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diff --git a/9581.txt b/9581.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1935ef4 --- /dev/null +++ b/9581.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2955 @@ +Project Gutenberg EBook, Personal Poems I, by Whittier +Part 1, From Volume IV., The Works of Whittier: Personal Poems +#26 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: Personal Poems I + Part 1, From Volume IV., The Works of Whittier: Personal Poems + + +Author: John Greenleaf Whittier + +Release Date: December 2005 [EBook #9581] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 18, 2003] + + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + + + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, PERSONAL POEMS, PART 1 *** + + + + +This eBook was produced by David Widger + + + + + + PERSONAL POEMS + + BY + + JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER + + + +CONTENTS + +PERSONAL POEMS + A LAMENT + TO THE MEMORY OF CHARLES B. STORRS + LINES ON THE DEATH OF S. OLIVER TORREY + TO ----, WITH A COPY OF WOOLMAN'S JOURNAL + LEGGETT'S MONUMENT + TO A FRIEND, ON HER RETURN FROM EUROPE + LUCY HOOPER + FOLLEN + TO J. P. + CHALKLEY HALL + GONE + TO RONGE + CHANNING + TO MY FRIEND ON THE DEATH OF HIS SISTER + DANIEL WHEELER + TO FREDRIKA BREMER + TO AVIS KEENE + THE HILL-TOP + ELLIOTT + ICHABOD + THE LOST OCCASION + WORDSWORTH + TO ---- LINES WRITTEN AFTER A SUMMER DAY'S EXCURSION + IN PEACE + BENEDICITE + KOSSUTH + TO MY OLD SCHOOLMASTER + + THE CROSS + THE HERO + RANTOUL + WILLIAM FORSTER + TO CHARLES SUMNER + BURNS + TO GEORGE B. CHEEVER + TO JAMES T. FIELDS + THE MEMORY OF BURNS + IN REMEMBRANCE OF JOSEPH STURGER + BROWN OF OSSAWATOMIE + NAPLES + A MEMORIAL + BRYANT ON HIS BIRTHDAY + THOMAS STARR KING + LINES ON A FLY-LEAF + GEORGE L. STEARNS + GARIBALDI + TO LYDIA MARIA CHILD + THE SINGER + HOW MARY GREW + SUMNER + THIERS + FITZ-GREENE HALLECK + WILLIAM FRANCIS BARTLETT + BAYARD TAYLOR + OUR AUTOCRAT + WITHIN THE GATE + IN MEMORY: JAMES T. FIELDS + WILSON + THE POET AND THE CHILDREN + A WELCOME TO LOWELL + AN ARTIST OF THE BEAUTIFUL + MULFORD + TO A CAPE ANN SCHOONER + SAMUEL J. TILDEN + +OCCASIONAL POEMS. + EVA + A LAY OF OLD TIME + A SONG OF HARVEST + KENOZA LAKE + FOR AN AUTUMN FESTIVAL + THE QUAKER ALUMNI + OUR RIVER + REVISITED + "THE LAURELS" + JUNE ON THE MERRIMAC + HYMN FOR THE OPENING OF THOMAS STARR KING'S HOUSE OF WORSHIP + HYMN FOR THE HOUSE OF WORSHIP AT GEORGETOWN, ERECTED IN MEMORY + OF A MOTHER + A SPIRITUAL MANIFESTATION + CHICAGO + KINSMAN + THE GOLDEN WEDDING OF LONGWOOD + HYMN FOR THE OPENING OF PLYMOUTH CHURCH, ST. PAUL, MINNESOTA + LEXINGTON + THE LIBRARY + "I WAS A STRANGER, AND YE TOOK ME IN" + CENTENNIAL HYMN + AT SCHOOL-CLOSE + HYMN OF THE CHILDREN + THE LANDMARKS + GARDEN + A GREETING + GODSPEED + WINTER ROSES + THE REUNION + NORUMBEGA HALL + THE BARTHOLDI STATUE + ONE OF THE SIGNERS + +THE TENT ON THE BEACH. + PRELUDE + THE TENT ON THE BEACH + THE WRECK OF RIVERMOUTH + THE GRAVE BY THE LAKE + THE BROTHER OF MERCY + THE CHANGELING + THE MAIDS OF ATTITASH + KALLUNDBORG CHURCH + THE CABLE HYMN + THE DEAD SHIP OF HARPSWELL + THE PALATINE + ABRAHAM DAVENPORT + THE WORSHIP OF NATURE + +AT SUNDOWN. + TO E. C. S. + THE CHRISTMAS OF 1888. + THE Vow OF WASHINGTON + THE CAPTAIN'S WELL + AN OUTDOOR RECEPTION + R. S. S., AT DEER ISLAND ON THE MERRIMAC + BURNING DRIFT-WOOD. + O. W. HOLMES ON HIS EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY + JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL + HAVERHILL. 1640-1890 + To G. G. + PRESTON POWERS, INSCRIPTION FOR BASS-RELIEF + LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY, INSCRIPTION ON TABLET + MILTON, ON MEMORIAL WINDOW + THE BIRTHDAY WREATH + THE WIND OF MARCH + BETWEEN THE GATES + THE LAST EVE OF SUMMER + TO OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, 8TH Mo. 29TH, 1892 + + + +NOTE. The portrait prefacing this volume is from an engraving on steel +by J. A. J. WILCOX in 1888, after a photograph taken by Miss ISA E. GRAY +in July, 1885. + + + + + + + PERSONAL POEMS + + +A LAMENT + + "The parted spirit, + Knoweth it not our sorrow? Answereth not + Its blessing to our tears?" + +The circle is broken, one seat is forsaken, +One bud from the tree of our friendship is shaken; +One heart from among us no longer shall thrill +With joy in our gladness, or grief in our ill. + +Weep! lonely and lowly are slumbering now +The light of her glances, the pride of her brow; +Weep! sadly and long shall we listen in vain +To hear the soft tones of her welcome again. + +Give our tears to the dead! For humanity's claim +From its silence and darkness is ever the same; +The hope of that world whose existence is bliss +May not stifle the tears of the mourners of this. + +For, oh! if one glance the freed spirit can throw +On the scene of its troubled probation below, +Than the pride of the marble, the pomp of the dead, +To that glance will be dearer the tears which we shed. + +Oh, who can forget the mild light of her smile, +Over lips moved with music and feeling the while, +The eye's deep enchantment, dark, dream-like, and clear, +In the glow of its gladness, the shade of its tear. + +And the charm of her features, while over the whole +Played the hues of the heart and the sunshine of soul; +And the tones of her voice, like the music which seems +Murmured low in our ears by the Angel of dreams! + +But holier and dearer our memories hold +Those treasures of feeling, more precious than gold, +The love and the kindness and pity which gave +Fresh flowers for the bridal, green wreaths for the grave! + +The heart ever open to Charity's claim, +Unmoved from its purpose by censure and blame, +While vainly alike on her eye and her ear +Fell the scorn of the heartless, the jesting and jeer. + +How true to our hearts was that beautiful sleeper +With smiles for the joyful, with tears for the weeper, +Yet, evermore prompt, whether mournful or gay, +With warnings in love to the passing astray. + +For, though spotless herself, she could sorrow for them +Who sullied with evil the spirit's pure gem; +And a sigh or a tear could the erring reprove, +And the sting of reproof was still tempered by love. + +As a cloud of the sunset, slow melting in heaven, +As a star that is lost when the daylight is given, +As a glad dream of slumber, which wakens in bliss, +She hath passed to the world of the holy from this. +1834. + + + +TO THE MEMORY OF CHARLES B. STORRS, + + Late President of Western Reserve College, who died at his post of + duty, overworn by his strenuous labors with tongue and pen in the + cause of Human Freedom. + +Thou hast fallen in thine armor, +Thou martyr of the Lord +With thy last breath crying "Onward!" +And thy hand upon the sword. +The haughty heart derideth, +And the sinful lip reviles, +But the blessing of the perishing +Around thy pillow smiles! + +When to our cup of trembling +The added drop is given, +And the long-suspended thunder +Falls terribly from Heaven,-- +When a new and fearful freedom +Is proffered of the Lord +To the slow-consuming Famine, +The Pestilence and Sword! + +When the refuges of Falsehood +Shall be swept away in wrath, +And the temple shall be shaken, +With its idol, to the earth, +Shall not thy words of warning +Be all remembered then? +And thy now unheeded message +Burn in the hearts of men? + +Oppression's hand may scatter +Its nettles on thy tomb, +And even Christian bosoms +Deny thy memory room; +For lying lips shall torture +Thy mercy into crime, +And the slanderer shall flourish +As the bay-tree for a time. + +But where the south-wind lingers +On Carolina's pines, +Or falls the careless sunbeam +Down Georgia's golden mines; +Where now beneath his burthen +The toiling slave is driven; +Where now a tyrant's mockery +Is offered unto Heaven; + +Where Mammon hath its altars +Wet o'er with human blood, +And pride and lust debases +The workmanship of God,-- +There shall thy praise be spoken, +Redeemed from Falsehood's ban, +When the fetters shall be broken, +And the slave shall be a man! + +Joy to thy spirit, brother! +A thousand hearts are warm, +A thousand kindred bosoms +Are baring to the storm. +What though red-handed Violence +With secret Fraud combine? +The wall of fire is round us, +Our Present Help was thine. + +Lo, the waking up of nations, +From Slavery's fatal sleep; +The murmur of a Universe, +Deep calling unto Deep! +Joy to thy spirit, brother! +On every wind of heaven +The onward cheer and summons +Of Freedom's voice is given! + +Glory to God forever! +Beyond the despot's will +The soul of Freedom liveth +Imperishable still. +The words which thou hast uttered +Are of that soul a part, +And the good seed thou hast scattered +Is springing from the heart. + +In the evil days before us, +And the trials yet to come, +In the shadow of the prison, +Or the cruel martyrdom,-- +We will think of thee, O brother! +And thy sainted name shall be +In the blessing of the captive, +And the anthem of the free. +1834 + + + +LINES + + ON THE DEATH OF S. OLIVER TORREY, SECRETARY OF THE BOSTON YOUNG + MEN'S ANTI-SLAVERY SOCIETY. + +Gone before us, O our brother, +To the spirit-land! +Vainly look we for another +In thy place to stand. +Who shall offer youth and beauty +On the wasting shrine +Of a stern and lofty duty, +With a faith like thine? + +Oh, thy gentle smile of greeting +Who again shall see? +Who amidst the solemn meeting +Gaze again on thee? +Who when peril gathers o'er us, +Wear so calm a brow? +Who, with evil men before us, +So serene as thou? + +Early hath the spoiler found thee, +Brother of our love! +Autumn's faded earth around thee, +And its storms above! +Evermore that turf lie lightly, +And, with future showers, +O'er thy slumbers fresh and brightly +Blow the summer flowers + +In the locks thy forehead gracing, +Not a silvery streak; +Nor a line of sorrow's tracing +On thy fair young cheek; +Eyes of light and lips of roses, +Such as Hylas wore,-- +Over all that curtain closes, +Which shall rise no more! + +Will the vigil Love is keeping +Round that grave of thine, +Mournfully, like Jazer weeping +Over Sibmah's vine; +Will the pleasant memories, swelling +Gentle hearts, of thee, +In the spirit's distant dwelling +All unheeded be? + +If the spirit ever gazes, +From its journeyings, back; +If the immortal ever traces +O'er its mortal track; +Wilt thou not, O brother, meet us +Sometimes on our way, +And, in hours of sadness, greet us +As a spirit may? + +Peace be with thee, O our brother, +In the spirit-land +Vainly look we for another +In thy place to stand. +Unto Truth and Freedom giving +All thy early powers, +Be thy virtues with the living, +And thy spirit ours! +1837. + + + +TO ------, + + WITH A COPY OF WOOLMAN'S JOURNAL. + + "Get the writings of John Woolman by heart."--Essays of Elia. + +Maiden! with the fair brown tresses +Shading o'er thy dreamy eye, +Floating on thy thoughtful forehead +Cloud wreaths of its sky. + +Youthful years and maiden beauty, +Joy with them should still abide,-- +Instinct take the place of Duty, +Love, not Reason, guide. + +Ever in the New rejoicing, +Kindly beckoning back the Old, +Turning, with the gift of Midas, +All things into gold. + +And the passing shades of sadness +Wearing even a welcome guise, +As, when some bright lake lies open +To the sunny skies, + +Every wing of bird above it, +Every light cloud floating on, +Glitters like that flashing mirror +In the self-same sun. + +But upon thy youthful forehead +Something like a shadow lies; +And a serious soul is looking +From thy earnest eyes. + +With an early introversion, +Through the forms of outward things, +Seeking for the subtle essence, +And the bidden springs. + +Deeper than the gilded surface +Hath thy wakeful vision seen, +Farther than the narrow present +Have thy journeyings been. + +Thou hast midst Life's empty noises +Heard the solemn steps of Time, +And the low mysterious voices +Of another clime. + +All the mystery of Being +Hath upon thy spirit pressed,-- +Thoughts which, like the Deluge wanderer, +Find no place of rest: + +That which mystic Plato pondered, +That which Zeno heard with awe, +And the star-rapt Zoroaster +In his night-watch saw. + +From the doubt and darkness springing +Of the dim, uncertain Past, +Moving to the dark still shadows +O'er the Future cast, + +Early hath Life's mighty question +Thrilled within thy heart of youth, +With a deep and strong beseeching +What and where is Truth? + +Hollow creed and ceremonial, +Whence the ancient life hath fled, +Idle faith unknown to action, +Dull and cold and dead. + +Oracles, whose wire-worked meanings +Only wake a quiet scorn,-- +Not from these thy seeking spirit +Hath its answer drawn. + +But, like some tired child at even, +On thy mother Nature's breast, +Thou, methinks, art vainly seeking +Truth, and peace, and rest. + +O'er that mother's rugged features +Thou art throwing Fancy's veil, +Light and soft as woven moonbeams, +Beautiful and frail + +O'er the rough chart of Existence, +Rocks of sin and wastes of woe, +Soft airs breathe, and green leaves tremble, +And cool fountains flow. + +And to thee an answer cometh +From the earth and from the sky, +And to thee the hills and waters +And the stars reply. + +But a soul-sufficing answer +Hath no outward origin; +More than Nature's many voices +May be heard within. + +Even as the great Augustine +Questioned earth and sea and sky, +And the dusty tomes of learning +And old poesy. + +But his earnest spirit needed +More than outward Nature taught; +More than blest the poet's vision +Or the sage's thought. + +Only in the gathered silence +Of a calm and waiting frame, +Light and wisdom as from Heaven +To the seeker came. + +Not to ease and aimless quiet +Doth that inward answer tend, +But to works of love and duty +As our being's end; + +Not to idle dreams and trances, +Length of face, and solemn tone, +But to Faith, in daily striving +And performance shown. + +Earnest toil and strong endeavor +Of a spirit which within +Wrestles with familiar evil +And besetting sin; + +And without, with tireless vigor, +Steady heart, and weapon strong, +In the power of truth assailing +Every form of wrong. + +Guided thus, how passing lovely +Is the track of Woolman's feet! +And his brief and simple record +How serenely sweet! + +O'er life's humblest duties throwing +Light the earthling never knew, +Freshening all its dark waste places +As with Hermon's dew. + +All which glows in Pascal's pages, +All which sainted Guion sought, +Or the blue-eyed German Rahel +Half-unconscious taught + +Beauty, such as Goethe pictured, +Such as Shelley dreamed of, shed +Living warmth and starry brightness +Round that poor man's head. + +Not a vain and cold ideal, +Not a poet's dream alone, +But a presence warm and real, +Seen and felt and known. + +When the red right-hand of slaughter +Moulders with the steel it swung, +When the name of seer and poet +Dies on Memory's tongue, + +All bright thoughts and pure shall gather +Round that meek and suffering one,-- +Glorious, like the seer-seen angel +Standing in the sun! + +Take the good man's book and ponder +What its pages say to thee; +Blessed as the hand of healing +May its lesson be. + +If it only serves to strengthen +Yearnings for a higher good, +For the fount of living waters +And diviner food; + +If the pride of human reason +Feels its meek and still rebuke, +Quailing like the eye of Peter +From the Just One's look! + +If with readier ear thou heedest +What the Inward Teacher saith, +Listening with a willing spirit +And a childlike faith,-- + +Thou mayst live to bless the giver, +Who, himself but frail and weak, +Would at least the highest welfare +Of another seek; + +And his gift, though poor and lowly +It may seem to other eyes, +Yet may prove an angel holy +In a pilgrim's guise. +1840. + + + +LEGGETT'S MONUMENT. + + William Leggett, who died in 1839 at the age of thirty-seven, was + the intrepid editor of the New York Evening Post and afterward of + The Plain Dealer. His vigorous assault upon the system of slavery + brought down upon him the enmity of political defenders of the + system. + +"Ye build the tombs of the prophets."--Holy Writ. + +Yes, pile the marble o'er him! It is well +That ye who mocked him in his long stern strife, +And planted in the pathway of his life +The ploughshares of your hatred hot from hell, +Who clamored down the bold reformer when +He pleaded for his captive fellow-men, +Who spurned him in the market-place, and sought +Within thy walls, St. Tammany, to bind +In party chains the free and honest thought, +The angel utterance of an upright mind, +Well is it now that o'er his grave ye raise +The stony tribute of your tardy praise, +For not alone that pile shall tell to Fame +Of the brave heart beneath, but of the builders' shame! +1841. + + + +TO A FRIEND, + +ON HER RETURN FROM EUROPE. + +How smiled the land of France +Under thy blue eye's glance, +Light-hearted rover +Old walls of chateaux gray, +Towers of an early day, +Which the Three Colors play +Flauntingly over. + +Now midst the brilliant train +Thronging the banks of Seine +Now midst the splendor +Of the wild Alpine range, +Waking with change on change +Thoughts in thy young heart strange, +Lovely, and tender. + +Vales, soft Elysian, +Like those in the vision +Of Mirza, when, dreaming, +He saw the long hollow dell, +Touched by the prophet's spell, +Into an ocean swell +With its isles teeming. + +Cliffs wrapped in snows of years, +Splintering with icy spears +Autumn's blue heaven +Loose rock and frozen slide, +Hung on the mountain-side, +Waiting their hour to glide +Downward, storm-driven! + +Rhine-stream, by castle old, +Baron's and robber's hold, +Peacefully flowing; +Sweeping through vineyards green, +Or where the cliffs are seen +O'er the broad wave between +Grim shadows throwing. + +Or, where St. Peter's dome +Swells o'er eternal Rome, +Vast, dim, and solemn; +Hymns ever chanting low, +Censers swung to and fro, +Sable stoles sweeping slow +Cornice and column! + +Oh, as from each and all +Will there not voices call +Evermore back again? +In the mind's gallery +Wilt thou not always see +Dim phantoms beckon thee +O'er that old track again? + +New forms thy presence haunt, +New voices softly chant, +New faces greet thee! +Pilgrims from many a shrine +Hallowed by poet's line, +At memory's magic sign, +Rising to meet thee. + +And when such visions come +Unto thy olden home, +Will they not waken +Deep thoughts of Him whose hand +Led thee o'er sea and land +Back to the household band +Whence thou wast taken? + +While, at the sunset time, +Swells the cathedral's chime, +Yet, in thy dreaming, +While to thy spirit's eye +Yet the vast mountains lie +Piled in the Switzer's sky, +Icy and gleaming: + +Prompter of silent prayer, +Be the wild picture there +In the mind's chamber, +And, through each coming day +Him who, as staff and stay, +Watched o'er thy wandering way, +Freshly remember. + +So, when the call shall be +Soon or late unto thee, +As to all given, +Still may that picture live, +All its fair forms survive, +And to thy spirit give +Gladness in Heaven! +1841 + + + +LUCY HOOPER. + + Lucy Hooper died at Brooklyn, L. I., on the 1st of 8th mo., 1841, + aged twenty-four years. + +They tell me, Lucy, thou art dead, +That all of thee we loved and cherished +Has with thy summer roses perished; +And left, as its young beauty fled, +An ashen memory in its stead, +The twilight of a parted day +Whose fading light is cold and vain, +The heart's faint echo of a strain +Of low, sweet music passed away. +That true and loving heart, that gift +Of a mind, earnest, clear, profound, +Bestowing, with a glad unthrift, +Its sunny light on all around, +Affinities which only could +Cleave to the pure, the true, and good; +And sympathies which found no rest, +Save with the loveliest and best. +Of them--of thee--remains there naught +But sorrow in the mourner's breast? +A shadow in the land of thought? +No! Even my weak and trembling faith +Can lift for thee the veil which doubt +And human fear have drawn about +The all-awaiting scene of death. + +Even as thou wast I see thee still; +And, save the absence of all ill +And pain and weariness, which here +Summoned the sigh or wrung the tear, +The same as when, two summers back, +Beside our childhood's Merrimac, +I saw thy dark eye wander o'er +Stream, sunny upland, rocky shore, +And heard thy low, soft voice alone +Midst lapse of waters, and the tone +Of pine-leaves by the west-wind blown, +There's not a charm of soul or brow, +Of all we knew and loved in thee, +But lives in holier beauty now, +Baptized in immortality! +Not mine the sad and freezing dream +Of souls that, with their earthly mould, +Cast off the loves and joys of old, +Unbodied, like a pale moonbeam, +As pure, as passionless, and cold; +Nor mine the hope of Indra's son, +Of slumbering in oblivion's rest, +Life's myriads blending into one, +In blank annihilation blest; +Dust-atoms of the infinite, +Sparks scattered from the central light, +And winning back through mortal pain +Their old unconsciousness again. +No! I have friends in Spirit Land, +Not shadows in a shadowy band, +Not others, but themselves are they. +And still I think of them the same +As when the Master's summons came; +Their change,--the holy morn-light breaking +Upon the dream-worn sleeper, waking,-- +A change from twilight into day. + +They 've laid thee midst the household graves, +Where father, brother, sister lie; +Below thee sweep the dark blue waves, +Above thee bends the summer sky. +Thy own loved church in sadness read +Her solemn ritual o'er thy head, +And blessed and hallowed with her prayer +The turf laid lightly o'er thee there. +That church, whose rites and liturgy, +Sublime and old, were truth to thee, +Undoubted to thy bosom taken, +As symbols of a faith unshaken. +Even I, of simpler views, could feel +The beauty of thy trust and zeal; +And, owning not thy creed, could see +How deep a truth it seemed to thee, +And how thy fervent heart had thrown +O'er all, a coloring of its own, +And kindled up, intense and warm, +A life in every rite and form, +As. when on Chebar's banks of old, +The Hebrew's gorgeous vision rolled, +A spirit filled the vast machine, +A life, "within the wheels" was seen. + +Farewell! A little time, and we +Who knew thee well, and loved thee here, +One after one shall follow thee +As pilgrims through the gate of fear, +Which opens on eternity. +Yet shall we cherish not the less +All that is left our hearts meanwhile; +The memory of thy loveliness +Shall round our weary pathway smile, +Like moonlight when the sun has set, +A sweet and tender radiance yet. +Thoughts of thy clear-eyed sense of duty, +Thy generous scorn of all things wrong, +The truth, the strength, the graceful beauty +Which blended in thy song. +All lovely things, by thee beloved, +Shall whisper to our hearts of thee; +These green hills, where thy childhood roved, +Yon river winding to the sea, +The sunset light of autumn eves +Reflecting on the deep, still floods, +Cloud, crimson sky, and trembling leaves +Of rainbow-tinted woods, +These, in our view, shall henceforth take +A tenderer meaning for thy sake; +And all thou lovedst of earth and sky, +Seem sacred to thy memory. +1841. + + + +FOLLEN. + +ON READING HIS ESSAY ON THE "FUTURE STATE." + + Charles Follen, one of the noblest contributions of Germany to + American citizenship, was at an early age driven from his + professorship in the University of Jena, and compelled to seek + shelter from official prosecution in Switzerland, on account of his + liberal political opinions. He became Professor of Civil Law in the + University of Basle. The governments of Prussia, Austria, and + Russia united in demanding his delivery as a political offender; + and, in consequence, he left Switzerland, and came to the United + States. At the time of the formation of the American Anti-Slavery + Society he was a Professor in Harvard University, honored for his + genius, learning, and estimable character. His love of liberty and + hatred of oppression led him to seek an interview with Garrison and + express his sympathy with him. Soon after, he attended a meeting of + the New England Anti-Slavery Society. An able speech was made by + Rev. A. A. Phelps, and a letter of mine addressed to the Secretary + of the Society was read. Whereupon he rose and stated that his + views were in unison with those of the Society, and that after + hearing the speech and the letter, he was ready to join it, and + abide the probable consequences of such an unpopular act. He lost + by so doing his professorship. He was an able member of the + Executive Committee of the American Anti-Slavery Society. He + perished in the ill-fated steamer Lexington, which was burned on + its passage from New York, January 13, 1840. The few writings left + behind him show him to have been a profound thinker of rare + spiritual insight. + +Friend of my soul! as with moist eye +I look up from this page of thine, +Is it a dream that thou art nigh, +Thy mild face gazing into mine? + +That presence seems before me now, +A placid heaven of sweet moonrise, +When, dew-like, on the earth below +Descends the quiet of the skies. + +The calm brow through the parted hair, +The gentle lips which knew no guile, +Softening the blue eye's thoughtful care +With the bland beauty of their smile. + +Ah me! at times that last dread scene +Of Frost and Fire and moaning Sea +Will cast its shade of doubt between +The failing eyes of Faith and thee. + +Yet, lingering o'er thy charmed page, +Where through the twilight air of earth, +Alike enthusiast and sage, +Prophet and bard, thou gazest forth, + +Lifting the Future's solemn veil; +The reaching of a mortal hand +To put aside the cold and pale +Cloud-curtains of the Unseen Land; + +Shall these poor elements outlive +The mind whose kingly will, they wrought? +Their gross unconsciousness survive +Thy godlike energy of thought? + +In thoughts which answer to my own, +In words which reach my inward ear, +Like whispers from the void Unknown, +I feel thy living presence here. + +The waves which lull thy body's rest, +The dust thy pilgrim footsteps trod, +Unwasted, through each change, attest +The fixed economy of God. + +Thou livest, Follen! not in vain +Hath thy fine spirit meekly borne +The burthen of Life's cross of pain, +And the thorned crown of suffering worn. + +Oh, while Life's solemn mystery glooms +Around us like a dungeon's wall, +Silent earth's pale and crowded tombs, +Silent the heaven which bends o'er all! + +While day by day our loved ones glide +In spectral silence, hushed and lone, +To the cold shadows which divide +The living from the dread Unknown; + +While even on the closing eye, +And on the lip which moves in vain, +The seals of that stern mystery +Their undiscovered trust retain; + +And only midst the gloom of death, +Its mournful doubts and haunting fears, +Two pale, sweet angels, Hope and Faith, +Smile dimly on us through their tears; + +'T is something to a heart like mine +To think of thee as living yet; +To feel that such a light as thine +Could not in utter darkness set. + +Less dreary seems the untried way +Since thou hast left thy footprints there, +And beams of mournful beauty play +Round the sad Angel's sable hair. + +Oh! at this hour when half the sky +Is glorious with its evening light, +And fair broad fields of summer lie +Hung o'er with greenness in my sight; + +While through these elm-boughs wet with rain +The sunset's golden walls are seen, +With clover-bloom and yellow grain +And wood-draped hill and stream between; + +I long to know if scenes like this +Are hidden from an angel's eyes; +If earth's familiar loveliness +Haunts not thy heaven's serener skies. + +For sweetly here upon thee grew +The lesson which that beauty gave, +The ideal of the pure and true +In earth and sky and gliding wave. + +And it may be that all which lends +The soul an upward impulse here, +With a diviner beauty blends, +And greets us in a holier sphere. + +Through groves where blighting never fell +The humbler flowers of earth may twine; +And simple draughts-from childhood's well +Blend with the angel-tasted wine. + +But be the prying vision veiled, +And let the seeking lips be dumb, +Where even seraph eyes have failed +Shall mortal blindness seek to come? + +We only know that thou hast gone, +And that the same returnless tide +Which bore thee from us still glides on, +And we who mourn thee with it glide. + +On all thou lookest we shall look, +And to our gaze erelong shall turn +That page of God's mysterious book +We so much wish yet dread to learn. + +With Him, before whose awful power +Thy spirit bent its trembling knee; +Who, in the silent greeting flower, +And forest leaf, looked out on thee, + +We leave thee, with a trust serene, +Which Time, nor Change, nor Death can move, +While with thy childlike faith we lean +On Him whose dearest name is Love! +1842. + + + +TO J. P. + + John Pierpont, the eloquent preacher and poet of Boston. + +Not as a poor requital of the joy +With which my childhood heard that lay of thine, +Which, like an echo of the song divine +At Bethlehem breathed above the Holy Boy, +Bore to my ear the Airs of Palestine,-- +Not to the poet, but the man I bring +In friendship's fearless trust my offering +How much it lacks I feel, and thou wilt see, +Yet well I know that thou Last deemed with me +Life all too earnest, and its time too short +For dreamy ease and Fancy's graceful sport; +And girded for thy constant strife with wrong, +Like Nehemiah fighting while he wrought +The broken walls of Zion, even thy song +Hath a rude martial tone, a blow in every thought! +1843. + + + +CHALKLEY HALL. + + Chalkley Hall, near Frankford, Pa., was the residence of Thomas + Chalkley, an eminent minister of the Friends' denomination. He was + one of the early settlers of the Colony, and his Journal, which was + published in 1749, presents a quaint but beautiful picture of a + life of unostentatious and simple goodness. He was the master of a + merchant vessel, and, in his visits to the west Indies and Great + Britain, omitted no opportunity to labor for the highest interests + of his fellow-men. During a temporary residence in Philadelphia, in + the summer of 1838, the quiet and beautiful scenery around the + ancient village of Frankford frequently attracted me from the heat + and bustle of the city. I have referred to my youthful acquaintance + with his writings in Snow-Bound. + +How bland and sweet the greeting of this breeze +To him who flies +From crowded street and red wall's weary gleam, +Till far behind him like a hideous dream +The close dark city lies +Here, while the market murmurs, while men throng +The marble floor +Of Mammon's altar, from the crush and din +Of the world's madness let me gather in +My better thoughts once more. + +Oh, once again revive, while on my ear +The cry of Gain +And low hoarse hum of Traffic die away, +Ye blessed memories of my early day +Like sere grass wet with rain! + +Once more let God's green earth and sunset air +Old feelings waken; +Through weary years of toil and strife and ill, +Oh, let me feel that my good angel still +Hath not his trust forsaken. + +And well do time and place befit my mood +Beneath the arms +Of this embracing wood, a good man made +His home, like Abraham resting in the shade +Of Mamre's lonely palms. + +Here, rich with autumn gifts of countless years, +The virgin soil +Turned from the share he guided, and in rain +And summer sunshine throve the fruits and grain +Which blessed his honest toil. + +Here, from his voyages on the stormy seas, +Weary and worn, +He came to meet his children and to bless +The Giver of all good in thankfulness +And praise for his return. + +And here his neighbors gathered in to greet +Their friend again, +Safe from the wave and the destroying gales, +Which reap untimely green Bermuda's vales, +And vex the Carib main. + +To hear the good man tell of simple truth, +Sown in an hour +Of weakness in some far-off Indian isle, +From the parched bosom of a barren soil, +Raised up in life and power. + +How at those gatherings in Barbadian vales, +A tendering love +Came o'er him, like the gentle rain from heaven, +And words of fitness to his lips were given, +And strength as from above. + +How the sad captive listened to the Word, +Until his chain +Grew lighter, and his wounded spirit felt +The healing balm of consolation melt +Upon its life-long pain + +How the armed warrior sat him down to hear +Of Peace and Truth, +And the proud ruler and his Creole dame, +Jewelled and gorgeous in her beauty came, +And fair and bright-eyed youth. + +Oh, far away beneath New England's sky, +Even when a boy, +Following my plough by Merrimac's green shore, +His simple record I have pondered o'er +With deep and quiet joy. + +And hence this scene, in sunset glory warm,-- +Its woods around, +Its still stream winding on in light and shade, +Its soft, green meadows and its upland glade,-- +To me is holy ground. + +And dearer far than haunts where Genius keeps +His vigils still; +Than that where Avon's son of song is laid, +Or Vaucluse hallowed by its Petrarch's shade, +Or Virgil's laurelled hill. + +To the gray walls of fallen Paraclete, +To Juliet's urn, +Fair Arno and Sorrento's orange-grove, +Where Tasso sang, let young Romance and Love +Like brother pilgrims turn. + +But here a deeper and serener charm +To all is given; +And blessed memories of the faithful dead +O'er wood and vale and meadow-stream have shed +The holy hues of Heaven! +1843. + + + +GONE + +Another hand is beckoning us, +Another call is given; +And glows once more with Angel-steps +The path which reaches Heaven. + +Our young and gentle friend, whose smile +Made brighter summer hours, +Amid the frosts of autumn time +Has left us with the flowers. + +No paling of the cheek of bloom +Forewarned us of decay; +No shadow from the Silent Land +Fell round our sister's way. + +The light of her young life went down, +As sinks behind the hill +The glory of a setting star, +Clear, suddenly, and still. + +As pure and sweet, her fair brow seemed +Eternal as the sky; +And like the brook's low song, her voice,-- +A sound which could not die. + +And half we deemed she needed not +The changing of her sphere, +To give to Heaven a Shining One, +Who walked an Angel here. + +The blessing of her quiet life +Fell on us like the dew; +And good thoughts where her footsteps pressed +Like fairy blossoms grew. + +Sweet promptings unto kindest deeds +Were in her very look; +We read her face, as one who reads +A true and holy book, + +The measure of a blessed hymn, +To which our hearts could move; +The breathing of an inward psalm, +A canticle of love. + +We miss her in the place of prayer, +And by the hearth-fire's light; +We pause beside her door to hear +Once more her sweet "Good-night!" + +There seems a shadow on the day, +Her smile no longer cheers; +A dimness on the stars of night, +Like eyes that look through tears. + +Alone unto our Father's will +One thought hath reconciled; +That He whose love exceedeth ours +Hath taken home His child. + +Fold her, O Father! in Thine arms, +And let her henceforth be +A messenger of love between +Our human hearts and Thee. + +Still let her mild rebuking stand +Between us and the wrong, +And her dear memory serve to make +Our faith in Goodness strong. + +And grant that she who, trembling, here +Distrusted all her powers, +May welcome to her holier home +The well-beloved of ours. +1845. + + +TO RONGE. + + This was written after reading the powerful and manly protest of + Johannes Ronge against the "pious fraud" of the Bishop of Treves. + The bold movement of the young Catholic priest of Prussian Silesia + seemed to me full of promise to the cause of political as well as + religious liberty in Europe. That it failed was due partly to the + faults of the reformer, but mainly to the disagreement of the + Liberals of Germany upon a matter of dogma, which prevented them + from unity of action. Rouge was born in Silesia in 1813 and died in + October, 1887. His autobiography was translated into English and + published in London in 1846. + +Strike home, strong-hearted man! Down to the root +Of old oppression sink the Saxon steel. +Thy work is to hew down. In God's name then +Put nerve into thy task. Let other men +Plant, as they may, that better tree whose fruit +The wounded bosom of the Church shall heal. +Be thou the image-breaker. Let thy blows +Fall heavy as the Suabian's iron hand, +On crown or crosier, which shall interpose +Between thee and the weal of Fatherland. +Leave creeds to closet idlers. First of all, +Shake thou all German dream-land with the fall +Of that accursed tree, whose evil trunk +Was spared of old by Erfurt's stalwart monk. +Fight not with ghosts and shadows. Let us hear +The snap of chain-links. Let our gladdened ear +Catch the pale prisoner's welcome, as the light +Follows thy axe-stroke, through his cell of night. +Be faithful to both worlds; nor think to feed +Earth's starving millions with the husks of creed. +Servant of Him whose mission high and holy +Was to the wronged, the sorrowing, and the lowly, +Thrust not his Eden promise from our sphere, +Distant and dim beyond the blue sky's span; +Like him of Patmos, see it, now and here, +The New Jerusalem comes down to man +Be warned by Luther's error. Nor like him, +When the roused Teuton dashes from his limb +The rusted chain of ages, help to bind +His hands for whom thou claim'st the freedom of +the mind +1846. + + + +CHANNING. + + The last time I saw Dr. Channing was in the summer of 1841, when, + in company with my English friend, Joseph Sturge, so well known for + his philanthropic labors and liberal political opinions, I visited + him in his summer residence in Rhode Island. In recalling the + impressions of that visit, it can scarcely be necessary to say, + that I have no reference to the peculiar religious opinions of a + man whose life, beautifully and truly manifested above the + atmosphere of sect, is now the world's common legacy. + +Not vainly did old poets tell, +Nor vainly did old genius paint +God's great and crowning miracle, +The hero and the saint! + +For even in a faithless day +Can we our sainted ones discern; +And feel, while with them on the way, +Our hearts within us burn. + +And thus the common tongue and pen +Which, world-wide, echo Channing's fame, +As one of Heaven's anointed men, +Have sanctified his name. + +In vain shall Rome her portals bar, +And shut from him her saintly prize, +Whom, in the world's great calendar, +All men shall canonize. + +By Narragansett's sunny bay, +Beneath his green embowering wood, +To me it seems but yesterday +Since at his side I stood. + +The slopes lay green with summer rains, +The western wind blew fresh and free, +And glimmered down the orchard lanes +The white surf of the sea. + +With us was one, who, calm and true, +Life's highest purpose understood, +And, like his blessed Master, knew +The joy of doing good. + +Unlearned, unknown to lettered fame, +Yet on the lips of England's poor +And toiling millions dwelt his name, +With blessings evermore. + +Unknown to power or place, yet where +The sun looks o'er the Carib sea, +It blended with the freeman's prayer +And song of jubilee. + +He told of England's sin and wrong, +The ills her suffering children know, +The squalor of the city's throng, +The green field's want and woe. + +O'er Channing's face the tenderness +Of sympathetic sorrow stole, +Like a still shadow, passionless, +The sorrow of the soul. + +But when the generous Briton told +How hearts were answering to his own, +And Freedom's rising murmur rolled +Up to the dull-eared throne, + +I saw, methought, a glad surprise +Thrill through that frail and pain-worn frame, +And, kindling in those deep, calm eyes, +A still and earnest flame. + +His few, brief words were such as move +The human heart,--the Faith-sown seeds +Which ripen in the soil of love +To high heroic deeds. + +No bars of sect or clime were felt, +The Babel strife of tongues had ceased, +And at one common altar knelt +The Quaker and the priest. + +And not in vain: with strength renewed, +And zeal refreshed, and hope less dim, +For that brief meeting, each pursued +The path allotted him. + +How echoes yet each Western hill +And vale with Channing's dying word! +How are the hearts of freemen still +By that great warning stirred. + +The stranger treads his native soil, +And pleads, with zeal unfelt before, +The honest right of British toil, +The claim of England's poor. + +Before him time-wrought barriers fall, +Old fears subside, old hatreds melt, +And, stretching o'er the sea's blue wall, +The Saxon greets the Celt. + +The yeoman on the Scottish lines, +The Sheffield grinder, worn and grim, +The delver in the Cornwall mines, +Look up with hope to him. + +Swart smiters of the glowing steel, +Dark feeders of the forge's flame, +Pale watchers at the loom and wheel, +Repeat his honored name. + +And thus the influence of that hour +Of converse on Rhode Island's strand +Lives in the calm, resistless power +Which moves our fatherland. + +God blesses still the generous thought, +And still the fitting word He speeds +And Truth, at His requiring taught, +He quickens into deeds. + +Where is the victory of the grave? +What dust upon the spirit lies? +God keeps the sacred life he gave,-- +The prophet never dies! +1844. + + + +TO MY FRIEND ON THE DEATH OF HIS SISTER. + + Sophia Sturge, sister of Joseph Sturge, of Birmingham, the + President of the British Complete Suffrage Association, died in the + 6th month, 1845. She was the colleague, counsellor, and ever-ready + helpmate of her brother in all his vast designs of beneficence. The + Birmingham Pilot says of her: "Never, perhaps, were the active and + passive virtues of the human character more harmoniously and + beautifully blended than in this excellent woman." + +Thine is a grief, the depth of which another +May never know; +Yet, o'er the waters, O my stricken brother! +To thee I go. + +I lean my heart unto thee, sadly folding +Thy hand in mine; +With even the weakness of my soul upholding +The strength of thine. + +I never knew, like thee, the dear departed; +I stood not by +When, in calm trust, the pure and tranquil-hearted +Lay down to die. + +And on thy ears my words of weak condoling +Must vainly fall +The funeral bell which in thy heart is tolling, +Sounds over all! + +I will not mock thee with the poor world's common +And heartless phrase, +Nor wrong the memory of a sainted woman +With idle praise. + +With silence only as their benediction, +God's angels come +Where, in the shadow of a great affliction, +The soul sits dumb! + +Yet, would I say what thy own heart approveth +Our Father's will, +Calling to Him the dear one whom He loveth, +Is mercy still. + +Not upon thee or thine the solemn angel +Hath evil wrought +Her funeral anthem is a glad evangel,-- +The good die not! + +God calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly +What He hath given; +They live on earth, in thought and deed, as truly +As in His heaven. + +And she is with thee; in thy path of trial +She walketh yet; +Still with the baptism of thy self-denial +Her locks are wet. + +Up, then, my brother! Lo, the fields of harvest +Lie white in view +She lives and loves thee, and the God thou servest +To both is true. + +Thrust in thy sickle! England's toilworn peasants +Thy call abide; +And she thou mourn'st, a pure and holy presence, +Shall glean beside! +1845. + + + +DANIEL WHEELER + + Daniel Wheeler, a minister of the Society of Friends, who had + labored in the cause of his Divine Master in Great Britain, Russia, + and the islands of the Pacific, died in New York in the spring of + 1840, while on a religious visit to this country. + +O Dearly loved! +And worthy of our love! No more +Thy aged form shall rise before +The bushed and waiting worshiper, +In meek obedience utterance giving +To words of truth, so fresh and living, +That, even to the inward sense, +They bore unquestioned evidence +Of an anointed Messenger! +Or, bowing down thy silver hair +In reverent awfulness of prayer, +The world, its time and sense, shut out +The brightness of Faith's holy trance +Gathered upon thy countenance, +As if each lingering cloud of doubt, +The cold, dark shadows resting here +In Time's unluminous atmosphere, +Were lifted by an angel's hand, +And through them on thy spiritual eye +Shone down the blessedness on high, +The glory of the Better Land! + +The oak has fallen! +While, meet for no good work, the vine +May yet its worthless branches twine, +Who knoweth not that with thee fell +A great man in our Israel? +Fallen, while thy loins were girded still, +Thy feet with Zion's dews still wet, +And in thy hand retaining yet +The pilgrim's staff and scallop-shell +Unharmed and safe, where, wild and free, +Across the Neva's cold morass +The breezes from the Frozen Sea +With winter's arrowy keenness pass; +Or where the unwarning tropic gale +Smote to the waves thy tattered sail, +Or where the noon-hour's fervid heat +Against Tahiti's mountains beat; +The same mysterious Hand which gave +Deliverance upon land and wave, +Tempered for thee the blasts which blew +Ladaga's frozen surface o'er, +And blessed for thee the baleful dew +Of evening upon Eimeo's shore, +Beneath this sunny heaven of ours, +Midst our soft airs and opening flowers +Hath given thee a grave! + +His will be done, +Who seeth not as man, whose way +Is not as ours! 'T is well with thee! +Nor anxious doubt nor dark dismay +Disquieted thy closing day, +But, evermore, thy soul could say, +"My Father careth still for me!" +Called from thy hearth and home,--from her, +The last bud on thy household tree, +The last dear one to minister +In duty and in love to thee, +From all which nature holdeth dear, +Feeble with years and worn with pain, +To seek our distant land again, +Bound in the spirit, yet unknowing +The things which should befall thee here, +Whether for labor or for death, +In childlike trust serenely going +To that last trial of thy faith! +Oh, far away, +Where never shines our Northern star +On that dark waste which Balboa saw +From Darien's mountains stretching far, +So strange, heaven-broad, and lone, that there, +With forehead to its damp wind bare, +He bent his mailed knee in awe; +In many an isle whose coral feet +The surges of that ocean beat, +In thy palm shadows, Oahu, +And Honolulu's silver bay, +Amidst Owyhee's hills of blue, +And taro-plains of Tooboonai, +Are gentle hearts, which long shall be +Sad as our own at thought of thee, +Worn sowers of Truth's holy seed, +Whose souls in weariness and need +Were strengthened and refreshed by thine. +For blessed by our Father's hand +Was thy deep love and tender care, +Thy ministry and fervent prayer,-- +Grateful as Eshcol's clustered vine +To Israel in a weary land. + +And they who drew +By thousands round thee, in the hour +Of prayerful waiting, hushed and deep, +That He who bade the islands keep +Silence before Him, might renew +Their strength with His unslumbering power, +They too shall mourn that thou art gone, +That nevermore thy aged lip +Shall soothe the weak, the erring warn, +Of those who first, rejoicing, heard +Through thee the Gospel's glorious word,-- +Seals of thy true apostleship. +And, if the brightest diadem, +Whose gems of glory purely burn +Around the ransomed ones in bliss, +Be evermore reserved for them +Who here, through toil and sorrow, turn +Many to righteousness, +May we not think of thee as wearing +That star-like crown of light, and bearing, +Amidst Heaven's white and blissful band, +Th' unfading palm-branch in thy hand; +And joining with a seraph's tongue +In that new song the elders sung, +Ascribing to its blessed Giver +Thanksgiving, love, and praise forever! + +Farewell! +And though the ways of Zion mourn +When her strong ones are called away, +Who like thyself have calmly borne +The heat and burden of the day, +Yet He who slumbereth not nor sleepeth +His ancient watch around us keepeth; +Still, sent from His creating hand, +New witnesses for Truth shall stand, +New instruments to sound abroad +The Gospel of a risen Lord; +To gather to the fold once more +The desolate and gone astray, +The scattered of a cloudy day, +And Zion's broken walls restore; +And, through the travail and the toil +Of true obedience, minister +Beauty for ashes, and the oil +Of joy for mourning, unto her! +So shall her holy bounds increase +With walls of praise and gates of peace +So shall the Vine, which martyr tears +And blood sustained in other years, +With fresher life be clothed upon; +And to the world in beauty show +Like the rose-plant of Jericho, +And glorious as Lebanon! +1847 + + + +TO FREDRIKA BREMER. + + It is proper to say that these lines are the joint impromptus of my + sister and myself. They are inserted here as an expression of our + admiration of the gifted stranger whom we have since learned to + love as a friend. + +Seeress of the misty Norland, +Daughter of the Vikings bold, +Welcome to the sunny Vineland, +Which thy fathers sought of old! + +Soft as flow of Siija's waters, +When the moon of summer shines, +Strong as Winter from his mountains +Roaring through the sleeted pines. + +Heart and ear, we long have listened +To thy saga, rune, and song; +As a household joy and presence +We have known and loved thee long. + +By the mansion's marble mantel, +Round the log-walled cabin's hearth, +Thy sweet thoughts and northern fancies +Meet and mingle with our mirth. + +And o'er weary spirits keeping +Sorrow's night-watch, long and chill, +Shine they like thy sun of summer +Over midnight vale and hill. + +We alone to thee are strangers, +Thou our friend and teacher art; +Come, and know us as we know thee; +Let us meet thee heart to heart! + +To our homes and household altars +We, in turn, thy steps would lead, +As thy loving hand has led us +O'er the threshold of the Swede. +1849. + + + +TO AVIS KEENE + +ON RECEIVING A BASKET OF SEA-MOSSES. + +Thanks for thy gift +Of ocean flowers, +Born where the golden drift +Of the slant sunshine falls +Down the green, tremulous walls +Of water, to the cool, still coral bowers, +Where, under rainbows of perpetual showers, +God's gardens of the deep +His patient angels keep; +Gladdening the dim, strange solitude +With fairest forms and hues, and thus +Forever teaching us +The lesson which the many-colored skies, +The flowers, and leaves, and painted butterflies, +The deer's branched antlers, the gay bird that flings +The tropic sunshine from its golden wings, +The brightness of the human countenance, +Its play of smiles, the magic of a glance, +Forevermore repeat, +In varied tones and sweet, +That beauty, in and of itself, is good. + +O kind and generous friend, o'er whom +The sunset hues of Time are cast, +Painting, upon the overpast +And scattered clouds of noonday sorrow +The promise of a fairer morrow, +An earnest of the better life to come; +The binding of the spirit broken, +The warning to the erring spoken, +The comfort of the sad, +The eye to see, the hand to cull +Of common things the beautiful, +The absent heart made glad +By simple gift or graceful token +Of love it needs as daily food, +All own one Source, and all are good +Hence, tracking sunny cove and reach, +Where spent waves glimmer up the beach, +And toss their gifts of weed and shell +From foamy curve and combing swell, +No unbefitting task was thine +To weave these flowers so soft and fair +In unison with His design +Who loveth beauty everywhere; +And makes in every zone and clime, +In ocean and in upper air, +All things beautiful in their time. + +For not alone in tones of awe and power +He speaks to Inan; +The cloudy horror of the thunder-shower +His rainbows span; +And where the caravan +Winds o'er the desert, leaving, as in air +The crane-flock leaves, no trace of passage there, +He gives the weary eye +The palm-leaf shadow for the hot noon hours, +And on its branches dry +Calls out the acacia's flowers; +And where the dark shaft pierces down +Beneath the mountain roots, +Seen by the miner's lamp alone, +The star-like crystal shoots; +So, where, the winds and waves below, +The coral-branched gardens grow, +His climbing weeds and mosses show, +Like foliage, on each stony bough, +Of varied hues more strangely gay +Than forest leaves in autumn's day;-- +Thus evermore, +On sky, and wave, and shore, +An all-pervading beauty seems to say +God's love and power are one; and they, +Who, like the thunder of a sultry day, +Smite to restore, +And they, who, like the gentle wind, uplift +The petals of the dew-wet flowers, and drift +Their perfume on the air, +Alike may serve Him, each, with their own gift, +Making their lives a prayer! +1850 + + + +THE HILL-TOP + +The burly driver at my side, +We slowly climbed the hill, +Whose summit, in the hot noontide, +Seemed rising, rising still. +At last, our short noon-shadows bid +The top-stone, bare and brown, +From whence, like Gizeh's pyramid, +The rough mass slanted down. + +I felt the cool breath of the North; +Between me and the sun, +O'er deep, still lake, and ridgy earth, +I saw the cloud-shades run. +Before me, stretched for glistening miles, +Lay mountain-girdled Squam; +Like green-winged birds, the leafy isles +Upon its bosom swam. + +And, glimmering through the sun-haze warm, +Far as the eye could roam, +Dark billows of an earthquake storm +Beflecked with clouds like foam, +Their vales in misty shadow deep, +Their rugged peaks in shine, +I saw the mountain ranges sweep +The horizon's northern line. + +There towered Chocorua's peak; and west, +Moosehillock's woods were seem, +With many a nameless slide-scarred crest +And pine-dark gorge between. +Beyond them, like a sun-rimmed cloud, +The great Notch mountains shone, +Watched over by the solemn-browed +And awful face of stone! + +"A good look-off!" the driver spake; +"About this time, last year, +I drove a party to the Lake, +And stopped, at evening, here. +'T was duskish down below; but all +These hills stood in the sun, +Till, dipped behind yon purple wall, +He left them, one by one. + +"A lady, who, from Thornton hill, +Had held her place outside, +And, as a pleasant woman will, +Had cheered the long, dull ride, +Besought me, with so sweet a smile, +That--though I hate delays-- +I could not choose but rest awhile,-- +(These women have such ways!) + +"On yonder mossy ledge she sat, +Her sketch upon her knees, +A stray brown lock beneath her hat +Unrolling in the breeze; +Her sweet face, in the sunset light +Upraised and glorified,-- +I never saw a prettier sight +In all my mountain ride. + +"As good as fair; it seemed her joy +To comfort and to give; +My poor, sick wife, and cripple boy, +Will bless her while they live!" +The tremor in the driver's tone +His manhood did not shame +"I dare say, sir, you may have known"-- +He named a well-known name. + +Then sank the pyramidal mounds, +The blue lake fled away; +For mountain-scope a parlor's bounds, +A lighted hearth for day! +From lonely years and weary miles +The shadows fell apart; +Kind voices cheered, sweet human smiles +Shone warm into my heart. + +We journeyed on; but earth and sky +Had power to charm no more; +Still dreamed my inward-turning eye +The dream of memory o'er. +Ah! human kindness, human love,-- +To few who seek denied; +Too late we learn to prize above +The whole round world beside! +1850 + + + +ELLIOTT. + + Ebenezer Elliott was to the artisans of England what Burns was to + the peasantry of Scotland. His Corn-law Rhymes contributed not a + little to that overwhelming tide of popular opinion and feeling + which resulted in the repeal of the tax on bread. Well has the + eloquent author of The Reforms and Reformers of Great Britain said + of him, "Not corn-law repealers alone, but all Britons who moisten + their scanty bread with the sweat of the brow, are largely indebted + to his inspiring lay, for the mighty bound which the laboring mind + of England has taken in our day." + +Hands off! thou tithe-fat plunderer! play +No trick of priestcraft here! +Back, puny lordling! darest thou lay +A hand on Elliott's bier? +Alive, your rank and pomp, as dust, +Beneath his feet he trod. + +He knew the locust swarm that cursed +The harvest-fields of God. +On these pale lips, the smothered thought +Which England's millions feel, +A fierce and fearful splendor caught, +As from his forge the steel. +Strong-armed as Thor, a shower of fire +His smitten anvil flung; +God's curse, Earth's wrong, dumb Hunger's ire, +He gave them all a tongue! + +Then let the poor man's horny hands +Bear up the mighty dead, +And labor's swart and stalwart bands +Behind as mourners tread. +Leave cant and craft their baptized bounds, +Leave rank its minster floor; +Give England's green and daisied grounds +The poet of the poor! + +Lay down upon his Sheaf's green verge +That brave old heart of oak, +With fitting dirge from sounding forge, +And pall of furnace smoke! +Where whirls the stone its dizzy rounds, +And axe and sledge are swung, +And, timing to their stormy sounds, +His stormy lays are sung. + +There let the peasant's step be heard, +The grinder chant his rhyme, +Nor patron's praise nor dainty word +Befits the man or time. +No soft lament nor dreamer's sigh +For him whose words were bread; +The Runic rhyme and spell whereby +The foodless poor were fed! + +Pile up the tombs of rank and pride, +O England, as thou wilt! +With pomp to nameless worth denied, +Emblazon titled guilt! +No part or lot in these we claim; +But, o'er the sounding wave, +A common right to Elliott's name, +A freehold in his grave! +1850 + + + +ICHABOD + + This poem was the outcome of the surprise and grief and forecast of + evil consequences which I felt on reading the seventh of March + speech of Daniel Webster in support of the "compromise," and the + Fugitive Slave Law. No partisan or personal enmity dictated it. On + the contrary my admiration of the splendid personality and + intellectual power of the great Senator was never stronger than + when I laid down his speech, and, in one of the saddest moments of + my life, penned my protest. I saw, as I wrote, with painful + clearness its sure results,--the Slave Power arrogant and defiant, + strengthened and encouraged to carry out its scheme for the + extension of its baleful system, or the dissolution of the Union, + the guaranties of personal liberty in the free States broken down, + and the whole country made the hunting-ground of slave-catchers. In + the horror of such a vision, so soon fearfully fulfilled, if one + spoke at all, he could only speak in tones of stern and sorrowful + rebuke. But death softens all resentments, and the consciousness of + a common inheritance of frailty and weakness modifies the severity + of judgment. Years after, in _The Lost Occasion_ I gave utterance + to an almost universal regret that the great statesman did not live + to see the flag which he loved trampled under the feet of Slavery, + and, in view of this desecration, make his last days glorious in + defence of "Liberty and Union, one and inseparable." + +So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn +Which once he wore! +The glory from his gray hairs gone +Forevermore! + +Revile him not, the Tempter hath +A snare for all; +And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath, +Befit his fall! + +Oh, dumb be passion's stormy rage, +When he who might +Have lighted up and led his age, +Falls back in night. + +Scorn! would the angels laugh, to mark +A bright soul driven, +Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark, +From hope and heaven! + +Let not the land once proud of him +Insult him now, +Nor brand with deeper shame his dim, +Dishonored brow. + +But let its humbled sons, instead, +From sea to lake, +A long lament, as for the dead, +In sadness make. + +Of all we loved and honored, naught +Save power remains; +A fallen angel's pride of thought, +Still strong in chains. + +All else is gone; from those great eyes +The soul has fled +When faith is lost, when honor dies, +The man is dead! + +Then, pay the reverence of old days +To his dead fame; +Walk backward, with averted gaze, +And hide the shame! +1850 + + + +THE LOST OCCASION. + +Some die too late and some too soon, +At early morning, heat of noon, +Or the chill evening twilight. Thou, +Whom the rich heavens did so endow +With eyes of power and Jove's own brow, +With all the massive strength that fills +Thy home-horizon's granite hills, +With rarest gifts of heart and head +From manliest stock inherited, +New England's stateliest type of man, +In port and speech Olympian; + +Whom no one met, at first, but took +A second awed and wondering look +(As turned, perchance, the eyes of Greece +On Phidias' unveiled masterpiece); +Whose words in simplest homespun clad, +The Saxon strength of Caedmon's had, +With power reserved at need to reach +The Roman forum's loftiest speech, +Sweet with persuasion, eloquent +In passion, cool in argument, +Or, ponderous, falling on thy foes +As fell the Norse god's hammer blows, +Crushing as if with Talus' flail +Through Error's logic-woven mail, +And failing only when they tried +The adamant of the righteous side,-- +Thou, foiled in aim and hope, bereaved +Of old friends, by the new deceived, +Too soon for us, too soon for thee, +Beside thy lonely Northern sea, +Where long and low the marsh-lands spread, +Laid wearily down thy August head. + +Thou shouldst have lived to feel below +Thy feet Disunion's fierce upthrow; +The late-sprung mine that underlaid +Thy sad concessions vainly made. +Thou shouldst have seen from Sumter's wall +The star-flag of the Union fall, +And armed rebellion pressing on +The broken lines of Washington! +No stronger voice than thine had then +Called out the utmost might of men, +To make the Union's charter free +And strengthen law by liberty. +How had that stern arbitrament +To thy gray age youth's vigor lent, +Shaming ambition's paltry prize +Before thy disillusioned eyes; +Breaking the spell about thee wound +Like the green withes that Samson bound; +Redeeming in one effort grand, +Thyself and thy imperilled land! +Ah, cruel fate, that closed to thee, +O sleeper by the Northern sea, +The gates of opportunity! +God fills the gaps of human need, +Each crisis brings its word and deed. +Wise men and strong we did not lack; +But still, with memory turning back, +In the dark hours we thought of thee, +And thy lone grave beside the sea. + +Above that grave the east winds blow, +And from the marsh-lands drifting slow +The sea-fog comes, with evermore +The wave-wash of a lonely shore, +And sea-bird's melancholy cry, +As Nature fain would typify +The sadness of a closing scene, +The loss of that which should have been. +But, where thy native mountains bare +Their foreheads to diviner air, +Fit emblem of enduring fame, +One lofty summit keeps thy name. +For thee the cosmic forces did +The rearing of that pyramid, +The prescient ages shaping with +Fire, flood, and frost thy monolith. +Sunrise and sunset lay thereon +With hands of light their benison, +The stars of midnight pause to set +Their jewels in its coronet. +And evermore that mountain mass +Seems climbing from the shadowy pass +To light, as if to manifest +Thy nobler self, thy life at best! +1880 + + + +WORDSWORTH + +WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF HIS MEMOIRS. + +Dear friends, who read the world aright, +And in its common forms discern +A beauty and a harmony +The many never learn! + +Kindred in soul of him who found +In simple flower and leaf and stone +The impulse of the sweetest lays +Our Saxon tongue has known,-- + +Accept this record of a life +As sweet and pure, as calm and good, +As a long day of blandest June +In green field and in wood. + +How welcome to our ears, long pained +By strife of sect and party noise, +The brook-like murmur of his song +Of nature's simple joys! + +The violet' by its mossy stone, +The primrose by the river's brim, +And chance-sown daffodil, have found +Immortal life through him. + +The sunrise on his breezy lake, +The rosy tints his sunset brought, +World-seen, are gladdening all the vales +And mountain-peaks of thought. + +Art builds on sand; the works of pride +And human passion change and fall; +But that which shares the life of God +With Him surviveth all. +1851. + + + +TO ------ + +LINES WRITTEN AFTER A SUMMER DAY'S EXCURSION. + +Fair Nature's priestesses! to whom, +In hieroglyph of bud and bloom, +Her mysteries are told; +Who, wise in lore of wood and mead, +The seasons' pictured scrolls can read, +In lessons manifold! + +Thanks for the courtesy, and gay +Good-humor, which on Washing Day +Our ill-timed visit bore; +Thanks for your graceful oars, which broke +The morning dreams of Artichoke, +Along his wooded shore! + +Varied as varying Nature's ways, +Sprites of the river, woodland fays, +Or mountain nymphs, ye seem; +Free-limbed Dianas on the green, +Loch Katrine's Ellen, or Undine, +Upon your favorite stream. + +The forms of which the poets told, +The fair benignities of old, +Were doubtless such as you; +What more than Artichoke the rill +Of Helicon? Than Pipe-stave hill +Arcadia's mountain-view? + +No sweeter bowers the bee delayed, +In wild Hymettus' scented shade, +Than those you dwell among; +Snow-flowered azaleas, intertwined +With roses, over banks inclined +With trembling harebells hung! + +A charmed life unknown to death, +Immortal freshness Nature hath; +Her fabled fount and glen +Are now and here: Dodona's shrine +Still murmurs in the wind-swept pine,-- +All is that e'er hath been. + +The Beauty which old Greece or Rome +Sung, painted, wrought, lies close at home; +We need but eye and ear +In all our daily walks to trace +The outlines of incarnate grace, +The hymns of gods to hear! +1851 + + + +IN PEACE. + +A track of moonlight on a quiet lake, +Whose small waves on a silver-sanded shore +Whisper of peace, and with the low winds make +Such harmonies as keep the woods awake, +And listening all night long for their sweet sake +A green-waved slope of meadow, hovered o'er +By angel-troops of lilies, swaying light +On viewless stems, with folded wings of white; +A slumberous stretch of mountain-land, far seen +Where the low westering day, with gold and green, +Purple and amber, softly blended, fills +The wooded vales, and melts among the hills; +A vine-fringed river, winding to its rest +On the calm bosom of a stormless sea, +Bearing alike upon its placid breast, +With earthly flowers and heavenly' stars impressed, +The hues of time and of eternity +Such are the pictures which the thought of thee, +O friend, awakeneth,--charming the keen pain +Of thy departure, and our sense of loss +Requiting with the fullness of thy gain. +Lo! on the quiet grave thy life-borne cross, +Dropped only at its side, methinks doth shine, +Of thy beatitude the radiant sign! +No sob of grief, no wild lament be there, +To break the Sabbath of the holy air; +But, in their stead, the silent-breathing prayer +Of hearts still waiting for a rest like thine. +O spirit redeemed! Forgive us, if henceforth, +With sweet and pure similitudes of earth, +We keep thy pleasant memory freshly green, +Of love's inheritance a priceless part, +Which Fancy's self, in reverent awe, is seen +To paint, forgetful of the tricks of art, +With pencil dipped alone in colors of the heart. +1851. + + + +BENEDICITE. + +God's love and peace be with thee, where +Soe'er this soft autumnal air +Lifts the dark tresses of thy hair. + +Whether through city casements comes +Its kiss to thee, in crowded rooms, +Or, out among the woodland blooms, + +It freshens o'er thy thoughtful face, +Imparting, in its glad embrace, +Beauty to beauty, grace to grace! + +Fair Nature's book together read, +The old wood-paths that knew our tread, +The maple shadows overhead,-- + +The hills we climbed, the river seen +By gleams along its deep ravine,-- +All keep thy memory fresh and green. + +Where'er I look, where'er I stray, +Thy thought goes with me on my way, +And hence the prayer I breathe to-day; + +O'er lapse of time and change of scene, +The weary waste which lies between +Thyself and me, my heart I lean. + +Thou lack'st not Friendship's spell-word, nor +The half-unconscious power to draw +All hearts to thine by Love's sweet law. + +With these good gifts of God is cast +Thy lot, and many a charm thou hast +To hold the blessed angels fast. + +If, then, a fervent wish for thee +The gracious heavens will heed from me, +What should, dear heart, its burden be? + +The sighing of a shaken reed,-- +What can I more than meekly plead +The greatness of our common need? + +God's love,--unchanging, pure, and true,-- +The Paraclete white-shining through +His peace,--the fall of Hermon's dew! + +With such a prayer, on this sweet day, +As thou mayst hear and I may say, +I greet thee, dearest, far away! +1851. + + + +KOSSUTH + + It can scarcely be necessary to say that there are elements in the + character and passages in the history of the great Hungarian + statesman and orator, which necessarily command the admiration of + those, even, who believe that no political revolution was ever + worth the price of human blood. + +Type of two mighty continents!--combining +The strength of Europe with the warmth and glow +Of Asian song and prophecy,--the shining +Of Orient splendors over Northern snow! +Who shall receive him? Who, unblushing, speak +Welcome to him, who, while he strove to break +The Austrian yoke from Magyar necks, smote off +At the same blow the fetters of the serf, +Rearing the altar of his Fatherland +On the firm base of freedom, and thereby +Lifting to Heaven a patriot's stainless hand, +Mocked not the God of Justice with a lie! +Who shall be Freedom's mouthpiece? Who shall give +Her welcoming cheer to the great fugitive? +Not he who, all her sacred trusts betraying, +Is scourging back to slavery's hell of pain +The swarthy Kossuths of our land again! +Not he whose utterance now from lips designed +The bugle-march of Liberty to wind, +And call her hosts beneath the breaking light, +The keen reveille of her morn of fight, +Is but the hoarse note of the blood-hound's baying, +The wolf's long howl behind the bondman's flight! +Oh for the tongue of him who lies at rest +In Quincy's shade of patrimonial trees, +Last of the Puritan tribunes and the best, +To lend a voice to Freedom's sympathies, +And hail the coming of the noblest guest +The Old World's wrong has given the New World of the West! +1851. + + + +TO MY OLD SCHOOLMASTER. + +AN EPISTLE NOT AFTER THE MANNER OF HORACE + + These lines were addressed to my worthy friend Joshua Coffin, + teacher, historian, and antiquarian. He was one of the twelve + persons who with William Lloyd Garrison formed the first + anti-slavery society in New England. + +Old friend, kind friend! lightly down +Drop time's snow-flakes on thy crown! +Never be thy shadow less, +Never fail thy cheerfulness; +Care, that kills the cat, may, plough +Wrinkles in the miser's brow, +Deepen envy's spiteful frown, +Draw the mouths of bigots down, +Plague ambition's dream, and sit +Heavy on the hypocrite, +Haunt the rich man's door, and ride +In the gilded coach of pride;-- +Let the fiend pass!--what can he +Find to do with such as thee? +Seldom comes that evil guest +Where the conscience lies at rest, +And brown health and quiet wit +Smiling on the threshold sit. + +I, the urchin unto whom, +In that smoked and dingy room, +Where the district gave thee rule +O'er its ragged winter school, +Thou didst teach the mysteries +Of those weary A B C's,-- +Where, to fill the every pause +Of thy wise and learned saws, +Through the cracked and crazy wall +Came the cradle-rock and squall, +And the goodman's voice, at strife +With his shrill and tipsy wife, +Luring us by stories old, +With a comic unction told, +More than by the eloquence +Of terse birchen arguments +(Doubtful gain, I fear), to look +With complacence on a book!-- +Where the genial pedagogue +Half forgot his rogues to flog, +Citing tale or apologue, +Wise and merry in its drift +As was Phaedrus' twofold gift, +Had the little rebels known it, +Risum et prudentiam monet! +I,--the man of middle years, +In whose sable locks appears +Many a warning fleck of gray,-- +Looking back to that far day, +And thy primal lessons, feel +Grateful smiles my lips unseal, +As, remembering thee, I blend +Olden teacher, present friend, +Wise with antiquarian search, +In the scrolls of State and Church +Named on history's title-page, +Parish-clerk and justice sage; +For the ferule's wholesome awe +Wielding now the sword of law. + +Threshing Time's neglected sheaves, +Gathering up the scattered leaves +Which the wrinkled sibyl cast +Careless from her as she passed,-- +Twofold citizen art thou, +Freeman of the past and now. +He who bore thy name of old +Midway in the heavens did hold +Over Gibeon moon and sun; +Thou hast bidden them backward run; +Of to-day the present ray +Flinging over yesterday! + +Let the busy ones deride +What I deem of right thy pride +Let the fools their treadmills grind, +Look not forward nor behind, +Shuffle in and wriggle out, +Veer with every breeze about, +Turning like a windmill sail, +Or a dog that seeks his tail; +Let them laugh to see thee fast +Tabernacled in the Past, +Working out with eye and lip, +Riddles of old penmanship, +Patient as Belzoni there +Sorting out, with loving care, +Mummies of dead questions stripped +From their sevenfold manuscript. + +Dabbling, in their noisy way, +In the puddles of to-day, +Little know they of that vast +Solemn ocean of the past, +On whose margin, wreck-bespread, +Thou art walking with the dead, +Questioning the stranded years, +Waking smiles, by turns, and tears, +As thou callest up again +Shapes the dust has long o'erlain,-- +Fair-haired woman, bearded man, +Cavalier and Puritan; +In an age whose eager view +Seeks but present things, and new, +Mad for party, sect and gold, +Teaching reverence for the old. + +On that shore, with fowler's tact, +Coolly bagging fact on fact, +Naught amiss to thee can float, +Tale, or song, or anecdote; +Village gossip, centuries old, +Scandals by our grandams told, +What the pilgrim's table spread, +Where he lived, and whom he wed, +Long-drawn bill of wine and beer +For his ordination cheer, +Or the flip that wellnigh made +Glad his funeral cavalcade; +Weary prose, and poet's lines, +Flavored by their age, like wines, +Eulogistic of some quaint, +Doubtful, puritanic saint; +Lays that quickened husking jigs, +Jests that shook grave periwigs, +When the parson had his jokes +And his glass, like other folks; +Sermons that, for mortal hours, +Taxed our fathers' vital powers, +As the long nineteenthlies poured +Downward from the sounding-board, +And, for fire of Pentecost, +Touched their beards December's frost. + +Time is hastening on, and we +What our fathers are shall be,-- +Shadow-shapes of memory! +Joined to that vast multitude +Where the great are but the good, +And the mind of strength shall prove +Weaker than the heart of love; +Pride of graybeard wisdom less +Than the infant's guilelessness, +And his song of sorrow more +Than the crown the Psalmist wore +Who shall then, with pious zeal, +At our moss-grown thresholds kneel, +From a stained and stony page +Reading to a careless age, +With a patient eye like thine, +Prosing tale and limping line, +Names and words the hoary rime +Of the Past has made sublime? +Who shall work for us as well +The antiquarian's miracle? +Who to seeming life recall +Teacher grave and pupil small? +Who shall give to thee and me +Freeholds in futurity? + +Well, whatever lot be mine, +Long and happy days be thine, +Ere thy full and honored age +Dates of time its latest page! +Squire for master, State for school, +Wisely lenient, live and rule; +Over grown-up knave and rogue +Play the watchful pedagogue; +Or, while pleasure smiles on duty, +At the call of youth and beauty, +Speak for them the spell of law +Which shall bar and bolt withdraw, +And the flaming sword remove +From the Paradise of Love. +Still, with undimmed eyesight, pore +Ancient tome and record o'er; +Still thy week-day lyrics croon, +Pitch in church the Sunday tune, +Showing something, in thy part, +Of the old Puritanic art, +Singer after Sternhold's heart +In thy pew, for many a year, +Homilies from Oldbug hear, +Who to wit like that of South, +And the Syrian's golden mouth, +Doth the homely pathos add +Which the pilgrim preachers had; +Breaking, like a child at play, +Gilded idols of the day, +Cant of knave and pomp of fool +Tossing with his ridicule, +Yet, in earnest or in jest, +Ever keeping truth abreast. +And, when thou art called, at last, +To thy townsmen of the past, +Not as stranger shalt thou come; +Thou shalt find thyself at home +With the little and the big, +Woollen cap and periwig, +Madam in her high-laced ruff, +Goody in her home-made stuff,-- +Wise and simple, rich and poor, +Thou hast known them all before! + +1851 + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, PERSONAL POEMS, PART 1 *** +By John Greenleaf Whittier + +****** This file should be named 9581.txt or 9581.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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