diff options
Diffstat (limited to '9571.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 9571.txt | 2242 |
1 files changed, 2242 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/9571.txt b/9571.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a935b93 --- /dev/null +++ b/9571.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2242 @@ +Project Gutenberg EBook, Snow Bound and Others by John Greenleaf Whittier +Volume II., The Works of Whittier: Poems of Nature, Poems Subjective +and Reminiscent, Religious Poems +#16 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: Snow Bound and Others, 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 #9571] +[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, SNOW BOUND AND OTHERS *** + + + + +This eBook was produced by David Widger + + + + + + POEMS OF NATURE + + POEMS SUBJECTIVE AND REMINISCENT + + RELIGIOUS POEMS + + BY + JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER + + + + +CONTENTS: + + SNOW-BOUND + MY TRIUMPH + IN SCHOOL-DAYS + MY BIRTHDAY + RED RIDING-HOOD + RESPONSE + AT EVENTIDE + VOYAGE OF THE JETTIE + MY TRUST + A NAME + GREETING + CONTENTS + AN AUTOGRAPH + ABRAM MORRISON + A LEGACY + + + + + SNOW-BOUND. + + A WINTER IDYL. + + TO THE MEMORY + + OF + + THE HOUSEHOLD IT DESCRIBES, + + THIS POEM IS DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. + + The inmates of the family at the Whittier homestead who are + referred to in the poem were my father, mother, my brother and two + sisters, and my uncle and aunt both unmarried. In addition, there + was the district school-master who boarded with us. The "not + unfeared, half-welcome guest" was Harriet Livermore, daughter of + Judge Livermore, of New Hampshire, a young woman of fine natural + ability, enthusiastic, eccentric, with slight control over her + violent temper, which sometimes made her religious profession + doubtful. She was equally ready to exhort in school-house + prayer-meetings and dance in a Washington ball-room, while her + father was a member of Congress. She early embraced the doctrine of + the Second Advent, and felt it her duty to proclaim the Lord's + speedy coming. With this message she crossed the Atlantic and spent + the greater part of a long life in travelling over Europe and Asia. + She lived some time with Lady Hester Stanhope, a woman as fantastic + and mentally strained as herself, on the slope of Mt. Lebanon, but + finally quarrelled with her in regard to two white horses with red + marks on their backs which suggested the idea of saddles, on which + her titled hostess expected to ride into Jerusalem with the Lord. A + friend of mine found her, when quite an old woman, wandering in + Syria with a tribe of Arabs, who with the Oriental notion that + madness is inspiration, accepted her as their prophetess and + leader. At the time referred to in Snow-Bound she was boarding at + the Rocks Village about two miles from us. + + In my boyhood, in our lonely farm-house, we had scanty sources of + information; few books and only a small weekly newspaper. Our only + annual was the Almanac. Under such circumstances story-telling was + a necessary resource in the long winter evenings. My father when a + young man had traversed the wilderness to Canada, and could tell us + of his adventures with Indians and wild beasts, and of his sojourn + in the French villages. My uncle was ready with his record of + hunting and fishing and, it must be confessed, with stories which + he at least half believed, of witchcraft and apparitions. My + mother, who was born in the Indian-haunted region of Somersworth, + New Hampshire, between Dover and Portsmouth, told us of the inroads + of the savages, and the narrow escape of her ancestors. She + described strange people who lived on the Piscataqua and Cocheco, + among whom was Bantam the sorcerer. I have in my possession the + wizard's "conjuring book," which he solemnly opened when consulted. + It is a copy of Cornelius Agrippa's Magic printed in 1651, + dedicated to Dr. Robert Child, who, like Michael Scott, had + learned "the art of glammorie In Padua beyond the sea," and who is + famous in the annals of Massachusetts, where he was at one time a + resident, as the first man who dared petition the General Court for + liberty of conscience. The full title of the book is Three Books of + Occult Philosophy, by Henry Cornelius Agrippa, Knight, Doctor of + both Laws, Counsellor to Caesar's Sacred Majesty and Judge of the + Prerogative Court. + + "As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so Good + Spirits, which be Angels of Light, are augmented not only by the + Divine light of the Sun, but also by our common Wood Fire: and as + the Celestial Fire drives away dark spirits, so also this our Fire + of Wood doth the same."--Cor. AGRIPPA, Occult Philosophy, Book I. + ch. v. + + "Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, + Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, + Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air + Hides hills and woods, the rivet and the heaven, + And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. + The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet + Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit + Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed + In a tumultuous privacy of storm." + Emerson. The Snow Storm. + + +The sun that brief December day +Rose cheerless over hills of gray, +And, darkly circled, gave at noon +A sadder light than waning moon. +Slow tracing down the thickening sky +Its mute and ominous prophecy, +A portent seeming less than threat, +It sank from sight before it set. +A chill no coat, however stout, +Of homespun stuff could quite, shut out, +A hard, dull bitterness of cold, +That checked, mid-vein, the circling race +Of life-blood in the sharpened face, +The coming of the snow-storm told. +The wind blew east; we heard the roar +Of Ocean on his wintry shore, +And felt the strong pulse throbbing there +Beat with low rhythm our inland air. + +Meanwhile we did our nightly chores,-- +Brought in the wood from out of doors, +Littered the stalls, and from the mows +Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows +Heard the horse whinnying for his corn; +And, sharply clashing horn on horn, +Impatient down the stanchion rows +The cattle shake their walnut bows; +While, peering from his early perch +Upon the scaffold's pole of birch, +The cock his crested helmet bent +And down his querulous challenge sent. + +Unwarmed by any sunset light +The gray day darkened into night, +A night made hoary with the swarm, +And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, +As zigzag, wavering to and fro, +Crossed and recrossed the winged snow +And ere the early bedtime came +The white drift piled the window-frame, +And through the glass the clothes-line posts +Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. + +So all night long the storm roared on +The morning broke without a sun; +In tiny spherule traced with lines +Of Nature's geometric signs, +In starry flake, and pellicle, +All day the hoary meteor fell; +And, when the second morning shone, +We looked upon a world unknown, +On nothing we could call our own. +Around the glistening wonder bent +The blue walls of the firmament, +No cloud above, no earth below,-- +A universe of sky and snow +The old familiar sights of ours +Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers +Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, +Or garden-wall, or belt of wood; +A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, +A fenceless drift what once was road; +The bridle-post an old man sat +With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; +The well-curb had a Chinese roof; +And even the long sweep, high aloof, +In its slant splendor, seemed to tell +Of Pisa's leaning miracle. + +A prompt, decisive man, no breath +Our father wasted: "Boys, a path!" +Well pleased, (for when did farmer boy +Count such a summons less than joy?) +Our buskins on our feet we drew; +With mittened hands, and caps drawn low, +To guard our necks and ears from snow, +We cut the solid whiteness through. +And, where the drift was deepest, made +A tunnel walled and overlaid +With dazzling crystal: we had read +Of rare Aladdin's wondrous cave, +And to our own his name we gave, +With many a wish the luck were ours +To test his lamp's supernal powers. +We reached the barn with merry din, +And roused the prisoned brutes within. +The old horse thrust his long head out, +And grave with wonder gazed about; +The cock his lusty greeting said, +And forth his speckled harem led; +The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked, +And mild reproach of hunger looked; +The horned patriarch of the sheep, +Like Egypt's Amun roused from sleep, +Shook his sage head with gesture mute, +And emphasized with stamp of foot. + +All day the gusty north-wind bore +The loosening drift its breath before; +Low circling round its southern zone, +The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. +No church-bell lent its Christian tone +To the savage air, no social smoke +Curled over woods of snow-hung oak. +A solitude made more intense +By dreary-voiced elements, +The shrieking of the mindless wind, +The moaning tree-boughs swaying blind, +And on the glass the unmeaning beat +Of ghostly finger-tips of sleet. +Beyond the circle of our hearth +No welcome sound of toil or mirth +Unbound the spell, and testified +Of human life and thought outside. +We minded that the sharpest ear +The buried brooklet could not hear, +The music of whose liquid lip +Had been to us companionship, +And, in our lonely life, had grown +To have an almost human tone. + +As night drew on, and, from the crest +Of wooded knolls that ridged the west, +The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank +From sight beneath the smothering bank, +We piled, with care, our nightly stack +Of wood against the chimney-back,-- +The oaken log, green, huge, and thick, +And on its top the stout back-stick; +The knotty forestick laid apart, +And filled between with curious art +The ragged brush; then, hovering near, +We watched the first red blaze appear, +Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam +On whitewashed wall and sagging beam, +Until the old, rude-furnished room +Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom; +While radiant with a mimic flame +Outside the sparkling drift became, +And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree +Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free. +The crane and pendent trammels showed, +The Turks' heads on the andirons glowed; +While childish fancy, prompt to tell +The meaning of the miracle, +Whispered the old rhyme: "_Under the tree, +When fire outdoors burns merrily, +There the witches are making tea_." + +The moon above the eastern wood +Shone at its full; the hill-range stood +Transfigured in the silver flood, +Its blown snows flashing cold and keen, +Dead white, save where some sharp ravine +Took shadow, or the sombre green +Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black +Against the whiteness at their back. +For such a world and such a night +Most fitting that unwarming light, +Which only seemed where'er it fell +To make the coldness visible. + +Shut in from all the world without, +We sat the clean-winged hearth about, +Content to let the north-wind roar +In baffled rage at pane and door, +While the red logs before us beat +The frost-line back with tropic heat; +And ever, when a louder blast +Shook beam and rafter as it passed, +The merrier up its roaring draught +The great throat of the chimney laughed; +The house-dog on his paws outspread +Laid to the fire his drowsy head, +The cat's dark silhouette on the wall +A couchant tiger's seemed to fall; +And, for the winter fireside meet, +Between the andirons' straddling feet, +The mug of cider simmered slow, +The apples sputtered in a row, +And, close at hand, the basket stood +With nuts from brown October's wood. + +What matter how the night behaved? +What matter how the north-wind raved? +Blow high, blow low, not all its snow +Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow. +O Time and Change!--with hair as gray +As was my sire's that winter day, +How strange it seems, with so much gone +Of life and love, to still live on! +Ah, brother! only I and thou +Are left of all that circle now,-- +The dear home faces whereupon +That fitful firelight paled and shone. +Henceforward, listen as we will, +The voices of that hearth are still; +Look where we may, the wide earth o'er +Those lighted faces smile no more. +We tread the paths their feet have worn, +We sit beneath their orchard trees, +We hear, like them, the hum of bees +And rustle of the bladed corn; +We turn the pages that they read, +Their written words we linger o'er, +But in the sun they cast no shade, +No voice is heard, no sign is made, +No step is on the conscious floor! +Yet Love will dream, and Faith will trust, +(Since He who knows our need is just,) +That somehow, somewhere, meet we must. +Alas for him who never sees +The stars shine through his cypress-trees +Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, +Nor looks to see the breaking day +Across the mournful marbles play! +Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, +The truth to flesh and sense unknown, +That Life is ever lord of Death, +And Love can never lose its own! + +We sped the time with stories old, +Wrought puzzles out, and riddles told, +Or stammered from our school-book lore +The Chief of Gambia's "golden shore." +How often since, when all the land +Was clay in Slavery's shaping hand, +As if a far-blown trumpet stirred +The languorous sin-sick air, I heard +"_Does not the voice of reason cry, +Claim the first right which Nature gave, +From the red scourge of bondage fly, +Nor deign to live a burdened slave_!" +Our father rode again his ride +On Memphremagog's wooded side; +Sat down again to moose and samp +In trapper's hut and Indian camp; +Lived o'er the old idyllic ease +Beneath St. Francois' hemlock-trees; +Again for him the moonlight shone +On Norman cap and bodiced zone; +Again he heard the violin play +Which led the village dance away, +And mingled in its merry whirl +The grandam and the laughing girl. +Or, nearer home, our steps he led +Where Salisbury's level marshes spread +Mile-wide as flies the laden bee; +Where merry mowers, hale and strong, +Swept, scythe on scythe, their swaths along +The low green prairies of the sea. +We shared the fishing off Boar's Head, +And round the rocky Isles of Shoals +The hake-broil on the drift-wood coals; +The chowder on the sand-beach made, +Dipped by the hungry, steaming hot, +With spoons of clam-shell from the pot. +We heard the tales of witchcraft old, +And dream and sign and marvel told +To sleepy listeners as they lay +Stretched idly on the salted hay, +Adrift along the winding shores, +When favoring breezes deigned to blow +The square sail of the gundelow +And idle lay the useless oars. + +Our mother, while she turned her wheel +Or run the new-knit stocking-heel, +Told how the Indian hordes came down +At midnight on Cocheco town, +And how her own great-uncle bore +His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore. +Recalling, in her fitting phrase, +So rich and picturesque and free, +(The common unrhymed poetry +Of simple life and country ways,) +The story of her early days,-- +She made us welcome to her home; +Old hearths grew wide to give us room; +We stole with her a frightened look +At the gray wizard's conjuring-book, +The fame whereof went far and wide +Through all the simple country side; +We heard the hawks at twilight play, +The boat-horn on Piscataqua, +The loon's weird laughter far away; +We fished her little trout-brook, knew +What flowers in wood and meadow grew, +What sunny hillsides autumn-brown +She climbed to shake the ripe nuts down, +Saw where in sheltered cove and bay +The ducks' black squadron anchored lay, +And heard the wild-geese calling loud +Beneath the gray November cloud. + +Then, haply, with a look more grave, +And soberer tone, some tale she gave +From painful Sewell's ancient tome, +Beloved in every Quaker home, +Of faith fire-winged by martyrdom, +Or Chalkley's Journal, old and quaint,-- +Gentlest of skippers, rare sea-saint!-- +Who, when the dreary calms prevailed, +And water-butt and bread-cask failed, +And cruel, hungry eyes pursued +His portly presence mad for food, +With dark hints muttered under breath +Of casting lots for life or death, +Offered, if Heaven withheld supplies, +To be himself the sacrifice. +Then, suddenly, as if to save +The good man from his living grave, +A ripple on the water grew, +A school of porpoise flashed in view. +"Take, eat," he said, "and be content; +These fishes in my stead are sent +By Him who gave the tangled ram +To spare the child of Abraham." + +Our uncle, innocent of books, +Was rich in lore of fields and brooks, +The ancient teachers never dumb +Of Nature's unhoused lyceum. +In moons and tides and weather wise, +He read the clouds as prophecies, +And foul or fair could well divine, +By many an occult hint and sign, +Holding the cunning-warded keys +To all the woodcraft mysteries; +Himself to Nature's heart so near +That all her voices in his ear +Of beast or bird had meanings clear, +Like Apollonius of old, +Who knew the tales the sparrows told, +Or Hermes who interpreted +What the sage cranes of Nilus said; + +Content to live where life began; +A simple, guileless, childlike man, +Strong only on his native grounds, +The little world of sights and sounds +Whose girdle was the parish bounds, +Whereof his fondly partial pride +The common features magnified, +As Surrey hills to mountains grew +In White of Selborne's loving view,-- +He told how teal and loon he shot, +And how the eagle's eggs he got, +The feats on pond and river done, +The prodigies of rod and gun; +Till, warming with the tales he told, +Forgotten was the outside cold, +The bitter wind unheeded blew, +From ripening corn the pigeons flew, +The partridge drummed I' the wood, the mink +Went fishing down the river-brink. +In fields with bean or clover gay, +The woodchuck, like a hermit gray, +Peered from the doorway of his cell; +The muskrat plied the mason's trade, +And tier by tier his mud-walls laid; +And from the shagbark overhead +The grizzled squirrel dropped his shell. + +Next, the dear aunt, whose smile of cheer +And voice in dreams I see and hear,-- +The sweetest woman ever Fate +Perverse denied a household mate, +Who, lonely, homeless, not the less +Found peace in love's unselfishness, +And welcome wheresoe'er she went, +A calm and gracious element,-- +Whose presence seemed the sweet income +And womanly atmosphere of home,-- +Called up her girlhood memories, +The huskings and the apple-bees, +The sleigh-rides and the summer sails, +Weaving through all the poor details +And homespun warp of circumstance +A golden woof-thread of romance. +For well she kept her genial mood +And simple faith of maidenhood; +Before her still a cloud-land lay, +The mirage loomed across her way; +The morning dew, that dries so soon +With others, glistened at her noon; +Through years of toil and soil and care, +From glossy tress to thin gray hair, +All unprofaned she held apart +The virgin fancies of the heart. +Be shame to him of woman born +Who hath for such but thought of scorn. + +There, too, our elder sister plied +Her evening task the stand beside; +A full, rich nature, free to trust, +Truthful and almost sternly just, +Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act, +And make her generous thought a fact, +Keeping with many a light disguise +The secret of self-sacrifice. +O heart sore-tried! thou hast the best +That Heaven itself could give thee,--rest, + +Rest from all bitter thoughts and things! +How many a poor one's blessing went +With thee beneath the low green tent +Whose curtain never outward swings! + +As one who held herself a part +Of all she saw, and let her heart +Against the household bosom lean, +Upon the motley-braided mat +Our youngest and our dearest sat, +Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes, +Now bathed in the unfading green +And holy peace of Paradise. +Oh, looking from some heavenly hill, +Or from the shade of saintly palms, +Or silver reach of river calms, +Do those large eyes behold me still? +With me one little year ago:-- +The chill weight of the winter snow +For months upon her grave has lain; +And now, when summer south-winds blow +And brier and harebell bloom again, +I tread the pleasant paths we trod, +I see the violet-sprinkled sod +Whereon she leaned, too frail and weak +The hillside flowers she loved to seek, +Yet following me where'er I went +With dark eyes full of love's content. +The birds are glad; the brier-rose fills +The air with sweetness; all the hills +Stretch green to June's unclouded sky; +But still I wait with ear and eye +For something gone which should be nigh, +A loss in all familiar things, +In flower that blooms, and bird that sings. +And yet, dear heart' remembering thee, +Am I not richer than of old? +Safe in thy immortality, +What change can reach the wealth I hold? +What chance can mar the pearl and gold +Thy love hath left in trust with me? +And while in life's late afternoon, +Where cool and long the shadows grow, +I walk to meet the night that soon +Shall shape and shadow overflow, +I cannot feel that thou art far, +Since near at need the angels are; +And when the sunset gates unbar, +Shall I not see thee waiting stand, +And, white against the evening star, +The welcome of thy beckoning hand? + +Brisk wielder of the birch and rule, +The master of the district school +Held at the fire his favored place, +Its warm glow lit a laughing face +Fresh-hued and fair, where scarce appeared +The uncertain prophecy of beard. +He teased the mitten-blinded cat, +Played cross-pins on my uncle's hat, +Sang songs, and told us what befalls +In classic Dartmouth's college halls. +Born the wild Northern hills among, +From whence his yeoman father wrung +By patient toil subsistence scant, +Not competence and yet not want, + +He early gained the power to pay +His cheerful, self-reliant way; +Could doff at ease his scholar's gown +To peddle wares from town to town; +Or through the long vacation's reach +In lonely lowland districts teach, +Where all the droll experience found +At stranger hearths in boarding round, +The moonlit skater's keen delight, +The sleigh-drive through the frosty night, +The rustic party, with its rough +Accompaniment of blind-man's-buff, +And whirling plate, and forfeits paid, +His winter task a pastime made. +Happy the snow-locked homes wherein +He tuned his merry violin, +Or played the athlete in the barn, +Or held the good dame's winding-yarn, +Or mirth-provoking versions told +Of classic legends rare and old, +Wherein the scenes of Greece and Rome +Had all the commonplace of home, +And little seemed at best the odds +'Twixt Yankee pedlers and old gods; +Where Pindus-born Arachthus took +The guise of any grist-mill brook, +And dread Olympus at his will +Became a huckleberry hill. + +A careless boy that night be seemed; +But at his desk he had the look +And air of one who wisely schemed, +And hostage from the future took +In trained thought and lore of book. +Large-brained, clear-eyed, of such as he +Shall Freedom's young apostles be, +Who, following in War's bloody trail, +Shall every lingering wrong assail; +All chains from limb and spirit strike, +Uplift the black and white alike; +Scatter before their swift advance +The darkness and the ignorance, +The pride, the lust, the squalid sloth, +Which nurtured Treason's monstrous growth, +Made murder pastime, and the hell +Of prison-torture possible; +The cruel lie of caste refute, +Old forms remould, and substitute +For Slavery's lash the freeman's will, +For blind routine, wise-handed skill; +A school-house plant on every hill, +Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence +The quick wires of intelligence; +Till North and South together brought +Shall own the same electric thought, +In peace a common flag salute, +And, side by side in labor's free +And unresentful rivalry, +Harvest the fields wherein they fought. + +Another guest that winter night +Flashed back from lustrous eyes the light. +Unmarked by time, and yet not young, +The honeyed music of her tongue +And words of meekness scarcely told +A nature passionate and bold, +Strong, self-concentred, spurning guide, +Its milder features dwarfed beside +Her unbent will's majestic pride. +She sat among us, at the best, +A not unfeared, half-welcome guest, +Rebuking with her cultured phrase +Our homeliness of words and ways. +A certain pard-like, treacherous grace +Swayed the lithe limbs and dropped the lash, +Lent the white teeth their dazzling flash; +And under low brows, black with night, +Rayed out at times a dangerous light; +The sharp heat-lightnings of her face +Presaging ill to him whom Fate +Condemned to share her love or hate. +A woman tropical, intense +In thought and act, in soul and sense, +She blended in a like degree +The vixen and the devotee, +Revealing with each freak or feint +The temper of Petruchio's Kate, +The raptures of Siena's saint. +Her tapering hand and rounded wrist +Had facile power to form a fist; +The warm, dark languish of her eyes +Was never safe from wrath's surprise. +Brows saintly calm and lips devout +Knew every change of scowl and pout; +And the sweet voice had notes more high +And shrill for social battle-cry. + +Since then what old cathedral town +Has missed her pilgrim staff and gown, +What convent-gate has held its lock +Against the challenge of her knock! +Through Smyrna's plague-hushed thoroughfares, +Up sea-set Malta's rocky stairs, +Gray olive slopes of hills that hem +Thy tombs and shrines, Jerusalem, +Or startling on her desert throne +The crazy Queen of Lebanon s +With claims fantastic as her own, +Her tireless feet have held their way; +And still, unrestful, bowed, and gray, +She watches under Eastern skies, +With hope each day renewed and fresh, +The Lord's quick coming in the flesh, +Whereof she dreams and prophesies! + +Where'er her troubled path may be, +The Lord's sweet pity with her go! +The outward wayward life we see, +The hidden springs we may not know. +Nor is it given us to discern +What threads the fatal sisters spun, +Through what ancestral years has run +The sorrow with the woman born, +What forged her cruel chain of moods, +What set her feet in solitudes, +And held the love within her mute, +What mingled madness in the blood, +A life-long discord and annoy, +Water of tears with oil of joy, +And hid within the folded bud +Perversities of flower and fruit. +It is not ours to separate +The tangled skein of will and fate, +To show what metes and bounds should stand +Upon the soul's debatable land, +And between choice and Providence +Divide the circle of events; +But lie who knows our frame is just, +Merciful and compassionate, +And full of sweet assurances +And hope for all the language is, +That He remembereth we are dust! + +At last the great logs, crumbling low, +Sent out a dull and duller glow, +The bull's-eye watch that hung in view, +Ticking its weary circuit through, +Pointed with mutely warning sign +Its black hand to the hour of nine. +That sign the pleasant circle broke +My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke, +Knocked from its bowl the refuse gray, +And laid it tenderly away, +Then roused himself to safely cover +The dull red brands with ashes over. +And while, with care, our mother laid +The work aside, her steps she stayed +One moment, seeking to express +Her grateful sense of happiness +For food and shelter, warmth and health, +And love's contentment more than wealth, +With simple wishes (not the weak, +Vain prayers which no fulfilment seek, +But such as warm the generous heart, +O'er-prompt to do with Heaven its part) +That none might lack, that bitter night, +For bread and clothing, warmth and light. + +Within our beds awhile we heard +The wind that round the gables roared, +With now and then a ruder shock, +Which made our very bedsteads rock. +We heard the loosened clapboards tost, +The board-nails snapping in the frost; +And on us, through the unplastered wall, +Felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall. +But sleep stole on, as sleep will do +When hearts are light and life is new; +Faint and more faint the murmurs grew, +Till in the summer-land of dreams +They softened to the sound of streams, +Low stir of leaves, and dip of oars, +And lapsing waves on quiet shores. + +Next morn we wakened with the shout +Of merry voices high and clear; +And saw the teamsters drawing near +To break the drifted highways out. +Down the long hillside treading slow +We saw the half-buried oxen' go, +Shaking the snow from heads uptost, +Their straining nostrils white with frost. +Before our door the straggling train +Drew up, an added team to gain. +The elders threshed their hands a-cold, +Passed, with the cider-mug, their jokes +From lip to lip; the younger folks +Down the loose snow-banks, wrestling, rolled, +Then toiled again the cavalcade +O'er windy hill, through clogged ravine, +And woodland paths that wound between +Low drooping pine-boughs winter-weighed. +From every barn a team afoot, +At every house a new recruit, +Where, drawn by Nature's subtlest law +Haply the watchful young men saw +Sweet doorway pictures of the curls +And curious eyes of merry girls, +Lifting their hands in mock defence +Against the snow-ball's compliments, +And reading in each missive tost +The charm with Eden never lost. + +We heard once more the sleigh-bells' sound; +And, following where the teamsters led, +The wise old Doctor went his round, +Just pausing at our door to say, +In the brief autocratic way +Of one who, prompt at Duty's call, +Was free to urge her claim on all, +That some poor neighbor sick abed +At night our mother's aid would need. +For, one in generous thought and deed, +What mattered in the sufferer's sight +The Quaker matron's inward light, +The Doctor's mail of Calvin's creed? +All hearts confess the saints elect +Who, twain in faith, in love agree, +And melt not in an acid sect +The Christian pearl of charity! + +So days went on: a week had passed +Since the great world was heard from last. +The Almanac we studied o'er, +Read and reread our little store, +Of books and pamphlets, scarce a score; +One harmless novel, mostly hid +From younger eyes, a book forbid, +And poetry, (or good or bad, +A single book was all we had,) +Where Ellwood's meek, drab-skirted Muse, +A stranger to the heathen Nine, +Sang, with a somewhat nasal whine, +The wars of David and the Jews. +At last the floundering carrier bore +The village paper to our door. +Lo! broadening outward as we read, +To warmer zones the horizon spread; +In panoramic length unrolled +We saw the marvels that it told. +Before us passed the painted Creeks, +And daft McGregor on his raids +In Costa Rica's everglades. +And up Taygetos winding slow +Rode Ypsilanti's Mainote Greeks, +A Turk's head at each saddle-bow +Welcome to us its week-old news, +Its corner for the rustic Muse, +Its monthly gauge of snow and rain, +Its record, mingling in a breath +The wedding bell and dirge of death; +Jest, anecdote, and love-lorn tale, +The latest culprit sent to jail; +Its hue and cry of stolen and lost, +Its vendue sales and goods at cost, +And traffic calling loud for gain. +We felt the stir of hall and street, +The pulse of life that round us beat; +The chill embargo of the snow +Was melted in the genial glow; +Wide swung again our ice-locked door, +And all the world was ours once more! + +Clasp, Angel of the backward look +And folded wings of ashen gray +And voice of echoes far away, +The brazen covers of thy book; +The weird palimpsest old and vast, +Wherein thou hid'st the spectral past; +Where, closely mingling, pale and glow +The characters of joy and woe; +The monographs of outlived years, +Or smile-illumed or dim with tears, +Green hills of life that slope to death, +And haunts of home, whose vistaed trees +Shade off to mournful cypresses +With the white amaranths underneath. +Even while I look, I can but heed +The restless sands' incessant fall, +Importunate hours that hours succeed, +Each clamorous with its own sharp need, +And duty keeping pace with all. +Shut down and clasp the heavy lids; +I hear again the voice that bids +The dreamer leave his dream midway +For larger hopes and graver fears +Life greatens in these later years, +The century's aloe flowers to-day! + +Yet, haply, in some lull of life, +Some Truce of God which breaks its strife, +The worldling's eyes shall gather dew, +Dreaming in throngful city ways +Of winter joys his boyhood knew; +And dear and early friends--the few +Who yet remain--shall pause to view +These Flemish pictures of old days; +Sit with me by the homestead hearth, +And stretch the hands of memory forth +To warm them at the wood-fire's blaze! +And thanks untraced to lips unknown +Shall greet me like the odors blown +From unseen meadows newly mown, +Or lilies floating in some pond, +Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond; +The traveller owns the grateful sense +Of sweetness near, he knows not whence, +And, pausing, takes with forehead bare +The benediction of the air. +1866. + + + +MY TRIUMPH. + +The autumn-time has come; +On woods that dream of bloom, +And over purpling vines, +The low sun fainter shines. + +The aster-flower is failing, +The hazel's gold is paling; +Yet overhead more near +The eternal stars appear! + +And present gratitude +Insures the future's good, +And for the things I see +I trust the things to be; + +That in the paths untrod, +And the long days of God, +My feet shall still be led, +My heart be comforted. + +O living friends who love me! +O dear ones gone above me! +Careless of other fame, +I leave to you my name. + +Hide it from idle praises, +Save it from evil phrases +Why, when dear lips that spake it +Are dumb, should strangers wake it? + +Let the thick curtain fall; +I better know than all +How little I have gained, +How vast the unattained. + +Not by the page word-painted +Let life be banned or sainted +Deeper than written scroll +The colors of the soul. + +Sweeter than any sung +My songs that found no tongue; +Nobler than any fact +My wish that failed of act. + +Others shall sing the song, +Others shall right the wrong,-- +Finish what I begin, +And all I fail of win. + +What matter, I or they? +Mine or another's day, +So the right word be said +And life the sweeter made? + +Hail to the coming singers +Hail to the brave light-bringers! +Forward I reach and share +All that they sing and dare. + +The airs of heaven blow o'er me; +A glory shines before me +Of what mankind shall be,-- +Pure, generous, brave, and free. + +A dream of man and woman +Diviner but still human, +Solving the riddle old, +Shaping the Age of Gold. + +The love of God and neighbor; +An equal-handed labor; +The richer life, where beauty +Walks hand in hand with duty. + +Ring, bells in unreared steeples, +The joy of unborn peoples! +Sound, trumpets far off blown, +Your triumph is my own! + +Parcel and part of all, +I keep the festival, +Fore-reach the good to be, +And share the victory. + +I feel the earth move sunward, +I join the great march onward, +And take, by faith, while living, +My freehold of thanksgiving. +1870. + + + +IN SCHOOL-DAYS. + +Still sits the school-house by the road, +A ragged beggar sleeping; +Around it still the sumachs grow, +And blackberry-vines are creeping. + +Within, the master's desk is seen, +Deep scarred by raps official; +The warping floor, the battered seats, +The jack-knife's carved initial; + +The charcoal frescos on its wall; +Its door's worn sill, betraying +The feet that, creeping slow to school, +Went storming out to playing! + +Long years ago a winter sun +Shone over it at setting; +Lit up its western window-panes, +And low eaves' icy fretting. + +It touched the tangled golden curls, +And brown eyes full of grieving, +Of one who still her steps delayed +When all the school were leaving. + +For near her stood the little boy +Her childish favor singled: +His cap pulled low upon a face +Where pride and shame were mingled. + +Pushing with restless feet the snow +To right and left, he lingered;-- +As restlessly her tiny hands +The blue-checked apron fingered. + +He saw her lift her eyes; he felt +The soft hand's light caressing, +And heard the tremble of her voice, +As if a fault confessing. + +"I 'm sorry that I spelt the word +I hate to go above you, +Because,"--the brown eyes lower fell,-- +"Because you see, I love you!" + +Still memory to a gray-haired man +That sweet child-face is showing. +Dear girl! the grasses on her grave +Have forty years been growing! + +He lives to learn, in life's hard school, +How few who pass above him +Lament their triumph and his loss, +Like her,--because they love him. + + + +MY BIRTHDAY. + +Beneath the moonlight and the snow +Lies dead my latest year; +The winter winds are wailing low +Its dirges in my ear. + +I grieve not with the moaning wind +As if a loss befell; +Before me, even as behind, +God is, and all is well! + +His light shines on me from above, +His low voice speaks within,-- +The patience of immortal love +Outwearying mortal sin. + +Not mindless of the growing years +Of care and loss and pain, +My eyes are wet with thankful tears +For blessings which remain. + +If dim the gold of life has grown, +I will not count it dross, +Nor turn from treasures still my own +To sigh for lack and loss. + +The years no charm from Nature take; +As sweet her voices call, +As beautiful her mornings break, +As fair her evenings fall. + +Love watches o'er my quiet ways, +Kind voices speak my name, +And lips that find it hard to praise +Are slow, at least, to blame. + +How softly ebb the tides of will! +How fields, once lost or won, +Now lie behind me green and still +Beneath a level sun. + +How hushed the hiss of party hate, +The clamor of the throng! +How old, harsh voices of debate +Flow into rhythmic song! + +Methinks the spirit's temper grows +Too soft in this still air; +Somewhat the restful heart foregoes +Of needed watch and prayer. + +The bark by tempest vainly tossed +May founder in the calm, +And he who braved the polar frost +Faint by the isles of balm. + +Better than self-indulgent years +The outflung heart of youth, +Than pleasant songs in idle ears +The tumult of the truth. + +Rest for the weary hands is good, +And love for hearts that pine, +But let the manly habitude +Of upright souls be mine. + +Let winds that blow from heaven refresh, +Dear Lord, the languid air; +And let the weakness of the flesh +Thy strength of spirit share. + +And, if the eye must fail of light, +The ear forget to hear, +Make clearer still the spirit's sight, +More fine the inward ear! + +Be near me in mine hours of need +To soothe, or cheer, or warn, +And down these slopes of sunset lead +As up the hills of morn! +1871. + + + +RED RIDING-HOOD. + +On the wide lawn the snow lay deep, +Ridged o'er with many a drifted heap; +The wind that through the pine-trees sung +The naked elm-boughs tossed and swung; +While, through the window, frosty-starred, +Against the sunset purple barred, +We saw the sombre crow flap by, +The hawk's gray fleck along the sky, +The crested blue-jay flitting swift, +The squirrel poising on the drift, +Erect, alert, his broad gray tail +Set to the north wind like a sail. + +It came to pass, our little lass, +With flattened face against the glass, +And eyes in which the tender dew +Of pity shone, stood gazing through +The narrow space her rosy lips +Had melted from the frost's eclipse +"Oh, see," she cried, "the poor blue-jays! +What is it that the black crow says? +The squirrel lifts his little legs +Because he has no hands, and begs; +He's asking for my nuts, I know +May I not feed them on the snow?" + +Half lost within her boots, her head +Warm-sheltered in her hood of red, +Her plaid skirt close about her drawn, +She floundered down the wintry lawn; +Now struggling through the misty veil +Blown round her by the shrieking gale; +Now sinking in a drift so low +Her scarlet hood could scarcely show +Its dash of color on the snow. + +She dropped for bird and beast forlorn +Her little store of nuts and corn, +And thus her timid guests bespoke +"Come, squirrel, from your hollow oak,-- +Come, black old crow,--come, poor blue-jay, +Before your supper's blown away +Don't be afraid, we all are good; +And I'm mamma's Red Riding-Hood!" + +O Thou whose care is over all, +Who heedest even the sparrow's fall, +Keep in the little maiden's breast +The pity which is now its guest! +Let not her cultured years make less +The childhood charm of tenderness, +But let her feel as well as know, +Nor harder with her polish grow! +Unmoved by sentimental grief +That wails along some printed leaf, +But, prompt with kindly word and deed +To own the claims of all who need, +Let the grown woman's self make good +The promise of Red Riding-Hood +1877. + + + +RESPONSE. + + On the occasion of my seventieth birthday in 1877, I was the + recipient of many tokens of esteem. The publishers of the _Atlantic + Monthly_ gave a dinner in my name, and the editor of _The Literary + World_ gathered in his paper many affectionate messages from my + associates in literature and the cause of human progress. The lines + which follow were written in acknowledgment. + +Beside that milestone where the level sun, +Nigh unto setting, sheds his last, low rays +On word and work irrevocably done, +Life's blending threads of good and ill outspun, +I hear, O friends! your words of cheer and praise, +Half doubtful if myself or otherwise. +Like him who, in the old Arabian joke, +A beggar slept and crowned Caliph woke. +Thanks not the less. With not unglad surprise +I see my life-work through your partial eyes; +Assured, in giving to my home-taught songs +A higher value than of right belongs, +You do but read between the written lines +The finer grace of unfulfilled designs. + + + +AT EVENTIDE. + +Poor and inadequate the shadow-play +Of gain and loss, of waking and of dream, +Against life's solemn background needs must seem +At this late hour. Yet, not unthankfully, +I call to mind the fountains by the way, +The breath of flowers, the bird-song on the spray, +Dear friends, sweet human loves, the joy of giving +And of receiving, the great boon of living +In grand historic years when Liberty +Had need of word and work, quick sympathies +For all who fail and suffer, song's relief, +Nature's uncloying loveliness; and chief, +The kind restraining hand of Providence, +The inward witness, the assuring sense +Of an Eternal Good which overlies +The sorrow of the world, Love which outlives +All sin and wrong, Compassion which forgives +To the uttermost, and Justice whose clear eyes +Through lapse and failure look to the intent, +And judge our frailty by the life we meant. +1878. + + + +VOYAGE OF THE JETTIE. + + The picturesquely situated Wayside Inn at West Ossipee, N. H., is + now in ashes; and to its former guests these somewhat careless + rhymes may be a not unwelcome reminder of pleasant summers and + autumns on the banks of the Bearcamp and Chocorua. To the author + himself they have a special interest from the fact that they were + written, or improvised, under the eye and for the amusement of a + beloved invalid friend whose last earthly sunsets faded from the + mountain ranges of Ossipee and Sandwich. + +A shallow stream, from fountains +Deep in the Sandwich mountains, +Ran lake ward Bearcamp River; +And, between its flood-torn shores, +Sped by sail or urged by oars +No keel had vexed it ever. + +Alone the dead trees yielding +To the dull axe Time is wielding, +The shy mink and the otter, +And golden leaves and red, +By countless autumns shed, +Had floated down its water. + +From the gray rocks of Cape Ann, +Came a skilled seafaring man, +With his dory, to the right place; +Over hill and plain he brought her, +Where the boatless Beareamp water +Comes winding down from White-Face. + +Quoth the skipper: "Ere she floats forth; +I'm sure my pretty boat's worth, +At least, a name as pretty." +On her painted side he wrote it, +And the flag that o'er her floated +Bore aloft the name of Jettie. + +On a radiant morn of summer, +Elder guest and latest comer +Saw her wed the Bearcamp water; +Heard the name the skipper gave her, +And the answer to the favor +From the Bay State's graceful daughter. + +Then, a singer, richly gifted, +Her charmed voice uplifted; +And the wood-thrush and song-sparrow +Listened, dumb with envious pain, +To the clear and sweet refrain +Whose notes they could not borrow. + +Then the skipper plied his oar, +And from off the shelving shore, +Glided out the strange explorer; +Floating on, she knew not whither,-- +The tawny sands beneath her, +The great hills watching o'er her. + +On, where the stream flows quiet +As the meadows' margins by it, +Or widens out to borrow a +New life from that wild water, +The mountain giant's daughter, +The pine-besung Chocorua. + +Or, mid the tangling cumber +And pack of mountain lumber +That spring floods downward force, +Over sunken snag, and bar +Where the grating shallows are, +The good boat held her course. + +Under the pine-dark highlands, +Around the vine-hung islands, +She ploughed her crooked furrow +And her rippling and her lurches +Scared the river eels and perches, +And the musk-rat in his burrow. + +Every sober clam below her, +Every sage and grave pearl-grower, +Shut his rusty valves the tighter; +Crow called to crow complaining, +And old tortoises sat craning +Their leathern necks to sight her. + +So, to where the still lake glasses +The misty mountain masses +Rising dim and distant northward, +And, with faint-drawn shadow pictures, +Low shores, and dead pine spectres, +Blends the skyward and the earthward, + +On she glided, overladen, +With merry man and maiden +Sending back their song and laughter,-- +While, perchance, a phantom crew, +In a ghostly birch canoe, +Paddled dumb and swiftly after! + +And the bear on Ossipee +Climbed the topmost crag to see +The strange thing drifting under; +And, through the haze of August, +Passaconaway and Paugus +Looked down in sleepy wonder. + +All the pines that o'er her hung +In mimic sea-tones sung +The song familiar to her; +And the maples leaned to screen her, +And the meadow-grass seemed greener, +And the breeze more soft to woo her. + +The lone stream mystery-haunted, +To her the freedom granted +To scan its every feature, +Till new and old were blended, +And round them both extended +The loving arms of Nature. + +Of these hills the little vessel +Henceforth is part and parcel; +And on Bearcamp shall her log +Be kept, as if by George's +Or Grand Menan, the surges +Tossed her skipper through the fog. + +And I, who, half in sadness, +Recall the morning gladness +Of life, at evening time, +By chance, onlooking idly, +Apart from all so widely, +Have set her voyage to rhyme. + +Dies now the gay persistence +Of song and laugh, in distance; +Alone with me remaining +The stream, the quiet meadow, +The hills in shine and shadow, +The sombre pines complaining. + +And, musing here, I dream +Of voyagers on a stream +From whence is no returning, +Under sealed orders going, +Looking forward little knowing, +Looking back with idle yearning. + +And I pray that every venture +The port of peace may enter, +That, safe from snag and fall +And siren-haunted islet, +And rock, the Unseen Pilot +May guide us one and all. +1880. + + + +MY TRUST. + +A picture memory brings to me +I look across the years and see +Myself beside my mother's knee. + +I feel her gentle hand restrain +My selfish moods, and know again +A child's blind sense of wrong and pain. + +But wiser now, a man gray grown, +My childhood's needs are better known, +My mother's chastening love I own. + +Gray grown, but in our Father's sight +A child still groping for the light +To read His works and ways aright. + +I wait, in His good time to see +That as my mother dealt with me +So with His children dealeth He. + +I bow myself beneath His hand +That pain itself was wisely planned +I feel, and partly understand. + +The joy that comes in sorrow's guise, +The sweet pains of self-sacrifice, +I would not have them otherwise. + +And what were life and death if sin +Knew not the dread rebuke within, +The pang of merciful discipline? + +Not with thy proud despair of old, +Crowned stoic of Rome's noblest mould! +Pleasure and pain alike I hold. + +I suffer with no vain pretence +Of triumph over flesh and sense, +Yet trust the grievous providence, + +How dark soe'er it seems, may tend, +By ways I cannot comprehend, +To some unguessed benignant end; + +That every loss and lapse may gain +The clear-aired heights by steps of pain, +And never cross is borne in vain. +1880. + + + +A NAME + + Addressed to my grand-nephew, Greenleaf Whittier Pickard. Jonathan + Greenleaf, in A Genealogy of the Greenleaf Family, says briefly: + "From all that can be gathered, it is believed that the ancestors + of the Greenleaf family were Huguenots, who left France on account + of their religious principles some time in the course of the + sixteenth century, and settled in England. The name was probably + translated from the French Feuillevert." + +The name the Gallic exile bore, +St. Malo! from thy ancient mart, +Became upon our Western shore +Greenleaf for Feuillevert. + +A name to hear in soft accord +Of leaves by light winds overrun, +Or read, upon the greening sward +Of May, in shade and sun. + +The name my infant ear first heard +Breathed softly with a mother's kiss; +His mother's own, no tenderer word +My father spake than this. + +No child have I to bear it on; +Be thou its keeper; let it take +From gifts well used and duty done +New beauty for thy sake. + +The fair ideals that outran +My halting footsteps seek and find-- +The flawless symmetry of man, +The poise of heart and mind. + +Stand firmly where I felt the sway +Of every wing that fancy flew, +See clearly where I groped my way, +Nor real from seeming knew. + +And wisely choose, and bravely hold +Thy faith unswerved by cross or crown, +Like the stout Huguenot of old +Whose name to thee comes down. + +As Marot's songs made glad the heart +Of that lone exile, haply mine +May in life's heavy hours impart +Some strength and hope to thine. + +Yet when did Age transfer to Youth +The hard-gained lessons of its day? +Each lip must learn the taste of truth, +Each foot must feel its way. + +We cannot hold the hands of choice +That touch or shun life's fateful keys; +The whisper of the inward voice +Is more than homilies. + +Dear boy! for whom the flowers are born, +Stars shine, and happy song-birds sing, +What can my evening give to morn, +My winter to thy spring! + +A life not void of pure intent, +With small desert of praise or blame, +The love I felt, the good I meant, +I leave thee with my name. +1880. + + + +GREETING. + + Originally prefixed to the volume, The King's Missive and other + Poems. + +I spread a scanty board too late; +The old-time guests for whom I wait +Come few and slow, methinks, to-day. +Ah! who could hear my messages +Across the dim unsounded seas +On which so many have sailed away! + +Come, then, old friends, who linger yet, +And let us meet, as we have met, +Once more beneath this low sunshine; +And grateful for the good we 've known, +The riddles solved, the ills outgrown, +Shake bands upon the border line. + +The favor, asked too oft before, +From your indulgent ears, once more +I crave, and, if belated lays +To slower, feebler measures move, +The silent, sympathy of love +To me is dearer now than praise. + +And ye, O younger friends, for whom +My hearth and heart keep open room, +Come smiling through the shadows long, +Be with me while the sun goes down, +And with your cheerful voices drown +The minor of my even-song. + +For, equal through the day and night, +The wise Eternal oversight +And love and power and righteous will +Remain: the law of destiny +The best for each and all must be, +And life its promise shall fulfil. +1881. + + + +AN AUTOGRAPH. + +I write my name as one, +On sands by waves o'errun +Or winter's frosted pane, +Traces a record vain. + +Oblivion's blankness claims +Wiser and better names, +And well my own may pass +As from the strand or glass. + +Wash on, O waves of time! +Melt, noons, the frosty rime! +Welcome the shadow vast, +The silence that shall last. + +When I and all who know +And love me vanish so, +What harm to them or me +Will the lost memory be? + +If any words of mine, +Through right of life divine, +Remain, what matters it +Whose hand the message writ? + +Why should the "crowner's quest" +Sit on my worst or best? +Why should the showman claim +The poor ghost of my name? + +Yet, as when dies a sound +Its spectre lingers round, +Haply my spent life will +Leave some faint echo still. + +A whisper giving breath +Of praise or blame to death, +Soothing or saddening such +As loved the living much. + +Therefore with yearnings vain +And fond I still would fain +A kindly judgment seek, +A tender thought bespeak. + +And, while my words are read, +Let this at least be said +"Whate'er his life's defeatures, +He loved his fellow-creatures. + +"If, of the Law's stone table, +To hold he scarce was able +The first great precept fast, +He kept for man the last. + +"Through mortal lapse and dulness +What lacks the Eternal Fulness, +If still our weakness can +Love Him in loving man? + +"Age brought him no despairing +Of the world's future faring; +In human nature still +He found more good than ill. + +"To all who dumbly suffered, +His tongue and pen he offered; +His life was not his own, +Nor lived for self alone. + +"Hater of din and riot +He lived in days unquiet; +And, lover of all beauty, +Trod the hard ways of duty. + +"He meant no wrong to any +He sought the good of many, +Yet knew both sin and folly,-- +May God forgive him wholly!" +1882. + + + +ABRAM MORRISON. + +'Midst the men and things which will +Haunt an old man's memory still, +Drollest, quaintest of them all, +With a boy's laugh I recall +Good old Abram Morrison. + +When the Grist and Rolling Mill +Ground and rumbled by Po Hill, +And the old red school-house stood +Midway in the Powow's flood, +Here dwelt Abram Morrison. + +From the Beach to far beyond +Bear-Hill, Lion's Mouth and Pond, +Marvellous to our tough old stock, +Chips o' the Anglo-Saxon block, +Seemed the Celtic Morrison. + +Mudknock, Balmawhistle, all +Only knew the Yankee drawl, +Never brogue was heard till when, +Foremost of his countrymen, +Hither came Friend Morrison; + +Yankee born, of alien blood, +Kin of his had well withstood +Pope and King with pike and ball +Under Derry's leaguered wall, +As became the Morrisons. + +Wandering down from Nutfield woods +With his household and his goods, +Never was it clearly told +How within our quiet fold +Came to be a Morrison. + +Once a soldier, blame him not +That the Quaker he forgot, +When, to think of battles won, +And the red-coats on the run, +Laughed aloud Friend Morrison. + +From gray Lewis over sea +Bore his sires their family tree, +On the rugged boughs of it +Grafting Irish mirth and wit, +And the brogue of Morrison. + +Half a genius, quick to plan, +Blundering like an Irishman, +But with canny shrewdness lent +By his far-off Scotch descent, +Such was Abram Morrison. + +Back and forth to daily meals, +Rode his cherished pig on wheels, +And to all who came to see +"Aisier for the pig an' me, +Sure it is," said Morrison. + +Simple-hearted, boy o'er-grown, +With a humor quite his own, +Of our sober-stepping ways, +Speech and look and cautious phrase, +Slow to learn was Morrison. + +Much we loved his stories told +Of a country strange and old, +Where the fairies danced till dawn, +And the goblin Leprecaun +Looked, we thought, like Morrison. + +Or wild tales of feud and fight, +Witch and troll and second sight +Whispered still where Stornoway +Looks across its stormy bay, +Once the home of Morrisons. + +First was he to sing the praise +Of the Powow's winding ways; +And our straggling village took +City grandeur to the look +Of its poet Morrison. + +All his words have perished. Shame +On the saddle-bags of Fame, +That they bring not to our time +One poor couplet of the rhyme +Made by Abram Morrison! + +When, on calm and fair First Days, +Rattled down our one-horse chaise, +Through the blossomed apple-boughs +To the old, brown meeting-house, +There was Abram Morrison. + +Underneath his hat's broad brim +Peered the queer old face of him; +And with Irish jauntiness +Swung the coat-tails of the dress +Worn by Abram Morrison. + +Still, in memory, on his feet, +Leaning o'er the elders' seat, +Mingling with a solemn drone, +Celtic accents all his own, +Rises Abram Morrison. + +"Don't," he's pleading, "don't ye go, +Dear young friends, to sight and show, +Don't run after elephants, +Learned pigs and presidents +And the likes!" said Morrison. + +On his well-worn theme intent, +Simple, child-like, innocent, +Heaven forgive the half-checked smile +Of our careless boyhood, while +Listening to Friend Morrison! + +We have learned in later days +Truth may speak in simplest phrase; +That the man is not the less +For quaint ways and home-spun dress, +Thanks to Abram Morrison! + +Not to pander nor to please +Come the needed homilies, +With no lofty argument +Is the fitting message sent, +Through such lips as Morrison's. + +Dead and gone! But while its track +Powow keeps to Merrimac, +While Po Hill is still on guard, +Looking land and ocean ward, +They shall tell of Morrison! + +After half a century's lapse, +We are wiser now, perhaps, +But we miss our streets amid +Something which the past has hid, +Lost with Abram Morrison. + +Gone forever with the queer +Characters of that old year +Now the many are as one; +Broken is the mould that run +Men like Abram Morrison. +1884. + + + +A LEGACY + +Friend of my many years +When the great silence falls, at last, on me, +Let me not leave, to pain and sadden thee, +A memory of tears, + +But pleasant thoughts alone +Of one who was thy friendship's honored guest +And drank the wine of consolation pressed +From sorrows of thy own. + +I leave with thee a sense +Of hands upheld and trials rendered less-- +The unselfish joy which is to helpfulness +Its own great recompense; + +The knowledge that from thine, +As from the garments of the Master, stole +Calmness and strength, the virtue which makes whole +And heals without a sign; + +Yea more, the assurance strong +That love, which fails of perfect utterance here, +Lives on to fill the heavenly atmosphere +With its immortal song. +1887. + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, SNOW BOUND AND OTHERS *** +By John Greenleaf Whittier + +****** This file should be named 9571.txt or 9571.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. Thus, we usually do not +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. +Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, +even years after the official publication date. + +Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. + +Most people start at our Web sites at: +https://gutenberg.org or +http://promo.net/pg + +These Web sites include award-winning information about Project +Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new +eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!). + + +Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement +can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is +also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the +indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an +announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter. + +http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03 or +ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03 + +Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90 + +Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want, +as it appears in our Newsletters. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours +to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text +files per month: 1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+ +We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002 +If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total +will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks! +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users. + +Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated): + +eBooks Year Month + + 1 1971 July + 10 1991 January + 100 1994 January + 1000 1997 August + 1500 1998 October + 2000 1999 December + 2500 2000 December + 3000 2001 November + 4000 2001 October/November + 6000 2002 December* + 9000 2003 November* +10000 2004 January* + + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created +to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people +and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut, +Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois, +Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts, +Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New +Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, +Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South +Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West +Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming. + +We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones +that have responded. + +As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list +will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states. +Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state. + +In answer to various questions we have received on this: + +We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally +request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and +you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have, +just ask. + +While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are +not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting +donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to +donate. + +International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about +how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made +deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are +ways. + +Donations by check or money order may be sent to: + +Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +PMB 113 +1739 University Ave. +Oxford, MS 38655-4109 + +Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment +method other than by check or money order. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by +the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN +[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are +tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fund-raising +requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be +made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +You can get up to date donation information online at: + +https://www.gutenberg.org/donation.html + + +*** + +If you can't reach Project Gutenberg, +you can always email directly to: + +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message. + +We would prefer to send you information by email. + + +**The Legal Small Print** + + +(Three Pages) + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks, +is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart +through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project"). +Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook +under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market +any commercial products without permission. + +To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may +receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims +all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, +and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated +with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including +legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the +following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this eBook, +[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook, +or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + eBook or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word + processing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the eBook (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the + gross profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation" + the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were + legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent + periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to + let us know your plans and to work out the details. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of +public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed +in machine readable form. + +The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time, +public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses. +Money should be paid to the: +"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or +software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at: +hart@pobox.com + +[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only +when distributed free of all fees. Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by +Michael S. Hart. Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be +used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be +they hardware or software or any other related product without +express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* |