which morn and crimson evening paint 
 
 For bard, for lover, and for saint ; 
 
 An eyemark and the country's core, 
 
 Inspirer, prophet evermore ; 
 
 Pillar which God aloft had set 
 
 So that men might it not forget ; 
 
 It should be their life's ornament, w 
 
 And mix itself with each event ; 
 
 Gauge and calendar and dial, 
 
 Weatherglass and chemic phial, 
 
 29. Though we give it no name, the longing for the free coun 
 try and the mountain height is no stranger to men's hearts. 
 
 33. See note to p. 167, 1. 952. 
 
 43. The rocky summit is the base upon which masses of clouds 
 are piled high.
 
 436 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 Garden of berries, perch of birds, 
 Pasture of pool-haunting herds, 55 
 
 Graced by each change of sum untold, 
 Earth-baking heat, stone-cleaving cold. 
 
 The Titan heeds his sky-affairs, 
 Rich rents and wide alliance shares ; 
 Mysteries of color daily laid eo 
 
 By morn and eve in light and shade ; 
 And sweet varieties of chance, 
 And the mystic seasons' dance ; 
 And thief-like step of liberal hours 
 Thawing snow-drift into flowers. es 
 
 Oh, wondrous craft of plant and stone 
 By eldest science wrought and shown ! 
 4 Happy,' I said, ' whose home is here ! 
 Fair fortunes to the mountaineer ! 
 Boon Nature to his poorest shed 70 
 
 Has royal pleasure-grounds outspread.' 
 Intent, I searched the region round, 
 And in low hut the dweller found : 
 Woe is me for my hope's downfall ! 
 Is yonder squalid peasant all 75 
 
 That this proud nursery could breed 
 For God's vicegerency and stead ? 
 Time out of mind, this forge of ores ; 
 Quarry of spars in mountain pores ; 
 Old cradle, hunting-ground, and bier so 
 
 Of wolf and otter, bear and deer ; 
 Well-built abode of many a race ; 
 Tower of observance searching space ; 
 Factory of river and of rain ; 
 Link in the Alps' globe-girding chain ; 85 
 
 TO. Compare Milton's Nature boon, in Paradise Lost, iv. 242.
 
 MONADNOC. 437 
 
 By million changes skilled to tell 
 
 What in the Eternal standeth well, 
 
 And what obedient Nature can ; 
 
 Is this colossal talisman 
 
 Kindly to plant and blood and kind, w 
 
 But speechless to the master's mind ? 
 
 I thought to find the patriots 
 
 In whom the stock of freedom roots ; 
 
 To myself I oft recount 
 
 Tales of many a famous mount, as 
 
 "Wales, Scotland, Uri, Hungary's dells, 
 
 Bards, Roys, Scanderbegs, and Tells ; 
 
 And think how Nature in these towers 
 
 Uplifted shall condense her powers, 
 
 And lifting man to the blue deep 100 
 
 Where stars their perfect courses keep, 
 
 Like wise preceptor, lure his eye 
 
 To sound the science of the sky, 
 
 And carry learning to its height 
 
 Of untried power and sane delight : MB 
 
 The Indian cheer, the frosty skies, 
 
 Rear purer wits, inventive eyes, 
 
 Eyes that frame cities where none be, 
 
 And hands that stablish what these see ; 
 
 And by the moral of his place wo 
 
 Hint summits of heroic grace ; 
 
 Man in these crags a fastness find 
 
 To fight pollution of the mind ; 
 
 In the wide thaw and ooze of wrong, 
 
 Adhere like this foundation strong, us 
 
 96. The places of this line have their heroes in the next, bards 
 in Wales, Rob Roy in Scotland, William Tell in Uri; Scanderbeg 
 (Iskander-beg, t. ., Alexander the Great) is the name given by 
 the Turks to the Robin Hood of Epirus, George Castriota, 1414- 
 14G7.
 
 438 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 The insanity of towns to stem 
 
 With situpleness for stratagem. 
 
 But if the brave old mould is broke, 
 
 And end in churls the mountain folk 
 
 In tavern cheer and tavern joke, 121 
 
 Sink, O mountain, in the swamp ! 
 
 Hide in thy skies, O sovereign lamp ! 
 
 Perish like leaves, the highland breed 
 
 No sire survive, no son succeed ! 
 
 Soft ! let not the offended muse 125 
 
 Toil's hard hap with scorn accuse. 
 
 Many hamlets sought I then, 
 
 Many farms of mountain men. 
 
 Rallying round a parish steeple 
 
 Nestle warm the highland people, wt 
 
 Coarse and boisterous, yet mild, 
 
 Strong as giant, slow as child. 
 
 Sweat and season are their arts, 
 
 Their talismans are ploughs and carts ; 
 
 And well the youngest can command iss 
 
 Honey from the frozen land ; 
 
 With clover heads the swamp adorn, 
 
 Change the running sand to corn ; 
 
 For wolf and fox bring lowing herds, 
 
 And for cold mosses, cream and curds ; wo 
 
 Weave wood to canisters and mats ; 
 
 Drain sweet maple juice in vats. 
 
 No bird is safe that cuts the air 
 
 From their rifle or their snare ; 
 
 No fish, in river or in lake, 145 
 
 But their long hands it thence will take ; 
 
 Whilst the country's flinty face, 
 
 Like wax, their fashioning skill betrays,
 
 MONADNOC. 439 
 
 To fill the hollows, sink the hills, 
 
 Bridge gulfs, drain swamps, build dams and mills, iso 
 
 And fit the bleak and howling waste 
 
 For homes of virtue, sense, and taste. 
 
 The World-soul knows his own affair, 
 
 Forelooking, when he would prepare 
 
 For the next ages, men of mould u 
 
 Well embodied, well ensouled, 
 
 He cools the present's fiery glow, 
 
 Sets the life-pulse strong but slow : 
 
 Bitter winds and fasts austere 
 
 His quarantines and grottoes, where i 
 
 He slowly cures decrepit flesh, 
 
 And brings it infantile and fresh. 
 
 Toil and tempest are the toys 
 
 And games to breathe his stalwart boys : 
 
 They bide their time, and well can prove, i 
 
 If need were, their line from Jove ; 
 
 Of the same stuff, and so allayed, 
 
 As that whereof the sun is made, 
 
 And of the fibre, quick and strong, 
 
 Whose throbs are love, whose thrills are song. 
 
 Now in sordid weeds they sleep, 
 In dulness now their secret keep ; 
 Yet, will you learn our ancient speech, 
 These the masters who can teach. 
 Fourscore or a hundred words 
 All their vocal muse affords ; 
 
 153. See Emerson's poem, The World-Soul. 
 
 175. " The vocabulary of a rich and long-cultivated language 
 like the English may be roughly estimated at about one hundred 
 thousand words (although this excludes a great deal which, if 
 ' English ' were understood in its widest sense, would have to be
 
 440 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 But they turn them in a fashion 
 
 Past clerks' or statesmen's art or passion. 
 
 I can spare the college bell, 
 
 And the learned lecture, well ; in* 
 
 Spare the clergy and libraries, 
 
 Institutes and dictionaries, 
 
 For that hardy English root 
 
 Thrives here, unvalued, underfoot. 
 
 Rude poets of the tavern hearth, iss 
 
 Squandering your unquoted mirth, 
 
 Which keeps the ground, and never soars, 
 
 While Jake retorts and Reuben roars ; 
 
 .Scoff of yeoman strong and stark 
 
 Goes like bullet to its mark ; 190 
 
 While the solid curse and jeer 
 
 Never balk the waiting ear. 
 
 On the summit as I stood, 
 
 O'er the floor of plain and flood 
 
 Seemed to me, the towering hill i 
 
 Was not altogether still, 
 
 But a quiet sense conveyed : 
 
 If I err not, thus it said : 
 
 Many feet in summer seek, 
 
 Oft, my far-appearing peak ; 2oc 
 
 In the dreaded winter time, 
 
 None save dappling shadows climb, 
 
 counted in) ; but thirty thousand is a very large estimate for the 
 number ever used, in writing or speaking, by a well-educated 
 man ; three to five thousand, it has been carefully estimated, 
 cover the ordinary need of cultivated intercourse ; and the num 
 ber acquired by persons of lowest training and narrowest infor 
 mation is considerably less than this." The Life and Growth oj 
 Language, by W. D. Whitney, p. 26.
 
 MONADNOC. 441 
 
 Under clouds, my lonely head, 
 
 Old as the sun, old almost as the shade ; 
 
 And comest thou * 
 
 To see strange forests and new snow, 
 
 And tread uplifted land ? 
 
 And leavest thou thy lowland race, 
 
 Here amid clouds to stand ? 
 
 And wouldst be my companion, ao 
 
 Where I gaze, and still shall gaze, 
 
 Through tempering nights and flashing days, 
 
 When forests fall, and man is gone, 
 
 Over tribes and over times, 
 
 At the burning Lyre, 215 
 
 Nearing me, 
 
 With its stars of northern fire, 
 
 In many a thousand years ? 
 
 1 Gentle pilgrim, if thou know 
 The gamut old of Pan, 220 
 
 And how the hills began, 
 The frank blessings of the hill 
 Fall on thee, as fall they will. 
 
 4 Let him heed who can and will ; 
 Enchantment fixed me here 285 
 
 To stand the hurts of time, until 
 In mightier chant I disappear. 
 
 If thou trowest 
 How the chemic eddies play, 
 Pole to pole, and what they say ; sat 
 
 And that these gray crags 
 Not on crags are hung, 
 But beads are of a rosary 
 On prayer and music strung ;
 
 442 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 And, credulous, through the granite seeming, 28 
 Seest the smile of Reason beaming ; 
 Can thy style-discerning eye 
 The hidden-working Builder spy, 
 Who builds, yet makes no chips, no din, 
 With hammer soft as snowflake's flight ; 2 
 Knowest thou this ? 
 O pilgrim, wandering not amiss ! 
 Already my rocks lie light, 
 And soon my cone will spin. 
 
 4 For the world was built in order, a 
 
 And the atoms march in tune ; 
 Rhyme the pipe, and Time the warder, 
 The sun obeys them, and the moon. 
 Orb and atom forth they prance, 
 When they hear from far the rune ; 250 
 
 None so backward in the troop, 
 When the music and the dance 
 Reach his place and circumstance, 
 But knows the sun-creating sound, 
 And, though a pyramid, will bound. 255 
 
 4 Monadnoc is a mountain strong, 
 Tall and good my kind among ; 
 But well I know, no mountain can, 
 Zion or Meru, measure with man. 
 For it is on zodiacs writ, 260 
 
 Adamant is soft to wit : 
 
 259. Meru Is a fabulous mountain in the centre of the world, 
 eighty thousand leagues high, the abode of Vishnu, and a per 
 fect paradise. It may be termed the Hindu Olympus. These 
 lines are in the spirit of the German philosopher Hegel's dictuiri| 
 that one thought of man outweighed all nature.
 
 MONADNOC. 443 
 
 And when the greater comes again 
 
 With my secret in his brain, 
 
 I shall pass, as glides my shadow 
 
 Daily over hill and meadow. wi 
 
 ' Through all time, in light, in gloom 
 Well I hear the approaching feet 
 On the flinty pathway beat 
 Of him that cometh, and shall come ; 
 Of him who shall as lightly bear J7 
 
 My daily load of woods and streams, 
 As doth this round sky-cleaving boat 
 Which never strains its rocky beams ; 
 Whose timbers, as they silent float, 
 Alps and Caucasus uprear, 275 
 
 And the long Alleghanies here, 
 And all town-sprinkled lands that be, 
 Sailing through stars with all their history. 
 
 4 Every morn I lift my head, 
 See New England underspread, aso 
 
 South from Saint Lawrence to the Sound, 
 From Katskill east to the sea-bound. 
 Anchored fast for many an age, 
 I await the bard and sage, 
 
 Who, in large thoughts, like fair pearl-seed, 235 
 Shall string Monadnoc like a bead. 
 Comes that cheerful troubadour, 
 This mound shall throb his face before, 
 As when, with inward fires and pain, 
 
 272. In this bold figure the earth, with its mountains and 
 town-sprinkled lands, is made the image of the lofty mind which 
 dwells among; the higher thoughts, and carries the mountain in 
 its hands as a very little thing.
 
 444 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 It rose a bubble from the plain. at 
 
 When he cometh, I shall shed, 
 
 From this wellspring in my head, 
 
 Fountain-drop of spicier worth 
 
 Than all vintage of the earth. 
 
 There 's fruit upon my barren soil aw 
 
 Costlier far than wine or oil. 
 
 There 's a berry blue and gold, 
 
 Autumn-ripe, its juices hold 
 
 Sparta's stoutness, Bethlehem's heart, 
 
 Asia's rancor, Athens' art, so 
 
 Slowsure Britain's secular might, 
 
 And the German's inward sight. 
 
 I will give my son to eat 
 
 Best of Pan's immortal meat, 
 
 Bread to eat, and juice to drain ; a 
 
 So the coinage of his brain 
 
 Shall not be forms of stars, but stars, 
 
 Nor pictures pale, but Jove and Mars. 
 
 He comes, but not of that race bred 
 
 Who daily climb my specular head. si* 
 
 Oft as morning wreathes my scarf, 
 
 Fled the last plumule of the Dark, 
 
 Pants up hither the spruce clerk 
 
 From South Cove and City Wharf. 
 
 I take him up my rugged sides, sis 
 
 Half-repentant, scant of breath, 
 
 Bead-eyes my granite chaos show, 
 
 And my midsummer snow : 
 
 311. The scarf is the vesture of the mountain, and the light 
 of the morning, revealing it, may be said to wind it about the 
 mountain ; or it may be the wreathing vapor. 
 
 317. I show the little clerk with his bead-eyes my granite 
 chaos and the glittering quartz which is my midsummer snow.
 
 MONADNOC. 445 
 
 Open the daunting map beneath, 
 
 All his county, sea and land, az 
 
 Dwarfed to measure of his hand ; 
 
 His day's ride is a furlong space, 
 
 His city-tops a glimmering haze. 
 
 I plant his eyes on the sky-hoop bounding ; 
 
 " See there the grim gray rounding 325 
 
 Of the bullet of the earth 
 
 Whereon ye sail, 
 
 Tumbling steep 
 
 In the uncontinented deep." 
 
 He looks on that, and he turns pale. a* 
 
 'T is even so, this treacherous kite, 
 
 Farm-furrowed, town-incrusted sphere, 
 
 Thoughtless of its anxious freight, 
 
 Plunges eyeless on forever ; 
 
 And he, poor parasite, 5 
 
 Cooped in a ship he cannot steer, 
 
 Who is the captain he knows not, 
 
 Port or pilot trows not, 
 
 Risk or ruin he must share. 
 
 I scowl on him with my cloud, JM 
 
 With my north wind chill his blood ; 
 
 I lame him, clattering down the rocks ; 
 
 And to live he is in fear. 
 
 Then, at last, I let him down 
 
 Once more into his dapper town, MS 
 
 325. The small-souled man whom the mountain is jeering is 
 oidden scan the horizon and see the immensity of the universe 
 in which his little earth is rolling. The petty soul trembles be 
 fore this vastness as the looked for mighty one was to compre 
 hend and weigh it all in his balances. The contrast is between 
 the blind animal-man, overpowered by nature, and the god-like 
 soul-man, serenely ruling nature.
 
 446 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 To chatter, frightened, to his clan 
 And forget ine if he can.' 
 
 As in the old poetic fame 
 
 The gods are blind and lame, 
 
 And the simular despite Kt 
 
 Betrays the more abounding might, 
 
 So call not waste that barren cone 
 
 Above the floral zone, 
 
 Where forests starve : 
 
 It is pure use ; 355 
 
 What sheaves like those which here we glean and 
 
 bind 
 Of a celestial Ceres and the Muse ? 
 
 Ages are thy days, 
 
 Thou grand affirmer of the present tense, 
 
 And type of permanence ! set 
 
 Firm ensign of the fatal Being, 
 
 Amid these coward shapes of joy and grief, 
 
 That will not bide the seeing ! 
 
 Hither we bring 
 
 Our insect miseries to thy rocks ; 365 
 
 And the whole flight, with folded wing, 
 
 Vanish, and end their murmuring, 
 
 Vanish beside these dedicated blocks, 
 
 Which who can tell what mason laid ? 
 
 Spoils of a front none need restore, sr 
 
 348. Fame, common story. 
 
 370. In remote allusion to the removal to England of the Elgin 
 marbles from the Parthenon at Athens ; there was much discus 
 sion as to the right of England to these spoils, which were granted
 
 MONADNOC. 447 
 
 Replacing frieze and architrave ; 
 
 Where flowers each stone rosette and metope brave ; 
 
 Still is the haughty pile erect 
 
 Of the old building Intellect. 
 
 Complement of human kind, na 
 
 Holding us at vantage still, 
 
 Our sumptuous indigence, 
 
 O barren mound, thy plenties fill ! 
 
 We fool and prate ; 
 
 Thou art silent and sedate. o 
 
 To myriad kinds and times one sense 
 
 The constant mountain doth dispense ; 
 
 Shedding on all its snows and leaves, 
 
 One joy it joys, one grief it grieves. 
 
 Thou seest, O watchman tall, w 
 
 Our towns and races grow and fall, 
 
 And imagest the stable good 
 
 For which we all our lifetime grope, 
 
 In shifting form the formless mind, 
 
 And though the substance us elude, SM 
 
 We in thee the shadow find. 
 
 Thou, in our astronomy 
 
 An opaker star, 
 
 Seen haply from afar, 
 
 Above the horizon's hoop, m 
 
 A moment, by the railway troop, 
 
 As o'er some bolder height they speed, 
 
 by the Turkish government, and a murmur in Greece after inde 
 pendence was obtained, that they should be restored. 
 
 390. The mountain is but the image of the stable good : that 
 good is the invisible substance, of which the mountain is the visi 
 ble shadow. The good is ever shifting to us, but the type of good 
 is fixed.
 
 448 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 By circumspect ambition, 
 
 By errant gain, 
 
 By f casters and the frivolous, 400 
 
 Kecallest us, 
 
 And makest sane. 
 
 Mute orator ! well skilled to plead, 
 
 And send conviction without phrase, 
 
 Thou dost succor and remede 405 
 
 The shortness of our days, 
 
 And promise, on thy Founder's truth, 
 
 Long morrow to this mortal youth. 
 
 398. Circumspect ambition, errant (i. e., travelling), gain, feast* 
 ers, and frivolous, these are all part of the railway troop.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 [LOWELL'S poem on Agassiz presents many aspects of 
 that remarkable man. The stimulus which he gave in this 
 country to scientific research was followed by results in 
 other departments of human learning, for the method em 
 ployed in scientific study finds an application in history and 
 literature also. In the study of literature the first lesson is 
 in the power of seeing what lies before the student on the 
 printed page, and the following sketch, which was published 
 shortly after Agassiz's death, is given here, both because it 
 is so entertaining an account of a student's experience, and 
 because it points so clearly to the secret of all success in 
 study, both of science and of literature. J 
 
 IN THE LABORATORY WITH AGASSIZ. 
 
 BY A FORMER PUPIL. 
 
 IT was more than fifteen years ago that I entered the laboratory 
 of Professor Agassiz, and told him I had enrolled my name in 
 the scientific school as a student of natural history. He asked 
 me a few questions about my object iu coming, my antecedents 
 generally, the mode in which I afterwards proposed to use the 
 knowledge I might acquire, and finally, whether I wished to study 
 any special branch. To the latter I replied that while I wished 
 to be well grounded in all departments of zoology, I purposed to 
 devote myself specially to insects. 
 
 " When do you wish to begiu ? " he asked. 
 
 " Now," I replied. 
 
 This seemed to please him, and with an energetic " Very
 
 450 APPENDIX. 
 
 well," he reached from a shelf a huge jar of specimens in yellow 
 alcohol. 
 
 " Take this fish," said he, " and look at it ; we call it a Hse- 
 mulon ; by and by I will ask what you have seen." 
 
 With that he left me, but in a moment returned with explicit 
 instructions as to the care of the object intrusted to me. 
 
 " No man is fit to be a naturalist," said he, " who does not 
 know how to take care of specimens." 
 
 I was to keep the fish before me in a tin tray, and occasionally 
 moisten the surface with alcohol from the jar, always taking 
 care to replace the stopper tightly. Those were not the days 
 of ground glass stoppers, and elegantly shaped exhibition jars ; 
 all the old students will recall the huge, neckless glass bottles 
 with their leaky, wax-besmeared corks, half eaten by insects and 
 begrimed with cellar dust. Entomology was a cleaner science 
 than ichthyology, but the example of the professor who had un 
 hesitatingly plunged to the bottom of the jar to produce the fish 
 was infectious ; and though this alcohol had " a very ancient 
 and fish-like smell," I really dared not show any aversion within 
 these sacred precincts, and treated the alcohol as though it were 
 pure water. Still I was conscious of a passing f eeling of disap 
 pointment, for gazing at a fish did not commend itself to an ar 
 dent entomologist. My friends at home, too, were annoyed, when 
 they discovered that no amount of eau de cologne would drown 
 the perfume which haunted me like a shadow. 
 
 In ten minutes I had seen all that could be seen in that fish, 
 and started in search of the professor, who had, however, left the 
 museum ; and when I returned, after lingering over some of the 
 odd animals stored in the upper apartment, my specimen was dry 
 all over. I dashed the fluid over the fish as if to recuscitate the 
 beast from a fainting-fit, and looked with anxiety for a return of 
 the normal, sloppy appearance. This little excitement over, 
 nothing was to be done but return to a steadfast gaze at my 
 mute companion. Half an hour passed, an hour, another 
 hour ; the fish began to look loathsome. I turned it over and 
 around ; looked it in the face, ghastly ; from behind, beneath, 
 above, sideways, at a three quarters' view, just as ghastly. 
 I was in despair ; at an early hour I concluded that lunch was 
 necessary ; so, with infinite relief, the fish was carefully re 
 placed in the jar, and for an hour I was free. 
 
 On my return, I learned that Professor Agassiz had been at
 
 APPENDIX. 451 
 
 the museum, but had gone and would not return for several 
 hours. My fellow-students were too busy to be disturbed by 
 continued conversation. Slowly I drew forth that hideous fish, 
 and with a feeling of desperation again looked at it. I might 
 not use a magnifying glass ; instruments of all kinds were in 
 terdicted. My two hands, my two eyes, and the fish ; it seemed 
 a most limited field. I pushed my finger down its throat to feel 
 how sharp the teeth were. I began to count the scales in the 
 different rows until I was convinced that that was nonsense. At 
 last a happy thought struck me I would draw the fish ; and 
 now with surprise I began to discover new features in the crea 
 ture. Just then the professor returned. 
 
 " That is right," said he ; "a pencil is one of the best of eyet>. 
 I am glad to notice, too, that you keep your specimen wet and 
 your bottle corked." 
 
 With these encouraging words, he added, 
 
 " Well, what is it like ? " 
 
 He listened attentively to my brief rehearsal of the structure 
 of parts whose names were still unknown to me : the fringed 
 gill-arches and movable operculum ; the pores of the head, 
 fleshy lips, and lidless eyes ; the lateral line, the spinous fins, 
 and forked tail ; the compressed and arched body. When I had 
 finished, he waited as if expecting more, and then, with an air 
 of disappointment, 
 
 "You have not looked very carefully ; why," he continued, 
 more earnestly, " you have n't even seen one of the most con 
 spicuous features of the animal, which is as plainly before your 
 eyes as the fish itself ; look again, look again ! " and he left me 
 to my misery. 
 
 I was piqued ; I was mortified. Still more of that wretched 
 fish ! But now I set myself to my task with a will, and discov 
 ered one new thing after another, until I saw how just the pro 
 fessor's criticism had been. The afternoon passed quickly and 
 when, toward its close, the professor inquired, 
 
 " Do you see it yet ? " 
 
 " No," I replied, " I am certain I do not, but I see how little 
 I saw before." 
 
 "That is next best," said he, earnestly, "but I won't hear you 
 now ; put away your fish and go home ; perhaps you will be 
 ready with a better answer in the morning. I will examine you 
 before you look at the fish."
 
 452 APPENDIX. 
 
 This was disconcerting ; not only must I think of my fish all 
 night, studying, without the object before me, what this unknown 
 but most visible feature might be, but also, without reviewing 
 my new discoveries, I must give an exact account of them the 
 next day. I had a bad memory ; so I walked home by Charles 
 River in a distracted state, with my two perplexities. 
 
 The cordial greeting from the professor the next morning was 
 reassuring ; here was a man who seemed to be quite as anxious 
 as I, that I should see for myself what he saw. 
 
 " Do you perhaps mean," I asked, " that the fish has symmet 
 rical sides with paired organs ? " 
 
 His thoroughly pleased, " Of course, of course ! " repaid the 
 wakeful hours of the previous night. After he had discoursed 
 most happily and enthusiastically as he always did upon 
 the importance of this point, I ventured to ask what I should do 
 next. 
 
 " Oh, look at your fish ! " he said, and left me again to my 
 own devices. In a little more than an hour he returned and 
 heard my new catalogue. 
 
 " That is good, that is good ! " he repeated ; " but that is not 
 all ; go on ; " and so for three long days he placed that fish be 
 fore my eyes, forbidding me to look at anything else, or to use 
 any artificial aid. " Look, look, look," was his repeated injunc 
 tion. 
 
 This was the best entomological lesson I ever had, a lesson 
 whose influence has extended to the details of every subsequent 
 study ; a legacy the professor has left to me, as he left it to 
 many others, of inestimable value, which we could not buy, with 
 which we cannot part. 
 
 A year afterwards, some of us were amusing ourselves with 
 chalking outlandish beasts upon the museum blackboard. We 
 drew prancing star-fishes ; frogs in mortal combat ; hydra-headed 
 worms ; stately crawfishes, standing on their tails, bearing aloft 
 umbrellas ; and grotesque fishes with gaping mouths and staring 
 eyes. The professor came in shortly after, and was as amused 
 as any at our experiments. He looked at the fishes. 
 
 " Ha^mulons, every one of them," he said ; " Mr. drew 
 
 them." 
 
 True ; and to this day, if I attempt a fish, I can draw nothing 
 but Haeinulons. 
 
 The fourth day, a second fish of the same group was placed
 
 APPENDIX. 453 
 
 beside the first, and I was bidden to point out the resemblances 
 and differences between the two ; another and another followed, 
 until the entire family lay before me, and a whole legion of jars 
 covered the table and surrounding shelves ; the odor had be 
 come a pleasant perfume : and even now, the sight of an old, 
 six-inch, worm-eaten cork brings fragrant memories ! 
 
 The whole group of Hsemulons was thus brought in review : 
 and, whether engaged upon the dissection of the internal organs, 
 the preparation and examination of the bony frame-work, or the 
 description of the various parts, Agassiz's training in the method 
 of observing facts and their orderly arrangement was ever ac 
 companied by the urgent exhortation not to be content with 
 them. 
 
 " Facts are stupid things," he would say, "until brought into 
 connection with some general law." 
 
 At the end of eight months, it was almost with reluctance 
 that I left these friends and turned to insects ; but what I had 
 gained by this outside experience has been of greater value than 
 years of later investigation in my favorite groups.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below 
 
 SWIRL 
 
 JUL 111981 
 
 WEC'D LD-URt 
 
 | 1991
 
 \J 
 
 A 001 343 681 1 
 
 'I 1 oi v