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diff --git a/9570.txt b/9570.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..aaa97ed --- /dev/null +++ b/9570.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1695 @@ + +Project Gutenberg EBook, Reminiscent Poems by John Greenleaf Whittier +Volume II., The Works of Whittier: Poems of Nature, Poems Subjective +and Reminiscent, Religious Poems +#15 in our series by John Greenleaf Whittier + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**EBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These EBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers***** + + + +Title: Reminiscent Poems , From Poems of Nature, + Poems Subjective and Reminiscent and Religious Poems + Volume II., The Works of Whittier + +Author: John Greenleaf Whittier + +Release Date: Dec, 2005 [EBook #9570] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 2, 2003] + + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + + + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, REMINISCENT POEMS *** + + + + +This eBook was produced by David Widger + + + + + + POEMS OF NATURE + + POEMS SUBJECTIVE AND REMINISCENT + + RELIGIOUS POEMS + + BY + JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER + + + +CONTENTS: + + +POEMS SUBJECTIVE AND REMINISCENT: + MEMORIES + RAPHAEL + EGO + THE PUMPKIN + FORGIVENESS + TO MY SISTER + MY THANKS + REMEMBRANCE + MY NAMESAKE + A MEMORY + MY DREAM + THE BAREFOOT BOY + MY PSALM + THE WAITING + + + + + POEMS SUBJECTIVE AND REMINISCENT MEMORIES + + +A beautiful and happy girl, +With step as light as summer air, +Eyes glad with smiles, and brow of pearl, +Shadowed by many a careless curl +Of unconfined and flowing hair; +A seeming child in everything, +Save thoughtful brow and ripening charms, +As Nature wears the smile of Spring +When sinking into Summer's arms. + +A mind rejoicing in the light +Which melted through its graceful bower, +Leaf after leaf, dew-moist and bright, +And stainless in its holy white, +Unfolding like a morning flower +A heart, which, like a fine-toned lute, +With every breath of feeling woke, +And, even when the tongue was mute, +From eye and lip in music spoke. + +How thrills once more the lengthening chain +Of memory, at the thought of thee! +Old hopes which long in dust have lain +Old dreams, come thronging back again, +And boyhood lives again in me; +I feel its glow upon my cheek, +Its fulness of the heart is mine, +As when I leaned to hear thee speak, +Or raised my doubtful eye to thine. + +I hear again thy low replies, +I feel thy arm within my own, +And timidly again uprise +The fringed lids of hazel eyes, +With soft brown tresses overblown. +Ah! memories of sweet summer eves, +Of moonlit wave and willowy way, +Of stars and flowers, and dewy leaves, +And smiles and tones more dear than they! + +Ere this, thy quiet eye hath smiled +My picture of thy youth to see, +When, half a woman, half a child, +Thy very artlessness beguiled, +And folly's self seemed wise in thee; +I too can smile, when o'er that hour +The lights of memory backward stream, +Yet feel the while that manhood's power +Is vainer than my boyhood's dream. + +Years have passed on, and left their trace, +Of graver care and deeper thought; +And unto me the calm, cold face +Of manhood, and to thee the grace +Of woman's pensive beauty brought. +More wide, perchance, for blame than praise, +The school-boy's humble name has flown; +Thine, in the green and quiet ways +Of unobtrusive goodness known. + +And wider yet in thought and deed +Diverge our pathways, one in youth; +Thine the Genevan's sternest creed, +While answers to my spirit's need +The Derby dalesman's simple truth. +For thee, the priestly rite and prayer, +And holy day, and solemn psalm; +For me, the silent reverence where +My brethren gather, slow and calm. + +Yet hath thy spirit left on me +An impress Time has worn not out, +And something of myself in thee, +A shadow from the past, I see, +Lingering, even yet, thy way about; +Not wholly can the heart unlearn +That lesson of its better hours, +Not yet has Time's dull footstep worn +To common dust that path of flowers. + +Thus, while at times before our eyes +The shadows melt, and fall apart, +And, smiling through them, round us lies +The warm light of our morning skies,-- +The Indian Summer of the heart! +In secret sympathies of mind, +In founts of feeling which retain +Their pure, fresh flow, we yet may find +Our early dreams not wholly vain +1841. + + + +RAPHAEL. + +Suggested by the portrait of Raphael, at the age of fifteen. + +I shall not soon forget that sight +The glow of Autumn's westering day, +A hazy warmth, a dreamy light, +On Raphael's picture lay. + +It was a simple print I saw, +The fair face of a musing boy; +Yet, while I gazed, a sense of awe +Seemed blending with my joy. + +A simple print,--the graceful flow +Of boyhood's soft and wavy hair, +And fresh young lip and cheek, and brow +Unmarked and clear, were there. + +Yet through its sweet and calm repose +I saw the inward spirit shine; +It was as if before me rose +The white veil of a shrine. + +As if, as Gothland's sage has told, +The hidden life, the man within, +Dissevered from its frame and mould, +By mortal eye were seen. + +Was it the lifting of that eye, +The waving of that pictured hand? +Loose as a cloud-wreath on the sky, +I saw the walls expand. + +The narrow room had vanished,--space, +Broad, luminous, remained alone, +Through which all hues and shapes of grace +And beauty looked or shone. + +Around the mighty master came +The marvels which his pencil wrought, +Those miracles of power whose fame +Is wide as human thought. + +There drooped thy more than mortal face, +O Mother, beautiful and mild +Enfolding in one dear embrace +Thy Saviour and thy Child! + +The rapt brow of the Desert John; +The awful glory of that day +When all the Father's brightness shone +Through manhood's veil of clay. + +And, midst gray prophet forms, and wild +Dark visions of the days of old, +How sweetly woman's beauty smiled +Through locks of brown and gold! + +There Fornarina's fair young face +Once more upon her lover shone, +Whose model of an angel's grace +He borrowed from her own. + +Slow passed that vision from my view, +But not the lesson which it taught; +The soft, calm shadows which it threw +Still rested on my thought: + +The truth, that painter, bard, and sage, +Even in Earth's cold and changeful clime, +Plant for their deathless heritage +The fruits and flowers of time. + +We shape ourselves the joy or fear +Of which the coming life is made, +And fill our Future's atmosphere +With sunshine or with shade. + +The tissue of the Life to be +We weave with colors all our own, +And in the field of Destiny +We reap as we have sown. + +Still shall the soul around it call +The shadows which it gathered here, +And, painted on the eternal wall, +The Past shall reappear. + +Think ye the notes of holy song +On Milton's tuneful ear have died? +Think ye that Raphael's angel throng +Has vanished from his side? + +Oh no!--We live our life again; +Or warmly touched, or coldly dim, +The pictures of the Past remain,--- +Man's works shall follow him! +1842. + + + +EGO. + +WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF A FRIEND. + +On page of thine I cannot trace +The cold and heartless commonplace, +A statue's fixed and marble grace. + +For ever as these lines I penned, +Still with the thought of thee will blend +That of some loved and common friend, + +Who in life's desert track has made +His pilgrim tent with mine, or strayed +Beneath the same remembered shade. + +And hence my pen unfettered moves +In freedom which the heart approves, +The negligence which friendship loves. + +And wilt thou prize my poor gift less +For simple air and rustic dress, +And sign of haste and carelessness? + +Oh, more than specious counterfeit +Of sentiment or studied wit, +A heart like thine should value it. + +Yet half I fear my gift will be +Unto thy book, if not to thee, +Of more than doubtful courtesy. + +A banished name from Fashion's sphere, +A lay unheard of Beauty's ear, +Forbid, disowned,--what do they here? + +Upon my ear not all in vain +Came the sad captive's clanking chain, +The groaning from his bed of pain. + +And sadder still, I saw the woe +Which only wounded spirits know +When Pride's strong footsteps o'er them go. + +Spurned not alone in walks abroad, +But from the temples of the Lord +Thrust out apart, like things abhorred. + +Deep as I felt, and stern and strong, +In words which Prudence smothered long, +My soul spoke out against the wrong; + +Not mine alone the task to speak +Of comfort to the poor and weak, +And dry the tear on Sorrow's cheek; + +But, mingled in the conflict warm, +To pour the fiery breath of storm +Through the harsh trumpet of Reform; + +To brave Opinion's settled frown, +From ermined robe and saintly gown, +While wrestling reverenced Error down. + +Founts gushed beside my pilgrim way, +Cool shadows on the greensward lay, +Flowers swung upon the bending spray. + +And, broad and bright, on either hand, +Stretched the green slopes of Fairy-land, +With Hope's eternal sunbow spanned; + +Whence voices called me like the flow, +Which on the listener's ear will grow, +Of forest streamlets soft and low. + +And gentle eyes, which still retain +Their picture on the heart and brain, +Smiled, beckoning from that path of pain. + +In vain! nor dream, nor rest, nor pause +Remain for him who round him draws +The battered mail of Freedom's cause. + +From youthful hopes, from each green spot +Of young Romance, and gentle Thought, +Where storm and tumult enter not; + +From each fair altar, where belong +The offerings Love requires of Song +In homage to her bright-eyed throng; + +With soul and strength, with heart and hand, +I turned to Freedom's struggling band, +To the sad Helots of our land. + +What marvel then that Fame should turn +Her notes of praise to those of scorn; +Her gifts reclaimed, her smiles withdrawn? + +What matters it? a few years more, +Life's surge so restless heretofore +Shall break upon the unknown shore! + +In that far land shall disappear +The shadows which we follow here, +The mist-wreaths of our atmosphere! + +Before no work of mortal hand, +Of human will or strength expand +The pearl gates of the Better Land; + +Alone in that great love which gave +Life to the sleeper of the grave, +Resteth the power to seek and save. + +Yet, if the spirit gazing through +The vista of the past can view +One deed to Heaven and virtue true; + +If through the wreck of wasted powers, +Of garlands wreathed from Folly's bowers, +Of idle aims and misspent hours, + +The eye can note one sacred spot +By Pride and Self profaned not, +A green place in the waste of thought, + +Where deed or word hath rendered less +The sum of human wretchedness, +And Gratitude looks forth to bless; + +The simple burst of tenderest feeling +From sad hearts worn by evil-dealing, +For blessing on the hand of healing; + +Better than Glory's pomp will be +That green and blessed spot to me, +A palm-shade in Eternity! + +Something of Time which may invite +The purified and spiritual sight +To rest on with a calm delight. + +And when the summer winds shall sweep +With their light wings my place of sleep, +And mosses round my headstone creep; + +If still, as Freedom's rallying sign, +Upon the young heart's altars shine +The very fires they caught from mine; + +If words my lips once uttered still, +In the calm faith and steadfast will +Of other hearts, their work fulfil; + +Perchance with joy the soul may learn +These tokens, and its eye discern +The fires which on those altars burn; + +A marvellous joy that even then, +The spirit hath its life again, +In the strong hearts of mortal men. + +Take, lady, then, the gift I bring, +No gay and graceful offering, +No flower-smile of the laughing spring. + +Midst the green buds of Youth's fresh May, +With Fancy's leaf-enwoven bay, +My sad and sombre gift I lay. + +And if it deepens in thy mind +A sense of suffering human-kind,-- +The outcast and the spirit-blind; + +Oppressed and spoiled on every side, +By Prejudice, and Scorn, and Pride, +Life's common courtesies denied; + +Sad mothers mourning o'er their trust, +Children by want and misery nursed, +Tasting life's bitter cup at first; + +If to their strong appeals which come +From fireless hearth, and crowded room, +And the close alley's noisome gloom,-- + +Though dark the hands upraised to thee +In mute beseeching agony, +Thou lend'st thy woman's sympathy; + +Not vainly on thy gentle shrine, +Where Love, and Mirth, and Friendship twine +Their varied gifts, I offer mine. +1843. + + + +THE PUMPKIN. + +Oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun, +The vines of the gourd and the rich melon run, +And the rock and the tree and the cottage enfold, +With broad leaves all greenness and blossoms all gold, +Like that which o'er Nineveh's prophet once grew, +While he waited to know that his warning was true, +And longed for the storm-cloud, and listened in vain +For the rush of the whirlwind and red fire-rain. + +On the banks of the Xenil the dark Spanish maiden +Comes up with the fruit of the tangled vine laden; +And the Creole of Cuba laughs out to behold +Through orange-leaves shining the broad spheres of gold; +Yet with dearer delight from his home in the North, +On the fields of his harvest the Yankee looks forth, +Where crook-necks are coiling and yellow fruit shines, +And the sun of September melts down on his vines. + +Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West, +From North and from South come the pilgrim and guest, +When the gray-haired New-Englander sees round his board +The old broken links of affection restored, +When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more, +And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before, +What moistens the lip and what brightens the eye? +What calls back the past, like the rich Pumpkin pie? + +Oh, fruit loved of boyhood! the old days recalling, +When wood-grapes were purpling and brown nuts were falling! +When wild, ugly faces we carved in its skin, +Glaring out through the dark with a candle within! +When we laughed round the corn-heap, with hearts all in tune, +Our chair a broad pumpkin,--our lantern the moon, +Telling tales of the fairy who travelled like steam, +In a pumpkin-shell coach, with two rats for her team +Then thanks for thy present! none sweeter or better +E'er smoked from an oven or circled a platter! +Fairer hands never wrought at a pastry more fine, +Brighter eyes never watched o'er its baking, than thine! +And the prayer, which my mouth is too full to express, +Swells my heart that thy shadow may never be less, +That the days of thy lot may be lengthened below, +And the fame of thy worth like a pumpkin-vine grow, +And thy life be as sweet, and its last sunset sky +Golden-tinted and fair as thy own Pumpkin pie! +1844. + + + +FORGIVENESS. + +My heart was heavy, for its trust had been +Abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong; +So, turning gloomily from my fellow-men, +One summer Sabbath day I strolled among +The green mounds of the village burial-place; +Where, pondering how all human love and hate +Find one sad level; and how, soon or late, +Wronged and wrongdoer, each with meekened face, +And cold hands folded over a still heart, +Pass the green threshold of our common grave, +Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart, +Awed for myself, and pitying my race, +Our common sorrow, like a nighty wave, +Swept all my pride away, and trembling I forgave! +1846. + + + +TO MY SISTER, + +WITH A COPY OF "THE SUPERNATURALISM OF NEW ENGLAND." + + The work referred to was a series of papers under this title, + contributed to the Democratic Review and afterward collected into a + volume, in which I noted some of the superstitions and folklore + prevalent in New England. The volume has not been kept in print, + but most of its contents are distributed in my Literary Recreations + and Miscellanies. + +Dear Sister! while the wise and sage +Turn coldly from my playful page, +And count it strange that ripened age +Should stoop to boyhood's folly; +I know that thou wilt judge aright +Of all which makes the heart more light, +Or lends one star-gleam to the night +Of clouded Melancholy. + +Away with weary cares and themes! +Swing wide the moonlit gate of dreams! +Leave free once more the land which teems +With wonders and romances +Where thou, with clear discerning eyes, +Shalt rightly read the truth which lies +Beneath the quaintly masking guise +Of wild and wizard fancies. + +Lo! once again our feet we set +On still green wood-paths, twilight wet, +By lonely brooks, whose waters fret +The roots of spectral beeches; +Again the hearth-fire glimmers o'er +Home's whitewashed wall and painted floor, +And young eyes widening to the lore +Of faery-folks and witches. + +Dear heart! the legend is not vain +Which lights that holy hearth again, +And calling back from care and pain, +And death's funereal sadness, +Draws round its old familiar blaze +The clustering groups of happier days, +And lends to sober manhood's gaze +A glimpse of childish gladness. + +And, knowing how my life hath been +A weary work of tongue and pen, +A long, harsh strife with strong-willed men, +Thou wilt not chide my turning +To con, at times, an idle rhyme, +To pluck a flower from childhood's clime, +Or listen, at Life's noonday chime, +For the sweet bells of Morning! +1847. + + + +MY THANKS, + +ACCOMPANYING MANUSCRIPTS PRESENTED TO A FRIEND. + +'T is said that in the Holy Land +The angels of the place have blessed +The pilgrim's bed of desert sand, +Like Jacob's stone of rest. + +That down the hush of Syrian skies +Some sweet-voiced saint at twilight sings +The song whose holy symphonies +Are beat by unseen wings; + +Till starting from his sandy bed, +The wayworn wanderer looks to see +The halo of an angel's head +Shine through the tamarisk-tree. + +So through the shadows of my way +Thy smile hath fallen soft and clear, +So at the weary close of day +Hath seemed thy voice of cheer. + +That pilgrim pressing to his goal +May pause not for the vision's sake, +Yet all fair things within his soul +The thought of it shall wake: + +The graceful palm-tree by the well, +Seen on the far horizon's rim; +The dark eyes of the fleet gazelle, +Bent timidly on him; + +Each pictured saint, whose golden hair +Streams sunlike through the convent's gloom; +Pale shrines of martyrs young and fair, +And loving Mary's tomb; + +And thus each tint or shade which falls, +From sunset cloud or waving tree, +Along my pilgrim path, recalls +The pleasant thought of thee. + +Of one in sun and shade the same, +In weal and woe my steady friend, +Whatever by that holy name +The angels comprehend. + +Not blind to faults and follies, thou +Hast never failed the good to see, +Nor judged by one unseemly bough +The upward-struggling tree. + +These light leaves at thy feet I lay,-- +Poor common thoughts on common things, +Which time is shaking, day by day, +Like feathers from his wings; + +Chance shootings from a frail life-tree, +To nurturing care but little known, +Their good was partly learned of thee, +Their folly is my own. + +That tree still clasps the kindly mould, +Its leaves still drink the twilight dew, +And weaving its pale green with gold, +Still shines the sunlight through. + +There still the morning zephyrs play, +And there at times the spring bird sings, +And mossy trunk and fading spray +Are flowered with glossy wings. + +Yet, even in genial sun and rain, +Root, branch, and leaflet fail and fade; +The wanderer on its lonely plain +Erelong shall miss its shade. + +O friend beloved, whose curious skill +Keeps bright the last year's leaves and flowers, +With warm, glad, summer thoughts to fill +The cold, dark, winter hours + +Pressed on thy heart, the leaves I bring +May well defy the wintry cold, +Until, in Heaven's eternal spring, +Life's fairer ones unfold. +1847. + + + +REMEMBRANCE + +WITH COPIES OF THE AUTHOR'S WRITINGS. + +Friend of mine! whose lot was cast +With me in the distant past; +Where, like shadows flitting fast, + +Fact and fancy, thought and theme, +Word and work, begin to seem +Like a half-remembered dream! + +Touched by change have all things been, +Yet I think of thee as when +We had speech of lip and pen. + +For the calm thy kindness lent +To a path of discontent, +Rough with trial and dissent; + +Gentle words where such were few, +Softening blame where blame was true, +Praising where small praise was due; + +For a waking dream made good, +For an ideal understood, +For thy Christian womanhood; + +For thy marvellous gift to cull +From our common life and dull +Whatsoe'er is beautiful; + +Thoughts and fancies, Hybla's bees +Dropping sweetness; true heart's-ease +Of congenial sympathies;-- + +Still for these I own my debt; +Memory, with her eyelids wet, +Fain would thank thee even yet! + +And as one who scatters flowers +Where the Queen of May's sweet hours +Sits, o'ertwined with blossomed bowers, + +In superfluous zeal bestowing +Gifts where gifts are overflowing, +So I pay the debt I'm owing. + +To thy full thoughts, gay or sad, +Sunny-hued or sober clad, +Something of my own I add; + +Well assured that thou wilt take +Even the offering which I make +Kindly for the giver's sake. +1851. + + + +MY NAMESAKE. + +Addressed to Francis Greenleaf Allison of Burlington, New Jersey. + +You scarcely need my tardy thanks, +Who, self-rewarded, nurse and tend-- +A green leaf on your own Green Banks-- +The memory of your friend. + +For me, no wreath, bloom-woven, hides +The sobered brow and lessening hair +For aught I know, the myrtled sides +Of Helicon are bare. + +Their scallop-shells so many bring +The fabled founts of song to try, +They've drained, for aught I know, the spring +Of Aganippe dry. + +Ah well!--The wreath the Muses braid +Proves often Folly's cap and bell; +Methinks, my ample beaver's shade +May serve my turn as well. + +Let Love's and Friendship's tender debt +Be paid by those I love in life. +Why should the unborn critic whet +For me his scalping-knife? + +Why should the stranger peer and pry +One's vacant house of life about, +And drag for curious ear and eye +His faults and follies out?-- + +Why stuff, for fools to gaze upon, +With chaff of words, the garb he wore, +As corn-husks when the ear is gone +Are rustled all the more? + +Let kindly Silence close again, +The picture vanish from the eye, +And on the dim and misty main +Let the small ripple die. + +Yet not the less I own your claim +To grateful thanks, dear friends of mine. +Hang, if it please you so, my name +Upon your household line. + +Let Fame from brazen lips blow wide +Her chosen names, I envy none +A mother's love, a father's pride, +Shall keep alive my own! + +Still shall that name as now recall +The young leaf wet with morning dew, +The glory where the sunbeams fall +The breezy woodlands through. + +That name shall be a household word, +A spell to waken smile or sigh; +In many an evening prayer be heard +And cradle lullaby. + +And thou, dear child, in riper days +When asked the reason of thy name, +Shalt answer: One 't were vain to praise +Or censure bore the same. + +"Some blamed him, some believed him good, +The truth lay doubtless 'twixt the two; +He reconciled as best he could +Old faith and fancies new. + +"In him the grave and playful mixed, +And wisdom held with folly truce, +And Nature compromised betwixt +Good fellow and recluse. + +"He loved his friends, forgave his foes; +And, if his words were harsh at times, +He spared his fellow-men,--his blows +Fell only on their crimes. + +"He loved the good and wise, but found +His human heart to all akin +Who met him on the common ground +Of suffering and of sin. + +"Whate'er his neighbors might endure +Of pain or grief his own became; +For all the ills he could not cure +He held himself to blame. + +"His good was mainly an intent, +His evil not of forethought done; +The work he wrought was rarely meant +Or finished as begun. + +"Ill served his tides of feeling strong +To turn the common mills of use; +And, over restless wings of song, +His birthright garb hung loose! + +"His eye was beauty's powerless slave, +And his the ear which discord pains; +Few guessed beneath his aspect grave +What passions strove in chains. + +"He had his share of care and pain, +No holiday was life to him; +Still in the heirloom cup we drain +The bitter drop will swim. + +"Yet Heaven was kind, and here a bird +And there a flower beguiled his way; +And, cool, in summer noons, he heard +The fountains plash and play. + +"On all his sad or restless moods +The patient peace of Nature stole; +The quiet of the fields and woods +Sank deep into his soul. + +"He worshipped as his fathers did, +And kept the faith of childish days, +And, howsoe'er he strayed or slid, +He loved the good old ways. + +"The simple tastes, the kindly traits, +The tranquil air, and gentle speech, +The silence of the soul that waits +For more than man to teach. + +"The cant of party, school, and sect, +Provoked at times his honest scorn, +And Folly, in its gray respect, +He tossed on satire's horn. + +"But still his heart was full of awe +And reverence for all sacred things; +And, brooding over form and law,' +He saw the Spirit's wings! + +"Life's mystery wrapt him like a cloud; +He heard far voices mock his own, +The sweep of wings unseen, the loud, +Long roll of waves unknown. + +"The arrows of his straining sight +Fell quenched in darkness; priest and sage, +Like lost guides calling left and right, +Perplexed his doubtful age. + +"Like childhood, listening for the sound +Of its dropped pebbles in the well, +All vainly down the dark profound +His brief-lined plummet fell. + +"So, scattering flowers with pious pains +On old beliefs, of later creeds, +Which claimed a place in Truth's domains, +He asked the title-deeds. + +"He saw the old-time's groves and shrines +In the long distance fair and dim; +And heard, like sound of far-off pines, +The century-mellowed hymn! + +"He dared not mock the Dervish whirl, +The Brahmin's rite, the Lama's spell; +God knew the heart; Devotion's pearl +Might sanctify the shell. + +"While others trod the altar stairs +He faltered like the publican; +And, while they praised as saints, his prayers +Were those of sinful man. + +"For, awed by Sinai's Mount of Law, +The trembling faith alone sufficed, +That, through its cloud and flame, he saw +The sweet, sad face of Christ! + +"And listening, with his forehead bowed, +Heard the Divine compassion fill +The pauses of the trump and cloud +With whispers small and still. + +"The words he spake, the thoughts he penned, +Are mortal as his hand and brain, +But, if they served the Master's end, +He has not lived in vain!" + +Heaven make thee better than thy name, +Child of my friends!--For thee I crave +What riches never bought, nor fame +To mortal longing gave. + +I pray the prayer of Plato old: +God make thee beautiful within, +And let thine eyes the good behold +In everything save sin! + +Imagination held in check +To serve, not rule, thy poised mind; +Thy Reason, at the frown or beck +Of Conscience, loose or bind. + +No dreamer thou, but real all,-- +Strong manhood crowning vigorous youth; +Life made by duty epical +And rhythmic with the truth. + +So shall that life the fruitage yield +Which trees of healing only give, +And green-leafed in the Eternal field +Of God, forever live! +1853. + + + +A MEMORY + +Here, while the loom of Winter weaves +The shroud of flowers and fountains, +I think of thee and summer eves +Among the Northern mountains. + +When thunder tolled the twilight's close, +And winds the lake were rude on, +And thou wert singing, _Ca' the Yowes_, +The bonny yowes of Cluden! + +When, close and closer, hushing breath, +Our circle narrowed round thee, +And smiles and tears made up the wreath +Wherewith our silence crowned thee; + +And, strangers all, we felt the ties +Of sisters and of brothers; +Ah! whose of all those kindly eyes +Now smile upon another's? + +The sport of Time, who still apart +The waifs of life is flinging; +Oh, nevermore shall heart to heart +Draw nearer for that singing! + +Yet when the panes are frosty-starred, +And twilight's fire is gleaming, +I hear the songs of Scotland's bard +Sound softly through my dreaming! + +A song that lends to winter snows +The glow of summer weather,-- +Again I hear thee ca' the yowes +To Cluden's hills of heather +1854. + + + +MY DREAM. + +In my dream, methought I trod, +Yesternight, a mountain road; +Narrow as Al Sirat's span, +High as eagle's flight, it ran. + +Overhead, a roof of cloud +With its weight of thunder bowed; +Underneath, to left and right, +Blankness and abysmal night. + +Here and there a wild-flower blushed, +Now and then a bird-song gushed; +Now and then, through rifts of shade, +Stars shone out, and sunbeams played. + +But the goodly company, +Walking in that path with me, +One by one the brink o'erslid, +One by one the darkness hid. + +Some with wailing and lament, +Some with cheerful courage went; +But, of all who smiled or mourned, +Never one to us returned. + +Anxiously, with eye and ear, +Questioning that shadow drear, +Never hand in token stirred, +Never answering voice I heard! + +Steeper, darker!--lo! I felt +From my feet the pathway melt. +Swallowed by the black despair, +And the hungry jaws of air, + +Past the stony-throated caves, +Strangled by the wash of waves, +Past the splintered crags, I sank +On a green and flowery bank,-- + +Soft as fall of thistle-down, +Lightly as a cloud is blown, +Soothingly as childhood pressed +To the bosom of its rest. + +Of the sharp-horned rocks instead, +Green the grassy meadows spread, +Bright with waters singing by +Trees that propped a golden sky. + +Painless, trustful, sorrow-free, +Old lost faces welcomed me, +With whose sweetness of content +Still expectant hope was blent. + +Waking while the dawning gray +Slowly brightened into day, +Pondering that vision fled, +Thus unto myself I said:-- + +"Steep and hung with clouds of strife +Is our narrow path of life; +And our death the dreaded fall +Through the dark, awaiting all. + +"So, with painful steps we climb +Up the dizzy ways of time, +Ever in the shadow shed +By the forecast of our dread. + +"Dread of mystery solved alone, +Of the untried and unknown; +Yet the end thereof may seem +Like the falling of my dream. + +"And this heart-consuming care, +All our fears of here or there, +Change and absence, loss and death, +Prove but simple lack of faith." + +Thou, O Most Compassionate! +Who didst stoop to our estate, +Drinking of the cup we drain, +Treading in our path of pain,-- + +Through the doubt and mystery, +Grant to us thy steps to see, +And the grace to draw from thence +Larger hope and confidence. + +Show thy vacant tomb, and let, +As of old, the angels sit, +Whispering, by its open door +"Fear not! He hath gone before!" +1855. + + + +THE BAREFOOT BOY. + +Blessings on thee, little man, +Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan +With thy turned-up pantaloons, +And thy merry whistled tunes; +With thy red lip, redder still +Kissed by strawberries on the hill; +With the sunshine on thy face, +Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; +From my heart I give thee joy,-- +I was once a barefoot boy! + +Prince thou art,--the grown-up man +Only is republican. +Let the million-dollared ride! +Barefoot, trudging at his side, +Thou hast more than he can buy +In the reach of ear and eye,-- +Outward sunshine, inward joy +Blessings on thee, barefoot boy! + +Oh for boyhood's painless play, +Sleep that wakes in laughing day, +Health that mocks the doctor's rules, +Knowledge never learned of schools, +Of the wild bee's morning chase, +Of the wild-flower's time and place, +Flight of fowl and habitude +Of the tenants of the wood; +How the tortoise bears his shell, +How the woodchuck digs his cell, +And the ground-mole sinks his well; +How the robin feeds her young, +How the oriole's nest is hung; +Where the whitest lilies blow, +Where the freshest berries grow, +Where the ground-nut trails its vine, +Where the wood-grape's clusters shine; +Of the black wasp's cunning way, +Mason of his walls of clay, +And the architectural plans +Of gray hornet artisans! +For, eschewing books and tasks, +Nature answers all he asks, +Hand in hand with her he walks, +Face to face with her he talks, +Part and parcel of her joy,-- +Blessings on the barefoot boy! + +Oh for boyhood's time of June, +Crowding years in one brief moon, +When all things I heard or saw, +Me, their master, waited for. +I was rich in flowers and trees, +Humming-birds and honey-bees; +For my sport the squirrel played, +Plied the snouted mole his spade; +For my taste the blackberry cone +Purpled over hedge and stone; +Laughed the brook for my delight +Through the day and through the night, +Whispering at the garden wall, +Talked with me from fall to fall; +Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, +Mine the walnut slopes beyond, +Mine, on bending orchard trees, +Apples of Hesperides! +Still as my horizon grew, +Larger grew my riches too; +All the world I saw or knew +Seemed a complex Chinese toy, +Fashioned for a barefoot boy! + +Oh for festal dainties spread, +Like my bowl of milk and bread; +Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, +On the door-stone, gray and rude! +O'er me, like a regal tent, +Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, +Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, +Looped in many a wind-swung fold; +While for music came the play +Of the pied frogs' orchestra; +And, to light the noisy choir, +Lit the fly his lamp of fire. +I was monarch: pomp and joy +Waited on the barefoot boy! + +Cheerily, then, my little man, +Live and laugh, as boyhood can +Though the flinty slopes be hard, +Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, +Every morn shall lead thee through +Fresh baptisms of the dew; +Every evening from thy feet +Shall the cool wind kiss the heat +All too soon these feet must hide +In the prison cells of pride, +Lose the freedom of the sod, +Like a colt's for work be shod, +Made to tread the mills of toil, +Up and down in ceaseless moil +Happy if their track be found +Never on forbidden ground; +Happy if they sink not in +Quick and treacherous sands of sin. +Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy, +Ere it passes, barefoot boy! +1855. + + +MY PSALM. + +I mourn no more my vanished years +Beneath a tender rain, +An April rain of smiles and tears, +My heart is young again. + +The west-winds blow, and, singing low, +I hear the glad streams run; +The windows of my soul I throw +Wide open to the sun. + +No longer forward nor behind +I look in hope or fear; +But, grateful, take the good I find, +The best of now and here. + +I plough no more a desert land, +To harvest weed and tare; +The manna dropping from God's hand +Rebukes my painful care. + +I break my pilgrim staff, I lay +Aside the toiling oar; +The angel sought so far away +I welcome at my door. + +The airs of spring may never play +Among the ripening corn, +Nor freshness of the flowers of May +Blow through the autumn morn. + +Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look +Through fringed lids to heaven, +And the pale aster in the brook +Shall see its image given;-- + +The woods shall wear their robes of praise, +The south-wind softly sigh, +And sweet, calm days in golden haze +Melt down the amber sky. + +Not less shall manly deed and word +Rebuke an age of wrong; +The graven flowers that wreathe the sword +Make not the blade less strong. + +But smiting hands shall learn to heal,-- +To build as to destroy; +Nor less my heart for others feel +That I the more enjoy. + +All as God wills, who wisely heeds +To give or to withhold, +And knoweth more of all my needs +Than all my prayers have told. + +Enough that blessings undeserved +Have marked my erring track; +That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved, +His chastening turned me back; + +That more and more a Providence +Of love is understood, +Making the springs of time and sense +Sweet with eternal good;-- + +That death seems but a covered way +Which opens into light, +Wherein no blinded child can stray +Beyond the Father's sight; + +That care and trial seem at last, +Through Memory's sunset air, +Like mountain-ranges overpast, +In purple distance fair; + +That all the jarring notes of life +Seem blending in a psalm, +And all the angles of its strife +Slow rounding into calm. + +And so the shadows fall apart, +And so the west-winds play; +And all the windows of my heart +I open to the day. +1859. + + + +THE WAITING. + +I wait and watch: before my eyes +Methinks the night grows thin and gray; +I wait and watch the eastern skies +To see the golden spears uprise +Beneath the oriflamme of day! + +Like one whose limbs are bound in trance +I hear the day-sounds swell and grow, +And see across the twilight glance, +Troop after troop, in swift advance, +The shining ones with plumes of snow! + +I know the errand of their feet, +I know what mighty work is theirs; +I can but lift up hands unmeet, +The threshing-floors of God to beat, +And speed them with unworthy prayers. + +I will not dream in vain despair +The steps of progress wait for me +The puny leverage of a hair +The planet's impulse well may spare, +A drop of dew the tided sea. + +The loss, if loss there be, is mine, +And yet not mine if understood; +For one shall grasp and one resign, +One drink life's rue, and one its wine, +And God shall make the balance good. + +Oh power to do! Oh baffled will! +Oh prayer and action! ye are one. +Who may not strive, may yet fulfil +The harder task of standing still, +And good but wished with God is done! +1862. + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, REMINISCENT POEMS *** +By John Greenleaf Whittier + +**** This file should be named 9570.txt or 9570.zip *** + +This eBook was produced by David Widger + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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