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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Vision of Sir Launfal + And Other Poems + +Author: James Russell Lowell + +Release Date: November 20, 2005 [EBook #17119] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL *** + + + + +Produced by David Starner, Sankar Viswanathan, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 402px;"> + <p class="img1"><img src="images/image_05.png" width="400" height="644" alt="Cover Page" title="Cover Page" /></p> + <p> + </p> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><a name="James_Russel" id="James_Russel"></a> +<img src="images/image_01.jpg" width="400" height="501" alt="James Russell Lowell." title="James Russell Lowell." /> +<span class="caption">James Russell Lowell.</span> +</div> + + + +<h4> </h4> +<h4> </h4> +<h4>The Riverside Literature Series</h4> +<h1>THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL</h1> + +<h2>AND OTHER POEMS</h2> + +<h3> </h3> +<h3> </h3> +<h3>BY</h3> +<h2>JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL</h2> + +<p class="center"> </p> +<p class="center"> </p> +<p class="center"><i>WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH<br /> + AND NOTES<br /> + A PORTRAIT AND OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS</i></p> + + + <p> </p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> + <img src="images/image_06.jpg" width="150" height="184" alt="Seal." title="Seal" /> + + +</div> + + +<h3> </h3> +<h3>HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY</h3> +<h5>Boston: 4 Park Street; New York: 11 East Seventeenth Street<br /> +Chicago: 378-388 Wabash Avenue</h5> +<h4>The Riverside Press, Cambridge</h4> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + + +<p class="center">Copyright, 1848, 1857, 1866, 1868, 1869, 1876, and 1885, +By JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.</p> + +<p class="center">Copyright, 1887, 1894, and 1896, +By HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. +</p> + + + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="Contents"> + <tr> + + <td> </td> + <td class="tocpg">PAGE</td> + </tr> + <tr> + + <td colspan="2"><a href="#A_SKETCH_OF_THE_LIFE_OF_JAMES_RUSSELL_LOWELL">A Sketch of the Life of James Russell Lowell.</a></td> + + </tr> + <tr> + + <td><span style="text-indent:1em;"><a href="#I">I. Elmwood</a></span></td> + <td class="tocpg">v</td> + </tr> + <tr> + + <td><span style="text-indent:1em;"><a href="#II">II. Education</a></span></td> + <td class="tocpg">ix</td> + </tr> + <tr> + + <td><span style="text-indent:1em;"><a href="#III">III. First Ventures</a></span></td> + <td class="tocpg">xi</td> + </tr> + <tr> + + <td><span style="text-indent:1em;"><a href="#IV">IV. Verse and Prose</a></span></td> + <td class="tocpg">xiv</td> + </tr> + <tr> + + <td><span style="text-indent:1em;"><a href="#V">V. Public Life</a></span></td> + <td class="tocpg">xvi</td> + </tr> + <tr> + + <td><a href="#INTRODUCTORY_NOTE">Introductory Note</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">1</td> + </tr> + <tr> + + <td><a href="#THE_VISION_OF_SIR_LAUNFAL">The Vision of Sir Launfal</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">4</td> + </tr> + <tr> + + <td><a href="#PRELUDE_TO_PART_FIRST">Prelude to Part First</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">4</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#PART_FIRST">Part First</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">7</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#PRELUDE_TO_PART_SECOND">Prelude to Part Second</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">10</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#PART_SECOND">Part Second</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">12</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#ODE_RECITED_AT_THE_HARVARD_COMMEMORATION">Ode recited at the Harvard Commemoration</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">16</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#ON_BOARD_THE_76">On Board the '76</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">31</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#AN_INDIAN-SUMMER_REVERIE">An Indian-Summer Reverie</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">34</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#THE_FIRST_SNOW-FALL">The First Snow-Fall</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">45</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#THE_OAK">The Oak</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">47</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#PROMETHEUS">Prometheus</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">49</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#TO_WL_GARRISON">To W.L. Garrison</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">61</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#WENDELL_PHILLIPS">Wendell Phillips</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">63</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#MR_HOSEA_BIGLOW_TO_THE_EDITOR_OF_THE_ATLANTIC_MONTHLY">Mr. Hosea Biglow to the Editor of the Atlantic Monthly</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">63</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#VILLA_FRANCA">Villa Franca</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">70</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#THE_NIGHTINGALE_IN_THE_STUDY">The Nightingale in the Study</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">73</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#ALADDIN">Aladdin</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">76</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#BEAVER_BROOK">Beaver Brook</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">76</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#THE_SHEPHERD_OF_KING_ADMETUS">The Shepherd of King Admetus</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">78</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#THE_PRESENT_CRISIS">The Present Crisis</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">80</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#AL_FRESCO">Al Fresco</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">87</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#THE_FOOT-PATH">The Foot-Path</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">90</td> + </tr> +</table> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.</h2> + + +<table summary="Illustrations"> + <tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="tocpg">PAGE</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#James_Russel">James Russell Lowell (from a crayon by William +Page in 1842, owned by Mrs. Charles F. Briggs, +Brooklyn, N. Y.)</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><i>Frontispiece</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#Elmwood">Elmwood, Mr. Lowell's home in Cambridge</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">vi</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#Sir_Launfal">As Sir Launfal made morn through the darksome gate</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">10</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#He_Mused">So he mused, as he sat, of a sunnier clime</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">14</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#The_Seal">The Seal of Harvard University</a></td> + <td class="tocpg">30</td> + </tr> +</table> + + + + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="A_SKETCH_OF_THE_LIFE_OF_JAMES_RUSSELL_LOWELL" id="A_SKETCH_OF_THE_LIFE_OF_JAMES_RUSSELL_LOWELL"></a>A SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I.</h2> + +<h3>ELMWOOD.</h3> + + +<p>About half a mile from the Craigie House in Cambridge, Massachusetts, +on the road leading to the old town of Watertown, is Elmwood, a +spacious square house set amongst lilac and syringa bushes, and +overtopped by elms. Pleasant fields are on either side, and from the +windows one may look out on the Charles River winding its way among +the marshes. The house itself is one of a group which before the war +for independence belonged to Boston merchants and officers of the +crown who refused to take the side of the revolutionary party. Tory +Row was the name given to the broad winding road on which the houses +stood. Great farms and gardens were attached to them, and some sign of +their roomy ease still remains. The estates fell into the hands of +various persons after the war, and in process of time Longfellow came +to occupy Craigie House. Elmwood at that time was the property of the +Reverend Charles Lowell, minister of the West Church in Boston, and +when Longfellow thus became his neighbor, James Russell Lowell was a +junior in Harvard College. He was born at Elmwood, February 22, 1819. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span>Any one who will read <i>An Indian Summer Reverie</i> will discover how +affectionately Lowell dwelt on the scenes of nature and life amidst +which he grew up. Indeed, it would be a pleasant task to draw from the +full storehouse of his poetry the golden phrases with which he +characterizes the trees, meadows, brooks, flowers, birds, and human +companions that were so near to him in his youth and so vivid in his +recollection. In his prose works also a lively paper, <i>Cambridge +Thirty Years Ago</i>, contains many reminiscences of his early life.</p> + +<p>To know any one well it is needful to inquire into his ancestry, and +two or three hints may be given of the currents that met in this poet. +On his father's side he came from a succession of New England men who +for the previous three generations had been in professional life. The +Lowells traced their descent from Percival Lowell,—a name which +survives in the family,—of Bristol, England, who settled in Newbury, +Massachusetts, in 1639. The great-grandfather was a minister in +Newburyport, one of those, as Dr. Hale says, "who preached sermons +when young men went out to fight the French, and preached sermons +again in memory of their death when they had been slain in battle." +The grandfather was John Lowell, a member of the Constitutional +Convention of Massachusetts in 1780. It was he who introduced into the +Bill of Rights a phrase from the Bill of Rights of Virginia, "All men +are created free and equal," with the purpose which it effected of +setting free every man then held as a slave in Massachusetts. A son of +John Lowell and brother of the Rev. Charles Lowell was Francis Cabot +Lowell, who gave a great impetus to New England manufactures, and from +whom the city of Lowell took its name. Another son, and thus also an +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span> +uncle of the poet, was John Lowell, Jr., whose wise and far-sighted +provision gave to Boston that powerful centre of intellectual +influence, the Lowell Institute. Of the Rev. Charles Lowell, his son +said, in a letter written in 1844, "He is Doctor Primrose in the +comparative degree, the very simplest and charmingest of +sexagenarians, and not without a great deal of the truest +magnanimity." It was characteristic of Lowell thus to go to <i>The Vicar +of Wakefield</i> for a portrait of his father. Dr. Lowell lived till +1861, when his son was forty-two.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><a name="Elmwood" id="Elmwood"></a> +<img class="img1" src="images/image_02.jpg" width="400" height="598" alt="Elmwood, Mr. Lowell's home in Cambridge." title="Elmwood, Mr. Lowell's home in Cambridge." /> +<span class="caption">Elmwood, Mr. Lowell's home in Cambridge.</span> +</div> + +<p>Mrs. Harriet Spence Lowell, the poet's mother, was of Scotch origin, a +native of Portsmouth, New Hampshire. She is described as having "a +great memory, an extraordinary aptitude for language, and a passionate +fondness for ancient songs and ballads." It pleased her to fancy +herself descended from the hero of one of the most famous ballads, Sir +Patrick Spens, and at any rate she made a genuine link in the Poetic +Succession. In a letter to his mother, written in 1837, Lowell says: +"I am engaged in several poetical effusions, one of which I have +dedicated to you, who have always been the patron and encourager of my +youthful muse." The Russell in his name seems to intimate a strain of +Jewish ancestry; at any rate Lowell took pride in the name on this +account, for he was not slow to recognize the intellectual power of +the Hebrew race. He was the youngest of a family of five, two +daughters and three sons. An older brother who outlived him a short +time, was the Rev. Robert Traill Spence Lowell, who wrote besides a +novel, <i>The New Priest in Conception Bay</i>, which contains a delightful +study of a Yankee, some poems, and a story of school-boy life.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span></p> + +<p>Not long before his death, Lowell wrote to an English friend a +description of Elmwood, and as he was very fond of the house in which +he lived and died, it is agreeable to read words which strove to set +it before the eyes of one who had never seen it. "'Tis a pleasant old +house, just about twice as old as I am, four miles from Boston, in +what was once the country and is now a populous suburb. But it still +has some ten acres of open about it, and some fine old trees. When the +worst comes to the worst (if I live so long) I shall still have four +and a half acres left with the house, the rest belonging to my +brothers and sisters or their heirs. It is a square house, with four +rooms on a floor, like some houses of the Georgian era I have seen in +English provincial towns, only they are of brick, and this is of wood. +But it is solid with its heavy oaken beams, the spaces between which +in the four outer walls are filled in with brick, though you mustn't +fancy a brick-and-timber house, for outwardly it is sheathed with +wood. Inside there is much wainscot (of deal) painted white in the +fashion of the time when it was built. It is very sunny, the sun +rising so as to shine (at an acute angle to be sure) through the +northern windows, and going round the other three sides in the course +of the day. There is a pretty staircase with the quaint old twisted +banisters,—which they call balusters now; but mine are banisters. My +library occupies two rooms opening into each other by arches at the +sides of the ample chimneys. The trees I look out on are the earliest +things I remember. There you have me in my new-old quarters. But you +must not fancy a large house—rooms sixteen feet square, and on the +ground floor, nine high. It was large, as things went here, when it +was built, and has a certain <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span>air of amplitude about it as from some +inward sense of dignity." In an earlier letter he wrote: "Here I am in +my garret. I slept here when I was a little curly-headed boy, and used +to see visions between me and the ceiling, and dream the so often +recurring dream of having the earth put into my hand like an orange. +In it I used to be shut up without a lamp,—my mother saying that none +of her children should be afraid of the dark,—to hide my head under +the pillow, and then not be able to shut out the shapeless monsters +that thronged around me, minted in my brain.... In winter my view is a +wide one, taking in a part of Boston. I can see one long curve of the +Charles and the wide fields between me and Cambridge, and the flat +marshes beyond the river, smooth and silent with glittering snow. As +the spring advances and one after another of our trees puts forth, the +landscape is cut off from me piece by piece, till, by the end of May, +I am closeted in a cool and rustling privacy of leaves." In two of his +papers especially, <i>My Garden Acquaintance</i> and <i>A Good Word for +Winter</i>, has Lowell given glimpses of the out-door life in the midst +of which he grew up.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II.</h2> + +<h3>EDUCATION.</h3> + + +<p>His acquaintance with books and his schooling began early. He learned +his letters at a dame school. Mr. William Wells, an Englishman, opened +a classical school in one of the spacious Tory Row houses near +Elmwood, and, bringing with him English public school thoroughness and +severity, gave the boy a drilling in Latin, which he must have made +almost a native speech to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span>judge by the ease with which he handled it +afterward in mock heroics. Of course he went to Harvard College. He +lived at his father's house, more than a mile away from the college +yard; but this could have been no great privation to him, for he had +the freedom of his friends' rooms, and he loved the open air. The Rev. +Edward Everett Hale has given a sketch of their common life in +college. "He was a little older than I," he says, "and was one class +in advance of me. My older brother, with whom I lived in college, and +he were most intimate friends. He had no room within the college +walls, and was a great deal with us. The fashion of Cambridge was then +literary. Now the fashion of Cambridge runs to social problems, but +then we were interested in literature. We read Byron and Shelley and +Keats, and we began to read Tennyson and Browning. I first heard of +Tennyson from Lowell, who had borrowed from Mr. Emerson the little +first volume of Tennyson. We actually passed about Tennyson's poems in +manuscript. Carlyle's essays were being printed at the time, and his +<i>French Revolution</i>. In such a community—not two hundred and fifty +students all told,—literary effort was, as I say, the fashion, and +literary men, among whom Lowell was recognized from the very first, +were special favorites. Indeed, there was that in him which made him a +favorite everywhere."</p> + +<p>Lowell was but fifteen years old when he entered college in the class +which graduated in 1838. He was a reader, as so many of his fellows +were, and the letters which he wrote shortly after leaving college +show how intent he had been on making acquaintance with the best +things in literature. He began also to scribble verse, and he wrote +both poems and essays for college <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span>magazines. His class chose him +their poet for Class Day, and he wrote his poem; but he was careless +about conforming to college regulations respecting attendance at +morning prayers; and for this was suspended from college the last term +of his last year, and not allowed to come back to read his poem. "I +have heard in later years," says Dr. Hale, "what I did not know then, +that he rode down from Concord in a canvas-covered wagon, and peeped +out through the chinks of the wagon to see the dancing around the +tree. I fancy he received one or two visits from his friends in the +wagon; but in those times it would have been treason to speak of +this." He was sent to Concord for his rustication, and so passed a few +weeks of his youth amongst scenes dear to every lover of American +letters.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III.</h2> + +<h3>FIRST VENTURE.</h3> + + +<p>After his graduation he set about the study of law, and for a short +time even was a clerk in a counting-room; but his bent was strongly +toward literature. There was at that time no magazine of commanding +importance in America, and young men were given to starting magazines +with enthusiasm and very little other capital. Such a one was the +<i>Boston Miscellany</i>, launched by Nathan Hale, Lowell's college friend, +and for this Lowell wrote gaily. It lived a year, and shortly after +Lowell himself, with Robert Carter, essayed <i>The Pioneer</i> in 1843. It +lived just three months; but in that time printed contributions by +Lowell, Hawthorne, Whittier, Story, Poe, and Dr. Parsons,—a group +which it would be hard to match in any of the little magazines <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span>that +hop across the world's path to-day. Lowell had already collected, in +1841, the poems which he had written and sometimes contributed to +periodicals into a volume entitled <i>A Year's Life</i>; but he retained +very little of the contents in later editions of his poems. The book +has a special interest, however, from its dedication in veiled phrase +to Maria White. He became engaged to this lady in the fall of 1840, +and the next twelve years of his life were profoundly affected by her +influence. Herself a poet of delicate power, she brought into his life +an intelligent sympathy with his work; it was, however, her strong +moral enthusiasm, her lofty conception of purity and justice, which +kindled his spirit and gave force and direction to a character which +was ready to respond, and yet might otherwise have delayed active +expression. They were not married until 1844; but they were not far +apart in their homes, and during these years Lowell was making those +early ventures in literature, and first raids upon political and moral +evil, which foretold the direction of his later work, and gave some +hint of its abundance.</p> + +<p>About the time of his marriage, he published two books which, by their +character, show pretty well the divided interest of his life. His bent +from the beginning was more decidedly literary than that of any +contemporary American poet. That is to say, the history and art of +literature divided his interest with the production of literature, and +he carried the unusual gift of a rare critical power, joined to hearty +spontaneous creation. It may indeed be guessed that the keenness of +judgment and incisiveness of wit which characterize his examination of +literature sometimes interfered with his poetic power, and made him +liable to question his art <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</a></span>when he would rather have expressed it +unchecked. One of the two books was a volume of poems; the other was a +prose work, <i>Conversations on Some of the Old Poets</i>. He did not keep +this book alive; but it is 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 venture. Another series of poems followed in 1848, and +in the same year <i>The Vision of Sir Launfal</i>. Perhaps it was in +reaction from the marked sentiment of his poetry that he issued now a +<i>jeu d'esprit, A Fable for Critics</i>, in which he hit off, with a rough +and ready wit, the characteristics of the writers of the day, not +forgetting himself in these lines:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is Lowell, who's striving Parnassus to climb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a whole bale of <i>isms</i> tied together with rhyme;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He might get on alone, spite of brambles and boulders,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he can't with that bundle he has on his shoulders;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The top of the hill he will ne'er come nigh reaching<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till he learns the distinction 'twixt singing and preaching;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His lyre has some chords that would ring pretty well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he'd rather by half make a drum of the shell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rattle away till he's old as Methusalem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the head of a march to the last new Jerusalem.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>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, <i>The Biglow Papers</i>, 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. Lowell and his wife, who brought a fervid +anti-slavery temper as part of her marriage portion, were both +contributors to the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</a></span><i>Liberty Bell</i>; and Lowell was a frequent +contributor to the <i>Anti-Slavery Standard</i>, and was, indeed, for a +while a corresponding editor. In June, 1846, there appeared one day in +the <i>Boston Courier</i> a letter from Mr. Ezekiel Biglow of Jaalam to the +editor, Hon. Joseph T. Buckingham, inclosing a poem of his son, Mr. +Hosea Biglow. It was no new thing to seek to arrest the public +attention with the vernacular applied to public affairs. Major Jack +Downing and Sam Slick had been notable examples, and they had many +imitators; but the reader who laughed over the racy narrative of the +unlettered Ezekiel, and then took up Hosea's poem and caught the gust +of Yankee wrath and humor blown fresh in his face, knew that he was in +at the appearance of something new in American literature. The force +which Lowell displayed in these satires made his book at once a +powerful ally of an anti-slavery sentiment, which heretofore had been +ridiculed.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV.</h2> + +<h3>VERSE AND PROSE.</h3> + + +<p>A year in Europe, 1851-1852, with his wife, whose health was then +precarious, stimulated his scholarly interests, and gave substance to +his study of Dante and Italian literature. In October, 1853, his wife +died; she had borne him three children: the first-born, Blanche, died +in infancy; the second, Walter, also died young; the third, a +daughter, Mrs. Burnett, survived her parents. In 1855 he was chosen +successor to Longfellow as Smith Professor of the French and Spanish +Languages and Literature, and Professor of Belles Lettres in Harvard +College. He spent two years in Europe in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[xv]</a></span>further preparation for the +duties of his office, and in 1857 was again established in Cambridge, +and installed in his academic chair. He married, also, at this time +Miss Frances Dunlap, of Portland, Maine.</p> + +<p>Lowell was now in his thirty-ninth year. As a scholar, in his +professional work, he had acquired a versatile knowledge of the +Romance languages, and was an adept in old French and Provençal +poetry; he had given a course of twelve lectures on English poetry +before the Lowell Institute in Boston, which had made a strong +impression on the community, and his work on the series of <i>British +Poets</i> in connection with Professor Child, especially his biographical +sketch of Keats, had been recognized as of a high order. In poetry he +had published the volumes already mentioned. In general literature he +had printed in magazines the papers which he afterward collected into +his volume, <i>Fireside Travels</i>. Not long after he entered on his +college duties, <i>The Atlantic Monthly</i> was started, and the editorship +given to him. He held the office for a year or two only; but he +continued to write for the magazine, and in 1862 he was associated +with Mr. Charles Eliot Norton in the conduct of <i>The North American +Review</i>, and continued in this charge for ten years. Much of his prose +was contributed to this periodical. Any one reading the titles of the +papers which comprise the volumes of his prose writings will readily +see how much literature, and especially poetic literature, occupied +his attention. Shakespeare, Dryden, Lessing, Rousseau, Dante, Spenser, +Wordsworth, Milton, Keats, Carlyle, Percival, Thoreau, Swinburne, +Chaucer, Emerson, Pope, Gray,—these are the principal subjects of his +prose, and the range of topics indicates the catholicity of his +taste.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[xvi]</a></span></p> + +<p>In these papers, when studying poetry, he was very alive to the +personality of the poets, and it was the strong interest in humanity +which led Lowell, when he was most diligent in the pursuit of +literature, to apply himself also to history and politics. Several of +his essays bear witness to this, such as <i>Witchcraft, New England Two +Centuries Ago, A Great Public Character</i> (Josiah Quincy), <i>Abraham +Lincoln</i>, and his great <i>Political Essays</i>. But the most remarkable of +his writings of this order was the second series of <i>The Biglow +Papers</i>, published during the war for the Union. In these, 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 satires forbade the fullest expression of his thought +and emotion; 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 the years 1875 +and 1876, he sang in loftier, more ardent strains. The most famous of +these poems was his noble Commemoration Ode.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V.</h2> + +<h3>PUBLIC LIFE.</h3> + + +<p>It was at the close of this period, when he had done incalculable +service to the Republic, that Lowell was called on to represent the +country, first in Madrid, where he was sent in 1877, and then in +London, to which he was transferred in 1880. Eight years were thus +spent by him in the foreign service of the country. He had a good +knowledge of the Spanish language and literature when he went to +Spain; but he at once took pains to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[xvii]</a></span>make his knowledge fuller and his +accent more perfect, so that he could have intimate relations with the +best Spanish men of the time. In England he was at once a most welcome +guest, and was in great demand as a public speaker. No one can read +his dispatches from Madrid and London without being struck by his +sagacity, his readiness in emergencies, his interest in and quick +perception of the political situation in the country where he was +resident, and his unerring knowledge as a man of the world. Above all, +he was through and through an American, true to the principles which +underlie American institutions. His address on <i>Democracy</i>, which he +delivered in England, is one of the great statements of human liberty. +A few years later, after his return to America, he gave another +address to his own countrymen on <i>The Place of the Independent in +Politics</i>. It was a noble defense of his own position, not without a +trace of discouragement at the apparently sluggish movement in +American self-government of recent years, but with that faith in the +substance of his countrymen which gave him the right to use words of +honest warning.</p> + +<p>The public life of Mr. Lowell made him more of a figure before the +world. He received honors from societies and universities; he was +decorated by the highest honors which Harvard could pay officially; +and Oxford and Cambridge, St. Andrews and Edinburgh and Bologna, gave +gowns. He established warm personal relations with Englishmen, and, +after his release from public office, he made several visits to +England. There, too, was buried his wife, who died in 1885. The +closing years of his life in his own country, though touched with +domestic loneliness and diminished by growing physical <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[xviii]</a></span>infirmities +that predicted his death, were rich also with the continued expression +of his large personality. He delivered the public address in +commemoration of the 250th anniversary of the founding of Harvard +University; he gave a course of lectures on the Old English Dramatists +before the Lowell Institute; he collected a volume of his poems; he +wrote and spoke on public affairs; and, the year before his death, +revised, rearranged, and carefully edited a definitive series of his +writings in ten volumes. He died at Elmwood, August 12, 1891. Since +his death three small volumes have been added to his collected +writings, and Mr. Norton has published <i>Letters of James Russell +Lowell</i>, in two volumes.</p> + + + + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="INTRODUCTORY_NOTE" id="INTRODUCTORY_NOTE"></a>INTRODUCTORY NOTE</h2> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<p>Lowell was in his thirtieth year when he wrote and published <i>The +Vision of Sir Launfal</i>. It appeared when he had just dashed off his +<i>Fable for Critics</i>, and when he was in the thick of the anti-slavery +fight, writing poetry and prose for <i>The Anti-Slavery Standard</i>, and +sending out his witty <i>Biglow Papers</i>. He had married four years +before, and was living in the homestead at Elmwood, walking in the +country about, and full of eagerness at the prospect which lay before +him. In a letter to his friend Charles F. Briggs, written in December, +1848, he says: "Last night ... I walked to Watertown over the snow, +with the new moon before me and a sky exactly like that in Page's +evening landscape. Orion was rising behind me, and, as I stood on the +hill just before you enter the village, the stillness of the fields +around me was delicious, broken only by the tinkle of a little brook +which runs too swiftly for Frost to catch it. My picture of the brook +in <i>Sir Launfal</i> was drawn from it. But why do I send you this +description,—like the bones of a chicken I had picked? Simply because +I was so happy as I stood there, and felt so sure of doing something +that would justify my friends. But why do I not say that I have done +something? I believe that I have done better than the world knows yet; +but the past seems so little compared with the future.... I am the +first poet who has endeavored <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>to express the American Idea, and I +shall be popular by and by."</p> + +<p>It is not very likely that Lowell was thinking of <i>Sir Launfal</i> when +he wrote this last sentence, yet it is not straining language too far +to say that when he took up an Arthurian story he had a different +attitude toward the whole cycle of legends from that of Tennyson, who +had lately been reviving the legends for the pleasure of +English-reading people. The exuberance of the poet as he carols of +June in the prelude to Part First is an expression of the joyous +spring which was in the veins of the young American, glad in the sense +of freedom and hope. As Tennyson threw into his retelling of Arthurian +romance a moral sense, so Lowell, also a moralist in his poetic +apprehension, made a parable of his tale, and, in the broadest +interpretation of democracy, sang of the leveling of all ranks in a +common divine humanity. There is a subterranean passage connecting the +<i>Biglow Papers</i> with <i>Sir Launfal</i>; it is the holy zeal which attacks +slavery issuing in this fable of a beautiful charity, Christ in the +guise of a beggar.</p> + +<p>The invention is a very simple one, and appears to have been suggested +by Tennyson's <i>Sir Galahad</i>, though Lowell had no doubt read Sir +Thomas Malory's <i>Morte d'Arthur</i>. The following is the note which +accompanied <i>The Vision</i> when first published in 1848, and retained by +Lowell in all subsequent editions:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"According to the mythology of the Romancers, 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, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>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 enterprise 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. Tennyson has made Sir Galahad the +subject of one of the most exquisite of his poems.</p> + +<p>"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 +miraculous 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 date of King Arthur's +reign." </p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_VISION_OF_SIR_LAUNFAL" id="THE_VISION_OF_SIR_LAUNFAL"></a>THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL</h2> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PRELUDE_TO_PART_FIRST" id="PRELUDE_TO_PART_FIRST"></a>PRELUDE TO PART FIRST.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Over his keys the musing organist,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beginning doubtfully and far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First lets his fingers wander as they list,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And builds a Bridge from Dreamland for his lay:<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">5</span><span class="i0">Then, as the touch of his loved instrument<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Along the wavering vista of his dream.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not only around our infancy<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /></span> +<span class="linenum">10</span><span class="i0">Doth heaven with all its splendors lie;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Daily, with souls that cringe and plot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We Sinais climb and know it not.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Over our manhood bend the skies;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Against our fallen and traitor lives<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">15</span><span class="i0">The great winds utter prophecies:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With our faint hearts the mountain strives;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its arms outstretched, the druid wood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Waits with its benedicite;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to our age's drowsy blood<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">20</span><span class="i2">Still shouts the inspiring sea.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We bargain for the graves we lie in;<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> In allusion to Wordsworth's +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Heaven lies about us in our infancy,"<br /></span> +</div></div> +in his ode, <i>Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early +Childhood</i>.</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">25</span><span class="i0">At the Devil's booth are all things sold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For a cap and bells our lives we pay,<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bubbles we buy with a whole soul's tasking:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'T is heaven alone that is given away,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">30</span><span class="i0">'T is only God may be had for the asking;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No price is set on the lavish summer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">June may be had by the poorest comer.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> In the Middle Ages kings and noblemen had in their courts +jesters to make sport for the company; as everyone 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.</p></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And what is so rare as a day in June?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then, if ever, come perfect days;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">35</span><span class="i0">Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And over it softly her warm ear lays:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whether we look, or whether we listen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Every clod feels a stir of might,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">40</span><span class="i2">An instinct within it that reaches and towers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, groping blindly above it for light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flush of life may well be seen<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thrilling back over hills and valleys;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">45</span><span class="i0">The cowslip startles in meadows green,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To be some happy creature's palace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The little bird sits at his door in the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">50</span><span class="i2">Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lets his illumined being o'errun<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the deluge of summer it receives;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">55</span><span class="i0">He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now is the high-tide of the year,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And whatever of life hath ebbed away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">60</span><span class="i2">Into every bare inlet and creek and bay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We are happy now because God wills it;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No matter how barren the past may have been,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">65</span><span class="i0">We sit in the warm shade and feel right well<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That skies are clear and grass is growing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The breeze comes whispering in our ear,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">70</span><span class="i0">That dandelions are blossoming near,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the river is bluer than the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the robin is plastering his house hard by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if the breeze kept the good news back,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">75</span><span class="i0">For other couriers we should not lack;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hark! how clear bold chanticleer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warmed with the new wine of the year,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tells all in his lusty crowing!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">80</span><span class="i0">Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Everything is happy now,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Everything is upward striving;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'T is as easy now for the heart to be true<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As for grass to be green or skies to be blue,—<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">85</span><span class="i2">'T is the natural way of living:<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Who knows whither the clouds have fled?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the eyes forget the tears they have shed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The heart forgets its sorrow and ache;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">90</span><span class="i0">The soul partakes of the season's youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like burnt-out craters healed with snow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What wonder if Sir Launfal now<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">95</span><span class="i0">Remembered the keeping of his vow?<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PART_FIRST" id="PART_FIRST"></a>PART FIRST.</h2> + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>I.</b></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"My golden spurs now bring to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bring to me my richest mail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For to-morrow I go over land and sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In search of the Holy Grail;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">100</span><span class="i0">Shall never a bed for me be spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor shall a pillow be under my head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till I begin my vow to keep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here on the rushes will I sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And perchance there may come a vision true<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">105</span><span class="i0">Ere day create the world anew."<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Slowly Sir Launfal's eyes grew dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Slumber fell like a cloud on him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And into his soul the vision flew.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>II.</b></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The crows flapped over by twos and threes,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">110</span><span class="i0">In the pool drowsed the cattle up to their knees,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The little birds sang as if it were<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The one day of summer in all the year,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And the very leaves seemed to sing on the trees:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The castle alone in the landscape lay<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">115</span><span class="i0">Like an outpost of winter, dull and gray:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas the proudest hall in the North Countree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And never its gates might opened be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save to lord or lady of high degree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Summer besieged it on every side,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">120</span><span class="i0">But the churlish stone her assaults defied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She could not scale the chilly wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though around it for leagues her pavilions tall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stretched left and right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the hills and out of sight;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">125</span><span class="i2">Green and broad was every tent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And out of each a murmur went<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the breeze fell off at night.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>III.</b></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The drawbridge dropped with a surly clang,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the dark arch a charger sprang,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">130</span><span class="i0">Bearing Sir Launfal, the maiden knight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In his gilded mail, that flamed so bright<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It seemed the dark castle had gathered all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those shafts the fierce sun had shot over its wall<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In his siege of three hundred summers long,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">135</span><span class="i0">And, binding them all in one blazing sheaf,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had cast them forth: so, young and strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lightsome as a locust-leaf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sir Launfal flashed forth in his unscarred mail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To seek in all climes for the Holy Grail.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>IV.</b></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">140</span><span class="i0">It was morning on hill and stream and tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And morning in the young knight's heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only the castle moodily<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Rebuffed the gifts of the sunshine free,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And gloomed by itself apart;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">145</span><span class="i0">The season brimmed all other things up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full as the rain fills the pitcher-plant's cup.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>V.</b></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As Sir Launfal made morn through the darksome gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He was 'ware of a leper, crouched by the same,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who begged with his hand and moaned as he sate;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">150</span><span class="i2">And a loathing over Sir Launfal came;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sunshine went out of his soul with a thrill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The flesh 'neath his armor 'gan shrink and crawl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And midway its leap his heart stood still<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like a frozen waterfall;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">155</span><span class="i0">For this man, so foul and bent of stature,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rasped harshly against his dainty nature,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And seemed the one blot on the summer morn,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So he tossed him a piece of gold in scorn.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>VI.</b></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The leper raised not the gold from the dust:<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">160</span><span class="i0">"Better to me the poor man's crust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Better the blessing of the poor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though I turn me empty from his door;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That is no true alms which the hand can hold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He gives nothing but worthless gold<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">165</span><span class="i2">Who gives from a sense of duty;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he who gives but a slender mite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gives to that which is out of sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That thread of the all-sustaining Beauty<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which runs through all and doth all unite,—<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">170</span><span class="i0">The hand cannot clasp the whole of his alms,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The heart outstretches its eager palms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a god goes with it and makes it store<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the soul that was starving in darkness before."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PRELUDE_TO_PART_SECOND" id="PRELUDE_TO_PART_SECOND"></a>PRELUDE TO PART SECOND.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak,<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a><br /></span> +<span class="linenum">175</span><span class="i2">From the snow five thousand summers old;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On open wold and hill-top bleak<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It had gathered all the cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It carried a shiver everywhere<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">180</span><span class="i0">From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The little brook heard it and built a roof<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Neath which he could house him, winter-proof;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All night by the white stars frosty gleams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He groined his arches and matched his beams;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">185</span><span class="i0">Slender and clear were his crystal spars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the lashes of light that trim the stars;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sculptured every summer delight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In his halls and chambers out of sight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sometimes his tinkling waters slipt<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">190</span><span class="i0">Down through a frost-leaved forest-crypt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long, sparkling aisles of steel-stemmed trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bending to counterfeit a breeze;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sometimes the roof no fretwork knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But silvery mosses that downward grew;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">195</span><span class="i0">Sometimes it was carved in sharp relief<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With quaint arabesques of ice-fern leaf;<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> 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 parts.</p></div> + +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><a name="Sir_Launfal" id="Sir_Launfal"></a> +<img class="img1" src="images/image_03.jpg" width="400" height="589" alt="As Sir Launfal Made Morn Through the Darksome Gate." title="As Sir Launfal Made Morn Through the Darksome Gate." /> +<span class="caption">As Sir Launfal Made Morn Through the Darksome Gate.</span> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sometimes it was simply smooth and clear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the gladness of heaven to shine through, and here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He had caught the nodding bulrush-tops<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">200</span><span class="i0">And hung them thickly with diamond-drops,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That crystalled the beams of moon and sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And made a star of everyone:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No mortal builder's most rare device<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could match this winter-palace of ice;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">205</span><span class="i0">'Twas as if every image that mirrored lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In his depths serene through the summer day,<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each fleeting shadow of earth and sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lest the happy model should be lost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had been mimicked in fairy masonry<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">210</span><span class="i2">By the elfin builders of the frost.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Within the hall are song and laughter,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cheeks of Christmas grow red and jolly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sprouting is every corbel and rafter<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With lightsome green of ivy and holly;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">215</span><span class="i0">Through the deep gulf of the chimney wide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wallows the Yule-log's roaring tide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The broad flame-pennons droop and flap<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And belly and tug as a flag in the wind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a locust shrills the imprisoned sap,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">220</span><span class="i2">Hunted to death in its galleries blind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And swift little troops of silent sparks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now pausing, now scattering away as in fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go threading the soot-forest's tangled darks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like herds of startled deer.<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">225</span><span class="i0">But the wind without was eager and sharp,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Sir Launfal's gray hair it makes a harp,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And rattles and wrings<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The icy strings,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Singing, in dreary monotone,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">230</span><span class="i2">A Christmas carol of its own,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose burden still, as he might guess,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was—"Shelterless, shelterless, shelterless!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The voice of the seneschal flared like a torch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he shouted the wanderer away from the porch,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">235</span><span class="i0">And he sat in the gateway and saw all night<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The great hall-fire, so cheery and bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through the window-slits of the castle old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Build out its piers of ruddy light<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Against the drift of the cold.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> 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 <i>The Task</i>, Book V. lines +131-176.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> The Yule-log was anciently a huge log burned at the feast +of Juul (pronounced Yule) by our Scandinavian ancestors in honor of +the god Thor. Juul-tid (Yule-time) corresponded in time to Christmas +tide, and when Christian festivities took the place of pagan, many +ceremonies remained. The great log, still called the Yule-log, was +dragged in and burned in the fireplace after Thor had been +forgotten.</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PART_SECOND" id="PART_SECOND"></a>PART SECOND.</h2> +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>I.</b></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">240</span><span class="i0">There was never a leaf on bush or tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bare boughs rattled shudderingly;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The river was dumb and could not speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For the weaver Winter its shroud had spun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A single crow on the tree-top bleak<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">245</span><span class="i2">From his shining feathers shed off the cold sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again it was morning, but shrunk and cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if her veins were sapless and old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she rose up decrepitly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a last dim look at earth and sea.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>II.</b></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">250</span><span class="i0">Sir Launfal turned from his own hard gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For another heir in his earldom sate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An old, bent man, worn out and frail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He came back from seeking the Holy Grail;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little he recked of his earldom's loss,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">255</span><span class="i0">No more on his surcoat was blazoned the cross,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But deep in his soul the sign he wore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The badge of the suffering and the poor.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>III.</b></span></p> + + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sir Launfal's raiment thin and spare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was idle mail 'gainst the barbed air,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">260</span><span class="i0">For it was just at the Christmas time;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So he mused, as he sat, of a sunnier clime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sought for a shelter from cold and snow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the light and warmth of long-ago;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sees the snake-like caravan crawl<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">265</span><span class="i0">O'er the edge of the desert, black and small,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then nearer and nearer, till, one by one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He can count the camels in the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As over the red-hot sands they pass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To where, in its slender necklace of grass,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">270</span><span class="i0">The little spring laughed and leapt in the shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with its own self like an infant played,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And waved its signal of palms.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>IV.</b></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"For Christ's sweet sake, I beg an alms;"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The happy camels may reach the spring,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">275</span><span class="i0">But Sir Launfal sees only the grewsome thing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The leper, lank as the rain-blanched bone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That cowers beside him, a thing as lone<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And white as the ice-isles of Northern seas<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the desolate horror of his disease.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>V.</b></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">280</span><span class="i0">And Sir Launfal said,—"I behold in thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An image of Him who died on the tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou also hast had the world's buffets and scorns,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to thy life were not denied<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">285</span><span class="i0">The wounds in the hands and feet and side;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mild Mary's Son, acknowledge me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold, through him, I give to Thee!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>VI.</b></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then the soul of the leper stood up in his eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And looked at Sir Launfal, and straightway he<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">290</span><span class="i0">Remembered in what a haughtier guise<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He had flung an alms to leprosie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he girt his young life up in gilded mail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And set forth in search of the Holy Grail.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heart within him was ashes and dust;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">295</span><span class="i0">He parted in twain his single crust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He broke the ice on the streamlet's brink,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gave the leper to eat and drink:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'T was a mouldy crust of coarse brown bread,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'T was water out of a wooden bowl,—<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">300</span><span class="i0">Yet with fine wheaten bread was the leper fed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And 't was red wine he drank with his thirsty soul.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><a name="He_Mused" id="He_Mused"></a> +<img class="img1" src="images/image_04.jpg" width="400" height="626" alt="So he Mused, as he sat, of a sunnier clime." title="So he Mused, as he sat, of a sunnier clime." /> +<span class="caption">So he Mused, as he sat, of a sunnier clime.</span> +</div> + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>VII.</b></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A light shone round about the place;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The leper no longer crouched at his side,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +<span class="linenum">305</span><span class="i0">But stood before him glorified,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shining and tall and fair and straight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Himself the Gate whereby men can<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enter the temple of God in Man.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>VIII.</b></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">310</span><span class="i0">His words were shed softer than leaves from the pine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That mingle their softness and quiet in one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the shaggy unrest they float down upon;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the voice that was calmer than silence said,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">315</span><span class="i0">"Lo it is I, be not afraid!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In many climes, without avail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold, it is here,—this cup which thou<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Didst fill at the streamlet for Me but now;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">320</span><span class="i0">This crust is My body broken for thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This water His blood that died on the tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Holy Supper is kept, indeed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In whatso we share with another's need:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not what we give, but what we share,—<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">325</span><span class="i0">For the gift without the giver is bare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who gives himself with his alms feeds three,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>IX.</b></span></p> + + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sir Launfal awoke as from a swound:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The Grail in my castle here is found!<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">330</span><span class="i0">Hang my idle armor up on the wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let it be the spider's banquet-hall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He must be fenced with stronger mail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who would seek and find the Holy Grail."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>X.</b></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The castle gate stands open now,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">335</span><span class="i2">And the wanderer is welcome to the hall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the hangbird is to the elm-tree bough;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No longer scowl the turrets tall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Summer's long siege at last is o'er;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the first poor outcast went in at the door,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">340</span><span class="i0">She entered with him in disguise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mastered the fortress by surprise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is no spot she loves so well on ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She lingers and smiles there the whole year round;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The meanest serf on Sir Launfal's land<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">345</span><span class="i0">Has hall and bower at his command;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there's no poor man in the North Countree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But is lord of the earldom as much as he.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ODE_RECITED_AT_THE_HARVARD_COMMEMORATION" id="ODE_RECITED_AT_THE_HARVARD_COMMEMORATION"></a>ODE RECITED AT THE HARVARD COMMEMORATION.</h2> + +<p>[On the 21st of July, 1865, Harvard University welcomed back those of +its students and graduates who had fought in the war for the Union. By +exercises in the church and at the festival which followed, the +services of the dead and the living were commemorated. It was on this +occasion that Mr. Lowell recited the following ode.]</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>I.</b></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Weak-winged is song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor aims at that clear-ethered height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whither the brave deed climbs for light:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We seem to do them wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">5</span><span class="i0">Bringing our robin's-leaf to deck their hearse<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Who in warm life-blood wrote their nobler verse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our trivial song to honor those who come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With ears attuned to strenuous trump and drum,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shaped in squadron-strophes their desire,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">10</span><span class="i0">Live battle-odes whose lines were steel and fire:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet sometimes feathered words are strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A gracious memory to buoy up and save<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Lethe's dreamless ooze, the common grave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the unventurous throng.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>II.</b></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">15</span><span class="i0">To-day our Reverend Mother welcomes back<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her wisest Scholars, those who understood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deeper teaching of her mystic tome,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And offered their fresh lives to make it good:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">No lore of Greece or Rome,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">20</span><span class="i0">No science peddling with the names of things,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or reading stars to find inglorious fates,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Can lift our life with wings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far from Death's idle gulf that for the many waits,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And lengthen out our dates<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">25</span><span class="i0">With that clear fame whose memory sings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In manly hearts to come, and nerves them and dilates:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor such thy teaching, Mother of us all!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Not such the trumpet-call<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of thy diviner mood,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">30</span><span class="i4">That could thy sons entice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From happy homes and toils, the fruitful nest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of those half-virtues which the world calls best,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Into War's tumult rude;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But rather far that stern device<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">35</span><span class="i0">The sponsors chose that round thy cradle stood<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In the dim, unventured wood,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +<span class="i4">The <span class="smcap">Veritas</span> that lurks beneath<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i4">The letter's unprolific sheath,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Life of whate'er makes life worth living,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">40</span><span class="i0">Seed-grain of high emprise, immortal food,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One heavenly thing whereof earth hath the giving.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>III.</b></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Many loved Truth, and lavished life's best oil<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Amid the dust of books to find her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Content at last, for guerdon of their toil,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">45</span><span class="i2">With the cast mantle she hath left behind her.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Many in sad faith sought for her,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Many with crossed hands sighed for her;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But these, our brothers, fought for her,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">At life's dear peril wrought for her,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">50</span><span class="i3">So loved her that they died for her,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Tasting the raptured fleetness<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of her divine completeness<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Their higher instinct knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those love her best who to themselves are true,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">55</span><span class="i0">And what they dare to dream of, dare to do;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">They followed her and found her<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Where all may hope to find,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not in the ashes of the burnt-out mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But beautiful, with danger's sweetness round her.<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">60</span><span class="i2">Where faith made whole with deed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Breathes its awakening breath<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Into the lifeless creed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They saw her plumed and mailed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With sweet, stern face unveiled,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">65</span><span class="i0">And all-repaying eyes, look proud on them in death.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> An early emblem of Harvard College was a shield with +Veritas (truth) upon three open books. This device is still used.</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> + + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>IV.</b></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our slender life runs rippling by, and glides<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Into the silent hollow of the past;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">What is there that abides<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To make the next age better for the last?<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">70</span><span class="i4">Is earth too poor to give us<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Something to live for here that shall outlive us?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Some more substantial boon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than such as flows and ebbs with Fortune's fickle moon?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The little that we see<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">75</span><span class="i4">From doubt is never free;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The little that we do<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is but half-nobly true;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With our laborious hiving<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What men call treasure, and the gods call dross,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">80</span><span class="i2">Life seems a jest of Fate's contriving,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Only secure in everyone's conniving,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A long account of nothings paid with loss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where we poor puppets, jerked by unseen wires,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">After our little hour of strut and rave,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">85</span><span class="i0">With all our pasteboard passions and desires,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loves, hates, ambitions, and immortal fires,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are tossed pell-mell together in the grave.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But stay! no age was e'er degenerate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unless men held it at too cheap a rate,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">90</span><span class="i2">For in our likeness still we shape our fate.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ah, there is something here<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unfathomed by the cynic's sneer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Something that gives our feeble light<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A high immunity from Night,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">95</span><span class="i2">Something that leaps life's narrow bars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To claim its birthright with the hosts of heaven;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +<span class="i2">A seed of sunshine that doth leaven<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our earthly dulness with the beams of stars,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And glorify our clay<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">100</span><span class="i0">With light from fountains elder than the Day;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A conscience more divine than we,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A gladness fed with secret tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A vexing, forward-reaching sense<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of some more noble permanence;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">105</span><span class="i4">A light across the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which haunts the soul and will not let it be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still glimmering from the heights of undegenerate years.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>V.</b></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Whither leads the path<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To ampler fates that leads?<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">110</span><span class="i3">Not down through flowery meads,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To reap an aftermath<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of youth's vainglorious weeds;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But up the steep, amid the wrath<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And shock of deadly-hostile creeds,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">115</span><span class="i2">Where the world's best hope and stay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By battle's flashes gropes a desperate way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every turf the fierce foot clings to bleeds.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Peace hath her not ignoble wreath,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Ere yet the sharp, decisive word<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">120</span><span class="i0">Light the black lips of cannon, and the sword<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Dreams in its easeful sheath;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But some day the live coal behind the thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Whether from Baal's stone obscene,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Or from the shrine serene<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">125</span><span class="i3">Of God's pure altar brought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bursts up in flame; the war of tongue and pen<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Learns with what deadly purpose it was fraught,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, helpless in the fiery passion caught,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shakes all the pillared state with shock of men:<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">130</span><span class="i0">Some day the soft Ideal that we wooed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Confronts us fiercely, foe-beset, pursued,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cries reproachful: "Was it, then, my praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And not myself was loved? Prove now thy truth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I claim of thee the promise of thy youth;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">135</span><span class="i0">Give me thy life, or cower in empty phrase,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The victim of thy genius, not its mate!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Life may be given in many ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And loyalty to Truth be sealed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As bravely in the closet as the field,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">140</span><span class="i3">So bountiful is Fate;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But then to stand beside her,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When craven churls deride her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To front a lie in arms and not to yield,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">This shows, methinks, God's plan<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">145</span><span class="i3">And measure of a stalwart man,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Limbed like the old heroic breeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who stands self-poised on manhood's solid earth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not forced to frame excuses for his birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fed from within with all the strength he needs.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>VI.</b></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">150</span><span class="i0">Such was he, our Martyr-Chief,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whom late the Nation he had led,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With ashes on her head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wept with the passion of an angry grief:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forgive me, if from present things I turn<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">155</span><span class="i0">To speak what in my heart will beat and burn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hang my wreath on his world-honored urn.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Nature, they say, doth dote,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +<span class="i3">And cannot make a man<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Save on some worn-out plan,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">160</span><span class="i3">Repeating us by rote:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For him her Old-World moulds aside she threw,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, choosing sweet clay from the breast<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of the unexhausted West,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With stuff untainted shaped a hero new,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">165</span><span class="i0">Wise, steadfast in the strength of God, and true.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">How beautiful to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more a shepherd of mankind indeed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who loved his charge, but never loved to lead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One whose meek flock the people joyed to be,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">170</span><span class="i2">Not lured by any cheat of birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But by his clear-grained human worth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And brave old wisdom of sincerity!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They knew that outward grace is dust;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They could not choose but trust<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">175</span><span class="i0">In that sure-footed mind's unfaltering skill,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And supple-tempered will<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bent like perfect steel to spring again and thrust.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His was no lonely mountain-peak of mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thrusting to thin air o'er our cloudy bars,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">180</span><span class="i2">A sea-mark now, now lost in vapors blind;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Broad prairie rather, genial, level-lined,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fruitful and friendly for all human-kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet also nigh to heaven and loved of loftiest stars.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Nothing of Europe here,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">185</span><span class="i0">Or, then, of Europe fronting mornward still,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Ere any names of Serf and Peer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Could Nature's equal scheme deface<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And thwart her genial will;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Here was a type of the true elder race,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">190</span><span class="i0">And one of Plutarch's men talked with us face to face.<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>I praise him not; it were too late;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And some innative weakness there must be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In him who condescends to victory<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such as the Present gives, and cannot wait,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">195</span><span class="i1">Safe in himself as in a fate.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">So always firmly he:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He knew to bide his time,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And can his fame abide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still patient in his simple faith sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">200</span><span class="i3">Till the wise years decide.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Great captains, with their guns and drums,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Disturb our judgment for the hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But at last silence comes;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">These all are gone, and, standing like a tower,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">205</span><span class="i1">Our children shall behold his fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">New birth of our new soil, the first American.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>VII.</b></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Long as man's hope insatiate can discern<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">210</span><span class="i4">Or only guess some more inspiring goal<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Outside of Self, enduring as the pole,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Along whose course the flying axles burn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of spirits bravely-pitched, earth's manlier brood;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Long as below we cannot find<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">215</span><span class="i2">The meed that stills the inexorable mind;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So long this faith to some ideal Good,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under whatever mortal name it masks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Freedom, Law, Country, this ethereal mood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thanks the Fates for their severer tasks,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">220</span><span class="i2">Feeling its challenged pulses leap,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While others skulk in subterfuges cheap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, set in Danger's van, has all the boon it asks,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Shall win man's praise and woman's love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall be a wisdom that we set above<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">225</span><span class="i0">All other skills and gifts to culture dear,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">A virtue round whose forehead we enwreathe<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Laurels that with a living passion breathe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When other crowns grow, while we twine them, sear.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What brings us thronging these high rites to pay,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">230</span><span class="i0">And seal these hours the noblest of our year,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Save that our brothers found this better way?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>VIII.</b></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">We sit here in the Promised Land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That flows with Freedom's honey and milk;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But 't was they won it, sword in hand,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">235</span><span class="i0">Making the nettle danger soft for us as silk.<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">We welcome back our bravest and our best;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah me! not all! some come not with the rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who went forth brave and bright as any here!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I strive to mix some gladness with my strain,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">240</span><span class="i3">But the sad strings complain,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And will not please the ear:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sweep them for a pæan, but they wane<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Again and yet again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into a dirge, and die away in pain.<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">245</span><span class="i0">In these brave ranks I only see the gaps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thinking of dear ones whom the dumb turf wraps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark to the triumph which they died to gain:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fitlier may others greet the living,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For me the past is unforgiving;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">250</span><span class="i3">I with uncovered head<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Salute the sacred dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who went, and who return not.—Say not so!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis not the grapes of Canaan that repay,<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the high faith that failed not by the way;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">255</span><span class="i0">Virtue treads paths that end not in the grave;<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">No bar of endless night exiles the brave;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And to the saner mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We rather seem the dead that stayed behind.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blow, trumpets, all your exultations blow!<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">260</span><span class="i0">For never shall their aureoled presence lack:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see them muster in a gleaming row,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With ever-youthful brows that nobler show;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We find in our dull road their shining track;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In every nobler mood<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">265</span><span class="i0">We feel the orient of their spirit glow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Part of our life's unalterable good,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all our saintlier aspiration;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">They come transfigured back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Secure from change in their high-hearted ways,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">270</span><span class="i0">Beautiful evermore, and with the rays<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of morn on their white Shields of Expectation!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> See Shakespeare, <i>King Henry IV. Pt. I</i> Act II Sc. 3. "Out +of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety."</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> See the <i>Book of Numbers</i>, chapter xiii.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Compare Gray's line in <i>Elegy in a Country Churchyard</i>. +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The paths of glory lead but to the grave."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>IX.</b></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">But is there hope to save<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even this ethereal essence from the grave?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What ever 'scaped Oblivion's subtle wrong<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">275</span><span class="i0">Save a few clarion names, or golden threads of song<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Before my musing eye<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The mighty ones of old sweep by,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Disvoicéd now and insubstantial things,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As noisy once as we; poor ghosts of kings,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">280</span><span class="i2">Shadows of empire wholly gone to dust,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +<span class="i2">And many races, nameless long ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To darkness driven by that imperious gust<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of ever-rushing Time that here doth blow:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O visionary world, condition strange,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">285</span><span class="i2">Where naught abiding is but only Change,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the deep-bolted stars themselves still shift and range!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall we to more continuance make pretence?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Renown builds tombs; a life-estate is Wit;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And, bit by bit,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">290</span><span class="i0">The cunning years steal all from us but woe:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Leaves are we, whose decays no harvest sow.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But, when we vanish hence,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall they lie forceless in the dark below,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Save to make green their little length of sods,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">295</span><span class="i2">Or deepen pansies for a year or two,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who now to us are shining-sweet as gods?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was dying all they had the skill to do?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That were not fruitless: but the Soul resents<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such short-lived service, as if blind events<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">300</span><span class="i2">Ruled without her, or earth could so endure;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She claims a more divine investiture<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of longer tenure than Fame's airy rents;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whate'er she touches doth her nature share;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her inspiration haunts the ennobled air,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Gives eyes to mountains blind,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">305</span><span class="i2">Ears to the deaf earth, voices to the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And her clear trump sings succor everywhere<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By lonely bivouacs to the wakeful mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For soul inherits all that soul could dare:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Yea, Manhood hath a wider span<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">310</span><span class="i2">And larger privilege of life than man.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The single deed, the private sacrifice,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +<span class="i2">So radiant now through proudly-hidden tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is covered up ere long from mortal eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With thoughtless drift of the deciduous years;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">315</span><span class="i2">But that high privilege that makes all men peers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That leap of heart whereby a people rise<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Up to a noble anger's height,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, flamed on by the Fates, not shrink, but grow more bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That swift validity in noble veins,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">320</span><span class="i4">Of choosing danger and disdaining shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Of being set on flame<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By the pure fire that flies all contact base,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But wraps its chosen with angelic might,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">These are imperishable gains,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">325</span><span class="i2">Sure as the sun, medicinal as light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These hold great futures in their lusty reins<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And certify to earth a new imperial race.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>X.</b></span></p> + + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">Who now shall sneer?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who dare again to say we trace<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">330</span><span class="i3">Our lines to a plebeian race?<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Roundhead and Cavalier!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dumb are those names erewhile in battle loud;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dream-footed as the shadow of a cloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">They flit across the ear:<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">335</span><span class="i0">That is best blood that hath most iron in 't.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To edge resolve with, pouring without stint<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For what makes manhood dear.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Tell us not of Plantagenets,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hapsburgs, and Guelfs, whose thin bloods crawl<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">340</span><span class="i0">Down from some victor in a border-brawl!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">How poor their outworn coronets,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Matched with one leaf of that plain civic wreath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our brave for honor's blazon shall bequeath,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through whose desert a rescued Nation sets<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">345</span><span class="i0">Her heel on treason, and the trumpet hears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shout victory, tingling Europe's sullen ears<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With vain resentments and more vain regrets!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>XI.</b></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Not in anger, not in pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Pure from passion's mixture rude,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">350</span><span class="i4">Ever to base earth allied,</span><br /> +<span class="i4">But with far-heard gratitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Still with heart and voice renewed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To heroes living and dear martyrs dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The strain should close that consecrates our brave.<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">355</span><span class="i2">Lift the heart and lift the head!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Lofty be its mood and grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Not without a martial ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Not without a prouder tread<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And a peal of exultation:<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">360</span><span class="i4">Little right has he to sing<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Through whose heart in such an hour<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Beats no march of conscious power,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sweeps no tumult of elation!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">'Tis no Man we celebrate,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">365</span><span class="i4">By his country's victories great,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A hero half, and half the whim of Fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But the pith and marrow of a Nation<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Drawing force from all her men,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Highest, humblest, weakest, all,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">370</span><span class="i4">For her time of need, and then<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Pulsing it again through them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the basest can no longer cower,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Feeling his soul spring up divinely tall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Touched but in passing by her mantle-hem.<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">375</span><span class="i0">Come back, then, noble pride, for 'tis her dower!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">How could poet ever tower,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">If his passions, hopes, and fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">If his triumphs and his tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Kept not measure with his people?<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">380</span><span class="i0">Boom, cannon, boom to all the winds and waves!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clash out, glad bells, from every rocking steeple!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Banners, adance with triumph, bend your staves!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And from every mountain-peak<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let beacon-fire to answering beacon speak,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">385</span><span class="i2">Katahdin tell Monadnock, Whiteface he,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And so leap on in light from sea to sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Till the glad news be sent<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Across a kindling continent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making earth feel more firm and air breathe braver:<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">390</span><span class="i0">"Be proud! for she is saved, and all have helped to save her!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She that lifts up the manhood of the poor,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She of the open soul and open door,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With room about her hearth for all mankind!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fire is dreadful in her eyes no more;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">395</span><span class="i2">From her bold front the helm she doth unbind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sends all her handmaid armies back to spin,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bids her navies, that so lately hurled<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their crashing battle, hold their thunders in,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swimming like birds of calm along the unharmful shore.<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">400</span><span class="i2">No challenge sends she to the elder world,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That looked askance and hated; a light scorn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Plays o'er her mouth, as round her mighty knees<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>She calls her children back, and waits the morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of nobler day, enthroned between her subject seas."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span style="margin-left:12em; "><b>XII.</b></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">405</span><span class="i0">Bow down, dear Land, for thou hast found release!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy God, in these distempered days,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hath taught thee the sure wisdom of His ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through thine enemies hath wrought thy peace!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Bow down in prayer and praise!<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">410</span><span class="i0">No poorest in thy borders but may now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lift to the juster skies a man's enfranchised brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Beautiful! my Country! ours once more!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smoothing thy gold of war-dishevelled hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er such sweet brows as never other wore,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">415</span><span class="i2">And letting thy set lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Freed from wrath's pale eclipse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rosy edges of their smile lay bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What words divine of lover or of poet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could tell our love and make thee know it,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">420</span><span class="i0">Among the Nations bright beyond compare?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What were our lives without thee?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What all our lives to save thee?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We reck not what we gave thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We will not dare to doubt thee,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">425</span><span class="i0">But ask whatever else, and we will dare!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter"><a name="The_Seal" id="The_Seal"></a><img class="img1" src="images/image_07.jpg" alt="The Seal of Harvard University" width="150" height="148" /> +<span class="caption"><br />The Seal of Harvard University</span></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ON_BOARD_THE_76" id="ON_BOARD_THE_76"></a>ON BOARD THE '76.</h2> + +<h3>WRITTEN FOR MR. BRYANT'S SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY.</h3> + +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">November 3, 1864.</span></p> + + +<p>[After the disastrous battle of Bull Run, Congress authorized the +creation of an army of 500,000, and the expenditure of $500,000,000. +The affair of the Trent had partially indicated the temper of the +English government, and the people of the United States were +thoroughly roused to a sense of the great task which lay before them. +Mr. Bryant, at this time, not only gave strong support to the Union +through his paper <i>The Evening Post</i> of New York, but wrote two lyrics +which had a profound effect. One of these, entitled <i>Not Yet</i>, was +addressed to those of the Old World who were secretly or openly +desiring the downfall of the republic. The other, <i>Our Country's +Call</i>, was a thrilling appeal for recruits. It is to this time and +these two poems that Mr. Lowell refers in the lines that follow.]</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our ship lay tumbling in an angry sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her rudder gone, her mainmast o'er the side;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her scuppers, from the waves' clutch staggering free,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Trailed threads of priceless crimson through the tide;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">5</span><span class="i0">Sails, shrouds, and spars with pirate cannon torn,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">We lay, awaiting morn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Awaiting morn, such morn as mocks despair;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And she that bare the promise of the world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within her sides, now hopeless, helmless, bare,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">10</span><span class="i2">At random o'er the wildering waters hurled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The reek of battle drifting slow alee<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +<span class="i4">Not sullener than we.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Morn came at last to peer into our woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When lo, a sail! Now surely help was nigh;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">15</span><span class="i0">The red cross flames aloft, Christ's pledge; but no,<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her black guns grinning hate, she rushes by<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hails us:—"Gains the leak! Ay, so we thought!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sink, then, with curses fraught!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I leaned against my gun still angry-hot,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">20</span><span class="i2">And my lids tingled with the tears held back;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This scorn methought was crueller than shot:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The manly death-grip in the battle-wrack,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yard-arm to yard-arm, were more friendly far<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Than such fear-smothered war.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">25</span><span class="i0">There our foe wallowed, like a wounded brute<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fiercer for his hurt. What now were best?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more tug bravely at the peril's root,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though death came with it? Or evade the test<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If right or wrong in this God's world of ours<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">30</span><span class="i4">Be leagued with higher powers?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Some, faintly loyal, felt their pulses lag<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the slow beat that doubts and then despairs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some, caitiff, would have struck the starry flag<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That knits us with our past, and makes us heirs<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">35</span><span class="i0">Of deeds high-hearted as were ever done<br /></span> +<span class="i4">'Neath the all-seeing sun.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> The red cross is the British flag.</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But there was one, the Singer of our crew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon whose head Age waved his peaceful sign,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But whose red heart's-blood no surrender knew;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">40</span><span class="i2">And couchant under brows of massive line,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The eyes, like guns beneath a parapet,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Watched, charged with lightnings yet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The voices of the hills did his obey;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The torrents flashed and tumbled in his song;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">45</span><span class="i0">He brought our native fields from far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or set us 'mid the innumerable throng<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of dateless woods, or where we heard the calm<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old homestead's evening psalm.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But now he sang of faith to things unseen,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">50</span><span class="i2">Of freedom's birthright given to us in trust;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And words of doughty cheer he spoke between,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That made all earthly fortune seem as dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Matched with that duty, old as Time and new,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of being brave and true.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">55</span><span class="i0">We, listening, learned what makes the might of words,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Manhood to back them, constant as a star;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His voice rammed home our cannon, edged our swords,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sent our boarders shouting; shroud and spar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard him and stiffened; the sails heard, and wooed<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">60</span><span class="i4">The winds with loftier mood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In our dark hours he manned our guns again;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Remanned ourselves from his own manhood's stores;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pride, honor, country, throbbed through all his strain:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And shall we praise? God's praise was his before;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +<span class="linenum">65</span><span class="i0">And on our futile laurels he looks down,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Himself our bravest crown.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="AN_INDIAN-SUMMER_REVERIE" id="AN_INDIAN-SUMMER_REVERIE"></a>AN INDIAN-SUMMER REVERIE.</h2> + +<p>[When Mr. Lowell wrote this poem he was living at Elmwood in +Cambridge, at that time quite remote from town influences,—Cambridge +itself being scarcely more than a village,—but now rapidly losing its +rustic surroundings. The Charles River flowed near by, then a limpid +stream, untroubled by factories or sewage. It is a tidal river and not +far from Elmwood winds through broad salt marshes. Mr. Longfellow's +old home is a short stroll nearer town, and the two poets exchanged +pleasant shots, as may be seen by Lowell's <i>To H.W.L.</i>, and +Longfellow's <i>The Herons of Elmwood</i>. In <i>Under the Willows</i> Mr. +Lowell has, as it were, indulged in another reverie at a later period +of his life, among the same familiar surroundings.]</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">What visionary tints the year puts on,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When falling leaves falter through motionless air<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or numbly cling and shiver to be gone!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How shimmer the low flats and pastures bare,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">5</span><span class="i4">As with her nectar Hebe Autumn fills<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The bowl between me and those distant hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And smiles and shakes abroad her misty, tremulous hair!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">No more the landscape holds its wealth apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making me poorer in my poverty,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">10</span><span class="i4">But mingles with my senses and my heart;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +<span class="i2">My own projected spirit seems to me<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In her own reverie the world to steep;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">'Tis she that waves to sympathetic sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moving, as she is moved, each field and hill and tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">15</span><span class="i4">How fuse and mix, with what unfelt degrees,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Clasped by the faint horizon's languid arms,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Each into each, the hazy distances!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The softened season all the landscape charms;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Those hills, my native village that embay,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">20</span><span class="i4">In waves of dreamier purple roll away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And floating in mirage seem all the glimmering farms.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Far distant sounds the hidden chickadee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Close at my side; far distant sound the leaves;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The fields seem fields of dream, where Memory<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">25</span><span class="i2">Wanders like gleaning Ruth; and as the sheaves<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of wheat and barley wavered in the eye<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of Boaz as the maiden's glow went by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So tremble and seem remote all things the sense receives.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">The cock's shrill trump that tells of scattered corn,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">30</span><span class="i2">Passed breezily on by all his flapping mates,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Faint and more faint, from barn to barn is borne,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Southward, perhaps to far Magellan's Straits;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Dimly I catch the throb of distant flails;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">34</span><span class="i4">Silently overhead the hen-hawk sails,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With watchful, measuring eye, and for his quarry waits.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">The sobered robin, hunger-silent now,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seeks cedar-berries blue, his autumn cheer;<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>The squirrel, on the shingly shagbark's bough,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now saws, now lists with downward eye and ear,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">40</span><span class="i4">Then drops his nut, and, with a chipping bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Whisks to his winding fastness underground;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The clouds like swans drift down the streaming atmosphere.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">O'er yon bare knoll the pointed cedar shadows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Drowse on the crisp, gray moss; the ploughman's call<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">45</span><span class="i4">Creeps faint as smoke from black, fresh-furrowed meadows;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The single crow a single caw lets fall;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And all around me every bush and tree<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Says Autumn's here, and Winter soon will be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who snows his soft, white sleep and silence over all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">50</span><span class="i4">The birch, most shy and ladylike of trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her poverty, as best she may, retrieves,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And hints at her foregone gentilities<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With some saved relics of her wealth of leaves;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The swamp-oak, with his royal purple on,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">55</span><span class="i4">Glares red as blood across the sinking sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As one who proudlier to a falling fortune cleaves.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">He looks a sachem, in red blanket wrapt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who, 'mid some council of the sad-garbed whites,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Erect and stern, in his own memories lapt,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">60</span><span class="i2">With distant eye broods over other sights,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sees the hushed wood the city's flare replace,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The wounded turf heal o'er the railway's trace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And roams the savage Past of his undwindled rights.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +<span class="i4">The red-oak, softer-grained, yields all for lost,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">65</span><span class="i2">And, with his crumpled foliage stiff and dry,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">After the first betrayal of the frost,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rebuffs the kiss of the relenting sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The chestnuts, lavish of their long-hid gold,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">69</span><span class="i4">To the faint Summer, beggared now and old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pour back the sunshine hoarded 'neath her favoring eye.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">The ash her purple drops forgivingly<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sadly, breaking not the general hush;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The maple-swamps glow like a sunset sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Each leaf a ripple with its separate flush;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">75</span><span class="i4">All round the wood's edge creeps the skirting blaze<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of bushes low, as when, on cloudy days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere the rain falls, the cautious farmer burns his brush.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">O'er yon low wall, which guards one unkempt zone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where vines and weeds and scrub-oaks intertwine<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">80</span><span class="i4">Safe from the plough, whose rough, discordant stone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is massed to one soft gray by lichens fine,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The tangled blackberry, crossed and recrossed, weaves<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A prickly network of ensanguined leaves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hard by, with coral beads, the prim black-alders shine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">85</span><span class="i4">Pillaring with flame this crumbling boundary,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose loose blocks topple 'neath the ploughboy's foot,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Who, with each sense shut fast except the eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Creeps close and scares the jay he hoped to shoot,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The woodbine up the elm's straight stem aspires,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">90</span><span class="i4">Coiling it, harmless, with autumnal fires;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +<span class="i0">In the ivy's paler blaze the martyr oak stands mute.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Below, the Charles—a stripe of nether sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now hid by rounded apple-trees between,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Whose gaps the misplaced sail sweeps bellying by,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">95</span><span class="i2">Now flickering golden through a woodland screen,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Then spreading out, at his next turn beyond,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A silver circle like an inland pond—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slips seaward silently through marshes purple and green.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Dear marshes! vain to him the gift of sight<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">100</span><span class="i2">Who cannot in their various incomes share,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From every season drawn, of shade and light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who sees in them but levels brown and bare;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Each change of storm or sunshine scatters free<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">104</span><span class="i4">On them its largess of variety,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Nature with cheap means still works her wonders rare.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">In Spring they lie one broad expanse of green,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er which the light winds run with glimmering feet:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Here, yellower stripes track out the creek unseen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There, darker growths o'er hidden ditches meet;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">110</span><span class="i4">And purpler stains show where the blossoms crowd,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As if the silent shadow of a cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung there becalmed, with the next breath to fleet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">All round, upon the river's slippery edge,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Witching to deeper calm the drowsy tide,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">115</span><span class="i4">Whispers and leans the breeze-entangling sedge;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through emerald glooms the lingering waters slide,<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>Or, sometimes wavering, throw back the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And the stiff banks in eddies melt and run<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of dimpling light, and with the current seem to glide.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">120</span><span class="i4">In Summer 'tis a blithesome sight to see,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As, step by step, with measured swing, they pass,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The wide-ranked mowers wading to the knee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their sharp scythes panting through the thick-set grass;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Then, stretched beneath a rick's shade in a ring,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">125</span><span class="i4">Their nooning take, while one begins to sing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A stave that droops and dies 'neath the close sky of brass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Meanwhile that devil-may-care, the bobolink,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Remembering duty, in mid-quaver stops<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Just ere he sweeps o'er rapture's tremulous brink,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">130</span><span class="i2">And 'twixt the winrows most demurely drops,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A decorous bird of business, who provides<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For his brown mate and fledglings six besides,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And looks from right to left, a farmer 'mid his crops.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Another change subdues them in the Fall,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">135</span><span class="i2">But saddens not; they still show merrier tints,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Though sober russet seems to cover all;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the first sunshine through their dewdrops glints.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Look how the yellow clearness, streamed across,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">139</span><span class="i4">Redeems with rarer hues the season's loss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As Dawn's feet there had touched and left their rosy prints.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Or come when sunset gives its freshened zest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lean o'er the bridge and let the ruddy thrill,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">While the shorn sun swells down the hazy west,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>Glow opposite;—the marshes drink their fill<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">145</span><span class="i4">And swoon with purple veins, then slowly fade<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Through pink to brown, as eastward moves the shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lengthening with stealthy creep, of Simond's darkening hill.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Later, and yet ere Winter wholly shuts,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ere through the first dry snow the runner grates,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">150</span><span class="i4">And the loath cart-wheel screams in slippery ruts,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While firmer ice the eager boy awaits,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Trying each buckle and strap beside the fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And until bedtime plays with his desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Twenty times putting on and off his new-bought skates;—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">155</span><span class="i4">Then, every morn, the river's banks shine bright<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With smooth plate-armor, treacherous and frail,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By the frost's clinking hammers forged at night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Gainst which the lances of the sun prevail,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Giving a pretty emblem of the day<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">160</span><span class="i4">When guiltier arms in light shall melt away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And states shall move free-limbed, loosed from war's cramping mail.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">And now those waterfalls the ebbing river<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Twice every day creates on either side<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Tinkle, as through their fresh-sparred grots they shiver<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">165</span><span class="i2">In grass-arched channels to the sun denied;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">High flaps in sparkling blue the far-heard crow,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The silvered flats gleam frostily below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Suddenly drops the gull and breaks the glassy tide.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +<span class="i4">But crowned in turn by vying seasons three,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">170</span><span class="i2">Their winter halo hath a fuller ring;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">This glory seems to rest immovably,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The others were too fleet and vanishing;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When the hid tide is at its highest flow,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">174</span><span class="i4">O'er marsh and stream one breathless trance of snow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With brooding fulness awes and hushes everything.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">The sunshine seems blown off by the bleak wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As pale as formal candles lit by day;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Gropes to the sea the river dumb and blind;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The brown ricks, snow-thatched by the storm in play,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">180</span><span class="i4">Show pearly breakers combing o'er their lee,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">White crests as of some just enchanted sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Checked in their maddest leap and hanging poised midway.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">But when the eastern blow, with rain aslant,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From mid-sea's prairies green and rolling plains<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">185</span><span class="i4">Drives in his wallowing herds of billows gaunt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the roused Charles remembers in his veins<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Ocean's blood and snaps his gyves of frost,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That tyrannous silence on the shores is tost<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In dreary wreck, and crumbling desolation reigns.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">190</span><span class="i4">Edgewise or flat, in Druid-like device,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With leaden pools between or gullies bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The blocks lie strewn, a bleak Stonehenge of ice;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No life, no sound, to break the grim despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Save sullen plunge, as through the sedges stiff<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">195</span><span class="i4">Down crackles riverward some thaw-sapped cliff,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or when the close-wedged fields of ice crunch here and there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +<span class="i4">But let me turn from fancy-pictured scenes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To that whose pastoral calm before me lies:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Here nothing harsh or rugged intervenes;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">200</span><span class="i2">The early evening with her misty dyes<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Smooths off the ravelled edges of the nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Relieves the distant with her cooler sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tones the landscape down, and soothes the wearied eyes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">There gleams my native village, dear to me,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">205</span><span class="i2">Though higher change's waves each day are seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Whelming fields famed in boyhood's history,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sanding with houses the diminished green;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">There, in red brick, which softening time defies,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">209</span><span class="i4">Stand square and stiff the Muses' factories;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How with my life knit up is every well-known scene!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Flow on, dear river! not alone you flow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To outward sight, and through your marshes wind;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fed from the mystic springs of long-ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your twin flows silent through my world of mind;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">215</span><span class="i4">Grow dim, dear marshes, in the evening's gray!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Before my inner sight ye stretch away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And will forever, though these fleshly eyes grow blind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Beyond the hillock's house-bespotted swell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where Gothic chapels house the horse and chaise,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">220</span><span class="i4">Where quiet cits in Grecian temples dwell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where Coptic tombs resound with prayer and praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where dust and mud the equal year divide,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">There gentle Allston lived, and wrought, and died,<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Transfiguring street and shop with his illumined gaze.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> In <i>Cambridge Thirty Years Ago</i>, which treats in prose +of much the same period as this poem reproduces, Mr. Lowell has given +more in detail his recollections of Washington Allston, the painter. +The whole paper may be read as a prose counterpart to this poem. It is +published in <i>Fireside Travels</i>.</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">225</span><span class="i4"><i>Virgilium vidi tantum</i>,—I have seen<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">But as a boy, who looks alike on all,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That misty hair, that fine Undine-like mien,<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tremulous as down to feeling's faintest call;—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ah, dear old homestead! count it to thy fame<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">230</span><span class="i4">That thither many times the Painter came;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One elm yet bears his name, a feathery tree and tall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Swiftly the present fades in memory's glow,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our only sure possession is the past;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The village blacksmith died a month ago,<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a><br /></span> +<span class="linenum">235</span><span class="i2">And dim to me the forge's roaring blast;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Soon fire-new mediævals we shall see<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Oust the black smithy from its chestnut-tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that hewn down, perhaps, the bee-hive green and vast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">How many times, prouder than king on throne,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">240</span><span class="i2">Loosed from the village school-dame's A's and B's,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Panting have I the creaky bellows blown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And watched the pent volcano's red increase,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Then paused to see the ponderous sledge, brought down<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">224</span><span class="i4">By that hard arm voluminous and brown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the white iron swarm its golden vanishing bees.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> <i>Virgilium vidi tantum</i>, I barely saw Virgil, a Latin +phrase applied to one who has merely had a glimpse of a great man.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> Undine is the heroine of a romantic tale by Baron De la +Motte Fouqué. She is represented as a water-nymph who wins a human +soul only by a union with mortality which brings pain and sorrow.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> The village blacksmith of Longfellow's well-known poem. +The prophecy came true as regards the hewing-down of the chestnut-tree +which was cut down in 1876.</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Dear native town! whose choking elms each year<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With eddying dust before their time turn gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Pining for rain,—to me thy dust is dear;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It glorifies the eve of summer day,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">250</span><span class="i4">And when the westering sun half sunken burns,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The mote-thick air to deepest orange turns,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The westward horseman rides through clouds of gold away,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">So palpable, I've seen those unshorn few,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The six old willows at the causey's end<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">255</span><span class="i4">(Such trees Paul Potter never dreamed nor drew),<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through this dry mist their checkering shadows send,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Striped, here and there, with many a long-drawn thread,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where streamed through leafy chinks the trembling red,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Past which, in one bright trail, the hangbird's flashes blend.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">260</span><span class="i4">Yes, dearer for thy dust than all that e'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath the awarded crown of victory,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Gilded the blown Olympic charioteer;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though lightly prized the ribboned parchments three,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Yet <i>collegisse juvat</i>, I am glad<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a><br /></span> +<span class="linenum">265</span><span class="i4">That here what colleging was mine I had,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It linked another tie, dear native town, with thee!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> <i>Collegisse juvat.</i> Horace in his first ode says, +<i>Curriculo pulverem Olympicum Collegisse juvat</i>; that is: <i>It's a +pleasure to have collected</i> the dust of Olympus on your +carriage-wheels. Mr. Lowell, helping himself to the words, says, "It's +a pleasure to have been at college;" for college in its first meaning +is a <i>collection</i> of men, as in the phrase "The college of +cardinals."</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Nearer art thou than simply native earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My dust with thine concedes a deeper tie;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A closer claim thy soil may well put forth,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">270</span><span class="i2">Something of kindred more than sympathy;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For in thy bounds I reverently laid away<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That blinding anguish of forsaken clay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That title I seemed to have in earth and sea and sky,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">That portion of my life more choice to me<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">275</span><span class="i2">(Though brief, yet in itself so round and whole)<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Than all the imperfect residue can be;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Artist saw his statue of the soul<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Was perfect; so, with one regretful stroke,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">279</span><span class="i4">The earthen model into fragments broke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And without her the impoverished seasons roll.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_FIRST_SNOW-FALL" id="THE_FIRST_SNOW-FALL"></a>THE FIRST SNOW-FALL.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The snow had begun in the gloaming,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And busily all the night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had been heaping field and highway<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a silence deep and white.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">5</span><span class="i0">Every pine and fir and hemlock<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wore ermine too dear for an earl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the poorest twig on the elm-tree<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was ridged inch-deep with pearl.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> The volume containing this poem was reverently dedicated +"To the ever fresh and happy memory of our little Blanche."</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From sheds new-roofed with Carrara<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a><br /></span> +<span class="linenum">10</span><span class="i2">Came Chanticleer's muffled crow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And still fluttered down the snow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I stood and watched by the window<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The noiseless work of the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">15</span><span class="i0">And the sudden flurries of snow-birds,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like brown leaves whirling by.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where a little headstone stood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How the flakes were folding it gently,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">20</span><span class="i2">As did robins the babes in the wood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Up spoke our own little Mabel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I told of the good All-father<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who cares for us here below.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">25</span><span class="i0">Again I looked at the snow-fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thought of the leaden sky<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That arched o'er our first great sorrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When that mound was heaped so high.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I remembered the gradual patience<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">30</span><span class="i2">That fell from that cloud like snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flake by flake, healing and hiding<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The scar of our deep-plunged woe.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And again to the child I whispered,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"The snow that husheth all,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">35</span><span class="i0">Darling, the merciful Father<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alone can make it fall!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> The marble of Carrara, Italy, is noted for its purity.</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And she, kissing back, could not know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That <i>my</i> kiss was given to her sister,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">40</span><span class="i2">Folded close under deepening snow.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_OAK" id="THE_OAK"></a>THE OAK.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What gnarlèd stretch, what depth of shade, is his!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There needs no crown to mark the forest's king;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How in his leaves outshines full summer's bliss!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sun, storm, rain, dew, to him their tribute bring,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">5</span><span class="i0">Which he with such benignant royalty<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Accepts, as overpayeth what is lent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All nature seems his vassal proud to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And cunning only for his ornament.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How towers he, too, amid the billowed snows,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">10</span><span class="i2">An unquelled exile from the summer's throne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose plain, uncinctured front more kingly shows,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now that the obscuring courtier leaves are flown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His boughs make music of the winter air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Jewelled with sleet, like some cathedral front<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">15</span><span class="i0">Where clinging snow-flakes with quaint art repair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The dints and furrows of time's envious brunt.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How doth his patient strength the rude March wind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Persuade to seem glad breaths of summer breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And win the soil that fain would be unkind,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">20</span><span class="i2">To swell his revenues with proud increase!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He is the gem; and all the landscape wide<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +<span class="i2">(So doth his grandeur isolate the sense)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seems but the setting, worthless all beside,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An empty socket, were he fallen thence.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">25</span><span class="i0">So, from oft converse with life's wintry gales,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Should man learn how to clasp with tougher roots<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The inspiring earth; how otherwise avails<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The leaf-creating sap that sunward shoots?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So every year that falls with noiseless flake<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">30</span><span class="i2">Should fill old scars up on the stormward side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And make hoar age revered for age's sake,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not for traditions of youth's leafy pride.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So, from the pinched soil of a churlish fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">True hearts compel the sap of sturdier growth,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">35</span><span class="i0">So between earth and heaven stand simply great,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That these shall seem but their attendants both;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For nature's forces with obedient zeal<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wait on the rooted faith and oaken will;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As quickly the pretender's cheat they feel,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">40</span><span class="i2">And turn mad Pucks to flout and mock him still.<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lord! all Thy works are lessons; each contains<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some emblem of man's all-containing soul;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall he make fruitless all Thy glorious pains,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Delving within Thy grace an eyeless mole?<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">45</span><span class="i0">Make me the least of thy Dodona-grove,<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cause me some message of thy truth to bring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speak but a word to me, nor let thy love<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Among my boughs disdain to perch and sing.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> See Shakspeare's <i>A Midsummer Night's Dream</i>.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> A grove of oaks at Dodona, in ancient Greece, was the +seat of a famous oracle.</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PROMETHEUS" id="PROMETHEUS"></a>PROMETHEUS.</h2> + +<p>[The classic legend of Prometheus underwent various changes in +successive periods of Greek thought. In its main outline the story is +the same: that Prometheus, whose name signifies Forethought, stole +fire from Zeus, or Jupiter, or Jove, and gave it as a gift to man. For +this, the angry god bound him upon Mount Caucasus, and decreed that a +vulture should prey upon his liver, destroying every day what was +renewed in the night. The struggle of man's thought to free itself +from the tyranny of fear and superstition and all monsters of the +imagination is illustrated in the myth. The myth is one which has been +a favorite with modern poets, as witness Goethe, Shelley, Mrs. +Browning, and Longfellow.]</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">One after one the stars have risen and set,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sparkling upon the hoarfrost on my chain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Bear, that prowled all night about the fold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the North-Star, hath shrunk into his den,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">5</span><span class="i0">Scared by the blithesome footsteps of the Dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose blushing smile floods all the Orient;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now bright Lucifer grows less and less,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into the heaven's blue quiet deep-withdrawn.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sunless and starless all, the desert sky<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">10</span><span class="i0">Arches above me, empty as this heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For ages hath been empty of all joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Except to brood upon its silent hope,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As o'er its hope of day the sky doth now.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All night have I heard voices: deeper yet<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">15</span><span class="i0">The deep low breathing of the silence grew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While all about, muffled in awe, there stood<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Shadows, or forms, or both, clear-felt at heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, when I turned to front them, far along<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only a shudder through the midnight ran,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">20</span><span class="i0">And the dense stillness walled me closer round.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still I heard them wander up and down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That solitude, and flappings of dusk wings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did mingle with them, whether of those hags<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let slip upon me once from Hades deep,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">25</span><span class="i0">Or of yet direr torments, if such be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could but guess; and then toward me came<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A shape as of a woman: very pale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was, and calm; its cold eyes did not move,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mine moved not, but only stared on them.<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">30</span><span class="i0">Their fixéd awe went through my brain like ice;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A skeleton hand seemed clutching at my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a sharp chill, as if a dank night fog<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Suddenly closed me in, was all I felt:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then, methought, I heard a freezing sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">35</span><span class="i0">A long, deep, shivering sigh, as from blue lips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stiffening in death, close to mine ear. I thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some doom was close upon me, and I looked<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And saw the red moon through the heavy mist,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just setting, and it seemed as it were falling,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">40</span><span class="i0">Or reeling to its fall, so dim and dead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And palsy-struck it looked. Then all sounds merged<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into the rising surges of the pines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, leagues below me, clothing the gaunt loins<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of ancient Caucasus with hairy strength,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">45</span><span class="i0">Sent up a murmur in the morning wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sad as the wail that from the populous earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All day and night to high Olympus soars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fit incense to thy wicked throne, O Jove!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>Thy hated name is tossed once more in scorn<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">50</span><span class="i0">From off my lips, for I will tell thy doom.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And are these tears? Nay, do not triumph, Jove!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They are wrung from me but by the agonies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of prophecy, like those sparse drops which fall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From clouds in travail of the lightning, when<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">55</span><span class="i0">The great wave of the storm high-curled and black<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rolls steadily onward to its thunderous break.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why art thou made a god of, thou poor type<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of anger, and revenge, and cunning force?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">True Power was never born of brutish strength,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">60</span><span class="i0">Nor sweet Truth suckled at the shaggy dugs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that old she-wolf. Are thy thunder-bolts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That quell the darkness for a space, so strong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the prevailing patience of meek Light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, with the invincible tenderness of peace,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">65</span><span class="i0">Wins it to be a portion of herself?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why art thou made a god of, thou, who hast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The never-sleeping terror at thy heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That birthright of all tyrants, worse to bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than this thy ravening bird on which I smile?<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">70</span><span class="i0">Thou swear'st to free me, if I will unfold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What kind of doom it is whose omen flits<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across thy heart, as o'er a troop of doves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fearful shadow of the kite. What need<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To know that truth whose knowledge cannot save?<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">75</span><span class="i0">Evil its errand hath, as well as Good;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thine is finished, thou art known no more:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is a higher purity than thou,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And higher purity is greater strength;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy nature is thy doom, at which thy heart<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">80</span><span class="i0">Trembles behind the thick wall of thy might.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let man but hope, and thou art straightway chilled<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>With thought of that drear silence and deep night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, like a dream, shall swallow thee and thine:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let man but will, and thou art god no more,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">85</span><span class="i0">More capable of ruin than the gold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ivory that image thee on earth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He who hurled down the monstrous Titan-brood<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blinded with lightnings, with rough thunders stunned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is weaker than a simple human thought.<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">90</span><span class="i0">My slender voice can shake thee, as the breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That seems but apt to stir a maiden's hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sways huge Oceanus from pole to pole;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I am still Prometheus, and foreknow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In my wise heart the end and doom of all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">95</span><span class="i2">Yes, I am still Prometheus, wiser grown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By years of solitude,—that holds apart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The past and future, giving the soul room<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To search into itself,—and long commune<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With this eternal silence;—more a god,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">100</span><span class="i0">In my long-suffering and strength to meet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With equal front the direst shafts of fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than thou in thy faint-hearted despotism,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Girt with thy baby-toys of force and wrath.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, I am that Prometheus who brought down<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">105</span><span class="i0">The light to man, which thou, in selfish fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hadst to thyself usurped,—his by sole right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Man hath right to all save Tyranny,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And which shall free him yet from thy frail throne.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tyrants are but the spawn of Ignorance,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">110</span><span class="i0">Begotten by the slaves they trample on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, could they win a glimmer of the light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And see that Tyranny is always weakness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or Fear with its own bosom ill at ease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would laugh away in scorn the sand-wove chain<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">115</span><span class="i0">Which their own blindness feigned for adamant.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrong ever builds on quicksands, but the Right<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the firm centre lays its moveless base.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tyrant trembles, if the air but stirs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The innocent ringlets of a child's free hair,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">120</span><span class="i0">And crouches, when the thought of some great spirit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With world-wide murmur, like a rising gale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over men's hearts, as over standing corn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rushes, and bends them to its own strong will.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So shall some thought of mine yet circle earth,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">125</span><span class="i0">And puff away thy crumbling altars, Jove!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> That is, Jove himself.</p></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +<span class="i2">And, wouldst thou know of my supreme revenge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor tyrant, even now dethroned in heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Realmless in soul, as tyrants ever are,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Listen! and tell me if this bitter peak,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">130</span><span class="i0">This never-glutted vulture, and these chains<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrink not before it; for it shall befit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sorrow-taught, unconquered Titan-heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men, when their death is on them, seem to stand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On a precipitous crag that overhangs<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">135</span><span class="i0">The abyss of doom, and in that depth to see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in a glass, the features dim and vast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of things to come, the shadows, as it seems,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of what had been. Death ever fronts the wise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not fearfully, but with clear promises<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">140</span><span class="i0">Of larger life, on whose broad vans upborne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their outlook widens, and they see beyond<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The horizon of the present and the past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even to the very source and end of things.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such am I now: immortal woe hath made<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">145</span><span class="i0">My heart a seer, and my soul a judge<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Between the substance and the shadow of Truth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sure supremeness of the Beautiful,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By all the martyrdoms made doubly sure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of such as I am, this is my revenge,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">150</span><span class="i0">Which of my wrongs builds a triumphal arch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through which I see a sceptre and a throne.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pipings of glad shepherds on the hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tending the flocks no more to bleed for thee,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The songs of maidens pressing with white feet<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">155</span><span class="i0">The vintage on thine altars poured no more,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The murmurous bliss of lovers, underneath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dim grapevine bowers, whose rosy bunches press<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not half so closely their warm cheeks, unpaled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By thoughts of thy brute lust,—the hive-like hum<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">160</span><span class="i0">Of peaceful commonwealths, where sunburnt Toil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reaps for itself the rich earth made its own<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By its own labor, lightened with glad hymns<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To an omnipotence which thy mad bolts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would cope with as a spark with the vast sea,—<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">165</span><span class="i0">Even the spirit of free love and peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Duty's sure recompense through life and death,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These are such harvests as all master-spirits<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reap, haply not on earth, but reap no less<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because the sheaves are bound by hands not theirs;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">170</span><span class="i0">These are the bloodless daggers wherewithal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They stab fallen tyrants, this their high revenge:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For their best part of life on earth is when,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long after death, prisoned and pent no more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their thoughts, their wild dreams even, have become<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">175</span><span class="i0">Part of the necessary air men breathe:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, like the moon, herself behind a cloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They shed down light before us on life's sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That cheers us to steer onward still in hope.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Earth with her twining memories ivies o'er<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">180</span><span class="i0">Their holy sepulchres; the chainless sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In tempest or wide calm, repeats their thoughts;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lightning and the thunder, all free things,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have legends of them for the ears of men.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All other glories are as falling stars,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">185</span><span class="i0">But universal Nature watches theirs:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such strength is won by love of human-kind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Not that I feel that hunger after fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which souls of a half-greatness are beset with;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that the memory of noble deeds<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">190</span><span class="i0">Cries shame upon the idle and the vile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And keeps the heart of Man forever up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the heroic level of old time.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be forgot at first is little pain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To a heart conscious of such high intent<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">195</span><span class="i0">As must be deathless on the lips of men;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, having been a name, to sink and be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A something which the world can do without,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, having been or not, would never change<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lightest pulse of fate,—this is indeed<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">200</span><span class="i0">A cup of bitterness the worst to taste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this thy heart shall empty to the dregs.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Endless despair shall be thy Caucasus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And memory thy vulture; thou wilt find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oblivion far lonelier than this peak,—<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">205</span><span class="i0">Behold thy destiny! Thou think'st it much<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I should brave thee, miserable god!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I have braved a mightier than thou.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even the tempting of this soaring heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which might have made me, scarcely less than thou,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">210</span><span class="i0">A god among my brethren weak and blind,—<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce less than thou, a pitiable thing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be down-trodden into darkness soon.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now I am above thee, for thou art<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bungling workmanship of fear, the block<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">215</span><span class="i0">That awes the swart Barbarian; but I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Am what myself have made,—a nature wise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With finding in itself the types of all,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With watching from the dim verge of the time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What things to be are visible in the gleams<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">220</span><span class="i0">Thrown forward on them from the luminous past,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wise with the history of its own frail heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With reverence and with sorrow, and with love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Broad as the world, for freedom and for man.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Thou and all strength shall crumble, except Love,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">225</span><span class="i0">By whom, and for whose glory, ye shall cease:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, when thou art but a dim moaning heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From out the pitiless gloom of Chaos, I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall be a power and a memory,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A name to fright all tyrants with, a light<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">230</span><span class="i0">Unsetting as the pole-star, a great voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard in the breathless pauses of the fight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By truth and freedom ever waged with wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clear as a silver trumpet, to awake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Huge echoes that from age to age live on<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">235</span><span class="i0">In kindred spirits, giving them a sense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of boundless power from boundless suffering wrung:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a glazing eye shall smile to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The memory of my triumph (for to meet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrong with endurance, and to overcome<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">240</span><span class="i0">The present with a heart that looks beyond,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are triumph), like a prophet eagle, perch<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>Upon the sacred banner of the Right.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Evil springs up, and flowers, and bears no seed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And feeds the green earth with its swift decay,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">245</span><span class="i0">Leaving it richer for the growth of truth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Good, once put in action or in thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a strong oak, doth from its boughs shed down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ripe germs of a forest. Thou, weak god,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shalt fade and be forgotten! but this soul,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">250</span><span class="i0">Fresh-living still in the serene abyss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In every heaving shall partake, that grows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From heart to heart among the sons of men,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the ominous hum before the earthquake runs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far through the Ægean from roused isle to isle,—<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">255</span><span class="i0">Foreboding wreck to palaces and shrines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mighty rents in many a cavernous error<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That darkens the free light to man:—This heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unscarred by thy grim vulture, as the truth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grows but more lovely 'neath the beaks and claws<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">260</span><span class="i0">Of Harpies blind that fain would soil it, shall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In all the throbbing exultations share<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wait on freedom's triumphs, and in all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glorious agonies of martyr-spirits,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sharp lightning-throes to split the jagged clouds<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">265</span><span class="i0">That veil the future, showing them the end,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pain's thorny crown for constancy and truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Girding the temples like a wreath of stars.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This is a thought, that, like the fabled laurel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Makes my faith thunder-proof; and thy dread bolts<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">270</span><span class="i0">Fall on me like the silent flakes of snow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the hoar brows of aged Caucasus:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, O thought far more blissful, they can rend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This cloud of flesh, and make my soul a star!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>Unleash thy crouching thunders now, O Jove!<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">275</span><span class="i0">Free this high heart, which, a poor captive long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doth knock to be let forth, this heart which still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In its invincible manhood, overtops<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy puny godship, as this mountain doth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pines that moss its roots. Oh, even now,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">280</span><span class="i0">While from my peak of suffering I look down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beholding with a far-spread gush of hope<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sunrise of that Beauty, in whose face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shone all around with love, no man shall look<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But straightway like a god he is uplift<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">285</span><span class="i0">Unto the throne long empty for his sake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And clearly oft foreshadowed in wide dreams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By his free inward nature, which nor thou,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor any anarch after thee, can bind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From working its great doom,—now, now set free<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">290</span><span class="i0">This essence, not to die, but to become<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Part of that awful Presence which doth haunt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The palaces of tyrants, to hunt off,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With its grim eyes and fearful whisperings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hideous sense of utter loneliness,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">295</span><span class="i0">All hope of safety, all desire of peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All but the loathed forefeeling of blank death,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Part of that spirit which doth ever brood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In patient calm on the unpilfered nest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of man's deep heart, till mighty thoughts grow fledged<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">300</span><span class="i0">To sail with darkening shadow o'er the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Filling with dread such souls as dare not trust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the unfailing energy of Good,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until they swoop, and their pale quarry make<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of some o'erbloated wrong,—that spirit which<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">305</span><span class="i0">Scatters great hopes in the seed-field of man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like acorns among grain, to grow and be<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>A roof for freedom in all coming time!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But no, this cannot be; for ages yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In solitude unbroken, shall I hear<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">310</span><span class="i0">The angry Caspian to the Euxine shout,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Euxine answer with a muffled roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On either side storming the giant walls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Caucasus with leagues of climbing foam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Less, from my height, than flakes of downy snow),<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">315</span><span class="i0">That draw back baffled but to hurl again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Snatched up in wrath and horrible turmoil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mountain on mountain, as the Titans erst,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My brethren, scaling the high seat of Jove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heaved Pelion upon Ossa's shoulders broad<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">320</span><span class="i0">In vain emprise. The moon will come and go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her monotonous vicissitude;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once beautiful, when I was free to walk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among my fellows, and to interchange<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The influence benign of loving eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">325</span><span class="i0">But now by aged use grown wearisome;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">False thought! most false! for how could I endure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These crawling centuries of lonely woe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unshamed by weak complaining, but for thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loneliest, save me, of all created things,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">330</span><span class="i0">Mild-eyed Astarte, my best comforter,<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With thy pale smile of sad benignity?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> Daughter of Heaven and Earth, and symbol of Nature.</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Year after year will pass away and seem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To me, in mine eternal agony,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But as the shadows of dumb summer clouds,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">335</span><span class="i0">Which I have watched so often darkening o'er<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vast Sarmatian plain, league-wide at first,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, with still swiftness, lessening on and on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till cloud and shadow meet and mingle where<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gray horizon fades into the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">340</span><span class="i0">Far, far to northward. Yes, for ages yet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must I lie here upon my altar huge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sacrifice for man. Sorrow will be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As it hath been, his portion; endless doom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the immortal with the mortal linked<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">345</span><span class="i0">Dreams of its wings and pines for what it dreams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With upward yearn unceasing. Better so:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For wisdom is meek sorrow's patient child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And empire over self, and all the deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strong charities that make men seem like gods;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">350</span><span class="i0">And love, that makes them be gods, from her breasts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sucks in the milk that makes mankind one blood.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Good never comes unmixed, or so it seems,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Having two faces, as some images<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are carved, of foolish gods; one face is ill;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">355</span><span class="i0">But one heart lies beneath, and that is good,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As are all hearts, when we explore their depths.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therefore, great heart, bear up! thou art but type<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of what all lofty spirits endure, that fain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would win men back to strength and peace through love:<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">360</span><span class="i0">Each hath his lonely peak, and on each heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Envy, or scorn, or hatred, tears lifelong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With vulture beak; yet the high soul is left;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And faith, which is but hope grown wise; and love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And patience, which at last shall overcome.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="TO_WL_GARRISON" id="TO_WL_GARRISON"></a>TO W.L. GARRISON.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Some time afterward, it was reported to me by the city +officers that they had ferreted out the paper and its +editor; that his office was an obscure hole, his only +visible auxiliary a negro boy, and his supporters a few very +insignificant persons of all colors."—<i>Letter of H.G. +Otis.</i> </p></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In a small chamber, friendless and unseen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Toiled o'er his types one poor, unlearned young man;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The place was dark, unfurnitured, and mean;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet there the freedom of a race began.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">5</span><span class="i0">Help came but slowly; surely no man yet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Put lever to the heavy world with less:<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">What need of help? He knew how types were set,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He had a dauntless spirit, and a press.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Such earnest natures are the fiery pith,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">10</span><span class="i2">The compact nucleus, round which systems grow!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mass after mass becomes inspired therewith,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And whirls impregnate with the central glow,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O Truth! O Freedom! how are ye still born<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the rude stable, in the manger nursed!<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">15</span><span class="i0">What humble hands unbar those gates of morn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through which the splendors of the New Day burst.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What! shall one monk, scarce known beyond his cell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Front Rome's far-reaching bolts, and scorn her frown?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brave Luther answered <span class="smcap">Yes</span>; that thunder's swell<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">20</span><span class="i2">Rocked Europe, and discharmed the triple crown.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> Archimedes, a great philosopher of antiquity, used to +say, "Only give me a place to stand on, and I will move the world with +my lever."</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whatever can be known of earth we know,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sneered Europe's wise men, in their snail-shells curled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No! said one man in Genoa, and that No<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Out of the dark created this New World.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">25</span><span class="i0">Who is it will not dare himself to trust?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who is it hath not strength to stand alone?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who is it thwarts and bilks the inward <span class="smcap">must</span>?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He and his works, like sand, from earth are blown?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Men of a thousand shifts and wiles, look here!<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">30</span><span class="i2">See one straightforward conscience put in pawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To win a world; see the obedient sphere<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By bravery's simple gravitation drawn!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Shall we not heed the lesson taught of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And by the Present's lips repeated still,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">35</span><span class="i0">In our own single manhood to be bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fortressed in conscience and impregnable will?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We stride the river daily at its spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor, in our childish thoughtlessness, foresee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What myriad vassal streams shall tribute bring,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">40</span><span class="i2">How like an equal it shall greet the sea.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O small beginnings, ye are great and strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Based on a faithful heart and weariless brain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye build the future fair, ye conquer wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ye earn the crown, and wear it not in vain.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="WENDELL_PHILLIPS" id="WENDELL_PHILLIPS"></a>WENDELL PHILLIPS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He stood upon the world's broad threshold; wide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The din of battle and of slaughter rose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He saw God stand upon the weaker side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sank in seeming loss before its foes:<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">5</span><span class="i0">Many there were who made great haste and sold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unto the cunning enemy their swords,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He scorned their gifts of fame, and power, and gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, underneath their soft and flowery words,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard the cold serpent hiss; therefore he went<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">10</span><span class="i0">And humbly joined him to the weaker part,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fanatic named, and fool, yet well content<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So he could be the nearer to God's heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And feel its solemn pulses sending blood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through all the widespread veins of endless good.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MR_HOSEA_BIGLOW_TO_THE_EDITOR_OF_THE_ATLANTIC_MONTHLY" id="MR_HOSEA_BIGLOW_TO_THE_EDITOR_OF_THE_ATLANTIC_MONTHLY"></a>MR. HOSEA BIGLOW TO THE EDITOR OF THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.</h2> + + +<p>[When the Mexican war was under discussion, Mr. Lowell began the +publication in a Boston newspaper of satirical poems, written in the +Yankee dialect, and purporting to come for the most part from one +Hosea Biglow. The poems were the sharpest political darts that were +fired at the time, and when the verses were collected and set forth, +with a paraphernalia of introductions and notes professedly prepared +by an old-fashioned, scholarly parson, Rev. Homer Wilbur, the book +gave Mr. Lowell a distinct place as a wit and satirist, and was read +with delight in England and America after the cir<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>cumstance which +called it out had become a matter of history and no longer of +politics.</p> + +<p>When the war for the Union broke out, Mr. Lowell took up the same +strain and contributed to the <i>Atlantic Monthly</i> a second series of +<i>Biglow Papers</i>, and just before the close of the war, published the +poem that follows.]</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—Your letter come to han'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Requestin' me to please be funny;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I ain't made upon a plan<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thet knows wut's comin', gall or honey:<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">5</span><span class="i0">Ther' 's times the world does look so queer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Odd fancies come afore I call 'em;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' then agin, for half a year,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No preacher 'thout a call 's more solemn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You're 'n want o' sunthin' light an' cute,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">10</span><span class="i2">Rattlin' an' shrewd an' kin' o' jingleish,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' wish, pervidin' it 'ould suit,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'd take an' citify my English.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I <i>ken</i> write long-tailed, ef I please,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But when I'm jokin', no, I thankee;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">15</span><span class="i0">Then, 'fore I know it, my idees<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Run helter-skelter into Yankee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sence I begun to scribble rhyme,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I tell ye wut, I hain't ben foolin';<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The parson's books, life, death, an' time<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">20</span><span class="i2">Hev took some trouble with my schoolin';<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor th' airth don't git put out with me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thet love her 'z though she wuz a woman;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, th' ain't a bird upon the tree<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But half forgives my bein' human.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +<span class="linenum">25</span><span class="i0">An' yit I love th' unhighschooled way<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ol' farmers hed when I wuz younger;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their talk wuz meatier, an' 'ould stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While book-froth seems to whet your hunger;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For puttin' in a downright lick<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">30</span><span class="i2">'Twixt Humbug's eyes, ther' 's few can metch it.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' then it helves my thoughts ez slick<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ez stret-grained hickory doos a hetchet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But when I can't, I can't, thet's all,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For Natur' won't put up with gullin';<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">35</span><span class="i0">Idees you hev to shove an' haul<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like a druv pig ain't wuth a mullein:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Live thoughts ain't sent for; thru all rifts<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O' sense they pour an' resh ye onwards,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like rivers when south-lyin' drifts<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">40</span><span class="i2">Feel thet th' old airth's a-wheelin' sunwards.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Time wuz, the rhymes come crowdin' thick<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ez office-seekers arter 'lection,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' into ary place 'ould stick<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Without no bother nor objection;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">45</span><span class="i0">But sence the war my thoughts hang back<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ez though I wanted to enlist 'em,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' subs'tutes—<i>they</i> don't never lack,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But then they'll slope afore you've mist 'em.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nothin' don't seem like wut it wuz;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">50</span><span class="i2">I can't see wut there is to hender,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' yit my brains jes' go buzz, buzz,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like bumblebees agin a winder;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Fore these times come, in all airth's row,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ther' wuz one quiet place, my head in,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">55</span><span class="i0">Where I could hide an' think,—but now<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +<span class="i2">It's all one teeter, hopin', dreadin'.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where's Peace? I start, some clear-blown night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When gaunt stone walls grow numb an' number,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An', creakin' 'cross the snow-crus' white,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">60</span><span class="i2">Walk the col' starlight into summer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up grows the moon, an' swell by swell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thru the pale pasturs silvers dimmer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than the last smile thet strives to tell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O' love gone heavenward in its shimmer.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">65</span><span class="i0">I hev ben gladder o' sech things,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than cocks o' spring or bees o' clover,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They filled my heart with livin' springs,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But now they seem to freeze 'em over;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sights innercent ez babes on knee,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">70</span><span class="i2">Peaceful ez eyes o' pastur'd cattle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jes' coz they be so, seem to me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To rile me more with thoughts o' battle.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In-doors an' out by spells I try;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ma'am Natur' keeps her spin-wheel goin',<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">75</span><span class="i0">But leaves my natur' stiff and dry<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ez fiel's o' clover arter mowin';<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' her jes' keepin' on the same,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Calmer 'n a clock, an' never carin',<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' findin' nary thing to blame,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">80</span><span class="i2">Is wus than ef she took to swearin'.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Snow-flakes come whisperin' on the pane,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The charm makes blazin' logs so pleasant,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I can't hark to wut they're say'n',<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>With Grant or Sherman ollers present;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">85</span><span class="i0">The chimbleys shudder in the gale,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thet lulls, then suddin takes to flappin'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a shot hawk, but all's ez stale<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To me ez so much sperit rappin'.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Under the yaller-pines I house,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">90</span><span class="i2">When sunshine makes 'em all sweet-scented,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' hear among their furry boughs<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The baskin' west-wind purr contented,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While 'way o'erhead, ez sweet an' low<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ez distant bells thet ring for meetin',<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">95</span><span class="i0">The wedged wil' geese their bugles blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Further an' further South retreatin'.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Or up the slippery knob I strain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' see a hundred hills like islan's<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lift their blue woods in broken chain<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">100</span><span class="i2">Out o' the sea o' snowy silence;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The farm-smokes, sweetes' sight on airth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Slow thru the winter air a-shrinkin'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seem kin' o' sad, an' roun' the hearth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of empty places set me thinkin'.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">105</span><span class="i0">Beaver roars hoarse with meltin' snows,<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' rattles di'mon's from his granite;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Time wuz, he snatched away my prose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' into psalms or satires ran it;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he, nor all the rest thet once<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">110</span><span class="i2">Started my blood to country-dances,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can't set me goin' more 'n a dunce<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thet hain't no use for dreams an' fancies.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> Beaver Brook, a tributary of the Charles.</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Rat-tat-tat-tattle thru the street<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I hear the drummers makin' riot,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">115</span><span class="i0">An' I set thinkin' o' the feet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thet follered once an' now are quiet,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White feet ez snowdrops innercent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thet never knowed the paths o' Satan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose comin' step ther' 's ears thet won't,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">120</span><span class="i2">No, not lifelong, leave off awaitin'.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why, hain't I held 'em on my knee?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Didn't I love to see 'em growin',<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Three likely lads ez wal could be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hahnsome an' brave an' not tu knowin'?<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">125</span><span class="i0">I set an' look into the blaze<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose natur', jes' like theirn, keeps climbin',<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ez long 'z it lives, in shinin' ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' half despise myself for rhymin'.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wut's words to them whose faith an' truth<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">130</span><span class="i2">On War's red techstone rang true metal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who ventered life an' love an' youth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For the gret prize o' death in battle?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him who, deadly hurt, agen<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Flashed on afore the charge's thunder,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">135</span><span class="i0">Tippin' with fire the bolt of men<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thet rived the Rebel line asunder?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'T ain't right to hev the young go fust,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All throbbin' full o' gifts an' graces,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leavin' life's paupers dry ez dust<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">140</span><span class="i2">To try an' make b'lieve fill their places:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothin' but tells us wut we miss,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ther' 's gaps our lives can't never fay in,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' <i>thet</i> world seems so fur from this<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Lef' for us loafers to grow gray in!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">145</span><span class="i0">My eyes cloud up for rain; my mouth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will take to twitchin' roun' the corners;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I pity mothers, tu, down South,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For all they sot among the scorners:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd sooner take my chance to stan'<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">150</span><span class="i2">At Jedgment where your meanest slave is,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than at God's bar hol' up a han'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ez drippin' red ez yourn, Jeff Davis!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come, Peace! not like a mourner bowed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For honor lost an' dear ones wasted,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">155</span><span class="i0">But proud, to meet a people proud,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With eyes thet tell o' triumph tasted!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come, with han' grippin' on the hilt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' step thet proves ye Victory's daughter!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Longin' for you, our sperits wilt<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">160</span><span class="i2">Like shipwrecked men's on raf's for water.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come, while our country feels the lift<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of a gret instinct shoutin' forwards,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' knows thet freedom ain't a gift<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thet tarries long in han's o' cowards!<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">165</span><span class="i0">Come, sech ez mothers prayed for, when<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They kissed their cross with lips thet quivered,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' bring fair wages for brave men,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A nation saved, a race delivered!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VILLA_FRANCA" id="VILLA_FRANCA"></a>VILLA FRANCA.</h2> + + +<p>[The battles of Magenta and Solferino, in the early summer of 1859, +had given promise of a complete emancipation of Italy from the +Austrian supremacy, when Napoleon III., who was acting in alliance +with Victor Emmanuel, king of Sardinia, held a meeting with the +emperor Francis Joseph of Austria at Villa Franca, and agreed to terms +which were very far from including the unification of Italy. There was +a general distrust of Napoleon, and the war continued with the final +result of a united Italy. In the poem which follows Mr. Lowell gives +expression to his want of faith in the French emperor.]</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wait a little: do <i>we</i> not wait?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Louis Napoleon is not Fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Francis Joseph is not Time;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's One hath swifter feet than Crime;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">5</span><span class="i0">Cannon-parliaments settle naught;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Venice is Austria's,—whose is Thought?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Minié is good, but, spite of change,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gutenberg's gun has the longest range.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spin, spin, Clotho, spin!<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a><br /></span> +<span class="linenum">10</span><span class="i2">Lachesis, twist! and, Atropos, sever!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the shadow, year out, year in,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The silent headsman waits forever.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos were the three Fates of +the ancient mythology; Clotho spun the thread of human destiny, +Lachesis twisted it, and Atropos with shears severed it.</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wait, we say; our years are long;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men are weak, but Man is strong;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">15</span><span class="i0">Since the stars first curved their rings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We have looked on many things;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great wars come and great wars go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wolf-tracks light on polar snow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We shall see him come and gone,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">20</span><span class="i0">This second-hand Napoleon.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spin, spin, Clotho, spin!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lachesis, twist! and, Atropos, sever!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the shadow, year out, year in,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The silent headsman waits forever.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">25</span><span class="i0">We saw the elder Corsican,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Clotho muttered as she span,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While crownèd lackeys bore the train,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the pinchbeck Charlemagne:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Sister, stint not length of thread!<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">30</span><span class="i0">Sister, stay the scissors dread!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Saint Helen's granite bleak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark, the vulture whets his beak!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spin, spin, Clotho, spin!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lachesis, twist! and, Atropos, sever!<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">35</span><span class="i2">In the shadow, year out, year in,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The silent headsman waits forever.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Bonapartes, we know their bees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wade in honey red to the knees:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their patent reaper, its sheaves sleep sound<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">40</span><span class="i0">In dreamless garners underground:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We know false glory's spendthrift race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pawning nations for feathers and lace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It may be short, it may be long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Tis reckoning-day!" sneers unpaid Wrong.<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">45</span><span class="i2">Spin, spin, Clotho, spin!<br /> +</span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Lachesis, twist! and, Atropos, sever!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the shadow, year out, year in,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The silent headsman waits forever.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Cock that wears the Eagle's skin<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">50</span><span class="i0">Can promise what he ne'er could win;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slavery reaped for fine words sown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">System for all, and rights for none,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Despots atop, a wild clan below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such is the Gaul from long ago;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">55</span><span class="i0">Wash the black from the Ethiop's face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wash the past out of man or race!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spin, spin, Clotho, spin!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lachesis, twist! and, Atropos, sever!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the shadow, year out, year in,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">60</span><span class="i2">The silent headsman waits forever.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Neath Gregory's throne a spider swings,<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And snares the people for the kings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Luther is dead; old quarrels pass;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stake's black scars are healed with grass;"<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">65</span><span class="i0">So dreamers prate; did man e'er live<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saw priest or woman yet forgive;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Luther's broom is left, and eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peep o'er their creeds to where it lies.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spin, spin, Clotho, spin!<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">70</span><span class="i2">Lachesis, twist! and, Atropos, sever!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the shadow, year out, year in,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The silent headsman waits forever.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> There was more than one Pope Gregory, but Gregory VII in +the eleventh century brought the papacy to its supreme power, when +kings humbled themselves before the Pope.</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Smooth sails the ship of either realm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kaiser and Jesuit at the helm;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">75</span><span class="i0">We look down the depths, and mark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silent workers in the dark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Building slow the sharp-tusked reefs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old instincts hardening to new beliefs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Patience a little; learn to wait;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">80</span><span class="i0">Hours are long on the clock of Fate.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spin, spin, Clotho, spin!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lachesis, twist! and, Atropos, sever!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Darkness is strong, and so is Sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But only God endures forever!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_NIGHTINGALE_IN_THE_STUDY" id="THE_NIGHTINGALE_IN_THE_STUDY"></a>THE NIGHTINGALE IN THE STUDY.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Come forth!" my catbird calls to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"And hear me sing a cavatina<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, in this old familiar tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall hang a garden of Alcina.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">5</span><span class="i0">"These buttercups shall brim with wine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beyond all Lesbian juice or Massic;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May not New England be divine?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My ode to ripening summer classic?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Or, if to me you will not hark,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">10</span><span class="i2">By Beaver Brook a thrush is ringing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till all the alder-coverts dark<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seem sunshine-dappled with his singing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Come out beneath the unmastered sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With its emancipating spaces,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">15</span><span class="i0">And learn to sing as well as I,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Without premeditated graces.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"What boot your many-volumed gains,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Those withered leaves forever turning,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To win, at best, for all your pains,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">20</span><span class="i2">A nature mummy-wrapt in learning?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The leaves wherein true wisdom lies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On living trees the sun are drinking;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those white clouds, drowsing through the skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grew not so beautiful by thinking.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">25</span><span class="i0">"Come out! with me the oriole cries,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Escape the demon that pursues you!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, hark, the cuckoo weatherwise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still hiding, farther onward wooes you."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Alas, dear friend, that, all my days,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">30</span><span class="i2">Has poured from thy syringa thicket<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The quaintly discontinuous lays<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To which I hold a season-ticket,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A season-ticket cheaply bought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a dessert of pilfered berries,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">35</span><span class="i0">And who so oft my soul has caught<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With morn and evening voluntaries,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Deem me not faithless, if all day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Among my dusty books I linger,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No pipe, like thee, for June to play<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">40</span><span class="i2">With fancy-led, half-conscious finger.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"A bird is singing in my brain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bubbling o'er with mingled fancies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gay, tragic, rapt, right heart of Spain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fed with the sap of old romances.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">45</span><span class="i0">"I ask no ampler skies than those<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His magic music rears above me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No falser friends, no truer foes,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And does not Doña Clara love me?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Cloaked shapes, a twanging of guitars,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">50</span><span class="i2">A rush of feet, and rapiers clashing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then silence deep with breathless stars,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And overhead a white hand flashing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O music of all moods and climes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Vengeful, forgiving, sensuous, saintly,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">55</span><span class="i0">Where still, between the Christian chimes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The moorish cymbal tinkles faintly!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O life borne lightly in the hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For friend or foe with grace Castilian!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O valley safe in Fancy's land,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">60</span><span class="i2">Not tramped to mud yet by the million!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Bird of to-day, thy songs are stale<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To his, my singer of all weathers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Calderon, my nightingale,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My Arab soul in Spanish feathers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">65</span><span class="i0">"Ah, friend, these singers dead so long,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And still, God knows, in purgatory,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give its best sweetness to all song,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To Nature's self her better glory."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ALADDIN" id="ALADDIN"></a>ALADDIN.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When I was a beggarly boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And lived in a cellar damp,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I had not a friend nor a toy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But I had Aladdin's lamp;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">5</span><span class="i0">When I could not sleep for cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I had fire enough in my brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And builded with roofs of gold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My beautiful castles in Spain!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Since then I have toiled day and night,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">10</span><span class="i2">I have money and power good store,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, I'd give all my lamps of silver bright<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For the one that is mine no more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take, Fortune, whatever you choose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You gave, and may snatch again;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">15</span><span class="i0">I have nothing 't would pain me to lose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For I own no more castles in Spain!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BEAVER_BROOK" id="BEAVER_BROOK"></a>BEAVER BROOK.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hushed with broad sunlight lies the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, minuting the long day's loss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cedar's shadow, slow and still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Creeps o'er its dial of gray moss.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">5</span><span class="i0">Warm noon brims full the valley's cup,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The aspen's leaves are scarce astir;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only the little mill sends up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its busy, never-ceasing burr.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Climbing the loose-piled wall that hems<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">10</span><span class="i0">The road along the mill-pond's brink,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From 'neath the arching barberry-stems,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My footstep scares the shy chewink.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beneath a bony buttonwood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mill's red door lets forth the din;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">15</span><span class="i0">The whitened miller, dust-imbued,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flits past the square of dark within.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No mountain torrent's strength is here;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet Beaver, child of forest still,<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heaps its small pitcher to the ear,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">20</span><span class="i0">And gently waits the miller's will.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Swift slips Undine along the race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unheard, and then, with flashing bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Floods the dull wheel with light and grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, laughing, hunts the loath drudge round.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">25</span><span class="i0">The miller dreams not at what cost<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The quivering millstones hum and whirl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor how for every turn are tost<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Armfuls of diamond and of pearl.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But Summer cleared my happier eyes<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">30</span><span class="i0">With drops of some celestial juice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To see how Beauty underlies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forevermore each form of use.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And more; methought I saw that flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which now so dull and darkling steals,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">35</span><span class="i0">Thick, here and there, with human blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To turn the world's laborious wheels.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> Beaver Brook was within walking distance of the poet's +home. See <i>The Nightingale in the Study</i>.</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No more than doth the miller there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shut in our several cells, do we<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Know with what waste of beauty rare<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">40</span><span class="i0">Moves every day's machinery.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Surely the wiser time shall come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When this fine overplus of might,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No longer sullen, slow, and dumb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall leap to music and to light.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">45</span><span class="i0">In that new childhood of the Earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life of itself shall dance and play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fresh blood in Time's shrunk veins make mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And labor meet delight half way.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_SHEPHERD_OF_KING_ADMETUS" id="THE_SHEPHERD_OF_KING_ADMETUS"></a>THE SHEPHERD OF KING ADMETUS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There came a youth upon the earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some thousand years ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose slender hands were nothing worth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whether to plough, or reap, or sow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">5</span><span class="i0">Upon an empty tortoise-shell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He stretched some chords, and drew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Music that made men's bosoms swell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fearless, or brimmed their eyes with dew.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then King Admetus, one who had<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">10</span><span class="i2">Pure taste by right divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Decreed his singing not too bad<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +<span class="i0">To hear between the cups of wine:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And so, well pleased with being soothed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Into a sweet half-sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">15</span><span class="i0">Three times his kingly beard he smoothed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And made him viceroy o'er his sheep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His words were simple words enough,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yet he used them so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That what in other mouths was rough<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">20</span><span class="i0">In his seemed musical and low.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Men called him but a shiftless youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In whom no good they saw;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet, unwittingly, in truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They made his careless words their law.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">25</span><span class="i0">They knew not how he learned at all,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For idly, hour by hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sat and watched the dead leaves fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or mused upon a common flower.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It seemed the loveliness of things<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">30</span><span class="i2">Did teach him all their use,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, in mere weeds, and stones, and springs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He found a healing power profuse.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Men granted that his speech was wise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But, when a glance they caught<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">35</span><span class="i0">Of his slim grace and woman's eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They laughed, and called him good-for-naught.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Yet after he was dead and gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And e'en his memory dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Earth seemed more sweet to live upon,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">40</span><span class="i0">More full of love, because of him.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And day by day more holy grew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Each spot where he had trod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till after-poets only knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their first-born brother as a god.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_PRESENT_CRISIS" id="THE_PRESENT_CRISIS"></a>THE PRESENT CRISIS.</h2> + +<p>[In the year 1844, which is the date of the following poem, the +question of the annexation of Texas was pending, and it was made an +issue of the presidential campaign then taking place. The anti-slavery +party feared and opposed annexation, on account of the added strength +which it would give to slavery, and the South desired it for the same +reason.]</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When a deed is done for Freedom, through the broad earth's aching breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Runs a thrill of joy prophetic, trembling on from east to west,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels the soul within him climb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the awful verge of manhood, as the energy sublime<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">5</span><span class="i0">Of a century bursts full-blossomed on the thorny stem of Time.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Through the walls of hut and palace shoots the instantaneous throe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the travail of the Ages wrings earth's systems to and fro;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the birth of each new Era, with a recognizing start,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nation wildly looks at nation, standing with mute lips apart,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">10</span><span class="i0">And glad Truth's yet mightier man-child leaps beneath the Future's heart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So the Evil's triumph sendeth, with a terror and a chill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under continent to continent, the sense of coming ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels his sympathies with God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In hot tear-drops ebbing earthward, to be drunk up by the sod,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">15</span><span class="i0">Till a corpse crawls round unburied, delving in the nobler clod.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For mankind are one in spirit, and an instinct bears along,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round the earth's electric circle, the swift flash of right or wrong;<a name="FNanchor_27_27" id="FNanchor_27_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whether conscious or unconscious, yet Humanity's vast frame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through its ocean-sundered fibres feels the gush of joy or shame;—<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">20</span><span class="i0">In the gain or loss of one race all the rest have equal claim.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_27_27" id="Footnote_27_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> This figure has special force from the fact that Morse's +telegraph was first put in operation a few months before the writing +of this poem.</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering each the bloom or blight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon the right,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">25</span><span class="i0">And the choice goes by forever 'twixt that darkness and that light.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hast thou chosen, O my people, on whose party thou shall stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere the Doom from its worn sandals shakes the dust against our land?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though the cause of Evil prosper, yet 'tis Truth alone is strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, albeit she wander outcast now, I see around her throng<a name="FNanchor_28_28" id="FNanchor_28_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a><br /></span> +<span class="linenum">30</span><span class="i0">Troops of beautiful, tall angels, to enshield her from all wrong.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Backward look across the ages and the beacon-moments see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, like peaks of some sunk continent, jut through Oblivion's sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not an ear in court or market for the low foreboding cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of those Crises, God's stern winnowers, from whose feet earth's chaff must fly;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">35</span><span class="i0">Never shows the choice momentous till the judgment hath passed by.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_28_28" id="Footnote_28_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> Compare:— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Truth crushed to earth shall rise again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The eternal years of God are hers."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<span class="smcap">Bryant</span>.</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Careless seems the great Avenger; history's pages but record<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One death-grapple in the darkness 'twixt old systems and the Word;<a name="FNanchor_29_29" id="FNanchor_29_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">40</span><span class="i0">Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We see dimly in the Present what is small and what is great,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slow of faith how weak an arm may turn the iron helm of fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the soul is still oracular; amid the market's din,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">List the ominous stern whisper from the Delphic cave within,—<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">45</span><span class="i0">"They enslave their children's children who make compromise with sin."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_29_29" id="Footnote_29_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with +God, and the Word was God."</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Slavery, the earth-born Cyclops, fellest of the giant brood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sons of brutish Force and Darkness, who have drenched the earth with blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Famished in his self-made desert, blinded by our purer day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gropes in yet unblasted regions for his miserable prey;—<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">50</span><span class="i0">Shall we guide his gory fingers where our helpless children play?<a name="FNanchor_30_30" id="FNanchor_30_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then to side with Truth is noble when we share her wretched crust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 'tis prosperous to be just;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">55</span><span class="i0">And the multitude make virtue of the faith they had denied.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Count me o'er earth's chosen heroes,—they were souls that stood alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the men they agonized for hurled the contumelious stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood serene, and down the future saw the golden beam incline<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the side of perfect justice, mastered by their faith divine,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">60</span><span class="i0">By one man's plain truth to manhood and to God's supreme design.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_30_30" id="Footnote_30_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> For the full story of Cyclops, which runs in suggestive +phrase through these five lines, see the ninth book of the Odyssey. +The translation by G.H. Palmer will be found especially +satisfactory.</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By the light of burning heretics Christ's bleeding feet I track,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Toiling up new Calvaries ever with the cross that turns not back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And these mounts of anguish number how each generation learned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One new word of that grand <i>Credo</i> which in prophet-hearts hath burned<a name="FNanchor_31_31" id="FNanchor_31_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a><br /></span> +<span class="linenum">65</span><span class="i0">Since the first man stood God-conquered with his face to heaven upturned.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For Humanity sweeps onward: where to-day the martyr stands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his hands;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling fagots burn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe return<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">70</span><span class="i0">To glean up the scattered ashes into History's golden urn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis as easy to be heroes as to sit the idle slaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a legendary virtue carved upon our fathers' graves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Worshippers of light ancestral make the present light a crime;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was the Mayflower launched by cowards, steered by men behind their time?<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">75</span><span class="i0">Turn those tracks toward Past or Future, that make Plymouth Rock sublime?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_31_31" id="Footnote_31_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> The creed is so named from the first word in the Latin +form, <i>credo</i>, I believe.</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They were men of present valor, stalwart old iconoclasts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unconvinced by axe or gibbet that all virtue was the Past's;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But we make their truth our falsehood, thinking that hath made us free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hoarding it in mouldy parchments, while our tender spirits flee<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">80</span><span class="i0">The rude grasp of that great Impulse which drove them across the sea.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They have rights who dare maintain them; we are traitors to our sires,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smothering in their holy ashes Freedom's new-lit altar-fires;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall we make their creed our jailer? Shall we, in our haste to slay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the tombs of the old prophets steal the funeral lamps away<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">85</span><span class="i0">To light up the martyr-fagots round the prophets of to-day?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">New occasions teach new duties; Time makes ancient good uncouth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires! we ourselves must Pilgrims be.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">90</span><span class="i0">Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-rusted key.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="AL_FRESCO" id="AL_FRESCO"></a>AL FRESCO.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The dandelions and buttercups<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gild all the lawn; the drowsy bee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stumbles among the clover-tops,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And summer sweetens all but me:<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">5</span><span class="i0">Away, unfruitful lore of books,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For whose vain idiom we reject<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soul's more native dialect,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aliens among the birds and brooks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dull to interpret or conceive<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">10</span><span class="i0">What gospels lost the woods retrieve!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Away, ye critics, city-bred,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who springes set of thus and so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the first man's footsteps tread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like those who toil through drifted snow!<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">15</span><span class="i0">Away, my poets, whose sweet spell<a name="FNanchor_32_32" id="FNanchor_32_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can make a garden of a cell!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I need ye not, for I to-day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will make one long sweet verse of play.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><p><a name="Footnote_32_32" id="Footnote_32_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> There is a delightful pair of poems by Wordsworth, +<i>Expostulation and Reply</i>, and <i>The Tables Turned</i>, which show how +another poet treats books and nature.</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Snap, chord of manhood's tenser strain!<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">20</span><span class="i0">To-day I will be a boy again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mind's pursuing element,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a bow slackened and unbent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In some dark corner shall be leant.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The robin sings, as of old, from the limb!<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">25</span><span class="i0">The catbird croons in the lilac bush!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the dim arbor, himself more dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silently hops the hermit-thrush,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The withered leaves keep dumb for him;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The irreverent buccaneering bee<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">30</span><span class="i0">Hath stormed and rifled the nunnery<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the lily, and scattered the sacred floor<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With haste-dropt gold from shrine to door;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There, as of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rich, milk-tingeing buttercup<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">35</span><span class="i0">Its tiny polished urn holds up,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Filled with ripe summer to the edge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun in his own wine to pledge;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And our tall elm, this hundredth year<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doge of our leafy Venice here,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">40</span><span class="i0">Who, with an annual ring, doth wed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blue Adriatic overhead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shadows with his palatial mass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deep canals of flowing grass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">O unestrangëd birds and bees!<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">45</span><span class="i0">O face of Nature always true!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O never-unsympathizing trees!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O never-rejecting roof of blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose rash disherison never falls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On us unthinking prodigals,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">50</span><span class="i0">Yet who convictest all our ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So grand and unappeasable!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Methinks my heart from each of these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plucks part of childhood back again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long there imprisoned, as the breeze<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">55</span><span class="i0">Doth every hidden odor seize<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of wood and water, hill and plain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more am I admitted peer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the upper house of Nature here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And feel through all my pulses run<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +<span class="linenum">60</span><span class="i0">The royal blood of breeze and sun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Upon these elm-arched solitudes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No hum of neighbor toil intrudes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The only hammer that I hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is wielded by the woodpecker,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">65</span><span class="i0">The single noisy calling his<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In all our leaf-hid Sybaris;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The good old time, close-hidden here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Persists, a loyal cavalier,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While Roundheads prim, with point of fox,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">70</span><span class="i0">Probe wainscot-chink and empty box;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here no hoarse-voiced iconoclast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Insults thy statues, royal Past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Myself too prone the axe to wield,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I touch the silver side of the shield<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">75</span><span class="i0">With lance reversed, and challenge peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A willing convert of the trees.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">How chanced it that so long I tost<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A cable's length from this rich coast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With foolish anchors hugging close<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">80</span><span class="i0">The beckoning weeds and lazy ooze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor had the wit to wreck before<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On this enchanted island's shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whither the current of the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With wiser drift, persuaded me?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">85</span><span class="i2">O, might we but of such rare days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Build up the spirit's dwelling-place!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A temple of so Parian stone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would brook a marble god alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The statue of a perfect life,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +<span class="linenum">90</span><span class="i0">Far-shrined from earth's bestaining strife.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! though such felicity<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In our vext world here may not be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, as sometimes the peasant's hut<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shows stones which old religion cut<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">95</span><span class="i0">With text inspired, or mystic sign<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the Eternal and Divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Torn from the consecration deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of some fallen nunnery's mossy sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, from the ruins of this day<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">100</span><span class="i0">Crumbling in golden dust away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soul one gracious block may draw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Carved with some fragment of the law,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, set in life's prosaic wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old benedictions may recall,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">105</span><span class="i0">And lure some nunlike thoughts to take<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their dwelling here for memory's sake.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_FOOT-PATH" id="THE_FOOT-PATH"></a>THE FOOT-PATH.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It mounts athwart the windy hill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through sallow slopes of upland bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Fancy climbs with foot-fall still<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its narrowing curves that end in air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">5</span><span class="i0">By day, a warmer-hearted blue<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stoops softly to that topmost swell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its thread-like windings seem a clew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To gracious climes where all is well.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By night, far yonder, I surmise<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">10</span><span class="i2">An ampler world than clips my ken,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the great stars of happier skies<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Commingle nobler fates of men.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I look and long, then haste me home,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still master of my secret rare;<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">15</span><span class="i0">Once tried, the path would end in Rome,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But now it leads me everywhere.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Forever to the new it guides,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From former good, old overmuch;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What Nature for her poets hides,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">20</span><span class="i2">'Tis wiser to divine than clutch.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The bird I list hath never come<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Within the scope of mortal ear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My prying step would make him dumb,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the fair tree, his shelter, sear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">25</span><span class="i0">Behind the hill, behind the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Behind my inmost thought, he sings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No feet avail; to hear it nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The song itself must lend the wings.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sing on, sweet bird, close hid, and raise<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">30</span><span class="i2">Those angel stairways in my brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That climb from these low-vaulted days<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To spacious sunshines far from pain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sing when thou wilt, enchantment fleet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I leave thy covert haunt untrod,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">35</span><span class="i0">And envy Science not her feat<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To make a twice-told tale of God.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +<span class="i0">They said the fairies tript no more,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And long ago that Pan was dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas but that fools preferred to bore<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">40</span><span class="i2">Earth's rind inch-deep for truth instead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pan leaps and pipes all summer long,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fairies dance each full-mooned night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would we but doff our lenses strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And trust our wiser eyes' delight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="linenum">45</span><span class="i0">City of Elf-land, just without<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our seeing, marvel ever new,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glimpsed in fair weather, a sweet doubt<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sketched-in, mirage-like, on the blue.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I build thee in yon sunset cloud,<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">50</span><span class="i2">Whose edge allures to climb the height;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hear thy drowned bells, inly-loud,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From still pools dusk with dreams of night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thy gates are shut to hardiest will,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy countersign of long-lost speech,—<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">55</span><span class="i0">Those fountained courts, those chambers still,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fronting Time's far East, who shall reach?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I know not, and will never pry,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But trust our human heart for all;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wonders that from the seeker fly<br /></span> +<span class="linenum">60</span><span class="i2">Into an open sense may fall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hide in thine own soul, and surprise<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The password of the unwary elves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seek it, thou canst not bribe their spies;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unsought, they whisper it themselves.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Riverside_Literature_Series" id="The_Riverside_Literature_Series"></a><b>The Riverside Literature Series.</b></h2> + +<p><i>With Introductions, Notes, Historical Sketches, and Biographical +Sketches. Each regular single number, paper, 15 cents.</i></p> + + +<p>1. Longfellow's Evangeline.<a name="FNanchor_33_33" id="FNanchor_33_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a><a name="FNanchor_37_37" id="FNanchor_37_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a></p> + +<p>2. Longfellow's Courtship of Miles Standish; Elizabeth.<a name="FNanchor_38_38" id="FNanchor_38_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a></p> + +<p>3. Longfellow's Courtship of Miles Standish. <span class="smcap">Dramatized</span>.</p> + +<p>4. Whittier's Snow-Bound, and Other Poems.<a name="FNanchor_39_39" id="FNanchor_39_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a><a name="FNanchor_40_40" id="FNanchor_40_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a><a name="FNanchor_41_41" id="FNanchor_41_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>5. Whittier's Mabel Martin, and Other Poems.<a name="FNanchor_42_42" id="FNanchor_42_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>6. Holmes's Grandmother's Story of Bunker Hill Battle, etc.<a name="FNanchor_43_43" id="FNanchor_43_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>7, 8, 9. Hawthorne's Grandfather's Chair: True Stories from New +England History. 1620-1803. In three parts.<a name="FNanchor_44_44" id="FNanchor_44_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a></p> + +<p>10. Hawthorne's Biographical Stories. With Questions.<a name="FNanchor_45_45" id="FNanchor_45_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>11. Longfellow's Children's Hour, and Other Selections.<a name="FNanchor_46_46" id="FNanchor_46_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>12. Studies in Longfellow. Thirty-two Topics for Study.</p> + +<p>13, 14. Longfellow's Song of Hiawatha. In two parts.<a name="FNanchor_35_35" id="FNanchor_35_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a></p> + +<p>15. Lowell's Under the Old Elm, and Other Poems.<a name="FNanchor_48_48" id="FNanchor_48_48"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>16. Bayard Taylor's Lars: a Pastoral of Norway; and Other Poems.</p> + +<p>17, 18. Hawthorne's Wonder-Book. In two parts.<a name="FNanchor_49_49" id="FNanchor_49_49"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a></p> + +<p>19, 20. Benjamin Franklin's Autobiography. In two parts.<a name="FNanchor_50_50" id="FNanchor_50_50"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a></p> + +<p>21. Benjamin Franklin's Poor Richard's Almanac, etc.</p> + +<p>22, 23. Hawthorne's Tanglewood Tales. In two parts.<a name="FNanchor_51_51" id="FNanchor_51_51"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a></p> + +<p>24. Washington's Rules of Conduct, Letters and Addresses.<a name="FNanchor_52_52" id="FNanchor_52_52"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a></p> + +<p>25, 26. Longfellow's Golden Legend. In two parts.<a name="FNanchor_53_53" id="FNanchor_53_53"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a></p> + +<p>27. Thoreau's Succession of Forest Trees, Sounds, and Wild Apples. +With a Biographical Sketch by <span class="smcap">R.W. Emerson</span>.</p> + +<p>28. John Burroughs's Birds and Bees.<a name="FNanchor_54_54" id="FNanchor_54_54"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>29. Hawthorne's Little Daffydowndilly, and Other Stories.<a name="FNanchor_55_55" id="FNanchor_55_55"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>30. Lowell's Vision of Sir Launfal, and Other Pieces.<a name="FNanchor_56_56" id="FNanchor_56_56"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a><a name="FNanchor_57_57" id="FNanchor_57_57"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a><a name="FNanchor_58_58" id="FNanchor_58_58"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>31. Holmes's My Hunt after the Captain, and Other Papers.<a name="FNanchor_59_59" id="FNanchor_59_59"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a></p> + +<p>32. Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Speech, and Other Papers.</p> + +<p>33, 34, 35. Longfellow's Tales of a Wayside Inn. In three parts.<a name="FNanchor_60_60" id="FNanchor_60_60"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a></p> + +<p>36. John Burroughs's Sharp Eyes, and Other Papers.<a name="FNanchor_61_61" id="FNanchor_61_61"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>37. Charles Dudley Warner's A-Hunting of the Deer, etc.<a name="FNanchor_62_62" id="FNanchor_62_62"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a></p> + +<p>38. Longfellow's Building of the Ship, and Other Poems.</p> + +<p>39. Lowell's Books and Libraries, and Other Papers.</p> + +<p>40. Hawthorne's Tales of the White Hills, and Sketches.<a name="FNanchor_63_63" id="FNanchor_63_63"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>41. Whittier's Tent on the Beach, and Associated Poems.</p> + +<p>42. Emerson's Fortune of the Republic, and Other Essays, including the +American Scholar.</p> + +<p>43. Ulysses among the Phæacians. From <span class="smcap">W.C. Bryant's</span> +Translation of Homer's Odyssey.</p> + +<p>44. Edgeworth's Waste Not, Want Not; and The Barring Out.</p> + +<p>45. Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome.<a name="FNanchor_64_64" id="FNanchor_64_64"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a></p> + +<p>46. Old Testament Stories in Scripture Language.</p> + +<p>47, 48. Fables and Folk Stories. In two parts.<a name="FNanchor_65_65" id="FNanchor_65_65"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a></p> + +<p>49, 50. Hans Andersen's Stories. In two parts.<a name="FNanchor_66_66" id="FNanchor_66_66"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a></p> + +<p>51, 52. Washington Irving: Essays from the Sketch Book. [51.] Rip Van +Winkle, and other American Essays. [52] The Voyage, and other English +Essays. In two parts.<a name="FNanchor_67_67" id="FNanchor_67_67"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a></p> + +<p>53. Scott's Lady of the Lake. Edited by <span class="smcap">W.J. Rolfe</span>. With +copious notes and numerous illustrations. (<i>Double Number, 30 cents. +Also, in Rolfe's Students' Series, cloth to Teachers, 53 cents.</i>)</p> + + +<p><b>Also, bound in linen:</b> <a name="FNanchor_68_68" id="FNanchor_68_68"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a> 25 cents. <a name="FNanchor_69_69" id="FNanchor_69_69"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> 29 and 10 in one vol., 40 +cents; likewise 28 and 36, 4 and 5, 6 and 31, 15 and 36, 40 and 69, 11 +and 63. <a name="FNanchor_70_70" id="FNanchor_70_70"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> Also in one vol. 40 cents. <a name="FNanchor_71_71" id="FNanchor_71_71"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a> 1, 4, and 30 also in one +vol., 50 cents; likewise 7, 8, and 9, 33, 34, and 36. </p> + + + + +<p> </p> +<h3>JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.</h3> +<h4>POEMS</h4> + +<p><i>Cabinet Edition.</i> 16mo, $1.00, half calf, $2.00, tree calf, flexible +calf, or flexible levant, $3.00.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Same.</span> <i>Household Edition.</i> With Portrait and +Illustrations. 12mo, $1.50, full gilt, $2.00, half calf, $3.00, levant +or tree calf, $4.50.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Same.</span> <i>New Cambridge Edition.</i> From new plates, printed +from clear type on opaque paper, and attractively bound. With a +Portrait and engraved Title-page, and a Vignette of Lowell's Home, +Elmwood. 8vo, gilt top, $2.00.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Same.</span> <i>Family Edition.</i> Illustrated. 8vo, full gilt, +$2.00.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Same.</span> <i>Illustrated Library Edition.</i> With Portrait and 32 +full-page Illustrations. 8vo, full gilt, $3.00, half calf, $5.00, +levant, padded calf, or tree calf, $7.50.</p> + + +<h4>PROSE AND POETRY.</h4> + +<p><i>New Riverside Edition.</i> Same style as <i>Riverside</i>. Longfellow and +Whittier. With Portraits. The set, 12 vols. crown 8vo, gilt top, each +(except vols. 11 and 12), $1.50, vols. 11 and 12, each, $1.25, the +set, 12 vols., $17.50, half calf, $33.00, half calf, gilt top, $36.00, +half levant, $48.00.</p> + +<p>Prose Works. (Vols. 1-6, 11, 12.) Separate, $11.50. Poems (Vols. 7-10) +Separate, $6.00. 1-4. Literary Essays (including My Study Windows, +Among my Books, Fireside Travels), 5. Political Essays, 6. Literary +and Political Addresses, 7-10. Poems, 11. Latest Literary Essays and +Addresses, 12. The Old English Dramatists.</p> + + +<h4>SEPARATE WORKS AND COMPILATIONS.</h4> + +<p><b>The Vision of Sir Launfal.</b> A Poem of the Search for the Holy Grail. +Illustrated. 16mo, flexible leather, $1.50.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Same.</span> New Edition. Illustrated with Photogravures from +designs by <span class="smcap">E.H. Garrett</span>, and a new Portrait. 16mo, gilt top, +$1.50.</p> + +<p><b>A Fable for Critics.</b> With outline portraits of authors mentioned, +and facsimile of title-page of First Edition. Crown 8vo, gilt top, +$1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Heartsease and Rue.</b> 16mo, gilt top, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>The Biglow Papers.</b> First and Second Series. New <i>Popular Edition</i>, +12mo, $1.00, in Riverside Aldine Series, 2 vols., $2.00.</p> + +<p><b>Odes, Lyrics, and Sonnets</b>, from the Poetic Works of James Russell +Lowell. <i>White and Gold Series.</i> 16mo, gilt top, $1.00, half levant, +$3.00.</p> + +<p><b>Fireside Travels.</b> 12mo, gilt top, $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>Among my Books.</b> First Series, Second Series. Each, 12mo, gilt top, +$2.00.</p> + +<p><b>My Study Windows.</b> 12mo, gilt top, $2.00.</p> + +<p><b>Democracy, and Other Addresses.</b> 16mo, gilt top, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>Political Essays.</b> 12mo, gilt top, $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>Lowell Birthday Book.</b> 32mo, $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Lowell Calendar Book.</b> Containing Selections from Lowell's Writings +for Every Day. 32mo, 25 cents.</p> + +<p><b>Last Poems</b>. Edited by <span class="smcap">Charles Eliot Norton</span>. With a fine new +Portrait. 12mo, gilt top, $1.25.</p> + + +<h4>FOR SCHOOL USE.</h4> + +<p><b>Riverside Literature Series: No. 15.</b> Under the Old Elm, and Other +Poems. With a Biographical Sketch and Notes. Paper, 15 cents, <i>net</i>. +<b>No. 30.</b> The Vision of Sir Launfal, and Other Poems. With a +Biographical Sketch, Notes, and Illustrations. Paper, 15 cents, <i>net</i>, +cloth, 25 cents, <i>net</i>. (Nos. 15 and 30 also bound together in one +volume, cloth, 40 cents, <i>net</i>.) <b>No. 39.</b> Books and Libraries, and +Other Papers. With Notes. Paper, 15 cents, <i>net</i>. <b>Extra Double No. +M.</b> A Fable for Critics. With Outline Portraits. 30 cents, <i>net</i>. +<b>Extra Double No. O.</b> Lowell Leaflets. 30 cents, <i>net</i>; cloth, 40 +cents, <i>net</i>.</p> + +<p><b>Modern Classics:</b> Vol 5. The Vision of Sir Launfal, The Cathedral, +Favorite Poems. Vol. 31. My Garden Acquaintance, A Good Word for +Winter, A Moosehead Journal. <i>School Edition.</i> Each, 32mo, 40 cents, +<i>net</i>.</p> + +<p><b>Riverside School Library:</b> The Vision of Sir Launfal, and other Verse +and Prose. 16mo, half leather, 60 cents, <i>net</i>.</p> + +<p><b>Portraits.</b> Lowell at 24, etching, at 31, at 38, at 39, at 62, at 69. +Steel, each 25 cents. On India paper, 75 cents. Lowell at 23, +photogravure, 75 cents. Atlantic Life-Size Portrait, $1.00.</p> + +<h4>HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & COMPANY.</h4> + + +<h3>The Riverside Literature Series.</h3> + +<h5>(<i>Continued.</i>)</h5> + +<p class="figcenter"><i>Each regular single number, paper, 15 cents.</i></p> + +<p>54. Bryant's Sella, Thanatopsis, and Other Poems.<a name="FNanchor_72_72" id="FNanchor_72_72"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a></p> + +<p>55. Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice. <span class="smcap">Thurber</span>.<a name="FNanchor_73_73" id="FNanchor_73_73"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a><a name="FNanchor_74_74" id="FNanchor_74_74"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>56. Webster's First Bunker Hill Oration, and the Oration on Adams and +Jefferson.</p> + +<p>57. Dickens's Christmas Carol.<a name="FNanchor_75_75" id="FNanchor_75_75"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> With Notes and a Biography.</p> + +<p>58. Dickens's Cricket on the Hearth.<a name="FNanchor_76_76" id="FNanchor_76_76"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>59. Verse and Prose for Beginners in Reading.<a name="FNanchor_77_77" id="FNanchor_77_77"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a></p> + +<p>60, 61. The Sir Roger de Ooverley Papers. In two parts.<a name="FNanchor_78_78" id="FNanchor_78_78"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a></p> + +<p>62. John Fiske's War of Independence. With Maps and a Biographical +Sketch.<a name="FNanchor_79_79" id="FNanchor_79_79"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a></p> + +<p>63. Longfellow's Paul Revere's Ride, and Other Poems.<a name="FNanchor_80_80" id="FNanchor_80_80"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>64. 65, 66. Tales from Shakespeare. Edited by <span class="smcap">Charles</span> and +<span class="smcap">Mary Lamb</span>. In three parts. [Also, in one volume, linen, 50 +cents.]</p> + +<p>67. Shakespeare's Julius Cæsar.<a name="FNanchor_81_81" id="FNanchor_81_81"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a><a name="FNanchor_82_82" id="FNanchor_82_82"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>68. Goldsmith's Deserted Village, The Traveller, etc.<a name="FNanchor_83_83" id="FNanchor_83_83"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a></p> + +<p>69. Hawthorne's Old Manse, and A Few Mosses.<a name="FNanchor_84_84" id="FNanchor_84_84"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>70. A Selection from Whittier's Child Life in Poetry.<a name="FNanchor_34_34" id="FNanchor_34_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>71. A Selection from Whittier's Child Life in Prose.<a name="FNanchor_85_85" id="FNanchor_85_85"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>72. Milton's L'Allegro, Il Penseroso, Oomus, Lycidas, etc.<a name="FNanchor_86_86" id="FNanchor_86_86"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<p>73. Tennyson's Enoch Arden, and Other Poems.</p> + +<p>74. Gray's Elegy, etc.: Oowper's John Gilpin, etc.</p> + +<p>75. Scudder's George Washington.<a name="FNanchor_87_87" id="FNanchor_87_87"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a></p> + +<p>76. Wordsworth's On the Intimations of Immortality, etc.</p> + +<p>77. Burns's Cotter's Saturday Night, and Other Poems.</p> + +<p>78. Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield.<a name="FNanchor_36_36" id="FNanchor_36_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a></p> + +<p>79. Lamb's Old China, and Other assays of Elia.</p> + +<p>80. Coleridge's Rime of the Ancient Mariner, and Other Poems; +Campbell's Lochiel's Warning, and Other Poems.</p> + + + +<div class="footnotes"> +<p><b>Also, bound in linen:</b></p><p><a name="Footnote_33_33" id="Footnote_33_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> 25 cents.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_34_34" id="Footnote_34_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a> 11 and 63 in one vol., 40 cents; likewise 55 and 67, 57 +and 58, 40 and 69, 70 and 71, 72 and 94.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_35_35" id="Footnote_35_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35_35"><span class="label">[35]</span></a> Also in one vol., 40 cents.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_36_36" id="Footnote_36_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36_36"><span class="label">[36]</span></a> Double Number, paper, 30 cents; linen, 40 cents.</p></div> + + +<p class="figcenter"> </p> +<p class="figcenter"><i>EXTRA NUMBERS</i>.</p> +<p><i>A.</i> American Authors and their Birthdays. Programmes and Suggestions +for the Celebration of the Birthdays of Authors. By <span class="smcap">A.S. Roe</span>.</p> + +<p><i>B.</i> Portraits and Biographies of 20 American Authors.</p> + +<p><i>C.</i> A Longfellow Night. For Catholic Schools and Societies.</p> + +<p><i>D.</i> Literature in School. Essays by <span class="smcap">Horace E. Scudder</span>.</p> + +<p><i>E.</i> Harriet Beecher Stowe. Dialogues and Scenes.</p> + +<p><i>F.</i> Longfellow Leaflets. </p> +<p><i>G.</i> Whittier Leaflets. </p> +<p><i>H.</i> Holmes Leaflets. </p> +<p><i>O.</i> Lowell Leaflets. </p> +<p>(Each a <i>Double Number, 30 cents; linen, 40 cents</i>.) Poems and Prose Passages for Reading and Recitation. </p> +<p><i>I.</i> The Riverside Manual for Teachers, containing Suggestions and +Illustrative Lessons leading up to Primary Reading. By <span class="smcap">I.F. +Hall</span>.</p> + +<p><i>K.</i> The Riverside Primer and Reader. (<i>Special Number.</i>) In paper +covers, with cloth back, 25 cents; in strong linen binding, 30 cents.</p> + +<p><i>L.</i> The Riverside Song Book. Containing Classic American Poems set to +Standard Music. (<i>Double Number, 30 cents; boards, 40 cents.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>M.</i> Lowells' Fable for Critics. 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