diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/66180-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/66180-0.txt | 2500 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 2500 deletions
diff --git a/old/66180-0.txt b/old/66180-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4c9850a..0000000 --- a/old/66180-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2500 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Sketches, by N. P. Willis - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Sketches - -Author: N. P. Willis - -Release Date: August 30, 2021 [eBook #66180] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Louise Davies, SF2001, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SKETCHES *** - - - - - SKETCHES: - - BY N. P. WILLIS. - - ‘---- If I remember, - You loved such stories once, thinking they brought - Man to a fine and true humanity.’ - Barry Cornwall. - - - BOSTON: - S. G. GOODRICH, 141, WASHINGTON ST. - - * * * * * - - MDCCCXXVII. - - - - - DISTRICT OF MASSACHUSETTS, _to wit_: - _District Clerk’s Office._ - - Be it remembered, that on the thirtieth day of November, A. D. 1827, - in the fifty second year of the Independence of the United States of - America, _N. P. Willis_, of the said district, has deposited in this - office the title of a book, the right whereof he claims as author, in - the words following, _to wit_: ‘Sketches. By N. P. Willis. - - “---- If I remember, - You loved such stories once, thinking they brought - Man to a fine and true humanity.” - Barry Cornwall.’ - - In conformity to the act of the Congress of the United States, - entitled, ‘An act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the - copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors of - such copies, during the times therein mentioned;’ and also to an act - entitled ‘An act supplementary to an act, entitled, an act for the - encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and - books to the authors and proprietors of such copies during the times - therein mentioned; and extending the benefits thereof to the arts of - designing, engraving and etching historical and other prints.’ - - JNO. W. DAVIS, _Clerk of the District of Massachusetts._ - - - BOSTON: PRESS OF THE CHRISTIAN EXAMINER. - - Stephen Foster, Printer. - - - - - TO - MY FATHER - THIS VOLUME - IS - RESPECTFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY - DEDICATED. - - - - -PREFACE. - - -In introducing this volume to the Public, the Author would simply -remark, that it was written at different periods of a college life, -which has just expired; (the Scripture Sketches at a very early part of -it.) He has no intention of screening its faults, either of feeling or -style, beneath his ‘score of summers;’ but as prefaces are the fashion, -he has thought the mention of the fact would not be amiss in the -promotion of a proper understanding between himself and his readers. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - SKETCHES. - - The Sacrifice of Abraham 9 - Absalom 14 - Hagar in the Wilderness 20 - Jephthah’s Daughter 26 - Idleness 32 - Dreams 34 - October 38 - Boyhood 41 - Night Sketches 44 - Twilight 49 - Dawn 51 - Scraps from a Journal 53 - Better Moments 61 - The Hindoo Mother 65 - Waiting for the Harvesters 75 - - FUGITIVE PIECES. - - The Soldier’s Widow 79 - The Burial of Arnold 81 - To Laura W---- 84 - Sonnets 87, 88, 89 - Extract from a Poem Delivered at the - Departure of the Senior Class of Yale - College in 1826 90 - Notes 95 - - - - -SKETCHES. - - - - -THE SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM. - - - Morn breaketh in the east. The purple clouds - Are putting on their gold and violet, - To look the meeter for the sun’s bright coming. - Sleep is upon the waters and the wind; - And nature, from the tremulous forest leaf - To her majestic master, sleeps. As yet - There is no mist upon the deep blue sky, - And the clear dew is on the blushing bosoms - Of crimson roses, in a holy rest. - How hallowed is the hour of morning! meet, - Aye, beautifully meet, for the pure prayer. - - The patriarch standeth at his tented door, - With his white locks uncovered. ’Tis his wont - To gaze upon the gorgeous orient; - And at that hour the awful majesty - Of one who talketh often with his God, - Is wont to come again and clothe his brow - As at his fourscore strength. But now he seemeth - To be forgetful of his vigorous frame, - And boweth to his staff as at the hour - Of noontide sultriness; and that bright sun! - He looketh at its pencilled messengers, - Coming in golden raiment, as if light - Were opening a fearful scroll in heaven. - Ah! he is waiting till it herald in - The hour to sacrifice his much loved son! - - Light poureth on the world. And Sarah stands, - Watching the steps of Abraham and her child - Along the dewy sides of the far hills, - And praying that her sunny boy faint not. - Would she have watched their path so silently, - If she had known that he was going up, - Even in his fair-haired beauty, to be slain - As a white lamb for sacrifice? They trod - Together onward, patriarch and child; - The bright sun throwing back the old man’s shade, - In straight and fair proportions, as of one - Erect in early vigor. He stood up - Firm in his better strength, and like a tree - Rooted in Lebanon, his frame bent not. - His thin, white hairs had yielded to the wind, - And left his brow uncovered; and his face, - Impressed with the stern majesty of grief, - Nerved to a solemn duty, now stood forth - Like a rent rock, submissive, yet sublime. - But the young boy, he of the laughing eye - And ruby lip, the pride of life was on him. - He seemed to drink the morning. Sun and dew, - And the aroma of the spicy trees, - And all that giveth the delicious East - Its fitness for an Eden, stole like light - Into his spirit, ravishing his thoughts - With love and beauty. Every thing he met, - Floating or beautiful, the lightest wing - Of bird or insect, or the palest dye - Of the fresh flowers, won him from his path; - And joyously broke forth his tiny shout, - As he flung back his silken hair, and sprung - Away to some green spot or clustering vine, - To pluck his infant trophies. Every tree - And fragrant shrub was a new hiding-place, - And he would crouch till the old man came by, - Then bound before him with his childish laugh, - Stealing a look behind him playfully, - To see if he had made his father smile. - - The sun rode on in heaven. The dew stole up - Like a light veil from nature, and the heat - Came like a sleep upon the delicate leaves, - And bent them with the blossoms to their dreams. - Still trod the patriarch on with that same step, - Firm and unfaltering, turning not aside - To seek the olive shades, or lave his lips - In the sweet waters of the Syrian wells, - Whose gush hath so much music. Weariness - Stole on the gentle boy, and he forgot - To toss his sunny hair from off his brow, - And spring for the light wings and gaudy flowers, - As in the early morning; but he kept - Close by his father’s side, and bent his head - Upon his bosom like a drooping bud, - Lifting it not, save now and then to steal - A look up to the face whose sternness awed - His childishness to silence. - - It was noon; - And Abraham on Moriah bowed himself, - And buried up his face, and prayed for strength. - He could not look upon his son and pray; - But with his hand upon the clustering curls - Of the fair, kneeling boy, he prayed that God - Would nerve him for that hour. Oh! man was made - For the stern conflict. In a mother’s love - There is more tenderness; the thousand cords - Woven with every fibre of her heart, - Complain, like delicate harp strings, at a breath; - But love in man is one deep principle, - Which, yielding not to lighter influence, - Abides the tempest. He rose up, and laid - The wood upon the altar. All was done. - He stood a moment, and a vivid flush - Passed o’er his countenance; and then he nerved - His spirit with a bitter strength, and spoke: - ‘Isaac! my only son!’ The boy looked up, - And Abraham turned his face away, and wept. - ‘Where is the lamb, my father?’ Oh! the tones, - The sweet, the thrilling music of a child! - How it doth agonize at such an hour! - It was the last, deep struggle. Abraham held - His loved, his beautiful, his only son, - And lifted up his arm, and called on God-- - And lo! God’s Angel stayed him; and he fell - Upon his face and wept. - - - - -ABSALOM. - - - The waters slept. Night’s silvery veil hung low - On Jordan’s bosom, and the eddies curled - Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still - Unbroken beating of the sleeper’s pulse. - The reeds bent down the stream. The willow leaves, - With a soft cheek upon the lulling tide, - Forgot the lifting winds; and the long stems, - Whose flowers the water, like a gentle nurse, - Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way - And leaned in graceful attitudes to rest. - How strikingly the course of nature tells, - By its light heed of human suffering, - That it was fashioned for a perfect world! - - King David’s limbs were weary. He had fled - From far Jerusalem, and now he stood - With his faint people for a little rest - Upon the shore of Jordan. The light wind - Of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow - To its refreshing breath; for he had worn - The mourner’s covering, and he had not felt - That he could see his people until now. - They gathered round him on the fresh green bank, - And spoke their kindly words; and as the sun - Rose up in heaven, he knelt among them there, - And bowed his head upon his hands to pray. - Oh! when the heart is full, when bitter thoughts - Come crowding thickly up for utterance, - And the poor common words of courtesy - Are such a very mockery, how much - The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer! - He prayed for Israel; and his voice went up - Strongly and fervently; he prayed for those - Whose love had been his shield; and his deep tones - Grew tremulous; but oh! for Absalom! - For his estranged, misguided Absalom-- - The proud, bright being who had burst away, - In all his princely beauty, to defy - The heart that cherished him--for him he poured, - In agony that would not be controlled, - Strong supplication, and forgave him there - Before his God, for his deep sinfulness. - - The hosts were numbered. At Mahanaim’s gate - Sat David, as the glittering thousands passed - Forth to the battle. With a troubled eye - He looked upon their pomp, and as the helms - Bent low before him, and the banners swayed - Like burnished wings to do him reverence, - His look grew restless, and he did not wear - The lofty sternness of a monarch’s brow. - The leader of the host came by. His form - Was like a son of Anak, and he strode - Majestically on, and bore his crest - As men were waters, and his frame a rock. - The king rose up to Joab, and came near, - As his tall helm was bowed; and by the love - He bore his master, he besought him there - That he would spare him Absalom alive. - He passed with his stern warriors on; the trump - And the loud cymbal died upon the ear; - And as the king turned off his weary gaze, - The last faint gleam had vanished, and the wood - Of Ephraim had received a thousand men, - To whom its pleasant shadows were a grave. - - The pall was settled. He who slept beneath - Was straightened for the grave; and as the folds - Sunk to the still proportions, they betrayed - The matchless symmetry of Absalom. - His hair was yet unshorn, and silken curls - Were floating round the tassels as they swayed - To the admitted air, as glossy now - As when in hours of gentle dalliance bathing - The snowy fingers of Judea’s girls. - His helm was at his feet; his banner, soiled - With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid - Reversed beside him; and the jewelled hilt, - Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade, - Rested like mockery on his covered brow. - The soldiers of the king trod to and fro, - Clad in the garb of battle, and their chief, - The mighty Joab, stood beside his bier - And gazed upon the dark pall stedfastly, - As if he feared the slumberer might stir. - A slow step startled him. He grasped his blade - As if a trumpet rang; but the bent form - Of David entered, and he gave command - In a low tone to his few followers, - And left him with his dead. The king stood still - Till the last echo died; then throwing off - The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back - The pall from the still features of his child, - He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth - In the resistless eloquence of woe. - - ‘Alas! my noble boy, that thou shouldst die! - Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair! - That death should settle in thy glorious eye, - And leave his stillness in this clustering hair! - How could he mark thee for the silent tomb, - My proud boy, Absalom! - - ‘Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill - When to my bosom I would try to press thee; - How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill, - Like a rich harp string, yearning to caress thee, - And hear thy sweet “My Father!” from these dumb - And cold lips, Absalom! - - ‘The grave hath won thee; I shall hear the gush - Of music and the voices of the young; - And life will pass me in the mantling blush, - And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung; - But thou no more with thy sweet voice shalt come - To meet me, Absalom! - - ‘And oh! when I am stricken, and my heart - Like a bruised reed is waiting to be broken; - How will its love for thee, as I depart, - Long for thine ear to catch its dying token! - It were so sweet, amid death’s gathering gloom, - To see thee, Absalom! - - ‘And now farewell! ’tis hard to give thee up, - With death so like a gentle slumber on thee. - And thy dark sin--oh! I could drink the cup, - If from this woe its bitterness had won thee-- - May God have called thee like a wanderer home, - My erring Absalom!’ - - He covered up his face, and bowed himself - A moment on his child; then giving him - A look of melting tenderness, he clasped - His hands convulsively, as if in prayer; - And as a strength were given him of God, - He rose up calmly, and composed the pall - About him decently, and left him there - As if his rest had been a breathing sleep. - - - - -HAGAR IN THE WILDERNESS. - - - The morning broke. Light stole upon the clouds - With a strange beauty. Earth received again - Its garment of a thousand dies; and leaves, - And delicate blossoms, and the painted flowers, - And every thing that bendeth to the dew, - And stirreth with the daylight, lifted up - Its beauty to the breath of that sweet morn. - - All things are dark to sorrow; and the light - And loveliness, and fragrant air were sad - To the dejected Hagar. The moist earth - Was pouring odors from its spicy pores, - And the young birds were caroling as life - Were a new thing to them; but oh! it came - Upon her heart like discord, and she felt - How cruelly it tries a broken heart, - To see a mirth in any thing it loves. - She stood at Abraham’s tent. Her lips were pressed - Till the blood left them; and the wandering veins - Of her transparent forehead, were swelled out, - As if her pride would burst them. Her dark eye - Was clear and tearless, and the light of heaven, - Which made its language legible, shot back - From her long lashes, as it had been flame. - Her noble boy stood by her with his hand - Clasped in her own, and his round, delicate feet, - Scarce trained to balance on the tented floor, - Sandaled for journeying. He had looked up - Into his mother’s face until he caught - The spirit there, and his young heart was swelling - Beneath his snowy bosom, and his form - Straightened up proudly in his tiny wrath, - As if his light proportions would have swelled, - Had they but matched his spirit, to the man. - - Why bends the patriarch as he cometh now - Upon his staff so wearily? His beard - Is low upon his breast, and his high brow, - So written with the converse of his God, - Beareth the swollen vein of agony. - His lip is quivering, and his wonted step - Of vigor is not there, and though the morn - Is passing fair and beautiful, he breathes - Its freshness as it were a pestilence. - Oh! man may bear with suffering; his heart - Is a strong thing, and godlike in the grasp - Of pain that wrings mortality; but tear - One cord affection clings to, part one tie - That binds him to a woman’s delicate love, - And his great spirit yieldeth like a reed. - - He gave to her the water and the bread, - But spoke no word, and trusted not himself - To look upon her face, but laid his hand - In silent blessing on the fair-haired boy, - And left her to her lot of loneliness. - - Should Hagar weep? May slighted woman turn, - And as a vine the oak hath shaken off, - Bend lightly to her tendencies again? - Oh no! by all her loveliness, by all - That makes life poetry and beauty, no! - Make her a slave; steal from her rosy cheek - By needless jealousies; let the last star - Leave her a watcher by your couch of pain; - Wrong her by petulance, suspicion, all - That makes her cup a bitterness--yet give - One evidence of love, and earth has not - An emblem of devotedness like hers. - But oh! estrange her once, it boots not how, - By wrong or silence, any thing that tells - A change has come upon your tenderness-- - And there is not a high thing out of heaven - Her pride o’ermastereth not. - - She went her way with a strong step and slow; - Her pressed lip arched, and her clear eye undimmed, - As it had been a diamond, and her form - Borne proudly up, as if her heart breathed through. - Her child kept on in silence, though she pressed - His hand till it was pained; for he had caught, - As I have said, her spirit, and the seed - Of a stern nation had been breathed upon. - - The morning past, and Asia’s sun rode up - In the clear heaven, and every beam was heat. - The cattle of the hills were in the shade, - And the bright plumage of the Orient lay - On beating bosoms in her spicy trees. - It was an hour of rest; but Hagar found - No shelter in the wilderness, and on - She kept her weary way, until the boy - Hung down his head, and opened his parched lips - For water; but she could not give it him. - She laid him down beneath the sultry sky; - For it was better than the close, hot breath - Of the thick pines, and tried to comfort him; - But he was sore athirst, and his blue eyes - Were dim and bloodshot, and he could not know - Why God denied him water in the wild. - She sat a little longer, and he grew - Ghastly and faint, as if he would have died. - It was too much for her. She lifted him - And bore him farther on, and laid his head - Beneath the shadow of a desert shrub; - And shrouding up her face she went away, - And sat to watch, where he could see her not, - Till he should die--and watching him she mourned:-- - - ‘God stay thee in thine agony, my boy! - I cannot see thee die; I cannot brook - Upon thy brow to look, - And see death settle on my cradle joy. - How have I drunk the light of thy blue eye! - And could I see thee die? - - ‘I did not dream of this when thou wast straying, - Like an unbound gazelle, among the flowers; - Or wearing rosy hours, - By the rich gush of water-sources playing, - Then sinking weary to thy smiling sleep, - So beautiful and deep. - - ‘Oh no! and when I watched by thee the while, - And saw thy bright lip curling in thy dream, - And thought of the dark stream - In my own land of Egypt, the deep Nile, - How prayed I that my fathers’ land might be - An heritage for thee! - - ‘And now the grave for its cold breast hath won thee, - And thy white, delicate limbs the earth will press; - And oh! my last caress - Must feel thee cold, for a chill hand is on thee. - How can I leave my boy, so pillowed there - Upon his clustering hair!’ - - She stood beside the well her God had given - To gush in that deep wilderness, and bathed - The forehead of her child until he laughed - In his reviving happiness, and lisped - His infant thought of gladness at the sight - Of the cool plashing of his mother’s hand. - - - - -JEPHTHAH’S DAUGHTER. - - - She stood before her father’s gorgeous tent, - To listen for his coming. Her loose hair - Was resting on her shoulders, like a cloud - Floating around a statue, and the wind, - Just swaying her light robe, revealed a shape - Praxiteles might worship. She had clasped - Her hands upon her bosom, and had raised - Her beautiful, dark, Jewish eyes to heaven, - Till the long lashes laid upon her brow. - Her lip was slightly parted, like the leaves - Of a half-blown pomegranate; and her neck, - Just where the cheek was melting to its curve, - With the unearthly beauty sometimes there, - Was shaded as if light had fallen off, - Its surface was so polished. She was quelling - Her light, quick breath, to hear; and the white rose - Scarce moved upon her bosom as it swelled, - Like nothing but a wave of light in dreams, - To meet the arching of her queenly neck. - Her countenance was radiant with love. - She looked like one to die for it; a being - Whose whole existence was the pouring out - Of rich and deep affections. I have thought - A brother’s and a sister’s love was much. - I know a brother’s is, for I have loved - A trusting sister; and I know how broke - The heart may be with its own tenderness. - But the affection of a delicate child - For a fond father, gushing as it does - With the sweet springs of life, and living on - Through all earth’s changes like a principle, - Chastened with reverence, and made more pure - By early discipline of light and shade,-- - It must be holier! - - The wind bore on - The leaden tramp of thousands. Clarion notes - Rang sharply on the ear at intervals; - And the low, mingled din of mighty hosts - Returning from the battle, poured from far, - Like the deep murmur of a restless sea. - They came, as earthly conquerors always come, - With blood and splendor, revelry and woe. - The stately horse treads proudly; he hath trod - The brow of death, as well. The chariot wheels - Of warriors roll magnificently on; - Their weight hath crushed the fallen. Man is there; - Majestic, lordly man, with his serene - And elevated brow and godlike frame, - Lifting his crest in triumph, for his heel - Hath trod the dying like a wine-press down! - - The mighty Jephthah led his warriors on - Through Mizpeh’s streets. His helm was proudly set, - And his stern lip curled slightly, as if praise - Were for the hero’s scorn. His step was firm, - But free as India’s leopard; and his mail, - Whose shekels none in Israel might bear, - Was lighter than a tassel on his frame. - His crest was Judah’s kingliest, and the look - Of his dark, lofty eye and terrible brow, - Might quell the lion. He led on; but thoughts - Seemed gathering round which troubled him. The veins - Upon his forehead were distinctly seen; - And his proud lip was painfully compressed. - He trod less firmly; and his restless eye - Glanced forward frequently, as if some ill - He dared not meet, were there. His home was near; - And men were thronging, with that strange delight - They have in human passions, to observe - The struggle of his feelings with his pride. - He gazed intensely forward. The tall firs - Before his tent were motionless. The leaves - Of the spiced aloe, and the clustering vines - Which half concealed his threshold, met his eye - Unchanged and beautiful; and one by one, - The balsam with its sweet-distilling stems, - And the Circassian rose, and all the crowd - Of silent and familiar things, stole up - Like the recovered passages of dreams. - He strode on rapidly. A moment more, - And he had reached his home; when lo! there sprang - One with a bounding footstep, and a brow - Like light, to meet him. Oh! how beautiful! - Her dark eye flashing like a sun-lit gem, - And her luxuriant hair--’twas like the sweep - Of a swift wing in visions! He stood still, - As if the sight had withered him. She threw - Her arms about his neck; he heeded not. - She called him ‘Father,’ but he answered not. - She stood and gazed upon him. Was he wroth? - There was no anger in that bloodshot eye. - Had sickness seized him? She unclasped his helm, - And laid her white hand gently on his brow, - And the large veins felt stiff and hard like cords. - The touch aroused him. He raised up his hands - And spoke the name of God in agony. - She knew that he was stricken, then, and rushed - Again into his arms, and with a flood - Of tears she could not bridle, sobbed a prayer - That he would tell her of his wretchedness. - He told her, and a momentary flush - Shot o’er her countenance; and then the soul - Of Jephthah’s daughter wakened, and she stood - Calmly and nobly up, and said ‘’Tis well-- - And I will die!’ - - The sun had well nigh set. - The fire was on the altar, and the priest - Of the High God was there. A wasted man - Was stretching out his withered hands to heaven, - As if he would have prayed, but had no words; - And she who was to die--the calmest one - In Israel at that hour--stood up alone - And waited for the sun to set. Her face - Was pale, but very beautiful; her lip - Had a more delicate outline, and the tint - Was deeper; but her countenance was like - The majesty of angels!--The sun set, - And she was dead, but not by violence. - - - - -IDLENESS. - - - It was a leisure day, and I had shut - My door upon intrusion, and set down - With a true book to read. My study fire - Made music to my ear; the placid brow - Of my Madonna, and the shadowy tints - Of an old Flemish picture that I keep, - Might pass for company; and for relief - To weary eyes, a sweet geranium stood - In the half shuttered window, breathing out - Its odors with the pleasant smell of books; - And a soft landscape, given me by one - Who has a noble nature, hung in light, - Serving me as a ground for poetry. - - I read a tale of Séville. It was when - Darkness was over Spain, and Christian hearts - Were standing out for truth, undauntedly. - The daily light brought martyrdom, and men - Of a pure life went faithfully to die, - For the rich hope hereafter. There was set - A scaffold on the ‘golden Guadalquivir;’ - And in the greenest valley of the land, - With its bright shore and water tempting them - Like an affection, did they meekly die. - Nobles as just men perished, where their sires - Held the chivalric tournament; and one - Whose ancestors had been Castilia’s kings, - Died calmly. He had loved to come alone - And watch that stealing river, and ’tis told - That when the axe fell frequently, he went - Ever at evening there, that he might look - Upon its bloody evidence, and nerve - His spirit to the trial. - - ’Tis a tale - Of high and manly fortitude, and one - To elevate the nobler nature. I - Have told it to defend my idle time, - And prove that a companionship with books - Betters the spirit, and that gliding back - Upon these by-past histories reveals - Perfect example, and may teach sometimes, - How noble and how beautiful appears - The finer temper of humanity. - - - - -DREAMS. - - ‘I know it is dark; and though I have lain - Awake, as I guess, an hour or twain, - I have not once opened the lids of my eyes, - But I lie in the dark, as a blind man lies.’ - Coleridge. - - - And what is it to dream? It is to have - A spiritual being. ’Tis to loose - Th’ unsleeping mind from matter, and believe - Miraculous and godlike gifts our own. - It is to touch all nature with the wand - Of faery, and be true and beautiful - Amid a truer and more beautiful world. - It is to need no contrast that the light - About us may be visible, and joy - Mistaken not for sorrow. ’Tis to love - Dark eyes, and tones like a _secondo_ flute, - And then be irresistible; and living - In a sweet granite home, to find your love - The angel that she seemed in poetry. - - And what is it to dream? It is to know - The talisman of motion, and soar on - To the high places of the upper air, - Like a superior spirit. ’Tis to glide - Out upon chainless wanderings, unchecked - By time, or distance, or the circumstance - Of waking reason. ’Tis to weave long years - Of a still, midnight hour, or crowd a life - Into a glowing moment; and amid - The measure and the harmony that float - About us like an element, to find - Ithuriel’s whisper--but a breakfast bell! - - There’s purity in dreams. The passions lie, - With the dull qualities of earth, asleep; - And the low interests of life are changed - For the etherial vision. We erase - Dark feelings with fantastic incident; - And feel cool fingers laid upon the brow - Where the hot flush is burning. We retrace - All early time in dreams; and hear the low, - Deep cadences of prayer, and press the hand - That led us to our happy slumbers then. - We look on riper seasons with the eye - That painted them all sunshine, and forget - That we have found them shadows; and we trust - Life’s broken reed as lightly, and repeat - Our first young vow as movingly, again. - Such dreams refresh the feelings, like a pure - And high communion; for the spirit wears - No fetter of a poor, particular world, - And waits no cold and selfish reasoning, - To measure out its fervor; but goes back - Upon the purer memories, and lives o’er - The brighter past, alone; and when the heart - Hath buried an affection, it unclothes - Its image from the drapery of the grave, - And wins it to its olden tenderness. - - I’ve read of one in story, who had laid - His young love in the grave. The seasons came - And went, like shadows over him, for years; - And then the world grew brighter, and he heard - A melody in nature’s goings on; - And a sweet cousin’s voice, that tempted him - Into the sunshine and the air, became - The music of his happiness, and so - He married her. One night she was awake, - And gazing on his features as the moon - Shone through the casement on them. A large tear - Stole from his eye, and as his lips were stirred - With the low murmur of his dream, she caught - The name of the departed. He awoke, - And she reproached him tearfully for love - Kept secret in his heart; and then he kissed - Her tears away, and told her that his love - Was faithfully her own, although in dreams - An angel came to him sometimes, and woke - A buried thought of one as beautiful. - - - - -OCTOBER. - - ‘----To the influxes - Of shapes and sounds and shifting elements - Surrendering the whole spirit.’ - Coleridge. - - - Summer has pleasant seasons, and the spring - Comes gaily on the senses; and ’tis sweet - To know the places of the shadiest trees, - And hunt the scented violet; but when these - Have mellowed into autumn, and the flowers - Sleep in their fragrant places, ’tis to me - A pleasanter and purer time to give - Close thought to its forgetfulness, and stray - By the serenest wave and greenest grass. - - October had come in and I went forth - To breathe an air like June, and feel the nerve - Of the elastic temper which a frost - Gives to the sunshine. The transparent veil - Of morning’s exhalations had rolled up - Into white, silvery streakings, and the sky - Looked perfectly and deeply blue between, - Like a fixed element, and birds went up - And sang invisibly, the heavenly air - Wooed them above the earth so temptingly. - I never knew the streams so musical, - Or saw them half so clear; and for the leaves-- - The maples were just turned, and brighter trees - Were never by the forest pencil drawn. - The hill-sides seemed to slumber, the warm sun - Shone on their slopes so softly; and I knew - One that was carpeted with moss, and leant - To the warm south so fitly, you would look - To find Endymion sleeping. ’Twas indeed - A pleasant place, and when I came to it - And told her, (did I say I was alone?) - That it was faery all, and only made - For her own lovely rest, she laughingly - Proclaimed herself a queen, and with the leaves - Bound her transparent temples for a crown, - And bade me kneel, and she would grant my boon - To half her fairy kingdom. - - Could I paint - Her picture then! paint her voluptuous lip, - With its sweet curl of pride; the shaded eye - In its dark liquid lustre; the fair brow - With its light wandering veins, and raven braid - Contrasting with its whiteness; the faint blush - Upon her cheek, of maiden modesty, - And the rich outline, melting into grace, - Of her unmatched proportions; over all, - Could I but make the picture eloquent - With the deep, reedy music of her tone, - Or lend to you the golden leaf which bears - The sketch within my memory, you would know - How fairer than the summer, or the spring, - Should the October season seem to me. - - - - -BOYHOOD. - - - ‘I was a boy; and she was fair - As you are when you smile, - And her voice came forth like the summer air, - With a tone that did beguile, - And her two blue eyes refreshing were - As two trees on an Indian isle.’ - Etonian. - - - I love fresh feelings--it is so unlike - This olden world to meet them; and they come - Upon my heart like music so, or like - Some passage that is new in poetry. - - I walked one eve by moonlight. I had seen - Some fourteen summers, and my cyphering - Was all the thought I had; and as the world - Had come to me so pleasantly, I took - A wayward temper for my manual, - And kept it to the letter. It was now - A mellow eve of summer, and a girl, - Who laughed forever like the birds and had - Long eyelashes and very dangerous eyes, - Was leaning on my arm. I did not know - I was in love; but it seemed natural - To think of all she said, and she’d a way - Of coming to one’s dreams; and then her name - Was always in the lesson like a word, - And half the time I studied it. This eve - We had been very gay, and I had watched - The deep, half shaded dimple in her cheek, - Till I forgot to answer; and as she - Of too much mirth grew serious, I began - To act the lover playfully. My cap - Was carelessly thrown back, and on my cheek - I shook some dew for tears, and as she curled - Her lip in mimic scorn, I knelt to her, - And begged for her sweet favor, touchingly. - She answered coldly first, and then relented, - As wiser maids have done; but with a look - Of something so like earnest, that I did - Her hand some violence; and then she blushed - And said I must not tell, but ladies’ lips, - By some, were counted prettier. - - The moon - Shone just as soberly, and I went home - And kept the secret; but I do not know - That she would let me touch the seal again. - - - - -NIGHT SKETCHES. - - - ‘----Therefore let the moon - Shine on thee in thy solitary walk; - And let the misty mountain winds be free - To blow against thee: and, in after years, - When these wild ecstacies shall be matured - Into a sober pleasure, when thy mind - Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms, - Thy memory be as a dwelling-place - If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, - Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts - Of tender joy wilt thou remember----.’ - Wordsworth. - - -I. - - I have been gay tonight. The perfect moon - Is sitting up in heaven, and living stars - Are looking sweetly from the firmament; - All elements that live, and common things - In earth and sea tonight are beautiful; - And there is stillness, fitting for pure thought, - And light for waking dreams, and holiness - Like a plain language written on the front - Of this exceeding temple--and yet I - Have been among the dancers, and have trod - The measures of a merry instrument. - - I knew it as I went; for I was met - By a pure reach of moonlight that came down - Between the city walls, and I went back - A moment to regard its silver brow, - And list its gentle lesson; but a sound - Of music and of thrilling voices came - From the half opened window, and the laugh - Of a remembered girl bewilderingly - Came over me, and I forgot the moon - As if I never knew it was in heaven. - - ’Tis strange--for I am very happy now - While leaning in her light, and I could glide - Most sweetly to the sleep of pleasant dreams - Beneath her stilly influence--but I know - That if a voice I think of were to come - And call me now, my own ungentle name - (Her melting lip!) would seem more beautiful. - - -II. - - How secret are the goings on of night! - The moonlight is not heard; and as the leaves - Are touched by slumber, they bow gently down - Without a rustle, and the stealthy dew - Comes on them like the spirit of a dream. - The daily heat departs; the unquiet pulse - Of nature grows serener, and the wave - Of motion in all growing things is still, - While coolness circulates unheard, and rest - Steals like a feeling on the animal world. - - So still art thou, O night! and yet thy voice - Hath many tones to listen, and it tells - To my unquiet wakefulness, how deep - The wisdom that has fashioned thee so well-- - A beautiful and fitting time of rest. - - -III. - -MIDNIGHT ON THE ST LAWRENCE. - - Give me my cloak! It is no night for sleep, - And I will wear a vigil with the stars - Until the break of morning. What a scene! - The orient is all molten with the light - Of a perfected moon, and in the west - The deep blue tints look cool, and every star - Is drawn distinctly on the sheet of heaven. - The winds are wholly still, and as we pass, - Breaking the shadows of the many trees - That sleep upon the margin, or go in - Among the graceful windings of the stream, - We seem like wizards, turning into waves - The very sky--it sleeps so perfectly. - The vesper bells are hushed, but I can see - The glitter of the steeples on the hills - That swell up from the shore, and heavenly - As is the face of nature, they come in - Among her features like a pleasant smile, - The thought of worship is so beautiful. - - Swiftly, yet gently on! How human things - Are sometimes like a witching vision, fair! - And how the cunning of diviner skill - Can mingle up the elements, to make - A fallen world like heaven! I am made - Subject to ills, and erringly at best - May use my faculties; but I am here - With God’s best work about me, and a mind - Humbly, but purely to the harmonies - Of nature tuned, the only looker on - In all this lovely paradise of light. - Blessed we sometimes are! and I am now - Happy in quiet feelings; for the tones - Of a most pleasant company of friends - Were in my ear but now, and gentle thoughts - From spirits whose high character I know, - Were spoken at the rising of the moon, - And I retain their influence, as the air - Retains the softness of departed day. - And so I should be happy; and while joy - Is with me, I will bless my company - Of sleeping friends, and if their eyes should rest - Upon this page hereafter, they will know - That in the history of my lonely hours - Some gentler passages were writ by them. - - - - -TWILIGHT. - - - ‘----When the fretful stir - Unprofitable, and the fever of the world - Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.’ - Wordsworth. - - - O twilight hour! who art so very cool - And balmy in the summer eventide, - With thy rich breathing quieting the winds, - And the uneasy waters; twilight hour! - Whose mantle is the drapery of dreams, - And who hast ever been in poetry - Life’s holy time; thou who wert wont to steal - Upon us, as thy sandals were of dew! - How sadly comes the rustle of thy step, - In the decaying season of the year! - - My early fire is low, and hurrying feet - In the short pauses of the wind go by, - And the unquiet leaves, that sighingly - Obey its gusty summons and sweep on, - Seem mourning for the green and pleasant trees; - And the clouds wear sad colors, and I feel - As there were nothing in this fading world, - That is not cold and sorrowful like this. - Thus is it with a spirit not at ease. - It turns no eye within; but, as it were - The mirror of the world’s poor circumstance, - It takes its hue from nature, as if earth - With its discordant elements could tune - The delicate harmonies of human mind. - We have within us fountains, and they flow - With fancy to create the beautiful, - And thought to search out knowledge, and deep love - To link us to society; light mirth - To gladden, and kind sympathies to shade - The spirit; and yet many will go out - With a sealed bosom wandering the world, - To satisfy a thirst for happiness. - How strange it is, that when the principle - Of light is living in us, we should shut - Its emanations in, and darkly stray - To catch a beam from nature, like a star - That should forget its glory and go out, - Because the moon was shining not in heaven! - - - - -DAWN. - - - ‘_That_ line I learned not in the old sad song.’ - Charles Lamb. - - - Throw up the window! ’Tis a morn for life - In its most subtle luxury. The air - Is like a breathing from a rarer world; - And the south wind seems liquid--it o’ersteals - My bosom and my brow so bathingly. - It has come over gardens, and the flowers - That kissed it are betrayed; for as it parts - With its invisible fingers my loose hair, - I know it has been trifling with the rose, - And stooping to the violet. There is joy - For all God’s creatures in it. The wet leaves - Are stirring at its touch, and birds are singing - As if to breathe were music, and the grass - Sends up its modest odor with the dew, - Like the small tribute of humility. - Lovely indeed is morning! I have drank - Its fragrance and its freshness, and have felt - Its delicate touch, and ’tis a kindlier thing - Than music, or a feast, or medicine. - - I had awoke from an unpleasant dream, - And light was welcome to me. I looked out - To feel the common air, and when the breath - Of the delicious morning met my brow, - Cooling its fever, and the pleasant sun - Shone on familiar objects, it was like - The feeling of the captive who comes forth - From darkness to the cheerful light of day. - Oh! could we wake from sorrow! Were it all - A troubled dream like this, to cast aside - Like an untimely garment with the morn! - Could the long fever of the heart be cooled - By a sweet breath from nature, or the gloom - Of a bereaved affection pass away - With looking on the lively tint of flowers-- - How lightly were the spirit reconciled - To make this beautiful, bright world its home! - - - - -SCRAPS FROM A JOURNAL. - - -I. - - My heart is like a sleeping lake - Which takes the hue of cloud and sky, - And only feels its surface break - When birds of passage wander by, - Who dip their wings and upward soar, - And leave it quiet as before. - - Thus change comes on me. If the light - Of the gay sun is drank by clouds, - And dulness sleeps upon the bright, - Clear garniture whose greenness shrouds - The naked nature; if the creep - Of lazy rain-clouds tells alone - Earth does not on its axle sleep, - And winds go over with a moan - Like birds wing-broken; if the sea - Looks like an agitated pall, - And sullied foam heaves mournfully, - And pitches from the dull green wall - Of waters; if the wild fowl rise - From the cold ocean with a plash, - And heavily wheel up the skies, - As if they would forget the dash - Of billows, and could pass away - From earthly sorrows as from earth; - If not one shorn, but sunny ray, - Leaps out like a stray thought of mirth; - If heaven looks sad, and seas look dull, - And nature’s beauty is a blank-- - I feel as if my heart were full - Of waters from oblivion drank; - For I forget, like flowers, the hue - Of beauty, without sun and dew. - - But a bright morning--when the lark - Is painted on the light blue sky, - And vapors rest upon the dark, - Deep pools of ebony that lie - In the hill shadows; when the leaves - Are stirring with the scented air, - And the bright drops that evening weaves - Like diamonds in the wavy hair - Of nature, glisten; when the wing - Of the light wind is but a shrine - On which the lowliest flower may fling - Its gift of odors; when the vine - Hath lifted its coarse leaf to show - Its azure clusters to the sun, - And quickened by his amorous glow, - The curling shoots stir one by one; - When every fibre, blade, and stem - That lifteth to the arch of blue, - Is jewelled with its droplet gem, - And every bathed and dainty hue - Hath a clear April freshness; when - The birds go caroling like streams - O’er pebbly courses, and the glen - Reechoes patiently the themes - A thousand summers and their birds - Have given in those very words; - When every nerve is nobly strung, - And leaping pulses swiftly pass, - And care is from the spirit flung - Like rain-drops from the swaying grass-- - I feel as if my spirit took - From nature a new gift of sight, - And I could read her living book - By perfect and immediate light, - And knew, as angels know, how broad - Is the benevolence of God. - - -II. - - It is a glorious morning. Storm - Hath left no traces, and the warm, - Rich sunshine cometh like a strain - Of parted music, back again. - The trees are bare, but like a true - And changeless friend, the sun shines through, - And round the sad and fallen leaves - His mesh of light he softly weaves. - I see and feel how very fair - This summer sun, and breezes are; - I see the white, thin vapors wreathed - About the hills as if they breathed; - I see the sky’s pure, delicate blue, - Like a soft eye which melts me through, - And I’ve remembered the sweet eyes - I likened to those gentle skies, - And gazed this hour as if their look - Were written in that azure book, - And the long echo came but now - Of my hot speech and silly vow. - I cannot wander; but I know - How earth’s deep voices softly flow; - I know how light the waters run - O’er the sere grass and fretful stone; - I know how fountains leap, how still - The winds creep over lake and hill; - The Autumn birds, the last leaf-fall, - The morn’s sweet breath--I know them all. - - I know them all--and yet my feet - Are not where singing waters meet; - My books are for the running streams, - And stupid schoolmen for the dreams - Of gentle spirits; I am tied - While nature joyeth like a bride; - Chained down to reason on the cool, - Dull precepts of a skeptic’s rule, - While beauty over earth and sea - Is gushing as a fount let free. - - It hath its lesson. Beautiful things - Are given like retreating wings; - Not to be gathered, never won, - But sent to lead the spirit on; - Winning the upward eye of prayer, - As ’twere a finger pointing there, - Till we have followed to the sky - An angel, imperceptibly. - - -III. - - It is a holy night. The moon - Hath made it like a gentler noon, - And every deep and starry eye - Is waking in the summer sky, - As if its light were made alone - For restless hearts to gaze upon. - There are no voices, and the stir - Of the soft south goes lightlier - Among the branches, and the deep, - Felt stillness of a world asleep, - Is on my spirit like the touch - Of a sweet friend who loveth much. - I’ve left my books. I cannot damp - My heart beside a weary lamp - While heaven is set with stars, and I - Am not to sit down quietly, - And on a musty altar fling - The birthright of a glorious wing. - Reason who will; while skies of June - Are molten by this silent moon, - While flowers have breath, and voices creep - From running brook and fountain-leap, - While any thing is left to love - In this fair earth and heaven above, - I would not wear a fettered limb - To make Chaldea’s wisdom dim. - - Why, what is duty? Sky and sea, - Thou promised heaven! are types of thee; - The earth is like a flowing cup - Of perfect beauty mingled up; - The very elements of heaven, - Life, light, and music, freely given; - The world an Eden, and we thirst - For every voice and fountain-burst; - And yet, we’re told, at duty’s call - We must forego--forget them all! - - How has the foot of nature trod - The pathway of a perfect God, - How are the springs of earnest thought - With his diviner cunning wrought, - If all that makes us feel our fate - Not altogether desolate-- - This burning love for beautiful things, - Is sealed among forbidden springs, - And we must throw a gift of fire - Aside like a neglected lyre? - - - - -BETTER MOMENTS. - - - My mother’s voice! how often creeps - Its cadence on my lonely hours, - Like healing sent on wings of sleep, - Or dew to the unconscious flowers! - - I can forget her melting prayer - While leaping pulses madly fly; - But in the still unbroken air, - Her gentle tone comes stealing by, - And years, and sin, and manhood flee, - And leave me at my mother’s knee. - - The book of nature, and the print - Of beauty on the whispering sea, - Give aye to me some lineament - Of what I have been taught to be. - My heart is harder, and perhaps - My manliness hath drunk up tears, - And there’s a mildew in the lapse - Of a few miserable years-- - But nature’s book is even yet - With all my mother’s lessons writ. - - I have been out at eventide - Beneath a moonlight sky of spring, - When earth was garnished like a bride, - And night had on her silver wing; - When bursting leaves and diamond grass, - And waters leaping to the light, - And all that makes the pulses pass - With wilder fleetness, thronged the night-- - When all was beauty--then have I, - With friends on whom my love is flung - Like myrrh on winds of Araby, - Gazed up where evening’s lamp is hung, - And when the beautiful spirit there - Flung over me its golden chain, - My mother’s voice came on the air - Like the light dropping of the rain, - And resting on some silver star - The spirit of a bended knee, - I’ve poured her low and fervent prayer - That our eternity might be - To rise in heaven like stars at night, - And tread a living path of light! - - I have been on the dewy hills - When night was stealing from the dawn, - And mist was on the waking rills, - And tints were delicately drawn - In the gray east; when birds were waking - With a low murmur in the trees, - And melody by fits was breaking - Upon the whisper of the breeze-- - And this when I was forth, perchance, - As a worn reveller from the dance! - And when the sun sprang gloriously - And freely up, and hill and river - Were catching upon wave and tree - The arrows from his subtle quiver-- - I say a voice has thrilled me then, - Heard on the still and rushing light, - Or creeping from the silent glen, - Like words from the departing night-- - Hath stricken me, and I have pressed - On the wet grass my fevered brow, - And pouring forth the earliest, - First prayer with which I learned to bow, - Have felt my mother’s spirit rush - Upon me as in by-past years, - And yielding to the blessed gush - Of my ungovernable tears, - Have risen up--the gay, the wild-- - As humble as a very child! - - - - -THE HINDOO MOTHER. - - - It was a gentle eve in Hindoostan. - The rains were past, and the delighted earth - Was beautiful once more, and glittering leaves - Were lifting lightly on their beaten stems, - And glancing to the pure, transparent sky, - Like a pleased infant smiling through its tears. - Clouds lingered in the west, and tints were drawn - By sunset fingers on their skirts of gold, - And they were floating as serenely there, - As if the children of the restless storm - Could sleep upon the azure floor of heaven. - - Deep ran the holy Ganges, for the rain - Had swollen it from Thibet to the sea. - Its flow was turbid; and, as if the winds - Were not forgotten by the multitude - Of its strange waters, they were leaping up, - And with a wonderous glory gathering - The mantle of the sunset over them. - How frequently these living passages - Of nature’s book are opened, and how few - Are the high hearts that know them, and can feel - Their eloquence and beauty! - - Meina stood - Upon the breathing carpet of the shore, - Gazing on sky and river. There was much - In the dark features of the young Hindoo, - That should have won a gentler history. - She had the Eastern eye, with its dark fringe - And shadowy depth of lustre; but, beyond - The elements of beauty, there was writ - A something that the wounded roe would trust - For shelter from its hunters. Her closed lips - Were delicate as the tinted pencilling - Of veins upon a flower; and on her cheek - The timid blood had faintly melted through, - Like something that was half afraid of light. - There was no slighter print upon the grass - Than her elastic step; and in her frame - There was a perfect symmetry, that seemed - Aerial as a bird’s. It was the hour - For worship in her land; and she had come, - With the religion of a high, pure heart, - To bow herself in prayer. A darker mind - Might pray at such an hour; but she had caught - The spirit of the scene; and, as her eye - Followed the coursing of the golden waves, - Or rested on the clouds that slept above, - Like isles upon the bosom of the sea, - Her soul was swept to music like a harp, - And she knelt down in her deep blessedness - To worship the High Maker. As she prayed, - Her beautiful young boy--a very dream, - As he might be, of infant loveliness, - With his dark hair upon the summer wind, - And the sweet laugh of a delighted child - Like music on his lips--came leaping by, - And, flinging a light wreath upon her brow, - Sprang onward like a bounding antelope. - She turned a moment--might she not, for him? - Him, whom she cradled in the whispering tree, - And gathered to her bosom in the hush - Of the still night?--to know if he was there. - Twas but a moment, and she bowed again; - And, as the murmur of her silver tone - Stole out upon the wind, her images - Of majesty came back, and she was filled, - Like a deep channel by the whirlwind swept, - Again with the rich rushing of her prayer. - The shadows of the stealthy evening came - Silently on; but she was up, in thought, - Among the crystal palaces of light; - And a still prompting came to her, to pray - That the poor spirit of a passing world, - With all its fond, but frail idolatries, - Might on the altar of her God be flung. - She breathed it, and along the holy shore - She heard the whisper of the waters creep: - ‘Thine is the victory, Meina!’--Was it won? - Won in its cold, bereaving cruelty? - Won from the pride of woman? from her love? - Won from thy boy! young mother? No! oh, no! - She had forgotten him! He was too young, - Too purely, beautifully young, to die! - And then the waves repeated to the shore, - And the light echo heard it: ‘Give him up!’ - And Meina heard it: ‘Give him to thy God!’ - And the strong heart arose! One arrowy pulse - Of an acuter agony than death; - One fearful shiver at the searching thrill, - And she had won--aye, with her glorious boy - Upon her very breast--the victory! - Oh! let the erring oftener be forgiven, - That, in the shadowy twilight of the mind, - They stray a little from the perfect way! - If there is evidence in silent leaves, - And the still waters, of a present God, - And all who hear not messages of grace, - Must gather from its dim and hidden words - Their better solaces; remember ye - Who reckon lightly of the poor Hindoo, - That, in the scattering of the leaves of life, - His page was written more imperfectly. - - The beautiful sun arose, and there was not - A stain upon the sky; the virgin blue - Was delicate as light; and, as the east - Eclipsed night’s pale and starry jewelry, - The pure intensity of noon stole on, - Like the soft deepening of a northern eye. - - ‘Come! my own glorious boy!’ and forth he sprang, - As he had been created of the morn - A spirit and an element of light. - ‘Come! Come!’ and he was bounding airily - Beside his stately mother, laughing out - His lisping prattle of the promised boat, - As if her words had been in playfulness, - ‘That the bright waves should float him on to heaven.’ - The morning mist stole up, as Meina knelt - To offer him to God. Her eyes were dim; - But her fine forehead, and her calm, still lip, - Were fearfully subdued; and as the cloud - Which clothes the lightning slumbers, so they slept. - Her soul was in its strength. She held her boy - Upon her bosom, till she felt the throb - Of his warm pulses numbered on her heart, - And her low, leaden cadences, kept on! - His silken hair, as delicately soft - As the light wind that stirred it, floated up, - As if to plead at her transparent cheek; - But she had wooed its kisses till it came - To be a fond idolatry, and now - She nerved her as the strong heart answered it. - And the low words broke severally on, - Distinctly as a common orison! - There is a period in the wreck of hopes - By the affections garnered, calmer far - Than an untried serenity. It comes - With the stern conflict ever, and awaits - The passage of that hour, as if the soul - Were girded, and had championed suffering; - And it is strange, how a weak human heart - Will thus be quiet like a hushing storm, - And, with a fetter on its pulses, wait - To measure spirits for the mastery! - - The low ‘Amen!’ died on the silent air, - And Meina’s heart was ready. The young boy - Sprang joyously away, as if her arms - Had prisoned him too long; and, as he saw - The painted boat heave lightly to the swell - Upon the reedy shore, and caught the breath - Of her wreathed helm of flowers, he gave a shout, - In his impatient gladness, and away, - Like a warm vision of aerial birth, - He bounded to implore that she would come. - Calmly and steadily came Meina on, - Led by her victim boy. The boat was there - Among the tall wet reeds, and she went in - And scanned its light frame over, and arranged - Its mimic ornaments; and then again, - When she had seen it all, and he had grown - Impatient, she began to note once more - The frailties in its lightly plaited reeds, - As if she did not know that it was meant - To kill. It is a wonderful effect - Of nature in the heart, that in the strength - Of a mistaken duty, it will turn, - And almost trifle with its tenderness, - As if it half misgave that all was wrong. - - ‘Come!’ and he sprang into his mother’s arms - With a light leap, and, scarcely faltering - In his gay laugh, he looked into her face, - And in a tone of fondness whispered her, - ‘Will the boat bear, dear mother?’ She had quelled - Her feelings until now; had nerved herself - To the light grace with which he bounded by; - Had heard his voice, and looked upon his hair - In its light, breezy floatings, and had shut - Her heart up, with an iron thought, to all. - But this one doubt, half sadness as it came - From his delighted lips, and with his look - Of childlike and appealing confidence, - Was keener than a mother’s heart could bear! - She bowed her head, and struggled, as if life - Were bursting from its seal; and, as the thought - Rushed over her to take her idol back, - And keep him for her God, he murmured low, - ‘And are you sure, my mother?’--‘No! my son!’ - And the strong tide of nature gathered back - With a resistless energy. She clasped - Her boy convulsively, and he had lived - To quicken, in its gifted elements, - The radiant spirit written on his brow, - But a high strengthening she knew not of, - Awakened her, and pressing down her lips - In a long fervent kiss upon his cheek, - She hushed him into peace, and lifting up - Her face to heaven, she breathed the name of God, - And laid him down--for ever! - - The light bark - Went smoothly with the tide, and floated on - Till his dark eye was scarcely visible. - On, and yet on, she bounded! The bright waves - Seemed playful in their leaping joyousness, - And the curled ripple feathered at the prow - Like a glad thing of life. Had death grown slow? - Or were the waters ‘stayed,’ that they should keep - Their cold embraces from him? On, still on, - With her quick undulations! Hope revived - In the sick heart of Meina, and she rose - To gaze more keenly forward. He was there, - And his small arms were lifted; and she thought - That, as he tossed them upward, she could hear - A cadence of his sweet and silvery voice - Like a delighted shouting. It died off, - And then again she heard it. Was it joy - That broke upon her ear? oh! was there joy - In that long cry, thou mother? Hark to it! - ’Tis like the arrowy piercing of the wind! - He moveth, and she bade him to be still! - He riseth! ’tis his boyish restlessness! - Look, Meina! Does he dash his little hands, - In mirth, upon the waters? Hark! once more! - ‘Mother!’ He calls thee! Is thy child afraid? - Again! How very fearfully it comes! - ‘Help! Mother!’ ’Tis a cry of agony! - He sinks! Fly! Fly! he calls to thee! Oh fly! - ‘Mother!’ God help thee! Dost thou see him now? - - - - -WAITING FOR THE HARVESTERS. - - - And there she sat in ripened loveliness, - An English mother; joying in her babes, - Whose life was bright before her, and whose lips - Were breaking into language, with the sweet - And loving sentences they learn so soon. - Her face was very beautiful, and mirth - Was native on her lip; but ever now - As a sweet tone delighted her, the smile - Went melting into sadness, and the lash - Drooped gently to her eye, as if it knew - Affection was too chaste a thing for mirth. - It was the time for harvest, and she sat - Awaiting one. A breath of scented hay - Was in the air, and from the distance came - The noise of sickles, and the voices sent - Out on the stillness of the quiet morn; - And the low waters, coming like the strain - Of a pervading melody, stole in, - And made all music! ’Twas a holiness - Of nature’s making, and I lifted up - My heart to Heaven, and in my gladness prayed - That if a heart were sad, or if a tear - Were living upon earth, it might be theirs - To go abroad in nature, and to see - A mother and her gentle babes like these. - - - - -FUGITIVE PIECES. - - - - -THE SOLDIER’S WIDOW. - - - Wo! for my vine-clad home! - That it should ever be so dark to me, - With its bright threshold, and its whispering tree! - That I should ever come, - Fearing the lonely echo of a tread, - Beneath the roof-tree of my glorious dead! - - Lead on! my orphan boy! - Thy home is not so desolate to thee, - And the low shiver in the linden tree - May bring to thee a joy; - But, oh! how dark is the bright home before thee, - To her who with a joyous spirit bore thee! - - Lead on! for thou art now - My sole remaining helper. God hath spoken, - And the strong heart I leaned upon is broken; - And I have seen his brow, - The forehead of my upright one, and just, - Trod by the hoof of battle to the dust. - - He will not meet thee there - Who blest thee at the eventide, my son! - And when the shadows of the night steal on, - He will not call to prayer. - The lips that melted, giving thee to God, - Are in the icy keeping of the sod! - - Aye, my own boy! thy sire - Is with the sleepers of the valley cast, - And the proud glory of my life hath past, - With his high glance of fire. - Wo! that the linden and the vine should bloom, - And a just man be gathered to the tomb! - - Why, bear them proudly, boy! - It is the sword he girded to his thigh, - It is the helm he wore in victory! - And shall we have no joy? - For thy green vales, O Switzerland, he died! - I will forget my sorrow--in my pride! - - - - -THE BURIAL OF ARNOLD, - -MEMBER OF THE SENIOR CLASS OF YALE COLLEGE. - - - Ye’ve gathered to your place of prayer - With slow and measured tread; - Your ranks are full, your mates all there; - But the soul of one has fled. - He was the proudest in his strength, - The manliest of ye all; - Why lies he at that fearful length, - And ye around his pall? - - Ye reckon it in days since he - Strode up that foot-worn aisle, - With his dark eye flashing vividly, - And his lip wreathed with a smile. - Oh! had it been but told you then - To mark whose lamp was dim, - From out yon rank of fresh-lipped men, - Would ye have singled him? - - Whose was the sinewy arm which flung - Defiance to the ring? - Whose laugh of victory loudest rung, - Yet not for glorying? - Whose heart, in generous deed and thought, - No rivalry might brook, - And yet distinction claiming not? - There lies he; go and look! - - On now! his requiem is done; - The last deep prayer is said. - On to his burial, comrades! on, - With the noblest of the dead! - Slow! for it presses heavily; - It is a man ye bear! - Slow! for our thoughts dwell wearily - On the noble sleeper there. - - Tread lightly, comrades! we have laid - His dark locks on his brow - Like life, save deeper light and shade; - We’ll not disturb them now. - Tread lightly; for ’tis beautiful, - That blue-veined eyelid’s sleep, - Hiding the eye death left so dull; - Its slumber we will keep. - - Rest now! his journeying is done; - Your feet are on his sod. - Death’s chain is on your champion; - Here waiteth he his God! - Aye, turn and weep! ’tis manliness - To be heart-broken here; - For the grave of earth’s best nobleness - Is watered by the tear. - - - - -TO LAURA W----, - -TWO YEARS OF AGE. - - - Bright be the skies that cover thee, - Child of the sunny brow! - Bright as the dream flung over thee, - By all that meets thee now. - Thy heart is beating joyously, - Thy voice is like a bird’s, - And sweetly breaks the melody - Of thy imperfect words. - I know no fount that gushes out, - As gladly as thy tiny shout. - - Thy coral lip is pencilled well, - Thy cheek is deeply dyed; - Thine eye might shame the fleet gazelle, - In all his desert pride; - Thy fairy foot’s uncertain step, - Thy light bewitching grace, - The smile that curls thy sleeping lip, - And lights thy radiant face; - Have made a gift of beauty up - Too fair to taste life’s tainted cup. - - I would that thou mightst ever be - As beautiful as now; - That time might ever leave us free - Thy yet unwritten brow! - I would life were all poetry - To gentle measures set, - That nought but chastened melody, - Might dim thine eye of jet, - Nor one discordant note be spoken, - Till God the cunning harp hath broken. - - I would--but deeper things than these - With woman’s lot are wove; - Wrought of intenser sympathies, - And nerved by purer love. - By the strong spirit’s discipline, - By the fierce wrong forgiven, - By all that wrings the heart of sin, - Is woman won to heaven. - ‘Her lot is on thee,’ lovely child! - God keep thy spirit undefiled! - - I fear thy gentle loveliness, - Thy witching tone and air, - Thine eye’s beseeching earnestness, - May be to thee a snare. - For silver stars may purely shine, - The waters taintless flow; - But they who kneel at woman’s shrine, - Breathe on it as they bow. - Ye may fling back the gift again, - But the crushed flower will leave a stain. - - What shall preserve thee, beautiful child! - Keep thee, as thou art now? - Bring thee, a spirit undefiled, - At God’s pure throne to bow? - The world is but a broken reed, - And life grows early dim-- - Who shall be near thee in thy need, - To lead thee up, to Him? - He who himself was ‘undefiled’-- - With Him we trust thee, beautiful child! - - - -SONNET. - -TO A PICTURE OF ‘GENEVIEVE,’ BY ALEXANDER. - - - Thine is a face to look upon and pray - That a pure spirit keep thee. I would meet - With one so gentle by the streams away, - Living with nature; keeping thy pure feet - For the unfingered moss, and for the grass - Which leaneth where the gentle waters pass. - The autumn leaves should sigh thee to thy sleep, - And the capricious April, coming on, - Awake thee like a flower, and stars should keep - A vigil o’er thee like Endymion; - And thou for very gentleness shouldst weep, - As dew of the night’s quietness comes down. - I’ve praised thee, Genevieve! A dream of mine - Hath just such dark and shaded eyes as thine. - - - - -SONNET. - - - I have been gazing on thee, Genevieve, - And musing, in my love, if thou must die; - And I have thought it were not well to grieve - At thy most delicate frame and lustrous eye; - For as a harp is broken, when the finger - That knew its cunning hath forgot to play, - Thou wouldst not, for that frail confinement, linger, - When it was time for thee to pass away; - And therefore am I glad, that when my heart - To thy enquiring tenderness is hushed, - And thine endearments from mine eyes depart, - ’Twill be enough for thee that life hath gushed, - Gently to loose the silver cord, and die, - And with me in my place of slumber lie. - - - - -SONNET. - - - I care not that the world, when I am dead, - Remember me; I care not that they come - To see the place where I shall lay my head, - Or praise me with low voices at my tomb; - I would not even a recording stone - Should tell them what I was--when I am gone. - There are a few who love me--whom I love-- - Gentle and gifted spirits, who would weep, - But not that I had found a rest above, - And in their hearts my trifling virtues keep; - And one, whom I have folded like a dove - In my affections, would lie down and sleep - Softly beside me--and I should not care, - That any one should know that I was there. - - - - -EXTRACT FROM A POEM - -DELIVERED AT THE DEPARTURE OF THE SENIOR CLASS OF YALE COLLEGE, IN 1826. - - - * * * * * - - We shall go forth together. There will come - Alike the day of trial unto all, - And the rude world will buffet us alike. - Temptation hath a music for all ears; - And mad ambition trumpeteth to all; - And the ungovernable thought within, - Will be in every bosom eloquent; - But when the silence and the calm come on, - And the high seal of character is set, - We shall not all be similar. The scale - Of being is a graduated thing; - And deeper than the vanities of power, - Or the vain pomp of glory, there is writ - Gradation, in its hidden characters. - The pathway to the grave may be the same, - And the proud man shall tread it, and the low, - With his bowed head, shall bear him company. - Decay will make no difference, and death - With his cold hand shall make no difference; - And there will be no precedence of power, - In waking at the coming trump of God; - But in the temper of the invisible mind, - The godlike and undying intellect, - There are distinctions that will live in heaven, - When time is a forgotten circumstance! - The elevated brow of kings will lose - The impress of regalia, and the slave - Will wear his immortality as free, - Beside the chrystal waters; but the depth - Of glory in the attributes of God, - Will measure the capacities of mind; - And as the angels differ, will the ken - Of gifted spirits glorify him more. - It is life’s mystery. The soul of man - Createth its own destiny of power; - And as the trial is intenser here, - His being hath a nobler strength in heaven. - - What is its earthly victory? Press on! - For it hath tempted angels. Yet press on! - For it shall make you mighty among men; - And from the eyrie of your eagle thought, - Ye shall look down on monarchs. Oh! press on! - For the high ones and powerful shall come - To do you reverence; and the beautiful - Will know the purer language of your brow, - And read it like a talisman of love! - Press on! for it is godlike to unloose - The spirit, and forget yourself in thought; - Bending a pinion for the deeper sky, - And in the very fetters of your flesh, - Mating with the pure essences of heaven! - Press on!--‘for in the grave there is no work, - And no device.’--Press on! while yet ye may! - - So lives the soul of man. It is the thirst - Of his immortal nature; and he rends - The rock for secret fountains, and pursues - The path of the illimitable wind - For mysteries--and this is human pride! - There is a gentler element, and man - May breathe it with a calm, unruffled soul, - And drink its living waters till his heart - Is pure--and this is human happiness! - Its secret and its evidence are writ - In the broad book of nature. ’Tis to have - Attentive and believing faculties; - To go abroad rejoicing in the joy - Of beautiful and well created things; - To love the voice of waters, and the sheen - Of silver fountains leaping to the sea; - To thrill with the rich melody of birds, - Living their life of music; to be glad - In the gay sunshine, reverent in the storm; - To see a beauty in the stirring leaf, - And find calm thoughts beneath the whispering tree; - To see, and hear, and breathe the evidence - Of God’s deep wisdom in the natural world! - It is to linger on ‘the magic face - Of human beauty,’ and from light and shade - Alike to draw a lesson; ’tis to love - The cadences of voices that are tuned - By majesty and purity of thought; - To gaze on woman’s beauty, as a star - Whose purity and distance make it fair; - And in the gush of music to be still, - And feel that it has purified the heart! - It is to love all virtue for itself, - All nature for its breathing evidence; - And when the eye hath seen, and when the ear - Hath drunk the beautiful harmony of the world, - It is to humble the imperfect mind, - And lean the broken spirit upon God! - - Thus would I, at this parting hour, be true - To the great moral of a passing world. - Thus would I--like a just departing child, - Who lingers on the threshold of his home-- - Remember the best lesson of the lips - Whose accents shall be with us now, no more! - It is the gift of sorrow to be pure; - And I would press the lesson; that when life - Hath half become a weariness, and hope - Thirsts for serener waters, go abroad - Upon the paths of nature, and when all - Its voices whisper, and its silent things - Are breathing the deep beauty of the world, - Kneel at its simple altar, and the God - Who hath the living waters, shall be there! - - * * * * * - - - - -NOTES. - - -PAGE 32, LINES 12 and 13. - - _‘And a soft landscape given me by one_ - _Who has a noble nature.’_ - - -The gentleman who gave me the picture of ‘Stirling Castle’ will not be -surprised that so pleasant a gift holds a place in my memory. - - -PAGE 33, LINES 9 and 10. - - _‘one_ - _Whose ancestors had been Castilia’s kings.’_ - - -This striking anecdote is related of Ponce de Leon, in, I think, ‘A -Visit to Spain,’ by Michael Quin. - - -PAGE 47, LINE 12. - - _‘The glitter of the steeples on the hills.’_ - - -Every one who has made the passage of the St Lawrence, will remember -the beautiful effect of the steeples on the shore. Occupying almost -every swell on the low interval, and tiled universally with tin, they -glisten in the moonlight like turrets of silver. It is even in that -majestic scenery an impressive and delightful feature. - - -PAGE 84, LINE 4. - - _‘Child of the sunny brow.’_ - - -Perhaps my book will be forgotten before the child, to whom these -lines are addressed, is old enough to understand them; but even if it -is not, there is little harm in saying that she is at this time the -most beautiful human being I ever saw. Her ‘thousand winning ways’ and -graceful motion are before me now like a sweet dream, and I shall never -forget them. May God bless her! - - -PAGE 87, LINE 14. - - _‘As dew of the night’s quietness comes down.’_ - - -If my readers have neglected meteorology as long as I did, the younger -part of them at least, would like to be told that the dew never falls -except on a still night. - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes - - -A number of typographical errors have been corrected silently. - -Cover image was created by the transcriber and is in the public domain. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SKETCHES *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. 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. If you are not located in the - United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where - you are located before using this eBook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that: - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |